Stoney Snapshot

The world's largest collection of human fossil footprints have been found in a national park in western New South Wales.

The prints are 19,000 to 23,000-years-old and date back to the Ice Age.

They were found in the Mungo National Park at Willandra and the site contains more than 450 well preserved footprints of men, women and children.

New South Wales Environment Minister Bob Debus says the site shows a large group of people walking and interacting with one another.

"We see children running between the tracks of their parents, the children running in meandering circles as their parents travel in direct lines," he said.

"It's a most extraordinary snapshot of a moment or several moments in the life of Aboriginal people living on the edge of the lake in western New South Wales 20,000 years ago.

From ABC News Online

Exciting stuff. Mungo National Park is the location of several ancient human finds, most famously "Mungo Man" aka Mungo III, whose age has been bickered over but is now agreed (from what I can ascertain) to be around 40 000 years old, and "Mungo Lady" aka Mungo I, the oldest known cremation, coming in at around the same age.

The dating of the Mungo finds is -- as with everything in the field -- highly controversial; some feel that the fact that Mungo III has no traces of the mitochondrial DNA of the ancient African finds raises serious questions about the Out of Africa theory. Others say, just as vehemently, that this is absolute codswallop. My sympathies lie with the former theory, but that loyalty comes from an emotional basis rather than one of research and information, so I generally tend to keep that to myself. Either way, it's compelling reading, and all the more so because it's based right here in Australia.

Incidentally, the Mungo remains were returned to the traditional owners of the Willandra region. They cooperated closely on the project, and as the discoverer of the remains, Professor Jim Bowler, noted, "This represents an important new phase in the collaboration between science and traditional owners. Science and the Australian community owe them a special debt of gratitude."

Further reading:

New ages for human occupation and climate change at Lake Mungo, Australia
University of New England

Mungo Man's DNA shakes the Homo family tree
University of New England

World's oldest burial redated to 40 000 years
ABC Science Online

Lake Mungo 3
University of New England

Mitochondrial DNA sequences in ancient Australians: Implications for modern human origin Research School of Pacific and Asian Studies and John Curtin School of Medical Research, Australian National University, et al.

Out of Africa vs Multiregionalism
stephenjaygould.org

'Intelligent design' teaching ban

A court in the US has ruled against the teaching of "intelligent design" alongside Darwin's theory of evolution.

A group of parents in the Pennsylvania town of Dover had taken the school board to court for demanding biology classes not teach evolution as fact.

The authorities wanted to introduce the idea that Earth's life was too complicated to have evolved on its own.

Judge John Jones ruled the school board had violated the constitutional ban on teaching religion in public schools.

The 11 parents who brought the case argued that teaching intelligent design (ID) was effectively teaching creationism, which is banned.

The rest of the story here, on BBC News.

I'm so relieved to read this. A small glimmer of hope in the news.

I'm Expired!

R.I.P Big Kev

Cleaning products salesman, loud shirt connoisseur, daytime TV uber-god and all-round big guy, Kevin "Big Kev" McQuay died this week aged 55.

Big Kev -- The Excited One

Big Kev, famous for his catchline, I'm excited!, died on Monday following a heart attack.

Fellow ironic icon and home shopping maven, Tim Shaw, said that Kev was a "lovely guy, ebullient, just a fantastic personality..."

"He loved his family and loved making a sale," says Tim. And Kev really was excited - "He loved what he did. He loved bringing great Australian ideas into Australian homes."

Tim Shaw -- The "But wait! There's more!" One

Tim continues: "The great joy of home shopping is that it brings out all these personalities...you see some great Australian innovation on all of our home shopping television screens...Big Kev pioneered that." (Tim Shaw interview from ABC Online)

Hand to the Rudder

I’ve always been a keen reader, but now that my thoughts are turning more and more to writing, reading has taken on the whiff of work. This is not necessarily a bad thing; it’s just a change I’ve noticed. My reading is now akin to strolling on the beach: eyes down, scanning the sand for treasures left by the tide, moving on from the mundane, gathering any tit bits with a bit of shine and bower-birding them away for later.

To find a phrase beautifully crafted leaves my feelings very much mixed. The wash of sensual and intellectual pleasure soon recedes, leaving only the damp sand of despondency. It’s intimidating. Once you’ve read the perfect description of something, will anything you come up with on your own ever do? Individual phrases needle me like this; so good, so perfect that my own mind is paralysed to other possible descriptions.

So many sublime works of art have been accomplished that sometimes I wonder if there’s any point in creating anything in this modern age. Why paint when there are Caravaggios in the world? What could any of us have to say that Twain, Kafka, Montaigne haven’t phrased to perfection already?

Well, who can possibly know until they’ve said it?

I can think of two good reasons for creating artwork. One is to better ourselves, as a tool of reflection -- who couldn’t benefit from that? The other reason is to better the world we live in. Culture is dynamic, and by taking an active part in it we can, in a small way, put our hand to the rope that’s pulling us all along as a people, rather than simply be towed along in whatever direction it happens to be going. None of us can say where our efforts will lead, perhaps not even in our lifetime, or even several lifetimes. And I’m not talking about Van Gogh-style posthumous glory here –- I simply mean giving the social rudder a gentle push in one direction or another. Contributing to the momentum of our culture –- the pleasure, the laughter, the criticism, the analysis and the introspection –- is probably reason enough.

