Performances: Pre- And Post- Mr. Plog

We are up late reminiscing about the first "tapes" we ever owned. Mine is either Madonna's "Like A Virgin" or Michael Jackson's "Thriller". Mr P figured that was pretty cool, prescient.

Fact is, though, my first few live gigs ... er, not so much:
1. John "The Voice" Farnham
2. Transvision Vamp

Since we've been together I have seen (in no particular order): Paul McCartney; Madonna; Robbie Williams; Annie Lennox; U2; Van Morrison; Fatboy Slim; Basement Jaxx; Groove Armada; Mark Ronson; Lily Allen; Amy Winehouse; Corinne Bailey-Rae; Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings; Martha and the Vandellas (shout out to Lois!); Reverend and the Makers; Jamie T; Jamie Cullum; the Verve; Joan Baez; Crowded House; Sinead O'Connor; Duffy; Adele; Little Boots; Leonard Cohen; Jimmy Cliff; Neil Diamond; Brian Wilson; Coldplay; Jay Z; the Ting Tings; Gossip; Calvin Harris; Chemical Brothers; Jarvis Cocker; Pete Dogherty; Bjork; Arcade Fire; Prince; Stevie Wonder ... and Barbra Streisand, the only one of that illustrious list I'd actually seen in Australia!

Mind you, many of those were at Live 8 (2006) and Glastonburies (2005, 2007, 2008 ... taking a breather this year!). Don't want to mislead you, we are soooo not daily gig-goers (I am way too busy as a certified full-time daily couch kertoffel/mag-on-loo-peruser ...)

Still:
"Mr Plog ... Bringing The Music Since 2004!"

Having A Wale[s] Of A Time

Sorry for the prolonged absence, kiddies. I was away in Wales with my mother. We lived like royalty (more on that later) and couldn't pronounce a single word.

Hope you're living it up wherever you are. Looking forward to getting back into a routine.

Lots of love,

Dr P xxx

Friday Night With ... Mr Sheen

I really like Martin Sheen (born Ramón Gerardo Antonio Estévez, but more on that later). Tonight he ROCKED (yes, I am almost middle-aged and oh-so-fricking SAD) on Jonathan Ross. (I like the J.Ro even if I am slightly suspect of his politics/ feminism ... although his wife seems pretty cool.) Anyway, back to Charlie & Emilio's Dad ... I love people who integrate their identities with their politics, ie, those whose philosophies are indivisible from their most authentic selves, their most fundamental principles. I don't just mean hard-core ideologues: not necessarily tent-dwelling, gender non-specific, vegan, freegan, anti-globalisation, pro-choicey, pacifistic, post-colonial, deconstructionist hermits. Just people whose politics (translation: caring about the world, community, society, how people think/ act/ are, what ideals are promoted over which ones that should be) are part of them, rather than a separate entity: a self-conscious, artificial "accessory" adopted for social reasons or in order to maintain "polite fictions". I know that I can be annoying with my Feminist, Anti-Racist, Anti-Heterosexist rhetoric. But you know what? In the scheme of things, I'd prefer to be mildly (even majorly) annoying if it means I were even marginally proactive, useful.

Just like Martin Sheen.

Representations Of Anythingness

My favourite academic point of entry (Ooh, Matron! That sounded a lot dirtier than intended) is to take anything "actors", "Asians", "atheists", "arthritics", anything (!) and deconstruct "representations of ..."

As y'all know -- or y'all should know ;) -- almost every cultural category that is promoted as undisputable truth is ultimately fiction. If Historical Theory taught me anything it is the fact that every facet of your identity and mine (my femaleness/femininity; Australianness; Jewishness; heterosexualnormativity; whiteness; coolness) is the product of millenia of cultural construction, deconstruction and reconstruction. Ya hear me? Ya either Post-Modern with me, or Post Haste.

A hectic weekend awaits me.

Not sure if I'm spiritually up for it.

(Mr P just dropped a big, smelly one. Charming.)

Let's Talk About Sex, Baby

"The very notion that humans can be distinguished and categorized -- as if they belong to separate sexual species on the basis of whom and how they characteristically desire -- is a fundamentally novel and culture-bound historical development ... by and large a product of the nineteenth century ... Modern categories of sexual distinction, most prominently the homo/hetero distinction, are just that: modern inventions, social artifacts, not natural givens."

