b r a v e c r e a t u r e s

Thank you for Smoking is Fox Searchlights latest foray into the black arts of ironic truth selling. Based on Christopher Buckleys, this is a cutting look at todays culture of spin. While the film focuses on the tobacco industry there are messages there for just about any lobby group you care to think of.

Nick Naylor (Aaron Eckhart) is chief spokesman for "Big Tobacco". He makes his living defending the rights of smokers and cigarette makers in today's hypocritically puritanical culture. 1200 people might die every day from tobacco-related illnesses, but Nick can successfully puts the case for cigarette smoking to anyone, even a 15-year-old dying of cancer.
Nick may be morally bankrupt as he defends the indefensible, but he is so adroit at what he does that, perversely, he’s a joy to behold as he ducks and weaves and somehow makes the most ridiculous argument sound persuasive. Things come undone for him however when he is outmanuvered by journalist Heather Holloway, (Katie Holmes).

A tight funny script, excellent pacing and wonderful performances makes this all up a great movie with an interesting message, and not the one I expected. I was all set for an antismoking rant, but what I was left with is a reminder that the things we do in life are largely our own decisions. Smoke, eat bad food, drive fast  - whatever your vice, in the end it was your decision and in the end only you will bear the consequences.

All of the cast, including Maria Bello, Cameron Bright, Adam Brody, Sam Elliott, David Koechner, William H. Macy, J.K. Simmons, Robert Duvall & Rob Lowe do an outstanding job with Macy excelling as always and Rob Lowe cementing his typecasting as the Hollywood crazy.

Worth seeing at the cinemas, but if you miss it get the DVD.

I got some bad news tonight.

Not "mother dies of cancer" kind of bad - she is fine.

Not "you have six months to live" kind of bad - I am in perfect health as far as I can tell - touch formica.

Not Ache Tsunami bad, or Pakistan Earthquake bad, or Sudanese massacre bad or Israel bombing the crap out of not only Hesbollah, but also civilians in Lebanon bad. These things are really serious and clearly trivialise my own disappointments.

But my disappointments are mine to deal with and are tough in their own ways.

What happened was was personally bad but not physically scaring - and for now the details will remain deliberately obscure. What I will say is that one of the top 5 things I want in life  is probably not going to happen - ever.

Not Darfour bad. But a bummer none the less.

In a case of turning lemons into lemonade something became very clear to me as I sat here enjoying a conciliatory Pinot or two‡. As much as I want there to be a solution, and while I was/am/will look for a way around this in the short, medium and long term, I am not sitting in the corner crying, hoping that someone might save me.

I am not waiting for anyone to fix this for me, not even James. I have remembered that I can fix this or find an alternate path on my own. While that seems like a no brainer , its been a while since that was so clear.

Just not having to deal with overwhelming grief as well as whats actually going on is a huge relief.

And as good as that is, the real biggie is -  for the first time I realised - I don't want "him" back.

Don't get me wrong I still love James, but I dont need him, and unless there were some fundamental changes I don't want him back. I have been sitting at the negotiation table for a long time now - waiting and hoping - but my counterpart is unwilling. There is nothing I can do to heal things on my own, or to get him to come to the table.

Sad, but at least I'm (finally) realising it, and with that I am another step along the path - where ever that may lead. The truth is that I want and deserve a better life for myself than that. And bugger me if that better life doesnt seem to be seeking me out - come hell or highwater.

For now its off to bed alone, not my favourite way to be in bed (and thats about companionship rather than sex) although I am pretty sure there is a certain someone who would be here if he could, if the flight wasnt so far. But in the end, I will sleep just fine.

Before I sleep tonight I want to thank a few people for their support in the last few weeks. In no particular order - Billy, Bruce, Barbie, Binky, Bluey, Mumsy, S&M, the Grand Peres, Le Beau Ours, Scottish Air-bear, Latin Legelisoir and Lionheart. Nothing big was needed, just care and confidence in me. Confidance that there will be another path, that I will find it.

Thank you. 

 As my grandmother used to say, "when god closes a door, somewhere he opens a window" and thanks to both Alan and Shirley - consumate make-happens themselves - Robert was all but born with a crowbar and a set of lock picks  clutched in his chubby pink fist. Its a good thing I was a caeser - is'nt it.

†A note about the picture. While it seems cheesy, and ematesque at the time I made the original it was a beautiful image. It hung over someones desk in two countries and three cities and a reminder of my devotion. To this day it retains a great deal of power for me. I am not seeking to profain it at all, but the figures have moved apart and changed. I dont know how the grey man has changed, only that change has occured. The orange man however is attempting to rediscover his inner nobility - and he likes flashy hats.

