Travellin'

Warming Up

Every year its the same. I forget how amazing the sun feels. I forget how nice it is to slip into cool water after getting hot and sweaty on the walk towards the beach. I forget how good it feels to lie on a rock in the sunshine and stretch out. I forget how satisfying it is to rub your shoulders and feel salt come off on your fingers. I forget how much I love feeling weightless in the water. And I forget how much I miss all of these things in the winter.

I'm surrendering these next week and its just another of those things I've been kidding myself about. Silly girl.

"I'm so appalled"

Today the WA Court of Appeal upheld a jail sentence handed to a man convicted of glassing another man at an Inglewood pub.

Magistrate Paul Heaney sentenced the man to 18 months jail in March after he pleaded guilty to unlawful wounding. The individual then had his sentence reduced by Supreme Court Justice Michael Murray to a suspended sentenced and he was released from jail after serving three months jail time after Justice Murray allowed his appeal.

Justice McLure said today in a written statement that usually using a glass in an attack did not warrant jail time, but given the frequency with which glassing attacks are occurring in WA that "increased weight could be given to the need of general deterrence".

Justice McLure also said that due to "the many mitigatory factors in this case, a term of immediate imprisonment is the only appropriate sentencing option."

The argument by the DPP that the suspended sentence was grossly inadequate for such a serious crime and a crime which most of the WA community would find abhorrent was upheld by the Court of Appeals and the although the initial sentence of 18 months was reduced to 15 months, there is a certain sense of comfort that comes for magistrates who are due to sentence in trials like this one.

What this means most importantly for WA is that crimes like this are not going unnoticed, or unpunished. The individual convicted initially had his sentence reduced because of his "personal circumstances" and the fact that rehabilitation was likely but as most people would probably agree having a glass shoved in your face should never be the means by which someone wins an argument.

Yes alcohol was a factor in this case, as it is in almost all "glassing" incidents, which seem to be the crime du jour for WA, but the fact is the law is created to separate those who can do the right thing and those who chose not too. I certainly feel safer knowing that harsh sentences are going to be given to those who chose to pick up a glass and shove it into someone's face, drunk or not, and even though I can see in some circumstances where drunken arguments can be a simply misunderstanding, I think it takes a lot of gall to partake in such an inherently violent act.

What confuses me most about how these types of incidents keep occurring is the sheer fact that glasses are still handed out at venues which serve alcohol. Surely the easiest way to stop "glassings" is to take away the glass? Perhaps I'm missing a vital point here but I cannot imagine that drunken violence is really going to stop any time soon when drinking and getting drunk is such an integral part of Australian culture, so I can't for any reason see how or why we are happy to hand over what is fast becoming a life threatening weapon to people who can't keep it to themselves. I'm more than happy to surrender having my pints in a glass for a plastic cup if it means me or my friends who are having a drink at the pub aren't going to have to have reconstructive surgery on our faces because we looked the wrong way at the bloke at the bar.

Colours

I think I hate Carrie Bradshaw

So I’m watching Sex and the City and I’m wondering if all women are exactly the same. Are we that whiny? That irritating? That frustrating? That……..doomed? What if Sex and the City is living my life for me?

This is my Carrie inspired “starting off with a question” piece of writing. Were the writers of Sex and the City spot-on because they were able to capture how women communicate, or have women just managed to convince themselves that that is how we talk? I don’t know. Does Sex and the City offer the lessons that women should learn in order to grow and create meaningful and successful relationships with other people? I don’t know that either because to be honest I’m not old enough to know. My life experience in relationships so far is minimal and a lot of the time I’m just running on instinct or emotion. There are really no rules to work with- we just do whatever we choose to do, and when I say we and I’m talking about my friends specifically. My little own posse of gals that I lunch with, shop with, share secrets with, keep secrets with and basically live my life with. We all watch the show and although some friends love it more than others I know we all see the “truth” that the show presents us with.

I don’t see myself as being particularly similar to Carrie or any of the women on this show because really and truly they never change or evolve from the mistakes they make. I like to think that I do. Maybe. Of course that’s wishful thinking because like Carrie I’m in constant need of attention, like Miranda I don’t know if I believe in romantic love, like Charlotte I’m very naïve in some respects in regards to boys and like Samantha…well no, can’t draw any similarities there I’m afraid. But that’s the safety we find when we turn on Sex and the City- although different men come in and out of their lives, although they move cities or apartments, they’re always going to be those same stock characters that never change. And I don’t know that I’m alright with that.

I hate these women when they’re going on and on about nothing- nothing being men mainly. They’re so boring and repetitive but I think I might hate them because I do the exact same thing. Do I do it because that’s how I am or has Sex and the City decided what my interaction with other women is supposed to be like?

I had an interesting experience this weekend. I got opinions on a situation from three different women. Two friends and one mother. One friend was blunt and told me what I didn’t want to hear. The other friend told me that I should go with what my emotions were telling me and the mother told me to do whatever would make me happy. I appreciated the opinions from all different women and I found the reflections on what they each had to tell me was more important than what they actually had to tell me. I think therein lays the success of Sex and the City. It’s not what they’re actually talking about, it’s the way that even in a group that is SO different to my friends they still can all offer up those confusing and polar opposite opinions that you get from your friends. Which is why we keep watching, but I’m starting to wonder if I’m missing the point a little bit.

