Doctor Plog

RIP La Liz

2011-03-23T13:17:00.006Z

I know it's not a skill much prized these days, but there was a time I could name all of Elizabeth Taylor's husbands - from Nicky "Conrad" Hilton to Larry Fortensky, not forgetting Richard Burton twice (!). As a child, I was an oddity, obsessed with Old Hollywood, and no-one represented the glitz, the glamour; the ups, the downs; the sex, drama, and myriad hospitalisations like La Liz.

So even though I'm older, wiser (debatable) and hopefully less myopic - and certainly more jaded thanks to other movie goddesses who shall remain nameless - it is with tender nostalgia that I just learnt of her death.

(ps. All is forgiven re: the debacle of 1959, seeing as Debbie has outlived both you and EF.)

RIP xx

Today

2011-03-06T02:01:00.003Z

Today I rose with a million women,

and booked it with the Jezebelles,

all in all, a thoroughly enjoyable, enriching day,

reinforcing the twin powers of thinking and doing

("Wonder Twin powers -- ACTIVATE!")

and the possibilities inherent in every London day,

should I seek it out, venturing beyond the endless ennui of Come Dine With Me ,

and its bloodless ilk.

Joy:

It's out there.

Seek it out. Revel in it. Be inspired. Write.

Be To. Or Be To Not.

(The former is infinitely preferable)

"I Do" - but she can't ...

2010-08-24T15:54:00.003+01:00

Andrea Gibson is amazing.

Also amazing, (albeit in a different way)? That bigotry on this scale still exists. That in 2010, in so-called "developed" nations, some people are denied basic human rights. I say this as someone who knows a bit of history: in the not-too-distant future, the prejudice against same-sex/ intersex/ queer couples will look a lot like the bans on racial intermarriage does now - completely ludicrous, hurtful, despicable.

Exit Signs

2010-08-20T20:27:00.003+01:00

It strikes me that EXIT signs would look to a native speaker of Latin like red-lit signs that say "HE LEAVES".

David Foster Wallace
Infinite Jest

Equal Love Protest

2010-08-17T12:38:00.002+01:00

And in my hometown too, nokh ...

From here.

The Person I've Felt The Most Closest To in the Whole Wide World ...

2010-07-29T00:36:00.004+01:00

... was waiting in the queue for the gas chamber in Auschwitz when it was liberated in 1945.

That's gotta affect a psyche.

Sometimes I feel like my whole life is an overly rehearsed audition for a role I'm bound never to get in a capacity which will somehow offend various powerful minority groups.

"My Gentle Alpaca"

2010-07-26T11:42:00.005+01:00

Love the racial profiling of the bushes! Nice one!

Sad :(

Fighting the Princess Meme

2010-07-26T10:32:00.001+01:00

I love you, Sarah Haskins.

Cafe couture

2010-07-20T16:15:00.005+01:00

I am blogging to you from one of my favourite cafes in this city -

The Breakfast Club in Hoxton

(although it was their Angel branch that got me hooked)

It is no coincidence that it is Antipodean of origin. We Austrazealanders just know how to make a good cuppa. Fact.

Though, in the interests of accurate journalism, it is not strictly speaking a coffee I am shlurping.

(NO JUDGING!!! It's summer in the city. This, like, never happens here.)

Also? You heard it here first: they are shooting something outside here with a Keira Knightley lookalike. Ooh la la!

A Rose By Any Other Name ...

2010-07-16T18:51:00.003+01:00

So I may have a few new readers as I have been blog-pimping (ugh, hate the term - is blog-whoring any more feministe?) a bisl of late. The question of my nom de plume has arisen so here's a reminder from my very first post:

Why "Doctor"?

I was so goddamn SICK of being asked if I was a "Miss" or "Mrs." ... or even a "Ms."!!!!!!!!!!! IT'S 2009, PEOPLE!!!!! The title "Ms." came into being in order to REPLACE the Miss/Mrs binary, not to signify a third category of angry female because why the hell do over half the world's population have to identify their frigging marital status in their name? (Because we have vaginas?) So to avoid the whole mishegas, I got a Ph. D.

Why "Plog"?

Well, "Blog = Web + Log". As a Luddite all my thoughts originate with the Mighty Pen. Ergo, "Paper + Log = Plog". (And I'm normally so bad at maths!) Also "Plog" sounds like "Plod" which conjures up images of flat-footed, bumbling policemen (and although Law Enforcement is not my schtick, I am both flat-footed and bumbling).

So there y'have it, kinderlach. Although I have been thinking about coming out behind the cloak of anonymity lately. I mean I know the six of you who occasionally dip into this bog (NOT a typo) socially, and it's not like I've got some high-falutin' career to protect.

What do you think?

Loo-lit of the Month

2010-07-16T18:42:00.002+01:00

Sexism in the City*: Eyns**

2010-07-16T18:33:00.006+01:00

Those high- maintenance bitches!

..................................................................................

*part of a new series of photographs that show sexism alive, well, and kicking off in the public sphere. Name. Rinse. Repeat. Shame.

** "one" in Yiddish. My instinct was to go Italian, ie, uno, duo, etc, but decided to give my poor, old, NOT DEAD mother tongue an airing instead.

my IQ - ani difranco

2010-07-16T17:12:00.004+01:00

when I was four years old
they tried to test my I.Q.
they showed me a picture
of 3 oranges and a pear
they said,
which one is different?
it does not belong
they taught me different is wrong
but when I was 13 years old
I woke up one morning
thighs covered in blood
like a war
like a warning
that I live in a breakable takeable body
an ever-increasingly valuable body
that a woman had come in the night to replace me
deface me
see,
my body is borrowed
yeah, I got it on loan
for the time in between my mom and some maggots
I don't need anyone to hold me
I can hold my own
I got highways for stretchmarks
see where I've grown
I sing sometimes
like my life is at stake
'cause you're only as loud
as the noises you make
I'm learning to laugh as hard
as I can listen
'cause silence
is violence
in women and poor people
if more people were screaming then I could relax
but a good brain ain't diddley
if you don't have the facts
we live in a breakable takeable world
an ever available possible world
and we can make music
like we can make do
genius is in a back beat
backseat to nothing if you're dancing
especially something stupid
like I.Q.
for every lie I unlearn
I learn something new
I sing sometimes for the war that I fight
'cause every tool is a weapon -
if you hold it right.

Doctor Plog is 13 minutes away

2010-07-08T23:46:00.002+01:00

... from ushering in her thirty-sixth birthday alone, accompanied only by the 1955 film "Gentlemen Marry Brunettes" (it happened to be on, I'm not some crazy Havishamesque figure) and a bottle o' Baileys.

(Pah! I preferred the original. At least Jane Russell got to play smart!)

My Name is Barbara

2010-07-06T20:37:00.003+01:00

I am in a pub, reviewing Nina Power's excellent "One Dimensional Woman" (seminal feminist text of the decade, in my humblinion) while D, T + P watch Uruguay v Holland and procrastinate over Thai order tsuris while the buttons on my aged Monsoon shirt keep popping open a la Barbara Windsor in the "Carry On" films.

Nice.

Lapel

2010-07-06T09:18:00.003+01:00

Life loves to be taken by the lapel and told: "I'm with you kid. Let's go."

Maya Angelou

Lazing on a Sunny Afternoooooon

2010-07-04T02:34:00.002+01:00

The Kinks are one of my favourite bands. In the Beatles vs Stones binary, I vote for the Crouch End boys every time (and not only 'cos I'm hoping to join the 'hood).

Seeing Ray Davies was one of my life's highlights. True story.

Money for Gurnischt

2010-07-04T02:15:00.003+01:00

Bizarrely I love the original. The intro fires me up like nothing else. And this version does it for me too. I am an unabashed fangrrl of quirky reimaginings.

Enjoy!

