Australia the movie - what you don't know

To be honest, I've never been a big fan of the big screen period drama, particularly when there's a faint whiff of Mills & Boon romance mixed in with the gumleaves, billy tea and horse poo.

It's the reason why I've never seen that over-salted, soggy sea cracker Titanic and probably never will. Too much schmaltz and seaweed makes for a nasty stink in my books.

But Baz Luhrmann's Australia is an Aussie classic, maaate! It's got Our Nic and Big Bad Hughie Jackman running around this vast bloody Western Australian bushland half naked, it's got war, it's got weird references to the Wizard of Oz and it's got REAL indigenous Australians in the cast.

God damn, it's the film that's supposed to stab Crocodile Dundee to death with its own hunting knife and bury the carcas under a rotting log never to cast its shadow across the oz-stereotype again.

Okay, sooooo...

Sifting through all the hype, to my eyes Australia was looking about as authentic-oz as a smear of Marmite on a piece of German rye. A few roos short of a top paddock.

But that was until I came across - let's call him David - an Aboriginal bloke and his wife hanging around to one side of a Western Force sponsorship announcement at Ronald McDonald House in Subiaco.

"David worked on that film Australia," someone whispered.

I wandered over and introduced myself, asking what he worked on during the project. 'David' explained that Baz had employed him to ensure the authenticity of the Aboriginal language captured on film.

"It was lucky," he said. "If they'd filmed a few kilometres further north it would have been another language spoken in that country and someone else would have got the job."

David had just got back to the Kimberley after a couple of weeks post-production work in Sydney. He and his wife had bought their son down for treatment at Princess Margaret Hospital and were staying at Ronald McDonald House while they were in town.

"Don't like this cold weather," he said with a rue smile.

To him the work was no big deal. He was just a bloke from the Kimberley who was lucky enough to land a job with a pretty big film that rolled into his corner of this vast continent. His son also managed to land work as a stand-in actor to one of the lead cast members.

It was after this meeting that I decided that yes, I would go and see Australia at the cinema and add my few dollars to the gross ticket sales that determine the success or failure of a film.

If Baz was prepared to go to such lengths to ensure the authenticity of the Aboriginal language spoken in that particular area of Western Australia where the film was shot, then he's got my two thumbs-up.

I might still walk away less than moved, but that sort of attention to detail deserves respect, maaate!

Groove on the Green

Lawn bowls is my kind of sport. You can kick your shoes off, have a few lazy ales and roll a few bowls down without too much fear of breaking into a sweat.

And now the North Fremantle Centre, home of the Magpies, has pumped up the cool factor to 11, with its Sunday Groove on the Green sessions.

Not only can you indulge in barefoot bowls and the finest liquor available to mankind, you can also enjoy live music with an open mic session taking place from 2.00 - 7.00pm... whenever the groove grinds to a halt. Oh, and there's a barbecue in action as well to keep the tastebuds happy.

Now if you've read my previous post about the NFC, you'll know that it's seriously retro and The Perth Files (TPF) just LOVES retro, almost as much as a cold beer.

Best of all, there's a serious TPF link here, with Cookster Senior (my Fremantle correspondent) the man behind the plan and behind the bar.

Join my facebook group Friends of North Fremantle Bowling Club for news of The Perth Files 4th Birthday Bash in 2009.

The club is located on Stirling Hwy, North Fremantle - on the left as you head towards the 'new' bridge.

See you on the green groovers!

Help out the kids tomorrow

Well, tomorrow is McHappy Day and if you've ever wondered what this fundraiser supported by - love 'em or hate 'em - McDonald's actually does, then I'd suggest you take a couple of minutes to watch this video.

This footage was shot just two weeks ago at Ronald McDonald House in Subiaco. I've met these kids, I've met their families and I hope that you'll want to help them as much as I do.

Tomorrow, 15 November, you can choose to buy a Big Mac, you can buy a Crazy Straw, a box of Byron Bay Cookies, a McHappy Meal, or just throw some coins into the bucket.

There are plenty of ways you can pitch in, so go on, even if you're a rabid member of the Young Socialist Alliance who thinks our clown Ronald is the spawn of Satan (trust me, he's not), hang up your hang-ups for one day and 'help teh kideez'.

The Obama victory - from the inside looking out

Barack Obama may well be the President elect of the United States of America, but a quick Google search shows that in the online world, we're talking about the importance of this event on a global scale.

Maybe it's because we're all running scared? Maybe it's because at this time in world history it's no longer fun to have a clown in the White House, a good 'ol boy who can't grasp third grade linguistics. This shit has hit the world economics fan, the globe is combusting and no one seems to have a hand on the steering wheel.

To use a line from the Aussie 80s flick 'Going Down', 'This is a dog eat dog world and from where I'm standing, there's not enough dog to go around.'

We need a WORLD leader and maybe Barack Obama is that man? Someone who can cut through all the crap and actually inspire people to bring about real change in the world? As bitter and cynical about world politics as I am, I could use a fix of that right now.

