Thursday, July 22, 2010

On My Mysterious Ethnic Origins

People seem to have a great deal of trouble picking where I'm from. I get mistaken for a tourist quite a lot while wandering around the Adelaide CBD. Admittedly, this is probably because I get lost very easily and pronounce 'dance' in a way that seems to make the souls of all South Australians wither up and die. That's the test you can do to see if the person you're talking to is an SA native. Pronounce 'dance' or 'graph' with a hard 'a'. If they immediately start clawing at their skin and writhing in agony, they're South Australian.

Admittedly, I do have a strange accent. I don't know what it is. It's not anything. But for some reason, people never accept that as an answer. People have pegged me as American, Canadian, English, Italian, South African and New Zealandian*. I've given up trying to explain it. For a while after I moved to Adelaide, I tried to pretend that this was just what people from Newcastle sound like. I stopped doing that after I gave that answer to a regular customer at the cafe where I used to work. He was a fingerprints expert from the State Police Headquarters, which was across the road. Most of our regular customers worked either there or at one of the nearby law firms. Nobody ever tried to rob us, even when we started stocking a coffee blend we called 'ROBUS', written on the jar in all caps above the cash register.

Fingerprints Doug, as we shall call him, stopped me when I brought him his tea one morning to tell me he'd been trying for a while and couldn't pick my accent.

"I'm from Newcastle," I replied, casually.

"Really?" replied Fingerprints Doug, "Because I'm from Lake Macquarie, and I've never heard an accent like yours."

This is the problem with constantly dealing with analytical experts. You can't even get away with the slightest, whitest lie. This is the biggest downside to sharing a house with a qualified forensic chemist. He knows exactly when you have or haven't done the dishes.

These days I've changed my response to 'I'm Novacastrian', followed by the silent hope that the asker will be embarrassed about never having heard of it (it just means someone from Newcastle, if you're wondering) and drop the line of questioning.

But apparently, it's not just the accent. After Meattrain decided to start fooling around with some celebrity face match software, we have confirmed that I am officially ethnically confusing. My results were as followed: Jamie Lynn Spears, Rita Hayworth, Paula Abdul, Halle Berry and an Asian actress I hadn't heard of and consequently can't remember the name of. Oh, and Ron Howard? I guess those faces combine for the most ethnically ambiguous face possible.

I actually had an ex-boyfriend who used to insist that I was Italian. I'm not sure why, but I'm pretty sure it can be explained by the fact that he was balls crazy. As in, 'I have to wash your body before every act of sexual intercourse' crazy. It is embarrassing how long it took me to realise that this was a very strange form of foreplay.

For some reason, he'd got it into his head that I was Italian. At first he just asked me about it, on the basis of my appearance. I set the record straight that I had no Italian heritage whatsoever, at least not that I knew of. Yet, somehow, from 'No, I am not in any way Italian,' he managed to hear, 'Yes, I am Italian. Please constantly use it as an explanation for my behaviour, any behaviour.'

For example:
"Geez, it's chilly tonight."
"I'm fine."
"That's just because you Italian girls don't feel the cold."
"I... I'm not Italian. I've told you this. Many times."
"Ha, you Italian girls. I dunno."

-Smackie Onassis

*I'm not going to pretend I've figured out what word to use when referring to a person from New Zealand. Even when I toured the place a few years back, I couldn't get a uniform answer anywhere I went. New Zealand, please call a meeting and decide what we can call you. And don't just say 'Kiwis' this time.

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Poll Update

Heat Three of the band name poll closed with 'Randy Bourbon and the Day of Regrets' taking home the gravy.

Heat Four gives you fine folk the opportunity to choose between Sneaky Baldwin, Today's Urban Youth, The Duplicators and Hey There Jimbo What's Cooking.

I'm sure you will choose wisely.

And if you're wondering, yes I do have more of these. So many, many more.

-Smackie Onassis

Are you there God? It's Me, Smackie Onassis.

When I was growing up, my family were quite religious. Not overzealous, door-to-door, preachy religious or anything like that, but my parents went to church a lot. They were both on the parish council, and Vicar of Dibley was my mother's favourite show. If it had been released a decade or so earlier, I might well have been a Geraldine rather than a Sarah Jane. Dr Who is a much cooler show to be named after, right?

The church my parents were members of was quite progressive - their local head honcho was openly gay and had been in a committed long-term relationship with one man for most of his life. They lived in a little cottage adjacent to the church. One of their most popular priests was a woman, and they frequently had inter-faith services where they invited people from Jewish, Muslim and other Christian groups from around the area to encourage religious tolerance. They also had services where you could bring pets. I remember being quite tempted to borrow my friend's python for the event, but then noticed the biblical parralels of my situation and decided against the idea.

