On Dit Issue 79.6 by On Dit

Adelaide University Student Magazine

Vol. 79 / Issue 6 Featuring:

All Tomorrow’s Parties Exclusive

season commences june

All Tomorrow’s Parties is a kaleidoscopic journey into the parallel musical universe of the cult music festival of the same name. It’s a DIY concert film featuring performances from a host of alt artists including: Battles, Sonic Youth, Belle And Sebastian, Patti Smith, Animal Collective, Grinderman, Iggy and the Stooges, Portishead, Mogwai, Slint, Grizzly Bear, The Yeah Yeah Yeahs, The Gossip, Daniel Johnston and The Boredoms. The film is a semi-found bricolage made from Super8, camcorder and mobile phone footage contributed by over two hundred filmmakers, fans and musicians over the festival’s recent history, with key contributions from co-director Jonathan Caouette (Tarnation) and cinematographer Vincent Moon (The Take Away Shows, Arcade Fire).

at palace nova eastend cinemas.

FREE TICKETS!!! The

first

5 people

to email us win a

A.T.P. at Palace Eastend Cinemas.

double pass to see

Nova

See ondit.com.au/win for details.

Contents Letters

Vox POP

Degrees of Knowledge LAW

How to Be A Crazy Cat Lady

Science

Pokémon!

Coopers Day

Tattoos

The Great Pub Expeditionings

Colloquial Anatomy

LEGGINGS ARE NOT PANTS

Music

Foods

Columns

Procrastinetting

Diversions

State Of The Union

Go to www.ondit.com.au if you’re not a square, or become our friend: www.facebook.com/onditmagazine Editors: Sam Deere, Elizabeth Flux & Rory Kennett-Lister Cover illustration by Annie Rudduck Inside front cover illustration by Kelli Rowe On Dit is an affiliate of the Adelaide University Union Published 30/5/2011

Volume 79, Issue 6

EDITORIAL

We have

a bang but a mindfuck.

survived the end of the world.

For those of you who have not been keeping pace with the news, May 21st was Judgment Day. Apocalypse. The End Of The World. Well, May 21st has been and gone, and still we continue to plod along, handing in assignments, stressing about exams, deadlines, whether we’ll get a magazine together in time, whether to use a colon or a semicolon. Then again, maybe we didn’t survive. Maybe we’re all dead. Maybe God saw The Matrix and thought, ‘damn, that’s a good idea’. Through some omnipotent flick of the wrist, He has made us think we’re all still alive, when really, we’re floundering about like some useless, injured Magikarp in some unseen lake of despair. Or maybe, each one of us is in our own worldly hell, where everyone acts exactly like they did in the real world, but are actually just pretending, just ghosts animated by the fickle hand of an angered god. To paraphrase ol’ Mr Eliot, maybe this is the way the world ends — not with 2

Argh. My brain hurts (A sign!?). Whatever, I’m going to stop thinking about it — distract myself with a meditation on the finer points of the Pokémon phenomenon, learn how to really make the most of my cat obsession, bone-up on Adelaide’s hidden and ignored pubs and rage at the complexity of the diversions page. But when I finish reading and see you watching me, your eyes cold and soulless, animated only by the fires of hell, know that I know, and that I’m watching you. But despite the fact that you’re a demon — an animated sack of flesh — I’ll forgive you and pretend that everything is as it was. Let’s party.

On Dit Magazine

Best, Rory (and Elizabeth and Sam)

Contributors Writers Sujini Ramamurthy (“Degrees of Knowledge”, page 8; “Procrastinetting” page 44) Sujini commenced studies in law at Adelaide University over seven hundred years ago when the campus consisted of little more than one poorly woven tapestry of a goat. Her interest in the Internet arose when she invented it in 1792 while attempting to create the perfect Dijon and garlic dressing for whale steak. Since then she has spent most of her days cruising the web for babes and discounted power tools. Sujini’s turn ons are listening to Viking metal and the responsible consumption of prescribed medications. Feel free to contact Sujini if you are single, enjoy endangered cuisines, and own your own pneumatic torque wrench.

Joel Parsons (“Pokémon!”, page 14) A media/law student, perpetually frustrated and intrigued by both degrees, Joel utilises a variety of enjoyable time-consumers to forestall coursework. Said time-consumers include Facebook status stylization, ever-present life soundtrack implementation, ACA/ TT hating on, tediously noting that “context is all”, consumption (of food and in general), staple position rectification, sentence deconstruction and radio showiness (Thursdays 11.30, 101.5FM — “never bad-mouth synergy”). On balance Joel is a person who enjoys things. Along with Sudoku, evidently Joel does not specialise in the composition of eleventh hour bios, particularly following the existential malaise of late 2010; are we but numbers in a box?

Illustrator Ann Nguyen-Hoang (“Pokemon!”, page 14) Ann is a fourth year medical student who likes to doodle. Her spare time is spent on public transport and wishing Past Ann had studied more. She likes autumn, daffodils and elephants. Ann hopes to one day become rich, illustrate a children’s book, conquer a small nation, marry a hot man and graduate from Hogwarts. She has very little to say for herself.

Volume 79, Issue 6

Letters

Got something to get off your chest? Email us at ondit@adelaide.edu.au

To dearest On Dit,

Hey guys,

I have most proudly been a purveyor of your magazine for several months, and was most appreciative of this year’s addition of a segment entitled ”Distractions”, in particular the Targedoku, which could easily be described as ”awesome” or ”madly super cool”. Imagine my horror when I realised that the nine-letter word was misprinted in its current edition! The correct answer was either ”organised” or ”grandiose”, yet you printed the previous edition’s answer, ”exploding”. I will reluctantly continue to thoroughly enjoy your magazine in future.

I do enjoy reading Ondit, but I think you should cover some different eating places in your food section. No offense to George, or the other writer, but I am sick of only reading about dumplings and noodles

Love and kisses, Senior Dag.

Sinead O’Shaughnessy

*** Eds: Sorry, unfortunately we cannot control it if the cheapest eateries that George can source are a little gluten-heavy. Still, if you’ve given up on dumplings, you’ve pretty much given up on life. Also, the other writer is Gemma.

Competition!!! A few entries from the Issue 6 Mr Squiggle™ Competition. Congrats to Laurel, who wins things for being awesome.

LaureL Crouch ( WINNER!!! ) 4

Maria Gancheva On Dit Magazine

Roni

Targedoku

B W R A N O K E

K B O N E D A W

W E A O R K B D N

N R D B A W E O K

9 Letter word: Breakdown

A K E R W N D B O

R D B E O A N K W

O N W D K

Volume 79, Issue 6

Crypt-O-Clue 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

Serrated Madam, I’m Adam Atomic Torah Lyre Spur

1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7.

Quiz Isaac, Taylor and Zac Richard the Third 1970s (In 1970 to be exact) Albumen False: it was “The Merry Mutants” Agave ‘Divine Wind’

8. Happy Days and Rock Around the Clock 9. Philip Roth 10. Robert French 11. I dunno... I just... I dunno...

A E

No peeking until you’ve done the Diversions on page 46

Answers

Vox POP

Aneta

Charlie

Kelli

B. Science (Molecular Biology)

Commerce/Accounting

English (Honours)

1. I swallowed my gum a lot (I think I just liked the taste). 2. Don’t really have one. 3. Facebook, alcohol, smoking, violent computer games, drugs. 4. Laser beams 5. I don’t know what that is. I’m a bit slow with trends.

1. Sucked my thumb. 2. “Computer games don’t affect kids; I mean if Pac-Man affected us as kids, we’d all be running around in darkened rooms, munching magic pills and listening to repetitive electronic music.” — unknown, often attributed to a Nintendo exec. 3. Alcohol, violent computer games, Facebook, smoking, drugs. 4. Cupid’s Arrows. 5. Yeah. I haven’t, but I would.

1. I used to sleep with my legs straight out so I’d grow taller. 2. “What can a ‘primary interest’ be?” — Jacques Derrida 3. Drugs, violent computer games, alcohol, smoking, Facebook. 4. Apples. 5. No. Actually, it could depend on how tired I was feeling.

On Dit Magazine

We asked our panel of randomly selected students: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

What’s your weirdest childhood habit? What’s your favourite idiom/saying/quote? Drugs; violent computer games; alcohol; smoking; Facebook. Rank them. If you could shoot anything out of your hands (à la Spiderman), what would it be? Would you ever try planking?

Laurence

Simranjeed

Charlotte

International Studies

B. Engineering (Mechanical)

B. Science (Biotechnology)

1. I learnt to program computers by the time I was eight. 2. “Is God willing to prevent evil, but not able? Then he is not omnipotent. Is he able, but not willing? Then he is malevolent. Is he both able and willing? Then whence cometh evil? Is he neither able nor willing? Then why call him God?” — Epicurius. 3. Violent video games, alcohol, Facebook, drugs, smoking. 4. Electricity. 5. Probably not.

1. My neighbours had a lot of fruit trees, I used to roam around and steal a lot of fruit. 2. “When the going gets tough, the tough get going.” 3. Facebook, violent computer games, smoking, alcohol, drugs. 4. Bullets. 5. Never heard of it.

1. I used to eat Sorbolene 2. “Fuck it, I’ll do it my way, and the people who love me will know why I’m doing it, because they love me.” — Chris from Skins. 3. Alcohol, Facebook, smoking, drugs, violent computer games. 4. Fairy floss sounds cool. 5. Yes, of course. Haven’t tried it yet, don’t have time.

Volume 79, Issue 6

Degrees of Knowledge

LAW Were I to tell you that I am studying a law degree for any other reason than my intense horror at the thought of spending my remaining years as a lifeless husk recording complaints at Adelaide Metro, only one day to be found with a sideboard filled with the heads of children and other small mammals labeled “Hat Collection,” then I would lying. This is a terror endured by many law students, for whom the impetus to study is less a fondness for the thought of one day being able to speak exclusively in Latin maxims, and more a panic inspired by, “I just spent the last two years reading Heidegger and still don’t know what a ‘mitsein’ is. Halp!” There appears to be an overwhelming amount of law students who have no intention or desire to actually practice, unsure of why they are at law school, what they will do once they have finished, or even whether they enjoy it. Many conceive of the degree 8

as some sort of safety net, the procurement of which will provide a safeguard against unemployment. While some, perhaps somewhat incongruously, believe that obtaining a law degree will more readily qualify them for non-law jobs. This lack of interest in legal practice may be partially explained by the fact that those channels which could encourage such an interest are often not embraced by “casual” law students. Though there is a definite idea of a “law school community”, it is not necessarily easy to penetrate, and this can give rise to a sense of alienation amongst some law students. It can be made all the more difficult if, like me, you have a morbid fear of pastel shirt/tie combinations, the sight of which cause you to froth at the mouth. The law school features a large number of mooters, debaters, law revuers, advocators, and so on. Yet, the majority seem simply to dart in

On Dit Magazine

An insider’s look at something you don’t study Words: Sujini Ramamurthy

Ligertwood circa 1969. Sometimes progress sucks.

and out of the classes like moths to a flickering 60-watt bulb. As for how a typical law subject is structured, it will generally include the study of the historical development of the law, legislation and case law. These are applied to problem scenarios in exams which last only two hours and yet are worth terrifyingly large percentages of your final grade. It will also involve large numbers of students being stuffed like a flavourless Christmas ham into a tutorial room, in which the school knowingly disregards the occupational health and safety regulations they are teaching: “Welcome to Law of Work…Ps. Never do this.” Most important to your law studies will be the acquisition of a decent set of exam notes for each subject. Note sharing is rife in the law school, and writing your own

notes when someone else has done the work for you makes about as much sense as my Indian mum after a couple of Southern Comfort and Cokes. Notes can be accessed online, from an older law student, or simply by looking on the computer screen of that guy sitting next to you. No, not that one…on the other side. That one, in the stripes. Yeah, that’s the one. Finally, I must make mention the sense that Adelaide University law has suffered a general decline in recent years. Aside from the obvious fact that certain courses have remained untouched by the editing shortcut keys for eons, this decline can be clearly evinced by the defection of several Adelaide law teachers to Uni SA. I’m picturing a Cold War on North Terrace, where Adelaide University bureaucracy has driven comrades to the Western Bloc. O

Volume 79, Issue 6

How to So you’ve

decided to become a

be a crazy cat lady

Crazy Cat Lady. Awesome! This handy guide provides you with all the information you Cats at people. Anyone can be a Crazy Cat Lady, no

need to get you on the road to speaking gibberish and throwing

matter your age or gender. It is a respectable life choice that is becoming widely accepted and requires little more than a penchant for pussy (the dirty-minded need not apply).

