Lazy Luddite Log

Sindacollo

2012-01-22T12:30:00.007+11:00

I was stumped for a short story concept till I decided to tell the tale of an inanimate object in my possession and of its most recent experience...

I have many powers and serve many purposes but it takes a human to discover and awaken those in me. As such I am nothing if I am alone but once I am held and worn by a person I can be many wonderful things. Recently a new power was discovered for me and I am still abuzz with the thrill of it.

I had been taken to a picnic and lay inconspicuously by the purpose-made picnic blankets. I have been a picnic blanket many-a-time but most of those events involve adults only - this one also involved children of a very playful and imaginative age. Yes I grant you - the adults I interact with tend to be playful and imaginative too. Nonetheless it has been a while since a new power of mine was discovered and this one is a doozy!

In conjunction with a child wearing me I became a boulder! It was fantastic. We blended in well with the setting and fooled passers-by. However the children there could all still see us and soon each child wanted to take a turn using me to become a boulder. One of the adults expressed concern for my welfare but my owner dismissed such concern, knowing, as he does, that I am made of sturdy stuff and have passed many tests of endurance. I did, however, notice that he was monitoring my activity just in case my wild magic exceeded safe proportions, making intervention necessary.

I was made at a workshop along with others of my ilk a long time ago. I lose track of time, spending as much of it as I do in wardrobes, but I suspect that if I were human I would now be granted the vote. As it is, however, I am aware of the passing of time in the form of a shifting array of scents and forms. The coterie of humans that I meet has slowly changed over time.

I need humans to make me more than just a pile of cloth in a corner, and likewise I sometimes find it useful to work in conjunction with other objects to work my magic. With a few other items including a big stick (redefined as a "staff") I became one of the Istari - a wizard from Middle Earth and the character that had originally inspired my grey colouration. I have pockets which allow me to hold such things as sparklers and a small jar of glitter which helped me evoke the image of Gandalf The Grey at a masquerade ball.

At other times I have partnered with a toy light saber to help depict a Jedi. What fun light saber duels can be with all the swishing and swirling around and feeling the wind of our movements. The light saber told me that the joy for it, however, came from making hissing and crackling sounds, which I must admit is something beyond my ken.

And yet another time I worked with a card-paper model skull to become some sort of eight foot tall puppet death. At a party we scared some of the machismo from someone who was very much in need of having his mere mortality exposed to himself. You have to trust me, however, in saying that I am usually employed to enhance positive, rather than negative, experiences.

I have often been an extra blanket at sleep-overs and camps. I have been an instant tent in which between two and four friends can gather for some warmth. Some startling things have happened under me. If only humans knew just how much items of cloth notice and remember, they would be rather nonplussed.

There have been a few difficult experiences in all of this. On a walk once a part of me was ripped by thorns. Luckily I was mended. Mind you I do wish my owner would attach a proper clasp to me - this button and loop-of-string is hardly the most attractive. Yes I am a functional garment but I feel that some bling could give me a bit of a lift as I get older.

I hope for much more of this. I enjoy sleeping in wardrobes but I am only truly me once I am taken and worn and shared. Also if I can become a boulder what other powers lie in my future for others to find for me? Life is good for this grey cloak.

The word "sindacollo" is taken from the Elvish invented by J R R Tolkien and its definition is "grey cloak".

Cross-posted here.

Summer Holidays

2012-01-08T21:45:00.011+11:00

I spent a week between Boxing Day and the start of 2012 in tents with friends at a camping and caravan park in Stony Point. This is an annual practice (at different locales) that I have participated in a number of times now and it is more becoming a part of my life. The setting in 2010-2011 even inspired some short fiction.

I started in 2006-2007 by only visiting for an afternoon and then somehow staying till the next day. Bit-by-bit I have allocated more of my holiday time to the event. Eventually it just becomes difficult to depart once I am there. Some of what follows is descriptive of what we did and some is an exploration of why such vacations may be significant to humans.

The Setting

Stony Point is a very different location from a Balnarring Beach or a Rosebud. It is a natural and legal cul-de-sac wedged between mangroves and military land and accessed by just one road and the last train station on a line. It is dominated by fishing and this diminishes the attractiveness of the beach itself. However the caravan park as a temporary home and the setting overall is very nice and relaxing and has a convenient old milkbar.

For me as an avid walker this felt a bit limiting till I discovered that there was a kind of bush track parallel with the railway line and that I could wander some distance into the mangroves. There I discovered a spot to stand around Dawn that was so very tranquil and centring for me. Tiny waves coursing with sunlight would gently lap in over my feet and I looked and listened and smelt beyond my own person. Lovely. More lovely still however was our slowly growing tent village back at camp.

The Pasttimes

Friends and friends of friends gathering and having a lazy old time in tents and camping furniture - this was the default activity of the week. Chatting. Eating. Drinking. Reading. Sketching. For a few days the group did nothing much more than this. Eventually however we started to take drives to assorted activities in groups of a few to several.

Wandering in supermarkets in Hastings seemed to be a key activity and it is a strangely fun thing to do with friends. Possibly friends make anything worthwhile. More vital however was submersion in water which I did in three distinct ways. One was the Peninsula Hot Springs which are cleverly constructed in such a way that every element - wood... stone... water... is calculated to make one feel mellow. There are pools of varying temperature and even a grotto in which we enjoy finding the resonant frequency and humming. Another site of watery joy was an ocean beach past Flinders in which I went looking at underwater habitats (eschewing the snorkling attire I had been offered for my trusty goggles). And the best of all was Somers Beach.

Somers was a location I went to many times as a child during extended family gatherings in hired holiday houses. It is a lovely beach that is neither too wild nor too tame and perfect for group play. It also pinged a memory for me with startling precision. The path from the carpark to the beach was once a winding bit of sand and now it is nicely constructed steps. Nonetheless at a particular bend in the path I suddenly remembered that that was the spot on which I had once been bitten by a bull ant. Wow. Luckily that experience never quashed my fondness for ants.

Eternal Summer

Why do modern-day lovers of convenience and security deliberately give some of that away (temporarily) on a regular basis? I was pondering this in some moments in Stony Point and have a few notions. There is always the old "getting back to nature" explanation and that is part of it. I also feel however there is a more specific aspect of nature at work. As our group got bigger the vibe changed from small intimate gathering that could sit in one big tent to a larger but still familiar "community" that would play catch with the resident toddler of the group.

The desire I think we are satisfying in such voluntary shanty towns across the Mornington Peninsula is a primal preference for community. There was a camaraderie and a sense of interdependence. The norm was to serve others as much as oneself - to help and be helped. This was well illustrated by collaborative tent constructions that felt like barn-raisings.

A group is always composed of distinct persons however and so I will end with a few personal thanks for enhancing my experience at Stony Point: To Varia for some sketching tips... Nyssa & Gavin for keeping me in sweet sweet cider... Eleanor & Daniel for offering me gourmet home-cooked fare... Helen and Kat for shopping and philosophy... Belinda and Katrina for snorkling and a Southern Fiddler Ray... Stretch & Gaby for transport and Tintin... and Evil Sarah for facilitating the fun that we all then made for ourselves.

Cross-posted here.

Queen Sized

2011-12-22T23:42:00.008+11:00

My favourite band is Queen. These days that favour is a somewhat dormant one. I listen to a lot of different stuff and find most other things (whatever the age) fresher than Queen. This is hardly surprising given that I devoured the fifteen Queen studio albums in my young adulthood (including the posthumously produced Made In Heaven in 1995). Still my interest is regularly revived and recently a documentary on the ABC (These Are The Days Of Our Lives) has provoked a re-visiting of my collection.

I was always a dag and never had a favourite band like all the cool kids. Imagine then my excitement at discovering one round the age of 18. So exciting! I knew a number of Queen songs but had never known they were all by the same musicians – they were all so different. It is amusing to think that because now I can instantly detect the unique characteristics of Queen songs whatever genre they may be messing with in a particular song. The vocal of Freddie Mercury is (like all vocals) unique while the guitar resonance and playing of Brian May is incredibly distinctive. And they compliment one another – warm and round and ringing.

It was a blow to me back in 1991 to have discovered this band (at the time of its last album) to then have the vocalist die as a result of HIV. It was all over except I had two decades of back-catalogue to explore. And explore I did – all those layered guitar arrangements and vocal harmony. Also the wandering bass of John Deacon and the alternately skittering or smashing drums of Roger Taylor. Also the lush piano. Also the stamping and clapping. And then there were the themes of love and life and randomly getting employed to make scores for science fiction and fantasy films.

Naturally as a self-described “fan” I had to also consume band biographies. The story of some British youths who formed a band and went from on-campus gigs to stadium concerts was fun to follow. The process by which albums and songs are written was likewise interesting. The personal stuff however was the most fascinating and naturally if focuses most of Farrokh Bulsara (Freddie Mercury).

Somehow I had overlooked the ethnic Indian origin of Freddie. And apparently many others round the world overlooked his bisexuality despite his overtly camp stage persona. It is amazing how we can compartmentalize our perceptions of the world. I have even had conversations with Queen fans of the more bogan sort wanting to say nothing of the sexuality of its vocalist. And in some ways I do think it is fine to separate the art from the artist but I also think this was homophobia. Did they think they would get queer germs via the stereo?

Still in many other cases familiarity breeds respect and I think the fact this band of mixed sexuality got on with the job of producing music that inspired millions has done something to relax prejudices. It may be a pity that such inadvertent advocacy is needed. On the other hand everything that promotes a more accepting world is worthwhile.

I have moved on somewhat from my fanaticism partly because there is only so much life force one can suck from a finite back-catalogue. Queen is frequently bombastic while I have been drawn to gentler and more introspective stuff. Also Queen is polished while I have gotten into more gritty rootsy music. I suppose as life is lived one wishes music to reflect its many facets more accurately and one band can only ever do so much. Still Queen keeps the accolade of my favourite band and I have the t-shirt to prove it.

Cross-posted here.

Grooming

2011-12-14T21:41:00.005+11:00

Some months ago I lamented the lack of a particular job offer and then added a postscript to say that I had been offered another (temp) role. Well now I feel I can report on how that is progressing. This week we have had our contracts extended beyond the original January end-date till the end of May.

The Australian Bureau of Statistics (ABS) has taken on a lot of temp workers to process the information collected during the 2011 Census. The role has been more interesting than I had expected for a data-entry role. This is in part because we do more than just computer work. We also 'groom' forms for scanning and interpret forms as best we can - they even get us to draw family trees to ensure we have a full understanding of household relationships. More importantly however it is the way in which the working environment is structured that I have enjoyed.

One totally new thing for me is the practice they have of getting us to do stretches every hour and go away from our desks to get a drink and visit the loo and so forth. Nothing is too boring if in any given hour there is such a rest and I am lacking the odd twinges and aches I have had in other desk jobs. In this and other ways the ABS is an enlightened employer. They even offer a free confidential independent counselling service to workers and my curiosity and some personal concerns have driven me to make use of that.

The most important aspect of this experience is the human environment that the supervisors have fostered and the staff have run with. We are chatty and even playful at times. My workmates do things like draw faces on balloons and I never even set that trend. The group is diverse and yet there is an overall interest in the world that I have rarely encountered in a work environment. Even one of my younger workmates whom I had mentally categorized as shallow made passing reference the other day to Hunter S Thompson. I had better be more open-minded in future!

All this combines to be a job I am happy to go to every day - the most difficult part of the day is waking and a lot of that has to do with me having a full non-working life. So this extension is excellent and will allow me to have some stability and growing funds for a while. I will continue to be frugal but will also throw the spare cash at a few worthwhile but costly experiences such as live music and interstate travel. I am more into services than goods because ultimately I find it is experiences and recollections that enhance life. Mind you if I get some better clothes or the odd new (old) Transformer then that can happen too...

I feel more well-placed to go into a short Summer holiday feeling secure than I have for a while and the fact that I got this as much as a result of luck as by skill or effort is a bit sobering. Still for now I will relax and enjoy.

Cross-posted here.

The Deep Calm

2011-11-28T21:12:00.007+11:00

This is a short story I wrote last Summer for a specific purpose and a select audience. Now however I am putting it here for a wider circulation. It is nominally set in my Lands fantasy setting. The 'curds and whey' notion was devised for the story but now may as well form part the texture of my setting too.

Capella woke feeling utterly waterlogged. She wondered why, but then all her senses went hazy and dim, and she sank into memory.

* * * * *

Matriarch Alessandra had instructed Sister Capella in meditating on the deep calm that hid below every raging tempest. Kandoth the Master of Storms was but the child of Marumi the Lady of the Sea. While the younger god rampaged there was always the overwhelming stillness and closeness of the goddess Marumi. Focusing on that deep calm was a boon to everyone who venerated the Sea. Capella was one of the best novices Alessandra had met – she seemed to sink entirely into herself and return with a calm that filled the entire shrine.

* * * * *

Capella woke once more and this time tasted saltiness and smelt brine. She felt cold water pummelling her and rolling her body over a fine gritty surface. Just as she formed the image of a beach in her mind, she faded from consciousness once more.

* * * * *

Commander Marco looked critically at the new whey-druid assigned to his ship, The Viola, and wondered if she was right for the job. It was customary to take on such a crew member to make the crew feel safe during long voyages, as they would then have clergy to intercede for them if nature got too cantankerous. Marco, however, was also keen for anyone on board to contribute to the daily work of a cargo-vessel, and was concerned that Sister Capella was a bit too delicate for the job. She seemed willing to do whatever was necessary, however, so he would make the best use of her, and gave her over to Lieutenant Nadia to be guided round the Viola.

* * * * *

Capella woke a third time, and this time seemed to stay awake. She started to flex her aching muscles from toe to neck to see if everything still worked. Her whole body hurt. She knew now she had washed ashore and wondered why. Had the ship sunk? Or had she simply been swept overboard? Her mind was a mess of wind and waves and from it came the memory of a most trivial conversation with Nadia.

“Why do they call me a whey-druid Lieutenant?”

“Oh child, it is but an old joke, a way of separating those of your ilk who follow the sea goddess and those who follow the earth god. They are curds while you are whey. Get it?”

“But we are one and the same – one family just as Nature is one.”

“That may be, Sister, but you do each prefer one over the other I’ll wager.”

Capella had to admit to herself that Marumi had always mattered to her more than Garlomen, the Lord of the Land, and suppressed a pang of guilt at this realization.

Personal examinations aside, Capella had been washed ashore, so perhaps Marumi had passed her into the care of her spouse, Garlomen. But what had happened to the ship? She attempted to sit, looked around her, squinted in the sunshine and then, once more, lost consciousness.

* * * * *

Nadia cursed audibly as she held onto the wheel of The Viola. They were half-way from Port Grazia to their destination, Nartellfar, when a huge storm had arisen over night. Sails were rent, rigging snapped, sailors rushed hither and thither. The panic among the crew was as palpable as the salty spray that seemed to fill every pore.

The Lieutenant looked over to Capella, who was standing at the bow, summoning what she called “the deep calm” and hoping to save them all from drowning. Nadia added her own silent prayer to that of the whey-druid, even if she, like Commander Marco, wondered if gods and goddesses were simply a tale told to scare children. She put more trust in Marco, who right now was below deck directing the horrendous task of removing water from the ship, bucket by swollen bucket. Then she heard the most hideous cracking and looked round just in time to see the central mast falling.

* * * * *

Capella woke and wondered if she would stay awake for long. Possibly it was best just to lie here forever and fade away. But then she remembered Marco, Nadia and the crew, all working tirelessly to preserve life and limb, all sharing the same small world of timber and rope with her, all of whom mattered incredibly to her at this moment. Were they here with her? Capella started crawling, then walking slowly, then wandering around. Sand. Surf. Rolling hills. And all about her she saw boxes and barrels and loose bit of timber. And people. Some were lying on the sand. Some, like her, were moving. One was walking towards her – Nadia. As they got closer, Capella sank to her knees.

“Forgive me, Lieutenant, for I failed to save the ship.”

“Nonsense, child, some of us are alive, and that is never something the sea promises.”

Capella stared at the dishevelled yet hale Nadia, and wondered at her resilience in the face of this disaster. Tears began to well in her eyes, as salty as the ocean. Nadia continued in her strident tones.

“We have lost the Commander, but many yet live, and we have work to do, in caring for the injured and salvaging our cargo. Come!”

Capella nodded dumbly and started to follow Nadia, who called back as they walked.

“I know this crew, Sister, and I can tell you that having you there mattered, having you work with us every day, and having you call on your powers, however great or small they be, mattered. Hope makes a sailor fight all the more to stay alive. Now, I know you can tend to the sick and injured, so come along and let this day begin”.

Nadia felt the deep calm once more, far beyond her person yet with her at this moment. She put it to the back of her mind and set to work helping the crew to which she now belonged.

At the time of writing this water was ravaging parts of Australia and so it was depicted in a destructive way. However as I edit this for blogging it is a warm evening and I wish to be enveloped by water. I look forward to drawing on some of that calmness as we once more experience the Summer months.

Cross-posted here.

Reunification

2011-11-13T21:47:00.007+11:00

I keep forgetting to blog about my class reunion from this time last year. At the time it inspired me to do my autoblography but I never reported on my 'Class Of 90' reunion itself. What has reminded me to do so is that Noble Park Secondary College recently held its whole school Fiftieth Anniversary which I attended. So here I will relate both experiences while I can still remember them!

Class Reunion 2010

My school has never been the kind to facilitate reunions for its students. It may have never happened except for the existence of Facebook to allow assorted classmates to find one another. As soon as I received the invite I also received a flurry of 'friend' requests and then started seeing lots of profile pics. Stuff I had forgotten (or just neglected to remember) came back to me and I will admit I was somewhat scared of the prospect of attending.

Both my experiences of nerd status as an adolescent and the consumption of too many American teen movies in my life filled me with trepidation. Would I be judged by the standards of my society given how much I have diverged from white picket fence expectations? One friend told me to go because it may be better than I expected and that it was just a few hours of my life. So I did.

And it was much better than I expected. One thing I forgot was that by VCE we all got along pretty well and that last part of our lives together was the most relevant. Another was that two decades had passed and we had all had lives that (I am sure) were different from what we had imagined (if we had imagined anything at all). The night was tiring but that was because it was a whole lot of small talk. With a few exceptions most of us were now strangers. Still it was good to chat and consume finger foods and dance to 80s music.

A young friend of mine makes fun of my daggy dancing. What I discovered that night however was that I dance my age rather than daggy as such. For a moment on that dance floor I felt as if maybe I belonged among my old peers rather than among those I have chosen to fill my life with from uni and since. But this was a passing delusion - I do belong in my present life and feel more me than I ever have.

However it was worth attending the reunion and to be reminded that we all have diverse and challenging and inspiring human lives. It was a good night to party with the old gang at the Sandown Park Hotel. But now onto a much more recent event...

Fiftieth Anniversary 2011

In many ways I am more interested in history than genealogy. And so likewise at the fiftieth anniversary of Noble Park Secondary College (originally Noble Park High School) I was most fascinated by the tales of past students I had never met. We gathered in the school hall for speeches by one student from each decade.

The school started things in a very improvised way - classes were run from a handful of existing public venues in Noble Park while the school itself was constructed back in 1961. By the 70s it was thriving and schools seemed to be a much more integral part of culture back then. Major popular acts like Stevie Wright were booked to perform at school concerts for the restless teens of those days. Then we got into my era and it seemed to be characterized by pop star inspired clothes and television. Since my day the big things seem to have been coming to terms with the Internet and mobile phones. There is so much in every passing decade that nobody can ever do them justice. Still it was interesting.

And I loved the candour of some speeches. The 60s representative commented in her wry way that in her late teens she "left the school under a cloud" and as we sat there wondering what was coming she added that "I have a daughter who is almost as old as me". How we laughed. Current students (volunteers) were there to help run the event and I wonder what impression they formed of the whole event with mature adults making humorous references to teenaged sex and sole parenthood.

I sat with a few classmates and we chatted over the passage of our lives. My contribution to conversation was to ask "how have your 30s compared with your 20s?" One remarked that the 30s have been more fulfilling because of her forming a family. Another related how her 20s were a fantastic time that has seen been dampened by family commitments. It was a contrast and shows how we are all so very different and need to remember that as we make decisions and accept the consequences of them.

Following speeches and the playing of music by old school bands, we were guided round the grounds by current students, divided into our year levels, except I wandered off with some from a year younger than me due to some friendships I had made via things like Student Representative Council. We noticed both the overall sameness of the school but also key differences. Many many more computer rooms was the biggest change. And a shock came in the library in which we exclaimed "what have they done with all the books?"

There were books - a few shelves of them discreetly arrayed round the back of the library. Most space was taken with attractively arranged banks of computers and some comfy lounging areas. A time-capsule was opened and we saw our boring old uniform and a few school magazines I remember contributing to.

As all these strangers from five decades of successive adolescence milled round I got a sense of how very important our public schools are and how proper funding for quality teaching and resources helps to ensure a integrated and mature society. Schools get blamed for so many problems in society but I think that responsibility must be transferred back to the governments that neglect schools and the constituents who allow those governments to do so.

Cross-posted here.

History Project

2011-10-20T22:49:00.003+11:00

I enjoy writing the occasional bit of short fiction and have for ages. Most of them I 'publish' by blogging. Some however have been put in the publications of genre-specific groups such as the Fellowship Of Middle Earth (FOME) or the South Eastern Science Fiction Club. And them some have been written specifically for non-literary publications. This story was written with choristers in mind (as was this other story from a while ago). As well as making fun of a persistent choral cultural meme, I also play with the shortcomings of history as an academic discipline, all within a science fiction framework.

Jasmin finished off her clone-cell roll and switched her cerebral interface back to study mode. Jasmin was one of the few students at Luna Uni to have refused the convenient bio-mod which allowed humans to photosynthesize all nutrients. She was a history student and enjoyed old-fashioned things like food. As she lay in bed Jasmin reviewed the notes she had amassed for her reconstructive history project.

Jasmin silently thanked the Universe for the Solar Flares of the Second Century Pre-Contact. The electro-magnetic pulses they had showered upon Terra had destroyed huge swathes of the purely electronic records of that narrow-minded period and historians were still working over-time to produce the best speculative gap-fillers for all the history that had been lost. Extrapolating unknown from known history was what Jasmin did best and she loved it.

Imlorho logged in and started a mental conversation with her. Jasmin was fond of her alien-exchange student and project co-writer. Interaction with a totally non-human mind was always fascinating and in the case of Imlorho it was even better as 'he' was from the totally mechanical Centauri species. Jasmin was over her youthful xeno-crush on Imlorho now but they were still firm friends. Imlorho reported to Jasmin:

"I have retrieved data on a rare four-gender species as you requested."

"Fantastic Imlorho - give it to me."

Jasmin and Imlorho were examining an obscure Pre-Contact form of Terran known in the extant records as "Choristers". They had been assigned the task of determining the nature of the four choral sub-classes and evidence was difficult to find. They had names - Soprano - Alto - Tenor - Bass - but scant other data. They were, however, pursuing an exciting new line of speculation.

Luna Uni had rejected explanations of segregation along economic or ethnic lines and the most accepted thesis was that they were religious distinctions. The Choristers had spent a lot of time occupying holy sites so a religious explanation was popular, but Jasmin felt there was something it was overlooking. Besides which, bold alternative reconstructions were the clone-cell roll of historical success. She and Imlorho were testing the proposition that Choristers had had four genders.

It was well-known across the Galaxy that human cultures supported anything from zero to three genders (for cultural and reproductive purposes). Furthermore the language utilized to describe the four choral sub-classes in historical data was similar to the way genders had been characterized in Pre-Contact times. There was a lot of "basses are like this" and "sopranos are like that" - stuff reminiscent of the moronic characterizations of women and men in the past.

Imlorho went onto provide his latest findings:

"The Gastropods of Epsilon Indi III have four genders, the sperm-providers, the ova-providers, the cross-pollinators and the incubators."

Jasmin was interested in this but wondered how to fit these four reproductive roles to the four choral sub-classes. She started thinking over the historical descriptions:

"Sopranos were garish and attention-seeking like peacocks... Altos were modest and dowdy like peahens... Tenors were rare but vital to the group and moved quickly to-and-fro... Basses rarely moved and got sat on a lot."

Some linkages were forming in her mind, but Jasmin wanted more data to help secure the four-genders argument, and some way of visualizing these elusive Pre-Contact Terrans would be useful.

"Imlorho, did you also find any imagery associated with the sub-class names?"

"I have located images of puzzling artifacts associated with the sub-class names - sending now."

Jasmin stared at what she was now seeing in her mind - what were they? These were objects like nothing she had ever seen and stirred in her a mixture of wonder and consternation. She read the text accompanying the images.

"What in the name of the Five Civilizations is a saxophone?"

* * * * *

Jasmin had gone off to the kitchenette to get another clone cell roll to help her think. She sat back down and asked Imlorho to tell her just what these things were supposed to be. Imlorho obliged.

“Saxophones are pneumatic component parts for machines of unknown function. The important data for us however are (a) the designations given to them and (b) the fact that in the era we are studying Terrans had a practice of naming some devices for the way they resembled particular Terran body-parts.”

Jasmin was confused: “What practice?”

“On some computers – for instance – sockets and plugs were designated 'female' and 'male' respectively.”

“Right… so… what you are saying is that these saxophones look like the genitalia of the different kinds of Chorister?”

“Affirmative.”

Jasmin looked critically at the saxophone images with biology now in mind.

“I must admit the Soprano Saxophone is rather phallic…”

They discussed the images further. A size comparison image was particularly useful. They decided that the Alto Saxophone was reminiscent of an ovipositor while the larger Tenor Saxophone was a similar organ but adapted for temporarily carrying and mixing genetic contributions from a Soprano and an Alto. Finally the massive Bass Saxophone looked just right for allowing an embryo to gestate in it.

The picture of the four genders of Choristers was coming together nicely thanks to the Saxophone images and the working model of the Gastropods of Epsilon Indi III. The thesis was now that Sopranos were males, Altos were females, and Tenors were sterile females evolved to facilitate reproduction.

As a final bit of evidence to fit the picture, Jasmin recalled that Basses were known to emit low frequency sounds. Such sounds were known to be soothing to the infantile forms of many species and so that worked for the Basses as a form of mobile uterus.

Jasmin smiled inwardly at another job well done and got to work on polishing their argument for presentation. Imlorho meanwhile decided that the lustre of the saxophones would look good on his carapace and started the process of altering his surface molecular structure to achieve the desired effect.

Jasmin approved of the end result: “Very shiny!”

For background on Jasmin and Imlorho see here. And just for the record - I am a bass.

Cross-posted here.

Free Fall

2011-10-08T16:12:00.005+11:00

This is a short story I submitted to the City Of Monash Wordfest 2011. It is an historical fiction based loosely on the life of Aphra Behn (1640-1689).

Astrea threw herself bodily at the window and was suddenly careening through a cascade of glassy shards. In moments of life-challenging tension such as this, she would experience vivid recollections from her past. In an instant the tinkling shards became the spray-crowned waves seen from an ocean-faring sailing ship.

That voyage to and from the New World had been both the most joyous and the most sorrowful time in the life of the young English woman, but Astrea had become the mistress of her emotions. She locked away the sorrow and remembered only the joy. Her free fall into the hay cart that she knew to be under the window was a moment of visceral glee as she recalled the swaying of the ship, and the accompanying undulations of the hammock she had shared with her new-found lover of some years ago.

In another instant Astrea was back in the here-and-now, as she hit the hay and rolled off the cart, burst from a crouch to a run, and sprinted along the lane towards the closest canal, praising her boots and cursing her many-layered skirt as she did so.

Astrea relished her current life as a spy for the Crown. Even as a child of servants in a big provincial mansion, she had admired the lives and manners of the gentry. Her present profession allowed her to mix with her betters and experience the finery and intrigue of courtly society. Of course it was different here in the Netherlands - the lines between the nobility and the mercantile classes seemed much more hazy than in her homeland. Still that worked just fine for her - what mattered most was hearty fare, well-made clothes and a life so busy that she could forget the past by rushing madly into the future.

The echo of yells and running boots warned Astrea that she indeed had pursuers, so she turned into a tiny alleyway that took her to a parallel lane. Astrea always took walks round any premises she was likely to visit and it was times like this that her 'constitutionals' proved to be more than just a form of exercise. She paused for a moment to ensure that the parchment she had pilfered from her Dutch paramour was still securely stowed in her satin bodice. However, there was no rest for the wicked, so Astrea ran on, making for the canal that divided one district from another.

It had taken weeks for Astrea to get what she needed to complete her mission. She had located an exiled Englishman with Dutch naval connections who proved surprisingly resistant to her usual enticements. Finally she recognized an important fact - his preference for his own sex - and shifted her tactics to offering to broker for him a return to England and a pardon for his past crimes (crimes that had offended the government of the puritanical Cromwell but which could be overlooked by the re-instated Crown). This had gotten her what she needed - an invitation to a soiree at which she could get closer to those planning a coming maritime assault on England. Her timing was fortunate, as the modest stipend her spymaster provided had all but gone in the cause of good food, private lodgings and a new dress for the soiree.

Her lovely dress was now torn and sullied by her spectacular escape from the townhouse of the Viscount, but these were the risks Astrea took as a spy. Her calves were sore from sprinting and her thighs ached from her work of the preceding night in the bedchamber of her sweet yet stupid mark. She had now reached the canal and contemplated her distance to the closest footbridge. As she did so she glanced into the water, reflecting the blue sky of a cool morning, and was suddenly reminded of the mirror she had looked in several hours before.

A full-length mirror was a precious luxury and Astrea took the chance to observe herself, naked in the candlelight, her tresses and hands granting her a minimum of modesty. This she did only briefly, as her intent was to exhaust the Viscount to such a degree that she could then search his bureau thoroughly while he slept in the adjoining bedroom. Fortunately the Viscount was comely of form, with a deep sonorous voice and a much milder odour than most. Astrea also pondered, as she turned to face him, the gossip back home that the men of the Continent were more attentive in bed than were Englishmen, a rumour she was intent to test.

One thing Astrea knew was that entwining flesh with flesh was never simply that. Anyone of flesh-and-blood was bound to betray something of who they were while between the sheets and this was a very useful fact for a spy. However it was also a two-edged sword. The Viscount declared that Astrea was "as sweet as honey" and she retorted, smilingly, that she was more akin to the "Spices of Surinam". This then got them discussing the New World and Astrea was suddenly in her element as a teller of tales. She talked of what she had witnessed in her travels - of the strangeness of the natives and the misery of the slaves. Astrea presented her words with care and yet something in her manner must have told the Viscount more, for he mused that something had marred her innocence on her journey. At this Astrea changed the topic to one for which words are rarely needed, and discovered that the giggling talk of English lasses was right.

Later, while the Viscount fell into slumber, Astrea lay there thinking of Surinam. Something in the intuition and tenderness of the Dutchman evoked images of that other lover from some years back. Her brave and good Commodore had promised to both show her the world and to delve the fathoms of her heart. They had met on the crossing of the Atlantic and had parted only weeks later on the return voyage. How was it that such a fine and true hero as her Commodore could best three drunken slave-traders in a tavern brawl and yet fall prey to a tropical malady that Astrea herself had shrugged off in days? From the dismal day that the body of her love was cast into the ocean she had eschewed any prospect of caring for anyone and any notion of honouring anything but herself. Since then the work of a spy had become her path to honour and riches.

Her work now involved deciding how to escape the private guard of the Viscount. A passing skiff was a better bet than running to the closest bridge only to rush along even more lane ways. The skiff was on its way to deliver its wares to the harbour, a good destination for a spy on the run. She hoped she could jump the distance from the rim of the canal to the skiff. Astrea threw herself into the hands of fate as she leaped forward with all her power and will and, as she did so, her mind vexed her with another memory of what had caused her other free fall of that morning.

Astrea had been surprised at how quickly searching the bureau of the Viscount had revealed correspondence on the topic of ship numbers and movements in the Channel. The papers discussed only mundane facts but simply knowing what the Dutch knew would be a boon to her employers. Astrea turned towards the hall but suddenly the bedroom door opened and in walked the Viscount, wearing only breeches and sporting an expression blending surprised anger with just a hint of amusement. Astrea froze in mid-turn.

The Viscount declared that "my English strumpet is also a she-spy in wont of better skills at dissembling." Astrea desperately wanted to make some witty rejoinder but nothing came to her in the instant she decided to rush for the window and the hay cart below.

Later, her wit returned to her as Astrea grinned at the oarsman who had been startled by a disheveled yet striking woman landing on his cargo of tulip buds. She offered to tell him exactly why a lady such as herself should be landing in his vehicle but only if he agreed to let her off at the harbour. He added the further condition that she give him a kiss, to which she assented with a smirk and a roll of her eyes. Once more she was in her element as the teller of a tale even more outlandish than the truth. Her accidental rescuer was enthralled. Within the hour she was in a harbour tavern frequented by Englishmen, negotiating her safe passage home to deliver her documents.

