November 11, 2007

Mention Australian inventions like the rotary clothes line, the wine cask or the bionic ear and people start puffing out their chests, frothing at the mouth and feeling that little bit taller.  Me? I couldn’t give a flying rats.  People who are proud of Australia’s achievements really need to get a big fat life.  Australia didn’t invent these things.  People did. 

But there is something home grown that, I’m ashamed to admit, has me painting my face green and gold. And that’s dog whistling.  I know we didn’t invent the concept we just coined the term but I’m mad for it. Amidst the hand kissing, baby shaking and fog of subterfuge the term dog whistling has cut through the bull. Spin was one thing.  Non core promises was another but dog whistling has made us no longer think we’re imagining things. The emperor is starkers. And he has a tiny penis.

My Fellow Australians = white straight people.

John Howard is a clever politician = the guy’s a slimy weasel.

Education revolution = every classroom will have at least one power point.

Since the term dog whistling has popped up, suddenly, it’s everywhere.  I feel like I’ve just bought a Vespa and now everyone seems to have one.   People dog whistle all the time.  And sometimes the dog whistle is actually a wolf whistle. That’s when people attempt to send a specific message to one person but everyone turns around.

I am the Dog Whistle Whisperer. I can also detect wolf whistles, catcalls and primal screams.  Here are some I have catalogued over the last few days.

My daughter is gifted = my daughter’s a nerd.

Mum’s very patient = Mum’s passive aggressive and been on anti depressants for years.

Guess how old I am? = Get your fake surprised look ready.

My husband can’t keep his hands off me = We haven’t had sex for months.

Did you make that yourself? = You can’t leave the house wearing that.

What do you do? = Please ask me what I do.

My wife doesn’t understand me = I want to have sex with you because you are 22 and you have a Brazilian.

I’m not ready for a serious relationship = Sex?  Yes.  Meeting my parents?  Forget it.

I didn’t want to buy such a ridiculous car, it was all his idea = I wanted brag about our new BMW and this was the only way I could get into the conversation.

Do you want a plastic bag? = Are you an environmental vandal like all the other customers?

We only eat organic food = I want you to think we’re rich.

I’m a cat person = I’m gay.

The doctor said it was the worst case I’ve ever seen = I am special.

He’s going to get a vasectomy = He’s never going to get a vasectomy.

She’s not normally like this = She’s like this all the time I just wish you hadn’t seen it.

My husband does his share around the house = my husband does nothing around the house but lying to you about it makes me feel better.

We must have you over soon = you’re never coming to our place because your husband’s a prick and you’re boring.

Lovely wedding = It won’t last.

That dress is so retro = My nana died in a dress exactly like that.

I’m a social smoker = I’m a chain smoker.

I haven’t decided who I’m voting for = You’ll laugh if I tell you.

The man, of olive complexion = A wog.

A male of Middle Eastern decent = A terrorist.

The youth, of Asian appearance = see that’s what happens if we let them come here.

Julia Gillard strikes me as a strong woman = I bet she’s a bitch and a ball buster.

The indigenous issue is complex = The black fellas should stop whinging and get their shit together.

I couldn’t wear that outfit but you can really pull it off = Your bum looks enormous in that. Please, take your wine home with you = We’d never drink cheap piss like that.

I’ve got a fast metabolism = I have an eating disorder.

I’m a huge dog whistler.  If I say, “Your children are very lively” listen closely and you’ll hear “Your kids are mental and they’ve just trashed my house”.

Can I be honest with you? = Prepare to be offended.

Did I tell you my good news? = Strap on that fake smile because you’re going to hate my guts.

She’s a very good mother = She’s put on 20 kilos and completely let herself go.

They lead a very different lifestyle to us = She’s a doormat and he’s having it off with the babysitter.

I love your hat = I hate it but I have to say something because it’s enormous.

Your house is very lived in = Would it kill you to flush?

They made me feel right at home = I had to bring my own food.

