In a culture like ours, one sometimes forgets the power of a poet's words...
Here is an open letter from the poet Sharon Olds to Laura Bush declining the invitation to read and speak at the National Book Critics Circle Award in Washington, DC. Feel free to forward it along if you feel more people may want to read it. Sharon Olds is one of most widely read and critically acclaimed poets living in America today. Read to the end of eloquence.
> Laura Bush
>First Lady, The White House
>
> Dear Mrs. Bush,
>
> I am writing to let you know why I am not able to
> accept your kind invitation to give a presentation
> at the National Book Festival on September 24, or
> to attend your dinner at the Library of Congress or
> the breakfast at the White House.
>
> In one way, it's a very appealing invitation. The
> idea of speaking at a festival attended by 85,000
> people is inspiring! The possibility of finding new
> readers is exciting for a poet in personal terms,
> and in terms of the desire that poetry serve its
> constituents--all of us who need the pleasure, and
> the inner and outer news, it delivers.
>
> And the concept of a community of readers and
> writers has long been dear to my heart. As a
> professor of creative writing in the graduate school
> of a major university, I have had the chance to be a
> part of some magnificent outreach writing workshops
> in which our students have become teachers. Over the
> years, they have taught in a variety of settings: a
> women's prison, several New York City public high
> schools, an oncology ward for children.
>
> Our initial program, at a 900-bed state hospital for
> the severely physically challenged, has been running
> now for twenty years, creating along the way lasting
> friendships between young MFA candidates and their
> students--long-term residents at the hospital who,
> in their humor, courage and wisdom, become our
> teachers.
>
> When you have witnessed someone nonspeaking and
> almost nonmoving spell out, with a toe, on a big
> plastic alphabet chart, letter by letter, his new
> poem, you have experienced, close up, the passion
> and essentialness of writing.
>
> When you have held up a small cardboard alphabet
> card for a writer who is completely nonspeaking and
> nonmoving (except for the eyes), and pointed first
> to the A, then the B, then C, then D, until you get
> to the first letter of the first word of the first
> line of the poem she has been composing in her head
> all week, and she lifts her eyes when that letter is
> touched to say yes, you feel with a fresh immediacy
> the human drive for creation, self-expression,
> accuracy, honesty and wit--and the importance of
> writing, which celebrates the value of each person's
> unique story and song.
>
> So the prospect of a festival of books seemed
> wonderful to me. I thought of the opportunity to
> talk about how to start up an outreach program. I
> thought of the chance to sell some books, sign some
> books and meet some of the citizens of Washington,
> DC. I thought that I could try to find a way, even
> as your guest, with respect, to speak about my deep
> feeling that we should not have invaded Iraq, and to
> declare my belief that the wish to invade another
> culture and another country--with the resultant loss
> of life and limb for our brave soldiers, and for the
> noncombatants in their home terrain--did not come
> out of our democracy but was instead a decision made
> "at the top" and forced on the people by distorted
> language, and by untruths. I hoped to express the
> fear that we have begun to live in the shadows of
> tyranny and religious chauvinism--the opposites of
> the liberty, tolerance and diversity our nation
> aspires to.
>
> I tried to see my way clear to attend the festival
> in order to bear witness--as an American who loves
> her country and its principles and its
> writing--against this undeclared and devastating
> war.
>
> But I could not face the idea of breaking bread with
> you. I knew that if I sat down to eat with you, it
> would feel to me as if I were condoning what I see
> to be the wild, highhanded actions of the Bush
> Administration.
>
> What kept coming to the fore of my mind was that I
> would be taking food from the hand of the First Lady
> who represents the Administration that unleashed
> this war and that wills its continuation, even to
> the extent of permitting "extraordinary rendition":
> flying people to other countries where they will be
> tortured for us.
>
> So many Americans who had felt pride in our country
> now feel anguish and shame, for the current regime
> of blood, wounds and fire. I thought of the clean
> linens at your table, the shining knives and the
> flames of the candles, and I could not stomach it.
