Zip It Up And Catch The Damned Plane.

Fitness influencer Caitlin Lyndon says a Virgin Australia employee asked her to zip her jacket over her sports bra before boarding. She believes she was singled out because of her fake breast size, saying her similarly dressed companion wasn’t stopped. Virgin says it has apologised for her experience. Pity, I liked the experience of reading about it! lol

My first response? Zip it up and get on the bloody plane. You already have the jacket. Nobody is asking you to fashion a modesty garment out of a boarding pass and three luggage tags, Ms Magiver! Pull the zip, find your seat, and join the rest of us in wondering whether our knees will survive the journey.

Personally, I’m tired of the Instagram aesthetic being treated as something the rest of us should applaud. The posing, the presentation, the endless expectation of an audience. And they are fucking ugly. Fake! 

Wear what you like, but I’m allowed to find the whole performance exhausting. I’m travelling to Melbourne. My ticket didn’t include compulsory enthusiasm for somebody else’s look.

There is, however, a detail that deserves an answer. If two passengers wore equivalent outfits and only one was stopped, the airline should explain the distinction. The reporting also says its dress requirements don’t expressly prohibit sports bras. Clear rules, applied consistently, would help everyone.

We seem to have developed a dreadful habit of taking every unpleasant interaction and inflating it until it fills the internet. Must be light on for news. A stranger can be abrupt. A staff member can make a poor decision. You can feel embarrassed. All of those things deserve some perspective before we summon the entire nation to adjudicate a jacket.

I’d like airlines to spend their energy explaining delays, answering customers and getting luggage to the same city as its owner. I’d also like passengers to remember that shared spaces involve other people, most of whom are tired, uncomfortable and desperately hoping boarding will finish. They're not there to look at or comment on you tits. Sheesh.

By all means, challenge an inconsistent rule. But forgive me if I decline to join the outrage committee.

I’ve got a plane to catch, and considerably bigger things to give a fuck about.

A Grandfather Is Supposed to Love Them. What the Fuck Is This?

Some stories leave you staring at the screen, trying to find words strong enough for what you have just read. This is one of them. A pregnant woman, her young children and other loved ones killed in a mass shooting in Erie, Pennsylvania. Relatives said the gunman as the children’s grandfather — the pregnant woman’s own father. Police are still investigating the fucked up motive.

A grandfather. Someone whose place in a kid's life should be associated with affection, safety and perhaps a sneaky treat when Mum isn’t looking. Someone who should be there to watch them grow. The betrayal in this is fucking staggering. How do you even begin to comprehend a family relationship ending in this much cruelty?

Among those killed were Angelina Stone and her children, Isiah and Amari’anna. Angelina was reportedly just days away from giving birth. Those names deserve our attention. The woman who should have had a future. The children who should have had years of birthdays, friendships, silly arguments and ordinary days ahead of them. Their lives mattered before a headline made strangers aware of them.

I am pissed off at the brutality of it. Staggered that children can have their entire futures taken by an adult with a gun. Furious at the suffering left for everyone who loved them. 

Investigators need to establish what happened and why. But whatever they discover, the victims must remain at the centre of this story. Understanding a killer should never swallow up the people he killed.

And spare me any suggestion that being someone’s father or grandfather gives you ownership of their life. Family is a responsibility. It means caring for people and keeping them safe. It gives you absolutely no fucking right to decide whether they get to live.

As a grandmother, I find the thought of those children unbearable. You want your grandchildren to feel safe with you. You want to hear their nonsensical chatter, see what interests them this week and watch the people they are becoming. 

The privilege is getting to be part of their lives. Not the person who ends them.

The surviving loved ones now have to face something the rest of us can barely bring ourselves to imagine. Long after the headlines disappear, they will still be living with the absence. There will be birthdays to get through, belongings to confront and moments when the enormity of what happened hits all over again.

They deserve support that lasts longer than a news cycle. They deserve room to grieve, to rage and to remember their loved ones as whole people.

And I will not apologise for swearing about the killing of a pregnant woman and little children. If the word “fuck” offends you more than the violence that prompted it, your priorities need a bloody good examination.

My sympathy is with the victims and everyone who loved them. My hate is for the man who took their lives.

What a cruel, devastating fucking waste.

Two Daughters. Two Mothers. Questions That Still Hurt.

There is something heartbreaking about two mothers finding friendship because their daughters are dead. Nobody imagines joining that particular club. Nobody raises a little girl thinking that, one day, another grieving mother will be the person who understands her life best. I don't know what I would do...

