On why you don’t fuck with Elizabeth Bennet

Greetings whatever readers I have left.

It sure has been a while.

A strange thing happened to me a few days ago and it inspired me to start writing again. A somewhat insignificant event that has cascaded through my attitude to everything. Like the monkeys in A Space Odyssey, something slowly dawned and then led me to some crazy murderous robot and the meaning of the universe.

I forgot what it is that I love to do because I was too caught up in making sure I didn’t die. I betrayed the Little Prince. I started counting the stars that I owned for the sole purpose of knowing how many belonged to me and how many more I could have.

Upon realising this I kept trying to force myself to write again. It never happened until now.

What I did do was read a blog by a successful, modern author who is rather controversial. I am not naming this author because I do not want to make this personal. I don’t want this to be “this woman is shit and her books are crap”. Instead I wanted to examine why I do not like books that I have never read and never intend to and why characters that I have never experienced irritate me.

When I completed reading this woman’s blog I could only think of one thing to say:

“Bitch, please!”

What this author had done was compare her characters to some literary giants and made hers out to be the better. I may not like all the characters she undercut but they are still good characters. Wuthering Height’s Heathcliffe is pretty fucking amazingly complex even if he is a jerk who only knows how to rage. Romeo is a fucking tool and Juliet started out so promising but then she stabs herself for no reason (sorry forgot the spoiler alert, hope I haven’t given it away to anybody). Even so, there’s something about their parts that give me goosebumps when they are done right. The characters are perfect.

Bitch even dared touch Elizabeth Bennet.

GIRL DID NOT GO THERE.

You do not fucking try to compare anything or anyone to the Elizabeth Bennet.

Remember how we all hate/hated Kiera Knightley so much for butchering the role? She didn’t. I am sure if I watch the movie again now I will actually like it. It’s because our standards were way too high to be upheld twice in 20 years and Jennifer Ehle already smashed her (and Colin Firth smashed Mr Darcy).

I love how I’m deflecting my opinion onto everyone.

Anyway. Enough about amazing characters. On to shit ones.

If people are unaware of what a Mary Stu is, in general terms, it’s a character that’s  essentially a projection of the author’s self twisted into their dreams (an anti-sue is an amalgamation of their fears).

The characters will typically be described as well liked except by people who are obvious antagonists (and who are usually jealous) and they always seem to end up being right. They have no flaws, or their flaws are endearing or beneficial

For example:

Being clumsy (flaw).

Being clumsy at times when it’s hilarious because “oh that character’s always SO CLUMSY LOL” – endearing (no longer a real flaw)

Being stubborn (flaw).

Always being right so being stubborn means that even when it’s annoying, it is OK because you end up being right and everyone loves you and your stubborn nature (no longer a real flaw).

In the shall-remain-nameless work mentioned above, the main character is a typical Mary Sue.

If one of the character’s flaws is “she’s unattractive” she should not be named something that basically (both literally and evocatively) means “beautiful woman”.

If one of the character’s flaws is “they are clingy and love too much” they should not be given a relationship early on with another character who’s flaws are “I am too beautiful and it’s a curse and I am clingy and love too much”.

What the fuck even is that?

Where is there even room for character growth?

Having a modern day woman pine after her man and want to kill herself if something would happen to him is not a good image to portray. Not even Catherine was that fucking idiotic, especially not considering the period setting of Wuthering Heights.

Modern books that I may not necessarily have liked, such as the end few novels in the Harry Potter series, still have amazing, strong characters that have a sense of purpose (although some of the newer or minor ones became a bit stagnant they were still all pretty good).

The best example would be young Hermione in Harry Potter. She’s about 17 when the boy she loves leaves and she doesn’t mope around or kill herself. She simply says “oh this is shit but there’s more important things to worry about here”.

I guess the whole misogynist Mary Sue shit is my main issue, not having read the terrible literature in question. I can’t really comment further because of this but I have one final thing to say in the hopes that people who read this idiot’s blog will now learn something.

Sense and Sensibility was not about Marianne Dashwood ending up with Willoughby. If this upsets you please re-read the novel.

Wuthering Heights was not just about Heathcliffe and Cathy being together (or how “evil” Heathcliffe is). I’m trying to grasp this and the novel now and it is hard but I will get there.

Romeo and Juliet is not about the two of them ending up together, or even being “in love”. It’s actually about the fleetingness of life and the pointlessness of love. Please see a theatre production next time it rolls into your town. Even an art house one would work because it would make the themes are lot more obvious and depressing.