1. Choosing your Cat The best place to start your new life is at the pet shop or animal shelter. Choosing the right Cat for you can be both exciting and daunting. Look for a Cat who is responsive and friendly, and try choosing the one who appears least likely to scratch your visitors’ eyeballs out

Let’s get started!

or defecate in the corners of your carpeted rooms. Cats are very temperamental but respond well to aloofness, so try ignoring all the Cats and choose the one that rubs its head against your ankles first. If you’re a beginner, it may be easiest to just choose one to start with—but if you’re brave, why not try two? Or six? Or nineteen? The more the merrier!

Words: Emma Jones BMeow Hon., PhD (Feline Sciences), Order of Whiskas First Class / Illustrations: Madeline Karutz

2. Humanising your Cat Now that you have taken your Cat home, it’s time to start treating it like a human being. Most Crazy Cat Ladies use Cats to replace the boyfriend they never had, or the children he never fathered. Treating your Cat with such deference at an early stage may cause it to hate you, so it is best to immerse your Cat in its new human life slowly. Start with small things, like making your Cat its own Facebook profile, cooking your Cat its own steak (it will indicate by purring whether it prefers medium rare or well-done), dressing your Cat in tiny clothes and buying it birthday presents. Remember that there are seven Cat years in a human year—that’s seven presents a year!

3. Preparing your house for your Cat Install a Cat-door in every regular human door so that your Cat can enjoy the entirety of its domain even when you are not home. Understand that all surfaces are now Cat surfaces. Your Cat will use your furniture as a scratching post and drink out of your dripping taps. In terms of waste, some Cats prefer to use a litter tray, while others prefer to take sneaky dumps (detectable only by smell) behind bulky furniture. This can be prevented by encouraging your Cat to crap out in the open.

4. Stepping it up Now that you and your Cat have gotten to know each other a little better, it’s time to take your relationship to the next level. Cats are curious by nature. They will want to watch you in the shower, using the toilet and having sex. Let them. Take your Cat to the movies. Introduce your Cat to your parents. Put your Cat’s name on your answering machine message. Open a joint bank account for yourself and your Cat, and write it into your will. If you already have a significant other, expel him. Your Cat is number one now, and should be treated as such.

5. Graduating Congratulations, you’ve become a Crazy Cat Lady! It is at about this stage that you will realise you are spending more money on your Cat than yourself. You spend most of your time scratching bellies and speaking gibberish (“oooooo puddy bubby widdle kitty!”) and have alienated yourself from your friends. Do not worry about your friends. They are not Cats. You do not need them. O

Volume 79, Issue 6

Science!

Mother Nature Words and Illustrations: Rogan Tinsley, PhD

For a long time, biochemists focussed their attention on the protein and lipid components of cells. It wasn’t until the early twentieth century that the obscure and previously unimportant nucleic acids were studied more seriously. When Watson and Crick’s landmark paper arrived on the scene, one particular nucleic acid, DNA, become the golden child. It was heralded with great fanfare as the guardian of inheritance and the molecule at the core of the miracle of life.

not DNA – it is self-replication. Without self-replication, life cannot exist. There may have been brief blips of complexity and order in the primordial ooze, but until a molecule capable of self-replication arose, blips were all you got. Replication (making things) is not enough.

It didn’t take long for the development of the Central Dogma of Molecular Biology (See Fig 1), which has held sway for more than half a century. The Central Dogma put DNA at the top of the hierarchy. DNA was the king, and the nucleus was his castle. DNA sent out its commands, carried by the lowly, obedient mRNA, which were passed on to the ribosomal foremen who dispatched the loyal proteins to do the work. But DNA’s reign of terror may be drawing to a close. The jewel at the heart of the miracle of life is 12

On Dit Magazine

Science!

It has to be self-replication – making a copy of yourself (See Fig 2). Once you make copies of yourself, your population can grow and expand. Can DNA do it? Many would say yes. Many would be wrong. DNA can’t do shit. Its job is to store information. It has to be as inert as a dusty old tome in the darkest corner of the Barr Smith. It sits in its ivory tower and tries its hardest to just not get involved. When it comes to cell replication, DNA has to be replicated, but it needs a lot of help from its entourage of proteins. RNA, on the other hand, is a much more likely candidate. It gets in there and gets its hands dirty. Sure, it can carry information, too. That’s what mRNA is for (See Fig 3). It also provides the key machinery in making proteins: transfer RNA (tRNA) and ribosomal RNA (rRNA). RNA can also manipulate other RNA. Spliceosomes (which contain snRNA) and ribozymes (RNA enzymes) use RNA to manipulate RNA. It doesn’t self-replicate though. But...maybe it could...maybe it used to. Some scientists certainly thought so. So they set out to make an RNA molecule which could make itself. In

April, Aniela Wochner and her co-workers* got as far as any has to date. Their baby, called tC19Z, is a record holder. The previous best self-replicator was R19, which can copy only 14 of its 196 nucleotide letters. tC19Z blows that out of the water at 95 of 198 nucleotides. These experiments provide tantalising hints at the origin of life. It seems possible that RNA was the first molecule of life; able to self-replicate and look after itself. Over time, RNA enlisted the help of proteins to do some work around the place, and put DNA to work in the library. So where does this leave DNA? It’s been demoted. No longer can DNA be seen as the master. For me, DNA is now simply the information repository. A dusty old tome. To be sure, that dusty tome tells the story of all life on Earth. It contains the magical, mystery, poetic history of our, and every other, species. But, RNA is really running the show. The King is dead, long live the Queen! O

* Wochner, A et al (2010) Ribozyme-Catalyzed Transcription of an Active Ribozyme.Science 332 pg 209-212.

Volume 79, Issue 6

Pokémon! Can anyone really catch them all? Words: Joel Parsons / Illustrations: Ann Nguyen-Hoang

A recent run of occurrences has caused me to pause and reflect on my childhood — specifically, a part of which I affectionately and cynically dub the “Pokémon era”, or as is well-established prefix convention, the “Pokéra”. Being cheap, and en route to a house party, I scrounged for a bottle of wine, and found a plastic bag tumbling forth revealing a plethora of Pokémon trading cards. The cards apparently had been meticulously ordered before storage, and now I nonchalantly glanced over them mixing the various evolutionary stages of Bulbasaur amongst trainer cards. They represented what I had really cared about 10 years ago. Hours worth of pocket money spent on pocket monsters.

On Dit Magazine

A MONSTER PROBLEM Browsing the cards, I remembered spending an exorbitant amount on “booster packs” of about five cards in the hope obtaining a prized “foil”, but being disappointed when almost half the cards were useless energy cards. Useless, because we never played the actual card game — we just traded. The game was inordinately complex and time consuming, such that a school lunch hour could never hope to accommodate a full match. While searching for a textbook, I stumbled upon The Official Pokémon Handbook. I reviewed the blatantly unimaginative names, with rat and pigeon type creatures called Rattata, and Pidgey respectively. During a recent expedition to the pub, I reminisced with an On Dit editor about the childhood craze. Taking turns, we named all the Pokémon we could remember, and I was unpleasantly surprised at how much of the Pokemon Rap I had apparently retained. Perhaps the recent bouts of nostalgia had served as revision, but I was able to recall, with embarrassing detail, almost all the various Pokémon.

Reasons to love Pokémon #9: Fine Dining

Frustratingly, this useless information endures in the face of other “grown-up” knowledge threatening to displace it, which is in greater need of storage. A juncture looms: there is a struggle between the fading memories of childhood and the realities of adulthood. I considered selling the Pokémon cards for a meager sum (apparently I would need the elusive Charizard to generate any real profit) to spend on adult things like petrol. However, I hesitated; would I ever really want to sell them?

THE POKéMON PILLARS Childhood memories were a catalyst for Pokémon’s conception. In the early 1980s, Japanese arcade game enthusiast and former insect collector (who else could have conceived Pokémon?) Satoshi Tajiri was writing a fanzine named Game Freak. Eventually, Tajiri enlisted the help of other contributors, and together they would express dissatisfaction at the inadequacy of contemporary video games. In the late 80s, Tajiri and fellow contributor Ken Sugimori, redeveloped Game Freak as a video game production company. Tajiri first conceived of Pokémon in 1990 after seeing a Nintendo GameBoy. Tajiri, envisioned “actual living organisms moving back and forth across” the GameBoy link cable (that, helpfully, no one ever seemed to have). Drawing on childhood memories of insect collecting, Tajiri pitched the idea to Nintendo, who initially failed to see the potential. Regardless, the project went ahead, almost bankrupting Game Freak. Despite this, 1996 saw Nintendo release the game Pocket Monsters: Red & Green in Japan. In Australia, Pokémon Red Version and Pokémon Blue Version were available a few years

Reasons to love Pokémon #31: DNA Hybridisation later. The games debuted 150 Pokémon, drawn by Ken Sugimori (151 including Mew, not available within the game itself). All this was further expanded with the premiere of the Pokémon anime series in 1997. With an extremely flimsy story arc, the show played out like an animated infomercial. Every morning in Australia, on the nowdefunct CheezTV, the digital clock in the corner of the screen ticked over, paying lip service to the idea that kids should be getting ready for school, while affection for pocket monsters was fostered. Unfortunately in 1997

Volume 79, Issue 6

Japan during an airing of the infamous Computer Soldier Porygon episode, 700 children in Japan experienced seizures whilst watching the flashing of Pikachu’s thunderbolt attack. Tajiri suggested that perhaps proximity to the screen was to blame; “TVs got bigger. That was ok in the US because you have big rooms. But in Japan, the rooms are small. So people got in the habit of watching TV close to the screen.” We kept watching though. The final pillar of the Pokémpire is the aforementioned trading card game. First published in 1999, this was accompanied by myriad toys and every other accessory imaginable, to supply insatiable demand. You could even fly in a Pokémon-themed jet courtesy of Nippon airlines, to a Poképark in Japan. However, Pokémania failed to charm everyone and some religious groups sprang forth in condemnation. In a particularly memorable attempt to steer children clear of the heathen pocket monsters and toward God, David Tate introduced Christian Power Cards for those searching for something more wholesome. Commercially, the likes of Digimon and Yu-Gi-Oh attempted to curtail Pokémon’s dominance. Nevertheless, by the turn of the millennium Pokémon had colonized the child brainspace. You could watch Pokémon in the morning, trade Pokémon during the day, and play the game at night. We were so obsessed, that the mere possibility of photographing Pokémon could entice us to forfeit our hard-earned lemonade-stall moneys (cue Nintendo’s Pokémon Snap).

