The American Dream, with regard to democratic ideals, upholds rights to “Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”# On September 11, 2001, 19 Al-Qaeda terrorists hijacked four commercial jetliners, two of which were flown into the Twin Towers of the World Trade Centre, one into the Pentagon, whilst the final plane crash-landed in a field in rural Pennsylvania. The responsive actions articulated by George W. Bush in the wake of these attacks catalysed an uproar, and caused a greater tragedy inherently contradictory to the American Dream. Evidence of this can be seen in the unnecessarily excessive War on Terror#, the human rights violations that occurred in Guantanamo Bay Detention Centre and the civil liberties violations of the governmental reforms implemented.
A plethora of diverse opinions on Bush’s reactions were (and still are) present. Writers and social commentators, Hunter S. Thompson, Gore Vidal, Michael Moore, and Noam Chomsky all expressed criticisms of the implemented actions. Bruce Schneier, a security expert, members of the ACLU (American Civil Liberties Union), John Gilmore, an American citizen and Declan Mcullagh, chief political correspondent for CNET, criticised governmental and security reforms, particularly those infringing on civil liberties. Former UN Secretary General, Kofi Annan, opposed the invasion of Iraq. Neoconservatives however, were often fervently in favour of Bush’s decisions. For example, Jim Phillips of the Heritage Foundation supported the awful treatment of prisoners at Guantanamo Bay Detention Centre, treatment portrayed in a satirical political cartoon appearing on website, “Mikes Noise“. Max Boot, an author, historian and neoconservative, supported Bush’s rationale for war.
After the attacks of September 11, the US government claimed that Iraq was now an actual threat to their security and that of coalition allies due to Iraq’s alleged possession of WMD’s (weapons of mass destruction), and soon began pressing for military intervention within Iraq. This rationale was not a black and white issue and was thus highly contentious. Bush stated that the United States should “be ready for preemptive action when necessary to defend our liberty and to defend our lives.”# This would imply attempted protection of ideologies reflected within the American Dream, and this pre-emptive war rationale was supported by Max Boot, who actually stated “we ought to go further.”# It may also be interesting to note that despite US knowledge that Osama Bin Laden and Al-Qaeda members were residing in Afghanistan, Iraq was, as stated by Bush, the “central front in the War on Terror.”# This perhaps gives credence to Thompson’s statement that “all he (Bush) knows is that his father started the war a long time ago, and that he….has been chosen to finish it Now.”# Kofi Annan stated that the 2003 invasion of Iraq was “not in conformity with the UN Charter…from the Charter point of view, the invasion was illegal.”# Many other harsh criticisms of the War on Terror were present. American intellectual, Gore Vidal, argued that the war was a “perpetual war for perpetual peace”# as the underlying ideologies that fuelled the war held their basis in Bush’s tirade against the abstract notions of sin and evil, rather than a defined enemy capable of defeat. The September 11 terrorist attacks claimed the lives of 2,819 individuals, whilst the number of lives lost in the War on Terror equates to 62,006, thus giving credence to Noam Chomsky’s statement that, “The new millennium has begun with two monstrous crimes; the attacks of September 11, and the reaction to them…”# This blatant disregard for human Life, and Liberties of fellow humans wherein their Happiness was unmistakably disturbed by the horrors of the War on terror, make it obvious that this war was inherently contrary to the American Dream.
Guantanamo Bay Detention Centre# is a detainment facility run by the United States government since 2002. The Justice Department advised that GBDC could be considered outside of US legal jurisdiction and therefore, subsequently, the US asserted that the detainees weren’t entitled to protections under the Geneva Convention. Jim Phillips stated that "some of these terrorists who are not recognized as soldiers don't deserve to be treated as soldiers."# Critics of U.S. policy say the government has violated the Conventions in attempting to create a distinction between "prisoners of war" and "illegal combatants." Accusations of torture have been presented by many past detainees, and idea portrayed in a satirical cartoon appearing on website, “Mikes Noise.”# The New York Times columnist Thomas Friedman urged George W. Bush to "just shut it down", calling Camp Delta "... worse than an embarrassment."# On June 29, 2006, the US Supreme Court ruled in Hamdan Vs Rumsfeld that the detainees were entitled to the minimal protections under Article 3 of the Geneva Convention. As the American Dream upholds certain egalitarian ideologies, these actions can be seen as contrary to the notion, through the discrimination and persecution of detainees.
Complaints pertaining to the violation, or possible violation, of ones civil liberties came about due to the Information Awareness Office (IAO). The attacks of September 11 served as a catalyst for the introduction of the IAO, which was established in January 2002 by the Defence Advanced Research Projects Agency. The mission undergone by the IAO was to "imagine, develop, apply, integrate, demonstrate and transition information technologies, components and prototype, closed-loop, information systems that will counter asymmetric threats by achieving total information awareness."# However, critics were sceptical, positing that large-scale information aggregation and analysis technologies are a grace threat to privacy and civil liberties, and that it may lead to a mass surveillance system, described by Declan McCullagh as “Orwellian.”# Following this staunch public criticism, in 2003, Congress ceased funding the IAO, but several of the projects run by the IAO have continued under different funding. The infringement upon civil liberties evident within this can be seen as oppositional to the American Dream, and the Liberties encapsulated within the notion.
The arguably unconstitutional nature of the security reforms implemented posed another quandary. In Gilmore Vs Gonzales, John Gilmore sued United Airlines, Southwest Airlines, and US Attorney-General John Ashcroft expressing the idea that showing identification as a prerequisite to boarding domestic flights was tantamount to an international passport, and therefore unconstitutional, as it restricted his right to travel, to petition government and to speak anonymously. Controversy also pursued when the airlines and government failed to show the directive under which they were acting, with accusations of the public being subject to “secret law” running rampant. Bruce Schneier asserted that the security reforms were completely unnecessary, and it can therefore be seen that they did little more then infringe upon civil liberties; an unfortunate and seemingly frequent trend contrary to the American Dream.
The provisions of the USA PATRIOT Act# predominantly purposed to deter and punish terrorist activity whilst simultaneously expansively enhancing law enforcement power. Michael Moore and the ACLU both criticised the introduction of this act and, in addition, the ACU (American Conservative Union) refused to support this piece of legislation, thus forging an unlikely alliance. The ACLU asserted that the act was excessively vague in stipulating its circumstances of application and, as a result, understandably feared pursuant violations of civil liberties. Section 215 of the act, it was argued, lowered the standard necessary for probable cause below that of the Fourth Amendment, and hence was unconstitutional. Section 206 brought about accusations of confusing language that may allow for privacy violations of anyone encountering a suspect. In his film, Fahrenheit 911#, Michael Moore drives around in an ice cream van reading out sections of the Patriot Act, before getting a congressman to admit that he did not read it before approving it. The level of extra governmental powers that this Act allowed sparked Michael Moore to claim, “We have entered Orwellian and Bradburian times.” On March 9, 2007, these fears became reality after a Justice Department audit exposed the shocking revelation that the FBI had “improperly and, in some cases, illegally used the Patriot Act to secretly obtain information”# about US citizens. From this, it becomes evident that the Patriot Act, particularly the civil liberties violations it precipitated, was in direct opposition to the American Dream, specifically the liberties entailed with the notion.
