There should be a sign...

The Pseudo-Scientist's Song

2012-01-18T20:42:00.004+11:00

Oh, I am a pseudo-scientist and this is what I do:

I use big words and awesome-sounding claims to peddle woo;

I tout expired canards and convince you that they’re new;

And when I’m asked for evidence I sue, sue, sue.

I haven’t got a recognised or relevant degree;

I’ve got a snazzy website though, with photographs of me.

I always wear a stethoscope when I go on TV;

I don’t know how it works, but it lends authenticity.

Oh, I am a pseudo-scientist and this is what I do:

My studies always prove that my hypothesis is true;

I scoff at reasoned counter-claims and other points of view;

And when my method’s scrutinised I sue, sue, sue.

I kidnap terms from science but I don’t know what they mean;

I’m like an automatic multi-syllable machine;

My quantum-laden wellness-centric piffle fills your screen;

It’s slightly less coherent than a torpid Charlie Sheen

Oh, I am a pseudo-scientist and this is what I do:

I mess with graphs until they show a predetermined skew;

I ask some friends for favours and I call it ‘peer review’;

And if a journalist finds out I sue, sue, sue.

Writer's Block

2012-01-15T08:40:00.001+11:00

Because something something.

Oh buggery bollocks and bum-jubes and arse;

My brain and my keyboard have reached an impasse;

I wrote better than this in my second-grade class;

So buggery bollocks and bum-jubes and arse.

[Insert Sponsor Here] Radio Show

2012-01-14T11:26:00.000+11:00

Because the show must go on.

He’s quite a funny bugger,
So I’m fairly often told,
But he needs a bit of help
Before his tickets are all sold.
He’s at the Fringe in Adelaide;
Rob Goldsmith is his name.
But if he can’t find sponsorship,
Well, that would be a shame.
So throw a buck or two his way;
Support Australian arts.
He needs to pay the venue’s rent,
Before the drama starts.
Each dollar means so much,
And there are still a few to go;
And if you give twenty-five or more,
You get to see the show!

I'm going to ask you for money. Not much. And not for me.

A mate is putting on this show at the Adelaide Fringe Festival this year, and it needs a sponsor. Just a few dollars will help him and his cohorts pay for a venue and accommodation, and put on a good show without getting into trouble with landlords and electricity companies and Mafia bosses back home.

Go on. Put a cup of coffee and raisin toasts' worth here: http://www.pozible.com.au/index.php/archive/index/4617/description/0/0

Confession.

2012-01-04T22:33:00.000+11:00

Because better out than in.

It's a new year, and although it's traditionally a time for making flimsy promises to oneself (more about that in a post coming soon), this year I'm starting with something different. There are a few things I've been keeping to myself for quite some time, and it's time I got them off my chest. Don't worry - I'm not going to say anything about that time you and I did that... you know... to the... thingumabob.

I possess and wear a fragrance with the label ‘BritneySpears’.
I’ve been knitting the same jumper now for years and yearsand years.
In Four Weddings and aFuneral I'm quite often brought to tears.
I deliberately avoid Salvation Army volunteers.

I despise musical theatre and most kinds of dinner shows.
When I’m stopped in traffic, sometimes I’m not just“scratching my nose”.
I despatch a Frisbee like a clumsy armless drunkard throws.
I was pissed the night my then-boyfriend decided to propose.

I hide chocolate from my husband, but then can’t rememberwhere.
I put birdseed on a child’s head once, when in Trafalgar Square.
I have difficulty trusting men with meagre forearm hair.
I like doing ‘bunny ears’ to other people deep in prayer.

Vaccination Saves Lives

2011-12-29T17:10:00.000+11:00

Because it does.

A few posts ago, I mentioned that Meryl Dorey was speaking at the Woodford Folk Festival in Queensland this week. Thankfully, due to the efforts of many concerned and sensible people, her time spent spouting poppycock to the populace was reduced by festival organisers, and a group of grass-roots activists both within and surrounding the Stop The AVN facebook group got together and hired a plane to tow the message VACCINATION SAVES LIVES throughout Dorey's talk.

You can read all about it here: http://stopavn.com/vaccination-saves-lives/woodford-folk-festival.html

And get all the background here: http://wiki.mycolleaguesareidiots.com/DoreyAtWoodford.ashx

I'm j~~umping on the bandwagon~~ putting in my two cents with a short rhyme, which should be entirely unnecessary for anyone with a rational approach to public health.

Yes, there’s a risk of an adverse reaction,
And yes, some of those need immediate action,
But really it’s such a diminutive fraction,
It’s riskier walking in rain.

Yes, there are people who put money first,
And yes, there are doctors who may be coerced,
But the system discovers the worst of the worst
So respectable carers remain.

Yes, there are those spouting cover-up claims,
And yes, they’re prepared to speak out and name names,
But they’re not whistle-blowers with chivalrous aims,
They are fools among whom stupid thrives.

Yes, some diseases aren’t here anymore,
And yes, there are peer-reviewed studies galore,
Though the anti-vax canards keep making me snore,
It’s quite clear: VACCINATIONSAVES LIVES.

A Eulogy for Reverend Fred Nile

2011-12-20T22:58:00.000+11:00

Because he's wrong.

The Reverend Fred Nile, in all his blessed ignorance, has posted a media release here, expressing his "condolences and sympathy" over the recent passing of Christopher Hitchens. I can't help thinking that Fred is trying to be a bit saucy by asserting that Hitchens is "no longer an atheist". Cheeky bugger. Cheeky, obsolete, deluded, smarmy, righteous bugger.

Now, in the twilight of Fred's reality, I'd like to prepare for the inevitable by penning a fitting send-off for the old God-botherer:

He’s not a Christian any more,
He’s not a hoary prat,
He’s not a homophobic boob;
He’s finished with all that.

He won’t be saying no to porn,
He won’t be shunning drink.
He won’t be talking bollocks
About what you ought to think.

He’s joined the ranks of humankind,
Of sexy unwed mums;
Of Muslims, whores and atheists
And men who like men’s bums.

He’s gone to talk to Jesus now
His journey’s near complete.
And while he’s waiting, grubs will feast
Upon his fetid meat.

In Memory of Christopher Hitchens 1949-2011

2011-12-16T16:25:00.001+11:00

My idea of God had already been binned;

I no longer feared rivers of fire, though I’d sinned;

Then I read your fine words and I nodded and grinned.

Thank you.

Before you, I was keeping it mostly inside;

But your reason was strong and your influence wide;

Both will live a long time, though your body has died.

Thank you.

Introducing...

2011-12-14T21:02:00.000+11:00

There's been a lot of attention directed toward the Woodford Folk Festival in Queensland this week; a week-long extravaganza of music, food, speakers and general merry-making. The inclusion of the consistently-dodgy Australian Vaccination Network's Meryl Dorey as a speaker this year has caused a bit of stir, motivating many sensible people to express their concern to the festival organisers, sponsors and the world.

Jason Brown has been capably summarising the whole shebang here - worth a read if you want to get up to speed.

My thoughts? The fact that Meryl is speaking at the festival doesn't make me angry in itself - although to be perfectly honest, if she happened to disappear in a puff of smoke in the next five minutes it would save me a lot of time forking myself in the temple. What irritates me is the credulous and non-ironic way she is billed as an expert in the field of vaccination, and promoted as somebody who can provide reliable information about topics such as immunology, toxicity and autism. She isn't. She can't.

I would be much happier about her appearance if she was billed and introduced accurately, citing her lack of qualifications or expertise, her many arguments with the truth and her long history of, shall we say, administrative trouble. I've taken the trouble to jot down an appropriate introduction to her appearance:

Ladies and gentlemen, girls and boys, please welcome to thestage,

The best-known anti-vaccination fibber of our age.

A practitioner of obfuscation, fear and superstition,

Who’s been called out by the New South Wales Health Care Complaints Commission,

And the AMA, the ABC, OLGR and more.

She sells non-existent magazine subscriptions in her store.

Folks, the woman who’s about to speak to you in thispavilion

Doesn’t know what “research” means, nor “my mistake” nor “partsper billion”.

She doesn’t know ‘morbidity’ from ‘people being dead’;

And her only real credential is the brain inside her head;

A brain that pleads the Fifth when large donationsdisappear;

And that thinks “medical journal” means the same as “NewIdea”

One that wanes when faced with facts, but faced with Natural News it waxes;

A brain that thinks that homeopathy is prophylaxis.

She’s an expert in the field of Post Hoc Ergo Propter Hoc;

You can bet the farm that everything she says today’s acrock.

It’s my pleasure to present, in all her dazed, downtrodden glory,

The queen of the conspiracy – I give you Meryl Dorey.

Argumentum ad Antiquitatem

2011-12-07T22:22:00.001+11:00

Because arguments from antiquity are getting old.

A broad definition describing ‘Tradition’,

Is ‘that’s just the way things have always been done’.

It’s nice when applied to the dress of a bride,

Or a yard glass of ale when you turn twenty-one.

But it soon becomes strange when opposing a change,

And relied upon solely, as if it’s enough.

If we never advance from traditional stance

Then we may as well keep all the following stuff:

Religious castration. Race-based immigration.

Foot binding. Forbidding gay people to wed.

Apartheid division. Slave trade. Circumcision.

The hanging of men by the neck ‘til they’re dead.

Lobotomies. Caning. Sex-ed by abstaining.

Denying black people and women the vote.

Widespread public flogging. Old-growth forest logging.

Bloodletting through cuts in the arm or the throat.

The hunting of foxes. Bare-knuckled pro boxers.

Re-homing indigenous children with whites.

A solemn expression of prayer in each session

Of parliament. Flabby posh men wearing tights.

The Queen of Australia and royal regalia.

A seat allocation in ‘smoking’ or ‘non’.

Church leaders dictating. Bullfighting. Bear baiting.

I think my point’s made. Now it’s time to move on.

Picking Things to Bits - A Homeopathy Tutorial

2011-12-06T13:25:00.001+11:00

Because people really do believe this stuff.

Today I thought I'd choose a page from the famous Homeopathy Plus! website for the 'Picking Things to Bits' treatment. Chosen not-really-randomly from a series of so-called 'tutorials' about homeopathy and homeopaths, What To Expect (Part A) attempts to offer the gormless reader a convincing guide to experiencing homeopathic remedies.

The original tutorial can be found here. My interpretation follows.

Tutorial 15 – What to Expect (Part A)

"Different people have different experiences following their first homeopathic treatment. For some, the results are dramatic and profound; for others, they seem mild and almost unnoticeable. Knowing why these differences occur and what they mean will help you get the best from your treatment."

(Homeopathy relies on the placebo effect to produce the desired results, and the strength of the placebo effect depends on the people involved, the circumstances under which the placebo is taken and many other variables. Being unaware of this really helps us, as homeopaths, convince you that it’s working.)

"Remember, homeopathic treatment is a shared responsibility – while you depend on your homeopath to make a good prescription and manage your case well, they depend on you to provide accurate information and note any changes that happen."

(If your homeopathic remedy works, it’s because of your awesome homeopath. If it doesn’t, it’s all your fault.)

"So, with that in mind, lets have a look at the process involved.

Once you have taken your first dose of a homeopathic remedy, one of the following seven things will happen"

(Once you’ve taken your first dose of a homeopathic remedy, we rely on your interpretation of the following events - which were going to happen next regardless. Here’s a list of possibilities, just to cover our arses.)

"A curative response – your symptoms get better and go away."
(This one’s our favourite. It makes us look awesome.)

"A similar aggravation – your symptoms first worsen and then improve."
(Homeopathy does bugger all)

"A dissimilar aggravation – new symptoms appear for a short time but your old ones stay the same."
(Homeopathy does bugger all)

"Accessory symptoms – your symptoms improve but in the process a new one appears for a short period."
(Homeopathy does bugger all)

"Return of old symptoms – your existing symptoms improve but in the process, old symptoms from the past return for a short period."
(Homeopathy does bugger all)

"A surrogate discharge or eruption appears for a short time."
(Ew. Wipe it up, then go see a real doctor. Also: Homeopathy does bugger all.)

"Absolutely nothing happens."
(Can you believe we actually admit this? Yet we don’t see how this instantly makes homeopathy look useless.)

"What do they mean? Plenty to a homeopath! Each response reveals whether or not the correct remedy has been prescribed and provides valuable information your homeopath will use to adjust your treatment and help return you to health."

(NONE OF THEM MEAN THAT HOMEOPATHY DOESN’T WORK. SHUT UP.)

"So, let’s look at each of these responses in greater detail.

1. A Curative Response – Your Symptoms Get Better and Go Away

What this means

The remedy was correct – it matched your symptoms and was the:

Right strength (potency)
Right amount (dose)
Right number of repetitions (frequency)"

(Your homeopath serendipitously treated you immediately before your symptoms improved.)

"Explanation

This is the fantastic result that everyone wants and usually, this is what happens. For acute complaints such as cystitis or a gum abscess, it may occur quickly – sometimes with just one dose of one remedy. For chronic problems such as recurring tonsillitis or asthma since childhood, treatment will take a little longer. If a number of diseases or problems have built up over years, a series of remedies and potencies may be needed to unravel the mess."

(Yay! Phew! But just in case you’re not completely better yet, it’s your own fault for not using more homeopathy.)

"What to do next

Enjoy your improved health and live life well.

2. A Similar Aggravation – Your Symptoms First Worsen and Then Improve.

What this means

The remedy was correct but too strong for your sensitivity; it intensified your symptoms before triggering a healing response."

(The homeopath didn’t get your treatment wrong. The homeopath got your treatment right too much.)

"Explanation

Even when the remedy is a good match for your symptoms it can temporarily intensify them if:

The dose is too large,
The potency incorrect, or
It has been given too frequently

This similar (homeopathic) aggravation occurs as the overly strong effects of the remedy combine with your existing symptoms."

(We love pretending that homeopaths can give somebody too much of nothing. We also love pretending that any change in your symptoms means our Magic Nothing Water is working as it should.)

"Fortunately, similar aggravations are usually mild and short-lived, settling as the energetic nature of the remedy leaves your system. Your own vitality then rebounds against the disappearing remedy, triggering an improvement in health."

(You get better when the homeopathy goes away.)

"Similar aggravations confirm that the correct remedy was prescribed – your homeopath now has to fine-tune the next dose to better suit your sensitivity. On the rare occasion that an aggravation is prolonged, your homeopath may antidote it with another homeopathic remedy."

(If your stupid, stupid sensitivity made the homeopathy not work, your homeopath can fix it. With homeopathy.)

"What to do next

Notify your homeopath. They will most likely advise you to let the similar aggravation settle naturally so an improvement in your symptoms can follow. Future similar aggravations can be avoided by your homeopath adjusting the dose, potency, or number of repetitions of the remedy to suit your sensitivity."

(Notify your homeopath. Try not to use the terms “the homeopathy didn’t work”, “I think this whole homeopathy thing is a crock” or “Give me my money back, you frikkin’ scammer.")

3. A Dissimilar Aggravation – New Symptoms Appear For a Short Time but Your Old Ones Stay the Same.

What this means

The remedy was incorrect; it did not match your symptoms but you were sensitive enough to feel some of the different symptoms it can produce."

(In real medicine, these would be called ‘side effects’. But because homeopathy is just overpriced sugar and water, these symptoms are known as ‘illness.’)

"Explanation

When an incorrect remedy has been prescribed (one that poorly matches your symptoms) you may experience a dissimilar or unhomeopathic aggravation, especially if you are sensitive to the remedy. The remedy will have produced some of its own symptoms in you in the same way it can during a proving (see tutorial 6 on Provings for more information). As these symptoms are different to your original symptoms, it is called a dissimilar rather than a similar aggravation (see tutorial 1 on the Law of Similars for further explanation). Because of the lack of similarity between symptoms, this remedy will not help you.

Fortunately, like similar aggravations, dissimilar aggravations are usually mild and short-lived. They settle as soon as the energetic nature of the remedy leaves your system. Unfortunately, they do not trigger a self-healing rebound effect. Your homeopath will have to prescribe a different remedy that is a closer match to your symptoms. On the rare occasion that a dissimilar aggravation is prolonged, your homeopath can antidote it homeopathically."

(Hopefully this all sounds so complicated that you just nod your head and say ‘whatever!’ and let us sell you some more of the same water in a vial with a different label on it.)

"What to do

Notify your homeopath. They will retake your case so that a remedy that better matches your symptoms can be prescribed. Your homeopath will be particularly interested in the symptoms you experienced during the dissimilar aggravation, as these can help guide future treatment."

