Thursday, March 29, 2007
Thorny thoughts.
I get home from work at 9pm. I scuttle home because the way gets progressively darker and less visible the closer I get to my house.
As I get to my house, I look up at the coil of barbed wire hanging down at me contradictorily menacingly, as old as the haggard almost-impenetrably thorny hedge that covers most of it, that wasn't needed to finish off our fence. Contradictory this barbed wire is in all its insentience, for it scares me, and yet does its best to keep out the "pests" as one security company asserts that the desperate, hungry, roofless poor are (the security company calls itself "Bolivian Pest Control" with a red barred circle crossing out a fellow who doesn't look a little unlike myself).
I open the padlock of our gate, the spikes at the top and the broken glass cemented on either side catching my attention again tonight, as it did last night, and another contradiction screams at me silently (be as quiet as you can), in that my security is so similar to everybody elses on this side of the river - and the more secure we are, the less we are, pure and simple. It's been both theorised and proven in the community development field more times than I can count.
We had a burglar over for backyard shennanigans two nights ago. The downstairs neighbours banging on our door and ding-donging our bell made us aware of it all at 5am when it was already in full swing. That desperate, hungry blah blah might also have been cold because he started by gathering some clothes off the line. Our security guard saw Cold Hungry Man (CHuM) clamber over the deterrants (desperate he must be to go near our thorny hedge!), woke downstairs, CHuM jumped unwittingly into the neighbouring property, to the very alert and very big and very baseball-bat-weilding fellow who resides there. He dropped the clothes, jumped back over to our side, and that's why they woke us. They couldn't find CHuM and thought he might be hiding on the garage roof, visible from Luke's (my housemate) bedroom window...
Short story long, never found him (I think I'm happy to say - the baseball bat would have found plenty of lean bones to pulverise, for it's a police-less state with no laws here after dark, therefore law in own hands justice), found the clothes, and hopefully made him aware that our house, at least, isn't the one to rob (without having to break any bones or worse).
Tonight I have made it through the fence, and locked the gate. As usual. I'm more alert (perish the connotation!) and alarmed, but as I open my door, am greeted by Arthur with an open beer bottle and alight to the balcony, and as I look up to the open, starry sky I almost unconsciously (nowdays) find the Southern Cross among the throng. It occurs to me that we're still all on the same planet. That we are all living the same life, part of the same organism. I sadden, tears drop on my expensive shoes, and the anonymous safety and the separation of the balcony from the poor begs me to continue my mantra - "The World is an Amazing Place". And although I recognise a hint of jingoism in my connection to the Southern Cross (and, dare I connect the J-word to it, SBS), I hope that our CHuM is also looking up (perhaps still on our garage roof), and thinking some of the same thoughts.
As I get to my house, I look up at the coil of barbed wire hanging down at me contradictorily menacingly, as old as the haggard almost-impenetrably thorny hedge that covers most of it, that wasn't needed to finish off our fence. Contradictory this barbed wire is in all its insentience, for it scares me, and yet does its best to keep out the "pests" as one security company asserts that the desperate, hungry, roofless poor are (the security company calls itself "Bolivian Pest Control" with a red barred circle crossing out a fellow who doesn't look a little unlike myself).
I open the padlock of our gate, the spikes at the top and the broken glass cemented on either side catching my attention again tonight, as it did last night, and another contradiction screams at me silently (be as quiet as you can), in that my security is so similar to everybody elses on this side of the river - and the more secure we are, the less we are, pure and simple. It's been both theorised and proven in the community development field more times than I can count.
We had a burglar over for backyard shennanigans two nights ago. The downstairs neighbours banging on our door and ding-donging our bell made us aware of it all at 5am when it was already in full swing. That desperate, hungry blah blah might also have been cold because he started by gathering some clothes off the line. Our security guard saw Cold Hungry Man (CHuM) clamber over the deterrants (desperate he must be to go near our thorny hedge!), woke downstairs, CHuM jumped unwittingly into the neighbouring property, to the very alert and very big and very baseball-bat-weilding fellow who resides there. He dropped the clothes, jumped back over to our side, and that's why they woke us. They couldn't find CHuM and thought he might be hiding on the garage roof, visible from Luke's (my housemate) bedroom window...
