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On Dit Edition Adelaide Uni Student Magazine 77.10

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On Dit The Adelaide Uni Student Magazine

Pirate edition On Dit: proudly sponsored by the Adelaide University Union. Yarrr!

On Dit The Adelaide Uni Student Magazine

All our subbies who helped out in election week, especially Anna Ehmann and Andrew Auld for their epic efforts. Ben for all the Red Bull, it keeps us going when we probably shouldn’t. Our loving public for not spitting in the face of our ever-present political campaigning. Jayd for front cover photography at the last minute. Vincent’s lego collection for standing the test of time. Uni lecturers / tutors for their eternal patience and extensions. Everyone who supported On Dit 2010 in student elections.

contact us at On Dit :


AUU Watch Hannah Mattner State of the Union Lavinia Emmett-Grey Current Affairs Shelly Lasslet Local Issues Patrick McCabe Jarrod Fitch Lia Svilians Dit-licious Lily Hirsch Fashion Kate Bird Lara Francis Elise Lopez Film Anders Wotzke Literature Alicia Moraw Music Andrew Auld Countney Day Jimmy (Swanny) Clarke Nightlife Ainsley Campbell Arts Sam Deere Science Anna Ehmann Sport Angus Chisholm TV Lauren Roberts Poetry & Short Stories Lauren Lovett Adam Klimkiewicz Pro/Anti-Consumerism Greg Taylor Tristan Adams Marketing William Fisher Design Daniel Brookes

thank you

the team

On Dit is a publication of the Adelaide University Union. The opinions expressed herein are not necessarily those of the editors, The University of Adelaide, or the Adelaide University Union.

Phone: (08) 8202 5404 Email: Editors: Steph Walker & Vincent Coleman

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letters the editor(s) AUU watch State of the Union UPSRC Current Affairs Film Poetry Music Careers Corner Skins Nightlife Op Shop Review Short Stories Literature Science Sport Ditlicious Fashion Local Issues Devil’s Advocate Vox Pop Social Fumblings

Cover Phtography by jayd van der Meer The Adelaide Uni Student Magazine On Dit


l ia r o it d e ’ s r o it d thee t with Steph & Vincen Steph Walker I don’t mean to complain, but our office has been beeping for over 24 hours. As much as those farmers need the rain, it has become evident that The University of Adelaide is full up. Once water reaches a certain level an alarm goes off. But then what? not unlike our work here, what happens after the alarms go off? It seems nothing, except an incesant white noise. Look at me in this picture, I’m so tired. But we’re here, working a 10.50pm on a saturday night, Vinny and I should both be at a party, a literal band name party - he dressed as a queen of the stoneage and me dressed as N*E*R*D - I don’t have to change my clothes. Sorry to Nat, Millsie and Ben - we wish we could have been there.

We’ve learnt more this year at On Dit than in our entire degree - that is both helpful and slightly soul destorying. The University of Adelaide has actually provided us both with something priceless - a passion. How cliched is that? very. I expect Robin Williams in Dead Poet Society to step out around every corner - to yell ‘Carpe diem’. When we’re counting our change to put our money in the vending machines that never deliver the promised food but instead dangle infront of us. Carpe diem they yell. And we have. The interviews we’ve conducted, the people we have published how rad is that? we’ve met so many lovely people - and we’ve met a whole bunch of bastards.

As much as this sounds like complaining - I bloody love making you this magazine. I really do.

beep beep beep beep. I hope vinny provides you with the pirate-like content that should have been here.

Vincent Coleman International Talk Like a Pirate Day is coming up on September 19th. Arrr. Hopefully, this scurvy tome will reach you in time. Speaking of scurvy, I need to stop eating from vending machines. I’ve know three people who in this day and age have had scurvy - one of them gangreene to boot! - and I don’t plan on being a fourth. When coming up with the idea of a Pirate themed edition to coincide with said scurvy holiday I didn’t anticipate having to real articles written ENTIRELY in pirate-speak. Arrr? P.S if you feel like really getting into the spirit you can set your Facebook language to English (Pirate), although putting it back is a bit like trying to get your credit card out of the ATM when you set it to yiddish ‘cos you were drunk and it seemed like a funny idea. On a more serious note Elections have come and gone and combined with the incessant fucking beeping of the aforementioned overflow alarm, I’m just about ready to keelhaul somebody. If it rains heavily in the next few months and a sensor happens to get torn asunder it wasn’t me. By the time you read this we’ll either be carousing like Cap’ns or sulking like swabbies. Either way, we’ll have rum-derived liver failure. On a parting note, I received a startling email in my inbox the other day. I don’t want to give the game away, but let me just tell you that my Social Fumblings may just finish up with a fairy tale ending after all... 4

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letters to the editors


Mulleted Trailblazer Objects

best letter ever

Or, A Fluid Rebuttal

As a dyed-in-the wool, true-blue blooded freak-sexual weirdo, it was with many delighted squeaks and grunts that I read the newest On Dit. I just moved to Adelaide and found tons of good leads about where to meet other eccentrics at night, and where we’d get coffee in the morning. But the weirdest thing I found in your pages wasn’t GG Allin; it was the closing paragraphs in Lara Francis’ page on gender fluidity. “One can only hope that the sexually fluid trailblazers… are doing it for the right reasons.” Excuse me? Ms. Francis, are you seriously worried that us freaky girls are eating each other out just because we think it’s the cool thing to do? Are you concerned that some of my late-night lesbo make-out sessions are actually social justice actions? Let me be the first to tell you: I like to munch box for its own sake! I hear you watch MTV—does it freak you out when freestyles about sexy girls’ lumps “at least ten times” during a two minute song? If it does, you didn’t mention it. Newsflash, Lara: TV wants sex any way they can get it (and apparently so does Ms. Rose)-- but so what? Is queer consciousness a “trend seeping into the soul of our society?” Just flip back one page to your fashion icons, or back two pages to the article on Oscar Wilde! The “trailblazers” you refer to have been cross dressing, gender-bending, making out with their same-sex friends and LOVING IT while actually forming society’s soul for the past hundred years! And by “soul,” don’t you just mean pop culture anyway? Don’t worry, Lara, queer culture is nothing new, and as anyone who wants a second gay bar in Adelaide can tell you, it ain’t trendy yet, either! Now, On Dit lists you under “Fashion” contributors. Well, honey, what you want to put your mouth on isn’t fashion, although admittedly some lip-targets are cooler than others (i.e. Rosy O’Donnel will never be a VJ regardless of who she does). If anything, it’s the straight world that insidiously infiltrates queer scene for the best of our flashy campy sexy style! Don’t take offense, though. I’m not on the warpath here; your article just seemed so old-school and prude! Maybe you are just coming to terms with queer consciousness for the first time, zoning out on some show about knickers, and all of a sudden it seems like it’s girls-on-girls gone wild, everywhere! If you are feeling a trifle behind the times, you can call me, we could do lunch and you could tell me all about it…. E. Farrell


Dear Steph & Vinny,

It’s come to my attention that you are currently unpaid for your work at On Dit. I do not have the money you so clearly deserve and need. If it were up to me, I’d be at least be paying you $2.30 an hour. I know you do a lot of hours so that should add up to some sort of sum where you should be able to live like a box-cart hobo. I know it is under the minimum wage of Kazakhstan - but it’s better than nothing, right? I do not have any money so am sending you this drawing I did of a spider instead. If you ever get paid, and to my knowledge On Dit editors were paid for, what? 40 years - at least - then could you please send back my picture of the spider. I don’t know if this is the right way to go about illustrating how much you need and deserve to be paid. Perhaps you could sell my picture so you can get running water in your office? Hopefully I’m not the only bastard who has rained on your parade. I really appreciate all you do at On Dit (just cause I pronounce it wrong doesn’t mean I don’t care!)

Yours Truly, Elijah

The Adelaide Uni Student Magazine On Dit


H C T A W U AU by Hannah Mattner

Huzzah! Elections are over! That is, they are for you. Unfortunately, we’ve got a month’s lead time, so you’ll have to wait impatiently for the final numbers and witty analysis. Instead, here’s a profile of the next affiliate on our list: the Clubs Association.

The Clubs Association (commonly the CA) has been around on and off since the early days of the AUU. Its job is to look after the non-sporting clubs on campus, which cover everything from religion to beer drinking, from spontaneous public displays to saving the world. In the immediate postVSU period, the CA was largely defunct, with the more established clubs finding ways to work around it and doing without perks like grants and storage space. The current iteration has been around since 2007, when an executive headed by Matthew Taylor worked to bring it back from its post-VSU oblivion. Since then, the CA’s been offering storage, grants, events like Clubs Cup and Clubs Fest, and a bunch of other services, as well as an added layer of bureaucracy. This year, additional bits and pieces like the website and email; capital items like a marquee and a PA; and refurbished meeting and common rooms have also been made available. The annual CA budget comes almost entirely from the Union, though some consideration has been put to finding some external sources of income, on the basis that it’s not wise to put all one’s eggs in a single basket (the basket being the Union and the University). The main governance body for the CA is the Clubs Association Council, which is made up of a representative from each of the 90 or so clubs. To hold a council meeting, representatives of at least 20 different clubs have to turn up, which makes it 6

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difficult to hold a successful council, even now that there’s greater communication between clubs and the CA. At the start of the year, the council elects seven of their number as an executive committee, who run the CA from month to month. The biggest problem that the CA – particularly the executive committee - faces is its lack of cohesive purpose. Every member of the executive got on there by having a commitment (generally a really strong one) to an existing club. This leads to a slightly eccentric management system, because the people who run the CA are probably also involved with running one of the large and active clubs on campus, which they are often more passionate about. Despite this, a very dedicated handful of executive members – and some extra volunteers – have kept the association running relatively effectively for the last two years. Work has been done on putting together a new constitution, but the process is only just starting to pick up. The change is sorely needed, as the latest registered version is from 1985, and there’s no single version that recognises every member of executive, let alone covering all the aspects of the current CA. For the CA, the biggest issue now is the question of funding for an administrative officer. While the affiliate is operating reasonably well with volunteers, there have been a lot of holes in opening hours, communication and consistency in dealing with clubs as a result. One of the biggest hopes for the 2010 budget is that it will deliver the money to employ someone in this position, relieving the volunteers who put so much time in at the CA and taking it to a new level of continuity and professionalism.

n o i n u e h t f state o Lav


Lavinia Emmett-Grey As the Semester draws to an end, I hope you’ve enjoyed the events this term – the National Campus Band Comp, Music on the Lawns, Clubs Fest, the international student Aussie Quiz Night, Multicultural Week and the first round of the Quiz Night with a Twist! Thanks to the awesome Union Activities Committee for their hard work so far! Don’t forget our second and third Quiz Night with a Twist on 14 and 28 of October. Coming up in term 4 is Sex and Sensibility, the AUU event which encourages students to explore their sexuality while learning about the services available to make sure you’re safe and healthy while doing so. For those of you who are interested, the federal government has recently announced that its changes to Youth Allowance will be delayed to allow those taking a gap year to qualify for independent status under the workforce eligibility criteria for 2010. This decision will be beneficial for the rural high school students who are planning on coming to uni, but it has meant that other positive changes to student income support, such as the increase in the amount that students can earn on top of their payments (from $230 per fortnight to $400 per fortnight) and the staggered reduction in the Age of Independence from 25 to 22, have all been delayed.


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On campus, you may be interested to know a bit about what’s happening to Scott Theatre. The uni is redeveloping the space to be used as a lecture theatre during the day which means that music students will no longer be able to use it as rehearsal space. It will still be available as a performance space in the evening, but with seating being outfitted with swivelling tables, it will no longer be quite the same. This comes at the same time as Little Theatre is being limited for bookings due to faulty electrical wiring which is still awaiting repair. Meanwhile the Huxley Computer Suite is being relocated to the Level 3 24 Hour Suite in the Library, which will have lectures in it during the day, and the Level 3 Library Computer Suite is being relocated to Level 1, which will only be available from 8am til 10pm. Personally, I am disappointed in the universities decisions in these areas. Don’t forget to check out the SRC’s survey on course changes at: and have YOUR say about YOUR degree. If you would like to get involved in events on campus, or would like to bitch to me about the price increase of coffee on campus, feel free to contact me: lavinia.emmett-grey@adelaide.

I would argue that financially disadvantaged rural students should not have to rely on the workforce eligibility criteria to come to uni – instead the federal government should create a unique eligibility category for students who have to move a certain distance away from home in order to study. This would stop the current exploitation of the system where an estimated 40% of student on the Independent rate of Youth Allowance are living with parents with a combined total income of $90 000 or more. I’ll keep you updated as more information is available.

Lavinia, & the Ghosts of Deans Past

The Adelaide Uni Student Magazine On Dit



f you get to the end of this article you get 1000 points.


i, I’m Sam. You may remember me from my On Dit column Professional Confessional. However, a little known (yet I assure you, interesting) fact is that I’m also your friendly SRC Education Officer, and I need your help with something extremely important. It might seem boring (that’s because it is), but the upcoming changes of degree structures could fundamentally and significantly alter your university degree. If you’d like to save yourself the upcoming spiel, ignore everything below, and head to for details of how to get involved. You get bonus points. For those of you who’d like a little more info, here’s the deal: The University of Adelaide is currently undertaking a massive review of its degree structures. What the hell does that mean? An excellent question, allow me to elaborate: The Uni wants to change the way degrees are structured, so instead of having a mixture of named degrees, majors, double degrees etc., they’re proposing a more unified degree model. Most of the options involve a broad start to the first years of uni, then get more specialised later on. Being a student, I want to make sure that whichever way the University chooses to go that it’s as student-friendly as possible.

There are a lot of potential advantages to a new course structure model, in terms of course choice, postgraduate study options, and employability. However, there are some very important points that need to be addressed before any model is implemented. For example, the University may opt to move all degree specializations to postgrad. In this case, if you wanted to do Mechanical Engineering, or Development Studies, you’ll do a broad Bachelor of Engineering or Arts, and then do Honours or Masters in the Mech. Eng. or Development specialization. There’s some concern because this will of course add an extra year or two to degrees (of course you’ll be graduating with a postgraduate level qualification, you’re probably more employable, so it’s not all bad). But - and this is a pretty significant ‘but’ - because postgraduate places don’t necessarily qualify as Commonwealth Supported Places i.e. places that are HECSable, if that is in fact a word, you might have to pay upfront to get a degree that actually means something in the real world. Similarly, because postgraduate courses don’t necessarily qualify for Commonwealth income support, people on Youth Allowance or Austudy might not be able to live and study at the same time. Outcomes like this would adversely

There are plenty of different options on the table - some of which you might recognise from your particular faculty :

• Broad degrees offered, with the ability to do a Major in your last years

• Honours or Masters built into undergraduate degrees i.e. you ‘graduate with honours’ • A broad, 3-year undergraduate degree, then specializing in postgrad (the so-called Melbourne Model, and probably most likely one) 8

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affect everyone, but they particularly hurt students from low-SES and rural backgrounds. Education should be accessible to everyone, not just those privileged enough to be able to pay thousands of dollars in up-front costs.

undergraduate degrees are set out means that it would be much easier to transfer between courses.

Furthermore, the degree restructure could be an opportunity to covertly phase out some courses that the University deems to be unprofitable. Many specialised courses aren’t exactly money-spinners, but it’s still important to teach them. At Melbourne University the Humanities Faculty has been gutted since the restructure (this of course has also been influenced by the last federal budget, where University funding was deregulated). Courses should not simply be offered on the basis of what generates the most revenue for the Uni, and getting rid of smaller courses will have detrimental effects for students who wish to specialize in their field.

The inventively titled Undergraduate Program Structures Review Committee (UPSRC) is the body that’s coordinating the restructure. I’m going to be putting in a submission to the committee, with suggestions such as outlined

There’s no suggestion at this point that any of this is what will happen, but it’s important to understand that it could. I’m certainly not trying to run a scare campaign and demonise the Uni – nothing has been decided, and there could be lots of benefits to a course restructure. Broader courses potentially mean more well-rounded graduates, and having a semblance of order in the way that

The website: review

But as students, we all need to be aware of the potential harm that could be done.

