What’s Wrong with Wrestling Entertainment: Less Is More

One of the most common complaints about Total Non-stop Action (TNA) wrestling is the ridiculously overbooked nature of its pay-per-views and main events. In fact, after subjecting myself to watching the main event from its Wrestlemania equivalent, Bound for Glory, I can understand why.

In brief, after having won through at least 2 previous matches, the challenger Rhyno (Ex-WWE and now mid-card jobber at TNA) faced champion Jeff Jarrett (Ex-WWE and now owner, eternal champion and heel of TNA) in the main event of the evening. If it seemed improbable that he would win anyway, Jarrett had no matches previously, they stacked the deck even further by getting all five henchmen, including the again WWE beauty Gail Kim, of his to attack Rhyno during the match. Then to top everything off, Rhyno won the match and vanquished the evil Jarrett.

Now if this kind of scenario sounds ridiculous and improbable: you’re right. If you dismiss it as just wrestling: you’re wrong. The point is that while you suspend your belief to a certain extent when watching sports entertainment, you still want the storyline of the match to be somewhat logical. If the match fails to have a logical conclusion then you are left confused and wishing you had spent your hard earned dollars elsewhere. And just to prove that WWE has its share of overbooking, I give you the example of Orton vs. Batista at Cyber Sunday.

In this match, the super-heel Randy Orton was champion against the super-face Batista. Orton had found every way to retain his title: count-out, disqualification and outside interference; so to even the score they orchestrated it so that Stone Cold Steve Austin (the ultimate face champion) would be special guest referee and ensure a fair result. After a typical beginning and middle of the match, the main event ended in farce after multiple run ins eventually saw Batista once again become champion. First, Shawn Michaels cost Orton the match due to his long running feud, Shawn was then attacked by his new opponent JBL and finally Stone Cold attacked Orton handing Batista the title. Now if this sounds confusing, imaging watching the match! Even worse, the faces (Stone Cold and Batista) were both out of character by cheating to win – something really only the heel should do.

Now, this has not always been the case. For instance, re-watching Michael’s classic ladder match at Wrestlemania X against Razor Ramon and his WWE championship match against Chris Jericho last year, I was reminded of how a few spots and good old fashioned wrestling can make for a classic. In both these matches, the wrestlers utilised their environment just enough to ensure that the stipulation (a ladder) was worthwhile but focused on telling a good story that drew in the viewer. Moreover, Michael’s played a heel in one match and a face in the other, thus showing it can be done as either a crowd favourite or crowd target. In particular, both matches avoided the fate of overbooking and instead had a well paced and satisfying ending.

However, while overbooking can be bad, under-booking is just as bad. Just ask anyone who saw Orton vs. HHH at Wrestlemania XXV this year (a match I still haven’t watched due to the horrendous reviews), where after months of the McMahon family being tortured and beaten by Orton and Legacy, not a single person interfered in the match that turned out to be torture for its sere lack of excitement. Thus, in this case, more booking was needed to draw the feud to a satisfying ending rather than prolong it for the next pay-per-view.

To finish off, I’ll give you a list of some of the most overly booked matches of all time:
Hart vs. Yokozuna into Hogan vs. Yokozuna – WWE Championship
Orton vs. Batista – Cyber Sunday
Rock and the Nation vs. HHH and DX – Intercontinental Title

Sandra Hall and the curse of poor movie reviews

One of my favorite past times has been sitting down on a Saturday afternoon and reading the weekend papers, in particular the arts section and its movie reviews. In fact, I used to turn with keen interest to the reviews of Byrne and Stratton and find out what the latest batch of box office movies had to offer. Their insightful and often amusing reviews not only gave me a good idea of what I would be spending my money on but also develop my knowledge of the industry but giving important background information on the directors and stars. Moreover, the reviews themselves didn’t simply give a plot by plot summary of the film but actually mixed their personal opinion with a well developed analysis of the films genre, acting, directing and cinematography.

Unfortunately this is no longer the case.

Over the past year the quality of film reviews has deteriorated into plot summaries mixed in with the complaints of reviewers and their self-obsessed personal tastes. Quite simply: they no longer review films but simply vent about how the films aren’t to their own personal taste. Now this of itself is not a problem, an objective review is boring and lacks engagement. However, when a review is completely dominated by personal opinion it fails in its purpose in helping the reader decide whether to spend their hard earned money on it.

The main reason for this is that my personal taste often doesn’t coincide with that of the reviewer. Therefore, unless the reviewer and I happen to have similar personal tastes I am hamstring by reviews that have no meaning for me. But the problem is this: a movie reviewer’s job is to review the film for everyone NOT just themselves. Hence, it is the job of the reviewer to provide enough information and analysis of the film to help the reader decide whether it is suitable for them. They need to be able to look outside their narrow view of the world and endeavor to convey the essence of the film to a generic viewer.

