Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Strange and Beautiful

So all said and done apart from wonderful, delightful free meals throughout the week, the only actual physical, non perishable gift I got was from my sister in the form of lycra - and I can always use more lycra.

Anyway I probably, well definitely didn't help myself out by as usual answering the question 'what do you want for your birthday?' with no list of consumer durables to fill the void in my life.

Instead I answered 'I want to dance with a deaf girl.'

I wasn't trying to be funny or clever, I'm serious. It's an experience I want to have.

I want to do it because I think it would be strange and beautiful, think about it. We don't really understand why the brain enjoys music, and why furthermore when we hear music it reaches into the motor-functions of our brain and makes us want to move in sync with it.

Cut the hearing off, and what is dance - completely strange, the phenomena observed without music of somebody suddenly changing their motions for no apparant reason whatsoever. Don't think its strange watch this with your sound turned off:


with sound it all makes sense, without it it seems perverse.

But apparantly and here I reveal how little I have to do with the deaf or blind communities - blind people innately make hand gestures. Thus on some innate level people that have never heard music I suspect, understand it, enjoy it etc.

So I would like to guide somebody through the dance, through the motions of the music and see if they enjoy it (all consensual of course) and can connect with the music. I'm sure, deaf people go dancing all the time with their friends and shit, I'm sure in this day and age deaf people can do most things.

I just think it would be strange and beautiful, and thus I'd like to do it. One day.

Step one: learn how to say 'do you want to dance?' in Auslan.

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

Twelve Moments

So today's my birthday, blah. On monday I launched my new webcomic called 'twelve moments' when I say mine it's really 'ours' and it involves collaboration. It should take you some time to check it out so I won't say much here but what I will say is this...

The whole thing was designed to force me to work and become better (possibly upto decent) at drawing comics, layouts and shit. To stop me from being lazy, but it also created an opportunity for the peeps that write the comics to be creative and in particular create something they would otherwise be unable to create.

Those coming from a media background used to storyboards and what not take to it straight away, those who write in more literary traditions not so much. But I have been surprised at how good the contributions have been from people who universally have little to no experience with comics.

I think western comics have a huge untapped advantage in having a traditional model of writer-artist teams rather than the Japanese tradition of writer as artist. But this advantage has amounted to little, or much less than it should. Why? Because it is an artist dominated industry as my brother puts it. Artists want to work on their own thing and block peeps who can write from entering it. Everybody if offered the chance should write a comic, particularly with a risk averse hollywood only really making adaptations, if you are an aspiring director or screenwriter soon will come the days when you have to first release your film as a comic before anyone will produce it in order to establish a following.

Okay I've said my piece, this project has felt good, really good:

twelve moments by us.

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

Group Assignment Asshole

For the second time in almost as many weeks I turned up to a tutorial solely to collect my mark. This time though I wasn't confident of actually passing. This wasn't an open book test with multiple choice section, this was for a report I only started the day it was due and handed in the next day.

I got 17/20 marks, and didn't even get pingged 10% for being late. I thus once again resolved I didn't need to be there and left.

Let me elaborate on this project. This project involved answering questions about two legal cases sighting the relevant legal issues. It had a word limit of 1600 all up. It was a group assignment, with max 4 members, minimum two.

Had I actually had the foresight to check when the assignment was due before the due date, I still would have immediately leapt on the opportunity to work by myself.

1600 words doesn't warrant enough effort for a group assignment. Group assignments generally cost me more effort than is saved by sharing the workload.

Interestingly in the lecture before the tute there is this guy that complains, habitually and since complaining about the number of 'asians' in our course I habitually avoid him without being impolite.

For reasons I can't fathom this douche cares about marks. He complains about our lecturer and thus was surprised when I told him this subject was my favorite. 'Because I don't care almost as much as the lecturer doesn't' being my justification.

This invited a discussion of other subjects and the group assignments. This guy complained about doing 95% of them. This complaint I would expect maybe from a first year, not somebody in their second year of their second degree.

I tried to espouse my 'yeah but you don't want a credit student doing a credit standard contribution when you could do it to a distinction, you're lucky to have them not contribute and the only way to buy them off is offer them 100% contribution.'

For those not at RMIT I don't know how other uni's work but with group assignments you get an assignment cover sheet and you can put next to each group members name their contribution - 100% is the status quo, which implies everybody contributed equally and thus recieves 100% of the mark. The only time you penalise somebody is when they contribute nothing, or if you just want to discourage somebody from asking to work with you again.

Anyway, this guy cut me off, and told me in his last report he asked a guy to rewrite his section 5 times then dropped him from the group when it 'wasn't up to scratch' this tough talk presumably impresses somebody but I just blurted out without thinking 'it's just marks...'

He responded 'it's just your future' which is something alarmist my mother might say. This immediately sent me into a reverie contemplating my future but that's a different post right there. He then made a spitting gesture and turned away. So that killed the conversation and I possibly should be thankful for my impulses.

Anyway, what future in this guys shoes is worth treating people like shit and dis/un/anti?/compassionately ditching them from a group for something as inconsequential as an assignment mark. Get some perspective.

For example, what are you actually trying to achieve through good grades. If an employer looked at your academic record they would see a high GPA or something and HD's a DI's and whatnot all over your report.

Presumably employers recruit by taking the GPA of every applicant and picking the highest one? Would you want to work for an employer that did that? No. You have to survive a job interview, here you see huge differentials in the effort:reward ratios.

The effort to reward of getting a good GPA is minimal relative to the effort to reward of not being an asshole. It takes very little effort to not be an asshole. You just have to be patient and understanding and compassionate. You have to smile a little and relax. It takes hours and hours to learn a bunch of theory of which you will apply 5%.

Furthermore the most oft repeated tragedy of recruiting is being hired for technical reasons and then fired for personal ones. You are 'brilliant' BUT your team hates you. This is why the interview is far more important than the resume review, and companies know it. They don't trust references, they don't trust grades and quite often treat the academics that instructed you with contempt.

So why the fuck be an arsehole over grades?

Anyway, I learned never to work in a group assignment with this dumbass, 1. he'd probably insist on doing work I'd be better off doing for him and 2. He'd probably demand I put equal time into it and 3. He's an arsehole, shit comes out of him.

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

So I'm Superstitious

Last year I was taken by despair upon finishing the 21.1km half marathon. The sudden massive sensory destimulation got to me and I was crying sweat heading into the baggage collection.

This year it was the reverse. My emotional/mental breakdown began for reasons unknown at 6pm on Saturday night. My only theory is that I'd reached a point in time where I actually could let go and not be letting down other people as a result.

I went Yossarian and was overcome by a sudden desire to not wear clothes anymore. I shut myself in my room and drew, gradually getting more and more overwhelmed with emotion.

Consciously I told myself to hold off on the breakdown until I'd done the run. Then I eventually realised that if it was going to come now I should let it, there was no gauruntee I'd be able to tomorrow.

Thus I let the full weight of Shafika's death and the fact that tomorrow when I finished the race I would once again be all alone with nothing to do hit me.

This was depressing.

Then I opened up a new .txt file and wrote all the shit I had to do to feel better about myself. This made me feel better about myself, and I intend to keep working through that list.

I think more than anything though, I have these breakdowns when I get sick of being me. It takes energy being me, and thus every now and then I just need to retreat back into myself, be alone and recharge.

I also get superstitious at these times. I look for external sources of energy and inspiration. This is somewhat hypocritical of me, because I firmly believe the answer is never somebody else, the answer is something we have to create ourselves for ourselves by ourselves.

So I got creative.

I took one of my surplus sharpies and penned the number '23' on my left wrist. This is an accessable place to keep reminders. '23' should need no explanation, but in case it does it is Michael Jordan's number. Jordan is characterised by his relentless desire to win, relentless. He drives toward the basket, he expects all his shots to go in. It is the perfect mindset when you are trying to run a half-marathon faster than you have run any long distance race before.

I've done this before, but it was not enough this time, I switched over and wrote '37' on my right hand wrist. 37 is the number of weeks Thriller was number one, it is also the number Ron Artest wore in the 2009-2010 NBA season, Ron Artest after winning the championship in Boston with the LA Lakers turned to a news reporter and said 'I would like to thank my psychiatrist' Ron Artest is crazy, but got his head checked and kept calm to come up big when they needed him in the playoffs and particularly game 7 of the NBA finals. Ron Ron was on my right wrist in case I went crazy, incase I had an emotional episode before the finish line.

I also had some beads sent me from South Africa that had been blessed by an African Priest, now I'm not religious, but I am it seems superstitious. And I had recieved a card with the blessings on the beads I now wore upon my neck. I took my sharpie and wrote these words on my chest for the run, believing that once labelled I would indeed possess these qualities 'Faith, Hope, Love, Courage, Trust, Endurance, Protection...'