(Notify your homeopath. Your homeopath will be particularly pleased that you’ve presented him/her with a bonus opportunity to flog you some more enchanted woo-tonic.)

"In Conclusion – A Word About Aggravations

Aggravations, while not a necessary part of homeopathic treatment, are sometimes unavoidable."

(Homeopathy does bugger all.)

"Aggravations occur when a person is either very sensitive to a remedy, or when a poorly skilled prescriber has given a remedy it in too large or too frequent a dose."

(If your remedy doesn’t work, it’s either your fault or that of a shonky homeopath who isn’t the author of this tutorial.)

"For this reason, better practitioners always give test doses at the beginning of treatment to check the person’s sensitivity. They will also prescribe the remedy as a liquid rather than in pills so it can be easily diluted if a gentler dose is needed."

(It’s much less hassle for us to fill some tiny glass jars with tap water than it is to source colourless hundreds-and-thousands from a confectionery wholesaler.)

"When aggravations occur, they are usually short-lived, mild, and an interesting phenomenon to experience. Their one benefit is that they act as a challenge to the person’s vitality and so can strengthen resilience."

(Just because you’re still sick doesn’t mean that homeopathy doesn’t work. It means you’re special. And it’s definitely your fault.)

"Next tutorial we will learn what it means and what to do when either:

Your existing symptoms improve but new ones appear for a short period.
Your existing symptoms improve but old symptoms from the past return for a short period.
A surrogate discharge or eruption appears.
Absolutely nothing happens."

(I won’t go into it now, but it’s more of the same. In summary:

If you get better, that’s the homeopathy working.
If you don’t get better, that’s the homeopathy working.
To whom shall I make out the invoice?)

Denial

2011-12-05T14:43:00.001+11:00

Because science.

“Oh no! The fridge!” she shouted, then more quietly sheswore.

She was moving all her furniture down from the second floor.

Now the stairs were rather narrow; gravity a nagging pest,

So she thought that pushing items out her window would bebest.

She could surely have avoided damaging her large appliance

If she’d only paid attention to the basic laws of science.

Chuck.

2011-11-22T15:54:00.001+11:00

Because immunology and back-spinning axe-kicks are prettymuch the same.

It appears that everyone’s favourite hardcore martial artshero, television star and conservative gun-toting young Earth creationist,Chuck Norris, doesn’t have enough to do. In a recentcolumn in WorldNetDaily, he’s demonstrated his considerable expertise in the field of Expandingthe Audience of Long-Dead Anti-Vaccine Canards by claiming that the linkbetween vaccines and autism is alive and well. And if anyone’s excited by theidea of combining rhymes, anti-vaccine craziness and martial arts, it’s yourstruly.

If you want a bearded hero
With a slick crime-fighting plan;
And you want to punch some bad guys,
Then Chuck Norris is your man.

He can give Bruce Lee a hiding,
He can kick above his head,
He can fight a bunch of terrorists
And make them fully dead.

Did you see him waste a drug lord,
And defend the written law?
Did you see his awesome chest hair?
Did you see his chiselled jaw?

If you want a hard-arsed sheriff,
To whom different rules apply;
If you want a hero’s hero,
Then Chuck Norris is your guy.

But if you want expert guidance,
Or advice on vaccination
Or some evidence regarding
Earth’s immaculate creation,

Don’t ask someone like Chuck Norris.
‘Cause he doesn’t know, of course.
He is Walker, Texas Ranger,
Not an information source.

For Dr Rachie, on her birthday

2011-11-20T14:56:00.001+11:00

Because I know it was yesterday, but I was out yesterday at some Thing.

She’s acelebrated scientist who’s capable and smart;

She knows lotsand lots and lots about diseases of the heart;

She spendshours picking pseudoscientific rants apart;

She thinksmore about what’s true, and what might not be, than Descartes.

When it comesto spreading science, she’s got speaking spots galore;

When it comesto trumping numpties, she’s not easy to ignore;

When it comesto nomming crabby legs, she’s quite the epicure;

Happy birthdayDr Rachie! May there be a squillion more.

Picking Things To Bits – Tony Abbott’s Address to President Obama

2011-11-17T11:02:00.001+11:00

Because I’m not convinced.

A new thing. I thought it might be fun to periodicallychoose a piece of someone else’s writing and ~~critically analyse it with anobjective eye~~ pick it to bits.

First cab off the rank is Tony Abbott’s speech at thereception dinner welcoming visiting US President Barack Obama. The fulltranscript is here (Warning: there is a photo of Tony Abbott and Julia Bishopon this page).

It begins:

Mr President, Prime Minister, parliamentary colleagues,distinguished guests.
It is indeed an honour to follow our Prime Minister informally welcoming President Obama to Australia.

“Yadda yadda yadda, hello, hello, mmwah etc”
As the leader of the United States, sir, you are the world’spresident because no other country has such a place in the life and such a holdover the imaginations of people across the globe.

“Your status as a world power is on the wane, but I’m notgoing to waste valuable proselytising and brown-nosing time talking about thatright now.”
As Prime Minister Gillard has said, watching the moonlanding in 1969 convinced her that there was nothing that America and Americanscould not achieve. The moon landing, sir, was special for me, too. My teachersdidn’t think it was important enough to interrupt classes for. So, I abscondedto a friend’s house to watch the broadcast. It was the only time in my life Iever wagged school and I’d like to think that I did it for America. Thesubsequent corporal punishment, I suppose that was for America, too: a small priceto pay for watching history in the making and cheering for the country which atthat moment was acting for all humanity.

“I was a really good boy at school, except that onetime when I assumed the position in the name of America”.
Years later, sir, as a student in Oxford...

“I haz plenty smart book learnin’”
...I felt instantly at home amongst the English only todiscover after six months that nearly all of my friends were American.

“I wanted to fit in with people who spoke posh and dranklots of tea but they didn’t care for me much.”
Perhaps it was just the solidarity of strangers, more likelyit was the natural affinity that Americans and Australians have for each other.It was an American who not only taught me the Star Spangled Banner but insistedthat I sing it in the Soviet Union no less in 1982. It was an American whopersuaded me to become a boxer, an American Jesuit, the ultimate muscularChristian.

“Here are some meaningless personal anecdotes thatprove how awesome Americans are. Also, PRAISE JESUS!”
From the American sealers and whalers who were an importantpart of our national economy back in the 1800s; the officers and men of theGreat White Fleet who were given perhaps the most tumultuous welcome everextended to any visitors to our shores; General Pershing’s men who went to warfor the first time under General Monash in the Battle of Hamel; to thecountless Americans and Australians at all times and in all places whoinstantly warm to each other’s informality and readiness to have a go.

“I had my PA Google some stuff yesterday so that I couldsound relevant.”
Our citizens are not strangers to each other.English-speaking peoples never really are.

“Australians and Americans get along because I am blissfullyignorant of the 100 or so languages other than English that are spoken inAustralia and the US.”
I was reminded of this, sir, on a recent visit toAfghanistan. Only a senior American officer would have invited animage-conscious politician...

“OMG you guise, have you seen my spectacular pecs?”
...to test-fire a heavy machine gun...

“So heavy, in fact, that only someone with spectacular pecscould use it and not look like some kind of publicity-hounding idiot.”
...and only an Australian alternative prime minister...

“I prefer not to use the term ‘sore loser’”
...would have been rash...

“Spectacularly muscular”
...enough to do so.

But for all the instinctive bonds there can still bemisunderstandings. On my first trip to the United States as a parliamentarian,the US Information Agency briefed my hosts that I was a ferocious liberal anddeeply anti-republican, which meant that I spent most of the fortnight beingintroduced to communists.

“Even though we all speak English, you guys are stillcapable of monumental stuff-ups that result in me having to tell mypre-prepared Christian White Supremacist jokes to a bunch of bloody commies.”
The very concept of the office I hold as an institutionalcritic of government...

“This Opposition Leader gig is SO. EASY. I don’t even haveto come up with any ideas of my own! I get paid to pick on the Prime Minister,while all you lowly taxpayers are doing it on Twitter for free.”
...is foreign to your notions of a powerful and unifyingpresident. Indeed, the nearest thing you have to an opposition leader isprobably an editorial in the Wall Street Journal.

“I staunchly refuse to portray the Republican Party in a badlight, because they are SO AWESOME. PRAISE JESUS!”
But a good thing it is to have a shadow government to keepthe official one on its toes.

“I’ve heard the term “formulate workable alternativepolicies” before, but I have no idea what it means.”
Regardless, sir, of their normal political affiliationsmillions of Australians took pride in your election as President...

“Most Australians couldn’t give a rat’s arse aboutAmerican voters, but hey - they like what Oprah likes.”
...because it showed that America could live up to itsdreams and that Americans were capable of judging people by the content oftheir characters rather than the colour of their skin.

“I’m trying to cover up my innate racism. How’m Idoing?”
In similar vein, I am very proud that an Aboriginal has finallybeen elected to the Australian House of Representatives as a member of theLiberal National Coalition.

“My PA found out on Google that we’ve got a blackfellow in the House of Reps. Fancy that! Next thing you know we’ll be lettingthem buy their own groceries. ANYway, I think you, sir, are just as importantas whatsisname.”
Mr President, we too are a country that has beckoned to the“poor, the huddled masses, yearning to be free.”

“We beckon, they come, we lock them up for months whilewe do a bit of paperwork. Until I'm Prime Minister, of course, in which case they can all get stuffed.”
We too are a country spreading across a continent from seato shining sea.

“This is the extent of my knowledge of plate tectonics”
We too are one nation indivisible under God with liberty andjustice for all...

“I live in a magical fantasy fairyland. Also, PRAISEJESUS!!!”
...and at least in this country, sir, the President of theUnited States stands for power tempered with good will, wealth with justice andenergy with wisdom. So, naturally, we could hardly have amongst us a morewelcome guest.

“And to finish, I’d like to blow smoke up your arse. Damn, Iwish you were white.”

Build a Big Gay Bridge.

2011-11-15T09:59:00.001+11:00

Because it really isn't a big deal.

This one is for all those Australians (*cough* Australian Christian Lobby *cough*) who oppose same-sex marriage because of the erroneous view that it will somehow destroy what is historically good and right and will turn everyone into demonic homosexual pedophile gangbangers against their will.*

You don’t have to be gay or like gayness.
You don’t have to feel hassled or harried.
You don’t have to touch anyone’s anus.
You don’t have to get same-gender married.
There’s no need to consult with tradition,
About who boys and girls can climb onto.
All we ask is the legal permission
For gay people to wed if they want to.

*It almost certainly won't.

Hayfever

2011-11-12T22:04:00.001+11:00

Because allergies can bite me.

At the edge of the stratus-strewn skies,

Peeks a timid blue moon on the rise.

As the daylight adjourns,

My hayfever returns

And I want to stab out someone’s eyes.

For Remembrance Day

2011-11-11T10:06:00.001+11:00

Because I can't imagine what war is like, and I'm grateful to those who have given me that luxury.

I’m sitting here comfortably, sipping my tea,

Watching the sway of the neighbour’s gum tree.

I’m not getting shot. I have no foot rot.

It’s nice.

The kids are at day care, I’m working from home;

The hours tick by like a hushed metronome.

I’m not in a pit of man-meat and shit.

It’s nice.

The jasmine is starting to bloom in the yard,

Festooned with soft silk on which spiders stand guard.

No homeward-bent yearning. No buildings are burning.

It’s nice.

The beds are all made and the washing is done,

The peg-puckered towels wave like flags in the sun.

My stumps haven’t bled. My friends aren’t all dead.

It’s nice.

The Twittercrush

2011-11-05T23:17:00.000+11:00

Because some people want to follow your brains out.

It begins as a squiggle you see on your screen;

By somebody you don’t really know.

You just notice their avatar pop up between

All the others above and below.

You may see them retweeted by some of your friends;

With a chestnut both witty and vehement.

Soon it seems every pixel that he or she sends

Has you nodding your head in agreement.

Like a small, open window that offers a view

To the rugged pastiche of their mind,

Every tweet looks increasingly sparkly and new,

With the sun shining out from behind.

Now, you’re not at a party or populous bar;

There’s no need to feel awkward or shy.

You don’t need to trade glances and smiles from afar;

You just make with a quick @ reply.

They respond. You feel warm and a little bit smug.

You’re exchanging coy banter apace.

It feels something like having an intimate hug

On a lounge, in a dimly-lit place.

Sometimes bold interlopers may enter the field,

With a well-thought-out quip here and there.

You politely accede, lest your game be revealed,

Though you clearly do not want to share.

What you have is a Twittercrush, passed on by stealth;

From the thoughts in another one’s head.

It cares not for appearance, nor gender nor wealth,

Nor for who you have waiting in bed.

With a Twittercrush, no-one gets cheated on much;

There’s no scope for bad break-ups or bitterness.

You’re not really in love with a person, as such;

You’re just smitten to bits with their twitterness.

Biscuit.

2011-10-28T16:22:00.000+11:00

Because as long as I have one, I'm doing okay.

My skin is quite blotchy; my hair’s rather dull.

The hallmarks of aging envelop my skull.

Some bits of me aren’t where they once used to be.

But do you know what? I’ve got a biscuit.

My house isn’t lavish, I don’t have nice shoes.

I’ve never sailed off on a luxury cruise.

There’s no billionaire on my family tree.

But I’ve money enough for a biscuit.

I’m not chuffed with Labor; I don’t like the Libs.

I’m sick of the posing, in-fighting and fibs.

But I’ll always vote democratically

For the right to lay claim to a biscuit.

There’s crap on the telly and pots in the sink,

The clothes in the laundry are starting to stink.

But most of these things matter much less to me

Than obtaining and eating a biscuit.

It might seem quite silly, to give such import

To a trivial treat of the biscuity sort,

When people are starving and long to be free;

And can barely imagine a biscuit.

But as long as my troubles amount to the lack

Of a sugary, buttery, crumbly snack,

And whether to dunk it, or not, in my tea,

Then it’s quite a significant biscuit.

Because even if something went SPLAT in my head

And emergency staff brought me back from the dead,

My hospital treatment’s effectively free –

And they might even give me a biscuit.

Heavenly Logistics

2011-10-14T15:53:00.000+11:00

Because it all seems like quite a kerfuffle.

Does God have a method for answering prayers?
Some kind of a system,
To rank, file and list ‘em?
Is there a logistics department upstairs,
Where they’re stamped with a sort code and date?

Does God really listen when folks make requests?
Does he understand ‘em?
It seems rather random,
When “please cure my cancer” and “biggen my breasts”
Are afforded the same kind of weight.

Is there a taxonomy firmly in place?
Can one climb the ranks
Saying “Please God” and “Thanks”?
Is there any clear preference for gender or race?
Is it carefully numbered by Dewey?

I’ve searched for a pattern, but none could be found:
Bad luck’s split in twain,
‘tween devout and profane.
Although many charming sob stories abound,
I strongly suspect it’s all hooey.

Bits

2011-10-12T23:35:00.000+11:00

Because they really are quite important.

I’m a fundamental requisite for most of life on Earth,
I’m important for allogamous conception and for birth,
Evolution’s seen my basic functionality maintained,
In my midst, the code of future generations is contained.
Every human being in history’s had me clandestinelyswaddled.
From my form, great monuments of towering granite have been modelled.
Every king and queen and conqueror have had me on theirthrones,
I’ve been carried ‘round by famous movie stars and byunknowns.
So you’d think I’d earned a modicum of reverence andacclaim,
But instead I’m given every kind of base, ignoble name.
Like ‘the squidgy bits below yer tits’ or ‘hoo-hoo’ or ‘hairpie’
Or ‘the man in the pink helmet’ or ‘the python with one eye’
Or ‘the map of Tassie’, ‘whisker biscuit’, ‘velvet glove’ or‘quim’
Or ‘the strumpet thumper’, ‘Dr Wang’ or ‘Todger’ or ‘big Jim’
All I ask is recognition for accomplishments unsung;
For the fecund folds of flesh from which your foetal formwas flung;
For the pendulous appendage that bore people-making fruit;
Just a tiny, whispered “thank you”. And perhaps a smallsalute.

With thanks to Chrys and Daphy for ideas, inspiration and titillating euphemisms.

The Punch.

2011-10-08T23:15:00.000+11:00

Because there's more to it than you might think.

Beginning with your pinkie, curl your fingers to your palm;

Then embrace them with your thumb and hold them tight.

If the line between your knuckles and your wrist and lowerarm

Is a straight one, then you’ve no doubt got it right.

