A. When it's a Big Brother stunt. Welcome to the first Beth Driscoll critique of Big Brother for 2003.

I want to start off by talking about a good rumour I heard last year. I had just started studying in the University of Melbourne's brand-spanking-new law school, an imposing tower of charcoal grey and stainless steel. There were tantalising blank spaces and empty rooms dotted throughout the building, and it was these alluring absences that led to the rumour: there was going to be an outpost of Brunetti's cafe in the law school. This was a great rumour for a number of reasons:

1. It involved coffee. Coooffffeeee.

2. It involved Brand Power (a well-known Lygon St cafe).

3. The rumour came from the people. It was overheard in lecture breaks and on the stairs.

4. It had the unmistakeable whiff of decadence about it. You see, there was already a coffee shop across the road - Pearl's Diner. It sold perfectly good coffee in plain styrofoam cups for $1.80. But that's not good enough for the precious 76% of Melbourne Uni law students who come from private schools. Oh no! There must be overpriced little shortbreads to nibble on, and freshly squeezed juice of blood oranges to sip, and a range of clothing merchandise to buy, and coffee that comes in natty little maroon cups and costs almost $3. OK - it may not be J.Lo's list of backstage requirements, but it's still pretty outrageous.

5. It eventually came true.

The Big Brother rumours, in stark contrast, sucked:

1. No-one really cared about Big Brother 3. It was the fourth household to be assembled in less than a year. A few rumours were never going to restore the thrill of novelty that attended the first season.

2. Any person with basic media literacy skills - that is, anyone over the age of about 6 - could see that these rumours were generated solely by Channel 10. This makes them appear desperate for popularity. It's not a good look.

Hearing 16 year olds being "interviewed" by Tim Ferguson and obviously spouting lines he'd fed them was just ridiculous. "I heard Kylie was going to be on the show!" "I heard there's going to be a married couple on the show!" Really? I didn't hear any of those things except from Channel 10. And I love Gretel Killeen, I really do, and it was demeaning for her to be required to refer to these "rumours" constantly throughout the launch of BB3. Thank God it rained, and she could talk about the weather for a while instead.

Twenty metres down the road from me there is an abandoned, spooky house, with shattered windows and a crumbling facade. As I walked to uni this morning, the greyness of the Melbourne day was torn asunder by a battery of spotlights trained on the building. There were cameras! And a catering table! And at least four large trucks, encircled by witches' hats!

So I walked up to the only guy I could see, who was wedged underneath one of the trucks.

"Dude!" I said. "You filming?"

With only the barest roll of his eyes, he told me the whole story. Amiel (the voice of "Addicted to Bass" and "Lovesong") is shooting a new music video today. In my hood. On my street. Near my house. You join the dots.

William Gibson is going to give up his blog in order to concentrate on wrtiting his new novel. Of course I'm upset, but it's hard to be cranky with a man who expresses his reasons in such a self-deprecating, generous manner. And an interesting manner! Did I mention that he was a Very Interesting Thinker? I like this idea:

Somehow the ecology of writing novels wouldn't be able to exist if I'm in daily contact. The watched pot never boils," he added with a laugh...."Writing novels is pretty solitary, and blogging is very social."

True, true. Blogging seems to me like a hybrid of publishing and writing. I like the combination of at-home-thinking space and connecting-with-others space that a blog provides - but then I'm not trying to write a novel. I guess I'm willing to humour those crazy artistic types with their sinews of narrative:

"If I expose things that interest or obsess me as I go along, there'd be no need to write the book," Gibson said. "The sinews of narrative would never grow. So I think I'm going to say goodbye to whoever's been following it."

Sniff. Goodbye.

There's been a lot of talk around the culture-traps about the new wave of rock music. Bands like The White Stripes, The Strokes, The Vines and The Datsuns have got people all fired up about the revival of grungy guitar work and scratchy vocals. With the exception of The White Stripes, I've been unimpressed by this music. It's a retro sound looking all the way back to the 60s, but the attitude that accompanies it is not the self-consciously goofy retro of 70s parties, or the exultant, daggy retro of 80s nightclubs. The new rock is governed by a sly, sideways-looking, "I'm just way too fucking cool" aesthetic.