Beautiful Books

A-a-a-ahhhhh! So lovely! The equally lovely Cheryl was the one to enhance my life with these images.

The beauty in Thomas Allen's images comes from two angles: firstly, he carefully cuts images from books and stands them up, making little dramas come to life atop piles of old volumes. The books themselves are characters in the unfolding stories. Secondly, he photographs them with an artist's eye, using light like paint and short depth of field to heighten the pulpy melodramatic scenes he seems to lean towards. They're witty, delicate -- in contrast to the often macho scenes depicted -- and well-crafted. It's one of the most exciting bodies of work I've seen in a long while.

Upshot, 2002

Old books are the ordinary objects I use in my photographs. These beautiful volumes with scarred and wrinkled covers, discolored pages, and fragile spines are not precious commodities that should be stored on a shelf, but actors waiting for direction. Cutting pages with a knife forms characters. They are brought to life by pulling the severed parts outward—wire, tape, and other tricks help to hold their place in front of the camera. “Good” light emphasizes drama and a shallow lens focus simulates depth—mimicking the third dimension. Scenes are captured on film and the resulting photographs are picture books that tell stories without words. In “Recover,” castaways drift atop the very thing that documents their ordeal, and a boxer’s own shadow becomes his opponent in “Spar.” The book is no longer something to be looked through. It must be looked at. This is my new obsession.

Recover, 2003

Virginia Quarterly Review
Foley Gallery
Thomas Barry Fine Arts

Canuckistan 2006 -- The Return of the Pith Helmet

Well, maybe. Yesterday I applied for a scholarship to attend the XVI International AIDS Conference in Toronto, August 2006. How excitement! I mean, yes, it will mean working my proverbial off at the event if I actually am approved for this funding, but it also likely means a return visit to BC and meeting up with several Toronto-based online friends I've only known in two dimensions until now. A combination of keen powers of divination and casual inspection of my bank statements tells me that I'm not likely to see the Land of the Donut again in the near future without it.

As I understand it, I've got Buckley's* of getting this sponsorship, but my ticket's in the hat, so I've done all I can do for now. Until March, anyway, at which point the applications for Media Scholarships -- which is more appropriate for what I do, really -- are being taken. I'm thinking of it as having bought a lottery ticket.

I have my dibs in for a spot at theJune 2006 14th INTERNATIONAL SYMPOSIUM on HIV & EMERGING INFECTIOUS DISEASES in Toulon, France, too. Now if that doesn't sound like a crackin' fun holiday I don't know what does. Just imagine the souvenirs!

* Because I know some non-Australian will ask:
Buckley's. noun Colloquial
1 Also, Buckley's chance, Buckley's hope. a very slim chance; forlorn hope:
2 Buckley's and none, (humorous) two chances amounting to next to no chance.
[? from William BUCKLEY, influenced by the pun on the name of the former Melbourne department store, Buckley and Nunn]

I just lo-o-ove the web. Today I made a few changes to my blog template. I didn't touch the code for the links in the sidebar. I republished the blog and -- voila! -- suddenly the links don't actually link anymore. Wonderful! The coding is exactly the same as when they did link; I checked, and they look just fine in the template, so what the hell is going on is beyond me. Aargh!

(Stupid blog.)

National Day of Community Protest

Protect Your Rights At Work.

The Australia-wide hookup. Union heavies' picnic. Girl reporter braved the madding crowd.

I only stayed a little while, and was dissappointed that the whiney rhetoric was still keeping the crowd from making its rowdy march across the bridge an hour and a half into the day's events. I would like to have taken part in that, but print deadlines wait for no comrade... so back to the coalface I went.

Every B-list celeb had something to say...

...and the odd A-lister made an appearance, too.

The Biscuits Union? Is there a Crumpet Union, too?

Update: Comrade Bron, who stayed longer, reports that the march went up Peel St and into West End, not over the bridge and into the city as I'd assumed....why a stroll through the cappucino strip is going to overthrow the government I'm not sure.

ABC News report of the day's events.

Beyond Wool and Needle - Prelude to a Philosophy of the Future

Knitting is very slow.

Knitting is not quick.

If you're an instant gratification type, knitting is not the pick.


Funnily enough, I am an instant gratification type in many ways. I find knitting a valuable exercise in slowing down, being patient, grooving on the journey rather than grinding my teeth in strained anticipation of the desitination. It's not easy. But I'm getting there.


Needle through, yarn over, pull it back through... and off........

Needle through, yarn over, pull it back through... and off........

Needle through, yarn over, pull it back through... and off........

Needle through, yarn over, pull it back through... and off........

Needle through, yarn over, pull it back through... and off........

Needle through, yarn over, pull it back through, needle back in, yarn over, pull it th-h-h-hro-o-o-o-ough..... and off.....

Turn the stitch counter one...

Start again.........

Needle through...........


...and so my mind chants. Fixing my attention on such a mundane and manual task gives my mind licence to wander, yet keeps it tethered to the weaving in and out. The sublime union of freedom and restraint, liberty and bondage, makes for some fruitful reflections.

The end of the year is in sight, and so with it comes my annual spring tide of twinkly-eyed optimism. It's impossible for even the heaviest heart not to lift as the errors of the dying year are archived and the shiny promises of the new one contemplated. It's a time for potential.
I am very excited about the coming year. It's taken a long time to ramp the energy up since coming back to Brisbane; to know where to go or what to do. Or how. The first glimpses of the rest of my story have been hard to catch. But aren't the things worth having like that?

