October 7, 2008
end of an era As yet another uni semester draws to a close, I realise that this time, it’s different. I won’t be returning (apart from a stint in summer school, but that’s another story). I’ve been so looking forward to leaving the stuffy world of academia behind and yet, as the end approaches, I’m not so sure. Part of my insecurity stems from the fear of never finding, or being selected for, the writing job that I’ve dreamed of, another part is sad to say goodbye to the easy-going lifestyle a communications degree has afforded me. I’m curently deliberating about enrolling in a post-grad degree in speech pathology, a profession so many worlds apart from journalism I’ll have to do a year’s worth of bridging courses before I can actually start the two-year degree. While writing is my first passion, I suddenly feel the need to conrtibute something a little more substantial to the world. Alas, time spent learning is never wasted; my mum always says that everything happens for a reason. Who knows where I’m going to end up? One thing’s for sure – blogging has really grown on me. I might even keep polluting cyberspace with my dilemmas and wonderings for a little while longer …photo / tbh / stock.xchang

end of an era

As yet another uni semester draws to a close, I realise that this time, it’s different. I won’t be returning (apart from a stint in summer school, but that’s another story).

I’ve been so looking forward to leaving the stuffy world of academia behind and yet, as the end approaches, I’m not so sure. Part of my insecurity stems from the fear of never finding, or being selected for, the writing job that I’ve dreamed of, another part is sad to say goodbye to the easy-going lifestyle a communications degree has afforded me.

I’m curently deliberating about enrolling in a post-grad degree in speech pathology, a profession so many worlds apart from journalism I’ll have to do a year’s worth of bridging courses before I can actually start the two-year degree. While writing is my first passion, I suddenly feel the need to conrtibute something a little more substantial to the world.

Alas, time spent learning is never wasted; my mum always says that everything happens for a reason. Who knows where I’m going to end up?

One thing’s for sure – blogging has really grown on me. I might even keep polluting cyberspace with my dilemmas and wonderings for a little while longer …

photo / tbh / stock.xchang

•
September 23, 2008
what’s cooking?There are many aspects of modern life that have become a mess of mixed signals, stuck in a time warp between traditional values and those of the supposedly modern. Apparently, feminism really stuffed us up.My generation of women has grown up expecting to work and earn an equal wage to men, but her man must still pay for a date. We don’t want anyone holding our arm as if we were wilting flowers, but expect to have car doors opened for us. More and more, I have realised that while my parents’ generation were radical rule-breakers, my friends are much more conservative. We tend to do things the old-fashioned way, even if our mums didn’t. Never has this been more true to me than over the past month. Everyone I know seems to be getting married. That means engagement parties, hen’s nights and bridesmaid shopping. It also means potato peeling, apron tying, egg separating and recipe reading. It means spending Sunday afternoons nibbling cupcakes with three generations of women. It means kitchen teas.I think it’s great that women rally around a bride-to-be and spend time with her before her Big Day. Noone’s going to deny that marriage is one of the big changes that we go through in life. But why is it that women today, who expect their partners to do their fair share of the cooking, cleaning and washing up, persist with the ‘she-who-grates-the-carrot-fastest-shall-be-awarded-with-a-set-of-spatulas’ philosophy? The irony of Gen Y adopting the kitchen tea is that, while sticking to an age-old tradition, they have magnified it by modern proportions. While kitchen tea gifts in my mum’s generation were mops, buckets and toilet paper, brides today set a bridal registry of expensive household items for both the wedding and kitchen tea.It is possible people still have kitchen teas for the same reason they have baby showers. That is, they’ve got a Big Financial Blowout coming up and need all the help they can get. I’m really enjoying all the kitchen teas I’ve had lately. While my vegetable mashing prowess is not yet fully developed and it irks me that there is still an assumption that women should, by nature, be domesticated, being in the same room as several generations of women is really uplifting. I wonder whether we’ll ever let go of such conflicting traditions or whether it will be our daughters or granddaughters who start to break the mould …photo / cx_ed / stock.xchang

what’s cooking?

There are many aspects of modern life that have become a mess of mixed signals, stuck in a time warp between traditional values and those of the supposedly modern.

