While doing some research into the Britney Spears baby-on-lap incident this morning, I was hit by a sudden realisation. I haven’t taken enough time in my hectic daily life to sit back, relax, and laugh at Kevin Federline. Sure, I hissed and booed as he dumped his heavily pregnant wife for Britney. And I looked on with morbid fascination as the backup dancer married the star, got her pregnant in short order, and then featured in weekly stories about how they were about to break up because he wasn’t good to her.
But there’s so much less to the guy they call K-Fed than that. This morning, I got to meet one of the dumbest, vainest people on the planet.
Groucho Marx once mentioned not wanting to join a club that would have him as a member. That witticism may never have been more appropriate than for the club I just signed up for, the LynxJet Mile High Club.
Inspired by a predictably popular article on this website, I joined up so I could visit the ‘exclusive’ lounge and experience the website’s cheesy titillation at full bore.
Just to blog about it, you understand. It’s an interesting sociological and business story. With breasts.
Is there anyone less deserving of our sympathy than the big registered clubs who whinge about the pokie machine tax? Being forced to pay a large proportion of the funds they gouge from problem gamblers to the State Government that’s forced to deal with the huge social problems these clubs create is not unfair. It’s good policy. And given how much they whinge, it’s also quite good fun.
Sometimes the clash of civilisations theory proposed by Samuel Huntington and debated in arts faculties around the world becomes all too real. Like today, for instance, when the Danish embassy in Beirut was torched, injuring hundreds. And the Western media, including two Fairfax-owned newspapers in New Zealand, are continuing to fan the flames by reprinting the cartoons in solidarity. All of which is why I think blogger Tim Blair is so brave for becoming the first person in the Australian media to reproduce the inflammatory cartoons this afternoon.
The chronic underfunding of Australian universities is something of a tragedy. But Macquarie Universitys revenue-raising response, reported in the Herald this morning, is nothing short of hilarious. The university whose somewhat cruisy student lifestyle has led it to be dubbed Club Mac has now decided to take it to the next level by giving courses aboard a cruise ship.
Its time I stopped writing about affairs in the wider world, and used this blog as the confessional for indulging private concerns that is the trademark of blogging. Because theres something I need to get off my chest. I am in an abusive relationship. And it doesnt hurt any less just because it happens to be with my computer.
I love juice bars. They serve delicious sugary drinks that I can convince myself are relatively healthy because they’re low in fat. Even though if I don’t exercise, the substantial carb load will turn into fat. That is, unless I take them with a slimming supplement like ‘Skinny BOOST’. Phew!
It’s not exactly a huge surprise that the banks are gouging us all blind with ATM fees, but the figure of $600m has outraged everybody in the media today. And that figure will certainly make me think twice before using a non-bank ATM. Although I still will, because I’ll be at a pub, and the idea of paying $1.50 to get more cash will seem like a small price to pay next to the amount I’m about to dump on the pokies.
Today’s Australia Day, when everyone sings Advance Australia Fair incessantly. (The version on the tennis during the Hall of Fame induction was particularly painful.) It’s commonly known that there is an obscure second verse. But did you know that the original song had five verses, many of them even more excruciating than the anthem we suffer through today? For instance, “Her sons in fair Australia’s land / Still keep a British soul?”
Who’ll be Australian Of The Year? On second thoughts, who cares? Just get those annoying dignitaries off-stage and let us enjoy our day off in peace. Dominic Knight winces at the embarrassing excesses of patriotism that are trotted out on Australia Day.