Altruism

PELICAN

altruism

Edition 5 Volume 82

28,880

$

*

DRIVE AWAY

OR

FROM

FROM

BY

88

$

# per week

all new mini ray. really, really, ridiculously good looking.

Ray knows there’s more to life than being really, really, ridiculously good looking. Like being under 30 (grand that is). But that doesn’t mean you can’t still be really, really, ridiculously good looking. Ray wants your socks to match his mirrors. Ray wants to see your ankles in those jeans. Ray talks about himself in the third person because that’s just how good Ray is. Ray is the essence of MINI. And Ray is waiting for you at Auto Classic MINI Garage. Visit MINI.com.au/RAY

AUTO CLASSIC MINI GARAGE 49 Burswood Rd, Victoria Park, 6100. Ph 1300 382 173. A/H: 0404 805 595. www.autoclassic.minigarage.com.au LMCT 2271

*Manufacturer’s Recommended Drive Away Price for MINI Ray. Offer available while stocks last. #Finance offered to approved personal customers of BMW Financial Services. Offer is based on a MINI Ray Hatch with manual transmission and no optional extras. Personal loan agreement over 60 months, a deposit of $2,888 and a residual payment of $13,192.94. Interest rate is 8.99% p.a. Total amount payable where vehicle is fully paid out is $36,055.34.

Vehicle must be ordered and delivered before 31/07/2011. Offer available while stocks last. Contact Auto Classic MINI Garage for more information.

Offer cannot be combined with any other offer.

Win from Win your from smartphone! your smartphone!

Search for “QR App”

Search for Search for “Barcode Scanner” “Barcode Scanner”

Like Pelican? Then like us on Facebook as well! Use your phone to Visit scan this barcode or Visit search Pelican Magazine. http://reader.kaywa.com http://reader.kaywa.com

spotl.guild.uwa.edu.au spotl.guild.uwa.edu.au

TO CONTACT PELICAN Visit first floor Guild Building P: 6488 2284 E: pelican@guild.uwa.edu.au

TO ADVERTISE IN PELICAN Please contact Alex Pond P: 6488 2211 F: 6488 1041 E: membership@guild.uwa.edu.au

8

Hunt the Homeless: Pete Scotch beats hobo brains in with his copy of Atlas Shrugged

18

Elmo wants you to vote Liberal Democrat: Richard Ferguson examines the Sesame Street propaganda machine

regular stuff

04 your leaders 06 regular columns 10 evil eye 46 howl

altruism

12 13 14 15 16 17 18 20 21 22 23 24 26 28

selfish meme giving a damn blood diamonds white rabbit selfish ceos / film producers sacks hates gift muppet diplomacy organ donation religions take on altruism hardboiled twist chocolate, cigarettes and mad max green or peace appointment with face derro bingo: can you derro?

music

30 hi africa 32 I love gaga 34 reviews 36 wim on a whim

28 24

Derro Bingo: Finally, Pelican has turned its love of judging people into an interactive game!

film

37 festivoramalodeon 38 reviews

BOOKS

Knock Knock! Yvonne Buresch takes us through the joys of door-to-door salesmanship

40 42 44

arts

review perth poetry month interview with comic artist tom taylor

45 reviews

30

African beats: Josh Chiat and the magic of musical discovery.

contents

Search for “QR App”

03

Credits Editors // Koko Wozniak & Patrick Marlborough Design // Wayne Chandra Advertising // Alex Pond Cover Art // Camden Watts Arts Editor // Sarah Dunstan Books Editor // Ben Sacks Film Editor // Callum J Twigger Music Editor // Josh Chiat Politics Editor // Thomas Adolph

Sub-editors // Josh Chiat, Kevin Chiat, Lachlan Keeley, Deblina Mittra, Sean McEwan, Sarah Motherwell, Ben Sacks, Elisa Thompson, Callum J Twigger.

Contributors // Thomas Adolph, Kiya Alimoradian, Stephen Barrett, Yvonne

Buresch, Sarah Byers, Alex Cassie, Josh Chiat, Kevin Chiat, Jakub Dammer, Richard Ferguson, Mary Gillooly, Annabel Hennessy, Craig Herschowitz, Ben Hogan, Alison Inglis, Kelsang Jimpa, Charlie Jones, Lachlan Keeley, Samantha Kelly, Scott Kendall, Zoe Kilbourn, Joanna Lamparski, Katrin Long, Bill Marlo, Keaton McSweeney, Deblina Mittra, Sarah Motherwell, Michael O’Brien, Daniel Pillar, Robert Purdew, Kate Prendergast, Ben Sacks, Giles Tuffin, Callum J Twigger, Lauren Wiszniewski, Sara Walker.

Illustrators // Tom Adolph, Evelyn Froend, Emily O’Keeffe, Hayley Moore, Alice Palmer, Evan Pearce, Ena Tulic, Camden Watts.

Camden Watts Camden has been studying Law/Arts at UWA since 2008.

While enthusiastic about his tertiary studies, his true interest lies with more creative endeavors. Camden has always paid more attention to drawing than his studies; his notes are generally a series of sketches, which are not often related to the class.

Camden is working on an Indie game with some friends and currently resides in Nottingham with Yvonne Buresch, who also contributes to the Pelican. Camden is very much interested in an artistic career, particularly the conceptual and illustrative fields, but we will see what happens there.

If you are interested in Camden’s art don’t hesitate to contact him on Pimpwacker@hotmail.com

The Perth Undergraduate Choral Society (PUCS) is thrilled to be returning to Winthrop Hall after a hiatus of over 10 years to present ‘Genesis of a Requiem’, a concert featuring the profound Requiem in C minor by Michael Haydn and the Funeral Anthem for Queen Caroline

by Handel. PUCS is joined by the superb Fremantle Chamber Orchestra and an outstanding quartet of young soloists including the renowned soprano Katja Webb, returning to Perth for a season with WA Opera. The concert takes place in Winthrop Hall on Saturday, October 1 at 7:30pm. For information on ticketing and more details, go to pucs.org.au.

WHAT’S ON CAMPUS? UDS presents.... So You Think You Need Pants?

Be a part of history as the long-awaited pants party is finally here!

Don’t you hate pants!? We do. That’s why we’re banning them from the first party of 2nd Semester Where: UWA Tavern When: Thursday, August 4 Time: 7.30pm Theme: Simple. You can dress up in any costume you like, just remove the pants portion (this includes leggings). This means short shorts (really short). Or if you’re brave enough, jocks and knickers. We want bare thighs; knee-high socks are okay…actually they’re encouraged.

Tickets: A cool $10! All tickets will be door sales, no pre-sale.

There’s nothing better than some cool pale skin on a winter’s night. It’ll feel like we’re wearing nothing at all! Nothing at all! Nothing at all!

The Red Cross Club is holding their first event! Come along to the UWA Tav August 10 from 7pm to learn more about the Red Cross, meet new people and have some fun. This is a free event, and you don’t need to be a member to attend.

Want to get involved with Pelican? We are always looking for new writers and illustrators so send us an email on pelican@guild.uwa.edu. au. The next Writers’ Night is August 3, 5pm up at the Guild Meeting Room. Edition 6’s theme is ‘decay’ so come join our family!

Who knows, you may even get to meet our sexy Books editor.

Editorials Presitorial

Crazy Cat Lady It is only fitting that this edition, my altruistic gift to you is a picture of the newest inclusion to my family – introducing Bajka. The last two weeks have been the busiest for Pelican. I have spent cold nights locked up in my office, looking longingly at the picture of Bajka on my desktop. With red-ink stained hands, I have exclaimed, “I miss Bajka so very much” and collapsed into a wallowing heap on my desk. I have a break from Pelican over the next two weeks and look forward to snuggling with Bajka every morning, watching The Bold and the Beautiful whilst touching her satinsmooth fluff and whispering sweet poetry into her perfectly pointed ears.

Graciously yours, Koko

Call me Al’

Tom Antoniazzi

“Once I built a railway, made it run Made it race against time Once I built a railroad, now it’s done Brother, can you spare a dime?”

“I know myself...and that is all,” famously proclaimed Amory Blaine after a turbulent period of undergraduate study at the bourgeois Princeton University in F. Scott Fitzgerald’s This Side of Paradise.

Do you know that song, ‘Buddy can you Spare a Dime?’ that Bing Crosby once sang in the way back when? Lately I’ve been feeling like the guy in that song. Not financially.

Just spiritually. I lost something and had a terrifying realisation that I may have the same prospects I had when I was 17…15…12 etc.

Although less familiar than Fitzgerald’s iconic Jay Gatsby, Amory explores the struggle for self-origination in a post-World-War-One era of new money, jazz and flappers.

Altruistic ideals are bred out of us. UWA fills me with great doubt about the sincerity of acts of kindness. I see future greed-hawks who will one day be grubbing like swine in their profit troughs. Maybe this is just my insecurity. Five years from now I may be filling a managerial role at McDonalds, where I can mount my BA in English with ironic pride on the wall behind me.

I witnessed the horror of UWA’s student mock parliament.

Extroverted hack know-nothings, current wannabes and future has-beens, all of them morally decrepit in their expensive suits and made fouler by their hoggish faces.

One looked like the guards that work in Jabba the Hutt’s Palace. Dull cunts. Talking to them made my stomach churn. I realised a mass-public execution of student politicians may be a great altruistic deed. When I chatted up the PM at the ALP conference she said “student media! An honourable profession despite where it may lead.” I wish I’d said “they say the same thing about student politics,” but I was too slow.

The only true altruist I know is my mother.

Everyone with a problem shows up at my house expecting my mother to help them – and out of kindness – she does. She buys furniture for the homeless, gives strangers lifts, invites French backpackers to our Christmas dinner and day after day takes care of an elderly chain smoker. There is little to no reward. She acts out of kindness and generosity and a lack of selfinterest. It seems at UWA that self-interest is the cornerstone of the curriculum. I’m not religious, but pride is a sin.

I try and do my bit. I founded the U.W.A.C.U.N.T.S (University of Western Australia Corrective Upstart Nefarious Tea Society) last year in an attempt to alleviate boredom and meet new people via free tea. It has worked. Everyone is welcome at my tea parties. The more the merrier. Tea is a “pure good” and could possibly cure those student politicians of their wretchedness.

Possibly. Find us on Facebook etc.

Your pal, Patrick

Fitzgerald’s first immature work and the theme of this Pelican edition combine to pose an interesting question: are universities altruistic places?

Altruism is defined as the renunciation of the self, but do we, as students, go to university for selfish purposes?

Achieving a higher education can position you for a lucrative career, a life of hedonism like that of Gatsby in which you can enjoy parties, nice shirts and books you’ll never read.

Although universities have a historical role in weaving the fabric of society, nowadays we see a disconcerting shift towards consumerism. Universities risk becoming big businesses that merely market their product to students.

Indeed, the words scribbled on statutes and limestone walls throughout the university suggest that the purpose for which we study is to “know thyself ”. Wanky, I know.

But unlike Amory, I don’t think that’s all. Yes, we have careerist students. Yes, administration treats us like Telstra customers. But we’re still an altruistic institution.

Sure, students come here to pursue knowledge. But we do so in order to help others. Whether you’re an arts student making public policy, a science student researching the human body, or a business student creating prosperous economies, most of us are here for the right reasons. Hell, some of us even study altruism as a philosophy.

I also like to think that altruism radiates from our own student organisation: the Guild. Throughout our time at university, students volunteer for a number of organisations and raise thousands of dollars for charity.

The Guild is at its heart a renunciation of the self, an exclusive existence for the welfare of the student.

In hindsight, it’s sad that all Amory knew after his brief fling with Princeton University was himself. But to be fair, he was a bit of a selfish prick. I know you’re better. I hope you’re better.

Good luck for your second semester and may you use your knowledge for others!

ed +Pres

05

regular

06

Letterz You would be left for dead in the upcoming apocalypse Eyo Tom, Great Pelican article! Good start for newbs, but I’m properly riled up about this katana fan boy idea – as someone that’s never owned Halo, seen several zombie flicks and read Max Brooks.

My main issue is that killing a zombie requires brain destruction and the major obstacle to brain destruction is our lovely hard skulls. Penetrating a skull with a polesaw has two flaws: it’s slow/fiddly and prone to getting stuck. I have personally used motorised pole-saws to prune council trees and as such, have first-hand experience of how unwieldy they are. Lowering the saw onto the head of a moving target would take more practise than you’d get a chance for in the upcoming zombie apocalypse.

Even if you did manage a blow to the head, spinning through the brain and pulling out again would take so long that you’d be left defenceless against a second zombie.

Furthermore, saws get stuck ALL THE TIME. One blunt or chipped tooth is all it would take for your spinning death blade to be halted and as useful as bright Alfoil.

Such damage is almost inevitable. Even working, sharpened saws (like the ones we maintained every two weeks at the council) get stuck if you apply too much downward force and don’t give the blades time to cut.

Comparatively, a single thrust from a katana through an eye socket is easier and faster.

You also overstated the value of the pole-saw’s range. The difference between a katana held in two hands and a pole-saw held in two hands is, at most, two steps. A distance easily covered by a single zombie while its counterpart is midway through a sawmediated lobotomy. As much as the range advantage would be huge for two humans fighting with each of the weapons, that would be because it’s a one on one fight and your opponent is wary of getting close enough to be hit. Zombies are rarely alone and know no fear. A pair would not stand back because you’re waving a spinning blade at head level - one would walk into it, one would walk past it. Then you’re fucked.

The pole-saw is useless in close quarters as its unbalanced weight makes it unsuitable for use as a staff. Also, should the zombie grab the pole, the spinning blade is now equally dangerous to you and it. Finally, the extra range means decreased portability.

Try fitting your pole-saw into a fuel-efficient small car, riding with it on a bike or even getting it out of your 4WD quickly.

The katana, while shorter, is still deadly after a zombie has past its end, could not be grabbed or interfered with by a zombie, has a one-sided blade for your safety and is very easily portable.

I hope that when the zombie apocalypse occurs our strongholds are in CV radio range and we can discuss our various weapons and their efficacy with the benefit of first hand experience.

to the EDZ Dear Cam,

better than a pole-saw in t a Katana would serve you tha ee agr I er. lett r you Thank you for a zombie apocalypse. the (inevitable) event of e in their l public’s over-confidenc pful in the hel h me, however, is the genera to oug g alth nin cer ich wh con s, st gun mo is us on What h their loud noises. , there is far too much foc ability to survive. Firstly attract greater ‘hoards’ of the walking dead wit probably your are to ve nts ser me blunt instru immediate, only weapons, skull-crushing, Stealth is key! In terms of safest bet. istic inevitable uprising of sad ctical for staving off the psychological pressure that will pra re mo be l wil s ord crushing Guns and sw ce. Because really, it is the Like all great zombie human on human violenstence that will cause the most death/violence. come with the end of exithe real monster. movies observe: man is , I think the best option an’s Walking Dead comics km Kir t ber Ro g din rea the trigger.

That said, after in your mouth and pull would be to just put a gun See you in the bunker, Co-Ed Patrick

Shocked and disgusted To the Editor, Sub-Editor and the smart arse who did the drawing of me in your Pelican issue, I am writing this letter of complaint to you, as when I read my son’s article on coming out it was with great shock and disgust that I was portrayed as a frilly apron, ginger haired Julia Gillard?

What’s with that? I am a young mum at 38 to an 18-year-old; I have dark hair and have never worn a frilly apron in my life.

May I add that due to family genes I was always aware that my children may have had ginger hair, due to their father’s side. Fortunately, however, both my children were blessed in the hair stakes (in saying that, Richard needs a hair cut).

When the article was published, some people thought that I was insensitive to my son’s sexuality and coming out. What is more concerning, a dirty house or my son’s sexuality? Correct – a dirty house. Richard’s sexuality is a part of who he his and I am more than proud of him for being his own person and following a life where he will choose who to love, sleep with etc. However, I am not so proud of his house habits; he really needs to up his game there.

Love ya heaps Rich, Mum xoxo

Mum, We also love Richard no matter what he turns into (we’d even forgive him for being a Protestant!).

Love his adopted parents, Koktrick

Sincerely Cam

Let’s Change the Conversation ––––––– Alison Ingliss ––––––– Boats. Boat people. Christmas Island.

Detention centres. Illegal immigrants. The conversations are going on everywhere and they’re getting repetitive. The papers are full of letters and articles conveying the “not in my country” sentiment. If you’re anything like me, this used to shock and surprise you, but over time you’ve come to expect this sort of rhetoric to fill the pages of our newspapers. Maybe you hear the beginnings of the ‘refugee’ conversation and swiftly point it in a more comfortable direction, because let’s face it, who wants to spend an entire evening listening to two groups defend

their irreconcilable positions on the issue?

So many times I’ve started talking and realised mid-conversation that I don’t know enough to do justice to my side of the debate.

I know what I’m trying to say, but I don’t have the evidence to back it up. If only I could punctuate the “but-they’re-all-terrorists” argument with a sensible statistic so that the heated debate could become a rational, factsbased conversation.

Let’s change the conversation. While the debate is complex, the facts are relatively

simple. Here is a little bit of information to share with your friends (or perhaps that awkward racist grandparent).

Firstly, some terminology. A person seeking protection is an asylum seeker before their refugee status is determined. If it is decided that a person fits the UN criteria (in particular, that they have a well-founded fear of persecution as a result of race, religion, nationality, social group or political opinion), then that person is a refugee. If you think it’s ludicrous to call somebody who flew to Australia a “plane person”, then you should equally reject the term “boat person”. And, as it is legal to seek asylum in Australia, the term “illegal immigrant” is incorrect.

Secondly, some numbers. In 2010, 6879 asylum seekers arrived in Australia asking for our protection. That’s enough to fill only 6.8% of the seats in the MCG. There is 1.1 refugee (whose status has been determined) for every 1000 people in Australia. In fact, we

only protect around 14,000 refugees each year.

When the number of refugees per capita was calculated for each country, this put Australia at number 68 on the list. Do you think we’re doing our bit?

When we look at the facts, it becomes apparent that this simply isn’t the issue that many would have us believe it is.

Fear-mongering has turned Australians’ minds towards fears of terrorism and unfair Centrelink benefits (note that there is no extra ‘refugee’ Centrelink bonus). With this fear defining the conversation, we have a responsibility to change that conversation.

Have a few of these facts ready for your friends and family. Use your voice and contact your local MP to tell them that anti-refugee sentiment will not win your vote at the next election. If you need any resources to make this happen, please contact Amnesty UWA on amnesty.uwa@gmail.com.

road test

07

PELICAN ROAD TESTS THE MYSTERY METHOD Roving social reporter Hank Moody road tests the much-maligned Mystery Method – intellectual offspring of the infamous The Game and a perfect strategy for unlocking the dangerous and unpredictable minds of the fairer sex.

Published by a former magician – now “professional pick-up artist”, Eric “Mystery” von Markovic – this book is a guide to attracting and seducing women. It should be stressed that The Mystery Method is a specialist’s tool. Girls don’t like to think that there’s any way they could be uniformly manipulated. They like to think they’re unique snowflakes.

You’d be forgiven for thinking so but the book is not strictly about manipulation. It’s not a trick but a mindset. Most of it is expressed with unnecessarily complex diagrams and anagrams. As I stalked the dark corners of Carnegies Bar, I could only recall the meat and potatoes.

A nightclub is an extremely limited and often unpleasant environment. It’s loud, full of drunk, obnoxious pingers and everything is exorbitantly expensive. People would not willingly dwell in such an environment if there were not some benefit being reaped. In the case of a dance club, you will only ever be there for one of two reasons: 1) to dance, 2) to pick up.

And men hate dancing.

“Girls,” says Mystery. “Any time a guy approaches and talks to you in a club, he is looking for sex.” No matter what his actual words are, at an essential level he is asking you, “Hey! How about some penis?” In deference to the gender-wide brain damage that prevents women from accepting it, men must learn to camouflage their motives.

Setting up a friend of mine across the room, I stood patiently in line for the upstairs dance floor. I had no intention of getting there. Watching as my friend began chatting to a girl, I sighed loudly to myself. The shorthaired blonde I had sidled up to got curious, checking to see what I was looking at. I pretended to dial a number, then pretended not to get through. I laughed to myself and made eye contact with her, as if by accident.

“See that dude there?” I asked her with a big smile.

“Um, yeah?”

“Literally just broke up with his girlfriend. I don’t know how he does it. He’s a machine.”

“Um, good for him?” she replied.

“That’s alright though isn’t it?” I asked casually after a moment, “for him to be out already?”

She wasn’t sure what I meant. “Um, I guess so. Why wouldn’t it be?”

I leaned in conspiratorially. “Well, if you were that girl he’s talking to, wouldn’t it make a difference if you knew he just broke up?”

She paused. “Oh. Sort of? It depends whether I like him or not.”

live in Perth so that’s pretty much all we have to work with.

“Negs” or ‘negging” means very subtly insulting a girl in order to make her more receptive to your small compliments later. One girl once told me she was a model. I paused for a moment and said, “Oh okay, cool, like, for your uni flier or something?” Another classic is to tell her she has something in her teeth or offer her a mint.

An entire book can’t really be summarised in one page. Most of Mystery’s ideas contradict the Disney romance drivel girls get fed from birth. The punch line is this: the book tells unpalatably scientific truths about courting. It’s incredibly poorly written, smug and desperately over-thought. It works, but you still feel like a jerk for using it. The best advice I can give, having supped from Mystery’s Faustian chalice is that women like men. So be a man.

I chuckled playfully. “You do don’t you?” I laughed.

“Don’t worry I won’t tell.” She laughed, still not sure what’s going on. But we’re already talking and a rapport was building. She forgot that I was a stranger and we hung out for a couple of hours. We danced, had a drink and I left with a kiss and a phone number. I was quite proud of my first foray back into the Mystery Game. I engaged with a question rather than a line. I made her laugh, piqued her interest and didn’t press too hard. I strayed from script somewhat – Mystery recommends doing the same routine several times throughout the night. Once or twice is enough for me – this isn’t Entourage. Yet it’s clear that the techniques work.

Now, the advice most girls will give you here is to “be yourself”. For that reason, they’ll also tell you that “canned material” is disingenuous and won’t work. That’s bullshit. The truth is this: the guys who strike out with women are the ones who are nervous, awkward and a little bit creepy. They are not in their element; they’re out on a limb trying to talk to disinterested strangers who will judge them based on looks and about 15 seconds of conversation. Under these circumstances, men need every tool (including canned material) at their disposal to ensure that they are calm, confident and engaging. Boys, imagine yourself at your best, surrounded by mates, a few drinks deep, having just dropped an awesome joke. That’s what girls like and that’s what you should be serving up at clubs.

Another tool is “negging”, a technique adapted for use on particularly beautiful or arrogant girls. We

Illustration by Ena Tulic

This article was originally intended as a road test for the concept of “wing-woman”. Movies have trained us to accept that support staff – or “wing-men” – are necessary tools in a “player’s” arsenal. I believed it might be possible to unlock the potential of a female co-conspirator – a translator, if you will – with actual insight. Surely, I thought, no one could know better than a woman, what attracts women. I was wrong. As surely as men don’t know what women want, neither do women. Faced with the failure of my great social experiment, I turned to an old and neglected friend from my late teenage years – The Mystery Method.

devil’s advocate

HUNT THE HOMELESS Tackle poverty and boredom simultaneously -------------------------------------------

There are two complaints that have remained consistent throughout the breadth of human existence: 1. I’m bored, and 2. Why are there so many fucking homeless around?

Nowhere are both issues more prevalent than in our creeping mole of a city, Perth.

On my morning trots to the polo field I rarely see signs of the rising tides of pauperism. But my driver sometimes takes me through Hooverville shantytowns such as Fremantle, and more often than not, I find myself in the CBD knee deep in urban squalor. Many of these foul urchins seem to be in their early 20s or even younger. They scurry around like Dickensian street rats, or – because of their inherent laziness – simply mope about on curbsides with signs like “help – I’m 15 homeless and hungry”. Such beggary churns my innards.

I’ve taken the time to inspect many of these social invalids, after they have knocked themselves out by huffing paper bags of paint thinner, and I have reached this conclusion: they can be made healthy, they can be sheltered, they can be fed – and thus – they If can be hunted.

I have hunted Beluga Whales, White Rhinos and once attacked a band of ultra-violent chimpanzees with a switchblade. But it was not until I hunted the greatest game of all – man – on a friend’s private island that I truly felt the thrill of the hunt.

Pete Scotch -------------------------------------------

Our foreshore would extend into the river. Upon this would be built the stadium as well as a training facility that would house the wretched bums (keeping them strong enough to hunt, but too weak to escape). Surrounding these facilities would be a line of shops offering supplies to both the casual hunter, as well as the serious hobbyist (think: crossbows). The stadium itself would sit at least 30,000 people but would also open up to an area of river that has been specially kept for aqua battles (think: more river sharks).

filled coke bottles. So they do not construct flaws into the buildings hoping to escape later, we shall hire dole-bludgers as hyper-violent guards that will keep the homeless in line.

The dole-bludgers will be paid with ACTUAL money.

