Want Me? I’m Everywhere. I’m Sex.

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Who vamps and struts?

Who clasps her breasts?

Want me?

I’m everywhere. I’m sex.

 …………………………………………………………….

Who sighs and writhes,

and tongues her lips,

from laptop screen to multiplex?

Want me?

I’m everywhere. I’m sex.

………………………………………………………………………………..

Beach Woman SilhouetteWe live in a culture wallpapered with sexual imagery. Images of sex are more wide spread than the panting and writhing pink pixels on a digital screen. Sexualised images appear on billboards, t-shirts, in magazines, on makeup counters, on backpacks, on baseball caps and even on the mudflaps of trucks. I’m not suggesting that all of this imagery is offensive, but simply that it is there. Sex is, in our culture, everywhere.

The Canberra Times 17 Apr 2013

Read more: Want Me?

Will We Ever Find a Cure for Stupidity?

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brain scanScience news dominated the media last week or managed, at least, an attention-seeking feline snarl in a Schrodinger’s Cat Scenario, which is, to anyone other than a smart arse of scientific bent, simply a paradox. President Obama announced major funding for neuroscientists to map the human brain. At the same time New Scientist ran a comprehensive article, which should have been titled ‘Why are we so stupid?’ but was tagged ‘Stupid is as Stupid does’. Suddenly, I got excited. Wouldn’t it be mind-blowing if those neuro-geeks could locate ‘stupid’ in the human brain!

The Canberra Times 10 Apr 2013. Read more here: Will We Ever Find a Cure for Stupidity_?

What constitutes a real memory?

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-tv-pic

What we’re gonna do right here is go back, way back, back into time … After 40 years collecting dust, I stumbled on that line (from the 1972 hit song Troglodyte) in the cramped attic of my memories when I started to write this article. The association is obvious because today we’re going back in time to look at the influence of television programs on your memory.

I want you to rummage in your own dusty attic of curiosities to answer this question. Do not Google it. What is your favourite TV show of all time? Dada da-da-da dada – that’s thinking music. This show was your must-see show, the one you cancelled all appointments to watch. Now you would click record on your hard drive. Once you couldn’t miss the show. If anyone in the room had a heart attack during that show, they had to wait for your attention. Some things in life are sacred.

Read more @ The Canberra Times 3 APR 2013: What Constitutes a Real Memory?

What Next for the Whatever Generations?

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Illustration: Caroline Adaszynski

Illustration: Caroline Adaszynski

Today we’re going to have a little lesson in ethics. The problem with ethical choices today is that there are so many shades of grey we get lost in the fog. This is especially true of the generations dubbed Gen-X and Gen-Y. These generations were born into an era when our culture was diversifying – hallelujah! Pass the spicy chicken laska – to include gay, lesbian, feminist, indigenous, ethnic, religious, disabled and other rights and when conservative community values were poleaxed by political activism, the sex, drugs and rock’n’roll culture, mass media and mass marketing. Any adult under, say, 50 years of age, whether they like it or not, belongs to Gen-X or Gen-Y. I prefer to call them the Whatever Generations because, faced with a simple ”Do you want Maccas or pizza?” or even complex ethical choices, they shrug their shoulders and say, ”whatever”!

Read more @ The Canberra Times 27 MAR 2013: What Next for the Whatever Generations?

A party for the ages

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Picture 2Vote for SALPP, the Solve All Life’s Problems Party. Do you get distressed when you can’t remember which pin number belongs with which credit card? Do you get frustrated when you find yourself hovering in front of your kitchen bins unsure if the item you’re holding should go in the recycle or rubbish bin? Do you get really angry when your Wi-Fi drops out because you own a dodgy router? If you answered ”yes!” to any of these questions, then I have the political party for you.

Yes, indeedy. And if you get really irritated by people who mangle the English language by bastardising proper words to chortle ”indeedy” or sprout idiotic acronyms like ”LOL” then we can solve that problem for you, too. Yes! The SALP Party is a new force on the political scene. Just when you were too afraid to go back into the polling booth in case you screamed with rage at the mere sight of the major party candidates’ names or slumped into an instant boredom-induced coma and ended up in a chaotic tangle of polling booth cardboard, a new party has emerged to give you hope, faith and free stuff. Yes! We at the Solve All Life’s Problems Party, or SALPP, have policies designed just for you. Our motto is: SALPP is on the Way.

Read more @ The Canberra Times 20 Mar 2013: A party for the ages

Vote 1: Kerry for Pope

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cardinals

The College of Cardinals

Apostolic Palace

Vatican City State  00120

…………………………………………

Dear Your Graces,

I believe a vacancy is about to arise in your esteemed organisation and I forthwith put myself forward for consideration for the position of Pope for the 21st Century.

