KerrieJean.com

Dear Julia,

I note you are about to turn 50……

…Just before what we all regard as sassy, silly September turns into odious, over-wrought October.

The worst thing you could do is let the the press,  judiciary, caucus, cabinet, opposition, border protectionists, goths, punks, pensioners, nudists [and, for that matter, people who like to rug up] let your current difficulties ruin what is – for all women – a  terrific achievement.

Because you’re so busy I’ve taken it upon myself to suggest what I think would be a fun – and appropriate – way to celebrate.

Venue:

If indeed you are still Prime Minister on September 29th, you’re seemingly spoilt for choice – The Lodge or Kirribilli House. 

I’m recommending neither.  

In a stunning display of access and equality not witnessed since Ben Chifley chose to bunk down in spartan Youth Hostel unisex dormitories during parliamentary sittings your televised fiftieth will be held in the backyard of your modest brick veneer cottage in Melbourne’s Western Suburbs.

Guest list:

One fifty-year-old red headed community-minded woman from every electorate in Australia.

That makes 150 guests.

['Ladies and gentlemen we are crossing to Altona where the PM's 50th birthday party is really hotting up....'
cr: National Library, Wales: flickr]

Google Earth tells me that facilities at Altona will be stretched but everyone should fit if the 150 community minded red-headed women aged 50 are all 100 kilos or less.

This might sound harsh – even discriminatory –  but no one wants their 50th marred by a big hole suddenly opening up in the lounge room or gazebo.     

Catering:

The representative fifty-year-old red heads bring one plate each.

The culinary theme?

Our coat of arms.

I can think of NO better visuals that 150 plates of emu and kangaroo inspired dishes.

To say the symbolism is potent would be an understatement – to wit:

‘It is thought the kangaroo and emu were chosen to symbolise a nation moving forward, reflecting a common belief that neither animal can move backwards easily.’ [ed's note: from Dept of Foreign Affairs website]

Drinks:

NO alcoholic drinks.

Giving hard liquor to 150 hot tempered 50-year-old red headed women [most with very little to lose] would be irresponsible to say the least.

Speakers:

NO speeches.

For what is there to say?

….That things get tricky mortality wise from now on in?

…..That men still find Helen Mirren in a bikini alluring - but not you?

……….That you should look on the bright side because if you’d be born in the 17th Century you’d have been dead long ago?

To reaffirm, NO speeches.

So Julia, what do you get out of my party plan?

Simple…..

The highest rating three hours of live television coverage in our history.

You finally cut through…….

At your historic prime ministerial 50th you stand up [sporting a pair of big red kangaroo ears] and say to the nation:

‘Thanks for comin’ along… all of youse…..’

History records that those seven simple words had a remarkable impact. 

And thus resumed in earnest what proved to be the longest tenure of any Australian Prime Minister – ever.

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Look, I think my plan is great but if you have any better ideas for Julia’s 50th I’m quite happy to hear from you.

Any remarkable memories from your fiftieth?

To tell you the truth mine was pretty low key. A couple of men came along but left early claiming terminal boredom. How rude can people get?

But anyway, let’s keep our levels of optimism up.

Afterall, life is what you make it……

And right now I’m fairly buoyant – expecting to hear any moment from the Department of Prime Minister and Cabinet’s protocol officers begging me to expand on my ‘Julia At 50′ proposal.

You?

As usual, feel free to report in.

You are very, very welcome but there’s no need for me to go on and on about it……is there……?

Do it by:

Just clicking on the ‘comment’ thingo and following the simple instructions. The place to write your gems is at the bottom of the last published comment. *A little bit of counsel for people new to this caper. Your email (just called ‘mail’ in this case) address does NOT come up on site. And just ignore the URL thingo.

Forgive me Bindi Boo…..

I thought we’d been landed with the most unrepentant foul-tempered family pet on the Pacific Rim.

I now know it wasn’t your fault:

You were depressed.

