Getcha 'ead round this...

GEE gosh, golly and durn it, it's been a wee while since my last bout of verbal diarrhoea, hasn't it?
This is in part because of the nice little white thing connected to my head through some nice little white headphones. I bought myself an iPod the other week and it's proved quite an addictive little piece of equipment, not least because it takes a rather long time to drop somewhere in the vicinity of 200 cd's onto it.
At the moment's there's something like 1357 songs on there, of which more than a few are doubles (live and studio versions), and some are "Good Morning Vietnam" excerpts ("It's 0-600 hours, what's the 0 stand for? Oh my God it's early").
Add this rather worthwhile distraction to the changes we've just made at the paper, which now require me to work at work, and it's all been busier than a one-warmed man with crabs down here in sunny Cooma.
Not nearly as busy as down in Taswega though, what with Crown Princess Mary of Denmark and her husband (some Danish fellow) visiting her home state for the first time since their fairytale wedding etc etc.
I'm rather fatigued about the whole damn thing though - Miranda Devine of the Sydney Morning Herald put it best when she said that many men felt she was "just a pretty Tassie chick who struck it lucky at the pub".
And that's pretty much what she is.
Yes, I know she's amazingly pretty and her husband's a bit of a spunk (between them they've pretty much got the looks down pat), and I know she's learnt the horribly difficult Danish language, but really.
I've had to learn the horribly difficult beaureaucratic language that council staff like to use when they're talking to you, as well as putting up with the delays they have in getting reports to you, but last I checked No Idea and Women's Folly weren't trying to stalk my every move with photographers desperate to catch me with an attractive member of the opposite sex hanging off my arm.
What has been more of interest to me was the revelation of former Australian Test cricketer Michael Slater's bipolar II diagnosis.
Being an unabashed Matthew Hayden fan (being from Queensland and all), I'll admit I always thought Slater was taking Hayden's place in the team.
Having now grown up (to five feet) and having the chance to look at footage of Slater, it's hard not to like the guy.
He lived life, and played cricket, at full blast. Both times he was dropped it seemed to be for a reason unrelated to his on-field efforts, and as we know now, there was quite a bit happening off the field.
Perhaps the lesson we can take from that is bottling up inner demons isn't the manly or Australian way to do things - it's a surefire way to oblivion.
Just because someone's talented doesn't mean they haven't got problems elsewhere. Nobody's perfect.

Oh no, not them again...

WELL folks, another year, another "night of nights", where the stars all decide to rock up somewhere in absolutely horrendous outfights that no one really has the guts to say are terrible.
It’s a night where celebrities get to get up on stage, make some banal comments thanking everyone they’ve ever come in contact with, and go off and get intoxicated on their drug of choice.
It’s a night that feeds the gossip mags for the next six months, where they can sit there and analyse stars who are overweight, underweight, drugged out or breaking up with their partners after being spotted with Angelina Jolie at an after party.
I’m talking about the Oscars of course, although it could just as well be the Brownlow Medal, the Logies, the Allan Border Medal etc etc.
Apart from the obvious attractions of people far more wise (apparently?) than me deciding which movies should get awards, there’s very little interest.
Ok, that’s a lie - I like checking out what the young females are wearing as much as the next chick, although it is for slightly different reasons.
But the rest of it? Utterly, utterly boring.
Speaking of celebrities, there’s a few hum dingers coming down to Australia.
Prince Frederick and Princess Mary are already back in Mary’s home country, leading to more people gushing about how lucky we are to have our very own royal, and isn’t it just wonderful?
Sweden’s Princess Victoria - who despite being from the land of the blondes isn’t really someone you’d jump over rivers for - and our own Prince Charles, future head of this great land, will be coming as well.
Given that none of them will be coming down to Cooma for a feed at the local, I’m not really all that interested.
Yet, time and again, because these people are famous we’re supposed to sit there and gush all over them.
Here’s a tip that should get the punters interested: why not get Roy and HG to commentate from the Oscars?
It’d be great - Aussie wit meets Hollywood looks and egos.
Now THAT would be interesting.