BLASTING OFF AGAIN Today, Pokémon remains a globally successful corporate entity, touting an impressively bloated line of products. A new, inevitably woeful, Pokémon film will be released in Japan this year. Sounding like the title of Taylor Swift album, the latest trading card sets HeartGold SoulSilver were released in early 2010. Pokémon Black and White were released for Nintendo DS this year. Pokémon has been hailed as a shift in the global cultural paradigm. Once upon a time the United States exported its cultural capital en mass around the globe, unilaterally defining children’s culture, and dominating the children’s market with Disney films and Barbie dolls. Now “Jcool” holds its own; like a battle-worn Blastoise against an ill-prepared Charmander, Pokémon challenged and defeated the cultural status quo. In retrospect, Pokémon always had the makings of hit. The game’s motto, “gotta catch ‘em all”, encapsulates the underlying ideology of Pokémon. The creed describes both the ends and the means. The simplicity of purpose is tantalizingly easy to understand and accept, and quite obviously the ethos harmonises with consumerism. The goal is to possess all, by amassing and acquiring. This quest is the reason for being. Such a sentiment might be regarded just as futile as a consum-

erism itself. A daily pursuit of materialistic goals, and thus meaning, is never-ending as the finish line is a myth situated beyond an unreachable horizon. You may have “caught ‘em all” back in 1999, when there were only 151 to catch, but now there are 649 different species of Pokémon. Quantification is meaningless; it is never possible to catch them all, because “all” is ever-expanding and thus potentially infinite. Our desire, and the possible means for fulfilling it are never fixed, and can never be appeased. “Gotta catch ‘em all” also alludes to mastery. Vulnerability and dependence are near-constant states of existence for children. Pokémon is a world in which children are not only independent; but are depended upon by the Pokémon they keep. One owns possessions and companions, and even better, companions that can fight at one’s command, on one’s behalf. Children are conferred power, control and responsibility — a hallmark of successful fiction for children (see Harry Potter). Within Japan, Pokémon fits within a broader cultural context where both adults and children engage in the consumption of “cuteness”. The commodification of cuteness, or kawaisa, is a long-term trend within Japan. Icons and characters typically associated exclusively with childhood within Australia, span across broad demographics in Japan. Hello Kitty has been emblazoned on everything from cars to dildos. White-collar workers chain Pikachu to their keys, while the Tarepanda cartoon mascot (or “droopy” panda) appears on photocopiers and bulldozers. The stable intimacies they provide supposedly assuage the psychological effects of a paradoxically isolated existence in a bustling city. In this context, painting Pikachu on your fleet of Boeing aircraft makes perfect sense. The fad transcends childhood. In the wake of global culture, it seems that the adult consumption of cuteness is expanding beyond Japan. People have grown up with Pokémon et. al., and are influenced by their childhood experiences. Anime is reaching more demographics. Pastimes such as cosplay, involving participants wearing costumes to portray various characters from manga, are gaining popularity. Online communities based around manga and anime thrive. Bulbapedia, an online Pokémon encyclopedia currently stores 18,879 articles. My little Pokémon handbook is insignificant in the face of Bulbapedia’s vast collective intelligence. Perhaps I can hold onto the Pokémon paraphernalia of my childhood uncompromisingly, but I doubt I could reconnect. The Pokémon of today is not the Pokémon of my childhood; Pokémon has grown-up faster than I have. O

On Dit Magazine

Reasons to love Pokémon #68: “Venusaur, Solarbeam!” — Solar Power

Reasons to love Pokémon #102: “Machop, Strength” — Free Labour Volume 79, Issue 6

Coopers Day Country Town Culture. Beer. Lots of Beer Words: Galen Cuthbertson / Illustrations: Daisy Freeburn

A Note On The Text My memories of the events described below are, well, fragmented. On the advice of Jamie Foxx, I’ve decided to blame this on the alcohol. There was a lot of that. Alcohol, that is. Not Jamie Foxx advice. To reduce the number of beer-fuelled tangents and useless/misremembered details, I’ve provided footnotes, and headings. If you’ve got the time, read the footnotes. Because footnotes are sexy. And I love them. And you. I love you too.

RADIOACTIVE TAN I get out of the car and the first thing I see is a tan. This tan isn’t the normal, natural sort that comes from leaving the house and sitting on a beach someplace.2 It 1

1. Passenger, not driver. Don’t drink and drive. Drink responsibly, fucker. N.B. Drink-driving in regional areas is extrasuicidal. 2. For the record, I strongly discourage leaving the house, as this article will demonstrate. It’s a dangerous activity, fraught with people and new experiences ... neither of which are remotely desirable. Plus, ever since that whole ‘Twilight’ thing,

isn’t even the usual carrot-orange fake tan. No, this tan is radioactive. It glows. And pulses. And sways. Sure, the pulsing isn’t helped by the sunlight. Or my blood alcohol content. But this is the sort of tan that immediately inspires me to question the health and safety of it all. Not that I can question adequately: I’ve forgotten my pocket Geiger Counter.3 I’ve also had a few beers already, so I promptly point and say, “Wow, that tan is radioactive!” in a loud voice. Too loud, as it turns out.4 Tip for the future: don’t do that.

all the chicks are into skinny pale guys with computer-monitor-tans. So, if you want to be a sexy beast like me, do what I do: don’t leave the house. 3. I postulated a number of theories at this point, the leading of which was: the woman was a batman villain. Having accidentally eaten a radioactive carrot, she was beginning a painful transformation into Carrot Woman. Like Cat Woman, she would be a busty seductress. Unlike Cat Woman, however, she would have no interesting abilities whatsoever. Except, of course, for exceptional night vision. 4. Intended: 60 dBs. Actual: 82 dBs. Uninteresting fact: decibels are a logarithmic unit. Also logarithmic? The Richter scale, pH, and Entropy in thermodynamics.

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THE FACTS The event I’m attending is called Coopers Day. The question I’m here to answer: what is country town life like? According to anthropologists, events such as these are prime opportunities to see what a community thinks of itself. According to me, events such as these are prime opportunities to get shitfaced (and watch others do the same) in the name of investigative journalism. So let’s get down to business. Located on the southern tip of the Eyre Peninsula, in the tiny town of Coffin Bay, the whole of Coopers Day has a very ‘country town’ vibe.5 Which is to say, there are many ‘characters’ attending who have ‘unusual eccentricities’, and all of those ‘characters’ can apparently 5. The gothically titled Coffin Bay (simply ‘Coffins’ to the locals) has a standing population of roughly 400 people. Most of them retired. It’s pretty. The town, that is. Not the population. The town is also located roughly 50km from anything interesting. If you’d like to verify the latter fact, the town’s coordinates are 34°37’S 135°28’E. Look it up. Actually, don’t. You might die of boredom.

‘drink like fish’.6 There are also bikers by the dozen, which scares me. And I seem to be the only man in the establishment wearing a shirt with a collar, which scares me even more. Most haven’t gone as far as wearing shirts, opting instead for variations on the oh-so-stylish wife-beater/board-short combo. Those scare me too. I was told that Coopers Day would take place in the ‘Beer Garden’, but when I get out of the car, I soon see that ‘Garden’ was an overly generous label. The event takes place on a slab of concrete with a mess of benches and a crudely fashioned gazebo at its centre. There’s grass here and there, but it’s patchy and brown, like the African Veldt. The grass is also functioning as a surrogate parking lot, which is, at least, an efficient use of 6. The vast majority of these characters were, apparently, from surrounding towns on the Peninsula. Almost all of them were young (18-28), and my fellow attendees told me that the town of Cummins was featured prominently. Cummins is the Tasmania of the Eyre Peninsula, it seems: inbred jokes abound, and most weird behaviour is blamed on them being ‘from Cummins’. I was once told the following: Cummins is so boring, the only reason they have wheat silos is so locals can jump off them.

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space. I’ve come here with two friends, and I should probably introduce you, before I get distracted. First, there’s Lilly, an old friend of mine and my entry into the world of Coopers Day. She grew up in the nearby town of Port Lincoln, is curly-haired and bohemian, and is a textbook example of a Chatty Drunk.7 Second, there’s Daisy. She’s red-haired, gorgeous, and frequently corrects people’s grammar. Daisy’s the designated driver for the evening, and also the designated illustrator for this article. She’s a great multi-tasker like that. Anyway, I’m pretty sure Coopers Day is sponsored by Coopers Brewery.8 I don’t know for sure, of course: I’m not a detective. Contrary to popular belief, I’m not Gibbs from NCIS, nor am I Sherlock Holmes.9 But there’s a 7. When attempting to leave the venue later in the evening, Lilly’s Chatty-Drunk and Super-Social qualities came to be a difficulty. She insisted on saying goodbye to everybody between her current position and the car. And asking how they’ve been. All 150 of them. More on that later. 8. Let’s not get something out of the way: this article is not me (how do the kids say it?) ‘dissing’ Coopers Brewery. Because I’m not. I’m ‘reverse-dissing’ them. Seriously guys, I love your work. I tried brewing beer once; you guys do it better. Not a lot better, frankly. But still. Beer. Good. I love you man. 9. Though given my arrogance, dispassion, genius-level intelligence, and cocaine abuse, you’d be forgiven for thinking

big sign that says Coopers, which is my first clue. There is also beer: beer in stubbies, beer in cups. Also beer specials. Really, there’s just a lot of beer. Both physically available and already consumed. When I arrive, it’s pushing 4pm; half the crowd is already stumbling, the other half has the sense not to stand. I look across a population of almost 200 people, and almost everybody has a drink. It is, as Shakespeare would have phrased it, “a fuckin’ piss up.”10

KEG ROLL POLITICS Immediately after seeing (and worrying about) the Tanned Lady,11 a crowd starts to form in front of me. It forms in a violently flock-ish manner, as if the people are seagulls at war for a chip. Unlike most seagulls, however, these people appear to have lost all semblance of coordination. Also, they don’t have wings, feathers, or otherwise. 10. For evidence of Shakespeare’s support of Australian drinking culture, see: Othello II.iii; The Merry Wives of Windsor I.i; Macbeth II.iii; Henry IV Part II II.iii; As You Like It III.v; and my favourite, “I would give all my fame for a pot of ale.” (Henry V I.iii) 11. The similarities between Shakespeare’s Dark Lady and my Tanned Lady were, to be honest, almost non-existent. His woman was a sexy mistress, about whom he angsted and wrote poetry. Mine, not so much.

