the boy with the almond-shaped eyes pt II

mood: calm.
state i'm in: winding down now.
tune: chicane 'autumn tactics' end of summer rmx.



forget for a few minutes that the procreatatory hardwiring in my brain might be a little faulty (i am not speaking self-deprecatingly). imagine that my brain is convinced that the partners i come into contact with i am capable of reproducing with... in addition, i am asking you to hark back to the days of old (or the present, depending on where you might be), when circumstances prevailed whereby it was more adantageous for a male to be polygamous, and view with me the world through evolution-tinted spectacles.

stay with me here please!


over the last few years my awareness of the "rice queen" and "potato queen" co-concepts has become quite profound. for those unfamiliar, there exists a curious phenomenon whereby many young gay asian guys prefer to make acquaintance with caucasian guys. don't ask me to explain the concepts any more than that, i would need more bandwidth than "blogger" would care to provide, and i still wouldn't be confident that my explanation might be close to correct.

still, such a phenomenon exists, undeniably. it is not the case for all youg asian guys, just as it is not the case for all older caucasian guys, the type who tend to make up the majority of rice queens. but there most definitely is a certain trend; anecdotally speaking, i know of very many cases personally.


my concern here is more my own predicament, my own "rice queen-dom". as i have previously outlined, for some time now, i have had a particular preference for asian guys (not all of them, only the ones i find good-looking, it's not like that). and for about as long as i have had such a preference, i have been wondering why. now i think i might have come up with something.


as i have established, there are very many asian guys who would prefer to be with a caucasian guy. this exists to such an extent that i feel significantly more confident in my ability to attract an asian guy than a caucasian guy (slightly more than nil confidence for the latter). over the last few years, i have had several asian guys take an interest in me; as for guys of any other race, there have been far far fewer. whether this is somehow related to an aspect of my looks or personality i cannot say, and i am not likely a decent judge of such an effect. for now, i will stick with the analysis of my own feelings, rather than those of others.

now the crux of my theory. perhaps, my brain has witnessed the above phenomena and decided that there exists great capacity for reproduction under such circumstances. in essence, my "darwinian lobes" have kicked in, and i am now coming increasingly under the control of urges to pair off with those with whom there exists the greatest potential for procreation. asian guys offer this. not to blow my own trumpet, but i think i am a little more attractive than the average balding, overweight, old rice queen. whether i am particularly good-looking is essentially inconsequential, when the rest of the evolutionary competition is of a particularly lousy standard.

could this be a form of "reproductive intelligence" we are witnessing here? if such is the case, and, furthermore, if i was actually capable of reproducing with my partners, surely i would be regarded as a biological success story - my genes would charge forward.


finally, before i end this entry, does this scientific approach to my emotions wield any consequence for their intensity? am i merely describing a "business transaction" here, of costs and benefits, where an asian guy is of lesser emotional value than a caucasian guy? one may argue that all human transactions are little more than this, and may subsequently argue that introspective investigation of such a nature ought to be avoided. but i would reply that this is not the case - my love is still my love, as strong as i can muster, and my own heuristicism serves primarily to gratify an enquiring mind. my boyfriend is my boyfriend, regardless of the colour of his skin, the shape of his eyes, or the accentuation on his words. our togetherness by far remains the most important phenomenon to me.

it's war!

mood: relaxed.
state i'm in: cool, calm and collected... annoying LO done!
tune: macy gray "do something" remixes - from the vault.


after yesterday's post, i thought i would go with something light tonight.


came across this whilst searching for images of hip surgery... love google images.

for about the last two months, and for another four months yet, the rockdale coucil in sydney's southern suburbs has been implementing a new strategy in the battle against car enthusiasts gethering in a local park on weekend nights.

their answer to the hoons..? barry manilow, at high volume!

yes, the council has decided that playing barry manilow and doris day hits, very loud, between 9pm and midnight on friday and saturday night, directed at the park where the local hoods gather, will drive them away. "barry's our secret weapon," rockdale deputy mayor bill saravinovski told the daily tele.

yes, it's pissing off many of the locals ("i don't know how i will cope," said local resident, and poor pet, moya dunn)...

but, yes, it is driving the local deadshits away. rock on bazza!


