Mooning for more

It's been a glorious day here - even the the sting of the sunburn I suffered on Sunday during Pony Club couldn't diminish the gloriousness of the blue skies and green grass. You are really going to have to take my word for it though...

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Why? Because I am trying to cut back a bit on the photo taking? I know it's hard to believe, but I actually attended an event WITHOUT the Nikon.

(Not sure yet if this 'taking control' of my addiction is a good or bad thing!)
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I spent half of today mowing - the lawn around the Granite Glen house has gone berserk with our wonderful wet weather and I could easily have baled the cuttings into some reasonable couch hay. If I'd had a mini hay baler. The rows of clippings are quite impressive. But I didn't take photos of that.
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The horses kept on posing, gleaming sweating coats shimmering through the haze of grass heads, tails flicking contentedly under squeaky clean cobalt skies. They even broke into the pool yard in an effort to get their photos taken. And yet I held firm.

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I even went for a paddock walk during which I almost completely vanished in the head-high buffel grass. I had to get Bay Lulic back to the yards so she could have a drink (a very long yet-to-be-shared story there - stay tuned). Now I MAY have taken the camera on this walk. But I am controlling my addiction, and have not yet processed any images for the blog. Just yet.

(Can you feel me wavering from over there, in your chair?)
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The day was so incredible that there was not ONE glance I took during the day that I DIDN'T think: "WOW! That would make a GREAT photo." It was like the universe was just hurling temptation at me. A conspiracy on a global scale.
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And then, just as the sun was about to plunge from the sky to end the torture,

this happened.

Jet streams. Ribboning against dusky blue skies.

And a crater-pocked moon hanging mid-crossover.
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I mean seriously.

THUD!

That was me. Off the wagon. *sigh*

Weather watch:

Wednesday's outlook is for isolated afternoon showers and temperatures 21-30 degrees Celsius.

Relative Humidity 56-70%

Hot, sticky, great grass-growin' weather.

Mushroom-growin' weather too.

And you know how photogenic those blessed things are?

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Hello. My name is Bush Babe. And I am an addict.

Slim to Freddy... back through Garth to Keith.

I went through a very long phase in my life when I didn't like country music... I was brought up on Slim Dusty and Johnny Cash and Olivia Newton John. I was not into silly dusty old, boot scootin' country music for a good decade of my life. Hell I grew up with it and overdosed big time!

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So, with a lot of CountDown under my belt, a little cash in my wallet, and my own cassette player I made the break... I could actually choose my own music, so I rebelled. I was heavily into (first Abba then) Queen, Phil Collins, the Eurythmics and Wham! (I know!). I particularly adored Andrew Ridgely... although it was a bit hard to see his pretty broken-nosed features and his funny little pal (the one that could actually sing!) through the soft focus sometimes. But I was devoted to Freddy and Phil, Annie and Andrew. I revelled in lyrics that were beyond the "lonesome blues" laments of my childhood, wallowing instead in the sound haze of synthesisers, rockin' beats and disco. I was an 80's teenager. What can I say?

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Eventually, I moved back to my home state and my baby brother decided to re-educate me. Every time I was in the ute going somewhere with him, on would come Garth Brooks. And despite my anti-country stance, I felt myself starting to bop a bit in the passenger seat.

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Sensing a weakness, my brother (whose nickname is Pig, not given by me and to the ongoing chagrin of our mother) actually roped me into organising a group to attend the a Garth Brooks concert. (I'm a bit of an organiser, and if I have to say so myself, wrangled some amazing seats!). Not content with having me silently bop to one side, Pig copied off the words to the songs on his latest album and posted them to me weeks prior to the event. Homework! He's a very thorough boy, is our Pig.

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And I tell you folks, that Garth Brooks may be an ageing, puddin'-lovin' dude, but the boy can put on a show like nobodies business. It was the best concert I have ever been to... the crowd was ENTIRELY on their feet and rocking that place all night. Better than Eurythmics, Dire Straits, even the double act of Elton John and Billy Joel (I know, stone me later, but take my word for it - the show was amazing!).