A tunnel would link the stadium to Kings Park, which is now off limits to the public. It has always been a tawdry place filled with meandering couples and middle-income malcontents. By transforming the park into the main Safari Zone, it will finally earn its place as a great icon of our state.

The war-memorial can be shifted to Hamilton Hill or a suburb that is equally plebeian.

INDUSTRY This will do wonders for Perth’s burgeoning tourist and crossbow industries. Roy Scotch, owner of +1 CROSSBOW Inc., is willing to open a crossbow mega-mart adjacent to the tunnel entrance.

The park would go through some other changes. A lot of foreign flora and fauna (think: Hyenas) will be introduced. It would be divided into landscape-themed hunting grounds,

Perthians, especially you Gen-Y kids, are truly keen to live in a thriving and unique city while simultaneously dealing with the “homeless issue”, then an ultra-violent human safari facility is really the only solution.

Perth is a city undergoing great change. We are finally pulling ourselves up by our bootstraps. The rabble are now demanding more entertainment and more infrastructure, and they seem to desire a glossy uppermiddle class paradise and not an awkwardly-sprawling, suburban ooze puddle. If Perthians, especially you Gen-Y kids, are truly keen to live in a thriving and unique city while simultaneously dealing with the “homeless issue”, then an ultra-violent human safari facility is really the only solution.

It will end the blight of boredom and the blight of beggary simultaneously.

INFRASTRUCTURE The only thing more common than hobos in Perth is construction. For every bindle there is a crane. Seeing as I am heavily invested in construction stocks, I think that the Perth foreshore development is a swell idea. But I do not want it to go to waste as a café mall for pseudo yuppies. No. It is the perfect location for the “Hobo Safari Park and Gladitorial Stadium”.

each with their unique set of challenges and snake pits for hunter and hunted alike.

I understand this fair city’s love of Ferris wheels. One would be opened near the stadium; it would consist of rotating cages with homeless inside that younger punters could take shots at (think: crossbows).

Many more jobs will be created by the project. Guides, food vendors, clothing and accessory shops, crossbow specialists as well as hyena keepers are but some of the many jobs that this project shall create.

HOBO PRIDE/HUMANITARIAN ISSUES There is nothing inhumane about any of my ideas.

Particularly if we succeed in passing legislation that classifies the homeless as “game”.

This is something that we must be both philosophical and practical about.

Remember: We all ignore these people, we all see them as a burdensome menace and we only feign sympathy as a way of dodging the crushing guilt ridden reality of our societal system. Do you think I live in Cottesloe because I like the beach? No! It is because the police have had the decency to baton these train hoppers out of sight and out of mind. I do not see how forcing the homeless to build a gladiatorial stadium and then be hunted as game is any more inhumane than just letting them die lonely and unaided on the street.

I was once inspecting one of these cretins on William Street.

He was caked in vomit and shaking violently after having a seizure (probably faked so as to get some pity coin). He looked up at me and said “I wanna die…I wanna die…but not like a stray fuckin’ dog…”

EMPLOYMENT Naturally, the venture will deal with Perth’s unemployment problem. But maybe not in the way you think.

I looked deep into his eyes and said:

The homeless will no longer be considered as people, but as creatures (much like how we categorised Aborigines.

They are officially game and the property of the Safari park.

They will also be forced to work – even if this contradicts their lazy self-pitying genetic code. They will construct both the stadium and the training facility. Those who build the stadium will be paid in paper bags filled with paint, and those who build the training facility will be paid in industrial glue-

He either nodded or his fit finished, but the point remains, by hunting them like animals we are giving these people more dignity in death than we ever gave them in life.

“How about like a Sumatran Tiger?”

Pete Scotch is the co-vice captain of UWA Polo Society, vicechief financial adviser for Blackstone and chief-vice financial advisor for the Young Liberals.

Illustration by CamdenWatts

devil’s advocate

08

How to Gate Crash ––– Daniel Pillar & Sarah Byers –––

Gate Crashing is quite a negative term, which we all know as showing up to something without the express or implied consent of the host. This may be a party, a festival, or even showing up at a movie to know your ex is attending with her new boyfriend.

recognise your voice. Examples include toiletpaper mummies, medieval helmets, buckets or a ridiculous amount of socks. If your disguise is effective enough, it may even hide your gender, which is especially effective if you are a man gate crashing a women’s liberation party.

The motivations for doing so are obvious, as we move through Maslow’s hierarchy of needs: Physiologically, you may receive free drinks (awesome!). Regarding safety, safety wise, you may be less likely to be stabbed at a private party than the Paramount. A sense of belonging or love may emerge from the newly found drunken comrades at the party. Your ego loves the fact you’ve made it in safely. And finally, you may even achieve self-actualisation, such as in the previously-mentioned movie situation where you realise you didn’t need her anyway, you’re awesome just the way you are and you don’t have to share your extremely expensive popcorn and Coke.

Step Two: The Entrance Most of the time, you can’t simply walk in to a party you haven’t been invited to (although an effective disguise may increase these chances).

Plus, you want to avoid the initial meet-andgreet, so get there once the party’s booming.

If you’re going the traditional front-door

Step One: The Research It’s important to conduct some clear research on the target occasion. Is it a 21st or a 50th? Is there likely to be professional security? And most importantly, is it a costume party?

Failure to accurately investigate these questions thoroughly could result in some terrible outcomes. You wouldn’t make it through the doors, resulting in a complete waste of a day’s evil scheming. But more importantly, you could end up at a party you didn’t want to be invited to anyway. Examples of this are Tupperware parties, 110th birthdays and a friend’s friend’s cousin’s bar mitzvah.

Effectively researching the target party will increase your chances of getting in a few good hours of drinking before you’re caught. Fitting in with the party’s theme is a must and disguises/ costumes that cover your face are the safest choice. By covering your mouth and reducing your vocabulary to a series of grunts, you won’t have to avoid talking to people who would

Illustration by Ena Tulic

But I digress. By following some very important steps, you can reduce the likelihood of your subsequent ejection from your venue of choice. Read on.

Step Three: The Execution Don’t give yourself away. Avoid going near the birthday person (normally designated by 21st sashes, the sluttiest costume, or most ridiculously overt drunkenness). If friends of the host ask who you are, say a cousin. If a family member asks, say a friend. There will usually be a clear divide between the family and friends groups early on in the night, so try to mingle around the food or the bar at this point and then hide yourself in the dance floor later on.

Getting ridiculously intoxicated yourself would be an unwise idea, as you’re less likely to make it through the night than a drunken uncle who heckles the bride during her wedding speech.

You’ll also attract security, which as we’ve seen from the Big Day Out, are very effective at going overboard and injuring innocent passers-by.

approach, and a parent or security is on the door, you’ll need to have a fake name or motive for being allowed entry. You could say you’re the DJ or delivering the Chinese food, although this may be hindered by your lack of turntables or sweet and sour pork. Using the name of a real attendant will have security let you in and deny that person entry when they do arrive (especially good for people you dislike). Failing this, you could go with the most popular name for your age. In 1990 (the year that are turning 21 this year), the most popular names were Michael or Christopher, and Jessica or Ashley. Avoid mentioning last names, as this reduces your odds dramatically. When you enter, make sure you do so casually. Avoid wearing a hoodie and darting your eyes like a cornered politician. Throw in a wave or two so those on the door think you know people inside.

Don’t forget that you may be doing the host a favour by showing up to their party. The best parties are normally the ones with a bit of drama, which can set the whole night off. Who are you to deny a venue of your awesome party presence?

You may even be able to convince people that you’ve met before. Start with “I haven’t seen you in ages”, follow up with “How good does the birthday girl look tonight”, and close with “We should totally catch up sometime!” You might even make a new acquaintance!

Step Four: The Escape If people start to get suspicious, a quiet exit may be for the best. Leaving with a crowd is easier, such as at the end of a festival, and the last thing you want is to get charged with trespassing.

Fence jumping is always an option, however this may require extensive Google Earth planning prior to the event. Failing that, just think about the latest Mark Wahlberg movie, which will cause you to throw up and be subsequently ejected from the venue without question.

Conclusion: The Brag “Remember that guy with the sombrero that drank all your tequila? Well, it was me, and I wasn’t even invited!” And the glory that follows is then yours to bask in (once the hangover passes, anyway).

Over the last few years Bill Murray (that’s right) has gained notoriety for randomly crashing student parties in Brooklyn, Scotland and Europe. He just shows up and starts hanging with 20-something year-olds. In one incident, he even helped with the washing up. BILL FUCKING MURRAY.

how to

09 09

Illustration by Evelyn Froend

evil eye

10

EVIL EYE: JULIA GILLARD and the DOWNWARD SPIRAL Julia Gillard’s speech to the WA State Labor Conference is as expressive in what it doesn’t say as what it does. Between the two, a lot can be read about her standing as this nation’s leader. Thomas Adolph presents the Evil Eye’s guide to judging Julia and examines the likely future of our unpopular PM.

In the closing days of June 2011, the State Labor delegates at Ascot Racecourse were nervously awaiting the arrival of the Prime Minister. She would be the first national leader to address the conference since Bob Hawke in 1991 – few prime ministers have courted WA so fiercely.

Her arrival is met with little fanfare. Only the media and a small band of protesters await her at the front steps of the Raceway building. Defence Minister Stephen Smith and a small group of State heavyweights rush out to open the door as she steps from the black government limo. In a sea of dark suits, she is an explosion of electric blue. Julia Gillard is alone among Australian prime ministers in that she provokes the uncertain “kiss-or-shakehands dance”. When Eric Ripper goes in for a pash, she takes it in her stride. The other pollies err on the side of caution; they seem to do an odd sort of curtsy before extending their hands.

Julia’s first move is towards the nearby protesters, demonstrating against low spending in state schools, the live cattle trade (“Don’t let the cruelty start again, Julia”) and the Malaysian Solution. The climate disbelievers are notably absent, possibly having recognised the futility of trying to shift a hostile audience. She has a broad smile and a conciliatory word for each of them, acknowledging their viewpoints and offering assurances that she is searching for a solution. She has a wry laugh and a cheeky sound bite for the Pelican staffers: “[Student journalism] is a worthy pursuit, despite where it leads,” she says. She is quickly swept away by Smith and the Conference organisers.

It is clear that prime ministers are rarely able to move anywhere in a straight line. Though constantly surrounded by a storm of minders, hangers-on and men with earpieces, she is assailed throughout the day by hand grabbers and cheek

kissers. In response, she seems to have mastered the art of never truly stopping, perennially pulling away and having to be elsewhere.

The conference hits a minor speed bump with the traditional Nyungar welcome. The organisers become skittish as the two Aboriginal speakers saw steadily into the Prime Minister’s speaking time. A nearby cameraman mutters into his microphone as the minutes wear on: “can you fuckin’ believe this?” Worse, the speakers raise the forbidden spectre of Kevin Rudd, praising the 2007 apology as the delegates compress steadily in their seats. For the rest of the conference, that name is never spoken again. Eventually, the stage is freed up and Julia takes the mike. It has been said that the camera adds ten pounds, but in reality it seems to add height. Gillard is much shorter than she appears at full swing behind a podium.

The message Julia is selling is that “things are pretty good”. It’s a classic move from the Howard playbook and one that may save her government.

Australia, she reminds us, has had greater growth

She has a wry laugh and a cheeky sound bite for the Pelican staffers: “[Student journalism] is a worthy pursuit, despite where it leads,” she says.

this year than any other comparable economy.

We also have lower unemployment and lower debt following the global financial crisis. The unacknowledged flipside is that accelerating economies cause higher interest rates, food, power, water and property prices.

Our profitability has steadily increased over the last 10 years, yet productivity has not kept up.

The unprecedented strength of the dollar is now making Australian product very expensive to trade. Investors can choose to trade overseas for the same product we produce, without paying a carbon tax. The scheme is designed to incentivise innovation and change to greener technologies. Its more immediate effect will be to incentivise trade with our offshore competitors. The real political hurt will come from households, whose electricity bills have risen by an average 40% across all states. The carbon tax will increase those costs by roughly $300 P/A, or 10% if you care to take Treasury estimates. For a prime minister trying to convince the country that we can afford to selfimpose invented costs, the sooner this thing is implemented the better. Ideally, that will be long before the next election.

When Tony Abbott’s name is mentioned, a low hiss goes around the room. The Opposition Leader, explains Gillard, has no vision, no conviction and no substance. He is a wrecker and a sloganist, and he doesn’t understand the true responsibility of government. The crowd rumbles in approval. Abbot is a grey cloud over Labor at the moment. The Libs are convincingly up as a party, their lead barely wavering for the last eight months. For the first time since ascending to the leadership, Abbott has edged out Julia Gillard’s personal approval rating as preferred prime minister. Almost a year to the day since she took power, Gillard sunk to her lowest ebb, only one point above Paul Keating’s record as Australia’s least popular prime minister. Yet more tellingly, Labor’s primary vote has fallen even further than their besieged leader. When Rudd was axed, the perception was that Labor had a leader who was damaging their brand. This time, Labor itself is in trouble too.

Abbott has described the Government’s carbon

policy as social engineering in disguise. Undoubtedly it is so. It might otherwise seem an odd coincidence that the ideal mechanism for balancing the carbon price would be tax reform recommendations made by key Labor advisors years ago. The majority of the proposals are familiar. Most of them come from the Henry Report recommendations, like the tax-free threshold being raised from $6000 to $20,000 by 2015.

With such vast amounts of money being made by so few in this country, a little wealth redistribution may not be such a terrible idea. Whether or not Australians want such policies, however, is a matter for an election, not a focus group. There is no electoral mandate for this pervasive reform, nor for the carbon tax that is its delivery system.

The Opposition is far from Gillard’s only obstacle.

We are constantly reminded that Labor has a rogue Prime Minister sitting on the front bench. Recently, we have seen the viciousness that situation has inspired.

In response to a 4 Corners report on abattoirs in Indonesia, the Government recently suspended all live cattle exports to that country from Australia. They had vastly overestimated the outrage the program would generate; within a few weeks they were faced with a back-pedalling, $300 million industry and paying to compensate for the damage they had caused.

During the scrum, Kevin Rudd’s approval rating began to steadily outpace his leader’s. It would have

been politically impossible to allow Rudd to swoop in and solve the Prime Minister’s problem. Instead, Agriculture Minister Joe Ludwig was sent overseas – and vastly out of his depth – to confront the issue. He presented a 20-page list of conditions to his Indonesian counterpart on June 20, in English. The translation took several days. At the conference, Gillard expressed her confidence that her friend Senator Ludwig would “resolve the live cattle challenge”. Though at that time it was well know that Rudd planned to visit Indonesia also, he was not mentioned in her address. As it happened, Rudd was the one who negotiated the final deal to re-start the industry. Yet two hours after he gave an interview stating, “negotiations were ongoing”, it was Ludwig that announced that the standoff had been resolved. In truth, the Government had caved after Indonesia suspended Australian cattle trading permits. Both the decision to suspend and reinitiate the trade was made without Rudd. He is known to have later cornered Ludwig at Parliament House and reprimanded him for his handling of the matter.

The final twist is that Ludwig was a key figure in the removal of Rudd as PM. Far from muzzling Rudd, grabbing credit for the solution and salvaging the relationship with Indonesia, the Government had publicly humiliated their own foreign minister, alienated the public with their lack of foresight and incensed a major international

trading partner. And that’s only one of three major controversies facing this Government.

Gillard has pinned her hopes on the Carbon Tax. Ironic, as it’s a policy she never wanted. Yet it will define her completely at the next election. If the polls don’t drastically improve by then, she will be a sitting duck. If they do, she will be largely vindicated in ignoring what the public wants and handing it what it needs. In all likelihood, Tony Abbott will prefer to continue doggedly savaging the Government.

Given their succession of gaffes lately, perhaps it’s unsurprising that the majority of his time is taken up in pointing their errors. He has a minute lead and isn’t likely to change tactics now that he has been rewarded with success.

Julia Gillard leaves the conference with a copy of the Pelican in hand; the feeling is distinct that we would have had less luck trying to approach her outside of this safe space. With Independent Rob Oakshott stating that his balance-shifting handshake was with her alone, she is probably safe from the knives that took out Kevin Rudd. Knocking her off as leader might mean an election, and no one in Labor wants that.

At the conference, the closest thing to an admission that she was in any sort of trouble was an unwieldy metaphor laden with football analogies. The truth is more simple: Julia Gillard has two years to salvage a disaster-ridden term and her best chance is to make Australia love the Carbon Tax. God help her.

evil eye

11

altruism

12

THE SELFISH MEME: HOW VIRAL JOKES HAVE TAKEN OVER THE INTERNET –––––––––––––––– ZOE KILBOURN ––––––––––––––––

“The Internet has changed the way we communicate.”

“Young adults use the internet more often than any other demographic.”

“Forever alone.”

These are all truisms. The Internet has changed the way we interact – and, more often than not, the way we think. For a growing number who frequent user-driven sites such as 9gag and Reddit, collective Internet in-jokes – “memes” – have been almost instinctively adopted. Phrases like “haters gon hate” and “cool story, bro” are slipping into ordinary usage. But the meme structure of Internet humour stretches farther than immediately identifiable Ragecomics and image macros. Zoe, Y U NO explain yourself?

Challenge accepted.

The “meme” concept is generally credited to Richard Dawkins, who introduced the idea in his wildly popular The Selfish Gene. Dawkins proposed that social ideas spread and develop similarly to genes, and certain “memes” (cultural and social “traits”) gain cultural supremacy in a mock-Darwinist “survival of the fittest”. Weak memes are lost to the annals of history, while strong memes gain power. The very strongest – religion, etiquette, convention – influence or even determine the minutiae of our behaviour.

Naturally, the meme theory has faced an onslaught of opposition for its oversimplification of human interaction. Yet it’s particularly apt that the term “meme” should be applied to Internet phenomena. Trends spread with an immediacy and range unimaginable in any other context. To a far greater extent than television, film, and printed media, these trends are determined and developed by the public.

Organisations such as Know Your Meme and the Daily Meme are devoted to identifying and tracking the evolution of these trends (over 4,000 confirmed and unofficial memes are listed on knowyourmeme.com). In a society where subscriptions to social networking sites are almost essential, it’s easy to see strata of popular culture forming.

networking in the way that the post, the telephone, email or Skype did. Facebook isn’t about direct contact; it’s a mechanism for subtly keeping tabs on people you’d otherwise not speak to. A Facebook page is a social résumé that needs to be cultivated with tact and care.

The most successful Facebookers understand the fine balance between a charmingly whimsical update and an overly candid one; they post often enough to keep friends’ interest but would never allow themselves to clog up News Feeds with a barrage of banalities. More often than not, the image of themselves they have developed is a wryly intelligent, carefree, fun, and socially successful one. It doesn’t matter what the reality is – just like the popular kids, on Facebook they are always “on”. Rarely can a Facebooker post an effusive status without repercussions (“OMG, she actually said ‘Can we pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars’.”) At the Facebook Cocktail Party, everybody’s talking and saying nothing.

This is the secret to Facebook’s success.

Facebook doesn’t demand to know what you’re doing or nag you to keep a blog. Facebook asks – what’s on your mind?

As Myspace tottered under its own weighty complexity, a generation of Internet browsers chose shallowness over substance and moved to Facebook. Facebook moved with them, elegantly arranging their profiles and tacitly hiding the friends it knows they didn’t care about.

Facebook also understood that its users are fickle. In one very telling move – hotly contested by users at the time – it stopped asking Facebookers to “become a fan” and started asking them to “like” pages. So began

the practice of “liking” things: a noncommittal, often-ironic show of appreciation. Likes, once scouted, bloom rapidly before subsiding into the News Feed abyss.

The Like proved to be the perfect medium for the modern epigram. Waves of jokes have flourished and died on Facebook, most never meeting the real world. Many of these jokes work on the meme principle, with thousands of local and obscure variations on a theme making an appearance. The anonymous forces behind Likes have tackled observational comedy (“the awkward moment when”), absurdist humour (Nan and turban jokes), subversive themes (“I wasn’t that drunk”; mass), farce (“Hell no, hold my”), and comedy of manners (“u fink shez da 1”). We’ve seen the burgeoning of a thousand external pages devoted to likes, whose sole purpose is to spread trends further and quicker.

Amidst adolescent angst, serious corporate pages and mindless reposts is comic gold.

Memes IRL are, at best, bizarre. Charlie Sheen’s psychotic references to “trolls” sounded awkward and forced away from keyboard, and planking was recently the subject of several bemused exposés in The West Australian. The simple fact is that memes don’t make sense in the real world; they are artificial idioms of Internet communication. Media hacks are fond of reducing Internet dialogue to a string of abbreviations, but the Technological Revolution has changed far more than written English. You don’t describe your reaction to a friend when you can link them a .gif with an explanatory “my face when”. You don’t need to justify your opinion when a web comic strip can do it for you. You don’t need a pretext for conversation when you can send a funny cat video.

Computing pioneers have long assured us that our lives would be enriched and eased by the fluidity of Internet communication, but the fact is we’ve been changed by it. The Internet does not complement our day-to-day workings – our waking lives, if you like – but runs concentric to it. To use the Internet effectively – which is far more than desperately trawling Google for acceptable academic sources – Generation Y is obliged to follow the flux of Internet fashion.

The term “social networking” is deceptive, because Facebook doesn’t promote or improve

Illustration by Hayley Moore

On MARCH 22, 2011, 4chan and Reddit started an “involuntary” flash mob event by creating fake dating profiles on OKCupid and setting up a false rendezvous for single males at Times Square. Various flyers explaining the action plan were posted in the forums and blogs like Skim Online Forums and Dating Service Reporter.

altruism

13

The Question of Whether Anyone Gives a Damn –––––––– Kate Prendergast ––––––––

If you’ve ever heard of psychological egoism, you may remember that awful moment when you realised that the entirety of human behaviour, from the noblest deed to the most heinous crime can be subsumed under a common motive. That motive, the psychological egoist claims, is self-interest.

One strand of the theory is called psychological hedonism, whereby the individual’s sole aim is to maximise happiness and avoid pain. This is a standing example of how the masochist minority is once again excluded from scholarly consideration. If this group were remembered when psychological hedonism was but a fledgling thought, then it would’ve never even seen puberty. Thankfully, we can now honour that admirable group that insists upon stabbing itself with sharp instruments. Nice one emos, you GHOST that theory!

However, the broader model still endures, substituting “happiness” for “perceived welfare”. Unlike ethical egoism, psychological egoism doesn’t propose an ideal model for moral action. Rather, it insists that you’ll always be a selfish douche whether you want to be or not. “Resign yourself ”, it sneers.

One could cite numerous examples of psychological egoism in action. That time you volunteered for Health Food Week? You just wanted to dress up as a giant turnip and get down with those sweet, sweet strawberries. Plus you’re eyeing off that community service award. That granny you helped cross the road?

You only wanted to feel that “Good Samaritan” glow (please let no Freudian psychoanalysis apply here).

The real damage this theory does is to love. Self love is the only kind that exists; it’s all there is. Every other emotion and behaviour is merely a derivative product of this all-consuming drive. Kindness, compassion and generosity are all delusional stage plays. Feelings of concern also have nothing to do with others. When your girlfriend’s feeling ill, you make her a camomile because you’re really worrying: “brilliant, another missed blow-job Tuesday.” When your housemate gets fired from his job at KFC, you only give a damn because you know that he’s going to spend the next couple of weeks moping about the place, eating your tiramisu and doing a crapella versions of ‘Why Does it Always Rain on Me?’ (You’re also in mourning because the era of free, finger-lickin chicken has come to an end). And if a close friend tells you they’re moving to Canada, you’re only sad because you’re going to miss them brightening up your life.

You may ask if self-interest is all we’re concerned with, why do we find ourselves miserable so often?

The psychological egoists have an answer at the ready: Getting what we want is compromised by a context that cannot totally satisfy our desires. When our desires are met, it can be something like eating negatives – rather than our hunger being satiated, it grows.

Moreover, since we’re not psychics, our desires are often confounded by unforeseen circumstances.

It’s almost as if there’s a malevolent little imp lurking beneath our consciousness, slyly manoeuvring all our behaviours (so much for free will). Its scheme: to optimise the host’s desires. Since we’re all “possessed”, the only reason we have a categorical spectrum from selfless to selfish people is because some people get their egos cosseted in more veiled or socially appropriate ways. Under psychological egoism, the same fundamental force impelled Mother Teresa and Hitler. Mother Teresa only had a different way of gratifying her sense of self (i.e. helping people made her feel good), whereas mass-murder was what tickled Hitler’s fancy. That’s why kids can be such little brats.

Kindness isn’t innate, it’s learnt and they’ve yet to discover that giving mummy a smile and a hug will more often get them a cookie than screaming “I WANT COOKEH! COOKEH! COOKEHHHHH!” “Morality”, then, is merely the product of such social conditioning.

Friendship too is reduced to a social survival strategy and a means to groom our self-securities. Immanuel Kant’s categorical imperative is rendered impossible, since everything and everyone is a means to an end, and that end is self-gratification.

"Satisfaction of what?"