>
> Sincerely,
>
> SHARON OLDS
Monday, April 30, 2007
Thursday, April 26, 2007
The goods.
"Whenever you find yourself on the side of the majority, it's time to pause and reflect."
Mark Twain
Mark Twain
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Couldn't resist.
> While on his morning walk, Prime Minister John Howard falls over, has
> a heart attack and dies because the accident and emergency ward at his
> nearest hospital is too understaffed to treat him in time. So his soul
> arrives in Heaven and he is met by Saint Peter at the Pearly Gates.
>
> "Welcome to Heaven," says Saint Peter, "Before you settle in, it seems
> there is a problem. We seldom see a Liberal around these parts, so
> we're not sure what to do with you."
>
> "No problem, just let me in; I'm a good Christian; I'm a believer,
> "says the PM.
>
> "I'd like to just let you in, but I have orders from God Himself. He
> says that since the implementation of his new HeavenChoices policy,
> you have to spend one day in Hell and one day in Heaven. Then you must
> choose where you'll live for eternity."
>
> "But I've already made up my mind. I want to be in Heaven," replies
> Howard.
> "I'm sorry... but we have our rules," Peter interjects. And, with
> that, St Peter escorts him to an elevator and he goes down, down,
> down... all the way to Hell.
>
> The doors open and he finds himself in the middle of a lush golf
> course. The sun is shining in a cloudless sky. The temperature is a
> perfect 22C degrees. In the distance is a beautiful
> club-house.Standing in front of it is Bob Menzies and thousands of
> other Liberals luminaries who had helped him out over the years -
> Harold Holt, John Gorton, Bill McMahon, etc. The whole of the Liberal
> Party leaders were there .. everyone laughing, happy, and casually but
> expensively dressed. They run to greet him, to hug him and to
> reminisce about the good times they had getting rich at the expense of
> 'suckers and peasants.' They play a friendly game of golf and then
> dine on lobster and caviar.
>
> The Devil himself comes up to Howard with a frosty drink, "Have a
> tequila and relax, John!"
>
> "Uh, I can't drink anymore, I took a pledge," says Howard, dejectedly.
>
> "This is Hell, son. You can drink and eat all you want and not worry
> and it just gets better from there!"
>
> Howard takes the drink and finds himself liking the Devil, who he
> thinks is a really very friendly bloke who tells funny jokes like
> himself and pulls hilarious nasty pranks, kind of like the ones the
> Liberals pulled with the GST and the Free Trade Agreement promises.
> They are having such a great time that, before he realises it, it's
> time to go. Everyone gives him a big hug and waves as Howard steps on
> the elevator and
> heads upward.
>
> When the elevator door reopens, he is in Heaven again and Saint Peter
> is waiting for him. "Now it's time to visit Heaven," the old man says,
> opening the gate.
>
> So for 24 hours Howard is made to hang out with a bunch of honest,
> good-natured people who enjoy each other's company, talk about things
> other than money and treat each other decently. Not a nasty prank or
> short-arse joke among them. No fancy country clubs here and, while the
> food tastes great, it's not caviar or lobster. And these people are
> all poor. He doesn't see anybody he knows and he isn't even treated
> like someone special!
>
> "Whoa," he says uncomfortably to himself. "Bob Menzies never prepared
> me for this!"
>
> The day done, Saint Peter returns and says, "Well, you've spent a day
> in Hell and a day in Heaven. Now choose where you want to live for
> eternity." With the 'Deal or No Deal' theme playing softly in the
> background, Howard reflects for a minute ... then answers: "Well, I
> would never have thought I'd say this -- I mean, Heaven has been
> delightful and all -- but I really think I belong in Hell with my
> friends."
>
> So Saint Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down,
> down, all the way to Hell. The doors of the elevator open and he is in
> the middle of a barren scorched earth covered with garbage and toxic
> industrial wasteland, kind of like the eroded, rabbit and fox affected
> Australian outback. He is horrified to see all of his friends, dressed
> in rags and chained together, picking up the roadside rubbish and
> putting it into black plastic bags. They are groaning and moaning in
> pain, faces and hands black with grime.