Apparently, feminism really stuffed us up.

My generation of women has grown up expecting to work and earn an equal wage to men, but her man must still pay for a date. We don’t want anyone holding our arm as if we were wilting flowers, but expect to have car doors opened for us.

More and more, I have realised that while my parents’ generation were radical rule-breakers, my friends are much more conservative. We tend to do things the old-fashioned way, even if our mums didn’t. Never has this been more true to me than over the past month.

Everyone I know seems to be getting married. That means engagement parties, hen’s nights and bridesmaid shopping. It also means potato peeling, apron tying, egg separating and recipe reading. It means spending Sunday afternoons nibbling cupcakes with three generations of women. It means kitchen teas.

I think it’s great that women rally around a bride-to-be and spend time with her before her Big Day. Noone’s going to deny that marriage is one of the big changes that we go through in life. But why is it that women today, who expect their partners to do their fair share of the cooking, cleaning and washing up, persist with the ‘she-who-grates-the-carrot-fastest-shall-be-awarded-with-a-set-of-spatulas’ philosophy?

The irony of Gen Y adopting the kitchen tea is that, while sticking to an age-old tradition, they have magnified it by modern proportions. While kitchen tea gifts in my mum’s generation were mops, buckets and toilet paper, brides today set a bridal registry of expensive household items for both the wedding and kitchen tea.

It is possible people still have kitchen teas for the same reason they have baby showers. That is, they’ve got a Big Financial Blowout coming up and need all the help they can get.

I’m really enjoying all the kitchen teas I’ve had lately. While my vegetable mashing prowess is not yet fully developed and it irks me that there is still an assumption that women should, by nature, be domesticated, being in the same room as several generations of women is really uplifting. I wonder whether we’ll ever let go of such conflicting traditions or whether it will be our daughters or granddaughters who start to break the mould …

photo / cx_ed / stock.xchang

•
soccer girlfriend I was reading Jenna’s profile when I realised the two of us live in a parallel universe. We are two of many soccer girlfriends.Any good soccer girlfriend will know that there is a ritual that must be followed with every game.We arrive a couple of minutes early to greet the other soccer girlfriends and ensure a prime-position seat above the court.We kiss our beloveds good luck and cross our fingers.During the game, the soccer girlfriends exercise the most valuable female skill - the ability to multitask. We talk work, shoes and news while oooh-ing, ah-ing and cheering (sometimes in the wrong places).At the sound of the full-time whistle, we clap amicably and give the opposition team’s soccer girlfriends a secret wave. Then we gather up sports bags, work clothes and Blackberrys and run through a myriad of overused phrases, ‘that was a really tough one,’ ‘the other guys were so rough,’ or ‘next time, eh?’ The soccer girlfriend never, ever, under any circumstances, utters the four words of doom anywhere near a sweaty soccer team, ‘it’s only a game.’Post-game, the team take their jerseys off and go outside into the freezing cold to smoke or just demonstrate how macho they are, then spend the rest of the week being treated for colds by their mothers and girlfriends who sponge their foreheads and brew them chamomile tea.In the car on the way home, soccer girlfriend and soccer player dissect the 30 minute game with a surgeon’s precision; that almost-goal, the ref’s bad call, the goalie’s impressive dive. Sometimes I think said boyfriend is just testing to make sure I’m paying attention for the whole game. God help me if I’m not wearing my glasses.After a couple of seasons of cheering from the sideline of my boyfriend’s soccer games, something eerie happened. I started to enjoy it. From behind that line I learned the rules of the game and finally came to realise the absolute passion that some people put into sport.I’m even thinking about getting on the other side of the line next season … photo / jazza / stock.xchang

soccer girlfriend

I was reading Jenna’s profile when I realised the two of us live in a parallel universe. We are two of many soccer girlfriends.

Any good soccer girlfriend will know that there is a ritual that must be followed with every game.

We arrive a couple of minutes early to greet the other soccer girlfriends and ensure a prime-position seat above the court.

We kiss our beloveds good luck and cross our fingers.

