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Death By Myopia - October 2006

The Spring Carnival is in full swing once again in Melbourne. Of course, I could make a wisecrack on how the fillies and stallions are out in full glory, and that the horses don’t look bad either, but I won’t. Every newspaper columnist in the country who thought they were so witty when they wrote that should die a horrible death, preferably one involving enraged equines and flying hooves. Anyway, the Cox Plate is on today, and I really should give a damn except: 1) I know jack about horse racing, and 2) “Cox Plate” reminds me of a sausage appetizer. What I decided to do, instead, was compile a list of the ten most notable horses in history, literature, and entertainment. It’s also an easy way to make a post without thinking too much.


Mr. Ed:
A horse is a horse, of course, of course… Unless, of course, that horse was eating peanut butter to make it look like he was talking. How true this legend is, I have no idea. I do know that if you ask George Bush to hold a book right-side up, it will look like he was intelligent.

Pegasus: I know he’s a mythical horse, but you can’t argue with his fame. Heck, he’s got his own constellation. His image also appears everywhere: in the Reader’s Digest logo, the Exxon Mobil logo, and in a classy girly bar in the Philippines. Not that I would know anything much about it. *cough cough*

Wooden Greek horse:
Again, not a real horse, but c’mon, do you know any other horse who would allow an army of Greeks to crawl out of his ass? Hmmm, I wonder if that’s where the term “to go Greek” came from. Anyway, this is one horse that can brag about literally winning the war for its side.


Bucephalus: He was the mount of Alexander the Great and, after he died, a city was founded in his honor. Wow, he must have been one heckuva horse to deserve a city. Most horses just get a trip to the glue factory. After Alexander was shown, the horse that portrayed Bucephalus reportedly said, “Colin Farrell rode me and people were filming it. Eat your heart out, Nicole Narain.”

The horse that Lady Godiva rode on:
Sure, its rider is more famous, but without the horse, Lady Godiva would have had to resort to other forms of transport. “Lady Godiva rode naked through the town” sounds better than “Lady Godiva cycled naked through the town”.

Silver: “Hi ho Silver, away!” One of the coolest catchphrases ever made was dedicated to this horse. OK, maybe not “dedicated” since it was more of a command, but at least his name is forever immortalized in one of the Lone Ranger’s two battle cries. The other one was “Tonto, stop those bullets with your body!”

Black Beauty: The hero and title character of Anna Sewell’s novel. I don’t know much about him (her?) as I haven’t read the story yet. The only reason he (she?) is on the list is because Black Beauty is a classic.

The horse with no name: The horse doesn’t have a name, yet it is the title of a song. That is so cool. Of course, “A Horse With No Name” is a better song title than “Some Random Horse”, “What Am I Riding On?”, and “If I Don’t Find Some Food in This Desert Soon, This Horse is Lunch”.

Man O’ War: A list compiled on a race day is not complete without a racehorse. Arguably the most famous racehorse besides Secretariat, his name evokes images of the swift and fearsome Spanish armada. He died from the sting of a sea creature while vacationing in Portugal. Thus, he lent his name to one of the most venomous animals on Earth. And if you believed that, here’s some other news: Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, and WMDs have been found in Iraq.

Camilla Parker-Bowles:
Prince Charles riding his favorite nag
Prince Charles is a polo player, after all.

This list is by no means comprehensive. A lot of other famous horses were left out for several reasons. Quick Draw McGraw will always be in the shadow of Yogi Bear, Fred Flintstone, and Scooby-Doo. Secretariat is a relative newcomer in the pages of history. Phar Lap is well-known only in Australia and among racing aficionados. Seabiscuit only became a part of pop culture when Spider-man rode him. The horses from Animal Farm aren’t as charismatic or memorable as the pigs. Except for those who actually watched the TV show, nobody remembers the names of the ponies from My Little Pony.

This list is just about what I believe are the equines most recognized by the general public. All those not in favor, say “Neigh.” Oooh, bad pun.

