We're studying the film Citizen Kane this year in English. And so today I sat down and watched the film. And upon viewing the film, I was struck by an amazing realisation: Citizen Kane and Michael Jackson are one and the same.
Need some convincing?
1. Citizen Kane is ridiculously wealthy and famous. So is Michael Jackson.
2. Citizen Kane built a huge mega mansion/castle modelled on "Xanadu", from Coleridge's poem Kubla Khan. Michael Jackson built a huge mega mansion/castle modelled on "Neverland" from J.M Barrie's Peter Pan.
3. Citizen Kane has his own private zoo in Xanadu, including...wait for it....CHIMPANZEES! Yes, that's right. In the first shot, in fact, Orson Welles cleverly alludes to Michael Jackson through the image of two chimpanzees chained to the gate. Just like Bubbles.
4. Citizen Kane lived in his mansion, largely secluded from the outside world. And surprise surprise, so did Michael Jackson.
5. Citizen Kane's death was met with massive newsreels, bulletins screaming it all over the world in all different languages (as per the opening sequence). And it was only this week we were saturated with the news of Michael Jackson's death.
6. After Kane's death, his hoarded material possessions are sold off, auctioned or burnt. And what's happening with all that Michael Jackson memorabilia again?
7. Take a close look at Citizen Kane throughout the film. In the later parts of his life, his face looks decidedly dodgy, as makeup is used to make him appear older. Surely we can't deny that Orson Welles was very unambiguously poking fun at Michael Jackson's own candle wax distorted face.
8. If you spell 'Charles Foster Kane' using only the letters found in 'Michael Jackson', it will be an anagram of Michael Jackson.
9. Charles Foster Kane is American. And, in chilling resemblance, so is Michael Jackson.
The evidence speaks for itself. Orson Welles truly was ahead of his time, with a film which deconstructed the life of a man who was not yet born. Of course, this opens up the film to many new interpretations. Are we to take it that the failed singing career of Kane's mistress Susan Alexander is symbolic of Jackson's break from the original Jackson Five? Or perhaps to infer that Michael Jackson's constant spending sprees were only in pursuit of a deeper spiritual fulfilment?
One thing's for sure. I would definitely be giving that film a closer look.
29 June, 2009
22 June, 2009
A Memoir
So in English we're studying Shark Net, and so we are exploring the text type of a memoir, and so we were set work to write a memoir. In my experience, memoirs are often unnecessarily wordy, long and boring. And we were asked to write around 1000 words. My life is boring. This was a first draft of my somewhat autobiographical memoir:
And so it is, at the tender age of seventeen, I sit down to pen what shall no doubt become a memoir of astounding poignancy and insight, based on my rich and varied life experiences thus far. Indeed, some might argue that writing a memoir at such a young age is a sign of a pretentious and thoroughly disagreeable personality. I would say that those people are probably right.
Indeed, perhaps my powerful and mighty intellect can be traced back to my precocious beginnings, where, as a child of no more than four years of age, I sat and read the great classics on my dearest Mama’s lap. Whether I was quietly savouring the poetic prose and striking imagery of classics such as The Great Gatsby or the vibrant poetry of poets such as Keats, there can be little doubt that I was a child destined for greatness. Indeed, my predisposition to use ‘indeed’ to begin many of my sentences was, and still is to this day, another indicator of the brilliance I was endowed with at birth.
I suppose in order to really give an accurate portrait of my early family life, I must mention my parents. My mother, a member of British aristocracy from birth, brought with her to the marriage an untold wealth, and a five acre mansion. Papa, himself a well-to-do gentleman, only augmented the worldly riches upon which I was raised as an only child.
Nothing was denied to me. By age five, I had mastered the basics of Latin, Greek, archery, horse riding, fencing, and I was already fostering something of a penchant for clay pigeon shooting, a fond pastime which would later come to wreak most terrible consequences on my family life. But I digress. In the main, my childhood was a blessed one. Indeed, Mama and Papa were most anxious to make it so. I can still recall a test of their love which brings a smile to my face. It was my eighth birthday, and I was desirous of a particular island somewhere in the Pacific. Upon putting my birthday wishes in a formal request which I submitted to Papa, I was flummoxed to discover that he had no intention whatsoever of purchasing the aforementioned sandy retreats. Needless to say, this would not do. And so, applying what was even by then, I daresay, quite an ingenious and resourceful mind, I took one of the sabres which Papa had been handed down from his father, and took it to Mama’s throat. And I recall now, quite clearly, as if it were only yesterday, how I said to Papa:
“Papa, I really do so wish for that island. And I’m afraid I have exhausted all other avenues of request. You have driven me to this, and I’m afraid that if you do not comply, I shall have to run Mama through with the sabre, right here and now.” The look on his face still brings a chuckle even to this day. Something of a mixture between sheer terror and shock.