If you’re interested in helping out with the submission, then please take a couple of minutes to go to the website below and fill in the form with your comments (or email me directly). Your suggestions will help to frame the issues that are important to students, and make the submission more representative of the needs of the whole student body.

My email: samuel.deere@student.

for making it this far, the Congratulations 1000 points are yours. Use them wisely.

Proposed UPSRC Restructuring Suggestions:

• No undergraduate courses should be changed to postgraduate courses without the government guaranteeing that they will be Commonwealth Supported Places i.e. that you’ll still be able to defer your course fees to HECS • If courses are moved to a postgraduate level they should be structured so that students taking them still qualify for youth allowance • The new model should not be an excuse to stop offering low-demand courses • The changes should be phased in gradually so that current students at Adelaide Uni are not adversely affected The Adelaide Uni Student Magazine On Dit


current issues

Mental health systems have always been trouble. Being an issue that is hard to understand and easy to hide, people with mental disorders face challenges in everyday life that make an already unbearable situation worse. A recent survey of 371 patients found that 96% often had to choose between medication or food and 42% often don’t get their prescriptions filled, but would rather enjoy the luxury of eating. Accommodation for the mentally ill is being denounced in Victoria and the ACT with people being sent to prison when there aren’t any beds available and schizophrenia patients killing each other completely unsupervised – and don’t think it’s not happening in the other states. The biggest problem is the treatment methods. Rather than sitting on a couch, patients are far more likely to be sent to the chemist. Treatment by drugs is solely addressing the symptoms of mental illness, and being ‘cured’ by pharmaceuticals is extremely unlikely. Then when the issue of dependency arises, the doctor (psychiatrist) will prescribe another legal drug to fight the symptoms of the other drug. Stop-gap solutions all round. 10

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But concentrating on these facts will probably make you want to shoot the boss of mental health in the head as she walks out of an elevator so why don’t we have a less depressing look at the state of mental health? Apparently of all the people with eating disorders, women take the cake – or don’t take it to be exact – with 90% of all sufferers being of the female persuasion. Men think a lot less about what they put in their bodies and as such are twice as likely to have a substance use disorder. They don’t appear to be worried about it though – women are more susceptible to anxiety issues. However, men have better reason to be concerned if they get schizophrenia. The numbers show they’ll have earlier onset, more periods of illness and are less likely to recover. The days of looking back with affection on your formative years also appear to be over. Of all the age groups, the 18 to 24 year old bracket is the most mentally unhealthy and 14% of adolescents aged 4 -17 have a mental health problem or two. At least the stories to our grandchildren about how tough we had it growing up will be slightly more believable.

The thing with mental illnesses though is that they’re only classified as disorders if they have a negative effect on your life. People quite often display all the symptoms of a disorder but nothing’s done unless it doesn’t work for them. The difference between having a healthy libido and being a sex addict is whether you can get any and if not, to what lengths you’ll go for it. According to an inside source, a lot of surgeons have narcissistic personality disorder but it actually helps them – they need to feel like god in order to justify playing with peoples’ lives. The main thing to take from all this is the fact that mental illness is not something to be paranoid about, however strange and scary it seems. When it comes to violence, you should be a lot more worried about a drunk person – the mentally ill are actually far more likely to be the victims of violence rather than the instigators. The mentally ill need to be accepted into this world, not sent into the sky with diamonds or locked in asylums. Because ignoring the problem is just plain mental right?

MOTIVATING JACK by DS Fewtrell and SJ Fargher Have you met Jack? Of course you have – you’re Jack, we’re all Jack. We’re the middle children of history. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our Great War’s a spiritual war... our Great Depression is our lives. We’re lost. We’re a generation blessed with opportunity, potential, and consequently, the burden of choice plagues even the most confident of us. It’s not easy making the great decisions of life the paralysis of choice is weighing responsibility often grips us. It’s not clear how we met Jack or from where he came. The only thing we know is that we need to highlight him for what he is - an annoying Lucy Thorn in our Charlie Brown hide. Nagging at us, weighing us down, and ultimately, distracting us from the big game. So, do you want Jack to continue freeassociating with your precious energy or can we stand up to Jack, and ask the question ‘who the fuck is Jack?’

“I am Jack’s bloated apathy” Screw it… yeah screw it. Why people actually do things isn’t always clear. Why I got out of bed this morning is a debatable, and frankly a rather boring idea. Why you stayed out all night doing low-quality bumps off your friend’s neck is also kind of moot. They’re obvious. Aren’t they? Not necessarily. Sometimes, the simplest things seem to hold no value at all and the most basic or necessary task is onerous. To clean the dirty dishes in the sink, though they are your flatmate’s, and this is the second time today, is to acknowledge in the far reaches of your perverted mind that tomorrow is worth cleaning up for. Tomorrow is a place that’s worth investing. If you hold no hope for tomorrow, your flatmate should hold no hope that you are going to clean his vindaloo-ridden crockery again. In a similar way, for the less self-aware among us, this idea can translate into broader and bigger designs for

existence. We see no need to actually learn during a tutorial because we don’t see it as translating into something larger or more meaningful. It’s just another day that another amorphous mound of information is unveiled, upon which we flail and attempt to create something solid, something real inside us.

“I am Jack’s ambiguous stress” FWOOOOOOOAAAARRRRR hoh hoh


That’s what stress sounds like. Your forehead is hot. Your stomach is grinding, your teeth hurt, you feel like you’re wearing an uncomfortable and unwieldy cowboy hat made of mince meat, and the sweat is unsatisfying leaking out of your pores. Look to your left. Look to your right. You’re that person. You’re the stressed one. Stress can be a good thing. It can drive you to great heights, where you perform over and above what you thought you were capable of, exceeding the ‘loser’ scream [read: Self-doubt] boundaries and the burden of what your Machiavellian cousin made you walk in on that Christmas with your Aunt and Uncle in Bali (Bintang!).

“I am Jack’s crippling self doubt” You’re a fucking loser. Hmm? No one actually said that out loud. Or rather – no one meant it. Your brain screamed it out at you, and maybe you heard it and agreed by nodding your head. The self-loathing squeezing your trachea outward, maybe you heard it and reacted viscerally by retaking the wheel of your brain and screaming “I will not go quietly into the night. Not on St Crispin’s Day!”; Maybe, worst of all, you were sitting there and gorgeousness looked at you, and you smiled, and they didn’t, and the “loser” emanated from your brain box so calmly and effortlessly that you didn’t even realise it was said.

Every time we go to do something (decide whether those shoes are really the shiznickel or just a lame copy of what you saw in Shinjuku last year), we bring to the fore that odd, yet tempting part of your brain that presents as Mr/Ms “I’m part of you so it must be true”. We’re all in varying shades of those filthy utterances, and they change at times but its important to be aware of what your brain is saying, if only to vehemently argue back.

“You are Jack’s staggering potential” So fuck it – you’re in gen Y (not as in Old Yeller - we’re not all going out the back to get shot) with all the potential that comes on the shoulders of previous generations. If you want to lie on a beach then do it. If you want to vomit Polish vodka outside a German consulate in a not-so-silent yet obvious post-war protest then do it. It seems that the only person in charge is you. Yes life is a circus, it’s crazy, and sometimes Jack seems even crazier. And it’s a good thing. It’s supposed to be a tumble-drier existence. The highs, the lows, the falling of empires, and the overall ineffable sweetness. The point remains – it’s you in the driving seat but the number of highs and lows aren’t always in your control. Just remember that Jack will always be there, trying to skew your experience and that makes you human. That’s who Jack is.

The Adelaide Uni Student Magazine On Dit


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District 9 (MA) The simple fact that the aliens in ‘District 9’ do not think to stop over Washington D.C or New York, rather Johannesburg in South Africa, is enough to set Neill Blomkamp’s debut apart from all the other Hollywood films regarding first contact (i.e. Independence Day). The same can be said for the brisk documentary-styled opening act, where talking heads, archive news video and handy cam footage is used to explain how the aliens, malnourished and unable to leave, were evacuated from their mother ship and sent to District 9; an alien concentration camp in the slums of Johannesburg. Fast forward to present day and the agency tasked with controlling their containment, Multi-National United (MNU), set in motion their plans to relocate the alien population to a more secluded refugee camp outside of town.   Tasked with overseeing the operation is a cheery MNU employee named Wikus (a commanding performance from Sharlto Copley). But even Wikus, a seemingly compassionate husband, talks down to the aliens (nicknamed ‘Prawns’) like

★★ ★★ the aliens are framed as the victims. In fact, we care more for these ‘Prawns’ than we ever do for humanity. Wikus is hardly an exception, only showing sympathy once he is sprayed with an alien substance that causes his DNA to mutate, forcing him into exile.

they’re trash, giddily guiding the camera through their derelict shanty town when serving them their eviction notices. It’s here where Blomkamp, a South African himself, greatly alludes to the apartheid, as the aliens can be seen sleeping on beds of newspaper inside shacks made of sheets of tin and cardboard. It’s a novel twist to what we’ve seen countless times before in sci-fi films, as for once,

Yet it’s during the second act that ‘District 9’ loses part of its edge and threatens to become your typical Hollywood film. For one, the engaging documentary structure of the film is mostly cast aside; the interviews suddenly cease to narrate the story, and the once integrated cameraman becomes just another imaginary observer. It’s a shame the screenwriters couldn’t find away to better retain the documentary framework throughout, especially given how remarkably authentic it made the first act feel in comparison to the formulaic hero conclusion. But despite its flaws, ‘District 9’ is still a damn good film, and don’t think I’m telling you otherwise.

Anders Wotzke

The Ugly Truth (M) I could easily make a snider remark about how aptly titled ‘The Ugly Truth’ is, but that’d be almost as unoriginal as the film itself. Whilst I admit there isn’t much room for originality in the romantic comedy genre, given how the outcome must always remain the same, but grocery shopping is arguably a more novel experience than sitting through Robert Luketic’s (‘Legally Blonde’) latest effort. It’s essentially a rehash of ‘Pretty Woman’ with the tongue-in-cheek attitude of ‘Sex and the City’, but has some serious consistency issues when it comes to matching the chemistry of the former or the comedy of the latter. Katherine Heigl stars as TV producer Abby, a snobby workaholic who struggles to find a man that ticks all her unrealistic boxes. When ratings reach an all time low on her breakfast show, the station hires  egotistical womaniser Mike Chadway (Gerard Butler) to run a segment of his popular community TV show called The Ugly Truth. Initially, Abby is repulsed by Mike’s frank analysis of what men really want, arguing that

her dreamy new neighbour Colin (Eric Winter) is proof all his chauvinistic musings are bogus. Yet when Colin gives Abby the cold shoulder, she reluctantly starts to heed Mike’s advice in order to win him over. I needn’t tell you how it ends, as the answer is half the reason why we watch rom-com’s in the first place. We take delight in seeing love find a way in the unlikeliest of scenarios, uniting the unlikeliest of people. Whilst ‘The Ugly Truth’ sure does get the unlikely part right, taking the adage “opposites attract” to a new extreme, it appears Cupid and his bow have gone on vacation. Independently, Heigl and Butler have just enough charisma to keep us interested in their barefaced characterisations, but their chemistry together is so horribly contrived, I’d sooner label Pamela Anderson’s breasts ‘natural’ than I would the development of their onscreen romance.

★★ If I had to guess, the four women who penned ‘The Ugly Truth’ did so out of spite, as they neglect humor to incessantly drive home the point that men are chauvinistic pigs completely incapable of the emotion love. As such, my advice to guys would be to not see this film on a date. She’ll likely enjoy it far more than you will, but once the ‘the ugly truth’ comes out, I’ll be dammed if it doesn’t take a hit on your chances. Anders Wotzke

On Dit The Adelaide Student Magazine 12 Anders, m with Film withUni Anders, Film with Anders, Film with Anders, Film with Anders, Film with Anders, Film with Anders, Film with Anders, Film with Ande

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Adam (M) Relationship struggles in films often centre on a clash of personalities when concerning one thing or another. When it’s hard to pay the rent or falling out of love, couples turn on each other to point the finger and find someone to blame. What Hollywood rarely depicts is the influence of a disorder in a relationship, especially those where social capabilities are limited. Perhaps it fails on their romantic scale, which is strange because there’s certainly enough emotive power to ride that out. If it’s good enough to be ‘It’ writer Diablo Cody’s latest project (with TV’s United States of Tara), then it must have value. Asperger’s Syndrome is the focus in Adam, Hugh Dancy portraying the titular character who struggles to live in a social world. His inability to cope with ‘normal’ interaction increases after his father’s death, while his redundancy at work adds extra pressure in coping with the negativities of life. While support comes from friend Harlan (Frankie Faison), his life turns upside down when he meets new neighbour Beth (Aussie Rose Byrne). The idea of love changing

lives is the oldest cliché in the book, but this film isn’t influenced by the sweepme-off-my-feet ideal. It correctly depicts the truth that love is hard when there are obstacles; to shy away from that would be unrealistic. Director Max Mayer doesn’t glam them up in this adaptation either, with Beth as a frumpily-dressed and gentle being paired with a preppy and excitable Adam. Mayer lets Adam creep along slowly which suits the growth of the characters, but the story never becomes dull. A beautiful soundtrack and varied camera work are aesthetically pleasing, while new plot points are constant in presenting further obstacles. It succeeds in its effect to make you more appreciative of their good moments - which are still awkward but gentle and funny, and it’s relentless in playing around with the ‘happily-everafter’ concept. Dancy slowly develops as Adam to show his emotional growth, while Peter

Anvil! The Story of Anvil (M) If there’s one thing taken from life on this Earth, it’s that some people don’t get the opportunity for a big break. No matter how hard they try. Then there are those that get close, usually on more than one occasion, but just can’t finalise the dream. For one reason or another, the latter would best describe the story of Anvil, the 1980s band that influenced the heavy-metal sounds of Metallica and Motorhead. Never heard of them? Perhaps that’s because they could well be Canada’s unluckiest bunch. But the bitterness is minimal; Sacha Gervasi’s documentary reveals a soft side to a metal exterior. The close relationship between best friends Steve ‘Lips’ Kudlow and Robb Reiner takes centre stage in ‘Anvil! The Story of Anvil’ as cameras follow their every turn over the course of a year. There’s a lot to say about being in a band together for 30 years; their maturing wisdom is shown throughout the film as philosophical in nature. Lips contests his life can’t get any worse than working for a children’s catering company, while Robb turns to painting…

Katina Vangopoulos


for him, a poo in a toilet holds a deeper sense of meaning. ‘Anvil!’ looks to be a mockumentary in the vein of ‘This Is Spinal Tap’, but the comedy comes from its very reality. The doco presents the sombre truth that fame eludes most who seek it, so be prepared for 85 minutes of film that feels so painfully real given most of what happens to Lips and Anvil goes down the shit-hole. Gervasi starts it strongly with footage of their most famous time and high opinions of the ‘demi-Gods of Canadian metal’ from figures such as Guns ‘N’ Roses’ Slash and Metallica’s Lars Ulrich… if these guys can rate them, then what the fuck happened? Lips notably points out he’s been wondering the same thing for the past 30 years. What fascinates is his determination

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Gallagher is effective as his usual hardshell self. Byrne as Beth is an interesting oddity - beautiful and demure even as a ‘spoilt’ only child. Sacrifices for love usually surround lifestyle, but Beth’s experience changes her by alerting her about prejudice and ignorance. This serves for Adam also; he understands more than anyone that fear comes from a lack of understanding.


to keep the dream alive – Anvil released 8 or 9 albums after they fell off the radar. Gervasi, a former Anvil groupie, lets the story do the talking and rarely intrudes. Contrary to most docos which serve as observational features, ‘Anvil!’ lets us in because of the amazingly funny characters - who are all so eccentric that at times the reality does escape you. They take comfort in the knowledge that there’ll always be the dream – but really, it’s all about the music. Katina Vangopoulos

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Oprah (MA15+) If you ever plan on adopting a child, make sure you enquire about the return policy. Maybe if the Coleman family had done that in ‘Orphan’, then neither they nor I would have had to endure through one of the most ridiculous, distasteful and joyless films of the year. Having said that, I do prefer ‘Orphan’ over director Jaume Collet-Serra’s debut film, ‘The House of Wax’. But really, that’s like saying I’d prefer to have cancer over AIDS.