Compare that to the performance by Audioslave last Saturday night. The musicians from Rage Against the Machine look back to nothing: their drive is straight ahead, into the centre of passion. Tom Morello's insistent riffs and scorching solos were supported squarely by the rhythm section. Chris Cornell puts up no distancing ironic filters between himself and the audience. He looked like an overgrown boy in his three-quarter pants and boots, and he sang with pure, wailing energy. For a band with only one album released, Audioslave's concert was remarkable. Three killer anthems that had the entire stadium on its feet. A further three surprisingly awesome performances of album tracks. I can only imagine what their concerts will be like once the band has a more extensive arsenal of songs like "Cochise" and "Show Me How to Live."

My enthusiasm for Audioslave is born of two forms of respect: respect for the talent and heart of Rage Against the Machine, and respect for the way the musicians involved in Audioslave have pushed things forward. I've long worshipped at the Temple of the New. I found it very hard during the concert, though, not to long for the explicit politics of RATM. Audioslave's decision to separate their music from politics by forming a separate organisation (the Axis of Justice) is frankly disappointing. The pulse of Audioslave is deprived of RATM's intellectual and social engagement, and Cornell's more spiritual and personal lyrics don't quite satisfy me. Cornell's lyrics are still searching. The sound of the band has well and truly arrived.

A great big Wordy McWord to Jonathan Green of The Age for his piercing comments about the Department of Immigration's disingenous pedantry:

"There is no reason to assume automatically," argues a departmental public affairs officer, "that because people are in a boat in regional waters, reportedly heading for Australia, that they are refugees or in fact even seeking asylum here". Indeed. This is what's known in the immigration business as the "QE2 defence."

I'm just disturbed that such false, tricksy reasoning has a nickname.

This may not be one of the great conspiracy theories of the modern era, but it's pretty wacky nonetheless. There is an observable pattern in popular music CDs, where track 7 is a stand-out ditty. Notable track 7s from my personal collection include:

Beastie Boys, License to Ill. Track 7: Fight For Your Right
Beth Orton, Central Reservation. Track 7: Stars All Seem to Weep
Alex Lloyd, Black the Sun. Track 7: Black the Sun
Groove Armada, Vertigo. Track 7: I See You Baby
Garbage, Version 2.0. Track 7: Push It
Jeff Buckley, Grace. Track 7: Lover, You Should've Come Over

It's observable, I tell ya. The next question, of course, is why this happens. I have a couple of theories.

1. THE MID POINT THEORY
Your average popular CD these days has about 14 tracks. Track 7 is thus about halfway: the climactic point, perhaps, or the jolt needed to make you listen to the second half of the disc. Similarly, Track 7 may also have often been the first track of the second side of an old-skool vinyl record.

2. THE MAGIC NUMBERS THEORY
Possibly working in tandem with other theories, the power of the number 7 may exert a compelling force on those responsible for arranging tracks. 7 wonders of the ancient world, 7 days in a week, 7 brides for 7 brothers, 7 deadly Magnum ice-cream varieties - the resonances surrounding track 7 are palpable. Conversely, this magic may be working on us as listeners to make us think that track 7 is better than its neighbours.

3. THE HOMAGE TO A VERY GOOD BRATT PITT MOVIE THEORY
Sure, in the case of a number of albums this would have to be prescient homage, but given how smokin' hot the movie "Seven" was, I don't think we can conclusively rule this theory out.

You be the judge. The truth is out there.

All happy families may be alike, but so are most unhappy families, and the glory of Malcolm in the Middle is that it magnifies the worst aspects of family life to the point where they become hilarious. This of course places the show squarely in a tradition of certain American family sitcoms: Married With Children, Everybody Loves Raymond, Roseanne and The Simpsons spring to mind. Strangely enough, within this group Malcolm in the Middle bears most resemblance to The Simpsons.

Despite using real actors and sets, MitM operates according to cartoon logic. Each character is a hammed-up caricature: the dominant mother, the fearful father, the annoying little brother, the bullying older brother, the piratical commandant of the cadet school. The camerawork, too, transforms reality into a cartoon - on last night's episode, the camera tracked a hand full of pills moving rapidly towards a squirming child, then suddenly panned up to reveal the impossibly tall, impossibly scary owner of that hand. Helmut. Eeek!