Hold your knuckles near your cheekbones, with your elbowpointing south;

Hold your other arm the same, as though reflected;

So if someone tries to hit you in your ribs or in yourmouth,

You’ll have half a chance of keeping them protected.

Looking straight at your opponent, shift your favoured footbehind;

‘Til you’ve turned your body forty-five degrees.

Share your weight between your feet, held shoulder-width,and calm your mind.

Keep your shoulders down and slightly bend your knees.

In your head, create a picture of what you’re about to do;

Let the notion be infused with your ambition.

See your hand continue past your target’s edge and go rightthrough;

Then return to its original position.

Now your fist is quite a weapon, but it doesn’t work alone;

It needs energy, momentum, speed and might.

If you don’t use your whole body every time a punch isthrown,

Then you may as well knit socks instead of fight.

When an urgent sort of rumbling in your head and belly grows,

Use your hips to make your torso turn and twist;

As it murmurs through your shoulders, gaining volume as itgoes,

Turn your heel as it comes shouting out your fist.

For Chrys and Dave, on their birthday.

2011-10-06T13:57:00.000+11:00

Roughly eighteen million people have a birthday on today,

But I’m only going to concentrate on two.

Both these people mean a lot to me, each in their own coolway;

I can only hope they mean the same to you.

Ms Chrys Stevenson is not afraid to tell things like theyare;

She’s articulate and fun and kind and smart.

Anyone can have a go at Goddy bullies from afar,

But she’s made critical analysis an art.

Now Dave the Happy Singer has a suffix of “dot com”

He attacks blind ignorance from many angles;

He’s a skilled and funny orator, no matter where you’refrom,

But what’s more, he’s got a coat with pretty spangles.

Happy birthday, lovely webby mates! You make the world ablast,

Whether podcasting or singing or in text;

May this day of yours be grand; I hope it’s nowhere near thelast;

And I hope to be your friend until the next.

Jobs.

2011-10-04T12:27:00.000+11:00

Because a little perspective wouldn't go astray.

A good man did his job today. He took a small, sharp knife;

With parents waiting, wracked with pain;

He made a cut inside a vein

Soon bluish skin turned pink again;

He saved a baby’s life.

An actress made a million bucks for playing someone’s wife.

A woman with a comfy chair and tissues close at hand,

Heard broken people talk all day;

She hardly had the strength to say,

She couldn’t take the pain away,

But she could understand.

A model won’t get out of bed for less than twenty grand.

Last night a guy with debts walked into bathroom stallsunseen.

He picked up sodden paper dropped,

Made sure the spew-stained floor was mopped,

The skid-marked, turd-blocked bogs unstopped,

And everything was clean.

An actor did his nut ‘cause someone moved during a scene.

Tomorrow, people in a lab will try to find an answer,

To why a small malignant cell,

Can feed and reproduce so well;

They’re getting close – soon tests will tell,

If they can starve a cancer.

A so-called star makes headlines posing as a ballroomdancer.

Supermarket Atheism

2011-09-30T17:03:00.000+10:00

Because I went to the shops.

So I was at the supermarket this afternoon, and as I turned past the chill of the sausage cabinet, I overhead part of a conversation between two employees, which included an admission of sorts. Like most people who can't wait to let the world know about their food shopping, I tweeted about it. And like most smart-arse sisters, Jo decided to turn it into a poetry challenge (or at least that's how I saw it):

So, this:

Negotiating shopping trolleys
Through an aisle of chips and lollies
Overheard:
A single word:
‘Atheist’.

I turned my head. The one who spoke -
A sandy-haired shelf-packing bloke.
I may have stared
As he declared
Godlessness.

The Woollies at Umina Beach
Has room for walking frames in each
Wide parking spot.
It’s also got
Infidels.

Funny.

2011-09-23T22:16:00.000+10:00

Because some things just are.

Farts. Belching. Armpit noises. Stories about pooh.

People tripping over in the street when it’s not you.

Someone classy in a bar with bog-roll on their shoe.

Kiddies throwing tantrums ‘til they drool.

Boobs. Curling. Pageant speeches. Lap dogs. Modern dance.

People caught at Customs with cocaine stuffed in theirpants.

Anyone with comb-overs or obvious implants.

Women wearing make-up in the pool.

Pubes. Emo. Shetland ponies. Eurovision songs.

People who go shopping in bikinis and sarongs,

Paying more than twenty dollars for a pair of thongs.

Incoherent, hardly-done-by yobs.

Snot. Gussets. Giant pimples. Kids who hang ‘round malls.

Moments just before a figure-skating couple falls.

People doing gymnastics with ribbons and with balls.

Veggies shaped like blokes with giant nobs.

But not clowns.

The Rules of Marriage

2011-09-22T15:48:00.000+10:00

Because according to the Australian government, how you feel about somebody doesn't rate a mention.

There’s no specific law that says you have to procreate.

Your celebrant must have authorisation from the state.

Your choice to marry must be made with candid independence.

You can’t marry your siblings, mother, father or descendants.

You can’t marry an animal. You can’t marry a minor.

There must be a grand total of exactly one vagina.

Once married, it’s against the law to marry once again,

Unless you have a proper divorce order, signed in pen.

Wrong.

2011-09-15T13:57:00.000+10:00

Because once and a while it gets to me.

Far be it for me to criticise how people speak;

But this is, after all, suppose to be quite tongue andcheek.

I cannot curve my appetite for offering advise,

When people make mistakes – another words, don’t dot theireyes.

I know that some can’t help theirselves, but somethink mustbe done;

Our language is on tender hooks – it’s doomed! Ask any one.

‘Cause when the death nail sounds and we ignore what couldof been,

We’ll all be saying ‘PIN number’ and ‘ATM machine’.

We need to reach agreeance on the things what people say,

And weather one way’s better then a wholly nother way.

It’s still a working progress; all we need is some incite.

There’s no statue of limitations on getting it right.

Whatever your criterias or currant paradigm,

I urge you all whole-hardily – it’s really worth your time.

If that don’t work, I think I’ll chuck it in – I minus well;

For all intensive purposes, our lingo’s gone to Hell.

The Back-Crackin' Blues

2011-09-07T20:53:00.000+10:00

As the highly capable and consistently awesome Dr Rachie has documented recently, there's been some trouble brewing in Australian chiropractic circles. For a long time, a significant slab of chiropractors have claimed to successfully treat all manner of disease and dysfunction, based on the scientifically-suspect notion of vertebral subluxation, originally proposed by "magnetic healer" Daniel David Palmer in the late 19th Century. Whenever such claims come under close scrutiny, it causes something of a hand-flapping flurry amongst the chiropractic community. Today I've attempted to capture the essence of their discomfort.

Woke up this morning

Was feelin’ fine

Thought I’d go stick my elbow

In a two-year-old’s spine.

I got the blues.

Got them back-crackin’ blues.

D.D. Palmer’s my hero;

Chiropractic’s own king;

Claimed that subluxation,

Causes every damn thing.

I got the blues.

Got them quack-backin’, back crackin’ blues.

When my claims about chiro;

For diseases and such;

Have been tested with science;

They don’t mean nothin’ much.

I got the blues.

Got them fact-lackin’, quack-backin’, back-crackin’ blues.

I think most vaccinations;

Are as evil as hell.

‘Course that’s just my opinion;

And my colleagues’ as well.

I got the blues.

Got them vax-whackin’, fact-lackin’, quack-backin’, back-crackin’ blues.

The End.

2011-09-06T19:35:00.000+10:00

Because I'll be the first to admit it if I'm wrong.*

If Rapture comes and we meet our creator;
If Judgment Day determines who is saved;
If Hell awaits each liar, thief and traitor;
If there’s a Lake of Fire for the depraved;
If there’s a God in Heaven, calmly waitin’;
If Jesus stands beside Him, resurrected;
If my sin-sodden soul belongs to Satan;
I’ll whisper, “I’ll be damned!” and stand corrected.

*But I'm pretty sure I'm not.

Curriculum Writey

2011-09-06T17:10:00.000+10:00

Because it's National Poetry Week, which may or may not have anything to do with anything.

I’m not one of those
Who is given to prose
About violets and roses and pain.

My style is archaic,
My topics prosaic;
But that’s how things are in my brain.

I write down my views
And my thoughts on the news,
Recent stories, opinions and trends.

I’m reasonably neat
With my metrical feet
And I like to put rhymes on the ends.

There’s skeptical stuff
And there’s more than enough
About magic and woo-woo and God.

There are secular rants
And a bit about pants
And a whole category called Odd.

I’m sure Poetry Week
Is for people who seek
Out the deeply profound and fair dinkum.

If these verses of mine
Fit the bill, well that’s fine,
I just type out my thoughts as I think ‘em

Apology.

2011-08-23T15:07:00.000+10:00

Because I'm really, really sorry.

This morning, as is my wont, I tweeted about how much I love coffee. I insinuated that, under circumstances in which I was unable to drink coffee by mouth, I would settle for taking it intravenously. One of the replies I received suggested that perhaps I was being a little insensitive to people who are, for medical or other reasons, unable to eat or drink the foods they enjoy.

How could I have been so heartless? I really should have considered the feelings of people who are required to take their nutrition intravenously before I tweeted flippantly and heartlessly about how much I like coffee. For that, I apologise.

Then I got to thinking: how many other jokes and light-hearted comments have I made in the past with a callous disregard for people to whom they may cause offence? How many hearts have I broken; how many souls have I crushed; how many lives have I ruined with the simple 'knock-knock' of a badly-timed pun? Is this, as the Sydney Atheists Podcast recently speculated, the end of comedy?

So before I offend anyone else in the name of half-arsed comedy, I'd like to offer you this:

I’m sorry to horses who’ve walked into bars, in particular those with long faces.

I’m sorry to rabbis and vicars and priests who’ve assembled in mutual places.

I’m sorry to bears with especially large paws, who’ve gone into the woods for a pooh.

I’m sorry to people with light bulbs to change, and to people whose surname is ‘Who’.

To my dear Stevie Wonder, Ray Charles and Ms Keller, I’d hate to have made you upset.

To those chickens we’ve lost because roads must be crossed, I now offer my deepest regret.

If your mother is large or you’re generally thought to be stupid, endowed well or tight,

If you’ve come across flies in your soup by surprise, then I’m really, sincerely contrite.

Commentally unstable

2011-08-13T22:51:00.000+10:00

Because comment threads breed crazy.

Anyone who's spent the last few years ~~procrastinating at work~~ reading blogs and online articles has probably got some idea of the calibre of logic and manners that pops up in comment threads. No matter what the topic of the original post, any comment thread longer than a few sycophantic bum-slaps from friends and rellies (Hi, friends and rellies!) is bound to contain at least one foam-flecked numpty with an axe to grind and no discernible experience with reason. This is my tribute to the wastrels of commentitude, based on real examples. Do feel free to add your own.

You’re not allowed to comment here,
Unless your child or someone dear;
Has suffered something quite severe;
Or died, you heartless beast!

I sympathise. I understand.
Consider me a helping hand;
Just follow me on twitter and
Your sales will be increased!

You come on here to mock, abuse,
And falsify opposing views;
But haven’t got the guts to use
Your proper, legal name.

I have a valid point to make;
Our very freedom is at stake;
That’s what the Nazis tried to take!
You’re all the bloody same.

I can’t indulge you anymore,
‘Cause up in comment number four,
You mis-spelled “atheist”, therefore:
Your argument’s a farce.

I’ve done my own research; have you?;
You cannot know the things I do;
So take your “tests” and “peer review”;
And stick them up your arse.

The Break-up

2011-08-12T21:12:00.000+10:00

Because it's not you, God, it's me. But mostly you.

My parents introduced us and then left us well alone;

They must have been convinced that I was ready.

Soon after, when my soul was sure the seeds of love were sown;

I closed my eyes and asked you to go steady.

I thought about you every day, and spoke to you at night;

We spent our Sunday mornings close together;

You filled my darkest days with a resplendent, gleaming light;

You calmed my stormy moods with clement weather.

But as the long years passed and you took all I had to give;

What once seemed fathomless was strangely shallow;

I realised, as I grew into this life I have to live;

We got involved when I was young and callow.

I read, I learned, I thought, I grasped, I asked, “what if?” and “how?”

My thirst for reason burgeoned by the minute;

My love for you soon drowned. Unfettered thoughts were clearer now:

The world makes much more sense without you in it.

Bills, bills, bills.

2011-08-04T22:35:00.000+10:00

Wish-list of a wowser.

This morning’s Sydney Morning Herald included a report about the ongoing attempt by Fred Nile to ~~punch above his weight~~ remove any alternative to religious instruction in public schools. Featured next to the story was one of those big shaded boxes of small bits of information which are especially tailored for those of us who attempt to read the paper and drink a cup of tea while a three-year-old balances on their knee with one leg in the air shouting “CAN YOU DO THIS???”

This one listed private members’ bills proposed for introduction into the upper house. The Reverend Nile’s list is quite comprehensive, so I’ve taken the trouble to look at each bill and provide my comment below. I know, I know – you’ve been hanging out for this all day. But someone had to make the lunches and say “Mmmm.... uh-huh” at Lego.

So here they are – Fred Nile’s proposals as I see them, based on nothing more than a cursory glance at a tea-stained SMH:

1. Adoption Amendment

Repeals the amendments that let couples of the same sex adopt children.

Same-sex couples are evil. Children brought up by same-sex couples are evil. Same-sex couples only want to adopt children to make a point of how evil they are, and couldn’t possibly want a child as much as those proper boy-girl couples that God likes.

2. Alcoholic Beverages Advertising Prohibition

Prohibits the advertising of alcoholic beverages and related trademarks, brand names and logos.

I think I can see where he’s going with this one. Banning alcohol means nobody will buy alcohol which means nobody will get drunk and be arseholes to each other and become alcoholics and ruin everything. It’s worked in the past. Honestly though, this is as good as any other proposal I’ve seen for stopping people drinking too much and being arseholes.

3. Child Protection (Nicole’s Law)

Requires the public to be notified of the identity and residential addresses of convicted child sex offenders.

On one hand, people who commit sex offences involving children deserve to wear underpants made of razor-blade-wielding scorpions and eat stale turds for the rest of their lives. On the other hand, like it or not, even soulless scumbags are entitled to some privacy and protection. Tell you what - I’ll support this one if everybody promises to mind their own business and leave the pitchforks at home.

4. Classification Enforcement Amendment

Prohibit the possession of restricted X-rated films.

Generally speaking, as long as everyone appearing in a film wants to appear in it, doesn’t abuse anyone who doesn’t request abuse and gets paid enough, I don’t really give a rat’s who owns and watches them. I don’t like restricted X-rated films or the industry that makes them. I don’t like Justin Bieber or the industry that manufactured him, either. Doesn’t mean he should be made illegal.

5. Destruction of Child in Utero – Zoe’s Law

Creates a new offence relating to the destruction of a child in utero.

Punishing someone for causing the death of an unborn baby is fine with me. I’m not so certain that the charge of murder or manslaughter is appropriate if the mother of the unborn child survives though. In fact, I’m not really certain of anything in this case. This is me backing away quietly from something I don’t know much about. See? It can happen.

6. Incitement or Promotion of Terrorism and Violence

Makes it an offence to publish material that incites or promotes terrorism or violence.

I’m cool with this one, as long as the definitions of “incites”, “promotes”, “terrorism” and “violence” are crystal clear. For example, if I say that I’d appreciate it if someone would provide religious nutjobs with a swift kick in the nuts, does that count?

7. Pre-natal Termination

Prohibits the destruction of any child in utero with a detectable heartbeat.

I’m not even going to dignify this with a bunch of words. Instead, I think I have a picture somewhere of Fred Nile driving to work.

Oh yes, here it is.

8. Soliciting Sex for Payment

Prohibit a person soliciting another for sexual gratification for payment.

If you need it, if you can’t find it anywhere else, if you’ve got the funds and you’re not my husband, go for your life. Just do it safely. And don’t expect Julia Roberts.

9. Drug and Alcohol Treatment Amendment

Provides for the involuntary rehabilitative care of persons with severe substance dependence.

Hands up who hasn’t wanted to smack some sense into a self-destructive drug addict? I know I have, but I do need help with this one. Is it possible to rehabilitate someone who doesn’t want to be rehabilitated? I honestly don’t know.

10. Ethics Classes Repeal

Repeals ethics classes as a secular alternative to special religious education at government schools.

