Mari Madrid speaks to me...

As someone really, really close to a lot of people who put a high value on make up and non-surgical cosmetic enhancement, believe me I understand that some of those different folks' strokes with which I just cannot relate all have their own merit, particularly for those who approach it from an artistic and skillful rather than a purely cosmetic perspective. Furthermore, I understand that enhancement isn't the worst thing. Makeup can genuinely enhance facial beauty without being so grossly deceitful and that is a positive thing.

But at the end of the day, everything that Mari wrote in the post above is exactly how I feel about it all. I don't personally wear makeup unless I have to (read: weddings) and it was literally just in this last week that I began wearing lipstick to work - if you could even call it that considering I realised that in contrast to my friends' advice to 'put on more!', I actually genuinely preferred just that little dusting of colour on my lips to give my face a little bit more life and so dab a little on. That is more than enough.

As someone whose grown up with an ailment that, for years, was grossly apparent on my face and my body and has since left traces, scars and bruises that will now be lifelong friends, while not always being entirely happy with how I look thanks to the wonderfully human trait of vanity, I have grown to appreciate that what people see is indeed what they get, at the very, very least in terms of how I look. There are no surprises, there is no filter, no hiding behind a mask - there is simply me. I feel an abject horror of those women who look like completely different people without makeup on and I am unabashedly glad that I will never be one of them and feel that desperate need to hide my actual self.

It also means that the mantra with which I grew up - it's what's on the inside that counts - has only been strengthened. Looks can always deceive and in the end, my focus for personal improvement will always aim itself more heavily on my character over my appearance and I do my best to consider others the same way, still often needing to battle the more superficially human nature by which I judge people based on how they look, but trying nonetheless.

And you know, were I to take it further, each mark and scar is essentially a part of who I am and what I've been through and continue to live with. They are a part of my story which makes me, me. Considering my relative personal transparency (I'll pretty much talk about anything, with anyone, within general propriety of course), there then exists some form of cohesion between how I approach the way I look and my actual personal character.

But there I drift into douchey territory so I'll pull back.

What it comes down to? Aside from essentially trying to look nice, neat and presentable, I'm happy to face the world with my actual face. I'm comfortable in my own skin (well, for the most part... cheers, eczema) and feel very little need to abide by a standard of physical image that will never, ever be inclusive of all. While I would love it if this wouldn't bring with it odd looks and often grossly inconsiderate criticism, to each their own. I've nothing to hide and I'm happier being who I am and not who others want me to be.

My Trip to Europe! In magnet form...

Having now returned home after an incredible 5 weeks away in Europe, I am quite happily settling back into the swing of the life I put on hold, hiccups and all - my jetlag is hitting me around 6pm every night like clockwork since I got back; I've returned to work a day before the financial shutdown deadline so buckling down and getting onto invoices and reimbursements now that my head's wrapped around just what the hell else has been happening; my skin cannot figure out what has happened to the weather now that I've come home to temperatures 10 times that which I'd been enduring in Europa, so it's in a state of mad rebellion and I'm still battling coughs and wheezes from the cold I developed while away, my lungs also not entirely happy to be back in good ol' humidly hyperallergenic Sydney - but those things aside, I'm most definitely relishing being back in my own home and my own bed and my own city, reuniting with my own life. 

I have a few thousand photos I need to sort through but for now, instead of waiting till that's done, I thought I'd at least get up my magnet collection - one from each city, barring Dresden (shame). 35 days, 18 cities and loved every second of it. 

Now, shall it be forever immortalized on my fridge.

On the Church and Galileo - it's time the same old myths were put to rest.

• Further Reading:

  An Atheist's Take on Galileo and The Church - Tim O'Neill via Quora

  
  

  '@Mike

  Another routinely perpetuated falsehood.

  In fact, the matter was settled in 1741 when Benedict XIV granted Imprimatur to the ‘Complete Works of Galileo.’

  Geocentrism was not only a church-held. The accepted view among ALL scientists was that of Aristotelian geocentrism - not Copernican heliocentrism.

  Galileo privately belittled his scientific peers nevertheless refraining from publishing confirmation of his theory (Copernicus' theory actually), not fearing censure from the Church - but public ridicule from his scientific peers.

  He admitted he could not prove heliocentrism using the scientific standards of his day i.e he could not disprove the associated theory of parallax movement of the stars in relation to heliocentrism - critical for acceptance.

  Pope UrbanVIII cautioned him not to promote geocentrism as absolute scientific truth but to present arguments for and against. He refused putting it forward as absolute - with no conclusive evidence. He then launched into an attack on scripture to help his cause – which he knew nothing about and which was a church responsibility.

  Cardinal Bellarmine’s 1615 letter to Galilleo stated the Church’s position:

  a) It was perfectly acceptable to maintain Copernicanism as a *working* hypothesis;
  b) If real proof existed, he should still proceed with great circumspection.

  Pius VII in 1822, declared Copernicanism as a fact – notwithstanding that the Ptolemian-Aristotelian objection remained undetermined until 1838 when Friedrich Bessel finally succeeded in showing the parallax of Star 61 Cygni.

  Pope Paul VI in 1979, directed the Pontifical Academy of Sciences to settle the ongoing lies and misrepresentations about the Church once and for all with an Academy report on the matter.

  One concession – the CC is never in a hurry. Their report was finalised in 1992 by Benedict XVI (Cardinal) precisely in order to put to rest ongoing erroneous claims like yours.

  Commenter

  Java

   

  Location

  Brisbane

   

  Date and time

  October 16, 2014, 2:31PM'

  
  

Unearthing old loves...

I HEART NUJABES

RIP

An odd little hiccup of memory...

The awesome thing about memory is its ability to let you get thrown into a decades long, to-and-fro mental journey in just a couple of eye blinks.

