It matters not how intelligent you are but how confident and committed you are. I know plenty of dumb smart people and they are intolerable.
On this season’s Biggest Loser they are following four family groups. You all know the drill with Biggest Loser right? A group of morbidly obese people not afraid to strip down to their undies for millions to recoil in horror at go on a show to lose buckets of weight and become shiny happy thin(ner) people.
It works like this – the first couple of weeks show people fighting with trainers and spewing into buckets and then gleefully discovering that not eating 10,000 calories a day and moving till they hurt results in dramatic weightloss. Who knew!
Then there is some sort of emotional epiphany – something about someone in their family being cruel or being downtrodden or an epic battle with cancer or some such that held them back, that MADE.THEM.EAT.ALL.THAT.ICE.CREAM. Cue tears and triumph. Normally there’s some sort of scaling a mountain/pulling a train/carrying a heavy load at this stage, just in case you missed the more subtle storyline.
And that’s it in a nutshell.
But can I say, this season has brought together the biggest bunch of dim-witted, emotionally immature, lazy numb-nuts you’re likely to ever lay eyes on.
I’m not sure where this post is going but it does seem to confirm I have issues about dumb smart people and just plain dumb people.
Can you believe there are people actually arguing that Charlie Sheen is not mentally ill?
You know how I ran 10kms two weeks ago? And then ran six or so kms two nights later? Haven’t been for a run since. Not sure what’s going on there except to say I have been feeling extraordinarily tired. Plus, can daylight savings time just end already?
Did I tell you Jasper mastered riding his bike without training wheels?
Did I tell you Oscar turned 13? MY GOD I’m just realising how slack my blogging has been this last fortnight. Well, Oscar turned 13 and to mark the occasion he seems to have resumed the behaviour of ‘giving attitude’, the likes of which we haven’t seen in quite a few months since the last testosterone burst. He also downloaded a SEVENTY dollar game (Lego Batman if you must know) on the xBox the other day. Oh YES HE DID. That was the meat budget for the fortnight gone so the ultimate parental revenge is being exacted through the generous and blanketed use of legumes, lentils and tofu. Hope it was worth it sunshine. Little shit.
The other news of the turning 13 was the purchasing of a bike for him. It has been fitted with adult training wheels for extra stability and while I was fortifying my soul for hours of helping him get his feet to pedal and not fall off and gain some momentum the kid dang went off pedalling down the street. I kid you not. I’d say it made up for spending 70 bucks on an xBox game but it didn’t even come close. But a huge win all the same. Dude is riding a bike. First time ever.
We just spend the weekend at my Dad and stepmother’s house – a lovely weekend punctuated by attending the Thirlmere Festival of Steam. I know I know, I can almost hear the jealousy dripping from your every pore. What is it with these kinds of events? I mean, everyone is either grossly morbidly obese or painfully heroine-induced anorexically thin. Dirty hair is a must. As is a cigarette.
WHERE ARE THE NORMAL PEOPLE.
If I’m there and my kids are there where do we fit in this scenario?
Festival of the Bogan featured some model train action (are any of these men married? What do their wives think of this obsession? Maybe it is a complete marriage saver – having your husband squirreling away out the back on his toy trains. Why do they all have beards?), a ride on a miniature steam train (a ride on the real steam train would have been $60 and well, HELLO LEGO BATMAN), a vintage car line-up (the tie-in to steam trains is still a little beyond me but interesting all the same, what I’d give for a convertible red MG. Always wanted one. Still do.) Â and a miniature fire engine all the boys went for a ride in.
But what kind of Bogan Festival would be complete without a trip to the Ladies in which there was no toilet paper (those Viva towels really are absorbent) only to discover Aunty Flo has popped in for a visit. FFS.
In an unrelated part of the day I ducked into a cafe for a bottle of water only to discover it was one of those original milk bars complete with three generations of Greek Mamas behind the counter (you know what I’m talking about, the place where if you ordered a hamburger it would be so fucking good) and this anorexic thing walked in and asked if they had any pluto pups. Of couse she did. No luv, only battered savs.