A fine example of this self-obsessed reviewing style was on show this weekend with Sandra Hall’s review of the new horror film Paranormal Activity. Her review consisted solely of a diatribe against Blair Witch Project and similar style films along with a rant against my generation of film makers and their ambition to make it in Hollywood. Now this would have been okay if she bothered to justify this comment with relation to the film. However, she singled out only one complaint about the film and devoted only a single paragraph to discussing the demerits of the film. This was self-obsessed reviewing at its worst and is reason enough to sack this talentless hack and hope that she never gets a published review in a newspaper ever again.

Moreover, this is not the first occasion that Sandra Hall has done this. Like Miranda Devine, she often just blurts out her own personal opinions and often forgets that people may have a contrary review or even, this will come as a shock to her, appreciate films and genres that she may not. In fact, I often avoid her film reviews because they are so horrendous.

So to all the film reviewers out there: pick up your game and start writing proper reviews. I want your considered opinion not your own personal rants.

Two Poems

This poem was inspired by my observations as I waited for the bus this morning:

Outside the Menzies, Morning, December 2009
Foreign (?) beauties
congregate in a gaggle
around the plain airport bus.
Unheard conversations in foreign (?) tongue
and mysterious black handbags
accompany their uniform flight luggage
and immaculate uniform.
The tight buns of hair;
unwrinkled, sleek skirts and
perfectly made up of faces.
What do they hide?
What secret world of
air travel do they contain?
My bus arrives: uniformed,
wrinkled, paisley shirt and
unkempt, unruly hair - my
departure time has arrived
No mystery or surprise
this morning - just another daily grind.
If only my flight was
as exciting as their.

This poem was written as I sat with my class this morning on the lawn:

The Primary Tree
I wandered lonely though the grounds
Weaving amongst the playing throng
Carrying a blazer for lost and found
Wondering why it felt all wrong
When I sited standing tall, bright
A tree of such tremendous might.

Standing strong amongst the host
Its branches lush and green
It keeps its counsel: secure, close
Unambitious, fading into the busy scene
I wonder how long it stood in place
How many students have seen its face?

How long will it survive this well?
How many years will it see?
Will it survive redevelopment hell?
Will it witness a future 7P?
For now I see no end
Its untimely death I cannot comprehend

For once I return to cool staffroom
And sit in front of glaring screen
Waiting for a bell that goes too soon
To face a class not too keen
I will think back to her solid stance
And wish I was back in her enchanting trance.

New Moon – The Deleted Scene

The following was a scene deleted from the crappy new Twilight film New Moon

EXT – CINEMA – NIGHT
The scene is a relatively busy street on a Friday night with young people and couples leaving and entering a cinema playing New Moon. The camera slowly focuses in on a beaten up red ute containing SAM, BELLA and JACOB. BELLA is dressed all in black and looking distractedly into space. JACOB is dressed in shorts and a check short sleeve shirt and stares longingly at BELLA. JACOB is also in shorts and a check shirt but looks aggressive and pensive. Tight zoom to frame only BELLA and JACOB.

BELLA: I just (Pause) don’t know if I can go through with this…
JACOB: What? (Turning earnestly to BELLA) Is there…
BELLA: Since he’s gone… my heart feels like it’s been ripped out and…
JACOB: Bella (Grabbing her hand) I will wait as long as…
BELLA: I just don’t know (Sobbing) if I can (Pause) go to the movies tonight.
JACOB: You need to make up your mind to go to the movies (Aside) Damn you Edward, damn you and your blood sucking family.
CUT to SAM (angrily): Can we just get out of the bloody car!

BELLA, JACOB and SAM exit the car just as it starts to pour down with rain. As they walk over to the cinema, JACOB and SAM suddenly rip of their shirts to reveal ripped bodies and six packs. BELLA does a double take at the pair and shrug her shoulders before continuing on.

INT – CINEMA – NIGHT
BELLA, JACOB and SAM stand in a crowded ticket line as My Chemical Romance plays over the stereo and people move to and from cinemas and the candy bar.

BELLA: I just (Pause) don’t know what…
JACOB: What? (Turning earnestly to BELLA) Is there…
BELLA: Since he left… my life has been so empty and…
JACOB: Bella (Grabbing her hand) I will wait as long as…
BELLA: I just don’t know (Sobbing) what (Pause) movie we are going to see.
JACOB: You need to make up your mind about which film to see tonight (Aside) Damn you Edward, damn you and your blood sucking family.
CUT to SAM (angrily): Can we just decide on the bloody movie!
JACOB: So Bella, do you want to see that new action film Rocky?
BELLA: I was thinking more of that other one New Moon.

