thanks for visiting my blog, jerkface

It’s been harder to make friends in Australia than I thought it would be. I know the cultural differences between here and back home must seem insignificant to people like the Japanese guy I met this week. But they’re still noticeable enough that my fellow North Americans have noticed them too. For example, we North Americans are more likely to self-disclose personal information to a stranger than Australians, which can make people here seem a bit distant from my perspective.

I think I might have been clued into another difference this week. I was reading an article in the latest Adbusters about an Australian’s perspective on the torture of Iraqi prisoners. The author’s take was that the torture might seem kind of normal to Americans because humiliation was a part of North American culture – things like hazings, and just general joking put downs (of course, the author was clearly ignoring Australia’s parliament – that place is cut-throat). Indeed, some American commentators tried to brush off the torture as being no worse than a hazing. This is a weak defence in the first place, but even if taken at face value is an even weaker defence. This relates to my post a while ago about cultural differences, and how even seemingly universal motives like happiness are culture specific. Even if in America it would be okay to torture people because it’s just good college fun, that certainly doesn’t make it right to do so outside America where those values are unlikely to be shared, especially when inflicted by Crusaders.

Aside from the torture angle, this article made me realize how much of my interactions back home, especially with males, involve a lot of teasing and put downs. In that context, it’s understood (I think.....I hope) as good-natured and as a bonding gesture – you don’t tease people who you don’t like. I kind of understand now that I need to watch that here, that people may be confused if I try to tease them.

The Adbusters article, in fact the whole issue, was a good one on justifications for violence and non-violence in the push for social change. This was my last issue in the subscription, and I’m unsure whether to renew it. Adbusters really helped me open my eyes to a lot of things, but I’m getting tired of it in a very specific way. After you’ve read it for a number of years, you kind of get tired of the constant cry that change is just around the corner. I feel a lot of this is fuelled by young people who have recently come “on board” and really believe that if they can just get their message in mainstream media that people will be swayed by the beauty and justice of the arguments. This explanation doesn’t hold for Kalle Lasn – I really don’t know how he maintains his “victory is at hand” attitude after so many years of, well, not winning. Anyway, I support many of the ideals that Adbusters advocates, not because I think they will be implemented, but because they’re just morally right. In fact, those who know me well could make a strong case that I’d be more likely to support these ideals if they stay unpopular than if they become popular, what with my anticonformist streak. So, I dunno. Right now, I’m leaning toward renewing my subscription, if for no other reason than I like that my money would go toward some good shit-disturbing.

why would anyone have pie in their socks?

Fuck, I can’t believe that loser who got into my blog yesterday. What a fucking prick. I even tried deleting one of his comments, but he just came back and reposted it. Asshole. God, he sounds like exactly the kind of guy I hate. I’ve changed my password, so I don’t think he’ll be bothering us again. I guess that’ll teach me for not paying attention to my blog.

Anyway, I was watching a real treat of a show tonight – A Current Affair on Australia’s Channel Nine. This show cracks me up; they wander the country looking for easy targets to sanctimoniously denounce so that unfulfilled wage slaves can receive momentary emotional respite and reaffirmation of the rightness of the mainstream middle class. Tonight, they had a report on what they call “hoons” here, or young men who drive souped-up cars, often racing them. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m really not into macho car culture at all. There’s nothing like the combination of environmental degradation and testosterone amplification to make me feel like I don’t belong. In fact, I remember my cousin used to be a bit of a “hoon,” and taking a ride with him one night was scary as hell. He and his buddy in the car ahead of us thought it was fun to speed and weave through traffic. At one point, his buddy decided to pass a car at the crest of a hill – a move of such profound stupidity that even my macho (at the time, now he’s all religious) cousin was dumbfounded. That friend eventually died in a car accident, which is just more evidence of the ridiculousness of being a hoon (as if being called something as silly as a “hoon” shouldn’t be enough in itself to dissuade one from the lifestyle).

The thing that burned me about this report, though, was that a Channel Nine reporter was riding along with the cops who were on a mission to bust the hoons. They pulled into what the reporter conspicuously called “Beirut Row” or something like that. See, there’s a lot of bad blood in Australia towards Lebanese people, so it was important to make sure that hoons were identified as something other than “real Australians.” The cops were taking the cars off the road by citing them for illegal modifications, such as some kind of illegal tire (or “tyre” as they say here). I thought the reaction of the hoons was awesome – they started examining the police cars and discovered that they too had illegal tires. Of course, the reporter and the police completely ignored this, and when they cut back to the anchor he smugly commented how the hoons were just upset that the law was being enforced. Well, yes, fine, except who was there to enforce the law against the police?