Being as progressive as they were, my parents never forced the idea of God onto me, and I was never made to go to church with them. I was taught science and evolution as fact, and then religion as choice. You can see how I came out of childhood with a very different perception of religion to most people. It was only until I set off into the big, scary world that I saw what some people were doing under the guise of religion and went 'WAIT WHAT? WHAT ARE YOU DOING? YOU STOP THAT. YOU STOP THAT RIGHT NOW.'

I never really knew how to feel about the whole God thing when I was growing up. What I did know was how to cut a win/win deal, where both wins were for me. There was one particular day when I was young when I really didn't want to go to swim training. I don't know why, but it probably had something to do with it being the middle of winter. So, to test the waters of religion, I got out my prayer hands.

Ok God, here's how we're going to play this, I began, If I don't have to go to swimming this afternoon, I will totally believe in you. For reals, God.

I smirked to myself, considering that all I had to do was believe in something and I could get what I wanted without even having to get up. And if there wasn't a God, what did I lose? I'd have to go to swimming, but I probably would have had to anyway. As it turned out, I didn't go to swimming that afternoon, although I later realised that my mother forgetting to take me to one of my millions of after school activities is hardly proof of a supreme being. This coincided with me realising that this was a deal I could really only use once and I had kinda wasted it.

I guess it's pretty safe to say I never really took organised religion that seriously. The only thing I can really remember about my brief period of Sunday School attendance was the time I took along my favourite doll. It was a replica of the E.C. doll from the old ABC Kids show 'Lift Off' and when I sat down in the little circle of chairs they set out, I put E.C. in the seat next to me. After the roll was marked, the teacher asked if there were any new people there that day, as she did every week. I put my hand up and said,

'Yeah! E.C. is new!'

The teacher probably laughed at first, because how adorable, right? Keep in mind that I was actually the most adorable child ever: 

That's me with the ringlets. Unfortunately for my Sunday School teacher (and all future teachers), the ringlets probably helped with my ability to lead a crowd.

'Ok, seriously though. Any new people today?' she asked.

'E.C! You haven't put her on the roll yet,' I insisted.

Then, all the other children joined in until the teacher was forced to change the subject. So naturally I repeated this exercise every week until the poor woman was forced to change her weekly announcement to, Are there any new students who aren't the doll? and my parents decided to let me sleep in on Sunday mornings.

-Smackie Onassis

Monday, July 19, 2010

Rosie O'Donnell Sucks

Again, I have found myself skimming through the darkest corners of the internet. In the course of my totally normal internet searching, I sometimes find I've taken a wrong turn and veered off course. Before I can stop to get my bearings, I find myself in the red light district of the internet. And it's wonderful.

There is a fan page on facebook under the banner of 'Rosie O'Donnell Sucks'. It's a fair enough idea, Rosie O'Donnell is a terrible, horrifying human being. The problem is, there is nothing more frustrating than discovering that people with hysterically awful opinions hold even one of the same opinions as you do. On the one hand, you want to agree with them. On the other hand, you don't want to encourage them.

To illustrate what I mean, here are some examples'. Names have been changed to protect the innocent.


Dana Estes
Tits McGee
I bet you wouldn't say the same thing about Rush L, Sean H, Glenn B, Mark L, or Bill O. Go ahead and say it and I MIGHT have a little respect for your opinion about this MORON. If you refuse than I think everyone will think as I do that your statement is just the ramblings of a hypocritical Dumbocrap Libtard.
11 June at 00:53 · Flag

Let's be clear: everyone here is awful. Everyone. There's not a single word cluster there that doesn't make me want to claw at my brain with my fingernails. I'm really not sure on what grounds Tits McGee there thinks Rosie is being discriminated against. To be honest, I don't think he or she really honestly knows what the word actually means. All (s)he knows is that when (s)he doesn't like what someone else is saying, that's discrimination. I have free speech, darn tootin', and that means that you can't say anything that offends me. What confuses me more is the use of the word 'DSNGE'. Any way I look at it, I can't for the life of me figure out what this word is supposed to be. I can only conclude that it is some kind of synonym for burnsauce and is meant to be pronounced as a mash of letters. I included the reply there for the truly excellent use of the phrase 'Democrap Libtard'. Ooooh, DSNGE!

And we're just warming up.