Pride and Prejudice is certainly not just about Elizabeth Bennet and Mr Darcy ending up together, even though they do. The ending is probably my least favourite part. You HAVE to read her rejection of Mr Colins. So fucking incredible.

So to try to destroy classic literature, liked or not, by saying “my characters are better because they would kill themselves if the other died” is not a healthy thing to say and certainly not a healthy theme to have circulating to young adults.

This is why when people tell me what books they like and a certain series crops up, I judge them. It’s because they not only helped contribute to the death of modern, young adult literature (especially the sci-fi and fantasy genres) which has been amazing for so long, they have contributed to a poison which is now starting to have repercussions in our classic literary past. That is a fucking shame.

On Politics, or why I hate Tony Abbott so much

I  promise to try to make this interesting!!

Now I can’t and won’t claim to be an expert on politics but that doesn’t mean that I can’t use reason to make conclusions based on the facts as I see them.

Main issue one: The Resource Super Profits Tax. (One of the main reasons why Kevin Rudd’s popularity dropped and he stood down)

FIRSTLY. It is called a “Resource Super Profits Tax”. Whoever coined the phrase “Super Tax” is a propaganda spewing genius. It is a tax on profits that the mining companies earn. They earn a lot of profit. There is a large increase in the tax rate, yes, but they have significantly reduced royalty taxes. Royalties were a flat rate. Companies could bust on projects or earn essentially no profit but still be taxed highly on their EARNINGS. It is policy like this that helped Australia, relatively, stay clear during the financial crisis and it is a safeguard against the collapse of the mining industry if another market crash occurs.

The proposal for these tax reforms have been around since late 2008. It isn’t news. Even I knew about them and I do not read finance or mining news, ever. Think about what you were doing in August 2008. That  is long time.

My favourite part of this whole debacle are the people who are staunchly opposed to it saying things like this:

“It has been misrepresented that companies aren’t paying enough tax that they’re making super profits, that is a lie, that’s nothing more than a lie if you look at the facts.” (Reg Nelson, Beach Energy)

We all know that “if you look at the facts” is political speak for “I can claim this because the facts are going to be so vague and the average Australian will not look up the facts they will just trust me based on how “Australian” and therefore “trustworthy” I appear to be. Call me out on this, if you disagree, but every time someone says stuff like this I cringe. The government does it, the opposition does it, every political person does it. It’s essentially an attempt to make the people who don’t know feel stupid about not knowing and therefore cause them to trust the person who clearly “does know”. Clever and means you do not have to explain yourself. In this instance; the Government has done a lot of explaining and the opposing parties have done a lot of “No?! Because… because NO.”

Also, side note. These mining big wigs have spent tens of millions of dollars on an advertising campaign against the proposed tax. Tens of millions of dollars on something that may not even eventuate. Without blinking. If they can afford that then surely they can afford the tax? I would much prefer the Australian Government to have that money than some cashed up bogans. Speaking of tens of millions of dollars. These adverts are like “WE ARE PAYING MILLIONS(!!!) OF DOLLARS IN TAX”. Bitch please. You are billion dollar companies.

Next major issue! The refugee/asylum seeker/boat people/illegal immigrant “crisis”.

These four terms are synonyms in this example. It is the people who come from poverty or war stricken countries on tiny boats to Australia, while trying to avoid the authorities. You can tell what someone thinks of them by what term they use. Obviously “refugee” is a lot more sympathetic than “illegal immigrant”. So, my favourite sped in the world, Mr Tony Abbott (the opposition leader) has said he thinks that any boat that is seaworthy enough should be turned around. GREAT POLICY. SURELY THERE ARE NO FLAWS LIKE BOATS BEING SABOTAGED AND A FUCKTON OF PEOPLE DROWNING!?

If you read or look at the news it is apparently a terrible issue/crisis every time an Australian dies in unnatural circumstances. The teenage boy who committed suicide this weekend from bullying, the bigwigs who died in a plane crash, the Australian soldiers who were killed in Afghanistan (admittedly that warrants vast media attention and respect). You get it all the time “three hundred people were killed INCLUDING AN AUSTRALIAN, GUYS, HOLY SHIT!” Quite frankly I think that these REFUGEES should be looked after. I do not mind paying tax for that. Just because, as long as Australia is awesome (and where they come from is shit), they are going to keep coming no matter what we do. It becomes a humanitarian issue, not a political or a national one. Guess which of those is the most important?

