The milieu through which we swim
A nailbiting rugby union club final finish between Randwick and Sydney Uni.
We were sitting in the section of the stands that included what I will call the Loony Uni supporters (if that’s not what they’re named they should be).
The footy image stream is at my Flickr page: first picture here-[link]
I feel like I jinxed this last week with my bragging of weather warm enough to wear sandals in the first week of spring. Tonight it is blowing a gale and downpouring buckets of rain. My palm tree shed its dry fronds all over the street two days ago – I guess it’s one way to meet a new neighbour as he helps get them off the roadway.
Anyway, to inaugurate the sandals season, it has to be the one by which all others are measured: are they bigger than this?
I just heard on the radio that Peter Brock has been killed in a racing crash.
All the boys I went to a country town high school with drove V8s, and all of them looked up to Brockie. He stood above the perennial Ford-Holden wars in terms of his racing hero status, partly because of his cool, calm demeanour – Brock was the Bjorn Borg of Australian motor racing
That is a key finding of a bipartisan Senate inquiry into female participation in sport and recreation.
TIGHT lycra bike pants and full body-suits could be a cause of teenage girls dropping out of sports.
A Federal Government report has recommended clubs give teenage girls the option of wearing looser-fitting comfortable clothes, to avoid them becoming body-conscious and abandoning organised sport.
That is the moan of TomKat in Vanity Fair about the prurient curiosity regarding their baby. As the NYT points out, when you announce your romance on TV by jumping on Oprah’s couch, announce your engagement at a press conference, and pose tits-and-teeth-out endlessly on red carpets before the pregnancy became inelegant, the public becomes conditioned to a photo-opportunity parade through your lives and
‘cos the tigling was having her debut performance there – as a member of the Sydney Region Combined Schools Chorus.
It was a fabulous showcase of public music education and the talented youngsters in our schools. Of special note were a 10 year old classical pianist and a 15 year old jazz trumpeter, both of whom probably have glittering careers awaiting them.
She was so excited and
This movie didn’t do very well. Partly because this movie poster promised a lot more Conan/Arnie than was there (so the word of mouth was ‘what a ripoff’) and partly because they didn’t give Brigitte Nielsen exactly the costume the fans were expecting, which was more along the lines of this eminently practical warrior garb – the chainmail bikini:
then this is what the male sprinters would be wearing.
It’s instructive to compare male and female track costumes over the last few decades.
is just discovering that the Ermine Street Guard exists. It’s so peculiarly British to take one’s weird hobby involving dressing up in strange outfits so seriously that one’s group ends up as a respected resource for academics pursuing a proper understanding of Roman military engineering and craftsmanship.
Even if they probably wouldn’t let me play with the onager
Peter MacCallum titles his review “A cruelty that extends to all within earshot” and opens with
First I need to be honest and say that I found Peter Goldsworthy and Richard Mills’s Batavia the vilest thing I have experienced in the theatre.
It’s an appallingly studied invectival tirade masquerading as a brutal-but-fair assessment. One is forced to wonder whether Messrs Goldsworthy and Mills ever tied MacCallum down and popped a ferret in his trousers, such is his spite.
The libretto of Batavia tells a tale of violence and brutal despair that is possibly unmatched even in the world of opera, but is that any excuse to cynically coopt the language of violence in order to produce hyperbole such as this?
Hoyden About Town 