I came across this wonderful passage in a book I am reading called Queer Theory and the Jewish Question (Boyarin, Itzkovitz, Pellegrini, eds.)and decided it should be required fucking reading everywhere, if only to highlight the insane injustice whereby some people in our oh-so-modern enlightened times aren't entitled to the same human rights as others. Why should so-called "religion" be privileged over "liberty"? Don't we have laws protecting us from that?

Also, have you ever heard of "female sexual inverts"?
They are the nineteenth century version of a twentieth century invention we like to call "lesbians".

You know all these things we know to be true? (And I'm looking at you narrow-minded shmegegges out there) They aren't actually! Freaky, I know!

To progress! And true freedom for all.

Faux-storian

So the other day I wrote about how I'm a bit of a lady-who-lunches in feminist clothing, a femifraud, if you will be so indulgent. And now I just realised I am also a Fauxstorian, that is, someone who writes "Historian" on forms (landing cards, etc) when she really makes most of her (minimum) wage in retail. Just because I have a degree in History doesn't make me a Historian -- it's not like just because I wank, I'm automatically a ...

Actually, yes. Yes, I am one. (A fact doubly confirmed by the fact that I write "Historian" when I'm not one.)

Why do we tell ourselves little lies? Does it matter? Is a bit of that Egyptian River what we need in order to survive this crazy world?

Could I be* any more Tryhard Carrie Bradshaw?



*Or indeed, Chandler Bing?

Keeping Up With The Stereotypes

I watched this today, for research purposes only, expecting to hate it. Not only did I find it oddly moving (and cry) but it was also one of the only "Jewish" movies that comes to mind where someone is asked "What do you like about being Jewish?". "Jewish" in this context is not just a punchline, shorthand for signifying "wealthy" or "greedy" or whatever ("Choose Your Own Assumption!") but an actual, lived identity explored as deeply as possible within the limitations of a little comedy, which is very sweet, if not a bit too obviously chasing the Little Miss Sunshine mantle.

And although the stereotypes are there and women are paid scant attention, there is a warmth in large part due to its phenomenal cast: Cheryl Hines, Larry Miller, Jami Gertz (yay! childhood girlcrush! so pretty!), Garry Marshall and Doris Roberts (who both play very convincing Jews), Jeremy Piven. I do like the Pivs onscreen, in spite of the anti-himness on the interwebz -- but who ever knows anything really, right? It's so childish, this hegemonic consensus on who it's cool to like and who it's cool to bag. It sometimes shocks me how much hostility and anger people direct at strangers, especially in the case of one blog I read where a bunch of otherwise savvy, intelligent commentators who seem to GET the role of the media in creating these false contrived personae, weigh in so vehemently on people and relationships we know nothing really about.

So, yeah. For defying expectations:

Keeping Up With The Steins (2006) *** (3 Plogs)

Theoretical Chicken Stock

I've been accused of being a "Theoretical Feminist", that is, feminist in all that I say but non-feminist in all that I do. See, I'm a loud (too loud?) militant advocate for gender equality yet I live my life in a completely unreconstructed kind of way: I've never learned to be entirely self-sufficient and I've always had other people carrying me, cutting me too much slack, making excuses for me.

I actually used to feel so crazy-guilty when that Destiny's Child track that implored "All the women, independent" to throw their arms about (I'm paraphrasing here) that I would cower in the corner and pray that nobody noticed that I was the only one of my peers (some of whom I would classify as non-feminists if not actively anti-) to whom those words did not relate.

I once tried to argue that I was living a feminist utopia, having elected to have neither a family nor a career. Suffice to say, that was a difficult thesis to defend.

And now I'm becoming a "wife", a classic "female drag" role. Anyway I'm going with "partner", "married partner", if I must. The inherent gender equality of same-sex rather than opposite-sex (!) couples serves as an excellent guide to us sad, tired heteros. Now if only they were afforded marriage equality ... but that's a Civil Rights story for another time ...