['I know how Bindi Boo felt': cr: Smithsonian: flickr]

*Ed’s note: I am on the email media release list for Dogs NSW. Spokesman Dr Peter Higgins recently warned that depression in dogs was a real problem but with proper treatment, outcomes were good. St Johns Wart can be helpful.  Signs of dog depression include changes in temperament, loss of appetite and over sleeping.

Like most things arriving in Hec Ross’s fibro palace – new fangled electric foot ticklers, cherry ripe ’seconds’ where the cherry ended up on the outside of the chocolate, bottles of beer which exploded on human contact -  Bindi Boo fell off the back of a truck.

Not a good start for any Australian Silky Terrier.

But Hec wanted his five lovely girls to love something other than Ray Brown And The Whispers, bad local boys and dirty books like ‘Papillon’ [ya know where he put those drugs, ya know where he put those drugs!]

If Dr Higgins had been active in dog mental health when Bindi Boo came to us all those years ago he wouldn’t have mucked around.

He would have told Hec to get Bindi Boo onto a depression fighting regime pronto.

‘Fifteen parts St Johns Wart, one part Pal twice a day Hec.’

Instead, Bindi Boo’s mood swings had a devastating effect on everyone.

One minute he was happily baring his little razor sharp teeth while trying to stick his head through the bars of poor old Cocky Ross’s cage.

Cocky Ross had enjoyed for many years a  quiet - though useless life - in his simple digs near the back door.

If anyone didn’t deserve this sort of unprovoked upset, it was Cocky Ross.

Then without warning, Bindo Boo would turn his crazed emotions on anyone brave enough to be in the backyard.

A mere ‘Hello Bindi Boo’ would see him spring into the air while letting out blood curdling staccato growls.

There followed precision ankle biting landings.

Everybody in my family had bandaged ankles  – and unseemly track marks on their arms from too many Bindi Boo generated tetanus shots. 

Dr Higgins warns that dog depression is also manifest in loss of appetite.

That was NOT our experience with Bindo Boo.

I think his untreated depression had quite the opposite effect.

Bindi Boo demanded – under threat of violence - more and more Pal. 

Fearing greatle what he might do if the answer was ‘no’, we all became Pal pushers.

Bindo Boo got fatter and fatter.

He let himself go which, looking back, would have only increased his anger and anxiety.

Knowing what I know now, I feel sorry that we misdiagnosed Bindi Boo as a ‘bloody awful dog’.

He was really a ‘nice dog’ trapped in a ‘bloody awful dog’s mind’.

I cannot save Bindi Boo.

But it’s up to all of us to closely monitor the mental health of our – and our neighbours’ – current pets.

Before things really get Well Beyond Bluey.

For new visitors, if you liked/hated this story – you probably will like/hate this one. The natural world – and all of its wonders – is a very big part of our ‘Living, Loving, Learning’ theme.

http://www.kerriejean.com.au/2009/03/what-bird-did-that/

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Everybody says the Dog On The Tuckerbox stayed there because he was loyal – but perhaps he was depressed……….isn’t that an awful thought?

Is your pet depressed?

Why not?

If your dog was depressed would you opt for St Johns Wart or go all out with traditional anti-depressants?

Would you be brave enough to ask your pet this straightforward question: Are you depressed?

Perhaps you don’t believe dogs get depressed. Why on earth not?

Write to me…….it’s free and it’s easy. Do it:

Just clicking on the ‘comment’ thingo and following the simple instructions. The place to write your gems is at the bottom of the last published comment. *A little bit of counsel for people new to this caper. Your email (just called ‘mail’ in this case) address does NOT come up on site. And just ignore the URL thingo.

Oh how the sexy….the dewy…..the comely…..the definitely-not-scungy…..have fallen………

And it’s not my fault……

Quite the opposite.

I’m refusing to participate on the grounds of dignity and inappropriateness.

