Shabby, Scabby, Crabby, Flabby, Stabby, Gabby?

Reflections on my 21 year old self

2015-11-16T20:02:00.002+10:00

You can't run away from the internet. I have learned this during my time through many inflammatory and stupid posts, comments, blogs that have come back to bite me in the ass courtesy of the assholes who save this all into burn folders. But one thing that also doesn't go away are my blogs, which I suppose serve as public journals into a particular time of my life.

Reading back through all of them almost 5 years down the track, I laugh, cringe, and fondly reminisce about my adventures and rants back in the day. Sometimes I read and I disagree completely with my old self, and other times the blogs serve as a memory to who I was and where I have come so far. It's hard to say whether I like myself better now than I like 21 year old me, because a lot has happened.

Since the end of this blog (April 2012) I have lived in 3 countries, traveled to 6 more places, and made 100s of new friends. I had several jobs, made money, spent money, done some pretty cool things, and done some downright retarded things.

So to indulge my narcissism (as I often do), and for a bit of good old fashioned reflection, I have gone back through and started annotating my old blogs. Maybe I will learn something, maybe I will be reminded of some of the things I have forgotten and lost in myself.

Why the Australian Homestay Network for Refugees is a terrible idea

2012-05-09T17:57:00.000+10:00

Yesterday, I opened my email to find my regular campaign update from GetUp, which is a group which aims to raise awareness for various injustices that are happening in Australia, and provide people with information on how to end social marginalisation, environmental destruction and various other causes. GetUp has always been a campaigner for refugees rights, and now they have come out with a campaign to promote the new program for Australians to open their homes up to refugees. Under the government approved program, the Red Cross is calling for people who have a spare room or granny flat to open their home up to a refugee for any amount of time for 6 weeks. They will be paid money for hosting a refugee and there are no requirements apart from not having a criminal record. The refugees would be those who have been processed and granted a bridging visa.
In theory it all sounds lovely and nice, until you put a bit of thought into just how arrogant, misguided and plain poor this idea is.

1. The refugees
Everybody knows (except perhaps conservative deniers) that these refugees have fled from war-ravished countries and have faced an extraordinary journey to arrive here. They do not speak English, they do not understand the culture and the only thing more traumatic than being in that situation, is coming out of detention and placed into a house, on their own, of a family or group of people with whom they can't understand nor relate to. Is there any reason why they can't live with or be around people from their own culture? At least until they overcome the severe shock and trauma of the ordeal that they have been through? There is no guarantee that refugees will be placed with people they know, or even any other refugee in a similar situation.

Actually, in hindsight I was probably wrong about this. If the refugees were happy to stay somewhere (and with free rent and food, who wouldn't!), then why shouldn't they? I'm no mental health expert, and the only people who know what's best for them and what they want, are the refugees themselves.

2. Cultural Assimilation
One argument for this ridiculous scheme is that it allows refugees the opportunity to learn more about Australia, meet locals, practice their language skills and learn to 'integrate' into Australian society. This is probably the most sickening of all the arguments, as it suggests that there is a necessity for refugees to change in some way in order to fit into the prototype of an Australian. This ethnocentric arrogance that people should want to integrate is the reason there are so many racists running around the place. Rather than trying to force refugees to fit in, why isn't more being done to celebrate and appreciate the ethnic diversity that they bring to the country. If, over time, they come to love Australia and want to be part of it then that is fantastic, however encouraging them to be less 'them' and more like 'us' reeks of Stolen Generation type bullshit. Who says we are right anyway?

3. The potential for a whole lot to go wrong
Considering that there are very few criteria for homestay hosts, the potential for abuse of the system is very high. I am not suggesting at all that the refugees themselves would be a problem, rather the people who are agreeing to host them. In the same way that foster care attracts some of the nastiest degenerates that ever came across a child, there is nothing to say that only good people will come forth for this program. The offer of money is an even bigger enticement for greedy, opportunistic fiends to exploit traumatised victims who are new to the country. I am imagining an influx of 'black maids' and gardeners for those who are willing to take advantage of the vulnerability of these people. Rape, slave labour, isolation etc are all very real issues. It's easy to assume that everyone is good when you are surrounded by them all day, but scratch the surface and you'll see that there are some horrid people lurking around and preying on an opportunity like this one.

This seems a bit far fetched actually. And even if the hosts do throw a few pennies to the refugees for a bit of cleaning and gardening work, who cares!? I'm sure the Red Cross are doing routine checks, and most of them are consenting adults, not young kids in foster care.

4. Lack of attachment
Nowhere does the program suggest that it is necessary to love, support and provide for a refugee staying in one's house, the only requirement, as it states, is to provide a safe shelter for them. Additionally, the homestay program placements only run for 6 weeks at a time, after which the time may be extended, or the refugee may simply move on to the next home for another 6 weeks. Any person who is shifted around every 6 weeks is denied of the chance of having any real meaningful relationships or connections with people, which is likely to cause them to feel even more socially isolated. Much like the case of foster children, those people who feel as if they have no attachment to a home, community or stability experience much more stress, anxiety and depression than those who do. All that it does, is exacerbate the trauma of detention and their journey.

As you can see, there is far too much wrong with this system in order for it to work. While it is crucial for the community to reach out and support new arrivals to Australia, by giving a refugee a room for 6 weeks, no real help is being provided. However, as I am no armchair bitch who barks and yet fails to suggest any other solutions, there are a number of ways in which refugees can be helped to transition into daily life in Australia. Presently, I have a number of amazing friends who tutor refugees in English. They are committed to assisting refugee families in their homes once a week (or sometimes more) and to reach out. This is ideal as it provides continuity for families, as well as helps them to learn the language and to meet people from the community. Another thing that could be done is to engage migrants who have become relatively settled in Australia, from the same cultural background, in somewhat of a mentoring role, in order to share the language and customs and provide familiarity and comfort for the new arrivals, as well as to help them engage more in the community. It is not about forming ghettos, it is about culturally relevant assistance. The key here is to promote acceptance, involvement and continuity, rather than forcing cultural immersion. After all, the best way to make somebody hate your culture is to shove it down their throats.

Well, perhaps the programme worked, perhaps it didn't. Luckily there is a great civil society there to help refugees and be supportive. Now that the refugee debate has fired up yet again at the end of 2015, the question isn't so much "what can we give them," as much as the most important issue of LET THEM IN!! Refugees need a safe place, and whether that is on somebody's couch, or just in a country where they won't be killed, this is still as topical as ever.

The playa is not a place for bitterness

2012-05-06T15:23:00.000+10:00

As I am a loser, and I check my emails on weekends, I opened my inbox yesterday to find nothing of consequence. Rather, I was faced with the usual barrage of newsletters and updates that are usually thrown promptly in the electronic trash can. There was one, however, that caught my eye and compelled me to open it and read on. The Burning Man email newsletter is generally one that gets read over all of the other crap as Burning Man is a festival/community that has a special place in my heart. I am always interested to see what the Burning Man community is up to in the world, and to feel very jealous that I am able to go this year.

From the email, I was directed to a blog post, and then a forum which discussed the ticketing crisis. It's hardly news that demand has now outgrown supply of tickets available for Burning Man, and the ticket-lottery system cock up of the organisers this year has left a lot of people without tickets and with a sour taste in their mouths. The comments following this blog, which was written by organisers to explain the ticketing system were quite disappointing and really exuded an attitude that most Burners would be ashamed to claim. Accusations of selling out, being mainstream, disregarding veteran burners and most of all slamming virgins (people who have not been to a burn before) were being flung around righteously.

The main theme that seemed to underlie all of the criticisms was a sense of entitlement that many burners seem to have, regarding their place at burning man. As a participant driven event, there is no denying that those burners who contribute and participate by building theme camps and art displays are the lifeblood of the burning man experience, however, what right above all others do they have to secure tickets? To have been attending Burning Man for years and then find yourself unable to go this year would no doubt be a very saddening and horrible fact, understandably. The issue though is the lack of humility amongst many disgruntled burners who have found themselves ticket less this year. Has the event gone mainstream just because more people know about it and want to be a part of it? Perhaps. Although the shameless hypocrisy of many commenters makes one chuckle. They are the people who will wax lyrical about how Burning Man now sucks, because it has sold out, and that it was much cooler back when they first started attending. Their rant will then end with a hopeful request for any spare tickets that people may have lying around. Oh yeah? To the festival that sucks?

Burning Man is not a right that people have, nor the be all and end all of a person's year. Those who truly embrace the spirit of the Burning Man movement know that it is a way of life, and a mentality, rather than one week of the year. The festival itself is incredible however. It is a Utopian community that exists because like minded people gather in the same place at the same time for the same purpose. It is about escapism, indulgence and excitement. The festival itself is a holiday; and an opportunity to open ones mind and meet amazing people.

The principles of Burning Man, such as self expression, sharing, communitarianism, self reliance etc. are all ones that people can strive towards in the default world, and are not confined to Black Rock City for a week. While the experience is an unforgettable one, and one that I hope to share in once again very soon, I hold no animosity towards the quick people who snatched up the tickets and have the opportunity to go this year; be them virgins or long time veterans. To those forum posters who rant and rave about how crap burning man has become: just smile. Bitterness, arrogance and self-righteousness aren't part of the Burning Man spirit. You may just have to venture further this year to get your yearly vacation and your dose of weirdness, but for now just be happy for those who do have the opportunity to be part of it this year, and get in early next time!

***And for those who were disappointed that they couldn't be a part of the Burn in Black Rock City this year, there are ample seed burns all over the world. If you really want to be a part of the Burning Man movement, contribute to your local regional burn and share the love.

I would give my left nut (errr..) to go back to Burning Man again! The longer time goes on, the more fondly I remember it, and the more I want to go back there. So my original sentiments stand, check your privilege and be grateful that you get to go to one of the nicest places on Earth. Get over the attitude, because a million other people would love to go in your whinging place.

Limbo-ing below the dotted line for a week

2012-04-30T21:07:00.000+10:00

This is a particularly special blog post for me, as it is one that I was actually requested to write, rather than one that I try to force down people's throats in order to pander to my narcissism. However, unlike normal blogs, this one is not about me - well, okay, it is about me - but it is for the 1.4 billion people in the world who live below the poverty line. This is the line of extreme poverty, not just the Henderson line of poverty, which was created by an economist, whose head was probably so far up his ass that anything less than a golden throne and 2 ply toilet paper is poverty in his ivory tower. The line of extreme poverty however, is an amount so small and a state so desperate, that people literally will be forced to eat rice for two meals a day, and where buying a book or particular medications is not even an option that one entertains.

In Australia the line of extreme poverty is considered $2 a day to live on. This is an adjusted rate, clearly in countries where a gourmet meal can be bought for $2, the amount these people live on is probably something around $0.50c a day. Self righteous, indulgent hippies could probably tell you that they could get by on that amount by eating out of a bin in India easily enough, and most students would be able to live off mi goreng noodles for that much, except weed and goon nor hippie pants or hotpants are included in that equation. In this case, there is no option of splurging when willpower goes astray or running to a soup kitchen or dumpster diving - people live on $2 or less a day everyday of their lives, with no big juicy steak at the end of the tunnel. They do not have parents who will begrudgingly bail them out if all else fails, or the ability to wake up one day and find a nice minimum wage job that will pay them $20 an hour; at $2 a day, living below the extreme poverty line is the darkest form of desperation that one can face.

As a result, thousands of Australians each year challenge themselves to understand the feeling of living on $2 a day for food. For 5 days - which really isn't a great deal compared to a life time - we hide away our wallets, prepare our pantries with our $10 of food and hold on as we feel our stomachs contract, our mouths water and our will to live diminish by the day. To put it into perspective, the McDonalds Dollar Menu, which is as cheap as take away gets, will only provide 10 small fries or 5 cheeseburgers FOR AN ENTIRE WEEK! Since take away is then off the cards, what will $10 buy at the supermarket that will sustain a person for a week:

4 packets of Mi Goreng Noodles
4 packets of oats and 4 boxes of milk
2 loaves of bread, 2 knobs of devon lunch meat, 2 packets of pasta, 2 packets of pasta sauce and 5 sachets of home brand noodle soup.
2/3 of the cheapest and nastiest packet of cigarettes
A jar of instant coffee, a bottle of cordial and 2 kg of sausages

Or basically NOT A WHOLE LOT! Bear in mind also, that any form of spices, flavouring or even salt and pepper have to come into the budget. Stealing them from McDonalds isn't an option either. 1.4 billion people can't sneak into Maccas everyday to grab some sneaky condiments! Even on the most prudent budget, $2 a day simply does not leave a great deal of room for flavour, enjoyment or even proper nourishment.