"Their desires." Etc. Let’s not subscribe to pessimism so readily. Moreover, thinking about it too closely is pointless. Imagine how proud someone would be if somehow they proved beyond a doubt that we are really all selfish pigs.

They’d get the Nobel Prize, for sure. Or, more like the judges, realising that their long-standing recognition of individual brilliance was just a way to make them feel all cosy and generous, would probably suspend the ceremony, steal the money and spend it on pot and prostitutes. That’s the thing, if we’re told that, as a fact, we’re selfish, that description becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. Anthropologists call this “interpellation”, where externally sourced understandings about us become reified into realities.

Therefore even if caring is a delusion, then let it be.

After all, we live in an age of permanent uncertainty.

The jury is always out.

So, dear reader, why am I writing this? For my name to be known? So I can further puff up my pride? Do I care for you at all? Do I, as it were, give a shit?

I don’t know. I hope so.

Horrible, isn’t it? I don’t like to dwell on it for too long.

It makes me miserable and misanthropic. Do you feel miserable? I hope this article has been convincing enough to make you feel miserable. How selfish of me.

Unquestionably, psychological egoism is one of the most perverse theories around. It announces itself with a curled lip, and espouses nothing but contempt for self and others. But whilst it cannot be disproved, it can’t be proved either. One of the main criticisms of the hypothesis is its basic circularity, as demonstrated by Joel Feinberg in the following example: "All men desire only satisfaction."

"Satisfaction of what?"

"Satisfaction of their desires."

"Their desires for what?"

"Their desires for satisfaction."

Illustration by Ena Tulic

“I don't want to talk about those things. I see the worst in people. I don't need to look past seeing them to get all I need.

I've built my hatreds up over the years, little by little, Henry... to have you here gives me a second breath. I can't keep doing this on my own with these...people.” – Daniel Plainview, There Will be Blood

altruism

14

“Dirty Gold” Leaves its Stain on Ghanaian Communities ------------------------------------------

My “tro-tro” bus rolls over the bridge into Fenaso, greeted by the beaming smiles and waves of the Ghanaian children delighting in the arrival of foreign visitors to their small community. The smile that has inevitably infected my face is quick to disappear once I begin speaking with the community about the dire situation facing Fenaso’s 1,500 inhabitants.

Joanna LamparsKi

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

issue of “dirty gold”? Our insatiable appetite for gold is causing untold harm, and it is our moral responsibility as human beings to restore the balance between our own advancement and the degradation that the people of Ghana now suffer.

river. That night, he came home complaining of severe stomach pains. He died three days later. This hardly tallies with AGA’s claims that their mining operations provide nothing but a positive impact on local communities.

My own experience of dealing with AGA did little to convince me of their argument. As a volunteer representing the Projects Abroad Human Rights It does not take long to realise just how much these people Organisation, I had the unique experience of attending a are suffering. This community once relied on the Fena meeting held in Obuasi on May 18, 2011 between AGA, River as its source of drinking water and for the farming community representatives and other stakeholders, with activities that were for many community members the an interest in resolving the communities’ serious water only source of income. Now, the community faces a daily shortages. The representatives from AGA spent more struggle to supply its members with enough water from time sidestepping inquiries than discussing the company’s three barely-functioning boreholes, ordinarily enough to intentions in dealing with the situation. Whenever faced provide water to only 450 people. with probative questions, they were quick to say that they did not have the authority to answer. I could not In 1998 the lives of the people living in the 58 The Fenaso community expressed complete frustration help but feel that I was in the presence of a formidable communities located near the Fena River changed with AGA. So too did the community of Oseikrom, and well-practised team of spin-doctors. Despite having drastically when cyanide spilled from the nearby another community affected by the 1998 cyanide spill. accepted blame for the 1998 spill, the representatives were containment facility that formed part of the gold mining Both are fed up that neither AGA nor its predecessor, intent on hiding behind a notion of social responsibility operations of Ashanti rather than admitting any real Goldfields Corporation obligation to the communities.

(AGC). The spill The impression lingered that Our insatiable appetite for gold is causing untold harm, and it is our moral has devastated these the purpose of AGA’s presence communities. Quite aside responsibility as human beings to restore the balance between our own advancement and stood for nothing more than an from having had their attempt to keep my colleagues the degradation that the people of Ghana now suffer. drinking water poisoned, and myself tame. their farms have been rendered useless. Those The company have successfully who once engaged in farming are unemployed, unable to employed stalling tactics and empty promises for too AGC, have done anything to compensate them or provide afford to send their children to school. long, exploiting the sparse legal framework surrounding them with an alternative water source since supplying the mining industry in Ghana. It seems that the only thing them with water for a mere three days following the spill, People are well aware of “blood diamonds”, diamond AGA responds to is aggression. I hope that by spreading despite AGC accepting responsibility. trading that is inextricably linked with human rights the story of Fenaso and Oseikrom internationally, abuses in certain parts of Africa. It is well publicised, When the spill occurred, AGC sent trucks with blaring AGA will finally accept responsibility and facilitate the not least by ongoing press coverage of the trial of former sirens into the communities, warning its members not achievement of basic and inherent rights. These include Liberian leader Charles Taylor and the 2006 movie, to drink from the nearby river. Not everyone got the the right to access to clean drinking water, beginning by Blood Diamond. I find that the devastating human rights message in time however. One man recalled how his honouring their promise to provide boreholes for the abuses caused directly by the gold mining industry are father, working on his farm at the time of the spill, did people of Obuasi. comparable to the neglectful abuses we all associate with not get word of the warnings before drinking from the “blood diamonds”. Why then do we choose to ignore the In 2011 AngloGoldAshanti (AGA) was awarded the Public Eye Award for being the world’s most irresponsible company, beating the likes of oil giant BP, who were nominated following the April 2010 explosion and consequent oil spill, which killed 11 people and released 4.9 million barrels of oil in the Gulf of Mexico. This is the company that took over operations and responsibility of the mine in Obuasi, a city of 200,000, 175 km northwest of Accra, Ghana’s capital. It is one of the world’s largest gold mining conglomerates.

Out of all men that beg for a chance to drill your lots, maybe one in 20 will be oilmen; the rest will be speculators – that’s men trying to get between you and the oilmen – to get some of the money that ought by rights come to you.

altruism

15

The White Rabbit ------------------------------------------

In my gap yah, I lived in a smallish French border town known for its beautiful people, its gypsies and its lobster-red tourists. Despite the length of time I stayed there (over six months), my quest for olive brown skin remained unfruitful and thus I was forever deemed to be in the latter category. I was a Roast Beef.

In French social stature, despite my relative fluency in the language, I was barely above the gypsy, or the Maghreb Arab, due to the absurd hatred many have in southern France for tourists – or at least those that look like tourists.

Each day, on my way to language school, I would walk past an elderly woman sitting on a rug at the side of the street begging for money. She would look up to all of those who glanced over, her piercing blue eyes pleading for spare change. Being a relatively naïve, 17-year-old Western Suburbs boy, I was shocked and disturbed by this level of poverty that I had never seen before. So, every now and then I would spare some of my change to this evidently needy woman.

Sometimes just 10 cents, other times a full five Euros.

A pittance I guess, but throughout the day she would have been able to generate enough to buy at least a meal.

Eventually, I began to walk on the other side of the street, attempting to avoid the daily guilt trip as my meagre amounts of money began to diminish.

Often Edna, as I used to affectionately call her (in my mind), would bring various items from home.

These items evidently had street value. Now I’m not talking about a walkie-talkie, a saltshaker full of crack or a wad of Russian rubles. She often brought one of her children/grandchildren

Robert Purdew

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

(seemingly from an endless supply as they were always different), all of which never seemed to be awake at any moment during the day. On days like these, the coins would flow like the rivers of China – plentiful yet unsanitary. A woman who was once seen as a singular member of society suddenly had a child who depended on her and thus a reason for further sympathy.

The most consistent appearance, sitting next to her over the period I lived in the town, however, was that of a white rabbit in a cage. It appeared roughly a month after I arrived, a tiny little thing that looked roughly as hunger-strewn as its owner. I often thought of it as peculiar – in a country full of dog shit why would anyone keep a rabbit? Dogs need less up keep, don’t need a cage (in most cases), and provide better companionship.

As I walked past each day, in my seemingly eternal contemplation of the ‘why the fuck a rabbit’ question, the rabbit and I began to share a mutual hatred. It would look up at me with a gleam in its red eyes as the warbled cry of the gypsy sang at my indifference to her plight. It stemmed from the ridiculousness that someone in need of money and food would instead buy a rabbit. The money that she received day in, day out did not seem to be fuelling alcohol, drug or gambling habits. Rather, it only fed that glorious white rabbit.

White and fluffy it may have been, this rabbit could never be described as a bunny. No. This evil, sanctimonious creature was the fruits of the, albeit rare, altruism of the French people. It was stealing from society, and evidently this poor gypsy woman.

And it stole a lot. By the time I left the city, the rabbit had grown so much that I had doubts about its ability to leave the cage without

This evil, sanctimonious creature was the fruits of the, albeit rare, altruism of the French people. It was stealing from society, and evidently this poor gypsy woman.

the aid of the local crew of firemen. The elderly woman, on the other hand, seemed to grow smaller as if the rabbit sucked all of her strength.

I summarised by thinking that the rabbit, just like heroin to a crack addict, was this gypsy’s black hole.

Instead of a filthy crack den, she had the gumcovered sidewalk. Replaced by the tripped out junkie roommate was a similarly inanimate animal – the rabbit. And at the end of the day, she was still hungry.

The experience left a sour taste in my mouth and made me sceptical of the receivers of charity. What would stop any beggar from going round the corner and buying another bottle of booze? Why should anyone give? But then I realised one thing that made the cultural differences between my easily sunburnt heritage and those of the French stand out.

Rabbits are edible.

16

altruism

The Bottom line on being nice ------- Sara Walker -------

------- Samantha Kelly ------Is there room for altruism in every workplace – a question I ponder, following two well-received episodes to cult-classic animation Futurama’s recent resumption on American airwaves.

Here tells the tale of a programme, spurned by the Fox Broadcasting Company only to ride again on the wings of Comedy Central, thanks in large part to the groundswell of support from fans. The success of this comeback had me considering the ramifications of pure, unadulterated altruism on the part of the much-maligned ‘television executive’.

While it is the dream of many a fanboy or girl to live in a world where TV bigwigs selflessly allow Summer Glau to continue running around in skin-tight clothing, the reality of getting exactly what you want is often far from ideal.

There is no doubt we have all felt the pain of a bad remake or reimagining, followed by the long, painful process of removing all traces of the aberration from your mind. Would risking every single one of your fond memories, in the likelihood that they will be beaten and raped in front of your very eyes, be the idyllic future it first seemed?

The other reality is that most actors have moved on from the project following cancellation. In all likelihood, work commitments will prevent them from returning to their old character. Consider then the poor saps working on the project you have demanded. Imagine this conversation: “Hey guy, you’re being forced to readapt this beloved original source material. Get it wrong and you can find some other way to heat your apartment. Oh and by the by, here is a talentless model someone upstairs decided looked a little like the character. Make it work.” Sure, not everyone working in this industry is as blockheaded as we imagine, but chances are you will find at least one member of the YouTube Commenting Community (read: idiots) in a position of authority.

One look at US sports clothing manufacturer Nike is enough to illustrate why companies seem so interested in securing a position on the ‘nice’ list.

Nike wound up on the naughty list after child labour in its sweatshops was exposed. Customers voted with their feet and Nike lifted its game (somewhat).

The same is currently happening to Barbie manufacturer Mattel, whose toy packaging made from rainforest pulp has caused uproar thanks to Greenpeace. It isn’t that unusual for a business to want to stay out of trouble in case it winds up with A Current Affair on its doorstep. Besides, donating a few million to disaster-stricken puppy orphanages every year makes for a good business image to present to the customers. Some businesses are now giving their employees regular and fully paid days of leave with the condition that they put the time towards a cause.

Giants such as General Electric and IBM consider employee engagement in CSR to be a “strategic imperative”, and just in May this year, Microsoft employees put

more than 22,000 hours towards restoring a nearby creek habitat to help protect native wildlife. This isn’t quite a sudden melting of icy, capitalistic hearts, however.

As sceptics probably have guessed, there are certainly incentives for the company’s bottom line. What may be surprising is just how many there are.

If the employees are participating in jobrelated volunteer work, they can gain skills that help advance their careers and improve the wider knowledge of their jobs. Research shows that employees whose employer’s CSR activities reflect their own personal values are less stressed, which is not to be sniffed at when workplace stress costs the Australian economy $14.81 billion annually.

Geographically isolated employees become more committed to the company, employees are more likely to resist negative press about the company, and more simply, people enjoy working for companies that have a positive impact on the wider community. When people enjoy their work, a black hole of improbability forms, and from that black hole comes lower rates of absenteeism, decreased turnover, higher productivity and that all-important advantage of just attracting more and better job applicants to begin with. All of these things make for an efficient and productive company, which is, of course, reflected in the bottom line at the end of the day.

So perhaps a company-wide initiative to support homeless whales isn’t technically altruism on the company’s part. I have no intention of suddenly plunging into an essay on Ayn Rand, but when you have happier employees, an even slightly improved world and soup kitchens for endangered Sumatran tigers, perhaps the ends can justify the self-interest.

If career suicide isn’t enough to turn you off, then perhaps real suicide is more your go. Let me tell you, it only takes one scorned American Idol contestant to off themselves outside of your house to really put a downer on your year; things can really get away from you after that. Given the level of online froth associated with cancelled shows like Firefly and Veronica Mars, it is not a huge leap to imagine fanatics making their own.

The warning against getting everything you want is an old one, but it stands true for good reason. Be careful expecting selflessness in every job scenario, or your next shift at McDonalds might involve a customer asking you for a shit-sandwich. Swirl that thought softly around your erect nipples.

A number of China-based companies are now moving to Cambodia because of increased labour costs in China. One estimate suggests that the wage for manufacturing workers has increased by 12% every year.

Illustration by Evan Peasco

All altruism, all the time

It’s easy to imagine CEOs as faceless suits grown fat on the pure misery of sweatshop workers, sitting in high-backed swivel chairs made of endangered rainforest creatures and laughing as they funnel cash into the bank accounts of climate change sceptics. However, fortunately for rainforest critters (and unfortunately for people who like elaborate imagery), corporate social responsibility is becoming a big part of big business.

At the moment, a Corporate Social Responsibility Index (CSR) is being refined so that Australia’s business giants can see how they measure up in terms of corporate conscience. While not a new phenomenon, CSR has become important in an increasingly warm and socially aware world.

aLtruism

17

A gift that keeps taking Ben Sacks explores a pressing First World Problem

By definition, a gift is something given without the expectation of receiving something in return. The idea of a “gift” is so warm and fuzzy that you can use it when referring to anything that makes someone happier – a favour, a compliment, or the “gift” of a smile. When we say someone is “gifted” we mean they have some positive characteristic that distinguishes them from others.

The general consensus seems to be that gifts are good.

But this is false – gifts are bad. Nothing encapsulates and harnesses human frailty quite like giving and receiving gifts. “The bad gift” is a staple of sitcom humour. Personal favourites include when Jerry gives Elaine $182 in cash for her birthday after they briefly resume their romantic relationship, and when Homer buys Marge a bowling ball with his name engraved on it for her birthday.

Television aside, the social etiquette around giving and receiving gifts is genuinely confusing and often indecipherable to us common folk. What if someone gets you a Christmas present and you haven’t bought them anything? Is re-gifting acceptable? What’s an appropriate gift for a work colleague? Indeed, there are people who make their living providing insight into the more arcane aspects of gift etiquette. Leah Ingram is one such luminary, running a website while appearing regularly on TV and in newspapers, and authoring books such as Gifts Anytime: How to Find the Perfect Present for Any Occasion. The fact that Leah’s niche exists is proof that a significant number of people are as gobsmacked as I am.

My own gift-aversion stems from my childhood. For my seventh birthday, my parents “gave” me an old tennis ball that I myself had found in our back garden the previous week. Because I have twin brothers, each year I have to find presents that are not only distinctive and meaningful to each twin, but also the same monetary value. And it’s not just me – I know of a couple that almost broke up because his Valentine’s present wasn’t thoughtful enough. Another friend of mine made the mistake of taking his girlfriend skydiving for her last birthday. In return, she treated him to a lavish day that included lunch, dinner, a massage, and a new jacket. While that may sound touching – and maybe even a little adorable – my friend now finds himself entangled in a kind of giftgiving death spiral. Surely the bar can only go so high

before one of them comes crashing down.

Gift giving can also cause far more serious social problems than a strained relationship or an empty wallet. In some societies, the practice can become so pervasive that everyone is made to give gifts, all the time. In such a “gift culture” or “gift economy”, informal custom governs exchanges, rather than an explicit exchange of goods or services for money.

This might seem like a good idea, but it’s often accompanied by strong prohibitions against using gifts as trade or capital goods. For example, gifted cattle must be eaten, not bred.

Such a rule makes it incredibly difficult to use resources productively, and it could make modern market economies unworkable. Indeed, some anarcho-communist groups support a gift economy where goods and services are produced and then distributed to community stores. Here everyone in the commune is entitled to consume whatever they want or need as “payment” for their work in the community.

But before you consider giving gifts in the name of the revolution, it is worth considering some of the other things gifts can be used for in the wrong hands. Odysseus’s Trojan horse is the classic example, but even less magnanimous was the ‘gifting’ of smallpox-infected blankets by British settlers to Native Americans during Pontiac’s Rebellion of 1763. A local trader wrote, “we gave them two Blankets and an Handkerchief out of the Small Pox Hospital. I hope it will have the desired effect.”

Even well meaning gifts can backfire spectacularly.

The Live Aid concert in 1985 was staged to raise funds for the relief persistent famine in Ethiopia.

Unfortunately, much of the £150 million raised was siphoned off by the military regime in the country.

David Rieff of The Guardian claims that this money – this gift – was largely used to fund the forced resettlement of hundreds of thousands of people into collectives.

So by partaking in this fraught social exercise you are opening a Pandora’s box that can end friendships, bring down the economy, and even lead to war and untold human suffering. Can we resist this conclusion? Perhaps for every Homer Simpson or Odysseus, there is someone who gives the right gift for the right reason. I for one genuinely believe there are people out there who sincerely want to give something to another person “just cos”. To paraphrase the NRA, gifts aren’t the problem; people are.

But that is precisely the point – gifts would be a grand idea if human beings were uniformly genial, warm and honest. Not unlike otters. But the fact of the matter is that most people – people like me – aren’t like that. Even if we were, it only takes one Larry David for the whole stack of cards to come tumbling down. Maybe one day we will all grow a glistening pelt, delightful whiskers and a long, powerful tail to propel our lithe bodies through the water. But until that day, I will continue to regard gifts with all the enthusiasm I would a double-dipping party guest who kisses me on the cheek.

Illustration by Camden Watts

On my bedside table, next to my collection of aftershaves (I have three), I keep a list titled “Stuff I Don’t Like”. After “double dippers” and before “people who touch me when they greet me” lies an entry written in red pen and underlined vigorously.

It reads simply “gifts”. That’s right, I don’t like gifts.

Gifts suck.

The International Friendship Exhibition in North Korea houses gifts presented to Kim II-sung and Kim Jong-il from foreign dignitaries. It has over 150 rooms and covers a total area of between 28,000 and 70,000 square meters.

Illustration by Emily O’Keefe

altruism

18

Muppet Diplomacy -------------------------------------------

Many a good man has flown the flag for American diplomacy. From the legendary Benjamin Franklin to the respected Richard Holbrooke, the ambassadors of the United States have promoted freedom and equality across the seven seas. None more so than the greatest diplomat in American history, Elmo.

When one thinks of Sesame Street, they think of a classic programme that has entertained children for over 40 years. Less likely to come to mind is its vital role as the US State Department’s primary propaganda weapon. Since the end of the Cold War, the US Government has spent billions of dollars investing in foreign versions of Sesame Street. These shows focus on issues that are often taboo in their respective societies in order to create a greater cultural change. From the education of women to tolerance for different ethnicities, Sesame Street has been used to discuss and promote these Western values to quite a flurry of publicity. However, the use of the television medium in the developing world seems nonsense to many and the success of this form of ‘civilian aid’ is questionable.

Richard Ferguson -------------------------------------------

“Muppet Diplomacy” is symbolic of the soft power advocated by the Obama Administration and Secretary Clinton herself. While the US Agency of International Development (USAID) and the US Sesame Workshop provides the funds, each programme is left in the hands of local talent in the hope that they can tailor the material for the local audiences. Gary Knell, the president of Sesame Workshop, puts the success of Sesame Street globally down to, “not being the ones producing these shows...it’s really our local partners.” There is no onslaught of Americanism shown to these young audiences, for producers know that the backlash would be massive and harm further aid efforts in the respective region. There is usually a cast of local characters, rather than the US cast of Muppets, used to represent local ethnicities and religions, and local culture is highlighted from set design to the usual educational animations. The undertones are still representative of American policy as characters represent a Western ideal of what the society should progress to. An example of this is Rehov Sumsum (Israeli Sesame Street)’s inclusion of the Muppet Mahboub, a five-year-old Arab. Here we

see diversity and co-operation among Palestinians and Israelis displayed on national television as the US Government would like to happen in their negotiations. However, the use of local talent allows the US to state that this is merely the people taking charge of the issues by themselves.

A key component of Muppet Diplomacy is its role as a humanitarian tool. In recent years, the foreign versions of Sesame Street have been geared towards themes of community health, most noticeably HIV/AIDS awareness in Africa. In South Africa, for instance, The Department of Health recorded that 29.4% of clinic attendees had HIV/AIDS in 2009. When more than a quarter of the population – possibly much more – is infected there is a worry that the population simply isn’t educated about the causes, symptoms and preventative measures available for this lethal disease. Noticing, a particularly high rate among children, Takalani Sesame (the South African Sesame Street) developed Kami, an orphaned Muppet who was infected through a tainted blood transfusion. The character

helps promote tolerance towards HIV positive people, treatments available to those people and to help explain feelings of loss to children who may not understand the medical conditions of their parents. Kami also has a lot of famous friends ranging from Oprah to Desmond Tutu and former US President Clinton. Her arrival on Sesame Street coincided with a $2 billion programme conducted by the Bush Administration to tackle the AIDS epidemic. While the more controversial aspects of that programme, such as the promotion of abstinence, tainted it somewhat, it has saved 2 billion lives including 240,000 babies. Kami herself has garnered a lot of credit for raising awareness and she has been a useful tool for the US to promote its medical and awareness programmes. In the mean time, she has evolved from a figure of controversy to Takalani Sesame’s most popular character. When it comes to dealing with humanitarian issues, the US has a difficult task since much of the global population doesn’t trust them. Takalani Sesame has shown how the US can win the information war and create a lot of good as a result.

Politics naturally plays a part in the US’s foreign policy actions and Muppet Diplomacy is no different. From Russia to Bosnia, Sesame Street has been used to tackle cultural issues such as intolerance that may lead to unwanted instability if left to fester. The most contemporary example of Muppet diplomacy is the creation of SimSim Humara, the Pakistani Sesame Street. Simsim Humara follows the adventures of Rani, a six-year-old Muppet girl attending school in a lively Pakistani village. USAID has poured $20 million into the joint production with the Pakistani Ministry of Education. Of course, Rani may prove to be very controversial considering the Pakistani Government’s war with the Taliban. The show’s co-producer, Faizaan Peerzada, told The Toronto Star that the show would not be discussing politics or religion and the focus would be on returning Pakistani children to schools. However, Pakistan already receives the majority of US aid and yet 60% in a recent Pew Research Centre poll still consider the US the enemy. Former diplomat and aide to the late former Prime Minister Benazir Bhutto Zafar Hilaly has derided the figure of $20 million.

He says that it is “a ridiculous amount of money” and that “they should spend that money on reforming textbooks...or opening new schools.” Further doubts are on whether Simsim Humara will have any impact at all since only 3 million have access to television in a country of 170 million. With antiAmericanism and gross poverty to deal with, Pakistan may be Sesame Street’s toughest mission yet.

Sesame Street’s evolution from a quaint American children’s show to a global icon beggars belief. The colourful collection of furry, loveable Muppets are educating and enchanting children in 140 countries. Most of the foreign versions are highly focused on the educational and entertainment purposes of the show but their importance in influencing public opinion is undeniable. The US government’s use of Sesame Street in achieving its foreign policy objectives is nothing short of astounding and it has made a tremendous impact, especially in Africa. However, recent lurches from the humanitarian focus to the political presents Muppet diplomacy with a new challenge as they try to conduct a local approach rather than a blatant endorsement of US policies.

Whatever challenges a volatile world throws at them, Big Bird, Grover, Cookie Monster and the rest appear ready to overcome them.

Get to know your international muppets Abelardo – Plaza Sésamo A parrot on the Mexican co-production Plaza Sésamo. A cousin of US Sesame Street’s Big Bird; he is an optimistic pre-schooler who enjoys roller-skating and sometimes takes things too literally.

He is mainly used to teach viewers the alphabet.