A link via a friend's Facebook led me to Buzzfeed, one of the currents reigning in online nostalgic warranty, and an article on random facts that would 'shock anyone who grew up in Australia'. As one certainly of that number, I embarked on a quick skim and enjoyed the jolts of memory like remembering Benita Collings (my all-time favourite Play School star), Cheez TV (apparently the first Aussie TV show to have a website which is pretty trippy in itself, the irritatingly catchy theme immediately sounded in my mind's ear upon sight of the words) and the very real surprise that the Bugalugs Bum Thief was written by Tim Winton (the filmy memory of all those bum-less characters is still dancing before my eyes). 

Then I read that the theme to Bananas in Pyjamas was originally sung by Monica Trapaga and I suddenly heard a (somewhat cloudy) nasal, high-pitched voice gleefully squealing that name in my ear. I had to stop a second before I remembered a fellow hospital-mate from my first teenage stint at the Children's Hospital in Westmead, back in year 9 (holy crap, 1997, way to thrust yourself back into my world so abruptly). 

The bits and pieces in my head, currently attempting to knock themselves together into a picture? Light brown hair, tied up in a ponytail, glasses and a gigglesome grin, freckles and a somewhat wide set face... and rather vaguely, the name, Lauren, although I can no longer be sure if that was her name or if that was the name of one of my other ward-mates. Nope, I think Lauren was the girl I'm thinking of. Unlike many of the other girls in the ward, several of whom were suffering from eating disorders, she had a central line (for what, I never knew... at the time, I actually thought it was a condition unto itself) but her most definitely distinctive feature was her voice. Kind of thickly dopey with that little nasal edge. 

"Monica Trapaga!" She was jittery, almost as though her skin were a wetsuit she had to shrug off as quickly as possible, her eyes looking even bigger than usual behind her glasses and her 'r' teetering on that thin line between r's and w's. "Monica Trapaga!"

Simone and I only looked at her in confusion before I finally ventured to ask, "What about her?" 

"She's here! I have to meet her!"

The memory kind of seeps out of me after that point but her voice now rings loud and clear. I remember Simone, my roommate, and I finding this pretty amusing - I mean, a 15 year old getting this excited about Monica Trapaga? Still, this ethereal shot through the decades was far from unpleasant and seems to have uprooted some other mental offshoots along with it - my roommate and us ruminating over Dolly and Girlfriend mags, the TV that could move between the ward rooms and the attached VCR and Nintendo 64 on which I first played MarioKart and Mario 64, the other kids in the ward wanting to borrow the videos I had brought with me, particularly Romeo + Juliet... funnily enough, the very last memory to hit me (for now, anyway) is that of why I was there in the first place. All those dressings and creams all somehow seem secondary to just good ol' life in Wade Ward.

Not something I would have wished back then, considering I've had more photos taken of me in the last 7 years than I've ever had over the course of my life and prior to that, having them taken was among my least favourite activities (seriously, it's only in recent years that I've genuinely figured out how to smile), but it's a shame I have no photos of that time. The memory is all well and good, but it would be nice to have some solid images in my head as opposed to the cloud people and hospital rooms and corridors currently dancing about up there. 

undergroundnewyorkpubliclibrary.com and more booktalk

I literally just found out about this website and I am in love. These are my people.

A choice picture - (linked but unembedded out of respect to Ourit Ben-Haim of whom I am now officially a fan) a commuter reading the autobiographical graphic novel Persepolis: The Story of a Childhood by Marjane Satrapi, a copy of which I will hopefully soon acquire.

The movie based on the story and the illustrations is incredible and quite spellbinding. I highly recommend it, not just for Marjane's story, but also if you know nothing of Iran's recent past history and how completely different it was from the country it is now.

Also spotted amongst the underground that I hope to add to my reading list/library:

Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? And Other Concerns by Mindy Kaling
On The Road by Jack Kerouac
Breakfast of Champions by Kurt Vonnegut
Blueprints of the Afterlife by Ryan Boudinot
The Metamorphosis and Other Stories by Franz Kafka

Most pleasant surprise?

Rainbow Valley by L.M. Montgomery - one of the books from my favourite childhood series.

And while we're on the subject of books, my 2014 reading list has grown:

Currently reading 

(and rather desperate to finish so I may finally part company with Patrick Bateman and his obsessive 80s New York materialism and brutally depraved psychopathy):

Upcoming:

Must purchase/borrow/steal/otherwise gain the ability to read (apart from those seen on unypl above):

Recently Finished:

The Woman in White, apparently considered a 'sensationalist' novel in its time was an unexpected and exciting read. You wouldn't imagine that such old fashioned and therefore elegantly dense and descriptive prose could keep you so well suspended by the story, but Wilkie Collins did just that. I was hooked from beginning to end and almost sad to be done with the world and the characters. The multiple character narrative especially made for an unconventionally richer journey through events and the voices of each character were distinctly interesting and appealing. As the copy I had was borrowed, it is now cemented on my purchase list. Pure story, through and through.

Gone Girl began as a slow burn for me. Sure, I wanted to know what had happened and how the story would eventually twist, but my initial reactions to the 'Gone Girl' and to the writing were somewhat unimpressed - although this could partly be blamed on the hype leading up to my finally reading. A few chapters further finally dug themselves in and in revealing what she does of our missing heroine, Gillian Flynn makes some sharply insightful commentary about the modern world and how our characters have ultimately been shaped, nay produced, by the saturation of our lives by the media. Flynn's background as an entertainment writer shows up often, but depending on your tastes (or whether or not you were just reading a 19th Century Mystery novel *cough*), this only more effectively throws us into that world of modern make-believe melding with the turmoil of being an adult and trying to figure out how to grow the fuck up. A surprisingly helpful pre-cursor to my reading American Psycho immediately after (but still nowhere in its league - a good thing), I do recommend it and I dare say, you will either really enjoy it or you will find it utterly ridiculous. Both viewpoints are obviously completely valid.

Islamophobia: more mindless generalistic demonisation of religion

Over the last week, the two videos below have been all over my Facebook, Twitter and news feeds. Both tackle the question of Islam and Islamophobia and the impact generalisation has on how people view Islam. I finally got to watch them today and, well, let's be honest, I love watching spirited debate and both delivered, just in very different ways.