Cuban Brothers Do Radiohead

2010-07-04T01:46:00.005+01:00

The Beauty of a One-Hit Wonder

2010-07-04T01:32:00.006+01:00

... is that you don't have to stick around for the second song!

Even More of the Best.Glastonbury.Ever!

2010-07-03T13:10:00.007+01:00

Still the Best.Glastonbury.Ever.

2010-07-03T12:26:00.008+01:00

Best. Glastonbury. Ever!

2010-07-03T11:52:00.005+01:00

I'm really glad that Edie Brickell

2010-06-16T19:45:00.001+01:00

ended up with Paul Simon.

Good lyricists rock. Literally!

Stickermania #3: The Purple Pen Project

2010-06-12T09:20:00.018+01:00

(Click on images to enlarge)

Here at the Plogquarters, we've been mightily inspired by the subversive sticker project - thanks to my beloved Manchester mishpokha for the Best. Gift. EVER!!!!

Welcome to the launch of a new campaign - the PPP (or Purple Pen Project). All you need to participate are:

-sticky labels, or paper with adhesive. (not necessary if one goes the chalk route)
-something purple to write with (it doesn't have to be a pen - that was just for the cool acronym)
-righteous anger and a burning desire for equality

It's so simple - but can be so effective! Subliminal advertising is everywhere - let's put some worthy messages out there and see how far-reaching and widespread this can go.

Start sticking, sisterhood!

(And if you send your efforts to me, you will warm the cockles (cuntles?) of my feminist soul)

Art Car Booty

2010-06-12T08:06:00.008+01:00

These are what came home with me from the Fair. Mr P is not very happy (I think he's scared of Myra Teresa)but these are for my room, to which Virginia said we were all entitled.

Stickermania #2: Electric Boogaloo

2010-06-07T17:58:00.013+01:00

Art Car Boot Fair

2010-06-07T12:39:00.011+01:00

So last Sunday started off bleurgh until my delightful friend K invited me along to the Art Car Boot Fair where I very quickly morphed from morose to merry in less than a minute! There is something so intuitively transformative about certain environments - pass through the gates of a festival and let it overtake you instantaneously! - a buzzing communality, a bustling collectivism that is sadly absent in many other spheres. (Take it from me, that token smiler - every tube carriage has one - trying to catch your eye when the train stops unneccessarily or the driver makes some funny announcement. If you have been this city's citizen for even a short time, believe me, you've averted your eyes from me or my pathologically-people-pleasing-peers at least once in your LondonLifetime ...)

A highlight was sticking my hand up Charles Saatchi's arse, and winning TEN pieces of art. See this post for those items, and the rest of my Art Car Fair Booty.

Stickermania: Episode# 1

2010-06-01T11:44:00.006+01:00

'Cos being subversive (but safely these days) is one of My Favourite Things.

Beer-y Funny

2010-05-29T12:08:00.004+01:00

One thing I will miss about N19 is the feeling of being framed by a gaggle of glorious gastro-pubs. Also: I love when the opportunity for a funny is observed and fulfilled - why not be amusing or wry or clever? Why not elicit smiles or chuckles or guffaws? (I love a good guffaw!) Suffice to say, I am a big fan of the microbrewery at the always excellent Junction Tavern.

Shame I can't stand the taste of beer. I am a shitty excuse for an Oy-strine.

A Big MStake

2010-05-23T01:43:00.006+01:00

"There is a void in the English language which, with some diffidence, we undertake to fill ...

Now, clearly, what is needed is a more comprehensive term which does homage to the sex without expressing any views as to their domestic situation, and what could be simpler or more logical than the retention of what the two doubtful terms have in common. The abbreviation "Ms" is simple, it is easy to write, and the person concerned can translate it properly according to circumstances. For oral use it might be rendered as "Mizz," which would be a close parallel to the practice long universal in many bucolic regions, where a slurred Mis' does duty for Miss and Mrs alike."

THIS WAS WRITTEN IN 1901. Nineteen-oh-fucking-ONE, people!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I am so furious that Ms has not replaced the Virgin/Housewife dichotomy. Did you know that in its original seventeenth century usage, "Mistress" -the equivalent of "Mister"- bore no reference to marital status?

I think this might be my calling, people. An anti-Mrs Campaign. Let's eradicate this menace in our lifetime! Who's on board?

Movie Trailer

2010-05-23T01:32:00.001+01:00

Thanks to my lovely friend Austin for the link. And congratzel tov on the latest addition ... x

How Totally Meta-Meta!

2010-05-20T00:37:00.002+01:00

I don't normally follow a music clip with a music clip but I just found this track:

Which is only relevant because I am sitting in that blue room in Archway. Which hasn't been blue for at least ten years, since Mr P bought the house from Martin Carr, lead singer of the Boo Radleys. Who left a note, the parting words of which were "Take care of the blue room, and she will treat you well."

She has treated us so, so well, Martin. We have loved and lived and fought and fucked in this room. And selling it has been hard.

But the pain of yours truly, the most immature cow on the planet, has been somewhat alleviated by the fact that predictive text characterises her new hood as "Crotch End" ...

From "Mockingbird" to "Mockery" in sixteen seconds. Surely there's an award for that?

Join me in a sing-along!

2010-05-19T22:45:00.002+01:00

In Treatment at the moment and in dire need of release.

My child-self needs some approval, people. My therapist said so.

Sack Theresa May!

2010-05-17T14:24:00.002+01:00

Unfuckingbelievable.

A minister for equality who doesn't believe in equality ...

Please click here to register your utter disgust.

The Revolution Will Be Blogged About!!!

2010-05-12T22:17:00.004+01:00

!!!Exclamation points in title down to woman's irrational hysteria ... NOT!!!

So here it is, in a nutshell (not nut as in testicle, you phallocentric phuck!) ...

I am sick of feminism being marginalised.

I am sick of the fact that feminism, when [mis]represented looks like shrill, hairy, hormonal UNFOUNDED dreck.

I am sick of the fact that women still make 73p to every male £1 FOR THE SAME JOB!!!! Imagine if any other group were earning a percentage of the mainstream wage! Imagine the (rightful) outcry!

I AM FUCKING SICK TO DEATH OF THE FACT THAT WE ARE ROUTINELY GROUPED ALONGSIDE "MINORITIES" WHEN NUMERICALLY WE OUTNUMBER MEN!!!!

The Revolution Starts Here!

If you are with me, add your thoughts below. We need action now.

And before you ask, maybe I am getting my period. Lick it up, haters!

I Feel Like Adrian Mole

2010-05-11T22:11:00.004+01:00

Yes, I was a devotee of Enid Blyton and Agatha Christie, Roald Dahl and Are You Being Served?, Bless This House, The Good Life, On The Buses, Love Thy Neighbour (forgive me, my peeps, I was too young to know better), etcetera -------- but it was Sue Townsend's comic creation that turned me on to the Thatcher-hate.

There is a poem he writes, asking her if she cries into her "Marks & Spencer pillow", that I have not only never forgotten, but I think of nearly every time I pop into M&S for my superfood salad or fairtrade columbian ground-for-cafetiere coffee.

I feel sad. For the country, and also for the activist/hustler/politician/radical/agitator that I never became, but feel was my calling.

***********************************************************************

ps. Mr P has been saying for ages that he hopes the Tories inherit this current politicosocioecenomic shitstorm because whoever gets in is ultimately ferkakt, and that way we are ensured a Prime Minister Milliband sometime soon ... either one will do! And it's not just because they're both cute and English and Jewish and slightly geeky and ... somewhat familiar. But it helps.

See?! The personal: she is very political after all!!!

************************************************************************

Also: I used to be a MASSIVE comma girl. I was like, ",,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,," all over the place. But then I met a cool person once who turned me off 'em. 'Nother post. 'Nother time.

4 Chords

2010-05-09T15:50:00.001+01:00

The Axis of Awesome at the Melbourne Comedy Festival, 2009 = Awesome!!