Not unlike the knitting. Stitch by stitch by stitch by stitch. It's a long, concentrated slog, but once it's finished...

Have a great Potential Season. May your coming year be just difficult enough.

New Work Laws Offer A Brave Olde Worlde

The Government is proud to unveil its new industrial relations program - SerfChoices. You may have seen the ads for it already: smiling peasants plough the fields while soothing mandolin music plays. You wouldn't believe how hard it was to find peasants with full sets of teeth for those ads, this being the Middle Ages and all. Or ones that remembered how to smile. But I digress.

SerfChoices features exciting changes to the way your lord handles your employment. In the past, there were many ways you and your lord negotiated. Some lords liked to beat their serfs with maces; some cudgels; some preferred the rack. The Government is pleased to announce there will now be one standard method for beating peasants with large sticks, making it a simpler and fairer system.

SerfChoices also changes the way you, the peasant, negotiate your weekly payment of turnips.

In the past, you negotiated your turnip ration in the presence of your lord and the Government's official torturer, Dagmar the Terrible. The Government is pleased to announce it has eliminated third parties such as Dagmar. Now your lord will beat and torture you directly as you beg for scraps. Once negotiated, your contract will be cast in iron. You can't get much more cast-iron than manacles.

SerfChoices guarantees that many of your employment conditions remain unchanged. As a peasant, you're not entitled to holidays, so there's no change there. Your medical benefits remain intact - when you pass out in the fields from exhaustion, you will be left until you recover or the wolves take you.

The Government has made it illegal for your lord not to beat you because of race, colour, sex or age. Everyone will be given the same number of beatings, making it a better system for all.

The maximum number of working hours a day will be fixed at 23. One hour is permitted for sleeping, smoking noxious weed from the West Indies, and turnip consumption. Casual peasants will earn a quarter of a turnip and a piece of weevil-infested bread for each hour they work over 23.

Your protection from unfair dismissal will depend on your individual bargaining power - that is, whether or not you can talk your lord out of shooting you with his crossbow. Yet another way the Government is rewarding individual talent.

Thanks to SerfChoices, Sunday will no longer be a day of worship, but of work. Your lord is your living god - you may worship him whenever you please. Collective bargaining - otherwise known as peasant rebellions - will be treated in the usual manner, with the king's horses using the dissenters for speed bumps until they drop their demands.

Over time you may notice that your daily turnip ration goes down. That's because peasants in Upper Saxony and Timbuktu are willing to work for less. SerfChoices will allow us to build foundations for a stronger, more prosperous kingdom. If we don't act now, soon there'll be no turnips for your children and your children's children. And no one wants that.

-- Charles Purcell, Sydney Morning Herald.

They Hate Us For Our Friesians

A New South Wales mid north coast dairy farmer is trying to come to terms with a lightning strike on his herd this week.

There has been a regular pattern of wild electrical storms across the region in the past few days.

In one of the most startling events lightning strikes killed 68 dairy cows on a farm about 10 kilometres west of Dorrigo, inland from Coffs Harbour.

The cows were clustered together in a paddock about to be milked when they were struck by lightning during a violent electrical storm on Monday afternoon.

The storm hit the area at Fernbrook on the Waterfall Way.

Another 69 cows survived the lightning bolt.

Work begins today to bury the dead animals.

The Dairy Farmers Board says it is almost impossible to protect livestock from being killed by electrical storms.

The board's Terry Toohey says he was shocked to hear about the 68 cows.

Mr Toohey says there is nothing that can be done.

"Probably the only way would be to fence them away from trees and that's an impractical thing to do - it's just one of those nature things that we've got no real control over," he said.

ABC News Online.

When it was suggested that this tragedy was an invention by the government to avoid scrutiny of the industrial relations and counter-terrorism laws the Prime Minister was firm in his denials.

"It is purely coincidental," he said.

"Now if I had made the calculation that I'll put this off for a few days so people won't accuse me of that, and something were to happen, people would have every right to condemn me unconditionally."

Attorney-General Philip Ruddock also says the timing is a coincidence.

"I don't manufacture advice that we have received, we act on advice that we receive," Mr Ruddock said.

Dicky Beach

Zézette and baby sister Sally, Dicky Beach. It wasn't easy to stay upright in the wind wearing that elaborate headpiece, hence the sibling support.

Long and Winding Road

Do you ever find yourself slapped in the metaphorical face by the wet fish of How the hell did I end up here, doing this?

It's been gnawing at me today. I've spent the last week or more hunched over my computer at work doing the dull, fiddly, shitty layout for the financial section of my organisation's annual report, using the utmost force of will to actually remain at my desk and not run off, yowling, into the street and away. How did this happen? "Graphic Designer" is supposed to be a glamorous job title, dammit! What would the twelve-year-old me think if she could see me in a cheap, ugly office, surrounded by a litter of paper and coffee cups, swearing at the screen and grinding my teeth? Actually, the desktop detritus wouldn't have been a surprise to her at all, truth be told, but earning a living doing something that brings me periodically to the brink of either tears or violence? The poor wee kid would have been heartbroken.

It's odd, the winding path we take throughout our lives, don't you think? God knows the one that's lead me here has had many unexpected turns; I could have ended up anywhere. Mine's not been so bad at all, really... not now that I've finishing that fucking layout, anyway.

