Australian Idyll :: Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans

On Monday night MediaWatch tackeld last week’s NewsCorp campaign against the ‘redneck backlash’ over the Schapelle Corby sentencing. Liz Jackson pointed out that The Herald Sun and The Daily Telegraph had fanned those very flames of intolerance in the previous weeks.

In true frontline reporting fashion, I posted an anecdotal report on this ‘redneck backlash’ on Tezza’s blog two months ago. Here is an excerpt:

I’ve been told, repeatedly, that Australia is a multi-cultural and tolerant society. Yeah, right. Not in Upfield apparently. This I’ve decided after smoko at work today, where for fifteen minutes the charged topic was the fate of Schapelle Corby. Today it was all about ‘Bring our Schapelle home’, ‘ Save Schapelle, she’s sick’, etc etc, which is all VERY cool. But then it went on to ‘why get her when there are all those slope-heads selling smack on every corner’ and ‘those fkin’ gooks don’t want OUR drugs cos it would cut into THEIR profits.’ And so on and so forth. ‘Chink’ and ‘ct’ were uttered in the same breath, too often, without a hint of irony. Right, so much for informed debate, let’s head for the gutter. Where exactly talk on ‘the sanctity of life’ got mangled into ‘us vs them, hate hate hate’, I don’t know.

I first came to hear about the furore over the use of the word Keling in the title of a play when Sheels posted about it. I’m don’t know the full extent of the outrage, but I’d imagine several South Indians in Singapore are up in arms to change this reference to an oppressive slur.

Personally, I hate the word, and it dates back to a couple of experiences in my childhood. (Here is an etymology provided by someone who has lived through it.) Still, I stand by the right of the playwright to frame his references as he sees fit, and I hope it is in aid of more than just stirring up shit to sell tickets.

From Sheels’ post, and she’s a remarkable journalist who gets to the low-down on things, it sounds like the writer is attempting to co-opt the word, and I’m all for that. I would link to her news report on this topic, heck, I would love to read it myself, but just as soon as it went up online, it was not to be found. I’d bet my last dollar it was taken off because it dealt with issues of race and minorities. Some things just don’t change in Singapore.

The gay community has already co-opted several perjoratives (eg. poof, queer, fag, etc.), neutralising the sting in some and using others to empower and build identity among its members. The black community has done the same, to the point that some white boys, only two generations removed from an era of racial segregation and lynch-mobs, have taken to addressing each other as ‘nigga’. Hilarious.

So to witness a derogatory reference to an aspect of my idenity being subverted into a tool of empowerment (and here I may be getting too carried away, I can’t see too many Tamils in Singapore rallying around the war-cry of ‘Keling-kia!’) is somewhat rewarding. Those who oppose use of the expression should just take a chill-pill.

I suspect this active protest is a symptom of the broader stigma and sense of ‘other-ness’ of living as a dark-skinned minority in Singapore, still simmering just below the surface in passivity. One would think that rather than turning it against someone taking positve action to have a light-hearted study of the word (so the blurb goes) and remove its barb, it would be wiser to examine the sources of one’s cultural insecurities and staunch the places from which they stem. Broader engagement and affirmative representations, beyond community self-help, is much in need and this bit of drama (I mean the play) may just be the catalyst.

PS: My interest in this topic, and many others Singaporean, brings to mind Hatter’s post touching on Geert Hofstede’s research. While I am living and loving it in Melbourne, in many ways, I still do “belong” to Singapore. Reading further, also interesting in a Singaporean context is Mr. Hofstede’s notion of uncertainty avoidance.

I’ve not posted anything for a while because I’ve been busy being tactical, switched-on and dynamic - all at the same time, in four pages. It’s the tryanny of resume-writing, and let me tell you, it’s not much fun.

Seven drafts, umpteen font and format changes, additions, deletions and $35 spent on a how-to-book by the ‘experts’, and I’m no closer to ululating professionalism than I was a week ago. It’s actually got to a paralytic dilemma where I dare not add anything lest I detract from the “targeted positioning” and yet cannot leave it be as it’s not the perfect reflection of the full extent of my abilities. And - as we’re constantly reminded, mostly by rejection emails - in this competitive world, nothing short of perfection is acceptable.

The ante is considerably upped by the fact that I’m applying for writing and/or communications positions. While mindful of the fact that most recruiters wouldn’t know effective communications if it bit them on the arse, I am also aware that conservatism is their guiding philosophy and they would have no qualms binning my CV at the faintest hint that it might cause the client to twitch an eyebrow.

