The Age took the whole parallel between war and butchery just a bit too far this morning, with its syndicated lead article Baghdad 'softened' for assault. That headline alone made me a little queasy, but I thought perhaps it was saved by the strategic Punctuation of Problematisation. Alas, not even all the inverted commas in the world could make up for an opening phrase like this:

Coalition warplanes pounded the outskirts of Baghdad late today, seeking to soften up Saddam Hussein's elite Republican Guard

And what, after that the Republican Guard will be seared and sealed on both sides, served with a side of potatoes? It's disgusting. I suppose it's to be expected that the media will dehumanise "the enemy", but to turn Iraqi soldiers into barbeque fodder through the use of clumsy and inept metaphor is too much.

After that appalling opening sally, the article ranges broadly over war-related topics from Indian protests to water pipes to suicide bombers: a readers' digest version of the conflict. That's not necessarily bad, of course, but it does make for a giddy reading experience. I'd no sooner read a paragraph about pollsters in Washington when I was confronted with some more stunning phraseology - although this one just made me laugh:

Robin Cook, who resigned from the government in opposition to war with Iraq, marched further into the naysayers camp.

Why does marching into a naysayers camp sound like some obscure British boarding school game? I'm so amused by that image that I won't even whinge about all the negative connotations that surround the word "naysayers".

Meanwhile, it's refreshing to see a journalist who can admit to making a mistake. John Simpson of the BBC considers the hubris that led him and others to predict a short war greeted joyfully by Iraqis. I felt something inside relax as I read the article - if nothing else, it's so good to see a public figure who doesn't get more strident and insistent as he or she feels more trapped in a corner. John Howard comes to mind.

Every day, in every way, we are assaulted by advertisements that appeal to the worst in our natures and debase the best. After a while, I just shrug. That ad for whisky ridiculing girls with braces? Whatever. Another ad for sanitary products suggesting they should be used to absorb water? Fine, ok. But then there are always a handful of ads that still have the capacity to shock and outrage me. That innocence is part of my charm. Car advertisements fill out the top 3 spots in today's hall of shame.

1. Chevy Cavalier



Gaze upon a larger image if you must (via Gulfstream). What a step forward for sustainable living. As a scare campaign, it's not even particularly effective for me. I like the creeps and weirdos on public transport. They remind me that all of life does not resemble a Toorak cafe, complete with fake tans and lap dogs.

The good folks at Vancouver Indymedia inform us that previous ads in the same campaign have featured bus routes called "2 HELL" and "Wet Dog Smell". Now that last one is kind of funny.

2. Dodge Stratus (via North American correspondent Dr. Insomnia)

There's a pretty bad ad running on TV here for the Dodge Stratus (a sporty
car).

In the ad, Cheri, a contestant on a game show, is told she looks terrible and she needs a makeover. She reappears on the set at the end of a show, looking exactly the same but driving a Stratus, and the audience is asked what it thinks. The guys love her. The message of the ad is that being ugly is a problem, but you can overcome it with a Dodge Stratus.

And that, my friends, is like the worst of reality TV and advertising culture distilled into a single meme.

3. Chevy Cavalier Again
There always needs to be three, doesn't there? To round off my list, I trawled back to 1999 to find an ad which isn't offensive so much as amusing. It's a combined ad for Vlasic Hamburger Stackers (ie pickles) and the Chevy, linked by what looks like a thought bubble from a stork.



According to the lovingly detailed review at Mired:

The questions remain: Why does a stork need to drive? What's the difference between the heretofore-unmentioned "Sandwich Stackers" and "Hamburger Stackers"? And why spend so much money for the back cover of a crappy magazine like EW with such a god-awful ad? The answer to all three has to be the cocaine.

Indeed.

Oh man, this letter really struck a chord.

Dear Drisky,

All my life, I've watched TV shows where people become regulars at cafes. Seinfeld, Becker, Friends...even Beverly Hills 90210 had the Peach Pit! So how come I don't have a place where I can hang out with my friends and always get the couch and have the waiters bring me "the usual"?

Yours, Wish-I-Was-Special

WIWS, I feel your pain. Like in that Matrix movie, the very tools that have created distance and isolation in our community (like television) have fooled us into thinking we can be part of a loving, though still transaction-based, community. It's a cruel, cruel hoax. And yet...there's hope! Just yesterday (by wacky coincidence) I walked into a cafe called Torch on Swan Street. The waiter smiled at me with what looked remarkably like recognition. "A soy latte?"

Well, I can tell you I almost flipped out with surprise. I had been to this cafe twice before in my life. Admittedly, both times I was wearing an eye-catching ensemble of jeans and a t-shirt. And I do have striking features, with my brownish hair and medium height. Nonetheless, mad props to that cafe. Why don't you go there, WIWS?

Perhaps I can explain my point best by telling an unrelated anecdote. Call it a parable in the best Biblical tradition.

Imagine you're cooking a green curry. You chop the glossy red chillis. Suddenly, your nose twitches and before you can think you rub it. Your nostril is searing! Burning! You run around the apartment, washing your nose, wiping it with tissues, whatever you can think of. Finally, you find the one thing that makes it feel better: the application of a cold bottle of beer. Now the sun is setting, so you go outside onto the balcony to watch it. You're standing there, leaning against the railing with a bottle of beer pressed firmly against your nose, and in a moment of chilli-inspired hallucination (a la Homer Simpson), you see yourself walking along the street below you.

