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I started my new job in a natural state of heightened sensitivity fuelled by terror, anticipation and joy. I'd gone from being a pseudo-librarian at a regional library serving braless half-wits and their cross-eyed kids to landing a prized role in the state's leading advertising agency. So it was to my supreme relief that when I entered the building it was like I was expecting a wrecking ball to come hurtling out of some corner of the building at any given moment. Fortunately that didn't happen. Even more fortunately my creative directors were both very late to arrive giving me time to mosey around and smile furtively at my new colleagues.
Its like being in the playground on the first day of joining a new school - everyone else knows each other and there seems to be no room for you in the crowded banter that fires in unfamiliar patterns between people. Sooner or later, you find an entry point - a golden moment where an anecdote you possess is relevant to the conversation's route and you quickly gush it out before the opportunity is subsumes by someone else. Its like trying to enter a skipping rope being swung by two other people - if you leap in wrong you the conversation will slap against your legs and fall flat on the ground. If you are successful you then have to sustain a conversational rhythm - jump, jump, jump in order to perpetuate the process of integration.
Of course it helps that these people are welcoming and kind to a newb like me and even when I completely fail to understand what they want they smile and offer reassuring words.
And the perks?
Well, on my first day I was welcomed with a coffee, marinated in adoration of my anticipated meteoric rise to advertising stardom, described as the company's "saviour", did some writing then had a glass of wine shoved in my hand for the afternoon meeting. Then, my creative director dropped me home in her lovely sports car and said how happy they were I had arrived.
And just when I thought things couldn't be better - tomorrow is Chocolate Wednesday. Wine AND chocolates? I don't just like my new job - I think I'm in love.
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The secret to "The Secret" is that it gives you something to put your faith into when faith in yourself has curled up into a ball and begun whimpering. Its a divine solution to the modern western person who has found our prior philosophy of humanism to be inherently flawed or who has found prayers in a deity have gone unanswered.
Before we knew how big the universe really is it suited our imaginations to believe that we could rely upon hard work and perseverance to overcome obstacles in life. In an affluent society like ours the humanist attitude was always going to be generally successful. However when humanism fails it brings us to our knees because the responsibility for our failure lies completely with ourselves.
And so it was only a matter of time before "The Secret" was born as our New Millennium saviour. The philosophy is simply that the universe wants to give you what you want. In fact, if you simply expect to get what you want, believe you will get what you want and prepare to receive what you want then sooner or later the universe will deliver. This might support the expanding universe theory - with a burgeoning population who want more and more out of life the universe can't expand quick enough. This philosophy also neatly answers the question of why the universe is so ridiculously large. All those swirling galaxies, dwarf stars, swirling nebulae and black holes are there to facilitate our requests to lose weight, gain wealth and solve Sodoku puzzles.
It also neatly accommodates the troubling source of supernatural phenomena, religious belief of every genre and our unsettling sense of 'something is out there'. It doesn't even offend anyone in the process. No-one can argue with the existence of the universe. And if the universe is granting everybody's wish then bad things happen to good people because bad people want them too. What troubles me though is that the philosophy would not work so well outside affluent societies like our own. You can't say to a girl scraping food out of a tin can in a rubbish heap that the reason she can't eat a regular meal is because she isn't wishing for one hard enough. Nor can you tell a mother dying of AIDS that the universe will make her well again.
So like all new philosophies "The Secret" tells us what we want to know - I'm still waiting for anyone with "The Truth".
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I'm glad my family doesn't take photos - I'd really rather forget some Christmases. This time I made the mistake of getting my hopes up. My family, God bless em had asked what I wanted for Christmas and I decided to seize the opportunity to make very specific requests. I knew if I didn't I was in real danger of getting something really useless like the Christmas my mother gave me a weaving loom. Revenge was twelve months in the making but it was very sweet. I got her tea towels. So I told them I wanted perfume, hubcaps for my car and books about the 17th century - in particular "The Weaker Vessel" by Antonia Fraser.
I have to admit my mother did try to get me the books about the 17th century. Only she tried to look for them in second-hand shops. And when she couldn't find any she decided to get me novels printed in the 1970's as a substitute. As a result I've now got four books I don't want to read including a very dubious selection set in the American Civil War.
My brother bought me two dvd's which I was after and I was delighted at his thoughtfulness until he promptly demanded to watch them himself. My sister asked to see them too - she had bought me a tea thermos while I had bought her a complete bedding set.