Since the early 19th century, America has been regarded as a shining beacon of Liberty and Prosperity, a notion reflected within the American Dream. The actions with which George W. Bush responded to the 9/11 attacks were inherently contrary to the American Dream. Lives were lost in the war on terrorism as a result of his decisions, civil liberties were violated due to governmental reforms he implemented, and in Guantanamo Bay Detention Centre, basic human rights were denied. From this it can be seen that by orchestrating the American reaction to the monstrous crimes that were the September 11 attacks, George Bush broke the heart of the American Dream and created a far worse and far-stretching tragedy
Saturday, January 8, 2011
I have a bee in my bonnet, and I'm not afraid to buzz and blog about it.
You know what really grinds my gears? Most things, actually, but I won't bore you with every single gory detail, I'll just rant and rave about this one. I'm not a huge fan of medicine, look up,it says so in the blurb under the title quite clearly. I know it sounds a little on the self defeating side, but I'm not convinced that medicine is healing people. In fact, I think it's become a religion.
Huh? Nah, religion and science/medicine are opposites, everyone knows that......except for when they're exactly the same. I was raised in a church going family, we'd go to church on Sunday, girls rally, youth group and play group for the littlies. Our church community formed the moral bedrock of our lives, and gave us a guide as to how to live best.
Medicne now tells me how to live best. It tells me how to often feed my kids, and what I should feed them. Medicine tells me, based on it's incontrovertible research, how to discipline my children, how much sunshine they should be exposed to, how much they should sleep and what natural illnesses they should be prevented from ever having, regardless of whether or not there's any likelihood of them having adverse effects from said illnesses, and regardless of whether or not they're ever going to be exposed to these illnesses.
Bubonic plague, for example. Why aren't my kids immunized against bubonic plague? Its deadly! And every single year there's a few cases where Yersinia Pestis raises its ugly head, thanks to more marmots than the traditional villain of the piece, the Norwegian Black Rat. Surely we should all be immunized to prevent the return of a killer? Not worried? That's right, you have FAITH in medicine and science to do whats right for you, and that is nothing at al like faith in God or another spiritual belief
Anyone who trusts in religious beliefs to save them from inevitable illness is obviously psychologically unstable, ignorant of the real facts and is guilty of not being as sophisticated a thinker as us educated, rational types, and they're probably wearing a rather fetching hat made out of tinfoil.
God didn't save me from acne. Neither did medicine.
God didn't stop me from nearly bleeding to death with some weird, undiagnosed bleeding disorder. Medicine doesn't have a clue about my bleeding disorder and nearly killed me when they used the standard protocols. My daughter would not be alive if I'd continued to take medical advice during her pregnancy. (Thankfully, the hematologist agreed, he said he didn't know what caused it, and therefore couldn't safely treat it)
God has never relieved my migraine pain. Neither has medicine
God hasn't cured my son's autism. Neither has medicine.
You feel unwell, depressed, alway irritable? See your doctor. But why? Emotions are normal, they don't need to be eradicated. Some people would talk to a priest, rabbi, mufti, minister or what have you when presented with the same symptoms. And we'd think they were crazy. Maybe we should all just talk to a friend, I know there's no profit for church or medicine in that, but it might help. Certainly sounds like its worth a try.
Yet for all medicine's apparent omnipotence, how many illnesses can we really cure? Not many times, or a few times, how many can we CURE each and every time? If i break my leg, disembowel myself, have a heart attack or get meningococcal seoticameia, I'm going to the hospital, so they can set my leg (and give me painkillers), stitch me back up with my insides on the inside, check my heart is still going, or pump me full of antibiotics because those things do work.
For funerals and weddings, I'm probably going to get a minister. In that situation, they also work very well. And from what I've gathered from many conversations with those who suffer what medicine terms a mental illness, sometimes spiritually of some sort is effective. Maybe not immediately, but Zoloft doesn't work straight away, in fact it takes months. The minister, priest, mufti, rabbi or whatever may very well afford you some relief and support in a much faster time frame.
Our priests, our wise men have been replaced with doctors. We're baptized into the religion of modern medicine at birth with vitamin k shots and hepatitis B vaccines. We tell our children "eat right, its healthy, you'll live longer", where we used to tell them, "do good, be good, believe and you'll go to heaven". We're not that into heaven these days, we replaced it with living far longer. Good health is the only path to salvation and righteousness. Smokers are sinners, alternative health practioners and those who use them are heretics, doomed to an eternity of self induced ill health, and all due to their lack of faith in the one true God- the unholy, but scientifically proven trinity of Science, the father, Medicne, the son, and Profits, the holy ghost.
And any good believer in medicine will ensure their child receives regular blessed sacraments of paracetamol, vaccines, and antibiotics (even when its a virus or something else that antibiotics cant help. See that figure running away in the distance? That's your immune system, running away from a broken home). If you don't follow the rules of the new church, you don't deserve to be a parent. This church requires total obedience, and lets face it, having the TV and media acting as a twenty four hour a day sermon about how great our new god is was probably the sort of public relations coup that God should have thought of, but didn't. To the victor go the spoils...........
I could go on and on for days about this, but I'll try to contain myself. Medicine lies, or at least isn't as awesome as it wants you to think. Smoking does not necessarily cause cancer, its one of many risk factors, its not been proven to be 100% causative. Do 100% of smokers die from cancer? No.Is HPV implicated in lung cancer? Yes! Does smoking have some health benefits? Yes, it even protects against ome really nasty things, like thyroid cancer. Yeah, protects from cancer. Thyroid cancer, and endometrial cancer. Good for ulcerative colitis, reduces the chances of alzheimers, but isn't fantastic for your respiratory system, I type as I cough.
Try telling someone smoking isn't all bad and you'll get a reaction like you're in a catholic church at Easter and yelling, "BOLLOCKS!", because you would be uttering a blasphemy.
Both religion and medicine have and are turning huge profits off our "faith", and not doing a whole lot for us as thanks. If you believe in God, then you believe you were given free choice and intelligence by a creator. He might just want you to use those facilities. If you believe in science/medicine, you believe you evolved intelligence and the ability to make rational decisions. You might want to try using that facility.
Maybe instead, we should put our faith in the one thing we can trust. Our own ability to rise above the bullshit and demand better. Just maybe we can learn to rely on each other and demand truth from our doctors and leaders, be they spiritual or polical. There's a lot of false gods. I'm going to believe in me, my ability to choose right from wrong, based on all available knowledge and retaining the right to change my mind. I'm also going to believe in you. If I have a religion, its that we can all do better. And next time I'll do better at editing (ipads have quirks)
Huh? Nah, religion and science/medicine are opposites, everyone knows that......except for when they're exactly the same. I was raised in a church going family, we'd go to church on Sunday, girls rally, youth group and play group for the littlies. Our church community formed the moral bedrock of our lives, and gave us a guide as to how to live best.
Medicne now tells me how to live best. It tells me how to often feed my kids, and what I should feed them. Medicine tells me, based on it's incontrovertible research, how to discipline my children, how much sunshine they should be exposed to, how much they should sleep and what natural illnesses they should be prevented from ever having, regardless of whether or not there's any likelihood of them having adverse effects from said illnesses, and regardless of whether or not they're ever going to be exposed to these illnesses.
Bubonic plague, for example. Why aren't my kids immunized against bubonic plague? Its deadly! And every single year there's a few cases where Yersinia Pestis raises its ugly head, thanks to more marmots than the traditional villain of the piece, the Norwegian Black Rat. Surely we should all be immunized to prevent the return of a killer? Not worried? That's right, you have FAITH in medicine and science to do whats right for you, and that is nothing at al like faith in God or another spiritual belief
Anyone who trusts in religious beliefs to save them from inevitable illness is obviously psychologically unstable, ignorant of the real facts and is guilty of not being as sophisticated a thinker as us educated, rational types, and they're probably wearing a rather fetching hat made out of tinfoil.
