Mornings

by

For the inaugural link up at The Lounge.

 Theme: What did you think you would be better at by now?

“What’s the story morning glory? Well”.  Sod orf Oasis you 1990s Beatles rip off merchants. To be fair to the Gallagher brothers however I can relate to this next bit;[

"Need a little time to wake up
Need a little time to wake up wake up"

1990s mega rock Gods but not crumpets.

1990s mega rock Gods perhaps but not crumpets.

Mornings are and always have been the bane of my existence. I have no sense of what morning glory is. By contrast my mornings are  inglorious bastards.  Some people are able to haul their butts out of bed at 5.00am (WTF), work out with their personal trainer, have a shower and get into their office by 8.30am immaculately groomed. This concept is so fantastical to me, it barely computes. Its like plans to colonize Mars – theoretically possible but wont happen in my lifetime.  I marvel that people, especially parents, manage to duck into their work place before 9.00am with blow dried hair. It was a feat I could barely manage before kids.

At this stage of my life I really should have implemented an efficient morning routine.  Nup. I’m usually woken by an unpleasant light penetrating my eye lids at around 6.00am. Occasionally I open my eyes long enough to witness a spectacular ocean sunrise through the boudoir window. Thoughts of getting up and appreciating nature’s artistry flicker through my mind but are rapidly shut down. Normally I put head back to pillow  and resume an ongoing imagined conversation with Tom Hiddleston. Doesn’t everyone conduct saucy inner dialogues with handsome young actors?

H: Loki is a quote-unquote “bad assed mother forker”*

M: Darling with respect , I beg to differ.

H: I love it when you beg with respect. Do go on.

M: In your street parlance, Loki is a quote-unquote “pussy in a silly hat” just like this amusing Tumblr photo.

This speaks volumes about my feelings for Hiddles.

The cat has a couple of powerful points.

H: Puss has derailed the thrust of my thesis. Evil forker.

M: (in a Mrs Slocombe voice). Mah pussy wants you to mount a counter argument but I’m going back to sleep now. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Five minutes later, I’m woken with vigorous poking. Sadly its not Hids in rebuttal.  I recognize the sensation of a foot to the cranial region. When Rod Stewart sang to Maggie May ”All you did was wreck my bed, And in the morning kick me in the head”*, this was not what he was talking about.

This feline metaphor just wont quit!

Its the girls with an invigorating chorus of “Muuuuuuuuuuum. I’m hungry. Muuuuuuuuuum I’m thirsty. Muuuuuuuuuuum I need the twoilet. Muuuuuuuuuum!”

“Go to Daddy.” I mumble. However Dadabs, crazy freak  that he is, has already risen and is emerging from the shower. “Its time to get up Mum” he orders sternly.  I bellow “Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo” like a wounded cow  and follow up  with a string of expletives.  ”Yeh, yeh. Tell me something new”  Dadabs responds. “It doesnt change the fact that its time to get up”. Finally using a mental crow bar I pry myself from the comfort of the sheets.

I fail to function without coffee and an instant wont do.  For me its like substituting a Ryan for a Fass. I insist upon walking down my local high street for a  fix and 20 minutes is faffed away faster than you can order a large skinny cap. I then consume “my precious” in front of the computer and fritter more valuable minutes.

The morning coffee faff.

The morning coffee faff.

These crazy people are exercising at 7.00am. Wuzup with dat?

These crazy people are exercising at 7.00am. Wuzup with dat?

By this stage I guiltily realize  that I haven’t fed my kids. Its time to put on my short order cooks hat. After the joyous ritual of deciding what combination of cereal and fruit to have in which bowl we’re ready to get dressed. I switch to personal stylist mode. I wonder whether clowns in the circus require the services of personal stylists because  I’m well qualified. I am also highly skilled in doing two things at once. Choosing socks for P2 whilst putting P1′s hair into high pig tails? Piece of cake. Finally the girls are dressed and shod ( we’ve usually been through at least three shoes and sock combinations) with coiffed hair and we’re ready to leave the house. Unfortunately there’s a minor obstacle – the fact that I haven’t showered or dressed. Boom goes the sound barrier as I leap into the bathroom to wash dry and dress at warp speed. I’m a  bit like this misnamed piece of hardware.