EDWARD shimmers next to BELLA in the line.

EDWARD: What are you doing?
BELLA is visibly shaken: I just…
EDWARD: I thought you wouldn’t take any unnecessary risks.
BELLA: But since you’ve been gone…
EDWARD: Why are you risking it all?
BELLA: It’s just a film…

EDWARD shimmers into nothing leaving BELLA shaken and crying.

JACOB: Bella, Bella, tell me what’s wrong.
BELLA: Nothing, I just though I saw Ed-
JACOB aside: Damn you Edward, damn you and your blood sucking family.
SAM (thoughtfully): How about we see the documentary on the life of migratory sea birds of the Artic?
JACOB exploding in anger: How dare you!

JACOB turns into a wolf and lunges at SAM who also turns into a wolf. They battle across the cinema foyer destroying movie posters, chairs and the candy bar. BELLA looks on but just shrugs her shoulders and continues to wait in line. The fight ends and JACOB and SAM rejoin the queue, walking past the trashed cinema props.

SAM: So its New Moon then brother.
JACOB: It seems so. Maybe we can see the documentary on the life of migratory sea birds of the Arctic at another time.
BELLA: It’s just that…
JACOB: What? (Turning earnestly to BELLA) Is there…
BELLA: Since he’s gone… I can’t get him out of my head and…
JACOB: Bella (Grabbing her hand) I will wait as long as…
BELLA: I just don’t know (Sobbing) if I (Pause) brought my wallet from the ute.
JACOB: You need to bring your wallet back from the ute (Aside) Damn you Edward, damn you and your blood sucking family.
CUT to SAM (angrily): Can we just buy the bloody tickets!

INT – CINEMA – NIGHT
BELLA, JACOB and SAM sit in a crowded cinema as the film is playing. Indistinct dialogue can be heard as the audience is seen violently throwing popcorn and drinks at the screen while booing.

BELLA: I just (Pause) don’t know what…
JACOB: What? (Turning earnestly to BELLA) Is there…
BELLA: Since he left… the films have seemed so meaningless and…
JACOB: Bella (Grabbing her hand) I will wait as long as…
BELLA: I just don’t know (Sobbing) why (Pause) we keep watching this crap film.

EDWARD shimmers next to BELLA in the line.

EDWARD: I told you not to see the film.
BELLA is visibly shaken: I just…
EDWARD: I warned you that it was crap.
BELLA: But since you’ve left…
EDWARD: Why don’t you pay attention to my movie reviews on Twitter?
BELLA: I just thought that…

EDWARD shimmers into nothing leaving BELLA shaken and crying.

JACOB: You need to decide whether to stay until the end of the film (Aside) Damn you Edward, damn you and your blood sucking family.
CUT to SAM (angrily): Can you both just shut up while I watch the movie!
BELLA: I’m leaving, New Moon sucks and I want my money back.
JACOB: Bella, I have to tell you something…
BELLA waits breathlessly eying his six-pack while keeping half an eye on the film.
JACOB: It’s about Edward…
BELLA: What! Have you heard –?
JACOB: He can’t love you like I can Bella.
BELLA: But since he’s…
JACOB exploding into anger: All you ever talk about is since he’s been gone. For goodness sakes get over it woman and move on with your life.
BELLA: But Jacob-
JACOB: Do you think I rip my shirt off and do all these stomach crunches for laughs Bella. My God you are so selfish!
BELLA shrinks back into her seat: It’s not that I-
JACOB: Don’t love me! Oh I know all about that sister. Well you know what you can do with your love…
BELLA: Please Jacob don’t be mad. It’s always been about Edward, you have to know that.
JACOB: Brother, that’s the final straw. Let’s get some dinner.

JACOB and SAM turn into wolves and devour BELLA as the audience continues to vent its anger at the movie on the screen.

The Waiting Room

No magazines, no pamphlets, just a blaring TV containing screaming greedy loud Americans, banal commercials. Old fart across on the red coach can’t stop playing with his phone, stupid beeping sound, he looks up, I want to scream at him to shut up, shut up, shut up, its bad enough that I have to wait in this pastel hell hole for 40 minutes without your stupid beeping orchestra. I never get over how crappy people look in this surgery, much prefer Dr Puppies – I mean Wong but then I hate the long queues, unavailability, over priced fees and small children but at least they have magazines. Oh so poor looking: cheap jean jackets, old Jewish whingers, Daily Telegraph readers, token Asian person. How long is this going to take? 3 doctors that barely speak to you for 5 minutes before they eject you, collect a Medicare cheque, write a prescription or just tell you to rest at home. Why oh why? Money: the great equaliser. Get a piece of paper with a diagnosis I already knew, I could diagnose myself if not for a lack of authority to get prescription medication – a diagnosis I got 4 days ago but for the money I need a little piece of paper, 2 hours for a tiny amount of money but my credit card is a hungry beast that knows no products I can resist: CDs, DVDs, laptops, courses. If only I could stop spending, makes me want to but that new CD now. I’ll get it after my appointment, 1,2,3 I need the new Britney CD, at least at her concert there was a hot DJ in pants that barely covered her arse that kept me amused. The man with the phone finally stopped, it’s a shame he seems to be so impatient – wrong place to be buddy – wrong place. Pregnant woman rubbing her stomach, like we can’t see your pregnant! Like sand through the hour glass these are the days of my life – how long is this going to take?

