Friday 4 January 2013

Bless the Parking Fairies of Noosa


PLEASE don’t send church missionaries or The Inquisition around to our place, but my family is currently praying to the parking fairies.

At Noosa in January, we feel the appearance of vacant parking spots seems like the true Miracle Of Christmas.

Our current devotional obsession started off as a joke.

Hastings St, Noosa: where the super cool need the supernatural
My family holiday near Noosa every year, and we start each day with an early morning swimming pilgrimage to Laguna Bay. 

One morning we got a brilliant parking spot, and one of us made a toast to the parking fairies that night.

But for three days in a row, we have got a parking space just off Hastings Street.  Right near the Gaston café, so we can hop into the car with cappuccinos after the swim.

I don’t want to jinx it.  Should we keep offering a toast of champagne, or do these parking fairies need some more substantial form of offering?

Do we need to make a sacrifice that involves the spilling of blood, or should we leave out a serving of scrumptious food or alcohol at night, like we do for Santa Claus?

Here’s another question.

Is it profane to assume it is the work of parking fairies?  Should I be praying to God for the continued deliverance of convenient parking spaces?  

I don’t want to disturb Him or Her with such a trivial request, when They have so many more profound requests to handle.

My friend Pastor David would say it is the work of God. I can see him slightly shaking his head and patiently explaining it to me in a quiet voice, the one he uses for difficult customers.

Does St Christopher also handle requests for parking?
But, I would say, it seems like a bothersome request for the Almighty.  Maybe God has delegated decision making capabilities for parking down to an angel.  Or a saint.

Is there a patron saint for parking?  If so, there should be a shrine to this saint at Noosa at Christmas time.  The order maintaining this shrine would have celebrity status on the Sunshine Coast.

Or it might be a local deity at Noosa in charge of parking miracles.  Minor gods arise to explain to the most important of baffling phenomena to a local population.

And the sudden magical appearance of empty parking spots near the surf at Noosa must be an all-consuming subject of conversation to Noosa residents and visitors. 

Whether it is parking fairies, God or a local magical being, it has placed me in a metaphysical dilemma.

Whoever or whatever is responsible has delivered the goods, and their wrath or indifference must not be provoked.

But I am safe in assuming there is a degree of supernatural intervention.

As anyone who holidays at Noosa in January can attest, the appearance of free and available parking spots just next to Laguna Bay surely ranks as an eye-popping miracle.

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Friday 28 December 2012

2012 and the Sunset of Newspapers


2012 was the year I stopped reading newspapers.

After a lifetime of ritual, I realised the act of purchasing, unfolding and thoughtfully trawling through a newspaper was like an out-dated religious ceremony long divorced from any original faith and belief.

"How many advertising brochures can they fit in this paper?"
This year I have been unshackled from a compulsive action that has come to hold little value to modern day life. 

Two hundred years ago buying and reading a newspaper meant you were helping battle ignorance, and helping build a “fourth estate” that was a bulwark against repressive and unrepresentative governments.

Not now.  Buying and reading a newspaper is more an act of consumption, the forced swallowing of square metres of advertising and corporate messages from those that can afford it.

Truly, the realisation that I do not have to feel guilty about not purchasing the Sydney Morning Herald each week end is liberating.

What broke the habit was the Gillard misogynist speech.

It was a fascinating speech that addressed an issue that personally resonated within so many people.  It was grand theatre that meant something.

They don't  make papers like this any more (hooray).  Benjamin Franklin 1750
But many mainstream media commentators, the icons pictured on newspaper columns, could only view it through a narrow prism.

What did it mean to the machinations of Parliament over the next 24 hours?  And they even got that wrong.

They said it was a miscalculated rant designed to preserve the political skin of Peter Slipper.  Most everyone else said it was a speech of importance that would persevere, much long than the career or memory of Peter Slipper.

The lack of touch and perception by some newspaper columnists was exposed by the furious movement of opinion and comment over the web.

Especially on social media sites, countless people explained how the speech touched on what they experienced in their lives, how it electrified them.   It was plain the paper giants had got it wrong.

To me, the columnist line that the Gillard speech was a “misguided rant” looks like it was a line fed or created by professional political media advisers.

That makes sense because I know journalists are outnumbered and harassed by media advisers, whom have more time and resources at their command than the harried journalist.

If so, it is an indication that some newspaper commentators are embedded in the castle up on the hill with those that govern.  They look down upon us through the arrow slits in the towers.

The misogynist speech revealed to me I could get the news I wanted from linked pages, not inked pages.  So why should I persist in buying newspapers?