After experiencing the horrors of a miscarriage, Kate Coleman (Verna Farmiga) and her husband John (Peter Sarsgaard) look towards adoption. At the nearby orphanage, they are drawn to a delightfully intelligent young girl named Esther (Isabelle Fuhrman). Over the coming weeks, they welcome Esther into their home, yet her arrival sets of a chain of frightening events, causing Kate to slowly see past her new daughter’s angelic façade. Despite strong performances from all involved, it’s so hard to give a damn about any of these characters given how they tend to make one frustratingly illogical decision after another, just so that the narrative can make an ounce of sense. David Johnson’s screenplay takes the “creepy child” routine to a sickening new level, which is so far removed from the realms of plausibility, it might have actually proved funny if it wasn’t so brazenly immoral. Here we have a 9 year old girl who gleefully bashes a nun to death with a hammer and points a loaded gun at the head of her innocent

It’s 1961, and Dr. Daniel Pokrovsky (Merab Ninidze, with just the right amount of broodishly dark good looks) is a doctor rather high up in the chain of those working to send a man into space safely. He’s haunted by the memory and legacy of his surgeon father, and by 14

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little sister. I struggle to see how anyone can consider that entertainment. Admittedly, the film does feature a twist ending that partly justifies Esther’s inhumane behavior, but it isn’t the least bit rewarding given how f*@#ing stupid it is. Mind you, it’s perhaps the only part of the film that isn’t instantly predictable, as Collet-Serra sees it necessary to blatantly foreshadow everything else worth knowing long before it happens. What this does is effectively nullify the few surprises ‘Orphan’ has to offer, leaving it up to some tired genre clichés to scarcely turn this morally depraved garbage into something resembling a horror film.

Anders Wotzke

★★ ★★

Paper Soldier (M) For those not in the know regarding Soviet cinema, Andrei Tarkovsky can best be described through his constant and spectacular use of long, long tracking shots, of the most balletic nature, mostly devoid of dialogue. ‘Paper Soldier’ however, is not directed by Tarkovsky, but rather Aleksei German. It’s often billed as the Russian ‘Right Stuff’, but ‘Paper Soldier’ is less bravado and gung-ho than balletic, thoughtful and grey. Really, where the similarities start and end is the fact that both films explore the space race between the two superpowers...and it seems fitting that both films seem to exemplify their respective schools of cinema; gung ho, epic Hollywood, and a rather more introspectively self-aware Soviet cinema.

★ 1/2

his increasing inner conflict regarding the human risk of the mission he’s participating in. He’s married to Nina (Chulpan Khamatova), a fellow doctor in Moscow, with whom he might want to divorce, or have a child with. He’s also involved with the young and clingy Vera, (Anastasya Sheveleva) a girl from the flats of Kazakhstan where the Cosmodome resides. They go to parties, get drunk, smoke a lot, talk amongst themselves and over each other. While that may sound lively however, one looking for a riveting character study and constant moments of life and excitement can rethink their game plan very quickly. It does take ‘Paper Soldier’ a leisurely long while for the plot and emotional depth to pick up steam, but it is worth it I assure you, for those who are as enraptured as I was with the exquisite c i n e m a t o g r a p h y. Truly, it is a wonder to behold. All greys and

blacks of the Kazakhstan landscape, interrupted by fires, or a crying mistress, or astronauts remarkably casual before their first flight. A man rides a bike towards the death that had been looming over the entire film, giving it a sense of dread. The movements of the characters are almost balletic within the frame, moving in and out of the camera’s eye, with each shot a compositional triumph.

Reb Mery

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The Cove (M) Imagine if ‘Ocean’s 11’ director Steven Soderbergh teamed up with controversial documentary maker Michael Moore (‘Bowling for Columbine’) to remake ‘Free Willy’.... except with dolphins. The result would look something like ‘The Cove’; an alarming documentary on the brutal dolphin slaughtering trade in Japan. Despite a title that could easily be mistaken for a horror film, ‘The Cove’ is essentially all genres rolled in a single film that yanks away at every emotional string there is. It’s thrilling and chilling, amusing and moving, and if I could think of any other sensations that rhymed, ‘The Cove’ would surely be those as well. So what’s the secret surrounding this picturesque cove in the seemingly quaint fishing village of Taiji, Japan? It’s a dolphin’s worst nightmare according to marine activist Richard O’Barry, who after spending years as the animal trainer on the popular TV show ‘Flipper’, came to realise the highly intelligent mammals were never meant to be kept in captivity. It’s in Taiji that SeaWorld - and most other marine enclosures on the planet - purchase the show dolphins that you will later see flipping through hoops for your entertainment. Yet the dolphins that are forced to work for their food are really the lucky ones. The hundreds that are not picked are taken to a highly guarded inlet around the bend where they are mercilessly culled. Of course, the Japanese Government actively deny it, given no one has any hard evidence to confirm it’s actually happening. It thus becomes O’Barry’s mission to get such evidence, enlisting the help of a crack team of specialists - consisting of deep sea divers, model builders, sound technicians and cameramento help capture the horrific secrets of the cove on camera. You needn’t look past the opening credit, “A film by the Ocean Preservation Society” to notice ‘The Cove’ has a clear-cut agenda it wants us, the viewer, to be a part of. It never comes across as pretentious, but as

you’d expect, it’s hardly an objective film; whilst first-time director Loiue Psihoyos does make an effort to point out that few Japanese citizens are aware the culling occurs, the film practically stamps “EVIL” on the foreheads of the entire Japanese fishing community. Yet ‘The Cove’ argues it’s point so decisively and packs such an emotional punch, it’s near impossible to not want to be a part of the solution, even if that is simply thinking twice before you plan a trip to SeaWorld. The film puts forth the sentiment that “Dolphins are people, too”, where each interviewee does a tremendous job of personifying the marine mammal when talking of their incredible encounters; a deeply remorseful O’Barry explains how Flipper loathed captivity so much, he believes she actually commit suicide in his arms by consciously choosing not to take another breath.


to craft a compelling story out of a the limited footage they often had to physically fend off Japanese fishermen to obtain. Kudos must also be given to Geoffrey Richman in the editing room, who doesn’t merely place talking heads and stock footage into a logical sequence, but tactfully alters the pacing of his cuts when the film takes shape as a realworld spy thriller. Like something out of ‘North by Northwest’, O’Barry’s team of activists are relentlessly tailed and questioned by the Japanese police as they embark on midnight reconnaissance missions to the cove. Their plan of attack is to secretly install cameras disguised as rocks in and around the cove to capture the carnage. It’s highly tense to watch unfold, not only because getting caught could result in a lengthy jail sentence, but because failure might see something far, far worse to occur...absolutely nothing.

While a documentary at heart, ‘The Cove’ traverses so much more terrain thanks to Prsihoyo’s astute ability The Adelaide Uni Student Magazine On Dit


Interview with Shane “Kenny” Jacobson of ‘Charlie & Boots’ Words by Anders Wotzke It’s fitting that AFI award winning actor Shane Jacobson, best known for his performance as the portaloo installer Kenny in the hit 2006 comedy of the same name, modestly labels his career ambitions as “pipe dreams”. Disregarding the fact that the term originally derives from smoking opium in the 19th century, unblocking pipes was always Kenny’s forte.   This helps explain why Jacobson, as he himself attests, has “had quite a few [dreams] come through the pipe lately.” Take, for example, his leading role in the new Aussie film ‘Charlie & Boots’, where Jacobson stars alongside Australian screen icon Paul “Crocodile Dundee” Hogan. As far as ‘pipe dreams’ go, that’s one worth getting the plunger out for. Directed by Dean Murphy (‘Strange Bedfellows’), the film sees Charlie (Hogan) and his estranged son Boots (Jacobson) try and put their differences aside as they embark a road trip across the country to the northernmost tip of Australia, Cape York. But like any road trip, it’s not about the destination, 16

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it’s all about the journey getting there. With Jacobson hitting the road once more to promote ‘Charlie & Boots’, I had the opportunity to talk with the delightfully down-to-earth actor about what attracted him to the Dean Murphy’s screenplay, why he loves the ‘nothingness’ of the Australian outback and the career dreams he hopes are still working their way through the pipe. -ANDERS WOTZKE: When you picked up the script for ‘Charlie & Boots’, at what point did you say to yourself “I want to make this film”? SHANE JACOBSON: Well believe it or not, it actually started before that, in that the tyres were purchased before the car.  Paul [Hogan] and I had both been asked if we wanted to do a film with each other by Dean Murphy, the co-writer and director. Myself and Paul had already met, got along together amazingly and formed an immediate bond. We both said yes, and Dean then said “well I better go and write a script then!”

A script is like a book, in that if you’re halfway through it and you’re not connecting to the characters, or you’re not identifying with it in any way — if it’s not on the page, it’s not on the stage. With the film, there’s comedy, absolutely, but it’s also got a lot of heart. So I was interested in the story, connected with the story, and affected by the story even when I wasn’t laughing. That’s a movie, you know? As opposed to some films, where you endure something that’s not drama and it’s just something happening on the screen in between the funny bits. Whereas with this film, if it’s not being funny it’s being warm, and every one of those moments had flavour. AW: It’s now been 3 years since the phenomenal success of ‘Kenny’, which is a name that’s stuck with you ever since. Do you see ‘Charlie & Boots’ as your chance to show Australia your range as an actor and break that automatic association? SJ: Yeah, I mean I was acting in ‘Kenny’, and the one thing I guess I have to do now is show that I can do other things. When people meet me, they realise I’m not Kenny and that he was a character I played. It’s my job now to change people’s perceptions, it’s not theirs; the reason people think that I’m Kenny

is because they wonderfully took the time to watch it. So it’s now my job to change their perceptions, and you are right, ‘Charlie & Boots’ is a chance to do that. AW: In the film, the characters Charlie and Boots embark on a road trip to the northern most point in Australia. But in reality of course, both you and Paul had to take that very same journey. [SJ: Oh yeah...] Did you get sick of being stuck in a hot car for over 3000 kilometers?

— “gee, I feel like a souvlaki.” They’d say, “Yeah, where do you wanna get that from?” I’d go, “umm, Canberra?” And it felt so good to say we drove from Melbourne to Canberra for a souvlaki! When you’re in a car full of mates, it doesn’t matter where you go, and it doesn’t even matter what you’re going to do when you get there. It’s just about the journey. AW: Was there any where during the shoot that you’d like to return to on an actual holiday?

SJ: Oh no, we never got sick of it. I mean, we were getting paid to travel with 75 people who we all got along well with. There were 35 trucks and cars, so it was a moving circus, with a French caterer, so we were fed well. We also got to see the country. I mean, what do people do when they a bit of money and a bit of time? They go on a road trip for a holiday! We were getting paid to do it, so you know, you can call it a job if you want… [laughs]

SJ: Well I travel quite a lot, so some of it was revisiting places I haven’t seen in ages. But it’s not so much towns, though I had a ball in all of them. The stuff that I really enjoyed was places like the Hay Plains. It’s just so great to go back to areas where there’s so much of nothing, which I think is really something. I love that.

AW: Rather than promoting Australia to an International audience, I get the feeling that the film is promoting Australia to Aussies. Would that be a fair assessment?

SJ: And if they do it’s a desert. If they do, it actually is nothing. But in Australia, it’s those little things where you’ve got one tree that’s coming at you for like five minutes. And then it’s in your rear vision minute for the five minutes after that. That’s fantastic, I love that. So, like a lot of Australians, when people say “why would you drive out there, there’s nothing there.” I go “that’s exactly why we go out there!”

SJ: Well you could word it that way, but as I’m sure you could imagine, when a movie director and writer goes to write a script, they don’t necessarily go “I’m going to make a TV commercial to promote tourism”. That’s a byproduct. Like, if someone writes a movie about space travel, you wouldn’t then ask “I guess you’re trying to tell people to go to outer space.” But it is a byproduct of it, in the same way that children become a byproduct of love. [laughs] There are some great outcomes! Movies do tend to commentate what happens in real life. And while they say “oh it’s a road trip move”, we both know that if you get in a car and leave the city, you’re on a road trip because you’ve got no choice. Everything is 800 kilometers apart! But I’d love  to think people walk out of the movie and say “you know what, I might jump in the car with my dad.” Or have a mate say “yeah, let’s go for a drive! Let’s go fishing off Cape York!” I think Australian’s are great at it; they pick some small little task, and make a road trip out of it. Cause it’s about the journey and not the destination. You might go to a mate — and we used to do it when I was younger

AW: Yeah, not many other countries can offer that anymore…

might be something that I’ll be doing with him early next year on the stage. So at the moment, things couldn’t be going better. But you know, there’s still plenty out people out there that I want to do stuff with; Rachel Griffiths, for one. I did recently audition for a film with Jack Nicholson, Reece Witherspoon, Paul Rudd and Owen Wilson [currently under the working title ‘Untitled James L. Brooks Project’]. But I don’t think I have that part yet. But you know, I’d love to work with all those people! At the moment, I’m going to call those pipe dreams, but as luck would have it, I’ve had quite a few come through the pipe lately! AW: Did Paul, as someone nearing the end of a career you’re just now breaking into, give you any advice about the road ahead? SJ: He said to me, “Just stay real”. That’s what he said, “Just keep your feet on the ground. We haven’t saved a life in our career, but we’ve made ‘em smile, and that’s good enough.” --‘Charlie & Boots’ opens across Australia September 3rd, 2009.

AW: Having now made a film with Paul Hogan, who else in the industry would you love to work with? SJ: Well I’ve been inconceivably blessed in that I’ve already got a chance to perform on stage with Hugh Jackman when he had me get on as Kenny during ‘The Boy From Oz’. Then the next thing I got to do was a film with Bryan Brown (‘Cactus’). I also got a chance to do ‘Guys and Dolls’ with Gary McDonald, who was really the pioneer of doing what we did with ‘Kenny’ with his character Norman Gunston. The next guy in my sights is Geoffrey Rush, and there

Shane Jacobson in Charlie and Boots The Adelaide Uni Student Magazine On Dit


Shane By Sarh Betida “Don’t let ‘em say you ain’t beautiful; they can all get fucked; just stay true to you.”

– Eminem

Chauvinistic antipode to chauvinism—Shane: a lover to men, but lover of the lover— Shane: whose heart is Woman’s purest hymn. Shane: off the streets, swinging off the edge of every timeline, who’s deflected the tactless tapestries of the fashions, philosophies and fates of common instinct— who can’t be captured or crafted in the caves where the sentries hide from the cave itself. Shane in the dark; Shane the rebel; Shane the quiet craftsman, the crafty artist. And finally—quiet now—Shane the secret woman. —Who makes love to me in lofty language, who at times wishes it was more cock’n’balls than that. Shane: wonderfully irrational—as the idea of altruism—when it’s Shane the man of jealousy—the Green Night at three a.m. Shane: man on man in the modern day, who couldn’t come that close to me, but whom I’d never deem anything but beautiful. It’s Shane who informs me I’m “the best friend a girl could find”. Shane is all I’m after in a woman, bar that little detail that Shane’s not actually a woman. And it’s Shane the fantabulous!—the fearful and fearless; Shane the sensitive out of soul or indulgence (it doesn’t matter). —Who wants to weekend it with god, not just whinge to theirs. It’s really Shane the commencement, middle and memory —the Ambitious Story, who thought he caught a glimpse of you, who knows for sure he’s caught the lot of all my attention. 18

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Poetry in Situ II

Goa the scruffy goat By Peach Howey Lenixxh meanwhile, by Lake Surrender,

Poetry again the paddock tapered

there stood a scruffy goat called Goa—all alone in the middle

over hours of time, before a friend of Goa’s,

of a paddock— which had many goat friends staring

now a hair’s length away, spoke quietly:

back at it from the fence line, most looking somewhat thoughtful.