Short story long, never found him (I think I'm happy to say - the baseball bat would have found plenty of lean bones to pulverise, for it's a police-less state with no laws here after dark, therefore law in own hands justice), found the clothes, and hopefully made him aware that our house, at least, isn't the one to rob (without having to break any bones or worse).
Tonight I have made it through the fence, and locked the gate. As usual. I'm more alert (perish the connotation!) and alarmed, but as I open my door, am greeted by Arthur with an open beer bottle and alight to the balcony, and as I look up to the open, starry sky I almost unconsciously (nowdays) find the Southern Cross among the throng. It occurs to me that we're still all on the same planet. That we are all living the same life, part of the same organism. I sadden, tears drop on my expensive shoes, and the anonymous safety and the separation of the balcony from the poor begs me to continue my mantra - "The World is an Amazing Place". And although I recognise a hint of jingoism in my connection to the Southern Cross (and, dare I connect the J-word to it, SBS), I hope that our CHuM is also looking up (perhaps still on our garage roof), and thinking some of the same thoughts.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Roasting Howard, and steaming my puny body.
First and foremost... This looks like fun, unfortunately I'm not in a position to hold the perfect Australian weekend. Perhaps somebody else could... this is part of an email I got from the Rights at Work Campaign - a hell of a group:
Give Howard a Roasting with a Rights at Work BBQ!
Get your pack now for $40 (suggested donation).
Dear Michael,
We all love a BBQ with friends and family during our hard-earned time off. Kicking back with a beer or two, some snags - the perfect Australian weekend.
The only thing that would make it better is if we could give Howard and his IR laws a roasting at the same time. Pricking the Howard Devilled Sausages with a BBQ fork, dousing some Non-Core Promises Spicy Beef Patties with some Truth Overboard Sauce... you get the picture.
Well, if this is your idea of a perfect weekend, here's how you can relax and help the Rights at Work campaign at the same time!
Hold a Rights at Work BBQ! Order your Rights at Work BBQ pack online now www.rightsatwork.com.au/campaigns/bbq
Yep. The other thing I want to mention is my hell of a time in the hills on Tuesday and Wednesday.
I took off my clothes in the "chosen field" just outside the "sacred circle". They doused me in insense to purify my body. I offered Coca leaves to the earthfire, kissed the ground outside the Temezcal (Potlatch, or Baño de Vapor or Sweatlodge in that primitive English tongue) and then crawled inside. With over 20 bodies in a small space, soon to be filled with heat beyond anything I've ever felt before, I was, to say the least, feeling quite some trepidation.
This temezcal was one of many rituals held over three days in the hills of Cochabamba as a continuing collaboration of traditional cultures between the Mexican and Bolivian indigenous cultures. It was all so incredible and exactly what I needed I reckon.
The Temezcal focused mainly on honouring the four directions, the four elements and to create a power within to bring into existence our hopes and desires.
I didn't have any transcendental experiences (you are supposed to start getting into that state in the third quartet...) but I plan to follow this group up as they have a permanent temezcal set up for the ritual every two weeks in Cochabamba someplace.
On Tuesday night I was witness to fire-walking (over hot coals). I chose against it. I meditated after the temezcal and realised I wasn't prepared for it initially. (I really didn't know what was to follow when I was invited up into the bush. Some music, some dancing, some chicha perhaps). And when I was offered the hot coal walking, part of me said "you have to do it, so you can say you did it" but when that is my reason for doing something, I try my best to choose NOT to do it. I realised that I really had no reason at the time to do the hot coals thing (you offer the coals coca leaves too, asking for permission to cross unharmed), and I really didn't feel a connection with it regardless of knowing its significance in accepting that fire is merely vibrating energy that can co-exist with our bodies, which are simply essential vessals of a higher awareness... (thanks Kate).
I talked at length with one of the conveners (he spoke English!) and what a rich cultural tradition it all is! So much about respect for the earth, the sun and beyond, to the sun's sun and so on. Universal awareness, depth in simplicity, truth, happiness and so on. And so on...
We danced into the night...
In the morning, by 6.30 we were dancing in the sacred circle, around the fire (in the inner circle) like "Indians" and I was SOOOOOO tempted to start yelling "woo woo woo woo" and patting my lips with my open palm... But I didn't need to. The other facilitators were doing it to communicate with us. Pretty cool stuff.
