A lament to the bookmark…

No, I;m not a poet.

One thing I truly lament, with the passing of hard copy books into eBooks, is the associated passing of bookmarks, which inspired this: 

From fancy to plain,

Reading will ne'er be the same,

From the exquisitely crafted,

To the message stuck in passing,

The ticket stub,

Much creased with love.

The airplane ticket,

Marking a particular visit.

To the endearing quote,

And the beloved note.

The bookmark was as all,

As it was nothing.

A thought filled gift,

An accidental grift,

It's purpose apparent,

It’s location often errant.

A thing, as much as a meaning,

Never let it be said,

That the thing least read,

Give's the most value, for nothing.

Please, always buy books, or what will become of all the bookmarks?

Mad Monday.

Another gem written a while ago, about a time even further back. A mad afternoon.

Workplace lack of etiquette?

Never having been one for over-sharing personal issues in the workplace, I was quite confronted by the events of what is now locally referred to as Mad-Monday, where everybody seemed to have thought it was bring-your-crazy-to-work day.

In a mere four-hours I was exposed to more sources of crazy than I had previously seen in any period of less than, a week, no a month, no possibly a year.

At the time, after the fact, I had many a discussion with friends about it, and I always wanted to write it down. Now I feel enough time has passed that publishing it will be ok.

This first interaction is not funny at all, but a person I worked with asked to take me out for a coffee, and then once there told me a deeply personal, and tragic story about a recent death of someone very close to them.

This was a deeply sad and troubling event, but I don’t understand why they told me, and in particular why so much detail. Why so many tears and why choose me, a relative stranger, to tell? I mean, yes, I was empathetic and offered what soothing, genuine advice I could, but when I got back to my desk it was all I could do to stare at my computer with a stunned mullet look on my face.

Did that open a vortex of over-sharing?

This was how I was when crazy number two showed up, and I felt that somehow, that first story had opened a vortex to an afternoon of gratuitous over-sharing.

A recent recruit into my general work area asked if he could take me out for a coffee. This guy was really chatty, and I had sometimes shared a morning cup of tea with him in the lunchroom, so this was a bit unusual. However, in my muted state I agreed to go, potentially thinking I could unload some of the recent crazy I had been subjected to, onto him.

But, no. As soon as our coffee was delivered he puffed up his chest, and grabbed the table with both hands and proceeded to tell me that he couldn’t stop thinking about me, and that he found ways of mentioning my name in the conversation at home (to his WIFE!), and that he demanded to know if I felt the same way.

Ahhh, no. I did not. I would not, could not, did not, don’t. I said ‘what are you talking about? You’re married!’

He insisted that this shouldn’t be a factor.

I insisted that it should. And was. And is!

He insisted on asking what if he wasn’t married?

I, being nice, said: ‘But you are!’

He persisted with: ‘What if I wasn’t?’

I said, understanding as I do, the complexities of the male ego, and the delicacies of working in close proximity with people that as soon as I know someone is married I don’t even consider them in that light.

He kept pushing, but I didn’t budge, I mean, he’s short, bald and married – he did not want to hear what I had to say. Although I could hear Elaine from Seinfeld screaming “You’re bald!” And that kind of made me laugh, on the inside.

I strongly suggested that we leave all of this silliness at that table, and never mention it again.

I got up and walked back to my work, after all, this is a work day!

And then…

My phone was ringing when I got out of the elevator. It was a friend whose medical condition requires him to give blood regularly to alleviate the iron load in his system (Hemochromatosis) .

He was ringing to tell me that he is so stressed in his job that his blood pressure is now too high to give blood, and that, combined with his condition is only adding to the problem.

He was worried because he may have to go on permanent meds to keep his blood pressure down.

Feeling helpful, I suggested that he could give blood by getting the nurse to stand across the room and taking the needle out, then she could catch it as it spurts across the room. He laughed, because he gets me, and job done, I hung up.

What now?

Attempting to return to desk my phone was again ringing. It was the young fellow I had been seeing, who wanted to catch up as he was in the neighbourhood and wanted to talk to me about something.

Oh god! What could it be? I couldn’t not go. Not after the afternoon I’d been having.

Thankfully he just wanted to end our relationship! Phew!

Needless to say, I had to have a wine that night.

We are over enthusiasm.

Over eager – why we shy from enthusiasm:

Once upon a time (pre-covid) I was on a plane heading to Sydney, and as luck would have it I got three seats to myself. As luck would not have it, those three seats were at the back of the plane. Thank you not, Virgin Australia. 29F! The seat doesn’t even effin’ recline!

Anyway, whilst I wasn’t thankful for my seating allocation, I was thankful that I didn’t get plonked next to the over-enthusiastic woman in front of me, who kept, despite his obviously rebuffing body-language, trying to strike up a conversation with the man in his thirties who was the only other occupant in her row. Seated one seat apart usually guarantees the strict no-talking policy is enacted. But no, she leaned over and opened with a loud ‘Are you sick?’ The embarrassed guy said ‘No’. And she went on to tell him she was recovering from major surgery so she needed to know if people around her were sick as that could be impactful to her. Oh, and everything else that had ever happened in her life.

I felt for the poor guy who obviously, in keeping with the creed of lone fliers everywhere, only wants to talk to someone under one of the following three conditions:

• They’re an attractive member of the gender you are attracted to

• They’re sitting next to a hot member of the gender you are attracted to

• They support the same team as you, whether that be sport, politics, or again, gender preference.

These three conditions and nothing else. End of.

Variations on a theme

Of course there are variations on these conditions, but sixty plus year old lady informing attractive thirtyish male about her hysterectomy just doesn’t qualify.

Why couldn’t I be seated in the same row as hot guy?

Anyway, it got me thinking about the off-putting nature of other peoples enthusiasm.  And I do think this is people specific, because my puppy is enthusiastic about almost everything, and I find her enthusiasm endearing. Returning home with her recently I was mobbed by a bunch of neighbourhood children wanting to play with her, and we were both overwhelmed by their ‘enthusiasm’. But if that had been another puppy, she would have been right with it. Hence people, and not just adults, are overwhelming.

We’re right to question the motivation of others.

Question: Where did we figure this out?

Answer: I think it is sales people.

It’s the too-good-to-be-true-ring-now-only-available-for-15minutes-wont-be-offered-again approach we have seen so much on TV. Or the schmooze we get from the cute backpackers peddling charities on street corners, real estate agents, shopping centre concession stand staff, door-to-door sellers, door knocking cults and religions. It’s bitchy girls, and boys, at school trying to trick you into some embarrassing scenario. Worse still, it’s those salespeople trying to pressure you into paying for something you don’t want, can’t afford, or doesn’t meet your needs. Sales people have taught us that we don’t feel we can trust enthusiasm.

I think we could all recollect a few gullible incidents when we were younger, that we’ve fallen for the eager-ist trying to get us a good deal. What selfless altruists these sales people are! He’s going inside to tell the boss that he doesn’t need to make a commission on this sale because he likes us so much! No, he’s going inside to see what the boss is having for lunch, and tell him he’s got a sucker on the hook! You have to question their motivation. No one is giving you something for nothing in a financial transaction.