*Images are used for review and commentary purposes only. Prince Charles image from paulgillisphoto.com. All other images from Wikipedia.
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“About one in three Melbourne mums-to-be believe smoking to achieve a smaller baby will make their labour easier. The disturbing trend follows news that pregnant UK teenagers take up smoking in the hope of having smaller babies and a less painful childbirth.” (mX, 24 October 2006)

When I first read this, I thought “Hmmm, that makes absolutely perfect sense. Not!”
My next appearance is on Rove's "What The...?"
Now, I won’t pretend to be an expert in childbirth since I haven’t given birth yet and, in all truthfulness, I probably never will (since I’m a guy). In fact, the only childbirth experience I’ve ever had was my own, and I can’t even remember what happened then. Maybe I was drunk or high, I don’t know. I have to take my mother’s word that I came from her womb and didn’t spring from the blood of a Gorgon. The point is, even an idiot like me knows that pregnant women should not smoke. An unborn child is not an extra organ that you can abuse with your vices, like your liver or your lungs. It is another person, and you are responsible for that person’s well-being, if not his/her life.

I hate to make broad generalizations since I’m sure not all mothers-to-be have this dangerous perception. However, there does seem to be a paradigm shift, especially in the recent years, in motherhood. It seems that, more and more, childbirth is becoming less about the child and more about the mother. When I read a few years back that some pregnant women would rather undergo C-section than natural birth because it hurt less, I was taken aback. Didn’t they know that Caesarian deliveries are tricky and C-section babies are more likely to have birth complications? I was only 16 years old back then and I knew that. Why didn’t they? I felt that I needed a mother’s perspective, so I talked to my own mother and a few other moms I knew. It turns out that they pretty much shared my opinion. Evolution (or God, your choice) gave women a birth canal for a purpose. Three guesses what it is. If women were meant to give birth by C-section, they would have a zip-up tummy (their words, not mine). Caesarian deliveries are meant only as an emergency procedure when the life of the child and/or the mother is in danger. In addition, I also learned that, yes, it was true that the pain of childbirth really does give you a special bond with your baby. Flash forward 8 years and I see the same thing: mothers sacrificing their child’s health for their own comfort.

I’m probably going to sound like an insensitive bastard but I would just like to say, if you can’t handle childbirth, then don’t get pregnant. I know, I know. Sometimes accidents just happen, but again, this boils down to one word: responsibility. Take it like a man… er, woman. You don’t smoke cigarettes in the hope that your delivery will be less painful. That is just a stupid, stupid idea. Hey, while you’re at it, why don’t you try some of this crack cocaine and wash it down with some moonshine? That might make your baby smaller because he’ll have no arms and legs, but hey, at least he’ll just slide out, right? Back in the day, pregnant women practically had OCD when it came to their unborn offspring. No strenuous activity, a careful diet, and definitely no cancer sticks. Now, though... I still shake my head in disbelief when I think about all that smoke and nicotine and tar being pumped into the child’s system, in the mistaken belief that smaller offspring produce less painful childbirths. Even if it did, I don’t think any mother, any REAL mother, would deliberately choose to have an underweight, unhealthy baby just so they could say to their friends, “Yup, he just popped out quick and painless. Sure, he looked a bit blue, his limbs were a bit thin, and the doctor could hold him on one hand, but weren’t you listening to me? QUICK AND PAINLESS. You should really try some of these Marlboros.”

I really hope this misguided thinking doesn’t become a global phenomenon. I have a lot of respect for all mothers everywhere, and I hope that the next generation of moms would realize the whole point of motherhood: to bring a child out into the world. It is a selfless act, and blowing secondhand smoke in an innocent child’s face is anything but.

*Image is used for review and commentary purposes only. Image from funnyhub.com.
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A Chivalry Dilemma

October 20th 2006 05:32
Here’s the scenario. I’m sitting in a train, and a group of passengers gets aboard. There are no more empty seats, so they just stand and hold on to the handrails. They’re mostly guys in their 20’s or 30’s and a few schoolboys, but one of their number is a lady who looked like she just came from work. I grew up in a country where it was customary, if you’re a guy, to give up your seat to a lady regardless of her age, physical condition, or baby bump size. Here in Australia, I’ve learned that things are done a bit differently. So now, I was faced with a dilemma. If I give up my seat for her, I might be viewed as a condescending, non-progressive-thinking relic from the Middle Ages. If I don’t give up my seat for her, I’m going to feel like a weasel.
Fortunately, I was saved from my predicament because, with all the time I spent trying to resolve my inner conflict, I realized that the next station was my stop, so I left the train feeling guilt-free. However, that got me thinking, what if it happens again some other time? Do I follow my instinct and risk humiliation or do I conform to the mores of the society I currently live in? I have finally come up with a solution. I don’t sit down in public transport unless the train is really empty and there is no chance of it filling up during the duration of my trip. Yup, I Am Weasel.

