The Butcher of Bega

See this article, about a "doctor" sexually mutilating up to 500 women during his illegal practice. It makes me sick, knowing that he even whispered to a woman that he was going to take her clitoris just before she went under anaesthetic for a routine operation. I don't know where to begin with this fucking cunt. All I could think of was what I'd like to see done to him in return for his acts. Imagine waking up to find your most private, sensitive organ scarred beyond recognition or completely removed? To make things worse, this mutilation is still performed these days in parts of Africa, the Middle East and Asia, on young girls even. God, where's the fucking sense and justice?

What pisses me off is how it's taken an expose by A Current Affair out of all sources for a police investigation to get underway. Jesus fucking Christ. Why couldn't the dickheads at the hospitals do a reference check on this fuckwit before letting him do clinical practice in 2002 when he was already on the ban list 5 years ago? And why did it fucking take 2 more years for him to get deregistered for breaching his ban? What kind of system is this? Are we giving these idiots second chances? Oops, sorry about that baby dying, won't happen again? No fucking wonder up to 500 women suffered at his hands. And why didn't the 100 or so women that came forth come out sooner? And now the arsehole's gone into hiding, and good luck trying to find him, police investigation my arse. This whole thing has been just a tragic farce.

I'd like to see someone whisper to him that they're just going to castrate him now, and to just relax... he won't feel a thing...

So tired...

Shouldn't have come into work today. But being the martyr that I am, I thought, I might as well infect a few people while displaying my undying loyalty to the company. Ha, let them survive tomorrow without me. Hee hee hee. God, I just can't hack this anymore.

Noble Dragon Chinese Restaurant

Earlier that day...

"So what are we having for lunch?"
"I don't know, anything but Chinese, I'm kind of sick of it"

Half an hour later, walking around aimlessly in Chinatown and completing forgetting about the earlier statement ..."Come on, let's eat here at the Noble Dragon". "Hmm, I don't know, I've got a feeling about this place" I said, trying to hint that we should eat somewhere else, but looking around helplessly at the surroundings - numerous asian restaurants as far as the eye could see.

Looking at the place, it seemed a little less popular than the other restaurants in Dixon Street. Despite that, we were beginning to feel overwhelmed by the feeling of hunger and were willing to overlook that little fact, which we would later realise was a sign we had missed.

The pretty teenage girl (probably an unpaid daughter) greeted us at the door and ushered us in, and managed to find us a table. Surprisingly, despite the lack of activity downstairs, it was a small, intimate space that had a majority of caucasian crowds, with the odd sprinkling of asians. Why weren't there many asians I thought to myself. Deciding on the menu for two, we settled in, thinking, hey, it can't be that bad, it's not like the place was empty. Which was always a good sign, so you'd think.

Little did we realise that was also a sign, the lack of asians. We had only just ordered when we were told to move seats. Feeling a little peeved, and letting it show, we switched tables. I had a nice barred window view of the street below. Lovely. We sat around waiting, making small talk with each other. Time seemed to slow, and we caught fragments of other patrons' conversations:

"This place was in its prime in the 1960s... its standards have slipped somewhat..."
"How long have we been waiting? Feels like 10 minutes? More like half an hour"
"Why don't you make an impassioned plea, as a mother, as it seems I'm not having any effect on them"

They brought our entrees and mains sporadically to the table. By this stage, we were past caring what was presented, the food itself left a lot to be desired. The girl that greeted us was rushed off her feet, trying to cater to waiting patrons. Looking around, I noticed a lot of people were growing impatient, either waiting to be seated, to order or even just for their food to arrive.

We eventually gave up after having to ask for the dessert, and realising that they obviously weren't used to the sudden surge in patronage, despite it being the prime of Chinese New Year. Frustrated, we left, and I just had to state at the counter, that this place grates, prompting a woman in front to turn around, probably in agreement. Either that or she misheard me as saying that this place is great and had to turn around in disbelief.

If I gained anything from the experience, it was to trust my instincts next time.

Museum of Contemporary Art

Firstly, I've got opinionated views on what is good art. Good art should be moving, it should play to the senses, it should make you think and inspire you. At the very least, it should convey some technical skill and be aethestically pleasing. There were a few extremes of this on show at the MCA the other rainy Sunday.

Nothing better than coming to the art gallery for a bit of culture. It started off quite well, Shahzia Sikander's paintings covering the 1st floor... with one particular acrylic painting painted directly on the gallery wall. Being such a large scale work, this takes some skill, and she managed to make it all work beautifully, with a perfect balance of light and shade, and composition. Some of her pencilled drawings were on a small scale as well, delicate black and white etchings invoking natural forms. She made me wish I could draw so finely and with such detail, with barely a mistake to be found. One work was particularly memorable, a painting that was like a story line, using materials like gauche and tea out of all things to create a stained, parchment-like effect. Whilst most of her works I enjoyed, there were some that I thought were just experimentations, and they didn't appeal to me as much. But overall, I could appreciate the time it took to do those works.

She certainly demonstrated a lot of skill, as opposed to the other artists that we encountered. I mean, for the love of god. We walked into this room with a few large paintings of dark coloured patches of squares and rectangles. They were done by an "acclaimed" Scottish artist named Callum Innes. Never 'eard of 'im, using a variety of paint applications and removal techniques. Boring. And my god, there was this large plain black one! PLAIN BLACK. On closer inspection, you could sort of see these fine lines of stripped-back paint or something on the canvas. But overall, it was just a black painted canvas. Where's the bloody originality in that? Geez, I could've done that in my lunch hour. Nothing drew me in, it was just something I could imagine seeing some company reproducing as carpet rug patterns. It reminded me of this other artist that showed this plain white canvas, that was "ruined" when some crazed woman planted a lipstick-red kiss on it. I don't have a repulsion against abstract art, but when the abstract is so abstract that it's lost all sense of meaning, well it's just a bit of a waste. The artist even goes on to say that his works should speak for themselves. For fuck's sake man, I'll tell you what they're saying. A whole lotta crap, is what.

But there was this one last "artist" of the day that the crapola award goes to. A Los Angeles based Tim Hawkinson. Sigh. I paid to get into his exhibit, expecting to be blown away in awestruck wonder. But no. It wasn't to be, and I was left feeling rather disappointed and ripped off to be honest. He had a variety of annoying-sounding sculptures (one which dripped water onto an aluminium bucket) and others made from cardboard boxes, plastic bags and other assorted junk. The only one I was vaguely interested in was the Moebius Ship, which reminded me in way of Gulliver's Travels. It was also made from stuff you can get down at a craft store, but it looked plausible and I thought it was quite imaginative in that way.

But despite that one saviour, I wanted to warn people lining up for tickets what a disgrace that was, and to do themselves a favour and get the fuck out of there while they still can.

Marge: I just can't believe people are paying millions of dollars for something some hillbilly dug out of the trash.
Cletus: Hey, I done studied for years in getting over that junkyard fence! Then I learnt the gate was open.
Astrid Weller: Your husband's work is what we call "outsider art." It could be by a mental patient, a hillbilly or a chimpanzee.
Homer: In high school I was voted most likely to be a mental patient, hillbilly or chimpanzee.