I have moved

On to a better hosting site:

spacenohyphen.wordpress.com

I depend.

Some of you may remember my high-horse credentials of not using my iPhone, Facebook and Twitter for a week earlier this year. I concluded that I need a phone, but thank-god-I-have-one-to-fall-back-on!

Now I don't. It's been lost/stolen/whatever. I left it in studio 2 of SYN (Student Youth Network) and now it's gone.

To my lost phone from another mother:

My dearly beloved iPhone, you are battered with a cracked screen and hippified with a tesla plate on the back so as to not fry my brain (according to Mum), but you are mine.

It was so close to my heart and hip most of the time. Perfectly organised into three slides of apps and icons. The first one was the essentials (date, time, notes, settings, tweetdeck, googlemaps, facebook, safari etc) the second was the delish apps (urban spoon, ethicalshopper, shazam, netbank, tram tracker, papertoss, gmail, ABC news) and the third the rejects apple won't let me delete (organiser, compass).

Oh so many contacts from Brisbane, Melbourne and beyond, important phone numbers I really should have saved somewhere else.

And how will I cope with my dodgy alarm clock now that you, oh iPhone, with your magical tones, are gone.

I can't tweet, update or google 'it' at the swipe of your screen, I can't check tram times or emails or bank balances.

You, iPhone, are irreplaceable!

And I want a new one, but it won't be the same. Minus $500- $900 is what I will be if I am to get another to replace the old.

I just keep on wishing you'll reappear and my woes will be over.

Monday, I've told myself, is as long as I'll go without a 04 number to call my own.

But if you're out there cracked-teslar-platey-iphone of mine, please find your home again in my cupped hand.

Election!

This week has been a busy one. Juggling election saturation with the first week back at uni with work and with SYN has meant it's my studies that miss out.

But, using my consistence, I am able to justify the hell out of that.

For SYN, I've been doing two shows, Below the Line \, which airs from 8:30 am - 10 am on Saturdays, along with Panorama, 4:30-5pm Fridays.

On the Below the Line page you catch pretty much all of last Saturday's show including interviews with Labor's candidate for Melbourne Cath Bowtell and the Greens candidate Adam Bandt.

Also, Federal Health Minister Nicola Roxon came to SYN at around midday on Saturday to announced the locations of 10 new Headspace cetres to help young people with their mental health. Before her press conference, I talked to her along with Headspace's CEO Chris Tanti about the announcement.

That's all folks.

I think they listened!

So yesterday I was looking for an election, and that's what I got!

And even more websites have popped up since then.

The ABC, so far, are taking the cake with their Election Pulse site, full of tweets, bets, polls and a countdown.

The Australia's site is okay but just doesn't have the interactivity of the ABC's but I'm sure will improve as the campaign goes on.

The ABC's 24 hour news channel is also set to start up at 7:30pm next Thursday (22nd July), meaning the media's election excitement will be available any hour of the day.


But perhaps the best place to follow the election, straight from the journalists' mouth (in 140 characters) will be twitter, which has already show speedy potential for information dissemination of politics.
This morning, @latikambourke, @annabelcrabb, @samanthamaiden and @lyndalcurtis just to name a few. But if all else fails, the hashtag for the election has pretty much beend decided on: #ausvotes (or #aus2010)

Other fun tags are #mofo (Labor's 'Moving Forward' slogan) #gospeltruth (Tony Abbott's 7:30 report bungle)

More to come, I'm sure :)


Also, SYN's Federal election coverage is sure to begin this Monday on Panorama 430-5pm weekdays, and a special election show Below the Line, possibly on Saturday mornings.

Election time, let's inform the politicians.

We're all ready for a Federal Election. Everyone, that is, except for those who can call it.

With bets over when the election will be called, held and who will win already in full swing.

Not only are the bets in, but most media sites already have a section dubbed 'election 2010' or thereabouts. Now, the election could, theoretically, not be called until April 2011. While this may be extremely unlikely (both as a betting man, and logically), they may all have it wrong. It also would mean that the Labor party lost their chance at another catchy slogan, that of Kevin11.

And it's not only journalists who are ready, wikipedia already has a page dedicated to the yet-to-be-announced election. And, as we all know, if it's on wikipedia it must be the truth.

So my question is, election 2010, where the bloody hell are you?

If we, the Australian public are ready, and pretty much decided. If the media is already gung-ho with their twitter accounts, web pages and ABC's news 24/7 is nigh where is the cherry on top?

Julia Gillard, a PM for all waiters.

Well, it is clear and for all to see. If you work in hospitality, under a Gillard Government wait staff everywhere will be treated equally.

While most of the media reported on the hint of an election within the next week, Ms Gillard has really made it clear that maltreatment of waiters will not be tolerated.

She said in a speech in Adelaide today, "It's wrong to view yourself as better than the person who waits on you in a restaurant".

And if the PM says it, it must be right. (or at least a core or non-core truth)

Nostalgic list/ideas of people I could have been.

As with any middle-class white female, reflections upon my childhood leave me with few things to lament about. No trauma, hard life tales of woe or split up parents. But as a human being, as we all do, I want you and others to empathise with the hardship I have felt from past decisions. Hardship in this case being in the context of a cushy and not-really-so-hard-when-you-look-to-the-third-world kind of way.