And he said “Come now, Timothy-Spalkins-Christopher, I shan’t have you threatening your mother with death like this. This isn’t how this house works.” But I was determined, even at the age of eight, to get my own way. And so I chopped off one of Mama’s fingers to show I ‘meant business’. Ah yes, I knew how to get my own way. That was still a summer I remember, relaxing on the shores of a far distant beach, crystal waters lapping at my feet...
Yet tragedy was to strike only the next year. While out shooting pigeons atop my warhorse Napoleon IV, an event occurred, which would have the potential to radically alter my life. Papa, unbeknownst to me, was out gathering sage leaves from our herbarium, which was in fact very close to the shooting grounds. As I galloped past gaily, giggling with unrestrained joy as I shot pigeon after pigeon, took life after life, he looked up and waved. Perhaps the movement only caught my peripheral vision, and instinct took over. Perhaps it was a moment of Freudian clarity. With a well practiced swerve of the horse and re-aiming of the rifle, I let out a shot, and Papa’s head exploded like a potato put in the oven without pricking holes first, or like a balloon full of porridge. Indeed, I would come to use many images to describe that moment in the poems that followed documenting it. Ah, if only he had been collecting rosemary for a stew of lamb shank with turnip and celery, rather than sage leaves to garnish his gorgonzola, pumpkin and prosciutto gnocchi! Yes, many a time I have thought that.
But as they say, once someone’s head as been blown up like a potato placed in the oven without pricking holes first, it can’t be undone (actually, that’s a saying I am trying to cultivate, based on my impressions of his death). And so it was just me and Mama. And the hundred or so servants hired around our mansion.
My life was to remain this way for many years, until I discovered the joys of schooling. Finally, there was a context, a workbench, if you will, for me to fine tune my already, dare I say it, finely honed skills of manipulation, deceit and dominance. I quickly established myself as a leading school bully in the schoolyard, a force indeed to be reckoned with. After an unfortunate incident involving a toilet seat and decapitation, however, I began to see that a new school was perhaps the best environment for me – Mama insisted, saying something about “they’ll only take the money if you promise to leave”. Either way, another school, another chance for conquest. Naturally, I was able to find my feet in the new environment, and have since enjoyed a productive educational life.
There, 1000 words.
And so it is, at the tender age of seventeen, I sit down to pen what shall no doubt become a memoir of astounding poignancy and insight, based on my rich and varied life experiences thus far. Indeed, some might argue that writing a memoir at such a young age is a sign of a pretentious and thoroughly disagreeable personality. I would say that those people are probably right.
Indeed, perhaps my powerful and mighty intellect can be traced back to my precocious beginnings, where, as a child of no more than four years of age, I sat and read the great classics on my dearest Mama’s lap. Whether I was quietly savouring the poetic prose and striking imagery of classics such as The Great Gatsby or the vibrant poetry of poets such as Keats, there can be little doubt that I was a child destined for greatness. Indeed, my predisposition to use ‘indeed’ to begin many of my sentences was, and still is to this day, another indicator of the brilliance I was endowed with at birth.
I suppose in order to really give an accurate portrait of my early family life, I must mention my parents. My mother, a member of British aristocracy from birth, brought with her to the marriage an untold wealth, and a five acre mansion. Papa, himself a well-to-do gentleman, only augmented the worldly riches upon which I was raised as an only child.
Nothing was denied to me. By age five, I had mastered the basics of Latin, Greek, archery, horse riding, fencing, and I was already fostering something of a penchant for clay pigeon shooting, a fond pastime which would later come to wreak most terrible consequences on my family life. But I digress. In the main, my childhood was a blessed one. Indeed, Mama and Papa were most anxious to make it so. I can still recall a test of their love which brings a smile to my face. It was my eighth birthday, and I was desirous of a particular island somewhere in the Pacific. Upon putting my birthday wishes in a formal request which I submitted to Papa, I was flummoxed to discover that he had no intention whatsoever of purchasing the aforementioned sandy retreats. Needless to say, this would not do. And so, applying what was even by then, I daresay, quite an ingenious and resourceful mind, I took one of the sabres which Papa had been handed down from his father, and took it to Mama’s throat. And I recall now, quite clearly, as if it were only yesterday, how I said to Papa:
“Papa, I really do so wish for that island. And I’m afraid I have exhausted all other avenues of request. You have driven me to this, and I’m afraid that if you do not comply, I shall have to run Mama through with the sabre, right here and now.” The look on his face still brings a chuckle even to this day. Something of a mixture between sheer terror and shock.