"at the copa... copacabana..."

pretty pam

mood: shocked, now sombre.
state i'm in: shocked, now sombre.
tune: turin brakes "the door"


found out some pretty shocking news tonight. an old school friend was killed about two months ago. she made the news, but the event bypassed me in my post-exam haze.

now i guess this is where the usual eulogic cliches come out. was she "fun loving," "a livewire," "a beautiful girl who would never hurt anyone"?

the fact of the matter was that yes, pam fitzpatrick was a lovely girl. we were fairly good friends in high school, but not really since. nevertheless, i can remember necking a few vodkas together, laughing with her 'til my sides were sore a few times, and always scoring a hug from her.

i can never recall her being a bitchy girl, never bad-mouthing people. she had long blonde hair, amazing green contact lenses, and a weak south african accent. i can still hear pam's voice, i can still picture her eyes, and i can still see her generous breasts in that notoroius mansfield high tunic. the boys thought she was pretty special, but most of them found her too attractive to approach i think.

since we all left school, pam became a nurse, and worked with people with disabilities, in particular quadri- and paraplaegics, and with the 'sporting wheelies'. she always had a warm heart.

pam was shot in the neck whilst drinking with her sister and friend at a nightclub in kanchanaburi, west of bangkok. she was merely a bystander, caught up in the conflict between rival nightclubs, some locally-owned, others expat-owned. pam survived on life support for near on three days before she died, with her family by her side. she was cremated in thailand.

i have an old photo at my parents place of the two of us, my arm around her, both with wide smiles, taken outside the science block i think. i can't wait to have a look at it when i visit their place next.

R.I.P. Pamela Fitzpatrick

poofters

mood: happy, smooth sailing.
state i'm in: ready to tackle my case summary tomorrow morning at 8am.
tune: urban visionaries "jugglin'" compilation, some funky electro-afro-nu-latin-blah-jazz.


been out on "the scene" the last three weeks in a row. just the sticky wicky and the beat. probably going to go out again next weekend too, my good friend karl is off to canada and we are clocking up homo-miles together while we can. managed to make it into the galleries of website gayqueensland.net after last weekend with some of my nearest poofter kin. i suppose that means i am a scene queen! wow, the honour. that's about all i have to say about that, except that brisbane has shithouse gay clubs!! plus, i wanted to share the pic.

the first love

mood: sombre and reflective.
state i'm in: battered by my anatomy text book.
tune: ministry of sound dance nation 3, 1996.
achievement for the day: feeling of fulfillment.




they say you never love another like your first. my first love was house music.

as a kid, i wasn't awfully musical. i was rejected from the school band before i was even given a chance (that memory is very clear), and i subsequently never picked up an instrument. i was influenced primarily by my brother i suppose. he was very heavily into hip hop in the late eighties and early nineties. many of his tapes i can remember clearly: Geto Boys, NWA, Eazy-E, Ice Cube, Naughty By Nature, Scarface, Paris, Menace II Society, Public Enemy, and so it goes on. i always preferred the funkier side of hip hop. There were a few of Eazy-E's and Ice Cube's songs that i still love to this day, and i had no hesitation embracing west coast g-funk, Dr Dre, Warren G, Nate Dogg, Snoop Dogg, and others. however, just as the g-funk seed was being planted in my brain, an old chipped tape, with layers of liquid-paper over previous names of recordings fell into my palms.

and so the course of history was altered.

that tape was titled 'Crossover Compilation'. i had no idea who any of the artists on it were, but i loved it. without any influence of taste from others, at the age of 14, i fell head over heels in love. i found out the names of a few of the songs as they filtered from europe down to late night Rage. Urban Cookie Collective, Hocus Pocus, and Datura to name a few. (one day i actually found the CD in a jumble sale for $5.00 - you can't imagine the feeling.) the music was riddled with references to escapism, yet maintained through its beat constant control and regularity. this music quickly became my spirituality.

once i could work, i could spend. money was tight, but i managed to purchase singles, and the occasional album, and by the time i reached senior high school i had a sizable collection of the music i loved, and i served as an influence to several friends who were becoming interested in this new religion - i loved my god, and i was one of her prophets. i read magazines from europe and melbourne with a keen interest to see what new house music i could expect to hear in the coming months, and i gazed for hours at the pics of people "out of their heads" in clubs, embracing the experience i longed so desperately for.

