laina down under

they're always after me lucky charms

2008-02-08T17:02:00.000+11:00

this is the type of media coverage that, on a certain level, makes me long for my home country. at the same time, it also makes me glad that i am no longer subjected to fox news even though i am living in the country that spawned rupert murdoch. while the story seems to be from a quaint local news station (sans the southern twang we might expect), it smacks of something fox news would have pulled from its proverbial asshole.

i'd also like to point out that the amateur sketch bears a striking resemblance to james carville, albeit if he lost the glasses and donned some sort of bowler hat.

many thanks to the wodie for discovering this fine example of journalistic integrity.

and on a related note...

reasons why i am proud to be a pseudo-australian

2008-02-05T16:58:00.000+11:00

i have been meaning to discuss this article for quite a while but, as usual, life and working for The Man have gotten in the way. (alvin purple also stood in my way for a few hours last night, but that was an entirely pleasurable detour as i'm all about campy 70s sex romps).

my ideas are barely in the blastula phase of development, but i am thinking about somehow molding this proposal into the topic of the research project that will be consuming my life for most of 2008. the link between population control and climate change is certainly politically timely, and i love the idea of tax and carbon credits for contraception. it may turn into a bit more of a philosophical discussion than i'm willing to tackle, and may make me yearn for the simple days when gonorrhea or anal sex were more likely to be the topics of my research, but i think this is an idea that i need to gestate for a bit before deciding whether or not to abort it.

i need to stop writing before i am tempted to include any more ill-advised puns in this post.

reasons why i am glad i am not canadian

2007-12-13T17:46:00.000+11:00

so i haven't posted in approximately 5 months. this is due to a variety of reasons, some school-related, some work-related, some booze-related, some relationship-related, some "hey! a computer virus stole my bank account info and transferred all my money to the middle east via arizona"-related, some "hey! some bogan punks broke into our house and stole our computers"-related. in any case, it's been an eventful southern hemisphere late winter/spring.

my mind has been churning in efforts to come back with a bang, with a post or anecdote that is truly extraordinary. and thanks to the ladies at go fug yourself, and to shofferhoffer for alerting me to the existence of their recent post, i think the time has come. it is also especially timely as i will be returning to north america for three whirlwind winter weeks of holiday celebrations and will be a mere hour's drive from the canadian border.

after watching this, i feel that one hour's drive is all too close.

enjoy.

every week is shark week in australia

2007-07-12T12:01:00.000+10:00

this post is dedicated to my old chum (pun not intended until i did some proofreading and noticed it and saw how awesome it was) from upstate, peter, who loves shark week like no other. he is planning his '08 sojourn to the melb around next year's shark week (which should make me feel slighted but doesn't), and instructed his office assistant to make him one of those construction paper chains where you rip off one of the links for each day leading up to a specific event, the event in this case being shark week. he will then celebrate the end of the chain with a trip to legal seafoods.

peter also hates anything to do with menstruation.

why am i mentioning this?

check out the last bullet under the subheading "in popular culture."

i truly hope i haven't shattered his worldview.

oh my god, i'm back again

2007-07-11T12:09:00.000+10:00

for my first back-in-oz post, i'd like to introduce the concept of all-you-can-eat souvlaki, often abbreviated souva because we can never let any word go without a diminuitive around these parts, can we?

then i'd like to direct your attention to what souva-makers apparently like to do in their spare time, which seems about right for those who have decided to make skewered meats their life passion. (please note that the link on the page is for their "achievement"; someday i hope these resourceful souvlakieers will find another world record to break so that we can change that to the more prestigious-sounding "achievements").

many thanks to google ads for providing a link to this establishment with an email concerning lunch tomorrow that had absolutely nothing to do with souva, zorba, or greece in general. unless threshermans is owned by greeks? no? didn't think so.

and please pardon the comic sans on ozvlaki's home page. let's not get shofferhoffer all riled up.

insert catchy disco beat here

2007-06-18T20:36:00.000+10:00

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

2007-06-12T19:22:00.000+10:00

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

2007-06-07T11:23:00.001+10:00

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...

2007-06-06T21:36:00.000+10:00

...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.

live simply/run wild

2007-05-26T12:51:00.000+10:00

suck on this, barbie.

call me when you come complete with a bag chock-a-block with home grown "herbs."

meet my bro, john so

2007-05-25T17:51:00.000+10:00

one of the cuddly creatures in this photo is melbourne lord mayor john so, best known for being named world mayor of the year in 2006 and for having an entire hip hop song devoted to him, appropriately entitled "john so, he's my bro."

can you guess which one?

i think this is a good visual clue as to why he is so beloved around these parts, enough to have a genuine cult following. puts giuliani to shame. this blog could not truly be about melbourne without giving ol' so a mention.

(unfortunately, i'm sure you guessed correctly: so is the chinese man on the left. however, it would be quite awesome if the actual mayor was the guy in the furries outfit and the other guy was just an unwitting asian man hanging out at the dumpling mecca on tattersall's lane. a girl can dream).

what's that...?