So, there's not being allowed to watch TV as a child, meaning piles of pop-culture references from the Simpsons, Seinfeld and whatever else was on TV in the 90s.

Being allowed to quit piano, hockey, acting and dance to cut off my potential of being a musical master-child, goal-defending padded goalie, the next botox-infused Australian maiden of the screen.

I'm sure I had so much potential to be the genius kid that is envied for being so damn good at everything.

But on the flipside I am glad my parents allowed me to make my own decisions about education. As I am pretty sure my decision to go to a co-ed public school ensured a safe passage to where I am today (as opposed to the single sex private school my mum wanted me to go to). Nothing against the latter type of school, but my impressionable 13-year-old self would, I believe, may have made decisions in (hindsight of the possible) that may have resulted in a significantly different person.

There are many parts of life where, unknowingly, we make decisions that effect us in ways we would never have comprehended at that moment. You meet someone, who knows someone who could change, screw up or enhance your life.

Bleedingly obvious? Yes!
But by-god it certainly continues to astound me.

(and I hope it astounds you too!)

Getting my rang-on

It's the season to be a red head, and yes I am (as of 6 hours ago) part of that exclusive club. Exclusive in the sense that it could cost a mere 10 bucks and an hour of your life.

I think my decision was primarily (rationalised by myself at least) due to serving a girl who had excellent hair, and I thought why not. But increasingly I'm thinking it my be in my subconscious, given that some of my journalistic heroes (Leigh Sales, Kerry O'Brien) and the most recent PM are all part of the red-club.

Whatever it is, I wonder about all of those redheaded stereotypes, and whether they apply to me, even though it was a cocktail of toxins and colourants that made me so.

Are blondes dumber?
Are red heads more freckley/nerdy/deserving of nick-names?
Are brunettes... actually what are the stereotypes surrounding brown hair?

Ginger Spice made the rang sexy in the 90s and Christina Hendricks (of Mad Men fame) is bringing it round again in the 10s.

Well, at least I know I will have Julia Gillard's approval!

Can you top that?

Birthday parties for parents are one of the biggest social competitions of your child's upbringing. They are a public showdown to prove how much you really love and care for your little Charlie or Suzie.
Whose fairy bread is fluffier? Whose balloons float for longer? Where is the clown? Whose cake has more sugar?
Well, at least that's what most of the birthday parties I attended between the ages of 6-11.
But I have come to realise since my days of party poppers, things have changed.
I mean, really, picture this:
Your daughter is turning 10. She really likes MasterChef and TV Chefs such as Gordon Ramsay. So what is the logical answer?
Hellenic Republic for lunch, Press Club for dinner on the Saturday and on the Sunday Maha for Lunch and Maze for Dinner. For 20 people each time.

That is a lot of fairy bread.

Once more?
At 13th Birthday?
Your precious pumpkin takes a hot pink stretch limo from home to the up-market restaurant you've booked, where she and a table of 20 kiddies eat lamb spit to their heart's desire.
She is a adorned in a hot pink feather boa. Those feathers make it everywhere around the restaurant.

If parents are spending thousands of dollars on 10th, 13th, 1st birthdays or christenings, how much more will they spend on their kid's 21st or 18th?

Buy a jumbo jet and fly to LA where Miley Cyrus is waiting, hot pants and whiny voice at the ready?

Make her the first 16-year-old girl to fly into space in an aircraft sponsored by Ella Bache?

I understand you love them, but tell me how you're going to tell shnookums where their inheritance has gone, just in time for them to actually need something, like a house?

Show your children some self-restraint and say 'no' once every now and again.


It feels good to get that out.

2010 election; the year's most dissapointing multiple choice

The best thing about multiple choice is that there are only four options.
Usually one is just plain wrong, one is very far fetched and the other two are to err and ahhuumm between if you don't already know the answer.
For example:
If you mix 1 part red paint and 1 part yellow paint together, what colour would you get?

a) Green
b) Polenta
c) Orange
d) Peach

Orange is the answer, polenta is edible. They're usually fairly straight forward, unlike what you will be choosing at this years soon-to-be-announced federal election.

Who will you vote for in the House of Representatives?

a) Generic Labor Party candidate (C'mon, remember K07?! We've got so many more acronyms to fulfil! NHHN, NBN, RSPT, ETS*, BER)
b) Generic Liberal Party candidate (Work Choices is dead, I swear. I pinky promise. Cross my heart hope to die and deliberate between core and non-core promises in front of your eyes!)
c) Greens Candidate (Are you a disheartened Labor voter? Do you feel your western lifestyle can't be justified unless your government looks after refugees and mandates backyard wind turbines to replace the ol' hills hoist?)
d) Independent or Socialist Alliance or Pauline Hanson's protege (Why not mix it up a little?)

Who will you vote for in the Senate?

a) The Sex party
b) The Guns party
c) The Fish and Chip party (tartare sauce now included!)
d) The Southern Cross Tattoo party
e) The Murray-Darling Basin party
f) The Scientology Party (now with extra gambling machines and cult lifestyle, just to tick off Xenaphon)
g) The That's what Steve Fielding said party
h) The 'In my day' party
i) I think you get my point party

It barely matters which way you vote, especially in the lower house, it's a bit same, same and not that different. The question is really about trust.
Do you trust the Greens to have the balance of power?
Do you trust Labor to fulfill promises and do something meaningful?
Do you trust Tony Abbott to run the country?