Samson – Sesamstrasse Samson is a brown bear on the German co-production Sesamstrasse. The character has evolved from a normal puppet to a fully suited character. He is best known for his trademark song, ‘Ich bin Samson, und Ich Schaff ’s’ (‘I am Samson and I Can Do Anything’).

Moishe Oofnik – Rechov Sumsum Moishe Oofnik is a grouch on the Israeli co-production Rechov Sumsum. He is basically a copy of the US version’s Oscar the Grouch and is the only character to bridge between the original 1983–86 show and the 2006 relaunch.

Khokha – Alam Simsim Khokha is a peach-coloured monster on the Egyptian co-production Alam Simsim. She is an inquisitive schoolgirl with a love of inventing things. She could be seen as an inspiration for Rani of the Pakistani co-production Simsim Humara.

Archie – Sesame Tree A squirrel on the Northern Irish co-production Sesame Tree. He loves counting and is helped by his fellow Muppets to be more self-confident.

Archie and the other Muppets seek to promote tolerance and cooperation over Northern Ireland’s sectarian divide.

altruism

19 09

altruism

20

The selfless act of donating an organ ------------------- Sarah Motherwell ------------------When it comes to organ donation we selflessly put others before ourselves, but what many don’t consider is that your family may not be as willing to let a piece of you go. As the WA government debates changing to an opt-out system to boost donation numbers (which presumes consent of a donation unless the person had chosen to be taken off the registry), what remains most important is the approval of your family.

There are 1700 people on the Australian organ donation waiting list at any one time. Western Australia has the second lowest rate at 9.6 donors per million people, well below the national rate of 13.6. This is mainly due to the vast spacing of the State.

There is no doubt that organ donation is a selfless act. When Karen* found out her brother’s only chance to live was to find kidney she offered hers without hesitation. “I had two, I can function with one,” she says.

Karen’s brother suffered renal failure during a cardiac surgery. He was not a viable candidate for the waiting list in America where he was living at the time. As his kidneys shut down, Karen’s brother required dialysis three times a week in the hospital.

“The thing that at the time stood out to me [Karen] was [that] he would feel very cold after the fluids went through his system. He was always looking for warm cardigans.” This thought makes Karen laugh but her tone becomes more serious as she describes her brother’s personality change. Mortality following long-term dialysis was high at the time and the emotional distress of seeing other people not making it took its toll.

Living in Australia, Karen was constantly in contact with her brother who was in San Francisco. Over the next 12 months Karen spent hours on the phone with psychologists and with doctors. Despite her brother trying to veto her decision to donate, Karen flew to America.

The morning of the surgery she was in the ward with her brother who once more asked if she wanted to pull out; but Karen was as sure of her decision as the day she made it. “He was very anxious about it – more so than I was – because he was very concerned that it would in some way compromise my health.”

Karen’s brother is still alive thanks to her donation and neither has suffered complications from the surgery. Despite going through this procedure, Karen is surprisingly not in favour of an opt-out organ donation system.

Illustration by Alice Palmer.

“First of all, regardless of what that decision is, this opt-out clause really doesn’t sit well with me as you’re not giving people their right [to decide].

Second thing is [that] I made that decision in a time in my life when I had full information, full consent and full support of my friends and the people around me. You have to look at the whole impact, not just on yourself but on your family. I don’t agree to being rushed into things or being pushed into it with an opt-out clause.”

Since Australia began successfully transplanting organs in 1965 it has maintained a world-class reputation for successful transplant outcomes.

There are approximately 700 transplants annually but this number is still desperately low.

It is as difficult to receive an organ as it is to give one. Several factors including urgency, organ match, recipient benefits and access to the relevant

hospital all determine a person’s likelihood of having a transplant. Karen’s brother was not a likely candidate for the waiting list because of his older age and other health problems. People like him are likely to never see their donation come to pass or must rely on the selfless generosity of family or friends.

The main argument for opt-out system is that the number of organ donations will increase as the registry allows for a larger pool of potential donors.

But giving away any other part of your body is not that simple.

Firstly, to donate your organs after death you have to die in a hospital where your body can be kept on a ventilator until the organs can be donated.

Two senior doctors must then confirm there is no brain function or blood flow to the brain before the organs are removed. Few people die in this way, with only 247 deceased organ donors in 2009. This met less than half of the overall needed number of transplants. A significant barrier to organ donation is that only 56% of families provide consent for organs and tissue to be donated.

Head of science and ethics at the British Medical Association, Professor Vivienne Nathanson argues in favour of opt-out. She says, “I don’t think it goes against patient choice. They can still opt out.

One of the problems now is that people who want to donate sometimes don’t tell their families. But with presumed consent you would have a public campaign and it would get people discussing the issue.”

Even if an opt-out system were adopted in Western Australia it wouldn’t overrule the fact that in the end it is the family’s decision on whether to donate your organs. Spain adopted an opt-out system in 1979 but their donation rates didn’t improve until they introduced organ donation coordinators into hospitals to discuss with the families about the options available.

As Karen reflects about her ordeals, she expresses the importance of family. “I do think it’s important for family to be committed to it also and [that] that’s what everybody wants. Your family are ones you leave behind and if you leave them behind with great distress because you’ve made this decision without considering them, that’s the legacy you leave.” *Names have been changed to respect the privacy of the interviewee

altruism

21

THE EYE OF A NEEDLE ------------ altruistic ideas in spiritual beliefs -----------Faith – or lack there of – can guide our attitudes towards altruism. Spiritual beliefs and organised religion can offer wisdom and doctrines that encourage us to help our fellow man. Depending on what you believe, your generosity may even be rewarded. Pelican asked some (not all) religious groups about their faith’s attitude towards altruism. Here are their replies.

Christianity

Buddhism

Judaism

Atheism

“People are not good to each other.

Perhaps if they were Our deaths would not be so sad.”

– Charles Bukowski, ‘The Crunch’

For Mahayana Buddhists, the main goal is to attain Enlightenment for the benefit of all living beings without exception. An Enlightened being is simply someone who has removed all negative states of mind such as anger, jealousy and pride from their mental continuum and has replaced these with positive ways of thinking and viewing others.

Tikkun Olam (literally “repairing the world”) is central to Judaism and its values of social justice, equality and collective responsibility.

The phrase originates in classical rabbinic teachings codified in 200 BCE and requires that each person work towards the betterment of wider society through acts of kindness and righteousness. As expressed in the Book of Isaiah (1:17), individuals are instructed to “uphold the rights of the orphan, defend the cause of the widow”.

The concept is also contained within Jewish mysticism, which explains that following creation, good and evil was scattered across the world and that tikkun olam is the means through which human beings can pursue good and eliminate evil.

Is it possible to be an atheist and to be altruistic? Absolutely! Our daily experiences speak for themselves; non-believers are every bit as concerned, generous and caring as their religious counterparts. If somebody holds the door open for you, gives up their seat on the bus or passes you the last cookie, you should not assume them to be a believer.

Perhaps the sadness Bukowski mentions is founded in regret, brought about because we do not know how to be good to each other – we do not know how, or why, to act without selfish motive. The Christian, however, should know both. Both the how and why of altruism are made manifest in the love of God and in the person of Jesus Christ, and this serves as an example to be imitated.

“This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins. Dear friends, since God so loved us, we also ought to love one another.”

1 John 4:10-11 To die for another is surely the pinnacle of selfless action, and it is from such an act that Christians should derive their decisions on how to live in the world. In this, we look back to the example of Jesus and forward to the hope that it purchased us.

There is a common misconception that Christian action focusses on earning salvation, entrance into heaven, or something like that. However, the Bible adamantly states the opposite; that all these are given undeservedly in Jesus and that Christian action is instead a response. The Christian, then, should always act selflessly, as they have nothing to gain that they have not already been given.

Scott Kendall, UWA Christian Union

“But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, and you will be blessed.” (Luke 14:13)

For example, remembering the kindness of others. By training the mind in this way we learn to view all living beings with an equal sense of warmth and regard free from bias.

We cherish all living beings and regard their happiness and freedom from suffering and problems to be more important than our own happiness and freedom from suffering.

By holding this view, compassion naturally arises. Compassion is simply the wish for all living beings to be free from suffering and its causes. The causes of suffering are triggering negative, unhelpful ways of thinking. Whether we are happy or sad simply depends on how we think. Therefore, the cause of happiness is internal. Turning to external sources of happiness at best produces only temporary moments of pleasure.

A Mahayana Buddhist wants all living beings to attain true, everlasting happiness and strives to assist all living beings to attain that state. We are a friend to all.

Kelsang Jimpa, Education Programme Coordinator at the Dharmapala Buddhist Centre “Have compassion for all beings, rich and poor alike; each has their suffering.

Some suffer too much, others too little.”

Prince Gautama Siddharta, the founder of Buddhism

Jewish teachings encourage not only financial donations to the underprivileged but volunteering and social activism. This is embodied by several non-for-profit Jewish organisations in Australia and overseas, which provide assistance to the wider community. JewishAid, for example, is an organisation based in Sydney that provides practical assistance to rural Indigenous communities as well as asylum seekers and recently settled refugees.

Ultimately, altruism and the pursuit of social justice for the wider community is a key focus of modern Jewish thinking and practice.

Craig Hershowitz

“Because of the oppression of the weak and the groaning of the needy, I will now arise, says the Lord, I will protect them from those who malign them.” (Psalm 12:5)

Perhaps, as some suggest, it is only a moral tradition inherited from our religious forbears that allows atheists to be altruistic.

Perhaps, but only out of respect. To see how untrue this notion is, consider Volvox carterii. According to Molecular Biology and Evolution almost all of the 2000 cells in this tiny globular organism sacrifice their own reproductive potential in order to sustain the life of the whole. Altruism, then, can be an evolutionary benefit. To be selfless is not to be religious; nor is it even to be human. To be selfless is to be a living creature.

Perhaps, again, for all their outward signs of altruism, atheists can never be “truly” altruistic because their actions are not sustained by God’s love. Here the direct evidence is much weaker, and the only way to evaluate the claim is to consider whether that God whose love is said to sustain really exists at all.

Ben Hogan, UWA Atheists and Skeptics’ Society

“I believe the poor and the disenfranchised are natural atheists. A look back in history will show that the common folk have always had a so-so relationship with the established church. The conflict between the folkways of the peasantry and the priests of the church is the most credible explanation of the witchcraft trials.” - Richard Dawkins

The Wozniaks have recently acquired a new family member. Every morning, a faint meow wakes me up. It is 9am and too early for anyone to be up. I sluggishly get out of bed and open the door to find a white tube of fluff. This is Bajka. She is a pedigree Birman and enjoys kangaroo meat, scratch posts and sitting in the valley between my crossed legs. I have never met such a friendly cat “True human goodness, in all its purity and freedom, can come to the fore only when its recipient has no power. Mankind’s true moral test, its fundamental test (which is deeply buried from view), consists of its attitude towards those who are at its mercy: animals.”

altruism

22

HARDBOILED TWIST: PART 1 – SAND MUSIC

--------------------------------- Lachlan Keeley ---------------------------------

I caught Glietzman’s eye from across the room.

The restrained lighting of the room somehow managed to cast a glint upon his balding head, and as I looked towards the dark table that he was seated at he raised his eyes from the highball he held in his hands and stared back at me. It seemed as if he had been waiting for me to notice him. Acknowledging his gaze, I crossed through the dim room to his table and took a seat next to him.

“It’s about Jennings,” he muttered into his whiskey, letting his eyes wander towards my left ear.

I lit a cigarette. Gleitzman’s eyes returned to my own, and he coughed politely. I didn’t take any notice. “What do you want me to do?” I queried, pausing to blow the smoke through my nose.

He took a deep gulp from his highball and stared at the stained wall behind me. I only then realised that he was a cripple. He was seated in a rickety wheelchair, and seemed to be nursing a plastic bag in his lap that resembled the ones attached to IV drips in hospitals – the technical term escaped me, and I didn’t care to inquire into it, anyway. His personal life wasn’t my concern: I was only in it for the money.

“Jennings has vanished,” he murmured. “Two weeks ago, he just disappeared. I haven’t been able to write a word since.”

He took another deep gulp from his beverage.

“I hate to admit it, but the guy is my muse. I can’t do anything without him. You have to find him for me.” He stared at me again, trying to gauge my opinion on the matter with his watery eyes. I sighed and inhaled from the cigarette again.

“It won’t be cheap,” I said. “And I’ll need some kind of lead to follow,” I said. “And half the pay in advance.”

His eyes wandered towards my forehead and a groan oozed out of the corner of his mouth. He rolled his eyes and began to speak again.

“I haven’t even been able to pee standing up since he’s been gone. Do you know how fucking terrible that is? Do you know how terrible my life is, in general? You have no idea” If there was ever an example of too much information, this was it. I made a vague nod with my head.

“I can’t fucking stand it. You find him, whatever, that’s all I’m after. I don’t care about the price.

There’s more money in children’s books than you’d think.”

He lifted the bloated bag from his lap and retrieved a small receipt docket that he had been keeping underneath it.

Gazing down into the pit in the middle of the dunes that he called his home, I noticed there were no lights on inside the building. To an untrained mind, this might have seemed suspicious, but knowing W. it was likely that he was just trying to save the environment or participating in other similarly futile exercise. In all likelihood, he had probably decided that writing by candlelight would be a good career move. I took a final drag on the cigarette I held and threw it down into the pit. The miniscule light illuminated the sandy walls of the hole but provided me with no further insight as to what awaited me.

“We’ll be in touch.”

