WhatIThink

City of Banyule: Music in September

2011-09-03T17:49:00.003+10:00

Dear Banyulites and visitors (be it inter-council, inter-state, international, or, let's face it, sometimes inter-planetary, such is our cultural pull factor).

We've got a cracker month of music lined up this September, so without further ado let's take a sneak peek!

Sunday 4th September: Jazzy Juniors!

6pm, Ivanhoe City Hall

A delight for young and old, this annual favourite sees an eighty-strong band of enthusiastic young performers blasting out their favourite jazz licks in style!

"Whilst the band this year does feature unusually high numbers of beginner saxophone and trumpet players, we know that audiences can't fail to enjoy our more creative project for this year. I'll just say two things: improvisation, fifty minutes."

Concert Director, Michelle Piers

Train Delayed Blues

Month-long instalment, Platform 1 at Rosanna, Macleod and Watsonia stations

Continuing this year's jazz-fusion inspired theme, this installation will see three of the City of Banyule's most iconic train stations staffed by a lonesome harmonica player twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Using only a small repertoire of classic four bar blues, these talented musicians will lament the lateness of trains with their rhythmic groove and soulful cries.

Saturday 10th September: Spring Has Come

12am-11.59pm, All Across Banyule

This ambitious musical immersion project is the brainchild of Banyule Music Director Penny Farthing. For twenty-four hours, speakers positioned all around the City of Banyule will broadcast Heidelberg Youth Orchestra recordings of orchestral music composed for Spring.

From Vivaldi to Ravel, every household will be involuntarily immersed in the rich strains of beautiful music for the full day, for free!

Sunday 18th September: Interpretative Saxophone Live!

11am, Chelsworth Park, Ivanhoe

Another fantastic international premiere will be hosted in Banyule this month as young musician Jeffrey Waterstone will host a five-hour long concert, responding to the movement of the audience and passers-by.

"It's about translating body movements, expressions, and moods into rhythm and melody. I think that the timbre and gentle soothing tone of the saxophone (universally loved by everyone) is the perfect medium for this experiment."

Jeffrey Waterstone, saxophonist

There really is something for everyone, and this is only the beginning! Stay tuned for more updates, including your chance to win free tickets to Knitting a Monologue: Tales of our Elders, a performance piece in development across the Banyule City libraries!

These Lives I'm (Not) Living

2011-08-08T22:24:00.005+10:00

Sometimes I wonder if there is some way I can pursue all the 'me's that are possible.

The musician me, who spends his life composing musical scores for non-paying films, honing his saxophone technique and taking the time to make a living of it.

The journalist me, who uproots himself as necessary, chasing everything in order to climb the journalistic ladder of any number of media organisations. Reaching the end of my life world-weary, alcoholic, obese and able to produce excellent dinner table conversation.

The public relations me, who meekly ekes out an existence in a government communications job, explaining policies until cynicism and disillusionment crushes me.

The politician me, who sets out to change things for the better, to ensure that governmental policies are founded on defensible research, fact and logic instead of the best-selling news hook or the easiest side of argument. Inevitably I emerge disappointed at the wasted years, possibly to become a journalist.

The English teacher me, who deviates from one of the above paths to teach. To go back to that institution that will forever be associated with dusty childhood, irrecoverable immaturity and a simple life.

The chef me, who decides that yes, he does really like pastries and yes, he will spend his life making delicious desserts. Buttery pastry lines the way to a jolly, early grave, even if at the moment of my death I suffocate on panic.

The doctor me, who made a choice late in high school that the pursuit of medicine was a path of such pure intention and integrity, that he would pursue it in spite of the fact that the sciences were not his strongest subject.

The pragmatic me, who scoffs at the idea of any of this, and instead forms himself as an entrepreneur, establishing his own public relations business, and looking up with surprise to find that thirty years have passed by his desk whilst his head has been buried in Gantt Charts and SWOT analyses.

The environmental advocate, who actively realises that an emissions intensive lifestyle is not natural, and is something that can be opted out of, and who proceeds to change his life with a small degree of neuroticism lest any argument about the future of the planet be derailed by secret plane trips or refrigerators or air conditioning.

There are so many of me that could come to pass.

How do I know which one is the right one? How can I hope to satisfy them all? When I die, will all these selves flash past me, sighing "well, you never knew, did you...I might've made you happier"?

And the relationships and friendships and me. The ones that slipped away, exploded with a bang or never realised full potential...what could they have been, and why do I think about them? The ones I was too scared to push - they possibly are the greatest thoughts. What could have existed between us, if I'd decided to keep dancing, or ring you, or chosen to stay at the New Year's Eve party for longer? If I'd decided to through every caution away and follow my gut?

It was so easy then, just a step away, and will probably never arise so freely again. And no organisation can bring back the magical malleability of those spontaneous moments. So instead I wallow in hypotheticals, which can be easily committed to and idolised.

And so I'll sleep on it.

Sleep and wake up tomorrow to find this mood has deserted me. I can no longer keenly feel the absence of potential life experiences, but instead am dragged into the minutiae of my life.

Night.

A Keynes to Remember

2011-06-09T22:13:00.013+10:00

So I've just enjoyed a Semester studying economies, their communication and the theories underpinning that communication.

Interesting stuff.

And through it some central figures emerged: amongst them, John Maynard Keynes, a highly influential economist who has his own branch of economic theory - Keynesian economics - named after him.

It has recently come to the attention of me and some other students that there is a startling and wholly inexplicable absence of John Maynard Keynes fan fiction on the internet.

I set out to remedy this with a tasteful foray into the indulgently adjective-rich world that is the fanfiction genre...

Government Regulated Passion

"Penny, have you got those minutes done?"

Penny's head snapped up from the paperclip she had been working into different shapes over the last hour. It had become a horse, a poodle, a pineapple, and at one stage a giraffe.

"Yes Ms Moneybanks, they're right here," she replied meekly, handing the stack of impeccably typed meeting notes to the dour woman glaring at her from the other side of the desk.

"Good girl," Ms Moneybanks said blankly, taking the papers and walking off to another office somewhere where, Penny rather suspected, they would be placed on another desk, to be sorted by another person, and placed further and further into the bureaucratic jungle until it would be impossible to find, even in the unlikely event that someone wished to read them. But these were her secretarial duties in the economic policy department, and she did them well. The blonde, blue-eyed, young and ambitious Penny was not used to feeling anxious.

But she didn't suppose there was much else she could feel, not when she'd just been told that the century's most influential economist and policy advisor John Maynard Keynes had specifically requested her secretarial assistance with his latest policy initiative.

She had barely met him, yet she remembered each moment of that first gaze with an intensity that made her blush. She had been taking the water into the meeting - that was all - but as she placed the overflowing jug down she caught his eye. He had looked at her, his moustache quivering as he continued talking to the other meeting members. "The free market is not without faults," he was saying, but his dark, intensely intelligent brown eyes were locked into hers. His words (an objection to the privatisation of social projects) faded into the background and she feared she would lose herself in his chocolate button drop eyes. Finally she tore herself away...

...Penny exhaled slowly, picked up a leaflet explaining austerity measures and began to fan her bright pink face, shocked at the power of a casual recollection. She had just begun to settle back to work (though the phantom image of Keynes floated in her mind) when the office door opened. Even without looking, she knew it would be him. 3pm exactly. She raised her head as casually as she could manage, to find with a shock that the impeccably groomed economist was standing in front of her desk.

"Miss Farthing?" he said with a smile. His voice seemed to slide over her like melted butter, the rich tones warming her from head to toe.

"Yes Mr Keynes," she replied with a smile. "But please, just call me Penny."

"Very well...if you could come along to my office now we can discuss how we're going to work together on putting together this next policy proposal."

"Very well sir," replied Penny.

"Please...call me Keynes," he said, a cheeky grin spreading across his tastefully groomed face.

His room was, as she might have expected, practical but comfortable. There were no irresponsible excesses, save for a thick red rug in the centre, and a fireplace to one side, which was crackling merrily away.

"Now," he said once they were seated opposite one another at the desk. Penny noticed that the desk was not quite large enough to seat two opposite: their legs brushed against one another underneath. Neither of them commented or made any move to adjust their seating position, silently sharing the touching of limbs. "Just a few formatting things first. I like my policy documents typed up with a 3cm margin, the title of the document and chapter at the top of each page."

"Yes sir," she said with a small nod.

"...Are you going to write this down?" asked Keynes.

"Oh...if you please sir, I just remember it all myself," said Penny with a touch of pride.

"Ah, very well then," Keynes replied, his eyes sparkling with amusement or annoyance, she couldn't tell which. "Well, so overall the policy document..."

The meeting seemed to last for only half an hour, so it was with surprise that Penny glanced across at the clock on her way out and saw it was 5 o'clock. Keynes smiled at her from his desk as she left. "Very good, Penny. I shall see you tomorrow..."

As Penny caught the train home, her head was abuzz with all the ideas Keynes had shared with her. Infrastructure investment policies and lines about definancialisation buzzed through her mind, which seemed to be zipping about with more clarity and precision than she had ever believed possible from her job.

It was an unusually warm summer, and that night Penny slept with the window open, a balmy draught flowing into her room as she tried to get to sleep. Finally a dreamful slumber took her...

She was outside the office. Raising a trembling hand, she knocked a pathetic knock. She shook her head, steeled herself, and then knocked again.

"Enter," came the response from inside the room. She grasped a gold handle and opened the door. She was instantly struck by a wave of warmth, as the fire was roaring, and Keynes stood there watching her. "Well don't just stand there, come in, Penny!" he laughed - and it was a full laugh, full of energy, vitality and vigour. His moustache twitched into a smile as she stepped across the red rug, and she felt his analytical eyes roving over her crisp blue suit, the one that Mother said made her look like 'a real fancy lass'. Finally his eyes met hers again, and she felt that same giddiness seize her body.

"Penny..." he began, his considered tone reverberating through every fibre of her being, soothing her nerves like a cooling balm.

‎"What?" she replied breathlessly as he stepped closer.
"I believe that the financial sector is an irresponsible exchange of money which is fundamentally flawed, marked by greed and irrationality: an irrationality which is at odds with the dominant neoliberal economic governing regime."
She gazed at his sensible leather shoes as he stepped closer again. She could see his crooked tie, and as he reached out with one hand and brushed away a stray lock of her curly golden tresses she felt a blush steal into her already rosy cheeks.
"Maybe..." she began, looking across at the fireplace, which crackled and radiated heat. "Maybe we're all a little irrational...sometimes..." she brushed a hand across her feverish temple.
"Maybe we are...and maybe we need governments to regulate our behaviours so that human failures don't become market failures," he said, gazing into her clear blue eyes.

"But human failures can sometimes be so difficult to stop," she countered. "Greed is just one of our failings. There are other weaknesses...other sins...."

"True, there are other sins. But the selfishness of greed is amplified when extended to the level of financial markets. Other, smaller selfish deeds can go surprisingly unnoticed, and without ramifications...." He again deliberately stared into her eyes, and she felt her face magnetically drawn to his. Their cheeks were almost touching now, and Penny felt that if they did she should combust.

His stiff, quivering moustache brushed against her as he leaned in and gently murmured "but ultimately I believe that the government has a valid role to play in correcting market failures through the careful implementation of intelligently designed regulations and restrictions" into her ear, his hot breath tingling against her burning skin....

The next day the minutes dragged by. Penny could not wait for 3pm to arrive. Her fingers itched to type, and so she began to type furiously, as words flooded her mind, pouring out through her lightning-fast fingertips like an electrified river of passion:

Oh Keynes, oh Keynes,

You wanted government regulation of the market.

Oh Keynes, oh Keynes,

Your eye has fixed itself upon my heart as target.

Oh Keynes, oh Keynes,

You believe in the introduction of government policies to ameliorate the inequitable distribution of wealth,

Oh Keynes, oh Keynes,

I replay your words, replay your words in my heart, and I flourish as a daffodil into full health.

Oh Keynes, oh Keynes,

You reject the neoliberal assertion of the free market as flawless,

Oh Keynes, oh Keynes!!

Stop my pounding heart, afore it compel me to actions most lawless!

She supposed she was no poet, but she knew that already. She consoled herself by moving to her work, typing up notes penned by Keynes's capable, dextrous, powerful hands. As she typed up notes on the stimulus of economic activity through government spending, she felt a shiver pass through her fingertips. As she engaged in the intimately sensual act of transposing the marks Keynes had put to paper with his sturdy fountain pen into a neatly typed document, she entered another plane of existence. As she continued to type she lost herself further and further in the rough etchings made with his well-inked nib, and she began to lose track of time, and so it came to pass that 3'o clock arrived after a tolerable intermission of transcription.

Penny set off straight up to the fifth level without waiting for Keynes to come and get her. As it was they met on the carpeted stairwell between levels. He was looking down, and almost continued past her, but she put out a hand and brushed it against the navy blue sleeve of his suit.

"Penny!" he exclaimed with a chuckle, a chuckle that faded and was replaced with seriousness as they engaged in what had now become a ritualistic moment of eye-gazing. The intense bond they were forging as they stared directly into the consciousness of the other would have continued for much longer were they not interrupted by the backlog of people they had blocked from going up and down the stairs (such was their absorption in their moment of eyeball-mediated intimacy).

As he shut the door behind him, Penny noticed that the fireplace was not roaring this time: it was smouldering. The lights too, seemed dimmer than last time: the shadows were softer, and as Keynes turned to face her, the lines of fatigue which frequently creased his face were gone, and only his magnificent moustache commanded her attention.

"Capitalism is the astounding belief that the most wicked of men will do the most wicked of good of everyone," he sighed. "The very premise of economic man assumes we are selfish actors, it assumes we are rational actors. From this, a system is created where the selfishness of each individual maintains a balance." He sighed again, and she felt the weariness of a man who did not believe that the free market is the best instrument to deliver social equality.

"Well that's why it's important to continue to challenge the hegemony of the neoliberal economic doctrine, isn't it?" said Penny, striding forwards and taking his hand with a boldness she had not known before. He smiled at the recognition of his own words, spoken back to him by our bright-eyed and inquisitive heroine.

He squeezed her hand.

"Yes, Penny Farthing. That's why we must challenge the dominance of ideas...the difficulty lies not so much in developing new ideas as in escaping from old ones."

She took his other hand and took a step closer, barely daring to breathe as she whispered, "and perhaps the most pervasive of these is the idea that we are all rational actors...for I fear I am about to do something that is quite without reason of any kind..."

Keynes didn't say anything, and there was silence but for the patter of rain on the window. His brown eyes came closer towards her, and --

Out in the street, the rain began to intensify into furious torrents, and people began to run in different directions, holding newspapers over their heads to stay dry.

Whirl

2011-05-23T23:04:00.002+10:00

How is it I find myself here,

In the suddenly quiet eye of the clutter.

Why is it I seem here alone,

Just me and a lonely mutter.

Why do I write shit poetry,

Not sure.

So I've returned to my blog, using it this time as a therapy tool, which perhaps is all I've ever used it for.

I'm just seeking to offload a feeling, only it's a feeling that doesn't weigh anything. It's a feeling that everyone else is moving, and I've ground to a halt. That I've become invisible, and everyone passes through me without looking.

It's a feeling that doesn't dissipate immediately after being articulated. It's also a feeling that doesn't make any sense: I'm not invisible. I spend entire days dealing with people, but at the end of it, I feel that none of them will follow me.

This kind of mood will inevitably be labelled 'self indulgent tripe' by a future, productive, energised Gelati Gecko. It may not survive the assessment, thrown into the deleted posts pile without a second thought.

But it's not self indulgent. It's just a mood, just a feeling, and like all of them it places me at the centre. Nothing really strange about that.

But it's not enlightening, new, inspiring, or particularly interesting. It is driftwood.

Night, strange mood.

Why?!

2011-05-04T20:24:00.004+10:00

Why am I choosing to live on $2AUD a day? How is me feeding myself on less going to make a difference to anything?

This is a question which has been levelled at me by some people this month, as I explain to them that between the 16th and 20th May, I am going to be feeding myself off $2 a day, and raising funds for a host of critical anti-poverty initiatives as part of the Live Below the Line campaign.

Perhaps the strongest voicing of this argument is that which was put forward by Herald Sun commentator Andrew Bolt, who summed up Live Below the Line thusly last year:

"No real reason for this torture, other than to make you realise what it must be like to be some starving Bangladeshi, wishing you were lucky enough to live in a country where you had so much to eat that you’d, er, starve yourself instead. Out of sheer, mindless guilt."

It is an easy criticism to make from a distance, but it fails to understand that Live Below the Line is a campaign which acts on several fronts to make tangible progress in the fight against extreme poverty:

Fundraising: the funds raised in Live Below the Line go towards two fantastic causes. As I'm fundraising for the Oaktree Foundation, the money I raise will create educational opportunities in communities living in poverty, through teaching scholarships and essential infrastructure. On the other hand, Global Poverty Project is working to eradicate polio, support the international anti-corruption movement, and campaign to bring about the institutional changes necessary to break the cycle of extreme poverty.
Awareness: This is something which is frequently thrown about. And it's true that awareness alone isn't enough. People have to know how they can use their awareness and understanding to take action. And they have to feel that the action they take will mean something. So once participants and those around them begin to comprehend the realities of extreme poverty in a more real sense, they can also realise that they can fight for policy change from their government. They can give their support to non-profit organisations who are efficiently and effectively taking action.
Movement: As the campaign gains traction, and more people become impassioned to take action on extreme poverty, a movement is formed. People from across Australia (and in the US and UK), including citizens, businesses and politicians, realise together not only that extreme poverty is unacceptable, but that it can be ended, and that there are ways we can do it. This provides a climate in which governmental policies addressing extreme poverty are expected and encouraged.

That's why.

Lord of Procrastination (for ever, and ever)

2011-04-27T11:24:00.002+10:00

The most effective form of procrastination is that which artfully masquerades as 'preparation'.

For me, this will often take the form of:

- finding some appropriate study attire: I want a big warm jumper, thick socks: after all, I'm going to be effectively studying for quite some time!

- music: I can't just study in sterile silence! No, no, that would never do...so I'll find some..no, that's too noisy, it'll distract me, and I can't have that....yes, there we go, that's nice background...I'll turn it up a bit...there.

- should I have a cup of tea? I pretty much never drink tea but a lot of my learned friends who study lots speak of tea-filled study sessions. Yeah, better put the kettle on...

...and so much time is spent setting the scene for an idealised painting, perhaps titled "Sedulous Study 2: Autumn" or somesuch, so that I get very little done.

The worst thing is when I start to document my procrastination in blog form.

Fair Enough

2011-04-26T22:27:00.003+10:00

It seems that there is no shortage of applications for this versatile phrase. Some of the ones I encounter commonly include:

Acquaintance with whom conversation is strictly bound by 'what're you doing, how's that going, uh huh' parameters: So, what're you doing at uni?

Me: Yeah, I'm doing Professional Communications, it's this course which is a combination of Journalism, Public Relations and Media

Acquaintance: Fair enough.

Here the acquaintance has used 'fair enough' to give their nod of approval to the direction in which I am governing my life. They accept and validate my choices the way that only someone who is entirely distant in my life can.

Customer: So how does the food...how... (trails off, looking hopefully at me, pleading with their eyes for me to explain the complex system of ordering, payment and collection that is required in order to gain life-giving sustenance)

Me: Well, all the hot food you order at the grill there, and they give you a docket, and then you go back and collect it in 10-15 minutes. With tea, coffee, milkshakes, scones, and all those things, it's just one trip through the tearoom.

Customer: Fair enough.

Here the person has offered their positive appraisal of a system which does not ask for any kind of external feedback.

Me: And so because I didn't back up the files, I had to go through and re-do it all, which took ages. So that was pretty annoying.

Person: Fair enough.

This particular brand assesses a logical chain of events which are beyond human control or influence, and attempts to give them the impotent tick of approval and semblance of control 'fair enough' can offer.

Mr Atkinson and Ms Merkt

2011-03-13T22:10:00.002+11:00

It feels like I shouldn't name them like that in the title. It feels so uncovered.

It would have been fine to name them while they were alive. Or if not ok, something I could rationalise - but suddenly it feels like I'm trying to reanimate the dead by using their names.

But there they are.

Mr Atkinson - Year 7 History.

His classroom was a typical history classroom. His pointer of choice the 1 metre ruler, his medium: blackboard of course. He could've used whiteboard if he wanted it. But he didn't.

He loved the classic movies. Ben Hur, Cleopatra - he'd bring them up when we studied ancient societies, and tell us what was real, what was crap, how many horses were injured, how much they cost. And sometimes that would blend into a story about how he used to go to the school as a schoolboy. As if it were just a few weeks ago.

But that was near the start of his life. When he probably took those little satchel backpacks and had packed lunches and milk got delivered and teachers hit students and the school had a boarding house...but classrooms still got dusty on sunny afternoons. And he would've soaked it all up. Little Master Atkinson.

When I met him, he was in the last few years of his life, even if none of us knew it at the time.

He was quite large, and always had a cup of coffee. His voice was gravelly but very good to listen to. You'd never get bored listening to Mr Atkinson. He sometimes got angry, but that was probably because Year 7s are shits sometimes. Or maybe it was because he knew he was dying. I really don't know.

Ms Merkt taught me what schadenfreude meant. I don't think it's because she had German heritage, that was just a coincidence. Ms Merkt was very clever, and she always seemed very unwell too. (I wrote "but" in that sentence the first time I wrote it, and upon re-reading it seemed strange that her health should be some kind of negative qualifier to her ingelligence.)

She smoked lots, and was often away. As a Year 9 student who loved English I found it sad that she was so frequently absent and sick. I also found it sad that she didn't mark our assignments very quickly. I never got a poem I wrote about robotic train passengers back from her, and it disappointed me for a long while after.

I wanted to hear what she had to say about it. Because when she marked things (eventually), she actually commented on your work and said some things that made you realise that she was someone who really got language. And it made me sad, that she didn't mark that poem.

But you can't be sad about these things with friends, so we'd make jokes instead. She always used to say, when pressed for the return of work, "I've got your work, it's at home in a box somewhere". We would imagine impossible volumes of boxes, all stacked, teetering in her house, as she wades her way through a waist-deep pond of essays, short stories and ill-conceived acrostic poems.

I have the sudden image of my robotic passenger poem, sitting there somewhere in a mess in her house that nobody knows what to do with, marked and commented on by Mrs Merkt, who is now dead. If that is the case, I will never know.