For those lay to the marker community, Sharpies are a breed of texta, not a knife just incase you were starting to worry.

Anyway, turns out sharpie ink isn't that easy to wash off.

But when it came to the run, everything inverted. I felt fantastic. I overtook people the whole time. I thought I might be a chance to do it in 1 hr 30 minutes. I overtook the 90 minute pacemen before the halfway mark. The more I ran the better I felt, the harder I ran.

I also decided last minute to wear my giraffe stockings, even though the nylon doesn't breath well it just felt a bit somber wearing all black. It turned out to be the biggest competitive advantage. Every spectator complimented them. I got massive cheers from a cheersquad dressed in pink. It was the biggest boost.

I only got overtaken in the last 800m or so by guys that turned out to be marathon runners. If you are running a marathon in under 2:30 you are seriously fucken fast, so I didn't mind. I sprinted across the line to finish in 1:25.33 (1:27 something by the starting gun) In ballarat speak that's 3.5 laps of the lake at 24 minutes per lap. It was the run of my life. All my best runs have been characterised by superstitious trinkets and emotional breakdowns.

I'm superstitious it turns out. What of it?

Monday, October 11, 2010

Equity vs. Efficiency

Just 14 more sleeps till the next NBA season tips off. I want/need NBA back in my life but I'm honestly not too excited about this season, at least nowhere near as excited as I was last season for the starting date. Last season the offseason brought Ron Artest to the Lakers and Rasheed Wallace to the Celtics, it promised to be epic and sure enough 80 regular season games and 3 playoff rounds later we saw possibly the greatest finals series in recent history.

But this year is different, Lebron pussed out and went to Miami along with Chris Bosh in a move that promises some of the most meaningless championships to the Miami franchise ever. Conversely all the excitement doesn't come from the Miami Heat super line-up but from the prospect that anybody that beats the Miami Heat this year or in the next five will win one of the most meaningful 'David v Goliath' championships in the history of the game.

Because in one free agency season, the NBA went from something midway between AFL and English Premier League to English Premier League.

In professional sports the relevant league can take two paths - equity or efficiency. Equity is promoting a level playing field presumably with the aim of ramping up competition. Efficiency is to concentrate talent as densely as possible and remove losers from the mix.

In AFL you see possibly one of the better 'equity' sporting models in the world's professional sports. They have measures like the Salary Cap and Draft to ensure that teams are roughly equal. A 'winning' team is penalised in the draft and has a harder time attracting new talent to rejuvinate the club. A 'losing' team is rewarded in the draft and over time can build a list of talented players that can mature and reverse their fortunes. Similarly the Salary Cap prevents too many of the leagues elite joining the same team and becoming some kind of super team. Sure it still happens - the three-peating Brisbane Lions with 3 Brownlow medallists in the mid-field and just about the best player in the league in every key position comes to mind. But on the whole it works pretty well.

By contrast the English Premier League the richest team can sign all the best players, hence you have 4 or so big teams (I must confess I'm speaking from a largely ignorant base here) and then a bunch of also rans that can get relegated out of the league. That's an effeciency model for you. The extreme going to the Spanish League with Real Madrid...

The NBA has a salary cap and arguably a superior drafting process to the AFL (it's a lottery with the odds based on a teams performance, the weakest team has the best odds, but no guaruntee- this prevents 'tanking' in theory) however if you are a rich team like the Lakers you can exceed the salary cap and just pay a luxury tax on those players contracts. If you can get a super eam together and sell out your season then it's certainly worth paying the tax. The Lebron to Miami wasn't quite this situation though, it was almost a voluntary/collusion decision by the players to become the Real Madrid of the NBA and potentially ruin the sport.

Enough has been said about Lebron such that Lebron is better left forgotten. The cruel thing about free agency though is that you can have a star player one season that gives you the leagues best record, then they leave and you get nothing in return (except for a big pile of money you don't have to spend on that player anymore) and you have to suffer through a season before you get any draft consideration.

This is true also of the AFL except that the AFL isn't really conducive to one player being able to take over a game like the NBA is, thus the departure of a superstar isn't necessarily going to push you from first to last, but maybe from first to 8th. Yet in a league with more teams, it's quite possible (and probable) that the Cavs can go from a regular season 1st to 30th just like that.

I prefer equity in sports. I would have rather watched Wade and Bron face off for a championship than cooperate. Just as last season watching two teams of seasoned champions duel it out was just about the most stressful and rewarding viewing experience of my life. I can only hope the Celtics manhandle the Heat out of the playoffs this year and we get a rerun of last years championship series.

Wednesday, October 06, 2010

The Big Assumptions

Why am I in school?

I feel my school assumes I want a job. I can't look after myself and thus I need somebody to emply me. How best to disguise myself as something they actually want. How to standardise me so they can make an objective decision on who to take. How to numerise my knowledge so it can be measured with a tape measure. The longer my knowledge the more employable. That's the assumption.

They assumed wrong. I want an education first, a job second. I only want a job for its education purposed. I want a job I can learn from, otherwise if I'm not learning I'm happy enough to shake a cup on the street.

Why did I go to high-school?

I feel my high-school assumed I wanted to get into university. They assumed correct, but I wanted to go to uni to have fun. But reflecting on it, this was the general assumption, almost every interaction a student had with my school held the university objective in mind. Thinking back there were a lot of students that this was entirely inappropriate for. Possibly me.

Why do we go to primary school?

I honestly don't fucking know. To learn to read and write? maybe. there's a lot of students that don't even by the end of year 12. I suspect we go to survive. School is in large parts day care. Our parents need to be back out earning money, we need somebody to take care of us. We go to school once we have reached an age where our communication skills enable one person to manage 30 kids or so.
Primary school was fun though. I wish University was more like Primary school. More finger painting.

Tuesday, October 05, 2010

The Thing Is This...

This sentiment was contained in yesterdays post, but I thought I'd scoop it out of the water with my dirty hands and give it attention now.

I'm happy.

That's the kicker. These days I really only have two moods: happy and competitively aggressive. The others are still there but they are a very thin slice of the pie. I'm not even that angry cycling anymore.

I did in an abstract way enjoy my old lifestyle of working all day, looking forward to lunch and yelling at the contestants on the biggest loser, but since basically '06-'07 I've gone from not liking myself to quite liking myself. Being an angry, sad man to being a pretty happy dude.

How? Abe Lincoln has the secret I think: "I have found that most people are about as happy as they make up their minds to be." and that's more or less what I've done, I've decided to be happy.

There's some other things I've done too, like made a concerted effort not to be a fucking cunt.

I sought feedback, I tried to build up self esteem... blah blah blah it's really not much. Not much at all.

But all those articles you read about how happiness has nothing to do with money or possessions. Those articles we read backed up by empirical studies and what not, that are all true but we routinely ignore. They are all true. I'm living those articles. It is hard to apologise for my existence right now, as Yogi Berra said: "If you don't know where you're going, you might not get there." is a definite risk to my current happy lifestyle but fuck it, when I come to a fork in the road, I'll take it. That's my plan.

I can always become a billionaire astronaut cowboy later.

Thursday, September 30, 2010

Wisdom from BMX magazines

I remember sitting in Honda's lunchroom back when I read business books, but evidently not 'Never Eat Alone' by some networking douchebag, and occasionaly shy on reading material I would actually read one of the motorcycle magazines the motorcylce department left around for us.
These magazines are like the worst, ever. I assume their staff consist of a layout guy who literally copies and pastes press releases from the manufacturers. So really I didn't expect to find good reading in my BMX magazine that I bought along with the gay mag the other day.

But straight up the editorial hit home for me in an act of serendipity that reflected my 'getting used to being a loser post' except far more articulate and straight forward. I quote:

Hurry Up & Wait...

...Waiting in line in a supermarket behind two people. The lady paying wants a different bunch of bananas because she notices one has gone bad. The guy behind her, but in front of me lets out a huge sigh and looks at me with disgust towards the woman. Chill out man, it's going to take a minute to get some bananas and by the look of your torn shirt and flip-flops no one is in a hurry to hang out with your impatient ass.

I see the same hurry up and wait attitude going on all over the place, and I definitely see it affecting the BMX world. And it's no individuals fault; it's more to do with a society that shoves coffee and energy drinks down our throats each day. The constant need for something new, the latest and greatest, the next up and coming pro, the most innovative trick, chew up the input and spit it out before you get in the shower that day... often I feel like I've blinked and missed out on something important. That important something to me is the fact that I'm still on this bike after all these years, I'm riding, which is slower than driving (unless you're on an LA freeway), I'm out with my friends, I'm not rushing to go to work, I'm not worried about bills or stressing about daily life, I'm on this bike hoping that time will slow down and I can enjoy every second of it... the only thing I would have changed 10 years ago was not worrying about getting a sponsor, and trying to remember to live for the moment.