And that brings me to the main event of this post - the thoughts and reasonings of a man who worked as a volunteer on the Obama campaign. What the hell drove Scott Barman, a coin collecting 40-something guy from Washington DC to say, 'You know what, this Obama character looks the real deal and I'm gonna help him to get elected as the next President of the USA'. What indeed, read on...

Next stop, 'HOPE' - Scott Barman

Where did we go right? What made us do it? What happened after eight years of a president whose popularity is the lowest since the 1970s, what made a country with years of racial and cultural divides elect someone other than a white man as president?

HOPE!

We hope that this man with a funny name and does not look like the presidents on the dollar bills will be as cool and calm under fire as he showed during this grueling campaign to lead the United States back from our last eight years.

It is that hope and watching him deflect the attacks against him that prompted me, a middle-aged white guy born in New York living in the Washington, DC-area to support this man.

I have always been a political junkie. Aside from reading as many newspapers as I could acquire, I would watch the Sunday morning talk shows as religiously as some watch entertainment television. But up until now, I had not become involved in the election process. I had never donated money to a campaign. Sure, I attended city and county council meetings, I wrote to legislators, and signed petitions. I also volunteer to help cancer-related charities in their lobbying efforts to ensure funding for related healthcare and research. But I never worked with a campaign.

After having knee surgery on an arthritic knee, I was contacted by a phone bank worker in the Obama for President office in Bethesda, Maryland. Since I had donated money, I was on "the list." The woman was very nice to me and asked if I could help with my time. Since I am still recovering from my surgery, she suggested that I come into the office and call others. I agreed.

My first day on this job was the Saturday after the second debate. I was brought to a computer, logged in to a secure website, handed a script, and started calling. I personalized the script a bit, added more of my personality, made it sound more exciting, and I called other Obama supporters.

I never asked for money. I asked for help. I asked if they would join groups of people who would knock on doors in Northern Virginia, just over the border, to gain additional support. That was important since Virginia is a battleground state and the more votes the better the chance that Obama could win the electoral votes from a traditional Republican state.

If the person at the other end of the phone was physically challenged or were afraid to do the canvassing, they could volunteer to call others, like I was doing. With very limited exceptions, the people I spoke with that day were excited to hear from me. Even though I signed up only one person, it was infectious. So I volunteered again.

As the election approached, the script changed and the calling region widened. First, I was calling people in Northern Virginia asking if they could canvas in other parts of the state. I made arrangements for dozens of people to meet other Obama supporters in targeted areas of Virginia so they could knock on doors to spread the word. Then it was other states. I called quite a few people in Pennsylvania, Ohio, Iowa, and Florida asking for support.

I missed the final weekend of calling to pick up a new puppy (see http://coinsblog.blogspot.com/2008/11/new-acquisition.html), but on Monday, the calls were to all over the country reminding people to vote. No more volunteering was necessary. We just wanted to remind people to vote. After the previous two election and the dirty tricks by the Republican Party, the only way to combat that was to win decisively.

Most of us were confidently nervous. Confidence came from the polls showing Obama winning. Nervous because we remember the polls showing John Kerry winning before the 2004 election and what happened in 2000.

But the trends in the polls were in Obama's favor and all we could do was let the process continue.

I attended a private election party on the big night. We watched as the results were being announced. Results were announced slowly. As the polls closed in each state, both candidates were "holding serve", winning the states they expected to win. Then came Indiana, analyzing the county-by-county count and showing how Obama was doing well.

Pennsylvania went to Obama, which was expected, but it was announced that Virginia was leaning to Obama. So was Florida, which was not expected. Then it was very close in North Carolina--too close to call.

The Rust Belt states of Ohio, Michigan, Wisconsin, and Minnesota were called for Obama and the excitement started to build. With Pennsylvania and Ohio going to Obama, McCain had to run the table. We were optimistic but still nervous.

Obama captured New Mexico and Colorado during the ten o'clock hour.
Indiana was trending to Obama. Virginia and North Carolina was too close to call. Florida is... well... Florida as it was announced there were problems in the southeastern part of the state.

It was 11 PM, the polls closed on the west coast. California, Oregon, and Washington represent 73 electoral votes. With 270 needed to win, Obama was projected to already have over 200 at the top of the hour. But it wasn't over until the electoral counter eclipsed 270 votes.

The announcement came: "NBC News projects that Barack Obama will be the next president of the United States."

As the picture on the television switched to Grant Park in Chicago, the scene of violent protests during the 1968 Democratic National Convention, it was a sea of jubilation.

Ten minutes later, the Commonwealth of Virginia was called for Obama.
For those of us who worked the phones and those who went door-to-door campaigning, it was a satisfying victory.

Our party broke up at 11:30. While we wanted to celebrate, it was time for sleep so we could return to our jobs in the morning.

It was a great experience. I do not know if I would do it again, but I thought it was necessary for this candidate and for this election.