The problem is most of generation Y don't give a donkey. Many people I know aren't enrolled to vote and don't care.

If you aren't enrolled, why?
If you know who you're going to vote for, do you know why?

To me it seems like a multiple choice with no right answer because in the end they all mean roughly the same thing.



*probably not til 2013, we don't have the balls to call a double disillusion

The two big Vs; merchants of some unwanted knowledge.

As I have mentioned previously, I'm vegetarian and am currently reading Jonathan Safran Foer's book Eating Animals. It's an enlightening read, and definitely a modern day, and American, version of Singer's Animal Liberation.

So I've also been interested in what farming practices are used in Australia, as Eating Animals say 99% of eaten animals in America are sourced from factory farms.

I've been thinking of asking and interviewing farming groups and doing a bit of research into it over the semester break. So if anyone out there knows some juicy tid-bit that might help me on my merry way please do spill.

And now to the title of this blog's point.

Yesterday ABC's The Drum, Marieke Hardy ranted about Ruby Rose being 'veganese', a vegan who eats cheese and fish.

OH NO!
HYPOCRISY, CONTRADICTION!
Unfortunately, however conscious you are with your grocery, food or general purchases, someone or thing will be harmed or mistreated in the process of it being made and transported to the store. Who do you blame? Capitalism? Industry? Yourself?

Simply put, who knows.

As much as I try to avoid gelatin, non-fair trade products, palm oil, nestle, resin, Coca-Cola, Unilever and any other company that harms other animals, the earth or humans, it's a damn difficult thing to do. I live with two vegans, both of whom smoke and wear leather. I have Doc Martens, but I buy second-hand leather only. I try and buy vegetarian cheese and free-range eggs. We're all walking contradictions of our own or others morals or ideologies.

Once anyone moves away from being vegan to, say eating cheese or fish, they have to find a way of justifying it to themselves, as well as their herbivore counterparts. "I need more Iron" may be legitimate but you can get those nutrients from other foods.
But shouldn't Rose and other high-profile vego or vegan celebrities be applauded for getting these issues into the public sphere?

Fellow The Drum contributor Helen Razer made a comment on Hardy's article, which is resounding, and at the heart of why saying you're vegan, or vegetarian can quite often mean the meat-eaters in the room will immediately shut you out:

"To tout veganism as a cure-all for the world's ills or a form of moral superiority is both (a) misleading and (b) alienating."

It's not about superiority, it's about informing people and ensuring they know what they are eating, how it was produced and that they are okay with their choices. Some people's morals won't give a damn, and others will change their choices.
That, I think, is a better way of conversion.

Think about it like this: If you are an atheist, and a Christian tries to convert you, in the street, at a church, wherever, you would block them out or ignore them.
But if you were agnostic, engaging in a conversation about God, faith and belief with a Christian is, I believe, a way of enhancing or learning about that certain religion.

You are not going to win people over with isolation, confrontation or force. They first have to be open and willing to learn for any-such shift or change to occur.

If you missed the KO

No, I'm not talking Knock Out, I'm talking Kerry O'Brien!

Yes in the past week Kezza over at the 7:30 Report has been giving verbal punches to Australia's most rotund politicians.

If you missed them, K-Dog has complied them for you at KERRY O'BRIEN'S LATEST POLITICAL INTERVIEWS.


BAMMMMMMMMMM.

C-U-L-T find out what it means to me!

There is nothing in the word CULT that connotes positivity. Or in the word evangelical. It might have originally meant a zealous faith and promotion in a set of beliefs, but to the agnostic or skeptic, it can only mean one thing; brainwashing.

Over the past week Scientology and a group called Agape Ministries have come under fire. And over the past year (or longer) the Catholic Church has been paddled on the bum for the array of cover-ups and instances that they turned a blind eye to sexual abuse.

I see a connection.

Secretive group with a uniting and firm belief in one ideal (religious, or otherwise). Secluded from society or a natural life or choosing an alternate path(ie priesthood, a life of solitude, estrangement from normal daily life), these members often stray quite obviously from their path.

Sexual abuse of children, cover-ups and illegal weaponry or activities.

And the cover-up is justified how? To preserve their faith in positive light to the rest of the world.

Rationalised how? It's what (god, higher being, the saviour) would want/do/think/say/forgive.

Does it make it okay?

No.

I've never really understood what South Australian Senator Nick Xenaphon stood for (except anti-gambling) but he sure understands what I'm on about.


I don't think religious belief is necessarily a bad or dangerous thing, just that when it comes to holding power, distorting the natural way of life (with, say, abstinence or living in a place secluded from the eye of anyone outside of that belief).

My Melbourne Mum once said to me, 'Everything in moderation.'
It applies to almost everything, drinking, eating crappy food, going out for dinner, pulling all nighters or spending time on the computer.

Perhaps religion needs to take a leaf out of her book and realise that the power they wield over people can corrupt (however unintentionally).