2007-05-13T17:42:00.000+10:00

shofferhoffer first told me about this commercial a few months ago, and last night i saw it on t.v. for the first time. i love it so much, for so many reasons. it may take a minute to load, but be patient because it is worth it.

here is an article with a bit of background information. pure brilliance.

another great ad, which obviously hits on a different level but is no less clever, is this one from the economist.

just when i thought i couldn't love radiohead or the economist any more than i do already, i realise that i am sorely mistaken.

indignation station

2007-05-09T19:06:00.000+10:00

screw this.

i've done my time, flown back & forth incessantly, spent thousands of dollars, spent more time at o'hare and LAX than any sane person should. (and trust me, you haven't truly experienced hell until you've navigated your way through the freak-encrusted maze that is the tom bradley international terminal on no sleep with two giant suitcases and nauseous from not eating anything for hours. it's like f**king wonderland in there, and you're the unwitting alice). i've done everything save give john howard the hummer of a lifetime in order to stay in this place. and yet, it turns out that all i needed to do was organise an internet petition. what a fool i am!

i'm going to start my own petition on behalf of all the poor americans i know that deserve that citizenship more than snoop.

then i'm going to pray that he doesn't come kill me.

i should be doing work, but...

2007-05-06T14:44:00.000+10:00

at long last, i have found some delightful individuals who enjoy a google image search even more than i do.

let's be friends.

insert generic techno beat here

2007-05-04T22:08:00.000+10:00

those of you who were not active in the rave scene of the early '90s (which is, hopefully, most of you as most of my readership is in the early 20s age range and i don't know of anyone with a sordid pre-teen past) probably do not know that my adopted hometown has its own dance move. when i was here the first time i thought the locals just danced like assholes, but then i learned that the genre actually has a name: the melbourne shuffle.

sit back, relax, and grab your glow sticks because you're about to be schooled:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FWdtZTbgXcM&mode=related&search=
(you can fast forward until about 30 seconds in. there's some sort of rogue animation at the beginning).

i need to hook up a melb shuffle sensai to teach me these moves, mainly so i can go home to the clubs in america and bust out with this tomfoolery while everyone else is dropping booty.

it's like the harlem shuffle, only...not. i don't think the rolling stones will be writing a song about this anytime soon.

"a growing epidemic that really ain't fly..."

2007-05-01T23:35:00.000+10:00

an open letter to my female brethren,

enough is enough. get your act together, fools.

we have already discussed your ill-fated fashion choices of late, and i didn't think i'd have to regulate nate-dogg-and-warren-g-style again so quickly. however, you have failed me. more importantly, you have failed common decency. apparently i need to articulate another fashion rule-of-thumb to follow, which is as follows:

leggings are only, i repeat, ONLY to be worn as an undergarment, and should be paired with a top or dress that hits the leg at no higher than mid-to-upper thigh.

this advice seems to be fairly straightforward, but you'd be surprised as to how many seemingly knowledgeable women use leggings as a replacement for pants. this is an unforgivable faux pas as it provides the perfect breeding ground for one of fashion's great transgressions: the camel toe. ladies, i am neither a zookeeper nor a bedouin, and therefore should not expect to see camel toe on a regular basis. however, lately it seems as though every time i look around (insert OMC song lyrics here...i completely forgot until just now that they are kiwis) there's a vagina staring back at me. do you enjoy exposing the outline of your vulva to the rest of society? is it not a nuisance to constantly pluck lycra and spandex from your labial folds?

let me elucidate that i am not vilifying the leggings trend as a whole. i am, in fact, quite the proponent and own a few pairs myself. anyone who knows me knows that i enjoy the comfort of loungewear above all else, and will gladly accept any opportunity to make such clothing acceptable going-out attire. (not that it ever stopped me when it was unacceptable). however, all i needed was one quick glance in the mirror at my ass & gams encased in a blend of natural and synthetic materials to know that an outer layer was necessary. i just wish others would be so kind.

(i'd also like to apologise as apparently i should be broadening my derision to the male segment of the population as well. it seems as though leggings transgressions know no gender boundaries. unless he's wearing a codpiece, that deftly-placed jacket is most likely hiding a moose knuckle. regardless, homey don't play that).

chapter one: in which laina makes a brief stop at procrastination station

2007-04-27T17:48:00.000+10:00

why, hello friends.

it's been a while since i wrote anything of substance, and i apologise for my absence. i have had plentiful experiences resulting in anecdotes worth sharing, just no time in which to recount them with a sufficient degree of snarkiness. i will pretend as though my time has been spent with the things i should be doing (namely, writing an essay on sex workers and another on community health workers) but in actuality most of my efforts have been focused on the following:

1) addressing the fact that one day i will meet john krasinski and woo him with an irresistible combination of wit, charm, and an ass that won't quit, even though swen seems to think he looks like baloo. (and shofferhoffer cannot be angry at me for stealing her man as she has placed dibs on gael. everyone's a winner here).
2) gloating over the fact that, despite the wodie's assertions, ian "the thorpedo" thorpe is a) not gay and b) required to shave off all his body hair in order to wear his high-tech bodysuit, thereby disproving her hypothesis that the suit was just a mechanism to prevent him from taking a razor to his chest. this is a particularly sweet victory for me since this debate has been going on since age 14? 15? probably around the time we found out about her schoolgirl crush on greg kinnear, but that is a story for another time.
3) spending too much time on iTunes purchasing music that i've been meaning to buy for ages.
4) starting to become involved with a grass roots health organisation. (actually, that was just last night, but i needed an excuse to throw some info out there).
5) being cranky with one of my favourite writers for descending into the pit of redundancy and predictability, but then regaining my faith in humanity when he revealed he still has some tricks up his sleeve.
6) eating an entire jar of nutella in 3 days.
7) inadvertently stumbling upon perhaps the greatest music video of all time.
8) losing my faith in humanity again after this feeble attempt to garner street cred. oh yeah, and this one, too. don't even get me started on laura. i think her lack of rhythm is indicative of her lack of one of these but, again, a subject for a later date.

and with that, i must get back to those pesky hookers. until next time...

why don't you all fffffade away....