Ok. Grrr. Fred, do you know what “a secular alternative to special religious education” is? Everything. You see, in a secular system, which is what our schools are supposed to be, being able to do something other than receive religious instruction is fundamental. Whether it’s ethics classes, general religion classes, Advanced Satanism or whittling is irrelevant. As I see it, uncontested religious instruction is the alternative. The alternative to Growing The Hell Up And Being Sensible.

11. Family Impact Commission

A study of the moral, social and economic effects on the family unit of government laws and expenditure.

First, anyone who can define “the family unit” gets a prize. Second, if anyone can explain to me how moral and social effects of laws and expenditure could be measured, I’d really like to know. Third, I think we need a study into the moral, social and economic effects on the family unit of performing a stupid study like this. And finally, what the hell for?

12. Drinking Age

Minimum drinking age raised to 21 years.

Whatever. Add three years onto the age at which people are legally and arbitrarily allowed to take their first drink if it really stuffs your olive.

13. Health Warning for Pregnant Women

Requires packaged liquor to contain a health warning about the danger of drinking when pregnant.

No objection from me. If it makes a significant difference to the number of babies affected by maternal alcoholism then that would be a Good Thing. But seriously, if you need a warning label to tell you that drinking while pregnant isn’t a good thing to do, then I’d prefer you didn’t procreate at all.

14. Pregnancy Termination

Requires women considering terminating a viable pregnancy to undergo counselling and to view an ultrasound of their unborn child.

Abortion counselling equals awesome in my book. Women who decide to terminate a pregnancy should be given factual, evidence-based information and advice about their options, physical and psychological impact and health risks. Requiring those women to view an ultrasound of their unborn child is just stupid and manipulative. I don’t think any woman in history has felt good about terminating a pregnancy, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have a bloody good reason to do so. Why make them feel worse?

15. Sex Services Advertising Prohibition

Prohibits the advertising of sex services.

Bollocks to that. If you’re providing a legal, safe, desired service, you should have the freedom to put a tacky ad in the local paper, complete with titillating euphemisms.

16. Full-face Coverings Prohibition

Prohibits people wearing full-face coverings in public places.

Humphrey B. Bear will be very upset about this one. And surgeons at public hospitals may find it quite inconvenient. Unless you mean... oooh. Well then, if we’re talking about removing veils, why don’t you just come out and say that all Muslims are shifty-eyed terrorists? And while you’re at it, please cover up Fred. I’m sick of looking at him.

17. State Senate

Authorises the use of the term “State Senate” as a reference to the Legislative Council and the use of the term “State Senator” for a member of the council.

Now this one is important. It’s right up there with the great Potato/Potato argument. Go for it.

Prayers 2.0

2011-07-29T16:49:00.000+10:00

Because it's all so last millennium.

For each prayer one expresses, the rate of success is, by my count, no better than chance.
If you wish for a trinket or bauble, why think it? It’s yours with a little finance.
If you wish someone better, just write them a letter, or email, or blog post, or tweet.
Surely iPhones, computers and cyber-commuters have made humble prayers obsolete?

Brains vs Bible

2011-07-19T21:02:00.000+10:00

Because ethics and the Christian Democratic Party are two different things.

Yesterday, Fred Nile and his Christian Democratic Party threatened to withhold their support of the NSW Government's proposed Industrial Relations changes unless ethics classes in state primary schools - held as an alternative to religious education - were scrapped. The CDP's press release is here and ABC News' coverage is here. To put it in simpler terms, he doesn't want kids to learn anything if they're not learning about scripture, because they might like the something else better. And if kids learn about ethics, they might figure out that blackmailing the government to get what you want is, well... you know.

Fred Nile objects quite vocally to primary ethics classes;
As do his Christian Democratic chums;
They’d rather have objectors sitting outside on their arses
And twiddling their young scripture-snubbing thumbs.

The Reverend doesn’t want your kids to think or read or learn;
While their mates absorb the teaching of God’s word;
And the thought that they’d be anything but still and taciturn;
Is, to true believers, patently absurd.

Anything except pure idleness is competition, see:
To the stuff that Scripture kids are being fed;
And we mustn’t have a pedagogical deficiency
While those sneaky opter-outers get ahead.

The implication is, of course, that sitting on one’s hands
Is equivalent, in academic weight;
To the scripture class curriculum; and Fred Nile understands;
That without dumb folk, he won’t control the state.

Let People Choose

2011-07-15T16:07:00.000+10:00

Because apples aren't horseshoes.

I’ve got ants in my kitchen, all over the bench.
Should I use pest control or a hydraulic wrench?

I want something to carry my cards and my money.
Should I get a purse or a brick dipped in honey?

I want to go travelling across the blue skies.
Should I get on a plane or rub salt in my eyes?

The sand burns my feet when I walk on the beach.
Should I put on some shoes or wear nettles and bleach?

My head gets quite wet when it’s raining outside.
Should I use an umbrella or chlorpropamide?

I need something to write on my Mum’s birthday card.
Should I purchase a pen or a hatful of lard?

When I want to make biscuits, then what should I choose?
Some butter and flour or some tractors and shoes?

I want to stop Whooping Cough’s lung-wrenching wrath.
Should I see my GP or a homeopath?

The idea for this one came from the Skeptics with a K podcast from the Merseyside Skeptics (my current favourite ear-candy, frequently responsible for making me laugh out loud and nod my head furiously on a crowded train. It makes me look crazy, but often gets me a seat to myself). Skeptics with a K addressed the oft-cited argument in favour of homeopathy, that people should have the opportunity to choose their mode of health treatment. This argument has an obvious flaw - it assumes that homeopathy enjoys the same credibility and status as something that actually has an effect. Go see http://letpeoplechoose.org for some more helpful examples.

The Old Testament Song

2011-07-08T18:01:00.000+10:00

Because he's the baddest baddie in the Good Book.

There’s a bloke who’s in the Bible who’s as mean as mean can be;
He’s an angry, vengeful bastard and the boss of you and me;
He’s been terrorising mankind since four thousand years B.C.;
When that naughty, naked Adam ate an apple from his tree.

Old Testament God, Old Testament God, he’s got a few things to say;
He lives up above, and talks about love, but not in a cuddly way;
When Rapture begins, he’ll count up your sins, and work out who gets to stay;
By the side of the Almighty when it comes to Judgment Day.

He sends floods and plagues and famine but maintains it’s all our fault;
He gets off on stoning whores and turning ladies into salt;
He condones widespread infanticide and sexual assault;
And considers every human being a sinner by default.

Old Testament God, Old Testament God, he doesn’t do things by half;
It doesn’t suffice to say that he’s nice or tell him he makes you laugh;
He wants you to pray, and offer to slay a bullock or perfect calf;
Not a cat or dog or donkey or a (God forbid!) giraffe.

He’s omnipotent, omniscient and everywhere as well;
He can see what you are doing through the walls of a motel;
If you’re coveting your neighbours ass, then bid your own farewell;
Join the legion of forsaken on the slippery-dip to Hell.

Old Testament God, Old Testament God, he’s got quite a nasty streak;
He’ll get pretty cross and show you who’s boss, unless you are mild and meek;
He’ll smite you with lice and locusts and mice and call it divine mystique;
Then expect us all to thank him on our one day off a week.

Showing my working: This grew from an invasive but rollicking earworm here on the Sesame Street site. And, like all normal people, when I hear Elmo my thoughts immediately turn to the murderous hand of an almighty, vengeful God. I can't read the stanzas above without hearing the tune anymore, but perhaps you've got another little mind-melody going on.

Doctor What?

2011-06-28T23:18:00.000+10:00

Because sometimes they is, and sometimes they ain't.

There are Doctors of Philosophy, who’ve earned their PhDs;
There are those who work in medicine, with medical degrees;
There are those who treat bad teeth, bent minds and lame, asthmatic horses;
There are those who filled in forms online for correspondence courses.

There is Doctor Nancy Malik and there’s Doctor Nimrod Weiner;
Then there’s Doctor Charlene Werner with her jovial demeanour;
There is Doctor Vicki Monroe, who can talk to wayward spirits;
And there’s Doctor Sherri Tenpenny, from whom I get the irrits.

Doctor Who, at least, has got a solid grasp of basic science;
And Doctor Faust was smart, despite his sinister alliance;
There was method to the evil plots of Doctor Fu Manchu;
And the bumbling but well-meaning Doctor Bunsen Honeydew.

Doctor Jekyll was quite clever, though his Mr Hyde was shocking;
And that Doctor Frank-N-Furter wore a fetching fishnet stocking;
Doctor Zaius had a brilliant mind AND thumbs upon his feet;
And few ills could not be soothed by Doc-Doc-Doc-Doc-Doctor Beat.

Doctor Feelgood made Aretha wail in special lady ways;
Doctor Dolittle could talk with hawks and chat with cats for days;
Doctor Strangelove could control a bomb, but not his maverick arm;
Doctor Evil was a modern Doctor No, without the charm.

With so many so-called doctors, maybe something needs explaining;
Which are worthwhile? Which are evil? Which are merely entertaining?
Any fool can pop some letters on the edges of their name;
So be wary of the difference: quacks and surgeons ain’t the same.

Now, a rose by any other name is still a lovely sight;
And if you call a spade a spade when it’s a shovel, that’s not right;
Elton John is just plain ‘Reginald’ when all is said and done;
And if you call yourself a Doctor, then that doesn’t make you one.

Hat tips: Bastard Sheep, Reasonable Hank and Carol C.

Coming up for breath.

2011-06-28T09:01:00.001+10:00

Because of busy.

I'm still alive, I'm still around,
I haven't died or gone to ground.
I'm not on holiday or sick,
I've just had clients laid on thick.
The money's nice, though not the best,
It keeps the children fed and dressed.
I'd exercise more blogging skills,
If poetry could pay the bills.

I can, but I don't.

2011-06-17T22:46:00.000+10:00

Because she's my Mummy.

I can’t swear in front of my mother;
Except for a ‘bugger!’ or ‘bum!’
Since the day that I first
Got a smack when I cursed;
I can’t swear in front of my Mum.

I know it won’t get me in trouble;
But I bear quite an ethical scar.
Though I’ve managed to lose
Other childhood taboos,
I just can’t swear in front of my Ma.

With friends I can break out the ‘S’ word,
On the web, my expletives abound;
I have some expertise
With a few effing cees;
Only not when my mother’s around.

The fact I offend in her absence
Doesn’t bug her one way or another.
I can curse a blue streak
Any day of the week;
But I can’t swear in from of my mother.

Dinosaurs.

2011-06-08T09:31:00.000+10:00

Because of four-year-olds.

Poetry is often borne of passion. And there are few passions as deep and all-consuming as that which a certain four (and three quarters) -year-old has for his dinosaurs.

This one's for you, Mitchy.

There are dinosaurs in kitchen drawers and underneath the couch,
There’s a bevy of those beasts that came before us.
When I stepped on a Triceratops in socks, I hollered “Ouch!”
But I’m quite relieved it wasn’t Stegosaurus.
In the hallway, there’s a Harpymimus and a Pterosaur;
In the bath, the Compsognathus always floats.
Though the different Saurapods can be confusing, now I’m sure;
That Omeisaurs have got the longest throats.
I hear stomping from another room, and know that it’s a boy;
For whom each Terataphoneus lives on;
And his plastic Archaeopteryx is more than just a toy;
And his Tarchia and his Iguanadon.
There are drawings. Oh, the drawings! Giant beasts with battle scars;
Of each species, genus, family and order.
And although I know I’ll miss it when he’s into girls and cars,
Then at least the names will be a little shorter.

Headache.

2011-06-03T14:56:00.000+10:00

Because of earworms and Sean.

Yesterday, two things happened serendebipbipitously:
1. I had this Warner Bros clip playing in my head; and
2. My cyber-mate Sean mentioned that he had a headache.

I'll spare you the convoluted mental contortions that followed, and simply share the result:

My head has a terrible ache (it’s true);
There must be something I can take (or do);
A poultice or balsam or tonic that’s wholesome;
To give my poor temples a break (boo hoo).

Perhaps I’ll acquire some peace (somehow);
Through craniosacral release (what now?);
A magical curer could massage my dura;
And make throbbing areas cease (my brow).

My energy’s starting to wane (my chi);
Could this be the cause of my pain? (maybe);
If so, acupuncture might help at this juncture
It’s starting to mess with my brain (crazy).

Although all its claims are pretext (what rot);
I’ll try homeopathy next (or not);
I’m not a supporter of overpriced water,
But this ceaseless pain has me vexed (a lot).

This magnet I’ve got ‘round my wrist (my right);
Is able, I’m told, to assist (it might)
It’s in the duality of the polarity;
Now though, my symptoms persist (they bite).

The aching is here with me still, (drags on);
I might try this little white pill (anon);
It’s thoroughly tested and quickly digested;
Will it make me better? It will! (pain gone).

Donations.

2011-06-03T10:26:00.000+10:00

Because one has to draw the line somewhere.

I’ll donate my body to science;
And my shoes to the poor (though they’re scuffed);
I’ll hand over bread so the needy are fed;
But if you want my coffee, get stuffed.

The God of All Things

2011-05-31T20:24:00.000+10:00

Because you gotta take the rough with the smooth.

O praise the God of all things,
The God of fluffy ducklings,
The God of dappled sunlight, sparkling seas and dewy mornings.

Rejoice! He gave us white snows,
He gave us northern light shows,
He gave us baby horsies, pretty butterflies and mangoes.

O thank you, Lord, for love hearts,
For firm and sexy man-parts,
For maple syrup, nudity and surreptitious dog farts.

He made the rhinovirus
He made Billy Ray Cyrus
He made benzodiazepines and opioids desirous.

He blessed us all with back-aches,
With tinea and hair flakes,
With bird-devouring spiders, giant scorpions and black snakes.

O praise the God of all things,
Of sacrilegious rantings,
The God of atheism and the liberty that it brings.

SensaSlim. Smells like chicken.

2011-05-31T19:35:00.000+10:00

Because backing up claims of efficacy is such a hassle.

I'm going to pull an oldie out of the vault, because some companies who make extraordinary claims about their products would rather sue someone for criticising them than produce evidence.

What am I talking about? This: Ken Harvey taken to court; on the Australian Skeptics website.

Now, not every company who takes a critic to court is shonky. But on the 'How to Tell if a Product Manufacturer is Shonky' checklist in my head, this appears at the top in bold letters:
Does the manufacturer of the product make claims of amazing results, without any science to back it up?
and:
If you dare to suggest that the manufacturer produce evidence of the product's results, do they go running to court?

It kinda sorta looks like SensaSlim gets a big tick next to both those items. So...

When medical scientists test a new drug
Just how do they have it appraised?
A Clinical Trial is performed to debug
Any problems or side-effects raised.

Phase I involves just a small sample, and that’s
To determine its safety and dose
And to see if what worked well in rabbits and rats
Works in people, or even comes close.

Phase II looks more closely at safety and such
And effectiveness measured all ‘round.
More subjects are used in Phase II, as that’s much
More complete and statistically sound.

Phase III is quite thorough, as one drug’s compared
To others in mass circulation
Much data’s collected and test results shared
To prepare for its use by a nation.

Phase IV kicks in once widespread use is effected
And long-term impact is assessed.
So if anything pops up that wasn’t expected
Those problems can then be addressed.

There’s only one phase in a quack’s evil plot
They claim that their magic’s good for ya,
And if anyone else dares to claim that it’s not
They get huffy and call in a lawyer.

Sesquipedalian

2011-05-26T22:02:00.000+10:00

Because I love a challenge.

When I was in my twenties, a close friend suggested that I would do anything for a dare. While I'd like to think this is still true in essence, I tend to take up fewer of the touching-the-police-officer-on-the-pants-type challenges, and concentrate my efforts on the more sedentary, less going-to-jaily ones.

Like this one, from my friend Chrys Stevenson:

All right then:

There once was a Mr J Sesquipedalian:
Quite an unusual sort of a bloke.
He never (unlike every other Australian)
Shortened the phrases and words that he spoke.

In fact, this young gentleman always preferred,
No matter what topic was being discussed,
To use the most lengthy and tiresome word;
He could think of, which left all his listeners nonplussed.

“You seem a bit aggro this arvo” said one
Of his colleagues. “Indeed it would seem,” replied he;
“The horizon of my basal exasperation;
Has been somewhat broadened, postprandially”.

He thought, “My loquacity’s commonly known
For the air of ingeniousness that it lends.”
But alas, on this point he was sadly alone:
He had many more syllables than he had friends.

In Absentia

2011-05-05T21:27:00.000+10:00

About not being about.

I've gone to see
Some parts of the
Great country that I love.

