If I could just have a moment out of my own head. What would that be like?
Instead of a morning starting with, "What day is it? Where am I? How could it possibly be morning already? Right, must get out of bed now or we'll start running late. Won't have time for coffee and will miss the train." Meaning I won't get to work early enough to not consider myself late. "How hot is it actually going to be today? Are we talking the firey depths of Hell, can't touch the steering wheel, only handle the seat belt buckle with asbestos gloves or just hop across the ground like a Masai Warrior kind of hot? Do I wear the dress that allows me to wear the comfy bra, or do I go with the one which looks nicer (no brainer, comfy bra wins every time) Did I wash a comfy bra yet? Damnit! Do I now have time to drink my coffee out the back while talking to the dog, or do I have to sneak sips in between fixing hair and makeup application? Urgh, then I'll have to brush my teeth after I've put my makeup on and we all know how that's going to end. Is Cam awake yet? Does he need coffee too? Did I remember to order the catering for that board meeting today? Is that board meeting still on today? Do I have any lunches left in the pantry? Please don't make me have to buy one, that's a whole other decision I'd have to make - not to mention a complete waste of ten bucks just for a ham sambo. Alright, really need a wee, let's go."
This is before my feet have hit the floor. It may look like I'm just slow to get going or I'm procrastinating, when the truth is, I have so much to get in order before I can start.
Don't get me started on the night time head space. Too late. Here's a taste. It starts while I'm reading in bed. This is to fool myself into having wind down time to switch off before I go to sleep. Currently, the main character in the book I'm reading has Asperger's. That's thought provoking enough and raises many questions for me, which I sometimes have to Google to find out the answer to (looking at phone while in bed is bad, I KNOW!). Then I start looking at the time and bargain with myself. "If you read for 10 more minutes, then fall asleep within 15 minutes, you'll still get 6 hours sleep and feel ok tomorrow". Never going to happen, because I don't get to the end of the chapter at exactly the right time, so I strike up a new deal. Have to get up to pee? "Well, there's no way I can go right to sleep, might as well start a new chapter. If you finish THIS chapter within 15 minutes, then fall asleep within 15 minutes, you'll still get 4.5 hours of sleep. Not great, but you can still function on that". This can go on literally for hours. Not even kidding.
My husband, however. Wakes up. "Bloody nuts are itchy. Gonna take a leak then have a shower." Walks to wardrobe, picks up nearest pair of jeans and shirt that have been washed and hung for him. Starts day. Asshole.
Tuesday, 17 February 2015
Saturday, 14 February 2015
Why I don't have any gay friends
I don't have any gay friends, or work friends, or coffee friends.... I just have friends. I don't feel the need to label people I know by how we met, how I know them or a particular feature they have. Once someone is my friend, I would rather think "that is my friend, Esme". End of. I don't think "that's my straight friend, Esme", or "I used to work alongside Esme and we had great conversations and spent hour after hour together at work" or even "oh, Esme, remember that time you emailed our boss a picture of your.."... never mind....
Actually, I don't think I have any friends named Esme. If you know an Esme whom you think I would get along with, please let me know.
I find the labels people are given to be of an odd significance. For example, if I were to achieve greatness, sorry WHEN I achieve greatness (as soon as interpretive dance is an Olympic sport, I'm in) I would be disappointed to be referred to as "Straight White Brown Eyed Interpretive Dancer". The gender of the person I am in love with and the colour of my skin and eyes are irrelevant to my given talents and profession. They most certainly shouldn't be credited first.
When Ian Thorpe came out publicly about his sexuality, he instantly went from Five Times Olympic Gold Medalist to Gay Swimmer. Why do we do that? Oprah was an African American Talk Show Host and now Ellen is a Lesbian Talk Show Host. How far does it need to go? Will we start changing our email signatures and business cards to point these details out?
I don't want to downplay the positive aspects of people in the public eye being honest about their private lives - if they choose to do so. If they can make the road less bumpy for others to travel, that's wonderful. It just seems to me that perhaps the focus is constantly on a trait which is not necessarily what makes them a person. Just my humble opinion.
Actually, I don't think I have any friends named Esme. If you know an Esme whom you think I would get along with, please let me know.