2007-04-18T12:27:00.000+10:00

two of my greatest pleasures in life are the who and smart-ass geriatrics, so this is pretty much right up my alley.

make sure you watch the entire video as the ending is potentially the best part.

people are strange

2007-04-13T13:48:00.000+10:00

while my life is too hectic at the moment to write as much about this article as i would like, i feel the need to make sure the world hears about it. i guess we all need a cause. the last paragraph is also a nice touch.

RIP lizard king, you and your tight pants and delusions of grandeur and palpable sexual energy.

easy like sunday morning

2007-04-09T00:35:00.000+10:00

like anyone with taste buds and an appreciation for lazy weekend mornings (or...let's face it...afternoons), i love a good brunch. combine delicious sustenance with the appropriate company and ambiance and you have just the recipe for culinary nirvana.

which is essentially what i reached this easter morning at mart 130, melbourne's best brunch according to this renowned epicure. the location is an old tram station at stop 130 (hence the name, mart being tram spelled backwards; please note the backwards "r" in the sign a la toys 'r' us), which was unexpectedly awesome and very "fried green tomatoes," minus the racial and lesbian overtones. i think a companion of mine said it best when he stated that he'd feel comfortable sitting on the front porch with a beer and a shotgun. it has that type of down-home facade, but with yuppie sensibilities. we sipped tea and lattes while reading the roster for the melbourne comedy fest and discussing the circa 1972 globe on our table (i.e. bangladesh was still east pakistan and zimbabwe was rhodesia. nothing like a hearty portion of british colonial interests in the morning).

besides the bonus points for locale and decor, the food that i had the privilege of devouring was both delectable and more-than-reasonably priced. the shofferhoffer and i split corn fritters (layered with aussie-style bacon, tomato relish and sour cream) and a B.L.A.T. sandwich (an improvement upon the classic B.L.T. with avocado and a generous smear of pesto mayo). i am still drooling over it despite the fact that i've been eating for about 12 hours straight today. most of the other members of our party went for some sort of version of eggs with toast, all of which looked wonderful. unfortunately, we were all too occupied with our own meals to do much active sampling, but i can safely say that a return visit is imminent and i will be sure to expand my repertoire.

the single downside is that they don't have mimosas, but i am not allowed to bitch as it is not really a common australian brunch custom. i might smuggle in my own piccolo of champagne next time to mix with the organic OJ they have on offer. i think the only thing that could have improved my experience at this establishment is a slight vitamin C and champagne buzz. however, we had planned for just such an occurrence and had plenty of vino chilling in the fridge back home for our later pursuits. i think jesus would have wanted it that way.

jonesin' for some man meat

2007-04-03T11:43:00.000+10:00

can you smell that? that aromatic mix of testosterone, athleticism, homoeroticism, and perfectly sculpted biceps? it can only mean one thing: it is once again footy season in melbourne.

i had grandiose plans to commemorate this event with a whole host of photos of shirtless AFL players, enough partial nudity to potentially get this blog removed from the web once and for all. i mean, go big or go home, right? like footy shorts, this blog hopes to leave very little to the imagination and i, for one, think we need to embrace that sort of brazen perspective. however, i have been thwarted by occurrences beyond my control, and i would like to take this time to both explain and, i suppose, justify the reason why there is no shirtless AFL player staring you down at this very moment, with his piercing eyes and meaty thighs and abs out of which you could lick chocolate syrup/honey/whipping cream/vegemite/a combination of the above...but i digress...

during my first stint in the melb circa 2k4, i was not-so-innocently perusing the internet when i stumbled upon the veritable mecca of scantily-clad footballers: shirtlessafl.com. after my reluctant return to america i became a regular visitor; every time i felt a pang of longing for australia or a wave of frustration as to why our own athletes couldn't be as well-endowed, i would stop by that website and know that all was right with the world. besides the obvious reasons why such a creation would be fantastic, the OCD facet of my personality would like to note that the creator clearly put some TLC into the layout and design. all the photos were categorised appropriately and it was quite an easy site to navigate. it was, in a word, perfection.

so imagine the pain that gripped my solar plexus the day i attempted to quickly peruse shirtlessafl and found this. where once there were heaps of muscles and bare skin as far as the eye could see, now were strange advertisements and absolutely nothing footy-related (or, more importantly, naked man-related). ever the intrepid googler, i quickly found out that the gay community was also up in arms about the situation, so at least i was not alone in my plight. in my frantic state, i even happened upon a site that claimed to feature the armpits of afl players, but it had also been taken off the web. (it seems as though they were catering to a very specific subset of the population, but perhaps armpit fetishists are more abundant than we think. has anyone ever seen the movie flirting with disaster?)