Astrea sighed with exhaustion as she nursed an ale and reflected on her morning ordeal. She had to admit to herself that the deceptively incisive Viscount had shaken her confidence in her role as a spy. However her encounter with the oarsman suggested that her skills of wit and wordplay could be turned to a safer vocation, and she resolved to ingratiate herself with some playwrights and poets on her return to London.

As a writer of tall tales she could win both comfort and notoriety from her own desk. As she sipped at her drink she mused that this was a shrewd resolution as long as she never shared the tragic tale of her lost Commodore. Comedy would be the thing for Astrea and the mask she hid behind would continue to be a smiling one.

I am still some distance away from writing something that will impress judges of a short story contest. However I did enjoy writing it and so events like Wordfest provide an impetus to do that and to brave the somewhat embarrassing act of sharing my baby with the world.

Cross-posted here.

Milkbar Fetish

2011-09-29T00:06:00.008+10:00

I have a thing for milk bars. These corner stores that are ubiquitous in residential areas of Victoria sate both my desire for the comforting and familiar and my sense of curiosity. Referencing them has even helped me define my attachment to suburbia. In this post I assert how I must always live within walking distance of a milk bar.

The comforting and familiar part of my attachment makes sense. They have existed all my life. They have common characteristics - a small shop with a residence above it for the family that run it which sits in the backstreets of a neighbourhood rather than on major intersections as the more recent development of the petrol-selling convenience store does. They are there to provide one with things one needs - the milk and bread. Of more significance however - they provide pleasures in the form of crisps and soft drinks and ice cream. Indeed in my childhood it was usual for a milkbar to sport a big plastic imitation ice cream cone over its entrance. In childhood those things enticed me to come inside for lovely vanilla goodness.

However there is curiosity too. These shops are all distinct. They have unique characteristics deriving from changing eras of architecture and the different practices of those who operate them. A franchise fast food restaurant will always have a look consistent with its brand and that look is regularly updated. In contrast the advertising and fixtures in a milk bar show a layering of history. Yes there is the latest packaging for some products but away there on the wall is an old faded poster from last century. Could you go a Chicko Roll?

Still if I had to prioritize my needs then I would rank comfort and familiarity over curiosity. The familiar faces of those operating my local milkbars (I get two depending on whether I am walking to the bus or to my creek) are some of the few local faces I know at all in this era of anonymous living. While I lived interstate for 12 months (now itself 18 months or more ago) I would visit this neighbourhood and be asked why I was so scarce by a local milk bar operator. It is nice to be remembered by a smiling face.

And how could I forget the practical aspects of my interest in milk bars - an excuse to go for a walk and get my iced coffee fix! Sunshine, exercise, fat, sugar and stimulant all rolled into one experience.

Cross-posted here.

Village Of Solitar

2011-09-12T01:54:00.009+10:00

For a self-professed nerd some are surprised by my lack of interest in computer games. This is an extension of my lack of interest in many games whatever the media. Many are too abstract or strategic or just too bloody combative for my liking. However there have been exceptions and in this post I will describe my all-time favourite arcade game. I was on a bus passing Forest Hill Shopping Centre recently and it reminded me of a past visit there and the last time I played the most immersive game ever - the fabulous and whimsical Prop Cycle!

Prop Cycle was introduced by Namco in 1996 and they stuck one in the then games arcade at Monash Uni in the late 90s. The hardware demanded attention by looking like the lovechild of an arcade game machine and an exercise bike. The user could sit on it and pedal to determine speed. One could steer in three dimensions. One even could feel wind blown in ones face courtesy of some fans set into the machine. Amazing!

Then there was the game itself. The story concept was charmingly quirky. Your village of Solitar has magically been sent into the sky and is suspended there by glowing spheres of energy which need to be destroyed for Solitar to safely waft back to land. In order to do this you have to ride a winged propeller-driven bicycle round to pop all those spheres but to do that you must develop your skills of riding and popping! Most of the game therefore involves you riding round your pretty three-dimensional homeland popping hot air balloons!

A bunch of us in Korner became fixated with this game and fed it much coin. We also devised a strategy for completing the three missions which would allow us to then complete the final mission of saving Solitar. Rather than take the three missions in order of course difficulty we chose them in reverse order. The thing we had noticed was that each successive scene (whatever order taken) would have a larger number of balloons so we were averaging the difficulty by starting the more complex mission with fewer balloons to pop! Genius!

This is possibly the most immersive game I have ever played given that ones whole body was involved in the process of riding a winged bike round an imaginary three dimensional world. It also necessitated exercise - anyone who completed the game would find themselves puffing and panting by the end. It was also refreshingly non-violent in an era in which the dominant arcade games were Mortal Kombat and the like.

Anyway here are some screen captures of Prop Cycle in action. Watching this I suddenly remember all the twists and turns necessary to get to all those balloons! Pop those balloons! Yippee!

Cross-posted here

Localized Lamentation

2011-08-22T14:50:00.004+10:00

They say that in modern mass society we have lost a sense of community. To some extent that is true but to some extent the focus of community has simply shifted from the geographic to the interest-focused form of community. Yes I have barely anything to do with my neighbours but my 'community' is defined by my interests and is scattered across a huge space (with members of that community living across a major metropolis and indeed interstate and even overseas).

In truth however I am lucky to have a bit of both. The City Of Monash is in effect a university town and one consequence of this is that I am within walking distance of a handful of share houses that are home to friends (whether former or current students and staff of Monash Uni). I enjoy the experience of living locally in that I can walk to my weekly choral rehearsal and likewise walk to the local gathering of friends who weekly come together to work on creative projects and converse. I even have a lovely creek to wander along. Shops and a station are a bit further away but still I enjoy a vigorous walk.

And then recently I had a chance at that key component of living locally - a job close to home. I was qualified and had relevant experience. I performed well in the interview. The feedback via agency was good. For over a week now I have been anticipating getting offered a job (long-term contract) at this particular utility company that is only 15 minutes walk from home. Amazing!

* * * * *

Savings from my last temp role have dwindled so government income-support has once more become vital for me and this morning I discovered that the expected payment was missing from my account. I rang Centrelink to check on the problem and was in a queue so sat with the landline handset to my ear. Suddenly my mobile phone rang so I put it to my free ear. It was my agency contact with the news that the employer had offered the role to someone who fit it just that bit better than me. They do want to consider me for some future temp work so that is something and I did say I was keen on that.

Still - there I was with one device telling me I am at the mercy of an impersonal government instrumentality and another device telling me that there is always someone better than me. I thanked my agent and that call concluded. Then a Centrelink operator informed me that the payment problem was with my bank rather than with them (checking with the bank tells me that it will be sorted sometime soon).

I made a mistake in hoping for the role. It was nice to think that things may all come together for me. My life has had too many metaphorical cul-de-sacs and I was buoyed by a sense that ones fortunes can always change. Still the feedback of experience says otherwise. This is why I focus much of my energy into my personal life - it consistently gives me good feedback which is in stark contrast to the professional sphere. For someone who lacks those big ticket items we are constantly told we have to have to be a successful person I have a surprisingly fulfilled life. Nonetheless the instant evaporation of hope I experienced today has shaken me rather. Possibly a walk along that creek will put me in a better frame-of-mind. And the sunshine we are getting today is totally free-of-charge yes?

Update

I expressed my feelings via this and other methods and my suspicion was confirmed - asking for help works. I got a lovely interstate text and other messages of support online. Furthermore I got invited to dinner by some friends and taken for a walk at Jells Park a few days later by another friend. Also by coincidence other kinds of communication were forthcoming.

I got contacted by an employer who has employed me on two past occasions to cover for holiday absences wanting me back in a few weeks time. And then I got a call from another employer offering me a longer-term assignment. This is a good thing even if the clash of offers is frustrating. Naturally I will take the longer-term role even if it is further from home. In a few weeks I will be in a position to lunch with fellow city centre workers. And overall thanks to all friends just for who you are.

Cross-posted here.

Cups And Saucers

2011-08-18T00:49:00.010+10:00

A while ago I expressed a desire to discuss starship design in Star Trek specifically. And recently some of my spare time has been filled with looking at many fictitious spacecraft designs. This Fantastic Plastic hobbyist site presents images of many models from decades past and pings many a memory for me. What I am finding most interesting is how the designs are very much the product of the times in which they were conceived, however futuristic their designers wished to make them seem.

Saucers Are So Mid Twentieth Century!

So to start with – the USS Enterprise from Star Trek (1966-1969). Its components are a fascinating product of its times and the intentions of its creators. There is a hint of science fiction rigor in the model in that the warp nacelles are well removed from any crew quarters – separating the obscene energy levels of space-faring engines from habitat modules is a standard consideration in spacecraft configuration. However it is the rest of the Enterprise that is interesting.

The engineering section (secondary hull) is vaguely shaped like a modern naval vessel and that is fitting given that Star Trek writer Gene Roddenberry drew on his naval background in conceiving of Starfleet. But then we move onto the saucer section (primary hull) which is – well – a saucer! The flying saucer was the most popular form for fictional space ships in the 1950s and into the 60s. It was a dominant meme but also one that is now very dated.

Since the 70s saucer-shaped star ships only exist if they are cleverly embellished so that one overlooks the basic form (Cylon Raider from Battlestar Galactica in 1978) or film-makers wish to blatantly pay homage to 50s era alien invasion movies (consider Independence Day in 1996). Hold on – there is one more case in which saucers survived the 60s – in the Federation starships of the many incarnations of Star Trek into the present. They have a sense of nostalgia for the heritage of the show and so every version of the Enterprise has had the same basic form including the ubiquitous saucer section. Somehow they make it work even if it is an amazing anachronism.

Future As Present… Future As Past...

Looking over the many models pictured on that Fantastic Plastic site shows that in many cases a fictional spacecraft will betray its vintage in terms of aesthetic. Rocket ships of the 30s have an Art Deco simplicity. The diversity of forms and colours expanded in the 60s and I wonder if this had anything to do with Psychedelia. By the 90s geometric angles had been supplanted by mock-organic curves and I suspect many everyday products from cars to vacuum cleaners have followed a similar progression.

Accidentally showing your age as a design is one thing but deliberately emulating a past era is another and that is the thing I find most intriguing in fictional spacecraft design. Anyone given the task of designing vehicles for movie adaptations of Jules Verne or H G Wells novels cannot help but employ a Victorian Era look (even if the writers themselves imagined more functional designs). They do it because it fits the vibe of the setting and coz it looks cool.

In Dune (1984) there is a Baroque look in prominence and they do this to suggest an opulent and over-developed future civilization. I think the same look exists in The Chronicles Of Riddick (2004) and making your future setting Baroque looks cool.

There was a hint of World War II utility in the feel of original Star War trilogy (1977-1983) designs and so it was hardly surprising that they then gave everything in the Star Wars prequels (1999-2005) an inter-war era elegance. And once more a lot of it is done to look cool. New and striking forms draw our attention but likewise something familiar helps give us a context within which to fit a thing that is otherwise beyond our everyday experience.

And did I say it looks cool? Whether angular or curved… whether contemporary or retro… whether functional or fanciful… one thing that spaceships need to do is look cool both then and now.

Cross-posted here.

Live Action Transformers

2011-07-29T01:29:00.009+10:00

I have never discussed the live-action Transformers movies here till now. So far I have only written on the toys themselves but now that we have seen all three blockbusting action effects flicks I shall give my opinion of the trilogy. I will say some general stuff of the three movies and then go into lots of fannish nerdy specifics.

In anticipation of Transformers (2007) I expected something involving a lot of massive fighting robots in a basic story that let the effects be the star. I was surprised then to find that what I got was better than that. It had the fighting robots but it limited how much they dominated the movie and there was story and chracaterization. There was comedy and romance interspersed in with the action. Friends who were non-fans still enjoyed it.

Then along came Transformers: Revenge Of The Fallen (2009) and it was a bloody travesty of monumental proportions. A total mess of effects and the most convoluted (rather than complex) story and the strangest of charaterizations. Nothing much made sense. There were too many massive fighting robots smashing into one another so much so that it became an abstract tornado of alien machinery in motion. Also the sexist bullshit and ethnic profiling that was present all along became prominent and taxing in this movie.

Finally we have recently had Transformers: Dark Of The Moon (2011) and I think it may well be the dumb but fun effects flick that I was expecting back in 2007. In other words with the final movie they sort of average the other two - gone are the best aspects and the worst aspects and what is left is like a set of computer game cut-scenes full of - yep - massive fighting robots.

Transformers (2007) Specifics

I find that if you are thinking of a handful of ways you wish a movie was different then that indicates it was a good movie. There are a few things I wanted to change with Transformers (2007) as follows...

(i) I would change which of the five Autobot gets killed from Jazz to Ironhide. Rather than the pathetic non-match between Jazz and Megatron, I would have an impressive stouch between Ironhide and Megatron in which the Decepticon leader must resort to his two-armed cannon trick to dispatch the warlike Ironhide.

(ii) I would remove the "greatest hacker in the world" character altogether and merge his role with that of his friend the government analyst. Let her have all the brilliance. Also in recognition of the Japanese origins of Transformers I would give her - say - an Astroboy t-shirt to wear and possibly even have made her Japanese-American.

(iii) I would remove that stupid cop shop scene entirely. The movie is altogether too long and things like that contribute nothing to the overall story.

Transformers: Revenge Of The Fallen (2009) Specifics

The second movie is too scrambled to unscramble but I can lament a few lost opportunities. They introduce an Autobot plane in Jetfire so they could have had him dog-fighting with the Decepticon Starscream but never did. They also could have shown us some new characters - particularly new Autobots like Arcee - in a proper 'roll call' of them all transforming as they are named. Seeing that the Great Pyramid hides alien technology was kinda fun but also somehow cringe-worthy.

Transformers: Dark Of The Moon (2011) Specifics

The third movie has one impressive thing - the whole 1960s alternate history reconstruction of Moonshot. That impressed me. Then it sort of became the game of espionage and combat between the fighting robots of various sizes and shapes. The one big thing I missed was the lack of transformation sequences. Some characters with perfectly well-designed conversions from one mode to another barely if ever transform. We only see Sentinel Prime turn into a fire engine in passing as part of a messy action shot. For something better you have to go look at a fan-made animation of the toy!

Live-Action Movie Characters

Naturally characters from a toy-line will be comic-book simplistic in nature. However they are re-cast in a live-action world so you expect some expanding of complexity. We rarely get this and in some cases we loose it.

Autobot leader Optimus Prime in the first movie is compassionate and only fights if it is necessary. In the sequels however he seems to relish killing his opponents. Suddenly the only difference between good and evil is that good wins. This disturbed me. Only one thing was added towards the end that I enjoyed - it seems that if Prime sits silently in his truck form that it is because this massive ancient alien robot is "sulking" - a classic!

The relationship between Megatron and his undermining lieutenant Starscream is never explored - in the first movie they have barely any screen time together and in the sequels Megatron is never truly the Decepticon leader anyway. The introduction of Transformers comic book characters - first The Fallen and then Sentinel Prime - turns Megatron into a lackey himself.

One character that is expanded upon marvelously is Bumblebee and he never even talks! They managed to take a rather annoyingly 'cute' character from the cartoon and turn him into something engaging and empathic and heroic and far more well-adjusted than some of the humans in the movies. Which brings me to the strangest thing in live-action Transformers.

The humans! They are okay in the first movie but in the sequels they just get stranger and stranger. Who acts that way? Who talks that way? Even in American action movies who is like these humans? Possibly they do this to help make the Transformers seem more normal by comparison. Possibly they are supposed 'comic relief'. Possibly director Michael Bay just needs to meet a few more of his fellow human beings (also I want to ask him how exactly governments are suspicious yet the military are trustworthy). I must admit to having a fondness for one of those peculiar humans in Agent Simmons, but I think that is because the actor is having a fun time with his over-acting.

Design & Effects

Generally I was very impressed by the new anatomical look of the live-action Transformers which gave them a realistic science fiction look while preserving the overall Transformers vibe. However I think they became both too abstract and too organic-behaving in the sequels. Abstract in the sense that some characters started to look like "things that turn into things" rather than robots that turn into worldly vehicles and appliances. Too organic-behaving in that they started to spew forth coolants and lubricants in the same way we spill blood. It all became a bit gratuitous.

The computer graphic elements were amazing and inserted well into the live-action settings. Only once there were too many of them in a shot did it become problematic. However I do think that the first time we see a vehicle become a robot is a moment in cinema history.

Only with the handful of wholly animated scenes was I underwhelmed. Sure Cybertron is a mechanized world but it felt small and fake. Contrast this with the city-planet of Correscant in the Star Wars universe which looks truly immense in its respective depictions.

Toys

Transformers is an advertisement for the toys so I may as well refer to them here. Many more live-action characters were designed than are ever seen in the movies. This is a shame as many of those designs are excellent. And then there are some classic characters that never got into the live-action universe at all.

We did see the Constructicons who are kinda cool as separate robots but just stupid-looking as the gestalt Devastator. We sort of see Insecticons... well... Scorponox is an 'arachnicon' I suppose and The Doctor (aka Scalpel) is insect-like and plays a similar role as the original cartoon character Bombshell. And what of the Dinobots? Too silly to be put into a live-action setting? Come on! There is so much silliness in these movies to accommodate the Dinobots and fans have done the groundwork! See both here and here for more.

Worth Seeing?

If you have never seen any of these movies then I suggest one of two things: Never see any of them. I do enjoy Transformers (2007) but it is hardly a must-see for non-fans. However it is good fun and has merit so you can also happily give it a go and it can stand alone. Alternately if you have seen both Transformers (2007) and Transformers: Roll On The Floor (2009) then you may as well see Transformers: Dork Of The Moon (2011) for the sake of completeness.

Now I am off to do that thing that the movies are supposed to make me want to do - play with Transformers!

Cross-posted here.

Into The West

2011-07-17T23:47:00.016+10:00

I am the historian of my own life and I find that written records help me remember who I am and what I think and feel over time. It makes it more difficult for me to edit my memory if I have a record of it. So I keep some items of correspondence across a number of media and I prepare written accounts of important events in my life. Some are private but others - like this blog entry - are public. Herein I will share some of my impressions of my first visit to Perth and of my experience as a non-singing participant in the Perth Intervarsity Choral Festival 2011.

As with my experience of Brisbane IV 2007 I attended for only part of the event as a non-singer so that I was free to explore a new city. I stayed at the City YHA and explored the city centre and Kings Park and University Of Western Australia. I travelled further away to take in Fremantle and Cottersloe Beach. It was all lovely and yet I have changed since 2007. Back then I would happily wander all day alone in a new setting. Now, while I still enjoyed it, I was more drawn to my choristers.

There were surprises both personal and non-personal in my visit to Perth. Among the non-personal surprises was my accessing of the forbidden parts of Masonic culture. Okay - some background: Ever since a wonderful New Year's Eve party held in the Oakleigh Masonic Hall I have been fascinated by the locked meeting area upstairs. The rehearsal venue however - Nedlands Hall - was a former Masonic hall and so we could go into its meeting room hidden behind a huge fake wardrobe and sit in the throne-like chairs inside!

The culture of choristers however was of much more interest to me than that of Freemasons and I fell right back into it. I noticed some fascinating effects this human setting had on me as I have at past IVs. For one thing I lost some of my independence as I grew accustomed to falling in with what the group did. For another I noticed my pattern-recognition for fellow choristers go into overdrive. On returning home I was regularly mistaking strangers for choristers whom I knew full-well live interstate.

And another thing I noticed was that my desire for tactile contact grew. On my return to Melbourne I watched videos with some non-huggy friends and found I had to actively resist giving them huge enveloping hugs. I have a hunch that the vibe of IVs taps into very ancient ways of living for humans involving extended yet intimate groups. This may have something to do with some of my recent non-fictional readings.

I try to attend IVs with an open mind but I will admit I had expectations and they were met. I must be getting better at anticipating things. I mingled with friends from home and far away... had old friendships renewed and new ones made... got closure for some aspects of my life and affirmation of some facets of who I am.

And communication! So much in so many forms. And I think this is hardly surprising if one remembers that music is a form of communication. Yes I only got to witness the end result of rehearsals but there is always singing among choristers, from the old standards sung at the post-concert party, to overhearing a friend singing in the shower, to singing-along to the radio during a lift back to the airport. And the message of all this communication? A reminder that life is rich and full and interesting. Thanks so much IV!

Cross-posted here.

Gumshoe Telepath: News

2011-06-30T15:23:00.007+10:00

Once more I develop sufficient concept to generate some content for the next installment of this slowly developing story. Once more it has character development and also gets back to some of the political vibe of the story.

It was an overcast and smoggy day that we met once more at the Roundtree. For once I made sure I was on time. Kristen walked in a moment later and sat opposite me in our customary booth. Despite my best efforts my mind flashed back to sitting in the car with her the previous night. It was difficult to see her as anything other than...

Kristen interrupted my thinking by taking my hand. Suddenly I lost my mind. I was totally gone. I was nothing but an awareness that I was who I was. But then that awareness was filled with the content of another mind and I perceived myself in a way that was new to me.

I had never known that I was totally lacking in attractiveness. I had never considered that I was admired and respected in the manner of an older sibling. This was a shock. And in contrast I also experienced fleeting moments of how Kristen felt for those in her life that she was intimate with... the love she felt for him... the lust she felt for her... the total absence of such things for me. And finally I felt the frustration she felt at constantly having to endure my innunendos. I also smelt the faintest aroma of something as she withdrew her touch.

"Coriander?"

"The mind works in funny ways Derrick."

I was flabbergasted. Rarely if ever do we understand exactly what others think of us and now I had experienced just that. I stared at her dumbfounded.

"I had to do that Derrick. You had to know so that we can get on with our working relationship and get this case sorted."

I considered saying that what all human relations needed was telepathy but then I started thinking. What they needed was for everyone to pay attention to the words and deeds of others rather than just think what they wanted to think. Even a non-telepath like me knew that. I had been a shitskull with Kristen for ages and on some level had always known that.

"I can tell you my mad notion of the twins now" Kristen uttered with a small smile.

"Yes - um - surely even twins would still feel different to your senses."

"Well sure but these two felt like they are both twins and also the product of the most amazing life-long conditioning. I have got a similar vibe from small groups of fanatics whose minds seem to grow closer and closer till personal differences are quashed by group oppression."

"Right. So. Twin telepaths conditioned as assassins for some fanatical cause who kill gang bosses. What is the cause? A sort of ultra-violent Neighbourhood Watch?"

Kristen smiled once more at that. "I wish. There was another thing I detected in my vibesweeps - an excitement at the practice the killings represented for them..."

"Practice?"

"Yep. They were passing a test and if they succeeded then the next thing would be something much bigger."

I wanted to say that this was all the most amazing conjecture and that finding evidence of any of it would be like finding a pixel in a Summer blockbuster holocast. Just then however our attention was drawn towards the bar and the old-school vidscreen showing world news.

The news had that important feel to it and yet it took a minute or so to get what exactly they were reporting. It seemed that the Congress Minority Leader had been killed by one of his own security force. Kristen looked at me with a haunted look animating her face.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking Derrick?"

"You tell me Kristen" I muttered with a raised eyebrow.

We both sat there staring at the screen and wondering whether this news and our case were linked. I will just for now assume that we were both imagining that a Telepath Twin was the killer and pondering what damage the other twin was inflicting on the world. And for possibly the first time ever Kristen and I were united in mind and purpose. We had to get to the bottom of this even if it would take us down a very dangerous path.

The most interest concept I explore here is that with sufficient practice and good will we can all get that bit closer to 'telepathy' if we pay attention to the way others communicate with us. I wonder if throwing 'morals' into my story is a wise thing to do...

Cross-posted here.

Cesspool Anecdotes

2011-06-13T22:44:00.007+10:00

I feel like another anecdote focusing on long-term friends. Some recently posted photos on Facebook reminded me of my original share household - The Cesspool - and its assorted challenges.

I moved in with friends Damien and Polly (who had had student household experience at the Animal Farm) and excitement turned to frustration once we discovered how crappy landlords and estate agents can be. But hold on a moment - some of you may be wondering at these household names. What is with that?

It is a kind of convenience. Rather than say "there is a video night at the home of X and Y and Z" you simply say "video night at Cesspool!" The better household names are ones suggested by the house itself or some aspect of the experience of living there. A line from the old Queen song Death On Two Legs ("decaying in a cesspool of pride") summarized how we felt of our landlord once we discovered the twin horrors of that house.

The Cesspool may have once been a nice house. It was solid brick (rather than brick veneer) and possibly as much as a half-century old. The problem however is that it had a lack of ventilation under the floor and this (combined with owner neglect) produced two nasty characteristics.

One was rising damp in a corner of the living room. It smelled. We utilized products that mask smell - in other words we became accustomed to one smell layered over another. This affectionately named Slime Mould was the lesser of the twin horrors. The greater was the dampness under the floor would rot the floors over time. In the kitchen at some past time proper (if rotted) timber floors had been replaced by chipboard. Yes - as we walked in the kitchen we were walking on a laminate of linoleum, newspaper, chipboard, and a foot of empty space above the ground.

By the time we moved in the chipboard was getting decidedly soggy. Then holes formed. In parts of the kitchen the lino was like a trampoline! Chair legs punctured holes in the lino. Then...

Hold on. I have to backtrack a bit because there is an amusing notion forming here - the Curse of Cesspool.

See Cesspool was on Dandenong Road close to Monash Univeristy in Clayton. I was walking home one night and I may have been somewhat absent-minded because as I was crossing the service lane a slow-moving car hit me. The driver - who may also have been absent-minded to overlook me even in my dark Melburnian attire - stopped and helped me. By chance he was a nurse so gave me a quick evaluation then drove me home. I had only been hit by the bumper at slow speed on my calves and then fallen onto the tar on my hands. A bit of grazing and bruising was the result. Nonetheless the driver even visited the next day to check I was still okay.

So here was the start of the Curse. Now we can return to the kitchen floor...

Polly was cooking in the kitchen or possibly just getting herself her nth coffee for the day and suddenly fell into the gaping abyss! We had gotten pretty good and knowing the safe paths across the room but that pattern changed over time and so there Polly was with one leg in the floor and resulting injury that lasted many weeks as compared with my recovery time of a few minutes.

I got hit by a car across the road from Cesspool and got a few scratches. Polly fell into the floor of the Cesspool kitchen getting a more significant injury. We discerned a pattern forming and, like all those under stress, imposed dark intent upon our fortunes and speculated that Damien would be found one morning decapitated in his bedroom! Fortunately the Curse of Cesspool was never fulfilled.

What did we do about all this hardship? Well we asked the estate agent (which I will name if anyone asks me directly) for help. We got lots of excuses and time-wasting and finally we had to call on the Office Of Fair Trading to intervene for us. Legal action was never taken but the mere act of having contacted an authority motivated the landlord to take final action by filling the entire space below the kitchen floor with dirt and gravel then a layer of concrete. Whomever moved in next got the benefit of this change because we moved to better accommodation as soon as we could.

The next home - Flea Circus - was far better. Yes there were fleas in the carpet at the start but that was fixed by flea-bombs set off while we were away one weekend at a FOME camp. Otherwise it was a lovely weatherboard house round the corner in a backstreet and we had a direct relationship with the landlord who worked at Monash so we could visit her to communicate any issues at our convenience.

The Cesspool experience made all of us in our future and separate house-hunting actions much more wary and discerning. I will say this, however, Cesspool had a lovely wide hallway which was fantastic for hall-crams during parties, and we hosted some fantastic parties there. Partying made our twelve months there go so much quicker.

Cross-posted here.

Creative Seasons

2011-05-29T15:44:00.003+10:00

Many of us are creative but busy lives get in the way of us pursuing our interests. Over the last twelve months I have developed a framework of sorts which makes me likely to do more than dabbling. So in Winter and Summer I focused on short story writing while in Spring and Autumn I concentrated on sketching.

I find the three month timeframe is one that gives me plenty of time to get a 'project' done even with all those other things in life. However it is also sufficiently short that it makes me "get a move on". Another thing that motivates me is sharing the work with others. A promise I only make to me can be constantly postponed but one made to others (say in the form of an agreed time-and-place to sketch a friend) must be enacted.

Last Spring I did a folio of landscapes utilizing my old trick of incorporating a human form into the contours of the scene. All sorts of climates and settings were explored.

Over Summer I was pretty slack but did pen an interconnected set of three fictional tales starting with this one. I am departing from my fantasy and science fiction roots more-and-more and enjoying more realist scenarios.

This Autumn I have worked on life drawing (warning - nudity under the link) and specifically on improving my sketching of faces. I have gotten better but can still improve further.

In Winter I intend to get back to fiction writing and the framework into which I will fit this is Monash Wordfest 2011 which incorporates a short story contest and several seminars. I submitted a short story last year and hope to this year too. I cannot say what that story will be yet but possibly the seminars will inspire me.

Take a look at the list of seminars and if any of them interest you tell me as if could be fun to go along with company.

Cross-posted here.

Living In The 70s

2011-05-16T20:18:00.004+10:00

Monash University Choral Society (MonUCS) are holding a concert of choral adaptations of 1970s popular songs on Saturday 28 May. Our rehearsal camp therefore had a 70s costume theme and to inform members of that diverse yet now somewhat distant decade I prepared a very short potted history of the 1970s with a musical and cultural bent. In the interests of lazy blogging I now reproduce that writing here...

* * * * *

I’m living in the 70s
Eating fake food under plastic trees
My face gets dirty just walking around
I need another pill to calm me down

There is more to the 70s than the Skyhooks suggest in that verse and this hopes to give you a feel for the fun and varied cultural phenomena to come from that decade. Yes there were bell-bottom jeans and wide collars but there were also truckers and bikers and jet-packs!

It was an era in which the Cold War thawed somewhat (in a good way) while at the same time International terrorism arose to public prominence. It was a time of consumer kitch excess as well as economic recession and energy scarcity.

The good times and bad had an impact on art and culture which can be seen in the music of the time. In very different ways both metal and funk grew from 60s experimentation and explored the limits of experience. Later on punks raged at darker developments in the world while disco provided a hedonistic distraction.

Many things we associate with the 1960s emerged from the counter-culture to become a part of everyday life in the 70s. Looking back at some of the kids shows from that time you notice a distinct psychedelic aesthetic (H R Puff N Stuff).

Finally they had nostalgia then as now which took the form of a sentimental look at the 1950s with things like Grease and Happy Days.

* * * * *

It was my hope to give a fuller sense of the 1970s in those few paragraphs than we tend to remember today and to imagine that my history major is of some use to me even now. The past - even the recent past - is fascinating.

Anyway I had a groovy time at camp which was cozy and mellow. I likewise expect our gig to be lots of fun. Even just rehearsing it is a blast. Come and see us!

Cross-posted here.

Crush

2011-04-29T14:53:00.012+10:00

The Internet exposes us to some surprising experiences. In the last few days I got an anonymous comment on my blog. The commentator says they propositioned me a decade ago and I never noticed or responded. I am paraphrasing - for the exact comment see here and scroll to bottom (second comment onwards).

Well!

There I was sitting alone at home and suddenly was confronted with this allegedly awesome experience I never had (a decade ago and in a parellel universe). Okay to tell the truth there were housemates at home and I did summon one to show off to - "How hot was I back at the turn of the century? Woo woo!"

Life is full of the things we do and the echo of things we have never done. Here was one I was never aware of. Somebody however had remembered this missed opportunity. And I can identify with them because I have felt this way too.

In my personal lexicon I distinguish between 'crush' and 'fancy'. I suspect it is a rather artificial distinction that serves to limit my behaviour but I will describe it nonetheless.

A fancy is an attraction that I may want to explore in some circumstances but am otherwise content to let lie dormant as part of a friendship. It can be fun to ponder but otherwise I will just sit back and admire.

A crush is different - it seems important and fills much spare thinking time. I feel a compulsion to do or say something but this clashes with inhibitions that curb action.

My last experience of the classic "secret crush never acted on" was in 2006. The most I managed to do was ask the subject to a movie and phrased it as if it was just an act of friendship (she politely declined). Within a few weeks the crush was forcibly pulverized by another friend jumping me!

Must we ambush someone and brazenly entice them into bed in order to get closer? It seems that if you desire a wall-flower (such as I was) that is what you need to do. In the realm of expressing and exploring attraction I have been a part of the problem. My reserved manner has fostered both overtures shrouded as gestures of friendship (so as to ensure a safe response) and blatant "clubbing and dragging back to the cave" moves (which ensure I pay attention and have to think quick). Both can be problematic.

The former case allows the target to be oblivious and as a result rewarding experiences may never happen. The latter may work but is frustrating for all involved - the proactive one has to do "all the work" and the responsive one may feel as if they lack volition in the face of things "just happening all of a sudden".

