Each year when we have to renew our insurance policy we discuss the value of our possessions. It’s an important discussion, after all, and one which should be taken very seriously.
Our home is replete with installation art. There is our unmade bed, which changes shape every morning . It’s so much more interesting than Tracey’s work of art from 1998 which has recently sold for over 4 million dollars. I kid you not. $4 million!
We also have our sink with unwashed dishes and a laundry with unwashed clothes in it. Think of the wealth which our modest residence contains!
On TV this morning there was a fascinating item about a heavy boulder which was being moved very carefully from one spot to another in California. This was another example of that valuable addition to the art world of INSTALLATION ART.
According to the “artist” who had the bright idea of transporting a rock for over a hundred miles and sticking it in some place for the whole world to enjoy, this artistic enterprise could be compared with the Great Pyramids of Egypt which have lasted around 5000 years. This installation will definitely last as long as the pyramids, he assures us. And it only cost $10 million to transport it!
Well, California is certainly a very safe place to deposit a rocky masterpiece such as this one.
Back to our insurance policy, however. I do have a couple of pictures on my walls. Nothing of value really, just paintings that I like. I wonder if they could be considered as works of art since the artist appears to have used brushes and paint on a canvas. A very outdated concept!
Not a single installation or transportation as far as I can assess. Perhaps I should throw them into my laundry basket and hang the whole damn thing from the rafters. Sounds promising to me as a likely candidate for the Turner Prize. Of course I would have to sell this masterpiece because the insurance premiums would be prohibitive.
Never mind, there’s always Ebay, isn’t there?
“Here you are, Mrs Gans. Time for your Maxolon tablet.”
“That can’t be right,” I replied. “I’m allergic to Maxolon and it’s on my list of medications that I’m allergic to.”
“Well. It’s on your chart, so you have to take it,” the nurse at the rehab hospital insisted.
I asked her again to read the list that she had been given of medications that are dangerous for me.
She was adamant that she was correct and that I was wrong.
Finally, after a few gruelling minutes, she said “Oops, I’m sorry. I was reading the chart of the man in the room next door to you.”
When I told the visiting doctor about this incident she was as shocked as I was. What if it had been penicillin which produced anaphylaxis and killed me? The effects of Maxolon on my system are terrible enough and last for many months.
What if a patient had been sleepy and just accepted the medication without questioning what it was?
I’m on the ball and defended myself but it could have been very serious.
I’m in this rehab establishment following a knee replacement. The main purpose for my stay is do to physiotherapy and regain strength in the operated knee.
One has to wonder how many mistakes are made by nurses who don’t read the allergy warnings or who think that they never make mistakes.
Unfortunately, we are human beings whose lives are placed in their care.
Simply not good enough!
It would be perfect if nobody had weapons. It would be perfect if nobody attacked anybody else. It would be perfect if peace reigned forever and ever and we all stood around expressing our love for one another. Wouldn’t it be wonderful?
We would even sing songs about it all. Hey hang on a minute! Didn’t someone imagine such a world and didn’t we all sing along with him?
Ironically, poor John Lennon was shot to death and we all grieved for him. His song fell on deaf ears,
Some of us believed that it was the fault of the gun in the murderer’s hands. If we could only take away all the guns then we would all be safe.
Wishful thinking and deluded, in my opinion.
Alas, when I look around at the world I seriously doubt that this is ever going to happen. Yes, it’s possible to take away the guns from the moral people, but the evil ones, the crazy ones, the determined ones will always find a way to find weapons and threaten those of us who mean no harm.
It’s the way of the world and always will be, I’m afraid.
Even if we all sincerely promised to disarm and signed agreements in the U.N (lol) with one another could we in all honesty trust those who want to destroy our way of life? Could we believe them when they claim to have disarmed?
Are we really that naive?
We finally decided to have a look at the new Emporium Shopping Centre in Melbourne. It’s very smart and will be better when it’s fully let. A work in progress and a pleasant place to visit.
But not if you are hungry and would like a snack and a cup of coffee in the food court. I could only find one place that served coffee and there was bad service. No trays and you had to help yourself if you ordered two coffees and a muffin there.