Since I won't have the funds at my disposal to indulge in Chinese food, McDonalds, pies, chips and ice cream, this could be a week for me to attempt to be healthy (I'm talking healthier than normal here, not organic-quinoa-type-Whole-Foods-wanker healthy!). Perhaps I could do the Beyonce maple syrup, lemon and pepper detox and enjoy a perky Beyonce-esque butt at the end of it all; although this is a challenge designed to raise money and awareness for world poverty, not an excuse for my own self-indulgent look like Beyonce detox regime. After all, I have a full week of uni, working and... living a hard student life of course. Just keeping my ass the size that it is requires quite a few calories, which will be hard to maintain during the week that I live like a bum.

Other than torture people for a week, Live Below the Line aims to raise money to run education programs in places like Papua New Guinea. Why education? The aim is not to indoctrinate children or even try to teach them algebra, but to give them the skills that they can use to go out and make some money and improve their lives. In Australia we are lucky to have been born where we were and into a system that can support us. I'm not praising the Australian system; in fact it is very screwed up and has a very very long way to go until it is halfway decent and helps those who really need it. However we always know that we can go out and find some kind of job (or Centrelink) that will keep us above the poverty line. In some places, where children don't even have the opportunity to go to school, such a dream is just not possible. There is no virtue in being born, and just because we were lucky to be born in Australia does not give us the right to sit on our high horse of self entitlement and spit at the beggars in the street.

LBL cause. You can sponsor me to to it by clicking here. Or just go to livebelowtheline.com and just donate to the cause, whatever. It's time to plan my shop, get my team ready and go for gold.

I think after some high-level harassment, I managed to raise about $200 all up for LBL in the end. Although that paled in comparison to the $10,000+ that other participants raised, and I consistently wondered whether they were just better at hustling than I am, or have more supportive networks of donors. Or maybe I'm just too cynical and this LBL campaign confused people.

BUT as I said, this isn't a competition that's just about me, and I'm sure that $200 did a decent amount for poor people in PNG. In the end, I think the hardest thing about the challenge was not being able to go out, or grab some food on the run. Incidentally my shopping list regularly looked like the one above, but the only difference was that I would usually go out for some drinks or buy food at uni, which was off the table.

The following year my sister Michelle did LBL. I think she actually did a really fantastic job, and even included other challenges like sleeping in a tent, and walking to the river to bathe and get buckets of drinking water. Poverty isn't just about what you eat for one week, but the whole lifestyle, so I was even more proud and impressed by what she did, even more than the keen beans who raised $1000s and went back to their comfortable bed each night.

The only way to celebrate the anniversary of the killing of JC

2012-04-14T19:01:00.000+10:00

The time of year has come and gone and has left us all shrivelled-livered, a little broken inside but still buzzing from an amazing week that was. After enjoying such a mind-blowing and amazing Byron Blues Fest 2 years ago, when I last went, this year was always going to be hard to live up to. With such high expectations, I was not at all disappointed, and the amazing highlights included:

Trombone Shorty
This was a band I didn't know before Bluesfest, but I tagged along with my new friend who promised me one incredible hunk of man and I was not disappointed. The performance was funky, jazzy and fun, and we were dancing from start to end. I was amazed at the diversity of the band, with skinny white nerd types playing next to scary looking fat, Cuban gansters. It didn't hurt either that Trombone Shorty himself was one of the most attractive men I have laid eyes on for a while. It's a shame they are headed back to New Orleans and won't be hanging around Australia for a bit longer; they are a very stalkable band that I would love to see again and again and again.

Sublime
At first I was hesitant to see a band which only had 1 of its original members playing, it was practically almost a cover band. The lead singer was fat and white and it had been many years since they had played. But as soon as the band started playing, I was amazed at the fact that they sounded so identical to the old Sublime. And they put on a bangin' show. And Sublime just rock. While it could have gone horribly wrong, Sublime were fantastic.

New Dance Moves
The only thing that is as much fun as dancing up in the front row, is having enough space up the back of the tent to really dance like a crazy. Until Bluesfest, I had always thought that my repertoire of daggy and weird dance moves were up to scratch and that there was little more to learn. Oh, how wrong I was! New friend Nessa, who it seems was the next wackiest person at that festival, pulled out her finest moves. The Christmas tree, the shower and the fire were all fabulous favourites that will be added to my routine next time the opportunity for a dance off presents itself.

John Butler Trio
Like any person who has ever been to a festival in Australia, I have seen John Butler play many a time. Despite that, and the fact that there were no better options at the time, I returned to see JBT and I was blown away. Last time I saw them, I was very underwhelmed by the performance, and I was rather pissed that the entire show was spent flogging their crappy, poppy bullshit album, April Uprising. This time, JBT was back to their original gold, playing really long intros and tunes that were strongly political. Everything that I love about JBT was pulled out this year at BF and it definitely made up for the last mediocre time I saw them.

Melbourne Ska Orchestra
Just the name of this band was enough to make me want to see them, and luckily for me, they did not disappoint. Despite playing the exact same set both times they played, I had so much fun the first time that I had to go back and have another dance fest. Unlike other bands, MSO (so many acronyms!) was the one band that even managed to get the old folk dancing. Sadly, I missed the free show bags that were being tossed into the audience, although skipping away happy, sweaty and exhausted made up for the lack of freebies.

Wedding Goon
About a month ago, my lovely friend Ashley got married. As the overestimated the amount that wedding guests would drink, there was leftover goon. That leftover goon was donated to yours truly and provided many good nights at Bluesfest. Unlike regular goon, wedding goon was of such high quality that, not only was it drinkable, but even enjoyable. Although it was a bitch to carry in a backpack and most likely caused some serious spinal issues, the goon even provided me with a pillow. Not that I really needed one, after the amount of goon I drank each night, I could have passed out on a concrete floor.

Great Volunteer Jobs
Volunteering is the best way to get into a festival for free, and on many occasions has proven to be a lot of fun for me in the past. Volunteer duties can range from horribly dull activities such as traffic control and garbage collection to sitting backstage and doing lines with the artists. Although there was nothing quite that cool in my job description, I was lucky enough to spend the majority of my time on the volunteer platforms as I watched bands playing for 5 hours. Officially the job was "facilitating access to persons with disabilities," although essentially I just did sweet fuck all except sit in a chair and tell abled people to fuck off. The raised platforms provided an amazing view of the stage and I was lucky enough to be on the good stage.

John Fogerty
Before seeing John Fogerty play, all I knew was that he was in Creedence Clearwater Revival and that they played the song have you ever seen the rain. However, as soon as he begun rolling through all of his top hits I realised that I knew him. All of those years of being forced to listen to 4TO FM (Townsville's bogan/old man radio station) had prepared me for that moment, and I found myself almost able to sing along to all of the songs. If you don't know who he is, you probably do. CCRbogan rock, and he brought with him flocks of over 50-somethings who were boogying away like it was 1969. I also happened to be breaking it down amongst them. Yes. I am a dag.

Stranger Danger
There seems to be something about Bluesfest that makes it go hand in hand with amazing people. I thought that 2010 BF would be impossible to beat, however this year came pretty darn close. From volunteer friends to camping neighbours and downright randoms, I found myself spending my days with inspiring, fun, interesting and downright awesome people. Coming back to the campsite every night after the music, sitting around the circle and hitting the wedding goon was probably the single highlight of the festival. The acro-yoga, goon drinking, guitar playing (not me) and bacon and egg morning sessions were experiences that I will not be forgetting any time soon. I even liked my festival friends so much that a few have passed through and slept on the couch here in Brisbane.

Bluesfest is just so freaking amazing that I get excited just ranting about it. 2013 anybody???!!!

This was awesome!! I remember it starting slowly, with nowhere to sleep, limited money and only a tent and a shitload of goon. But by the second night I sneakily found a place to stay, with great people and had the time of my life. It's hard to say if it compared to the first one I went to in 2010, but I still have fond memories of my time.

Sadly 2013 was less enjoyable. Even though having a car and more money should have made it easier, sleeping off the grounds of the festival, a bit of drama, and a rather unpleasant roadtrip companion, made it less enjoyable. That being said, I do have fond memories of drinking goon in the car, the stars from Mullumbimby campgrounds, and general festival festivities.

Oh Queensland, my Queensland.

2012-04-01T14:26:00.000+10:00

Only a week ago, Queensland was waking up from its Saturday night hangover only to see their new Premier's shit eater grin plastered all over the their TV and newspaper, and the crushing news that there is effectively no opposition in parliament. Many former ministers, members and very intelligent people were updating their resumes and preparing to head into Centre link/Sarina Russo to find a new job, preferably one interstate, where they wouldn't be forced to witness the shit show that will be Queensland for many years to come.

With a complete whitewash of Queensland parliament, the former government now has 7 out of 89 seats, while the LNP, who until about 1-2 years ago were the biggest joke in Queensland politics, are now the big dogs in town. And while the smug, weasel-like Premier of Queensland is feeling like he is the king of the hill, there are no doubt even intelligent LNP members who are wondering dafuq just happened. In such a brutal defeat, one must concede that Queensland did not want Labor in government again. Whatever. Fair enough. However, when candidates, such as a 23 year old Woolworths employee living with his parents (outside of the electorate he ran in) wins a seat in parliament, it raises serious questions about the capacity of voters. Also, a candidate who was nominated 2 weeks out from the election to replace the previous LNP candidate due to whatever sinister scandal had made him unelectable. Not only were the LNPs finest and brightest (ha!) elected, but the hacks who threw their name down on the ballot paper for nothing more than shits and giggles.

This of course, most obviously brings me to the intelligence of the average Queensland voter. Compulsory voting came into Queensland long before anywhere else. Sadly, for many voters, rocking up to a voting booth on a Saturday is seen as more of a tedious chore than a chance to 'have a say.' As a result, the average voter doesn't have much of an idea what is going on. The average Queensland voter gets most of their political information from the Channel 7 news, or the more savvy ones may watch Channel 9 as well, so that they can really be in the know about what is going on in Queensland. Of course, when you consider who controls Australian TV stations (except ABC and SBS of course) and you consider the interests that the owners represent, even the most 'objective' and 'unbiased' reporting (of SUCH high quality) becomes rather suspicious.

However, it's not only the Today Tonights of the world that affect how people in Queensland vote, there is also the issue of the people of Queensland (and generally Australia) themselves. In a country where, for most people, the quality of life, working conditions and general comfort is relatively high, and where politics isn't full of complete yahoos like Khadafi and George Bush, people tend not to give too much of a crap about politics. As long as it doesn't affect them, the average Queenslander doesn't care too much about most of the issues; thus breeding a culture of apathy and ignorance. For most, many problems are simply too far removed from their daily lives, that it is simply not their problem, and they assume that the political machine is running smoothly. In the case, however, that shit hits the fan and people find that their lives will be impacted, people will rant and scream and write letters left right and centre. The media will then pick up on this and use it to some advantage, particularly around election time. When a number of issues arise, and the public can take fire on the government, and then a movement begins and change is on every one's lips. Queensland people love to whinge, whether it be about their neighbour's fence, bats or the prices of electricity. The next task is to find a scapegoat, and while boat people, immigrants and the unemployed are all up there in the scapegoat stakes, the easiest target is always the government, regardless of whether or not it is a conservative or progressive one at the time. Public stupidity works both ways in Australian politics. So as it was seen last weekend, the state's dumb were sent to the polling booths, and as a result, 78 of Queensland's 89 seats are LNP.

Unfortunately, not only did the Queensland people send in a lame-duck parliament who ran things from day to day and never deviated far from the centre, but they sent in Campbell Newman Inc. In his first week in parliament, the honourable premier of Queensland has already stuck his finger into the public service, kicking out long standing employees to replace with his mob of lackeys. If his first week in power is a glimpse into the next 3 years, one can only dread the kind of government that will be running the show. All eyes will be on Campbell in the next month to see whether or not he fulfills his promise of renouncing his financial interests, now that he is Premier. LOL

Although Labor was never expected to win this one, thanks to the idiocy of the masses, the clowns who were voted in now have free reign. Adios progressive Queensland. I can't wait to say I told you so.

