The Bruising Adventures of Girl Clumsy

Fashion Cents - Big Reveal

2012-02-12T23:47:00.000+10:00

I'll keep this introduction short, as I know people aren't interested in what I think right now, only what the hell those dresses were.

Thank you ALL so much for taking the time to comment. This has been endlessly fascinating, and everyone has been so remarkably positive and enthusiastic about it! Keep reading, as there are PIE CHARTS and explanatory notes to come.

But first, pictures!

What?

Really?

No way!

The black dress doesn't have a label - because it's the market bargain from Bangkok!

Yep.

And that's the funniest thing about this whole thing: most people thought the most expensive dress - the pink one - was the cheapest.

Oh wait. I paid $109 for that Review dress. Maybe it's not that funny.

My friend Elizabeth, who is quite the most glamorous woman I know, screeched her indignation at that unfolding result via text message: "I cannot believe people think your Review dress is from Bangkok!"

She wasn't alone; a number of keen-eyed fashionistas picked the Review dress. Many pointed correctly to the photos not showing the close-up detail of the fabric and embroidery, and I do realise that seeing the dresses closer up would have made a difference.

But then, I said it was a cobbled together test. Just how cobbled together became obvious to me when I sat down to tabulate the results. I realised, using the highly technical counting mechanism of a purple Bic and the back of an old receipt, that I probably should have thought it through a bit more.

Luckily, Twitter came to my rescue, in the white-knighted form of @pappubahry, aka David Barry. David apparently does Excel spreadsheets and statistical analysis for fun, which to my mind is a far more useful skill than picking which dress is which brand. Which is good, because David got zero out of four.

David only collated the guesses that included all four dresses. Here is his summary:

Three people picked all four - Annukya, FatCat (both from Brisbane Times) and Anonymous (from the GC blog).
21 people got two right, 14 got one right and 15 scored zero.
The overall average score was 1.3, so people did better than random chance (no p-values, that's too hard for now...) Editor: What's a P-value? I didn't listen in Maths...
Women generally picked the pink dress as the Bangkok market dress, grey as Cue, black as Coles, and by process of elimination, green as Review. However the green answers were all over the shop.
The men generally picked pink as the Bangkok market dress, grey as Coles, black as Review and green as Cue.

Now because words about numbers generally do my head in, David kindly provided me with two pie charts, breaking down the guesses by gender. Not everyone listed their gender as part of their guess, but based on the ones that did, 36 were women, and 9 were men:

This would seem to suggest that women do have an edge over men when it comes to picking brand name frocks. Having said that, four times as many women than men took a punt, so perhaps you could just say that statistically the women had a greater chance of getting it right. However, as we've seen, very few people were able to guess all of the dresses correctly.

So what's the lesson? Well, I should've listened more in Maths, or done some research on how to compile an Excel spreadsheet. But those obvious failings aside - I hope it shows in its own little way that it probably doesn't matter what you wear, as long as you're happy with it. That may mean shelling out more, or less, or looking at other factors such as material, construction, ethical and sustainability issues, and longevity of wear.

I'm somewhat sad this experiment has come to an end. Although I do have more dresses in my wardrobe... anyone up for a round 2?

Fashion Cents

2012-02-09T19:46:00.002+10:00

Something has been happening to me over recent months. I've started... buying clothes.

Not just any clothes. Non-cheap clothes. Clothes with... brand names.

I've always enjoyed shopping, and particularly snaring a bargain. But over the past year, I've become more and more drawn to the nicer clothes, the better quality stuff. In the fashion world, they don't call them clothes. They call them "pieces".

Don't get me wrong, I still love a bargain. I can't afford most stuff at full price (even if it's "worth it"). But I've started taking true advantage of sales and discounts at places like Myer. 30% off, 40% off, 50% off, even 60% off. Buying clothes that will be practical and stylish for work or play, and not fall apart after a few wears.

Myer is like crack for that s**t.

Anyway, I recently met the lovely Nikki from Styling You, an incredibly popular fashion and beauty blog (for good reason). Nikki is a former journo turned personal stylist, and is a whiz at "creating a look". She mixes garments of varying origin to create sensational outfits that leaves my imagination in a curdled puddle on the floor.

(As a side note, Nikki gets to review beauty products. This means PEOPLE SEND HER BEAUTY PRODUCTS. Seriously, I know it's superficial, but I AM ENVIOUS. I know she's built up a reputation for good writing and balanced opinion, but hey, cosmetic companies, I'm just letting you know I'll sell my soul for a few fruity lip glosses and extra-thick mascara.)

It was through Nikki that I became aware that Coles (yes, the supermarket), now has a clothing line. They're not in every Coles, only the bigger ones with the room. But they're cheap. I checked it out online and there was nothing over $30.

So what did I do? I tossed aside my newfound fashion snobbishness, found the nearest Coles-With-Clothes to me (a good 15 minute drive away) and I WENT THERE TO LOOK.

Oh, it gets better.

It turns out the quality and styles of these cheap Coles garments was pretty darn good. I grabbed about 10 items, and went searching for a fitting room.

"No, we don't have one actually," said the perky brunette attendant when I queried the lack of any curtaining whatsoever. "But you can just try them on in front of the mirror if you like. Lots of ladies do, they're very clever getting them on over and under their actual clothes!"

Cut to me five minutes later, contorting my body behind the end of a clothes rack, in a fit of semi-hysterical laughter as I faced the confronting choice: Whom would I prefer to flash - the check-out chicks, or customers picking up some Birds Eye fillets in the frozen fish aisle?

As I struggled with some pants - and the sad reality that my life is now 'Allo 'Allo like in its level of farce - I began pondering whether expensive clothes are all they're cracked up to be. Sure, I know they're better quality - but do others?

Can you tell the difference between a brand name, and a cheapie?

Let's run a cobbled together pseudo-test.

Below are four photographs of me, in four dresses that I own. They are Black, Pink, Green and Grey. I haven't dolled them up with any accessories, hair or make-up (that's my excuse anyway). They are as plain as a cracker biscuit.

Let's see if you can match them up with the following descriptions.

1. Cue dress, bought for $97 (reduced from $259).
2. Dress bought from a Bangkok market stall for $14 (haggled down from $16, because I am That Guy).
3. Review dress, bought for $109 (reduced from $279).
4. Coles "Mix" dress, bought for $25 (no discounts. I paid full retail price. Mercy).

Leave your guess in the comments below. And, if it's not already obvious from your name/photo, would you mind noting if you're male or female? Let's just see if the shopping socialisation of the modern woman actually stacks up; or perhaps the fellas might have a keener eye for fashion than we generally give them credit for!

BLACK

PINK

GREEN

GREY

I look forward to seeing your couture choices! Also, your friendly mocking of my poor model posing.

The Infestation

2012-02-03T23:49:00.002+10:00

I don't know when it began, but it feels like it's been going on for months, like the Republican primaries or the reality TV shows about weight loss.

The Infestation.

Google tells me they are Indian Meal Moths, and they are damn hard to be rid of.

I've had them before in my pantry, but never as bad as they seem to be at the moment. They're in everything, these tiny winged terrors. Worst of all, they tend to like foods they actually physically resemble, like oats and rice and motherf***ing sunflower seeds:

Is this part of my breakfast? Or part of a nightmarish scenario where I eat moths and moths grow in
my stomach and have baby moths and eventually turn me inside out into a foul demonic humano-moth?

I think the meal moths have overtaken geckos as my new freak-out-creating creature of choice.

Actually, I think the geckos are part of the problem. Or rather, the lack of geckos. Is it just me, or are there very few about this summer? Perhaps it's the rain. Good to moths, bad to geckos.

I know that the geckos used to eat the damn moths, keeping them under some semblance of control. I know this because once I put a sticky pantry trap in the cupboard to get the moths, and a gecko got stuck on it. It was an anguishing thing to happen, as I wanted to help the gecko free, but I'm so terrified of geckos that I couldn't bring myself to touch it. I had to wait half an hour or so for The Wah to get home, so he could tear gecko's fragile body from the sticky paper. Oh God, the anguish.

The Wah, who is St Francis of Assisi-like in his affection for all animals, got the gecko loose (although it did leave several dermal layers behind). He set it free on our balcony, and it scampered away, I imagine to die somewhere quietly. But at least we did the right thing. Well, The Wah did the right thing, and I just squealed disgracefully in the background.

But the Hitchcockian tale of The Gecko Vanishes has left my larder in a mess. So much so that I unwrapped another pantry trap to see just how bad the situation had become. After a mere four days in action, hey presto, the killing fields...

I imagine this makes me a very bad Buddhist. Being a lapsed Catholic is probably another reason I'm a very bad Buddhist. But regardless, I took equal amounts of pleasure in their deaths, and disgust in their proliferation in the first place.

