After Grog Blog

LET'S STIK TOGETHER

Bit behind the news here, but hasn't Bryan Ferry made a goose-step of himself. Shilling for Marks and Spencer, a department store founded by Russian Jews, Ferry said to a German newspaper that the Nazis were the business, style-wise. Or words to zat effect. "My God, the Nazis knew how to put themselves in the limelight... Leni Riefenstahl's movies, Albert Speer's buildings, the mass parades and the flags - just amazing. Really beautiful." Then there were the cool uniforms, sexy tanks and that elbow-roomy utopia just a short train ride away in Poland. Get. On. Board. Six million Jews can't be wrong.

Even if you thought it, would you say it? Would you embrace the extension of Ferry's logic that there's a market for the Nazis' amazing and really beautiful imagery? How about revisiting 1936 to give the Olympic Games opening ceremony a militaristic touch up. Our very own Commonwealth Games could have Leunig's duck high-stepping it around armoured trams at the MCG. And the AFL grand final pre-game entertainment, about as far from amazing and beautiful as you can imagine, has needed work since, well, since ever. The heavies down league headquarters could take a leaf out of Leni's playbook. Out with the balloons, crap pop music and dancing girls; in with the fireworks, Wagner, massed ranks of fit footballers and Luftwaffe RAAF flypasts.

TAKE YOUR JOB AND SHOVE IT

I've had it up to here - and don't be giving it any "Here? Where?" guff - with commentators who say "he got the job done". Saturday night at the Carlton Norf game Mark Readings (I think) greeted most every goal he called with "he got the job done". Nor do I apologise if it wasn't Readings, either, he precisely the sort of bloke who would say "he got the job done". SEN's overnight bloke, Brett Phillips, said it at least 123 times, at a rough estimate. He even said it during the caller quiz. Each correct answer was met with an enthusiastic "Whoa! He's got the job done." My generous side wants to think he was taking the piss, but he wasn't. Clunt Grabarse says it, too. And that Casey bloke who does the basketball on Foxtel. And others et al. I'm sure the pack of them think it sounds slick and sharp, but it doesn't, it makes them sound like glib dicks. Cooloid nobs. Hipster deadshits.

Naturally, it's an American affectation, which means it sounds fine when Yanks say it but sounds completely stupid when Strayans say it. Like when Yanks say "Goodeye moit."

Enough, already.

WORLD CUPDATE XX: BEYOND A CHOKE

First Bob Woolmer died of a heart attack. Then he was strangled. Now  he wasn't. World Cup 2007: Calypso fiasco.

Did you know the pathologist's name is Error Seshaiah? Well, it's not. Quite. Doubtless he'll cop a thorough bollocking from his boss...

Next, the rumours of a cover-up.

GNO OPTION

I'M OLD! NO, I'M OLD!

Had fun reading this article, drinking Milo and watching a documentary on Spartacus.

Those were the days, let's not bring them up

I ALWAYS thought boomers were boring. The way they went on about peace and love and flowers in your hair. And I always thought the Anzacs were boring, the way they went on about some war that was finished well before I was born, although war is making a comeback. But now I know there's one thing more boring, perhaps the most boring thing of all: punk.

As a former punk, there's nothing more boring that talking about those days: you know, the day I first saw Johnny Rotten on Countdown singing Pretty Vacant; or Razar at the Brisbane Hotel, and the Flowers were there too: they went on to become Icehouse, the band that sang Great Southern Land, which still hasn't grown on me; or the Ramones at Festival Hall; and the night Chris Bailey of the Saints paid for my pissed mates and me to get home from a near-empty gig they did at Zillmere in Brisbane.

See what I mean? I could go on, but I won't. The thing is, the Saints reunion gig, along with the Riptides, the band with the singer who went on to sing that really boring song about lightning over cane fields, has brought all the old punks out of the woodwork.

Yep, bugger the old days. Being 45 is far more fun than being 25, despite the aches. I especially agreed with the bits about going to England and the Wests Tigers exorcising demons - or rather, Demons.

7 UP

Here's something I thought I'd never write: while Seven's footy broadcasts are far from perfect, I'm enjoying them nevertheless. They certainly dispel the early criticism, mainly from Nine, which was just so much bullshit and spite. Surely, Seven needed a chance to get their ship shape.

