Published by State Council on Behalf of the Tasmania University Union (henceforth â€œthe publishersâ€?) The opinions expressed herein are not those of the Togatus staff or the publishers. The copyright in each piece of work remains with the contributor. However, the publishers reserve the right to reproduce material on the Togatus website (togatus.com.au). Togatus staff: Editor-in-Chief: April Cuison Print Editor: Maddie Burrows Digital Editor: April McLennan Assistant Editors: Bethany Green, Ella Carrington Administration Officer: Stephanie Morrison Marketing & Distribution Officer: Zoey Dwyer Copy editors: Joe Brady, Nathan Hennessy Togatus contributors: Aimee Butler, Amina McCauley, Andrew Grey, Callum J Jones, Cameron Phillips, ClaireLouise McCann, Clark Cooley, Connor Munnings, Courtney Slater, Dominic Davies, Elise Sweeney, Emma Skalicky, Emi Doi, Erin Cooper, Dan Prichard, Dan Probert, James Kitto, Jamie Sands, Joel Calliss, Joey Crawford, Kasey Wilkins, Liam Salter, Logan Linkston, Mackenzie Stolp, Michelle Moran, Monte Bovill, Nikita McGuire, Nikita Riseley, Sandon Lowe, Steph Palmer, Zoe Douglas, Zoe Stott Togatus welcomes all your contributions. Please email your work and ideas to firstname.lastname@example.org It is understood that any contributions sent to Togatus may be used for publication in either the magazine or the website, and that the final decision on whether to publish resides with the editors. The editors reserve the right to make changes to submitted material as required. Contact Togatus: Twitter & Instagram: @togatus_ Facebook: facebook.com/TogatusOnline Website: www.togatus.com.au Post: PO Box 5055, UTas LPO, Sandy Bay 7005 Email: email@example.com Advertising: firstname.lastname@example.org
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02 06 Modelling
08 10 12 A West Hobart Kinda Gal Disney Empowering Women Since 1937 Life Lessons with Dr Seuss Gallery Counting High Stakes
4 04 Damsel Un-distressed
You are here
16 18 20 22 24 26
That One Night Tinder Gallery
28 30 32 34 I’m a Werewolf Dr Neezy’s Love Column The Museum of Non-Artists
38 40 42 44 Council Report
Authors and Astronauts
36 46 48 50 52
Going in the Right Direction
Togatus Contributors What is your guilty pleasure?
Aimee Butler Singing in the shower.
Callum J Jones Eating entire packets of Samboy BBQ chips in one go.
Chris Edwards Spending my free time in pyjamas.
Jack Oâ€™Toole Pumping Britney Spears (classic and new) extremely loud.
Logan Linkston TV shows, even terrible, trashy ones.
Mackenzie Stolp Grant Denyer.
The Suite Life of Zack and Cody.
Toasted cheese sandwiches.
Potatoes (a gift unto us all).
Digital Contributors Cameron Phillips Clark Cooley Connor Munnings Erin Cooper Jamie Sands James Kitto Joel Calliss Kasey Wilkins Liam Salter Mackenzie Stolp Michelle Moran Monte Bovill Nikita Riseley Zoe Stott
Tog Team What is your guilty pleasure?
Editor-in-Chief: April Cuison Watching The Devil Wears Prada.
Print Editor: Maddie Burrows
Administrative Officer: Steph Morrison
Binge watching TV shows while eating chocolate.
Digital Editor: April McLennan
Marketing & Distribution Officer: Zoey Dwyer
Shakespeare, starry night, red wine, pizza.
Whitney Houston and a bottle of red.
Editorial Assistant: Beth Green Binge watching action movies.
Editorial Assistant: Ella Carrington
Copy Editor: Joe Brady Frozen pizza is really cheap.
Editorial April Cuison
Hello everyone! Copy Editor: Nathan Hennessy Listening to The Devil Wears Prada.
Illustrator: Luke Visentin Rescuing baby pandas on the Panda Pop app.
Designer: Jonty Dalton Binge listening to my one true queen Taylor Swift.
Semester 2 is in full swing. By the time this edition hits the shelves, we’re already a third into our semester! I hope that your studies has been treating you well thus far. Winter is on its way out, and spring is just around the corner. That means pollen, sneezing, and some more pollen. May we be blessed with strong antihistamines in the coming weeks. We present to you the third edition of Togatus, and the second last edition for the year. From photography to poetry, this edition showcases the creative talent of our contributors. I am so grateful that there are students who are still willing to contribute to our magazine, both newcomers and regulars. To our readers, thank you for your continued support. If you wish, you are more than welcome to send us an email for your contributions. It’s never too late! Please enjoy this creative issue, and be excited for our Yearbook! Toodles~ April
Designer: Liam Johnson .emit ruoy gnitsaw “yllatned -icca” morf erusaelp gnivireD
Damsel Un-Distressed Courtney Salter
“Much like my car, the plan took off with all the speed of a single deadening click.” Engines revving, cars on fire, drag races and hot rods living for the road and the shows. That’s not my life.
glimpse of my red face in the car window and I can’t help but think, where did I go wrong? The problem I’ve discovered in an age of t-shirts that say ‘feminist’ is trying to find that blend of independence and my own brand of femininity. I decide to take on the challenge of learning basic car maintenance as a personal development scheme (okay truthfully, another procrastination project).
I’m sprinting from room to room grabbing a textbook here, a notebook there and a banana from the fruit shelf because it’s 11:30am. I haven’t had breakfast and I’m late.
Much like my car, the plan took off with all the speed of a single deadening click. According to one relative, if I wanted to know my way around an engine, I should simply “Open the hood and look.”
I’m in my car quicker than an Aussie kid heading to the beach, throwing my things in the growing pile of mess and flicking the key. Silence. Another key twist. Just an odd clicking noise.
This crash and burn of talking to various males of my acquaintance lead me to Nadine Dodd, a recent Nursing grad who can talk cars with the best of them.
Not again. I leap from the car and propel myself back down the driveway. This is more exercise than I’ve done in the entire semester.
We speak on the phone with intermittent interruptions of revving engines. Phrases like hot-rodders and drag races roll off her tongue. I have to ask what a hot rod actually is. She laughs, “It’s a modified classic old car”.
Breathless I’m pulling open all the doors in our little unit, calling for my housemate. He meanders out. I think it’s been awhile since he met 11:30am.
Nadine grew up in the life, going to events in rural Queensland nearly every second weekend. She got into cars through her parents, starting out with 4WDs then moving onto hot rods.
In breathless necessity, I gesture wildly with my best flight stewardess signals and he follows.
“I helped dad build his [hot rod] and I’ve got two of my own cars.”
He gets in the car, gives the key a twist. His doctor impression is award winning as he explains the horrible but undeniable truth.
“I’ve got my ute and another project car. It’s my dad’s fault, it’s his mate who’s gotten me to buy both of my cars. The next one I want to get is a 4WD.” I can hear the excitement in her voice.
“The battery is dead”. I know it now, there’s only one option. The kiss of life from a stranger’s car. Standing at the side of the road next to the open hood of your car trying to flag down anyone who drives past, provides a surprising moment for introspection. I catch a
The car-loving community is a positive group according to Nadine, the old-timers are encouraging and most people know her, as she’s one of only a few younger females who are actively involved in the events. A study conducted by the New South Wales government using ABS data, found that fewer than two percent of
construction, automotive and electrical tradespeople in Australia are women, with a total of 913 female motor mechanics in 2011.