• You’re an atheist but too scared to tell your parents.  Or yourself.
• Most your mates are Catholic.
• As soon as you’re in a small room you have an overwhelming urge to say “Bless me Father for I have sinned.” And then make up lies about things you didn’t do.
• You think nothing of being an adult calling another adult who may even be younger than you Father.
• You have a favorite Pope.  And it was John Paul II.
• You don’t think of Catholics as Christians.
• When sitting in church you don’t notice all the images of macabre torture on the walls but you can stop thinking about either food or sex.
• You’re mad for footy. And you barrack for Catholics.
• You’re parents were priest sucks.
• You always go to mass at Christmas, but Easter? You go camping,
• Growing up you regularly visited a house that had Lourdes water in the fridge.
• You’re female and you once had a crush on a priest or you’re male and you once had a crush on Sister Janet Mead.
• Most of your female relatives were pregnant before they got married.
• You or someone you know has performed liturgical dancing.
• At some point in your childhood you watched Mass For You At Home because your parents slept in.
• You’re divorced, use contraception, never go to mass, believe voluntary euthanasia should be legalized, homosexuality is not a sin, disagree with the Pope on pretty much everything, agree there should be female priests yet you want your kids to go to a Catholic school to meet the right people. And you’ll lie to get them in if that’s what it takes.
• You have no idea what the word ‘Catholic Apostolic Church” means.
• Looks like someone has ashed their cigarette out between your eyes? It must be the day after Pancake Tuesday and time to give up drinking until the day after you kiss the feet of baby Jesus and the priest washes the feet of some bloke with eczema who tends the garden round the statue of Our Lady.
• Every female in your family has Mary as a middle name.
• You played Mass with your brothers and sisters growing up.
• Even if you no longer believe, when you’re in a Catholic church involuntarily mumbling along with mass you get a disturbingly feeling of happiness that you are In The Club and you know all The Words to the Theme Song.
• You can only remember The Creed when at mass.
• Growing up you thought ten kids in one family was fine.  But 11 was just showing off.
• Attending any other denomination church made you jealous because they had carpet. And heating.
• You think it’s normal to genuflect in every church.
• You remember that pamphlet, “So, You’re Marrying A Catholic?” And all the words to Rock My Soul In The Bossom of Abraham.
• You know what holy water tastes like.
• No matter how much you don’t believe you could never throw out holy pictures or rosary beads.
• You’ve attended a ‘home mass’ a ‘rock mass’ and a ‘youth mass’
• Someone says “Peace be with you” and you’d have to have your lips sewn together to not respond, “and also with you.”
• You’ve worn a scapula.
• You went to school with a girl called Jacinta.
• You’ve even felt guilty about not feeling guilty.
• You’ve folded up Project Compassion boxes but never read the bible.
• You thought God’s name was Peter (Thanks Peter God) or Harold (Harold Be Thy Name).
• You sister married an Anglican and you still think, ‘they’re not really married’.
• You’ve eaten meat or drunk alcohol on Good Friday and prayed  “Please God don’t let my parents find out.”
• You think nothing of kneeling at groin height in front of a grown man and opening your mouth while he slips something in.

BUY BOOKS

BOOK CATHERINE 

Where do I start? Bettina Arndt wrote an article yesterday and, well, how can I put this? The woman had done the unthinkable. Made Cardinal George Pell and Sheik Al Hilay’s views on women seem modern. Scary enough if you think of Arndt, as many do, as a feminist. I’m not sure she is. She describes herself as a sex therapist and a social commentator. . I can confidently describe her as an uptight white honkie. Anyway, here we go. A bit of feedback.

Read More…

Let us have this moment. Please. It’s history and we’ll never have it again. Sure, when we realised a female PM was no longer a matter of ‘if’ but ‘when’ this is not quite what we were expecting. But don’t spoil it.

So many of us worked so hard and dreamed of this for so long. Julia Gillard is our Prime Minister.

CLICK HERE TO READ 

LEAVE KEVIN RUDD ALONE. Okay? Can everyone just lay off him? It’s like watching a 13-year-old victim of an arranged marriage to a 77-year-old sex offender be stoned to death for escaping.

I want to wrap the poor guy up in my loving arms, hold him close to my heaving bosom and sing him some John Denver. David Marr, ACNeilson polls, TROTW (The Rest Of The World), look what you’ve done now.

CLICK TO READ MORE

Good Morning Angels,

Here is my official statement!

CLICK HERE TO ABC’S THE DRUM

Don’t fight this for me, fight this for the principal.  If we don’t imagine the voices we’ll never hear, the columns we’ll never read and the ideas we’ll never be challenged by. How Sam Newman, Kyle Sandilands, Chris Smith, David Oldfield, The Chaser Boys etc get suspended for behavior deemed offensive but a woman gets sacked.

feel free to hassle The Age. Send emails to newsdesk@theage.com.au or pramadge@theage.com.au

Join the facebook group CLICK HERE

Support my proud publishers Black Inc Books CLICK HERE

Support Readings Books my preferred book seller CLICK HERE

Book me as a speaker or stand-up  CLICK HERE

Deep thanks friends, fans and supporters.  I won’t let you down.
Now go forth and roger a gerbil.

Dev xxxx

Hello darlings,

What a day! I’ve been sacked from The Age.