I'm not so much saying faith in moderation, but take a chance to take of the robe, hat, cross, whatever and reflect on what you are doing.

Because we know that evangelicals isolate people, rather than encourage them to stay and chat.

The bearded man on a crate yelling, the bible booth, the lone monk handing out 3 inch thick books, the activist asking me if I like puppies or the environment. They all make it very difficult to want to actually hear what they are on about.

Maybe I'll get a crate and yell 'MODERATION' a few times in the middle of Federation Square.

It should get it out of my system...

This advertising doesn't work

I've bee watching a lot of the US TV series Mad Men recently and in between wistfully fantasizing about life in the 50s I've been giving advertisements around me a good hard 'do you make me want to buy you?' ponder.

This question has lead to two polar opposite effects - a big ol' maybe and BIG FAT NO.
Let's take a short stroll through these ads.

1. The Perfect Man - Perfect Italiano



I'm sorry, but in my world the perfect man doesn't have a listening face, or have an Italian accent and narrate his every action. Plus that face needs a few imperfections to make me feel less insecure that my face may not have the most perfect, prominent cheek bones and angular jaw. Also my hair doesn't swish so elegantly.
AND THEN they have the indecency to tell you to buy cheese, when I'm fairly sure Mr Perfect Man over there didn't guzzle mozzarella to get that manicured stubble.
So, first lesson for advertising 'people' - don't make me feel insecure.

2. Most ads for a radio show that are plastered across streets or broadcast on TV.
Yeah, you know what I'm on about. Those ads for Nova, Triple M or Classic rock which make you realise why those presenters are on radio, not TV. That's right. They have a radio face. BUUURN.


(To be inserted photo of aforementioned ad)


I also don't understand how they came up with such a terrible idea for a radio ad. They don't tell you what is going to be talked about, why you should listen or who the hell these people are. They are just 'Grubby and 'Deedee' and that's it. I'm sure hilarity ensues.

3. Cars driving through the wilderness.
Who ever had the revelation wilderness + car = profit is either a genius or know nothing about how people use cars.
I learnt to drive in a Toyota Land Cruiser and am fairly sure that thing is far too fat to drive over sand.


Cars are not epic, they get you from A to B. Some are more grumbly, some bigger and some have those flippy TV screens.


I just wish we could go back to the good old days when advertisements took criticism on, telling the experts to eff off.

No mobile, no social networking = less friends.

Well, it's probably not quite that simple.
Last week I went without my phone, facebook or any other social networking site.
I began the week believing life would break in two, but I'd probably procrastinate a whole lot less and study like a mad woman. But alas, I got very distracted by Mad Men, planning my radio show either vs EITHER (8PM MONDAY NIGHTS ON SYN 90.7) and finding other things to do.

To summarise my week as defined by not having a phone:

- I woke up late twice, due to an alarm clock that is unable to tell the time.
- Left my keys at home and was aided by a friendly builder called Bruce in taking all the bolts out of my back door so I could get inside and thanked him with a packet of pocky (which he had NEVER had before.
- Annoyed my boyfriend twice by not being specific enough about times when I'd be somewhere
- Also annoyed him with mix ups between email communication and calling from a pay phone, I blame the RMIT email server.
- Couldn't broadcast myself to the world, because clearly everyone wants to know what I am thinking at any given time
- Memorised about 15 phone numbers just incase I was beat up in an alley way.
- Was paranoid.
- Missed a meeting at work about getting a pay rise. But I get the pay rise anyway. wicked.

Basically I just wasn't part of another level of communication, almost a self broadcasting. I missed a few birthdays, events and relied on others being where they were meant to be. I also had 10 voicemails and quite a few texts upon turning my phone on yesterday.
If you don't involve yourself in Facebook or with your phone, it becomes less of a deal. Being part of some sort of non-face-to-face community is dependent on your own involvement. I think I like the level of involvement I have in these social networking sites because it creates a sense of knowing, of belonging and finding.

And yes, I have caught up on all the FB stalking from last week.

SYN and no phone.

NEXT WEEK:

1. I am living for seven days without my mobile phone, twitter and facebook.
Why?
An article in the Age to coincide with the release of Apple's iPad (and yes I am aware it's been pushed back) about the dependence the modern person has on technology.
Also to see if I can hack it. I will let you know in an undoubtedly lengthy and full of 'aghhhhghghg' post probably next monday.
And yes, I am shit scared.
Things I use my phone, facebook and twitter for:
- Text messages
- Calling (duh)
- Remembering birthdays
- Alarm Clock
- Attending events
- Checking the weather
- Checking when trams/train come
- Googling unknown things to seem more knowledgeable in tutorials.
- Taking amusing/sufficiently arty pictures and/or videos
- Checking fb a little too often
- Useless multitasking when watching TV, a movie or on public transport
- The time

I'm sure there are a few more I am forgetting, but I think you get the picture.

2. I'm going to be on SYN radio (90.7 FM if you're in Melbourne)!
A friend and I have created a show called Either versus eIther (as in the different pronunciations) and we will be debating generally 'versus' things. Most of them relate to 12-25 year olds, or are just fun to take to the 'enth extent.
8pm on Monday nights, and also on Panorama (news and current affairs radio show) on Wednesdays at 4:30.
Be there or be

WHAM BAM, I'M THE FRAUDSTER FIGHTING (wo)MAN!

