On Dit Issue 79.10 by On Dit

Adelaide University Student Magazine

Vol. 79 / Issue 10 Featuring:

Contents Vox POP

How to Spam A Scammer

Carbon Tax

Creative commons & Copyleft

Humanities Tutorial ‘Changes’

Dope photo that you could put on your wall or something

Marijuana: A History

What the FUCK is STUDEnt Politics All about anyway?

SAM

Now We’re Cooking with Garf

SuRFACES

THE THree Little Pigs And the Big Badwulf

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 Anne Nguyen-Hoang Inside Front Cover Illustration by Richard Seglenieks On Dit is an affiliate of the Adelaide University Union Published 12/9/2011

Volume 79, Issue 10

Editorial

Elizabeth

At the

Sam

time of writing, this magazine is finished.

Well, almost done. There is one page that remains incomplete. Maybe even half-finished. I’m not sure how you measure page completion. There’s probably a standardised international unit for it, but to be honest, I can’t be bothered doing any research. It’s unlikely that any of the truly significant moments of my life will hinge on my ability to adequately describe the relative emptiness of a page, unless I somehow end up falling for a typesetter who demands a working knowledge of her profession. That’s probably a bridge I can cross when I come to it. I digress. My intention was to bring to your attention that, by the time I get to the end of this editorial, there will be nothing left to write. It’s merely a convenience that the more I wank on about the editorial, the less editorial there will be for me to wank on about.

Rory

hasn’t started yet, because everyone went home, because they were bored. And because it was 3:00 in the morning and the actor was still trying to write an editorial because if it didn’t get written then she couldn’t send the costume designer to the printers. I think I might have broken that analogy. Anyway, as an editor, it’s my duty to report that if you continue through these pages you’re going to be thrilled. You can find out why HuMMS is cutting tutorial numbers, hear the compelling case for concluding cannabis criminalisation, get your facts right about the Copyleft movement, and much more. I promise you’ll enjoy it so much you’ll completely forget that you even read this editorial. Although, now that you have, you’re 1/48th of the way through the magazine. And that’s progress. At the time of writing the magazine is actually finished. Whoa, man. Meta.

Of course, by examining from within the substance of what goes into creating a piece of entertainment, I’m getting all destructive up in this Fourth Wall. It’s like an actor pontificating to the audience about the costume design. Except the play

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Best, Sam (and Rory and Elizabeth)

Contributors Writers Annie Waters (“Sam”, page 5) I’m Annie, I’m 23, I’m a girl. These are the vital details that the census managed to ascertain (after about 20 minutes on the phone trying to explain to my stickler of a dad why I should fill it out when I got home in the morning and not at my boyfriend’s parents house). Things that escaped the statistics lords: I’ve just returned from a year in France, so I drink a lot of coffee, read a lot of wanky novels and I’m trying to cut down on the pâté and stand-offishness. I’m quite a bit of fun, what with my bizarre sense of humour and the need to talk a lot when I’m nervous. I really like words and numbers and patterns and ugly jumpers/dogs. Oh, I’m a double English/Psychology major, with a French diploma as well. Currently throwing myself into a brief foray with Bridget Jones-style hard-hitting journalism to avoid writing multiple essays; definitely code for success.

Walter Marsh (“Surfaces”, page 5) Walter can often be often found singing in boxed choirs, talking on the radio and writing for street press. Whilst feeling his way through an Arts/Media double degree he has become something of an expert in such diverse (and useful) disciplines as ‘Looking Busy’ and ‘Employing Unnecessarily Verbose Language’. He is also quite fond of Ray Davies and Jonathan Holmes.

Aidan Jones (“What the fuck is student politics all about anyway?”, page 5) Mitchell’s appreciation of the potential applications of language began shortly after his 10th birthday when, after his father enlisted in the King’s First African Rifles, he moved from his childhood home in rural Formosa to an affluent boarding school in Sydney, Australia. Regaling the impressionable lads with impressively complex escapist falsehoods, he realised that the use of haughtily aberrant language to obfuscate reality, as well as his own values and beliefs, was a skill to be treasured and cultivated. After the waxing and waning of an extensive public life and scarcely a single parking fine, diction and heated discourse remain great passions for him.

Illustrator Richard Seglenieks (“Marijuana: A History”, PAGE 27; INside front cover) Richard is in his fifth year of medicine, when the only thing less fun than studying is hearing the term ‘barrier exams’. Unfortunately, ‘a picture speaks a thousand words’ isn’t a strong argument when all your exams are multiple choice. In his copious amounts of free time he likes making car noises whilst driving, constructing nests for his cat to sleep in, and consistently using the Oxford comma. Having eaten over 500 packets of Mi Goreng per year for 3 years, he has also successfully replaced his DNA with MSG.

Volume 79, Issue 10

Letters

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

Dear On Dit,

I would like to congratulate the On Dit team for continuing the fine work of high journalistic standards as mentioned in a letter in Volume 79 Issue 9. The quality of writing as well as topics being discussed have certainly improved since my time as a uni student!

I just wanted to say how pleased I was to see a Wild Horse comic in your uni magazine. Rowan is a genius (or a lunatic, I haven’t decided yet), and I discovered that his comic strip has a huge online following – speaking of which, are you able to put the link in the next publication? www.wildhorsecomic.com

I wanted to write this letter to follow up from an article written by Galen Cuthbertson ‘In Defence of National Service’. Whilst I most certainly did appreciate the great level of research that went into the article, particularly researching the schemes used in Germany and Switzerland, I must admit that Galen sold Australia short. There has been discussion on this issue in Australia by the Labor party, National Union of Students and Liberal Senator Mitch Fifield regarding a Volunteer Corps, not too dissimilar to what you were proposing for Australia. This Volunteer Corp would be used as a way for students to get HECS discounts hence the incentive to volunteer. As well as this, we do also in this country have plenty of opportunities for students to put back.

I am sure other high-brow horse comic enthusiasts will appreciate it. Cheers, JP

Dear JP, We dig the comics too, despite (or perhaps because of) the fact that they are obviously the work of someone who is clearly unhinged. Please find another insane installment below.

For instance, Volunteering SA work with a plethora of non-profit organisations and are always on the look out for young people. In fact some organisations are desperate for young people. I have been involved in such programs and I have to say that I learned more from such programs then some of my uni textbooks and readers. So for On Dit readers reading I would state the follow. If you want to put back its simple: Get off your arse today and make a difference! Overall a great article Galen and well done. Sincerely Damon Nazeran

On Dit Magazine

Best, The Eds

Cartoon: Rowan Roff

Targedoku

O S N T

A G H

U L S H A T G N O

A G T O N L S H U

H N O S U G L T A

9 Letter word: Onslaught

G A H N S O U L T

N O L U T A H S G

S T U L G

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

Volume 79, Issue 10

Crypt-O-Clue Texta Port Cough Moth Dough Spam

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

Quiz A brick Grogan Log The Nuggets Cable Steamer

7. 8. 9. 10.

A stool Number 2 Dump Dropping the kids off at the pool

H O A N

No peeking until youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve done the Diversions on page 46

Answers

Vox POP

Brittany

NANA

Chris

Maths/Computer Science

Accounting (Masters)

Politics (Honours)

1. 2.

1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

1. 2.

3. 4. 5.

Dolphin. Speeding 20km over the speed limit. It was $300 or something. Ridiculously fricking hard. I voted. It was fine. I’m from Canada. There the government is like “come to my country.” I think as a result of that we’re losing a lot of our original culture.

Dolphin. I’ve never had one. I hate figures. I missed it. Set up some particular places for them. Don’t just allow them to roam around.

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3. 4. 5.

Seahorse. I received 300 library demerit points and a 5-week borrowing ban. All while employed by the library. Interesting but useless. Interesting but useless. Give them jobs and put them to work.

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

What is your favourite sea creature? What is the worst fine you’ve ever had? Sum up your degree in three words. What was your experience of student elections? What do you think the government should do with asylum seekers?

Sally

Michael

Cletus

Applied Finance (Masters)

Science (Masters)

History/Interpretive Agriculture

1. 2. 3. 4.

1. 2.

Seal. I’ve never had one. So many Asians. I wanted to be there but I totally missed it. I don’t think they should allow them in.

3. 4. 5.

Penguin. I parked my car the wrong way in a side street. It was a bigger fine than it should have been. Maths, headache, maths. I avoided most of it. Get in early, get out late and avoid the student politicians. That’s a big can of worms. It’s complicated. I think they should process them faster and find a way to make it seem fairer.

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2. 3. 4. 5.

Manatee. Because they’re all about humanatee. $4000 for drunkenly riding my harvester through a shopfront. Blissful, perpendicular, aromatic. I’m appalled they didn’t elect me. Is that one of them fandangled mobile phones?

How to SPAM A Scammer Words: The Editors (Elizabeth, Rory

and

Sam Onora and Frank)

Earlier this year we had a three week long email exchange with a scammer. They thought we were an ignorant housewife called ‘Onora Dit’, and we thought they were full of shit about us winning £250,000 in the “All Webmail©/Yahoo!2011 E-mail promotion”. From this experience we thought we’d put together a handy how to guide for spamming a scammer...

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1) Know who you are dealing with: To best understand the following, you need to know all the players. In our exchange (in order of appearance) we had: The Scammers Debra Zubek: Initial contact, and bearer of scammy goodness. David Rankovic: Our main contact. Talked us through the minutiae of how to “fill claim our prize”. Perry Chang: this name mysteriously appeared, only once, at the end of an email apparently from David. Never explained. Roney Roland: courier dispatch officer we were told to contact. Castro Peterson: courier dispatch officer we apparently contacted instead. Diplomat: would apparently deliver o’ur winnings and documents following our receipt of an identification code. The Dit Family Onora Dit: Housewife. Computer illiterate. Gardening enthusiast. Thistle Farmer (Thistler). Frank Dit: Husband of Onora. Colour blind. Frank Dit jr.: Our son. Good with computers. Frank: Our cat. Frankcheska: Our daughter.

2) Verify the credibility of the scammer’s claim: Usually the scammers help you with this. In our case, we received this helpful disclaimer: This is a legitimate promotion and it is 100% risk free. This lottery organized by yahoo only comes twice a year, which is the beginning and end of every year. this lotto is licences by (International Association of Gaming Regulators (IAGR) ) which makes it authentic and legal.

Sorted.

3) Build rapport: Come up with nicknames. We called David “Sweetie”, and told him to call us “The Big O” because:

I was not given this name due to my large waist size (though I must admit it has been growing in recent years (I tell you this in the spirit of trust) I am now a size 42 inches.) I was given this name for my habit of opening my mouth VERY wide when I am surprised. This is exactly what I did when I received the information you were kind enough to convey to me tthrough the wonder of the internet. I opened my mouth so wide my husband, Frank Sr. said that it looked like a black hole! That is why I get called the Big O.