>
> The Devil comes over to Howard and puts an arm around his shoulder. "I
> don't understand," stammers a shocked John, "Yesterday I was here and
> there was a golf course and a club-house and we ate lobster and caviar
> and drank tequila. We lazed around and had a great time. Now there's
> just a wasteland full of garbage and everybody looks miserable!"
>
> The Devil looks at him, smiles slyly and purrs, "Yesterday we were
> campaigning; today you voted for us!"
> While on his morning walk, Prime Minister John Howard falls over, has
> a heart attack and dies because the accident and emergency ward at his
> nearest hospital is too understaffed to treat him in time. So his soul
> arrives in Heaven and he is met by Saint Peter at the Pearly Gates.
>
> "Welcome to Heaven," says Saint Peter, "Before you settle in, it seems
> there is a problem. We seldom see a Liberal around these parts, so
> we're not sure what to do with you."
>
> "No problem, just let me in; I'm a good Christian; I'm a believer,
> "says the PM.
>
> "I'd like to just let you in, but I have orders from God Himself. He
> says that since the implementation of his new HeavenChoices policy,
> you have to spend one day in Hell and one day in Heaven. Then you must
> choose where you'll live for eternity."
>
> "But I've already made up my mind. I want to be in Heaven," replies
> Howard.
> "I'm sorry... but we have our rules," Peter interjects. And, with
> that, St Peter escorts him to an elevator and he goes down, down,
> down... all the way to Hell.
>
> The doors open and he finds himself in the middle of a lush golf
> course. The sun is shining in a cloudless sky. The temperature is a
> perfect 22C degrees. In the distance is a beautiful
> club-house.Standing in front of it is Bob Menzies and thousands of
> other Liberals luminaries who had helped him out over the years -
> Harold Holt, John Gorton, Bill McMahon, etc. The whole of the Liberal
> Party leaders were there .. everyone laughing, happy, and casually but
> expensively dressed. They run to greet him, to hug him and to
> reminisce about the good times they had getting rich at the expense of
> 'suckers and peasants.' They play a friendly game of golf and then
> dine on lobster and caviar.
>
> The Devil himself comes up to Howard with a frosty drink, "Have a
> tequila and relax, John!"
>
> "Uh, I can't drink anymore, I took a pledge," says Howard, dejectedly.
>
> "This is Hell, son. You can drink and eat all you want and not worry
> and it just gets better from there!"
>
> Howard takes the drink and finds himself liking the Devil, who he
> thinks is a really very friendly bloke who tells funny jokes like
> himself and pulls hilarious nasty pranks, kind of like the ones the
> Liberals pulled with the GST and the Free Trade Agreement promises.
> They are having such a great time that, before he realises it, it's
> time to go. Everyone gives him a big hug and waves as Howard steps on
> the elevator and
> heads upward.
>
> When the elevator door reopens, he is in Heaven again and Saint Peter
> is waiting for him. "Now it's time to visit Heaven," the old man says,
> opening the gate.
>
> So for 24 hours Howard is made to hang out with a bunch of honest,
> good-natured people who enjoy each other's company, talk about things
> other than money and treat each other decently. Not a nasty prank or
> short-arse joke among them. No fancy country clubs here and, while the
> food tastes great, it's not caviar or lobster. And these people are
> all poor. He doesn't see anybody he knows and he isn't even treated
> like someone special!
>
> "Whoa," he says uncomfortably to himself. "Bob Menzies never prepared
> me for this!"
>
> The day done, Saint Peter returns and says, "Well, you've spent a day
> in Hell and a day in Heaven. Now choose where you want to live for
> eternity." With the 'Deal or No Deal' theme playing softly in the
> background, Howard reflects for a minute ... then answers: "Well, I
> would never have thought I'd say this -- I mean, Heaven has been
> delightful and all -- but I really think I belong in Hell with my
> friends."