I do not even want to get into the racial issue but I do not see why where they come from should matter, at all. However, pretty sure if they were from Europe (the further west in Europe, the better) then nobody would care. Australia just has a long, long history of racism and neglecting human rights. So this isn’t really a surprise.

NEXT ISSUE: JULIA GILLARD vs TONY ABBOTT.

Ok so as of this morning, Australia has it’s first female Prime Minister. Also it’s first non-sped Prime Minister in almost longer than I can remember (we’ve only had Kevin Rudd and John Howard while I have been conscious enough to ‘get’ politics).

Why this is good:

• She is smart. I thrive on calling politicians speds. It is my favourite thing to do. Julia Gillard has not (yet) given me reason to
• She is eloquent. When she speaks it is clear and understandable. I could understand Kevin Rudd but a lot of people have no idea what the hell he’s saying.
• She is slightly more left wing. Thus the being branded a “communist”. She, personally, may be one but she can’t change the direction of the party to rabid left-wing policy. She CAN however, influence a more left wing Australia WHICH WE NEED PRETTY BADLY. (See humanitarian issue above, for example)
• “She is not known for putting conservative religion prejudices ahead of legal equality and fundamental human rights.”
  (reference) Notice how she emphasises that it is a “Government” decision and also notice that she appears to sound rather bitter about it.
• She was born in Wales AND is partnered (not married or any of that shit) to a hairdresser and she has no children. This = awesome (slash really lesbian).
• She has been acting PM before
• She is not Tony Abbott.

Why this is bad:

• She wasn’t elected by the people (yet). While we theoretically just elect party members and they CHOOSE the PM, it still feels a bit sour
• If she fucks it up, Australia is fucked to remain some right wing shit hole where nobody but white men have any rights
• Communism is not cool. Ask the rest of the Micenkos. Oh wait. They’re essentially all dead from bullets in the ex-USSR
• Australia is mysoginistic and racist and conservative and SO MANY PEOPLE will be trying to get her to fuck up or APPEAR to have fucked up.

Tony Abbott

Why I hate Tony Abbott so much:

• He is anti-abortion
• He has claimed that women should save sex for marriage. Women specifically. Clearly men are OK having as much sex as they like
• The whole ‘turn asylum seekers’ boats around if they are seaworthy” bullshit
• He said he “felt threatened” by the LGBTI community. HE SAID THAT. Now he’s trying to claim he loves LGBTI… FFS
• He has called climate change “crap”
• He has scary ministers from John Howard’s era
• He always is topless or being a media whore by wearing silly outfits. You are not Lady Gaga
• He admits that we should not to believe anything he says unless it is written down. THANKS
• He literally and admittedly has no idea about economics. He’s going to fuck up all of Kevin’s work which was planning for the future and then blame Kevin when things go to shit. If he gets in I can guarantee that this will happen.

The End.

Again, please feel free to clarify and/or disagree with points that I have made. If you want evidence to my claims I can look them up. I haven’t linked to articles because some of them will be a few months old and hard to dig up and I’m lazy. BUT IF YOU LOOK AT THE FACTS YOU WILL SEE THAT I AM RIGHT (sorry, it felt necessary).

PS: Vote Greens.

On Not Being Crazy

“…and I may be romantic

and I may risk my life for it

but I ain’t gonna die for you
you know I ain’t no Juliet
and I’m not gonna watch you

while you burn yourself out, baby
no, I’m not gonna stop you
‘cause I’m not the one that’s crazy…”

‘Ampersand’ – Who Killed Amanda Palmer (Amanda Palmer) – 2008

ATTENTION: I talk to myself lots. Especially in the shower/bathroom because of the same principle as singing in the shower/doing the occasional stupid thing in the bathroom like pulling a face at the mirror. That principle is that you are in an isolated space and you believe that nobody can see or hear you. I was wrong. The sudden, dreaded realisation that people actually can hear me talking to myself in there was the motivation for this post.

NB: This is also applicable to car singing/doing embarrassing things in your car. I talk to myself when I’m driving alone, too.

I don’t even know what I’m saying half of the time. It is strange. Words just come out and they probably mean something and they normally make coherent sentences or phrases but they make absolutely no sense to me at all. I believe that the cause is stress (in this case about being poor and not having a job).

SUBTEXT OF THE ABOVE:

“ATTENTION, PLEASE, PEOPLE I LIVE WITH: I AM NOT CRAZY.”

I used to hear voices, four very distinct ones, I gave them labels based on what they said to me; “good”, “evil”, “right” and “wrong”. I still get them when I’m mega-stressed out about something. That hasn’t been since first year uni when I thought missing one class was a bad thing. I have had counseling and was eventually told that I wasn’t “crazy” anymore. BY PROFESSIONALS! (Extreme, emotive formatting powers activate!)