The above was inspired by a task set to my class to write a stream of consciousness piece based on a short story we discussed in class.

E-tiquette

Of all the new problems that membership of the online community would present, the last one I expected was to have too many followers. Self esteem issues aside, my circle of friends is sparse and outside of the people I live with there aren’t many I would regularly associate with. Much to my surprise then when my Twitter following started to increase and suddenly it seemed my random musings on song lyrics, HBO TV series, films and bus passengers actually had an audience. Moreover, when students started following I was quite chuffed that they actually found me interesting outside of the marks and class work I gave them.

Unfortunately, this brave new world has hit a road bump: a superior at my school is now following me!

At first I was surprised and actually considered it not a problem. The stuff I Tweet is nothing to be ashamed of so what did I have to worry about? Then I got to thinking about the implications of these new synapses in my social network. Would he now discover my love of Britney and share it with others in the staffroom? Would my karaoke habits, already a talking point among students, become a performance review topic? Would my so far uninhibited ramblings suddenly become grounds for dismissal?

All these questions and more ran through my head and I started to panic. The merest slip of a key stroke could spell the end of my teaching career and any future job prospects. So I made a decision: I would make my first Twitter block. It wasn’t a decision I took lightly but one I needed to make for myself and my tweeting sanity.

However, this decision of itself presents a whole new set of issues. What does that now mean for my relationship with this person at school? Does it warrant an email of apology or perhaps a brief explanation? While I mean no disrespect, I feel that a line should be drawn between my private online life and my professional relationships. I don’t feel as if I should have to mute or censor my tweets for fear of offending a superior. Also, could it not be seen as a subtle form of Big Brother?

Am I paranoid? Maybe but where as a student can connect and engage with me without directly affecting my job prospects, the same cannot be said of a superior. So consider this a formal apology but also a declaration of independence.

Vive le twitters!

Clichéd E-crap (2009)

To twitter or not
to tWitter?
that Is the question.
a Totally clichéd
abuse of The
shakEspeare verse
whateveR

A tribue to the night sky

A poetic tribute to the night sky as seen upon leaving the old Rozelle hospital tonight…

Cobalt (2009)

This might…
probably…
does –
sound weird:

but the sky
a velvet cloth across the night
was the richest, deepest
cobalt blue

and clouds
angelic, soft
bursting forth their
halo light

that my eyes beheld
but my
camera phone
these false words

fail

Guess who ISN’T coming to dinner

No, this is not a blog on Sidney Poitier and, to be honest, for a film fan it is a shame that I have never really seen any of his films and as my colleague at work, AL, is fond of taunting me with: “For a film fan you don’t really appreciate anything before the 1990s do you?” That being said, I figure that there are so many films being made now that it would be quite hard to catch up now.

About five years ago I had a traumatic experience at Acer Arena, Sydney. The experience haunts me to this day and I can honestly it has changed my perspective of the world. In particularly, it has changed my perspective of one man: the Undertaker. Granted, he is a wrestling character and has a real name and life outside the squared circle, but for the sake of argument and from my perspective he is his character.

Previous to this traumatic experience, the Undertaker had been the one larger than life character in all of WWE; The Rock was already making his transition into Hollywood, Bret Hart had lost some of his lustre in his post-WWE funk and I knew enough about what the industry was like for those who lived it to appreciate the hardships it entailed. Despite this though, the Undertaker (even taking into account his Harley riding stage) remained the imposing and unshakable big guy of the WWE: a genuine monster in a land of genetically and pharmaceutically enhanced monsters.

The traumatic experience itself was relatively benign to any outside observer: I saw him walk into the arena with no pyrotechnics, special effects or smoke. More shocking of all:

HE WAS BALD

I was gob smacked. Standing in the nose bleeds, his stark, balding, middle aged head dominated all. As he approached JBL to wrestle in the night’s main event, a world title match everyone knew would be a DQ, all I could think was: he’s bald. The match itself was predictably thrown out when Renee Dupree interfered but I had been scarred for life.