In regards to workforce supply, various issues are raised. Culturally, trades may have a stigma that girls learn young as they are taught that being feminine leaves no room for working in areas like automotive repair. Furthermore, girls tend to have a lack of role models while boys have greater access to family and friends associated with trades. Nadine says generally there are also different expectations for boys than girls. “I guess they’re [boys] expected to know a bit more, so they try to do more with it. ‘Cause chicks, when they’re younger, they’re sort of not forced into that way.” At this point I admit to my complete ineptitude with cars, she laughs and consoles me saying “I find that in country towns nearly everyone knows more about cars than city people.” Social encouragement in pursuing cars as an aspect of her femininity, not in spite of it, is evidenced in Nadine’s easy discussion, enthusiasm and broad range of experiences. I compare myself with what I know of Nadine, our different childhoods, our demographics, her country living and my city-slicker experience. Her parents taught her about engines, my parents did not. However, my teacher mother and respiratory scientist father taught me the importance and joy of learning and how to say the word lymphangi-
Nadine remarks on the general car knowledge the average female has, “Usually chicks, if they’re into it, they’ve got good knowledge. Otherwise, they’re a bit oblivious, they just don’t care. That’s what I’ve found anyway. I guess that’s like anything though, I don’t know much about hair and makeup.” Her words sum up the defining factor of whether I should know about cars. Each person has different life experiences and social factors that influence what they learn but we each have a level of autonomy to pursue what we love. The truth is, perhaps independence is not the most important factor of feminism in this matter - involvement in a community of support and encouragement bears much greater fruit. Our conversation finishes with Nadine’s summary for car maintenance, “If you can stop and go and your cars not going to blow up, then you’re good.” Apparently burning cars is not an irregularity at the drag races and shows her family attends. She remarks offhand that the hot rod they took to Toowoomba is being rebuilt because it caught on fire. “It’s actually getting painted while we’re away, so, when we get home we’ll be rebuilding that again.” She is truly a damsel un-distressed, so perhaps she’ll be getting a phone call next time I’m stranded on the side of the road.
This begs another question, why such little female representation?
oleiomyomatosis (a rare lung disease), so I have much to be thankful for.
Modelling the good, the bad, the blemishes Aimee Butler
“Why don’t you have plastic surgery to remove your freckles?” When I started modelling I promised myself that I would not compromise my integrity, I would be 100% natural. That is, I would not have plastic surgery to change my appearance and if I was ever told to lose weight, I would walk away from the modelling industry. My name is Aimee Butler and I am an international model, who has kept every one of her promises. Before you pursue modeling, ask yourself: “What are my values and limitations?” Although I have modelled professionally in Australia and overseas (being paid to model), the following advice is for university students and staff who have no modelling experience and it is also specific to modelling in Tasmania.
“Everyone has the potential to model, so take the first step by having natural portrait and full length photos taken.”
The Bad (your height is at least 1.72m) Editorial Modelling is discriminatory and requires one to be tall and thin. Editorial models appear in fashion magazines, fashion campaigns, and fashion shows. Being tall however, is no guarantee of success. Also, world-class fashion magazines are not located in Tasmania.
The Good A model agent said to me, “I hate your freckles and I hate that photo. But you are right Aimee, your freckles are special.” Every model has a ‘special feature’ that they consider their trademark and it’s what sells them. Some examples are (but not limited to): long legs, thick eyebrows, voluptuous lips, curly hair, tattoos, buxom, symmetrical facial features (no best side). Models come in all shapes, sizes, heights, and ages. Some models are: Fitness Model, Curve Model, Parts Model (hands, legs, feet), Petite Model, Mums-to-be. Traditionally, however, models are either a Commercial Model or an Editorial Model. Commercial modelling is open to all models and there are no prerequisites or restrictions such as height, age, or size. A Commercial Model promotes a lifestyle, and models for clients like banks, supermarkets, education, travel, and similar. In Tasmania, there is a great chance of finding success as a Commercial Model. Either join a Casting Agent or Model Agency. Check the joining requirements, as they differ. Be wary of exorbitant fees.
A model with an outstanding portfolio will greatly improve their chances of gaining Editorial modelling work and also assist in overcoming height restrictions. A ‘portfolio’ is a folder consisting of large photos (12 x 18 or greater) that showcase the model’s ‘special feature’ and their body of work (if any). The ‘body of work’ can be magazine tear sheets (pages removed from a magazine or catalogue) for example, which show the model displaying fashion. Unfortunately, the majority or world-class fashion photographers are not located in Tasmania. Although there are excellent photographers in Tasmania – though mostly interstate – their numbers are still limited and I know photographers who won’t photograph new models, even if you offer to pay them. They are already well established (even famous) and are too busy photographing supermodels for campaigns. When I approached these photographers, I only had Australian experience and my portfolio was definitely not of an international standard. I have been very lucky and was given a chance despite not being of ‘Supermodel standard’ and have been chosen for very specific projects because of my appearance. For example, an Adidas fashion shoot for RACK Magazine. The photographers and or clients also overlooked my diminutive stature.
Rejection is a major part of the modelling industry and those in the industry do not sugar coat words. There is a very good chance of a model suffering from depression and low self-esteem as a result. Modelling is not for the faint hearted. There are numerous photographers who refused to photograph me for various reasons and there are many contracts where I was not the chosen model. Nevertheless, I persevered.
The best way for a model to protect themselves is by gaining work through a reputable model agency or casting agent. Modeling websites, like Model Mayhem, are a double edge sword. Although a model can make contacts, there are too many photographers giving out malicious or completely wrong advice deliberately intended to take advantage of new models who do not know the ropes. Despite claiming they are professional fashion photographers, they are most certainly not. Unfortunately, they do not know how to take photos for a model’s portfolio. However, if you like their photographic style, that is a different matter entirely and they should be paid for their time.
There are photographers who are professional in their manner and conduct. They would never touch you, only demonstrate or direct you. They always respect your personal space. Some photographers deliberately take advantage and prey on model’s dreams. An amazing but sleazy photographer kept telling me how lonely he was while moving closer to me on the couch in his studio, despite the fact that I had deliberately mentioned my man numerous times. I also discovered he secretly stashed drugs in his couch, as he sold drugs to the model he was photographing at the time. I felt like I was watching an episode of The Sopranos. After that initial meeting I never followed up on his ‘artistic nude’ project proposal. There are creeps and predators out there, pretending to be photographers too.
A model who has ‘the eye’ – being able to determine if a photographer is worth collaborating with from looking at their photographic portfolio – has a skill which automatically places them ahead of the rest. Note that there are photographers who I have modelled for who are not full time professional photographers, nor are they fashion photographers. Yet they are still great photographers.
After all that I have written, you are probably asking, â€œWhy modelling, Aimee?â€? I wanted to be one of those pretty girls on the front cover of Dolly Magazine. At school, I excelled at taking care of the classroom rabbit and never considered myself academic. I was receiving positive feedback from photographers in regards to my look and ability in front of the camera to create magic. So I built my international modelling career through dedication, perseverance, time, travel and hard work. To this day, I am happy to say that world-class fashion photographers respect me, as they still keep in contact with me. Everyone has the potential to model, so take the first step by having natural portrait and full length photos taken. Please feel free to contact me. I am going to steal from the Barefoot Investor and conclude with: model your own path!
Fashion shoot details Location: Central Highlands, Tasmania Fashion: provided by Stylist & Model Photographer & Stylist: Candice Carlin http://www.candicecarlin.com Makeup Artist: Tamsin Nolan http://www.tamsinnolan.com Model: Aimee Butler https://aimeebutler.carbonmade.com
A West Hobart Kinda Gal Joe Brady
The cafe was quiet, like the street outside. The waitresses stood at the counter talking. There was only a half-dozen patrons now, mostly young or old folk because all the working people had left after lunchtime. The working people sat down to big meals with cutlery and drinks before they donned their coats again and headed out to brave the weather outside. He and she ate pastries with their fingers over coffee. He was good-looking in a blue collar way, like a millworker or dyehouse foreman, but he was a boy of small movements. She said, “I don’t think it’s going to get any better.” He said, “Well, maybe you’re right. What do we do?” “I don’t know.” They broke up and she left the cafe a few minutes later. He thought it would feel more significant than that, but it wasn’t. It ended there, he sat with an empty plate in front of him and he only moved to turn his phone off because he wanted to be alone for a while. He wiped his nose on the back of his hand and let the emotion settle. He was twenty-one, and they’d dated for four years, and he didn’t have anything to show for it. Without that girl at his side, what else had he accomplished? It scared him to think of what he’d wanted out of the future as a boy. There were these carousels of thought: of being an inventor, or becoming a fireman, or doing something better than pretending he was a musician and floating in and out of university lectures. He’d imagined he would live with his parents forever, and run his empire from his bedroom. He could still hold good on that promise.