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beaks. But, you know, all analogies break down eventually. I move closer, pushing into the crowd. The object of their drunken fascination is, as it turns out, a keg roll competition. If you’re hazy on the rules, here’s what you need to know: there are teams of four people. Each team has to relay-roll their respective keg down to the end of the course (a small stretch of grass) and back. First team to finish gets a prize. I’m guessing beer. There are three teams, each standing in lines, relayready, behind the line. Team One, who is closest to me, is composed of four identically-built, identically-dressed men. They’ve got short hair and large hands. They speak loudly, each with the same mannish grunting as a rhythmic backdrop to their words. I look away for a moment, then look back: I can’t tell them apart. It’s creepy. Team Two is all bikers. Three bald, bearded, beer-gutted blokes, as well as one heavily muscled and heavily tattooed woman. It’s the woman who scares me most. She looks like she takes keg-rolling seriously; it’s a sport, and she’s at the Olympics. Her tattoos ripple as she approaches the starting line. It seems every inch of her skin (except for her face) is covered in some icon or image. Ray Bradbury once wrote a book called The Illustrated Man - the story of a mysterious character whose tattoos seem to move of their own accord, telling tragic, hypnotic stories. This woman is the same. She’s not just tattooed, she’s an Illustrated Woman. I feel as though, if I get too close, and look too long, I might be sucked into them. I decide, at that moment, that I need another beer. Before I get a proper look at Team Three, the keg roll starts. There was no gunshot to start the race, and I didn’t hear a shout. I assume there was one.12 In any case, they start. Each participant bends down and begins pushing their burnished metal keg. The kegs glints and glares in the afternoon sun. Cheers are shouted from the crowd. Someone shouts “ONYA MAGGOT!” I take a swig of my beer, but almost spit it out when, abruptly, the Illustrated Woman stops. She pauses, bends down, and calmly lifts the keg over her head. She then walks swiftly to the end of the course and back to her team, where she passes it to the next teammate in line, who proceeds to do the same. It’s not the feat of strength that worries me so much as it is the blatant rule breaking.13 Surely they can’t win when they break the rules like that? And yet they do. Before I’ve had a 12. Or not. It was around this point of the evening that I began to form a very serious and terrifying theory. Maybe these country folk operate on some kind of a hive-mind. Like bees, or termites, or The Borg in Star Trek. 13. The broken rule being, essentially, that one must roll the keg, not carry it. This rule, I thought, was inherent and fundamental to the competition. After all, the thing’s called a “Keg Roll”.

chance to recover, I’m swept up in an enthusiastic crowd that roars (and boos) with the strength of a group much larger than themselves. It’s like being at the AFL Grand Final. But quieter.

OYSTERS, BLOOD, AND (SOMETIMES) SPEW Once the keg roll is over, the crowd/flock disperses almost immediately. The sun is setting now, and the sky is getting dark. I go find myself more beer, and in the process lose sight of everyone I know. I feel adrift at sea; I decide to drown my sorrows in the beer I just acquired. I stand around awkwardly for a while. I hate social interactions with strangers, so I cleverly attempt to blend in: I pull out my phone and look down at it, casually pressing random keys in a way that - if observed from the outside - would suggest I was texting, or dialling a number.14 It’s a ninja move, and I’m pretty proud of it. The CIA really should hire me. I look up from my button-mashing, and notice that the crowd has thinned. They’ve moved, it seems, to surround the Gazebo. I approach. The sights and sounds that greet me are, well, unexpected. It seems another competition is about to start. There’s a table and benches at the centre of the crowd, and a small space of breathing room around it. The crowd has formed, in concentric circles based on height and girth, around this focal point. There are six places at the table: at each place, a plate of twelve unopened Oysters and a bottle of Coopers Stout. To one side of each plate sits a knife; to the other, a thick rubber glove. At each place sits a competitor. At each end of the table are large, empty buckets. The purpose of those buckets is currently unclear. The competition is, a stranger tells me, “Oyster Shucking! My Brotha’ Maggot’s in it!”15 The challenge is pretty damn simple: it’s an eating competition. The aim is to shuck and eat every oyster on your plate, then skoll the bottle of stout.16 Though you 14. Tip: If you want this to work perfectly, the key is to actually text somebody. This adds a near-photographic level of realism to the image, but for me, it’s too social. Also, Coffin Bay is the middle of nowhere: I had no reception. 15. The (nick)name ‘Maggot’ was far from unusual in this setting. The names of the other participants were as follows: Toad, Gobbie, Bruce, Michael, and The Illustrated Woman. Bruce was a thin old man who bore remarkable similarity to Yoda from Star Wars. Michael was a nice, normal young man whose motivations for participating remain unclear. The Illustrated Woman continued to be my source of quiet terror. 16. ‘Shuck’, for those who don’t know (I didn’t) is a transitive verb meaning “to remove the shuck from”. The ‘shuck’ is the husk of a nut or shellfish such as, in this case, the oyster. Shucking is a violent wrist-flicking motion performed with the knife that (theoretically) pops the oyster open. In practical terms, opening an oyster is much harder than that. The origin of the word ‘shuck’ is currently unknown, so let me posit a

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do need to swallow all thirteen things, keeping them down is optional. The first person to successfully complete this task wins a prize. It’s unclear what, exactly, this prize is.17 The competition starts, and the purpose of the table-end buckets becomes immediately and disgustingly clear: they’re there in case of vomit. I’m close to the front of the crowd, which I’d initially thought was a good and journalistic act on my part. It’s not. There’s oyster juice and stout splattering on everything in reach. One of the competitors has cut himself, either on the oyster shell (which he was bashing violently on the table), or on the knife he’s still holding. With every violent movement of his hand, a little blood gets thrown into the crowd.18 I feel sick to my stomach, but I think the competitors probably feel worse. I think I might vomit. I look down at my shoes and away from the action. There’s blood and oyster on the toes of my fine leather boots. It’s splotched in a Rorschach Inkblot sort of way across the top, like the headrest of gangland Ferrari. Yep, definitely going to vomit now. I turn away, pushing out to the edges of the broiling crowd. It’s from the thin and bloodless fringes of the crowd that I see the champion arise. The sun has set now, so he’s backlit fully by the lights inside the gazebo.19 He stands and roars victorious; splattered in oyster, soaked in stout. He pumps the air with his bloodied fist. Through the sounds of the excited crowd, I hear his tattooed wife20 tearfully exclaim that “this is the proudest day of [her] life!”

A FRIENDLY BOUNCER, AND OTHER SUCH THINGS It’s at this point in the story that I need to break convention further. You see, I don’t remember much, though suggestion: it’s derived from the word ‘chuck,’ as in ‘chuck up’ or ‘vomit in a violent fashion’. Ooooh, aaaah! Foreshadowing! 17. Similarly unclear: why the fuck anybody would want to participate in such a competition. But maybe that’s just me. 18. In many ways, the Oyster Shucking competition was much like old Roman entertainment; the Gazebo was a sort of Coffin Bay Colosseum. 19. If you’re looking for a cinematic analogy, think end of Casablanca. But less romantic-film-noir and more I-still-thinkI-might-vomit. 20. Not The Illustrated Woman. But they may have been sisters.

I’m told I seemed remarkably sober.21 I could try to string a coherent story together, but I’d mostly be lying. So here’s what I remember: 1. A lengthy conversation between Lilly, Daisy, myself, and a bouncer. We introduced ourselves to three bouncers, but Jeff was the most fun. We discussed pizza, tattoos, working holidays in Europe, and the validity of photo ID. 2. Sitting at a table full of people I hadn’t really met and eating a full bowl of their wedges, as well as half a plate of their oysters. 3. Leaving said table. Abruptly. 4. Dancing. 5. Regretting dancing. 6. Walking the full circumference of the ‘Garden’ to avoid The Illustrated Woman. 7. Bumping into The Illustrated Woman. 8. Apologising profusely to The Illustrated Woman. 9. Receiving a cold, angry, I-could-kill-you-in-ahundred-ways-but-let’s-face-it-I-only-need-one stare from The Illustrated Woman. 10. Leaving said interaction with The Illustrated Woman. Abruptly.

A FOGGY ROAD HOME The trip home, however, I remember clearly. Daisy was driving, and I’d called “SHOTGUN!”22 Lilly was sitting in the back, directly behind me. Much further gone than me, and still cradling a beer, she was holding remarkably lucid (if tangential) conversation with the other passengers in the back. But the road was the real star of the trip home. The day had been quite warm. The sun had been hot, and the sky had been clear.23 On the way to Coopers Day, I’d been able to see to the horizon. But at night, you couldn’t see a damned thing. Why not? It was foggy. Really, really, really foggy. It wasn’t foggy because of the alcohol; it was physically so. Initially, I was convinced this ‘fog’ was on the inside of the car. Surely my mouth-breathing was to blame. 21. I think this speaks more to my normal weirdness and lack of coordination than it does to my ability to consume alcohol. 22. Loudly, repeatedly, and with some desperation. 23. Though now I think about it, the sun is always hot - being as it is, essentially a ball of hot plasma interwoven with magnetic fields, with hydrogen nuclei being transformed into helium by way of nuclear fusion. So yeah, it’s pretty fucking hot.

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Helpfully, I pulled a handkerchief from my pocket and tried to rub the windscreen clear. Daisy swatted my hand away. Daisy: “No, you idiot, the fog is outside. It’s on the road.”

not unheard of, in the area. The one thing I saw clearly on that trip home was a large, side-of-the-road sign. “Thank You For Visiting Coffin Bay. Please Come Again!”

[Awkward silence.] Yeah. Thanks. And it was. It was thick — as thick as blood, or oyster juice. It was freakish and rare; apparently uncommon, if

Volume 79, Issue 6

Tattoos

History is on your side A 5,200-year-old mummified man dubbed ‘Iceman,’ discovered in Europe in 1991, is cooler than thou. Before Angelina Jolie made all rational girls want to get inked, ‘Iceman’ was already sporting tattoos. These tattoos represented hardcore horse-and-cart-gang related motifs, just like today’s bikie gangs and inked Bra Boy wannabe surfies. Disregard the fact that the explanation given by researchers is that the dotted and crossed tattoos may have been used to alleviate joint-pain as they were all concentrated around areas of bone degeneration; we all

know Iceman did not gain his moniker by association with a walking frame. In Ancient Egypt tattooing was also the in-thing, with female mummies dated 40003,500 BC being found with tattoos, though scientists are still pondering whether the marks indicate females of low morals or high priestesses. Nowadays, tattooed bikers are more likely to be pedalling fixies than tearing past on Harley Davidsons or riding the cart to the pyramid. The evolution of the tattoo saw a progression from 4000 BC mummies to 18th century sailors battling scurvy,

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Thinking of Inking? Words: Adele Teh / Illustrations: Lillian Katsapis

choppy seas and temptress mermaids. Historically, many instances of tattooing have been tied up with negative circumstances — think slave tattoos and Nazi concentration camp tattoos. But in these 21st century times, you can see tattoos on anyone from actors to the knitting fanatic granny down the street. Tattoos have even become entertainment, with informative shows like ‘Miami Ink’ celebrating the age-old art. I am much surprised that ‘Pimp My Skin’ has not yet reached our shores, but am relatively certain that a pilot is about to be made in the U.S by the same script writers who created the highrating ‘Grey’s Anatomy’. Watch this space.