the best site i have found to date is the photo gallery at gayfooty.com.au (i really hope the government is tracking my internet usage: "well THIS is an interesting turn of events..."), and it even provides a clue as to why shirtlessafl was taken off the web. apparently the photo gallery at this new site came under fire for copyright issues and because some of the photos may or may not have been taken without permission. i also think that the players were none too pleased about having their photos strewn about a gay website, but i'm just reading between the lines. there is certainly potential that shirtlessafl was removed from the web for the same issues, but at this point in time it remains a mystery.

i implore you to bear with me while i attempt to navigate this newly treacherous terrain. someday soon, when you least expect it, i will begin to post shirtless photos of my favourite footy player du jour. if all goes well, i may even attempt to organise something on a regular basis, a more erotic version of this site. i'm hoping that some more google sleuthing will provide the fodder that i need. however, as i am not sure how much more gay porn i am willing to sift through, i am fully prepared to take one for the team and stalk around the locker rooms at the MCG with my camera. watch for me on the evening news.

an open letter to the female hipster population

2007-03-23T22:27:00.000+11:00

to whom it may concern,

it has come to my attention that an unlikely pathogen is poised to organise an assault on our collective fashion immune system. in the interests of both my own personal tastes and a general concern for public welfare, i am using my (lowly) position in the blogosphere to encourage my readers to arm themselves with the necessary prophylactics. i am talking, of course, about the resurgence of the mia-farrow-circa-rosemary's-baby haircut.

in light of these findings, i think we need to keep one general rule in the back of our minds: unless you have specific plans to gestate and squeeze one of satan's offspring out of your birth canal, this hairdo probably isn't for you. unfortuately, every token scenester with a sack dress and black tights seems to think that they can disregard this simple advice. have we learned no lessons from the skinny jean uprising of 2006? just because something is in vogue at the moment doesn't necessarily mean that it is the best choice for everyone. that is part of the beauty of fashion - not everything looks good on every person, but we pick and choose and run with what works best for us individually.

let me take time now to fully acknowledge those rare, luminous, pixie-like individuals who actually look their best with short haircuts. halle berry is one who automatically springs to mind, and michelle williams seems to rock it appropriately enough, albeit bearing a more-than-slight resemblance to a bavarian hausfrau in this particular photo. (do you think she could fetch me a pretzel? or a franziskaner?) i'm sure we all can think of one or two people in our lives who have been blessed with the specific bone structure and facial features that allow this phenomenon to take place. however, in all likelihood, most of the individuals who fit into this category have probably figured it out by now. yes, i'm sure there is a whole community of people out there who are languishing under the weight of their flowing tresses, not yet realising that with just a few quick snips of the shears their lives could be transformed beyond imagination. i just highly doubt they are all frequenting the same melbourne back-alley hangouts on a thursday evening.

now is the time for preventive measures. let's halt this coiffure groupthink before it gains a foothold and can never be eradicated. stop the tomfoolery, ladies. explore your individuality, expand your horizons, push your personal boundaries. just don't pretend to be avant-garde when in reality you're just one of a horde of 21st century fembots (minus the all-important hot pants and 9 mm nipples).

there was something in the air that night...

2007-03-20T00:09:00.000+11:00

i am not ashamed to admit that last night we went to see these fine entertainers, complete with faux swedish accents and bad 70s hairdos.

and where, might you ask, did we have the privilege of viewing such talent? why, the melbourne zoo, of course. (this explanation makes the above photo moderately less creepy, emphasis on the word moderately. there is no feasible explanation for those capes).

speaking of creepy, doesn't the gentleman on the right bear a striking resemblance to david spade? after some thought, i realised that it could very well BE david spade, because whatever happened to him anyway? it seems as though he has dropped off the face of the earth, and australia is about as close as you can get to dropping off the face of the earth without actually defying gravity, so maybe i've outed him. maybe he has changed his name and converted to the cult of abba like when cat stevens converted and changed his name to yusuf islam.

silly david. first capital one commercials, and now this? oh how the mighty have fallen.

note to self: never trust a dentist with bad teeth

2007-03-13T20:51:00.000+11:00

this sunday was the one year anniversary of the death of slobodan milošević. (don't ask how i managed to put those crazy accents in there. let's just say i am a blogger genius. or i copied and pasted from wikipedia. six of one). to commemorate this event, i have decided to share one of my favourite stories involving my housemate/homegirl, the indomitable lindsay shofferhoffer. please note that names have been slightly altered to protect the not-quite-innocent, and i have not obtained express written consent to share this story from either party. regardless, methinks they will be honoured to have their 500 words of fame in the blogosphere.

i first met lindsay here in the melb in feb. 06, after being introduced via e-mail (how quaintly dorky) by a mutual friend. she stayed at melbourne uni's graduate house for her first few months in the city, a residential college of sorts for members of the university's postgraduate community who had yet to secure/no desire to secure their own housing. the g-house rent was ridiculously high, but for your money you received two meals each day and a healthy dose of eccentricity from the incredibly diverse community housed within its walls.

i am sure lindsay could write a novella about the variety of people encountered during this heady time, but for now we will stick to the story at hand. the antagonist: a middle-aged dentist from serbia who (ironically, as lindsay is always quick to point out) has really really bad teeth. obviously this isn't the best advertisement for his skills in dentistry, but perhaps that's why he was furthering his education at melb uni. at any rate, i am ashamed to note that i actually have no idea what his real name is. from day one, lindsay & i merely referred to him as "the serbian dentist." maybe it's better that way. let's call him s.d. for short.