He looked up at the waitresses at the counter and the thought struck him that he could fuck either of them, right now, and he wouldn’t be cheating on anyone. He imagined instead, if he had the confidence of a character in one of his songs, that he could call one over right now and talk to them. He gestured one over. She was a brunette thing with her hair at her shoulder. She noticed him and took a menu from the stack at the register. She was pretty, with a bourgeois step in her sashay. He couldn’t help thinking that she looked like a West Hobart kind of gal. He’d gotten the idea in his head that the girls coming out of West Hobart, from Liverpool Street to somewhere before the Catholic college on the hill, had wonderful parents who loved each other and they all sat in the living room together and read books. A real suburban intelligentsia. He wasn’t sure where this stupid idea came from, but it was there. “You’d like something else?”, the brunette waitress asked. “If it’s okay, could you sit down a while? I’ve had something happen and I think I need to talk to someone.” She paused for a moment, and then placed the menu on the table. A lesser girl would have walked away. Her shoes squeaked on the floor as she sat down. “What’s wrong?” “I just broke up with my girlfriend.” “Sorry to hear that. What caused it?” “Nothing in particular.”
“He thought it would feel more significant than that, but it wasn’t. It ended there, he sat with an empty plate in front of him…”
He read her nametag; “Abigail”. She didn’t look like an Abigail. He introduced himself and then she told him her name even though he knew it.
with as much to show for it as anyone else in this city.”
“How do you feel?” Abigail asked.
He was hoping for optimism.
“I don’t feel like anything at the moment. Is that normal?”
“It’s been nice talking to you, Abigail. What you did was real sweet of you.”
“I think so. It comes after. It depends if you loved the person. I don’t know. It depends on you and the person you’ve split with.” “Have you broken up with people before?” “Yes.” “Did you end it, or did he?” “I did it. He had tried to commit suicide over something, I can’t remember what it was but it wasn’t important enough to kill yourself over. I decided to leave. I wasn’t ready for that sort of thing to keep happening.” “That’s pretty sad.” “I don’t mean to be mean, but I think yours is sadder. If your boyfriend tries to kill himself you’ve got a story and a reason. ‘Nothing in particular’ is a really shitty way to end a relationship.” “Is he still alive?”
“Yeah, I reckon I will, as well.”
She didn’t reply because the conversation never happened. He looked at the brunette girl, the one with her hair at her shoulder, and cleaned his mouth with a napkin. He didn’t talk to the waitress and he didn’t talk to anyone on the way home, either. The bus was late so he stood in the cold. Hobart slowed to a crawl in the wintertime, but his entire life was moving so fast. He couldn’t even take solace in the idea of being in the midst of an existential crisis. He was another guy in another breakup, and the most tragic moment in his life was part of a wider cliche that afflicted all young dating men. He’d told himself that he wasn’t going to be another high school relationship. Well, they graduated high school. He’d been alone in his life before, but he wasn’t sure he was lonely just yet. And if he could stand still, with the trees around him frozen in cold and darkness, he could just about hear the seventeen year old inside him — relationship virgin, piano-playing wonder, eternal optimist — talking to him through the heartbeats.
“I don’t know. If I knew, then breaking up with him did me no good. I’m trying to avoid that sort of heartbreak.” “Abigail, I feel like I’m twenty one and I’m going to die
Disney Empowering .. Women Since 1937 Logan Linkston
“Disney oppresses women and creates weak female characters.” Disney is a pretty easy target for these accusations, considering they create stories for children which may quite possibly shape their mindsets, opinions and aspirations for years to come. Let’s analyse these oppressed, weak women who so desperately need saving, shall we? Actually, Disney’s only female character who openly wishes for a prince, is Snow White. And since when is a desire to get married considered anti-feminist? She endured years of abuse at the hand of her stepmother and dreams of escape and finding a great guy with whom to spend her life. In fact, she runs away and uses her only skillset to get a job and shelter. Sounds pretty empowering to me. Also, Snow White never asks to be saved. She eats a bad apple and then is cursed, but never asks the prince to save her. Similar to Snow White, Cinderella was “abused, humiliated and forced to become a servant in her own house” and yet somehow found hope that her dreams of happiness would come true. Happiness. Not marriage. Not dreams about a hunky man who will save her, but dreams that at some point, things will get better. Aurora (Sleeping Beauty) ultimately gives up the man whom she believes is the love of her life to fulfil her duty as a royal. She could have run away with Prince Phillip, because she was 16 and didn’t know any better, but instead she accepts the responsibility of her role as a princess and returns home. True, she got pretty damn lucky that the guy she believed was the love of her life also turned out to be the man to whom she was betrothed at birth but hey, she was still willing to do the right thing. Contrary to popular belief, Ariel was fascinated with the human world long before she laid eyes on Prince Eric. Her
secret trove of treasures was full of human items and she was singing “Part of Your World” not for the Prince, but for the human world in general.
“Disney teaches girls that they need to be saved.” Speaking of the red-headed mermaid, she was Eric’s saviour from drowning after his ship was wrecked. Then, after Ursula turns her father into that freaky looking shrimp thing, she launches herself at the most powerful being in the ocean to save her father. Belle breaks the curse and saves the Beast. Pocahontas throws herself on John Smith as he is about to be executed by her own father and saves his life. Esmerelda snatches Quasimodo from falling off Notre Dame. Meg pushes Hercules out of the way of a falling column, being crushed to death by its weight. Mulan saves Shang’s life and ultimately, ALL OF CHINA. Rapunzel saves Flynn Rider’s life, somewhat inadvertently because she didn’t know the extent of her powers. Tiana rescues Prince Naveen. Jasmine tempts Jafar with a kiss so Aladdin can get to the magic lamp. Those are some powerless, oppressed, weak female characters, huh? Let’s go even further and argue that Disney can, in fact, empower women. When Jasmine enters a situation where two men are discussing her future and making decisions
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which don’t include her, she replies, “I am not a prize to be won”. Belle tells Gaston, the most eligible and desired bachelor in her town, despite his obvious demeaning attitude toward women, “Gaston, you’re positively primeval.” Rapunzel is abused by the woman she believes is her mother and tells her that she won’t stop fighting her for every minute of the rest of her life. When Mulan is revealed to be a woman and left alone in the snow, presumably to die, she confronts Shang demanding that he listen to what she has to say, regardless of her gender, “You said you trust Ping. Why is Mulan any different?”
“Disney teaches girls that they can marry a man they just met.” The Sultan, Jasmine’s father, changes the law which states she must marry someone of royal lineage, therefore allowing Aladdin and Jasmine to marry. However, they don’t actually get married until years later. Flynn Rider and Rapunzel also don’t get married until after the first film. Belle spent a significant amount of time in the castle with the Beast getting to know each other, reading books and teaching him how to eat like a human again. We know this because Disney does this lovely thing where they show the seasons changing while Belle is in the castle. Aurora was betrothed, which is kind of weird but still happens in certain places in the world. After Triton turns Ariel back into a human, we don’t know how much time passed before the wedding.
Snow White, the poor thing who gets the most criticism, and her Prince are not ever shown getting married. Maybe they waited two, five, or ten years, or months, or whatever the heck critics would approve of, before they got married.
So, let’s review. There are Disney characters who fight for themselves, do the right thing as a royal, demand to be treated as a person and not property, save their significant other and save an entire damn country. And yet, it seems as though these features are never remembered about the characters. When we teach girls that the only thing that matters is being strong or kicking ass, we’re not writing about real women. There is nothing wrong with a character who is vulnerable, cries or wants to fall in love because there will always be women like that. And, there will be women who are strong and kick ass. Female characters should be valued regardless of their strength or vulnerability and we shouldn’t narrowly define female characters for our children. Lastly, let’s talk about sacrificial love. Let’s talk not only about the guys who fight the dragons and the scary octopus-like sea witches, but the girls who throw themselves in the way of falling columns and executioners, girls who break curses out of pure love, girls who offer themselves for imprisonment in place of their fathers. Isn’t it the ultimate picture of love? Loving someone so much you would sacrifice yourself for them? It’s everywhere, not just in Disney films. Katniss sacrifices herself for her sister in The Hunger Games. It brings us to tears because it shows that the other person’s life is valuable and even more important than our own. “There is no greater love than to lay down one’s life for one’s friend.”