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So anyhoo, I was back. I was infected with the 'country' bug. Of course I kept it closet for a long time... I had a somewhat cityfied reputation to uphold.

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One of the great bonuses of being a journo on a reasonably large paper, is that you meet people. People you might not otherwise meet. So a number of years ago (pre-family) I was doing a series of features on the Sunshine Coast - the biggest criminals, the biggest artists, etc.

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And I did a feature on the biggest stars of the area. Among them were A) Steve Irwin (who was an emerging star back then and totally approachable... oh, my heart still aches) and B) Keith Urban.

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Very few people on the coast (or even in the Australian greater community) had heard of Keith. He was some shaggy singer from Caboolture being touted in America as the Next Big Thing. But I had to really talk the editor into including him in the lineup. So I rang his Mum and Dad (as you do) as Keith was in Nashville. They were gorgeous and only too happy for me to do an article on their son. I visited their little townhouse, and they gave me photos and information, and a lovely cup of coffee.

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They also actually loaned me their only copy of his first album - and boy were they sorry. I was supposed to have it for a couple of days: listen, review, return. Right!

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I waved goodbye and popped it into the CD player of my little Mazda 626 wagon and that was it. That CD stayed and played for a good month. Mr and Mrs Urban kept leaving sweet little messages:

We loved the article, dear.

Thanks so much.

Er, would you mind very much returning Keith's CD?

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Just so you know, I did eventually return the CD - I'm really a nice girl at heart. But it was really hard to do. Keith's Mum and Dad's first album copy - wonder what that would fetch on ebay now?

*slap!*

Ouch! OK...

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Anyhoo. I still love Keith.

In a "you enjoy a great marriage with our Nicole and produce lots of gorgeous shaggy talented offspring" kinda way. And my kids love him too. They bop their heads and do air guitar as he plays.

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I thought I would share their very favourite Keith song... they sing a haphazard version along with the CD, and bop like crazy and ask me to play it again.

So I do!

(Drives SSB nuts)

Hope you enjoy...

Hang on: before you listen, one thing. You need to listen to the words... for many months I thought Keith sang: Tiger in my pants, instead of Tiger in the Tank. I don't know why. It seemed to make sense at the time.

SSB looked at me gravely and said:

"It's tank, not pants.

What kind of a song do you think this is?"

Blue Jeans!

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Warning: it's loud and the clip has a very strange wobbly legs moment, as well as a dodgy semi-naked Keith shot that this fan has doctored up.

If you can live with it, so can I.

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Pretend you're in the back seat of a dusty Prado, on the road to Granite Glen and...

Ch, ch!

Guy is the MAN...

This just arrived in my inbox from a very dear friend and I just had to share...

It's Aussie star (Australian Idol winner) Guy Sebastian who is not only sweet but totally talented and humble... the best kinda star!

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This impromptu piece is shot in my old newsroom - a blast from my chequered past! The photographers buzzing around are my old workmates (the blonde chick flashing away is the one who sent this to me and one of my besties).

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Doncha love how news photographers just keep on shootin' - I would have been tempted to punch the air and dance around like a loonie! Actually, I would have been doing exactly what they are - capturing the moment and hoping to hell no-one was noticing me! Pity the cameraman didn't zoom in a little harder to crop out the activity in the background!

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Hope you had a little groove while watching this...

"mmmm, hmmmm, in the midnight hour!!!"

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PS If you'd like to read the interview on the news site it's here.

The Croc Hunter and Me...

Now I must admit that this headline is designed to capture your attention. I wasn’t actually a close personal friend of Steve Irwin. And I know that using "me" is bad grammar. And I have inferred that we are good mates. That would be a bit of an exaggeration. So slap my wrist, please.