"Bride" is another character for us female impersonators to adopt, but it's easy to avoid. I just stare blankly when anyone asks weddingy questions and say, vacantly, "You'll have to ask the Feyonce. He's doing all the arrangements".

Hmmmm, just realised, he actually is doing all the arrangements. Ha! Not so theoretical now ...

Smells Like Teen Spirit 2: Incense Boogaloo

Addendum: Hey, just had another thought about incense. Around 1990, my very talented friend A (brother of my very talented friend, L) wrote a song about me called "Everyone Loves [insert Dr Plog's real name here]" -- with such foresight, I hasten to add: this predates Raymond by how long? Anyvey, it contained these lines: She ordains herself in incense before she goes to school which technically wasn't true, but interesting, especially in light of a later anecdote.

In 2005, when I moved to London, I maybe went a bit overboard with trying to establish my corner ... um, half ... actually probably more like three quarters of the apartment. A friend, D, to this day gives me shit about my "shrine" of photos of friends from home, which may have been sitting on some silk scarves which may happen to have been near some burning incense. D felt it necessary to grab some rice from the pantry and make an offering to the gods.

So I do have a history with the stuff. At one point I even decided to call my imaginary, hypothetical daughter Keturah because it's Hebrew for incense ... shit, I'm way more implicated than I thought! I had never considered this mini-history before.

So what's your "incense"? What's something that you always elect to have around you, something that's so normalised in your environment that you take it for granted, yet it's not something that everyone has or even likes? (It can't be a person though. That could get mighty bitchy.)

The Funniest Craigs List Posting Ever

To the Jewish guy watching gay porn near the Bagdad

My friend wanted to say sorry for yelling "Pervert!" really loud by your window. He didn't think you could hear and it was kind of weird that we could see right into your window from the sidewalk and see a menorah on the sill and hardcore gay porn on the tube. Either way we just wanted you to know that we think you're creepy, not a pervert.

Sincerely,

The People Who Interrupted Your Evening Masterbation [sic] Session

Smells Like Teen Spirit

I just bought a packet of Nag Champa incense for the first time in ages.

Mr Plog walks past my study, sniffs dramatically and, dripping with distaste, announces "Ugh. It smells like a university dorm in here".

Hmmm. The smell of freedom, experimentation, fun, silliness, learning, engagement with new people and ideas, and rampant promiscuity.

I take a deep breath, and savour it all.

Mr Plog And The Feminist Coffee Table

This photo was not staged! I just liked the juxtaposition of my partner and my politics.

Who was it who wanted to publish a coffee table book on coffee tables? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?*

*I know it wasn't Bueller, I was just asking Ferris if he knew ...

Smurfing While Female

When I was a kid the two best things in the world were (in no particular order): Paddle Pop sticks with the cricketers' names on them, and the Smurf collection available at all fine BP servos (gas/ petrol stations for you non-Australians).

There was one problem though.

It always infuriated me that each Smurf was defined by a personal characteristic/ career (Brainy, Grouchy, Chef), representing multiple identities, while Smurfette was just "the girl" as though that alone was her claim to individualism.

That said, I was a weirdly precocious/ militant six-year-old.

Later , however, I learned that my righteous indignation was indeed on the side of the righteous, and in fact, the misogynist origins of Smurflady Lumps were far worse than I could have ever imagined. Turns out she was designed specifically to sow discord among the male Smurfs, only failing because she was too ugly and (gasp!) brunette ... until the Happily Ever After moment when Papa Smurf used his magic to make her all pretty and blonde!

Papa Smurf as Hugh Hefner? That kindly zaida as the devil? The universe no longer makes sense! Does that make Gargamel the goodie? Na, na, na, na, na, na, sing a happy song, my tuches!

Wanda Sykes For Next President?

I wouldn't want my kids getting into Dick Cheney's car either.

Europe Paean?

So the session I went to yesterday on transnational feminism was part of a week-long congress run by an organisation called European Alternatives, who are based in London with offices in several European cities. Their website advertises their commitment "to exploring the potential for a post-national or transnational politics and culture, and promoting intellectual and artistic engagement with the idea and future of Europe". They do good work, raise important issues. I find it interesting.

