Best Australian Blogs 2013

Because I entered a blog competition with the Australian Writers’ Centre.

I have a lot of lovely things,

I never ask for much.

I’ve love and food and sanctuary

And kids’ clean hair to touch.

But there’s one thing I’m lacking

In this state of ample bliss;

So if you wouldn’t mind please,

Could you vote for me in this?

Follow this link and vote for 'There Should Be A Sign'.

Thanks, lovely people. Thanks for reading me. 

Thank you Meryl Dorey

Because she finally did something right.

Yesterday, NSW Health Minister Jillian Skinner introduced suggested amendments to the Health Care Complaints Act to NSW Parliament (Go read Reasonable Hank and Dr Rachie for more thorough treatment). 

In a nutshell, these amendments make it easier for the NSW Health Care Complaints Commission (HCCC) to respond to complaints about dodgy health service providers. Previously, a complaint had to be backed up by evidence that a health service provider had directly affected the care of an individual. If this bill passes, a complaint can be acted upon if the health of an individual is likely to be affected. 

A subtle difference, perhaps, but the wording of the current Act provided a loophole large enough for Meryl Dorey of the Australian Vaccination Network to slide through when she took the HCCC to court last year. And it was precisely that case that prompted the change. 

That's right. Thanks to Ms Dorey and her AVN, the government has taken a lot of notice of how easy it is for "health" "service" providers such as herself to spread misinformation and endanger the health of families without penalty, and it sounds like that's all going to change. 

I'd like to express my gratitude. This one's for you, Meryl.

If you hadn't thrown your toys at the Health Care Complaints Commission;

If you’d not made special pleading your relentless, lifelong mission;

Then our leaders might not know of your intention to mislead;

So thank you, Meryl Dorey. Thank you very much indeed.

If you’d done the thing that public health officials said you ought:

And just changed your site a bit, instead of taking them to court;

Then the legislation wouldn’t need to change the way it’s lettered.

So thank you, Meryl Dorey. We are very much indebted.

If you’d never bitched and moaned ‘bout how the government’s a farce;

If you’d not said Tanya Plibersek was talking out her arse,

Then they might be more inclined to let you do the things you’ve done.

So thank you, Meryl Dorey. Thanks a lot. I owe you one.

If you’d never drawn attention to the way you run your show;

If associates of yours weren’t just as dangerous and low;

Then they wouldn’t soon be answering to summonses and such.

So thank you, Meryl Dorey. Thank you very, very much.

While we're on the topic, go see the good folk at Stop The AVN, without whom there'd be a lot more anti-vax bollocks in the media. Go on. They're not nearly as nasty as Meryl says.

For real.

Because pretending to be young is getting old.

My belly skin droops as though weighted, deflated,

Sequestered from youth by a silvery mesh.

My bosom’s surrendered to duty; its beauty

Fed out through the forces of physics on flesh.

What once was a rich crowning glory grows hoary,

Each follicle sapped of its opulent brown.

My face is a time-tattered etching; once fetching,

It now recalls every ephemeral frown.

Abdominoplasty can sever forever

My sagging, redundant, superfluous hide.

Subpectoral implants can wake up my A-cup,

Cosmetically stalling its slow earthward slide.

I needn’t despair of my tresses; hairdressers

Can colour my locks any shade I desire.

To rub out the lines of expression, a session

Of pin-pricks and lasers is all I require.

But how could I then tell my daughter she ought to

Be judged by her actions and words, not her looks?

I’d much rather spend what I’m earning on learning

And travel and music and biscuits and books.

Each stretch mark and wrinkle tells stories, each pore is

A part of my history; imperfect but true.

I find all these hallmarks of aging engaging;

Each tale of what’s old is, in other ways, new.

Special thanks go to the Digital Cuttlefish for the metre and rhyme scheme. WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU'VE NEVER READ THE DIGITAL CUTTLEFISH?? GO. GO NOW.

Important stuff

Because Australian public schools need to be fair and secular places.


Did you know that:

• The federal government wishes to weasel out of a recent decision by the High Court concerning funding for the National Schools Chaplaincy Program?;

• My friend and fantastic writer (who is responsible for several subjects on this blog) Chrys Stevenson has written a very important blog post here with a call to action?;

• Keeping our public schools constitutionally fair and equitable to people of all religions and no religion is very, very important to me?; and

• The administration and execution of the National Schools Chaplaincy Program has, to date, been anything but fair and equitable to people of all religions and no religion?