Last night's episode also gave the cartoon treatment to a well-known sore point of unhappy family life: the board game. Now I'm not a particularly competitive person, but even I've been known to storm off crying from a game of Monopoly and to end a game of 500 by throwing my cards at the player across the table. And those things didn't happen when I was a child. As MitM showed us, it's always the adults who suffer the most dramatic loss of perspective. This loosely-transcribed conversation between the Mom and Dad of the show gives a glimpse of the magic:

M: I trounced you at that game last night.
D: I don't think I was trounced.
M: How would you describe it? Thrashed? (pause) Whipped? (pause) A-ny-a-lay-ted? (smile).
D: Rematch.

Actress Jane Kaczmarek's exquisite enunciation of the word 'annihilated' communicates the very essence of snarky, over-competitive families. And in a clever way, these exaggerrated aspects of family dynamics/politics make the family seem real. It's funny like a cartoon, but insightful like a drama. As reviewer John Nettles put it, this makes the crew on MitM an aberrant TV family:

It's their reality that rends the web of signifiers that we have attached to the family as the result of fifty years of cathode-ray indoctrination. In much the same way that the Conners of Roseanne exploded the myth of the unified, dad-centered sitcom family, the Wilkersons are a unit in which the siblings really do try to kill each other and the parents maintain control through guerilla strategy rather than homespun aphorisms -- just like real families.

MitM is perceptive and amusing, and it bears the further distinction of being the only television program ever to use a voice-over without seriously irritating me. Take note, Secret Life of Us. Not every voice-over has to be a reflection on how your relationship is just like a a carton of milk, and the tone of a voice-over need not be perpetually sleepy/vague/mellow. A voice-over can be done Malcolm-style: as a slightly hysterical frame for playful depictions of family dysfunction.

Easter time is a time for dilemmas.

Dear Drisky,

Chocolate hot cross buns. What's with that? I'm no stick-in-the-mud, but I like my Easter Eggs chocolate and my hot cross buns fruit-filled and that's that. None of your post-colonial hybridization for me, thanks mate. Besides, isn't the whole chocolate + bread combination just a little too French? Ugh, the French.

Yours, a Hot Cross Australian.

So what's your question, HCA? If all you want to do is rant in an opinionated fashion, my advice to you is to start your own website. That anti-French angle you've got going there should guarantee you plenty of hits.

Reading between the lines, though HCA, I can see the questions that are burning you up. "Am I petty? Is it wrong to get so het up about what is, in effect, just another calendar-driven gimmick designed to make me obese and poor? Is a boycott too much?"

My answer to this is yes, no and maybe. Yes you're petty - but that's OK. It's the little things that matter in life. Get annoyed about the pennies, and maybe the pounds will run off in fear. As for the boycott, if you're feeling dramatic then go for it. It's your democratic consumer right. Even those who dispute the substance of your claim will applaud your exploitation of available process.

Perhaps there's also another, deeper, question in your letter, HCA. You're asking the Driskmeister whether or not I agree with you. Maybe you see your question as a Dorothy Dixer, a full toss enabling me to denunciate the choc Hot Cross Buns with righteous fury.

Unfortunately, I think they're pretty tasty. But don't let that stop ya, HCA. You're a great Australian, Drisky.

Next weekend, I'm going to see Audioslave, the awesome phoenix that rose from the ashes of Rage Against the Machine and Soundgarden. And this quote from guitarist Tom Morello is a glimpse of why I love them:

Culture and politics are inextricably linked. Writing bread-and-circuses songs that keep people's minds off the economic injustices that surround them - that's every bit as political as an overt protest song.

Yeah!

Yes folks, it's time again to cast a semi-critical, semi-indulgent eye over Australian television and make your opinions known. But don't vote for the Logies. That would mean squandering a good couple of bucks on what is an extremely average attempt at a magazine. Voting starts today for the Fuglies! We should support them, because there isn't much webspace developed to critical engagement with Australian pop culture. Also, as I may have mentioned, they're not New Idea.