Today I launched a scorched earth policy. I turfed everything out of the pantry, and chucked most flours, cereals and grains. I vacuumed the shelves to suck up any little cocoons of awful sticking to the laminate. I spray cleaned and sponged.

Then I went to Howard's Storage World to buy Storage. I don't know who Howard was, but by goodness, he knows how to put things in places. Expensive places too. I refrained from purchasing more dry food storage containers, because they were about $30 a pop. But I did pick up some plastic trays with handles to replace the baskets I'd been using, and which I suspect had been secret bases for meal moth expansion. Now the pantry is re-organised, re-freshed, and hopefully, de-mothed.

I am going to install another pantry trap and monitor the situation. But any advice on keeping these little buggers away is welcome.

Have you ever had an infestation? What creatures afflicted your home? And can you ever get rid of these things for good?

Five 90s Sitcoms You've Probably Forgotten

2012-01-28T22:00:00.000+10:00

The 1990s were a decade with VCRs, and eventually, dial-up internet. But they lacked high-speed data-sharing and Doctor Who, so it was hardly living, really. We watched our television when the free-to-air networks told us to, and we never knew that we were often missing bits and pieces that they'd chop out to make the ads fit. If, like me, you spent the majority of your childhood/teens in the 90s, then you'll probably share a certain sensibility about that era's TV: of sitting through rivers of crap waiting for the occasional nugget of gold.

I watched Seinfeld, which began "revolutionising" sitcoms, according to people who know about TV and comedy and such. Thinking back, I guess I could tell it was different, only because they didn't have the Full House-style, soppy "I've learned a lesson" scene at the end of every episode. Although the "TV has really changed" lightning bolt for me was Monica on Friends telling someone she "had to pee". Woah! Never once in all the books I read as a kid, or all the TV shows I'd seen before, had anyone ever said they needed to use the facilities. The Faraway Tree didn't have an amenities block. Mollie and Peter never parked The Wishing Chair to drop the kids off at the pool. Trixie Belden didn't have to take a quiet squat while spying on a suspicious farmhouse.

Apart from that I think the only shows with real comic "credibility" I watched during my teens were the Rik Mayal/Adrian Edmondson brawlfest Bottom, sci-fi comedy Red Dwarf (although some tell me post-season-3 doesn't count) and current affairs satire Frontline.

But I sure as hell watched a lot of sitcoms. Most were American. Most were dodgy. Many of them would be familiar to you: Home Improvement, The Nanny, Married... With Children, Family Matters.

If you can say "Did I do that?" without echoing Steve Urkel's nasally style,
then congratulations. You are probably capable of conversing with strangers.

But what about the more obscure works in situationally comedic ouevre? Here's a few you probably don't care to remember - if you ever saw enough to forget in the first place.

5. Major Dad (1989-1993)

You know what works in sitcoms? Opposites! Why do you think that They Fight Crime! meme is 97% funny all the time - because it's just so true. People disagreeing about things equals conflict, and conflict creates comedy. We all remember the laugh riot that was the Korean War.

Major Dad was about Major John D. MacGillis, a hard man training hard men at a US Marine Corp infantry school. He marries a liberal journalist, Polly, and must adjust to life with her, her filthy values, and her three daughters. Can this military hardass soften up just a little while still retaining rigid posture and a pert moustache?

I remember very little about this show except for one joke: "Mac" finding out that Polly's middle name was Esther. Geddit? Polly...Esther... hey, I was 11 at the time and that stuff was razor-sharp.

4. Empty Nest (1988-1995)

A spin-off from The Golden Girls, Empty Nest starred the statuesque Richard Mulligan as Dr Harry Weston, a paediatrician living in Miami. His two adult daughters returned to live with him after his wife dies, and the show highlighted their constant bickering, and their and put up with his sleazy neighbour Charley (a kind of real-life Zapp Brannigan). There was also a lovely big dog named Dreyfuss.

My favourite character was Laverne, Dr Harry's tough-talking, wise-cracking nurse. I think hers was the first really Southern accent I can remember hearing, and boy, it was funny. Also, the actor playing her was named "Park Overall", and I never understood that. It sounded like a garment for a council worker.

I was sad to realise while researching Empty Nest that Mulligan died in 2000. I hadn't even realised. He was like the kindly, spindly, determinedly-flat-haired grandfather I never had. Except then I found out that at the height of the show's success in 1992, he married a porn star. Woof, indeed.

3. Blossom (1991-1995)

Mayim Balik has popped up in recent times on The Big Bang Theory, which I've never seen, but seems to have a bunch of 30-something non-nerds putting on bad clothes to play a bunch of 20-something actual nerds. To me, she'll always be Bette Midler as a young girl in Beaches. But after that, she'll always be Blossom.

The show was about a teenage girl living with her father and two older brothers. While it looked incredibly cheesy, it actually dealt with "teen issues". Blossom's eldest brother Anthony was a recovering addict, and her chatty best friend Six had a pregnancy scare. The middle brother, Joey, had a catchphrase - Whoa! - and later on, a music career.

The fashion of this show is so early 90s, it hurts me in the place where I used to wear my Hypercolour t-shirt.

2. The High Life (1995)

Lest all the entries in this list be American, I present this short-lived Scottish sitcom. It was written by Forbes Masson and Alan Cumming, whom you might remember from Bernard and the Genie and some other stuff, and is about two flight attendants working out of Prestwick Airport.

I remember thinking this was hysterically funny at the time it screened, but I can't remember if that was because of the jokes or just the accents. Only one series was made. I seem to recall seeing in as part of some sort of "Saturday Night Classic Comedy" line-up that the TV stations would occasionally do. They'd pull out episodes of George and Mildred, One Foot in the Grave and Are You Being Served? and jam them all together in the hope of entertainment. They never lasted long, mostly because the nostalgia factor was outweighed by the "Oh my God, is this how I'm spending my life now?" factor.

Interestingly, the name of the pilot character in the show was Captain Hilary Duff. And this is before Hilary Duff herself began her career as a child actor. All right, maybe it's not that interesting.

1. Dinosaurs (1991 - 1994)

This is not a parody sketch; this is a thing that actually happened. Dinosaurs was basically The Flintstones but with actual dinosaurs, not people. Well, not actual dinosaurs, people in dinosaur suits, with animatronic heads. Oh God, this is confusing.

But wait, puppets, could this mean...? Yes, apparently Jim Henson dreamt up the whole idea not long before he died, and his son Brian produced it. The show centred on Earl Sinclair, a hard-working megalosaurus dealing with all the pressures of modern family life - in 60, 000, 000BC Pangaea. It's probably most famous for Baby Sinclair, whose catchphrases, including "Not the Mama!", "Again!" and "I'm the baby, gotta love me!" adorned posters and stickers and t-shirts for at least 18 months. They also got a fair workout as witty classroom rejoinders for schoolkids like me.

To be fair, though, one of the most memorable lines of my childhood was from Dinosaurs. For some reason, Earl's company was arguing with another company, and they decided to launch Operation We Are Right to prove their point. I was about 12 at the time, and it took a fricking jabbering puppet to teach me the most succinct definition of war I'd ever heard.

That's my list, for now. Do you have any long-forgotten 1990s sitcoms? Add them to the list in the comments!

Anna Bligh's 2011

2012-01-25T23:11:00.000+10:00

It's been a busy day.

Premier Anna Bligh confirmed Queenslanders will go the polls on March 24, but the official election campaign will only start on February 19.

The Forced Smile competition was declared a draw

I'm rather excited, as this election will be my first "on the road". This means I'll actually be heading out with the leaders on the campaign bus/plane/train/boat/scooter/segue/pack mule, to provide coverage in my role as Fairfax Radio state political reporter.

It's going to be exhausting and challenging and I hope I will do it justice.

One thing I want to incorporate into my campaign experience is regular writing. So to get started, I'm going to post this review of Anna Bligh's 2011. It was originally commissioned for another publication, but ultimately not used. Of course, it's all a bit out of date now the election timetable's been determined, but here it is anyway.

------------

2011 started and finished with disasters for Premier Anna Bligh, but of wildly different kinds, with drastically different outcomes.

It’s now been a year since Queensland flooded, when 75 per cent of the state was declared a natural disaster zone, and at least 35 people lost their lives. The Premier’s steady leadership won her admiration around the world.

But it’s been just over a month since the revelation of a 16 million dollar alleged embezzlement by a Queensland Health executive, and the subsequent drastic re-organisation of the state’s most controversial department.

When the state election is finally called, which Anna Bligh will Queenslanders remember? The tough yet tender crisis manager, or the person ultimately responsible for a series of ongoing health blunders?

"We are Queenslanders.” Ms Bligh choked back tears as she addressed an emergency briefing on January 13, just hours after the Brisbane River peaked at 4.46 metres.

"We're the people that they breed tough, north of the border. We're the ones that they knock down, and we get up again."