I find the labels people are given to be of an odd significance. For example, if I were to achieve greatness, sorry WHEN I achieve greatness (as soon as interpretive dance is an Olympic sport, I'm in) I would be disappointed to be referred to as "Straight White Brown Eyed Interpretive Dancer". The gender of the person I am in love with and the colour of my skin and eyes are irrelevant to my given talents and profession. They most certainly shouldn't be credited first.
When Ian Thorpe came out publicly about his sexuality, he instantly went from Five Times Olympic Gold Medalist to Gay Swimmer. Why do we do that? Oprah was an African American Talk Show Host and now Ellen is a Lesbian Talk Show Host. How far does it need to go? Will we start changing our email signatures and business cards to point these details out?
I don't want to downplay the positive aspects of people in the public eye being honest about their private lives - if they choose to do so. If they can make the road less bumpy for others to travel, that's wonderful. It just seems to me that perhaps the focus is constantly on a trait which is not necessarily what makes them a person. Just my humble opinion.
Wednesday, 11 February 2015
Chuckin' a Tanty
As a child, when people would ask that fateful, annoying question that adults love to pose to small creatures "what do you want to be when you grow up?", the only answer which ever came to mind was "a grown up, of course. What else?". Well, something very much like that, anyway. I wanted to make my own decisions about where I went, what I did, ate, drank and who I chose to spend my time with. I desperately wanted to drive myself around. IN. MY. OWN. CAR. And it would be a cool car too. Not a stupid practical car like my own mother drove. How embarrassing. I would have a pink convertible, preferably one which sparkled. I anticipated the ever so mature freedom of choosing my own bedtime - a responsibility which I am clearly not cut out for, by the way. I absolutely would not spend my time doing boring things like cleaning the house, grocery shopping or gardening. Hell no, not this rebellious little black duck. My life was going to be the complete opposite of the suburban bore that my parents had chosen. I was baffled that with all the freedom of having nobody tell you what to do, parents continued to make such mundane choices.
I would live on a farm, preferably, with approximately 47 pets of different sizes and styles, staff to do my cooking and cleaning, obviously a gardener and I'd quite desperately need someone to clean the pool (which would have a slide from the third level balcony so I wouldn't have to trudge down any stairs like a pleb when I wanted to swim). Of course, the fact that I couldn't sing wasn't going to hold me back from being a world famous rock star (turns out, that hasn't stopped many people, it just hasn't happened for me yet). I could have ice-cream for breakfast and read in bed as late as I wanted without having to hide my book under the covers and use a torch.
Fast forward a few decades and here I am. Things haven't quite turned out according to my carefully laid out plan. Now can I throw myself on the ground, arms and legs thrashing and scream until someone gives me a Freddo Frog.
Can't I just have that childhood freedom back for a teensy little while? Puhhhleeeeaaaasseeeee???????
Saturday, 7 February 2015
They do WHAT? For how much?
Born and raised in Australia, as I have been, I am not particularly afraid of spiders, snakes and other famous 'nasties' our country is famous for. I have a healthy respect for their potential to kill and won't deliberately put myself in harm's way, however, I don't jump and squeal if I see one. Bushfires. Those, I am terrified of - and I believe, rightfully so. They can start in what seems like no time at all, move literally as fast as the wind and turn in a new direction at the drop of a hat - or cigarette butt as the case may be.
While we are fortunate enough to spend the hot days of summer taking refuge in the shade, air conditioning, pools or at the beach, our brave firefighters kiss their families goodbye, load themselves up with heavy protective clothing, drag heavy equipment with them and walk, drive and fly directly towards the flames. They risk absolutely everything to save our land, homes, wildlife and lives. They work day and night, in the heat and smoke that we are lucky enough to escape, then get up the next day and do it all again.
For many of them, come payday.... nothing. Nada. Zilch. Zero. Zip. They volunteer for this stuff. For FREE. Does anyone else see the problem here? We pay our football players millions of dollars each year to entertain us, but those saving our country must volunteer? What is wrong with us?
As I write this, much of our beautiful state is ablaze. I've been watching in horror as the many fires spread, taking some of our most spectacular scenery, robbing farmers of much needed grazing land and taking the lives of countless animals. Families are on standby to leave their homes, taking only what they can carry and leaving the rest behind, not knowing what they will return to. Planes and helicopters fly overhead, moving non-stop from the nearest water supply to the flames. Vehicles carrying more of these brave men and women race towards the danger that we retreat from.
