Why I may end up on tour with Billy Corgan...

So...it was definitely one of the greater disappointments in my life when - after a mighty manhandling effort  to boost my arse over the barricades to ensure the closest look possible - I saw a band for whom I have been passionate about since the tender age of ten, The Smashing Pumpkins...at a festival which I do not wish to inadvertently promote, but starts with V...


Disappointing..How so, Mig, you ungrateful cretin?? you may ponder...Well, it is because, in fact, it was more of a sad exercise in exhibiting Corgan's inflated ego...


In fact, all that represented the "Pumpkins essence", was the former disgraced member, heroin addict, Jimmy Chamberlain... At least I THINK it was his vacant stare meeting the crowd behind the drumkit...

Gone are the amazing factions presented via James Iha and D'arcy, instead replaced by trashy chicks donning display guitars in an effort to plug the 2008 release, Zeitgeist...


And now it's even worse: instead of generously standing aside in order to allow new and emerging musical talent, he publishes a book of poetry and does open callouts for auditioning new members...


So all ye bassists and keyboardists (I wonder whether they're still hunting down a replacement following the death of their previous touring keys player who OD'd on heroin, hence, busting Jimmy in the act..) if you have a shred of talent, proffer your services to the rather sad decline of a band that once rocked my world...


My mellon collie and my sadness, is, indeed, infinite...

Why our beds will end up burning...

I have always been wary of that spindly limbed, elastic Gumby-like physique projected onto Peter Garrett, and not just cos of his shithouse dancing - which, incidentally resembled "The Monkey" on crack, but cos he's highly questionable..

And this creepy, sinister shadow was cast even BEFORE he sold his tree-huggin soul out to the Federal government, embraced by some indulgent, bullshit ministerial role.

So, Kevin Rudd reasoned:

"he's a rock star and he likes to sing about hardcore greenie type issues, so let's make up this all-encompassing portfolio of, say, the arts and the environment or something...we might need to whack water onto it at some point.."

With a trademark flash of his beady eyes and a recoiling gesture from his play dough wrists, he went about mass destruction...laughing maniacally to himself, he noted to himself one night in front of the bathroom mirror:

"It's just too, too perfect..I mean to cut most of National Music Academy's funding now that I've milked the bloody industry for all it's got...then...oh then, those, bahhh haaaa uranium mines! The irony is almost lyrical, like one of my awesome songs.."

 Then there was that sinister little warning he issued by reuniting with the Oils only to sweat and pant over the yesteryear hit of "Beds are Burning"... at the bushfire relief concert..

I figure that the sick bastard has been plotting national genocide all along, from the day he formed midnight oil..the power and the passion should not be applied to our pink batts in any case..

Well I am glad almost that I suffer in sweaty pools of security knowing that I have no midnight oil in my music collection and no bloody insulation in my roof..

Is this the scary pre-emptive glance into a bleak political future cluttered with homicidal and washed up celebrities, dumb as shit? 

Sorry, this little outburst has stemmed from a bit of prior Pobjie study...click above for reference..

**Let me be explicit in disclaiming this as a JOCULAR blog posting, simply a JOCULAR posting**

Why Steve Jobs' all Apple(s)

Come on kids...I gotta ship three loads of them new ipads we started demandin' of ya, what do ya reckon, ipods, ibooks, they're all gunna get smaller, and so will you...


Ahh such a life, ordered into an early retirement at the grand old age of ten due to an extension in those nimble little Chinese fingers...


But dang, I mean, it's no picnic being Steve Jobs, now is it?? Sure, sure he's loaded (even more so from this lil shonky buck-passing exercise of endorsing sweatshop labour), but you know he's come from adversity, fought the good fight...is perhaps, terminally ill..?


So from this smh article it hits me: that's why there has been a mass influx of teeny tiny versions of the originals...ipod shuffles are the size of thumbtacks and the like...i almost feel a bit rank owning one myself...then there's been those constant outbursts whereby I loudly extol the virtues of his bloody computers over Gates' Vista friendly PC...("Once you Mac, you never go back," i would declare beaming at my own shameful emac..)


and you know what, the worst thing is that a google search would be all over this as a bloody product placement...and i aint nuffin but a corporate whore..


And for what? It doesn't seem like I would be scoring any bonuses anytime soon off "Give everyone else the" Jobs...


Apologies to Descartes when I say:

iPod, therefore, I am...

with apologies for the numerous template changes, this one is finally vaguely visible i've found, so no more from now on!!!

Why shouldn't I aspire to be the doctor's wife???

It seems that because I have a set of (genuine) tits, I am therefore required to take a hardcore on-air stance come International Women's Day - May 8, and NOT as I mistakenly babbled at 5:59pm this arvo, next Monday. 


I must take the chair habitually occupied by everyone's favourite ranga and music trivia host, Al Erskine, whilst trawling over the likes of websites which advocate the breast-feeding of puppies...These inherent bottle-fed issues are certainly crucial to the notion of women over the likes of my own feminine guiles, surely..? 


This would in fact, be 1 March and seemingly appears numerically and chronologically superior to the following 8 March.


However, I am apparently a woman of great disregard, to promote its existence in a false or misleading  manner by which, come Monday, poor old Al may have to close that browser window in order to assert his masculine presence..


Not to mention the fact that I sound somewhat like a male, albeit a vaguely castrated one, as well as the death stares I managed to direct squarely at self by suggesting we all incinerate our bras whilst dancing around skyclad chanting nonsensical statements of feminist affirmation...


But I want to be a kept woman!!! Hence, I am a fraud...


But hey, when it gets to the point in your life when you march defiantly past the fluro vested Centrelink earners, muttering: "Mate, I've got bigger issues..." and you owe the debt equal to a house deposit on Bugger All (excuse me, I mean, extensive Tertiary education....) and the extra hit of the Master in Bugger All and bugger all to speak of, can you blame me for checking whether my GP's is wearing a wedding band????


I don't think I quite epitomise a young Germaine Greer...though I do agree with her post Hormone Repalcement Therapy treatment ideas: Steve Irwin asked for it!


I may, at this stage, need to point out that I do, in fact, love and adore MY FAV RANGA AL! The master of trashy drunken post-show trivia!