Life Lessons with Dr Seuss Dan Prichard
When considering the wonders of the modern world, I find my mind pondering upon what I would personally label as the greatest. More often than not, I award this prestigious imagined title to the one and only Dr Seuss, comical visionary, subtle political commentator and creative revolutionary. This great man was born in one of many American Springfields in 1903, and throughout his life witnessed some of the most shocking tragedies of our poor planet’s history. Enduring such atrocities as the holocaust, the Cold War and too many Meatloaf albums, Dr Theodor Geisel Seuss took it upon himself to comment on the complex social conditions of the twentieth century with both comedic and thought-provoking stories and characters. Personally, I hold the Doctor’s adventures in extremely high regard. In fact, I would go so far as to say that his fables have influenced the development of my morals, and have taught me some of the most important lessons I have ever learned. Choosing a favourite Seuss classic is impossible, but what isn’t is highlighting the best lessons the great man taught through his revolutionary grinches and dancing cats.
Lesson 1: Try new things Sam-I-Am is a pretty crazy guy. If getting from A to B standing on a running mammal (with no hands) isn’t enough, Sam spends 62 pages trying to convince a reluctant stranger to eat green eggs and ham, an offer which is consistently rejected throughout the comic masterpiece. However, to his surprise, upon finally giving in to Sam’s pleas, the narrator finds the absurd dish delicious. This story always reminds me to be brave in trying new things, just as Seuss was in writing the book in response to a bet that he could not compose a fable using just fifty words. Exactly fifty words are repeated in this iconic farce.
Lesson 2: All lives matter Adapted into what can only be the most underrated children’s film of the postmodern world, Horton Hears a Who! sees a friendly elephant defending the inhabitants of Whoville, a speck floating through the air. Despite being persecuted because of this, Horton defends Mayor McTodd and the Whos until those around him realise that “a person’s a person, no matter how small”. Written as an apology to the Japanese for his previous misconceptions of their culture, this fable is one of Seuss’s greatest, reminding us to always be kind and aware of the needs of those around us.
Lesson 3: People change
Lesson 5: Life is tough but so are you
The Grinch, whose “heart was two sizes too small”, illustrates one of the most important lessons I’ve ever learnt. One of the first examples of a Shrek-type character, this grouch terrorises the Whos in trying to rob them of their Christmas joy through stealing their presents and decorations. To his shock, on Christmas Day the Whos still sing their carols and share their joy. Cue the greatest #TransformationWhos-Day seen in Seuss’s stories. The Grinch not only returns the gifts of the entire town, but also takes part in their ceremonial meal. Stamp this lesson to your heart: people can change in the most surprising and wonderful ways.
Oh the Places You’ll Go is the Doctor’s final fable, commonly read at graduations and similar ceremonies. This tribute to adventures follows the ups and downs of life, the periods of waiting, wanting, darkness and light. Seuss doesn’t hide the pain. But what he does do is empower. ‘You’re off to great places, today is your day, your mountain is waiting, so get on your way’. This man believes in you. He knows life is tough, but he taught me that I am too. This has made all the difference for me so far in my short, lucky life.
Lesson 4: Fun is important
That’s me done. Seuss is an icon, a visionary, and a man who helps me conquer life one rhyme at a time. Immerse yourself in his wisdom and wit, and you’ll overcome trouble, every little bit.
We all know it: The Cat in the Hat deserved a better movie. Still, not even poor CGI and Mike Myers sweating in a catsuit can weaken the quality of this diamond. The Cat is one hell of a guy, causing a ruckus and ultimately trashing the house of Sally and Conrad whilst their mother is out. As a child, I never quite understood this fable, but looking back at it now, I realise that the whole time, Dr Seuss was telling me that having a good time is important. I find this quite relevant right now, as I procrastinate studying for my final first semester exam in praising my favourite author.
Mackenzie Stolp Gallery
Counting Callum J Jones
One week ago, I betrayed you. You screamed at me out of anger and frustration. I felt guilty and unworthy. But of course, you were right.
Two weeks ago, I angered you. You now hate me as if I’m guilty of an unforgivable crime. I feel ashamed and undeserving. But of course, you were right.
Three weeks ago, I infuriated you. Your anger continues to rise, as if it’s a swelling tide. I feel crushed under your wrath as it festers into a pill of bitterness. But of course, you were right.
Four weeks ago, I enraged you. You now avoid me as if I’m infected with the Plague. I’m locked in a cell of pain and self-hate. But of course, you were right.
Five weeks ago, I deceived you. Your fury has now diminished, as if it’s a cooling furnace. Even so, I’m still hurting as you continue to evade me. But of course, you were right. It’s now been five weeks since I went behind your back. Not that I’m counting.
High Stakes Steph Palmer
Dreary night Lingering rain Dull moon Neon lights
Silver Audi Private parking Bulging briefcase Polished shoes
Automatic doors Glass atrium Champagne flutes Friendly escorts
Marbled carpet Coloured screens Slot machines Coin clicks
Rear elevator Leather seats Tailored suits High stakes
Sly glances Hushed exchanges Dim lighting House music
Large tables Hefty sums Beating pulse Swift hands
Vacant faces Square shoulders Rolling dice Sweating palms
Ensuing rounds Quivering fingers Careless deals Rank drop
Falling cards Rear elevator Glass atrium Automatic doors
Crowded bar Liquor taps Shot glasses Hot blood
Sudden tussle Flying glass Gaping wounds Claret pools
Drunken exit Silver Audi Door slam Steering wheel
Traffic light Throttle kick Swerving vehicle Tree
That One Night Callum J Jones
It was a one-night stand. That’s all it was meant to be. I’d planned to have a night out by myself. No friends, no family, no fuss. It was just how I liked it after a busy day. The night was going well until he came and sat opposite me at the table, holding a scotch and Coke. He was cute. He had short golden hair spiked at the fringe, a slim frame, and was wearing an expensive-looking pinstriped suit. He had great cheek bones as well, which bothered me because I’ve never felt so drawn to someone’s cheek bones before. Concerning? Possibly. Confusing? Definitely. Did I fall in love with him at first sight? No. I just thought he was cute. He introduced himself. His name was Luke. We started chatting, and before I knew it, I was enthralled. Entrapped. Ensnared. He had a casual air about him. But above all, he listened to me. Not many guys actually, properly listen to me – they just pretend to. One thing led to another (as it always does), and I found myself back at his apartment. It had one of those curved widescreen TVs and expensive furniture and ornaments. We had a one-night stand, and it was going to be just that. But because of my fantastic luck, it was only three days later that I saw him again. I work at a coffee shop in the city, and I was in the middle of a shift when he
walked in. I hoped beyond hope he wouldn’t recognise me, but that was wishful thinking. I probably shouldn’t’ve had breakfast with him the next morning – but hey, a girl has to eat. Maybe sleeping with him in the first place was a bad idea. As he sauntered up to the counter, I could see in his eyes that he’d recognised me, and my hands started shaking. I took a deep breath and thought: Alright, I’ll just play it cool. I’ll say hi, get him his coffee, and he’ll be out of here in no time. After he ordered what he wanted (a Chai Latté to take away), he tried to make small talk, but I chose to be dismissive. Other people might think that was a rude thing to do, but what else would they have done? He never came back to the coffee shop after that, and I never saw him around the city. So I continued with my life. But after a few weeks, just as I’d managed to put him to the back of my mind, I started feeling different. I don’t know how to explain it. Then I noticed I’d gained a bit of weight, but I wasn’t eating much junk food and I was exercising on a regular basis. I could only think of one other explanation. In a combined act of bravery and growing fear, I did a pregnancy test. The colour that came up on the strip confirmed that I was pregnant. It had to be his child.
I was never meant to sleep with him. It was all a mistake. What does it make me? Either way, I was still pregnant. Abortion was out of the question – I’m personally opposed to that. Questions were obviously asked, but I tried to lie my way out of each one. I didn’t care if they didn’t believe me. I just didn’t want them to know the truth. Nine months later, I gave birth to a son and named him Neil. I’d quit my job at the coffee shop just before he was born, and got another job doing administration for a local business three days a week. I also decided to followed my dream of becoming a writer and enrolled in a creative writing course. I developed and honed my writing skills as I wrote story after story. I eventually started writing a novel, which took me about a year to finish. I sent it to a publisher, and they accepted it. One of the bookshops that agreed to sell it asked me to spend a day doing book signings, and I said yes. When I was doing the book signing, with a big poster of the book’s cover next to the table I was sitting at, a customer moved up to me. They placed a copy of the book on the table for me to sign. “Who’s it for?” I asked with looking up. “Lily,” replied the customer. It was a man’s voice, so Lily must’ve been his partner or something. I signed the cover page of the book and, as I
handed it back to the customer, I looked up at him. I knew he looked familiar, but struggled to put a name to the face. But in two seconds it hit me. It was him, the guy I had the one-night stand with. He looked exactly the same: he still had his golden hair spiked at the fringe, and was wearing a black suit with a grey waistcoat. I became breathless and my heart started beating rapidly against my chest. We just stared at each other for what seemed like a full minute, not saying a word. Then, he broke the excruciating silence by asking, “How are you?” He remembered who I was. “Yeah, I’m good,” I said, stammering a bit. “Yeah.” Silence fell again for a few more moments before I added, “How are you?” He didn’t answer. Instead, he just gave me a small smile before tucking the book under his arm and walking over to the counter to pay for it. I later got frustrated with myself for not telling him he had a child. I then made myself promised that if I ever ran into him again, I’d tell him. It was a one-night stand, and it was meant to be just that. But look at what I’ve gone on to accomplish.
