Losing It

Waiting rooms are tense, silent places. Nervous patients in the reception areas of GPs, physiotherapists and proctologists sit quietly wondering the same thing: whether they’re worse off than the person beside them. Usually it’s hard to tell, but sometimes there are clues. If you’re at the ophthalmologist you can watch how closely someone holds a magazine to their face. At the chiropractor observe how people are slouching.

In the waiting room at hair surgeon Russell Knudsen’s clinic in inner Brisbane Spring Hill, men discreetly judge one another’s scalps in glass reflections and self-consciously run their fingers through their remaining locks. The man in the leather jacket sitting opposite me I notice has broken a golden rule of hair loss: don’t grow it long to compensate for its absence. While we don’t make eye contact, I know he’s surreptitiously examining my head too. Continue reading

Saving Yourself

In the library of Inglewood State School – a three-hour, sleep-inducing drive west from Brisbane – Jim Lyons discusses Scarlett Johansson with students from years seven and eight. He shows them a laminated newspaper article featuring Johansson’s photograph. The headline is unfortunate: ‘Bush Bashed On Sex’. Jim paraphrases the story for the students: Johansson is outraged that the Bush administration has poured millions of dollars into abstinence education; she argues that it takes women back to the dark ages; she gets tested for HIV regularly; she urges every young woman to do the same.

“What can we learn from this young lady?” Jim asks. “What does this tell you about Scarlett Johansson?” In the back row, a skinny girl with spectacles puts a hand up. “That she’s safe?” she says. Jim raises his eyebrows. “She’s safe?” he asks sceptically. “What else?” To the side, a year-eight boy mumbles something. “She’s sexually active,” Jim repeats, so the rest of the class can hear. “Well, some would say she’s very sexually active.”

Kid’s Sports

Back in the homeland of my people—the vast, mystical moors of China—sport just isn’t the same. From what I can gather, the national pursuits there are Tai Chi, badminton and smoking opium. We’re a gentle—not gargantuan—race, so I never exactly excelled at Australian sports. I couldn’t swim or tumble turn. However, I didn’t always come last at swimming carnivals, like you’d expect. No, no. That would be weak. I was disqualified instead.

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Man Bites Dog!

My boyfriend’s a breakfast radio producer, which sounds like a pleasant enough career path. But in reality, it’s rendered our apartment into a relentless, blaring 24-hour multimedia news hub.

Every morning, radio news and talkback wakes me up, and Kevin Rudd bleeds into my dreams. By midday, every computer is uploading an avalanche of news sites: Fairfax, News Limited, ABC, Crikey, CNN, BBC. I’ve learned that, if you so desire, you can actually watch 180 minutes of evening news bulletins, non-stop. By Saturday, the place is a disgrace. The gutted remains of weekend newspapers line our floor, as if we’re taking care of a runaway creature that’s lost control of its bowels. Continue reading

Question of Etiquette

When my grandmother died a couple of years back, the mood was sombre. Death tends to do that I find. My extended family and I had gathered at the airport, ready to fly off for the funeral in Hong Kong—and lowen behold, my uncle was there. Considering I hadn’t seen this big, imposing, man-titted Malaysian dude in ages, I immediately went up to him for a friendly hullo. “Hey,” I said, bear-hugging the man. “How’ve you been?”

But instead of reciprocating the hug, he simply stood there, arms by his sides, glaring at me. There was no hugging back. Greeting this man was like embracing someone who’d recently suffered a terrible stroke; there just wasn’t any motion in the arms. After letting go awkwardly, we just stood there in mute silence for a while. Then I stared at the floor. “Men don’t hug,” he finally said, firmly. “Men shake hands.” Continue reading

Modern Etiquette … with Beth Ditto

Gossip frontwoman Beth Ditto has demanded people kiss her naked arse, repeatedly exposed her naked crotch on stage, and purposefully vomited on hecklers during live shows. So it might come as a surprise that she is also one of the most polite and charming people you’ll ever talk to. As a woman of the world, she discusses modern-day etiquette with frankie.

Is it appropriate to use someone’s toilet immediately after arriving at their house?

Oh, it’s impolite to expect your friends to hold it. It’s not good for their body. Just come to my house and take a dump! “I’ve got to take a shit,” that’s what I say. Or else, I say “doo-doo” or “number two”. Although, I probably wouldn’t say that in front of a grandmother at Christmas. I’d say, “Where’s the restroom?” Continue reading

Books I Should Have Read By Now (On Which I Have Given Up)

An admission: I have attempted all of the following books, and—after a good deal of brow-furrowing and chin-stroking—given up a the halfway point, thrown them against the wall, and redeemed them for cash: Mrs Dalloway (too boring); The Lord of the Rings (too long); The Picture of Dorian Gray (too tedious); Catch-22 (too confusing); Ulysses (too impenetrable); and anything by Patrick White (too Patrick White).

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