AW YEAH!!!

Actually, thinking back on it, the concept is pretty offensive (If you haven’t read all my previous posts you may not realise that I get offended by everything!).

The reason why these things bother me is because of a societal norm that classifies these personality traits that I have as being “crazy” or “mad” and then classifies being those things as bad. Maybe I just have a super-conscience? Maybe my imagination runs riot in my subconscious (if you KNEW the dreams I had… wtf) and this effects my thought process.

In any case whatever it was, it is gone now and I automatically fight it off when it does come back using the most frustratingly powerful anti-logic ever of “you aren’t real”. Yes they are or I wouldn’t be writing a blog about it but hey: at least I’m not crazy!

The amount of times that I have said that I’m not crazy in this post is really starting to make me think otherwise.

Photo courtesy of Ashley Allen (http://www.flickr.com/photos/missashaley/)

UGH STRANGE COINCIDENCE! I was just talking to someone that I know (they do not read this blog so it is clearly OK to bitch about them) and they were all “ugh I have depression”. They’ve been saying this since forever but they don’t DO anything about it and they just tell everyone as if it’s some free pass to be an unpleasant, whiney, attention seeking bitch.

NOT. COOL. GUYS.

This reminds me of my friend, “D”, (not for David, I’m not talking about myself through an alias because I’m not crazy) who constantly gets angry at slutty female bitches? girls? PEOPLE who are sad so they say they have “depression” or who hate their weight so they say that they are “anorexic”. Um, pretty sure the point of anorexia is that you don’t admit that you HAVE a problem? Maybe? I’m no expert. Anyway these dumb moles? morons? girls? people? living constructs of what is wrong with western youth culture pretty much achieve the amazing feat of trivialising immensely serious, powerful and, life changing (normally for worse) DISEASES. So, to paraphrase “D”: No. I will not write ‘love’ on my arms, how does that help? It doesn’t, it tricks stupid, overly emotional people who are vaguely sad for wahtever reason into thinking that some word is helping them and it makes light of the problem. I focussed on depression here because I think that’s the most common but it is applicable to lots of things. Also vaguely related are the fake bisexual people. Or “trendsexuals” as I like to call them.

NB: AMAZING ORGANISATION THAT DOESN’T DO THE ABOVE AND IS ACTUALLY AMAZING:

Beyond Blue

If you are actually worried about depression and think you might have it and aren’t going to admit it because you actually have it and thus do not tell every person you meet about it so they give you attention, then go there and it should help you get on the right track (they also do boys, *face*. Male depression is even worse because MEN DON’T GET DEPRESSED. THEY MAN UP AND GET OVER IT).

NB: woman? frustrating cunt? Girl I was just talking to who inspired this post (if you do read this) slash anyone who may act like her. You are just sad, tell people that you are “sad” and, if you actually want to be happy, they will be able to cheer you up. (Eventually). Or call a hotline about it. I know people who have been crippled by this disease and you are spitting in their face and making their problems seem trivial and that is a really rude and wrong thing to do.

NOT. NICE. AT. ALL.

Side note tying in with the “regrets” post from yesterday; I think  I maybe acted like this as a1 teenager? I’m not sure because it was pretty freaking serious to me at the time but in hindsight it totally wasn’t that bad. Maybe? Who knows, I probably just regret it because it wasn’t “normal” and social pressures have got me this time. Anyway, this “regret” motivates me to talk to myself.

WHAT THE FRICKEN FRACK? WHEN DID THIS BLOG TURN INTO “DAVID’S LIFE STORY”? BORING!

I PROMISE I WILL BE BACK TO LIGHTHEARTED SOCIAL COMMENTARY SOON!

PS: REMEMBER THAT I’M NOT CRAZY!

PPS: I have confronted the anonymous girl about the issue so you don’t have to think that I am a bitchy, backstabbing, talking behind peoples back person.
PSPSPS: Even though I totally am one of those.

On Melbourne

8:30 AM. A house devoid of any other human life. The floorboards creak and ghostly wind rustles even more cliches through the trees, they are cliches because they are true. That’s exactly how to describe them. The creak is from the cats that have appeared because according to the routine, someone’s going to be eating soon and they might get to lick the plate in the sink afterwards. Cats are the auditors of the animal kingdom.

“Ahem. You made coffee before making toast today. This is different and I do not like it, so I will meow at you. I hope this trend does not mean that you will not stroke me after eating and before the shower. That would be most unpleasant.”