4) Share personal details. Scammers want to know a lot about you. Satisfy them:

“Here is the information you have requested. I hope that it is not too hard for the Courier Company to find the address, because we live a long way from other people. You may have to pay extra for shipping because it really is a long way away from other people. We live on a farm and grow plants. Unfortunately none of the plants are very valuable, so it’s difficult to make money from them - this lottery money will help alot. Maybe if there is a market for thistles near where you live you could tell me and we could become business partners and make alot of money. I have alot of thistles. My detalis are: Name: Onora Dit (but you know this hahahahahaha) Address: C/- Kalgoorlie General Store, Kalgoorlie, Western Australia, Australia (we live a long way from other people so its probably easiest to send the letter to the general store. The lady there is very angry because my son (Frank Jr) once bought nails from a travelling salesman and not the general store and now she makes us pay $10 every time we collect our mail. Could you put an extra $10 inside the envelope so that we can pay her to collect our lottery money? We don’t have alot of money now because thistle sales are slow. We can reimburse you when we cash our lottery cheque) Telephone Number: +61 06 5974 8421 (ask for Frank Dit - I can’t come to the telephone because it hurts my ears and I have to go to my happy place) Occupation: Thistler Date of Birth: 5/12/53”

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5) Be as incompetent as possible

We replied with:

We were told to go to a website which was a strange version of Yahoo with a space to enter our “claim code” (and most likely download a Trojan horse). We failed to do this, and blamed it on the fact that:

“we are not that good at the internet…I went to your website and tried to put in the batch number. I don’t think it worked though, because it kept going ‘search’ and came up with a list of other websites.” When he failed to reply, we simply lied and said we had put in the number. David was thrilled, and said we had to then open “the mail” he had sent. (see step 6) We could find no such mail, and suggested:

“I don’t know too much about how this works, but perhaps you could use a printer or a fax machine to get the mail you mentioned earlier into the computer? That way you might be able to send this mail over the Internet. Sorry if that makes no sense!!”

6) Take things literally David asked us: “Did you receive the mail?”

To which we explained:

“I don’t know if we have received the mail yet. I have been checking the letterbox regularly to check whether it has come in but so far nothing yet! It’s a bit disappointing to walk to the mailbox everyday and not receive the letter (but I do enjoy the fresh air - I spend much of my day inside).”

7) Fight fire with fire This has probably been apparent throughout, but as for one example, when we were sent this by David: “As soon as i received the details i will forward you the details of the Courier Company that will have your winning cheque dispatched to your residential address which you will be providing to us. Once more congratulations and hope to receive the required information’s as soon as this mail is read.:”

“Your so helpful, its so nice to have some genuine customer service in this day and age. Once I was at the bank (which is Ironic, because i was also getting money on that day, hahahahahaha) and the lady who served me was so rude. I had to go to my happy place to calm down because she was so rude. I have a happy place in my head because I sometimes have anxiety attacks and so i go to my happy place when I think Im going to havea n anxiety attack. It is full of butterfiles”

8) Disguise pointing-out blinding errors as compliments. David put us in contact with a courier company. Who sent us this baffling first paragraph: “Good day to you,thank you for your mail,your order number was received as well as your winning Verification form which was made available to us by the Yahoo Office as confirmed by you. your package has been prepared for dispatch. This package includes your original copy of your certified winning cheque, winning certificate and other vital documents regarding your winnings.”

We were told that we would be talking to “Roney”, and were surprised in fact to find that we were instead talking to “Castro”. They also claimed a diplomat would be coming to our house with our winnings. We queried:

“Is Roney the diplomat?” Further to this, their emails were all in red text, using the font “courier”. Just to prove that they were a different person. We responded with:

“We are very excite to receive your mail! Well, not Frank (sr.). He is colour blind and so couldn’t read it. It is ok. I read it to him. He was then also very excite ,and shouted “woop”. We weren’t sure why your email is red, so we are making ours red too in case you are colour blind like Frank (jr.).”

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They also finally asked us for money, the payment options for which were presented on what can only be described as an amazing bit of graphic design (pictured below).

“Dear David,

How To Spam a Scammer

I have counted both myself and Frank and have come up with 2. Two very very lucky winners! TO think of all the people who could have one, but it was us! Truly though, no tonly are we winners of moneys, but we are winners of friendship. David, you ahve been so good to us in all of this excitement, and guiding us through it step by step because we are not good at the internet. Honoursly David, you have changed our lives, and we didn’t know how to thank you, so Frank (sr), Frank (jr) and I all sat down to talk about it last night over mugs of thistle tea. We think we have come up with the solution. As you know, we will soon have money. Our friend, please, come and visit us! Right now we only live in a thistle farm, but we would love for you to come and stay, and help us decide how to spend our money. We have a guest bedroom which is very cosy, and you would be most welcome. Say yes, and as soon as we have our money (we have sent the mail to Roney, and look forward to our new lives as ex-thistlers). we will fly you over, then you can meet us all (and our daughter Frankchesca! She is very beautiful. She studies paintings.)

To this we said:

“Sorry to be any trouble, but we didn’t understand your instruction. We looked at your form (so professional!) and decided we want our cheque withing 24 hours, so that is 900 pounds? How do we get the money to you? Through the post of on the computer. There is a slot on the side, can you put money in that? Our son has been telling us about “internet banking” for a while.”

9) End things on a nice note. Try to marry them off to your daughter. Our dealings with David were drawing to a close as Castro was giving us information on how to “fill claim”.

Thank you once more. Onora and Frank Dit” He was clearly touched. In his own words: Dear Onora and Frank Dit, Am very pleased to know that you are excited regarding your winnings,thanks to Yahoo for making it possible and God. I wish you all the best in your claims. Warm Regards, David Rankovic

Volume 79, Issue 10

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Carbon: Words: Georgie Lawrence-Doyle

Tax, Trading and Tradeoffs 12

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$ $

$ $ $

$ $

is the worst.

Carbon price. Carbon tax. Carbon footprint. Carbon debt. Emissions Trading Scheme (ETS). Carbon Pollution Reduction Scheme (CPRS). Even, “that bloody new Greenie tax”. You’ve probably heard all these and more in relation to reducing pollution and tackling climate change. But what do they actually mean and why are they being talked about so much? I’m fairly certain that I’m not the only Australian who thinks that the explanation of the carbon tax is about as clear as mud—or coal, rather—dirty or clean.

$ $ $

$ $

Climate jargon

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I found that my own confusion about the intricacies of the carbon issue was reinforced by a discussion I overheard last week at the hairdressers. Two women were heatedly arguing about the climate change/carbon tax shebang and not only did I find it very amusing, I found that I wasn’t surprised at what was being said. I couldn’t turn my head to put faces to the voices (otherwise my ear would’ve been snipped off) but it sounded like it was between an older, fussy kind of woman (probably named something like ‘Beverley’) and the hairdresser—a younger, bubbly type. The conversation consisted of ‘Beverley’ banging on about how these “rampant communists” (otherwise known as The Greens) are taking

Volume 79, Issue 10

$ $

over our country and making us all pay our hard-earned dosh for their “hairbrained schemes” (otherwise known as the Carbon Tax). The hairdresser added that maybe Julia Gillard should spend some of the tax collected on getting a better hairdresser than her ‘partner.’ While it was hardly what you would call a stimulating political debate, I think the principle is vital: they had no idea what the carbon tax is about and most importantly—they didn’t give a shit. This is why, before I attempt the nittygritty of the carbon tax debate, I am going to try my best to give a quick run-down on the tax thus far. In February of this year the Australian Federal Government announced a

framework to implement a Carbon Tax from July 1, 2012. This followed an agreement between the Federal Labor government, the Greens and the Independent MPs. It included commitments to ensure all funds collected from the tax go back into homes and businesses to assist in the transition to renewable energy. This announcement, however, triggered a series of accusations that Prime Minister Julia Gillard had breached a pre-election promise not to introduce such a tax, where she stated to Network TEN: “There will be no carbon tax under the Government I lead”. Clearly a politician has never changed their mind before, because the Leader of the Opposition, Tony Abbott, called for a ‘referendum’ (although actually what he referred to was a plebiscite) over the issue. Nice one, Tones. On June 5, 2011, the ‘Say Yes’ demonstrations were held in most major cities in support of a price on carbon pollution. On the other side of the coin, many anti-carbon tax demonstrations have also been held around the country against the proposed Carbon Tax. On Sunday, July 10, 2011 the Gillard Government announced publicly that the 500 largest polluters in Australia would be taxed at $23/tonne of carbon emission, effective from July 1, 2012. So what does the carbon tax actually aim to achieve and who is it really taxing? I’ll try to be as concise as Wikipedia in my description of the tax. Essentially, the carbon tax is a tax on energy sources which emit carbon dioxide. The underlying purpose is to reduce these emissions and thereby slow global warming and reduce the effects of

climate change. It can be implemented by taxing the burning of fossil fuels— coal, petroleum products such as petrol and aviation fuel, and natural gas—in proportion to their carbon content. Independent Australian news website newmatilda.com sums it up well: “In truth, the entire point of the policy is to handicap the current winner of the energy race — coal — because it is environmentally damaging.” The Carbon Tax also demands a larger role of the state in ‘Big Business’—reminiscent of the more traditional form of liberalism (back in the days of John Locke and J.S. Mill pontificating in their armchairs over a brandy or five). This operates on the premise that the state has a moral responsibility to protect the majority, and to regulate the anti-social (in this case, carbon-producing) minority which thrives in the marketplace. This differs from the neo-liberal ideology of our current society and economy—and which is so dominant in both major parties’ political platforms. In laypersons’ terms: The government gets to slap those business types smoking cigars on the wrist when they hit the polluting too hard. So has the carbon tax come out of nowhere? Nope! Not only were those really progressive Scandinavian countries onto it in the early 1990s but Germany’s “ecological tax” on heating fuel, petrol, natural gas and electricity enacted in 1999 still stands strong today. On our own shores, carbon trading schemes and reduction of carbon pollution are nothing new on the agenda. Attempts at emissions trading schemes go back to the Howard government and more re-