>
> So Saint Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down,
> down, all the way to Hell. The doors of the elevator open and he is in
> the middle of a barren scorched earth covered with garbage and toxic
> industrial wasteland, kind of like the eroded, rabbit and fox affected
> Australian outback. He is horrified to see all of his friends, dressed
> in rags and chained together, picking up the roadside rubbish and
> putting it into black plastic bags. They are groaning and moaning in
> pain, faces and hands black with grime.
>
> The Devil comes over to Howard and puts an arm around his shoulder. "I
> don't understand," stammers a shocked John, "Yesterday I was here and
> there was a golf course and a club-house and we ate lobster and caviar
> and drank tequila. We lazed around and had a great time. Now there's
> just a wasteland full of garbage and everybody looks miserable!"
>
> The Devil looks at him, smiles slyly and purrs, "Yesterday we were
> campaigning; today you voted for us!"
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Out? In? Make up your bloody mind will ya?!
Well, I've decided, seeing as Fiona is still away (till tomorrow) that I'll be staying in Cochabamba for longer than I had lately thought (under all the giddy excitement of seeing more of this continent). I want to stay and finalise my classes, contacts and friendships.
But I don't have to cancel my classes at the institute because why? I was fired. I'm pissed off about it quite frankly although I feel like a oughtn't be given I didn't express it as harshly at the time as I feel now. I wasn't really fired but my class got cancelled (lack of attendance, different levels, etc.) - effective immediately last night when I got to work to give them their exam. The director told me he was going to give the exam instead of me (to save money on paying me), so I could go home. I said well I'm here to work and now I'm going home? Thanks. No chance to say a proper goodbye to my students, prepare presents, nuthing. So I said a makeshift goodbye out the front on their way in, displayed my anger at the institute for them, my sorrow to leave them. They were all sad, and all got my number and a couple said they were leaving too then. So that's good. A little validation.
Last night though, at the Trova (I went alone to practice a shakily confirmed stage debut) I met four lawyers, shitfaced, who have been searching for English classes, and want to start Monday from 7-9pm, maybe 6 of them. That's 300B a lesson! How long will we be here for? Who knows... That's another reason I want to stay. Make some serious doshies. Woooh! 300B. That's A$50!! ... yep.
Fiona called today, half cut in a bar in Santiago. Sometime tomorrow night all going well. There are such things as "love hotels" here in Bolivia (heart-shaped beds, mirrors on the ceiling... etc.) of which Cochabamba shares an apparently unfair monopoly... so let's see if we can't find a non-seedy one...
Your Friendly Neighbourhood dying-of-desire Bolivian Correspondent.
But I don't have to cancel my classes at the institute because why? I was fired. I'm pissed off about it quite frankly although I feel like a oughtn't be given I didn't express it as harshly at the time as I feel now. I wasn't really fired but my class got cancelled (lack of attendance, different levels, etc.) - effective immediately last night when I got to work to give them their exam. The director told me he was going to give the exam instead of me (to save money on paying me), so I could go home. I said well I'm here to work and now I'm going home? Thanks. No chance to say a proper goodbye to my students, prepare presents, nuthing. So I said a makeshift goodbye out the front on their way in, displayed my anger at the institute for them, my sorrow to leave them. They were all sad, and all got my number and a couple said they were leaving too then. So that's good. A little validation.
Last night though, at the Trova (I went alone to practice a shakily confirmed stage debut) I met four lawyers, shitfaced, who have been searching for English classes, and want to start Monday from 7-9pm, maybe 6 of them. That's 300B a lesson! How long will we be here for? Who knows... That's another reason I want to stay. Make some serious doshies. Woooh! 300B. That's A$50!! ... yep.
Fiona called today, half cut in a bar in Santiago. Sometime tomorrow night all going well. There are such things as "love hotels" here in Bolivia (heart-shaped beds, mirrors on the ceiling... etc.) of which Cochabamba shares an apparently unfair monopoly... so let's see if we can't find a non-seedy one...