I think you know what I'm talking about WIWS, love Drisky.

So send Drisky your most troubling questions. Share your burdens. Experience the magic. Etc.

In today's Australian, Janet Albrechtsen claims that the "Dirty pursuit of PM abuses our fighters." The column, cited with approval by Tim Blair, is an extended piece of lawyer-bashing, focusing on the firm Slater and Gordon which plans to pursue Howard for war crimes. Her column left me with a number of questions:

When did over-educated (as in "over-educated lawyers insulated from the realities of war") become a term of abuse?

Isn't it rather misleading to claim that the Victorian Peace Network represents socialist groups without also noting that it represents a range of Christian, Muslim, student and community groups?

Aren't most press conferences "carefully orchestrated"? Isn't that sort of the point of a press conference?

Why is besmirching the name of Australian soldiers the new taboo? While our compassion for soldiers-as-people must never fail, their actions are not immune from social or legal examination.

Is the Marcus Graham quoted by Albrechtsen the same guy as the former E Street actor?

Albrechtsen approvingly quotes a letter from a soldier (written last Christmas) that says "Australia sleep well. We are keeping watch." Is she aware that according to many, the presence of our soldiers in Iraq is creating, rather than removing, danger for Australians? That may not be the most compelling reason to stop the war, but it should certainly temper her teary-eyed invocation of soldier mythology.

Watching the Oscars last night was a disorienting experience. I felt like I was flicking between channels even when I wasn't; it was five seconds of this emotion (sad) followed by a snatch of that emotion (proud), followed by a cheesy joke and a tension-easing ripple of laughter. In that context, the excerpt of Gollum/Smeagol didn't seem at all schizophrenic.

The surreal splintering of the presentation was no doubt exacerbated by the tension between entertainment and politics. Some stars kept their references to the war subtle and tasteful: the graceful peace signs of Sarandon and Hudson come to mind. Others were offensively euphemistic, like host Steve Martin who dedicated the ceremony to "our young men and women watching overseas."

The standout anti-war moment was undoubtedly Michael Moore's acceptance speech for his Best Documentary Oscar. Moore invited his co-nominees up to the stage with him to show solidarity - already he was subverting the individualist, competitive paradigm of the Oscars. He then distinguished between the non-fiction format of documentaries and the fictitious world of America - fictitious election results, a fictitious president, a war fought on fictitious grounds. It was a nicely constructed point utterly in keeping with Moore's work.

The crowd hated it. There were loud boos, punctuated by occasional defiant claps from isolated guests. Many disagreed with Moore, and many others had a look of distaste on their face. He was being crass, too obvious, and just not stylish enough. Even as a fan of Moore, I felt slightly embarrassed in that unglorious social-cringe way.

Fortunately for us all, the glossy machine of the Oscars rolled on. Moore was drowned out by music and ushered off stage, and a chirpy introduction heralded the next jarring emotional change. Who knows what opportunities for growth and challenge we miss because we move on from awkwardness (and pain, and shame) too quickly.

”Your Life on the Lawn” (Channel 7, sundaysixthirtypm) is one of the most entertaining flowers in the bouquet of lifestyle television, and much of the amusement lies in two factors: watching hoarders squirm as they throw out the accumulated junk of decades, and the bubbly exuberance of the presenters. Lissanne Oliver is one of these presenters: the organiser extraordinaire who sorts, labels and makes life just a little bit more like an Ikea showroom. Lissanne’s life before the lawn involved work as a photographer, stylist and art director. These days she runs a sorting business that could well bring organisation to the masses. Lissanne and I had a chat about the phenomenon of lifestyle television, the cosmic consequences of her work and clutter-fashion.

The growth of lifestyle television as a genre shows no signs of slowing down. What's your take on the reasons for the popularity of shows like "Your Life on the Lawn"?

Well, I’m a bit of a lifestyle junkie, so that’s not hard to answer! I suspect it has much to do with being informed, being inspired and being entertained all in the one package. Personally, I love the docu-style of YLOTL, the fact that we really get to know the home-owners and how they’ve arrived at the point they’re at.

I think YLOTL sets itself apart from the others in a number of ways: it features three quite alternative presenters (for commercial television), it’s as pacey as hell and it’s a fresh take on what could be considered a tired genre. The show is based on a UK production Life Laundry which has been very successful – it’s in its third season. It’s slightly different to what we do and the concept of the crusher seems to fit the UK better. In Australia, it seems to be viewed as a bit full on, quite wasteful. We [the Grundy Television crew] went to great effort to crush only items that couldn’t be recycled in some way, and that’s a challenge in itself! Most unwanted household items can go to the op shop, a second hand dealer, be repaired, recycled, donated to a friend, whatever… even left out on the footpath, innovative folk will probably come and recycle it for you! I cannot pass a skip without checking what’s in it – there might be something screaming out for a new lease on life. I call it Skip Shopping!