Zoooooom. Mumabs showers and dresses at warp speed.

Zoooooom. Mumabs showers and dresses at warp speed.

Finally with a quick tug of a comb through the hair and a smear of Oil of Olay we’re in the car and on our way.  After a double drop off I stagger into my office and face plant on the desk. I feel as bad as I look.  At least I have 24 hours respite before we have to do it all again.

Have you got this morning caper in the bag yet or are you as hopeless as me? Do you just “need a little time to wake up, wake up”?

Rise and Shine Loves

Mumabulous

* A direct quote from an interview. Except he said “mother fucker” with beautifully rounded vowels.

* Ok I’ll stop banging on about the stoopid Avengers. However I can’t make the same promise about the new Star Trek movie. Isn’t Benedict Cumberbatch dishy as the latest bad assed mother forker?  He should be renamed Benedict Crumpetbatch and

together we shall be known as Brendadict.

together we shall be known as Brendadict.

* Rod Stewart – Maggie May 1971

As a performer Rod gives so much of himself. Bless him.

As a performer Rod gives so much of himself. Bless him.

THE LOUNGE


Is Your Blog You?

by

I have a some regular readers who I actually know  in real life (IRL). I can count them on the fingers of one hand. The tone of their feedback can be thus summed up;

“I didn’t know you were funny” and “The stuff you write is so out there but its nothing like you. You are so quiet and polite”.  They haven’t seen me on a Friday night bender making a twat of myself but its a fair assessment. In real life Brenda keeps Mumabulous on the inside which is as uncomfortable as it sounds.  Firstly I don’t often talk or make jokes about things like the The Large Hadron Collider, particle physics and nuclear fusion as I do on the blog. The reasons are threefold –  a) most of the people  have zero interest in this stuff. They’d assume I’m on drugs when clearly I dont need drugs, b) I’d sound desperately try hard and c) I’d appear an  ignoramus to anyone with basic scientific knowledge. So sadly the crumpet that is Prof Brian Cox doesn’t weave his way into my everyday conversation. Its such as shame when there’s stuff like this floating around my interwebs. Nerdom doesn’t get much hotter.

Brenda would never tell you just how excited this makes her. That's a job for Mumabs.

Brenda would never tell you how excited this gets her.  That’s a job for Mumabs.

Let’s move from scientific crumpet to crumpet as a general concept.  Brenda is not a mobile billboard for baked breakfast products.  I don’t pepper my normal discourse with comments like “Phwoar! –  that Damien Lewis is a crumpet topped with strawberry jam”. Even though it is an unarguable fact.  Nor do I bombard my real friends with faux-vertisements like this. No blog fans – I save this shite for YOU.*

Can you believe George Weston foods still hasn't called?

Can you believe George Weston foods still haven’t called?

My next admission will shock you to the core. My role as Fassbassador doesn’t extend to real life. I don’t go around Fass-eminating at every opportunity. Could you imagine if I did? Conversations would go like this ;

Friend: Hi. How are you?

Brenda: Oh Fass-tastic. Last time I looked Michael Fassbender was still infeasibly hawt!

Friend: Right.  Beautiful day isn’t it?

Brenda: Sure. Everyday is beautiful when Fass is in it.  You know why its unseasonably mild? Scientists have proven that heat radiating from Fass is warming the oceans. That’s  how infeasibly hawt he is.

Friend: Wrong – its all Channing Tatum! I don’t want to talk to you anymore!

Unfortunately for you guys this blog is the only place I can vent my Fass-tration.

But you CAN blog about it until the cows come home.

But you CAN blog about it until the cows come home.

One thing that Brenda and Mumabulous have in common is our passionate advocacy for Rangas. From the moment I laid eyes on Eric Stolz  I decreed natural red hair to be the most  desirable physical trait a human could have.  I was alarmed by claims that red heads would become extinct  by 2060 and vowed to do my utmost to preserve the species. On the fateful evening when I met Dadabulous ( exactly 9 years ago to this day*), he had the most glorious cascade of shoulder length red curls. It was tied back in a cheeky pony tail and teamed with a navy bomber jacket and boots. We sank red wine,  discussed New Scientist magazine and he paid for everything. Single ‘Abulous was finished.

I am very proud to have co-created two beautiful girls with locks like rose gold and feel great satisfaction from having done my bit for the ginger race.