During the game, the soccer girlfriends exercise the most valuable female skill - the ability to multitask. We talk work, shoes and news while oooh-ing, ah-ing and cheering (sometimes in the wrong places).

At the sound of the full-time whistle, we clap amicably and give the opposition team’s soccer girlfriends a secret wave. Then we gather up sports bags, work clothes and Blackberrys and run through a myriad of overused phrases, ‘that was a really tough one,’ ‘the other guys were so rough,’ or ‘next time, eh?’ The soccer girlfriend never, ever, under any circumstances, utters the four words of doom anywhere near a sweaty soccer team, ‘it’s only a game.’

Post-game, the team take their jerseys off and go outside into the freezing cold to smoke or just demonstrate how macho they are, then spend the rest of the week being treated for colds by their mothers and girlfriends who sponge their foreheads and brew them chamomile tea.

In the car on the way home, soccer girlfriend and soccer player dissect the 30 minute game with a surgeon’s precision; that almost-goal, the ref’s bad call, the goalie’s impressive dive. Sometimes I think said boyfriend is just testing to make sure I’m paying attention for the whole game. God help me if I’m not wearing my glasses.

After a couple of seasons of cheering from the sideline of my boyfriend’s soccer games, something eerie happened. I started to enjoy it. From behind that line I learned the rules of the game and finally came to realise the absolute passion that some people put into sport.

I’m even thinking about getting on the other side of the line next season …

photo / jazza / stock.xchang

•
being somebodyDan Brekke recently blogged about his encounter with a homeless man on the streets of Berkeley, California. The teaser link to the post on the Salon.com homepage reads, ‘The homeless man I helped was once “somebody”’. One reader posted comment about this title (though, presumably, Brekke didn’t write it) and how it undermines the empathetic tone of the article. Another reader criticised the writer for exposing a vulnerable man who has made the choice to disappear from the people in his world. I think the use of the term ‘somebody’ is less an assumption that homeless people aren’t human and more a play on the public’s addiction to fame. People read NW because it publishes goss on famous ‘sombodies’ rather than average Joe ‘nobodies’. The tale of a homeless person who has been ‘somebody’ is intoxicating for a storyteller. Whatever their fall from grace (if indeed, one considers the alternative ‘grace’), it’s got to be dramatic. Sometimes the truth is better than fiction. And there’s no better crowd-pleaser than a true story.Upon reading Brekke’s post, I began to question myself and the role of my writing. I have often thought about doing some vox pops with people living on the streets for a feature that would humanise the face of homelessness. I think many of the prejudices the general public have about the homeless stem from an inability to relate to those people who live within and yet so far from the world we inhabit. But I have never pursued this proposal with the gusto with which I usually approach interviews. Why? Because I am just as bound by my prejudices as everyone else. As a petite, unathletic female, the physical threat of being put in a powerless position in the face of an assault is probably foremost in my mind. But where did this notion that all people who live on the streets are violent and misogynistic come from? Am I just as worried about being attacked by a man in a suit on George St?The other hindrance was my conscience. Whichever way I turned it, the story felt like exploitation. Why should these people be expected to become monkeys in a cage for the voyeuristic purposes of my audience? Why did I expect that they would want to tell me their life story? Can the secrets of strangers be bought? And at what price? Why shouldn’t the homeless man’s price be higher than the successful businessman’s? I’ve come to realise that all writing involves some kind of exploitation. The subject is always vulnerable, always exposed, in the hands of the writer. In my journalism classes, it was always emphasised that, if we were getting information for an article, we MUST identify ourselves as journalists. The fact that Brekke didn’t have the homeless man’s consent to identify him publicly blurs the line of journalistic integrity regardless of his intentions. But blogging poses problems for writers because of its informality. If I write about a cup of coffee I have at a café, do I have to warn the barrista? ‘Hey, better make it good, I’m a blogger!’ Or perhaps I should stick a disclaimer to the fridge at home? ‘WARNING: this house is inhabited by a blogger. Anything you say can and will be used against you on Tumblr’.Ah, blogs, bringing new complications into the journalistic world every day … photo / pmartike / stock.xchang

being somebody

Dan Brekke recently blogged about his encounter with a homeless man on the streets of Berkeley, California.