Please don't be put off by the spray on the site about "representing the true voice of Australia." There's just been a war on - we can be a little tolerant of accidental patriotism. And when you vote, you'll get a hug. True.

There are no pre-selected nominees for the Fuglies. This says great things about democracy and all, but it does lead to embarrassing mental blocks. Like "worst TV show...worst TV show...I can't think of any Australian shows at all. Does The Simpsons Australian episode count?" On the basis that it may spur your thinking, here are my votes.

Worst TV show: McLeod's Daughters

Worst Male TV Personality: Eddie McGuire. No hesitation there at all. I can't even think of another nominee. This is the price you pay for omnipresence, Eddie.

Worst Female TV Personality: I've always had a dislike for Naomi Robson, but I think the cake is taken by that chirruping chipmunk Sami Lukis.

Spunkiest Male TV Personality: Geoff Morrell from Grassroots. I know he's not your conventional sex symbol, but I think his charisma grows with each episode. If I possibly could, I'd put in David Wenham. I saw a Seachange repeat on Monday, and I swear my heartrate increased.

Most Spankable Female Personality: What? I'm more than a little offended by that category title. Perhaps I'm over sensitised because of the airplay being given to Eminem's least appealing single to date, "Superman", which includes the line "I'll leave handprints all over your body." Not OK. I know the Fuglies are trying to be hip and everything, but really.

Most Sensational Current Affairs Program: A Current Affair. Sensational indeed!

Least Talented TV Star Turned Pop Personality: Bec Cartwright from Home and Away. If you're asking "who?", then you'll appreciate my point.

Most Under Acknowledged TV show: Grassroots. The best thing on the box at the moment. Fantastic writing, acting and directing.

Ah...the gloriously mixed State of the Arts. I'm glad the Fuglies gave me this opportunity to pause, reflect and judge, because one thing's for sure: you couldn't pay me to watch Eddie host the Logies this year.

Matt Price from the Australian has a great article today which turns political pontifications into poetry. Bad poetry, sure, but still poetry - a more loose-textured, less didactic literary form than the rant. I'm quite fond of Mark Latham's new work:

The backbench sucks up to the Prime Minister
And the Prime Minister sucks up to George W.
That is how it works
For the little Tories.
And they have the hide to call themselves
Australians.
In my book they are not Australian at all.
They are just little Tories
The little Tory suckholes.

The idea came from Slate, where it was used with great satirical effect to undermine Donald Rumsfeld's idiocies.

Much of [Rumsfeld's work] is about indirection and evasion: He never faces his subjects head on but weaves away, letting inversions and repetitions confuse and beguile. His work, with its dedication to the fractured rhythms of the plainspoken vernacular, is reminiscent of William Carlos Williams'. Some readers may find that Rumsfeld's gift for offhand, quotidian pronouncements is as entrancing as Frank O'Hara's.

Absolutely. But the poetry project also highlights another aspect of the war: the disturbing resonance of many of the phrases used by Iraqi leaders. Saddam Hussein warned that if Iraq was attacked, it would take the war "wherever there is sky, land or water." And this, from the Iraqi information minister, barely needs Price's tweaking to become a powerful literary piece:

There is no presence of American columns
Their infidels are committing suicide
By the hundreds on the gates of Baghdad.
I will give you
The information.

Well, the ending's a little weak...but perhaps it provides a poignant juxtaposition between the modern and the ancient. I love the way form can open and create meaning.

It's amazing the way zooming out can alter the impact of images. Remember the children overboard photo? We were told the asylum seekers were manipulating the Australian government. We saw the sinking kids...and then the uncropped image (released months later) showed the damaged and leaking boat.

So, it looks like the images of rejoicing Iraqis pulling down the statue of Saddam may also have been distortions. Jason sent me this picture (it will open on a new page in full-sized glory). It suggests that the statue-toppling took place in a near-deserted plaza surrounded by US tanks, but conveniently close to the hotel where the international media were housed.

BETHY: Hi folks. We've got Avril here in the studio today. Avril's a rebel princess, a faux-punk screecher with a massive world-wide following who's doing it tough. She's been hailed as the original anti-Britney, largely because of her undeniable bad-ass attitude.