I've done my bit for the future.

I’ve done my bit for the future.

Meanwhile reports of  impending ranga annihilation were proven  false.  Red heads will be with us beyond the next millennium which is a  blessing for human kind. Could you imagine a world without -

Eric Stolz. My prototype red hawt ranga.

Eric Stolz. My prototype red hawt ranga*

or

I repeat - Damien Lewis is a fine piece of crumpet topped with strawberry jam. Mmmmmm

Damien Lewis – Oh my, that’s a penetrating stare. *

Heck I’ll even admit to fancying post Harry Potter Rupert Grint even though its extremely age inappropriate.

Oh my how you've grown Ron. I need to take a shower.

How you’ve grown Ron. (I need to take a shower.)

But this is taking things way too far.

I cant go for that. The carpet most certainly doesnt match the drapes.

I cant go for that. The carpet most certainly doesn’t match the curtains.

Of course, there are many things going on in Brenda’s life that Mumabulous can’t touch.  Office life and family relations could feed the blog  for at least a year. Unfortunately Brenda needs to keep these things running smoothly over the long term so Mumabulous is banned from the territory. If Brenda does get fired or has a family fall out, Mumabulous  wont be to blame. Meanwhile Brenda and Mumabulous will both try to keep you entertained. If we ever met in person Brenda is bound to be quiet and polite at least until three standard drinks are consumed. Only then will Mumabulous break free of her leash.

How about you? How much does your blog reflect who you really are? Do your friends have trouble reconciling the shizz you put on the interwebs and the quiet sweet girl they know? What happens when you meet other bloggers IRL?

Meanwhile I’ll leave you with the immortal words of Split Enz – “When my baby’s walking down the street. I see red, I see red, I see red”.

Love

Mumabulous & Brenda

* This really is for YOU. I don’t like brand Beckham. Well I guess he is kind of acceptable if he just stands there and says nothing.

* April 29th is the 9th anniversary of my first date with Dadabs.

* From the movie Memphis Belle which I may have watched more than once.

* Hey Melbourne Mum – Down girl. Down! ;-)

I Vant To Be Alone

by

If you’re anything like me (I know you are because I’m every woman – its all in me) you spend all those lost moments pushing kids on the swing at the park in navel contemplation. I inevitablely conclude that my navel is unworthy and needs regular fit ball work.  To avoid that train of thought I probe the deepest recesses of my soul and ask myself what is it that I want – what I really, really want?

Yo tell me what you want. What you really, really want.

I’ll tell you what I want. What I really, really want.

It may surprise you to hear that the answer is not inflatable globes or 1990s platform shoes rather my inner most desires are;

a) A romance so rollicking it registers on the Richter scale with Nathan Fillion. (You thought I was going to say Fass – didn’t you? Haw Haw)

Things that make me go "rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr"

Things that make me go “rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr”

Or

b) An entire week completely alone at a secluded coastal location.  Heck I don’t mind if its inland, just so long as I get some time to myself to do absolutely nothing.

Its an either/or situation because asking for a week with Nathan Fillion is too greedy, even by my standards.  Scenarios a) and b) are equally likely.

I’m hardly the first Mummy blogger to have expressed the outrageous desire for time out.  I conservatively estimate that this the 10th million time a blogger has echoed Greta Garbo’s immortal words “I vant to be alone” – at least for a little while. Similarly I’m surely not the first blogger to call crumpet on Nathan Fillion.

I vant to be along because nobody "gets" my head gear.

I vant to be alone because nobody “gets” my head gear.

Back in the BD (before Dadabulous) era, I lived solo in an inner city shoe box. While I would never swap the full catastrophe that is Team Abulous for the Bridget Jones antics of back then, I didn’t fully appreciate that I was living the dream. The mortgage was my only encumbrance. I could watch, read and listen to what I wanted when I wanted. I could stroll through the villages of Glebe and Newtown at my leisure indulging in brioche, coffee and fine European chocolates. Sundays often  meant yum cha followed by an afternoon at the pub talking absolute shite. None of this mattered to my perfect waist line. I could exercise whenever I felt like it.  I even entertained the odd gentleman caller.