Stitchin' Safari

New post. It involves breasts.

Happy 80th Birthday, Margaret Thatcher.

Do you weep Mrs. Thatcher do you weep?
Do you weep Mrs. Thatcher, in your sleep?
Do you weep like a willow on your Marks & Spencer's pillow,
With 3 million on the brain, will they ever work again?
Do you weep Mrs Thatcher, do you weep?

- Adrian Mole.

The Iron Lady's birthday should give us pause for reflection -- under a Coalition-controlled Senate Australia could well be on the brink of something similar to that which Britain endured throughout the Eighties. While I doubt that we'll go to war over a small colonial outpost -- though they could turn up oil under the Cocos-Keeling Islands, you never know -- the union-breaking and welfare cuts have already begun. I wonder what odds Centrebet is giving the introduction of Poll Tax in under 18 months?

Does This Meme I'm Needy?

I've never really taken to the meme thing, but this one from Paul's blog rather tickled me. The idea of this one is to google "[your name] needs" and pick the first few results.

Just realised Christmas is just around the corner and you've no idea what to get Zézette again this year? Then you may be interested to know that:

• Zézette needs to know about the group
• ...but we can show compassion to someone like Zézette who needs our immediate help...
• Zézette needs more than the traditional basic Speech, Occupation & Physical therapy.
• Zézette needs a babysitter to transport her kids from Portland to Vancouver
• Zézette needs her own iPod (I didn't make this up, I swear.)
• Zézette needs to move them to the bathtub to drain and refill the pond.
• Zézette needs hundreds of dollars worth of dental work
• Zézette needs a shadow for her own protection
• Zézette needs information

And, apparently...

• Tim needs a theme
• Tim needs your love, just like any young man his age

• Cheryl needs a lot of help
• Cheryl needs a chrome pole and a garter so folks of that kind can place dollar bills in it.

• Mike is in need of a date
• Mike needs your 10 bucks

• Sally Needs to do More Shows
• Sally needs Joe's permission to transform plants using Joe's vectors

• Wendy needs cordyline help
• Wendy needs to KNIT

• Pauline needs lots of advice to deal with her two romantic interests, Nick and Jagger.
• Pauline needs healing miracles and financial help .You can pray for her and help if you can.

... a few creative ideas there to suit any budget this holiday season.

Pain Relief

Today I stand tall today as an Australian. It's been a while. Racism, detention of asylum seekers, sucking up to Bush, homophobia, shameful Indigenous health and welfare statistics, appalling treatment of Cornelia Rau and Vivienne Solon by the Department of Immigration and Multicultural and Indigenous Affairs*, a massive jump in HIV infections, driving down of minimum wages, removal of unions powers.... there hasn't been a great deal to be any less than downright ashamed of, or so it's felt.

So it was with a great lightening of the heart I read two noteworthy items recently:

1) The Nobel Prize for Medicine awarded to two Australian researchers, and
2) The Andrew Olle Media Lecture delivered by John Doyle.

Professor Barry Marshall and Dr Robin Warren discovered twenty-three years ago that stomach ulcers are caused by a bacterium, readily treatable (in most cases) with a simple course of antibiotics. The best part of this story is that Professor Marshall was so determined to prove his case to a sceptical science community that he actually swallowed a solution contaning the bacterium and subsequently developed an ulcer. It's not only artists who suffer for their passion.

It's less than a decade since another Australian researcher has been awarded a Nobel: Dr Peter Doherty, immunologist and jolly nice chap, for his investigation into how the immune system recognises virus-infected cells.

Science is strong in this country... up to a point. The desire and skill in undoubtedly there, yet our government, in its wisdom, creates few new research opportunities, financially cripples universities and makes tertiary education prohibitively expensive. This is done in the name of "economy", yet the pharmaceutical industry alone shows just how profitable good, well-funded research can be. Not that I'm an advocate of science-for-profit, mind you; I still harbour lofty ideals such as investigation for the sheer beauty of it, for the advancement of culture and betterment of life. But, if it's dollars that talk, you could do worse on your investment than plough a substantial chunk into education, grants and funding for innovative and creative institutions for research.

So, to the Andrew Olle Lectures. For the young players, Andrew Olle was a wonderful, personable, bright and much-loved ABC journalist who died suddenly of a brain tumour in 1995.** The lecture was founded in 1996 in memorial.

I always try to catch the lecture; it's invariably given by an articulate and intelligent speaker, and this year continues that tradition. This year, the speaker is John Doyle.

John Doyle is well-known for rambunctious inuendo-riddled sports commentary in his Rampaging Roy Slaven persona, but less so in the mainstream population as a keen-eyed critic of Australian society. I think a bit of the more biting humour of the old Roy and HG days was lost in between the meat trays and Dean Martin breaks. I was tempted to give a running commentary of the lecture, but have decided instead to restrain myself and only leave you with a small sample of his words plus a couple of links and urge you to at least have a quick browse at what you find there.