The net result of this was that I can no longer taker the Undertaker seriously. All I notice now when I see his entrance on TV, pay-per-view or DVD (the last is best as I can fast forward while he take 10 years to walk down the ramp) is the way in which the camera hides his balding head and the deft way in which he flicks his hair over to hide the bald spot (or is it just hair plugs?). Either way, the aura and magic of the Undertaker went up in smoke.

What do these two seemingly unconnected recounts have in common? It is the fact that I would never invite the Undertaker to dinner. This is not because I have something against bald people or wrestlers or people who like to dress in all black, it’s just that I wouldn’t want to ruin my already shattered image of him further by meeting the man behind the façade. Same goes for some of my favourite artists: Chris Jericho, Elton John, Rufus Wainwright, Woody Allen and Quentin Tarantino. I love these people’s work to death but I don’t think I could stand being in the same room as them for a long period of time.

The reason is that these people play characters in my life just as much as the Undertaker. They have characteristics, appearances and mannerisms that I love in art but I would be annoyed at if I had to put up with them for an entire meal or alternatively be shattered to discover they were put on: such as Allen not being neurotically Jewish or Elton being just a regular guy who could play piano. This is a mistake many people make in wanting to meet their idols: these people can’t match the reality or expectations we have of them and frankly it’s not really fair to expect them to either.

That all being said, there are a few people (living and dead) I would like to have dinner with:

Bill Clinton – apart from wanting to share a cigar with the man (just kidding!), I think he would be an interesting person to discuss world events with and I heard he has a magnetic personality.

Sophia Coppola – my favourite director, her relatively quiet persona makes me think she would have a range of deep views on various topics plus I would love to pick her brain for her film inspirations.

King Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette – probably the two of the most maligned historical figures plus I think Marie Antoinette has great fashion sense and would be interested in Coppola’s film about her.

JFK – after ensuring that my wife wasn’t anywhere near him, his historical legacy and playboy attitude would be great to encounter as a contrast to his almost saintly historical life.

Elvis Presley – the King, enough said.

My Prerogative

This blog is to all the haters out there. You know who you are! The ones that make snide remarks when her songs come on or smile sympathetically at those that express any admiration for her talent. More over, this is addressed to the hacks that compose Today (weekend edition), whose combined charisma makes a cardboard box look like Bert Newton and whose opinions aren’t worth a cent that you are paid by the morons who hired you at channel nine.

Why am I so angry? It’s because I’ve had enough of the mindless criticism and ridicule of Britney Spears. So if you are one of the mindless, moronic and unthinking masses who see the name and automatically line up a dozen or so sarcastic remarks then I want you to bugger off now! That’s right, clear off and read another blog and please never read this page again because as far as I am concerned your opinion is valued as much as the morons on Today (weekend edition). However, if you would like to be enlightened please read on and if you still feel the same way then good riddance =)

The next issue then is why I feel the need to defend Britney Spears? Quite simply, she is good at what she does and she deserves credit for it.

Is she the world’s best singer? No.
Is she the world’s best dancer? No.
Is she a great role model for young girls? No.
Is she mother of the year? No.

Can she sing? Yes.
Can she perform a dance routine? Yes.
Is she entertaining? Yes.
Is she successful? YES.

That’s why people hate her so much: pure and simple jealousy. They see a young woman that has money, influence, fame and can’t stand that it isn’t them. Most people will deny it and cite her miming, weight issues and mental health issues. However, don’t we all have our issues? I know plenty of teachers that aren’t overly good at what they do but that doesn’t stop them being successful or holding down jobs for over a decade. Am I jealous of these hacks? Hell yes! Do I wish I could have their success? Once again yes but do I constantly mouth off about them? No because that’s the way the world works people. The world is run by and dominated by the mediocre to untalented. Countries, even the most powerful one in the world, have been run by idiots; at everyone’s workplace there are hordes of untalented employees in middle management and I’m sure we all have extended family members we simply shake our head over their success despite the drunken pants dance and stupid comments they’ve done at multiple gatherings.

Enough of the haters and let me explain why I like Britney Spears. In a nutshell: she is entertaining and she produces music that I can easily listen to. Do I listen to her lyrics and wonder at the mindlessness or repetitiveness? Occasionally but then I could list hundred of other acceptable music artists who are just as mindless or even more so. She produces catchy music that I can listen to any time and enjoy while also producing eye catching video clips and performances. Enough said: she’s entertaining and one of the biggest pop stars I grew up listening to.

So to all those fans, keep your heads up and if anyone criticises you for listening to Britney Spears then either ignore them and pity their ignorance or punch them in the face for me and shove a copy of …Oops I did it again! down their throat and do an acoustic version for their listening pleasure – if only that would shut them up =(

Muffin Tops

Muffin Tops (2009)

my head
is full of gr-
-eat ideas for
blogs, novels, b-
ooks, films. A smor-
-gasbord of creativity, bu-
-rsting to escape, unleash up-
-on the world

but
sadly
they rem-
-ain like m-
-uffin tops, seper-
-ate, isolated, juicy b-
-ut unsubstantial, a tast-
-e of genius, too brief to be
appreciated

If I had to identify one cause for my failure to have won a Booker Prize or Noble Prize for Literature by now I would say it was the blank page.