While the crusher doesn’t necessarily suit our culture, it is a great point of no return. I sometimes wonder if there’s a lack of symbolism, ritual and ceremony in society today. Physically letting go of objects can be a great modern day ritual, and I encourage clients to create ceremony with this process if they wish; it can be great to have a “funeral” for things past. My favourite ritual is simply to “kiss it goodbye”! Short, but sweet. Sometimes, we also need to avert our eyes, so we don’t see ourselves letting go. Whatever it takes to be at peace with saying goodbye is fine by me.

Sometimes it’s more important to know that little used items will go to a loving new home. Sometimes clients need to let go in stages. It’s very common to invest a lot of emotion and energy in our physical possessions and that can weigh us down. The old scenario of unwanted and unloved gifts can be a burden for many – those things can take up valuable space and never be used. I can equate it to this: If someone shared a thought with you, and you didn’t believe in it, would you carry it around for the rest of your life? You simply wouldn’t, so why do it with the physical?

I found an article on the internet called "Your Life on the Cosmic Lawn", which put a New Age spin on the concept of your show. Do you think we get too attached to material objects? Do we need releasing?

Absolutely. In Western society, not only do we place an enormous amount of emphasis on the objects we own, but quite often, we also define ourselves by these things. I am so fascinated with other cultures - Asian ones in particular - how little one can own and how there is far less “want” and “need”. And how joyous one can be in the process!

As a collector and a bit of a hoarder over the years, I’ve learned that the more you let go and lighten up about these things, the easier it gets. You lose the fear or “but I might need it”. Of course, I’ve also seen so many clients benefit from a good purge, it has a terrifically positive impact on their emotional, spiritual and quite often, physical health.

To me it’s really about the balance we try and seek in life, the yin and yang, the concept of not placing too much emphasis on yesterday, rather than today, tomorrow and yesterday all in good mix. To me, Feng Shui could mean “common sense” or “good balance. Living in Asia when I was growing up introduced me to many of these ideals and living in large cities around the world (London, Hong Kong, Sydney) has enabled me to make the best of small spaces – particularly rented ones!

I heard that the 80s were about clutter, and the 90s were about minimalism. Do you think that clutter comes in and out of fashion? What's "in" now?

I’ve never thought about clutter being fashionable! What’s in right now? You could possibly say that personal services are, and that would make sense. Busy lives, many, many demands on our time, and there’s very little left over for maintenance let alone creating systems or clearing your desk to begin with. I would so rather pay someone to (for example) finish all the mending in my sewing pile than worry about never ticking it off my list! It gets far too hard to try and accomplish everything all the time or feel burdened by tasks that have been lying around for months or years. I think having someone order your cupboards or setting up a system for the personal paperwork in your life, or even rearranging the furniture to create better use of space is a good investment.

The minimalist chic of glossy magazines seems kind of unlivable. Then again, a well-classified CD collection makes life so much easier. Do you think an uncluttered life is sustainable?

It’s really important to note that everyone’s needs are different. Some people love to have very very rigid spaces. I can’t bear the thought of too much order, it’s actually too hard to maintain for me. I like to know where things are and be able to lay my hands on something (being organised is all about retrieval) but I don’t want to fret when a mess is made – which happens OFTEN when life gets in the way! I operate best by creating a huge shitfight (generally living like that for a short period) and then having a mini whirly-gig of a spring clean. That’s me and my space. Others hate having to ever put anything away and need very low maintenance style of living. I love to work with someone to create custom made systems that work for them. At the end of the day it’s about design.

There are so many misconceptions about organising… that being organised means means being clean or anal, and that’s so not the case. Some people believe if their space is ordered they will lose their creativity, that kind of thing. In most cases, the opposite is true, in fact, can provide an environment to support creativity! Being organised provides clarity / focus / restoration of order. To me, these things are priceless.

Sometimes, some of those with the magazine homes don’t have much in their spiritual or emotional spaces either, and I think it’s important to really have part of you in your space. All those special things…something loved should be honoured. I have a special place in my loungeroom – I call it the heart of my home. There’s a small…shrine…I suppose, to a few precious items that are dear to my heart. I connect with these items on a daily basis, and appreciate them always. That stuff’s important! I also have what I call my personal archive; a couple of boxes with precious sentimental items… stuff I would grab if there was a fire. I’m glad I’m organised enough for that! But I'm prepared to lose these precious items if there is a fire or whatever, what's really important to me is not physical objects, rather what I carry inside. Of course, I would be sad to see special things go, but if you love something, be prepared to lose it. "Fortune favours a prepared mind" says Louis Pasteur.. that rings true for me. Invest too much in something and the loss will be great... keep the balance and the fall won't be as hard.

Tonight I am physically experiencing my grief over the war: my stomach is in knots, my arm aches, there are dark shadows under my eyes. I grieve for the citizens of Baghdad. I grieve for the soldiers caught up in the machinery of war. I grieve that I was unable to prevent this. I've had a bit to drink.

In his address to the nation tonight, John Howard made a plea: “to those in the community who may not agree with me, please vent your anger against me and towards the government.” Too fucking right I will. Now is the time for not only the expression of my deep anger and distress, but also for my best and clearest thinking. With these twin focuses in mind, I offer this critique of Howard’s address to the nation.