the morning of 11 march (actually, considering the time difference it was probably 12 march), as news of slobodan's dubious death reached australia, lindsay strolled down to breakfast and spotted s.d. sitting alone at a table. after gathering some food, she plopped down next to him, gave him a playful nudge, and said,

"hey! bet you're glad ol' milošević is dead, huh? all the war crimes & genocide & stuff. eh?"

s.d. looked up slowly from his breakfast, tears welling in his eyes, and quietly responded,

"he was a great leader."

as he goes back to eating, lindsay proceeds to open her mouth and insert her own foot.

in the interest of full disclosure, i will confess that the tears never happened; i just felt the need to take some dramatic liberties with the story. i also found out (via the dirty seductress that is wikipedia) that apparently s.d. is not alone in his opionions. who knew there was a whole well-organised community of them out there? perhaps s.d. himself is a covert ICDSM member. i suppose we'll never know. what i DO know is that i think saying slobodan was a great leader is a bit like saying the janjaweed are great horsemen and no dentist, serbian or otherwise, will ever change my mind.

at any rate, it makes for a hell of a good story, and one that i will never, ever let shofferhoffer live down.

looking for love in all the wrong places

2007-03-09T15:38:00.000+11:00

many thanks to lindsay, my parner in crime, for stumbling upon this website on a lazy friday afternoon:

http://www.weirddatingmail.com/

(click on the "categories" links on the left for a comprehensive list of the offending mail).

a variety of emotions are coursing through my brain as i read these e-mails. i have yet to venture into the sordid world of online dating, but part of me wants to take the plunge simply for the potential that gems like these could await me in my inbox after a long day at work. on the other hand, is THIS the shallow, pesticide-contaminated pool that we single people have to fish from these days? are these emotionally-baggaged crazies just fodder for the laughter of us (comparatively) normal people, or have they finally interbred and outnumbered us? are they lurking in their natural match.com habitat, waiting to strike at any moment?

not-so-tangentially, i have been considering the potential benefits of arranged marriage of late. i love my parents, i feel as though we have a healthy and understanding relationship, and i am relatively certain that swen & clowny would pick an excellent husband for me. clowny himself once said, "i don't care if you bring home a biker, just don't bring home an asshole." clearly his standards are of the highest caliber. (and good thing they never met the republican).

my two favourite e-mails are both listed in the UFOs category. the first is labelled from hallmark. the second is entitled and what would those be, when the sender tells the recipient that her ex-boyfriend was "too much of a white supremacist," (don't we all have our own thresholds of white supremacy?) and says, "you'd be amazed about all the things you can do with mashed potato buds."

i have a few interesting uses for mashed potato buds that might amaze some people.

one errant click later...

2007-03-04T20:24:00.000+11:00

i was perusing the internet today, looking for some photos of shirtless footy players for a future post (patience, ladies. can't alienate the straight men just yet), when i stumbled upon this article.

i really have no idea what to think, other than wondering how i've never heard of a phenomenon that is apparently common enought to be the subject of a variety of films and books. if you scroll down towards the bottom of the page, you'll see that even dustin hoffman has firsthand experience to share. all i know is that i will certainly be bringing it up in my sexual and reproductive health class next semester. as a side note, i haven't a clue how this topic relates to shirtless footy players in any way, unless the shirtless man in the photo is actually a footy player. thanks, google.

gives a whole new meaning to the phrase, "must be the milkman's baby."

have a happy sexy kwanzaa

2007-03-02T00:10:00.000+11:00

the following is a brief excerpt of one of the best conversations i've ever creepily eavesdropped on whilst riding public transport:

(the scene: heading south down swanston st. on the 67 tram. two students, one male & one female, are discussing various public holidays and the probability of actually having a day off from uni for some obscure holiday).

dude: "yeah, we don't even get labour day off this year."
chick: "i wish christmas wasn't during the summer. we would definitely have time off for christmas."
d: "what about that chinese holiday. what's it called...kwanzaa?"
c: "um...do you mean chinese new year?"
d: "no, no, there's definitely some, like, chinese holiday called kwanzaa."
c: "i have no idea what you're talking about."

(at this point, i see no other choice but to interject).

me: "actually, kwanzaa is an african-american holiday."
c: "ha! thank you."
me: "yeah, and it's around christmastime, so you wouldn't get a day off anyway."

the dude silently glowered, no doubt cursing me for hating on a playa's game. i'd also like to add that the chick was asian, so he looked doubly foolish. i considered continuing on into a tutorial about the seven principles of kwanzaa, just to twist the knife, but i didn't want to be too cruel. plus, it would have been more effective had i been wearing my dashiki.

this incident has convinced me that it is imperative that lindsay and i start our own auskwanzaa celebration next year. better enrol in that african drumming club...

"it's the final countdown..."