CROWD: Gasp!

BETHY: Things went a little sour for Avril once Kelly Osbourne hit the scene, but the success of Taryn Manning from Boomkat has really been the last straw. Avril, what is it about Taryn that upsets you?

AVRIL: (gazes mournfully into camera with mascara-circled eyes) Why'd she have to make things so complicated?

BETHY: Go on...

AVRIL: I'm the original tough girl, Bethy. In my first videoclip, I used deoderant from a supermarket without paying for it, and I pulled my pants down and sat on a toilet in a window display. How tough is that! Plus I'm a really good singer and a for-real songwriter. Like fully. So why's this tramp stealing so much of my spotlight?

BETHY: Well, Avril, perhaps it's because she starred in a movie with Eminem, sings songs written by her brother rather than a record company exec, and has a sense of style extending beyond wearing a tie with a tank top. Let's bring her out.

CROWD: Yeah!

TARYN: (struts onto the stage, walks up to Avril and points at her face) Girl, it's time for the wreckoning!

AVRIL: What? I don't understand...

TARYN: You don't know shit about living trash. In my first videoclip? I swung from a wrecking ball and beat the crap out of cars. I sing like I've got balls, not like some whiny pre-pubescent country-folk-singing wannabe. You dream of street cred like mine.

AVRIL: (leaps to her feet and pushes Taryn over) Well at least I didn't guest star in Boston Public! You call that cred?

TARYN: (pulls Avril's greasy hair) I'll take you on in a dance-off! I've got the moves!

CROWD: Ooooh!

AVRIL: Sk8r bitch!

TARYN: You better pull out B4 it's 2 L8!

(camera pans to Bethy)

BETHY: You know folks, what strikes me here is that there should be room for both of them. We've got about 25 Britneys in the pop industry - surely there's a market for an equal number of anti-Britneys? Perhaps these two could do a duet (not in that TaTu way). Why can't they just get along? Oh wait - I suppose that doesn't sell records.

Roland Barthes once said that "fashion exists only through the discourse on it." To which I reply, "Right on, Roland." I find the language which springs up around fashion endlessly interesting, surprisingly powerful and - at its best - completely ridiculous. The Age's piece today on Daniel Day-Lewis, Orient Expression, is a particularly luscious example. The opening sentence is a corker:

Sinewy Chinese dragons and other glistening oriental motifs have slithered into women's fashion over the last couple of seasons.

Oooh, slithering. Fashion must be sexy now. The sentence creates a seductive, sensuous vibe: far more so than the equally possible sentence "lately, women's clothes have lots of dragons and oriental motifs on them." Good stuff. From this promising opening, however, the language gets a bit out of hand. A silver dragon undulates across the front of a shirt. Daniel's wife is dishevelled, but ever-chic. His shirt is "salt-white." Not white! Salt-white! Perhaps most awkwardly, the Oscars are "war-dampened."

The final paragraph is an illustration of the backwards logic of the fashionista- Daniel's approach to acting is described as "just as studied and restrained" as his clothing. How co-ordinated of him, to ensure his work accessorises with his look.

I think what I like most about the online version of the article is the absence of any accompanying photo. Who cares what he actually looks like? We have the discourse on his look: the wildly random, surreal language of fashion.

This poor soul can't be alone out there. Do you need help?

Dear Drisky,

I have an Arts degree from, like, a university, so it's very important for me to be cynical. The other day I went to visit the M.I.L.K photographic exhibition, and I thought I'd be apples. I mean, the whole concept is an extended promotion for the fridge magnets and greeting cards, right? But then I came unstuck. I was moved by the story of the Vietnamese girl burned by napalm. I found the babies impossibly cute. I smiled back at the smiling children. I actually started crying at the photographs of the terminally ill man and his wife. What's going on?

Yours, Maybe It's Less Kitsch.

Dear MILK, like The Streets says: "Don't mug yourself." Your emotional responses to obviously manipulative stimuli aren't wrong. It's perfectly natural to laugh and cry and empathise with other people, particularly other people who are presented in soft lighting and extreme close up.

