Rightio then, fantasy time over. I may have made up the True Colours duet (hell maybe even the whole karaoke thing) and I know that that blue jumpsuit I wore in the 80’s wouldn’t get past my thighs, but a blogger can fantasise on her blog’s second birthday. Because Gen X Journey and Princess Kate share a birthday. How about that?

So what was happening when I first blogged two years ago. Well one of my all time favourite authors Marian Keyes went into hiatus due to depression. Anyway she’s baking her way out of depression and is bringing out a cookbook as well as writing another book about the Walsh family which should be more fun than those depressing novels she’d been bashing out. No wonder she got depressed.

I also reviewed the Sherlock Holmes movie which I didn’t particularly like, and in a fit of irony, the sequel to that was released last week. I’ll have to go and see it for old times sake. I’ll give you a review.

One year ago, my hometown Brisbane was underwater and I tried to document what it was like to see people’s lives washed away in a sea of water. Fortunately the city is back to what it used to be. Individually there a still plenty of sad tales out there.

During the past two years I have written and published 519 posts. My most popular post?–Would you vajazzle your vajayjay? The one about Australian men’s penis size gets a regular airing too. Family stickers suck was quoted in the media. I now have a weekly newspaper column and I wait in hope for someone to realise my potential and syndicate it. I’ve also got a book waiting in the wings that is absolutely nothing to do with Gen X. I just need to find someone to publish it. Actually I need to find the guts to send it to a publisher which might well be a start.

Thank you to all my regular and loyal readers and those who make the effort to comment. I really appreciate it. Blogging can be a lonely process and I’m thrilled when people even read my work, let alone respond to it.

So happy birthday Princess Kate. And happy birthday Gen X Journey. Image

A while back I wrote that I was getting one of those robot vacuum cleaner things. A few people have asked me what I think of it so here’s my review on my robo-vac (that’s his picture here).

• OK, we named it. Well my daughter named it Vinnie which I think makes it sound a bit gangsterish and doesn’t really suit it at all, but it’s stuck. I was after something a bit more The Bold and the Beautiful like Vance or Vaughn. But Vinnie it is.
• The dog hates it. He particularly hates that it makes quite a bit of noise. He really hates that I talk to it. Yes, I’m embarrassed to say I actually talk to the thing. I ask it what it’s doing in the the cupboard, tell it go and vacuum the hallway, say hello to it and tell it it’s time to go to bed. This morning I told it it was clever. The dog looked at me in disgust and went to his own bed. He’s still not talking to me.
• Robo-vac (aka Vinnnie) has a mind of it’s own. No matter that I lift it up and take it to where I want it to go, it makes it’s way back to where it wants to be. It is a defiant teenager of a vacuum cleaner.
• It is a really good topic of conversation. I had a houseful of people over on the weekend and every single one of them wanted to see the vacuum in action, stand in front of it to make it bounce off them, play with the remote and comment that it was the stupidest thing they’d ever seen. Jealousy among friends is a terrible thing.
• When it runs out of power (after 80 minutes) it docks itself for a recharge. I like to praise it for doing the cleaning and then putting itself to bed. So intelligent.
• The cleaning lady hates it too. She asks in her thick Italian accent, her tone hurt “why you want that thing for when you have me?” I spent a cup of coffee and half an hour reassuring her that I needed them both and like her much more. She spends a lot of time glaring at Vinnie the vac as she goes about her work.
• It cleans OK, but if the cleaning lady didn’t come once a week, then it wouldn’t be good enough. It keeps up with that little day to day dirt and dog hair so it saves me having to vacuum at all–so yes, I guess it is.

For the record Vinnie is a Clean-Mate 22QL. I paid $200 for it via a Scoopon voucher. That’s all it’s worth.

This is from my Gen X Girl weekly column in this week’s

Along with 11 million other Australians I went and saw the final instalment of the Harry Potter series last week. It was good, not great but that’s OK as the series generally was excellent, not at all over-rated. What is over-rated is the fact that it was in shown 3D.

3D is over-rated. Think about it. You are paying the price of the GDP of a small African nation to watch bits of paper floating just out of your reach. Whoop-di-doo.

And you have to wear those disgusting glasses that make you look like Roy Orbison in the afterlife. They are not only hideous looking, they are also heavy. So heavy in fact that I walked out of the movie theatre with two red indents either side of my nose. Not my most attractive moment.

They’re also distracting. Let’s be honest here—3D and the glasses don’t exactly give the clearest picture. I spend the whole of the film wondering who the actors were in the Three Musketeers trailer. I couldn’t clearly see their faces. Stupid 3D.

