John's Choice

If you want to know who John is, read the book.

Images courtesy of http://static.flickr.com & http://www.techno-utopia.com

Brave New World is one of my favourite books. A fascinating topic (engineered utopia = dystopia?) with an interesting treatment (is the benevolent despotism that creates a peaceful existence for most of the population really so bad?) and quite well written (except for one chapter where there's altogether too much quoting of other texts for the sake of philosophical discussion).

In the Brave New World, what would you choose? Comfort or depth? There are no heights without depth. Would you claim the right to be unhappy? Not to mention:

"...the right to grow old and ugly and impotent; the right to have syphilis and cancer; the right to have too little to eat; the right to be lousy; the right to live in constant apprehension of what may happen to-morrow; the right to catch typhoid; the right to be tortured by unspeakable pains of every kind."

All for the sake of a hope that you might experience something in equal measure as glorious as the above is distasteful?

I have an inkling that even whithout the question being asked, that most of us have make our choice and that even without the Hatchery and Conditioning Centres to select our paths in life, to drug and brain wash us into vague contentness, or at least comfort, that the selection, drugging and brain washing happens anyway. We do it to ourselves (albeit it in a less transparent, rigorous and efficient manner).

Click here to read Brave New World by Aldous Huxley

Plaster Sculptures

Top Ten Cosy

10.Beanies, scarves and hooded jackets
9. Mashed potatoes with butter, salt and a dash of milk
8. A hot cup of tea (Scotch Finger biscuits optional)
7. Hot breakfast in the kitchen with the sun shining through the window
6. Spooning
5. The curve of Kanak's neck
4. Ugg boots
3. A terry cloth robe
2. Pyjamas
1. Dozing in a cocoon of blankets and warmth in the morning

Adventures in Stacking Wood

i) Standing on top of the wood pile, elevated all of two feet and saying to myself (a la Peter Griffin), I'm king up here...

ii) Throwing wood from one pile to another for two hours and not getting bored.

iii) Somehow managing to hit myself in the head with a piece of wood I'd thrown just a second ago.

iv) Nearly hitting the cat with another errant piece of wood [evil laugh] accidentally. The cat was smart enough to jump out of the way, unlike yours truly in part (iii)

Jackasses

How utterly unfair that within one month I should meet two people that I find completely offensive. Jackass #1 is the creationist that inspired my rant a while ago, and his friend, Jackass #2 is a guy married to an Aussie who thinks this makes it ok for him to stereotype Australians and make stupid comments about the rivalry between WA and the Eastern states. Fuckwit.

I don't actively dislike many people. Admittedly, in general I don't have a particluarly idealistic view of most people, but it's simply indifference at best and unwillingness to save people from themselves at worst. By meeting these two I've increased the number of people that make me shudder at their very thought by 50%. I would cross the street to avoid the people on this list, or pretend not to be home if they came to visit, or gouge my eyes out and impale my ears with knitting needles so I wouldn't have to see or hear them.

Cockbite

Red vs Blue is one of my all time favourite animations. The final episode aired at the end of last month, complete with three separate endings. Ah, I'll miss those guys! Links to check out episodes from each season are below:

Trailer
Season One
Season Two
Season Three
Season Four
Season Five

Sick

Being sick is not fun.

As a point of interest, I can say I'm sick in four languages: J'ai une malade; Jsem nemocný; Jag är sjuk; and Wo bing le.

Charlottenberg II

So far the summer has been distinctly unsummery. In fact I'd go so far as to say I'm more or less experiencing a Perth winter here. But on the days when the sun decides to chase away the damp and kind of cold weather, and some of the clouds, it's SO pretty around here!

Stream of Consciousness

"There is a line of horses outside -- I remember riding a horse in Inner Mongolia, it was so nice and quiet on the grass plains. Thank God Hans isn't saying anything at the moment; silence is golden -- well, sometimes, for instance, if the company you're keeping has the personality of lead -- hah and feet of clay ... That was a good book, I like Captain Vimes and there were golems and Harold Crick saying "Yes I am glad I am not a golem" so hilarious because it was so obvious he had no idea what a golem was, that's one of my favourite movies."

I thought this in a quiet moment during breakfast this morning ... What I wonder is, if we think like this all the time, why is it so hard to read this stuff? I could only read Mrs Dalloway a little at a time because of the stream of consciousness style narrative.