I get upset with this show because I like it (I won’t lie), but it does sometimes make me feel a bit “not quite up to it”. I don’t think that women like this exist. Well they might- but I sure haven’t come across them. Of course I’m well aware that I’m 21 and my friends are never going to be like the Sex and the City girls because THEY’RE REAL but these are the women that have shaped the way we approach life and relationships. We watch and experience with them and sometimes I think that they’re living our relationships for us. I don’t ever want to be in “the dating game” because these characters have made it look tiresome and horrible. I just want to meet a nice boy and then that’ll be that.

An advert came on during a break for Head and Shoulders and it had a woman on a date who was panicking because she wanted to scratch her head. She ducks under the table to scratch and then pops up with frazzled hair. Mum made a good point: “Have we just got to the point in our lives were we can’t do anything that’s human- I scratch my head all the time.” I feel that way about Sex and the City. It’s too hard to measure up to all those things they’ve already done. The perfect relationships have already been played out on screen so there’s nothing left for the average woman to achieve. I don’t need to wait for my Mr Big because I can just turn on the TV and there he is. Which makes me a little bit sad to be honest.

Jessica and Frank

Jessica stepped down off the last wooden plank which had been haphazardly nailed to the tree years and years ago. Frank had jumped from the fourth one but he’d been ascending and descending these planks since he was a boy. Jessica had only been on the property for 36 hours so her agility in the huge ‘playground’ that Frank had been talking up for days was not forthcoming. He’d finally decided that this weekend he would take her to visit his mum and dad and the property he’d grown up on. She’d met his mum and dad a few times before this weekend; they liked coming to visit London. They were really nice the first few times she’d met them. His mum’s eyes had positively popped out of her head when she’d met Jessica, introduced as “my new friend”. Frank was lovely so it made sense his parents were lovely. That didn’t stop her from being incredibly nervous each time she spoke to them though. She’d bonded with Paul (Dad) about West Ham’s slow start this season and what changes Avram Grant could/should make to pick up after Christmas (Jessica had a sneaking suspicion Paul was an ex-Mile End Mob member, and, even if he wasn’t she liked the idea of it and imagined him running after Chelsea fans after matches). Janet (Mum) was a classic beauty and the most caring person Jessica had ever met. She had modeled in the early 70’s and even though she was ageing now she still retained that simple beauty that made Jessica feel incredibly self conscious. But Janet had given up her modeling not long after starting because she found the other girls ‘a little bit silly’ and had settled down with Paul soon after they met through friends at the pub. She said she fell for his confidence in wearing a Ben Sherman polo with tight trousers (“Always had a thing for mods I did”) after seeing Paul Weller do it. Paul said it was Janet’s eyes, which made Jessica blush and try her hardest not to look at Frank in case he was looking at her. They’d suggested to Frank that he bring her up the property so she could get some colour back in her cheeks after the long winter spent indoors at her computer writing endless releases for the company and sending them out to every single media outlet she could think of. It had not been a fruitful undertaking and Jessica was beginning to grow concerned that her job was on the line. But all of that was far away now that she was walking alongside Frank down to the edge of the large pond that marked the end of the backyard. Jessica had heard about backyards as a girl but the closest she had come to seeing a proper backyard was when her friend Sammy had invited her to her Gran’s house and her Gran lived in a flat which was on the ground and out the back was a square patch of grass with some flower pots around the sides. But now Jessica understood. She imagined a young Frank running wild through the leaves that would have fallen in autumn from the huge oak tree that stood next to the house. She could see the 9^th birthday party that Frank had told her about when his parents had let him have a bouncy castle and all the kids had been absolutely sick with jealousy. It was not long after that party that Frank had stopped bringing other kids round to his place. Even though he had the best backyard in the county, Frank had decided that no one should be able to share his space again. But now 15 years later here he was, with a girl holding his hand walking down from the tree-house he had made with Paul to the edge of the pond. Jessica felt grip Frank had on her hand once they reached the water’s edge tighten and he seemed to hold her back ever so slightly as if to confirm she wouldn’t keep walking right into the water. For the first time since she had arrived at this place she felt slightly uncomfortable. She looked up and Frank’s eyes had glazed over as he surveyed the rippled water of the pond and watched the ducks swim silently across. She’d never seen him look like this, he was usually so focused and attentive. He was far away now thinking about something he hadn’t thought about since he’d met Jessica a few months ago. She’d managed to block everything out particularly well and he was happy to have met her. She was beautiful, funny and completely unaware of the effect she had on the men around her, but suddenly being here in this space with her seemed like a terrible idea. Jessica squeezed Frank’s clammy hand with hers and he snapped quickly out of the distant daydream.

“I need to tell you something about this pond”.

Fixing smelly cows

One of the greatest challenges to the fight against climate change may be diminished significantly thanks to ground breaking research being performed at the University of Western Australia.

Dr Kioumars Ghamkhar is the head of a team which is mapping the genes in legumes which end up producing the most harmful gas in regards to climate change- methane.

Dr Ghamkhar and his team are researching the different types of legumes that cattle and sheep eat, in order to distinguish which ones end up producing the least amount of methane when digested by these animals.

In a world first for the mapping of plant genes, Dr Ghamkhar is hopeful that the research will have a significant effect on the problems farmers could eventually face in terms of climate change regulations.

"The aim is to reduce the effect of what farmers are doing on the environment", he says. "We want to create legumes with the best feeing value with the lowest methane emissions".

Although results are still a few years away, the potential for a positive step for farmers and avoiding climate change is great.

To Facebook or not to Facebook?

Yes I have just been to see The Social Network. Yes I did think it was a great movie. And yes I am moved enough by the subject matter to write something immediately.