Gross! Written like a true Labor Party hack. Even after the LNP government have come and gone, I still feel generally the same way about them as I originally did, I think I hate them for different reasons.

The people of Queensland are still pretty basic, but in an endearing way - like the way we like our drunk uncle when he starts ranting and dancing, or the friend who brings a packet of chips to a BBQ, which is a stingy and lazy move, but at least they're your favourite flavour, and they go great after smoking a joint and getting drunk.

These days Labor is back in and are just as incompetent, just in their own special way. The only thing that has changed is that I don't have faith in any politics anymore, and everyone is equally useless. The cynicism is strong in this one.

Welcome Home Asshole

2012-03-22T21:20:00.000+10:00

Today marks exactly one month and one day since I arrived back in Brisbane and it seems almost like a lifetime. During that time I have managed to go back to uni, catch up with some (not all) of my old friends, make new friends, find a place to live, buy a bicycle and not get a job. Although my time back in Bris Vegas hasn't been all horrible, the desire to get the hell out of here has overcome me once again, and when I realise that it has only been a month it depresses me to all end. Unless I decide not to finish my degree (which I do), I inevitably have at least 2 years left in Queensland, and that is a best-case-scenario, I could end up dragging that time out if I fail or just simply faff around with my degree. The idea that uni is the only thing keeping me in Brisbane is a horrifying thought, and particularly sad when I remember how much I used to love Brisbane. It is very possible that having come from Townsville, even Brisbane once seemed like a wonderful and amazing metropolis, or perhaps I just visited too many cooler places while I was away.

So today, while I was actively avoiding folding up my clothes and putting them away where they belong (to date I have been sharing my bed with all of my clothes for about 2 weeks, it has been slightly awkward), I was rooting around all of the old crap that hadn't yet been categorised into drawers yet. In my pile of documents, I found the tattered old pages that contained number 1-68 of my bucket list which had been written over about a 2 year period and been dragged all over the world with me. Of course, when I say all over the world I mean the limited countries in the one region that I have visited. But looking at these old pages I realised something. Once upon a time I had dreams. Dreams that motivated and inspired me at one stage. Now I find myself a whinging, pathetic, sad old sausage who writes blogs about how shitty Brisbane is and how I can't find a job. So to remind myself of the ambitious, young dreamer that I once was, and to hopefully inspire myself not to be a loser anymore, I have decided to put up some of the highlights from my bucket list:

Pathetic, sad, old, whinger who complains about everything? It seems nothing has changed.

3) Write a song and perform it on stage: This would first require me a) getting my guitar from Townsville, b) learning to play it c) learning to sing d) writing a song e) finding a stage (other than in a karaoke bar) where I can showcase my lack of talent and make a fool of myself

10) Ride/drive all the way across Central Asia: This has been a dream of mine since I was at school. The plan involves rolling plains, a wide open road and a number of exotic countries ending in -stan. Oh and Russia too. Logistics may be a bit more complicated. But it WILL happen!

14) Earn more money than I can possibly spend: How about earn money period! While being poor certainly forces you to be more creative, there's something alluring about having enough money to be able to go anywhere and do anything in the world. Now how to earn it... hmmm

I would hardly say that I was loaded, but at one point I was earning enough that I could spend on whatever I wanted, and still save quite a lot. Obviously I was constrained by my own inherent stinginess, but I was there at one point (and back to poverty once again).

19) Drop everything to follow a boy: Being selfish is just what I do, but one day it would be nice to find someone I love more than myself (ha!), to the point that I would drop everything to follow. That is, to follow with consent. There will be no creepy stalking here. A restraining order would put a quick end to that dream.

I've realised that it's not selfishness, but cowardice that has held me back from doing this. I'll still leave it on there, but following BL#19 at this point will only end in a restraining order.

22) Teach people to swim: If this ear infection is ever cured then I can go back in the water. And prevent someone from drowning or helping somebody to be able to love the water would be so rewarding.

32) Fly first class: Por favor!!!

38) Sing karaoke in Japan: I love karaoke, and what better pilgrimage than to the birthplace of this wonderful creation.

45) Try ayhuasca: I am all for hallucinogenic drugs, so why not experience it deep in the rain forest with a shaman in my favourite continent.

I did this in Colombia and it was great!! Well, not great in the sense that I particularly enjoyed shitting and vomiting (luckily not at the same time), but it was pretty special. 11/10 would do again.

52) Go to Nimbin Mardi Grass: Road trip buddies anyone? 2012 could be the year.

60) Own a pet snake: Why not?

62) Master the art of being a clown: Something about being in Mexico and being surrounded by clowns made me realise the immense happiness they bring people, and inspired me to share that around. My dad already thinks I'm funny looking, and when I apply make up I usually look like a clown, so I'm already halfway there.

68) Survive a week without food: For starters, let's try for an hour without food, which of course is a mammoth task with all of the lollies, bacon and mi goreng noodles sitting in my cupboard. But thanks to a very privileged life, I have never had to know what it felt like to truly be hungry. Although it will not be a pretty week, any friend who has ever spent enough time with me will know that I am a monster when I am hungry. Imagine a week of that. And multiply it by 10. Uh oh!

I think all of these are real, and legitimate dreams, and it's curious to think that almost 5 years down the track I would leave most of them on the list.

If I were in Mexico...

2012-03-18T15:29:00.000+10:00

Looking outside, and then inside again at the assignments I have already mounting in week 3 (and the mooting problem I signed myself up for to make me feel like less of a moron), I am having some serious Mexico nostalgia. Without a doubt, my time in Mexico was one of my favourite, even in spite of seedy old men and their drive bys in pickup trucks and the lack of direction giving skill. As I sit here feeling sorry for myself, my mind wanders to Mexico and I wonder how much cooler this moment would be if I were there.

What I would be doing this weekend: Either camping at a lovely, white-sand, Pacific beach with a beer and fresh fish for next to nothing or at Cumbre Tajin, a music festival set at some pre-hispanic, Mayan ruins listening to the likes of Bjork and other cool acts.

What I am doing this weekend: Went out last night. Got drunk. Watching McGyver whilst not really doing anything of my assignments.

What the weather in Mexico is like: Sunny and mild (in Cholula). As winter turns into spring, the days are getting longer and hotter and the jackets are lighter than the depths of winter.

The weather in Brisbane: Dull, grey and rainy.

The state of my stomach in Mexico: In Mexico, a taco stand is never more than 5 minutes away and a supermarket (or a friend's house) even less. Food is so cheap that I would not think twice about heading out for a greasy, cheese dripping torta with either a beer or a litre of freshly squeezed juice.

The state of my stomach currently: I am hungry, yet unmotivated to walk to the kitchen to heat up the steamed vegetables, which is the only thing I have left because I have no money until my weekly welfare payment comes in. I am about 30 minutes walk from a supermarket or McDonalds if I did choose to venture out for food and put in on the credit card, meaning that it's either veggies or nothing for now.

What my weekday routine in Mexico would be: Wake up as late as I want and ride my bike over the flat terrain to yoga. Feel refreshed and healthy and buy a litre of carrot and orange juice. Go to uni for muy poco tiempo before visiting a friend's house to hang out, eat, perhaps go out and plan any weekend adventures. I would ride my bike around the flat streets to random corners of Cholula, where there are weird and odd things to be seen on a daily basis.

The weekly routine here: Get woken up at 7:30am by power tools and faff around watching some form of morning show until I head to uni. Study, read, listen to lectures, eat a sausage roll, go to the lolly shop on campus and then either go home or go out. The days I catch the bus, I fork out $1.50 each way and sit there like a numb, zombie for 30 minutes as I stare out the window, while on days that I ride my bike, I arrive at uni sweaty, smelly and gross animal and wonder why I decided to live in a place with so many hills.

So now that my self-pitying rant is over, it's time to go and change something. Brisbane is certainly not Mexico but it can be pretty cool if you search and choose to engage in it. Sadly it will be a while before I can get back to Mexico and eat a real taco and see all of my wonderful friends there again, but for now I'm stuck in Brisbane and it's about time to stop being a sad sack and live it up.

I WANT TO BE IN MEXICO RIGHT NOW!!! TAKE ME BACK THERE!!!

Kony Baloney and the Viral Video big thing of the week

2012-03-09T00:39:00.000+10:00

What do Rebecca Black and Invisible Children have in common? Well you have it folks, it's official. Kony 2012 is the new cool thing. And what better hot new thing than one that people can feel good about, after all, we all feel a bit gooey inside after watching this well-produced and emotive video promoting social justice and the bringing down of an evil warlord don't we? For those who have been living under a rock for the past 2 days, or at least haven't been checking facebook (although curiously enough if you're reading this you have probably heard about Kony), the newest, hottest viral video going around is a short, bite-sized doco about the invisible children and the evil dictator Joseph Kony who has been wreaking havoc on Uganda. So far, at least 100 facebook friends of mine have re-posted the link to the video and are flogging the message and really getting it out there. While it would have to be agreed that anyone who watched this and didn't feel at least a twinge of pain and sympathy for those children is without a heart, I find it curious that people are becoming facebook activists overnight thanks to a clever PR plan and a nice video.

For the longest time, I always wondered why my fellow Australians (and friends from all places) seemed so apathetic. Was it because they are ignorant to the issues? After all, the mainstream media isn't exactly raving about injustices in Uganda. Or was it because people felt helpless, unable to do anything to provide answers, creating a helplessness - inaction - apathy cycle that paralysed them? It seems that now, thanks to the prolific spread of an easy to follow, feel good documentary that opened up to people the horrors that are occurring in Africa. Thanks to social media, people are jumping the bandwagon and learning more about the issues being faced and re-distributing that information. While education is the first step to eliminating ignorance and finding a solution to these problems, one has to wonder what happens next? Is posting a link really going to do anything for the situation, rather than show how kind, politically aware and committed someone is to the cause? At least everyone will know that the keen facebooker is an activist, and is down with the new social media networking craze. They can then donate 20c to buy a poster of Kony from the website in order to plaster walls and light posts. Or perhaps spend a night sleeping in street to show solidarity with the night commuters under the Kony regime. Then our little activists can really feel like they are making a difference. Err...

Is it just me or does anybody else see this as a shallow, self-obsessed marketing ploy created to make a big name for some fame-whore, uni students and make facebook, hipster activists feel good about themselves? Let's think, what is the video suggesting is done about this atrocity? Spend money to buy posters to further flog this campaign? So the money goes to Invisible Children Inc. in order to save Uganda and no doubt line the pockets of these enterprising, sensationalist, media sluts. Anybody who has ever read anything about what aid has done to Africa and what resulted from money being thrown at the continent will realise that the entire concept is a very dumb idea. What's more, some activists are proposing that people sleep in the streets for a night to show solidarity for the Ugandan children. What a great idea! Why not stage a giant sleepover for all of the self-indulgent hipsters who can all feel warm and fuzzy while they throw even more media attention at the issue. I wonder if the police would arrest and harass them as they did with the Occupy movements, or if the promise to return to their comfortable beds and be quiet until the next big thing comes along would keep the police happy. One would assume that it would take quite a clever and creative thinking group to create such a pretty video and generate such a campaign that has mobilised a generation and gone viral within days. Why then, did they not come up with any more substantive and useful solutions to such an issue, or even encourage any intelligent thought by the zombified masses?

Dissemination of information is absolutely crucial and I admit that awareness of such information is only a good thing. Kony is a monster and absolutely needs to be brought to justice, however, what is being done? While I am not encouraging nor promoting any kind of vigilante justice be carried out by facebook activists, are people simply expecting that the government will go in with guns and deal with the problem? Is that even a smart option? The next thing for people to do now that they have the information is not to re-post the link on facebook, shovel money into this Invisible Children Inc. of dubious intentions or usefulness nor forget about the problem after doing their thing and giving their facebook wall for the issue. Why doesn't Invisible Children promote or stimulate some kind of discussion and debate over what could be done? If people talk about the problem, maybe they will come up with some kind of a creative solution that won't screw the country of Uganda in the process (if you haven't already, I would recommend reading something, anything, about the impact that foreign aid has had on Africa). Get informed about the issue, a 27 minute documentary is not nearly enough information to understand the situation or the greater context. Write a letter or email to somebody who can do something about it (note: Bob Carr is the current foreign minister, he doesn't give a crap if you post something on your facebook wall about Kony, nor that you feel strongly about it, tell him what YOU, not a retarded Michael Moore wannabe, think about it).