President-elect Barack Obama will be inaugurated on January 20, 2009.
I cannot wait!

Inside the Obama camp

Be sure and listen to a live interview at 7.15am tomorrow morning with Obama campaign headquarters volunteer and avid coin collector, Scott Barman from Washington DC.

Scott is soon to provide a campaign blog for The Perth Files, but in the meantime I've arranged for him to speak with the presenter of 720 ABC Saturday Breakfast, James Lush, to discuss what the campaign and - ultimately - the sweet taste of victory was like for someone on the inside.

Remember to share your comments about what Obama's victory means to you.

Can we fix it America?

UPDATE: please leave a brief comment telling me what you felt when Obama took to the the stage to accept victory - and pass this link on to your friends to do the same!

YES THEY CAN!!! There was a touch of the Bob the Builders about Barack Obama's victory speech today and lord knows, he's going to need all the help he can get with the grizzled shell of a country he's been handed the reigns to lead.

I'll never forget the fact that I heard the speech while sitting in my car in the rain eating hot chips and gravy... hell, an event like this screamed out for comfort food.

Now that Dubbya's been told not to let the door hit him on the arse on the way out and John McCain can lay off the Red Bull, might we see another era of sanity prevail in the US?

I got the fear today when I heard an interview with Sarah Palin as she exited a polling booth and refused to say who she voted for... 'That's the neat thing about this country'.

Just have a good look at this video of the Hockey Mom and ask yourself just how safe the world would have been with this halfwit in charge?

But Barack Obama, can he fix it?
Barack Obama, oh yes, it appears he can.

Was it just me, or did this election result have a far more profound impact than anything that has happened in world politics in the past 50 years? How many of you shed a tear? How many kissed and hugged your partners and kids? Fired off text messages or twittered through the whole process?

Where were you when Obama strode on stage to accept victory and what was your reaction?

Daylight saving zombies - part III

I had struggled under the weight of serious octopus induced hallucinations thanks to the workings of Teh 'Rage Cohen, only to find myself standing alone before the thrashing sea on the North Mole in old Fremantle Town.

The smell of sardines and diesel hung heavy in the air.

The weariness had set in and my limbs were savaged by the winds like poorly secured corflute signage at a corporate land sale.

In the distance I could see a vehicle painted in stripes, like a tiger - or was it flames? - but there was no sign of the barge and no sign of The Worst of Perth car and its rummy occupants, The Lazy Aussie, Skink and Frank.

I can't tell you precisely what happened next, except to say that a large hypodermic was thrust into my neck and the last sounds I heard were a cackling laugh carried on a Sambuca breath, breathing out the words, 'Say hello to the She-Ra from us...'

This sordid account of the dream state that followed comes from the foetid pen of none other than The Lazy Aussie, who truly does know The Worst of Perth... (language warning!)

'Picture if you can Cookster', said Rolly, struggling to remove his boot, 'A man driven by blind stupidity. A man whose spiritual blinds hang faded in tattered strips like Bodz Tanning Salon. A man whose cow of the soul has udders distended hideously like an inflated rubber glove...'

Cookster snickered. 'Like, five versions of Tiny Pinders knob?'

Rolly paused a moment in the struggle to remove his boot. 'If you prefer. Now imagine if that glove was expecting to be inflated beyond the physical limits of the structure of the fabric at a particular time?' With a tremendous effort Rolly's boot flies off.

'Im not with you', said Cookster.

'OK, let me put it this way', said Rolly, fishing an imaginary stone from the toe. 'Imagine if those five Pinder knobs were expecting relief at a particular time, say after a Wildcats game, and then they were told they wouldnt get that relief until an hour later?'

'Told? So you'd be talking into Tiny's knob?'

'Tap tap, is this thing working?'

'Just forget Pinder's cock!' snapped Rolly.

'But you said...'

'Never mind what I said. You're in PR right?'

'Yes. A house is not a home.'

'In that case, let me put it into words you can understand. C#@t kini.'

'Ahh. OK. Right.'

'With daylight saving, the c#@t kinis hanging in Stripper's World window would fade much faster," Rolly explained.

'Dont you think you're moving too fast to the punch line in this dialogue?' said Cookster. 'Shouldn't there be more Pinder cock talk?'

'No', said Rolly. 'I have to go to the toilet. Wine exhausted.'

To be continued...

Buggy challenge launches Handa Open

This morning's launch of the Handa Open golf tournament at the Fleet Steps in Sydney's Royal Botanic Gardens saw four of the game's Legends battling it out in a Golf Buggy Challenge.

With a grey looking Opera House and Harbour Bridge for a backdrop, Stewart Ginn, David Merriman, Terry Gale and Handa Open defending Champion Wayne Grady, put the pedal to the metal in an epic challenge...

Okay, maybe not epic, but with Merriman only missing out on last year's largish purse due to a caddy mistake - let's not go there - any chance to get one over Grady was taken with relish.