The fact is, as Lachlan Murdoch pointed out in his address here, the media is a business, and if going low sells, then let’s mine really low. Lachlan’s remarkable thesis seemed to be that elite opinion is to be avoided at all cost. What is preferred is opinion that fuels nationalism. And profits made serve to improve the systems of delivery of information to consumers – colour printing and the like. What is overlooked is that, in the end, delivery and delivery systems are meaningless. Content is all that matters. Rubbish is still rubbish be it on an old 21inch black and white HMV or in high definition through the digital set top box. The Beatles and the Stones sounded great through the crystal set attached to the iron frame of my bed as a ten year old. As for elites: well it’s best to encourage worship at the feet of sporting elites, for those who dabble in elite thought may well come to conclusions that are at odds with the prevailing wisdom within the culture of the organization. And while on the one hand the Murdoch organization bleats on about its abhorrence of political correctness and the need to enshrine freedom of speech and opinion, on the other, when dealing with China, is quite sanguine about removing the BBC channel from its Star service because the opinions expressed might upset the burghers of Beijing.

But to give it its due News Limited is digging its heels in regarding Freedom Of Information laws. And is supportive of two journalists who are under threat of gaol for not revealing their sources over a leaked government document. The time has come for a bill of rights.

(Full transcript , selected excerpts on Paul's blog and audio download)

Right on, John!

I love my country desperately, but the behaviour I've been seeing from its government, media and citizens of late has been shameful. Heartbreaking. A couple of medical researchers and a comedian/radio announcer/writer have reminded me today of some of the truly wonderful qualities in our currently flailing culture: humour, criticism of authority, irreverence, innovation, a spirit of inquiry, persistance, compassion.

It's a welcome relief.

*just rolls off the tongue, doesn't it?
**I was shocked to learn while researching this that it was so long ago.

Centre of My Own Universe

Oh, I'm a popular lass, I am, I am. I'd never realised this before, being a rather solitary type, but I have to tell you my Inbox is busier than Fridays at Flinders Street Station. There's nothing else for it: people love me.

Here are just a few of the admirers I have to thank for my new-found and jubilant recognition of social worth:

• Inconspicuousness J. Headfirst
• Giannini Bellantoni Boutros Bielecki
• Green Rad Maurio Rose
• Pennig Munoz Molokov Wolfgang
• Botner Holly
• Oyarzun Sommer Hung Novikov
• Radulescu Iulian
• Prinz Thompson Dimitrov Glasson
• Vasilica Trammell
• Colston Castro Sanusi Elhawat
• Garrido Kartashov Scribante Powell
• George Aguinaldo Bokuchava Salois
• Counterrevolution Q. Containment
• Gennady Stickle
• Fiddlers D. Alphabetically
• Sanusi Danlas Chuks
• Disgleirio Cohrs

Now, some bitter and envious toads have tried to tell me that these loving friends do not exist, that they are merely aliases devised in a cynical attempt to part me from my hard-earned. Begone, vile fiends! If these people don't exist, how come they email me every day? Hmmm?!

That's the thing about life at the top of the tree; there's always some monkey trying to knock you down.

Desktop Safari

I always find it interesting to see what other people have as their desktops. As with shoes, you can tell a great deal about a person by the image they choose to have as their daily companion at work. For your viewing pleasure, some insight into the psyche of Zézette.

• This is my current home desktop. Nothing says "I Love You" like animal flesh in slices.

• Henri le Peg:
  

Thierry Henri, football god and irradiating friend. He's usually on a large ground and offset so that he kicks the ball along the bottom of my screen. It's not that I'm an especially great fan of Henri, it was just a photo rich in Photoshopping opportunities. My companion at work and home on and off for a couple of years. Post-2002 World Cup.

• This picture amused me so much I gave it pride of place at work for a while. I'm hoping it'll raise a smile from at least one regular reader. It made me laugh out loud when I found the original picture in my email.
  

• Ah, Mr T. Such a talented photographer, but so hopeless in realising it. This graced my work screen for some time, and made me very happy to boot.
  

• And finally, the current work desktop:

What can I say? Old flame recently rekindled.


So why am I bothering you with such inanities when it was my lazy slide into such mindless posts that saw me bored with the whole project in the first place? Well. I'm trying to ease back into regular posting. In fact, into any internet-based activity at all... or one which doesn't involve work or discussion boards. Emails will be sent, posts will be made.

All in good time.

I'm sick of this blog. All blogs. In fact, I'm finding the internet as a whole rather lacklustre.

I'm indifferent to my inbox, bored with babble and phed up with Photoshop; eBay is nothing more than sad, stale and senseless squander. HTML can go to hell. I never thought I'd say that, but there you have it in black and #EEEECC.

I'm signing off for a while. You'll find me in the garden.

Australia's Glory Daze

I've banged on about The Big Issue here before, so if you'd like a refresher on why it's the best print publication I'm aware of in the country, I suggest you make a detour here.

One of the columns I particularly enjoy is that of editor, Martin Hughes. That I'm likely to be inviting Mr Hughes to avail himself to my professional print skills next year is incidental to my praise here, although if he views me more favourably as a result then no harm done, eh?

I've been watching the recent poncing about of John Howard with a very jaundiced eye indeed, and have been sketching out plans for a discussion of the topic, but found that Martin has done just that in the most recent Big Issue and far better than I ever would have. So, without permission but with full credit to the man, this is what he said:

Among the gongs Prime Minister John Howard has received in recent weeks is the Woodrow Wilson Award for Public Service from the US government. Quick to share the honour with the whole of Australia, the PM says it's a mark of our newfound respect around the world -- with the clear implication being that it's all down to his outstanding leadership.