Simply put, I am sick to death of sitting around tables groaning with rice crackers [as close to ingesting cheap foam eskies as you can get] and listening to what’s allegedly wrong – and what is surely going to go wrong – with bodies of a certain age.

['Can't wait to show you my latest snaps': cr: Keene & Cheshire County: flickr]

God help me, the bleatings are coming from reasonably intelligent women who, it seems, only last week were breathlessly outlining development blueprints for the Gaza Strip, declaring the Karma Sutra ’unchallenging’ ……

And  joyfully guzzling bubbles at rates wildly beyond those in Pacific Rim ’acceptable guidelines’ pamphlets. 

Now, x-rays of  twisted tibia, atrophied inner thighs, sagging sphincters, back-firing bosoms and flaky toenails are breathlessly passed around for urgent comment – and comparison.

Make no mistake though….

The diagnosis – for example – of Charlotte’s back-firing bosoms with distended underarms – is already in.

And it wasn’t a traditional practitioner of medicine who raised the alarm.

Charlotte’s back-firing bosoms with distended underarms are being closely monitored by her specialist herbalist [Gavin is a  'Basilist'] and, in a more holistic fashion, by her psychologist, Manfred.

The charismatic Manfred, from day one, was very direct.

‘I can’t do anything about back-firing bosoms with distended underarms,’ he said.

‘But you are obviously very angry, very bitter and I can help you with that if  you’ll just sit down, take a deep breath and try to act your age……..

‘ Try thinking about other people for a change………

‘Think about how they might see you……..

‘Think about why you’re not being asked out…..

‘Why even your family finds you current behaviour abhorrent………’

Isn’t Manfred just wonderful?

I am opting out of all middle-aged mind and body talk.

Unless it’s tumour-based or involves professionals in white coats armed with taser guns: very, very serious.

By the way, I’ve lost my glasses and am typing with my nose on the screen.

Never one to blow my own trumpet but this is professionalism of the highest order.

After I finish this piece, I will use Windex to clean my human [read 'natural'] residue from the screen.

But I won’t be pathologising what many of you may find an uncomfortable truth.

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If you liked/hated this little piece you might like/hate this one:

http://www.kerriejean.com.au/2010/05/culture-wars-bachelorhood/

My goodness…….my goodness me.

I’m glad I got that off my chest.

I really would be pleased to hear from sensible folks also sick of talking about trivial bodily thingos.

Have you been forced to drop friends because of it?

Or do you join in  [just to be sociable?]

If you’ve really got something very embarrassing happening with your bod, I guess I’ll read what you’ve got to say – and perhaps even offer some advice if I see fit.

So, write to Miss Kerrie Jean now because she really would like to feel of some use at this time of her life. Help her out by:

Just clicking on the ‘comment’ thingo and following the simple instructions. The place to write your gems is at the bottom of the last published comment. *A little bit of counsel for people new to this caper. Your email (just called ‘mail’ in this case) address does NOT come up on site. And just ignore the URL thingo.

The most conservative predictions are that even a 300 percent increase overnight in virgin olive oil exports cannot save Spain………….

And if Italy immediately launched a singing tomato onto a world crying out for novelty salad items  - it would count for nowt.

Last time, we were going down on the back of eight bedroom brick veneers in Pittsburgh revalued at $4,499….

Now, it’s even far harder to come to terms with.

For it’s the Siesta funster economies -  Spain, Portugal, Italy and Greece – in the International Court of Dire Straits.

[Siesta Aggression cr: US National Archives: flickr]

I knew, I just knew that the callous cogs of end-stage capitalism would catch up with the Siesta……

……That the ugly claws of commonsense,  the pincers of pragmatism would grope through the sweet lace curtains of modest casas and villas…….

….Cruelly poking and prodding millions of mamas and papas and most inappropriately, even Aphrodites and Adonis, deep in Siesta bliss……

…….Subjecting these soft folk to taunts of a most despicable nature.

‘No more Siestas, no more Siestas…….