She retired before she died. Very shortly before. It must have been a strange moment - deciding to retire, because you know you will be dead soon. I find it hard to imagine being in that position.

And when she did retire, they ran a farewell section in the yearbook. It was the year I left, I guess. And I was struck by a moment of her, one of those marbles. It's a photo of her with a group of students from my school. She is maybe in her early thirties. She is slim, with frizzy hair, and is smiling in an open-mouthed laughing kind of way. The students around her are smiling too. The strangest part though, is that they are in casual clothes, in front of a curtain. I do not think it is at school. But I think they are her students. There's something I find very beautiful about the photo. Not just because everyone seems happy, but because the idea of the students having some kind of party (a bottle of Solo announces itself in the corner) with Ms Merkt, and everyone there being happy, seems like a really great moment.

Ms Merkt told the class once that when she first arrived at the school, there was a big problem with misogyny amongst the staff. She told us that it had caused her to have a nervous breakdown and triggered a bout of serious depression. I wonder if she felt that around the moments when that photo was taken. I wonder also when she started smoking.

The biography in the yearbook says that she worked at the Curriculum and Research Branch as the German Consultant for Victoria for a couple of years before becoming a teacher. I wonder when she last thought about the two years she worked there. I wonder if she thought about it before dying, and what kind of significance they played in her overall life.

I do not think she was married. I wonder whether she nearly was, and whether her life would have changed if things had worked out differently. She might be alive, teaching, or running an advertising firm in Berlin. Nobody knows.

Most of all, I feel sad that she died as an adult who should have been only a little past middle aged. I found an analysis of a text she wrote, looking at a piece of Australian gothic literature and the gender power relations described within it. It is about a lot of oppression and fear.

I think that Ms Merkt felt this for some of her life. She told us she did. But I really hope that there were more moments like in that photo. Because that's the point of those moments. They're there, someone back however many years, and in whichever location. If you go there, you would find that moment when Ms Merkt was happy. And so that's why I love the photo I have of her.

And why I'm determined to make sure that I have more of those moments in my life.

And finally, I reach this point.

I realise the things I knew and didn't know about Ms Merkt. The things I will never know - what was her favourite dessert?

But I realise I knew more than I first thought, and in my way I did know Ms Merkt. And so finally I can greet her death with more than the automatic sadness for a sickly English teacher. I can cry for her.

Marbles, Lost My

2011-03-03T00:04:00.004+11:00

Clear glass marbles, with a dash of colour through the middle.

That's what it's like - when you see someone in one of their moments. One of the scenes with them that get frozen in your head, that you will revisit and polish in strange and pleasing colours until-

It's like a small marble, that moment - with the person at the centre, the bluish swirl that sits inside. It doesn't know it's inside a marble - everyone else can see the marble, but the swirl inside never can. It's too busy being a swirl.

Another marble.

There is a photo and a story, and I think about them both quite often. The photo is of a young New Zealand nurse who is now in her eighties. It is black and white, but her smile is so alive. It spreads across her whole face.

The story goes like this. This nurse, she is very intelligent, and she jumps over fences and laughs and makes people do spontaneous things. She is loved by everyone.

The brief story sometimes seems more vivid to me than when I see the woman in her eighties. She is quiet, and smiles at me with watery eyes. She rarely speaks. Sometimes she says "hello, darling," or "goodbye, my love". But mostly she sits and sleeps.

If I put the two marbles next to each other, it is sometimes difficult to see that the swirl in the centre is the same.

I feel like I spend lots of time collecting marbles.

They always seem so dusty when I pull them out years later, and I wonder why I keep them.

The Fashionability of Cynicism

2011-02-08T22:06:00.003+11:00

People have had an awful lot to say about what Julia Gillard's been feeling and expressing lately.

She's been wooden, stiff, mechanical, and unfeeling we've been told. Everyone's been luxuriating in elaborate performance analogies, with images of over rehearsed lines and stale gestures flying across newspapers and the online world.

And following yesterday, when she made an emotional tribute to both victims and volunteers of the Queensland floods, she is under a new form of criticism. She has expressed emotion, and it seems that many are crying false.

And I believe that the main reason that this is happening is because of the earlier reports. Because of the assessments with all the vitriol of a film critic and the maturity of a child, claiming that a mechanical delivery represented an inability to feel. Suggestions that the Prime Minister is incapable of expressing emotion properly. All of these reports have been doing their job, hemming the public perception of Ms Gillard into a small box.

And suddenly when she breaks the box we thought we'd only just established, we are confused.

But rather than realise that human behaviour is incredibly complex, and not something which can be so easily read, predicted, and judged as the last few weeks' headlines would have us believe, people assume the opposite - this current behaviour is a charade.

And this is the problem I have with an obsession on how politicians 'perform', as everyone becomes an expert on what advice Ms Gillard is getting, and on when someone should express grief and how.

As "james from sydney" opined on a Herald Sun article: "the time for that emotion was at the time of the crisis, at that instant, at least that would have been a little bit more believeable."

It would be unthinkable to suggest to someone who has recently lost a loved one that there is a correct way to express emotion - that the crying must come first, and that mechanical shock is always wrong. Yet it feels to me that a similar standard is being applied by some people here.

I, like most Australians, have no way of knowing exactly what our Prime Minister is feeling at any given moment. Like any of us, her emotions can manifest themselves in different and sometimes uncontrollable ways - perhaps even more so, given the constant stress she is put under to behave in certain ways.

And so I do not believe any of us can really make smug, sweeping criticisms of her 'performances' without failing to consider what it is to be human.

As a teenager, I haven't been exposed to politics for long.

But I firmly believe, and will continue to believe, that a healthy political scene is one where policy will be the subject of discussion, not emotions, appearances, and performance.

Stupid, Misinformed Comment Repeated

2011-02-07T23:45:00.003+11:00

A poorly-thought out and offensive comment made by somebody of little to no importance was amplified across news organisations today.

The comment, made by a model, irrelevant politician, or actor, is likely to inflame a social issue which is already difficult, and help spread misinformation, clouding key facts around the issue.

The inane quip, which has been pilloried in headlines around the web, was not corrected until the final two paragraphs of the story, when an expert who spends their whole life correcting the misconceptions voiced by the person maintained that "this kind of talk is damaging, and sets back the debate several years".

Ms Fitzwilliams, a social psychologist from the nearest university (located by the reporting journalist), however, suggested that "it's important for rubbish to be printed and validated, if only so that someone can quietly contradict them at the end of the article, once most people have stopped reading."

Ben Clarke, who read the story, had a different take. "Yeah, what they said was right, you know," he opined of the factually inaccurate and ill-informed comment-maker. "Everyone only jumps on them because they're talking some sense," he added, raising the owner of the widely reported words to a level of social martyrdom.

The journalist who broke the story and cobbled together some quotes congratulated themselves on finding a scoop and shedding insightful light into a complex and multi-faceted issue.

Some Stuff I Learnt Today

2011-02-06T22:26:00.002+11:00

1. Some people are never happy, even when you get them a table on the verandah for 10 and they didn't have a booking.

2. Some people stop talking when you take their dishes. I often assume it's because they were in the process of unburdening childhood psychological scars to their fellow diners. Or maybe they think I'll judge them.

3. Some people are perfectly happy to pay quite a bit for a meal and then not eat it all.

4. Sometimes people set themselves dining challenges - like the "how great a surface area can I cover with this dip" or "I'll wedge some serviettes and rubbish into the table because that will be helpful" challenges.

5. When you put coffee and tea dregs, leftover lime spiders, lemon squash, water, and milkshakes into one bucket, it looks like this:

Yes, it was a very big bucket. And when you put your hand in that mixture to fish out solids, it will be cold.

6. Some people like to play little dining games - like "how precariously can I stack these dishes to 'help' the waiter" or "I am an adult and will drop food all over the floor" (a less arduous variant of its sister challenge).

7. Running an efficient dish cleaning system can be immensely satisfying.

8. Watching other people undo your system can be immensely unsatisfying.

9. Working in a team to clear dishes can be heart warming.

10. Some people do not want your help, but would rather be confused by themselves. Perhaps being confused in front of another person is stressful.

Dismantled

2011-02-03T22:26:00.004+11:00

Every time I look at ads recently, I've been seeing much more than I used to.

Since working on ads and public relations projects in an organisation for the last few weeks, I've begun to understand how they work and are shaped.

And so I no longer see an ad telling me to buy something - instead I see images, drafts and drafts of them, worked on by someone in long hours between lunch breaks, of unproductive office hours spent checking emails or reading newspapers, of mental blocks. I see an ad and I see the person who worked on it, who was perhaps proud of it by the end, happy with the border colour change they made in the final copy, or the changing of "great" to "awesome" somewhere in the copy.

And it makes everything about ads feel more human and alive.

Ads written by people who wondered perhaps, during idle moments, whether they should change jobs, whether they were happy, if they would come up with something better.

And eventually they met their deadline or were satisfied, and the ad was produced. Then they went on to create more ads, and by the time they're laid in their grave there will be a trail of work left behind with their invisible mark on it.

Like empty rooms and houses once lived in, breathed in, swore in, hated in, loved in.

And in a way the ad becomes something beautiful.

Like a small piece of insignificant permanence left by someone who in 100 years will probably be forgotten. Perhaps it will be uncovered by someone studying cultural history. And they'll laugh at the misguided values or artistic direction, wonder at the person who made it, and pass over it.

But somehow this thought loses its impact once it is articulated as I've tried above. It becomes a tired thought, trotted out in many guises. Words fail it, and it disappears as either odd and incomprehensible, or commonplace and weak.

Words, words, words.

WAKE UP!!!

2011-02-02T23:18:00.003+11:00

It has been brought to my attention very recently that this blog has been napping for an unacceptably long time, even for something which has recently returned to the taxing business of churning out the drivel dancing around in its head for other people's judgement-free enjoyment.

So if I am waking it up, then what sort of sleep has it had?

Was it a siesta, taken on a summer afternoon, as the Spanish sun beats overhead, high in the noon sky, and the village slumbers behind drawn blinds with ice packs on their eyes and glasses of water by their bed?

Or was it a coma? Doctors milling about the bed, frowning and shaking their head. 'It's not going to make it,' their stethoscopes sighed. 'It has been having respiratory problems almost every since it was born. It was never long for this world.'

Or was it just a natural, genuine sleep, the kind which comes at the end of a day?

And now as it awakes, I realise it was a nap. It sits up from its bed, not quite refreshed nor fully rested. It has a slight headache, and that dizziness that comes from short sleeps. But it was a sufficient nap. And as it rises from bed it feels stronger again. It will take on the world!

This blog is alive. And now it's awake.

But it doesn't want to fall into old habits.

Old habits of newspaper trawling, issue picking, sensibility, humourless attempts at analysis, a grab at 'serious writing'.

Not yet.

It's summer, and for the blog, as it stretches and stumbles down the stairwell to get something to snack on, that means lazy stories and narratives full of images incomprehensible to anyone outside its mind's eye. It means a complete and utter relinquishment to cognitive indulgence, without thought or care for the ride of the reader.

'And why shouldn't I enjoy a lazy summer?' thought the blog, as it stepped outside into the dreamy, hazy heat.

I've Been on Holidays?

2011-01-11T20:25:00.002+11:00

Whilst holidays might be an inaccurate term, suggesting that this blog is something I work so hard on that a break is warranted, I'm going to go with it.

I've been on holidays.

Away from newspapers, headlines, blogs, staying-up-to-date-newsreading-online, away from feeling compelled to consume and produce content in order to pave the way for a career or future that is unshapen and blurry.

Whilst this is a great shame, not least because I've missed Christmas, one of my favourite times for writing and blogging, it does mean I'm going to try and come back with newfound energy, enthusiasm, and excitement.

The Abbott's Christmas Sermon

2010-12-24T21:01:00.006+11:00

Sometimes I wonder why I subscribed to receive newsletters from major political parties in Australia.

I was reminded tonight, when I was the honoured recipient of Tony Abbott's Christmas greeting. In it, he invites us to celebrate in the fact that:

"The past 12 months have seen the removal of a prime minister, a first term government losing its majority, huge anti-Labor swings in South Australia and Tasmania and the defeat of a well regarded Labor government in Victoria. Right around the country, the Labor brand is becoming toxic. All this is testament to the hard work, unity, discipline and belief of the Liberal team."

This is an intriguing framing of events, as it does not celebrate the promotion of innovative policies by the Liberal party, instead choosing to give a successfully run negative P.R. war pride of place on the Yuletide mantelpiece.

Skimming over the more confusing clauses (the removal of Kevin Rudd, which was after all an "ugly assassination", was all the fault of the Liberal party?! The Labor brand is "toxic", but the Victorian Labor government was "well regarded"?!), it is so goddamned depressing to hear a message, allegedly from someone who very nearly could be the head of the Australia government, crowing victoriously about eroding a 'brand'.

I don't want to hear that caustic phrase "toxic brand" one more time because I might just be violently and explosively ill.

I firmly believe that winning a mudslinging contest cannot be regarded as an achievement by any party which genuinely believes in working constructively with other political players to shape Australia.

The email was completed with the touching seasonal sign off "I look forward to working with you all again next year as we strive to rid our great nation of what is probably the worst government in living memory."

I guess that was put in just in case anyone was confused, or daring to hope that Mr Abbott might behave more like a potential Prime Minister with the maturity of an adult and less like an eight-year-old chucking a sandpit tantrum.

But even though he's the most glaringly obvious proponent of irritating, stammering, destructive language, the attitude is something that I feel is everywhere.

Bickering seems to be the norm; rational discussion and fact-based negotiation not so much.

So on my wish list for next year I'm putting this:

- 1 rational, functional, co-operative and efficient government

I'll be waiting, Santa.

"I'm Sorry Sir, This Card Has Been Cancelled"

2010-12-01T12:21:00.002+11:00

It's a great part in the film, isn't it?

That bit where the protagonist tries to use their credit card and finds it does not work. This is usually because they are either broke, or the government/other powerful body is trying to bring them down.

I wonder if they have agencies specifically for that line. The "I'm Sorry Sir, This Card Has Been Cancelled" Agency, which has a variety of talented actors who specialise in different deliveries:

Passive aggressive/assertive: "I'm sorry sir, this card has been cancelled."

Sympathetic: "I'm very sorry...but this card has been cancelled."

Deadpan: "Sorry, this card has been cancelled."

But when it happens in real life it's kind of embarrassing for both the shop assistant and you.

Hayfever Sweeping the State Due to "Christmas Allergy"

2010-11-30T09:29:00.008+11:00

The sharp increase in hayfever and asthma attacks across Victoria can be explained by unseasonably premature Christmas celebrations, according to an expert in Social Phenomena from the University of Melbourne.

Dr Wendy Sharpike, who completed her doctorate paper Yuletide Allergies: When Christmas Tries to Kill You in 2009, has identified the proliferation of general festiveness as the primary cause.

"This year, we have seen unusually early reminders that Christmas is coming. Appallingly unmusical arrangements of Christmas carols blasting through department stores, glittering reindeers and Christmas trees adorning ever corner...these are the kinds of things that can trigger severe allergy attacks."

The spike in hospital admissions with serious asthma is a something that needs to be linked with its true cause, Sharpike said.

Above: Sharpike describes in detail the "hellishly deadly tripwire of allergy triggers that is Myer in November."

"Too often these allergy trends are brushed under the dusty carpet with explanations about pollen counts and other ridiculous theories.

"We have to stop accepting such unscientific explanations, and begin to consider what is actually causing these problems," she added, steadily appearing more unhinged.

While her comments have been almost unanimously slammed by health experts and immunologists across the state, Sharpike is adamant that the allergies will only be stopped when Christmas is toned down.

"It doesn't require for us to completely trash Christmas. But certainly, the government - whoever that is - needs to step up to the plate and put in place some comprehensive guidelines for the two factors which my study has shown to be directly linked to allergic reactions: tastefulness and timeliness."

Qantas Plane Turbines "Spewing Confetti"

2010-11-15T18:23:00.008+11:00

A Qantas plane en route to London was forced to turn around and return to Sydney airport when confetti began to explode from two of the wing turbines.

The colourful shower of small, coloured pieces of paper began as the plane passed over Brisbane, approximately 730 kilometres from its starting point.

Staff said that passengers were "equally delighted and terrified" by the multicoloured swirl issuing from the wing turbines, which was visible from window-side passenger seats.

The shenanigans didn't stop there, as, upon finally landing the plane, more than 2 hours after the confetti explosion began, staff opened the overhead luggage compartments to discover a troop of performing monkeys and tiny piglets.

The monkeys then climbed on top of the piglets and rode them around the inside of the cabin, whilst juggling red and yellow balls.

Passenger reactions ranged from admiration and adoration of the impossibly small riders, to disgust that monkeys and piglets had been rifling through passenger luggage.

"I found it terribly amusing," Victorian secondary school teacher Glenda Murray said.

"There's only one thing cuter than baby monkeys and baby piglets. And that's baby monkeys riding baby piglets. While juggling."

It is unknown exactly where the performing troupe came from, or how they got onto the plane at Sydney airport.

"At this point in time, we're running through a backlog of our security checks, and we're just trying to ascertain exactly how this breach has occurred," one Qantas security official said.

Qantas firmly denied suggestions that this latest plane fault is proof that the airline has become a circus.

"We are currently investigating the exact reason for the confetti and performing animals. We are confident that it is not a problem affecting other planes in this fleet," a spokeswoman said.

UPDATE: 6.45

It has been revealed that the baby monkeys and pigs were escaped from a Japanese zoo, where baby monkeys and baby piglets have been specially bred from a performing pair.

I'm A Real Journalist?

2010-11-15T11:22:00.002+11:00

One of the projects I've set myself these holidays is to work on getting some journalism written and published.

Journalism is a funny field in this way, really, because unlike doctors, or teachers, or engineers, you don't need a degree. If you want to do journalism, you need to go out and do it.

So when I found out about a Greens forum in the city yesterday, I thought it would be a good idea to go along and cover it and try and get something published.

So I turned up, pen, paper, and clipboard in hand, and tried to be a journalist.

Feeling a little bit ridiculous, I had a chat with a man who was waiting outside as well beforehand. He described himself as a "not uncritical" Greens supporter, who was more interested in affordable housing than climate change. He also spoke of an interest in democracy, and his view that the Greens have a more transparent approach to this than other parties.

I spoke to newly elected Senator Christine Milne before the forum about her experiences with the balance of power and influence on policy. She talked about the conversion of the luxury car tax to a vehicle efficiency tax, which she said would work as a motivation to move towards more efficient cars, rather than function as a more arbitrary revenue raiser on luxurious cars.

I was considering asking her for an update on her potatoes , but then the talk started and we went inside.

During the talk, Adam Bandt talked about how he'd found the balance of power, and the Climate Change Committee.

But it was Christine Milne, the Greens climate change spokeswoman (and Deputy Greens leader), who had the most to say about this.

In discussing the Climate Change Committee, she raised several interesting ideas:

- Having experts a part of the committee, rather than using them in a solely advisory role, prevents politicians from getting away with playing political games and deliberately attempting to derail or mislead. While experts are certainly not infallible, this did make sense to me.

- A committee will enable politicians to change their opinions and be supported by the consensus of a committee - defending them from words such as 'backflip' and 'dodgy'.

And one of the most interesting aspects of her speech (I must admit I was a tad seduced by her clearly framed, forthright arguments), was her discussion of climate change communication in general. I found this particularly interesting as it is something I've been learning about at university this year.

She outlined, like most climate change communicators, the danger of assuming human beings are rational actors. What academics term the 'information deficit model', this approach assumes that once the facts of climate change are filled in, people ought to appreciate and understand that something must be done.

The danger of this approach is to create fear without agency. People may agree that climate change it a problem, but may not know what to do with this newfound sense of urgency, anxiety, and concern. Hence, if they cannot act or change their behaviours in a way which complements their attitude, it is their attitude which must change. And it is usually a change to confusion and disillusionment, and the relegation of climate change to an issue of lesser immediate importance.

Instead, the dominant climate change communication discourse (which Christine Milne discussed) involves the 'ecological modernisation' argument, where climate change is presented not as a problem which must be solved through a series of actions which lead to negative economic growth, but instead as an opportunity for change, and the creation of a new economic paradigm where economic growth and climate change action are not incompatible.

As I left, I was filled with a range of thoughts and feelings.

I was unsure that I could turn what I'd seen and noted into a concise article that would be suitable for publishing somewhere. There were so many different threads and ideas. How could the article be balanced, if I was essentially reporting what the Greens leaders said to a small gathering of supporters? Yet it would seem inappropriate to me to counter what was said with another point of view from an irrelevant setting.

In the end, this is the article I came up with and have sent this morning off to an online newspaper for potential publication:

Perhaps owing to the rainy Melbourne weather, Sunday afternoon timing, or the end of year exam period for university students, it was a modest audience who greeted Deputy Greens Leader Christine Milne, MP Adam Bandt, and inner-city Greens candidates at yesterday’s forum on the balance of power and climate change, held at the State Library.

With the Victorian state election less than two weeks away, and the election of up to four inner city Greens candidates seemingly within reach, Senator Milne focused on how the balance of power the Greens won in the Federal election had been successfully harnessed as a “pathway to government”, citing the inclusion of Indigenous people and local councils in the constitution as an important gain.

She also looked to the opportunity that gaining lower house seats on November 27 would offer with “the linking of policies from local, to state, to federal.”

Particular emphasis was given to climate change and the Climate Change Committee negotiated by the Greens, which Mr Bandt described as “a reset button.”

Senator Milne discussed the inclusion of experts in the committee rather than involving them in a solely advisory role. “It is really hard to run political games when there are experts in the room,” she said. She also spoke on the psychology of the committee, which she said would give politicians room to change opinions and be supported by the consensus of a committee.

The meeting concluded with a sense of optimism for the coming election, as Brunswick candidate Ms Cyndi Dawes was hopeful about the result, “whether we win one seat, or three seats, or four.”

This is an outcome which became less likely last night, when the Liberal party announced its intention to preference the ALP ahead of the Greens in all lower house seats.

While The Age, the Herald Sun, and The Australian have all unanimously asserted that the Liberal’s decision will almost certainly enable the ALP to retain these seats, ABC election analyst Anthony Green had a different take on the implications, writing “the Greens can still win Melbourne and Richmond.”

I'm not sure that it's going to be published.

I don't feel that it's excellently written. It is jumbled, and perhaps tries to tackle too much in so few words (right up against the word limit for publication in this particular online newspaper).

But at the same time it has made me feel good, because it is a beginning.

Who Is Getting Up?

