Once they were ubiquitous as kettles and televisions. Every house on every block had a collection of workout videotapes featuring either Jane Fonda or Richard Simmons. Together, they taught us to lunge, flex and stretch as we had never done before. But if forced to choose between the two, there’s really no contest to speak of. As Hollywood royalty, Fonda could easily turn a dollar doing just about anything. Indeed, anyone who has seen Monster In Law will agree to as much. Richard Simmons on the other hand, bore an eerie resemblance to Leo Sayer and often wore a facial expression that suggested he’d just strapped on a pair of ice-cube trousers. If it came to a contest, there’s no doubt in my mind that I’d choose Jane over Richard any day of the week.
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Everything You Wanted to Know About Being a Miserable Twerp
Some things are hard to measure. No matter how powerful or profound they are, in many regards they cannot be gauged and cannot be captured. Into this category, I’d place things like love and hate. Sensitivity, however, is a notable exception. Sensitivity can be measured not in metres, miles or in litres but by the songs of Simon and Garfunkel. The greater the number of songs in your possession, the more sensitive a soul you clearly are. In fact, extreme sensitivity is evident where the Garfunkel quotient is skewed to an especially high level. Put simply, anyone who owns a copy of ‘Bright Eyes’ is unlikely to be able to withstand direct sunlight.
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There’s No People Like Swamp People
I have a confession to make. For years I genuinely thought I might be related to Luke Skywalker because in the 1970s we both had the same haircut. However, I also have another, perhaps less shocking confession to make – I have become addicted to a television show. Not just any old show, either, but a piece of indisputable and unspeakable trash. Alert both your eyes and your nostrils as you will surely need to look down your nose in my general direction very shortly. I, however, could not possibly care less, even if there was a prize for doing so. For you can keep your BBC period dramas, esoteric quiz shows and even your reality based programs in which people compete for some dubious title by being the least objectionable person, I have found something far, far better.
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Gradually Coming to my Census
Years ago, we were filling in forms. It may have been for health insurance or to become a member of the local video shop – I really can’t remember. In actual fact the use of the plural ‘we’ may be stretching it. To be more precise, Kate was filling forms which contained a range of questions. I guess that, after a time, a person can know you almost better than you know yourself and it’s just as easy to let them answer. One question, however, was blank. It was left undisturbed on the basis that I, and only I, could give an honest and accurate answer. That question was, to put it in ‘Roxanne’ terms, have I ever put on the red light?
Of Bovines and Beverages
There’s an old joke. A horse walks into a bar and, straight away, all conversation ceases. The creature carefully puts one hoof in front of the other on his way to the bar, the sound of his horseshoes the only thing to break the silence. Finally, he sidles up and sits himself down on a stool as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. The bartender then leans over to the horse and says: why the long face?
An Old-Fashioned Fob Story
I may as well have ordered a unicorn sandwich; such was the gaping disbelief that greeted my enquiry. For once, I can honestly say that my intentions were good. However, much like anything else that’s good, my intentions come with an expiration date and, like a litre of full cream milk left in the sun, that date was now fast approaching. What I had thought was a simple inquiry regarding a wireless internet device was greeted with the kind of incredulity you’d expect from someone who has only now learned that the world is round rather than flat.
Confessions of a Non-Participant
Last week, I saw the final installment of the ‘Harry Potter’ series. To say that the movies have been something of a big deal is like saying that the Titanic had some teething problems. I enjoyed it immensely, although my nephew Brodie was keen to identify the differences between the movie and the book that underpins it. Apparently, there are heaps. It’s fair to say that the movie may disappoint die hard fans, not least for the conspicuous absence of Bruce Willis.
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The Roller Rink of Destiny
Behind the Coles supermarket and next to the train line is a house. It’s small, run down and swamped by everything around it. To call it modest would be immodest. Clearly, it has seen better days, a quite a number of them too. In front of the house is a small, blue plaque that states one fact and one fact alone: that this is the house in which Graham Kennedy grew up.
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Death of an Astra
It ended with bang, a whimper and then a whole lot of smoke. Upon reflection, the warning signs were too obvious to ignore. Nevertheless, with steely-eyed determination I succeeded in doing precisely that. Like the last of those willing to testify to a flat earth, I steadfastly refused to concede that the sound emanating from beneath my bonnet might indicate an impending mechanical failure.
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An Open Letter to Silverchair
It was with genuine sadness that I heard you were breaking up.
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