I do not want this piece to be a film review. I am not intelligent enough, not have I seen enough films to even begin pretending that I am some how worthy enough to start preaching my own judgment of a film on the internet. Other than I thought it was good. Which it was.

No, this piece I want to be something different. Something that demonstrates a difficulty that I have been struggling with for, oh let’s say at least the last couple of years.

Facebook for me has become a part of my daily routine. I check it very regularly. I didn’t check it daily when I didn’t have the internet at home, and to be completely honest I preferred life that way. I never felt like I missed anything. People used to say “How can you not have the internet/Facebook at home?” and my answer would just be “I just don’t”. Nothing more. Now I have both the internet and Facebook at home and I really do think I’m worse off for it. Not the internet as such, it’s really useful. But Facebook has, again, taken over my life. I wish I could resist it- but I can’t. I’d like to try. And so I’m going to. Eventually.

It is the first week of study before exams for me. I only have one exam however and so my study will basically be reading the lecture slides for the subject and hoping for the best. But the importance of it being study week is that typically this is a week of high activity for my ‘friends’ on Facebook. Procrastination kicks into overload and people begin posting everything and anything they can think of. Names are changed, South Park clips are posted, quizzes about which hip hop star you are are taken, and insane babble is posted to everyone’s wall. I am not immune to this. I don’t even have 4 exams to ignore- just the one, and I’m still able to get involved with the study week insanity. I tried not to today. But I got to maybe…11.45am? I didn’t get involved earlier because I SPECIFICALLY left the house. But it shouldn’t be like that. I shouldn’t have to leave my own home just to ignore a website. A website which makes me smile sometimes, but at other times makes me want to die.

I remember in first year of uni when ‘Monday Night Facebook’ was something I used to look forward too. Everyone put up pictures of the weekend and you talked too the new ‘friends’ you had added/had added you and basically got to relive your own glory. This got stale quickly. Now, three years later, the idea makes me sick to my stomach. But I still check the photos tab for some reason. I still punish myself by looking at the pages of people I know to have a better social life than I do and getting self conscious about it. Why? I don’t know. It’s just part of the phenomenon. But I want it to stop.

My argument used to be “Oh no I stay on Facebook to talk to the people who don’t live in my city”. That’s a blatant lie now. The people I do genuinely want to talk too, I talk to daily- if not, weekly. These are the people I usually end up talking to on Facebook anyway. One of my good friends is far away in Europe, and not even that is a good enough excuse anymore to stay on Facebook. We have email, we can use that. Oh better yet we can get out the pen and write each other a letter. Rather than post that Iggy Pop video we’re just dying to show one another because we’re funny/cool.

I’m in a crisis. A modern crisis. A crisis that would never have eventuated without the internet/Facebook. Am I stressing about Facebook because I’m trying to be different, or is Facebook actually having an effect on who I am?

I’d like to think it doesn’t really matter, but unfortunately it does matter. The time this ‘activity’ takes up in my day is growing increasingly out-of-hand. I shouldn’t think about funny status updates when I hear them, but I do. I shouldn't look at that boy's page AGAIN, but I do. I shouldn’t wake up on a Sunday morning and panic because someone might post a photo/comment from the night before which is incriminating, but I do- not often, I’m not that much of a sicko, but it still happens.

My friend suggested to me the other day that when I get back from Europe in February I should delete my Facebook and I do think it’s a great idea. The people I want to talk to will still be there. And I like the idea that people aren’t meant to stay in your life forever so maybe we’re not supposed to stay ‘friends’ on Facebook. But what until that point? Do I keep facing this daily dilemma with a smile and just laugh at the modern condition? Or do I try and find out what it is that’s really bothering me?

Mark Zuckerberg, you’re a genius but I kinda hate you.

Your Love is my Drug?

Who would have thought that the euphoria we feel when we’re falling in love could actually help with pain relief? A recent study conducted at Stanford University in the US has found that viewing a picture of a loved one can actually stimulate a stronger pain-relief response than the typical ‘distraction’ tests that have previously been trialed. So maybe all those hours you spent fantasizing over that new love-interest could have been helping you relieve your own pain.

The study, conducted on 15 students at university in the United States who described themselves as “intensely in love”, measured the response to pain that each student felt when they looked at a photo of the person they were romantically involved with. To balance the results, measurements in response to pain were also taken when the students looked at photos of another similarly attractive person who they were acquainted with but not romantically involved with and also in response to pain when a simple word-association distraction test was conducted.

All of these conditions were tested at three levels of pain to further substantiate the results. The “pain” which the students were subjected to was differing levels of exposure to heat through a thermal stimulator attached to their left hand. Each student was measured individually to gauge what levels of temperature would cause differing levels of discomfort and they were then subjected to 15 second blocks of the different levels of heat exposure.

The student’s responses to the stimuli were mapped by the MRI imaging of the brain in response to pain in the three conditions the study set up. The scientists conducting the study looked at both the areas of the brain that determine reward responses, or pleasure centres, and those areas of the brain that deal with analgesics- or in other words, painkillers.

In almost all instances, the measurements found that the response to viewing a photo of a person’s loved-one created a greater amount of activity in the areas of the brain that are associated with reward and pain management. Most importantly though, the study found that the response to viewing a picture of a loved one can actually be stronger and more effective in stimulating pain-relief than distraction tests that have long been accepted in the scientific community.