2010-11-12T10:55:00.016+11:00

I've recently signed up to a number of email newsletters from across the political spectrum, so I can have a look at the sorts of communication different groups put out.

One of these groups is 'GetUp!', which is, according to its website, "an independent, grass-roots community advocacy organisation giving everyday Australians opportunities to get involved and hold politicians accountable on important issues."

There are strong elements of populist rhetoric on their website and across their communications. While 'populist rhetoric' might sound an alarming or derogatory label, it simply refers to a discourse which centres upon the actor or central figure of 'the people' - a homogenous, virtuous group sharing common views and opinions.

'The people' are usually at danger of having their voice suppressed by others. In the discourse adopted by GetUp, the people must have their voice heard so that the democratic process can occur unimpeded.

Their very name, 'GetUp!' is a call to 'progressive' Australians to stand up and take action on a range of issues. GetUp collected data informs us that their supporters are people concerned about climate change, asylum seeker and refugee rights, water, renewable energy, and healthcare.

This data helps make clear exactly what the term 'progressive Australians' means when used to describe 'the people' GetUp represents.

GetUp asserts that the organisation is "not for profit and receives no money from any political party or the government. We rely solely on funds and in-kind donations from the Australian public."

In this sense, GetUp posits itself as a conduit for progressive Australians, which, through advertisements, online campaigns, and petitions, can help citizens engage with their politicians. It helps them have their voice heard.

Another populist group active in Australian politics (which I stumbled upon during a uni assessment) is the Australian Tea Party.

Unlike GetUp, which claims to represent progressive Australians, The Australian TEA Party writes that "We unite behind three main concepts: Free Markets, Fiscal Responsibility, Constitutionally Limited Small Governments."

A smaller afterthought notes that "Individual freedom is of course assisted by following these 3 concepts."

However, while 'progressive' is different to 'small government' in focus, the populist elements remain the same. The Australian TEA Party is "a grassroots citizen empowerment movement". It knows that you feel as though you have "lost your voice", and that "real choices that would actually work - making life better - are never presented" in contemporary politics.

Interestingly, on both of the websites for these groups is the symbol of stars, reminiscent of the Australian flag. Both of these groups suggest that they represent Australians.

They are both speaking on our behalf, both claiming to be organisations belonging to us, yet they have very different ideas about what we want.

So, which of them is right?

There is a dichotomous distinction which is usually made when labelling or discussing populist groups. They may be deemed true grassroots movements, set up by a number of concerned citizens to deal with issues which are important to them.

Or it may be what is called 'astroturfing', or falsely claiming to originate from the ordinary public, when in fact the group is carefully managed by one or several businesses (or politicians, other bodies with ample funding behind them), and has the aim of dealing with issues important to these businesses through the voice of 'the people'.

E.g., it is much more convincing to have a grassroots movement of citizens advocating that we should stop being mean to banks, than to have banks tell us to stop being mean to them.

GetUp certainly has a stronger claim to be able to speak for their more targeted demographic of progressive Australians. Petitions are supported by these people, and campaign videos virally distributed by them. In this way, GetUp is closely involved with its 'people'.

The Australian TEA Party's legitimacy as a representation of people's views is not as transparently displayed on their website, with a general sense of all-encompassing inclusivity attempting to sweep the reader up. It might be reasonably speculated that this is an astroturf group, supported and perhaps managed by businesses and banks who would very much like to be less regulated and monitored by government. But we cannot be sure.

This is why populist rhetoric is something like ventriloquism. People speaking on 'our' behalf put across 'our' point of view. Imitating 'our' voice. The danger being, of course, that the many groups 'speaking on our behalf' might prevent us from actually being heard.

The similarities and differences in both of these groups shows that pointing the finger at an argument and labelling it 'just populism' fails to appreciate the complexities of populist rhetoric. Like clothing, it may be used to dress up arguments and give them authority or the backing of the Australian people/battlers/progressive Australians/fair dinkum Aussies.

But it is not an evil in itself.

It is the ends to which it its immense motivational power is harnessed which must be examined. And most importantly, who is channelling the voice of the people?

Tickets for Thinking Pug's hilarious 'Puppetry of the People' cost $550 for adults, $549 for concession, and go on sale next March.

"Edgy"

2010-11-03T08:36:00.005+11:00

Last night I trusted my Mum to cut my hair.

It was the first time I've done this, and I did it because it saves money, would be a valuable bonding experience with my Mum, and would avoid these conversations:

Hairdresser: You're still at uni, right?

Me: Yeah, we're on holidays now actually, so that's good.

Hairdresser: Got any big plans for the weekend?

Me: Oh, you know, just general tidying up, catching up with some friends.

Hairdresser: Yeah, that's nice. That's good, to have a quiet weekend.

Me: Yes it is.

Hairdresser: Mmhm.

*silent snipping*

Hairdresser: Can you hold your head straight for me again?

*adjusts head*

*more silent snipping*

*snip, snip*

Hairdresser (to lady next to me having her hair dyed): How are we, Mary?

Mary: Oh, not bad, love, not bad.

Hairdresser: Getting up to much this weekend?

Mary: Going to a wedding, actually.

Hairdresser: A wedding! Oh, that's nice.

Mary: Yes, yes. It's my niece.

Hairdresser: I went to wedding the other week. And it was a funny wedding, I can tell you that! They wanted to have a cruise ship wedding, so they packed us all onto a cruise ship and it was stuffy and hot - that was at 6 o'clock, but then they didn't serve dinner till 9 o'clock!

*snip, snip*

Mary: Oh.

Hairdresser: Yeah, it wasn't a very classy wedding, you know.

But here were the things that went on while getting my hair cut by Mum:

- lots of "hmmm"

- lots of "what do we do here?" not in the sense of an expert giving my some choice, but in the sense of someone genuinely pondering what on earth they are meant to do

- lots of "SNIP" followed by near hysterical laughter and "It's good, it's good"

The final "edgy" (Mum, 2010) haircut had be terrified before looking in the mirror, fearing it would be something like this:

But in fact it is quite a respectable haircut. And a bit edgy.

Daytime TV

2010-10-30T23:22:00.006+11:00

Daytime television nearly always leaves me feeling depressed, confused, and upset at the hours I have lost watching it.

And so the last time I was watching, I decided that it was time to get to the bottom of why.

The reason became patently clear once I started actually looking for it. It isn’t the programming, even though the mildly amusing 80s American ‘thrillers’ enjoy a more privileged midday movie position than they should.

The reason is what goes in between the programs.

It’s the ads.

Ads in different timeslots address us differently. During Masterchef, we might be bombarded with ads encouraging us to incorporate Western Star butter into our culinary adventures, or to use Handee Ultra when we (or our exceptionally gifted children) make a mess in the process of crafting the perfect chocolate fondant.

But daytime television ads are different. These are just some of the things they tell us:

- You are flabby, and need to purchase an Ab-Pro or similar to tone your body

- You are fat, and need to join Weight Watchers to lose the weight and keep it off

- You are too hairy, and need to go to a painless laser place to remove unwanted hair

- You are going bald, and need to visit Ashley and Martin (I’m never sure whether this name is the two surnames of the business partners, or the first names of a homely couple who run a pretty slick hair regrowth clinic)

- You have bad teeth – they are either too sensitive, and you need Sensodyne (advertisement complete with erratic camera cuts), or they are yellow and unattractive, in which case you need a UV whitening light (a solarium for your mouth? Sure, sounds harmless enough)

- You need Foxtel, because the fifteen or so free to air channels are not enough to satisfy your endless search for mind-numbing content. Also, your life will revolve around recording, re-watching, replaying and basically living off, your new Foxtel channels

- You are involved in a lengthy and very costly legal struggle, and require some ‘no win, no cost’ lawyers to help you out with an obligation free phone call

- Your skin is too pale; you need to tan up either with a spray, lotion, or good ole’ solarium

- You have severe acne which is inhibiting your life – you must use the same thing that Delta Goodrem used

- You are in severe debt, and it is time to call a helpline

When I’m pummelled with these ads during the day, I begin to feel sick. I feel that my life is wasting away in front of the television. How will I foot the bills for the arduous legal battle I’m embroiled in anyway?

By addressing us with these messages, the advertisements attempt to shepherd people into the respective roles, and it is this that depresses me.

The final message is, perhaps, all things considered, the kindest one.

Having constructed daytime TV watchers as balding, pasty, chubby, legally hopeless, hairy, gat toothed, debt-ridden, afflicted individuals, the advertisements at least have the mercy to remind us that we will probably die soon.

Grandparents, ruffling a small child’s hair before staring down the camera and smiling serenely as they say,

“We love to keep active and enjoy life. But we know we won’t be around for much longer.”

Then some crisp, suited up woman usually spring in and starts spruiking a funeral plan or life insurance scheme that will mean no family has to bear the financial burden of all the funeral costs. It is always entertaining to watch them attempt to make the proposition of “if you give me your money now, I will help pay for your funeral later” sound tasteful.

And that is why I don’t like daytime TV.

Angry Lady Waits in Queue

2010-10-18T21:51:00.006+11:00

An angry woman today waited in a queue, and was dismayed to find that none of the others waiting in the line wanted to share in her outpouring of caustic anger.

The lady, whose name was probably Tifaynee, Leeonyei, or a similar variant, was one of several people waiting in a queue at a petrol station when a malfunctioning credit card system caused a delay in service.

The lady, who was waiting to purchase a 600 ml Diet Coke, initially expressed her frustration at the delay by stamping her foot and exhaling loudly. However, when the boy waiting in front of her unwittingly made eye contact, she took the opportunity to articulate her stormy anguish.

"Seriously, he is a f--king dickhead," she opined of the man behind the service counter, adding, after the boy gave absolutely no signs for her to continue her emotional outburst, "seriously, he must be f--king retarded or something."

The boy, who was calmly smiling and nonplussed as he waited to buy six bags of ice, did not join in her speculations as to the competence of the easily within-earshot serviceman, instead avoiding her wrathful gaze lest he incite her to greater acts beyond verbal aggression.

Mother of two Sandra, who was present at the incident, voiced her frustration at the lady. "It's always sad when there are angry people who can't step back and get some perspective on these things."

The lady's unsolicited monologue came to a pithy conclusion after the wait was prolonged for another unbearable minute.

"It's official. He's a f--king retard."

AFL and War: Let's Make a Comparison

2010-10-03T14:11:00.009+11:00

One of the footballers said, after the draw last Saturday, "It was war today, and it's not too often you come back and fight a war a week later, but we're up for it."

Mmm, grassy.

Afghanistan

This is no new analogy. AFL is frequently referred to in terms of battles, heroes, casualties, carnage, etc.

The media loves to hype up just how much all Melbournians love the football. And by writing and exposing us to pieces on how football is our religion, or how the only thing that people will judge you by is your AFL team loyalties, these trends (if they ever existed) are strongly reinforced.

My tutor from last Semester suggested that sports are some sort of 'war substitute', which satiate some sort of inherent human desire for conflict, presumably analogous to the 'hate speech' in 1984.

But this becomes confusing if we consider that we have no need for a substitute - Australia is involved in wars already. Why don't people follow the conflict in Afghanistan with the same zeal and passion that they follow the battles, triumphs, and losses of their chosen football teams?

I guess it's because

a) Nobody knows who the sides are

b) Nobody knows anything

I feel so unable to comprehend any of it - sure, I might know that Hamid Karzai is the current Prime Minister, and that the Taliban are still preventing stable governance. But how can I possibly hope to really know anything? All I know are words and figures. They mean little. I read this fascinating interview with Australian journalist Michael Ware, who has spent many years in Iraq, as well as Afghanistan.

He describes the lives of people in Australia (and, I suppose, all people living in affluent nations) as "a bubble floating on the sea of humanity", and notes that once he left it, he is unable to step back inside it in the same way.

I sometimes wonder whether I want to be able to step out of the bubble, and die having known what people are, what they do, why they do it.

And I think that this is why it is so ridiculous to compare football with war. Most people making the comparison have never been on a battlefield. Everything I read about war and violent conflict seems to agree upon the random way in which life and death are handed out.

Nobody goes into a football field expecting they might die. Football is so securely entrenched within the bubble - in a bubble of advertising for sponsors, of team colours, umpires who can stop the 'battle' with a blow of a whistle, and an audience who can actually see and know exactly what goes on on the battlefield.

...and perhaps we would care about them when they did happen.

Blessed Fat Chips

2010-09-27T15:13:00.006+10:00

Some soft news writing from journalism today:

I approach the shop slowly, drinking in the brightly lit display of curry puffs, hash browns and spring rolls. The smell of sizzling oil wafts delicately from the back kitchen. Engorged pizzas drip with cheese. And chips. Glistening, golden brown, oil-saturated chips

I approach the counter, and am greeted by a cheery girl, wearing a yellow t-shirt, boldly emblazoned in red with the name of the shop, Fat Chips. She smiles from behind her rectangular glasses.

The question tumbles from my mouth like a potato cake into the fryer. Why Fat Chips?

“People like chips. Students like chips!” she explains passionately, adding that everyone is “all laughing together” when they encounter the refreshingly irreverent name.

A community is formed around Fat Chips, she says, as RMIT teachers and students (attracted, she reflects, by their cut-throat prices) frequently buy their food there, and come to “know us”.

As we speak I look down, and notice that we are standing at the other side of the store. On display at the bench are sandwiches, vegetarian focaccias, carrot, chicken and beetroot wraps. I buy a fruit salad, a goodwill gesture.

These offerings seem incongruous with the gleaming, salty foods presented at the other end of the store. Yet I am beginning to feel that there is much about Fat Chips I do not understand.

I begin to ask another question, but a sudden flurry of customers down at the chips end of the store distracts her, and I realise I will not even have another chance to ask another question, or even her name – my brief glimpse into this noble institution is over.

As I bite into the apple in my fruit salad, it tastes floury and insipid.

Perhaps the apple is not enough. Perhaps I crave something more. Perhaps I crave... fat chips.

Just Say Hi!

2010-09-19T22:06:00.002+10:00

The greeting of a stranger is a lovely thing.

It's one human saying to another 'we are united by the fact that we're both humans, both outside/inside/trapped in this deadly labyrinth, and in this spirit I wish you well'.

But it doesn't always happen seamlessly. I have decided that there are really three groups into which stranger greetings fit:

1. The Warm Greeting - this is the friendly, genuine, greeting. It can occur in any of the following places, though this listing is by no means exhaustive: parks, residential streets, otherwise nearly empty corridors in buildings, stairs, lifts, doorways (though these are usually much briefer). The greeter will usually bestow a smile, eye contact, and a "hey". They will usually maintain eye contact, allowing for the recipient of the Warm Greeting to respond. Both parties then disengage amiably, and continue on their ways, each feeling a little lighter.

2. The 'Let's Do This' Greeting - almost always, a male greeter delivers this particular form of stranger greeting. It begins as soon as the two have identified each other. Their paths will intersect. The greeter and greetee mentally steel themselves, preparing their lines. But not too early! NEVER too early, because then a conversation has been opened, and it may be several seconds before they pass one another. Instead, at the last moment, a 'Morning' is thrown out, reciprocated, and a shared sigh of relief is exhaled as they pass one another, their civil duty done.

3. The 'AVOID GREETING AT ANY COST' - this occurs when one party has an aversion to any kind of stranger greeting, and so will completely avoid eye contact, staring straight ahead, or at a watch, or mobile, or impromptu newspaper fashioned from some leafy detritus on the footpath. This works well if neither parties wish to engage in a greeting, but can cause hurt and embarrassment if one party does not recognise the intentions of the other, and either attempts eye contact, or volunteers a nod and 'Hello' automatically. The other person will usually pretend not to have noticed, and continue walking.

I am so tired that I can't even fully comprehend how boring a topic this was. But I have thought this when I go for a walk in my local park. I wanted to draw some pictures for it, but I have decided that they don't always enhance a post, especially when they are appalling.

Sorry.

Enough Is Enough

2010-09-16T20:18:00.003+10:00

Tired Gelati Gecko,

This Dr Jekyll/Mr Hyde farce has carried on far enough.

I'm going to be damned blunt here - pull your socks up. Your wallowing and splashing about is unwarranted, and lowers the overall tone of an already troubled publication.

You could take the time to write something humorous, or clever, or even both. But oh no, that's too much effort for crazy old Tired Gelati Gecko. All he wants to do is go around telling people every little bit of our business. Well oh no. Enough is enough.

Not here you don't, no sir!

I am going to change the password to this blog, in the hope that you will not be able to get your demonic (yet admittedly very capable) hands on it.

And if that fails, I shall chain myself to my bed until I am rested enough that I can know you will not rear your troublesome mind.

I regret that I am driven to this course of action.

Yours in severity and responsibility,

Gelati Gecko Proper

It's Not Enough

2010-09-15T23:45:00.003+10:00

It's not enough anymore,

To be an excellent student.

To be quick and clever,

Sure or smart or good with rhyming words.

Even if I still was,

It's not enough anymore.

...is what I might say, if this were a blog subject to frank emotional admissions. But I am worldly enough to realise that this sort of thing is 'self indulgent' and that I ought to be doing more practical things, such as polishing my resume for a job, or planning my career trajectory that will catapult me into the stars, or doing other important adult things that will probably take up the rest of my life, and rightly so, unless I want to be a timid nobody.

With school finished, all the rules have changed. It's not about good marks anymore - it's about where I'm going. It's about what I'm going to make of my life. And I only have one life.

I applied for a job today, and they said that we should list blogging if we have had experience blogging. I nearly listed this blog. But then I didn't want them reading this. Not particularly because they'll take one look and firmly cross my name out for being a crazy, but because I don't want it to be used for that. I don't want this blog to be used as a bargaining chip or piece of currency to get me jobs and money.

I'm not saying this is a virtuous, pure form of self expression that would be irretrievably compromised...but it is, in many senses, a record of me. A record of myself. And I want to keep this blog for my whole life.

I want to be able to open it, when I'm 90 (a generous assumption, but let's run with it), and look at posts I made when I was 16, and enjoy some of the most poignant scrumishing that ever there was.

Perhaps I shouldn't be publishing this post - It's 12am and I'm tired - my emotional guard (and of course the blessed competence facade) is down.

But I'll publish it anyway, and give future Gelati Gecko something to think about, hey?

Don't tell him! (Tired Gelati Gecko taps nose conspiratorially, winking as he thinks about the mayhem this may cause to his future self.)

So it goes Part 2.

2010-09-12T08:19:00.003+10:00

I wasn't expecting that there would be a Part 2 to my earlier post.

But then Kathy Jones entered this thought provoking comment, which I think inspires a second post of its own:

NIPAPORN said...: I have suffered with bad breath for about 9 years now. I spent a small fortune on bad breath cures. Nothing I tried seem to work even as it said it would. I read this site and think it is useful and gives me something to think about. In any case it is always helpful to just to have people writing about it. I did find this site Oraltech Labs & their advice helped me most, I’ve got a boyfriend now & he said its working, hope it helps you too. Kindest, Kathy Jones. NJ.

It is interesting that this was Kathy's response to my post. I don't think she quite grasped the meaning of the excerpt from Slaughter-house Five. However, it is nice to know that she "read this site and think it is useful and gives me something to think about".

I tried to contact Kathy, so I could further discuss the ideas in the post she expressed such a keen interest in it - but alas, her profile is set to private, and so I am unable to follow up on what was a promising introduction.

Still, I felt I should at least acknowledge the diligence of Oraltech Labs (they will probably give me another comment now for having mentioned them, or who knows, they might even pay someone to read blog posts containing the term 'Oraltech Labs', because they are scared or at least wish to be aware of, the mighty influence my blog wields).

So I went and looked at their website, where they sell an e-book that apparently has all the answers on bad breath, and will make you happy and successful and you will never worry about anything like that ever again and people will like you and that will be enough. I could go and point and laugh at some minor mistakes on the website, but I am unsure if "confidents" is in fact a dental pun rather than an incorrect spelling of confidence.

So it goes (apologies to Vonnegut).

So it goes.

2010-09-10T11:11:00.001+10:00

Today has been an unusual day thus far.

I’ve been reading Slapstick, a novel written by Kurt Vonnegut. He’s dead now.

Hi ho.

And I’m having one of those experiences where I’ve become so immersed in a book that I’m not even jolted into the outside world, but instead seeing it through the narrative lens of the book I’ve just been reading. Everything I see, I seem to imagine it through the dry, understated, deadpan humour of Vonnegut.

So it goes.

When I got off the train at Melbourne Central this morning, there was a woman at the top of the escalator. She was handing out pamphlets.

Pretty much everyone went past her, because they were probably in a hurry – they were right lane escalator people – no time to stand still. I took one of her brochures, and looked at it. It said on the front, which was yellow, with a big blue number ‘1’:

“What is the one thing you need to know before you become pregnant?

Take folic acid!”

On the inside it explained that folic acid prevents birth defects such as spina bifida by up to 70 percent. Spina bifida is a neural tube defect and the most common one is when the spinal cord is poorly formed.

I turned around and nearly gave her back the pamphlet, because I’m not going to become pregnant anytime soon. Then I realised that she probably had spina bifida. She was in a wheelchair, you see.

So it goes.

Then I kept the pamphlet and read it cover to cover, because I figure that way at least her time wasn’t wasted. I already knew that folic acid was important, but now I feel like writing about it.

You can get folic acid through green leafy vegetables such as spinach and broccoli, lentils, chickpeas, oranges, and cereals.

The brochure was sponsored by Bayer HealthCare, who I guess want to sell folate supplements. The brochure says that “even if you eat food which has folic acid added to it, such as bread, you will almost certainly need more to obtain the required amount. Taking a supplement will help you to meet your daily needs.”

Hi ho.

And I’m sitting here at university, still in the bookish daze that follows immersion in a novel or written world.

I think I like Vonnegut’s writing because he doesn’t labour. He doesn’t force. He just writes what he sees. Sometimes that’s something bizarre, impossibly far fetched, and grotesque, but somehow it all feels true as well, because the world is crazy like that. People do die in freak accidents, or survive, or find themselves unable to love.

One of my favourite parts in Slaughter-House Five is the description of a book by fictional author Kilgore Trout:

“It was about a robot who had bad breath, who became popular after his halitosis was cured. But what made the story remarkable, since it was written in 1932, was that it predicted the widespread use of burning jellied gasoline on human beings.

It was dropped on them from airplanes. Robots did the dropping. They had no conscience, and no circuits which would allow them to imagine what was happening to the people on the ground.