I’m sure that a flat I shared briefly when I was 18 is still visited by the Church of the latter seventh witness because I accidentaly fell for their ‘can I have a glass of water on this hot day’ routine. See, I’m happy with people who have happily found their faith, I think people should do just that, if they are so inclined. Find it themselves. No need to door knock.

Same with exercise gear, vacuum cleaners, thermi-cooking things, charities, drugs, kabbalah, bands, baby gifts, tree lopping, tofu, anything really.

If it’s so good, I’ll find out about it anyway.  Because someone I trust, someone who doesn’t have a vested interest in the outcome, will casually mention it and I can consider it then. But then, I'm happy to be a late adopter (hello Beta!).

Is our mistrust misplaced?

Yes. We are right to be suspicious.  Fomulaic current affair programs are littered with stories of people being ripped off by seemingly eager con artists who are somehow all adept at putting their hand on the camera lens. You hear about scams on the internet constantly so we are right to be suspicious. Money, fame and control motivate people in strange ways.

But, generally speaking, if you can establish the motivation, or rule out any malevolent intent, by checking they are not trying to sell you something, through asking a direct question like: Are you trying to sell me something? Followed quickly by a direct statement such as: Because I'm not interested in whatever it is. (Because there are people out there who are trying to sell us a lemon). We might actually uncover a gem.

There are genuinely some people out there, I'm thinking Scandinavians, some rural dwellers, and maybe Canadians, who are eager to meet people, converse and move on. They won’t hit you up for a beer, or a cigarette, but the maybe will take from you a story, or an anecdote. But they will leave more, or at least as much, in return. Perhaps in broken English, and with many, many, inflections.

The lady on the plane, well, she was just looking for an audience. She wanted to talk about herself, what she’s done, her surgery, her motorbike, and possibly her motivation was to feel validated by the interest of an attractive young man. Certainly energy sapping, and yes she was too pushy, and I do abhor peoples inability to pick up on social cues, but at least it gave the guy, and me, a story.

And when she wasn’t looking he put his ear buds in.

What’s the best advice you’ve ever been given?

This week I want to share with you some old and new gems of advice that have rung true for me.  Please add your own gems at the end:

Heres the best advice I've been given: 

Friend on a laptop purchase:

Buy a Mac. A Macbook Pro, because its tougher.

Me: I did. I love it.

Driving instructor on driving:

If another driver is indicating, wait until they “commit to the turn” before acting yourself.

Me: Of course, I learned to drive when people used to indicate.

Friend on job interview:

Pretend it’s a job you don’t want.  Treat it like an interview for a job you don’t want. Don’t invest.

Friend on first dates:

Treat it like a relationship you don’t want. Don’t invest.

Of course this is not hard if the guy is a douche.

Married friend on marriage:

Don’t get married. Never get married.

Childful friend on children:

Don’t have children. Never have children.

Mortgage advisor friend on mortgage fixing:

You know I can’t advise you because you will hate me if I'm wrong.

Me: That’s true.

Real estate agent on purchasing first property:

Can you just sign the contract? It’s Sunday and I want to see my family.

Me: Ohhh tetchy tetchy, you rang me!

Dog owner friends on dog owning:

Get a dog. You will never know happiness like that which a dog brings into your life.

Me: So true!

Licence holder friends on getting a licence:

Never get your drivers licence. If you never drive, you can never get a speeding fine.

This probably works better in Europe.

Me on travel:

Travel. But always offset your carbon.

Me, on photos:

Print photos of yourself, even if you don’t like how you look, because that’s the person your friends and family love.

Investor friend on investing:

Only invest what you are prepared to lose.

Gambling friend on going to the casino:

I’ve never been to the casino and not come out better off.

Me: This is not my experience.

Everyone I know on lotto:

I’ve never won. But someone has to win.

Me on decision making:

If a decision is too hard to make – and I mean really too hard – it’s the wrong decision.

My friend’s dad on self-esteem:

It only takes one goal to win at soccer.

My friends translation of this: When all the chips are down, a small win can set you on the path to rebuilding your self esteem.

A male relative on TV commercials:

Mute them.

Me: I’d like to update this to be more current – if you have a DVR, record your favourite show so you can fast-forward the ads.

Michelle Obama on women:

Be supportive of women every time. (I’m paraphrasing to avoid copyright).

Me on grudges:

Sometimes you should be able to recall the wrongs people have done you, because chances are they will do it again.

Me on junk food:

If you don’t have junk food in the house, you can’t eat it on a sad Friday night.

My tutor on blogging:

You have to blog every week.

Me: I don’t get inspired every week… so I cant promise, but I’ll try to try.

Me on workplace etiquette:

If a colleague asks you what you think of another colleague, respond with “why do you ask”, or at the very least “what do you think of them” prior to getting yourself into hot water.

This probably works for friends too.

Me on workplace etiquette con’t:

Never over-share with a work colleague. It will come back to haunt you.

A female relative on receiving advice:

The thing about receiving advice is that you take the bits that are meaningful to your situation and disregard the rest.

Mr Champagne and Chocolates.

If I want champagne, I buy it.

Online Dating, am I right?

Wrote this one a long time back… a long time…

It’s a Saturday arvo in winter, not far from spring. Its sunny, but not hot. I choose a dress and boots for my coffee meeting. I’m walking there, and heading to do exciting tasks like grocery shopping, afterwards.

I see a guy standing rigidly outside the café I had once again had to select. He looks like he’s about 10 years older than his profile pick. And about 20 years older than me.

Older men are not my thing at all. I’m always attracted to younger men.

Any-hoo I'm trying to find someone near my age through the site, and this guy says he is, I think, 3 years older than me.

Aside from the age, the stand-out feature of this guy is that he looks like a broken man. He exudes it from every part of him. His hairstyle, his fashion era, his stance, he is standing rigid, but even still his shoulders are slouched.

He has never taken care of himself. He looks like a burden. To his mother, his wife (he is allegedly seperated), and the poor soul who will be his next wife.

Again, not my thing.

Independent woman walking!

So I walk up to him with a big smile on my face, belying my flight mentality, and say hello.

We introduce ourselves, and shake hands, weakly on his part.

He has a book, in a local bookstore brown bag, in his hand.

We go to a table on the verandah section, reserved for coffee only patrons.

I inquire about the book and he unwraps it, as our coffee order is taken. He says it’s his 13 year old sons birthday the next day and he got the book for him.

Apart from the fact that my neice read that book when she was 8. Percy Jackson, Lightening Thief. I had no opinion.

His profile didn’t say anything about having children. A flaw of the site. You can say if you have children living with you. If you want/don’t want children, but not if you have children that don’t live with you permanently. There is no category for if you have share-children, I think the correct term is shared-custody, or co-parenting. I don’t know.

Apparently he has two boys, 13 and 15. Also according to his profile, he is open to having children. That’s lucky for his existing children.

He tells me the roster which he has his children to stay. He tells me he is living in a transition rental. He tells me that he took his kids on a bike ride and they went by a local footy field where an under 18’s team was playing and he thought it would be good for his boys to see, so they parked up and watched, but that they had to leave quickly because some of the players were swearing.

Oh dear, that’s fucking terrible! Those children could never be around me, or my family, unless we were all struck with laryngitis, or had had a mass tonsillectomy! Anyway, I read an article recently that you can trust people that swear a lot to be honest. I like to retrofit a bit of scientific data to a lifelong philosophy.