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cently, under Kevin Rudd’s Labor party. Before the carbon tax was the CPSR (Carbon Pollution Reduction Scheme) which is a form of carbon trading and is what the Carbon Tax is intended to gradually prepare Australian society for. What is the difference between the Carbon Tax and the CPSR? The primary difference between these schemes essentially lies in the role of the government and its dealings with transnational corporations. The CPSR and emissions trading schemes principally differ in that the market is left to determine the most efficient way to control pollution within a regulatory framework. Specifically, the form of emissions trading that has been employed in Australia is the ‘cap-and-trade’ approach. This creates a system of tradeable permits, allowing a set amount of emissions to be made on a global market. Tradeable permits are quotas, allowances or ceilings on pollution emission levels that, once allocated to the polluters, can be traded subject to a set of prescribed rules. So what’s the catch? Emission trading schemes have been criticised for generally doing bugger-all and being too conservative. If you think the carbon tax barely scratches the surface then the CPSR is not for you. The primary danger of carbon trading/credits is that it basically allows corporations of the first world to buy off credits from the developing-world so that they can pollute more and make more money (provided they read the rule book carefully). So what has this got to do with any of us? To the majority of Australians, the car-

bon tax seems to be hitting us at a less than opportune time economy-wise. The Murdoch tabloids are already campaigning against the carbon tax on the grounds that it will “hurt families.” While technically we don’t have to pay any money directly for the carbon tax, there has been a ‘hoo-ha’ due to the trickle-down effect on the costs of the consumer. This means we have to pay a bit more for things like electricity and maybe even goods—like your new Fisher and Paykel talking fridge. In order to stop the exclamations of: “Christ! How is our power bill so much this time?! Must be the kids not turning off their bloody lights before they go to school again!” the Gillard government have made some, albeit minimal, social equity changes. Instead of the money collected from the taxes going back into Julia Gillard’s hair, like the hairdresser suggested, it flows back into the lower-income households and the more disadvantaged strata of Australian society. It has also tripled the tax-free threshold for these low-income workers too. It’s also crucial to realise that, long before the carbon tax came into place, electricity prices have jumped by approx. 40% over the past 3 years anyway, due largely to the privatisation of the power companies. So put that in your carbon-friendly pipe and smoke it. That dirty thing called Politics Unfortunately, the carbon tax has become an elitist issue and a wedge in Australian party politics. Gillard wasn’t a fan of the tax before the election and is now bending over backwards to appease the Greens, while Tony Abbott never really moved past the fact that Gillard told a fib or admitted that he attends

climate-denier-budgie-smuggler barbeques on the weekends. When I asked my grandmother (the staunchest Labor voter I know, and still has a school-girl crush on Bob Hawke) her opinion on the carbon tax, she said it has “less to do with saving the world, and more to do with Gillard saving her arse.” Despite her questionable taste in men, she does raise an interesting point: the message or morality behind the carbon tax has been lost in the chinese-whispers of media and politics by the time it has reached the Australian public. There is a broader issue here: the assumption that a price and markets alone would do all the work was always an unrealistic one. Especially because Australia’s economy is a mixed model in which government investments and regulations interact with the supposedly rational decision-making of profit-hungry corporations and investors. Nevertheless, Adelaide student and environmental activist, Bec Taylor, admits that while the current carbon tax is nowhere near as radical as the Greens would have liked, they have still managed to negotiate something better than the CPRS. She also insists, however, that in order to have a decent effect the price of pollution has to be high, and when it evolves into an Emissions trading scheme in the future, it needs to be better than Rudd’s proposal for 2010 (which was subsequently deferred, anyway). So is the tax better than nothing? I think so. But I also think that the significantly reduced number of companies being taxed (down to about 100 now) is a still piddly effort from the government. What else can they do? You say.

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The Labor government are hardly in a position to enforce radical changes, especially when they are so concerned with, as my grandmother so eloquently stated, “saving their own arse?” But does this mean that we stop pushing? I like to think that it is some step forward for Australia’s sleepy apathy, but I’m not so sure this is the way to go about it. Even David Cameron is impressed by our climate policy, so obviously we’re revolutionaries! Perhaps we need to educate the Australian people on not only incentives like the carbon tax as they affect our own backsides, come ‘the great flood’ or Armageddon—or whatever the first world call the terror of climate change—but also how the majority of people around the globe are already being affected by the possibility of ‘the end.’ We need to stop tripping on the shadow of our own carbon footprint and open our eyes a bit more to the issues at the root of global warming in the first place: poverty, inequality, the paradigm of unlimited growth, and a neo-liberal agenda that continues to drive the over-consumption and exploitation of the world’s resources by Minority World countries. Ultimately, whether you are a climate denier, whether you want to put a price on global justice and suffering and call it a carbon tax then fine—the point is this: pollution is bad. The Earth we live in consists of finite resources. If we obtain energy by burning irreplaceable fuel, the consequences threaten—and are already threatening—the safety and quality of life of people all over the globe, then surely we should pay a penalty for that. It’s not rocket science. Something or rather, someone has gotta give. And it may as well be us. O

CC BY-SA

Creative Commons, Copyleft and Intellectual Property 2.0 Words: Galen Cuthbertson

Fuck DRM, amiright? In my bathroom, I’ve got a terry-towelling bathrobe. It’s a bright, red and blue affair with a prominent Superman logo on it. Now, I’m not going to lie: it’s not just there as a show of ironic geek pride. I’m a pretty thin, weedy guy, but sometimes I wear it. And when I do, I’m filled with an atavistic feeling of lazy,

masculine strength. I wear it, and I feel like a fluffy amalgam of The Dude from The Big Lebowski and Superman from, you know, Superman. In my imagination, I drink White Russians, bowl, save cats and date Ms Lane. It’s glorious. The interesting thing here isn’t my idiosyncratic bathroom accoutrements. They’re awesome, but they make for bad

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reading. Instead, I’m interested in what’s on the bathrobe’s label. It’s small print, but it’s there: “© DC Comics.” You see, my Superman bathrobe is subject to copyright. That’s what I want to talk about: copyright. Specifically, I want to talk about why current copyright law is broken in today’s digital world. Because it is. Badly broken.

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©©

The trouble is, copyright isn’t all comic books in physical stores. Copyright today has to interact with a digital culture. In the digital world, everything we do involves making copies. The internet is a copying machine. Hell, computers are a copying machine. We copy like we breathe. As Bruce Schneier once said, “a bit that can’t be copied is like water that isn’t wet.” When you transfer a file, you copy it. When you watch a video on youtube, that video is copied (albeit usually only temporarily) from a youtube server and onto your computer. To paraphrase Cory Doctorow, the collective readership of this magazine has probably made more mechanical copies than the entire human race had up to 1909, when the first US non-literary copyrights were brought in. What does all that mean for copyright? Well, it leads to a glaring injustice.

Remix Culture Cultural creation has always built on the past. Good writers read a lot, and good filmmakers watch a lot of films, but it’s

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It’s a simple fact, and one which intellectual property law has previously recognised: there are a lot of places that ‘copyright’ just doesn’t go. If I hear a song and want to hum it to myself, I don’t need permission of the artist. If I give a book I’ve loved and finished reading to a friend, copyright law doesn’t intervene. It doesn’t intervene if I tell a child a bedtime story based on a film I just saw.

At first blush, this all seems pretty reasonable — and in a lot of ways, it is. It’s a crude hypothetical, and it ignores the fact that I’ve got no money to hire lawyers, but it’s an example of copyright

What now? Well, this is where copyright law comes in. As creator and copyright holder, I’ve got an exclusive right to ON DIT. They didn’t get permission and so, subject to a few exceptions, I can sue them to with an inch of their naturalborn lives.

In this situation, that’s roughly what happens. Without knowledge that my work would be protected, I may not have created the comic, the world would be starved of its hero, ON DIT. In terms of compensation, I get the fruits of my labour and — at least in theory — labour again as a result. It’s ‘Epic Win’ for all involved.

Along comes DC Comics in our hypothetical world, with their money and their sharp-toothed lawyers. They like ON DIT, but they don’t like me, so (without my permission) they jump in and use the character in a new comic, which they publish and distribute themselves. They make lots of money and I don’t. Much crying and gin-drinking on my part ensues.

much more than that. Good stories are told and re-told, and no paper need be signed: the consumer is a creator, and vice versa. The vast majority of human history has been what Professor Lawrence Lessig calls “read-write... where people participate in the creation and re-creation of their culture.” Yes, people listen to songs, but they also sing and alter them.

Hypothetically, let’s say I invent a new superhero. Let’s call her ON DIT. I scratch together some cash and print a couple of indie comics to introduce my new hero to the world. I’ve exercised my right to copy. I sell the copies of “ON DIT and the Crystal Skull of Movie Poor Sequels, Issue 1” to my local nerd supply store. That’s distribution. The character starts to get pretty popular, so I film and edit a low-budget version of the story. That’s a ‘derivative work’.

law © (mostly) working well. It’s also a pretty neat example of the aims of copyright made manifest. Good copyright law should encourage creation and stimulate diverse, dynamic culture — giving value to creators, but simultaneously ensuring widespread, inexpensive access to content for the public. Basically, we want more people making more creations. Monotonous culture is bad culture. We want breadth and depth of unique, inventive stuff. Copyright law, done right, should serve creators.

Copyright is a pretty abstract concept. It’s a variety of ‘intellectual property’, so the law does treat it as ‘property’. But unlike a piece of land, there’s really nothing physical to talk about. Copyright boils down to a right to copy, distribute, and alter a ‘work’ . Simply put, it’s the heavy-knit legal fabric of our culture. It’s a system of technical rules to manage the commercial market of human creation. From books and films, to paintings and t-shirts, cultural expression inevitably falls within the scope of copyright regulation. That’s all pretty abstract, so let me try to make it a little more solid.

But for the majority of the 20th Century, there was a period of cultural change. We lost the read-write culture, and instead adopted a kind of read-only culture. Consumers and creators were, by dint of new technology like radio and television, largely separated groups. Music, film, television, and writing was concentrated and professionalised to a greater extent than we’d ever seen before. It was, as Lessig says, a “culture where creativity was consumed but the consumer was not a creator. A culture which is top-down owned, and where the vocal chords of the millions have been lost.”

Then, of course, the internet came along, and a new opportunity emerged. Suddenly, creating and sharing content with modern technology got radically easier. And this is where the crucial failing of modern copyright law comes to

So what’s the solution? Well, at the moment, it’s a thing called copyleft ... and it makes a lot more sense. If you’ve spent any time on the internet, you’ve probably encountered Creative Commons.

Essentially, Creative Commons is a ‘some rights reserved’ model. The norm in copyright law is ‘All Rights Reserved’, which effectively says, as a creator, “you can’t do anything with my work without my permission: you can’t share it, alter it, or anything at all.” In a digital world, where ‘copying’ is how the culture functions, that just doesn’t cut it. So instead, a Creative Commons license says, “I give you permission to do some things, on these conditions.” You can choose,

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as the creator, what those conditions are. Maybe you want your audience to share, as long as it’s noncommercial and on the same terms. Maybe you want to let them remix, or maybe you don’t. Whatever you want to allow or disallow, Creative Commons is flexible. It’s an elegant solution to a serious problem.

At the beginning of all this, I laid out two interconnected aims of copyright law: to protect interests of the creator, and to encourage a diverse culture. They have to be balanced. The trouble is, the law has gone too far in one direction. It’s failed to keep up with the nature of the technology, and it’s stifling the ama-

If you ask me, it’s a pretty fundamental failing of copyright law. It means that the vast majority of us are breaking the law by engaging in normal, modern culture. I’m not sure about you, but to me that seems a little silly.

What now?

