Reflections: Male birth control

Not too long ago I read an interesting blog post about male birth control, saying that since they were financially responsible for any issue of theirs, they needed their own methods of birth control so that if the woman had an 'oops', either deliberately or accidentally, they were still covered. The tone of the post makes it read like it is written by a bitter man who got stung, but if the writer is not a dog, then in fact she is a she, and a stepparent to two children.

Her post really made me think. I don't think it is just that women get all the choices about the outcome of an accidental pregnancy, but (before I get jumped on) I do think it is fair, because the woman's body and the woman's life are much more affected by their choices than men's are. There can be no just solution to this while women do the childbearing, or while men can force women to have sex with them, both of which will be the case for the forseeable future. Having said that, it is entirely appropriate that men bear half the financial responsibility for a pregnancy, because by choosing to have sex, you accept the risk that pregnancy may result, whether you are male or female (and hell, if you really object, just be a deadbeat dad--it's very popular, though to be fair some weird shit happens with child support in the US).

to be continued in the next post

Rant: Just because they are quirky doesn't make them good

You know, I am really sick of all the poxy little gits who launch themselves on the internet, sing in funny accents, and then are lapped up by the public because they are 'quirky'.

Sandi Thom (debatably) launched herself on the internet, and went international with an interesting, fresh song that got a lot of airplay, and which I like very much. However, her next song was pretty boring, and she hasn't crossed my event horizon since. Having said that, I am glad she made it, because that one song was worth it; so the criticisms made here are not levelled at her.

Sandi Thom isn't really crap, though. Really crap are the Arctic Monkeys, who (so far as I can tell) are only famous for launching themselves on the internet. Their music is samey, and was never that interesting in the first place.

Even more crap are The Kooks, who, while they didn't launch themselves on the internet seem to have won international fame for singing boring songs in a cockney accent. As far as I am concerned singing in an accent hasn't made anyone cool since the Proclaimers, and they only pulled it off because they could actually perform a couple of decent songs reasonably well.

My pet peeve, among this group of accent-laden internet superstars, though, is Lily Allen. She can't sing, people! Her voice is even worse than Bob Dylan, Billy Corgan, and nails down a chalkboard put together. Her songs are repetitive and boring, and to me her accent sounds decidedly fake. And yet somehow she made it into the Triple J top 100 five friggin' times, despite being the worst kind of trashy pop.

These people might be marginally quirky if they weren't all the same, but they aren't interesting enough to be worthwhile.

Reflections: You see all kinds on the transport

Where I live and work in Melbourne, I am fortunate to have excellent access to public transport. Not only is it close, and relatively convenient, but it is also cheap in comparison to owning a car in Australia.

Having said that, I have continued my weirdo magnet tendencies here in Australia, except instead of attracting the oddest of students (I am going to touch on that) in a later post, I attract the oddest of transport users. Some have been relatively harmless, like the guy who cleaned his toes with rubbing alcohol (they stunk to high heaven, you will note I said relatively harmless) and the girl who smiled at me and then insisted on doing things with her hair with stuff from an enormous bag for the rest of the trip -- all over me. There was one guy who may have been harmful had I stuck around to find out; he was chewing his tongue and staring at me, and he broke the cardinal rule of transport as we were getting off at the same stop (not coincidentally, I don't think) -- unless forced by space, thou shalt not touch thy fellow travellers. I hightailed it out of there, and washed my hands vigorously before touching anything.

Then there are the amusing types, like the cheerful drunk who ran a poll on what 'direct' meant in relation to train lines and couldn't believe I hand found the big word in his word puzzle within seconds of looking at it (I am well trained, I have been doing those things since I was a kid, and the word was 'occurrence').

The most interesting case, though, must have had his poles slightly mixed, because he missed me and accosted my friend. He said he had "Just had a revelation, and it felt amazing, and could he tell [my friend] about it" (I have to confess that I was tempted to tell the guy to sleep it off and he would feel better in the morning, but I didn't have the heart to break him). Despite my friend suggesting politely that he find someone else to tell, this gentleman told my friend that:

"He had finally fucking found Jesus as his fucking lord and saviour, and that he now knew he needed to be a fucking good bloke, and not be a prick to everyone or treat them like shit, and not be a mean c**t [yes, there are words even I won't use], and just fucking love his fellow man".