Tits McGee Thank you for this group, FINALLY. I hate this woman and I hate everything about her.She ALWAYS loves flaunting her FAT opinions about EVERYTHING as if people are listening to her. If I was Elisabeth Hasselback, I would just went in for the right hook, cause that fat bitch deserves it. Love Tits McGee.

25 January at 03:09 · Flag

If there's one sensible criticism I can make about Rosie O'Donnell, it's that her opinions are FAT. Geez, O'Donnell, send your opinions out for a jog or something. Tell them to cut down on the carbs, I don't know. It's not healthy. Fat whore deserves to have boiling water thrown up her to scald her insides. Love Tits McGee.


22 January at 10:07 · Flag

I have never seen anything more quintessentially Texan than this comment. Starting off with a farm-related insult, following through with some home-style, all-caps hatred and to top it off, the Universal Southern US Problem-Solver: throw the bastards on the grill.

Tits McGee she is a queer

10 November 2009 at 12:10 · Flag

Keepin' it simple. Keepin' it honest.

-Smackie Onassis

Sunday, July 18, 2010

Hat Club 4 Lyfe

It was my birthday about a month ago or so. I'm not really that big on presents, so I told my friends what they could do for me instead. There was a celebration, a 'Hatstravaganza' as I referred to it. Naturally, there were a lot of photos taken on the night, as tends to happen on birthday events.

I told my friends that for my birthday, all I wanted was to be allowed to make a Marshall Eriksen style photo montage about how great that night was, and to be allowed to post it to the internet. They agreed willingly, but probably quickly forgot about it.

Well, they are now being held to that agreement. Mainly because it was raining on the weekend and I was bored. Excuse the poor recording quality, I do not own any nice things.

Hat Club 4 Lyfe

-Smackie Onassis

Saturday, July 17, 2010

Thinly Veiled Threats Presents: Chugbuster Sings Classics She Doesn't Know

My friend Chugbuster is basically the funniest person I know. When we first met she introduced herself with a warm-hearted,

Sup, I'm Chugbuster. I'll have you know I wore my killing boots today, because I can't be sure yet that you aren't a serial killer.

I'm paraphrasing, but that's pretty much how it went. We've been best buds ever since, so I guess she must have decided I'm probably not a serial killer after all.

Chugbuster is the youngest person I have ever been friends with. She wasn't even alive in the 1980s, not even for a year or two at the end of it. As such, she often doesn't get some of the cultural references that us older folk take for granted.

After she returned from a trip to the deepest, darkest depths of Broken Hill, I took advantage of our friendship by inviting her into my home and plying her with liquor, before asking her to perform songs that she doesn't know. Her versions are usually based mainly on the titles of the song.

1. The Big Bang Theory - Barenaked Ladies
2. Blue Suede Shoes - Elvis Presley
3. Eye of the Tiger - Survivor
4. Sex and Candy - Marcy's Playground
5. Rich Girl - Hall & Oates
6. La Bamba
6. Buckets of Rain - Bob Dylan
7. Psycho Killer - Talking Heads
8. Strangers in the Night - Frank Sinatra

-Smackie Onassis, who is also saving the earth one bucket at a time.

Thursday, July 15, 2010

Adventures Update: What the hell?

Before I begin, I should start by saying that I just dashed home as fast as I could purely to tell this story. Because it is that amazing.

I've been going for quite a few walks recently, just around my neighbourhood. It's a nice area. I've recently found myself amused by such wonders as the chiropractor around the corner named 'Dr Scarr' (Nominative Determinism perhaps?) and streets with names such as 'Wigtown Wk' and 'Jude La'. If I walk past 'Jude La' one more time and someone hasn't added a 'W' to the end with a sharpie, I swear to god, I will have to take matters into my own hands.

This morning I was out on one of these walks and everything seemed perfectly normal. Until, just a few streets over from our house, I saw a small, old man hobbling around a car wreck. The back section of the car was completely wrapped around a tree, with shattered glass everywhere. Naturally, I rushed over to see if he was ok, and if he needed any assistance. The man gave me a strangely embarrassed look before speaking in a thick accent of indeterminate origin.

"Eh... I try to knock down tree, but it not work..." 

Seriously. There had been a tree outside his house that was obviously not in his good books, and his simple solution for this problem was to back his car forcefully into the tree. Keep in mind, this was a big, thick tree and his car was like, a fiat or something stupid like that. I don't know what goes through a person's head that makes them think the most logical solution to removing a tree from their property is to embrace it with your tiny car, but I am so glad I walked the way I did today.

Also, for the record, I made sure he was ok and didn't need any assistance. He wasn't in any way injured, apart from his pride and his car. The tree remained unharmed.

