Bloody vouchers

When I woke up this morning I had a wad of pre-paid movie vouchers that I need to use by Thursday.

No worries, right? Right. So off I went to some megaplex or other to see The Adjustment Bureau. I found it a very enjoyable film, but that's not entirely surprising considering I'm quite partial to anything bureau-related. And who doesn't love a love story? And also, Emily Blunt is well hot.

So The Adjustment Bureau was a good pick and my wad of vouchers has reduced to six. All good. So now I only have six vouchers to use before Thursday.

Should be easy, yes?

Should it shit.

The problem is that now I've seen The Adjustment Bureau, what else is there to see? I've run some calculations and am sorry to report that at least 87% of the movies out at the moment are shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Which bodes poorly for my wad of vouchers.

So please, will you help? Will you look into your good and generous hearts and advise me how to get rid of my vouchers? Here's what's on at the moment:

Rango: Johnny, Johnny, Johnny; what have you done?

Justin Bieber: Never Say Never (3D): This boy makes me want to vomit into my handkerchief.

127 Hours: An uplifting tale about a chappy hacking off his arm with a teaspoon (if I understand correctly).

Gnomeo and Juliet: Animated? At least visually, if nothing else. Shakespeare's play with a happy ending, and gnomes.

Conviction: Hilary Swank's character's brother goes to jail for something or other. She does something or other to get him out.

No Strings Attached: Natalie Portman pretends to find Ashton Kutcher attractive. I forget how it ends.

Fast and Furious 5: Five? They've made five of these abominations?

So shit, I don't know. What do you think?

Why We Should All Perpetually Babysit

I'm a bit of a fan of babysitting; it's one of my favourite things to do of an evening. It's like you're Santa Claus: you get to hang out in other people's living rooms; you can leave without folding the washing or loading the dishwasher; and there's always a snack and something to drink left on the kitchen bench.

But the benefits of babysitting extend far beyond the sherry and carrot sticks. Babysitting gives you access to miles and miles of other people's book shelves. I would never have read The Science of Superheroes, or the less cheery but equally fascinating Mountaincraft and Leadership if I hadn't been a serial babysitter in some pals' houses. (Not to mention The Complete Kama Sutra - heavens! Life would have been the poorer for that.)

So I'd like to make a suggestion: I propose that we all establish households, have children, get guinea pigs, etc., then promptly head out our front doors and move into the house immediately to the left of our own. That way we'll have that 'Just here for the evening and ooh! Isn't the telly so much more interesting over here' feeling all the time.

Now if you'll excuse me my charges for the night are fast asleep, there's dark chocolate dipping sauce on the kitchen bench just waiting for me, and that couch in the loungeroom looks so much more comfortable than my own. Sweet gig or what.

It's Too. Bloody. Hot.

Today is day seven of a bit of a heat wave here in Sydney. It's a record or something; most days in a row over 30 degrees since sometime or other. Fascinating really, or more accurately, not.

All I know is that standing absolutely still in your kitchen at six o'clock in the morning in a bikini you bought years ago (inside swimmers = always bad) and sweating means it's going to be a bad day, record-breaking or not.

So here's a few suggestions for what the hot weather can go do with itself:

1. Chill the fuck out (sorry, best to get the bad puns out of the way early, don't you think?).
   
   
2. Um.
   

Ok so that's all I've got, which is slightly disappointing but not all that surprising given how bloody hot it is.

So let's do another list. How about: Annoying Things The Heat Has Made Me Do:

1. Stick to the couch.
   
   
2. Wonder anew whether there is a god, and if so, whether he or she is completely sadistic, because how else would you explain the beginning of my annual beer-free period coinciding with the onset of a heat wave?
   
   
3. Wish I lived in Hobart, with a very reasonable (albeit boring) maximum today of 21 degrees.

On the plus side, this heat wave has led me to uncover one piece of meteorological hilarity. The SMH weather page has a current conditions section which very usefully lists the temperature right now (40.8 degrees), but then perhaps less usefully continues by listing the 'Feels like' temperature, which apparently at the moment is 42.4 degrees.