Happily in my more recent life I have gotten better at following inclinations and curbing inhibitions. As a result more of my experiences have been characterized by an interaction of equals in which it is difficult to say exactly who started what. This has been liberating but communication can still be a challenge. I wonder what the happy medium is between blatent moves and sly hints.

There can be an atmosphere in which it is okay to say "hey you are interesting - take that in any way you wish" and likewise okay to say "that is flattering but I prefer things as they are". The trick is knowing that among friends there is a commitment to consider what sort of behaviour works best for one another and modify communication accordingly. Nothing is so scary once you can rely on that. And if so then talking in the here-and-now becomes more attractive than anonymous comments displaced in space and time.

Cross-posted here.

Polity

2011-04-15T15:03:00.006+10:00

Polity is to politics what economy is to economics. We are all part of both but nobody uses the word "polity" while "economy" is thrown into conversations willy-nilly. It says to me that our society puts much more importance on your contribution to the latter than the former. In contrast I have always felt that a "civic life" is one of the strings in my personal bow that makes my life comprehensive (along with all those other things like "working life" and "social life"). However I have also let that string get slack in recent times.

I did over-do the whole party politics things with the Australian Democrats which I have put well behind me. I let it consume too much of me to the detriment of the other strings-of-life. I now have an aversion to too much politics. However I still try to do my bit every now-and-then coz this stuff matters. I barely pay attention to current issues and that can be embarrassing. But then I do say in assorted online profiles that I am into "political history". It works for me - by the time something is history you can get a fuller picture of the whole thing rather than all the moment-to-moment "who says what" stuff. I shall let more well-informed friends tell me anything important for now.

I get involved in the odd bit of lobbying or activism. I will admit that I have a long Facebook 'flist' partly so that my odd linking to something political gets a wider coverage than it may otherwise get. I will go to a rally sometimes. I am hoping to become a regular attendee at a monthly Amnesty International (AI) letter-writing brunch over a cafe in Clifton Hill. This is all stuff I can manage much more than the old craziness.

And I am happy to impart to others what I understand from both past study and experience. I love the way I have an automated online politics test that informs users of political ideology (beyond the simplicity of "left and right") while I sleep. Also I am happy to vent my frustrations in a creative way with another online project.

Me First! is my imaginary spoof political party which started as a way for me to express frustrations at the way things are in a minor political party. It has since gone onto become a more general way of satirizing or just having fun with political issues and concepts. And because it is a "joke" I can get away with saying all sorts of things. Most of it I will admit is ludicrous but sometimes - just sometimes - I do think some of the things I put there. I will let you decide which is which...

Cross-posted here.

The Living City

2011-03-29T23:18:00.016+11:00

It is twelve months since I returned from Canberra to Melbourne and as much as I came home I have also experienced a life that is subtly yet significantly different.

On returning from my only de-facto relationship I got two kinds of messages from Melbourne friends. One was "we are sad for you but happy to have you back". That was lovely. The other message was "you gave it your best shot". I think that is right but consider its implications.

I had the best chance I ever had to make a partnership work. I was given a wonderful opportunity by a fantastic person. However I fell short of expectations once more and (I felt) one time too many. A friend came to the Bush Capital to drive me back to Melbourne and I must have been shitty company because that long night was possibly the worst of my life. I stared at the terminally boring Hume and could see nothing in store for me but another day and another and another...

* * * * *

I think I was a bit blank like that for three months on returning home. I normally go happily to things but in that timeframe wanted to stay in and had to deliberately force a happy facade and attend more from commitment than desire. I knew that eventually I would improve and wanted to get back into my life.

I went to a wedding very tentatively because of all it represented. Fortunately my friends do things the way they want and this ‘pirate’ wedding reminded me that things can happen at a speed of our choosing. Well if we happen to find others that agree with us on the pace of commitment anyway. You can only determine your own actions in life and sometimes you have to re-assess how you do that.

* * * * *

Following those three months I was more well-adjusted and in a condition to develop interest in others. Just feeling that in yourself (let alone expressing it) is a good thing. However such feelings combined with the Canberra experience provoked plenty of introspection.

I pondered what kinds of human interaction work for me. One is keeping my own company which I enjoy and can fill with assorted past-times. I started with the intention of focusing on me but somehow other humans played a much bigger part. Friends have always been important and the extent to which I engaged with the minds of others was both energizing and exhausting. Communication takes work but is worth it.

* * * * *

Then there are the assorted human interactions we deem 'relationships'. That I was in an exploratory mood was evident to a few others. Someone put me on the spot in a small group conversation by asking me if I was considering Polyamory. At the time I made some melancholic comment that maybe nothing will work for me. I can do it more justice now with the following statement:

“It depends.”

That may seem like a nothing response but I will tell you my thinking. The differences that exist between any two relationships are greater than between any two models of relationship. This is because a person is far more complex than the cultural constructs we invent and it is the person or persons you relate to that matter. So whatever intimate interactions I have cannot be described till they are negotiated because they are a product of the unique humans involved.

Who can predict what is on my horizon? There are too many factors involved including my own preferences. For one thing affinity is an ingredient of attraction for me and that limits those I find interesting. Personal circumstances will limit things even further. And then what if there is more than one person left in this dwindling number? Shall I make overtures concurrently and risk seeming like a cad? The things we do for both sentiment and sensation! Sometimes it all seems like too much to bother with.

* * * * *

Things have gotten better since that long dark night on the Hume Highway - possibly I am just better adjusted to a lack-of-predictability in life. I have left the freeway and am now in a city block with many criss-crossing streets and laneways. Sometimes I will walk and at other times I will choose to stand still. Sometimes I will wander and at other times I will ask for directions - everybody needs help sometimes. Whatever happens is okay as long as friends continue to communicate with and embrace me (literally and figuratively) and I hope I deserve that. Anything more is a bonus.

Cross-posted here.

The Shadows In The Park

2011-03-11T12:51:00.006+11:00

I have over time got more into the lyrics of songs. Never as much as many of my friends. I am perfectly content to never know or understand all the words of a song. But I appreciate the emotional impact a good line has on me. And that impact can happen even if I misunderstand the words. Here is one such misunderstanding:

The shadows in the park belong to yesterday...

That is what I had always assumed a line from Home by Jethro Tull was. It transpires that the line is in fact:

The shadows in the park were longer yesterday...

My version works much better for me. The words as intended simply refer to the passage of time. Mine evokes memory of past experiences. I imagine someone visiting their old neighbourhood and walking past a park in which they store some long-distant recollection. What are they remembering? Playing on the swings and missing the simplicity of childhood? Reclining on the grass with a long-lost lover and feeling a momentary frisson of that? Walking a family dog that has been replaced many times since and feeling a sudden pang of loss? For me the shadows are memory-images superimposed over the static scene of the empty darkening suburban park and it may in fact be too late for there to be many light-shadows.

I prefer songs that explore life in a frank way that recognizes the mixed experiences we have and seeks to come to terms with them. There are plenty with a dose of reality - these words come to mind:

And it seems such a waste of time
If that's what it's all about
If that's moving up then I'm
Moving out!

However I have an admission to make - I also enjoy the sentimental stuff that sells us a distorted image of life and love. Dammit! I am critical of songs as part of the culture - traditional and popular - that fills us with expectations that only sometimes work for us and yet I still enjoy all that silly "And then I saw her face (da-da-da-da-da) Now I'm a believer!" How do I reconcile my critical perspective with my emotive joy at these songs? Well one thing to say is that I also like Star Wars and Lord Of The Rings even if I know that Jedi and Istari are imaginary. But there is more to it than that.

Songs exist to make us understand the experiences of others - I can seek to understand them even if I feel differently. I hardly need to fully endorse every tiny thing that comes into my life. Okay Monkees take it away now! Dig that sweet mushy lilly-white groove!

Cross-posted here.

O-Five Years

2011-02-26T00:30:00.005+11:00

It occurs to me that it is five years since I posted this. That was a fateful O-Week for me as I became a member of the Monash University Choral Society (MonUCS) and have stuck with it since. This post is a tribute to both that body and to the friends I have made as a result of getting involved in it.

As I sit here writing I find it difficult to find the right words to say just how significant that act was. But rather than a loss for words I am experiencing a flood of them. Try this – it has changed my life profoundly. They have changed my life for the better.

Normally I try and curb such gushing as I am wary of glorifying groups. Ultimately what matters is each person you make a connection with rather than the whole group with all its generalizations and assumptions and peer pressure (yes even we have it at times). But I can make cautionary statements of the limitations of groups another time. For now I will allow a bit of gushing.

I will also quickly note that I love my non-choral friends too! But back now to this perfume-scented missive dedicated to my choral peeps.

I had tentatively been involved in MonUCS in the past but they seemed more preppy then if I may borrow an American term. And that made sense to me at the time – a choral society tends to attract those with musical ability, which is in turn cultivated by particular kinds of parents who send children to particular schools. At any rate, those who ran the show back in the 90s seemed a tad too cool for me. But something changed and I still wonder why. Now they are far more nerdy. Yes, that nerdiness is more of the creative than technical bent but – still – that is just fine with me. Is it that Gen-Y are more accepting of things like fantasy and science fiction than were Gen-X? I cannot say but it works well for me.

There are other characteristics of those I have met that help me feel I belong. There is a tendency towards progressive politics but also an understanding of the need for political diversity. There is the willingness to be silly and child-like which to my mind shows a level of maturity some never achieve. Finally – and most importantly – there is compassion and a desire to help one another.

So far my writing gives the impression I integrated quickly. Far from it! There is a timid person in me and – lo-and-behold – many of my fellow choristers are similar. So we all tend to hang back and wonder what the others will do. Luckily there are always a few bolder figures who can offer a firm and smiling welcome.

One of my newest choral friends is also impressed by how MonUCS has changed her life and she refers to us as ‘Wonderland’. Apparently I am the Caterpillar. Another friend is the White Rabbit because of her role in leading this intrepid 'Alice' to us. I chose to come to MonUCS on my own but that same White Rabbit made me feel included and valued at junctures in which I may have decided that so many new faces were all too much for me.

And there are so many faces that are still fresh to me. My understanding of these friends slowly grows in richness and complexity and the process continues. I was considering embarrassing particular friends by name with expressions of my esteem for them but I will resist the temptation. I will however say this:

In you I have witnessed resilience, patience, bravery, integrity, imagination, kindness, generosity, perceptiveness, brilliance and humour, and I hope you can see these things in yourself.

There are so many anecdotes from my choral life that look to me like scenes from some movie or novel. I can never share them all and some are just too personal to put in writing – you just had to be there! But life is like a story and my latest chapter is full of music and singing fit to bursting.

Cross-posted here.

Add A Digit

2011-02-10T17:41:00.008+11:00

I was looking at some Twentieth Century detritus recently with a friend and we noticed an old sign with a seven-digit Melbourne landline number on it. I commented that I "vaguely" remembered that addition of an extra digit and she - rightly - expressed surprise at my vague memory because she is younger than I and distinctly remembers the change. An admission - In that moment I was impulsively sensitive to my age. That it mattered to me at all and that I played with the truth concerns me. I am happy that I was prevented from getting away from it. But the intent of this post is to be interesting rather than introspective - so - onwards!

Phone Numbers

The changing over to eight-digit phone numbers is one of those many changes that I remember that are small and mundane and yet are also markers of the passage of time and the inevitability of change. I prefer it - I quickly adapted to the symmetry of having an even-numbered set of numbers to dial (or rather to "punch in"). Two other things I remember that seem trivial and yet have had a big impact on every day life are...

Barcodes

I can remember the introduction of these peculiar patterns onto packaged products. How could a machine "read" this sequence of lines and numbers? Could I read them too just by looking? Nope - it was gibberish to me. But suddenly they were ubiquitous. And they changed our lives. I cannot say for sure but I can only assume that they made the work of a check-out operator quicker and therefore the time we customers spend in queues shorter. Now most recently barcodes have been combined with other technology to allow check-out self-service - something I am still in two minds over.

Blu-Tack

This and other putty-like pressure sensitive adhesives have changed our lives. I recall the absence of Blu-Tac in my life - we actually stuck posters on walls in my family home with - gasp - sticky tape. To this day I can tell the age of a rental property by the nasty faded-yellow residue left behind by sticky tape on plaster walls. Then along came Blu-Tack and life changed forever! Posters on bedroom walls could be located and relocated and swapped from wall-to-wall. Yes there is that issue of removing paint from surfaces but only if you are sloppy. Otherwise it is amazing stuff. And fun too! I made a dinosaur recently with some Plasticine from the game Cranium and friends seemed to approve. Well I have Blue-Tack to thank for that skill as I spent hours in childhood just making things with Blu-Tack (which was always more abundant than Plasticine itself).

* * * * *

I am sure that everyone has personal recollections of changes like this - things that came into your life that it may be difficult to imagine lacking now. Anybody want to suggest some more to add to the list?

Cross-posted here.

Three Shoreside Tales - Story III

2011-01-31T22:35:00.009+11:00

I tend to be a happy person and a lot of the things I make are likewise happy. However I have a tendency to end happy things on a sad note. So a playlist of generally cheerful stuff will end with a melancholy track. Likewise here I am making the third and final story of this set different from the others. It is rather different from the second story that it shares a scene with.

For the fifth time in five years, Elspeth sat in the Cranberry Cove Bakery Café, sipping a café latte and hoping Gregor would walk in the door. As she stirred her beverage she reflected on her first encounter with her surprising stranger in that café. It was the first time they had spoken even if it was the second time they had met. That they had spoken at all was surprising to both of them. They both had problems in talking to strangers, and indeed to anyone at all.

Ask Elspeth why she found communication difficult and she would have difficulty telling you. And even in her own internal dialogue she could never formulate an answer. All she knew was that she had always been this way. She could overcome her inhibitions for the sake of necessity – buying milk at the shop… collecting her pay cheque every week from the accounts office at the factory… telling her sister (whom she lived with) what she had missed in the last few minutes of Home & Away. Anything more than that was incredibly difficult, and had been so throughout her forty three years of life. That somehow changed on meeting Gregor.

A group of four young people came into the café and occupied the table next to her. They were three young women and one young man. All were glowing with life and possibility, and it was as if they knew it. They chatted in an animated and skilful fashion that had always impressed and intimidated Elspeth. The feller was wearing a necklace sporting a small shell and this reminded Elspeth of the first time she saw Gregor.

Elspeth loved to walk along the beach and wade in the rock pools at low tide. She had been coming to Cranberry Cove Foreshore Camping Reserve with her sister every Summer for over a decade. They stayed in the same caravan but would spend most days apart. Jessica had been given a much younger name by their parents and it seemed to affect her behaviour. Jessica seemed to know and get along with all the regular campers so, while she chatted and drank, Elspeth would go on long walks and collect shells.

As she collected shells and avoided stepping on crabs, Elspeth noticed another person doing the same thing a few meters distant. It was a bit unusual, she felt, to see someone alone, other than her, in such a pursuit. Mostly she saw children or families exploring the rock pools together. The stranger, who looked a similar age to her, moved slowly, deliberately, awkwardly, and seemed to pay close attention to everything in the water. At one moment they both looked in each other’s direction. The stranger tipped his sun hat momentarily, she smiled, and then they both returned to looking intently at things in the water, real or feigned.

Elspeth was distracted from her fond recollection by the young people chatting. What were they discussing now? They never seemed to stick to one topic. There was music, then politics, then movies, then more music, then something that made Elspeth blush. How did they do it? Maybe they all loved one another, outlandish as that notion seemed. That was how Elspeth supposed she could talk for hours with Gregor and only with Gregor.

Five years ago, and a day after the rock pool almost-meeting, Gregor had wandered into the Cranberry Cove Bakery Café and started examining the wall-menu. Elspeth had been sipping a coffee and reading a romance novel, and between sips she observed the stranger furtively. The subject of her observation ordered a milkshake, took a table number, turned round and then started walking towards Elspeth. He withdrew something from a pocket, proffered it at Elspeth, and declared that it was an “Undulate Volute Amoria”. His words were like poetry to Elspeth even if she was puzzled by them. She must have looked puzzled because the stranger then made a longer statement: “I am Gregor and I saw you collecting shells yesterday, and so was I, and this is one I collected”.

Following that, conversation seemed to flow and to this day Eslpeth wondered how. She asked him how he knew the name of that kind of shell. He told her of his avid interest in marine life. She asked him if he was a local. He told her he came here camping every year. Somehow Elspeth was talking like a normal person. She even uttered with feeling “you make me like talking”. At that the conversation paused. Gregor looked at her and then made the strangest statement – “it must be the magic of the shells”.

The magic of the shells – it was just a throwaway line Gregor later admitted, but he also felt that it was significant, given that he normally never managed to make such spontaneous statements. Elspeth later embellished that line with additional meaning. From childhood we are told that shells hold and store sounds, such as the roaring of the ocean, and for Elspeth the shells they had been collecting held conversation in them, an enchantment that allowed Elspeth and Gregor to talk. And from talk so many other things can grow.

Elspeth and Gregor walked and collected shells… they ate dinner at each of the three local restaurants on different nights… they watched the sun setting. Finally on the last night of her holiday, Gregor asked Elspeth back to his one-man tent, a request to which she happily assented. Both lacked experience of intimacy, yet both engaged enthusiastically in the activity of that night, buoyed by the thrill of having thoroughly immersed themselves in the strangeness of another personality.

The young people were discussing the pros and cons of skinny-dipping, a term Espeth only knew because of American movies set in the 1950s. It was all somehow very politically charged, which puzzled her. She was also puzzled by how long she had been sitting in the café. Her coffee was now cold and Gregor was absent. Gregor lived interstate cataloguing rare marine species on tropical reefs and only came to Cranberry Cove due to a childhood connection to the place.

Every year for the last three years they had met here and resumed their relationship as they had left it. Every year he would walk in with some unusual shell to show her and name. Normally it took only one cup of coffee for him to wander in and order a milkshake. What was different now?

Carla, one of the staff, came over and refreshed her coffee, and then made more than just the usual small talk with her:

“Hey, Elsie, I have a letter for you, addressed here and care of you.”

Elspeth was surprised, and stammered her thanks, taking the envelope and waiting for Carla to go back to her work. Who had written to her and why? How did they know she was here? She had a peculiar feeling forming in her tummy and a suspicion took shape in her mind.

She had never seen the handwriting, but then, Elspeth realized, she and Gregor had never written to one another. She opened the letter and read it in silence while the café clamour continued around her.

The wording was economical and sparse and the message was explicit. Gregor was staying home these holidays. Things had changed. He had gotten into a relationship with a workmate. The confidence he had developed at Cranberry Cove had allowed this to happen. He was sorry for his absence and hoped she had a nice holiday. He had included his return address so they could be pen-pals if she wanted...

Pen-pals? They had never written… never called… because the magic only worked in person, or so they had believed… and now she had lost even that… even her annual dose of attention and attraction?

Elpeth felt the forming of tears that seemed stuck inside her eyes. It was as if the shell she would never now be given held her tears imprisoned within it. Had she been in her tent alone maybe then she could have felt more but in this café she found herself thinking.

Yes, Elspeth felt abandoned, but she and Gregor had never promised anything except another Summer… and another… and another… one at a time. Was it good that someone she loved had grown as a person and had all the things he wanted now in one location? Should she be happy that she had contributed to the happiness of another? A line from the novel she had read that important day four years ago returned to her:

“Love compels us to want what is best for the other person rather than for ourselves.”

That line from a pulp romance gave Elspeth a moment of calm acceptance. Was that it? Was that all she needed to dispel the awful emptiness and hurt that had suddenly been cast upon her? Her dull dim pondering was momentarily eclipsed by the continuing chatter from the young people. They were arguing still, using discussion as a way of making decisions, and Elspeth started to converse with herself once more.

She needed more than just this thing in her past. She needed her life to touch and be touched by others. She needed to be part of a world she had only ever observed from a safe distance. If Gregor could benefit from what they had shared then Elspeth could do likewise. And she could draw on more than that… more than some silly love story… and maybe give some things back too.

Elspeth scoffed her second coffee down then left her table. As she walked past the young people she stopped and, directing her attention to the most argumentative of the group, told her something:

“Life is short and blue, honey, like your hair, so make the most of it, whatever you decide to do.”

With that Elspeth left the Cranberry Cove Bakery Café, feeling something she had never felt. She had made a profound comment to a total stranger and was now on her way to pay a bit more attention to life and make it notice her.

Elspeth had resolved to go find Jessica and her mates and see if they had anything for her to drink. Maybe she had a story to tell and they would be amazed and shocked by it. Maybe they would tell her theirs. Maybe the anger and sorrow that she knew would linger could provide an excuse to form new bonds. Elpeth knew now that it was she, rather than shells, that held the power of sharing her life with others.

That was the most difficult to write for me because it departs the most from my personal experience. And yet there are aspects of it that resonate with me and draw on things I have felt even if only in imagination. I worry that the kind of rapid personal transformations I describe in this story are just too difficult to make this story anything more than pure fantasy.

Cross-posted here.

Three Shoreside Tales - Story II

2011-01-28T09:26:00.010+11:00

One challenge with writing in a realistic setting is that I cannot help but draw on personal experience and what I produce looks so much more like life... my life even... than if I was writing science fiction or fantasy. And then I worry - what if the characters I describe seem too much like friends of mine? What if someone reading it thinks "hey is that me?" Well all I can say is that the characters depicted here are original even if they draw on aspects of many I have known over time and across different groups. They were seen from a distance in the first story and now here they are seen more closely...

Tilda considered the arguments her friends were feeding her. They had gotten her to admit that she had no moral qualms about skinny dipping and she was wondering if citing a vague personal preference was a satisfactory recourse for her now.

“So what if I just have a vague personal preference to keep clothes on in a public setting?”

Tilda was a bit self-conscious to even be having this discussion in the Cranberry Cove Bakery Café. She only hoped the ambient volume in the café was sufficient to keep their conversation private. The chances of this were small given the strident intonations of Mellow Cello.

Melanie had a nickname – Mellow Cello – because she was the cellist of their group Stringy Things and because she cultivated a relaxed and nonchalant attitude to almost everything.

“But this beach is practically private at night – nobody comes along and even if they do they cannot see you in the dark. Besides – did I mention fun?”

Tilda had to admit that she had been having fun during their holiday at Cranberry Cove Foreshore Reserve, living in a tent and pretty much forgetting the life pressures of an Information Technology student in her Honours year. Tilda also had to admit that she secretly wished to emulate the mindset of the vivacious ginger-curled geologist. Nonetheless Tilda decided to debate the matter some more.

“I suppose it's just force of habit, but I think I'd feel way too self-conscious and most likely just abandon you a few minutes in.”

It was now that Nesrin waded back into the discussion. In other ways Tilda wished to be more like her fellow violinist. Nesrin had overcome adversity that Tilda could barely imagine, coming as she did from a family of refugees from Afghanistan. Now she tutored in International Relations. Besides, she had such a graceful and calm disposition. If Nesrin was fine with something then you wanted to be fine with it too.

“I understand the power of what you call habit and what I will call culture and tradition. But in some contexts we can overcome those. In some cases we exercise our fundamental human freedoms only by overcoming the conformity within us.”

Tilda could feel her resistance melting under the combined warmth of the fun-mongering Mellow Cello and the philosophising Nesrin. Still the fact that they were combining to change her mind frustrated her. She was the youngest and newest member of the gang and sometimes they acted like they knew it. Finally she decided to turn to the viola player of Stringy Things, Jake, who had so far been silently sipping his caramel milkshake.

“Do you want to harangue me too Jake?”

“Nope. I think we should all do what we want to do. If you three wanted to have a gender segregated swim for instance then I can go star gazing. Or we can all wear as much as we want. Or whatever…”

Tilda considered the star gazing suggestion but decided that if she was fine skinny dipping at all then she would be okay if Jake was present. For a start she had never noticed any indication of attraction between them, and for her he simply lacked whatever elusive quality made someone attractive. She knew Mellow Cello considered him ‘dishy’ – she and Jake were exes who got along but “drove one another crazy” if they spent too much time alone together. Nesrin had also admitted to finding him cute but she had a strict policy of never dating ‘colleagues’ and membership of a string quartet made them all that.

Tilda pondered the group and its interactions. Both Mel and Nes liking Jake… Jake seeming too absorbed these days in work in welfare advocacy to notice or care (they also suspected he was getting into an office romance)… Then there was Tilda herself, both wishing she was like a blend of Mel and Nes and…

And what?

There it was – the thing in her mind she had been quashing for months now. Jake lacked “that elusive quality” but both Mellow Cello and Nesrin had it in the perceptions of Tilda. And this was truly what was making her argue – she desired to be closer to them and was thus also scared of perceiving them as objects of lust rather than as friends. This was something they could never discuss in a café. This was something she might never discuss at all. Just then her musing was interrupted.

A customer from another table was walking past and had suddenly stopped to say something to her. A older woman with some shells held in her hand was looking right at her and uttered these words:

“Life is short and blue, honey, like your hair, so make the most of it, whatever you decide to do.”

The eccentric then walked out of the café, and Stringy Things all exchanged glances, wondering what had just happened, and why.

* * * * *

Once they were in the waters of Cranberry Cove, gently illuminated by the moonlight, Tilda found she had concerns other that that of secret attractions. It was cold. Somehow she had let the others tell her it would be balmy even if that was patently nonsense – even in the day the water had been tepid despite the Summer sunshine. Her extremities were getting colder by the minute.

Another concern she had forgotten was that of marine wildlife. In the daytime it somehow never concerned her but at night the lack of visibility suddenly made her feel so much more vulnerable to… things… creepy swimming toothy things.

With all this nagging at her, Tilda stayed within a meter of each friend (within and also at a distance of a meter for the sake of respecting personal space). The momentary frisson she had experienced on seeing and being seen sans bathers had quickly evaporated. The sense left behind was surprisingly ordinary. They were human and had always been this way – clever animals that belonged to the world and to one another and who could optionally abandon the inventions with which they surrounded themselves.

Tilda experimented once with a splashing rise from the surface of the water, imitating Mel and Nes. Jake simply waded, staring out to sea and humming a tune. The simplicity of it all made Tilda feel giddy for a moment. Or was that the cold?

A time-span free of time-keeping passed and then Tilda declared that she needed a warm shower and sleep. “But you are having fun!” opined Mellow Cello. “Yes I am but it’s fucking cold!” snapped Tilda. “Okay, if you go then we all go” concluded Nesrin. Jake then chipped in with his only comment of the swim – “shall we run back in and give the kid hiding by our clobber the scare of his life?”

Tilda had gone from timidly refusing to swim naked to scaring a total stranger while in that same tender condition. She wondered at how quickly she had changed her standards. Did it worry her or was this just how one was supposed to live life? Tilda decided that human interactions necessitated rapid decision-making and she may as well get the practice in the company of her friends. It was silly to feel scared of those who cared for her as long as she never forgot to think and to assert her own opinion. Taking that warm shower felt like one of the best things she had ever done.

The third and final story of this set will be blogged here soon and will draw on an incidental character from this story. Of all three it will depart the most from my own personal experience and observations...

Cross-posted here.

Three Shoreside Tales - Story I

2011-01-14T00:21:00.017+11:00

A week spent camping close to the beach gave me an opportunity to relax with friends but I also spent some alone time and went on my customary walks. I had wondered if I would get bored so had a novel and a sketch-pad with me but barely ever touched them (except for sketching a few shells). The hours and days just rushed by and yet also seemed like I was experiencing a portion of timelessness. Anyway while I went walking some fictitious tales set in a similar locale started forming in my imagination and I have three in the pipeline. Here is the first of three...

Jeremy was making a sand castle with his sister Bethany. He was thirteen and she was nine. They had always enjoyed making sand castles together during family holidays at Cranberry Cove Foreshore Camping Reserve. This time, however, something was different.

Jeremy was finding it difficult to engage in the activity as he once had. The fantasy of knights and dragons with which they embellished the past-time was losing its charm for him and this in turn made Jeremy feel empty. But Bethany still loved it and so Jem played on.

Jem had drawn on his natural artistic talent and a pictorial medieval history book to preserve his interest in sand castles but now even that palled a bit. He wanted to go riding his bike with older kids at the Reserve. Or wander alone along the beach and see how far he could walk. Or even just watch the four musicians playing in the water nearby.

Jem knew they were musicians because he had seen them carrying instruments into their tents on arriving at their site. It was one of the more unusual things he had seen over years of holidaying at Cranberry Cove, and “unusual” was the word for his temporary neighbours.

There were four of them – three girls and one boy. Or should the words be "three women and one man"? It was difficult to decide what words to use for them. They looked like what Mum would call “young adults” but acted strangely like children. They would burst into song of an evening. They would play chasy in the water. They even had made sand sculptures one day – of violins!

They were walking past Jem and Bethany right now. Jem acted like he was working on the central keep of the castle but listened intently to their conversation. He got snatches like “so we come back after dark right?” and “yes but only if the water is warm” and finally “hey those kids make one awesome sand castle”.

Once they had passed Jem noticed Bethany looking at him. “What you looking at?” he asked. “You, perving at those girls with the eyes in the back of your head!” she giggled and then went right back to working on the pony stables in the forecastle. Bethany took in way too much sometimes.

Later that night Jeremy was reading a book in the tent the family habitually called ‘Base Camp’ when he noticed the musicians all leaving the bigger of their two tents. They had torches and swimming clobber and were moving quietly. After a few minutes Jem looked over to Dad and yelled “I left my watch back at the sandcastle – gonna just go get it!” Jem put down his book, felt for his watch in his pocket, and made for the beach.

The musicians should be easy to find, thought Jem, as they were very distinctive. There was the gender ratio. Also, they were all sort of colour-coded. One was dark with straight jet hair. One was curly and ginger. One had short hair dyed blue. The dude had long sandy hair. But would all that be obscured by the night, even with a full moon? Was this whole excursion futile as well as incredibly embarrassing if anyone were to know about it? Was his hunch about the intent of the musicians even right?

The musicians were all-too-easy to find because of the racket they were making. Even from the tea-tree lined track to the beach Jem could hear them yelping and squealing. On reaching open beach, Jem only now wondered what to do next. The only thing he could think of was to return to the sand castle just as his ruse has proposed.

Quietly Jem walked, then crawled over to the sculpted structure. Surprisingly, he found himself intently studying his handiwork. The crenulations had deformed since this afternoon but still gave the castle a superior look to those made by kids. The splashing and energetic conversation persisted over in the water tens-of-metres away. Jem overcame whatever was inhibiting him and looked out to sea.

There were human forms moving in the water. Usually they were submerged to shoulder-height but occasionally one would rise out of the water to cheers and whistles from the others. In these conditions they were indistinct and yet they were also made entirely of skin, rather than the usual human composition of skin and cloth. Jem was suddenly concentrating on something very important – more important than the latest computer game or roller blades or collector card. And the compelling foci of his attention were now drifting in closer and moving into shallower water.

Jem had seen naked women in the magazines of his closest cousin James. What he witnessed now was somehow different. It was excursions to galleries and museums that Jem was reminded of, rather than the pages of Menagerie. What he witnessed were like age-old statues of marble or terracotta, but moving, constantly shifting in precise shape and form, interacting with the water and with the shadows cast by the moon. They were close enough now for conversation to be discerned. “But you are having fun!” “Yes I am but it’s fucking cold!” “Okay, if you go then we all go”. There were some other words muttered and lost on the wind, but Jem knew that they were emerging!

Jeremy tensed. If he moved he would draw attention to himself. But if he stayed they would discover him because he only just now noticed what must be their clothes piled close by. The musicians were coming towards him and he remembered that a man was among them. However it was the other three who were terrifying now – impossibly confident and powerful and primal in this moment – and Jem suddenly ran, kicking over his gate house as he did so, and glancing back only once. As he ran he felt he was chased by haunting laughter from the very depths of the ocean.

Jem managed to walk from the end of the track back to Base Camp calmly and sauntered inside as if everything was perfectly normal. His parents let his entry pass with only asking if he had found his watch. Jem proffered his watch in response. Only Bethany gave him a funny look as the mirthful conversation of the musicians returning nearby filtered through the canvass.

The next morning Jeremy and Bethany were back at their castle, which needed reconstructing following high tide. Bethany startled Jem by drawing crude images of breasts and buttocks in the sand and smirking at him. Jem rushed to erase them as his infuriating sister giggled at him. “Who watches the watchers Jemmy?” she taunted. It dawned on Jeremy then that Bethany must have followed him and observed him – possibly from the grassy dunes between the beach and track. Jem felt exposed. He also felt guilty for having let his kid sister see something that was, in his adult opinion, forbidden to children.

Bethany turned on one of her disarming smiles and crushed the keep with one hand. “How about today we sculpt a mermaid? I can work on the hair and jewellery and things, you can do the rest.” As sometimes happened, Jem felt that his sister was older than he, nodded his agreement, and got to imagining just what their mermaid would look like. He had some useful mental pictures to guide his hands.