And he said “Come now, Timothy-Spalkins-Christopher, I shan’t have you threatening your mother with death like this. This isn’t how this house works.” But I was determined, even at the age of eight, to get my own way. And so I chopped off one of Mama’s fingers to show I ‘meant business’. Ah yes, I knew how to get my own way. That was still a summer I remember, relaxing on the shores of a far distant beach, crystal waters lapping at my feet...
Yet tragedy was to strike only the next year. While out shooting pigeons atop my warhorse Napoleon IV, an event occurred, which would have the potential to radically alter my life. Papa, unbeknownst to me, was out gathering sage leaves from our herbarium, which was in fact very close to the shooting grounds. As I galloped past gaily, giggling with unrestrained joy as I shot pigeon after pigeon, took life after life, he looked up and waved. Perhaps the movement only caught my peripheral vision, and instinct took over. Perhaps it was a moment of Freudian clarity. With a well practiced swerve of the horse and re-aiming of the rifle, I let out a shot, and Papa’s head exploded like a potato put in the oven without pricking holes first, or like a balloon full of porridge. Indeed, I would come to use many images to describe that moment in the poems that followed documenting it. Ah, if only he had been collecting rosemary for a stew of lamb shank with turnip and celery, rather than sage leaves to garnish his gorgonzola, pumpkin and prosciutto gnocchi! Yes, many a time I have thought that.
But as they say, once someone’s head as been blown up like a potato placed in the oven without pricking holes first, it can’t be undone (actually, that’s a saying I am trying to cultivate, based on my impressions of his death). And so it was just me and Mama. And the hundred or so servants hired around our mansion.
My life was to remain this way for many years, until I discovered the joys of schooling. Finally, there was a context, a workbench, if you will, for me to fine tune my already, dare I say it, finely honed skills of manipulation, deceit and dominance. I quickly established myself as a leading school bully in the schoolyard, a force indeed to be reckoned with. After an unfortunate incident involving a toilet seat and decapitation, however, I began to see that a new school was perhaps the best environment for me – Mama insisted, saying something about “they’ll only take the money if you promise to leave”. Either way, another school, another chance for conquest. Naturally, I was able to find my feet in the new environment, and have since enjoyed a productive educational life.
There, 1000 words.
13 June, 2009
Snuggies' Necromancers Rejoice at Worldwide Success
The Snuggies phenomenon has been sweeping the world, as the craze of the blanket-like garment takes hold. But it is little known that this fad has its origins in America, and specifically the Crypt Worms Church of the Pentagon, a dark magic cult devoted to raising the dead to serve its bidding. High Acolyte Stephen Mortis smiled gently when asked to comment on the worldwide success of their product. “We knew it was only a matter of time until the Snuggie caught on. And slowly but surely, it is converting millions across the globe, to join us in our goal of raising the Dark Lord Satan into life-giving flesh and blood,” he said quietly, before disappearing, wreathed in smoke and flame.
Above: High Acolyte Stephen Mortis finds some downtime - of course, still garbed in his Snuggie.
The Snuggie comes in three colours – a blood red, said to “symbolise the blood of sacrifices which must be made in order to bring the Covenant of the Dead into being”, icy blue, “to represent the cold and unrelenting grip of death which we must embrace”, and a sage green only awarded to the highest echelons of the Church. High Priestess Janet Buttersworth celebrated the benefits of the Snuggie which have made it so popular around the world. “It’s warm, like a blanket, so I don’t have to waste money on portable heating – because believe me, it can get pretty cold in the graveyard at midnight! And the beauty is that it leaves my hands free to move with its adjustable sleeves, so if I want to sip some tea, or wield my sacrificial dagger, it’s all able to be done without letting a chilly draught in. After all, the only chilly draught I’m hoping for is the one of the undead,” she added with a chuckle. “And with our wonderful new reading light available if customers pay with their credit cards, the scriptures of our Moste Fell Manifesto can be read at all hours of the night.”
Above: A young initiate consults the Tome of the Undead - it'll be a while yet until she attempts a sleepover seance.