As for the other eateries you could be forgiven for thinking that you were somewhere in Asia instead of Australia. One place after the other was Asian, either, sushi, or Thai or Vietnamese rolls. For a person who is allergic to Monosodium Glutamate there is no chance of suitable food.
What happened to a bit of Western food? Some fish, perhaps, or a foccacia? How about a burger?
I was informed that there would be other eateries opening in the future, so here’s hoping there will be some choice. After all, that’s what food courts are all about, aren’t they?
Anyhow, we ended up next door in Melbourne Central and had a filo pastry with spinach. Yum.
I have just watched Lateline on the ABC during which Tony Jones was his tediously repetitive self and I couldn’t help but compare him with his wife, Sarah Ferguson.
Sarah has taken over from Leigh Sales on the 7.30 Report on the ABC and since then she has shown herself to be astute, determined but always courteous. Her diction and presentation are faultless and she is well-informed on the topic of her interview
Compare this with the rudeness and lack of panache of Tony Jones. He is like a broken record, going on and on and not giving the person he interviews much time to respond. It is no wonder that Clive Palmer told him to shut up the other night.
How sad it is that an interviewer is so enamoured of the sound of his own voice that he drones on for ever.
In my opinion, a successful interviewer is one who treats the interviewee as a welcome guest rather than as an interruption to his own monologue.
The audience wants to hear what the guest has to say. So bringing out the salient points of a discussion are the primary duties of the interviewer.
In this respect, Sarah Ferguson outdoes her husband by a mile.
The reason I am writing this is because we are all being bombarded by news of procedures that may benefit us medically. This has always been the case throughout history. We have a pain and we want to get rid of it so we are open to suggestions from legitimate or illegitimate purveyors of the miracle cure.
Nothing new in that, of course. Snake oil or modern supplements are often one and the same.
My warning is about the hyaluronic lubricant which is being marketed under various names for injecting into an arthritic joint. Synvisc is one of them which claim to replace the loss of synovial fluid which lubricates the joint.
Granted that in some cases the injection has helped, although reading up on it makes one wonder how much of the cure is actually placebo.
In my case I paid the $700 and endured the painful injection in the hope that it would get rid of the pain in my knee. I did some reading on it and the specialist told me that there was an 80% chance of improvement.
In medicine these stakes are encouraging. He told me that 20% of patients get no improvement.
So what did I have to lose apart from the money? I would be no worse off and there would be a good chance that I would be better off.
Well, as it turned out, following the initial few weeks of painful swelling which I accepted as part of the experience of getting rid of the pain, I ended up ith much more pain than I had started with.
I wish I had never had the injection.
I wish I had done more research and found the articles in which they are questioning the genuine benefits of such injections.
The statistic of 20% of no benefit didn’t mention that the procedure could actually cause more pain and you could be worse off.
Had that been mentioned then I would not have taken the risk.
My final point on the subject is that if Synvisc lubricants are so beneficial they would be subsidised by Medicare. After all, knee replacements for seniors are an expensive drain on the government.
Consequently, any procedure that postpones such operations must surely be a bonus for the government who have to face the pitfalls of an aging society.
As with everything in life there’s a risk, but when it comes to medical treatment the stakes are terribly high.
As someone said, “did you know that the word “gullible” does not appear in the dictionary?”
If you rushed to your copy of the dictionary, have I got a panacea for you!
As I sit in my home in Melbourne and listen to the whirring of the racing cars going round and round in circles, I can’t help but scoff at the hypocrisy of the entire farce.
We are told incessantly that we should cut down on carbon emissions. We are taxed to do so. Polluting the air is bad, apparently, but not when it comes to an event such as the Grand Prix. Here we have powerful engines churning out poisons for about four days. The noise is bad. The atmosphere stinks of petrol and yet all is forgiven because it is a special event which will put Melbourne on the map.
Well, it does that for sure. It confirms that the Victorian government has Fifty Million Dollars to waste supporting an event which does not even make a profit. It stands for nothing but hypocrisy about protecting the environment etc.