If this stuff is important to you too, please consider reading Chrys's post and popping off a quick message to Greens senators. I just did, and I feel fabulous. 

Ipsedixitism

Because I said so.


Every so often, I hear a word that is so delicious, so sublime in its syllables, that I want to say it over and over again, to roll it around the inside of my mouth like a lolly until it dissolves into my vernacular. Such a word was recently introduced to me by my friend Chrys Stevenson, here.

And every so often, a friend, colleague or follower will throw down a poetry challenge, suggesting a word or topic and challenging, nay daring me to pen a verse about it. The person who does this most often is my friend Chrys Stevenson. You may have heard me mention her before.

This one's for you, Chrys.

“Why? Because I said so!” - we’ve all heard this one before,

When spoken to defiant kids aged three, or maybe four.

But once you’re all grown up, you shouldn’t hear it any more;

Especially not in academic texts or courts of law.

This bare assertion fallacy, as rhetoric depicts it,

Throws status at a problem, in a vain attempt to fix it,

And can’t disprove, with logic, any stance that contradicts it.

It’s known in legal circles by the Latin “ipse dixit”.

If you’re involved in some debate or argument or schism,

And adversaries resort to simple say-so when you quiz ‘em,

Don’t fall for their non-sequiturs and base antagonism,

Just raise an eyebrow, smile and say “That’s ipsedixitism”.

For Dr Rachie, on her birthday

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

She’s a celebrated scientist who’s capable and smart;

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

She spends hours picking pseudoscientific rants apart;

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

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

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

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

Happy birthday Dr Rachie! May there be a squillion more.

For Chrys and Dave, on their birthday.

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 cool way;

I can only hope they mean the same to you.

Ms Chrys Stevenson is not afraid to tell things like they are;

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’re from,

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

Happy birthday, lovely webby mates! You make the world a blast,

Whether podcasting or singing or in text;

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

And I hope to be your friend until the next.

The Back-Crackin' Blues

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.

Headache.

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).

Sesquipedalian

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.

Song for Nancy

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.

Readin', Ritin', 'Rithmetic and Religion

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.

For Bastard Sheep, on his birthday.

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.

Real medicine vs Quackology

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,

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?

Everybody's got one...

...but not everyone's is switched on.

I have just been watching a so-called debate on Channel Seven's Sunday Night program about vaccination in Australia. It's not a program I'd usually watch, but I'm an avid supporter of vaccination, and wanted to see if the telly would spew forth its usual panic-promoting bollocks.

It didn't. Ray!

There are plenty of people who will blog in detail about the show - I'm looking forward to reading more on Ratbags.com and on the Sceptic's Book of Pooh-Pooh (my vote for Blog Title of the Year). So I'm not going to blather on when some of my favourite bloggers will do it more eloquently and with more respectful insolence than me.

One moment did, however, motivate me to put fingies to keyboard. Meryl Dorey, of the mind-bogglingly misinformed and irresponsible Australian Vaccination Network, made this comment (apparently trying to convince the audience of something):

"I'm not a doctor, but I do have a brain."

I'm instantly reminded of a corker attributed to 19th Century English essayist Adam Cooper:

"Giving English to an American is like giving sex to a child - he knows
it's important but he doesn't know what to do with it."

A Eulogy for Keith Urban...

...who is not actually dead. Don't write in.

No doubt you've been following the year-long Urban Decay that's been going on over Jo Blogs' way (and if you haven't, do. You'll be entertained. Unless you love Keith, in which case I'll be entertained). Unfortunately and unsurprisingly, I was unable to make it to Keith's final farewell, where the last shards of his most recent musical output were to be ceremonially flushed. But, just like a country singer, I didn't want the occasion to slip by without putting pen to paper and hacking out some poignant, if totally unnecessary, words:

What can I say 'bout a bloke named Keith?
With his foil-streaked hair and his perfect teeth,
With his gin-soaked life
And his skinny useless wife
And a catalogue of whining twangy piffle to bequeath?

Oh, what can I offer such a fellow as our Keith?
For I can't attend his funeral and I can't afford a wreath.
But I can jot this epithet
On a dirty serviette
And say "Adios, you boring twat. I'll see you Underneath".