As for the filmmakers, I hope they are snapped up by a big network who will pay them a lot of money. Their PR stunt and sensationalist reporting style will make them perfect for a Fox News or News Ltd. type corporation who could definitely use some clever spin and marketing. While I don't doubt that the doco is completely true, and that Kony is a horrible human being, I am cynical of the hypocrisy of activism flaunted as the next big thing. As for Rebecca Black and Invisible Children? Both are viral hits, bound to be forgotten as soon as they were popular. Unless people truly want to see a change and are willing to dedicate a little time and perhaps some brain to the issue, in which case anything is possible. Let's see something good come out of this!

Much edgy. Wow. Such unique. Interestingly the same kind of commentary/crap seems to have proliferated since early 2012, and boring and trite posts like this are made ALL THE TIME in 2015 and appear on all news blogs across the world. My self righteous raving is not new or special, and like everyone predicted Kony is so 2012.

Update: The guy who made the video/social media campaign had a mental breakdown after being overwhelmed by the fame and support that he found that he was arrested for wanking in public in San Diego or something. That certainly gave me a good chuckle. And continues to do so to this day.

I hate Hipsters

2012-03-04T21:04:00.000+10:00

Hipsters are nothing new. Their narcissism, repulsion to anything mainstream and condescending and pretentious natures are common elements held by hipsters all over the world, from Mexico to Seattle (arguably the birthplace of the hipster fad) and even to Brisbane. Although hipsterism in Brisbane is probably not a recent thing, heck, Brisbane does eventually succumb to the fashion trends of the cooler more socially progressive cities, and it was only ever going to be a matter of time before hipsters started popping up in large groups. Last night I ventured into the Valley for the first time since being back in this lovely city and the scene shocked me. All through the Brunswick St Mall, in clubs and bars which I remember as being quite down to earth, unpretentious and CHEAP were poor imitations of what was once different and cool.

Unfortunately, Brisbane is not so much as a trend-setting city as much as a fashion following location, and of course the fashion of the moment is alternative fashion. Which once upon a time meant different and unique style, something that wasn't found in every other chain store in any given mall in whatever part of the world you happened to be in. But it seems that clothing which would have been scoffed at only 5 years ago by the fashionistas has been picked up by marketers and flogged to the world, and sold to the young boys and girls as alternative. After all, who doesn't want to think that they are trendy and unique? The fashion following youth of the Valley can now call themselves 'cool' after having dropped a lot of money in Universal Store for some alternative and different rags from everyone else, and cool people are allowed to carry that little extra chip on their shoulder for being so unique. They are unique, anti-trend-following hipsters, and we normal people should give them some credit for their creativity.

I will however concede that blind fashion followers are nothing of a new thing, and to pay out on every fashion forward filly would be a huge over-generalisation. The issue comes when fashion houses and the media are selling alternativism as a trend. What a person wears, realistically is only the tip of the iceberg. When people develop the idea that they are the unique trendsetters, they tend to become conceited and up-themselves. So exist hipsters, a cynical and naive brand of degenerates whose narcissism is manifested through a sense of self-idolisation and derision for anything considered mainstream. Hipsterism is marketed in such a way that hipsters don't consider themselves mainstream, nor followers of a trend, but as rather unique and alternative. The mentality that comes from this trend is essentially the issue (rather than the horrible glasses or ridiculous fashion) and makes me shudder when I realise truly how dumb some people are.

Once upon a time there were people who dressed differently. They were creative, bold and daring and wore their hearts and beliefs on their sleeves, even though they were mocked for their silly style. (I am totally not talking about myself here, anyone who knows me is quite aware that I am one of the most unfashionable people in the world). These days, people are trying to one-up each other with their most extravagant pieces and establish themselves as the most alternative hipster of them all. Fashion is about shock value and has created a mentality where a person defines themselves by how different and un-mainstream they can be. That is not to say that alternative and different is bad, heck, I respect and admire creative and bold people who aren't afraid to go a bit further; however I do roll my eyes when 'alternative' comes from the new-look racks of Queen St Mall in the arms of a smug little hipster berating her retarded friends on their "totally mainstream" life choices.

HOW TO KNOW IF YOUR FRIEND IS A HIPSTER (or yourself)

#1
They use mainstream and well-known as insults when referring to music, fashion, ideas, people etc.

#2
They have never been much of a risk-taker when it comes to new things, but now they are constantly trying to out-dress and out-do anyone who could potentially be more alternative than them.

#3
They are condescending, arrogant and not particularly pleasant to be around.

#4
Their (normally mainstream) taste has changed rapidly, they did not 'get into' sub-culture gradually, rather their record collection and wardrobe almost changed overnight.

#5
They don't need glasses but they suddenly have big, tacky, obnoxious ones planted on their face. Purely for show. Because they are so different and cool.

If you find your friend has become a hipster, don't be alarmed. Approach them with caution. Hipsters are like members of hard-core religious cults, they have been brainwashed so comprehensively that any opposition to their blind consumerism will be completely wasted on them. Rather, sit down and gently explain to them that they are one of many suckers who have been taken in by the media-driven belief that buying lensless raybans will make them unique and cool. Encourage them to be true to themselves and follow their judgement and taste, rather than the shopfront mannequins in expensive, sifted 'vintage' stores. If they are not entirely vapid and conceited and they are still relatively pleasant to be around, just try to ignore their hipsterness and just wait for the next trend to roll in. It should only be another year or so. Or until stores have sold all of their fixed-gear bikes and fringed boots.

You know what is hipster? Writing a post about how much you hate hipsters and their commercialised alternativism. So basically, 21 year old me who wrote this tripe was a retarded hipster. No. A hipster hater. Which makes me the most hipster of them all.

If I could forget this rant I would, but for posterity I think it's always good to reflect on how stupid you were once upon a time.

A rant about Queensland Health

2012-03-01T22:43:00.000+10:00

So before I launch into a very scathing rant about a system that has so many holes, it may as well be a sieve, I suppose I do have to be grateful for a few things. For one, I am grateful that there IS public health care in Australia, and that medical care is provided without cost. This means, that hypothetically, should I be dying, the system would come to my rescue and save my life. Also, the doctors today were very friendly. Their bedside manner was lovely and they did seem to be doing everything they could to help.

AND NOW FOR THE MAIN EVENT... I don't know if I can say that Queensland Health generally sucks, but I can without a doubt say that the PA hospital absolutely does! Having never been to a public hospital emergency room before, I was nowhere near ready for the nightmare that was set to follow. Although I heard stories and was told to bring a book and be patient, I didn't realise how painful the experience could be. Firstly, having had an ear infection for the past few weeks, I went to the uni medical clinic, where I was told that the doctor there couldn't see the eardrum underneath all the crap on it and that I would have to go to the emergency room to have said crap removed before anybody could determine what was wrong with me. FAIR ENOUGH! The clinic didn't have the time or resources to do it, I can understand that. So off I went to the hospital. Even though there were never more than a grand total of 5 people in the emergency room the entire time, somehow it still took 3 HOURS for me to be seen by a doctor. While I realise that an ear infection that isn't immediately causing pain probably isn't life threatening, it seemed that my position in the queue was just going backwards as I sat and waited, with only the company of terrible daytime TV and Who Magazines.

I also noted, while I sat there and contemplated whether or not to stab myself, thus bumping up my position in line, that pretty much everyone in the ER was FAT! Now here is a curious thought, perhaps if people resisted the fried chicken and extra large fries every once in a while they may not have as many health problems, thus freeing up some medical professionals to address my ear infection. OH HANG ON! Fat people choking up the health system in the way that cholesterol chokes up fat peoples' arteries? NEVER! One thing I did not notice in the ER however, were classy, rich looking people. Not even classy per se, just not white trash types. Perhaps it's because anyone with a real job would have private health insurance, so that their ear infections and medical ailments could be fixed up in less than say, A FEW WEEKS!

And then of course, I made it to see a doctor. She was lovely. She also looked like she was about 20. But I won't judge a book by it's cover, although I do feel much more at ease with a greying, wise old looking doctor; but everyone has to learn somewhere. So after looking into my ear and learning that it whistles when I blow out and block my nose, and that nasty coloured shit oozes from it, she went to another doctor. The second doctor (a registrar apparently) did the same thing, looked into my ear and concluded that he couldn't see anything. OH REALLY? So I asked him if he could clean it out, swab away the shit and figure out what was wrong with it, like my lovely doctor at UQ told me. He chuckled. "Oh we can't do that. You'll have to see a specialist for that." SO WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN DOING FOR THE PAST 10 YEARS OF YOUR LIFE THEN!? Partying? Getting stoned? Not all doctors can be masters of all trades but is it seriously that hard to swab at an ear? To tell me what is wrong? If the emergency department at the PA doesn't have suction gear or some cotton swabs then I am seriously concerned at the state of the health system. Nonetheless, I was referred to an ENT specialist, who would be able to tell me what is wrong, and god forbid, even begin to treat it. So the doctor called the clinic to book me into the system so that I may be able to have an appointment. But lo and behold! The specialist clinic was shut. And I can't call them, I have to wait for them to call me, to schedule an appointment, which can only be done on a Tuesday or Thursday because that's the only day they're open. And they will call me sometime in the next 14 days, just to schedule it. WHAT THE FUCK? (I believe swearing is appropriate here because it is truly appalling).

Queensland has never been renowned for getting things right, after all, we are kind of the joke of the entire nation for good reasons. There's no wonder Queensland public health staff have the highest suicide rates of any. Actually I completely made up that statistic, although I imagine that for people who give their lives to helping others (or earn a fat pay cheque), being so incredibly helpless must mess with their mental health quite a bit. I'm sure that the system works well for people who are actually dying, heck, maybe if I go for a swim and allow my inner ear to fill with water, cause myself brain damage and lose my hearing I might be treated in a few days (as opposed to a few weeks).

I guess the lesson learned from this experience is that I should work hard, get a good job, get private health insurance and not worry about which way I tilt my head while I shower for risk of seriously damaging myself. Or move interstate.

What can I expect? If you want something done well you have to pay for it. If you don't pay, then you'll get slow old peanuts. I think the ear infection eventually went away on its own and I was (mostly) fine after that, so all's well that ends well.

Still, having seen some pretty average treatment in hospitals of the third world, it's hard to say whether I would prefer Queensland Health to some Cambodian clinic. Hearing is a pretty important sense, and I would be livid if a bunch of cowboys just went in there and did more damage, so I guess I can appreciate the prudence of the doctors at the PA, although it is frustrating.

Fashion Faux Pas committed overseas

2012-02-24T09:25:00.000+10:00

One of the amazing things about travelling is that knowing that you don't have to see anyone you meet ever again, you are free to be a bit more daring, or even shameless. This can include anything from being a drunken idiot, ranting on about anything and everything or even looking like a total tool. Whatever you do whilst travelling has no consequences, and so it provides a unique opportunity to let your freak flag fly. While I am always one to seize the opportunity to freak it up, my travel fashion choices are certainly something that should NEVER be repeated in the real world, especially in a world where it is necessary to pretend to be normal. Also, being the exotic and exciting foreigner, my whiteness (or in the US, my accent) made such fashion disasters less of an issue. In Australia, attempting to enter a club or a nice bar in anything less than a fanny skimmer and some fancy shoes is simply unthinkable, however whilst overseas I went clubbing in crocs, thongs, t-shirts (with yellow pit stains even!) and hippie pants. While I don't regret any of my clothing decisions from the past year, traveller fashion does not have a place in the real world.

Hippie Pants

These fashion shockers are also known as MC Hammer pants, poo catchers or harem pants, all of which are synonymous for ugly and unflattering. That's right, no matter if you are Miranda Kerr or Susan Boyle, hippie pants are the most unflattering style in the world and they are essentially the antithesis of fashion. Favoured by hippies, wannabe hippies and unemployed people, these pants do not belong in civilised society amongst people who don't want to look like an idiot. In their defense however, hippie pants are oh so comfortable. So comfortable even, that I still stash a few pairs in the bottom of my closet for the next time I venture to a place where looking like an idiot is not an issue.

