Because Your Not Worth It. Thank Goodness!

Well, it had to happen. During the night there was a destabilisation of the space-time continuum, obviously centred on my apartment, and I've lost several weeks. It is simply the only explanation. Oh yeah! Well, how do you explain this then.....

Awaking this morning, I pulled on my best pair of tatty jeans and matching tatty t-shirt (I'm a tatty style-meister) and stepped out of the front door for one of my rambles of a Sydney location. Soon discovering myself barefoot, I re-entered my home to complete the ensemble with necessary footwear. Todays excursion would be to Bondi Junction shopping centre, to see the "beautiful" people.

Bondi Junction shopping centre is famous for ear candling and the largest collection of diet books on sale anywhere in the world. It is a place to see and be circumvented, especially if you do not reside in Sydney's eastern suburbs. From the moment I stepped inside the complex, the complete lack of gel in my hair and the wearing of shoes that cost less than dollars 200 singled me out. Even though it is still October there are a smattering of chri$tma$ decorations appearing in the hallways SO either the explanation in my first paragraph holds true or these are decorations they haven't yet taken down from last chri$tma$. I'm right aren't I ?

The "beautiful" people who swarm through Bondi Junction shopping centre are generally dressed like shit, but a much classier kind of shit as in expensive shit. At least compared to me. Which doesn't really say much. The fashion of the season with the ladies is a pair of thongs (expensive ofcourse) with matching coloured toenail polish (which is more expensive than the thongs). The fashion for the gentlemen is a thong wearing girlfriend with coloured toenail polish that matches his car. Trinny and Susannah are full of shit, and it appears that when it comes to todays fashion I may just be the next guru.

The best seller for the day were small pots containing a turds worth of face mud for the quite reasonable price of too much. Applied liberally to the face of an evening, it is designed to open the skins pores to release the stress of credit card debt and enrich with essential something or others that I can't remember so may not be all that essential. The scientific evidence clearly indicated that nine out of ten Hollywood celebrities hadn't said the product was total rubbish and this seemed to be good enough as a flurry of desperates rushed the counter waving their visa's, mastercards, and american express's in the air in a desperate attempt to get one of the last few thousand pots of the product still left for sale. Indeed I could hear many bitchy comments and see the occasional catfight in the queue with the requisite tears. But finally, the gentleman all got their pots of goop and were busy calling their girlfriends on their mobiles as they were off doing something else, probably buying thongs.

While riding on the train back to civilisation, I reflected on my visit to see the "beautiful" people. I've always believed that it is important to travel to new places and experience different cultures and I felt richer for the experience. I was dissappointed to not see Lara Bongle (hey, when she learns how to spell her name, so will I) at Bondi Junction shopping centre, but frankly if you want to see celebrities it's still the place to go. All the "beautiful" people seem to look like someone famous..... sometimes disturbingly so.

How Do We Sleep While Our Books Are Burning?

This sort of thing worries me. See the article here.

What to do? Well, perhaps an answer lies in history. On July 1st, 1681, a Roman Catholic Archbishop by the name of Oliver Plunkett became a martyr after he was hanged, drawn, and quartered at Tyburn by the English. See here for the details of why, when, how etc. Anyway, the preserved head of the unfortunate chap can be viewed at St. Peter's Church in Drogheda, Ireland.

Enough of the history lesson, I suggest that the ashes from the book burning should be gathered, preserved for viewing at a library and canonized in an act of defiance against this abomination of the glory of the written word.

Just a thought.

I May Be Wrong, I Hope

The issue of illegal immigration, and the arrival (or attempted arrival) of boat people has confronted us again, surprisingly with little indication of a pending federal election to really take advantage of it. Ofcourse, this hasn't stopped the media from wringing every last drop of emotional fluid from the rag, as they work around the clock to sell their stories using our ignorance, racism, fear, and yes perhaps even our stupidity as fuel.

But alas, I don't wish to blog today about the media's role in all this, or even to put forward an argument as to whether the boat people should be welcomed to our shores or not. There are many blogs and opinions that can cover this, and I would even recommend reading most of them in order to develop a broad and well informed understanding of the situation.