The first thing I noticed about the telecast was the Australian flag in the background. Furled tightly, it displayed one or two stars and a cluster of stripes. So even our national flag wants to emulate its American counterpart. Howard sat tightly at the desk, tense across the shoulders, moving only his neck and hands in sudden, jerking movements. His voice was calculatedly calm, betrayed by occasional outbursts of frustration. The speech he gave covered three bases: war in Iraq “is right, it is lawful and it’s in Australia’s national interest.”

Howard’s moral case for war in Iraq relied on the atrocities committed by Hussein, whose regime is not one of “ordinary brutality. There are many dictatorships in the world. But this is a dictatorship of a particularly horrific kind.” Did you see what just happened there? Howard performed a comparative analysis of all the moral outrages being committed in the world and decided that Hussein’s was the one warranting instant military reprisal. At the same time, Howard invented a category of activity called “ordinary brutality” which is OK for the world to ignore. Phrases like these expose Howard and Bush’s humanitarian justification for war as an argument of convenience, tailored to suit existing objectives.

Now, I am desperate for the heinous torture authorised by Hussein to end. I want international action on the issue. But I believe that legal and multilateral action must be given a fair chance to succeed before we turn to brute force to oust Hussein.

Howard’s argument that war is legal centred on conditional authority for military action contained in an old Security Council resolution, authority which Howard claims has been “revived” by Hussein’s refusal to destroy his weapons of mass destruction. Because “clearly we all know this has not happened.”

Personally, I try not to use the word “clearly” because it makes me look like an arrogant schmuck. Similarly, the phrase “we all know” is frankly colonialist, and almost as bad as that Neutrogena ad where Jennifer Love Hewitt claims “we all want the same thing: clear skin.” Hegemonic language aside, the legality of the war is a complex issue which is not resolved clearly in Howard’s favour. International law is an amorphous creature heavily influenced by politics, an aspect acknowledged by Howard when he stated that “weapons inspectors only returned to Iraq because of the pressure of the American military build-up.”

It was the sentence after that which sent a chill down my spine.

“Apparently [America’s critics] believe that a quarter of a million American, British and indeed Australian troops should stay in the desert doing nothing indefinitely.”

Well fuck yeah! Doing nothing is a damn sight better than bombing residential areas in Baghdad. The way I see it, if troops placed near Iraq are causing Hussein to bow to international pressure and comply with international law, then they are being successful. Howard has been caught up in a completely different set of concerns: the prospect of bored soldiers, wasted technology, and the lack of a satisfactory climax after the foreplay of negotiations.

Howard's use of that nasty word “apparently” in the context of analysing the views of “America’s critics” is snide, and shows that he is disingenuous when he professes to respect the views of those who disagree with him.

Howard’s appeals to national interest were scattered throughout his speech. He talked about protecting Australians from terrorism attacks, of building alliances with the US and UK and of disarmament. Yet none of these goals have been convincingly linked to war against Iraq – with the possible exception of placating/embracing/worshipping the US. And there, under many layers of self-deceit and righteous declamation, may be Howard’s only true motive for war. It’s just not good enough.

Thursdays make Drisky feel so adviceful. Here she is, answering two of the many questions sent in this week. If you'd like your modern-day problems of existentialism, exercise or etiquette answered, pop an email in Drisky's inbox.

Dear Drisky,

Hi. I'm a medium-sized African nation, though for obvious reasons i can't
say which one...

Anyway, a friend of mine has a problem. Their country has always had a
geopolitical crush on the United States. They like the way their flag looks
fluttering in the wind, the fabric equivalent of Marilyn Monroe. They listen
to their national anthem over and over again, hoping one day to sing their
song on my...oops...their shores.

Okay, so that country is me! I've been in love with the United States for
years. The problem is that i don't think they even know i exist. It's so
humiliating. All these years trying to sit next to the United States at the
UN or, as i like to call it, the geopolitical singles club.

You don't know how many committees i've gone on to try to make the US
notice me, but no luck. I even considered not signing the Kyoto treaty but,
well, i didn't want to make it TOO OBVIOUS.

Anyway, since then i'm really jealous of Australia. The US keeps saying,
"Australia this," and "Australia that." And, like, the US keep calling
Australia it's "friend", but you know they're more than friends.

Now the Security Council is about to vote i think i may have my chance.
America is offering to do ANYTHING to get my vote. I'm afraid that
supporting the US war on Iraq may go against what i truly believe. But i so
desperately want the US to notice me.

My question is this: Will America respect me in the morning if i give them
my vote? And will i lose respect for myself if i go along with the
Strongman, even if i'm not totally sure i'm ready yet?

But i really love America. I love the way their flag waves in the breeze.
Their soldiers look so, well, humane in uniform. I want so desperately to
be, you know, more than geopolitical "friends". I'm so craving a bilateral
relationship, rather than just all these big multilateral meetings.

What should i do?