Sticking it to the Man Tattoos are more common these days, a resurgence that cannot be pinned down to any event, other than perhaps sailor nostalgia. So has a tattoo become as mundane as a cheese sandwich, unnoticed in the lunchroom? Society begs to differ; tattoos still haven’t become completely mainstream. A large proportion of parents frown upon their progeny venturing within sight of a tattoo parlour and cover little one’s eyes in horror when an advertisement for a tattoo parlour appears on TV. Professional business settings see tattoos concealed beneath the crisp

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business shirt and exposed tattoos in retail and hospitality also tend to meet with disapproving looks or even rebukes. Of course, concealing your tattoos in these settings can be compared to not wearing ostentatious jewellery or jeans to an office. However, there are striking differences; the very fact you have a tattoo can lead to character profiling by the gatekeepers in society. A passenger on a Delta flight in LA was asked to get off the plane for having the words “Atom Bomb” tattooed across his knuckles. A fellow passenger noticed the words and reported him to cabin crew for suspicious behaviour. “Atom Bomb” explained away his dangerous explosive knuckles by citing a childhood nickname and eventually was allowed to stay on the flight. Tattoos do get a bad rap, right across those intricatelyinked knuckles. ‘Tattooees’ — especially those with a profusion of tattoos across their body — are often suspected of being convicts, drug dealers or just people with plain bad taste. I admit that I am not always above such profiling; I look askance at calves branded with garish horseshoes (and I’m not even talking about cruelty to animals). This is judgment coming from someone who merely hides her disapproval behind a coffee, someone not at all concerned with risk minimisation on major airways. Online tattoo forums based in the United States have indicated that that sort of profiling takes place at airports. Although not in any publicised airport guidelines, to stringent security staff, a tattooed skull on your neck may mean ‘drugs’ or ‘prison’. A tattoo may even signal ‘blood-borne disease’ due to the potential risks of transmission by used needles in the tattooing process. Those in authority sure think tattoos are anti-social; in 2002 in Santa Barbara, California, Rep. Lois Capps received $50,000 funding from the federal government to fund tattoo removal for ex-convicts. 1 Her reasons were to assist reintegration into society and reduce persecution of those ex-convicts with gang tattoos. It of course produced an outcry from citizens who would have to pay the tax. To receive support from the program, one must show that the tattoo is gang-related, “anti-social” and interfering with employment or “daily life” (There are also community service obligations and an agreement not to collect any more tattoos). Wait, some of you might say, doesn’t that apply to all tattoos? The same readers might be thinking: sub-culture of loiterers…offending grannies and genteel folk….ineligible to work anywhere except JB Hifi…These readers may conclude that anyone might therefore be part of the program. Others will point out the distinction between tattoos marking you out as having a certain seedy past 1 As read in a FoxNews.com article dated 11/1/02.

as opposed to tattoos that merely reflect personality or tastes. However, although the nice quote “Don’t judge a book by its cover” has been chanted to children by upstanding parents, it’s not inconceivable that everyone does just that when wandering around the library of life.

Judgment day The negative perception of tattoos seems to come from white picket fence society, even though those who get tattoos are not all socially of a lower class or less educated. I will note that many examples of ‘interesting’ tattoo choices I have seen on the street do grace those from the gutters below the social ladder. I asked a group of twelve of my friends whether they perceived tattoos in a negative light, whether they would go under the needle and why or why not. Of these friends — all educated and generally middle class — two have been inked. Two others are not opposed to the idea of sporting a tattoo themselves, and the rest would never get a tattoo. The permanency is a deterrent, with some prospective tattooees changing their minds like a girl changes clothes2. Overall, the majority of these friends viewed tattoos in a negative light. Tramp stamps rated a mention and certainly don’t do the world of tattoos any favours. I’m of course talking about the 90s contagion of the butterfly on the lower back. Although if it is all about design that dictates the acceptance of tattoos, the debate is likened to the acceptance of art pieces in the gallery when what you are viewing is the new chromeplated faeces sculpture. Tattooing is seen as an art form like any other, except with the body as the mobile can2 The writer’s unhealthy overexposure to aspects of Katy Perry’s lyricism is a result of gainful retail employment and the remark is not intended as a condemnation or generalisation of female dressing habits.

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vas for creativity and expression. So extensive training and talent results in a good tattoo artist, the best ones with long waiting lists tacked to the tattoo parlour door, the opposite end of the spectrum giving you a wobbly love heart and a nasty infection. As tattoos have become more commonplace, society - especially Generation X and Y - have become less judgmental of tattoos and the bearers of tattoos. Tattoos with personal significance and meaning meet with substantially less disapproval from the general populace. However, this impetus for a tattoo or a justification for one can be a grey area. There is a difference between an actually meaningful tattoo and a pseudo meaningful tattoo (such as Asian characters you don’t even know the meaning of, only to later find out you have ‘table’ written on your bicep with not even the significance of your first child’s emergency birth taking place in IKEA). A tattoo of cultural significance such as tribal symbols generally cut it, however not according to one friend who shall be named A. A was highly critical of the practice of tattooing, even directing that criticism at the cultural or religious tradition dictating tattoos. Another friend B believes tattooing amounts to body disfigurement and sees tattoos as something people use to project an aspect of their personality to others to show individuality and counteract the insecurities they have about this.

discolouration and scars can also follow in laser surgery’s wake. In a worst case scenario, laser surgery can transform tattoo show and tell time into prolonged hiding in darkened corners of the pub so as not to let the scarred outline of a ninja turtle on your bicep catch the smoky light.3 A romantic declaration becomes wearing a scarf that instead of hiding a regrettable hickey, conceals a faded scar in the shape of a giant love-heart encircling the outline of your ex-lover’s name. So if you feel like you need a moralizing throw-away line before you go on your merry way, then here it is — before you yo ho ho and a bottle of rum, maybe think about those icecream choices you are making. O

Until death do us part Even if you have no qualms about generating any negative perception you may receive by having a tattoo, or even if you are going to get one that can easily be concealed, is getting a tattoo all a big mistake? It is not exactly like choosing the wrong flavour of icecream, one that looks mouth watering in the window then bites you in the tastebuds. It’s a permanent mark that stays with you (technically) forever. Kind of like the marriage vow, “Until death do us part” (with the provisos of divorce and tattoo laser removal). Unfortunately there is no ‘prenup’ option for tattoos. However, unless obtained in the midst of a drunken haze or under very persuasive peer pressure, tattoo-wearers have generally made their own decision to get a tattooed. How informed the decision might have been is something only to be speculated upon. Just consider the website ‘42 My Little Pony Tattoos’. The permanency of tattoos is somewhat dampened by laser surgery and its shiny promise of erasure. However, this ‘quick-fix’ is not so quick; requiring you to shell out time as well as dollars to completely eradiate all that unwanted ink. It can cost $100 to $500 per session and the fading of the tattoo is very gradual with multiple visits over a few months and post-visit treatment. Skin

3 Michelangelo, by the way, since he was the one with the nunchucks and you always thought he was the coolest until you became a magistrate and you found the quickest way to lose your face of authority was to allow a turtle shell to emerge from your robe collar.

Volume 79, Issue 6

On Dit Presents

The Great Pub Words: Kelli Rowe & Tim Hogan

Rules of Engagement: 1. Coopers on tap 2. Pale must be tasted, even if just in schooner form

3. Two beer minimum for non-driver 4. Tuesdays are preferable to minimise variables

Criteria (out

5, 1 crappy): 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7.

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being

Beer R ange Beer Quality Music Pool Table Other Patrons Ambience /Vibe Bar Staff

Expeditionings Round 2: Suburban Mayhem

Belair Hotel

The Morphett Arms

Main Rd, Blackwood/Belair

Morphett Rd, Glengowrie

First impressions: looks quite nice, when in the ‘snug bar’ realised they didn’t serve pints, the impression quickly started to change (had to go to another bar and bring the pint back).

First impressions: Dave the Barman!

Beer Range: Very average (Pale, VB, Draught) – 1 Beer Quality: Pale average – 3 Music: Shit. Soft pop/romantic blended with loud TV – 1 Pool Table: Yes, in front bar Other Patrons: What patrons? N/A Ambience/Vibe: Has couches – 2 Bar Staff: Attentive to TV, nice enough – 3 A one-beer pub. With the competition between the pokies, TV and terrible music for ear space, any ambience is shattered like a femur in a motorcycle crash. This analogy further explains the pain felt by your ears during this whole experience.

Beer Range: Extensive bogan range – 2.6 Beer Quality: Good impact on Tim, tonight’s pint drinker – 3.2 Music: Non-existent. Apparently a jukebox, but didn’t check it out. Different type of vibe (sports). N/A Pool Table: Three, plus poker plus darts Other Patrons: Friendly. And all love the bar staff –4 Ambience/Vibe: Love the carpet. Televisions with sport but no sound. Big horse on wall that once came into the front bar. True story – 3.7 Bar Staff: What can we say except Dave the Barman and free beer – 5 Plenty of bar space to sit at, and the bar staff are friendly enough to converse. One even bought Tim a beer (we’re debating whether he’s in, Dave says she’s a cuckoo). Plenty of seats, no couches, but if you want to sit down you won’t be disappointed. As a local it works well

Volume 79, Issue 6

The Gov (front bar)

Maylands

Port Rd, Hindmarsh

2nd right near Portrush Rd)

First impressions: don’t trust the crossing lights. We implore you, beloved reader, to not press the button to avoid potential angst on your or the driver’s part. We all know it, but the front bar is quaint, against the venuenormalness Beer Range: Coopers heavy yet low interest, no surprises – 3 Beer Quality: Timmy has little to say: soapy flatness in a sand-blasted vessel. Dark drinkable – 2.75 Music: None until the band covered a cover of a cover. The fact there is live music is important, but, there was no prior-band music: Contentiously – 3.25 Pool Table: N/A Other Patrons: Honourable mention: Amanda and it’s her birthday! And others, but it’s not their birthdays. In terms of unknown patrons, variety of music attracts all types. Easy to be here with anyone – 4 Ambience/Vibe: Good. Wood. Hungry couches. Crayon drawings. Oval banquet table – 4 Bar Staff: Nice bar staff, friendly – 4

Magill

and

First impressions: lights outside looked like they were trying to class up a sub-class establishment, but we were wrong. It has an air of regal-ness (if royalty were caravan-bound). Beer Range: Standard suburban, locals happy. Bottled interest – 2.5 Beer Quality: Nyuh – 3 Music: Funky pop 80s (in a good way). Doesn’t suit the pub, but coolish. Hang on, it’s the radio – 1.8 Pool Table: Not in mood to wander, guessing no Other Patrons: Sparse despite the packed carpark, alluding to the allure of the gaming room – 2 Ambience/Vibe: First drink on a marble bar for your humble expeditioners. Nice leather seats. Regal-ness in a reductionist sense. Would be good with more people. Good drink (spirit) selection, obviously tailoring for a different market – 4 Bar Staff: Good enough – 3

Although it rated well, it’s somewhere you’d come with a purpose.

If you don’t want to drink beer, come here. We like it for what it offers that others don’t. Definitely a scotch/wine (not together) pub. Don’t discard.

The Wellington Hotel

The Seacliff

Jeffcott St, Nth Adelaide

In Seacliff

First impressions: beer and magic boxes and wood. Outside it’s a little cold for Kelli, but lovely for Timmy. Why can’t we just get along?