The speech was lauded as evidence of real leadership, with a welcome absence of political spin. Ms Bligh even became a trending topic on social networking site Twitter, something not to be dismissed in the tech-savvy ‘Tens.

The waters had barely receded when danger loomed again, in the form of Cyclone Yasi. The category five storm smashed into North Queensland on February 3.

The cost of recovery and rebuilding was put at 6 billion dollars in the June budget. It was a blow to a state still suffering fallout from the global financial crisis. Ms Bligh’s decision in 2009 to sell off key state assets like QR National and the Port of Brisbane to help reduce the debt burden remained unpopular with many. There was added criticism of the government’s ability to handle money when delayed in distributing payments from the Premier’s Disaster Relief Fund were revealed.

All this may have been surmountable in the public eye while the Premier’s post-disasters popularity surged to 60 per cent in the polls, and the state opposition remained ineffective.

But in March, Campbell Newman made the astonishing announcement that he would quit his job as Lord Mayor of Brisbane, nominate for the state seat of Ashgrove, and become the LNP leader from outside the parliament.

The audacious move gave the LNP the boost and focus it needed, and from then on Mr Newman surged ahead in the polls. He often demanded Ms Bligh call the election, but the Premier stuck to her guns about 2011 being a year of rebuilding (even taking charge of that effort personally as Minister for Reconstruction).

The government was able to score some political mileage out of Mr Newman’s reluctance to put his full personal finances on the public record - even he regretted not doing that sooner – but the real edge came in October, with the revelation LNP officials had paid an ex-ALP staffer to compile a “dirt file” on Labor MPs.

Mr Newman, who claimed no knowledge of the dossier, was forced to apologise. “This sort of sleazy politics is unacceptable to me,” he said.

Ms Bligh had a PR win in November when her hometown of the Gold Coast was awarded the 2018 Commonwealth Games. It was followed by a free kick in parliament, when none of the LNP’s 31 MPs showed up in the house to vote on three pieces of legislation, including the governing framework for the Games.

Ms Bligh announced the Mines to Minds education plan, designed to direct 50 per cent of all future LNG royalties into education opportunities for Queensland children; and gay rights activists welcomed Ms Bligh’s support of Civil Partnership legislation.

A December poll saw a bounce in Ms Bligh’s approval rating; but that was conducted before the revelation Queensland Health employee Joel Barlow allegedly stole 16 million dollars from the department, using the money to fund his lavish lifestyle.

As Barlow was found and arrested, voters were astonished by revelations his New Zealand criminal record was not uncovered, as well as the system failures in how he was able to approve payment transfers.

Health has been a bugbear for the Labor government since the Jayant Patel scandal at Bundaberg Hospital in 2005. Under Anna Bligh’s watch in 2010, a new health payroll scheme collapsed on implementation, leaving hundreds of health workers overpaid, underpaid, or not paid at all.

Three days after the scandal broke, a fed-up Premier announced the demolition of Queensland Health. She said the dramatic move to split the service in two was the way of changing the “toxic” culture of the department’s corporate office.

Whether it’s enough to change Queenslanders’ distrust of how Labor manages health is another story.
Eight Labor MPs – including Deputy Premier Paul Lucas – announced their intention to resign at the 2012 election. Ms Bligh welcomed them all as a chance for renewal. But critics claimed it was a case of rats deserting a sinking ship.

There is no doubt Anna Bligh will throw all of her energy into fighting the forthcoming election. She has the advantage of picking the date that will best advantage her and Labor. But history is full of leaders for whom the ability in battle was not enough.

Winston Churchill has been voted the Greatest Briton of all time. He was a popular war leader, the right man at the right time. But despite victory against the Nazis, Churchill was thrown out of office in the July 1945 general election, amid a mood for change.

Anna Bligh’s finest hour may have come and gone with the swirling muddy waters of the summer of sorrow.

Creatures of Habit

2012-01-21T22:58:00.000+10:00

My grandmother always travels with two gold sovereigns.

That's a 1904 Edward VII, and a 1900 Queen Victoria.

In a way, that sums up Queen Pat. Born of Empire, she's never upgraded to the now-more-common practice of secreting a few US dollars about your person when venturing into foreign climes. Shillings may have gone the way of the colonies, but By George my Gran will keep her bullion coins as emergency currency.

It got me thinking about habits, and how one acquires them.

My Gran told me that her father - Rattonshaw, the Parsee Zoroastrian diamond trader - used to give her and her siblings a sovereign on their birthdays, only to take it back for "safe-keeping". Turns out he was re-using the one sovereign between them all, the enterprising fellow.

Of course, sovereigns were always a safe bet to have on your person. Remember James Bond's first-ever gadget? But perhaps the childhood association with her father made it a comforting tradition for my Gran to maintain.

But are all habits learned behaviour? Or could some be genetic?

One of my bad habits is picking at my fingernails. Charming, I know. If not otherwise engaged with typing, writing or shoving food into my craw, my fingers will naturally drift towards each other, and scratch around the cuticles.

I thought it was something I had started doing in order to stop biting my actual fingernails. Or perhaps a response to stress. But I've noticed that my Gran - who has lovely long nails, no trouble growing them - also scratches at her fingertips.

Now while I see my Gran reasonably regularly, her base in Vanuatu means she's never been a constant physical presence in my life (my relatives on both sides are spread all over the world, and we all seem to work quite well with the distance). I'd be happy to admit to learning that behaviour from her, if I honestly thought I'd spent enough time with her in my younger days to observe it.

So does this (admittedly anecdotal) evidence point to some sort of genetic predisposition to nail scratching? There does seem to be some research that points to genetics being a factor, but honestly, what evolutionary purpose does it serve to have fingernails that look like you've just dug your way out of your own coffin?

An even more complex example is my general messiness. My mother, father and brother are all neat freaks. If habits are obtained purely by observation, familial instruction and nurturing, I should be Captain of the Good Ship Mr Sheen. But instead there's an unwashed wok in my sink and I'm writing this instead of cleaning it.

Of course, nature didn't pay off for me here either. Unless there's someone else in my genetic ancestry who has a messy gene so dominant it got past the ferocious gatekeepers of my parents. Someone for whom the life of the Empire allowed her wondrous opportunities to have domestic servants - in India, in Iraq, and in the New Hebrides....

...actually, I'm not going to blame Queen Pat. She was in the Navy, after all.

Do you have any bad habits (or even good habits!) that you think you've inherited? Or ones that you know you've picked up from watching alone?

Yasur on Camera

2012-01-19T23:15:00.000+10:00

My photographic skills remain scatty at best; but I took my Nikon D80 DSLR camera to Vanuatu, in an attempt to brush up on basic concepts such as "exposing correctly" and "taking the lens cap off".

The aim was to try some long exposure shots, to capture the incredible arcing blasts from Yasur's vents. It turns out that's a reasonable challenge when you don't have a tripod and the entire ashen mound you're sitting on regularly shudders with bubbling molten fury.

I wound up sitting with my legs pulled up, and the camera balanced on my knees. I didn't have much luck until I started using shutter priority mode, and set it to 3 seconds. The best shots I got were by accident, or extremely good luck.

Boom!

I suspect this is actually not very good technically,
but hey, I like the squiggles.

Pow!

I haven't made any adjustments to these pictures (mostly because I still don't really know how. Anyone want to teach me how to retouch photographs?).

Visiting the Volcano

2012-01-18T23:25:00.000+10:00

The Wah and I just returned from a week's holiday in Vanuatu, country of residence of my grandmother, Queen Pat. Despite the old bird having lived there over half a century (I found out this trip she'd told my Grandad in 1960 she'd "give it two years"), and consequently seeing a lot of the place, I'd never visited the island of Tanna before.

Tanna is home to Mt Yasur, one of the world's most active and easily accessible volcanos. By "easily accessible", I mean a bumpy ride on dirt roads in a ute, before a reasonably challenging walk along narrow ridges of ash and cooled lava rocks to get to the best viewing sites. Our ute also got bogged along the way, but then as our guide John said - "It's all part of the tour!"

I loved it. Even the rotten egg sulphur smell that would spurt out with the blast waves every so often was delightful. Being so close to something so magnificently dangerous really makes one feel alive. That probably explains why I was so cautious around the edges; not an aversion to heights, no! More a keen sense of self-preservation.

The Wah, being the science nut that he is, was in absolute heaven. I'm fairly certain he was crafting scenarios that would allow to him live on or near the volcano's edge, with nothing but a sleeping bag, tins of baked beans, and his cannon-like telescope set up to examine the hot vents below, and the startlingly clear stars above.

"I'm a simple man, with simple needs," he said.

Yasur means "God" in Tannese. I hope the following presentation will go some way to explaining why.

Also, should I be calling my Gran "the old bird"? I mean, she was in the WRNS. But then, that does mean she might know various nefarious ways to punish an errant granddaughter.....