Myriad accents in the room - French, German, Dutch, Polish, British. I realised I was the only non-European. (My status is Indefinite Leave To Remain, still a few years before I can apply for citizenship which automatically confers upon me European citzenship.) But for an Australian I always felt 'European'. Both my maternal and paternal grandparents were from Poland and as far as I know were there going back many generations. My father's parents fled the pogroms in the 1920 and '30s and met and married in Australia. My mother's parents were married to other people; Zaida had two daughters - people who "perished" (the soft euphemism we descendants of genocide use, the soft "p" and "sh" sounds making palettable what is otherwise mindless, violent bloody murder). They met after he was liberated from Auschwitz and she came out of hiding from a Christian household, saved by her fair hair and false papers ("Antonia Schmid" if anyone asked, we still have those documents). They moved to Vienna, had my mother, and two years went to Oystralia because Oymerica was too goshdarn popular.

I have lived in London for almost five years on a variety of headache-to-attain Visas. I could have made it easier for myself had I applied for an Austrian passport (because of my mother, I am entitled to do so). But unlike Groucho Marx, I have no interest in belonging to any club that doesn't want me as a member.

Austrian hotel bans Jewish guests May 11, 2009, 5:44 am

A hotel in Tyrol that said it does not accept Jewish guests has caused shock in the local media and tourism industry, the daily Tiroler Tageszeitung reported on Sunday.

A Vienna family of seven had asked the Haus Sonnenhof apartment hotel in the village of Serfaus for a reservation. The owner replied by email that although the room was free, she did want to take in Jewish guests because of "bad experiences" in the past.

The region around Serfaus has become popular with orthodox Jewish tourists in recent years, and several hotels in Tyrol have started offering kosher food.

At Hotel Alpenruh-Micheluzzi, owner Petra Micheluzzi told the German Press Agency that the rejection by the Sonnenhof was "bad for the image" of Serfaus.

One such incident could destroy all the hard work by others in the travel industry, she said, a view echoed by local and regional tourism officials.

"That's terrible," said Esther Fritsch, the president of the regional Jewish community. So far there had been no such incidents, she told the newspaper.

Irmgard Monz, the owner of the Haus Sonnenhof apartment hotel, could not be reached for comment on Sunday. In an interview with Tiroler Tageszeitung, she offered no justification for her email.

For his part, the rejected father of five has decided to spend the summer elsewhere: "I don't want to spend my vacation in such a racist nest, and I will inform all my friends about what is going on in Tyrol," the unidentified man was quoted as saying.

So, um, yeah. Not to tarnish the whole place with some rotten apples (I'm not racist, I swear! Some of my best films are The Sound Of Music!) but glad I'm not a passport holder. And as far as Europe is concerned, I am pretty conflicted. I will of course be thrilled to become a citizen so I have some say and help keep the rightwing shitheads out of the European Parliament and I am a bit of an NBS (Natural Born Socialist): I have an innate sense that there can be no justice without true equality and a belief that every citizen on our fair planet is entitled to food, water, education, civil liberties, dignity and healthcare, so I am drawn to groups like European Alternatives. (But to appropriate the words of Playboy readers since time immemorial: "I only go there for the feminism!"). I am a bit meh about Europe though. I know its aims are essentially anti-nationalistic and pro-progressive but it is in my blood, my historical DNA to instinctively shudder at these discussions. (Also, the word Vichy was thrown around a bit too often for meine kleine hartz to bear. Vichy. Also sounds soft and a little tender like a sweet little fishy, or a bris boy's pishy.)

So no matter where I begin, I always come back to language. What does it mean, Dr de Saussure?

Mr Plog Preparing For The Platform ... Er ... Pavement.

Archway Tube
April 2009

Not Just Another Hallmark Holiday

I love dismissing holidays that I think are just a big bag of shite. One of my favourite tricks used to involve telling my friends that St. Valentine was an anti-semite, right at the point they were gearing up to get all flowered/chocolated/majorly ripped off at candlelit dinner time. (Perverse I know, but amid all my worthy, caring, humanist qualities there is a palapable strain of - non-polymorphus - perversity. Forgive me, dear reader, for all those occasions ahead where it is bound to rear its fugly head .)