My credentials for the position are extensive. I have read The Da Vinci Code. So I’m fully aware of the lunatic nature of albino monk assassins and the dangers of carrying anti-matter in the papal helicopter (or was that Demons and Angels) and I’ve seen all the Godfather films, which, as you know, involve influential catholics.

The Canberra Times 20 Feb 2013. Read more here: Vote 1 Kerry for Pope

10 reasons why, if you are sick, you should visit your Vet and not your local hospital

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hospitalTwo members of the Cue household have just been through the medi-go-round. One came out dazed and bleeding, the other chirpy and bouncing. The tale begins with our little dog, Tuppence. She is 12 years old, which is 84ish in dog years. She has been hospitalised with pancreatitis, bladder stones and a cruciate ligament replacement. Now she has congestive heart disease and is on heart meds, but bouncing.

My beloved HRH (His Royal Hairiness) is pushing 10 dog years. He’s had two angioplasties, by-pass surgery and a stent. He’s suffered dizzy bouts or Transient Ischemic Attacks, which means ‘something’s wrong with your head, mate, but buggered if we know what it is’. They stopped. Last week he had a ‘little’ prostate op in a private hospital, supposedly, an overnighter. Something went horribly wrong. At 3am he started having fits. The fits became so violent he was likely to badly damage himself.

The private hospital didn’t have a doctor on duty at night.

The Canberra Times 30 Jan 2013. Read more here. Vet vs Hospital

When Life’s No Picinic

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Illustration: Jenny Bowman

Illustration: Jenny Bowman

Idyllic summer days and leisurely family picnics go hand in glove like, um, hands in gloves.
When I was a youngster in the ’60s, however, a picnic with my family was more akin to throwing down the gauntlet to the fates.

Our father stood by the pink, open driver’s seat door of our old maroon FE Holden, snapping orders as we elbowed our way onto the clammy vinyl of the back seat. ”You sit there and look out that window. You sit there and don’t you touch him. Tuck your elbows in. I don’t want any carry-on during this trip or I’ll wring your bloody necks.” There we sat in our cotton shorts, T-shirts and plastic sandals, me, my three brothers and one other kid, with our bare legs clinging to the vinyl seat, waiting for our mother to turn up with the baby so the adventure could begin.

But our mother was always distracted by some last-minute fussing, as our father stood drumming his fingers on the roof of the Holden, calling out ”Kath, hurry up. We’ve got to get going.” When our mother finally arrived with food in a basket – there were sandwiches and fruit in the tartan metal Esky in the boot – our father planted his foot on the accelerator as she struggled to close the door. We were off on our adventure.

Read more @ The Canberra Times 8 Jan 2012: When Life’s No Picinic

Welcome to Hollyweird

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hollyweirdThis is a summer piece with a twist. Rather than review the holiday film schlock, I’m going to describe three films I’d like to see. They’re of the Hollywood blockbuster ilk, with an ethical dilemma at the core raising questions such as, ”is it ethical to force males or females to take hormones for the survival of the species?”, ”if the Pope gained office by corruption, is he still infallible?” and ”is it morally acceptable to kill to stop others killing?” Here are the film plots:

Darwin’s Dead
In this action thriller, the latest N1H17 virus has a strange impact on humanity. It reboots junk DNA in the human foetus. Women start giving birth to stocky, thick-browed hairy babies, then to long-limbed ape-like creatures. Finally a woman gives birth to an Axolotl-like air-breathing fish. Panic erupts.

Read more @ The Canberra Times 1 Jan 2012: Welcome to Hollyweird

In Search of an Aussie Hero

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SkippyWhy do we Aussies get so carried away with the word ”hero”? On the one hand, any Aussie, who has won a garish plastic trophy or a middling beribboned medal in, say, the South Poowong Rugby League or the Synchronised Gargling at the Pub Pong Olympics, is a hero, a bloody hero, mate. We don’t care if he does drugs, takes bribes or wins Dickhead of the Day by running around naked with a lit firecracker up his bum; if he wins and gets away with it, he’s a hero, a bloody hero.

On the other hand, what with the droughts, the fires, the flooding rains and being girt by sea and all, we Aussies do need heroes and, thankfully, these men and women turn up at the worst of times and earn their pat on the back. So the job description for the occupation of Aussie Hero ranges from ”drunken yob” to ”risking your life for others”.

Meanwhile, if we had a Heroes Hall of Fame, you would hear the echo of your own footsteps as you walked down a hollow empty hall that boasted three inductees: Don Bradman, Phar Lap and Ned Kelly. Not one of them risked their life for the benefit of mankind or even saved a stray cat from up a gum tree, but they are heroes, mate. We respect our VC winners. But we don’t put them on a pedestal. Name one. So drunken yobs, dickheads, bushrangers, batsmen and a horse are our heroes.

Read more @ The Canberra Times: In Search of an Aussie Hero