In a recent interview with Tracie White for Science Daily, one of the authors of the study Dr Sean Mackey, a professor at Stanford School of Medicine, said that it was important for the study to focus on younger and more passionate forms of love, which was where the feelings of euphoria were more strongly felt.

“We specifically were not looking for longer-lasting, more mature phases of the relationship. We wanted subjects who were feeling euphoric, energetic, obsessively thinking about their beloved, craving their presence,” he said.

“When passionate love is described like this, it in some ways sounds like an addiction. We thought, 'Maybe this does involve similar brain systems as those involved in addictions which are heavily dopamine-related.' Dopamine is the neurotransmitter in our brain that is intimately involved with feeling good."

The findings of the study are intriguing because the pleasure centres in the brain that were activated during the romantic-partner test are the same as those that are activated when a person takes specific drugs, for example cocaine. A co-author of the study, Jarred Younger, says that the findings are interesting because ultimately the brain responds in a similar way when a person views a picture of the person they are in love with as to when they are taking drugs.

“One of the key sites for love-induced analgesia is the nucleus accumbens, a key reward addiction center for opioids, cocaine and other drugs of abuse. The region tells the brain that you really need to keep doing this.” No wonder thinking and talking about your new partner in the early stages of a relationship seems so addictive!

The implications of this study are far reaching, not only in the field of neuroscience, but also in the field of psychology and the nature of drug addiction. The results of the tests suggest that reward centres in the brain can be activated by a naturally occurring biological method (in that the brain has reacted to a visual stimulus) with the same result as the reaction to illicit drugs that the brain experiences. Addiction to illicit drugs is a ubiquitous problem in western society and the results of the study could influence more study into different, less dangerous ways of stimulating pleasure centres in the brain.

Arthur Aron, co-author of the study, suggests to Tracie White that the findings are indicative of the way the brain responds to a pleasurable stimulus without relying on illicit drugs and reflect a move toward a relatively risk-free stimulus of the pleasure centres in the brain.

“When thinking about your beloved, there is intense activation in the reward area of the brain — the same area that lights up when you take cocaine, the same area that lights up when you win a lot of money…this tells us that you don’t have to just rely on drugs for pain relief. People are feeling intense rewards without the side effects of drugs.”

Although the results do suggest a natural process of inducing pain-relief and stimulating pleasure in the brain, Sean Mackey is not so forthcoming about the partner-test replacing traditional pain medication any time soon.

“I don't see our evoked test being used in a treatment manner. It was specifically designed to only manipulate analgesia and from the perspective of viewing images that would be considered rewarding” he says.

Ultimately we’re still a long way off from using romantic love as a medical or pharmacological cure for the blues, and anyone who has fallen in love could probably tell you they didn’t need a study to tell you falling in love feels great. But the results do help to shed light on the issue of drug addiction. As the same reward centres in the brain are stimulated by the recognition of looking at a loved-one as those that are stimulated when a person takes illicit drugs, the results could be used to further investigate how addictions to these drugs can be more efficiently managed. But the biggest problem that arises from the study- what happens to all of us who aren’t falling in love?

Sheer Perfection

And when you need me I’ll always be here-Rufus Wainwright

Tonight, again, Rufus Wainwright sung only to me. The Perth Concert Hall was filled to the brim, but it was just me and him in the room. This man speaks to me like no other individual can. His lyrics are my thoughts, ordered, and written down so eloquently it astounds me as to how someone else could really and truly be thinking what I’m thinking but telling it so much better than I can.

Rufus Wainwright is painfully talented. A brilliant musician, his control over his vocals is unparalleled and lyrically I don’t think anyone could be as intuitive and as honest as he makes himself. He offers his audience up a part of himself when he sings to them and tonight, just like last time, he offered himself up to me. And not just himself, but he shone a mirror in my face and allowed me to look inside my own head like only he can.

I cannot express what I was feeling. Each song sweeps you in and as you listen to the words you’re taken on a journey through your own thoughts as the loves of your life flash before your eyes and you begin to remember all those little things about everyone you ever loved and how much you miss them and how much you loved being in love. He reminds you about those small little details like the winkles in the side of the first one’s mouth, or the smell of the second one, or the shape of the third one’s shoulders and the pain of loss is almost too much to bear. But then he reminds you that although these loves are too great to forget, there’s going to be many more- each offering you the things you can’t imagine missing now.

For two and a half hours tonight my brain was somewhere else. Away from the noise and business of the day time. Inside the vaulted room I was able to travel back to a time where things were just as complicated but seem so simple now. There was me, him, my dreams and the future we were supposed to have- and still will have.

The first half of the show was like nothing I’d ever seen before. I knew that Rufus was going to play his latest release “Songs For Lulu” in its entirety and I was a little nervous to say the least. The album is a strange one because its just him and the piano. All the songs are vocally demanding (as only Rufus Wainwright can write and perform) and so I was nervous that it wouldn’t measure up to the recording. I was similarly nervous because, as any music appreciator will tell you, a new album takes a while to wash over you and sink into your soul as albums tend to do and this one hadn’t really done that yet. I liked several songs and I had tried to listen to it all the way through a few times but I hadn’t succeeding in accomplishing the task. However, as he entered the stage adorned in a gorgeous cape with feathers around his naked shoulders I immediately lost all hesitations about what was going to unfold in front of me. The piano washed over me and his voice swept me into the place I remained for the entire first half. Completely compelled. The highlights were The Dream and the last song surprisingly, Zebulon, which I hadn’t warmed to very well before tonight, but now I will dream about. With a strange visual accompaniment in the background which was just shots of a darkened eye opening and closing I felt watched, but not threatened. It was a performance like no other and one I will not forget.