Customers too, are recognising the value for money found in the Snuggie. “Not only have I found a great snug garment to keep me toasty all winter, but I’ve also since mastered the basics of necromancy, earning myself Certificate II qualifications,” testified one enthused client. “I never thought I’d be able to get back at my husband when he left me. Thanks to the Snuggie, I’ve been able to kill and resurrect him twelve times!”
Above: A crowd gathers at a druid convention.
Other churches are considering ‘cashing in’ on the success of the Snuggie in recruiting a following. Pastor Fredrick McCubbin said “I think that people will be clever enough to realise that the necromancer robes are clearly a plagiarism of the traditional priest’s robes. With a hood. And the added warmth of a fleecy and fluffy material.”
Whatever the reason for the sensation, the Crypt Worms Church of the Pentagon remains optimistic that, with more than 140, 000 members joining the Facebook group, their aim of “raising the Antichrist by 2022” will be “comfortably met – well, comfortably for those who won’t be the subject of his sure and deadly path of wrath and destruction.”
Above: High Acolyte Stephen Mortis finds some downtime - of course, still garbed in his Snuggie.The Snuggie comes in three colours – a blood red, said to “symbolise the blood of sacrifices which must be made in order to bring the Covenant of the Dead into being”, icy blue, “to represent the cold and unrelenting grip of death which we must embrace”, and a sage green only awarded to the highest echelons of the Church. High Priestess Janet Buttersworth celebrated the benefits of the Snuggie which have made it so popular around the world. “It’s warm, like a blanket, so I don’t have to waste money on portable heating – because believe me, it can get pretty cold in the graveyard at midnight! And the beauty is that it leaves my hands free to move with its adjustable sleeves, so if I want to sip some tea, or wield my sacrificial dagger, it’s all able to be done without letting a chilly draught in. After all, the only chilly draught I’m hoping for is the one of the undead,” she added with a chuckle. “And with our wonderful new reading light available if customers pay with their credit cards, the scriptures of our Moste Fell Manifesto can be read at all hours of the night.”
Above: A young initiate consults the Tome of the Undead - it'll be a while yet until she attempts a sleepover seance.
Customers too, are recognising the value for money found in the Snuggie. “Not only have I found a great snug garment to keep me toasty all winter, but I’ve also since mastered the basics of necromancy, earning myself Certificate II qualifications,” testified one enthused client. “I never thought I’d be able to get back at my husband when he left me. Thanks to the Snuggie, I’ve been able to kill and resurrect him twelve times!”
Above: A crowd gathers at a druid convention.Other churches are considering ‘cashing in’ on the success of the Snuggie in recruiting a following. Pastor Fredrick McCubbin said “I think that people will be clever enough to realise that the necromancer robes are clearly a plagiarism of the traditional priest’s robes. With a hood. And the added warmth of a fleecy and fluffy material.”
Whatever the reason for the sensation, the Crypt Worms Church of the Pentagon remains optimistic that, with more than 140, 000 members joining the Facebook group, their aim of “raising the Antichrist by 2022” will be “comfortably met – well, comfortably for those who won’t be the subject of his sure and deadly path of wrath and destruction.”
11 June, 2009
Cronulla Rugby Team Praised as "Beacons of Equality and Integrity"
The Cronulla Sharks NRL rugby team were today lauded as a "pillar of truth and honesty, which can be safely set on a pedestal far above us all, and to which we may only aspire". The comments came from the mouths of the board meeting to whittle down a shortlist of groups who have contributed meaningfully to the Australian community in the past year. "The Red Cross, Salvation Army...they're all very good and all," said one spokeswoman, "but we're looking for something different this year. A group that just keeps on giving, setting standard after standard of morally appropriate behaviour."
The accolades falling on the NRL club have been warmly welcomed by local groups. "My ten year old Tyler's a great follower of the rugby, and he loves the Sharks," said Sandra Solomon. "And as a mum, I just can't think of anything nicer than if he grew up to be just like the boys down there - sporting, successful, and having absolutely no qualms about participating in healthy team bonding exercises. The misogynistic environment is just an added bonus," she adds with a laugh.
But there are other parents who are concerned about the example the club has been setting for young children. "As a parent, I'm extremely conscious about the role models I expose my son to. And quite frankly, I think it's a damaging thing for a child, to realise they can never amount to their idols," said one parent. "I don't want to set my son up to fail - by setting such unrealistically high standards of ethical conduct."
The Cronulla Sharks spokesperson said they were "positively delighted, absolutely chuffed", to be receiving such commendations.