Thank you seems so insufficient. For these sons, daughters, mothers, fathers, aunts, uncles, grandchildren and grandparents to drop their regular lives to save ours is unimaginable. I can only hope that they are returned safely to their loved ones - unharmed and into loving arms.
While we are fortunate enough to spend the hot days of summer taking refuge in the shade, air conditioning, pools or at the beach, our brave firefighters kiss their families goodbye, load themselves up with heavy protective clothing, drag heavy equipment with them and walk, drive and fly directly towards the flames. They risk absolutely everything to save our land, homes, wildlife and lives. They work day and night, in the heat and smoke that we are lucky enough to escape, then get up the next day and do it all again.
For many of them, come payday.... nothing. Nada. Zilch. Zero. Zip. They volunteer for this stuff. For FREE. Does anyone else see the problem here? We pay our football players millions of dollars each year to entertain us, but those saving our country must volunteer? What is wrong with us?
As I write this, much of our beautiful state is ablaze. I've been watching in horror as the many fires spread, taking some of our most spectacular scenery, robbing farmers of much needed grazing land and taking the lives of countless animals. Families are on standby to leave their homes, taking only what they can carry and leaving the rest behind, not knowing what they will return to. Planes and helicopters fly overhead, moving non-stop from the nearest water supply to the flames. Vehicles carrying more of these brave men and women race towards the danger that we retreat from.
Thank you seems so insufficient. For these sons, daughters, mothers, fathers, aunts, uncles, grandchildren and grandparents to drop their regular lives to save ours is unimaginable. I can only hope that they are returned safely to their loved ones - unharmed and into loving arms.
Thursday, 5 February 2015
Black Dog
If you only read one thing I write from beginning to end, please bear with me and make it this one.
When I decided to start a blog, I promised myself I would be brutally honest - regardless of how uncomfortable, painful or difficult it may be. Warts 'n all. Me, out there - part therapy, a little cathartic and very occasionally, thought provoking and serious. I am most definitely no expert - on anything particularly, so I must rely on my experiences and observations to form my opinions. I happily (well, maybe not always, I am a stubborn bitch) stand corrected when I'm wrong and do not claim to be educating anyone - however, if I can start a conversation about a topic which is important to me and that I feel passionately about, I'm delighted. Time to pull up the big girl undies and get on with it.
One of those topics is depression. Sadly, I feel that it is still somewhat shameful and taboo to admit to. There is a social stigma in stating "I suffer from depression" that does not exist for other potentially terminal medical conditions. Yes, that is how I view it. I am speaking only from my own personal experience and conclusions I have come to from that experience, I have no training on the topic, so apologies if I am off base. This is not a pity party or personal cry for help - hopefully a cry for a little more understanding and compassion. I purely want to bring the subject out in the open - to discourage the way of thinking that "Mental Illness" means you're a nutter (well, I am, but that's a whole other blog for another day). To keep people thinking about something which can often be quite invisible and make sufferers feel invisible also. I hope that depression is seen more as the chemical imbalance that exists rather than seeing it as a weakness or self inflicted sulk. That in particular, men and young people feel more comfortable opening up about it, letting those in their lives know that they don't judge, but care about them and their well being. It would seem that as we get older, women feel more open to discuss all kinds of issues with those closest to them, which is a truly wonderful thing.
I'm not talking about being a bit sad from time to time. Feeling a little blue after watching an emotional movie, or having a bad day where things don't seem to be going right. I'm banging on about deep, dark, morbid periods of life which can last anything from days, weeks, months or years. I can't speak for others and don't claim to understand their personal battle. Just as we all have different attitudes, tastes and opinions, we all have different struggles to deal with.
For me, depression has been as much a part of my being as my brown eyes for more years than I'd like to count. It is an ugly beast, which I hesitate to refer to as the Black Dog, because I love dogs. It defies logic, takes apart the wiring that makes me who I am and how I feel, twists the wires in a random format and slaps them back together. It takes simple tasks which are a part of everyday life and makes them seem impossible and unbearable. It rips apart relationships, destroys dreams and aspirations. It takes the very fibre of my soul, dips it in shit and throws it on a bonfire.