God didn't save me from acne. Neither did medicine.
God didn't stop me from nearly bleeding to death with some weird, undiagnosed bleeding disorder. Medicine doesn't have a clue about my bleeding disorder and nearly killed me when they used the standard protocols. My daughter would not be alive if I'd continued to take medical advice during her pregnancy. (Thankfully, the hematologist agreed, he said he didn't know what caused it, and therefore couldn't safely treat it)
God has never relieved my migraine pain. Neither has medicine
God hasn't cured my son's autism. Neither has medicine.
You feel unwell, depressed, alway irritable? See your doctor. But why? Emotions are normal, they don't need to be eradicated. Some people would talk to a priest, rabbi, mufti, minister or what have you when presented with the same symptoms. And we'd think they were crazy. Maybe we should all just talk to a friend, I know there's no profit for church or medicine in that, but it might help. Certainly sounds like its worth a try.
Yet for all medicine's apparent omnipotence, how many illnesses can we really cure? Not many times, or a few times, how many can we CURE each and every time? If i break my leg, disembowel myself, have a heart attack or get meningococcal seoticameia, I'm going to the hospital, so they can set my leg (and give me painkillers), stitch me back up with my insides on the inside, check my heart is still going, or pump me full of antibiotics because those things do work.
For funerals and weddings, I'm probably going to get a minister. In that situation, they also work very well. And from what I've gathered from many conversations with those who suffer what medicine terms a mental illness, sometimes spiritually of some sort is effective. Maybe not immediately, but Zoloft doesn't work straight away, in fact it takes months. The minister, priest, mufti, rabbi or whatever may very well afford you some relief and support in a much faster time frame.
Our priests, our wise men have been replaced with doctors. We're baptized into the religion of modern medicine at birth with vitamin k shots and hepatitis B vaccines. We tell our children "eat right, its healthy, you'll live longer", where we used to tell them, "do good, be good, believe and you'll go to heaven". We're not that into heaven these days, we replaced it with living far longer. Good health is the only path to salvation and righteousness. Smokers are sinners, alternative health practioners and those who use them are heretics, doomed to an eternity of self induced ill health, and all due to their lack of faith in the one true God- the unholy, but scientifically proven trinity of Science, the father, Medicne, the son, and Profits, the holy ghost.
And any good believer in medicine will ensure their child receives regular blessed sacraments of paracetamol, vaccines, and antibiotics (even when its a virus or something else that antibiotics cant help. See that figure running away in the distance? That's your immune system, running away from a broken home). If you don't follow the rules of the new church, you don't deserve to be a parent. This church requires total obedience, and lets face it, having the TV and media acting as a twenty four hour a day sermon about how great our new god is was probably the sort of public relations coup that God should have thought of, but didn't. To the victor go the spoils...........
I could go on and on for days about this, but I'll try to contain myself. Medicine lies, or at least isn't as awesome as it wants you to think. Smoking does not necessarily cause cancer, its one of many risk factors, its not been proven to be 100% causative. Do 100% of smokers die from cancer? No.Is HPV implicated in lung cancer? Yes! Does smoking have some health benefits? Yes, it even protects against ome really nasty things, like thyroid cancer. Yeah, protects from cancer. Thyroid cancer, and endometrial cancer. Good for ulcerative colitis, reduces the chances of alzheimers, but isn't fantastic for your respiratory system, I type as I cough.
Try telling someone smoking isn't all bad and you'll get a reaction like you're in a catholic church at Easter and yelling, "BOLLOCKS!", because you would be uttering a blasphemy.
Both religion and medicine have and are turning huge profits off our "faith", and not doing a whole lot for us as thanks. If you believe in God, then you believe you were given free choice and intelligence by a creator. He might just want you to use those facilities. If you believe in science/medicine, you believe you evolved intelligence and the ability to make rational decisions. You might want to try using that facility.
Maybe instead, we should put our faith in the one thing we can trust. Our own ability to rise above the bullshit and demand better. Just maybe we can learn to rely on each other and demand truth from our doctors and leaders, be they spiritual or polical. There's a lot of false gods. I'm going to believe in me, my ability to choose right from wrong, based on all available knowledge and retaining the right to change my mind. I'm also going to believe in you. If I have a religion, its that we can all do better. And next time I'll do better at editing (ipads have quirks)
The start of a novel that is yet to be completed. By Felipe DeLeask
During a rather tortuous period of my life, I was disturbed by my discovery that I had lost my keys, and a thorough search of my persons revealed that I had also misplaced my mind; I resolved to do the logical thing and write a book. I found my keys soon after. They were in my bag, but they pretty much always are, aren’t they? Then the microwave started beeping.
I hate microwaves. I hate that they’re so loud and obnoxious, and the high-pitched beeping they use to grab your attention angers me. Oh, and I’m not even gonna start on the difficulties of setting the time on them…
So I ripped open the microwave, and then calmly grabbed the hot cup of coffee. I placed it on the bench and added milk and sugar, two teaspoons. I grabbed a Dunhill, briefly felt like Hunter S. Thompson, then went outside and lit my cigarette. There was a cold breeze blowing through, which added a pleasant edge to the hideous heat that blasted down upon Western Sydney. I lent on the balcony railing and the picturesque scene ahead got me smiling, as always.
I decided that one day I would take a picture of it. My knowledge that it would perfectly capture the vulgarity and depravity typical of the area pleased me to no end. I thought about photography and other frivolous things until I finished my coffee and cigarette. I then returned to my humble abode; a bed-sit apartment in Mount Druitt - however, it’s not in Mount Druitt. I just tell people it is. Signs and maps and street directories will tell you this area is Whalan, but they may as well be lying and Whalan may as well be called Hebersham or Tregear or Plumpton because they‘re all just suburbs pretending they‘re not Mount Druitt.
And I thought to myself; “you should probably remember that for your novel, that is a stellar sentence…” I grabbed my bag, pulled it over my shoulders, and swung open the door and:
“Holy Calamity,“Yo,” I said, answering my mobile.
Scream insanity
All you ever gonna be’s
Another great fan of me.”
(I’m not terribly sure when I began using this hideous slang, but it seems to have spread like a virus. In my circle of friends it began with Stu. He then infected Jaz, who in turn infected me. Although we all sound a little silly saying this, it is I who look the most foolish; as a skinny white guy who wears scuffed sneakers and tight pants, there‘s something inherently comical about my use of colloquialisms such as, “yo.”)
“Oh. Hey man. It’s Jaz.”
“Yeah? Sup?”
I had a feeling he was going to ask me to engage in some, shall we say, questionable extra-curricular activities.
“Not a lot. How‘s tricks?”
“Yeah, you know, not bad. ”
“Yeah, so I was wondering if you’d be interested in a chill today, your place? I have to get on and everything, though. Getting together a fifty.”
“Huh?” I said, “how’d you get the money for that?”
“Ah, I just hocked some shit,” Jaz replied. I laughed.
“Yeah well, I just gotta go round my Mum’s for a bit - “
“Remember you owe me a sesh, right?” interrupted Jaz.
“Yeah.”
“Awesome, see you in an hour. I’m waiting for the bus now.”