'Criticize the person doing it, not the [country]'

It is odd to find myself potentially siding with Bill Maher because in general, I've never liked the man. I'm not a fan of his smug, sarcastic brand of commentary and his 'documentary', Religulous, while certainly entertaining, could hardly have been called objective and the fact that it is now treated as a factual representation of all (not some, all) religious folk by some still makes my blood boil. 

However, at the beginning of the video, particularly in comparison to Ben Affleck heatedly spluttering his disgust for their views, it was difficult not to see Maher and Harris' calm reiteration of the statistics as more reasonable. It wasn't until further on in the video I was able to see what Affleck was trying to say underneath his irritation and that, I believe, is the same point that Reza Aslan was far more eloquently able to make in the next video.

'To say that 'Muslim countries' as though Pakistan and Turkey are the same, as though Indonesia and Saudi Arabia are the same... is stupid.'

His point was so very clear and yet Camerota insisted on using the term, 'Muslim countries' as though Aslan hadn't already pointed out that the term was invalid about 5 times. Within the first few minutes, he succinctly points out that the examples that Maher was using to criticise Islam are in fact not representative so much of the religion as they are of the countries in which they are practised. I understand the point that Maher and Lemon and Camerota were trying to make about the statistics of mainstream Muslim belief and their own belief that this is indicative of a faith that ultimately promotes violence at its core and not just in its extremes, however it still doesn't change the fact that they cannot use that to justify a broad judgement of all or even most of who identify as Muslim - and yet they continue to do so. 

People say statistics don't lie. I don't imagine they do, but they certainly don't always tell the whole truth. If anything, the picture they end up painting more closely resembles an incomplete puzzle than a crisp and clear photo of reality. 

People and statistics are two separate entities and one thing I've grown to hate is one being mistaken for the other. They are indicative of either what has happened or what people think but they don't determine everything. I don't care if say, for example, a lower socio-economic area in society has a statistically higher rate of crime, unemployment or teen pregnancy or any other category of marginalisation for that matter. If you live in that area, until you as an individual finally act in a way that makes you fall into one of those categories, those statistics do not represent you as a person and are therefore in no way a determinant of your future. They do not define you until you let them.

It is based on this point that I agree with Ben Affleck more than I did his counterparts (until Sam Harris acknowledged that they were speaking of ideas as opposed to people). His point was that judgement should always fall on those who are perpetrating disaster. Not the faith they claim to represent, not the race or country from which they came, but the perpetrators, the terrorists themselves. The end. To focus the blame elsewhere based on statistics is misguided and dangerous because then the victim count extends beyond those directly affected by terrorism or genocide to even more innocent people who had absolutely nothing to do with any of it.

I'm certainly not saying that we shouldn't condemn dangerous ideas. Ideas are what drive these attacks and to pretend they don't serve a vital role is naive. But that still provides no excuse to unfairly judge and demonise innocent people who haven't adopted those more violent ideas. The beheadings in Iraq do not make it ok for the beatings and harrassment of innocent Muslims in Australia to have occurred as they did after the police crackdown this last month. That they did is abhorrent and a tragic manifestation of blind and uninformed hate. No number of bombings, attacks, beheadings or kidnappings will ever justify retaliating against the innocent and I say this as someone who has lost a family member to a terrorist attack. 

As Aslan said, those individuals, those societies or those governments that actively oppress and abuse people should be condemned but to breed fear and misunderstanding based on blanket generalisations leads to discord beyond borders because therein lies a very dangerous idea - that we have the right to judge people based, not on their own actions, but on the terrible actions of someone else. 

Flying Solo Friday Night

So last Friday, I went to the movies on my own for the very first time. Now, it wasn't so big a deal that I was all that worried about going on my own, but it was enough of a deal for me to feel tentative (and I suppose, sit here and write about it). Why was that? A couple of reasons, a rather pale one concerning my general safety in being on my own in Newtown on a Friday night, though the journey home wasn't much of a concern as it's one I've made often enough from the metropolitan area (and in the end, the issue became moot because some friends ended up meeting me in the city afterwards and I got a lift home - hurrah!).

The other was, shamefully enough, wondering what people would think of me. I know, while I don't like that something so silly was able to potentially niggle at my desire to finally go see Boyhood (by the way, it is a wonderful movie, go see it. Immediately), the hesitance was there. Mind you, it didn't last very long, but it was there and it's only denial for me to pretend it didn't make an appearance.

Now, at no point was I actually concerned about being out alone or seeing the movie by myself. I enjoy doing things on my own and since I found out about its release in Australia, being a HUGE Linklater fan, I've been excited to see his reported 'masterpiece'. I wanted to know how well the long scale project had been executed. I wanted to see how Ellar Coltrane would grow with his character. I wanted to see if the typically Linklater-style philosophy would carry itself well in the film's dialogue. I wanted to see how well his daughter, Lorelei, would pull off her role. I wanted to know if I would fall in love as I have with so many of his past movies. For all those reasons and more, I was going to go see it and since the feelers I'd put out had mostly met with a lukewarm response, I decided that if necessary, I would go by myself before its cinema run ended - and I'm so, so glad I did.

I can't recommend the movie enough.

Still, going to the movies alone, going out on a Friday night alone, basically outings where you fly solo all seem to have a stigma hovering about them like a bad smell, enough so that it would even affect someone who enjoys time alone as much as I do.

I quite relish being on my own. To a lot of people, I know that will sound sad, but I've grown quite content in my own company and a lot of what I love is great done alone. Reading, writing, playing my piano, a good day out on a pleasant day (and not scorching like right now), relaxing with a good show or some music, hell, I enjoyed several shows on Broadway in NYC by myself. Additionally, the time is precious to me because I'm not someone who is often alone. I love my family and my friends and I couldn't love spending time with them more, but it does mean that moments that I really have purely to myself are rather rare and therefore over the years, I have grown to appreciate those moments.