Ok, trying to recover, I guide the conversation to the kind of work we do. I told him about the fly-in-fly-out work I used to do at a mine.

He says to me: ‘I bet you were popular, at the mine.’

And before I can react.

He reddens and realises what that could mean, and explains that he was just trying to pay me a compliment.

Thankfully my coffee arrives.

I plan to scull mine so that it burns my vocal cords out and I can’t swear in the next 15 minutes, which I have capped this date at, and then run scream-gargling from the cafe.

Before I can attempt to continue this riveting conversation he gives me this little gem:

‘Well,’ he starts, ‘here’s some things you should know about me: I don’t do champagne, and I don’t do chocolates. So you can’t expect them from me, and I want to say it up front.’

Great start buddy! Fantastic intro to you. You should get that on a t-shirt.

Actually, I can expect whatever I want.

I pause, so affronted by his aggressive, narrow position on an introductory coffee meet-up.

I feel sorry for his ex-wife. Now I can see why she got rid of this one. Fair enough if you don’t like excess, that’s your choice. I don’t understand why you would force it into the conversation this early on – not that this is going anywhere – but, isn’t a first ‘date’ where you pretend you’re nice, and then the real you comes out later? Its not a job interview.

And then it comes to me. Possibly the best rebuttal ever:

‘Well, here’s some things you should know about me. I'm allergic to chocolate, and if I want champagne I buy it myself.’ My smile is clearly disconcerting and inallogis with the message.

‘Ok, so chocolate,’ he says realising what a dick he just was, ‘any other allergies I should know about?’

Just fuckwits.

‘Nope, nothing else you need to know.’ I offer, finishing my coffee and fishing my wallet out.

‘Well, please let me get your coffee.’ He jumps up and hurries to the counter to pay.

Are you sure? Wouldn't want to take food out of your mouth?

I put my wallet away and get up so that when he is done, we walk out.

At the curb he offers his hand, and briefly looks like he is going to lean in to kiss my cheek. ‘I don’t know about you, but I’d like to see you again' he states, still shaking my hand.

WHAT?

‘I’ll think about it and get back to you' I say, retrieving my hand.

Later he messages me through the service: "It was great to meet you. When can we do it again?"

Later still I message him back through the service: "I think we are very different people in very different places."

And block him.

And hide my profile until the non-refundable subscription runs out.

Life Hack…

I’ve been watching Brooklyn 99 for a couple of years now. I love it. Andy Samberg is hilarious. He is cute, and has taught me so much about life. Like things I never knew about sandwiches, and humility, but most importantly he taught me about life-hacks.

Life hacks are my new thing. Well, I always knew about them, but I didn’t know what to call them!

Let me explain. Life hacks are simple, every day opportunities to maybe achieve something for free, or at a reduced price, those ummmm victimless work-arounds that ummmm work out well for you. Errr, just explaining it now it sounds dodgy. Look, they are supposed to make life easier. Look, the ever-helpful Wikipedia explains Life Hacks as thing that make life more efficient, slash easier (Wikipedia definition of Life hack ) through tricks or novelties, shortcut or skill. (The phrase was coined by IT nerds, so that probably explains everything...

It’s probably easier if you just read on.

Life hack #1: Ikea parking

I went to ikea last week, to return something. I love returning things. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s a decluttering thing. Like recluttering, followed closely by decluttering. Stop buying things!!!!

Anyway, I’m the Queen of returns. Probably keeping your receipt is life hack number one. I once returned a dress in the US that I had worn the night before, by refitting the tags, and I had the receipt. And that is after another party-goer had spilled wine on it. Red wine. .. I washed it, obviously. And got my money back. That’s probably not a great, ethical, example.

Anyway. I diligently made my return of an unopened, unused, airing rack, and ran down to Coles to get a few things. Heading back to the carpark I realised I hadn’t spent enough to get free parking! Doh! I scanned the parking card, and the receipt and the screen said I had to pay $1. One whole dollar! Nooooooo. I cancelled the transaction and thought about going to the shops to buy more because  I didn’t have any change (I'm a cash free society). And then…. I remembered my receipt from Ikea. The $200 one that I had returned a $39 item from. Put the card back. Scanned the week old Ikea receipt and won the Ikea Richmond car-park jackpot and life-hacked my way out of a $1 parking ticket. The machine recognised the old receipt and let me out for free.

Woot woot!

Life hack #2: Airport parking

I know, I drive too much; I should get public transport more. But I was much belatedly booking a park at the airport. Seriously, I had to lie and say I wouldn’t be there for 2 hours when I was actually arriving in about 1hour and 15 minutes. Beyond that, I realised that I needed to park as close as possible, but the lateness of my booking meant I would probably be offered the opportunity to park as far away from the airport as possible. The other issue about late bookings is the premium price they put on your booking. Anyway, in a stroke of genius I clicked on the parking that is furthest from the airport, the one you need to take a bus to get to the terminal. The one that freaks me out because I am constantly late and can barely rely on myself to get to the plane, I can’t rely on finding a park, and catching a bus, even if they go every 10 minutes, to make my flight. I wouldn’t make it. But anyway, too many anyways. I know. I click on the bus to airport parking option, coz its about $30 less than the other parking. And guess what? It gives you the cost of that type of parking plus the opportunity to upgrade to terminal parking for $15. This may seem like nothing to you, but the whole cost of it was less than it would have been had I selected it outright. What’s that about? Who cares? Love a good life hack. And I made my flight.

I asked my nieces and nephews what their best idea was for a life hack. After I explained to them using Andy Samberg’s Character Jake from Brooklyn 99s example – (Drop your sandwich on the floor to get it for free) – they came up with this one: Buy something you really want for yourself, knowin’ that the person you bought it for wont fit it, or can't eat it. In particular, they said they would buy me chocolates. I’m allergic to chocolate. As mentioned in my Blog (Mr Champagne and chocolates ). Needless to say - I am a proud Aunty!

The un-life-hack:

I got a bunch of these:

Don’t buy clothes in a size to small for your thinking that they will inspire you to lose weight. They won’t. In my humble opinion.

I think this is going to be a recurring theme.

I love life hacks.

Intelligent is the new sexy.

The strong, silent type…

Whatever your media preference, there seems to me to be a veritable glut of the deep thinking introverted seemingly heteronormative male lead for you to pine after. And I don’t mean anything bad by that. It is just interesting to me how we are so drawn to the socially inept, no that’s the wrong phrase, for these chaps aren’t inept, they’re… socially indifferent. Their inability to interact easily on a social level is not a source of overwhelming concern for them, it is more of an inconvenience.

Forever these leads, Rick Blaine, DCI Tom Barnaby, Sherlock Holmes (all the Holmes’s), Dr Cox, Hercule Poirot, Iron Man, Wolverine, all had a single, driven, focus fed by their overly inflated ego. All struggled to fit in in normal social situations, all had bizzare or damaged relationships with everyone in their lives.

Their characteristics include being blunt, unsentimental, unrelentingly obtuse, and controlling. They lack empathy, display obsessive compulsive behaviours, and have infrequent, brief, physical relationships. Most of all they have a trying, perplexing, relationship with their ever-devoted long-suffering main sidekick.

And why are they so prevalent in crime dramas and true crime shows?