Vaccination Talk at Woodford

2012-01-03T18:00:00.000+10:00

“What’s everyone looking at?” asked the woman.

“The plane,” I replied. “It’s towing a banner that says Vaccinations Save Lives.”

The woman shook her head and tsked. “Drug companies have all the money, don’t they?”

Welcome to the world of the anti-vaxxer.

I’d made my first trip up to Woodford primarily as a punter, but you can’t take the journalist out of the girl. I’d been at the media conference in early December when Queensland Health Minister described Australian Vaccination Network spokesperson Meryl Dorey as talking “nonsense”, so it was perhaps more than coincidence that I’d made my way to the Folk Festival on the day she was due to speak.

I’m pro-immunisation. I don’t have children, but I have a cervix, and consider the HPV vaccine one of the medical marvels of my lifetime. Like millions of others, I’ve also successfully avoided polio, smallpox, whooping cough, diptheria and tetanus thanks to childhood shots.

But I was interested in how, despite the weight of scientific evidence, people like Meryl Dorey and her supporters could argue against vaccinations.

The controversy over Ms Dorey’s appearance had prompted festival organisers to arrange Queensland Institute of Medical Research immunologist Professor Andreas Suhrbier to present the pro-vaccination argument.

The Blue Lotus venue was packed with over 200 people when the Professor kicked off. His arguments were a simple expansion on the thesis being waved behind the light plane flying over the festival site: Vaccinations Save Lives. He also showed the debunking of the infamous Wakefield report linking the MMR vaccine to autism, and blamed greedy lawyers with fuelling the anti-vaccine conspiracy.

His presentation was met with a great cheer at its conclusion; but Ms Dorey was welcomed with enthusiastic applause as she began her rebuttal. She started by thanking the Australian sceptics who’d paid for the plane to fly over, saying the AVN “couldn’t buy this much publicity”.

Ms Dorey proved a competent speaker, in which I believe lay the key to her support. Her gentle yet insistent American accent had an air of authority, and she was obviously passionate about the topic. She wasn’t aggressive, instead, maintained she was just seeking the truth, and had only ever wanted to engage with the scientific community rather than be ignored by it. She also tied her claims to credible points, such as the role of improved hygiene and living standards in reducing disease:

“The engineers of the world had more to do with the increase in health over the last 150 years than the medical community has, and I think a lot of doctors admit that.”

Ms Dorey pointed at the problem with “superbugs”, and claimed it’s also happening with vaccines, making them less effective:

“Maybe it means the bacteria are smarter than we are, because they’ve somehow adapted to the vaccinations.”

The biggest protest came when she made the claim vaccines do cause autism. A fellow standing at the back of the room yelled “Rubbish!” and received a clap. But around 15 people gave Ms Dorey standing ovation when she finished, indicating that she certainly had fans.

A question and answer session followed, in which the balance for and against was roughly 50/50. One of the best statements came from a young Northern Territory doctor named Michael, who advocated the use of online resources, such as the Cochrane database of research reviews:

“Unless you believe there’s a conspiracy of doctors and medical researchers out there trying to kill your children, then the answers to these questions are available to every one of us, simply by logging on and accessing this database.”

For me, the most eloquent statement came from Professor Schubier, when asked to reflect on the small but often very vocal opposition to vaccines:

“You’re talking about people with damaged children. It’s a very emotional issue. I cannot imagine what you go through having a damaged child, it’s too horrible. It’s very hard in those sort of scenarios to be matching up scientific data with very upset people. It’s very hard, how do you get balance?

I think as a scientific community and a government, we don’t do a great job of explaining things. It’s a very complicated area. You go to university for bloody years just to get an inkling of what’s going on, and it’s very hard for many people to understand a lot this stuff, including me.

There’s a huge literature – I looked it up, there are 55,000 papers on autism. I mean, how can I possibly understand the whole story? It’s very hard, very complicated. So when you ask for balance, you’re talking about [trying to] capture vast amounts of data. And it’s very difficult as well, because you can select bits of data and show one thing, you can select another bit of data and show something else. The real issue is overall, what does it all mean?

I really like Einstein’s theory of humanity: ‘There are two things that are infinite, human stupidity and the universe, and I’m not so sure about the universe.’ We’re not that bright, really.”

I realised why there are some parents out there willing to blame revolutionary and demonstrably effective public health measures for their own personal tragedies.

All the statistics in the world mean nothing if your child suffers.

Science is often concerned with broad-ranging issues affecting thousands, millions, billions. But for many, problems of that scale are inconceivable.

I believe Meryl Dorey’s own experience as the parent of an autistic child spurred her into taking action. I personally don’t agree with her path, but can understand that she sees herself fighting for her own truth.

Whether you agree letting Meryl Dorey speak in public forums is exposing her views to ridicule they deserve, or giving her case oxygen it shouldn’t receive, one fact remains.

Education remains key to fighting ignorance.

Afterwards, I did a brief interview with Phil Kent, a member of the Stop AVN Facebook group who was at the event. Apologies for the quality; I recorded it by holding my Zoom Q3 recorder angled towards us, so I couldn't frame the shot!

20 Pics of 2011 (via mobile phone)

2011-12-23T01:20:00.000+10:00

I've had my HTC Mozart Windows phone for just over a year now. It serves my purposes well enough, but I must admit that my usage remains fairly basic. Calls, texts, email, Twitter, a bit of web browsing. I've not explored the world of "apps" much; mainly because I figure there are maybe 17 or 18 that have been made for the Windows Phone.

One feature I do use is the inbuilt camera. It's not particularly great quality, as the shutter button is external, not on the screen, so it's harder to fire off those super-quick shots people with iPhones seem in the habit of doing. However, it's often the only camera I have on me, as my other camera is a big Nikon DSLR.

I thought it might be fun to have a look back at the year that was 2011, through the prism of my mobile phone camera. So often our mobile phone pictures are disposable. I thought collating a few might help me look back on the year, and the shape it was. I took hundreds of pictures, but displaying them all would be foolishly boring, or boringly foolish. So I settled on the round number of 20 to show to you. Some I've used in posts or tweets throughout the year; some are blurry; some are just plain silly.

But, here they all are anyway. 20 Pics of 2011 - via my mobile phone.

1. Bundaberg

My year started as 2010 had ended - busy busy busy, work work work. The state had flooded, and my new boss used his very first day on January 3 to send me to Bundaberg. It was a great opportunity to get into the field, even though the immediate danger in Bundy had passed. The building pictured is the hotel I stayed at, and one of the first things I saw on arrival was this yacht, washed up about six metres from the river.

2. Brisbane

I returned from Bundaberg, had a few days to recover, and was hoping things would calm down a touch. I returned to work on Monday 10 January, to be immediately greeted with reports of something going down in Toowoomba. It turned out to be water. Lots of it. Lots of it everywhere. I happened to be on the night shift roster that week, which turned into overnights as we realised Brisbane would flood. The above photo was taken just after the peak, on the morning of Thursday 13 January. I had finished up work around 3:30am, and gone to the Howard Smith Wharves near the Story Bridge to see the swollen river. It was a terrible week for so many, and as a journo covering it, but with no personal damage, I felt both in the middle of it and strangely removed from it at the same time.

3. Yasi

We all thought it was over. But it wasn't. Cyclone Yasi came in early February. I was stationed for several days at the Emergency Services HQ at Kedron to cover regular briefings from the Premier and various EMQ officials. Their new facilities hadn't even been properly finished; the whole media was working in a makeshift fashion. You can see the Auslan translator in the blurry pic above. One day I was lunching in the canteen with the mighty Bob Rastas, when I overheard two women, one of them hearing-impaired, tell the Premier they were grateful she'd included signing.

4. Campbell

Barely a month after Yasi, Campbell Newman threw a spanner in Anna Bligh's resurgent popularity by resigning as Lord Mayor of Brisbane and becoming the leader of the Queensland opposition, the LNP - from outside the parliament. It was a spinout, to say the least. The above photo was taken a few days before Newman was officially endorsed as the candidate for Ashgrove, as he met federal Liberal leader Tony Abbott for an early morning coffee and chat.

5. Buble

Impro comedy again played a large part in my life in 2011. I had to take over much of the running of ImproMafia's fourth season of Prognosis: Death! after The Wah went to Biloela to teach for a term. I still adore playing Nurse Lottie Buble, but I never want to have to make fake blood and jelly organs again. No matter how I tried, I always stuffed up the recipe. The Wah has the magic - and bloody - touch.

6. Bruise

I went horseriding in early May for the first time in years. It was fantastic; great to be out in nature for a while. The only problem was the saddle; it left me with honking great bruises on my inner thighs. The photo above gives some sense of scale. Certainly nothing compared to the breadth of knowledge and charm demonstrated regularly by Melvin Bragg, but you get the idea.

