http://www.thepunch.com.au/tags/lifestyle/ Politics, political opinion, world news, sports news and the latest news and views updated live, daily on The Punch - Australia's best conversation. en Copyright 2012 The Punch penberthyd@newsltd.com.au penberthyd@newsltd.com.au Thu, 09 Feb 2012 18:00:13 +0000 Thu, 09 Feb 2012 18:00:13 +0000 Politics, opinion, world news, sports news, latest news, views, Barack Obama, Kevin Rudd, Julia Gillard, Nathan Rees, Malcolm Turnbull, Peter Garrett, Barnaby Joyce, Australian, federal politics, opinion polls, election, The Punch, thepunch, punch ExpressionEngine 1.6.7 http://blogs.law.harvard.edu/tech/rss 15 http://www.thepunch.com.au/images/punch-logo-rss.png http://www.thepunch.com.au/ 144 70 Politics, political opinion, world news, sports news and the latest news and views updated live, daily on The Punch - Australia's best conversation. Search The Punch keywords http://www.thepunch.com.au/search/ http://www.thepunch.com.au/articles/neglect-damages-kids-not-being-a-helicopter-parent/ Hello, my name is Emma Jane and I am A Very Bad Mother. Not because I neglect my four-year-old daughter – but apparently because I don’t neglect her enough. If you have offspring, you’ll know that being called a “helicopter parent” is the insult du decade. It implies that you hover over your kids like a whopping great Black Hawk, and has been blamed for everything from childhood obesity to weird new European balloon laws. piotrowskid@newsltd.com.au (Daniel Piotrowski) Article http://www.thepunch.com.au/articles/neglect-damages-kids-not-being-a-helicopter-parent/#comments http://www.thepunch.com.au/articles/neglect-damages-kids-not-being-a-helicopter-parent/#item6961 Thu, 09 Feb 2012 18:00:13 +0000 When I was a teenager, there was nothing I wanted more than to move out of suburbia. I grew up in a place so nondescript that, after performing there, John Cleese remarked that if you wanted to kill yourself but lacked the courage, a visit to my home city “would do the trick”. (Locals had the last laugh by naming the municipal dump after him.) The city itself wasn’t the problem – solid agricultural attitudes and a bit of civic symmetry rather please me – it was the stultifying ordinariness of life in suburbia. The predictable pleasantness of everything from progressive dinners to neighbourly sugar sharing. My best friend and I even coined the term ‘subby dip’ for the onion-soup-mix and sour-cream confection routinely served with Jatz crackers. Our derision was to be expected. We were 19. We wanted to be, as our favourite band sang, “making love on the edge of a knife”, not on the floral bedspreads or in the lavender-scented gardens of our boyfriends’ parents. http://www.thepunch.com.au/articles/you-have-to-leave-suburbia-to-really-truly-love-it/ When I was a teenager, there was nothing I wanted more than to move out of suburbia. I grew up in a place so nondescript that, after performing there, John Cleese remarked that if you wanted to kill yourself but lacked the courage, a visit to my home city “would do the trick”. (Locals had the last laugh by naming the municipal dump after him.) The city itself wasn’t the problem – solid agricultural attitudes and a bit of civic symmetry rather please me – it was the stultifying ordinariness of life in suburbia. The predictable pleasantness of everything from progressive dinners to neighbourly sugar sharing. My best friend and I even coined the term ‘subby dip’ for the onion-soup-mix and sour-cream confection routinely served with Jatz crackers. Our derision was to be expected. We were 19. We wanted to be, as our favourite band sang, “making love on the edge of a knife”, not on the floral bedspreads or in the lavender-scented gardens of our boyfriends’ parents. piotrowskid@newsltd.com.au (Daniel Piotrowski) Article http://www.thepunch.com.au/articles/you-have-to-leave-suburbia-to-really-truly-love-it/#comments http://www.thepunch.com.au/articles/you-have-to-leave-suburbia-to-really-truly-love-it/#item6875 Thu, 09 Feb 2012 18:00:13 +0000 When I was a teenager, there was nothing I wanted more than to move out of suburbia. I grew up in a place so nondescript that, after performing there, John Cleese remarked that if you wanted to kill yourself but lacked the courage, a visit to my home city “would do the trick”. (Locals had the last laugh by naming the municipal dump after him.) The city itself wasn’t the problem – solid agricultural attitudes and a bit of civic symmetry rather please me – it was the stultifying ordinariness of life in suburbia. The predictable pleasantness of everything from progressive dinners to neighbourly sugar sharing. My best friend and I even coined the term ‘subby dip’ for the onion-soup-mix and sour-cream confection routinely served with Jatz crackers. Our derision was to be expected. We were 19. We wanted to be, as our favourite band sang, “making love on the edge of a knife”, not on the floral bedspreads or in the lavender-scented gardens of our boyfriends’ parents. http://www.thepunch.com.au/articles/Houston-we-have-a-problem/ Four friends were dining over lunch in a swish Adelaide restaurant last weekend when a woman at the next table pulled out her chair and proceeded to change her baby’s nappy on the floor. Can you believe that? The four friends couldn’t. They were so stunned they decided to phone The Sunday Mail. “It was just so unhygienic and inappropriate,” said one. “Luckily it was only a wet nappy – imagine if it had been really messy.” No thanks, ladies. Might put me off my own lunch. But talk about taking the new mums’ cause back 20 years. piotrowskid@newsltd.com.au (Daniel Piotrowski) Article http://www.thepunch.com.au/articles/Houston-we-have-a-problem/#comments http://www.thepunch.com.au/articles/Houston-we-have-a-problem/#item6829 Thu, 09 Feb 2012 18:00:13 +0000 When I was a teenager, there was nothing I wanted more than to move out of suburbia. I grew up in a place so nondescript that, after performing there, John Cleese remarked that if you wanted to kill yourself but lacked the courage, a visit to my home city “would do the trick”. (Locals had the last laugh by naming the municipal dump after him.) The city itself wasn’t the problem – solid agricultural attitudes and a bit of civic symmetry rather please me – it was the stultifying ordinariness of life in suburbia. The predictable pleasantness of everything from progressive dinners to neighbourly sugar sharing. My best friend and I even coined the term ‘subby dip’ for the onion-soup-mix and sour-cream confection routinely served with Jatz crackers. Our derision was to be expected. We were 19. We wanted to be, as our favourite band sang, “making love on the edge of a knife”, not on the floral bedspreads or in the lavender-scented gardens of our boyfriends’ parents. http://www.thepunch.com.au/articles/confessions-of-a-sugar-junkie/ Every morning I attempt to do well by the countless articles relevant to maintaining a healthy balanced diet. By the afternoon, all my good intention swirls down the throne due to a momentary lapse in judgment. Processed sugar, the supposed poison, became something I habitually consumed to remedy the three-thirtyitis. Fine occasionally, but when I needed it every day, I began to think I had a problem. At first I blamed boredom and a juiced up sweet tooth for my daily indulgence. This erroneous conclusion was purely based on the fact that I am one of those sorry sods who head to the gym at lunchtime to feel better about my dietary choices. And then make a bad choice because I went to the gym. piotrowskid@newsltd.com.au (Daniel Piotrowski) Article http://www.thepunch.com.au/articles/confessions-of-a-sugar-junkie/#comments http://www.thepunch.com.au/articles/confessions-of-a-sugar-junkie/#item6478 Thu, 09 Feb 2012 18:00:13 +0000 When I was a teenager, there was nothing I wanted more than to move out of suburbia. I grew up in a place so nondescript that, after performing there, John Cleese remarked that if you wanted to kill yourself but lacked the courage, a visit to my home city “would do the trick”. (Locals had the last laugh by naming the municipal dump after him.) The city itself wasn’t the problem – solid agricultural attitudes and a bit of civic symmetry rather please me – it was the stultifying ordinariness of life in suburbia. The predictable pleasantness of everything from progressive dinners to neighbourly sugar sharing. My best friend and I even coined the term ‘subby dip’ for the onion-soup-mix and sour-cream confection routinely served with Jatz crackers. Our derision was to be expected. We were 19. We wanted to be, as our favourite band sang, “making love on the edge of a knife”, not on the floral bedspreads or in the lavender-scented gardens of our boyfriends’ parents. http://www.thepunch.com.au/articles/15-million-buys-a-lot-of-sex-drugs-and-rock-n-roll/ Michael Carroll, UK binman, won $15 million and blew it all in eight years on drugs, cars and women. He’s now scraping by as a tradie. His is a sad tale, and reading it made me think sanctimonious thoughts about how we need to support people through such drastic life changes, particularly those with vulnerabilities like alcoholism. But mostly I just thought: Shit yeah! I’d love to squander stacks of cash in one big disgusting binge. I’d like to roll around naked in piles of dirty, stinking cash, bathe in French champagne, live a rockstar lifestyle. piotrowskid@newsltd.com.au (Daniel Piotrowski) Article http://www.thepunch.com.au/articles/15-million-buys-a-lot-of-sex-drugs-and-rock-n-roll/#comments http://www.thepunch.com.au/articles/15-million-buys-a-lot-of-sex-drugs-and-rock-n-roll/#item5236 Thu, 09 Feb 2012 18:00:13 +0000 When I was a teenager, there was nothing I wanted more than to move out of suburbia. I grew up in a place so nondescript that, after performing there, John Cleese remarked that if you wanted to kill yourself but lacked the courage, a visit to my home city “would do the trick”. (Locals had the last laugh by naming the municipal dump after him.) The city itself wasn’t the problem – solid agricultural attitudes and