I was the victim of internet fraud.
I've always thought that I was FAR too smart for that. I don't give my account details away in order to inherit a wealthy Nigerian King's fortune, or sign up to some program to build my muscles up in 2 weeks. How wrong I was.

So, my mum gave me this amazing antioxidant powder which makes colds/the flu or any other winter-related illness go away a snap. After last winter depleted my stock I decided to be a BIG GUURRL and buy some of the interwebs. I found a product that seemed the same, full of powder that looks violet and blueberry and is a great for the immune system. Popped in my credit/debit mastercard deets and voila, I should receive a package in 2-3 business days.

But
it
didn't.

After two months (mid-February) I'm noticing I seem to be running out of money week to week, when I'm usually pretty good at counting and saving my dosh.
I thought it was because I'd just moved house and I was buying those essential new-house items (scourers, bins, etc). But a few weeks later I notices my 'available balance' had gone down considerably - by $130.
After a few days, the whole balance was down by the same amount and there was a debit, with some random arrangement of numbers as the detail (OOOBB333187774420 for example).
"FUUUUUCKCKCKCKCKCKCKKKKKKK!!" was my immediate reaction and searching my brain for what in the world it could be.
.....................................................................................
.....................................................................................
.....................................................................................
.....................................................................................
.....................................................................................
.....................................................................................
.....................................................................................
.....................................................................................
.....................................................................................
.....................................................................................
.....................................................................................
.....................................................................................

And then it clicked.
At first I felt like the biggest dickhead.
Antioxidant powder? Testimonials? Pictures of people holding newspapers? Flashing lights/images/ads?!
SERIOUSLY.
GODDAMNIT.
WHY THE HELL DID I GIVE OUT MY CREDIT CARD DETAILS!>>!>>!>!<?!

What to do? I don't want to let everyone know how idiotic I was, how naive I was.
I am the dumbass victim. ah. AH.

If I called my bank, the person at the end of the like was sure to be thinking something along the lines of "kids these days and their internet! ha, I'm soooo much less fraudable than them" with the icing on the cake being a resounding and condescending belly laugh from the receiver of my mobile.

But I sucked it in.
I called.
Yelled "OPERATOR" a few times.
Got onto someone.
Thank god the lovely woman at the Commonwealth Bank had a far too high pitched vocal chords to belly laugh.
She empathised with my lack of finances (remember, she could see my bank account) and how I was doing it tough, living in a different state to my parents, without KRUDD to help me out. She consoled my desperation, saying that they would look into it all and try to get back the total of $300 dollars taken from my bank account. She was going to cancel my card and send me a new one at that very second.
I bet she licked the envelope.
I think I actually loved the Commonwealth Bank after that afternoon.

But I love them even more now as I have been fully reinstated with all the lost money.
I intend on buying something big and expensive.
Or getting really drunk on expensive liquor.

Any suggestions?
Anyone else as gullible as I am?

Ruined by advertising?

Walking through uni today I saw this ad for MiGoreng (!!!).
I could never imagine a sleek advertising executive looking at the plastic-looking egg on a packet of MiGers and thinking 'yeah, smothered in egg is the angle we'll go for' when there isn't even an egg included.
I think they might even sell more if they wrote 'egg not included' so that the hesitant vegan or those who are grossed out by a vacuumed sealed fried egg are more inclined to whip out the 60ish cents. How could anyone have thought the idea of having an egg on there as a positive packaging factor. But apparently (now) there is someone behind the scenes calling the shots.

Also, why would they say it's a brain food?

There ain't no brain food in that my friend.

Introducing the innocent friend to MiGoreng was the best thing about a hangover. It was the word of mouth, along with the price, that made MiGoreng better than 2 Minute Noodles. It made it grunge goddamnnit!

My question is this: Do you think MiGoreng will actually suffer from advertising when it is traditionally a word-of-mouth food for students?

AUTHENTIC AS POULTRY

I started watching Mad Men a couple of days ago and 4 episodes in, I'm a little hooked.
mmmm.
But it (and this truck I saw outside Queen Victoria Markets) got me thinking about the oddness of advertising words.

The truck said 'blah blah blah Chicken - Authentic poultry"
But how the hell is poultry UNAUTHENTIC?
If that's the best thing the owner of said truck can come up with - man - get some better product.
Do others knit, their chicken? Or is there a government agency that decides if chicken is 'authentic enough?'

I Google Imaged (verb!) 'Authentic Chicken' and only unidentifiable chicken meat in meals came up. ARE ALIVE CHICKENS NOT AUTHENTIC? Does this have implications for humans, am i not authentic until death or cannibalism becomes the newest rage?

I also enjoy the 1# YUMMY RESTAURANT I see on my way to Uni.

Or maybe it's actually DELICIOUS.

TWEEEEEEET.

Yes, like the rest of my vocation I have become 'twitteriffic'.

twitter.com/emmaology

twit at me!

I'm sorry, but using old, foreign or interest specific words in day to day conversation doesn't make you smarter.