7. Gripping

I visited The Wah in Biloela during the height of the Great Planking Craze of 2011. I tried to invent my own foolhardy internet craze. "Gripping" was simply having a photo of yourself taken while holding fast to something with both hands. Sadly, despite my awesome grip of the yellow bull that gave Banana Shire its name, Gripping failed to take off.

8. Biloela

The Wah spent much of his time in Biloela getting out and about and exploring. When I was there, he took me up to a viewing platform to see the huge draglines of the Callide mine. We were on our way back down again when he remembered the space shuttle Endeavour, docked with the ISS, would be visible for a short time speeding overhead. We went back up, saw it, and waved it goodbye. No one hears you yelling at dusk at the Callide mine. This picture doesn't feature the Endeavour, but is the general area in which it was travelling. And the clouds are quite pretty.

9. Dinosaurs

Winter brought dinosaurs - specifically, the massive animatronic ones of the Walking With Dinosaurs live show. I was able to abuse some connections to get our group backstage before the show to see the giant creatures pre-preformance. The Wah and Dan were able to grab an interview for their Smart Enough to Know Better podcast. The above pic was the only one I snapped off on my phone, before The Wah told me to put it away and just enjoy the show. Wise words. It was honestly a buzz; even better than when I first saw Jurassic Park aged 12. One of the most magical experiences of 2011.

10. Straddie

A picture perfect July day in South-East Queensland. I jumped aboard a media barge for North Stradbroke Island for the declaration of the Quandamooka people's native title claim. It think it was the only time this year I've been in a boat. A terrible admission, given the six generations of seamen that come before me, and my childhood on the water. Given the calm and warm day, I found it incredibly soothing.

11. Stairs

I fell down the f***ing stairs at State Parliament. It left me stunned, and despite physio, my poor neck has never been quite the same. I still use those stairs regularly. I just make sure to always hold the bannister.

12. Katter

Bob Katter had launched his Australian Party earlier in the year, but in August announced it would willingly absorb Aidan McLindon's Queensland Party. The media conference discussing their marriage was suitably animated, with Bob declaring the party wouldn't just win a few seats, but could take government.

13. Dogs

I pulled up outside a stationery shop at Cannon Hill one day, only to climb out of the car and be confronted by four boxers staring forlornly at me. They looked like they were going on a boxer dog family holiday, but were none-too-pleased about it. It was hysterically surreal, as I told their owner when she came out of the shop. Turns out the pups just love a ride in the car, and like to spread out.

14. Awards

For the first time in my professional life, I received a nomination for an actual award, not just one I made up in my own head. My work on the LNP's change of leadership received a nod for Best Radio News Report at the Clarions (Qld Media Awards). I lost the award to the ABC, but took the gloriously bearded Disco Stu as my date, so I think I ended the night as the real winner. Oh yes, and I had a fringe cut for the first time since my early teens.

15. Festival

ImproMafia staged the Off the Cuff Festival from 29 September to 1 October, which sold out two of its three nights at the Powerhouse Visy Theatre. It was a huge logistical challenge, and its success a credit to our company. To promote it, our amazing musician Kris Anderson went on ABC 612 breakfast to provide a musical backing track for announcer Spencer Howson.

16. She-Ra

The fulfilment of childhood fantasies - buying a She-Ra costume. For the honour of Greyskull, naturally.

17. Eddie

I snatched up front-row Eddie Izzard tickets a mere milliseconds after they went onsale. His November show at the Convention Centre was a delight. Most charming of all was seeing the little toys placed carefully in front of one of the feedback speakers, to act as a visual prompt for his material, over the course of the two hour show. Clever, and so sweet.

18. Civil

The second-to-last day of parliament was a long one, covering the conscience vote on civil partnerships. Before the debate kicked off, supporters rallied outside parliament, and both Premier Anna Bligh and deputy Andrew Fraser (who introduced the bill) spoke in favour of it. When it passed, just after 11pm, the public gallery exploded into cheers and applause, only to be remonstrated by the Speaker. I remained at my tiny cubicle until 2am filing, before backing up for the final sitting seven hours later.

19. Eclipse

The Wah bought himself a telescope, a mammoth thing the size of a small cannon. My doubts about its worth were overcome on December 10 when he set it up around midnight to watch the lunar eclipse. It was breath-taking to see it through the "light bucket", as The Wah calls it. I snapped the above shot by holding my phone to the view-finder. Not bad.

20. Manly

There are so many wonderful pictures of How To Be A Man floating around cyberland. The above is one of the few I took on my mobile, and I'm glad I did, because not including something from HTBAM would be a terrible omission. It was a project full of joy. The shot was taken on the very final performance, during the party scene, in which we'd regularly bring in ringers to be cameo guests. I think this captures the sense of debauchery of not only that scene, but of the experience of the production as a whole.

So there is one visual representation of 2011 for me. If you're inspired, I'd love to see your own version (whether it's 20 pictures, or 10, or 50!).

HTBAM Shenanigans

2011-12-14T00:38:00.001+10:00

This little clip is a bit of a love song to the cast of How To Be A Man.

I know I keep harping on about it, but there are only three shows left this Thursday, Friday and Saturday, and I would dearly love to pack the Brisbane Arts Theatre full.

Life is lived to learn lessons, and staging Felafel, Tassie Babes and now HTBAM have made these past three years heart-breakingly challenging and heart-achingly satisfying all at once. My twin goals through all of it have been to help the theatre, and above all to be faithful to the spirit of John Birmingham's work, which I treasure dearly.

I am so grateful to have been given the opportunity to put on these marvellously crazy productions. I don't hope that they are Art, or Important, or Meaningful. I simply hope they're damn entertaining for a couple of hours, with more than their fair share of nob gags and unexpected dance routines.

Mostly, I'm thankful for the truly wonderful people these shows have brought into my life. I am richer for knowing them, and I hope some of their talent has rubbed off on me.

If you are in Brisbane, come along to How To Be A Man.

I Like To Move It, Move It

2011-12-08T18:37:00.001+10:00

Because 1990s dance tracks are awesome. And so is my play.

There are only six performances of How To Be A Man remaining, and I would love to see you there. Book now!

Three Weeks

2011-12-03T14:30:00.000+10:00

It's been three weeks since I posted anything here. I can't remember a time when I left it so long; but the absence doesn't seem to have been noticed, or commented upon. It seems my regular appearance on social networks is enough for people. Over there, I am altogether too verbose. Over here, not enough.

It's been a busy three weeks with a few highs and a few lows. I've come here several times to try to write, each time I have sat, frustrated, unable to make a half-decent argument or summon up enough creativity to finish a piece. I don't know if this is writer's block, but certainly it is a writer's rut.

Hopefully all that's needed is a short post like this, just something to draw a new line in the sand. Then I can get back to the regularly scheduled self-deprecation and wildly speculative opinion pieces, and see if there still is some form of writer left in my brain.

But I'll leave with a quote from the new The Adventures of Tintin film, which I had the pleasure of seeing recently.

There's a scene where young Tintin, frustrated after chasing a lead that runs cold, dejectedly admits he's 'failed'. His companion, Captain Haddock (in my mind, the greatest brilliantly-flawed literary character since Falstaff), rounds on him, and in Andy Serkis' best Scottish brogue, tells him:

"Failed. There are plenty of others willing to call you a failure. A fool. A loser. Don't you ever say it of yourself. You send out the wrong signal, that is what people pick up. Don't you understand? You care about something, you fight for it. You hit a wall, you push through it."

Well said, Captain.

HTBAM is Here

2011-11-12T10:23:00.001+10:00

How To Be A Man premieres tonight at the Brisbane Arts Theatre.

There are still a few tickets left, if you want to get in to see the very first performance of this crazy, crazy play. You can book here. Tonight's price includes drinks and a suitably-sharehouse feast after the show.

It's been a long and tiring week, with a superhuman amount of effort put in from our actors and crew. They've just been terrific.

I hope that Brisbane readers of this blog will consider coming along to see the show. It's great to support the theatre, which receives no government/corporate sponsorship. It's also nice for me personally to see people there (I don't get paid, so my reward is seeing good crowds!). Most of all though, I want you to come because I believe you'll enjoy it, and get a lot of good laughs out of it. Laughter is so important, and the necessity of comedy and silliness in our lives is often underrated. I want you to come along because I think you'll have a good time.

Thanks so much to everyone reading for your support and encouragement through this process.

And now, it's the Final Countdown...

Photograph courtesy of Images By Anderson

...to curtain up!

Countdown to HTBAM

2011-11-07T11:24:00.000+10:00

It's a busy time in the Clumsy-verse, as we hurtle headlong towards the opening of How To Be A Man this Saturday night at the Brisbane Arts Theatre.

Yesterday was our bump-in, which is the theatrical term for building your set, and generally moving all your s*** into the theatre proper.