The teaser link to the post on the Salon.com homepage reads, ‘The homeless man I helped was once “somebody”’.

One reader posted comment about this title (though, presumably, Brekke didn’t write it) and how it undermines the empathetic tone of the article. Another reader criticised the writer for exposing a vulnerable man who has made the choice to disappear from the people in his world.

I think the use of the term ‘somebody’ is less an assumption that homeless people aren’t human and more a play on the public’s addiction to fame. People read NW because it publishes goss on famous ‘sombodies’ rather than average Joe ‘nobodies’. The tale of a homeless person who has been ‘somebody’ is intoxicating for a storyteller. Whatever their fall from grace (if indeed, one considers the alternative ‘grace’), it’s got to be dramatic. Sometimes the truth is better than fiction. And there’s no better crowd-pleaser than a true story.

Upon reading Brekke’s post, I began to question myself and the role of my writing. I have often thought about doing some vox pops with people living on the streets for a feature that would humanise the face of homelessness. I think many of the prejudices the general public have about the homeless stem from an inability to relate to those people who live within and yet so far from the world we inhabit.

But I have never pursued this proposal with the gusto with which I usually approach interviews. Why? Because I am just as bound by my prejudices as everyone else.

As a petite, unathletic female, the physical threat of being put in a powerless position in the face of an assault is probably foremost in my mind. But where did this notion that all people who live on the streets are violent and misogynistic come from? Am I just as worried about being attacked by a man in a suit on George St?

The other hindrance was my conscience. Whichever way I turned it, the story felt like exploitation. Why should these people be expected to become monkeys in a cage for the voyeuristic purposes of my audience? Why did I expect that they would want to tell me their life story? Can the secrets of strangers be bought? And at what price? Why shouldn’t the homeless man’s price be higher than the successful businessman’s?

I’ve come to realise that all writing involves some kind of exploitation. The subject is always vulnerable, always exposed, in the hands of the writer.

In my journalism classes, it was always emphasised that, if we were getting information for an article, we MUST identify ourselves as journalists. The fact that Brekke didn’t have the homeless man’s consent to identify him publicly blurs the line of journalistic integrity regardless of his intentions. But blogging poses problems for writers because of its informality. If I write about a cup of coffee I have at a café, do I have to warn the barrista? ‘Hey, better make it good, I’m a blogger!’ Or perhaps I should stick a disclaimer to the fridge at home? ‘WARNING: this house is inhabited by a blogger. Anything you say can and will be used against you on Tumblr’.

Ah, blogs, bringing new complications into the journalistic world every day …

photo / pmartike / stock.xchang

•
September 11, 2008
cracking upOne wonders whether someone’s been sneaking around the NSW government offices and gathering a collection of dirty secrets to knock our politicians over like tin soldiers.Are we all a little confused? I’m sure you’d be as delighted as I if the theatrics of this week in politics were an episode of Days of Our Lives. Unfortunately, these are the people responsible for your health, education and fresh water supply. Not so delighted any more are we?Ok. The Morris Iemma thing was a shock. If he was going to go, I certainly didn’t think it would be over the dismissal of a man who was arguably the most hated in the party. We all know something else went down with Morris and the gang, probably at the same time as something inexplicably came up when some guy no one ever heard of, or voted for, became the leader of our government. But who’s going to cry over a politician who stepped down with apparent dignity? One of them is as good as another, right? Then today, some ridiculous story about Matt Brown’s ‘near naked’ drunken romp on a leather armchair and later, on a very middle aged female MP’s breasts. It was so stupid that no one really believed it. There were even people who were at the party who denied it ever happened. But alas, our politicians have all taken a truth serum in these past two weeks. They must come clean. So Brown comes forward to confirm his embarrassing behaviour. And gets the sack. Personally, I’ve never removed my clothes in front of an audience at a party. Haven’t even been to a party when anyone else removed their clothes. How a man takes his clothes off in front of a bunch of other members of a conservative profession, a profession where appearances are everything, is beyond me. It just seems out of place. I’m confused. Very confused. And I fear it’s a bad omen. photo / Allyn / stock.xchang

cracking up

One wonders whether someone’s been sneaking around the NSW government offices and gathering a collection of dirty secrets to knock our politicians over like tin soldiers.