Golf fans can catch this fearsome foursome and a whole host of other golfing greats in the Handa Open being played at the Concord Golf Club from Friday, 31 October to Sunday, 2 November. Entry is by gold coin donation.

Daylight saving zombies - part II

The story continues, as told by the Herring affected, but often brilliant scribe David 'Teh Rage' Cohen, author of Rottobloggo: To make sense of the many non-sensical references - of the non literary variety that is - you'll need to visit The Worst of Perth... for herein doth the secret lie...

It was a dark and stormy evening; the rain fell in torrents--except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in Fremantle that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the scented candles that struggled against the darkness.

Through one of the obscurest quarters of the beautiful port city, and among haunts little loved by the gentlemen and women of the police, a man, evidently from the distant suburb of Floreat, was wending his solitary way. He stopped twice or thrice at different bong shops and houses of a description correspondent with the appearance of the quartier in which they were situated,--and tended inquiry for some article or another which did not seem easily to be met with. All the answers he received were couched in the negative ("F#@k off", were the plain'tive cries); and as he turned from each door he muttered to himself, in no very elegant phraseology, his disappointment and discontent: "C#*ts".

At length, at one house, the landlord, a sturdy sniper, after rendering the same reply the inquirer had hitherto received, added,--"But if this vill do as vell, Cookie, it is quite at your sarvice!" Pausing reflectively for a moment, Cookie responded, that he thought the thing proffered might do as well; and thrusting it into his ample pocket he strode away with as rapid a motion as the wind and rain would allow. He soon came to a nest of low and dingy buildings, at the entrance to which, in half-effaced characters was written "Fremantle Markets." Having at the most conspicuous of these buildings, a boutique brewery or fusion-food restaurant through the half-closed windows of which blazed out in ruddy comfort the beams of the hospitable hearth, he knocked hastily at the door. He was admitted by a lady of a certain age, and endowed with a comely rotundity of face and person.

"Hast got it, Cookie?" said she quickly, as she closed the door on the guest.

"Noa, noa! not exactly--but as I thinks as ow . . ."

"Pish off, you fool!" cried the woman interrupting him, peevishly. "Vy, it is no use desaving me. You knows you has only stepped from my boosing ken to another, and you has not been arter the book at all. So there's the poor cretur a-raving and a-dying, and you . . ."

"Let I speak!" interrupted Cookie in his turn. "I tells you I vent first to Poor Lisa’s, who, I knows, chops the whiners morning and evening to the young ladies, and I axes there for a rocket-propelled grenade launcher, and she says, says she, 'I 'as only nunchuks but you'll get a RPG, I thinks, as Bedford Crackpot’s,--the deranged, as we knows.' So I goes to Bedford’s, and he says, says he, 'I 'as no call for weapons--'cause vy?--I 'as a call vithout; but mayhap you'll be a-getting it at the bong shop hover the vay,--'cause vy?--the bong seller’ll be damned!" So I goes hover the vay, and the bong retailer says, says he, 'I 'as not a RPG: but I 'as a dirty bomb laced with canola, and mayhap the poor creturs mayn't see the difference.' So I takes the dirty bomb, Mrs. Poor Lisa, and here they be surely!--and how's poor Lazy Aussie?"

"Fearsomo! Men are beasts! He'll not be over the night, I'm a-athinking."

"Vell, I'll track up the ammo!"

So saying, Cookie ascended a doorless staircase, across the entrance of which a chunk of corflute, stretched angularly from the wall to the chimney, afforded a kind of screen; and presently he stood within a chamber, which the dark and painful genius of the bloke who painted the pic of the kneeling woman and the Alsation might have delighted to portray. The walls were white-washed, and at sundry places strange figures and grotesque characters had been traced in burnt orange by some mirthful inmate, in such sable outline as the end of a smoked herring stick or the edge of a piece of charcoal is wont to produce. The wan and flickering light afforded by a farting candle gave a sort of grimness and menace to these achievements of pictorial art, especially as they more than once received embellishment from portraits of Brendon Grylls, such as he is accustomed to be drawn. A low fire burned gloomily in a sooty grate; and on the hob hissed "the still small voice" of a kick-arse pan of mandrax. On a round deal-table were two vials, a cracked cup, a broken spoon of some dull metal, and upon two or three mutilated chairs were scattered various articles of female attire. On another table, placed below a high, narrow, shutterless casement (athwart which, instead of a curtain, bloodied mayoral chains had been loosely hung, and now waved fitfully to and fro in the gusts of wind that made easy ingress through many a chink and cranny), were a looking glass, sundry appliances of the toilet, a box of cricketers’ boxes, a few ornaments of more show than value; and a watch, the regular and calm click of which produced that indescribably painful feeling which, we fear, many of our readers who have heard the ravings of the Daylight Savings Murder Posse can easily recall.

To be continued...

Daylight saving zombies attack!

It happened on Sunday morning. The world as we knew it was gone and a dark pall had fallen over suburbia like a blanket over a bird cage.