-Smackie Onassis

Saturday, July 10, 2010

Oh Internet. You so crazy.

The internet is great for many reasons. There's porn, fantasy games, user-submitted humour sites and a great deal of other things designed for the express purpose of keeping awful people well and truly locked away in their parents' basement. No offense, awful people.

Sites like StumbleUpon that let you jump from random page to random page of the internet might as well be called 'Go on, I dare you', but you know me. I'm never one to refuse a dare. I've compiled a list of a few wonderful things I have found in the deepest, darkest corners of the web.

I'd like to share that list with you.

First, there's the pages that have no explanation, but don't NEED one because they are just that amazing. These are pages such as the genre-defying Selleck Waterfall Sandwich or the free access television program featuring a man who paints while running on a treadmill and doing one other random activity. Here's a video where he paints, runs and eats a pie, but there are also clips where he blends drinks, makes pancakes and is watched by some kind of Jungle King, all while painting and exercising. Oh yes, get ready for a wasted afternoon.

While we're talking videos, I found an endlessly entertaining Romanian video site the other day. I found it after clicking on a link to a video of a man covered in bees, which was more entertaining than I could have possibly imagined. I initially watched it because I was thinking about that Eddie Izzard bit that you will know if you are as much of a comedy nerd as most people I know. But not only is this particular Romanian beekeeper (who, according to the video, holds the world record for being "covered in the most bees") completely chill about being covered in bees, he's so cool with it that he's going to drink a beer. Hell, he'll even smoke a cigarette covered in bees! In fact, he's so relaxed about all the bees crawling over his body, he might even ride a donkey. You may think I'm just being funny (if so, thanks) but I am only just falling short of directly quoting the video. I also particularly enjoyed the footage of a reporter getting hit by a horse, which I guess is the Romanian equivalent of the widely circulated 'Reporter Gets Hit by a Car' video.

Of course, then there are the little things. The small, personalised corners of the internet that may not seem that interesting at first. But people often reveal much more than they intend to when they use the internet. You might remember when AOL's search logs were accidentally leaked to the public and everyone started getting worked up about the user who spent hours upon hours searching for flowers and song lyrics, before switching to hours and hours of searches along the lines of  "beauty and the beast disney porn, holocaust rape, japanese child slave, molestation and rape porn, virtual children, 3d molestation and rape porn" and so on and so forth, before switching back to looking up Fall-Out Boy lyrics and orchids. 

But as much as I like reading about other people's sexual deviancies, I prefer the more subtle nods to an internet user's character. While browsing something I wouldn't be able to remember even if I were trying, I came across a site offering free linux software, uploaded by users. One piece of software caught my eye because of how unabashedly self-deprecating the description was:

Wallcal is a simple, stupid, useless calendar for your desktop.

I created this instead alot of useful calendars because:

- I don't like Aqua, Graphite, Aero. I like freedom, I love KDE, I'm looking for my personal desktop style..
- Some famous calendars don't work on my PC.

Every month it will show you a photo of my honeymoon in Ireland. Of course you can change them.

And sure, all he's doing is promoting his software, but with the few short lines of a product description, the reader knows that here, here is a guy who hates his life.

If it's baffling product descriptions you're after, wrap your eyes around this description for a recently released work of young adult fiction, one of those books that tries to be 'hip with the kids' despite the fact the author was clearly a middle aged woman from birth.

Madison still loves logging on to Friendverse to see what her BFFs and her cute new boyfriend Nate are up to. But the latest social networking craze is Status Q, which is all about rapid-fire status updates. When one of Mad's friends has to pull off a high-pressure heist, the gang relies on Status Q to send coded messages to each other...all in the middle of a school dance!

What's YOUR status? How about O...M...G.

...sorry, what was that about a heist? I mean, I vaguely understood all that blather about social networking, but did you say something about a high-pressure heist? I think you might have your angle a little askew, YA fiction author Katie Finn.

'But hey,' you might be saying, 'What is there for me? I like my women like I like my coffee. That is to say, with a good hot slice of crazy floating in them.'

Well, wait no longer, because I have the exact right woman for you. I'm not sure who this woman actually is, but her blog is called 'Naked Seduction'. In it, you will find a few blocks of text interspersed between photos of this girl, who is apparently in the films business. But judging by the sheer strength of the crazy sauce garnishing the entire thing, I have a suspicion that those pictures aren't the real deal. No proof, mind you, but I have faith that we live in society where suspicion alone is enough to have someone locked up for life. Here is a paragraph of her writing, with punctuation added by me in a vain attempt to make it a bit more coherent.