The second act was, as expected, warm and charming. In stark contrast to the first act which was engaging but slightly haunting, the second was like an old friend had come over and sat down at the piano in the lounge and just began singing the old songs you used to sing together. I was always partial to the Rufus rendition of Hallelujah rather than the Buckley or Cohen rendition, and tonight’s performance of said song was simply, perfect. Absolutely perfect- his control and command of such a big space with just his voice and a piano is remarkable.

If nothing else, Rufus Wainwright reminded me tonight of why I love him and I love how he speaks to me. I am reminded to do the things I love and be the girl I need to be. And I am forever indebted to him for that.

A few more nice days

I took this for a joke blog I had to set up but it ended up being a great photo of a beautiful girl.

Taking a big ol’ step back for feminism!

First off- I don’t hate men. I like men. I love men. I have a great relationship with my dad, my oldest friend is a boy, I tend to spend a lot of time with men and I like them. They’re funny, interesting, different, irritating- all the things that make every other human being on the planet fascinating to the next person. So perhaps I am not the right person to be discussing the woeful situation that has be-felled my mysterious masculine mates. Or perhaps I’m the perfect person to be discussing it.

I need to preface this article by openly stating that I have a negative attitude towards contemporary feminism. I don’t get it. I’m 21- I’ve never lived through a sexual revolution or gender war and for the most part I have surrounded myself with men who treat me as an equal; or at least they try their hardest to do so. So I find myself mystified when females around my age bang on about how shit men are. They’re not that bad! I don’t want to make excuses for men who are genuinely misogynistic or chauvinistic but I think the sooner that women start to realize that not all men are “pigs” the sooner this “equality” that we seem to be so desperate for will materialize. Similarly the sooner we (women), and men, realize that WE ARE DIFFERENT the sooner we can move on from these differences and- if I may be so bold- embrace these differences?

As much as I like men, I can openly admit that I don’t understand them. I have had insights into the ones who have allowed me to get close to them and or who have tried to explain the male “condition” as it were, but these insights are for the most part very specific to the person themselves and in the grand scheme of things I’m just as clueless as the next girl as to how the male brain works. And I’ll bet most men can admit the same about the way girls think. But I think it is unfair for men or women to take this lack of understanding and judge the other gender for it. Its not men’s fault I don’t get them….and its certainly not my fault when men don’t understand me! But please don’t let the lack of understand cloud your judgment about the opposite sex. Embrace it. Surely in an age where we can jump on Google and get an answer for pretty much anything we should rejoice in the things in life we can’t get straight answers for? Maybe that’s just me. But I like the idea of having a bank of unexplored people and experience that lays waiting for me to uncover. Boys- the final frontier?

This little musing is inspired from my exposure more neo-feminism than I care to be exposed to in recent weeks. Let me state, for perhaps the first time, that feminism in its purest form, in its real, true and historical form, was a movement that needed to happen. I may look at the ideal of Betty in Mad Men and think “wow it’d be nice to be able to just marry a beautiful man and have beautiful kids and keep a beautiful house and just be beautiful all day” but really and truly I know I’m not kidding anyone. The women in my gender’s past have done me a tremendous service in allowing me to be the vocal, opinionated and (seemingly) confident young women I am today and I will forever be grateful to them for that. But I refuse to believe that the search for equality between the sexes that these women strove toward was meant to turn into the vicious, spiteful rage that has spawned itself in the modern woman. Men are not the enemy. No one is the enemy. We don’t have to have enemies. But we’re so used to being on the offensive that the ‘enemy’ just keeps rearing its ugly head. Worryingly though I think it’s ourselves that have become said enemy. But I don’t want to spout another “love yourself” rhetorical piece of self-affirming nonsense that we modern gals have grown up reading. The only self-affirmation that a women needs is the safety of being a woman and the understanding that goes along with being a woman. Men are different and scary, but really and truly that’s why we love them right?

Tears for Riewoldt

Scene Setting:

Pub in St Kilda. It's Tuesday afternoon. The rain is pouring down on the seaside suburb and Nick Riewoldt has been drowning his sorrows for a good few hours (and the days preceding). He's sitting alone at a table next to the men's toilets. The bar staff have been meticulously topping up his schooner on the hour- they have of course watched this all happen before last year. Nick stares out of the window next to him and watches the people pass by and the shops take down their St Kilda flags for another year. The mood is quiet reflection.

In stark contrast Mick Malthouse has been boozing for days. He's on a Scavenger hunt that's been set up by Eddie Maguire and Nick Maxwell. Everyone has to get a coaster from underneath the beer that every St Kilda player is sure to be nursing on this sullen Tuesday afternoon. Mick's never been one to take a challenge lightly so he's gone for the big one- The Champ.

Begin Scene

The harsh light that pierces the dank of the St Kilda pub when the door is opened makes all the patrons look to the door- all the patrons bar Nick. Mick swaggers in.

Mick: G'day (sways on the spot)

Empty silence.

Mick: walks further into the bar I hope you all don't mind me popping in like this but I'm just looking for an old friend of mine.

His eyes pass over the whole bar until he spots the small figure of Nick in the corner who still has not looked up.

Mick: I just want a quick word. Won't be a minute.

Dennis, the local die-hard who's been at every St Kilda game for the last 18 years stands up quickly and steps in front of Mick.