‘No more, no more of the nifty napping of ones who toil gently till noon……

‘Then sup on prawns and squid and take libations of many colours….

‘Then  fall down – with subsidised UV cream from tip to toe – to take the Siesta ……..

‘No more Siestas, NO MORE  Siestas..!’

So……as you peruse your portfolio….. with eyes a-bulgin’ and legs-a-shakin’……….

Try to keep some composure.

Remember:

You’re only human…..

And one of the most human things is [and always has been] that when your little world is a-collapsin’ you gotta blame someone – or something………

Think about that composure.

Open your kitchen window – and shout:

I BLAME IT ON THE BLOODY SIESTA!

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There you have it………

Isn’t it strange?

More often than not we get our knickers in a knot trying to work out why certain things are happening - when all the time, it’s usually caused by something *pretty simple.

*The ageing process, of course, being THE big exception. Very complex. Very complex indeed……..

So……..have you experience of dangerous Siestas?

Perhaps even in situ…..?

Are you personally implicated in GFC Mark 68 because you’ve spent time in a Siesta-based culture and did nothing to change it?

Finally, are you going broke?

Please report in – it’s fun and best of all, costs nothing…….do it now, do it by:

Just clicking on the ‘comment’ thingo and following the simple instructions. The place to write your gems is at the bottom of the last published comment. *A little bit of counsel for people new to this caper. Your email (just called ‘mail’ in this case) address does NOT come up on site. And just ignore the URL thingo.

Monday 1700

Hypocrites Week Programme Released!

So, SO  busy am I…..

I’m only now in a position to release our Hypocrites Week programme of no less than THREE  power packed activities.

The great thing?

They can all be conducted in your workplace, home or car at a moment’s notice.

*Simply mount your work desk, car seat or home entertainment system –  and shout:

Hypocrites Week Activity…….come closer!

…..And away you go……….

Activity (1)

Give participants paper/tell them to write down the name of the Biggest Hypocrite in the office/lounge room/car.

Count.

Read out the name with the most votes.  Say loudly:

“It’s sure been a great Hypocrites Week journey for you but unfortunately today/tonight that journey has ended – and you’re going home [or somesuch].”

Monitor closely how the Biggest Hypocrite reacts.  VERY telling………

Hypocrites Week Activity #2

For two hours straight, loudly tell everyone you come across that you donate 46% of your income to charity…….and  would be doing even more if circumstances permitted.

Quickly walk away.

Count the percentage of  flummoxed and/or angry people who attempt to stop you.  Write down what they say. VERY telling……………

Hypocrites Week Activity #3

Inform your boss you’ll be off work for at least 17 weeks because you’re having a facelift purely in ‘the interests of enhancing corporate image’.

Fill in the relevant forms. Await call from Human Resources.

Write down what the HR operative says. VERY telling………..

Go to it! [And don't forget to tell us how you went]

*For those of you who haven’t yet registered for Hypocrites Week, read on!

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We are apparently deep within in A Frightful Era Of Hypocrisy……

…..Self-proclaimed environmentalists turning their modest cottages into solar powered residences the size of French chateaux ‘because their architects said anything smaller wouldn’t get the sun…….’  

……Women declaring the ageing process ‘liberating’ while their botox addiction reaches criminal proportions…….

……….Politicians declaring they’re very privileged to be in such positions of privilege but complaining bitterly about their grossly inadequate postage stamp allowances…….

Thing is: 

I am a Hypocrite.

[An attack of truth vapours: cr: Powerhouse Museum: flickr]

Further,  just like Mr Bierce [see below] I’m suggesting that getting about my daily business would be at best chaotic, at worst, nigh impossible if I wasn’t.

[Politeness, noun.  The most acceptable hypocrisy. Ambrose Bierce, The Devil's Dictionary, 1911]

For example:

I get invited to all-women Lingerie parties - and, being the sort of person Mr Bierce applauds, I go.