The tyranny of the blank page!

I have lost count the number of times that the most intriguing of titles and enticing of opening lines have died on the operating table of the blank page. Left to die in an ocean of white; surrounded on all sides by empty margins and unfilled spaces. I, the surgeon, desperately seeking a resuscitating breathe: a quote, a sentence, at the very least a word. Anything that jump-starts the promise of inspiration that originated from a song lyric, snatch of conversation or passage from a book.

The casualty list of the past few days has been disheartening. The emergency ward of my blog folder the site of failure after failure of creative will. Homage to Rufus Wainwright deflated by an afternoon nap, an exploration of movie soundtracks overcome by school work and finally a reflection on education superseded by marking. All these failures are unacceptable: each one fully formed in my head, each on a reminder of my failings as a writer.

Even this entry has been a struggle against the forces of blank pages. A sustained resistance following my poem made proffered terms of safe withdrawal enticing. The desire to end after such a short foray into the creative sector of my brain was only proof of my weakness. I wouldn’t write at all if I didn’t have this blog.

What then would I do?

Pleasures of Franchises

I’m not sure when it occurred. It came as a reality to me only in spurts and slithers: meaningless chatter over coffee; a heated debate over a final supper. But from where did this hatred emerge? What sinister acts produced such an embittered response?

Why do people so dislike American franchises?

I personally find this a hard thing to fathom. Intellectually, I find it hard to get worked up over a logo that represents a stock price that represents a group of company executives almost half a world away. Practically, does my own act of corporate defiance really count as a body blow against their ultimate economic gain? In my own head maybe but can the CEO actually see me shaking my fist at him when he reads a spreadsheet? Would s/he even care?

An American “friend” of mine, J, was one of the first of these new breeds of people who hated the American franchise. On my first trip to LA, I was enamoured with a new coffee chain that I encountered: Starbucks. Located directly across from my hotel room, this bastion of coffee and cakes became a daily ritual for breakfast: a fresh coffee, brisk sunshine, me and my book. In fact, wherever I went I would make a point of visiting and photographing my visits to these houses of coffee. It became a running joke between T and I that I was on the Starbucks tour of LA.

However, J was none to pleased when I innocently suggested one morning that we get a coffee. Little did I know of the crimes of this corporate giant and listened with horror as J exposed my newly found home away from home. So it was with decidedly less relish that I sipped on my cappuccino and tried not to feel like I had personally plundered and ripped off the coffee growers of the world.

J however was only one in a long line of people who on my return to Oz began preaching about their celibacy from the corporate giants of American greed that were invading Sydney. They marked with horror the mushroom like explosion of Starbucks in every suburb and the menace of Krispy Kreme on the street corners and suburban shopping centres. I continued, unaffected and fuelled the monster. Was I the only one who did not see the impending danger?

Time went by, Starbucks and Kispy Kreme went from abhorrent to average and slowly these friends drifted away. I still feed the monster but do I still not get it? Maybe the monster seduced me with her false promises of equity and ethical practice. Maybe I have lied to myself so many times that I can no longer spot it. Maybe I was born too cynical to even try to fix it. Or maybe, just maybe, there is beauty in the beast.

Ode to Starbucks (2009)

I have followed the green mermaid
Across continents and cities
Searched for her through malls and shopping centres
Looked longingly at her from across lights and in darkened shadows
Visited hourly, daily, weekly:
Addicted to her decorated cups, recycled holders and sweet bagels
Lining up in weather foul or fair, queues long or empty
Craving, needing, impatient, demanding.

Oh how I hate you!
Your monotonous menu bores me
Your prices offend my common sense
Your standard furniture so stale and ungainly

Yet I cannot live without
The comforting certainty of caramel macchiato on demand
Your clean and comfortable décor
The pleasant air of chatter, coffee and gossip

Oh joyful monotony
May you live forever unchanged

William Carlos Williams

The Red Wheelbarrow

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens.

Above is a poem that was first shown to me in Year 7 by one of my favourite teachers of all time: Mr Green. Mr Green was only my teacher for a year but he remains today one of my idols and someone I aspire to be as I go about my job.

As for the poet, William Carlos Williams is one of the literary giants of American poetry alongside Eliot and Pound but less well known or studied. However, after my brief encounter with Williams’ The Red Wheelbarrow I was hooked and have been an ardent admirer ever since.