I still feel very awkward in writing realist stuff like this. But I figure it is better to try and share than otherwise. Tell me if you think it can be improved. Also be aware that the second story will be told from the perspective of one of the 'musicians' so the mindset will be expanded somewhat. Any requests for what happens in that story are welcome...

Cross-posted here.

Old For New

2010-12-26T00:03:00.006+11:00

There have been a few 'year-in-review' Internet memes circulating currently that I am tempted to partake in but somehow I keep holding back. I am much more expansive now in my online communication than I once was. And yet these sets of questions still sit strangely for me. I prefer to pose the questions that I then answer. I also think that I need more time to process some things - for me 2010 sort of started three months in so it may be fitting for me to defer such musings for now.

And to be perfectly honest I have done lots of communicating this year in rather more old-fashioned ways. I am grateful to those who have helped me to express and explore who I am - my sheer volume of words alone must be exhausting to you. Having you all in my life has made the journey so much more worthwhile.

So how then to end my blogging for 2010? I was thinking of taking inspiration from television and putting together a sort of "flashbacks" episode. But then even that seemed like too much work (given I am still behind in sending some festive greetings).

I have settled then on linking back to just one past blog entry - one of the oldest and possibly my favourite. It is essay-like in its exploration of a topic. It serves as a book review. It celebrates a neglected historical figure. It also betrays personal aspects of who I am. And finally it is fannish declaration of love which I think is a very Internetty thing to do.

So for those with the stamina I once more present the wonderful Aphra Behn. The opening line is a classic if I do say so myself...

Cross-posted here.

Four Corners

2010-12-17T22:53:00.010+11:00

I have been writing overly long and involved blog posts lately so here is something a bit more relaxed - an internet meme.

"Take photos of your bedroom from its four corners. For each photo provide information on some of the key contents of your room."

Luckily I have managed to keep my room tidy. Here I go...

South-East Corner

It can barely be seen but on my window sill is a ceramic fur seal. I got it ages ago during a visit of Korner friends to the St Kilda craft market. I do identify somewhat with marine mammals - I am connected to water even if I detest the food that comes from it!

Stuck to the wall is a sketch-cum-display incorporating medieval fantasy miniatures. The frame is a shoebox lid.

Hanging from a hook is the sock monkey Avril made for me which I call the Raja coz to me he looks Indian somehow. The thing with creative and generous friends is that they tend to have a disproportionate effect on your decor.

My desk is my window onto the world (rather than onto the yard) due to its net connection. From here I send this to you all in the hope it may be of passing interest. The desk and also the handy plastic draws came originally from my 12 months in Canberra.

South-West Corner

That black iron framework thing is fantastic. It was left in the shed by some past residents and the estate agents told me that we were free to dispose of it. So naturally I made use of it to display lots of lovely things. It is designed to hang clothes but the room has a huge wardrobe for that so I just filled the blank wall space with a splash of natural beauty in that waterfall poster (which originally hung in the now long-closed Australian Democrats Victorian Division Office).

On display are my most useful or interesting books. Also a ceramic Moroccan drum (which my brother Lukas once smashed and then super-glued all back together). Also a sampling of my favourite three kinds of toy - Transformers... Legoland Space... Star Wars Figures (with a Triceratops to keep them company).

North-West Corner

Stuck to my wardrobe doors are a sampling of hand-made novelty greeting cards. Ages ago I attempted to sell such things at a stall at the Monash Craft Market. I only ever covered material costs. In moving back to Melbourne and looking at old memorabilia I came across these and decided to display them as a reminder to me that I am creative but that there are limits to how much that creativity can enrich my life.

It can barely be seen but on the mirror by the door is a TransperiScore that MonUCS members may remember from a recent comedic camp revue act. Look at your music and the conductor at the same time!

North-East Corner

The painting on the wall is another Avril but some assume it is mine because of my thing for landscapes. However I have never bothered with messy sticky paints. Something to try in future.

My bedside table has a lone scented candle on it. There were once many more. For one birthday party ages ago (friends may remember I almost took over the now long-closed Wei Wah Chinese Restaurant in Clayton) practically everyone decided I needed scented candles! Do I look that New Age? Well whatever. I keep one just for the heck of it - I think it is mocha-scented.

Finally there is a life drawing I did as part of a short course at Monash ages ago. The online image of it says it is my "best ever sketch" but I now suspect that some things I have done recently are of a similar level. In newer ones I even try my hand at drawing feet!

* * * * *

Well that was my four corners guided tour. Time now to go to bed.

Cross-posted here.

Gumshoe Telepath: Drunken Mind

2010-11-19T14:30:00.014+11:00

Here is yet another chapter of my slowly developing futuristic detective story. The last chapter had action and this one presents action of a very different kind...

As we sat in the car, still panting from our rushed escape, I reflected on our last dizzying half hour. It had been amazing and humiliating at the same time. Or, to be more accurate, Kristen had been amazing while I was humiliated. Why? Well, we were making our escape from the O'Leery Estate, having snuck in so that Kristen could do a vibesweep of the crime scene. We were almost to the ocean-view cliffs at the back of the grounds, and a scrambling climb to freedom, when, just a few metres short of the cliff face, I tripped!

There I was, splayed on the lawn, with vicious guard dogs almost upon us. Kristen acted immediately by turning to face those hounds and what she did next was, as I say, amazing... amazing and disturbing too.

Kristen crouched low in a primal pose drawn, so it seemed, from ancestral memory, and began growling at the dogs. I knew that this pantomime was only the outward refection of some telepathic acrobatics Kristen was performing. It worked. The dogs stopped short and, whimpering, ran off back towards the O'Leery Mansion. Kristen then turned back to me, and with surprising strength, lifted me to my feet, and we got away before the human guards could get to us.

So, now we were sitting in my 2010 vintage Camero, having driven to the closest shopping centre carpark to take a rest and ensure that nobody had followed us. Kristen was sitting, staring out the window, and saying nothing. I decided some of my finely honed banter would get her talking.

"So, um, so"

I decided to have another shot.

"Thanks for, um, for..."

I wanted to thank Kristen for saving my hide from nasty canine attentions. I was just embarrassed. I was the street-wise member of this crime busting duo. I was supposed to use her unusual skills while insulating her from the gritty aspects of the job. I was...

I suddenly felt warm, wet lips locking with mine. Kristen leaned into me from the front passenger seat and was all over me. I was astounded. For years now Kristen had snubbed my overtures to her, and now this? What had happened? Why did I even care? Danger does interesting things to those who experience it. That was it! She had finally admitted her attraction to me because we had risked our lives together. Go for it Derrick, I thought, live in the moment.

As my left hand strayed from her waist to her hips, I felt lips caressing my earlobe, and as my right hand felt for bra strap I experienced the thrill of those same lips sliding down my neck. She was one hot dame I can tell you. And then there were grazing teeth... and a guttural growl from the solar plexus of Kristen... and it dawned on me.

It was the telepathy that had done this. Kristen never made telepathic contact with animals because the act of thinking at them, thinking like them, altered her mental state and with it her behaviour. She was acting like a carnivore in Spring because she had made telepathic contact with dogs. In other words she was drunk... drunk on telepathy rather than alcohol but drunk nonetheless. There was only one thing to do.

We were kissing once more, but you can only do so many things with your mouth, so I started talking, asking Kristen to cool it, reminding her that we had just escaped from the home of a crime duopoly. For a moment she looked like she wanted to rend me limb from limb, then her face went blank, then she sat back in her seat.

Staring forward once more, Kristen mumbled “take me home then go away”. That is exactly what I did. As I left her door, I told her I would ring in the morning and then we could discuss her telepathic findings. She looked exhausted. I was too. I got home too tired to think but too stimulated to sleep. My dreams were haunted by kaleidoscopic images of the night I could have had. Sometimes the images of human forms would be replaced by those of dogs... snarling rutting dogs.

* * * * *

The next morning I rang Kristen, hoping that she was her normal, reserved, human self. She was, her image on the holo-projector even gave me a wan smile, which relaxed me.

“Thanks for taking me home Derrick.”

“Well it was the end of a long night, Kristen, and that’s what we do after a job.”

“Well, thanks anyway.”

“Had a chance to let the vibesweep percolate in your knoggin?”

“Yes, and, Derrick, this is gonna blow you away…”

I had other things on my mind that would blow me away, but we were back on the case now, and Kristen seemed over her canine mindset. She told me that, at both the O’Leery and the Masonite residences, she had sensed the same presence… the same personality… that had killed both crime bosses. Witness accounts told a different story – that both crime bosses had killed each other and at the same time in different locations. What Kristen was now telling me seemed like an impossible answer to the impossible question of our case.

“How can that be, Kristen?”

“I can only think of one thing, Derrick, and its bloody insane - telepathic twin assassins!”

“That is bloody insane! We gotta work on this – meet at the Roundtree for lunch?”

“Sure, see you then, and bring an open mind."

As the image of Kristen faded I sat there mentally reeling. If anything could take my mind off my still buzzing hormones it was this – life had suddenly gotten like some kind of science fiction novel. And for the first time I wondered whether we were biting off more than we could chew.

I feel like this is a bit rushed but wanted to publish it nonetheless and can always polish it (along with all other chapters) later. I feel I have both explored a kind of scene that is challenging to pen - an amorous one - while also developing the characters and story some more. And now I have the telepathic twin assassins concept I wonder what I will do with it in the next chapter...

Cross-posted here.

2006-2010

2010-11-05T13:47:00.011+11:00

In some ways writing this final instalment of my autoblography is the simplest and in some ways the most challenging. On the one hand all I have to say for the past five years is “look at my blog” since it corresponds to that time. On the other hand I feel the need to draw conclusions from the last few posts. I will try to both supplement existing blog posts and present some personal life philosophy too…

I wonder who I am following two decades of adulthood. I feel I have experienced lots of things and taken some surprising directions. And yet I also feel like the person I was in childhood – contemplative… sentimental… cautious yet whimsical. As much as things change they stay the same. Is that a problem? Sometimes. I think I will never change that much in fundamentals but I can and do shift the focus on facets of who I am. I tend to go with the flow but recently have gotten better – in fits and starts – at making things happen for me. This entry takes care of much of what I have done in recent years.

I decided that it is okay to just have work rather than a career. This is a controversial statement because of the popular notion that we have to be productive go-getting self-starters. Ultimately I want a good life and jobs are only part of that. I do have to work on motivation but I accept that I will never be an ambitious stress-junkie and that gives me a kind of freedom. Part of that involves developing non-work past-times.

Just recently I have put more concerted effort into the solitary things I have always enjoyed. And the ironic thing is that part of that effort has involved asking others to help me do that. This has had varying degrees of success. I made contact with some academics to ask them whether the ideological classification I developed in the Political Objectives Test warrants further exploration in the form of me returning to study as a post-graduate. For this I have gotten zero response and that includes polite reminders from me. How far can I go in turning “asking” into “nagging” or “cajoling”? I have never done those things all that well and wonder whether it is worth it. I prefer asking nicely.

I participated in Monash Wordfest 2010 by entering this short story. I also attended a number of writing workshops and in one the author-facilitator expressed admiration of my impromptu writing. This sort of feedback made me think my entry would be recognized in an award category but that never happened. It was a mixed experience therefore but one I will try on a regular basis because sharing what one makes is a good thing.

One of the best experiences in asking recently has come in the form of inviting some friends to pose for me to sketch. From those human sketches I then derive the basic lines to invent landscapes. Rather than just doodling now-and-then I have produced dozens of pencil sketches and have a modest folio. I feel I have got more than that, however, as those who helped me seemed to derive something from the experience, which is in turn gratifying for me. So much in life comes from positive feedback loops among humans.

A theme of my autoblographing has been that of my ‘solitary self’. I want to assure friends however that becoming a hermit is the furthest thing from my mind. As I stated here humans make me human even if solitude allows me to be me (incidentally the ‘doldrums’ in that post have been exiled for now). I am integrated into my life… my society… my world and I am committed to that. The form that integration takes has changed however.

Sharing solitary interests with others is one change. Another is that my focus on a civic life has narrowed to desiring to help improve the lives of those who are a part of mine. And yet another is my perspective on relationships. In this most recent timeframe I stumbled into three. Astounding given past frequency. Did I just get more attractive or did I wander into some kind of wonderland? I suspect choristers will say it is the latter. Such experiences enrich life but are also challenging and alter thinking.

Lest you think I am self-deprecating (which I can be) I stress that words in this paragraph are descriptive rather than judgemental. I am a good person but I am also lazy and selfish. I desire companionship but am now wary of partnership with its demand for regular indicators-of-progress towards some distant life objective. This may well set me apart from my peers at that coming class reunion. Mortgages… children… divorces… it may just be all too much for me. I prefer the meeting rather than the merging of lives. But even that is a want rather than a need. To be me and be part of a community is what matters and anything more is a bonus.

I have fantastic support structures… a caring if fractured family… a share home which allows me to balance comfort with economic simplicity… amazing long-term friends… amazing newer friends… you have opened doors for me and sometimes given me a push in the right direction… I have almost had moments of telepathy with you… thanks for who you are.

At the start of this set of posts I stated that we “are all alone - nobody will ever truly understand what it is to be me.” I stand by that but I also think it is an heroic undertaking to seek to combat that harsh fact as best we can. That is what friends are for so expect me to be the late-night conversationalist I have always been. And in seeking to understand you I will also do my best to understand who I am in isolation from you. Finally if I have drawn any conclusions from this let it be known that they are subject to change as life changes. I am still some kind of work-in-progress.

Cross-posted here.

2001-2005

2010-10-27T21:36:00.007+11:00

As once century turned into another and the cheers of a New Year's Eve party faded into echoes I reflect that things were much of a muchness but there were some exceptions to that in store for me...

There are plenty of ways I can fill the time and feel satisfied with my life even if nothing much is happening. Things like deciding that even nerds need exercise and lap swimming regularly... or reading on topics like popular twentieth century music history... or writing random short fiction. And then there is always some party or dinner on the weekend to look forward to. Still sometimes things just happen to you in new ways...

Every once in a while that patented courting method worked for me. In this time frame - once more - it worked only once but gave me a most surprising life experience. I was at a party... the host told one of her guests that I was nice and interesting... that guest made moves on me. We interacted. We exchanged numbers. We talked and arranged to meet. This was an effort on my part as it involved rural public transport to visit my new friend living in a tiny Victorian township!

We got along very well but wanted different things. She was set on the long-term plan of a subsistance farmer producing her own everything including human progeny in numbers. She had one as it was - a lovely precocious toddling daughter. While my hopes were far more vague I knew they were contrary to hers. One statement I made was that I must always live "within walking distance of a milk bar". I am a child of suburbia and need population. As much as we enjoyed our time together we also agreed that anything between us was doomed. So we called it a day...

And then as the result of a phone call we changed our minds. Companionship in the here-and-now was worthwhile and we would just see what happens. In looking back at this I am reminded that I am more subject to instant gratification than my self-image tells me. It was a fascinating but difficult time filled with both fun and frustration as we negotiated between different preferences and philosophical stances. It had to end however - at 12 months I think - and I came away from it with a number of things. One was an appreciation of the life of a sole parent... Another was the fascination of observing human development in a child (I now think that I find personal development fascinating in all ages). I also got a fuller sense of both the charming and dismal aspects of rural life. And I have yet another friend with whom to talk on the phone.

While I spent many weekends away from home, I spent many weekdays working in the office of the Australian Democrats. Office work inevitably blurred with tasks undertaken in my growing number of roles within the party. This cause I had chosen and those I worked alongside became a powerful motivating force in my life and in some ways I think I was at my most proactive and competent at that time. At my most involved I was coordinating the behind-the-scenes organization (as distinct from political campaign work) of the entire state division.

I was sitting once at Huntingdale station in flannal shirt and jeans with my back to the wall and my feet on the bench. I was on the way into State Office. Suddenly the incongruity hit me - someone like me with such a responsibility in my hands and party secrets in my backpack as I waited for the train. Still it was a kind of calling for me and some fun things I remember include forming the Monash Democrats with Julie, developing draft mission statements with Corey, and campaigning for the election of Jess.

Politics amost devoured my life but I still did other things alongside it. I decided to codify my clerical work experience by undertaking a TAFE course in administration and look for roles accordingly. I also moved into a new share household on the invitation of Polly & Olav who purchased a home in Mulgrave. This setting fitted my lone walker persona well and the presence at Waverley Gardens of a cut-price cinema helped me while away slack Sundays. In some ways seeing a movie alone is the best way to see it - just you and the story you are drawn into.

However towards the end of this time things were starting to pall. A desire for emotional self-sufficiency is all very well but can be difficult to find. I was at a loss and turning to and fro wondering what to do. Things were set to change a lot... become more complex and generally better. And both luck and making active decisions played into that development as I look back over the most recent part of my life to date...

Concluded here.

Cross-posted here.

1996-2000

2010-10-20T22:58:00.008+11:00

In the last instalment I had gone to university and just rediscovered my solitary self. Now I will continue my autobiographical blogging till the turn of the century…

I had known all my teens that there was a lack of love between my parents. Eventually circumstances overcame inertia and they divorced. Having this happen as I was finishing uni and Lukas was only starting was much more convenient for us than if we had experienced it as kids. And yet it still left me with a lingering sense of the impact on others of forming a family, a feeling that is with me even now.

Within a relatively short time we went from four under one roof to four under four. I had the opportunity to move into a share household with good uni friends Damien and Polly. I had spent long hours hanging at other student share households and so now I was in my own I embraced it fully. Staying awake into the night chatting or watching re-runs of the very daggy Prisoner... hosting awesome parties crammed with friends… giving younger friends a place to hang as had been done for me. We went from bad landlords (Cesspool) to good landlords (Flea Circus) but in both cases made these houses our home. A bit later I lived in another household (Currajong Street) with an ever-shifting cast of residents a few blocks from the new share house of Lukas – Stoned Henge. It was lots of fun visiting them and having a sense of both family and friends in the one neigbourhood.

I was an emergency teacher for much of this time and yet never managed to become permanent – a mix of factors including lack of demand for particular subjects in the late 90s played into this. Over time I became jaded with the whole thing and, looking back, I wonder why I ever expected to manage adolescents, given that I had never coped all that well with them while I was one. Over time teaching work ceded to other things, including volunteering in the Australian Democrats state office.

I had been a member of the ADs in my uni days but never got much into it. In the late 90s however there was an active youth wing which I was drawn into. My academic interest in politics was complimented by a hands-on experience of campaigning and even candidacy. It was an exciting time to feel part of a movement and everyone needs a sense of belonging to something.

In other ways however this was a very lonely time for me. I had to decide who exactly were friends and acquaintances on having left the constant human throng of uni life (even if I still visited it regularly). I held onto key friends and we did new and interesting things… Sean and I went on long interstate drives… Emily ran a small singing group… Jen got us into exclusive costumed movie premiers. And yet in this time I quietly became more insular.

There had been a time in which I would discuss personal issues but during this time I decided that I knew what my issues were and only had to choose to act on that understanding. Why discuss these things with anyone other than myself? And one nice thing with living in a share household is you can go for a walk at any time of the night to take care of them walking blues.

Even change for the better is scary and so it was simpler just to take solace in the same past-times and friends. I developed my patented method of courting – circulate among those you know seeming nice and interesting till eventually someone jumps you. It works! It worked I think once in this whole timeframe. And then I was paying far too much attention to political activism to truly attend to that fledgling relationship. What was the matter with me? Possibly it is just difficult to decide what is important in life because so many things are important and some of us can only ever throw ourselves into so much. As one century became the next more was set to stay the same than to change.

Continued here…

Cross-posted here.

1991-1995

2010-10-13T21:20:00.012+11:00

It has been over six months since I returned to Melbourne and in that time a lot has happened. Or rather I have been experiencing more introspection than usual and those who know me as "thinky" will appreciate just how much introspection that is. One of the things that has provoked reflection is getting invited to the twentieth anniversary dinner of my HSC class at Noble Park Secondary College. Suddenly I am looking back over two decades of adulthood and this is as good a time as any to get autobiographical. So I will do four blog posts each dedicated to a five year chunk of my life to date. This is part one of four.

On graduating from school I was a gangly nerd from a working class background who was thrilled to be accepted into Monash University. From 1991 to 1995 I did a Bachelor Of Arts with Honours and a Graduate Diploma In Education. In all that time I lived in the family home half an hour (by bus and walk) from Campus with my mother, father and younger brother Lukas. It was a time of many new things - hardly surprising since I was a rather sheltered 18 year old.

I made friends during a United Nations Tertiary Youth Conference (an opportunity that flowed on from another such event during HSC) which was wonderful. A small group of us recognized that we were some kind of group within the wider group there and dubbed ourselves Us. It was giddying to spend so much time talking all day and night but there was a sobering aspect of this - everyone in Us (which included my two best school friends Guy and Steve) went to different unis and O-Week was still in the future. At Monash I knew pretty much nobody so had the experience of wanting to spend my spare time with these new friends from far off campuses. And yet I had to find a way of belonging at Monash too.

If you can do something once then you can do it any number of times and I did find friends at Uni. I tended to regard tute mates as colleagues and focused my friend-making efforts on cross-faculty groups of common interest. I was most drawn into the Fellowship Of Middle Earth (FOME) - fellow fantasy and science fiction fans. Suddenly I was sitting every day in the Caf - what we dubbed Korner - with assorted FOMEites and fellow travelers. I attended discussions and sleep-overs and picnics and it was fantastic. If you can be infatuated with a group then I sure was. And I must have also practiced one or more of the GSFs in my youth. However I also had the opportunity to compare and contrast the way things worked in both Korner and Us which may have helped me develop a sense of skepticism for the virtues of group identity. It at any rate told me that it is worth keeping your eggs in more than one basket.

Life involves work as well as play and I did have some of that. Principally I was a student and focused on that with the support of my parents. I had some work at a library on Campus and volunteered at the old Musuem Of Victoria (now solely the site of the State Library). I had barely any income but my needs were also small what with living at home. We expected fewer things then. I met the Internet (a two-tone text-only version) for the first time at uni but it was just a method of communicating with friends. I adopted my moniker of 'Luddite' in recognition of the fact I still did things like prepare essays on an electronic typewriter at home (and there is nothing as amazing as a reel of correction tape). Lukas - the technically savvy and stubborn child of our parents - forcibly sat me down to show me how to word process in time for my political history Honours thesis. Backspace is so much cooler than correction tape let me tell you!

All those classes and study sessions were interspersed with lots of sitting in the caf or under trees. In this time I got a lot more friends and over time went from having a majority of male friends to a majority of female friends. At the risk of generalizing, women talk better than men and - dammit - talk was what drove me then. It was only a matter of time till romance came along but it still surprised me once it did.

I am sure that every insular adolescent nerd has those gloomy moments in which they feel sure they will be alone forever. And in a sense they are the only ones of us who are right because we are all alone - nobody will ever truly understand what it is to be me. But it is too soon in my narrative to introduce such philosophical considerations. The fact is that I had the good fortune of stumbling tentatively into one relationship and then another over time. Sure - prospective partners had to make huge hints for it to ever happen and I suspect that experience has only shaped my tendency to sit back and let others make the overtures. I give my apology now to anyone who was exasperated by my ellusive ways.

Between relationships there is still plenty to do in life and I turned my hand to all sorts of solitary past-times. I discovered my favourite band in Queen - suddenly I was a fan like all the cool kids - but that band ended round that same time with the loss of its singer to HIV. I honed my native drawing ability somewhat by attending a life drawing short course. This exposed me to nudity in a frank and everyday way - the only time I ever felt embarrassed was while a model was disrobing or re-robing. I made a pathetic attempt at running a stall at the craft market selling hand-made novelty greeting cards. I even penned poetry back in those days. I remember writing some while in Germany of how homesick I was and I was only away for a month!

I visited relatives in Germany - something that could only happen because Germany had been re-unified and we were now free to visit and be visited by family from the former German Democratic Republic. In that month I spent most of my time in two townships and, because I never embraced the local interest in cigarettes, beer and sausages, I became something of a loner walking streets I had never seen and gazing at houses seemingly as old as the hills they obscured. I remember then thinking that I had rediscovered the solitary me of childhood, an aspect of me that had atrophied while I was ensconced in friendship every day between classes. It was something I valued and drew on in the days that followed university.

Continued here...

Cross-posted here.

Dreamscapes

2010-09-25T10:40:00.007+10:00

I have posted the odd dream online but here I will discuss the recurring themes of many of my dreams over time. To start with I will say a few things of what my dreams feel like then go into some specific content.

I experience my movement within dreams as somewhat... murky or... viscous in nature. There is often some sense of detachment from my setting and circumstances even if I am still a direct participant. Other than this the subject matter itself tends to be relatively mundane - rare for me are the fantasy adventures of other friends. Sometimes I have a sense that I am dreaming but my direction over events is limited and I am frequently an observer of a fixed sequence of happenings. The mood is usually neutral to positive and somewhat interesting but rarely compelling.

Flying

I had my first flying dream in my teens. I was running away from a charging bull in a paddock. It was almost upon me - I could practically feel its horns on my backside - and just as I got to a wire fence I flew into the air and freedom. Since then I have had them many times but that was the only time I can remember using it to escape danger. I have done it for fun (to show friends how I can hover in the tree tops while they cannot) or to be useful (bouncing around the walls of a ballroom decorating it with balloons and streamers). Flying seems to have become less frequent into my 30s but has been replaced somewhat by climbing dreams. In these I tend to be scrambling around complex surfaces with lots of secure perches and refuges (like the rooftop of a rambling mansion). Incidentally, the sensation of flying is like a mix of treading water and dolphin-kick...

Water

Water is frequently in my dreams such as the one linked to. As well as swamps, I have also swum in ocean-side stone pools surrounded by ancient steps and columns with imposing cliffs behind me. I have been in complex arrays of interconnecting indoor and underground water slides. At other times I have been at an indoor swimming pool which is disturbingly open-plan in nature - the pools themselves are separated from the changing areas only by the fact that they are set lower than those areas and there may be some partitioning. I suppose this is a variation on the popular naked in public dream and is in a setting that can find the experience almost normal.

Walking

Walking walking always walking. The settings change but I am always walking and feeling like I can go as far as I need with time. Suburban streets that mirror ones I know in waking life... parklands that seem to go on forever... university campuses that feel more like shopping centres and have a ridiculous number of levels both above and below ground. Many setting are familiar and yet different from life. And another interesting thing is that some of those locations are visited more than once. Or is it just that in a dream there is a fabricated memory of having been there before rather than having dreamed it more than once?

Houses

So many houses drawing on others from life and fiction... suburban houses full of different levels and interconnecting halls and passages... rooms and alcoves partitioned only by curtains and serving as rooms for more housemates than I have ever had... mansions with wings for different groups of friends... whole abandoned levels that we forget exist... rooms with Transformers I have never owned... bedrooms I can crash in if I am too lazy to walk all the way to my own... and usually there is somebody to talk with in a room close by...

Humans

In many or all of my dreams there are friends or family. Things are similar yet different. Sometimes all my family are together (rather than having divorced parents) despite the fact I am my current age. Friends are mixed in a way that never happens - in one dream I walked from a seminar room full of debating Australian Democrats, across a hall, and into a dormitory full of choristers. Often there are groups in the background and a handful in the foreground of a dream. We are usually talking. Sometimes arguing. Sometimes the line of argument even makes sense once I have woken and its content is relevant to things friends have been discussing. Most interactions are verbal but only most. There is flirting and intimacy but also an element of censorship to the cinematography of my dreams - the "camera pans to fireplace" as it were in most instances.

* * * * *

I imagine those with the inclination may try to interpret these dreams and they are welcome to. I will however say that I am somewhat skeptical of saying one things "represents" another thing. In many cases I think that a thing is what it is even in dreams. And the muddled juxtaposition of elements is just the nature of dreams - my brain is preventing thinking from becoming too rigid like a screen saver does to a monitor. However I will admit that things in my dreams do reflect me and my life - particularly because they are frequently mundane things from my waking life. Some are things I experience and others things that I almost experience and can sense just over the cusp of possibility.

Cross-posted here.

Practical Anecdote

2010-09-15T21:25:00.007+10:00

With this entry I will focus on events older than this blog and on a close long-term friend just like in this post. I have known Avril for half my life since we both hung in the Korner scene at Monash Uni. Avril makes all sorts of conversations and events that bit more interesting and... random... and one of the things she is known for is creative and playful pranks.

Avril has sent classic novels with passages underlined in the mail from rural locales to perplexed friends. She has delivered odd-looking kitch objects to the front door steps of other friends. And the ironic thing is that over time she cultivated a sort of culture of pranking among her friends such that she has been subjected to far more practical jokes than she has ever perpetrated. Thus this post will be a lot like others on this blog and is actually about me.

Nobody would ever think of me as a practical joker and yet that is what I have been on occasion... as far as Avril is concerned. I have drawn inspiration from a common bit of Internet slang and placed tins of Spam in her letterbox. I did this for a while till another friend even did a copy-cat Spamming of her letterbox!

I have taken advantage of the grassy public laneway behind her property to throw balls over her back fence. I started with the most common of balls such as tennis and golf balls. Then they got rarer and strangers till I was hurling bouncy ghoul eyes into her yard. What did Avril do? Her neighbours have grandkids and she assumed the balls came from them so she just threw them over her side fence. I wonder what response that got!

Moving into the present day I am proud to have minimized resource usage by initiating an online prank for Avril. I noticed that a few friends happened to have Facebook profile pictures of themselves with Avril and that got me thinking. It suggested a connectedness and a presence in the lives of others. It also suggested an amusing game to play. So I started an 'event' on which a whole lot of our friends would change their profile pic to one of themselves with Avril all on the same day.

It worked very well. There were dozens involved on the day and lots of awesome pics. She was rather perplexed to start with and writing things like "its a conspiracy" but apparently needed some amusing that day and the prank did the trick. I am chuffed that it worked. I just wonder whether I now should be wary of any kind of revenge coming my way...

Cross-posted here.

Hung Parliament

2010-09-01T00:27:00.001+10:00

The last time I experienced a hung parliament was following the 1999 Victorian State Election. There were several weeks of negotiation with rural independents to form a minority Labor government. All the while the wheels of public service continued to turn and life went on. So the current circumstances following the 2010 Federal Election are vaguely familiar. Still I have to admit that the result was a surprise to me. I had become complacent and placed a bet that Labor would win simply because of my assertion that “one-term governments are a thing of the past” (I may still win that bet however as its wording is “Party of next Prime Minister – Labor”).

Following the drawn election result there was much shock and consternation among friends online. And I was left to wonder what everyone thinks electoral democracy is for anyway. Do we want order and predictability from the model? Screw that! We need it to surprise and shock us every now-and-then and that is exactly what it has done. A particularly boring campaign was followed by a fascinating result which invites us all to contemplate exactly how the process works and to scrutinize what all sorts of interests in this diverse society want.

My response has confused some friends I suspect. To help them understand I should declare that for the purposes of this election there are two of me! There is Daniel the post-hippy era progressive who is naturally hoping that negotiations will result in a Labor minority government and Greens holding Senate balance-of-power. But there is also Daniel the politics nerd. This is the person who as an undergraduate would stare in wonder at the beauty of charts depicting the political composition of the European Parliament and then draw imaginary ones of his own. The necessity of debate… the creativity of compromise… the expression of perspectives alternately fantastic and repugnant all in the one space… such things made this politics nerd go squee.

For the rest of this entry I will address a few isolated concepts that have arisen from discussion of the hung parliament. Both aspects of me described will vie for attention in these statements...

* The two-party preferred vote is an interesting statistic but nothing more. What matters is the House Of Representatives majority. Put it another way – the government must have the majority of votes across the majority of electorates. Whatever arises from current negotiations will be the right result according to our political process.

* A handful of independents or minor party parliamentarians in whichever chamber only have the power they have because major party parliamentarians voluntarily relinquish power to party discipline. If the cross-benches possess disproportionate power then we also must say that those major party members exhibit disproportionate neglect of responsibility.

* In an older entry (see second last paragraph) I made the bold prediction that my former party the Australian Democrats would hold the record of Senate representation for a minor party indefinitely. Once more politics is full of surprises and the Greens performance has been phenomenal. The election of one Member of the House of Representatives in a contest with both major parties has somewhat obscured the likely result of nine Greens senators (six elected at this half Senate election and three elected in the last half Senate election). Luckily my prediction was never sweetened by any statements of “or I will consume my hat with Nutella”. I will however take my hat off to the Greens who distinguished themselves by both concerted professional campaigning and a bold and distinctive message across all issues.

* Many of my friends seem to need monsters to exist in their lives. So they will say things like “we may have got rid of the Family First senator but may get a Democratic Labor Party (DLP) senator replace him” and “they are as or more scary”. Now is the time to understand that there is such a thing as shades of grey… and different stances on different issues… and that sometimes the particular senator is more important than the party they represent. Most importantly it is worth understanding how other perspectives work. To assist in that here is an old post of mine on the DLP.

