SOMEONES GOT IT IN FOR ME/WE BUILT THIS CITY

Its now almost 7 months since our boy dropped. He's now lying in his cot, a riot of activity, pausing only to give me a beaming, slightly toothy grin, or to munch on his stuffed pet, Wudarabin the Emu. He kicks his legs like a frog regardless of whether he is in the water or on dry land. Though given the humidity over the last few weeks, there doesn't seem to be a lot of difference between the two.

MUSICAL MOMENTS

I'm now starting to feel remorse that Plax loves Aint No Fun (If the homies can't get none) by Snoop Dogg as his go to calm down music. If this is what he chills to, what the hell is he going to party to? Dubstep? God forbid.

Lovin' that new Frankie Ocean album, though it joins a distinguished line of albums wherein the preceding mixtape may have been better than the album itself.

And a letter:

Dear Dr Dre

First of all, my healtfelt gratitude for The Chronic and 2001 and much other goodness through your championing of Snoop (Doggystyle is an unbelievable, er, record), Eminem and more recently Kendrick Lamar. Not to mention your exploits with NWA.

With the above, your legacy is assured. And you gotta keep following your dream. However, if your dream currently involves whatever you call that thing you laid out on '3 Kings', for the sake of all us, please keep that to yourself. That shit was just undignified. Spruiking headphones and whatnot.

You could release Detox, for all of us to discover that its actually Susan Boyle and Justin Bieber doing a duet (AND singing together...aihh) and it would still have more artistic merit than that trash on 3 Kings.

Kind Regards

P.S Tell your old mate Tupac that your new mate Rick Ross is 'running rap' (as claimed in his Twitter bio ). I expect he will sort that shit out ASAP. Preferably with a Glock.

 

FATHERHOOD ADVICE/HOW DO YOU LIKE YOUR EGGS?

So I'd hoped that I would be able to uncover some gems for you this month. Real wisdomy stuff. Gems so prized that you would subscribe to my PREMIUM ONLINE REAL TIME FEED SO THAT YOU TOO CAN HAVE A BABY THAT GOES TO SLEEP WHEN YOU SING BOB DYLAN SONGS TO THEM. Sadly though, I fear with the glut of information available for how to raise your child, and the dire consequences of not raising them 'like the books says', that half arsed comments from a man with way too much time on his hands would inspire you to scream 'NO NOT AGAIN!', much like I do when I watch the Dees carry out their/my weekly ordeal.

If you have already got your kids safely out the door, then congratulations. You may also be wondering what all the fuss is about. But given that parental advice in your day consisted of:

• When your babies are teething, rub a small quantity of top shelf scotch whisky on their gums. And yours. Repeat until either or both of you are asleep

Mmm...while todays parents are bombarded with terms like 'attachment parenting', ' controlled crying', 'minimalist parenting' it is no great wonder that people are overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by information, we seek to clarify our own thoughts. By writing them down. And then turn it into a blog.....and then into a philosophy. And then gets turned into a book. Which you then promote on the Today show, which for all my claimed lack of prejudice, is just undignified. (And yes, I'm referring to you, Mama Mia).

To give you an idea of how things in the interwebs age work, consider the following entirely unrelated piece of informations.

I know my way around an egg. And a spatula. I can fry, scramble, boil, omelette, poach, bake and even coddle adequately enough to please most egg lovers. I'm no Harold Helmer, but I have a few tricks amd they work for me for the most part. Possibly even got me laid half a dozen times (See what I did there?).

That aside, I don't profess to be an eggspert expert. (This gets better and better). I don't write about how to cook eggs because there are many different theories on how to, say, poach an egg perfectly. Or crack an egg. My mate cracks eggs one-handed while I use a flat surface to minimise shell shrapnel entering the white.

If, however, I did write about eggs, sharing the above gold with you, the comments section of my webpage would look something like this:

1. Eggs fried in pork fat are the best. Bit of tomato sauce on the side works well. R. Grinter, Mornington
2. EGGS ARE ANIMALS. ANIMALS ARE HUMANS. HOW CAN YOU EAT HUMANS? CRUELTY TO ANIMALS YOU WILL ALL BURN IN HELL. A. Non, Hippytown
3. I like a 3 egg white omelette cooked for 52 seconds on each side with no fat no carbohydrate rice bran oil. Garnish with a small amount of cocaine and eat it off shining white Tiffany crockery, carefully mind, so as not to get any on my ridiculously large sunglasses. Chug down a large soy frappuccino double decaff latte with dandelion garnish, then vomit the whole lot up and go off and play tennis with my chums. P.S why does everyone hate me? L. Bingle, Sydney
4. As long as they're served with 8 chicken parmagianas, I couldn't care how the eggs are cooked. P. Scully, Sydney.
5. Add 18 buckets of butter to a small non stick frying pan. Add one cracked egg. Possibly add more butter. When the egg looks like a glistening eyeball, ladle it into a bowl and garnish with a bouquet of organic herbs. And butter. Monsieur Le Giteau, French Embassy.
6. If Jesus was an egg, he'd be considered barn laid. Gay Marriage is Immoral and you will burn in hell. G. Pell, Sydney
7. To cook the best scrambled eggs, start the night before. Drink two glasses of red wine, licking the rim in a suggestive manner. Heat up your bain-marie to 59.7C. Beat the eggs in a clockwise motion (southern hemisphere) or anti-clockwise (northern), all the time gently rubbing your genitals with a silicone oven glove. Proceed until the eggs are beaten/you are ready to begin foreplay. Pour the eggs into the bain-marie, amd grind yourself on the bench top. Go to bed in crisp linen sheets and think naughty thoughts. When you arise, pour a bloody mary and pop on a lacy dressing gown. Tip the eggs into a provocatively shaped dish, balanced on the end of something phallic. Garnish with shaved truffle. N. Lawson, London.

Take a read of any online article to get an idea of whats going on.

In this day and age, of media creating sensations and controversy in order to douse them, strongly held and expressed opinions seem to be the order of the day. Opinions with little or no scientific backing. 'Personalities' are readily turned into 'experts' (not vice-versa) so that the media can fill time slots. Meanwhile, the millions of dollars we invest into medical science (and other sciences) is being wasted as we instead choose to take advice from some twat on Oprah. (HEY ARE YOU REALLY FAT? ITS PROBABLY BECAUSE OF THE TOXINS IN YOUR DIET WHICH YOU CAN ELIMINATE WITH A LEMON DIET AND OUR SPECIALY FORMULATED SYRUP - ONLY $100 FOR 7 DAYS! Its definitely not because you're sitting on the couch watching Oprah).

Meanwhile, some of us simply revert to doing what our mothers and fathers did, because after all 'we didn't turn out too badly'. Hate to tell ya kids, but if we do that on every front we'll all be poor, then dead, and very quickly too, because our topsoil will be ploughed away, and we'll be living in asbestos houses and taking cocaine for headaches (Hang on, this might turn out okay...). I believe in taking advice from experienced people, but just because people have experience, doesn't mean they're right.