I stumbled down the side of the dune, trying to avoid being overwhelmed by the waterfall of sand enveloping me. I made it to the bottom without serious injury, but while brushing off the layer of sand that had attempted to impregnate itself into my clothing I noticed a series of damp patches upon the sand in front of the house. This was suspicious. I ignited my lighter and gazed down closely at the wetness. It seemed to make a consistent path straight to W.’s front door. I sighed, placing the lighter back in my pocket and made my way towards the house. The worst would have already taken place.

~~~~

TO BE CONTINUED...

“This should give you some idea of the direction to head in. The money’s already in your bank account.”

I hesitantly took the paper. It had a faint stench of urine about it. I stashed it in my pocket and stubbed out my cigarette on the corner of the table.

Gleitzman smiled at me and raised an eyebrow as I turned to leave.

Illustration by Camden Watts

W.’s ‘house’ was located in the centre of a huge sand dune stretching along the southern coast.

The entire area was off the grid – W. was one of those notoriously environmental liberal types – and tracking him down had proven to be a nearly impossible challenge for anyone attempting it. The only reason Glietzman had been able to provide me with a lead was because W. had given away his location through an anonymous but identifiable angry letter to the local newspaper that whined about visitors inhibiting the re-growth of the sand dunes around his house. He might have been an arrogant idiot but he took his vegetation very seriously. Glietzman’s identification of the author of the letter – W. had signed it with the nom de plume “The Man in the Dunes” – had been almost too easy, owing to his familiarity with W.’s writing and W.’s tenacious tendency to feature magical Aborigines in everything he wrote. The letter to the newspaper had been no exception, and Glietzman had quickly put two and two together and provided me with an approximation of W.’s location.

altruism

23

Torture, chocolate and Mad Max ---------------------- Stephen Barrett ----------------------

A more recent story also resonated along these lines. David Hicks, probably Australia’s most famous (former) prisoner, told of the kindness shown to him by a few of the prison guards at Guantanamo, who snuck in food, cigarettes and other prison luxuries.

One guard, Albert Melise, even snuck in his portable DVD player, and sat and watched Mad Max with Hicks, figuring it would be beneficial for Hicks to hear an Australian accent and help stop his mental deterioration. Though this sounds like a manipulative sort of act, as if giving Hicks a few candy bars would make up for the treatment he was receiving, Hicks apparently remembers it vividly and plans on visiting him in the future. Melise only lasted six months in the prison before being transferred, overcome by the trauma of seeing men like Hicks being so degraded.

Though these stories both feature interesting acts of kindness during difficult wartime circumstances, the case of Melise, the ‘goodly jailer’, seems the most striking. American prison guards are trained to view inmates as mere numbers and are constantly bombarded with propaganda to reinforce their hatred.

In Hicks’ case, jailers were told to be wary of him,

claiming that he would kill in an instant, and that he was even mad enough to try and eat through the hydraulic cables on the C-130 aircraft used to bring him to Guantanamo. In such an environment, Melise offering Hicks food from his plate seems unthinkable.

So what was it about Hicks that made Melise want to risk his own job and immediate future? Melise claims to have acted for sympathetic reasons. He says, “I sat in on interrogations. I wanted to give them a sense of humanity. Nobody deserves to be treated like that.

They were not the ‘worst of the worst’.” Melise was probably right; they weren’t the worst of the worst.

But when fighting a global war on terror, the ability to degrade the enemy to sub-human is a malicious weapon. Stripping the inmates of their humanity is one of the worst aspects of any conflict. It disallows empathy; without empathy, there can be no kindness, no altruism, only cruelty and barbarity. Overcoming such mental conditioning to actually view inmates like Hicks as human takes extraordinary courage.

Offering to lock yourself in a cell with a suspected terrorist to watch Mad Max, in the full knowledge that you were powerless to stop any future mistreatment, seems to be driven by more than guilt.

Whatever your opinion on David Hicks and his time in Guantanamo, the actions of men like Albert Melise, who deliberately defied their orders so that inmates like Hicks could be treated like humans are worth remembering. That in the midst of such a brutal environment, compassion and respect for humanity came above the narrow interests of the self and state, is one of the best examples of altruism. Sure, men like Melise were driven in part by guilt, and in part by a desire to redeem themselves and their countries.

But guilt often passes into anxious inaction. Offering to lock yourself in a cell with a suspected terrorist to watch Mad Max, in the full knowledge that you were powerless to stop any future mistreatment, seems to be driven by more than guilt. While altruism is often a buzzword used in the same breath as philanthropists and not-for-profits, I have a feeling it is acts which directly recognise common humanity that are more deserving of the description.

Though I didn’t understand it at the time, I can see now why chocolate and cigarettes would be dropped from the supply planes to people like my grandfather sheltering all around Europe. It is for the same reason that David Hicks was offered protein bars and DVDs – not for the items themselves, but to recognise human suffering, and offer solidarity to those in need. Like the thousands of Red Cross, religious charities, and compassionate citizens visiting the condemned in prisons around the world, Albert Melise will never receive public praise for his actions. But in the spirit of human solidarity, one can only hope that chocolate, cigarettes and Mad Max can continue to fly under the radar.

Some of the police interceptor cars in Mad Max were being constantly repainted for other scenes to pass as different cars. Often they were driven while the paint was still wet.

Illustration by Camdea Watts

My grandfather told me a story once about the dangers of torches. During the cold Danish winter of 1944/45, my heavily pregnant grandmother and he were hiding out with a large group of other Danes, awaiting the arrival of a supply plane laden with chocolates, cigarettes, and other small treats that had been so difficult to source during the war. The men of the small rural station were instructed to use torch lights to signal the plane at a certain hour, and only if it were safe and practicable for the planes to approach.

Grandad however, in his infinite wisdom, decided it would be a nice time to take an after dinner walk, grabbing a torch to guide his way. Walking through the fields, with only a torch to break the dark winter veil, he soon heard the distinctive propeller drone. In his frantic desire to be the first to get his hands on the cigarettes, he waved his torch wildly, confusing the pilots who quickly avoided the drop zone, assuming it was unsafe. Sure enough, Grandad not only screwed up everyone’s rations but also returned to the station to receive an absolute earful from Grandma, who was experiencing the first contractions of labour. Such an imbecilic act apparently brought my father into the world. Beautiful I know. But what I wanted to know was why were they waiting for chocolate and cigarettes, and not bullets and guns, or at least crops or tools or something a little more enduring? Why were they using cocoa and tobacco to sustain the hopes of a small wartime community? To my cynical ears, it sounded like a manipulative attempt to keep morale at a barely acceptable level through another bitter winter.

altruism

24

GREEN OR PEACE? ––––––– Yvonne Buresch –––––––

A long time ago, I worked for Greenpeace. Yes, really. I got the job through middlemen at a train station on an afternoon that was bucketing rain. After a preliminary screening by some lower-level staff, I was told I would have to meet The Canadian.

He was prematurely grey and had been on Zodiacs chasing down whaleboats. He approved. I was in.

When I met The Canadian my day job was Door-to-Door Salesperson for Optus, flogging home phone and Internet plans.

I naively believed the Optus recruiter’s promise of “on target earnings” of $1000 a week, purely on commissions. On target earnings are a barefaced lie.

If anyone ever offers you a job and quotes “on target earnings” make sure you’re be happy with about a third of it if you decide to take the job. The people I worked with were amazing, heroes to my previously sheltered 18-year-old self. They were backpackers living the dream: travelling, constantly making new friends, drunkenly philosophising, and generally not caring a damn what anybody thought of them. For a while it was fine – great, even. It was the golden age of door knocking for Optus because we were among the first few companies who offered broadband. I used to do a little happy dance whenever an Asian teenage boy opened the door. I learned from experience that he would do my job for me. He’d convince his parents that they really, really needed broadband (“No, Mum – for homework, not just Counterstrike”) and I would basically just sit there at the kitchen table with them with a phone bill in front of me and agree with whatever he said. Easiest sales in the world. If I spotted a Nissan Skyline or Toyota Supra from the end of the street, you wouldn’t see me for dust.

I would play the “I am half Asian” card and benevolently warn the younger kids of the family that if they didn’t do well enough at school they’d have to walk around in the cold and dark, trying to sell crap to strangers, like me.

Asian parents fucking love that shit.

Families with teenaged children were my specialty, specifically those families with small incomes and large mortgages. There are whole communities made up of these people who buy their houses off a plan and express their personality through their choice of roof-tile. We used to call it Lego Land because all the houses

were the same. I had a very disorienting experience early on when I walked into a house where the layout was the exact mirror image of the house next door. Later on I found it handy because you always know where the toilet is. The families in these houses would feel sorry for me and invite me in to sit down. I learned how to make them invite me to stay for dinner and think it was their idea. We worked from 2pm until 8pm so we were always hungry, and it was safer inside than being out on the street. I once spent a whole evening drinking chocolate Vodka mudslides and eating unspeakably bad meatballs with a Serbian couple. I hadn’t made any sales except for them but I was damned if I was walking around Mirrabooka after dark. Sometimes they’d let you stay for dinner even if they weren’t going to sign up.

There was a nice lady in Tapping who became a bit of a legend among doorknockers because she’d feed you and then send you away with food to take home! She made the most amazing chocolate muffins. The backpackers used to fight over whose turf her house was going to be on if we were anywhere near, but sometimes the AAPT doorknockers beat us to it.

Even though we heard our manager warily negotiating with other companies about which areas we would take, we would occasionally overlap turf. If AAPT or iiNet had been through less than a week, before nobody would even open the door for us. It was a lonely feeling walking around out there in the dark by yourself, knowing there were people inside those warm houses, sitting in the light, together. Sometimes you’d hear people come to the door just to lock it and then they’d go sit back down again. There would be no sales. The pressure of a commission-only income would get to you on nights like these. We called making zero sales “a doughnut” and once you thought you were going to make a doughnut that was it for you ¬– you were jinxed. People kept making more and more doughnuts until they gave up and went to Sydney, or Peru, or back to England. Stories started to come in about girls seeing men expose themselves and guys nearly being eaten by dogs. The fear of the doughnut made you do things. You started telling people that there weren’t any lock-in contracts, that there was no flag fall on mobile phone calls and it wasn’t on the flyers because the new ones were being printed on Monday. Door-knockers are required by law to leave something called a 10day cooling-off slip which allows the home-owner to back out of whatever he may have been bullied into signing by a desperate salesperson with fabulous lies.

We worked from 2pm until 8pm so we were always hungry, and it was safer inside than being out on the street. I once spent a whole evening drinking chocolate Vodka mudslides and eating unspeakably bad meatballs with a Serbian couple.

altruism

25 You started telling people that there weren’t any lock-in contracts, that there was no flag fall on mobile phone calls and it wasn’t on the flyers because the new ones were being printed on Monday.

I cried on a park bench one too many times and decided to look for another job. That’s how I ended up at Greenpeace. I was walking through Perth train station trying not to get my socks wet (I didn’t want to catch a cold by walking around all night in wet socks) and saw these two lovely girls smiling at everybody and saying hello. They were wearing the same shirt and carrying clipboards, so I knew something was up, and went to investigate. It turned out they were fundraising for Greenpeace and I let them give me the spiel before asking about a job.

Initial surprise turned to excitement (you get a bonus for recruiting a newbie) and they asked me to wait to speak to Jeremy. He was an almost preternaturally affable Canadian with wild grey curls who had done actual honest-to-God activism with Greenpeace in North America. He was excited about my having experience in putting on the hard sell and gave me a trial day which I aced. I was excited about the hourly base-wage which defused the power of the doughnut.

The Greenpeace kids were different. They were still backpackers, but they never stank of desperation and didn’t assume that there was always someone out there trying to rip them off. I saw some of them walking alone at night without even turning their heads to see who was behind them. I think that at any one time about half of them were vegetarian. I will eat lamb, veal, half-formed duckling inside the egg; I have eaten dog – I don’t care. I like to attribute this willingness to eat any animal regardless of its cuteness to my being part Chinese but it’s more likely just a problem I have with empathy. It really bothered the sensitive ones when people genuinely did not want to sign up to donate to Greenpeace. Most people said they didn’t have enough money, but some were honest and said they didn’t care. This surprised them, it confused their sense of an all-loving world and it hurt them somewhere deep inside. After a little while they’d get angry and start trying to guilt people into donating rather than cajoling them. That was the wrong approach. While they’d plead with people to please think of the trees or the children or the dolphins or whatever the hell else, I’d be nabbing the suits who had speed-walked past the small forest of dreadlocks and ear-stretchers and murmur to

them promises of tax deductions and carefullyworded suggestions that bitches love altruism.

“But I don’t have my bank details on me,” they’d protest half-heartedly. “No problem,” I’d say, ever the salesperson.

“We can ring up the bank – here, we’ll even use my phone – and I’ll teach you a trick that puts you straight through to the operator so you never have to wait on hold again. But I’ll only teach it to you if you sign up” and we’d laugh, both thinking that we had won. Suits are the best donors. They have steady incomes and don’t really notice the odd $20 a month, so they end up donating the most in the long run.

The hippies dropped off one by one as they got burnt out or suffered from compassion fatigue; but I stayed, caring just enough to feel really goddamn smug about doing a good thing but not so much that I was overly bothered about it when I failed. So I was smug in the sunshine for a summer, gloating silently over the office workers who had to go back inside at the end of their lunchbreaks while I got to stay outside wandering around saying hello to people, eating ice cream and getting a tan. Eventually I grew envious of their airconditioning. All the Greenpeacers posted in the city would fight over who got the spot in front of David Jones because every few minutes the doors would slide open and a waft of cool air would come out.

It is not, and was not, a job I would have forever but it taught me something. At Optus I had begun to feel like I was one of the bad guys and when a door wasn’t opened, even though I knew someone was inside, it would hurt my feelings immensely. But with Greenpeace people could walk right by me pretending they hadn’t heard my hello with a completely straight face and it wouldn’t upset me, because I was doing it for a good cause. That feeling that you have done something good today can protect your mood against anything else that may happen, and I’m not sure everybody understood that. While the hippies were out there trying to raise funds for rainforests, I was selling an invincible good mood and I think that’s why I was more successful.

Greenpeace taught me the value of altruism. And how to talk a stranger into handing over their credit card details in five minutes. Both are good things to know.

Illustration by Yvonne Buresch

If someone sent in their 10-day cooling-off slip you would have that commission taken back off you, so you started “forgetting” to leave them. Sometimes, just sometimes, you would walk off your assigned streets so your manager couldn’t find you and go find a park bench so you could just sit for a while and cry.

Billy Connolly’s advice for scaring away Jehovah’s Witnesses / door knockers: Say that you just got out of bed, that you are standing “bollocks naked” with a huge throbbing erection and that you will open the door on the count of three. Begin counting out loud. Listen to them leave.

altruism

26

I’d like to book an appointment.

WITH YOUR FACE. -------------------------------------------

We are the Facebook generation. For better or for worse (my friends), there’s no denying it. That little blue logo has become ubiquitous, crouching in the corner of billboards, lurking on the sidepanel of almost every commercial website. The domain of this new cyber-entity is universal and its gravitational pull is strong. Although ‘Facebook’ and ‘friendship’ seem to be a long-term couple, the site was certainly not born in a cushy cradle of love. The function of its forbearer, classily dubbed “Facemash”, was a ‘Hot or Not’ website, enabling Harvard end-users to compare and rank the attractiveness of their female colleagues. In his blog at the time, Zuckerberg allegedly wrote, “One thing is certain, and it’s that I’m a jerk for making this site. Oh well. Someone had to do it eventually.”

Despite its dubious origins and ongoing legal scuffles, Facebook has now become the internet’s most frequented site, outstripping even Google.

It’s ascendancy in the cyber-universe is a sure sign of the new Web 2.0 culture, with its ideology of

Ross Bailey -------------------------------------------

instant connectivity and interactivity.

However, counter-intuitively, some claim that this connectivity is making us more self-orientated.

Rather than a portal to new understandings, they argue that the screen has become our very own narcissistic mirror. Furthermore, they warn that traditional concepts and ideas are becoming degraded by their simplistic online formulation.

Facebook is accused of doing this kind of damage to the concept of friendship. From a certain point of view, such claims are persuasive.

On Facebook, friendship assumes the binary characteristics of the digital domain. Following a request, people are either pointedly enlisted or explicitly excluded. A digital arm stretches out across the silence and proffers the question: “will you be my friend?”, a question encased in a little red signal to the upper left of your screen. They’re on the cutting room floor with little time for you to

deliberate if you really want someone who might turn out to be your next sexual harasser perving through those pictures of you throwing up in a dustbin during a Jim Beam spree.

This binary imposition ill suits relationships, which are for the most part complex, dynamic and nuanced. This is particularly the case when they’re just beginning. Yet ‘post-acquaintance friend requests’ are among the most common kind, following that initial deluge when you were but a lonely noob venturing into blue and white territory. It’s hard to work out the point in time which marks when a friend request loses its stalker associations and metamorphoses into a promising signal. Even if you feel confident that the time delay has been sufficient, the person on the other side might think the action unnervingly premature. So they may ignore it, forget about it, and there goes THAT future of you guys becoming soul-mates, reading Wordsworth to each other in meadows every Thursday afternoon and going on a New Zealand tour in your 30s to battle cave trolls.

Though let’s say they accept that friend request.

Several scenarios could follow. Flash forward, a year later: Scenario 1: You’ve done the whole blood brothers/ sisters pact. This outcome is a definite ‘win’ for Facebook enthusiasts.

Scenario 2: They turn out to be a gremlin who insists upon leaving weekly posts on your wall, which go something like “Hey! :) :) We need to catch up some time!! :) :) Is your phone broken or something?? :) :) I’ve sent texts!! :D You don’t reply! :’( If you’ve changed you number, let me know!! :) :D !!” *POKE POKE POKE* Scenario 3 (probably the most likely): You never see each other again; mutually ignore each other online, and they sink into the oblivion of news-feed nonentity.

Instantaneous connectivity and accessibility definitely has its downsides. For example, you now have the means to wish every single one of your buddies a “happy birthday” on their special day.

Yet very few take that opportunity to share the love equally amongst their pals. It’s understandable. If some 38-year-old random you’ve only met once wishes you “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!! :) xox” your creep detectors start sounding the alarm. You may interpret their wish as an encoded overture to something more, whereas they, being of a Carebear (not paedobear) disposition, merely wanted to wish you well. Platonically. The point is, the motive to send a birthday greeting becomes algebraic: Illustration by CamdenWatts

It’s hard to work out the point in time which marks when a friend request loses its stalker associations and metamorphoses into a promising signal...they may ignore it, forget about it, and there goes THAT future of you guys becoming soul-mates, reading Wordsworth to each other in meadows every Thursday afternoon and going on a New Zealand tour in your 30s to battle cave trolls.

Degree of friendship outside cyberspace

LEAVE YOU ALONE. Then the reaction is more like “oh, fuck off ”.)

X Extent of prior association

There are very subtle politics at work here, if you pay attention to them. Ironically, the effects will only be realised if you do become sensitised to Facebook’s internal dynamics. Once this happens, social networking becomes obsessive compulsive or somewhere to lurk in bored sociality during lectures. Yes. I’m looking at you.

X Likability X whether you want to be invited to their party – the fact they didn’t wish you happy birthday In contrast, if you bumped into an acquaintance in the real world and knew it was their birthday, you’re much more likely to say “happy birthday” without being forced to consider any of the above variables.

And what’s with that new function, “Find Friends”? It feels like an instruction. “Find them!

Quick! Hunt them down!! Mwahaha, they cannot hide from sophisticated Facebook tracking technologies!” Or am I detecting a pitying / scornful undertone? “Find friends, you pathetic, lonely person.” It’s as if Facebook friends are to be accumulated as social capital and exhibited as a statistical index of popularity. Friendship might even be further commoditised by the hyperlink, where friends become packages of experience to be browsed selectively. When scrolling down a News Feed, you have to decide whether or not you care enough to consume a person’s status output, whether another product on the line advertises itself better, or whether that person has a reliable history of high-quality products.

Facebook has also been accused of encouraging exhibitionism and voyeurism. The Wall post shifts the idea of inter-personal discourse as private into a public broadcast to be displayed on the News Feed ‘communiqué’. Reaching out becomes a socially significant and self-conscious act. Gestures of friendship are not solely motivated by an interest and affection for the other but are instead performative in nature, as the user is transformed into an actor before an unknown host of invisible spectators.

The sociology of the Status post is interesting in itself. The longer a post idles, an action without reaction (reaction being the whole purpose of the action in the first place), the more you doubt the wisdom of its mass propagation. Those that “Like” or comment on your status are awarded a reciprocal bonus point. When someone salvages your post from becoming a lonely piece of flotsam, you feel a slight surge of gratitude towards them.

(Unless it’s from that douchebag that WILL NOT

Addict or not, Facebook has become such a crucial networking tool that you risk alienating yourself from the social hub if you boycott it. It’s efficient but compulsory. I know a friend who honourably chose to go on a Facebook detox for a week and ended up missing two parties. Often, we are left with little choice: conform or get left behind.

But before we burn our computers and take to the wild, we should query if technology has such an insidious effect upon the psyche. Baudrillard, a postmodernist and a melancholy bastard, said yes. This guy had very little hopes for mankind in the wake of the 80s digital revolution. Under his theory, the subject has become a mere receptacle to relentless information flows. Man can “no longer produce the limits of his own being, can no longer play nor stage himself ”, reduced to an interface between streams of disparate data, his identity and free will dissolved. From his perspective, there is no defensive membrane between virtual and actual domains.

This take on the situation seems a tad alarmist; much of the criticism involving social networking is incredibly condescending. Since it’s largely the new generations that are getting diagnosed as pathologically superficial and egocentric, perhaps this dramatic sighing and tut-tutting is even a little ageist.

One thing they always seem to forget is that social networking sites rarely take themselves too seriously. Irony and wit are vital tenets. Smartarsery grins trollishly. How can it not be, when you can ‘Like’ “BOB THE BUILDER CAN WE FIX IT !!??!??....NA ITS FUKED”, “drawing Harry Potter glasses on Voldemort when he’s passed out in the pub” and “you annoy me. Go stand over there.”

How can you condemn Facebook when it’s so LOL-worthy? Creating and spreading these kinds of ‘Likes’ seems to me like the noble work of a missionary of comedy.

time, they can have motives outside egoism.

In fact, you could even argue that some are downright altruistic. Posting a YouTube link of an amazing song doesn’t necessarily have to be about publicly styling yourself as eminently Indie.

When I stumble across a new song that I love, I get so enthused to share it – it becomes almost a moral compulsion (I’ll take this opportunity to recommend Thom Yorke’s cover of the song ‘All For the Best’). I don’t look for a response. I just hope that someone will get curious, click on the link, and maybe, just maybe, they will encounter something awesome that they would never have encountered otherwise. This aspect of “sharing” is very much part of celebratory dialogues surrounding new media, whether it be sharing music, pictures, videos, information or ideas. And who says online exchanges have to be inferior to those in the “real” world? Why must communication always be standardised against the ‘face-to-face’ mode? Perhaps it would be better to envision horizons, not hierarchies.

In a similar vein, the same criticism of selfreferential actions online could also be applied to real life scenarios. This line of approach is heading into the territory of psychological egoism, which claims that the fundamental motive behind all our behaviours is self-interest. Whilst compelling, the theory can’t be definitively proved. And I don’t know about you, but I’d prefer to hold onto the notion that being a selfish isn’t irrevocably written into our design.

Ultimately, perhaps the relational dynamics of social networking sites haven’t supplanted old notions of friendship, but rather complicated them. After all, concepts are characterised by their adaptability to different contexts. Our cognitions can cope with another version of friendship, surely.

We aren’t doomed to reducing people to their avatars. Furthermore, what if instead of virtual and actual forms of friendship becoming conflated, they actually work against each other and become polarised?

In the face of all that apathy masquerading as ‘friendship’, I think I actually cherish my true buddies all the more.

So here’s to all my peeps!

Updates too can be recuperated. Most of the

Graphics by Hayley Moore

altruism

27 09

altruism

29

DERRO

B I N G O ------------------------- Yvonne Buresch, foreign correspelican -------------------------

My boyfriend and I are on student exchange at the University of Nottingham. One of our favourite things to do together is peoplewatch. I suppose being from Perth and living in Nottingham and being habitual peoplewatchers, it was only a matter of time until we invented Derro Bingo.

There is an Indian restaurant that is a favourite of ours in the centre of town, close enough to the cinema and with fast enough service to make it the obvious choice for pre-movie dinners. The entire front wall is made of glass and there is a counter with stools behind it, which make it the best place in the city for people watching.

It looks out onto a town square – pedestrians only – where four streets intersect. People from all walks of life pass through that square, and I mean all: office workers in suits walking briskly to make their bus home, old ladies with their shopping, guys coming from the 24-hour gym around the corner sipping from those bottles which seem to only ever be used for protein shakes, bums, hot students, shuffling clusters of emos. If your luck is in you’ll catch a bucks party heading toward their first bar of the night. They’re easy to spot, the (un)fortunate grooms-to-be usually dressed in full-body gold lycra, or as Batman, or occasionally in a floaty floral dress.

We started off innocently enough, counting the number of girls who walked by wearing Ugg boots (surprisingly high) and the number of girls who walked by wearing tights as pants (alarmingly high), with bonus points for girls who walked by wearing both. We got tired of that. It was too easy. We once counted 43 pairs

of ugg boots in half an hour. It wasn’t only the female footwear that was different here, but the people too. For the year before we left to go on exchange we lived together in a tiny but beautifully timber-floored flat in Nedlands.

I worked in an independent bookshop giving advice on bookclub selections to Cottesloe mums. We went to uni, we went to Boubar and beaches, we popped over to Dalkeith for cupcakes and to Greens & Co. if we felt arty.

Hardly leaving the Western suburbs for a year was a tactical error – it made the poverty here seem that much more noticeable. Nottingham is in an area of England called the East Midlands.

That’s right, MIDLANDS. I should have known.

Over here the global financial crisis happened in real life, not just on the news.