But there you go, despite that, going to the movies on my own had thus far remained untested and there was some hesitance because I'm not entirely immune to societal stigma. Thankfully by the time I got off the train at Newtown, that hesitance was gone and I was just excited to see the movie and the excitement only grew after I bought my ticket. Newtown is also such a vibrantly alive place any given night and the atmosphere is fun to soak in when you're strolling about by yourself. When I entered the cinema after a failed attempt to grab a vegan cupcake from way too far up the road, I again had a dull pang of self-consciousness about where to sit so I wasn't somehow a nuisance to all the groups and couples but then I found a good spot, got comfy and enjoyed the movie.

I know it's not for everyone and I also know not everyone has pangs about this sort of thing, but when it comes down to it, I highly recommend anyone who still fears catching a flick on their own to reconsider. We're not in primary or high school anymore. Seeing a movie you actually want to see on your own, doesn't make you some sad loner. Within a half hour of finishing the movie, I was telling my friends all about it over Korean BBQ at BBQ City, but even if I'd been on my train back out west on my own munching on a snack I'd grabbed from the IGA next to the Dendy (my original plan), the sheer lack of other people certainly wouldn't have diminished my enjoyment of the movie and the creative and emotional gears it had gotten turning in my own head.

In fact, I would challenge someone who knows they aren't so good at being on their own to just give it a shot. Besides, you can't always be sure your family or friends will necessarily be interested in all the things you want to check out and it's definitely no fun dragging someone to something they don't want to see so why miss out simply because you won't have someone with you? Go out, grab some good food and enjoy yourself.

Meanwhile, if you do have people willing to be dragged to something they have no interest in, well that's still pretty damn sweet. And if you don't, then you get to call the shots, so why not call them?

100 Women of Influence in Australia

Click here for full list of winners

Upon my discovery that one of the professors at the centre where I work is most deservedly on the list and particularly following my last post on Feminism (or whatever it is I am), I had meant to put this up last week but never got the chance.

I hope every woman, young and old, is able to look at that list and at least begin to see that despite all the struggles and the remaining barriers that still exist for women particularly in the higher echelons of the professional world, success is within their grasp and that breaking down barriers is still possible. That people, many of the listed women included, have been able to achieve so much while doing so. I hope this list works to help women see that the barrier of their own fear of failure, judgement and oppression should be the first to go so they are more than fully equipped to fight the good fight.

And I especially hope this list can help bring back any woman who thought she couldn't survive in a man's world.

I know, a lot of pressure to put on a list of names. But hey, it's still a proof of possibility and sometimes, that's all a person needs to get started and whatever struggles lie ahead, none of them will even matter if no one ever tries.

Am I a Feminist?

My entry is late this week, albeit to a phantom deadline, but a deadline all the same. Although I can honestly say that this time around, it hasn't been out of sheer neglect or laziness. Since my last entry, I've had some difficulty trying to elucidate what I'm actually doing here and though the odd topics have definitely dipped into the periphery of my mind and rippled some mental (and at times, emotional) stirrings, none have actually felt like they belong here. While I didn't want an entry-empty week, I have also been resistant to the notion of just putting up any damn thing, just to have something up.

Hopefully what's below counts as more than just any damn thing.

Anyway, back on topic...

Am I a Feminist?

The question has (indirectly) been channeled to me by two people this last week, both whom I greatly admire and whom I recommend everyone watch (obliging links to videos below):

RE: Feminism (REQUEST) via hitRECord on YouTube:

'What does that word, feminism, mean to you?'

Yet another reason I love this guy. Aside from his amazing acting, his incredible creativity and artistic openness, his genuine interest in what people really think about things, whether or not he agrees with them, is plainly obvious whenever he releases these videos. As I've said countless times, I respect the respectful, regardless of their location on the belief spectrum and after following his work for years (and also ascertaining that we are certainly on opposite ends of certain beliefs), I honestly believe that JGL is a sincere and respectful guy who just wants more people to speak, more voices to be heard... and wants to listen. 

I actually plan to contribute to this REQUEST, alongside a few others (Yes, my profile, she finally exists!).

Are you RECording?

Emma Watson at the HeForShe 2014 Campaign - Official UN Video via The UN on YouTube:

'If not me, who? If not now, when?' - a question I should ask myself far more often about far more things.

What a beautiful young woman Emma Watson has become! Sure her voice shook at times, but considering her purpose, her audience and the sheer scope of what she was likely hoping to achieve, she still maintained that poise she's so masterfully developed over the years. She's bright, educated, articulate and clearly passionate and goodness knows we definitely need more people like that in the world; people who want to make a difference. I applaud her getting up there to speak because no matter who you are, that takes guts that most people would never bother to gather in a lifetime, yes, myself included.

Anyway... 

I've personally always had a difficult relationship with the term. When I was a child, it seemed uncomplicated enough. While I wasn't one to shy away from stereotypes - boys like playing with toy cars and trucks; girls loved their barbies, that sort of thing - I always believed that a girl should be able to do what the boys could. If she wanted to play sports with them, then she should. If she wanted to climb trees with them, then she should. To disallow this just because she was a girl was unfair (a favourite childhood term). Then a more adult perspective crept in after watching Mary Poppins for the first time and listening to Mrs Banks sing 'Sister Suffragette'. Votes for women! But of course! Why on earth should we be deprived of such a thing? The notion, if not the term, of feminism hit me then and I eagerly identified with it.

Then as I got older, I was introduced to the concept of the more she-woman man-haters club variety of feminist who even seemed to hate the notion of femininity itself. Women who scorned wives, housewives and mothers and seemed to look down on anyone whom they saw 'depended' on any male. Here I began to have reservations about the whole idea of feminism and eventually began to distance myself from it. I believed in equal rights for women and I admired and stood by the achievements of those who had laid the foundations for me to live the life I get to live now as a woman - but I had zero interest in flagrantly disparaging men or the women who supported them. I allow that this perception, sewn haphazardly together from a patchwork of negative experiences, was hardly a fair representation of all those who identified themselves as feminists and what they were fighting to achieve. However it was my perception for a very long time, sadly reinforced by bitter rants about 'patriarchal domination' and how all men are 'rapists'.

