This is one of my favourite ever opening paragraphs in a Cracked article. Gold.

'Great movies tend to collect in the pool of pop culture's subconscious, available to be referenced and paid homage to for years to come. And, in some cases, identifiable elements of them will become more prevalent than the movies themselves. You don't have to see The Godfather to know that a guy made some really sweet offers in it. Charles Foster Kane was super fucking into his sled. Arnold Schwarzeneggar will be back, in a chopper, sans tumor.'

6 Classic Movies that are Famous for the Wrong Thing

New Year, New Reads

Hooked on phonics is one way you could describe me, clearly, and what's a new year without a new list of great reads to come? Already, I have embarked on a novel (punny, huh?) approach to my own personal reading - 3 books at once: 

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Above is the one into which I have most delved thus far and I am loving it. Clearly, I have an affinity for American authors and Faulkner's stream of southern consciousness style has primed me for getting completely engrossed in Steinbeck's tale of landowners evicted from their homes and their resulting struggle to establish a whole new life. So far, I am indeed in love.

I'm a chapter in, having always wanted to read it and having never summoned the guts till now. So far, I am absolutely fascinated, however my one lamentation is that my powers of retention are so, so poor. I rejoice at being able to fathom the concepts he is describing and I weep at the fact that the minute I put the book down, they pour out into the (disproved) ether. Rehearsal and retention - my two weakest muscles. I hope I can make this book the beginning of a good workout for them this year.  

As yet, unstarted, however I am very, very excited. Another book I've been wanting to read for a very long time, although just never got around to it. All who know me know I believe in the existence of an entity of real evil and though I'm fully aware these letters are entirely fictional, I look forward to the study of the nature of good, evil and humanity that will undoubtedly flow from its pages.

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This early literary burst to the year can be credited to the lovely lady at the secondhand book store in Epping and my very own brother. The Grapes of Wrath, I found at Epping, among a pile of other titles I'm massively looking forward to (including Middlesex! Finally! Eugenides, I adore you).

The triple book score however can be attributed to my brother's fantastic little library (by which I mean big bag o' books) from which I obtained A Brief History Of Time and The Screwtape Letters. I recently Instagrammed a photo of my little haul from his books which included the latter two and a few more studies and histories of philosophy, logic as well as the SAS Survival Guide. LOVE having siblings who read a variety of books outside of my own.

Ah yes! I very nearly forgot the Sandman graphic novels on loan to me from my workmate, Elena!

I finally read Gaiman last year and loved him and I know this particular series of works is highly acclaimed so I really can't wait to see what all the fuss is about, especially as I haven't actually read a graphic novel since Watchmen. I definitely cannot wait for our night with Neil Gaiman coming up at the end of the month. I want to see this talented man in action!

So here's to the new worlds, insights and characters that await me in 2015 - hook me up, phonics, let's do this :)

A very, very true article I read and wanted to share...

Plane crashes, terrorism, random violence - new realities amid our relative security 

by Waleed Aly

From the article:

'Here's the thing: in our streets, in our bank accounts and in the air, we in Australia lead about the safest, most secure lives of any people. Ever. Our real income is up and the road toll is down (the lowest since 1945, by the way). We live without any genuine prospect of political strife. We're not about to be invaded or bombed with nuclear weapons – our most feared enemies have knives and guns, not armies in tanks. We're not likely to be decimated by some disease or virus – Ebola or otherwise. Yes we have problems, but they're the kind most of our species could only have dreamed of having. And yet that's so easy to forget because there's this continuous, churning fear.

Our mortal selves aren't under threat, here. But the myths we've built about ourselves very much are. The myth that our addiction to alcohol is innocently, endearingly larrikin, for example. Or that the problems of the world – like Russia's incursion into Ukraine or the disaster of Iraq and Syria – have no call on us and simply don't raise their heads in Sydney or Paris. Indeed the myth – that incidentally underscores how cheerfully we'll slash foreign aid – that we can set ourselves apart as (largely uninterested) onlookers: that the world is a sideshow to which we'll occasionally buy a ticket, but not our society.'

It has certainly been a hell of a year.

As I've already had my rant about Islamophobia, I'm not going to repeat myself on the matter. What with Martin Place, Charlie Hebdo, the continuing horror in Nigeria (which, if magnitude were measured by media coverage, one would assume only involved a handful of victims as opposed to the hundreds more people and the ongoing nature of the onslaught), alongside the sheer reach of news nowadays, Islam has never had a higher profile. 