How then is the push for 3D TV going to pan out? I’d be thinking that if you jumped on the bandwagon early you’d be feeling dudded. It’s not as though there is a plethora of 3D programs out there for you to watch. And there’s the whole wearing of the glasses and what on earth do you do when people come round. Do you wear your silly glasses and let your guests watch the weird blurry TV or do you switch it off and have to make useless conversation?

Enough though about 3D. There’s heaps more things out there that are over-rated. I’ve compiled a list of my other top 5.

1. Twilight series. I tried, really I did. I persevered through books one and two and I have to be frank—they are crap. Lines such as “his lovely, lovely face” did nothing to convince me that these are nothing more than glorified Mills and Boons dressed up like vampires. Movies too. Rubbish.
2. Kate Moss. Can someone tell me why this woman is still and icon after 20 years? She is bony, skinny with ordinary hair and even more ordinary teeth. She’s not even particularly pretty. She lives on fags, booze and recreational drugs and it’s starting to show. Yet put her in a tweed jacket and a pair of denim cutoffs and hey presto the fashionistas go wild, a style is born. Why?
3. Pastel tattoos. They’re not even real tatts. More like a colouring book for the body of middle-aged women. If you want to commit to permanent ink on your skin till you die then go for a hard out one. Think Pamela Anderson’s barbwire or Mat Rogers’s primary colours.
4. Jazz music. Seriously it sounds like they are just making it up as they go along. Mostly listened to by skinny, older men who wear scarves and statement hats.
5. Facebook. Big fat time sucking device that keeps you abreast with the minutiae of someone’s else’s life that is more boring that yours. “Should I hang the washing out?” is not a post—it is stupidity. Look outside the window. Don’t bore your 456 friends with inanity. Image

If you’re really behind all things that are really cool, then you may have missed out on the later Harry Potter movies. You’re going to have to do do a lot of reading to catch up, have a movie marathon, or maybe have a quick look at Lucy Knisley’s cartoon summary of each Harry Potter book if you want to see the last one and actually know what’s going on.

Double click on the picture if you want to catch up with the first part of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part One. Then you’ll sound all knowledgeable when you go to see the second part. If you’ve missed the whole thing should you say have been living solo in a Himalayan cave since the 20th century, then you may want to have a look at the whole series of her comics from the very first book by clicking here. Image

But this I just could not resist.  A whole movie–about the courtship of William and Kate.  Judging by the trailer it’s bad. cringe-worthy bad.  So bad in fact that I predict it may be one of those cult movies.  You know, like Starship Troopers.  Ayway it’s going straight to DVD so jump on your Book Depository account and order one in time to whet your appetite for the big day next week.

So here’s the trailer.  I actually think this sums up the whole affair quite succinctly. Image

This is my Gen X Girl column from today’s Townsville Bulletin Savvy magazine supplement.

I wish they’d hurry up and makeover The Biggest Loser contestants. That’s the only reason I’m persisting with the show. Let’s be frank. It’s pretty boring and now cry baby Nathan has gone, I’m not anticipating too much reality TV tantrum throwing.

I love a makeover. Can’t wait to see what they do with Lara. I’m pretty confident that she’s going to come out of it looking smoking hot. Her boyfriend Leigh will too. He seems to have excellent bone structure.

They’ve been a surprise, the Westren family. I thought mum Charlene was a Judy Moran wannabe when I first clapped eyes on her. She blasted Shannen the trainer, stormed out (there’s a lot of it—storming out—going on this series), came back and morphed into Julie Rafter, always ready with an encouraging word, a kindly hug or a piece of worldly advice.

Lara’s lucky getting a mother-in-law like that. She thinks so, notice she’s calling her Mum now not Char, even though she’s not really her mother. I wonder how Lara’s real mother feels about Lara calling someone else Mum?

Char cares about her appearance too. Notice how she’s flicking the blonde curls around and occasionally, just for a bit of variety, she trots out the GHD for stick straight hair. Do you think they let her out of Camp Biggest Loser to get her roots done?

Anyway if I were Char, I’d have a bit of a word to host, Hayley Lewis about the bike pant-crop top combo they force the female contestants to wear to weigh in. No one looks good in that get up—it’s quite unforgiving. Truly, Miranda Kerr would struggle to get away with wearing it. OK, not quite true, she’d look good, but there’s no way she’d actually wear an ensemble like that on national TV. What’s wrong with a t-shirt?