i turned 18, and i embraced it. the tube, viva, the beat, arena raves, system 6, warehouse raves, the empire hotel, and la discotheque. once the drugs wore off, i found myself rejecting hadcore and trance, and returning to my niche - house was my home. but i shot myself in the foot, several times. i treated my love with contempt. after all she had given me, i turned my back. when she needed me the most, i deserted her. mainstream radio had grabbed her by the throat in brisbane and i knew it would be the end. i had already found distractions, a new love, and as she fell to her knees, i stared into her weak eyes, then turned away. for she had found acquaintance with new people herself, people of whom i didn't approve. perhaps i could have given the new circumstances a chance, but no. at that moment, i became a jaded cunt, and have never looked back since. "they ruined house music in brisbane". they had stolen my love.

we maintained a sordid love for years to come, but things faded. i grew less able to tolerate the changes she was undergoing. maybe i was unable to keep up, but to me, her purity had been destroyed. i have always had a pain in my heart from believing that fact.

fast forward to august 2006.

i gaze into a large dusty carton at rows of albums and singles. the vinyl isn't here, but i can see the gorgeous black things in my mind, gleaming in the bedroom light.

i love you house music, and i miss you house music. i might go looking once more for a chance to rekindle that lost love, but should i fail, let us never forget.

the escalator goes up

mood: calm.
state i'm in: not in the mood to hang up all that washing.
tune: armand van helden "summertime".
achievement for the day: getting intimate with 'dora'.


so as the dust settles on this latest arab-israeli conflict, a few thoughts come to mind. new precedents have been set, but philosophies remain largely set in stone.


1.
hizbullah has shown israel's nose can be bloodied and it can be gotten away with. both sides have claimed victory, however each side entered the war with vastly asymmetrical goals: israel failed outright in its aspiration of destroying hizbullah; hizbullah succeeded in fulfilling its goal of merely surviving. to that end, hizbullah won the war. however, it might be more aptly stated that the war was a loss to moderate islamic states. egypt and saudi arabia for example, bastions of moderate islam, may now find themselves hard pressed to quell an upswelling of violent anti-zionist sentiment should it arise there. hassan nasrallah has set an example - he is an inspiration to other fundamentalist clerics in the region who will not only be keen to emulate his approach to the jewish state, but, for the first time in decades, may just find a willing base of support in their moderate homelands to help see to this end.


2.
clearly, the united states shows no signs of changing its approach toward israel, that of unconditional support. for very many reasons, feelings of fondness toward israel remain tightly woven into the societal fabric of the US. an 'us-and-them' approach was apparent from the very outset between israel and the US and hizbullah and its shiite brethren, notably iran and syria, hizbullah's arms and ideas suppliers. sadly, the foreign policy of the UK, one of the former regional colonial powers, is but a footnote to US policy. it may fall to that other former regional colonial power, france (with the support of its western european extended family) to take a more active role in the brokering of any peace deal between the jews and the arabs.


3.
countries such as canada and australia face a different type of issue. many immigrants from lebanon remain citizens of that nation, whilst also holding passports of their adopted nation. these dual citizenships entitle them to work and live in lebanon, paying taxes due there. however when the proverbial fan is struck, it is their adopted homelands that foot the bill to haul them to safety. are these people merely canadian or australian citizens for convenience? in saying that, it is any wonder any australians in lebanon even made it out; for some time, i was convinced they were to be left to rot.


4.
whilst significant in several ways, this is just another chapter to a repetitive story. what is most pertinent however, is that in the current mood in which this chapter is being written, there is a far greater chance that this will have more global follow-on effects. the US will not budge on its insistence not to speak sternly to israel, thereby enraging an already unhappy iran - an unhappy iran that is continuing to enrich plutonium. whether this will escalate further depends largely on where the US chooses to stomp next. i fear, however, that "responsibility" is not a word found in US diplomatic vocabulary.


it seems to me like more and more kindling is being thrown onto the fire...

hot apple pies

mood: as before, except more tired.
state i'm in: worried about my guts, i hear weird sounds.
tune: serial diva "keep hope alive" monster tune!
achievement for the day: got nothing on osiame.


ok, this is a respect to someone special. he's in the middle in the pic in that tribally funky top, all native boy and shit.

just checking out one of his friend's blogs (you know how it goes) and came across this photo. i had to say something...

osiame, you are looking hot! those arms! it sure is heating up in the big apple...