There's more, I snipped a bunch out, but left a bunch in. This reminds me when I broke up* with Claire but was still addicted to her I would find out that we would catch up on like say a Saturday, and I would find out on a Tuesday. Because at the time I was obsessed with getting back with her for the sweet sweet endorphins I would then just become obsessed with Saturday, and how to get there.
That was the most extreme case where, thankfully I was seeing a psychiatrist and new I had to consciously train myself to actually make sure I enjoyed Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday AND Saturday, and all the days that followed.
Basically I learned then in a concrete way: don't look forward to anything. Not in a negative way, as in 'life's a bitch and then you die' but just don't miss your life looking ahead to a destination you may never reach.
We never got back together anyway, and eventually I got through the chemical addiction and 'got over' the break up. But the same could be said in a much more banal way of the 9-5 grind, if you are living for the weekend, quit your job and get on centrelink for a while till you figure out a way to go to work with a smile on your face and a song in your heart. Do whatever it takes.

Anyway, editorial aside, was there any other gems to be offered up by my BMX mag?

Then in a stunning pictorial section of a bike trip to Nicaragua there's the article 'compare and contrast' which had this keen insight:

So when my crew lands in Managua and wants to go street riding, I'll tell them: "The people here, well, they are much different than we are. They are not bad people, but can you blame them for wanting to have the huge amount of wealth we flaunt. Watch your iPhones and your bikes. And when we meet up with the hospitable and friendly local riders, watch what you say... what you assume. We need to drink water a lot while riding in the blazing sun here, so, when are at the gas station every hour spending $3 on on snacks and beverages, realize they are outside, drinking out of a dirty hose because they can't afford to spread that $3 out over the next week. And when you are appalled by sketchy accomodation, by the lack of consistent water and electricity, by the the inconvenience of daily functioning... when you are ready to scream, remember they live like this on a daily basis. These people, some smiling and some staring, understand poverty and wealth in a way we have never experienced.


And I guess to be fair to the author 'these people' in this context isn't Nicaraguans per se, but people in object poverty. This is like some of the best travel advice I wish I could have been told before staying in Mexico, Cambodia, India etc. I tend not to complain much, so I don't think that was bad, because I love to avoid conflict but I was really wasteful, I never bothered to eat or stay close enough to the street to really help out the local scene and not some foreign investment or foreign bank backed eatery.

Anyway, I haven't finished reading it yet. I bought it mainly for the pictures. Maybe that's the difference. BMX is an artform, as James said to me last night 'BMX takes a good picture' looking at static images of peeps suspended in the air in some strange relation to their ride makes one wax a little philosophical, if not just ponder how they will stick the landing, since lets face it from the pictures perspective the landing ain't really necessary.
*she dumped my arse, technically.

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

Being Gay, and not Being Gay.

(I should say this post is possibly NOT SAFE FOR WORK)

So today I bought my first ever gay mag, no not porno, just gay, a magazine for gay peeps. Like man on man, the 'G' in 'GLBT'. That's what I mean. Contrary to my expectations the hardest part of the process wasn't the actual purchase, but the selecting the mag that was best value for money. I mean there isn't much downside risk, so I went with DNA the cheapest one. All these mags contain the same advertising material and advertising material makes up like 90% of the content, so it wasn't a hard decision. It's just the standing and flicking through and comparing in the section of Mag nation between the hetero hang outs of Sport and Tittie Mags was difficult. Well relatively difficult. All rationality aside, I felt self conscious and I don't know why, because all rationality has been put aside.

Such that I am reminded of Carson Kressley table of things that make you gay vs. things that don't make you gay, the punch line of which was that being attracted to and having sex with men makes you gay. Which I know rationally, still for some reason it's like I don't want peeps to think I am gay. What do I care? This is the question I cannot answer.

I'm not gay. Nor do I currently own a BMX, I also bought a BMX mag, and the cashier I could tell was giving me a look that said either 'this guy doesn't look gay...' or 'this guy isn't a BMX enthusiast...' It strikes me that I often buy odd combos, like Dolly Partons Greatest Hits and Cypress Hill's Los Grandos Exitos in Espaniol, is it a defence mechanism or do I really have eclectic taste?

I bought both for reference, and frankly I will admit few peeps would look at me and assume my purchase decisions are clear indicators that I am some kind of quasi-artist.

To be honest, the most embarrassing (and I mean burning with shame) purchase was when I bought this magazine:

I bought it in Japan, also ostensibly as reference, and also because it was soft-core porno. (I should point out that whenever I am in Japan I have an easy time of buying hard core porno that I give to my friends and relatives as gifts, Janice loved her christmas present.)
When you buy a magazine that has for it's cover the soft wet arse of a girl in bikini bottoms, it is hard to pretend you are not a pervert. This made me more uncomfortable than buying a gay mag because fact is I AM a PERVERT. Furthermore, I had to make the transaction with a Japanese female employee of Maruzen in Nagoya, well I didn't have to I could have dropped the magazine back on the rack and run away, I just knew that this girl was the perfect reference for my Wish graphic novel's protagonist (and yes, there are more than just close up pictures of her arse inside I'm not doing no girls arse comic), and that this magazine due to Japan's large pervert population would probably sell out, because all the other past issues featuring different girls (possibly for different perverts, possibly for the same ones) also sold out.

By contrast I know I'm not gay, I'm old enough to know that buying a gay mag doesn't send a report to NASA that is then sent around the world obliging me to suck a chode if asked. Even if the cashier ended up being a gay sexual predator I am still confident that this is yet another problem I can run away from.

Really my only concern is that I might be perceived as buying DNA magazine as some kind of joke, some jibe, some ironic diss of the gay community. Personally I think that finding out where the models get their underwear is justification enough for a straight guy to buy this mag.

Yeah, I could have just bought GQ, which has pretty much the same advertising material, and pretty much the same demographic and the occassional article on basketball or clint eastwood, but really I wanted unashamed reference material without it actually being gay porno.

In fact looking at DNA magazine's covers, overall if young straight guys were to look at these guys as their ideal it would probably be healthier than whatever they are looking at now. I know somewhere before I have written about how men's ideal body images are generally derived from sporting role models. Whose body image if not realistic is at the very least utilitarian, that is they can put their hard earned physiques to use in more ways than attracting some sexual partner to look after them. They can for example earn $120 million dollars per year playing for the LA Lakers, and look after both themselves, their wife and several mistresses.

By contrast women are made to feel ugly, by fashion models whose only use for their body ideal is to act as some walking coat-hanger and can aspire to one day having some wealthy old man come look after them, or their cocaine addiction, whichever comes first.

Now, guys are adopting the heroin-chic look and to my old fashioned fashion values, I find the whole thing emasculating.

Of course, this post could easily be self defeating, I bought the magazine for reference, because I want to do a companion pin-up calendar to offset the chauvinistic 'Balifornia Girls' calendar I did, plus artists always strive to be original right? and it seems every comic book artist does girly pin-ups which are bought for some reason by girls as well as guys. So I thought I would do a set of guyly pin-ups. BUT, I'm aware I have revealed that I find toughness as some hetero-masculine ideal. Let me clarify that I don't lose too much sleep thinking about gender roles, or even how I feel about sexual orientation.

So if I wasn't an athiest I would hold that 'God would not create a love that wasn't beautiful' and possibly qualify that love with *consensual* which bestiality despite the 'Doctor Doolittle' defense cannot be. I honestly wished I lived in a world where sexual preference was a total non-issue, and that's how I act and feel about it most of the time. The only time I fret about sexual orientation is when I'm attracted to a girl and worry that she may be a lesbian, realising that if I were gay I would probably fret much more often that guys I liked were straight, for sheer statistical reasons, this is probably the only argument I have for enjoying being heterosexual. Being Bi would be least stressful of all, but I'm not and will just have to live with that.

As for gender roles, this I treat as even more of a non-issue in my day to day life. This is probably due to the largely negative reason that I get to enjoy all the privilege of being a straight-white-male in a world ruled by straight-white-males. Thus I don't get the booty end of the inequality stick. But vicariously, I do have to taste that shit stick occassionally. Like Misaki felt she was ugly despite being one of the most beautiful women in the world. Yet I lost two whole weeks in the time we were together just to the time she spent applying and removing make up every day. In that sad irony of it all, I actually preferred her spots which showed up when she wasn't wearing make-up, but I've come to learn that if a girl doesn't think she is beautiful, you can't tell her she is. This is largely I suspect due to the billions of dollars of advertising spent telling her she isn't you just can't compete with. If I had a billion dollars I would buy a golden pyramid and live in it on the moon, not put up 'my girlfriend is beautiful' billboards.