But, yes, 6.30, freezing cold, stony ground, dancing barefoot for two hours greeting the sun and all the gods we could muster up. I couldn't feel my feet when I was putting my socks back on. But when, at the end, the final offering to the earth with more leaves, we were to give our prayer to the energies we'd created, as far as I could interpret... So I did. Then we all got a feather of *he's making this bit up* of awareness?
When the very Mexican guru Shaman looking convener was solemnly giving me my feather I was smiling a little and he seemed to have to smile back. I wonder if we had a moment of "geez this is all pretty silly in the end isn't it?" I was tempted to wave my hands at him and say "and a booga wooga to you too!!"
Goodness I'm sore. And a little sick now (backdoor trots, driest of dry throats...)
My feet still hurt, and the hill climb (there and back) still causes terribly satisfying pain to my unfit calf muscles. I say now that I want to do it all again. At the time though I remember saying to myself once or twice "get me the ... *ahem* goodness gracious sakes out of here!!!"
Now, English class. Pay the electricity and water bill. Spanish class. Post some birthday cards. More classes. All a bit banal after "wwooowoowowoo"ing all over the place.
Michael.
Give Howard a Roasting with a Rights at Work BBQ!
Get your pack now for $40 (suggested donation).
Dear Michael,
We all love a BBQ with friends and family during our hard-earned time off. Kicking back with a beer or two, some snags - the perfect Australian weekend.
The only thing that would make it better is if we could give Howard and his IR laws a roasting at the same time. Pricking the Howard Devilled Sausages with a BBQ fork, dousing some Non-Core Promises Spicy Beef Patties with some Truth Overboard Sauce... you get the picture.
Well, if this is your idea of a perfect weekend, here's how you can relax and help the Rights at Work campaign at the same time!
Hold a Rights at Work BBQ! Order your Rights at Work BBQ pack online now www.rightsatwork.com.au/campaigns/bbq
Yep. The other thing I want to mention is my hell of a time in the hills on Tuesday and Wednesday.
I took off my clothes in the "chosen field" just outside the "sacred circle". They doused me in insense to purify my body. I offered Coca leaves to the earthfire, kissed the ground outside the Temezcal (Potlatch, or Baño de Vapor or Sweatlodge in that primitive English tongue) and then crawled inside. With over 20 bodies in a small space, soon to be filled with heat beyond anything I've ever felt before, I was, to say the least, feeling quite some trepidation.
This temezcal was one of many rituals held over three days in the hills of Cochabamba as a continuing collaboration of traditional cultures between the Mexican and Bolivian indigenous cultures. It was all so incredible and exactly what I needed I reckon.
The Temezcal focused mainly on honouring the four directions, the four elements and to create a power within to bring into existence our hopes and desires.
I didn't have any transcendental experiences (you are supposed to start getting into that state in the third quartet...) but I plan to follow this group up as they have a permanent temezcal set up for the ritual every two weeks in Cochabamba someplace.
On Tuesday night I was witness to fire-walking (over hot coals). I chose against it. I meditated after the temezcal and realised I wasn't prepared for it initially. (I really didn't know what was to follow when I was invited up into the bush. Some music, some dancing, some chicha perhaps). And when I was offered the hot coal walking, part of me said "you have to do it, so you can say you did it" but when that is my reason for doing something, I try my best to choose NOT to do it. I realised that I really had no reason at the time to do the hot coals thing (you offer the coals coca leaves too, asking for permission to cross unharmed), and I really didn't feel a connection with it regardless of knowing its significance in accepting that fire is merely vibrating energy that can co-exist with our bodies, which are simply essential vessals of a higher awareness... (thanks Kate).
I talked at length with one of the conveners (he spoke English!) and what a rich cultural tradition it all is! So much about respect for the earth, the sun and beyond, to the sun's sun and so on. Universal awareness, depth in simplicity, truth, happiness and so on. And so on...
We danced into the night...
In the morning, by 6.30 we were dancing in the sacred circle, around the fire (in the inner circle) like "Indians" and I was SOOOOOO tempted to start yelling "woo woo woo woo" and patting my lips with my open palm... But I didn't need to. The other facilitators were doing it to communicate with us. Pretty cool stuff.