The commentary team of McAveney, Cometti, Schwarz & Watson has been fine. They probably aren't as slick as Nine's team, especially in the production department, but getting shot of Dermot and his tortured explanations is an immediate plus. Dennis was Dennis at Nine, and is still is Dennis at Seven. That is to say, polished, accurate, funny, the best footy caller in the bidness. Bruce has throttled the gush, at least most of the time, and has managed to suppress those urges to chuck in mindless stats when he has nothing better to say. Schwarz, who struggles to contain his inner fathead, has used that fatheadedness to advantage, bouncing off the two callers. Maybe he's the fall guy; if so, it's working. Pity his special commenting never tells you anything you don't already know. Still, he's not on his lonesome there. Watson is the least convincing, he needed a smack in the teeth for the way he barracked for the Bullies on Sunday, but he's competent, if irritating. The main complaint would be that they get rid of their bizarre rotation policy, leave that for CrickAussie. Put the four commentators in the box at once. Apparently, Bruce is the one demanding a three person team. No idea why everyone felt/feels the need to shitcan Ricky Olarenshaw, either. I mean, boundary riding is pants at best, Ricky is no better or worse than any other person that's ever done it. Even Doc Larkins, whose impact and worth have been continuously overstated. The ruckus over 'live' broadcasting is a load, too. The usual suspects and professional outragists jumped up and down when Seven showed Earl instead of StKilda/Brisbane live, but Nine were just as keen to delay their telecasts until 8:30 to maintain regular programming.

Few thought Seven would go back to the dismal dark ages of their nineties broadcasts, nor did many think they would throw the bells, whistles and kitchen sink a la Nine in the noughties. But in walking a path somewhere in between they've delivered, for me at any rate, a chummy, user friendly package. Although they could ditch those vertigo aerials.

WHAT'S UP, DOCK?

So, Bastard Boys. How was it really?

SHOPARAZZI

Minor rumpus over Bender Cousins being photoshopped. I posted the original photo back in March, but a slightly modified version was subsequently printed in the Australian. Slightly. See if you can spot the difference here.

THAT'S NOT A QUOTE, THIS IS A QUOTE

Tuesday night I took one for the team and watched 50/1 Great Fillum Quotes. The list was pretty much what you'd expect: "YB", "YA", "YGNABB", "YTTM?", "YCHTT"; you know, the usual suspects. The quotes ranged from the occasional goody to most being utter pants, but the best by far was not from a film at all, it was from the only grown up in attendance, Bill Collins.

No. 39 was Our Rusty from Gladiator: "At my signal, unleash hell." Yeah, I didn't know it was a quote either. Still, that didn't stop the Channel Nine staffers roped in for the publicity, Dick Wilkins, James Brayshaw, DB and SJ (I jotted down their initials, but can't remember their names), blathering on about how Rusty inspired them to all-but invade Channel Seven. Not so Bill. Dry as a desert dog he smirked:

"He spoke clearly."

"Didn't he win an Academy Award?"

"Congratulations."

No.1 with a ballot.

Bill also dismissed Forrest Gump's "LILABOC" with "I can't take it (the film) seriously. OR his box of chocolates."

The rest of the show confirmed just how much mediocrity loiters around Australian telly.

Bert Newton top-n-tailed. Surely Bert and his enormous, genetically modified bonce ought to be well into retirement. He also referred to Meg Ryan as a "great actress"; well, he is getting on a bit, the old boy.

Nick Giannopoulos, Vince Sorrenti and Vince Colosimo were the wogs in work. I like Colosimo, but Giannopoulos and Sorrenti spent most of the time demonstrating just how piss-poor they are at impressions. Giannopoulos also said The Shining's "Here's Johnny" was great because "Johnny Carson had never been on TV in Australia".

Peter FitzSimons is a dick.

Some fat guy called Tim made the odd point.

The Umbilical Brothers did, well, something or other.

Andrew Mercado said Titanic's "I'm the king of the world!" is a stupid line. Whoever he is, well said, Andrew. What's more, anyone with any sense should prefer Jimmy Cagney's "Made it, Ma! Top of the world!" from White Heat.

Jim Brayshaw anointed Dead Poets Society - "perfect film".

Apparently, Joh Bailey, Celebrity Hairdresser has an opinion worth sharing.

Amanda Keller did one of those things guaranteed to get on my tits. Relating another dumb anecdote, she boasted "everyone says I'm crazy", or words to that effect.

Tottie Goldsmith should be top ten in 50/1 Great Stupid Comments. Bemused by "shaken, not stirred," she asked "How would you shake a martini, anyhow?"

Meanwhile, here's the top 48 in full-ish:

48. "WWHHIAFTC." *
47. "YB!" *
46. "SHTMLF." *
45. "WOAMFG." *
44. "YGNABB." *
43. "WYGC?" *
42. "GM, GA, GE & GN." *
41. "NPBITC." *
40. "HYEDWTDITPM?" *
39. "AMS, UH." *
38. "ICHC. ICBAC. ICBS." *
37. "ITKOTW!" *
36. "STD!" *
35. "S!" *
34. "BOTG." *
33. "P, S, IWSM." *
32. "Y, A!" *
31. "E-E-E." *
30. "IAHLWSFV&ANC." *
29. "GM, V!" *
28. "ITAGIYPOAYJGTSM?" *
27. "TH." *
26. "IFTN ... TNFS." *
25. "YT, M." *
24. "IANAA! IAAHB!" *
23. "TFROFIYDTAF." *
22. "IBB." *
21. "WO, WO." *
20. "THHD." *
19. "ET, PH." *
18. "TNAK, TIAK." *
17. "T, IAFWNIKA." *
16. "ISDP." *
15. "LILABOC." *
14. "YTTM?" *
13. "MTFBWY."*
12. "TMTOL, BTNTOF." *
11. "HJ." *
10. "B,JB." and "S,NS." *
9. "DYFLP?" and "GA, MMD." *
7. "SMTM!" *
6. Selection from Casablanca. *
5. "IHWSH." *
4. "YCHTT." *
3. "IGTMHAOHCR." *
2. "ILTSONITM." *
1. "F, MD, IDGAD." *

PS: Does chutzpah rhyme with foot-spar, or (Lionel) hutz-par? Someone on the show used the latter.