The kitchen has pink cupboards, by the way, and white (grey) linoleum floors and a reddish-pink plastic and metal table straight from the Post-War Australia boom. I can see the outlines of a bustling 1960s mum listening to the wireless while preparing a feast for her screaming kids and angry, possibly alcoholic, husband (who has a bowler hat and is reading a newspaper). They aren’t ghosts, they are memories that probably never even happened. Today it has one man (boy?) making toast and instant coffee with cats swarming around his feet. Meanwhile, as seen through the single kitchen window, the wind has blown someone’s shirt off the hill’s hoist and into a puddle. It doesn’t matter because it has been raining steadily for the past 24 hours anyway. This is probably why the cats are particularly affectionate today: they are bored and can’t play outside.

After showering the boy who likes to think that he’s a man loads up one of the two computers that aren’t his (like almost everything around him) and immediately signs into facebook, opens a new tab to check emails and then a third tab to a job hunter’s website. This is the morning routine. Sip coffee, laugh at an immature joke, archive spam, write a cover letter to a company that won’t ever be read, pretending to be someone who might be successful and, sip coffee. However, today is different. Today the boy who would be a man is packing his bag full of hopeful resumes that will never be read and is going to Melbourne.

Tracey Chapman is singing about fast cars and then Tegan Quin mentions that “it’s a little cold outside”. It is still raining outside but the boy has a scarf, that isn’t his, so he is warm.

He doesn’t waste money on the tram. Nobody checks tickets anyway because nobody buys them. If the occasional officer who hates himself comes along then surely someone else will be caught without one before him. Or he’ll get to his stop in time. It always happens this way. That’s the routine.

Flinders Street Station.

The boy begins to stroll down the Yarra River, asking wherever he can for someone to give him money on a regular basis for in return for completing some meaningless chore that he would probably hate. He passes men in suits and women in heels and people jogging in the rain, desperately trying to hold on to their youthful bodies. Meanwhile people who have held on to their youthful bodies (at what personal cost), jog next to them, yelling encouragement and trying to have a conversation with that they are stuck with because there’s nothing else to do.

Southern Cross Station.

A woman in a blue uniform is sweeping water all over the floor. So it doesn’t form puddles. The boy muses that he could do that. Anyone could do that. They just didn’t get picked, for better or for worse. The woman looks like she hates herself, a shame. In the department block with “hundreds of specialist stores” the boy is told hundreds of times to apply online. He probably already did it this morning. He leaves and heads down Collins Street where men in suits keep bumping into him because they are everywhere. It is probably “lunch”, although it feels more like 5:00 PM, if you get what I mean. Elizabeth street feels deserted after the previous gauntlet, maybe the artist didn’t have the scope to see both directions or maybe that’s the difference between lunch time and 5:00 PM.

Melbourne Central Station

“Hi, I was wondering if you guys were hiring.”

“Yep, if we are then the best place to go is actually our website. We do all our applications online now.”
“No worries! Thanks for your help”
“Have a good day!”

“You too!”

“Desperate, jobless bum.”
“Two-faced Bitch.”

The boy isn’t upset, he just looks sad because of the rain. It is impossible to be upset when you’re surrounded by ancient streets and the wind, blowing memories across the city and into the suburbs. That’s where the boy is now, he’s on a computer again making sure that all the places he went to have his details. They probably just get emailed straight into a bin. That’s where all the resumes that he collected when he had a job went.

Seemingly fed up with the routine of failure. The boy who is a man but thinks he doesn’t deserve it sends a few letters to places that he thinks will never read them. He is different this time.

“To whom it may concern,

I am amazing.”

The next day he wakes up to the same routine but pauses when he reaches the “open a tab to check emails” stage.

There are two letters in reply.

The general purpose of one is, “We weren’t really hiring but please come in for an interview.”

The other one is better, even if the news isn’t so good.

It was polite because the woman wanted to be. It was personal, not automated. It suggested that, out of 1000 resumes, one person actually read it with interest, even though she didn’t need to because she wasn’t hiring.

For 3 minutes, the little house with the same routine was the happiest place that the world has ever known.

The cats had no idea what to do.

Literary fucked.

Hey everyone! What’s going on?

So, as you may remember from me mentioning it about 446d5 times, I am an English Major. WELL actually an “English and Creative Arts” slash Asian Studies (Anthropology) Major, BUT I DISPLAY THE CHARACTERISTICS OF AN ENGLISH MAJOR.

