petulant and childish

Laugh and the world laughs with you. Sulk and you sulk alone. You can email me at deborahkate at hotmail dot com

Thursday, August 26, 2004

Biscuit Of The Week

"If you have just spent the morning breaking rocks in the sun with an enormous hammer then the Iced VoVo is not going to be near the top of your biscuit list. Mind you if on the other hand you have been busy simulating a gymkhana in your bedroom somewhere in the Great Southern land then it's a no brainer."

A Nice Cop Of Tea And A Lie Down review the Iced VoVo as the Biscuit Of The Week. My father, an Iced VoVo man for as long as I can remember, would probably disagree with the above comment, as he's always partial to three or four of them after engaging in such manly activities as driving the tractor, digging post holes and marking calves. (He does wash his hands first.)

I personally prefer the Spicy Fruit Roll... mmmmn, Spicy Fruit Roll... though we all have to agree that the TimTam is the King of Biscuits. (Long may it reign supreme!)

Disability And Filmmaking

In an interesting post, Lyn discusses this Guardian article, about disabled actors and disabled roles.

My brother is disabled -- he's autistic -- and I don't think he could sucessfully play a character of any sort, disabled or otherwise. As a child he never engaged in role-playing games, and as an adult I don't think he'd be a very good at pretending to be someone he wasn't, having emotions he didn't really feel, reacting to other people who he also knew to be just 'pretending'. He's Simon and that's it. (He's a great drummer though... he'd be perfect in a Metallica cover band.)

On one hand, I think it's important for 'real' people to be represented in cinema, in 'real' stories. Just as I become annoyed at slender actors donning fat suits, I don't find Hollywood portrayals of disabled characters terribly accurate or enlightening, from my own personal experience.

In the Guardian piece, they specifically discuss the roles of two young able-bodied actors playing characters in wheelchairs, and one does have to wonder if they actually auditioned anyone in a wheelchair? Yet, as Beth rightfully says in Lyn's comments, tokenism can rear it's ugly head... yet conversely, shades of blackface too can become evident.

I think ultimately it depends on the film, the actor, the role, and the context. Like most things to do with disability, the grey areas are vast. In the end, a film industry that embraced human difference in all it's shapes, sizes, colours and forms, would be a wonderful thing. As I said in Lyn's comments, I don't think it's going to happen anytime soon.


Now comments ARE working without any intervention on my part. Feel free to comment voluminously!

Wednesday, August 25, 2004


Obviously, my comments aren't working. The Haloscan button has mysteriously disappeared, Haloscan won't accept my password, so I'm going to try to register again and put in new comments. This means all my old comments will disappear. Well, that's what I'm trying to do, but the Haloscan site seems to have taken an instant dislike to me, and won't let me do anything.

How perplexing.

Anyway, if you wrote a comment and you think it was fabulous and you hate me for being a technophobic, incompetent luddite, I'll understand.

Over The Bridge

It was foggy this morning, the Harbour bridge disappeared ahead and behind as I drove over it, leaving me with the feeling of driving into some vast white space rather than along a familiar road. It was as if the solidness of the bridge could disappear at any instant, and all the cars would tumble off into the endless fog.

Tuesday, August 24, 2004

Hi, My Name's Kate, And You May Remember Me From Such Posts As 'Krispy Kreme Donuts And The New World Order'

Yeah, so I suck, okay? Just when the blogging thing was going okay (actual comments! from actual people!) I suddenly lose interest. But I'm back now. I promise, I won't leave you again.

So, you ask, where the #%*& have you been? Actually, I've been in a bit of a funk, and I didn't want to share my foul and unhappy mood with the 'Net. But here I am, back at the keyboard, ready to share the love once more.

In the last couple of weeks, I taught myself to knit (after being inspired by lots of knitty blog goodness out there, soon to feature in my sidebar) and I recovered from the horrible mucusy 'flu of death, and worked, and that's about it... well, apart from winning the lottery, and having my novel published, and being hired by National Geographic as a photojournalist, and having one of my paintings bought for $3 million dollars, but I don't want to brag.