Here's a sneak peek at what is going to be the Best. Set. Ever:

There's much more work to be done, as we continue through "tech week": lighting and sound cues need to be configured; costumes are tweaked to make sure they're functional and funky and fit well; last minute re-blocking to ensure all the onstage action fits in with the set; and of course, getting that acting *just* right.

It's a long and often energy-sapping week. I've taken a week's leave from work to ensure I am available and focused on all the above, as well as carrying out all the other little jobs you wouldn't think about: designing the program; organising the merchandise and raffle prizes; marketing and promotion; the list goes on.

This morning we had our first media coverage, with playwright Simon Bedak doing a great interview with Spencer Howson on 612 ABC Brisbane. Much appreciated!

Now, a few questions about the show and the theatre have cropped up in recent times, so I thought I'd set the record straight with a few firm facts about How To Be A Man.

*You DO NOT need to have read the book to see/understand the play. The play is loosely inspired by the book, but playwright Simon Bedak has created a wholly original story. Of course, you *should* read the book at some point, as it's fun and informative, but there's no need to rush!

*You DO NOT need to have seen He Died With a Felafel in His Hand or The Tasmanian Babes Fiasco to enjoy the show. There are gags in the show that reference the previous plays, but I am incredibly mindful to make sure they don't confuse the new viewer. Consider them comedy easter eggs, if you will.

*The auction of naming rights for my giant penis costumes went very well! Thanks to all bidders. The names will be revealed on opening night.

*There are still tickets available for opening night this Saturday 12 November, but they're selling fast, so book now if you want to see the first-ever performance.

*I encourage people to plan and BOOK EARLY! We're heading into the Christmas season, and I know people are going to be beset with commitments. If you are dedicated to coming along, consider booking for the first two weeks (17, 18, 19 and 24, 25, 26 November). It helps us get crowds in early, and is great for word of mouth publicity (which is still by far the best marketing strategy). Also, through Felafel and Tassie Babes, we heard countless stories of people who left it too late to book tickets, then missed out because the shows starting selling out. I'd LOVE to sell-out again, but I hate people missing out. So this is my plea to you to be pro-active!

*The Twitter hashtag for How To Be A Man is #htbam. Short and sweet! You can also follow @artstheatre for updates, and even one of the characters - @Its_Gay_Jesus. Would love to hear your opinions and reviews of the show via Twitter, Facebook and blogs, so make sure you send them my way, either by leaving a comment here at girlclumsy.com, or shooting me a message via Twitter to @girlclumsy.

I must conclude with a massive thank-you to the cast, crew, BAT staff and all the talented others who have helped me with aspects of this production. I'm so grateful to you all; proper formal thank-yous with names and links will come after opening!

Quite... Something.

2011-11-01T01:58:00.000+10:00

I saw the QI Live stage show on Monday 31 October.

I left partly delighted, but mostly really cranky.

Here I will try to explain why.

I am a trivia buff, and QI is one of my favourite television programs precisely because it seeks to correct and improve the world's collective trivia knowledge.

Its host, Stephen Fry, is one of my great literary/acting/comedy heroes. I would go as far to pay him the compliment that his existence on Planet Earth makes me glad to be here.

And yet, I had not jumped on the opportunity to buy tickets for QI Live, the first live stage version of the show, touring Australia at the moment.

Why? The $150 price tag had something to do with it. I also wouldn't know who the local panellists would be - all the blurb had promised was "some of Australia's favourite comedians". Most of all, because I have been rather busy of late, I just plum forgot about it.

But when my good buddy Disco Stu had a friend drop out, and I realised I wasn't pre-booked for rehearsals of some form, I told him I'd get the funds to him in the usual manner ($150 worth of one-dollar scratchies in a brown paper bag left in in the playground of the Milton Macca's), and take up his spare seat for the Halloween-themed first Brisbane show.

The evening began cheerfully enough, with Mr Fry enthusiastically greeting the crowd, and dishing out around 50 minutes of personal anecdotes about his first visit to Australia in 1981. He also told a few proper old "jokes", with punchlines and all. It was a pleasure to watch him simply orate. He indulged in some gentle antipodean ribbing (about the cricket and our funny accents, mostly), as well as Queensland-specific jibes (apparently those Melbournites are still telling people we can't read and drag our knuckles on the ground up here, orrright, yeah mate, yeah).

Most interesting - Quite Interesting, in fact - was his reflections on the show itself, its dynamo producer John Lloyd, its philosophy, and some of the charmingly absurd facts it's turned up over the years.

That was nice.

Then he brought the panellists out.

Now, I had been hoping - but not expecting - at least one Brisbane "celebrity". A local radio host or TV newsreader. But let's face it, in this age of networking, we don't really have local celebrities anymore.

So we got Jono Coleman, one half of the nationally syndicated "Jono and Dano" radio show; and Akmal Saleh, the comedian.

My heart kinda sank when Jono came out, and my bowel kinda squeezed when Akmal followed.

I reminded myself that just because neither comedian was my style, that didn't make them "bad". It's a panel show, variety is good. The addition of Kitty Flanagan as the third Australian guest perked me up a little; then finally, the arrival of regular off-sider Alan Davies was a welcome audience mood-booster.

Sadly, I believe the panel show itself was a comedy misfire.

There were a few reasons.

For $150 a ticket, I would've thought they could scrounge up a few fresh facts and questions. Much was recycled from TV, which I can understand, but it meant the audience wound up being able to answer a fair few questions correctly. By the end, Coleman and Saleh were joking that they weren't needed and should just go home.

YES, YOU SHOULD, I thought. Well, at least I thought I thought it. Stu's mate Doyle, who was sitting next to me, later informed me that I had muttered it quite audibly.

There was no "General Ignorance" round at the end. This is one of the hallmarks of the TV show. Reviews of the Melbourne shows indicate they didn't have it either, and it may have been scrapped after the first few shows in Perth ran late. Again, it's understandable, and a panel show with a free-form style is always going to be hard to keep to time. But it's a good way to lead into the (admittedly meaningless) scores at the end, which instead felt a bit hasty, like Fry was winding it up early.

Davies didn't really contribute. Again, reviews indicate that he's been unwell during this tour, so perhaps illness and medication might explain it. His manic energy was quite fun, but it was mostly restricted to stealing Halloween chocolates from Fry and taking the mickey out of audience members.

Sure, there were good bits and pieces, and all the guests managed a few funny lines. But more often than not, they just bombed. Saleh and Coleman were the main offenders. Both seemed to be pitching their comedy at an audience that was not there. The QI audience is bound to be a rather intelligent, possibly nerdy one anywhere you might turn up, including the redneck wonderland that is Queensland. And yet there was Coleman throwing out some radio-friendly gags for Mummsy and Daddsy listeners, while Saleh seemed to be looking for any excuse to throw in lines from his act. Hey, the pyramids were built by Lebanese developers! Geddit?

The second half of the panel show - particularly as the audience interaction stepped up - saw more jibes at various Australian accents. Now I know they're funny, and I try not to get too full of myself, but it would have been nice to hear more banter about the topics Fry raised, or at least follow some of the absurd whimsical thought trails that so often occur in the TV show, rather than ten minutes about how f***ed up Rockhampton is. Flanagan was the best at this; at least doing a bit of silly deducing on the topic of kamikaze animals.

The local comedians - particularly Saleh and Coleman - also needed to shut up more. They talked OVER Fry on numerous occasions, which was just frustrating to watch and a tad cringe-inducing.

The show did give me a personal moment of joy when Fry asked if anyone knew the name of the actress who played the "woman painted gold in Goldfinger". There was a beautiful silence, which allowed me to cry out "Shirley Eaton!".

Fry heard and gestured that a chocolate be thrown in my general direction. Of course, he couldn't see me, and being near the back meant I never got my Halloween treat. And the tingle of geeky delight was soon scratched away by another round of panel braying about accents and what not.

So perhaps all this is bitterness. Bitter that comedians I do not find funny get amazing gigs like this. Bitter that anything where Brits interact with Aussies has to include a measured dose of cultural cringe. Bitter that I can't take a joke. Bitter that I didn't get a chocolate, despite devoting a section of my brain to remembering James Bond trivia instead of something important like learning a language or how to open a savings account.

I must reiterate - Mr Fry himself was an absolute delight. I would heartily lay down good money to hear him on one of his solo speaking tours. He and Davies, when on top banter form, were a great double act.

And I understand that other shows have been much more fun - Andrew Denton and Shaun Micallef were among those who fronted the stage in Melbourne.

But I do feel like the first Brisbane QI Live panel event was a cut-rate version, a C-grade version, a test version.

I'm glad I had the experience. But I would not go again at that price unless I knew in advance who the panellists were going to be.

Australia may not have as many brilliant comedians/thinkers as the UK. But we certainly have some, and if not, we need to work on that. But that's a story for a whole other post....

Free Willies

2011-10-31T00:39:00.000+10:00

I'm not revealing their names yet; that will be a surprise for opening night.