Yours in national insecurity,

Pick_me_Pick_me

Well PMPM, it looks like recent events have taken away much of the source of your angst. There's no need to worry about voting for or against a resolution now that America has fucked off the United Nations and its processes! Getting your crush to notice you, however, is still on the cards. Try these tips. Send flowers to yourself at work to make America jealous. Laugh a lot at parties. There's nothing more sexy than a confident country who knows how to have fun. Experiment with a "new look", whether it's the latest shade of eyeshadow or a new anti-terrorist legislative regime. Break out of your style rut and you're bound to get some attention.

Ultimately, however, you need to remember that you're special with or without this America. And if America has been playing the field with these other countries, then maybe you'd be better off on your own!

I believe in you PMPM, Drisky.

Dear Drisky,

I have an ongoing formal clothing dilemma. People I know have started to
insist upon getting married. I tend to wear dark colours most of the time,
because they show the dirt less. Yet I am constantly told that I should not
wear black to a wedding. Do you think this really matters, especially when
most of the time the bride wears white even though she and the groom have
been shacked up for years? And if I can't wear black, can I wear red?

Sincerely,
Satorially challenged

Oh man, SC, this one is really hard. Is this a Melbourne wedding? Because if it is, denying people the opportunity to wear black clothes would result in a nude wedding. So look, I think black at a wedding is OK, but a floaty floral dress with strappy shoes, a wide-brimmed beribboned hat and a small fluffy rabbit is better.

Perhaps the more long-term solution lies in investing our cultural colour palette with new meanings (you're no doubt aware of the white = death, black = death cultural rift that already exists, proving that the meaning of colour is contingent). Perhaps we could adopt this schema: white = enactment of traditionalist fantasy, black = the mystery of night, red = lurve. Those are just ideas, each less original than the one before (I lined them up that way).

In the meantime, the next time someone queries you on your choice of black clothes to a wedding, tell them you're grieving for all the singles out there who have missed out on the chance of connuptial bliss with the couple du jour. That should be corny enough to shut them up.

Cheers! Drisky.

So today I got a sneak family-and-friends preview of the new Richmond IKEA store. The biggest home furnishings store in the Southern Hemisphere! And it counts me as a friend! Yeah, it was pretty exciting. The place contains six fully furnished homes within its showroom, for crying out loud. I escaped fairly lightly, purchasing only rattan baskets, wardrobe storage solutions and a plastic colander. So far, so restrained on my part. But then...then...then it all came unglued (metaphorically, of course - I would never cast aspersions on the quality of my friend IKEA's workmanship).

IKEA charges for plastic bags. This is an awesome idea worthy of full support, but it left me in a quandary: I hadn't brought my hippy-student-tastic calico shopping bags, I didn't want to buy a re-usable blue Ikea bag, and I certainly wasn't going to pay 10c to pollute my kitchen cupboard with another plastic bag. So I thought I'd carry it all home, loose leaf style. Baskets in the handbag, storage solution under my left arm, right arm free to hold the colander. Five minutes into the walk home, however, I had the insidious and instantly seductive idea.


You know where this is going.


How much more convenient would it be to just wear the colander as a hat?

Gollumbeth: No, she mustn't, the tricksy Richmond people will laugh at her.
Smeabeth: But we likes the colander, it's so cute.
Gollumbeth: No! No!
Smeabeth: Yesssss. The pearly white of the colander will match our eyeses. And it would be sooo comfy! (tries to rub hands in glee, discovers they are full of storage solutions and a colander.)
Gollumbeth: Shut up! You're being ridiculous!

And so it went on, until finally Smeabeth prevailed and I wore the colander for a few seconds on Lennox St. It was cool. Soon all the kids will be wearing them, Sportsgirl will sell them for $25 and Country Road will make lambswool ones for $250 - but you saw it here first.

Country Road provides a neat counterpoint to the practical, Scandinavian sensibility of IKEA. Consider its latest range of women's "apparel." Cords, cardigans and trousers alike are being sold in these shades: bark, dark cashew, walnut and oatmeal. In other words: brown, brown, brown and brown. Wait for it though - the best shade of all is called Eau de Nil. A comment on the drought, or a case of the Emperor's New Winter Wardrobe?

The media frenzy over coverage of the war is starting to sicken me. On the fringes, however, it's still possible to find actual news rather than empty biased hype. When I came across the personal blog of Kevin Sites, an American journalist in the Middle East, I was surprised to find myself moved - by the audio entries about the mountains, the evocative photos, and by an entry complaining about mobile phone ring tones. Apparently even in the midst of a pre-war zone, "you literally can't go 30 seconds without hearing a Kylie Minogue tune or Beethoven's Symphony in C Minor emanating from someone's pocket." So some things are universal! This observation by Sites had a powerful effect on me – imagining people being irritated by mobile phones suddenly makes Iraq seem horribly close to a Melbourne tram.

Sites goes on to spin the observation into a haunting reflection. The journalists covering the war are uber-technological, and the war itself will involve electronic attacks. Yet while pilotless drones are dehumanised and impersonalised, mobile phone ring tones and screensavers are instances of the humanity and personality of the people behind technology. Sites closes with this image:

But of all the images of this pre-war E war so far, this is the one that stays with me; in our workspace, personal laptops temporarily abandoned by their users--off for coffee or a bathroom break-one by one, ghostly images of wives, children, girlfriends, husbands, pets, slowly appearing from the depths of cyberspace---as screensavers.