What attracted me to this poetry? Most people simply laugh when I quote this poem for them. Often it is followed by a blank stare or a derisive remark about my seriousness. Many people think that the structure, let alone the material, makes it unworthy to be considered Poetry (NB: a deliberate capital).

On some level I completely agree, if you consider poetry simple from the Coleridge or Patterson perspective: long, rhyming and blatantly clear. Also, as I constantly hear from my students, most people hate poetry at school and automatically distrust anything labelled as such as being difficult or deliberately confusing.

However, I think it is this attitude that is the problem. Poetry, like all things in life, is difficult if you can’t appreciate it in a way that you enjoy. That’s why when I read poetry I don’t try to understand everything the poet is trying to say. For me, it’s the vibe or overall mood that the poet creates that matters to me. It sounds strange coming from a teacher but I don’t care if I don’t fully understand it.

This then is the reason I love William Carlos Williams, or WCW (not World Championship Wrestling) and his poems. Take for instance The Red Wheelbarrow: on face value it is deceptively simple – a poem about a red wheelbarrow sitting outside in the rain beside some chickens. This to most people makes it worthless because, unlike Coleridge who writes about albatrosses and life/death on the sea, the content is not of value. Yet for me, it is this simplicity that elevates WCW’s poetry where others falter. The pacing and structure of his poem creates a sense of serenity that relaxes us as we imagine this wheelbarrow just sitting outside in the rain. It takes me back to my childhood: sitting in my dad’s study looking enviously outside as the rain came down on the garden table and the park in which I loved to play. It brought back that sense of innocence that we lose so quickly these days as our lives becoming increasingly cluttered with study, work and electronic distractions. Lastly, it reminded me of the great joy that comes when the rain stops: the smell of fresh growth in the grass, the intoxicating smell of clean washed concrete and the knowledge that I was once again free to roam the green expanses outside.

That enough of my waxing lyrical about his poems and I would just suggest that you look him up: you’ll be pleasantly surprised. But the final word as usual is left to me and in honour of WCW, I wrote this poem:

Waiting for my wife (2009)

The acrid smell of
cigarettes make me
COUGH
and
COUGH.

purplepinkandblue
flashpastinhaste

Korea town sydney:
a monotonous sea of black hair
as the busker prepares his
awkward
microphone
stand.

Thoughts of dinner gnaw at my stomach.
Dylan, simon, garfunkle, joplin in my ear.

Excitement in my life is dinner without heartburn

The title of today’s blog is from one of my favourite directors: Woody Allen. Revered, controversial, polarising: Allen has been making Hollywood films since the 1970s and continues to turn out critically acclaimed films. His latest, Whatever Works, will be released this week and I for one can’t wait to reacquaint myself with this iconic directorial figure.

My opinion of Woody Allen is a little like the main characters in his films: neurotic, uncertain and at times hard to accept. Take for example the one and a half Allen films I saw today: Scoop (0.5) and Husbands and Wives (1.0).

Scoop I got for two reasons: Woody Allen and Scarlett Johanssen. I would be lying to say that the latter wasn’t more of a driving factor but the partnership between the two had created great films in Match Point and Vickie Christina Barcelona and I wanted to complete my collection. Unfortunately the DVD will remain merely a placeholder in my collection: it was so cringe-inducing that I had to stop it half-way through before I was too disheartened. Johanssen was obviously so heavily under the influence of Allen during the film that it was like watching a female version of him on the screen and I couldn’t stand it. Hence my contradiction: while I love the feel and essence of his films (especially his directorial features) there is something about his neurosis that comes through in his acting that I can’t stand. The small, neurotic, Jewish aspects that so infuriate also make the films so adorable.

Husbands and Wives is a perfect example of this allure. Made in 1992, it is the perfect example of the Allen film making magic. Neurotic, unstable, illogical characters inhabit a world of flux in which the self doubts which we all face play havoc with their seemingly ordered existence. This is classic Woody Allen: himself in the lead role, the rambling and sparse storyline, the documentary style camera and pacing, a great ensemble cast and clever writing. It is everything a great thoughtful movie can be and it was a joy to watch. Yet these same elements mixed together in Scoop were driving me mad: the neurotic writer so fearful of criticism and change that was endearing in Husbands and Wives was merely an annoying, neurotic magician fearful of change in Scoop.

All in all though, Allen is deservedly recognised as one of the great directors. While he may come out with a shocker once in a while, his formula works more often than not and he has a great sense of what works on the big screen. I think the reviewer from the Sydney Morning Herald put it best when he finished his review for Whatever Works: a Woody film for Woody watchers.

What’s Wrong with Wrestling I: Age of the Dinosaurs

It is said that those who fail to learn from their mistakes are bound to repeat them. Perhaps McMahon and co at World Wrestling Entertainment (WWE a.k.a. WWF) should reflect on this saying because after watching the latest episode of Monday Night Raw I’m beginning to wonder why I even bothered tuning in.