“easy now my friend, easy, it will come to you, let it come.”

as hours went by, the paddock, as it had often done, continued contracting

Goa, who had taken the liberty

and Goa, still at the paddock’s centre,

to listen to the advice, finally came to feel the soft

watched friends be drawn closer, and excitedly so.

brush of a friend’s fur, delicate and delightful, and enjoyed it very much, whole-heartedly in fact.

too eager, scruffy Goa made a dash to greet its goat friends but, as it did, the paddock once more began to this time expand, its friends—helpless—escaping the goat.

these days, you’ll never catch Goa and friends apart, they are all so close, yet with the paddock so contracted now, there may be

the moment Goa, now settled,

other reasons for this, for it’s near impossible to move.

returned to a standstill, the paddock again began to contract, the scruffy goat’s friends edging closer to Goa, again very gradually.

the goat held its nerve, capably, until its friends, calm as ever, were a body-length from it: then Goa made a dash to greet them, and they were pulled away.

flustered, Goa returned to a standstill, and so too did the paddock, green as ever, begin to once more contract, Goa at its centre and feeling most perturbed (but somewhat optimistic).

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Arrr, Music Reviews ‘These Four Walls’ is stunning, and with it, WWPJ have marked themselves out as able songwriters, gifted instrumentalists, and one of Edinburgh’s best bands. Rarely have I heard a debut, and certainly not this year, so adroitly meld poppy optimism with post-punk lamentations. And the thick Scottish accent is great, honestly.

We Were Promised Jetpacks – These Four Walls Was there any ever chance of me not enjoying an album by a band called We Were Promised Jetpacks? I didn’t think so. It’s good fortune then that I didn’t have to play along with the joke, and convince myself that I liked it. I can instead enjoy ‘These Four Walls’ on its own merits, and safely call it one of the best British releases of 2009. The playful nomenclature is at odds with the music: 50 minutes of sweeping, emotive guitar rock reminiscent at once of Scottish peers Mogwai and Frightened Rabbit, two wholly different bands. Yet WWPJ expertly craft a cosehive whole from the disparate elements, cherry-picking from the vastness of the post-rock giants and the vulnerability of their Fat Cat labelmates to produce an intensely emotional album of grand gestures complimented by the thick brogue of lead singer Adam Thompson. On Thompson; his voice and the way he uses it are central to the success of this album, providing a lyrical, angst-ridden and cathartic counterpoint to the music. He bellows as if singing from a mountain (in the Scottish highlands…?), but it’s really how well his voice matches the stirring post-punk songcraft that ensures the quality of ‘These Four Walls’. Of the eleven tracks, the first ten (closer An Almighty Thud is a melancholy acoustic number) all whip themselves up into an exquisite frenzy, often with Thompson (who takes centre stage with gusto) repeating the same exultation, riding it into the ground. In particular the opening It’s Thunder and It’s Lightning, which sets an urgent tone, and sounds as though Thompson is straining to purge himself of all inside of him. 20

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Mateo Szlapek-Sewillo

– the moral content of the lyrics being the only real distinction between the two) with Iron Maiden-esque heavy metal. In fact, as well as being the most obvious musical influence, Iron Maiden’s album art was clearly a precedent for Alestorm’s own cartooned cover designs. The amalgam of these seemingly-disparate musical styles reminds me a lot of Frenzal Rhomb – although with less musical merit and worse singing. I’m not a fan of fantasy-themed metal, and with songs such as ‘Death Before the Mast,’ ‘Keelhauled,’ and the particularly eloquent ‘Wenches and Mead’ (the chorus lyrics of which are: “(Hey, hey!) I want more wenches. (Hey, hey!) More wenches and mead. (Hey, hey!) I want more wenches. Lots of wenches is what I need.”), the music of Alestorm is particularly classy. While I understand that the main attraction of bands such as this is the novelty aspect, the coupling of Alestorm’s pirate-inspired lyrics, with horrible singing, synthesisers and awful triggered, midi-sounding drums is just not a pleasant experience.

Courtney Day


Sails at Midnight: Alestorm

Yes, it seems that sea shanties have become the inspiration for a new wave of metal enthusiasts, “pirate metal” being the most recent addition to the growing number of ‘fantasy-themed’ metal sub-genres. Alestorm, a “power/ folk” band from Scotland, are arguably the most popular exponents of this genre and are self-dubbed as the “kings of True Scottish Pirate Metal.” In 2007, having previously recorded a number of home-studio EPs, Alestorm signed with Napalm Records, an Austrian metal label focused on themed-metal genres: gothic metal, folk metal, viking metal, symphonic metal and, of course, death metal and black metal. Only in Europe could “pirate-metal” be appreciated! Alestorm’s debut album, Captain Morgan’s Revenge, was released in 2008 and a follow-up album titled Black Sails at Midnight was released earlier this year. Alestorm’s music is essentially a fusion of two styles - traditional Irish/ Scottish sailor’s songs (“pirate” and “sailor’s songs” are essentially the same

Future of the Left – Travels With Myself and Others

I don’t know who Rick is, but Andy Falkous, chief antagonist of Future of the Left, seems to. And he’s not happy, giving him an almighty verbal dressingdown on Arming Eritrea, the opening song on the nasty, brutish and short ‘Travels With Myself and Others’. The barrage continues for the album’s entire 37 minutes, Falkous and co turning their ire (of which there is a great deal) towards the obvious targets; religion, all of civil society, and… plastic cutlery?

Some back-story: FotL is a supergroup, the coming together of members of now defunct misanthropes Mclusky and Jarcrew. Last year saw a middling debut, ‘Curses’, which featured occasional brilliance alongside the sounds of a new band grappling with its identity. A year later, hardened by constant touring and the apparently inescapable shittiness of day-to-day existence, came ‘Travels’, a document that once announced FotL as their own band and showed that you can be wry and caustic without sounding anaemic. And noisy. This is not noise rock per se, but instead the unholy union of a punk aesthetic with extremely proficient musicianship. Though it may take more than one listen to distinguish between one blast of incandescent rage from the other, the best cuts are the opening Arming Eritrea, single The Hope That House Built (which after enough listens can become something a respite), closer Lapsed Catholics, and the metal-aping You Need Satan More Than He Needs You, which has an extremely satisfying (if vulgar) coda. But each song has a nugget to make you return, be it a crunchy hook or a memorable turn of phrase. ‘Travels’ doesn’t demand a huge amount from its listeners, nor is it easy listening. It’s instead a thrilling, extremely satisfying detour into a world of a man who’s seen a lot, without liking much of it. A man who should no longer considered the front man for the band who came after Mclusky.

RnB tunes. No I’m not high and crazy, its Matisyahu!”. In 2005 Matisyahu single “King Without A Crown” was a sleeper hit, exposing the previously unknown genre of Hasidic reggae to the world, however briefly. Now its time for Matisyahu second major label release, Light. Musically, Matisyahu branches out significantly more on this new album, lead single ‘One Day’ features more of a R Kelly RnB vibe than his previous work, whilst tracks like ‘So Hi So Lo’ and ‘Motivate’ are driven by Led Zeppelin-esque guitar riffs and drum work. Regardless, the attraction to this music is the unique world view provided via Matisyahu traditional Jewish outlook. The odd piece of Yiddish slang accompanied by the reggae singing style provides interesting listening, but will challenge anyone brought up on a strict diet of top 40 pop. Overall the tone of Light is somewhat triumphant, which is disappointing. The album feels ‘too safe’. Being a Hasidic Jewish musician, surely there is an abundance of controversial topics that can be tackled in a direct fashion, but any references to the middle east or similar topics seem to be water down to a point where the message (if any) is so far in the background it is non-existent. If you are looking for an interesting piece of new music that will confront your understandings and appreciation of music, by all means, pick up a Matisyahu album, but maybe don’t start with Light.

Mateo Szlapek-Sewillo

Matisyahu- Light

is the Australian Idol franchise was Lisa Mitchell. On the show she was just another of those quasi-talented, yet marketable singers, performing her heart out in a naive attempt to win the hearts of the country via her unique voice, and frail demeanour. The only price to pay for Idol success is the selling of your soul to Sony and Channel 10. Luckily for the me (and you), Lisa Mitchell got booted from the show, as voted by the public. Her subsequent evolution as an independent songwriter and performer has triumphantly led to the release of her debut album, Wonder. Innocence, distilled into the pure form of music. The songs on Wonder are far short of groundbreaking, but the essence of purity is so well encapsulated but Mitchell’s whispery voice. The dreaming lyrics, flowing glockenspiel and faint guitars complete the enchantment until you’re sitting right next to Mitchell in the coin laundry. Did I mention she’s really cute? Looks shouldn’t have anything to do with it, but when you close your eyes to tracks like ‘Pirouette’ your transported to sitting on a lofty branch in a tree, swinging your legs over the edge as you sit next to the beautiful girl (or boy) from next door in the refreshing autumn air. While the imagery is solid, and the charm of Mitchell is complete, the album is no masterpiece. At almost an hour long, the weaker songs stand out amongst the gems, but when you hear the joyous rapture of tracks like ‘Neopolitan Dreams’, it isn’t hard to imagine what greater steps our own Lisa Mitchell will make her next album. Also, she’s really cute.

Andrew Auld Andrew Auld

When someone asks you what your listening to this week, the last thing they’d expect you to blurt out is “oh, just some Hasidic Jewish rap, reggae,

Lisa Mitchell- Wonder The last thing anyone expected to be spat out of the corporate machine that The Adelaide Uni Student Magazine On Dit


Sing Us A Song,, A Song of the Sea B

eing a pirate would have been a rather lonely occupation. Nothing to keep you occupied but staving off scurvy and buggering their ship mates on the long rides between plundering, so what is there to do but sing? The Sea Shanty was born out of practical application, as a method synchronise and alleviate boredom amongst workers as they undertook repetitive tasks. “The mate would always say, ‘Come men, can’t any of you sing? Sing now and raise the dead.’ And then some one of them would begin, and if every man’s arms were as much relieved as mine by the song, and he could pull much better as I did, with such a cheering accompaniment, I am sure the song was well worth the breath it expended”, Herman Melville- he of Moby Dick famewrote of the lift in spirit Shanties provided in his novel Redburn. Usually consisting of a call and response between the Shantyman and the crew, Sea Shanties took several forms depending on the type of work they accompanied. For example, work which was quick, but required a lot of effort required a strong pull in each chorus with the emphasis on the last syllable of a line. This particular form is called a Short Drag Shanty: Shantyman: Boney was a warrior, All: Way, hey, ya! Shantyman: A warrior and a terrier, All: Jean-François! The Shanty has been kept alive in recent times in its affinity to punk rock. The Pogues covered the traditional shanty ‘South Australia’, while The Sex Pistols reimagined ‘Friggin’ in the Riggin’’for their “Great Rock ‘n’ Roll Swindle. Recently, Johnny Depp, having developed an interest while shooting Pirates of the Caribbean, helped revive the pirate song with Hal Willner, putting together the compilation “Rogue’s Gallery: Pirate Ballads, Sea Songs and Chanteys”, featuring the likes of Nick Cave, Loundon Wainwright III, John C. Reilly (who can goddamn sing- check out Robert Altman’s Prairie Home Companion), Jarvis Cocker, Brian Ferry, Antony Hegarty and Akron/Family, along with the ever petulant Bono and Sting amongst a cast of others. Another interesting addition to the legacy of the Shanty is Melbourne *ahem*- “psych-folk pirate punk”- band Sforzando. Combining punk with western folk and shanty, as well as recently dabbling in psych-folk, Sforzando attempt to create “a soundscape for the ocean”. You can check them out at or

For more Aussie pirate flavoured goodness, check out now defunct Adelaidians Pharaohs’ nifty tune Keelhaul at http://www. If you’re a salty dog at heart, the International Shanty and Sea Song Association has an Australian branch open to any Shanty Singers/ Groups/Choirs/Musicians and enthusiasts living in Australia/New Zealand interested in preserving shanties. You can get in touch with them at:

J. Swanborough 22

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Foo Fighters, Everlong Nick, 3rd year mechanical engineering Queen, A Kind of Magic Craig, 3rd year finance

Soundtrack to the University By Maureen Robinson As I pass by throngs of students on campus with white earbuds jammed in their skulls, I wonder to myself what Adelaide students are listening to these days. Club anthems? Evangelical radio broadcasts? Mozart? Books on tape? And thus was inspired On Dit’s first survey of music preference. As expected, there was a strong showing of top 40 and rock, and a healthy dose of cross-genre and cultural diversity. Big surprises included the general inability of most respondents to recall a song’s name or artist without checking their iPod, and the high concentration of Engineers in all campus social centres in the early morning. So, Adelaide, what songs are blasting out our eardrums in Winter 2009?

The Killers, Mr. Brightside Alex, 4th year computer science Lily Allen, Not Fair Diory, 4th year software engineering Green Day, 21 grams Tim, 1st year mechanical engineering Hilltop Hoods, Chase That Feeling Matt, 1st year engineering Be’lakor, Desolation of Ares Nathan, 1st year mechanical engineering Passion Pit, The Reeling Alana, 1st year aerospace engineering Jordan Sparks, Battlefield Henry, 1st year civil engineering Taylor Swift, You Belong To Me Hussen, 3rd year accounting Cassie Davis, Differently Mae, 4th year chemical engineering Jason Mraz, I’m Yours Zul, 2nd year chemical engineering The Cat Empire, Sly Chris, 3rd year software engineering Pendulum, Propane Nightmares Matthew, 1st year computer science Pendulum, Propane Nightmares Izzy, 1st year computer science Red Hot Chili Peppers, Californication Jose, masters water resources management Sami Yusuf, Without You Mohamed, 2nd year genetics Michael Jackson, Burn This Disco Down Khoa, 3rd year mechanical engineering Led Zeppelin, Ramble On Adam, 4th year architecture Dizzee Rascal, Bonkers Amanda, 4th year architecture & landscape Children Collide, Social Currency Martin, 3rd year architecture & marketing The Beatles, Blackbird Rebecca, 1st year architecture Rain, I Do Sarah, 1st year architectural engineering None: podcast Matt, 2nd year electrical engineering Matchbox 20, Here We Come Crystal, 1st year corporate finance The Adelaide Uni Student Magazine On Dit


by Lara Francis

Selection Criteria ; Is the pain worth it? 24

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t University we deal with a lot of pain; the pain of SWOTVAC study, the pain of putting up with university political parties and the pain of putting hours of effort into an assignment worth five percent of your overall mark. But none of this compares to the draconian pain associated with addressing selection criteria in a job application. Selection Criteria could easily be compared to ripping your own eyes out with a rusty nail. It is a painful experience that can take hours or even days to complete if done correctly. But as boring and tedious as it may be, addressing the selection criteria is what will get you off Centerlink payments and onto a regular salary. The biggest mistake people make with selection criteria is underestimating its importance. Make no mistake, if you do not address the selection criteria, (including subsection B on page ten) you WILL NOT get the job and your resume WILL end up in the bin. Luckily there is a foolproof formula to get you on the top of the interview pile. 1) STARTING Look over the criteria before you even contemplate addressing it and ask yourself….. • •

Can you meet all of the criteria? Do you have all the necessary qualifications?

If you answered no to either of these questions then it’s time to think again. If the job requires a degree in Bee Keeping and you don’t have one, don’t bother. Be realistic - the selection criteria is there for you as well as the employer. 2) WRITING IT The STAR Model is your guide to selection criteria heaven. Not only will this formula make it easier for you to address each point, it also makes it easier for the employer to skim over. • • • •

Situation- Outline the situation and your role in it. Task- Outline what needed to be done and what obstacles YOU faced. Action- Outline the steps YOU took to complete the task. Results- Outline the outcome of YOUR actions.