I’ve adored every moment of my time with The Age. The Age is the heart and soul of my city and Melbourne is the love of my life.

Every column I have written for The Age was prepared like a meal for close friends.

I am disappointed. To my beautiful readers of The Age, I will miss you.

Can somebody write me a reference?

Dev x x

One of my favourite people is an old boyfriend’s mum, Marijke, a stuttering Dutch psychologist, heart of gold, body of a Veronica and a penchant for buying old furniture, painting it beige and re-upholstering it in calico.

Meeting her in my teens was a revelation. The women I knew mostly fell into the category of teacher, housewife, mother, nurse or tuckshop lady rather than fiercely independent, free-thinking European woman who cooked lentils, travelled the world and danced to her own tune. Clothes optional.

I caught up with Marijke a while ago to meet her new man, Rene, a Dutch cardiologist. The little boys and I rolled up to a breakfast by the sea. Whole-wheat pancakes, bowls of stewed fruit the colour of jewels, fluffy clouds of yoghurt, steaming cups of coffee and light streaming in. At the moment I was reflecting on what a healthy sight it was, Rene pushed his chair back and lit a cigar. At the table.

I love Europeans.

He turned to me and said: ”Cathy, did Marijke tell you how we met?”

”No, she didn’t.”

He took a drag of his cigar and said: ”I killed her father.”

Rene had legally euthanised Marijke’s father in the Netherlands, where euthanasia is legal. A death with a happy ending.

I thought of Marijke and Rene when I addressed the Dying With Dignity Rally on the steps of Parliament House last week.

Passionate supporters huddled together on the steps like many Melburnians past. I hoped this was the last rally for euthanasia ever, but infuriatingly I knew it wouldn’t be. Despite the need for our laws to catch up to reflect social progress and our community values, 85 per cent of people support voluntary euthanasia.

I was disappointed by the turnout – about 150 people. Some 10,000 rocked up to the Save Live Australian Music Rally when they closed The Tote. But the collective age at the Dying With Dignity Rally was probably twice that of the Slam Rally. Perhaps it’s a good sign – maybe people were thinking: ”I don’t have to turn up to a rally for voluntary euthanasia. Clearly it’s going to happen; they legalised abortion.”

WAKE UP everybody! Politicians know 85 per cent of us want euthanasia. BUT WE DON’T HAVE IT! Shirtfront your local member and say: ”Pull your finger out, sunshine, and speak up. Because you’re just The Honourable Member For People Dying in Pain.”

Dogs can be legally and peacefully put to sleep, (sure, many of them we’re more fond of than our relatives). Other countries safely administer voluntary euthanasia, so don’t give me any bull about it being dangerous or us not being responsible. We all know doctors, thanks to the benign conspiracy between the legal system, the police and the Victorian government, euthanise people every day.

So why is it illegal? Blame religion. Yet 85 per cent of people support euthanasia, while only 9 per cent of people go to church. The majority of people with faith believe in voluntary euthanasia.

I don’t care what you believe, but we all must fight for a secular state to stop religion influencing our policy. And I don’t care who you vote for, if you believe that Jesus was sent to Earth to die for our sins, clearly Tony Abbott was sent to Earth to live for our sins. Not having access to voluntary euthanasia is an infringement of our rights. Article Five of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights: ”No one shall be subjected to cruel, inhuman or degrading treatment.” I would proudly, safely, euthanise a loved one who needed it. And happily be fined, prosecuted or incarcerated as a result.

Turn up to the next euthanasia rally. Because there are people lying in hospital, at home and in palliative care who would streak down Bourke Street to shake up this mediaeval mentality of a few. Otherwise we may all have to become veterinarians so we have access to Nembutal.

”What do we want? To die. When do we want it? When we choose.”

That’s me, attempting to sex up euthanasia. Everyone deserves a happy ending. Not just Marijke and Rene.

Catherine Deveny is a Dying With Dignity Victoria Ambassador.

I THOUGHT it was a joke. A talk radio station with Steve Price (a man, according to Wikipedia, widely known as the Poisoned Dwarf), Jason Akermanis (footballer, half man, half punchline), Andrew Bolt (right-wing tabloid hack), Sam Newman (Melbourne’s favourite misogynist and bully), Chris Smith (serial creep and ugly drunk from 2GB) and Steve Vizard (who, despite his extraordinary cultural contribution and his corporate crimes being dwarfed by the daily social atrocities committed by every second corporate maggot on King Street, is now known as ”disgraced businessman”) is starting up. In Melbourne. Yeah, right.

CLICK TO READ MORE