There's a women's shoe retailer on my daily bus route that proudly has the following plastered over its front shop window

"Shoes make me happy. I'm superficial. Whatever."

Every time my bus rolls past, I read the slogan and I have feel this immediate stomach churn. I shudder, disappointed. It reminds me of The Simpsons episode where the Malibu Stacy doll talks for the first time. Lisa is anxious to hear what the doll has to say, yet all Stacy can muster when you pull her string are pathetic phrases like "Let's make cookies for the boys so they will like us!" or "Don't ask me. I'm just a girl!"

But the thing is, I DO love shoes. They DO make me happy. I just don't want to be grouped as a mindless, consumerific moron. So suffice to say, I choose not to shop there. But... find me a shoe store with the following on their window and I'll be their customer for life ::

"Shoes make me happy. Especially good quality leather. Maybe a cute, little wedge, but not the over-the-top crappy cork. Hand me those one-off trainers. Yes I'll take those vintage slouch boots, but keep your mass-produced plasticky gladiator sandals.

Shoes make me happy. I'm considered and intelligent. Forever."

The lovely Cat Power, obviously bummed at her omission from the Hottest 100 of all time.

Articulate, the ABC's daily arts blog, brings up a darn good point in their discussion of the lack of ladies in the latest Triple J Hottest 100 of All Time. A smattering of samples and some guitar-wielding femmes, sans microphones, were our only representation on the female front. I'd like to point the finger... but Richard Kingsmill can't take the heat for the choices of the nation. We good people decide the list!

"Sitting in a winter sun; Waiting for the words to come. But I can tell you what I know; Procrastination never felt so slow."

As someone who can feel crippled by the inability to get words to flow from a pen and paper, it comes as some reassurance that the wonderfully talented songsmith Jen Cloher can sympathise.

These lyrics are from Jen's sweet and poignant song 'Mother's Desk' the first track from Jen Cloher & The Endless Sea's sophomore album Hidden Hands. After getting my hands on the album, I have no trouble finding the words to describe it: passionate, intimate, moments of leaning in close for a secret, a more evolved, fuller sound than the debut, a softly softly approach to breaking your heart.

Jen Cloher & The Endless Sea will be launching the album, first at the Toff in Town, Melbourne this weekend, then at The Annandale Hotel in Sydney, Saturday July 18th. No doubt they'll be following this up with some touring all around the countryside later in the year. Get your hands on Hidden Hands this Friday July 10.

P.S. How completely cute is the album artwork!?

Whatever you think of his outlandish parenting antics there's no denying that Michael Jackson has been the musical talking point of our generation. There is just nobody else out there writing gems like Thriller while simultaneously holding their babies out hotel windows. So prolific, so many killer songs, so goddamn out there! I hope he enjoys his big theme park in the sky. Ow!

  Palestinian protesters take cover behind an olive tree. World Press Photo General News: 3rd Prize singles. Kevin Frayer/AP

Today I visited the World Press Photo 09 traveling exhibition at the Brisbane Powerhouse. It is a compelling celebration of quality international photojournalism, but also a powerful reminder of recent events. Conflicts, scandals and tragedies burst into our reality, but fade just as quickly. Right now I'm closely following Iranian elections, North Korea's itchy finger and psuedo-gangs in Melbourne, but for how long? Another week? How quickly I have forgotten a mini-war in South Ossetia, escalating violence in Gaza and Olympics-mania. Are we so fickle that we eat up world events as rabidly as celebrity gossip? I'd prefer to think not. Let's just blame our ever-connected, 24hour news lives and promise to do better. Lest we forget? The exhibition runs until this Sunday (and it's free!). Or check out the gallery of winners online.

Flight of the Conchords? Yep. But it's not Bret nor Jemaine (cute as they are in animal jumpers and big specs). It's Rhys Darby, the dude behind the hilariously awkward Murray, the bumbling manager of the band. On the HBO gem, Murray may play second fiddle to the quirky melodic observations of Bret and Jemaine ... but on stage he an absolute master of physical comedy.

Shifting flawlessly from playing the dorky teenager sans walkman to a holidayer having sex with a mythical mermaid, Darby's realisations on stage are enough to make you leave the theatre clutching those abs. He'll be taking his show "It's Rhys Darby Night" to the Edinburgh Fringe this year... so expect him to start making regular appearances on your comic radar soon.

Has anybody else noticed the sudden influx of foolish women popping up in the media lately? First we had beer mat mum, the epitome of everything that embarrasses me about some Australian travelers abroad? Then it was Clare "Miss White Australia 2009" Werbeloff doing her bit to promote inter-racial tolerance and uphold journalistic integrity. Now, to put the sugar-substitute cherry on top, 23-year-old Brooke Robertson of Auckland, New Zealand has recently lost a bucket-load of weight because she drank nothing but Red Bull for eight months... oh I forgot... sometimes consumed with a handful of Honey Puffs in case she was feeling a bit peckish. And despite having a minor heart attack, in her words "I don't regret it because I got to a weight I was happy with." WTF!!! Who are these women? Why do they get so much attention for being so blatantly moronic. They're letting the team down.

I've had cats that are more worldly.