“If copyright law at its core regulates something called copies then in the digital world the one fact we can’t escape is that every single use of culture produces a copy. Every single use therefore requires permission; without permission you are a trespasser.”

teur, everyday culture and creativity: the mixing and remixing of stuff the we all do.

bear. The trouble is, copyright law regulates all copying. If I want to copy a work, or alter a work, I need the permission of the copyright holder. But the digital world is filled with copying of a vastly different sort. Things like mash-up videos are the digital equivalents of humming tunes and telling bedtime stories. Yet because it’s digital, the law doesn’t see it that way. Lessig put the problem simply:

Basically, it works... and that’s more than we can say of normal copyright today. O

For more info on Creative Commons, check out creativecommons.org

l a i r o t u T s e i Humanit ‘Changes’ y with that? g o g a d e p e k li u o y Would -Lister Words: Rory Kennett On the twenty-third of August, in Horace Lamb lecture theatre, a forum was held to discuss changes to humanities tutorials. Listed to speak at the forum were Professors Pascale Quester (Acting Deputy Vice-Chancellor), Nick Harvey (Executive Dean of Humanities and Social Sciences), Clem Macintyre (Head of History and Politics), Jean Fornasiero (Head of Humanities) and Greg McCarthy (Head of Social Sciences). Present to see the distinguished guests speak were close to one hundred tutors and

students from various Adelaide University faculties and departments.

The height of HUBris?

The forum was organised to discuss changes to the number of per-semester tutorials offered in Humanities and Social Science (HumSS) subjects. Simply speaking, instead of having twelve tutorials for the twelve weeks of semester, nine or ten will be offered, in almost all subjects except foreign languages, in favour of ‘self-directed learning’.

One could be forgiven for thinking that a forum to “discuss changes” would serve to enlighten those attending on the reasons for such changes. And this did, to a point. The trouble is, the speakers gave various conflicting motives. Many present at the forum were of the view that the changes were caused by a lack of funds. Professor Quester, in her address to the crowd, attempted

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to challenge this presumption, stating categorically that the reasons were pedagogic. Following the forum I emailed her and asked her to explain her views. In a swift reply she stated, “I have seen ZERO research that established that 12 hours of tutorial[sic] is required for optimal student learning outcomes. And learning outcomes, more than teaching traditions or convenience or costs, is what is driving us here.” Let us leave aside the issue of costs for

a moment. It is worth taking a closer look at Professor Quester’s claims. She was at pains to emphasise that there is no solid basis for presuming that it is necessary to have twelve hours of tutorials to get the best performance from students. She used her personal experience in France — where tutorials are apparently unheard of — to argue that our approach continues merely because it is unquestioned. In her words: “I am actually amazed that while recognising that they are entirely different from

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previous cohorts or generations, some students seem to hold as sacred that the way their parents (or grand-parents) were taught as the only valid and desirable ways.” There is perhaps some cogency to this argument. But in my experience, most subjects break the twelve weeks of semester into twelve topics. In order to adequately deal with these topics, a tutorial is assigned for each one. I would suggest that it makes more sense to have one tutorial per topic, than tutorials for six or nine topics, and not for others. Of course, this is only a hypothesis. Extensive research would be needed to back up such a claim. More troubling is Professor Quester’s claim that these tutorials should be cut in favour of ‘self-directed learning’. Using the Administration’s vomiting of money at the Learning Hub as an example, Professor Quester sought to demonstrate that far from dumbing-down degrees, the University is ‘committed to learning’. She explains to me that the Learning Hub “[is] based around world leading research on the type of context that favours collaborative flexible

student centric learning.” Though at the time of writing it is still closed to the public, I managed to slip into the Hub and have a look around. It is a attractive space with lots of comfortable seating, access points for various technologies and booths in which students will inevitably nap in when taking a break from their self-directed learning. Though the Hub will undoubtedly be a welcome addition to the University, to my mind, placing ‘Learning’ in front of something doesn’t make about learning. Though many students will use the Hub to ‘learn’ just as many will use it to play cards, sleep, pick their noses or dry hump their significant others. The Uni could have erected a bench, slathered it with paste-ups and dubbed it ‘The Learning Bench’, and the effect would have been similar. Students do learn in their own time. But this should not be thought of as an alternative to tutordirected learning. In reality, the Hub and the tutorial ‘changes’ are two different issues. To use one to cover the other is like sticking a zany image over a cracked wall.

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CHANGES = CUTS Unfortunately for Professor Quester, not all the speakers were quite so willing to ignore the issue of costs. Perhaps due to the fact that they do not hold a PhD in Marketing (as Professor Quester does) both Clem Macintyre and Greg McCarthy (who, it should be noted promised further consultation on the issue) addressed, to differing degrees, the issue of costs. The former admitted it was a concern, while the latter couched his discussion almost purely in terms of budgetary constraints. This was somewhat prescient. On August 31st The Australian published a story in which it was revealed that Professor McCarthy had sent an email in July that directly suggested cutting tutorials to free up funds. Though his email ended with an appeal for pedagogy to drive the changes, in light of the rest of the email, it seems somewhat like wishful thinking. All of this raises the question as to why such cuts are necessary. This is where things get complicated. I spoke to Kieran McCarron, Politics PhD candidate

Tutorial changes

and tutor, about the background to the situation. As he explained to me, the catalyst for all of this seems to be the negotiation of a new Enterprise Bargaining Agreement (EBA) between casual staff and the University. HumSS was the only faculty using the EBA. It seems that the old EBA used an incomplete definition of ‘marking’, which allowed HumSS to avoid paying casual tutors for marking the first essay in any course, defining this as contemporaneous marking (CM). As CM, payment for this work was included in payment for tutorials. Given that proper marking takes hours to do, and is done outside class time, this clearly pushed the idea of CM too far, especially when tutors were expected to mark sixty to eighty assignments and provide comments. As McCarron explains, “This took a long time, maybe forty hours given the draining nature of the work, and it was always supposed to be paid. HumSS was basically getting away with murder for years.” When a new EBA was negotiated, the Uni agreed that the definition of CM wasn’t really in the spirit of the agreement. As a result, the definition of CM was changed, meaning that tutors would

be paid for marking. So far, so good. But, as McCarron explains, the Uni was unprepared for the implications of the change: “the Uni didn’t really know that HumSS was ripping its tutors off so badly, (as HumSS was the only faculty using the EBA) so they weren’t prepared for the budget implications.” When tutors pressed to be paid for marking — payment they were now legally entitled to under the EBA — the University responded by cutting tutorials, and using funds saved from these cuts to pay tutors for marking assignments. Though tutors are now paid for marking, they do not really receive any more money, as their teaching time has been cut. Students are just as hard done by, having less time with their tutors, despite the fact that the fees paid by each student stays the same. Amazingly, the savings for each tutorial cut amount to approximately eighty dollars — not exactly a massive amount. Here it is worth remembering Professor Quester’s hard sell for “self-directed learning”. Again, McCarron provides a forthright analysis: “To make the cuts easier for students to swallow HumSS came up with a plan whereby tutors

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would go to their classroom at the time of the cancelled tute and “consult” with students but not get paid, because it was not technically a tutorial.” Concomitantly, tutors were advised to limit contact with students during weeks were there were no consultations — those when there were tutorials — and wait for one on one meetings. *** With this in mind, it is nothing less than breathtaking to be told that the changes have been made in the interests of “student learning outcomes”. Short of outright contempt for their audience, the only way those pushing such a rationale could make these claims, is with their heads buried so far up themselves as to have travelled through their intestines, stomach, oesophagus and back out of their own mouths. Perhaps this is unfair. But it is just as unfair to sit in a lecture theatre and be told that this is in our best interests, that it has been done with our best interests in mind, when it is clear that it is simply not the case. O

Marijuana A History

“

Words: Rhia Rainbow / Illustration: Richard Seglenieks

“Warning From America: A Mexican drug that drives men and women to the wildest sexual excesses has made its first appearance in Australia. It distorts moral values and leads to degrading sexual extravagances. It is called marihuana.”

Smith’s Weekly, April 1938

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Cannabis has had a troubled history in Australia, beginning with the Reefer Madness campaign of 1938. The article above went on to state that under the influence of cannabis, the addict becomes at times almost

an uncontrollable sex maniac, able to obtain satisfaction only from the most appalling of perversions and orgies. Frankly, it all sounds pretty damn awesome to me, but I may be slightly biased. While the word “marijuana”

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itself hadn’t been known in Australia prior to 1938, the drug had been widely known throughout the country for decades. By labelling cannabis as marijuana, anti drug crusaders were able to re-introduce cannabis to Aus-

tralia as a new menace, inciting hysteria and beginning the Americanization of our drug policy. Over the following seventy years, Australia would experience many fluctuations in the national response to cannabis use and the drug policy that followed. The United States has had a substantial influence on Australian drug policy. The head of the Hawaiian Bureau of Narcotics in particular was responsible for a number of evocative statements published throughout Australia following the first Smith’s Weekly article, illustrating cannabis users as raving sex maniacs, and pathetic slaves to the drug. The ever-helpful US Bureau of Narcotics assisted Australian officials in destroying cannabis plants by sending out a publication titled “Marihuana – Its Identification”. This attempt at eradication proved futile when cannabis culture exploded into the sixties. The scene was predominated by the 18-24 year old Baby-Boomers and as pressure over the Vietnam War mounted, Australia became a divided nation. Separating left from right and young from old, the cannabis leaf joined the moratorium badge as a revolutionary symbol, and by sharing a joint at a party, one could join “the Revolution”. Naturally, the political extremism that accompanied cannabis culture meant that cannabis use was regarded by many as a behaviour confined to isolated groups (*cough* radical students and hippie drop outs) who threatened the

values widely accepted by mainstream groups in the community. However, much to the horror of right wing conservatives, Baby-Boomer votes took Gough Whitlam and the ALP to victory in December of 1972. Within two weeks of his election, Australian troops were withdrawn from Vietnam, conscription was abolished and draft resisters were released from jail. Whitlam was far less subservient than his Liberal predecessors to foreign policy directions from the USA, and in 1975 the Whitlam cabinet was preparing the legislation that would have decriminalized cannabis possession Australia wide, separating cannabis from drugs like heroin by moving cannabis to a different schedule with lighter penalties. In other words, Whitlam was right on. However, Whitlam’s term as prime minister ended in the same year when he was dismissed by the Governor-General, ending the three years of extensive social and cultural reform that had enraged conservatives. The War on Drugs was an integral part in Richard Nixon’s attack on the Democrats beginning in 1968, being described as some as a code for a war on the young, the poor and the black. The Democrats’ constituency — the young, the poor and the black — were all cannabis users. Cannabis was seen as particularly dangerous to the conservative ideals, not because of the negative health effects, but because of the effects that is has on the way that people think. Similarly, Australia’s own War on Drugs launched in 1975 has been viewed as a