“What ARE these characteristics?”, you ask.

Well, that sounds like a good idea for a blog!

The first characteristic of an English Major is what I call “writer disease”. English majors like writing. They can go on and on and on about anything and everything as long as they are writing about it. We can tell you all about history, culture, writers, themes, media, styles, cliches, tropes, languages, EVERYTHING. This is because our degrees give us so many electives and choices, that, even with a double major/degree, we can learn about so many amazing things just by doing core units. However, we can only tell you about these things through references in our writing, or by toiling over words for hours. This is because we are not experts at any given thing. Our brains are basically wikipedia, but they are wikipedia if wikipedia was actually a set of encyclopedias that weren’t really ordered very well but still had a billion links to various tangents. This is evident in my comment on the ANZAC Day post. That took me all fucking morning to write and I knew exactly what I wanted to say. I just needed to consult my brain.

David: “Oh hey brain! Can you tell me all about the stolen generation?”

David’s Brain: “FUCK YOU FEED ME COFFEE GET A JOB FIND A HOUSE TALK TO YOUR SISTER”

2 hours later…

OK SO STOLEN GENERATION…

40 minutes later

AND THAT’S WHY AUSTRALIA IS FUCKED. ALTHOUGH IT IS NOT THE ONLY COUNTRY STAINED BY RACISM…

40 more minutes later

AND THAT’S WHY THE SOUTHERN US DEMOCRATS WERE RACIST FUCKS WHO MURDERED BLACK PEOPLE. RACISM DIDN’T STOP WITH BLACK PEOPLE, HOWEVER…

40 more minutes later again

WHICH IS WHY JAPAN WAS ALL “WWII, BITCHES”… NOW LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT THIS BATTLE…

.etc

So yeah, it LOOKS like I know about all these things, and deep down in my brain somewhere, I do, very well. There’s just too much other shit swimming around for it to surface as soon as it is needed.

Also I am a rabid, binge drinking, alcoholic Australian. This slows the process down quite a lot…

What happens is, once we get into a certain context, or train of thought, we are on so much fucking fire that it actually means we don’t need to eat for days. We can write and write and write until even the most devoted reader will get sick of our constant stream of shit contextual facts. It just takes time to get the engine powered up.

So we’ve got “writer’s disease”, the next characteristic is the dreaded “being offended by everything” which is because of something I call a “context cocktail”. It is related to, and a leading cause of “writer’s disease”

Once English Majors actually get down to “Englishing” (VERY DECEPTIVE TERM AS IT ACTUALLY USUALLY MEANS “LITERATURE” IN GENERAL, THIS IS VERY IMPORTANT IN REGARDS TO CONTEXT COCKTAILS), we read lots. We read so much that we lose track of entire weeks. Last night I actually had a dream that I was reading a novel. It was actually Sense and Sensibility (By Jane Austen, obviously, if you didn’t know that I am judging you). I was actually reading Sense and Sensibility in my mind and it actually was just my subconscious, displaying page after page of the novel, and I was actually reading it. THAT IS HOW MUCH WE READ, PEOPLE.

HOWEVER, most of this reading isn’t actually the novel that we are currently devouring. That pleasure is a reward for spending a long time reading ABOUT the novel. We want to know everything about the context of the novel so that, when we read it a second time (obviously we read it first to digest it with our OWN, CURRENT, context), we are in a position to further understand the story and the writer and the characters and the setting. This means that we learn to see the world from EVERYONE’S point of view and realise that EVERYONE is fucked and EVERYONE is wrong and EVERYTHING is offensive. An example: For my dissertation, I wrote about nobel prize winning literature from China, Austria, Japan and England (prizes if you can name the Authors!! Writers, you may need a few hours for your brain to try to remember these things) and how important contextual information was in regard to these pieces AND how translating them to English would destroy some of the original meaning and the beauty of the language, but then create others. This means that I read a lot, and a lot more, and then some more about Austria and China and Japan and not England because I am half English and was using that as an example of “my own context”, so I didn’t want to usurp that by adopting Doris Lessing’s context (oops! I ruined the guess who game, sorry!). This meant that I got angry (for the 42957th time) at the USSR, I felt sorry for the billions of Japanese people who have constantly been raped of their national identity and realised that the history and cultural spirit of China is so vast that I could never possibly hope to grasp very much of it at all. SO NOW I GET OFFENDED WHEN PEOPLE ARE DICKS TO: CHINA, RELIGIONS, JAPAN, THE JAPANESE IDENTITY, CULTS, AUSTRIA, POOR PEOPLE, POLICE, SAME SEX RELATIONSHIPS, THE WRONGLY ACCUSED, OLD PEOPLE, AND ETHNIC GROUPS IN ENGLAND, just from reading/writing about 4 books. I have been doing this extensively (aka for study) since Year 11 (I am not counting year 10 level as advanced enough, or this would be even longer). So six years. With about 12 “texts” in High School and at least about 50 through Uni. The above list was, on average, three points of being offended per text. That is at least 192 things that offend me, JUST FROM READING. These are serious and generalised things, too. If you broke say “RELIGIONS” down, you’d get “Being offended because religions are dicks”, “being offended because people don’t respect others’ beliefs”, “being offended because people don’t TRY to understand others’ beliefs” .etc

