Whoever it was who made the comment that time spent with Freudian psychotherapists was no more useful than half an hour with a sympathetic hairdresser has turned out to be slightly prophetic: Hairdressers are to be trained as pseudo drought counsellors in rural Victoria (I think it's the counselling, not the drought, that's meant to be pseudo.)
Which to my mind raises another possibility: should we train counsellors or even psychiatrists as hairdressers? Because (from my admittedly fleeting experiences of the former), I reckon there's much that counsellors have a lot to learn from hairdressers. Like listening without doing that all reflective listening stuff (repeating what you just said back to you so you know that they've HEARD what you've said, producing a strange vortex-like cone-of-silence effect), not saying 'hmmm' all the time, offering earthy commonsense advice rather than drugs or a diagnostic categorisation from the DSM-IV, laughing loudly and irreverently in response to your anecdotes about things you shouldn't really have done, bitching about SJP and Nicole Kidman, and ... yes, and so much more, like those strong-fingered head massages they give when your head's under the tap. (But maybe not the recommendations about 'product'. We could do without that.) And, hairdressers might be cheaper, even in Sydney!
Other news: Cathy and Joel. Well, that's sad. Just when she'd found someone to go out with who wasn't a seedy old sports trainer.
And blogs are flavour of the month. These are rather lack lustre articles, but here you go: Bloggers take the world by storm on the ABC website (my computer's shite at the moment, so I couldn't listen to the audio bit; it might be more interesting), and Spotlight on bloggers in the SMH. I thought there was just the faintest tinge of ressentiment in the latter article, with its emphasis on the loss of blogging's 'naive charm' and its supposed increasing appropriation by business and advertising interests. With a few notable exceptions, I think journalists, especially Australian ones, are empty vessels with nothing much to say ... fleas hopping between campdogs, so to speak. Well may they be jealous of the blogger's comparative freedoms, (though mind you, I've only had about 6000 hits since the inception of this blog, so that's hardly great circulation).