behaviour. Men piss against walls in broad daylight. People spit. They scream obscenities at misbehaving toddlers. Mothers smoke cigarettes literally over their babies’ prams and my boyfriend and I, watching from behind the glass of our favourite Indian restaurant, are as appalled as if they had come in and done huge steaming shits on our plates. As initially horrifying, as these people were they were way more interesting to count than tights-aspants or muscly black guys – and Derro Bingo was born. We identified the different types of derro, and the first to spot one example from all the different types wins. I realise it’s more of a “gotta catch ‘em all” approach than the traditional all-in-a-row bingo, but Derro Bingo sounds catchier than DerroMon.

If you’re anything like me you kind of figure that anyone who wants to go to university can as long as they are clever enough, and that anyone prepared to work hard enough and long enough can make a lot of money up in the mines.

While it is certainly still hard to overcome the disadvantage of a poor background in Australia, it is very much doable. You don’t really get a sense of that here. There isn’t really a HECS system as such and there is no trickle-down wealth from the mines. Sure, if you’re a member of the middle class then you might marry into the royal family, but if you’re poor then you’re damn well going to stay poor for the rest of your poverty-related illness-shortened life. It’s the most plausible explanation I can find for the vast number of absolute derros here. Only a subculture nurtured into being over several generations can make commonplace what is otherwise acknowledged as unacceptable

If you are one of those impeccably groomed private schooled Law-studying student politician types I used to see all the time around UWA and one day you suddenly feel the urge to do something different, go somewhere crap and play Derro Bingo. For beginners, I recommend somewhere safe like upstairs at the Brass Monkey where you can look down from the balcony and play bingo with the “colourful characters” of Northbridge below. Gino’s in Freo is probably a good spot too, especially late at night. For more seasoned (or more streetwise) players I recommend Midland, Joondalup or Rockingham. Who knows, if you catch the train to Midland instead of driving you might have Derro Bingo before you even get there.

Try playing Yuppie Bingo at Ali Baba’s IN FREMANTLE

Thank You For Talkin’ To Me, Africa in Conversation ---------- Josh Chiat ---------Immediately after exams I drove up to Toodyay for a post-semester sabbatical at a friend’s farm. This farm had only one rule: Each person could bring only one CD or tape of their choosing into the house. Aside from the tapes already scattered around the farm this left us with five selections: J.J Cale’s Shades, Foals’ Total Life Forever; Mott The Hoople’s All The Young Dudes; The Good, the Bad and the Ugly Soundtrack; and my selection, Jimmy Dludlu’s 1997 debut, Echoes From The Past.

Jimmy Dludlu, a Mozambican-born smooth-jazz guitarist and arranger of immense technical ability, is one of my favourite artists and his debut holds a special place in my family’s musical dialogue. I received Echoes From The Past a few years ago from my Uncle David, a South African businessman and former hipster who occasionally drove the late great saxophonist Ratau Mike Makhalamele to his gigs in Johannesburg. Over the last few years each trip to South Africa returned to me a new Dludlu offering, until I had all of his original studio albums.

For me, Dludlu was a gateway to the world of African music. From him I moved on to other South African artists such as Hugh Masekela, the aforementioned Ratau, Sipho Gumede, Miriam Makeba and countless others, as well as artists from other African traditions.

There’s like Fela Kut, the Nigerian founder of Afrobeat who synthsised the styles of Ghanaian/Nigerian Highlife jazz and James Brown; Ali Farka Toure, a Malian guitarist who blended the American Blues tradition with the melodies of Bajourrou folk; and Janka Nabay, a Sierra Leonean musician notable for releasing the only recorded Bubu music available in the Western world.

My enthusiasm isn’t always echoed by the people that I introduce my music to, which brings me back to Toodyay. At one point two different people agreed that the presently playing Dludlu was “elevator music”. When they said they “couldn’t dance to it”, my natural defensive response was “it’s probably because you’re white”, which I said out loud without a trace of irony. And one of the people I said it to was Indian.

Though I realise that this was a kneejerk reaction to my taste being questioned, there may be more truth in this statement. Basically, a large part of the way we respond to music is down to familiarity. Being young, Australian and unfamiliar with foreign music may well preclude someone from enjoying music from foreign cultures to our own.

This isn’t a new theory and it relates to more than just music – think about the way an average four-year oldreacts to Indian food for the first time. Still, it informs the difficulties that new listeners encounter when introduced to “world music”. The general unfamiliarity with the music of non-Western cultures by most of us (including myself) is essentially caused by its absence in our societal upbringing. A very small proportion of the mainstream market is sourced from non-Western

cultures and little of it is adopted by Western musicians in either alternative or popular communities.

Why should you become familiar at all? Well, there is much joy to be had from foreign music that works its way into our cultural discourse. Toodyay’s most

Our musicians may incorporate the sounds of African music into Our musicians may incorporate the sounds of African music into Western Western pop but rarely pop but rarely do they master it or encourage us to seek out the sources of do they master it or their inspiration. An African polyrhythm in a Foals song, for example, is encourage us to seek more likely to be related by a listener to Talking Heads than to its original out the sources of their inspiration. Additionally, source in Ghanaian Ewe Music. these sounds are more often than not adapted respected offering came from Ennio Morricone’s The from another Western musicians’ experiments with Good, The Bad and The Ugly Soundtrack, a bit of weird African sounds. An African polyrhythm in a Foals music that through familiarisation has seeped into song, for example, is more likely to be related by a just about everyone’s subconscious, scoring many of listener to Talking Heads than to its original source in our lives’ imaginary stand-offs and triumphs. It is, Ghanaian Ewe Music. of course, not necessary for everyone to familiarise themselves with all music in the same way, though it’s Vampire Weekend have become the ultimate whipping nice when everyone is sharing the same conversation. boys of the “it’s because you’re white” phrase. Sure South African jazz is a conversation that I hope they borrow elements of Afro-pop, but they never to be able to share with more of my friends. It’s a actually bothered to master it, simplifying the heavily conversation that I’ve had with a taxi driver, a Sierra structured components of West-African pop into a Leonean refugee that I met at Bayswater train station basic four-person indie band. To make this worse, they and hopefully, one day, my uncle. When we do meet accompany said music with the upper-class imagery again, be it here or in South Africa, I’ll be sure to mine of a pompous Columbia University graduate. There his collection for all it’s worth. are actually good reasons to like Vampire Weekend – they’re tight, they’re good live and they make infectious pop songs – but they remain indicative of the glib interpretations of African music that emerge in the Western world. With so many artists approaching African music from a distant viewpoint it’s difficult to, and overwhelming on, a new listener to recognise the quality and attributes of genuine examples of the form (I had similar difficulty in high school listening to the Bollywood soundtracks of my regular lift home).

Inverse to this, much of the greatest African music has been formed from the complete absorption of Western popular music into their cultures, ostensibly from the process of colonisation. Colonisation brought the sounds of Western jazz music into the oppressed native populations. Kwela, one of the most common South African jazz forms was developed from township parties in the 1950s where the musicians would use any instruments they had available to attempt to emulate the sounds of their bebop idols. This DIY approach to jazz was married with Sub-Saharan African polyrhythms and local melodic structures to develop the first commercial township jazz.

Jimmy Dludlu, like many other Southern African guitarists, first learned to play using a home-made guitar constructed out of an oil-can before mastering a clean guitar tone, reminiscent of American guitarist and singer George Benson at the same time as his learning of African rhythm. African artists learnt to incorporate the Western world into their listening and production, as we should arguably be doing to a greater extent with theirs.

Illustration by Ena Tulic

music

30

E V SA MEMBERS MEMBERSSAVE SAVE MEMBERS SAVE

$10$10

RRP RRP RRP $24.95 $24.95 RRP$24.95 $24.95 Members Members Price $14.95 Price $14.95 $14.95 Members PriceMembers $14.95 Price SAVE SAVE $10.00 $10.00 SAVE$10.00 $10.00 SAVE

MEMBERS MEMBERSSAVE SAVE MEMBERS SAVE

$5 $5

Cygnett Cygnett Cygnett GrooveBuds GrooveBuds CygnettGrooveBuds GrooveBuds noise noise isolating earphones noise isolating isolating earphones earphones noise isolating earphones available available white available in black black and and white white availableininblack blackand and whitein RRP RRP RRP $16.95 $16.95 RRP$16.95 $16.95 Members $11.95 Members Price $11.95 $11.95 MembersPrice PriceMembers $11.95 Price Save Save Save $5.00 $5.00 Save$5.00 $5.00

MEMBERS MEMBERSSAVE SAVE MEMBERS SAVE

$5 $5

Pocket series Pocket Study Skills Skills series series PocketStudy StudySkills SkillsPocket series Study (more (more (more titles titles available) available) (moretitles titlesavailable) available) RRP RRP $12.95 $12.95 each each RRP$12.95 $12.95each each RRP Price Members $7.95 Members Price $7.95 $7.95 each each MembersPrice PriceMembers $7.95each each Save Save Save $5.00 $5.00 Save$5.00 $5.00

Members Save (if you’re not a Member join today!)

notjoin a Member (if(if you’re Member today!) you’renot not(ifaayou’re Member join today!) join today!)

MEMBERS MEMBERSPAY PAY MEMBERS PAY

$9 $9 Lexar Lexar JumpDrive JumpDrive LexarJumpDrive JumpDrive Lexar TwistTurn TwistTurn TwistTurn TwistTurn 4GB 4GB USB USB drive drive 4GBUSB USBdrive drive 4GB RRP RRP RRP $11.95 $11.95 RRP$11.95 $11.95 Price Members $9.00 Members Price $9.00 $9.00 MembersPrice PriceMembers $9.00

MEMBERS MEMBERSSAVE SAVE MEMBERS SAVE

$15$15 Sharp Sharp calculator calculator Sharpcalculator calculator Sharp EL531XHB-WH EL531XHB-WH EL531XHB-WH EL531XHB-WH RRP RRP RRP $42.75 $42.75 RRP$42.75 $42.75 Members $27.75 Members Price $27.75 $27.75 MembersPrice PriceMembers $27.75 Price Save Save $15.00 $15.00 Save$15.00 $15.00 Save

MEMBERS MEMBERSSAVE SAVE MEMBERS SAVE

$13$13 RRP RRP $29.95 $29.95 each each RRP$29.95 $29.95each each RRP Members Members Price Price MembersPrice PriceMembers $16.95 $16.95 each each $16.95each each $16.95 Save Save $13.00 $13.00 Save$13.00 $13.00 Save

The Co-op Bookshop – University of Western Australia – Crawley Campus The Guild Village Hackett Drive (Hackett Entry 2), Crawley WA 6009 Ph: (08) 6488 2069 Fax: (08) 6488 1007 Email: uwa@coop-bookshop.com.au, www.coop-bookshop.com.au * University Co-operative Bookshop Ltd conditions apply. Range and availability may vary store to store. Offer valid until 19 August 2011.

music

32

Music Criticism, Blogging & Lady Gaga In the age of the blog, music listening has splintered into a host of small, online communities focused on genres and sub-genres of music, encouraging people to assume the superiority of their tastes. Few stars are ubiquitous and indie nerds wear ignorance of pop as a badge of pride. Michael O’Brien tells you why you should be paying attention to the world’s preeminent star, Lady Gaga.

In a 2010 issue of Rolling Stone there were features on Ke$ha, M.I.A., Animal Collective and Jack White’s Third Man Records headquarters in Nashville. This is eclecticism a reader will be hard pushed to find in music blogs, which have become increasingly specialised and narrow focused on their sub-genre of choice. People who read magazines still get the advantage of being informed about a diverse range of artists, genres, production techniques and pop-culture personalities. Bloggers have in effect depleted the depth of today’s music journalism by encouraging fetishism of breakthrough or underground artists. The hype machine was never operated with such narrowminded recklessness prior to the Internet blog, and generally the music magazine provided an open slather of cool and uncool.

So why should I, a poor student, purchase and read magazines? The answer is that you don’t have to, but if you feel strongly about music, it’s one of the few sure-fire way to consistently access objective views and insightful interviews. For example, in the 2010 Rolling Stone interview Lady Gaga said, “I don’t mean to speak arrogantly about my musical strategy as a pop artist in the Warholian sense, but today you have to almost trick people into listening to something intelligent…It makes me crazy! And I have been for three years baking cakes – and now I’m going to bake a cake that has a bitter jelly.” This statement, referencing her plans for Born This Way, suggests we should expect the album to represent Lady Gaga’s Pet Sounds moment. More to the point, these words provide insight into Gaga’s deceptively savvy musical strategy for world domination. At first glance her songs appear like a shallow grab for fame and attention, but the more closely you follow the growth of the Gaga persona, the more you realise how much of a genius Gaga actually is. I would argue that Stefani Germanotta (aka Lady Gaga) has “tricked people” into listening to something intelligent. Some of the 9.8 million

people who purchased ‘Poker Face’ might be surprised that Gaga is no longer all about fame on the new record.

A brief look at Gaga’s career reveals her to be publicity savvy and culturally ambitious. Despite whether or not you are a Gaga fan, her songs, videos, and fashion statements are ubiquitous. The omnipresence of the Gaga persona is currently unrivalled online with some 11.5 million followers on Twitter (almost as many as Katy Perry and Kanye West combined). Like almost all modern artists, her key tool for creating and engaging with the Gaga movement has undoubtedly been the Internet. By maintaining complete control of her outrageous image and divisive music she is able to ensure that the world focuses on her music and clothing rather than the emotionally naïve secretive side of her personality. A superficial analysis of her public appearances, music videos and graphic lyrics seems to suggest that Gaga is to be seen as just another sexualised, scantily dressed pop-entertainer who should be condemned for singing about her sexual conquests of men.

The actual rationale behind her outrageousness is sourced from a desire to make her fans believe that she is super-human. In the Rolling Stone interview she revealed, “I don’t even drink water on stage in front of anybody, because I want them to focus on the fantasy of the music and be transported from where they are to somewhere else.” A deeper look at Gaga spectacles (concerts, outfits, acceptance speeches) reveals them to be highly serious, performance art pieces orchestrated to rally her most dedicated fans (who she affectionately calls her “little monsters”) into subverting social expectations and romantic pressures in a society controlled by men (on ‘Scheibe’ she sings “Love is objectified by what men say is right/ Blonde high heeled feminist enlisting femmes for this”).

What an admirable goal! In the same way that past generations of socially excluded ‘outsiders’ sought out the characters of novels, today’s generation of Little Monsters are provided with colourful respite from their real world through a super-human escapist persona.

What makes Gaga unique as a 21st century pop-star

is that we know next to nothing about her personal life and her mega-persona is entirely self-fabricated; she was singing about fame and money before she had either. Whereas other breakthrough pop-artists have largely based their material on truths about their own hardship, Gaga’s art is essentially a lie about her own fame, but a lie which is exuded with such extravagance and showmanship that her fans believe it to be true. She has subsequently acquired actual fame, and this allows her day-to-day interactions with her audience to be fantastically theatrical. The scope of Gaga’s art extends past just her music or fashion, to her manipulation of her own chameleonic image and her recreation of the modern celebrity.

If we take a look at Gaga’s musical output, there is no doubt that her music has taken significant steps forward since her 2008 debut. The Fame, although stacked full of electronic bangers with hooky choruses, failed to exercise restraint or diversity past its first four club hits. Unfortunately for some, the gross repetitiveness in ‘Just Dance’ or ‘LoveGame’ may have been the last straw when it came to ever enjoying Gaga. Her 2009 EP, The Fame Monster, was a more succinct, diverse and well-rounded record that saw her musical palette develop beyond the electro-pop bubble. Its opening track, ‘Bad Romance’ – which arguably represents the best example of the electro-house pop excess of the last decade – together with the impressive ‘Telephone’ and piano-ballad ‘Speechless’ saw music critics getting excited about Gaga’s potential.

The MaTilda award for CulTural exCellenCe

Her latest spectacle, Born This Way, may contain one or two filler songs within its 74 minutes but overall its huge electronic production confirms Gaga’s position as our only universal pop star. There is enough ambiguity in the lyrics to allow Gaga to be several different things to a million different Little Monsters. There are tracks on this record that sound more appropriate for a rave party in a Berlin warehouse (‘Heavy Metal Lover”) or for Triple J’s ‘Sound Lab’ at 1am in the morning (‘Electric Chapel’).

Gaga has not quite reinvented her own wheel here, but she has begun humanising herself by referencing her family members (‘Hair’).

Does this mean Stefani is retreating from her deceptively fabricated Lady Gaga persona?

Of course not, Gaga has built her empire around the celebration of unauthenticity and deception and she’s not about to go pull a Bruce Springsteen on us. Born This Way is just the next subtle step for a woman who has had the audacity to build a career based upon the media spectacle. Go ahead, have a serious listen, forget that little judgemental voice in your head; you may find yourself a Little Monster too, even if just for that one night when Gaga headlines a Berlin warehouse.

Each year, Convocation, the UWA Graduates Association, and the UWA Student Guild recognise excellence and outstanding student achievement in various areas of cultural pursuit.

If you know an individual or group who excels in Music, Literature, Public Speaking, Dance, Visual Arts, Drama or another cultural area, download a nomination form and apply.

Nominations close Wednesday, 31 August 2011 at 4.00pm.

In addition to gaining public recognition, the successful nominee will win a framed certificate and $1000.

For further info visit www.graduates.uwa.edu.au/awards/matilda or email convocation@uwa.edu.au or call Juanita Perez on 6488 1336

music

33

34

music

music reviews Abbe May

Hayley Beth

Getting munted and getting mounted: Is there anything else we really desire? Probably, but that makes for damn boring rock music. The concession of this fact is why Design Desire is so damn good. The latest from WA’s Abbe May could be the soundtrack to every dusty midday motel sex scene and 90s bar room gunfight and few would complain.

On her Facebook page, Hayley Beth lists her genre as “indie, neo-soul” with Lauryn Hill and Erykah Badu among her influences. Indie is obviously misleading – there’s nothing particularly twee here – though the neo-soul influences seep through in the multi-tracking of Beth’s voice.

Design Desire

Spirits

The first four tracks, which include the brilliant ‘Design Desire’ and ‘Mammalian Locomotion’, provide psychedelic riffs and Abbe’s siren-like vocals that throw you out of your normal world into a licentious Wonderland. Thematically consistent yet stimulatingly original, one can’t help but be tempted further down the rabbit hole.

These songs pass a little too quickly as they offer themselves perfectly to a sonic sprawl; but perhaps this is the nature of temptation?

While Design Desire starts off with an essential element of desire – the promise – tracks like ‘You Could Be Mine’ and ‘No Sleep Tonight’ take on that other essential component – the longing. This is counterpointed though. ‘Cast That Devil Out’ plays like a sermon from the Old Testament and Desire rounds off perfectly with the downbeat comedown ‘Blood River’, a sinner’s remorse for having succumbed to temptation.

Whether Design Desire will stimulate or satiate your desires is really a question of perspective. Either way, anyone interested in sex, drugs and/or rock ‘n’ roll will find a distilled dose here.

A-

Beth’s press up to this point has focused largely on her voice, a cracked alto with a powerful belt that channels blues icons such as Memphis Minnie and Janis Joplin. This voice might leave listeners dancing around the issue of whether she sounds “black” even though it’s not relevant to their enjoyment of the music. As important as this voice is however, Beth and her band understand that blues is as much about mood as riffs.

On old blues recordings this mood comes through in the cracks and hisses of the records – the sense of space between the musician, their instrument and the microphone. Beth’s blues don’t attempt to copy this. Spirits places the mood into a new context, juxtaposing grounded acoustic rhythm guitar and fuzz-affected lead and bass to produce an ethereal gloom that hovers over Spirits’ first half in particular and spills over into the LP’s standout closer ‘Superpowers’.

All of this is matched to the multi-tracking and power of Beth’s voice (‘Carnival’ is a great example of her harmonising with herself). It’s a formula that produces a sharp half-hour of intelligent blues with enough persuasive quality to not just make you empathise with the howling singer, but even with the relationship of the X-Men’s Jean Grey and Cyclops (‘GreySummers’). The outcome is rare – a local debut full-length of sustained beauty and craft.

Jakub Dammer Josh Chiat

Emmylou Harris

Manchester Orchestra

Hard Bargain

Simple Math

Hard Bargain is the latest album from prolific veteran American country songstress Emmylou Harris. For appreciators of country music, the album has a comfortingly predictable feel with songs about things that all country songs are about. The songs, most of which were written

by Harris, display an intimate sensitivity and maturity, reflective of her many years as a songwriter and performer.

Atlanta indie/alt-rock band Manchester Orchestra’s third full-length release, Simple Math, has its moments of glory but lacks any real intrigue or originality. The album opens with the mellow ‘Deer’, a pleasant-sounding acoustic ballad driven by soft guitar and piano melodies. Lead vocalist Andy Hull has an impressive voice that hardly falters, with every note reached and every word easy to make out.

Guitar-led instrumentation and fairly unadventurous arrangements give the album a distinct familiarity, though the frequent use of synths also lends a more contemporary feel. A lack of variation, however, makes most of the album indistinct and easily forgettable. The biggest fault is that Harris’s vocals lack the strength and twang of her younger years and verge on being annoyingly wispy.

Throughout her career Harris has been more renowned for her versions of other people’s songs rather than her own song writing. Her latest work is no exception. Stand out tracks ‘Hard Bargain’ and ‘Six White Cadillacs’ were among the few songs on the album written either by others or in collaboration.

Hard Bargain is a fairly unremarkable but certainly listenable album, and a solid contribution from an experienced and well-respected performer and songwriter. However, for those who haven’t yet discovered their love for country music, this album is probably not going to be the one to convert.

Charlie Jones

B+

C+

Simple Math’s strongest moment lies in ‘April Fool’. Catchy, well-crafted and sporting some of the release’s best vocal harmonies, the lyrics are probably the most memorable on the album. Title track ‘Simple Math’ starts off on a good note, but soon loses its appeal in a heap of sloppy repetition. It’s far too easy to skip it, even before it reaches the halfway mark.

While none of the tracks on the album are terrible, Simple Math hits the brick wall with its generally predictable arrangements and progressions that render it unmemorable and ineffective. There are so many moments where more could have been done; instead, Simple Math stays true to its name and keeps everything (rather tiringly) simple.

It’s hard to say what demographic this album is actually marketed at, with moments of mature, lyrical sophistication shadowed by cheesy teeny-bopper anti-substance, such as the mass yelling of stupid lines like “alcohol, dirty malls, Pensacola, Florida bars” (I mean, c’mon, MXPX is so 2003).

This isn’t a bad album, it just doesn’t offer anything exciting to remember itself by.

Fans of their older work and the more poppy side of punk rock may enjoy Simple Math, but Manchester Orchestra won’t be scoring too many new followers with this release.

Kiya Alimoradian

C-

The Grates

Secret Rituals The last time I saw The Grates live was one of the most intense, sweatiest and downright shameless nights of my life. In a small, shitty bar in Bunbury, beers were sculled out of trombones and fat ladies sang the impromptu “I’m Drunk and Don’t Give a Shit” blues on stage. Patience Hodgeson and her trio-cum-quartet of minstrels turned half a floor of shiftless kids into a frothing, bloody mess of writhing humanity. It was a hell of a night.

Introducing Bastian’s Happy Flight I’ve been following the Perth band Bastian’s Happy Flight for about sic months now. Rarely will you see a local band that has the dual talents of skilled musicianship and song writing. What has kept me coming back is not my raging crush on lead guitarist Alex Dew, but rather their unique sound. Amongst Perth’s onslaught of indie-folk and white hip-hop, Bastian’s stand out, and in the best possible way.

With the release of Secret Rituals, The Grates don’t seem to have lost any of that contagious spirit, despite having lost their hyper-cute, bowl-cut-sporting drummer and some of their aerobic tendencies in the process. Several tracks show the band gaining intensity despite a slower tempo, with Patience’s hypnotic vocals on tracks like ‘Welcome To The Middle’ combining with a clanging, metallic guitar bridge to create a welcome evolution in their trademark trampoline-rock sound. While the Wavvesesque intro to ‘The Night Won’t Start Without Us’ gives way to straight-forward pop, tracks like ‘Borrowed Skin’, ‘With You’ and ‘Change’ show guitarist John Patterson thankfully indulging in huge, crunchy distortion riffage, while Patience’s vocals on lead single ‘Turn Me On’ channel Kim Deal in a big way.

This record may lack the immediacy of past JJJ classics like ‘19-20-20’ and ‘Science is Golden’, but for Patience obsessives and distortion junkies, Secret Rituals is a welcome and rewarding slab of Australian indie-rock that should only strengthen The Grates’ party-starting reputation.

Keaton McSweeney

A-

Bon Iver Bon Iver

If you’ve been following what the Internet reckons about Bon Iver’s eponymous sophomore LP, it’s likely that you’ve come across two major arguments: 1.

OMG! He’s a genius! And he showed us his lyrics! What a soulful white dude! 9.5 etc. (this is what most bloggers sound like to me); or 2.

Bon Iver = The hipster Bruce Hornsby.

They’re both wrong.

While the people that have praised Bon Iver are right to not use their pre-conceived distaste of 80s soft-pop to dominate their readings of the album, there are other problems that they refuse to address. The first is that band-leader Justin Vernon’s best ideas are often cut short to make way for other less compelling ones. My favourite moment on the album is the upbeat electronic blues lead-in to ‘Minnesota, WI’ (note to Kanye: sample this), which is cut short by one of Vernon’s overused single-chord synth phases. The second is that some of the lyrics are beyond ridiculous, like some sort of year 12 drama class word association exercise. It’s hard to take lyrics like “in a mother, out a moth/furling forests for the soft” seriously.

Of course, it’s also wrong to assess the album purely on the basis of taste (that a critical standard has been agreed and that soft-pop isn’t a part of that standard).

Bon Iver shouldn’t be rejected simply for what it is. It gives us another showcase of Vernon’s otherworldly falsetto and the best songs (‘Holocene’, ‘Calgary’ and ‘Towers’) take simple melodies and surround them with dense instrumentation to build them dynamically and emotionally. Still, I do wish Vernon had avoided ‘Beth/Rest’, the hammy album closer/background music for the funeral of a John Hughes supporting character.

B

Josh Chiat

Their first EP, simply titled EP 01, is a showcase of four of their catchiest songs. Not wanting to shrink-wrap them in a genre mash up like ‘elctro-funk-dance-pop-beats’ I’ll simply say that each song is catchy as fuck and fun to dance to. ‘It’s OK’ immediately reels you into the band’s incessant beats, lurking synth riffs and Willy Slade’s charismatically sly singing style. The first three songs can easily stand alone as hits (and probably will some day). The perfect balance is struck between anthem, dance and self-reflection. ‘My Love’s (Not Good Enough)’ is a striking example of how a man’s sense of inadequacy can make a damn fine song to dance to.

EP 01 is a great showcase of Bastian’s strongest songs, but if you want the full experience, see these guys live. Luckily, I managed to catch them twice in a week – first in their usual electro-pop configuration and again as Bastian’s “Casio” Flight doing acoustic renditions of their songs at X-Wray in Fremantle. The Casio set was an intimate lo-fi jamboree. The peppering of Casio beats and bongo drums mixed with the band’s wry humour made for a fun night.

In their full incarnation the band can become a powerhouse. You can see how much of a kick each member gets out of performing. Troy Mutton’s drums and Tom Allum’s pads form beats that will get folks out off their seats. Alex Dew, in his trademark yellow cap, brings his expertise as a jazz guitarist to the funk/disco licks that carry sublimely through the songs. Slade shines live – you get the sense that he’s letting you in on a great joke. If you really want to enjoy Bastian’s then keep your eye on synth/saxophone player Jack Doepel. Jack’s smirk says it all, as does his incessant bobbing while he plays. Here is someone who lives his music and if Bastian’s isn’t your thing, check out the Jack Doepel jazz quintent Thursday nights at X-Wray, Fremantle.

Check these guys out. They are going places, but more importantly, they are damn fine musicians. If you want to see a local act that is both unique and fun, then these are the lads. This is music for lovin’ and dancin’. Enjoy.

Patrick Marlborough

music

35

music

36

WIM on a whim Despite having only just released their acclaimed self-titled debut LP on Modular in May, WIM have been around since 2007, mining the local scene in Sydney. Mary Gillooly chats to front man Martin Solomon about duality, a Roald Dahl-inspired video and what some dude from JB Hi-Fi thinks of their work.

Following the release of WIM’s eponymous debut album, lead singer Martin Solomon appears to be in state of shock. The success has been a surreal and incredible experience for the five-piece (consisting of Solomon, Harry Thynne, Saul Woodak, Simon Jankelson and Dustin Bookatz) who recently hit the West coast while supporting Gypsy and the Cat on their Jona Vark Tour. “It’s been a really strange thing to have strangers get in contact with us and be responding to it [the album], but it’s a beautiful thing, realising that we’re making a connection to people.” In his laidback voice, with a hint of embarrassment, Solomon tells about searching for the album at his local JB Hi-Fi store with a friend and trying to listen in on what the store clerk thought. In an attempt to resolve himself, he quickly adds, “I think I’ll just allow myself to indulge in this for the first album.”