Even then, I hankered to get out of the city, to defrag my mind’s hard drive in some idyllic  location. A secluded beach was preferred but not essential. Nowadays between the girls, Dadabulous and work the only “me time” I get is the 10 minute drive between Chez Abulous an my office. The fantasy of escaping and just strolling by the water plays in my head like a broken record. (That’s a vinyl record for all you Gen Ys. You may have seen DJs using them “ironically”. )

My mind's a broken record.

My mind’s a broken record.

Some people talk about wanting to be alone with their thoughts. Not I, my thoughts are irritating. I want the noise in my brain to gradually fade out to the sound of the ocean. I want to meander along deserted bush tracks just absorbing the bird song completely entranced in the moment. Although tt sounds very new agey and Zen,  in the words of Eliza Dolittle “Wouldn’t it be lurvely?”.

When we spent the Easter break at Perisher I escaped for a lone bush walk. I wasn’t gone for much longer than an hour but the experience was utterly joyful. If I could only have a little more of that.

Happiness is...

Happiness is…

going for a walk by yourself

going for a walk by yourself

 

on crisp Autumn afternoon.

on crisp Autumn afternoon.

As gorgeous as Kosciuszko National Park is, I’m a card carrying wussbag. Its just too cold.  My destination for a sojourn of solitude needs a more welcoming climate. I never argue with NSW’s mid north coast. Here is Diamond Head.

Aaaaaah I feel better already.

Aaaaaah I feel better already.

I’d happily go the opposite direction and head to Jervis Bay. Who wouldn’t?

That's it - I'm packing my bags right now.

That’s it – I’m packing my bags right now.

Are you at all tempted Nathan?

Are you tempted Nathan?

Do you feel the same way Mum and Dadrades? Do you long to steal away by yourself for a couple of days, weeks or months? Where would your fortress of solitude be?

Love

Mumabulous

Who is Nathan Fillion? I hear your cry. Have you seen the TV series Firefly?  As Malcom Reynolds the swaggering captain of the ”Firefly-class” spaceship Serenity he put the sexy into Sci Fi. He didn’t put ALL the sexy into sci fi (Remember Fass as Magneto in X men) but he’s made a generous contribution. Reynolds commands his rag tag crew of renegades in a trench coat and suspenders oozing charisma all the while. Even if sci-fi is not your genre, give Firefly a go for the witty Joss Wheldon dialogue and the crumpet. Nathan was also in that gawd awful chick flick Waitress and something called Castle. I can find it in my heart to forgive him. Afterall…

anyone who gets this close to Joss Wheldon has got to be cool right?

anyone who gets this close to Joss Wheldon has to be cool right?

And

 

He's like a total babycakes!

He’s like a total babycakes!

 

 

Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell

by

The ranks of the social commentators in our major news publications are being filled by a sassy new breed.  These young whipper snappers are obviously smart and not afraid to arouse public debate.  That said, some of them have not yet reached the stage of their emotional development where they can distinguish their arse from their elbow*. I read something  ridiculous in the Fairfax rag over the weekend and just had to share it with you. Journalist Katherine Feeney said that she didn’t think it was right to think about other people while you are engaged in intimate relations with your spouse. Huh? Come again? Or not as the case may be if you can’t contemplate your favorite crumpet during business time.

Your favorite crumpet

Your favorite crumpet

Katherine dearie – its about as wrong as the sun rising each morning. Complex studies conducted by the world’s leading psychologists have concluded that 95% of people fantasize about crumpet other than their spouse while folk dancing horizontally and 5% of people lie. In fact it has been found that about the only time one thinks of their spouse during sex is when one is engaged in extra marital shenanigans.

Here’s some anecdotal evidence from real life. A friend of a friend found after several years of marriage, whilst she still adored her husband, her mojo needed a little assistance. She recruited Russel Crowe, specifically Russel Crowe in the movie Gladiator. More specifically the scene where he removes his helmet addresses the colosseum  - “My name is Maximus Decimus Meridius, commander of the Armies of the North, General of the Felix Legions and loyal servant to the TRUE emperor, Marcus Aurelius. Father to a murdered son, husband to a murdered wife. And I will have my vengeance, in this life or the next”.   In short – BOOM!

