things that hippies killed

1. Purple
2. Fairy wings
3. Incense
4. Dreadlocks
5. Pachouli
6. Hemp
7. Sandals
8. Fisherman pants
9. Hallucinogens
10. Furry Pants
11. Free hugs
12. Dahl
13. India
14. Krishna
15. Tambourines
16. Yin / Yang
17. War protests
18. Flowers in hair
19. Flares
20. Long skirts
21. Beaded curtains
22. Saffron Rice
23. Vegetarianism
24. Spirituality
25. Marijuana
26. Barefoot
27. Tie-dye
28. Petticoat-dresses
29. Meditation
30. Yoga
31. Beads
32. Tipis
33. Chanting
34. Bonfires
35. Outdoor festivals
36. Corduroy
    
37. Chai
38. Dandelion Tea
39. Nose piercings
40. Long unbrushed hair
41. Crochet clothing
42. Bongo drums
43. Drinking from the same cup
44. Anti-caffeine
45. The Seventies
46. Public nudity
47. Robes and capes
48. Fake fur
49. Glow in the dark
50. Moons and stars as decorative elements
51. Learning guitar*
52. Improv dancing
53. Crystal deodorants
    
54. Kharma
55. Fairy and butterfly tattoos
56. Frogs and toadstools
57. Mushrooms
58. Glitter
59. Layered clothing
60. Bindis
61. Earth
62. Motherhood
63. Healing
64. Belief
65. Misinformation
66. Fear of refined sugar and wheat
67. Lactose intolerance
68. Gluten intolerance
69. Dreamcatchers
70. American Indian philosophy posters
    
71. Permaculture
72. Playing music to plants
73. Dogs on tie-leashes
74. Communal living
75. Kibbutz
76. Cults
77. Gurus
78. Conservation
79. Campervans
80. Volkswagons
81. Forest Blockades
82. Lavender
83. Ylang Ylang
84. Sandalwood
85. Ecology
    
86. Pacifism / non-violence
87. Biodiesel
    
88. Organics
89. Anti-GM protest / buying
90. Solar power
91. Velvet
92. Pan-pipes
93. Dancing naked

*item currently under debate - i would insist this is usually associated with teen boy angst.

on my feet

being vegan is an everyday choice

and is one of the pieces of ethics i choose to observe a number of times a day

so it warms my soul to be able to do it in style

grant applicants anonymous

in the past two weeks, i've put in a total of 10 grant, bursary and fellowship applications,

written hours worth of emailing pleading for references and signatures on documents,

written up my research proposal and the reasons for my travel in 7 different ways,

and run to office after office, picking up documents, explaining my project, and generally grovelling.

throughout this, one thing has encouraged sanity.

fixie and the brake*

Fixamatosis is a contagious disease, or so I hear.

Fixed gear bikes are everywhere in Melbourne-town. And the people who ride them just won't shut up about the purity of associated riding pleasure.

One notable common feature they tend to have - along with the fixing of the gears and the tendency to self-construct the bikes - is a distinct lack of breaks. This means that the foolhardy or the crazy ride along with no real quick-breaking mechanism. Drunken jaunts are a mine-field.

I have a friend who rides one.

A fixed gear bike, of the self-assembled variety, without the braking system.

She hurts herself regularly.

Of course it's usually someone else's fault - a hastily opened car door without the necessary care or awareness; a swerve without looking; etc.

Nonetheless, the non-braking, and, ultimately, the cuts, bruises and scarring... well, they're all hers.

Once day, after a particularly serious incident which took off chunks of facial flesh, a few friends of mine and I sat down and discussed this issue.

Yes, there may have been a beer or two involved.

Yes, we may have been more than a little pissy by the time we made our decision on the topic.

The verdict?

An intervention / fundraiser for brakes for her bike, called

"Help -(insert name here)- Stop"

It would be a riot of fixie-obsessives and friends, a show to end all shows, with a serious message, and a need for persuasive goal-setting!

Then we sobered up.