I am a very fortunate person. I know that. I have a reasonably comfortable life, many people who care about me and who I care about. Some who I love deeply and without whom my life would just not be the same. I live in a wonderful country with many freedoms others lack, have not lived through atrocities as others have had to do. What right do I have to ever be depressed? I DON'T KNOW! Ask my brain that. One of my biggest frustrations with this cursed condition is that it defies logic and reason. Outwardly, things in my life may be cruising along nicely - so why do I find it so difficult to leave the house? To hold a conversation? Why does it take every ounce of mental energy I have to get through the work day, then retreat into being a hermit after hours and not face anything or anybody? Why are there times when I do nothing but sleep and when I'm not asleep I want to be asleep... then the next week I get no more than 3 hours a night? I wish there was any kind of rhyme or reason to it that I could figure out, but there isn't. I can even see how people with depression find themselves addicted to drugs, alcohol and sex. Anything which gives instant, even fleeting pleasure is going to be a temptation. A momentary high, a temporary escape.
Perhaps the most terrifying part of depression is when it leads to a person taking their own life. Let me first state, I feel that when this happens, the cause of death is depression, not suicide. That person's life has been taken by the illness, no more, no less. This is the hardest subject to approach and one which I am the most afraid of getting across in the wrong way, but I feel so strongly that it needs to be discussed openly and honestly. My life has been directly and deeply affected by the loss of both family and friends in this way. I have seen and felt firsthand the shock, horror, devastation, guilt and grief that loved ones suffer through. I have also seen and heard the deceased referred to as selfish and gutless. I cannot stress enough how much this illness can take over your thought process. My belief is that those who are pushed this far are absolutely not thinking that they will be causing pain to those they love. They are suffering in a way which makes living and breathing in itsself, unbearable. What cure is there when your pain is caused by simply living? End living. I know this is not true, that there are other avenues to help the pain... but while you are in the midst of depression, that logic does not exist. It simply does not. There is not a thought process (in my experience) which goes "I am going to hurt those I love immeasurably, but fuck it, I am more important". That is just not how it works. It may be a case of thinking absolutely everyone in this world will actually be better off without you (not in a self pitying angst way, but a 100% belief that this is the case). That people may be a little upset at first, but that won't last long once they realise what a great life they have without the burden of you in it. That if you are forced to continue to inhale and exhale every day, you will destroy everyone and everything around you, simply by existing. I don't believe the intention is to be selfish - quite the opposite. Again, I KNOW these beliefs are wrong. I am just trying to explain how the thought process may work for some people.
This illness takes things which you know are fact and removes them from your thought process completely. Even something as trivial as having a bit of a bad day and normally you know you would be cheered up by a visit or a phone call with a dear friend turns into the impossible. The fear, shame and feeling of hopelessness are overwhelming. If simple, every day life is this difficult, what about when something truly terrible happens? How can you begin to cope with an actual real struggle comes along? I don't know. I liken it to this - when you are underwater, holding your breath, your body tells you that you need to break the surface and get air into your lungs. Your body just knows what you need, right? With depression, it forgets. Nothing as simple as a thought process actually works. Sitting here right now as I am, I know - I am a moderately intelligent person - which things make me happy. That motherfucking black dog takes those things I know, runs off, chews them up and shits them all over the back lawn.
I do know that I need to make a conscious effort to do more of the things that make me feel good and less of the things which don't. That's about as far as I've made it so far, but I think that's pretty damned good.
FYI - yes, I am currently medicated and it seems to be going well. I have acknowledged and somewhat accepted my problems and make an effort - which is beyond difficult - to talk about it at times. I don't walk around with a rainy cloud above my head, Addams Family style. I don't even cry every day anymore. I am thankful to be here. I am immensely grateful for good friends (related or otherwise). I want to grow old so that I can embarrass and annoy my children more than I already do. I want to drive my husband up the wall for many years to come. Sometimes it may be more difficult than others, but I will keep reminding myself that it's worth it. I may not be able to change the whole world, but I can change mine and I'm quite ok with that. For now. Today, at least, I can say "Fuck YOU, black dog. Back in your box".