Yes it's true, this is what I do! This is what I do, the best to seduce you with, the nakedness, naked emotion, naked heart, naked mind and naked confession. Naked, naked soul and naked compassion. I seduce you with the pure naked me and my naked love. I seduce you like a woman. I seduce you like your best friend. I seduce you like you. I seduce you with the distance only on the other side of the computer. Seduce with the nakedness with danger. I am your mirror only reflects you...

That's right, she'll seduce you like your best friend, which is probably going to be awkward. But not as awkward as when she starts seducing you... like you. I have no idea what that means and it's still creepy. To be fair, after my attempts at editing that, I must admit that it does have potential in the ever-lucrative arena of performance poetry.

-Smackie Onassis

Bitches. Am I Right Guys?

I'm not exactly what you would call feminine. I have all the right parts, but I don't seem to operate them the usual way. I'm a tomboy through and through and as a result, sometimes, I just don't understand women.

I think I was born without the hormone that can turn a together, intelligent woman into a jealous, irrational crazy with little more than a sideways glance at another woman's assets. I have often sat down with my boyfriend purely to discuss the merits of another woman's assets. Sometimes also her tit-ets. I'm guessing the "irrational jealousy" hormone is the same hormone that makes it possible to so much as sit through the trailer to a Sex and the City movie, or understand the appeal of Twilight.

As a result of thinking more like a dude than a chick, I just. don't. get. women. But still, there is nothing that annoys me more than anything that can be associated with the phrase 'Battle of the Sexes'. Not only is it a theme that has been done so often that there is literally no original material left (studies have shown that the last orignal men vs women joke can be traced back to December 5th, 1982*), but women seem to forget that while saying men are better than women is chauvinistic, so is saying women are better than men. While the definition of 'chauvinism' is usually quoted as 'hatred of women' or something similar, it is actually supposed to mean putting one gender over the other, regardless of which gender that may be.

Also, it is completely and totally pointless.

I hear women talk about all the ways male-dominated society is destroying the futures of young women. Don't get me started on how pornography is seen as harmful to women, despite the fact that it is the one industry where women almost always earn significantly more then men, and never mind that men in porn are not only also objectified, but put on a much lower standing than women. Don't even get me started on that. But whenever I hear people who call themselves feminists saying things like this I really fell the need to point out that regardless of what the male half of the world is doing, time criticising would probably be better spent alleviating the harm women are doing to young women.

In my opinion, the effects of the porn industry on young women, whether or not you agree with what I just said up there, are peanuts compared to the wedding industry. If there's one industry I honestly think the world would benefit from completely wiping out, it's the wedding industry.

And yes, I'm serious. For once. You can't open up any newspaper without seeing something about how the world's economy is doomed, for new and exciting reasons every day. People can't afford their mortgages, small businesses are going under and generally speaking, everybody is completely and totally fucked. Governments are intervening left, right and centre, slapping the restrictions on thick and fast.

And yet, it's still perfectly acceptable to drill into little girls as soon as they can speak that if their groom doesn't spend $20,000 on their wedding, it means he doesn't really love her and her entire life will be totally meaningless.A five figure sum is seen as an AVERAGE cost of a wedding these days. FOR ONE DAY. ONE. DAY. Every time I see a photo in the paper about a young pair of newlyweds who will "never be able to afford to own their own home", I want to know just how much they spent on their wedding. To clarify, I'm not saying you shouldn't have a wedding. I'm just saying you shouldn't spend your entire life savings and then some on a single one day event.

For other new and original ways women are destroying other women see: mothers who encourage their daughters to get breast implants because "surgery is no big deal", and fairytales in general. My mother used to tell me about a lesbian couple she knew who, when reading fairytales to their daughter, used to change the endings from '...and she and Prince Charming lived happily ever after' to '...and she went to university, got a degree and then decided on her own terms if she wanted to marry Prince Charming', which I thought was great. Although I also don't like the whole 'Do nothing to fix your problems, and a fairy godmother will do everything for you' idea.

Cinders, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but if you want to go to the ball, you're going to have to make your own damn dress.

-Smackie Onassis

P.S. Heat two of the band names poll is just coming to a close, and unless there is a sudden surge of votes in the next seven or so hours, it's looking like 'The Fistiest Cuffs' is going through to the next round, which I must say I am pleased with. In heat three you will be deciding between The Bourgeois Gestures League, Citroen Ella, Imp Proper and Randy Bourbon and his 'Day of Regrets' Band.

*Disclaimer: I made that up.