Firstly, apologies. I realise that there has been nothing new here of late. This is due to two things:
1) I am busy with schoolwork
but mostly, the second reason, being...
2) My laptop internet is no longer functional, and my parents are not keen on getting it repaired. As I type I am covertly logged onto my sister's laptop. If I am discovered...well, let's just hope I am not discovered. Ironically, the fact that I cannot easily update my blog leads to me wasting more times trying to find ways around the internet sanctions in my house. Ah well.
For those of you who read The Age comics, perhaps the following will make a bit more sense:
The coffee trolley squeaked as it trundled down the corridor, the trays of coffee and tea rattling and jangling away. It pulled up at one of the doors along the corridor, which had a small golden plaque attached which read “Mr G. Bristow”. Mrs Purdy gave a world-weary sigh, and tucked away a loose strand of her grey hair which she kept neatly tied back. Tied back, the same way it had been for so many years...as many as Mrs Purdy could remember. She took a deep breath, then knocked firmly on the door. Twice, as always.
“Mm?” came the lazy response from within.
“Coffee, sir,” Mrs Purdy replied, opening the door and moving in. She saw his feet before she saw anything else. Propped up on the desk, his large and misshaped leather shoes covered a large stack of paper – work that Bristow would have little intention of completing, she knew. Everything about him reminded her of the chauvinistic environment she had suffered all her working life. His paunchy well fed belly, bulging through a badly fitted suit – his piggy little eyes which Mrs Purdy could already feel surveying her body like penetrating rays. Mrs Purdy lowered her eyes, and moved forward with the tray.
“Your coffee, Mr Bristow,” she repeated, placing it on the desk. Mr Bristow watched her, an amused smile on his face.
“Coffee? But I don’t feel like coffee, Mrs Purdy,” he replied. Mrs Purdy’s head snapped up in surprise.
“Not...” Mrs Purdy paused, in shock. Bristow had always taken coffee. Always.
“That’s right,” continued Bristow, smiling smugly at her. “I don’t want your coffee. I feel like tea.”
“Please sir,” began Mrs Purdy, a note of anxiety in her voice. “You have always taken-”
“Coffee in the past? Yes, I have. But today, I don’t want your coffee,” interrupted Bristow callously, and with a brusque gesture, knocked the coffee cup over, sending scalding coffee over Mrs Purdy’s legs. Mrs Purdy cried out in pain, clutching at the edge of the desk for support.
“Ah! Please, Mr Bristow!” she yelped, attempting to sponge the hot beverage off her stockings with a tissue.
“Ah, Mr Bristow!” imitated Bristow cruelly, before throwing back his ugly watermelon shaped head and giving a loud, harsh laugh. “You’re just the tea lady, Mrs Purdy! It’s your job to shut up and get me my tea!” There was a pause, as Mrs Purdy’s eyes glared at the ground. Salty tears blurred her vision, blending and mixing the outdated carpet pattern, which had been there for as long as Mrs Purdy could remember. Her arms began to tremble, not with fear, but with suppressed rage.
“No.” The word was barely spoken at all, but was completely audible in the small office. Bristow narrowed his piggish eyes.
“No?”
“No, Bristow.” Mrs Purdy now raised her head to meet Bristow’s eyes. “Not this day. I’ve had enough – no longer will I be subjected to psychological bullying by you, all for the entertainment of those people out there” – Mrs Purdy waved her hand vaguely around her – “who, if you hadn’t noticed, haven’t been laughing for a good long time. Your sexist and degrading treatment of women ends here.” Mrs Purdy stared defiantly at Bristow, her eyes blazing with anger and passion.
Bristow’s eyes narrowed even further, if it were possible, before he once again returned to his signature smug smile, almost as if he was incapable of any other facial expression. “Oh Mrs Purdy,” he began. But that was as far as he got.
“Just DIE, YOU HEAR ME, DIE!” shrieked Mrs Purdy, and with a strength incongruous with her seemingly fragile frame, she seized a large marble paperweight off Bristow’s cluttered desk and swung it into Bristow’s jaw, where it made a resounding crack, as a handful of teeth flew out of his mouth. Blood spurted out, and spattered across a sunset photograph emblazoned with the words ‘Leadership’, which was hanging on the wall. Mrs Purdy raised the dripping paperweight once more, and brought it down, this time with a satisfying crunch onto Bristow’s skull, and again, and again, until it was difficult to tell which parts of Bristow were which...
Mrs Purdy closed the door gently behind her, and continued down the corridor, the trolley squeaking, and trays of coffee and tea rattling and jangling away joyously.
31 August, 2009
08 August, 2009
Oh Look, They're Crying - Cute
Perhaps it's just me, but I don't understand why, when a tragedy affects a small group of people, and those people grieve and share a funeral, the media enjoys broadcasting the anguished words of the youngest and most innocent person present to the whole of Australia.
It first happened with Michael Jackson's death, when the words of his sobbing daughter were repeated on Channel 7 within half an hour (on this particular occassion, I was waiting in a dentist's surgery waiting room, and unable to adjust station, volume or power). And each time the clip appeared, the same girl said how she missed her father, exactly the same way. It was usually broadcast in their news updates during ad breaks of whatever it is they show on Channel 7 in the afternoon. And in the waiting room, a woman watching would nudge her partner next to her with her elbow and go "look, aww, that's really sad, hey, look," before flipping through to the back of New Idea to find out exactly how Magda Szubanski became a new woman. And more recently, a speech given by a 15 year old girl on her family has been making headlines.