Now, where was I? asked the Tangetessa. Ah, yes, craptastic pre-printed dates for the diary. There are many. Do you know what's NOT one though? I'll give you a clue. It falls today in my native Australia (is native ok in that sense or have I just trashed post-colonial thinking in one fell swoop? Is one fell swoop ok?) and I think, the US.

Mother's Day.

And not just because I love, adore and venerate my mother, which I do, but because it didn't originate in a cauldron of commercialism via Disney and Coke (and origins are sooooo important to me as my marvellous Mr Plog is finding out. So far, so verboten: veil, white, the list goes on). Although a modern holiday (not to be confused with British Mothering Sunday, now also, confusingly, called Mother's Day, which dates to the 16th century), there was an earlier attempt to set this date by Julia Ward Howe (1819-1910), writer of "The Battle Hymn of the Republic". She was so moved by the horrors of war that in 1870 she took it upon herself to rally women together, across national lines, to oppose war. Her Mother's Day declaration follows:

Arise then ... women of this day!

Arise, all women who have hearts!

Whether your baptism be of water or of tears!
Say firmly:
"We will not have questions answered by irrelevant agencies,
Our husbands will not come to us, reeking with carnage,
For caresses and applause.
Our sons shall not be taken from us to unlearn
All that we have been able to teach them of charity, mercy and patience.
We, the women of one country,
Will be too tender of those of another country
To allow our sons to be trained to injure theirs."

From the bosom of a devastated Earth a voice goes up with
Our own. It says: "Disarm! Disarm!
The sword of murder is not the balance of justice."
Blood does not wipe our dishonor,
Nor violence indicate possession.
As men have often forsaken the plough and the anvil at the summons of war,
Let women now leave all that may be left of home
For a great and earnest day of counsel.
Let them meet first, as women, to bewail and commemorate the dead.
Let them solemnly take counsel with each other as to the means
Whereby the great human family can live in peace...
Each bearing after his own time the sacred impress, not of Caesar,
But of God -
In the name of womanhood and humanity, I earnestly ask
That a general congress of women without limit of nationality,
May be appointed and held at someplace deemed most convenient
And the earliest period consistent with its objects,
To promote the alliance of the different nationalities,
The amicable settlement of international questions,
The great and general interests of peace.

Tragically so timeless. We're so progressive, aren't we, that in the past 140 years we've reached the moon yet we can't halt this man-made (yep, I went there!) phenomenon. It's not to say that women in power would be all sugar and spice ("Hi! Have you met my friends Margaret and Golda?") but, um, it's worth trying, no?

This morning in London, where it is not Mother's Day, I happen to be going to a session on transnational feminism, part of a seminar organised by European Alternatives. It is described in the programme with the following:

Feminism has become increasingly recognised as a legitimate concern at the international level. At the same time, equality itself remains decidedly allusive in many sectors of life, sex trafficking and female abuse are still prevalent even in ‘Western’ states. What remains of the feminist project of the 60s and 70s, what are the implications of ‘postcolonial’ critiques of feminism, and what possibilities are there for a radical transnational and cosmopolitan feminism to arise?

Thinking about Julia Ward Howe on this day, thinking about all the mothers who have buried their children for a load of piss masking itself as ideology, I think the feminist project needs to be a lot broader. Let's stop war, sistahs! Let's gather together all the good men we know who aren't reflected in the dark halls of power, let's re-educate all those misguided menz and womenz who think gun play and nukular weapons are ok and let's make next Mother's Day and all the Mother's Days thereafter safer, happier, freer and better.

And may all of you mums have a great one this year. Shout out especially to mine and all the cool new ones, of all steps and shapes. I know it's not easy, you guys, but you're all amazing! xxx

Sarah Haskins Is My Homegirl

I love Sarah Haskins ... and so should you!



To all the funny ladies out there ... especially the one who last night taught me that quinoa is pronounced "key-noir" and reminded me again that nothing is off-limits as far as the funny is concerned ...