The image of a shell of a building, emptied of people but with the image of their memories flickering on a screen, stays with me too.

The Lyn-tacular continues, with this brilliant critique of kitsch indie-cool subculture and online communities. Thanks also to the gracious Douglas who let me pilfer this piece of writing from under his cyber-nose. Again, I salute the hive brain.

Browsing the Internet is like a second hand bookshop. It's all serendipity. You're looking for a site about common law developments in equity, and hey! you find a bad movie site. Maybe that only happens to me. Anyway, as bad movies are a wonderful thing, I thought badmovies.org was a great place to be. I'll revisit Psycho Beach Party, or Pirahna II: The Spawning, I thought. Good times.

A high point is the review of Cool as Ice, the Vanilla Ice movie vehicle. Use this in a conversation today: "Words of wisdom: drop that zero, get with the hero." But I didn't get their drops of slime rating system. Is one drop bad, as it usually is in star ratings? Or as slime is generally considered bad, is one drop in fact a minimum of sliminess, as in, good? Cosmic questions, needing answers. So I went to the FAQ - which like all FAQs, didn't answer my question, just loads of other questions I would never have asked.

But then - tucked away - the question: "Why do you not link to Stomptokyo.com?" Why indeed? I thought. Right after 'what the hell is a stomptokyo?' (Ohh, Godzilla reference). So I checked out the next link which led to a tale of disaster and betrayal amongst B-movie fans everywhere. Titled 'the whole ugly story', the link to this tale is actually /edenlost.html - appropriate both because of its Biblical proportions, and because it concerns the expulsion of B-movie fans from Paradise. The tale concerns Andrew of badmovies.org, and Chris and Scott of stomptokyo. Andrew details how he met Chris and Scott, through the 'B-Masters Cabal', and at 'B-Fest'. Through underhand betrayal and deceit, Chris and Scott. acquired domain names to 'badmovies.com' and 'badmovies.net'. Behind Andrew's back!

Andrew seems to have gone through stages of shock, and betrayal, which then gave way to rage. Confronting Chris and Scott, Andrew pulled out the lawnmower he'd converted with a chainsaw, and hacked them to pieces. The flesh began to reanimate! Andrew tried stuffing the bits into separate steel boxes and sinking them to the bottom of the ocean. The boxes still rest there today, evil which may one day be unleashed.

What is the moral of this story? Even somewhere like the internet, where like-minded people should be able to get together and discuss important things, like 'Cool as Ice', ultimately collections of like-minded people become cliques and camps, attempting to exclude other voices and promote their own. This mostly makes me sad - I always thought the Internet would transcend this kind of petty shit, but there are countless examples of this not being the case. In fact, this sad tale of feuding B-movie sites could be seen as a micrcosm of world events today. Humans squabbling needlessly over the natural riches of domain names, leading to dissent and division between B-movie fans everywhere.

I leave you on a brighter note, namely, a 7,500 word dissertation on 'Beneath Loch Ness'. This movie was meant to be set in Scotland, but little things like people driving on the wrong side of the road and paying for stuff in US dollars could tip astute viewers off. The review itself is worth its weight in gold.

A couple hiking along the shore discover the carcass of a plesiosaur that seems to have beached itself in a desperate effort to escape the loch, or possibly the movie.

Ahh. At least we still have the simple pleasures in life.

New Age guys, as presented in contemporary light comedy/drama/romance, will cook you food. This thread in pop culture was pointed out to me by Lyn, who also came up with most of the examples. And insisted on putting coffee in all caps. We're both part of the hive brain, OK? Anyway, Lyn also thinks this trend may be related to control - food is sexy, but also necessary. Doling out the coffee like the man on Russell St doles out crack. Niceness is always so sinister...

Exhibit 1: Diver Dan from Seachange gave Laura food, taught her to cook and makes COFFEE.

Exhibit 2: Luke from Gilmore Girls runs the diner, feeds Lorelai, and makes her lots of COFFEE.

Exhibit 3: Even Max from Seachange used to tempt Laura with Dan's COFFEE.

Exhibit 4: The film Mostly Martha involves getting together after the guy makes an elaborate cooked meal. No COFFEE though.

Exhibit 5: Jamie Oliver. And that show is definitely a light comedy/romance.

Exhibit 6: Both Evan and Rex on The Secret Life of Us are regularly seen in the kitchen, cooking meals and making COFFEE. That's when they're not drinking Crown Lagers, Stella or semillon blanc.

Exhibit 7: The mighty Harold Bishop from Neighbours often cooks a vegetarian curry or stir fry for his friends. Harold doesn't himself drink COFFEE, but he does run the COFFEE SHOP. Sinister indeed.

An anonymous reader writes:

Dear Drisky,
My desk is really messy. I can never keep it clean. Is this bad and wrong?
Yours, Scared of being fired.