Why are we so attracted?

With all this going on, why are we so attracted to them, (probably apart from Poirot – but I don’t judge)? I’ve asked my binary and non-binary friends, regardless of gender-preference, and also looked at chat rooms, internet followings/likes and twitter discussions on these male leads, and the upshot is: we just love them! We’re addicted to their shows. Their brooding, silent, intelligent perception draws us in.

Why? Again I ask: Why do we love the dark, brooding type? Is it because, as many discussion threads suggest, they normalise our own social and emotional anxieties? Or, in the case of women who prefer men, do we just want them to shut up and be more thoughtful?

I question the latter, I want to dispel it because I’ve been on dates and in social situations with, and in fact a friend of mine was (past tense) married to, the silent type, and here’s the truth of it – the ones I have met might be physically strong, albeit frequently wiry, but they’re not silent because they are deep in philosophical or scientific thought, they’re silent because they have nothing to say. Myth dispelled.

I prefer to think the former, as someone who has had difficulty in social situations myself, these character portrayals regularise this. Show there are different ways to demonstrate societal value (albeit niche), and demonstrates to us, sometimes without even saying it explicitly in narrative, what is going on behind the silent front.

The new sexy

And that’s why we love them. We are hearing what we want to hear. We are hearing that, beyond the stern exterior, the social inability, these male leads we find attractive are clever, deep thinkers, and we find that very sexy.

To me, it is a clear demonstration that our hero-worship has evolved beyond the hunky, hot, strong, stud that rides to our rescue in his pulsing charger. The guy with those v-shaped muscles above his groin that make smart-girls dumb (according to Beth Behr’s character Caroline in Two Broke Girls).

For it is us, the audience, who have evolved. We are finding nerds sexy, we are looking for more, and TV has provided that in spades.

But just in case we want a bit of heat, they kindly oblige by throwing in shirtless scenes, such as Rupert Penry-Jones in Whitechapel, Benedict Cumberbatch (Sexiest man of the year 2012) in Sherlock, Robert Downey Jr. in Iron Man, Sherlock Holmes - anything really, to transcend our thinking-woman’s attraction, and seal the deal with some eye-candy.

Love them or hate them intelligence is the new sexy. Then again, with the way these guys are portrayed in this world of political correctness maybe they just say the things we’ve always wanted to say.

Where’s the reality (TV)?

My beef with “reality” TV.       

I know I have skirted around this topic in a recent blog, and many a facebook rant. But I really mean it. I find reality TV puerile. Meaningless. Contrived. Because - and here's the shocker - IT ISN'T REALITY. Its barely TV.

The reality of what?

Seriously are we so bored with our own lives that we willingly sit down to watch someone else brush their teeth? Are we so boring that we believe these contrived circumstance to be reality? The reality of what? A reflection, or microcosm, of the world we live in? Err, no.

There is nothing genuine about a show that forces unnatural, contrived, crisis points of stress, and drama of such little consequence to the actual world - all with a handy film crew of course – that makes the enjoyable competitive whilst at the same time sucking any potential joy out of competition.

Is "reality" real?

You tell me. Please! Tell me what is real about this genre? Yes there is competition in the world, in both the natural and human world. Yes some people are better than others at things. Is that nature or nurture? It’s hard to say. Yes a group of people forced to endure a series of tasks is bound to create drama and points of conflict. But reality? No. Its not reality. It’s not real. It has no long-term value and what’s more the viewers pay for the privilege of watching this crap through their voting addiction, which is born of advertising.  Advertising, marketing and its inherent drama. Contrived inherent drama.

I watch TV, yes. I think its great. I like investigative police dramas. I enjoy the cleverness of plot and character development. The richness of character. (Like Frank Pembleton in Homicide - Life on the Street, who I'd go so far as to say informed Samuel L. Jacksons portrayal in Tarintino's Pulp Fiction). Where no one is being exploited and this will not scar someone for the rest of their lives for no reason, as it reruns for future audiences.The thrill of drama and the genuine escapism of watching something where talented actors and writers come together to transport you from your day.

I also like true crime, criminology, docu-dramas about crime, nature docos and everything Environment.

I also like movies and listen to music, not the crap you’d see on a “reality” show, good music. I also read.

So I’m not immune to having my partialities, in the shape of my purchases (not piracy), inform so called “popularity”. But as to feverishly texting my preferences on which housemate, cook, dancer, singer, handyman or product I think is the best? I draw the line. Go out people. Go out dancing or singing. Stay home cooking or handymanning. But I implore you to turn that shit off. It is making a fool of you.

So much drama!

I find this penchant for implied drama is also now seeping into the realm of documentary filmmaking. (A genre I'm a big fan of). I noticed this in a Nordic documentary recently that highlighted the seasonal eating habits of the native bear, and my dubious self asked: How do we know the bear is really starving, are the writers trying to create drama?

How do we know it’s the same bear we’re following – they do look kinda similar?

How do we know that he didn’t have a huge feed off camera? Earlier in the season? And they are just enjoying life now.

How do we know he isn’t just like – well humans have fucked this planet and there is no point living any more so I'm not going to fatten up to survive this winter because every year it just gets harder and harder?

He might be depressed, fatalistic even, about eating. He might have chosen vegetarianism.

It’s funny that they always make predatory animals out to be suffering and the prey out to be fine, like the musk oxen that are just standing there for 6 months in the blizzard. But they’re well adapted to it. Don’t you think a bear is well adapted to feast and famine? This is contrary to what I know of climate change, global warming and the genuine suffering of animals, so I am using examples from my childhood. Many many years ago.

Point is - Humans always want the inherent drama or its not “interesting”.

The two closing thoughts I have on this matter are these:

What will this era/genre of television be known for? For it is certainly not the “golden age” of “live” tv excellence. What is it trying to say? What do we learn? How do we grow as humans by watching it? What does it teach?

And secondly, of these people, the participants, these one dimensional criers who seek their 15 minutes of fame and sign away their rights. These people that storm off at a moments notice, and backstab and undermine to get ahead.. Fuck, and bully for attention. Are they truly reflective of reality? Are they our role models?

As much as that, my friend, is a sad indictment, it is a genuine query.

Say What…?

It is hard to choose…

Today I have been agonising over what to write. I know you all have re-come to depend on my weekly musings to guide and encourage you, through feminist rage, and nurturing LOL’s through your week. But today, I was a bit stuck. (All of that was said in jest FYI :)).
I feel like we are just getting back together after a long hiatus in my blogging, and I don’t want to push it too far. I don’t want to come in too hot with my latest opinions – here are the musings I was trying choose from:

• How much I love wine – fyi, a lot.

• An overheard conversation in a clients lunchroom whereby my disgust was piqued whilst waiting for the microwave to finish heating my lunch. I overheard some males describe how their wives (lucky women) interact with sharp knives in the kitchen. This one was overwhelmingly sexist and I couldn’t face it today. Also I don’t think that the women who were referred to would appreciate the tone and language their spouses used.

• My favourite recipe – I don’t know, I guess hot wings with blue cheese dressing

• Single-bashing – this one is part written

• Three kinds of boredom – also partly written

• How long does a toothbrush last

• What would my favourite job be – probably getting paid loads for these musings

• How I believe in sage smudging negative energy away

• Where I want to go on my next holiday

• My new favourite podcast – it’s the Guilty Feminist

• What I am binging on Netflix – Schitts Creek - hilarious!