It's only in recent years that I feel I've drifted back to it again, although still not fully. From my experience, a very potent aspect of what I believe seems to, in some circles, lock me outside of the arena of being pro-woman and that is my anti-abortion stance (pro-life isn't a term I love - euphemistic, afraid of the word, 'anti', a glosser in a topic that calls for honesty. And while I don't want to assume pending judgement for my belief, please ask me why beforehand). Aside from that, however, minus the bitter extremes, I believe that although we aren't necessarily the same as men, we are equal as human beings and have the right to opportunity regardless of sex. We most certainly have the right to be paid the same as a man if indeed WE ARE DOING THE SAME WORK. And while I think that it is a much, much larger issue that society has historically treated women the way it has and treats both men and women the way it does now, I do hope that one day a woman can be her actual self - whether she be assertive, dominating or submissive - in the workplace, in sport, in the public, in her life, without being accused of betraying or misrepresenting her sex.

These are just a few bare examples, but I feel much more at home outlining them outright than I do labelling myself in order to find a definition that wholly encompasses who I am and what I stand for. No such label exists and I'm in no rush to cling to one anyway or use one to pigeonhole anyone else. Feminists of all varieties exist in the world and while I suppose I belong to one branch or another, I am simply someone who believes that our sex should never be an excuse to ever place unnecessary or unjust limits upon anybody - man or woman. 

So many things to be excited about at the moment...

... not least of which is that the Panthers beat the Roosters yesterday in one of most insanely suspenseful games I've ever sat through in my life! It's been about a decade since my last obsessive ramblings about NRL but this was one to resurrect the sportsbabble. The game was quite close for the most part, but then the last 10 minutes were just emotionally - and in my case of chair-gripping, leaping and jumping about, physically - exhausting. This was even more evident when earlier today, my sister and I re-watched those final 10 minutes and we still ended up yelling ourselves hoarse and jumping about like Mexican beans once it ended.

Teams were tied, 12-12, as the game stumbled into the final minutes and each side attempted to go for the real points rather than just kick for the tiebreaker (which at the time, was infuriating me because I kept getting stressed every time the Roosters got possession and even began to come closer to their tryline or within any reasonable kicking distance. Embarrassingly enough, I let loose a few verbal gouges at Soward for not setting anyone, particularly Moylan, up for the kick. Soward, forgive me!). 

Then with just 6 minutes to go, the Roosters scored a try with Pearce running through a massive hole in the Panthers defence and grounding almost right next to the goal posts. They celebrated, the Penrith players looked dejected and I declared my burning desire to vomit (for the tenth time that game), while covering my eyes and assuming (much like many) that all was lost. A bare 5 minutes left in the game and an almost certain conversion about to make me actually vomit seemed to lock the sucker up and I was at the very least relieved that I was so very wrong to have written this game off as an easy loss to the Minor Premiers. It was a worthy game and the Panthers certainly hadn't taken any of it lying down. Such was my solace, particularly after I watched Maloney kick that damn ball between the goal posts in one of the easiest shots possible (oh, and drag ass doing so of course, attempt to run the clock out why don't you. Punk). 

Of course though, being the ever-hopeful creature that I am, I re-gripped my chair and carried on watching with the thinnest hopes of a last minute try. I was pretty much praying for a miracle - and it came in the form of Watene-Zelezniak. Barely 2 minutes to go, Soward sends a grubber hurtling towards the touch line, but then next thing you see Watene-Zelezniak fly up and whip it back into play and towards the tryline where Whare trip-steps, then dives and grounds... and I launch myself off of my chair yelling like a lunatic, along with the rest of my family who were also watching, including my sister up in Brissie who happened to be following the whole thing with us on Skype. We had to force ourselves to calm down for a few minutes while the Video Refs watched the replay over and over, but it was soon clear that all was above board and now we just needed Soward to kick like the marvelous motherfucker he is. 

And that's what he did, and without a hint of fear. Confident kick, beautiful conversion and resounding relief that now the ball was most definitely in our possession and the first opportunity to break the tie was with Penrith. Under a minute in the game left and though I felt bad for Jennings when he lost the ball for the Roosters, I yelled in utter glee like a real jerk, triumphant that the ball was back in our hands. We were all pretty flipped out at this point and the boys were trying to work their way down the field and I kept searching for Moylan or Soward and wondering how it was going to happen because they were still so far out, then with 15 seconds left, Soward gets the ball and kicks straight and low. The ball just clears the goal post and everyone in my house, the team, the Panthers fans at Allianz Stadium and likely all of Penrith, just lost. Their. Shit.  

As we were all pretty much off our heads at the time, it wasn't until the rewatch that we noticed how amidst the celebrations, Soward was still somewhat comically directing the guys back into position so they could finish the last 10 seconds of the game. Next thing you know, it's full time, game's done and we are all yelling, jumping up and down, getting mad kicks out of the replays and basically all round high. It was a fantastic game to watch and I envy the fans who were in the stadium for it. What a killer. The rest this weekend for the team is most definitely well deserved. Soward and Moylan in particular are my heroes.

I fucking love NRL. 

GO PANTHERS!!!

'You cannot have degrees of truth; truth is, by its very definition, absolute. We formulate an explanation that best explains our observations, but ultimately that explanation is either correct or it is not. In this case, the physicist would have something better supported than whatever the priest would say, but not '"more true". It may seem like a trivial distinction, but I assure you it is not.'

Can't damn well remember who wrote it (I had saved it in a memo on my phone and the names beside make no sense to me anymore - thanks Memory!), but the above is one of the reasons I trawl through forum debates and comments sections so doggedly - because among the rubble of inane opinions and attention-deprived trolls, you still often get frank, cogent and simply put gems - such as the one above, some sense in the din of banality - put forth by just some randoms on the internet.


*mumble* Although yes, sometimes those stupid fights that erupt are kinda fun to watch too... no surprise having had shitty reality TV around for a third of my life. 

Reading (and Re-Reading) List 2014

So, in terms of reading this year, while it's been a somewhat slow one, it's definitely been an improvement on many of those previous. Particularly lately, I feel like I've been pounding through quite a few reads in a short period of time and I'm loving it. I'm trying to figure out if I've forgotten anything, but as far as lists go, the one below will have to do. 