First impressions: people, of the lots variety. Nothing in the fridge, minus the Amber Ale. Imperial pints

Beer Range: Extensively tapped, Aussie gold predicables with Creatures and Guinness – 4.55 Beer Quality: Well poured and nice – 3.5 Music: Radio, unfortunate poo – 1.5 Pool Table: No. Other Patrons: Exist in a widespread fashion in a large front bar, but segregated by age – 3 Ambience/Vibe: Outside is nice, but still cold for Kelli. Inside, although full of wood, is sterile and large. Definite summer potential – 3 Bar Staff: Friendly, smiley, also mildly conversational – 3.5

Worth coming back to in summer with knowledge that it is potentially going to be a nice quiet (remember Tuesday night) summer beer. A change of music would help a lot. 30

old place (that is, corner of

you fool

Beer Range: So bogan that it included Strongbow and VB – 2 Beer Quality: Well, yeh – 3 Music: Good, due to the fact that we haven’t listened to and it hasn’t annoyed us. A few late gems stimulated some conversation – 3.5 Pool Table: Yes x 2 Other Patrons: Despite packedness, were unobtrusive. Also, left when we wanted them to (obviously suckers that had to work tomorrow) – 3 Ambience/Vibe: Wood. There is a view, if not tarnished by sheets of plastic. No pokies that we’ve noticed. Seats/ tables high and unconducive to meals you would be eating off it – 3 Bar Staff: Did the job – 3

Despite poor impressions, so to speak, stayed for four beers exceeding expectations and driving limit.

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Hotel Victory South Road, Sellicks Beach First impressions: green grass reminiscent of backyards in days before water restrictions. Comfortable, the views are very, very nice. Beer Range: Minimal, but suits area. Two Coopers, blah blah – 2 Beer Quality: Standard – 3 Music: Timmy found it surprising, but chilled and more to the night’s proceedings – 2.5 Pool Table: Yes Other Patrons: Posthumously: on the whole they were good people, save the grey haired surfer who caused

small note from your favourite

this entry, and all points to follow, to die a quick and sudden, yet excruciatingly painful death – 1 (left pub based on patrons) Ambience/Vibe: View spectacular. Outdoor fireplace deserves honourable mention. Been done up, but retains character. Grass, nice bar, dogs – 3.7 Bar Staff: Minimal impressions equals general rating – 3

Nice pub, good post-fishing pub (or pre, depending on true willingness to actually go fishing, convenient excuse not to). Honourable mention Brett Rowe (Kelli’s brother) for saving us/humouring the surfer. You are a much better person than both of us.

Great Pub Expeditioners:

Location: Glenelg, include all areas: marina, Jetty Road, surrounding proximal locations/pubs This whole area should be avoided at all costs, for the reasons outlined below. 1. People: beautiful people and aspirants, who we’re sure are very nice and enjoy their own company, but we’re rather inclined to not share their pubs with them. 2. Vibe in general: don’t people know that metal rusts along the coast? Why make the inside ‘interesting’ when you’ve got a beach to look at. 3. Parking: it’s shithouse. 4. Lack of reasonable food: a fish and a chip never went astray Don’t even consider. If you are considering, stop, turn around, go to the fridge, get a beer and stay where you are. You can thank us later.

Volume 79, Issue 6

Colloquial Dome, noggin Chops

Piehole, grill

Moobs Snail Trail Love handles

Dunlop

Wang, doodle

Derf, gooch

Clodhoppers

On Dit Magazine

Anatomy Melon

Peepers

Conk, schnozz Hatch

Jooble

Nips (summer) Frips (winter) Beaver, snatch

Pins, stems

Pussy

Kankles

Volume 79, Issue 6

LEGGINGS ARE NOT PANTS University. Clothing optional. Words: Rhia Rainbow

Please Just Stop. You are a university student. The fact that you managed to roll out of bed this morning/afternoon and leave the house at all is, quite frankly, amazing. Now it would seem that I need to draw your attention to the fact that ADELAIDE UNIVERSITY IS NOT A NIGHTCLUB. Seriously, why the fuck are you wearing high heels? I am incredibly confused. It seems that I’ve been too busy studying in my track pants to realise that I am but an unfashionable eyesore loitering on your runway. Whether it’s on the Barr Smith Lawns or one of those other places at the Uni that I try to avoid, I feel constantly bombarded by an onslaught of identical floral skirts and uncomfortable looking shoes. Is there a new club out there that I didn’t get the chance to join during O’Week? I doubt that I’ll be getting an invitation considering that, like a normal student, I choose to sleep for an extra thirty minutes each morning instead of straightening my hair and drawing on my eyebrows. Sorry, but it’s just a lifestyle choice. While you may be offended

by my lack of ‘style‘ or ability to wash my clothes on a regular basis, you need to understand that as far as I’m concerned, this is a far preferable option to looking like a massive douchebag. I mean seriously, who are you trying to impress? The majority of real students are a little too preoccupied with getting an education to care that you are wearing a brand new outfit today. You do not look hot. You actually look really uncomfortable, and I can see up your skirt. Surely university is one of the rare places where intellect is held in higher esteem than your ability to flaunt your ‘assets’ during winter. Perhaps. What I would really like to know is how you manage to fit anything useful in those tiny little handbags (other than your lipstick, six mirrors and a small hairless dog). I would really appreciate if somebody could just…enlighten me. I understand that it’s very important to look as though you’re fresh off the set of Gossip Girl, but WHERE DO YOU KEEP YOUR LEARNING MATERIALS? From what I can gather, at this point I’m talking mostly to first years, who are yet to come across the bitter realisation that nothing matters and nobody cares.

On Dit Magazine

God, I hate first years. Don’t be sad, that’s just life, and looking pretty isn’t going to get you an HD unless it’s accompanied by a blowjob. Judging by the number of ass cheeks that I see daily, wrestling with tiny jean shorts, this (and more) is a common practice. And has nobody noticed that it’s freezing outside? I originally assumed that by the end of Autumn, people would have calmed down and made the decision to put on some clothes. It would appear that this is not the case. I am forever amazed by your dedication to looking ‘super hot’ despite the undesirable elements. It’s probably time that someone mentioned that exposed, goosebumpy legs do not look better than a pair of pants. It’s also probably time to mention that LEGGINGS ARE NOT PANTS. They really aren’t. But before you start getting upset and writing your hate mail (please do, I would so love that), just take a moment to consider the alternative. This would mean that you no longer have to wake up two hours before you need to be at a lecture, despite living only 15 minutes

away. It would open you up to a world of possibilities, namely, not having to worry about whether or not your shoes match your handbag. You too can live a life that isn’t wrought with anxiety (when you realise that the girl in front of you is wearing the same trendy-as-fuck leggings, and you have to go home to change). Transform yourself in three easy steps. Step One: Suck it up and buy a rucksack. Put some pens in it. Step Two: Put on some jeans and a t-shirt. Accessorise with an IQ. Step Three: Act like a normal human being. So very simple and so very effective. As I mentioned earlier, nobody gives a shit, so why the fuck not be well rested and comfortable? You are a university student — people will be impressed if you manage to shower five times a week. Fuck it, just put on two matching shoes and you’ll get at least a P2. O

Volume 79, Issue 6

Local Band Bio

The Sea Thieves

Words: Walter Marsh / Picture: Ben Revi Led by the clawhammer guitar playing and whispered vocals of songwriter Zac Coligan, Adelaide collective The Sea Thieves are steeped in the quiet-folk tradition of Nick Drake and the lo-fi, swoon-inducing charm of Bill Callahan and M. Ward. Formed years ago as a recording project by Coligan and wife Naomi Thompson, the pair made used some downtime from live performance to chart a new, weird and wonderful musical direction. The result of this experiment was the appropriately warm and wooly named EP, ‘Eiderdown’. With its fondness for ukulele, looped drums and strange spoken word samples, ‘Summer of the Red Wolf’ laid the groundwork for what would eventually become The Sea Thieves. Boasting tracks like ‘The Eve of Acid Rain’ and ‘Shadow of My Hand’, it also honed their knack for evocative song titles. On record The Sea Thieves’ music positively bristles with odd sounds. It creaks and crackles as if every instrument were an eccentric geriatric prising themselves from a rocking chair to tell the children another yarn. Always ones for unconventional instruments, the band often opt for dusty toy pianos, wheezing accordions and, most famously (relatively speaking), the singing saw, to augment their sound. Not content to popularise just the singing saw amongst the Adelaide scene, they’ve recently made use of a strange device known as an Optigan (portmanteau of Optical and Organ). An electric keyboard produced by Mattel in 1970, the Optigan works by triggering samples of pre-recorded instruments through some kind of disc based mechanism that a simple History major like myself cannot hope to fathom. Needless to say, in both descrip36

tion and execution, it sounds pretty cool. Whereas their sparse 2007 full-length ‘Hiding In The Shade’ was defined by a sense of solitude — recorded and performed almost solely by Coligan and Thompson— the new record, ‘They Will Run,’ bears a strong sense of community. With the assistance of Arts SA, the pair reunited with many of their former bandmates, including producer/guitarist Jed Palmer and cellist Zoe Barry, who had escaped to Melbourne at the turn of the century. With these co-conspirators the rapidly expanding outfit added muted group harmonies and all sorts of strings, percussion and front parlour piano to what are undoubtedly some of the pair’s most effortlessly pristine songs yet. Of course Coligan and Thomspon are also mainstays of the Adelaide scene through their propriety of the Jade Monkey — that lovely, dimly lit little venue off Rundle Mall with retro furniture, bright green walls and fairy lights to boot. It’s from the other side of the bar that Coligan has been able to accrue much of the band’s current lineup, gradually drafting some of the more talented musicians to grace his stage to his own project over the years, including violinist/guitarist Tom Spall (Doe, Leader Cheetah) and drummer Aiden Moyse (Hawks of Alba, Curses, Bad Girls of the Bible). Although assembled after the recording of ‘They Will Run’, this new live configuration has given the band new legs, adding a robust undercurrent (and rich harmonies) to the material that gives the Sea Thieves a degree of live grandeur that matches the charm of their recordings. Make it a priority, dear reader, to experience both.

For fans of: Bon Iver, Fleet Foxes, Smog.

On Dit Magazine

Interview

Tuba SKINNY Words: Amelia Skaczkowski Tuba Skinny hit Australian shores at the beginning of June to wreak-havoc on the Adelaide Cabaret Festival; be prepared to have them set your tuba on fire (not literally — I’m sure they’re really nice). Before these musical foreigners reach our sewage polluted shores, why not read a little history on their origins? You’ll impress your muso friends as well as waste some valuable learning time; it’s a win-win situation. The majority of Tuba Skinny members came together on the streets of New Orleans about 6 years ago, forming a band called The Dead Man’s Street Orchestra. After playing for a few years the band fell apart and the remaining members, with the addition of a few handy people, formed Tuba Skinny. ‘What’s with the name Tuba Skinny?’ I hear you say. Well, read on, dear reader. According to Tuba Skinny’s singer, Erika, there was a well-known tuba player in New Orleans called Tuba Fat. Still don’t understand? Well that’s probably because I haven’t written the rest yet. Tuba Skinny is the nickname of the band’s tuba player Tod. Apparently Tod is a rather skinny man (and people said musicians weren’t creative). While mucking around with potential band names, Tuba Skinny was suggested and according to Erika, “it just stuck; we couldn’t think of a better name.” Tuba Skinny got their ‘big break’ while playing on a street one night in the North of Spain. The director of a jazz festival approached the band asking them, in limited English, to play a rendition of Bessie Smith’s St Louis Blues. Thankfully, they understood him and 6 months later received an email from Mr Bilingual, asking them to perform at his jazz festival the following summer.