--------------------------------


and whilst we're talking about hotties...

don't have any pics of me on here yet, so here's a couple from the tri-uni cocktail night a couple weeks ago. basically, students from the three med schools in south east queensland get together and drink a lot. even bumped into an old high school friend who is now studying med on the gold coast.


firstly, one of me and suffien... his dancing shoes stole the show that night.
















and one of me and alison... apparently this one is getting rave reviews in canada right now. alison told me all her friends back home are asking "who's the good looking aussie?" she made my day telling me that today :-)

another chance

mood: tired (again) but happy.
state i'm in: no that excited about the week ahead - limb anatomy is boooring.
tune: patty griffin "rain".
achievement for the day: stayed awake in anatomy.


i used to sing this song to myself:



it's hard to listen to a hard hard heart
beating close to mine
pounding up against the stone and steel
walls that i won't climb
sometimes a hurt is so deep deep deep
you think you're gonna drown
sometimes all i can do is weep weep weep
with all this rain falling down

strange how hard it rains now
rows and rows of big dark clouds
but i'm holding on unsderneath this shroud
rain

it's hard to know when to give up the fight
some things you want will just never be right
it's never rained like it has tonight before
now i don't wanna beg you baby
for something maybe you could never give
im not looking for the rest of your life
i just want another chance to live

strange how hard it rains tonight
rows and rows of big dark clouds
when im holding on underneath this shroud
rain

strange how hard it rains tonight
rows and rows of big dark clouds
when im holding on underneath this shroud
rain

strange how hard it rains tonight
rows and rows of big dark clouds
but im still alive underneath this shroud
rain rain rain

patty griffin "rain" (2002)



nearly every single lyric made sense, and i could sing it with commmitment. i can still sing it with feeling, but i don't mean it anymore.

i think i have been given that chance.

the boy with the almond-shaped eyes pt I

mood: awake, but not yet alive.
state i'm in: just clearing the "slept-in"feel from my room.
tune: some old r'n'b.
achievment for the day: woke up before my alarm.

for about as long as i have had a particular preference for asian guys, i have been trying to decipher why i have a particular preference for asian guys.

is it the smooth olive skin, the almond shaped eyes, the gentler nature, or the eagerness for closeness?

i have read books and websites on the issue. i have spoken to many friends and acquaintances, asian, caucasian and otherwise about it, both those that do and those who do not perfer guys of a particular race. and of course i have tolled the depths of my psyche in search of an answer.

it is a little more unusual as i am not the quintessential rice queen: overweight, of advanced age, and wealthy.

but now i feel like i might have a lead... stay tuned!!

foetal haemolytic anaemia

mood: tired but excited - big weekend coming.
state i'm in: excited that i could write the three words in the title in proper english, and not in some barstardised form.
tune: madonna "something to remember" LP (still!?).
achievement for the day: all the study i wanted to do is done!

time and time again i am astounded that i am even here, than any of us actually make it. that journey from conception to birth is a feat the likes of which none of us will ever have to come up against in our lives again. no other single experience in our lives will come even remotely close. the route is littered with traps, pitfalls and hurdles. let me describe one of them...


foetal haemolytic anaemia:

stated simply, this condition is effectively the rejection of the foetus by the mother in the same fashion that a transplanted kidney might be rejected.

each of our red blood cells has proteins on their surface that mark them as type A, B, or O. likewise, the presence or absence of another protein marks them as rhesus positive or negative (that's right, rhesus as in the monkey, where they were first discovered).

incompatibility based on surface rhesus proteins can come about when a rhesus negative woman is impregnated by a rhesus positive man, and the conceptus is also rhesus positive. red blood cells cross the placenta and enter the mother's circulation throughout gestation. they are subsequently recognised as foreign, and marked with antibodies, just as a virus, bacteria, or cancer cell would be. fortunately for the foetus, the mother's immune system has not yet built up sufficient antibodies to the foetal cells, and pregnancy proceeds normally.