Personally I think that if you're genuinely doing the best for your family, and are genuinely doing the best to be informed on medically approved practices, then the 'experts on the side' should go back to reading their star signs.

Which brings me to my next segment.....

I'M NOTORIOUSLY BIG IN JAPAN

Its kind of cool when you step off the plane in Japan and automatically become an above average size, buffet plundering monster who can double handedly and single mouthedly destroy profit margins at all you can eat restaurants.

Then you slowly start thinking about the reasons for the size difference. Japan isn't a developing country. Food supplies are adequate. So it must be just genetics, right? You know, we're big, they're not, its just how we're born.

Well, kind of. Japanese babies are born smaller. In fact, Japan is the only country in the world producing thinner babies each year (nb: if you are Japanese, THIS IS NOT A DESIRABLE THING). Oh, and Japanese babies also have a spina bifida rate almost 3 times that of other developed countries. Why? Well, its kind of difficult to tell exactly, but it is relatively common for women to go on a diet here once discovering they are pregnant. In order to make labour as easy as possible. In some cases, this is supported by advice from doctors here. And the reason that this incorrect advice persists? Possibly because doctors do not want to change their (currently incorrect) advice and lose face. Wow, thats comforting to know. What professional integrity. Check this out for more info. I won't go so far as to claim that this worrying health issue exists because the medical profession is dominated by males here and females remain discriminated against in basically every domain, mainly because I have no evidence to support this opinion. But I suspect it may be a factor.

I'm not saying that science holds all the answers to all the questions: I believe in many things that currently cannot be explained by science. Like how Snoop Dogg is neither dead nor in jail. But I'm willing to accept rational arguments based on logic. Kinda like the Berkeley Earth Science Project, which with the support of many climate change skeptics set out to find the 'real truth' about Climate Change. They examined more data than any other study previously had, eliminated inconsistencies that had been criticised previously, and addressed basically all concerns expressed over previous studies. The author of the study 'concluded that global warming was real and that the prior estimates of the rate of warming were correct. I’m now going a step further: Humans are almost entirely the cause.'

Kinda awkward conclusion to come to when the project donors include an oil company.

JAPANESE PRODUCT OF THE WEEK

Ooh, so many contenders.

But this has to be the winner. Has to be.

 

This twin threat/double trouble/2 for the price of 1 deal penetrates the same category as the curiously named Honda That's (a car), Mitsubishi Scrum (a truck), and Collon cream filled snacks.

JAPANESE INGENUITY

The weather here gets reasonably warm in summer. The common ways to keep your chassis cool here are wet towels around the neck, using a hand held fan (if you got photo-induced epilepsy I recommend you avoid festivals - people be flashing LED lit fans like they're throwing gang signs at a Lil Wayne concert. Soo Woo).

When It comes to housing, most building materials here are light and reasonably poorly insulated. Eaves are small, due to small block sizes, and therefore most people rely on good siting and alignments to minimise exposure of living areas to solar radiation. Air conditioning is a staple of all houses I have been to.

One additional area where people seek to minimise solar radiation to their house is in the use of 'green curtains'. It is very common for fast growing vines (such as morning glory, or goya/bitter melon) to be planted on the western side of the house, generally in a pot, and trained up the side of the house. In the humid conditions of early summer these vines thrive and then provide thick coverage of the afternoon sun. You don't need to be a scientist to appreciate the benefits of plants providing shade to your house, however studies suggest there are benefits beyond those immediately recognized, such as lowering the pollution levels in the vicinity of houses. The best bit about these temporary installations is that they can be easily dissembled in late Autumn to allow the house to soak up that precious solar radiation come winter.

Commonly supported by bamboo, green curtains are well utilised

 

On a larger scale, I have seen installations such as the one featured on the ACROS Building in Fukuoka (pictured below), which aside from all of the above, would bring additional benefits due to the diversity of plants providing precious habitat in highly urban areas. Reportedly, it was built on the last green space within the city, and hence the desire to retain some green characteristics.

 

Check out its footprint on google maps here or just look at the hastily copied version below. Impressive.

And if you want to find out more about this kind of stuff, check out Junglefy's work here. They are a Sydney based company that do work Australia wide. I'm obliged to tell you that its my brother-in-laws company, so please don't call the brigade from cash-for-comment, as they will surely haul me over the coals for this explicit endorsement. However, as my readership seems largely confined to my immediate family, the flow on effects will probably be small. (As befitting my brother-in-law, who is quite the wee man himself).

 

 

PLAY OF THE WEEK/CIRCULAR ARGUMENT/MAN UP

Well its taken about 30 years but its finally over. The Melbourne Football Club has finally overcome my natural inclination to look on the bright side.

My dad told me recently that he could find reasons to look back and enjoy every part of his life to date. What a wonderful outlook to have.

He certainly imparted this to me: one of my first notable statements related to the Wallabies being 3 points down to Ireland in the closing minutes of the 1991 Rugby World Cup quarter finals. I squeaked at the time 'While theres life, theres hope' to my then despairing Dad. Sure enough, the mighty men of gold pulled one out the hat, and in doing so became a 'team of destiny'. A team that would gather irresistible momentum from that victory, smash the All Blacks in the semi fianl and go on to win the coveted World Cup. (Did I mention that we smashed the All Blacks?)

Perhaps witnessing something like this at such an impressionable age gave me wildly unrealistic expectations about what sporting teams could do with their backs against the wall. The MFC has spent my entire life with its back to the wall, except when it had its front to the wall, mainly because Hawthorn and Essendon were royally sodomising it to the tune of 96 points and 60 points in the '88 and '00 grand finals respectively.

Every week until now I have secretly harboured hope that the Dees would get up and win. Insane, illogical hope that could get me arrested if expressed out loud. Truly crazy amounts of optimism. Belieber like devotion that only a few other long suffering supporters could understand. Like the sort of optimism that Hitler and the Emperor of Japan shared in early 1945 about their chances of world domination. I've had to stop participating in footy tipping and fantasy team competitions because I couldn't suppress the urge to nominate my team for season long domination and each and every player to suddenly reach the peak of their powers, simultaneously. I've kept the faith to a ridiculous extent over the last few miserable years: far out, I've even gone to Cranbourne to watch practice matches. Sober. When teased by opposition supporters, I've maintained my composure, and kept a tiny bit of red and blue glee secreted deep inside, suppository style, ready to bust out in the unlikely event of victory.

Every loss has been an anomaly; every win a vital plank in the wall of my sanity and logic. Even truly mind blowing defeats (and the Dees specialise in this area) have been dissected, rationalized, internalized, and consigned to the 'lessons from disappointment bin' (currently overflowing).

Now though, having attained a modicum of perspective by being out of the country for the longest time since 1995 (in which the Dees were one of the pre-season favourites for the premiership and promptly responded by losing the first 6 games of the season), I feel like perhaps things won't be okay. I feel bloody traitorous for saying this, but perhaps Jack Watts won't ever realize his potential. Perhaps Jurrah will go to jail for his machete related mishap, and Sylvia probably will too just for being a shit bloke. Maybe the players really don't care about the club; if you go by their inane comments on Twitter (and I do), perhaps they should follow their true passions of ping pong and video games.