‡Glass…bottle. You say poTAYtoe, Barbie says poTAHtoe

In recent news, the Western Australian Premier has come out as suffering from depression and has chosen to resign. A very brave and honest move on Geoff Gallops part, much like the admission in 2004 by the now late Tasmanian Premier that he had lung cancer and was an idiot for not listening to his friends, family and doctors when they told him to give up smoking.

But it certainly puts that cats amongst the political pigeons.

Australians are not good at accepting “depression” as a disease, as actually debilitating. We tend to think that people should just ‘buck up’, ’soldier on’ or maybe just “find a new man”. Or we seem to feel that the depressed need to be pitied and coddled. People with depression don’t need pity, they need patience and compassion. We give so much understanding and empathy to cancer sufferers or paraplegics because their illness is visible, but with depression its different somehow.

As Australians we are so busy being stoic and laid that sometimes we just seem to miss the point. Unfortunately James, my ex, was a perfect example.

He had no idea how incapacitated I was by my depression. He tried to be supportive, he really did. He tried as hard as he knew how, without actually talking about the problem. But he honestly seemed to expect it to just go away if it was ignored. Then blamed me that it didn’t - and so now I am single.

So I dealt with the problem largely on my own. It turns out, all I needed was some time and the support of a few friends who would let me wail and lament and run in my unproductive circles for a while, to be trusted that I would pull through. Thanks to those few friend, the unfailing support of my mother and Marie, and my own capacity to make a silk purse out of just about any sows ear, I have come through it.

But Dr Gallop is not in a position where he can spend time dealing with his condition. He is an elected official, the highest official in one of Australia’s most prosperous states, and he has bigger responsibilities than I did. So he has stepped away from politics, and I for one wish him the absolute best. Whatever his record in office, what ever his politics, I hope he deals with this.

I am however horrified at some of the reactions by his colleagues. Horrified, but unfortunately not surprised. This follows on from an interesting post by Sam [Queer Penguin]regarding why the Federal opposition in this country sucks so spectacularly, and why they continue to fail to win the countries trust and support.

Kim Beasley, leader of the Labor Party, had this to say in a speech to the press regarding Gallops resignation.

The extraordinary performance of Western Australian growth rates - and remember, he’s negotiated many of these things with the minerals companies - has basically allowed a shroud to fall over the appalling performance of the Howard Government on exports, and has in fact kept the country’s economy moving.

Dr Gallop has been brave and honest. He has very honorably done the right thing for himself and the country, and Beasley has used it as an opportunity for petty and arguably accurate point scoring against the Liberal Party and John Howard.

Very poor behaviour I have to say, very poor indeed.

If the Labor Party ever wishes to knock J’Ho and his right wing party of big business conservatives off their winning streak, they need to start behaving like they deserve to be in office. That means formulating meaningful policy and working with the community to identify better alternatives to the present governments agenda.

It also means behaving with some dignity and respecting the people they wish to represent. IF they cant do that for Geoff Gallop, one of their own, its a little hard to see how they are going to do it for the rest of us.

This is starting to get me cranky, not that it takes that much.

The Japanese are in the Antarctic, in Australian waters (more or less), hunting and killing whales for - and here is where I get lost - SCIENTIFIC PURPOSES.

WAH?!?!

Cause dead whales will really help us better understand them, oceanography, the Antarctic ecological environment, krill and, oh wait, yeah, SUSHI. I shit you not, this has to be the lamest piece of cover work on science since the US started testing nuclear devices at Area 19 in Nevada. During the tests conducted there in the 1960’s the workers were not given much in the way of protective clothing and have gone on to pretty much all get cancer.

Oops.

Back in the southern hemisphere, the relatively impartial New Zealand government is questioning the Japanese agenda, which has GOT to be a sign that all is not kosher on the Nisshin Maru. But is anyone paying attention/giving a shit?

Nope.

Nothing seems to be getting any decent international attention. Not even the media circus over the who hit who(m) dodge round up between the Nisshin Maru and the Sea Sheppard, the Farley Mowat and the Oriental Bluebird.

Please note that the Farley Mowat fetchingly has a blade device on its side designed to rip open another ship’s hull - kind of Australia 2 with roid rage. You would think that at least Jana Wendt would get up tight about that, if not Dan Rather. But no.

Meanwhile the Australian government is staunchly sitting on its hands. Environment Minister Ian Campbell with his youthful ward Greg Hunt (just try and tell me that relationship isn’t creepy) seems to be off on “hols” since there hasn’t been a peep out of them. The best we are getting from DEH is a “no comment” from a low level minion.