then along comes rhesus positive foetus number two.

as soon as red blood cells from this foetus begin crossing the placenta, the mother recognises this as foreign. this time the immune system posesses the necessary weapons of mass destruction, and is poised to attack.

and so it does.


fortunately, this can nowadays be overcome with injections during pregnancy to destroy foetal cells before the mother becomes sensitised to them. nevertheless, with a failure rate of about 2%, one in 50 of these bubs never makes it.

parallel lines

mood: wound down.
state i'm in: relieved i have made a decision re. CLG tomorrow.
tune: jose gonzalez "lovestain"
achievement for the day: more of the same.



saw someone tonight that i once knew. he lived with james when the two of us started dating, but they parted ways shortly thereafter. maybe i have seen him twice or possibly three times since then. we live in the same small city, and no doubt visit some of the same places. yet, like parallel lines, we never meet.

so certain thoughts sprang to mind when i saw him.

when i met james, the two had known one another for near on two years. james remarked that david had aged considerably in that time. perhaps james was just saying that to excuse his own former attraction to the guy, however it did seem like he meant it.

so i suppose this is where i get all self-absorbed again.

when james met david, he was 24. two years later, when i met him, he was 26. he had apparently "aged considerably" in that time. 26! 26! now i am 26! david seemed so much older than us then. we spoke of him as if he was a generation ahead of us. he is 7 years my senior after all. just gets me freaked out, and reminds me how fragile i am about the whole aging process, of getting beyond my time.

david scarcely looks any older than he did 7 years ago. will i see him in another 7 years time, and will he look any different?

just a strange moment i suppose, the kind that gets me thinking.

half flush or full?

mood: flattened but not low.
state i'm in: ready to come to life again.
tune: madonna "something to remember" album.
achievement for the day: realising something.

i wrote this last night, but "blogger" shat itself, so up it goes this morning.



at some point we no longer feel with such intensity.


how intense were the feelings of an early love; of simply going out for a night with friends; of being excited when taking a pill, not knowing what it would bring; of buying a little gift for the one i loved thinking it might make a difference in his day; of knowing you messed up when you ruined dinner - again; of standing on a bridge and being healed with a kiss; of taking a look in the mirror to see that colour in my hair was just a tad brighter than i expected; of hearing a record down the other end of a pair of sennheisers make that certain sound that made me smile and nod; of seeing a friend in heaven on a podium, hands in the air; of defending myself from a brutal attack; of nervously sitting at the end of a table having a coffee, while a boy i had a crush on was at the other end; of making someone a bit better by singing a few silly lines of a song to them; of hurting someone by running from them, separating yourself because you were sure you had to; of wandering around a humid hole, relying on someone else to find an able mate for a menage a trois; of committing a certain crime; of sitting drunk on the awning in the drizzling rain.


you get used to the tears and pain, the smiles and laughs, the tastes and sounds, the confusion and certainty. and it takes a far greater jolt to escape from this refractory state.

the effects of life's stimuli gradually diminish when experienced continously or repeatedly.

is it tolerance, a gradual decrease in responsiveness to stimuli? are my neurons now tired and worn out, requiring ever more potent doses of "life" to elicit a precious action potential? with such a perspective, one might believe it is time to get over it and accept the outcome.

or is it resistance, the loss of effectiveness of stimuli due to a means of escaping the mechanism of action of the stimulus? are my neurons working in concert with the rest of an integrated body no longer responding to life's stimuli because, as they have learned to escape the efficacy of these stimuli, the organism as a whole has been better able to go about its business of amassing wealth, power, and a suitable mate? with such a perspective, one might believe it is time to settle into the driver's seat and influence the outcome.


good bye adolescence, and in response to the title,

"BOTH!"

now i just have to convince myself to press them.

a galaxy far, far away

mood: calm and content.
state i'm in: everything's just right.
tune: leroy hutson "love the feeling".
achievement for the day: LO all done :-)


let me tell you about an adventure i once had. i once flew away from the milky way and went to another galaxy filled with crazy planets, and strange but beautiful beings. it was so far away from here. i went to a planet called Is. it was so cold my nose would sting and i couldn't stay outside for too long. but at the same time Is was a beautiful place, on the other side of the universe.