Now that Jimmy Stynes has died, I don't know whether I'll/we'll be okay ever again. Which is exactly what Jimmy would not want me to say. I can't bear the thought of disappointing Big Jim.

So here we are again. I'll keep the faith. Till I die (which, as irony would have it, will probably be caused by keeping the faith. When the Dees lose their next grand final by a point, look for a defibrillator and then find me).

I realise now that I haven't worn the jumper in a while. I'll pop it on tomorrow, I'll watch the clip below, and I'll keep believing. And cry a little bit.

 

After all, life's like a movie, write your own ending, keep believing, keep pretending....

 

 

MFC

LIVIN' THE DREAM II

We talked about living the dream a while ago. Living the dream = happy, right?

Now its pretty clear in the world that rich ≠ happy. For those of you familiar with the principles of mathematical induction, this does not mean that poor = happy. Indeed, in most surveys looking at this sort of thing, happier countries tend to be richer countries. Although, only one country has gone backwards on the happiness scale since testing was first introduced in the 1970's: the USA. It is no coincidence that

On an individual level, studies reveal that having a job (with good relationships), having a good family life, good health, and having a personal degree of freedom are some of the most important factors.

For a few of us, the lucky ones, those four things are a given. As a white, middle class, university educated, english speaking male I'm hardly likely to be discriminated against. (Although I make myself eligible through my hairstyle and dress sense. Damn airport security profiling and their cavity searches). I can vote, I can complain about stuff (like the Melbourne Football Club and thieving defectors like Tom $cully) and write utter tripe like this blog and am not likely to be punished for it. (I test the boundaries on this by occasionally tweeting #bombthreat and seeing what happens. So far, so good. Hang on, who's that at the door? #geronimo)

However, what I'm interested in is what the broad studies can point to as factors in an individuals degree of life satisfaction but cannot pinpoint. i.e the factors in individual lives that make them happy. For example, my 'personal freedom' has origins in a few different places. Skateboarding, cooking and gardening. When I perform these activities, I'm not thinking far ahead, and I try not to multi-task too. I crave living in the moment, so that I can experience things acutely, with 100% of every sense. They say that babies experience everything as a single sensation in their early days - that is to say, when they feel hungry, their senses are morphed into one overriding sensation of hungryness. No wonder that their visible displays of happiness and sadness (laughing and crying) are so intense.

Living in the moment aside, I admit that last night as I fell off my skateboard, and gave my elbows and hips some quick exfoliation on the bitumen, I briefly thought about the trouble I would be in with my mother-in-law.

With so much environmental 'noise' in our lives now, it can be difficult to live in the moment and be free. I mean, I find myself trying to multitask while cleaning my teeth. Which inevitably involves stopping cleaning my teeth. Which isn't multitasking at all, rather doing multiple things extremely poorly at near simultaneous times.

And indeed, often when we are so immersed in these liberating activities, we perversely want to share how happy and free we feel. Through Facebook, Twitter or Instagram. On second thoughts, I'm not sure whether it is sharing, or proving how happy we are.

Here a some notes from a recent study:

Happier countries tend to be richer countries. But more important for happiness than income are social factors like the strength of social support, the absence of corruption and the degree of personal freedom.

Over time as living standards have risen, happiness has increased in some countries, but not in others (like for example, the United States). On average, the world has become a little happier in the last 30 years (by 0.14 times the standard deviation of happiness around the world).

Unemployment causes as much unhappiness as bereavement or separation. At work, job security and good relationships do more for job satisfaction than high pay and convenient hours.

Behaving well makes people happier.

Mental health is the biggest single factor affecting happiness in any country. Yet only a quarter of mentally ill people get treatment for their condition in advanced countries and fewer in poorer countries.

Stable family life and enduring marriages are important for the happiness of parents and children.

In advanced countries, women are happier than men, while the position in poorer countries is mixed.

Happiness is lowest in middle age.

 

To quote a marvellous song, its not what you look like when you're doing what you're doing, its what you're doing when you're doing what you look like you're doing.....Unfortunately though, the only YouTube version of the song I can find is from Remember the Titans, or somesuch rubbish movie, which rather cheapens the experience.

So what is it that you do? How do you define yourself? What are you doing when you look like what you're doing?

 

COWARDLY ACTS OF FATHERHOOD

I'm in a bit of a quandary here. You see, I'm a father of 5 months, so in the scheme of things, I know very little. Therefore there is every likelihood that my earnest dissertations on fatherhood will earn scorn and rage from the wider, wiser world.

If I was to compare this to, say, the world of hip-hop, this is akin to young 'rapper', such as Drake telling 'I feel like I killed everyone in the game last year'. It has been widely suggested that the game he was referring to was not, in fact, the rap game, but instead snakes and ladders.

However, the tiny bits I have learnt I would like to share, but not in a 'take notes and write a comprehensive book in 10 years' ala Dr Phil kind of way. Which is a bit furtive and creepy (which is, after all, my modus operandi. Hang on a minute...) as it would mean that any comments shared by friends and family would be breathlessly reproduced in print.......as they will be here anyway.....

QUOTES FROM MY FATHER/THE DEPARTMENT OF AGRICULTURE

While we were talking about breastfeeding and Emma's corresponding appetite increase, my father chimed in with typically deadpan yet accurate advice, which went something like this:

'In some trials conducted with Jersey milking cows, a diet supplemented with grain resulted in a 30% increase in milk output. The species may be different, but the philosophy remains the same'

Taking this statement to the farthest conclusion, I realized that I can provide some advice for husbands and partners. But before I do, I want to assure you that I have honed all advice using the time-approved sources; my own experience (10%) and YouTube videos (the remainder).

So here goes.

There has never been a better time to consider your beloved one as a cow than when they're breastfeeding. And therefore you as the proud farmer. So chuck on some RM's, grab a sheep for some extra curricular activities (aka company) and grow your eyebrows. Shits gettin serious.

Many women find breastfeeding difficult for a whole host of legitimate reasons. However, it is up to you to ensure that the following can be ruled out:

1. Diet. Obviously. Fulfill the cravings that occur during and after pregnancy. Whatever those cravings may be. If this means your girl needs vast amounts of vacuum packed blueberries grown in cleared Amazon rainforest by captive slave labour (supplied by Halliburton) then now is not the time to start thinking of human rights, carbon miles or any of that left wing pinko United Nations taskforce endorsed garbage. Jump in the SUV and get to Costco quick smart. Oh and shovel down one of those delicious $2 all pork hot dogs while you're at it. I know someone who had to go to the movies simply to buy popcorn for their craven wife's craving. The regular microwave popcorn would not hit the spot. Now that, my friends, is being a provider.
2. Stress. Seriously. In Kobe, they massage their cows to release stress and soften the flesh. I suggest you do the same, or at least provide some free time for your lady when she can chill and possibly get a massage from someone else. This isn't about some weird sinister Stephen King style plan to fatten up your wife and sell her for human bbq (although now I think of it, you could consider this as some kind of unspoken Plan B for when the Global Financial Crisis Round 2 strikes. After all, every man/woman has his price). See the video below for tips on how to do this.