Favourite Song?

2010-05-05T11:39:00.004+01:00

Someone asked me the other day. I generally dislike "favourite" questions if denied the right to multiple responses; part of it is a fear of being categorised or essentialised, I guess.

But I have thought long and hard. This may not be it,

but it is definitely one of the top 5, possibly down to the fact that Tom and Bette do it for me separately, and what first seems incongruous quickly dissolves into honeyed, whiskeyed, sexy seamlessness.

What's yours? You're allowed five.

Silver Lining (Sorry, my fonts are ferkackt!)

2010-04-22T13:17:00.005+01:00

To Life!

2010-04-20T17:03:00.003+01:00

So the other day I ventured down to Brick Lane on my own and had a fabulous martini. I was so impressed with the description (I so enjoy literary excellence in menus) that I copied it for your enjoyment.

Columbia Martini

(mango vodka, lavender, lemon, love)

Take your senses for a stroll down the old Victorian shop-lined flower market of the East End. Officially Mary Poppins' favourite cocktail. (And she drank on the job!)

I am an unashamed sucker for twee. This is one of the reasons I love you, London!

The Bodies

2010-04-17T15:24:00.004+01:00

"The Spanish have the right idea when it comes to talking about bodies: They say "the", not "my", distancing themselves. I am not my wattle."

-Carol K. Howell

ETA: Just noticed misoGYNy runs so deep they forgot to label that woman's pippi.

I'm having a multiple cleggasm!

2010-04-16T13:44:00.006+01:00

Yes, I've made the joke twice (it's my facebook status update) but (a) the majority of my friends are Aussies and won't get it and (b) HOORAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I am so fucking happy - and I can't even vote! (I can in local elections as a commonwealthee, but not nationally until I apply for citizenship, which I most certainly will because (a) I can do dual and (b) I LOVE BEING A CITIZEN! It is one of my favourite roles ever! Excepting Betty Parris in my high school production of The Crucible and Monica Lewinsky with my bf during the Clinton scandal ... but I digress ...)

I know the Obama analogies will rankle with many, and perhaps rightly so, but my heart felt so much lighter at every mention of "a third way" - plus the Cable guy? He can fiddle with my antennae anytime, ifyoucatchmydrift. I love a man who talks dir[ec]t[l]y.

But seriously? A politician trying to put justice, equality, and humanity on the agenda? What the ...? A one-two-punch rejection of Bullyboy Brown and Cringeworthy Cameron? ("I agree with Nick!" "No! I agree with Nick!"). Brilliantly executed - who was the alpha male in that debate? I could only love Clegg more if he had a vagina. That's high praise from the rabid Dr. P, btw! Also: MORE WOMEN IN POSITIONS OF POWER PLEASE. It is so fucking monotonous. I'd like to see a pantsuit or two, if it's not too much trouble. Postfuckingfeminism, my grobeh tuchiss.

Also thanks to TV for making it all possible! (Dr P 4 TV 4eva) Brown did a Nixon (BIG surprise there) and the Toryboy was outclassed by the contender with real class.

Vote Lib Dem, please. Do it for those of us who can't.

ETA: I am so embarassed I wrote this. I feel like it's all my fault!!!!!!

Online, unkind?

2010-04-16T13:26:00.003+01:00

Just got into a bit of a spat on the Guardian website, which I left with these words:

"Apologies for my rudeness. I just get a bit defensive when writers I admire are attacked anonymously by people with an option to skip articles that aren't to their tastes, choosing instead to insult both the writer and, by implication, their readership (eg, me). I can't even fathom why people do that. I don't give a crap about the financial blogs - should I go tell them?"

and ended with this plea:

"The internet has created a strange, anarchic society which isn't always a nice place to play, and I just think once in a while we should remind ourselves how our interactions would look in real life, and then adjust our antennae accordingly.

Peace."

Why can't we all just get along? No, really. I'm asking.

Just realised

2010-04-07T01:20:00.002+01:00

that I managed to get addicted to anything even mildly subversive I tried.

Oh, Doctor P! A marketer's wet dream, albeit a thinking person's wet vermicelli!

Think of yourself as a mop!

Just thinking about people who single-handedly

2010-04-04T02:27:00.001+01:00

do so much for changing perceptions.

1. Eddie Izzard

2. Roscoe Lee Browne

Who springs to your mind?

"If You've Googled Yourself ...

2010-02-21T01:00:00.009Z

CLAP YOUR HANDS!

If You've Googled Yourself ...

CLAP YOUR HANDS!"

So I googled myself. And if you enter my name ("Oh Matron!), you get almost two pages, excepting the very last one on page 2, at this minute: London time 01:03, that actually refer to me. Me! The real person behind a Google conjunction! Which is rare in the context of googling(?) gulaging(?) the peeps you meet, only to bring up a scrollsworth of eighteenth century architects and other antiquated irrelevancies (the firstnames and surnames MILES apart ... in overencumbered PDFs related to Annual General Meeting Notes of Junior(sic) High Softball Teams in Bumfuck, USA ...)

But I digress.

It's not my actual birth certificate name - haven't checked that yet - but the diminutive of my given aka in Oz Christian name - which is actually the name my mum wanted to give me but was urged it was too cutesy and childish and I might want to adopt the longer form as an adult (oops). When she was pregnant with me, Mama Plog worked at a creche, where she was completely bewitched by an adorable toddler, (insert Dr. P's everyday name) + Brown (it's alliterative, folks!) here.

It's only now, 2010, that I was lured by some naive facebook commenter two-friends-removed to check out my name on urbandictionary.com ...

I dare you to do that and record your findings here!

And not only because my name is apparently slang for "blow job" ...

Le sigh.

So back to self-googling. I urge you all -- google yourselves. And then please post your results, or at least your reactions to the aforementioned results in the comment section below.

Pity Party!

2010-02-21T00:46:00.002Z

So never heard the term until Jen Aniston's midlastdecade's Vanity Fair cover story, but I'm throwing meself one right now!

See, NO-ONE comments on my bog anymore. NO-ONE!!! NO-ONE!!!!!

(Except for the Mr, and that's only after x amounta days nagging (Misogynist Views of Wifey: ACTIVATE!)

So.

Feeling a tad neglected.

So now you have an opportunity to fill my comment sections, rejuvenate my self-disteem, and improve your own chances for a sainthood following a single click below.

Come on.

You know you want to.

Away We Went.

2010-02-21T00:16:00.003Z

Dr. P's Inaugural, Possibly One-Off, DVD Recommendation:

Away We Go

The music clip above has nothing, I repeat NOTHING, to do with the film (dir: Sam Mendes; script: Dave Eggers & Vendela Vida; starring: Maya Rudolph, John Krasinski, Catherine O'Hara, Jeff Daniels, Maggie Gylleanhaal). I really liked the music in it, so Mr P went to find a track that was in it, and it turns out this wasn't in it but I really liked it anyway

Hope you do too ...

Gleek

2010-02-08T22:06:00.007Z

My name is Dr. Plog and I am a Gleek.

There, I said it.

I tried to resist it, I really did. For starters, I am already over-committed, televisually, especially since I am trying to reduce my overall couch potato-mashedness in a new year's false promise to a new-me. Also: I am instinctively programmed to resist trends du jour on the very basis of their seemingly sudden mass-desirability. I call it the Dan Brown effect - though now my Da Vinci Code aversion (it's so freaky to suddenly see everyone across the world toting the same badly-written book) has now found new life in The Girl with the Dragon Earringmania. Ipods can pod off; I haven't even graduated to tampons, letalone Ipads.

But I'm hooked on this silly show!

Cheeky covers? Check. Subversion of seemingly same-same stereotypes? Check (That shameless display of artificial affected alliteration? Check, check, check!). Maybe I'm just impressed that a single show that is, on the surface, as samesamey as your subpar nineohtwooneohmelroseplaceremake staple, would have not just one token Jew but, like, four - rendering them somewhat less token - and one breaking the mould, majorly. Noah Puckerman, I'm talking to you! Mr P said I'd have had a field day with you if I was still writing my thesis.