So what I mean to say is not that men should be tough and virile women rapers, just self-assured. I am opposed to the large amount of dollars made from companies that profit by making women, and increasingly men feel ugly and stimulate a need to bridge the ever growing gap between their reality and their ideal with products. I would like to see women advance, but I see men degenerating, that's all I see.

If the myth of masculinity is derived from some historical 'conquerer rapist' ideal, then that needs improvement too, but I'm not sure if the answer is to 'get in touch with your feminine side' but rather 'drop the rapist antics, drop the thug antics, just be some person who can stand up for themselves.'

Anyway sorry for the mixed messages, but being gay makes you gay not buying a gay magazine confusing as that is. If buying a magazine made you something, then I would be a rad BMX cyclist too as of yesterday.

The More I Study Finance and Economics...

the more I appreciate what Nicholas Nassim Taleb meant when he talked about the obsession to be 'wrong with infinite precision' rather than 'approximately right' I'm too tired to elaborate, but hopefully I will get my comprehensive bitch rant on education done soon...

good night now.

Thursday, September 16, 2010

Passing Strange...

Since learning of Shafika's death, I've experienced a grieving period so strange I'm not even sure if it's a grieving period.

The most noticeable thing is since tuesday it's like some sparkly ball of energy fueling me just switched off and I've felt tired with the exception of about an hour after I wake each day. But by the time I'm done walking the dog, I just want to sleep.

Because it isn't my daughter that has died, I still have to fulfill my obligations, when all I want to do is crash and burn in my bed. The 'highlight' of my week was dragging myself (almost literally) up 7 flights of stairs (I insist) to my Law tute where I collected my test results 18/20 and realised promptly that I'd been studying too hard and didn't need to be there, so I walked out.

I just can't be fucked doing anything, I have a strong desire to crawl into a small space and hibernate until someway somehow it's all over.

I just don't know what 'it' is, I sense that I also have some long overdue emotional breakdown pent up and waiting to come out. But try as I might I just can't release that valve. I thought it might happen today, when my body woke me up in the early hours of the morning to be alone with my thoughts.

But instead I managed to sink back into the fractured dream that involved waiting for a train and reading the blog of a father who was dying writing notes to his daughter and posting drawings of fingers intertwined that he drew with his son. I woke up and felt like something sad had happened but it was not the sadness I need or think I need right now.

I find myself thinking about Shafika and the family often, I suspect that try as I might to accept the reality it keeps cropping up because I haven't. I realise in hindsight why I dreaded calling Zaman every week to check up on him and Shafika in what feels like a whirlwind between everything is okay and now everything is over. When I first got the news from Zaman, he said they had found cancer in her liver. I then got a conflicting report that it was in her pancreas from another volunteer.

I never bothered to clarify, actually I deliberately avoided clarifying because I know pancreatic cancer is regarded as a death sentence and liver cancer can be fought and overcome with early detection. It makes me realise that we almost always hope for the best and really don't prepare for the worst. I think this form of denial from me is what has allowed me to keep it from overwhelming me till now.

But I'm not overwhelmed with grief, at risk of sounding melodramatic, I just feel dead inside. It's similar to when Misaki broke it off with me, because I'd been through everything with Claire before hand, I had nothing really to do or adjust. There's like nothing for my mind to come to terms with, so I just feel tired and run down. Hopefully I can cry this sadness out at some point, hopefully it will be somewhere queit and alone, not public with nowhere to retreat to.

My dog knows that all is not right in my world, yesterday she was particularly mopey, and yesterday was probably my worst day thus far. I just can't imagine anything making me feel better, more concerning perhaps is that I can't imagine anything making me feel worse.

Thus thusly, these are strange times for me and I see no escape.

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Helpless

I emerged with a coke from the shadows of QV food court into the bright spring sunlight. I don't know how I got this tired and was contemplating lying down on a couch or park bench to sleep. Somehow I manage to call Zaman I'm calling him early this week because his daughter has been in pretty bad shape.

I didn't realise till now, but just how reluctant I was to call him every week the past two months, I just emotionally and selfishly didn't want to deal with the plight of Shafika's fight with cancer. I didn't want to hear the worst.

Today I heard the worst, Zaman was not good, and then he told me 'my daughter is dead...' and I can't really remember the rest, but who cares nothing else matters. I told him I wanted to visit and he told me he was in emergency where his wife had collapsed exhausted from the physical toll watching her daughter fade away must have taken.

As I walked to the hospital I couldn't cry. Couldn't comprehend and strangely even though nothing like this has ever happened to me before I felt like it had happened thousands of times.

I hadn't seen Zaman since the day I visited him in hospital when the first discovered Shafika's cancer, when I bought a 'get well soon' rabbit and learned I should have bought a bigger one, though none can ever be big enough to cure cancer I guess.
He looks terrible, and we are little comfort for eachother, when I tell his wife I'm sorry she starts crying and father and son go to her. Everybody looks and feels terrible, I make what small talk I can desperate for answers to those questions 'were you there with her when she died? was she in pain?' and some I can ask like 'are the others okay? are you getting fed? is anybody looking after you?'

Shafika has been buried and I missed it, which is what I was afraid of, in just four short days and its killing me that I was too scared, too tired, too timid to call more often.

But alas, I am little comfort to the living, Zaman would gladly lose a 1000 of me to keep one daughter, and that's not malace just being a parent. But me they have, and Heather, and David and Florence and their friends and family and eachother and hundreds in the community.

When I leave the claustrophobic darkness of emergency the day is undeniably beautiful outside. It's all surreal and I still can't cry.

Here I have to confess, Shafika is in part stranger to me, in part family. Unlike Zaman's other children I saw little of her due to her ongoing health problems, but what little I saw was her smiling and laughing of her seeing her family recieve their Citizenship papers and when all seemed to finally be righting itself in the world for Zaman's family senseless meaningless cancer comes along and takes her life away.

This is how I'm selfish, and how to the same extent as everyone I'm just another ugly human being, but I am upset for Zaman, I wish this tragedy hadn't happened, in part because Shafika is just a child 19 and just free from the life of a refugee, Zaman's first born and somebody he would die for gladly if it would do any good but it doesn't and so he must watch her die in front of him. This is a large part of my grief, but then there is the ugly part, the part of me that needs Zaman, needs Zaman to be happy and smiling and calling everything beautiful like he did when I just taught him english and it made me feel good about myself. And now I'm no good at all, just useless, just somebody else who feels bad.

Within 3 minutes I am in the park of Atherton Gardens heading to that heart of mine, the sanctuary, the Fitzroy Learning Network where people know Zaman's story and Shafika's and will possibly have the answers to all my questions.
In the park children are laughing, comprised of refugees (relatively) safe and free to be children, and it can't help but warm your heart. I remember Claire remarking that parks are Utopic places, and it's true, if life is worth living it is worth living for days in the park like this. I remeber days in the park like this with Miki, who got angry when I joked about recycling her petname 'pretty cake' that she never forgave me for and her overreaction to seeing a dead magpie and wishing I could react that much now. But I'm subdued and unable to cry.

I walk into the FLN and knock on the door of the office which turns out to be empty. As a volunteer is asking me who I'm looking for Heather walks into the hallway and points at me as I point at her and we both say 'just the person I was looking for' Heather begins the hard task of telling me about Shafika's death and I can at least spare her some sorrow temporarily by informing her I know.

Then we get to sit in the sun of the courtyard and Heather who visited the family every day answers all the questions I can throw at her. Yes they were together, Zaman slept on a cot in Shafika's room every night she was never alone. She died on the saturday from an infection that took over because her immune system was shot, her lungs filling with fluid and her body just shutting down. Her pain was managed although the morphine gave her hallucinations that scared her so they switched to methodone, and then when the pain was too much, morphine again. The most pain was psychological knowing that she was going to die and leave her family behind. The family knew she would die the doctors had told them that the only question was if it would be a couple of months or a couple of years. She had kept that characteristic hospitality of the family making sure heather always had a pillow for her back, even though she was the one dying. The funeral was segregated with the men closest to the grave, but one of the men had words to the Imam and the women were allowed closer. The children were distraught to varying degrees. The community turned out in numbers. Because it was the end of Ramadan the grieving, stress and emotions were amplified by the physical toll of fasting.

She answered one question I didn't ask too, and the answer is that the world is still filled with beautiful people, more than you would ever guess.