xx
www.blackdoginstitute.org.au
www.beyondblue.org.au
www.kidshelp.com.au
www.lifeline.org.au
www.mindhealthconnect.org.au/need-help-now
When I decided to start a blog, I promised myself I would be brutally honest - regardless of how uncomfortable, painful or difficult it may be. Warts 'n all. Me, out there - part therapy, a little cathartic and very occasionally, thought provoking and serious. I am most definitely no expert - on anything particularly, so I must rely on my experiences and observations to form my opinions. I happily (well, maybe not always, I am a stubborn bitch) stand corrected when I'm wrong and do not claim to be educating anyone - however, if I can start a conversation about a topic which is important to me and that I feel passionately about, I'm delighted. Time to pull up the big girl undies and get on with it.
One of those topics is depression. Sadly, I feel that it is still somewhat shameful and taboo to admit to. There is a social stigma in stating "I suffer from depression" that does not exist for other potentially terminal medical conditions. Yes, that is how I view it. I am speaking only from my own personal experience and conclusions I have come to from that experience, I have no training on the topic, so apologies if I am off base. This is not a pity party or personal cry for help - hopefully a cry for a little more understanding and compassion. I purely want to bring the subject out in the open - to discourage the way of thinking that "Mental Illness" means you're a nutter (well, I am, but that's a whole other blog for another day). To keep people thinking about something which can often be quite invisible and make sufferers feel invisible also. I hope that depression is seen more as the chemical imbalance that exists rather than seeing it as a weakness or self inflicted sulk. That in particular, men and young people feel more comfortable opening up about it, letting those in their lives know that they don't judge, but care about them and their well being. It would seem that as we get older, women feel more open to discuss all kinds of issues with those closest to them, which is a truly wonderful thing.
I'm not talking about being a bit sad from time to time. Feeling a little blue after watching an emotional movie, or having a bad day where things don't seem to be going right. I'm banging on about deep, dark, morbid periods of life which can last anything from days, weeks, months or years. I can't speak for others and don't claim to understand their personal battle. Just as we all have different attitudes, tastes and opinions, we all have different struggles to deal with.
For me, depression has been as much a part of my being as my brown eyes for more years than I'd like to count. It is an ugly beast, which I hesitate to refer to as the Black Dog, because I love dogs. It defies logic, takes apart the wiring that makes me who I am and how I feel, twists the wires in a random format and slaps them back together. It takes simple tasks which are a part of everyday life and makes them seem impossible and unbearable. It rips apart relationships, destroys dreams and aspirations. It takes the very fibre of my soul, dips it in shit and throws it on a bonfire.
I am a very fortunate person. I know that. I have a reasonably comfortable life, many people who care about me and who I care about. Some who I love deeply and without whom my life would just not be the same. I live in a wonderful country with many freedoms others lack, have not lived through atrocities as others have had to do. What right do I have to ever be depressed? I DON'T KNOW! Ask my brain that. One of my biggest frustrations with this cursed condition is that it defies logic and reason. Outwardly, things in my life may be cruising along nicely - so why do I find it so difficult to leave the house? To hold a conversation? Why does it take every ounce of mental energy I have to get through the work day, then retreat into being a hermit after hours and not face anything or anybody? Why are there times when I do nothing but sleep and when I'm not asleep I want to be asleep... then the next week I get no more than 3 hours a night? I wish there was any kind of rhyme or reason to it that I could figure out, but there isn't. I can even see how people with depression find themselves addicted to drugs, alcohol and sex. Anything which gives instant, even fleeting pleasure is going to be a temptation. A momentary high, a temporary escape.