Dennis: You're not welcome here boy. You're well behind enemy lines now. You're walking a dangerous path.

Mick: Oh come now, I just wanted to ask a little favour. I'm sure Nick will oblige me.

Dennis looks towards Nick. Nick lowers his glass, eyes forward still. The tension in the room is palpable.

Dennis: You can go. But I've got eyes in the back of my head Malthouse. One wrong move and you'll wish you had Harry O'Brien skipping up behind you. You'll have a concave head mate.

Mick: Steadies himself Too easy Matey. You just sit down and enjoy your beer. I'll be done with Nick in two blinks of the eye.

Mick saunters across the room. Nick does not look away from where his eyes have been the whole time, staring out the window. Mick gets to the table Nick is sitting at and waits to be addressed. An address does not come.

Mick: Well I would've expected more from you Champ. You could at least look at me.

Silence

Mick: Oh Nick, don't be like this. I can imagine how hard this must be for you but I just have a quick favour to ask. Mick is swaying dangerously on the spot. How was your weekend by the way? Mine's been a bit huge as you can probably imagine. Had a little success to celebrate.

Silence

Mick: Mate, mate, mate. I just wanna say. Good luck next season. I mean you can't win 'em all can ya? Can ya mate? Nah you can't. But we should let bygones be bygones you know? Course you do Son you're a good lad. Shame about Heath's smother wasn't it? He's a good boy. All my boys are good boys. But now, down to business. Can I. I mean would you mind, if I had your coaster. I've gotta get it back to Nick and the boys so they know I'm not soft. I mean, bloody hell you'd think coaching Collingwood to their 14th Premiership would make the boys cut me some slack but gee wizz they're pranksters aren't they! You bloody bet they are! So yeah I need your coaster Matey. I mean it's not like you've got a Premiership Cup to rest on it so you won't mind will you?

Nick takes a deep breath- acknowledging Mick for the first time. As his head starts to turn towards Mick, silent tears start flowing down his cheeks. He looks into Mick's eyes and lets him see him cry. Mick's bravado drops away. He is stunned. He takes a step back.

Nick picks up his coaster and hands it out for Mick to take.

Mick's discomfort is obvious. As the tears keep flowing down Nick's face the patrons of the bar start to look over. They can see the pain in their captain's eyes. They start to stand. They walk over and form a guard of honour around their wounded hero. The scene is peaceful and supportive. Mick is out of his element deeply now.

Mick: (Quietly, with his voice breaking slightly) What's all this then Nick? You need your boyfriends around you just to talk to me.

Dennis: Leave Mick.

Mick: I just wanna talk to Nick!

Dennis: (Slowly, menacingly) Leave now. Before it's too late.

Mick: Look if you St Kilda wusses can't face up to your losses that's not my fault. You're in the presence of greatness right now and Nick should feel bloody blessed I've even sunk this low to come down and see him.

The mood changes quickly. The quiet support the guard of honour has created is swapped immediately with blood-lust. The guard begins to circle around Mick. The feeling is ominous and hateful.

Mick: Right well I'm off. I've got Dale Thomas outside and I promised him I'd help him get laid today so I'll be going.

Dennis: I'm sorry Mick. I can't let that happen.

The scuffle happens quickly. Mick tries to break the circle but he is grabbed from all angles. He calls out but a St Kilda beanie is shoved in his mouth. His arms and legs are bound quickly with St Kilda scarves even though he is struggling. The pack has overpowered him and they drag him into the toilet. The beanie in his mouth falls out as he is dragged and from inside the toilet his screams can be heard. The blows are raining down. The St Kilda faithful have spoken.

Nick does not move whilst the scuffle occurs. After Mick is dragged into the toilet he sits down and regains his position looking out the window. He lifts his beer to his mouth slowly. His tears have dried and a sly smile breaks across his face.

Nick: Who's crying now Mick.

End scene.

A few nice days

First Episode of the Exciting Times of Chris Judd and Rebecca Twigley

(Partial credit to Mr Glen Trevaskis)

Setting: The Jugley Residence. A pristine Melbourne apartment. Nothing too flashy. Everything is meticulously ordered.

Scene begins: The door opens, Chris walks in. He's wearing football clothes. Rebecca is sitting on the couch. She looks up as he walks in.

Chris: Hi (pause)

Rebecca: Hello (pause)

Chris: I've just been at football practice (pause)

Rebecca: Oh yes? (pause)

Chris: Yep (pause)

Rebecca: How was that? (pause)

Chris: Good (pause)

Long Pause

Chris: Everyone was happy I won the Brownlow. (pause)

Rebecca: That's nice (pause)

Chris: What did you do today? (pause)

Rebecca: Just some more modelling (pause)

Chris: Oh good (pause)

Rebecca: Yeah (pause)

Chris: What's for dinner? (pause)

Rebecca: Pasta (pause)

Long Pause

Chris: Oh yum (pause)

Long Pause

Rebecca: Shall we watch Packed to the Rafters tonight? (pause)

Chris: Yeah (pause)

Rebecca: Got much on tomorrow?(pause)

Chris: Just football. (pause)

Rebecca: Good (pause)

Chris: You?(pause)

Rebecca: Just modelling (pause)

Chris: Good (pause)

Rebecca: I'll get dinner on (pause)

Chris: Thanks (pause)

Rebecca exits to the kitchen. Chris sits down. Turns TV on.

End scene.