Yup. That was an interesting night. Fortunately this one happened as we got off the train, and the guy turned the other way to what we did, or I might have burst from trying not to laugh.

So, sometimes you get freaks, sometimes you get rude people, and sometimes you get the religious. While I am glad to have the use of a friend's car for the next few weeks (though it will only be used when the transport it not super convenient), riding the transport is always more interesting than sitting in a traffic jam!

Rant/Rave: Michael Vick is an asshole, but he is (almost) getting what he deserves (part 2)

Now, admittedly Vick hasn't been proven guilty of the charges, and that is probably why he has not been dropped from the NFL altogether, but my understanding of the case is that it is fairly clear cut; it is not that he might have been involved, it is that he was involved. All arguments about slipperly slopes and innocent until proven guilty aside, this guy deserves the treatment he is getting.

I am sure his Nike sponsorship deal says something about being a role model and not bringing the brand into disrepute, and Nike have printed t-shirts with Vick's face and the word 'Hero' on them (prior to this incident) implying they expect Vick to be a hero. Nike themselves have said they do not condone animal cruelty (whether that is actually true is a whole other issue), meaning they do not consider dogfighting heroic, or a good role model. By involving himself in dogfighting, I would contend that Vick must have known he was taking risks with his career by engaging in this behaviour, and he did it anyway.

Now, I hope that Vick is going to be locked up for a long damn time for what he has done (and I hope that other asshole doesn't get to plea his way out of jail time), but I also think that what is happening to Vick now is something important. It seems to me anyone who would do something like this to an animal must have some status issues, and by stripping Vick of status, the punishment is fitting the crime.

As to the nutters who want to make this a race issue, or to dither about whether dogfighting is worse than rape (frankly, given that animal abusers are often people abusers, we shouldn't be splitting hairs, and I personally believe that animal cruelty is just as bad as rape), they need to stop framing this in terms of their favourite political issues, and think about what happened here: This guy did awful things to any number of animals, for which he should rot in jail at a minimum, and hell at best.

Rant/Rave: Michael Vick is an asshole, but he is (almost) getting what he deserves

Since this blogathon is for the SPCA, I thought I should comment on the Michael Vick case. Michael Vick is involved in dogfighting, which is a horribly cruel 'sport', and apparently he was a particularly cruel specimen. Michael Vick also used to be a footballer with an NFL contract, and Nike and Reebok sponsorship. All three have dropped or sidelined him as a result of his accusations, and public pressure (I was part of a letter writing campaign to get him dropped from both Nike and the NFL).

crap, link surfing takes a while...this will continue in the next post.

Rant: Hone Harawira is a racist bastard (part 3)

In the end, though, the thing that is really wrong with this is that Harawira has not suggested an alternative. The children that are being abused are not being removed from their homes, as they would in other Australian families, because of the 'stolen generation' policy. The situation for aboriginal women and children is bad, and getting worse. While Howard's plan has some major flaws (in my ill-educated view abolishing the permit system and making this a land issue is one of them), it is also clearly and firmly saying that the abuse has got to stop. It is putting sensible steps in place to make sure aboriginal children are at a minimum fed, clothed, and not exposed to alcohol and pornography (personally, I think that a portion of the money that all welfare recipients receive should have to be spent on food, clothing and/or healthcare, so just call me a bitch), and it is doing it in a way that does not involve creating another stolen generation.

My embarrassment and irritation does not end with Harawira, however, in the end he is a publicity-grabbing fool and nothing more. The New Zealand press, however, had some coverage that was as cheap as an underarm bowl, for example pairing these two images (NZ Herald):
Nice to see they could find good press shots of each of them. And then there was this crap, which by dragging everything else into the picture, and glossing over the fact that Harawira is an MP completely misses the point: It is not okay make personal attacks in politics, and something has to give for aboriginal women and children (To be fair, there was also some very good opinion coverage; see for example: here, here, and here).

