First World Problems.... or why I'm kind of an Ass

Today 8:50AM As I meandered in a post grocery shopping haze from my local Woolworths shopping centre, I suddenly heard the tell tale chinks of coins falling out of my purse all over the shiny floor. This happens frequently thanks to my ever growing nervousness when attempting to make pleasant chit chat with check out operators. The nerves make me forget to close the zip of my purse and as I move awkwardly out of the queue and attempt to throw my purse into the tissue and receipt graveyard that is my handbag, the coins come crashing down. 

I scanned the floor, I'd say there was about $2.60...definitely some gold spinning. I had a brief flashback to the glory days when Bernie didn't own a purse and just kept her money in the pockets of her cargo pants. As I am no longer a cargo wearing alterna-teen and due to my ongoing plus size pants wearer status (in which the fashion industry takes away our right to have pockets as punishment), I am stuck with my crummy purse and its many zips. As I watched the coins spinning, sprawled out over a fair distance of flooring, I casually walked away with nothing but a forlorn glance off to the side of my shoulder, so long coins, it's not you it's me. As I walked to the car I thought, did I just walk away from $2.60? What must have the people behind me have thought? is this arsehole the Rockefeller of South Fremantle Shopping Plaza? Not to mention they were a slipping hazard, some poor early morning shopper will slip on my failure. 

I remember the days when I literally crawled on my hands and knees through  every room of my Nonna's house trying to find the one dollar coin I'd lost, just so I could use the sweet reward of a small chips from red rooster to make it through another Saturday night church service. That was back when a small chips cost $1.00, so about 100 years ago. I remember the desperation of the hunt and cursing my Nonna's Italian style deep red carpet with gold swirly designs which made it necessary to really stare and feel as I crawled, this was no leisurely carpet play.  Times have changed but I continue to be kind of an Ass, 


  

James Gandolfini.

I don't usually get text messages from Bernadette after she's already left for work. On the odd occasion I do it'll be a message about taking something out for dinner or something about the washing. On January 22nd 2008 I got a text at about seven am from my wife that simply said, Heath Ledger has died. 

I didn't believe her at all, but sure enough the news was right. Heath Ledger had died. I also didn't believe her this morning when I received a text that James Gandolfini had died. It wasn't possible. He was just in Zero Dark Thirty and Killing Me Softly. He was just about to start another HBO series. It just wasn't possible.

But sure enough, this wasn't a Jeff Goldblum falling off a cliff in New Zealand. This genuinely has happened. The great James Gandolfini has died. 

I know he will be remembered as Tony Soprano more than any other character that he has ever played, but for me the role I will remember James Gandolfini for will be as Michael in the perfect God of Carnage. 

In 2011 Bernadette and I headed to America for the first time and along our journey we went and saw God of Carnage at the Ahmanson Theatre in LA*. The cast consisted of Marcia Gay Harden, Jeff Daniels, Hope Davis, and of course, James Gandolfini. We sat a few rows from the front, close enough to feel the spit come from Gandolfini in a later scene. 

The perfect comedy was impeccably performed with timing that comes from seasoned professionals. Besides Jeff Daniels, I wouldn't have picked any of the other three actors to be great comedians, but that's exactly what they were that night. For me though, seeing one of my favourite actors in the flesh, doing his best work, was thrilling. 

At the end of the play, Gandolfini bowed alongside his cast members, and it felt like being in the presence of an acting giant - both physically and emotionally. He had displayed such a great range as Michael that it was hard to not be moved - the quiet lows to the roaring highs. 

Sure, James Gandolfini portrayed the same level of rage to quiet as Tony Soprano, but there was something that was shared with the audience that night - and I'm sure on other nights as well - that showed that Gandolfini was more than just a great actor, he was a real person as well. I know that sounds stupid and quite pathetic, but it's very easy to forget that these actors that entertain us are actually people, that Maggie Smith is an actual person, that Ian McKellen is an actual person, that James Gandolfini was an actual person. 

I'm saddened that I won't be able to look forward to more great performances by James Gandolfini. His perfect performances - amongst others - ranging from the subtle but effective voice work as Carol in Where the Wild Things Are, to the gay killer Leroy in The Mexican, will always exist, but the fact that there won't be any more is an awful thing to consider. 

James Gandolfini will be sorely missed. 

1961-2013.

*Two LA Times articles about God of Carnage in LA. Here and here. 

Straight From the Spam.

Here's another round of Straight From the Spam, the exceptionally infrequent series where I delve into my Gmail spam folder and find out what the World of Spam™ has to offer me. 

First up is abubakar.hasina707 from Egypt who is an old dear friend of mine that I've never met or heard of and he is currently requesting some money to assist with the current turmoil in Egypt. He must really need money since he has now emailed twice. He says I will profit by about 13% from this by giving him 250,000 USD. I'm not sure how I can profit from this, but I don't like the idea of profiting from war, so sorry Mr Hasina, but straight to the delete file for you. 

Enlarge with Free trials is telling me that Jamie Lynn is a bigger slut than Britney. I don't know why Enlarge is telling me this, but none the less, that's useful information if you happen to meet Jamie Lynn I guess. 

