I'm writing this from the visitors' accommodation in Milingimbi, just off the North coast of East Arnhem Land. Stranded from the rest of civilisation, and cut off from the internet (don't ask me how I'm posting this... wibbly wobbly timey wimey), it's just me, the land, the ocean, my bible, my notebook and my iPod.
Okay, okay. I also have a fridge, an air conditioner and a TV. But there's nothing on except repeats of Two and a Half Men, so my iPod's been getting a fair work out. I've been re-living and re-loving Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog and I've decided that our lovable and piteous antihero wasn't that far off the mark.
Just before TAAHM, Channel Nine News informed me of the following:
Kevin Rudd's government has announced that after getting themselves elected by promising to open around 250 new childcare centres to relieve the chronic national shortage, they've decided they're going to build 38.
The Melbourne Storm have announced that they've been cheating for the last five years at least by rorting the salary cap system and have been stripped of three minor premierships, two premierships, a million dollars and all points for this season, past and present. No-one would ever have accused rugby league players of being able to count, but this sort of "do whatever it takes to win and bugger the spirit of the game" attitude really belongs in some other country. Like England.
In another brazen display from Rudd's goons, they've also gone and announced that an enquiry into the debacle that was the home insulation scheme has found that fixing the mess is likely to be really difficult, and really really expensive. So they've decided not to.
And did they send out Peter Garrett to face the music? No. He was hiding in an office deep within Parliament House somewhere. So did Kevin, who just two months ago was so keen to take responsibility and show us all how up front he was, front up? No. He was hiding in Tasmania. He would probably have been even further away, if it wasn't for that damned Icelandic volcano. Instead they arranged a press conference with some dubious looking assistant minister for who-cares-what? A man so otherwise irrelevant I'm not even going to bother looking up who it actually was.
On top of all that, and despite a very strongly worded request to join a Saturday league, I've been consigned to an E grade cricket team playing on Sundays, which means choosing between playing sport to do something about my physical fitness, and investing my Sundays in intercongregational activities to do something about the spiritual health of the local Church. I mean, I realise I'm close enough to useless and not getting anywhere, but this might just be the final insult.
I'm also rubbish at cricket.
Yes indeed, as the Horrible little Doctor put it:
"It's not about making money. It's about taking money; destroying the Status Quo. Because the Status is not Quo. The world's a mess and I just need to rule it."
I've been considering the various avenues available to me in terms of affecting the obviously necessary pardigmic social change. I could become a politician myself, but they all seem to be increasingly useless. I could become a religious leader, but, for all I see, we have too many of them as it is (more on that later). I could found an underground resistance movement, but bringing a campaign of violence and destruction of property to the streets of Palmerston wouldn't actually set me apart from the local high school students. And no-one seems to pay them any attention.
So logically the only recourse left is to become a lone-wolf masked vigilante and prowl the streets at night, seeking out injustice and crushing it under the heel of my rocketboots. To the secret lab, Emilio!
No. There's no secret laboratory and no mad yet devoted assistant. And who calls their sidekick Emilio, anyway? Lame. I guess I'll just stay here in the visitors' accommodation and continue to combat the forces of evil by blogging them to death.
And that's the news for this Thursday the 22nd of April. A Current Affair is next, but for now: good night.
Garry with 2 Rs
P.S. I apologise for the overtly political tone this blog has now taken. We will be returning to the regular scheduled service of absurd sexist ecumenical idiocy as soon as possible.
P.P.S. Anyone else think Jonathan Uptin needs a more creative sign-off?