While in Europe the band built their own bikes from bits and pieces collected at flea markets and bike shops (a trailer was bought for the big, heavy tuba — Tod must have been happy). Basically, they’re musically gifted and can construct operating pieces of machinery with their bare hands...I hope one of them is single, and preferably male. The band is influenced by jazz and old southern blues styles, singing songs like the soon to be a hit, ‘Ain’t Gonna Give Nobody None Of My Jelly Roll.’ While this music may not tickle everyone’s taste buds, people should check the band out because, quite frankly, they’re awesome. And just in-case you’re not convinced (through I really don’t see why you wouldn’t be) read this: Erika sounded pretty damn cool on the phone, ergo the band is cool and ergo everyone should see their show to be just as cool. It’s logical. If you’re not convinced yet then how about you see their show because it’s their first time at the Cabaret Festival, let alone Australia? We all remember that first day at school. Some of us were scared, some of us held onto our mother’s legs for dear life until the flesh almost tore off her calves, while others may have done a really big fart because they were really nervous and eat their feelings and have now learnt that All Bran is not the food to do this with. Admit it — we’ve all been there. So be a sport and buy a ticket-and don’t eat any All Bran if you’re sitting next to me. I will be forced to laugh at you — I’m sorry but I’d have no other option.

Tuba skinny performs at the Adelaide Cabaret Festival 17 & 18th (10pm) and 19th (9pm) of June in the Late Night Banquet Room. Shows go for 1 hour and concession tickets cost $31.00.

Volume 79, Issue 6

Now We’re

Cooking With Garf Words: Garf Chan

Vietnamese Rice Paper Rolls { Goi cuon } Goi cuon is a mixed salad consisting of herbs, meat, bún (rice vermicelli) and other ingredients wrapped in rice paper. Unfortunately, I think many Vietnamese students will frown when they read this article. Strictly speaking, this recipe is nowhere near as Vietnamese as it should be, because I made it up using the most basic and simple ingredients that I could find.

Ingredients •

• • 38

1 batch of mint. (This is the key ingredient for the freshness in rice rolls. I would recommend you to go to the Vietnamese supermarket, back in the corner of TAB and Hung Fat Roast Meat in Chinatown. They sell the cheapest batch in town for $1, and they are very, very fresh. Woolworths are about 3 times more expensive but 3 times less in quantity. Fact.) 2 tablespoons of Hoisin sauce 1 tablespoon of peanut butter

•

• •

But, I thought, it’s winter, and what better way to bring back a bit of summer than making a simple rice paper roll with veggies that are very affordable? This recipe is really easy and only takes you minutes to make. So perhaps I can motivate you to try making rice rolls instead of another cup of Continental soup? - I hope you do know that it’s better to OD from alcohol than Sodium right…

(preferably with nuts) 1 package of clear edible rice paper sheets.(I’d recommend getting the small ones. They are easier to wrap and you may want to serve this as finger food. They are easier to eat as well. ) 1 cucumber 1 bunch of leafy lettuce. (I would not recommend you purchase a huge lettuce just for the sake of making rice paper rolls. A cheap way is to purchase whatever loose leaf greens that are on sale at the

On Dit Magazine

• • •

supermarket.) 1 or 2 servings of vermicelli rice noodle. 1 cup of poached chicken/ prawns/ pork (This is optional) A pinch of salt

Utensils • • • • • • •

1 large bowl 1 large sieve 1 Chopping board 1 knife 1 spoon Kettle 2 Plates

To prepare: wrapped. Place it on plate with cucumber. 6. Mix peanut butter and hoisin sauce. Add about 1 tablespoon of hot water to make it more spreadable. You can also squeeze a bit of lemon or lime juice, and a bit of fish sauce as well as some chopped chilli and garlic if you want to. But the basics are just peanut butter and hoisin sauce. 7. Drain the rice vermicelli. Then rest on a plate with cucumber and lettuce. 8. Rinse the mint leaves, rest on same plate as above. 9. Use that bowl again. Put hot water in it. (Does not have to be boiling.)

To Make and then eat: 1. Now, you should have your plate of ingredients, a bowl of hot water and an empty plate in front of you. Open the packet of rice paper. 2. Only soak the rice paper quickly in the bowl of water. The easiest way is to hold one edge of rice paper, and turn it as the paper touches hot water. Remember, you do not need it to be completely soft. It will soften as you leave it on your empty plate and put stuffing in it. 3. First, is if you do want to add a bit of meat or seafood, lay that in center of paper as the first layer. 4. Then add mint leaves. If you like mint, put about 3 leaves. Or, just 1 or 2 is ok. Then, add some noo-

dles and a bit of lettuce. 5. I would normally add a bit of sauce in the roll and save the mess of dipping it. But you can also do the dipping later and not put sauce into the roll. 6. Lift the edge of rice paper roll that is close to you, and with fingers pressing down the stuffing, roll the paper to near the centre. Then fold the edges in and roll it all up. And youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re done! O

Volume 79, Issue 6

Picture: Stu Spivak / http://www.flickr.com/photos/stuart_spivack

1. Fill kettle with water and boil. 2. Cut cucumber in half. Using a spoon, scrape all seeds out. Sprinkle salt on the hollowed cucumber and rub it through. This will get rid of the excess water of the cucumber, give it a bit of taste and texture and the rice paper roll wonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t be soggy even if you leave it in the open for a while. Leave it to one side. 3. In large bowl, place your vermicelli noodles. Cover with boiled water. Put a plate on top. This will cook it through. 4. Rinse cucumber gently. Pat the cucumber dry with paper towels. Cut in half again, and slice thinly. Rest on a plate. Leave it aside 5. Rinse loose-leaf lettuce or greens under tap water. Rip it roughly with your hands so no greens are too big to be

Homemade Pizza: REDUX Back to bases Words: Jade Thomas

I love pizza! Who doesn’t, right? People who don’t like pizza just haven’t had good pizza (or are allergic to cheese, bread and tomato: I feel nothing but sadness for you). Dawei Deng wrote an article about homemade pizza in On Dit Issue 4, and I couldn’t help but follow it up. A pizza base has 2 ingredients — flour and water — (and unlimited optional additives).

You will need:

Method:

•

1. Take a mixing bowl, wooden spoon. Add the flour and all other dry optional ingredients (see below) and give those a mix. 2. Dump in the hot water and mix like a mad person. The quicker you can make it, the better it will be. This part takes 2 minutes, max.

• •

1 cup (250ml) of self raising flour. (Note: Self raising flour is simply 1 cup plain flour and 2 level teaspoons (ts) of baking powder/baking soda.) 100 – 110ml of hot water (from the tap is fine). A rolling pin, or other similar device.

Optional Ingredients:

Rolling it out:

good for was smacking n00bs about the head. Now I use a 1.5 litre glass bottle which once held Stones Ginger Wine. I have filled it with water to make it heavy. Improvise! Use a little flour on your chopping board and rolling pin. Roll it out until it has a diameter of 180 – 200 mm and a depth of around 6mm. Pre-bake it in your already pre-heated oven at 200 – 220 deg. Keep the dough just a little dusted with flour so it won’t stick to your pan, tray or pizza stone. Bake for about 2 minutes on each side. Remove and load that puppy to the eyeballs with sauce, stuffs, and cheese. Continue with Mr Deng’s recipe from here on.

I tried buying a cheap, wooden rolling pin and all it was

Want a larger pizza base? Use 50% more ingredients.

Want your dough to really impress? Use additional ingredients such as Italian herbs, salt, pepper, chili powder, garlic, paprika, basil, sage, oregano. When you have made a few and are feeling confident, try putting thick, creamy Greek-style yoghurt into the dough mix, use less water: Oh my God, you’ll never eat Dominoes again!

3. When the spoon stops working properly, discard and get in there with your hands. It’ll all be over in a minute or two, and in your hands will be a ball of dough that’s soft and warm like a... soft, round, warm... ball of dough.

On Dit Magazine

I’m On A Boat Words: Sam Deere

Look — there are just way too many boats. Boats full of people. Who are they, anyway? Boat people, I guess. You never know who’s going to turn up on your doorstep in a boat. Not your actual doorstep, obviously; that was just a metaphor. Look, I’m not racist. Some of my best friends own boats. The problem is, they’ll swamp us if we’re not careful. Right now they’re probably all living it up in Indonesia, just sussing out the relative strength of border control regimes around the Pacific. That’s the only reason they want to come to Australia. I mean, there are heaps of tolerant, democratic societies with stable governments around us. If it weren’t for our limp-wristed asylum program, then everyone would be lining up to get into the Federated States of Micronesia. Don’t bother forming an orderly queue, though, they’d only try and jump it. What I really hate is the unfairness of it all. There’s a bloody queue. It’s terrible manners to cut in line. If I wanted to come to Australia I’d just go to the embassy. That’s the polite way to do it. Australia’s got embassies all over the world. There’d have to be, like, five in Kabul. You just turn up, put your name on the list, and then chill. It’s not like you’re in a hurry to flee the country or anything. What we need to do is go back to the good old days, when we outsourced immigration processing overseas. If Australia doesn’t have any oversight, we’re not responsible for when people go crazy and start killing themselves. Genius. Plus, it shows them you’re tough. You’ve got to be tough on borders. Otherwise, these people think they’re getting an easy ride. Not the boat ride, obviously. That can be a bit bumpy. Because, really, it’s all about pull factors, isn’t it? These people just want to force their bizarre customs onto unwitting First World countries, and the easiest way is to find a country that’s readily accessible by boat. Sure they’ll give you a bleeding-heart sob story about ethnic vilification and ongoing political instability: ‘No, re-

ally, my entire family was killed’ — give me a break. As soon as we let our guard down, they’ll take all our jobs and unemployment benefits. Probably at the same time. I don’t know why they couldn’t just get jobs back in Afghanistan, or wherever, but maybe that’s why they had enough time on their hands to scrutinise proposed changes to Australian immigration law. Even if a rebel militia was advancing on my town I’d at least take the time to download the immigration acts for a whole bunch of countries onto my iPad. There’s probably an app for that. What do you mean? Of course they’ve got iPads. Boat people are loaded. They’re the ones who can afford to pay thousands, if not millions, of dollars to people smugglers for the luxury of using nautically unsound fishing boats. Not like those poor bastards who have to make do with aeroplanes. You know, the other 90% of our refugee intake. Boat people have it easy. I went on a cruise once, and it wasn’t cheap. I mean, I’m a compassionate person. But these people obviously won’t listen to reason — some people are inevitably going to get in a boat and set sail for the country that’s been the beloved homeland of my ancestors for six whole generations. What I can’t stand to see is children dying at sea. And if we don’t set up a complex system of maritime exclusion zones and offshore processing facilities, how are people smugglers going to get the message? Nothing deters people who are already prepared to engage in extortionist profiteering like the nebulous threat of red tape. In truth, I’m just worried about my way of life. I can cope with 170,000 non-boat people turning up every year. But if we start letting in people with boats, then what? Other forms of transport? I bet you could jump all kinds of queues in a zeppelin. It’s the tip of the iceberg. And once you start heading down that slippery slope, well… it’s just a race to the bottom. O

Volume 79, Issue 6

Game Plan Words: Adam Marley

I’m reticent but unashamed to admit that I play WoW (World of Warcraft for those uninitiated). Like me more or respect me less as is your prerogative, but I don’t think it makes me any less of an adult (albeit maybe one that is susceptible to simple reward-based classical conditioning methods). It’s logical I should progress to WoW (and Dragon Age for those in the know), after growing up playing the likes of Baldur’s Gate and Diablo 2 (other RPGs — that is, Role Playing Games).

but I feel as though if I got everything balanced then everything would be much easier. By ‘everything’ I mean the standard fare: study, work (money), relationships, friends, family, recreation, health (this one in particular makes me feel like an adult – I finally understand the significance of the phrase “at least you have your health,” seeing as mine is regularly off somewhere having a good time without me: making all those other pesky things that much more challenging). See, you have a finite set of stat points to spread over all your attributes — you can only add to one when you take from another. In over-simplistic terms, the only thing that has changed is that I’m now allocating MY stat points (or more accurately: ‘crap-I-have-to-do points’); and whereas I used to be good at such, apparently I now suck.