Ok, it's not as groundbreaking as some would have you believe. A recent facebook status of a local wit (whose critical eye I trust implicitly) declared she was "whelmed"* - neither overwhelmed nor underwhelmed. I love that category. And I totally get that response.

****************************************************
*Slightly off-topic but there are so many words that have no counterpart. Mr P sometimes shakes his British head at me and labels me "incorrigible", to which I reply, "No, I'm actually quite corrigible". Also are you always "appropos of nothing" or can you be appropos of something? I know you can be but I think nothing is more common, usagewise Why are there so many songs about rainbows and what's on the other side?

Answers welcome in comment section below. Join in! Don't be shy!

****************************************************

But I think, even in shitty times, a lot of our escapism is occupied by/ mired in the ugly. I gave up 24 on those grounds. And the Ruth Rendell habit I inherited from Mama Plog. And reading the paper from cover to cover. But Glee makes me happy - filled with joy, utterly content, gleeful, if you will (and I know you will).

Nothing deep there. But try living with hepatitis. That's hard!**

**I LOVE Jane Lynch. And though I never got into Nip/Tuck (creepy-as-fuck more like!), I adored Ryan Murphy's early career masterpiece Popular (which appropos of nothing (see!) I used to watch with my dad over a bunch of weekday afternoons in the early 00s. Good times.)

Is it not worse ...

2010-02-07T01:04:00.002Z

... to shoot the sheriff, rather than the deputy?

Just a thought.

Privilege Shmivilege

2010-01-31T04:12:00.006Z

Ok, so it's a default position (and the local Jezzies laugh at it) but a big preoccuopation in our "right on" world is the concept of privilege - that automatic comfort of those in whatever prioritised hegemonic construct, whether it be raced, gendered, sexualised, whateved. And that which has registered most profoundly with my self is the category of coupledom. It has always pissed me off that the fact of finding a partner - which is so arbitrary, so accidental, so sliding doorsy - that which has no bearing on individual merit or individual anything - has become, in our contemporary idiom, a marker of merit, of achievement, of ascending to a necessary stage of development. I was a militant single, an "I'm ok, you're ok, if you think I'm not ok then fuck you - it's you who has more than a few screws loose". It's what informed my anti- wedding registries, it's what fuelled my animosity towards every parent of every wonderful but unattached friend of mine who dared make that individual feel less than gurnisct, it's what brought on my allergy to table plans, first dances, bouquet tosses (tossers) ...

And now ... I'm married.

Do I feel like a wanker? Like a hypocrite? Like a traitor to the cause?

I do.

Do I feel, simultaneously, cocooned in the institutionalised safety of Mr Plog's arms, in the knowledge that we have officially declared ourselves a discrete unit, legally sanctioned, apart from all others?

I do.

Fact is, despite it all, the best day of my life TM was probably one of my best. I made every effort in the world not to be the typical bride TM - which in itself resembles the worst form of misogyny to the degree that I tried so fecking hard not to be what I perceived the worst form of woman ever - she who conformed to the notion that the role of weddinged one was the be-all and end-all. And yet - and yet - being surrounded by so many who were truly rooting for me - for my happiness, for my fulfilment, regardless of who was standing by me - or if, indeed, anyone was (seriously - I could have been one of those Oprah-validated fruitcakes marrying myself and I think the same crowd would have assembled, with the same good wishes) meant so much, touched so deeply - and I carry with me that feeling, through sleet and snow and the passage of persistent ebbing.

I am still sixteen. I worry so much about how I come across, about being seen to do the right thing. Full of sound and fury, signifying babkes.

But then Mr P and I press our rings together and in the loosest, laziest Yiddish translation say: "Wonder Twins Powers, Activate". ("Vunder Tzviling Koyakh Far'firn").

And in that moment, everything feels ok.

Plogging Paralysis

2010-01-24T22:38:00.002Z

How can I write anything when it will forever be dated twelve days after the earthquake in Haiti? How can it not seem frivolous, inappropriate, self-centred?

I was going to summarise my hensdosweddinghoneymoon, forgawdsake. From the perspective of a feminist, nokh!

I've been feeling sorry for myself because I'm back in the cold and rampantly unemployed to boot - when a reported 150,000 people have lost their lives in Port au Prince alone.

It's time, clearly, to count blessings, make donations and have some fecking perspective.

Hope your oh-ten has been oh-kay, and may your news be good news. Back soon.

P xx

Lost: One Mojo

2009-12-05T23:23:00.002Z

"I have of late - but wherefore I know not - lost all my mirth"
Hamlet, Act II, Scene 2

So, understatement of the year - it's been an odd few months. And blogging - even from this quiet corner of the net - requires confidence; instinctively it seems to me that posts should leap from a position of, if not authority as such, at least the sense of being authored, from somewhere even marginally together, integrated. And I have felt neither together nor integrated for a while ...

But, onward/upward/jedward! Today is the first day of the rest of my wife! (Did I say 'wife'?! Oops, Freud! Your field day beckons ...) One of my mentors once admonished me for not writing, by saying that it was selfish that I was denying the world of my work (ego-boost much?) and one of my recent blog-crushes urged me to relocate my aforementioned MIA mojo and return to the plog. So it is with utmost tentativity (not a word, I realise, but it should be) that I dip my unlikeley (see previous parentheses) pedicured toe back into the www-world. In the process of trying to locate my outer adult, I have been forced into uncomfortable small talk with my inner child. It's time to welcome her back into the fold.

As I welcome you, dear patient reader. This could just be a temporary relapse, all sound and fury signifying nothing. Then again, maybe it won't ...

Thank you for your indulgence.

xxx

Redundant

2009-10-16T12:58:00.003+01:00

"Think of the amount of print that would have been saved if I had removed the double slash. But there you go, it seemed like a good idea at the time"

Tim Berners-Lee, the creator of the world wide web, regretting the // at the start of every website address.

Nina. Milk. Honey.

2009-10-04T02:13:00.006+01:00

Mr P and I were in San Francisco earlier this year and visited an exhibition at the Contemporary Jewish Museum titled "And You Shall Know Us By The Trail Of Our Vinyl" based on this book. One of the highlights was discovering the myriad non-Jewish artists who have covered Jewish classics: The Temptations, Connie Francis, Arlo Guthrie, Johnny Cash and Pat Boone amongst them. But I really think Nina kills this. Enjoy!

Emmy And Me

2009-10-01T22:11:00.004+01:00

If you are an idiot box addict like myself, or just not immune from the barrage of light "infotainment" that has - without apparent opposition - replaced actual news of late, you may know that the Emmy Awards took place in Los Angeles last weekend.

Why is this award show different from all other award shows? Well, it is the only one that has personal resonance for me.

It is the only one I have ever attended.

See, I have always loved TV. I know that makes me way-less than cool. After all the idiot box is just that, requiring little imagination, agency, activism. It breeds that most dreaded of all root vegetables: the couch potato. But - thank you Dr. Freud! - I have just learnt that there is an actual psychological basis to my dependency. My mum told me only recently that from the age of three, I would wake up early in the mornings and instead of waking my parents, I'd switch on the tube, nestle in the couch and indulge. Games I played, stories I wrote as a child (and, yes, there is evidence): both integrated themes and characters from (in no particular order) Welcome Back Kotter, Gilligan's Island, The Love Boat, Diff'rent Strokes and Love Thy Neighbour, amongst others (don't worry,the last of the list left an impression about sex rather than race but that's another post altogether ...). I know every word to every theme song. I know the names of guest stars on particular episodes of shows which spun off from spin-offs. I am, in short, a receptacle of a lot of shit. But it is my shit: shit that makes me happy, shit that is far less problematic than a lot of my other shit.