 

Probably give the ole 'forcefeed beer routine' a skip though if you want your child to be able to play nicely at the playground/put the square peg in the square hole anytime before the age of 20.

3. Ambient surroundings. It aint no mistake that the best beef and milk come from cows that are wandering pristine rainforests and land that has been cleared for grazing by such visionaries as tin-pot Brazilian dictators and Ted Bailleu. Grass fed beef, quite simply, is the best of all. Sure, fattening up with grain (that could be eaten by humans namsayin) has its merits (if you have no grass and large amounts of grain unfit for human consumption) but sustainable grass fed beef (no, not an oxymoron) is where its at. And sustainable environments are what we want, not just in the environment, but in the household too.

To provide a good ambient atmosphere for your lactating lady friend, you don't need to build 2 identical nurseries a'la ole mate Jay-Z and Beyonce. Naw. No matter how much money you spend, your brethren will still explosively shart their pants whether said pants are made of gold or pesticide ridden cotton from China.

(Actually, solid gold pants probably would be easier to rinse. But harder to put on. Swings and roundabouts)

Sustainability is what we are after. Go for a lifestyle you can afford, both financially and mentally. Whether you're going disposable or cotton, co-sleep or confine-to-the-basement, hand-wash-organic-fibres or hose-down-plastic, cry-to-sleep or pick-em-up, whisky-on-the-gums or just-a-hint-of-passive-marijuana-smoke, if you can keep your mind and household reasonably clean and uncluttered, everything will be okay. Shit, you might even get laid*.

All of the above might mean learning a few new skills. So man up and do it. Oh and here is one you should already know.

 

THIS WEEK'S QUIZ/GRATUITOUS BABY PHOTO OF THE WEEK

The following answers have been provided in response to common questions about the photos below.

 

1. Incorrect. That is a full size chair. He is just, well, big for his age.
   
2. The correct term is tabi. They were developed primarily to allow the wearing of socks and thongs. Trust Japan to think of these things.
3. True. A pair of tabi is essential for any person serious about toe pinching.
4. False. And somewhat unkind, may I say. That is his 2nd chin. His 3rd chin is obscured by the purple ensemble.
5. Incorrect. The photo of the recently crowned Sumo Champion can be found here.

 

INCONGRUOUS JAPANESE COURTESY OF THE WEEK

I remember getting spam mail from BMW In South Melbourne announcing that they had a coffee machine in the local dealership that you could go and try 'FREE OF CHARGE FOR THIS WEEKEND ONLY!!!'.

This is the local Honda dealership in our small town. Thats a La-z-boy, and yes, that is a cot. A play area, too. The cot looked so good that I was wondering I wanted to do a trade in on that too.

Just simple courtesy that makes all the difference. A lot better than being served a rubbish flat white by some shiny bastard in a suit (FOR ONE WEEKEND ONLY!!!). Like after that I'm going to go there and pay for coffee? In Melbourne? Who are you people?

PRODUCT OF THE WEEK

I'm sure that you can buy fly swats in Australia. Maybe even for the equivalent of ¥105 - approx. $1.20.

But a fly swat, with a cuddly koala motif and a pair of removable tweezers to deal with the flattened insect?

 

Love it.

SPORTING MOMENT OF THE WEEK

Hmmm. So much to choose from. Its like going to the Ziploc section of Costco. I could stay there for days.

The Dees doing Essendon for their first win of the season, the Wallabies beating Wales, LeBron winning a ring.

The above all demonstrate that sport, and achieving goals in general, can bring so much joy.

I feel it would be unfair to single out a moment from any of those achievements for display this week. So instead I'll focus on the other element of sport that brings inestimable joy. Schadenfraude. That is, pleasure at other people's misfortune. For every person cheering their team on to victory, there is another cheering the other team to lose.

This week, it was Tom $cully's turn. A young man, who had the opportunity to lead the mighty Melbourne Demons back from the footballing wilderness to premiership contention, or be paid obscene amounts of money to go and play for an expansion team in some god awful spot in Sydney. I could go into the complexities of why I felt so deceived by him, but this video sums it up very simply.

I just hope he gets what he deserves (a spiral fracture in both legs)

 

And this is sweet.

 

 

 

 

 

*if this works, please let me know immediately.

 

SOBRIETY/TAKING THE PISS

I'm a reformed drinker. Not quite a teetotaller, but not an imbiber either.

I'm sure you would all be highly impressed if I told you this was because I have realized that I am a better person without the alcohol. Unfortunately, this is not the case.

I have cut down because I was diagnosed with epilepsy and alcohol is considered a trigger for seizures.

I'd also like to say about how not drinking alcohol is so wonderful and how it has given me a new lease on life. Sadly, though, this is also not the case. And I'd hate to come across as (even more of) a sanctimonious wanker preaching about why you should start staying home on a Saturday night drinking green smoothies and watching romantic comedies rather than throwing down buckets of the old golden throat charmer and getting dougied up on the dance floor.

I miss having cheeky lagers in the outer with one of my best mates at the footy. The sun shining down, a couple of sherbets in my mitts, the Dees staring another loss in the face - they are fine memories. Similarly, those glorious days of throwing down margaritas, smoke clouds, beats pumping, ladies grinding, mirrorball rotating. And that was before getting out of the car....

Sure, there are some benefits to the dry lifestyle. No hangovers. None of the sunday dreads. More money.

It has also given me license to drink copious amounts of caffeine now. While I feel slightly fraudulent when listening to most of my music collection now, which variously promotes the benefits of alcohol, drugs and womanising, I'm not actually convinced that the protagonists live that way any more than I do. (Apart from Snoop Dogg. Respect).

When I tell people that I can't drink, most people suggest that surely I could have a couple of drinks. Which, on the recommendations of my neurologist, I probably could. But who wants to stop at a couple of drinks? Talk about red rags and bulls. Either give me the keys to the Ferrari or don't let me start the engine. Its that simple.

But lets face it, if I was undiagnosed with epilepsy I'd probably be pumping my last 2 dollars into a pot of Tooheys and a punt on the Orient Express at some RSL dive in Geelong. Lets just be grateful this is not the case.


Being on the wagon, or at least in the vicinity of it, has allowed me some time to think about drugs and their role in society. Perhaps the focus on marijuana as a 'gateway drug' is the most humourous one. This argument goes something along the lines of 'If the kids smoke marijuana, next they'll try even crazier stuff like cocaine/heroin/Occupy Wall Street/rap music.......'