If you've dropped by
To see what I
Have written, see above.

Song for Nancy

2011-04-23T21:59:00.000+10:00

Because she takes the trouble to let me know her thoughts.

She flits around the internet, with vengeance in her head;
Waiting patiently to pounce upon a blogger’s comment thread.
All one needs to do to tempt her from her unenlightened cave,
Is to mention magic water and the lives it doesn’t save.
“Real is scientific homeopathy!” she strangely cries,
Sounding just a smidge like Yoda, only light years more unwise.
“It cures” she claims, and instantly I’m pretty sure she’s wrong,
Because the evidence supporting such a claim just isn’t strong.
Then she mentions “Allopathic Medicine” and I go “sigh!”
‘Cause a word invented just to scare real doctors doesn’t fly.
Evidence is briefly mentioned as a basis for her craft;
But any thinking person who has seen such “evidence” has laughed.
Then she claims this “nano-medicine” brings “big results” for all;
At which point I’ve spat my tea across her barely lucid scrawl.
She does more for her opponents’ cause than she could ever know;
So with ardour I anticipate her comments down below.

Big 'G', Little 'g', What Beginneth Thee?

2011-04-18T15:52:00.000+10:00

I spell the word ‘God’ with a capital ‘G’
Which prompts fellow faithless to say unto me:
“Do you want to negate us?
Then why afford status
To Him who we claim is imaginary?”

But, my infidel darlings, I ask you for grace;
‘cause respect’s not denoted by mere upper-case.
And when one means to blaspheme,
A sizeable grapheme
Can work just as well to put Him in his place.

Now please let me explain with a limericky spiel,
Why an upper-case ‘G’ has a certain appeal:
Because bringing it down
To a mere common noun
Makes him something that we can see, hear, taste and feel.

For example, the biscuits I have with my tea
Are most certainly there, with their lower-case ‘b’.
And that rock with its ‘r’
And my little-‘c’ car,
And this book, and that house, and the scar on my knee.

But a majuscule character, placed at the helm,
Can whisk Almighty God to the fantasy realm,
Where He sits with Darth Vader,
Snow White and Tomb Raider
Ben 10, Narnia and A Nightmare on Elm.

Though it’s fun to make some fundamentalists squirm
By attaching a ‘g’ to a sanctified term,
I’m still having a dig
When I choose to go Big
And my barstool in Hell I may boldly confirm.

Readin', Ritin', 'Rithmetic and Religion

2011-04-11T10:32:00.000+10:00

Because if you're Australian, you're giving money to the church.

Say no to drugs.
Say no to thugs.
Say no to dodgy tradies.
Say no to smokes.
And sleazy blokes
Who say “How ‘bout it, ladies?”
Say no to junk
And Neo-punk.
Say no to mindless fools.
If you pay tax,
SAY NO TO CHAPLAINS IN OUR PUBLIC SCHOOLS.

Dave the Happy Singer, a man of substance and spangles, has made it easy to learn about, get miffed about and do something to show you care about keeping government-sanctioned and taxpayer-funded religious organisations out of public schools in Australia. Click on the yellow 'Say No to Chaplains' button over there on the right and down a bit to find out more.

I am Skeptical

2011-03-31T15:35:00.000+11:00

Because I can't help it.

I want to believe you; I honestly do.
I want to believe you’ve a cure for the ‘flu
And that just a few drops of your vivid green goo
On my tongue will convince me, at last, that it’s true.

But alas, though I risk sounding antipathetical
Claims, until tested, are just hypothetical.
Show me some proof. Until then:
I am skeptical.

I want to believe that you’re psychic; you bet!
I want to believe that you know how to get
Prior knowledge of things that have not occurred yet;
And can channel dead aunts I don’t want to forget.

But although your delivery’s truly protreptical,
And what you say sounds profound and prophetical,
It’s quite inaccurate. So:
I am skeptical.

I want to believe in your almighty guy;
I want to believe that, the day that I die;
I’ll be whisked off to heaven and live in the sky;
In a place so enchanted it makes people cry.

But astronomy’s findings, through means arithmetical;
Make those ideas and the truth antithetical,
While I’m alive, I admit:
I am skeptical.

I want to believe in all manner of stuff;
I want easy ways to make living less tough;
But a vague testimony just isn’t enough;
If it all sounds too good to be true, I call bluff.

Though my trite explanation’s somewhat catachrestical,
(Oft punctuated with thoughts parenthetical);
Nevertheless, it remains:
I am skeptical.

WHA HAPPEN?

2011-03-29T09:04:00.000+11:00

Y-U-No write bloggy bloggy?

Auntie Shirl is busy. I quite like being busy, particularly when it pays by the hour. That's only part of my reason for not tending my darling wee blog for a while, and for missing its fifth birthday.

I'm sorry, blog. Happy Birthday.

A List of Excuses, for the Purpose of Making the Author Feel Vindicated

Big jobs part 1
Work has been hella busy. How busy? Busy enough for me to use the word "hella" instead of bothering to find a less irritating adjective. I've been writing a course for Big Client, which was delivered late last week after about a month of revisions, run-throughs, more revisions and trying to demonstrate the difference between 'keeping learners interested' and 'reading legislation word-for-word'.

Big jobs part 2
My favourite client, who throws me sporadic-but-extremely-interesting work, sent me a reasonably big job with a reasonably short deadline. The topic is confidential, but rest assured I spent several late nights learning loads and loads of detail about something I'm still not interested in, then squished it down to about a thousand words.

Little girls turn 3
In a few weeks, my baby girl who gets quite miffed if I call her "baby girl" will be turning three. She's extremely excited about it, and will run up to me with three fingers carefully displayed and shout "THREE! BIRTHDAY PARTY!" at random points throughout the day. The sensible part of my brain took a little holiday and I decided to have a party at home. It will only be small, with about 6 wee guests, but it still means invitations, food planning, finding an entertainer (NOT this guy) and organising pressies.

Late, late, late thirties
One of the best things about having a twin sister is sharing birthdays. When that birthday is a Big One (for example one with a '4' in it), that also means sharing party organisation. In the period Before Children (BC) when I had time, money and young eyes, designing invitations was one of my favourite things to do. It still is, but doing the design for this one required saving up for the latest version of Photoshop, then trying to snatch moments here and there after kids' bedtime to do a proper job. And Jo, the occasional, gentle "It would be nice to have invitations soon" had the desired effect. And yes, I will get to work on the guest list and the speech as a matter of priority.

So. Enough. Big Client will be calling for a meeting later this morning, and I want to squeeze in a gym session before then. Mmwah.

On World Poetry Day

2011-03-21T22:03:00.000+11:00

Because it is.

Today's a day for poetry;
For bleeding joy or sorrow;
Onto an empty page or screen;
Rejoice! For so's tomorrow.

For Bastard Sheep, on his birthday.

2011-03-19T21:21:00.000+11:00

Because people who don't want to make a big deal out of their birthday shouldn't let me know about it.

He said “it’s just another day”,
But "what the hell", say I,
Nobody knows how many more
You’ll have before you die.
So I’ve put hands to keyboard
On this quite important date
To wish the very best unto
My fairly recent mate.
I see his little woolly face
So often on my screen,
I even got to pat it once –
‘twas soft and very clean.
So Happy Birthday, Sheepie!
I shall raise my glass of wine,
And hope your life’s a happy one -
You’ve made a dint in mine.

I Don't Hate Nothing.

2011-03-14T23:20:00.000+11:00

Because sticks and stones may break my bones, but imaginary archaic conceptualisations of the universe can never hurt me.

I don’t hate little fairies; I don’t hate little elves;
I don’t hate magic puddings that regenerate themselves;
I don’t hate Willy Wonka, drop-bears, unicorns or Wookies;
I don’t hate gruff blue monsters who munch pronouns, verbs and cookies;
I don’t hate Wonder Woman just because she isn’t real;
The fact that Flubber’s fiction doesn’t tarnish its appeal;
I don’t hate Cinderella, dressed in rags or richly shod;
And I don’t hate God.

I don’t fear hairy werewolves; I don’t fear boogeymen;
I don’t fear long-dead house pets coming back to life again;
I don’t fear Freddy Kruger, Keyser Soze or the Blob;
I don’t fear Saruman the White or his tree-felling mob;
I don’t fear zombies trudging through a graveyard swathed in mist;
I’m not too scared of vampires; I don’t think they exist;
I don’t fear Doctor Frankenstein, nor his grim personnel;
And I don’t fear Hell.

I don’t need prayers from strangers; I don’t need guilt for life;
I don’t need celibate old men defining ‘man and wife’;
I don’t need ten Hail Marys, sacraments, or flagellation;
I don’t need burning pits or lakes of fire for motivation;
I don’t need someone lecturing me every Sunday morning;
I don’t think floods and earthquakes are some kind of holy warning;
I don’t need ancient rules to tell me when I’m misbehaving;
And I don’t need saving.

Fibs.

2011-02-28T15:02:00.000+11:00

They’re just words. They don’t mean anything.

For a long time, I’ve watched Meryl Dorey of the Australian Vaccination Network perform regular contortions of the truth to match her skewed world view that vaccines are anything but a safe, reliable, scientific success story. It’s been almost entertaining to watch her try and weasel her way out of half-truths, conspiracy theories and offensive analogies.

It seems she’s just not trying anymore. Let’s do a little comprehension exercise, to see how clever you are by comparison.

Step 1: click on this link and read the first two paragraphs of the story – it’s about a 7-month-old child in Myanmar who contracted polio.

Step 2: Answer the following question:

Was the child in the story vaccinated or not?

Hint: You may go back and re-read the story as many times as you want before you answer.

If you answered ‘No, the child was not vaccinated against polio’, you have adequate comprehension skills. I’d hazard a guess that you can read and understand English at a workable standard.

If you answered ‘Yes, the child was vaccinated against polio’, then I’m afraid you’re only as literate as our friend Ms Dorey, and it's possible that you're incapable of comprehending any word in this sentence over two syllables (or running a credible vaccine information organisation).

Yup. Meryl tweeted a link to the story in question which stated, “Infant gets polio from vaccine”.

Here’s a screenshot of @nocompulsoryvac’s tweet, which I’ve reproduced here for the purposes of comment and criticism.

Doink.

A Secular Rant, Rodgers and Hammerstein Style.

2011-02-20T09:09:00.000+11:00

Because the Australian government wouldn't know "secular" if it bit them on the coveted ass.

While reading The Australian Book of Atheism, I've come to realise just how much public money goes towards religious education in Australia, and how much tax-free money a religious institution can rake in.
Shelley does not approve. In fact, having my hard-earned and willingly-paid taxes go towards teaching kids about Big Angry Sky Daddy while actual churches pay no tax is one of my least Favourite Things. With that in mind, I took a tune from one of the world's most cherished musicals and contorted it into a grumpy little verse. Because I have nothing better to do on a Sunday morning.

Hospitals, clinics and subsidised health care;
Sound infrastructure and asset-based welfare;
Natural disaster relief put aside;
These are the things that our taxes provide.

Teaching religion while school is in session;
Chaplains untrained in a childcare profession;
Catholic school funding held forth on a plate;
These should have nothing to do with the State.

Hardworking people with moderate income;
Small business owners whose books are fair dinkum;
Lucky investors whose capital grew;
These are the folks who pay tax when it’s due.

Cavernous churches with huge congregations;
Each one demanding faith, love and donations;
Some even teach song and dance for a fee;
These are the folks who get money for free.

While your belt’s tight;
And your fees sting;
While you’re feeling broke:
In Canberra they pander to God-fearing groups;
And make “secular” a joke.

The Anti-Vaccinator Translator

2011-02-13T22:34:00.000+11:00

Because I'm not as polite inside my head.

A few months ago, I did my best to help people decipher the many linguistic liberties that are taken by pushers of woo. But fair's fair. Today I want to help the other side.

As both of my regular readers probably know, I can get quite a bee in my bonnet about the anti-vaccination movement; but because I was brought up so well, and because my Mum often reads what I write, I usually try to maintain a certain politeness in my communications regarding this group of wayward folk. That doesn't mean, however, that I'm not cussing like a tinker and wishing them many innovative forms of torture inside my head. Sometimes, unfortunately, that means I don't quite get my point across - that is, I'm bloody annoyed.

So here, I'd like to translate the civilities that you may find me posting in facebook groups and on twitter back into plainer language. If you're a ~~deluded anti-vaxxer~~ 'pro-choice' advocate, this should help you understand what I'm really trying to say out there in nicey-nicey land.

So you say autism’s caused by vaccination. Where’s your proof?
Means “If you mention Andrew Wakefield, I will hit the bloody roof.”

Are you qualified in health care? Should a parent trust in you?
Means “Please don’t say you have a brain, ‘cause I’ll need evidence there, too.”

There are two sides to this issue. Let’s give each viewpoint its due.
Means “I’ll choose evidence-based experts over daft, dishonest woo.”

You maintain that homeopathy works wonders. On what basis?
Means "Your logic’s so misplaced, your arse should sit right where your face is.”

Do you really think the souls of those against you are Big Pharma’s?
Means “Hey! Where’s my cheque? My Krug? My Porsche? My trip to the Bahamas?”

Google-browsing isn’t research. There’s no doctorate called “Mum”.
Means "I don’t think you’d know real science if it bit you on the bum.”

You’re quite good at using terms associated with vaccines.
Means “I don’t think that big word you just used means what you think it means.”

You are clearly anti-vaccination, aren’t you? Why deny it?
Means “Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Be quiet.”

IMPORTANT TEN 23 UPDATE

2011-02-06T19:46:00.000+11:00

Regarding today's 1023 Homeopathic overdose:

I'm still alive, and still awake. Tra-la-la-la-laaaaaaaaah!

Oh, and this, from the omnipresent and highly capable Richard Saunders.

Dropping Twords #4: The Way Nature Intended.

2011-02-04T12:55:00.000+11:00

Because 'no pants' isn't for everyone.

I haven't dropped a tword in months, so I thought it was high time I addressed a little niggle of mine. Please, please don't ever tell me that something should be done "the way nature intended". Unless you want me to slap you a little bit.

I love this thing called Nature, with its jasmine scent of Spring;
With its moonlit nights and stalactites and lambies gambolling
With its violent hot eruptions and its caves of smooth blue ice;
With its winds and tides and saccharides, it’s really rather nice.

But there’s a little phrase, by which my ears are most offended;
And although I’ve tried, I can’t abide “the way nature intended”.
Oh, I might be too pedantic, I could take a small step back;
This barely needs my frothing screeds but damn, I’ll have a crack.

Does Nature really have intent? Does it express desire?
Has it had a plan since time began? To what does it aspire?
Has it even been consulted? Was its sage opinion sought?
Do we just suppose what Nature knows, without a second thought?

And where does humankind fit in? Are we a part of nature?
I’m quite sure you’ll find us in the scientific nomenclature.
So just where is the distinction between ‘natural’ and us?
Should organic food and being nude become ubiquitous?

Should we tweak a corn crop’s DNA or kill a beast for food?
And does Nature think that squeezing drink from cows is simply rude?
Are we messing with a grand design by quaffing a Chablis?
Should we only eat what’s at our feet and fallen from a tree?

Should my polar fleece be scrapped because it’s made from bits of plastic?
Should I let my smalls be prone to falls ‘cause Nature hates elastic?
Should the Bedouin cast off their thawbs? The Inuit their parkas?
Should we duly ditch each stifling stitch and run around full starkers?

Should the hope of couples deemed infertile never be restored?
And should broken bones and kidney stones be utterly ignored?
Are those babies born with holes in hearts all part of Nature’s plot?
Should we just stand by and watch them die? Perhaps we’d better not.

Maybe Nature has intention, and it wants us to be smart;
To make cooking fire and copper wire and clothes and books and art;
To create a word like ‘Nature’ and the concept that it fits,
And to use machines or other means to argue it to bits.

Two Worlds (The Ten23 Poem)

2011-01-25T22:52:00.000+11:00

Because of codswallop.

Next month, I'm going to attempt homeopathic suicide as part of the Ten23 campaign in Sydney. So just in case it works, I thought I'd leave a few words behind to commemorate the occasion. I'll be quite disappointed if it works, though. I've always wanted to see pigs fly.

Oh, the physical world is a wonderful place,
Which no sensible person ignores,
Where the wonders of nature and humans and space
Are translated through physical laws.

Where, for centuries, people have figured things through,
By applying the methods of science
And when older discoveries make way for new,
We all stand on the shoulders of giants.