It reminds me of the huge bullshit which is the U.S. pressuring other countries not to have nuclear weapons. Look, I’m all for keeping nuclear weapons out of the hands of North Korea and Iran, but on what basis does the U.S. have the moral authority to enforce this position? Seriously, when the guy with pie all over his face, and down his pants, and in his socks tells you not to eat any pie, you mock him mercilessly (I assume this has happened to lots of people, not just me). But when the U.S. says nobody should have any nuclear weapons, the American media salutes and goose steps their way to the newsroom to dutifully report another example of the advance of democracy and freedom.

See, the police and the Americans want weapons that others can’t have because it’s just easier to assert their will that way. Now, it’s up to you to decide whether you want the police to have that power, and whether you want the Americans to have that power, but can we just be honest about the fact that it IS about power, and not about righteousness?

step aside for greatness

Wow. I can’t believe nobody’s posted here since Wednesday. Pathetic. Well, if this space is just going to lie fallow like this, then it’s time for me to inject some zazz into it. First, I suppose, I should introduce myself. My name is Rod Longfellow. I am the most confident man you could hope to meet, and with good reason. I am skilled at most things, and those things which I am unskilled at (e.g., modesty) are unimportant and for weak, pathetic little babies. Perhaps you think modesty is a good thing. Well, it was not modesty that made me vice-president in charge of sales at a VERY important business which I cannot name to the likes of you. Suffice it to say that we make things that kill people who stand in the way of progress. No, modesty didn’t get me here. It may have had something to do with my barrel chest, or the fashion sense that tells me when to hate the things I once loved, or the smooth talk that drives the not-so-smart ladies wild. WILD! Mmmm, double-digit IQ is like blood in the water for this great white shark. Anyway, if you want to know what your problem is, why you have all your little cry baby anxieties, check back in the next time I’m on the scene. I am your ideal self. I am what Ralph Lauren models dare not dream. I am Rod Longfellow.

billy's holiday

A sense of embarrassment, with a soupcon of shame, has held me back from completing the story of Billy. Readers may recall that we found a new home for Billy, in a most missionary fashion. However, we had a concern that Billy’s owner might be out there somewhere, so we posted some signs in the neighbourhood. Indeed, we did get a call from Billy’s original owner and the whole picture became more clear. First of all, this person seemed to not understand that Billy’s name was Billy, and insisted on calling her “Puddy.” Some people have a tenuous grip on reality.

It turned out that our landlord had given us bad information – Billy had not been left behind at all. She had been taken to her owner’s new apartment, but then left to hang out at our place, possibly because of a hysterical new mother cat next door to her new abode, or possibly because our house is an irresistible black hole of love. Eventually, we got the person who had subletted Billy to bring her back. Billy, it seems, was as confused as her owner given that she appeared to respond to the name “Puddy.” It is unclear to me why none of the central players in this episode are able to figure out that Billy’s name is Billy. It seems quite simple to me.

Anyway, Billy’s owner is what they call here in Australia a “nutter.” I sense she means well, but conversing with her is akin to Stephen Leacock’s famous quote, “He flung himself from the room, flung himself upon his horse, and rode madly off in all directions.” After some well-intentioned efforts to cross the communication gap, Billy went home.

Well, home can mean so many things. Billy was back three days later. I am reminded of all this because we just went to check on Billy due to a higher-than-normal volume of caterwauling. Billy just left a dead mouse at our door. It is possible that she is attempting to apologize for faking her own disappearance like that. “In Georgia, they threaten to throw people in jail for shit like that,” I told her. But she was nonresponsive, puzzled over our hesitation in devouring the mouse.

The truth is that I’m glad Billy is back, and that we know where she belongs (here), and that we know her mailing address (the nutter’s place), and that the subletter took her to the vet and had her tapeworm dealt with, and that the nutter paid for the vet bills, and that the nutter knows where she is, and that Billy is not going to starve because we found out the other neighbours have been feeding her too, and that sweet, gentle cats remind me not to be so goddam cynical all the time.

drive west on sunset to the sea

It’s been a while between posts. Since Thursday, a number of events have occurred. Some of those events involved me, although the vast, vast majority involved other people, or no people at all. Among the events including my person were attempts on Friday night to post a going-away message. The long weekend started early for Blogger – the server was not in a mood to interface. So, anonymously and under cover of internet darkness, we set off for a long weekend at the beach. Pleasures there included games, alteration of the precious gift of consciousness, boogie boarding, New Scientist, the Southern Cross set against the Milky Way, nosefulls of salt water, shortsfulls of sand, and a small glimpse of someone else’s world. I return tanned and refreshed and hopeful. All these things trend towards entropy, but tonight I say “fuck that.”