If we're serious about gateway drugs, what about alcohol? You know, the stuff that comes in bottles and helps people overcome their inhibitions/gain confidence/drive/forget stuff/etc. I can't think of a single friend or family member who at the least haven't put themselves at risk by using alcohol. Personally, I've managed some stupendous feats with a few sherbets under the belt. You think sober people decide to eat 54 oysters in a sitting? Urinate out of moving vehicles? Break into Rod Laver Arena? Jump into Darling Harbour? Fall asleep on trains and do the loop from Olympic Station to Central 5 times?

I also think it is somewhat hilarious that presidential candidates over the years have claimed 'Oh I smoked marijuana. But I did not inhale'. Barack Obama broke rank when he said 'I inhaled frequently. That was kinda the point'. Now old mate Barack is cracking down on the medical marijuana industry in the States. The state with the biggest number of potheads conesmokers dopefiends medical marijuana patients is California. Coincidentally also the home of the late Eazy-E, Tupac, and the very much alive Snoop Dogg and Dr Dre. Apparentally medical marijuana can help with numerous health issues, including lack of appetite, 'pain' and lack of appreciation for Seth Rogen films. Grandma, if you're reading this, get ready for some home made cookies and a movie-a-thon.....

Anyway, the regulation of medical marijuana is kind of 'relaxed' in California. As evidenced during my recent visit to LA, pictured below. The Feds aren't too happy about this, and have launched a joint combined operation to weed out get rid of illicit suppliers, and ensure that medical marijuana users are getting high treatment for medicinal purposes.

 

Indeed, the federal Bureau of Alcohol Tobacco and Firearms sent letters to gun dealers warning them they could not sell guns to known medical marijuana users. This same Bureau stated that the Mexican government seized 68,000 guns from 2007 to 2011 that can be traced to the USA. Obviously there is a link here. Perhaps its all those stoned Californians forgetting where they put their guns and these subsequently being shipped south of the border. Call me a crazy liberal tree hugging pinko commie organic decaf latte sipping vegan, but I reckon the issue may not be stoned people with guns. It may not even be alcohol and guns (although admittedly these do not seem like a good combo - Plaxico Burress anybody?).

It just may be guns.

 

The defense cracks a bottle, puts his feet up and smokes a bucket bong rests.

FATHERHOOD

The last time my biceps glistened in this fashion was when my entire torso was slathered in olive oil and I was dancing with other oiled up workmates in a way that could euphemistically be described as 'provocatively'. There were mitigating circumstances, sure, but wailing 'It was for charity**' won't help you as you get dragged into the Human Resources office for about 15 different code violations, will it now.

This time my arm is glistening because my dear son has quietly puked all over my arm. Since I said goodbye to Ron* I always thought that my days of having warm sick pouring down my body were over. However, it appears that it was only the end of the beginning.

*Bacardi and his good mates Cooper, Sol, Corona et al.

**Actual charity, not a stripper by the same name.

Truth in advertising/Anyhow, have a Winfield

With the recent hoo-haa (massive segue - remember those 'cut the hoo-haa' ads that were a real hit in the 90's? No? I rest my case) over cigarette branding in Australia, I have viewed the dart ads in Japan with renewed enthusiasm. Given that by now everyone knows that smoking will kill you, (except perhaps that 2 year old Indonesian boy with a 40 a day habit) the content of the advertising is hilarious. I can't imagine that it would convince anyone to start smoking - after all, its not Paul Hogan saying 'Anyhow, have a Winfield'....

Actually, being unable to understand much of the written language in this country has given me a much better perspective on the imagery used in all the ads.

Example 1. Feel like a sport stick? So does this guy. And he has crazy hair, horns, and lightening bolts coming from several orifices. Take that, cancer.

Example 2. Like menthols? Smoke these ones and you'll turn into a horse. A black one.

 

Example 3. My Japanese reading is not quite perfect, but I believe the small sign to the right of the poster says 'If by any chance you can taste any of the pictured herbs in your chicken, we apologise profusely and will replace it immediately'

Example 4. Smoke these and you may get eye cancer. But who cares? WE'LL GIVE YOU YOU'LL AN ELECTRONIC EYE!

 

Example 5. Advertising boffins 'We need to sell this creamy powder. Lets call it some awesome name in English like Creap'. Nerdy office guy 'We should at least do our due diligence and check if that name has any unsavoury connotations'. Boffins 'Yeah. Or maybe we should just break out the champagne now at how awesome the name is' (cue champagne corks popping).

PLAY OF THE WEEK

In a bid to avoid the piece by piece destruction of the Melbourne Football Club, in a stunning turn of events I have wholeheartedly offered my support to the Hiroshima Carp baseball team. Similar to the Melbourne Football Club's employment of a new coach (insert circus music soundtrack here), there were strict criteria applied to this process:

1. I needed a team to barrack for.
2. They wear red, and occasionally, blue.
3. The team has won 1 championship in their entirely unglorious 62 year history. In their current state, they look like never winning one again. Particularly now that I support them.

During a recent family visit to Hiroshima, I was won over by the city itself, and I decided that they were the team for me. I had seen a lot of enthusiastic baseball fans on their way to the stadium that day, and by the time my souvenir-keen Dad called me to ask if I wanted a Carps cap late that afternoon, I was committed.

 

Later on, as I proudly sported my new cap, the demeanour of other fans indicated that the Carps had suffered a heartbreaking loss. A forensic analysis revealed that:

1. Dad had gone to the stadium in the last innings to buy the hat, and thus register my support for the Carp
2. The mighty Carp had been winning 4-0 until the last innings, precisely the time that I was officially on-board as a supporter.
3. At that point they promptly conceded 5 runs and lost 5-4.
   

 

The gift/curse of my support was confirmed.

To make things interesting, I have contacted Centrebet about the odds of a double success sometime within the next 10 years. Read below.

In other news, I never realized that Corbin Harris was such a beast of a skater. I had seen him on Fuel TV and quickly judged that he was a bit of a pretty boy. However, after seeing his new part in the Element video, I have changed my mind. He's no Dave Mayhew (one of my favourite skaters, who incidentally also designed some of the most awesome skate shoes ever) but he goes hard. More than happy to have him at the Melbourne Football Club.

 

 

 

 

Have It Your Way/Segue

Originally I started this blog with the honourable intentions of providing a little entertainment for my own purposes and also to maintain a little sanity while immersed in Japanese culture.

However, as longtime followers* of this column will notice, I feel it is becoming more and more necessary to rant at least once per post. I fear this may be the way all so called writers evolve. First it begins with humorous observations to entertain. Then as our confidence grows, we feel the need to educate. Then, a couple of single malts down the road comes the need to pontificate. From there it is a bloody slippery slope to dictating to the masses, where abiding by the law and displaying general human decency is optional. Hello Murdoch/Kyle Sanderlands.

Talking of tinpot dictatorships, our neighbours down the road, aka North Korea, decided to rattle a sabre (literally - the only other option was a donations tin for spare change), so instead of the world media taking a balanced view of things and paying them no attention, they freaked out and gave that idiotic regime all the attention they wanted. The looks on those smug North Korean official's faces as they answered questions about the 'missile' launch were so infuriating. Talk about fiddling with sticks as Rome burned (and starved).