Maximus Mojo

Maximus Mojo

Another friend received great service in this regard from Ralph Fiennes (hopefully not as Voldemort). She had to relieve Ralph of his duties after the regrettable Qantas incident but I am happy to report that  she filled the position with True Blood’s Alexander Skarsgård. So far his performance has been stellar.

Ralph Fiennes out . Alex Skarsgard in. Good call.

Ralph Fiennes out . Alex Skarsgard in. Good call.

There is nothing, zero, zip, nada wrong with this unless you vocalize it. I’m sure screaming ” Ryan, Ryan Gosling Or Reynolds interchangeable” at the moment of peak joy would be quite disconcerting for your husband.  Conversely listening to  your him wax lyrical about Scarlet Johanssen is unlikely to enhance your experience. It follows that you should NEVER under ANY circumstances ask who is floating your husband’s boat. You will be at best lied to or at worst subject yourself to unfavorable comparisons. I’d hazard a guess that the naughty movie in Dadab’s head features a younger Elle McPherson, The Doctors latest companion, Hex from Good Game or indeed one of the implausibly buxom wenches from any number of good games. He’s wise enough not to tell me.

Dadab is impressed with the Dr's latest companion

Dadab is quite taken by the Dr’s latest companion

Similarly I’d never tell Dadab’s  how much I’d like to hoist Horatio Hornblower’s main sail.

Oh my - that's an impressive pistol you're brandishing.

Oh my – that’s an impressive pistol you’re brandishing.

For the sake of  Katherine Feeney’s education, I re-iterate, there is nothing wrong with thinking about other people during rumpy pumpy. Its simply the way the cognitive process works. Stopping it is like trying to stop the weather. Can you imagine lying there telling yourself ” Don’t think about Colin Firth. Don’t think about Colin Firth”? Its not going to work for anyone. Just open the mental doors to  Colin Firth and enjoy the visit. I’m sure everyone (including your husband) will agree that it beats losing your mojo to thoughts of the housework as per this entertaining piece by Bettina Arndt.

http://www.smh.com.au/lifestyle/life/sex-is-best-if-you-leave-out-the-laundry-20130412-2hqfx.html

I conclude that while Dont Ask, Don’t Tell didn’t work so well for gays in the US military it can sometimes be the best policy when in comes to our love lives.

Do you ever discuss your fantasy crumpet with your partner?

Love

Mumabulous

* A favorite saying of my father – from the same vernacular that brought us phrases like “as dry as a nun’s nastie” and “couldn’t organize a naughty in a brothel”.

* Lucky for me no one is less interested in this blog than Dadab.

br>

Do You Need a Digi-Tox?

by

Lately I’ve been wandering around in a haze, distracted and just a little anxious. It would be completely credible to blame it on two kids, part time work and maintaining a house with five bathrooms. Yet I if I’m honest,  my on line “life” is contributing to the problem. From the cursory research I’ve conducted ie: a five minute faff on Google, blogging anxiety disorder (BAD) hasn’t yet made it into shrink’s Bible the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual DSM. Nevertheless at the rate that baby’s expanding BAD will soon be a bona fide condition complete with specialized counselors and targeted cognitive behaviour therapy. No worry – Mumabulous is here to help. Bloggers can avoid reaching crisis point by taking digital detoxes. Regular vacations from the worlds of Twitter, Facebook, Google+, Instagram, Pinterest and whatever else are a  reboot for the brain and a detox for the soul.

Here are some signs that you are suffering BAD and need a digi-tox.

  • You live your life through the prism of your blog your social media platforms. A simple coffee with friends becomes an instagram opportunity, a DVD night in will surely end up as a review post and you’ll blog the bejeepers out of  your kids’ birthday parties.
  • Speaking of kids, there once was a time when you put  effort into their activities and spent both quality and quantity time with them. Nowadays you simply shove them in front of the TV so that you can blog.
  • If your kids are hapless enough to interrupt your Twitter or Facebook updating session with unreasonable requests for food you bristle with anger. You mentally swat them away like mosquitoes.
  • If however they attempt to extract you from your computer so that they can watch My Farking Little Farking Pony, you experience complete mental and emotional meltdown.  It looks a bit like this.
NO You cant watch My Little Pony on YouTube!

NOOOOOOOOO You cant watch My Little Pony on YouTube!