Well, SOBF, there are a few things you should keep in mind as you ponder the issue of desk maintenance. First, minimalism is so late 90s. Fashionable desk-workers are moving away from the harsh lines and blank spaces of recession-driven corporate space. But we are not returning to the clutter-heavy hey-days of the cavalier 80s. Oh no! The desk style du jour is shabby chic. Think country provincial with casual flair - distressed timber, strewn roses, a singlet top. Why not bring a throw rug into work to complement the mess on your desk? It may also help you fight off the winter bugs spread through centralised air-conditioning.

Secondly, mess can be strategic. I'm sure you have fully explored the delaying tactics and the genuine confusion that can be deployed to your advantage as a result of misplaced files, post-it-notes and letters. On the other hand, you do need to ask this question: "What am I hiding from myself on this desk?" Speak fiercely from the I, SOBF. From the I.

Drisky.

above: two politician types introduce freedom fries to a news conference

Americans have displayed their breath-taking literalism once again. The White House has boarded a bandwagon creaking its way through the US (notably Palm Beach), and renamed french fries as freedom fries in restaurants servicing the House of Representatives. And for breakfast, they'll have freedom toast. This will communicate America's great displeasure with French foreign policy, and no doubt cause serious consternation in Paris. Or it might:

The French Embassy in Washington had no immediate comment, except to say that french fries actually come from Belgium.

Those Frenchies just don't get it, do they? Shrug. I love the new name. Suddenly, over-consumption of fatty fast-food isn't a national problem, but a statement of freedom! Repeat after me, "bad is the new good."

The idea of using language as a protest seems silly, partly because language is such an organic, people-driven concept. You can't legislate to control the way people speak - at least, you can't in an allegedly democratic nation. This latest development has unmistakeable resonances with Orwell's 1984. If we take the word French out of our menus, maybe people will forget the concept of French even exists. And we'll replace it with freedom, that way people will feel good about the change. Just to make the transition super-easy, we'll keep the fr beginning. These naming shenanigans went on in WWII with German food - saurkraut became liberty cabbage. As Slate points out, though, while the idea was still ridiculous at least Germany was an enemy of the US, not an ally.

One of the most amusing aspects of this development in international relations is that the French themselves are really precious about refusing to adopt Anglicised names for food products. So it's a case of tit for tat. Or comme ci, comme ca, if you prefer.

Drisky will be in the fridaysixpm studio tomorrow, to answer questions about modern etiquette, robotic engineering, life on Beta Reticuli, home renovation and acupuncture. Email her, and share what's on your mind.

The working week finds its rhythms, and Political Vitriole Monday has become something of a tradition for me. I'm a stickler for it. A public holiday in Melbourne and an alluring adventure on the Great Ocean Road conspired to GAG ME but, as the eleventh hour approaches, I can still find enough bile and easy fodder to maintain the rage.

Laughing is a bit more challenging, what with a number of women (including Alice Walker) being arrested in Washington DC for marching in the Code Pink March for Peace. Groups of more than 25 can't congregate outside the White House anymore, it seems. Yay USA, home of democracy. Unbelievable. Read a first hand account at punk princess.

For a satisfying snarkfest, I'm going to retreat into recent history. Circa mid 2002, the spinmonkeys of the War Against Terror weren't explicitly conflating Osama Hussein with Saddam bin Laden but the logic was still fuzzy. Very fuzzy. Self-satirisingly, Basil Fawlty-esque funny. I present a classic moment from Donald Rumsfeld, taken straight from the NATO archives:

The message is that there are no "knowns." There are thing we know that we know. There are known unknowns. That is to say there are things that we now know we don't know. But there are also unknown unknowns. There are things we don't know we don't know. So when we do the best we can and we pull all this information together, and we then say well that's basically what we see as the situation, that is really only the known knowns and the known unknowns. And each year, we discover a few more of those unknown unknowns.

It sounds like a riddle. It isn't a riddle. It is a very serious, important matter.

There's another way to phrase that and that is that the absence of evidence is not evidence of absence.

Even amidst the laughable nonsense and (deliberate?) obfuscation, that last clause - "the absence of evidence is not evidence of absence" - rings ominously. As in, "just because reality doesn't support the US, it doesn't mean we're wrong. About anything. Ever."

Now if we're going to use tricksy lawyer language, then it is true that the absence of evidence doesn't necessarily establish the absence of a crime. Nevertheless, quite a lot of evidence is required before a Western court will visit dire consequences upon people accused of wrongdoing, whether it's enough evidence to establish proof on the balance of probabilities or beyond reasonable doubt.

What's the standard of proof operating in international relations at the moment? Apparently, it goes along the lines of "You're guilty if we have a gut-feeling that you are." Rumsfeld is right - his statement is not a riddle, but an unconvincing smokescreen for bullish US aggression.

The internet is flush with crazes, and one of the oldest is the Hot or Not game. Lonely folk craving compliments, or attention at the very least, post their photo online and wait for the ratings out of 10. Personally, I never felt the need to enter my photo - because I know my number is infinity and you may worship me but from afar.

Now the idea has spawned a TV show. Self-proclaimed hotties from all around America will line up and be rated by audiences, with a different region (sorry, "Hot Zone") spotlighted during each episode. They've screened three episodes so far, and as one reviewer put it, "it's possible to aim at fish in a barrel and miss."