Perhaps the most terrifying part of depression is when it leads to a person taking their own life. Let me first state, I feel that when this happens, the cause of death is depression, not suicide. That person's life has been taken by the illness, no more, no less. This is the hardest subject to approach and one which I am the most afraid of getting across in the wrong way, but I feel so strongly that it needs to be discussed openly and honestly. My life has been directly and deeply affected by the loss of both family and friends in this way. I have seen and felt firsthand the shock, horror, devastation, guilt and grief that loved ones suffer through. I have also seen and heard the deceased referred to as selfish and gutless. I cannot stress enough how much this illness can take over your thought process. My belief is that those who are pushed this far are absolutely not thinking that they will be causing pain to those they love. They are suffering in a way which makes living and breathing in itsself, unbearable. What cure is there when your pain is caused by simply living? End living. I know this is not true, that there are other avenues to help the pain... but while you are in the midst of depression, that logic does not exist. It simply does not. There is not a thought process (in my experience) which goes "I am going to hurt those I love immeasurably, but fuck it, I am more important". That is just not how it works. It may be a case of thinking absolutely everyone in this world will actually be better off without you (not in a self pitying angst way, but a 100% belief that this is the case). That people may be a little upset at first, but that won't last long once they realise what a great life they have without the burden of you in it. That if you are forced to continue to inhale and exhale every day, you will destroy everyone and everything around you, simply by existing. I don't believe the intention is to be selfish - quite the opposite. Again, I KNOW these beliefs are wrong. I am just trying to explain how the thought process may work for some people.
This illness takes things which you know are fact and removes them from your thought process completely. Even something as trivial as having a bit of a bad day and normally you know you would be cheered up by a visit or a phone call with a dear friend turns into the impossible. The fear, shame and feeling of hopelessness are overwhelming. If simple, every day life is this difficult, what about when something truly terrible happens? How can you begin to cope with an actual real struggle comes along? I don't know. I liken it to this - when you are underwater, holding your breath, your body tells you that you need to break the surface and get air into your lungs. Your body just knows what you need, right? With depression, it forgets. Nothing as simple as a thought process actually works. Sitting here right now as I am, I know - I am a moderately intelligent person - which things make me happy. That motherfucking black dog takes those things I know, runs off, chews them up and shits them all over the back lawn.
I do know that I need to make a conscious effort to do more of the things that make me feel good and less of the things which don't. That's about as far as I've made it so far, but I think that's pretty damned good.
FYI - yes, I am currently medicated and it seems to be going well. I have acknowledged and somewhat accepted my problems and make an effort - which is beyond difficult - to talk about it at times. I don't walk around with a rainy cloud above my head, Addams Family style. I don't even cry every day anymore. I am thankful to be here. I am immensely grateful for good friends (related or otherwise). I want to grow old so that I can embarrass and annoy my children more than I already do. I want to drive my husband up the wall for many years to come. Sometimes it may be more difficult than others, but I will keep reminding myself that it's worth it. I may not be able to change the whole world, but I can change mine and I'm quite ok with that. For now. Today, at least, I can say "Fuck YOU, black dog. Back in your box".
xx
www.blackdoginstitute.org.au
www.beyondblue.org.au
www.kidshelp.com.au
www.lifeline.org.au
www.mindhealthconnect.org.au/need-help-now
Monday, 2 February 2015
As much as I love technology... you sucked the fun out of music.
As we all know, advances in modern technology have changed everyday life for all of us. In some ways for the better, others not.
One thing which may be seen as a positive is the immediate availability of music, tv and information. The music, for me, is fantastic... and not. I actually think our kids are missing out on the anticipation of waiting to hear their favourite song or having to go out and buy it, then physically play the record or cassette over and over and over and over and over again while your parents scream for you to "turnthatgodawfulrubbishoff. Isthatamanorawomananyway?"
Here in Australia, we would wait for Molly Meldrum on Countdown on Sunday nights to tell us which bands or songs to "Do yourself a favour" and listen to. There would be the bliss of seeing local and international acts badly lip-synching to both new and our favourite tunes. If you missed it, tough, you had to be the one kid at school on Monday morning who did. You couldn't You-Tube it, download it or 'catch up tv' it as we do now. Don't get me started on the excitement of the release of MTV and music videos that was still further down the track... (yes, MTV used to play music - crazy, I know!)
While waiting for the next compilation album to be released, you could sit by the radio for hours waiting to record your favourite song, then curse the DJ if he cut in too early at the end, ruining your chance of a perfect recording with only the distinct clunk of you hitting record at the beginning, then pause at the end of the song. Not to mention when you'd overplayed your favourite tapes enough that they stretched and sounded distorted, or if the tape started coming out and you had to get a pen to wind the tape back around the cogs.