• How I am scared of blankets in hotel rooms – do they wash them?

• The interesting experiences I have had hosting Oxygen-apartment guests (I made that up on the fly because I didn't want to use the brand name) in my spare room, and the one loon who nearly ruined it for me, and everyone!

OK well they are not all winners but I would have woven some gold into them – I hope – and I do feel like I’ve let you all down this week, but we all have an off-week. Promise to be back on form next week. Look forward to some of this crazy content to LOL you into your week.

Happy Monday everyone!

What is NLNL? No Looks No Laughs?

Elaine Benes Dancing Queen - thanks Giphy

NLNL, my new favourite thing

No this isn’t a new dystopian drama where if you fall down nobody laughs at you. Side note – what is the current obsession with dystopian dramas? Don’t people realise we are living in one! Take a look around!

Anyway, I digress; NLNL is my new favourite thing. I was hoping you would realise that NLNL doesn’t actually stand for no one looks, no one laughs, even though that happens to be the case at NLNL. It is something far more fantastic than that, and in my neighbourhood it only costs $7!

Type NLNL into any good search engine near you and you will get the answer: No Lights No Lycra. But then what does that mean?

NLNL is a global dance community offering freedom of expression to anyone who wants to respectfully participate.

So why call it No Lights No Lycra? Well in my interpretation it means pretentious people stay home, if you want to strut your stuff and somehow think the dance floor will open up and everyone will applaud you a la John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever, you’ve come to the wrong place. NLNL means bring on the daggy dancers who love to bust out their moves for the sake of their own enjoyment. It means leave your whistles and glow sticks at home, save them for the rave.

No Lights No Lycra

Founded in Melbourne in 2009, this fabulous, inclusive, and enjoyable community has grown to be in more than 10 countries with 100’s of regular weekly spots all over the world including Beijing, London, Sweden, New Zealand, and India amongst others. Look up the locations, and the story of NLNL here: No Lights No Lycra

What happens when you’re NLNLing

Usually hosted at a community space, or church hall, you pay a fee when you arrive (usually less than $10 – its on the website) and head straight in. Don’t take your valuables with you because there is nowhere to leave anything.
It is dark inside, like it takes a couple of minutes for your eyes to adjust dark, and the music is already playing. People occupy a space usually a bit more than arms length apart, (my local gets packed, but there is still space to get your groove on). The dancing starts the moment you step in.

There is no teacher, no particular style to dance to, you just feel the music and move your body how you want, to for an hour.

Why I love NLNL

I freely admit to being a rhythmically-challenged. To elaborate, I think Elaine from Seinfeld is a good dancer. That should explain. If not, here is a helpful gif (thanks Giphy).

The unique dancing styles of Elaine Benes - thanks Giphy!

But here are the things that I love about it:

The nightly mixes – every time you go there is an entirely different playlist, consisting different styles, tempos, origins and eras. Some thought and care seems to go into every mix to ensure that theirs some faster pieces, and some opportunity to catch your breath. Although it really is at your own pace, and if you want to go hard for the whole hour that great. If you want to stop and stretch, that is up to you.

The space – my local is in the sub-basement of a church, so it is quite a spectacular building and the hall underneath has high ceilings and part of the floor is an actual dance floor under the stage. The stage isn’t used during NLNL, but funnily enough, possibly due to conditioning, most of us face the stage.

The freedom – it really is such a sense of freedom to just dance, no judgement, however your body feels good moving to the music. Absolutely no one cares if you are dancing a style, or dancing something of your own creation. At NLNL it is all about enjoying individual style.

The concept – what a great idea! The two founders of the movement Alice Glenn, and Heidi Barrett are GENIUSES! Such a fun, wholesome, and inclusive pastime.

Community – NLNL is an instant community you can join when you are travelling. Everyone is welcome.

Possibly my most favourite part of NLNL is that it’s exercise and you don’t even know you are doing it! It is better, and cheaper, than any gym experience I have ever had. That’s for sure!

Things that are a  bit of a challenge

That one guy who stepped on my toe while he weaves in and out of people constantly showing off. There is always one!

NLNL is definitely a winner

It is like being at an extremely respectful nightclub where there are no dickheads, no drink and no drugs. Just everyone feeling free to bust out their good moves. And I promise you No one Looks at you and No one Laughs at your moves.

If there is one near you, or you are travelling and find one, I encourage you to go. You wont regret it!

Welcome - the Period Emoji!

The Period emoji!

Welcome - the Period emoji!

Since late 2019 we’ve seen the arrival of the long awaited period emoji! The culmination of an international campaign to normalise periods for women and young girls. The intention of the campaign is described by Plan Internationals Hayley Cull, Advocacy & Community Engagement Director as: “Emojis play a crucial role in our digital and emotional vocabulary, transcending cultural and country barriers. A period emoji can help normalise periods in everyday conversation.” Other things in my life, however, are not always so eagerly anticipated. Like my period.

I had a weird period thing recently. Two actually. And now I am going to tell you about both of them. And you can squirm as much as you like, but you know it will be funny. And painful. As this is our journey to normalise menstruation. A normal bodily function.

I guess the preface for this, apart from the above preface, is to say that I did not grow up in a period positive house. Despite being born the fifth of five girls, (my mother was a second wife who only had two of those girls), the miserable patriarchal residence I grew up in was not one of supporting gender equality, or normal bodily functions.

So here goes, I am talking about my period. THANKS GUYS!

Here flows:

So I went camping with a girlfriend in January, and I got my period. I have to go back further. Last year my friend gave me a Moon Cup, I nearly wrote Keep Cup just then, as a thank you for accommodation. I love the barter system.

I am not really friends with my Moon Cup, unlike my Keep Cup, which I love. My Moon Cup and I haven’t really bonded, despite it literally being inside me, we are never that close. Nevertheless I persisted. But a surprise visit from flow on a camping trip left me Moon Cup-less, and a-wondering what to do.

We were camping in a small coastal town with one store. There were not going to be Thinx pants or anything eco-centric. I was going to have to buy tampons wrapped in plastic, in two separate plastic zip lock bags, in a cardboard box wrapped in plastic!

Annnnnnnnd, I did. I bought them, a small amount of vomit in my mouth. I hate plastic.

As I peri pause into a potential new phase of womanhood…

I may or may not be peri menopausal. I have been flushing out a bit. Sucks when it’s hot, but otherwise saves on heating. In fact I was in a cab last week and flushed on, and I wasn’t sure if the heat extended beyond me, but this was confirmed when the cab driver delicately opened the windows, despite the air-con being on.

Anyway, I was relaying this story to a friend on a tram Sunday night, and some youths clustered around us in their low armholed muscle tees, and I had to move away. Their potentially normal BO stench made me want to vomit the oxygen out of my nose. And potentially quarterize my brain.

Later at the theatre where our gig we hogged the middle seats in an empty front row. Why was the front row empty? It wasn’t reserved.

So we picked some seats in the middle and got some wine, and waited for The Guilty Feminist Podcast gig. Then some people came and sat next to us. Lovely women, on both sides leaving one seat beside my friend. My immediate neighbour on the other side had very strong perfume. It was making me feel dizzy and headachy. I really didn’t want that. But how come it was affecting me so much?