3) LENGTH The length of the selection criteria varies depending on what you are applying for. Don’t be afraid to go into detail, half a page to a page is not OTT for each criterion. On the flip side, don’t be afraid to dot point your information either. This can make it easier to digest. Just make sure you; • Don’t repeat yourself or don’t say the same thing twice (try to word it differently) • Answer ALL of the questions and ALL parts of the questions. If there are four questions evilly disguised as one make sure you address each aspect. • Desirable doesn’t mean optional so make sure you address the ‘desirable’ criteria as best you can. 4) REMEMBER • It WILL take a ridiculous amount of time to properly address the selection criteria so set aside at least two weekends to mull it over and make sure it’s right. • We’re all human and spelling and grammar mistakes can happen to teh best of us, so make sure you get someone else to read over it. • Attach it as a separate document to your resume and cover letter • Add in your job reference number, and your name as a header or footer. • Add in page numbers. As unbelievably horrendous as this process may be, it can give you a foot up over the throngs of annoying people competing to get your job. A large majority of people don’t address the selection criteria convincingly, don’t address each point or simply ignore it altogether. So if you take your time and steer clear of rusty nails for a few weeks, I assure you, your resume will end up on the interview pile where it belongs.


British drama Skins is going into its fourth season of reminding the world that high school is the perfect launching pad for sex, drugs, booze and violence. The success of Skins has come as a surprise to the father and son team of Jamie Brittain and Bryan Elsley who started the project in 2006 as a way showing what it was like for Brittain growing up in Bristol. It’s this brutal first hand account of the lives and issues of the British teenagers that has given Skins the cult following it enjoys today. Far removed from shows like Neighbours and Home and Away where alcohol isn’t mentioned, drugs are the only used by hardened criminals and all teen sex results in pregnancy; Skins impiously throws these things at their audience.

What gives the show this balance is its organic roots. The characters are based on kids Brittian went to school with just three years earlier. He openly admits that a lot of the people in the show are more or less recreations of his or his little sister’s friends. He also muses that he modelled the character of Sid around his teenage self, only to see the character become far more popular than he ever was.

words by Lincoln Rothall Going along with the ethos of “about youth, for youth, by youth” is the makeup of the writing team, which is mostly writers in their early twenties that Brittain and Elsely have plucked from London’s theatre scene. Each show follows one of the nine main characters as they work through their own issues, often while also getting completely munted. Likewise each show is written by a different member of the team, allowing them to connect and develop the depth of their character by adding many of the confusing and frustrating complexities that make teenagers, just that; confusing and frustrating. “Each writer is pretty much allowed to write whatever they want” said Brittain in a recent interview. “We have a lot of people coming through our youngwriters’ groups who in the first year were just there to help us out, give us stories or tell us if we were crap. But now they’re writing scripts”. This seems to be winning formula, with the drug fuelled teenage sexfest hooking audiences around the world. Skins averaged over one million viewers per show in the UK alone during for their breakout season. The show is now being exported across the world with the writers confirming an American version is in the planning stages. There are also rumours of the Skins franchise being sent to Spain (Las Pieles?) and Romania (De Peile?). But it seems a lot of people don’t really like the way the youth of today are describing themselves. It became a weekly ritual in the UK for bloggers and journalists to express their collective disgust at each week’s episode. British tabloid the Daily Mail had a particularly enthusiastic campaign against the show, at its finest point describing it as a “grotesque parody of modern teenage youth.”

But like the rebellious teenagers most of them are (or were just a few short years ago) the Skins team have continued to push the boundaries. The controversy of season two started before the show even went to air after posters promoting by showing an orgy were banned in the UK and New Zealand. Season three, which saw the prostitution and organised crime enter the scripts, also had parts of its advertising campaign reviewed because they were too violent. Critics of the show were given their strongest ammunition in April 2007 when a group a British school kids recreated the show just a little bit too well. Most of the house parties in the show generally result in the characters showing up uninvited and trashing the house. So when English School girl from Durham City wrote an open invite on her MySpace page saying ‘ME N BEX HOSTYIN SKIN PARTY’ she got exactly that. Over 200 people came from as far a field as London to dutifully re-enact the show. The Party goers caused over 20,000 pounds (About $40,000 AUD) damage by burning carpet, ripping down walls and urinating on the mother’s wedding dress. Eventually seven police patrols were needed to chase off the crashers. It’s as shame that so much of the attention Skins attracts is because of its controversial themes. The show defiantly deserves kudos for not shying away from engaging the issues that a lot of teenagers are growing up around, even if they are sensationalised. But if I wanted to see a bunch of messed up teenagers I could just start crashing High School parties; Skins stands solidly on its own two feet as a drama. Unlike most team dramas the dialogue isn’t contrived, the characters are exceptionally developed and most of all its just good fun to watch.

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Shiver me Timbers

(there is so much work to do!!) Feel like uni is making you want to walk the plank? Put aside your assignment stress and go in search of these treasures… -Ainsley Campbell


.J O’Brien’s: Lovely if you like kitschy Irish wares hanging from the walls and ceiling, Guinness and Khe San on a Saturday evening. The dance floor is small and if you suffer from asthma it is advisable you stay away from the smoke machines that go off quicker than Hussein Bolt in a 100 m sprint.


sobar: Hot tip – just walk straight past (I needed a bar that started with I)

ocket: Loot and Plunder get their groupies moving every week on a relatively new Thursday night called 8 bit Kidz. Rocket charge 10 dollars to get through the doors, but if you’re after 1st rate tunes, Rocket (on Hindley) marks the spot. rcher: This historic pub is situated on O’Connell Street in North Adelaide. It features an upstairs and downstairs bar, beer garden and balcony for Archer goers to sip their beverages on. The age of the crowd ranges from twenty-something to a little younger than the average RSL clientele.

T ++ +

he Grand: Situated at the end of Jetty Road in Glenelg, The Grand has been pumping Sunday nights for years. There are a few reasons I rate this joint. . There is always a turnout despite it being a Sunday, the crowd is generally not too feral , drinks are not too expensive and , you can take a break from trendy hardcore house and indulge in copious amounts of commercial dance and classic party tunes.



lectric light hotel: At the parkland end of Grenfell street, the Electric Light Hotel has been a favourite of many a uni student over the years. It boasts a salivating live music line-up, talented D.J’s and a relaxed atmosphere every week. The lavishly decorated cocktail bar rivals any other pooncey establishment in town and offers a large selection of local beers. This is my kind of treasure.


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Op Shop Review The Spare Room, Main St. Myponga

There’s not that much to Myponga. There’s a tree in a massive pot, a market where you can buy the standard jam-magnet-pet-rock fete crap and the ultimate (yes ultimate) bric-a-brac op shop. Generally it is a down point for an op shop to have just two teensy clothing racks. For this store, however, I’m going to say that the lack of clothing is a John Candy sized plus. Reason being: it allows for more kitsch ceramic space. A friend of mine (with an unnatural fondness for Tupperware) insisted on browsing this laundry-sized store until well after closing time. And you can. You can because there are so many nooks filled with yesteryear homewares.

This store stocks/has stocked vintage: Tupperware, flying wall ducks, type writers, squirrel salt and pepper shakers, ceramic horses, tea cups adorned with those Inspector Rex dogs that look like Richard Gere and…ah I could go on. But I wont. Ladies (and ladily clothed gents): you can also get plenty of retro earrings, necklaces and brooches so crass that they will make you the envy of all the ladies (well, the ones who still have their eyesight) at your local R.S.L. And if you’re lucky (and quick), you may still be able to get the retro oatmeal coloured phone that was in the shop last week.

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Café Babylon

short story by ben adams

It was a hot evening in March, in the midst of a record heat wave, and we were driving west towards the ocean and the setting sun. We were going to watch a gig at the Babylon, a café-bar on the Henley Beach esplanade, right near the water. In the rear-view mirror I could see the hills, all green and golden and soft in the evening light. It would be cooler there, I thought. The city was waiting for its latestaying summer to finally break. “What time do they start?” I asked “Eight,” she said. “But it doesn’t matter. They’ll be playing all night.” It was almost eight and at least thirty-

smooth and glowing from the light. I put

We got to the table and stood close

my hand on her leg as we drove and she put hers over the top and glanced at me from behind the dark lenses.

to it. Rosie had taken off her sunglasses as we entered the bar and now she placed them on the table. She was leaning forward on her elbows, looking

I wondered what she saw. Her eyes were hidden but I could see her lips and I wondered if that was enough. I wondered if you could love a person without seeing inside them. I squeezed her thigh and she arched slightly and slipped down a little in the passenger seat. She kept looking straight ahead though, and after a while I returned my fingers to the steering wheel. The windows were rolled down and the car’s engine strained in the heat and straight ahead was the road and the setting sun.

two degrees.

“I need a drink,” I said.

it was very crowded. There was a wooden deck out the front where you

“I need to be out of the heat,” she said. “I hate it. Summer is God’s way of playing a joke at my expense.” “And telling summer to work overtime is the punch-line?” “Exactly.” Rosie was wearing shorts and a tee shirt and sunglasses against the orange glare. The skin of her legs and arms was

When we got to the Babylon

could smoke and look out at the ocean and inside there was the small stage and the bar and there were people standing and sitting everywhere. All the proper tables were taken but there were several smaller, high tables without seats that you could stand around and rest your drinks on. One of these was free and we walked to it through the crowd. I kept my fingers touched to Rosie’s back.

at nothing in particular. I didn’t know what to say much anymore. A lot of the time I didn’t feel much, either. But I still felt something when I looked at her leaning over like that. Her hair was pulled back, so you could see the line of her neck clearly, and the curve of her breast under the tee shirt and then her hips and thighs below that. It felt like she was really there. Manifest. But I guess you could feel the same thing by looking at just about anybody. If you really looked at them, that is. But it was some thing to really look at a person. It took a long time to see what was there. Sometimes you never did. I asked her if she wanted a drink. “Sure,” she said, with the same unfocused expression. The band was beginning to play as I made my way to the bar. Couples stood by the stage, pressing together. I had trouble imagining what they might say to each other when the


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music went quiet. I ordered two ciders at the bar and brought them back to the table. They were beading condensation in the hot room. I looked at Rosie as I approached and then stood next to her as I set the drinks down. I wrapped my arm low around her and let my hand rest on her hip, the fingers spreading down across her thigh. The music made it natural not to speak. It seemed like that was it, the sum total of things. Filling in the gaps between words. Finding ways to make the silence meaningful. The band played louder and Rosie leaned into me, letting my arm draw closer around her. With my other hand I tilted the cider to my lips and drank.

My thoughts drifted with the music, and came back only occasionally to Rosie’s body against my arm. Two fresh bottles of cider stood on the table. It was almost ten o’clock and the band was completing their first set. Much of the crowd began drifting outside, filling up the patio deck and lighting cigarettes on the street below. Rosie and I stood for a while longer,

drinking. “Let’s go outside,” she said. “It’ll be cooler.” I finished my bottle, and we went. The street lamps and the headlights of passing cars threw a soft, mottled glow against our faces and there was a salty breeze. I could hear the ocean, faintly. I lit a cigarette and Rosie ran her fingers back through her hair, facing the breeze. “This is better.” “Yeah,” I said. “I think maybe a change is coming.”

two sodium lights. My hand slipped down, and her cheek brushed against mine. “Here?” “Yes.” “I think—“ “I know,” she said, quiet and clear. “But that doesn’t matter now.” The feeling rose up. It had turned around, somehow, but for the moment it was strong again. We went on. There was only her breathing, heavy, and the crashing of the waves, and the stillness. Then it was over. The crowd outside the Babylon had begun to move back inside with the sounds of the band re-tuning. The footpath of the esplanade was almost empty again.

Across the road from the café was the parking lot. We walked to it and looked out. The duco of the parked cars glistened in the soft light. The waves crashed steadily across the sand below us and I dropped my cigarette, grinding it out on the asphalt. Rosie stood with the sweat drying at her temples in the cool air. Her shirt clung tight and I reached my hand to her waist, leaning in. She moved her arm to my shoulder as we kissed. It rested there, heavy, and something shifted. We leaned up against the railing of the parking lot in the shadow between

“Should we go back inside?” “I think I’m too tired,” she said. “And it’s still too hot.” “Yeah.” “Did you want to stay?” “No, I think I’m tired too.” “Okay.” We went straight to the car and opened the doors. The heat trapped inside radiated out, dispersing into the cooler night. As we pulled out onto the road the lights of the Babylon shone to one side and the beach and ocean were dark on the other. I drove for a while along the esplanade before turning east, away from the sea. Rosie looked from her open window at the quiet city rolling past. My hands rested heavy on the wheel, and ahead was the shadowy road and the cool, dark shape of the hills in the distance.

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Angus Clarke

A shadowy figure stole silently along the street, into the lush front garden and around behind the garage. A grim ensemble of a grey beanie, black denim jeans and brown leather gloves rendered him a perfectly camouflaged creature of the night. His movements were stealthy, his pace quick. The tinkle of breaking glass might have been heard from across the street, or was it just the wind? Anyone who happened to be awake at the unseemly hour would not have thought twice about it. Having now gained entry to the house, the anonymous figure proceeded into the living room and up the stairs, as planned. Atop the stairs, a black Persian stirred slightly in its sleep as a polished shoe brushed its fur. The cat would be the only one to witness the mysterious figure that night. Ahead of him, a corridor stretched. The bedroom door was second on the left. The floorboards creaked ominously as the figure’s weight shifted on his heels. The door opened. A female figure slept peacefully beneath the goose feather quilt. Slowly and calmly, the figure drew his silenced pistol…

Mr. Powell had regretted the decision ever since he had made it. Now, he paced his study in an agonised stupor of indecision. His office suit, which he still wore despite the fact that it was two in the morning, was drenched at the armpits. Mr. Powell did not hate his wife - cold, calculating, grasping bitch though she was. He was just desperate. Desperate in a pathetic, cowardly way, or so he kept telling himself. The issue of alimony, like a ravenous and predatory beast, threatened to entirely consume his existence. Unfortunately for Cynthia, Mr. Powell enjoyed his life as it was, thank you very much - with loving children and enough money to satisfy his needs and wants. But an assassin? Hell, he had paid the guy more than his own lawyer! The idea was that once he had paid the former, he would not require the latter. He would be able to care for his own children, be able to keep his own money and not have a worry in the world. Except, perhaps, for an excruciatingly guilty conscience that would require constant repression for the remainder of his life.

For Mr. Powell, the night had been a seemingly eternal crisis of conscience. His heart threatened to drown him in a sea of guilt and self-reproach, while his mind was the life jacket of cold, hard logic. Mr. Powell had to think of his own life - his children were as much his as hers, and besides, the assassin had already been paid about twelve thousand dollars. It would be a professional job, Mr. Powell had been assured. It would look like suicide. How would his children react, though? Would they notice him behaving strangely after their mother’s death? Could pre-adolescents perceive guilt? How would people react to him at the funeral? What if he was suspected of Cynthia’s death? Mr. Powell bit his lip and seriously contemplated tearing his hair out, though this contemplation only triggered another round of torturous mental questions. It would be a suspiciously unpleasant coincidence for his hair to unnaturally disappear so soon after his wife’s death. On the other hand, would it be simply be construed as a natural reaction to the stress of death? Mr. Powell’s anguish deepened… 30

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Back at the house of Cynthia Powell, née Cynthia Lauren, the anonymous figure had nearly finished his macabre task. Blood soaked through the pillows and sheets, malevolent red staining pure white, while the acrid sulphurous tinge of gunpowder gradually dissipated. The dead woman’s fingertips were being pressed onto the pistol’s trigger and grip. Everything was in order. Almost. That was when the phone rang.

Mr. Powell, who had recently decided against the concept of short-term baldness, had also convinced himself that it was not too late to save his wife from death’s trigger-holding fingers. As he circled the room and glanced at the luminous display of the study’s digital clock, he realised that the assassin would be exactly where he should be. If Mr. Powell was quick, he could call the whole thing off. Definitely. Without a doubt. Everything would be all right. He could survive with less money. He could even survive seeing his children only once a fortnight. To hell with the money already spent on the assassin! Mr. Powell grabbed the phone, almost crushing it in what could be described as a death grip, and punched in the number to Cynthia’s house.