In general, it has to be said, Raw has been the weaker of WWE’s two main shows over the last few months and Smackdown has continually provided a more entertaining product. It has younger talent (Morrison, Punk, Ziggler, Cryme Tyme) and feuds that haven’t been played out at least three times before. Moreover, the shows are slick and actually make sense in terms of storylines and pay-per-view matches.

Raw on the other hand is stuck in a rut of running the same feuds with the same talent that was popular 5 or more years ago. Cases in point:

*Orton/Cena feud: these guys have been feuding off and on for the last 4 years at least with limited success yet at the next pay-per-view we get a whole HOUR of them going at it

*DX/any future talent: HHH and Michaels were popular during the 90s because they were attitude – they have the same act, the same jokes and continue to prevent younger talent from getting places e.g. Legacy

*Jericho/Show: the unified world tag teams champions are feuding and will probably split up just like every single tag team partner does with Show leaving him once again a big guy who they occasionally give a title to keep him happy

So what would I do, so all those narks can’t accuse me of criticizing without offering solutions? A few names for you: MVP, Miz, Swagger, Bourne and Kingston. These are the future of the industry and every time they ever get even slightly built up they have to get knocked down a peg or so HHH, Show, Orton or Cena can get another run with the belt. Let these guys run with the title for a while and when you do, don’t book them badly like you did Punk or Mysterio so that their title runs become a joke. Also, stop the gimmicky pay-per-views (one gimmicky match per show is enough) and let them wrestle without the need for ridiculous stipulations everyone knows don’t mean squat.

The Ruddellian World We Have Become

It seems a bit clichéd to claim that the world has become Orwellian and to a certain extent that’s true: hi-tech surveillance cameras, tracking personal information through the internet etc. However, it’s some of the less obvious features of Orwell’s utopia that seem imminent: Exhibit 1 – Sky News Australia.

I remember reading a few months back about the rise of Sky News and the new era of public information it foreshadowed. The time of up-to-date, breaking news with continuous coverage and analysis was upon us and the democracy of information here. Unfortunately, recent coverage of the Rudd government through its news and analysis programs shows it to be otherwise: the democracy of information has turned Ruddellian.

Definition
Ruddellian: the way in which news agenda is controlled by the Rudd government so that any fair coverage of the news is impossible.

Case Study
It has been reported continually about the in-fighting and disarray of the federal Opposition lead by Malcolm Turnbull. Moreover, the Rudd government has been very po-faced in not commenting on the Opposition but not afraid to twist the knife whenever bad press strikes. Now don’t take this as just the whinging of a disgruntled Howard supporter: I voted loud and proud for Kevin 07 and I have the t-shirts to prove it; it’s just that I have become so disillusioned with K-Rudd that I am counting down the days to vote against him in the next election.

One of the major things used to attack the Opposition has been their stance on stimulus spending, in particular their opposition to it and now calls for winding it back. Financial data seemed against them and Swan and Rudd were all too happy to remind everyone that Turnbull wanted it wound back against the advice of treasury and risking jobs. Then bang: Ross Garnout comes out and criticises the continued spending and it seems the Opposition have scored a point. Not according to the Sky News perspective however.

Sky News joyfully reports that Swan has announced that funding has been wound back already in response to this and that the government had it covered. This coming from the man who has spent the last few weeks berating the Opposition for wanting to wind back spending and using Ken Henry and his goons at treasury to support his stance. I sat slack jawed as he announced that it had already been rolled back and awaited the barrage of questions regarding his previous stance.

Silence.

Not a single question from the press was shown and the story was abruptly ended.

My problem here is that Sky News has deliberately not included important context and selectively chosen to include Garnout but exclude the daily comments from Turnbull and co about the exact same issue. Is this deliberately misleading the public? Does Sky News have a vested interest in Rudd? What happened to genuine journalism that took the party political stance out of reporting and instead tried to provide a balanced story?

The Ruddellian world is upon us.

Raison D'Etre

Usually I ignore most of my friends who tell me to read their blogs about their holidays, relationship and other fluff that they feel the need to write about. It would then seem hypocritical of me to start my own blog expect other people to read it, right?

However, while I would hope someone might read this blog and gather who knows what from the random garbage that comes from my mind, I hope the blogger sphere does not feel offended if I don't really care what they think.

The base reason for this blog: Julie and Julia. Just came back from the film, enjoyed it and thought it might be fun to try some blogging myself (if I can twitter then the world's my oyster) and I could do with the writing practice.

The metaphysical reason for this blog: I want to be a writer and publish a book some day so no better place to practice and get notice.

Watch this space...