Beep, beep, beep.Goddamnit, I thought. An hour? I legged it down the stairs, jumped the apartment complex fence and jogged down through the tunnel towards my Mum’s place.
I arrived at my Mum’s panting and tired. I flung open the screen door, and jumped triumphantly into the room violently screaming, “Put ya hands in the air, motherfuckers.”
My mother shrieked in fright.
“What the fuck, Texas?! Don’t do that; you scared the shit out of me. That’s it; Rob! (“yeah?”) from now on the screen door stays locked at all times, even if Beau isn’t here.( “Did Tex‘s entrance startle you again?) Of course it did, the little lunatic.”
I regained my composure after several bouts of hysterical laughter, repetitively gibbering, “Haha, you should’ve seen your face.”
“Anyways, anyways,” I said, “can you take me to do that shopping?”
“Yeah,” Mum sighed, “but I want a coffee and a cigarette first.”
“Ahh, that’s an issue - Jaz is coming round, and in his typical fashion, he has given me a sudden and unexpected timeframe with which to work.”
“When’s he get here?”
“Aye? Well… an hour was before so, ionno,” I said, checking the time on my phone. “Oh wait. He’d arrive in say, forty-five?”
And then Mum said; “Yeah, that sounds doable,” before slipping on some shoes and lighting a cigarette as we went outside towards the car.
She turned towards me and said, “Remember, you’ve got an appointment with Christoph-Mike-Sleu” (she says his name like an infant impersonating a retarded person) “and Jackie tomorrow.”
“It’s gonna be a fuck around and they’re gonna treat me like an idiot again. There’s a fine line between madness and stupidity, and these people clearly don’t recognise it.”
“Yes,” said Mum, “I know, I know. Walls always tumble when madmen wield swords. But you need a diagnosis.”
“Yeah I’m positive I’ll feel less crazy once I have a piece of paper that officially declares my insanity.”
“Get in the car and stop wasting time.”
I got in the car. Whoosh.
The shopping was shopped and purchased without disaster rearing its ugly head.
Back at my bed-sit I packed up my wonderful goodies, my delicious snacks and refreshing beverages, and headed down the road to the Bus Stop near Victor’s. Victor is a young, non-descript asian male. It didn’t take me long to conclude that he must prefer to avoid arousing attention; his clothes are similarly non-descript and he wears nothing of flamboyance or style. His clothes are simple and plain, rarely shifting from a t-shirt with track pants - this is more or less the uniform of Mount Druitt. He too resides in the charming town of Whalan and comes from a working class family. However, unlike myself, Victor has discovered a clever way to make a quick profit- the age-old hobby of buying and selling illegal substances for personal profit. He is, in laymen terms, a Drug Dealer.
Five minutes passed before I saw Jaz’s bus turn the corner. The bus was in fact due to arrive ten minutes prior to it’s actual arrival, although this did not surprise me; if there is one thing you can count on in Western Sydney, it is the unreliability of our public transport system. Of course, that is not to say that the transport system is entirely at fault; the blame also falls upon the Neanderthal lads who reside out near Shalvey. (As I previously mentioned, many suburbs pretend not to be Mounty County; Shalvey is one such suburb.) Stu once enlightened us with a story of some Shalvey boys rocking buses:
“And I was like, what? You rocked the buses? You live in Shalvey! How’re you gonna get anywhere? What do they say? Ahh nah cuz, we jus’ rock da kents for the rep, the cred. But without buses you’re stuck there - you cant even get to Mounty. Aye? Yer bu’ ya gotta. And cuz - we ran out dere, the side of the street, right? We ran dere’ an’ picked up da rock’s and frew em, shoutin, “awwh yeah, cuz. Shalvey reprasant!” But den some fookin’ gronk, a total gronk I tells ya, dey start makin’ our business their business, y’know? Dey dun told us not ta frow rocks! So we told em what fer, told da deekhead ta mind ‘is own fookin’ bishness!…Fair enough, fair enough. But something still doesn’t make sense; why do want reputation more than you want transport? Aye? Ya get da rep and people come namadder what. Ya rock some buses, an’ den no kent wanna fuck widge ya; ya one of da Shalvey boys - an’ ya don’t fuck with ‘em ‘cos they’ll fuck ya up, just like they did the buses.” Yep. And that, my friend, is the problem with this place.
Mounty County; we’re not just stupid, but violent as well. You see, the problem is that stupid people are my mortal enemies. And there’s just so many of them around here - Mount Druitt is a festering cesspool of idiocy.
I hate microwaves. I hate that they’re so loud and obnoxious, and the high-pitched beeping they use to grab your attention angers me. Oh, and I’m not even gonna start on the difficulties of setting the time on them…
So I ripped open the microwave, and then calmly grabbed the hot cup of coffee. I placed it on the bench and added milk and sugar, two teaspoons. I grabbed a Dunhill, briefly felt like Hunter S. Thompson, then went outside and lit my cigarette. There was a cold breeze blowing through, which added a pleasant edge to the hideous heat that blasted down upon Western Sydney. I lent on the balcony railing and the picturesque scene ahead got me smiling, as always.
I decided that one day I would take a picture of it. My knowledge that it would perfectly capture the vulgarity and depravity typical of the area pleased me to no end. I thought about photography and other frivolous things until I finished my coffee and cigarette. I then returned to my humble abode; a bed-sit apartment in Mount Druitt - however, it’s not in Mount Druitt. I just tell people it is. Signs and maps and street directories will tell you this area is Whalan, but they may as well be lying and Whalan may as well be called Hebersham or Tregear or Plumpton because they‘re all just suburbs pretending they‘re not Mount Druitt.
And I thought to myself; “you should probably remember that for your novel, that is a stellar sentence…” I grabbed my bag, pulled it over my shoulders, and swung open the door and:
“Holy Calamity,“Yo,” I said, answering my mobile.
Scream insanity
All you ever gonna be’s
Another great fan of me.”
(I’m not terribly sure when I began using this hideous slang, but it seems to have spread like a virus. In my circle of friends it began with Stu. He then infected Jaz, who in turn infected me. Although we all sound a little silly saying this, it is I who look the most foolish; as a skinny white guy who wears scuffed sneakers and tight pants, there‘s something inherently comical about my use of colloquialisms such as, “yo.”)
“Oh. Hey man. It’s Jaz.”
“Yeah? Sup?”
I had a feeling he was going to ask me to engage in some, shall we say, questionable extra-curricular activities.
“Not a lot. How‘s tricks?”
“Yeah, you know, not bad. ”
“Yeah, so I was wondering if you’d be interested in a chill today, your place? I have to get on and everything, though. Getting together a fifty.”
“Huh?” I said, “how’d you get the money for that?”
“Ah, I just hocked some shit,” Jaz replied. I laughed.
“Yeah well, I just gotta go round my Mum’s for a bit - “
“Remember you owe me a sesh, right?” interrupted Jaz.
“Yeah.”
“Awesome, see you in an hour. I’m waiting for the bus now.”
Beep, beep, beep.Goddamnit, I thought. An hour? I legged it down the stairs, jumped the apartment complex fence and jogged down through the tunnel towards my Mum’s place.
I arrived at my Mum’s panting and tired. I flung open the screen door, and jumped triumphantly into the room violently screaming, “Put ya hands in the air, motherfuckers.”
My mother shrieked in fright.
“What the fuck, Texas?! Don’t do that; you scared the shit out of me. That’s it; Rob! (“yeah?”) from now on the screen door stays locked at all times, even if Beau isn’t here.( “Did Tex‘s entrance startle you again?) Of course it did, the little lunatic.”