Bands, as much as they had to work a million times harder to be seen and heard by half the audience available now, could also use the lack of technology to their advantage. How long did Kiss drag out the "Masked" years? The mystery of not knowing what they really looked like, the rumours about freakish skin issues, who they REALLY were could never have taken off now the way they did back then. What a marketing tool. Fans scrambled not just to purchase their music, but comic books, dolls - absolutely anything Kiss. How much of the buzz was actually about the music? Very little really.
We didn't see endless videos of our favourite artists live. If you wanted to see their live act, you had to wait and hope that they visited your city and you were lucky enough to get a ticket. Knowing a set list in advance? Unheard of! Another advantage was that our parents most certainly didn't know the call back line in The Angels "Am I Ever Gonna See Your Face Again" and happily let us go to their shows. The mystery and excitement was on an escalated scale to what it is now. We didn't see candid snaps of Pat Benatar shopping for kale at the grower's market (thank God!) Mick Jagger dropping his children off at kindy? Rock stars wouldn't dream of it. Freddie Mercury... ummm.. well, bad example, we probably wouldn't want the paps following dear Fred around really, would we? Although.... that party with the midgets... never mind...
Did we really want to see our musical heroes in their everyday lives, shopping, drinking coffee, being normal, boring humans like us? Hell no. They lived an unattainable life that didn't involve such mundane activities. Their status meant they only ever performed, partied or sat around on multi million dollar yachts eating caviar from naked bikini clad models or drinking thousand dollar bottles of plonk. That was in our imaginations and made the whole adoration of these icons all the more exciting.
I, for one, miss it.
One thing which may be seen as a positive is the immediate availability of music, tv and information. The music, for me, is fantastic... and not. I actually think our kids are missing out on the anticipation of waiting to hear their favourite song or having to go out and buy it, then physically play the record or cassette over and over and over and over and over again while your parents scream for you to "turnthatgodawfulrubbishoff. Isthatamanorawomananyway?"
Here in Australia, we would wait for Molly Meldrum on Countdown on Sunday nights to tell us which bands or songs to "Do yourself a favour" and listen to. There would be the bliss of seeing local and international acts badly lip-synching to both new and our favourite tunes. If you missed it, tough, you had to be the one kid at school on Monday morning who did. You couldn't You-Tube it, download it or 'catch up tv' it as we do now. Don't get me started on the excitement of the release of MTV and music videos that was still further down the track... (yes, MTV used to play music - crazy, I know!)
While waiting for the next compilation album to be released, you could sit by the radio for hours waiting to record your favourite song, then curse the DJ if he cut in too early at the end, ruining your chance of a perfect recording with only the distinct clunk of you hitting record at the beginning, then pause at the end of the song. Not to mention when you'd overplayed your favourite tapes enough that they stretched and sounded distorted, or if the tape started coming out and you had to get a pen to wind the tape back around the cogs.
Bands, as much as they had to work a million times harder to be seen and heard by half the audience available now, could also use the lack of technology to their advantage. How long did Kiss drag out the "Masked" years? The mystery of not knowing what they really looked like, the rumours about freakish skin issues, who they REALLY were could never have taken off now the way they did back then. What a marketing tool. Fans scrambled not just to purchase their music, but comic books, dolls - absolutely anything Kiss. How much of the buzz was actually about the music? Very little really.
We didn't see endless videos of our favourite artists live. If you wanted to see their live act, you had to wait and hope that they visited your city and you were lucky enough to get a ticket. Knowing a set list in advance? Unheard of! Another advantage was that our parents most certainly didn't know the call back line in The Angels "Am I Ever Gonna See Your Face Again" and happily let us go to their shows. The mystery and excitement was on an escalated scale to what it is now. We didn't see candid snaps of Pat Benatar shopping for kale at the grower's market (thank God!) Mick Jagger dropping his children off at kindy? Rock stars wouldn't dream of it. Freddie Mercury... ummm.. well, bad example, we probably wouldn't want the paps following dear Fred around really, would we? Although.... that party with the midgets... never mind...
Did we really want to see our musical heroes in their everyday lives, shopping, drinking coffee, being normal, boring humans like us? Hell no. They lived an unattainable life that didn't involve such mundane activities. Their status meant they only ever performed, partied or sat around on multi million dollar yachts eating caviar from naked bikini clad models or drinking thousand dollar bottles of plonk. That was in our imaginations and made the whole adoration of these icons all the more exciting.