Actually it feels more like 43 degrees but whatever. Now if you'll excuse me I have to go stand in front of the fan in my vintage swimmers and sweat a bit more.

The National

We're back from our South Coast sojourn, which was very lovely and everything, but fark, any chance someone could look into the whole South Coast telecommunications thing? Eight days is a looong time to impotently press buttons on your phone with nothing but a 'No Service' message staring blankly back at you.

By day six I was actually enjoying watching the wrens in the beach-side garden; imagine, wrens.

Anyway, we're back and I can now happily post some photos from The National gig I was very lucky to go to before we left last week.

Thanks to my dear friend Dave (who gallantly offered his ticket), I found myself on Saturday night gorging on a pre-gig dinner of nachos and excitedly spilling my beer at a pub a block away from the Enmore Theatre where The National (preceded by The Middle East) were taking the stage.


Mystifyingly (from this 11-day distance in time) I took photos of the band playing several of their songs, as though the photos could transmit images and sound. Nonsensical, yes, but surely I'm not alone in doing this?

Anyway, here they are during their opening number, 'Runaway':


And again during 'Bloodbuzz Ohio':


And once again, magnificently, during 'Afraid of Everyone':


Sure you can't really see anything in these photos and they could, for all we can tell, be shots of Roxette playing live at the Sydney Entertainment Centre circa 1988 (a concert I did, for shame, attend); but if you can take my word for it (given the absence of any submittable evidence), it was a very, very good show, and the music was very, very good indeed.

The only regrettable part of the evening was the presence of this woman, sitting several rows in front of me, who I came to think of rather spitefully as 'That Bloody Annoying Woman with the Radically Out-Dated Bowl-Shaped Perm Who Appears to be Suffering From Some Kind of Finger-Based Tourette Syndrome That May Or May Not In Fact Be Her Attempt at Gettin' Jiggy With The Music':


Seriously, she would have waggled that finger about at least 900 times during the concert.

Here she is again, many, many hours later, still at it:


The only thing worse than the perm-headed finger waggling woman was this guy:


But at least he wasn't waggling his big head about.

Can you marry a band?*

I think I'm in love with The National, is all. They're playing Sydney tonight and tomorrow. How's this re: Matt Berninger, the lead singer:

The National's lead singer, Matt Berninger, is a baritone of the tallest order, a lurching, lanky charmer who awkwardly bumbles through live sets, yet somehow simultaneously exudes a cool, nonchalant attitude about the whole thing. Shambolic, metaphorically wart-ridden, and uncomfortably vulnerable, he's more interested in exposing weakness than projecting strength—more apt to stagger among us than tower above us.

[From here]

I would buy a ticket off a scalper just to see what "metaphorically wart-ridden" looks like. Wouldn't you?



Fark.

* Ramon, non-flibberty-gibberty hard-hitting political analysis about something to follow shortly.

Hello there, you're a very attractive blog reader and I'd like to buy you a drink

Bad blog pick-up line? Sorry about that. You see I'm all flushed with my short-lived summer fling over at Rita and Margriet and I'm so awfully glad to be back and you look so marvellously erudite sitting there at your computer and I just couldn't help myself.

Anyway, a very happy new year to you and yours. What have you been up to? We've been all over; well, if you consider Canberra and Sydney all over. We've eaten way too much, put some considerable work into reducing our collective familial sleep deficit, and most excitingly ordered a mini-tramp (which was delivered this morning - my God what have I done).

I even, even, cleaned up some of my paperwork which has been lying all around the house for the last ten million years.

AND I've listed 53 books for sale on eBay. As soon as I figure what to do with the other 400 surplus books currently occupying the buffet, dining table, lounge chair and living room floor Mr Kettle may stop frowning and start smiling again (but that could be some time off; sorry Mr Kettle).

Anyway, enough about me. What have you been doing? Reading? Penning ballads? Dusting your 2010 trophies? Trying out your new scientific calculators? Sitting on chairs? Buying puzzle mats? Tell me, do.

Hi hi,

I've moved over here:

ritaandmargriet.blogspot.com

Come with?