A pivotal part of such games was ‘character creation’ and the allocation of ‘stat points’ whereby you mould the ‘attributes’ of your avatar according to its ‘class’. For instance: a Warrior will want a lot of Strength so they can beat big, heavy things with other, smaller but still quite big and heavy-ish things, while a Mage will want Intelligence to help them set things on fire by twirling their hands in the air. This was my favourite aspect of these games, by far. I loved allocating character attributes, making them perfect(ly distributed), to the point where I would custom design all the characters of my ‘party’, forgoing the game-introduced, statisticallyflawed characters replete with personality (that probably says a lot about 14 year old me). I liked it because you could control it, and if you got it right – if you got everything balanced properly – the game would flow much better as a result.

It would seem I’ve also (recently) decided I need some ‘steady-state’ to go along with my balance. (This is one of those instances where I migrate across some of my economic parlance — though I think we pilfered it from mathematics or physics or somesuch — to actual-realworld-life, disfiguring it in the process.) In this context, what I mean by ‘steady-state’ is ‘settled.’ I don’t mean fixed or immutable, mind, but rather: calm, non-volatile. Now this is talking micro; each of those individual ‘everything’ components needs to be in a steady-state, while being balanced against one another. Easy, right?

Replace ‘the game’ in that last sentence with ‘life’ and we’ve finally stumbled across the pith of my relation. Oh, how I yearn for that control! Balance. I want balance. I don’t know why, and I could be mistaken, 42

I am sure I’m not the only one — it is likely most people aspire to have more control over their lives, a bit more balance and stability. A noble aspiration to be sure, and one no doubt achievable by many, if they instead DESIRED it. Ay, there’s the rub — people don’t really WANT balance and stability. And why should they? A life without uncertainty would be utterly dull. So it would seem I am doomed to be either stressed or bored. Hence, WoW. O

On Dit Magazine

Fightin’ Words Words: Rory Kennett-Lister

Finding myself bereft of intelligent things to write about, I happened to ask a friend of mine for suggestions. “Write something with punch,” he said, grinning retardedly, “Write about UFC.” After offering him congratulations on his excellent punning, I resolved to do just that. Though I am far from any kind of expert on the topic, I do find it — rather embarrassingly — extremely entertaining, and thus, consider it fair game for some selfgratifying musing. UFC has reached the level of cultural ubiquity that would probably allow me to forego an explanation of what the towering letters stand for, and thus, what it is. However, if you abstain from the more base, primal forms of entertainment, are one to scorn savagery, and have therefore chosen to ignore the phenomenon, allow me to spell it out for you: Ultimate Fighting Championship. It’s pretty much as simple as it sounds — men beating the living shit out of each other inside a cage. Of course, there are many subtleties to the sport, but what do I care about them? I’m almost certain that 95% of everyone watching the fights (myself included) aren’t doing so to analyse the finer points of the Brabo Choke Variation; they’re baying for blood. Which is, as I sit on my couch, wrapped in my electric throw rug, precisely what I’m doing. There are a multitude of arguments for not watching UFC — it’s human cockfighting, it glorifies violence, they wear horrible, horrible clothing and have awful tattoos. But, concomitantly, there are particular reasons why I personally shouldn’t enjoy watching UFC. As a man with a 28” waist, glasses and a penchant for reading, I’m not exactly the most obvious candidate to find enjoyment in throbbing-muscled troglodytes playing knuckle fuck in a birdcage. Further, having once been punched in the face so thoroughly that I had to spend 4 days in hospital, you’d think I might have been turned

off the idea of glorified violence. But I still catch myself grinning stupidly — obliviously — while I watch a tattooed behemoth tottering helplessly, glass eyed, delaying the impending, inevitable thwack of his head on the ground. Now, if you were so inclined, you could probably get all Freudian on me — tell me that my enjoyment is the result of some subconscious desire for retribution. Or perhaps it is a compensation for my own feelings of masculine inadequacy. Hell, there are a lot of sweaty men involved; maybe it’s indicative of latent homosexuality. But while you’re doing that, I’ll be oblivious, sitting on the edge of my seat, tea firmly in hand, telling them to get the fuck off the floor and start smacking each other. And when they do and one of them takes a big, cheesy knuckle sandwich to the face, I’ll roar with glee and stamp my feet and look to whomever is in the room with me asking “did you see that?! Oh! That was fucking huge!” and depending who is in the room I will either have eyes rolled at me or hands put up for similarly huge high fives and it will be AWESOME. And then I’ll turn TV off, let the adrenalin subside, and feel a little bit guilty. O

Volume 79, Issue 6

Procrastinetting The Hard Copy Blog Words: Sujini Ramamurthy

STRANGE

TALES

FROM

THE

INTERNET

URL HUNTER - http://probablyinteractive.com/url-hunter This is a cute little game that you play within the URL bar of your browser. The instructions are on the page. That is all.

On Dit Magazine

For the Love of Missed Connection and All that is Holy and Good http://w4missedconnections.wordpress.com/ Being the kind of creep who stares at hotties on the street until I walk into things like passing motor vehicles, Missed Monnections speaks to me in a way few other personal advertisements do. I often imagine what could happen if myself and that guy on the train who is licking his shoe because he spilled amyl all over it, were to reproduce. Or what the house that I will, one day, share with the guy who fell asleep in Constitutional Law and then woke up and called Professor Williams “Mum” might look like. If you’d like to get into the minds of other vile lurkers like me, I suggest you check this site out. Its author collects the most depressing, disturbing and creepy of the missed connections on Craigslist, and assembles them into one hilarious compilation. So, next time you see an awkward stranger staring at you from afar, it’ll probably be me. But, at least this page will give you a heads up on all the gross shit I want to do to you.

Cooking for Assholes - http://cookingforassholes.blogspot.com “Stop being such a fucking loser and grow a brain. Cooking is easy as shit. Learn it.” So decries the “Cooking Asshole,” whose blog illustrates to stupid jerks how to cook delicious fancy-ass food. For instance, if you wanna know how to cook pan fried soft-shelled blue crabs with aioli, then this mother will show you how to do it. And this is real aioli, bitches. Not just some goddam lemon rind in Praise mayo. He’ll even show you how to face fuck a live crab, so you can eat the freshest freaking meal EVAR. The Cooking Asshole explains his recipes with the requisite clarity and hostility essential to make sure that you dum dums don’t fuck up your Coda alla Vaccinara like a chump. Furthermore, so you pussies don’t piss all in your panties when you start cooking, the Asshole does away with pointless weights and measures like grams and ounces and shit, telling you to use a “big-ass steak” or a “buttload of butter” instead. And you know what else? Anthony Bourdain reads this blog, so bite me, you sons of whores.

Volume 79, Issue 6

Diversions Answers on page 5.

Guess the Full image. Go to www.ondit.com.au for answers.

On Dit Magazine

Diversions Crypt-o-Clues

AWKWORD “FECUND” What it means: Producing or capable of producing an abundance of offspring or new growth. What it sounds like it means: Dark, angry and eager for sex. Sweaty, oozing, unwashed loins chaffing inside unwashed, festering undergarments. Reason: Rolls off the tongue in a disturbing mix of two four-letter words too coarse for publication in this magazine. Sounds harsh and guttural, like being propositioned by a lice-ridden Neanderthal with his stonk on.

Triviarama 1. What are the names of the three members of Hanson? 2. “Now is the winter of our discontent” is a line from which Shakespeare play? 3. In what decade was Blu-Tack invented? 4. What is the correct term for “egg white”? 5. True or false, The X-Men comics were originally to be named “The Mutants”. 6. What is the main ingredient of Tequila? 7. What does “Kamikaze” mean when translated? 8. What were the two theme songs for ‘Happy Days’? 9. Which author most recently won the Man Booker International Prize? 10. Who is the current Chief Justice of the High Court of Australia?

1. It looks half serene, but its review was cutting. (8) 2. First sir, I find your introduction too forward. Send it back. (5,2,4) 3. ABCDEFGHIJKLM, I see, is particular. (6) 4. We must go to the Royal Adelaide Hospital! Moses is there with God’s word! (5) 5. That sounds melodious. You’re not telling the truth! (4) 6. Partly urge it on with small spike (4)

Targedoku

Find as many words as you can using the letters on the Sudoku grid (including a 9 letter word). Words must be four letters or more and include the highlighted letter. Use the letters to solve the Sudoku (normal Sudoku rules apply) B

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Volume 79, Issue 6

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State Of The Union Words of wisdom from your benevolent union president Words: Raff Piccolo

So last time we chatted about the end of the semester and the growing level of stress and frustration that you may be living under if you are like most students on campus... This time I won’t espouse a life lesson on why and how to be more organised. Instead, I want you to cast your mind to another task: SELTs (Student Evaluation of Learning and Teaching). For those of you who are not new to SELTs, I ask that you continue reading, as I feel this is important to you also. SELTs offer students an opportunity to provide feedback to the quality of teaching and learning provided for in the course, by your lecturer and by your tutor. You may feel overwhelmed by the number you may be asked to participate in. As a result you may be inclined to NOT provide your undivided attention to filling them out so as to properly reflect your thoughts. As tempting as this might be, please don’t. The responses you supply by way of the SELTs are really important and are taken seriously! It provides a means whereby students can provide feedback as to the quality of the course, their lecturer’s and/or tutor’s teaching in an anonymous manner. I know we all have a habit of complaining about the quality of the course we are undertaking, or the way one of our lecturer’s presents the course content. Now is your opportunity to provide that feedback without fear of retribution. Conversely, if you think that your course rocks! or that your lecturer is doing a great job — put that down. Feedback either way is encouraged and appreciated. Once collated, the answers provided are used to highlight respective strengths and weaknesses, and what should be changed to provide for a better education experience. Whilst we are on the subject of SELTs I have been involved with other student representatives in a review in the way SELTs are conducted. The final reports are due

to be released for consultation shortly, but, in short, the uni is looking of revamping the questions utilised and introducing an option to allow students to participate in SELTs online. This will in no way compromise the anonymity of the students providing the responses. It will provide students with the opportunity feedback in a more comfortable environment, ie not in the presence of the lecturer and at their own pace. On another matter, I was recently invited to provide comment on the issues facing students trying to balance work and study. Whilst not getting into the content of the interview, it was great to see students running their own radio programme. If you think that this is something that you would be interested in, then don’t forget that opportunity is available to students. The AUU runs Student Radio Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday evenings from 11pm to 1pm on Radio Adelaide 101.5 FM; tune in or contribute. O

Need to get in touch with Raff? w: auu.org.au e: auupresident@auu.org.au f: facebook.com/raff.piccolo

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