In the end, though, let's face it: Hone Harawira was elected in an electorate whose only constituents are those of a certain race. Now just who is a racist?

Rant: Hone Harawira is a racist bastard (part 2)

Not only was Harawira's attack ad hominem, it was also factually wrong (contrary to Harawira's claim it hat not been ten years since the report was released, the inquiry was only started last year).

Howard gave Harawira's comments all the attention they deserved (precisely none) at least in the press, and members of Harawira's party (and indeed his family) called for him to resign. Not only has Harawira not resigned, he has refused to apologise to anyone but his political party for his comments.

sorry this one is short, was doing some fact checking and couldn't write much; continues in next post

Rant: Hone Harawira is a racist bastard (part.1)

Recently, the prime minister of Australia announced some pretty drastic measures to try and reduce violence against women and children in aboriginal communities in Australia. I have opinions about these measures, not all of them favourable (but not all unfavourable either), but this post isn't about my opinion, it's about the opinion of an MP in NZ.

Hone Harawira came out and called John Howard a "racist bastard" the day after the policy was released, claiming:

"If I was an Aboriginal man in the Northern Territory I would feel like absolute shit right now, I would have the leader of my country saying I am an alcoholic, I am into pornography, I am into sexual abuse. All I would want to do is go out and smash someone"

Now, this may provide us some insight into the domestic violence statistics among Maori, but for a New Zealander living here in Australia this kind of commentary coming from a NZ politician and being reported as far away as India is fucking embarrassing. Political commentary is one thing, and Harawira would have been well within his rights to malign the policy as racist, but an ad hominem attack that is not even provably true just isn't okay in any civilised discourse, much less international politics

continues in next post

Retrospective rave: And the winner is... me: A note to INXS

People get engaged in all kinds of situations; many of them go away somewhere, some have a nice dinner, some get their engagement ring with another gift (famously, my uncle was too shy to actually ask my aunt, so he gave her a tiger soft toy with a ring on his tail).

Not me. I got engaged at a rock concert, which though it might sound a little unusual, was absolutely perfect. INXS were the background music to my proposal (with Afterglow), and they will be the background music to the signing of the register (which is of course, the legal part of getting married).

My fiance is my partner in crime, the person who makes me laugh the most, my best friend, the stability in my life and (as you can see below) my cat's favourite person in the world. He knows me so well he chose the time I had mentally picked out to propose to me, and we have been together through illness, surgery, financial difficulty, buying a house and an international move, and nonetheless we want each other more than anything else in the world (except maybe the cat). I am truly a winner, and without the history of INXS in our relationship, that winning would not be quite so sweet.

Rave: Why my Blogathon is all about Satchmo

Satchmo is my domestic employer, because as anyone who has a cat will know, cats have staff, not owners. Satchmo came to me after two previous owners in a house I lived in back in NZ, and I didn't know him as a kitten. I do know, though, from his previous owner (who ironically also now lives in Australia, though there was no way she could have taken Satchmo with her to the states) that he did a brief stint in the SPCA when he was a baby, and then was adopted into a good home, neutered and health checked.

Without the SPCA, my former flatmates would have had nowhere to take Satchmo that he even had a chance at life, and many other animals would have worse lives and deaths; they are a good organisation.

I'm blogging for the SPCA for selfish reasons, though -- without them I probably would not have Satchmo in my life, and he is a blessing. I'm not really his favourite, even though I do none of the fleaing and worming; and give most of the cuddles, Satchmo is all about my partner:

Nonetheless, he is very much a part of my life. He talks to me, and walks on my chest in the morning to wake me up, he sits with me when I am sad, he entertains my guests (which is a damn good thing, because he is a better host than I am). Hell, he entertains me a lot of the time, which is also a good thing because otherwise I might have gone mad living in the city where I lived in NZ for the past 10 years. And I wouldn't have him if it weren't for the SPCA, most likely. For all the good things Satchmo has brought to my life, the next 24 hours are the least I can give up to help other animals like him, so (despite the fact he would prefer to be thanked with tuna, and lots of it) I am dedicating my blogathon to Satchmo.