Particular recommendations? The Secret History (how did it take me so long to discover Donna Tartt? I should be ashamed), American Gods (long awaited read and well worth it), IT (have read this so many times and never get tired of it, one of my all time favourite books through and through), Man Without a Country (so, so, so amusing) and for some awesome gender contrast on relationship dissection, High Fidelity and Mad About The Boy. Both fun reads, both by highly entertaining and hilarious writers. 

Currently Reading:

Finished: 

Re-reads:

Attempted (e-copy and insanely dense prose justifying ogling little girls - or nymphettes - slowing me down): 

Favourite discovery: 

The 101 Things I Learned series - for the lazy wannabe student in us all:

I want to give the girl in this picture such a hug.

I want to tell her that, whether she can imagine it or not, the day will come where she won't have to wake up every morning and carefully pull the mask off of her face and then later have to cake on woolfat and cream before wrapping a bandanna around her head in order to face the world.

That one day, wet packs will have become such a thing of the past, that she won't even be able to remember the last time she had to wear them.

That over time, people will stop pulling themselves and their kids away from her and stop staring and asking her how or if she got 'burned'. That all those looks - pity, fear, confusion, disgust - will all eventually fade away into insignificance.

That one day, her swollen eyes and all those open, raw, pus filled rashes on her face and everywhere else will actually transform from raging monsters into either harmless scars or somewhat more manageable pests and that on even better days, they will go into hiding altogether.

That soon enough, it will have been 16 years and counting since her last hospital stay, a life starkly different to the days when the children's hospital was like her summer home.

That one day, she'll be able to eat more cookies and cakes than she ever dreamed of. Not to mention - chocolate. That's right, kiddo, chocolate will once again be a part of your life and not a poisonous one at that.

And after all of that, I want to thank her.

She is the reason that these days, I am often so pleasantly surprised by how normal the face gazing back in the mirror is and why whenever I find out I can eat something new, I genuinely feel like the luckiest person on the planet. She's also the source of an imagination that was strong enough to get through the hard times and broad enough to make the good times even better.

So thanks, even littler Jelynn, for living through all of that for me. I don't know how you did it, but you did. I'm an adult now and I can barely imagine living life the way you had to, although it occurs to me now that your childlike outlook was a big part of that survival. I know that it was awful for you a huge chunk of the time and I know that all you wanted was to feel some semblance of normalcy, during the good times and the bad and that this desire only made life seem tougher than it really was. Thank you for getting through it all and thus allowing me to live the much kinder life I live now. Life certainly keeps lobbing those curve balls but I wouldn't have the cajones to bat those suckers away if it weren't for you.

Somehow I hope you can hear me and feel my bear hug travelling across the 24 year long chasm running all the way back to good ol' 1990.

Love you, kid.

Forks in the Road

I took this photo at The Cloisters, Fort Tryon Park, NYC, November 2010.

What drives me just a little nuts, is the fact that whenever life hits you with one of these, there’s always another lurking just a few steps in… no matter which path you choose.

Endless possibility is a beautiful, but definitely crazy-making, thing.

'Stop believing everything you see on the internet.'

Courtesy of Cracked.com

And one...

'I am only a fighter

in the form of a writer

in the form of a poet

potency in the mic

I blank out then I approach it

turn me up and I go in'

- Wale

I freaking love Lyle Beniga (and Wale for that matter, but that can wait for another day). I looked the Nike Boots choreo up on a whim after realising it had been a while since I looked up any dance (I know... why?). 

I can only say so much because my own in depth knowledge of dance is pretty sadly shallow, although I can say without a doubt that the choreo above is one of my absolute favourites in terms of musicality. The man is not only on point throughout but the choreography is a sharply slick embodiment of every single beat of the song and it succeeds in being both tough and lyrical at the same time, which perfectly represents the song itself. My favourite sequence lies surreptitiously within that downward hand movement at 0:09 to the 'fighter' punch at 0:18. Those little steps at the end are pretty badass too. 

Makes me miss hip hop, despite my own hopelessness at executing choreo. Sure, the counts were ok... 'and one... and two... and three..'  etc, but once the music actually came on, I was flappin' around like Kermit the Frog on an electric grill and a likely bug up his ass. Yeeaah, methinks I did the world a kind favour stopping. The world and my wallet.

As in piano (and frankly, life), gimme freestyle and let the ballers like Lyle Beniga create the physical poetry they so beautifully bring to life.

I can happily flop about to it myself later.

A defining moment in solidifying my love for Ron Swanson.

'Look how black the sky is, the writer said. 

I made it that way.' 

I've just finished re-reading Lunar Park by Bret Easton Ellis and this sentence has been pounding through my head since I read it a few days ago. I had genuinely forgotten almost everything about the book, having last read it back in 2007 so admittedly a reread was way overdue... and something I think I really needed.

One of my biggest struggles with any of my writing has been the constant inner battle between the wannabe journo who has to dispassionately relay facts, events, timelines and the writer desperate to emotionally delve as far as possible while doing so with some kind of lyrical grace. The battle between the adult trying to sensibly get through each day by being level-headed and not letting emotions cloud their judgement and the dreamer who can't help but see the moments for what they are, each their own fleeting tale of joy, pain, hunger, rage... the Realist versus the Idealist, round 1... the Journalist versus the Activist, round 2. 

In fact, it's not just in my writing that this discord keeps rearing itself. My general demeanour is one of optimism, cheer and openness. I like seeing the good around me and very often do. I also don't like to complain because despite my own troubles, I can't help seeing how starkly they pale in comparison to so many others. Not to mention the fact that constant complainers (read: fucking drama kings/queens) are among my least favourite people on the planet. I like to keep trying to move forward, however slowly - and in my case, it's often glacial - and I like to look around the world for all the wonder it has to behold. 