Interestingly, the world's media outlets then posted follow up articles refering to the 'much hyped missile launch'. Which they had no hand in, obviously. Aside from the 'much hyped' bit, obviously.

As for the missile itself, upon closer viewing on the TV pre-launch, I decided that it posed no threat at all when I saw one bloke fixing roofing nails to the fin. Roofing nails. I mean I'm no rocket scientist, but I'm thinking that roofing nails don't quite cut the mustard in terms of structual integrity.

Oh, and talking of abiding by the law, or not, it was with absolute outrage that I saw a bit of press on the Catholic church's involvement and cover up of sexual abuse. For the last few decades, the priests involved thought they could 'deal with this sort of thing in house'. ie without the involvement of the police. And we're not talking isolated cases here. We are talking systemic abuses and subsequent cover ups, condoned by senior figures in the hurch. Disgusting. The only other example I can think of who prefer to deal with law transgressions in this covert way are criminal organisations such as the Mafia, who also deal with transgressions of their own code and the law 'in house'. Even the most shambolic excuses for sporting clubs in Australia, rugby league clubs, defer to the police when one of their players inevitably has a few too many sherbets and assaults someone.


Australia has enshrined in law such wonderful things as freedom of discrimination on the basis of colour, creed or religion. Which means that you are perfectly entitled to run a crackpot organization that has archaic views on gays, marriage, contraception and is governed by old men that have never had sex. (Please note that according to the wonderfully tolerant catechisms of the Catholic Church, the only way a gay person can work for a Catholic school, is if they profess to be a Catholic, and that although homosexual they do not have gay sex. Figure that out). However, if you want to operate within our society, with all the protections and benefits that confers, including freedom to teach religion, you must be prepared to abide by the same laws which are in place to protect everyone. Especially the most vulnerable in our society - the dispossessed, the abandoned, the children.


I'm not saying that the Church is evil. Many great things have been done by followers of the Catholic faith. But many great things things have been done by people of all faiths, or no 'faith' at all. Personally, I think there is a marked distinction between people who are Catholics and people who espouse the teachings of Jesus.

People who profess One Love. Not tolerance. But love.


And if you truly love people, you know that doesn't mean you get to make up your own rules.


Other than amateur looking missiles going awry, and outrage at the bullshit behaviour of the Catholic Church, it has been a splendid few weeks here in Amakusa. Beautiful days spent kicking the Sherrin under the cherry blossoms, shredding a few hills on my longboard, having friends to stay, it has been a whirlwind of gentle, relaxed activity.

As I sit here with my son sleeping on my chest, I give praise to all those who have made sacrifices so that I can live such a blessed life.

Happy ANZAC Day.

*Thanks Dad.

Fatherhood

Talk about ups and downs. Sometimes I think I'm going through menopause. Some days all I feel like doing is staying in my pyjamas, making bread and reading utter trash online. And my facial hair - astonishing!

Life is funny.

Sometimes you will be laughing with your child, with both of you unable to explain just what is so funny.

Other times, my son cries so hard it makes me cry. Then again, I once cried during Street Fighter: The Movie, when Jean-Claude Van Damme makes a speech about democracy. So I guess you should make your own judgement as to my tear threshold.

But today, I'd like to treat you to the 10% rule of fatherhood. Even in our luxurious, time rich existence in Japan, I have experienced the following:

• You will forget approximately 10% of what people say to you. Generally the important bits. I have (apparently) had entire conversations with people that I do not recall in any way whatsoever. Worse than Bacardi blackout.
• You will take 10% longer to do things, because inevitably there is vomit on your shirt, what appears to be peanut butter on your arm and you haven't gone to the toilet in 2 days and you don't know what to address first. Mainly because the peanut butter may not be peanut butter.....
• This is compensated for by the development of extreme skill in doing several things at once. Women refer to this as 'multitasking' or even just 'living'. For the guys out there, imagine you're watching the footy, having a beer and talking to a mate on the mobile. Conceptually, that is what it is about. Realistically, its about slurping a cup of tea, getting dressed, mentally calculating whether you have time to do a load of washing and all the while holding what feels like an extremely delicately packed 8 kg bag of ripe avocadoes that is equipped with one of those bomb timers like off Speed (starring Sandra Bullock. Mmmm); you stop moving, it explodes.
• You will be 10% more tolerant and understanding of everyone, except people who cut in front of you at the supermarket. That sort of shit will rile you up and keep you awake at night.

Mothers and fathers of the world, I salute you.

Music of the Week

Thankfully, my son has embraced classical music. It would have been so embarrassing if he started listening to whatever it is the youth of the today rot their brains with.

No such worries in this cerebral household. His favourite pieces include:

• Life after Death (Notorious B.I.G)
• Doggystyle (Snoop Dogg)
• Liquid Swords (GZA)

I just hope he appreciates Eric B. and Rakim too.

Sporting Moment of the Week

Given the Dees continue to disappoint (for the extent of my lifetime so far, unless you include the glorious 1987 'night grand final' in which we smashed Essendon. And I do), there are no football related plays to talk about, I'm afraid.

Instead, you have the following to to choose from. Either some carefully edited footage of me skateboarding, set to some classic hip-hop, in which you will be able to observe that I have ruined my jeans, my skateboard gloves, and some kneepads.

 

Or a short 19 second video of my son showing aptitude and comic timing all at once. Please put the volume on for full effect, so that you can hear the commentary.

This weeks's Quiz (with apologies to John Clarke)

Please view the photos below. Then skip straight to the section below for the answers to the 11 most commonly asked questions.

1. The correct answer is b) The small child is on the left of the photo. On the right of the photo there is a large fish.
2. Incorrect. It was Kim Jong Un who had plastic surgery to enhance his double chin, not the child in the picture.
   
3. Yes. His name is Plaxico.
4. False. The name Plaxico was popularized by the NY Jets football player of the same name, who gained infamy by accidentally shooting himself in the leg with his own concealed handgun at a nightclub, and subsequently went to jail. Humorously, the gun was concealed in the waistband of his tracksuit pants at the time of the shooting. Plexiglass is a product used by car manufacturers for windscreens.
5. Correct. I did not catch the fish. I only catch fish smaller than my child. Jerremy Akiyama caught the fish.
6. True. Jerremy is a show-off.
7. False. Plaxico is not yet eating solids and most certainly did not eat a fish approximately that size prior to the photo shoot.
8. True. Man has walked on the moon, and sequenced the genome, but we are no closer to knowing how many chins to the nearest 10 that my son has.
9. False. His cheeks have not been digitally enhanced.
10. Correct. Picture 1 is the closest to a Mexican stand off the Japanese public have ever seen.
11. None of the above. We are not sure if he looks happy in the second photo because he has been told he can eat the fish as part of his 100 day celebrations, or whether he was looking forward to wrestling the fish as part of his 100 day celebrations.