* One of the rural independents – Rob Oakeshott – likes to inject all sorts of novel concepts into public debate. Like saying we may be moving to a more multi-party polity like we see overseas. Naturally I find that fascinating but if it comes it will come slowly. Also if it does come it will be more via the growth from minor-to-major player of parties like the Greens than from the election of independents. Another of his statements was of us returning to the original practice of a parliament of independents. Of that I am very sceptical. In a modern mass society the political party is a very useful tool in organizing and representing public opinion and I think abandoning it altogether would produce as many problems as it solves. Having more democratic party structures… more allowance of conscience voting across all issues… and more need to negotiate to get bills passed would all be things I want to see more of.

So that is just a handful of the things I could say on this election result. It is fascinating but – yes – also somewhat tense. But I cannot object to living in interesting times. Bring it on I say!

Cross-posted here.

Public Meeting

2010-08-18T23:46:00.004+10:00

For several consecutive elections I was either a local candidate or campaign manager at Federal or state level. This election is different – I am just another voter. And while I have been relishing the freedom from campaign logistics and balderdash I was also missing something. The campaign as it has been presented to us by the media is dismal and I decided the only way I would find any life in the bloody thing was to attend a meet-the-candidates event.

A local network of churches hosted at event for the Chisholm Division candidates at the St Lukes Uniting Church Hall in Mount Waverley one evening last week. It was well-attended and well worth attending. The candidates formed a panel. Each gave opening and concluding speeches and also participated in audience question-and-answer interaction. Those candidates were Anna Burke MP (Labor), John Nguyen (Liberal) and Josh Fergeus (Green). Then a fourth candidate – Phil Goodman (Family First) – declared that he was in the audience. Somehow the organizers had neglected to invite him but there he was and so he was given opening and closing speech rights but forewent Q&A. The fifth candidate – Nimrod Evans (Secular Party) – was absent but I am aware he has been engaging in old-school campaigning in Chisholm.

It was refreshing to see candidates in such an intimate setting. They all came across as persons of sincerity and conviction who were happy to be there. I was reminded that, whatever the ideology, many in politics are there because they want to make the world better (for a given value of “better”). They also are dedicated to nurturing respect between different perspectives. This was an ethos shared by those in the audience. Well most of us anyway.

I cannot neglect to mention the pro-life rent-a-crowd that always visit these events as a handful of agitators. And I want to stress that my problem with them is the vibe they exude and the conduct they practice rather than the position they hold itself (which I differ from but am prepared to discuss). This lot come along and project hate for anyone who dares to think differently. They each ask substantively the same rhetorical question and demonstrate zero interest in the very substantive answers they are given. They tut and snort at the comments of others and then once they have exhausted their role in the meeting they depart. The issue is a sensitive one and such behaviour just makes it more difficult for anyone to form and express an opinion.

The three panel members all gave very honest and brave answers on the abortion issue, given who was asking these questions. It is good to be reminded that issues are complex. Anna Burke noted that abortion is a state issue and the rules are different (and pretty restrictive) in every state. Both Anna Burke and John Nguyen expressed personal opposition to the need for abortion however they also noted that criminalizing it only makes risky ‘backyard’ abortions rife. Josh Fergeus reminded us of the importance of contraception. This discussion made me think that the terminology of “pro-life versus pro-choice” is an oversimplification of matters and that terms borrowed from other issues like “harm minimization” may also apply usefully to the topic.

There was much more to the forum than one issue mind you. There were questions on climate change, nuclear proliferation, pensions, food security and electoral reform. Naturally economics was a key part of speeches. Anna Burke prmoted the timely and bold economic intervention of her government that insulated Australia from global recession. John Nguyen made vague comments that stimulus was necessary but needed to have been done differently (in some way or other). I got the sense from this that the government we have are the best economic managers of the major parties.

Josh Fergeus impressed me as a bit of a wunderkind who in his short life has contributed much to community work and is very much across all sorts of comlex issues. His predecessor at the last election was articulate on many issues but only ever showed passion for old growth forests. Josh is different and shows a concern and understanding of human rights, welfare, development, houseing, environmment...

Many in the audience were interested in refugees and human rights generally. I asked a question on the issue of the current freeze on accepting refugees from war-torn Afghanistan. Anna Burke showed some lack of comfort at the position of her government and also expressed a preference in the long-term for diplomatic action that addresses the problems globally that produce refugee flows.

One thing I found fascinating was how I could feel my own pulse as I held the mike and asked my question. Nothing like this has happened during my participation in online discussions of the election. This says to me that face-to-face interaction still important. It removes the stupefying filter of mass media from the candidates and brings politics to life. You also get to run into familiar faces from your community, like the wonderful Michael Clyne.

Michael is a retired professor of Linguistics from Monash Uni who published a study in the late 1990s examining language diversity in Australia at the postcode level. That research was useful as, at that time, One Nation was in its ascendency and arguing the existence of entrenched ethnic enclaves in Australia, and the data refuted this claim nicely. But I digress.

If you get the chance in this or future elections to engage in any way with a candidate or the campaigners who help them then I encourage you to do so. Discuss things with them respectfully but be prepared for vigorous discussion. Both you and they will get a better sense of why our political process is of value, despite its many flaws.

Cross-posted here.

Widening My Fingers

2010-07-26T22:32:00.012+10:00

I have been asked to elaborate on my political Five Fingers posted a few weeks ago. With that in mind I will try to define my terms a bit better here because they are very much open to interpretation.

A cosmopolitan and permissive society

I love this phrase. The word “cosmopolitan” refers to the notion of a whole world within a city. It is an amazing notion but also one that has existed in practice here-and-there for millennia. I think it is a more comprehensive term than “mulitculturalism” in that it can encompass both culture and sub-culture. Another shortcoming of the term “multiculturalism” is that its opponents have had some success in saying that it is merely a policy invented in the 70s rather than the recognition of a long-term societal fact. In the word “cosmopolitan” we have something much more organic and rooted in history. In such a society the old combines in many ways to form the new and few things are set in stone.

I think such a society is implicitly one in which personal life-decisions are facilitated. However I want to be explicit in saying I also advocate for a permissive society. The term is a controversial one which I am happy to mess with. For me a “permissive” society is one in which we all have permission to be who we are and who we aspire to be. This is important because the best decisions tend to be made by those closest to the matter under consideration. A permissive society contrasts markedly with a traditional one in which one must live according to arbitrary conventions and expectations. I need to clarify one thing – in a truly permissive society one can be as traditional as one wishes as long as one allows others make decisions for themselves. Those who think it necessitates replacing one kind of conformity with another are gravely mistaken and undermining its value.

A mixed economy that strives to be both prosperous and just

The concept of a “mixed economy” is a familiar one in economics. It has been shrewdly observed that every economy is a mixed economy because one can never have a pure command economy or market economy. However one can aspire to such purity and both models undermine human quality-of-life. All things in economic policy are just tools intended to meet human objectives so why get all dogmatic over any one combination of those tools? The important thing is to find the best combination of tools to fit the present circumstances. And there is a lot of room to move there. I for instance think that welfare (helping those who have lost or lack a livelihood) is much better than protectionism (helping local industry in the hope that it will then help to provide a livelihood for all).

In economics different interests focus on either the overall size of the economic cake or the way in which that cake is sliced. But both are important. If the cake is too small then everyone is closer to hardship. If some slices are markedly bigger than others then this produces both division as well as hardship for some. Striving to be both “prosperous and just” is a difficult challenge way beyond my own understanding and so I must rely on (yikes) economists. But I can support politicians who will work with those economists in such a way that human need is never forgotten.

Preservation of the natural environment from over-development

I have an admission to make: I think that environmental issues are important – arguably more important than any others – but I just cannot get all that interested in them. Economics is boringly intricate and so for that matter is ecology and climatology. Bugger it. The best I can do is understand what I can and put trust in those that seem to understand more. Hence I lack eloquence here as compared with other areas.

A key term to notice here is “preserveration” – the natural environment is robust and self-supporting but it is facing unusually significant changes due to human activity and for the sake of our own long-term livelihood it is necessary to more carefully manage those changes. The other is “over-development” and implicit in that is the notion that there is such a thing as a level of development that can exist alongside a robust natural environment. Some more dogmatic environmentalists may feel otherwise but we cannot simply wish humanity away. The only thing to do then is find a better balance than we have now. What that balance is exactly is also something for more and better minds than mine. I am sure it involves more than telling domestic consumers to switch off appliances. I suspect it has a lot more to do with curbing the activity of industry.

Nuclear disarmament and peaceful forms of conflict resolution

I feel like this more than anything is childsplay. How can anyone even contemplate endorsing the maintenance of weapons of mass destruction? Destruction! Come on! Global Climate Change is a mugging while Nuclear War is a sudden decapitation by an axe murderer. And even if that mugging was guaranteed while the decapitation was only a miniscule risk I would still be more scared of the latter. Okay so I have been involved in activist groups dedicated to this issue so that may affect my tone somewhat. Still this has to be a priority for any government engaging in the international community – reduction and eventual removal of nuclear arms. And that is just the most important aspect of making the world more peaceful.

I have a few notions on how to promote peace and many of them relate to other parts of this entry. Peace is linked to economic and cultural and environmental factors. But that is a bit too optimistic. Look more closely at relations between nations and you sometimes see attitudes that we experience in our own lives. We neglect communication. We are more interested in what we think is right rather than what is necessary. We understand our own grievances all too well but rarely acknowledge those of others. We focus on how conflicts started in some vaguely remembered past rather than address them in the present. And we rarely if ever ask ourselves what we have done to contribute to the problem. If we do all of this for too long then we become fanatics and cannot be negotiated with in any circumstances.

A secular parliamentary democracy that fosters respectful debate and public participation

Originally a “secular” state developed as a kind of neutral ground in which different denominations and religions could co-exist. It now allows us all to decide exactly how religion plays a part in our lives (by the time we are adults anyway). Some take the notion of separating church and state too far and think that nobody in politics can be religious. This is problematic if significant portions of the electorate are religious. I am fine with religious persons of all kinds getting some consideration in political debate but creed is only one aspect of who we are. We all have different needs and wants that deserve expressing and testing in a process of reasoned debate. Nothing improves concepts more than a bit of argument and present standards warrant marked improvement.

In a mass society representative forms of government are necessary. And “parliamentary democracy” in particular has a long heritage of important concept like rule-of-law (which governments themselves must abide by) and majority rules that is tempered by consideration of minority rights (since ultimately any majority is just a combining of minority groups). But we can do better than just elect representatives then just sit back – hence “public participation”. We can pay attention to what they do and communicate with them. If we see one interest over-stating its significance then we can get into the game and represent ourselves more vocally. We can assert our own opinions while also understanding that democracy sometimes involves compromises that nobody is completely happy with. And we need to remember that even politicians are only human and that they are drawn from us. Finally I come to the word “respectful” which is the way in which I hope we can debate and indeed interact because ultimately we are all fundamentally the same.

Cross-posted here.

Ideologue

2010-07-14T14:27:00.010+10:00

Media speculation on an imminent Federal Election has got me thinking I need to start decided who to vote for. This will be the first election in which I am totally free of any party loyalty, but nobody is free of ideology. With that in mind I want to articulate mine and then assess contenders in relation to it.

I am happy with my description of the progressive (aka social-liberal) but it is rather general. Besides which it is silent on some important matters. In the Political Objectives Test I have defined political ideology in terms of “human relations” rather than “things” but it just so happens that some of those things (from concepts like God to objects like the Earth) keep on impinging on politics. So I need to articulate my stance further if I wish to assess a host of policy statements.

The Australian Democrats is a part of my past now. But personal experience comes in handy. One thing that was frustrating for me was that we had over twenty Objectives that were difficult to remember and convey. As a result I developed my own ‘Five Fingers’ as a simpler summary of ideology. And it just so happens that they still work well for me as an ideological loner wandering the Australian polity.

My Five Fingers

* A cosmopolitan and permissive society

* A mixed economy that strives to be both prosperous and just

* Preservation of the natural environment from over-development

* Nuclear disarmament and peaceful forms of conflict resolution

* A secular parliamentary democracy that fosters respectful debate and public participation

All of these statements can be expanded on and have qualifications made (as was requested and done here). This is a good thing as discussion always refines ones understanding. In any case these are the sorts of criteria I will take into the election as an Australian citizen. It will be a new and interesting experience to be coming at the event solely from the voter side of the fence.

Cross-posted here.

Cannot Miss

2010-06-30T14:59:00.000+10:00

Some recent conversations I have been privy to have reminded me how much we tend to deride the political processes and institutions we have and I have been inspired to pen a short drawing room play exploring the topic somewhat. Here it is - a conversation between life partners Lidia and Stephen over Sunday brunch at home...

Lidia: Have you seen the news sites this morning darling?

Stephen: Been too busy re-jigging the look of my website babe. What's the latest?

Lidia: The Prime Minister has temporarily assumed the powers of the President, and she's suspended the coming election till the national emergency is over.

Stephen: Well, our vote never gave us any power anyway.

Lidia: We do live in a marginal seat.

Stephen: Sure, but both major candidates are always so damn centrist it makes no difference.

Lidia: That's true. May as well just give the job to whichever one has the best IQ or something.

Stephen: Exactly! What is needed is a bit of intelligence in politics!

Stephen wanders over from his desk to where Lydia is sitting on the couch with her laptop, plants a kiss on her forehead, then asks her if she would like a cuppa. She asks for a peppermint tea, which Stephen goes to fix for her, and comes back in with it and his own coffee.

Lidia: I'm looking at local news now, and apparently those Emos who get in the way down at the station have been sent away to Happy Camp to be given a new perspective on life, all expenses paid by the government.

Stephen: Wow, their parents must be chuffed, to be free of the kids at no cost to them.

Lidia: Yes, but they cannot send away the ones who are adult, and a 'spokesperson' for the Emos says that this is an abuse of their rights.

Stephen: Rights? Ha! What rights do any of us have? There's never been a bill of rights here, so who can say we have any. We've always been at the mercy of corporations and the media telling us how to live and what to consume.

Lidia: You're so right, hon, besides, I'm not sure that there is such a thing as "the right to be Emo".

Stephen: The "right to be negative and whiny all the time" more like.

Both Lidia and Stephen notice a commotion in the street outside their apartment, so Stephen walks over to the window to take a look outside.

Lidia: What is it, sweetie?

Stephen: Oh, just more of those black-shirts jack-booting down the street.

Lidia: They worry me, sweetheart, they are supposed to make us feel safe, but something about them gives me the creeps.

Stephen: I know, babe, but there's the national emergency, and besides, we've always lived in a police state if you look at how things really are. Remember how the cops used to be at some of the rallies we attended?

Lidia: I suppose you're right. Oppression has always been the norm and freedom is just a word.

Stephen: Yep. You cannot miss what you never had.

It seems to me that too many of us see things in black-and-white terms. We are aware of and critical of the many flaws in our polity and so we should be. But sometimes this perspective is so overpowering that it obscures any shades of grey. We overlook the worthwhile aspects of what we do have and forget how atrocious things could be. If we assume something is worthless we may never notice if it is eroded till it truly becomes the thing we have long imagined it to be.

Cross-posted here.

Silurians

2010-06-22T11:24:00.008+10:00

I once looked at some Silurian Period sediments but never saw a Silurian itself. This may be because the species name is a misnomer. Or it may be because they are a fictitious Doctor Who monster. But sometimes fictional concepts have a power over us and this is definitely the case here.

The Silurians recently returned in a new Doctor Who two-part story (The Hungry Earth and Cold Blood) and I was excited. For most of my life I had loved these creatures and the concepts behind them. Introduced originally in 1970, the Silurians are a classic science fiction concept. If we contemplate that the Earth is well over four billion years old, and if we also consider that humans developed in only a few million, then there is the tantalizing what if that at other times in that long history intelligent life might have evolved. The Silurians are a product of such speculation, a race of intelligent reptiles who ruled the Earth long ago and then had to hibernate in bunkers to escape a natural disaster (itself a classic SF concept that I will pass over here). While they slept we evolved and now human actions (such as mining) wake our predecessors.

Good SF explores more than just amazing natural or technical speculations. It also examines ethical considerations and Silurian tales do just that. They may look like aliens but they are as Terran as we are. Who has the right to rule Earth now? Can we share the planet? Can differences between reptile and ‘ape’ be reconciled. I think these issues were well explored in the new story. I will review that story here while keeping the longer history of the Silurians in mind.

Tragic Fan

I am a Doctor Who fan with a memory of the old show and a love of things like monster and spaceship design. As such I was concerned by the new Silurians. I feel it was too much of a departure from the older visualizations. The skull crests are still there but so much has changed. New Who is supposed to be a continuation of the original series but often feels like a reboot. However because it is a continuation the writers felt the need to have the Doctor say we were simply seeing a different tribal group. Nonetheless I feel the look is too altered and – frankly – too human.

Do I just say that because I am a tragic fan who wants consistency in my shows? I think there is more to it than that – I am interested in how effects affect the message of the story.

The face makeup reminds me too much of aliens from Babylon-5. It is excellent but it allows me to relate too readily with these creatures. I should find them alien and animalistic. I should have a natural inclination to be scared of them. Fear breeds hate and that is what the story needed. Give me distorted sibilant vocals and creepy snake-like pupils. I want to have to make an effort to accept that what is needed is conciliation with these monsters that want to take my world from me.

A few more comments on design however: I do like the attire and technology of the re-imagined Silurians. It combines the original organic look of Silurian technology with the retro-futuristic feel that defines much of New Who. The guns are a nice tip-of-the-hat to those of the marine relatives of the Silurians. The masks are a nifty way of making the Silurians more menacing while also giving them some useful sense enhancements. I never liked the ‘third eye’ of the original Silurians but now wish it could have been preserved in the form of an infra-red sensor on those masks. But back now to the story itself…

Humanitarian

So you can tell that I think the message of the Silurian concept has something to do with accommodating difference, which is why I want them to be monsters and then have us come to terms with that. I think that the new story definitely attempts this but that it is hampered by the anthropomorphic depiction of the Silurians. Yes – the military reptiles were suitably hostile but the civilians were just too nice. There have always been wise elder Silurians but never have they looked like a kindly grandparent. If that elder was offering his technology in return for human land he would never then undermine his ability to offer that by postponing the negotiation process for a millennium (during which any technological superiority may be lost).

Still it is difficult for me to assess the story because of my fannish background. What does someone new to the Silurian concept think of it? Were they challenged or moved? Did they want the humans to win or did they want an accord to be won? At any rate we know what the Doctor wanted – has always wanted – and this time he almost got it. This is good because the latest incarnation of the Doctor is an embodiment of compassion and deserves a happy ending every now-and-then.

There are a few nice touches in the story that show Doctor Who moving with the times and keeping fresh. One was recognition of gender differences among the reptiles and, along with it, a novel demarcation with females as military and males as civilian authority. The other, which was delicious, was seeing a human of Indian descent negotiating on behalf of all Humanity. Overall I enjoyed the return of the Silurians, changed as they are, and am happy that a whole new bunch of viewers have be introduced to these beautiful creatures.

Cross-posted here.

Peace Post

2010-06-02T19:18:00.008+10:00

My blogging content has been kinda heavy lately so I’m moving onto something more fun (but with a kernel of significance to it). Back in 1989-1991 the world changed just a bit more than it usually does. The Cold War ended with a flurry of seemingly spontaneous and generally peaceful revolutions. Another lingering concern for the world – Apartheid – also ended. I was of sufficient age to appreciate it and - of more personal impact - I got to meet relatives estranged till then by the Berlin Wall. I also find that the vibe of those changes affected some of the music back then.

I will link to a few video clips of some songs I'm thinking of. They are nothing unusual for popular music of the time but I feel they all exhibit a sense of the times. There is a dash of the psychedelic in them (moreso in the imagery than in the music itself) as if to say that the desires of the late 60s had come to fruition. More importantly the words of these songs tell us of the fervent hope for a lasting change for the better. Here they are…

Beatfish: Wheels Of Love

Jesus Jones: Right Here Right Now

And from a bit later on…

Lenny Kravitz: Believe

All these songs make me feel good you dig? But history never ends. Wars still rage here-and-there and weapons of mass destruction hang over the fate of humanity. As always we are a work-in-progress. I will end this post with a push for Nuclear Abolition Day. Peace out!

Cross-posted here.

Needs And Wants Are Different Right?

2010-05-19T20:33:00.004+10:00

I have been noticing an absence of some things in my life that has been affecting my mood. One thing that is helping me cope with this is contemplating the difference between needs and wants. I have also been considering how the concept of rights interacts with this distinction.

Definitions of needs and wants change from generation-to-generation and within particular class and cultural contexts. Rather than produce two lists of things, however, I will make a few statements to help distinguish needs from wants.

* The satisfaction of needs allow one to live. In contrast the satisfaction of wants helps one to be happy.

* If something is a need then one has a right to its provision while if something is a want then one only has the right to pursue it.

* Needs can be provided by society as a whole by cultivating a mixed economy (providing both jobs and welfare services). In contrast providing for wants will frequently call for the consent of particular persons one interacts with personally.

I will expand on that last statement. Have you noticed how philosophical assertions are often supported by ludicrous scenarios that never happen? Well here is mine.

A person named Ego wants intimacy and so propositions someone. That someone has the right to decline the proposition and does exactly that. Ego then propositions another person…and another… and another. Every person refuses Ego. Eventually Ego has propositioned every adult in the world except for one. That last person has as much right to refuse Ego as the first did. It then follows that Ego lacks any right to intimacy.

For me it is important then to say that what Ego is looking for is a want rather than a need. The notion of a world in which someone can be rightly refused something they need disturbs me.

In life there are many shades of grey that mess with my nice black-and-white model. Possibly that is why I have qualms with particular actions that I feel muddy the waters.

There are all sorts of societal pressures that make us think that particular wants are needs. Sometimes these messages are reinforced by government - consider home-owners grants and baby bonuses. There are also other societal pressures suggesting that some wants are practically crimes. Once more government gets into the act with the imposition of ‘sin taxes’ on assorted behaviours. I understand the motivation behind these but just find them philosophically problematic. We get all sorts of mixed messages we need to sift and assess.

This topic has given me a bit of perspective. I recognize that I have what I need and only lack some of what I want. I feel fortunate for what I do have. And even if I sometimes get frustrated I can amend the internal statement of “need need need” to the more accurate one of “want want want”.

Cross-posted here.

My Milkshake Moment

2010-05-05T19:20:00.021+10:00

Particular memories have been presenting themselves to my consciousness like bubbles emerging on the surface of a pond. They have been of a specific kind lately. They are all experiences I enjoy and conform to the same basic description.

I am on my way to something fun - like a party with lots of friends - but am yet to get there. I am taking public transport and have possibly come to a juncture in which I must change from one route to another. I have given myself plenty of time, however, so I take a rest on the way. I am alone but in a busy public space such as Swanston Street. I have stopped in a cafe and am having a milkshake. I sip at my drink while watching the world go by and idly ponder what the evening may hold.

This is definitely on my list of some of the truly contended moments in my life and, fortunately, it is one I have had many times, and I expect that will continue. But I wonder what it is that makes this mundane recollection at all noteworthy. Its status as something at the borderline of conditions may be what makes it attractive.

For one thing I do enjoy commuting. I get colour and movement and sometimes even some cool observations. But in this case there is more happening.

My milkshake moment sits at the cusp of the public and private. In many ways I feel I am only truly me while I am alone. And yet I feel most human if I am among humans. In this case I get both. I am "alone in a crowd" but in a good way. I feel confident in my anonymity and enjoy the freedom of movement represented by this scenario.

My milkshake moment also sits at the cusp of the present and the future. I am enjoying the moment but part of that moment is anticipation of the night to come. I spend a lot of my 'internal life' living a very short way into the future. The party I imagine is some kind of amalgam of past experiences blended together and representing the better aspects of what a party should be. In such a scenario I will never be "alone in a crowd".

Things are never exactly as we imagine them but that is okay - sometimes they are worse but sometimes they are better. But a bit of certainty in life is nice and my milkshake moment gives me just that.

And Another Thing

This is all bullshit. I am clutching at straws - living on nice notions as a form of escapism. So here is more of the same vague long-winded stuff I always post to help preserve the facade of a happy and fulfilled person. The doldrums are never far now and the smallest thing can push me into them.

Like just now I wanted to insert an image into this post on my blog just for the heck of it. But somehow the coding that has worked in the same way in other posts behaves differently this time. There is some explanation but I cannot see it. And so this just reminds me of all the things I cannot do well.

And now I think I should just delete this addendum because it has nothing to do with this post. Besides which my problems pale in comparison to those of many others and will just get lost in the crowd. This belongs in a journal that nobody ever sees. So do I press "publish" now?

Cross-posted here.

Gumshoe Telepath: Run!

2010-04-27T16:34:00.016+10:00

Here is the third installment of my Gumshoe Telepath story. I am developing this story with the speed of continental drift. One chapter blogged every two years is pretty slow but sometimes inspiration is like that. For the previous chapter (which also links to the one preceding that) see here.

Our night mission at the Masonite Penthouse went so swimmingly well that we were filled with confidence for our subsequent visit to the O’Leery Mansion. Too confident I can say now. If only I had understood Kristen better. Well – truth be told – I had ulterior motives for wanting to know how my crime-busting partner ticks. In this particular instance what I should have better understood was her unusual talents...

Kristen was among the first humans to utilize Total Immersion Net Interface (TINI) technology from childhood. I was in my late teens on first encountering TINI and never adapted to it, preferring touch-sensors and vocal recognition apps.

Kristen, on the other hand, had practically toddled into her first TINI alcove and had never looked back. In fact, much of her pre-schooling involved teaching her the difference between reality and the virtual settings in which her generation would exchange information directly from brain to brain.

TINI had accidental consequences of greater significance than its intended uses. The thing with the brain is that thinking in particular ways changes it. Play 3D-Sudoko and your brain alters to fit that task. Absorb lots of 2020s era Psychedelic Revival music like I did and next thing you can anticipate what chords will come hand-in-hand with particular screen-saver colours.

The media-dubbed TINI-Tots like Kristen were – in effect – practicing telepathy. Of course the kid who can fly within the Mechapimp computer game is totally earthbound once removed from the interface. But what of thinking things directly at fellow users? It seems that TINI awoke in a miniscule handful of the TINI-Tots the dormant human ability of telepathy. Practicing it virtually served to alter the structure of select brains so that suddenly they could be telepathic in reality.

“What are the chances that a species with latent telepathy would develop the tools necessary to activate that talent?” Kristen had once wondered while telling me of her powers. Never one for profundity, I responded with the ever-useful “shit happens”.

Nobody yet understood exactly how it all worked, but I quickly discovered the immense usefulness of a telepathic associate once I started my private investigation gig. But in making use of Kristen I risked her safety and sanity – something I have regretted on a few occasions now – like on the Masonite-O’Leery Case.

The Masonites were into everything flashy and new. Security at the Masonite Penthouse was totally automated. Everything from cameras to door locks was controlled by a ThinkTrust-3000 computer - a state-of-the-art neural network that almost perfectly imitated the structure of the human brain. The beauty of this for us was that Kristen could manipulate that computer just as well as she could you or I.

“Old Thinky has a very boring personality with just one interesting quirk” Kristen told me as we stood in the hotel lobby and she tentatively explored the artificial mind on the top floor.

“It likes collecting stamps?” I ventured in my usual wry manner.

“More interesting than that – it resents one of the instructions it must follow. It resents the fact that it must open the doors for the Masonite family prized Siamese cats. Basically those cats come and go as they like.”

“So you can telepathically convince one of the cats to take us into the penthouse suite?”

“I cannot manipulate non-humans very well. It is too difficult and – frankly – it does disturbing things to my mind.”

“You start wanting to lap at milk from a dish hey?”

“Derrick, sometimes I wish you would keep your comments to yourself.”

I gave Kristen my best pout and she rolled her eyes, then went on to say that the key to getting in was messing with Thinky.

“What I think I can do is make Thinky think that one of the cats is wanting in, as well as obscuring us from it.”

Amazingly, the plan worked. I was a bit concerned that making a computer both see a cat and not see two humans was a bit of an ask but Kristen did it just fine. Thinky was fooled and the residents were all asleep. Kristen did a vibesweep of the Marko Masonite murder scene, in the loungeroom with its magnificent city vista, while I stood guard in the hallway that accessed the bedrooms. We then left the way we had come, as if we had never been there.

On the drive towards the bayside estate of the O’Leery family I quizzed Kristen about her vibesweep, but she preferred to let the information “percolate” and would discuss everything with me once the night was over.

The O’Leery Mansion was old and rambling. The residents had lived there for three generations. They were the older of the two crime clans – more established and also more careful in the criminal manner in which they took from the lifeblood of the city. They also had a more traditional take on security. There were big walls on three of the four sides of the estate. The fourth side was ragged cliffs overlooking the bay. Luckily both Kristen and I had been active members of the rockclimbing club at uni. As we clambered and scrambled into the backyard I reflected silently on how our lives were like something from a movie. But then, as they say, sometimes truth is stranger than fiction.

Wandering the grounds was okay – I had examined satellite imagery of them and Kristen succeeded in manipulating the minds of both the few guards wandering the grounds and the officer on duty in the security camera booth inside. Cameras may have been recording us, but anyone looking at the monitors they fed would see empty lawn. Once they routinely reviewed the security records they may see us, but by then we would be long gone and hopefully have some answers for our case.

At the back of the house was a conservatory in which Jacinta O’Leery had been killed, and it had an electronic lock that I was familiar with, so I hacked it in under a minute and got Kristen in. She stood in silence in the shadows surrounded by tropical plants for a few minutes and then was done. There was a haunted look on her face but she still wanted the visions to brew in the coffee plunger of her mind.

We started walking back to the cliff face when we heard something that gave us both the heebie jeebies: Barking. The estate had guard dogs! Why we missed them on entering the grounds, we may never know. Maybe they were getting groomed, maybe they were hunting possums. Whatever had kept them busy was over now, and with it our cover was blown.

I looked at Kristen and asked her desperately “so can you do doggy at all?”

“Non-human, Derrick, non fucking human!” hissed Kristen.

“So I guess we run now…”

“You think!!!”

Everything was cool. I knew that Kristen was okay with me and it was just the predicament we were in that made her mad. I consoled myself with this as we ran for our lives towards the moonlit sea, half-a-dozen vicious hounds at our backs, and the mansion alarms starting to blare.

I am rather happy with this chapter in particular because it has what I consider to be a bone-fide and original science fiction concept in it with the description of how telepathy develops. It plays with the two characters a bit more. And my story finally has some action. The next part of this story is here.

Cross-posted here.

Misanthropy

2010-04-13T14:39:00.010+10:00

I have been pondering the topic of prejudice recently and have decided to discuss it here. The risk (other than writing on a controversial topic) for me is that there are many aspects of this topic and I will just bang on for too long.

As well as considering prejudice I have also been contemplating the ways in which prejudice is discussed by those of us who try to oppose it. I will comment on some kinds of thinking that I feel are counter-productive. However I will then move onto the much more important matter of prejudice itself - ways in which it develops and ways in which it can be challenged in our own lives.

Qualms

Something in me always looks critically at what my 'side' says on matters. Sometimes that desire is itself problematic and what I forget is that discussion is just that - discussion - rather than some kind of campaign message that must be honed to persuade the average punter. Still I will list some of my reservations here:

* We sometimes cast prejudice as the product of one monolithic group of oppressors that we cannot hope to combat. The assumed power of such a 'hegemony' is undermined by the fact that so many things have improved in modern times. To enact change one has to start by recognizing the past record of having done just that.

* We can fall into the habit of thinking of all those experiencing prejudice as one homogeneous oppressed mass rather than considering the vast diversity of contexts in which one can experience prejudice. This is more likely if one is relatively free of the experience of prejudice oneself.

* Some think that all forms of prejudice are simply the product of the one kind of prejudice that matters most to them - "end classism and suddenly racism and sexism will also be ended". There may be some hidden cause of all kinds of prejudice but the notion that one brand of prejudice is simply masquerading as all the others is one I am suspicious of.

* Sometimes we conflate a problem with the prejudice that problem provokes. As an asthmatic I suffered some nastiness from other children as a result of my asthma. Children can be barbarians. Those kids were mistakenly thinking "asthma bad therefore asthmatics bad". Despite my condition I deserve the same respect as a non-asthmatic. But it is a mistake to then think "asthmatics good therefore asthma good". In adulthood I have never suffered nastiness as a result of my condition but I still have a problem. Mind you removing prejudice makes coping with a problem so much better.

Prejudice

I think that there is something underlying all forms of prejudice but my explanation is psychological rather than political. I am moving from familiar into unfamiliar territory by taking this focus. Those well-versed in psychology may find all sorts of flaws in my thinking. Besides which anyone who proposes a 'grand unifying theory' of something is walking on shaky ground. But I will press on nonetheless and propose Misanthropy as a lack of maturity.