The "Great" Storm

University Wars

To begin with- I attend Edith Cowan University and I am immensely proud of doing so. I enjoy my degree on a day-to-day basis and I find my classes stimulating and relevant. I have no problem with getting myself out the door each morning and attending the classes I am supposed to attend. Similarly I have no problem with the work outside of the classroom that is asked of me because it is always interesting and most of the time fairly challenging. This was not always the case.

I am one of the "transients" who have undertaken the much feared or revered "Mid-degree Uni Swap". And I am a great believer in it.

Once upon a time I attended a different University. The University I attended had a much higher entrance level than the one I attend now and when I was accepted to this university after Year 12 I was very happy and looked forward to beginning my Arts/Communications Degree after a gap year (a year seemingly miss-spent getting very drunk on the Gold Coast for 5 months, and then getting very drunk at home for the rest of the year). I began the degree finally and for the first 6 months things were fantastic. I met wonderful people, I learnt new things about English and History and Anthropology and I somehow managed to pass my German language unit. I spent almost all of my time either at Uni or out somewhere socialising with my new-found friends I had met at Uni. Life was brilliant. The next 6 months were somewhat similar although the time I spent in class at Uni was waning. I spent a lot of time AT uni, but most of it spent either in a dank room with fellow Arts Students (oh the hours spent listening to cool music, engaging in friendly banter with like-minded individuals and waiting for a particular boy to come in or walk past) or on one of the many grassy patches at Uni, in the sun, talking or just generally ignoring the work I should have been doing. The summer break rolled around and I was able to forget that I was starting to hate my classes. But sure enough, the next March when I trudged back into those classrooms I had suppressed all memory of over Summer, my heart began to sink. Slowly, week by week, my attendance, which I had promised myself at the start of semester to maintain, began to diminish. So significantly that by about week 7 I would say I was going to no lectures at all and getting away with the bare minimum of tutes. This is not how I had envisaged my University life to end up. I still loved GOING to Uni, but that was just to see the people I liked. Classes were a by-product of the situation I had created for myself. And finally, after weeks of neglecting them because of a broken heart, I gave up on assessments altogether.

Woe. Despair. What to do now? I loved the people at Uni and the life my University offered me, but surely actually learning was the point of the whole exercise?

Eventually I knew something had to give. And finally it did. I can't remember the precise moment but for some reason I picked Edith Cowan as my new place. Something about it seemed modern and fun and up-to-the-minute. I looked into their journalism courses (the career I had always imagined myself following in High School until every single person I came across who wasn't doing commerce or science at Uni next year said "Oh yeah I'm going to be a journo when I grow up") and made my mind up. It was time to evacuate the rut I had created for myself at The University of Western Australia. And I am happy to report that I don't regret my decision for a second. I was genuinely happy with my friends at UWA and to some extent if I had been more considered about my unit choices I may have been able to make more out of my tertiary experience there, but, as is often the case retrospect is a beautiful thing.

My point in all of this is my general sense of infuriating rage when I feel the need to defend the University I attend now. I am not an unintelligent person, nor do I go to Uni with unintelligent people. I am constantly stimulated by the work I do at ECU and whilst, yes, I miss the social life at UWA I do not miss the general feeling of "we're better than you" that I am frequently faced with when dealing with UWA alumni. This is an unfair generalisation because I have maintained a close relationship with plenty of my UWA friends who are not snobby about going to UWA and they have politely always made sure never to rubbish my decision to switch. And I am grateful for this. My parents also both attended UWA and I feel very confident that they are more proud of me now for having made a decision to up-root myself from a situation I wasn't happy with to a the situation I now find myself where I genuinely love going to Uni each day and I am fantastically proud of the work I am doing now.

So with this in mind I find it outrageous that anyone who has only attended one tertiary institution in their life can have the audacity to make a judgement about another. I don't want to be one of those ECU students who feel the need to justify themselves to an audience who, by the mere fact they do not attend ECU, will never understand that it does not matter which University you attend, so long as you are enjoying and doing well in your degree. But circumstance and exasperation has lead me to be one of these ECU students.

If you are unhappy with what you are studying, do research about other degrees or universities and make a change. If you hate your degree you can be damn sure you're going to hate the career that goes along with the degree. Don't feel obliged to stay where you are because reputation tells you to. The worst thing that can happen is you waste a few more years getting boozy at a new Tav and a few more HECS dollars, but hey, you tried right? The best thing that can happen? You land exactly where you're supposed to be.

Football Evening.

I look forward to nights like this for weeks.

It's 10.00pm on Saturday the 11th of September. I have been sitting in the lounge room with my dad for a few hours now. We had dinner together before (chicken stir fry) and we both half-heartedly watched the Everton-Manchester United game. (3-3 in case you were wondering). But now, finally, the culmination of our hours spent together thus far this evening. Chelsea, live, at West Ham.

I can't quite explain to anyone who doesn't love football, or their parents, how much these nights mean to me. Both because I love Chelsea more than I love some people that I know and because I happen to be friends with my dad. (2 minutes in and Chelsea have just scored with a header by Michael Essien!).

Dad comes alive when Chelsea play. He's loud, passionate, aggressive, but most of all, he's incredibly funny. We started off the broadcast with an aggrieved cry from Dad because Florent Malouda has been left on the bench (replaced by Kalou...surely not Carlo, what are you thinking?) and Malouda is in Dad's Fantasy Football team. I personally have no interest in Fantasy Football, but Dad likes it, so I care. Well maybe not care, but I can appreciate Dad's pain. He loves his boys. And I love them a bit more because he loves them. We share it together. Sometimes people come and watch the football with us, but it's always the best when it's just us. That's not to say that I don't enjoy the many jokes that have grown out of Saturday and Sunday nights in front of the TV with the boys. "Paul Scholes" (Chris and Sophie rhyming slang for goals), "Get out of the way Ref" (a familiar cry with Joshua Nissen now), "Better late than Neville" (I can't remember the birth of this, but the boys liked it). These moments will never leave me and I rarely enjoy life as much as when I'm watching The Chelsea Boys. Again, I can't explain this to anyone who doesn't love football, but if you do you will understand.