Your Friendly Neighbourhood dying-of-desire Bolivian Correspondent.
Friday, April 13, 2007
Niños, Mariachi and where the hell is Fiona??!
Well, it's Friday again. I can't really concentrate on constructing full sentences in correct English, nor Spanish for that matter.
I have a feeling that Fiona will come back early to surprise me.
On Tuesday night, at about 12.36am I was sound asleep subconsciously waiting for my alarm clock to blakker at me 6 hours later, when all of a sudden that house dream I was having (the one where all of the share houses I've had in my life merge and all of my compañeros de casa come burling up and down the stairs choosing rooms and not getting on very well (you had to be there - terrifying!) was rudely interrupted by very large music. So loud in fact that I was convinced that I was still dreaming and that it was in fact my phone. I reached for it, woke a little more, realised that my phone doesn't have that volume nor the capacity to play music like that, I stood up, walked to my second floor window, looked down at the garden to behold a fully decked out Mexican Mariachi band, with their big fat guitars, big fat hats and big fat voices.
One electrifying thought as I stood at the window was that Fiona had discovered what was (WAS - didn't happen) in order for her when she arrived in La Paz many months ago and she'd organised the same for me.
As it turns out, the girl downstairs was being seranata-ed for her birthday by her novio. How sweet. And what a surprise. You should have seen her prancing around dancing the Cueca in her jim-jams. We went down, enjoyed the band and a glass of champagne.
In other, more important news, it was Dia de Niños yesterday. Kid's Day. How many times were we told by our parents, even before we finished asking "You've got Mother's Day, Father's Day, when's Kid's Day?" that "Every day is kid's day". Well, not here. Seems like it's just yesterday.
While there was much fun and nonsense organised to be had, a lot of effort was put into the more serious aspect of the rights of the child. I see many many loving parents here, just as everywhere, but it's a sad fact that Bolivia has a high level of child abuse - emotional, physical and sexual abuse, child labour and prostitution, malnutrition and drug abuse. More than other countries? I don't know. But the discussion I had last night with a friend brought to light the level of unreported crime in Bolivia and abuse of kid's rights is included in that terrible omission.
So, Fiona leaves Cuba on the 17th. That's 4 days away.
Gullumph.
I have a feeling that Fiona will come back early to surprise me.
On Tuesday night, at about 12.36am I was sound asleep subconsciously waiting for my alarm clock to blakker at me 6 hours later, when all of a sudden that house dream I was having (the one where all of the share houses I've had in my life merge and all of my compañeros de casa come burling up and down the stairs choosing rooms and not getting on very well (you had to be there - terrifying!) was rudely interrupted by very large music. So loud in fact that I was convinced that I was still dreaming and that it was in fact my phone. I reached for it, woke a little more, realised that my phone doesn't have that volume nor the capacity to play music like that, I stood up, walked to my second floor window, looked down at the garden to behold a fully decked out Mexican Mariachi band, with their big fat guitars, big fat hats and big fat voices.
One electrifying thought as I stood at the window was that Fiona had discovered what was (WAS - didn't happen) in order for her when she arrived in La Paz many months ago and she'd organised the same for me.
As it turns out, the girl downstairs was being seranata-ed for her birthday by her novio. How sweet. And what a surprise. You should have seen her prancing around dancing the Cueca in her jim-jams. We went down, enjoyed the band and a glass of champagne.
In other, more important news, it was Dia de Niños yesterday. Kid's Day. How many times were we told by our parents, even before we finished asking "You've got Mother's Day, Father's Day, when's Kid's Day?" that "Every day is kid's day". Well, not here. Seems like it's just yesterday.
While there was much fun and nonsense organised to be had, a lot of effort was put into the more serious aspect of the rights of the child. I see many many loving parents here, just as everywhere, but it's a sad fact that Bolivia has a high level of child abuse - emotional, physical and sexual abuse, child labour and prostitution, malnutrition and drug abuse. More than other countries? I don't know. But the discussion I had last night with a friend brought to light the level of unreported crime in Bolivia and abuse of kid's rights is included in that terrible omission.