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But there was a program on Australian Story (best show on Australian TV) with Bob Irwin talking about his life and his son. It made me remember my small experience with the Crocodile Hunter. There are probably millions of Steve-encounters stories in the world. This is mine.
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In my previous job, in my previous career, in my previous life, I interviewed and photographed him. Before he was famous and considered “cool”. In fact, the first time I met him, I had been passed on the job by another photographer who thought Steve was “a bit too in your face”. I mean, no-one any of us knew actually used the word “Crikey”… a bit OTT.
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As an aside, one thing you need to understand about most Australians (including me) is that “in your face” and “over the top” are not considered a particularly attractive attributes. We like people to achieve like crazy, be successful, be nice and be humble and be QUIET about it. Now Steve was all of the former things, and remained pretty humble but ‘quiet’… well, perhaps not. It’s called Tall Poppy syndrome – and it’s alive and well Down Under.
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Steve had not long been married to Terri, when I made my first visit to Australia Zoo. In those days, they literally met visiting journos at the front gate. Steve had a huge smile, a booming “g’day” and was a flurry of arms and enthusiasm. I was forewarned about Steve’s sheer “in your face-ness” and was probably a bit cautious about this mad croc hunter. But the genuine warmth and infectious delight in the wildlife and his life made Steve the easiest bloke in the world to like. It was utterly impossible not to be swept up in that fervour. And I’m an animal girl anyway, so I was easy prey.
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He was a delight to photograph – keen for anything suggested, and then some. Climbing half-way up the side of a cage for a good angle. No worries. Letting me get into a corner of an outer enclosure to shoot a croc leaping from the water – done. Finding out extra info on the latest addition to the zoo for the story – too easy. And it became apparent that Steve was a good sport - with a ready laugh and ability to send himself up - I believe it was this attribute (as much as any) that finally won his fellow countrymen over.
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He loved a good reaction, and would test out any unsuspecting visitor with a surprise show of a snake or other creepy creature. I managed to (mostly) keep my poker face on. And I fell in love with some of the creatures – especially Harriet the Tortoise (then the oldest living animal in captivity at about 160 years old) . Not the snakes and crocs though. But I never told Steve.
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One thing clear in my memories is how he was the proudest, most excited guy in the world when they announced Terri’s pregnancy (with Bindi). I photographed them together and was bowled over anew by their love story, and their energy for each other and for their lives together. It was inspirational. I hoped someday I would find something similar.
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As his fame overseas (especially in America) grew, and gradually spilled over into Australia, there was more competition in our newsroom to cover Irwin and Oz Zoo stories. That was OK – it was nice to see some reward and respect for this genuine bloke with energy to burn and enthusiasm by the truckload. I really enjoyed Terri too – she clearly adored her husband and revelled in the work they did side-by-side.
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I have to admit, I never really got into his TV documentaries much. But I loved seeing him interviewed and watching that twinkle of humour and spark of energy ignite and burn bright, warming those nearby and on the other side of the screen. He energised us all.
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It had been almost a decade since I had last photographed the Irwins when news of Steve’s tragic death hit. Much had happened in my life, but I always listened with a sense of pride to his achievements. I was here, visiting Granite Glen, when I heard. Mum and I sat there and stared at each other for a good five minutes in stunned silence. It seemed utterly incomprehensible. That someone so full of life could be gone. It still does.
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My kids were too young to understand at the time. Dash thought Steve WAS Australia Zoo – the giant billboards we’d pass on the highway, with that famous gap-toothed grin and daggy hairdo, were synonymous (to a kid) with the Zoo. The face and the place were the same to him. Images on the news of Steve in the aftermath of his death would evoke the comment: “Look Mum, there’s ‘Stralya Zoo’!!”. It made me cry.
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The wild thing is that the Dash and TLW now adore “Bindi the Jungle Girl”. It’s their favourite morning TV show and gets quoted regularly to me. “Mum do you know the tiger is getting ‘dangered?” Dash will demand. “Gotta be careful with frogs, they might get ‘dangered!”. It fazes them none that Steve features constantly in the clips. They know he is dead. But they take that fact in their stride. (Maybe it’s only adults that make that issue complicated?)
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While the kids were playing at the yards recently, a role-play in the back of the ute took my breath away.

“Mum, I’m a shark and the bad men have taken my fins off.

You know what sharks are Mum? I’m a shark and I'm ‘dangered.

Steve Irwin says so.”
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Jeez, Steve, old mate.

You are as bloody potent an influence dead as you were alive.

Crikey, we miss you, you great dag.