Tuesday, July 20, 2004

Where I Have Been
My grandmother died last Saturday; I flew back to my home town to spend the week with my family.
It's a relief. I'm glad she's free from the pain now. She was never a very happy person and now she's somewhere better, I think... I'm not religious, but I  think that death can be a relief. I feel sad that she's gone, but a burden has been lifted, the inevitable has come, and passed.
The funeral was as good as these things can be, it was a beautiful sunny day and most of the family attended. I'm  not much of a church-goer, but the ritual is cathartic, the hymns and the incense, the readings, the eulogy, the final procession. We cried and said goodbye.
I may be cynical, but now I'm waiting for the fights to begin (or perhaps it would be better to say resume), but perhaps the family will just drift apart and that will be that. Possibly some of the family will contest the will, but they will be fighting over nothing, because my grandparents were poor people. Their house was sold last year for the princely sum of $25 000, which is about all the assets that were left when Mim died. Why alienate your family for that tiny amount of money?
Anyway. It's over now.
I'm back in Sydney, still recovering from the 'flu, which has metamorphosised into a nasty, phlegmy cough. Not long after I wrote my last post, I collapsed at work, which was all very exciting and all but I'd really rather not do it again, thanks. Turning white as sheet, slumping off one's chair, and then sobbing hysterically in front of one's co-workers proves just how pitiful a person can be. I went home to bed, then received the news about Mim on Saturday morning. 
On Thursday I fly to Singapore so posting will be pretty light until I return on Monday. To everyone I owe phone calls and email, I'll be in touch then.

Thursday, July 08, 2004

Pass Me The Pseudo-Ephedrine

My cold has returned, and brought some friends. Party in my sinuses! All germs welcome!

Last night I had some awful, feverish dreams... the CIA and Al Qaeda were out to get me, and they were trying to suffocate me... and drive me mad by making my bedroom insanely hot.

Anyway, I'd be home in bed but I just had two days off work so I can't really justify taking sick leave as well. I'll just sit here, quietly exuding contagion.

Wednesday, June 30, 2004

News About My Grandmother

Well, there isn't any. On Sunday my parents told me she was deteriorating and they didn't think she'd last much longer. But I haven't heard from anyone else in the family, nor my parents, since then. I'm sure they'll tell me if anything happens. I don't think there's anything I can do... it's still frustrating.

Also, I feel guilty for not being consumed by it. I worry about it, but then I distract myself (with Crafster, for instance, or tiger puppies) and then I feel bad for having a giggle and being silly. My grandmother is dying. I can't have fun when someone I love is dying.

She's been sick for so long that it's kind of become the normal way of thinking about her, small, frail and lost, slowly fading from a person to a memory. It's as though her dying will just be a formality, because ill-health and senility have already taken away the person we used to know. The last few times I saw her, she had no idea who I was, of where she was.

I've been remembering her, before. A lot of my memories are negative. The way she used to yell at my pop. How bossy she was to my mother, her daughter-in-law. How she always ate with her mouth open. How she used to buy me pink clothes because she hated the way I wore so much black all the time.

But I know she loved me. She used to boast to everyone about how smart I was, and how well I did in school, and she was happy for me when I graduated from university. She always took great pride in the way she looked and she would never leave the house without lipstick on and her hair done. She gave me some jewellery of hers, a beautiful ring with little white inlays like tiny rosebuds.

I know she had a hard life, growing up poor in the country. She left school very young, married young, had babies young. Then her first husband left her with three young children, and she had to work hard to support her family. She married my pop and they loved each other, but he could be an old bastard and as he got older, he went deaf but wouldn't admit it. They would scream at each other across their smoke-filled living room about burnt chops and whether the TV was too loud.

I think her life disappointed her and she grew bitter, and lonely too. I wish I had been more understanding when I was a teenager, and had treated her with more respect. I wish I had listened to her stories about when she was younger. I wish she wasn't dying.

Hot Glue, Wire And Fridge Magnets

I have, in the course of one day, become addicted to Craftster.

The stuff people think to make is astounding. Skirts made from jeans! And weird knitted things! Bottle-top tables! DIY over-priced funky tees! Melted record vases!

What a menagerie of wonderful stuff.

Tuesday, June 29, 2004

I saw my colleague C. looking at this on-line, and what came out of my mouth was: "ooohhhh, look at the tiger puppy!"

Definitely time to go home now.

Not Crazy, Just Moderately Schizotypal, Histrionic, Avoidant And Dependant...


-- Personality Disorder Test - Take It! --

Because online tests are, you know, so reliable.

Link thanks to What if no one's watching?


Helen, the Blogger on the Cast Iron Balcony, has succinctly expressed some of the reasons why Anna Funder's book is an interesting and important one, even here in the unassailable fortress of democracy that is Australia (ahem).

The book is a non-fiction account of Funder's experiences exploring the recent fascist past of East Germany, and includes first-person accounts of the byzantine and illogical operations of the Stasi, the secret police of the GDR (German Democratic Republic). Funder's style is immediate and personal. She writes bravely, and is honest with her reactions to the people she meets and the situations they describe. Her observations of life after the wall are deeply evocative of a land struggling to understand its past, and its future.

If you get a chance, read Stasiland. I finished reading it last night, after buying it on Sunday.