The climax though was our father's gift for us. For most of our lives our father would not normally buy Christmas gifts for us. He is not stingy. He can be unexpectedly generous - time and time again he had proved this - with our little brother. For the past few Christmases he had begun redeeming himself by splashing out and getting us a block of chocolate for Christmas. This year they were wrapped which was a bonus but he had omitted to place name tags on them. Taking one and tearing off the wrapping paper we soon realised that two of us were holding a block of plain chocolate while our sister was holding a prized block of high-quality dark chocolate. "Cool! I got the good one!" she shouted in glee. "Oh, give it to Ben then." said Dad immediately. I was about to argue that as the firstborn that I should have rightful claim but why should I ruin the Christmas spirit when everyone else was doing such a stellar job?
The day got better when we packed up the car and headed off for my half-sister's house at Nerang. My mother refused to come because she feels uncomfortable hanging out with my father's ex-wife. She also refused because she does not get into the same vehicle as my father. Ever. They have not shared a journey together for almost ten years now. Its probably best that they do travel seperately because if they had an accident they would have to find two ambulances to take them to hospital.
"You're driving too slow!" "You didn't indicate!" "Why are you going the long way?" "What are you doing here? Don't go to this petrol station - go to the one up the road, go on, back it up, back it up!" "Why are you backing out again? The pump is free now!" "You should have gone the back way." This is just a sample of what was said to me in the first ten kilometres. The state road toll would have taken a sudden spike if I didn't repeat the mantra, Its just one day of the year, its just one day of the year. until we arrived.
When we arrived at my sister's house I presented her with a bottle of shiraz while my father presented his son-in-law with a chinese container filled with cooked rice. It was so gluggy it came out of the container in a single, gelatinous blob. I insisted we open the wine immediately. We all dutifully took a spoonful of rice with our turkey and sat down to eat. The vacant place at the table then made me realise that my mother had not informed my half-sister that she wasn't coming. If my family lived by any sort of social norms it would be a Christmas miracle indeed.
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I remember the moment when I was told by a sneering eleven-year-old that Santa Claus wasn't real. That cold rush of dread as first you try to grasp this terrible new reality is soon replaced by a much colder feeling. The feeling of betrayal. For years my mother had expounded the truth of Santa Claus and now I had just found out that she had been feeding me a lie. Mind you, being a critically-minded child I had always had my reservations. I remember tearfully refusing to sit on the knee of the red and white bearded man who wanted me to tell him my secret desires for Christmas. If that terrifying stranger was Santa Claus then great. Fine. But there ain't enough candy canes in this whole planet to make me go near him. Besides, my mother had always warned me against strangers. Particularly ones offering sweets.
So when I was finally told the truth I came to a horrible realisation. My mother, my closest flesh and blood, the one I trusted above all others had lied to me. And it was a big lie too. I couldn't even see the motivation behind the lie - was it just for her own amusement? Was it some big conspiracy against children so that at P & C meetings our parents can all roll around laughing as they talk about how gullible their stupid kids are? Or was it even more sinister - like a mind-control device intended to inspire good behaviour with the reminder that Santa knows who is naughty or who is nice
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Not everyone is good with animals. I think this is mostly because people underestimate an animal’s level of intelligence. When I met Taz she was curled up on her corner of the couch dutifully marked by a draped shawl. Taz was an overfed Chinchilla with a regal, self-assured air. I astonished the owner when I received affectionate licks on my hand from her almost immediately. There’s a sad fact about cats which I try not to reveal to their owners out of sympathy for their feelings. A cat has no emotional attachment to their owners. When they go on holiday there is no pining, no desperate longing and certainly no lost sleep or appetite in their owner’s absence. They might be disconcerted for a little while but don’t be fooled. This mild level of stress is akin to realising that your mail now arrives in the afternoon when it used to arrive in the morning. Cats will wonder why they weren’t informed of the change. They will wonder if my presence will be detrimental to their daily routine but after a couple of days when they realise it interferes little with their lives they return to their higher state of contentment with ease.
It took all of five minutes for Taz to take charge. On my first night I was watching tv when I heard a commanding meow. I got up to find her sitting in the doorway with an expectant gaze. After brushing my teeth I went to bed and she curled up with me. It was bedtime
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Ok, I can't complain anymore. I've done it. I've just won 'Australia's Toughest Brief' competition!!