So, Fiona leaves Cuba on the 17th. That's 4 days away.
Gullumph.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
A little Marfling plug.
"MO," written and directed by first time director Brian Lederman and starring Erik Per Sullivan (Malcolm In the Middle) is an amusing, yet poignant true story about a boy living with Marfan syndrome.
Here's some links about the movie and where it's screening:
"Mo" <http://www.ticketweb.com/t3/sale/SaleEventDetail?dispatch=loadSelection Data&eventId=129321> is premiering at the Malibu International Film Festival
<http://www.malibufilmfestival.com/>; on Saturday night, April 14th. You can get your tickets online <http://www.ticketweb.com/t3/sale/SaleEventDetail?dispatch=loadSelection Data&eventId=129321> for only $10 each! A great release <http://home.businesswire.com/portal/site/google/index.jsp?ndmViewId=new s_view&newsId=20070404005217&newsLang=en> went out on the Business Wire online last week.
Have a look to find out what it's all about!
If you are anywhere near Santa Monica (the location for the venue of this particular screening), go out and support this film. We have a lot of people in the Southern California, so it would be great to see a big turnout to support the film and the National Marfan Foundation. The more attention the film gets, the more it will translate into public awareness about Marfan syndrome and the NMF as it gets in front of more and more people!In case the above links don't work in your email reader, you can cut and paste them from below.
Tickets:http://www.ticketweb.com/t3/sale/SaleEventDetail?dispatch=loadSelectionD ata&eventId=129321
Malibu International Film Festival: http://www.malibufilmfestival.com/
More on "Mo":http://www.mofilm.net http://www.mofilm.net/;
Business Wire release:http://home.businesswire.com/portal/site/google/index.jsp?ndmViewId=news _view&newsId=20070404005217&newsLang=en
Here's some links about the movie and where it's screening:
"Mo" <http://www.ticketweb.com/t3/sale/SaleEventDetail?dispatch=loadSelection Data&eventId=129321> is premiering at the Malibu International Film Festival
<http://www.malibufilmfestival.com/>; on Saturday night, April 14th. You can get your tickets online <http://www.ticketweb.com/t3/sale/SaleEventDetail?dispatch=loadSelection Data&eventId=129321> for only $10 each! A great release <http://home.businesswire.com/portal/site/google/index.jsp?ndmViewId=new s_view&newsId=20070404005217&newsLang=en> went out on the Business Wire online last week.
Have a look to find out what it's all about!
If you are anywhere near Santa Monica (the location for the venue of this particular screening), go out and support this film. We have a lot of people in the Southern California, so it would be great to see a big turnout to support the film and the National Marfan Foundation. The more attention the film gets, the more it will translate into public awareness about Marfan syndrome and the NMF as it gets in front of more and more people!In case the above links don't work in your email reader, you can cut and paste them from below.
Tickets:http://www.ticketweb.com/t3/sale/SaleEventDetail?dispatch=loadSelectionD ata&eventId=129321
Malibu International Film Festival: http://www.malibufilmfestival.com/
More on "Mo":http://www.mofilm.net http://www.mofilm.net/;
Business Wire release:http://home.businesswire.com/portal/site/google/index.jsp?ndmViewId=news _view&newsId=20070404005217&newsLang=en
Bodgy birthdays and preemptive posting.
Well, Fiona may soon be back in Bolivia from her jaunt smelling the bitter-sweet odour of lefty poolitical action. Soon may mean May 2. Soon may mean two weeks earlier than that, at around April 16, which is only six days away from now and "back in Bolivia" means La Paz where I'll meet her.
When this happens, then what happens? I hear you ask. Well, the reason that I don't just follow up with a straight answer is because there is none.
Fiona is incommunicado (I've never heard a Latin Americano say that word, but my old host head of the family, Gonzalo just coincidentally walked in here and asked how Fiona was, and I showed him "Fiona is incommunicado" and he seemed to understand, so it's probably a Spanish word... yep.). So, Fiona is incommunicado and when she finally calls me or writes to me she'll hopefully make clearer the question on everyone's lips - when am I leaving? (Well, the question on everyone's lips except mine is "When are YOU leaving?")