So here’s a question I want to ask (especially the ladies): if I give up my seat for a non-handicapped, non-pregnant, non-elderly lady, is that considered chivalry or am I stepping on the ideals of feminism? Because to tell you the truth, my feet are killing me from all that standing.

*Image is used for review and commentary purposes only. Image from timberwolf.org.
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Damn Good Pizza at Toto's

October 19th 2006 08:19
If you’re ever in Melbourne and you suddenly get attacked by a craving for pizza, I would have to recommend Toto’s Pizza House on Lygon St. Last night, my sister and I went here for my birthday dinner. The first thing I noticed was that our waitress was really nice and friendly. Of course, it may have merely been due to my boyish good looks *cough cough* , but somehow, I doubt it.
Lygon St.
She was so bubbly and attentive to our needs that I was wondering if she was high or something. But no, her pupils weren’t dilated, her hands weren’t shaking, and she wasn’t babbling incoherently. I talked to her for a bit and found that she had been working for 10 hours straight and had about 2 more hours to go. Holy Red Bull, Batman! I asked her if she wasn’t even feeling tired and how the hell she still managed to stay so perky at 9:30 in the evening. Again, images of narcotics flashed in my head. It turns out that she was feeling a bit cranky and slumped earlier in the day, but once she got over that hump, she was Little Miss Sunshine again.

So we ordered a Mexican pizza and, uh, some sort of pasta. I forgot its name (I’m stupid that way) but it was Italian and had cream sauce with bacon, chives and mushroom. The pasta was good, but the pizza was excellent. It was delicious and they didn’t skimp on the toppings. Special mention goes to the crust. It was one of the tastiest crusts I’ve ever had. Except for that time I ate the crust from a leper’s sore. Hah! I kid, I kid. I expected I would have to wait for a while before they brought out the food. Boy, was I wrong. Those two dishes we ordered were brought out within just 10 minutes. The best thing about the menu was the price. In a nice place like that, I would have expected to shell out around $40 for what we ate. Instead, for a medium pizza, a large plate of pasta, and drinks, the grand total was $25.30. Here’s the best part. I went to pay the bill with a $50 note, and my change was $25. Where else in the world would you see a restaurant tip its customers


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So You Think Your Parents Suck?

October 10th 2006 05:32
“BILOXI, Miss. — Leann Real promised her husband, an avid sports fan, that if they ever had a son he'd get to pick the name. ESPN Montana Real was born this week at Biloxi Regional Medical Center. Rusty Real, of D'Iberville, chose ESPN (pronounced Espen) after the sports network and Montana after football legend Joe Montana. Baby ESPN isn't alone. Three others were cited in a 2005 report on tivocommunity.com about the network's 25th anniversary. They are Espn Malachi McCall in Pampa, Texas; Espn Curiel in Corpus Christi, Texas; and Espn Blondeel in Michigan. "We were the talk of the hospital," Rusty Real said. "The nurses kept asking my wife if she was really going to let her husband name him ESPN. She said, 'Oh, yes.'" (FOXNews.com, 07 October 2006)

There’s actually two pronunciations for the baby’s name: “Espen” and “Good-God-You’ll-Be-Scarred-For-Life.” Honestly, what kind of a parent names his child after a television channel? Not only that, no matter how you say the name, it’s still going to sound stupid. I think that Daddy Redneck has some residual childhood trauma issues that he needed to pass on to Junior. He wasn’t too keen on his own name so he decided to share the pain. I can just imagine the roll call in class. “Parker, Peter. Rabbit, Roger. Real, Rusty. Hahaha! Hey, everybody. Let’s laugh at him. Not only is he not the sharpest tool in the shed, he’s also real rusty.” The other kids named Espn aren’t any better off. The kid from Pampa is cursed with a stupid first name and a Biblical second name. Yup, that should make him really popular with the other kids at school. Especially Bruce, the toilet-dunking, nerd-hating homophobic man-child. The parents of Espn from Michigan must probably loathe him. When you’ve got a last name of “Blondeel”, you should have a normal first name like Joe or Sam or Frank. The last thing you need is sentient blobs from the Alpha Centauri star system kidnapping you because you have the same name as their dead king who is foretold in legends to be reborn in another body and in another world. However, if you really really REALLY need to name your child after a TV station, here are some other suggestions to make his or her life a living hell