One thing for certain is that the PM, on our behalf, has a grossly overinflated sense of the nations' importance. Think back, for instance, to the government's chest-beating about Australia being a leading partner in the Coalition of the Willing against Iraq. The US, Britain and Spain hosted a 'Moment of Truth' summit in the Azores a few days before the invasion and Australia -- after all its huffing and puffing -- didn't even get a place on the dais.

The US establishment is clearly keen to keep Australia's support and will do whatever it takes (which evidently isn't very much) to mollycoddle our PM and his cohorts. But the media seem to have bought this story about newfound respect; certainly nobody has critically examined the claim.

As someone fortunate enough to have travelled extensively in recent years -- primarily as a travel writer -- I can only presume the PM is referring to those parts of the world where he seeks respect, as in the corridors of power in the US and Britain. For it does not correlate with my experience, travelling as a sensitive 'New Australian'. While we're still partly seen as laid-back and friendly larrikins, we're also frequently perceived these days as arrogant, loud, intolerant, parochial and -- this will hurt -- tight-fisted.

But this is hardly surprising when you consider that international perceptions of us are funnelled through the frighteningly narrow prism of our movie stars, sports people and budget travellers, as well as the Prime Minister and the things his government does.

The image of us as stingy -- which I, personally, have spent a small fortune trying to dispel -- largely comes from our huge numbers of budget travellers struggling to get a band out of our emasculated buck. Our reputation for arrogance stems from the fact that we seem to produce ambassadors more in the mould of Lleyton Hewitt and Russell Crowe that Ian Thorpe and Cate Blanchett. But these perceptions are superficial and ever-changing.

Much more damaging to our international reputation are the Australian stories that make international headlines, which seep into the collective conscience. Some of the biggest news to travel in recent years has been: the Tampa refugees and our treatment of asylum seekers; the electoral success of Pauline Hanson (nobody appreciated that it was largely within one state); an assortment of backpacker murders; two fingers to Kyoto; the welfare of Indigenous Australians; the rape of Tasmania's forests; Sydney 2000; and the Rugby World Cup.

Only the Olympics reflected favourably on us, and in any way represented the Australia I chose to live in. The PM even managed to turn the Rugby World Cup into a public relations embarrassment when he presented the medals to the victorious England team with all the grace of a bulldog that had found a nettle in his bowl.

In Buenos Aires earlier this year, my relief at finally tracking down an English-language newspaper quickly turned to shame when I read the Cornelia Rau story on page three. That's typical of what people -- at least those who read newspapers -- want to talk about regarding Australia when I'm overseas. That this government has strengthened its grip on power despite/because of these headlines goes a long way to defining us as a nation.

Australia's reputation today is very different from what it was a decade ago, when I decided to move here. I know from my time in Ireland that it's difficult for a small, insecure nation to acknowledge its irrelevance. But at least Ireland when we realised we were a global nonentity we decided to distinguish ourselves by being the friendliest damn nonentity on the planet.

The biggest danger in getting ideas above our station is a lack of humility. Australia is a young, friendly, progressive and confident nation (trapped in an old conservative's body politic) and we should be mindful of conveying that image of ourselves, both when we travel and when we vote.

So Prime Minister Howard, as generous as you've been in your willingness to share this award with the rest of us, to spread the credit for our newfound repect in the world, we couldn't possibly accept -- it's all yours.

Blessed Are The Sweet of Tooth

I've always been more than a little sceptical when I read about miracles. And I've always been more than a little excited by bowling shoes.

Many years ago I had a pair of ex-rental bowling shoes. I loved them. They were red, black and white and had the size -- 7-- stitched into the heel. They were unusual, they were comfortable, they were a conversation starter and they were damn cool.

Time rolls on, and the shoes and I parted company. I've missed them. A few months ago while browsing eBay it occurred to me that if I could get another pair of this funky footwear, eBay would surely be the place, so every couple of days an email hits my inbox telling me when another pair has been listed. They're never the right ones, though; too big, too small, too dull, too modern. I'd all but given up.

Fast forward to today. The third day of a headache that flirted on the edges of migraine shuffled me out of work early, but I decided to swing by Reverse Garbage on the way home to pick up a few supplies. I planned to hop off the bus at the stop outside the Malay take away nearby, where I thought I might get a spicy midday bite and torture the staff with my own special interpretation of Indo-Malay conversation, but instead found that a vintage clothing trader had moved into the store since I'd last visited. I stepped in to inspect.

Browsing the racks of infinite coolness, I turned to the chap behind the counter and said, "Do you ever get bowling sh..." as my eyes fell on two perfect pairs. "Hey, I used to have a pair with a seven..." as I turned one shoe over to reveal that number on the heel.



It was bizarre. They were the very image of my much-loved and long-lost pair. A mere $25 dollars lighter, I skipped down to Reverse Garbage where I found, priced at $1, an as-new video of a film I'd -- just a week ago -- decided to track down, and some leather offcuts I'd been hoping to find for attaching handles to bags. They were remarkably fortuitous events. One could even say...miraculous.

Friends, it's time to reveal the initial find of the day: at the office this morning, while browsing a bowl of assorted sweets I happened upon an unusual specimen, one that looked eerily familiar...



After all these long years envying those rare individuals who sit down to dinner and find Jesus gazing up from their fish fingers, finally my time has come. I have been touched, smiled upon benevolently from above. I am the blessed recipient of the Holy Virgin as she has appeared to me in gelatinous form, and miracles have followed where I've carried her in my pocket.