I guess there's a spectrum of hippie pants, with some being at least a bit presentable, and others looking absolutely awful. I think I still have a few pairs, although they are developing holes and I am just letting them die peacefully without feeling the need to replace them.

The bear jacket

On a freezing cold night out in the middle of the Nevada desert in Black Rock City, while I shivered away, a friendly and lovely man gave me a large, fake fur jacket and told me it was a gift. I was thrilled. For many more cold nights, both at Burning Man and back in Cholula and especially in Chihuahua, this enormous, bear-like jacket was the toastiest and most comfortable saviour from the cold that I ever could have dreamed of. It was, however, not the most fashionable garment in my closet. Far from it. While enormous fur jackets are supposedly all the rage amongst fashionistas in Europe right now (a few months ago), this is a classic case demonstrating that the big fashion houses don't always get it right. Of course, it was probably intended that such a jacket would be rocked by a 6 foot 4 model with a long neck and even longer, fleshless legs rather than a short, stumpy legged me with a rugby-player-like neck; however even at its best, the bear jacket is probably one fashion trend to forget.

I really miss that jacket. Granted it wasn't super flattering on me in particular, I just really like it. I hope I can find another one next time I am somewhere cold.

White trash, fur lined jacket

Desperation and the cold does funny things to people (see above). When I found myself in Antigua, Guatemala and the sun began to dip, a frantic search through the markets ensued and finally a jacket was found. Unfortunately, the markets of Guatemala are not reknowned for high fashion (unless it's high fashion from the ghetto of the 90s) and I wasn't exactly blown away by the selection. However, time was ticking and as the temperature dropped, that hood and fur lining started to look very tempting. Oh! and in how many ways did that jacket fail as a fashion item! Let's start with the fact that it was white. White anything is always a bad idea for anyone except and OCD clean freak; even more so as an outer garmet, doomed to be the first contact with the dirt from chicken buses, nightclubs and the real world. Combined with the cream coloured fur lining, the cropped length and quilted exterior, you have one real shocker of an outfit.

And finally... everyone's favourite. CROCS

These fabulous shoes are the world's most comfortable, practical and, err... UNFASHIONABLE footwear around. That doesn't stop me however, from rocking these babies when I slob around the house, travel, hike mountains, walk down the street, go to class and head out to the bar. And unlike the other fashion uh-ohs above, crocs were a fashion staple before Mexico and they still would be were it not for the fact that due to my walking style and complete overuse, both previous pairs of crocs have sprung holes (curiously in the exact same spot on only one foot) and are unwearable. So although these are truly the biggest fashion faux pas that can possibly be committed, I still hunt on ebay for my idea crocs and dream of the day when I can once again slip those puppies on my dirty, retarded feet.

Overall I would say that it's not all so bad. Generally though, I have found that looking like an unwashed hippie in Crocs probably isn't the best look when travelling. Sure, it's comfortable gear that dries quickly and is practical, but it really does make you stand out like a sore thumb.

I think it's just good to pack normal clothes that you would wear day to day when travelling. That way there is likely to be something nice in the case that there's something special on to look good for, and it doesn't look stupid.

Oh how I love you UQ

2012-02-22T23:32:00.001+10:00

Welcome home to Brisbane! Welcome back to UQ! After 15 months out of the country and even more time having not set foot on the university campus, returning has been quite a change in scenery. Not only is Brisbane intolerably hot, riverbanks look different, accents sound funny and bogan-like and people seem more stylish and attractive than I remember them - though perhaps only relative to the feral looking travellers and tight, tacky, polyester blend tops that latin americans seem to love. Of course, the best people watching (and eavesdropping) location is always the university campus, where Queensland's best and brightest young minds (oh dear god!) congregate, in order to study, avoid having to find a real job for a few years and for some - find a husband. And what better day to observe so many fascinating young people than on Market Day - where various clubs bribe students to drop their hard earned dough in return for club membership and candy. Every interest is catered for, with clubs representing gamers, sporty people, engineering students and even Omani students, market day is for everyone. Being amongst such people, it did not take long for me to wish that I were overseas once again, amongst inspiring, interesting and diverse travellers. The particular uni types that really make me lose faith in tomorrow's leaders are those such as:

College Students: Who then, are the students who fork out $300 a week to live on campus with every whim accommodated to? Those lacking common sense, confidence to live out of home, people with rich and generous parents, people from Townsville (shudder), people who need the forced social life in order to make friends and those who longed to have a 'Uni experience' like the ones that are shoved down our throat by Hollywood. Dressed up, whooping loudly and providing an annoying presence on campus, there is just nothing to like about big groups of enthusiastic 17 year olds.
Boys that wear stupid hotpants around campus. 2 years ago these boardies that cut off above the knees were all the rage, and it seems that no matter how ridiculous it looks, they are still sported by too many guys. Extra points for the ones who shave their legs.
And the girls aren't exactly deserving of any fashion prizes either. With shorts that fail to cover the entire ass-cheek and caked on foundation, the university campus looks like more of a hooker hangout than a respectable academic institution. If some girls paid as much attention to changing the world as they did to getting laid and trying to look as much like a street-walker as possible, there is no limit to what could be achieved.
Queue-ers: Market day is reknowned for freebies, as clubs, associations and businesses try to bribe students for as much money, membership and email addresses as possible. From flyers to candy and frisbees and slushies, bribery is an effective motivation to do anything and students in particular are an easy target for such marketing. One has to wonder however, if waiting hours in queues all day amongst the sweaty masses in the sun is worth the free slurpee or cupcake that is up for offer. The idea that anybody could be interested in a particular offer, club or product without a free pen is simply unthinkable! The ignorant masses need to be bought with the biggest goodie bag rather than any substance that may be on offer.
Perky people: There is happy and then there is creepy. Student representative who spend an entire day smiling, patiently answering really stupid questions and selling selling selling are something special in themselves. Personally it scares me a little. After all, people can only be so enthusiastic and perky for so long before they snap and kill somebody.

When I was president of LASA I became one of these people. Once upon a time I thought people were mad to spend all day at a stall, and then of course the time spent decorating, carrying boxes of shit back and forth, but it's not so bad...

Actually, it kind of is. But it's for a good cause, and it's nice to believe in what you're doing. Sometimes the perkiness comes naturally.

Dubstep DJs
Photographers
Ultimate frisbee players

Yes, they still suck. Ultimate frisbee isn't even a real sport!!! What a wank! Seriously! And playing frisbee to the tunes of dubstep played by a "DJ" while amateurs with SLRs take photos has got to be about the most stupid thing in the world. I stand by this 10000%

Amongst all of the shallow turds that seem to roam the campus, I remain optimistic. From a university of 40,000 students, the odds of finding fun, interesting and inspiring people are hopeful. Bring on the semester!

So this did happen. In 2012 I got more involved with things happening at uni. I joined clubs, helped out with things, made more friends, and eventually I ended up finding amazing people that I loved. I really enjoyed spending time on campus. Sure, there were still those basics that pissed me off, but I came to love it, stop being cynical, and now I miss everything about it.

It just proves that if you get involved in uni then it will be a great time. I regret my cynicism!!

The Island of Corn - and not a cob in sight

2012-02-17T19:12:00.000+10:00

When you're travelling for only 2 or 3 months, spending 2 and a half weeks in the one location is not usually as high on the priority list as getting around and seeing lots of new places. Less so even, when the place happens to be an island, more than 6 hours from the mainland that is roughly the size of Brisbane's CBD, minus the fantastic shopping and funky bars (ha!). However, after tiring of seeing the same kind of thing in the same kind of places (let's be honest, a waterfall is always just a waterfall, and colonial cities and pretty bodies of water are hardly unique to anywhere in the world), it was time to take a break from travelling and spread my backpack across the floor for more than a few days.

Don't let the size and remoteness fool you however, Little Corn Island is full of many fun activities to partake in such as diving, walking around, talking to people, eating... Hang on now, this is starting to sound a little like San Pedro la Laguna in Guatemala isn't it? (well my experience there anyway, some keen beans were hiking volcanoes and studying spanish every day). For my first week on the island I was diving every day, doing my course and being active and adventurous. But then, after the money tree grew sparser and my ears and brain began flooding with water laziness struck. Daily routines had turned into reading in the hammock, drinking coffee at either Tranquilo, Casa Iguana or the Italian place and being peer pressured (lol) into accepting a puff (or 10) of the many many joints that were being passed around the table.

Another contributing factor to staying so long was the fantastic group of people I found. By default (and luck) I found myself in a hostel where all of the solo, interesting and long term travellers were hanging out. Of course by long term I mean 1-2 + weeks, after all it still is only a small island with little to do. But the fascinating thing was that most of the travellers around were experienced and cool travellers, many of whom were travel fatigued (like me) and wanted a holiday from their holiday. Oh the self indulgence of travelling. Amongst that group that spent every day together there were compulsive tanners, who lathered themselves up in oil daily for long sun sessions, while it seems that, despite being sunny almost every day I was there, that I left the island much whiter than I did when I arrived. There were divers, drinkers, white lobster enthusiasts, stoners (there were a LOT of those) and a blogger even more narcissistic than myself! Every few days the odd travelling family passed through, and although travelling can only be good for a child's personal development, being exposed to a bunch of lobster-red adults cursing and passing around a blunt is something that 9 year olds don't need to see (although I won't criticise their parenting skills... what? oops!). Little Corn Island (not unlike all of the Caribbean) has it's sex tourists as well, although foreign women seem to be the most enthusiastic when it comes to getting in on with a strapping black man. Of course these men know it too and will latch on in a latino-caribbean way (which is the worst kind of way) to any girl that might say hello. There was even one girl (with a beard! LOL!) who managed to sink her claws into some fresh meat, fell in love (double lol) and is planning to stay on the island for a few months to do her Divemaster course (suuure...). But the most fascinating of all of the creatures that passed through the island was the mentally derranged Texan. There was no denying that old mate exuded a vibe so creepy that the entire hostel was ill at ease with his presence (even the 7ft tall, 150kg owner Randy), but his ranting, foul mood and apparent lack of social skills had him pegged as a potential slasher. Eventually after much bitching, the consensus (even amongst the owners) was to kick him out and hopefully never see him again.

In between beach and coffee sessions, the nightly smoke up and amazing reading sessions thanks to a well stocked lending library on the island, the locals provided much amusement, with their broken-I-don't-know-if-I-could-even-call-it-that english and reggae music so terrible that it could have only come from the Nicaraguan Caribbean. So after 2.5 weeks of wonderful new friends, not a single sunburn and utter self indulgence, 2 days of travelling and a couple of hours in LA's most white trash hostel (hey! it was the closest to the airport), it has come time for shopping, Hollywood and Long Beach before returning to my humble abode in Brisbane. Err, except that I don't actually have any kind of abode in Brisbane... oh shit.

The Gringo Trail: a path beaten, bashed, flogged and stampeded

2012-01-17T07:07:00.002+10:00

When I mention to people that I am going travelling in places like Mexico, Guatemala and Belize, their reactions are usually something of shock and awe. "Wow!" they coo, "how dangerous and exotic, be careful" (obviously those who have done a bit of backpacking outside of Europe realise that this is totally not the case), however for some reason this part of the world still holds some mystery and danger for many. If only they knew! Southern Mexico, Belize and Guatemala are some of the easiest places to travel I have ever been to. Between not needing to know a word of Spanish, nor even meet a local or have any idea of how to get around, it seems that even the most unadventurous, culturally retarded and completely lacking in common sense are able to see all there is to see without lifting a finger thanks to a quick swipe of the credit card and a network of (often foreign owned) travel agencies, shuttle companies and hostels (many of which double as bars, restaurants and everything else one could possibly need) so that one need not even step foot outside the hostel. Even since being away I have rarely found myself speaking Spanish, despite being in a Spanish speaking country.