  • Coming up with witty, entertaining and most importantly re-tweetable tweets is draining mental resources  you simply don’t have.
  • You’re actually losing sleep lying awake agonizing over blog material.
  • You have a nagging fear that something you’ve released into cyber space will return to bite you on the bum.
Like this - except on the bum.

Like this – except on the bum.

  • In fact you look over the shite you’ve posted and raise an eyebrow at yourself. The experience at once uncomfortable and titillating. You fret that appear a  total twat and no one will ever, ever take you  seriously again. Except (in my case) when it comes to the hawtness of Michael Fassbender because obviously I’m  the world’s leading expert on that.
You raise an eyebrow at yourself. It would be more fun if Stephen Colbert did it.

You raise an eyebrow at yourself. If only could Stephen Colbert do it for you.

  • You find yourself spending large amounts of time doing nothing but clicking from Facebook to Twitter, to both your email accounts and back to your blog again. Wash, rinse repeat. There goes an hour of your life that you’ll never get back. Meanwhile the vacuuming won’t do itself – its a lazy son of a biatch.
  • Your only knowledge of TV, movies, music and general popular culture comes from what you’ve read on Twitter and Facebook.  The Chez Abulous Media Centre is groaning under the weight of quality viewing I’ve neglected but won’t allow Dadabulous to delete.  Waiting for me is MisFits Series 4, Breaking Bad, The Walking Dead, Game of Thrones and a Louis Theroux documentary on the porn industry.
MisFits Series Four - sacrificed at the alter of blogging.

MisFits Series Four – sacrificed at the alter of blogging.

Louis needs us to step away from the computer.

Louis needs us to step away from the computer*

  • You spend more time communing with your online friends than you do with your IRL friends. Remember them? They were cool which is why you liked them IRL.
  • You say things like IRL when you mean “in real life”.
  • If you spent less time on the interwebs you’d be concerned with important matters like whats behind the sudden and unanticipated plunge in the gold price. Alas your pre-occupations are increasingly juvenile.
  • Meanwhile  your thought patterns are becoming ever more random and disjointed………. Hey Jeremy Renner. What are you doing here? You cheeky monkey.  I told you boys I was on a crumpet detox. Come back on Monday.
Shoot that poison arrow through my heeeaaaaaart.

Shoot that poison arrow through my heeeaaaaaart*

  • Your fitness is suffering. Did you know that the fabric of space time is expanding at the speed of light? Pity I can’t say the same for the fabric of my pants. This weight gain has to stop. Time to go for a walk.

Its all of the above for me and its crystal clear that I’m suffering BAD. Will I actually follow my own advice and take an internet sabbatical ?  Meh- probably not.  How about you? Are the interwebs doing your head in? Do you need to detox?

Love

Mumabulous

* TWC or Thinking Women’s Crumpet is permissible while on a Crumpet Detox. My blog, my detox, my rules.

* I think you can see through my ruse. Jeremy was a flimsy excuse for me to link to the classic 1982  hit by ABC.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QAc5C4pfBtg

Don’t laugh. Tom Hiddleston, born in 1983, was conceived to this. In fact,  Gen Y as a whole has 80s sax to thank for its existence.

NBN – Fibre Up Your Node.

by

Malcom Turnbull is priapic. He may not be my first choice of dinner party guest* but as I’m sure his wife Lucy would tell you, the man knows how to mount an argument.  When Mal, the sultry silver fox did the much anticipated policy reveal last week I found myself quietly nodding along. Much of what was said reflected my thoughts on the matter. It may surprise you to hear that I occasionally ponder issues of national governance. It can be quite discombobulating. One moment I am happily contemplating Jermaine Clements “sugar lumps”, the next I thinking that delivering optical fibre to every Australian household is overkill. Wazz up wit dat?

The dog looks terrified.

The dog looks terrified.

What irritates me about the whole shebang is that the politicians can pretty much say what they like. Most punters have zero understanding of the issues and are unlikely to educate themselves on it. With good reason – this stuff is as dull as dog shite. Tony Abbott himself could only recently be arsed boning up on it. The large pharmaceutical companies should bottle NBN speak and sell it as a cure for insomnia.