I regained my composure after several bouts of hysterical laughter, repetitively gibbering, “Haha, you should’ve seen your face.”
“Anyways, anyways,” I said, “can you take me to do that shopping?”
“Yeah,” Mum sighed, “but I want a coffee and a cigarette first.”
“Ahh, that’s an issue - Jaz is coming round, and in his typical fashion, he has given me a sudden and unexpected timeframe with which to work.”
“When’s he get here?”
“Aye? Well… an hour was before so, ionno,” I said, checking the time on my phone. “Oh wait. He’d arrive in say, forty-five?”
And then Mum said; “Yeah, that sounds doable,” before slipping on some shoes and lighting a cigarette as we went outside towards the car.
She turned towards me and said, “Remember, you’ve got an appointment with Christoph-Mike-Sleu” (she says his name like an infant impersonating a retarded person) “and Jackie tomorrow.”
“It’s gonna be a fuck around and they’re gonna treat me like an idiot again. There’s a fine line between madness and stupidity, and these people clearly don’t recognise it.”
“Yes,” said Mum, “I know, I know. Walls always tumble when madmen wield swords. But you need a diagnosis.”
“Yeah I’m positive I’ll feel less crazy once I have a piece of paper that officially declares my insanity.”
“Get in the car and stop wasting time.”
I got in the car. Whoosh.
The shopping was shopped and purchased without disaster rearing its ugly head.
Back at my bed-sit I packed up my wonderful goodies, my delicious snacks and refreshing beverages, and headed down the road to the Bus Stop near Victor’s. Victor is a young, non-descript asian male. It didn’t take me long to conclude that he must prefer to avoid arousing attention; his clothes are similarly non-descript and he wears nothing of flamboyance or style. His clothes are simple and plain, rarely shifting from a t-shirt with track pants - this is more or less the uniform of Mount Druitt. He too resides in the charming town of Whalan and comes from a working class family. However, unlike myself, Victor has discovered a clever way to make a quick profit- the age-old hobby of buying and selling illegal substances for personal profit. He is, in laymen terms, a Drug Dealer.
Five minutes passed before I saw Jaz’s bus turn the corner. The bus was in fact due to arrive ten minutes prior to it’s actual arrival, although this did not surprise me; if there is one thing you can count on in Western Sydney, it is the unreliability of our public transport system. Of course, that is not to say that the transport system is entirely at fault; the blame also falls upon the Neanderthal lads who reside out near Shalvey. (As I previously mentioned, many suburbs pretend not to be Mounty County; Shalvey is one such suburb.) Stu once enlightened us with a story of some Shalvey boys rocking buses:
“And I was like, what? You rocked the buses? You live in Shalvey! How’re you gonna get anywhere? What do they say? Ahh nah cuz, we jus’ rock da kents for the rep, the cred. But without buses you’re stuck there - you cant even get to Mounty. Aye? Yer bu’ ya gotta. And cuz - we ran out dere, the side of the street, right? We ran dere’ an’ picked up da rock’s and frew em, shoutin, “awwh yeah, cuz. Shalvey reprasant!” But den some fookin’ gronk, a total gronk I tells ya, dey start makin’ our business their business, y’know? Dey dun told us not ta frow rocks! So we told em what fer, told da deekhead ta mind ‘is own fookin’ bishness!…Fair enough, fair enough. But something still doesn’t make sense; why do want reputation more than you want transport? Aye? Ya get da rep and people come namadder what. Ya rock some buses, an’ den no kent wanna fuck widge ya; ya one of da Shalvey boys - an’ ya don’t fuck with ‘em ‘cos they’ll fuck ya up, just like they did the buses.” Yep. And that, my friend, is the problem with this place.
Mounty County; we’re not just stupid, but violent as well. You see, the problem is that stupid people are my mortal enemies. And there’s just so many of them around here - Mount Druitt is a festering cesspool of idiocy.
Are You Sitting Comfortably?
Are you sitting comfortably? I don't really care, but you're more likely to keep reading if you're comfortable.
There's a moment for every pro wrestler, when you're standing backstage, waiting anxiously for the cue that sends you through the curtains, when time stops, the crowds roar dims, and you seriously leave yourself behind. A dead-mans moment, when you cease to exist, and find yourself held hostage by a character that may not be of your making. I was having one of those very moments. JessieLee departed, and Poison Ivy entered, stage left.
I watched the monitor, and ruminated on how the match wasn't working. The guys in the ring were both blessed with the kind of physique only ego and steroids could achieve, and although they looked the part, they weren't up to standard, and were so lacking in cardiovascular fitness that three minutes into the match they were showing signs of exhaustion. Their clumsiness annoyed me, in fact, most things in the business annoyed me..............
At last, I spotted my badly performed cue move, and as my the first notes of my theme music started, I burst through the curtains, aluminum shovel over my shoulder, paused for the camera, and then sprinted to the ring, rolled in, hit them both in of the back of the head with said trusty shovel, posed for the camera again, and then scarpered just as the comrades and/or sympathizers of the fallen came to rescue them.
Lets get this clear, pro wrestling is a hideous bitch goddess, and no good comes to those who worship at her temple. I was a veteran, and had done 18 years hard time as penance for being dumb enough to think it might be a fun thing to try. Which, by the way, it is. Fun, I mean. If you do it right. Otherwise I imagine it may hurt. The debate that has been ongoing since two atoms smashed together and started a chain reaction that culminated in life as we know it, over just how much of what happens in a wrestling ring is real will be put to rest now, by me. Its fake, mostly. But only as fake as repeatedly, intentionally falling down, sometimes from a fairly appreciable height. Take a moment now, if you will, and consider how much of your life you've spent specifically avoiding falling down, particularly from any kind of height, and maybe you can begin to appreciate the peculiar art that is known as pro wrestling.
We call it bumping, but it is the fine art of falling down without catastrophically injuring yourself. You learn, you train and it becomes natural. At least most of the time. Call it what you want- a sham, fake, faux, acting even, there's absolutely no denying that it is inherently dangerous, much more so than working at the supermarket, which I imagine is fraught with its own dangers. But they never ask you to throw yourself over a shoulder high rope, that I'd like to point out is designed to keep you in there, and land on the wooden dance floor at ringside. I've heard it speculated that it's actually padded and is cleverly disguised t look like a hard, unyielding wooden floor, but if that is the case, I must say that the masquerade is so perfect that the floor doesn't even feel padded. Every move is a bump. There's front bumps and back bumps, the occasional side bump, the arse bump and the rolling bumps. Add in some chain wrestling to make it look like you might really know what you're doing and that's basically it. Faces get cheered and heels gets booed, everyone gets paid, some people get the shits, and they all take off their tights and go home.
Except for the times when I wore the tights home. Which were many, because I firmly disliked getting undressed in the back of a truck surrounded by sweaty behemoths that smelled of wrestler, a unique and pungent odor particular to those who chose a career as a cartoonesque figure and then never washed their costume. This was to be one of the nights I wore the tights home, but thankfully it was by choice, and because they looked amazing. I may have been forty, by by god, I still looked good in spandex.
Spandex, as you may know, is a very unforgiving fabric. It's use in pro wrestling costumes is entirely justified because pro wrestling is an unforgiving vocation, and as surely as confused young men are drawn to the priesthood, thus sacrificing many of lifes pleasures, so we wrestlers also sacrifice. We sacrifice our bodies, our psyches, and our bank accounts, because let me tell you, rich wrestlers are few and far between. Conversely, there's an abundance of poverty stricken, injury racked, soon to he crippled workers out there, nursing bruises and waiting for old age and arthritis to do it's wicked form of magic on their aging and sorry carcasses.