We’ve progressed from bloodletting to chloroform masks
To the treatment of multiple cancers,
And through testing and trialling, most questions one asks
About health and disease now have answers.

It’s a world in which water, when put in a beaker
Of other stuff, makes it dilute,
And the other stuff consequently becomes weaker:
That’s reasonably hard to refute.

In this world, if you’re after a stronger solution,
It’s not really much of a chore.
Make the level of solvent involved Lilliputian;
By making the solute much more.

Now this water I speak of is H2 and O
That’s all that you need to get wet.
And if water can feel or remember or know,
Then nobody has proven it yet.

But there is another, less rational world,
Of conjecture and magical tricks,
Which a young Samuel Hahnemann boldly unfurled
In the year seventeen ninety-six.

On a whim, he decided that ‘like must cure like’
Because something he took for malaria,
Made him woozy and sick, and his temperature spike
(Though he did no research in this area).

In this world, homeopathy came and it stayed,
For two centuries it’s been between us.
In that time, the perceptible progress it’s made
Is akin to a honey bee’s penis.

In this upside-down world, taking poison’s okay,
As long as it’s made a bit wetter,
And diluted so much that it’s all gone away,
Because when it’s not there, it works better.

But this remedy can be made stronger, of course:
Wrap a plank in an old leather jacket,
And to unlock the remedy’s energy force
You just shake it around and you whack it.

Now this water forgets all the salt of the shore,
And the fluoride and sewage and bubbles,
And the sponges and pipes that it’s been through before,
But remembers to fix all your troubles.

How to be sensible.

2011-01-14T22:20:00.000+11:00

Because some people are idiots.*

Don’t walk down unlit alleys on your own.
Remove all quirky ringtones from your phone.
Don’t make a bet you can’t afford to lose.
Don’t run across the road in high-heeled shoes.
Be wary when you hear “I know for certain...”
When trying on an outfit, close the curtain.
Don’t take things at face value. Check your source.
Don’t walk behind a diarrhetic horse.
If things don’t seem to fit, investigate.
Don’t drive too quickly when you’re running late.
Make sure your tenses, nouns and verbs agree.
Don’t jump on couches when you’re on TV.
Don’t lick a carving knife. Don’t tip your chair.
Don’t holler at a hibernating bear.
Don’t use two hundred words when ten will do.
Don’t call a slightly sniffly cold “the ‘flu”.
Don’t take advice on marriage from the Pope.
Wear undergarments. Wash your hands with soap.
Don’t eat too much. Do exercise. Don’t smoke.
Don’t throw big rocks off bridges for a joke.
Accept that what you think might not be right.
Don’t take home-made explosives on a flight.
Don’t feed a box of Smarties to your dog.
Don’t waste your time with poems on a blog.

*Not you, sweetie. I don't mean you.

The Cherry-Picking Song

2011-01-06T22:35:00.000+11:00

Because it's all just so silly.

I have wanted to write a bit about the ridiculousness of the Bible’s contents for some time, but wasn’t sure if I was up to such a burdensome task. I was pleased to discover, however, just as St Paul muttered when he first decided to clean out his letter drawer and collate it all into a single volume, “This sh*t writes itself”. I tip my hat squarely at The Skeptic’s Annotated Bible, from which I got a great deal of information, motivation and lulziness.

Heigh ho! Let’s go a cherry-picking: pick, pick, pick;
We can’t do ALL the Bible says - the book is just too thick!
Instead we’ll pick and choose at will,
The stuff that we can follow still,
Like ‘love Him’ and ‘thou shalt not kill’.
Pick, pick pick.

Let’s cherry-pick Leviticus: pick, pick, pick.
There’s not much in this chapter we don’t want to give the flick.
The meaning’s all contextual,
But on this we’re consensual:
If you’re a homosexual,
You’re evil, wrong and sick.

Let’s pick through Deuteronomy: pick, pick, pick.
It says that Heaven’s closed unless your tackle’s in good nick.
Not welcome, in particular,
Are those with woes testicular,
Or bits cut perpendicular;
God likes a perfect dick.

Let’s cherry-pick through Jeremiah: pick, pick, pick.
Where God thinks talking tough and making threats will do the trick.
He mouths off to Judean kings,
‘bout slaughter, plagues and other things,
And eating kiddies’ chitterlings,
So love Him lots, and quick!

It’s Matthew’s turn for cherry-picking: pick, pick, pick.
When Jesus says “Ask and ye shall receive”, it’s pretty slick.
So when a desperate parent’s said,
“Please help!” next to their sick child’s bed,
And He’s sent brain tumours instead,
It doesn’t really click.

Let’s pick through 1 Corinthians: pick, pick, pick.
It offers good advice about what makes a woman tick.
She must subject herself to men
Keep covered by her hair, and when
In church, be always silent, then
She can’t give any stick.

Let’s cherry-pick 1 Timothy: pick, pick, pick.
It says that every creature’s good: each fluffy little chick,
Each cockroach in your bin at night,
Each darling little scabies mite
Each cuddly gastric parasite
Each paralysing tick.

Heigh ho! Let’s go a-cherry-picking: pick, pick, pick.
Perhaps, on close inspection, this old Bible’s not so schmick,
But as our faith in Him permits,
We’ll simply skip the icky bits,
And get on thinking people’s tits,
Pick, pick, pick.

The 'as-if-it-needs-to-be-said’ Disclaimer:
I don’t think gay people are bad. I don’t think people with no willy should be discriminated against. I don’t think people should be coerced into a certain belief by making them eat their children. I don’t think women should be treated as men’s inferiors.
The Bible says all that stuff.

That time we took the thingumabob to whatsit.

2011-01-02T20:15:00.000+11:00

I can't remember what I was going to write here.

I had a little fall today; I’m glad nobody saw,
But the contents of my hippocampus spilled onto the floor.
And as they lay in front of me, all cracked and context-stained,
I felt some disappointment at how little I’d retained:
The name of that ex-boyfriend who once brought my Mum a rose;
The lyrics to the themes of twenty-seven children’s shows;
The beach where I got frightened ‘cause I wandered out too deep;
Two-thirds of movies during which I’d nodded off to sleep;
The night I ran away, jacked up on hormone-fuelled defiance;
A handful of the terms I learned in first-year neuroscience;
Some ballet steps; the trumpet valves to play a B-flat scale;
The restaurant where I first ate chicken-liver-stuffed roast quail;
My wedding day; my children’s births; which night we put out bins;
The tricks that only work on Primary teachers if you’re twins;
I scooped them up and put them quickly back where they belong;
But now I can’t remember who performed that bloody song.

First World Problems

2010-12-30T11:18:00.000+11:00

Because most Congolese don’t care where they can get a good skim latte on a Sunday.

The so-called Silly Season makes me think of two things:
1. How much room I have in my fridge for wine and chocolate; and
2. How incredibly lucky I am to have such a problem.

I bet you're pretty comfortable right now, sitting in a chair in front of a computer that you either own, or are paid to use. Let's take a moment to think of those who aren't fortunate enough to be able to waste time reading second-rate poetry.

Slow internet. Bulimia. Cold toast. Compulsive shopping.
A bottom-heavy ratio of ice-cream to fudge topping.
A peak-hour train that rushes past the station without stopping.
A queue for every toilet on a plane.

Obesity. Chipped nailpolish. Preservatives. Oil prices.
Erratic connectivity in wireless devices.
A ‘what-shoes-will-I-wear-to-Auntie-Donna’s-wedding’ crisis.
White pants with an unsightly beetroot stain.

Stale biscuits. Tuneless orchestras. Keith Urban. Awful cooking.
Bike couriers who ride through intersections without looking.
Hotels that can’t recall what guests requested upon booking.
Marquees that gather puddles in the rain.

Malaria. Corruption. School-aged soldiers. Home-made shoes.
Imprisonment and torture for those with seditious views.
Too many civil wars to fit in half an hour of news.
No energy, from starving, to complain.

The Daughter-saurus #5

2010-12-29T20:41:00.000+11:00

Christmas greetings from Amelia, age two-and-a-half.

Turtle bells! Turtle bells!
Turtle bells! Turtle bells!
ALL THE WAAAAAAAAAAY!

Stream of Consci... Consch... Thinkies

2010-12-21T22:24:00.000+11:00

Because that little line on the wine glass is only a suggestion.

I have written twenty lines and then deleted them outright,
I can’t seem to have a thought that sticks or lingers.
On my screen they make me wince, but in my head they sound all right,
There’s a disconnect between my brain and fingers.
Though I’m certain there are words inside just itching to be free,
When I’ve aimed them at my empty page I’ve missed.
And while Kerouac and Dylan Thomas wouldn’t quite agree,
It’s a bugger to write poems when you’re pissed.

Qualifications? Schmalifications!

2010-12-17T20:46:00.000+11:00

Because there's no such thing as a Masters of Pretending to be Useful.

Would you want a clown to check your teeth? A vet to fix your car?
A rectal surgeon mixing cocktails at your favourite bar?
Would you fire your accountant and use tap dancers instead?
How about a chaplain messing ‘round inside your kiddie’s head?

Would you ask a mime to paint your house? A chef to groom your pet?
A famous escapologist to fly a jumbo jet?
Would you ask a Weimaraner for directions to the station?
Or a farmer’s wife and mother for advice on vaccination?

Would you trust a pimp to cut your hair? A nun to make your tea?
A prima ballerina to re-format your CV?
Would you trust your local chippie to negotiate world peace?
Or a self-proclaimed clairvoyant to advise the state police?

When a child needs trauma counselling, he doesn’t need a priest.
See a doctor for good health advice, or clinic nurse at least.
Even dogs help murder cases more than useless psychic woo,
So if you need help, choose somebody who's got a frikkin’ clue.

Homeopathy for Turtles.

2010-12-14T21:50:00.000+11:00

That's not a joke.

Just when I think things can't get more ludicrous over at Homeopathy Plus, they go and post something about Homeopathy for Turtles*. No, that's not a euphemism for a naturopathic laxative. It really is about homeopathy for turtles. There are so many, SO MANY things I could say about this, but I don't know where to start. So here's a quick pome while I go stick a fork in my brain:

When you’ve got a sickly turtle,
All its suffering and hurt’ll
Disappear. Dilute wax myrtle
At one part per ten gazillion.

When your cooter’s come a cropper:
Nux vomica in a dropper,
Soon he’ll come back good and proper,
Smiling like a crocodilian.

God knows only you can tell,
When your darling in his shell,
Isn’t feeling very well,
‘Cause he moves a little slow.

But a tiny smidge of stuff,
Watered down more than enough,
Could restore your slowpoke’s puff,
And put get-up in his go.

Maybe anything with fins,
Coldish blood and scaly skins,
Sea snakes, crocs and terrapins
Could be cured of every sniffle

How could any kind of species
With its nephews, aunts and nieces
Swimming ‘round in their own faeces
Really profit from such piffle?

*Thanks to Dr Rachie for bringing this to my attention.

A juxtaposition

2010-12-11T21:34:00.000+11:00

When what you do messes with what you cuddle.

This one is for all those awesome worky-mummies who don't have time to read some strange woman's blog, but especially for Mama Mogantosh and Salsa, who know what I'm talkin' 'bout.

As dawn’s first horizontal breath lights distant hills she smoulders,
And slowly lifts the old, cold night aloft upon her shoulders,
She holds a glowing promise (Just a minute, Mummy’s writing),
Like a humble spray of thirsty kindling (Shoosh now!) wants igniting.

Cool shadows are dissolved by creeping rays (Don’t touch that, please),
Dappling littered forest floors (I said don’t touch!) and huddled trees.
Once-frigid stones and brittle bones (Did you just hit your brother?)
Are warmed and thawed (Just sit) and then (Right there) they warm each other

In ignorance I lie (Did you stick Lego up your nose?)
Closely tucked in (Blow) the place where (Blow again) the dreaming goes.
(Could you just give me five minutes?) Tiny servants of the sun,
Something something ‘bout the morning (Oh for goodness’ sake, I’m done.)

Talking loud. Saying nothing.

2010-11-30T11:04:00.000+11:00

I would like to dedicate this piece to all those project managers who make the world a more customer-centric place.

Before we kick-start into the initiation stage,
Let’s do a status check so that we’re all on the same page.
Our focus group suggested that our target demographic
Has disconnect, and in effect, they’re driving website traffic.

We aim to add some value to the current paradigm;
To implement best practice and to minimise downtime;
To move the project forward to a workable outcome;
To incentivise with KPIs will be our rule of thumb.

Let’s look at the big picture; take a helicopter view.
We need some clarity around objectives for Q2.
We want to think outside the box – that’s crucial for this phase;
Think B2B for SME and other TLAs.

We’ve dotted ‘i’s and crossed our ‘t’s and jumped through every hoop;
We’ve kept our key stakeholders in a constant feedback loop;
We’ll transition into handover, show-stoppers notwithstanding;
And send out comms on CD-ROMS to gain some understanding.

A Field Guide to Logical Fallacies

2010-11-26T08:09:00.000+11:00

I done went to the big smoke to talk into a microphone.

Last night I popped another significant skeptical cherry. I attended The Amazing Meeting Australia Fringe event, Skepticator Live - The Skeptics Open Mic Night. In person. Had I known that one could meet so many fabulous people in such a short space of time, I might have dragged my arse to a skeptics gathering ages ago (hello lovelies!).

But I digress. As usual. Here's what I spouted:

When one is a skeptic, one’s often accused
Of pooh-poohing things we know nothing about.
But out of the skeptical toolbox are used
Many sharply-honed tools of considerable clout.

So instead of resorting to snarky replies,
And to being aggressive, dismissive and callous, we
Learn to think critically and recognise
What’s known ‘round the traps as a logical fallacy.

With non-sequiturs and deceptive dilemmas,
Red herrings and strawmen creating confusion,
Just how do we prove that the arguer’s premise
Does not proceed logically to their conclusion?

As jungles of thought are explored, over time;
You’ll find, in your brain, fallacies are compiled.
I’ll try to provide you, through amateur rhyme;
With examples of critters you’ll find in the wild.

Argumentum Ad Hominem or “to the man”
Attacks not the premise, no matter how clear.
Adherents of this one will try, if they can
To attack their opponent, and go for the smear.

For example: a certain Liberal politician
Might think that abortion’s a horrible sin.
I might challenge the cogency of his position
Because he’s a twat with an idiot grin.

Next on the list is the old false dichotomy,
Not quite as simple as, at first, it seems.
It’s like giving multiple choice a lobotomy
Leaving two monochromatic extremes.

For example, a nation preparing for war
may declare, “If you’re not with us, then you’re against!”
One’s choices seem pared to “contrary” or “for”,
Though there’s plenty of room for one’s bum on the fence.

Post Hoc Ergo Propter Hoc, essentially,
Is causation assumed and improperly reckoned.
It’s said when two things happen sequentially
That the first necessarily leads to the second.

For example, a man at his neighbourhood shops
Is eating a take-away lunchtime lamb korma.
A sniper somewhere shoots him square in the chops,
So it’s clear: curries lead to extensive head trauma.

Argumentum ad Populum needs lots of friends,
Like the bafflingly popular kids in high school.
It claims that the value of something depends
On how many people believe that it’s cool.

For example, a singer named Britney Jean Spears,
Has been known to behave perhaps not as she should.
But her music sold squillions in just a few years,
So being a spangly dumb tramp must be good.

And so there you have it, a short little list,
Not exhaustive, but perfectly fine for a starter.
A field guide sufficient to give you the gist,
Or if not, enough big words to make you sound smarter.

Real medicine vs Quackology

2010-11-11T13:44:00.000+11:00

The difference is in the waaaaah!

I'm responding to a prompt from @drunkenmadman (who has been a busy little boffin lately) to blog about this story. It's an unfortunately-not-isolated incident of a manufacturer of a dubious health product throwing a hissy-fit and crying to their lawyer just because somebody had the audacity to expect their claims to have validity. It's the grown-up equivalent of a conversation that goes, "You're a poo-face!" "Am not! MUUUUUMMMMM!!!!"

Or to put it more poematically:

When medical scientists test a new drug
Just how do they have it appraised?
A Clinical Trial is performed to debug
Any problems or side-effects raised.

Phase I involves just a small sample, and that’s
To determine its safety and dose
And to see if what worked well in rabbits and rats
Works in people, or even comes close.

Phase II looks more closely at safety and such
And effectiveness measured all ‘round.
More subjects are used in Phase II, as that’s much
More complete and statistically sound.

Phase III is quite thorough, as one drug’s compared
To others in mass circulation
Much data’s collected and test results shared
To prepare for its use by a nation.