Are we all a little confused? I’m sure you’d be as delighted as I if the theatrics of this week in politics were an episode of Days of Our Lives. Unfortunately, these are the people responsible for your health, education and fresh water supply. Not so delighted any more are we?

Ok. The Morris Iemma thing was a shock. If he was going to go, I certainly didn’t think it would be over the dismissal of a man who was arguably the most hated in the party. We all know something else went down with Morris and the gang, probably at the same time as something inexplicably came up when some guy no one ever heard of, or voted for, became the leader of our government. But who’s going to cry over a politician who stepped down with apparent dignity? One of them is as good as another, right?

Then today, some ridiculous story about Matt Brown’s ‘near naked’ drunken romp on a leather armchair and later, on a very middle aged female MP’s breasts. It was so stupid that no one really believed it. There were even people who were at the party who denied it ever happened. But alas, our politicians have all taken a truth serum in these past two weeks. They must come clean. So Brown comes forward to confirm his embarrassing behaviour. And gets the sack.

Personally, I’ve never removed my clothes in front of an audience at a party. Haven’t even been to a party when anyone else removed their clothes. How a man takes his clothes off in front of a bunch of other members of a conservative profession, a profession where appearances are everything, is beyond me. It just seems out of place.

I’m confused. Very confused. And I fear it’s a bad omen.

photo / Allyn / stock.xchang

•
September 2, 2008
A site of inspirationI first encountered the Howies brand in London, when I bought one of their T-shirts for my brother. As a sign of the times, when we went looking for more Howies, the first place we consulted was google. 0.21 seconds later, a twofold victory was revealed – my brother had his Howies catalogue and I had a great website to present to my online journalism class. As a notoriously fussy web user, I only ever give a website a chance if it looks good from the word ‘go’. Howies looked good from the word before ‘go’. My grandmother says that cleanliness is next to godliness and feng shui masters say that if your living space is cluttered, your thoughts will be cluttered. These two pieces of wisdom manifest themselves in a website that’s easy on the eyes. Enough philosophy. What did I most like about Howies? Two words. The blog. Surprise, surprise. Howies projects an image of being a brand with a conscience, an intelligent group of politically and environmentally aware directors. Their use of blogging goes a long way towards building this persona. Ok, ok. I have fallen for the consumerist ploy. Elmo pointed out that lots of corporations exploit our consciences in order to sell their products. Howies has a strong ‘green’ message that is communicated very cleverly to convey to the reader that Howies is a brand that’s intelligent, a brand with a conscience. The blog entries are short and sharp (we can all learn from this, people), with one entry to a page. Sometimes the entries are purely pictorial, which is an effective way of getting a message across particularly to what I think would be a predominantly male teenage audience. I never thought I say this about an electronic navigation system, but I love toolbar on this site. The designers have used titles that are actually teasers, you have to click on them to find out what they’re really about. I particularly like ‘Friends in high places’ which is about how we might be able to learn from the natural behaviour of birds, and in the food section, ‘fast food, slow fork’ which basically explains that while fast food takes about 10 minutes to eat, the cutlery that comes with it lasts ‘between 500 years to forever’.The Howies blog also features lots of links to reputable organisations where readers can go to get more information about the blog topics and this would also positively affect their SEO ratings as well. They also have a library section which scores them major brownie points in my book and the menu bar in this section is an organisation freak’s dream.The people who constructed the Howies brand have practially created a person with this web site and the blog in particular. While most brands will only change their website when new stock comes in or they go on sale or there’s some kind of commercial shift, Howies seems to understand that people don’t just visit a brand’s site when they want to buy something, but that people become loyal to particular brands and they just surf the web for the latest news or trends. Howies has capitalised on that and their website is updated with new content at least once a week so you can log on and not only make purchases, but also be entertained and I think that they maintain a regular relationship with their consumers through their website because of that. I’ve become particularly interested in this creation of a whole brand since I bought my domain name online.  I’ve been thinking about how to integrate a bit of personality into what will become a site to sell my writing skills. I always thought that blogs were random rants by people polluting cyber space (not that this blog is disproving the theory) but the Howies site has shown me that blogs can be quite an effective business tool. photo / sundstrom / stock.xchang


A site of inspiration

I first encountered the Howies brand in London, when I bought one of their T-shirts for my brother. As a sign of the times, when we went looking for more Howies, the first place we consulted was google.