….Which is far better than ringing up and saying:

‘Don’t, don’t do this to me!  Don’t make me sit around – with a mouthful of jatz and a big pot of guacamole dip - oooooohing and aaaahing at NASA-manufactured bras and knickers with secret properties…please don’t.’

Or:

I run into folks who have not treated me kindly in past dealings.

They are of both genders and they’ve usually made nasty comments about my personal presentation.

Usually along the lines of: ‘I think women over 38 with long hair think they can get away with it…..but really, they are terribly misguided……terribly……’  

I say: ‘Hello’.

Which is far better than:

‘You, many years ago, hurt me like no other and now you must pay [flick hair in face].

So, I am sick to death of reading about how the wanton hypocrisy of politicians, parents, the Catholic Church [all right, all right could be a special case] botox addicts, meat eaters, steeple chasers….is threatening everything from drinkable water to orderly behaviour in  ‘12 items or less’ supermarket aisles.

I hereby declare ‘Hypocrites Week’ open………

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So, join in the ‘Hypocrites Week’ celebrations.

Suggestions for activities most welcome!

Or perhaps you’re NOT a hypocrite – very, very interested to hear about your lifestyle.

Throw caution to the wind. Report in now by:

Just clicking on the ‘comment’ thingo and following the simple instructions. The place to write your gems is at the bottom of the last published comment. *A little bit of counsel for people new to this caper. Your email (just called ‘mail’ in this case) address does NOT come up on site. And just ignore the URL thingo.

Can’t tell you exactly what number wave of Feminism we’re up to but I can tell you this…..

The biggest dumper ever has just rolled in.

….I get about and in my dealings I have one rule - and one rule only:

I’ll listen to anyone who’ll listen to me.

All this week?

Men of all levels of attractiveness [hideous to hot] all levels of income [$0 to $00000000000000]  and all levels of reactions to seeing me [titillated to deeply distressed] desperate to declare what they want in women……

And what they want is the world’s most ruthless pastry deflector, Wendi Deng.

[I quit! Cr: Daleberts: flickr]

Sure [I say] Miss Deng has the reflexes of a woman one quarter of  her husband’s age…..she presents quite well……she has a sweet smile when she’s not deflecting pastries……..

….But come now, what does Miss Deng have – other than a man with $$$$$ and very good contacts in British Telecom - that other women [just like me] do not have?

Sure [they say] but Miss Deng  fights for her man…….deflects dangerous pastries……packs mean punches…………

They all say: I want my woman to do that for me.

So, no less than a critical juncture – the ‘Deng’ moment – in the appalling  history of gender relations.

With studies showing that men still only wash up 1.7 % of available dirty dishes worldwide, they’re now refusing point blank to rescue any more damsels in distress.

And the new demand is that women come out swinging in their defence.

Je refuse.

I’ve been out with many, many, many men who kindly, kindly, kindly folk took it upon themselves to forewarn me about.

……..Too bald, too hairy, too nice, too horrible, too comfortabe, too wretched, too immature, far too immature etc, etc, etc.

And the kindly, kindly, kindly folk were right.

The behaviour of the too-this-and-too-that fellas could generally be described as ‘indefensible’.

But I never ‘did a Deng’.

Never defended the indefensible.

I just went round and picked up my quarter bottle of Mum, old cottontails,  favourite sports bra and latex balaclava – and cleared off.

Pride, ladies and gentlemen, pride.

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So now, men want women to defend them…….?

I don’t know – sometimes life is all too much……..

…..I was brought up on the Gallipoli story….

I mean, aren’t fellas supposed to come out swinging on my behalf?

Wendi Deng’s behaviour – and the way men have reacted to it - is very confusing……

Or is it just me…..?

Come out swinging……it’s [apparently] easy……..do it by:

Just clicking on the ‘comment’ thingo and following the simple instructions. The place to write your gems is at the bottom of the last published comment. *A little bit of counsel for people new to this caper. Your email (just called ‘mail’ in this case) address does NOT come up on site. And just ignore the URL thingo.