But here they are, wandering wild along Petrie Terrace: two giant willy costumes.

Hopefully this video will make no sense - but give you a laugh and make you want to see How To Be A Man.

Meanwhile, ImproMafia is still in action - we've got the amazing 1940s mystery men show Fists of Fury coming up for three Sundays starting 6 November. It's got action, combat, over-sized comic book weapons - all for just $12 per show. You should totally check it out.

It's a busy time for me up at the Brisbane Arts Theatre, that's for sure! One day soon I'm hoping for a day off.

The Queen & I

2011-10-27T00:11:00.000+10:00

There was no Queen and I.

Knocked back for royal media credentials, my attendance at Brisbane Airport when Her Majesty landed on Monday was from the rather picturesque position of behind the barbed wire.

Before our head of state landed, I did have a brief exchange with Premier Anna Bligh, who wandered over to the part of the fence where my dear friend and fellow journalist Robyn were standing.

"Had to come over and say hello," she chirped, "...because I thought 'Oh look, there's Girl Clumsy in red'."

Now first of all, it was more like a burnt orange, but what the hey, and second...

...ANNA BLIGH CALLED ME GIRL CLUMSY.

Not quite sure what to make of that. It was a crossing of the Twittersphere and IRL that cannot now be uncrossed.

Tell you what though, the Premier really was wearing red.

In case the election doesn't work out,
Anna Bligh can resume her career as a stage hypnotist.

Turns out the Queen's protocol people wouldn't dish the goss on the Queen's expected outfit, and so to try to avoid a clash, Anna Bligh took a punt on red because "I figured it was the colour she was least likely to wear."

The things you find out hanging around barbed wire fences.

After seeing a brief glimpse of "spearmint" (or perhaps "pistachio") -robed royalty, I tootled back towards Southbank to see Elizabeth R's public procession.

As an aside, on the way there, I saw possibly the saddest thing I've seen all year.

This is not right.
This is not right at all.

On to Southbank, where the crowd was so stupendously mammoth, that I did not even catch sight of Her Majesty's hat. There were more people squatting on others' shoulders than there were camera phones held aloft.

I did, however, snog a bear.

"I know a guy in a white van who would love this."

No idea what the hell that was about. Just some dude dressed as a giant teddy bear, with a handler holding a handwritten sign saying "Show Some Love Australians". I can't wait for the handler's photos to turn up on some sort of furry fan website.

Speaking of furries and all things bizarre and internet-based, I continue to rehearse my next show - How To Be a Man - at a cracking pace.

Yesterday I had to dig out an old prop from He Died With a Felafel in His Hand, so it can make an eye-watering return appearance in HTBAM.

The damn thing never did get a nickname, so I've started a competition amongst the cast. My suggestions included "Captain Fleshy" and "Cocktimus Prime". Some of the others so far: "Dong the Merciless"; "Richard Dixon", and the simple yet elegant "Christopher Pyne".

I can't believe after over 20 performances and several years stashed away in a props bag the suction cap is still working. I don't even know why it has a suction cap.

No kitchen can afford to be without one!

I realise, yes, I have somehow managed to link Her Majesty the Queen to a fairly dodgy marital aid.

You can now insert your own jokes here.

Shooting the Message

2011-10-22T01:17:00.000+10:00

Facebook is the natural home for sharing images with your friends. For many years, this was mostly humorous cat and or dog pictures...

OMG IS THAT KITTEH UNDER THE DOG'S EAR OMG SO CUTE.

...but that's since expanded into a much broader range - from famous quotes all the way to parody famous quotes.

Generally I've been unable to work up enough yellow bile to justify writing about these Facebook fads.

But a recent growing trend has gotten my sphincters all uppity.

TEXT-BASED GRAPHICS FEATURING MESSAGES OF WISDOM.

Honestly, you can't go a day on Mark Zuckerberg's vampiric spawn site without being visually assaulted by these things.

At first, they were inoffensive, sweet, and life-affirming. Kind of like the Facebook version of Rebecca Gibney.

"I Believe in You!"

But the increasing volume of these macros now makes it feel like I'm stuck in Facebook traffic, only instead of cars, I'm surrounded by pithy adage trucks and common sense balloons.

I realise that the intentions behind posting such messages are all good, and kind, and well-meaning, and born out of a desire to remind ourselves that we are not alone on this spinning ball in space, that we can share and shoulder each others' burdens to create a web not just of information, but common humanity.

Perhaps then it's a demonstration of my cynicism that I ponder different reasons.

The problem is that for me, the sheer number of these images is diluting the message. It's the homeopathy of the motivational poster world.

I wonder about the text-based nature; how they came about in preference to images. Are those composing these macros eschewing distracting imagery for the simple power of language; or are they just like me and no good at Photoshop, but able to cobble together something quickly in Microsoft Word?

There's no point me calling for an end to these things; either it will continue on forever and I'll just deal with it, or the Facebook world will become bored with mere exotic fonts and go back to the cute animals.

OMG ARE THOSE KITTEHS IN MUGS NO WAY TOO CUTE LOLZ

Sorry, what was I talking about again?

Old School Siri

2011-10-19T08:11:00.001+10:00

Everyone's way too excited about this "Siri" business. Frankly, I had "Siri" technology at school.

Cocktober Results!

2011-10-16T23:49:00.000+10:00

I'm very pleased (and grateful!) to announce that Cocktober exceeded all expectations.

There was some frenzied bidding around the $100 mark; but dark horse Drej came in at the last minute with $120 to nab the highest bid. The second-highest went to Alan with $110. So they will be naming the two giant penis costumes in How To Be A Man.

In a twist, the always-impressive Rhino - who'd been right up there until being pipped at the very end - has graciously agreed to transfer his bid offer of $100 to our cockroach costume.

So altogether that's $330 raised to cover production costs!

Thanks to all winners, and to everyone who bid.

Production work is progressing well. There's a certain sense of familiarity, of "coming home" doing this show - mostly due to working with brilliant people who make me laugh. There's also a certain style that we established with Felafel and Tassie Babes, and it's wonderful to see HTBAM growing and following in those footsteps. However, there's always the challenge of inventing, creating, and being more ambitious than ever before. I'm cognisant that many audience members will not have seen the previous two shows, so it's important to me that while HTBAM is part of that legacy, it's able to stand alone as an enjoyable experience.

Here's a teaser photograph taken from our rehearsal today by Joanna, my amazing stage manager/production assistant/maker of wonderful cakes/all round super efficient 2IC:

Hopefully soon I'll be able to shoot some promotional viral videos for you all - revealing names of our giant penis costumes!

It's Cocktober! Celebrate by naming a Penis.

2011-10-07T11:04:00.002+10:00

So here's another reason for my parents to be amazingly proud of me.

My next production, How to Be a Man, contains not only dick jokes, but actual dicks!

And I'm not talking about the cast members (boom-tish).

I'm talking about the two full-size penis costumes I need - for artistic purposes, obviously.

My favourite part is the button that says "Click to Enlarge".

As a fun way of raising awareness - and cash! - I'm going to auction off the naming rights to our super schlongs.

That's right readers - this is your chance to be a part of Brisbane theatre history.

The winning bidders will receive:

The right to name a penis (a one word name only, but it can be anything you like). The name will be stitched onto the front of the giant willy, and will remain there for the run of the show.
A mention in the program.
A double pass to the opening night of How to Be a Man on Saturday 12 November (transferable to another night if you are unable to attend opening). You'll also get a backstage tour of the set.
A merchandise pack including an official How To Be a Man t-shirt and stubby cooler.
A photograph of you with your personalised penis.

There are TWO of these packs up for grabs via secret auction.

The minimum bid is $30 - to place your bid, please email natalie @ girl clumsy dot com with your name, a contact phone number, and what you'd be prepared to stump up to give a John Thomas your own John Hancock.

I'm going to update the bidding amounts in the comments section, so you can see what's being pledged, and whether you want to beat it!

The competition will remain open until 5pm Friday 14 October. The winning bidders will be contacted by phone. The winning amounts will be able to be paid via cheque to the Brisbane Arts Theatre or by direct bank deposit.

Please note - if funds raised exceed the cost of the penis costumes, fantastic! The extra dosh will be funnelled into other production expenses for How To Be A Man. The Brisbane Arts Theatre receives no government or corporate sponsorship, so you know your dollars are going straight to a community organisation that needs them.

Nice?

2011-10-05T18:03:00.000+10:00

I fell asleep last night thinking of regrets, and woke up this morning remembering Nick Niceguy.

He was a year above me at high school. He was in a reasonably nerdy, but not wholly unsociable group of friends. They once invited my friend Clare and I to a party in Nick's rumpus room. I remember being a bit uncertain going in, but then we ended up all telling funny stories about Mr Braiden the Manual Arts teacher (nicknamed "Band-Aid" because of his cavalier attitude towards healing shop-inflicted wounds), and playing air guitar to Killing in the Name. It was the first time I'd head Rage Against the Machine.