Far from being a pretentious indie traveller, lazy Gabby has certainly been enjoying the late mornings, direct buses (let me just say that 11 hours, 7 different chicken buses and a boat are not at all preferable to a cosy direct shuttle) and self indulgence that a well established tourist trail (granted I have also been away for 14 months and travel fatigue is beginning to set it). Having been stuck to the tourist trail for the most part, I doubt I can really say that I know Southern Mexico, Belize nor Guatemala beyond the pretty attractions and a number of hostels and bars (and hostel bars), nor can I really claim that I have 'done' any of those places (what a retarded term that backpackers use, how does one 'do' a country I wonder).

In addition, something that I have noticed quite a bit is that the people I have encountered seem to repeat themselves. Not just the same actual people, rather the types of travellers I seem to encounter seem to make everyday feel like groundhog day. Almost every hostel or town or bar seem to feature at least one of the following stereotypes:

The partiers: they are already drinking by midday and are the last ones to bed at night. Cheering, yelling and whooping can be heard from large distances and they don't seem to notice or care whether they are in Guatemala, Bali or Sydney.
The hippies: long hippie pants, long hair (sometimes with dreadlocks) and often a lot of piercings all over. They tend to be travelling on a tight budget and are usually the travellers in the kitchen or complaining about the high prices of food in the hostel or talking about the evils of corporate greed.
The indie traveller: Almost all speak spanish and have a number of tales of foreign lands to rant about. Everything about them screams 'I am a better traveller than you because I get off the beaten track,' even though they are curiously cooped up in the same hostel as the partiers. Constantly trying to one up everyone else with their amazing travel tales, their disdain for the partiers is somewhat hypocritical.
The Dazza (or the Shazza): surprisingly not the most irritating traveller, these Australians tend to gravitate towards one another to share tales of common bars back in Melbourne, their love of vegemite and the state of the Australian dollar.
The hostel worker: these people usually either find themselves working in a hostel because they have run out of money or they enjoyed their first night there and thought it would be a great place to stay. They are cheery and enthusiastic (too much so?) and have an incredible talent for learning guest's names.
The laptopper: takes advantage of the free wifi almost everywhere and spends hours sitting on youtube, stumbleupon, facebook and anything else to keep their interest online. Why? Who knows. Perhaps its just the narcissists that are blogging away...

So there you have it, Central America is no longer under the travel radar. There are times I find myself asking myself where am I again? Maybe I am cynical, or maybe I just need to go home already. I am however not dissing the people who I have met along the way (many have been awesome) nor am I suggesting that tourism has eaten and consumed any trace of local culture. However, such a tourist trail has been established in these parts that local interaction, nor the discomforts or difficulty of travelling have been almost eliminated from the experience. One can only hope now that word doesn't get out and that Belize and Guatemala become the new Cancun or Bali... oops.

This 2012 I resolutely resolve to keep every one of my resolutions

2012-01-03T00:22:00.001+10:00

It's that time of year, the January 1 hangover has worn off (almost) and the new year is up and running. While the new year is always the time to reflect on a great year gone, I think we can all agree that the past year has been pretty darn cool and 2012 has a lot to live up to. Why people make their resolutions to change their lives at the end of December? Who knows. Maybe the throbbing headache and killer hangover of January 1 is the point at which people re-evaluate (why did I drink so much? why is there vomit in my bed?), and the plans are laid for the new year. As I am no exception, I have resolved to iron out a few creases in my life (not all... certain promises like drinking less and not partying are futile and just not worth the hassle). So 2012... hit me with your best shot.

Study harder

As I am getting to the pointy end of my studies (pointier than before at least) I figure this is the year to really invigorate my GPA and start getting at least a little bit serious about school. Having somehow managed to pass after pissing around for the past 3 years is anything short of a miracle and the fact that I am a law student who is still yet to read an entire case or textbook is enough to make one wonder what is wrong with the education system (and what kind of professionals are being pushed through Australia's universities). Considering that uni is my primary activity (I don't work nor do anything else particularly of importance), I should at least be able to dedicate myself to studying hard and giving some meaning to my life. And that includes not getting too distracted by my new poi during swotvac and messing up my exams. Doh!

For the remainder of my time at uni, this resolution swung back and forth like a pendulum. In the end I had a pretty mediocre GPA that got me nowhere, but I did have moments where I tried.

Find some kind of purpose to my life

Seeing friends go off to do internships, dream jobs or something good for the world (or at least their self interest) has made me realise that (despite being incredibly fun and interesting) travelling around, meeting cool people and not having a worry in the world isnt very productive or useful. And while travel and relaxation is good for the soul, it does become overly indulgent after a while, and when I see old people who have travelled the world for their entire lives and achieved very little in the meantime, I cringe and swear to myself I will make my mark on society/the world one day (and as something more than the girl at the hostel bar). So despite not knowing what I want to do with my life yet (that's what a year of self indulgence does, it erodes ambition enormously), it is time I do something to at least find out, perhaps with an internship or some volunteering or working on some kind of idea. There comes a time for everyone to grow up, and even though I dont intend to give up my drinking or silliness, I do need to get off my ass.

I tried, I failed. I continue to search. Purpose isn't an internship though. It's enjoying the drinking and silliness. This is the wisdom I have acquired in my time.

Get a job

After almost 2 years of unemployment (fun-employment as I put it), it may be time to remind the workforce that I have not slipped off the radar completely and find myself some extra pocket money. Over the past year (well... 2.5 years) Centrelink and scholarships have been very generous to me, and considering that living costs in Mexico are so low, have allowed me to live quite a comfortable life. However, big gaping holes in resumes aren't all that attractive to potential employers, and before I become well and truly unemployable I should find something pronto. Ideally the job would be fun, well paying, flexible and not impinge on my life too much, although since I am no longer the cream of the low income unskilled labour force anymore (was I ever?) those conditions may be negotiable. Ideally also, I would not have to remove my nose ring nor dye my hair a normal colour, although again it may be unavoidable. While Centrelink is still my safety net, it will be nice to not have to live on mi goreng noodles and drink goon again, although until I graduate and find a real job, the good days of Mexican living may just be over for now.

IT'S A TRAP!!!

So essentially these are the big 3 for the year. Of course theres be happy, achieve self actualisation, be healthy, have great friendships, become a clown, learn to play the guitar etc are all inevitably on there somewhere, the main focus is the big things. Will I keep all of the resolutions? I certainly hope so. When do I begin? Well the normal grace period for New Years resolutions is a few days until the vacations have ended, although for me, my life isn't normal and vacations aren't over until well into February. So I resolutely resolve then to start on these resolutions after I get back to Brisbane.

Some curious facts about the north of Mexico

2011-12-15T02:14:00.001+10:00

A few days ago, my sister, a friend and l embarked on a journey to the north of the country, a region famed for narcos, cowboys and ... well narcos. Bucking the advice of all of the paranoid friends who watch fox news and even from the paranoid Mexicans who all advised us not to go, we strapped on our backpacks, booked cheap flights and were on our way. Along the way, in our 5 nights and 6 days spent in awe at all the north has to offer (both culturally and naturally) and learning a number of lessons along the way.

Burritos really do exist in Mexico

Growing up in Australia, it was always believed that the most quintessentially Mexican food in the world was burritos. In Puebla however, it seems that it is near impossible to find a burrito anywhere but the most touristy of restaurants. Having heard that margaritas (another 'Mexican drink') actually came from the states and not from Mexico, and hearing from other exchange students in Mexico that burritos were a gringo creation, I began to worry that burritos were a figment of my imaginary Mexico. But as soon as I arrived in the north of Mexico, lo and behold, there were burritos! Big ones, small ones, burritos in all different flavours, prices and qualities, it seems that Burritos are truly as Mexican as mole, panzas and Chicharito, but they are a regional specialty and a big drawcard for Chihuahua.

Stereotypes exist for a reason

When I was in Mexico City (and Oaxaca for that matter) I had the displeasure of meeting a revolting, pretentious hippy who, having done the Mexican gringo trail, considered himself quite the authority on Mexican culture and life. As he was waxing on about the false stereotype of cowboys, sombreros, bigotes and ponchos, I gently reminded him that in fact all of these DO exist, just further north than his 'pretentious, idiot, gringo guide to Mexico' told him. Walking through certain towns, every second shop it appeared seemed to be selling cowboy boots, sombreros or tacos. Men had moustaches, worked as rancheros and I think I even saw a pair of spurs (though I couldn't quite be certain). Mexican cinema from the 40s is certainly not a holistic and comprehensive indication of Mexican culture today, although stereotypes have all come from somewhere and it seems that in certain parts of the country the cowboy spirit is alive and well.

The Drug situation in Mexico is screwing some people hard

While the copper canyon route through Chihuahua is not exactly off the beaten trail, while we were there, we barely saw any other travellers where we were. Was it because we were the dumbasses who went during the cold season? Perhaps. But most likely, and as was confirmed by many locals, since the north got dangerous 6 years ago, tourism has declined dramatically, and the once burgeoning tourism industry was reduced to little more than a trickle. Hotel owners dropped their prices to a level where they surely can't have been turning much of a profit from us and a lot of tourism infrastructure lay empty as it waited for some people to come. Tumbleweed would have been blowing down the street were it not frozen solid and although we were blessed with views unobstructed by some obnoxious tourist with a revolting southern drawl, it was sad to see how the economy of this beautiful area had been ruined thanks to bad politics.

Some people are just never impressed

Despite being on one of the world's most beautiful railway journeys, we were seated on the train opposite some truly horrid looking people who seemed to prefer to stick their beaks in a book rather than admire the scenery that presumably they had paid so much to come and see. Although it was a daytime train journey and the nature was interesting and stimulating for the majority of the trip, these people were more interested in reading to even look up and out the window. Were they just not impressed by the scenery? Bored? Or were their books really just that good. Whatever their reasoning was, it's amazing how blase some people can be.

Camping is evil

While this sounds like quite a general statement, I can only suggest that camping in the north is NOT the best idea. Both times we had the displeasure of being so cold and uncomfortable that we counted down the minutes to the sunrise, just waiting for the opportunity to get out of the tent and to do something other than camping. Freezing temperatures, too many people in a small tent and hard horrible ground, as well as food stealing creatures and a lack of spooning coordination made us wish for a real bed and some creature comforts. Yes we saved money, but for the longest 2 nights in the world, I don't think we can say that it were worth it, not even in hindsight.

Basically the north of Mexico (where we visited) is a stunning,diverse and interesting place where people are incredibly warm and nice, where you won't see revolting hippy boy types and where the steak is amazing. Not once did we feel in anyway in danger (except from dying of the cold) and the drug situation is barely visible to most regular tourists. I would recommend to anyone a visit to this lovely part of Mexico and to enjoy it before a non-shit government fixes the country, the drug war ends, tourism increases to the area and prices skyrocket once again. Just don't bring a tent!

PS. I swear the Mexican tourism industry has NOT paid me to say any of this

Anatomy of a protest

2011-12-01T14:15:00.000+10:00

About a month ago somebody sent me an invite to a protest in Mexico City called the Acto Psicomagico. It was to be a march, where all of the participants would dress up as skeletons to represent the 50 000 Mexicans who couldn't march (because they were dead... because of the drug wars over the past 6 years). The aim to attract 50 000 protesters was probably a bit ambitious, made even more difficult by the fact that the day of the march it was overcast and freezing, but it was underway anyway. Not only was it intended as a march/protest (that we were reminded was not political, rather it was 'poetic') but a display of art, an alternative medium for speaking out about the injustices and violence that was taking place in Mexico. And as you can imagine, even a few hundred people gathered in costume, anything from a simple painted face to elaborate Catarina costumes, was freaking impressive. Not only gathered outside Bellas Artes and in the Plaza de Mariachis, but walking the streets as a collective, stopping traffic and raising a few eyebrows, as a group we were unified as one giant work of art, speaking out against what was going on.

However, despite being a creative, interesting and unique form of protest, apart from the idle curiosity that was aroused in locals and tourists alike, how effective (if at all) was our march in fighting the drug wars that have brought an entire county to it's knees for so many years. Unlike most peaceful protests, which usually involve at least some placards and some anti- government/corporation/corruption/Monsanto chanting and blocking of traffic. During this protest, there was singing, holding hands, Viva Mexico yelling and very little interruption of people's day to day lives. It didn't seem to be aimed at provoking or forcing a message on anyone, in fact it almost seemed like it was an event by the protesters for the protesters. What's more, it seemed almost like a lot of the people turned out in support of the artist/organiser Alejandro Jodorowsky, with many fans holding up books and art produced by this guy, and running after him like screaming fans at a Justin Bieber concert (I almost lost my thong as the crowds pushed and shoved to catch a glimpse of old mate).