But, yes, 6.30, freezing cold, stony ground, dancing barefoot for two hours greeting the sun and all the gods we could muster up. I couldn't feel my feet when I was putting my socks back on. But when, at the end, the final offering to the earth with more leaves, we were to give our prayer to the energies we'd created, as far as I could interpret... So I did. Then we all got a feather of *he's making this bit up* of awareness?
When the very Mexican guru Shaman looking convener was solemnly giving me my feather I was smiling a little and he seemed to have to smile back. I wonder if we had a moment of "geez this is all pretty silly in the end isn't it?" I was tempted to wave my hands at him and say "and a booga wooga to you too!!"
Goodness I'm sore. And a little sick now (backdoor trots, driest of dry throats...)
My feet still hurt, and the hill climb (there and back) still causes terribly satisfying pain to my unfit calf muscles. I say now that I want to do it all again. At the time though I remember saying to myself once or twice "get me the ... *ahem* goodness gracious sakes out of here!!!"
Now, English class. Pay the electricity and water bill. Spanish class. Post some birthday cards. More classes. All a bit banal after "wwooowoowowoo"ing all over the place.
Michael.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Kooky-Cola, Uncool Aid, Cuba-bound beauty.
Well! Coca growers associations here in Bolivia are demanding that Coca-Cola and other companies using the word "coca" in their name, cease using it!
Of course Coca-Cola have issue a statement suggesting how impossible that is, given that their brand is "the most valuable and recognised brand in the world" which doesn't mean that it's impossible, but that they just don't want to do it.
Being a sacred leaf for the Andean people we wonder why the name is so defended by major corporations, but those same corporations' governments are demanding total eradication of the leaf itself.
In other news, I've seen more proof that statements by Georgie boy and his lads about doubling aid to Latin America since his presidency began is total bullshit. Aid was the same in 2000 (or more, given what the dollar could buy in 2000) and at one point before Bush, the aid was cut severly just for that year, and then continued under the normal program just as Bush came tumbling in. Oh, and the CIP Columbia program has asked us not to "... get the impression that the aid increase since 2001 is all roads, schools, and healthcare programs. There are a lot of helicopters and guns in there too."
In the meantime, Fiona is back from her jungle safari after seeing giant anteaters and other such incredible creatures. She's off to Cuba tomorrow, and I now have little if no wonder for detail, and even less jealousy. I just yearn at this point.
Still, it doesn't stop the continued struggle for a better planet.
Talking of which, I've been talking a lot recently about my poolitical aspirations when I return to Australia. Think there's any hope?
Of course Coca-Cola have issue a statement suggesting how impossible that is, given that their brand is "the most valuable and recognised brand in the world" which doesn't mean that it's impossible, but that they just don't want to do it.
Being a sacred leaf for the Andean people we wonder why the name is so defended by major corporations, but those same corporations' governments are demanding total eradication of the leaf itself.
In other news, I've seen more proof that statements by Georgie boy and his lads about doubling aid to Latin America since his presidency began is total bullshit. Aid was the same in 2000 (or more, given what the dollar could buy in 2000) and at one point before Bush, the aid was cut severly just for that year, and then continued under the normal program just as Bush came tumbling in. Oh, and the CIP Columbia program has asked us not to "... get the impression that the aid increase since 2001 is all roads, schools, and healthcare programs. There are a lot of helicopters and guns in there too."
In the meantime, Fiona is back from her jungle safari after seeing giant anteaters and other such incredible creatures. She's off to Cuba tomorrow, and I now have little if no wonder for detail, and even less jealousy. I just yearn at this point.
Still, it doesn't stop the continued struggle for a better planet.
Talking of which, I've been talking a lot recently about my poolitical aspirations when I return to Australia. Think there's any hope?
Saturday, March 17, 2007
Full on in between the boredom.
It's raining again in "dry" Cochabamba, but I feel good, and ready for another big night out with my friends. I like it here.
On the other hand I just avoided the knifepoint robbery last night when me and my friend wouldn't give a fellow 20Bolivianos to continue his drinking binge. I spotted him just reaching into the back of his shirt for his knife when I decided to push my friend back toward the crowded street (we had turned into our own, very quiet and dangerous street when it happened). So, the excitement of violence holds my boredom at bay...