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What's With All The Cabbie Attacks?

October 9th 2006 07:14
“A man who allegedly assaulted a taxi driver in Melbourne's north-east and left him fighting for his life has appeared in court. [Andrew Findley] has been charged with recklessly causing serious injury, intentionally causing injury and unlawful assault. However, the court heard Finley could face a manslaughter or murder charge if the taxi driver he allegedly assaulted dies. The driver, who recently arrived in Australia from Afghanistan, was left lying unconscious on the side of the road suffering serious injuries, the court heard.” (The Age, 09 October 2006)

Taxi drivers have to put up with a lot of crap, especially when dealing with uncooperative passengers. If they’re lucky, passengers will just run off without paying the fare.
However, it seems that attacks against cabbies are getting more and more common, especially here in Melbourne. August 2006: In Donvale, cabbie Rajneesh Joga died after a passenger pushed him from his moving cab. October 5: In Watsonia North, a 14-year old stabbed a cabbie over a fare disagreement. October 9: In Eltham, a passenger punched a cabbie in the face and left him in critical condition. On the same day, in Werribee, passengers put a cabbie in a headlock and punched him in the head. It’s not only here in Melbourne where these types of things happen. Last February, in Sydney, cabbie Youbert Hormozi was dragged out of his cab and beaten to death. I don’t have all statistics available (as I’m too lazy to do in-depth research) so there may be other attacks that I don’t know about, but I believe this is a pretty bad scenario for cab drivers everywhere. One thing that strikes me in all this is, in nearly all of the attacks I’ve read about, the cab driver was South Asian or Middle Eastern in origin. I know there are a lot of migrant taxi drivers in Australia, so my question is this: are there a lot of attacks on migrant drivers simply because they make up the majority of cabbies, or are there a lot of attacks on them because they’re not white? In the first scenario, we must assume that the assaults are random yet regular, meaning these attacks occur on a regular basis and so a South Asian driver has as much a chance of getting bashed as a Caucasian driver. Because the white drivers are outnumbered by their non-white counterparts, over a period of time, they should, theoretically, receive fewer attacks as a group. While that is a disturbing thought, it is more disturbing if these assaults are, in part or as a whole, racially motivated. I don’t want to assume anything as what I know about this issue is based merely on newspaper reports, but if it turns out that racism played a part in these incidents, then the trouble is more deeply-rooted than simple fare evasion


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O Brothers, Where Art Thou?

October 6th 2006 04:29
I’ve had it with Channel Nine. I’ve put up with their programming shenanigans for long enough. Changing show times, changing show days, putting on reruns, making shows vanish into the ether without a word of warning… you name it, they’ve done it. This makes me think that those in charge of the program scheduling are either sugar-fueled, hyperactive three-year olds with easy access to crack cocaine or a bunch of attention-deficient monkeys. Hmmm, maybe they’re both. Three-year old monkeys on crack. That’s funny. Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is that people don’t like settling down on their La-Z-Boys with a beer can on one hand and a Doritos pack on the other, eagerly anticipating their favorite TV show, only to find out it’s been replaced by some drivel starring a washed-out, recently-out-of-rehab comedian and a bunch of attractive, but utterly untalented, teenagers hoping to make it in Hollywood. The last straw, for me, came two nights ago. Last week, Channel Nine showed “Band of Brothers”.
This is one of the best TV mini-series ever created. I love war movies, and this show, aside from having a superb cast, also veered away from the stereotypical “America good, others bad” war film mold. The first episode was shown last week, and last Tuesday, I resembled the La-Z-Boy person I was talking about earlier (except I had Pringles instead of Doritos). Ten thirty-five, the H-Hour (that’s military speak for Hour-Hour, the hour which an operation commences). Suddenly, my TV screen flashed the following words: “Shock Docs”. Noooo! How dare they replace my show without informing me beforehand! After letting my blood pressure level drop a bit, I checked the TV guide for next week. Those two accursed words again leapt out at me: “Shock Docs”. What the frick is going on? My theory is that Channel Nine is going to air the show in real-time a la “24”. “Band of Brothers” was set in the Second World War, which took about something like five years. So 10 episodes in five years. That’s 2 episodes per year, or an episode every six months. Wow, talk about “a series of epic proportions”. And you thought “Ben-Hur” was long. The thing is, this isn’t the only time Nine has pissed me off. Here are my other gripes to the geniuses who schedule the programs.