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war on the young, the alternative and the Left. Not surprisingly, the application of a US-style drug policy in Australia would import similar drug problems as experienced by the United States. After 1975 the number of cannabis offences prosecuted in Australia rose far more dramatically than the comparative number of smokers, with the massive rise in drug prosecutions leading to an increase in the cost in law enforcement from $10 million in 1973 to $250 million in 1984. Cannabis dealing shifted from hippies to organized crime, with many marijuana-only dealers being terrorised into either selling heroin as well or nothing at all. US style organized crime came to Australia, and the drug scene shifted from recreational cannabis use to heroin addiction. This was further exacerbated by the cannabis drought of 1976 that followed the criminal takeover of the drug scene, where cannabis was almost impossible to obtain for months on end. Without cannabis available, heroin sales skyrocketed and the amount of South East Asian heroin entering Australia increased exponentially. Just eight years earlier, the same heroin plague had occurred in the US following Nixon’s first campaign of the War on Drugs, “Operation Intercept”; a blockade of the Mexican border. The law is simply an ass if, in seeking to protect a person from his own actions, it imposes upon him far greater agreed harm than anything likely to result from the

Picture based on original by Tørben Bjorn Hansen / http://www.flickr.com/photos/torbenh

prohibited actions Dr. Neil Blewett Head of South Australian Council for Civil Liberties 1979 Cannabis law reform was one of the most important political issues in 1979. The years preceding had been wrought with drug raids and reports of police brutality as standard procedure. Police corruption was rumoured and the Drug Squad considered as being nothing more than a business involved in siphoning seized drugs back to the streets. Input on the issue came not only from right wing government appointed officials but from many individuals and groups like the Cannabis Research Foundation and the South Australian Council for Civil Liberties. In its submission, the Cannabis Research Foundation pushed for the legislation of cannabis with a legal marijuana industry, regulated by a Cannabis Control Board. It was argued that such a move was the “only rational way to solve the problems caused by prohibition as well as ensuring that the Government, not the black market, is the recipient of the considerable revenue that is generated in the cannabis trade”. These submissions were dismissed as naïve and unrealistic, with head of the Australian Royal Commission of Inquiry into Drugs (ARCID), Edward Williams, claiming that the only way forward was to improve upon the existing criminal model. Williams believed that prohibition would work, if it was adopted as a truly national system, just as Nixon had

done in the US. Essentially, Williams proposed total Americanization of Australian drug laws. For the last three decades, Williams’ policies have prevailed in all Australian states except for South Australia and the ACT. This has had little effect on the number of cannabis users (in 1977 there were 675,000 cannabis users, and 2.8 million in 2010) or the supply of cannabis Australia wide. We have never had another drought.

Marijuana: A Reality The National Drug Strategy Household Survey showed that 10.3% of Australians aged 14 or older had used cannabis in the past 12 months, with 20.9% of those individuals using the drug at least once a week. That’s roughly 440,000 people using cannabis at least once weekly. The reality is that prohibition hasn’t been an effective strategy in preventing cannabis use, resulting mainly in criminal takeover of cannabis dealing, spiralling prison populations, a massive increase in the price of cannabis and the heroin plague. A similar situation has been seen since the 2001 heroin drought, and the resulting methamphetamine plague that continues today. Prohibition follows a pattern. The War on Drugs has led to vast rises in the amount of money spent on drug law enforcement, in attempts to disrupt the supply of illicit drugs. Both lack of supply and increased risk associated with greater law enforcement involve-

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ment lead only to an increase in the price of the drug. Increased value of the market ensures that the market is controlled by the most ruthless and organized of criminals, leading to increased numbers of drug-related crimes and burden on society. This article is not a personal crusade to legalize my own habit. For those of you who are concerned by the negative effects that cannabis can have on public health, I agree with you. Had I the word limit, I would address every one of them, in addition to the numerous health benefits that have also been well documented. There are a number of factors to consider before taking that first toke, and cannabis certainly isn’t for everyone. However, the same can be said for other drugs, which cause far greater (documented) burden on public health, such as tobacco and alcohol. Prohibition has demonstrated itself over four decades to be a flawed system, and we need to come up with a better solution. Let’s aim for legislation that minimizes the burden of cannabis use on society and prevents harm to the user, while maintaining individual autonomy and freedom. It is time. O

Author’s Note: A Cannabis Law Repeal Rally is planned for Sunday, November 20 at high noon (12pm) in Victoria Square. You can find us on Facebook. Please bring a picnic rug and sense of independent thought.

What the FUCK is

STUDEnt Politics All about anyway? Words: Aidan Jones

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If you are anything like me (that is broke, unshaven and borderline alcoholic) then you probably know about two thirds of sweet F.A. about student politics. In fact I don’t think it would be terribly controversial to suggest that a large proportion of the student population who ticked, crossed and numbered the mystery boxes in last week’s student elections didn’t have much of an idea what positions they voted their beloved candidates (read: ‘friends from your tutes’) into. I was surprised at my own ignorance when I found myself at the Unibar with a selection of friends from my politics classes — all vastly more involved in student politics than I — asking the most rudimentary questions imaginable about the workings of this foreign administrative organ: “Why did the Union have to sell UniBar?” and “Why aint the Liberals got no love for something called a ‘NUS’?” Explain me please, you learned politicians to be you... good god, I think I feel an article coming on...

AUU Board The Adelaide University Union (AUU) Board consists of 16 elected members who serve terms of one year. This is the governing body of student life at uni and oversees most of the stuff you would think a student government would be overseeing — O-Week, BBQs and the like. This is often done in conjunction with the SRC, which is a sort of ‘action’ arm of the AUU... but more on that later. Basically the AUU gets its funds from the uni itself — allotted to support student involvement in the running of the uni — and from union fees. The thing about the AUU though is that since the decision to make voluntary student unionism compulsory by law (compulsory voluntarism... I know) in the dying days of the Howard government in ‘06, student membership, and thus budget from fees being paid, has dropped drastically, leaving the AUU and student unions nationwide a shell of their former selves. You have probably heard tales of a magical time when the Union owned and staffed Mayo and

Unibar, and of beers subsidised so heavily that the bartenders would be handing out $50 notes and backrubs with every pint — sadly this is no more.

SRC The SRC, as I mentioned before, is an affiliate of the AUU and has its budget allocated by the AUU Board. In my chat with current SRC president, Ali Thompson she stressed to me, in a too-good-to-refuse media sound byte, that this group of students are ‘not just BBQs and petitions’. Well, I vaguely remembered, somewhere in the back of my brain-machine, that they publish the ‘Counter Guide’ for O-Week. This is kind of like a guide for the start of the year, for students, by students — as opposed to a guide for students, by professors who want you to come to their intro lectures and buy their newly published textbook. That was about it though, so I asked her what other shenanigans the SRC have stamped their student stamp on. She told me that one of the main, and frequently overlooked functions of the SRC is to provide the students that sit on a variety of different committees throughout the university that discuss and influence everything from the names and contents of our new buildings to the structure of different degrees. In many cases the students filling these positions are doing so to fulfil Adelaide Uni’s student representation requirements which means — holy hell, students are actually REQUIRED to have a say. And you thought student life was all just lunch beers and sleeping through lectures... WRONG AGAIN BUDDY

NUS The third and final body that you, as enrolled students of our fine educational institution, have hopefully just exercised your democratic rights and voted on, is the National Union of Students (NUS). Unlike the other two bodies, which are strictly Adelaide University institutions, the NUS is a national organisation that each participating university elects delegates for. The number of delegates

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varies with the student population of the uni; we at Adelaide Uni get 6 delegates. Once elected, these delegates don’t really do much on campus — not even BBQs and petitions — but they do go EdCon (Education Conference) in July, and NatCon (10 points, come on people) in December. These two conferences are pretty much what you would think they are... A FUCKEN PISS UUUUUPPPP!.... no. EdCon and NatCon are big meetings of all the student union delegates in the country where the overall direction of student unionism for the next 6 months is debated and decided. The delegates we elect will go to these two meetings and try and push what they see as the shared interests of students at Adelaide Uni. One interesting point about NUS is that the Liberal Party, being, as they are, rather opposed to unionism, don’t find too much to like about a National Union of anything. This has resulted in student delegates with ties to the Libs (let’s not kid ourselves, student politics is often seen as a training ground for state and federal politics upon graduation) often abstaining from voting and, my unnamed source tells me, repeatedly introducing bills proposing the National Union of Students add the word ‘Australian’ to the start of their name... think about the acronym. *** So that’s it, student politics. I hope this brief run-down has clarified at least some of the form and function of the area of student life that many of us may take for granted. I once heard, in a first year politics tute, student politics dismissed by one particularly cocky SDA union rep as a ‘farce’. Well, if subsidising food and drink on campus and providing student representation at both an administrative and national level is behaviour that one would consider ‘farcical’, then damn hell Jeeves, farce me up!... Oh, I did forget one more position that I’m sure you broke hearts in deciding final preference for — chuckle, guffaw, giggle, hardly — I didn’t think it deserved much of a mention for it’s sheer triviality; On Dit editor. O

SAM Words: Annie Waters

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Picture: HeatherW / http://www.flickr.com/photos/heatherw

Death is always a poignant subject, young death especially. Last year, a close friend of mine died, and this is an attempt to relive some of the moments we shared together.

There are parts of this story that seem unreal as I reflect on the time we shared together â&#x20AC;&#x201D; more like a movie than part of my life. But perhaps that is just a way to separate myself a little from these events, or perhaps it is a side-effect of having to write about my own life for others for the first time. It is certainly odd to fix down these moments as if they had a beginning, middle and an end, as I continue on and you donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t.

That first time we met. You and I were meeting a mutual friend and she and I arrived first. Whilst she went to get beers, you called her phone and I answered. You were standing right next to our table. Later, when we got together she told me that you and she could never be friends again, not the same way. The first night we went out together, I made you dance. In a dirty bar that was practically empty, I was the first person you enjoyed dancing with in a

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long time, you said. You drove us home that night, in your stupid green car that was missing a side-mirror and that replaced the one you almost crashed when you dropped a cigarette and searched for it on the floor whilst driving down the highway. We didn’t have sex that night, because you said you didn’t want to, and I was offended. The very next day, you took me on a date. You were wearing a loose white shirt and I remember thinking that it seemed like you were from another time and place. We sat, on a browning hill in the longest grass imaginable, almost wheat-like, and drank wine and ate strawberries and avocado, and made each other laugh. I think this is when I fell in love with you. In bed, you turned to me and said, so we could just be friends. A sickening silence passed. Or we could just date, I managed to respond. Thank God, you said. That damn pub. I spent so many nights there, holed up next to stagnant old men, drinking their cheap beer and having cheap laughs, just to make both of our nights go quicker. One night you messaged me and told me you’d had a horrible night at work, and I met you at your front door as you came in the driveway. I don’t know what I said but somehow making tea in your kitchen it was all better again and you smiled your wonderful smile.