 

EQUALITY/YEAH, WE LIVE IN A DEMONGRITULE

After exhausting my emotional depth and writing talent last week (see previous post), its back to inane comments and random YouTube clips this week.

Before I do, though, I've got to say that I feel truly blessed by the many kind people that responded with support and love. I guess not many people have been left untouched by the loss of a loved one. Social media forums loke Facebook and Twitter have their many knockers, with many people dismissing them as a series of inane rants by affluent people whinging about they didn't get the coffee they wanted, or that traffic is bad, or whatever. The majority of the information on these forums may be relatively inane, but then again so is the majority of my daily conversation. They remain amazing forums for spreading awareness and concern for people.

Now that thats out of the way.....

For me, the change in weather has seemingly coincided beautifully with the sad memories of last week starting to settle.

Memories of lost ones will never completely heal, but they do become less painful. I find that the best therapy for sad times, involves lying down in the sun, on some soft grass, with a faithful dog beside you.....

The weekend papers, homemade sourdough toast and a pot of tea.....

Sunlight streaming through the window.....

Somewhere far in the distance, hearing a lawnmower whirr into life.....

Seeing that the trees are well manicured, with a restrained parade of colour, but the blossoms are not in full bloom...

You're not sure whether to read, cuddle your sleeping baby, do a load of washing or just sit there and take it all in.

Thats right, spring has sprung. It is magic. Perfectly symbolised by my coriander seedlings, emerging from the ground as I type this. I planted some coriander seeds into some pots on the widowsill with a sense of hope a few weeks ago, when the cold weather didn't look like ending. I fear that in a couple of months it'll have bolted to seed, and the whole exercise will have provided enough leaf for half a taco, but the progress has been uplifting nonetheless.

The sakura (cherry blossom) is in bloom here, and the sight is unlike anything I've seen before. I didn't think I would be seduced by such obvious beauty; I thought my appreciation of nature leaned towards the nuances of the Australian bush, of the textured colours that can take a lifetime to describe.

But no, it appears I'm a sucker for the sakura. Perhaps it is their fleeting, ephemeral quality that makes them so attractive.

 

With spring comes boundless optimism. I'm the sort of guy who walks into the casino, 'feels lucky', and promptly loses $100 on roulette. Just last year, while giving the dancefloor a bit of dougie, I attracted a plethora of young ladies who appeared keen to match their moves with me. Whilst nursing a horrible hangover the next day, I reflected that perhaps these young women had not, in fact, chosen the stallion of the floor to get loose with. Perhaps, they were gracing the oldest, most non-threatening, saddest looking loser with some badly needed affection. The duration of this reflection could not be measured in metrics; it was so fleeting that before I knew it, I was giving myself a bit more dougie in the mirror, with a knowing smile, a wink, and a bottle of gatorade in my sweaty mitts.

On this subject, I always thought that I would marry the woman of my dreams. But I never realised I would get to marry her twice, which brings us to.....

THE MOTHER OF ALL WEDDINGS

Yo yo, I heard Kim Kardashian married some guy for 84 days or summink. And J.Lo had sushi being served on naked models at her wedding.

But nothing beats marrying the woman you love for the second time.

The first time I got married, I must admit I was a little nervous. It was great and all, and I dearly loved the woman, but without getting too intimate - what if she never puts out? What if she wanted to stay chaste for the rest of her life?

These questions dogged me for days, particularly as our wedding day was such a happy day, yet lacked a happy ending....

I'm happy to report that my second marriage was a far more relaxing occasion. This time, the lady in question had runs on the board and experience under the belt (see my son for evidence). And whats more, I love her even more than the woman I married the first time.

She makes me laugh, makes me think, makes me coffee (rarely), encourages me to follow my dreams, is my dream, and is as tough as she is beautiful (heaps).

She makes me a better person and I am so grateful for her.

While Wedding #2 provided a useful opportunity to get kitted up in exotic clothing and express our love for each other, this was not the sole point of the day. It was also to provide a feature for a local festival to be held in Amakusa that day. Indeed, the dearth of local couples getting married that day left an opportunity for Emma and I to renew our vows in a formal Japanese manner, take a ride in a rickshaw, be interviewed by a local TV crew, and generally be treated like royalty. They had me at 'rickshaw'.

We started off at the local shrine. I had clean underpants on and Emma had frozen Ziploc bags of breast milk. We were down for whatever.

Two ladies asked us to undress, as my mother-in-law watched on. (Regular followers of this column should note is not normally how my day goes - normally it is the other way round).

The ladies then kitted us out in a kimono and wig for Emma, and a hakama for me, with my hair being declared suitably samurai like/awesome to be left alone.

 

After being dressed, we met the shinto priest for a quick run through of how things would roll. I recall it as something like this 'stand up, bow twice, sit down, drink a cup of sake in 3 sips, turn to your left, wave a branch, drink more sake in 3 sips, put your thumbprint on this piece of paper, bow twice. And don't mess any of it up, theres a television crew filming'. In hindsight this seems like some sort of drinking game performed for Funniest Home Videos, but it was serious as a heart attack at the time. The fact the priest had a photo of the emperor in his temple possibly indicated that his views on interracial marriage were, ahem, 'mixed', but he was admirably professional, particularly when you consider the robes he was wearing:

With many onlooking, we managed to get the bulk of it right, and before long we had safely negotiated an interview with a TV comedian, and were safely surrounded by family and friends, including our son Plax, who slept through yet an another important moment in our lives. Bless him. The comedian's repertoire seemed to consist of mocking the English language and anyone who spoke it. In addition to this, he congratulated Emma's Dad on his ability to speak Japanese, which, given he was born in Japan and lived here for the majority of his life, is perhaps not as admirable as it seems.

 

Soon we were being led along the local streets in the rickshaw, with a pack of gorgeous kids dressed in traditional garb leading the way. So many onlookers lined the streets, I felt like royalty. Sadly though, I believe my excited demeanor betrayed my peasant status, as I gleefully waved to all and sundry, instead of solemnly avoiding eye contact and deigning to display the royal wave only.

 

We eventually made it to the main street where the festival was being held. Shrieks of excitement by local kids and the scent of bbqd meat filled the air. I was persuaded to stay on board the rickshaw, despite the lure of grilled chicken, until we got to the stage.

Then it was time for a little more ceremony, before we were set up onstage, flanked by our trusty entourage and fronted by the colourful kiddies.

The ceremony concluded with us throwing out 1000 mochi pieces to the adoring crowd. Over 200 people clamoured for the mochi as we threw it. Grannies elbowed young kids out the way for a piece. It was truly a heartening sight.

After one last hat change for Emma, Wedding #2 was over.

We savoured the experience with a cup of macha green tea crafted during an elaborate, graceful process by someone who could only be described as an artist.

It was an absolutely wonderful experience and I'm so grateful and blessed to have had the opportunity.

 

See the flick below for the telly special they did on the wedding. Apologies for the dodgy footage - it was a last minute Mexican style prop-up-the-ipad recording of Emma's Grandma's TV, which explains the brown fluffy blanket lurking in the left hand corner.