I try to stay in the sunlight as I walk back to town. I still can't cry and then for some reason I think of the 'Sending our love down the well' episode of Simpsons, where Bart ends up trapped in the well and laments at all the things he'll never do like smoke a cigarette and shave a dirty word into the back of his head... words that move homer to a furious rage and he digs Bart out. And that gets me finally, except I have no furious rage and I don't know what I could do. Cure cancer? better folks than me are trying, single handedly bring peace to Afghanistan and the greater middle east? Maybe. I got nothing better to do with my life.
But the day is just too beautiful and the tears stop. The truth is, I'm not the bereaved one here. I don't even really understand whats going on. I can't regret meeting Shafika or her life even with all its heartbreak and suffering because she was a beautiful child that got to live and bring joy to her family. Zaman and his family need to grieve for as long as they need and they will never be whole again, they will be scarred but the scars are from healing, from getting better. Not whole, just better.

'Life goes on' is a cliche because it's true. Life is for the living, and it's another beautiful spring day in Melbourne, children are playing and lovers are strolling and dogs are sniffing things to their great intellectual stimulation. That too, I can do nothing about.

Friday, September 10, 2010

There's not enough philosophy on wikipedia

It occured to me shortly after writing the title of this post that I don't actually know what philosophy means, and so I went and looked it up on wikipedia:

"Philosophy is the study of general and fundamental problems concerning matters such as existence, knowledge, values, reason, mind, and language.[1][2] It is distinguished from other ways of addressing fundamental questions (such as mysticism, myth, or the arts) by its critical, generally systematic approach and its reliance on rational argument.[3] The word "philosophy" comes from the Greek φιλοσοφία (philosophia), which literally means "love of wisdom"."

so there you go, and there isn't enough on wikipedia. That is when you look up Zack De La Rocha you don't necessarily get a section that is a long rant on his reason for being. Albeit there is an apology for why he doesn't eat meat.

But this isn't just limited to the political figures of wikipedia if you look up George W Bush there's no reason for being section either and you can't get somebody less political than Dubya, whom I've become a huge fan of now he's safely out of the way. I may even read his book, since his reason for being isn't on Wikipedia.

And while in general I'm averse to the expectation that peeps should have to apologise for their existence and generally hold that peeps and all creatures don't have to explain themselves to have a right to exist and just be. I like philosophies, and like inspiring philosophies that's what I like to see.

I guess if wikipedia also contained peeps philosophies then there would be no need to waste hours watching Youtube interviews with peoples.

Thursday, September 09, 2010

Little Spoons

Bryce thinks I should suck a cock. That once I take that cock out of my mouth I will stop being so scared, appreciate new meaning in my life and all of my problems will be solved. Bryce and I go waaaaaaaaaaaaay back and he perhaps more than anyone knows how to exploit my insecurities and confound my reason such that I can accept such a plan as a good idea.

Accept I can't, to embark on such an endeavor requires an answer to the question 'how?' as in how will sucking a cock solve all my problems? It's a real Stage 3: Profits! type solution to my real or imagined problems.

Rowan though sees an indie film and possible book deal in the 'diary of a straight guy, sucking a cock to solve all his problems' market and thus votes yes. Again with a profit motive perhaps.

Fortunately there is Ann, who votes no, don't suck a cock tohm. And if life tells me anything it is to listen to Ann.

Don't get me wrong, Bryce played a crucial role in getting me to ask out my first real girlfriend and subsequent first kiss. He also played a crucial role in setting me up with my worst ever kiss. I take full responsibility of course, I don't blame him. I'm just saying following his advice and recommendations has sort of cancelled eachother out in terms of risks vs. benefits n shit. I guess I should thank him though, before hooking up with 'J' I thought 'being a good kisser' was a completely vacuous complement applicable to everyone. Apparantly not.

By contrast Ann takes home the trophy for getting me with Miki and also having frequently dispensed excellent advice when it comes to my core incompetence in life: women. Again don't get me wrong, I hope Bryce never stops coming up with advice such as taking a dump on the ground and telling a girl I like 'this is how you make me feel' I'd rather hear these pearls of wisdom than miss out.

I wasn't going to write this post because it felt indulgent and narcissistic and quite possibly hurtful, but I ran into the butcher and talked about most of what follows with him and we could relate so well to eachothers situations that I thought, I will, I will write this post and maybe you too dear reader can relate as well. But I apologise in advance for any narcissism, self-indulgence, misogeny or whatever worst aspects of my Id show up, because this is a facebook invite to the contents of my mind and you just don't know which douchebags will show up.

My 'Search' for a little spoon.

You see there's two kinds of peeps in this world, in a very specific kind of way. There's those that bet dollars and win cents, and those that bet cents and win dollars (but more often, lose cents) I have come to the conclusion that i am the latter. But like lefty's vs. righty's the former is far more prevelant - at least from where I'm standing.

The analogy was originally in an investment context, but I'm going to talk relationships. Various peeps are flatteringly concerned about my persistent singleness for a variaty of reasons and motivations. Mother dearest for example is concerned, for reasons I don't wish to know.

A lot of peeps urge me to 'just have fun' which I was under the impression I was already doing, what these peeps often mean is 'lower your ridiculous standards tohm and just date anybody! somebody! get a fucking girl' (or suck a cock, from some quarters). Which for a lot of peeps is probably good advice, but perhaps not for me (though I always have my doubts).

See this is the kind of person I am, and perhaps you are or aren't like me. I can't walk away, I can't leave. I just can't do it. I've tried to 'have fun' and pick up somebody at a party, or have a short time fling, one night stands etc. I can't do it. I can't take it. I call up Mr. Burns to see if he'll still give us that drink.
I end up in a relationship and many would argue that I A) either have commitment issues. or B) Isn't that what you want?

Well let's steer back towards the 'standards' topic. Standards feels very judgemental, 'what I like' or 'look for' seems too specific. Specifications is what I'd refer to when I throw in the towell and just build myself a girlfriend I call the 'Lovetron 3000' a robot so fine it needs courting. So I'll stick to standards/stuff I like okay I'm not sticking to anything at all...

Let's talk Venn diagrams, nerdy, cold, inappropriate I know and that's why I'm not going to draw one but basically you got two circles. (Yes I mean you, because I'm fairly confident this applies to just about everyone) These circles are 'peeps I like' and 'peeps that like me' and then all the white space around these circles is the vast majority of peeps we are indifferent to and whom are indifferent to us.

The circle of 'peeps I like' and it's relative size mayhaps reflect your and my standards, small means you got real 'high' standards or as I prefer 'specific' and large means as one of my highschool buddies put it standards that are close to 'has two legs and isn't {insert your local moron's name here}'.

But maybe the size doesn't matter really of your 'peeps I like circle' because as much as I hate Tim minchin, his song 'If I didn't have you' I totally agree with which is to say, even if your likes are very specific there's still probably more women out there you do like than you could ever date in your entire life-time. So really both circles without being narcissistic as regards anyone are potentially infinitely large.

But my growing concern is that the circle containing the peeps that like me (which I cannot really prove exists at all, though I do have my suspicions) and the circle 'peeps I like' don't overlap by much, if at all. That is to say A VERY SMALL PERCENTAGE OF THE PEEPS I LIKE ARE THE SAME PEEPS THAT LIKE ME. Really if there is any commentary on how high or low your standards are, it's by how much the two circles overlap. This indeed is the dilemma or issue that causes everybody on earth to stress about relationships and invest in colognes called Sex Panther, or get bogan blonde streaks put in your hair.

Now, here is where Butcher and my conversating got interesting at least to us, I can't gauruntee this blog will get interesting ever.

A couple of weeks ago I started having recurring dreams about hooking up with, going on dates and having sex with girls I suspected that liked me (I can't prove anything).

Now as pleasant as the 'having fun' stage of the dream was, I woke up feeling terrible because I could remember that the majority of the dream was me feeling guilty about the fact that I realised the varying cast of these dreams then expected me to be in a relationship with them and that I had to break up with them and then they would call me a cad or worse for simply using them or stringing them along.

This is me, this is why I can't simply 'have fun' I feel terrible, I sit at home having an emotional breakdown that that girl expects me to call them and ask them out for a second date. I don't mind being used for fun myself per se, but I personally am just like 'what's the point?' I'm not sure if this is how all introverts feel, given the amount of energy it takes to socialise I don't see why I would ever invest the time and energy to pick someone up just to throw them away.

I said something to butcher, or Rowan or somebody that I can't repeat here but you can probably guess. Hopefully though you can't.

And here's the real trap, requiring sadly that I narcissisticly talk about me some more - for me you can be attractive, intelligent, fit, kind and generous and not be in my 'peeps I like circle' which sounds like incredibly high standards. Here me out though, You can be dumb, borderline average, super un-fit, kind and lazy and be in my 'peeps I like circle'. Because there are things that are deal-breakers for me and things that aint.