Mr Jan Eliasson is requesting I get in touch with Mr Mathew Thompson so I can organise the delivery of my Mastercard ATM. I had no idea that Mastercard had ATM's, but I wouldn't mind an ATM. I may respond to Jan and see what deals they can do for a Dawson's Garden Centre token card holder.

Enlargement pills Promo is also letting me know about Oprah's top ten things to wear. I think they've gotten their market wrong because Oprah is not going to help anybody get enlarged at all. Maybe that's why you need the Enlargment pills? I'm not sure. I don't care what Oprah suggests I wear. She needs to focus on her TV station more. Or becoming Australia's Prime Minister. Or something. I don't care. I wonder if her vijayjay is still painin? 

Vincent has sent me an email that is a cry for help. This one is actually quite sad. Vincent is going to commit suicide soon even though he is a great believer in Christ, he can't deal with life anymore and wants to end it all. As a way to buy back Christ's love after he has committed suicide, he wants to give everyone in the world his money. Lucky for me he has sent and aside 40% of his total wealth. First of all though, I have to send Vincent $5000 to confirm that my bank account works. I remember the good old days when you could just send eBay $1 and they'd verify your account and then refund that $1. Man inflation sucks. 

Finally, there is an email from Fandango. They say, Take Your Man of Steel to the Movie's this week. I think this one slipped my regular mail, but regardless, I wonder how many single women in America accidentally turned up at the movies that week with their 'man of steel'. 

Til next time, Spambox Emptied!

Ten Songs You Should Listen to on the Toilet.

Bernadette has requested I do a post about the top 50 songs to listen to on the toilet. Well, I can't do 50 songs because I just don't have it in me. But, I do have a top 10 songs to listen to on the toilet. They're not in any real order though.

First up is Scatman John's undying classic - Scatman. Whether you're in for a long haul or a quick nip, Scatman is a song which will carry you through to the end and make your toilet time a heck of a lot more enjoyable. 

Meat Loaf is a singer which can't be reckoned with. He's unstoppable. He's such a great powerful force that will do anything for love. But he won't do scat. That is left for the toilet.

I love this song a lot. It's a long sea shanty which is heart breaking and has a great ending to it. It's the perfect analogy for when you have a difficult time on the toilet and need some encouragement. It starts slowly, there's talk of murder and death and debts being paid, then it gets worse and it feels like it's going to be going on forever as Colin Meloy sings about waiting for years. Then finally, after hunting down that difficult little turd of a man, you find him in the stomach of a whale. Revenge is enacted. Flush. 

Like hiccuping, sometimes to get that difficult little turtle head out, you need someone to give you a good fright. If you feel you're in for a tough time, don't reach for the Metamucil, just slip this on and you'll be scared shitless for sure. 

There's nothing better than a little bit of Bluesy Voodoo music to get your guts moving. Abbe May sings a great little chant that'll assist you with your motions. 

Just as it always should be. Unless you're in a dodgy Hawker Hut in Northbridge and Glenn Jackovich comes and stands next to you to pee. 

Another urination ballad. This one is one of the most perfectly titled songs ever titled (written?). Anybody who knows me knows that one of my greatest fears is a caterpillar. Laugh all you like, I will in turn go and piss on a butterfly. 

Honestly, it wouldn't be a music countdown if it didn't have a Gomez song in it. Shitbag 9 is the version I'd recommend if you're in for a quick drop.

I have never tried Funky Cold Medina. I'm not sure it's a drink that will go down well. I'm pretty sure it'd rip your guts up something terrible. This ones for those unstoppable moments. 

Finally, it wouldn't be a list about Songs to Listen to on the Toilet without mentioning Blur's classic Song 2. 

Postcards from the Edge #2

Hello again 

Today is Sunday and like many Sundays of late I've spent it tapping away on my old faithful laptop, working on some god awful work project. You see I am one of those poor unfortunate and rare souls who work for the government and actually give a damn. So while a large percentage of my "job for life" government cronies whistle their time away at endless meetings and some time wasting vortex known as a "steering committee", poor old Bernie gets left doing not only her own job but all the crap everyone else is to busy for. Case in point, today, when I should be preparing myself for the onslaught of accreditation, I am finishing my department's newsletter...a thankless task with a government branded template that takes all its issues out on me, the humble newsletter boob. This task will then be followed by drafting a govt policy for corporate governance . No it's not a policy on implementing best practice in mental health nursing or even a framework for consumer and carer participation (both of which we desperately need to improve upon), No it's a policy on how to properly display documents in public areas of a hospital or community clinic and what we should and shouldn't be displaying. Life changing isn't it? Apparently it is a top priority.  

The only thing keeping me going is knowing that I have a bottle of Pimms and all the new episodes of Arrested Development waiting for me when I cross the finish line. Having said that it may be worth noting that I went to the giant liquor store to purchase my Pimms and then to the woolworths to buy fruit, not for my consumption, but to include in my giant glass of Pimms, without showering and wearing whatever I found at the side of my bed. I can safely say that I looked like this :

Just replace the cats under the arms with Pimms and fruit.