And while we’re at it, why can’t the men keep their t-shirts on? I’m thinking that the producers may just want us all to be fully confronted by the contestant’s bodies in all their overweight glory. No, surely not. Image: Lara

Guess what I’m spending the day doing? I’m watching the Oscar–all day. Fashion, movies, Anne Hathaway, James Franco–does it get any better? Well actually it does. Had they put Hugh Jackman in there I may well have spent the day hyperventilating on the couch.

My movie knowledge is quite comprehensive, though somewhat limited due to the fact I won’t watch horror, terror, weird, sci fi, vampire or anything with Willem Defoe in it. But despite that I consider that I have great power.

That is due to the fact that I hold myself responsible for last year’s late backlash against that silly blue movie (and that’s not intended as a porno reference) Avatar. That ridiculous Pocohontas rip off got its due desserts when it only won Oscars for lame shit like makeup. You can read about that campaign here.

Anyway enough of my showing off. This year I’m putting my money where my mouth is. I’m going to list my predications. Let’s see how I go.

• Best actor: Colin Firth. Gosh he was good in The King’s Speech. Apparently he started stuttering in real life just to get into the role. And he mastered that horrible high pitched inflection that seems to afflict those of the British upper class.
• Best actress: Natalie Portman. Now I’m only going on reputation here. I haven’t watched Black Swan. I have been warned that it’s weird (see above). I find weird difficult to comprehend (quite possibly due to my short attention span brought about by too much reality tv). But let’s weigh it up. She lost a bomb load of weight (the Academy likes actors who change their appearance), she actually did ballet stuff, the character turned out to be a complete whacko and in real life she’s pregnant to the movie choreographer whose engagement she broke up. In racing terms–a cert.
• Best supporting actor: Christian Bale. Now I do not like Christian Bale. He’s almost in the category of Willem Defoe, but I’m going out on a limb here to say that Mr Bale may well be the finest actor of our times. He is genius in The Fighter,playing a punch drunk, ice addicted loser which I guess isn’t that much of a stretch from the screaming, abusive tosser he played in that sound piece from Batman. Ooops, he wasn’t acting. My bad. Anyway in spite of all that he’s really, really good.
• Best supporting actor: Melissa Leo. Her performance in The Fighterwas so true to life that it is hard to believe that she isn’t a really bleached blonde scary mother from one of the outer, employment challenged suburbs in any town you may know. Come on, we all know one.
• Best movie: The King’s Speech. No one in the world can understand what in the hell is going on in Black Swan, and seeing as it’s the only real competition in the category, total lack of comprehension will rule it out. There’s a royal wedding coming up in April, The Queenwon for Helen Mirren in 2006, British royalty is the new black.

Anyway here’s some other predictions.

• Helena Bonham Carter will wear something really bizarre, but strangely it will be appropriate.
• Guiliana Rancic will fight hard to keep abject disappointment flooding her face when confronted with yet another pregnant actress. Drinking game for any time she says baby bump.
• Amy Adams will wear spanx due to the trashing she got on Fashion Police when she forgot to wear them to the SAG awards. Two words, bulging belly.
• Jeff Bridges will a) wear b) do c) wear and do something wanky that he will think is cool. Image

I don’t think I am but there’s no room for complacency here. There’s an A-Z of things bogans like, and fortunately I don’t like, do or say any of these things.

Anyway here’s a sample in no particular order. You can read the full list here. I’m loving the David Attenborough tone.

Discount airlines. The bogan ins not longer restricted to holidying within a five-hour Commodore journey of its nest. But it expects celebrity services at bargain prices. If the discount flight is 30 minutes late, a small cluster of bogans can be seen gesticulating maniacally at the service desk. The bogans’ flat nasal vowels reverberate across the departure lounge, prompting other bogans to begin howling like a neighbourhood of cross-eyed dogs. Due to incidents such as this, the Bali to Brisbane Jetstar flight on Sunday afternoons has come to known as the bogan bus.

ADHD. While the bogan parent is always eager to acquire cheap glory, it is vehemently unwilling to accept responsibility for the conduct of bogan junior, despite Bilynda and Maxxx setting fire to the upholstery in the formal dining room area. Using the same mental shortcut that caused it to decide that it had a spurious gluten intolerance, the bogan will loudly and arbitrarily announce that its recalcitrant offspring has ADHD. At this point, the bogan parent feels relieved and reassured that none of this mess is their fault. Click here to find a complete list of bogan baby names which are a testimony to phonetic spelling.