Picture it: August 2003, Melbourne. A young girl, a tad depressed, had JUST discovered the internet (yes I was a latecomer, yes, it was deliberate at the time, no, I am not proud now). Up late one night, she googled "Emmy Nominees" to see who had been thusly honoured when an option popped up on the award show's website:

Would I like to be a seat-filler? (Definition #2 at the link)

Would I Fuck?! Me, with no plan to travel to the US (as every Australian knows, the land called Overseas is a massive undertaking, requiring months of forethought and planning, unlike the hop-skip-jump triathalon from the UK). I eagerly rang the number, began the registration process (loooooooove American customer service! It is I who is always right!) until I revealed I wasn't a US citizen.

"I'm sorry, ma'am."

"B-b-but" I spluttered, "I'm Australian. We're allies. We just followed you into a war!!!", which was only a teensy bit shameless seeing as I'd protested in tears against the fucking mess the day of the invasion.

"You can buy a ticket, ma'am".

What? The? ... Really?

So US$200 later I had a ticket to the ceremony. All I needed was a ticket to LA.

(CUE: lots of mishegas, but)

Reader, I Got There!

And clichedly, it was one of the

Bestest. Days. Of. My. Life.

Maybe if only just because it represented the realisation of the seemingly impossible. Like the first time I went to New York and my friend Nan wrote in an inscription in my notebook that she'd lose faith in humanity if I didn't meet Woody Allen. I have the photo and autograph and as far as I know she still has faith. I'll get back to you on that one.

Top Emmy Moments included: my subterfuge on the red carpet. They ferry in the plebs as quickly as possible, only I kept hiding amongst groups of press, wearing my disgustingly hot, heavy wrap to obscure the fact I had no press badge! I scribbled "notes" in a pad, basically a list of every person who passed by. The only ones who spring to mind now are the cast of CSI and Everybody Loves Raymond and Dakota Fanning. Odd dinner party potential. I only chatted to one celeb, though. He was LOVELY: David Hyde Pierce (Frasier's Niles). I was surprised he was gay. No-one else ever is.

Also, the Ego had landed and was gloriously fed! Some very glamorous girls overheard me talking, sussed the accent, and asked if I was wearing Colette Dinnigan! (I was not. Not even in the same stratosphere of price range.) Then I met the two girls seated next to me, who were both so unimpressed by the whole thing, having only found out that morning they'd be attending: they were the nannies of Lorne Michaels' kids (he's the creator/ producer of Saturday Night Live). They told me I looked liked Kristin Davis (Charlotte from Sex and the City)!!!!!!! I have never forgotten that. For the record: I don't. Not one iota. But since the last celeb I was compared to was Roseanne (ok, it was a little shit of a kid and I was in one of my heavier stages), I kind of really absolutely, thoroughly love that memory. Flattery will get you everywhere.

In short, superficiality aside (or is it maybe at the centre?), that Emmy week kicked off a new phase of Anythingissototallypossible that led to six months as a resident of West Hollywood which in turn brought me, here, to London. But that is so another story.

I now have to wait another entire year for that red carpet to unfurl.

Addiction. It's a bitch.

A Plea From Dr. Plog

2009-10-01T21:08:00.003+01:00

You may have noticed that I give bad header, pictorially/designwise.

Also: I can't insert text between photos and videos, nor control where on the post anything appears.

In short: I am a technological loser and this blog sux.

Can anyone help? Explanations need to be at kindergarten level.

"I Can See London From My House!"

2009-10-01T20:34:00.004+01:00

Reason #306,904,227 To Be Grateful.

But I do have to summons them sometimes. I am a creature who vacillates between the highest of highs and the depths of meh: things can weigh heavily, or merely appear to ...

Probably the latter informing the former.

A good read always helps. At the moment it takes the form of Amy Hempel's collected short stories. (If sentences turn you on - read her writing.) I was instantly drawn to its title - The Dog Of Marriage - and ultimately convinced by this cover review -

"If there's a funnier, smarter, or richer book published this year, I will eat my shoes".

Courtesy of my longterm read, The Guardian, noch! I love the visual. It almost inspires me to write and publish that book! Chew your platforms, beyotch!

Bedtime, she wrote.

Hugs to all.

**** Also Picture A may be blurrier but it's sunnier. If you're a local you'll get why that makes it a much better shot.

Florence Et Machine

2009-09-30T13:05:00.003+01:00

Last night, Shepherds Bush Empire.

Power, thy name is Florence.

Today

2009-09-24T09:19:00.007+01:00

Please note that the "Banksy" (Fig.1) that I gleefully spotted around the corner from my pad is actually a fakey copy cat (provenance of artist unknown although likely to be in the Ballarat region).

Also congratulations, Eddie (Fig.2)! What a momentous achievement, along side the honour of being Dr Plog's all-time best live stand-up comedy experience! Sir - I doff my (animal-themed) cap ...

Pause

2009-09-18T00:07:00.004+01:00

No, not the bar that sprung up in Carlisle Street circa la millenium: merely an acknowledgement that I am taking some time out

but I will be back shortly ...

Hope y'all are well. A big juicy slice o' apple and a sticky drizzle shel honig for those of you so inclined ...

Il Dottore

Pneumatic Number

2009-09-09T19:08:00.001+01:00

09-09-09

I would wear this as a hemline.

The World According To Mork

2009-09-08T10:35:00.003+01:00

"Sometimes you’ve got to specifically go out of your way to get into trouble. It’s called fun."

-Robin Williams

Happy Birthday, Judy Reynolds!

2009-09-06T13:10:00.005+01:00

I can't get you on the phone so here's a little song for my Judy, from your Barbra.

May all your days be happy. Shkoyakh! x

Dr Plog's One Hundredth Post

2009-09-06T11:15:00.007+01:00

To my eleven followers and countless readers ("countless" in the literal sense of the word as I appear to have no way of gauging, or am I merely as uninternetty as I've long suspected?) - I THANK YOU! I have reached my century and now I must retire this experiment, this ill-advised ... folly!

Just kidding, folks!

It's actually been great doing this, being here: far, far less scaryintimidating than I'd imagined. I am not a Child of the Web (oooh, free horror film title for any would-be Wes Cravens amongst you) and although I've been known to exhibit exhibitionistic tendencies (wee early century swing phase), this is on a much larger, unpoliced scale. Less sexy too. Unless ... hmmm ...

(DOCTOR PLOG then bursts into Halle x Gwyneth-sized tears and runs up to the podium, the delicate fringe of her emerald-green, slit to the j-lo buttcheek dress swishing glamorously around those red-soled shoes that all those lemming-stars ponificate about - you don't see Tilda Swinton and Fiona Shaw waxing lyrical, just sayin'... )

DOCTOR PLOG: (Melodramatically, between tears, yet actually genuine, heartfelt. I just have impulse control issues) I'd like to thank Meg, without whom I wouldn't be here - no, really! Girlfriend bullied me into it! I'd like to thank the blogs that have inspired me and the commenters who bring the funny and the insightful. And I'd like to thank the LA City Bus Company for taking a chance on an unknown kid ...

END SCENE

Blogging has helped my confidence, given me an outlet for all that goes in (not a euphemism) and shaped the way I literally "see" things (Lady Camera accompanies me on a lot more adventures these days). I am having more adventures these days: being braver about approaching new people and seeking out different things, ostensibly for "the blog" but really for me. And finally, FINALLY - after years and years of the most painful writers' blockage caused by Theo (Mr P's name for my thesis = the root cause of my ph.depression, my ph.dystopia, my ph.dysfunction, helped along by my "frenemy" Mary J) - I am remembering how the act of writing itself is so deeply gratifying even if the end result is messy, misspelt, misshapen: full of tangents, full of non-sequitirs, full o' shite. In other words: all one hundred posts, present crapola included, which makes me even more appreciative of your indulgences. Mille grazie!

x x x

Frances "Baby" Gumm

2009-09-06T11:09:00.002+01:00

Frances was only seven years old when she recorded this song in 1929.

