My phobia

One thing, before I get into any detail about my character-destroying phobia – Ben found the Gnarls Barkely CD on Sunday!
So, the thieves that broke into our house didn't take ANY of our CDs.

None.

This makes me feel old & very uncool (but I can not-so-secretly blame it on Ben and his Billy Joel collection, they were out and obvious – and I admit that if I were a thief I wouldn't bother going any further if this was the first thing I saw).

Anyway, I'm bringing up something entirely different now.

I have a vomit phobia and it's destroying my enjoyment of the cinema.

The phobia is borderline manageable.
I'm not going to go on about it for two reasons, first, because I've found that as soon as I talk about it people want to tell me stories about when they vomit and award-winning tales of vomitting times past; and second, because I will end up having to write the word vomit in this blog too many times, and that makes me uncomfortable. I will say though, that I don't vomit, so it's not so much about me vomitting as it is about other people vomitting. Of course, it's obviously got something to do with control. And that's enough about that.

What I thought was worthy of having a bit of a rant about is what seems to be an increase of vomit in film and television. What is with that?
I'm guessing it's got something to do with the whole gross-out trend of a few years back, think Tom Green and Fear Factor, but what it now means is that no genre is safe. Puppets vomit (Team America) for fuck's sake. Vomit seems to be the new black, the darling of all directors. It's like vomiting lends a film instant cred and a hard core edge that stops it from being lumped in with the feel-good flicks of the last 50 years? Maybe. I guess it worked for Rules of Attraction. Everyone seemed to forget that this film STARRED Dawson, from Dawson's Creek, but because someone vomits in the very first scene then it gets reviews like 'quirky and interesting'.

It's not that I think it can't be used to some affect, for example I dealt with the two vomit scenes in Deadwood - they kinda made sense, but I'm not happy about random vomit being thrown into shows like the Mighty Boosh – why would they do that?? (Jenn you didn't warn me about that one).

It's NOT cool.

I may be too sensitive about this, but bear with me, I'm the one stuck at home watching re-runs of Man From Snowy River.

One other thing, if you're watching My Name is Earl, which can only be mildly recommended - check out the soundtrack, it totally rocks! Someone knows what they're doing.
Seriously, listen.

Oh, and the last thing, mentioning Dawson from Dawson's Creek reminds me that we still haven't seen Suri. I'm going crazy with curiosity.

Where is she?

I've tried to resist the urge to get worked up into a state of hyper-confusion and desperate longing but I can't avoid it any longer –
what is the story with Suri Cruise?

I dreamed about her last night.

I have one disturbing theory: there's something terribly wrong with her (think conjoined twin or that weird disease where your body produces too much skin).
This made me feel very sorry for Katie Holmes. Sorrier than I already was.
Until I can see a photo of a healthy, normal-skinned baby my brain will get more and more attached to the above theory.
And, I wonder what the scientologists will think.

The Wilson Brothers

I was just casually sitting at my desk and staring unfocussedly (that's not a word, is it?) at my little poster for 'The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou' when I remembered something I'd read in a magazine the other day. It was an interview with Hugh Hefner's three wives (there's just no point biting this one, is there?) and at one point the interviewer asks one of the lovely ladies which celebrities are regulars at the mansion parties - they reply 'Owen and Luke Wilson'.



What the fuck!
How disappointing.
I realise that I live in a Wes Anderson world where Owen is Dignan and Luke looks hot in a headband but I'm a weeny bit sad that they're hollywood harlots. I mean, I can imagine wanting to go to a Playboy mansion once, if only to take the piss out of Charlie Sheen try-hards and cruise through the ghetto, festooned with flotation babes, BUT to keep going back.
Ah dear, I'm all disillusioned. I hope Jason Bateman doesn't let me down.

Loooong weekends

I'm going to Tasmania tomorrow morning (yay) so in order to fill in time sitting at my computer at work and look like i'm doing work but am actually wasting the time till I can leave work and go home and eat dinner and watch tv and go to bed and get up in the morning and go to Tasmania, I thought i'd share some of the most interesting emails I've received this week.

From one of my colleagues:

Dear CEs,

Considering briefing OTBT coverage? When calculating research expenses, be sure to factor in the cost of weapons and ammunition...

This makes my job sound much more interesting than it is. Although I have had an author ask for an inflated fee as 'danger pay' to go to Singapore. A terrifying place if you're smuggling in a few kilos of smack - i'll give you that.

From a friend:

Dude-ohs - I'm clowning around the brown town for the second half of August and all of September if we wanna hit the camp scene (as a row of tents). Bit busy and in NSW before then. Just not Grand Final weekend eh?
Go Blues! Evils at the Cathedrals? Prim at the Prom? C

I didn't understand this email the first three times I read it. Where is brown town? Why would I go for the Blues? Still, I do like camping with these people. It consists of sitting around a fire for hours on end drinking cask wine. Yesssss.

From my mum:

Just thought I would let you know that Adam and Kate seem to be OK. Adam was apparently hit with lumps of wood but appears to just have some soreness as a result and no broken bones. Kate still has some grazing on her back that needs to heal up. Thank goodness Kate managed to get a call to the police on her mobile or things sould have been much worse. Apparently the police got there very quickly and in force, causing the gang to scatter.
Both have given lengthy statements to police. Adam and Clare decided against going to the snow which was wise I think.
I hope you are both well.
Love Mum

How fucking hardcore.
This is what happened: my cousins, and four of their friends, were strolling through Newtown in Sydney last Saturday night when they were ambushed by a gang of 30, yes 30, who proceeded to beat the shit out of them with lumps of wood. My cousin Kate managed to call the police on her mobile before one of the gang members stole her phone and dragged her 100m down the road by her hair. Apparently six police cars arrived within five minutes of the phone call which is just as well cause I can't imagine that it would have been a pretty sight if much more time had passed. I've never heard of a gang of this size, and strolling down an inner city street looking for a fight. Scary. Anyway, they're ok now and they've made my Victim of Crime post look very lame.

From another lurvely friend:

Oi
how goes it?I'm gonna go see Nina's band play at the brunswick green this saturday arvo. Wanna come? i'll prolly head down at around 4pm.

Of course, i can't go cause I'll be swigging shiraz and gorging on soft cheeses in front of a log fire in a cabin in the mountains in Tasmania, BUT I have asked that undies be thrown on stage.

As a side note, typing this post lasted exactly the same amount of time as listening to the whole of Loose Fur's 'Born Again in the USA'. I like the symmetry of that and that this blog had a soundtrack.

Victim of Crime

Our house was broken into on Friday night. This is what they took:

• One digital camera
• One bottle of perfume
• One CD (Gnarls Barkely)
• One DVD (Deadwood - cocksuckers!)
• My backpack - which had my sunglasses in it
• Ben's crumpler bag
• Ben's wallet - with no cash in it.

THAT'S IT!
This is what they left behind:

• Three credit cards - one which was brand new and unsigned (der)
• A cup full of cash - sitting in our kitchen cupboard
• Mobile phones
• Dvd player
• Stereo
• About 100 cds

Is that not weird?

Ben spent the rest of the weekend setting trip wires and digging pits with spikes in the hallway. I spent the rest of the weekend drinking too much and dancing like a dickhead at Ding Dong.