So, there I am, scurrying back to the car at a Westfield carpark, when I am stopped in my tracks…
Uh… this requires a closer look…
Am I tripping? I am in Australia, aren’t I?
Oooh, wait, what’s this on the side of the car?
HAHAHAHAHA. Oh, go home!
Anyway, if they’re such a big fan of capitalism, the best they can afford is a Toyota?
[via Facebook from somebody somewhere]
I’ve seen a few people on Facebook say that because they were born in Australia and live in Australia, they are indigenous. They are not. They are not Aboriginal nor have any Aboriginal ancestry/heritage. Nevertheless, they are convinced they are “indigenous” by virtue of place of birth and current address.
Let’s clear this bullshit once and for all.
While no official definition has been adopted, the United Nations has developed a modern understanding of this term:
Practicing unique traditions, they retain social, cultural, economic and political characteristics that are distinct from those of the dominant societies in which they live. Spread across the world from the Arctic to the South Pacific, they are the descendants – according to a common definition – of those who inhabited a country or a geographical region at the time when people of different cultures or ethnic origins arrived. The new arrivals later became dominant through conquest, occupation, settlement or other means. [my emphasis]
~~~
Self- identification as indigenous peoples at the individual level and accepted by the community as their
member.
• Historical continuity with pre-colonial and/or pre-settler societies
• Strong link to territories and surrounding natural resources
• Distinct social, economic or political systems
• Distinct language, culture and beliefs
• Form non-dominant groups of society
• Resolve to maintain and reproduce their ancestral environments and systems as distinctive peoples and communities.
A quick Google search will reveal similar definitions.
So, please, don’t insult yourself and the indigenous people by calling yourself “indigenous” when you are not. To do so just displays a stunning lack of understanding, ignorance and is, frankly, quite embarrassing for you.
Get it into ya:
IT IS NOT ILLEGAL TO BURN THE AUSTRALIAN FLAG, nationally or in any state.
~~~
Hear me out first, OK?
Far be it from me to defend the Opposition leader, Tony Abbott, but this current criticism at him over his comment regarding the Costa Concordia ship sinking seem to be overlooking something: the question that was put to him during the Adelaide Triple M interview.
One of the hosts of the radio show asked him, “This is just a bit from left field, the captain from the Costa Concordia wants to know if you need any help with your boat policy?”
Tony Abbott replied, “Well, that was one boat that did get stopped.”
The question is just as bloody awful as the answer, yet there’s been little (or less, I wouldn’t know, I’m not on Twitter) fuss made of the question. They are both a disgrace. The unidentified radio host should be strongly reprimanded for asking such a thing in the first instance. Meanwhile, Tony Abbott only revealed what we already know: that he is not capable of thinking quickly on his feet and is quite incompetent to be a leader, oppositional or otherwise. The appropriate answer he should have given, of course, would be something like: “I am not going to dignify that question with an answer.”
So, continue to scold Tony Abbott, of course, but unless that radio host has been identified and reprimanded by the time this post is published, let’s place the blame on both of them for being such utter dickheads.
Additionally, spare me the whole “It’s radio, they deliberately generate controversy for ratings” schtick. The stupid question should never have been asked in the first place.
Finally, what the hell are you all doing listening to Triple M, anyway?!
That is all.
P.S. Vote Greens.
As yet another year draws to a close, many people begin to reflect on the year that was. The highlights, the lowlights, the dictators fallen and the ones still standing, the global movements that sparked ongoing fervour and the ones that didn’t (hello, Occupy Brisbane), the lessons learnt, the lessons not learnt, friendships made and friendships lost, crushes developed and crushes waned, love blossomed and love died, and so on and so forth.
Goodbye, 2011, you cheeky ol’ fucker. A brand new year is upon us, one full of promises, fresh starts, and … whatever else the Hallmark cards tell you to expect.
What can we expect for the coming year? Well, if I may, I have a few predictions I’d like to share. So, without further ado:
Happy new year and all the best for 2012, folks.
Barack Obama, President of the United States of America, has just left Australian soil as I write this, after being here to celebrate the 60th anniversary of ANZUS. And apparently the Prime Minister had been all a-quiver.
By the way, the Prime Minister, in case you hadn’t noticed, is a female.
You know what that means, don’t you? Women: blushing, conniving, plotting, starry-eyed, clingy, jealous, coquettish, flirty, emotional, insecure . . .
And that’s just from this article:
This turgid piece by Patrick Carlyon and Owen Vaughan is full of stereotyping stupidity, beginning with the first paragraph:
THEY are a touching pair and touchy pairing. Their hands, like disembodied life forms, seek out the other’s shoulders, backs and, quite possibly, bottoms.
Gillard glowed, head bowed, as though a new beau was being introduced to the family for the first time . . .
In Obama’s company, Gillard looks like she’s won a date with George Clooney. Their encounters, the respectful gazes as the other speaks, the touches of familiarity, stand to bestow her with a statesmanship she may have lacked until now . . .
Gillard opened their joint press conference with the quavering voice of her not-so-good days. She sounded like she had just had bad news. Maybe she was nervous . . .
Or maybe the journalists [sic] were just imagining it. Or wanted to imagine it.
He tried on a requisite “Good-day” before describing the lady next to him alternately as “Madame Prime Minister” and “my friend Julia”. The second label sounded more natural . . .