I get in trouble when I talk too much during the football so I can't imagine the tap-tap-tap of the keyboard is appreciated much by Dad so this is it.

HELLO, HELLO, WE ARE THE CHELSEA BOYS.

Inspiration

I have a class at university. It is a digital video class and I frequently look forward to this class because although I find the content overwhelming, the tutor is a dynamo.

He is a director and I have never met anyone, ever, who is so passionate about anything. His 'thing' is cinema....not film...cinema. I get to class with a smile on my face everywhere in apprehension of the inspiration he's going to install in me in regards to my 'future' in producing film. I haven't the heart to tell him that I'm not like all the other people in my class who are all first year film students, I'm the dreaded journo student among the ranks so I can't share in his excitement for our collective cinematic futures. But I can share in his excitement for cinema in general. And for creativity. I started something today that I have been meaning to do for ages because of him. And he'll probably never know that it was basically down to him and I'll forever be slightly indebted to him for it. Even if nothing ends up coming of my endeavour I still have him to thank for making me get off my fat ass and starting it. I might tell him one day. Probably not though.

He always asks us at the start of class what movies we've seen lately and for the first few weeks I had been crazy slack in movie watching so I had nothing. All the other film-buffs in the class had cool movies to boast about and I sat quietly cursing that I hadn't watched anything cool enough to mention. Finally one week I sucked it up and told him I'd watched Contact (for a science class but also because it reminds me of being a little girl) and he didn't let me down. He liked Contact as much as I did. I told him another one today. He liked it too. He's a good man.

Although this little writ is very dull, I wanted to make a note to myself that inspiration doesn't always have to be monumental. It can be as much as watching someone else get super pumped about something and just wanting to be that super pumped about something as well.

I'm exhausted. Standing in a room full of white people bopping to hip hop (most of whom are fairly boozed) is full on. Good though. When you've got a highlight to look forward too though.

I now have less than 6 hours to sleep and not much else to say. A weekend of science journalism awaits. Fuck yes.

Picture note: I'm going to Brooklyn in just under 4 months. Jay-Z you better not hide cos I'm coming to find you.

New Loves.

Wow three years in between blogs is OK right?

Yeah you know it.

I still haven't finished that Nazi book. It's sitting on my bookshelf smirking. "Oh Yeah I'll

read it while I'm on the train", um no.

There are far too many books on my shelf that haven't been read yet. All purchased with fantastic intentions. But all left sitting without any purpose. I won't keep making empty promises because to be honest, choosing between the particularly easy to read "Jeremy Clarkson on..." and "Nabokov, Details of a Sunset and other short stories" I'm going to go with Jezza. Not only is he already sitting on the bedside table so he wins by default, but he's got a few more laughs up his sleeve than old mate "I like writing books about sexy 11 year olds" Nabokov. Nabokov was a gift however. So I can't really blame myself for not reading it. Well I can, but it doesn't count. Where is this going? I don't know.

What I wanted to look at this evening was Hip Hop and my burgeoning relationship with it.

For the moment I feel the relationship is moving forward nicely at a pace that I am enjoying but the ever-present sad reality will not for

much longer keep itself politely hidden. The ever-present sad reality of which I refer to is the fact that I, a young, small, very white girl from Australia will probably never be "down" with hip hop. Now I know I sound like your year 10 science teacher who says he's "down" with what kids are into, but it's true. I love the beats, I love the rhymes, I love the swagger and I love the stories, but as much as I can appreciate hip hop in my own way I'll never be able to present this outwardly. For most people this is fine because music appreciation is simply that- appreciation and nothing else. But I want the life that hip hop is offering me. It's more that music at the moment. I'm learning about a whole way of life that will never exist for me. What pains me the most is how much the stories I'm hearing are beginning to mean to me and how I will never be able to impress this upon anyone. Imagine a little white girl telling the RZA or Doom or Q-Tip that they know what they were saying when they wrote "X". I don't even pretend for a second that I do know what they were saying- but I want to be able to explain the impact hip hop is having on me. But for the moment I'm stumped. So I'll present the visuals.reality of which I refer to is the fact that I, a young, small, very white girl from Australia will probably never be "down" with hip hop. Now I know I sound like your year 10 science teacher who says he's "down" with what kids are into, but it's true. I love the beats, I love the rhymes, I love the swagger and I love the stories, but as much as I can appreciate hip hop in my own way I'll never be able to present this outwardly. For most people this is fine because music appreciation is simply that- appreciation and nothing else. But I want the life that hip hop is offering me. It's more that music at the moment. I'm learning about a whole way of life that will never exist for me. What pains me the most is how much the stories I'm hearing are beginning to mean to me and how I will never be able to impress this upon anyone. Imagine a little white girl telling the RZA or Doom or Q-Tip that they know what they were saying when they wrote "X". I don't even pretend for a second that I do know what they were saying- but I want to be able to explain the impact hip hop is having on me. But for the moment I'm stumped. So I'll present the visuals.