I stumbled outside to find out where the sun had gone. Yes it was morning, but the harsh glare that would normally prise my lids asunder and prod the sleeping baby until he screamed for his bottle was curiously missing. It had shrunk away and was hiding in the shadows like a dog licking its wounds.

But I had been tricked before. The cunning beast which is the coming of day in Western Australia does not suffer fools gladly. It will tear the eyes from your very sockets and sear your flesh before you have time to mutter, 'where is the 30+?'

I donned my glasses and faux-quokka baseball cap, put the poodle on a leash and ventured into the street. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

Sensing danger I grabbed a five iron from the garage and wrapped the dog's leash tighter around my wrist. I was like Will Smith in that awful armageddon movie set in New York, except instead of an alsation and a pump action shotgun, I had a yappy poodle and a golf club.

The cause of my paranoia became evident immediately. It was pre-empted by a wailing sound, followed by large groups of people floundering about and clawing at their eyes, shouting, 'I can't see', 'Who turned out the lights?' 'Oh my Lord, why hast thou forsaken me?'

They appeared to be blinded, unable to see where they were going... staggering on hands and knees, or scuttling along crab-like, bouncing off trees, tripping on gutters. Joggers, dog walkers, retirees and empty nesters with nothing better to do. Individuals, some gathered in groups, others dragged by pets.

I grabbed a flannel-hatted senior by the collar of his cardigan and demanded he tell me what had caused this nightmare vision before me. 'Tell me old man or you shall feel the blunt end of my Ping!'

He cowered in fear, his eyeballs rolling back into his emaciated skull. His lips trembled. 'Don't you know? Don't you see what they have done? They have taken away our light... our shining beacon. Without it we are doomed. Doomed to wander the early morning streets as the daylight saving damned - wretched, sightless, aimless beasts.'

I threw him into the undergrowth in disgust. 'Get a grip man! The day is here - look around you... is this not light enough for you?'

But it was too late, he had stumbled into the path of oncoming traffic and disappeared in a puff of brown woollen fibres.

'You've had it too good for too long!' I screamed at them. 'You must adjust to the light and learn that you don't need to eat dinner at 5.00pm and be in bed before the final sirens sound on the closing credits of The Bill!

'There is life after Parkinson. It's okay to stay in bed until 6.00am! There is NOTHING to fear...'

But again, too late. Blind eyes and deaf ears. Rather than embrace the change they gathered in even tighter groups, huddled around radios sharing mobile phones to call talkback radio and wail down the line to Hutchison and Beaumont - whoever was willing to listen.

And in time the savagery began. Within days these rabid packs would begin wandering the early morning streets in search of the 'Savers', chanting 'Death to the Twilight' and offering up sacrafices to the 'God of Early Morning Walks'.

Meanwhile, on Rottnest Island, David 'Teh Outrage' Cohen was mobilising forces to take out these vast zombie hoards, but there was much planning to be done. He rolled his first herring spliff of the day, kicked off his deck shoes and leaned back to look out across Thompson Bay to the mainland beyond.

'You f*#kers shall rue the day...'

As the blue smoke curled languidly across the room to join the sea breeze snaking across the salt lakes, making music in the pines, he eyed the cream bun in the pantry and punched 1300-COOKSTER into the Nokia.

'Teh Rage here Cookster. The barge will meet you at the North Mole at 6.30pm once the zombies are safely in bed. You bring the golf clubs and I'll supply the octopus. Tell The Lazy Aussie to pick up Skink and Frank in The Worst of Perth Combi on the way - I have a plan.'

...to be continued.

Shit service...

Okay, okay, I'm sorry, but something stinks about this whole 'turd in the icecream' drama that took place at the Coogee Bay Hotel.

Check out this footage of Jessica and Steve Whyte discussing the incident and look out for the bit where she starts talking about trying to beat the kids to the hard chocolate layer at the bottom, only to find out "Oh my god, they've served me shit!"

I dare you to watch this footage and maintain a straight face when Steve describes how he took the bowl to the maitre'd and said, "excuse me, but you've served us shit... yes, that's the word I used."

And the copper who tells them, "that smells like baby shit" ["baby poo" - steve interjects] only for Jessica to add, "... he obviously doesn't have kids because that wasn't baby shit."

Also a rib tickler is the "middle child" abusing the staff and running around screaming, "you fed my Mummy poo!" Is this some kind of reality TV stunt?

It's appalling, no doubt about it, but it's the Whyte's last comments about how "we didn't complain that much" which suggests the frozen faeces fiasco took place after some kind of incident with staff.

Now we've all heard the horror stories about what staff do with your food when you complain, and while I don't suggest for a minute that this was retribution by an aggrieved staff member, you can imagine someone thinking that a 'complimentary' bowl of poo icecream would be a pretty darned effective payback.

The clincher would be if they were the Brown family, rather than the Whytes.

Be interesting to see how this one plays out, but I've heard the government has called for a probe. No, seriously.