For the first time that night, the mysterious figure had his own crisis of conscience. The phone was ringing, and with every ring it was coming closer to activating the answering machine. The figure, who was not an unintelligent man, knew that any voice recording left after the time of the woman’s death had the potential to be incriminating. In much the same manner as Mr. Powell, he grabbed the phone, which did crush in his grip. He spat three words into the receiver, before slamming it down again and disconnecting the line.

“Sorry, wrong number.”

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literature section with alicia moraw

Pandora in the Congo Document Z By Andrew Croome It’s Canberra, 1951, and Vladimir and Evdokia Petrov have just arrived at the Soviet Embassy based in Canberra. Both work for the MVD, Moscow Intelligence. But all is not well, the Embassy in Canberra is filled with a tense and suspicious atmosphere. The Russian ambassador is no friend to the Petrovs and is conspiring behind their backs to have Vladimir disgraced and sent away. Not to mention that ASIO is determined to locate the spies within this new group of arrivals. Three years after their arrival Vladimir has defected and his wife Evdokia is held prisoner for his crimes and about to be deported to Russia to take his punishment.

This is a thrilling tale based on a true story, filled with political intrigue as well as human emotion. I have always been fascinated with this period of history, especially with the Petrov affair. Croome brings this case to life, and although this is only loosely based on the actual defection of Vladimir Petrov, it still offers excitement and adventure. This was the winner of the 2008 Australian /Vogel Literary Award for an unpublished manuscript. This novel brings to life that period in Australian history where ordinary life hid the struggles of espionage agents trying to uphold the ideals of Stalin’s Russia, while still living in a capitalist society. Document Z brings Canberra in the 1950s alive for the readers as well as building on an interesting period in Australian history. 32

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By Albert Sánchez Piñol I was looking for something adventurous and action packed, but not in the blockbuster way of many action thrillers nowadays. So I went the historical route. Set in Britain on the cusp of World War 1 and a young man is commissioned to write the thrilling story of a man on trial for the murder of his two employers over in Africa. It is hoped that the publication of this story will acquit the British manservant of the murder charges. I thought that this was going to be an easy, uncomplicated read, very enthralling, but not complicated in any way, however, I was WRONG! The cover makes one think it is harkening back to the days of old, but it is a prime example of don’t judge a book but its cover. It may look like it should come with The Dangerous Book For Boys, but the novel develops into a book in the science fiction genre. The subject of the novel has the potential to lead the writer into postcolonial politics, but as this author is not from Britain or a Commonwealth country, he sticks far away. Rather, elements of anthropology can be seen in his observations which are intriguing as Piñol draws on his experience as an anthropologist to draw parallels between his fictional characters and the colonial powers of yesteryear. It is very difficult to see that that this is a translated version of the novel. Mara Faye Lethem has done and excellent job of translating from Catalan. The words flow, with nary a hint of stiltedness that can be found in some translated works. A highly enjoyable novel, recommended to those who want an intriguing adventure with a dash of science fiction and a highly imaginative story.

Pride and Prejudice & Zombies By Jane Austen & Seth Grahame-Smith I was given this by a friend who dislikes all the classics, citing them as boring or dull. I was extremely cautious about reading this as I really do enjoy all of Jane Austen’s novels and didn’t know whether I would like this parody of one of my favourite books. However, I decided to take the plunge and see whether it lived up to the hype from someone who disliked Pride and Prejudice. A mysterious plague has fallen upon the English village of Meryton, home to the Bennet family. Their dead are rising and coming after them to eat their brains. The Bennet sisters are torn between their parents, with Mr Bennet training them to be fearsome warriors to defeat the Zombies and Mrs Bennet conspiring to marry them off to wealthy suitors. The traditional heroine of the story, Elizabeth Bennet is determined to wipe out all of the horrifying Zombies, but upon the arrival of the Bingleys and a certain arrogant Mr Darcy, she and her four sisters are distracted from their mission to rid the English countryside of flesh eating monsters. Will all end well or will Elizabeth lose Darcy to the Zombies? I was quite surprised by this book. It works extremely well to have Elizabeth Bennet and her sisters being Zombie battling warriors. The dialogue is quite witty as well as fast paced. The story moves along quickly and doesn’t lose any momentum when the scenes in the original are brought in to ensure the story’s continuity to the original. It is hilarious and a highly recommended novel to all who love the classic Pride and Prejudice and who have a sense of humour.

Liquid Gold By James Phelan Lachlan Fox, investigative journalist, ex-Navy clearance diver and a graduate of the ADFA is hoping to expose the story of the decade. In this third big blockbuster novel in his Lachlan Fox series, James Phelan has brought another action packed, Matthew Reilley-esque story to his fans.

Phelan’s hero has uncovered a plot threatening to put one of the world’s most precious resources at risk. Working as an investigative journalist for an independent news source, Fox is on the hunt after discovering something is not right in India and Pakistan. He discovers that someone is after a natural resource which could be the key to gaining power in the future. It is water, which in a world plagued with the impact of global warming, it is promising to be to the world what oil was in the past century and one man is planning to control it, which may cause one big problem and could result in war. Along with his best friend Alistair Gammaldi, he must expose the plot to the world without being eliminated...

As an ex-politics student, it is always interesting to read books which take into account the current political situations or future political possibilities and this is exactly what is being done in this novel. This is an entirely plausible possibility; however, one can’t help but see the similarity of this plot with that of the plot of Quantum of Solace, the Bond film. Regardless, this is a sharp and fast paced action novel, jumping from scene to scene, enthralling the reader and demanding that the novel continue being read.

The Adelaide Uni Student Magazine On Dit


e e c in


with Anna

Eye-Eye* Cap’n! by Lauren Watkins


elcome, me hearties, t’ the science o’ pirates. You may be wantin’ t’ sport an eyepatch in honour o’ pirates this September, but do you know why us scurvy dogs wore them? Read on, and my trusty parrot an’ I will enlight’n ye. Let’s say you’re on the deck of your trusty pirate ship. It’s a lovely day; a brisk sea breeze flaps the Jolly Roger, and carries the delightful scent of your unwashed pirate brethren. As captain, you decide the day could only be improved by a midmorning bottle of rum. You head below deck to fetch said rum, but can’t see a thing in the dark. While stumbling around, you get a really bad splinter, and die soon after of tetanus. Alas, your untimely death could have been averted if you had remembered to wear your trust eyepatch!

Here’s how – the eye has two different types of cells which make up the retina, used for sensing light. The ‘cone’ cells are located centrally and allow you to see colour and fine detail. The ‘rod’ cells are located on the periphery; they can’t see colours or fine detail, but they have a much higher sensitivity to light than the cone cells, being entirely responsible for vision in lowlight conditions.

Both rod and cone cells use chemicals called photopigments to sense light. When light hits the photopigments, they undergo a chemical reaction which changes the energy carried by light to an electrical nerve impulse. This impulse travels to the brain, telling it about what you’re looking at. Strong light causes photopigments to be decomposed, and the eye needs to make new pigment to readapt to dim light. 34

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An eye fully ‘dark adapted’ has this regeneration of photopigment completed, and the retina is at maximum sensitivity to light. Cone cells can complete dark adaption in 5-7 minutes, but rod cells (which are the ones sensitive to really low light) can take up to 45 minutes of total darkness to be fully adapted. So theoretically, you should come off the deck of the ship and wait for several minutes before you go in search of rum. But I appreciate you’re an impatient pirate, so I have some good news for you... An eyepatch can be used to keep one eye dark adapted at all times. You’re blocking out the bright sun when you’re on deck, so the photopigments are not being decomposed in the retinal cells. When you head into the dark, you simply remove the eyepatch, and make a beeline for the rum. Never say science didn’t help you have a good time! If you’re a particularly responsible pirate, you could also use your dark adapted eye to quickly check maps, fire your cannons at less awesome pirates, or fetch your trusty parrot a snack. The proposed use for eyepatches to keep an eye dark adapted was tested by our favourite pseudoscientists, the Mythbusters, in their episode 71 ‘Pirate Special’. Jamie and Adam completed an obstacle course in a dark room after being out in the sun for a half-hour, and then repeated it (though rearranged) after wearing an eyepatch in the sun and using that dark-adapted eye to see. They both took a fraction of the time on the second attempt, and reported that there was a considerable difference between how well they could see. They deemed the myth ‘plausible’, as there’s no historical evidence actually stating why pirates wore eyepatches. Personally, I deem it awesome. *pun by Eds, fully intended, no quarter given and none anticipated.

A Real Man’s Racquet Sport by Angus Chisholm


f you’ll permit me to get a bit self indulgent for a moment, I’d like to explain how, in a roundabout way, I ended up writing this column. Up until a few years ago I sort of had a passive relationship towards sport. I was aware of its presence, a Port Adelaide fan who attended many games but apart from that I only enjoyed the odd sporting event and certainly wasn’t as sports mad as some of my peers, though I was always fascinated when I was younger by those rare sporting spectacles like the Olympics and the FIFA World Cup. At school, playing sport was mandatory but, overweight and apathetic, I had no real interest in the sports I played (for the record: soccer and badminton, a real man’s racquet sport). The seeds of change in my outlook to sport were sown on a holiday to London, post-year 12 exams. My sister lived and indeed still lives there and her boyfriend arranged to take us to a football match at Highbury, the home of Arsenal Football Club. In a way it sort of changed my perception of spectator sports, or showed me how glorious it can be. AFL often lacks atmosphere, no doubt a result of the large size of the seldom full stadia as mandated by the size of the playing field. Cricket by the nature of the sport isn’t prone to especially raucous crowds. Highbury had a reputation for being a quiet ground relative to some of the other cauldrons of fanatical support in England but I was blown away all the same. Not just by the atmosphere, packed to the rafters with genuinely passionate singing breaking out in various corners of the ground, but by the stadium itself. Located in the north London suburb which it was named after, Highbury sat perfectly between tightly packed residences and greeted its willing audience with a magnificent Art-Deco facade dating from the 1930s. An impromptu tour on foot around the outside of the ground involving some fence jumping to get to our gate gave me an appreciation for just how unique the place was. Adelaide Oval has something of a reputation for being quaint and idiosyncratic but Highbury, on the one occasion that I visited, was really something else.

The match was a Carling Cup semi-final against Wigan. It’s the least important competition in England involving top-flight teams but one looked upon fondly by Arsenal supporters for various reasons. The finer details of the match escape me as I was busy absorbing my surroundings and taking photos, but I do remember that Thierry Henry scored a header - a rarity - and that Robin van Persie scored a wonderful free kick which can be seen in numerous YouTube compilations. Jason Roberts scored late for Wigan making the score 2-1 and the Wigan fans in the adjacent stand started shouting to a pack of newly miserable, longtime Arsenal fans and a bemused, nascent Australian Arsenal fan ‘who are ya?!’ over and over again. I didn’t quite understand why until it was explained to me that this was the second leg of the semi-final and that Wigan had won on the away goals rule with the score at 2-2. I’m writing about this event because things came rather full circle the other day when I returned to North London. Highbury has since been sadly demolished and is in the process of becoming a fully fledged property development while the club have moved to their glorious new Emirates Stadium (or Ashburton Grove for purists). I was there, with my sister and her boyfriend again, for two pre-season games played over two days as part of the moneyspinning Emirates Cup. Hardly the most significant games but a great opportunity to see the hugely impressive new stadium and the players enjoy themselves in a stress-free environment.

The day we were first sat in the upper tier behind one of the corner flags, the view from everywhere in the ground seems to be hugely impressive. There’s a view from up above where you can appreciate the game in a way you just can’t on television. On the second day, though - enlivened by the exuberant travelling Glasgow Rangers fans who used the event as an excuse for a weekend pissup in London - we were sat alongside the pitch on the third row. It’s there you get a certain appreciation that ultimately, you’re just watching a bunch of men kicking a ball around. The rather ordinary foreground is complimented by a relatively spectacular background of about 50,000 fans watching it all. It’s true for any professional sport and something that perhaps we don’t think about as often as we might. The first day I saw Arsenal live started a domino effect that I can’t quite explain that’s seen me become interested in a variety of sports and the impact that sport has on the world at large, and revisiting them reminded me of that. That’s not a bad impact for a bunch of men kicking a ball around to have.

by Angus Chisholm

The Arsenal clock, one of the many features of Highbury instigated by ‘the great innovator’ Herbert Chapman, originally providing supporters with a 45 minute count down. The Adelaide Uni Student Magazine On Dit



with lily & christian

Swashbucklers be awesome thar be nay doubt about ‘t. But scurvy be nay awesome, bein’ a shipmate’s plank a doom. Why I write about this ere disease that be a direct result from a deficiency o’ vitamin C, ye ortin’ ta ask? ‘t can prove fatal, ‘member yer mother told ye t’ eat all ye fruits an’ vegetables else ye braggart turn into a scurvy dog… Aye, rum be a favourit’ of buccaneers an’ thar be lots o’ types o’ rum, th’ best bein’ from th’ Caribbean. In th’ good old days th’ swashbucklers would be swillin’ away from the’r barrels, a couple o’ burly wenches by the’r side. Garr. O’ ye landlubbin’ Australians take Bundy as a favorite. Other types be far tasteri an’ satisfyin’, but this one be cheaper. So, when ye be at a keg shop next, raid ‘t wi’ many a sword an’ “arrrr” an’ pick up some good stuff on th’ way. Somethin’ from Mount Gay or Cockspur Rums ortin’ ta do ‘t an’ ‘t might e’en help ye pair up wi’ a wee lass. Ya scallywag who ortin’ t’ be keel hauled! In Adelaide now, there have been a number of cases of scurvy being reported. Pirates are coming back? I hear you say. Well no, actually. A few dentists around Adelaide have reported scurvy in women in their early 20s, especially those from disadvantaged areas. With maccas or KFC for treats and a high rate of processed food consumption straight off the supermarket shelves, completely bypassing anything remotely fresh, it is little wonder. So kids, when stocking up on your migoreng, make sure you throw an orange in there too. Orange an’ Rum Cake (to avoid scurvy) ½ cup. Chopped walnuts 1 Box Instant Cake Mix 1 wee box instant vanilla puddin’ 4 eggs ½ cup Vegetable Oil ½ cup Water ½ cup Rum 1 Orange, Zested (reserve ½ o’ th’ orange)

Glaze: 1/2 cup butter 1 cup Sugar ¼ cup water ¼ cup Rum ½ Orange, squeezed

Ya horn swollgin’ scallywag, quick, preheat o’en t’ 180 C. Grease th’ bottom o’ a pa. Sprinkle walnuts an’ orange zest in th’ bottom o’ th’ pan, or it is a short walk on the plank wi’ ye. Place cake mix, puddin’, eggs, oil, water an’ rum in a large bowl an’ mix. Take a swig o’ rum. Pour mix into cake pan an’ bake in o’en fer 1 hour. Preparin’ glaze: combine all glaze ingredients ‘ceptin’ rum in a saucepan an’ brin’ t’ a boil. Take a swig o’ rum. Remove from th’ heat an’ add th’ rum an’ squeeze th’ juice from th’ ½ o’ th’ Orange that be reserved. Take a swig o’ rum. When th’ cake be done, remove from th’ o’en an’ pierce thoroughly wi’ a toothpick like a good buccanneer. Take a swig o’ rum. Immediately pour glaze o’er th’ top. Cool completely before removin’ th’ cake from th’ pan. Fer best taste allow th’ cake t’ sit fer a tide or so, ya lily livered bilge rat! The best Pirates around these days seem to be the Somalians, so, to get in the head-space of a modernday pirate, try some Muufo Baraawe 2 cups of semolina 1/4 cup plain flour 1 tablespoon sugar 1 teaspoon onion powder 1 clove garlic, minced 1/2 teaspoon active dry yeast 1 1/4 cup lukewarm water Salt to taste Combine all the ingredients (except water). Add the water and knead to make to a dough. Cover the bowl tightly, put it in a warm place for 6 hours until the dough doubles; work the dough gently with your hands. Cover and let it rise again. Preheat oven to 200 Celcius. When the dough has risen the second time, pick about half a handful with wet fingers and drop them on an oiled baking pan, spacing them 2 - 3 inches apart. Cover the pan tightly with alfoil and put it in the lower rack of the oven for about 15 minutes or until the bottom side of the muufo is golden in color, flip the muufo over and bake for 3 to 4 minutes more. 36

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letter to the (sub) editor. The author of Ditlicious, Lily (Lilith?), has been feeding you her bitter and poisonous fruit by slandering the ES, rather than bothering to discuss food at all in her section. I ask for her immediate resignation as editor of this section for causing such offence. Dear, troubled girl, it is time for us to assist you in maturing your relationship with God through understanding and applying the Bible in your daily life. The corruption within your heart is boundless in its fury and while you harbour wicked thoughts, there is no chance of redemption. We can help you to be judged worthy by God and remove your sentence of condemnation to Hell. It is time for you to see Jesus as your saviour, as the Lord of the whole of creation, of all social and political realms, rulers and structures in all nations. The Bible is a great opportunity for a better humanity. I draw your attention to the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew 5, the Ten Commandment in Exodus, and Jesus’ two commands to 1) Love God and 2) Love your neighbour. Can you do any better than that for humanity? Therefore, let everyone that is out of Christ, now awake and fly from the wrath to come. We hold weekly meetings during semester at 1pm on Tuesdays and Wednesdays at the Union Cinema.