THEN THERE IS MY OWN CONTEXT, EVERYONE. I am offended by a lot of things because of my own context. This can vary from “being offended when people write “lyk dis bcuz dey tink its kool u guyz your just an h8rs [sic].”" To “being offended because there were only about 4 women in total who were performers during the entire soundwave festival”.

The next characteristic is what I like to call “not having a job because the university can only hire so many people before it gets ridiculous and to actually work in a bookstore or something you need to be really really really lucky, especially in Melbourne when there are 4w957349 74235 arty people without jobs”.

WHY DON’T WE HAVE JOBS, EVERYONE? It is simple. We basically have a sheet of paper that says

“Oh hey, I know a lot about a lot of things but none of that really relates to the real world because I live in a bubble where everything is OK because I understand everyone’s point of view and think that everyone does as well but actually the real world (slash this organisation) is actually fucked and full of discrimination and this degree is basically a warning siren that I’m probably actually going to complain about all the fucked-upness that you’re hoping people won’t bring up and you’ll have to put up with me doing this when you could just hire a business graduate who will just do the job without asking questions because they just want billions of dollars. Besides, reading is more of a hobby, anyway, there are a lot of people who studied “real” degrees who read quite a bit, like my sister or my friend, Matt. Here are their numbers, they would be better at this job, anyway.”

“with Honours.”

“PS: Ignore the fact that I can write/type a billion words per minute and that I can basically learn anything really quickly and that I was smart enough to get High Distinctions at University because everyone knows that English Majors don’t ever do any work ever, obviously that’s how they got this piece of paper.”

WHICH LEADS TO “BITTERNESS”, THE FINAL CHARACTERISTIC OF AN ENGLISH MAJOR.

We. Hate. The. World. We spend hours and hours (usually all at once, the few weeks before the end of semester) working and sculpting words and just generally being fucking amazing and debating and having discussions and talking about every topic under the sun. This is because we are at University because we want to be scholars. We are intelligent and driven and have something that no amount of money could ever buy. We don’t have a price and so we don’t improve the economy, and people with money don’t want to pay up to be told how fucked they are and how uneducated they are and therefore we carry the stigma of being “useless” and “lazy”.

COULD YOU FEEL THE BITTERNESS DRIPPING FROM THAT PARAGRAPH? SEE!

You know what. My last semester at Uni, I watched a billion TV shows, barely went to class and wrote all my assignments at the last minute. Not because I was particularly lazy. Just because I knew there was no necessity, no logic, to work my hardest when I knew I could get amazing marks with the effort that I gave (PS: I did). Plus also I spent most of my nights living in a theatre actually trying to work and was always too tired to put up with stupid people at Uni. Still, even I joke about how I did nothing for my degree and how “easy” English Majors are. Even so, I am pretty sure I wouldn’t trade having these characteristics for anything. So fuck off.

EDIT: OH MY FUCKING GOD (my god is Emily Deschanel, btw) YOU GUYS. I FORGOT THE MOST IMPORTANT PART OF BEING AN ENGLISH MAJOR:
BEING OBSESSED WITH THINGS.

We can very easily/already are obsessed with:

• Characters in books/movies/TV shows (like Emily Deschanel’s portrayal of Dr Temperance Brennan)
• Smart people
• Coffee
• Books
• Writing
• Conversations
• Tank Girl
• Being offended by things
• Learning about everything
• Being arty
• Ourselves
• America’s Next Top Model/Tyra Banks *snap snap snap*
• Thinking we are better than everyone else
• Sexuality

Just to name a few.

I have not yet discovered WHY it is that we collectively become obsessed with things. All I know is we cannot simply “like” something, or “like to hate” something. We obsessively love and/or love to hate EVERYTHING.