PSS: Who knew that Mae West's "Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just glad to see me" was from 1978's Sextette? I thought that quote had been around for ever. And who's seen Sextette, anyway? Certainly, the thought of octogenarian Mae slutting it up in a seventies romp flop, is a thought I try very, very hard not to think.

FAB FIVE

Help. Norm wants you to name your five favourite Beatles songs. Stroll over there and pop something in his inbox, if you've nothing better to do.

There are posts I remember.

In My Life
A Day In The Life
Happiness Is A Warm Gun
I've Got A Feeling
What Goes On
You've Got to Hide Your Love Away
I'm Only Sleeping
Taxman
Hey Bulldog
Paperback Writer

Five? Ten? They're only numbers.

WORLD CUPDATE XIX: SQUASH BOLLOCKS!

REACTION ACTION

Hipsters. I hate hipsters. People, blokes in their thirties mainly, who wear tee shirts outside their windcheaters; who have that pathetic excuse for facial hair under their bottom lip; who go to cafes/restaurants for breakfast; who instead of going out for takeaway, go out for 'noodlebox'; who rave on about the Pixies; who, well, the list goes on.

Worst are those who tack "action" onto the end of everything. You know: picked up last night - got some love-action. That sort of rubbish.

Just stop it.

ROSE COLOURED GLASSES ... DURING THE MATCH!

There's this guy I know who's been a member of an AFL club cheer squad for thirty-five years. Lives and breathes his team. He hasn't missed a game since Round 8, 1973. He has a huge tattoo of the club's mascot on his chest. He has collected oodles of memorabilia, including every one of the club's football cards since the club entered the VFL. He named his son after one of the club's favourite sons. Not just Dick (Reynolds) or Hayden (Bunton) or Alex (Jesaulenko) or Jock (McHale) Bloggs, but the whole thing - Robert Flower The Teacher, for example. Not being completely obsessed, he left out the player's nickname. He revels in every bit of good press his club gets and vigorously scoffs at every bit of flack. He revels in every bit of flack the opposition cops and vigorously scoffs at every bit of good press. You might say he lacks perspective, or call him one-eyed, I call him relentlessly optimistic. A few seasons ago I asked him how his team was going to go that year. "Top four, for sure, Tone," he stated with absolute conviction. "With luck we'll snag the flag." They came bottom. Stone motherless.

He reminds me of CS.

BLUNDERPANTS

Went to trivia last night wearing my underpants back-to-front. That's not something I do very often.

As I was standing in front of the urinal, struggling to negotiate proceedings, the bloke beside me inquired "Lost your dick, mate?" To which I replied "It was here last time I looked."

And it was. Is.

Not in the toilet was a question "What is a nine letter word for a non-electronic police weapon?" We wrote truncheon, which was right. The table beside us wrote billy club, which was wrong because it is two words. Another team answered phone book, which is also two words, but was clearly the best answer.

LIGHT BLOGGING

A heavy month at work, so blogging could be light. "Riding high in April, shot down in May," as the philosopher Sinatra said. There'll be less of the considered, intelligent material you've become accustomed to, and more cheap tat like yesterday's post. It's also why I haven't been able to reply to many recent comments; and you know how much I value your, well, most of your comments.

Student shenanigans then. What my uncle, also a teacher, would call rabelaisian behaviour.

~~ "Mangiare."
~~ "What?"
~~ "Mangiare ... it's lunch ... munch." [Makes eating motion.]
~~ "Munch this." [Makes wanking motion.]
~~ "I said lunch, not snack."

Boom. Tish. I hope to come back tomorrow for three more comments.

LARD OF THE FLIES

"A kangaroo with cheese, please, and a large witchety grubs."

Fat Teens Can't Hunt

BBC Three is giving overweight, 16-19 yearr olds the chance to have the adventure of a lifetime.

We are giving ten teenagers the chance to face their biggest challenge yet - to survive for one month, hunting and gathering their own food, in the inhospitable terrain of the Australian outback.

The successful applicants will be living under the strict rules and diet of their hosts - an Aboriginal tribe in Australia. The teens will have to live life as it used to be: in the wild, on a natural and unprocessed diet. If they want to eat, they must first pick, dig, trap, kill and cook their food.

Warning: This is back to basics survival not for the faint hearted. These teens will be burning calories and losing weight, like never before.