This leads neatly to where I wish today's blog to go. Recently, a discussion regarding the boat people erupted in my office with several people donating their views. Now, the old rule was that the issues of sex, politics and religion were not desirable subjects for debate in the professional workspace as it had the potential to cause friction between workmates. I reject this, not because I'm particularly interested in the details, but because it exposes the real people behind the people you work with. It was quite amazing to hear the opinions put forward, the surprising conclusions and arguments with some being well thought out and balanced while others were simply moronic.

There seems to be a push these days that we are supposed to have unwavering confidence in ourselves. That we should stand firm with our beliefs and never let anyone sway them. Total bullshit! As imperfect people living in an imperfect world to not have doubts about our beliefs and ourselves is ignorance at its most appalling. A great many problems are caused by people who think their opinion is to be valued above all others, and those who cannot even for a moment consider the possibility that alternative points of view hold some sort of worth are to be mistrusted. Without dwelling excessively on the debate about the boat people, surely it is possible that there are valid arguments to welcome them as well as deny them access to Australia. I gained a greater appreciation for the intelligence of my coworkers who were able to argue both sides of the debate and come to the conclusion that there is no definitive answer to the problem.

Perhaps I will never be part of the confident and sophisticated people of the world. But frankly, I think I would rather spend my time with those who are a little unsure of themselves as they at least seem to have their eyes open.

The Friday Nights Green Tights

Alexander the younger, son of the King of Diampora was considered a strange boy. He was fond of riding his stallion, Popsicle, while wearing a large embroidered hat, a scarlet tunic, and bright green tights. The people considered him a dandy and laughed heartily at his unusual dress and demeanour. To any other royal of the time it would be shameful to receive such disrespect from their people, but Alexander revelled in the attention and felt if he was providing such good entertainment then what's the harm.

Whilst riding though the woods not hunting guinea fowl, Alexander heard a gentle sobbing wafting through the dense tree's. Curious, he decided to seek out the source of the sad sound but soon came across a problem. You see, the kingdom of Diampora bordered that of Aropmaid and a bitter fued between the two had existed for many years. The reasons for the divide were lost to legend, however the stories told over roaring Diampora hearths were that a representative of the King of Aropmaid had failed to remove the bunch of grapes that all men wore in their hair during diplomatic meetings when the, "Remove your bunch of grapes, NOW!" song was sung to end the meeting. Oh yes, it was a slap in the face and forgiveness was impossible.

Where was I? Oh yes, Alexander was a rather naive person and so continued to venture across the border as the sound of the weeping grew louder. Eventually, he discovered the tree's thinning out and found himself staring at a huge castle, like with turrets and stuff. A rather tall tower was at one corner of the castle, and standing at a high window was the most beautiful lady Alexander had ever seen. She had long black hair that glistened like pitch and a nose the same shape as a turnip. Peculiar emotions stirred in Alexander and for the first time in his life he regretted wearing bright green tights as much as your author has regretted writing himself into a difficult corner with a high risk of being accused of plagiarism or perversion.

"Erm, hello there, are you allright?", called out Alexander waving a purple satin hanky in the air.
"WTF!", exclaimed the beautiful lady seeing our bizarrely dressed hero, with particular concern for his tights.
"I heard you crying and thought you may be in distress. Are you?"
"Well", she said, "I've been shut in this tower by my parents who have some sort of irrational fear over my chastity. Frankly, I've had better days don't you know".
"I shall save you, dear lady, fear not!"

With this, Alexander began attempting to climb the side of the tower, which was a bloody stupid thing to do as the tower was 50 feet high and if he had walked around the side he would have found the unlocked entrance. Eventually, he found the entrance, climbed the stairs, rescued the lady, they got married, united the kingdoms, and had many children.

The End.

Post note: Some may consider the ending of this story to be rather hurried and lacking in detail, at least compared with the earlier passages. If so, I agree with you entirely but when the authors toast has just popped up his train of thought tends to wander.