Enormous prams. Mumma Hummers, as they are affectionately known, are the armoured tanks of the baby transport world. These giant infant carriers ruthlessly dominate every footpath, zebra crossing and foodcourt aisle that they happen to rumble across. For while the bogan mother is walking a child instead of a pit bull, she desires to intimidate all the same.

Number plates. Because the bogan has more personality thatn the rest of us, it requires more canvases upon which to portray its talents. One of these is the lower back, but another important one is the number plate of the bogan’s car. The message usually refers to the car’s ability to attain speed or the alleged importance or desirability of its owner.

WAGS. There is a celebrity that appeals even more greatly to the bogan than the fooballer or cricketer. Their girlfriend. The femme-bogue decides tha becoming a WAG is her calling; her destiny. This results in weekly pilgrimages to weekend haunts known for containing athletes, where the femme-bogues stalk their prey with a single-minded, ruthless determination. By the end of the night, the female bogan has passed out in a tangle of arms, legs, sequins and shame.

Xmas sales. The bogans surge, foaming at the mouth and desperately snatching any item with a 2 metre radius of a sign saying “(up to) 70% off”. Skinny bogans wriggle between the fat ones, tall ones reach over the top, and the fat ones jut their ample rumps outwards to create a quivering exclusion zone around the precious discounts.

Anyway after having a good look through the book and the site I think my husband might be safe. I’ve effectively knocked the bogan out of him over the last few years. But I remain ever vigilant.  However if you are not so lucky and see yourself in some of this then just dismiss the whole thing as stereotypical claptrap. Image

Oh my eyes. My eyes. Well that was what I was shrieking out the other night when I flicked on the TV and there were Lisa McCune’s boobs sprawled all over my screen. Not that there was anything wrong with her boobs, it’s just that it felt wrong.

We often caught a flash of boob as she leaned over us to explain something. Lucky there weren’t any boys in that class. They’d had needed a lot of explaining to wouldn’t they? She’d have been run off her feet. I know that Mr D the year 6 teacher often needed a lot of explaining to. We often caught him being explained to and then burst in girlish giggles while he got all blustery and red-faced. Didn’t stop him though.

But I’m off the subject. Lisa McCune’s boobs. She was on a show called Rake about legal people. According to the depiction in Rake legal people can be pretty wanky–particularly barristers if the show is anything like real life and expect that is since it was written by a barrister. Anyway Lisa gets her kit off a couple of times, tosses her bra in a careless way, flashes her boobs around and all the time me being squeamish.

I mean in the grand scheme of things did she really need to flash her boobs? Wouldn’t a bra shot have given us the general idea? Yes she is going to have sex with, and indeed is having sex with, the seedy barrister. Couldn’t she have done a Carrie and done it with her bra on? Having it off added nothing but titillation (sorry bad pun).

Halle Berry getting her top off in the movie Swordfish was also gratuitous. But apparently she got paid a bomb to do it so good luck to her. If I’d have been her though I would have shown Hugh Jackman my boobs for free. The ABC are showing Rake so I don’t think Lisa McCune would have been paid a bomb–she probably did it for the art.

Do you remember The Blue Room–it was all about the art. Nicole Kidman starred in the London production. I think with Daniel Craig. They did the show in various stages of nudity. I would have paid money to see Daniel Craig in any stage of nudity. I saw the Australian production with Sigorney Weaver and Marcus Graham. (Aside here: did you know that Nicole Kidman once went out with Marcus Graham?)

Anyway my husband and I spent the entire production fighting over the one pair of binoculars we’d taken. It wasn’t that one needs binoculars to see Marcus Graham’s assets, it’s just that we were in the cheap seats at the back. My husband wants me to clarify that it was me looking at Marcus’ penis, not him, he was busy perving on Sigorney’s boobs.

Actress Naomi Watts likes to get her top off. You sort of expect it from her because she was in a David Lynch film. Part of the deal when you sign the contract for one of his films–initial the bit where it says you will a) engage in a full on lesbian pash and b) you will flash boobs at least six times during the film’s duration. Some call it art, others call it soft porn, others call it crap.

So Naomi Watts spent a lot of time having meaningful sex with Sean Penn in the film 21 Grams. Now from what I recall the film was outstanding with a message and all, but the bit that sticks in my mind is the size of Naomi Watts’ nipples. They were very, very large and this is before she breastfed two kids. They’re probably the size of saucers now. Sorry I have no idea where that thought came from. However my point is that although I vaguely remember the film, it’s the boobs that were the most memorable.

So I guess from an actress’s point of view getting your kit off is the key to a memorable role. Maybe that’s what Lisa McCune was aiming for. Image