So I feel pressured to polish every sentence. Until it shines. Like a beacon. Out to a ship in the fog. “Pick me, pick me!” Then it gets a bit too showy. Just that slight touch of OTT. Like Beyonce’s bling at the Oscars. I delete the gleaming construction. And stare at the empty space again. It must be perfect ….

The tyranny of the resume is only surpassed by the tyranny of recruiters. If I got a dollar for every smarmy “consultant” who gives me a vague set of requirements for the job, avoids my calls for the next week, then sends me a generic rejection email, and finally fobs off my persistence with a laundry-list of lame excuses that bear no relation to my application, I wouldn’t have to go through this blasted job-search process in the first place. (Flawed logic, I know….)

Still, there is no real alternative is there? One needs to work to live, and sharp resumes and painful recruiters are but potholes on the highway to career nirvana. Large, frustrating potholes smack in the middle of the road every 50-metres or so, making it intensely tempting to pull-up by wayside and walk. On such moments, remind yourself that you cannot wear your gown and mortar-board to signal self-worth while flipping burgers and salting fries, and keep driving.

With the terrors of the hacker attack on Blogsome behind us, I’m happily back in control of Australian Idyll. But on the night itself, the service halt brought with it a rush of panic followed by a wave of relief (and a little smugness). One question, can someone confirm for me that Blogsome is a host based in Ireland? Anyway, this was my little spiel:

It’s been a frustrating 24-hours but with only two hours sleep and the eye-sockets on fire, I’m just too tired to get worked up. The limitations of Blogger were getting to me, and the excitement of trying out my newly-acquired rudimentary code one more time sent me on a search for the perfect blog.

Six hours spent researching hosting services, spawining several bastard Australian Idyll sites across cyberspace in the process. Decide to use Blogsome because they had WordPress powering the blogs, which is very cool. They had more skins for WP. The one host I really wanted to use was not taking new accounts for a few weeks. And I think they’re Irish which, for some reason, appealed to me.

Speaking of the Irish, my luck has been spectacular. I’ve spent many many hours tweaking code to design my perfect three column blog. A painful task considering how little code I know and how many times I had to look up Webmonkey. I’d just come up with a design that I’m pretty happy with, though it could probably use a little more tweaking. I’ve just uploading nifty little buttons that I so love to make Idyll just that much prettier.

I’m about to forward my posts, and the damn host appears to have crashed. Can’t log in, no reponse, can’t reach their forums, nothing.

And that’s where the moral of the story comes in - much like all those parables where the little guy saves the day. After fiddling with all these relatively high-tech newfangled new-technology thingiebobs (for me anyway), it was the teeny tiny little-mentioned Notepad that saved my arse. Backed up my style code and main code just before the bastard host crashed.

Sorry, if you were expecting calamity, it didn’t quite end up that way. And sorry if you’re waiting for a point to all of this. I’m really, really tired right now and can’t spin one. Wait! I got it! Always back-up your work. (Bah humbug….)

Super Nanny is on the telly right now. I ranted about this show on Tezza’s blog a while back. Here’s an excerpt:

- How much would YOU have to be paid before you WHORE your CHILDREN out to have their indiscretions taped and broadcast around the world? - What sort of messages are you sending out to your kids when you parent one way today, another tomorrow, revert back to bad habits they day after, have your head pulled in by Supernan on Thursday, get back on the wagon Friday, etc etc?

And I’m still watching the crap; it’s better than Big Brother on Ten. Yet, telly vewing patterns are one component of demographics, are they not? And like Wy, I too remember Michael Jackson’s Billie Jean well and was quite moved by Jamie Oliver’s School Dinners.

Old fart? Hell, YES! Coupled with sporadic tantrums and a profound beer gut, I reckon I’m doing a slap-up job of ageing utterly disgracefully.

The Supreme Court in Canada this week has given the green light for Ottawa to legislate gay marriage; the process is expected to commence in the new year.

Predominantly Catholic Spain recently legalised gay marriage, joining the ranks of Belgium and the Netherlands in permitting same-sex matrimony. Reports suggest that the wording of the legislation implicitly grants gay couples the right to adopt children.

Around the world, it seems things are turning a brighter shade of fuschia. Personally, I find these moves steps forward in terms of equitable rights and legal protections for the gay community.