I sent a gushing text to Mr T, whose sage reply was, "I've got two words to say to you, Zézette: e. Bay."

Any suggestions on a starting price?

The post I'd intended to make today will have to wait; I've whiled away half my day doodling on the creative arm of the Safari, so I should probably get along with some 3D living.

A Cure For What Ails You

I've been burdened recently with an inconvenient surplus of money, energy and patience, and a troubling lack of splitting headaches. How fortunate then that it's Ekka time.

In addition to relief from the ailments above I've had my refreshing yearly dose of cowshit on my boots and smell of hay and livestock, quite the panacea for a country girl city-bound for over a decade, and the cattle shed provided the kids with an unforgettable lesson in telling the difference between boys and girls.

One of the treats this year was The Human Cannonball, or as the Curious Snail would have it, The Human Lady Cannonball. Yes, the projectile is a gal, a 21 year old American lass who continues the family tradition of being shot into the air, apparently. I lent my support by having the bejeesus scared out of me when the cannon fired and ramming my steak burger into my face. What better way to show solidarity with the sisterhood than wearing a barbeque sauce "smile" from ear to ear?

Walk Like A Man...

...then walk like a woman. (Or something in between.)




As some visitors will be aware, there had been the animated version of the Biomotion Lab's Gender classification: analysis and synthesis demonstration; that is, a kinetic illustration of the differences in the way men and women walk. To see it now -- and that's something I'd strongly encourage you to do -- you'll have to click on the button above.

Unique, Like Everyone Else.

The surreal and the mundane are a pigeon pair: one begets the other. The suburbs highlight the odd the way that night shows up the stars.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I catch the same bus to work every day: the 120. It’s a regular commuter run in the mornings. Everyone on board – myself included – has their personalities idling in neutral as they ride into their CBD servitude, a twenty-minute salvation between the chaos of getting ready and the graft of work. Many of us take the opportunity to read. I finished my most recent novel last night, so spent my travel time today alternately gazing out the window and observing my fellow passengers, speculating about their lives, stories, tastes, lovers, families, experiences, backgrounds. Sometimes I catch small slices of life that lift the gravity from the corners of my mouth.

This morning as we traversed Greenslopes I saw a man walking down a garden path. He was dressed in a plain, work-a-day office outfit*, one not out of place in an insurance office or one of the duller government departments. What drew my eye was not so much the man (or his apparel), but what filled his hands: in one an enormous fuscia-pink double hibiscus flower, the other a shiny chrome yabby pump. What the relationship between these two items might possibly be, or where they are now I can only guess. I’d imagine that that he’d be surprised to know that they’re also on your monitor, though.

Less immediately striking but certainly more thought provoking was that I boarded the bus with my doppelganger. I didn’t recognise the similarity at first. It became apparent during the course of the journey. About my size, wearing jeans, boots, plain tee shirt. She carried a satchel and read “Introducing Stephen Hawking” through a tangle of hair, pushing her spectacles up the bridge of her nose all the while. I suppose everyone feels they’re unique, quite unlike everyone else and I’m no exception. I’d never thought of myself as a “type” -- more a misfit than anything, so I was intrigued by this mirror across the way. I wish I’d known how to make contact with this sister/stranger. I would like to have gotten to know her. But then, maybe it's for the best; perhaps there’s only room for one of each type in any social “world”.

*or disguise, perhaps -- who am I to judge?.

Red Earth, Pink Lungs

I don't know why this surprised me, but it did.

Daily tobacco use now 'lowest among industrialised nations'

Australia now has the lowest smoking rates of all the industrialised nations that comprise the OECD (Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development), according to a report released today by the Australian Institute of Health and Welfare.

The report, Statistics on Drug Use in Australia 2004, shows that the proportion of the population aged 14 and over who smoked daily fell from 19.5% to 17.4% between 2001 and 2004.

At the other end of the tobacco smoking scale among OECD nations were the Netherlands, Hungary, Korea and Japan, all with rates of over 30%. Australian rates were also considerably lower than those for the UK (27%) and New Zealand (25%).

AIHW report author Priscilla Dowling said that being lowest-ranked among OECD countries meant that Australia 'probably had the lowest rates in the world, although one can never be absolutely certain, because many countries outside the OECD do not collect accurate data of this kind'.

From the Australian Institute of Health and Welfare.

Sundown in the Old Hometown

I paid the town of my high school days a visit just recently. It's changed beyond recognition, and doesn't really feel like home anymore. In one of the many ironies I notice in my life, while I lived there I couldn't wait to get out of the place because it was such a dump. Now that it's changed I long for the town it once was.

One thing that hasn't changed, though, is the lovely beach...

...and these are the only locals I recognise anymore...

Almost Like A Glamorous City

I just can't keep the camera tucked away around this river; it just coaxes and whispers until I pay it all the attention it deserves. Saturday night, Goodwill Bridge, watching the ferries pass underneath us.

A Hunk, A Hunk-a Burnin'....

....pancake batter.

Are you lonesome tonight? Well dry your tears, because the wonder that is eBay is offering a domestic disaster in the image of the Tupelo demigod himself. To make a play for this culinary companion, just head over to my most-haunted section of eBay, Totally Bizarre Collectables.