Hope Fiona is o.k. on her jungle safari in Venezuela, come to think of it...
Oh, and shopping for four hours at La Cancha, while the giggling masses (at our height) and the offers of marriage from the potato sellers is fun, cannot last and I'm knackered.
Going for a nap.
On the other hand I just avoided the knifepoint robbery last night when me and my friend wouldn't give a fellow 20Bolivianos to continue his drinking binge. I spotted him just reaching into the back of his shirt for his knife when I decided to push my friend back toward the crowded street (we had turned into our own, very quiet and dangerous street when it happened). So, the excitement of violence holds my boredom at bay...
Hope Fiona is o.k. on her jungle safari in Venezuela, come to think of it...
Oh, and shopping for four hours at La Cancha, while the giggling masses (at our height) and the offers of marriage from the potato sellers is fun, cannot last and I'm knackered.
Going for a nap.
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Fifth edition.
Foder. I miss Fiona. And due to said yearnings, I'm becoming even more blind to cultural (and god forbid, spiritual) growth than I was before.
Stupid trip.
Michael.
Stupid trip.
Michael.
Saturday, March 10, 2007
Our Man of Steel.
Can't help myself...
Let us salute Howard, our brave, heroic PM
OPINION
Phillip Adams
March 10, 2007
I UNDERSTAND that some of you are considering voting for Kevin Rudd, simply because he's fresh, young, intelligent and full of energy and ideas. Sorry, but I sternly disapprove. As our PM points out, voters are faced with one of those stark choices that define electoral life. The choice of a hero (him) or a coward (Kevin).
Howard is no cowardy cowardy custard like cut ’n’ run Kev. Howard is, as he shyly confesses, up there with Samson, Simpson (and his donkey), Menzies, St George, Tarzan, Bradman, Batman and other heroic heroes worthy of hero-worship. In fact, heroic doesn’t begin to describe how brave, plucky, valiant, valorous, intrepid, lion- (and stout-) hearted, bold, unflinching, unshrinking, unafraid, dauntless, spirited, game, gutsy and spunky he is. Let us remember just a few examples of the courageous courage of the King of Kirribilli.
1. He bravely believed all that shonky “intelligence” and boldly got us into one of the nastiest, most irrational wars in history.
2. Dauntlessly ignoring the consequent human, political, strategic and regional wreckage, he pluckily continues to congratulate himself on being a military visionary.
3. He valiantly defends the presidency of George W. Bush, something that few among the Republican leadership have done since the midterms.
4. He valorously attacks the Democratic Party’s frontrunner in the presidential campaign and vilifies the entire Democratic Party (now controlling both Congress and Senate) as being God’s gifts to bin Laden. By displaying his intrepitude, if that’s a word, he heroically undermines the future of Australian-US relations. And that’s just the beginning of our leader’s lion-heartedness. Be proud of him, fellow Australians! Howard’s madder than Max.
5. Having boldly believed in fictitious facts to justify the invasion of Iraq, he bravely disbelieves the decades of scientific evidence about global warming and unflinchingly follows George W’s example in refusing to sign Kyoto.
6. Having pluckily done bugger-all about perhaps the biggest problem in human history, he dauntlessly and instantly backs nuclear power. Is there no end to his fearlessness? Was there no beginning?
7. Eclipsing Sir Francis Drake’s cool courage in the face of the Spanish Armada, our PM wages war on the Tampa and a few leaking boats full of those terroristic asylum-seekers.
8. and 9. Boldly accusing them of drowning their babies, he is stout-heartedly indifferent to the drownings of hundreds of refugees in SIEV X.
10. Howard heroically redraws the map of Australia and daringly opens a chain of Pacific prisons, while (11) adding extra razor wire to the mainland concentration camps.
12. And with heroic chutzpah he talks, indeed trumpets, about Australian values of tolerance, mateship and the fair go.
13. Valiantly extending the Pacific Solution to Guantanamo in Cuba, he pluckily permits David Hicks to spend five years in solitary, boldly ignoring the growing protests until they become deafening. Then (14), he courageously pretends to intervene on his behalf. The more you think of Howard’s heroics, the more examples come to mind. There was (15) his heroic role in the secret training of mercenaries in Dubai intended to attack those wicked wharfies, and (16, 17, 18 and 19) intrepid assaults on the republic, on the Bringing Them Home report on the stolen generation by the Humans Rights Commission, on “black armband” history and all that silly nonsense about reconciliation.