A bath, 756 balls and a semi-naked golfer

Phew! One of the most challenging launch events I've held to date has just come to a succesful end, despite the 1,100 golf balls we ordered ending up in Queensland (instead of Nedlands), the weather turning nasty and much angst over the arrival of a claw footed bathtub...

Yes indeed, it's all well and good to be creative, but until the fat's in the fire and the media throng are within touching distance, the lead up to these events builds a level of anxiety that I imagine only John McCain could understand... okay, maybe not that bad, but enough to promote hair loss!!!

Today at 10.30am we unveiled a claw foot bath filled with hundreds of golf balls and one of the most vivacious and talented young golfers on the Australian women’s tour.

It was all in aid of launching the Handa Australia Cup golf tournament at Nedlands Golf Club, along with the public unveiling of the 2009 Australian Women of Professional Golf Calendar.

This year's calendar features a reproduced image of original calendar girl, Australian golfing legend and 2007 Handa Australia Cup champion Jan Stephenson, in her famous ‘bath full of golf balls’ shot from 1986. The 2009 edition pays tribute to Stephenson and four generations of women golfers participating in the calendar project this year.

To bring that image to life and in line with the Handa Australia Cup theme of ‘Joining the Generations’, young golfer Danielle Montgomery jumped into the bathtub, while Jan Stephenson reminisced about her time in the tub - complete with a frank discussion about her 'nipple covers'.

Also on hand at the launch were legends Peter Senior, Pat Bradley, Stewart Ginn, Terry Gale, Ossie Moore and Rodger Davis, who you can catch in action this Saturday and Sunday 25 and 26 October.

The $100,000 Handa Australia Cup is the world’s only golf tournament to feature male and female golfing legends playing alongside the next generation of golfing stars, including the leading junior boy and girl from each state. It is also the only competition where male and female golfers compete for the same trophy.

The competition was founded by Japanese businessman and philanthropist Haruhisa Handa, who is also the Honorary Patron of the International Blind Golf Association.

*Images courtesy of Natalee Fuhrmann

Legends of golf return to Perth

A release I prepared this week to announce the Handa Australia Cup golf tournament to be held this weekend 25 - 26 October at Nedlands Golf Club.

The launch event will be a corker - we're recreating the famous Jan Stephenson bathtub shot by putting talented young golfer Danielle Montgomery in a bath kindly supplied by Reece and topping it up with 1,100 golf balls.

If that aint worth a 30 second slot in the sports news, I don't know what is!

Legends of international golf, including Ian Baker-Finch, Jan Stephenson and Peter Senior, have gathered in Perth for the Handa Australia Cup at Nedlands Golf Club this weekend, Saturday 25 and Sunday 26 October 2008.

The Handa Australia Cup is the world’s only golf tournament to feature male and female golfing legends playing alongside the next generation of golfing stars, including the leading junior boy and girl from each state. It is also one of only two competitions where male and female golfers compete for the same trophy.

The competition was founded by Japanese businessman and philanthropist Haruhisa Handa, who is also the Honorary Patron of the International Blind Golf Association.

“The Handa Australia Cup is about joining the generations – bringing together rising stars and past champions in one unique tournament,” Dr Handa explained.

Players confirmed to date include Ian Baker-Finch, defending Champion Jan Stephenson, Peter Senior, Pat Bradley, Stewart Ginn, Terry Gale, Ossie Moore, Cindy Rarick, Rodger Davis, Michael Clayton, Bob Shearer, Mike Harwood and many more.

Last year’s Handa Australia Cup marked the return to professional tournament golf for Ian Baker-Finch after a five year break. “Ian’s successful return to professional golf last year has raised the profile of the tournament and created a lot of excitement in golfing circles both here and overseas,” said Tournament Chairman Wayne Smith.

Now in its third year, the 36 hole event was preceded by a combined Pro Am on Friday, 24 October with the Australian Blind Golf Championship – Australian Open tournament from Wednesday 22 to Thursday 23 October.

The purse for the senior men and women professionals will be AU$100,000. This is the second largest senior purse in Australia, surpassed only by the Handa Open to be played the following week at Concord Golf Club in Sydney.

Spectators for the Handa Australia Cup are welcome and entry is free. For further information contact Event Manager Gemma Liddelow at Vault Sports Management: gemma.liddelow@vaultsm.com or (08) 9380 6978

What: Handa Australia Cup
Where: Nedlands Golf Club, Melvista Avenue, Nedlands
When: Saturday 25 and Sunday 26 October 2008 – daily tee off will commence at approximately 10.30am. The Pro-Am on Friday 24 October will have a shot gun start at 12.00pm.

Free WiFi at McDonald's Australia

Some good news that I know many of my geek friends will enjoy. Now you can haz wireless internet connection at McDonald's AND enjoy a Rainforest Alliance Certified Coffee at the same time!