Let yourself feel, MILK, but then create some space for a critical response. Why is so much empathy demanded of us? Every night on the news, another disaster to grieve over, more suffering to take on board. In every gift shop, more cute infants to cluck over. Will we exhaust our supplies of compassion on those we don't know, leaving us as cold friends and family members? Or is emotion like the packet of Tim Tams that never runs out? Next, does the privileged status of emotion preclude us from other responses? I know some writers are just great at combining reason and emotion, but do other people find it tricky to think and feel at the same time? Finally, what do you make of the multi-ethnicity of the exhibition? A step towards harmony in our society, or a relegation of the issue to the cover of chocolate boxes?

MILK - you're a soft target for the powers that be. I certainly hope you didn't buy any of the goddamn merchandise. But I think you'll be alright. The love you felt for cardboard representations of people could simply be a good workout for your compassion muscles. Just be careful, mmmkay, to also exercise your well-trained critical faculties, and to actually love the people in your daily orbit.

Kisses, Drisky.

Australia is very keen to get our hands on some reconstruction action in Iraq. Austrade has developed an information guide for Australian companies wanting to join the party. Perhaps it's just me and my bleeding-heart, but the language of this document is so coldly pragmatic, so blind to questions of morality or suffering, that it makes me whimper. It's all "medium term opportunities" and exhortations to "actively and competitively participate in subcontracting processes." And what to make of this statement?

Since the last Gulf War, trade with the Middle East has grown significantly – accounting for around 5 per cent of total Australian exports.

Despite the cool, factual tone, I believe there is a moral agenda informing the inclusion of that statistic: an affirmation of the capitalist base upon which questions of politics, justice, safety and terror are supported. This base is the immovable heart of international relations.

Even the opposition in Australia is focused more on making sure Australian companies get a slice of pie than on developing an ethical framework for understanding our involvement in the rebuilding of Iraq. Will there be room for a national expression of remorse before we try to cash in on the "opportunities" created by our aggression?

Standing against the relentless imperial energy of the United States was hard work. Standing against a global worldview that converts suffering into economic opportunities will be even more difficult.

Yes, mobile phones will kill you...but not in the way you think. It's not the radiation and it's not the talking-while-driving that you need to worry about. Think about this - how many times have you innocently started your car, jumped out, left it running, dashed back inside to get your mobile phone, then come back outside only to be run over by your own car? Huh?

Of course, the funny thing about this is that I remember chasing after my own car (aka The Flying Brick). I'm a little hazy on the details, but I think it was during that long cold Canberra winter when the mini needed to be jump-started every morning. Normally the male members of my household heaved-to with admirable chivalry, but on this fateful morning I was alone. Undeterred, I thought I'd give the car a push, then run around and jump in and start driving. As the mist closed in around me, I saw the mini rolling down the street. I jogged after it, faster and faster, growing more and more scared. Finally I reached through the door and yanked the handbrake. Phew!

The next problem was getting the mini from its position in the middle of the road, posed at a rakish angle near an intersection and surrounded by mist, back to my driveway. Because of course it wouldn't start. You'll be glad to know my confidence was shaken just enough so that I didn't attempt some crazy solo scheme involving hair-ties and twigs (both staple tools of the Beth Institute of Mechanics). I phoned a friend. A strong, knowledgeable and highly, highly amused friend. Thus the mini and I lived to drive another day.

I sort of wish I'd had a mobile phone to use as an excuse.

It's time to snatch that slogan back from the evil grip of the mealy-mouthed malnutritious multinational! Today I'm mmmmming over these:

1. MANNE, Robert talking about moral balance and timing in his column "Iraq, the quick and the dead." In one sense, the speed of the war is not relevant to the question of whether or not it is just or right. On the other hand, timing has an important effect on the amount of suffering caused by the war. Further, a quick war in Iraq will greatly facilitate similar US projects in the future. Manne makes perceptive comments about the attitudes of Iraqis, the role of suicide bombers and the possible shape of the Middle Eastern society that will follow the war. His concluding thought is an excellent one:

The idea that genuine security can be attained by an act certain to incite the hatred of a large part of humanity seems to me close to madness. Yet is precisely such a thought that lies behind this war.