Tinder Zoey Dwyer
If 30 years ago someone said, “In the future, we’ll be finding our future lovers online by judging a series of photos and a more-than-likely exaggerated profile bio,” you’d probably feel a little uncomfortable with that thought. How the hell are we supposed to make a judgement as to whether we are attracted to someone purely based on a few good-angled, manipulated, and filtered photos and a bio that says “Law Student. Dreamer. Loves Dogs and long walks on the beaches” (disclosure: this is not bio, mine actually reads “looking for suitable partners interested in bukakke”) or “Gym. Mates. Travel. My Dog, Wilson”. Nevertheless, here we are, swiping left and right vigorously, like swatting a relentless mosquito. Ensue shallow banter and questions like “how tall are you?”, “Netflix and chill?” or “Did you know there are 20 letters in the alphabet?” *rolls eyes* There’s a fierce majority that always starts with a, “Haha, this is so weird. Tinder isn’t really my thing. I tried it as a bit of a joke”, just to alleviate any shame they have about resorting to an online “browse-a-fuck” app. Don’t feel ashamed, according to approximately 3.5 million Australians, 15% [ZD1] of Australians in 2015 use Tinder, and that’s not an overall estimate of persons who use other dating apps that aren’t Tinder. You are not alone, ashamed but frequent user. Many of us endure the pain of Tinder in hope of an orgasm, a great date at a fancy restaurant, or the enviable possibility of finding ”true” love. You are not alone, and here are some stories I’ve collected to remind you.
Bittersweet Romance I met this guy on Tinder. He was super cute and funny and we hit it off. It’s hard to imagine hitting it off with someone online, but the banter flowed and the vibes were good (through the interwebs). We met up for a drink at a bar and it went better than expected. We connected really well, and the date went so well we went back to mine. He wasn’t from here, so I wanted to make the most of our time together. I’d never really met someone I could chat with so easily and be so comfortable with, so I thought, “Eh, fuck it, let’s see how the night pans out.” We bought a bottle of wine and headed back to mine, put on the mood lighting and some ‘Catfish and the Bottlemen’ and we talked for literally 4 hours. It was literally the best date I’ve ever had. Of course, we had some pretty amazing sex too and in all honesty it remains a very memorable night. Unfortunately, we tried to keep in touch but given he lived so far away it just wasn’t ever going to work. What I took from this experience though really helped me; it showed me what I deserve from a guy and what I want from a man in the future. I’d had bad luck with men in the past but this reminded me that I was worthy of actual romance. While Tinder overall has been a heap of shit experiences for me, from being told to ‘slip in a shower and drown’ to ‘you’re a fucking bitch’ to ‘you’re ugly anyway’. This was a really positive experience and one that positively impacted me.
The Dirty Bali Boy
She found this QT who didn’t have brain between his ears, except to say things like, “Can’t wait to go to Bali,” and, “Babe, you look so hot,” but it was not his mind she was after, so she took a punt and had him over. She got all sexy and lacy and oily, and he arrived (slightly drunk) at the house, at which point he said he needed to go to the toilet. He took a solid (literally) 10 minutes in there, and then they resumed the flirting and touching. Things got dirty and messy, but probably a little too dirty than this friend of mine had desired. In the morning, he finally leaves after telling her what a great night they’ve had and that he’d like to see her again (completely missing the point of casual sex), and then after he leaves she comes into my room, and… “OMFG, that guy left shit stains on my bed!! There are literally skid marks near my pillow! I was giving him head last night!! I was sleeping on that! I want to spew!” Moral of the story: if you take a dump at your date’s house, wipe your arse.
I heard this from a friend of a friend of mine (she was my housemate). She was feeling desp. and needed some of that lovin’ to break the drought and make it rain. So she got on the Tind and decided to browse.
Valentine’s V So it’s Valentine’s Day, and I’m a single man looking for something to pass the time. No one likes to be alone on Valentine’s Day, even though it’s commercialised bullshit, so I hop on the Tind and I find myself a nice lass to meet at the bar. We have a few drinks, head back to mine and things are looking good. It’s a little awkward, but we know what we both want so we start to make out a little and we take it to the bedroom. My bedroom overlooks the backyard, but it’s night and no one’s around so I don’t bother to close the curtains. At least so I thought… Next minute, we’re having sex and we’re in some pretty compromising positions and I see all three of my housemates walking across the backyard trying to tip-toe past my window. At first I’m a little shocked about what to do, but then I think, ‘these perverts are trying to get a look at my smash skills.’ Thankfully the position the girl was in means she couldn’t see them, and so I managed to keep her attention diverted. The girl left that night. I asked my housemates what the fuck they were doing, but it turns out they just needed to get their sheets off the line to be able to go to bed, and didn’t expect me to have a girl over. I felt pretty bad. If you’re going to Tinder, please be considerate to your housemates in the process.
Essentially, Tinder is a bag of surprises. You win some, you lose some, and sometimes you literally end up with shit. But you aren’t alone and you don’t need to be ashamed, we’re all desperately rummaging around in the lucky dip hoping we pull out something that makes us feel good, either emotionally or physically. And while it’s not the conventional, chivalrous courtship of having to call the house phone terrified that your love interest’s mum or dad will answer, or making plans a week from
now and actually fucking sticking to it because you can’t just text last minute and say, “sorry, something came up”, it’s not the worst way to meet someone. Your best hope in finding something decent is to be honest, kind, and interested. Try not to tell someone you’re attracted to to “slip over and drown”; that won’t help. Neither will lying about your age, job, or just anything.
Go forth and fuck. 31
Jack Oâ€™Toole Gallery
Going in the Right Direction Emma Skalicky
“… I was gripped with such an intense pit of fear in my stomach that I wanted to crawl under my chair and cry.”
The nerves are maybe the worst thing. In the spring of 2015, a couple of friends and I entered a one act play festival. We’re all already theatre junkies at best, so this wasn’t a particularly new thing to do, but I had the chance to view the experience from a very new position – as a writer and as a director. A play festival isn’t meant to be a tough arena. It’s fun. A showcasing of talents, and a chance to have a hand in a new experience, and also network a little bit – if that’s your thing. The adjudication can be tough, granted, but it’s also fair. So for a couple of weeks my friends and I had a bit of fun meeting in an apartment above the Bank Arcade, eating a lot of snacks, and getting creative. It was great – the show was tender and funny, the actors were superb, and the set was fairly minimal (thus, fairly stress free). We rehearsed once with tech, and then we were ready to go.
And that’s when I found out I am deathly nervous of being in the director’s seat. Acting I understand. I am active. I can control what I do and say, but sitting in that seat in the audience, in amongst a selection of hilarious, sad, and exciting short plays, waiting for ours to begin, I was gripped with such an intense pit of fear in my stomach that I wanted to crawl under my chair and cry. I wasn’t scared that my actors weren’t up to the job – they were, as always, absolutely prepared and capable. But my brain continued to whisper to me that something about my writing, something about my choices with pacing, or humour, or costume, or something would be a disaster I couldn’t control. I had no control, and I was paralysed in my seat waiting for something to go wrong. Of course, nothing did. The actors were amazing, the show went off without a hitch, and we even walked out with a little award under our sleeves, but I promised myself I’d never try working from the director’s seat again. So, here I am two years later – directing not a ten minute long comedy, but a two hour long Early Modern drama. I’ve asked myself why many, many times over the process of directing Doctor Faustus. What about it has brought me back to such an anxiety-inducing place? I should know now: I like acting, I like writing, but I do not like the responsibility of running the show. So why try again? And why, oh why do it with such a big cast, with such an epic script, and so many more eyes potentially peering in?