i remember my spaceship flying into the planet's atmosphere. there were clouds in lots of strange colours outside the window. i was very excited.


but Is looked very different on the ground. from high above it looked inviting and tranquil. but once i got closer to the ground i could see it was different. there was lots of snow on craters and jagged rocks. there were some lights in the distance, and maybe some strange hardy things like plants, but otherwise, Is looked decidedly dead.


the spaceport wasn't very big. not many spaceships would come here after all. it was hard for the pilot to land, because the concrete ground was covered in ice and was very slippery. the spaceship lurched a little as we hit the ground. phew, safely down.


then i got into my little vehicle on the ground and went from the spaceport to the township. on the way i stopped to look at an intresting lagoon. it was a very strange colour. aparently there are a lot of little lagoons like that on Is. when i got closer to the water, i could see it was extremely hot in some parts. there was boiling hot water coming out of the ground in the centre of the lagoon. i had to be careful.


then i arrived at the township. it was an amazing little place. people were busy doing there things, even though there was almost no light from the star nearby. many of the streets and lanes were covered in ice and snow. you had to be careful not to stay outdoors for too long, or your nose might just freeze and fall off! i went to bed after a nice warm shower in water that smelled a little bit funny.


the next day it was sunny for a while. i could go outside and look at my new house. my little house was a strange shape but nice and warm inside. there was a place i could park my vehicle underneath. i wandered around the township and went into some of the stores to meet the locals. they were very beautiful beings, and quite friendly. the streets outside were almost completely empty however.


i was very happy on Is. it was cold and sometimes windy, but still very beautiful. i think i could spend a lot more time here. unfortunately, the time came when i had to leave. i packed up my belongings and went to the spaceport. then i flew away, back into space, and back across the universe to the planet i was from.


i had a lot of fun. one day i will go back to Is.

P.W.T.

mood: completely buggered.
state i'm in: bertie beetle bliss.
tune: dead silence - soothing.
achievement for the day: finding the 'king island dairy' stand.


i have just finished stuffing my stash of bertie beetle showbags into my closet, from where i can carefully prescribe to myself the little treasures, one by one, until they are all gone.

my ekka experience is over. haven't been for a few years. my feet are hellishly sore, i can still taste that german sausage, and i remain certain that i have no interest in dirt bikes.

but what i have found most striking, disturbing rather, is the sheer amount of pure white trash that lives in brisbane. it all started a few days ago...


i suppose i had been living in blissful ignorance for some time. sure, it is inevitible that one occasionaly is revolted by some shazza and her treatment of her offspring at coles, or is startled after having come face to face with the oafishness of some dazza whilst ambling down a city footpath. but for the most part, i only make contact with these people when they are on the news, normally when their uninsured, outer-suburban house has just finished burning to the ground; another attack of the evil bar heater.

but there would be no escaping it. late last week, i noticed an upswelling in the number of women in stained tracksuit jackets in the city, hurling abuse at their spouses; likewise, in the number of overgrown-goateed men pushing a screaming pram recklessly down queen street; similarly, in the number of coca-cola and mcdonalds fries-fuelled children doing their best to gain the attention of their parents at the expense of their siblings' hair. but nothing could have pre-empted last night's train ride.

'oi, daz! come down 'ere! 'ERE!' screamed one, with spectacular dark roots. 'kinda like da bus wen i was a kid' slowly exclaimed another, her face featuring multiple piercings.' 'get ovah by ya mother!' went another. one volley after another of ill-constructed sentences shot across the crowded carraige.* all of this punctuated by the sound of machine gun fire coming from a portable entertainment device resting on top of a dirty, coke-stained pram belonging to some filthy, 'ruff-ryders'-clad thing doing his best to look HARDCORE. i bet he gets respect - from his unfortunately ignorant children.