I, for one, miss it.
Wednesday, 28 January 2015
Shot through the heart?
There is currently a video circulating the internet, featuring Australian 'celebrities' pleading for mercy for con...victed drug traffickers Myuran Sukumaran and Andrew Chan who are imminently facing the death penalty in Indonesia. There will also be a vigil in Sydney this evening, hosted by musicians and Human Rights advocates.
These men have been on death row since 2006. They were found to be the ringleaders of nine now infamous Australians attempting to smuggle $4 million of heroin into Australia from Bali. Since 2006, countless attempts have been made, through both lawyers and the Australian Government, to save and potentially free these men (among many others).
I don't begin to claim that I can understand what their families are going through, nor do I know firsthand how 'rehabilitated' they are - as they are claiming. If they hadn't been caught, how many people's lives would have been taken, or at the very least, destroyed by that heroin? They are two people. Two people who knew - as we all do on arrival in Indonesia - that the consequences of drug smuggling in that and many other countries, is potential death. Not by a nice little sleepy-bye-bye needle, but a firing squad or in some other South East Asian countries a noose. How many people and their families would have been affected had that heroin made it onto our streets? Yes, I know it's a drop in the ocean. That there is plenty more heroin making it's way to Australians, but these guys weren't jay-walking, or caught breaking some obscure law that nobody knew about.
For as long as I can remember, our media have flooded us with stories of Westerners facing death in international prisons, generally for drug smuggling or dealing. Even back in 1986, we were made more than aware of Barlow and Chambers being hanged in Malaysia. Yet again, our government is being called upon to interfere. To save these 'rehabilitated men'. Could our resources not be put to better use? If we are going to try to save Australians in international prisons, start with the journalists who are locked up in appalling conditions for 'providing false news'.
Are we prepared to open up our justice system (failing as it seems to be at times) and our country to other governments to have an opinion if we lock up their citizens and subject them to our punishments? Should someone stone a woman to death on our territory for having sex outside of marriage when she has been raped, will we set that person free because our law doesn't correspond with theirs and their government or Embassy asked really nicely?
Personally, I've grown tired of Australians (and others, for that matter) who continue to travel to other countries, blatantly abuse their culture, their people and their laws, then cry to all and sundry who will listen when they need bailing out.
These men have been on death row since 2006. They were found to be the ringleaders of nine now infamous Australians attempting to smuggle $4 million of heroin into Australia from Bali. Since 2006, countless attempts have been made, through both lawyers and the Australian Government, to save and potentially free these men (among many others).
I don't begin to claim that I can understand what their families are going through, nor do I know firsthand how 'rehabilitated' they are - as they are claiming. If they hadn't been caught, how many people's lives would have been taken, or at the very least, destroyed by that heroin? They are two people. Two people who knew - as we all do on arrival in Indonesia - that the consequences of drug smuggling in that and many other countries, is potential death. Not by a nice little sleepy-bye-bye needle, but a firing squad or in some other South East Asian countries a noose. How many people and their families would have been affected had that heroin made it onto our streets? Yes, I know it's a drop in the ocean. That there is plenty more heroin making it's way to Australians, but these guys weren't jay-walking, or caught breaking some obscure law that nobody knew about.
For as long as I can remember, our media have flooded us with stories of Westerners facing death in international prisons, generally for drug smuggling or dealing. Even back in 1986, we were made more than aware of Barlow and Chambers being hanged in Malaysia. Yet again, our government is being called upon to interfere. To save these 'rehabilitated men'. Could our resources not be put to better use? If we are going to try to save Australians in international prisons, start with the journalists who are locked up in appalling conditions for 'providing false news'.
Are we prepared to open up our justice system (failing as it seems to be at times) and our country to other governments to have an opinion if we lock up their citizens and subject them to our punishments? Should someone stone a woman to death on our territory for having sex outside of marriage when she has been raped, will we set that person free because our law doesn't correspond with theirs and their government or Embassy asked really nicely?
Personally, I've grown tired of Australians (and others, for that matter) who continue to travel to other countries, blatantly abuse their culture, their people and their laws, then cry to all and sundry who will listen when they need bailing out.
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