Many of us were equally thrilled when (20, 21 and 22), despite being busy with his wars on terror and Iraq, he found time to wage others. For example, wars on the ABC, the union movement, voluntary euthanasia and (23) Peter Costello. For whom, when it comes to euthanasia, the PM would make an exception.
And let us salute Howard for his courage in refusing to debate the cowardly, gutless Rudd on the Iraq war – either on TV (24) or in the House. That’s (25).
Australians have had many great generals – Monash comes to mind – but none have fought so many wars on so many fronts at once. Our PM has enough backbone for a museum full of fossilised dinosaurs – and more spirit, spunk, spine and mettle than our entire Olympic squad and Test team. That’s why I wholeheartedly support our lion-hearted leader – rather than Rudd, another Obama-style upstart, another cut ’n’ runner.
And let me say what the PM is too polite to say, despite his courageously courageous courage, lest he be accused of interfering in Australia’s internal affairs. Bin Laden and the rest of the world’s terrorists will be putting marks in their calendars and praying, praying, PRAYING for a Rudd victory on election day.
Let us salute Howard, our brave, heroic PM
OPINION
Phillip Adams
March 10, 2007
I UNDERSTAND that some of you are considering voting for Kevin Rudd, simply because he's fresh, young, intelligent and full of energy and ideas. Sorry, but I sternly disapprove. As our PM points out, voters are faced with one of those stark choices that define electoral life. The choice of a hero (him) or a coward (Kevin).
Howard is no cowardy cowardy custard like cut ’n’ run Kev. Howard is, as he shyly confesses, up there with Samson, Simpson (and his donkey), Menzies, St George, Tarzan, Bradman, Batman and other heroic heroes worthy of hero-worship. In fact, heroic doesn’t begin to describe how brave, plucky, valiant, valorous, intrepid, lion- (and stout-) hearted, bold, unflinching, unshrinking, unafraid, dauntless, spirited, game, gutsy and spunky he is. Let us remember just a few examples of the courageous courage of the King of Kirribilli.
1. He bravely believed all that shonky “intelligence” and boldly got us into one of the nastiest, most irrational wars in history.
2. Dauntlessly ignoring the consequent human, political, strategic and regional wreckage, he pluckily continues to congratulate himself on being a military visionary.
3. He valiantly defends the presidency of George W. Bush, something that few among the Republican leadership have done since the midterms.
4. He valorously attacks the Democratic Party’s frontrunner in the presidential campaign and vilifies the entire Democratic Party (now controlling both Congress and Senate) as being God’s gifts to bin Laden. By displaying his intrepitude, if that’s a word, he heroically undermines the future of Australian-US relations. And that’s just the beginning of our leader’s lion-heartedness. Be proud of him, fellow Australians! Howard’s madder than Max.
5. Having boldly believed in fictitious facts to justify the invasion of Iraq, he bravely disbelieves the decades of scientific evidence about global warming and unflinchingly follows George W’s example in refusing to sign Kyoto.
6. Having pluckily done bugger-all about perhaps the biggest problem in human history, he dauntlessly and instantly backs nuclear power. Is there no end to his fearlessness? Was there no beginning?
7. Eclipsing Sir Francis Drake’s cool courage in the face of the Spanish Armada, our PM wages war on the Tampa and a few leaking boats full of those terroristic asylum-seekers.
8. and 9. Boldly accusing them of drowning their babies, he is stout-heartedly indifferent to the drownings of hundreds of refugees in SIEV X.
10. Howard heroically redraws the map of Australia and daringly opens a chain of Pacific prisons, while (11) adding extra razor wire to the mainland concentration camps.
