*insert catchy disco beat here*

i think very few songs are classic enough to have their own website.

*sigh* if only i had been alive during disco's death rattle. i wasn't even a glimmer of a thought in the minds of swen & the clown circa 1980. they were too busy attending pink floyd laser shows at the strasenburgh planetarium and the like.

please don't ask why i was wikipedia-ing funkytown in the first place...just trust that i have my reasons.

speaking of making moves to towns that are right for me, i will be heading back to the homeland of upstate NY on wednesday for two and a half weeks of summery bliss! the main focus of the trip is the wedding of one mary boom boom...who would have thought that a software engineer could tame that wildcat? good onya, jed. perhaps i will be proactive enough to post some bridal party photos here, but in all likelihood i will be too busy soaking up that northern hemisphere sun to give a damn.

until our next bit of aussie miscellanea...

toads for beer

for once, i wish we had a cane toad infestation in victoria. this would easily help me reconcile my drinking habit with my student income.

before you scoff at such a scheme, which actually promotes the humane euthanisation of the toads, please consider that one of the other suggestions was to organise a mass slaughter with golf clubs and cricket bats. the fact that this proposal came from a federal MP (that is, member of parliament) should give you a bit of insight as to the type of mentality we're dealing with here.

also worth noting: the fact that the RSPCA promotes the use of haemorrhoid cream to euthanise the toads; the antiquated aussie/british spelling of the word 'haemorrhoid', (welcome to the world of the public health scholar, where everything is all tumour, oestrogen, faecal, and diarrhoea about itself); and the fact that the locals were willing to compromise by placing said cream to the ends of their golf clubs. classic.

as most of you are likely unfamiliar with the origins of the cane toad scourge, let me direct you to the IMDb page of one of my favourite cinematic masterpieces. i own it on DVD, so let me know if you'd like to organise a personal viewing.

never trust a big butt & a smile

i am not ashamed to admit that i know pretty much every word to this song.

if you have any doubts as to the truth of the above statement, just ask the wodie who was around for my belated BBD obsession circa freshman year at GW. (and by belated i mean, seriously, like 11 years after the song came out).

the wodie is a bit of a poison fan herself, albeit in the bret michaels "every rose has its thorn" sense.

she subjected me to that song for a good 6 months or so, so methinks it was fitting that i subjected her to a bit of poison myself.

my cervix is not a subway platform...

...or a footscray* tram stop for that matter.

ladies, read here.
men, this link is for you.

(many thanks to the shofferhoffer for passing this bit of info along).

while this type of satire is delightful, it is painful to acknowledge the facet of truth in which it is steeped. exhibit A:



unfortunately, at the rate i'm going it seems as though my future husband will not only be holding a bare stem, but one that's been de-thorned and stripped with a vegetable peeler. good thing i am hoping to eschew the husband notion and shack up with my future partner in a sort of goldie hawn/kurt russell-esque de facto blasphemous cohabitation situation. will jesus still love me? does jesus actually care?

i applaud those of us whose cervixes (cervices?) manage to straddle the fine line between public toilet and spring-loaded steel bear trap.

*while the suburb of footscray has the dubious distinction of being one of the most undesirable places to live in the melb, it deserves credit for (oddly enough) housing the headquarters of lonely planet publications.