Let us pray for those, who live in the Darkness that they shall see Light Let us pray for those, who know not the Power of God that they shall know God

Cheryl Jones

The Adelaide Uni Student Magazine On Dit



On Dit The Adelaide Uni Student Magazine

The History of Corsetry by Kate Bird T

he wearing of corsets, designed to flatten the stomach, pull in the waist and hoist the breasts, dates back to the Middle Ages in societies across the globe, and is often considered the origin of our fixation on, and the beauty we associate with, the hourglass figure, as well as the origin of fetishes for tiny waists and large breasts. In the 1830s in England, the corset, generally constructed from heavy canvas and reinforced with whale bone and steel, was thought of as a medical necessity. It was believed that a woman was very fragile, and needed assistance from some form of stay to hold her up. Tight lacing was considered virtuous - a loose corset was probably a sign of a loose woman.

elastic undergarments. While there was a resurgence of corsetry after WW2, thanks to designers like Christian Dior popularising wide shoulders and extremely narrow waists with the skirted-suit look, the conception of the mini skirt and the development of tights in the late sixties brought about the end of traditional corsetry and sales totally collapsed – until finally, god love the eighties, corsets found their way into fashion as outwear thanks to Madonna and the sexy, glittery, bondage-esque and ultra-modern corsets she sported onstage, on TV, and, of course, in Sex, her infamously limp attempt to revive her career with some old fashion soft core - very soft, in fact - pornography (although this came a little later and is a different story altogether). Corsets were back, and today, from the world of hautecouture, to the Japanesespawned Gothic Lolita craze, to glamorous bridal corsetry, to clubs and pubs all around the world, corsets can be seen adorning women of all shapes and sizes.

The most widespread use of corsets was in the 19th century. Contrary to common belief, almost all women of every class wore corsets in those times. Working-class women (except when dressed for special occasions) did not go through the discomfort Ready-made corsets of wearing tightly laced corsets. are generally available They wore looser corsets and simpler in a range of satin, silks, clothes, with less weight. The higher up in class mesh, brocade and lace and a lady was, the more confining her clothes were. are, obviously, a whole lot more Gradually, corsets became tighter and tighter, comfy and breathable than their Victorian and European women throughout the Victorian counterparts – labels like Lip Service, Stop era suffered deformed internal organs as a Staring!, Pleasure State, What Katie Did result of continuously wearing the restrictive and Alannah Hill make stunning corsets, garments; it was impossible to draw deep both with and without steel boning. Along breath, in or out of a corset, and many women with corsets came the return to other forms were unable to sit or stand for any length of of ‘vintage’ and pin-up style intimate wear time without the aid of a corset by the time – garters, suspender belts, high-waisted they were teenagers. briefs, girdles and Basques have all found Fashion changed dramatically after the their way back into mainstream fashion. emancipation of women, and the popularity The revival of the corset in contemporary of corsets died out in the 1920s and 1930s high fashion, and its transformation from when a more boyish and less curvaceous an item of underwear to outerwear is look for women took over the fashion seen by many as the re-conception of world, mainly due to the flapper and the corset as a symbol of rebellion and sexual freedom movements, and the female sexual empowerment, rather corset was pushed aside in favour of than oppression and restriction.

The Adelaide Uni Student Magazine On Dit



Yet Another Christian Hypocrite Last issue, pro-choice, pro-gaymarriage, “progressive Christian”, Raffaele Piccolo, heralded: “I am a Christian, and guess what I believe that abortion should be legal, that same sex couples should have equal rights, that they should be allowed to marry, that the death penalty is immoral in all circumstances… To be Christian, to have a religious belief, need not necessarily invoke images of conservatism, intolerance, homophobia, and the list goes on.” It may seem fair to ignore the Judeo/ Christian bibles’ explicit condemnation of abortion, homosexuality, or its endorsement of slavery, given that modern civilization runs on the principles of democracy, personal freedom and liberty. But slavery and abortion aren’t really directly mentioned in the New Testament - the Old Testament and Torah aren’t really relevant to the modern “progressive Christian”. The idea of one god started with the Torah. The Torah declared that this one god is all loving, merciful, yet vengeful – like a 40

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drunk Republican at Christmas. The Torah also makes repugnant claims on all sorts of antiquated ‘ethical’ matters – male foreskin anyone? But the Old Testament, followed by its successive best seller, the sexier, New Testament, gave us: hell, devil(s), immaculate cum, the resurrection and all manner of mythical/ miraculous/ misogynistic rhetoric. Surely then, if the “progressive Christian” disregards the various scriptural passages that condemns homosexuality in the New Testament, or abortion in the Old, than it follows that one should also question the very ideas of god(s) and an afterlife. But surely hard-line religious orthodoxy is to blame for the heinous ‘misinterpretations’ of the holy texts? The “progressive religious’” selective adoption of canons from the ‘holy’ texts that they deem still relevant (e.g. a ‘personal god’), further ensures hypocrisy, distortion and absurdity. At least the hard-liners don’t discriminate which texts they utilize for grounds to discriminate. So





religious followers take the holy texts’ monotheistic and afterlife canons as givens, but disregard most biblical stories as nothing more than poetic metaphors or quasi-moralistic allegories? Of course it depends on one’s nature/ nurture situation. Plus, heaven sounds pretty sweet! It’s just a shame that the monotheistic god couldn’t speak Aboriginal dialects or Quechuan (Incan), providing separate anecdotal corroboration of ‘his’ omnipresence. Raffaele argues, “So next time somebody says that they are a Christian, and thus must be against gay marriage or abortion, do not be afraid to question them. He might have a point that Christians face stigma from rational persons’ perceptions of the religious’ revel for mythical dogma, but I am glad to watch religion’s reign of control, anti-rationalism, anti-intellectualism and fear-mongering unravel like the metaphorical altar boy’s ecclesiastical robe. Jarrod Fitch

Itchy Trigger Finger

In the shadowy alcove of a Melbourne gentlemen’s club, Mr. Rudd and Mr. Hawke – yard glass and lemon lime bitters in hands, talk life, politics and polling.

“Well Bob, who could ask for a better run?” begins the youthful leader, enjoying a swig from his oversized beer glass. “Malcolm’s shown that he’s about as discreet as Senator Heffernan’s one-finger salute to Ms. Wong, the people are pleased by our perfectly polled policies, I’ve got half my trigger and it’s been raining! I hate to say check, mate, but, ruddy hell, life’s not too bad.” Kevin’s school-boyish glee is noticed by the passing waitress Bubbles, who directs an insinuating wink to the primed minister. “Ahh. Err, careful Kevin not to count your chickens before they’ve come home to roost. I almost ate my proverbial gun when the Australia Card went arse up,” cautions the Bordertown politico, sipping from his subtle citrus blend. “Fuck Bob, there is, simply, no need for your cynicism, denoting a backlash shitstorm. I’ve left a few battery hens in the shed just in case the other mob throws some curve balls at my short and curlies. The iridescent glaze over Kevin’s eyes again catches the attention of Bubbles, who slips a crinkled lobster in the PM’s breast pocket. “Well, you may be right, or left to be right, but just be wary of Greeks bearing gifts,” adds the cautious senior. “Xenophon is small, fried chicken feed, Hawkey, compared to that clucking mad

Fielding. Besides, the other mob are opening their own can of worms, stuffing themselves and eating their own brand of conserved humble pie. The former and in-form PMs wet their whistling whistles while admiring the pole positioning on stage, reflecting on their own party’s polling position. “So would you pull the trigger Kev, or do you just enjoy watching the fishes floundering?

“I’ll put it to you like this Bob: Malcolm’s been bitten, but he’s not shy. I’ll have a shy if I can get a good look at all three stumps. Re-election, domination and Turnbull’s abdication.” “I don’t think abdication is in Malcolm’s lexicon”, points out the silver haired larrikin. “But it’s better to be spoiled for choice than to chase the spoils.” “Fuck Bob, what the shit are you talking about? You sound like the verbose pompous ranting of a university student newspaper’s over-ambitious sub-editor. Now, let’s just enjoy the show while we’re here,” argues the gleaming top dog. The odd couple sits, smiling, as a familiar face wanders over to their secluded booth. “You own me one Kevin,” says the smug punter. “I set it up, he knocked it down - you keep the crown. The Labor lads respond in unison at the apparently pleased pundit, “Shut up Peter, no-one likes know-it-all.” Jarrod Fitch The Adelaide Uni Student Magazine On Dit


eDITcationNow. Keen Advertiser readers (anyone?) will no doubt have noticed the new EducationNow liftout on Tuesdays. The liftout focuses on not just schools, but also universities – that’s right – On Dit has competition. In an effort to stem this discomforting development, On Dit is responding in the only logical way – by selling out. As such, we are proud to present our very own News Ltd-ified EducationNow page.


One of Adelaide’s greatest heroes is undoubtedly the world-famous philanthropist Rupert Murdoch. Rupert, or ‘Rupie’ as he is affectionately known to the Australian public, founded the News Limited charity organisation as part of his life-long noble crusade to make life easier for all Australians. For most of his life, Rupie has been working tirelessly to make decisionmaking and opinion-forming easier for the everyday Australian. It may be difficult for the younger generation to understand, but many years ago, newspapers were all owned by different people. Of course, this ridiculous, untenable state of affairs meant that different ideological perspectives would be given voice to in different newspapers. Ordinary Australians would pick up one newspaper and read that, for example, the Vietnam War was bad, and then pick up another and read that the War was good. Understandably, this caused considerable confusion and bewilderment amongst the general 42

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public as to what the truth of the matter actually was. However, thanks to Rupie’s efforts in this field, there are now very few competing versions of the truth remaining. In SA, for example, Rupie owns almost every level of

media available to us, including The Australian, The Advertiser and even the little old Messenger. Furthermore, he also runs Foxtel, The Wall Street Journal and many, many other media outlets. This media revolution has made understanding the news a much less troublesome task for all of us. For instance, if it wasn’t for Rupie, we

might never have fought the Iraq War, or incarcerated innocent children from war-torn nations for years on end! But thanks to Rupie’s media revolution, we knew for certain that invading Iraq was the right thing to do, and that refugees are evil. In years gone by we would have instead been bogged down in stultifying inaction, sometimes referred to as ‘public debate’. Of course, Rupie’s media revolution is not yet complete. Some non-News Ltd print media continue to stubbornly exist, spouting their non-uniform, confusing, inefficient, unhelpful differences of opinion. On Dit comes to mind, as does the Independent Weekly, as well as several subversive school newsletters. But no matter! Rupie has done so much good for our community, it is difficult to believe that he will not one day win his final victory over indecision and confusion by generously accommodating such rebellious publications into his wonderful News Ltd organisation.

.... Use this classroom resource to educate your pupils about the media and the dangers involved with this medium. Possible questions for discussion/classroom activities after reading this article:


1. List some of the problems with having multiple sources of news, all with different perspectives. 2. Despite loving us all dearly, Rupie actually had to leave Adelaide eventually, to go and live and work for the good of us all in the USA. Write a poem expressing your sense of loss at this revelation. 3. Although he lives overseas, Rupie sometimes comes here to give lectures on important topics such as ‘education’, ‘the economy’ and ‘the Internet’ in exchange for money so that he can feed his family and fund his noble campaign. Why should we care what Rupie has to say on these subjects, despite having no training or experience in any of these fields?

4. Apart from saving the teacher the bother of preparing original lessons, list some of the many advantages of using ‘educational resources’ straight out of a partisan tabloid.

MSG2U! Some say we here at News Ltd are out of touch with today’s youth, but that couldn’t be further from the truth! We have our finger on the very pulse of youth culture and know that young people like text-messaging, or, as we like to call it, ‘txting’! So send in your ‘msgs’ to your uni ‘peeps’ and we’ll publish them for the world to see! So get txting - whether it’s saddeningly desperate anonymous declarations of love to some girl in your lecture who you’ve never spoken to, or… well that’s pretty much all this forum is every used for actually… hey educationnow, my attempts 2 woo females via this page have so far been spectacularly unsuccessful. r u sure u should be encouraging this creepy practice? pete C. hey dean, i can tell from the sensuous way u take property law notes that we r a perfect couple. come talk to me sometime. helen. hi educationnow, i thought ur txt msg forum was the perfect way 2 proposition girls in a conveniently cowardly fashion. however, using pseudonyms like ‘blue eyes’, while saving me from public humiliation, also comes with the downside of the object of my affections not actually knowing who i am. How do u suggest i solve this prob? regards, brown hair hi all secret society members. remember, meeting tonight – meet at the trapdoor underneath the rug in the barr smith reading room. X. The Adelaide Uni Student Magazine On Dit


Mike rann, ‘cause there’s no way the bloody public transport system would’ve gotten him anywhere on time! R

ecent financial and environmental developments throughout the SA government have forced Premier Rann to give up his personal chauffeur driven car, leaving him floundering like a Torrens’ carp in a sea of mud. Initially disheartened by the news, the Premier quickly regained his composure, remembered his stance on black balloons of CO2 and promptly declared it, “the best thing to happen since John Olsen’s resignation.”

The move has been widely supported by most lobby groups, though some of the harder to please ones, notably the Greens, have declined to support the move until an alternative form of transport is announced. “It’s all well and good for people to suggest that the Premier will run to work every day,” an unemployed Greens voter said, “But we all know it will never happen, how could he possibly keep his hair so slick when running through the 40 degree heat?”


On Dit The Adelaide Uni Student Magazine

Media Mike, known as such for his ability to extend the duration of press conferences to inordinate lengths of time through unusually slow talking, has already identified and ruled out several alternative forms of transport to get him to work.

“Originally I had organised to car pool with former Road Safety Minister Tom Koutsantonis,” Rann began, “but decided against it when I realised that my life was too important to put at such risk. Then I seriously considered buying a motorcycle,” he continued, “until my pal Mal let me know that he’d be forced to arrest me and my cabinet for congregating as a gang under the name ‘Labor’ in our bikie fortress of parliament house...”

Rann, who came to power in 2002, was reportedly extremely disappointed that the Collins class submarines, which he had nothing to do with commissioning, would not be available to give him a lift to work. “I would’ve been happy to walk a few hundred metres from the Torrens to the houses of parliament, but apparently only one of those damn submarines was working at the time, and it was required to defend our nation’s shores,” Rann bitterly recalled, “I guess it’s not like there’s enough water in the Torrens for a submarine anyway.”