2007-02-25T19:06:00.000+11:00

tomorrow is the first day of the rest of my academic career.

i'd be lying if i said i wasn't apprehensive. i have spent the past year and a half enjoying my leisure time, reading for pleasure, mooching off my parents, jaunting between continents, slaving away at a low-paying job for which i was overqualified, and exercising my liver's full potential. now the time has come to exercise my own full potential. *liver breathes a sigh of relief*

i have used this analogy before, and i am going to use it again: my former co-worker tom (an arachnophile who will never, ever convert me) once told me that scorpions can live in below-freezing temperatures for months by reducing their metabolic rate to that of a growing potato and laying low until it is warm enough to reanimate themselves. today it is summer in the southern hemisphere, the sun is shining, the magpies are squawking obnoxiously outside my window; it is time for the reanimation process to begin.

let me make it clear: i have enjoyed this limbo period immensely. it has solidified my desire to once again join the academic community, and i have chosen a program that is perfect for both my personal and career goals. at this stage i am antsy to start a new phase of my life, and i feel as though i am rested and rejuvenated enough to jump in at full speed. i may have to sift my way through hordes of my foreign physician colleagues to distinguish myself, and i may be the only american in the first year of the program, but goddamn it i am confident in my abilities. plus, i can use my outsider status as an opportunity to be the face of u.s. diplomacy at melb uni's school of population health, a goodwill ambassador of sorts.

so bear with me while i readjust to the idea of actually having to do work in my spare time. i hope to continue posting with some regularity so that my many fans (read: alejandra) will have a means of procrastination.

on a more disturbing note, did you know that danii minogue covered "the final countdown?" because i did not, and i wish that wikipedia had never provided that bit of information. this is borderline blasphemy. i may just have to take to the bottle again (sorry, liver).

one of these things is not like the other

2007-02-22T18:33:00.000+11:00

at one of the many orientation events i've attended over the past week, we were encouraged to take part in a fun (read: lame) activity in which we "got to know" two other postgrad students. we had to obtain basic info from these other students, including "the person in the world you would most like to meet," and submit our form into a drawing for a $50 book voucher.

normally i would have scoffed at such an activity, but as i have been without gainful employment for over a month, the lure of the prize was too strong to resist. thus, i threw myself into the assignment with the sort of enthusiasm that only the promise of free money can elicit. the first student i met was a middle-aged urban planning/social policy student from geelong; the other was a business student from india. i'd like to share with you now our answers to the "person we'd most like to meet" question:

student 1: nelson mandela
student 2: jesus christ
me: stephen colbert

and i almost put david bowie.

and no, we didn't win the book voucher.

"they were funky china men, from funky chinatown..."

2007-02-19T23:31:00.000+11:00

this saturday, at long last, i lost my chinese new year virginity on little bourke street. (technically it was chinese new year's eve, but there were plenty of the requisite fireworks and roast ducks and drunk white people pretending like they actually know what's going on, so let's not get bogged down in semantics). i have tried to attend these festivities every year i've been in melbourne, but somehow they always slipped through my fingers. this year, lured by the promise of dumplings and william hung-style karaoke, i managed to fit it in to my busy schedule.

(note to all native english speakers, all 400-ish million of you: it's pronounced "sked-yool," not "shhhhed-yool." do we pronounce schizophrenia "shitzophrenia?" no, we do not. and don't even get me started on aluminIum. it was aluminum first. actually, it was alumium first, so maybe we should cut our losses and all go back to the original sir humphry davy spelling, but i digress).

despite the fact that we were in the middle of a chinese new year's eve celebration, we found it difficult to actually locate an inexpensive, uncomplicated dumpling establishment. we managed to purchase some spring rolls to suppress our hunger pains and watched as much karaoke as we could stomach (approx. 4 minutes...melbourne's hidden talent must have stayed far, far underground that night) before continuing on our search for the dumpling holy grail. did we find it? no, but we did manage to locate a generically-named, yet oddly inviting restaurant where we devoured some acceptable dumplings, salt & pepper squid, and cheap champagne. (note: the mother of all dumpling establishments is apparently located here, but it eluded us that evening as it is stealthily located in one of the melb's many hidden alleyways). the upside was that they set off firecrackers in front of the restaurant door and one of the chinese lions strolled by in costume, so we got our taste of authenticity.

we decided not to stay for the parade as we had more important places to be. by that i mean we were headed to everyone's favourite cabaret lounge/burlesque club/obsessive-compulsive's nightmare, the butterfly club. i have put much thought into how i could possibly describe this unique establishment, and have come up with the following: imagine your stereotypical knickknack-collecting kooky old maid. now imagine she's the beard for a much younger gay man a la liza minelli and david gest. throw in a few tabs of acid and a dash of the sex & the city episode where stanford dates the guy with the creepy doll collection and i think you might start to get the picture. let's just say i drank sparkling red wine, conversed with a waiter clad only in pants and a shirtfront, and eavesdropped on a ridiculously pretentious conversation about edith piaf. it was my first time visiting the butterfly club, but i have no doubt that it won't be my last. who can resist a self-proclaimed "doll-house sized windsor castle of camp kitsch and good times?"

i'd also like to say that this post strayed far, far away from it's original intent. at this point, i suppose that the title is a bit misleading, but then again i will jump on any opportunity to quote carl douglas's "kung fu fighting."

suckas!

2007-02-17T18:48:00.000+11:00

today's weather in melbourne: 95, feels like 92.
today's weather in rochester: 16, feels like 0.

i don't know if i will ever tire of gloating about this.

"no more standin' along the side walls..."