Doctor Faustus is an incredible story – an arrogant, driven doctor wants. He wants success, he wants knowledge, and most of all he wants power. Driven by this desire, Faustus makes a pact with the devil, and is catapulted headlong into a fantastical world of magical visions, devilish liars, and horrors in disguise. This is a story I love. It’s tragic, funny, terrifying, and it has some of the most curious, complex, and compelling characters I’ve ever encountered. But it’s not just a story I wanted to be a part of, it’s one I wanted to tell. I realised sometime halfway through last year – it’s a story I want to tell in a certain way, with certain people, and I’m not scared of putting myself out there to tell it. This Doctor Faustus has been a total delight to be at the helm of. I have been able to decide my cast, and how their ages and identities change the way we see this relationship between temptation, damnation and desire. It’s exciting to work with new people, to choose costumes and setting, to give students the chance to engage with theatre in new and interesting ways. It’s especially thrilling to know I can introduce a new audience every night to a show I’ve come to love so damn much. How does a female Doctor Faustus change the way we perceive arrogance in academia? How does a charming devil change our understanding of evil? How does a young cast tell an old story? I want to give an audience a chance to ask these questions, and maybe even to answer them for me. The reason I’m in the arts, I’ve realised, is because I care about storytelling more than I care about criticism, or judgement. I’m incredibly excited to even have the chance to direct again – and even though I know I’m probably going to be hiding in my hands on opening night – I cannot wait to share that experience with a story worth telling, and an audience to share it with. The nerves might be the worst thing, but that’s okay, because the story will always make it worth it.
Images: (above) Emma Skalicky, (left) Kenne MacTavish, (right) James Osler
Authors and Astronauts Callum J Jones and Chris Edwards
one’s lives. Everyone needs to change with it, or else get left behind.”
In the study of a quiet home in Dorset, an elderly gentleman of seventy was leaning back in an armchair. He carefully examined the young man sitting opposite him. “So, you’re going to test the newest American spacecraft, are you not?” queried the Old Man in a strong British accent. “One of seven test pilots, I believe.” “Yes, I am,” said the Young Man, who was thirty-two years of age. “I’m one of the test pilots for the most advanced space plane yet, the X-20 Dynamic Soarer. It’s also called Dyna-Soar. It was proposed five years ago. It’s supposed to be a new bomber, capable of reaching an altitude of over ninety miles high and going faster than three miles a second. We’ve had a few rough patches, but we’re planning to launch in 1966.” He pauses for a moment before spreading out his hands and saying, “And can I say that it’s an honour to be welcomed into your home.” The Young Man then reached for a cup of tea that was sitting on the table, which was positioned between them. The Old Man mused for a moment, taking a puff from his pipe. “You aren’t worried about how fast technology is progressing these days?” he eventually asked. “After all, when I was young, it was only the upper class who could afford to buy an automobile. Nowadays, you can buy one at incredibly low prices, and now the Americans and the Russians are running a race to be the first to put a man into space.” The Young Man was quick to reply: “The times are changing, and technology will soon be a part of every-
The Old Man took the pipe out of his mouth and said somewhat firmly: “I beg to differ. There are some things about us and the way we live that technology can’t change. It can’t change the fact we need to enjoy ourselves. It can’t change the fact that we need to form relationships with other human beings. It can’t change the fact that we each live our lives in different ways.” The Young Man leant back under the tidal wave of the Old Man’s reasoning and raised his eyebrows slightly. “I see your point,” he said after some thought. “But you can’t deny that technology is already a part of our lives. As you said, almost everyone today has a car and we’ve already sent our first probe into orbit. In fact, it has been in orbit for four years already.” The Old Man leaned forward. “Yes, that’s all very impressive,” he said. “But how long will it be before we start depending on technology for every little day-to-day thing? How long until we lose control of its evolution?” “Fair point,” replied the Young Man. “But technology is still going to be here and it is going to develop as time goes on.” “Well, if that is the view of all Americans, I can hardly argue with an entire nation,” remarked the Old Man.
At that moment, a soft knock interrupted the brief silence as a young man, one of the Old Man’s son, Christopher, stuck his head into the room. “Sorry to interrupt, Father,” said Christopher apologetically, “but Clive Lewis is here to see you. He seems to have gotten over his blood poisoning quite well.” “That’s excellent news,” the Old Man said to his son, who in turn disappeared down the hallway. He then turned to look at the Young Man again and added, “Well, I hate to bring this discussion to a close, but it seems I have another visitor to entertain.”
“Morning John,” replied Clive. “And yes, I’m feeling much better.” He then cast his eyes upon Neil and added: “Well, if it isn’t Neil Armstrong!” He rose from where he was sitting and strutted over, his hand outstretched. “How do you do, my dear fellow?” “I’m very well, thank you,” Neil replied, shaking the author’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you.” “The pleasure’s all mine.” John then showed Neil to the door, where they bid each other farewell. John watched Neil get into his car and drive away before going back inside, closing the door behind him.
“I’ll leave you to it then,” the Young Man said. “Very well. I’ll see you out.” John Tolkien and Neil Armstrong rose from their seats. John held the door open for Neil to pass through before walking out of the study and into the hallway himself. They strode through to the front room, where Clive Lewis was sitting on the sofa.
“Everyone needs to change with it, or else get left behind.”
“Good morning Clive,” John said with a smile. “It’s good to see you. Christopher tells me that you’ve recovered well after your blood poisoning.”
I’m a Werewolf Zoe Douglas
I am an actual werewolf. Legiterally I am, but don’t be alarmed. I’m not about to present you with my Taylor Lautner six pack or a bite on the butt that will make you crave human flesh and cry at the moon. I’m not that kind of mythical creature. I differ from the typical werewolf in most physical aspects, save for my excessive body hair and prominent set of canine teeth. My condition is such that upon each full moon, I metamorphose into an insomniac. A whole host of symptoms accompany, ranging from mediocre to severe as I experience bouts of howling at the sky, dilated itching pupils, generalised rage at everyone to cross my path, and the tendency to growl at these poor unfortunate souls. To all my victims, including my family, teachers, baristas, workmates and friends: I’m sorry. This is why. I just can’t sleep on full moons. When the sky is clear and the big brassy moon shines like a pearl, I lie awake writhing in my sheets until the unceremonious morning. And when I don’t snooze, everyone in the vicinity loses. I turn into a sleep-deprived, moody stooge who eats all of the veggie sausages in the fridge and leaves the packet empty. I stomp about my haunts, glowering at anyone and everyone with the propensity to annoy me, which in-
creases a lot when I’m in my wolfish phase. Wheelie bins are kicked and innocent toes stubbed, parents shouted at, randoms pierced by wolf glares, bicycles ridden barefoot up Churchill Avenue in attempt to exorcise the doggie pathogen in my brain. I don’t know how these all-nighter-exam-crammers do it, because when I don’t get any Zs I turn into a monster. Not even coffee can soothe my roiling soul, and no one is spared the scourge of my shadow-self on the population at large every month. I know what you’re thinking but no, my cycle doesn’t coincide with the full moon. So I get a double monthly whammy of being an emotionally-ravaged, snapping mecha-doge wandering the streets at night, kicked out of my house for my food habits, whining about life and barking at passers-by. Another downside of being a werewolf is the loneliness. I don’t know if I’m the only one out there who can’t deal with petawatt moonbeams on a cloudless night and whose body gets hijacked by a grumpy spirit animal. If any other werewolves are out there, let me know. We can make a night of hunting rabbits, howling at the moon, chasing our tails – it’ll be cute.
Dr Neezy’s Love Column It’s lovely to see that everybody is snug and snug this Winter. I shouldn’t complain, though. While very few of you confided your private love struggles with me this issue, I can safely assume the rest of you are biting pillows and tugging hair. And that’s just swell. My heater broke, car isn’t running, and my waifu is spending the year ‘finding herself’ among sexually aggressive men in Europe . Please write to me.