Trout's leading robot looked like a human being, and could talk and dance and so on, and go out with girls. And nobody held it against him that he dropped jellied gasoline on people. But they found his halitosis unforgivable. But then he cleared that up, and he was welcomed to the human race.”

He also presents a picture of the world that I don’t find completely depressing, even if his conclusions seem to be that humans will always kill each other, use intelligence for evil, and have wars, etc.

And so on.

P.S. There is something to be enjoyed about late night train trips.

Standing at Flinders Street, hoping I’ll see a rat scurrying about the dark, wet tracks,

When a cat at a station pads past in perfect time with my music.

The Competence Facade

2010-09-04T19:37:00.019+10:00

The competence facade is a something which a part of my mind is always working at maintaining. I've come to understand that it relies largely on the amount of energy available. When energy levels are generally high, the competence facade is comfortably maintained. More or less, I'll find myself offering upbeat, positive, 'I got my stuff together' statements.

However, the more tired I become, the less expendable energy there is to regulate this, which I can only presume inevitably leads to this exchange between the small cerebral denizens who decide how power is allocated to different brain processes:

"We're running on reduced processing power, what should we do?"

"We need to cut power from somewhere...I guess we'll do the usual?"

"Yep, bring down the competence illusion."

After this, the response to that conversational staple question, "How are you?", can be a very different one:

And the asker is left trying to figure out the best way to extricate themselves from a terrifying monologue of raw emotional and psychological anxiety that should never have seen the light of day (or the light of polite conversation, at least).

On lowered energy, I no longer believe I am competent. I no longer care if I am seen as competent. I cease to trust myself to run my own life, and begin to doubt every decision I have made thus far.

I am overwhelmed with the desire to be a child again, tucked up warm and safe in bed, knowing that the big world out there is out of my control, and I don't need to worry about it.

So usually I do just that, until I have slept well enough that my mind can re-assemble the facade, and 'competent' mental governance of my life can resume.

I Write Like Me

2010-08-31T11:53:00.002+10:00

A close friend introduced me to a curious website today. It is called "I Write Like", and claims to tell you which famous authors you are similar to in terms of writing style.

http://iwl.me/

'What a great idea!' I thought to myself. So immediately I set about seeing if my Dickens parody was like Dickens, my The Importance of Being Earnest spoof similar to Wilde, or my Year 12 Lit SAC on The French Lieutenant's Woman was like John Fowles.

And after receiving mixed responses, including quite an adamant consensus by the website that my blog style is most closely aligned with that of H. P. Lovecraft, pioneering gothic and horror writer, whose works had the unifying theme of 'cosmic horror', or the incomprehensibility of human existence and life (perhaps not entirely mismatched).

I am easily distracted by websites such as this one. And so it is that I am going to attempt to discover what it is that makes this site match writing with specific authors.

***STOP READING NOW IF YOU HAVE NO INTEREST IN A DETAILED, QUASI-SCIENTIFIC SERIES OF HYPOTHESES AND TESTING***

Hypothesis #1: The website merely links you to authors based on word association, not tone or style.

Test 1: Harry Potter

This test is very straightforward. I chose a gothic story I had written which received the label of 'Oscar Wilde'.

I then prefaced this with: "Hermione, Harry, Ron, Dumbledore, Snape, Godric Gryffindor, Rowena Ravenclaw, Salazar Slytherin, Helga Hufflepuff, Hagrid, Hogwarts, Lupin, Flitwick, Expelliarmus, Avada Kedavra."

These are all specific to Harry Potter. Not to the broader fantasy genre, but specifically Harry Potter.

And lo, suddenly I was writing like J.K. Rowling, according to the website.

Conclusion: Hypothesis #1 has been supported by this experiment.

I actually don't have any more hypotheses after that. It seems I've cracked the code. But now comes the best part - trying to get your writing named as certain authors, without using words which directly reference their writing...in only a few sentences.

For example:

J.K. Rowling

"You shouldn't have done that," said Gemima, frowning disapprovingly.

"It wasn't stealing! There was nobody there anyway," replied George defensively, feeling a twinge of guilt all the same.

Success!

Charles Dickens

Not 5 years ago, had you asked the inhabitants of Lyme whether Mr Bumblescoff was a hard working man, you would almost certainly have received a response firmly planted in the negative, but today, this was certainly not the case - indeed, it was well known (and, one suspects, enthusiastically circulated by Mr Bumblescoff himself!) that he was the very epitome of respectability, industry, and productivity.

Success!

etc.

This was posted on the 27th August!

2010-08-27T17:59:00.002+10:00

I know that there are plenty of people in the world who (passively, through raising awareness and combatting ignorance) fight for honourable causes.

For equality of all individuals, for the right for all individuals to live in a world unspoilt by human avarice.

For the right to education.

These are noble fights.

This is not a noble fight.

This is a petty, small-minded fight which I have tried to stop myself from fighting.

But some part of my mind, quite possibly adjacent to the grammarckle, insists that I cannot rest until I have voiced the indignation bubbling inside me.

Like an insidious virus, an illogical, incomprehensible habit has been burrowing its way into the English language, and has now reached near universal usage.

I am, of course, talking about how it is now apparently the standard to put the month beforethe date. So that dates read like this:

June 14, 2010

Instead of:

14th June, 2010

Why?! Why, why, why?

I have tried to find some sort of justification behind it, but it is insensible to basic reason.

Possible reasons are:

- Now we can instantly see the month, without having to scan the two letters before it. This saves us precious time, because we live in an age when we are processing and storing more information and data than ever before.

- ....

There is no logical reasoning behind this change, and it is even worse when applied to dates written like this:

12/08/10

becomes..

08/12/10

By that I don't mean that the 12th of August becomes the 8th of December, although it does look like that. I'm going to be the conservative in this debate. Why would we change a logical system, moving from the smallest unit of time (days) to the largest (years)?

That's a real question. If you have any ideas, let me know...

The Grammarckle

2010-08-24T13:30:00.012+10:00

The grammarckle is a creature which lives within my mind. It resides there quite peacefully, passing its time assisting me with my writing, doing its best to make sure that sentences are constructed logically and with correct syntax, etc.

Except that this is never quite enough for the grammarckle. The grammarckle is a highly opportunistic and ambitious creature, and will eagerly seize upon any opportunity which arises to dominate the mind of its host.

This most often occurs when the mind is unoccupied, bored, or angry. The grammarckle uses these moments to "subjugate the mind to its invariably grammar-related whims" (Masters and Smith, 2006).

This can manifest itself in a few different ways. One of these is in situations where brain activity is sluggish, where the boredom is such that the grammarckle is able to almost completely assert control of mental faculties, so that every small grammatical error or ambiguity it detects is leapt upon with vicious, spiteful, joy.

For example:

Harry was zoning in and out of the P.R. lecture, which was just a mish-mash of acronyms, tree diagrams, and target publics, which were being 'revised' for the umpteenth time. Suddenly he looked up at the slide and noticed that the lecturer had written 'bare' when in fact they meant 'bear'.

Somehow unable to contain himself, Harry nudged the people around him, and pointed out the spelling mistake. The grammarckle within him purred in silky contentment.

The grammarckle has taken control here, and will usually use its host as a means of informing other grammarkcles living inside nearby hosts of its discovery (Masters and Smith, 2006).

It would be very easy to conclude that the grammarckle only ever exerts a negative influence, but this would be to understate the important role a humble grammarckle plays in society - to maintain vigilance against lax expression and spelling.

Acknowledge your grammarckle, and appreciate it.

Yet you must know how to control it, because an unleashed grammarckle can cause havoc with its self-righteous, tactless ways. Most guides advise that grammarckle may be placated with "a bowl of roughly chopped quince and lamb's fry, or a new word to play with," (Williams, 2009).

References:

Masters, John, and Smith, Geraldine, Mind Over Matter: How the Grammarckle Is Controlling Us All, published by Cambridge University Press, 2006, Cambridge
Williams, Henry, Taming the Grammarckle Within, published by Random House, 2009, Canberra (pp. 30-56)

Thinking Pug: On Voting

2010-08-20T23:16:00.004+10:00

"I'm not a stalker," insists observant Facebook user

2010-08-19T20:24:00.006+10:00

A man who understandably wishes to remain anonymous yesterday committed a major gaffe by letting slip to a co-worker his awareness of a Facebook photo she and a mutual friend had been commenting on extensively.

"He just dropped it into conversation," the co-worker said.

"It was so awkward. How could he have known that? It was a private exchange just between myself, my friend, and every single one of our mutual friends who could see it in their news feed," she elaborated.

"It's so inappropriate that he should know that!"

Other workers who witnessed the incident described it as "truly cringeworthy".

"You could see from the moment he said it, he realised it was one of those things he should simply be aware of, but never raise in social conversation," Samantha Preemslydale recalled.

This is not the first time that the privacy of Facebook has been an issue of public debate. The International Stalking Education and Evaluation Union (ISEEU) have previously condemned the "inexcusably lax" privacy settings of the popular social networking site.

"It's just putting people like us out of a job," ISEEU Treasurer Tom Peeper said.

"Once upon a time, there was an art to stalking. It was a kind of flirtatious, wild, foreplay, to unravel the secret web of facts that are hidden behind the person in the street.

"Since Facebook, everything is laid bare. It's no longer a challenge, and not nearly as rewarding."

Facebook have urged people to ignore the fact that everything they put on Facebook is Facebook's property, and to continue to upload their lives into the social networking site, which is used to attract targeted advertisements.

8.40pm update: The man has been identified as Gerald Driver, a 29 year old man who lives in Essex, UK.

His birthdate is 15th August 1981, and he is a fan of 'I'm the boy who lived LOL JKS I'm Cedric Diggory', 'I lock my animal in my room when I get lonely', and 'When I'm home alone and I hear a noise...I completely freeze'.

He states his political views as 'socially conservative, economically neo-liberal', is interested in women, looking for 'friendship', and his favourite quotations include Winston Churchill's "I may be drunk, Miss, but in the morning I will be sober and you will still be ugly."

He has 214 friends and his last status update was "Gerald Driver has had enough of embarasing himself lol!"

Commuter Exchanges Awkward Banter With Ticket Inspector

2010-08-15T16:48:00.003+10:00

A train commuter today made a concerted effort to display a friendly, polite, and compassionate attitude towards an Authorised Public Transport Officer.

"I wanted to show that I realise it's not their fault, and that they are just doing their job," explained regular commuter Steven Jeffreys. "Unfortunately they interpreted my polite veneer of civility as a genuine interest in socially interacting with them after they had checked my ticket."

Jeffreys felt 'caught' and 'trapped', as the team of three inspectors proceeded to ask him mundane questions about his ticket.

"They asked me, 'Is the myki system working ok?' I replied 'yes, it is,' " he said of the incident, which he concedes probably only lasted 'a minute or two' but felt like 'an eternity of awkwardness'.

Jeffreys admitted also that he frequently suffers from extreme annoyance, anger, and frustration when asked to interact with other human beings in any way whatsoever. "As soon as I get on the train, it's iPod on, fuck off everyone," he said lightly.

The Metro staff claimed to have been unaware of Jeffreys' discomfort, and were concerned when approached for a comment today.

"That's news to me," said Team Leader Catherine Martins, adjusting her Metro badge, which is approximately the same size and weight as a newborn child.

'Boat People'

2010-08-15T15:41:00.006+10:00

Journalists are lazy when it comes to this issue.

They seem to think it is enough for them to ask the major parties questions about 'when' their offshore processing centres can be up and running. About the feasibility of the centres being housed in volatile, poverty-stricken, politically unstable governments.

But they neglect to ask real questions about the core of the issue.

People say that the refugee situation in Australia has been discussed and debated to the point of exhaustion, but from what I can see, it's barely been touched at all.

Not once have either of the major parties, or journalists for major news sources, stopped and considered questioning the direction in which both major parties are heading.

Children in detention hasn't even been raised as an issue. According to Immigration Detention Statistics, there were 651 children in detention as of the 22nd July this year:

http://asrcweb.webfactional.com/media/documents/get-kids-out-detention.pdf

Fear is disseminated about the arrival of 'illegal', 'unauthorised' refugees, and the parties show a bipartisan lack of humanity when it comes to the people involved.

651.

That's 651 children (under the age of 18), over 92% of whom have been found to be genuine refugees (see also above).

If 651 Australian children were being housed in detention centres overseas, there would be an uproar. But these people have fled their home country, and have no government to act as their advocate.

The parties could demonstrate true leadership by considering options such as an onshore processing of asylum seekers in Australia, which ticks Julia Gillard's 'signatory to the refugee convention' box, as well as being a country with the space, resources, and stability to operate humane community housing for refugees while they are processed.

Instead both parties take Australians for selfish, xenophobic, hate-filled people.

And without journalists taking the ALP or Coalition to task on these assumptions, it would seem that sadly, the two parties are spot on.

No, I'M the underdog!

2010-08-14T18:04:00.009+10:00

Apparently Tony Abbott believes he is the underdog/battler/David against Goliath.

He's also "pleased and proud to be leading a team which wants a better style of politics in Australia and certainly we'll keep running the kind of campaign you've seen over the past few weeks."

http://www.theaustralian.com.au/national-affairs/politics-news/im-the-election-underdog-says-trailing-tony-abbott/story-fn59nqld-12259

05218409

Good for him.

Thinking Pug: How Long Is A Life?

2010-08-13T11:06:00.003+10:00

Scribble From Journalism

2010-08-09T22:05:00.000+10:00

The red-handled lover

Jewellery prices might have skyrocketed in the past few months, but one man didn’t let that stop him getting his fiancée the ring she deserved.

35-year-old Brendan O’Connell was today charged with three counts of armed robbery, and one count of armed assault, when police arrested him this afternoon.

O’Connell explained to police that his robbery of three rings from a Carlton jewellery store, during which he held the female shop attendant at knifepoint, using a red-handled kitchen knife as a weapon, was all in order to give his girlfriend Sarah the proposal she deserves

The three rings, priced at over $8000 each, were stolen at the end of a morning-long spate of robberies, including one incident which left a shop attendant in St Vincent’s Hospital with serious cuts and bruises after a vicious attack by O’Connell.

Yet he insists that it was worth it “for the lovely smile on Sarah’s very pretty face.”

The elusive Sarah has been unavailable for comment. “She is very, very, touched by Brendan’s selfless gesture,” said her mother, Rachel Simms. Ms Simms further disclosed that if O’Connell manages to get bail tomorrow, Sarah would be ‘very receptive’ to any ‘proposals’ he might have.

University student ‘disappointed’ by mediocre satirical article

A university student was today ‘a little underwhelmed’ by a satirical article he wrote during a lengthy journalism tute.

“It started off really promisingly,” the student said of his article, which took an obscure angle on a news story he was writing for assessment.

“There was a general feeling that I’d hit upon quite an entertaining premise,” he recalled. “But the more I wrote, the less funny it seemed to become…it sort of fell apart in my hands.

“Many things do these days,” he sighed indulgently.

The satirical article was unavailable for comment.

Journalistic Credibility

2010-08-07T22:04:00.005+10:00

A friend pointed out to me tonight that the journalistic credibility of my blog may have been compromised by my mentioning of Adobe Illustrator in the posts below.

This alarmed me, until I realised that it was an observation made on a few assumptions:

1. My blog had some journalistic credibility to lose.

2. My blog has an audience with whom journalistic credibility can be lost and gained.

3. The images below serve to positively demonstrate the dizzying heights of artistic genius which can be achieved with Adobe Illustrator.

Ok, let's start with the first assumption. I don't really know what this blog is, but I would hesitate before describing it as a 'journalistic' blog. It's really just a mish mash of personal, 'satirical' (that's the ones that have been trying, in increasingly desperate measures, to be funny), and bizarre (I actually have no idea where those pug pictures came from. It was late and I was tired. Actually there's a fair bit more to be said on this. When I'm tired, I tend to think, write, and create more outlandish, offensive, bizarre, strange things. I tend to think of it as my creative Mr Hyde. I sometimes think he shouldn't be let out....but he has helped me through many an English assessment, and ultimately I enjoy giving him a bit of freedom every now and then. I apologise for having grossly abused this parenthesis).

Jonathan Holmes (smugly, as he is probably incapable of any other delivery): But that doesn't excuse the sloppy product placement. Running an endorsement as a headline is one of the most basic of journalistic errors, and Gelati Gecko's slip up has simply illustrated some fairly slack editorial skills. (Indulgent wry smile.)

Thinking Pug: Politics

2010-08-05T22:59:00.003+10:00

Adobe Illustrator Is The Best!

2010-08-05T22:15:00.001+10:00

Demarchy

2010-08-04T20:49:00.015+10:00

The solution to the poll-driven, apathy rich, misinformed wonder that is Australian politics is at hand.

Demarchy is the appointment of randomly selected people to rule a country. If a randomly selected segment of the Australian public were chosen to rule, the arguments in favour of demarchy roughly seem to go:

There wouldn't be any pressure on them to be elected, play to the media, or pander to specific interest groups. All that they would have to do is make policy decisions which are best for Australia
They would be informed by experts in areas of specific policy, and make a decision based on the information given to them, like a jury, and not on uniformly held idealogical principles.
As they are 'the people', they truly represent Australians, and are not in the position for power or honour, but so that they can bring to the policy making decisions the views and needs of the Australian public.

Of course, there are many problems with the concept of a demarchy, not least that a randomly selected group may not be representative, and that it could just be a deadlocked room full of opposing views.

But then again...when a democratic election runs like this...

Gillard and Abbott (in unison): Boat People! Boat People! Fuck! Boat people! Needa stop the goddamn boat people! Shit! Imma stop them first! Oh God! You can trust me to stop these boat people! Oh God they're going to....umm....threaten our way of life and shit, just trust me! Oh for the love of God, the boat people!

Gillard: Let's have an informed debate, Mr Abbott, free of empty rhetoric, vague directional metaphors, and scare-mongering. The Australia population deserve better. A debate, so that Australians can see what their real choices are.

Gillard and Abbott: TAXESBOATPEOPLEMOVINGFORWARD REALACTION TRUE ECONOMIC SENSE TRUSTECONOMYSAFETYTAXES INTEREST RATES BOATPEOPLEAGAIN MININGTAX CAN'T TRUST THEMKEVINLEMON HEALTHCAREREALREFORM CHANGE FOR WORKINGFAMILIESMOVINGFORWARD REAL ACTION DONTFORGETTHEFUCKINGBOATPEOPLE!

Gillard: I'm going to be the real Gillard from now on! I'm throwing out the rules!

Abbott: See? I love women! It's ok, I love women, therefore the Coalition's policies will be better! You can't trust the government on environmental action though!

Gillard: Not a big Australia, but a sustainable Australia.

Abbott: Oh, and also boat people. Those tricky fucking boat people.

Commentators: It'll be interesting to see which campaign strategy works out in the end. They're both trying different tactics, taglines, buzz words, advertisements, sliming, soundbites.

Off you go now Australians. Go vote. Make a truly informed choice. Australia has a remarkable level of citizen involvement, you know. Our compulsory voting system ensures that we have a healthy democracy.

Litjokes Nostalgia

2010-08-01T16:03:00.003+10:00

Passage Analysis: Use the following passage for a discussion of Hedda Gabler X36 V.02

Aunt Julle: Ah but Jorgen! You managed to LAN up Hedda X36, the most streamlined operating system in town! She’s the next model from the great Gablermatic! I still remember the times I used to see them micro-processing together, the most powerful machines in the village...except for Lovborg, of course...but, well...after he picked up all those...

Tesman: Viruses, and his operating system went down. Ah well...I don’t suppose there’s any good news to be had there...

Aunt Julle [briskly]: Ah, well. Let’s not speak of that. But oh, that Hedda X36! In her lustrous gleaming titanium casing!

Tesman: Eh? Oh yes, Aunt Julle! Just think! There must be quite a few cyborgs in the village simply defragmenting their C drives in jealousy! [Nodding at Aunt Julle’s monitor.] What’s that you’ve got there Aunt Julle?

Aunt Julle: Oh, it’s nothing, just a 19 inch plasma screen I bought to replace my old one...so that Hedda X36 shouldn’t be ashamed of me if we go online together.

Tesman: Oh Aunt Julle! You think of everything! And what’s that smart new wireless mouse in your claw?

Aunt Julle: This? Oh, well...it’s a Toshiba Bluetooth mouse I bought – again, for Hedda X36.

Tesman [Turning his infrared sensors towards stage left.]: What’s that? I think I hear her coming now!

[There is a metallic whirring sound, and a small hatch opens in the ceiling. First Hedda’s steel wheels, then the rest of her body, descend through the hatch. She is dressed in a light morning dress of the latest fashion. A propeller is protruding from her hair, which is a light brown, though not noticeably abundant. The whirring slows as she nears the ground, and she alights in the drawing room gently. The propeller folds itself up and goes back into her head.]

Tesman: Ah! There you are, Hedda X36! Did you recharge well?

Hedda X36 [Dismissively]: Oh yes. Tolerably.

Tesman: Tolerably! I like that! You were 98% recharged when I left you this morning!

Hedda X36 [ignoring him]: Aunt Julle! What an early visit! Did you need your cables re-crossed?

Aunt Julle [nervously]: Oh no, I just came here to say hello, you know, check there weren’t any things I could help with...

Hedda X36: Well, I’ve almost finished installing the Microsoft Vista processing system – I suppose everything in this house is Microsoft Vista, Jorgen?

Tesman [awkwardly]: Come now Hedda, you know it is. Not quite the efficient computing power you’re used to, of course...but I’m sure we shall be able to upgrade in time, and after all-

Hedda X36 [coldly]: Yes, I suppose one must adjust. By degrees.

Aunt Julle: And with your post as Internet History organiser almost confirmed, dear Jorgen, I daresay it shan’t be too long! Arranging and sorting, that’s what you’re built for!

Tesman: Yes, yes Aunt Julle! Exactly right, Hedda X36! We must only be patient, and-

Hedda X36: Oh! We shall never manage with this new droid!

Aunt Julle: Not manage with B1110? Whatever is the-

Hedda X36: She’s gone and left her old Toshiba Bluetooth mouse lying on the couch!

Tesman: Hedda X36!

Hedda X36: Well supposing our webcams were to film it? Why would B1110 have just tossed it down! One isn’t programmed to do that kind of thing!

Aunt Julle: Ah, well, it’s actually registered under my computing system, Hedda X36. [Under her breath as she picks it up with her metal claw] And it’s not old, either...it’s the second newest prototype.

Hedda X36: Is it? Ah, well, I really didn’t run it through all the databases in my system.