With Lance Armstrong not returning Rann’s calls regarding a planned ‘Ride to Work’ day, public transport commuters have called for the Premier to try taking the bus to work once in a while, to experience the desperate need for an improvement in public transport conditions and efficiency. A Victorian turned South Australian commuter commented that, “SA public transport is utterly atrocious compared to its Victorian counterpart. It’s no wonder Adelaide is considered a backwater compared to Melbourne.” Adelaideans, however, stood by their city; after lynching the criticiser a mob retorted in unison with, “At least Sam Newman doesn’t live here!” When asked if transport minister Pat Conlon was actually a corpse being moved about by puppeteer strings Premier Rann declined to comment.

After it was evident all other alternatives for getting to work had been exhausted, the Premier has decided to just stop going to work all together. The decision has been heralded as a brilliant one, even by the inner Labor party. A prominent Labor MP has been quoted as saying, “With Isobel ‘Don’t fucking swear’ Redmond leading the opposition into the next election, the Premier doesn’t

really need to bother coming into work at all,” he explained, “since he’ll be going into the next election relatively unopposed anyway.” Sam Hatwell

DISCLAIMER: To avoid civil litigation instigated by the Premier (he’s done it before!) it should be noted that quotes may have been slightly embellished. This is because Premier Rann quotes have a limit of 140 characters.

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Global Piracy

by Greg Taylor I

s the United States a powerful nation, valiantly protecting global utilitarianism under the red white and blue banner of the righteous? Or is it in fact a pirate of global proportions, as it attempts to rule the seven seas, feeding its greed for power and dominance with whatever it pleases, and manipulating the world to its capitalistic will? If you’ve read any of my previous articles there should be no illusion as to the option I might lean towards. In actuality I would plant my flag somewhere in between the two extremes. Below however I will give you a glimpse of why it so often seems that beneath the star-spangled banner lays the skull and crossbones of global piracy. Before doing so I shall first explain what I mean by the United States, for there are surely millions of good-hearted people in America who have not earned the moniker that I am about to drape over them. However, as a nation to be categorised, it fares poorly. It is the home of all things consumerism, and it spews forth its assimilating message of mindless

spending and apathy around the globe. A staggering one third of all American citizens are obese, an indicator of a nation based on greed and capitalism. But it is not the citizenry that is at fault. It is the American political arena that is dominated by market capitalism that I label the global pirate. It is this combination of politics, power and greed that sent the world to war to preserve American interests, while it masked its true intentions with false virtue. It is this United States, that tried to fool the world with its flag of deception, that is the enemy of the very freedom that it claims to protect. I write of course about the so called ‘War On Terror’, a phrase that instantly conjures images of a confused looking president at a lectern, pretending to run a country, in office under dubious circumstances. The ‘War on Terror’ was a prelude, albeit a costly one, to the primary target; the second Gulf war. This war was not a war on terror, nor was it a war for the people of Iraq. It was an economic war, a capitalists war. The alleged master- mind of 9/11 was apparently hiding in Afghanistan, yet within hours of the New York attacks, Iraq and Saddam Hussein had been thrown into the rhetoric of patriotic speeches and pro-war propaganda. Iraq and Saddam; a strategic nightmare for a nation who’s military might is based on oil for its mobility. The United States, as pirates will do, spied their bounty and took it by force. They lied to our faces about weapons of mass destruction, to strike fear into our hearts, and to fly the flag of justice straight into Baghdad. Such is their cunning that we and many other countries followed. Why does the United States hold this obsession with military might, and the preservation of their power?

For the same reason that they are now entering into a cold war with socialism, and the same reason that China is earmarked as the next great threat to socalled democracy and freedom. Americas dominating power applies if the rest of the world is open to free-market capitalism, and free market capitalism can be continuously applied if America has power. It is an effect of continuous flow. If the US fails to dominate the global economic stage, their might is lost, and vice-versa. The neo-cons and the neo-libs, and those in power from the middle to the right, simply cannot allow this to happen. The result is a combination of military might with hidden agendas. Piracy. So how does socialism affect the United States, and why would they oppose it? America simply cannot afford the global impact of an economic system adverse to capitalism or a values system adverse to consumerism, lest they lose controlling power over the globe and the rich no longer get richer. If, for example, socialist driven ALBA was to succeed, it would create an entire region of the world that the US has no control over, no financial interest in, and therefore no political domain. And all this right on their doorstep. Bolivarianism preaches state-led trade, equal wealth distribution, and active democratic participation. The United States preaches market-led trade which expands the gap between rich and poor, and a lifestyle of consumerism that keeps everyone enslaved to the dollar. The “threat” of ALBA is why the United States is still the only state in the region to not condemn the coup in Honduras*. Dictators may come and go, and the United States may use force to topple them under a veil of global security (or not, in the case of Darfur (where China owns rights to the oil)). But the American ship in the distance is not as it seems. Pirates keep their intentions hidden, and we should never be assured that the involvement of the United States, or lack thereof, is to do only good. Their true agenda will always be power and gain, and the continuation of the capitalist empire. *See


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Communism Deluxe – eye patch and hook included by Tristan Adams F or too long communists have been besmirching the good name of capitalism by parroting the message that it is piracy. It is time to set the record straight, because I don’t like pirates, and capitalism isn’t piracy - communism is.

First, a caveat - Piracy encourages competition, and as a capitalist I like competition, that’s essentially the point of capitalism. Because competition spurs advancement, piracy can be good in some ways, but mostly piracy is bad and it comes down to those most delinquent, repugnant, and capitalistic rights of the individual - specifically property rights, where an individual’s goods, ideas or efforts are recognized as belonging to them. Piracy is theft. People don’t like having their goods or ideas stolen - it is a disheartening experience and makes people wonder why they bothered at all. And therein lies the rub, especially in this age of intellectual property theft. I like good TV, movies, music, and lifesaving drugs. I have to wonder if the creative and inventive, the people who have the great ideas decide they’d rather be flipping burgers than making the things listed above, because at least in the burger shop they get paid for the job they do. Flipping burgers is a gross overstatement, I’m sure these people could find higher paying jobs, but I doubt they’d be as creative as they are now. Communism is akin to piracy in that neither has much respect for the rights of the individual. Communist governments steal privately built and owned organizations under the guise of nationalization, as well as robbing the everyday efforts of the worker.

Communism too tries hard to crush creativity. Imagine what would happen if everybody in the world was paid the same no matter what they did. Actually don’t, because Marx wasn’t dumb enough to suggest this; he wanted everybody to get paid according to their needs. Giving a single man the same wage as a father of 10 would create some serious problems. So let’s assume people are paid what they need, not what they deserve, just like communism suggests.

I’m not a fan of slavers and pirates kept slaves - to work, given the bare minimum to survive, and had no option of escape except death. You know, that definition of slavery fits the populations of communist economies quite well - no capitalist nation has ever had to build a wall to keep their people in. Obviously lacking in carrot, both communists and pirates did occasionally manage to motivate their slaves using the stick. Pirates used death and torture. The USSR had the Gulag.

There you are, you’re a worker in an office block getting paid peanuts. You don’t work because you enjoy it - nobody does - but you enjoy time with your wife and kids, your hobbies, and holidays at the beach. You go to work for the same reason everybody else does - because without it you couldn’t have anything else either. Everyone in the building gets paid the same amount, no matter how much effort they actually put in, so you see Bob in the next cubicle sleeping seven hours of his eight hour shift, and he still gets paid. So what are you going to do? Are you going to work your arse off for a job you hate, or just sleep and get paid all the same? It is an interesting scenario and its essence can be extended across every profession. While you personally might continue to work your arse off for jack shit, the 170 million odd people of the USSR I would take the second option. That is the biggest problem with communism - people are individuals who need incentives, we need to be individually rewarded for what we do. Suggesting humans act otherwise reveals a distinct lack of empathy and human understanding. A much more blatant comparison between psychopathic communists and pirates would be the millions and millions of people mercilessly killed under communist rule.

Communists can wax lyrical about socially derived desires with the TV telling people what they want, and a million other clichéd excuses as too why people would rather be capitalist sheep than free thinking socialists and communists, but it comes down to a couple of simple facts. People like to own things and to be individually rewarded for their work. They’re conditions built into our very genes and psyches, and they are conditions that every communist movement, some with total control of society and TV, has been unable to crush despite racking up huge collateral damages in their attempts. Capitalists aren’t pirates. We don’t steal and we don’t enslave. We reward people for their efforts, we give them real incentives to do better, and everybody profits because of it. Capitalism has succeeded. Communism has failed.

The prototypical pirates, the ‘shiver me timbers’ type, were really quite unpleasant. If I had to find describe them in a word it would be psychopathic. They lacked respect for other humans and had no empathy or understanding for their fellow man. They also had a habit of rampaging. Destroying all in their path, especially anything individual or creative, just because they liked to see things crushed.

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Avast, Vox Pop!! Shiver me timbers, pirates ye say? Think peg-legs and lots of rum, the Captain Morgan style perhaps? Think of cummerbunds and cutlasses and a vocab of arr’s, ye’s and matey’s. Everyone has a bit of pirate flair, maybe even a swearing pet parrot. So have a shot at ye pirate questions, nothing to lose but maybe a piece o-eight or maybe ye trip to Davy Jones’ Locker..? Arr.. ugh..gosh.

Maddi (r) & Crew 1. Her majesty of the sea 2. Diamonds and pearls, a girl’s best friend of course! 3. My favourite person (awww..) 4. Ha..if I didn’t do my chores.. 5. Vodka 6. Wallaroo 7. Crazy Boaties


1. Long Jess Silver 2. Donald Trump’s credit card, ar! 3. a telescope and a tube of sunscreen- no one likes a sunburnt pirate :) 4. are too pirate-licious for the rest of the crew (Ed: ha! You’ve got my vote!) 5. midori- fave liquor pirate or not! 6. never never land with captain hook and smee, mihearty! 7. hot (but slightly smelly) rebels

Gemma B.

1. MC Pirate, comin’ at you from the seven seas! 2. A whole lot of Cheese (Ed: mmm…) 3. Dr Who collection and Beer 4. I’m generally incompentant…so I’d probably fall off the plank. 5. Just beer 6. Port Tortuga (FYI: spelling and explanation of the Port, think Pirates of the Caribbean by random friend with pirate knowledge) 7. Murderers and Nerds (Ed: Nerds?) Yeah the copyright kind.


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1. Pirate monkey-pants 2. Grog, Wenches, and pizza and gold, actually screw the gold, I’ve got the others! 3. A boat (Ed: but you’re stranded) oh then…grog and wenches. Hopefully there’ll be pizza trees 4. Stolen the Captain’s grog and slept with his daughter, one might had led to the other 5. Free or stolen. 6. Skull stone… it’ an inside joke. 7. Hot rebels…

Rules of Engagement


1. ARRR fishy mickky 2. lifetime supply of farmers ice coffee 3. fishing rod, beer and a few girls would be good (said in cheeky smile) 4. smashed the captains rum 5. gruppa or something potent 6. port adelaide 7. crazy boaties

1. Ye pirate name would be? 2. What’s ye ideal loot and booty? 3. Stranded on a desert island, what 2 things would ye take? 4. Ye’d mostly have to walk the plank because ye.? 5. Ye favourite liquor be? 6. If ye be a pirate, which be ye favourite port of call? 7. Pirates, hot rebels or crazy boaties?


1. Sooty Pearson 2. Yarr, Scabbards and Swords, 3. My ball Wilson for company and a killer pair of budgee smugglers (ahem... this sounds slightly familiar - Cap’n Ashleigh) 4. drank all the Captain Morgan’s Rum (see below), aaargh!. 5. Captain Morgan’s Original Spiced Rum, 6. Robe, that place needs a shake up! 7. Crazy Boaties!

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Social Fumbling; Wardrobe Malfunction C

ostume parties are an intriguing world of social etiquette and creativity and you can tell a lot about a person by what they wear to a costume party. Most people put in a decent amount of effort, even the most obscure and erudite of themes bringing some genius out of the woodwork - when Steph first met Ditlicious subbie Lily Hirsch at a costume party, dressed as an apple-core! Then there are the douche-bags. The douchebags who use costume parties to try and look as cool as humanly possible. These people are easily spotted: Males of the group will be dressed as The Crow or Captain jack Sparrow, said costume most likely rented at great expense; Females will be dressed like sluts, but with animal ears and whiskers drawn on their faces in Chanel makeup that costs more than I earn in a weekend of overtime. The awesomeness of costume parties comes from seeing what people cobble together from what they could find lying around their house the day before and a quick nip down to the nearest discount warehouse. Shells from washing baskets, clouds from stuffed fitted sheets and lampshade hats all make costume parties a beautiful thing. Now and again however comes along a themed party with potentially terrible repercussions. Like the work Christmas party, some people may not get out reputation intact. This is a story about our Dead Celebrity party. Dead Celebrity seems like a great theme. It allows people to be creative and really get into a character, rather than just being another oddly dressed weirdo in someone’s kitchen, however the stipulation that they be passed on is a double-edged sword. On one hand it keeps the theme tight and the characters easily recognizable – no one wants to spend the night explaining their conceptual outfit– but its hinging on pop culture can be a tricky subject i.e. is it too soon? When can the death of a once living individual be safely mocked, even with the most harmless of intentions?

I’m glad to say we had a Michael Jackson, but no Heath Ledgers. Why is Jackson safe? I suppose his ballyhoo media-circus life gives us free rein to join in on the fun. Ledger however was a tragic loss of a charismatic star. I originally thought of going as JFK, due in part to his parodies in Clone High(1) and Brad Neely(2) and in part to the newly developed theme of going ‘as they died’, ie with a gaping exit wound on the back or front of my head, depending whether I was going Book Depository or Grassy Knoll, but I changed my costume last minute in the face of something I could not pass up - a couple costume. Adolf Hitler and Eva Braun. Friend and bartender Nina came up with the idea. It was too good to say no to. That’s not to say we didn’t have our reservations. We might not be Prince harry, but we had a fair idea that a great deal of people might take great offense to this, our lives ruined forever and we’d have to runaway to Mexico – its okay, Nina went to Mexico once and said it’s quite nice.

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Facebook is always the final nail in the coffin, evidence of your Coyote Uglies and Wardrobe Malfunctions popping up on the feeds of bosses, aunties and study buddies. I have to say that we somehow not only got away with it - we were hailed as politically incorrect heroes. So there you go – it’s never too soon.

Getting your hair cut like Hitler without saying ‘Hitler’ is pretty damn hard. Ironically, it got nothing but compliments! Finding an adequate shade of brown shirt was easy enough, Hard Yakka doing a nice line in various shades of khaki. Swastika armbands are made at home, in secret. We even bought a beanie pet Alsatian – our ‘Blondie’. An eyeliner pencil for the moustache and I perturbed even myself. Emerging from my room into the party was brilliant. Unawares housemates exclaimed how I’d outdone myself. People looked shocked and terrified, then laughed and congratulated the sheer balls of our costuming. I strutted and Nina petted Blondie proudly. Then from another room I saw something that made my heart leap in joy. Another Hitler! We weren’t the only irreverent bastards at the party. Someone was even overheard asking if it was weird that they found two Hitlers dancing hot.

(1) A now defunct animated series about a highschool made up of clones of famous people including Abraham Lincoln, JFK and Ghandi. (2), check out Professor Brothers while you’re there too.


Things got a little shaky when I nipped out to the 24/7 to get toilet paper with Tom aka Steve Irwin. Being blind drunk – Irwin behind the wheel – I forgot I was in full Hitler regalia until I caught myself in a dairy mirror. And saw Tom, dressed in khaki shirt and shorts like some cabin boy Hitler Jugend. With no explanation or excuses we paid for the toilet paper and left unhindered. I actually think it saved me from being bashed by the meth-head wiggers behind me in the queue. At some point Sylvia Plath crawled into our oven too.

Too soon, still?

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Bot tle o’ ” m u R 52

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On Dit - 7.10 - Pirate Edition  

On Dit - 7.10 - Pirate Edition