My own carcass was feeling the toll. It's no career for a single mother. Do you know why? Being a single mother is a full time job. I was in the game as an income supplement. Cash in hand. And no one needs to know. It wasn't good money, $200 a show, but when we had a run of shows the tune changed. We were just finishing up a run of six shows and I was hoping to celebrate my suddenly cashed up status by getting gloriously drunk, telling some stories that veered between exaggeration and lies, smearing my mascara everywhere, staggering home as dawn broke, sleeping for three hours and then spending the afternoon alternately reminiscing on the evening before and regretting everything.
******************************************
Please note the above work is fiction. Any resemblance to anything is probably coincidental. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. Yeah, well, the stupid upload deleted the ending.
There's a moment for every pro wrestler, when you're standing backstage, waiting anxiously for the cue that sends you through the curtains, when time stops, the crowds roar dims, and you seriously leave yourself behind. A dead-mans moment, when you cease to exist, and find yourself held hostage by a character that may not be of your making. I was having one of those very moments. JessieLee departed, and Poison Ivy entered, stage left.
I watched the monitor, and ruminated on how the match wasn't working. The guys in the ring were both blessed with the kind of physique only ego and steroids could achieve, and although they looked the part, they weren't up to standard, and were so lacking in cardiovascular fitness that three minutes into the match they were showing signs of exhaustion. Their clumsiness annoyed me, in fact, most things in the business annoyed me..............
At last, I spotted my badly performed cue move, and as my the first notes of my theme music started, I burst through the curtains, aluminum shovel over my shoulder, paused for the camera, and then sprinted to the ring, rolled in, hit them both in of the back of the head with said trusty shovel, posed for the camera again, and then scarpered just as the comrades and/or sympathizers of the fallen came to rescue them.
Lets get this clear, pro wrestling is a hideous bitch goddess, and no good comes to those who worship at her temple. I was a veteran, and had done 18 years hard time as penance for being dumb enough to think it might be a fun thing to try. Which, by the way, it is. Fun, I mean. If you do it right. Otherwise I imagine it may hurt. The debate that has been ongoing since two atoms smashed together and started a chain reaction that culminated in life as we know it, over just how much of what happens in a wrestling ring is real will be put to rest now, by me. Its fake, mostly. But only as fake as repeatedly, intentionally falling down, sometimes from a fairly appreciable height. Take a moment now, if you will, and consider how much of your life you've spent specifically avoiding falling down, particularly from any kind of height, and maybe you can begin to appreciate the peculiar art that is known as pro wrestling.
We call it bumping, but it is the fine art of falling down without catastrophically injuring yourself. You learn, you train and it becomes natural. At least most of the time. Call it what you want- a sham, fake, faux, acting even, there's absolutely no denying that it is inherently dangerous, much more so than working at the supermarket, which I imagine is fraught with its own dangers. But they never ask you to throw yourself over a shoulder high rope, that I'd like to point out is designed to keep you in there, and land on the wooden dance floor at ringside. I've heard it speculated that it's actually padded and is cleverly disguised t look like a hard, unyielding wooden floor, but if that is the case, I must say that the masquerade is so perfect that the floor doesn't even feel padded. Every move is a bump. There's front bumps and back bumps, the occasional side bump, the arse bump and the rolling bumps. Add in some chain wrestling to make it look like you might really know what you're doing and that's basically it. Faces get cheered and heels gets booed, everyone gets paid, some people get the shits, and they all take off their tights and go home.
Except for the times when I wore the tights home. Which were many, because I firmly disliked getting undressed in the back of a truck surrounded by sweaty behemoths that smelled of wrestler, a unique and pungent odor particular to those who chose a career as a cartoonesque figure and then never washed their costume. This was to be one of the nights I wore the tights home, but thankfully it was by choice, and because they looked amazing. I may have been forty, by by god, I still looked good in spandex.
Spandex, as you may know, is a very unforgiving fabric. It's use in pro wrestling costumes is entirely justified because pro wrestling is an unforgiving vocation, and as surely as confused young men are drawn to the priesthood, thus sacrificing many of lifes pleasures, so we wrestlers also sacrifice. We sacrifice our bodies, our psyches, and our bank accounts, because let me tell you, rich wrestlers are few and far between. Conversely, there's an abundance of poverty stricken, injury racked, soon to he crippled workers out there, nursing bruises and waiting for old age and arthritis to do it's wicked form of magic on their aging and sorry carcasses.
My own carcass was feeling the toll. It's no career for a single mother. Do you know why? Being a single mother is a full time job. I was in the game as an income supplement. Cash in hand. And no one needs to know. It wasn't good money, $200 a show, but when we had a run of shows the tune changed. We were just finishing up a run of six shows and I was hoping to celebrate my suddenly cashed up status by getting gloriously drunk, telling some stories that veered between exaggeration and lies, smearing my mascara everywhere, staggering home as dawn broke, sleeping for three hours and then spending the afternoon alternately reminiscing on the evening before and regretting everything.
******************************************
Please note the above work is fiction. Any resemblance to anything is probably coincidental. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. Yeah, well, the stupid upload deleted the ending.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Ten Things I Hate About Who? ( divided by two, cos I'm lazy).
Hate is a strong word. Probably too strong, but it was a cuter title than, say, "Ten Things About Someone Id Rather Not Name Who Really Pissed Me Off Today" , and evn that wouldn't be accurate because, lets face it, it's a toxic frendship. It's like dioxin, injected straight into your psyche, leaving survivors scarred and wary. And I need to vent.
1) You're a cashed up bogan.
Sure, you can buy stuff. Big deal. It's stuff. Sure, it cost some amount of money or another, but that doesnt mean it has any value. Having so much stuff reduces the real, intrinsic value of any individual item. Having so much stuff makes it all a bit disposable. Sure, your car is newer than mine, and going, I'll give you that, but that doesnt make it a better car. My car will get repaired when I get the parts, and as I drive a twenty six year old mercedes, its going to take a few days. Like when your car needed serviced and it was inconvenient. And buying stuff doesnt mean you can, or should, e rude to the staff in the shops and other places of business. They are people, they have families, and lives beyond serving you.
2) You're a bigot.
You're a bigot. There's no other way to describe it. You're against immigrants, Muslims, Christians (of all denominations), single mothers, homosexuals, teenagers, P-platers, dole bludgers, anorexics, over weight people, black people, Asian people, people aren't the same shade of white as you. You hate the people here, the people there, you hate the people everywhere
3) You Lie
All the time. To everyone. I don't believe it, but I worry that you do.
4) Youre a time thief.
You can't expect me to be available for an hour long chat three times a day. On your day off, I am not obligated to do anything. There is no reason why your day off should affect me at all, but I hope you enjoy it. Without me, at least occasionally
5) You'll never read this.
I'm confident on that one. Just like you don't come to my wrestling shows. So this was a perfectly safe excersise.
1) You're a cashed up bogan.