Ah, Thich Quang Duc. Your protest resonated more strongly
when accompanied by the thumping riffs of Tom Morello.

At some point somebody told me Nick had a crush on me.

Tragically, I suffered from reality blindness and an unrecognised desire to cause myself misery.

I saw that Nick was a smart, kind lad. But why on earth would I want to hang around someone who actually enjoyed my personality and my company?

Oh no, better to reserve my crushes for pointless wastes of space who relished the attention but cared more about exactly which section of the Toombul Shopping Centre was the coolest place to "hang out".

There I are many reasons why I would like to slap 15-year-old Natalie about the ears, but none greater than this. Given a TARDIS, I'm sure I would cause some sort of space/time paradox upon beaming into 1995, snatching myself by the topsy-tail and screaming:

"You moron! The boys you don't like are exactly the decent ones you should spend time with. They can teach you about cool nerdy stuff. They probably like Frontline and Blackadder as much as you. And for God's sake don't try to wear cheesecloth hippy skirts and style your hair with a fringe because you CANNOT pull that shit off."

Of course, it wasn't that I didn't like Nick. I just didn't LIKE like him.

So when he asked me to the movies, I freaked out a bit. But I went along, because I'm nice, and he was nice. And I don't like to upset people. Really I don't.

Nick said I could choose the movie. I chose Dumb and Dumber, because it was a silly comedy. Nick had already seen it, but was happy to see it again. I mean, how nice is that, Teenage Natalie?

The problem was Romance. I figured the antics of Jim Carrey and Jeff Daniels would keep the mood light, and there would be no time for Any Kind of Funny Business.

You see, I had never been kissed. And I was absolutely terrified of it.

I was scared I'd react like a stunned squirrel, or pull away, which would only make Nick feel bad. The alternative was to have a first kiss that I didn't really want, and Nick would know it, and then feel bad anyway.

Cue time-travelling Girl Clumsy, returning in furious fashion:

"Oh, who gives a crap! You may as well snog somebody who wants to snog you back."

The movie passed without Any Kind of Funny Business. It was awkward, but not wholly unpleasant. But I had this feeling, this dread in my stomach, that it was a set-up for something. That Nick's Year 11 semi-formal was coming up... and that he wanted... a date...

RING RING.

The ring of our old yellow rotary phone used to be comforting, but that day it was a shrill harbinger of unbearable and unavoidable awkwardness.

I can't remember Nick's exact words. I'd feel bad putting him in a quote that might not have been. But he asked me to go with him to the semi-formal. Simply, politely.

And I felt awful, truly awful, as I told him no.

Teenage Natalie didn't want Nick Niceguy to think that she actually LIKE liked him, the way he LIKE liked her.

Teenage Natalie was trying to avoid hurting Nick Niceguy's feelings.

I can't remember if I heard any sadness or disappointment in his voice when I told him. Maybe I've forgotten it because it was horrid. More likely there wasn't any, and he was just accepting and polite. Because he was a Nice Guy.

As it happens, he went with a family friend, a girl from another school who'd been the only other girl at that Rage Against the Machine party. She was sweet. I saw a photo, they were both smiling. I felt like I'd done the right thing. I probably had. I probably hadn't.

After falling asleep to the sound of regret, that was the note that I woke to.

And, forgetting the need for a TARDIS, Girl Clumsy reached through time to berate Teenage Natalie:

"You should have just gone. You should have JUST. GONE. Accepting didn't require you to LIKE like him, or kiss him, or do anything except just accompany him to his semi-formal. You would have made his night. You missed a chance to really show you're a nice person. Sure, you were scared of hurting his feelings. But maybe you wouldn't have. And maybe instead of spending all that time worrying, you would have just had a fun experience. Honestly, please, PLEASE just take my advice."

And Teenage Natalie reached back and said:

"Is that... a FRINGE?"

Cuffed

2011-10-04T00:43:00.000+10:00

Last weekend saw ImproMafia stage its Off the Cuff Festival at the Brisbane Powerhouse.

It was a tremendously successful three days, featuring six shows on Thursday and Friday, and culminating in the Theatresports National Championships on Saturday.

Our audiences grew remarkably across the three nights - we actually sold out the Saturday night show two days early and had numerous people chasing tickets!

In the end, comedy was the real winner. Also: Victoria.

Our interstate guests all reported having a great time, which is a credit to ImproMafia, and in particular, to the dedicated group of organisers pulling all the strings. I helped with marketing and publicity, and the large crowds really were a balm to the publicist's soul.

Most important though were the shows themselves - and all were a wonderful quality. It really was a showcase event. I was thrilled to be able to perform four times, plus co-host the Nationals with my good buddy Wade.

After the show, we had to go kill some supervillains.

I wanted to thank everyone who came along to the festival and made it such a success. Your support really was invaluable, and being able to entertain people is the reward for the hard slog of organising a major event. And thanks again to Kris Anderson, our wonderful musician, for letting me use his lovely photographs (given that I was too busy to remember to take any of my own).

I also wanted to apologise again for using my blog as my own private pimpdom. I promise I will restrain myself from blatant self-promotion for the next few months.

Oh, but one more thing?

Girl Clumsy lies.

Bring on 12 November, baby. Mama's got some more people to offend...

Voyage of the Damn Treadmill

2011-09-25T10:33:00.000+10:00

Many years ago, back when I still lived under the wide expanse of my parents' roof, I bought myself a treadmill.

"I will walk everyday and get fit!" was my declaration.

"That thing has to go in the lounge room?" was my mother's.

Horrible treadmill is horrible.

The Pacer 3501 was a large beast. Not as huge as those gym treadmills, but still, not something easily shifted.

I set it up in front of the TV downstairs, and for a time, it worked reasonably well. I'd put on a couple of episodes of Blackadder, then plod away for 30 to 45 minutes. I did this a few times a week.

When I moved into Chez Clumsy, the treadmill came too. It was a poor choice from the start. My apartment is thankfully quite spacious, but really not enough for a treadmill. I should have sold it off straightaway, but instead I made my Dad, my brother and Greg hump the damn thing up the stairs and set it up on my (quite teeny) balcony.

Over the past four and a bit years, I have used it, well let's see now, carry the one - maybe five times.

For the past two years it has sat, folded up, in the corner of the balcony. It became Item Number One on my List of Things I Really Want to Get Done But By Heavens There Just Isn't Enough Time and It's Really Heavy and I'll Need a Ute or Something to Get Rid of It and Jeez I Just Can't Be Bothered Today.

In short, the only good workout the treadmill has given me in recent times is an exercise in procrastination.

But all that changed yesterday, and as these things do, it happened in the relative blink of an eye.

On Friday night I put out a tweet that basically suggested I wanted to make the treadmill disappear. My friend Mickey Fitz, who is currently starring in So You Die A Little at the Brisbane Arts Theatre, which you really should see, popped his hand up, saying he was looking for one.

Then, a chap by the username of @unixbigot tweeted me, saying he often grabs treadmills and strips them for the motor, and he was driving into town with a trailer on Saturday and could grab it. But if someone else wanted it to run on, he was still happy to offer his trailer for transport.

I told both of them that I should just check if the damn treadmill was actually busted after years of inactivity. So braving the cobwebs and dust, I lowered the board, plugged it in, and hey presto - it worked. I offered it to Mickey Fitz, and @unixbigot still said he was cool to pop round Saturday afternoon to help.

Now, when Mickey Fitz arrived at my place on Saturday, we got to talking. We discovered that I assumed @unxibigot was a friend of his; he assumed @unixbigot was a friend of mine. In fact - he was just a RANDOM GUY.

But WHAT a random guy. @unixbigot - real name Chris - turned up as promised with his 4WD and trailer. He'd done a run to the tip, so was on his way back home. But still, he came in with his sweet young son, helped manhandle the damn treadmill down the stairs and out front, pop it into his trailer, then follow Mickey Fitz back to his place at Paddington.

How lovely is that?

Within 24 hours of complaining about the treadmill on Twitter, the problem had been sorted, and I'd met a genuinely kind man who did a favour for two complete strangers without expecting anything in return.

Awesome dude is awesome.

I quizzed Chris about his generosity, and it turns out he's a big supporter of the FreeCycle movement, which has its roots in that old adage "One man's trash is another man's treasure". FreeCycling connects people with stuff they don't want with people who want that same stuff, all via the magic of the internet. There's even a local Brisbane chapter, if you're interested.

I'd vaguely heard of FreeCycling before, but thanks to Chris, I'm going to keep it front and centre when next I seek to get rid of things.

I'm also going to be sending Chris a double pass to my next show, How To Be A Man. I do hope he doesn't mind a *teensy* bit of profanity and blasphemy. Otherwise I'll have to think of something else!