Recording in the Berkley street studio in LA, WIM enlisted the help of the renowned musical engineer Bob Clearmountain, who has worked with names such as Bruce Springsteen and The Rolling Stones. “We were very blessed to be given an amazing opportunity to go and work in a beautiful studio and under the wing of someone of such a high calibre and amazing history.” When asked if the album would have sounded different if produced somewhere else, Solomon completely agrees. He speaks about the “sense of passion and inspiration” which emerged from their time in LA. Staying in Laurel Canyon where “Jim Morrison had a place down the street and Joni Mitchell had a house up the street”, the band were able to indulge in the “dark LA mysticism”.

This mysticism is evident in their unique brand of glam folk. Solomon explains this juxtaposition in terms of musicianship and

theatrics. “It is folk in a sense; there’s an emphasis on lyrics and strong song writing, but it is glam in the sense that it’s theatrical and epic.” He explains that they didn’t try a lot of new things because they had definitive ideas of what to do. However, he speaks with pride of the group’s receptivity to trying out each other’s ideas, for example Jankelson’s idea to use a Chinese erhu and guzheng on the last track, ‘Over the Mountain’. He also mentions the origin of the four-piece harmonies in ‘See you Hurry’. Drummer Harry Thynne’s organised for a children’s choir (of which his younger brother was a part of) to get together and sing on the record. Solomon explains, “These kids were just so wonderful and so excited to be there, and we were so happy to have them. It was a beautiful, beautiful experience.”

Variety is certainly a key aspect across the album, this is evident not only in the choice of instruments but the writing as well. Solomon speaks of the song writing and says, “Simon and I have written the majority of songs on the record and we come at things from different angles. He writes [from] quite a personal and experiential point of view, and it gives it this nice intimacy, where as for me, I’m sort of more interested in more esoteric and conceptual things.” These two approaches give way to a lot of duality, particularly between what is natural and what is processed. “I think a lot of the imagery is about nature but at the same time, I like to think of it as being quite urban, and about the city and machines. There’s a lot of light and darkness, and joy and darkness.”

This duality carries through to the album art (created by Leif Podhajsky). When I mention its similarity to the waterlilies of Monet, Solomon agrees and adds, “It is impressionistic, but it’s still impressionistic and natural in the way that

it’s very rigid, industrial and treated.” This choice in design reflects the band’s nature to be free and unbound. “We don’t want to be bound by the obvious imagery of forests and rivers and all those sorts of things.”

When I bring up the video for ‘See You Hurry’, Solomon becomes quite excited and exclaims that he likes questions about the video. “I’m very proud of the job that Daniel Askill, the director, did. I think he did a beautiful job in my opinion.” When asked about the inspiration for the video, he enquires as to whether I was a Roald Dahl child. The inspiration for the video is ‘The Swan’, from a collection of Dahl’s stories called The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar and Six More. In rural England in the 1950s, a young child who adores bird watching has a run in with some bullies, who have been told by their father to shoot a pheasant. The bullies terrorise the child and do awful things to him. In the end, they shoot a swan that is nesting, break off its wings and tie them to the boy. Inspired by the “horrific and traumatising” story, Solomon gave Askill a copy. He came back with the end result – a fairly creepy video. But as Solomon says, “creepy can be really beautiful as well.”

The group are not planning to settle down anytime soon. They have plans to travel and support the album both in Australia and overseas. The plan according to Solomon is to “keep writing, keep making music and keep meeting people and keep enjoying the creativity.

It’s cool you know. Who would have thought?

We’ll just keep making our live shows better, making new videos, collaborating with new people...all the possibilities, we want to do it all.”

37

film

FESTIVORAMALODEON Film for the discerning eyeball ------------------------------------------

Callum Twigger ------------------------------------------

This year, Pelican has turned its small, marble-like eyes to focus on Perth’s festival film scene; Festivoramalodeon was what resulted. A quasi-regular peep at what’s showing where and how you can get there.

Revelations Film Festival, July 2007 I had a copy of the programme which had been pored over so many times its pages were starting to curl up like dead leaves. My 16-going-on-17year-old self had baptised every screening of interest with an angry halo of red ink – a double coating reserved John Water’s Pink Flamingos.

At the time I had no idea who John Waters was or why I needed to see Pink Flamingos, but the video guy at Planet told me I had to see it and Wikipedia agreed with him. That was proof enough.

So I managed to bluff an underage entry into the Astor. I’m not going to give away much else beside that same suggestion that you ought to see it. My conversion was total and complete.

After that fateful Pink Flamingoes screening, I wanted more; the medium I thought I knew well had been put into scale, and it was clear that there was a lot more film in the world than the

megaplexes and video stores had let me know about.

Revelations is Perth’s private carnivalesque date with alternative film – a blink-and-you’vemissed-it, once a year romp with the wild kids, hidden geniuses and loose cannons of cinema. Starting in a basement 14 long years ago, Revelations has blossomed outwards into an institution; this year, it featured two world premiers, two dozen Australian premieres, 56 Australian films, and a bulging roster of over 100 films from 16 countries.

That’s a lot of reel, folks. Many of the films are rarities hand-picked by one of Australia’s resident godfathers of alternative cinema himself, Jack Sargeant. Much a hunter-gatherer, Jack is an international authority figure on underground cinema. He’s written a heap of very readable books on cult cinema and has been published everywhere between The Australian

Revelations Mug Shot

and The Wire. Like Revelations, Perth is lucky to have him and Pelican luckier still for being granted the opportunity to have a chat.

“We try to get stuff out that no-one will see anywhere else as much as possible, so people get to see the stuff they haven’t seen,” Sargeant says on call from London. This year they rustled up Belgium black comedy Vampires; Advocate for Fagdom, a racy documentary on cult director Bruce LaBruce; Bear Nation, a film about gay subculture; Tyrannosaur, a brutal drama about domestic violence; and an entire Super 8 film competition hosted by ABC’s film darlings Margaret and David.

“It’s a balance between stuff people have heard about and stuff they haven’t and won’t hear about unless Rev screens it,” Sargeant adds.

Revelation’s 2011 line-up proved the point, balancing festival darlings against alternative

1

2

fair. Gravity was Everywhere Back Then, a stop-motion live-action experiment, is an underground piece that got plenty of exposure under the Revelations spotlight, while more conventional pieces like Troll Hunter were brought into Perth from international screens.

Pink Flamingoes inclusive, Revelations is renowned for the intensity of its content, epitomising the nexus between the underground, the transgressive and the alternative. “The best films say something, and then find their audience because of the importance of what’s being said,” Sargeant adds in conclusion. Revelations 2011 had a hell of a lot to say and only a dork would miss out on the opportunity to hear what was said.

Revelations Film Festival was in Perth between July 14 and 24. Most screenings were at the Astor Theatre.

3

4

Rather than just titillate with prose, Festivoramalodeon has sampled some of Revelation’s line-up. You might have missed out on the Festival, but there’s no reason to not check out these films!

1. Komaneko: The Curious Cat

2. Troll Hunter

3. Advocate for Fagdom

Directed by Tsuneo Goda

Directed by Andre Ovredel

Directed by Angelique Bosio

I wish I’d grown up in Japan. It’s a tough schooling system but you’re pretty much living at the fucking epicentre of most of the greatest children’s entertainment franchises on the planet.

Komaneko is such a franchise.

Written, financed and produced in Norway deep, Troll Hunter is told through the lens of a fictional documentary made by a team of student journalists. Trekking into Norway’s north, the team hope to investigate a peculiar hermit who allegedly hunts bears. What they discover is a heap of trolls with all the nastier traits of their mythological counterparts and the aforementioned hermit’s crusade against the monsters.

This is a documentary about Bruce LaBruce, a Canadian film director, photographer, actor and confessed “reluctant pornographer”. As the title suggests, Bruce LaBruce is rather gay.

Based on a popular Japanese TV series, Komaneko: The Curious Cat is an animated stop-motion picture about the adventures of an anthropomorphic kitten as she tries to make a movie. In the Miyazaki tradition, Komaneko befriends a menagerie of monsters on her quest, and the film is a consistent exploration of the little wonders of childhood.

The animation is achingly kawaii. Komaneko: The Curious Cat is compelling to watch as an adult.

The dialogue is mostly in nyan – the Japanese onomatopoeia for “meow” – and it gives the film’s narrative universality. Like Pixar’s Wall-E, so much is carried in the physical expressions of Komaneko the cat and her friends that dialogue becomes redundant.

Films with 10 times its budget look half as good. Drawing visually on Norway’s dense troll folklore, Andre Ovredal’s SFX teams have pulled together a menagerie of monsters that look partstory book villain and part-Del Toro abomination.

As a consummately made, unique horror film in a genre saturated with replication and derivatives, Troll Hunter is amongst the international must-sees for 2011.

Advocate for Fagdom gathers up members of Bruce’s retinue, his friends and contemporaries and asks them what Bruce LaBruce is all about.

A dissident in every sense, LaBruce’s work is challenging: hyperviolent, sexual, and invariably drenched in torrential irony.

Labruce’s passion and purity are of rare consistency; he has fans in high places. Both Vice Magazine and John Waters have tipped their hats to the role he’s played in underground film, and Advocate for Fagdom explores this role, for all its grime and glory.

Unfortunately, his latest work, LA Zombie, was turfed out of the Melbourne Film Festival because the film council thought it way too icky

and denied classification. Both controversy and crusader, LaBruce is the kind of artist people love or loathe. Advocate for Fagdom takes a hard look at that artist.

4. Grant Morrison: Talking With Gods

Directed by Patrick Meaney

Grant Morrison is a prodigy of the graphic novel, and Talking with Gods is a documentary about his magnificent career. Magician, esoteric satirist, philosopher, psychodelican, a user and an abuser, Morrison is part of the strange, small cult of Scotsmen and North-Englishmen who forced comics to grow up during the 1980s.

Talking With Gods collects up the fortunate few who’ve been exposed to Morrison at his pulsating best to fill in the picture – alternating between reflections from the man himself and anecdotes from those surrounding him. The end product is something that needs to be seen by any lover of Doom Patrol, The Filth, Hard Boiled, The Invisibles or Arkham Asylum. Do your comics a favour and watch this movie.

film

38

Transformers: Dark of the Moon Directed by Michael Bay Starring Shia Labouf, Rosie Huntington-Whiteley, Patrick Demsey Michael Bay is a rare director indeed.

He’s probably the only director in Hollywood whose talent manifests when human actors actually leave the screen and it all turns to graphics.

I realised this after being smacked in the face by the oscillating, naked buttocks of a Victoria Secret model for about 30 seconds during Transformers: Dark of the Moon’s opening sequence. Give Bay the concept art for some robots, 10 squillion dollars and a racially homogenous SWAT team and there’s nobody in Hollywood who can beat the resulting Action Sequence Whopper Meal.

But give Bay real people and he’s a bull in a china shop. In Dark of the Moon, he sincerely struggles, imbuing his characters with any emotions the audience can identify with. As a result, most of the protagonists in Dark of the Moon are just dicks. Loud, sassy, boorish, arrogant, impetuous, in summary: dumb-butkinda-proud-of-it.

Expect: an entire subplot of Labouf ’s Sam Witwicky howling at girlfriend Carly because she’s more successful than him (and a woman); Patrick Demsey almost ending the world because his daddy wanted him to; and a sequence with a Chinese-American conspiracy theorist that is so damn weird it made me genuinely worried there were Asians watching this film and thinking this was what Americans thought of them. Hell, even Optimus Prime acts like a bit of a dick. Worst, Bay treats the women in his films like a six-year-old boy treats his sister’s Barbie dolls: he strips them off, throws them round, turns one or two into a cyborg before getting bored and eventually forgetting about them completely.

I’ve been waiting for Bay to grow up and give us a Transformers movie that the kids of the noughties could take as their own. Instead, for the third time, he gives us 2.5 hours of decent action dragged to the bottom by tasteless soft-core porn and racial profiling.

CCallum J Twigger

Super 8

X-Men: First Class

Cars 2

Directed by JJ Abrams

Directed by Matthew Vaughn

Directed by John Lasseter

Starring Elle Fanning, Joel Courtney, Charles Kazync

Starring James McAvoy, Michael Fassbender, Kevin Bacon and Jennifer Lawrence

Starring Owen Wilson, Larry the Cable Guy, Eddie Izzard

Super 8 is Abrams’ (Star Trek, Lost) nostalgic homage to a idiosyncratic genre, time and medium. He revisits the classic alien invasion plot and mixes it up with nostalgic recreations of youth in 1980s America as well as the excitement that came with amateur film-making.

It is Spielbergian in its use of his iconoclastic tropes, but perhaps more so in the way that it takes its audience back to a time when the blockbuster was just learning to walk and still maintained some of its infant charm.

Joe Lamb (Joel Courtney) lives in the town of Ilian, 1979. He and some friends set about to make a zombie film, namely the brash director Charles Kaznyk (Riley Griffiths) and beautiful costar/crush Alice (Elle Fanning). While filming a scene they witness a catastrophic train crash. Soon mysterious events start rumbling through town, and the children find themselves in the middle of an actual sci-fi mystery.

The film is formulaic but knowingly. It plays up certain clichés (single dads) and paces itself well with the monster attacks. The most enjoyable element of the film, however, are the performances given by the child leads, especially Riley Griffiths as a child-Orson-Welles style filmmaker. The dialogue between the children is believable and fluent and makes for some very enjoyable scenes that are reminiscent of Stand by Me. If anything, I wish the focus remained on the children and not so much on the mystery creature.

It is a strong if predictable movie, which manages to defer audience cynicism and recreate a child like enjoyment of movie viewing. Considering the somewhat weak ending, I’d say it is a better film about filmmaking than it is about aliens.

X-Men: First Class had so much working against it: a ridiculously rushed production schedule, a supporting cast of obscure X-Men and the lingering stench of X-Men 3 and Wolverine. Director Matthew Vaughn and his team defied these problems creating the best entry in the X-Men film series so far.

First Class takes place in the backdrop of the Cuban Missile Crisis. The 60s aesthetic of the film is wonderful, recalling the look and feel of classic Bond films. The Hellfire Club, led by Sebastian Shaw (a deliciously sleazy performance from Kevin Bacon), works behind the scenes in trying to spark a nuclear war between the USA and USSR. They are opposed by Erik Lehnsherr (Michael Fassbender) and Charles Xavier (James McAvoy), the men who will become the two opposing leaders of the mutant community Magneto and Professor X. The strongest aspect of First Class is the relationship between the two leads.

Fassbender and McAvoy have fantastic chemistry together as the two friends destined to be bitter enemies. The first act of the film where Erik is an international Nazi hunter is like watching Fassbender perform the best Bond audition ever.

McAvoy is charming as a younger Professor X, full of youthful hope and vigour about the future of mutantkind.

Unfortunately, some of the younger characters are dull and forgettable, making me wish that they stopped bothering with trying to tie into the earlier X-Men films and used the original X-Men instead.

The strongest performance from the younger actors comes from rising star Jennifer Lawrence as the Mystique. Lawrence does a great job at portraying the shape-shifter Mystique as uncomfortable in her own skin and caught between the philosophies of Charles and Erik.

Any other animation studio would’ve gotten away with Cars 2. It’s not a bad kid’s film. Like most entertainment aimed at anything under age 13, it’s bright, loud, and built on the kind of dead-brain the humour that makes The Annoying Orange YouTube’s most subscribed to channel.

Cars 2 continues the story of race car Lightning McQueen (Owen Wilson) and his hicks-mobile best friend, Mater (Larry the Cable Guy). They live in a world populated entirely by vehicles; a staggeringly bizarre premise, but we’ll get to that later. Thanks to some hijinks involving mistaken identity, the two get themselves tangled up in an international (cars have nations too, apparently) conspiracy involving renewable energy sources and big corporations.

Pixar is one of the best film studios of the 21st century because of its hitherto resolute refusal to use a target demographic as justification for poor film-making. Films fall down when they have no aspirations outside of daisy-chaining premises market research has shown will pack cinemas (compare: Transformers: Dark of the Moon). Pixar didn’t give a crap about that style of movie-making;Toy Story, Wall-E and The Incredibles were wicked films first, cinema-packers second.

But Cars 2 abandons the delicacy of Pixar’s earlier films and instead embraces the Disney-Dreamworks cocktail of half-funny gags, too-loud sidekicks and already dated pop-culture handouts for parents. It’s that simple. Though the striking visuals border on hyper-realism and the film’s environmentalist message is timely, Cars 2 doesn’t have any of the aspirations that brought its studio’s previous films so much success.

B-

First Class is the best X-Men film so far, and gives me a lot of hope for the future of the franchise.

A children’s film should not use children’s intelligence as a scapegoat for poor film-making, and Lasseter knows better.

Ultimately, Cars 2 is a cynical and unnecessary entry on Pixar’s otherwise angelic permanent record. Avoid unless you’re babysitting. Otherwise, your childhood won’t forgive you.

Patrick Marlborough

A-

C-

Kevin Chiat

Callum J Twigger

film

39

Sleeping Beauty

The Tree of Life

Directed by Julia Leigh

Directed by Terrence Malick

Starring Emma Browning, Rachael Blake

Starring Brad Pitt, Jessica Chastain, Sean Penn, Hunter McCracken

Sleeping Beauty is a movie in which every single line of dialogue is worthy of ridicule. I am not even exaggerating. It is impossible to exercise enough restraint to prevent oneself from giggling through every piece of dialogue uttered in this film. Examples include (excuse my paraphrasing, but you’ll get the general idea):

The Tree of Life is rare in that it threatens to engulf your entire being if you fail to come to grips with it. In my giddy, postmovie state, I’m tempted to saturate a review with adjectives. This would be both appropriate and inadequate as the film spans the nature, essence and origins of life.

“Your lipstick must match the tone of your labia” “I would really love to suck your cock” “Would you like a lavender tissue?”

Emily Browning has decided that she is finally old enough to participate in Serious Cinema. Unfortunately for Ms Browning, she seems to have resigned herself to the idea that Serious Cinema is cinema that involves playing a character who is constantly raped by hirsute, overweight elderly men with minuscule – and gratuitously displayed – penises.

It seems that she may have gravitated a little too far towards the road less taken after her starring role in A Series of Unfortunate Events.

Whilst I am generally uncomfortable when it comes to belittling our own filmmakers, Sleeping Beauty may be a film worthy of such pejoratives. It confuses me as to why Julia Leigh would associate her relatively immaculate record with a film such as this. That is not to say that Sleeping Beauty is a terrible film; it is just a film that is far too minimalistic in some places, and in other cases, far too gratuitous. I’ll leave it to you to watch the film yourself so as to work out where these descriptions are applicable.

C Lachlan Keeley

Audiences should expect nothing less from masterful writer/director Terrence Malick who began working on the main concept of the film over 30 years ago.

However, auteurs aren’t everybody’s cup of tea, and at a jaw-dropping two hours and 19 minutes you better have a hot flask handy.

Whilst Brad Pitt and Sean Penn are the ticket-sellers, central to the plot is young Jack played by a talented Hunter McCracken. Set in 1950s Texas, Jack must deal with teen angst whilst trying to please an overbearing Father (Pitt) and placate a doting Mother (Jessica Chastain). Disillusionment becomes a full-blown existential crisis in Jack’s adult life (Penn) when his younger brother dies and it also serves as the catalyst for the film’s visual exploration of faith.

The Tree of Life takes viewer expectations of the oft-bland family drama and illuminates each fragmented trope to the point of sweet non-recognition. The cinematography is breathtaking and the O’Brien family is easily identifiable.

Unfortunately, Penn’s performance doesn’t sustain the hard-hitting emotion that is present throughout. Stumbling around his skyscraper office appeared unrealistic and thematically reductive.

The chunky scenes of cosmic grandeur arguably could’ve been cut down, but critics will be talking about the significance of The Tree of Life for years to come.

A Elizabeth Howard

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part Two Directed by David Yates Starring Daniel Radcliffe, Emma Watson, Rupert Grint, Ralph Fiennes

The Trip Directed by Michael Winterbottom Starring Steve Coogan, Rob Brydon and Claire Keelan

The things that have always been good about the Harry Potter films are still there – the design, music, cinematography and British thespians.

Ultimately, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part Two is strictly for fans; luckily for Warner Brothers, when it comes to Harry Potter, that’s pretty much everyone.

SO THERE I WAS JUST BACK FROM MID YEAR ROTTO WHERE I HAD JUST FUCKED THESE TWO FRESHER CHICKS MY FRIEND TELLS ME I SHOULD GO SEE THIS MOVIE CAUSE IT HAS STEVE SOMEONE IN IT SO I GO TO THE MOVIES AND THEY DONT EVEN HAVE IT SO I HAVE TO GO TO THIS FUCKING MOVIE PLACE IN THE WESTERN SUBURBS AND ITS FULL OF GRANNIES I GUESS SO I SIT DOWN WITH MY POPCORN (EXTRA-LARGE YO) BUT THERE’S ALL THESE PREVIEWS FOR SHIT OR SOMETHING IT LOOKS LIKE SOME FUCKING SWEDISH EMO GARBAGE MAN I HATE THAT ARTS STUDENT SHIT AND THEN THE MOVIE FINALLY COMES ON AND ITS NOT THE STEVE GUY AT ALL ITS SOME BRITISH FAG WITH BAD TEETH AND IM ALL LIKE ‘MAAAN’ BUT I ALREADY PAID LIKE 20 DOLLARS AND I DONT WANNA LEAVE JUST YET CAUSE MY GIRLFRIEND IS STILL AT THE GYM DOING BODY PUMP I KEEP WATCHING AND THIS BRITISH GUY IS LIKE TALKING ABOUT FOOD OR SOME SHIT AND THEN HE GOES ON A ROADTRIP BUT THE GUY HE’S GOING WITH IS KINDA GAY NOT THAT I DONT LIKE GAY PEOPLE OR ANYTHING I JUST DONT WANNA GET RAPED YOU KNOW AND ANYWAY THEY LIKE DRIVE ACROSS SCOTLAND OR SOMETHING IM GETTING KINDA BORED SO I START TEXTING MY GIRL AND SHES LIKE ’Hey I’m still gonna be a while sit tight kay? xx’ AND I’M KINDA PISSED AT THIS AND CALL HER A BITCH AND THEN THIS LADY NEXT TO ME GETS ALL ANGRY AND TELLS ME TO STOP USING MY PHONE AND SO I TELL HER TO FUCK OFF AND TAKE HER SAND-FILLED VAGINA WITH HER AND SHE GOES ALL PICKLE FACED AND YELLS AT ME AND IM STILL SEEING THESE FAGS ON THE SCREEN AND NOT EVEN DRINKING GOON SO IM LIKE FUCK THIS AND DECIDE TO GO JACK OFF IN THE TOILETS CAUSE THE MOVIE SUCKS

B-

C-

Kevin Chiat

P.R. Poopy

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part Two is a Horcrux. Like Lord Voldemort split apart his soul in his search of immortality, Warner Brothers has split the final Harry Potter book in two in the search of more money.

Whilst this split may’ve been an evil money grab, it does have positive consequences. Taken together, Part One and Part Two of Deathly Hallows are at least narratively cohesive (unlike the muddled Half Blood Prince). Like all of Yates’ Potter films, if you haven’t read the book it’ll probably be incomprehensible.

The split allows for book highlights to get screen-time when they otherwise may’ve been short-changed. Thankfully The Prince’s Tale is well adapted.

Deathly Hallows Part Two is all climax. Audiences are given no time to reacquaint themselves with what has happened before and are thrown straight into the Sturm and Drang of Hogwarts’ last stand. An unfortunate consequence of the plot is that the stronger older actors are sidelined to cameos, leaving the younger actors to carry the film.

Radcliffe and Watson are fine in the roles they’ve inhabited for 10 years.

Grint seems to be just going through the motions, but in his defence the filmmakers have always sidelined Ron. Some scenes work wonderfully and others just utterly fail. Unfortunately, the final meeting between Harry and Dumbeldore falls flat, short and staged in the most staid way possible. The scene loses the power it should have.

Books

40

What Pelican read this month A

witness the beginning of the end of an entire people. The cruelty of the era is paralleled by the unforgiving hostility of Tasmania’s rugged landscape, and at times the story’s vivid horror will leave you gasping for breath.

In a world where the only material possessions are boots, weapons and women, Wilson’s historical fiction is both thoroughly researched and told with such force as to make you glad for the mundanity of your life. Violence, pain and illness are constant companions for whites and blacks alike through this story and the lawlessness of this “prison without bars” is brilliantly depicted.

The Roving Party Rohan Wilson Set in a time of bushrangers, chain gangs and Tasmanian tigers, The Roving Party is the story of a band of bounty hunters on a state-sponsored mission of Aboriginal slaughter. Led by the local squatter, the group is composed of convicts and mainland Aboriginal trackers who have been promised their freedom and money in exchange for the wholesale murder of indigenous Tasmanians.

As the party track and kill while struggling to survive the harshness of the wilds, we

F

Kiss of Snow Nalini Singh Ok. Here’s the thing. I don’t read a lot of romance novels and it’s not a literary snob thing. They just don’t appeal to me.

However, this novel promised funny, sexy, action-packed adventures (back cover blurb) with the added incentive of being part of a ‘bestselling’ sci-fi series. Well, I’m going to have to disagree.

Hawke, a super hunky alpha male slash wolf, has been fighting his “fatal” attraction to Sienna for several tedious pages. It’s

In a terse yet graphic style, Wilson effortlessly conveys intense power and emotion as well as fascinating details.

Ongoing descriptions of everyday life and Tasmania’s botany and geography entrap the reader, and you become interested in not just the characters but the time and place itself. As a result, you will find your thoughts straying to this book long after you have put it down.

Giles Tuffin

B+

Most of the story is set in Japan, where avant-garde artist and newly empowered mutant Kenji is running amok. Kenji’s power allows him to manipulate his body mass, giving Gillen and Espin the opportunity to delve into body horror.

Katsuhiro Otomo’s classic Akira is a clear influence

Generation Hope: The Future’s a FourLettered Word Written by Kieron Gillen Art by Salva Espin and Jamie McKelvie If X-Men First Class left you with the desire to check in on the latest developments for Marvel’s merry mutants, then Generation Hope is a series you should be reading.

Mutantkind is facing extinction but salvation lies in the hands of Hope Summers. Hope is the ‘Mutant Messiah’, the first mutant born since their near-extinction. Through the magic of time-travel, Hope is now in her teens and working to help new mutants

not exactly clear why his attraction is so fatal, a euphemism about his fearfully large boner perhaps? Meanwhile there is this whole paranormal subplot going on, what with Sienna being an X-class Psy and Hawke being leader of the Snow Dancers (not the most spine-chilling name for a wolf pack). A lot of irrelevant conversation about impending Psy-wars and protecting wolf territory happens between the sexy times. I wish the author had stuck to one genre of fiction rather than flitting between harlequin-type romance and gritty sci-fi details.

By the end, if I had to read another sentence about Sienna’s maddeningly spicy scent or how Hawke’s alpha was going to burst out of his pants, I wanted to set myself or the book on fire. Probably the book.

As a novel aspiring to be full of slick, provocative dialogue and tantalising love scenes, it falls decidedly short of the mark.

At best, this is a book to pass the time while you’re waiting for something better to come through the mail.

Deblina Mittra

control their powers. Five lights begin to shine on the Cerebra device, alerting the X-Men to the existence of new mutants.

B-

Conversations With Myself Nelson Mandela It is near-impossible not to be drawn in by the magnitude of Nelson Mandela’s story.

This may be why Macmillan thought a book composed entirely of material written or spoken by the man himself would be a safe bet. It sets out to answer the question that apparently remains unanswered: “What does he really think?”

The book is arranged chronologically into four indistinct parts intended to mirror Mandela’s reverence to classical literature.

“Pastoral” and “Drama” are well crafted,

The final chapter re-teams Gillen with his Phonogram collaborator, Jamie McKelvie.

They explore the politics of the mutant nation and Hope’s place within it. Gillen portrays Hope as caught between the agendas of the older X-Men. However, they also hint at just how dangerous Hope can be.

Espin does a fine job on art chores, excelling in action set pieces of giant monsters and creepy flesh. McKelvie is one of my favourite artists and it’s exciting to see him bring his unique character designs to the X-Men. I particularly like his Magneto, who closely resembles Sir Ian McKellan.

Generation Hope is proving to be one of the most interesting X-Men spin-off comics currently running. Building the future of the franchise with a heady mix of teen angst and political intrigue.

Kevin Chiat

providing neglected details of Mandela’s childhood and early education. There is a combination of modesty and aspiration here that would resonate without any knowledge of the adversities and achievements of Mandela’s later years.

In the following parts, however, Conversations becomes wearisomely bogged down by its technical and formal restraints.

Every chapter is heavily footnoted and there is a frustrating lack of continuity as successive parts of the same excerpt are titled twice. The value of dedicating an entire chapter to Mandela’s calendar entries is also highly questionable.

Yet if you can tolerate continual page flicking and timeline-consulting, you will be rewarded with candid insights into the function of the African National Congress, Mandela’s political ideologies and the prison regime that sought to eradicate them. Mandela sets forth a particularly potent recurring motif in the struggle between brain and blood which implements a powerful theme of personal sacrifice.