PS: Tune in tomorrow for “How To Be A Pretentious Artist #002″. I think this post changed from being funny/a joke to being serious, OH SNAP I’M SORRY, EVERYONE. A perfect example of “writer’s disease” because I got all fired up and went on and on and on for like, an hour.

On The ANZAC Day Long Weekend.

Hey kids. This post is not really very funny because it was written about the one day of the year when I actually try to take things seriously (The other day is November 11, obviously).

So today is apparently a public holiday (I do not know the difference between public holidays and normal workdays, for obvious reasons). It is a public holiday because nearly 100 years ago (woah!) a bunch of Australian and New Zealand and Turkish soldiers died heroically in a brutal struggle while trying to kill each other, on the wrong beach (because England fucked up). Anyway, the holiday has obviously evolved into a celebration of the sacrifices of our soldiers and, despite ardent claims that these sort of holidays ‘glorify’ war, it is a day to reflect on the terrible things that people with guns and bombs and shit can do to each other.

SO THAT IS WHAT I AM GOING TO DO TODAY, EVERYONE.

Actually, ANZAC Day was yesterday and that is what I did, I went to the March/service! No, not that 4am service. No amount of heroic soldier sacrifice for my freedoms will motivate me to get up for 4am, BUT I ACTUALLY GOT UP FOR THE 1PM SERVICE. So back on track. I went to the Victorian Shrine of Remembrance (which is really nice) and sang the national anthem and was quiet for AN ENTIRE MINUTE (except my phone went off, but it was on silent so it’s OK) and I clapped at all the old people who shot other people a long time ago and the other various groups. I even actually got all teary when they were reading the various requiems. At the same time, however, I was analysing “Military Tradition” and imagining a time when seeing soldiers proudly march under the flag would have been amazing and society wasn’t so fucked that things (like our flag) actually had meaning. Then I gave the war widows money for a few plastic poppies, went home and watched a miniseries that pretty much glorifies the Pacific War (even though it’s supposed to not), or more precisely, the American Marines in the Pacific War (the Japanese are evil cunts, obviously, and the army/Australians are stupid; only the Marines are fully sick and are the only heroes/the greatest EVAR.) and then I watched Return of The Jedi because wars with lasers and awesome spaceships with an obvious “good team” and “evil team” are a lot easier to digest.

Anyway, I think, despite my cynicism (which applies to everything). ANZAC Day is one of those days where I actually care and try my hardest to accept that sometimes, historic/traditional ways of doing things are still acceptable for a modern society. Australia Day is a crock of shit because Australia is a fucking joke but I still get drunk and wave flags and try to be nice and enjoy a day with my friends because it isn’t the country’s fault that both of its major parties are predominantly xenophobic, conservative, white male and Christian, but I always feel guilty. Christmas is also fucking joke, even if it is really, really, really fun to do “festive” things with people you like (DOES ANYONE EVEN KNOW WHAT BELIEF/RITUAL/WHATEVER WE ARE CELEBRATING AT CHRISTMAS ANYMORE?) Easter no longer makes any sense and has basically no relevance. It is the single most disrespectful day of the year, I think. I feel bad for the nice Christians (like my mum) who have seen basically their most important ritual completely demolished by capitalist greed. I think ANZAC Day (if you are not from A or NZ I am sure your country’s AC has a Veteran’s Day or something) and Remebrance Day are my favourite “holidays”. Not because I like why they exist, or what they are about, but because they have integrity, they know what they are about and it is a message that hasn’t been polluted by capitalism or religion or racism or sexism or politics or anything. It is because people died or made sacrifices or generally had a shit life because they were doing what they honestly thought was the right thing for the future, and they had this shit life because they wanted everyone who’s ever been alive since (and everyone who will ever be born for the rest of forever) to not have to worry about having a shit life. Strange coincidence that my life is amazing (and therefore not shit).  It is the appropriate celebration of death that Western Society needs to embrace, not glorified but not shunned into the gross catacombs and morgues of the underground where we hope it will go away. It’s just nice. I’m not going to go around saying those cheesey cliches like “lest we forget”, which mean absolutely nothing to me, but I am going to be thankful and reflective in my own way. I encourage everybody to do the same.

See you tomorrow, where I will be back to trying to be funny and lighthearted. =)

Love Dave!

Plastic Poppy

PS: It would have been nicer if fucking Collingwood didn’t win the footy.

PSPS/NB: I TOTALLY DIDN’T SAY “THE LORD’S PRAYER” AT THE SERVICE. THAT IS RUDE. NOT EVERY SOLDIER WAS CHRISTIAN.