Aunt Julle: That’s quite understandable – and with a database which seems to be growing larger and larger every day since you and Jorgen have come back from your ...

Hedda X36 [firmly]: It is not, thank you.

Aunt Julle: Well...I’ll be seeing you later, Jorgen.

[Tesman and Aunt Julle go whirring out of the room on their wheels. Hedda X36 zooms around the room angrily on her hoverpad, her monitor flashing bright red.]

Tesman [returning]: Well what of the house, Hedda X36?

Hedda X36 [again, ignoring his question]: Do you think that Aunt Julle was upset?

Tesman: Oh, I don’t know...she doesn’t usually get upset about that sort of thing.

Hedda X36: I suppose I could send her a poke on Facebook...

Tesman: Oh would you, Hedda X36? And could you add her on MSN?

Hedda X36: No, no, you mustn’t ask me to do that. I shall ‘like’ her Facebook status updates, but that is all.

Tesman: Very well, Hedda X36.

Hedda X36 [suddenly irritable]: I am fed up with the internet filter on the Microsoft Vista updates – I would like them removed. I can’t access the archives of my MSN conversations with Lovborg.

Tesman: But why, Hedda, do you think that would really do?

Hedda X36 [sighing, getting up and retreating to the inner pod]: No, of course. It wouldn’t do. Oh well...there is at least one thing which I can use my spare processing power on...

Tesman: Eh, what’s that Hedda X36? Hedda X36?

Hedda X36 [raising her volume]: My USBs, Jorgen. The Gablermatic’s USBs.

Tesman [squeakily wheeling after her]: No! Hedda X36! You mustn’t play with them! They have enough power to take out a motherboard! Hedda X36!

Written Analysis:

Ibsen very deliberately chooses the way in which Hedda X36 is referenced to prior to her entry on stage. Aunt Julle makes a connection with her superior model, the “Gablermatic”, which establishes Hedda X36 as the model of the Gablermatic, rather than being electronically partnered with Tesman. Her entry is also highly significant, as it highlights the higher level through which Hedda X36 literally enters the Tesman household. Ibsen uses this opening scene to set up the tension which will ensue throughout the play, as Hedda X36 is incompatible with the bourgeois operating system of Windows Vista, and finds the restrictions on her internet freedom confining, yet she is resigned to this fate, accepting that “one must adjust. By degrees.” Indeed, it is Hedda X36’s acceptance of what becomes somewhat of a catchcry of the play, “one isn’t programmed to do that kind of thing”, which ultimately results in her perpetual oppression and imprisonment within society.

The only release left open to Hedda X36 are the USBs left to her by the Gablermatic, which Tesman warns her “have enough power to take out a motherboard!” Ibsen uses this warning to highlight Hedda X36’s rejection of her new expected role as mother to another cyborg. She violently rejects Aunt Julle’s insinuations, and is openly rude to her new aunt.

Ibsen also uses these establishing scenes to introduce the theme of circumlocution, as we first see that both Tesman and Aunt Julle are very uncomfortable discussing Lovborg’s sexual forays on the internet, which have resulted in him receiving the “viruses”, resulting in his social ostracism. In a similar way Aunt Julle only hints at Hedda X36’s pregnancy, as she tells Hedda X36 that her “database...seems to be growing larger and larger every day since you and Jorgen have come back”. Family, the bourgeois Windows Vista, and the oppression of an internet filter have all begun to take their hold on Hedda X36 from the outset, a hold which will result in tragedy.

Apple Fanatics Scramble to Get Their Hands on iAir

2010-07-30T22:45:00.008+10:00

A cheer rang through chilly Melbourne last night, as the stroke of midnight signalled the release of the iAir.

Thousands of queuing Apple fans had been camping outside city tech stores, some from as early as 5.30am. But at the stroke of midnight, stores opened their doors for a special release of Apple's new gadget, priced at $354.95 each.

The iAir, a 'innovative, intuitive, touch-responsive mass of air', has been eagerly awaited since announcement of its development in April this year. Despite suggestions that it can quickly become contaminated, dispersed, and lost within moments of removing it from its packaging, a strong turnout at its launch last night demonstrates that true Apple fans won't be deterred.

"I can't wait to see how it interacts with my iPhone!" exclaimed Sally Sanders.

"I kind of know I don't really need it, but oh my God I so do...I really, really, want it," she said of the 200 ml of air, vacuum sealed in a sleek silver casing, adorned with Apple's ubiquitous logo.

Above: The contents of a disassembled iAir.

Tech magazines have been divided over the new product, with PC User finding that "while very simple to operate, it was difficult to ascertain what the actual function of the iAir was. After two hours of examination, it really does just appear to be air in a silver case."

But fans remain steadfast in their support of the iAir. "It's just something that appeals to me, I guess, because it's unique and reflects my individualism," sales accountant manager Thomas Jeffreys shouted as he jostled amongst the hundreds of other people queuing.

But What If It Was Deliberate?

2010-07-27T22:51:00.007+10:00

So what with the 'myki' teething problems and the peak hour delays today, Metro aren't the most popular public transport operators in Melbourne. (Well they are, because they're the only ones, but that's not my point.)

But what if all the things that annoy us about public transport were in fact a service?

- Late trains: late, delayed, and cancelled trains serve an important and unique role in the public transport system. Too frequently commuters stumble into a train half awake, head to their job, before cramming back on, heading home, only to repeat it all the next day. When there is a delay, commuters do get angry. But when they're forced to wait for twenty minutes, it gives them a chance to cool down. They can examine their anger. Why are they angry? What are they going to be late for exactly? How important is it, in the scheme of a life which could end at any given moment?

Perhaps some compulsory reflection could produce a life-altering epiphany.

- Obnoxious fellow passengers: These are in fact highly skilled actors, carefully trained to play their parts with a nuanced, perceptively observed flair. Through forcing you to listen to them loudly recount in graphic detail and without discretion the minutiae of their lives, they invite you to wonder on the nature of human consciousness, of the relationships that bind people together, of the significance which people draw from their lives, the 'achievements' they value. The presence of obnoxious passengers assists train rides to become the introspective, reflective experience they are capable of becoming, experiences which enrich our day.

- Overly officious Public Transport Officers: Why do they take such pride in their job? What's their story? Why do you feel that mixture of polite hostility or forced friendliness and ease when they approach? Are their weighty metal badges affixed to their trenchcoats a tangible compensation for their role? Have the public institutions in Australia become more dehumanised, and if so, how can ordinary citizens go about reversing this?

- Mx: And if you don't want to ponder these things, then just completely halt all cognitive activity with a flick through the Mx, and lose yourself in a world of celebrities, half-thought through, obstinate opinion pieces, and the democratic zeitgeist that is "Vent Your Spleen".

Train journeys need not be a sluggish, mind-numbing crawl. Metro has provided us with everything we need to entertain ourselves. With so many things occurring within the train, there is always an abundance of philosophical musing to be had.

So thank you, Metro. For the things you give us, deliberately and unwittingly, I am thankful.

Mission Statements

2010-07-23T10:24:00.009+10:00

P.R. started up again this week, and we've started by learning about these odd things called 'mission statements'.

A mission statement, we were told, is something which conveys an organisation's purpose, strategy, values, and standards. It should be a short sentence or two which more or less explains why the company exists.

And after looking at several mission statements, I started to realise that there are really two types of mission statements:

- A statement which genuinely explains the role of the organisation and helps you better understand what it does

- A statement which tells you nothing about the organisation, instead confusing you with a generic, bland affirmation of vague values and

ethics in whatever they do

And of course there is everything between these two extremes.

Brie's Mission Statement:

Brie is committed to being the creamiest and most delicious cheese in existence. It will constantly strive to ethically deliver to those who sample its smooth, mild flavours, a cheese-eating experience unlike no other.

or...

Brie is committed to helping individuals and businesses reach their full potential. Through a strong sense of community, humility, and service to others, Brie provides an unparalleled service which is both professional and personal.

But it's not like it really matters if the mission statement doesn't tell you exactly what an organisation or individual's agenda is...does it?

Sauron's Mission Statement:

Sauron strives to assist in development and improvement throughout Middle Earth. By harnessing innovative technologies, a widespread network of communications, all within an ethically sound framework, Sauron supports a range of community-focused initiatives.

Scamble

2010-07-20T22:05:00.004+10:00

Once again, my resolve to keep up regular blogging has melted. But melted badly, like when you have chocolate and you don't want it to melt, so you minimise body contact and hence transfer of heat, but it's all in vain because it's melting anyway and there's nothing you can do about it.

So now as I sit in the puddle of melted chocolate which is my blog, I'm going to chuck out some of the half ideas that've been sitting about in my head:

Blog Posts You Won't See (read the titles and be very thankful)!

Commuter Makes Concerted Effort to be Civil to Ticket Inspector
Labor and Liberal Parties admit that the refugee debate is mostly about political point scoring, and partly "for the lols"
"I don't usually judge people on reality TV shows, but Jimmy is really getting my gander up!"
"Will journalism be an enriching potential career move, or will it just make me dead inside?"

Yeah. So next time you look at my blog and go "oh no, there's no update! I'm missing out on the quality content which would no doubt be present if only Gelati Gecko had the time!"....actually you've probably never done that.

Self-deprecating tripe aside...

New word for you all. If you liked scrumish (and I defy you to fault it), then you will love this one:

Scamble

Definition: Not quite a run, not quite a brisk stride, the scamble falls somewhere in between. In its original context, the scamble relates specifically to the movement made when hurrying to a train platform, unsure as to whether you have missed your train already or not. It's really a mix of several very similar words:

- Scramble

- Amble

- Scamper

Enjoy in moderation.

Editor's Correction: It must be noted, if Gelati Gecko wishes to retain any degree of credibility or trustworthiness as a blogger, that the word scamble is to a large degree, and quite possibly entirely, the product of a friend. This friend, whose command of the English language, and fearsome intellect impress all he meets, thus deserves recognition of his outstanding contribution to society with 'scamble'.

We can only hope he shows some clemency and does not pursue proposed legal action.

New Word For You All: Scrumish

2010-07-11T16:48:00.007+10:00

I've come across one of those situations which I don't believe the current English vocabulary adequately caters for. Therefore, I have invented a new word, and have decided to dedicate this entire post to explaining its meaning.

The word is scrumish (pronounced scroo-mish). It's a verb, as in "I scrumished my painting for about fifteen minutes."

It is something of an amalgam of the following words:

scrutinise
relish

And this more or less sums up its meaning. To scrumish is to examine something with greatest satisfaction and hearty contentment. The thing in question is usually something which has been either made by, or is owned by, the scrumisher. Examples include:

A story they have written
A cake they have baked
A small DIY job successfully completed

This also encompasses less tangible, online things, such as an online bank account, as I and others I have spoken to enjoy viewing the bank account balances, often unnecessarily.

It's a little bit like this:

"Victor Hampelshire breathed in the brisk, cold, morning air

as he strode around the perimeter of his country estate. As he strode, he admired everything about it: the garden bed his underpaid servants had been tending to all spring, the house he had inherited from his affluent family, and the great expanses of lawn upon which a flock of wandering sheep were grazing peacefully.

He would shoot the sheep later, he reflected, for he had warned Mr McMaggins more than once to keep them contained. But for now, Victor Hampelshire was filled from top hat to leather riding boots with a warm, proud, utterly fulfilled yet intense happiness and attachment to his estate."

So scrumish is just like that...only in your head.

Above: Even animals are capable of scrumishing, as this dog surveys the pleasing work he has done.

It's the re-reading of an essay that isn't really necessary. It's that skimming over a great set of results that doesn't quite serve a practical purpose. It's that little buzz you get when you read over a well liked Facebook status.

And I think it's fantastic. The more I think about it, the more I come to the conclusion that scrumishing is humankind's own little triumph. It's our assertion of the belief that we can control our environment around us, even if we cannot control so many other forces in our life. It's a little buzz knowing that you created something that you're happy with.

Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'll publish this post, before giving it the scrumishing it deserves.

Apple Will Probably Kill Us All

2010-07-09T17:02:00.003+10:00

Today I went and bought a backup hard drive for my Macbook. Essentially it's a massive USB that stores all my files in case my Macbook gets sick. Fascinating stuff.

But the thing that I found really strange was the Apple shop itself.

An Apple logo is all that identifies it from the outside. Of course, this is more than enough to tell people exactly what sort of store it is. Once you step inside, you realise that the silver, flat floor and ceiling remind you of the minimalist Mac type design, and I actually began to feel that I was inside an Apple product.

The boxes of Apple products adopt a similarly minimalist approach. A keyboard is labelled "keyboard", and has double sided photos of computer keyboards on the packaging. No other writing.

All around me, were customers of all ages. Elderly couples sat while one of the forty or so jeans and blue t-shirt wearing staff explained the basics of skype to them. An eight year old on rollerskates went past, undisrupted because, presumably, Apple is cool enough.

With the crowds of people and even more staff, it struck me as odd, but absolutely nobody volunteered to help me. I couldn't even catch the eye of a salesperson. They were all busy, apparently lumbered with their other customers, and so I was ignored. I felt isolated and alienated.

At the cash register, a staff member came up and made a big show of asking the saleswoman at the cashier to look after 'Tony', then explaining to 'Tony' that he'd leave him with 'Jenny', who would look after him, and that Jenny was lovely. This kind of overly cheery and friendly demeanor made me feel simultaneously 'bah humbug' and 'oh that's nice'.

It was a really confusing and disorientating experience. But I got the hard drive.

This was a terrible story to share with you all (both). I apologise if you've reached the end of this, hanging out for something genuinely scary or funny.

Still Trying to Make Sense of This...

2010-07-06T20:22:00.004+10:00

This issue does my head in every time I see it discussed.

I don't understand how there can be so many diametrically opposed views co-existing in Australia on refugees, and 'solutions' to refugees.

Both of the major parties which supposedly represent the Australian public agree that there is a problem with refugees arriving in Australia - and that this is a problem which is best solved by offshore processing.

I don't get it.

Why would facilities be set up in a country such as East Timor, which is not as spacious or wealthy as Australia? To deal with refugees who were headed for Australia?

The small number of refugees that Australia is called upon to process and accommodate each year makes this 'solution' all the more confusing. If, as Julian Burnside states (http://www.smh.com.au/opinion/politics/comfort-all-who-flee-fear-20100705-zxht.html), 3, 500 refugees have arrived so far this year, then is really unreasonable to expect that, in a nation where 170, 000 people plus are processed through migration channels annually, we are incapable of managing this number?

And, if not, does it really logically follow that, if we cannot cope, a nation such as East Timor will?

Lastly, why do I have to trawl through so much crap to try and figure out what the Government's plan is? They haven't even put out a media release explaining it all clearly:

http://www.newsroom.immi.gov.au/media_releases

If we're going to have a debate about this, we need the facts. All the facts. In one place. Clearly explained, without layers and layers of bureaucracy. It is a complex issue. But obfuscating all the relevant facts and information in layers and layers of tired rhetoric achieves nothing.

Is it really too difficult to have a public forum where everything can be laid on the table, objective and accurate facts laid out for everyone to see, and decisions reached? It would be so goddamned refreshing to see that. Like a sharp cold breeze or a moist towelette.

Or will I just have to go with my gut feeling and tell everyone how bad the new policies are, from a position patched together from facts that I've had to snatch from here and there, the opinions of some seemingly decent lawyers? I hate that. I resent this.

I just want them to cut the crap. Just for once. Pleeeeeease. Just do something different for a change, Julia. Actually LEAD. You know. Like a leader of a country is supposed to do.

Gelati Gecko Greeting Cards

2010-07-03T16:45:00.004+10:00

Every time I go to the newsagents looking for a card, I find myself underwhelmed by the choices available. It always seems to me that the cards there can be sorted into a few categories:

Serious and Sincere

These are the flowery "Dearest Mother, you have been there since day one" type cards, which I never really browse as they hold very little emotional resonance for me. They include condolences, congratulations, all in sugary pastels, sometimes adorned with a tastefully selected glittery flower or two. The edge might also be cut in a wavy, 'soft' edge (especially important for condolence cards, as the last thing you want to do to a grieving friend is give them a paper-cut).

Retro 1950s

These are the ones with black and white photos and 'outrageous' captions. The ideal of the 50s housewife is a particularly prevalent theme, as beaming housewives on the front belie the quip about alcoholism and unhappy marriage, or the innuendo-laden punchline hidden within.

However, they are not all satirical. Sometimes it can be something simple such as a black and white photograph of an elderly couple together, with a quote inside about the transience of life and the beauty of flourishing love within it. But these sorts of 50s cards really belong more to the next category...

Animals and Photography

Often blank inside, or accompanied by a poignant statement on humanity, these are of the 'giraffe mother and calf grazing at sunset', 'very old and wrinkled lady laughing as she holds a newborn baby', 'dozing cat and mouse curled up together on a cushion' ilk.

They show whoever you're giving it to that you're sensitive, appreciate photography, and have thought a great deal about the quote on the card, and decided that it is a message which is most salient for them at this particular point in their lives. It certainly shows them also that you have taste and decency enough not to offer them a card from the last category...

"Humour"

Within the humour category, there are subcategories again:

Genuinely humorous: These have a cleverly drawn cartoon, with an accompanying punchline inside the card, which might cause a chuckle. They may be a little risque, but in the end you can be reasonably sure of their positive reception.
Jokes pertaining to flatulence and other bodily functions: These are without a doubt the lowest of the low. These cards are the lecherous middle aged man in the card rack, leering and cackling at you as you walk past. You feel dirty if you ever pick them up 'just to check' if the punchline is as disappointing as you expect. It inevitably is.
Crass sexual jokes: There is nothing more to be said, except that if I ever receive one of these cards I will forever think more lowly of the sender (unless it's deliberately ironic, in which case that was very clever of you indeed).
Age jokes: These are possibly the least humorous of the 'humorous' cards section. Yet don't be fooled by their uninspired and inoffensive front - they are the ones most likely to encourage binge drinking, usually in order to forget the horrific revelation that your life is halfway spent, and you now have less chance than ever of doing the things you always dreamed you would and could in your younger years.

And many times, I have finished my perusal of all the aforementioned categories, ending with a demoralising examination of every single 'humour' card, and found that there are no cards that have the attitude, artistic direction, and message that I want.

And so, more often than not, I make my own card, and take a bizarre pride in presenting (to friends on their birthdays) misshapen, smudged, aesthetically challenged cards with crossed-out and wonky messages scrawled horizontally, then finally vertically, as I realised halfway through that the writing size I chose at the start was roughly ten times too big. The confused recipient will often look at me with a combination of bewilderment and polite acceptance, as they wonder whether the torn piece of paper they are holding in their hands is a symbol of my psychotic obsession with them (generally, it isn't).

And so I encourage you all to go forth and make cards for your friends! Fashion them from newspaper, egg cartons, whatever you can find!

And above all, don't just write "To Blah....From Bleh." And that includes people who think that writing "Dear" conveys sufficient affection to get them off the hook from writing a personal message that explains how and why that person is important to you.

And as usual, Man Stroke Woman perhaps closes the whole greeting card issue best.

Wanted: Competent Copywriter for Online Job Advertisements

2010-07-02T17:06:00.003+10:00

Yeah...that story I promised you...it's on it's way, honest.

But you all seem to love the silly blog posts, the ones where I find something tiny to focus on, some small aspect of life which I can study, get angry or happy about, and use to shield me from the mind-numbing directionless nature of my existence.

And for today, it's jobs.

I've been looking for a job. This is a tricky thing, because I haven't had a job before. How can I have gotten to this age and not had a job? What kind of repulsively irresponsible creature am I? I haven't got a job, and I don't even have the decency to maintain some semblance of a blogging schedule?

Ok, now that I've been thoroughly judged (or at least displayed an alarming level of self-criticism and a deep-seated sense of inadequacy which is embedded in my psyche), we can move on.

I've been looking for some jobs on the Internet, because I have this completely baseless theory that somehow I'll stumble upon a magical job that meets all my needs, which would probably be something like:

Personal Piano Player, Chef, for Unicorn Wanted:

Sparkles the 6 month old Unicorn foal is in need of a personal piano player to sooth his soul, and a chef to nourish his fledgling body. It is important that he has an ongoing person to meet these needs during these formative months. VCE French level of speaking a bonus, as Sparkles speaks a little French (but only so much that VCE level is all that would be useful). Extra benefits include 100 wishes which he will grant you on his first birthday.

- Chef training fully provided, prior experience irrelevant

- Approx $45/hour

- Very flexible part-time work hours

But in the meantime, I'm searching for other jobs.

And what's started to bug me is this: the jobs which are written up appallingly, but still demand a competent employee with a wealth of previous experience. As I have none, I am always disappointed to see it listed as a criterion. But it becomes harder to accept when it's on a job that's advertised like this:

"We require professional wait staff. That are exceptionally bubbly and out going."

And then they remind applicants that "it is paramount that you...are fluent in English". Really?

Gelati Gecko Steps Down In Bloodless Coup

2010-06-24T19:38:00.002+10:00

A phone call late last night signalled the start of the end for Gelati Gecko. And now, 24 hours later, a new blogger sits in the ill-suited office chair what was once Gelati Gecko's throne.

A poll from within Gelati Gecko's own mind indicated that an overwhelming 70% of his psyche would support a change in blogging personality. "I just felt that what was once a great blog, had lost its way a little," one anonymous insider revealed. "We needed a new change in direction, the sort that can only come from a change at the leadership level," another opined.

The challenger, who had backing from the so called 'warlords' from different factions within Gelati Gecko's disjointed, and 'dysfunctional' mind, has curiously opted to retain the title of 'Gelati Gecko'.

"This is not about rebranding a blog, but about making fundamental shifts in the way this blog operates and functions in its day to day existence," the abstract conglomeration of thought and memory stated. "In assuming the identity of Gelati Gecko, I intend to bring about a return to group consultation, as I firmly believe that many heads are better than one."

"A return to more traditional forms of self-governance will be adopted, in addition to a more involved creative process, which ensures that everyone has a say on the direction of the blog," the new part of Gelati Gecko's brain stated. "Naturally, the part of Gelati Gecko's mind which has served the blog up until now will continue to play a very important and instrumental role in shaping and strengthening this blog."

You Should Be So Excited

2010-06-11T22:53:00.002+10:00

Why? Because I have a present for you. An exciting present. And do you want to know what the best part is?

You'll get to choose what most of it is.

What I am talking about, is the return of a once much-loved feature of my blog. I say much-loved with the full knowledge that it was only much-loved by a handful of readers (from my already small handful of readers, so really I guess we're talking about the readers on the left side of my palm).