You were still living with your dad, which was weird for a 24 year old. But then I met him — Merv. He’d had polio as a child, the year before they developed the vaccine that practically eliminated it for future generations. I could never figure Merv out. He was a withered little man, in every way. Not just his useless legs, which became invisible after a while, but his pinched leathery face that would look up at you and say, grab us a tinnie, would you love. His horrible smoker’s cough, and his weird relationship with an Asian woman who would only arrive in the middle of the night and whom he would drop home early in the morning, and whom I never actually saw. They’d been dating like this for years, apparently. It’s a horrible thing to say, but I barely remember your mum. I don’t even remember her name. I never could, not even when we were dating. I do remember her partner Brian, and that he bred dogs for a living, probably because he bored me at dinner one night talking about them for a full half hour. They both shared your love of cats. Sunny was your other love. She, too, could always make you happy, and she hated me. You told me she hated everyone, but this didn’t make me feel much better. I didn’t like cats either, for the record. Sunny was as horrible cat as they go. She was fat and orange and her matted fur was

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clumped with burrs, which you would pull out patiently on the porch, no matter how much she protested. You pretended not to want to take responsibility for what had been your sister’s cat, but I knew you wouldn’t have it any other way. Later, when you moved out, you couldn’t help adopting those three strays that came into your yard, and that I always joked you’d lured away from the neighbours. Pippa, too, had a special place in your heart. Asher and I both knew, when he joked about sleeping with her, that you weren’t kidding when you said you’d kill him. You were so protective of the ones you loved. She was a crazy wild child, with her tanned skin and matted hair and her van that had driven her across the country. We never bonded like we should have, what with her always away. For Christmas that year, I painted some shoes for you, with personal jokes and bright colours. Even though they were just a cheap pair of tennis shoes, I knew you loved them. I remember wondering at the funeral if you had been buried in them. You came to family dinner at my house, my huge family, the first boy I had ever brought to meet them all. My uncle got really drunk (like always) and you ended up talking to him for an hour. I remember being so proud to introduce you to everyone, you were so easy to get along with. Later, we had champagne on the hill, the

hill that seems to tie this whole relationship together. So many moments happened on that hill. Montefiore Hill. I don’t even know if that’s the proper name, but that’s what we always called it. Midnight picnics, escapes from reality. Card games and wine and tears. Looking out across the lights of our city, love was made and lost. I can pinpoint the exact moment I fell out of love with you. You said, in the midst of a fairly deep discussion, that we were in a real adult relationship. And suddenly, I wasn’t any more. Now when I looked, I saw only flaws. I don’t know why this seemingly banal statement of fact should have jolted me so much, but it did. And I think this is part of why I didn’t end it, not properly. I was so bowled over by this abrupt change of heart, and grew to despise the extent to which I had allowed myself to fall in love, in the clarity that comes when one is no longer ruled by emotion. Three weeks later, as we had always known it would come, though with far different feelings than I had anticipated, I left for Europe. We spoke just once, that year. Asher called me, and said, you’re like his phantom limb. I thought no more of it. A year later, and I returned home, with a tinged British accent, the remnants of which I still have today, saying yog-utt instead of yo-ghurt and garridge when

I mean garage. Not exactly a changed person, but with a whole year of experiences that didn’t include him. I don’t remember the first time I saw him again, but my best friend had, and she’d told him that there was no chance of us getting back together because I wouldn’t. I was so angry at her at the time, but it was the right thing to do. This person that I was, looking back now, is not someone I like, although I do still identify with the reasoning that was justified at the time. When I did finally see him, he was working at a festival bar. It slipped straight back into the easy friendship that we’d shared long before, but I knew that this was a facade on both of our parts. We caught up every now and then, never too frequently, never too alone. One night out, we met by chance, and you tagged along with my friends, uncharacteristically dancing again. We ducked away from everyone else on a ciggie run to the shops, and in a dirty alleyway behind the convenience store, you told me that you still loved me. That you saw us growing old together, and raising children, and being happy. In that moment, I wanted to believe you so much. But my silence said it all. A young drunk guy wandered past our upside-down milk cartons and yelled, tell her you love her! I just did, you replied, and it didn’t go so well.

went for coffee, where the service is awful but the coffee is so good once it comes. It was a beautiful day, and he’d just come back from a trip to Vietnam with Merv. Telling me about all the weird things he’d eaten overseas, like diced dog and quail eggs replete with unborn quail, we got into a conversation about how he’d survive the apocalypse, thanks to his strong stomach. What apocalypse, I asked? The one on December 12, 2012, he’d replied. Just few months later, and he was found in that damn car, in the hills, having gassed himself. I never asked which hill. The night before the funeral, in between tears, whisky and Arnold Schwarzenegger to take our mind off the task at hand, Asher and I wrote his eulogy. We both couldn’t believe that he hadn’t waited to see if he would survive the apocalypse. This is my favourite place in the world, he says. I feel like no-one else in the world has ever been here. We are sitting by a river, under a bridge covered in moss and half tumbled down. The shade from an impossibly old willow tree lulls us as we fall asleep together, or maybe only I did, he always did look after me. I want to go back to this place but I know I’ll never find it without him. O

My last good memory of him is going for coffee, where we always

Volume 79, Issue 10

Now Weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re Cooking with Garf Words / Photograph: Garf Chan

This is one of the signature dishes in Canto-western cooking. It has the Cantonese elements: soy sauce, Chinese egg noodles, spring onions as well as the Western elements: cheese, milk and butter. Traditionally this dish uses lobster instead of prawns, and is only ordered in restaurants for special occasions (e.g. wedding banquets). In my family, this dish only appears when we celebrate Chinese New Year. The dish is placed at the center of a large round table, and all the adults in my family (and by family I mean dozens of distant relatives and

cousins) always have their eyes on the lobster. Yet for me, for as long as I can remember, I always had my eyes on the creamy cheesy Chinese egg noodles. According to Chinese etiquette, the adults would first get their serves, and then the kids get to have theirs. The problem is, I am now an adult right but am still in love with the cheesy noodles instead of the lobster! As a good cousin, I let my seven younger cousins fight for their serve of noodles before me, so now when it comes to my turn, I am

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only able to have a spoonful of noodlesand no lobster. For this reason, I have mastered this Canto-western dish to taste just like the ones served in restaurants. The best part is, my relatives all think Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m the best cousin ever because I let everyone else get their serves and am willing to be last in the line. Yet what my aunties and uncles donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t know is, unlike my cousins, I know how to make this yummy dish from scratch!

Ingredients •

3 small batches of dried Chinese egg noodles

Marinating Prawns: •

15 to 20 defrosted prawns, shellless

•

1 tablespoon of corn starch

•

1 tablespoon of salt

Frying Prawns:

•

1 tablespoon full of butter

•

1 tablespoon of light soy

•

3 tablespoons of flour

•

½ tablespoon of fish sauce

•

1 ½ cups of milk

•

1 thinly sliced small brown onion

•

1 teaspoon of chopped garlic

4 slices of cheese (I use Bega super slices)

•

A handful of finger sized spring onion

•

1 cup of shaved Parmesan cheese

Creamy cheesy sauce:

Hong Kong style western cuisine:

baked creamy cheesy prawn noodles 1.

First, marinate the prawns (as above) thoroughly. Rest aside for 5 minutes. Then run under tap water. You will notice a lot of slime is removed from the prawns. Then, dry prawns with a paper towel.

Frying Prawns: Heat a frying pan on medium-high heat. Add a little bit of oil and garlic, then add onions. After a minute or so, add the prawns. As the prawns turn pink, splash in soy sauce and fish sauce.

(This is how Chinese restaurants make prawns crunchy and tasty. Without this step, the prawns will taste mushy and bland.)

Sprinkle spring onion. Stir-fry for about another 2 minutes until the prawns look just cooked. Pour into a bowl and set aside.

Cook egg noodles in boiling water like you cook spaghetti. Cook on full heat for 4 to 5 minutes. Once they look quite soft, drain through sieve and run with cold water to prevent further cooking. Leave noodles in a sieve for getting rid of excess water.

Preheat oven to 200 degrees.

Creamy Cheese sauce: Using the same pan, melt butter on medium heat. Sprinkle flour evenly and stir until mixed. Add cheese slices and milk. Then, add the stir-fired prawns into the sauce and mix well.

Volume 79, Issue 10

Place noodles into a baking dish (preferably a glass one). Pour creamy cheese sauce on top of noodles. Sprinkle with shaved parmesan cheese.

Place in oven and bake for 7 minutes until golden brown.

To serve, mix everything together and you have cheesy, creamy Cantowestern style noodles!

SuRFACES Peter Drew puts pictures on walls Words: Walter Marsh

Recent years have seen the University’s crack team of marketing wizards pursue a range of campaigns aimed at reinventing our lofty, historic institution to ensnare smartphone-toting Gen Y students — from personifying Sir Walter Watson Hughes as a wacky living statue to this year’s awkward use of installation art, viral marketing and mismatched typography to flog the ‘Life Impact’ brand strategy.

foster a warm fuzzy feeling of community and heritage within the student body). As probably observed by most students, Drew and the University’s Art Heritage department have taken to pasting gigantic paper reproductions of Adelaide laureates of yesteryear, from pioneering former Governor Dame Roma Mitchell to Antarctic explorer Sir Douglas Mawson and Lord Howard ‘Penicillin’ Florey.

Key to one of their newest initiatives is Adelaide street and commercial artist (and current graduate student) Peter Drew. While his name may not ring a sleigh’s worth of bells his work would be familiar to most, particularly the Einstein-on-a-bike paste-up which spent a good few months cropping up in the corner of your eye, pedalling up nooks, crannies and council walls right around the CBD. These satirical, morally motivated pieces exemplify the kind of good-humoured, visually engaging and accessible street art that easily lends itself to mainstream appeal.

Drew is reluctant to dismiss this project as a simple marketing campaign however. For him it serves a broader, more artistic purpose by reinvesting meaning and clout in the art of photograph. “Translating the ideas and values of the past into contemporary language is one of the major roles of art. I think it’s an especially important task for art right now,” Drew explains. “Images have become ubiquitous for our generation to the point that they don’t have the same value. Go back three generations and a photograph actually meant something. A painting meant even more.”

His newest project, however, is concerned less with hazily defined environmental agendas and allusions to fixie culture and more with helping the University in its efforts to launch its shiny new Learning Hub (and

At its core the project aims to draw connections to the University’s fancy robed history, and take advantage of some of the iconic scholars who lazily strode across the sepia-tinted Barr Smith Lawns of the past.