Coming back from the gargantuan four months of holidays was a bit strenuous on my brain.
Remembering how to take notes, not fall asleep during lectures and figuring out unspoken seating arrangements in all of my lectures and tutorials.
Maybe my peers are feeling the stress of switching on the academic frame of mind and need to validate their place as one of the 'smartie pants' at uni.
The point is people keep trying to validate their intelligence to me via hallway/elevator post-class conversation. They slip in some vague or obscure word, I think, in the hope that I will say "what's_____?" and they can smugly reply "blahityblah".

OH NOOO, I'M NOT AS SMART AS YOU IN THE PARTICULAR DISCOURSE YOU ARE REFERRING TO!

When I'm having a conversation with those who aren't other journalism students, I don't pull industry specific words out my butt, such as 'par' 'inverted pyramid' or 'slug'.

Ahhhh, I feel better.

Peaking too early.

I never ever get friday/saturday off. Except for this weekend.
'WOOOOO PARTY TIME' thought the little voice inside my head. The plan was to get my drink on and have a swell time. I was bound to have hilarious drunken stories for my monday morning 'how was your weekend?' quiz.

Friday night? Gallery opening with many a performance and free cider for all!
But uh-oh, it's an invite only gig and I wasn't one of lucky few. D: I moped around watching the new season of Skins, which was as disappointing as my night was becoming. I called friends in desperation, but they had their own things going on with GURRL-frangs, work and you're-not-really-invited-parties. I sat on my balcony looking out to the world, contemplating the totally hip night others were bound to have.
Then came my knight in shining armour.
"Do you want to hang out?"
"YES!!!!!" (said a little too desperately, cutting him off halfway through)
We got pizza, drank wine and watched Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire and Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.
Goddam Hermione's eyebrows just don't stop.
Decent night in.

On Saturday the night began well.
A few balcony beers with my housey-mate, singing and dancing to Robyn with a trip to the bottle-o.
Friends and friends-of-friends began arriving and eventually my 1.5mx3m balcony became too small for the ten of us. So we moved the party to the back yard. Suddenly I get all droopy-eyed and sleepy and I'm fairly sure it was altitude sickness.
I'm not pointing fingers, but one of my housemates may have also jinxed it by setting out some milestones for the night. Beers at home, move on to a bar/somewhere in the city, watch him hit on a girl and get rejected.
What should have ended in getting a drunken kebab in actuality turned out to be yours truly slithering upstairs at about 11:30 and promptly falling asleep.

I think the moral of my weekend is that I'm all burnt out.
The sad truth is that I peaked at 16.
I was the life of the party.
Sculling vodka like a eighty-year-old Russian and being an integral feature of party dramas.
Samurai swords, early morning treks, hiding from the po-po.

Maybe because drinking was illegal back in the day it seemed more hardcore, rebellious or dangerous. It wasn't so easy and so planning to get alcohol, getting alcohol and drinking alcohol was an adventure.

I'm contemplating taking up knitting, purchasing a rocking chair and use the phrase 'kids these days' more often.

Alice in not-so-wonderful-wonderland.

I've realised how much of a jip 3D movies are.
For the first 15 minutes they throw a whole lot of junk at you to ensure you think that extra $10 bux you just spent was worth it. And just when you start thinking 'Wow! IMAX is awesome' the 3D ends, suddenly reappearing in the last 10 minutes.

I wish they were more like the T-rex dinosaur made-for-3D-movie I saw at IMAX in Brisbane when i was 8. Shit flew into your face like it was nobody's business.

Maybe I'll send this to Tim Burton.
3D 101

NEEDS: a steady flow of the hot stuff.

Living in the first world is amazing.
Yeah, I've never lived anywhere else, but last week I had a glimpse of living in the third world. My house was practically stricken with poverty, political instability, dodgy infrastructure, ill-health and a lacking amenities.
That's right, my pilot light on the hot water heating gadget thing went out.
Turmoil!
I boiled water to wash the dishes, I groaned at the thought of showering and screamed with agony every time I attempted to wash my hair. It's no wonder I was late for the early-morning classes last week, I had to contemplate whether an ice cold shower was worth it or if I held off for one more day anyone would notice the grease stain on my leg from my bike chain that was clinging on for the third day running.
No one did.

And if you compare our Real Estate agent to a Prime Minister or President, it was pretty much experiencing corrupt government. The fire went out on Saturday night and when I visited the office on Tuesday I was told that we were too stupid to use a pilot light. Fair enough, we are three girls and one very lovely but not-so-experienced-in-fixing-things boy (LOVE YOU Kiki).
But after twenty goes, I was sure we weren't that incompetent.
We had to call about ten times over two days before they agreed to send someone over. And if it turned out we WERE that ditzy, we had to fork out $130. SAD FACE.

Turns out we don't fail at life quite that much. There was 'gunk' clogging up the gas.
TAAADAAA.

NEVER UNDERESTIMATE HOW EXTRAORDINARY HOT WATER IS.
It is f**king amazing.
(I may or may not have sat down in the shower for a good ten minutes splashing, swishing, clapping and gurgling the stuff yesterday morning)

I'm not usually one to throw my beliefs down your throat, but...