Heads up: I'm doing the blogathon

In the next 24 hours I am going to make 48 posts to this blog, because I am doing the blogathon to raise money for the Australian SPCA. I am going to try to keep to the usual topical, mostly grammatical though typo-laden writing I normally provide you (my non-existent reader) with, but some rants/raves/reflections will be spread over multiple posts (because most of the posts on here take about 90 minutes to write, and I have to post every 30), and some of it is likely to be gibberish, because I am going to be up for 36-odd hours straight, with no exercise and too much caffeine.

Oh, just thought I better say hi to my monitor, too. She's going to be hanging out here intermittently for the next 24 hours. Hi CJ! Thanks for helping me raise this money!

Bear with me. This is for a good cause, and I will tidy up the blog afterwards (merging posts on a single topic, getting rid of gibberish, that sort of thing).

Rant: Sony are sickos who have lost my custom

In an earlier post I commended Sony (against my better judgement) for creating video games that girls might like to play. I take it all back. Sony have done a bunch of things that have really pissed me off, including rootkits, non-redbook CDs that actually broke some Apple computers, and supporting the notoriously misogynist Grand Theft Auto by releasing it on the Playstation platform. I am also of the firm opinion (and experience) that most of their hardware, far from being the reliable gear it used to be, is crap, these days.

None of that, though, was enough to make me boycott their stuff. You would think it would be, but no, my love of their Singstar and Buzz series has outweighed my disgust with their general business practices, until now. After using a dead goat as a prop at a party (and making it look like the goat had been recently slaughtered), and then, for fuck's sake, publishing the pictures in their magazine, Sony has lost my business.

Now, Sony are claiming that the goat was already slaughtered by a butcher, and that the "still warm intestines" they invited guests to eat were actually offal. I, frankly, don't think either thing makes their behaviour okay; they glorified the torture of an animal (even though it may not really have been tortured) not just at the party, but to their magazine subscribers worldwide, and for what? To sell a few computer games? Some commenters suggest that if one eats meat, one has no right to complain about this use of the goat; I disagree. Consumption, as a use of a dead animal is wildly different from a Japanese corporation (though run by a Welsh man) using a dead goat as a sales prop -- meat does not glorify cruelty, and is, for some, a necessity of life.

The goat is the really horrific point in this story, but I also feel the need to point out that Sony also had topless women at this party, serving drinks, presumably to increase the "orgiastic" atmosphere. While I am no prude, this seems a particularly exploitative use of women's bodies; selling computer games. I also find it bizarre that the newspaper that broke the story pixelled out the head of the goat, but left a young lady's bare breasts and face on display; the goat was dead and could suffer no further indignity (and the full horror of what Sony did should really be made clear), but the young lady is alive and still subject to exploitation.

While no doubt this revolting stunt by Sony has created a wave of publicity that may even sell more games, they have also overstepped this time. I will be boycotting them, I will be encouraging my friends and workmates to boycott them, and comment on the web suggests many others will boycott them too. If I were in Sony's shoes, I would be making a very hefty donation to humane societies and women's shelters about now, and I would watch my commercial step for many years to come.

Rave: I love Melbourne

As some of you might know (hah, like anyone is reading this anyway) I recently moved to Melbourne. Now, I was kind of worried, because everyone I talked to (apart from Martin, who is living here and can't have the kind of life he can have at home) told me I was going to love Melbourne, and always exactly like that, with the emphasis on the word love. Normally when something is talked up up to me like that, I find whatever it is a disappointment.

Well, today I realised how much I really, truly love this adopted city of mine. I walked out the door, and it was foggy, and I thought "oh hey, it's foggy. Cool!". Those of you who lived with me before, or indeed know anything about my previous home city will know that it is notorious for fog. Anyone who lived there with me will know that my reaction to the fog was anything but "Cool!". It's true. I love Melbourne so much, I even love the fog.