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Dusting off the contents of the University’s archives through “street art” as a means of helping current students draw links between their own University experiences and those of their esteemed predecessors is, in theory, a pretty effective way of communicating the scope of the institution’s history to a younger audience. Stage one of a larger plan, the initial presence of these giant paper fogies will be followed by similar paste-up portraits of current students to decorate the new Hub as a counter-point to the older icons. As Drew points out, “The Student’s Learning Hub is a building made specifically for students, but it’s up to student to actually claim the space as theirs…The idea of allowing students to have their own images exhibited within it seemed like a good way of taking ownership of the space.” Of course, aping the visual style and tone of street-art is nothing new around campus, with the Learning Hub’s earlier attempt to jazz up what was a pretty inconvenient construction site through bubble fonts and day-glo yellow provoking some unexpected results. While the finger-on-thepulse use of Justin Bieber drew its fair share of eyerolls, the most interesting and entertaining response came in the form of some astute ‘culture-jamming’,

as bemused students hijacked the Learning Hub’s branding for a series of stickers around the site celebrating ‘The Eating Hub’ (because ‘9/10 academics recommend studying in a noisy food court). To some extent this must come with the territory of borrowing an inherently subversive form of expression, thought Drew’s giant faces have at the time of writing avoided the inevitable giant graffiti moustaches one would expect from cheeky, time-rich students. Arguably, the plan is a tad undermined by the level of fore knowledge it expects of passersby - the historic significance of the paste ups is redundant if none but the most reclusive Arts student can identify them — but ultimately it’s refreshing to see an initiative from the University that actually boasts tangible links to both the environment and the academic, social and professional peaks its students might aspire to. If only the same could be said about a gigantic, contextless vowel. O

Peter Drew is collecting portraits of current students for the Learning Hub, for more information or to submit your own, email peter.drew@ student.adelaide.edu.au

Volume 79, Issue 10

THE

THree Little Pigs

And the

Big Badwulf Words: Daniel Springham

Once upon a time there lived three little pigs who shared a mutually dependent coexistence with each other. The term ‘little’ had nothing to do with their social hierarchy but instead implied that they were lesser in mass than what one would call an ‘average’ swine. This sizeist issue did not bother them in the least and they lived out their simple coexistence in relative harmony and mutual respect for each other. Two of the little pigs had been raised in rather naturalistic and environmentallyconscious ways – their cultural inclination was such that they would have voted for the Greens party, had they been aware of politics. They frowned upon the consumption of meat but instead believed that for all creatures to exist as one mutual body, the violent tendencies found solely in those who practiced what they called carnivorism had to be subdued – that only through becoming vegans and practicing meditative aromatherapy could the world be a peaceful, non-violent place. The third little pig, however, was more progressively-minded and rationalistic than the other two. His future desires and aspirations extended somewhat

beyond the sublime and rather idealistic lifestyle that he and the others currently undertook day in and day out. In contrast to the others, this little pig would have supported the Labor Party in an effort to see gender, race and species equality spread through diplomacy and unionism and motivational benefits to encourage industrial progression and cleanliness. Needless to say, the two little naturalistic pigs harboured a suppressed antagonism towards their more outwardly-prospective companion. However, this simple coexistence was soon disrupted by what the scientific and industrial community would call ‘progression’. Roads began to snake through their meadows (‘their’ is used somewhat loosely here as the pigs had never actually, at any stage, legally or ancestrally claimed the land they inhabited as their own but instead assumed they were the only creatures who possessed the rationality to understand the concept of ownership; thus titled it ‘their own’), motor vehicles began to pollute their clean air (the assumed ownership of all materials utilised by the pigs applies here as well), and building sites began to disrupt their view of the surrounding area, forcing the three little

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pigs to either embrace the change, or oppose it. As expected, the two naturalistic pigs countered the industrialisation of their land vehemently and began to construct two ecologically-friendly houses in the middle of the main highway to inconvenience anyone who attempted to utilise the route and further advance the modern civilisation. The first little pig built his house out of hemp to allow for constant air circulation and filtration, while the second pig – slightly more aware of structural integrity – built his home out of sticks and bound it together with rope made from grass. The third pig however, was overjoyed with the developments that were taking place. He decided to undertake a traineeship as an apprentice builder with the civil development company Big Badwulf Inc., the primary building contractor for the new developments, and worked with unsurpassed dedication and enthusiasm. But it didn’t take long for the two other little pigs to learn of this decision that they considered an outright insubordination against them and they would regularly visit his worksite in attempts of sabotaging his work and dampening

his dreams. They quite unfairly assumed that the unfortunately ill-sounding company name reflected on the attitudes of its employees as well. Profane graffiti, more often than not making references to meat-eating and bacon-devouring, appeared more and more frequently across the building sites that the third little pig attended to. But this didn’t stop the driven little swine as he graciously brushed off the threats and worked doubly hard until he had acquired the skills to study civil engineering. Unfortunately, money was something that he was significantly deprived of considering his previous self-sustaining lifestyle. His prospects seemed dim but opportunity conveniently revealed itself when the CEO of Big Badwulf Inc., Mr. Leo Badwulf himself agreed to fund the third little pig’s undergraduate endeavours. In the proceeding weeks he quickly discovered just how misleading the company name was in relation to the demeanour of its founder. Leo Badwulf was one of the most friendly, patient, and diplomatic persons he had ever met and he quickly came to understand that the common wolf stereotype he had been conditioned to fear couldn’t be further from the true personality that radiated from the well-groomed canid. The third little pig frequently apologised on the behalf of his obstreperous brothers as he reflected on the financial deficiencies the ecologically-friendly roadblocks were causing Big Badwulf Inc. Leo graciously overlooked the two eco-protection activists but he knew it wouldn’t be much longer before his less passive-aggressive brother-in-law and co-founder, Paul Big, took extreme measures. And to his word, the first little pig awoke the next morning to find his house overshadowed by a SWAT helicopter. ‘Little pig,’ Paul boomed down at the alarmed swine, ‘This is Paul Big of Big Badwulf Incorporated. If you do not

desist all illegal protestation means immediately and allow the authorities onto your premises, we will be forced to remove your temporary dwelling by means of substantial acoustic and pneumatic force.’ The first little pig appeared at his front door and shook his fist violently at the helicopter. ‘Why don’t you go to hell along with all your right-wing, high-roller wolf buddies?’ It was only moments after uttering this prejudicial barb that he came to understand the meaning of ‘lethal efficiency’. ‘Then we’ll be forced to actuate our electro-pneumatic compressors and blow your house down.’ Paul signalled the ground forces and an officer wielding a leaf blower stepped forward. With the flick of a switch, the blower roared to life and a heavy gust of wind tore at the house of hemp, blowing it flat within seconds. Frightened beyond all rationality, the first little pig did the only thing his mind could conjure and he ran the two miles to the second little pig’s more sturdy residence. Frantically bashing on the door, the first little pig soon got his friend’s attention and on seeing the black helicopter bearing down on them, he let him in and slammed the door shut. Upon reaching the progression-obstructing residence of sticks, Paul again addressed the two, ‘Little pigs. This is Paul Big of Big Badwulf Incorporated. If you do not desist immediately and allow the authorities onto your premises, we will be forced to remove your temporary dwelling by means of substantial acoustic and pneumatic force.’ ‘That means they’re going to blow the house down,’ the first little pig informed the second. The latter, who had more confidence in the structural integrity of his house than he ought to, bellowed back, ‘Over my karmically-cleansed dead body, which you and your barbaric wolf buddies would no doubt consume

Volume 79, Issue 10

in a frenzy.’ ‘Then you leave us no choice but to raze your house to the ground.’ And with that, the officer again fired up the leaf blower and a heavy gale beat at the house of sticks. The overtaxed binding ropes snapped and the house disintegrated into a pile of kindling and in sheer terror, the two little pigs ran for their lives, heading to what they considered their last resort. Stopping at the twelve-story apartment building the third little pig now inhabited, they frantically mashed the intercom and yelled their predicament to the bewildered swine. But before he could let the two fugitives into the building, a large net descended upon them and dropped them to the ground. As the two irate swine cursed bloody murder and struggled to free themselves, twelve armed officers surrounded them and read them their rights. The third little pig, despite the difficulty he had suffered at the hands of the other two, tried desperately to convince Paul that they were no more than a pair of harmless hippies, but after finding five-and-a-half kilos of processed opium amongst the remains of the first little pig’s house and an illegal cock-fighting ring out the back of what used to be the second little pig’s house, he conceded that they should in fact be subject to federal jurisdiction and any resulting punishment. However, he soon forgot his woes after Leo promoted him to head of building management and together they built a more ecologically-conscious city in which all the indigenous inhabitants were given prime housing, a higher standard of living and free education. And after receiving what was considered a highly competitive education they were able to work in fair, well paid jobs backed by an influential and considerate union, in work environments that were free from any form of discrimination or speciesism. The End...

O 41

Care FactoR Words: Michelle Bagster

C O L U M N S

I tend to start my with a single short sentence followed by a paragraph break, and I want you to know that this is a blatant attempt to get your attention. It started to annoy me, so I’m reforming myself right now. Not that you’d care. column

Caring is a weird thing, because I really don’t know anyone who practices it regularly. I know so many people who would describe themselves as “caring,” “altruistic,” or even “sweet” which just calls up involuntary mental pictures of themselves in a bath filled with icing sugar. But when it comes right down to it, when they listen to me talking about myself and my woes when it comes to having to babysit for six bucks an hour, it’s the conversational equivalent of watching ads on TV waiting for the show to start. Because they really don’t care. They want to talk about what happened to them, probably recount that dream they had last night where they were late for work and forgot their pants. Again. Not caring extends beyond just talking. I have a friend who fretted for weeks about wearing practical shoes in to town because she was dead worried everyone would turn and stare at her, judging, always judging. When she finally gleaned the courage to don her sneakers and Save Her Soles, she reported back that “nobody had even commented.” I needed to excuse myself to smile insufferably. Because I bet the entire contents of my wallet

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(fifteen cents and a shiny button) that nobody was even looking at her shoes. I wasn’t. Everybody was too busy with their own self occupying all their head space. You know how it goes, your skull is all cluttered with thoughts like “does anyone notice that my left boob is bigger?” “Will anyone realise that I haven’t changed socks since Thursday?” or my own personal question, “does anyone care that I’m a little too attached to my batman cape and swing it around more than necessary?” The answer to all of these questions is of course: “No, sir” (I assume that most people who read this column are male, simply because the picture of me that accompanies it is just so damn sexy). And yet it is human nature to expect people to care. I know this because of long hours spent with the child I babysit occasionally, who tells me every aspect of her life for as long as I am present, and bites my ear off when I forget her age or the hair colour of her best friend. She jabbers and jabbers all night, and all she expects from me is the occasional “yes, your hair is very pretty.” She doesn’t even know my name. As we grow up, we learn to do what Sunshine can’t (yes, that is her name), and that is understand that people just don’t give a flying fish about you, and just shut up a little. Seriously, shut up, Sunshine. You’re cute, I get it. Now shut up. This is not worth six bucks an hour. But it’s not all sadness having nobody care. It means that you don’t need to worry about wearing comfy shoes, yesterday’s socks and that dress that only cost five dollars because the shiny button on the sleeve has been stolen. Nobody is even going to notice that button. Because nobody cares. O

Election week Words: Emma Jones I’ve been at Adelaide University long enough to know that when it’s election week, you avoid the Barr Smith Lawns at all costs. AT ALL COSTS. And I mean serious avoidance, like traversing Kintore Avenue all the way to Frome just to get from Schulz to Engineering. But sometimes, you forget it’s election week, and you find yourself at the bottom of the Barr Smith Stairs, too frozen in fear to turn back, a gaggle of students in various political t-shirts flocking towards you waving flyers and screaming propagandically (I made that word up). You can pretty much see the inner soliloquy of students at this point. It goes like this: “oh my God what have I done I knew I should avoid the Barr Smith Lawns these students are crazy what is the SRC anyway I thought that was a primary school thing shit I guess I better just vote and get it over with”. That soliloquising milksop was me, until this year. A magical thing called Competition forced me to campaign, which roughly translates as trying to get people to vote for something that isn’t compulsory and that they don’t care about. FUN TIMES. You may have seen my compatriots, competitors and I on the lawns last week, or in your lectures, or pretty much anywhere on campus, being awkward and self-deprecating yet somehow still trying to sell ourselves as competent editors of this here fine publication for next year. I want you to know, if I harassed you in any way, that I am sorry. And that it is not in my nature to be aggressive and harrassive. I am usually meek and hidey. Elections change things. Usually they change the lineup of people in power, but sometimes they change the actual people. (You can quote me on that.)