When she gets back to La Paz I meet her, then we go to Macchu Pichu (which is only just nowdays not being a surpise to me - I had dismissed the place as purely a tourist trap, but I've come to realise, having made close connections with indigenous culture that it is a place I'd actually like to visit!) That is, we go to Macchu Pichu if I have my ... passport and visa, which I've not seen for over 9 months now (actually I did see a glimpse of my passport in a folder in La Paz immigration but only for a beautiful, sacred second...)
Then we come back to (oops, nearly wrote "Australia"... that would have been a balls up, wouldn't it! You can tell where my mind is...) back to Cochabamba for some time (undefined, due to a general confusion of where I want to be) and then travel around Bolivia, Argentina, Chile.
There's a point to get across here and it's this: don't write to my Uyuni address anymore. Nor to my Potosi address. In fact, as of today, I count myself also as snail mail incommunicado. I could catch some mail on my way back through after Macchu Pichu, I could have it forwarded to Correos in other cities... but the quality of the mail I've got so far renders me to dismiss these ideas as too risky.
Thank you all so much who gave me some of my greatest pleasures in real time mail from home and abroad.
And now, a picture or two for those who don't read the entries...
When this happens, then what happens? I hear you ask. Well, the reason that I don't just follow up with a straight answer is because there is none.
Fiona is incommunicado (I've never heard a Latin Americano say that word, but my old host head of the family, Gonzalo just coincidentally walked in here and asked how Fiona was, and I showed him "Fiona is incommunicado" and he seemed to understand, so it's probably a Spanish word... yep.). So, Fiona is incommunicado and when she finally calls me or writes to me she'll hopefully make clearer the question on everyone's lips - when am I leaving? (Well, the question on everyone's lips except mine is "When are YOU leaving?")
When she gets back to La Paz I meet her, then we go to Macchu Pichu (which is only just nowdays not being a surpise to me - I had dismissed the place as purely a tourist trap, but I've come to realise, having made close connections with indigenous culture that it is a place I'd actually like to visit!) That is, we go to Macchu Pichu if I have my ... passport and visa, which I've not seen for over 9 months now (actually I did see a glimpse of my passport in a folder in La Paz immigration but only for a beautiful, sacred second...)
Then we come back to (oops, nearly wrote "Australia"... that would have been a balls up, wouldn't it! You can tell where my mind is...) back to Cochabamba for some time (undefined, due to a general confusion of where I want to be) and then travel around Bolivia, Argentina, Chile.
There's a point to get across here and it's this: don't write to my Uyuni address anymore. Nor to my Potosi address. In fact, as of today, I count myself also as snail mail incommunicado. I could catch some mail on my way back through after Macchu Pichu, I could have it forwarded to Correos in other cities... but the quality of the mail I've got so far renders me to dismiss these ideas as too risky.
Thank you all so much who gave me some of my greatest pleasures in real time mail from home and abroad.
And now, a picture or two for those who don't read the entries...
"Happy Birthday to yoooooooouuuu!!!" Mauro's birthday on Saturday included a surprise party that turned out strangely: I organised for he and I to arrive at my place after some drinks at the restaurant down the road while everyone else got to the house. As it turned out only four other people were present, one was my housemate (below far right), the other was Cinthya (below left), and Gustavo and Sandy (below right and centre respectively) were with us for the drinks! Felt a bit stupid when we all walked up the stairs together, got into the house and then said "surprise"...
I posted a picture a while ago in January where I'd fallen victim to the "take a bite out of your birthday cake" tradition, only to be pushed in head first. They told me it was only for stupid gringos to fall for, but even though Mauro saw it coming he was compliant anyway. And I can't let it not be said that Mauro ended the night in the back of his work (the Tirana Hotel) in an arm chair throwing up into a cardboard box. I had to almost carry him home, then the next day I made up some things that he did that didn't actually happen. Whee.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
*shrugs* I suppose it's better than this system...