Books Wonderful Books

Reading is great. One of my favourite things in the world to do is settle down with some tasty snacks and a book. This is why I'm such a geek with occasional antisocial tendencies/difficulties when interacting in a social situation but it's also why I have a sizeable vocabulary.

The thing is though, you need the time, to find the books in the first place, and then to read them. Fortunately, I've got a glut of reading time at the moment -- in the past month I've read Kafka's The Trial, Huxley's Brave New World, Orwell's 1984 and Woolfe's Mrs Dalloway. There is SO much great literature out there. Two great sites for bibliophiles who want to read some old school literature are:

http://www.gutenberg.org/wiki/Main_Page
http://gutenberg.net.au/

You could read an entire life time and not get through it all, much less remember it all. I read fairly continuously through my childhood (probably too much -- I'm sure a little fresh air, exercises or even socialising with my peers wouldn't have gone astray) but only a couple of books really stand out in my memory, one about a bunch of kids who travel back and forth in time and eventually invent the very device that allows them, in their past, to time travel; another about a boy who could go into the fourth dimension and reverse himself like you do with an image in Photoshop. And then there are vague memeories of a series of books about a plump girl called Al (Constance C. Greene, I think) and then of course Beverley Cleary and Judy Bloome books. I wonder why I remember those authors particularly?

When I was a bit older, anything fantasy/science-fictiony, particularly Isaac Asimov. I really enjoyed May's Galactic Milieu Trilogy and god, ANTYHING by Sherri S Tepper. Although I wonder as a more critical reader these days, how much of it I would enjoy now ... I did start reading a fantasy tome a year or two ago and found it utterly predictable and dull. Terry Pratchett continues to amuse though!

Lastly ... ugh, don't talk to me about Coelho's The Alchemist -- if you're in a bad place in your life then it's kind of uplifting with what appears to be folksy wisdom, but when you look at it objectively, it's nothting more than a fairy tale for adults, simplisitcally told and unfortunately obvious.

Ludovic Hubler

http://www.ludovichubler.com/

I really admire this guy. He's been hitch hiking around the world for the last four years. The patience and humility required to scam rides for everywhere you want to go! And the repetitiveness of telling your story anew where ever you go. It's quite beyond me. At the moment he's in Tibet, and seeing photos on his website of Lhasa made me feel surprisingly homesick and nostalgic.

The Stones Baby!! --Part II--

Photo courtesy of http://www.culture.sh.cn

Booked my tickets, transport and accomodation this arvo --FUCK YEAH!!

Arvika Music Festival

Went to Arvikafestivalen today -- more emos, punks, goths, various other dressed up people and deathly white Swedish flesh exposed to the rare sunlight than you can poke a stick at! Oh, plus various bands, one of whom were the Scissor Sisters (unfortunately they played last night). Who knew that anyone outside of video clips actually raised their hands in the air to clap them when at a concert?

Fairy Tales

Why do Australians have European fairy tales read to them as children? Traditional fairy tales are complete and utter fantasy for Australians. It seems absurd that I grew up with the Brothers Grimm and Hans Christian Anderson when Australia doesn't have castles or woods or even princes and hunters. We have beaches and bush and desert.

Having been in Europe for a while, where the landscape is the same as that in fairy tales I heard as a kid, all the old stories make so much more sense now. For example, in Hans Christian Andersons The Wild Swans, the Princess must weave shirts for her brothers out of nettles without speaking or crying out, in order to free them from an enchantment. And as a kid, you think, yeah, it would be hard not to speak for so long. Then the other day I encountered some nettles in the garden and they STING. They sting like buggery. So the true extent of the sacrifice she made to save her brothers becomes apparent.

Who knows, maybe if I were a European kid, I might have still thought the same thing I did, but at least I would know that a nettle really really hurts and that the poor girl had to endure making shirts out of stinging leaves and a whole bunch of other stuff too without speaking -- giving more depth and understanding to the story.

The closest thing Australia could get to a fairy tale that makes sense with the environment of the country are the Dreaming stories of the Aborigines.