I can't describe it but for me the most attractive quality in a woman (or indeed man, though I don't swing that way) is that they 'speak the language' which no, is not Japanese, it is an ability to conversate in such a way as to be constantly surprising and entertaining. If peeps can speak 'the' language to me it is immediately apparant even though I couldn't define it here. I can't really say what it is because it's surprising in nature and therefore, if I could predict what it sounds like, I wouldn't be surprised.

For example, I fell in love with E almost instantly when we were setting up our first date and I asked her where she wanted to go for lunch. She said 'The Pancake Parlour' this was back in the day of landlines, and I had to walk around the corner and hide so I could silently make joyous undignified dance movements, wrapped in a phone cord.

Now, if you are curious, if you think that you should ask me out on a date to the Pancake Parlour and I will fall in love with you - you clearly don't speak the language. Much in the same way as if you've ever been sitting in a bar with a group of mates and one of them said something incredibly witty and insightful and everyone burst out laughing and you instructed them to repeat the joke for Matt who was off buying a drink at the time then once again you clearly don't speak the language.

The language makes up 50% of my piechart of love because I like to be with peeps that I actually enjoy spending time with, since I know once I'm in a relationship I'll basically stay there till I'm ditched.

After that it's probably kindness, even though I'm naturally inclined to be a cunt, I fight it as much as I can and I don't really like bitter vindictiveness in other peeps and hey, who does. Then attractiveness, intelligence, blah blah blah whatever. The first twix are the only real dealbreakers.

And because they are dealbreakers I can't lower my standards, what I can do is date somebody nice, intelligent, kind and healthy or whatever except... except that's a trap, and I'm supposed to learn from experience. Plenty of people myself included fail to do so. Hence hencely people have such a common habit of marrying people that are just like the people they recently divorced (according to Dan Gilbert) anyway, and sometimes your 'type' is not good for you.

I hope to learn from past experience and not just date people because they like me and I can. This decision ain't for everyone. I'm sure Ann who voted 'no' don't lower your standards and whom I listen to I'm assuming wouldn't advise all her friends to do the same.

It works for me because I bet cents to win dollars, that's the plan at least. My life, and this the butcher related to (I think), is not so unpleasant that I can't stand the loneliness. Infact my life is good, I do too much exercise, too much socialising, too much creating and too much giving to feel bad for any prolonged period. (Recently I've actually been having trouble feeling bad when I feel I'm supposed to). Which is a good problem to have. I can handle being single for long stretches (waaay long stretches) not just because of what I said to Rowan or butcher that I can't repeat here but because like Harlen Elson astutely pointed out there's a difference between being Alone and being lonely.

For the right lady I'd make time, but not for the wrong one. I'd rather work on the other things in my life that give me euphoric satisfaction.

The thing though about betting cents to win dollars, is that your numbers come up far less often than when you are betting dollars to win cents. They may tis true never come up at all. So most of the time you lose cents, which is fine because you can afford to do so. But the fact is that for most of the time you look (and subsequently feel) like a loser, this doesn't just apply to relationships, but pretty much anything be it trying to become an artist or musician of note or making a scientific breakthrough or inventing the next sliced bread.

It takes a certain somebody to be able to hold out amongst the others living on the other side of the fence that most of the time look like they are doing pretty well for themselves and occasionally lose big. (humiliating and expensive divorce and what not).

For me I know from experience that playing it safe career wise and relationship wise don't work for me. I wake up feeling a deep sense of malaise, misdirect my anger and find myself jealous of friends going to clown college and counting their pocket change to see if they can afford a hotdog.

Maybe you can relate, maybe you can't.

This is disjointed but Butcher made the point that where those circles overlap (peeps who both like us AND we like) we are confounded by our own terror. I realised this isn't true, I'm terrified of everybody in the 'peeps I like circle' humiliatingly terrified, which has lead to my ungraceful and unpatented 'burn the ships of retreat' tactic to force myself to approach these peeps. But it's true and concerning for me in particular because I should add that relationships ain't about what we can take, but are equally about what we actually have to offer.

Where I relate to my friends that tell me to 'have fun' is that it does seem like a waste when I have (not much) but something to offer somebody but instead I'm all alone. At the very least there's my body warmth on a cold winters night, that's just a scientific fact. But yes, I murder my own confidence over the question of what I actually have to offer and it's partly why I entertain the theory that perhaps the two circles don't overlap at all.

Most tragically for me is that my fear of peeps I like actually hampers my ability to speak the language myself (or at the very least say the things that keep the conversation conversating) I used to overcome this with negativity and vindictiveness, but since Claire dumped my arse (thanks again Claire) I've gradually been trying to be less of a cunt each day and I don't have this defence anymore, which means I just end up a plain old retard.

Thus thusly, there are many obstacles to finding a little spoon for me. Not least of which is how rare women who speak the language are, and how unpredictable they are to find/meet. Sadly men much more commonly speak the language, like 1/10 vs 3/50 for females and this is the sort of observation that makes Bryce's cock sucking reciprocal arrangement (not I should state with Bryce) semi-appealing, until I realise that all the guys that speak the language are also tragically straight, so yeah I'm going to roll with Ann on this one, not lower my standards, and keep the cock out of my mouth.

I've had some amazing women in my life, and the experiences can't be taken away. But I do have regrets and most of them were when I 'just had fun' and missed out on opportunites (that may or may not have been real) that haunt me to this day. I boasted with uncharacteristic bravado once that 'i'd rather be rejected by her, than hook up with all the others' or something like that, and though it doesn't reveal my true terror or ineptitude with women, nor just how unpleasent getting rejected is, it's still true.

But Bryce does make a hypnotically persuasive argument and as Black Sheep said 'I never say never because I know I just might.'

Tuesday, August 31, 2010

Success is like a Cafe

So I talk about failure a lot, peeps know I'm obsessed with it. It is my mistress I court at every corner. But what of it's twin sister - Success?

I was sitting in a very nice cafe today, the name of which I don't know and it was so nice I kind of thought it would be a nice life, running a cafe. I don't know shite about coffee it's true, nor could I make good muffins or sandwiches and whatever. But seriously, having your business as a nice relaxing place for people to unwind would provide one with a nice relaxing place to work.

Anyway, I thought 'Success is like a cafe.' And maybe it isn't. I don't know what I'm saying...




Now I remember, success could be like a cafe, but really what I'm talking about is the vague and abstract concept of 'making it' that is the breakthrough. I've been told in any creative pursuit you are a pro when you don't actually have to do anything else to support yourself. That is you are a writer when you tap out a story or article from time to time and don't serve coffee at Starbucks to pay the rent. (it just occured to me that I know a writer literally doing this, fortunately he's probably too busy with starbucks to read my blog). You are a musician when you earn money from blowing on the end of a tuba and not when you give lessons to some fat kid from private school. You are an artist when you go to your studio and paint a rotting fish still life and sell it for your years wages, not when you go to a call center and conduct computer assisted telephone interviews for the collation of statistical data.

Thus the concept of 'making it' through this frontier has tremendous appeal. Anyway I'm going to stop explainanating and just talk about cafe's now.

If you are some kind of creative, you want to be the cool cafe. The hidden secret place to chill out. You just want to be a good cafe, that makes good coffee.

BUT you want people to find out about you and flock to you every lunchtime and pay your mother fucken rent by loading up on lattes. You want to be successful.

You could once successful, buy out your neighbours and put on more staff and service more customers. You could get an electronic cashier, you could have a seperate staff member for ordering and paying and pay somebody else to be your barista and send them to official barista competitions.

Or you could just keep being that cool cafe you always wanted to be. You can't service your demand, but you are doing what you love. You won't get all the customers you can, but you will keep all the customers you can handle. That is, no matter how many people hear about this cool cafe, this great atmosphere, you just keep being what you wanted to be. You get some money, not perhaps as much money as you can wring out of the short term, but you get it and you get to keep the atmosphere, the vibe you wanted to create.

That's mother fucken success. Success is like a cafe.

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

Open For Business*

*I'm not actually open for business. yet.

Before I know it I will have graduated and will be legally able to dispense financial advice. I think as a mature student sitting in the front row because my eyesight has already gone I also think about my future clients a lot more than the green uni students that surround me with no real practical experience in the workforce. I think about my future clients often and I have become increasingly aware that in the future I may have none, none that I can help anyway. Here (hopefully) briefly is why:

#1 I don't think like the majority of clients out there.