In fact, leave me a comment below, email, or DM me at twitter and I'll even line up some free coffee vouchers for the first 50 respondents (or is that respondees... hmmm, crap word either way, but I'm too busy to care!!).

* Only down side is that the WA roll out won't take place until Feb 09... but as the shampoo commercial states, 'It won't happen overnight, but it will happen!'

Tuesday October 21, 2008

McDonald’s enables customers to roam free

McDonald’s Australia today announced its plans to roll out free wireless high speed broadband internet access to 720 restaurants, making it the biggest provider of free WiFi in Australia.

McDonald’s Australia has partnered with Telstra, the country’s leading telecommunications carrier to offer the free service over Telstra’s Next IP™ network. The staged roll out is expected to be completed by March 2009.

Free WiFi will benefit a broad range of McDonald’s Australia customers, including business people on the move to those wanting to take time out at the weekend to catch up on the latest news or music downloads over breakfast.

In fact a regular hotspot user who pays to log on for an hour a week could save as much as $728 per year on premium WiFi charges by using the McDonald’s Australia free service.

McDonald’s Australia CIO, Henry Shiner, said this new technology will enable our customers to work online using their own laptop, personal digital assistant (PDA), mobile phone or games console at any McDonald’s restaurant.

“Many of our customers are looking to access the internet on the move and we see this partnership with Telstra as leading the way and providing a free and convenient service to further enhance our customers’ restaurant experience.”

“The internet continues to play a larger role in our everyday lives and access to the Internet continues to drive people to seek that opportunity to go online while away from their offices and homes,” Mr Shiner added.

Mr Shiner also explained the additional benefits available with the new service.
“The installation of the Telstra’s Next IP network will mean our staff will be able to access for business applications such as access to training programs and other online information,” Mr Shiner said.

The partnership between Telstra and McDonald’s Australia will ultimately give free wireless broadband Internet access to customers at 720 premium locations Australia-wide.

US Kath & Kim

Okay, so the US version of Kath & Kim has rated well, but then having it sandwiched inbetween My Name is Earl and the US version of The Office is always going to get you a crowd - at least once, maybe twice.

And while US film and TV critics carry about as much weight as Michael Jackson as the CEO of The Office of Child Protection, by all accounts and from what I've seen, this concept hasn't travelled well. Indeed, instead of making it to the east coast of the USA, it would appear that USK&K has struggled to make it much further than Kuta beach before nosediving faster that a Qantas airbus.

I'll have to wait until I see the real deal play out in a full length episode, but to be frank, the greatest appeal of Kath & Kim has been its unique look at Australian life in the burbs - our bogan heartland, with the Kel and his chiploata puns, to Kimmy and her CHARdonnay linguistics.

I think the fact that Americans are unable to digest or appreciate humour from beyond their own border - hello Sarah Palin! - is probably enough to see any translation of Kath & Kim struggle. The only glimmer of hope is that while the yanks really, really don't like to laugh about themselves, My Name is Earl has been succesful in doing just that...

Is the US getting themselves a sense of humour? Christ knows that having figures such as the Bush father and son team, Arnie and Sarah Palin in public office, maybe the joke's really on us?

Last orders please...

Hi folks… I might be an annoying and persistent prick – some would say a dog with a bone – but I’m dressing up like a day-glo remnant from a Happy Mondays gig this Sunday and walking 7kms with the team from Midland Brick to raise money for type 1 juvenile diabetes.

The least you lot could do is click on this link and sponsor me – whether it’s $5, $10 …whatever you can afford.

So c’mon, dig deep!!!

http://walk.jdrf.org.au/WA/JohnCooke/

Wake up Geoff, Richie's mine!

It's funny how teh interwebs seem to render time irrelevant, or so you'd think according to one of the latest additions to Geoff McClure's Sporting Life column in The AGE:

Cheers for Richie, girls — he's 78

THE international 2008-09 cricket season may be just around the corner (22 days to go, in fact: just kidding), so what have the "stars" been up to in the lead-up? Well, in the case of Mr 22 himself, Channel Nine's veteran Richie Benaud, life hasn't been too bad at all. This snap of Richie was taken a few days ago in Positano, Italy, where the maestro was seen enjoying a glass of vino in the company of some of the locals' finest young ladies. Not sure of the reason for all the jubilation but maybe they knew of his coming celebrations. Yep. many happy returns to the ol' fella — he was 78 yesterday.

Now I've been a fan of Geoff's for many years, often scanning his column over the day's first coffee hit during a 10 year stint in Melbourne town. But he's taking a bit of 'license' in claiming the image above was taken "just a few days ago".

I actually received this photo via email from a mate in Perth on 24 July who had in turn received it from a friend - the person who took the photo - while on holiday in Europe.

Indeed, it was posted right here in The Perth Files on 30 July... Indeed, I flicked it across to my comedic buddy The Lazy Aussie who also posted it on The Worst of Perth.