It wasn’t until much later that I found out why. I ran to the loo on the way to the tram after, and I had my period. My period heightened my sense of smell, and later apparently my ability to handle loud noises.

Just out of interest I stayed awake (also a period symptom) most of the night, listening to the hum of the city – the loud and annoying hum of the city.

I haven’t experienced this suite of symptoms before, but a bunch of internet searching has told me that those are “normal” symptoms. Even still, I don’t really want to see them again.

 References

Period emoji gets go ahead

I have a sense of humour; you’re just not funny

When bullies tell you ‘take a joke’

Tell them to shove it far, far up their arse, or call me and I will tell them. They are the one with out even a sense of humour, and don’t know how to be funny unless it deprecates others.

It has been for ever that women, differently abled people, members of the LGBTQ+ communities, People of Colour, non-sporting, sporting, white people, junior staff members, members of the armed services, managers, school students, flatmates, sons, daughters, non-binary children, wives, husbands, single people, introverts and extroverts the world over have felt pressured by social inequality, anxiety, fear, or a lack of physical dexterity, to avert their gaze and laugh at a bullies denigrating comments, while the bully guffaws and reflects on how clever they think they are. What I am saying is that there are no exact characteristics that define the bullied.

Why does this behaviour happen?

I dunno, bullies are bullies? Not much more I can say about that. I’m not a bully so I don’t know. But I imagine, having been in close proximity to many growing up, as well as several in the workplace, that it makes them feel good about themselves. There are lots of studies about why people bully, the traditional flavour being that they have been bullied themselves ‘only the bullied bully’. However the studies listed in the references below broaden that out and other options suggest that it may be they just enjoy getting their own way, or crave power.

There is much discussion as to what is bullying, and there is actually a National Definition of Bullying designed for schools, which you can read at your leisure here - Bullying no way - Aust govt site

But honestly, in my experience, I think bullying is something which, if being said, or done, to the intended recipient(s) results in the speaker having to instruct the recipient(s): that it is a joke, they should laugh, and/or learn how to take a joke; then it is bullying. Basically, if the recipient is the only one (or only group) left not laughing, being able to smile, or being able to display their true feelings in the situation like scared, horrified or frightened, or in any way othered; then chances are IT IS NOT A JOKE, YOU ARE NOT FUNNY, and YOU ARE A BULLY!

Risk within Reason a website dedicated to helping parents navigate the ever changing tech-scape and high risk behaviors told us in a 2018 blog – here – that bullies show a lack of remorse, and victim blame for having feelings and daring to articulate those feelings are hurt.

What does it feel like to be bullied?

Lonely. It feels lonely, and isolating. It feels like you are completely alone and that you have done something wrong.

To the recipient bullying is a debilitating and exhausting cycle designed to keep the victims immobilized in a deceit, constantly having their own lived experience undermined by intimidation.

Bullying is often endured by victims, and exacerbated by by-standers alike, as people have a multitude of concerns about inclusion, they don’t want to be othered, threatened, or feel any more different than they may already feel. For some reason we all want to be included, and bullying is yet another way we might feel excluded.

The discussion so far:

The Guardian, in a 2016  article by Brigid Delaney“Can't you take a joke, love? Why the 'banter' isn't funny any more” – here – advises that these put downs, lewd comments and offensive behaviours have been choked down by victims, who often feel they need to laugh to ensure their physical safety, or, ironically feel the need to preserve the bullies ego!

Delaney states clearly in her article that things are changing and some landmark cases have started a trend towards intolerance in the community of bullying, and at the individual level people are pushing back on bullying.

But what can you do?

Go stand with a person being bullied, don’t sidle up to them after the fact and tell them you are with them. Go be with them in the moment and tell the bully to fuck off. Or call me and I will tell them for you because I stand with you even though no one ever stood with me. Actually because no one ever stood with me.

Reference Material:

These are some awesome references that will help understand, and plumb the depths of this social cancer, and identify how you can help someone who is being bullied, or someone who is a bully:

Bullying No Way!  (What is bullying?)

Australian Human Rights Commission  (What is bullying?: Violence, Harassment and Bullying Fact Sheet)

Fair Work Commission  (Anti-bullying)

beyondblue  (Bullying and cyberbullying)

Australian Institute of Family Studies  (Children who bully at school)

I also referenced these articles:

The definition of bullying - Australian Govt definition of bullying

The Guardian article by Brigid Delaney - Guardian article by Brigid Delaney

Risk within reason blog - Risk within reason blog

Health Direct study – Why people bully - healthdirect.gov.au - why-do-people-bully

Charmproof!

Are you charm proof?

Maybe I am just true to my values, but I actually think I am so repulsed by attempts at charm that, at this stage, I consider myself charm proof. That is charm for either the sake of being seen as charming, or, charm intended to achieve a purpose.

In truth I have considered that I am just incredibly untrusting of people based on my life experience to date. And I found that to be correct.

But more than that, it is an innate sense of distrust of those attempting to play you for their own selfish, egotistical benefit.

The definition of Charm

I know, the subtitle sounds like the intro to a James Bond, potentially my earlier point about one egotistical person out for their own purpose. Using their gab gift, and phenotypic traits to achieve desires of both a sexual, and a national security nature.

Regardless, I looked up the definition of Charm. I am very aware that it has some of its roots in a variety of practices most easily colloquially explained as witchcraft; but in all honesty, in the object sense, physical charms are an objective representation of something, usually emotive, often protective, with the intention of hoarding the wearer from danger, or promoting them into love, or success as bequeathed by the practitioner.

In fact are these not the pre-cursor for modern day pharmaceuticals and beauty products? Or maybe they are the pre-cursor for the marketing and advertising processes which charm the dollars right out of people for the promise of some allure?

Regardless I am all in favour of certain kinds of charms. I think that any number of things can provide solace and support to those who are working on their self esteem. Of course there are certain kinds of “charms” I disagree with.

Charmers

There are so many kinds of charmers out there from one-night stand charmers, right through to confidence tricksters.

I say NO to charmers!

There are way too many to name but a few I have experienced are work charmers, pub charmers, and that jerk this morning that tried to charm me into talking to him, peacockers and gaslighters. I find them all boring. And I only have one thing to say to them. The photo says it all. You are boring. The answer is what Sarah Millican clever turned into a badge, so we wouldn't have to say it all the time: NO!

Goodbye to the Blue Suit.

It’s been too much!

Thank you and goodbye to the Blue Suit. Honestly. It is done to death. Too much. Can’t look at another one.

Never before in the history of fashion (uncited) has a single outfit permeated the population to the point of prosaicness

Over the last few years the two, or I guess three, piece blue suit has been a staple, for some. To be honest, as someone who commenced wearing corporate wear in the 90’s, a time when there were sometimes up to three choices of colour in suit wear, regardless gender, those being brown, black and sometimes grey, I am prone to variety.

Although once I do remember having a navy suit. But it was the 90’s, and it took the shape of shoulder pads and a non-flattering just beyond the knee length skirt. I’m not saying I didn’t like it at the time. I am saying that I like a good suit. I am saying that I am against fast fashion. I am saying that what usually happens is that outfits are purchased at a point in time, and then at another point in time a potentially similar, but differently coloured item, becomes available. And then those are purchased. And worn. And then in circulation are a bunch of different things. I like diversity. I personally don’t care if there are years between these events, if I know that eventually a change will arrive.