12. And with heroic chutzpah he talks, indeed trumpets, about Australian values of tolerance, mateship and the fair go.
13. Valiantly extending the Pacific Solution to Guantanamo in Cuba, he pluckily permits David Hicks to spend five years in solitary, boldly ignoring the growing protests until they become deafening. Then (14), he courageously pretends to intervene on his behalf. The more you think of Howard’s heroics, the more examples come to mind. There was (15) his heroic role in the secret training of mercenaries in Dubai intended to attack those wicked wharfies, and (16, 17, 18 and 19) intrepid assaults on the republic, on the Bringing Them Home report on the stolen generation by the Humans Rights Commission, on “black armband” history and all that silly nonsense about reconciliation.
Many of us were equally thrilled when (20, 21 and 22), despite being busy with his wars on terror and Iraq, he found time to wage others. For example, wars on the ABC, the union movement, voluntary euthanasia and (23) Peter Costello. For whom, when it comes to euthanasia, the PM would make an exception.
And let us salute Howard for his courage in refusing to debate the cowardly, gutless Rudd on the Iraq war – either on TV (24) or in the House. That’s (25).
Australians have had many great generals – Monash comes to mind – but none have fought so many wars on so many fronts at once. Our PM has enough backbone for a museum full of fossilised dinosaurs – and more spirit, spunk, spine and mettle than our entire Olympic squad and Test team. That’s why I wholeheartedly support our lion-hearted leader – rather than Rudd, another Obama-style upstart, another cut ’n’ runner.
And let me say what the PM is too polite to say, despite his courageously courageous courage, lest he be accused of interfering in Australia’s internal affairs. Bin Laden and the rest of the world’s terrorists will be putting marks in their calendars and praying, praying, PRAYING for a Rudd victory on election day.
Thursday, March 08, 2007
World Naked Bike Ride
Well, just a quick "here's the most important thing happening in Melbourne" blog entry.
Last year, Melbourne's part in the World Naked Bike Ride - "the world's largest naked protest against oil dependency and car culture in the history of humanity" - was a lovely sight to behold (sadly my living life only once didn't make it last year...)
It's on again. Here's details from my friend Rupert (check out the photos in the link for last years ride):
Hello sports,
this Saturday, at 7pm, I am going to ride naked as part of the "World Naked Bike Ride", this is the Melbourne show, it is "the worlds largest naked protest against oil dependency and car culture in the history of humanity". I was actually supposed to be the one a few years back organising the Melbourne part of this global event. There are 24 countries involved- Melbourne, Brisbane, Tweed Heads and Newcastle are the only Australian "cities" participating as yet in the ride. Anyone who wants to ride and doesn't want to hook up at the meeting spot alone can call me on
0432 983 494
or meet at the destination below ...
Date: Saturday 10 March 2007
Time: 7:00 pm
Location: Carlton Inn/University Sqr. - cnr of Pelham & Leicester Sts, Carlton
The Melbourne website for more details is ... MNBR
The Official Australian Website is ... WNBR (Australia)
You don't have to ride totally naked, body painting or partially clothed is acceptable but you only live once and the cause helps the planet live beyond that.
Rups
Last year, Melbourne's part in the World Naked Bike Ride - "the world's largest naked protest against oil dependency and car culture in the history of humanity" - was a lovely sight to behold (sadly my living life only once didn't make it last year...)
It's on again. Here's details from my friend Rupert (check out the photos in the link for last years ride):
Hello sports,
this Saturday, at 7pm, I am going to ride naked as part of the "World Naked Bike Ride", this is the Melbourne show, it is "the worlds largest naked protest against oil dependency and car culture in the history of humanity". I was actually supposed to be the one a few years back organising the Melbourne part of this global event. There are 24 countries involved- Melbourne, Brisbane, Tweed Heads and Newcastle are the only Australian "cities" participating as yet in the ride. Anyone who wants to ride and doesn't want to hook up at the meeting spot alone can call me on
0432 983 494
or meet at the destination below ...
Date: Saturday 10 March 2007
Time: 7:00 pm
Location: Carlton Inn/University Sqr. - cnr of Pelham & Leicester Sts, Carlton
The Melbourne website for more details is ... MNBR
The Official Australian Website is ... WNBR (Australia)
You don't have to ride totally naked, body painting or partially clothed is acceptable but you only live once and the cause helps the planet live beyond that.
Rups
Sunday, March 04, 2007
Too much love
Capricorn
Save your high-minded idealism for another day -- today is all about elemental efforts and humble results. Tasks such as washing the windows, cleaning out the garage and working in the garden will be very rewarding, and they will make you feel not only more connected with the world but also more content. Don't aim for major life changes right now. Revel in today's fleeting pleasures, and don't ask for more than you need.