Sure, you can buy stuff. Big deal. It's stuff. Sure, it cost some amount of money or another, but that doesnt mean it has any value. Having so much stuff reduces the real, intrinsic value of any individual item. Having so much stuff makes it all a bit disposable. Sure, your car is newer than mine, and going, I'll give you that, but that doesnt make it a better car. My car will get repaired when I get the parts, and as I drive a twenty six year old mercedes, its going to take a few days. Like when your car needed serviced and it was inconvenient. And buying stuff doesnt mean you can, or should, e rude to the staff in the shops and other places of business. They are people, they have families, and lives beyond serving you.
2) You're a bigot.
You're a bigot. There's no other way to describe it. You're against immigrants, Muslims, Christians (of all denominations), single mothers, homosexuals, teenagers, P-platers, dole bludgers, anorexics, over weight people, black people, Asian people, people aren't the same shade of white as you. You hate the people here, the people there, you hate the people everywhere
3) You Lie
All the time. To everyone. I don't believe it, but I worry that you do.
4) Youre a time thief.
You can't expect me to be available for an hour long chat three times a day. On your day off, I am not obligated to do anything. There is no reason why your day off should affect me at all, but I hope you enjoy it. Without me, at least occasionally
5) You'll never read this.
I'm confident on that one. Just like you don't come to my wrestling shows. So this was a perfectly safe excersise.
The Trolls of Continuity, or is it a Poltergeist?
Strange things happen around here. I'm sure strange things happen wherever you are too, but this is about me, so wait your turn and I'll let you tell me whatever it is a bit later on. We've always referred to our unusual happenings as the work, or lack thereof, of the Trolls of continuity, which you've probably never heard of, mainly because they're pretty much something i made up quite some time ago for the specific purpose of explaining the frankly weird shit that happens around here.
But now i discover that it's what most people refer to as a poltergeist. All over the world, in just about every culture, they have the phenomenom known as poltergeist. I'd always thought of all things paranormal as being, well, bollocks, and probably nothing more than the flights of fancy of the bored and needy for attention, which there is absolutely nothing wrong with being. When things start to move of their own accord, electrical appliances either wont work or work erratically and its all centered around a disturbed young person, most people go with the standard explanation, but not me. I invented my own legend, and everyone in my circle bought into it.
I'll give you the background first. i've always had trouble with electrical appliances. They just don't like me. Lights stop working, so I change the bulb, and they still don't work. get someone else to flip the switch and, lo and behold, we have light. Yeah, i hear you skeptics muttering about me being superstitious, but my kids dad works in the electrical trade, and he thinks Im just hinky around power. If the car wont start, we get me out of it and try again. I just asked him how many computers I've blown up and he responded, "all of them". Its at least 6 in 5 years. After I blow them up, other people take them, wait a week and there's nothing wrong with them. Things disappear, and reappear exactly where they should have been, and definitely weren't a moment previously.
So I decided it was obviously the Trolls of Continuity. They're obviously trolls, and the grand scheme of the universe has these trolls in charge of continuity. Small and visually unpleasant creatures that are invisible, but almost omnipotent, who from moment to moment ensure that everything in the time/space continuum is in the place it should be in relation to where it just was and where it soon shall be. No doubt about it, it's one hell of a big job, and good staff being hard to find, especially in the troll world, theres inevitably going to be some mistakes, particularly with things like electricity. I mean, that shit is dangerous, and we expect simple minded trolls to keep the system operating from moment to moment, without any mishaps? Not to mention the stuff we simply misplace. What do you think your troll has to do then? That thing is meant to be somewhere, you know? It's atoms have to be accounted for at the end of the troll shift, or those poor trolls face hideous penalties (I think Dick Cheney is in charge of that)
So for years and years I've been operating under the assumption that my day shift troll, who I've named Dobbin, for want of a better name, has a grudge against me (hey, it happens) and is going to do a really bad job of being a troll of continuity until he's assigned a more compatible human. Dobbin likes goat ragout, but doesn't like me. That much Im certain of.
You can imagine my chagrin when I blew up another computer last week, and when my general "problem" with electrical stuff was understandably blamed I decided to hit Google with the problem. Google, the fount of all knowledge in our society informed me I had a poltergeist, in about 2 seconds flat. I named the poltergeist Polly.
Poltergeist are generally thought to be either a hoax, or somehow caused by a disturbed young person. I might be jumping to conclusions here, but my severely autistic, gravity defying, lightbulb smashing son fits the bill.
You'd think I'd be happy to accept the standard explanation, but I miss the trolls, despite Dobbins general incompetence, and if my troll is reading this, please come back. The time/space continuum just isn't the same without you.
But now i discover that it's what most people refer to as a poltergeist. All over the world, in just about every culture, they have the phenomenom known as poltergeist. I'd always thought of all things paranormal as being, well, bollocks, and probably nothing more than the flights of fancy of the bored and needy for attention, which there is absolutely nothing wrong with being. When things start to move of their own accord, electrical appliances either wont work or work erratically and its all centered around a disturbed young person, most people go with the standard explanation, but not me. I invented my own legend, and everyone in my circle bought into it.
I'll give you the background first. i've always had trouble with electrical appliances. They just don't like me. Lights stop working, so I change the bulb, and they still don't work. get someone else to flip the switch and, lo and behold, we have light. Yeah, i hear you skeptics muttering about me being superstitious, but my kids dad works in the electrical trade, and he thinks Im just hinky around power. If the car wont start, we get me out of it and try again. I just asked him how many computers I've blown up and he responded, "all of them". Its at least 6 in 5 years. After I blow them up, other people take them, wait a week and there's nothing wrong with them. Things disappear, and reappear exactly where they should have been, and definitely weren't a moment previously.
So I decided it was obviously the Trolls of Continuity. They're obviously trolls, and the grand scheme of the universe has these trolls in charge of continuity. Small and visually unpleasant creatures that are invisible, but almost omnipotent, who from moment to moment ensure that everything in the time/space continuum is in the place it should be in relation to where it just was and where it soon shall be. No doubt about it, it's one hell of a big job, and good staff being hard to find, especially in the troll world, theres inevitably going to be some mistakes, particularly with things like electricity. I mean, that shit is dangerous, and we expect simple minded trolls to keep the system operating from moment to moment, without any mishaps? Not to mention the stuff we simply misplace. What do you think your troll has to do then? That thing is meant to be somewhere, you know? It's atoms have to be accounted for at the end of the troll shift, or those poor trolls face hideous penalties (I think Dick Cheney is in charge of that)
So for years and years I've been operating under the assumption that my day shift troll, who I've named Dobbin, for want of a better name, has a grudge against me (hey, it happens) and is going to do a really bad job of being a troll of continuity until he's assigned a more compatible human. Dobbin likes goat ragout, but doesn't like me. That much Im certain of.
You can imagine my chagrin when I blew up another computer last week, and when my general "problem" with electrical stuff was understandably blamed I decided to hit Google with the problem. Google, the fount of all knowledge in our society informed me I had a poltergeist, in about 2 seconds flat. I named the poltergeist Polly.
Poltergeist are generally thought to be either a hoax, or somehow caused by a disturbed young person. I might be jumping to conclusions here, but my severely autistic, gravity defying, lightbulb smashing son fits the bill.
You'd think I'd be happy to accept the standard explanation, but I miss the trolls, despite Dobbins general incompetence, and if my troll is reading this, please come back. The time/space continuum just isn't the same without you.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
My Misspent Youth or The NSW government paid me for smoking pot. Sort of.
As often happens, I managed to get myself I to a debate last night over the alleged autism/vaccine link. People have read or seen the news relating to Andrew Wakefield and his, again I have to use the word alleged, fraud, and are happily telling me my child's condition is genetic, and therefore undoubtedly the fault of his genetically blighted mother. I have to tell you all, medical research is a very dodgy matter. They're all frauds. All of them. The researchers receive funding, and they're obligated to find the result the person paying them wants them to find.