so i went to the beat last night, enjoyed a few beers, and showed a new friend around brisbane's barely palatable gay scene. got into conversation at the bar with a german masseur, and before long we were agreeing about the calibre of character of the average australian. this conversation came about after he had asked me where i was from, and was surprised when i said brisbane - apparently i don't sound all that aussie - i enunciate my words, and lack that distinctive drawl. at that time, that was one of the nicest things someone could have said to me; i was most appreciative.

roma street station this morning, ekka-bound, and suffien remarks that i am seemingly fascinated by such people as the aforementioned. i am aware i stare with a blank look of despondence. having just witnessed a round of abuse dealt to young girl, i reply: 'what really gets me fucked off is the way they speak to and treat their children - it is just a cycle. it's bad enough that they are fucked up, but must they fuck up their children too!' to drive a car requires a licence. to own a dog requires that it be registered. to have multitudes of children requires only fertility; not a licence, much less, brains.


nevertheless, my day at the ekka with suff was enjoyable. there was a wide cross section of people present from suburbanites to international students embracing a taste of queensland. i am hopeful that there exists between these many and varied groups an ability to ably mix, especially on behalf of that vast majority, the pure white trash. that these elements of society so infrequently mix has both pros and cons, and i don't profess to know whether such mixing is a good or bad idea.

my only hope is that opportunities to escape that vicious cycle exist. that there is potential for a young hopeful to 'make it out'.

best of luck kids!


*i must admit, the carnies in side show alley are worse - i swear, they have less grasp on the english language than the average three year old uzbek.

lyell's theory

mood: intensely calm.
state i'm in: curious about this forthcoming symposium in another hour or so.
tune: ronny jordan 'my favourite things' i'm sure mr coltrane would be proud.
achievement for the day: slept in ...aaaaahh.

i'd like to put forward with my agreement with lyell's theory about relationships - the nature of males as... elastic bands.

the theory was brought to my attention by the theorist herself (unless someone else can lay claim to credit) over beef brisket noodle soup the other day and it has been resonating since, getting me thinking ever deeper about this metaphor.


something flicks, and a male will just fly away, some distance coming between him and his partner. but sure enough, having reached maximum stretch allowable with that flick, he comes hurtling back, close to his partners side.


but elastic bands never quite return to their previous state of tension entirely, so perhaps only the tightest of elastic bands, with the integrity to return to their previous state, will last and last. of course, some eventually just snap too. i suppose mention must be made that if there are few flicks, there are similarly few opportunities for stretch to occur, preserving the elasticity for much longer. perhaps some are sensitive to smaller flicks then others. heck, i could crap on for days with this analogy...

thanks nic!

ps. jeez i wish i was somewhere other than brisbane right now. maybe the cow shit at the ekka will do the trick, i can close my eyes and pretend :-)

'd-day'

mood: just a little agitated - so much else i could be doing.
state i'm in: re-establishing domestic bliss here.
tune: some old marvin.
achievement for the day: got my hands dirty.



i watched the scalpel run down the inner thigh of 'dora'. a rose-coloured fluid seeped out in a few streams toward the steely cold dissecting table. within minutes, i was in there myself, carving skin off of fat.

it was a queasy sight initially, but once head down doing the job at hand, my concentration prevented me from realising precisely what i was doing. layers of adipose are removed, the course of the great saphenous vein is traced, and the rupturing of a formalin-dissolved haematoma in 'dora's' right upper limb leaves the adjacent adipose tissue resembling scrambled eggs with worcestershire sauce.

at the end of our first dissection session, the table is jacked up so the fluid that has come out of 'dora' can flow down one end of the table and down the plug hole.

'dora', thank you truly, for your precious and invaluable gift.



'dora' was unable to complete last night's census, for obvious reasons, however i did.

i thought there was something ironic about the promotion of the census: one of aboriginal australia's favourite sons, ernie dingo, was the face of census 2006.

ernie was born in 1956. however, it was not until 1967, some three censuses later, that the following words were removed from section 127 of the consititution:

"...in reckoning the numbers of the people of the commonwealth (of australia), or of a state, or other part of the commonwealth, Aboriginal natives shall not be counted."

isn't great that this nation's government displays its progressive attidudes toward indigenous affairs by placing one of the nation's most likable indigenes as the face of census 2006? it would be nice to think that this country is coming to terms with its dark and tainted past. i remain sceptical however. how dare the federal government try to pass a piece of legislation that is likely to so fundamentally change the lives of an already disenfranchised and mistrusing group of people without any serious consultation!