You may know her by the stage name she later adopted: Judy Garland.

Love Letters Of 1939

2009-09-02T12:25:00.004+01:00

"One kiss would, I think, help to reassure me that there are some lovely things left in the world, that there is some good besides the monstrous evil into which we are plunging."

If you love history, or if you love the (lost? losing?) art of letter-writing or even if you just love love, you will adore this series of correspondence between Gwynne and Winnie Meara, an English couple like many separated at the outbreak of the Second World War. Just published in the Times by their son David, they "paint a vivid picture of the hope and despair of so many people at the time, as Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain made his fateful declaration on September 3, 1939."

(Image from here)

"Has The Metric System Given Your House Cancer?"

2009-09-01T14:38:00.003+01:00

Some bright spark has come up with the "Daily Mail-o-matic", a headline generator for the British newspaper that makes me proud to be Australian.

Click "refresh" for the following gems:

"IS NEW LABOUR STEALING FROM YOUR HOUSE?"
"HAS POLITICAL CORRECTNESS IMPREGNATED THE MIDDLE CLASS?"
"IS THE BBC GIVING THE COUNTRYSIDE CANCER?"
"WILL TEENAGE SEX MAKE PENSIONERS OBESE?"

I laugh, but through gritted teeth, with a sad, heavy heart. I get a chance to flick through The Daily Fail at Friday night dinners (that and The Jewish Chronicle: I love MamaInLawlessness Plog but we damn well don't share literary tastes) and those headlines could be - to paraphrase every lazy description of Law and Order - ripped from the headlines.

Shpil, Balalaika, Shpil!

2009-08-31T15:58:00.002+01:00

For Digger and Roni - freilich zol zayn.
xxx

Happy Carnival Day!

2009-08-31T15:00:00.006+01:00

A shout out to Mr P and our pals - Risa, Dustin, Madeline, Cyn and Dash amongst them - and all other souls brave enough to face the crowds to fight for our (collective, inalienable) right to part-ay ...

all the way from this northeasterly couch, lazily dotted by the speckled sunlight, with The Street's Dry Your Eyes Mate quietly, LDNly, emoting in the background,

happier, she wrote, than I've been in days.

Happy Carnival, y'all, no matter where you are and what floats your proverbial. Different strokes for drummond folks, vive la difference, yadda*

(*to the power of 3)

Last Night I Watched "27 Dresses" ...

2009-08-29T13:44:00.004+01:00

... (the last hour of it, anyway) and realised why suicide is triggering for me.

I'm not sure how, or indeed if , the two are related.

My Cousin

2009-08-26T14:15:00.005+01:00

I just got in to London this morning to find out that my cousin died last week. He was 32.

I haven't seen him for years - that branch of the tree became frail and withered. He was orphaned in a way, years ago: his mum died and his dad may as well have as far as he any use he has ever been to any of his four kids. How any woman can love a man who abandons/ wilfully fucks up his kids is beyond me. He will apparently not be at his son's funeral/memorial. I feel I now want to free him of the burden of schlepping out to my wedding later this year. But what would my dad want?

Yeah. The irony is my cousin's dad (let's call him "Shit Dad") is the brother of my late (as in dead, not tardy) father (aka as "Best Dad Who Ever Lived"TM). Or is that not irony? Bloody Alanis.

RIP B. I am so sorry that I didn't reach across broken adult messiness and try and maintain a relationship with you and my other cousins. I am sorry that that generation was so fucked and that you are yet another casualty of all that preceded you; the sins of the fathers and all that. My heart aches for old memories and what seemed like simpler times but probably weren't so idyllic for the adult characters in the piece. Whatever G-d you ended up following - your mother's Catholic or dad's Jewish - or indeed none at all, may She/He/It/Something bring you peace. And lots of love from your cousin who wishes she had have done ... something. It is making me a bit sick that I believe myself to be this "right on" community-minded person ("I give to charities and I am soooo great!") and yet I don't know most of my relatives because I've at worst bought into, at best not challenged narratives of inane, insane family feuds, fracas and fuck-ups.

xxx

23:50 Sleeper To Scotland

2009-08-19T08:00:00.008+01:00

Tonight we are taking a sleeper train (which I have of course already over-romanticised a la Murder on the Orient Express when it will doubtlessly be more On The Buses on rails)

... from London --
Sunny, 29 degrees

... to Edinburgh --
Windy, Rainy, 20 degrees, which, granted,doesn't sound so bad but definitely a trade down in this current ... uh ... climate (climatic, not economic)

But it will be so worth it!, even from this sun-starved Antipodean perspective: Mr P's cousin is getting married in a Scottish castle (how very Madonna!, given that neither he nor his partner hail from that particular neck o' woods) on the weekend, so we have cleverly shoehorned in what is sure to be a very hectic day/ night at the Edinburgh festival. I've been once before, in 2004, when I was but a tourist in this hemisphere. I took the bus from Golders Green station (big mistake! It was a Friday night and before we'd even begun our journey, a drunk Amereican girl threw up all over herself and her co-passenger behind me and then proceeded to apologise for it for the next twelve long, stench-filled hours!) to meet my friend Kobi, also visiting the British Isles from Melbourne. We crashed on her friend's friend's friend's (to the power of ten) couch and tried to make our pennies stretch from alcohol to food to entertainment. This time - as is much of life AMP (After Mr Plog: The Era) is much more adult and organised. He even - gasp! - prebooked shows! Don't you just stand in the Pleasance Courtyard and get swayed by the loudest spruiker?!

Will check in from the road, inner-net excess permitting ...

Anarchy In The UK

2009-08-18T14:06:00.018+01:00

On Sunday I went along to a radical ramble in SE1.

Five Things I Loved About It:
1. Feeling of doing something mildly subversive. I'm such a middle class pretender!
2. Hearing stories of the past that aren't the Grand Master Narrative kinda "Histories" taught at school (big wars, great men, small peenii).
3. Seeing bits of London I otherwise never see. It's a good day when I leave N19.
4. Recalling for the zillionth time the beats that this city PULSATES. I am an expat in lurrve!
5. I saw Mary Wollstonecraft's house!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Five Things I Loathed About It:
1. I go to these lefty things to feel kinship. I therefore don't fully get how these supposed right-on humanists can justify not mustering even the slightest bit of warmth towards, er, me. But you know what I mean: that holier-than-thou, judgey mcjudgerson type. I kind of think that most radicals regardless of whatever spectrum they sit at share a personality trait, ie, not having much of one. That's why that feminist=humourless trope fucks me off. Maybe Dworkin wasn't much of a smiler but put me in a room with Jo Brand, Germaine Greer, Janeane Garofolo, Gloria Steinem, Tina Fey, Dawn French, Letty Cottin Pogrebin and Margaret Cho and I betcha there'd be laughs a'plenty.
2.The commemorative stone for Percy Shelley. Now obscured by the directives of a Death to Aesthetics! estate. (See pics for travesty)
3.The unshakeable sense that I was a hypocritical middle class JAP because I'm neither a vegan nor a squatter.
4.The fact that these alternative stories which are rich and dynamic have, like their protagonists, been marginalised to the degree that they are rarely shared outside the few that actively seek them out.
5. The utter arrogance/ historical blindness of the guide who felt the need to highlight Wollstonecraft's "contradictions" in that she advocated for women's rights but not for those working women. Way to project your contemporary agenda onto a brave, progressive thinking historical heroine, dude! While you're at it, wanna slam for Martin Luther King jr for not protesting for gay rights or Gandhi for not having a Twitter account?

Hmmmmm. WWGT? (What Would Gandhi Tweet?)

I Swear It's Healthy!

2009-08-18T13:57:00.003+01:00

Fuck me! It turns out that expletives are good for you.