In Business Finance (Finance101) the lecturer asked rhetorically why we buy a share, the answer being 'for the entitlement to future dividends' which is fair enough, but in a departure from this (and my usual emphasis on practical outcomes rather than semantics) I am considering one day putting in large lettering on my wall a different answer 'we buy shares because we wish to assume the risks of ownership.'
I don't believe in partitioning the mind, my last post looked at how believers could have minds such that they could design a scientific experiment that earned them an A+ in year 12 physics then go and listen to a priest give very specific explanations of the origin of the universe with no scientific evidence whatsoever.
Thus I don't see why I might go and support a sporting team may or may not win, or see a band that may never get signed or buy a zine of a friend that may never get a publishing deal then buy shares in a company I don't want to succeed.

Put simply, for me the question of ownership begins with whether you want the company to succeed or not. Not what its riskyness and expected returns are. Sure you want the business to be good, but first don't you want it's core value to be something you support. Thus I don't give a shit if a bamboo bicycle manufacturer offers more risk and lower returns than a brown coal exporter. I want brown coal to fail and I want bamboo bicycles to succeed.
From there I'd try and pick the best bamboo bicycle company, the most viable, the one likely to beat out its competition in the long run and so fourth, but that is where I begin my thinking not where I end it.

In this regard I'm much like Ben Graham and Warren Buffett - I think of buying a share in a company the same as owning the whole thing, and treat the investment decision as such.

Most clients though, shares are just numbers, and my lecturers teach me thus to reflect the industry practice. We spend hours talking about Beta's, covariances, variances, standard deviations, CAPM, CLM, RFR, Modern Portfolio Theory and almost exactly 0 time talking about companies. We assume that a clients criteria for investing consists of two variables Risk and Return and they don't give a shit how the optimum is achieved.

I give a shit, I don't care how strong BHP is, I don't want to own a penny of it.

#2 I can only help the rich.

I have friends that have the rich gene, they may not actually be rich but they are candidates to be rich. Why? they are willing to back themselves. They are willing to sink money into an uncertain venture and put up with the consequences if everything goes pear shaped. These are a slim minority of my friends that I try to spend the majority of my time with.

These friends one day I hope will be my clients, and I can help them. Most people I can't help.

Thus when I open my doors for business I imagine many of the people who walk through my doors will hear these sweet words from me 'get the fuck out of my office.'

I sort of don't want to touch superannuation money, even if there's a lot of it out there, and it is tax effective. I don't want it because it's money that has been saved for people, not by people. It's passive money in the possession of passive people.

People who think about their destination and not the road they want to take. People that will come to me with their own answers and just want me to tell them they are right.

People who want to buy property.

See I think my lecturers and the industry have got it all wrong. They invest tremendous amounts of energy into calculating risks and devising 'optimal portfolios' that in practice often underperform the market index (or no effort fund.) It costs people money to underperform the market and it is immensely popular.

But my chief concern is that uncertainty is uncertainty, and certainty is certainty and after the event you can be certain that whatever happened happened. That is the odds that something that did occur occured are 1.

Thus pointing out that something has an expected return of 14% with a standard deviation of 6% is a waste of everybodies time. Whether you get 8% or 20% are the consequences to concern yourself with not the odds of either occuring. Can the client deal with getting 8%?

Rich people can, they will give me money to play with they can afford to lose. They will say things like 'did I beat the market? who cares, I earned enough to buy this big house!' where the morons I will throw out of my office will say things like 'You charge 1% and you only achieved returns of 8% but MLC achieved returns of 12% this financial year so what are we paying you for?' and I will say 'I don't know, take your money and get the fuck out of my office. Keep chasing the annual winner because it won't be MLC next year.'

Actually that would be more than I can hope for, most people lacking the rich gene just listen to whatever moron at their dinner group is proud enough in the good times to advertise how well his investments are doing where he will shut his mouth all the times he has done poorly. Most people are concerned with keeping up with the Jones, independant of what the Jones' can buy or how they got there.

That's all I can think of right now, apart from the thought that is dominating my mind which is: it's lunch time.

Friday, August 20, 2010

What is an Athiest?

Athiest is a label thrust upon you for being consistent. Hear me out! There is no real belief system in atheism apart from this: you don't accept an assumption that explains phenomena when the only (unreal) evidence to support the assumption is the existence of the phenomena it attempts to explain.

Confused? You see a puddle of water on a table, basically an athiest can't say 'I assume there was an icecube there but hours ago' because there are other concievable and perhaps more likely explanations for how that puddle came to be. A leak in the ceiling, a spill from a glass of water.
Sure you could run a bunch of tests to shorten the odds, but an athiest can't/won't say 'there must have been an icecube there' because they can't prove it.

An athiest doesn't stress too much about where puddles come from in the same way that generally they won't stress about how gravity works. An athiest doesn't need to understand gravity to live in a world characterised by gravity. Gravity reinforces itself day in and day out and aside from taking up a profession as a physicist, an athiest doesn't feel any particular desire to inject energy into understanding and revearing the mysteries of gravity.

By contrast a deist can look at a puddle and say 'god put it there' and without knowing the slightest thing about gravity can attribute it's mysterious functioning to a design by the 'cosmic architect' or whatever.

That's all an athiest is and isn't they have a consistent mind set where they approach the mysteries of life all the same and assume no knowledge. They can question everything as a result of this non partitioning of their rational process. What's really most amazing is deists that are perfectly capable of studying physics and biology yet have partitioned off a corner of their brains dedicated to religion where they apply the exact opposite rational process of assuming knowledge and rejecting evidence that contradicts it.

But this is important, one of the key differences between athiests and deists is that athiests don't really exist, as I said it's just a label foisted upon you for being consistent, thus there's no real unity or bond of belief that holds together an athiest community and this is just how I like it. Two people that hate eachother may be thrust together by their shared spiritual belief but not so with athiests. To each their own.

Brakeless

No I haven't bought a fixed gear, I'm just thinking that for a while now I've been coasting through life without any brakes. What are the brakes? well remember 'catch me if you can' where Leo Di Caprio meets with his father in a restaurant and begs him to ask him to stop (a life of cheque fraud and running from the law) and his dad just wants him to keep sticking it to the man?

Well I'm doing nothing so dangerous or irresponsible but it occured to me that in the long monotonous process of getting over my ex Misaki has resulted in their being nobody in my life that could ask me to stop what I'm doing.

I mean, I didn't like working at Honda, I did like it, but deep deep down I knew a big part of me was unfulfilled I wasn't charging headlong at the wall of my limitations, I could succeed at Honda and thus had to leave.

But I knew that if Misaki asked (at that time) I would have stopped, settled and accepted a life less ordinary just to be with her. I got enough happiness at the time simply from her that I would trade the rest to keep her.

Fortunately/unfortunately she needed to leave to work in the family business. So my brake system was being dismantled anyway. But the thing about getting over somebody is that you don't really notice when it happens, because part of it is that you don't think about them much anymore, so I was kind of caught offguard when I last spoke to Miki that almost a year had gone by, and that she was engaged and thus, there was no (I sincerely really hope there isn't) chance she'll call me up one day and ask me to stop. And if she did, nowadays I'd probably ignore her.

It's a bit daunting, but I feel like I'm becoming myself, for better or worse and nobody can ask me to stop.

Monday, August 16, 2010

The First thing To Do When You Panic

...is nothing. Today I was reminded of what it felt like to have my wallet suddenly dissappear in a foreign country and find yourself with no means of supporting yourself whatsoever.

I went through shock and denial very quickly, they get out of the way with a few searches of every possible place I could have misplaced my wallet or whatever. Travelling if it teaches you anything, teaches you that you simply don't exist except for the fact that you have money in your pocket to exchange for goods and services.

So I imagine losing your wallet when travelling alone in a foreign country is much like how Ariel Felt when Ursula took her voice in exchange for legs.
Except I don't have great legs that can nab me a handsome patriarch to look after me. Nor singing crab companions for that matter.

But in Abe Lincolns tradition of 'If I only had 5 minutes to cut down a tree I'd spend 4 of them sharpening my axe' or whatever, when you panic I highly recommend sitting down and letting time pass. 5-10 minutes is plenty. It isn't so much about planning or getting your shit together or whatever - it's about running an empirical experiment where you can prove to your own mind that the world isn't going to fall apart instantly.

Once you realise you have space to move it's much easier to come up with rational solutions. For me it was cancelling my card and stopping pending transactions from going through. Ordering emergency cash, and a replacement card. Then I just had to go to the police and arrange a 'pay on checkout' deal with my hostel.

The second time, I just had to devise some collatoral to offer to the hostel (because I dimwittedly arrived in town with no money having stuffed up a transfer of funds) which was refused on account of my trustworthy face and then digging up some old Japanese currency so I had enough money to eat a meal.

The thing was that in hindsight these situations were pretty easy to survive, and I could have survived a lot worse by sleeping on the streets or something.

Panic flares up to drive us furiously away from something unpleasant, but often it doesn't inspire the easiest, most graceful or even most immediate solutions to passing through our current state of affairs. Often the easiest and simplest thing to do is to endure the unpleasant and take it from there.