just yesterday, the government attempted to pass a bill to pressure aboriginal people in the northern territory into giving up their land for 99 years, in exchange for securing basic services such as housing and schools. the bill is opposed by all opposition parties, and the lands council, traditional land owners, and aboriginal people. fortunately, due to a petition signed by more than 25 000 people, the bill has been delayed - but it is not certain for how long. to learn more, or if you would like to tell the government that you do not accept their abuse of upper and lower house powers, visit the following site.

http://www.getup.org.au/campaign.asp?campaign_id=36


and something i find amazing...

the "proccedings of the national academy of sciences" has published a remarkable story. a species of seabird, the sooty shearwater, weighing about as much as five dollars worth of ladyfinger bananas, travels the pacific ocean in a figure-eight pattern each year, flying up to 74 000km, and frequently more than 1000km in a day. this exceeds the previous record for the known distance of an animal's annual migration by more than double. after breeding, the birds set off alone, only to return the following year to reunite with their life partner. sweet little things.

pre-causal logic

mood: at ease.
state i'm in: quite exhausted, though the walk home from toowong didn't bother me.
tune: charles wright "express yourself" - i'm all soul'd out
achievement for the day: passed resp examination assessment.

pre-causal logic is one of the primary features of the psyche of the young child, less than 7 years of age. as well as this, early chlildhood is dominated by several other key psychological features. i would like to surmise these features form the basis for other such psychological states, those as irrational as childhood.

1. ego-centrism - the individual sees the world, and everything in it as being created for their disposal; all things were put in front of him to her to be used as he or she sees fit.
2. an authoritarian morality - the individual can be adequately controlled with authority, such as discipline or coercion.
3. the belief that the occurrence of negative events are a sort of punishment, dealt to the individual due to him or her failing to uphold correct standards of behaviour.
4. pre-causal logic, specifically, permits the belief in such unreasonable phenomena as santa claus, the easter bunny, and the tooth fairy. to any individual with a mentality beyond that of the average 7 year old, such beliefs are evidently irrational.

to what other psychological states might one assign such a mentality?

when an individual in the state of "early childhood" throws a tantrum, tears are frequently the worst of it. when a collection of individuals in a similar state lose their temper, and when they have access to tools capable of inflicting mass agony on one another and bystanders, what might the results be?

clutter

mood: quiet, but a little restless, in solitude.
state i'm in: looking forward to opening my new 'economist'.
tune: patty griffin "1000 kisses" - peaceful new england folk.
achievement for the day: made 300 med students laugh at a one-liner

got that longing for a certain feeling. recently cut grass scratching coldly and therapeutically against the soles of my feet. someone is nearby, perhaps inside, but not close enough that they could care less what i am doing, much less what i am thinking. that feeling of a brief escape, into primitive thoughts and activities. what i long for even more is the option to return from my brief escape whenever i choose; a minute, or an hour later.

suppose i am just feeling a little cluttered, and smothered by my studies right now. resp examination assessment tomorrow. and for the first time this sememster, i got THAT feeling: when there is a lot of things i haven't studied thoroughly enough; when there are so many of those things that they no longer can be easily listed off in my head, or could be caught up on, even if i had the time to do so in one of these weeks.

i think i am starting to struggle in the water a little... 'labia, you stupid bitch!' someone yells from the shallows.

120 / 80

mood: tired, but embracing this new found distraction.
state i'm in: the stench of chlorine lingers in my room.
tune: incognito "mindin' my business" - i'm all latin and acid jazz right now.
achievement for the day: mastered taking blood pressure.

well, i have started one... i am a, dare i say it, that dreaded 'b' word - i am a... blogger.

word to scotty and osiame for inspiring me!

ok whatever.

open day was fun, david and conor make me laugh, the mudcake was to die for, scored a free shirt, book shop voucher, and some much needed experience. suff's BP is normal!

i can't believe week 25 starts tomorrow... what in blaze's happened to weeks 1-24?

on a sad note, my little possum friend was septic on admission and was euthanased. such is life.


too tired for anything deep and meaningful. night.