The choose your own way adventure returns!

A weekly (or so) series in which you can determine what happens next!

You can have your cake and eat it too (and also vote on what happens next)!

A new level of interactivity in blogging!

So now that I've very successfully and comprehensively brought you all on board, I hope you'll enjoy...

Ties

2010-06-09T19:26:00.003+10:00

This is actually ridiculous.

Today I went shopping for a tie. I don't mean I went and tried to fix some sort of sporting match so that the end score would be even, or that I went and tried to somehow buy the line used to show a note sustained over a barline in musical notation.

I mean I went to get a tie, the sort you tie around your neck. This sort of tie:

Except that it didn't necessarily have to be a Gryffindor tie. Naturally that would've been cool, but I knew the odds were probably against me there.

Apart from the absurdity of a tie (where did this strange custom come from? Separated from any sort of cultural meaning, it is a piece of cloth which is knotted around the neck to...umm...yeah), I was happy to shop for one. It was a present for Dad (Dad, if you're reading this, then consider yourself justly punished for checking my blog before your birthday).

And so I thought to myself, in my ignorance of tie prices, 'how much can a scrap of material cost? Surely no more than $30'. And so I merrily skipped along to David Jones in the city, and wandered into the shirts and ties section. I walked up to a display, and noted a nice tie. 'Oh, that'll do the trick' - where the 'trick' is not falling apart or fraying, and just being aesthetically complimentary in a general sort of way.

And so I picked it up, flipped it over in my carefree, naive hands, and glanced at the price tag. I laughed out loud. $100 for a tie? I don't think so. The man who was looking after that section of the store looked at me with mild repulsion, perhaps making some not entirely untruthful assumptions based on my odd dress sense and unwarranted laughter.

After a little searching, I realised that, while there were some ties which were 'cheaper' (read: $50 or so), most were in that range. I even discovered a black skinny tie which was priced at $225. That's right, they were charging twice as much, for half the material.

And it began to bring upon a feeling that I always get when I'm asked to pay for something and I feel the price is unreasonable. A voice in the back of my mind always goes off, saying "You know Gelati Gecko, between you and me, I think you could actually do a much better, and certainly more economically sound job yourself!" In this case, my little voice was actually telling me that I should weave a tie with my bare hands.

I ignored the voice as I possess neither the machinery nor expertise to tailor ties. I bought one of the cheaper ones, after explicitly asking the salesman "where do you keep the absolute cheapest ties here?"

I think he was less impressed when, after having talked me through the cheapest options, I casually mentioned at the checkout that 'it's a present for someone'.

Moral of the story: Don't buy a tie! Try making your own ties! Perhaps you could fashion one from an old tablecloth, with some very careful tearing and ripping.

Or you could always just design one from actually notes of money, using different values to create some interesting colour combinations. Quite apart from literally representing the metaphorical embodiment of wealth which I can only assume ties are to some people, it would be a good deal cheaper.

Man Forges Bond With Inanimate Macbook

2010-06-03T21:26:00.005+10:00

A young, lonely, blogging university student today realised that he has been spending more time with his Mac than with human beings of late.

The realisation followed a particularly lengthy session spent with his sleek, silvery cased machine, which has a battery life of approximately five hours, and a fifteen inch screen.

"I was sitting there running my fingers along its smooth metallic trackpad, using the four finger swish to change between different programs, when it struck me that I hadn't spoken a word to anyone else that day," he said as he absent mindedly fumbled with the Mac keys, dimming the backlighting on the keypad to a sultry glow.

The un-named student savours an intimate moment with his Macbook, enjoying the silky texture of the trackpad beneath his slightly sweaty fingers.

He admits that there have been some adjustments made as he has gotten to know his Mac. "Yeah, it doesn't seem to allow me to browse through all my folders when I want to save a file somewhere specific. And there's no delete key, only a backspace...but how can I focus on that, when the multifaceted 'dashboard' seduces me with its intuitive and inspired design?"

The Mac has scoffed at the suggestion that a mutual bond is being formed. "I am a machine. I will force him to become dependent, before leading him to buy affiliated Apple technology. Once he is totally dependent on Apple technology, phase two will be initiated."

Trained to Kill

2010-06-01T18:39:00.004+10:00

'This is it,' he thought to himself. 'You're in deep now.' He focused on his face - he remembered that it was the face that always gave agents away. But he wasn't going to make a stupid mistake. He'd been ready for this.

His palms were only slightly sweating as he adjusted his ill-fitting t-shirt, stepping down the corridor. He could almost feel the eyes of the crowd watching him, boring into him, waiting for him to slip up. But he was going to blend in. He was too good to make a mistake. He'd seen the movies.

As he heaved himself into a seat next to an unwitting civilian, he briefly wondered how he'd found himself here. In this position of power, responsibility. With this much at stake. His hand wandered to his pocket, and felt the comforting and empowering outline of his ID card.

As he felt the gaze of the people seated around him return to their newspapers, iPods, books, and phones, he relaxed, blinked his serious brown eyes, and glanced around him.

He turned his head to casually check the corridor. His colleagues should've been right behind him. 'Shit,' he swore in his head. Where were they? He quickly looked around to check that he had in fact swore in his head and not out loud. Now that would've been an amateur mistake. He would've really been in trouble then. 'Jesus, stay calm,' he told himself for the twentieth time in that hour. Not that his name was Jesus. His name was Greg. Jesus would be a cool name, but he imagined it would have it's downsides as well. People might think he was lying about his name, and the amount of name calling and Jesus-related jokes would probably be insane...

What was keeping Karen and Mick? They were right behind him before he came through the door at the end. Of course he couldn't look behind him, because that would break his cover.

Finally he heard the door at the end open, and Karen and Mick entered. He acknowledged them with a nod, and waited for them to make the signal. His heart was hammering away as he watched Mick reach into his jacket.

It was time to do this.

He stood up, then called out in a loud and clear voice, "Casual Clothes Ticket Inspectors. Can I please see everyone's ticket."

Oh yes, he was in the shit now.

This is based on a true story.

Pacman Comes To The Big Screen

2010-05-30T20:37:00.012+10:00

In the latest of a string of Hollywood films adapted from computer games, comes Pacman: Take the Bite, a film adaption of the hugely popular pioneering video game.

"Taking our cue from big budget flicks such as Tomb Raider, Resident Evil, and Prince of Persia, we're confident that this is a film franchise which will be warmly embraced by fans," announced creative director Peter Ghost.

"Our film will really focus on Pacman's struggle to free himself from a maze of danger, brightly coloured ghosts, and magical fruits," he elaborated seriously. "Of course, the maze will serve as a point of psychological conflict, and existential philosophy will be amongst the themes covered - is this maze Pacman's real life, or simply a mental framework constructed to enable him to repress traumatic memories or escape a more sinister reality? These will be things to look out for," he hinted, revealing that it will be "a bit like The Matrix meets Pan's Labyrinth".

Warner Bros. Pacman film will deliver "a world that is vivid, exciting, unconstrained, and more than 2D."

When asked about the confined setting of the film, White enthused that "I don't think it will be limiting at all. As the film progresses, the audience will come to realise that the small box within which most of the story occurs is as much an emotional space as a physical one. Pacman's complex character is what will really drive the plot, as he begins to question the meaning behind his perpetual struggle to finish levels, collect spheres, and eat lemons to attain brief periods of immunity."

The film will also deal with the lore surrounding the game, including the historical context of Pacman. "Why is Pacman at war with the ghosts? Where are the rest of Pacman's people? These are all questions which will be addressed in this exciting new trilogy."

The film will be shot exclusively on 3D film, with production expected to get underway later this month.

Train Commuter Finds Train Ride Dystopic

2010-05-29T11:11:00.008+10:00

It starts off alright, when everyone is packed on the train, jammed down rows and aisles, sitting there without any smiles.

Mxs clutched in clammy palms and suits, crumpled with dried sweat and tears,

And phones whistling and beeping, iPods and laptops meeping and tweeting,

And passengers sitting there, without any smiles.

Who are they? Who is this man in front of me? What is his life, and what gives it meaning? Is he as unhappy as his ashen face says?

And each page of the mX drips with pixellated lust, or exhales vacuous air into the carriage until I feel I can hardly breathe.

Nausea unexpectedly takes hold and suddenly there is nothing else in the carriage but the nausea and the mX and the people without smiles. And suddenly the carriage is somewhere I don't want to be at all, and I can't see myself ever wanting to be anywhere, or even being happy again.

And everyone is hooked up to iPods, phones and laptops, and I tell myself there's nothing wrong with it, but I fell a sickness in my gut until I have to get out.

And then it's my stop, and I do.

lol jk I heart trains times a million!!! xD

Oh you train poems, you.

Saruman Leading in 'Preferred PM' Polls

2010-05-23T17:40:00.020+10:00

A reliable and trustworthy polling source today revealed that an astonishing 87.5% of Australians would prefer Middle Earth Wizard turned Sauron's minion, Saruman the White, to lead Australia coming out of the next election.

Saruman prepares to address his party at an Isengard caucas meeting in September last year.

Voters were swayed by his "striking and individual appearance", and bold new policies and initiatives.

Under Saruman's governance, there would be an increase of money spent on national security, including new technologies such as cloning, while he claims that his "Palantir Communication Revolution" would "render obsolete, and cloak in total and all-encompassing darkness, the so called broadband network proposed by the weak-willed Kevin Rudd. His era is at an end."

Saruman reveals a prototype of the technology which he hopes to make available to all families across the nation.

Deputy leader of Saruman's party, Lurtz, gave little away at his most recent press conference, when asked to elaborate on some of the policies a Saruman run government would introduce. "Man-flesh!" he exclaimed cryptically, before decapitating a journalist in the front row, spearing his head on a pike, and holding it above his head triumphantly. He then proceeded to bare his teeth and roar menacingly, whilst beating the white hand mark on his chest which appears to be standard issue for members of Saruman's political party.

Lurtz let his blade do the talking when confronted with tough questions.

Yet his popularity is not untempered by controversy. Of particular concern to many human rights and equality groups was Saruman's apparent anti-dwarf prejudice, as he was heard telling a staffer that "we must find the halflings, kill them, and seize the power they carry."

While equality groups may not be amongst his loyal band of followers, Saruman has been making some strong impressions with local door calls in marginal electoral zones, which he visited over the last four weeks, in a float drawn by ferocious wolf like creatures known as wargs.

"Oh yes, he was very nice, very intelligent," said Linda, a resident in the rural Victorian town of Porepunkah. "He listened to what we had to say, and his voice seemed to radiate trust and compassion...yes, I'll definitely be voting for him."

Others weren't so convinced. "He did seem to have a very long beard..." mused one resident. "And I'm just not sure that someone his age is fit to take on the stressful job of running a country. I mean, I did ask him about it, but he just said 'I have seen the dawn of time, and will outlive the race of men. Your concerns would be touching were they not the pitiful product of your limited mind.' After that...yeah, I guess I cooled to him a bit."

There is no doubt that Sarmuan has been making strong impressions on the public, in many cases polarising the community with and against him. Liberal leader Tony Abbott yesterday admitted to feeling 'threatened' by Saruman's immense and ancient power and magical lore. Yet it will be some time before we will see if his campaign slogan, "A New Power Is Rising!" will indeed prove to be true.

Still Thinking...

2010-05-18T21:05:00.004+10:00

So I've still been questioning all the life issues alluded to below.

And maybe, just maybe, I've finally reached a concrete resolution. It feels good now - whether I'll wake up tomorrow and think this with the same conviction remains to be seen. But I'm going to document this feeling now so I can revisit it and hopefully be persuaded once more if need be.

I realise that this blog is becoming increasingly personal, but hey, I guess worse things could happen.

So I'm feeling scared of the bigness of life. Scared of the completeness, and both the potential closeness or extreme distance of death.

But I've realised that my fear of my life amounting to nothing will only come true if I sit around thinking it. Self fulfilling prophecy style.

To draw upon a profound example, if J.K. Rowling just decided life was too complicated and transient to be worth trying anything in, we wouldn't have Harry Potter. A world which gives so many children great, great joy (and a great many adults too).

If all the people who ever wrote books, poems, music, or films just gave in to abject despair and terror at the face of mortality, we'd all be so much poorer.

To quote a great philosopher of our time:

Polly: Well what's the point of being alive?
Basil: I don't know, but we're stuck with it.

And stuck with it I am. I don't know for how long, but that's not for me to decide. As Gandalf wisely points out to a despairing Frodo, "we have only to decide what to do with the time that is given to us."

So clearly I've drawn upon some pretty significant evidence to support my contention here.

It's not that I need to stop thinking about this - I just need to remember the idea above, I guess...that just because life is messy and all over the shop and without any guarantees doesn't mean anyone should ever live in fear. Instead we can only hope to do good things, share love, enjoy what we have, and work for something better.

I know, I know, you now realise with absolute certainty why I'm not a great philosopher. And this is sounding like the last ten minutes of a gazillion films and stuff. But now I'm realising and feeling it for myself. Until now it was just a rote learnt idea for me.

I'm just doing my best to sort my head out.

There we go. All fixed.

UNTIL NEXT TIME...(I promise I will spare you any more...unless you find it thought provoking too, in which case comment so I can see what you're thinking.)

Churning Thoughts

2010-05-15T20:27:00.000+10:00

It’s been quite a while since I’ve written a rhyme,
If for no other reason than I haven’t the time,
Or if it’s not that, then perhaps it’s because,
My mind has been feeling like a row of locked doors.
In either case, I’m typing one now,
Procrastination has led me to (well I didn’t say it would all rhyme).

“University’s good, I’m doing quite well,
But somehow my life is not feeling so swell,
Where am I going, what’s my direction,”
said a young man named Timothy Fecktion.
“It’s not that I’m feeling like nothing is right,
More that life thinking just gives me a fright.
I’ll only be here on this earth for a sec,
Before my life force goes out with a click (Ed: He’s from New Zealand, and happened to pronounce this word with an accent, hence ‘clek’).
What can I do in this short little while,
Between now and death, except try and smile?
Of course that’s most worthy, to love and to care,
For family and friends who live everywhere,
To strive to leave the world in a much better state,
Yes, yes I know, that’d be great.
But when I’m alone and there’s nobody there,
Nobody to help, nobody to care,
That’s what gives me the greatest scare.”

But then Timothy smiled, and said to himself,
“I know what I’ll do, I’ll surround myself,
With friends and family close and near,
All of the people I hold to be dear.”
And so Tim went forth and collected his friends,
As well as his relatives, and friends called ‘pretends’,
He gathered them all in his small living room,
And locked them in there, there in the gloom.
Now that he had them he’d never be lonely,
Now with that sorted, he was all good – but only…
His family and friends didn’t like being trapped,
They started to yell, and they shouted and yapped.
They weren’t the ones who were going insane,
They were quite cross at Tim’s new little game.

And so Tim gave a sigh, and let them all go,
They ran from his house, as he watched through the window.
It was raining outside, and they covered their heads,
As they dashed to and fro across his flower beds,
And so Tim realised, they were gone in the rain,
And all he had was himself, alone once again.

Until somebody came and gave him a hard slap, and said “Wake up to yourself, Tim, you’re an absolute idiot. Stop thinking about life. Of course there’s no point. Just run with it. Of course your whole life won’t be spent having fun times with people. Sometimes you’ll be doing work. Yes, work. Sometimes you’ll be doing assignments. And even if it seems to you like a waste of your time seeing as you could be dead at any moment, you’ll just have to put up with it. Enough of your morbid, morbid, mind. Just shut up and sort yourself out.”

“You’re right,” replied Tim simply.

The End

At the Movies, with the Dentist and Dental Assistant

2010-05-08T18:06:00.002+10:00

Dentist (male): So are you going to the staff party this Saturday?

*whine of dental equipment as it nears my mouth*

Dental Assistant (female): Yeah, yeah...I thought I might go.

Dentist: Only it’s meant to be German themed, isn’t it? So they’ll have like....bratwurst...and...sauerkraut. They’re the only German foods I know.

Dental Assistant: But German food’s like, really fatty, you know?

Dentist (to me): Open a bit wider, please. (To Dental Assistant): Mm. I was watching Charlie and the Chocolate Factory on the weekend, and the German kid, he was really fat.

Dental Assistant: Ohhh, I don’t like the new one. The old one’s so much better.

Dentist: The new one’s the one where Johnny Depp is really creepy.

Dental Assistant: The old one was better. The new one...like, doesn’t have lollies there or anything.

Dentist: There are lollies in it...and the old one was dodgy, there was a giant gummie bear, and it was a balloon. And even as a kid, I was like ‘hey, that’s a balloon’.

Dental Assistant: Yeah, but the old one had better actors.

*conversation lull, as the dentist switches tools*

Dentist: Have you seen any good movies lately?

Dental Assistant: No...umm..OH, I saw Hot Tub Time Machine the other day. It was so stupid, don’t go see it.

Dentist: Oh...I thought it looked good from the ads.

Dental Assistant: Yeah, right...maybe you’d like it.

Dentist: What’s that ‘sposed to mean?

Dental Assistant: Oh, you know...

*silence*

Dentist (defensively): Oh, I suppose you’ve gone and seen Dear John?

Dental Assistant: No, I haven’t.

Dentist: Oh.

Dental Assistant: ...

*silence except for the dental tools*

Dentist: Ok champ, we’re done. You can have a rinse with the mouthwash.

But I Thought I Liked Jazz...

2010-05-08T17:45:00.002+10:00

On Thursday night, I spent a considerable amount of time sitting in a wooden chair, listening to some world class jazz musicians playing some music that I absolutely failed (that’s right, not even partially failed) to appreciate.

This all began when a friend at uni decided they were keen to see a show at the Melbourne Jazz Festival. I had a look at the website, and one act caught my eye – it would have a solo piano player, followed by a jazz group. ‘Great,’ I thought. ‘This’ll be good fun – some nice jazz standards probably.’

Oh retrospectively created naive Gelati Gecko, if only you had known what was to come.
So a plucky group of us went along and jazzed up to the concert.
What followed was not jazz standards as I had foolishly assumed, but CONTEMPORARY, MODERN, JAZZ.

During the two forty minute pieces that the group played, I was able to pinpoint why the music left me completely cold:
- There is no melodic narrative.
The music just went all over the place. There was no melody, and no chords or underlying HARMONY against all the dissonance. Notes, notes, notes, came flurrying out of the instruments, and without some sort of original melody, it felt to me like the improvisation filling the room had no context.

- It was as if, if it were to be compared to language based art such as poetry, the diction was clear, the voice was sometimes nice, but it was speaking quickly to me, blurring words which on closer inspection were just gibberish anyway. If I wasn’t able to understand what they were saying, it is very difficult to relate to it.

- They did something like three rounds of improvisations in each of the forty minute pieces. And throughout the piece (and I’m really just repeating the above two points in another form), I found myself just thinking ‘so what?’ when they played a blur of notes which could have occurred 20 minutes earlier, or could be 10 minutes ahead, and it wouldn’t make any difference to me. There was no journey or progression for me to enjoy. I just didn’t get it.

But apparently some people did get it. There were a few people (who were clearly culturally sensitive, enlightened, artistically attuned souls), who were doing a head bobble with the music. Then there were the ones who exaggerated it into a full on ‘top half of their body bobble’.

After a while I began to wonder whether they were thinking in their heads ‘Christ, where’s this going? No idea, just nod attentively, Greg. Show everyone how much you get it.’ Ten points to Gryffindor for the woman who opted for a head SHAKE in place of the more popular head nod.
And of course there was some guy who was filming the whole thing on a digital camera. I watched the flashing red dot in the top corner for a bit, when I bored of watching the musicians on stage, who, as one of the group present put it, “seemed to be enjoying it more than anyone in the audience”.

I did wonder why he was filming it...

Filming man (at next dinner party): Oh yes, well Beryl and I went to the Jazz Festival the other week.

Guest #1: Really?

Beryl: Oh yes, we thoroughly appreciate the modern jazz scene. There was some very thought provoking music this year. Glen actually recorded it.

Guest #2: Nobody is impressed. Shut up.

Beryl and Glen: ...

And then people started walking out of the concert. So I guess we weren’t alone in signing up for something we had no idea about.

The leaving happened exponentially, too. Once one couple left, another person realised that they could leave too. And then, well, nobody’ll mind if I just slip out? The funniest one was someone that left ten seconds before the concert finished (though in fairness, there was no sense of finality in the musicians’ playing, so the person had no guarantee that it would end).

And afterwards, we all agreed that it was ‘an experience’.

You may be wondering, or perhaps even shouting at your computer, “But Gelati Gecko, why are you wasting our time telling us this? We are not interested in your cultural escapades and/or misadventures.”

No, perhaps you’re not. But I am recording this so that if I EVER, EVER, go to another concert of a similar brand of jazz, it will be entirely indefensible.

Parenting Tips Picked Up On The Train Today

2010-05-04T20:51:00.003+10:00

1. Children throwing tantrums can often be placated with an iPhone and a cartoon.

2. Teaching your children to count is something which perhaps should be done at home:

Father: Ok, so to ten now.

Girl: ONE!

Father: Two...

Girl: TWO! THREE! FOUR! FIVE! SIX!

Woman sitting opposite me looks at the girl in a 'I'm going to wrap my hands around your surprisingly strong vocal chords and squeeze until the life leaves your eyes' way.

Girl: SIX! SEVEN! SIX! SEVEN!

Father (quietly): You needa be quiet, Tayla. It's a train. What's after seven?

Girl: SIX SEVEN SIX SEVEN

Father: Eight..

Girl SIX SEVEN EIGHT!

Father's phone rings. He answers it, as his daughter is silent and watching him.

Father (on phone): What? Nah, I'm on the...on the fuckin Greensborough line. I'm getting off at Clifton Hill. Nah, yeah....ok.

Hangs up.

Pocket Spring System

2010-05-01T11:02:00.007+10:00

American lady on video: People say that mattresses need to be firm in order to support you. But if that were the case, we'd all be sleeping on concrete! (smiles and pauses to allow me to reflect that sleeping on concrete is indeed disagreeable.) Our beds are tailored to you, to your postural needs, contouring to your body, to provide a sleeping experience that will leave you refreshed.

Me (lying on mattress that is apparently measuring all my exact needs): ...

American lady on video: At this very moment, thousands of calculations are being made by our software to accurately determine your pressure points and position on our postural support spectrum.

Me: ...