I recently saw this documentary called Meet your Meat on YouTube, which got the vegetarian inside of me to yell and scream. I've been vegetarian for a large part of my life, and more solidly for about the past 4 years.

I mostly argue that my reason for being vegetarian is mostly the ecological impact of growing and distributing meat- grow grains to feed the cows/hens/sheep/pigs to feed the human and all the CO2 the animals emit themselves. However, after watching this I found it difficult not to feel a little bit more vindicated for not being in the torturous slaughtering process that is the life of a meat eater.

I'm not sure if the conditions are the same in Australia and I'm guessing the makers were selective about what they put into this documentary, but regardless, no one should be subject to this. Animals need not be bred and suffer so painfully just to die, right at the moment we decide them to.





Also, I'm thinking of getting a pet chicken but am unsure about how that would go in inner-city Melbourne... any thoughts?

Labiaplasty. AH.

Wednesday nights on ABC tend to lead to some serious couch sloshing.
New Inventors followed by Spicks and Specks, the IT Crowd and Hungry Beast (and if you're up for it At the Movies).
Last night was no exception.
New Inventors gave us the wonders of a sheep shearer's back problems and the ShearEzy. It's like a baby change table, except for shearing sheep. I just want them to use wipes and talcum powder to give the sheep that soft-as-a-baby's-bum aftershave feeling.
http://www.abc.net.au/tv/newinventors/txt/s2831477.htm

Spicks and Specks invented in a new bike for their peddlin' the record game (I'm not sure exactly what it's called) and the IT crowd let us know 'the internet' is actually a very light little metal box which is permanently atop Big Ben.

But the highlight of the evening was Hungry Beast's special on Labiaplasty. It is plastic surgery's excuse for female genital mutilation.
I am so sorry.




I watched that while eating samosas loving deep fried by my housemate. They will never give me the same satisfaction ever again.

Also, if you have the guts google 'Vajdazzling'.

Confessions of a bruncher.

I recently relocated to North Melbourne and have already found my nook for the essential morning double espresso (there ain't a X in eSpresso). It's called Schön, which apparently means 'beautiful' in German, and is an excessively awkward hospitality training cafe with a customer, staff ratio of roughly 1:5. This place has prompted me to list the most ridiculous, infuriating or hilarious instances I have witnessed while brunching, lunching or dining. I'm getting my hospitality snob hat on in a big way.

1. At Mitte, a breakfast/lunch cafe in North Fitzroy, my boyfriend and I had the most eccentric waiter one could imagine. I'm not sure if he just had a real passion for his job, or was bored shitless. As we walked in the door he pointed direct at us, flamboyantly crying 'I'm going to sort the both of you out! Come with me.' And with the curling of an index finger, he invisibly yanked us to the only free table. Watching him deal with other customers was the most squirmishly amusing thing I have done in a long time. The highlight was undoubtably his clearing of an outside table. Upon picking up half full water glasses he flung the contents over the bruncher's heads onto the road in a ballet like swoosh. Unfortunately for the balding gentleman at the table, his aim was not-so-good.



The aforementioned waiter was pretty much this dude, but with cups of water in his hands, shooting the water onto the ground over the top of a very surprised, balding 40 year-old-man.

He also continued to call my boyfriend 'fancy' with a high-pitched posh/pseudo-eighteenth century English accent. It was weird.

2. Every time i go into the aforementioned 'Schön' there seems to be five people doing the same job. They have a little coffee terminal set up out the front, which makes it easy to pick up the ol' coffee and muffin deal ($4!!!) on my way into the world. Yesterday morning there was: three people at the coffee machine, one person bagging muffins, one person standing at the door occasionally rearranging the newspapers and one person hovering over the till. There was NO ONE in the actual restaurant. Zero. I know it's a training facility, but seriously, I would feel too intimidated and watched to want to sit down. I'd have 10 eyes on me at all times. AH. Not only were there five people within a metre of my person, none of them knew how to do anything- and i see the same people there every day.
The first time, I taught this 45 year old student to use the Eftpos machine. It's just not that difficult.
Second time i did a taste test so they knew what flavour the cookie was. apparently of the ten people in the vicinity, no one knew.
I shouldn't bitch, it is cheap, it is close and they are training, but hospitality isn't that confusing. It just isn't.

3. I've only been to Lorne once. The plan was to buy alcohol, get as crunk as possible in 12 hours and drive back the next day to work at 6 pm. An integral part of this plan was to find the greasiest food and strongest coffee for the next morning. Undoubtedly we failed. I believe the delicately named cafe was called the Arab. According to the owner the only solution to the equation Great Ocean Road + pit stop cafe can only = a word which conjures the word 'terrorist' into your average Australian mind (not I dear sir, not I). Anywho. Coffee? Weak as hot milk, but with bubbles I could pop it and get a moment of bubble wrap joy. For the record, when I think of an Eggs Benedict, i like to conjure mountains of creamy hollandaise, burst-in-the-middle poached eggs and crispy english muffins, but no. A meagre tablespoon of hollandaise, closer-to-boiled eggs and soggy toast. WHY MUST THEY TORTURE MY HUNGOVER, GREASE NEEDY STOMACH, not to mention the ramifications for the rest of my body!