Whereas it feels, at the moment that, the blue suit has continually fluctuated within its wavelength (440-490nm) and will continue to do so in perpetuity. I guess what I am looking for is a timeframe. I need to know when this will be over.

When will Thrift stores be packed full of discarded suits in a blue hue.

Please give me variety!

No peacocking thanks bellends, but come on, when you think about it the first person to move on from the blue suit, into the 'INSERT COLOUR HERE' suit, they are going to be the winner right?

Let’s spitball some colour options:

• Black? Hmmm, a tad funereal

• Cream? I mean Prince says get on down, but I am going to remind you of safari suits. And that weird guy that turned up to a speed-dating event I went to. He was wearing a see-through cream linen suit. In the city. After work. Oh, and he was really drunk.

• Grey? Yes, lots of options there

• Red? At this point I would happily accept it

• Yellow? Did we learn nothing from the 90’s?

• Brown? Brown is a no. No. Big no. Just no. No forever.

• Green? Probs same as brown.

Look, I think we all know that I don’t have all the answers. Although…maybe I do!

How about…

Go to a thrift store and buy a well-made awesome suit that will last you FOREVER! And get in quick before the racks are swamped with the unsuitable blue suit. Seriously, it’s too much!

My first heart attack that wasn’t. Part two, of two.

Remember that time I thought I was having a heart attack? What happened next?

Great question.

Here is the truth. Remember where we left off? Reminder: I won the symptom lottery and was pretty effing sure I was having a heart attack.

Well, what to do? Call the ambulance? Ignore it? Freak out and make it worse?

No.

I make my own way in life.

I rang a friend and said to them that if they didn't hear from me by 5pm could they take my dog for a walk.
They said for sure. But what was up? Oh, I googled symptoms of a heart attack, and so Im going to walk up the street to the local GP clinic. Just normal stuff. Totes what anyone would do.

Thankfully they were about to leave home to go shopping, and they met me near my house and walked me up to the clinic. I, much abashed, went to the reception and said "Oh, hi, I'm a patient here, bit random, but I think I am having a heart attack."

And they dealt with it.

They were super awesome. The Doc came out of a consult and hooked me up to some oxygen and a Blood pressure machiney thing, the nurse came in and put me on the ECG thingy. And the Dr sprayed something red under my tongue.

My blood pressure was outstanding! 174/120.
The Dr did say to me, I have to go back to my consult for a minute, but Bella, this is why we call the ambulance.
See, I've never called the ambulance before. So I had no clue what would make it ok. I remember when my Ma was sick with her cancer she forced us to carry her to the car (with a broken leg) as she was scared of how much the ambulance would cost. And I'm sorry we did that every day. But also, ambulance traumatised. Even though it's covered under my health insurance.

Turns out

I should have called the ambulance.
Also turns out my ECG thingy gave them assurance that my heart was functioning in the right rhythm, and it was just my blood pressure was outrageous. Outrageous!

I didn't really understand, and after being there for an hour and a half, and they bill almost giving me an actual heart attack, I got sent off with a script and a bunch of referrals.

I had to do a stress test. Which was super stressful, including not being able to wear a bra on a treadmill - in front of a bunch of people

But why?

The most annoying thing is that no one can explain to me why.

Why, post all the fucking awful stress of the last 5-40plus years do I now have this problem? Am working through the tests. I have (now) a new, good Dr and clinic, and I am trying to figure it out.

So that is my heart attack that wasn't.

My first heart attack that wasn’t. Part one, of two.

Remember that time I thought I was having a heart attack?

Fun times, not. And thankfully, as it turns out I wasn't heart attacking. I was having a hypertension event.

But who cares right? I have like 4 regular readers.

No, I care. I care. I love that I have 4 regular readers. Love you team!

I also care that I thought I was having a heart attack.

What heart-happened?

Well, nothing. Literally nothing happened, and then Saturday morning I woke up about 2am with pain in my chest. Like every Australian. I ignored it and forced myself to go back to sleep.

Saturday

Saturday I did all my chores and shopped, rode my bike to drop off my compost and lifted heavy things.

I had to have my asthma puffer with me every minute because woman was I short-o-breath. Phawww. Out of, inhales deeply, breath. Phew. Tired. Pfuh, exhausted. Wow. Like really sleeeeeeepy....zzzzzzz.

Sunday

Sunday I went to help a friend who'd just moved into an apartment put some things up on the walls (got me a Makita drill and what not), and generally check out their new space. I dod about 7 minutes work and I WAS KNACKERED.

Went home.

Had a nap.

Monday

I will never forget Monday. It was super annoying. I had to get up!

I had to go to work (from home), and be productive. I was in the worlds foulest mood. Potentially because I'm not sure if I ate anything the day before. And/or because it was becoming clear that there was something wrong. I could hear my blood pressure in my ear, my chest was very painful. I was out of breath all the time, dizzy most of the time and had a limited tolerance for msp (male, stale and pale) opinions. More limited than usual. No, but like seriously, logarithmically less than usual. Orders of magni-turd less (see the misspell?),

Then I had a meeting

I had a meeting with peeps whereby we talked about stuff we'd talked about last time, they bought up issues for which we'd agreed resolutions last time we met, and we got nowhere.

Needless to say, I was PISSED OFF. For serious. I was super over it. I lost my temper. In my head. But there was a moment. A moment when I remembered that one of the team members I was on the call with had had a heart attack last year. And so..... I GOOGLED THE SYMPTOMS OF A HEART ATTACK, and found this:

Common heart attack signs and symptoms include:

• Pressure, tightness, pain, or a squeezing or aching sensation in your chest or arms that may spread to your neck, jaw or back.

• Nausea, indigestion, heartburn or abdominal pain.

• Shortness of breath.

• Cold sweat.

• Fatigue.

• Lightheadedness or sudden dizziness.

I won the symptoms lottery. I HAD THEM ALL!

Got to be careful what you win.

I finished up the call, and proceeded to freak out.

How does someone who lives by themselves with no family, a dependant, one lovely animal, and a busy job deal with some fun like this?

To be continued:

Am I having a heart attack?

Ignorance must be blissful…

Ignorance is Bliss. Right?

I have just realised how profound this statement is! I just realised how blissfully ignorant blissfulness could be! How good would it be?

I have heard this saying forever. And probably used it myself a few times. I am ignorant to any context of those previous statements. Because now I actually know what this means! I now realise their must be a certain ease to life if you happen to be ignorant to a great many things. Including the state of our environment, racism, inequality, gender equality, the treatment of animals for human consumption; whether by choice or necessity. Whether by breeding, choice or circumstance.

There are many reasons, and I do not intend to judge, rather to identify my own ignorance of the ignorance of bliss. If one is choosing to ignore it.

Recent events have reinforced this...

A recent interaction left me profoundly shocked and awed. Shocked and awed to know that there are a bunch of people in the same world I live in that are not aware of the critical state our environment is in, and that humans have caused this destruction, and continue to with their purchasing habits, waste and generation of greenhouse gas.