0.21 seconds later, a twofold victory was revealed – my brother had his Howies catalogue and I had a great website to present to my online journalism class.

As a notoriously fussy web user, I only ever give a website a chance if it looks good from the word ‘go’. Howies looked good from the word before ‘go’. My grandmother says that cleanliness is next to godliness and feng shui masters say that if your living space is cluttered, your thoughts will be cluttered. These two pieces of wisdom manifest themselves in a website that’s easy on the eyes.

Enough philosophy.

What did I most like about Howies?

Two words. The blog. Surprise, surprise.

Howies projects an image of being a brand with a conscience, an intelligent group of politically and environmentally aware directors. Their use of blogging goes a long way towards building this persona.

Ok, ok. I have fallen for the consumerist ploy. Elmo pointed out that lots of corporations exploit our consciences in order to sell their products. Howies has a strong ‘green’ message that is communicated very cleverly to convey to the reader that Howies is a brand that’s intelligent, a brand with a conscience.

The blog entries are short and sharp (we can all learn from this, people), with one entry to a page. Sometimes the entries are purely pictorial, which is an effective way of getting a message across particularly to what I think would be a predominantly male teenage audience.

I never thought I say this about an electronic navigation system, but I love toolbar on this site. The designers have used titles that are actually teasers, you have to click on them to find out what they’re really about.

I particularly like ‘Friends in high places’ which is about how we might be able to learn from the natural behaviour of birds, and in the food section, ‘fast food, slow fork’ which basically explains that while fast food takes about 10 minutes to eat, the cutlery that comes with it lasts ‘between 500 years to forever’.

The Howies blog also features lots of links to reputable organisations where readers can go to get more information about the blog topics and this would also positively affect their SEO ratings as well.

They also have a library section which scores them major brownie points in my book and the menu bar in this section is an organisation freak’s dream.

The people who constructed the Howies brand have practially created a person with this web site and the blog in particular.

While most brands will only change their website when new stock comes in or they go on sale or there’s some kind of commercial shift, Howies seems to understand that people don’t just visit a brand’s site when they want to buy something, but that people become loyal to particular brands and they just surf the web for the latest news or trends. Howies has capitalised on that and their website is updated with new content at least once a week so you can log on and not only make purchases, but also be entertained and I think that they maintain a regular relationship with their consumers through their website because of that.

I’ve become particularly interested in this creation of a whole brand since I bought my domain name online.  I’ve been thinking about how to integrate a bit of personality into what will become a site to sell my writing skills. I always thought that blogs were random rants by people polluting cyber space (not that this blog is disproving the theory) but the Howies site has shown me that blogs can be quite an effective business tool.

photo / sundstrom / stock.xchang

•
August 31, 2008
K.I.S.S I never really understood how people could become engrossed in sport until I came across this site …“life. is. complicated” “sport. is. simple”Got it. photo / Legley / stock.xchang


K.I.S.S

I never really understood how people could become engrossed in sport until I came across this site …

“life. is. complicated”

“sport. is. simple”

Got it.