Infants - I am told - are the ultimate egotists. To start with they can only experience and comprehend their own needs and wants. It takes time for them to develop a concept of others as independent persons with a personal perspective.

Maturing is partly a process of identifying with others. Patterns of similarity help us to do that. I can understand you because you are like me in some way. Infants seem to have an innate attraction to other infants and it may be finding of commonality that is at work there.

However those same patterns also expose differences which can produce an "us and them" mentality. I can identify with my own group but then lack understanding of another group - my family group are fine but the rest are strangers and scary. Over time my sense of fellow-feeling may extend to my local community then to all of humanity. Or on the other hand the process of identifying with others may stall. It is the stalling of this process that produces misanthropy.

We are each a cluster of different demographic tags produced by notions of generation, gender, sexuality, ethnicity, religion, class, just to name a few. These concepts are the product of a long cultural history but they also spring from the innate tendency of humans to seek patterns. With some effort I can identify common ground with anyone I meet but I can also do the opposite. If these tags inhibit my ability to identify with others then they serve only to stall my own maturing process. Take this lack of maturity and multiply it by all the generations of humans that have ever lived and you get all the prejudices we inflict on one another.

Solutions

Here are some ways of thinking I try to employ in addressing misanthropy. I have described misanthropy as arising from natural human characteristics so the 'solutions' I suggest are the kind that only work if they are practiced over and over. I am sure many other suggestions could be added to this list.

* Some ancient philosopher suggested that we are only human if we live among humans. The bigger your community the more diverse it will be. Familiarity breeds respect while isolation cultivates misanthropy.

* I try to consider the ways in which my contacts are diverse and include differing ways of thinking into that mix. If I "embrace diversity" but everyone I know thinks the same way then it becomes a pretty hollow concept. I try to resist the temptation to quash debate.

* Extrapolating from personal experience is a problem. If I only ever met one albino and they were grumpy should I then think all albinos are grumpy? Even if I have formed an impression over time it is at best still only profiling. And - heck - maybe something has made them grumpy and I should be mindful of that.

* I have to resist thinking that it is okay to be misanthropic if my target has chosen to be different. Why allow others to be different because they cannot help it but deny that right to someone who has made a concsious decision to do so?

* I often have to check if I am confusing what is merely a personal preference for something that is the right thing. I prefer rock-and-roll to techno but does that make me more tasteful or merely of differing tastes from a raver? The existance of these things hardly harms me.

* Harm is the key limitation to the diversity I talk of embracing. If a particular behaviour harms others then I feel entitled to object. I am tempted to include self-harm because it (a) harms loved-ones and (b) is itself frequently a product of past harm suffered. But I have to be careful in defining harm. If someone possesses something I lack does it follow that they are to blame for my lack? Or like the child arguing over a toy can the issue be addressed simply by making me aware that I can play with another toy? Does having ones cherished assumptions challenged by someone who does things differently constitute harm? Or do I just need to get a bit of perspective and develop more confidence in my own decisions?

* I sometimes try to remember who I have been as well as who I am now. As a worker I will try and remember what it was like to be a student dependent on family. If I cannot do that I can still find some other way of understanding. I may never have been a parent but I am the child of parents which gives me an awesome insight into that role with just a bit of memory and imagination.

* Even if I cannot understand someone I can still offer acceptance. And even if they do things to undermine that respect I can remember that they are only human...

Humans are flawed and make mistakes. That egotistical infant is still there hidden away in every one of us which is just as well because we all need to consider our own interests. But to be mature we need to consider them in the context of who we coexist with. The misanthropic tendency is there but can be challenged by examination of its flaws whether it be in ourselves or entrenched in our culture and institutions.

Cross-posted here.

Moving On?

2010-03-29T23:45:00.002+11:00

Writing this entry is difficult for me and its content may be surprising to others. Petra and I have decided to call it a day (or whatever other euphemistic line helps me admit the truth). Some of the circumstances that have contributed to this were foreshadowed here.

What happens in a relationship is private but the existence of that same relationship is public and some explanation of change is usually expected. So I will say that, as much as we were enjoying the present, we recognized problems looming in the future.

In many ways I think moving back to Melbourne will be a worthwhile thing for me. And yet I cannot help but feel that this is a significant step backwards. While settling back in I will also be re-evaluating a number of things in my life with a focus on what truly works for me rather than what is supposed to work.

I can be philosophical. I can rationalize. But I also must recognize that a very important chapter in my life is ending. I have never lived with a partner till now... never been with someone this long... never felt as relaxed with anyone as this... and this will affect me for some time. There is always more I could say but sometimes nothing says it better than schmaltz (the specific content of that song may differ from my experience but the feeling is accurate).

Cross-posted here.

Smarter

2010-03-16T19:55:00.010+11:00

I finally got around to reading Everything Bad Is Good For You (2005) by Steven Johnson. The central argument of the book is that popular culture is making us smarter. This is a surprising assertion given the conventional wisdom which says the very opposite. In this page-turner Johnson asserts that as pop culture become more complex it challenges our cognitive development. Johnson discusses the Internet and computer games but I will focus on the thing I am most familiar with - television.

Complexity

Johnson describes how television shows from successive decades have become more complex in terms of the number of concurrent plots that progress both within and across episodes. Over time they present larger numbers of characters and therefore more intricate relationship networks to comprehend. With the passing of time narratives have guided viewers less and allowed them to make assumptions and interpretations of information themselves. And the growing practice of referencing other pop culture products may foster an interest in things beyond the show itself.

Johnson describes the economics that has facilitated this change. Originally a TV show would make its money on its original run but now a show will make more money over time in the form of re-runs and video sales. With that in mind the shows that will be more popular are the ones that continue to be interesting over successive viewings - every time you look at it you discover something new.

Ethics

Johnson stresses that his argument relates to cognitive development rather than ethical growth. What interests him is the changing structure of media rather than the content itself and on those grounds he asserts that different media need to be assessed on different criteria. A TV show cannot be judged on the same grounds as a novel and they both develop different kinds of skills.

Frequently however it is ethical issues that concern the critics of pop culture and, even if they were to concede that it can make us smarter, they would say that it is undermining accepted standards of conduct. Do we want to become smart yet amoral? Johnson is silent on the matter but I would say that it depends on what ethical framework the critics want to assert.

In politics it is important to stand for things and yet sometimes the intensity of our convictions are shaped by those we oppose. I took to this book with relish because it challenges the assertions of the wowsers who have long attacked some of my favourite things!

The "TV makes us dumb" argument has long annoyed me because as a child and teenager I absorbed a lot of it and am sure that much of it - both non-fiction and fictional shows - has contributed to the pretty comprehensive understanding of the world that I feel I have. And despite its sometimes violent content I have never been a violent person.

Frankly there are those who want to control what we do rather than allow us to decide what is best for us. There is concerning content in pop culture but the important thing is to find ways of judging and filtering that for ourselves. The fact is that ethics are and should be a contested matter in a free society. The more politic of wowsers will respond that there is an ethical 'common ground' which needs to be reflected in media content and I would agree. But I would also say that the common ground may have changed since they formed an opinion on what that is.

Simplicity

Johnson says that critics of pop culture lament the passing of a simpler time and that by "simpler" they mean ethically simpler. In the old days of television good was good and evil was evil. Now however things are more ambiguous - we find ourselves criticizing heroes and identifying with villains in a story. This can be confusing but it is also more interesting and more realistic. It shows that humans are complex and that they have to make difficult decisions and explore ethical conundrums.

Still there is an aspect of past simplicity that I miss - narrative simplicity. Sometimes it is nice to just veg in front of the box and follow a basic storyline involving just a handful of well-loved characters. Besides which I think there are hidden levels of complexity that Johnson has overlooked in his analysis of past TV shows and those levels can be fun to explore.

In the past story-writers had to be more careful in saying things that exceeded the ethical common ground of the time and the methods they employed provide old shows with a more complex texture than Johnson recognizes. As kids we laughed at the slapstick in The Goodies (1970-1982) but our parents were laughing at the innuendo. During its original run M*A*S*H (1972-1977) viewers knew that it was set during the Korean War but that it was also allegorically referring to the Vietnam War raging at that time. As much as I value free and frank communication, I also appreciate the inventiveness that censorship has necessitated in the past.

And there is another kind of complexity that all TV shows develop once they are deemed old - historical texture. I love looking
at an old show for its incidental music, its fashions, its mannerisms. These days I am more inclined to focus on the decor in the background than I am to listen to the repetitive catch-phrases ("And loving it!") in Get Smart (1965-1970). I expect that Johnson would respond to this by saying it is okay to still be into these old shows because - new or old - they are all a part of the growing back-catalog of pop culture product that we can draw on at any time.

Overall I find the argument of Johnson both persuasive and mostly comforting. I say mostly because if it is correct then I have one abiding concern - why do we have to be smarter? If there are skills we need in life then it is worthwhile that pop culture can help develop those. But I worry that there are limits to how much complexity we can cope with and wonder whether some of us will be left behind by a more complicated world.

Cross-posted here.

Collections

2010-02-28T17:53:00.005+11:00

During childhood my brother Lukas and I collected three different brands of toy. And while now we may regard them as collections to preserve carefully, back then they were very much toys for playing with. And another word for ‘imaginative play’ is storytelling. In this post I will consider how well the three different kinds of toys facilitated storytelling.

Legoland Space

The oldest toys we got into were the space-specialized Lego sets. In the 80s these toys lacked any prescribed story or character information. All you got was what was suggested by the toy designs themselves. As a result we had to invent a story all by ourselves and inspiration came from an entirely different source.

At the time we had some illustrated non-fiction books for children by the UK publishers Rigby-Usborne on every topic from dinosaurs to future predictions. In the books dedicated to the future there were some interesting images including mining the asteroids for minerals and pirate vessels attacking commercial spacecraft.

From these sorts of images we developed a story involving a Space Patrol versus a much smaller set of space criminals. Different colours of astronaut were designated different functions – white for technicians, red for military, yellow for miners. Our Lego was an exclusively indoor toy but there were plenty of ways of adapting furniture to imaginative ends. I cannot remember much of the storylines but I do remember that a big brown beanbag makes a fantastic asteroid!

Star Wars Action Figures

The original Star Wars movies blew our minds and likewise we got a thrill from getting Star Wars figures (I can even remember fondly the smell of fresh action-figures on my birthday). The interesting thing however is that we never used the Star Wars story in playing with those figures and I wonder why. The fact that our collection lacked key human characters may be a factor. The fact that the vehicles we had for them were generics rather than specific to Star Wars may have helped too. I also suspect that we felt that the story as described in the movies was too big and too complete for us to try and mess with (this never stopped the development of a huge non-canonical Star Wars universe that I now know exists).

What we did do was to imagine a remote and lush world on which several alien castaways were separately stranded. These heroes were played by Cantina Creatures who each had unique skills adapted to particular habitats. Greedo (who got to keep his original name) became amphibious and lived in the fish pond (in fact the toy sometimes stayed in there overnight). Walrus-Mon became Treetor who lived in a forest treehouse. Snaggletooth became a burrowing dweller of caverns. These and others banded together across the planet once it was invaded by a force of conquering marauders (played by assorted masked Imperial figures).

There was a kind of moral theme to this play – the side of good was diverse and possessed complimentary talents while the side of evil was regimented and uniform. These toys were robust so could be played with outdoors and every part of the yard corresponded to some part of that imagined planet. I think my fondest toy recollections are of these and the settings we made for them.

Transformers

Originally – even as a upper primary school kid – I felt that Transformers were a bit far-fetched and silly but then we saw the cartoon made to promote them and were hooked. Here was a fully developed set of characters and even the toy packages provided personality descriptions and vital statistics. In the cartoon we were presented with convenient episodic story-telling to which we could insert our own. There was a simplistic formula we could use over and over which included the following elements:

* Humans develop some new energy source that the evil Decepticons try to exploit and the Autobots have to stop them.

* Story starts with the accidental discovery of the Decepticon plan by a small group of Autobots who have to quickly get away to report to the others – exciting chase ensues.

* Autobots plan how they intend to thwart the Deception plan.

* There is a final confrontation between the massed forces of both sides. At this time some new or rarely employed characters come into play to help decide the final outcome.

It was a lot of fun but I think it lacked something compared with the older toys we played with. Too much of the storytelling work was done for us by the toy company. I now look on my Transformers as the best toys I have because of their clever design and novel appearance rather than because of the story they are supposed to tell.

And as nifty as they are I would never put them in a fishpond overnight – only Greedo is that cool!

Cross-posted here.

Worlds Upon Worlds

2010-02-12T20:00:00.014+11:00

I have a number of creative writing concepts percolating at the moment and this is one of them. As a short story it stands alone but it also shares the same setting and characters as this and this story...

It took Lari Vanhanen three months to realize that he had slipped into an alternative universe. An argument over the origin of a popular yeast extract was what made him recognize this shocking truth.

Lari was having drinks with his partner Kim and her ex Kellie. The conversation had somehow wandered into the revelatory topic – possibly because they had been discussing hangover cures. Anyway Lari knew for a fact that yeast extracts had originated in the 1950s as a vegetarian form of cooking stock that had then been turned to the use of a spread. Kellie, however, insisted that it had originated decades before that as a by-product of beer manufacture! Now, most such arguments are never resolved, but Kellie had a net-connected palmtop at her disposal, and proved her point with it. Lari was incensed but was subdued by warning looks from Kim.

The next day however was a Saturday and once Lari had woken and showered he found the argument of the previous night nagging away at him. Kellie had accessed Wikipedia - a site that anyone can edit. Could she have edited the page surreptitiously while in the pub? Lari went back to that site and from there followed links to both manufacturer and consumer-advice websites and was perturbed to find that they all corroborated the brewery origin.

Lari started exploring websites wildly as he recalled several incongruous statements he had encountered in recent weeks and discovered all sorts of trivial yet disturbing differences between the world he knew and the world that was now presenting itself to him. He could not possibly have been wrong about so many things. The only explanation that came to mind was one of alternative universes.

Lari remembered how annoyed he had been on walking past a parent and child in a front yard and hearing the parent tell the child that slaters were a kind of land-dwelling crustacean. Lari was too reserved a person to actually say anything but he fumed at an adult filling a child with such nonsense. Surely everybody knew that slaters were a stunted form of millipede. Now however the Internet told Lari that in this universe that parent had been right.

Lari also remembered browsing in a music shop while Kim was looking for sheet music and coming across an informational poster describing various keyboard-operated instruments. Lari was sure that 1960s electric organs were primitive electronic synthesizers but the poster had stated that they produced sound using a combination of rotating steel ‘tonewheels’ and electromagnetic ‘pickups’ thus making them more akin to electric guitars. Once more then Internet told Lari that in this universe the poster was right.

All this and more was rather disturbing to Lari, and yet also liberating. As frustrating as it was to have to check his facts on the smallest of things, it was also apparent that this universe was better for him than his native reality. Till recently a pale and weedy nerd with a silly name like his had never had any luck in his love-life. And yet somehow he was now with a beautiful and exciting women like Kim. And then he knew when and where it was that he had slipped from universe to universe.

Three months ago Lari had met Kim at Demonique – a goth-themed night held at the Masked Nightclub. Somehow his usually inept overtures had worked – apparently the word “exquisite” had made a big impression on her. In any case there had been something magical about that night and Lari decided to examine Masked Nightclub more closely.

The premises of Masked had been a nightclub for fifteen years. During the three decades that preceded that time it had been a camping and fishing products storehouse. And preceding that it had been the office and borrowing library for an occult society named Worlds Upon Worlds (WUW) that had existed from the 1920s to the 1960s. WUW practitioners postulated an infinity of ‘worlds’ in which every person had a world most suited to them, if only they could find it. That was it! WUW must have conducted supernatural experiments into finding those other worlds. Maybe they had disbanded once they all found what they wanted. In any case Masked was the site of the rift between universes and the next Demonique was just a few nights away. Lari had to warn Kim and luckily they were meeting at a café that afternoon.

Kim gave Lari that look over the brim of her tea cup that, as far as he could tell, only women could achieve, which conveyed pure incredulity. “Lari – you are fantastic at making educated guesses but do you think that sometimes you might just put two and two together and get five?” Kim seemed to think that Lari was just wrong and wrong on so many things. Lari was momentarily subdued so Kim went on:

“If it was Kellie she would check all her facts and if it was me I would never assert anything for sure but you just assume you are right.”

“And” Kim added “I will go to Demonique to have a good time as well as to show to you that there is nothing the matter with it.”

Lari responded to Kim by saying “okay some of those things may just be misinterpretations of mine but there is one more thing that I cannot reconcile…” Kim looked on expectantly so Lari pressed on. “You and Kellie tell this story of exploring inside the Wingnut Overpass but in my experience it has a different name altogether!”

“Just come with me Lari and stick close to me if you have to” was the final word of Kim. “We can dirty-dance the night away and if I get sucked into another dimension then you will too” she smirked. Lari would just have to agree and the dancing part did work for him. There was just one problem however – the bathrooms at Masked were gender-segregated…

I hope others enjoyed that. One thing I wonder is this: Do you think that the central character makes way too many assumptions and interpretations or has he slipped into an alternative universe?

Cross-posted here.

One-On-One

2010-01-31T22:49:00.009+11:00

I recently partook in an Internet meme and anyone participating in such things is expected by the meme to propagate them. In my case however I will simply discuss it. The meme instructs its participants as follows:

If you had me alone, locked up in your house for twenty-four hours and I had to do whatever you wanted me to, what would you have me do?

The aspect of the described scenario involving compulsion disturbs me a bit. But - hey - it is just for fun right? And with that in mind I responded to the meme posted by a few friends on LiveJournal. And the thing I found interesting was that it forced me to contemplate how I may interact with friends one-on-one.

Now for many in society one-on-one is the normal way in which friendships are conducted. But for me I still move in groups that facilitate friendships in the short-term but - I suspect - can inhibit them in the long-term. I have commented on the phenomena of friendship groups before. A few times now in my life I have become almost infatuated with groups as distinct from the persons in those groups. But I think feelings of attachment to groups will only serve one so well so far.

I participated in the recent Canberra Intervarsity Choral Fiesta (CIV) which was a wonderful showcase of the diverse talents of IVers (whether they sing or play instruments or play-act or compere or make merchandise or just organize everything). One of the regular events at IVs is an evening of watching what are effectively the home movies of past IVs. We looked at footage from the last time Canberra hosted IV back in 2003 and what struck me was both continuity and change. As a legal fiction IV was the same thing. As a cultural construct it was similar. But as a unique set of faces it was very different.

Groups change - markedly - over the course of several years. It is fantastic to have the opportunity to make new friends. But it is also worthwhile to preserve friendships over time. And if friends move on from a particular scene then that necessitates finding ways of staying in contact once the convenient setting is removed. Which takes me back to that meme.

Over time the ways in which I reckon the closeness of friendships has changed. As a very young adult (undergraduate age) the end-all-and-be-all for me was the rambling conversation. Since then I have recognized other ways of relating that are of value to me. Sometimes it is shared experiences whether challenging or fun. Sometimes it is incidents of reciprocal kindness. Sometimes it is just some difficult-to-define affinity that transcends personal differences. I suppose over time a degree of all these things is important to preserving friendships. O and food and drink... and comfy living rooms... and music... and story-telling. And refreshing walks if only the meme would allow one to go outside.

Cross-posted here.

Twenty Ten

2010-01-11T22:01:00.008+11:00

It has been a while since I blogged on anything personal. Having returned from a Festive Season visit to Melbourne seems a good time to address that.

Here

In some ways things went too well for me on moving to Canberra. I fell into work within a week of moving here in April which was surprising but also made me too confident of my luck. Since that temp role ended in July things have been more patchy. I get good feedback for my resume and interview performance but I am also reliably informed that things are sluggish just now (even if Australia has technically deflected a recession). This is even the case of the relatively plentiful area of clerical work that I focus on. I have to keep all these external factors in mind lest I fall back into old ways of thinking regarding competency. I anticipate it is just a matter of time.

All sorts of things change with time and affect one another. I have had my job-seeking challenges. Petra has had study-related challenges. And both of us are thinking that we may cope better with all these things if only we had more space than a four-room bungalow allows. Still for now that is our circumstances and we are too busy to contemplate any changes till the dust has settled on the coming Canberra Intervarsity Choral Festival (CIV). Petra is convening that event while I am a hanger-on who is free of rehearsal and performance commitments to do odd-jobs for her. Seeing interstate friends in my adoptive hometown will be nice.

There

Things can be a bit sleepy in Canberra which is why I visited Melbourne recently. I spent time with both family and friends in a number of different settings from the suburbs to the Mornington Peninsula. I was a bit apprehensive of changes I would face as a non-local. There is only so much that remote forms of information (Internet) can tell one and only so far that the ability to ‘fill in the gaps’ can go. There is nothing like face-to-face chats to provide a gossip booster-shot for the isolated friend.

Across the two or three groups I move in I did find changes to relations and perspectives and life circumstances. I was reminded how fragile our ability as humans to live happily with one another can be. I shall have to remember that the next time I feel like castigating politicians for coming back from an international meeting with nothing much to show for themselves!

However I also rediscovered how fascinating and invigorating and important others are and how – in the absence of any supernatural say-so – seeking to understand others is a purpose for me (something worth me taking home with me).

Also I cannot forget fun. I had fun seeing Avatar at the Valhalla and Sherlock Holmes in Rosebud. I got very relaxed in hot springs and refreshed in bayside waters. I had some fascinating religious and political discussions with friends of different persuasions. I got fed some fantastic food. Too those who actively facilitated these things I am grateful. I am energized for what is to come.

Back Here

The national capital is also a rural township and I have become too much of a home-body in it. In some ways that was good as it allowed me to complete both a fictional and a non-fictional Magnum Opus of sorts. But there is much more to life than writing.

One mistake I have made is to hold off on making non-work commitments till I have work itself. Fun and fulfilling things still happen but in a haphazard way. I wish for a bit more of the routine I once had. One thing I can try is to revive the civic life that I let go of once the Australian Democrats became a micro-party. I have recently volunteered at a few Amnesty International stalls. We shall see how that and other things go. I have a few options to explore but just have to make them happen. We shall see what 2010 brings.

Cross-posted here.

Poster Post

2009-12-22T01:12:00.001+11:00

I went shopping for some photo frames recently and while I was at it browsed the selection of pop-culture posters in the same shop. It got me thinking on something I have been noticing for a while. If I wanted merchandise related to (say) The Rolling Stones or Led Zeppelin then chances are I will find them in any shopping centre. If however I want something relating to (say) Aretha Franklin or Stevie Wonder then I will have a hunt on my hands. I name all these musicians because they are all of long-standing popularity and I am a fan. But if supply-and-demand are anything to go by then I am unusual in liking all of them.

So I got to wondering why this disparity of product availability exists. And my ‘political correctness chip’ sparked into life and told me that I was seeing evidence of racism – we in Australia prefer white over black artists it told me. Disquieting. But then I started asking if there were other distinctions between the artists named. Was genre the key factor here? The artists with all the posters and patches perform rock (and rock-derived music) while those of scant paraphernalia perform soul (and soul-derived music).

One test of this explanation was to consider a larger number of artists (while still confining things to ‘classics’). Lo-and-behold one can find consumer items relating to Jimi Hendrix (a black rocker) much moreso than Joe Cocker (a white soulter). I relaxed then – there is nothing the matter with preferring some genres over others. But then I started asking another question – why do we as a society show such a preference for some genres over others (particularly since they share a common musical heritage)? Possibly my original suspicions would play a part in the answer. I wonder…

Addendum

I may be indulging in gross generalizations here. The extended family of popular music is much more complex than I suggest here. And humanity cannot be understood in terms of the dichotomy I use except in some specific contexts. Still...

Cross-posted here.

Trespass

2009-12-08T15:57:00.016+11:00

It has been several months since I put my last short story here and some concepts have finally come together into another one. This story has the same setting as others - it is preceded by this and followed by this but can be taken as stand-alone.

Kellie Radison was contemplating crime. The current on-line discussion among her friends was on the topic of “have you ever committed a crime” and Kellie was deciding whether to enter into the fray. Many of the comments made were hopelessly “me-too-ist” in nature. Several bragged of under-aged entry into adult bars and clubs. Some were “software pirates”. One friend (well more an acquaintance) even cited his chronic j-walking. Kellie wondered how much any of this counted as truly criminal.

A number of her closer friends introduced substance abuse into the discussion. This forced Kellie to bite her metaphorical tongue. Despite her student activist background and her feral cultural identity, Kellie was very critical of dabbling in illicit drugs. For her those who profited from the distribution and sale of such products were “unadulterated capitalists” who grew rich on the suffering of the addicted. She had once, at a dinner party, made the mistake of suggesting that narcotics should be subject to a consumer boycott as much or moreso than Nestle or Nike. The cold silence she got for her comment made her wary in future of dissenting, even within a dissenting scene.

No, rather than start a rant that would end in “unfriendings” on-line, Kellie decided to introduce her own kind of crime, one that would put others to shame. Her preferred crime, exiting, irreverent, but victimless, was trespass. She cranked up the volume on Mouthpiece, her favourite hardcore band, and got to composing her contribution to the one-up-person-ship.

Kellie had been introduced to the joys of trespassing by Kim, her ex. There was something indescribably tantalizing about creeping into forbidden places. Kim had moved on the periphery of a group called The Sewer Savages who were dedicated (originally) to the exploring of underground urban waterways. The members Kim hung with were more into above-ground expeditions, however, which was just as well, as Kellie was a tad claustrophobic.

The first adventure they went on together, as part of a small group, was inside the newly constructed Wingnut Overpass, which would improve access between the eastern and western suburbs. To the casual observer, the overpass was a solid expanse of concrete, but it was in fact hollow, like a necklace made of macaroni on a string. The most challenging part of their nocturnal undertaking had been getting through a small hole cut into some cyclone fencing, followed by a quick dash across scrubby ground. They had then clambered onto a concrete shelf and shimmied on tummy between huge cement components into the darkness beyond.

Kellie had been somewhat dubious of the whole exercise, but that all changed once they were inside and the torches were lit. Inside, stretching away into the distance, was a wide corridor of seeming-stone, which they carefully walked along. At regular intervals the taller members of the group would have to duck under beams at the junctures of bridge segments, but both Kellie & Kim were free of such frustrations. They were particularly impressed by those parts of the structure over the support pylons, which dipped lower and therefore were considerably larger inside, with gently sloping floors, like those of a cinema theatrette. In these spaces Kellie imagined a top-secret government military installation, while, who knows, Kim was probably entertaining notions of pagan tombs. And all this was under what would soon be a tarmac traversed by cars and trucks.

On some occasions Kim would take Kellie along to Sewer Savage group activities, but on others they would go together, alone, to some forbidden locale. On one lazy Sunday afternoon they went walking, to get away from the restrictive scrutiny of Kim’s parents, and came across an abandoned aged care facility that was slated for demolition. With a bit of effort they jumped over the front fence, and from there access was a cinch. Local teenagers had already been there, as evidenced by assorted graffiti inside and outside. All the doors and many of the windows on the lower floor had been smashed open. They entered the kitchen and stepped over the crushed glass and ripped lino. It was dark inside but luckily it was a sunny day so they could see well. They were surprised to find that there were still lots of hospital-standard beds in the rooms, and Kellie found this terribly wasteful. Kim, annoyingly, muttered that the place could be haunted.

The nursing home was a bit creepy, as Kellie discovered when they eventually found the staircase to the top floor behind what had looked like a cupboard door. In the stairwell it was totally dark and, using mobile phones as lights, they ascended, only to be scared by the sudden sound of a slamming door from above. Creeping, ever more tentatively, they checked all the rooms above, relieved that the grumpy squatter they had just imagined must have been the wind whipping through the smashed windows. After that the excitement had passed for Kellie, and she convinced Kim that it was time to go.

Some weeks later they discovered that the site was intended for the future use of a childcare centre. Kellie found this ironic, given the ageing population. Kim found it inspiring and sat down to pen a story about a childcare centre infested by the youth-envying ghosts of neglected and forgotten grandparents. Kellie commented that the world was sufficiently horrifying without having to invent fictitious horrors. Kim responded that Kellie should take a chill-pill every now-and-then. The differences between them were becoming more apparent as time passed. Kellie was getting more involved in activism and finding the emo friends of Kim more petty and insular. Kim was finding Kellie more opinionated and media-obsessed. Eventually Kellie made the innocent mistake of complimenting Kim as “exotic” and somehow it was all over after that.

Kellie reflected that one always takes something away from a relationship. In the case of Kim, she had taken from that chapter of her life an abiding love of trespass, which she would continue, alone if necessary. Just a few weeks ago she had moved into a share household in an inner suburb, and on a familiarizing walk had come across a condemned brickworks. Kellie decided she needed to explore it before it was converted into apartments, and so one night she slipped into her drabbest clothes and packed some wire-cutters and a torch into her backpack. The gate was padlocked, but the chain was sufficiently long to allow the compact vegetarian to squeeze in. There she was rewarded with courtyards filled with broken bricks and three looming old brick structures filled with shadows and the dust of decades. Kellie wandered low-ceilinged passages into vaulting chambers. She climbed rusting iron ladders onto rotting wooden walkways. She was startled by – what – maybe some bats and almost fell over a loose railing.

Okay, Kellie reflected on writing about the brickworks, that maybe there are potential victims of trespass, if you consider self-harm to be a problem, which increasingly Kellie decided was the case. And then she started to consider the consequences of her actions. A stray word had precipitated the end of her last relationship. What, she wondered, would her long admission of criminal activity on the Internet do to herself or others involved? She toyed with the age-old subversive device of changing the names of persons and places in her true escapades, but then she suddenly felt very tired of the whole story. The album had stopped playing, and with it Kellie stopped writing. She sat there for a moment contemplating the shadows of her past. And then Kellie deleted what she had written. Some things, she decided, were best left as just the memory of those who experienced them.

That was fun putting together once I decided to sit down and do it. One thing I find interesting is that contemporary realist settings seem to be replacing futuristic science-fiction settings for my short fiction writing. I cannot say exactly why I have made that change but it is satisfying for now.

Cross-posted here.

Survey Results - Political Objectives Test

2009-11-20T14:55:00.007+11:00

I have discussed my Political Objectives Test here in the past and for a long time promised I would provide some 'number crunching' of test-takers. That was a while ago...

Now - finally - my long-overdue survey of a group of 150 anonymous test takers can be presented here!

It is all a bit long-winded so if you just want to take the test yourself then go to it hosting here at OKCupid (but be warned some of the other tests there are of - how shall I say - dubious virtue).

And I would love it if you would share with me your own test results. You can do so here (or privately via email if you prefer). In telling me your result it would be informative if you could tell me your three percentage scores rather that just the ideological label the test gives you.

Furthermore any comments or criticisms can be posted here. I look forward to discussing it all with you.

Cross-posted here.

Enter The Lands

2009-11-11T21:29:00.009+11:00

I am excited and it is an unusual kind of excitement. Normally one gets excited by anticipating things to come. In this case I am excited by something now past. I have finally finished my fantasy setting The Lands.

Well possibly “comprehensive” is a better word than “complete”. I could always focus in on particular aspects of my world and expand on them (indeed this may happen if I run adventures in it). However what I have written provides both a framework and a sufficiently complex texturing to satisfy me that I can now share it with others.

I am somewhat sensitive to giving the impression that I am one of those who spend way too much time putting elaborate things onto the Internet. In my defence I want to stress that this concept has been under development for a very long time and much of what is on the site began as word-processed documents. The site itself has existed since 2006 even if the content has expanded and changed since then. Nonetheless it is true that I have put a lot of hours into it lately. Living in the Bush Capital between jobs has given me the chance to finally finish something that seemed like it would never be done.

The Lands began in the late 80s as the setting for a short story – The Death Of Erilore – which I never completed. This childish story and likewise its setting was totally derivative of Lord Of The Rings. It even involved a quest to get rid of a treasure. The greatest attraction for me of Middle Earth was its complexity – the notion of a fictional story having a faux non-fictional swath of supporting notes was a tantalizing one for me. Naturally I drew a map for my story which has been redrawn a number of times till it became the one presented here and here. And – yes – like Middle Earth it has an ocean in the west and a north-south running mountain range dividing it in half.

By the 90s The Lands had been converted into the setting for Dungeons & Dragons (D&D) role-play games (RPGs). The Lands changed accordingly from a misty-grey habitation of legends into the more lurid ‘Technicolor’ setting one expects of modern pulp fantasy. The diversity of inhabitants grew markedly to better fit the expectations of D&D players. Mind you it has always annoyed me just how very crowded D&D worlds seem to be. The word ‘Kobold’ is just German for 'Goblin' (and vice versa) and yet in D&D they have described two rather different monsters to fit those two words. I have reversed the process somewhat and made them just one race with more than one name. Likewise I have given geographic and historic context to all my races so that any one place-and-time is only as crowded as it should be.