But that said, that wonder will always inevitably come with its share of drama and the creative part of me can't help pushing aside the rational part of me saying, 'get the hell over it already and move on' and wanting to pick it all apart, pull its guts out and splash it somewhere, even if only onto the canvas hanging off kilter inside my own head. It's this side of me that is drawn to the dark and the depressive, the pain and the anguish that is so intrinsically part of bouncing around on this insane rock. It was this side of me that obviously wanted to reread something written by the guy who came up with the reportedly (I haven't yet read it, although I have recently attained my own copy) vividly grotesque American Psycho. Even in Lunar Park, he refers to his writing American Psycho as 'an extremely disturbing experience', with Patrick Bateman haunting him at every turn till he was finally done. He even wrote the following: 

'But even years later I couldn't look back at the book, let alone touch it or reread it - there was something, well, evil about it.'

I do imagine this sentence was certainly dramatically tainted, but that being said, it's no secret that everything you write takes a piece out of you. Stephen King has spoken about how writing Pet Sematary was one of the hardest things to do because of the places he had to bring his mind to in order to complete it. Anyone who has read it can easily imagine why. Having attempted my own forays into the deadlights (ayup), the headspace into which you collapse can be overpowering and it can cripple the hell right out of you. A more recent attempt had me attempting to actually create a scenario that has remained one of my (and likely many people's) greatest fears and give it life (or death) on the page. I wasn't very far in when I had to shut my eyes and physically get the fuck away from my laptop. As is unfortunately my way, I never finished it, although the door is nowhere near closed on it. 

As a naturally sensitive person, navigating adulthood has involved a huge amount of personal change - or at least my trying to implement that change - with a varying degree of success. Unfortunately, what that has also come to mean is that I actively repress my creative side. I doff it in exchange for rationalisation of my non-existent right to complain when there's so, so much worse. While I'm happy to be happy, I do know we are all allowed to rant, bitch, rave and moan from time to time, but for the most part, the person I am now, the person I have become, the person I've trained myself to be, prefers to limit that allowance and try to see the good. The sad part is, it's when I'm really indulging that creative side that I feel alive. As in fully present. ME. 

And the notion of a balance between the two is so ridiculously difficult. Even now, I can hear Little Miss Sensible telling me to just get down to it, write, woman! Write! Stop trying to find time, just do it, get your ass in gear, do iiiit! Quit with all the analysis already! 

But the other part of me knows that this is who I am. This is all part of what makes me, me and I can't not try to know it, to dissect it, to figure it all out and to revel in doing so. 

But LMS is winning. Right now, having written all this, I want to wrap it up neatly by saying, make the time. That's it. Work when you have to work, socialise when you have to socialise and write and dream when you have to be. That's all there is to it. You know that. When you open your laptop and are sitting there staring at the page and that damned blinking cursor and you're wondering what in hell makes you think you have anything of importance to say and even if you did, what makes you think you have any ability to elucidate it, just do what you did just now. Start writing. Something. Motherfucking anything. And get wherever it is you have to go, as a journo, as an activist, as an artist or as yourself.  

Get writing and darken that damn sky.

To which I can only reply with, 'Ok.'

And to be honest, it's a bare victory. The very existence of this blog, technically a piece of exhibitionism that the anti-exhibitionist inside of me abhors, is proof of that. Yet, were it not, I would be defying my own words in my own article - words imploring everyone (myself) not to be too afraid to speak and be heard.

So up this goes in defiance of hypocrisy.

'Let my own lack of a voice be heard.'

He speaketh truth, that F. Scott Fitzgerald.

Anyway, just had to share this shirt. I want one.

Long overdue life update time...

My gosh, I am just the laziest. There is no excuse whatsoever for my having not posted anything more than a map and an anecdotal brain fart in the last month. Thus far all resolves to keep this thing alive have allowed themselves to sink below the waves of constant distraction. I would like to call it 'Life', the convenient fallback of choice, but it really is just sheer laziness. Discipline and I, we've never been all that chummy, bar the few times I get my head above water in a sea of TV, going out, timewasting online games and the sadly occasional book.

Ok, hold up a sec. Even I will have to concede that I may be being a tad harsher on myself than is necessary. This last couple months have been among my most creative in a very long time and for the first time in years, I actually feel more like a whole person again. I feel less like something is missing or that I’m not doing something I should, I actually feel like me. That is an amazing feeling. True, the genuine validation of my ability to express myself both eloquently and hopefully actually connect with a reader, along with some very, very kind encouragement from some truly awesome people, has been quite the boost! I guess what I should be lamenting is this place’s poor upkeep. Literary (I laugh) blog gardener, I am not.

Remedying now. Self-deprecating rant over, it’s update time. Prepare for long-winded rambling!

* Work-wise, I last updated this when I was still working at the DCRC and marvelling at the fact that not all offices are invariably inhabited by assholes. It was quite the eye-opener and now, having moved to NDARC, my amazement continues. I work full-time now, people, full-time! This was not something I would have considered ever doing again for a very long time, but the fact is I like working here so much, I decided that health and time could maybe take a backseat for a while as I attempted to, y’know, earn more dosh and do so at a place that didn’t make me want to kill myself (here I will disclaim Market. That place was awesome, it just wasn’t enough hours. If I’d had my way, I could very well have still been dealing with shitty farmers and loving every minute of it!). Honestly though, loving working at NDARC. Some of the loveliest people I’ve come across and I get to continue being the grand old dork I am which is awesome.

* Thanks to all that garble above (which essentially comes to, I’m steadily and somewhat securely employed again, yay for pera!), 2 things that I’d never really imagined myself doing were able to come about – my actually getting a mortgage broker and looking into real estate (hello, adulthood!) and my upcoming trip to Europe! Yeaaaah, son! Though both endeavours have come with their dramas, I’m still pretty excited all round. I feel I’m repeating sentiments I expressed back when I updated about planning for New York so hey, hurrah for the instances when life catches you off guard in a good way!

* So all that guff above about being more creative than ever lately, well, I’ve got quite a few writing projects going at the moment which is all kinds of awesome. I’m admittedly grunting my way through it at times, but that’s just a testament to how out of practice I’ve been! Meanwhile, in further aid of allowing myself more creative freedom, I’ve signed up for a couple of Voiceover e-courses. Acting sans audience – the dream! What I’ve done thus far has definitely been fun and actually helpful in its own right for helping me better brave and discover character voices, not to mention the voice exercises are just as useful for singing as they are for speaking clearly so woohoo! And of course, there’s the music. I’m singing and playing more songs than ever and coming up with more little tunes on my lovely, lovely piano (my baby) and actually remembering to record them! Cheers to the likes of Silvestri, Newman, Giacchino, Hisaishi et al for allowing me the opportunity to imitate and hopefully find something of my own sound among all the copycatting!