RIP Dom DeLuise

One of my favourite films of all time:



My favourite actors are often those who work in an ensemble: the Christopher Guest/ Harry Shearer/ Catherine O'Hara crew; the early Woody - Diane Keaton - Tony Roberts brigade, but my first and most favoured are those Mel Brooks Mischief Makers: Madeleine Kahn, Harvey Korman, Marty Feldman ... and a big beautiful bear of a man sadly lost to us on May 4th. (And thanks to Spaceballs, May the fourth always be with him ...)

Not only was Dom DeLuise a comic genius in his own right (Silent Movie, History of the World, Part One), but he left a wonderful legacy to the world in the form of his sons Peter (readers of a certain age may remember him as Johnny Depp's partner-in-preventing-crime-while-looking-young in 21 Jump Street) and the lesser known Michael (Jess' stepfather on Gilmore Girls) and David (one of Dick's students in 3rd Rock From The Sun). Unlike Baldwins, there can never be enough DeLuises in the Holly 'hood.

Also touching is the statement released by his family: "It's easy to mourn his death, but easier to remember a time when he made you laugh." That's how I try to recall my main (funny, burly, bearded) man. Hoping that Dom and my dad are sharing a few giggles and guffaws somewhere fabulous.

xxx

Zen And The Art Of Sanitary Napkins

I could have been a zillionaire trust fund baby had my mum patented her invention -- pads with adhesive. A sixties menstruater, she hated the belts that were then the sole means so she removed the pads and used double-sided adhesive tape (what we in Australia call "sticky tape", not sure how it translates but yaknowehatimean) to stick the pads to her underwear. Shame my otherwise perfect brilliant amazing Mum has not a shred of enterprising commercial spirit (which I unfortunately inherited)! Ah, well. I hear love is better than money anyway ...

Also - did you know that pads and tampons in many countries still incur a luxury tax? A LUXURY TAX! Do the Dead White Men of the political stage REALLY think that getting your gawdamn period is a luxury? Or are they too scared of the word period to face redressing this social and fiscal injustice of most bloody proportions? Many years ago I found myself getting rather tipsy with our former Prime Minister, Bob "Beer-record-breaker" Hawke. "Bob?" I drunkenly rasped in the Great Man's face. "Yes, Dr. P?" he replied. "'How many years were you PM for?" I asked. "Nine" he replied. "Nine?!" I yelled, "And in nine years you couldn't find the time to take the luxury tax off tampons? Do you really think it's a LUXURY to get your period?!". He looked at me with the eyes he must have used to seduce Blanche/destroy Hazel and said "You know what Plog? You're right. Until now I always thought I'd done a good job but you're absolutely right".

See? The pad IS mightier than the sword.

Sweet William: 1993 - 2009

Life is precious, no matter who owns it (or, more accurately - poignantly - leases it). There's a house in Manchester, England (or, more accurately, a home, such is the lifeblood that pulsates through it) that would well serve as a model for most societies. It is a place where a variety of species of various ages and needs co-exist (mostly!) peacefully. A place where everyone - from twin to dog to tortoise that was - is nourished and needed and has a place that is uniquely theirs.

The loss of William, and the fact that it is keenly felt by so many, is a testament to S, our very own Dr. Do-a-lot, who does so much to advance love between all creatures, great and small.

RIP, Willie.

Mash Ups: Mr Plog's Top Five

One of the things I love about life with Mr. P is how full of music it is, although I must admit that I was pretty intimidated the first time I scrolled through his ipod and only recognised one out of a trillion tracks. And now? Let's just say that last night a dj shaved my wife ...

Anyhoo, one of his favourite tricks at the mo' is pulling excellent mash-ups out of his musical sleeve. Here's a list of his Top Five 'Shouldn't Work But Do' Tracks, in no particular order:

1. "Back To Beg" (DJ Zebra) - Frankie Valli vs Amy Winehouse
2. "For Once In My Bleeding Life" (Madmixmustang) - Stevie Wonder vs Leona Lewis
3. "Part-Time Umbrella Lover" (Pheugoo) - Stevie Wonder vs Rihanna
4. "You Give The Superman Lovers A Bad Name" (Pheugoo)- Bon Jovi vs Superman Lovers
5. "Beautiful, Easy Girls" (Pheugoo)- Sean Kingston vs The Commodores

Have a search and a listen and let us know what you think ...