Loving Melbourne as much as I do has made me realise that I never really settled in to my previous home. I loved the people there, and I was in many ways loath to leave, but I was always disenchanted with the city itself. It was muddy in the winter, and humid in the summer. The winter fog often did not lift. The terminal rain in winter really slayed me. I lived in that town for ten years, and it was never really home -- there was no loyalty, and no love lost.

I've been in Melbourne six months. It really shouldn't be that different to where I was before. In some ways, relying on public transport, and living in rented accommodation, and having fewer friends, I should find it more difficult here. There are no mountains here. And yet... I love Melbourne, even on foggy days. Here there are concerts, and art galleries showing things that interest me, and local artist markets and loads of good cafes within walking distance of where I work and live and there is public transport, and it doesn't rain for days on end. Here I saw a band that I thought were cool back when I first heard their song while I was living at home, and who I never thought I would see (Eskimo Joe), and they were awesome. Here I saw a band I fell in love with on TV (INXS), again, and they were awesome, again, and I will never forget the concert (but that is a whole other story). Here I saw the guy from Black Books -- and if it weren't for my workmate I wouldn't even have known he was coming. Here, if I had a radio, I would hear Placebo played (and with a station like Triple J, we must do something about a radio). I will always associate Livin' by the Day by Dilana with getting used to here, and it is one of my favourite songs.

None of that would make a difference, though when my many of my friends and none of my family are here, if it weren't for one thing: Melbourne was a choice -- and a good one at that.

Rant: David Bain: A life (needlessly) lost

Unlike the rest of New Zealand, and maybe because I am not there, I don't believe I know for sure that David Bain did or did not murder some or all of his family on June 22 1994. I have heard all sorts of theories, from "he did the lot, and might just off Joe Karam while he's at it" through "his Dad shot the family, but he shot his Dad" right up to "he is inncoent and his Dad did it" and the conspiracy theory "they burned the house down, and someone important did it and wants this to go away". I'm pretty certain the guy is innocent (in no small part because you would have to be one scary, talented individual to protest your innocence for 13 years if you did it), but only he (and depending on what you believe, his dead family and God, oh, and maybe the conspiracy theorist's murderer and police) really know.

The justice of the matter is, though (since the truth, for once, is irrelevant) it that it really, truly does not matter whether he did it or not. There is no way that based on the evidence he should have been convicted of all five murders (or even one of them), and thus he has spent nearly thirteen years in jail unjustifiably (well, maybe fewer than thirteen, but at least since the first appellate court rejected his appeal). I, like the privy council, do not blame the judge or the jury at the trial, they had a shit of a job, and I am sure under the circumstances they did the best they could. The same cannot be said for the police, I don't think, and it certainly cannot be said for the court of appeals, who appear to have taken the path of least resistance at every possible opportunity. Woe for NZ that we no longer have any international courts above our own internecine, incestuous little judicial affairs.

Now there is all the scrap about whether he should be re-tried (the privy council said yes, but that it was up to the local courts to decide what would be in the best interests of the public), or indeed whether he can have a fair trial (a decision on this is expected to be made later this month). There is also the question of compensation, for which apparently present laws state he would have to prove his innocence.

In all the hue and cry, however, we seem to have forgotten that it is not just David's family who wrongfully had their lives cut short, it is David as well. This is a man who spent 13 years, from his early 20s to his mid 30s, in jail (not known for it's pleasant environment) in jail for a crime he should never have been convicted of. He's never held a job, owned a cellphone, had a long term relationship, had the chance to have a family, surfed the web because he felt like it, had the chance to vote on a reality TV show--the list goes on. He has been locked up not just through his own early adulthood, but also through a time of great change in the world. While he was in jail, he went from an adolescent looking young man, to a man who is suddenly middle aged.