Phoebe Handsjuk was 24 when she died in Melbourne in 2010. Baillee Schneider was 25 when she died in 2018. Phoebe’s death was ruled accidental; Baillee’s was ruled suicide. 

Both had dated Antony Hampel, whom coroners cleared of involvement (which was bloody easy for them...) Their mothers, Natalie and Sabine, remain troubled by aspects of the investigations and have formed a close friendship. Those are the reported facts. Their concerns are not proof of a crime. They deserve to be heard nonetheless.

What gets me is the expectation we so often place on grieving people: accept the explanation, find some closure and somehow get on with it. Closure. What a neat little word for something that can tear the rest of your life to pieces. As though grief comes with a lid you can click shut once the paperwork is finished.

I want a system that can explain itself clearly. When a family questions an investigation, they should be able to understand what was examined, how conclusions were reached and what remains uncertain. An honest acknowledgement of uncertainty has more value than reassurance that leaves someone feeling unheard.

And please, can we stop treating a young woman’s struggles as though they tell us everything worth knowing about her? A person can have difficult days, make mistakes and need help while still being funny, loving, talented and full of possibility. Vulnerability should bring greater care. It should never diminish the value placed on a life.

There is room to respect a coronial finding and care about a family’s continuing distress. There is room to ask careful questions without appointing yourself detective, judge and jury from behind a keyboard. These women deserve better than becoming entertainment for people who will move on to the next mystery tomorrow.

Their mothers don’t get to move on so conveniently.

What they carry is the absence of a daughter in ordinary moments: an empty place at a table, a birthday, something funny with nobody to send it to. That is where the enormity of a young death lives, long after public attention has wandered elsewhere.

Phoebe and Baillee deserved long lives. Natalie and Sabine deserve compassion, clear explanations and the freedom to speak about what still troubles them.

Listening to them should be the bloody least we can do.

ICE: A Badge Doesn’t Make This Less Horrifying

A five-year-old child was in the back seat when an ICE officer shot and wounded a man during an attempted arrest in New York. Five years old. An age when your biggest worry should be whether some kid has stolen your favourite crayon, rather than whether the armed adults outside your car are going to kill your father. 

Apparently, the child escaped physical injury. That is a relief, but it's a bloody low bar set for a successful encounter with government officers.

According to New York’s police commissioner, plainclothes federal officers approached Oscar Belgal’s car, one with a gun drawn. When the car moved forward, an officer fired seven rounds, striking Belgal below his left ear. Federal officials say he rammed ICE vehicles and endangered their officers. That allegation needs investigation. It does not settle whether firing was justified, and it certainly does not make scrutiny optional.

I am sick of the suggestion that putting someone’s criminal history in a press release answers every question about what officers did to them. It doesn’t. A conviction is not permission for unlimited force. An allegation is not a verdict. And immigration status does not strip a human being of the right to have government violence examined!

The government says its officers did not know the child was inside. Well, that deserves serious scrutiny too. What could they see? What precautions did they take? How was this operation planned? “We didn’t know” should begin an investigation into what went wrong, rather than serve as the final word on why nobody should be held responsible. 

Hell, they don't know if a child is there - don't shoot unless they do!

There is something revolting about political leaders rushing to defend an agency while the public is still trying to establish what happened. Apparently, we are supposed to accept the official explanation, swallow the language of enforcement and stop making a fuss. Meanwhile, a small child has been caught inside an encounter that ended with his father wounded by gunfire.

And spare me the chest-thumping about being tough. Carrying a weapon gives you the power to cause irreversible harm. The public is entitled to demand restraint, sound judgement and an honest accounting of every decision to use it. Those demands become more urgent when officers operate around families.

Release the footage. Preserve the evidence. Have investigators outside the agency examine the shooting and the decisions that led to it. If the evidence establishes misconduct or unlawful force, there must be consequences. A badge should increase your accountability because of the authority it gives you.

My disgust is directed at an institution whose leadership expects public trust while responding to a horrifying shooting with excuses and political blame. Trust has to be earned through conduct and scrutiny. It cannot be demanded at gunpoint.

A five-year-old was in that car. 

Whatever the investigation establishes about the adults involved, that child deserves to remain at the centre of this conversation. He shouldn't become a footnote under another government statement congratulating itself on being tough.

Stop The World; I Want To Get Off!

Crazy. I'm buggered! I got up buggered and haven't improved! It's only 3pm and I'm ready for bed!

I will walk the dog... See if that helps.