Large parts of Conversations tell us very little of what Mandela really thinks, but it’s a worthwhile read for the stark beauty of his letters to family members alone.

Elizabeth Howard

books

41

C+

truthfulness. I praise its brevity.

Parrett is not a bad novelist at all – she’s won enough awards to make you feel incorrigibly inadequate and she’s being promoted as Hachette’s new wunderkind.

True, Past the Shallows is a Women’s Weekly Good Read, and Parrett’s pet dogs feature significantly in her in-book bio, but even the best authors can’t avoid the occasional slip-up. The thing is, there’s nothing particularly original or spectacular about this novel. It’s adequate.

Past the Shadows Favel Parrett Favel Parrett, lauded for her “hauntingly beautiful” prose style, loves using short sentences. All the time.

She’s not afraid to use repetition. Not afraid at all.

And, a little too frequently, she’ll use text indentations, in case you missed the most hauntingly beautiful parts of the passage.

Just like this.

So, how you feel about this novel will depend on how much self-conscious post-modernist styling you’re willing to take. Robert Drewe praises its realism and

B-

B-

Past the Shallows, a fairly formulaic work of realist fiction, recounts the daily struggles of three Tasmanian boys and their abusive abalone-farming father. The fishing is bad, the bank is foreclosing on their boat and Dad’s moods are becoming more erratic as their family sinks into dysfunction.

There’s no reason you should choose this novel over anything else in the “Literary Fiction” section at Dymocks. It’s got all the markings of every other “Haunting New Australian Work” – the coastal experience, domestic violence, fraternal bonds, Aussie battling, car crashes, infidelity, dead and dying animals, alcoholism and a single strategic “fuck”. Parrett is not covering new or even particularly relevant ground, neither thematically nor stylistically.

Zoe Kilbourn

Shooting the Fox Marion Halligan When every second book is about vampires, zombies and she-wolves it is refreshing to read a raw and honest portrayal of humanity. Shooting the Fox is a collection of short stories from Australia’s Marion Halligan, with each story offering a small glimpse into the lives of rich and diverse characters – from a 43-year-old virgin and her pornographer husband to a grandmother mulling over her past and present.

plucked straight from The Catherine Tate Show.

Mrs Forbes is unwittingly surrounded by the sexual trysts of her various family members, all anxious to protect her from the sketchier goings-on.

Alan Bennett Although admittedly a little embarrassing to read on public transport, given the conspicuous red font of the title, Alan Bennet’s Smut is not nearly as shocking as initial impressions might suggest.

Consisting of two short stories, Smut explores the dirty laundry of seemingly boring people.

The first story introduces us to Mrs Donaldson, a middle-aged widow, who is liberated from a lifetime of conservatism when she takes up the propositions of her student lodgers. The second centres on Mrs Forbes – an archetype of British snobbery and bigotry so familiar she could’ve been

Any messages that can be drawn, however, on suburban conformity or social taboos, seem a little out-dated. The story’s endings also seem to dwindle out rather than reaching their premise for shock and scandal.

Nonetheless Smut is by no mean a bad read; Bennett’s gift for subtle humour cannot be questioned and while I would not recommend it to my grandmother, more delicate readers should not be completely put off.

Annabel Hennessy

However this can be forgiven for the eloquent manner in which the stories are written. They need no fancy tricks or supernatural characters to portray lost love, pain and stolen innocence. Halligan does well in creating personas that pull you in and reveal themselves as hurt, fragile beings. A simple collection which makes a good read.

Lauren Wiszniewski

Each story is a moment captured in time,

D-

Bennet’s best achievement in Smut, is writing so comprehensively about sex whilst remaining as quintessentially British as tea or The Queen.

Rather than digressing into the crass-Adam Sandler- inspired humour “sex comedy” seems to suggest, the humour is derived from the contrast between the droll tone and the unseemly content.

Smut: Two Unseemly Tales

relying on a stream of consciousness style in order to delve into the characters and their backstories. Each piece tends to linger in the mature minds of the protagonist, with no obvious conflict and dialogue taking a backseat. While this makes it easier to explore the characters and understand them, it can at times become unsatisfying due to a slow pace and what could be considered a biased view. The almost tormented women express deep emotion, yet I found myself craving the other side of the story and wanting to understand why the men in their lives treated them this way. The poor development of the male characters – who are at times almost clichéd – is a major flaw of this collection.

The Life Malcom Knox Former sports writer Malcom Knox’s latest effort echoes the premises of his two previous works of fiction, with themes of sport and masculinity being central to the storyline. While not a book I would usually pick from a lineup, I was interested to find out how an Aussie writer could articulate the rise and fall of a sporting celebrity. Alright, you got me. There is a picture of a melting pine-lime Splice on the cover and it looked damned delicious.

All dessert cravings aside, the cover of

The Life quotes The Guardian, saying, “…if Winton is an Aria, Knox is early Rolling Stones.” This is in reference to the grungy, fragmented, almost streamof-consciousness manner in which it is written. However, far from this style of writing rendering an innovative, gritty, wholesome narrative, it just makes the book incredibly difficult to read. The story – of a former pro surfer, now thoroughly washed up and living with his mum in a retirement village – is unfortunately not nearly engaging enough for a reader to want to persist and plow through this stinted writing style.

While the plot thickens a little and eventually stretches to family feud and even murder, the faux-poetic ramblings of an aged “surfer dude” thoroughly disillusioned with his existence make The Life a hard slog.

Perhaps for those with an interest in surfing (the novel does reference several real-life surfers and surfing events), the pilgrimage to the end of The Life will be worth it.

However, I wouldn’t recommend an attempt for those outside this niche demographic.

Katrin Long

Books

42

July:

Fremantle Poetry Month July has a bad reputation in Perth: it’s cold and wet; the sun sets before six; and there’s nothing to do and few people to do nothing with. Many students spend their winter break in warmer climes while the rest of us fritter away our holidays cycling between the fridge and TV. But no more!

For the second year running, July has seen the good folks at Fremantle Press organise an extravaganza of poetry-related fun. There are a host of free events to attend, including live poetry performances, workshops, book launches and even an exhibit of haiku written on thongs that has given voice to Christmas Island’s creative writing students.

Prominent local poets such as Tracy Ryan, Kevin Gillam, Andrew Landsdown and Michael Heald all released new collections. Pelican’s Hannah Lyles has provided a snapshot of these below. Pelican also sent delegations to check out most of the events on offer. Readings from Tracy Ryan and Kevin Gillam were highlights, while Pelican-alumni Kaitlyn Plyley also starred with her gut-busting performance at Clancy’s Fish Pub. The pity is that you are reading a retrospective rather than a preview of these events. For now, if this has piqued your interest get in touch with Pelican for more information.

Alternatively you can head down to the Perth Poetry Club (every Saturday at the Moon Café in Northbridge) or check out Fremantle Press’s great catalogue of July poetry titles.

The Moving World Michael Heald If the shiny gold cover of Michael Heald’s newest poetry collection, The Moving World, isn’t enough to excite you, the fact that many of his poems were inspired by Vipassana meditation should. Heald’s poetry has such intensity to it that you can only take it in small doses ¬– this is poetry we need to stop and think about. He plays with abstract thought and communicates it vividly to the reader. If you’re interested in the interactions of body and mind, then give it a read. It’s pretty mind-blowing.

Fremantle Poets 2: Two Poets Kevin Gillam & Andrew Landsdown Kevin Gillam is a poet, professional cellist and music teacher. His collection Songs Sul G – published within this book – contains poems as disjointed and jumbled as random notes of music. They flit and float their way toward your ears. They are journeys through time, always moving, always changing. Like the weather, anything is possible. In ‘The Caught’ his lines move down the page like a snake so quickly that you almost feel like you’re moving with him. Read his work aloud and hear the music yourself.

If you ever stop, stare and marvel at the beauty of a moment, you’ll enjoy Andrew Lansdown’s poetry. The Moving World collection is his contribution to this book. He writes in a haiku-style, capturing single moments and observations. He celebrates the beauty of the present and is interested in the details of the moment. Haiku is ideal for the short, sweet delivery that Lansdown does so well. He uses the stories of others to tell his story, as shown in the poem ‘Misery’ where he tries to soothe his son’s unrelenting cries.

The Argument Tracy Ryan Tracy Ryan’s new collection, The Argument, has the power to draw you into a moment of time and simultaneously broaden your view to encompass the universe as a whole.

Woah. Yes, indeed. Her poems such as ‘Nurse, ER’, ‘Space’ and ‘The Argument’ have such an intense silence and isolation that the loss is unavoidable. You can hear the loss filling your ears. So what is the argument? Is it an argument with death? With the self? Read The Argument and find out for yourself.

All reviews by Hannah Lyles

Quick Questions for Perth Poets Hannah Lyles caught up with Tracy Ryan and Kevin Gillam. She asked them about their newly published collections, their influences and the art of writing poetry.

sound. I feel that many of my poems relate to deep, rich feelings so this name suited the collection. I actually got the idea to write ‘Chromos’, one of my poems, from [the composer] Bach. I wanted to write a poem for each note in the scale and show how it made me feel.

Tracy Ryan

Kevin Gilliam

What is The Argument?

For me it’s a book about the tension between the drive to live and the negative impulse toward death, surrender, giving up. I took the central theme from reading the medieval letters of Heloise and Abelard, real-life lovers who were separated (he was castrated in punishment!) and ended up leading monastic lives. His letters urge her toward resignation and acceptance of this; her letters protest and resist and seem to be full of life and the urge to enjoy sensual love. From there I started thinking about how we have these opposing urges and wanted to explore them in other contexts too.

The book engages with other people’s lives and with the force of nature in my surroundings.

Your poetry collection is called Songs Sul G. What does this mean?

For me it’s a book about the tension between the “Sul G” is the technical term for string players when they play the whole melody of a piece on the lowest string. It provides a very rich and warm

When did you start writing poetry?

In my teens. I was doing English Lit at school and we were taken to a moved reading, in a theatre with professional actors, of the poems on the syllabus.

The performance really brought the poetry alive for me and I thought, “that’s what I want to do.” I’d been writing stories since early childhood and also loved nursery rhymes and Robert Louis Stevenson’s A Child’s Garden of Verses. But it was that moved reading that really settled it for me.

Why do you write?

I can’t help it. It’s a life-habit, a way of understanding the world for me. I love to read, and for me the two activities aren’t really separable.

How has having children affected the way you write, the way you view the world?

Hugely. Poetry is a form that lends itself well

to fitting in around parenthood (I have written novels too, but they require a bigger stretch of concentration-time). And watching the development of another human being is an endless source of learning, as well as cause for reflection back over your own growing-up.

What do you think poetry can do that other modes of expression cannot?

It can help us think, feel, see in ways that ordinary language-use doesn’t always do. It has a kind of music to it that is not simply rational, although it can be rational too. It can also help us share experience that is quite alien to our own and find common ground. Even if people are not constant readers of poetry, many turn to it at certain points in their lives for these reasons.

The Argument was launched on July 7

by Fremantle Press. To check out Tracy Ryan and John Kinsella’s blog go to: http:// poetsvegananarchistpacifist.blogspot.com/

Which comes first, music or writing?

I started played the cello when I was 12. I started playing the piano at 8. My family was very musical.

I only started creative writing in my mid 20s. I was teaching music at the time – as I still do now – but I remembered how I really loved writing in primary school. I find that high school hammers creativity out of kids over time and gives more importance to other subjects. One of the problems is that creative writing is something that is hard to assess. So I decided to take a creative writing course at TAFE to get back into it.

How does writing make you feel?

[Laughs] Frustrated and incomplete. I get anxious when I’m writing a poem and the feeling only stops once I’ve completed it. Then I get annoyed and a bit upset that I’m done with it. There’s always a poem in progress.

Your poems seem like journeys. Your poems move along and I can tell that you are moving too.

Yes, that’s true. There’s a poem called ‘From Freo’ which is about a journey on a Friday night.

Everyone’s excited because it’s a Friday night and you can sense it in the Freo air. Everything’s moving and I am too. There’s a great silence in me though as I’m moving.

If readers could take one thing or learn one thing from your poems, what would you hope that to be?

To stop and listen. I would like them to not read for sense but to be happy thinking about the poem. I would like them to read a poem, and then think about it for a few days. See what they feel and think. I would like the poems to be a sensory experience. Just stop. Fiction has a horizontal flow and the story progresses in a linear way with time.

Poetry doesn’t flow in the same linear way. Poetry calls for us to stop and think.

Songs Sul G was launched on July 7 by Fremantle Press.

books

43

books

44

Here be Tom Taylor Tom Taylor is one of the leading members of the pack of Australian comics creators making their mark in the international market. Taylor, an awardwinning playwright, is now writing Star Wars comics and has also written for DC Comics. Kevin Chiat caught up with him at the Supanova Pop Culture Expo to discuss comics, conventions, Boba Fett and Taylor’s two new series with Perth based Gestalt Publishing, Rombies and The Deep: Here be Dragons.

Tom, how did you first discover comics as a reader?

I started reading comics when I was very, very young, mainly reading DC Comics. Obviously lots of other sorts of things like Garfield, but Superman was always my absolute idol. Reading Superman, reading Green Lantern and Green Arrow and Batman and all of those things in the early Australian reprints of DC stuff was where I got my love of comics. And then I became a teenager and I pretended that comics didn’t exist because, you know, you’re not allowed to like comics when you’re a teenager.

Then when I was an adult I rediscovered comics through things like Sandman and Preacher and, you know, some of those absolutely incredible books. And yeah, I always loved comics.

Your recent mini-series Star Wars: Blood Ties explored the origins of bounty hunter Boba Fett. Were you reluctant to cover this territory, considering that a lot of Boba Fett’s original appeal lied in his mysteriousness?

I had reservations as far as his mystery. I definitely didn’t want to ruin that. One of the greatest things about his character in the movies is he’s just this guy in a suit who’s standing there being a badass, and I didn’t want to get in the way of that. So I was very aware of that starting out; if you read the book then you’ll understand how I get away with it. I wanted to tell a story that had an emotional core that people would identify with. That’s why we had to bring in another character. Boba Fett, he’s a huge part of the book and he’s in it a whole lot, but there’s another character that plays off him. That’s how we get to see him rather than telling you what he’s thinking, or what he’s doing or showing his motivation. It’s all sort of “on the outside”. He’s a kick-ass character and you don’t want to ruin that for people.

Currently out is Rombies, where you’ve teamed up with artist Skye Ogden.

Rombies mashes up the sword and sandals genre with zombies.

Where did that idea first come from?

It was actually the idea of Skye, who’s also the art director of Gestalt Publishing. Gestalt came to me and said, “Look, would you have any interest in writing this?” I actually said “No”, straight off the bat. I said, “Yeah, it’s not really me.”

And then I had a dream that basically was of gladiators being chased underneath the Colosseum by zombie lions.

I woke up the next morning going, “I want to see a zombie lion.” So I call them and went “Hey, you know, I want to see a zombie lion so I’ll write Rombies for you” and since then I’ve really come to love it. I’m writing a whole series of it and it could go forever potentially.

And that’s the thing. I want to create these comics – like I did with Star Wars Adventures – that I can share with them and hopefully get them really excited about comics.

I don’t think that’s being done enough. But at the same time I want to be able to share it – I want other parents to be able to share it and other people to be able to share it with younger people, which means they need to like it too.

You can read some stuff that is supposedly “kids’ comics” and they’re average. They’re really dull. Not all of them – some of them are fantastic – but there’s a lot which are not actually for all ages, they’re for a young age and that’s it.

Were you interested in antiquity before writing Rombies and has writing it required much research?

It’s one of those things [where] sometimes you’ll love something already and then you’ll delve deeper. And sometimes you’ll have a basic knowledge of something and then you’ll learn to love it as you go. And I’m a mad researcher, so whatever I’m doing I will throw myself into it for months. I really will. But with Rombies, yes I have an interest in Ancient Rome but I think just through the research I’ve learnt to love it even more. Now that I know the history, the characters, the emperors and the sons and all the stuff that went on… I’m really, really passionate about it.

Having attended San Diego Comic-Con, how do you find Supanova and other Australian conventions compare?

I really, really like our home cons. They’re very friendly and not insane. Well, bordering on insane now – especially Sydney and Brisbane where literally there were over 20,000 people. But certainly in San Diego it’s just insanity – Comic-Con is 120,000 people packed into a kilometre long space. You walk up and down it all day for five days and you’re exhausted. This [Supanova] is nicer, just nicer.

You also have The Deep coming out soon with artist James Brouwer. It’s an original graphic novel aimed at all ages. How important is it to you that there are all-ages comics being produced?

It’s incredibly important to me. I was a young kid that liked comics and we now live in a world where comics aren’t for kids. You can’t open a DC or Marvel standard comic and show it to a five-year-old. They’ve either got no interest in it, it goes straight over their head or it’s too violent. The subject material is written for 18 to 34-year-olds. It’s not for kids. I want to share comics with my children. I’ve got a 14-month-old and a 5-year-old and I want to say to them, “Hey look, look how cool comics can be. This is the greatest storytelling medium in the entire world and you’re going to love it, okay?”

What advice would you give young Australian writers and artists who want to get into the comics industry?

Just do it. Just do it, write every day, draw every day. Get better and better. Seek out criticism if you can find it.

Publish. Once you’re happy with something make sure it goes online. Hound people and get better and better and better. Don’t give up after a few knocks – love it. It’s absolutely worth it. This is the greatest time to get into comics. It’s achievable. With the internet, anything’s possible.

Star Wars: Blood Ties is available in comic and bookstores now. The Deep: Here be Dragons will be released in September. Rombies is available at comic and selected bookstores as well as online (for free) at gestaltcomics.com/onlinecomics/

THE MELVILLE COUNCIL VIETNAM VETERAN’S DRAMATIC SOCIETY’S PRODUCTION OF THE VAGINA

MONOLOGUES

B+ Scent Tales The Blue Room Scent Tales is a perfect heartwarmer for a winter’s night: sweet, wholesome, and made with love.

The production is the debut creation of the recently formed Little y Theatre Company. Scent Tales is a fable based on a tale by Nasruddin Hodja. The script was written by the founders of the Little y Theatre company and Corinne Davies. Two of these founders are in the threewoman cast, joined by Rhoda Lopez. The third founding member, Alexis Davis’, life was sadly cut short last year.

The result of this tight-knit development group is a lovingly crafted and imaginative tale. Effective and interesting set design was combined with innovative props and solid performances to draw the audience into an otherwise simple story of baking sisters.

Rhoda Lopez was the strongest performer of the trio, but together the women created a balanced and enjoyable show. There were genuinely funny moments – especially for lovers of puns like myself – and the story was relatable. While told as a child’s fable it avoided falling into the often-dangerous trap of saccharine whimsy. The narrator repeatedly dares us to take her more flighty poetry seriously before letting us laugh at it all. Ultimately the performance leaves us feeling warmly satisfied – as did the “love bread” we were invited to sample afterward.

As always, The Blue Room was an excellent venue for a small local production, providing an escape from the rain, good beers and friendly service. I look forward to seeing further work from this young theatre company.

Unfortunately, Scent Tales is no longer being presented at The Blue Room, but check out blueroom.org.au and ‘Like’ Little y Theatre Company on Facebook for information on up-and-coming shows.

Alex Cassie

As an act of altruism, I drove down to Melville’s Rec Centre to see the Vietnam Veteran’s Dramatic Society’s production of Eve Ensler’s The Vagina Monologues. The Veterans – most of them in their late 60s and some in wheelchairs – filled the Rec Center to the brim (40-max capacity) with their wives and social workers.

A lot of theatre critics, if they cared, would have cynically mocked the MCVVDS’s choice of The Vagina Monologues as most (all) of the players are male. But that is a very narrow-minded ivory tower perspective of the production. Those that came with an open mind (and heart) were able to witness a heart-rending exploration of women’s issues and ideas of identity.

Like all great productions of The Vagina Monologues, it is the performances that make the play great. The electric opening performance of ‘I Was Twelve, My Mother Slapped Me’ performed

by Lt J.B. Johnson was a sign of the great things to come. I wept actual tears (no irony) when Sgt James Fotherworth – with no legs – gave a stunning rendition of ‘My Vagina Was My Village’, making me actually believe that he was a Bosnian woman subjected to the horrors of a rape camp. ‘Reclaiming Cunt’ was entertaining, but was slightly ruined when Pvt Jake Hallswort had a nervous breakdown on stage and screamed, “THEY MADE ME KILL DAUGHTERS!

PEOPLE’S LITTLE GIRLS! WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU!?

YOU CAN’T UNDERSTAND!” and then continued to puke on

himself. For want of a better word, the production climaxed with Sgt Major Arthur Cruddup’s channelling of Ensler herself – his rendition of ‘Because He Liked to Look at It’ was made all the more powerful by the fact that he had lost his member to a mine in the war.

This performance was like the Vietnam war itself: it made me laugh, it made me cry, it seemed a bit pointless and in the end the tears burnt my face like a glob of napalm.

Patrick Marlborough

A

arts

45

howl

46

HOWL #13 Brother Leon

Most Thursday nights I head to X-Wray in Fremantle to listen to the Jack Doepel Quartet and hang out with my friends. A lot of people drift in and out but it was on the 27/1 this year that a “streetie” named Brother Leon came and sat at our table. We talked for over two hours and this is my fragmented recollection of our discussion and this intense man.

Leon sat across from me and I bought him a beer. I was bored with my friends and he was electric with energy.

“I am Leon and only Leon, Brother Leon.” He smiled and gave me a high 5 (the first of hundreds) and commented on the beauty of my cousin. I told him she was basically my sister. “These are the good words!” he said, “brother, sister…distinguished, discipline, born and courteous.”

Leon was magnetic. Most of my friends started to shuffle away from the confessed “streetie”. They missed out.

“I am Leon James Kelly. I was born 1963 in a paddock. My mother had to walk 15 miles with a placenta hanging out from her…” he was smiling but obviously sad, “cos y’see it was segregation and she couldn’t go the white hospital…I was born in a paddock. That’s why I was born tough!”

He ambled around the outside area trying to bum drinks. For fear of losing him I bought him another.

“You are my brother!” he would yell, “let me give you some energy!” and he grabbed my hand and looked me square in the eyes. I believe Leon was magic.

Each time he did this I came out feeling like Ali. He would laugh and clap and make a clicking noise with his mouth while winking. He showed me a packet of Winfiled Blues and held it upside down. Looking at it this way, with its strange font, it appeared to say ‘live to win’. Leon repeated it out loud: “This is my motto!”

Leon believed himself to be a great warrior. The greatest fighter on earth. He received this power from his mother but, he said, remained courteous. Jet Li was his hero and Leon struck magnificent poses that seemed to be a mix of traditional dances and modern martial arts. He believed he had to fight the entire world. “My blood or theirs, and mine is more important.” He has to fight: the Taliban, China, will “try

to be polite to India, but if they’re up themselves, stuff ‘em!”. England and American are coming and he must fight them, “they will come, but when they see me, they will all look back.”

Violence was obviously a big part of Leon’s life. He detested violence against children: “I saw this fella hit a little boy the other day and I had to thump him. It was terrible, but I had to!” he looked ashamed but then spotted a small child having dinner in the bar, “hello cutie!” he waved.

Leon constantly flexed his muscles and emphasised his strength, I’ll knock ‘em back to China…I can cut anything! Cut the head off anything!”. This is where his sadness mixed with anger. I was alone with him now and he glared at me for over a minute. “I am a killer,” he said. I laughed dismissively.

“I am a killer! Do you know what it is like to have killed? It is terrible. I am a killer. I am nobody.

Nothing.”

“You are my friend!” I said, “Brother Leon!”

He looked at me, grabbed my hand, and shook it sternly. He then lifted up his shirt to reveal a horrible scar and that travelled up his stomach.

“I didn’t mean to show you that scar.” He looked broken. “I’m sorry. I was mugged in Northam. It was terrible. I fought as hard as I could, I fought ‘em hard! But there was 8 of them. They all kicked and stabbed me. And I was only trying to hitchhike! And you know how I got this?” he pointed at the scar, “They threw me through a fella’s front window. SAS! You know what that is? He was SAD and two big Alsatian dogs were in that room… shit…and the fella came in and he cocked a crossbow said ‘who you and why you here?’ and I said how I’d been attacked and I fought real hard but they’d thrown me threw the window. I was only trying to hitch hike…” He paused. “I hate that time! I don’t even want to think of it.”

attacked him on several occasions.

“Not many people can dodge three machetes.” He said it so casually, I thought it was another tall story. “But I can” he said, lifting the sleeve on his right arm to reveal an immense stab wound – obviously from some giant knife. “I’ll use my powers on the bikies, they’ll kick back their engines but they wont know how, cos of my power.”

Leon was a family man. He had a wife and six kids and loved them more than anything. Though from his tone, they seemed to have lost contact. He was a painter, it was his great passion but “they took all my painting stuff cos I can’t afford it anymore.”

He had tattoos of the Aboriginal flag as well as a scrawled ‘MUM’. “They said I was a rebel at age 5.” He was an outrageous flirt, telling us “I am very handsome, I quite fancy myself ” and told my friend that she looked like Cleopatra. He spoke of archaeologists finding a boomerang in Pharaoh’s tomb, and how it was he that put it there. “We are the first!” he said, “we are the time travellers.”

Maybe he was.

“This is all I’ve got. I am what I’ve got on me.”

He pointed to his shirt, which read ‘Slazenger est 1888.’ “All I can be is me.”

I nodded. “You are my brother,” he said, “I love you in the best possible way.”

We shared power again.

“I’m only Leon!” he yelled, “but I’m real. Real as that saxophone.”

I’ve seen him once since.

“When was it?” I asked.

Homework:

“Two years ago.” His face showed distilled hatred for the memory.

Don’t judge them.

It became obvious that he’d had a history with Bikies. They had fallen out and his old “crew” had

Talk to a stranger.

Buy them drinks.

Your degree will increase your ability to move into physiotherapy.

Study our Graduate Entry Master of Physiotherapy and you could be practising physio in only 2 ½ years.

If you have a degree which meets the prerequisites - and you’re interested in becoming a physiotherapist - apply now for our Master of Physiotherapy. You don’t need to study the 4-year Bachelor of Science Physiotherapy degree, you can move directly into a Master of Physiotherapy from relevant undergraduate courses.

The course is accredited by the Australian Physiotherapy Council and is taught within the School of Physiotherapy, which over the last 60 years, has established an international reputation for the quality of its graduates.

If your passion is to become a physiotherapist, make your tomorrow better and apply now for Semester 1 2012 - find out how at curtin.edu.au/masterphysio

CRICOS Provider Code 00301J CU-PHY-210/BRAND CUHS0159B Curtin University is a trademark of Curtin University of Technology

BC+YUNWG716 CRICOS Provider Code 00126G

Achieve

“

career momentum with a UWA postgraduate qualification.”

Vickie Kong UWA PhD student - Oil and Gas Engineering

The rapid development of research and technology has created a world in which a postgraduate qualification is becoming an expectation in order for you to be competitive in the global workforce. At The University of Western Australia, we want to ensure that you are well prepared to contribute to society as it undergoes further transformation. With both an undergraduate and a postgraduate UWA qualification, you will hold the necessary edge as you embark on your professional career. If you have questions about postgraduate pathways at UWA, our annual Open Day on Sunday 14 August has the answers. You can speak to leading industry members, meet top researchers in the ‘Research Zone’, see the ‘ThreeMinute Thesis’ finalists in action and enjoy the activities and entertainment. To view the complete Open Day program visit open.uwa.edu.au