To be fair to David, he learned a marketable trade in jail, and seems to remarkably well adjusted. He has job offers (which is a good thing, given he hasn't a cent to his name, being wrongfully convicted of this has even taken his inheritance), and he is learning to cook. He has a supporter in Joe Karam, and many others as well.

Just because he is taking it well, though, does not excuse us from knowing our criminal justice system has made him into a not-guilty 34 year old man who feels "It is nice to have different drinks and hamburgers and things to choose from". Our justice system, with no right, not only took this man's life, but kept it long after the court of appeals had seen evidence that should have released him.

Should he be retried? Probably not. Should he be compensated? Absolutely. Even if he did do it, he should not have been in jail for a good chunk of the time he has. The government, the justice system, and we as electors and jurors owe him more than we can ever repay for those years. What is the most scary thing about this case? That it is likely not the only one, and jail does Bad Things to people, often. Something is very wrong, here, and I don;t know how to fix it.

David, you have my apologies for not finding out how to support you. You have my apologies that our justice system was prepared to leave you in jail to cover it's own ass. Most of all, though, you have my apologies that you needlessly lost not just your family, but your own life.

Update, 21 June 2007: Apparently the NZ judicial system has not had a big enough piece of David Bain yet. The decision to retry him was reached today, and so we are going to waste yet more of his life (though how they are going to get a jury that will even consider convicting, I would love to know).

Reflections: Social misfits and the golden rule

You know the golden rule -- treat others as you would have them treat you. Well, you know, I abide by it, but it doesn't work, because I am a social misfit. So the rule should really be "treat others as you would have them treat you, until they ask you otherwise".

I learned recently that because of my social misfitship, I have been pissing a friend of mine off unwittingly. Said friend sent me an email saying that my behaviour was insensitive to them, inconsiderate to their significant other, and left a sour taste. Moreover he pointed out (which of course, being a social misfit, I didn't recognise) that my behaviour was also unusual. Of course, being a social misfit, but not unkind, I was upset and horrified to have been upsetting said friend. I was glad the issue was addressed in email, because it gave me time to react without the reaction being witnessed; I don't deal well when my emotions are on display. I wrote back saying I had not realised my behaviour was upsetting, and I would, of course, cease and desist. There was another brief email exchange where the friend said thanks, and I explained that my intent had not been malicious, and that had things been the other way around the behaviour would not have bothered me, because my view of things was different (and that I hadn't realised how unusual it was until it was pointed out to me). At that point said friend responded that I was not a social misfit, just different.

See, the thing is, it's too late. I have been reminded once again that I am a social misfit, in an angry tone, and in words that made me out to be the whole problem (as opposed to perhaps "I am uncomfortable when" instead of "you are insensitive and inconsiderate"). I'm feeling bad about all the incidences of the behaviour that have gone before. I don't want to see the friend anymore because I am scared I will slip. And I am hurt, because it was made all about how bad my behaviour was. And I am upset, because often, when I ask to be treated differently, my requests are regarded as unreasonable.

The upshot of all this? I'm hurting, the friend has everything they could hope for out of the situation, and I am probably an idiot for rolling again. And the golden rule, it only works when your friends are very like you. If you have friends who are social misfits, be kind to them when you ask that they change their behaviour. After all, they are your friends, and they are, like me, probably not being deliberately malicious.

Rave: Because I Want You (iTunes exclusive)

Somehow this blog has become a music review with interspersed fits of pique about other things; but that's okay, I've always said I could live without my vision, but not without my hearing because I can't bear the thought of a life with no more music.

And you know, sometimes a piece of music comes along that makes you want to gasp, and cry and hug the person you love, and laugh for the sheer beauty of it all at the same time. It's not very often that this happens, and I am sure that with the abundance of music these days I miss some of the best moments. Just about every artist I have loved has had flashes of this, but right now I am captivated by an example I can't let go of.

That example comes on a particularly tasty iTunes exclusive session that I am particularly glad Placebo took the time to record. It is four songs, and the low point is a cover of Sinead O'Connor's Jackie, which is one of the few songs I do like by Sinead, and one of the few songs I don't like by Placebo. There's an excellent piano version of Meds, that is even darker and sweeter and sadder than the album version, and there is a light guitar version of Song to Say Goodbye that makes the insults sound lighthearted.