It would seem that J’Ho’s house of trained poodles are just not up to the task of managing international politics without a firm hand on the leash. Only the inner cabal - Treasury, Health, Immigration and maybe Defence, get to talk without a minder.

Enough, this is giving me a head ache. Just thinking about two more years of the Nazi Party in control of this country is bringing dinner back to haunt me.

Please write to The Minister for Raping the Environment and tell him that even though whales have out evolved him he should not give into bitterness (cause its only pretty on Barbie). He need to grow a spine, and tell the Japanese to fuck off.

Here endth the rant.

PS Have a look at John Howard’s blog. I nearly swallowed my tongue laughing.

For those of you who know me, you are well aware that 2005 is down as Annus horribilis for me and my loved ones. Death, desertion, divorce, dismemberment, depression, illness, unemployment, car accidents, theft, bad investments, money problems and a Liberal re-election. Truely a crappo year.

Funnily enough, looking back on it, while lots went REALLY wrong I have to say that my abiding memory of the year is that lots went really right. There is only one thing that is really bleak about 2005, but its probably the most important thing to me. Losing the love of your life is, as they say, a bit of a bummer. But I have come out of it with a list of wins that I am really happy with. Tres lucky, I am.

To me it felt like the corner was turned for 2005 just before Christmas when my mother came through her cancer operation with flying colours. Today that substantial win was compounded. I will again let my mother speak for herself in this excert from her email to friends and family.

To all of you who have helped me thru this rather dreadful time in my life, my news is suddenly such that the dance of the fairies is in the seeable future for me. Thanks to all of your prayers and for whatever other reasons may apply, I have just received a phone call from the Gold Coast Hospital with wonderful news.

My operation was done in consultation with the Royal Brisbane Hospital and their cancer experts. News has just been relayed to the Gold Coast to say that while they had told me that I would require chemotherapy, I do not need it after all. My hospital will keep an eye on me, but they believe that chemo is not necessary.

To say that I am over the moon, and have improved my state of health from 25% to 50% in the past half hour is the understatement of the year.

You REALLY cant keep the old girl down. At 74, shirley is still a force of nature.

I have been up in Lismore for New Years Eve. Now Lismore is not a pulsing centre of revolutionary cultural or intellectual advancement, its a sleepy town near the northern New South Wales coast about 90 minutes drive from the Gold Coast.

So why would I, international traveler of renown and bon vivant, be going there for my New Years festivities I hear you ask. Well it was my friend Tony’s idea.

Tony grew up in the area and his mother became ill (cancer) last year (2005). She passed away about 6 months after the diagnosis, and Tony spent most of that time with her after coming home from his long planned trip to the US. He was amazingly selfless, he just went home and stayed there doing everything for her until the end. He is a REALLY good person.His siblings and he have decided to sell the family home, so he has been going up there a lot to settle things and fix up the place for sale.

When my mother got sick in December last year, it become clear that I was going to be spending a lot of time on the Gold Coast. Tony suggested that if she was doing ok, and I could spare the time, I might like to come down to the Tropical Fruits party. This is a smallish party that has become a getaway for the jaded and less frantic of Sydney, to a lesser extent, Melbourne as well as regional New South Wales andBrisbane. Mum has bounced back FANTASTICALLY from what was a pretty harrowing operation, six hours on the table with three guys up to their shoulders rummaging around in her abdomen, so I figured I could sneak away for a little fun. The options of a/ going out in Melbourne and running into the unmentionables, or b/ sitting at home, were really not that appealing.

I flew into the GC, dropped by to see Mum to make sure she was ok and then drove down to Alstonville which is a little village outside Lismore and Byron where Tony’s place was. It was quiet and pretty and absolute delight.

Tony and I napped the afternoon away and then headed off to the party around 10.30, arriving at 11.00 with plenty of time to settle in. On arrival I ran into Leonie Dickinson working the door. Leonie was my exec producer at Open Channel for “One of these things” my sad little attempt at directing a documentary. She is the person who said straight out “you are not a natural director, you will really struggle. You are however a great creative producer. Focus on that!”A little brutal, but you need to be direct with me.

Pussy footing around about what you mean is pointless. She was horrified to be reminded how blunt she had been, but we had a good laugh about it. She is living up at Byron and LOVING IT.