2007-02-16T10:48:00.000+11:00

i'd like to give heartfelt thanks to our favourite soul-infused, thursday-nights-at-cherry-bar DJ, for finally playing "got to give it up" by marvin gaye. what started off as a potentially crap night quickly took a turn for the better when you played the song we've been pestering you to play for weeks. the timing was so appropriate that i will even forgive you for playing the 4-minute edit as opposed to the 12-minute original.

i bow to the genius of marvin.

hot fun in the summertime

2007-02-14T14:09:00.000+11:00

melbourne does many things well, but above all it has mastered the art of outdoor entertainment. booze, music, sunshine, (usually) free entry...who could ask for more? sunday i was fortunate enough to attend the st. kilda festival, which returned after a 2006 hiatus. st. kilda is the most popular beachside 'hood in melbourne, and while other beaches such as brighton are better for sand and surf (or as much surf as you can get in port phillip bay), st. kilda's music and partying scene is top-notch. at the slightest mention of st. kilda beach, every local will automatically offer up advice about how to avoid stepping on dirty needles, but most of the colorful riffraff/IV drug users/sex workers have long been driven away by yuppies/backpackers/scenesters looking for a good time. i am proud to note that, to my knowledge, i have yet to contract a blood-borne illness in st. kilda. (wait...are we counting the dutch businessman i picked up on v-day last year?? we are?? oh...dammit).

we started the day at our friend mark's BBQ, where gourmet sausages, good company, and alcoholic beverages were plentiful. also abundant were snide comments about lindsay & my choice of goon (read: boxed wine), but i will defend our choice by saying that 5 litres of wine for $11 is a hell of a deal, and we're poor so we'll take what we can afford. we also played cricket in the park across the street, and i came away from that experience with a few observations: 1) playing cricket is much more exciting than watching cricket, however 2) a sport with tea breaks will always be a sport for pussies; 3) i am pretty proficient with a cricket bat, but 4) it is not recommended that one attempts to play with a glass of wine in his/her hand, as it could result in some unfortunate clothing stains.

our departure for the festival was timed to both miss the crowds on public transport and arrive in time to see melb-based band dallas crane perform on the main stage. check them out here: http://www.dallascrane.com/. their style can best be described by the following equation:

AC/DC - angus's school boy uniform + denim on denim + street urchin newsboy cap - dead lead singer + really hot guitarist = dallas crane

although the set was only about an hour long, i was thoroughly entertained, and may even fork out some cash to see them properly at either the espy or the east brunswick club in a few weeks. apparently they're prepared to take the U.S. by storm, so all my northern hemispherians better grab a rain slicker. it also didn't hurt that the location was stellar: the sun was setting to our right, the water was sparkling behind the stage, the music was cranking, and the fellow festival-goers were friendly. although the festival itself was mobbed, we managed to get in & out with little hassle, and even brought the evening to a close with some delicious churros. (melburnians LOVE their churros, but that is a subject that will be investigated at a later time).

all in all, it was a fantastic way to spend a sunday. i remain fully appreciative of all this city has to offer, three years after our initial rendezvous. on that note, i go to sleep in preparation for my first day of uni orientation tomorrow. i have no doubt that there will be some sort of bureaucratic idiocy to bitch about in a future post, so stay tuned...

hair (not to be confused with the hippie musical)

2007-02-12T19:28:00.000+11:00

today i chanced upon a woman who looked exactly like the above troll. the only differences were that she had red hair instead of fuschia, was not waving a happy birthday flag, and was clothed. i almost jumped off the tram to ask her who her stylist is, where she buys the hair product that allows her to make the sort of coif that is usually the result of sticking one's finger in an electrical socket, and whether or not she lives under flemington bridge with her other troll counterparts. (i think it would have been a bit presumptuous of me to ask whether or not she carried a red jewel in her navel).

the oddest thing about the situation is that, from the forehead down, she looked like your average matronly grandmother: white summer pants, floral shirt, pushing her granddaughter in a pram. i will say that i don't think it was a coincidence that her hair perfectly matched the flowers in her top, because anyone who puts that much time & effort into her hairstyle is obviously dressing accordingly.

and on another hairdo-related note, on my way home today i passed the supreme court of victoria on william street and was delighted to see the judges outside for the afternoon, dressed to the nines in robes and wigs, one of the benefits of being a judge or barrister in a Commonwealth nation. however, i was dismayed to notice that no one's wig was fitted properly, and their natural hair peeked out the sides and bottom. we will assume that the state can afford to hire a qualified wigmaker, so why the ill-fittedness? a brief google image search showed that apparently that is how the wigs are supposed to fit, which i find tacky in the same way that wearing a bathing suit without shaving/waxing one's bikini line is tacky. perhaps if someone presented that analogy to the supreme court's resident wigmaker, they would add some much-needed coverage to the current style, and i could commute home without visions of pubes dancing in my head. better yet, let's commission the troll-lady to design next season's headwear for victoria's legal community.

the hottest spot south of havana

2007-02-06T13:54:00.000+11:00

i'd like to give thanks to my homeboy steve (aka "the lumberjack") for reminding me about a story that was in the news last june/july. apparently, authorities in a suburb of sydney (please note that melbourne was not involved in any way) decided to blast barry manilow tunes in local parks to drive out obnoxious hoodlums. click on the following links for full details, and be sure not to miss the deputy mayor's profession of love for ABBA and celine dion in the post article. clearly, taste is no stranger to the residents of rockdale, NSW:

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/asia-pacific/5047610.stm

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2006/07/17/AR2006071700469.html

the fact that barry beat stephen colbert, my personal lord and saviour, for last year's emmy award would be enough to drive me out of the park in protest, but that is neither here nor there. what is worth noting is the fact that barry himself issued a statement about the situation, which i have taken from the website of barry's international fan club (http://www.barrynet.com/ ...no, really) and pasted here for your enjoyment:

To Whom It May Concern:

I've been reading about Rockdale, Australia's decision to blast my music 24 hours a day in a park that appeals to hoodlums and their hope that my music will drive the hoodlums away. Frankly, I think that if you played ANYONE'S music for that long you'd drive any rationally minded human being out-of-their mind!

But, have they thought that the hoodlums might like my music? What if some of them began to sing along with "Can't Smile Without You"? Or lit candles on "I Write The Songs"? Or, heaven forbid, dance around the grounds to the infectious beat of "Copacabana"? What if it attracted more hoodlums and not rid them of the ones that were already there? What if it brought people together? What if it put smiles on their faces? What if the absurdity of this plan began to hit everyone at the same time and everyone began to laugh and become friends? That's what my music usually does for people.

The council may have their adjectives mixed up. My music has been called "Catchy" (easy to remember because of having an effective melody, not "Catchy" (Able to be caught).

Good luck.
Barry Manilow

perhaps barry is on to something. perhaps we should take the lessons of rockdale and extrapolate them to the international community. maybe a touch of manilow is exactly what has been missing from diplomatic relations of late. just imagine condoleezza rice hand-in-hand with mahmoud ahmadinejad, swaying "to the infectious beat of 'copacabana'." or the members of the G8 bonding over the heartwrenching strains of "mandy" at their annual summit. this type of progressive thinking has been noticeably absent in today's political climate, and is truly a breath of fresh air from the usual rhetoric. maybe, just maybe, barry deserves not just the emmy, but a nobel prize.

boris the spider part deux

2007-02-03T23:25:00.000+11:00

look, australia, i get it.

you have large arachnids here. they like to lurk on the outside of my house and watch me while i hang out the washing. this is fine. perhaps they have no better way to occupy their time. maybe i did something to aggravate them & they've sent out some of their hit men to keep an eye (or eight) on me. i won't yet assume that you are overcompensating for something else. (you know what they say about countries with large spiders...).

however, i'd like for you to view this situation as a venn diagram with 2 circles, one being my habitat and the other being the habitat of abnormally, nay, grotesquely large spiders. these two circles are not allowed to intersect. in fact, my circle is barricaded with flypaper and insect repellant. i can peacefully coexist with your obscenely large/often poisonous animal life provided our paths do not cross as often as they have been lately. as of now, i have emerged from these encounters unscathed, but i have a feeling that this war is not yet over. therefore, tonight i will be sleeping with a fly swatter in my left hand and one eye open. see who wins now, mothaf*ckas.

boris the spider

2007-02-02T12:47:00.000+11:00

i don't like coming home from the bar to find a spider the size of my hand on the side of the house.

enough said.

federerino

2007-01-31T21:17:00.000+11:00

dear roger federer,

while i am but a mere mortal ever in awe of your prowess with a racket, i can no longer go on without offering up this morsel of advice: please never, ever remove your sweatband from your head. ever. wear it to bed, in the shower, during sex, to business functions, everywhere. i am sure with just a little bit of pluck and ingenuity and a moderate amount of physical discomfort we can figure out a way to permanently affix it to your cranium.

"but why?" you ask. (or should i say, "aber warum?" since i hear you are one of those swiss who prefers german).

well rog, the answer is simple: with the sweatband you are a swoon-worthy, virile sex god, truly an adonis on the court, and without it you look like quentin tarantino's awkward younger brother who went backpacking for a summer and decided to keep the eurotrash look. while our friend quentin is incredibly talented in his own right, he's not exactly the person you should be emulating in the physical appearance department. especially when a mere strip of cotton can work such wonders. plus, you must wear the sweatband about 8 hours a day already, right? what's another 16 hours?

if only i could have had a rendezvous with you while we were both in melbourne this past week so i could have given you this advice in person. in my bed. while wearing the sweatband.

welcome, bienvenido, wilkkomen, g'day.

2007-01-28T08:14:00.000+11:00

greetings, comrades, and welcome to my first, tentative foray into the blogosphere.

(note: i seriously considered starting off strong with a quote from "welcome to the jungle," but i figured it was a bit early in my blogging gestational period to jump into the GNR quotes. all in good time, my pretty, all in good time).

will i be too lazy to post with any regularity? perhaps. however, considering my current track record of few-and-far-between mass e-mails, i decided that this would be the most convenient way to keep in touch wit my peeps back in the northern hemisphere. should i exhibit signs of apathy, just remember that the proper amount of harassment can always jump-start the motivation train.

so please join me in round 3 of mama does melbourne. i will attempt to be chock full o' wit and sass, and seriously lacking in delusions of self-importance and grandiosity. please leave plenty of comments & love and be prepared to (in the immortal words of tom robbins) "stop occasionally to smell the adjectives and kick some ass."

onward...