a bit of civic symmetry rather please me – it was the stultifying ordinariness of life in suburbia. The predictable pleasantness of everything from progressive dinners to neighbourly sugar sharing. My best friend and I even coined the term ‘subby dip’ for the onion-soup-mix and sour-cream confection routinely served with Jatz crackers. Our derision was to be expected. We were 19. We wanted to be, as our favourite band sang, “making love on the edge of a knife”, not on the floral bedspreads or in the lavender-scented gardens of our boyfriends’ parents. http://www.thepunch.com.au/articles/i-cant-believe-its-not-splutter-butter-vs-margarine/ Butter is made by the simple act of churning cream. Margarine is a fake food that originated in a laboratory as a result of food science. It commonly contains a lengthy list of ingredients, like hydrogenated vegetable oil and artificial colours and flavours, to control its taste, texture and colour. In fact, margarine is pumped full of artificial colouring agents so it looks yellow like butter (we’re so easily fooled). There were once laws against dying artificial foods to look like natural foods. These days our governments are rarely bothered by chemically altered concoctions posing as food. We trust science now. piotrowskid@newsltd.com.au (Daniel Piotrowski) Article http://www.thepunch.com.au/articles/i-cant-believe-its-not-splutter-butter-vs-margarine/#comments http://www.thepunch.com.au/articles/i-cant-believe-its-not-splutter-butter-vs-margarine/#item4158 Thu, 09 Feb 2012 18:00:13 +0000 When I was a teenager, there was nothing I wanted more than to move out of suburbia. I grew up in a place so nondescript that, after performing there, John Cleese remarked that if you wanted to kill yourself but lacked the courage, a visit to my home city “would do the trick”. (Locals had the last laugh by naming the municipal dump after him.) The city itself wasn’t the problem – solid agricultural attitudes and a bit of civic symmetry rather please me – it was the stultifying ordinariness of life in suburbia. The predictable pleasantness of everything from progressive dinners to neighbourly sugar sharing. My best friend and I even coined the term ‘subby dip’ for the onion-soup-mix and sour-cream confection routinely served with Jatz crackers. Our derision was to be expected. We were 19. We wanted to be, as our favourite band sang, “making love on the edge of a knife”, not on the floral bedspreads or in the lavender-scented gardens of our boyfriends’ parents. http://www.thepunch.com.au/articles/the-joy-of-unplugging-from-our-tech-stressed-lifestyles/ I like technology.  I like the fact that technology allows me to be an actor for a living.  You see, without technology like television, I wouldn’t be where I am today.  Yet there is something sinister about the way technology is changing our lives.  I sometimes think that each new marvellous technological invention gives us yet another reason to spend less time with each other. piotrowskid@newsltd.com.au (Daniel Piotrowski) Article http://www.thepunch.com.au/articles/the-joy-of-unplugging-from-our-tech-stressed-lifestyles/#comments http://www.thepunch.com.au/articles/the-joy-of-unplugging-from-our-tech-stressed-lifestyles/#item3318 Thu, 09 Feb 2012 18:00:13 +0000 When I was a teenager, there was nothing I wanted more than to move out of suburbia. I grew up in a place so nondescript that, after performing there, John Cleese remarked that if you wanted to kill yourself but lacked the courage, a visit to my home city “would do the trick”. (Locals had the last laugh by naming the municipal dump after him.) The city itself wasn’t the problem – solid agricultural attitudes and a bit of civic symmetry rather please me – it was the stultifying ordinariness of life in suburbia. The predictable pleasantness of everything from progressive dinners to neighbourly sugar sharing. My best friend and I even coined the term ‘subby dip’ for the onion-soup-mix and sour-cream confection routinely served with Jatz crackers. Our derision was to be expected. We were 19. We wanted to be, as our favourite band sang, “making love on the edge of a knife”, not on the floral bedspreads or in the lavender-scented gardens of our boyfriends’ parents. http://www.thepunch.com.au/articles/zoe-taylor-pregnancy-loss/ It would have seemed like an innocent enough question. Standing at the supermarket checkout, struggling slightly with a bulging belly as I hoisted heavy bags into the trolley, with no children in tow: ‘Will this be your first baby?’ The answer should be simple. If a one word response will suffice, I’ll have no problem. No, this is not my first baby, my first pregnancy. It is my seventh. piotrowskid@newsltd.com.au (Daniel Piotrowski) Article http://www.thepunch.com.au/articles/zoe-taylor-pregnancy-loss/#comments http://www.thepunch.com.au/articles/zoe-taylor-pregnancy-loss/#item2272 Thu, 09 Feb 2012 18:00:13 +0000 When I was a teenager, there was nothing I wanted more than to move out of suburbia. I grew up in a place so nondescript that, after performing there, John Cleese remarked that if you wanted to kill yourself but lacked the courage, a visit to my home city “would do the trick”. (Locals had the last laugh by naming the municipal dump after him.) The city itself wasn’t the problem – solid agricultural attitudes and a bit of civic symmetry rather please me – it was the stultifying ordinariness of life in suburbia. The predictable pleasantness of everything from progressive dinners to neighbourly sugar sharing. My best friend and I even coined the term ‘subby dip’ for the onion-soup-mix and sour-cream confection routinely served with Jatz crackers. Our derision was to be expected. We were 19. We wanted to be, as our favourite band sang, “making love on the edge of a knife”, not on the floral bedspreads or in the lavender-scented gardens of our boyfriends’ parents. http://www.thepunch.com.au/articles/the-good-and-bad-of-working-four-day-weeks-all-year/ [Editors’ note: This is in response to an article published in The Punch on Monday about 10-hour, four-day working weeks. Michael Honey’s business does just that.] The indignities of modern working life are many, and one of the most onerous is the grind of the five-day working week. Two days of play after five days’ work is inadequate to renew our enthusiasm for life:  we barely recover from the quintuple routine of waking to the alarm, commuting to work and back (to say nothing of what transpires in between), dining with our weary family and crashing to uneasy sleep; than we have to confront the thought, on a Sunday afternoon, that it all will begin again. A five-day work week leaves insufficient room for us to develop our sensitive natures: it makes us dull and cranky. We run a small design studio with four fulltime staff. When we started up the place, one of my aims, as a refugee from the advertising agencies where I built my career, was to build a kinder, gentler, more humane organisation. piotrowskid@newsltd.com.au (Daniel Piotrowski) Article http://www.thepunch.com.au/articles/the-good-and-bad-of-working-four-day-weeks-all-year/#comments http://www.thepunch.com.au/articles/the-good-and-bad-of-working-four-day-weeks-all-year/#item2242 Thu, 09 Feb 2012 18:00:13 +0000 When I was a teenager, there was nothing I wanted more than to move out of suburbia. I grew up in a place so nondescript that, after performing there, John Cleese remarked that if you wanted to kill yourself but lacked the courage, a visit to my home city “would do the trick”. (Locals had the last laugh by naming the municipal dump after him.) The city itself wasn’t the problem – solid agricultural attitudes and a bit of civic symmetry rather please me – it was the stultifying ordinariness of life in suburbia. The predictable pleasantness of everything from progressive dinners to neighbourly sugar sharing. My best friend and I even coined the term ‘subby dip’ for the onion-soup-mix and sour-cream confection routinely served with Jatz crackers. Our derision was to be expected. We were 19. We wanted to be, as our favourite band sang, “making love on the edge of a knife”, not on the floral bedspreads or in the lavender-scented gardens of our boyfriends’ parents. http://www.thepunch.com.au/articles/get-your-motor-running-even-if-its-slow-to-warm-up/ I have taken unto myself a motorbike and it is a beautiful and joyous thing. For others it is a sign of my mental collapse and advanced desperation. There has been a procession of arched eyebrows and the diagnosis of a mid-life a crisis from those who believe I should be confining myself to inspections of nice retirement villages. I acknowledge that I am north of 50 and a shortish commute to 60, but it is foolish to make sweeping statements about an age group. (Gen Y does it all the time). And I’m having too much fun to worry. piotrowskid@newsltd.com.au (Daniel Piotrowski) Article http://www.thepunch.com.au/articles/get-your-motor-running-even-if-its-slow-to-warm-up/#comments http://www.thepunch.com.au/articles/get-your-motor-running-even-if-its-slow-to-warm-up/#item620 Thu, 09 Feb 2012 18:00:13 +0000 When I was a teenager, there was nothing I wanted more than to move out of suburbia. I grew up in a place so nondescript that, after performing there, John Cleese remarked that if you wanted to kill yourself but lacked the courage, a visit to my home city “would do the trick”. (Locals had the last laugh by naming the municipal dump after him.) The city itself wasn’t the problem – solid agricultural attitudes and a bit of civic symmetry rather please me – it was the stultifying ordinariness of life in suburbia. The predictable pleasantness of everything from progressive dinners to neighbourly sugar sharing. My best friend and I even coined the term ‘subby dip’ for the onion-soup-mix and sour-cream confection routinely served with Jatz crackers. Our derision was to be expected. We were 19. We wanted to be, as our favourite band sang, “making love on the edge of a knife”, not on the floral bedspreads or in the lavender-scented gardens of our boyfriends’ parents.