The true high point, though, the song that has it's teeth in me and won't let go, is Because I Want You. This song sounds less like rage and more like ironic self-blame than either the album version or the Live at la Cigale version. For all the irony, though, there is real sadness and honesty here, real reflection on the things done wrong in the name of love. This song changes the ambiguous to(o) in the line "Because I want you too" from "to" to "too". All of a sudden the message has gone from being about the first person to being about the second person; from an accusation to an apology the singer believes might be too late, but hopes will give him the one last chance that he needs to make it work (and this time, he will).

This is an emotional maturity that can only come from someone who has "stared into the void, and found it tempting", though it is surprising maturity from someone who once claimed to have left "a trail of blood and spunk across Europe" (hell, with that lifestyle, it's amazing Brian lived this long. Thanks, Levi).

Placebo have been with me through my masters (a.k.a. the masters fiasco), illness, depression, rage, surgery, getting well, and falling in love, and they always had a song for me. This song, though, is a song for all of that and more. It's the sadness of realising you've screwed up and might not be able to fix it, but the happiness of knowing you love someone more than your addictions. It's the depression of having done it all again, but without the rage you would expect, and while it is honest, it is not raw... Brian is far from angelic, and his voice is challenging most of the time, yet this piece is carried on his vocal, and he sounds like a crying angel.

An open letter to Dilana

Dear Dilana,

You'll likely never find this or read it, but it all still needs to be said. I want to thank you for auditioning for cockrock supernova, because had you not done so, likely I would never had heard your work. You, Toby, and Magni must be the reason the second series of Rockstar existed, nothing else makes sense.

I loved you right from the first moment you stepped on the stage scary, hard as nails, and exciting, not to mention a little bit hot. And your voice... like the diamond part of gravel. Week after week, your bubbly, geniune, raw personality, your wicked sense of humour, and above all, your excellent performances were the best thing about the show. In the end, it is all about the music, and while Toby and Magni rocked it, you were the standout act. You made me love songs I hadn't previously liked, and songs I had previously liked went to a whole new level in your hands and your voice... especially Mother Mother. Yeah, I saw how you got dragged through the mud so Tommy Lee had a reason not to pick you when you were the standout, but instead of being angry at you the way so many were, my heart ached for you; my honesty has gotten me in trouble more than once, and in a situation like that, I would have been dead in the water. All the talk of moving on, and then the persistent refusal to do so in my mind just added insult to the injury that was singling you out for punishment so Tommy Lee would have an excuse to go with his choice from the start, "his boy" Lukas.

I was relieved to read that you were happy to come second, and selfishly I was glad of it too; I so look forward to hearing an album from you along the lines of 'Supersoul', with all you learned on the show. I know it has to be good, because I bought a copy of Wonderfool for the man in my life for Christmas. Sadly it arrived two days after Christmas, but that was well and truly in time for me to fall in love with it while I was living in a new country, temporarily without my partner in crime.

I adore the track 'PMS' where you sound androgynously like Brian Molko (a personal muse) not just for that, but for the clever lyrics (always a way to my heart). 'Solo' is clever, environmental, and makes me want to sing along. 'Do You Now' reminds me so much of myself... I wish I had had the sense to tell him to follow his dick, and I wish I had been able to be as funny about my hurt. 'Elvis Motor Inn' and 'Kissed a Butterfly' are breathtaking for their emotional honesty in times of happiness and sadness, and for being able to say things that women aren't "supposed" to say. The songs that really get me every last time, though, are 'Livin' by the Day', and 'Wonderfool'. Both of them appeal to my love of bittersweet stories, and cleverly written songs. Individually 'Livin' by the Day' could have been written about me, about past lovers, about so many people in my life. It feels like my own personal Postsecret. And 'Wonderfool' is what all people in love should be to each other, more honest than any just about any other love song I have ever heard.