photo / Legley / stock.xchang

•
In case of emergency …Everyone needs a Plan B, whether it’s candles in case of a blackout or a TAFE enrolment if your UAI doesn’t scrape through. For Australian women’s magazines, in the case of no new celebrity news, there’s always a princess or two to fall back on. This week, the Women’s Weekly published a picture special, ‘Diana: 11 years on’. Not that the pictures were much different from their picture special, ‘Diana: 10 years on’. And I’m pretty sure they didn’t produce any new snaps since the ‘Diana: 7 years on’ memorial issue, or the souvenir issue released a few days after her death, for that matter. Don’t get me wrong, I love a humanitarian and fashion icon as much as the next person, but must we read the same drivel over and over again, with the same quotes from the same ‘sources close to the deceased’, as if the fortune tellers, personal assistants and stylists who knew what kind of cutlery the princess used would have been able to know her deepest thoughts. If you believe that dredging up the names of the dead means they can never be at peace, Princess Diana’s spirit is going to be floating around restlessly for a long time.When it comes to Princesses and backup plans, Princess Mary has quickly risen up the ranks of all-time-greatest magazine puff pieces. She’s splashed across the front pages when separated from her husband, when she gets pregnant, gets her ‘figure back’, has christenings for her babies, when her babies go to school, when she goes to charity events, is (reportedly) lonely and depressed or when she sneaks a visit back to her hometown. The New Idea spies must work for ASIO in their spare time because they know an awful lot about a private lady who lives in a fortress on the other side of the world. I hung my head in shame to be a journalist the day I saw the forcibly dignified smile on Princess Mary’s face when a reporter hounded her into a corner at the Beijing Olympics, screaming, ‘Will you be barracking for Australia in the games?’In case of an emergency, perhaps New Idea and the Women’s Weekly should consider getting a Plan C. photo / linusb4 / stock.xchang

In case of emergency …

Everyone needs a Plan B, whether it’s candles in case of a blackout or a TAFE enrolment if your UAI doesn’t scrape through. For Australian women’s magazines, in the case of no new celebrity news, there’s always a princess or two to fall back on.

This week, the Women’s Weekly published a picture special, ‘Diana: 11 years on’. Not that the pictures were much different from their picture special, ‘Diana: 10 years on’. And I’m pretty sure they didn’t produce any new snaps since the ‘Diana: 7 years on’ memorial issue, or the souvenir issue released a few days after her death, for that matter.

Don’t get me wrong, I love a humanitarian and fashion icon as much as the next person, but must we read the same drivel over and over again, with the same quotes from the same ‘sources close to the deceased’, as if the fortune tellers, personal assistants and stylists who knew what kind of cutlery the princess used would have been able to know her deepest thoughts. If you believe that dredging up the names of the dead means they can never be at peace, Princess Diana’s spirit is going to be floating around restlessly for a long time.

When it comes to Princesses and backup plans, Princess Mary has quickly risen up the ranks of all-time-greatest magazine puff pieces.

She’s splashed across the front pages when separated from her husband, when she gets pregnant, gets her ‘figure back’, has christenings for her babies, when her babies go to school, when she goes to charity events, is (reportedly) lonely and depressed or when she sneaks a visit back to her hometown. The New Idea spies must work for ASIO in their spare time because they know an awful lot about a private lady who lives in a fortress on the other side of the world.

I hung my head in shame to be a journalist the day I saw the forcibly dignified smile on Princess Mary’s face when a reporter hounded her into a corner at the Beijing Olympics, screaming, ‘Will you be barracking for Australia in the games?’

In case of an emergency, perhaps New Idea and the Women’s Weekly should consider getting a Plan C.

photo / linusb4 / stock.xchang

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August 30, 2008
Trading secretsI’ll bet that even the person who detests a scandal will feel his ears prick up at the sound of a whispered admission. What is it about people and secrets? What makes us want to pass them on, guard them or bury them? Even the word ‘secret’ sounds like a Pandora’s box hissing open to reveal guilty delights after a thousand years in the dark.I never knew I had a fascination with secrets until I got hooked on PostSecret.Some secrets give me goosebumps, others make my chest swell with pride, still others make me giggle and a few have made me squirm. I’m not sure why, but since that first glimpse into the souls of strangers through the window of the postcard, I’ve visited PostSecret every week for more. Is it pure voyeurism that entices me back? Is it the lure of being a step closer to understanding the inner workings of humanity? Are those secrets my secrets too?Reading the Sunday Secrets for the first time gives me a buzz, but it’s not only the secrets themselves that give me food for thought.I’ve never heard of another project that people have contributed to on such a scale when there was nothing in it for them. Perhaps some send in their secrets for the (almost journalistic) pleasure of seeing their handwriting in a public domain, a kind of warped week of fame where no one but you knows you’ve been published. Maybe people feel that by writing down their hopes and fears, then releasing them, their hopes will materialise and their fears will dissolve. All of the Sunday secrets seem to link people. Not only do those sharing their secrets usually have hidden messages for their mothers, lovers, friends, but Frank, the brains behind the site, arranges the messages online so that, even though the secrets are different, their thematic links show that we are all walking the same earth. I’ve come to realise that I don’t have a fascination with secrets, I have a fascination with humanity. As a writer, PostSecret has taught me a few lessons that are difficult to pick up at school. The first is that less is always more; just as the old cliché goes that a picture tells a thousand words, so does a short sentence paint a vivid picture. The second is that we should watch the people around us whenever we get the chance; PostSecret has proven that ordinary people really do have extraordinary stories. And everyone has at least one good secret.picture / scol22 / stock.xchang