And, for more than half an hour, Obama and Gillard did not touch – that is, until they walked from the podium, and placed a hand on each other’s back . . .
Wink, wink.
Last night, she spoke of a “restless, forward questing” shared between the countries. She has added a dash of coquettishness, if not flirting, to US-Australian relations . . .
Because former Prime Minister John Howard was never coquettish and flirty to US-Australian relations, was he?
To illustrate Julia and Barack’s cosiness, the so-called journalists put together a stream of photos of the two leaders in suggestive poses with the worst captions of all time. Like this:
“Football captain”? FOOTBALL CAPTAIN IN INVERTED COMMAS?! What the fuck? And what the fuck to “high school girl”?!
Other captions hint that the Prime Minister is such a fan girl that she’s practically clinging onto the President, like “the Prime Minister hovers in the background” and “The PM keeps close to the President” and “The PM is not far behind”.
I don’t recall News Ltd making similar captions for images between John and George. Say, for example:
George and John leaning cosily together during a harbour cruise
OR
The PM hovers nearby
On a Presidential visit, there’s always plenty of news to, y’know, report. The US-Australia alliance. Security in the Pacific-Asia region. The expansion of US military presence in Australia. The implications of all this for China and India. Instead, we get this tedious, demeaning shit that I probably should come to accept from News Ltd by now, anyway.
Penis, penis, penis.
Such a funny-sounding word which elicits sniggers, shudders and/or sighs.
Me, I wish I was born with one. Don’t get me wrong, I like being a girl. But penises get you to places that a vagina doesn’t. It allows you to do things that a vagina doesn’t.
Such as?
Well, I can only think of one, though I am sure there are other reasons. That one good thing is you get to enter Dr Pepper’s TEN MAN’MENTS on Facebook. Vaginas are cock-blocked.
But I have good penises for friends. One got in and told us of blindingly witty man stuff like MAN-CRONYMS, such as this:
There are also “videos for men”, footage that women simply don’t understand. Damn those dumb vaginas.
And the tour de force: the MANLY SHOOTING GALLERY where men “shoot the girly stuff”. According to my friendly penis, you can shoot lipstick, high heels, handbags, unicorns, oven mitts and pink ribbons, among other things. There’s also a rainbow, which makes me wonder if it’s a hidden message for gay men, stereotypically suggesting they’re not macho manly men.
While I stared longingly at the forbidden page, denied once again, I read through the comments on Dr. Pepper’s wall. One macho macho man suggested that “Obvious troll is obvious”. Maybe it is. If it is, it’s a fucking stupid troll. It’s offensive and reinforcing gender stereotypes.
My offended feminine sensibilities aside, I beg of you, Dr. Pepper, to open up and let me in. Or my vagina will fall off.
The moment I stepped off the plane in Sydney after almost a week in Darwin, I wanted to book a flight back. It was grey, raining and oh so cold. It’s the middle of spring but you really wouldn’t think so.
Darwin. What can I say? Because I was there for a cousin’s wedding, I didn’t have opportunities to visit the national parks such as Kakadu or Litchfield. Our time there was spent eating, drinking and being merry. There were old family to catch up with and new family to meet. Crocodile and barramundi to be eaten. Hen’s night. Watching tides rapidly come in or go out. Glorious sunsets to marvel. Beer and cider to be imbibed. Catching up with friends from Melbourne who happened to be holidaying there at the same. Mindil Beach Sunset Markets. Taking photos of the trashy daily headlines of the NT News.
The wedding. The thank-you to and acknowledgment of Larrakia Nation. The ceremony. The dancing. The obligatory lusty yodelling to Sweet Child o’ Mine. Getting home after 4am. The frantic deleting of horrendous photos upon waking. And deleting a few drunken Facebook updates as well. Watching the AFL and NRL grand finals while recovering and (unsuccessful) detoxing.
The cute baby crocodile. The cheap and tacky souviner stores. The shriek-inducing Steve Irwin figurines. The chocolate crème brûlée to die for. The lovely heat. The mild mugginess. My hair mostly behaving. New friendships made. The red-eye flight home. The eerie glow of raging bushfires in Central Queensland as we flew over. The resplendent dawn before touching down.
It was wonderful. I want to go back. And see more, do more. Darwin really surprised me, it was a lot more cosmopolitan than what the stereotypes suggest. It’s a small town, or city, on the growth, with plenty of cranes and hammering all over the place.
Anyway, here is my equivalent of Slide Night:
People lined up all the way along Mindil Beach to watch the magnificent sunset.
Before…
After (about 20 minutes later)
Progress?
Almost home.
~~~
“You have come by way of the Larrakia land.
You will hear the voice of Larrakia ancestors.
When you leave, the Larrakia message will stay with you“.
I’m off to Darwin today for my cousin’s wedding this weekend. You know it’s going to be a great wedding when your footwear are thongs (‘flip flops’ for the non-Aussies. Not those kind of thongs. Duh, as if I’d wear them on my feet). Everyday there, the temperature is averaging 33 degrees C (91.4 degrees F), something which I am looking forward to after such a cold winter, but also feeling trepidatious about it. I love hot weather, but not so sure about the humidity — only because my hair starts looking like I stuck my finger in an electrical socket.
Anyway. See you on the flip flop side. (Lame, I know.)
And here’s today’s earworm:
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