Having said all this if you can see the thief making off with your wallet, chase him down, don't do nothing.

Sunday, August 15, 2010

Getting Used to Being a Loser/Don't Be In a Rush to Succeed

James was skeptical of my triple encore theory but then like Kanye ruining an acceptance speech Ali Shaheed Mohammed had retaken the decks and cranked out 'Award tour' and the crowd that was in the process of departing hit the roof.
Except they didn't which was why Tribe stopped and rewound like 6 times until they were sure we were hitting the roof.
And it's not like they fucked up, after 20+ years of performing their shit was tight, we were apparantly fucking up our role as the crowd and it was really hard to determine what I was doing wrong as a member of it and further more I began to wonder who was paying who.

But I totally respect the will to do it over until its done right. And they did it over and over, and they did it multiple times through the show and it was totally the opposite of unprofessional.

24 hours later I'm standing in the reopened Tote's bandroom as men with ratstails and women with mullets pushed passed with plastic cups of bear reminding me never to stand between the stage and the bar again. One girl even even spilt her beer running into the back of me but I was wearing my terrance towel hoodie so I wouldn't have noticed if she hadn't been so apologetic.
Barbarion took the stage and started playing and more or less didn't stop. My ears are still ringing 4 days on. They had their original bassplayer Yuri back and boy were they tight. Tight yet loose and there a band I was lucky enough to get on the wagon of on their 3rd or 4th gig, they have a couple of new songs where they've clearly taken what they've learned but what really impresses me is what they've done with the tracks they've been playing for year(s) now.
They've pretty much amped them up, they've evolved, improved and basically injected more energy wherever they can.
They move about the stage better, command the space better and they aren't afraid to yell out instructions to their sound mixer to correct the balance throughout the show.
They've come along way in a short space of time and I can hear (and feel) the difference. The highlight though was when during 'Running From the Law' one of my favorites, the lead singer Myles a mighty man made a lacklustre attempt to crowdsurf which resulted in him singing from the floor.

The irreverant gracelessness is a big part of what makes this band successful and allows them to shape themselves and grow.

I'm sitting with 150 in a food court as usual (but unusually since we hadn't met for 6 months or so) waiting for the other members of the real gayle king to arrive. He's jotting down something I said which is kind of the point of this post, it's not something I said originally and sadly I can't remember who actually said it because I trawell through that much shit searching for references but whoever said it I resaid it and it was this: 'good is the enemy of done'

And 150 was writing it down, he seems to like my business management cliches that I like to recite to creative peeps. But this one was actually said I'm like 90% certain by a creative peep and that's what makes it so poigniant.

When the Real Gayle King first formed we wasted like 6 weeks of meetings (truly wasted because nobody documented the hilarious arguments) having infuriating arguments between 150 and me about online campaigning. I couldn't believe that 4 creative peeps had come together and the first thing 150 wanted to do wasn't to create but to online campaign and use trolling and forums to max out our web hits.

To be fair, this blog is my forum and 150 can't really defend himself, so in an attempt to do so, 150 was sort of the most successful of us at the time having quite a following of his zines through Sticky and was thus the least excited about creating tangible pieces and most excited about having a blog which the rest of us already had and not much more.

But while 150 is excused the rest of you ain't. Everybody coming into the creative scene is too impatient. How do I know this? Because I'm impatient, and yet whilst I know I've wasted years and it will take me years still (and years longer than I can ever anticipate) simply to get on track very few people think like this. They need to succeed and succeed now.

And I think that's what makes the old school acts, be they bands from the 90's or bands that should have formed in the 90's or earlier special.

H-wang when he eventually arrived at our meeting concurred about the photography world, saying that many of the old hands at photography had taken 20 years to establish themselves and nowadays the newbies worked 2 years before they were teaching classes on how to be a pro-photographer.

The mentality is everywhere despite the success of Malcolm Gladwell's outliers, and mayhaps that's just the facebook/myspace generation mentality. What the fuck is wrong with it though? There's a time to 'go professional' but not till after you cut your teeth. I remember in Year 11, Jacob yelling at Chris for missing his queue that it was 'un-fucking believable' this was a crappy house music competition of no consequence that's not the time to go pro but that's what so many creative peeps feel like to me these days.

I'm guilty as well, I once ripped shit through a friends manuscript (it was like fan fiction of some of my friend and my's fiction that in hindsight was too complicated to produce and never going anywhere anyway) because I was too attached to my own baby to see that everyone else just found it annoying.

Well the Beatles played in Hamburg for like 3 years just earning their stripes. I've seen Sutcliffe's or Lennon's sketches of Paul McCartney attempting to take a bath in a mensroom sink.

"We used to dress how we liked, on and off stage. He'd tell us that jeans were not particularly smart and could we possibly manage to wear proper trousers, but he didn't want us suddenly looking square. He'd let us have our own sense of individuality ... it was a choice of making it or still eating chicken on stage." - John Lennon - after 3 years playing strip clubs in Hamburg is the time to consider turning more professional.

Bobby Chiu one of the lead concept artists for Tim Burton's Alice In Wonderland talked about when he first set up Imaginism studios and how hard it was lugging books around to comic cons with no money and reflecting 'these we will look back on as good times'.

I'm not sure if anybody in the Real Gayle King is doing the work necessary to make it, but regardless I certainly will look back on our listless sporadic and disorganised meetings in QV food courts as good times. Sitting in front of the state library checking out girls necks at Butcher's insistence were good times. Having my phone go off with one word text messages that simply read 'late' were good times.

Rather than turn to Malcolm Gladwell I'll turn to an author I actually have read being Nicholas Nassim Taleb's Black Swan that talks about how to choose the right brother in law.

Basically there's two kinds of people in the world, the vast majority stake their dollars on a daily basis and win a long succession of pennies, encountering a major loss once a decade or so. It's a metaphore so you can basically substitute dollars with 'important things' pennies with 'small pleasures' and major loss as 'any kind of hardship'

Then you have the creatives, the risk takers, the 'losers'. But a very special kind of loser, they are a minority they bet pennies on a daily basis and typically lose them setting up a long string of successive losses all in the hope to win dollars, once ever decade or so (or perhaps never) they win big, real big.
Again the metaphore, should be easy to translate, it's the struggling artist, the research scientist whatever. They are convinced that grand prize is out there to be won and they've inherited this conviction from that common risk taking ancestor.

Whilst most of us would prefer a long succession of small pleasures, others can never be satisfied unless they win big. Many or most never succeed, but its hard to tell because we never hear of them the ones that do win big misrepresent the odds of winning big because we hear about them all the time convincing other losers that their dreams are possible.

And this is good because this is how progress is made. If nobody attempts to hit the jackpot then it just keeps sitting on the shelf of possibility and never crosses over into our reality and enriches our lives.

But maybe the balance is shifting, I just meet too many people that are less patient than me to succeed. Most creative peeps have done more work than me so power to them, but in the spirit of 'good is the enemy of done' I think the biggest leap I made towards actually getting somewhere with my drawing was to give up on the idea that I could ever actually get anything done right.

Looking back on my sketches for the early Real Gayle King Stuff I cringe, but I also see a lot of progress now. Looking at how terrible my drawings were then makes me feel a lot better about how terrible my drawings look now.

FYI I'm publishing on facebook mostly because I'm too ashamed to put any of my stuff up on deviantart yet, I'll get there though with a lot more work and it will be good to kick the facebook habit.

But maybe I'm lucky I never went to art school, and I don't expect much of myself, (the little I do expect is more than I can deliver) I think some of the professionally trained peeps expect more of themselves and expect to get their creative produce right the first time. They don't fuck around and experiment and screw up and evolve anymore because they just want to be pro's right now, they've been trained to be pro's and they aren't ready. 'the perfect is the enemy of the good, the good is the enemy of done'

I'm lucky I tried being one of the majority of peeps, and have a regular steady paycheck in a secure job earning steady small incremental accolades and whilst I wouldn't consider it a total waste of time I met some great peeps and learned a bunch of stuff and what not, I know it's not for me. I'm for living in a garage to minimise my living costs whilst I make ill concieved attempts to create things of meaning hoping one day I'll make something that will resonate with somebody whilst not being sure if that/those resonating somebodies exist.

I feel though if you're not a loser like me you should be putting down your pencils, your plectrums, your stylus, your tough new Lumix and buying a milkbar. If you want to succeed and you're in a hurry go to a real estate seminar and be a real loser. If not take the time to fuck around, fuck up, feel fucking terrible, get back on the fucking horse, fuck shit up old school, and fucking enjoy it.

To end with a cliche, it's the fucking journey after all, not the destination.