* Lastly, I’m glad I’m even bothering to update this thing. I hope to write more of substance but for now, it’s alive again. It’s breathing again. Sure, those breaths are a little halted – somewhat representative of the writer’s own erratically asthmatic existence – but hopefully this surprisingly and aptly short-winded shot of compositional Ventolin will keep it going. Here’s to!

USA... USA... USA... 2015

... well, hopefully anyway. 

A Brief Epistle to an Old Friend

Dear Old Back Fence,

Though our new fence is one that affords us a much higher level of security, I do still miss your quaint and haphazard old self. The photo above (of which I am inordinately proud) of the Tree Gone Too Soon would likely never have existed without you and your oh so open view of the world and for that I will always be grateful.

So here's to you and what used to be the biggest backyard ever. I'm certain the remaining Jacarandas miss you just as much as I do. I imagine the new fence and garden feel like a bit of a scene-stealer in their eyes and your humble acquiescence will always be appreciated.

Cheers for the peers in and out and for the sunset I got to capture without the aid of a chair or stepladder.

~Jel

A recent article I wrote for SO Magazine Australia

The Uses of Wonder - a talk by Bobette Buster at the Sydney Writers Festival 2014

In a world where we often prefer entertainment fast-tracked or easily digested in a 6-second vine or readily ‘lol’d at in a meme, we all still love a good story.

That we as humans are all hardwired to respond to a good story well told was the very essence of Bobette Buster’s presentation at the Sydney Writers Festival – The Uses of Wonder.

A highly respected Hollywood story consultant and lecturer for such studios as Disney, Pixar and Sony and a professor at the University of Southern California School of Cinematic Arts, Bobette spoke about the uses of enchantment in cinema and animation and her charisma, passion and insight proceeded to enchant the audience who had come to see her, myself included.

We were treated to an eye opening peek into the layers of cinematic storytelling behind such films as Finding Nemo, Toy Story 2, E.T. and Babe. Bobette also revealed the lesser known driving themes behind them, truths like the message of kindness and the ordinary becoming extraordinary in E.T. or the ultimate transformation of Rex the Dog in Babe as he humbles himself and gives away the much coveted spotlight to let Babe shine. Probably most piercing is the message of Toy Story 2 which shows us that people we love may very well ‘grow up’, leave us and forget about us, but, just like the toys left behind, we can still choose to love them anyway.

Insights like these are part of the staying power that is story-telling and cinema. As Bobette pointed out, though cinema is still a young story-telling medium, the use of story has long been an integral part of the human psyche.

Advancing from oral tradition, mythology and fables have maintained power over the centuries because they speak about the fundamental journey of being human. They appeal to our innate senses of courage, justice, forgiveness and hope and can even help prepare us and for whatever hardships the world may send our way.

Psychologist Bruno Bettelheim, while a Dachau inmate, observed that the children raised on Grimm’s Tales were better able to keep hoping despite their dire circumstances. One imagines that this hope of a better life was what Anne Frank harboured inside her, aided by a poster of film idol Sonja Henie on her wall, as she wrote in a diary that would end up inspiring millions.

Cinema is therefore an artform of transformation, a chance to go places we would never go, take emotional journeys with characters we’ve never met and see the world around us with clearer eyes. As Bobette stated, ‘truly great films show us how difficult it is to find those profound truths and they do so with dimensionality’ staying with us long after the last credits roll and allowing us to pass on a ‘baton of understanding’ from each generation in order to inspire and strengthen the next.

SO…

While movies and animation allow us to visit new worlds, learn about our world and about strength, courage and hope, it’s then up to us to open our eyes, take a good look at the world around us and see the extraordinary in the ordinary. We are surrounded by stories – those of our families, our friends, our community and most importantly, inside each of us. We are all creating our own story and it’s up to us to make it one that stands up and has an impact. And if you want to tell it, then do it. Don’t be frozen by fear – speak, write and be heard.

Give yourself a chance to be an inspiration.

- Jelynn Millare

On the notion that science is the only bearer of truth in today's world...

So, what's below was drafted I've no idea when, obviously while I was still attempting to complete my Grad Cert so we'll gauge it around mid to late 2011. I've no idea at all why I didn't post it in the end, likely excessive second-guessing as is my general way, however this is something I strongly believe so here you go, 2 and a half year old post, fly free!

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'Whilst ploughing through my readings for the new sem, I happened upon the following:

'Science, and the seeming certainty of scientific knowledge, have undergone vast changes in the past 100 years. After all, before Einstein, most educated people believed that Sir Francis Bacon had accurately and eternally described the basic actions and laws of the physical universe. But Bacon was wrong. Scientific inquiry in the 20th century searchingly explored a variety of physical phenomena, almost always uncovering new relationships, new areas of knowledge, and most importantly, new and expanding areas of ignorance. What modern humanity regarded as certainty of scientific truth has changed fundamentally in the last 100 years, and humanity has every reason to expect similar changes in this century. Science and certainty are not synonymous, despite our tendency to blur the two.' - Philip Patterson & Lee Wilkins in 'Media Ethics: Issues and Cases'

You only have to look at the so often flawed parameters involved in scientific measurement, alongside the potential for inaccuracy in conclusion, whether due to bias or outright human fallibility, to see just how true their words are.

Now, I'm certainly not attempting to claim outright that science provides us with no factual information, far from it. What I contest, along with Messrs. Patterson and Wilkins, is its apparent status to some as the most objective source of fact when in reality history hardly speaks for its steadfastness. Hell, one could argue that by comparison, ethical reasoning has a far more consistent history (and of course, P&W do).

Essentially, there will always be more to the world than what science tells us so we should never allow it to limit our understanding of said world.'