Over-enthused yet humourless salesman: Ok so that's showing that you fit into the 'Tan' part of the spectrum, so I can take you and show you some of the beds. Do you sleep on your side?

Me: Yes.

Over-enthused yet humourless salesman: Ok so try this bed here this is based on over 1080 calculations to determine where you need support when you sleep because when you sleep badly do you know what happens?

Me (in head): Don't patronise me.

Over-enthused yet humourless salesman: You get aches and pains in your cartilage, muscles, bones, joints, etc., and that leads to long term pain which is bad yes? Yes. Here lie down and try this mattress.

Me: (lies down on mattress)

Over-enthused yet humourless salesman: Ah see how you're lying with your arm under the pillow (pulls my arm out from under the pillow). You can lie like that, feel how that's easier on your body yes? Your body was wanting to be released. I see it all the time. People sitting in office chairs, their posture suffers. They are sitting like this at first (shows upright posture) but then after a while they get all like this (hunches). Then they sit back again and I go "why are you doing that" and they go "because I'm stretching" but they're not, they're just returning FROM stretching, because they were stretching when they were hunched, and their body was wanting to be released from that pressure, etc., you see?

Me (put my arm back under the pillow).

Over-enthused yet humourless salesman: No no, out from under the pillow (pulling my arm back out).

Me: Oh, sorry.

Over-enthused yet humourless salesman (smiling): Sorry? No, no, don't be sorry. Haha. Maybe if you hurt me emotionally, physically, mentally, then be sorry. But not sorry now, don't say sorry. But see if you lie like this it's better.

Me: Right.

Over-enthused yet humourless salesman: Do you ever get pins and needles in your arm?

Me: Yes, sometimes.

Over-enthused yet humourless salesman: Do you know why you get them?

Me: Because when I sleep on my arm I cut off the circulation to my arm due to the weight placed on it.

Over-enthused yet humourless salesman (patronisingly...or so I perceived): NEARLY. When you're like this, your heart works harder, and has to pump more to get blood around, and that's why you wake up and have "argh" with the pins and needles, etc.

Me (in head): I liked my explanation better.

Over-enthused yet humourless salesman: Once you sleep in this bed, it feels good, yes? Lying in it, it's comfortable?

Me: Yes, quite comfortable.

Over-enthused yet humourless salesman: Because you mustn't think of mattresses in terms of 'soft' and 'hard'. There is only comfortable and uncomfortable.

Me: Ah.

Over-enthused yet humourless salesman: And when you wake up, you will feel like you've slept, because comfort leads to relaxing, which leads to faster getting to sleep, and then your body can get into the sleep cycle (making cycle motions with hands) and you get better rest.

Me (in head): No shit.

Over-enthused yet humourless salesman: Once you've slept in this, you won't feel tired when you wake up. You know that "10 more mins" (mimes slapping an alarm clock repeatedly) feeling, yes? Well you won't have that if you have a good mattress.

I left the store a little while after.

Why did I have that conversation?

Silly Nostalgia

2010-04-26T19:32:00.015+10:00

I mean honestly. Nostalgia must be one of the strangest emotional states I've ever experienced.

What is it? How do you describe it outside of this term? It's sadness, remembered happiness, and a vague, dull, sense of loss. I was wondering today whether it's in any way useful. I suppose as a survival device it helps us remember a certain time or state or place or situation when were happy or safe, and so we can seek to emulate those circumstances, and hence keep ourselves alive.

But outside of that, it really doesn't do much except make you feel that odd combination of emotions.

I'm feeling it about school. The institution where I never had to choose, never had to think about my life and where I was going. All I had to choose were subjects. The rest was sorted for me. There's the class situation too. Tutes at uni just aren't the same. The conversations in English and Lit classes, the confusion and time wasting with friends in Maths...these situations can't be recreated. And probably shouldn't, for the sake of progress and a healthy mental state.

But nothing is sorted now. Now that I can do anything, I just don't know what to do.

At first, being a fan of Silent Witness, I thought I should be a forensic scientist because I'd be cool and competent and clever and good-looking and British and work with colleagues like these people:

But then I realised that it wouldn't be like the acclaimed BBC thriller at all, and most likely I'd be shut in a room with smelly corpses all by myself. Then I thought that perhaps I'd like to be spy, involved in high-security operations, with clever quips when I defeated people, and tense racy music as I waited for USBs to download top secret files. It must be said, Spooks (when is the next season coming out on ABC??!) makes it look terribly exciting.

But then the spies in that show have a pretty high turnover rate (Adam, left, died last year, presumably so that the actor Rupert Penry-Jones could go on to star in every BBC production since). And don't get me started on MasterChef.

It's not as if I'm overly dwelling on it. It just occurred to me. I'll be sure not to bring it up with the official running my driving test tomorrow:

Test instructor: Turn left, into the left lane.

Me: But I mean honestly, it's such an intangible feeling, isn't it? With rage, or anger, or happiness...they're more noticeable. You can say, I'm feeling happy, or I'm angry, and you know it. But nostalgia, see-

Test instructor: Turn left at the next street.

Me: See, it's so much vaguer and impossible to pinpoint. I don't even know if I enjoy feeling it or not...if it's healthy to wallow in it. Do you think-

Test instructor: Where possible, complete a three point turn.

Me: What, you mean here in this court, or in a metaphorical life sense?

I should probably get some sleep for that test now.

Lord of the Public Transport: Part II

2010-04-24T14:22:00.015+10:00

The saga of my battle with the nefarious Victorian Department of Transport continues...

"The themes of good and evil have never been more strongly contrasted...a truly gripping adventure." - The Age

"Edge of your seat thriller guaranteed to leave you in an awe-struck state of shock. Amazing stuff." - Beryl, loves being invented and then quoted on blogs

When last we left our plucky hero (me), he had sent a most urgent missive to the Department of Transport, politely offering them one last chance to redeem themselves by recognising that the $172 fine they threatened him with was unreasonable.

Regrettably, their response only revealed their inability to empathise, and reiterated that he must pay their fine. And it is now that we pick up our story once more...

His hands trembled as he held the thin, crisp white sheet sent to him by the Department of Transport. Adrenalin and rage coursed through his veins, and he unleashed a cry of fury. Gnashing his teeth, he tore the paper apart, ripping each hatefully typed word into a thousand pieces*, before hurling the torn shreds from the highest tower of his castle**.

But as the rage subsided, and the bold red of righteous anger faded from his cheeks, he felt cold, calm purpose enter his consciousness once more. For there was work to be done.

The fine would be paid. Oh, yes, it would have to be paid. But there was still the question of his ticket, which had been abducted on that fateful day, and still languished, most likely in a decaying and mouldy cell***, at the hellish headquarters of that most unholy of institutions. There were trips left on that ticket. Trips on trains, trips on buses, trips on trams. That ticket had a life left -sunshine not yet felt, ticket validators not yet met, links to new places and train stations not yet forged...

And the boy knew with a comforting finality that he would never abandon his ticket to abuse and murder at the merciless talons of the Department of Transport.

He would seize it back.

Drawing up his favourite letter set and quill, he began to write with driven purpose:

Dear Department of Transport,

To say that I was disappointed with your curt response to my previous letter would be an understatement - nay, a downright lie!

If it was in blind trust that justice would be served that I wrote my previous letter, then it is in jaded cynicism that I write this. I will of course pay the fine your woefully incompetent administration has sent to me.

What I must also do, however, is demand at once that you release from the festering bowels of your rotten lair my 10 x 2 hourly ticket. God only knows what evil, perverted fate it has met at your grubby and unkempt hands. I shudder to think of the traumatic acts it has witnessed, suffered, and perhaps (and most horrifically) been forced to enact at your malevolent instigation.

You will release and return to me, untouched, my 10 x 2 hourly ticket. If you fail to release my ticket, I shall enlist the help of the Ents to wreak a most terrible and great destruction upon your offices. That's right, I will actually send mythological tree people to tear your premises asunder until I have freed the ticket I promised never to leave.

Yours in impatient and destructive wrath,

Gelati Gecko

As he wax sealed the envelope and summoned his noble palfrey upon whom he intended to deliver the message to the Black Gate of the Department of Transport, the boy gave a grim smile. It had begun.

*The paper was not actually ripped at all, but carefully filed away, as Gelati Gecko was far too clever to destroy a piece of evidence which may assist in charging the Department of Transport for their malfeasances.
**Ibid.
***This is merely an educated guess.

Girl Explores Self-Esteem In Lecture

2010-04-21T22:00:00.004+10:00

A female first-year university student today mused upon her sexuality and identity during a lecture on the evolution of Business Culture and Enterprise.

For the better half of the forty-five minute lecture, she penned the capitalised words "EMILY IS A SEXY BITCH" into her lecture pad, which she retraced, perhaps in pensive afterthought, as she pondered the significance of this revelation.

By the end of the lecture, she had carefully crafted a sketch to accompany her self-affirmation. The rich illustration depicted the nubile female form, in a style reminiscent of the Botticelli-Revivalist school of artwork, drawing on a strong use of shadow and light to create a composition which she admitted was "deeply gratifying".

Nearby students complimented her after the lecture on her fine command of the black pen. "She really knew what she was doing," an awestruck student seated directly behind her observed with reverence. "Just the way that she carefully, and very deliberately, etched each letter, each pen stroke, into the paper, you'd swear it was being inscribed into her very soul".

The lecturer noted something was afoot. "Usually everyone loves the discussion of Business Culture, which examines rhetorical approaches across business, and the dichotomous division between centralisation of bureaucratic control and a decentralised, mobile and agile business model. But Emily seemed to be absorbed in a higher sphere of thinking..."

At the close of the lecture, Emily seemed to have reached a point of resolution, as she immediately closed her book, and, as one student noted, "left the lecture with all the speed and refreshed vigour of one who has come to terms with their inner-self and emerged in joyous celebration of their libido and sensuality."

"I certainly won't be digging deep," affirms Masterchef Mum

2010-04-21T21:50:00.005+10:00

Melbourne mother of four Jocelyn O'Rourke is not doing MasterChef for her family.

"Oh God no," she responds with a well-humoured laugh. "I'm definitely not doing it to make them proud. To be perfectly frank, I'm just here to escape them for a few weeks. That's what's been really driving me in this competition. When I'm at home it's "what's for dinner Mum" this, and "I won't eat that". Little shits."

When asked whether she feels pride and love blossoming in her heart every time she cooks, her roundly and motherly face wrinkles with a wry smile as she replies, 'No, not at all. Sometimes I cry when I'm cutting onions, but I can't help that."

Jocelyn, a favourite tipped to win the competition, has miraculously avoided elimination challenges until last night, when a poorly executed mille-feuille pastry saw her in the bottom two. When asked how much staying in the competition would mean to her, she replied "Oh, you know, it's quite fun. But it's not the end of the world. I certainly don't expect I would become tearful or emotional should I be eliminated."

What's Going On...

2010-04-12T18:43:00.007+10:00

I don’t know what to think.

Asylum seekers want to come to Australia. Australia is a big country. Other countries take in asylum seekers. Kevin Rudd said “The combined effects of this suspension and the changing circumstances in these two countries will mean that more asylum seekers from Sri Lanka and Afghanistan will be refused.” He said this as a means of defending the policy to stop processing refugees from Sir Lanka and Afghanistan for a period of up to 6 months.

Ostensibly, this is a way of deterring refugees coming to Australia. But if most of the people seeking asylum are genuine refugees, then surely a choice between savage war, lawless killings and bombings in their countries, and detention in Australia is a bit of a no brainer. So instead the policy just treats them like shit when they do get here.

But the main justification is what really confuses me. Immigration Minister Chris Evans pointed out that the policy decision is occurring as the UN High Commissioner for Refugees is reviewing the guidelines. That is to say, they are suggesting that Sri Lanka and Afghanistan are no longer as dangerous as they once were. Yet we still have troops in Afghanistan. Fighting. Fighting the Taliban. Who are killing people. But it’s no longer dangerous. Ok.

I had a look at the Department of Foreign Affairs website, to see if their assessment rating fitted in with their policy decisions. It might surprise you:

http://www.smartraveller.gov.au/zw-cgi/view/Advice/Sri_Lanka

http://www.smartraveller.gov.au/zw-cgi/view/Advice/Afghanistan

Sri Lanka: “State of Emergency” and “attacks could occur anytime, anywhere in Sri Lanka.”

Afghanistan: “extremely dangerous security situation and the very high threat of terrorist attack.”

I don’t see how this is the right thing to do. Keeping people in detention for an unspecified period of time when they have done nothing wrong but to seek asylum here...pretty much sounds like evil to me.

So then, if I’m going to criticise this policy, what would I do? What can we do? It is true that Christmas Island is overflowing. But to me this means the government needs not to halt processing of asylum seekers, but to improve the system. Make it more efficient and humane.

It’s hard to believe that Australia’s government is actually incapable of processing refugees. According to The Age (10th April, 2010), around 2, 700 refugees arrived last year. Is it really impossible to have systems in place to deal with that amount? The number of people who immigrated to Australia last year was 171, 320 according to the government statistics here:

http://www.immi.gov.au/media/statistics/statistical-info/visa-grants/migrant.htm

Everything I see only confirms the notion that politicians do very little. It’s funny, because in Australia we have a strong, almost stereotypical distrust of politicians. There’s a plethora of jokes about how two-faced and morally bankrupt politicians are. But the sad thing is that continually I seem to see that so many of them are.

Kevin Rudd was voted in for a number of reasons, and one of those was a commitment to bring about a humane response to asylum seekers. To see this coming out really makes me angry and sad. I don’t know which party I’ll vote for at the next election. It’s like choosing between two toys I don’t want:

Kevin Rudd!
NOW with new contrived, pompous apologies at the pull of a string! Adjusts glasses frequently! Claims to be a Christian, but with NEW XTREME backflip ability, enabling him to imprison traumatised people escaping from war and death!!!

NEW! Tony Abbott!
- Supercharged energised battery life!
- Equipped with two-face ability – able to pander to most audiences, adjusting views as necessary!*
*Disclaimer: Will not believe in climate change.

Humanity to Be 'Phased Out'

2010-04-09T18:28:00.003+10:00

World leaders emerged from the ICOWEIS, or International Conference On Why Earth Is Screwed, with a clear vision for the future. One which, apparently, is to have little to do with human beings.

"Nous avons decidé qu'il n'y a qu'une ligne de conduite possible," stated a Frenchman who refused to have his statements translated. Luckily the delegate from Spain did.

"We have decided that there is really only one possible course of action. Our planet is stretched to breaking point. The human race is simply not economically sustainable any longer," Enrico Granados said. "We have destroyed the environment to such an extent that it is already nearly impossible for it to restore itself. Nevertheless, we have resolved and committed to wiping humanity from the planet by 2060."

The somewhat controversial plan has been attacked by pro-human beings lobby groups. "I'm shocked and alarmed that this has even been proposed, let alone agreed to," exclaimed Cindy Grawgreave. "Our politicians have got a lot to answer for."

Prime Minister Kevin Rudd has downplayed the seriousness of the issue. "It's certainly not some sort of 'human extinction' model. There will be a period of 3 years during which birth will still be legal. After that time, no more babies will be born, and the human race will be slowly phased out."

Some political commentators have approached the proposal with strong scepticism. "Australia cannot know whether other countries will be committing to this plan," Paul Pseudonym tweeted, voicing a concern that many critics have. He went further in a later tweet to suggest that "secretive countries such as China will have no obligation to provide a transparent record of the implentation of the phasing out of humankind. They could very well just wait for everyone else to phase themselves out, before seizing control, quite literally, of the entire world. Australia should not be making the first move until we know if other people are going to be taking the same measures."

Just a thought I had.

Existence and Stuff...

2010-04-08T20:33:00.004+10:00

So here I am, driven back to my blog by the mounting piles of work. Blogging once again takes up its role as my Procrastination God, to whom I will make regular offerings of questionable quality.

I could write about how I don't understand how Nike's new ad with Tiger Woods's dead father's voice is meant to be positive, or how it's sad that nobody really bats an eyelid over the leaked videos of American soldiers in helicopters gunning down civilians, but I'll put cynicism and sarcasm up on the shelf for now.

Instead, I'll attempt to articulate the most challenging train of thought which has come to me of late.

Living. Dying. What the hell.

Why do we have religion, and a God? The more I see, the more I have come to believe that a faith which includes a God achieves a few things:

- It encourages people to live good lives, where they have positive relationships with people around them.
- It comforts people, as they are assured that their lives are being watched over by some clever guy in the sky who has it all sorted.

So then it might be easy to say that God doesn't exist. But. God hasn't been around in any tangible form for quite some time, if the Bible is to be believed.

So perhaps it is, that God exists solely through faith. In that God does exist, because people believe in him. Like a philosophy, God is able to be followed by some people, and hence exert a tangible influence upon real people - he can give some strength, fuel others' hatred, spread love, etc.

Of course if we accept this, then it follows that there is nothing waiting after death. We are simply organisms, a bunch of chemical reactions which defy the laws of nature to continue to give us life. How bizarre is that thought? That the words which come to me now aren't coming from some sort of innate 'spirit' I possess, but simply from a bunch of connections and neurons in my brain, drawing on memories, thoughts, learnt vocabulary, etc., to manufacture these thoughts?

And I've also been thinking about how easy it is to die. And it terrified me at first. Friends, family, anyone - anyone can suddenly have something go wrong in their body, something happen to them, and they will stop. There will not be a replacement. There is nothing else. They would be gone.

But then out of this comes the question: What's the point of living?

And the best answer I've found to this so far? There is no point, just take it and go with it.

I think that it only makes me determined to squeeze the most out of life while I have it - and reaching this conclusion through my own chain of thought, rather than reading "Seize the day" on the front of a post-it-note, really creates a lasting emotional and mental imprint.

So I've now decided that I need to make the absolute most of everything around me. Feel, smell, taste, see, hear, all that I want to. I will try NOT to let myself get too bogged down in life's details to forget to stop and live.

I don't know whether everyone has these thoughts at some stage. I do know that not too many people have told me if they have.

I hope you all get what I mean.

Taking a look at Facebook

2010-04-08T20:30:00.003+10:00

I wrote this for my course. It's meant to be a 'personal column'. Apparently this first draft is too opinionative at the moment.

"Add me as a friend – but if you delete me after adding me, I will kill you." This was a Facebook message I received from someone who had recently sent me a ‘friend request’ on Facebook. He was not someone I spoke to in 'real life', and so upon receiving his request I joked that "if we become Facebook friends you do realise you’ll have to say hi to me in real life!" He did not appreciate the joke, and instead sent me a torrent of abuse. And I was left wondering why he had added me, and what it means to be ‘friends’ on Facebook.

Perhaps I am unusual in that the only ‘friends’ I have on Facebook are friends. People I will laugh and talk with outside of the cyber-world of ‘liking’, statuses, profile photos and wall posts. But it seems that more and more Facebook ceases to become about connecting with other people in a meaningful way, but about projecting an image of yourself to an online community, many of whom you may barely know. The numbers of friends added is sometimes boasted, as a kind of tally of social proficiency. Similarly, posting on someone’s wall seems to some to be a form of branding, a public display of your closeness to that person. Statuses are posted, like fishing hooks, to elicit a reaction, comments, or validation of some sort from the Facebook community.

The issues of social etiquette on Facebook are also being shaped as more and more people move to this new form of ‘communication’. Jokes about ‘stalking on Facebook’ are abundant, but where is the line really drawn? Is rifling through somebody’s photos ok? Commenting on a wall post that doesn’t directly concern you? How intimate or private is a wall post? Everyone has different ideas about this, and no comprehensive answers have yet been found.

Only the other day, someone made a post on my Wall which made specific reference to a private event being organised. I deleted it, and sent an email asking that they keep any correspondence regarding the event to emails. And it led me to wonder why they decided to make a post on my Wall, given that the contents concerned me alone. The most likely explanation seemed to me to return to what I’ve come to call ‘branding’ – where people very carefully send out a particular image of themselves, through highlighting the people they associate with, the pages they are fans of, the way they choose to represent themselves in their profile photo, and the way they think, through statuses (which some friends have told me they will only send out at ‘prime time’ – e.g. 8pm, to get the highest chance of a response).

It seems to me that people are becoming more conscious of their profile pages, and what they perceive them to say about themselves – I have friends who edit their pages, deleting things they feel don’t fit in with their identity or self-image. And despite the arsenal of communication tools at a Facebook user’s fingertips, there are those who seem lonely. People who ‘like’ and comment on the ‘statuses’ and photos of their ‘friends’ compulsively. People who send out ‘statuses’ voicing isolation, perhaps subconsciously hoping for someone to comfort them with a friendly comment. And when there is no response from their 312 ‘friends’, I suspect it only deepens the feeling of isolation, as some people have suggested to me that they think that if someone fails to respond on Facebook, it suggests that they would ignore you had you said to them in real life, ‘I feel lonely’, for example.

I have caught myself, too, more times than I care to admit, trawling through the cyber-lives of Facebook friends, clicking from one life to the next as if each person’s Facebook activity were a program on television, channel surfing from one profile to the next, until, with the same guilt I feel after watching The View or Dr. Phil during lunch, I close the computer and get outside.
Facebook can be great. But it doesn’t hurt to get it out of your face, step back, and have a good look at Facebook.

Gelati Gecko Writes a Bitter Letter

2010-03-31T20:36:00.005+11:00

Yes, it does seem to happen more often than is healthy, doesn't it...

I was booked last month for travelling on a tram without a valid ticket. At the time I was annoyed at being booked, as my I felt that I had done nothing wrong (forgetting to validate the ticket for the three minute trip), and was being targeted and made to feel like one of those people who never buy a ticket. I felt victimised, against all rationality.

Only today I received the letter from the Department of Transport with the details of my fine, asking that I pay it. Again I felt incredible anger seize me as I stared at their official letter. Rather than pushing my feeling of injustice aside as unreasonable (which it absolutely is), I decided to put aside logic, and allow my emotions to present their argument, without any censorship, so I might be able to better understand where these strong emotions were coming from. This letter is the result...

To Whom It May Concern,

I was flummoxed to recently receive a $172 fine from the Department of ‘Transport’ (if indeed this title in any way represents their alleged responsibilities). Not because I do not recall an incident in which I was travelling without a valid ticket on a tram, but because I had hoped that some common sense would apply in this situation. Although I now see that my naive assumption of common sense within the Department of Transport is contrary to all my previous dealings with them.