When they called me to say I had won ALL THREE PRIZES I stopped them and asked, "Am I the only person who entered?" Apparently I wasn't the only one its just the other entries were rubbish so I'm being flown to Byron Bay for the Caxton Awards this weekend and they've put me in today's edition of The Australian
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Looking glumly at my fluro-white torso I decided it was time to begin hitting the pool. I'm not a very good swimmer nor a very fast swimmer but when its far too hot to jog I really enjoy hitting the water for some slow and almost-graceful laps. Rocking on up to my usual school pool I was disappointed to find it already closed for the day. What I liked about that pool was that it belonged to a school so there weren't many others there. And if the swim squad was training I could imagine that the swim coach was yelling at my lane as well as theirs. It was motivation enough to see the super-toned students shooting through the water like their legs were propellors. And to hear the coach roaring at them to stop diddling around was enough to snap me out of my dog-paddle quick smart.
But my favourite pool was closed so horror of horrors I was forced to attend a 'public' pool. Not that I'm a pool snob but in a working-class town like mine the local public pool can contain much more than water and chlorine. But I thought about my fluoro-white stomach once more and paid my entry fee. Entering the complex I suddenly realised the pool was only 25 metres long and every metre of that was heaving with screaming kids and teenagers. I swiftly retreated to the counter and said apologetically, "I'm sorry I didn't realise the pool was so full - I was hoping to do some laps." I was hoping to get a refund. However to my astonishment the woman replied quickly, "That's ok - we'll clear a lane for you
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Man, this sort of thing always happens to me. My best friend sometimes calls me up and puts on a ludicrous fake Chinese accent. So yesterday when I answered my mobile and heard, "Halooooo? Do you like caaaats?" I thought it was her up to old tricks. "Oh hey, how are you!" I said with a chuckle. The voice continued but I had to drive so I quickly interrupted and said, "I'll call you back tonight ok? Bye." Then hung up. Getting home I decided to get her back. Finding the number (which I assumed was one she had borrowed from her sister) I dialled and put on my own fake voice which sounds a little bit like a news reporter. Knowing that my friend was worried that her boyfriend (who is a police detective) was going to find out that her license was suspended for speeding I decided to do the most logical thing of all. I pretended to be a police officer. When the fake Chinese voice answered I began, "Hello, this is Sergeant McKenzie from Queensland Police I need to speak to Kate Jones - is she there?"
There was a startled silence followed by small noises of panic. Worried that my friend was going to begin to hyperventilate I broke the act and laughed saying, "Hey, its Rachelle." And then, the fake Chinese voice started up again as she said, "Do you like caaaats?" "Ok, you can stop it Kate - I know its you." I said rolling my eyes. But she persisted once more with something unintelligible. Beginning to get frustrated I said, "Kate, stop with the stupid accent, its so bad - I know its you calling from another number." The voice then said, "No, no no your friend Carol, she give me your number. Are you the lady who likes caaaats? I need someone to look after my house. I am going to my home country
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September 18th 2007 10:14
Yes, its that time of year again. September the 19th is Talk Like a Pirate Day. And so we should. I'm looking forward to using in every phone inquiry tomorrow a hearty-sounding, "Blistering barnacles!" But seriously, why have we never given pirates the credit they deserve? After all, Australia owes its existence to them. Aye, we do. William Dampier was thoroughly piratish - looting and pillaging in the New World before being commissioned by the British to explore Australia's coastline. His maps helped James Cook find Botany Bay. At that time (the 17th century) the colonial powers were using their Navy to loot and pillage everyone else's merchant ships. Pirates were simply the sensible ones who decided that if their government wanted them to rob they might as well go independent and keep more of a fair share of the loot for themselves.
Their radical creed was equality - something they could never enjoy on an extremely hierarchial Navy ship. Furthermore they wanted fair working conditions. The Navy was notorious for not paying its sailors when they returned home. It was this radical, rebellious concept of egalitarianism that fed into Australia's founding colonies. Those that perpetuated the concept included the participants in the Eureka Stockade, Ned Kelly and Mary MacKillop. All of these people were persecuted by the government authorities of the time but we now honour them for defending the fair-go
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The craziest thing I have ever done for love is to give myself food poisoning in the middle of Tibet. It was the only way I could force the Chinese government bureacracy to release me from a group visa so I could fly back into the arms of my new-found love.
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Comment by Rachelle
on COPS ARE TOPS
A La Solo