The forsaking of the newspaper gospel was slightly shocking to myself.  I used to consider the great columnists such as Alan Ramsey and Michelle Grattan as infallible and all-knowing giants.

Nowadays I go online and search for pieces by Daniel Hurst and Steve Wardill, both of whom I feel know the issues on the grounds outside the castle on the hill. And anything by Daryl Passmore and Kelmeny Fraser gets my attention.

For the others who have also abandoned the sacraments of the newspaper, we have found it is surprisingly not such as drastic change.

We had not fully realised we had already virtually stopped reading them anyhow.  Most of us are already getting our news from websites, or links on social media sites. 

However, I still get ink on my fingertips. I read my local newspaper: it arrives free on my doorstep.  I like to see if anyone I know is in it, and who is writing letters to the editor.

This kind of intimate newspaper experience probably reflects the desires and needs of the original newspaper readers two hundred years ago.

Do we need to despair that so many like me are perhaps condemning the daily newspaper to death?  Are we contributing to the demise of reporting?

Simply, no. Some broadsheets and tabloids may be on their way to extinction, but journalism is alive and thriving.

After all, the human need for news and gossip, timely and fresh, is as strong as ever.  The internet means reporters and journalists can fill that human craving in an instant.

For the rest of those who have stopped reading newspapers in 2012, even if they do not admit it to themselves, we will continue to pursue the news and a good read.

We have just forsaken the crinkly pages of newsprint to find the truth and facts that reflect the world we know.  

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Friday 21 December 2012

The Homoerotic In Politics


AS THE YEAR gracefully folds and we look back at the year in politics, well may we say “who would have thought it?”

Who would have thought some banter, with supposed gay overtones, between Slipper and Ashby would have such a dramatic impact? Who could foresee that one side of politics would pursue the former Speaker with such monomaniacal vitriol?

The homoerotic impulse and a countering homophobic reaction are not unprecedented in politics.  They’re not even unusual.

In fact, together they have played a strange part in the evolution of the system of our government.

Who would have thought it – a homoerotic crush helped initiate the emergence of democracy in Ancient Athens.

A vase depicting the death of Hipparchus.  Phallic imagery abounds.
Hipparchus, Hippias and Thessalus were the three sons of the early Athenian tyrant Pisistratus.  All three had murky reputations for carrying on the aristocratic family trade of political intrigue and launching coups. 

In 514BCE Thessalus had a crush on a young male aristocrat.  Thessalus was rejected, and in a fit of pique, he refused to allow the aristocrat’s sister to take her place in the Panathenaic festival parade.

The shame of it was too much for the object of Thessalus’ affections, and he organised a gang of assassins to strike at Hippias, the brother of Thessalus.

Trouble is, they got the wrong brother.  They couldn’t get at Hippias, so they actually settled for Hipparchus. 

It was the furious retribution of Thessalus and Hippias to their brother’s death that had political consequences through the ages.

They organised the brutal murders of two of the assassins, Harmodius and Aristogeiton.  Finally, appalled at the cycle of violence, Athenians eventually overthrew the rule of the tyrants.

Guided by the first real democrat, Cleithsenes, Athenians in 507 BCE brought in a constitution, and rule by an assembly that represented all citizens.

All because Thessalus couldn’t get his way with a good looking young man.

Still, look at the reaction when a ruler did get his way with a young man.

Edward II, with his jewels, crown and a nice shade of lippy.
The relationship of Edward II with his “close male companions” so vexed the ruling English upper classes, they created a system of checks on the power of the monarchy that still exist today.

Edward II (who reigned from 1307 to 1327) not only flaunted his relationship with Piers Gaveston and Hugh Despenser, he made them powerful

Edward had it bad for Gaveston, his childhood friend, who in turn had a knack for outraging and mocking the English nobility.

After Edward’s wedding, where Gaveston apparently out-dressed the bride, the King presented him with the best of his new wife’s wedding gifts and jewels. 

Edward ostentatiously showered Gaveston with power and gifts from the public purse.   

The response of the English nobility was to force “The Ordinances” upon Edward, which like the Magna Carta, imposed limitations upon the power of the monarch to dispense public wealth.

Faced with another ultimatum to let him go, Edward finally chose to flee north with Gaveston, abandoning his capital and pregnant wife.

Gaveston was captured, and on Blacklow Hill, the nobles finally halted his all-too-visible career by simply chopping off his head.

The gruesome end of  Hugh Despenser.  Of course, times have changed ...
Edward’s true gift as a monarch was to keep repeating his mistakes.  Gaveston’s replacement was the young Hugh Despenser, an even more hated figure.

Once again, the favourite was gifted enormous power and money, and once again, the English reacted by executing the King’s close companion.