 

However, please note that this certainly won't be our last wedding. We plan to get married as many times as there are Die Hard movies. That means there are 2 to go at this point, and with filming to begin on A Good Day to Die Hard in April, there could well be at least one more....

JAPANESE ENGINEERING/SHE'LL BE RIGHT, MATE

Alternative titles include: 'Japanese Engineering: Not as good as we all thought'. Or even 'What the Fukukshima Nuclear Plant Designers are doing now'

Found this little nugget of genius on the road up to the in-laws. It involves tie-wire, plastic twine and besser blocks. No word on potential compensation offered when the wind decides to drag the entire sign, blocks and all, into oncoming traffic.

 

I believe that most Australians would be familiar with the concept of 'bush engineering'. It probably first came to prominence as a concept when Ned Kelly stole a plough disc and made a metal helmet and breast plate out of it. Or when New Zealand faced a food shortage, were getting cold at night and lacked women of marriable age and started raising sheep to solve all 3 problems. I thought it was a uniquely Australian concept, involving using only the available resources to solve a problem, which in the bush can mean doing a lot with very very little. On second thoughts though, traditional land owners of the world have been doing this for millenia.

So there is something about the photo below that I love. It is a small set up that achieves 3 things:

• Shelter for farm equipment from rain
• Captures rain for later use on the farm
• Allows for distribution of the captured water via the offtake from the bath.

Every part of the arrangement below has been scavenged. And in a resource poor world, which is the way we're headed, innovation like this becomes essential.

JAPANESE INVENTION OF THE WEEK

The low hanging fruit in this category has been exhausted, and after a while the most wondrous of inventions become standard fare. I rarely stand up to pee anymore; why bother, when you've got a pre-warmed toilet seat ready to go?

However, I refuse to let this stop me. I have searched high and low. I cruise back streets and shopping malls. I am inexhaustable when it comes to seeking innovation.

After lengthy consideration, this battery vending machine was considered the invention of the week. Lets face it, in a world of late night convenience stores and rechargable batteries, a battery vending machine is hardly cutting edge. Can't jam any of these into your iPhone when you need it.

So imagine the world these blokes were living in when they devised the battery vending machine. Demand for batteries must have seemed insatiable. This would have been the era of Nintendo Gameboys, Sony Walkmans and the newly invented remote control.

People must have been waking up in the middle of the night thinking 'Shit, I left the washing outside. Oh, and I urgently need some batteries. I know, I'll quickly zip past that conveniently located vending machine'.....

WHINGE OF THE WEEK/HELLO JULIA

Dear Julia/Kevin/Whoever has assumed 'leadership' of this sheep station,

I consider myself fortunate to be an Australian. To wake up every day and dream of Vegemite on toast, the finest coffee on earth, that beautiful bloody sun shining through the majestic gum trees that the most recent arrivals to our land haven't managed to justify cutting down yet. To dream of great days, and even better tomorrows. To know that whatever it is in this land I strive for, I have a bloody great chance of achieving. To know that the people that may discriminate on the basis of race are the minority, and are easily identified by their tendency to proliferate around Murdoch publications. I'm not going to list the diversity amongst the friends I have, because it could be viewed as an exercise in how awesome I am. But put it this way, I love this country. I love it so much I had the southern cross tattooed on my chest. With a rusty nail and some leftover blue paint.

So it was with great interest that I read over the citizenship papers for our young man. Incidentally, despite being burdened with a name ripe for teasing, Gaku Plaxico Akiyama Reeves, the egalitarian nature of our wonderful country means that I have the utmost confidence that he will teased just the same as the other kids with more common names. Indeed, my brother in law, Gou Jerremy Akiyama, who is commonly referred to as Gozza in Australia, asked me with some fear, 'Have you considered that Plaxico almost rhymes with 'spastic'?'.

The 'Declaration' of the citizenship papers asks you to read a lengthy series of paragraphs authorising the Australian Government to basically do what it wants with your information, all for the greater good I'm assuming. Then it asks you to 'understand that', among other things:

• Australian society values respect for the freedom and dignity of the individual, freedom of religion, commitment to the rule of law, parliamentary democracy, equality of men and women and a spirit of egalitarianism that embraces mutual respect, tolerance, fair play and compassion for those in need, and the pursuit of the public good.
• Australian society values equality of opportunity for individuals, regardless of their race, religion or religious background.

Its the bit about the fair play that tickles my fancy. I love it. Despite the widening gap between the haves and the have-nots, our country is still one that allows for unchecked dreaming. My little man can be anything he wants, if he has the grit and determination to do it. He could be captain of the Australian rugby team. Make movies. Make coffee. Be a synchronised diver. A high court judge. A singer. A premiership winning captain of the Melbourne Football Club. Bat at no. 3 for Victoria. Get married to the person he loves.

Er, on second thoughts, no he couldn't.

Not if he's gay. He could do everything else, but not get married.

Seriously?

There are so many fundamental issues in Australia that need addressing (such as the aforementioned widening gap between the rich and poor, who will play at first drop in the Test team until Plax is ready, and who the hell is going to lead my beloved Melbourne Football Club to their next premiership), yet you choose to fiddle around and debate this topic at your Senate enquiry.

How about you wind up the debate, pass the motion, just do what is obvious to everyone and legalise gay marriage. In our society, as clearly stated on our citizenship application form, we celebrate diversity. Hurry up and allow us to bloody well celebrate it, with some lamb chops on the barbie, stubbies of Coopers and glitter sprinkled on oiled up bodies. In fact lets celebrate it with a bloody day off. I reckon even Tourism Australia could devise something involving mass gay marriage, the Mardi Gras, Dame Edna Everage, and Kylie Minogue that would possibly even be profitable. Although that may be aginst their charter.

Then get the Senate onto the complex stuff that does require more than one pinhead to consider it.

Yours sincerely,

Paul

P.S How dare you potentially rob me of the opportunity to tell Dad jokes at my son's wedding?

P.P.S http://www.australianmarriageequality.com/wp/

 

PLAY OF THE WEEK

This week I got to live out one of my dreams. To marry the woman that I love.

Sometimes the cynicism and grind of the media cycle lead me to believe that people have forgotten how to dream. That we are a culture obsessed with money and status, clothes and shoes.

Is this true? Have we forgotten how to chase the dream? I just mean the pure simplicity of doing something because you love it. Because the thought of not doing it is unbearable.

Not for the money. Not for the ladies or the free pies.

I'm living the dream right now. Sure, it may be a little less noteworthy than some, but its my dream nonetheless.

Stories like Linsanity get us pumped because we remember what it is like to live the dream. You reckon Izzy Folau gets excited about going out to play like some B-grade AFL hack in some gravel top oval in the west of Sydney? Shit, even playing rugby league is better than that.

To all you people wondering how to pursue your dream, watch this, and remember that this man is now remembered as the greatest rapper of all time.

 

 

RIP B.I.G