But what the hell... it's a great pic and it fits too damn well with Richie's Birthday for me to concern myself with exact dates - what's eight weeks or so between friends? Hell, it may even extend Richie's longevity, which can only be a good thing, right?!

Geoff, if you read this, I'm the bloke who sent you the pic of Jess Sinclair looking like an extra from the set of Hair the Musical on the day he got drafted to Freo. Now that he's retired it might be time to give that one another outing?

Update: Good to see some loyal blogging support from Sunili at Because I Said So.

No pain, no game

I stumbled across an article online recently from The Age in 2005 in which former Collingwood and Fitzroy ruckman James 'Killer' Manson discusses how football may well have cost him the opportunity to become a father.

Indeed, eight groin operations and countless cortisone jabs have landed him with a virtual vasectomy... a big price to pay in the quest for an AFL Premiership.

This weekend there is no doubt that a number of players would have been playing with the help of cortisone and local anaesthetics. Hawthorn's Luke Hodge was spitting up blood a week ago and would almost definitely have been on the boundary on Saturday, but there was a shiny cup at stake and indeed, his role in the game was pivotal.

His team mate Trent Croad hobbled off with a broken foot... broken in that game, or a fracture that was made worse because he played on the injury?

Former Collingwood player Mark Orval was touted as a future champion, but 15 minutes into the second quarter of his seventh game for the club he was finished. This is a quote from an interview I did with him back in October 1999 for The Footy Show Magazine:

"Fifteen minutes into the first quarter I went to turn and 'bang' it (foot) just snapped. All that artificial bone and the bone taken from my hips just snapped. I've got a tape of the game where you see me getting a needle in the huddle at quarter time... that was the last I saw of the number 10 jumper."

I've watched that tape and I still wince at the thought. Last week I had two cortisone / local anaesthetic injections in my right wrist and I can't remember anything quite so painful in my life.

James Manson, who I also interviewed for that feature on drugs in AFL, is no stranger to the needle either. Here's an extract from my article that paints a pretty clear picture of why he's in the position he is today:

James Manson is a big bloke. He shakes hnds like a big bloke. From the outside, you'd think his 6'4" frame was still more than capable of chasing the leather on the field. It's got to be said that the former Collingwood and Fitzroy ruckman looks pretty fit at 31 years of age. but something's wrong with this picture.

The furrowed brow and clutching of the stomach has me puzzled. He notes my gaze and offers an explanation.

"You wouldn't believe the size of this hernia," he says pointing at a spot just above the belt line.

"have you seen a doctor?" I ask, a little distressed at the thought of what's under there.

"Nah, I'm so used to them these days I just poke them back in myself." These are the words of a man who obviously has more to worry about than straining a hamstring or catching a cold.

The hernias - a condition where one's insides protrude through the stomach wall - are the result of years of groin strains, Manson tells me. He had his first groin reconstruction in 1986, in just his second year playing with Collingwood and the rest as they say is history. Bad history.

"The thing that concerns me most about my groin I that I've had that much cortisone pumped into it, I've lost count. One season I tore my groin but just opted to play the season through instead of having the op - God knows what it's done to me," Manson recounts, shifting uneasily in his chair.

"You hear certain reports about how many shots you're supposed to have in a year and I can tell you, I've had a lot more than my recommended dose. It's funny, a well known Melbourne vet once told me they stopped giving cortisone to racehorses 30 years ago. That really worries me," he says without any trace of a smile.

Now we do know what it has done. I haven't caught up with the latest on whether he has been succesful in having children, but watch this space...

Food secks

Root me stupid – PR man Phil got quite the shock when he booted, or rooted up his computer only to be confronted by this blunt message.

We’re not sure if he’s being encouraged to sex up a small piece of corn, or it’s a typo and he is being urged to bend The Colonel over the front counter at KFC and play hide the drumstick...

Could be that he's contracted a nasty little virus, or simply plugged his USB into the wrong port. You know what they say, any port in a storm...

Colin buys the farm - Libs win in WA

There's a smell of burning flesh hanging over West Perth and it aint coming from the aged porterhouses on the grill at Juliano's.

Colin Barnett has bought the farm and signed a deal with Brendon Grylls to form a tiggy touchwood Liberal - Nationals alliance to govern Western Australia for the next four years.

The charred flesh caught on the whipping westerlies down Hay Street could be mistaken for a celebratory lamb spit, but the akubra-fanned flames have bagged themselves a bigger catch - the carcass of the recently deceased Carpenter-led ALP government.

Yes indeed, the farmers have shed their 'pull on' ties and poncy leather loafers, to slip smuggly back into the blunnies and drizabones for some serious celebration.

While the metro crew cosy up to their bush buddies around the Parliament House camp fire, knives are being sharpened in the ALP war room. The farmers are in charge and very soon everyone will feel the sharp edge of their shears.

It's 12.20pm on a bleak Sunday in Perth. Here in the western suburbs the faint pop of champagne corks is carried high on the wind, drowned out only slightly by the thrum of rain on the colourbond roof.