Elvis Sighted (in frying pan)

A cooking accident while making pancakes has revealed the image of Elvis in the burnt bottom of the pan caused by pancake mix. Would suit Elvis collectors and makes a great conversation piece. Frying pan is old and in average condition being a 'Chief' # 244 4 egg frying pan with a imprint of an American Indian head wearing head gear. Be the first on your block to own this unusual item. NO RESERVE !!!!! .

At the time of writing this item was -- inexplicably -- sitting at $5, but with 4 days yet to go we'll undoubtedly be looking a five figures minimum.

Who doesn't love this stuff?

(On the other hand, that this one one is being bid on really does beggar belief...)

*Bidding on the Presley pan closed at $8.50. Someone out there got a bloody bargain.

Best Look Away.

This is going to be a crappy entry, I'll be totally upfront about that... I'd just like to try out some HTML tricks I've learned recently. Can I suggest you spend your precious time somewhere more interesting than here?



Or you could just position your cursor over this sentence and count to three.

This is worth a look, too.

Or you could pick up a few tips for better living:

OK, I think I've got the hang of it now.

Every, Every Time

Donuts for Victory!

I found this poster whilst browsing for an image to accompany a comment on Canada Day over at babble. It didn't suit my needs there, but, as I'm sure you'll agree, was just too good to waste.

And they laughed at the Communists

A whole month in which to celebrate deep-fried dough. Wow. I guess the populus was ready for any kind of diversion from the horrors and deprivations of war, but.... donuts? Maybe there's some kind of heavy metal-extracting qualities in fried cake rings that I've been unaware of until now; the deranged mental state of these two clearly needs immediate attention, so I can only guess that it was the government's intention to promote the satisfaction of donut consumption to those who could best relate to this image and were most in need of the hitherto unknown healing qualities of these sweet delights. I have to confess that I actually don't feel a great deal of kinship to this wild-eyed pair, so the campaign is somewhat lost on me, but given that 1945 was the seventeenth celebration of its kind I feel that I could be the one at fault here.

The girl is the more alarming of the two for mine. The way she's eyeing the morsel of donut on the fellow's lips is frankly distressing... or is that his jugular she's fixed on, helplessly hypnotised by thoughts the warm, fragrant skin there yielding to the tearing of her sharp little teeth? Coupled with the fact that she's a man in his forties dressed like Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz, it's all bringing Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? to mind. And as for him, the twelve-year-old in an Air Force uniform -- what the hell is he doing? Holding his donut fork by the tines? Preparing to puke? Piercing his tongue? Performing dental work? Trying to injure himself in a desperate attempt to get away from the hypno-eyed lunatic who's been stalking him at a 30 degree lean all afternoon? We may never know, but no doubt swingin' "Welcome Home" debauches like this made the hell at the front all worth it.

Coming up:
November -- "Root Vegetable Awareness" Month
December -- "Wallpaper and You" Month
January -- "Typewriter Ribbon -- the Forgotten Salad Vegetable" Month
February -- "Great Onions in History" Month
March -- "Uncle Sam Salutes Bathplugs" Month
April -- "Spiceracks and Livestock" Month

I guess this is just another signifier that the US really is a foreign country; that the contemporary popularity of donuts there had its origins in images like this tells me more clearly than most things that it's a culture that I will simply never be a part of.

Same-sex Marriage Bill Passed in Civilised Country

And people question my fondness for Canada.

Overnight (Australian time) the (mostly) enlightened men and women of the Canadian parliament voted 158 to 133 in favour of recognising marriage between two people of the same gender as equal to traditional marriage. Goodbye world-as-we-know-it, hello hellfire, brimstone and conjugal relations with hamsters and salad vegetables.

I find it both tragic and mystifying that I should be so excited by such a thing. Why should it be exceptional that a government consider a bill like this? Why is it even an issue? That millions of people around the world watch extreme violence as entertainment yet find a loving relationship between two adults -- a relationship that doesn't affect them personally one jot -- abhorrent is absolutely beyond my comprehension. What am I missing here?

And yet I am excited -- this really is an historic moment in not only queer history but a point at which we will all look back in years to come and laugh disbelievingly that it was ever a question... except in Australia, of course. In that future time this country will have been relegated to the pariah status afforded South Africa in the past, and largely ignored; you may not be aware of it, but it's an aim that has been formally drafted into Labor's operational blueprint. As the rest of the civilised world* moves forward into an enlightened age of actual thought, respect for other human beings and perhaps even the environment at a pinch, Australia will be reaping the rich rewards of the Howard era that saw the end of remotely affordable education and healthcare, cessation of a compassionate welfare safety net and the reintroduction of the White Australia Policy... or at least the White or Anything-Else-So-Long-As-You're-Wealthy Policy. We will have stepped out from under the skirts of British rule at long last... and straight into the ownership of the USA.

As I read about the same-sex marriage bill this morning I tried to picture such a debate in our parliament. Bob Brown would be leading the push, of course, but where would everyone else stand? It would be interesting to see the results of a conscience vote. Kevin Rudd a supporter? Alexander Downer -- where would he stand? Amanda Vanstone? (Hmmm, not sure on that one.) My money would be on Peter Costello being the dark horse, as he sometimes is. He and his brother have more in common than people generally allow.

But that day -- sadly, sadly -- will not come to pass in the foreseeable future, so for the time being we'll need to content ourselves to looking wistfully across the Pacific. Congratulations, Canada -- your coffee sucks but your attention to human rights kind of makes up for it, eh?

*Including, but not limited to: Canada, New Zealand and some European countries (but excluding UK)