Skip to main content

I Have Not Brought My Specs With Me

I discover that I'm middle-aged. I'd been living in denial of this fact. But when a friend cast me as an extra in his film and I discovered that my part was 'middle-aged man' I decided it was time to embrace my new status.

I'm over youth. Apart from health and attractiveness it has so little to recommend it. For a start you don't know anything. You greet every new experience with fear and drama. I, on the other hand have become jaded and cynical. So much better than having fragile expectations.

For example, youngsters, Are you peeved that Kevin Rudd turns out to be a tosser who promised much and delivered nothing?. Well, I've had twenty years of being deceived by the Labor party, so pass me another Jatz cracker and the avocado dip, comrade. Better to promise social change and fall drastically short, eh ALP? Wrong.

As much as I abhor the self-interest and kowtowing to power that characterises the Libs - at least they're being true to their nature. I understand why their party is full of dimwitted climate change sceptics. What I didn't appreciate quickly enough is how much tough talk those ALP f**kers do until they get into office, whereupon they flip their position entirely. Garnaut report - ignored. Coal Industry - given the reach around.

I was still a whippersnapper when the last shreds of my gullibilty were removed. Now I'm middle-aged I can settle into a life of self-interest as I fully appreciate that my anger at those in power cannot change anything one whit. I have expended much time following politics, thinking that being an informed voter would somehow lead me to make better choices. Now as my teeth give me gyp and my eyes aren't what they used to be, I am learning that whoever I vote for, I will always get a politician.  My one vote is worth a lot less than Rupert Murdoch's and he isn't even a citizen anymore.

So, caring less and, as I have hinted, seeing less.  For the last three years I have resisted getting glasses. However, recently my inability to read even regular print in average light has meant that I have to abandon yet another position - the vanity that I don't need technical assistance to see. I was going to get proper glasses, but the situation grew so drastic that I ended up with supermarket specs. A number of my beglassed friends suggested that el cheapo non-prescription lenses were a good stop gap measure, but I balked at the ideas of sullying my vision with medical apparatus purchased from the same place that I got my Weetbix.  Until the day that I was in a supermarket checking out the nutrition panels on food packaging and I realised that I couldn't read what was in a box of Weetbix, even if stuck it under a 200 watt lamp. Time to move on.

So middle age, I'm your new best friend. There's nothing about your lightly furrowed, greying, paunchiness that I don't love. I don't need to be surprised and I certainly don't need to learn new slang or know what music is cool. Thank God! I will never have to move the dial on my radio off the awesome 80s. The Eagles. Fleetwood Mac. Martha and the Muffins. All my music has been written and played. I hear Madness and I feel calm. It's all written off and played out.

So kids, if you need me - and you won't -  I'll be in the backyard cultivating my garden and ignoring the front page of the newspaper. I'll have my glasses with me, but I'll only put them on to read Calvin and Hobbes.

Mr Trivia


Popular posts from this blog

What's with George Eads' Hair? & David Edwards

Hey Zeitgeisters,

Bet you thought this blog would never top “What’s with Bradley Whitford’s Hair?” For those of you who weren’t part of that historical blog entry, it was the glittering moment where I wondered what’s with West Wing star Bradley Whitford’s hair. Good times.

However, tonight, while watching the current series (in Australia) of CSI :Original Recipe, I was forced to witness the unpleasantness of George Eads’ new(ish) 'do and I felt compelled to blog on’t.

George plays the part of Nick Stokes and has spent some 5 or 6 seasons with a haircut “you could set your watch to,” as Grandpa Simpson might say. It was always short; it always had that US Marine Corps vibe; it was always as dependable as the ebbing and flowing of the tides.

Now in something of an El Nino effect, I note that someone in Jerry Bruckheimer’s organization has decided to mess with the length of George’s crowning glory.

Although I chiefly watch CSI waiting for Grissom…

What’s with Bradley Whitford’s Hair?

Okay, Zeitgeisters, that’s as shallow an attention-grabbing start as one could ever want, but I really want to know. And sure, I’m really talking about Josh Lyman’s hair. (I’m like one of those people who insist on calling an actor by their character’s name – only in reverse. e.g. “Go Knight Boat!”)

Whitford plays Deputy Chief of Staff, Josh Lyman, in the Aaron Sorkin-created, NBC television series The West Wing. He plays this part to a tee and now he’s set to do great things in the new Sorkin drama, Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. I know this last bit because the Angriest Ex-Video Store Clerk in the world told me.

Oh, and Whitford’s married to the awesome Jane Kaczmarek who plays mom, Lois, in the series Malcolm in the Middle. So Mr Whitford’s your regular pop-cultural icon and yardstick for excellence. We’re here in this, frankly, puzzling cultural landscape, because I’ve just finished watching season four of The West Wing on DVD. And Josh Lyman’s hair has bothered me throughout. It’s…

The Spice Must Flow

The other night I Facebooked and Tweeted: If you're channel switching on the free to air my Perthian FBB's, David Lynch's DUNE (1984) is on 9. "Muad'Dib!” Among the replies the following morning were some quotes:

“For he IS the Kwisatz Haderach!”
“The spice must flow.”
“His name is a killing word.”
“Walk widdout riddum, It won't attract the worm.”
“I see the truth of it...”


“For once I regret my lack of an actual TV”
“Soooo much unnecessary voice over”

If you saw DUNE at the right time, somewhere around its release, or perhaps at the right time in your development as a fangirl, geekboy whatever, there is some chance you love this movie. Obviously, my filmhead friends and I have a great affection for it, but in many ways, it’s not an easy movie to love.

It’s probably best enjoyed by people who have read the Frank Herbert novel on which it is based. If you don’t know the book before you see the movie and if the movie itself doesn’t turn you off with its weird pa…