“Hey Dr Neezy, I need help and cause you’re a man I think maybe you can give me more answers than my delusional girlfriends can over a bottle of a $7 Red wine. I feel like such a bitch for saying this, I’m super grateful for my boyfriend. He’s sweet and giving and he is super nice, but... he has a small dick. I’m never satisfied. The chemistry is great in every other aspect, but it’s beginning to feel like he’s a friend, not a lover. If I don’t get an orgasm soon, I’m gonna fkn lose my shit. I’m stressed enough as it is. What do I say to him? How do I tell him I’m not satisfied. I don’t want to leave him... I’ve suggested using toys but he gets offended. PLEASE HELP ME I DON’T WANNA BE ALONE AND I NEED TO ORGASM QUICK STAT Sincerely, sexually frustrated girlfriend” – Sexual frustration, the great equaliser. There is a lot to be desired in the small penis, it’s just a matter of meeting halfway. Have you both shared your sexual histories? Allow him into the library of your libido. If the chemistry is as strong as you say, there should be grounds for understanding. But with a small dick comes great ego. You need to pet that ego. If toys are your surefire way to success, then you need to make a better argument girlfriend! Tell him what a big boy he is and thrust those toys in his hand and ass in his face. Scream at him how big and powerful he is. Cry “daddy”, even. Make it clear that you’re willing to go the extra mile if he does, but certainly hold back otherwise. Ego petting will make that bitch be humble, then the toys should be on the table.
“I need your help! I re-installed Tinder after my last relationship ended & I felt ready to jump back into the dating game. What is the appropriate thing to do when you come across a friend who you’re actually keen on. I’ve thought of three options: 1. Swipe right and they don’t swipe back.. no problem there. 2. Swipe left and they think you’re not interested. 3. You both swipe right and then... what? Does the friendship get awkward? Or would it take it to the next level? I could do nothing and approach them in person now that I know they’re #ReadyToMingle but would that make me look like a thirsty stalker? On The Rebound” – Superlike that shit, then proceed to train yourself to make three seconds of intense eye contact every time you walk by. Chin up, shoulders back. If you don’t Superlike and just get a regular match, your friendship will remain. If you had one opportunity to Superlike your friend, will you smash it or just let it slip?
“Dear Dr Neezy, I am gluten free, vegan and have severe nut allergies, but I want to try some kinky food play with myself and various partners. I’d love to play with Nutella or even a juicy jam croissant, but alas if I do it might become rather moist scat play. My question to you is, can you think of anything that will suit my strict dietary requirements and fulfil my delicious vegan fantasies? Scatty Vegan Hipster” – The fuck? Nutella isn’t vegan, and croissants have gluten. No wonder you want to paint the town brown, ya shit.
“What do you do if you love someone heaps but find the relationship is getting boring (like old married couple stuck in a routine type boring)? Misty” – Like my mother used to say, “Boring people make boring people”. If the relationship is routine, and therefore safe, then it is on you to push it into the realm of risk. The best risk here is discomfort. This can be as simple as getting up off the couch and jumping on your lover. Request that they do things that they normally wouldn’t, and don’t take excuses on board. Plan road trips and walks. You may not be the outdoor type. This is perfect, experiment with things outside your comfort zone. And a most important thing with plans in order to combat routine, is to do more than just suggest plans. Take the agency on yourself to research food spots and walking tracks. Keep your plans accountable, and do stupid things like email and message the plans to each other, with TIME AND DATES! Find a week or weekend where you are both relatively free. Plan on doing things together that you normally wouldn’t. This may also include things regular things like cooking and cleaning. Tag team everything during this period. While you’re both engaged in the mundane, make a forced effort to touch and say things you normally wouldn’t. You may be met with resistance or humiliation at first, but persevere. Pearls under pressure.
The Museum of Non-Artists A review of The Museum of Everything Maddie Burrows
There is a strange divide in the world of art: between the art of academic elites, and the art of ordinary people. An artist creates to express their thoughts, emotions, desires, and beliefs. So how does one define what makes an “art maker” an “artist”? You’ve probably asked yourself a similar question while wandering through Hobart’s modern, controversial art museum that is MONA. Modern art can be so minimalistic, it barely seems to be ‘art’ at all! How could we forget the gallery hoax of 2016, when a 17 year old prankster placed a pair of glasses on the floor of the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, and people gawked at its artistic splendor. The ‘artist’ knew it wasn’t art. But people believed it was, and he henceforth became an accidental artist, featured in one of the most prestigious galleries in the world.
It seems that contemporary art has stooped to an alltime low. Where is the skill and attention to detail, I ask? Thankfully, The Museum of Everything at MONA, a collection of ‘non-art’ that contradicts all that we know about the academic art world, is here to restore your faith in the ancient ritual that is artmaking. The travelling institution opened in London in 2009, and features a collection of nearly 2000 artworks by 200 non-artists and private art makers. The exhibition arrived at MONA in June this year, and will be on display until April 2018, making it MONA’s longest running exhibition to date. James Brett is the mastermind behind the institution, which features a collection of ordinary people who create extraordinary and fascinating artworks. So can the works of these non-artists be considered “art”? The work on display, though not created with the intent of ever being displayed in a gallery, is often far from amateur.
set of a three story, brick Victorian terrace home. Beyond the door are over 25 exhibition rooms of varying shapes and sizes. In contrast to the spacious, minimal aesthetic MONA’s previous large exhibition, On The Origin of Art, this Museum has a homely feel, with nostalgic furniture, old couches, wallpaper, and curtains that lead you from room to room.
They are the self-taught architects, the scientists of space, and inventors or new language and visual folklore. They produce art within their own homes, or even whilst residing in hospital or prison. They are the unknown makers who produce art outside the established art world, for their own personal cause. The focus of this art is on the creation, the ritual process, and the transcendent connection between artist and method.
Sculptural and two-dimensional works that explore personal and world culture are found within the first large room. If you’re a fan of collage or visual communication, you will enjoy the large, mathematical drawings that utilise headline style typography, contrasted with detailed, hand written lists and graphs. These works are products of the photographic memory of the artist, detailing historical events like the sinking of the Titanic. In the center of the room, we see a collection of biologically perfect dinosaur fossils, made from found objects and rubbish. Children smile and laugh at a triceratops made entirely
The Museum occupies the entire basement level of MONA’s underground gallery floors. The entrance is the
“So how does one define what makes an ‘art maker’, an ‘artist’?… …Who has the right to be an artist?”
The Museum of Everything aims to stretch preconceived ideas of who has the right to be an artist. These artists featured don’t have art degrees, but what they do have is a vision. Some are mentally or physically ill. They do not create as a means of expressing intellectual ideas, themes and storytelling. This art is the product of each individual’s intense drive to create.
from plastic toy dinosaurs. There is a central theme that draws together the context of artworks in each exhibition room. However, the formal qualities and content of each work are greatly different. The next few rooms of the Museum explore themes of faith, focussing heavily on American exceptionalism and religious fundamentalism at the turn of the 19th century. A ‘faith room’ includes a reinterpretation of Leonardo da Vinci’s famous painting, The Last Supper of Jesus Christ. This work was made by an electrician who used found objects and lights to express his intense religious belief through sculpture. Within the same room are a collection of detailed paintings that illustrate both real and fanciful Catholic cathedrals. Travel next through rooms of African American independence, and religious freedom! They say ‘The Lord is good!’, and the gospel has never looked more colorful and bright. These spiritual works evoke a sense of hope, love and fundamentalism. Each work is an expression of the artist’s deep devotion to their faith.
Beyond the evangelistic faith artworks, we enter a room that is filled with religious works that reference hell and death. These artists are less driven by hope, but more by fear of ‘the end’. Horrific paintings of the apocalypse are displayed, alongside satirical collages and humorous illustrations of the Devils of Play that torment humans. As we leave the collective rooms of religious expression, we enter the arousing room of ‘desire’ full of sexual fantasy, illusions of gender, and imagery of witchcraft. The Museum then explores the themes of ‘love’, ‘youth’ and ‘childhood’, which form a visual timeline of mixedmatched art. These are followed by the room of ‘power’, displaying war, guns, and heroic figures in bold colour. At this stage the Museum has taken the viewer through a journey of religious expression, human emotion, and now begins to explore human invention, capability, and scientific endeavour. Half way through the Museum is a library, with bookcases, retro armchairs, and tables in a cozy, small room. Here you can sit and read about folk art, and self-taught art. Unfortu-
nately there are also televisions on the wall, which makes the room less relaxing. But these show MONA-made films of the exhibition, the works, and the installation of the Museum which was fascinating to watch. The library is a quaint, relatively quiet space where you pause to engage further with the history of non-professional artists. After the library, you enter the ‘cosmos’ room. This room features 20 cardboard airplanes, some several metres in length, hanging in the center of the space. You can walk between the colossal paper flying machines, while you gaze at paintings of spaceship graphs and diagrams of planets the fill the walls. The content of these works connects back to the earlier rooms that explored spirituality. The journey to the moon can be compared with the religious quest to reach the divine. The Museum concludes with an exploration of ‘ritualism’, ‘utopia’, ‘architecture’, ‘landscape’, and ‘creatures’. The colossal size of the Museum is rather daunting, but at the end you can sit down and enjoy a nice French biscuit in the Gift Shop Tea Room as you reflect upon the Museum.