Manne finishes with a beautifully drawn, poignant moment of humour. Recently, Rupert Murdoch announced that the greatest problem faced by American's was their "insecurity complex." As Manne wryly observes, "When the Americans finally become self-confident, take a firm grip on your hat."

2. MORMON NAME, mine: Beneth Christmas Holiday.

3. MILLET, Catherine. The author of "The Sexual Life of Catherine M" will headline this year's Sydney Writers' Festival. I haven't read the book. I'm not sure I'd find her an illuminating speaker, either, based on the depth of analysis underpinning this quote:

Did she have experience of Australian men? "How would I know?" she understandably replies. "Many of the encounters I had were anonymous. I have had sexual relations with English speakers but as I only have a vague knowledge of English, I was not able to pick up which continent they were from by their accents and their vocabulary."

That's OK and everything, but I'm not sure I need to know more about how little she knows. Co-headliner Jonathen Franzen, on the other hand - I would love to hear him speak. "The Corrections" was almost scarily knowledgeable on a fascinating range of unrelated topics (trains, cooking, drugs, trees). It was easily the most entertaining, readable and impressive book I read last year.

Ah, the power of three has been satisfied. You know this whole "M" thing was just an elaborate setting so that my Mormon name could shine like the rare jewel it is. You can all call me Ms. Christmas Holiday.

I've bitched before about the way the mainstream media has struggled to relate to bloggers. Then it was The Age, now it's the 7.30 Report (also see the comments at Keks). The transcript reveals a veritable barrowload of misinformation. It's Kevin Sites, not Kevin Sykes. And generally, it's blogosphere not bloggersphere. Of course, these could be transcript errors but they certainly contribute to the general air of cluelessness that pervades the report. Why do I feel like I'm coaching my parents about what the cool kids are up to these days?

Some inaccuracies are a bit more serious. Like this:

[Bloggers are] individuals seated at their computers day and night, unpaid and devoted to keeping themselves and their fellows better informed.

Sorry everyone, but I regret to inform you that I do not, in fact, sit at my computer day and night. What is that comment supposed to suggest? A nerdy lack-of-a-life quality, or a slack lack-of-a-job quality? Another woeful blunder is the comment about female bloggers:

MICK O'DONNELL: Strangely missing from the bloggersphere are many women.

Well, based on my surfing, that's not at all true. Statistics back this up. Tina, a Vancouver blogger, completed an academic review of 1000 regularly updated personal websites and found that "women are slightly more likely to be a homepage owner than men (58% of women versus 42% of men)."

The inaccuracies were as annoying as the old slurs: blogs are often banal, blogs are dependent on mainstream media ("quirky parasites"). Not that the 7.30 Report would have a vested interest in defending the primacy and entertainment value of the old media.

If music be the food of political expression, read on.

Dear Drisky,

I was listening to the radio yesterday, and I heard this like totally awesome song? It was a footy song, but it was also a war song? You know what I mean? Anyway, I was hoping you could sing it for me, or tell me the lyrics, or what it's called, or who it's by, or something.

Yours, Herryn Dinch.

HD. I understand your hunger for patriotic songs, I really do. I mean, it's pretty embarrassing to actually sing the national anthem like you mean it. So what do you do if you really wanna support Our Troops - in that musical way?

Thank heavens for Mike Brady and the team at 3AW. If they hadn't re-written "Up There Cazaly" as "Up There Australia", then John Howard may have been stumped for answers to important questions like "Where are our soldiers?" (up there Australia) or "What relationship does your head have to George W's ass?" (it's up there, Australia).

Plus it's kind of unfair that there are so many unpatriotic songs doing the rounds, and they're all so intelligent and talented. It's so typical for the elites to be anti-war.

So, HD, the song is "Up There Australia" (the 2003 smartbomb remix), by Mike Brady. I didn't quite catch all the lyrics myself, but if you just mumble it and think patriotic thoughts (vegemite, outdoor dunnies, koalas) you should be right. Perhaps you should also invest in some cargo-fashion. Rock on, Drisky.