My background as a humanities student has impacted on The Lands significantly. There is a lot more exposition on the politics and culture of its inhabitants than would be expected of a fantasy RPG settings. It is this aspect of writing that I have enjoyed the most and which characterizes most chapters.

Much of my text describes The Lands themselves and is original – or rather it is derivative of many things rather than just one thing as it initially was. However towards the end of the site I have adapted D&D game rules. Most are small to moderate changes to the older editions I am familiar with. However in the case of Magic the changes are larger. The long lists of very specific spells has been replaced by fewer but more versatile spells – in a sense I have shifted from a digital to an analogue take on spell-casting more like that in the Ars Magica RPG.

All sorts of things have had an impact on the content of The Lands and include history from the ancient Mediterranean to medieval Europe, politics of the modern era, legends and fables, modern fantasy and science fiction. Even some very basic biology creeps in and is why I feel obliged to provide explanations for why some vertebrates have more than four limbs (something nobody need do in a fantasy setting). Overall I have attempted to produce a fictional setting that is different but still recognizably one we could imagine living in.

All-in-all I have had a lot of fun devising and revising this stuff but am also relieved that it is done. Any comments and observations are welcome and I hope a few others enjoy reading about The Lands as I have enjoyed writing about them.

Cross-posted here.

Elevated Anecdote

2009-10-28T23:08:00.006+11:00

Blogging is a fantastic way of recording and sharing personal anecdotes but it has struck me that this is only the case for those events that have happened during the era of blogging. And with that in mind I have decided that I want to draw some old anecdotes from my past and put them here. It will be something I only do from time-to-time but I will start with one particular incident in this entry. And - like this incident - I will try to limit my anecdotes to just those that are somehow distinctive and also to those that involve friends who have been important to me. So here we go...

Back when I was still at uni I spent a lot of weekends with a handful of friends who had met via this one event at the start of our uni lives - the United Nations Youth Associate (UNYA) Tertiary Youth Conference 1991. This story has nothing to do with that week-long con but it is how Us as we called ourselves got together. One of those involved was my longest-term friend to date - Guy - whom I had met at the start of secondary school. Anyway...

One day we were all getting together to go have a picnic by the Bay. And as we were all uni students we carpooled in one or two cars and drove from suburb to suburb collecting passengers. We had come to collect another friend - Sean - who at the time lived on the fourteenth floor of apartments on Nicholson Street in Carlton. So Guy and I took the elevator to go and collect him. As the lift rose we did something kinda stupid.

There was a song in the charts at the time by the teenaged hip-hop duo Kriss Kross called Jump Jump. It was pretty trashy and we knew it but nonetheless something possessed us both to "jump jump" in unison as the lift moved. How were we to know that two young men jumping was all it would take for an elevator to get stuck between floors?

And the only way of communicating with the outside world was via a buzzer button. Yep - these lifts were too primitive to have an intercom and we were living in the 90s baby - so who had a mobile phone back then? The buzzer seemed to attract the attention of one elderly resident - we knew that because she called to us via the walls and doors. I think from that we established that mechanics were on the way to look at the problem.

All we could do was sit. I had some paper in my backpack and - well - it may surprise you but in those days I was a bit imaginative and a tiny bit melodramatic. So I suggested that we may need to keep the paper to write farewell messages in case we never escaped. Guy - whose scientific knowledge and sarcasm far exceeds mine - assured me that we still had a hour or so of oxygen. He persuaded me to share the paper and play Noughts & Crosses with him.

A bit later the elderly resident called to us to ask "are you still there". Um - yes - yes we were.

Anyway eventually the elevator did move level with a floor and the doors opened. We ran all the way down the stairs to find the others who convinced us to come with them back into the other elevator to go fetch Sean. I think we spent 45 minutes in that lift. Till that time such an experience was just something from movies. In the end all I lost was some paper but I got a pretty good anecdote from the thing. And I think we enjoyed the picnic later that day too.

Note: I promise to use more commas rather than just all these dashes. I will try. This anecdote has been cross-posted here.

Supernatural Moral

2009-10-05T17:22:00.008+11:00

I had lunch with a friend recently on the grounds of the Australian National University (ANU). Following lunch I walked past what looked like the start of a public debate. Posters close by told me it was a debate between the local skeptics and evangelical Christians. For a moment that part of my that enjoys arguments (a dwindling part in recent times) wanted to stay and watch the show but I quickly changed my mind and walked on. The topic was presumably over the existence of God which would inevitably have been yet another "coz I say so" kind of exchange. Even the likely tone put me off - skeptics who think they are so clever versus fundamentalists who feel they are so very right. I also think the debate itself is lop-sided.

The objective of the skeptics is to dismiss any and all things supernatural. In contrast the fundamentalists are only interested in asserting the existence of one supernatural thing - a monotheist god. I would rather see a program of two separate debates. In the first of such debates the skeptics would face a mixed panel of anyone who embraces the supernatural (say a Christian and a Hindu and a Shintoist). Seeing such groups interact would be interesting in itself. Only once the matter of the supernatural was debated would there then be a second debate in which the virtues of different religions were discussed.

What kind of decision-making processes are involved in choosing a religion if one thinks that there is such a thing as supernatural agents that expect us to have a relationship with them? For many religious practitioners I suspect context and circumstance direct the decision made. A person decides that monotheism makes sense to them and the society they live in has a predominantly Christian heritage so naturally they become Christian. There is still the matter of which denomination in which to participate but that may be affected by who one knows - family and friends go to a particular church and are happy to provide an invitation to the next gathering.

But what if the prospective religious person decided to make a conscious investigation of the alternatives. A debate between religions would be more focused on morality than on cosmology as different religions vie for adherents. And in introducing morality I am interested in the moral standing of the supernatural agents themselves. So much religion focuses on the actions of mortals but what of immortals?

Is it - for instance - right for a parental figure to allow its wayward children to be tortured forever if it can do anything at all to prevent it. Many parents the world over will have adult children who have done what they consider to be wrong and yet they will still love and accept those children and do anything they can for them. That is the nature of parental love. Should we expect more or less from a supernatural parent? I would think we would expect more. And yet the historical development of religions is such that we assess the conduct of gods on the basis of barbarian monarchs from times in which the concept of compassion lacked any kind of prestige.

An atheist will deny the existence of such monsters of the imagination. But as an agnostic I have to consider the possibility (however remote) that the assertions of the most hateful of fundamentalists may be right. And if they are right what should I do? The pragmatic thing would be to choose the most vengeful of religions and do what it says to the letter. But I have a hunch that resisting intimidation and abuse even if it has a supernatural form is the moral thing to do. It may be a difficult thing to do however once I am shown the instruments of torture.

And those instruments of torture are shown to us even in this day-and-age. There on that street corner on a busy shopping day is the intense stare and the stirring words of an evangelist who rants on-and-on about fire and brimstone and whose placard asks "where will you spend eternity". Such a person may be in a tiny minority compared with those Christians who interpret Hell as the much milder "absence of God". But such a person has the visibility and passion and for many of us is the face of Christianity (which I focus on because of the history of my culture even while I am aware that other world religions have similar problems).

I have sometimes considered asking one of those street corner advocates how they feel peddling terror. I think they may respond that they are warning us of the dangers of Satan rather than of God but for me a protection racket is still a form of assault. Ultimately we work under very different assumptions. For the evangelist goodness is whatever God says it is. For me however 'might is right' is a philosophy we need to consign to the history books.

Cross-posted here.

Grimm And The Blue Crown Owl

2009-09-23T19:08:00.006+10:00

On the weekend I saw the 'gothic' opera Grimm And The Blue Crown Owl at Street Theatre. I saw it because it was performed by Australian National University (ANU) opera students of which Petra is one and I am happy I saw it because it was original and engaging.

The music and story were written by one of the opera students. It was refreshing to see something new in what I think of as an old-world art-form. It was also nice that it was sung in English which surely made the convoluted plot a bit more transparent. Mind you I expected to understand more of it but forgot that sung dialogue is more difficult to understand than spoken word (hence all those wonderful and amusing misunderstandings of pop music lyrics).

Still someone reminded me that convoluted and inane story is a part of the opera territory and one goes more for the music. And the music was awesome. I lack the terminology but the music was a 'modern' if still tuneful brand of orchestral music performed by a very together chamber orchestra and sung by the keen and talented opera students. They both sung and acted well and even those lacking key roles still put in some fantastic body acting of movement and gesture (gotta love scurrying like a rat).

I enjoyed the costumes which utilised a combination of purpose-made items and existing clothing in a very economical and effective way. A ruffled shirt would provide the chest of an anthropomorphic owl while a black leather jacket would do the same thing for the wings of a bat. The 'mad scientist' lab rats were almost Gigeresque with those exposed skulls and spines. The wise storks (of which Petra was one) were elegant in kimonos and waving wing-like fans.

The audience was packed, and I suspect this had something to do with the fact that the story had a contemporary setting, while still resonating with fairy tale themes. We got a mix of tragedy and romance with a smattering of comic moments and it was all good value. I also got to go to an after-party which is always a fun thing to do.

Cross-posted here.

Living Room Double Feature

2009-09-03T15:49:00.008+10:00

Lately I have been watching a lot more videos (in disc format) than I have for a long time. It is partly the result of having fewer things to do overall here in Canberra and partly because home cooked dinner followed by a movie is a fun thing to do with ones live-in partner. Also this has got me thinking of a lot of the old movies I have seen and would love to see again. And it has got me thinking of the concept of the double feature.

Petra and I have been watching movies by ourselves - usually one of an evening. But if I were to host a video night for guests (as I have done in the past) I would want to see more than one in a sitting. One leaves you wanting more. Three leaves most guests too tired. Two is the right number of movies to see. But then I also think that movies should be selected to compliment one another while also presenting some contrast. With that in mind I have put together the following list of double features. I have avoided the easy way of simply playing sequels (which in any case too often exceeds just two movies). So here they are. You will notice that some genres and eras are rather over-represented...

* The Wizard Of Oz (1939) with Willy Wonka And The Chocolate Factory (1971)

* Casablanca (1942) with The Third Man (1949)

* War Of The Worlds (1953) with The Time Machine (1960)

* Rear Window (1954) with North By North-West (1959)

* The Pink Panther (1963) with The Party (1968)

* Jason And The Argonauts (1963) with Clash Of The Titans (1981)

* Barbarella (1968) with Flash Gordon (1980)

* Cabaret (1972) with The Boys From Brazil (1978)

* Alien (1979) with Predator (1987)

* The Blues Brothers (1980) with The Commitments (1991)

* The Dark Crystal (1982) with Labyrinth (1986)

* Revenge Of The Nerds (1984) with Real Genius (1985)

* Ghostbusters (1984) with The Golden Child (1986)

* Terminator (1984) with RoboCop (1987)

* Lady Hawk (1985) with Highlander (1986)

* The Breakfast Club (1985) with Heathers (1988)

* Back To The Future (1985) with Bill And Ted's Excellent Adventure (1989)

* The Abyss (1989) with Contact (1997)

* Stargate (1994) with The Fifth Element (1997)

* City Of Lost Children (1995) with Dark City (1998)

* Sleepy Hollow (1999) with The Brothers Grimm (2005)

* Pitch Black (2000) with Serenity (2005)

* Bridget Jones's Diary (2001) with Down With Love (2003)

* Pirates Of The Caribbean (2003) with Stardust (2007)

* Deja Vu (2006) with The Prestige (2006)

Hopefully my pairings will make sense. Of course one could do all sorts of different combinations and I have only listed a fraction of the movies that would be worth seeing at a video night. I am sure other suggestions could be made...

Cross-posted here.

Birth Charts

2009-08-17T20:06:00.006+10:00

I am one of those who regards Astrology with the same skepticism (hopefully no more nor less) that I do any supernatural propositions. We all know the objection - how can the perceived configuration of stars and planets far removed from this world have anything to do with who I am and what my life will be like?

The best explanation I have been given (one of those explanations that make perfect sense in the telling but one can somehow never convey to others effectively) is that in this complex and holistic universe a random method of sampling parts of the totality can tell one something of other parts of that totality. I think.

As long as nobody gets taken for a ride then I figure it is all just a bit of fun these days. But why stars and planets? What of other random things happening in the universe at the time of our birth. It is then - for the sake of fun you understand - that I propose here prediction of ones personality and fate via the popular song!

Check this site. It allows one to find the song that was Number 1 on any date in the past few decades. One can quickly discover the most popular song on the date of ones birth (or indeed on any and all of ones subsequent birthdays). Maybe Lean On Me tells me as much about who I am as does the constellation of Cancer. There is a lot of information in a recorded song from the words themselves to the way they are sung and the instruments and arrangements presented.

What does your birthdate popular tune say about you?

Cross-posted here.

Marriage Equality

2009-08-03T14:58:00.008+10:00

I attended the Marriage Equality rally in Canberra on the weekend. It was small (numbering only a few hundred participants) and my nuclear disarmament days should have prepared me for a small crowd. But I expected more for this issue given that the majority of Australians polled now support same-sex marriage rights. I am thrilled that in other capitals the event was much bigger - five thousand for Melbourne a friend has told me. I suppose that our national capital is still just a small town.

The rally was worthwhile despite its size. The thing is that such events always serve many purposes. A big rally can garner public and government attention but even a small one can give a movement something at which its members bolster the commitment and morale of one another. This was definitely the case with our sunny Saturday afternoon in Civic. But one interesting thing I always notice is that a rally draws together many different and sometimes conflicting perspectives (my observation of peace marches has been that they attract "everything from anarchists to anglicans").

So I am far from convinced by the assertion of one speaker that capitalism is intrinsically homophobic. I suspect that the hospitality industry will welcome the profits arising from same-sex weddings with relish. Still it is the nature of such events that one accepts such statements with polite silence and farewells each speaker with some applause.

Mind you there sometimes are hecklers from within the crowd. So for instance the speaker for Amnesty International (AI) was jeered by someone because she specifically acknowledged the support of straight members of the crowd. This struck me as unusual but then I imagine a person may feel this way if (for instance) every significant straight person in their life had helped to make it a misery. This is why I think interacting with a larger and more diverse cross-section of society is an important thing for all of us. Familiarity breeds respect (contrary to the traditional saying).

I think the speaker from AI was the best in that she focused on both the positive and negative aspects of liberty. The freedom to marry whomever one will can very much enhance ones life. However freedom from abuse and intimidation is also vital and she shared two incidents with us.

One was a personal anecdote in which she and her (same-sex) partner had been sitting last Summer on a Melbourne beach holding hands - they were approached by some men who asked them if they would rather have men to be with and she felt threatened by this experience.

The other incident was that very recently a man kissed another man at Australian National University and was later followed in a menacing way back to his car by some strangers. The phrase "gay bashing" was never used at the rally but I am sure it was a shadow in our minds.

Now nobody in church or state may ever say it is okay to threaten and menace queers but by denying them the same rights as straights it gives just that tiny bit of legitimacy to those who think it is okay - if they deserve one form of deprivation then maybe they deserve other forms as well...

Rights are universal. They only work if everyone can exercise them. Furthermore extending a right to a hitherto excluded group still allows full enjoyment of that right by those who continue to possess it. The sense of this is something a growing majority are coming to understand.

Still there is opposition and it can come from interesting directions. The only argument I have had with anyone on this topic recently came from a somewhat radical friend who opposes the institution of marriage itself. Possibly - like many young adults - this friend has been put off by the short-comings of the marriages of parents. Or maybe the pressure of traditional culture on us to marry and reproduce has made the whole concept a bitter one.

My response to this was to say that it is for every adult (or set of consenting adults in this case) to decide for themselves what kind of life they wish to live rather than for this to be determined by any one perspective in society. The best decisions are the ones we make for ourselves.

There is government resistance to marriage equality and that is frustrating. My feeling however is that it is only a matter of time before Australia becomes part of a growing worldwide trend to let us decide for ourselves whom we marry. Continuing political activity (from attending marches to writing letters to papers or parliamentarians) will be a vital part of this process.

Cross-posted here.

Twixt Snow And Spray

2009-07-27T15:14:00.016+10:00

That subject line is inspired by the city of Hobart but could well cover everything I have done in the month of July. I have been to four capital cities and slept in twice as many beds. It has been a busy time and worth reporting on. And I will report on life in Canberra as well as my travels away from it.

Canberra

I have now settled into the bush capital pretty well. I find on a day-to-day and week-to-week basis life is pretty much the same here as back in Melbourne.

I live in suburbia and can walk in semi-bushland. I ride a bus and have been working in an office. I go to dinners and movies and gigs. I wander shopping centres and perv at the latest Transformers on shelf there.

I have done a few things to ‘put down roots’ such as join the local library (with its excellent views across Lake Tuggeranong) and the Dendy Cinemas Club for cut-price movies in Civic. Having work helped me keep busy in a new setting (that temp role ended and I am hopeful of finding more soon).

What is different is who I spend time with. I am lucky that I have friends here both old and new and almost every weekend has had some kind of fun thing. I have even had visitors from Melbourne. One weekend old friends Sean & Olivia stayed with us (they were in town for a live Impro event) and one day we took a lovely drive to Cooma and Jindabyne. But I do miss lots of Melburnians and the kinds of things that happen because of having lots of friends and acquaintances – like big house parties.

I am feeling very at home here with Petra and we are managing remarkably well in this small place. I have discovered that, for me, privacy is more about the freedom to do ones own thing, more than it is having ones own exclusive space.

Sydney

I went with Petra to Sydney for a few days. We stayed at the home of her parents. We did some very suburban things like walking the family dog to the local milkbar. But we were there for something more glitzy. Sydney always makes an impression. I know that Melbourne has the tallest Australian skyscrapers and yet everything in the Sydney city seems taller. Maybe it is the number of skyscrapers and the narrowness of the streets. Whatever it is it definitely gets me ooing and ahing. Our excuse to visit Sydney was to see French And Saunders live and it was a hoot. Those comediens still have it (and the way Petra responded to the show was a bit of a side-show in itself).

Melbourne

My big adventure recently was to attend the 2009 Australian Intervarsity Choral Festival in Hobart but on the way there and back I spent a bit of time in Melbourne. Melbourne has always been the fixed reference of normality for me and yet this time I noticed its size and age and complexity as something different – even just three months in a new city has done this. Still it was fantastic to spend some time there.

I stayed one night at the home of Sean in Brunswick (so as to be close to the airport for a flight at a godforsaken hour). I also stayed with former housemates Polly & Olav in Mount Waverley. Even small things about my visit here are nice – like the way the local milk bar operator remembered me and wanted to know how long I was staying.

Hobart IV

Petra and I arrived half-way into IV proceedings. We had a hire car from the airport and drove to campsite in Lauderdale (which is in the Greater Hobart street directory but looks like a distant coastal township). We got there to discover most choristers were in the City for a publicity sing. And also that some had been taken to hospital to be screened for H1N1 Influenza. What had we driven into?

It was okay in the end. All IVs are marred by some sickness as infections from across Australia are concentrated into a small space and time. This was more marked but we all survived and the final concert still happened (including a mix of new stuff by the likes of Matthew Orlovich and old stuff like the 1812 Overture by Tchaikovsky). Still it did affect proceedings and this included the re-arranging of dorms into sick and healthy rooms. This was a way of forcing me to interact with choristers I may have overlooked otherwise. This also accounts for two of the four beds I stayed in while in Hobart (as we were moved from a mixed health room to a supposedly ‘healthy’ room).

An IV is an exercise in logistics and I think we were the victims of both too much and too little organisation on our first night. We had made an informal arrangement to sleep in the dorm of some friends who definitely had spare bunks. However we were then formally instructed to go to another dorm at an auxiliary campsite (in part because we had our own transport). This is the “too much organisation” aspect in which working informal arrangements are over-ridden. On getting to this other site we never managed to find our room and even woke a total stranger in the process. This is the “too little organisation” arising from a lack of campsite-specfic maps and an absence of organiser phone numbers to call for help. In the end we stayed on the living room floor of a dorm we did have phone numbers for (accounting for one of our four Hobart beds).

The last few days of IV were spend at billets and personally-arranged accommodation in Hobart proper. We got our own room (the fourth bed in Hobart) in serviced apartments along with several other choristers (mostly MonUCS). Hobart is a beautiful city to stay in with its harbour and its mountains and with everything close together. Here is the view from our front door! I had visited once before so was somewhat relaxed by the prospect of missing much of this city due to rehearsal commitments. Still we got to see a lot of cool stuff including the top of Mount Wellington and the Salamanca Place markets. There was also plenty of IV-specific fun like the Academic Dinner (my first). And a group of us even got to see the latest Harry Potter on opening night (there were crowds but nothing like what they would have got on the mainland).

I have looked back over my writings on the last IV and am reflecting on the differences. Frankly I was pampered by the last one what with its university halls-of-residence setting that allowed one to have a room to escape to. This IV was more what one should expect and I did need more alone-time than I got (also solitary walks are so much more attractive in warmer conditions than we had). I faced the new challenge of attending an IV both as me and as part of a relationship. I made some errors of judgement in terms of just how much I could represent the needs and preferences of both Petra and I. But we muddled along and got better at that.

Overall it was fantastic to see old friends and make new ones. I was particularly interested to observe changes over time as I (for instance) saw more confidence in someone I had last seen eighteen months previously. I was also happy to discover I still felt at home with Melburnians despite the small changes that have happened in my absence. And now once more I am back in Canberra feeling sated from the recent visits.

Cross-posted here.

Lego Is All Wright

2009-07-07T19:49:00.005+10:00

That is a shocking title. I must be tired.

One of the things I have noticed with flying is that in-flight magazines are pretty bloody boring. They are full of stuff like 'Top Ten Best Destinations For Your Next Work Conference' or 'Electronic Gadgets For the Executive With Everything'. What shit. But every so often there is something interesting. Last time I flew I read an article about how it was the fiftieth anniversary of the death of the American architect Frank Lloyd Wright.

Wright is possibly the most influential architect of last century and I have been aware of him since my family saw a television documentary on him ages ago (as a result my brother Lukas got a 'pop-up' book of Frank Lloyd Wright architecture). Wright was totally innovative but drew on both tradition and natural forms (as opposed to the Bauhaus take on architecture which was purely functional in nature). Also I recently discovered that one of his apprentices was none other than Walter Burly Griffin (designer of Canberra).

Once you know the Frank Lloyd Wright look you can see hints of it in all sorts of things and it resonates with a lot of things I loved as a kid (yes once more I am reminiscing on last century). Falling Water looks like something that International Rescue (aka The Thunderbirds) would have been at home in. And I reckon you could film Star Fleet Headquarters at the New York Guggenheim and get away with it.

Now Lego (themselves an icon of last century) have produced sets of both Falling Water and the Guggenheim. Legoland Space was one of the three kinds of toy I collected (the others were Star Wars figures and of course Transformers). I would consider reviving my interest in Lego just for these things.

Cross-posted here.

Movie von Alien

2009-06-27T14:19:00.012+10:00

I saw Transformers: Revenge Of The Fallen a few night back and it reminded me how popular the thesis of Eric von Daniken has become within the context of science fiction specifically. Eric von Daniken - a Swiss author - published Chariots Of The Gods (1968) (which got television documentary treatment in the 70s and 80s). It it he argues that space-faring extra-terrestrials have visited Earth and influenced the development of human civilisation. The arguments depends on a very blinkered interpretation in which facts are cherry-picked to allow for only one possibility - that the author is right. The attraction of Chariots Of The Gods comes from a desire for the wonderous to still be a part of our lives in this age of skepticism and rationality. It also comes from a lack of appreciation for human ingenuity. "How could our ancestors possibly have made the Pyramids?" asks Von Daniken. "They were too stupid to and had to be helped by aliens" is the answer given (which to my mind shows a lack of wonder).

As science Chariots Of The Gods is dodgy. However as an inspiration for science fiction it is fantastic and there are a growing number of movies and programs that utilise the concept of alien visitation inspiring ancient humans. I first encountered the concept in the original Battlestar Galactica (1978-1980). In this back-story humans were the aliens that had colonised Earth long ago. The Cylons are designed to be reminiscent of Roman centurions while the human pilots have helmets modeled on the head-dress of Ancient Egyptian pharaohs. It looks hokey now but it was lots of fun then.

The 80s seemed relatively free of the Von Daniken thesis in science fiction but then along came the movie of Stargate (1994) which has done more to popularise the concept than any other show. Since then other SF movies to incorporate alien impact on ancient ancestors include The Fifth Element (1997), Alien Versus Predator (2004), Indiana Jones And The Kingdom Of The Crystal Skull (2008) and now Transformers: Roll On The Floor (2009). They vary in quality and plausibility but they are all fun and the Von Daniken concept gives them a wonder they may otherwise have lacked.

I think we love bringing together the things we love and the sharp contrast makes it all the more thrilling. We love the pop-culture interpretation of ancient civilisations. We love technologically advanced aliens. Bringing them together is an evocative and enthralling thing to do. It makes us contemplate both the long ago and the far away.

And Another Thing

I saw the Land Of The Lost movie recently. I had to even if I expected it to be crappy. It was a kind of 'brand loyalty' thing. Land Of The Lost (1974-76) was a show I loved as a kid. It had claymation dinosaurs! But rather than living in some secret valley they were preserved within a pocket dimension into which the flotsam and jetsam of the universe got stuck. Talk about bringing together things I loved. There were hominids (The Pakuni) and reptilian aliens (The Sleestak). There were ancient ruins. There were also the Pylons (small pyramid-like structures) inside of which were control panels consisting of crystals - arrange them correctly and you could open a portal back home. This was amazing stuff for a child that totally drove the imagination. Why did they have to make it into a low-brow comedy spoof? Still it did remind me of the original show and that is worthwhile in itself.

Cross-posted here

Future Progress

2009-06-15T19:56:00.012+10:00

The new Star Trek movie has awakened my long-standing interest in that fictional universe. I started seeing re-runs of the original series on Sunday afternoons and was taken by its exploration of “new life and new civilisations” and its charming 60s aesthetic. Then, with the introduction of Star Trek: The Next Generation, there was the excitement of exploring the same fictional universe from more than one juncture in its invented history. Another attraction was its effects of differing levels of effectiveness (I will have to discuss star ship design at some other time). And yet another was the diverse crews depicted who seemed to live in a world that was both non-racist and non-racialist (in the sense that the concept of race itself was absent from human discourse – hardly surprising in a galaxy filled with alien species).

I wonder why I noticed this last element. My own schoolyard and neighbourhood had plenty of diversity. Possibly it was only once I started discussing things with friends in FOME that I became conscious of the new ground Star Trek has broken in terms of its depiction of the acceptance of diversity. Or possibly I did notice it while still in school. Despite personal experience, I might still have noticed the relative homogeneity of characters in many television shows.

Particularly for its time, the Original Series is impressive. I can only think of Hawaii Five-0 (1968-1980) as rivalling it, but its setting demands a diverse cast of characters. In contrast Star Trek, with its setting of future space exploration, did much more than was expected of it. Consider, for instance, the crew of the space ship in Forbidden Planet (1956) which directly inspired Star Trek, and one could be forgiven for thinking they were a bunch of clones.

In discussing the depiction of diversity in the various incarnations of Star Trek I will work under a few self-set limitations. I will devote most attention to those shows with which I have the greatest familiarity (The Original Series and The Next Generation). I will focus more on the identity of characters than of actors (so for instance I am more interested in the Vulcan nature of Spock than I am in the Jewish heritage of Leonard Nimoy). I will try to only discuss ‘firsts’. And the only fan speculation I will present is my own (rather than the huge body of non-canonical fan fiction).

The Cage (1965)

The Cage was the pilot for Star Trek that was rejected by television executives as “too cerebral” but was released on video in the late 80s. It is an impressive bit of SF for its day and far more interesting and well-paced than the aforementioned Forbidden Planet. It presented Christopher Pike (a new imagining of whom we see in the movie currently in cinemas) as captain of the Enterprise. More interestingly it included the character ‘Number One’ who was the Executive Officer under Captain Pike and (unusually for its time) a woman. Number One comes across as an aloof and emotionally repressed careerist, which I interpreted as sexist at the time I saw it. Apparently this depiction was more an SF thing of showing the elevation of reason over emotion in future society – a characteristic that was transferred to Spock later on (interestingly Spock is an incidental character in the Cage and can be seen smiling). Following the rejection of The Cage, the crew was re-gigged and Number One was gone. It would be a very long time indeed before a woman was elevated to such an important rank within a Star Trek storyline.

Star Trek: The Original Series (1966-1969) and associated movies (1979-1991 and 2009)

Including Spock was something of a daring move. Some executives were concerned that the extra-terrestrial would scare children with his demonic eye-brows and pointed ears. This astounds me but then I am a child of the Star Wars era. Back in the 50s and 60s most aliens were just humans in silver clothes who behaved strangely and came to kidnap our women. Spock looks kinda different from us and thinks very differently from us. He was born on another planet – the imaginary Vulcan - and has a completely alien hormonal cycle. And yet he is a Star Fleet officer and the best friend of our hero James Kirk. Nothing can be more inclusive to my mind than this (except that sometimes an imaginary ‘other’ can be much safer to contemplate than someone different who is actually one of us).

The other thing with Spock is that he is the product of a Vulcan-Terran mating. This back-story asserts that hitherto massive differences can be overcome by love. It also acknowledges a very important human experience – that of the person of mixed heritage who finds themselves at odds with ‘pure-bloods’ of both groups.

Uhura has been significant as a prominent television character played by African-Americans. The character has a Swahili name and is of Bantu ethnicity. Originally she is described as a citizen of the United States Of Africa (as well as a citizen of a United Earth). Uhura was presented to the world at a time in which African-Americans were both demanding the full rights due to them as contemporary US citizens and exploring their own rich and diverse heritages. The Reverend Doctor Martin Luther King Junior told actress Nichelle Nichols that she was making an important contribution to civil rights just by playing Uhura.

The other significance of Uhura is her gender. She is one of very few women depicted in original Star Trek as anything other than a love-cum-lust object for Jim Kirk (she was this but she was more than this). Nurse Chapel was only ever an incidental character (possibly we are past the ‘playing doctors and nurses’ take on gender roles and relations) but Uhura became one of the seven key adventuring crew members of the Enterprise. It has been noted that she was basically a glorified telephone exchange operator, but she was operating the phones for the Starship Enterprise, and that is something.

The Japanese-Filipino Sulu was also a significant character as pilot of the Enterprise, and later captain of the experimental Excelsior. What I find refreshing is that Sulu, like other characters in Star Trek, is depicted as his own person with his own characteristics, rather than some card-paper reproduction of the stereotyped Asian. Sulu is an expert at the Occidental martial art of fencing, whereas one would have expected a 60s show to present him as a black-belt in Karate.

Many would think that the minority-inclusive characteristics of the original crew end with Spock, Uhura and Sulu. But I think we forget how restrictive the concept of WASP (‘White Anglo-Saxon Protestant’) has been. The old New England establishment only truly accepted you if you were of English descent and of particular Christian denomination (as well as of particular affluence). The fact that President Kennedy was a Roman Catholic of Celtic descent was a controversial matter for some. In that same era Star Trek gave us a Celtic engineer (Scotty) and ‘poor-white-trash’ made good (Bones). And then there was Chekov.

The greatest and most maligned kind of person is ones enemy whomever that may be at the time. Apparently Star Trek was criticised by the Soviets for its implication that the future Earth was basically America. In response the Russian Chekov was introduced. The show was silent as to exactly how the Cold War ended but end it must have and to say that we had moved on from this was an impressive statement to make during the Cold War.

The only central character in Star Trek that is a standard hero is that of James Kirk and yet he happily commands a diverse crew on the Enterprise and champions an ever more inclusive United Federation of Planets.

Star Trek: The Next Generation (1987-1994) and associated movies (1994-2002)

In this world the most powerful tend to be mature-aged. However in fictional action and adventure the most celebrated characters are younger. The decision to have Jean-Luc Piccard as captain of the Galaxy-Class Enterprise (commissioned several decades after the Constitution-Class Enterprise) is an interesting one and the character contrasts markedly with Captain Kirk. Piccard is past his prime. He is cultured. He has a British accent. I think this befits the nature of the new mission as a diplomatic ‘flagship’ for the Federation rather than as an intrepid explorer but still it was an interesting decision for an American program.

I suppose that is why William Riker is there as ‘Number One’ – Riker can do all the dumb and dangerous things audiences expect of heroes. Over time Riker proved to be more than that but for a while it seemed to me that he was a kind of ‘Clayton’s Kirk’ (complete with the sluttiness). The full potential of the character was never realised however. In the two-part story Best Of Both Worlds (1990) the Starfleet strategist Shelby is gunning for his job while he is offered his own command. If that had happened then we would have finally had a woman serving as Executive Officer of the Enterprise, and in Riker a useful recurring character commanding another star ship.