To get rid of Edward, the English aristocracy created the Articles of Accusation.  Under these Articles, Edward was accused of breaching his Coronation Oath to look after the country, and was formally deposed by his spurned wife Queen Isabella.

So there it is. The furore over Edward’s overt relationship with Gaveston and Despenser led to the creation of mechanisms where a king can be fiscally restrained and be legally deposed.

The furore over the spurned advance by Thessalus led to the creation of Athenian democracy.

And the furore over Slipper’s supposed request for a more communal form of showering drowned his career, and will continue to dampen the careers of others.

Who would have thought this would be a lesson from politics in 2012? That homoeroticism holds a strange place in our system of government.

Or rather, the crushing reaction against it can have political consequences that far outweigh the original transgression.

It is the death of Edward II that symbolises the retributive barrage that can be unleashed in response to the homoerotic.

Legend is that Edward II, imprisoned in the Guard Room at Berkeley Castle, was killed by the insertion of a red-hot poker into his fundament.

Homophobia has no place in the private or public realms.  And we need to remember that historically, it has had an effect on politics and government in a way that would be almost comical if it weren’t so bloody tragic.

*Read "The Life and Death of Democracy" by John Keane and "Crown and Country: The Kings and Queens of England" by David Starkey.

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Friday 14 December 2012

Conversations With My Son (Aged 2)


I WISH I was a Mummy Blogger.  Mummy Bloggers are some of the coolest and most renowned bloggerati in the online community.

They get recognition – they’ve been invited to The Lodge to meet with Julia Gillard.  They get awesome sponsorship – have a look at the ads on their websites.

And what really gets me sighing is that they produce erudite, witty and informative articles about being a parent.

No one hears about Daddy Bloggers.  Perhaps because our articles would be full of genial confusion and would simply recount our disasters.

You’ve seen how Dads are portrayed on TV.  They are goofy, inept and are often comic objects.

Well, who am I to disagree?  I look at the way my wife parents.  Sian is quiet, incisive, and makes the perfect judgement.

I tend to make it up as I go along, hoping my wife doesn't find out what we've been doing. 

But hey, at least I make them laugh.

For those who follow me on Facebook, over the last six months I've posted the stories of the Daddy Day incidents where Guy gets the better of me.

Those posts recount the conversations with my son (aged 2), and what happens on the days I am entrusted with his welfare.

I've  put them together to be the post of a Daddy Blogger.  I now await the invitation to the Lodge.

Thank you for the guffaws, sympathy and ultimately, the encouragement.

Daddy Day Craft Attempt. 
Here I've managed to have got the taste of play-dough out of Guy's mouth (right). It's OK, it's decaf.

Daddy Day Attempted Discipline.
Daddy: AARGH! Don't bite me! If you bite me again I may smack you!  Erm, do you know what a smack is?
Guy: Ooh, a lollypop?

Daddy Day Disaster.
There I was watching Guy at a busy playground, smiling, whilst a Mummy on the seat opposite was frowning at Guy and me. Puzzled, I smiled back and shrugged.  Then I realised my son had A Brown Monster peeking out the top of his nappy for all the world to see.

Daddy Day With Nana.
Daddy (pointing to picture of Santa): Look Guy, who's that?
Guy (pause): Pirate?
Nana (just been Christmas shopping): Actually, he's not far wrong.


The Daddy Day Attenborough.
This morning I half-heartedly explained the concept of camouflage to Guy. His theory: Snow Tigers are white so as to hide in cereal.

Halloween As Explained By Guy.
Daddy: What happened last night, Guy?
Guy: People come, an' give them lollies.

Daddy Day Bed-Time Reading.
Guy suddenly lost patience after the 5th reading of "Green Eggs and Ham".  He turned to the last page and bellowed "He EAT it!"  Just in case I didn't know.

Daddy Day Lesson.
Dads, don't leave home without a "Play School" CD in the car. I calmed Guy's demands for Play School songs (always available in Mummy's car) by putting on a Johnny Cash CD. It worked: he fell asleep during "Folsom Prison Blues". Today's lesson was brought to you by the Man In Black.

Guy Gets Political.
Here Guy (right) lobbies for more Bob The Builder and Thomas The Tank Engine on the ABC.

Attempted Toilet Training on Daddy Day.
Daddy: Guy poo in potty now, not nappy.
Guy: I don' think so
Daddy: What did you say?
Guy (repeats): I don' think so.

Daddy Day Gardening Advice.
Guy: (pointing to thriving parsley bush) "Happy, Daddy!"
Daddy: (puzzled) "Ah, yeah ..."
Guy: (pointing to dying basil bush and shaking head) "That not happy, Daddy".


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