Why is it that we find other peoples' grief, especially that of children, so newsworthy? Why does the media love beaming footage of grieving kids to everyone? I suppose the answer is really basic and I should just be quiet and stop making a fuss - it makes people watch. What isn't gripping about a young person coming to teary terms with the loss of a loved one? A hook like that should get everyone tuning in, perhaps enough to watch the rest of what the station has to offer.
But every time I see it, I don't think "aww" or "goodness, isn't that tragic". I just feel uncomfortable, because it seems to me like I'm trespassing on the private grief of an individual which someone is trying to sell to me as news. The automatic responses that other people offer also seem to be just that: automatic. It's easy for us to look, point, go 'sad' then turn away. And since it fails to add anything to our lives, surely we can do without this emotional voyeurism? Would peoples' lives really be impaired if they were deprived of the chance to be the fly on the coffin watching emotional heartbreaks of strangers?
I don't think so.
It first happened with Michael Jackson's death, when the words of his sobbing daughter were repeated on Channel 7 within half an hour (on this particular occassion, I was waiting in a dentist's surgery waiting room, and unable to adjust station, volume or power). And each time the clip appeared, the same girl said how she missed her father, exactly the same way. It was usually broadcast in their news updates during ad breaks of whatever it is they show on Channel 7 in the afternoon. And in the waiting room, a woman watching would nudge her partner next to her with her elbow and go "look, aww, that's really sad, hey, look," before flipping through to the back of New Idea to find out exactly how Magda Szubanski became a new woman. And more recently, a speech given by a 15 year old girl on her family has been making headlines.
Why is it that we find other peoples' grief, especially that of children, so newsworthy? Why does the media love beaming footage of grieving kids to everyone? I suppose the answer is really basic and I should just be quiet and stop making a fuss - it makes people watch. What isn't gripping about a young person coming to teary terms with the loss of a loved one? A hook like that should get everyone tuning in, perhaps enough to watch the rest of what the station has to offer.
But every time I see it, I don't think "aww" or "goodness, isn't that tragic". I just feel uncomfortable, because it seems to me like I'm trespassing on the private grief of an individual which someone is trying to sell to me as news. The automatic responses that other people offer also seem to be just that: automatic. It's easy for us to look, point, go 'sad' then turn away. And since it fails to add anything to our lives, surely we can do without this emotional voyeurism? Would peoples' lives really be impaired if they were deprived of the chance to be the fly on the coffin watching emotional heartbreaks of strangers?
I don't think so.
01 August, 2009
Portugasm Anticlimactic
A dissatisfied customer today lodged an official complaint with the family restaurant chain Nandos, claiming that the advertised Portugasm was "really quite disappointing. Throughout the whole meal, it had been built up, then when it happened...I barely felt anything at all." Mr Steven Rifgid retold of how the experience had been raised to ridiculous proportions, and his expectations set high. "The advertising was a large part of it," he revealed. "That ad with the stripper, the massive billboards...I was really expecting some PeriPeri magic when I ordered my Screaming Portugasm Wrap."
A spokeswoman from Nandos today gave a press conference on the situation. "Obviously we're disappointed as well, that a customer wasn't satisfied with the quality and duration of their Portugasm," she stated, wearing a tight fitting T-shirt which read 'We Rub Our Thighs with Extra Hot PeriPeri Salt'. She admitted that there was an ongoing training program within Nandos, in order to teach staff how to more successfully administer a satisfactory Portugasm with greater consistency. "It's certainly not something we're taking lightly - much like our succulent and meaty breasts - chicken breasts, of course," she added hastily with a quick laugh.
Parental groups have taken the opportunity to query the appropriateness of some of Nandos' advertising strategies. "We're just a tad concerned that the sexualisation of the family restaurant alienates some parents, and invades their right as a parent to discuss exactly what a Portugasm is once their children are older."
A senior executive denied the suggestion vehemently. "We would never use sex to sell food. We acknowledge and agree unreservedly that such a strategy would be innapproriate, and condemn any groups found to be using such a strategy," he said from a massive float of a chicken which read "Our Tasty Fresh Breasts Will Leave You Sucking Your Fingers".
A spokeswoman from Nandos today gave a press conference on the situation. "Obviously we're disappointed as well, that a customer wasn't satisfied with the quality and duration of their Portugasm," she stated, wearing a tight fitting T-shirt which read 'We Rub Our Thighs with Extra Hot PeriPeri Salt'. She admitted that there was an ongoing training program within Nandos, in order to teach staff how to more successfully administer a satisfactory Portugasm with greater consistency. "It's certainly not something we're taking lightly - much like our succulent and meaty breasts - chicken breasts, of course," she added hastily with a quick laugh.
Parental groups have taken the opportunity to query the appropriateness of some of Nandos' advertising strategies. "We're just a tad concerned that the sexualisation of the family restaurant alienates some parents, and invades their right as a parent to discuss exactly what a Portugasm is once their children are older."
A senior executive denied the suggestion vehemently. "We would never use sex to sell food. We acknowledge and agree unreservedly that such a strategy would be innapproriate, and condemn any groups found to be using such a strategy," he said from a massive float of a chicken which read "Our Tasty Fresh Breasts Will Leave You Sucking Your Fingers".
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