Back when I had an impressive job title our Communications Analyst would rave about fibre to the node, fibre to the curb and the wireless spectrum etc. Eyes would glaze over. By contrast the team was all a lather when I spoke about large scale engineering construction projects in the mining industry. That stuff put the Fun in Funds Management back in 2006. Anyhow there’s one person in Australia who is completely across the NBN argument and he needs no introduction It’s Dadabulous!   I asked him about it last week and was delighted to receive a lecture. Dadab’s main thrust is summed up in bullet points below.

Optical fibre is beautiful.

Optical fibre is beautiful.

  • You all know that fibre optic cable can transmit more data  more efficiently than the network of gawd awful copper wires we currently have.
  • The future’s going to be one of virtual reality immersion so we need as much data as we can get.
  • The ALP plans to run this fancy schmancy fibre optic cable right into every household in Australia (well 93% thereof, the rest will have to suffer with wireless). This is known as “fibre to the premises” or in funkier circles,  ”fibre to the curb”.
  • The Coalition want to run the fibre to a network of  boxes on street corners called “nodes”. The old fashioned copper wires will carry data to the households from there.
  • The ALP’s plan will deliver epic broadband. According to Dadab, every home will have enough grunt to download four lots of high resolution porn on big screens simultaneously. Whoa – Talk about megabytes. I know I’m excited.
  • Sadly as Dadab calls it, Labor are taking so freakin’ long to get the fibre down, it’ll be the end of the century before the roll out is complete. Frankly the human race  isn’t going to last that long. The inevitable zombie apocalypse will render our chunky broadband a useless monument to human frailty.
The zombie apocalypse will hit before we get the NBN.

The zombie apocalypse will hit before we get the NBN.

  • Also Dadab sees no logic in the role out process. In his view it should be delivered straight to the folk who’ll make good use of it, the business districts, hospitals, schools, universities and hard core deviants. Rather they are prioritizing towns like Armidale (which may well be home to hardcore deviants).
  • The Coalition’s broadband will not be as epic but it will be sufficient to meet the current needs of most households. On the plus side, the fibre will be delivered to sites where the demand justifies it -  business centres, industrial and commercial parks, schools, hospitals, medical centres and universities. (http://www.smh.com.au/opinion/political-news/coalitions-broadband-policy-at-a-glance-20130409-2hioq.html#ixzz2QVWIrqkj). It’ll also be dumped straight into new housing developments.
  • The Coalition are allowing households to opt for fibre to the premises but in keeping with all things coalition the user pays. In other words , you can have  fibre up your node and straight into your house as long as you fork out.

So far, so reasonable, Team Ab thinks. The issue becomes as tangled and frayed as the mess of copper wires itself when you try to predict the future. The broadband strength promised by the Coalition is enough for most homes given today’s technologies. Many tech heads argue that 10 years plus down the track, it wont be.  Broadband will become yet another rung on the ladder of inequality (if that metaphor makes sense).  The wealthy will fork out the $5K  for their fibre and  revel in Tony Stark-esque techno fabulousness whilst the huddled masses are left behind.

OK the suit is powered by an inbuilt nuclear reactor but he's certainly got fibre up his curb.

OK the suit is powered by an inbuilt nuclear reactor but he’s certainly got fibre up his curb.*

I’m ignoring the thorny issues of paying out F*&king Telstra, industry competition and costing because that would involve actual research. In the meantime please feel free to pick holes in the argument. I bet you wont though. As I said before nobody understands this stuff, except Dadabulous.

And for your viewing pleasure here’s Flight of the Conchords with Sugar Lumps. I’m sure you’ll agree that FOTC  are a worthy misuse of bandwidth. Dont know about you but I can handle 100 mbps of these funny honey bunnies.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_ozSSseCh3U

Mumabulous out.

* As I’ve mentioned in a previous post (might have been Thinking Woman’s Crumpet Part 1)  my choice of dinner party guests would be Dr Karl and James May. The ensuing pissing competition as to who was cooler would be pure gold.

Well its my idea of a hoot.

Well its my idea of a hoot.

*Oh my- but that’s a tasty picy of RDJ. I think I need to go into rehab for crumpet addiction.

My GOMI Snark

by

Warning:  Self depreciating humor ahead.