This is good news in my household. I live with a man who has the face of a boy bander and the vocabulary of a sailor (a heavy-drinking, heavy-cussing one, not the slightly camp, Donald O'Connoresque type he more closely resembles). I'm no scientist but I'm hoping that if I drop a few f-bombs before my next blow out, I may be able to save a few brain cells/ a liver or two.

Like I said, I'm no scientist.

Mama Plog's Special Delivery

2009-08-15T12:01:00.005+01:00

Surprise!!!

Hats for me and April and Taryn and Coren and baby Harry!

Thank You

2009-08-13T14:12:00.002+01:00

Creepy Jello

2009-08-13T11:16:00.004+01:00

One of my favourite writers at Jezebel, Sadie Stein, reposted this ad from Boing Boing. (I've been enchanted by her blog The Petite Sophisticate - it's worth reading in its entirety, she has such a good eye and good heart.)

The word "dark" doesn't do it justice. I've got chills who have got chills who are multiplying!

"The Big Chill" at The Big Chill

2009-08-12T12:33:00.013+01:00

Have you seen the '80s film "The Big Chill" (Kevin Kline, Phoebe Cates, Jeff Goldblum)? It centres on a group of friends going through all this heavy psychoshit over a weekend? Well Team Chill - members of the April and Oscar Send Off posse - had many, many memorable moments but instead of angst and drama, we had crazy giggles, messy debauchery and the bloodiest best. time. evah!!!! In fact, from now on, I shall refer to it as Bestival - 'cos it's the best (fest)ival I've ever been to!

The following videos are a bit dumb. Should I remove them? Vote "yes" or "no" in the comment section.

Mom, Meet Emoticon ...

2009-08-06T01:25:00.003+01:00

I think I'm going to call my mum.

From here.

Gather Your Tribe

2009-08-05T21:59:00.004+01:00

If there is one area in life that I feel blessed - blessed - better than blessed (sorry, still in stuttermode), as though by some miracle I've been magically placed in the uppermost echelons of beaming, inexplicably bountiful fortune - it is in the realm of friendship. At every stage of my life - from my first social memory (sandpit with Dewi, digging "down" to Cassie in Papua New Guinea) to the last text ("One of the loveliest texts I've ever received ... Love you so much"), no matter where I am, I always find the good 'uns. The realm of the kindred has been very kind to me.

I am, therefore, a most unlikely expatriate. My home, my heart = my Melbourne (co-opted by a bloody campaign, noch!) is where my friends are at. Alas, life led Londonwards and even though the quantity is paltry, comparatively, the stars have shone again, and deigned to befriend me.

So it is with a heavy heart that I have to fare well April and Oscar (and their beautiful wee PB) who collectively make up a massive chunk of my local mishpokha. Ironically the buggers are relocating to my hometown (or is it ironic? Alanis has made us all fearful now!) ... The silver lining is that we are having a send off at the Big Chill this weekend! So it's after midnight, bags are half-packed and fully-strewn and I need to know how Law and Order, Season 18: Episode 2, ends. (You'd think by now I'd have realised with a court-case. Duh!)

May you all chill, supersizedly

Dr P
x

Eat Your Heart Out, Ally McBeal ...

2009-08-02T08:39:00.006+01:00

Spotted on the Embankment, Monday July 27th 2009.

Happy Birthday Mr Plog

2009-07-27T10:47:00.001+01:00

If I ever give you the impression that Mr P is anything less than perfect, it's because well he is. Who isn't? But he is a mensch-and-a-half, and that, my friends (and internet strangers), is all that matters when it comes down to it. We bitch and moan, kvetch and stir, niggle and nudge (not you, Mz. K), but transcending everything is a set of shared values and beliefs, a consensus about the world, and an appreciation of each other that will set us in good stead for, at the very least, forever (one should hope given all the zillions people are shelling out for the Wedding Of the Year TM at the end of the year TM.)

Happy Birthday, my love. I am sorry if my rejection of the cultural script makes me seem like an ungrateful bitch at times. I am sorry that I am a bitch at times. But I love you and I'm so glad neither of us are passive aggressive birthday monsters! (Click the link for a WTF?!)

Dr P xxx

Sit, Ubu, Sit!

2009-07-23T14:56:00.006+01:00

I so want this as my "walking down the aisle" song (if we have half as strong a relationship as Elyse and Steven we will be blessed) but Mr P has put a blanket veto on all TV theme tunes, which sadly includes Angry Anderson's Suddenly because of its association with you-know-what.*

*Charlene EDNA? Who knew?

Celebrity Swine

2009-07-23T11:57:00.003+01:00

Only in the UK where "celebrity" is a broad, inclusive umbrella term encompassing people famous for all manner of things including (but not limited to) wanking livestock; sleeping with a footballer once (and having him throw up on? in? you); self-penetrating with a wine bottle; having a lot of boob jobs and "dogging".

(The "K" in UK stands for "Keeping it Klassy" ...)

Doctor Plog Is Fast Losing Faith In Humanity

2009-07-23T09:39:00.004+01:00

(How's *that* for a Status Report?)

1. Click here to see why.

2. Post comment to EXPLAIN why, if you could venture to guess. I mean, really?! Give me an oy! OY! Give me a vey! VEY! ...

Banksy Vs The Bristol Museum, Part Deux

2009-07-21T12:34:00.018+01:00

Some more of the work that you wanted ... Apologies again for the poor quality of the photographs ( = no flash allowed + nisht my forte)

Love, your reader-responsive Dr P xxx

ps. I wish I could caption them but my blogger does not seem to allow me to vary the text/ image combo. The fact that it allows me to type at all is a modern miracle: most technology is stubbornly plogphobic ... :(

pps. Whenever I express 'emoticon' I feel about twelve. Do you know what I mean?

ppps. Whenever I multiple p-s, I feel about eight. And then the sudden desire to use acronyms like TFNE or whatever we used to use way back when overcomes me ... or was it TTFNY? Does anyone know what I'm talking about?

I Don't Like Cricket, Oh No ...

2009-07-20T17:04:00.004+01:00

Mr Plog's Facebook Status Report (as of an hour ago):

"Mr P ... is very happy to be leaving Lords early. First defeat of the Aussies there in over 70 years. Come on!"

I commented "Seventy years? Bless!"

It was meant to sound patronising but my buddy from home, J, quickly wrote:
"Don't buy into this, Doc!"

So not!, J, my brother from another mother, no need to worry. But I am schlepping naches from the fact that Mr P is facebook friends with friends of mine from home. How effing sad is that, People? I am thirty-five-long-drawn-out-mostly-mentalist-years-old and I sound like a tweenager. Still, friends have always excited me more than sports. Like Mr P says, I'm not a real Australian. I don't like sport, I don't like beer. That's about all our national identity is based on, right?

You'd think it if you lived over here. Representations of Australianness in Britain are unbelievably outmoded, simplistic, and monolithic. I've been making notes in the five years I've lived here and thinking about a larger project, tentatively titled From Cocking Fosters to Sheila's Wheels. It's mad that in a supposedly postmodern, postracial, postfeminist (???) world we continue to obscure the fact that beyond every bullshit construct, we are all human. Surely that fact is more relevant than the place we were born or the accents we affect?

Strewth!

[M]advertising

2009-07-20T08:25:00.004+01:00

I love David Mitchell (his columns in The Observer are laugh-out-loud funny) and Robert Webb, but I love even more when men get on board with recognising inequality as the mishegas it is. The fact is that feminism liberates us all. It is so perverse that we have come to be represented as "man haters" when it is so bleeding obvious that men who are with women who subscribe fully to outmoded restrictive gender roles (which invariably inhibit the development of a fully-realised self) are actually the ones living less than love-filled lives.

And I know we're better in bed. Please. I found my clitoris way before it was fashionable ...