*yes, this is a classical allusion to the comic classic Pinkie and the Brain

you shall never be mine

not all that long ago, a friend of mine and i decided upon the makings of an esoteric club
(we thought that perhaps Foucault would have been proud)

the idea of this club is that it has a fluctuating membership based upon the establishment of working groups,
none of whom have any idea of what the general premise of membership is,
and all of whom have a name for the group - none being permitted to disclose that aforementioned name to any of the other members of the group
the main organising premise being the inability or refusal of the 'grown-up'
and the guiding principle being non-disclosure.
oh, damn!

why i love what i do

initial email:

Hello all,
sorry for the tardy mail out.
Tomorrow we're going to be doing Rousseau's Social Contract.
Please get one of the many Penguin classic copies that's available in the Baillieu. Not sure which section we'll do, I'll do a bit of research between now and tomorrow.
NB, if anyone's read Montesquieu and knows which bit of the mammoth, mammoth Spirit of the Laws we should do for next week, I'd be grateful.
see some of you tomorrow, AO, 1700/1730, BYO milk of human kindness
P
PS Did you see/hear about Lockes' ghostly mansion?
http://www.theage.com.au/executive-style/luxury/palatial-spreads-kept-empty-thats-rich-20090713-disw.html
Article not nearly as cool as the headline I saw on the street outside the milk bar: Toorak's Ghostly Mansions


to whit, i respond (a mercenary contribution):

Hi All,
Anyone want to buy a spare copy of Hobbes' Leviathan off me?
$20 ono.
g******@yahoo.com
x


responses to my email:


Very Lockean and enterprising of you!
Morrisey and his band of brigands say otherwise:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0zNsEvwyXwE


also:

Ha!

In the words of a friend's former tutor/lover:

"Next week we will be looking at the ideas of operaismo and autonomia. Your homework for this week is to fucking steal something and bring it to next week's tute."

and my retort:

a story in my defense:

once, when i was five, my family went to an English stately home
for some reason i became strangely fixated on a commemorative pen
my mother dismissed this as a ludicrous gift
i stole it.
then, upon returning home, stricken by guilt, i buried it in the backyard
i've never stolen anything since. ever.

the book was a purchase to replace the one i lent to a friend, and despaired of ever seeing again.
it came back to me.
i have an extra copy, that someone might like to own.

too much to do, too many conferences, too much writing (aka The Galaxy Song)

Whenever life gets you down, Mrs. Brown
And things seem hard or tough
And people are stupid, obnoxious or daft
And you feel that you've had quite eno-o-o-o-o-ough

Just remember that you're standing on a planet that's evolving
and revolving at 900 miles an hour.
It's orbiting at 19 miles a second,
so it's reckoned,
A sun that is the source of all our power.
Now the sun,
and you and me,
and all the stars that we can see,
Are moving at a million miles a day,
In an outer spiral arm,
at 40,000 miles an hour,
Of the galaxy we call the Milky Way.

Our galaxy itself contains a hundred billion stars;
It's a hundred thousand light-years side to side;
It bulges in the middle sixteen thousand light-years thick,
But out by us it's just three thousand light-years wide.
We're thirty thousand light-years from Galactic Central Point,
We go 'round every two hundred million years;
And our galaxy is only one of millions of billions
In this amazing and expanding universe.

The universe itself keeps on expanding and expanding,
In all of the directions it can whizz;
As fast as it can go,
at the speed of light, you know,
Twelve million miles a minute
and that's the fastest speed there is.
So remember, when you're feeling very small and insecure,
How amazingly unlikely is your birth;
And pray that there's intelligent life somewhere up in space,
'Cause there's bugger all down here on Earth!

Stress, I thrive upon thee

...or at least some semblance of this.
As much as the chaotic and unsettling might allow one little ease and comfort, it's turns out that the unheimlich (thanks, Freud) is the place I feel most at home. Ah, what sweeping irony, what restless and uncomfy a place as a home you are.
And yet.
Feed me discord*, feed me discontent, feed me the unsettling of routine, of ritual and tradition. That is where I sit best.
It is in these times that I find the bottom of what I really am. And it startles and amazes me.

*smile*




*okay, maybe a little of an exaggeration, but what else might a blog be for!?

Total Score.

This is me.
(Brisbane here I come!)

Doris, you put a spring in my step

...and shake my cares away.
Or was that blues?