Right. This is important. Seeing as the Australian Government are being irresponsible and underhanded (need I say it - again!) I need to make sure my vote is counted when they call the election. I want to be told exactly when the election is called as they don't list the Australian polling booths around these parts until an election is called and I'm going to need as much time as I can to get to one of these suckers. So, can you tell me? Email. Blog it. Call me. I want to know.
How are the government specifically being underhanded (again)?
Well, we used to have seven days after the election date was announced to actually enrol, but this time the polls will close to new voters at 8pm - the very night the election is officially called. If you're too busy or don't hear about the election in time and aren't already correctly enrolled, you won't be able to vote on Election Day.
Not sure if you're enrolled correctly? Just click on the link below. You can join the call to revoke this legislation and tell politicians to make it easier, not harder, for all of us to have a say at election time. You can also make sure you're correctly enrolled before the polls close in record time.
www.getup.org.au/campaign/DontLetThemStopYouFromVoting.
It's up to us to make sure we get a voice on Election Day.
Thanks! PS: On April 16, new ID requirements and extra red tape come into effect, so if you're in a rural area or overseas especially, make sure you get on the roll now (that means ME! But I checked - I'm still on the roll).
Your (totally unBolivian-related) FNBC.
How are the government specifically being underhanded (again)?
Well, we used to have seven days after the election date was announced to actually enrol, but this time the polls will close to new voters at 8pm - the very night the election is officially called. If you're too busy or don't hear about the election in time and aren't already correctly enrolled, you won't be able to vote on Election Day.
Not sure if you're enrolled correctly? Just click on the link below. You can join the call to revoke this legislation and tell politicians to make it easier, not harder, for all of us to have a say at election time. You can also make sure you're correctly enrolled before the polls close in record time.
www.getup.org.au/campaign/DontLetThemStopYouFromVoting.
It's up to us to make sure we get a voice on Election Day.
Thanks! PS: On April 16, new ID requirements and extra red tape come into effect, so if you're in a rural area or overseas especially, make sure you get on the roll now (that means ME! But I checked - I'm still on the roll).
Your (totally unBolivian-related) FNBC.
Monday, April 02, 2007
Backwards & Friedbrains
Clifton Hill. 1999. A haunted house (a long long story). Melbourne venues began to have its own hauntings of a pool-playing duo of Overseers, facing such supervillians as The Rock, The Buckaneer, and the Stingray... Terrible times of high crimes... Strawberry milk and bakery-hot bread helped us on our nutritious way. Flying chalkboards and our very own Hell-Catwoman.
There are days when I can't believe how time flies and they're usually the ones that make you want to relive days like this.
Thanks Rupert, see you soon-ish.
Capricorn scorn.
Capricorn
It will do you a world of good to retreat from the pressures of the outside world and just curl up by yourself for a while. If you can lower the volume of your life for a few days, some helpful introspection is bound to come. What other people have to say about your life is just noise right now, since no one can truly understand what you're feeling (despite what they say). Rely on yourself for the answers -- if you believe that you have them, they will come.
Always the way, just when I'm busy...
Although I've found relying on myself for my own answers is very good for getting things right, it's sooooo much easier to do what other people tell you to.
It will do you a world of good to retreat from the pressures of the outside world and just curl up by yourself for a while. If you can lower the volume of your life for a few days, some helpful introspection is bound to come. What other people have to say about your life is just noise right now, since no one can truly understand what you're feeling (despite what they say). Rely on yourself for the answers -- if you believe that you have them, they will come.
Always the way, just when I'm busy...
Although I've found relying on myself for my own answers is very good for getting things right, it's sooooo much easier to do what other people tell you to.
Sunday, April 01, 2007
One year out of the country and counting...
*cheers of adulation, admiration, salutation and enviation*
*he bows*
Thank you... thankyou.
*he bows*
Thank you... thankyou.
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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