The accolades falling on the NRL club have been warmly welcomed by local groups. "My ten year old Tyler's a great follower of the rugby, and he loves the Sharks," said Sandra Solomon. "And as a mum, I just can't think of anything nicer than if he grew up to be just like the boys down there - sporting, successful, and having absolutely no qualms about participating in healthy team bonding exercises. The misogynistic environment is just an added bonus," she adds with a laugh.
But there are other parents who are concerned about the example the club has been setting for young children. "As a parent, I'm extremely conscious about the role models I expose my son to. And quite frankly, I think it's a damaging thing for a child, to realise they can never amount to their idols," said one parent. "I don't want to set my son up to fail - by setting such unrealistically high standards of ethical conduct."
The Cronulla Sharks spokesperson said they were "positively delighted, absolutely chuffed", to be receiving such commendations.
Next Stop, Success!
With myki still a while away into the future, many of you have probably been wondering what we’ve been doing to improve your train travel experience. And in between running pointless ads telling you we’re doing things, we’ve actually discovered some important facts.
We hear everything. So just remember when you’re bad mouthing Connex on the train…anyone might be listening.
Our statistics show that three in ten train passengers will fare evade (that’s travelling without a ticket) during your voyages on our network. That’s a pretty alarming statistic! That’s why, from 19th September 2009, all of our Connex officers will be issued with firearms, and granted the right to fire at will on an individual suspected of fare evasion. Because we realise that even if they’re not fare evading on that occasion, statistics indicate that they will at some time. We like to think of it as an innovative way of pre-empting this theft plaguing our networks. Of course, at the same time, this will lower the number of overall passengers travelling on the network, therefore easing congestion.
Because that’s what Connex is all about. Lateral solutions to complex problems. So don’t be alarmed if you see one of our friendly and approachable officers pulling Uzis and cleaning up the rail system. Just stay out of their way. Of course, all of this shouldn’t affect you unless you’re fare evading yourself, or if you’re likely to in the future. Have some questions? Suggestions as to how we can improve this model? As our previous campaign assured you, “we’re all ears”. So drop by on our website at http://www.connex.com.au/ to find out more.
04 June, 2009
A Current Affair Praises Chaser's Tastelessness
Channel Nine's current affairs program, A Current Affair, came forward today praising the appalling error of judgement which resulted in a controversial Chaser sketch, claiming that "we're so relieved to be finally able to have something to moralise about." A spokeswoman today revealed that "we had been struggling for some time to find something to cast value judgements on - to be honest, we were all relieved when the Chaser went past the pale, providing us with a perfect evening's 'moralising fodder' ".
Tastefully juxtaposed against a story about how easy it is to earn a few extra bucks by eating chocolate, the sensitive and insightful exploration into the issue hit its mark, she claimed. "Some people have said that we're a bit like sad lonely children at school - running puff pieces on a Chaser stunt involving the Governor General when people think it's funny, then doing a "I didn't want to play anyway" attitude when there's a poorly executed skit like this. But I think to say that we're just pandering to the public opinion, and jumping on the moral bandwagon passing by would be completely untrue," she continued. "Whoever said that should be named and shamed."
Being outraged has long been a hobby of the people behind ACA. Tracy Grimshaw hinted at the sorts of antics that go on behind the camera. "Often we'll have a challenge, seeing what the smallest thing we can get outraged about is," she admitted with a smile. "It's a bit of a game. For example, I'll say 'dole bludgers', then someone else will say 'businesspeople', another adds 'people who need plastic surgery but don't get it', or 'violent ethnic groups', and it all just snowballs from there. It's great fun," she assures with a laugh.
Tastefully juxtaposed against a story about how easy it is to earn a few extra bucks by eating chocolate, the sensitive and insightful exploration into the issue hit its mark, she claimed. "Some people have said that we're a bit like sad lonely children at school - running puff pieces on a Chaser stunt involving the Governor General when people think it's funny, then doing a "I didn't want to play anyway" attitude when there's a poorly executed skit like this. But I think to say that we're just pandering to the public opinion, and jumping on the moral bandwagon passing by would be completely untrue," she continued. "Whoever said that should be named and shamed."
Being outraged has long been a hobby of the people behind ACA. Tracy Grimshaw hinted at the sorts of antics that go on behind the camera. "Often we'll have a challenge, seeing what the smallest thing we can get outraged about is," she admitted with a smile. "It's a bit of a game. For example, I'll say 'dole bludgers', then someone else will say 'businesspeople', another adds 'people who need plastic surgery but don't get it', or 'violent ethnic groups', and it all just snowballs from there. It's great fun," she assures with a laugh.
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