Phase IV kicks in once widespread use is effected
And long-term impact is assessed.
So if anything pops up that wasn’t expected
Those problems can then be addressed.

There’s only one phase in a quack’s evil plot
They claim that their magic’s good for ya,
And if anyone else dares to claim that it’s not
They get huffy and call in a lawyer.

Dear Blog,

2010-11-09T15:22:00.000+11:00

OMG Hi.

How is ya? Who's ya latest? OMG social science is sooooo boring. Do you think Mrs Kowslecki has a boyfriend? Eeewww.

I've been, like, soooo busy. I've got so much client work it's not even funny, except, y'know, it's kinda funny if you think getting paid and being able to buy new clothes and pay the rates and stuff is funny. It's not so much funny 'ha-ha', more like funny 'toppity bops'*

So, like, even though it looks like I haven't written anything on my blog, I have actually been writing heaps. Web copy and training manuals and packaging copy and stuff. I'm kinda devo that I don't get paid to write frivolous poems about stuff that pops into my head, but, you know, most people don't get props for their poems until they're dead.

I have been writing a few pieces, but they're like soooo not finished. One of them is for the unreal TAMOz Fringe event, Skepticator LIVE - The Skeptics Open Mic Night. I'm like, totally going. Hopefully my elbows are sharp enough to get up and say something, even though I'm so shy. Not! Jokes! LOL. It's all organised by this guy, who got totally famous this week when his blog got on Media Watch. I thought Media Watch was some kind of wrist thingy that you could watch YouTube vids on, but apparently it's some show about shows. Whatevs.

Anyway, gotta go. I've got soooo much homework to do, and besides I can't figure out if I'm a 1980s school girl or a 39-year-old housewife trying to be hilarious.

Later.
xoxox

*My friend Maddie said toppity bops the other day and I nicked it. Don't tell her, ok?

Cough.

2010-11-03T08:24:00.000+11:00

Sub (cough) heading

Apparently (cough) there's some k(cough) ki(cough) kind of virus going around (cough).

(cough)

The Woo Translator

2010-10-26T16:14:00.000+11:00

Spuriouser and Spuriouser

If there's one thing that woo-meisters do well, it's coming up with flouncy words to push their piffle on the public. Today, I've tried to do my bit for the critical thinking community by providing simple translations of some of the more common claims. And I made them rhyme on the end. Because I like to.

“May assist in promotion of natural healing”
Means That’s the placebo effect you are feeling.

"The tone of your aura has got me intrigued"
Means My colour receptors are clearly fatigued.

“This technique was practised by shamans of yore”
Means Discoveries since I shall choose to ignore.

“The establishment wants to withhold this from you”
Means I’ve got no idea what establishments do.

“Removes harmful toxins and cleanses your body”
Means You do the same when you go to the potty.

“A phenomenon scientists cannot explain”
Means This unfounded claim’s justly viewed with disdain.

“This clinical serum will tauten your skin”
Means It’s sorbolene cream with some big words mixed in.

“I’m taking a great remote faith-healing class”
Means My credulous head's firmly wedged up my arse.

Dead.

2010-10-18T16:28:00.000+11:00

Popping off: a pondering.

Oh, what will become of me when I am gone?
What unearthly mystery awaits?
Will my soul be cast straight into Hell thereupon,
Or admitted through pearly white gates?

Will my many transgressions be counted like beans?
Will my goodness or evil be reckoned?
Will it matter at all what I tried in my teens,
Even though ‘twas for only a second?

Will my spirit return as an infinite ghost
To occupy more living things?
Will my karma determine the form of my host?
Or if not, may I choose to have wings?

Will I see all those people who’ve gone on before?
Are they waiting somewhere far above?
Will I have to be nice to the ones I abhor?
Could I see only those whom I love?

Will I sit on hereafter’s proverbial fence
Suspended with faltering breath,
Until summoned by some psychic medium thence
Who’s asked “Where’d she go after death?”

Will I shed the desire for great wealth and renown?
Will I know the unknown of Nirvana?
While my corporal remains become shrivelled and brown,
Like some old five-foot-seven sultana?

When it comes to the end, is there nothing at all?
And will all that once was then be not?
Will those memories I tried to retain and recall
Having meant something once, then mean squat?

Will my consciousness cease at the moment of snuff?
Will my mind be flicked off like a light?
When my body’s decided it’s had quite enough
Will my brain also call it a night?

Was there ever a point then, in thinking each thought?
And in planning the deeds I might do?
Is the sum of my effort a terminal nought?
Will I un-know the things I once knew?

There are so many questions I want to explore
Before I am packed in a hearse.
In the meantime, perhaps I should get out some more
And abandon this trivial verse.

I hate to blog and run, but...

2010-10-08T15:55:00.000+11:00

I'm sorry, I don't have time to think up a witty sub-heading... maybe something about skidmarks...

I'm lucky enough to be completely swamped with work at the moment, which means hardly any time for blogging. But that doesn't mean I haven't had many things to blog about. Consider this a brief bullet-point festival of half-baked bloggy notions, that I'm posting now before they ooze out the sides of my overstretched brain:

My brother and his lady friend had a baby a week ago. Welcome William!
Mitchell is awesome and starting to write words and is a different robot, alien, animal or Magic Thing every five minutes
Amy is awesome and is getting all girly what with dragging her doll around and making it pretend meals. She also brushes my hair regularly, which is one of the reasons I had kids in the first place.
We're off to Western Plains Zoo in a few days. Mitch is very excited about seeing giraffes, but a little disappointed that there probably won't be otters.
I'm writing a speech for my fantastic father-in-law's 70th birthday next weekend. It will be delivered to a small crowd that includes some Very Churchy Folk, and will include the word 'intercourse'.
Cold-canvassing is the marketing equivalent of simian poo-flinging. I'm looking at you, Australian Gas Light Company.
If you ever feel the need to thank God or the power of prayer for your recovery from illness or injury, please don't forget to also thank the people who studied and worked extremely hard to fix you up with real things.

Mmm. Miscellaneous. Bye!

Dear advocates of alternative natural wellness therapies,

2010-10-01T20:23:00.000+10:00

I think we're on different essential energy frequencies. Or something like that.

You might think that western medicine’s foundations are quite shaky;
And that doctors are all ‘allopaths’ with methods that are flaky;
You might trust your health to cupping, iridology and reiki;
And avoid the chemist’s pill and surgeon’s knife.

But if you suffer from thrombosis or some kind of fibrillation;
If you get all pre-eclamptic at just 30 weeks’ gestation;
If you have a pneumothorax and it badly needs deflation
Then those scary doctors might just save your life.

You might think there’s a conspiracy to keep most people ill;
And that anyone who praises drugs is just a pharma shill;
You might think that chemo’s forced on cancer patients ‘gainst their will;
And iatrogenic deaths are through the roof.

But the facts are often bent to fit a pre-conceived idea;
And statistics oft elicited from anybody’s rear;
And one’s choice of words can conjure either confidence or fear;
So forget the fairy stories, give me proof.

You might think that ‘cause you read it on a website then it’s true;
And your neighbour’s cousin’s personal assistant said so, too;
You might think, if Oprah likes it, then that’s good enough for you;
And the case supporting what you think is strong.

But in scientific circles, more validity’s demanded;
And the evidential benchmark sits at quite a lofty standard
So if sources you present are not reliable or candid
Then for all intents and purposes, you’re wrong.

Oh! Oh! Oh!

2010-09-26T16:53:00.000+10:00

The difference between an emergency and an idiot.

I’m married to a paramedic. Apart from the obvious benefits of having an extremely hunky husband (are you reading this, honey? I’m saying nice things about you) with a steady job which requires a reasonably sexy uniform (are you reading this Mum? Are you ok with your son-in-law being sexy?), there is the pride I feel knowing that hubbo is performing a vital service to the public and helping people in need, every time he pops off to work.

Everyone knows what being a paramedic involves, right? We’ve all seen ER and All Saints and Third Watch, so we know that the job is non-stop action and emergency, pushing the heroes of our community to their physical limits to save the lives of desperate and dying individuals. Right.

In reality, I’d say that the rate of work that hubbo does that actually involves saving a life, or any other kind of real emergency, is about one job in ten. Those are the jobs where he treats victims of a car accident, patches up sporting injuries or rushes people with chest pain to hospital. Those are the jobs that are worth making melodramatic telly shows about.

But then there are the duds. The drunks. The doofuses*. These are the people who wouldn’t know an emergency if it landed in their lap. Your tax dollars are paying for highly-trained primary care specialists to deal with the following:

Them what done stupid things to themselves
Heroin ovderdoses. Many patients brought back from the brink of death are more concerned about wasting a hit than living to complain about it. Sometimes twice in a single shift.
Methamphetamine cases. It’s not enough for these folks to get all aggressive and invincible; they’ve gotta hurt themselves too.
The gentleman who managed to impale himself bottom-wise onto his car’s gearstick, before passing out.
The gentleman with a birth fetish who got a little too realistic. Dolls aren’t meant to go up there, sweetie. And as you’re now aware, they sure as hell aren’t meant to come out again.

Them what drank too much

The many tiddly folk who walk in front of cars, crack their heads on concrete and punch the ambos who come to help them out.
The young man who wandered into someone’s yard and fell asleep in the middle of winter.
The young lady who decided to end an argument using a steak knife and her husband’s torso.
Them what jump to conclusions

The caring but panicky folk who call an ambulance because they spotted a homeless person asleep on a bench; an overworked truckie asleep in his cab; or a group of adventurous teens smoking ciggies in the sand dunes.

Them what don’t know taxis
The gentleman who had the 'flu for four days.
The mother of the girl with a cut lip who requested a plastic surgeon.
The young folk stuck in the city after the pub closes.

Them what don’t really get it

The lovely senior gentleman with dandruff.
The lonely senior lady who needed to change a lightbulb.
The parents of the tummy-bug-afflicted teenage girl who accidentally poohed on the floor.
The family whose small terrier was having a seizure.

Repeat offenders
The lady who likes visiting a friend who lives near the hospital, who will claim to have chest pain because she knows ambulance protocols necessitate her transport.
The gentleman who accidentally decorated his foot with an angle grinder, was treated, returned home, and then accidentally decorated his other foot with an angle grinder.

I understand that one person’s version of an emergency may be different to another’s. But let’s try and keep the ambulance service running efficiently by following these simple guidelines:

1. If you’re currently using heroin, ‘ice’ or alcohol habitually or to excess, stop. Today.
2. If, in the absence of chest pain or head injury, you can walk, talk and breathe normally and get yourself to a medical care facility, by all means do so.
3. If you know any seniors or people with a physical or mental condition that prevents them from taking care of themselves, help them to get help before it becomes an emergency.

*doofii?

A poem of thanksgiving

2010-09-21T19:29:00.000+10:00

Because blind faith ain't half productive.

I’ve never really had a problem with the thought of God,
He’s useful for explaining things that otherwise seem odd.
Like why some bastards get nice girls, why soldiers lose their legs,
And why socks disappear only to come back as clothes pegs.

But according to the Bible, there is more to Him than that,
There’s a lot about commandments, and who Abraham begat,
There are bits to read aloud at funerals, christenings and weddings,
And some juicy stuff with sacrifices, stonings and beheadings.

The idea, in its foetal form, was quite a simple one,
But then some church-folk came along and ruined all the fun.
They built a statue made of stone; a pillar called Religion,
Which makes me, metaphorically, a little crapping pigeon.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not here to be nit-picky or hateful,
In fact it’s quite the contrary: I’m genuinely grateful.
I’m grateful for those wondrous things the faithful do so well,
When motivated by an all-consuming fear of Hell.

I thank you for the buildings; with their transepts, domes and chapels,
With their buttresses and gilded doors with pictures – those are apples!
Those Romanesque high vaults and Gothic polychrome veneers,
With choir stalls and frescoed walls, they’re fabulous, so cheers.

I thank you for the paintings, triptychs, tapestries and friezes,
For Madonnas with their slightly scary man-faced baby Jesus,
For Poynter’s Queen of Sheba and for Rembrandt’s Belshazzar,
For John the Baptist’s head in chiaroscuro: Awesome. Ta.

I thank you for the music, for Beethoven’s Mass in C,
For Requiems by Rutter and Mozart, respectively,
For Handel’s Hallelujah and for bells in a carillon,
For sanctus and for dona nobis pacem. Thanks a million.

My spiritual commitment’s solely at my own discretion,
I’ll wander through a lovely church but won’t go to confession,
I’ll not sip sacramental wine, nor taste a wafer’s crispness,
But every year (and thanks again) I’ll stuff myself at Christmas.

Sweet and sour porkokolakis

2010-09-14T16:33:00.000+10:00

A serving of stir-fried incongruousness.

I love food. I love any mail that doesn't cost me money. I love surprises. And this little gem in my letterbox ticks all the boxes.

Poopsticks, enumerated.

2010-09-10T19:27:00.000+10:00

My whine collection
With thanks to my beautiful sister Jo for reminding me about the things that give me the screaming irrits. She's also much, much better at being mean.

My mother always told me
If you can’t say something nice,
Then just say nought,
And so I ought
To follow her advice.

For years I smiled quite nicely,
I was civil, I was meek,
But underneath,
Behind clenched teeth,
There brewed a storm of pique.

So today’s prevailing practice,
Shall be ‘better out than in’.
I need to vent
The discontent
That swells beneath my skin

And so, below you’ll find it;
The airing of my spleen
From gentle gibe
To diatribe,
It helps me stay serene.

First up: Karl Stefanovic,
Who’s a man not to my taste;
A slick veneer,
But ‘twixt each ear
There lies a barren waste.

Those little ‘Magic Happens’
Bumper stickers that appeal
To those who think
My aura’s pink
And unicorns are real.

Those weasly corporate managers
Who say “we’re working smarter”,
“Proactive”
And “incentivize”
Which mean precisely nada.

Those vacant, pretty actors
Who call their job a “craft”;
All pouty-lipped;
Without a script,
They come off rather daft.

Those so-called ‘cosmeceuticals’
That claim they’re ‘age-defying’.
They promise youth,
And claim the truth.
I promise you they’re lying.

And Ms Dion. Celine Dion,
That warbling, scrawny loon.
Only became
A household name
‘Cause she can shout in tune.

And you, Indian Mynah,
Who swoops as I walk by;
Your call’s absurd,
Cruel bully bird
And cockroach of the sky.

So there you have it, gentlefolk,
I’m feeling quite relieved.
From now on I’ll
Be sweet and smile
Until next time I’m peeved.

Treating B.S. with G.S.

2010-09-03T22:18:00.000+10:00

Skepticism and operetta - together at last!
With apologies to Gilbert & Sullivan (and thanks to bastardsheep for help with pronounciationment), I bring you the first instalment* of my skeptical libretto, to be sung to the tune of the Major General's Song:

I am the very model of an anti-vaccine activist,
My information doesn't come from any kind of scientist,
I searched around the internet and found whale.to and Natural News,
I have a 'Mommy Instinct' and hold sacred people’s right to choose,
My slick qualifications come from Google University,
I majored in Conspiracy and Medical Perversity,
I rarely read full articles and cherry-pick for useful quotes,
My references are letters to the editor and anecdotes,
The thought of needles jabbed in kiddies’ arms brings on hysteria,
I’d rather kids had chicken pox, rubella or diphtheria,
My knowledge is worth more than any doctor or biologist,
I am the very model of an anti-vaccine activist.

I am the very model of a modern psychic medium,
My customers are haunted by dead relatives and tedium,
I make up little stories based on what they might have done or said,
And how they sit and where they look and if and when they nod their head,
I’ve memorised events and names both current and historical,
I’m good at making anything sound deep and metaphorical,
And turning random statements into comprehensive narrative,
Which can’t always be ethical or right but it is lucrative,
The clients always leave feeling their life is more harmonious,
I’m lucky they don’t notice all the bits that are erroneous,
John Edwards fooled enough people to fill a frikkin’ stadium,
I am the very model of a modern psychic medium.

I am the very model of a quack of homeopathy,
Allow me to explain my magic, starting at the top of the
Long list of those conditions that my special water’s said to treat,
Bursitis, palpitations, chronic flatulence and smelly feet,
Rhinitis, anorexia, depression, thrush and Crohn’s disease,
Rosacea, infertility, bronchitis and arthritic knees,
Autism, migraine, dermatitis, Lupus and Leukaemia,
Confusion, insecurity, bereavement and anaemia,
Insomnia, malaria, dyslexia and PMS.
Cirrhosis, acidosis, scoliosis and forgetfulness
There isn’t anything for which I won’t prescribe a therapy
I am the very model of a quack of homeopathy.