I like to do a lap around any new venue to make sure I don’t get myself too lost later in the night when I am feeling sparkly so Tony and I did promenade of the party compound to get our bearings and to reviewing the troops. All up it looked like a fun space. Two big dance halls side by side, a smaller funk room, a tent lounge, and outdoor cinema showing experimental work (ick) and an art show. We wandered into this last one looking for a bathroom and it appeared that someone had thrown up some pretty average “art” in there.

Most of the alleged art work was vagina related including some model works made of blocks of wood, crazy fur and jam. What wasn’t literally pussy on display was evocative. Lots of pictures of lily’s and orchids done in over bright water colours. Suffice to say Tony and I skipped through there fairly quickly - without putting our hands in the large, dripping holes in the walls.

After grabbing a drink, it was time to explore the dance floor. We went into one of the halls, which wasn’t too busy. I commented on this to Tony who said there was enough space for him to samba, and promptly went on to prove his point. We laughed and continued dancing for a minute or so, until we realized that people seemed to be moving away from us. Quickly! And to such an extent that the hall appeared to be emptying.

Needless to say, in between laughing our arses off Tony was “scolded” for this reckless Sambering which had clearly frightened off the crowd of faux-butch queens we were dancing near. During said humorous scolding, the hall actually completely emptied, which left us kind of worried, so we moved out one of the doors and looked in the other hall - also emptied. Clearly word of Tony’s sassy steps had spread and people were rushing from the place in horror.

We moved out onto the grassy hill side running down from the halls to a large oval outside the party grounds to find all of the party goers standing with their backs to us. “Tony” I said, “If you were hoping to get laid tonight, I think you just blew your chances”.

It was at that point that the fireworks started.It appears that it wasn’t (only) Tony’s suspect samba. There had been some kind of queer flocking behavior that led everyone (bar us) outside to see something shiny.

The fireworks were frankly amazing given where we are, and it was easy to see where a lot of the $80/head ticket price had gone. Sure it wasn’t 3,000 kg of sparklers shooting off the Harbor Bridge or in Melbourne, but it was nice none the less. And given the glorious background of stars, it was all up a pretty wonderful way to usher in the new year.

That will do it for this post. There is more to tell, particularly about the Mcbethian delights of old friends and a fab pool party. But right now I think I need a little nap.

Not much to say today. My mother came home from hospital so we have been talking a bit and settling her back into home. When she has been napping, I have been tweaking the edges of the site. I have got two new pieces working - “email this article” and the guestbook. Next on the list is a subscription service to allow notification when new articles come out.

Mum is doing really well. She has recovered from the operation with remarkable speed and the doctors are all very pleased. She is understandably weak and a little shaky, but with a cancer scare and a BIG operation that’s not surprising. She has some therapy to go through, but it looks like they caught things in time and she is expected to pretty much make a full recovery.

I cant tell you how relieved I am.

My mother is currently recovering in the Gold Coast Hospital from an operation for bowel cancer. It looks like she is going to be ok, but this has (of course) had me thinking about her a lot. This is my telling of one of my favorite of her stories.

After six weeks away from home, she was starting to really miss the kids. They were both in their teens now, and the divorce had really shaken them up. Then to loose the house as well, they were a little fragile. But it had been time for her to get out and do something, go somewhere, have an adventure. She picked up her next card and worried that this may have been a bad move.

The car was filled with smoke from those nasty Italian cigarettes so as she looked around the room and the other players, their uniforms rumpled and askew; things seemed a little more than slightly surreal. The mint juleps were probably not helping, what did they put in them anyway? What the WAS a julep anyhow?

As she raised the bet, she looked out the window at the mountainous Swiss countryside blurring past. Snippets of it briefly illuminated by the lights of the train, only to vanish again into the darkness before it could really be recognized; an impressionist nightscape outside, a surreal world of smoke and velvet inside.

It was like she was riding through Macarthur’s Park. All she needed to see now was loves, hot fevered iron, she was already wearing a strip-ed pair of pants.

Her trip on the Orient Express was going to be memorable at least. And while there wasn’t going to be a murder, it looked like she at least would make a killing tonight.

“Full House, Royals and Aces High” she said as she laid her cards down. Groans and curses in four languages came from the crew as they threw their hands on the table. “You boys are all so sweet” she said “and I seem to be getting the hang of this game”. She pulled the pile of money from the centre of the table to join the large pile of winnings in front of her as she turned to Jean-Phillip, her cabin attendant, and said “would you be a dear and run to the dinning car to get me another drink? This one seems about done”.

Turning back to the rest of the crew she said “now just ONE more round of this interesting game before I HAVE to go back to my cabin and write to my little loves, they will be missing me so”.