If the above fake wisdom didn’t convince you of my total lack of politicism, allow me to convince you of the same by sharing with you some things I learned during my stint as a fake student politician this election week:

1. Brutal rejection is nothing Halfway through Monday, after my fifth consecutive “fuck you I don’t want your goddamn voting paper”, one of the campaigners told me, “it’s like getting dumped 300 times a day. For a week.” I thought she was kidding. She wasn’t. My fear of rejection has been totally conquered by concentrated rejection on a massive scale. Your self-esteem can’t be injured when it has already been vaporised.

2. Caffeine is not a dietary staple I subsisted for a week on coffee and Red Bull. That and chips and gravy, which IS a dietary staple (or should be). Then on Thursday I nearly died of exhaustion. Please note that all caffeine highs will eventually culminate in a crashing and/ or burning of embarrassing dramatics in City Cross food court. Yes, all.

3. Printing at uni is expensive 800 pages of flyers later and that’s three students’ printer credit accounts exhausted. That and I never want to see my own mug shot EVER AGAIN.

Volume 79, Issue 10

4. Student politicians are not scary They are really, really nice. You should listen to them. They actually want to make stuff better for you. Maybe some of them yell a lot, but don’t be put off. The yelling is justified by passion for the quality of your education and/or goon.

5. Competition is character-building That sounds lame, and it is lame. But I’ve never had to interrupt somebody with cries of “he has a point but my similar point is better so VOTE FOR ME” until like every five minutes for the whole of last week, and it was. Lame, I mean. Not character-building. That shit’s lame. Okay, so we made it through election week. I am sunburnt and my whole body aches and the hangover I’m struggling with at the moment might not lift until Tuesday. But victory is sweeter when you have to fight for it. And I’m glad I did it. I still don’t understand student politics, and I probably never will. But I got three wonderful things out of election week: a tan, an editorship and an understanding of what these poor politicians go through every year. Worth it. O

Procrastinetting The Hard Copy Blog Words: Sujini Ramamurthy

STRANGE

TALES

FROM

THE

INTERNET

Drew Droege’s YT Channel — http://www.youtube.com/user/combine13 Flash-tortured emu with mascarpone and lingonberry preserve; negate taupe; the delicate whispers of a horsefly. Comedian Drew Droege parodies Chloe Sevigny in a series of hilarious viral videos which pay homage to the fashion, film and art icon while highlighting her often ridiculous persona: “Like, really? Were you really reading J.D. Salinger while sipping some rare scotch and talking poetry with Da Brat?” Of course she was, so let Chloe teach you about the correct way to eat toast, celebrate birthdays, hold barbecues and attend the Oscars. It’ll be better than seared pork fingerlings with a scupperdong aioli.

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Fan Fiction — http://www.fanfiction.net/ Fan fiction is by far the best thing I’ve ever come across in my life. Anne Frank involved in a lusty tryst with Pikachu; Scrooge McDuck being violently boned by Dorothy from the Golden Girls; Papa Smurf shooting up with Jerry Seinfeld. These are just a few of the gems you will find on fanfiction. net. This stuff emerges from the darkest corners of the loneliest imaginations, and it is brilliant. Kudos to those who expose their spank banks for all to read. I love you sick fucks.

BOOK A minute classics — http://www.rinkworks.com/bookaminute/classics.shtml Fuck Cliff notes. If you’d rather spend your time fapping to Dragon Ball Z fan fiction, get on book a minute classics. All those novels were supposed to read in high school/ first year English condensed into six or so convenient lines of text. In the age of the Internet, you probably don’t have the attention span to focus on a sentence longer than “Kenneth Branagh pwns n00bs in Hamlet like a hotti” so why bother reading any more? All the classics are here for you to absorb in milliseconds. U iz gonna be so erudite, it’ll make ur friends shit.

Volume 79, Issue 10

Diversions Answers on page 5

Colouring In Competition The only prize is glory!

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Diversions Triviarama

AWKWORD

1. 2.

“CRUSTY”

What item is typically carried in a hod? What is the last name of the man who wrote the heart-warming tale, Marley and Me? 3. What wooden toy is advertised in Ren and Stimpy? 4. What is the name of Denver’s basketball team? 5. What is the correct name for two or more wires running side by side and bonded, twisted or braided together to form a single assembly? 6. Name the type of boat: Paddle ______ 7. What is the name for a seat with no back or armrests? 8. What does Port Power player Cameron Hitchcock wear on the back of his jersey? 9. What 4-letter word means to deposit or dispose of, typically in a careless or hurried way? 10. In layman’s terms, what would you be doing if you drove your children to the council provided swimming establishment, left them there to swim, and returned home?

Crypt-o-Clues 1. 2. 3. 4.

Permanent inscriber prone to sending msgs. (5) This liquor is found at the sea’s end. (4) Sounds like Whitlam’s got a tickled throat (5) I’ll take you from the mouth and see it flutter by (4) 5. An unusual need for this funny female deer (5) 6.

Pam’s into meeting but she doesn’t solicit online (4)

What it means: Having a crisp or hard outer layer or covering. What it sounds like it means: Though its awkward meaning is not substantially different from its official meaning, it produces unavoidable mental images of dried pus flaking slowly off irritated skin. Reason: Reminds us of the guy on the bus that sits next to you when every other seat is free. He sits picking at his recently popped boil, rubbing the fluid on his cargo pants, spreading the white film outwards over the khaki fabric. Not much of a reason, but gross all the same.

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)

U A

G H

N N O

L G H

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Volume 79, Issue 10

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

For some time I have been working behind the scenes with management in the Faculty of Humanities and Social Sciences regarding their proposal to reduce the number of tutorials. Unfortunately they have decided to go ahead without heeding my calls to consult with students before implementing their proposal. In a nutshell it has been explained to me that the faculty will be reducing the number of tutorials offered so as to account for the unbudgeted expenses associated with a new EBA negotiated with the NTEU for casual tutors. As a result of the new EBA casual tutors will be paid for the marking. I believe that the payment is a just decision. Moreover many casual tutors are in fact University of Adelaide students as well, so I applaud this decision. The disappointing outcome from this series of events is that the University has not been upfront about the budgetary constraints under which it now operates. As students have quite rightly voiced their concerns to me over this issue, the University has changed its rationale for reducing the number of tutorials offered. It has gone from budgetary constraints to transforming the student experience. Such rationale has much merit and should be explored further. However in this case it is clear that this was not the motivation. To ensure that the student learning experience best reflects students’ preferred learning approaches, the University should consult students before implementing changes. The involvement and depth of the consultation should be in line with the new consultation approach reflected on the Learning Hub. Development and transformation of the student learning experience would be best achieved if students are involved in the creation, implementation and evaluation of the proposals. It should be appreciated that students are best placed to evaluate the success of new and innovative teaching and learning methodology.

AUU will be in there launching its iPhone app and VConnect programme. So come on by, download the app, grab yourself some free fairyfloss or perhaps a USB and learn more about VConnect and how you can get involved. If you can’t get to the launch, visit www.auu.vconnect.org. au to register for the VConnnect programme. There are many benefits to volunteering including building your CV, networking and of course, lending a hand in the community. Employers do look for graduates who have undertaken volunteering or gained on the job work experience. The phone app can be downloaded FREE for either android or iPhone and will simplify your life! You’ll always know what’s going on around campus, plus it gives you the option to “opt in” to club and society calendars and news so you only get the information you want — no spam! Also, the GPS locator shows you the locations you can get great discounts at with your AUU Member Card — find a location close to where you are or even search close to home — there’s a load of discounts you could be taking advantage of! Speaking of events, AUU World Day is coming up on the 20 September on Waite and 21 September on North Terrace. It’s a chance to experience all the cultures that make up our campus and celebrate the diversity that exists around us. So come on down to the lawns, grab yourself something eat and enjoy the entertainment on show. O

I will keep you posted as to what’s happening, but in the meantime keep up to date at our Facbook page ‘Students Against Tute Cuts.’ In other news the boarding along Hughes Plaza has finally gone. You can look into the new space that will be available to students from 12 September. On 13 September the

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

On Dit Magazine

THE NEW HOME OF THE SOUTH AUSTRALIAN FILM CORPORATION

ADELAIDE STUDIOS

OPEN DAY 10AM – 4PM, SUNDAY 18 SEPTEMBER 2011 GLENSIDE, 226 FULLARTON ROAD www.adelaidestudios.com.au

On-Line Election of Students to the University of Adelaide Council In accordance with the University’s Rules for the Election of Council Members, notice is hereby given of the election of Two Undergraduate Students and One Postgraduate Student to the Council of the University of Adelaide for a term of one year from 6 March 2012 to 5 March 2013. The retiring undergraduate members are ANDREW SHEPHERD and ERIC YANG and the retiring postgraduate member is XU TING. They may be eligible to re-nominate for re-election. Nominations open on 4 October 2011 and close at 12 NOON 14 October 2011. Nomination forms will be available from the Council Secretariat website when nominations open. A further notice will be sent to students at that time. Section 12A sub-section (6) of the University of Adelaide Act 1971 states that: A person may not, except by resolution of the Council, be appointed or elected as a member of the Council if the appointment or election (as the case requires) would result in the person being a member of the Council for more than 12 years. Students who are considering standing for election and who, if elected, will exceed the 12 year limit during their term of office must lodge an application seeking a resolution of Council under section 12A sub-section (6) of the University of Adelaide Act 1971, giving reasons why they should be permitted to nominate, with the Returning Officer by 7 October 2011. HEATHER KARMEL

Returning Officer University Council Secretary

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