{{ If anything, as always, what follows these sorts of events is a pretty decent display of human nature's extremities - those calling for the death of all Muslims, beating their chests about how these attacks prove without a shadow of a doubt that all Islam is the root of evil, etc, etc. Then you have those who immediately jump to the defence of all Muslims (not a bad thing) and attack those who would dare to say anything potentially critical and citing agendas left, right and centre, without a glance at the victims and the perpetrators. }}

Ultimately, however, it can't be denied that our existence down here in Australia could not be more sanitised - whether it be by our sheer historical youth (something only made more glaringly clear on my recent trip to Europe) or our cultural propriety, though we certainly bear scars from the inevitably deep wounds endured by any colonised country with an indigenous population, as the article stated, we are a country neither plagued by real famine, violent social upheaval or any kind of real threat - or even experience - of invasion. Though our freedoms are flawed, one could argue that that is more to do with the very flawed nature of freedom itself as opposed to our country actively oppressing us in ways that could ever begin to compare with places like North Korea or Russia.   

In terms of our exposure to active bouts of violence or even visual displays of real carnage, our news coverage is clearly censored or otherwise plastered with warnings of 'graphic images'. We barely see real live active horror onscreen, let alone in real life. Compare this to Filipino news where, when I watched it for the very first time, they were covering a story about a road accident and as the camera panned over the scene, I watched mindlessly for a few seconds before having to blink and exclaim, 'Is that a dead body? Is that the guy right there? Oh my gosh!' The dead man was clearly there on the screen, still, mangled, bloody and completely uncensored. My eyes, so much more accustomed to footage of fully zipped gurneys or camera shots aiming just that inch over from accidents courtesy of Australian news, were wide with shock and horror. And that was from a news report. Of a road accident. 

The next news item was actually worse - a case of escalated road rage in a country not only in possession of guns, but hot and high temperatures. The images in my memory are somewhat fuzzy, but the most outstandingly clear image is of the men actively shooting at each other at surprisingly close range, protected only by ducking behind their vehicle doors. Again, I was shocked. Although again, this was still just footage of a crazy road rage incident. 

Essentially, though the media insists on telling us that we are becoming desensitised to violence and gore in society, this doesn't include one very particular form of desensitisation - the kind that comes with actual personal experience. Outside of those who have come from countries filled with turmoil or those who have travelled to fight, work or live in such countries, the most people down here have had to endure are occasional bouts. 

This is not to diminish these events as real, shocking and genuinely frightening events - to this day, thanks to Wade Frankum and his shooting at Strathfield Plaza in 1991, 23 years ago, though it has weakened significantly over the years, I still experience hesitance when thinking of going there. For years, it made me wary of Strathfield in general. Sure, you could blame my childish naivete for such fears but even now, at 32, some of it still remains. After 23 years. Hell, 18 years after the fact, the words, 'Port Arthur' are still kind of chilling, all thanks to Martin Bryant. 

But at the end of the day, a large part of why these incidents are so shocking is because they still stand out as relatively rare. We compare ourselves to places like America and we feel secure in the fact that that stuff just doesn't happen here. Australia's last high profile hostage taking was in 1984, 30 years ago (though there have been a few incidents in between, it is still a very small number over a 30 year spread). Compared to the number of reported shootings in the US alone, we're doing a lot better. These incidents are rare, which adds to their level of horror. 

Whereas in other parts of the world, this sort of terror is a way of life. Syria, Iraq and Nigeria could not stand out more right now. Or how about Afghanistan, Pakistan, or Eastern Ukraine, just to name a couple more. In places like these, the possibility of raids, kidnappings and straight up slaughter is actually a part of every day living. 

Life is nothing at all like that here in Australia. Not one bit. And true, this has led to the degree of separation many down under feel from the rest of the world's woes. And true, this sense of distance from those harsher realities was shaken, a lot, on December 15 last year as we all watched as those hostages stood with their arms raised against the windows of the Lindt Cafe in Martin Place. And truly, it all did not feel like something that belonged here in Sydney, least of all at Martin Place in the Lindt Cafe, but watching it unfold, the myth to which Aly refers took a solid beating.

Now the bigger, more widely (if subconsciously) perpetuated myth that needs busting? That events of any kinds like these belong anywhere.

2015, it is on!

One of the last pics taken of me in 2014 courtesy of @jenifarrrrr - NYE 14/15 and wearing my favourite kind of flowers - the fake kind!

2015 has already been both turbulent but still incredible... and it's barely Day 3. 2014 (worldly horrors aside) was a blast; I watched some of my very favourite people find love, get engaged, get married, have their first/second kids and achieve some other freaking amazing lifelong career dreams. In the meantime, I too was able to not only revive some of my greatest loves (particularly writing, music and drawing) and share them (leading to one of the most insanely awesome and unforgettable moments EVER), make some beautiful, beautiful friends, as well as live out one of my longest standing dreams in finally making it to Europe, but in doing all that also realised I had been able to fulfil a buried life goal - I've built a life I neither need nor want a vacation from making any such thing a lifelong bonus. That life is flawed, full of pitfalls and most definitely begging for improvement, but it is mine and I couldn't love it more, proverbial warts and all. Whatever this year is or isn't, it will be just as awesome if only for that.

Bring it the fuck on, 2015.

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