There were rumours, there were false starts, but finally the word is out: Peter Jackson will be directing a remake of King Kong for Universal Studios, to be released in 2005. It's going to be shot in a field outside Wellington, NZ, which apparently looks quite a lot like Manhattan.

One reviewer wrote that "Anyone who has seen the first two installments [sic] of 'The Lord of the Rings' knows that Peter will bring Kong to life as a real character. His vision for the tragic tale of the misunderstood creature, with its poignant character development and technological wonder, will make 'King Kong' compulsory viewing for any real movie lover." I think that's true. I can see Jackson's Kong in my mind's eye as I write: deep, soulful eyes, a low, growling voice (perhaps John Rhys-Davies again?), sloping, elegant movements.

There's an early version of the script floating around on the internet. Perhaps it's because I've been overly conditioned by The Editing Room, but every time I read a script I expect it to be a parody, peppered with intentionally two-dimensional characters and snide comments about the soundtrack. This excerpt from the King Kong script, though, is apparently straight (warning: contains spoilers):

EXT. FIFTH AVENUE - MORNING

CROWDS are gathering to STARE at KONG'S BODY ... we only see his HAND on the edge of frame.

A POLICEMAN ushers people away ...

POLICEMAN: Come on folks ... it's all over. The airplane's got him.

PUSH IN ... to an OLD LADY standing in the crowd. She shakes her head sadly ...

OLD LADY: It wasn't the airplanes ... it was beauty killed the beast.

The OLD LADY turns and slowly walks away from CAMERA.

FADE TO BLACK.

THE END

If that scene goes ahead - and I say "if" because I love and trust Peter Jackson - then it will contain one of The Worst Concluding Lines of a movie, ever. It will be a worthy rival for Andie MacDowell's "Is it raining? I hadn't noticed."

Another excerpt from the script, one of the opening scenes, has unmistakeable parallels with another well-known Jackson movie. I'm not even an obsessive fan and I recognised this. Can you???

CLOSE ON A grotesque face ... eyes bulging, tongue wedged between teeth.

PULL OUT from the bizarre STONE CARVING of a man riding a buffalo as the side of a WOODEN PACKING CASE swings shut, sealing the ancient figure into a tea chest marked "BRITISH MUSEUM, LONDON". A couple of SUMATRAN LABORERS hammer nails into the chest ... CRANE UP to reveal an extensive ARCHAEOLOGICAL EXCAVATION underway in the foothills of the Bukit Seguntang mountains near Palembang.

Three cheers for intertextuality, grotesque faces and the inimitable Peter Jackson. Can't wait for the film.

Sometimes an idea needs to be dragged from the shadows of the comments and displayed proudly in the bright sunlight of the main page. Yesterday I mentioned a journalist who had written of his surprise following the Iraqi reaction to the US invasion. Meredith asked whether or not anyone did market research any more, and Jason came up with the questionnaire that should have been.

What is your age:
0-13
13-18
18-25
25-35
35-50
50-65
65+

Gender:
M
F

Occupation:

1. What would be your level of support for an invading military force under certain circumstances (1=no support; 5=absolute support):
a. Regime change:
b. Humanitarian Aid:
c. Disarmament:
d. economic exploitation:
e. Brutal civillian deaths:

2. What would be your preferred new regime in the event of regime change?
a. Democracy
b. Pre 1979 monarchy
c. US puppet state
d. As now but different dictator
e. Unchanged

3. What is your most preferred item of humanitarian aid?
a. Medical supplies
b. Basic food
c. Clean water
d. Working utilities (sewerage/electricity/etc)
e. Home
f. Working media and telecommunications

Thankyou for participating in our survey. Your results will be used to help us provide you with a better invasion. Please refer to our privacy policy for information on how your personal details will be treated.

I'd like to think that survey would have helped, but US leaders seem pretty adept at spinning the actions and words of the Iraqis. For example, news came through today that Iraqi civilians had fed hungry marines with food that included "a donated tin of Australian processed cheese." Go Aussies!! According to Corpsman Tony Garcia:

"They gave us eggs and potatoes to feed our marines and corpsmen. I feel the local population are grateful and they want to see an end to Saddam Hussein"

Eggs and potatoes are the new polls.