The big news is Microplastics revealed in the placentas of unborn babies! Think about that for a minute.

My every day

Every day for me is about waste reduction, sharing information, eliminating the use of plastics and single use items, and reducing my carbon footprint.

I take an assortment of reusable bags, keep cup, bowls, cutlery, milk bottles, produce bags & newspaper for doggy poop scooping to various places to make sure I don’t take one single use/non-recyclable item.

I’m a member of community gardens, community groups that make sustainable products, I'm emailing council about businesses whose staff are dropping their cigarette butts down the stormwater drain, picking recycling out of the general waste, collecting rubbish when I am walking my dog, and generally being a nark and reducing my footprint.

Every day. My universe, the mental labour of this is a substantial part of who I am. I shop at 10 different places now instead of one supermarket, and that doesn’t include markets.

You could say that it is all I think about.

I have just started a Zero Waste instagram page for my suburb. When I first started it had only 2 members and I was one of them. I had to figure some stuff out. What makes people care, and not care about their environmental impact.

I once emailed Kathmandu and got them to remove a photo from their photo library of a tourist with a backpack on walking down the street with a disposable coffee cup in hand. They did it straight away. Now I am in a stoush with Officeworks about the toxic crap they sell as cellophane (it isn’t), and another stoush with Woolworths about plastic wrapping cut vegetables.

There is too much rubbish in the world and it is killing wildlife and polluting our oceans. And now plastic, thanks to ‘micro-beads’, has entered our food chain. We are eating plastic, and all the while sunning ourselves in the toxic rays of social media, and beating off to the contrivance of reality tv.

It must be blissful, this ignorance.

Meanwhile in the real world

We need to eliminate single use plastics.

And I am committed to the cause. I am committed to making big and small changes every day to make my best efforts to not impact this fragile, and overburdened earth, and perhaps even make a positive impact.
So when I hear from someone that they don’t understand what is wrong with Coles mini’s I LOSE MY SHIT! Lose it. Little non-recyclable plastic bullshit free handouts pointless garbage future landfill is what I think of those things and the Woolworths equivalent - SBS article - backlash over Coles latest mini toys campaign

What to do

If you want to check in about this you need to watch A Plastic Ocean – there are loads of free versions of it and I think you can access one here - A Plastic Ocean Documentary

Eliminate future landfill from your life. It will hurt us all in the long run. And probs eliminate us from the planet. It is this serious. But you have to care.

Was Paul Bunyan the original hipster? Or…

Are Hipsters the new Kavoodle?

Answer hazy, try again later…

I’m just putting it out there, there are so, so, so many strains of hipster now! It’s harder to grasp than the crazy explosion of genetic engineering the dear old poodle. At last count I personally can name 14 poodle crosses.
Don’t believe me? Here they are:

• Spoodle

• Kavoodle

• Moodle

• Groodle

• Schnoolde

• Bernedoodle

• Basetoodle – (just no!)

• Cockapoo

• Saint berdoodle (christ no!)

• Rottle

• Boxer doodle

• Aussie doodle

• Papipoo

• Bichpoo

14!

Why?

Yes, many of them are very cute, but do we always have to play with nature?

Hipster genres and daily life

But this is not my point today. Today, I want to talk about the delicate lacing of subcultures crossing with hipsters that I see on the streets everyday. And they are multiplying!

I live in the coolest hipster neighbourhood outside of Portland Oregon or Williamsburg/Brooklyn NY. Oh, and Denver Colorado. Ok, coolest on mainland Australia. That is a bold claim. But I think it’s true. Hash tag Fitzroy (yes Brunswick, you heard me)!

My eyes have been drinking in the hipster (r)evolution over the last years. I love watching Portlandia (TV show) both own, and, poke ironic fun at it in the same skit.

The skinny jeans, the dad-glasses, environmental conscious, walking everywhere whilst also shunning any organised recreational activity. The introverted-ness, coupled with grouping together in like-style clusters (please read lifestyle!). Flannel shirts, ironic jumpers, beanies, recycled and up-cycled “fashion”, the beards – I mean I could write a whole blog on beard-sters – overalls, tattoos, moustaches to rival Monsieur Poirot himself! I mean, what’s not to love?

Here’s my take on the strains:

Hipsters – the original, not sure if it’s the best, tight pants, ironic glasses, retro jumper, newspaper, analogue mobile (if any).

Hippie-sters – a delightful hippie/hipster cross breed whereby felt hats and flowy dresses are coupled with shaved side-burns and sub-cutaneous jewels.

Sock-sters – cool rolled up skinnies with just some of the most awesome socks going. Stripes, argyle, poke-mon, anything goes.

Beardsters – what can I say? An entire industry of style, stylists, products, necessary grooming activities, have sprung up around this one. Any questions follow the link below to Beardbro for tips and tools.

Punksters – this one is a bit chicken and egg. Punk DEFINITELY came first; it is just that in some way hipster compliments punk. Like Robert Smith could identify as a post-punk, gothic hipster – no offence meant Mr Smith.

Yup-sters – Apparently people no longer know the term YUPPIE, “young urban professional" or "young, upwardly-mobile professional” which Urban Dictionary describes as who has a 1980’s college educated person in a high-paying job with an affluent lifestyle. Implied in this is an obsession with material things and financial success. While this might seem like the antonym of hipster values – they are often collocated in neighbourhoods, and I think they may have crossbred, as I know a lot of hipsters who earn serious money.

Plaidsters – this mysterious, scruffy sub-genre is up there in my favourites. I love a nice flannel shirt; you really can’t beat them for comfort and affordability.

Travel-sters – these mobile-sters are travelling the world sampling the best hipster delicacies going. There are even travel guides dedicated to how to travel as a hipster. The Huffington Post has an article about it that might help you (see below) – I mean, we all love a good coffee.

Craft-sters – these artisan hipsters are forging resurgence in many a craft and cottage industry or pursuit. Their craft beer, love of knitting, jewellery, bee keeping, farming, grooming, all industries being reinvigorated by this seemingly laconic culture. They could see the revitalisation of whole economies!

And now, introducing my all time new favourite, and the inspiration for this whole blog, Lumber-jack-sters! Today I was walking my dog, and what did I see heading towards us but a bunch of new urban lumberjacks! Styled in their best Paul Bunyan shirts, with what I hope were plastic axes looped into their belts, an array of boots from Docs to urban RM Williams, or maybe they were rural RM’s, and, wait for it, skinny hipster jeans. I assume they were on a bucks night, I mean they could have been on a murderous rampage with actual axes, I will check tomorrow’s paper. But I’m just saying, there is no way you could chop down a tree in those jeans. Not without severing a vital organ.

Anyway, this enigmatic, diverse, multicultural, non-gender binary, thriving community is as inclusive as it is exclusive. My favourite part of it all is pondering where it will head next. And while there are books claiming “Dads Are the Original Hipster” (by Brad Getty), I cant wait to see what the next gen make of this, and how these now-hipsters will view their current age group when they themselves are mums/dads/aunts/uncles/LGBTIQ+ family members. I hope they don’t go the way of YUPPIES and somehow be forgotten!

References

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Portlandia_(TV_series

https://www.beardbro.net/grooming/styles/

https://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Yuppie

https://www.huffpost.com/entry/10-tips-for-the-traveling_b_12856100