Women did have a greater role in Next Gen than in The Original Series, but were generally limited to ‘caring’ or ‘nurturing’ roles – doctor… councillor… bar-tender... (except for the martial Tasha Yar who was killed in the first season in manner lacking the 'honour' warriors crave). Dr Beverly Crusher was an important figure with the same kind of influence over her captain as Bones had had over Kirk. Councillor Deanna Troi is there to be pretty and exotic or as a love-interest for the more virile men of the command crew. The incidental character of Guinan (played by Star Trek fan Whoopi Goldberg) is fantastic but detracts from the professional role of Troi (why go to a shrink if you can chat with your bar-keep).

The value of a cosmopolitan society is expressed in Next Gen more via alien species than human ethic diversity. Troi has mixed Terran and Betazed ancestry, but only so that she could possess the supernatural power of Empathy, and any exploration of her heritage is done more for comic value as Terran mores are tested in contrast with those of Betazed. Guinan looks human but is very alien and can even perceive alternate timelines (and advise as to which one is ‘right’). Her homeworld El Auria was destroyed so Guinan represents the often overlooked experience of diaspora cultures. Then there is Worf.

Worf is wholly Klingon. For the first time a Klingon is presented as an heroic character (and at the same time that they are still depicted as villains in the Star Trek movies of the late 80s). With Chekov we saw that human conflicts can be overcome, so too with Worf we see the same can happen at an inter-stellar level. Worf is also an orphan with Terran foster parents and via this the issue of isolation from ones own heritage is explored.

Geordi La Forge is disabled. What we see is a future in which shortcomings are overcome rather than one in which they are eliminated from the gene-pool. La Forge was born blind but future technology comes to the rescue and his VISOR allows him to perceive across the whole electromagnetic spectrum. La Forge is also a geek, obsessed with warp fields at work and holographic fictions in his off-time, thus representing the kind of minority who avidly follow Star Trek. Finally there is his best friend…

Data is possibly the most interesting character in Next Gen. As an android he is the strangest crew member of all – a thing rather than a person. But a thing that aspires to personhood. Is this more ‘alien’ than any extra-terrestrial? Or are we more relaxed with the products of our own technology than we are variant forms of the same organic life to which we belong? The character of Data allows the show to explore both the ‘human condition’ that Star Trek has always been interested in and the issue of technology as a two-edged sword (I have seen Data take over the entire ship single-handedly and have to say that Piccard is far more trusting than I would ever be).

Some of us spend our entire lives associating only with those who think the same way as us. One could be forgiven for thinking that the United Federation Of Planets was one big echo-chamber in which hundreds of unique species agree on everything but logistics. In the programs that followed Next Gen the producers decided to explore diversity of a political and philosophical kind.

Star Trek: Deep Space Nine (1993-1999)

Deep Space Nine is set on a space station orbiting the planet Bajor which is considering entry into the Federation but they are a suspicious and superstition lot and far from relaxed with the Star Fleet presence in orbit.

This tension and its resolution is explored via the characters of Benjamin Sisko (Starfleet) and his Bajoran attaché Kira Nerys. Here also we have two new firsts – an African-American commander and a woman as effective ‘Number One’ (almost three decades after The Cage).

Beyond this, different ways of thinking and behaving are explored in Deep Space Nine. The setting is a (partly) civilian one so we can suddenly have characters like Quark the Ferengi (a petty criminal) and Garak the Cardassian (a suspected spy). The focus shifts to characters who are interesting rather than simply virtuous.

Star Trek: Voyager (1995-2001)

Voyager starts with the tension – indeed the conflict – that arises from difficult political decisions. The Federation has voluntarily ceded territory to the Cardassians and many inhabitants of that territory object and form the insurgent Maquis. The Voyager chases a Maquis ship and via some anomaly both ships find themselves on the other side of the galaxy – uncharted and distant territory. The Maquis ship is destroyed by local aggressors and its survivors teleport to the Voyager. Both crews unite to find a way home – conflict evaporates in the face of necessity.

Tensions were underplayed in Voyager, but there were some more firsts and some interesting characters. Kathryn Janeway is the first woman to command the titular vessel of a Star Trek program. In Chakotay we have a Native American as Executive Officer. And in Seven-Of-Nine the former Borg I like to think we see the experience of those who are rehabilitated from life in a cult.

Enterprise (2001-2004)

Enterprise is interesting as the program set closest to our own time. And yet it is more a product of the time in which it was made rather than the fictional future to which it belongs. Thus its crew is more diverse than that of The Original Series despite the fact that it is set before it. There are few things I can think of that are new in Enterprise except perhaps the extremely patronising way in which Vulcans once regarded Terrans.

Hold on – there is one more thing I almost overlooked: The medical officer of the ship – the Denobulan Dr Floxx – often refers to his many wives and their many husbands. Is this inclusion there to suggest acceptance of differing mores or is any such effect diminished by the fact that it is attributed to a curious alien species?

Can you tell that I need to see more of the later incarnations of Star Trek?

Progress Report

In assessing the progress of Star Trek in overcoming prejudice I wonder whether I should be judging by the standards of my time or by those in which the programs were produced. If it is the former then overall I think the more recent shows fare much better. However if it is the latter standard I apply then The Original Series is by far the most successful at challenging the assumptions of its time. And my favourite show – Next Gen – falls furthest short.

Still it also depends on what issue I am considering. On the front of accepting different cultures then Star Trek overall has done pretty well for most of its history. It took a lot longer to challenge traditional gender roles and relations. And on the front of sexual orientation it has been pretty much silent (I am deliberately overlooking slash fiction here because what interests me is what gets to the largest body of viewers).

As far as I am aware there is still nothing like a same-sex relationship in Star Trek. Or even characters with same-sex preferences (Garak is kinda camp but that is hardly proof of anything). Rival show Babylon Five (1993-1997) fared much better and only the most obtuse fans could deny that there was something happening between Susan Ivonova and Talia Winters (apparently some did try by arguing over the fact that only one pillow is seen on a bed).

I would expect however that, despite its own shortcomings, the Star Trek universe has powerfully influenced the producers and consumers of science fiction to present and demand more inclusive and cosmopolitan settings, or to expose the short-comings of past and present society, by exploring alternate futures for ourselves and others.

Cross-posted here. Comments welcome.

Apology Accepted

2009-05-23T13:03:00.003+10:00

Some weeks ago an unusual thing happened to me but with moving and all I forgot to share it till now...

I got a message out-of-the-blue on Facebook from someone I went to secondary school with and had known nothing of for (say) two decades. The message was very short and was simply saying sorry to me for having been mean to me back then. This was my response:

That was a long time ago and I barely ever think back to those days. If I recall rightly you had a very novel way of getting past me to your locker. I think it is funny now.

In adolescence we are still discovering how to relate to others and do lots of dumb things as a result. I came across as too aloof at school - thus attracting some nastiness - even if from my perspective I was just shy. I have improved my behavior since then as we all have.

Thank you for your message which I am most happy to accept. I hope all is well with you.

What was it she did to me to get to her locker? Well it started with her experimentally pinching my bum. For the fun of it? To see how I responded? Coz she could? I was an intensely reserved kid (we were 14 at the time) and very standoffish with the other gender in particular. My response was to jump a mile (or rather move some meters away from her). What started as a bit of fun for her turned into a way of accessing her stuff in the rush to get books once the bell had rung. I suppose it was a very mild form of sexual harasment.

It was however - as I say - a long time ago. And long since then I have made a conscious effort to get over that and the other behaviours sent my way as a gangly nerd at school. I know that in some more extreme cases nerds can take such experiences and project them on wider life thereby perceiving the world as divided between a persecuted nerdy (yet somehow better) minority and a persecuting jock majority. I was lucky to overcome such feelings and get on with life in a society I think has a lot worthwhile in it. And yet...

It must have still been a big thing for me because I was perky for days following the receipt of that apology. I was feeling pretty good with things anyway but suddenly felt that bit better. I suppose it shows the power that saying sorry can have. And I hope it helped her too. She has evidently matured and become more compassionate (a common process I think as we get older). Maybe it just came to this moment over time. Maybe something specific triggered it (one thing I imagine is that she has a child who has entered school and is a bit nerdy). In any case I do appreciate getting that message.

Which brings me to another observation. Conveying a message like that is a difficult thing to do. How much more difficult would it have been if she had had to find me in the White Pages and get on the phone? Chances are it would never have happened. Here then is one instance of how the Internet is a 'good thing' (TM). Modern communcations does bring us closer together.

Cross-posted here. Comments welcome at both sites.

City From Suburbs

2009-05-11T20:58:00.011+10:00

For ages now I have noticed how fantastic the city of Melbourne looks from particular vantages in its suburbs. So in my last week residing in Melbourne I decided to capture those vistas on film and went on a public transport adventure.

It was possibly one of the last sunny days for my hometown this side of Winter. I knew that the view from the roadway over the station at Camberwell was impressive and likewise loved the view from a hill in Northcote. I noticed that both locations were seven stations from the City. I also knew I wanted a shot of the City from a Bayside suburb. So using my own fuzzy methodology I went to the seventh station from the City on the Sandringham line. This took me to Elsterwick. But it is well inland. So I walked in what I hoped was a westerly direction till I hit beach – Elwood Beach to be precise. There I got the best photo – the one accompanying this entry.

It was a good day for a walk and so on the way back from the beach I took streets at random and somehow found myself in Saint Kilda. It was only then that I got back onto PT and made my way to Northcote and then Camberwell. Some of the shots are better than others but together they all give a feel of the different facets of Melbourne from the suburbs.

I may as well reference two more images while at it. The view of the City from the Botanic Gardens is an amazing contrast of nature (albeit a cultivated version of it) framing a marvel of technology (the modern city skyline). And finally seeing the City from within one of its many narrow lanes. My home is now in Canberra but Melbourne is still my hometown and this post is just a quick dedication to it.

Culture Shock

2009-04-29T15:59:00.012+10:00

Well I made the move to Canberra. This is postmarked a week back but only now do I get the chance to compose this entry. It has been one hectic week. To some extent it took me several weeks to move because I had existing commitments in Melbourne (such as a dental visit). To some extend it was also a case of me taking my sweet time to get into the right frame-of-mind to do this.

Tonight Petra is with her parents in Sydney and tomorrow they fly to Boston to visit her sister. It is only tonight then on the bus home that I truly understood what has happened. I was returning to my new home alone. Rather than having moved in with my partner who happens to live interstate the truth is that I have moved interstate. This is a big thing for me. So far I am coping well.

There are many friends and family who made departing Melbourne both a smooth process and a bittersweet one. I had several lovely chances to spend time with loved-ones - thanks for that. Then my longtime housemates Polly & Olav have made the process of my packing and storing of stuff a cinch. For now more than half my stuff they are storing. In the longer term it may go to Mum. Dad was fantastically useful as always in putting himself and his van at my service for the two days it took to take me to Canberra and then get himself back home.

The drive itself had moments. The Hume is hardly the most exciting of routes but there were a few things of interest. It is always fun to see the 'Rooster Tree' in the distance (I am a member of the Facebook fan-group for this optical phenomenon). Then it is puzzling to see a submarine so far in-land in the township of Holbrook. The most interesting thing however was the temporary condition of many trees resulting from the recent fires - just as in my childhood memory of Ash Wednesday so too now the trees that survived the blazes are bursting with tiny leaves all over their trunks - a fascinating play of patterns and colours.

I have done a few new things in the past week. Firstly I resisted my usual frugal tendency and purchased a CD from a service station. The selection is always very limited but sometimes you just gotta have music. I chose Bob Seger And The Silver Bullet Band - the only song that I truly wanted was the energising Hollywood Nights but the rest of this greatest hits is nice stuff and was right for a long day of driving.

Owning a CD is nothing new however. Owning white goods - that is something I have never done till this past week and now we have purchased a refrigerator (the bar fridge Petra has been borrowing from her landlords is way too small for the two of us). I supposed I should give some description of my new abode. It is on the same property as a two-story family home (the landlords) and is a small four room bungalow consisting of living room and kitchen and bedroom and bathroom-laundry. The decor very much has a Petra feel to it but there are subversive hints of Daniel here and there.

The past week has been hectic. Petra had to prepare for her holiday while at the same time continuing her Australian National Uni (ANU) course in music and languages, working as both a singing instructor and a cafe waitress, convening the ANU Choral Society and steering the committee that is organising the interstate choral festival that Canberra will host in January. I had to move in and get several thing sorted from changing my electoral enrollment to finding work (which I did - starting this week I am temping in the office of the biggest utility company in the ACT).

Petra was very keen to help me feel at home but overlooked the fact that for me a relaxed life is more inviting than creature comforts. As a result I think we got a bit tetchy with one another as she drew me into frustrating tasks like putting together kit furniture (I now have a new computer desk) and installing new software (the saga of us getting a router that will talk to both our computers has been postponed for now and at present there is a long cord connecting me to the Internet). Still it was worth it and I am sitting happily here now sending all sorts of missives into the ether. I am thankful for the perseverance and patience of Petra - virtues for anyone living in close quarters with me.

I am now here alone but am well in the habit of amusing myself. This week I will also spend some spare time in getting together with Canberran friends (sourced from my past life in the Australian Democrats or Korner or more recently choraldom). Then in a coming weekend I will make a quick visit to Melbourne while Petra is still away. By then I will hopefully have started to form some kind of routines and patterns in my new home. One week in and I think I am coping well for someone who is a bit change-averse. I think I am even enjoying it.

The Den

2009-04-11T12:54:00.013+10:00

This very short story is more the exploration of a concept than it is a story in its own right. I will discuss that more at the end of this entry. For now here is the story itself...

The den was a calm and safe place. Kim Tran sat in her big red leather chair behind a huge mahogany desk and stared at the shelves full of books lining the wall opposite her. Spending time in the den helped Kim to compose herself and think. Right now she needed to cogitate on something rather urgent. It centered around the word "exquisite".

The green library desk lamp flickered for a moment as if it were a strobe light. Kim ignored this however and interrogated the thesaurus open in front of her. She wanted to see if "exquisite" was sufficiently different from "exotic". She had been fed "exotic" plenty of times and was unimpressed by it. Those who told her she was exotic were focusing only on her French-Vietnamese background and nothing more. But was "exquisite" better she wondered. She hoped it referred to more than her looks. Maybe her suitor was referring also to her unique dress-sense or her quirky dancing or the habitual head-tilt friends told her was cute. It seemed that he had emphasized the "you" in "now you are exquisite". Kim needed more information.

Ephemeral tendrils of muffled music were creeping between the door and its frame. Kim recognised the moody abandon of In Your Room by Depeche Mode and would normally have rushed off to dance. Right now however she had to examine her brand new acquaintance more closely. She flipped open her laptop and on its screen saw a photo of him. He was barely taller than she, had long silky dark hair, a pale complexion, and a slender form that was accentuated by the long dark coat he wore. He sported a shy smile and intense grey eyes. If only her laptop could access his Facebook page she might then look at more than this image but in the den she could only consider what she already knew.

Kim was momentarily distracted by the scent of artificial fog but quickly exiled it from her mind in preference for a nagging sense that the photo reminded her of something. So far her impression was one that enticed her but there was a hint of the disturbing. She looked at the small picture frame at the far end of the desk. In it was a still from an old black and white movie. The pallid skin... the long dark coat... suddenly Kim remembered what he reminded her of - Nosferatu! Well that was okay - the thing worrying her was a fictitious character and it was a goth night so such resonances were to be expected.

Kim lifted her tulip glass from the desk and finished off her fine cognac. It was supposed to be cognac but it tasted like rum-and-cola. This one last instant of sensory dissonance was all it took for her hold of the den to waver and fade. The books suddenly flew from the shelves in all directions and were replaced by the warm haze of the goth nightclub Kim was standing in. Her time in the den had lasted mere seconds while she smiled a crooked smile at her bold compliment-giver. He glanced at the empty glass in her hand and said "can I get you another drink?"

"That would be lovely thanks" Kim answered. One drink would give her extra time in which - hopefully - conversation would tell her what she wanted to know. And if more contemplation was required she could always withdraw into her den once more.

A while ago I remarked that some key decisions we face are made in distracting conditions. I experienced this particularly at an interstate choral festival post-concert party. I wondered how different things may be if one could withdraw into a more contemplative setting. That is the central concept of this story - Kim attempts just that with her imaginary den. A recent visit to a goth night gave me my setting. My central character is very sketchy but I think that is so that anyone can identify with her (also I am lazy so the fewer words the better). I did go so far as to give her an ethnic background. This is in part because I have been privy to some discussions of a lack of diversity in fiction. It also allowed me to play with words like 'exotic' and notions of how appearance is the first thing we know of anyone. Both this and this with the same setting have been put here more recently.

All For Fun

2009-03-30T01:53:00.004+11:00

Some things need to change along with my plan to move interstate. One of those is a personal project of sorts that I have conducted for the last few years to share with friends the many things one can do in Melbourne. Because of my predilection for naming things I called this personal project One Fun Thing A Month (OFTAM) which I am now winding down. That name was simply a convenient banner for all manner of recreational gatherings and events I decided to organise for friends. It was also useful to have a name once I employed the yahoogroups facility to make sending invitations quick and convenient. As a result of having a name some got to thinking that OFTAM was a group rather than just my personal invitation list. The only thing everyone on that list had in common was that I considered them friends.

Identifying friends can be a difficult thing if ones life is dominated by friendship groups in which the distinction between acquaintance and friend is amorphous. It is also difficult if one is a uni student spending every day in the company of such a group. Once one graduates (as I did long ago) one comes to recognise over time who one actively wishes to keep in direct personal contact with. And as life circumstances such as work and relationships change it becomes more important to allocate scarce time to friendships. At the same time one can recognise that there is a huge number of worthwhile persons to spend time with and so one never entirely wants to close the doors to whom one considers a friend.

The preferred method of many of my friends is to simply use big contact lists that correspond to entire scenes. To some extent this may be because we adhere to Geek Social Fallacies (GSFs). A simpler explanation however is that sending one message to an existing list maintained by another person is quick and convenient. I opted for a different method first-and-foremost because I have always drawn friends from different settings and if I wanted to do things with them I would have to use more than one list. Or better yet make my own singular list.

This produced some awkward moments. I have on more than one instance stood in the caf on campus and had a rather oblivious friend loudly declare his intention to attend an event of mine in the presence of non-invitees. Those non-invitees are so accustomed to everyone getting invited to everything (see GSFs) that they would then ask why they had missed this bit of information. I would like to report that my response was to honestly and respectfully say it was a small thing for selected friends but in practice I was too wimpy and have done something sly like change the topic.

Is it right for me to be exclusionary like this? My feeling on this is that any method one chooses to use is automatically exclusionary simply because it has a finite circulation. Given that fact I may as well develop a method that gets at those I most want to include. It also allows me to keep my fun things free from those few acquaintances who persistently and flagrantly overlook the comfort and sensibility of those they interact with.

So I was somewhat choosy. Nonetheless the list of invitees got big over time. Partly because I was drawing on a few different scenes. Partly because moving in scenes allows one to make a number of friends all in one process of familiarisation. Partly also because I observed the convention of inviting partners (singular or plural) and in many instances they become friends as much as those who introduced them. And now that it is ending I am reflecting on whether this ‘project’ worked.

That depended on the event. Some were more successful than others. Also (success levels aside) some were more stressful for me than others. The mixing of friends was a challenge at times. Some may say that I am a practitioner of the fourth GSF and there definitely have been times in which I have wondered aloud “all my friends have so much in common they should get along more than they do”. In saying that I was focusing on some factors and overlooking others. Two friends can both love fantasy and science fiction but be vastly different in other ways. In the case of OFTAM however my thinking was more that I wanted to spend time with these friends in these pastimes. The resulting mixing demanded that I be the consummate host and I suspect that I regularly fell well short of this standard.

The extroverts and introverts within a particular scene develop ways of interacting. And the extroverts across different scenes will quickly find ways of interacting with one another. But what of mixing introverts across scenes? In events with small attendance (the majority of events) this tested my ability to make everyone feel they belonged. And if it was tricky for me then how was it for them?

I now wonder if it is better to do what others do and alter ones invitation list to fit the particular event (simplicity itself with things like Facebook). Who precisely will enjoy a particular activity? Whose presence will contribute to the overall success of an event? Which combination of friends will best work for all involved? What numbers fit different settings? These are all things I will consider now that I am ending OFTAM and will be interacting with different friends in two different hometowns.

OFTAM has been an interesting experience and given me a better sense of what works (the ‘fine art of correctly timing invitations for maximum attendance’ for instance is a topic that deserves its own blog post). More importantly it has allowed me to see much more of the life of Melbourne than if I had only done such things haphazardly. And most importantly I got to share some fun times with some awesome friends. Bucking perceived standards of my sub-cultures was a small bump in an otherwise rewarding journey.

Sharing

2009-03-16T19:17:00.003+11:00

I am considering some life changes that in turn have got me thinking on the topic of different models of household. I have only lived in two basic arrangements - as part of a nuclear family (which eventually experienced fission) and as part of share households.

As a uni student I became familiar with the practice of student share households in which an ordinary house is occupied by as many students as there are bedrooms (on average). The concept of sharing with friends and living independently of parents was very attractive. The way in which friends in such households opened them to friends to visit and sleep-over at was a part of what made the sharing attractive. Once I got the chance (in my case at the same time I graduated) I jumped at it. It can be a mixed experience. If one shares with friends it can test those friendships. If one advertises for housemates then it is very much a case of 'luck of the draw' (I have had both good and bad housemates drawn from wider society). Overall however I think it is a worthwhile experience. It has similar 'economy-of-scale' benefits as a family home (I have never owned white goods) while allowing for so much more freedom in personal life-decisions. Even if one has decent relations with ones family it can still be a worthwhile growth experience in terms of self-sufficiency skills and decision-making ability. And it can be fantastic fun.

I have noticed in the time since I have lived in share households that they have become more scarce among younger friends. It seems to take longer for a young person to move away from home and live independently. I am told that this is the result of rising costs of living (including property costs spilling over into rental costs) but I think there is more to it than that. Expectations of living standard have also changed. It feels more difficult now to be frugal. Discretional spending decisions are now made that focus more on possessing things than in having a life-enriching experience.

There are also cultural factors that limit how many of us will experience share households. It is deemed okay for uni students to do that kind of thing but is considered peculiar for older persons to do so. This is despite the fact that in past times the concept of (say) a family taking in adults to help cover costs was a common one. I think that the share household model may be a useful one for far more in society than currently utilise it. Even the elderly.

Consider the things that the elderly as a lobby lament most frequently - cost-of-living and loneliness. Understandably they resist getting put into nursing homes but in the process they live alone in huge homes they find difficult to manage. But an elderly share household provides company and minimises costs while staving off the need to be institutionalised. But assumptions of how one is supposed to behave at particular ages will make this a minority practice among the elderly.

There are other models I have never experienced such as living alone (except for as much as a month at a time while house-sitting) and living communally (except for as much as a week for the purpose of camps or conferences). And there is yet another - cohabiting with ones parter only - that will be a new one for me. And as I contemplate putting the share household practice behind me I think it a pity that many of my younger friends are missing out on something that has been very good for me.

Resistance

2009-02-23T20:20:00.003+11:00

I have always been interested in the topic of resistance to totalitarian regimes and of the rise and fall of the Third Reich. That interest has been awakened by my having seen Valkyrie the other day. In part my own half German background has contributed to this interest in our recent and troubled history. More importantly my abiding fascination with the nature of humanity as a whole has driven my focus on the issue of the rise and fall of the Third Reich because there are lessons in it for all of us. I think it is particularly important now that that whole era is receding into the shadows of the past and many are now ignorant of it.

There was a time – in my youth – in which everyone had some sense – however simplistic - of what the Nazis were and what they did. That was because World War II was still an important part of popular fiction and dramatisations. For some time however the topic has been off the agenda of popular culture. Now it seems to be back and we will be seeing a number of movies focusing on that time with Valkyrie as the first to hit cinemas.

I am one of those who is a bit wary of Tom Cruise movies. However Cruise can act well and can appear in decent movies. Valkyrie is a case-in-point. There is an excellent supporting cast including the fantastic and versatile Bill Nighy. I have never been a huge fan of war movies but Valkyrie is more of a spy movie if anything. The focus is on the intrigue and suspense of the upper echelons of the Third Reich surrounding the last of several assassination attempts on Adolf Hitler.

For ages I have known that the Colonel Claus von Stauffenberg (played by Cruise) attempted to kill Hitler using a briefcase bomb in the Wolf’s Lair military bunker in July of 1944. What is new to me is that the assassination attempt was simply part of a much bigger plan to overthrow the Nazi Party and the Schutzstaffel (SS) by activating an existing military contingency plan (Operation Valkyrie) to use the reserve army to put down any attempted coup-de-tat. The movie focuses on all the delicate ins and outs of an operation in which timing is everything and (as one character remarks) military operations never go to plan.

The setting has an authentic feel and some of my favourite scenes are ones involving incidental characters. In particular the typing pool of the telegraph office which must convey orders all over the Reich is shown many times as command and counter-command are issued and the tension mounts.

Ultimately however I am interested in other forms of resistance than those depicted in Valkyrie. The military figures involved were in the best position of anyone in Germany to overthrow the Nazi regime both in the sense of the power position they were in and in the sense that they were warriors accustomed to dangerous decision-making. What interests me more is those civilians who resisted the regime even if they never had any hope of success.

Resistance took many forms in Germany. At one end of the scale was attempting to kill Hitler. At the other end was small acts like that of an ordinary shopper ensuring she was over-laden with bags so as to never have to give the Hitler salute. How effective such acts of defiance are depends on ones criteria. An assassination attempt will definitely have an immediate effect. Preserving ones own sense of independence in the face of totalitarian control of all aspects of life may only be worthwhile once the regime is gone and civil society needs dedicated citizens to resurrect it.

Resistance in Nazi Germany was fragmented and scant. It came from Germans of very different walks-of-life from soldiers like Colonel von Stauffenberg to clerics like Dietrich Bonhoeffer to entrepreneurs like Oskar Schindler. The story however that interests me the most is that of The White Rose…

The White Rose were a youth group – a handful of Munich uni students and a few supportive academics who for several months during 1943-44 produced and distributed pamphlets condemning the Nazi regime on moral grounds and calling for a return to human rights and the rule-of-law (rather than the arbitrary use of power that existed under the Nazis). These pamphlets were distributed in several cities and drew the attention of the Gestapo. Eventually the regime discovered who the White Rose were and most participants were executed.

One of the prime-movers of the group was Sophie Sholl whose story has been dramatized in a recent German film (which I must get my hands on). She was twelve at the time the Nazis abolished all political opposition. She was a teenager while Jews, Roma, queers, the disabled, and political dissidents were persecuted and killed. A background of oppression was the norm in her society and yet the defining activity of her young adulthood was to oppose and condemn that regime (for which she was executed at the age of 22). The contrasts markedly for me with von Stauffenberg who was 26 as the Nazis came to power.

I think that resistance is “better late than never” but it seems that the best time to resist oppression is at the smallest indication that it is happening rather than once it is entrenched. There were all sorts of factors that contributed to the rise of the Third Reich that make it difficult to say that Germans should have known better. Changes can happen in incremental ways and then once the full implications of those changes become clear it may be too late to challenge them (safely).

Hindsight is a wonderful thing. Nonetheless I think the more one has a sense of the signs the better one can prevent oppression from taking root. There is still plenty of it in the world today so limiting it is still as important now as it was last century.

Yarraman Creek

2009-02-13T22:13:00.012+11:00

This entry is fifteen years in the making. At the time I started I never knew what blogging was. All I knew was that I was intending to tell the story of a how a freeway development affected a playground of my childhood.

All my life our family street directory displayed in pale dotted lines the “proposed Scoresby Bypass” which would pass though the paddocks at the bottom of our street. But then nothing ever seemed to happen and I regularly went on walks past the paddocks and over the Yarraman Creek to the remnant bushland beyond. In my fantasy-steeped teens I even dubbed the area my ‘Grey Woods’. It was a fantastic land of bush and billabong and the burnt husks of dumped cars left by the Creek.

Then in 1994 as a young adult I decided that the talk of the long-proposed freeway would one-day come to pass and so I took a film camera for a walk and documented much of the area (known as the Fotheringham Reserve). It was my intention to do the same thing once more when finally the freeway came our way.

In the meantime I got actively involved in the Australian Democrats and we were part of the campaign opposing the freeway development (a sparse network of environmental and public transport advocates). The then Senator Lyn Allison produced a pamphlet on the issue which I letterboxed in the neighourhood on both sides of the Yarraman Creek in Noble Park and Dandenong West. My recollection is that the pamphlet got zero response. The freeway development itself was very popular and had a lobby behind it which included local councils along the proposed route and the very influential RACV.

By 2005 the construction of what was now named the Mitcham-Frankston Freeway was underway and I returned with a camera (still using film) and prints from the original roll of film. I did my best to replicate the same positions and directions in taking photos. Finally last year (2008) I returned one more time now that the freeway was completed (I call it 'freeway' despite the tolls because a freeway is defined by its lack of intersections inhibiting traffic-flow). Once more I had a camera and past prints and once more I replicated the same shots as best I could.

The set of photos I present on-line are the best photos from those three rolls of film that have been converted to disc. The focus of these photos is to show how much has changed. I opposed the freeway development but am placated somewhat by the fact that much of the remnant bushland walk is still pretty much as it was. In our area the freeway has pretty much just replaced paddocks so I can live with that. Mind you the freeway walls are bloody ugly – I refer to them as The Berlin Wall. Take a look and note the changes (including how much greener it was in the past compared with now).

Dolling Out Wordcount

2009-01-29T15:02:00.004+11:00

Back around the turn-of-the-century I was on Newstart and involved in a 'Work For The Dole' project putting together a 'community newsletter' (with a circulation approximately the same as its staff numbers). We published anything from album reviews to fashion advise but I specialised in writing on-topic - I penned discussions of employment and welfare issues. One item in particular looks topical right now with the whole 'financial crisis' in the media. So I am reproducing it here...

For the bulk of human history most members of society were directly involved in work for sheer survival. People worked on the land, cultivating the food that they, their families and communities needed. In more recent times, however, production methods have changed so that only a few of us have to be involved in the producing the food and shelter that we all need. The rest of us have been freed to do other work in providing an ever-growing range of products and services. But we all still need to eat and we all still need a home. That costs money and for this reason everyone needs to work or be supported by someone who does.

Sometimes work is difficult to come by. Furthermore, there are those who, because of their age or disability, cannot support themselves financially. There was a time, not all that long ago, in which these people were simply left to fend for themselves. Many were supported by family or friends. Others had to rely on the kindness of volunteer-run charity. Many lacking work became destitute. In times of economic hardship (recessions) in which work became more scarce, poverty would become a huge and ever-present issue that caused crime and disruption.

During the Great Depression (1929-193?) the unemployment rate reached a shocking 33% or more. With one in every three adults lacking work, poverty was rife. And it had a nasty habit of spreading throughout society. If a factory in financial difficulty sacked a large number of its workers then they and their families would have to spend only on the bare essentials. Local shops around the factory would loose customers and have to sack workers themselves. Many of these shops would even have to close. Demand for products of the factory would reduce further and so the process would go on. In 1929 the entire world was swept by this creeping virus of lost work and lost customers. Unemployment grew quickly to assume crisis proportions. Something had to be done.

Till that time responsibility to care for the poor was left to the family or to charity. But during the Great Depression the problem became too big for them to manage by themselves. Governments had to take a role in addressing unemployment. They had already been paying modest pensions to war veterans and the aged, and it was decided that the same could be done for the unemployed. The first unemployment benefits were called 'Sustenance Payments' (the 'Susso' for short) and only gave enough to keep people from starving.

Since then things have improved. It was recognised that, in order to live and contribute fully to society, people must have a certain minimum income that allows for a bit more than just food and rent. It is no coincidence that since the introduction into modern societies of a welfare system, nothing as severe as the Great Depression has taken place. The unemployed may cease to be workers but, because of unemployment benefits, they continue to be consumers, and so help to keep the economy working. And because the poor are not destitute, crime and a general disillusionment with life are minimised. Similar payments for the disabled, the aged, students and parents with dependent children all help to keep society and the economy in shape.

Welfare services are, like public schools and hospitals, paid for by taxes. Those who do earn an income help those who currently do not, via income tax. Those who consume a lot help others to consume, via sales taxes. In this way, members of society, with the government as go-between, assist one another in times of difficulty. Welfare recipients benefit directly, but tax-payers also benefit from the stability and general well-being that social security provides. It is an expense, but it's one we can afford, and it's something worth having if we want to live in a civilised society.

Note that all that was written for a very general audience (nonetheless I find its simplicity a bit embarrassing in looking back at it). Still I can always deny that it was me - I used the nom-de-plume of 'Daniel Sebastian'. Snigger.