17 things I still don’t get in 2013, no matter how hard I try

  1. Lean in
  2. Ryan Gosling
  3. James Franco
  4. People who still complain about their huge inbox
  5. The not very subtle practice of putting random numbers in headlines
  6. People who need to ask why Obama’s comment about Kamala Harris is offensive to women.
  7. Otherkin (including this man who wants to become a pad)
  8. That Reasons My Son is Crying is funny to some people (this kid is a turd) Continue reading

Of Wacky Funsters and student journalism

Rad Pads or sea sponges? It’s so hard to decide! From the Melb Uni Student Union website.

This anonymous piece about the newsroom culture of the Herald-Sun brought back many amusing memories of university life. In particular the kind of poorly presented, ill-considered, badly researched piece you can get into print. But that is what Uni is all about! Opinions! Idealism! Hotly debated hot hot hot arguments about Real Life! Continue reading

The Breaking of the Dry

The theme of this season’s bird magazine is about the end of the drought in most parts of the continent. The major spreads feature overflowing lakes, flourishing, flowering scrub and vast flocks of birdlife winging their way through the country.

And unlike a lot of our parched, scientific reports, the writing in this issue is pretty juicy. One tale is about a group of researchers trawling through mud to see Banded Stilts breed in Lake Eyre. Another is about the ‘vast rolling hills of budgies’ in North West Queensland. The feature is a photo essay about the hundreds of pastel-coloured Princess Parrots now squawking and scoffing and rooting in the red centre. It’s a good news angle in a world where there’s not often much to crow about (pardon the tired pun–my work is full of ‘em). In terms of look and content, this issue is pretty much where we want it to be. It’s taken a while to get to this stage.

Faithful readers of this blogge have known the Galloping Skirt to hurtle about in some pretty odd places: they’ve read about Boo the seeker of Brunswick’s historical truth, and Boo the game show master. They’ve ploughed through tales of Boo the keeper of secret and inappropriate crushes and Boo the not-so-secret admirer of Sikhs. They’ve seen Boo the up and they’ve seen Boo the very down.

But in all this time of writing there is one aspect of the Galloping Skirt they are yet to be acquainted with.

So. Are you sitting down? Good. Is it a nice strong chair, with oak armrests and sturdy upholstering? No? You’d better sit on the floor then. Wait–you’d better lie down, it’ll make it easier to digest this news. Hang on a bit–go get your mobile and place it next to your hand. And put a cushion under your head, in case you have a spasm. Comfy? Good. As a final precautionary measure you should gird your loins, for I have some interesting news:

I have a Gentleman Caller.

Happy birthday to the Skirt wot Gallops

It’s been three years since I started this travesty against good taste and the English language. In celebration, I thought I might give this site a bit of a spring clean and put my spanking new computer to the test. I love it. It’s a 24-inch screen iMac with all the latest whizz bang software upon it, including this addictive PhotoBooth application:

I also dug up a number of hideous yet compelling pictures of me, which I fashioned into headers entirely for your amusement. Be warned: there will be desert boots and stripy leggings. There will be undercuts and blonde streaks and kaftans and jungle boots. There will be a rich cornucopia of fashion spanning the 1980s all the way to the 1990s.

I’ll be tweaking the design a little over the coming weeks, but apart from that the content will be the same as always. I dare say there’ll be more silly dating stories. There’ll be further adventures of Oliver Reed as he cuts a swathe throughout Melbourne, confessions of past nerdery and tributes to men who wear cravats and sport beards. You’ll delight in names like ‘Ogden’ or ‘St. John’ and shudder at words like ‘gubernatorial’. The giddy highs! The poignant lows! All that crap in between!

As you were.

Philippines: the wrap-up (part 11)

I hightailed it back to civilisation after that, after two boiled eggs, a bottle of Sprite and a small argument with a weirdo at the bus station. In my sleep-deprived state I endeavoured to not let the experience colour my views of the Filipino gents, and found to my great relief it did not. I can say ‘well this could happen anywhere in the world’ because it HAS. The chaps continued to doff their silk toppers, arrange capes in puddles and exclaim ‘La! Demmed fine filly!’ as they had since I arrived.

However, the doors and windows of my hotel room were zealously latched from there on.

So how did I spend the remainder of my days in the land of Pinoy? I confess things were a little blah without a chum at one’s elbow. And I was at the centre of a slightly more curious, aggressive bunch of people wherever I went. I took myself off for a day’s snorkelling for the thousandth time. I visited one of those seedy, spore-smelling museums you get in remote places, which I enjoyed thoroughly (the dimmer the lighting, the crappier the display, the ruder the staff and the more mouldy the streaks of water running down the walls the more I likes them).

And then I made tracks for home. I have to say that while the Philippines didn’t set my pants on fire in the same way as, say India or Mali, it was a jolly d. place to see. I had all the usual pangs you get upon coming home: good gad these white people are unappealing. Why did that bloke look away when I smiled at him? Do I have to wait more than 10 minutes for this bus? Why are these noodles so expensive? etc etc

But there was plant and animal life ahoy. I ate seafood twice a day and swam non-stop. I bonded with me pal, and stored up heaps of holiday energy, enough to last the rest of the year. And I have a whole new appreciation of the earth’s crust.

Gearbox troubles – James Craig

Poor lassie! The moment she came through the heads, the gearbox broke, and now they have to send to Italy for parts! And is now berthed at Williamstown with nothing to do!! Everyone is very sad…

But note the topmost yard, right near the top of the mast?? I was there… And the bowsprit at the fore? I went to the end of that too.

A pause

I’m taking a leaf from Pomgirl’s Limey book and taking a break from the ole blogging over the next month. I need to concentrate on a few pressing things:

-marketing my business
-writing my book
-sorting out my shite in general (with the occasional shiver of me timbers, see below)

I find that I’m not getting a lot out of it at the moment, and am scraping to find the time and inspiration to a) write my own blog and b) read other people’s stuff. I think that if you can’t manage those two simple things, then you can hardly qualify as a blogger, eh?

But fear not! I’ll be back in November with all sorts of the usual stuff and nonsense, random thoughts, posturing, complaining and lifting up the scabs of life to see what’s underneath.