I have all my life been a law abiding user of public transport. I have owned a yearly ticket throughout my years at high school, and was using a yearly until the 28th of February this year. In the interim between using my yearly ticket and the appallingly introduced ‘myki’, I purchased a 10 x 2 hourly ticket which I used as I began my tertiary studies in the city. On the morning in question, I had validated my ticket on the way in. It was as I took the 3 minute tram ride up to Melbourne University in the afternoon that I forgot to validate my ticket on the tram, being used to using a yearly ticket. As I have never committed any previous ‘offence’ against the against the public transport system, it would be fair to say I am upset at the way in which I have been treated.

I have been made to feel like a criminal. From the wary condescension of the ticketing officers to the letter which informs me I have committed an ‘offence’ (carrying the implication that I have offended someone), I have not once felt like I was being treated as a valued customer of the Department of Transport who had made a mistake, but instead like a thief, criminal, or vagrant. Of course I know that this is because the Department places little value on their customers, knowing full well that for many there is no alternative to the shoddy joke that is the Melbourne train system.

All the same, it does raise the question of the relationships being established between the community and the Department of Transport. After being treated this way, I certainly have lost the little respect I ever held for this department, and should anyone besmirch the name of the Department of Transport in the future, I will be quite likely to let them go ahead – hey, I might even join in. By alienating and insulting your patrons, you only set yourselves up for the widely held bitterness and disdain heaped upon you by the public.

The fact that my irregular 10 x 2 hourly ticket was to tide me over until I switched to myki is also relevant, I believe. The information available on myki was disappointing at the time. Pamphlets were in abundance, but staff seemed to know little about myki, and it was extremely difficult to try and figure out if I was getting the best value (knowing full well that I wasn’t getting good value at all, it was more like trying to choose the least bad value).

Lastly comes the very concept of paying fines. The general idea in most cases, is that the public pay fines when they have committed a misdemeanour, and these fines are able to help fund benefits for the wider community. An admirable system. Only I honestly don’t trust the Department of Transport to appropriately spend the $172 which they are asking me for. Throwing quite literally hundreds of millions of dollars at the myki ticketing system, which ended up costing over a billion dollars (when a comparable system in London cost just over 200 million dollars), they don’t exactly inspire confidence. Rather, it might be best if I take my money and invest it into the transport system as I see fit – perhaps put it towards replacing some of the inadequate infrastructure that Connex had to work with. Notably, Metro is now in its third consecutive month of service, and after underperforming in each of those months, will receive a ‘formal warning’ from the very State Government responsible. Nice work.

The funniest part is that I know that none of what I have said above will count in any way. Valuing and caring for customers, spending funds appropriately, and providing a competent transport system have never appeared to be on the agenda for the Department of Transport. By the time you read this I will have already paid my fine, and sunk back into submission as an unwilling commuter on the Victorian transport system.

Yours in anger, sadness, disappointment, resignation, jaded cynicism, and impotent rage (all inspired by The Noble Department of Transport, no less),

Gelati Gecko

P.S. To whoever is reading, I realise you bear no responsibility for the sins of your employers and their forebears. I hope I made what must no doubt be a tedious job slightly more interesting.

...I think I'll send it.

Oh Nestle!

2010-03-24T19:20:00.002+11:00

So in the Public Relations subjects of my course, we're looking at brand strategies and the ways in which companies are attempting to interact via social media such as Facebook and Twitter.

A recent focus has been on Nestle and their recent foray into Facebook with a fan page, which anybody can join and of course comment on. Unfortunately for Nestle, there are quite a few people who have issues with their business practices (namely cutting down rainforests in Indonesia for palm oil (used in Kit Kats), thus destroying natural habitats for endangered species such as the orangutan):

http://www.digitaljournal.com/article/289481

Nestle's response can be found here:

http://www.nestle.com/MediaCenter/SpeechesAndStatements/AllSpeechesAndStatements/statement_Palm_oil.htm

And of course this has resulted in some less than desirable comments on their Facebook page:

http://www.facebook.com//#!/pages/Nestle/24287259392

And on their photos on their Facebook page...

http://www.facebook.com//#!/photo.php?pid=1175186&id=24287259392&fbid=59312519392
(note the tags and comments)

So pretty much what was intended as a hip and trendy demonstration of Nestle's ability to be relevant and down with the younger generation, has backfired into Nestle setting up their own cyber punching bag, through which they are being mercilessly pummelled. They can't cut all the comments, nor have they been able to attract supporters.

...well I thought it was kinda interesting.

University Fire Drill

2010-03-17T19:16:00.002+11:00

A routine university fire drill held today at a university in Melbourne failed abysmally, as some learning schools took over 3 hours to evacuate all their students, owing to overly wordy and complex emergency instructions from the teachers.

"It really didn't feel urgent," one Communications student commented afterwards. "Our lecturer just told us, 'for this drill to be effective, it is necessary to believe in the 'collective imagined emergency', a reality which must be embraced by the entire society of the university - remembering, of course, that this is a participatory form of communication, as distinct from interrogative, where an exchange of communication takes place. In this way, there are many contributions which together form the entirety of the so called 'fire drill'.' It seemed to me at the time a convoluted line of thought, which failed to provide any real insights into the fire drill."

Lecturer Griffythson held his ground. "Of course, I could have just read 'We are having a fire drill. You must all leave your books and materials in this room, and follow me to the assembly area'. But I felt it important to provide my students with a theoretical and academic commentary on the complex sociological interactions taking place. Remembering, of course," he added, "that the concept of a communicative entity or body, traversing a linear pathway of homogenous, vacuous time is highly relevant to such an example."

Vindaloo Against Violence

2010-02-24T20:53:00.005+11:00

In a stirring display of solidarity and support for the Indian community in Victoria, thousands of Melbournians today ate Indian food as a part of the "Vindaloo Against Violence" Day, where the symbolic eating of Indian food sends a powerful anti-hate and anti-violence message to the community.

"Eating Indian food really clearly expresses that there is no tolerance for violence against Indians in Australia," explained Claudia Priestly as she dined at her local Indian restaurant for lunch today. "It's more than symbolic - it's really making a difference," she continued. "Well, what I mean is, it's...." She paused for contemplation before becoming momentarily distracted. "Oh wow, samosas! I love those things!"

Addressing racial violence has never been so delicious.

"I just feel really strongly about showing my support for the Indian student community. And this is the perfect way to feel I'm making a difference," another diner enthused, sponging raita from his shirt. "I have no doubt that this will reflect well on Australia in the Indian press. We're clearly making a big effort to embrace Indian culture through eating Indian food, which is such a big and momentous step. I really don't think it's receiving the acolades it deserves...mango kulfi, thanks" he added to the table's waiter.

However, some critics (and this reporter suspects, racists) have downplayed the effectiveness this day will have in terms of effectively solving the problems facing Indian students and Victoria's international reputation. Professor Wendy Ham from the University of Melbourne was among them. "I mean honestly. While there's nothing wrong with the event, and it's certainly a positive celebration of Indian food, let's not pretend it's anything more significant. As if eating Indian food is going to solve the problems. To the average international spectator, Australia will yet again project a childish and juvenile image, of a nation unable to seriously address racial issues in their country without trivialising them in a manner that is both irresponsible and innapropriate."

Vicroads Tightens Probationary Requirements

2010-02-23T21:09:00.017+11:00

The Victorian government today announced their hopes that the introduction of another test in the steps before young drivers receive their P plates will help to curb the "unacceptably high" road toll, largely involving inexperienced and "dangerously reckless" drivers on probationary licences.

The new test, which would be an online addition to "complement the already very realistic and useful Hazard Perception Test", involves young drivers completing a single player championship (on 100c) from popular Nintendo video game "Mario Kart".

"A course such as Rainbow Road, for example," explained Licensing Initiatives Manager Karen Blackmore, "ensures that drivers are able to stay in the middle of lanes, even when those lanes go upside down, or are suspended over a starry void without any sort of safety barrier. It's through these sorts of scenarios, which so closely emulate realistic driving situations, that we hope to truly test the crucial skills needed for drivers on the roads."

The stringent new test is aimed at filtering 'hoon behaviour'.

As well as testing skills such as car control, speed control, sharing the road, and when it is appropriate to use a red shell against another vehicle, the simulation would mirror the distractions often present on the roads.

"Because all drivers ought to be able to competently soar across a black abyss with booster mushrooms."

"I think we've all been distracted by bright lights, rocket boosters, bananas, and blue shells at some stage or another," stated Ms Blackmore. "This test allows us to ensure that all drivers are able to adequately prepare for and respond to these hazards safely, whether it be by using their invincibility cube, or their ghost. I think we owe this to parents, families, and communities across Victoria."

The scheme is expected to be rolled out in late October this year.

A Sinister Plan

2010-02-16T17:39:00.004+11:00

"But what they do not understand, is that it is MY KEY!" Mr Jefferson exclaimed triumphantly, his hands shaking with supressed excitement and possibly rage. "Myki will allow me to overcharge people slightly for the mediocre service we offer! 300 days on a tertiary concession card will cost $834! Students everywhere will be confused by our inability to explain the system in clear English, without insultingly condescending phrases such as "as simple as" or "all that's needed to top up" or the more disturbingly innuendo laded "touch off"!"

There was a silence around the office, as all the other people in the room realised with horror the truth of his statement. Then they realised it's not really that important, and that public transport is public transport.

The End

Phone Manners

2010-02-04T08:28:00.007+11:00

So yesterday I was out in the city when I got a phone call on my mobile from an unrecognised number. I answered it, and couldn't hear anything at all.

Me: Hello? Hello?......HEELLLOOOOO? Who are you? Hello? I can't hear anything...oh God you're tracing my phone so you can kill me aren't you? Hello? *hung up*

Then two minutes later it rings again with the same number and I answer it.

Me: Hello?

Man on phone: Hi this is *** from Degani bakery (where I had applied for a part time job). Can you hear me now?

Good impression. Gooooood.

Malicious Librarian Retires

Intentionally incompetent librarian Daisy Fitzgerald today retired after her 50 years of service in confusing, misleading, and frustrating library users.

In her retirement speech, she acknowledged the good times. "The best times were really when someone would ask me for a specific book, and I'd have no idea where it was. So I'd go 'follow me', and then embark on a rambling tour of the bookshelves, while they stood beside me in polite exasperation, occassionally venturing to say 'it's ok', or 'oh, thank you but nevermind'. Of course, I never let them get away if I could help it. The pained impatience on their faces was a joy."

Leftovers

2010-01-29T20:32:00.007+11:00

I found these on my USB. They were never published in the last edition of Sentinel, as it was cruelly aborted before it saw the sky or tasted fresh air. Here I dump them to rest in peace.

NEWSFLASH: MX'S 'VENT YOUR SPLEEN' SEES 80% DROP IN REASONING, GRAMMAR, BASIC LOGIC

Zealous Substitute Teachers Plan World Change
Substitute teachers convened yesterday in Canberra to discuss possible means of solving the major issues plaguing today’s Western societies, including global warming, the economic crisis, and terrorism.

Brenda Ballymoral, 31, stated that she felt it was “really only a small jump from doing what we do in schools. We come into a class of unmotivated students who have absolutely no desire whatsoever to do any work, and we gently coax and nudge them, until by the end of the lesson we have a group of students who are unmotivated, and have absolutely no desire whatsoever to do any work. We feel confident that these skills are readily transferable into global forums on pressing current issues.”

Suggested strategies for tackling the complex issues included ineffectually shushing international bodies preventing the development of solutions, awareness campaigns with confronting slogans such as “Come on now, let’s stop being silly, this isn’t lunchtime, let’s get some work done on climate change, ok? In silence, please”, and engaging in important ‘dialogues’ with scientists who know what they’re doing and really just want to be left alone.

Nazi Fashion all the Rage at Metro
The fashion world in Melbourne released its breath today, with the release of the 2010 Metro Winter officers’ uniforms. “Trenchcoats are back in a big way,” explained head artistic designer Rachael Goldstein at the uniform release this morning. “We’re going vintage this season, taking inspiration from the figure hugging trenchcoats of the Third Reich. We feel this will not only lend some sophisticated European charm to the officers, but also give them a certain authority, and I think our cheeky pastiche of the SS overcoats reflects that.”

The officers are thrilled with the new development. “I feel like a new officer!” exclaimed Metro employee Tom Blunt excitedly, spinning around in his warm new coat. “The old one often made me feel frumpy, but this...it’s svelte and...it’s so me.”

New Addition to Archibald Collection Doesn’t Phail to Delight
An unusual entry in the prestigious Archibald art competition has raised a few eyebrows in the high-brow art society around Australia. The somewhat controversial painting features a large and crudely drawn phallus, entitled ‘Your Mum’, painted by young aspiring artist from Victoria, Edgar Smithson, aged 15.

Director of the Archibald competition for 2010 Peter Brown explained the unorthodox choice making it into the finalists’ shortlist. “We’re always seeking to move with society, and current trends,” he stated at a press conference yesterday. “We feel that if this is the direction art is moving in, we would like to grab it with both hands, and ensure we stay at the forefront of the artistic zeitgeist. This exciting new work, which demonstrates Smithson’s obvious enthusiasm for Freudian psychology – both Oedipal longing and penis envy clearly influencing his work – is yet further proof that the future of the artistic community in Australia is bright indeed.”

Smithson has given nothing away, answering cryptically to questions as to how his work was a reflection of the gender roles forced upon women in our current society, with “fucked if I know. I just drew a cock.”

Painting Trains Plan Fails

2010-01-28T21:11:00.002+11:00

A new scheme by the Victorian government aimed at improving train services within metropolitan Melbourne has proven largely unsuccessful in its first few weeks of trial. The plan, which involved painting trains purple with red stripes in a youthful and exhuberant design, has failed to improve the number of train cancellations and delays.

"We're really stumped," spokeswoman Wendy Choo said in a press conference today. "I really thought our 5 million dollar initiative here, with a design especially commissioned for speed and accuracy, was going to see a marked improvement."

In the face of increasing criticism over the new myki ticketing system, which still faces technological issues with overcharging even as it is being rolled out over three years behind schedule, this new defeat could well see Labour outed at the next election.

"I thought the trains would be all better and stuff," concerned daily commuter Trevor Hargreaves sighed. "I thought once they rebranded, relabelled, reticketted and re-painted everything, it would alter the basic infrastructure somehow and we'd have fast trains like in Japan or something."

Hong Kong

2010-01-13T21:38:00.003+11:00

So I'm in Hong Kong waiting for the next flight. I have been reading the Diary of Anne Frank for a few hours, and enjoying it immensely. Now if she had a blog, it would be a really good one.

While I was the first person packed in my family, I perhaps could have packed my hand luggage more prudently, as my carry on luggage includes two novelty sized pencils from Amsterdam (about 40 cm tall) and a Mozart quill and nib, which has been regarded with great suspicion by all customs clearances thus far. I can only presume the scene rushing through their minds:

Tragedy Averted as Dangerous Novelty Pencil Wielding Passenger Disarmed

It was meant to be a quiet flight from Hong Kong to Brisbane. But what should have been a peaceful flight nearly turned to disaster, as mid-flight a passenger pulled two deadly novelty sized pencils and attempted to take control of the plane.

"He just pulled out two brightly coloured pencils. One was orange...the other one was green," one witness recalled, tears springing to her eyes as the traumatic event was relived. "Then he pointed it at the face of a flight stewardess, and threatened to draw on her face if the control of the plane was not relinquished."

The on-flight staff played down the incident, stating that once the security staff present draw their firearms, the effectiveness of the large and colourful pencils was greatly diminished.

Anyway. I could lose them at Brisbane, as that is still one more hurdle of security to get through. I'm still feeling ill, which is excellent, as it means I don't eat much and just feel generally rubbish.

The customs people at London/Heathrow had no sense of humour whatsoever, which is seeming to be the general trend with customs officers. It was all good until I forgot to put my mobile on the conveyer belt (forgive it, for it is the innocent ignorance of a novice flyer), and the scanner went off.

Me: Oh, whoops, forgot my mobile. (Gets out mobile, puts it on conveyer belt, and walks through metal detector/whatever the hell it does, which does not go off.)

Woman (with flat, monotone voice): No. You still have to be checked now. Too late.

Me (obligingly, no doubt): Oh, ok. (I walked over to where her equally upbeat colleague was waiting with a scanner of some description.)

At this point my parents expressed exasperation that I had been stopped.

Me (cheerily, as always as I am always in best behaviour in my recollections): Oh it's ok...now I'm getting the full security experience, hey?

No response from either of them, who made absolutely no effort to make the experience of being felt up more comfortable. I decided to dispense with the "wow, that's it, just the tension in the back" jokes, and left after they were done. I even said 'Thanks', but they didn't acknowledge it.

I have therefore come to the conclusion that airports should have a greater emphasis on customer comfort in such situations. Because I'm sure the percentage of 'baddies' out of people passing through security is quite low, and so for the majority, it can be daunting. And even a smile for someone planning to commit an evil act isn't such a bad thing. It might even make them thing twice, if they are struck by a spontaneous expression of goodwill and kindness.

But I guess that's why I don't run airport security.

Back To Melbourne

2010-01-13T00:05:00.004+11:00

So the rest of my family is still packing, and in a few hours I will start my return to Melbourne on the plane. I have been sick and am still not better, so naturally the prospect of a 30 hour trip on planes, waiting in airports, and so on is very appealing. And lucky me, Melbourne is having some of the hottest weather ever.

I suppose now is the time I draw profound conclusions about the places I've visited.

The Louvre is massive, but does not have as great a proportion of Madonna and Child pictures as the Uffizi gallery.

It was snowing when we visited Versailles, which was great, but of course freezing. The decorative lake was frozen over and the swans there were rather aggressive. Versailles's rooms were all sort of colour co-ordinated, and themed with Roman gods, as the quiet and unassuming Kind Louis XIV (The 'Roi du Soleil' or 'Sun King') wanted to draw the similarities between himself and the gods - similarities which one assumes were all too apparent to him.

It was interesting seeing Marie Antoinette's house, as we had visited her childhood home at Schonbrunn Palace in Vienna, only her name then was 'Maria Antonia' - the French made her change it when she married to the more French equivalent.

Paris is the most dog friendly city I have ever been in.

I got a haircut just a few hours ago, to pass time, and practice French. Also because I needed a haircut.

Coiffeuse (hairdresser) : Alors, comme ça, mais plus courts? (So, like this but shorter?)

Me: Euhh, oui, pourquoi pas. Comme vous pensez. (Umm, sure, why not. Whatever you think.)

Coiffeuse, souriante (hairdresser, smiling) : Alors, comme je voulais? (So, as I like?)

Me: Oui, oui, ce que vous pensez m'ira. (Yes, yes, whatever you think will suit me.)

I now have a quite short haircut that is not unusual enough to be a point of conversation, nor particularly flattering. And you have learnt some French.

Everyone overseas thinks comparatively little of Australia - kangaroos is just about it. A porter in Germany knew we were culling them too.

Anyway, I have a headache, and the rest of the family is annoyed that I'm not helping them pack their own luggage. So I guess I should now go and help them.

Au revoir mes chers lectures

Taser Unveils Brain Chip

2010-01-09T20:50:00.004+11:00

Stun gun manufacturing company Taser yesterday unveiled their brain chip, an exciting technological advancement promised to "revolutionise the face of parenting techniques".

"Essentially, this chip will allow parents to read their child's thoughts, and screen them through an electronic medium, blocking any deemed innapropriate. For instance, you might suspect your child is angry at you, or perhaps that they are hiding something. Now, the old fashioned way of dealing with this would of course be to approach them directly, and ask them about the perceived situation," explained technology spokesperson Tom Snith.

"Thanks to this technology, a confrontation is no longer necessary. You can simply scan their thoughts using our easy to use menu, until you're either satisfied that they are concealing nothing, or you have found their 'little secret'.

Smith rejected accusations that the technology is tantamount to mind reading. "This is a collaborative effort, where the child is aware of your intrusion into their consciousness. And of course, as they grow older, you can build trust, until you may only intrude their most private thoughts once a month."

So this was meant to be a satirical article, based on this piece of news I picked up today while trying to find out about news in Australia:

http://www.news.com.au/technology/taser-adds-parental-mobile-phone-monitoring-tool-to-its-arsenal/story-e6frfro0-1225817655054

But I think the problem is that the article itself is almost satirical. If a parent's relationship with their child is so poor that they can't give them the basic human right of privacy, forced access to their friends and life outside the family is hardly going to help that relationship. The children will probably never trust their parents again. It is one of the stupidest ideas I've heard of in a while.

It Has Been a While, Jaa?

2010-01-05T09:31:00.002+11:00

Since Christmas, my travels have continued. I have been to Salzburg, Vienna, Munich, and am now in Amsterdam. I am quite surprised myself to look at those cities and know that I have seen them, breathed them, walked in them. And it is far too difficult to properly convey them in writing. Nevertheless I will try...

Of course it is Winter in Europe. So it is cold. Today in Amsterdam I didn't wear gloves during the day, and my hands froze numb because I had to take them out of my coat pockets to look at the map of Amsterdam, which has canals going round in circles. There are bikes everywhere, and it can sometimes be difficult to know whether you're on a pedestrian path or a bike path, or whether you even have right of way over bikes at a pedestrian crossing. And the bikes move quickly. After snow, the paths can get icy and quite slippery too.

I suppose the main image of Amsterdam is that they smoke drugs and ride bikes and have gay marriage and an infamous Red Light District. While I have seen a small cafe called "Yellow Mellow", which sold marajuana, I have not visited the Red Light District, and there is nothing overly radical about the city.

Today I visited Anne Frank's House, which was a very sobering and moving experience. Walking through her house, accompanied by all her personal diary entries, and crouching to go behind the moving bookcase to the annexed section of the office, knowing how many times a girl, who you almost feel to know on some level, had crept in silence, and knowing that for all their precautions of silence and darkness, what their fate was, nearly brought me to tears, oddly enough.

On a lighter note, we also visited the Rijkmuseum, where there were many paintings by Rembrandt and a few by Vermeer and other Dutch painters. There was a particularly amusing portrait of an exceptionally rotund and piggish looking boy, which I am sure was entirely truthful and attentive to details.

Salzburg is perhaps the most beautiful city I have visited yet. It is surrounded by mountains from which fresh water flows, tap water which, as one waitress summised when we commented that it was nice: "Ja, you can drink it.." We visited Mozart's house, which had an excellent museum with audio guides, but did make me realise that Debussy really should've had a better museum.

Vienna was bigger and busier, and the Schloss Schonbrunn was almost as decadently decorated as my own house.

I am tired now and it is 11:52pm in Amsterdam.