Over recent months there’s been much wailing and gnashing of teeth over the Aussie Mummy Bloggers thread on Get Off My Interwebs (GOMI). I’m sure you’re all familiar with it. Being a contrarian I’m actually disappointed by my absence from that discussion. To my way of thinking being snarked about means you’ve penetrated the public consciousness and made it as a blogger. The dearth of Mumabulous on GOMI is down to two factors. 1) I’m just not irritating enough. Everyone loves me or 2) Hardly anyone reads the blog. I suspect the latter is the case. Anyhow, as with so many things in life, if you want something done, you have to do it myself. Here’s my very own GOMI snark.

Snarker 1:  Ermigawd! Have you read Mumabulous? She’s taking the Aussie Mummy blogging scene to a new low.

Snarker 2:   That’s quite an achievement.  How so?

Snarker 1:    So mundane is her life and so mediocre her talent, that she resorts to putting up pictures of shirtless hunks on just about every post.

Snarker 2:  Shirtless hunks, did you say?

Snarker 3:  Heeeeey Snarky Ladeez! I ask you, what would you rather look at on blogs – cupcakes or beefcakes?

The ultimate blogging conundrum. Cupcakes vs Beefcakes

The ultimate blogging conundrum. Cupcakes vs Beefcakes

Snarker 1:  Snarker 3 – you are Mumabulous! Get orf! Anyhow – what really irritates me about her blog is the way she accompanies the gratuitous eye candy with puerile one liners. She is a middle aged mum’s answer to Benny Hill.  For example, she writes of a photo of Colin Firth in bed naked  ”Oh my, what a comfortable zone”. Tish Boom.

The resemblance is uncanny.

The resemblance is uncanny.

Snarker 2:  Colin Firth? Naked? Really? Colin Firth? In bed naked? Really?

Snarker 1:  Yeh – Plus she found a picture of Colin Firth in a bubble bath and keeps droning on about it like she’s discovered the key to low cost nuclear fusion.

Nuclear fusion

Nuclear fusion

Snarker 2:  Colin Firth in a bubble bath?! That’s on my bucket list. I’ve just remembered I need to do all the things……

Snarker 1:  A few days back she posted an autographed photo of Ryan Reynolds sans shirt accompanied by the line, ” the autograph is a bonus. I know you are interested in his penmanship”.  Oh pulease.  What this blog could really use is a cartoon of a cat with the eyes popping out of its head and a horn honking sound effect. That would make it  funnier don’t you think?

booooing and honk med

Snarker 4:  Oh Snarker 1, you crack me up. Bahahahahahaha. Back to Mumabs – the obsession with that actor Michael Fassbender is getting tiresome. In fact its Fass-trating.

Snarker 1:  I know, I know. I’m so over the Fass-cination. There’s a limit to the number of puns you can construct from “Fass” and “Bender”. It’s just so passe – or should I say “Fasse”.

Snarkers 1 & 4 in unison:  Bahahahahahahahahahahahahhahahahahahahaha

Snarker 5:  Who is this Michael Fassbender of which you speak? I’m just Googling him now…. Oh………..Oh ………….. Oh my………. Mercy me, Oh, Oh my………

Snarker 3:  Hey Snarker 5, here’s a tip. You’ll find the experience more satisfying (dare I say Fass-ifying) if you Google “Michael Fassbender shirtless”.

Snarkers 1, 4 and 5  in unison:  Mumabulous – Get Orf!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Snarker 5:  But I’ll take your advice.

A triple serve - how Fassifying.

A triple serve – how Fassifying.

 

Snarker 1:  Mumabs if you’re bored why don’t you go drool over Tom Hiddleson in his Loki costume again? That’s age appropriate behaviour – NOT.  Meanwhile my interest in this is waning. Lets get back to moaning about the Un-Remarkables shall we?

Snarkers 4 & 5 in unison: The UnRemarkables – never gets old. Bahahahahhahahahahahaha!

Hiddles is singing in the rain with a kitten. Your argument is null and void.

Hiddles is singing in the rain with a kitten. Your argument is null and void.

Meanwhile I’d thought of a truly horrid caption for the above picture, something you’d expect to come from Mrs Slocombe of Are You Being Served. You can probably work out the gist of it yourself.

She's talking about her pussy again.

She’s talking about her pussy again.

What do you think the GOMI snarkers would say about you?

Love

Mumabulous

Boooooooing & Honk!

Boooooooing & Honk!