Fuel

2009-07-18T14:16:00.002+01:00

They were digging a new foundation in Manhattan
And they discovered a slave cemetery there
May their souls rest easy now that lynching is frowned upon
And we've moved on to the electric chair
And I wonder who's gonna be president
Tweedle Dumb or Tweedle Dumber?
And who's gonna have the big
Blockbuster box office
This summer
How 'bout we put up a wall
Between the houses and the highway
And then you can go your way
And I can go my way
Except all the radios agree with all the TVs
And all the magazines agree with all the radios
And I keep hearing that same damn song
Everywhere I go
Maybe I should put a bucket over my head
And a marshmallow in each ear
And stumble around for another dumb numb week
For another hum drum hit song to appear
People used to make records
As in a record of an event
The event of people
Playing music in a room
Now everything is cross-marketing
It's about sunglasses and shoes
Or guns or drugs
You choose
We got it rehashed
We got it half-assed
We're digging up all the graves
And we're spitting on the past
And we can choose between the colors
Of the lipstick on the whores
Cuz we know the difference
Between the font of twenty percent more
And the font of teriyaki
You tell me
How does that make you feel?
You tell me what's real
They say that alcoholics are always alcoholics
Even when they're dry as my lips for years
Even when they're stranded on a small desert island
With no place in two thousand miles to buy beer
And I wonder is he different
Is he different
Has he changed
What he's about
Or is he just a liar
With nothing to lie about
Am I headed for the same brick wall
Is there anything I can do
About anything at all
Except go back to that corner in Manhattan
And dig deeper
Dig deeper this time
Down beneath the impossible pain of our history
Beneath unknown bones
Beneath the bedrock of the mystery
Beneath the sewage system and the path train
Beneath the cobblestones and the water main
Beneath the traffic of friendships and street deals
Beneath the screeching of kamikaze cab wheels
Beneath everything I can think of to think about
Beneath it all
Beneath all get out
Beneath the good and the kind and the stupid and the cruel
Ther'es a fire that's just waiting for fuel

-- ANI DIFRANCO

What Does A Hippie Horse Eat?

2009-07-15T10:13:00.001+01:00

Hay, man ....

Happy Birthday Dad

2009-07-13T16:37:00.006+01:00

You would have been 63 today.
Correction: You should have been 63 today.

I love you so much.

The hole in my heart is fixed, unyielding.

This will never be ok.

xxx

Happy Birthday To Me

2009-07-09T08:58:00.003+01:00

Happy Birthday Mr Plog

2009-07-08T22:19:00.006+01:00

If I ever give you the impression that Mr P is anything less than perfect, it's because well he is. Who isn't? But he is a mensch-and-a-half, and that, my friends (and internet strangers), is all that matters that comes down to it. We bitch and moan, kvetch and stir, niggle and nudge (not you, Mz. K), but transcending everything is a set of shared values and beliefs, a consensus about the world and an appreciation of each other that will set us in good stead for, at the very least, forever (one should hope given all the zillions people are shelling out for the Wedding Of the Year TM at the end of the year TM.)

Happy Birthday, my love. I am sorry if my rejection of the cultural script makes me seem like an ungrateful bitch at times. I am sorry that I am a bitch sometimes. But I love you and I'm so glad neither of us are passive aggressive birthday monsters! (Click the link for a WTF?!)

Dr P xxx

Revisionist Hair Stories

2009-07-07T13:18:00.003+01:00

Sarah Haskins = Smart

Hair Commercials = Dumb

............................

Would Sarah Haskins front a show like Jon Stewart's if she had a peenie?

Discuss.

Dr Plog Goes To Wimbledon

2009-07-05T14:52:00.008+01:00

... which is actually antithetical to all that I stand for and makes mockery of my hippy-dippy love all (ahem!) bullshit: I am actually a bigoted anti-sportite. Hate it both as participant and spectator. But I do like any excuse to drink all day so I did the District Linedance - and actually ended up enjoying the games/sets/matches! Saw the Williams sisters but couldn't make out the balls after they thwacked them as they were rendered into that total cartoon imagining of something literally zooming by. Saw Martina The Great (Love her! She was in fact the first person I ever knew was a lesbian when I learnt the term so I've always had a positive association with the word.) And as an Oystrayliyan it was fair dinkum bonza, mate, to see the bloke Mr Spooner would have known as Cat Pash! And whodathunk there was still a market for his sweaty headbands?

So the moral of the story is? Don't judge a sport by how mindnumbingly boring it is on television ...

Farewell To A Father

2009-07-03T10:03:00.021+01:00

Thinking today of my friend, A, whose father just passed away after a long illness. I never met him but he was by all accounts a wonderful character, a wise, twinkling, gregarious, Greek (there is a scene in her wedding video that contains the most vibrant, riotous version of the "Zorba the Greek" dance with him at the centre!), kind, warm mensch of a man.

His funeral tomorrow morning will be the first I am attending since my own dad's in October 2006, so I am having the requisite bad dreams and sudden, sinking, sickly day sweats. I am remembering the feelings that A must be feeling: that unreality, heavy waking nightmarishness of going through the motions, accepting condolences, smiling wanly at the platitudes ("No, it's not a relief!"; "No, he's not better off now he's not in pain, he would be a lot fucking happier being alive and in pain with ME!!!"*), the realisation that nothing will ever be the same again, never would I feel as complete again, never would I be loved so thoroughly, so unconditionally ever again. That even happy times, from this day until the day I die, would be tempered with sadness, fracturedness. Maybe that's part of why I rail against the Wedding Industrial Complex to the rabid degree I do - as much as I love Mr. Plog - and by Jove, I do! - it won't be the goddamned Happiest Day Of My LifeTM (C) The Walt Disney Corporation 1956 because my. dad. is. dead.

Apologies to A. This was meant to be a missive of healing, of solidarity. Look, it does get better - it has to. The vomit-inducing cliches are the truest: Time Heals, Life Goes On. Those initial days, months - that unreality, those Moments of Magical Thinking** (mine involved me getting upset each week that passed after he died, because the longer time went on, the less likely it was that I'd get a call saying it was all a mistake - even though I had literally watched him die) - seem like semi-distant memories mostly. But today, this minute, I am reliving them, and the rawness feels stinging, searing.

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

*Which in hindsight and with reflection is sadly probably not true (I mean he joked constantly about wanting to make an appointment with his "good friend, Dr Kevorkian" -- but hey, I guess it proves we all see what we want to see, especially when it comes to our parents ...)

**Please read Joan Didion's The Year Of Magical Thinking if you haven't, especially if you are grieving. I bought it at Hong Kong airport on my way back to London after my dad's funeral and was so captivated that I read the whole thing before landing despite the cocktail of Mogadon, Xanax and Nytol I'd taken to cope with the solo 22 hour journey in that frame of mind.

***Please note that the image of woodworking tools is a tribute to one of my dad's greatest passions, not a lazy shorthand equating masculinity with hardware. As if I wood do that!

Mrs Slocombe And The Power Of Pussy

2009-07-02T08:12:00.005+01:00

Last week on Facefuck ... sorry... book, my friend E's status report had her between a rock and a rock. A mutual friend S offered her a hard place, saying he had a few to spare. I commented (as one does in these forums) that his response was "a bit Mrs Slocombe's pussy". S replied that some days everything feels like Mrs Slocombe's pussy.

I share this anecdote to illustrate the power of the collective reference point and a testimony to the talent of Mollie Sugden, who just passed away, yet whose characterisation was so potent as to remain a euphemism for innuendo decades after Are You Being Served? ended. Also as a little shout out to S, big brother of my good friend L, who shares a very similar pop-culture sensibility with me. I love how connections are made across people and communities for myriad reasons. One that tends to draw me to people is "the funny". So to S and all of you out there - in memory of the Marvellous Mollie - keep bringing it. And do put something funny in today's comment section if you feel so inclined, oh wondrous lurky stars.

xxx