Shades of paranoia? Nope, not here. I'm basing this on experience. My mother spent years as an asthma guinea pig, she was on steroids during her pregnancies, which led to various anomalies in myself and my siblings. I've participated in research myself. I was paid to do so. I'll tell you the tale.
Twenty years ago I sat in some dingy, inner city share house, trying not to notice how much my living arrangements resembled "The Young Ones", and reading Drum, or On The Street, don't remember which one and it doesn't matter, cos they were basically the same, when I spied an advertisement that said-" Marijuana Smokers required for PAID study". It was two days before payday, I was broke, so I rang a friend, and we got together, rang the number and made an appointment.
We traveled to the city, and caught a bus to Randwick to participate in this study at the University. They separated us, and I was interviewed by someone who went on to become a quite famous anti-drug spokesperson in Australia. I must admit, I approached this in a light-hearted and naive manner. I basically thought I was getting paid to say that getting high is pretty sweet. I was so wrong.
We took part in an endless series of questions, and because my memory is excellent I can reel some of them off for you.
1) How often do year voices in your head?
a) rarely
b) occasionally
c) frequently
d) all the time.
2) How much do these voices bother you?
a) a little
b) moderately
c) severely
At this point, I was telling the guy that the only voice I hear in my head is my own, saying things like" don't forget to buy milk", or " geez, that guys shits me, can I go home yet?", but there wasn't an option for marijuana not having made my or my friend psychotic, there wasn't an option where it didn't affect our day to day coping and functioning. Every single question only had the option of giving answers that made it look like ALL marijuana users were psychotic, forgetful, non achieving losers.
It even had questions asking how difficult it was to stop smoking. I was twenty. I stopped all the time. I smoked on weekends, at parties or when someone gave me some. I stopped whenever I couldn't afford it, or it was unavailable for whatever reasons affect the black market in these substances. It wasn't a big deal.
Then they thanked me, and paid me for participating, and they guy interviewing me asked what I was up to for the rest of the day. I told him I was going to use the money he'd just paid me to buy pot, and we both had a good laugh about it. My friend joined me, and we went off to visit that anonymous guy we used for that kind of transaction. He laughed at our story and gave us a great deal. Also gave me an antique teddy bear to add to my collection of old, old toys.
Yeah, I hear you mumbling your shock at my drug addled past. I was twenty. I had a good time. I'm not regretting that period of my life at all. You mighty be wondering what this has to with research. A bit later, the guy in charge of the study popped up on tv screens everywhere, telling us the results of his research. Cannabis is dangerous to your mental health, causes psychosis and exacerbates schizophrenia. Except for all those aging hippies whose minds are still sharp, and Willie Nelson hardly appears to be in the grip of reefer madness.
Of course, I'm not advocating anyone does nothing but smoke pot, because that would undoubtedly be stupid. But pretending a substance is responsible for a host of things that its not responsible for is also patently stupid. Pot doesn't kill people, but most pharmaceuticals can. Antidepressants can take months to work, pot makes most people to feel pretty damn good almost immediately.
Fast forward twenty years. I'm dealing with a young person experiencing psychosis. This person says their thinking became disordered 6 months prior to consuming ANY substance, and everything that was prescribed made the condition worse. One day, this person was so agitated and aggressive I asked another young person to give him a cone. Within ten minutes a crisis had been averted and I was able to talk to this young man and help him find a solution to the issue that was concerning him. Not the conventional method and not a method I recommend, if you or someone you know is experiencing mental health issues, see a professional, and get them a damn good friend as back up.
Medicine is trial and error, and people are making an obscene amount of money, when its YOUR health. So demand real research. Unbiased research. Because thats how they do these studies.
Shades of paranoia? Nope, not here. I'm basing this on experience. My mother spent years as an asthma guinea pig, she was on steroids during her pregnancies, which led to various anomalies in myself and my siblings. I've participated in research myself. I was paid to do so. I'll tell you the tale.
Twenty years ago I sat in some dingy, inner city share house, trying not to notice how much my living arrangements resembled "The Young Ones", and reading Drum, or On The Street, don't remember which one and it doesn't matter, cos they were basically the same, when I spied an advertisement that said-" Marijuana Smokers required for PAID study". It was two days before payday, I was broke, so I rang a friend, and we got together, rang the number and made an appointment.
We traveled to the city, and caught a bus to Randwick to participate in this study at the University. They separated us, and I was interviewed by someone who went on to become a quite famous anti-drug spokesperson in Australia. I must admit, I approached this in a light-hearted and naive manner. I basically thought I was getting paid to say that getting high is pretty sweet. I was so wrong.
We took part in an endless series of questions, and because my memory is excellent I can reel some of them off for you.
1) How often do year voices in your head?
a) rarely
b) occasionally
c) frequently
d) all the time.
2) How much do these voices bother you?
a) a little
b) moderately
c) severely
At this point, I was telling the guy that the only voice I hear in my head is my own, saying things like" don't forget to buy milk", or " geez, that guys shits me, can I go home yet?", but there wasn't an option for marijuana not having made my or my friend psychotic, there wasn't an option where it didn't affect our day to day coping and functioning. Every single question only had the option of giving answers that made it look like ALL marijuana users were psychotic, forgetful, non achieving losers.
It even had questions asking how difficult it was to stop smoking. I was twenty. I stopped all the time. I smoked on weekends, at parties or when someone gave me some. I stopped whenever I couldn't afford it, or it was unavailable for whatever reasons affect the black market in these substances. It wasn't a big deal.
Then they thanked me, and paid me for participating, and they guy interviewing me asked what I was up to for the rest of the day. I told him I was going to use the money he'd just paid me to buy pot, and we both had a good laugh about it. My friend joined me, and we went off to visit that anonymous guy we used for that kind of transaction. He laughed at our story and gave us a great deal. Also gave me an antique teddy bear to add to my collection of old, old toys.
Yeah, I hear you mumbling your shock at my drug addled past. I was twenty. I had a good time. I'm not regretting that period of my life at all. You mighty be wondering what this has to with research. A bit later, the guy in charge of the study popped up on tv screens everywhere, telling us the results of his research. Cannabis is dangerous to your mental health, causes psychosis and exacerbates schizophrenia. Except for all those aging hippies whose minds are still sharp, and Willie Nelson hardly appears to be in the grip of reefer madness.
Of course, I'm not advocating anyone does nothing but smoke pot, because that would undoubtedly be stupid. But pretending a substance is responsible for a host of things that its not responsible for is also patently stupid. Pot doesn't kill people, but most pharmaceuticals can. Antidepressants can take months to work, pot makes most people to feel pretty damn good almost immediately.
Fast forward twenty years. I'm dealing with a young person experiencing psychosis. This person says their thinking became disordered 6 months prior to consuming ANY substance, and everything that was prescribed made the condition worse. One day, this person was so agitated and aggressive I asked another young person to give him a cone. Within ten minutes a crisis had been averted and I was able to talk to this young man and help him find a solution to the issue that was concerning him. Not the conventional method and not a method I recommend, if you or someone you know is experiencing mental health issues, see a professional, and get them a damn good friend as back up.
Medicine is trial and error, and people are making an obscene amount of money, when its YOUR health. So demand real research. Unbiased research. Because thats how they do these studies.
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