Not being a genuine Victorian I obviously don’t get it. The Grand Prix is about fashion show-offs, drinkers and voyeurs who hope that some of the cars will crash. And let’s not forget the gambling.
It reminds me so much of the events in Ancient Rome when the Emperors used to put on shows to amuse the rabble in the Colosseum. It seems as if nothing much has changed since the First Century AD.
In 1997 I was commissioned to review a TV program called “Front Up” for The Courier Mail newspaper. This program was screened on SBS and I admired what its producer, Andrew L. Urban was doing. So I interviewed him about his program and promoted it unashamedly.
During our interview Andrew explained how he believed that everyone has a story to tell and that is why he would stop people in the street and see if they were willing to talk frankly about themselves.
And yes, he was right. People are quite happy to talk about themselves if they are approached in a relaxed and non-confrontational manner. Andrew told me that he relied on “an educated hunch”, a degree of openness which would encourage a friendly conversation.
“Front Up” became very popular because it was about ordinary people rather than celebrities.
So who would have imagined that two years after my interview with Urban that Brett Peter Cowan, the paedophile who has just been convicted of murdering Daniel Morcombe ten years ago, would appear on one of Urban’s “Front Up” episodes?
In it, Cowan appears relaxed and affable, the sort of man whom you would introduce to your parents. He talked about his hard battle with drugs and that he’s over all his problems and that he has found God… blah blah.
Alas, poor Andrew Urban had no idea that he was talking to a convicted child molester. How ironic it is that what was intended to be a show about ordinary people should have accidentally stumbled upon one of the most monstrous criminals in Australian history.
Went to the doctor the other day with a stomach upset which had lasted a few days. My usual doctor was unavailable so I went to another one in the same practice. He was a doctor I used to visit but decided to avoid, if possible.
I told him what had been going on for the past four days. I told him I was drinking Gastrolyte which compensates for electrolyte imbalance owing to gastric upset. I also told him that I was using Gastro-Stop for obvious reasons.
He examined me, reassured me that I was doing fine and then informed me that I should drink Gastrolyte and take Gastro-Stop to ease the symptoms.
He then took out a small slip of paper on which he wrote down two names, Gastro-Stop and Gastrolyte which he handed to me and told me to take those.
How I wish that doctors would listen to their patients!
We chose an early morning session on Saturday because we didn’t fancy battling the crowds who would want to see this latest film about empty nesters.
You see, Melbourne people do not rise early to greet the dawn. Anyway, when the two of us entered the theatre we doubled the audience. So that was a good decision on our part as I’m quite crowd averse.
Sadly, this was the best feature of our visit.
I had declared in previous film reviews that I don’t want to see any more films about aging, but here I was again, hoping that this time there would be some sort of optimistic outlook about this business of getting old.
“Le Week-end” is about a senior couple going to Paris for the weekend to recapture their joie de vivre. He, a professor(played by Jim Broadbent) is sick of work and she (Lindsay Duncan) is fed up with her life and bored with her husband.
The stage is set, as you can guess, for a miserable search for excitement. Is Paris how they remember it? What do you think?
Lousy accommodation, constant quiet bickering, complaints about their useless offspring who is sponging off them and wants to move back home.
Then they meet up with a bright and effusive character who knew the Prof in the old days at university. Other reviewers have admired Jeff Goldblum’s acting and I am usually a fan but this character is so manic that he’s frightening. I suppose he’s the foil for the perennial “misery guts” portrayed by Broadbent. But things are really not that great for Happy Jeff either.
The film plods along with mumbling from Broadbent and a bit of sadism from Duncan until it peters out at the end. It’s a weak ending. Nothing is resolved because it’s so true to life that everyone realises that nothing will change for this couple. It really can’t, can it?
After leaving the theatre and deciding to enjoy a gastronomic treat of chargrilled calamari WITH chips just to make up for the melancholy of “Le Week-end” I thought that it reminded me of “Who’s afraid of Virginia Woolf” with Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton. Minus the passion.
And, in a way, that lack of passion was even more nihilistic.
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