The response of the cultural analysts to ghastly rubbish such as this is starting to sound repetitive: the Great American Dream is to be on-screen, to be noticed, to be famous. From camgirls to "Are You Hot" to the only possible justification for appearing on The Bachelor II: is our hunger to be noticed insatiable? Is there an endless supply of publicity sluts? How long, O Lord, before the viewing public demands entertainment with a well-written script and dramatic development?

Obviously "Are You Hot?" has left me asking questions. The good people over at Television Without Pity have been doing the same, and inadvertently inspired this week's megapoll. Choose the alternative query you'd like to see answered on television, from "Are You Serious?" to "Are You Literate?"

Last week's megapoll saw almost half of all respondents enthusiastically embracing their identities as anti-war protesters who demonstrated "something deeply, deeply corrupt in the soul of the West, a kind of self-loathing." Thanks go to Andrew Sullivan for that cheery label. As a special way of saying thanks, to tie together the two megapolls and in gross violation of the rules of hotornot.com, I've submitted his picture to be rated. Vote now!

Cheers to keks for this link...

I am infinity You may worship me, but from afar _

Hi Drisky,
Recently, a few of my pals have been telling me not to use my mobile phone on public transport. She says that she doesn't want to hear about my boyfriend, and he says that using my phone this way represents a total collapse of privacy and dignity. Are they right?
Confused, VIC.

Dear Confused,

Your poor, poor friends have fallen victim to what I like to call the "Why-Isn't-Public-Transport-More-Private" disease, an insidious attitude choking the life out of our society. WIPTMP has led to train carriages full of people afraid to make eye contact with each other, trapped in a deathly silence broken only by the nerve-wracking buzz of a flickering light and the rustling of dumbed-down complimentary newspapers. And yes, it's also led to situations where 73 people can eavesdrop on a one-sided conversation engaged in by a person on a mobile phone - and get annoyed about it.

Here's a tip: if listening to other people talk annoys you, don't hang out in public places. These places include trams, trains and buses. Here's a more revolutionary tip: If you feel uncomfortable listening to someone else's chatter, why not strike up a conversation of your own with the person next to you! Seize control of the aural landscape! If everyone on the train was chatting away, mobile phones would be much less irritating. And public space would become friendlier. And people might just feel better about the world.

Happy to help, as always,

Drisky.

The news that Madonna has signed a deal to write five children's books may have surprised many people, but the hoohah is unwarranted. While at first blush "The English Roses" (featuring a red fox and a little prince) appears quite dissimilar to Madonna's previous authorial excursion "Sex", and indeed to her musical and acting performances, there exists a little-known but long-established synergy between pop superstardom and children's literature. Only recently, fridaysixpm obtained this fragment of a musical gem penned by children's author Enid Blyton:

Hey Jo and Fanny
Put a record on
I wanna dance in the forest

Hey Angry Pixie
Don't throw yo water at me
I wanna dance with the elf-girls

And when the magic starts
I never wanna stop
It’s gonna drive me crazy

Magic! Brings the treefolk! Together! (yeah)
Magic! Helps the Saucepan Man and the Moonface! (yeah)

So there you have it. In an age where it's OK for Chopper Read to write a children's book, Madonna's nostalgic effort shouldn't really shock anyone.

Reporting the capture of al-Qaida man Khalid Shaikh Mohammed, The Australian proclaims that "Terrorist used ‘decadent’ disguise." In florid language, the article describes his "flamboyant" mood and attendance at lap-dancing clubs and expensive restaurants. Mohammed was valuable to the organisation:

"They needed people who were at ease moving around the world in business circles. This man had at least 30 aliases, he could speak several languages and was comfortable in any company," one US investigator said.

What, so he decided against the asylum-seeker disguise, even with all its obvious advantages? If he'd come to Australia on a leaking boat instead, he could have been isolated in the middle of the desert, denied access to lawyers and worked in the kitchen in order to buy phone cards.

The first thing I noticed was that there was no fire. The snazzy new theatre at Federation Square had big, black fascist chairs positioned at vertigo-inducing angles, but no fireplace. When Wim walked in, he settled himself into the armchair down the front and said "There is no fire! How can we have a fireside chat, as promised?" He paused, then gestured expansively towards the audience. "You are the fire. If you have questions, fire away."

Wim Wenders is a beautiful man.

The movies Wim has directed have a dreamy, gentle, open quality. Some, like "Wings of Desire", are poems. In others, like "Buena Vista Social Club", you feel like someone is taking your hand and walking with you. Wim created a similar vibe as a speaker, meandering through anecdotes, sharing philosophies, listening to and acknowledging other people in the room. I was entranced by these lovely ideas:

1) Films, and other forms of entertainment, are often used to solidify the status quo. At their best, though, films can help people believe in the possibility of change. Wim shared this theory as he talked about trying to create a new genre: "peace movies".

2) Wim said that as far as he's concerned, a film is not complete until the people watching have dreamed themselves into it. He deliberately keeps his films sketchy, "open systems" so that the audience can become co-authors.

And again I swoon. My faith in the beauty and creativity of popular culture may receive a daily bashing from the "Neighbours" and *NSync's of the world, but artists like Wim keep me going.