Farce and follies aside, it was a creative and beautiful march which symbolised something very important and brought together like minded and socially conscious people (the ones that made it out of bed and braved the cold). And of course with one in four people there almost being photographers with their professional SLR gear snapping photos of anyone and everyone (the three white girls seemed to be quite a novelty), there are no doubt many gigabytes of photographic evidence floating around the world wide web (people's 'personal collections') to document such an event. Do the war on drugs and the complete desmadre that grips Mexico continue? Of course it does!

But what makes an effective protest? For those hoping to effect change in Mexico that gloomy Sunday afternoon, was it a day well spent? Or a nice opportunity to take photos and march for a couple of hours? Peaceful protesting is the name of the game these days, since violence is a vicious cycle that seems to manifest itself while in reality solving nothing. However, for all of the peaceful demonstrations outside of government palaces and big corporations and on Wall Streets worldwide, how many have brought about serious change? Perhaps the corporate bigwigs are so accustomed to placards and chanting in the street that they simply pull down the blinds and continue working on how to sell dodgy crap of questionable utility to the ignorant and poor. While complacency is the biggest evil in the world, whether or not spending hours gathering in the street shouting is an effective method of putting an end to injustice and exploitation in the world is questionable. While it does raise awareness of many issues that are going on, as well as let the companies/governments know that there are people out there that are against their current practices, a saturation of protesters and shouters is only likely to numb the senses and reduce the impact of any action, which would in fact be counterproductive to what they are trying to achieve.

So what is the alternative? Violence is a strong tactic which sends a serious message that there are people vehemently opposed to what is going on in the world, but it also reduces the legitimacy of any message that a group is trying to promote, especially when the term 'terrorist' gets tagged to any act of political force that is not strictly peaceful. Another method is the SHAC protest model, which was a creative and unique form of non violent (okay... borderline violent) protesting that hit the sore points of an animal testing corporation and proved (at least in the beginning) to be quite effective. Of course the government came in and closed the legal loopholes that allowed such a form of protesting to exist, allowing animal testing to continue in a gross display of the government once again bending over for the corporations that keep any such party in power. But does the world change then? Obviously it requires an active response from passionate people, but the method? Creativity and intelligence in the way that people go about their activism... that hopefully doesn't involves the killing of trees in order to shove yet another fucking flyer in my face! Viva Mexico?

The 2 extremes

2011-11-27T05:56:00.000+10:00

Thursday night for students and anyone who is anyone is always something of a big night. Thursday night in Cholula on the other hand is THE night of all nights which usually lasts until inappropriately early hours in the morning and involves a write off of the following day. Having recently paid my yoga membership, I was determined that Friday morning was to be a yoga morning (the first in a longg time thanks to Lazy Lilly being a distraction). But of course, being my sister's first night out in Mexico, Thursday was to be a big night full of cocktails, drinking on the street, the usual and predictable Voodoo Mama/Barfly pub crawl combination and a night on drunkening. And of course it happened, without fail. A few too many mixed drinks were consumed and a combination of a rowdy night and a fun bunch of people ensured that all were drunk as skunks. The night raged on until 3am when the urchin in my foot decided to release its poison, paralysing my leg and forcing me to call it quits and catch a taxi home (did I mention I live a mere 6 blocks from the club? ... walking was off the cards at that stage).

The following morning I rose at the bright and early hour of 10:30am, just in time to get myself ready and off to my 11am yoga class. And what a class it was! There were push ups and fast poses and sweat dripping from every pore of my body, sticking my fringe to my head and making me look like a demented paedophile as I forced my hips to the sky in downward dog pose. And the class continued, for almost 2 hours! Meanwhile, all of this holding in my beer gut and maintaining my core tight swelled up the alcohol that was still in my stomach like a ferocious ocean. Gradually the class got more and more painful until I was forced to lie down while the saggy grandmother next to me stood on her head and stuck her legs out at angles unnatural to man. By the end of the class I was in so much pain I regretted both my decision to drink the night before as well as my decision to go to yoga immensely.

Having been told by many yoga-types that being healthy, going to yoga and being square could not be sustained whilst pursuing a life of partying, drinking and dancing all night I scoffed in disbelief, maintaining that I could do it. Turns out they were right and I was wrong, it seems that yoga and partying are just completely incompatible with one another and headstands (even at 12pm the next day) are horribly unpleasant with a belly full of night old alcohol, a greasy taco and less than a full 8 hours of sleep.

And so the question is raised, which do I choose? While nothing beats sharing a cold beer/cocktail/glass of wine/$10 peso bottle of licor de agave with friends (and acquaintances) and dancing the night away, the nice clean, invincible feeling of doing yoga and drinking a juice afterwards is pretty fucking spectactular. I don't want to give up on either but it seems I will have to share my time between these two foes. Could I go one week on- one week off on the drinking/yoga front? Or perhaps on full moons, or when venus is in taurus, or when the sun casts certain shadows on my window I could detox and do yoga briefly before falling back into my decadent and sinful university, traveller, young person lifestyle. Maybe I'll have to have 2 sets of clothes for when I am enormous thanks to litres of beer and greasy tacos and one for when I am normal sized and yoga-esque (ha!) but it seems the only real way to balance the two.

But being the end of the semester, I feel as it is time to hang up my yoga mat (at least for a week or 2) and indulge myself in despedidas, fiestas and enjoying my final days... except for all of those yoga classes I've already paid for... Although maybe true zen is emptying the undigested content of ones stomach after an intense headstand... hmmm.

The hippy beach town that was

2011-11-16T12:48:00.000+10:00

From the age of 3 until I was 17, the beach has been something easily accessible, where I spent a lot of time and didn't think all that much of. 20 minutes from my house and 5 from my school, I was easily able to dip my toes in the water and frolic in the (50cm high) waves whenever I pleased as I grew up. Moving away from home though, where the beach is no longer an afternoon adventure, I find myself missing finding sand in every crack and crevice and mad chafing that comes only from a trip to the beach. And although Brisbane is only an hour away from a (real) beach (sorry southbank), the ocean in itself has become somewhat of a novelty. Brisbane isn't the furthest from the beach I have ever lived however, living in the central mountains of Mexico where the air is thin and the climate is definitely not even remotely beachy and tropical, a trip to the Pacific is a BIG novelty.

And it wasn't without its sacrifices, after almost 12 hours of bus travel (fresa-ing it up and taking the nice direct bus) I arrived with my very last minute travel buddy to an EXPENSIVE but delicious gringo breakfast favourite. And with the stress, annoyance and cold melted away the money too, with costs being substantially higher than I imagined. 15 years ago Sayulita was a small fishing village with a population of surfing hippies who camped on the beach and did hippie things when they weren't out in the ocean. Fast forward to now and the secret is out, English speaking drug dealers, bagels and insane prices roam the beach and the streets and just a simple camp site is equal to a dorm room in any other part of Mexico. A combination of opportunistic locals and entrepreneurial foreigners looking for a sea change have turned this into a slice of Mexico costlier than Cabo, Cancun or even its close neighbour: Puerto Vallarta.

Before anyone denounces this for being a bitch blog or a long winded whinge, hear me out. Despite its touristiness, not all week long, gringo vacationers are bad. Sayulita, despite a burgeoning tourist trade, is not a location with its own airport, package tours or revolting high rise buildings. It is not flogged mercilessly by American tourism conglomerates, nor is it flashy trashy or over the top. Hippie surfers, old rich fogies and Mexicans alike ride the public transport for $1 to arrive and thatched rooves adorn the houses. Yeah prices are higher than they should be but at least for the most part it hasn't sold it's soul to crass developers or retirees.

In fact, despite having only a week in the country, not giving a shit about the culture nor speaking a word of the local language, for the most part the tourists there were incredibly cool. There were burners, travelling artisans and writers with generally just a wonderful feeling of karma floating around. Even amongst the surfer crowd there was substantially less localism as one would find in other surf spots and people seemed happy to talk to one another like it was one big hostel. Oh, and how many squares do you know who would bring their own Northern California weed on holiday with them?

All in all, despite having an urchin stuck in my foot, mild sunburn and substantially less money in my wallet, a weekend on the coast was just what I needed to revitalise, relax and inspire me. 2 days in Sayulita felt like a week and my skin is now happy and glowing because of it. Apparently I arrived 2 or 3 years too late for the low key, chilled out, hippie surf camp on the beach that I was promised, but by all means I walked away satisfied, happy and yearning for some more beach time. Next weekend anyone?

Job? Work? What ARE these strange ideas you speak of?

2011-11-09T03:22:00.000+10:00

Ok, so before I commence what may sound like somewhat of a whingey rant, let me just note that this is not an emo out, I am currently very content and at ease with with stuff and I am not sad in the slightest, rather just pensive. Only in the past day did 3 wonderful friends of mine get accepted for amazing internships/jobs in which they will be doing exactly what they want to do with their lives and making a serious difference. On top of that, watching friends go off to work to earn money (even if it does seem like for fuck all recompensation) while I sit on my ass whilst being a vagrant in the homes of various friends and waiting for the latest season of Glee to stream on Cuevana sometimes makes me feel like a bit of a... bum. There was once a time where I was a hard working, money earning, productive person who had more trouble finding free time than anything. Thanks to Centrelink, a low cost of living in Mexico and contentness to live the lifestyle of a poor person, I am not scraping to survive in any way at all and the money just does not matter to me at this point in time.

However, it is not just a shit kicker, money spinning, survival job that I necessarily find myself desirous of. With another 2 and a half years of university goodness (hell?), I find my head buried in the sand with respect to any lifelong ambition or career plan, or even something that I am passionate about. While I do have a general vague idea about the direction I would somewhat like to go in, the specifics are very fuzzy and there is nothing REALLY there. What's more, as a result of not having any direction, I don't find myself really working towards a non existent goal. Of course with 2.5 years remaining, I am not in a super hurry, although I am aware that if I leave things too long, nobody will want to hire a derelict with no experience since she was 19, mediocre grades and knowledge of firespinning and Cuevana. Volunteer work, internships and maybe even a job somewhere in the direction of what I want to be doing would be ideal, but of course then all of the above require some form of commitment, which is the opposite (in my mind) of freedom, and at this point in time freedom the concept of giving up my freedom is something terrifying. However, freedom at the expense of any form of career, direction or of my doing anything with my life is even more worrying and I hope to god/jesus/satan/ganesh that I don't end up doing what I'm doing now my entire life.

It seems to me that there are several roadblocks in my way to doing something productive with my life (right now): the fact that I don't know what I want to be doing makes it hard to motivate myself to give up my freedom in order to work towards what I want to to. While I am absolutely aware that if there is no perfect job for me then I just have to make it, what I lack is the passion to even know if that is the case.

While I have one month left in Mexico of school and then 2 months of travelling before having something of stability in my life with which to work hard, establish something and make my resume (and transcript?) not look like crap, maybe I just have to push these feelings of laziness and unmotivation to the side for the time being. While I may not be in any position to commit myself to anything in the short term (pretty sure this is a bullshit excuse now), all I can do is enjoy and experience all that I can in my final days of what has been a year long adventure, and maybe something will inspire me along the way, after all, I'm only 21! Do I really need to know everything already?

A couple of megabytes, 2 months, 20 photos, many a story and a life time of memories

2011-11-03T04:02:00.000+10:00

As some people may well be aware, my past couple of blog posts have been markedly pictureless, with big chunks of text and nothing but a paragraph break or sub heading to break up my long rants. As it turns out, it seems the majority (like a LOT) of blog views are coming from weirdos or pervs who are directed to this lovely site for some less than savoury internet browsing. And of course because Google images (just like Google Map directions in Mexico) is CRAP, it seems that select words are picked up from my rants and serve as image seach keywords. Although there is nothing (ok... very little) to do with mullets, porn, sex, cholula narcos or mullet porn it turns out that the sickos searching for all of that find themselves here. In the past month, the top google image search keywords linking to this blog were:

Filthy mullets
www.super sex.com
Aussie porn
Bacteria

And so as a result, I have been hesitant to post photos for risk of dirty old men (ok, there are probably a few cat wielding middle aged women too) being linked here and having a bat over any old photo of friends, people and places. But now, I promise to post the highlights from the past 2 (ish) months in photographic goodness. All these photos were taken with disposable cameras and tell the stories of many an adventure, great people and la vida increible in Mexico. So sit back, enjoy and dirty old perves: please hit up redtube for your pornographic needs, mullet porn is hot but bogans do it so much better.