Humph, well this is exactly what my head was telling me this morning, as I walked away from the bus station (walking through the adjacent La Cancha (the country's biggest marketplace - it seemed more placid than usual, in my projection to have the world in sorrow) shoe shiners didn't even ask, such was my disposition, hands shoved firmed and intentionally in my deep pockets more to help shield my mental environment from the outside than to keep the pickpockets at bay trudging grimly through the sparkly dirt of the familiar market streets, all huffy and James Dean, until I trip over my shoelace and land on my arse. People laugh very haughtily and I have to join in. I'm a dickhead sometimes...), found the first bus bound for home (I sat in the back seat, towering over a sea of white Cholita hats, my arms folded in similar protective vein), walked along my street, Uyuni. Aptly named for this is the destination of Fiona this morning, the bus pulling out of the station at 9.09am, pulling out my tears along with it, and minutes before she too late questions herself to me again as we hold each other tight among the constant screaming stream of offers to Santa Cruz and La Paz, why she's leaving me here.
Foder.
But the horrorscope is right. As I arrived home and looked in my bedroom, I saw that things should be done, if only to keep myself busy. A fleeting pleasure at a test marked, clothes folded, a blog to blurt my feelings.
So, Fiona's off to the Salar de Uyuni today... well, Uyuni at least, the Salar tomorrow she hopes. She'll see the incredible sights of the largest salt lake in the world that I saw as I came the opposite direction toward Cbba.
Then she's going to Santiago so she can take one of her free flights to Caracas, Venezuela to personally hand deliver my good wishes and suggestions to Mr. Chavez. Then off to Cuba. Fiona has worked so hard for her reward in this trip but I can't help but feel jealous. My goal remains as such. A goal, until I do the hard yards to ensure I can ... well, pay for the privilege.
So today I look for little pleasures - a dog to pat, an old man to help, a pretty girl to kiss.
Yep.
Save your high-minded idealism for another day -- today is all about elemental efforts and humble results. Tasks such as washing the windows, cleaning out the garage and working in the garden will be very rewarding, and they will make you feel not only more connected with the world but also more content. Don't aim for major life changes right now. Revel in today's fleeting pleasures, and don't ask for more than you need.
Humph, well this is exactly what my head was telling me this morning, as I walked away from the bus station (walking through the adjacent La Cancha (the country's biggest marketplace - it seemed more placid than usual, in my projection to have the world in sorrow) shoe shiners didn't even ask, such was my disposition, hands shoved firmed and intentionally in my deep pockets more to help shield my mental environment from the outside than to keep the pickpockets at bay trudging grimly through the sparkly dirt of the familiar market streets, all huffy and James Dean, until I trip over my shoelace and land on my arse. People laugh very haughtily and I have to join in. I'm a dickhead sometimes...), found the first bus bound for home (I sat in the back seat, towering over a sea of white Cholita hats, my arms folded in similar protective vein), walked along my street, Uyuni. Aptly named for this is the destination of Fiona this morning, the bus pulling out of the station at 9.09am, pulling out my tears along with it, and minutes before she too late questions herself to me again as we hold each other tight among the constant screaming stream of offers to Santa Cruz and La Paz, why she's leaving me here.
Foder.
But the horrorscope is right. As I arrived home and looked in my bedroom, I saw that things should be done, if only to keep myself busy. A fleeting pleasure at a test marked, clothes folded, a blog to blurt my feelings.
So, Fiona's off to the Salar de Uyuni today... well, Uyuni at least, the Salar tomorrow she hopes. She'll see the incredible sights of the largest salt lake in the world that I saw as I came the opposite direction toward Cbba.
Then she's going to Santiago so she can take one of her free flights to Caracas, Venezuela to personally hand deliver my good wishes and suggestions to Mr. Chavez. Then off to Cuba. Fiona has worked so hard for her reward in this trip but I can't help but feel jealous. My goal remains as such. A goal, until I do the hard yards to ensure I can ... well, pay for the privilege.
So today I look for little pleasures - a dog to pat, an old man to help, a pretty girl to kiss.
Yep.
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