God, one year in Melbourne and I'm already under the impression I have foodie status.

STS, more like STUPID TERRIBLE SYSTEM. HA.

I'm awake at 8am and I do not like it.
Why?
Student Timetabling, the system referred to as STS. It's simple, every RMIT student who is in Communications must log onto STS at 8am and make their timetable work. BUT WAIT, the system will crash, and although it's not meant to, STS will allow your classes to clash.
Claps for the STS, really.
Not only this, the system is smug. It's all 'HEY YOU, yeah you little University student, i just wanted to make sure that after making you wake up at 8am and having you refresh to avoid error messages about 50 times, get reeeeeaaal frustrated with the system, yell a little and vent on facebook, YOU HAVE A NICE DAY.'



I am aware computers, software and STS may not actually be that vindictive. By creating that persona, it's easier to hate them.

God, I'm not ready to go back. One more week.

With regard to the title, i was never good at acrostic poems or comebacks. Ta Da.

apple is right. there is an app for everything.

Instead of spending the little money i have on an expensive lomography camera, i got Hipstamtic. It's an iPhone application that lets cheat all of those Diana F+ users and seem like an arty hipster for the humble price of $2.50.
Check it:


Seen walking from North Melbourne Station to my abode.



A very proudly poached egg on rye bread with Aldi beetroot dip, red onion, parmesan and lemon juice.
Yum.



My Hog. I know, it's red. And yes, it does go faster.

Vometines Day.

Sunday, Valentines Day, was hideously busy. I worked breakfast, lunch and dinner at work (don't worry, i got breaks and food) shrouded by smarmy couples holding hands and being generally romantic. At times i felt like foreplay to their evening which (i imagine) would inevitably end in obligatory V-day sex. Yes, it was a little creepy, although it's very likely all of that was in my head.
But the couples were bearable, they were eating the heinously priced valentines menu, drinking the alcohol and generally throwing money at us.
It was the singles and tables of 3 and above who believed it was my duty to make them forget their lack of that 'special someone'.
I'm not one of those snide angry waiters who looks down their nose at you- not at all. I smile i make them feel the agapi; but when you would utter the 'v' word it was cringe mania.
I'm not sure what was worse, the single cringe or being part of the seduction narrative.

In Melbourne's Sunday Age newspaper, comedian Cal Wilson noted that if couples need Valentines Day to insert romance into their relationship, perhaps the (impulsive) romance has gone. I'm not sure if agree or disagree with that thinking, but I'm unsure that valentines day is now nothing more than a one day boost to the rose, restaurant and chocolate industries.

My father would declare it another day for the capitalist; mindless, pointless spending.

Federal Politics will make my heart beat this year.

I'm already excited about the federal election.
Joyce to the world, for Barnaby.
A man who will speak his mind, dislikes small breasted women and climate change.
Abbott? Who knew he could pull off a rise in the polls?
The budgee smuggling ex-Howard goofy lackey. Climate change is 'complete crap' (according to Tony) but still possible enough to present a low-cost, little-impact policy.
What will Ruddy pull out of his hat for a KEVIN07 sequel?
How will the Opposition sell their very conservative front bench?

Crickey set me off.

enjoy!

Who needs to travel when you've got Planet Earth.

Many of my friends have recently returned from gap year travels - mostly to europe. Goddamn they make you jealous. A joint and a picnic in Amsterdam, road-tripping in Greece and a white Christmas. It makes me want to not eat for a year, save up and catch the travel bug.

Luckily for me one of my new housemates happens to own Planet Earth, a TV series narrated by David Attenborough which has eleven episodes which range from caves to deserts and deep sea to mountains.

Yesterday, along with two of my globe trotting friends, I sat and spent an intimate 10 hours with David. He told and showed us what no tourist experience could.

We would ask a question at the television ('I wonder how many ____ there are') and David Attenborough's narration would answer 'there are only 40 ___ left in the wild' right on cue.

We saw the world's largest waterfall (Angel's Falls) and freakiest birds of paridise (still debated).

The bird of paradise pictured above makes the weirdest clicking noise to attract the ladies. Unfortunately this one was not bouncing high enough and got rejected.

The lengths that those cameramen underwent to capture the snow leopard were enormous. One man spent three years in the Himalayan wilderness to capture a total of 5 minutes of footage. Others risked land mines, gunfire and falling boulders in the volatile Afghan/Pakistani northern border to eventually see a Snow Leopard catch, kill and eat prey.

The series reminded me how Darwin's theory of evolution resounds all over the planet.

The world's largest cave in Borneo is home to over 3 million bats during the day, leaving piles of dung rotting on the ground. Cockroaches and other bugs live off this poop, which in turn feed the spiders which also inhabit the cave.

Without the insects the cave would have filled with dung and been uninhabitable by the bats.

There were so many examples of animals evolving to survive in their environment, and yet humans are unable to do so. We instead alter our environment to suit our needs.

Yeah, shit got deep until we saw the Desert Foxes. With an ear to body proportion like that, how couldn't it fit all five senses in their ears.

We basically ate toastie sandwiches and watermelon, watched Planet Earth, thus justifying a day of nothing.

A perfect day on the Univerity student scale.