The people:

The places

Experiencias Mexicanas

And a crafty fox...

The sobriety experiment

2011-11-01T16:21:00.000+10:00

Saturday night the 29th of October 2011 was a momentous, historical and substantial night in the life of yours truly. Since the age of 16, I have moved back and forth along the scale of moderate drinker to raging alcoholic and something of a complete and utter trash bag. Anyone who has had the pleasure (if you could call it that) of meeting me whilst completely drunk or even on any other occasion will know that I am somewhat of an idiot with a fondness (okay... all out love) for the drink. So to even consider that I could take a break from drinking (that wasn't ordered by the doctor) would be almost inconceivable. However, one morning during a particularly deep and moving session of yoga my stomach began to rumble. I realised as I felt the acid rising from my stomach that the culprit was the alcohol consumed the previous night (alcohol, unlike tacos, e-coli and candy has a distinct taste as any drunken vomitter will attest) and I felt TERRIBLE!! Functioning the day after a big drinking session is hard, let alone pulling off some insane acrobatic acts of flexibility. Finally, when my body was shaken up to the max, when I was pale as a ghost (more so than usual) and when the shavasana pose FINALLY came around, the idea struck... Why not go for a fixed amount of time sans drink to see how it feels, be able to do a headstand without tasting last night's sin and purely for shits and giggles.

At the time, a complete and permanent moratorium on drinking was out of the question, but to give it a good shot I figured I should dedicate at least a month to sobriety, and since my favourite drinking buddy in Cholula was going to be away for 5 weeks I figured what better time to resume my alcoholic tendencies. So for 5 weeks I partied like a rock star, stayed out until the morning, danced like a maniac, met (and remembered) many many cool people and had a great time. And just because I wasn't downing the devil's drink like it were going out of fashion as I normally would, I didn't deprive myself of anything: music festivals, clubbing, a soft drink in a bar or even a raucous casa roja party. Far short of sitting in the corner being antisocial, not drinking made me overcompensate in outgoingness and cheerfulness, so as I result I had probably even more fun than I would have stumbling around like a clown, sexually harassing anyone and everyone and just plain being a pest. My non drinking campaign, however, was anything but a health kick, in fact I found that I replaced one bad vice with 2 others and I still found myself swimming in greasy tacos several times a day and smoking weed like it was a cigarette.

And so came that fateful night, it was a Saturday, my drinking companions were out and roaring and a bottle of tequila sat next to the blender just WAITING to be consumed. And so we did! There were poi, beyonce dance offs, sing alongs, good company and the like. It was a great night, fantastic pre drinking and a lovely party, however after not drinking for a few hours, dragging our feet and trying to find a bar to go that wasn't shit, the alcohol and good energy wore off and I felt drunk, tired, bored and irritable. Nothing like the fun of a sober night of dancing like crazy at all! So we trudged home early and slept like babies, a pleasant sleep, but more of a heavy pass out than a gentle float into the land of nod. Although it was far from a hangover, the feeling the next morning was akin to a night without sleep and a boring as hell class, not cringe worthily painful, but unpleasant and definitely not as nice as waking up like a spring daisy after a sober night.

So the past 5 weeks have been somewhat of a learning curve and the night of all nights that was to be my first drunkening was somewhat of a flop (not bad... just not remarkable). My attitude to drinking has drastically changed and I find myself at a substantial point in my life. Gone are the days of hangovers, Gabby the drunken idiot (it's just Gabby the idiot now) and always drinking because everyone else is or because the social situation calls for it. I don't intend to be as restrictive as I was during my experiment, but I will be drinking substantially less, wondering if I REALLY do want a drink and waking up feeling great. Drinking is slightly overrated as I have realised over the past month and a half, but it is still a lot of fun! So if dinner and drinks turns into several bottles of wine/caguamas of beer, table top dancing and stumbling home barefoot at 8am then so be it! Life is to enjoy and alcohol is just there for the ride.

How to break (almost) all the rental hire rules

2011-10-17T15:21:00.000+10:00

After sitting in the car for an excessively long period of time and wondering how driving time estimates could be oh so wrong, it is wonderful to be back in Cholula, with my real bed, Internet, tea and freshly cleaned house (a special surprise from my wonderful roomies this weekend). For 3 days, I have been sleeping in a tent/on the beach/in a car on a random road trip that ended up almost everywhere except where we had planned to go (we did make it... eventually!). It was also the first time in Mexico I have rented a car, which was an interesting experience. Of course I have been on a road trip or 2 before (albeit much more carefully organised ones) here in Mexico, but there is that on the edge of your seat nervousness when its someone Else's car and your credit card is sitting in their office waiting for the safe return of the vehicle, completely unscathed. Also, the list of rules is enough to make anyone break out into a nervous sweat... especially when we didn't buy insurance.

Rule #1: Thy shalt not drive off road or on uneven road surfaces

This one is the biggest porqueria of the lot! Although Mexico does boast some nice roads which are up to first world standards (and cost a shit load!), shabby and unkempt roads are to be expected, even on national highways. Not only is it not uncommon to see a few pot holes and crumbly edges, some national highways (main national highways even!) have half the road missing. Yes, sometimes for one reason or another half the road just goes tumbling down the hill, leaving trucks, buses and humble little Renault Clio to queue past one another and teeter precariously past the narrow stretch of road overlooking a 300m sheer cliff. Of course, for every shitty main road, there were also some off roading adventures that were our fault, such as the drive out to the "ideal camping spot" following our rough mud map (that didn't mention the rough 4WD appropriate terrain) and an even muddier road that left our car looking suspiciously dirty. Our small little car (that laboured to speed up to 100km/h) handled the roads like a boss, however unless the rental car people are as stupid as 76% of Mexican motorists, they will surely figure out what has happened but hopefully not be too pissed off.

Rule #2: Thou shalt return the vehicle to the rental office by the specified hour.

It seems pretty simple right? Try to be on time. However, due to an ambitious schedule and an over reliance on Google Maps, it turns out that we have a full extra day to play around with the car. Unfortunately, Google Maps is a load of shit and fails to take into account the amount of topes, retarded people and winding mountain roads en route. It also fails to acknowledge that not all cars (Renault Clio) are able to reach and maintain fast speeds, on which the estimated travel time is based. Bear in mind also, that women are terrible navigators, there is very poor signage on Mexican roads, confusing intersections and that national maps (and lonely planet pictures) are all but useless and you have a navigational disaster. Our 5 hour 6 minute trip back to Puebla ended up lasting near on 10 hours and left us swearing never to trust google maps ever again! Getting lost however, on the first day did turn out to be a blessing in disguise, with a detour to Tajin and the Costa Esmeralda being two of the highlights of our trip.

Rule #3: Thou shalt not break any road rules in the rental vehicle

While they technically exist on the books, in Mexico, road rules serve little more than as a means for corrupt police to earn some extra cash on the side by picking and choosing who is doing the right and wrong thing. Although we were lucky that the police never showed up on our road trip (nor military roadblocks or anything of the like), speeding, running red lights and crazy overtaking were rampant in the hours we spent on the road. Road rules do for the most part, play an important role in regulating society and ensuring that all motorists are safe, however, when for no reason, a sign mandates that the maximum speed limit is 40km/h (on a highway) one has to question the credibility of the clown making such rules. While flagrant disregard for such laws is rampant, such implementations as topes every 20m and the fear of other idiot drivers is enough to keep law and order to some extent. After all, all it takes is a few head bruises before speeding over speed bumps is just not worth it.

Rule #4: Thou shalt not damage the vehicle

And so for 2 days, through rough and nice terrain the car maintained its (relatively) perfect form, all it took was 2 annoying parking 'assistants' (read: the blackmailers who help you park and agree not to touch your car for money), a pissed off driver, a poor reverse park (executed WAYY too quickly and violently) and the scraped side of the car on a barbed wire fence. Nothing boils the blood like 2 annoying twits pestering one for money, so much so that an impassioned park just went wrong and left the car with some scratches that may take some explaining (eyelash batting, crying, lying etc) in order to avoid a hefty charge on that credit card. Of course the rental company won't fix it, just add it to the list and pass the car onto the next sucker. Unless we suck the suckers and get away Scot free, it all depends on negotiation.

Rule #5: Thou shalt not transport explosives, fire crackers or any other illegal items in the rental vehicle

Lol.

Aches and pains and getting old

2011-10-13T00:56:00.000+10:00

As I approach my half birthday, I feel it necessary to acknowledge some recently discovered truths that I cannot avoid as this milestone comes speeding towards me. Now, at risk of offending some of my older readers (hey mum) who on a calender are slightly (some substantially) older but feel like a million bucks and don't wish to hear a 21 and almost a half year old ranting off about old age, unfortunately this crisis is more related to the failing state of my body rather than a paper age and a sense of paranoia. So let me begin by saying:

It seems that after years of moderate - heavy (student/backpacker) paced drinking, the ole cuerpo seems to be having a much harder time in the morning after. Not only that, the entire day after, that night and several days afterwards seem to be very slow moving after a big night out. Not only that, it seems that once I hit a certain alcohol threshold, rather than partying on, doing silly things and talking shit all night, I just go home. Whether that happens at 3am, 1am or even midnight, that young person stamina just isn't there anymore. It is not uncommon for me in my old age now to fall asleep IN THE MIDDLE of a party, be it in a chair, on a couch, on the floor or right next to the speaker, it seems my body has gotten the better of me. For that reason, I decided to test out the ole non drinking routine to see if it might just the the dirty Mexican licor de agave, however, the only difference these days is that I can stay out dancing for longer and I generally manage to WALK home rather than passing out wherever I am. The next day still feels like I have been hit by a truck and the getting out of bed process is still slow, painful and often resigned to a long sleep in at the best of times. But will this stop me partying? Hell no! I am still young enough to want to party! My body just isn't anymore.

But it's not only the partying stamina that has dropped, but the fitness as well. So even in spite of doing yoga a few times a week, it seems all I feel like doing afterwards is eating a big fuck off steak and some chocolate and lying down for a few hours, rather than running a marathon, going for a bike ride or doing anything active. Also, certain poses leave me feeling achy and slow for a day or 2 afterwards, after a STRETCHING WORKOUT!! As for real exercise, well after a bit of rock climbing the other day I was in pain for 2 days afterwards when I tried to lift my arms above my head! And as for climbing a mountain, one leg is STILL hurting 4 days later (how I walk so that only one leg hurts is any one's question). I think that is a pretty big body fitness fail if I ever did see one. But I keep persisting, because many chronologically old people tell me that exercise is the key to eternal youth (or a younger man, or surgery and drugs) and I want to be one of those creepily active and healthy grannies when the time rolls around (not too long now).

But all old people will tell you that it is not only the body that begins to fail in old age, but the mind as well. Granted I have never really had a particularly strong or in shape body, so I have always just relied on the fact that I have a relatively sharp mind to make me feel good about myself. But now as I approach old age, NO SUCH LUCK BUDDY! Although the days of memorisation is schools is all but gone, a first year subject this year that FORCES memorisation as the primary learning activity has thrown into sharp realisation that my ticker isn't as quick as it used to be. Turns out simple memorisation tasks leave me feeling dumb as a doorknob and that the ease with which my intellect once worked is all but a thing of the past.

So now with my brain and body gone, I have two options, shall I grow old gracefully and accept that I am no longer 18 anymore? Or shall I buy every cream on the market, drugs, supplements, younger man, healthy lifestyle, never drink again and fight this motherfucker and restore my vitality to its previous self. At least now being old means that I am wise and have experience and many stories to tell, not to mention a load of knowledge bombs to drop on the young and impressionable youth of today who ARE still able to drink until 5am and do an exam that same day. Growing old is a part of life, so what if I am a 21 year old granny, I can still fight it until I am the weird old lady who still parties hard with kids, why not!

As for the wrinkles... DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED!!!