*Let's be honest: it's unlikely that I'll get off my bum and write any further instalments, but there's enough material out there for several more stanzas.

Deus ex machina

2010-08-26T19:24:00.000+10:00

My 'Get out of hell free' card
On our way to the supermarket today, Mitchell pointed to the epitome of architectural incongruity that is the St John the Baptist Catholic church in Woy Woy.
"What's that?" he asked.
Suddenly I was flung headlong into my first Atheist Parenting Challenge; something I knew was going to happen eventually, and for me, unchartered territory.
At around Mitchell's age, I started attending a Presbyterian pre-school and Sunday school, and was introduced to God and the Bible in a gentle, unassuming way. With adult hindsight, I'm sure this had more to do with a desire for peace and quiet at home on the part of my parents, rather than any kind of religious conviction. Nevertheless, it left me without a precedent for answering any questions of a churchy kind from my own offspring. I decided to keep it simple and see where the conversation led.
"That's a church", I offered plainly.
"What do churches do?" Mitch asked curiously.*
"Um... a church is a place where people go to talk about God," I replied, hoping it was satisfactory.
"Are there machines in there?" he asked, with growing enthusiasm.
"No".
"Oh."
And that was the end of that. No machines, apparently, equals no interest. If things stay that way, this atheist parenting business is going to be a cinch.

* There are SO many possible answers to this question.

If you can't say anything nice...

2010-08-23T13:35:00.000+10:00

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words are reported to the police.

Poor Meryl Dorey (figurehead of the Australian Vaccination Network). Not only has her little organisation been dragged through the mud by the NSW Health Care Complaints Commission (which had the audacity to suggest she add a few words to her website) and been investigated by the NSW Office of Liquor, Gaming and Racing (who can be quite pedantic about things like keeping accurate financial records); she's also been picked on by people with computers.
In a recent post on the AVN's blog entitled True Colours, Ms Dorey complains about some "abusive and threatening messages" that have been directed at her in cyberspace, and has even allegedly reported some allegedly abusive alleged individuals to the local police.
Well I say enough is enough! And in the interest of false balance, I'm going to take some time to say some nice things about Meryl:

Nice Thing Number One: She's tenacious.
Meryl gets an idea in her head, and sticks to it. She follows through. No matter what evidence presents itself against her hard-fought stance on vaccination, she's gonna ride that bucking bronco until it froths at the mouth and cracks a hoof.

Nice Thing Number Two: She likes a chat.
Meryl is no shrinking violet. She exercises her right to speak her mind, regardless of the opposition. Regardless of anyone's efforts to gag her. Regardless of who might be laughing, offended, hurt, misrepresented, defamed, harrassed etc etc.

Nice Thing Number Three: She thinks positive.
It doesn't seem to matter what obstacles get in Meryl's way: legal, financial, logical or ethical - she retains her jolly, rosy outlook and the belief that she'll come through anything with flying colours.

Nice Thing Number Four: She cares about your children.
Children come first for Meryl. She sincerely cares about the health, wellbeing and self-esteem of every single precious little cherub, subject to some very specific conditions.

That wasn't so hard. Now if you'll excuse me, I must go and have a wash.

It could be worse.

2010-08-13T16:17:00.000+10:00

There are never any biscuits when I want a cup of tea;
There are always people waiting when I visit my GP;
I don't know where my keys are
And there's bird pooh on my car;
And I knocked my glass of red wine over inadvertently.

I can never park my car on the right side of petrol bowsers;
My GPS insists that I drive through a row of houses;
There are no seats on the train
And I've lost my keys again;
And there's a mystery stain of something on my freshly laundered trousers.

I get stuck with chatty seniors in the supermarket queue;
I've a tendency to click on 'Save' instead of on 'Undo';
I bought pirate DVDs
And I cannot find my keys;
And there's a piece of toilet paper on the bottom of my shoe.

But there's food inside my pantry and a roof above my head;
There's fresh water running from my tap and clean sheets on my bed;
All my kids are immunised
And my health care's subsidised;
And I can vote for anyone I want and not risk being dead.

I can show my face in public, get a job and have a say;
I can have friends who are different colours, communist or gay;
I can go on strike and picket;
I can tell my boss to stick it;
And I know that in the scheme of things I'm gonna be ok.

The A to Z of anti-vaccination

2010-05-21T13:32:00.000+10:00

When only alphabetised rhyming couplets will do.

This has been buzzing around in my head for a while, but only recently have I had enough work on to make this kind of procrastination really worth the effort. I bring you my tribute to the anti-vaccination movement.

A's for Anti-vaccination, which you are, let's face it.
B's for Brain. You've got one, but you frequently misplace it.
C is for Complaints to the Commission, based on facts;
D is for Donations that do Disappearing acts.
E's for education, which you give but don't receive
F is for the falsehoods that you'd have us all believe.
G is for Gish Gallop, or a cavalcade of lies;
H is Homeopathy, which doesn't immunise.
I is immunology, a science beyond your ken;
J is for autism-'curer', Playboy bunny Jen.
K is for the "knowledge" that you have about this issue;
L's for 'Living Wisdom' (read: 'expensive toilet tissue').
M is for that Meryl, vocal harbinger of doom;
N's for @nocompulsoryvac, her tweeting nom de plume.
O is for the bane of anti-vaxxers' lives, Paul Offit;
P is for big Pharma, and for horrid, evil profit.
Q's for Questions brought before your doctor's ugly mug;
R is for reactions that are swept under the rug.
S is for the Swine 'flu, which you claim is manufactured;
T is for the truth, which in your case is clearly fractured.
U's for the Uniting Church, which wouldn't house your speeches;
V's for Vaccines, which you'd gladly substitute with leeches.
W's for Whooping Cough, which shouldn't still be 'round;
X is xeno-antigen, an 'x' word that I found.
Y is yadda, yadda - what I hear when you start quacking;
Z is zip your lip, my friends, be gone! Sod off! Get packing!

Donate or be doooomed

2010-05-10T21:52:00.000+10:00

Ignore Meryl at your peril.

Oh, that Australian Vaccination Network. They do make me laugh. Not in a 'ha-ha-funny' kind of way, but in a 'you-can't-seriously-claim-to-have-a-brain-and-say-that' kind of way. And although I've been blocked from viewing @nocompulsoryvac's (aka the AVN's Meryl Dorey) tweets on Twitter*, I still like to do a little tweet-stalking to get my regular Gish Gallop giggle.

The majority of @nocompulsoryvac's tweets seem to be scheduled through Social Oomph, resulting in a high-rotation hit parade of scary factoids and obtuseness. My favourite is this one:

What a relief! Giving your hard-earned cash to the AVN will help them stop the immediate and terrifying threat of something highly unlikely. Phew. But that's not all! Not only will your donation help stave off compulsory vaccination in Australia, it will also:

Help to stop the re-establishment of corporal punishment in primary schools;
Silence those lobbying to lower the legal drinking age to 12;
Prevent the return of Megalosaurus;
Keep the incidence of unicorn-related head injuries to a minimum;

I wouldn't be so foolish as to say I'm no fool, but I shan't be parting with my money soon.

* I know. Little old me has been blocked. But I'm so nice.

The Daughter-saurus #4

2010-04-22T09:10:00.000+10:00

Appealing, one's sentence.

As soon as she turned two (happy birthday squrimasaurus!), Amy decided that random nouns and finger-pointing simply weren't enough any more. Sure, there have been many attempts at putting words together, such as:
"uptake" - small baked item served in a cup-shaped paper wrapper.
"ot-tee" - any drink served in a mug.
"ai-ee won pwee" - Amy would like that, please.
"not-not" - I would like to enter through this door.

But now we're also seeing:
"I go rah doe" - I'm going to approach my Auntie Jo and say "RAH!"
"Torta Daddy / torta Nan / torta weewee" - I would like to talk to Daddy/Nan/Reni on the phone.
"Ai-ee mwoe-bot beep beep" - I am a robot.
"You mwoe-bot Mummy?" - Are you a robot Mummy?

...and of course the ubiquitous:
"Yutty pooh in dare" - I may have soiled myself, but it's more than likely just a fart.

Ahhh.

2010-04-14T19:53:00.000+10:00

The kids are in bed.

This is how it feels:

*ahem*

Not for me a cache of jewels, nor shoes with four-inch heels;
I'm not concerned with how a silk-lined ermine jacket feels;
No undulating semi-rural properties for me;
No gold-leaf-sprinkled truffles will accompany my tea;
I'm not sure what a 'town car' is; nor 'age-defying serum';
And as for the High Roller set: I don't think I've been near 'em.
No masterpiece in gilded frame will hang upon my walls;
I've no designer lingerie, just mismatched socks and smalls
I'll never own an aircraft, neither sub- nor supersonic;
Just give me peace and quiet and a scrummy gin and tonic.

Popping my skeptical cherry

2010-04-06T11:43:00.000+10:00

Walk softly and carry a swag of evidence

Having done purely freelance work from home for the last four years, it's been a while since I've had an on-site office job. But now I do - I'm in the middle of a part-time contract in a real office, with real people. And that means chats by the water cooler.

One of my chats was about what I was planning for the Easter holiday weekend (giving the impression that Easter is a holiday at our house, and not just four days of the same stuff except without day care). Part of my plans included visiting a friend who happens to have an autistic four-year-old son. My colleague, a native German speaker, was fairly unfamiliar with autism, and asked, "What causes it?". I replied, "Nobody really knows" and that's when it happened. Another person using the kitchen interrupted with, "Are you talking about autism? It can actually be caused by environmental factors, like heavy metals. In fact they think the triple vaccine…"

Cue polite Skeptical Smackdown!

I immediately started shaking my head and mentioned that the only study to even vaguely suggest a link between autism and a vaccine had never been successfully repeated, its author had been discredited and despite many attempts, the link had never been proven. I could have gone on and on (as you're probably aware, if you've ever read anything I've written), but the message had already been delivered, and I saw no reason to risk alienating and annoying someone who merely joined in to a casual conversation.

But I felt fan-frikkin-tastic.

The thrill of having my very first shared-workplace opportunity to verbally quash a morsel of pseudo-scientific hogwash was palpable. There was no smug satisfaction; no holier-than-thou sense of self-righteousness. Only happiness and adrenalin (and a vague recollection that I once sought adrenalin rushes from white-water rafting and spelunking).

When I returned to my desk, another colleague said, "I'll bet anyone ten bucks that it's going to rain at precisely three o'clock tomorrow afternoon" ('tomorrow' being Good Friday). I said, "why so specific?" and she replied, "Because that's the time that Jesus died on the cross". Resisting the urge to roll my eyes and go into some detail about the vagaries of biblical calendars and time-keeping equipment, pagan festival juxtaposition and, let's be frank, the non-existence of god, I just said, "I'll take that bet". I figure the odds are reasonable (despite the wagerer's motivation) and besides, I think I'm on a bit of a roll.

Lessons

2010-03-23T13:28:00.000+11:00

What I learnded today.

From Amy:
When a very-nearly-two-year-old points to her own bum and says "Poo-in-dare", check immediately. Do not let said very-nearly-two-year-old use the slippery-dip three or four times in the interim.

From Mitch:
1. Dragons are too scary to sit on.
2. Cactii are too spiky to sit on.
3. Camels are juuuuuuuuuuuust right to sit on.

The Daughter-saurus #3

2010-02-23T15:17:00.000+11:00

Dwiving Daddy to Distwaction

As I've previously mentioned, Amy's mastery of English is... shall we say... pending. She's got all the non-verbals right - her intonation and gesticulation are spot-on, if a little insistent and chubby. The only thing she's really got to work on now is the pronunciation of words. A mere trifle, really.

Usually hubby and I can work out what she's trying to say, by playing charades, making educated guesses or, as a last resort, holding up every item in the room consecutively until she says "Yay!" And like many other mummies, I'm a lot better at deciphering Amese than her father is. Except for yesterday.

I'm currently working on a lovely contract with my old employer (with money and everything!), in which I'm required to travel to Sydney once a week to make an appearance at head office. There were a few teething problems when I started, but Stocko is generally pretty awesome in the kid-minding department, and instances of exasperation are getting fewer and further between. Yesterday, however, I was sitting at my desk when my phone rang. It was Stocko. No hello - just the familiar sound of Amy's wail in the background, and Him Indoors asking desperately, "I give up. Babe, what does 'Mah-bwee' mean?"

We never did figure it out.

Pechung! Pechung! Pechungggg!

2010-02-18T19:51:00.000+11:00

Three in a row from Mr Thinky.

Mitch reminds me how much fun life can be before one gets the hang of consistent vowel use and homonyms. The following surfaced during a ten-minute car trip...

Me: "Mitch, we're going to play with Lily on the weekend. And her Mummy. Do you remember Lily's Mummy's name?"
Him: "Yes. Sian. Sian the sheep!"

Him: "I think you hurt your leg and you need to go to the doctor."*
Me (remembering that swine 'flu vaccines are now available free for sproglets): "We're all going to the doctor soon!"
Him: "Is the doctor going to give Amy a noodle?"

Him: "Are we at the shops now?"
Me: "Yes. We're in the car park."
Him: "What are we doing?"
Me: "We're looking for a space."
Him: "Are we in SPACE??!?"

*Don't write in. I'm not injured. This is a common theme of Mitchell's, just to prove he cares.

They're alive, and I'm pretty sure I know where they are.

2010-02-16T15:14:00.000+11:00

It's not about what you do, it's about finding someone who does it worse.

Since kids were first invented, mothers have been wondering whether or not they're doing a good job. That's why sales of beautifully designed but basically useless parenting aids are so enormous. That's why I live in the shadow of the possibility of Government Kid People taking my beautiful wee ones away and locking me up. That's why I'm thinking of changing my kids' names to Worry and Doubt.

But before one goes out and spends hundreds of dollars on Mummy-facing prams, polysyllabic flash-cards or genetically-modified replacements, one must remember this:
Someone else is doing a crappier job than you.

I know this from hearing Paramedic Hubby's stories of kids with three-day-old fractures.
I know this from friends who've done Family Day Care and had kids turn up without shoes or breakfast and a scar from "playing with Daddy's razor".
I know this from school teacher friends who chase homework from kids who spend their after-school time cooking dinner for their siblings.

Sometimes, too, I'll get a first-hand glimpse, like the father and daughter who just strolled past my front window on the way home from the local primary school.
She was very upset about something, and sobbing to the point of hyperventilation.
He was saying, "Shut UP! All this sh*t about a f*cking pushbike! Jesus!"

Makes Mitchell's stumbling over verb-tense agreement kinda pale in comparison.

Sports Commentary Gold #9

2010-01-30T20:14:00.000+11:00

Ladies, I can see your understatement.

It's the women's singles final of the 2010 Australian Open. Two of the world's most powerful and successful tennis players are slogging it out for the world to see. The helpful commentators don't disappoint:

"This is high quality tennis."

The Daughter-saurus #2

2009-09-11T15:29:00.000+10:00

They're words, Amy, but let's just keep it between us.

Having a three-year-old (happy birthday plus eleven days, Mitchy!) who is teetering on the brink of Not Being Quite As Obnoxious, I'm really cherishing Amelia's 17-month-old-ness, because now I know. I know that it's only a few months until my precious little cling-on with wobbly legs becomes an all-kicking, all-screaming, all-possessing two-year-old. And one of the things I'm enjoying the most is the emerging language.

I couldn't tell you exactly which language is emerging from Amy - it sounds like English. That is, it's constructed of the same phonemes. But I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who understands it. When, for example, I point to a picture of a turtle in a book and she says, "Toe-too!", I look to whomever happens to be visiting as if to say, "See! She can say turtle!" and I get a look back that says, "Uh-huh. She's very special. Yes. Let's move on."

Nevertheless, I would like to dedicate this First Post in Bloody Ages to the cataloguing of my daughter's little collection of little words, whether I'm imagining them or not. Before I forget.

"Bow" - Bowl.
"Bowwwwwww" - Ball.
"Na-na" - Banana.
"Da!" - Daddy.
"Mimi" - Mummy.
"Da-deh" - Teddy.
"Roll roll roll roll roll" - Roll.
"Eye" - Eye.
"Ya" - Ear.
"Toe-too" - Turtle.
"Nonononononononono" - No.
"Boo!" - Boo!
"WAAAAAAAAA-HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" - Mummy, Mitchell just snatched a toy out of my hand and pushed me over and my head hit the floor. Could you pick me up please?