Trading secrets

I’ll bet that even the person who detests a scandal will feel his ears prick up at the sound of a whispered admission.

What is it about people and secrets? What makes us want to pass them on, guard them or bury them? Even the word ‘secret’ sounds like a Pandora’s box hissing open to reveal guilty delights after a thousand years in the dark.

I never knew I had a fascination with secrets until I got hooked on PostSecret.

Some secrets give me goosebumps, others make my chest swell with pride, still others make me giggle and a few have made me squirm.

I’m not sure why, but since that first glimpse into the souls of strangers through the window of the postcard, I’ve visited PostSecret every week for more. Is it pure voyeurism that entices me back? Is it the lure of being a step closer to understanding the inner workings of humanity? Are those secrets my secrets too?

Reading the Sunday Secrets for the first time gives me a buzz, but it’s not only the secrets themselves that give me food for thought.

I’ve never heard of another project that people have contributed to on such a scale when there was nothing in it for them. Perhaps some send in their secrets for the (almost journalistic) pleasure of seeing their handwriting in a public domain, a kind of warped week of fame where no one but you knows you’ve been published. Maybe people feel that by writing down their hopes and fears, then releasing them, their hopes will materialise and their fears will dissolve.

All of the Sunday secrets seem to link people. Not only do those sharing their secrets usually have hidden messages for their mothers, lovers, friends, but Frank, the brains behind the site, arranges the messages online so that, even though the secrets are different, their thematic links show that we are all walking the same earth.

I’ve come to realise that I don’t have a fascination with secrets, I have a fascination with humanity.

As a writer, PostSecret has taught me a few lessons that are difficult to pick up at school. The first is that less is always more; just as the old cliché goes that a picture tells a thousand words, so does a short sentence paint a vivid picture. The second is that we should watch the people around us whenever we get the chance; PostSecret has proven that ordinary people really do have extraordinary stories. And everyone has at least one good secret.

picture / scol22 / stock.xchang

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August 27, 2008
“life is a bunch of your favourite lyrics” : a response to a musoCat mentioned something about her ability to play the piano beautifully when she’s pissed off. It made we wonder if she was calmer after she finished playing …I recently came across the clinical evidence which shows that music allows people to not only maintain wellbeing, but also to heal parts of ourselves that are otherwise locked up by the subconscious.I’m fascinated by music therapy, with its documented improvement in the conditions of people with Alzheimer’s, Parkinson’s and brain damage, among other afflictions. That music has something to do with the way our brains are hard-wired is testimony to the complexity of the human mind. What other secrets do our bodies have in store for us? photo / haloocyn / stock.xchang

“life is a bunch of your favourite lyrics” : a response to a muso

Cat mentioned something about her ability to play the piano beautifully when she’s pissed off. It made we wonder if she was calmer after she finished playing …

I recently came across the clinical evidence which shows that music allows people to not only maintain wellbeing, but also to heal parts of ourselves that are otherwise locked up by the subconscious.

I’m fascinated by music therapy, with its documented improvement in the conditions of people with Alzheimer’s, Parkinson’s and brain damage, among other afflictions. That music has something to do with the way our brains are hard-wired is testimony to the complexity of the human mind. What other secrets do our bodies have in store for us?

photo / haloocyn / stock.xchang

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