Lay back on the fake grass while you gaze at the red and white awning above the gift shop counter. If you’re as lucky as me, you may even get your tea and madeleine biscuit served to you by a charming, handsome Frenchman. The Museum of Everything challenges the concept of ‘art’ and ‘the artist’. To appreciate its very nature, we must forget our preconceived ideas of the gallery and the art world. The exhibition does not require or ask us to find meaning or context from each work. Instead it poses the question, why do we create? What is this desire artists have to externally express their internal thoughts? We are left standing in awe of the splendor of human creativity, spirituality, and the intense drive that caused these ‘outsiders’ to draw, paint, sculpt, and embody their lives with their artwork.
Images: Maddie Burrows
Tasmanian Unuversity Union
Council Report 48
Clark Cooley, President Our national campaign against sexual assault and harassment on campus NeverOK continues to gain momentum. I had the opportunity to visit the University of Canberra last month and was amazed at the work by the UC Student Representative Council for the campaign. The university bar, offices, refectory, and accommodation were all fitted out with information on support services, and information on the campaign. At UTas, we've been working very closely with the university in a number different ways to engage the student body to raise awareness of the different support services available to students, as well as to reduce the stigma attached to the issue. We've also been working closely on the roll out of MySAFETY, a new central reporting tool for staff, students, and the community to report issues like sexual assault/harassment and help provide different options for people to speak to. We'll also be undertaking training of TUU representatives, College Presidents, University Staff, UTASLife, and Security on the issue of sexual assault/harassment (what to do, contact info etc.) If you to get involved or have any ideas let me know, we'd really love the support!
Joey Crawford, Postgraduate President The Postgraduate Council has spent its last couple of months building on the strong opening to the 2016/17 year. We planned to have a range of writing opportunities, method development work, networking, and professional development opportunities. We continue to host weekly Shut Up and Write Sessions across Launceston and Hobart, funded a one-week writing retreat on Steele Island (outside of Hobart), and supported full-day writing sessions at Inveresk. We have plans to continue all of these, including a one-week writing retreat around September 2017 and February 2018. Never, in the history of the Postgraduate Council, has the entity been so ambitious in its endeavours whilst remaining frugal in its spending. To this end, we have forecasted some funding for a Christmas event across the campuses and a symposium-styled event in Hobart. We do not do all of these in isolation, and have a great list of individuals and groups with which we owe tremendous gratitude. So, to those of you who have aided in postgraduate service delivery, I thank you. Look forward to seeing the results from the Postgraduate Student Experience survey.
Dan Probert, Campus President North Jessica Robinson, Education President Getting to the end! This semester marks the start of the sayings such as “beginning of the end” and “so close yet so far”. As we move into this period, the Education Council has been preparing to support your experience here at Uni in whatever form that may take. There are several events and opportunities to get involved in, on every campus across the state. Graduating students often regret not getting involved on campus; don’t let this be you! Now… this doesn’t mean that you have to set up your own club or society, but you might like to consider submitting an article to Togatus, or volunteering to help out at the various events on campus, maybe signing up to help organise the different balls (or maybe just even buying a ticket!), you could even join one the many societies or sports teams (it is never ever too late to get involved). It is important that you recognise that there is more to student life than sitting in lectures and tutorials, make sure that you look for those opportunities to get involved and stay active in your learning experiences here at UTas. The Education Council and the other TUU representing councils will always be here to support and advocate for you as you travel through the rest of this semester.
By the time you read this, we should have kicked into semester two, so I hope you all enjoyed Welcome Week again, and are feeling refreshed after the break (if you’re not an honours student and actually got one *sighs*). Semester one finished off really well for SRC North, highlights included working closely with MSAL to help them celebrate Ramadan, and hosting several study lunches for students in SWOTVAC. We have a great line up of events coming for semester two, so make sure, if you haven’t done so already, you like us on Facebook (TUU North) so you can get the most up-to-date information about what we’re up to! I want to take a moment to talk about the University’s Northern Transformation Project. Things are really moving on this project now. This project is a fantastic opportunity for Launceston, representing a once-in-a-generation opportunity to deliver a world-class tertiary education facility in the heart of our beautiful city. The expanded Inveresk campus will be so much more than just a satellite campus – it will contain a number of centres for excellence which will build on the unique strengths of Northern Tasmania, and will inject vitality to the Launceston CBD, becoming a social and cultural hub for the entire city. From observing the media, I can see that there are still a number of community concerns regarding this project. We at the TUU are very grateful for the consultation that the University has conducted with is over the last few months about the direction of this project, and we are very excited about the opportunities it presents. I urge you all to support it too, and please, if you have ideas, questions, or concerns about the direction of the northern campus, please don’t hesitate to get in touch. Dan
Vivi Perry, Societies President Welcome back! I want to congratulate societies on a whole host of fantastic endeavours hosted so far! Every week I hear of new exciting activities that are being put on, and also the wonderful feedback I receive from students! It's amazing how it's the work of (volunteering!) students that devote their time, energy and passion into putting on spectacular endeavours for the benefit of all students, while also studying. This latter half of the year has a lot to look forward to, in particular for the highly-anticipated balls and cocktail events! There’s MedBall and Law Ball in the South, Jocks Ball and Nauti Ball in the North - just to name a few. Why not let your hair down and celebrate hard-work with peers?
Maria Daglas, Campus President South Hello again, We're sure you are relatively rested and rejuvenated after the semester break. We hope you are happy with your exams results, if so, well done, if not, don't lose faith, keep trying, we are here for you. Either way, don't worry too much because Semester 2 has begun and it is time for a fresh start! TUU SRC South have lots of events, big and small, coming up this semester all around Hobart. Make sure you make a note in your diaries for Fiesta International in week 9 and Blue Stockings Week in week 5. Also keep an eye-out for our newly refined ScavHunt, all the fun with less controversy! There may also be a few more 'free food events' coming to you soon. So buckle your seat belts and come along to enjoy semester 2 with SRC South. Don't forget to come say hello and use all facilities in the TUU lounge above The Ref.
MAICon is 8th-9th September and is a condensed version of the huge AICon, run by the incredible TasPOP. There are also a wealth of cultural events, such as Diwali, Eid and possibly Mamak Night 2 (by popular demand). And of course Fiesta International where many societies come together to showcase food, dancing and singing. (We need a society social calendar...) Sustainability and mental health also are a big part of societies; they’re involved in fundraising, mental health awareness and sustainability initiatives. There are a number of projects the Council have been investigating over semester break, including establishment of email addresses for societies, society involvement with NeverOk, sustainability initiatives, and re-writing the Handbook, which needed updating. As you can see, there’s always something in a society for you (or you could just make your own!) For any societies, Ingrid in the South and Janez in the North are a wealth of information and experience, and we are always happy to help with any questions you might have. Best of luck for Semester 2!
Cathy Walker, Campus President Cradle Coast Get excited for semester two on Cradle Coast campus, we have a lot planned, including free tickets for students to the Legends of Review rides again at the Burnie Arts and function centre on 25th August. Please see Kerrie Garnsey in her TUU office near the café for more information. We are running winter warmer lunches during August, we will be having soups and stews to make you feel all warm and fuzzy in this chilly weather. A new charging station has been installed in the library area near the printer, this will be an asset to Cradle Coast Campus, no more flat phones. As usual if students have any suggestions for similar additions to our campus that would assist in making student life just that little bit easier please see Kerrie Garnsey our Student Development Officer in her office near the café.