Thank you for being who you are, and please, please write more music and release them where I can get them. Come to Australia, I would see you in a heartbeat. And in the words of Placebo (with whom I nearly filed you in iTunes, but somehow "Punk Pop" isn't really what you do) "don't foget to be the way you are", because it's real, it's awesome, and it rocks.

From a new fan who wishes she was an old fan.

Rave: And the winner is...JD Fotune

INXS rocked. JD was awesome. You know, when they said he won I was sure they had made a mistake. Not anymore. The guy is a consummate showman who can hold a crowd of 3000 people in small town New Zealand rapt for hours on end. And let's face it, with the older generation coming out in droves, and being very skeptical of this person who won a reality TV show, New Plymouth was a tough crowd.

JD, I apologise, I was wrong about you.

Rave: Meds

Meds is the album Placebo have been trying to write forever. Finally, all the creative juices are flowing in the same direction... and what an album it is. The worst song on the album is still far better than many of the things Placebo have written, and the best stuff is positively transcendental.

This is an album that has drumming on a bike, two guest appearances, and the full spectrum of emotion, from giddy love to spiteful hate. Meds itself, is lost, scary, scared, and in love... who else would remind you when you're losing it to take your pills? (it is also my personal anthem at the moment, but that is a whole other story). Song to Say Goodbye has some scathing words that can only be born out of hurt and abandonment set to music that that sounds like it was written for something else. Post Blue is strange, pretty, and exciting; Brian spits out the word "fuck" like it's a word he doesn't use, and somehow manages to make it sound like he's making love anyway. Follow the Cops Back Home is a bit of a political protest, a bit of a love song, and a bit of a lament. If it had been on an earlier album, I would have hated it, but somehow Placebo have managed to avoid whatever went wrong with My Sweet Prince and Narcoleptic. The two standout songs, though, are Infra-red, and Drag. Infra-red has a great hook, and bounces along apace, and yet it is an anthem to just how badly things can go wrong between two people. Drag, on the other hand is a more real love song than I do, I think. It's the kind of love that can't quite believe its own luck, and is self effacing because of it. It's the kind of love I would expect, somehow, of Placebo... These two songs, for me, really say it all about Placebo:

Contradictory, caught between love and hate, of others and of themselves; beautiful, even when enraged, and surprising, even though they are jaded.

Well done, team. Because, you know, despite the fact that without you I am not nothing, without you, my life would be less.

Rave: Brian Molko still has it (as do Steve and Stefan)

Recently, even though I am dirt-ass poor, I travelled 2000km, and $1000 NZD, and went to see Placebo live again. Yes, I am insane, and yes, I am that dedicated. It was kind of a special trip, some of my very close friends, and of course Mike (my best friend, my lover, the other half of my life) came along to see Placebo for the first time (there were some other good friends there too -- we had seen Placebo together before).

The music, was as always, blisteringly good, and I came out of the concert still with that wow feeling that Placebo are just an incredible live act, and much better in real life than they are on disc -- which is an impressive feat, for someone who has just put out my favourite album of all time. I was surprised however, that Brian was not as chatty as he usually is, and some discussion ensued after the gig. I felt Brian's closed mouth was so strange that I said it felt like he was protecting his voice; well, it turns out I was right -- less than a week later he spent two days in hospital with tonsilitis. Call Brian what you will, he is a consummate professional to sing for two hours with brewing tonsilitis.

Tonsilitis notwithstanding, and despite the fact that we were up for over 24 hours, when I asked Mike if he would do it all again, he replied "yes, just not tomorrow". Mike really must be my other half -- he's as mad as me.

The thing that makes me think Placebo still has it even more than that, though, is the vid for Meds, the new single. It's disturbing, interesting, occasionally beautiful, and still shocking without showing anything too graphic. And Brian, at 33, still looks good enough to run around in his undies.

In all seriousness, though, Meds is by far the best album Placebo have ever written, and I feel like there is more to come. I hope the passion never dies, for Placebo, and that literally in twenty years my kids are complaining about "that crap that mum listens to".