Laugh, Fall Off Couch, Repeat

Documentary films have been a favourite of mine for a while now. I like to think it is because they open up interesting subjects for study and interpretation that spark my intellect to question and develop in order to become a more rounded and interesting person. Ofcourse, the truth is more that I'm a lazy git who can't be arsed to check these things out personally and it's just so much easier to watch others do it instead. Yet another of my masks falls to the floor!

Anyhoo, this leads me unsurprisingly into this trifling ramble about the latest documentary I've just seen entitled, "A Complete History of My Sexual Failures" by independant filmmaker Chris Waitt.

The film concerns itself with the shambles of a love life so far conducted by Waitt, as he attempts to find the reasons for his failure to lead a fruitful relationship with several past girlfriends. Waitt himself presents as an eerily accurate facsimile of Kurt Cobain albeit a little more hairy and a little less deceased, but just barely. He is the type of fellow who feels that most problems in life should be dealt with by sitting under a warm blanket on the lounge with a cup of tea and a confused look. You couldn't help but want him as a mate, but you wouldn't feel confident lending him anything you valued.

Besides Waitt and his procession of ex-girlfriends who deserve every sympathy, the other star of the film is his Mum who stands steadfast by her wayward son while providing "motherly" advice that is frankly priceless. A fine example of how sometimes no matter how old and seemingly wise a son thinks he is, his Mum still is able to see through his shit and tell him so. Whilst most of the other ladies in the film have taken the sensible option of persuing their lives without Waitt's involvement, his Mum makes every effort to assist with the successful completion of his film even though she doesn't much approve of it.

What is obvious is that the film is not a pure documentary. Many of the scenes would have been impossible to capture without pre-planning and scene setting and so it does divert here and there into the genre of mocumentary. This however doesn't detract from the fact that it is "fall off the couch, tears down the face in fits of hilarity" level funny. Laugh? Yep, much!

A word of warning, there is frontal nudity of male genitalia. I decided not to include it as the graphic pic included with this blog entry because that would be kind of weird. Huh? Well, I think it would be so there.

From Paper to Pixels

Having recently become an owner of an iPod touch in a futile attempt to satiate my geek thing (I have been found drooling and incomprehensible in the Apple store in George Street once or twice before), I have happily wasted many an hour prodding and cooing said device. I won't go into the details of what the little package of joy can and can't do as I fear that would probably lull any readers of this blog into a coma induced state they may very well never recover from. Instead, there is something else worth a bit of a think about.

When one takes stock of their lives, I think it's a good idea to consider the gifts they have received. No, I'm not talking about the birthday and Christmas gifts, I'm talking about things that were received that have been and will be invaluable every day of one's life. For me one gift stands out, that of being taught to read and write. Ofcourse, I didn't properly recognise it at the time but the years of work that were invested in me simply so I could take part in written communication are now cherished, and I couldn't imagine life without it. I think of the books I've read, the instructions I've been given, the letters I've received (joyous and with the occasional heartbreak), and the crap I've written and it's clear to me that written words are like a symphony. Beautiful, ugly, uplifting, depressing, hopeful and discouraging.

Where's all this going? Well, one function of my little iPod is that of an e-book reader. This is not groundbreaking as there are many such devices (including the computer I write this on) that can handle such a task. I find it interesting though the possibility of now moving away from paper books to an electronic version. The experiment has already been proven a success with downloaded music, and although CD sales will probably continue, there is no doubt that the market segment is getting smaller as people discover the convenience. I think there is a strong possibility that e-books are going to gradually eat into the paperbook market if they haven't already taken a big chomp.

Is this a cause for concern? No. Regardless of the medium with which we receive our written words they are still as powerful. The importance is in what they mean to us, what emotions they stir and our personal interpretations of them not of what the paper feels like between our fingers or the aesthetics of the cover art. In fact, it represents an opportunity for us to access more great literature than any of us will ever be able to read in a lifetime, a sea of idea's and understandings we can plunge into just about whenever we like.

There is just one other thing. What about those folk who collect books that they read once and then "display" in cabinets in their homes to impress visitors? You don't quite get the same effect with a shiny iPod on the shelf, and a shelf full of shiny iPods is very expensive and kind of ridiculous. The extinction of snobbery in literature may be a pleasant fringe benefit!