Love Adversary

Photo courtesy of http://www.mandypatinkin.net

I used to wonder what it was I wanted from a partner, and something I'd often come up with was "a worthy adversary." Someone worth fighting with, fighting for, whatever. And then I thought about that a bit more and wondered if perhaps it was unhealthy to imagine the great love of my life as my pseudo arch nemesis. (The spandex costumes, the I'll get you next time Gadget, the evil pet cat [I'm allergic to cats] and the life of continuous battle -- uch.)

So I let go of the opponent theory of love and allowed it to be a nebulous collection of what ifs and maybes without a name for a while.

BUT.

Having spent some time in the past few months with people that I can argue with (intelligent, open minded, with a good sense of humour and quick wit) and people that I would never argue with (easily offended, precious, close minded, stupid, boring or just plain too nice) I've reverted (I almost typed "reverted back" -- tautology alert! ... pedantic alert ...) to wanting a worthy adversary.

A worthy adversary is strong enough to laugh at a fight, to fight back, to just generally keep things interesting enough so that I don't get bored and decide that he's a pussy. I'm not talking real arguing, like, you bastard, how could you, more like healthy, loud debate arguing with some good natured name calling. Maybe it's unhealthy. But it's MY unhealthy.

Incidentally, the photo is a still from The Princess Bride, which I have mentioned in its book form in a previous post. I was once in a stage production of the Princess Bride (very amateur, subamateur in fact) and played the six fingered Duke whose big moment was a stunning loss in a fencing duel. When I think about the number of weapons I've handled recreationally (fencing foil, katana, revolver, semi-automatic, bow and arrow, crossbow) maybe it's not really surprising that my opponent theory of love has evolved...

Arvika

Arvika is a pretty little town just 30km or so from Charlottenberg. Spent the day there with a friend who was visiting for the weekend, walking about checking out the lake and the town -- not really doing much because most places were closed for Sunday.

I've got my own little taste of Prohibition at the moment, because my hosts don't allow drugs, drinking or smoking (it's part of their religion) which is why the best part of the outing by far was having a drink in the Jetty Cafe. It was a very ordinary margarita, but nonetheless, it was so good. I've never wanted a drink as badly as when someone else told me I shouldn't have one!

Come Inside

Sometimes, when people let you in, there's nothing inside.

Sometimes, when people let you in, you wish you'd stayed outside.

Sometimes, when people let you in, it's always the same thing in there.

But occasionally someone lets you in and you find someting worth being indoors for. The more people I meet, the more grateful I am for the two or three people in my life that are my indoor buddies.

Oslo

Have been in Oslo for the past couple days, catching up with my cousin who is passing through Scandanavia on her way to finding her mission in life (aren't we all -- well, maybe not the bit about Scandanavia). It's a pretty little city, with a fair few things to do. Some of the stuff we managed to visit included the Nobel Peace Centre, some Viking ships preserved amazingly by burial in a lake and a totally sweet park that was filled with sculpture and wrought iron work, but the best thing was the afternoon snack we had of sorbet, flan, macaroons and hot tea from the patissiere across the road from our hostel!

Yay me for sculpture!

Whipped this little woman up yesterday arvo. It's funny, I create these voluptuous women and I know that men like voluptuous women yet there is no way in hell I would feel comfortable about having those proportions myself. All that flesh! It's so inconventient. What if you had to run somewhere? You'd wobble all over. So inefficient and non-aerodynamic. I'm most comfortable with my body when it's lean, though I'm definitely not fond of the amount of physical activity and food monitoring required to achieve and maintain said condition...

Trädgårdexpo

Så, idag jag gick till en trädgårdexpo med min värdfolk. Jag är inte mycket för trädgårdsarkitektur, men det är en fin kampingplats och sjö i närheten var jag kan gå för lite två timmmes medan Hans och Brigitta att se växt. Jag förstår inte varför det är inte lite vägs i närheten sjön i Sverige: du kan inte gå till vatten och gå omkring sjön alla du kan görar se det är skön från en distans.

Guess what, I'm am teaching myself some [very bad] Swedish.

So today I went to a garden fair with my hosts. I'm not much for gardening, but there was a nice camping site and lake nearby where I could wander around for a couple of hours whilst Hans and Brigitta looked at plants. I don't understand why there aren't paths near the lakes in Sweden: you can't go down to the water and walk around the lake -- all you can do is look at how pretty it is from a distance.