I will not be holding my breath to hear what His Eminence, Herr Ratsinger will have to say on the matter, though it’s a no-brainer based on previous comments. Even as progressive strides are made, we have a new Pope who is arch-conservative on “values” issues and has no qualms about making it known.

Spain’s latest development is also welcome at a time when George Dubya has ridden to a second term in office on his moral mandate, with the backing of the evangelical vote, and is said to be looking to the Pope for moral leadership in world affairs.

This growing tendency to throw religion into the political mix unsettles me. It seems like world affairs has never been so charged with issues of faith and dogma as it has been in the past four years, with generally disastrous results. I wonder where this tussle between the deeply religious and the firmly secular will lead and whether the hard lessons that led to separating church and state will be forgotten.

So it’s good to see Dubya copping it over the Terry Schiavo affair. And it’s disturbing that fundamentalists are digging into their deep pockets to peddle influence.

This was my first post ever, and being a sentimental kind of bloke (read: too lazy to be arsed to write something fresh), I’ve re-posted it here:

For those of you who think cycling is a zippy travel option in lieu of dirty fuel alternatives - think again. When your sinews are burning, your chest is heaving and you’re counting the rotations of the pedal, you will question the wisdom of this notion. When you’re wondering when you’ll ever reach that crest in the horizon, stop by the side of the road to hurl the contents of your stomach (such as I did), ditch the bike and leg it half-a-mile to the train station to head home and have a lie-down, then pull a sickie from work because you feel genuinely ill, you’ll curse, if you had the strength.

For those of you who smoke a pack a day and think cycling will be a cool way to get fit, first check with your doctor, then book an appointment with your psychiatrist, sharp-ish. Try some gentler forms of exercise, such as vacuuming the carpets, or taking down to the bin the dozen beer bottles you emptied into your gut the night before to wash down two souvlakis. Then perhaps consider a short ride to the milk-bar across the road to buy your next pack of fags.

For those who think cycling is a great way to discover the highways and byways of Melbourne, noon is not a good time to set out. No doubt you will contemplate the pensioner pedalling alongside, even as you contemplate whether you will pass out first from heat exhaustion or a cardiac, and grimace as he flashes you an easy grin and overtakes. For the next 20 seconds, you will contemplate every movement in the folds of his sagging arse encased in white cycling tights before he pulls away and out of sight. You may have the higher sperm count (possibly) but there is no doubt as to who is the superior candidate for Darwinian selection.

And for those of you who think Tezza is a genius and a legend for helping you fix your bike and knowing how it’s done, he generally is. Except on occasions such as when (I suspect) he tightens the nuts (or the brakes) on the back wheel so hard that the blasted thing does not rotate and every down-pedal feels like you’re doing 100-kilo squats at the gym. Which you discover only as you’re hauling the two-wheeled hellspawn cross-town (no trains) and wonder what that infernal dragging noise is and why it is following you. Upon which you promptly wish Tezz peptic issues on the dinner you bought him last night by way of thanks. Sigh….

So for those about to bike - take the tram instead.

This is what I said last week, on Blogger, but you know how these things are….

This is it. Three months slutting around as an itinerant blogger and I’ve decided to shack up with this baby for a bit. No more pop-in visits to my regular tarts when there’s an itch to scratch; sorry tezz, wy, loved our little dalliances, but I’m looking for something more. Promiscuous blogging was fun, and convenient. No strings attached, no pressures to perform, free to come and go, and with somewhere to drop a load when needed. But ultimately, the life of the blog-slut is unfulfilling. It’s a bit like being the new character introduced in a sitcom into it’s fifth season - sure you get a couple of gags and your name’s on the credits, but hey, no one’s really there to watch YOU. So here I am at the wrong end of a Vegas wedding to some HTML code. Sharing my thoughts, baring my guts, and most importantly, filling up space while I look for REAL work. So hop on for the ride - the pillow-talk could be interesting, and the honeymoon could go on forever.

Commitment is a strange thing and, sadly, quite transient. No matter how you look at it, over a long enough period of time, all things must come to an end. And this case, after a (very) short period of wedded bliss, I got that itch again and went out looking for some place better (namely here). Things are looking rosy (pink) right now, but I would not be surpised if I go mosying off somewhere new in a bit either….

ps: the pink font’s still just for you, hatter….