CSI: ‘Nuff said. It makes pretty exciting TV viewing, actually. Not the show itself, mind you, but the Sunday 8:30 timeslot. You never know what you’re gonna get. It’s either an entirely different show, an episode from the previous season, the tail-end of a new episode that started at 8:00, or in extremely rare cases, an actual new episode. It’s the television equivalent of a Kinder Surprise


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Red Zeppelin

October 4th 2006 07:30
Well, I saw my first airship today. I know, I know. It’s not really something to write home about, but hey, I’m shallow. Anyway, my first thought when I saw it was “Wow. So that’s a blimp.” My next thought was “Damn, I’m underwhelmed.” I was expecting the first airship I saw to be like the Hindenburg – majestic, huge, breath-taking (but not quite as explosive). Instead, I was treated to the sight of what looked to be a misshapen pregnant puffer fish drifting across the sky. That’s right, drifting. That’s not what real airships are supposed to do. Airships are supposed to… well, fine, they’re supposed to drift, but they’re supposed to do it swiftly. The one I saw was barely moving. Plus, its color scheme wasn’t really my type. I didn’t know if it was the official blimp of Vodafone or whether a crazed Sydney Swans fan just went berserk with some cans of paint (hence, the title of my post). At this point, I was thinking that it was a good thing airplanes eventually replaced these lumbering bags of gas (I wasn’t talking to you, Kim Beazley). These things used to transport people across oceans?! It would have been better if you walked. You’d get there faster. I couldn’t get my head around the fact that blimps – the same machines that fly around dragging corporate banners – were once used as commercial aircraft, so I did some research about airships. It turns out that, surprise surprise, blimps were different from zeppelins. D’oh!

Zeppelins are rigid framed airships. It has an internal steel framework that gives it its shape. These were the airships used for transporting passengers and cargo. The zeppelin was invented, of course, by a guy named Zeppelin in 1900. Count Ferdinand von Zeppelin was a German military officer who found time from professional soldiering to put gas in an enclosed area. Forty years later, his compatriots would do the same thing, except their results weren’t quite as amusing. The Hindenburg was a zeppelin


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The Lost Art of Applause

October 3rd 2006 03:30
The other day, I went to the Royal Melbourne Show. The mood was really festive there because 1) the weather was just beautiful, 2) it was a Sunday so there were a lot of people there, and 3) it was the last day of the show so people were probably taking in as much of the atmosphere while it lasted. Despite the general cheeriness, I realized something: we, as a society, are losing our ability to clap. The situation has become so drastic that, eventually, sea lions would be more evolved than us. Okay, here’s what happened. Those who have no patience for long, meandering, almost-pointless-but-not-quite narratives, read another blog. Now.

I went to see the daredevil/motor show. Normally, I’m not a revhead, but who would turn down the chance to see a monster truck crush some junk cars? With loud roars of its engine, the truck squashed the crap cars beneath its mighty wheels, doing it four or five times in a row. I was whooping my lungs out and clapping like hell because it was the first time I saw a monster truck in action.
Can't... look... away... from... bald spot!
That’s when I realized that I was the only one in the general vicinity cheering. The rest of the audience was just staring into the arena as if nothing exciting happened. Fair enough, it did seem a bit lacklustre. There were no exploding windshields because the cars didn’t have any. The cars also weren’t as flattened as I wanted them to be. I was thinking, “OK, maybe these guys are used to something flashier


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