Teaching is a selfish profession

School teachers are probably good people mostly. They give up their chance at a striving world- crushing career to tie shoelaces and listen to whining children for what can be a lot of stress and not a lot of money. I however am in the profession for all the selfish gain I can get.

As a student there was one particular teacher who I looked up to like a hero; I was twelve and I admired his basketball skills; his jokes; his eminent coolness and his goatee (which in hindsight was a childish and immature reason for thinking someone was the best thing since plate glass). I did look up to him and he gave me advice which I ate like Weet- Bix on any given afternoon and which subsequently changed the course of my life.

When I was in university studying to be a primary school teacher and people would press me as to why I wanted to be a teacher I would cite the influence of this teacher and that I much like him wanted to influence lives for the better. However this is simply not true and now I realise that I just want children to look up to me in the same way that I did that teacher: I want the credit for changing lives. Since realising this and also that teaching is a bad way to get glory these days (the internet does a much better job than me) I have devised a list of ways a could satiate my glory- hungry personality:

1. Grow an insanely big beard. My friend had a huge one once upon a time and had admirers come from all over the pub to gawk and compliment; admittedly he hated it.
2. Learn CPR and hook up with that guy from Choke*. This way I can save his life everytime he decides to fake- die and we both win.
3. Decide once and for all to be an actual writer and commit to submitting articles or simply writing something with a little continuity and depth so I become published famous and interviewed.
4. Act crazy all the time. Crazy people get lots of attention and praise in modern day society just look at Richard Branson and the bird from Crystal Castles.
5. Become a social photographer (no justification required).

That is all.

*A book by Chuck Palahniuk; read it.

I hate the way you roll your eyes*

When I go out I can never escape the flaccid eye- roll; it may come from another or from myself but it permeates life in its disinterested boredom. Earnestness falls in its wake for fear of irrelevance or arrogance. When I am earnest I risk irrelevance or possibly arrogance and so I err on the side of irony. The eye- roll is aimed at anything possibly genuine but repeated; a dance; a smile; a joy at a song; a good night; being drunk (again); feeling that mystical connection that people say is friendship and the list goes on. The eye roll speaks of experience and a tired worn life broken by the savage pain of being a man; and as the world is perpetuated by the hyperweb and the expanding enveloping feeling of knowitallness and seenitbefority the eye- roll becomes more and more prevalent. I cannot risk irrelevance or arrogance in its face and the old maxim holds true: "if you can't beat 'em join 'em".

My love is destroyed by the possibility of nothing; a gaping swallowing hungry nothing devouring the world for the sake of insecurity. Really though I want to love something enough for me not to be afraid of letting everything else go. For some sort of consummation of my life so I no longer have to be rolled up in eyes.

If you are still reading this Sunset Rubdown's Dragonslayer is unreal; get it completely legitimately right now.

* This was said to me semi- recently; so I am not accusing you. The way you roll your eyes is probably quite endearing and sweet like the wife from Mad Men.

Community Investment

Oatley seems like a pretty solid community; I have only lived here for about half a year now but it has a family vibe and something sinister about it. I remember seeing the banners "Maintain the Rage" hanging over the main street of Oatley a couple of years ago in regards to the new Coles that was being planned.

Oatley didn't want a Coles because it probably was an indication of a few things. First it probably meant the reduction of custom to local businesses in the area. Second it also indicates a violation of the community ethics. Oatley is proud of its suburban village image that it has carved out for itself; the last old- fashioned bastion against corporately overrun neighbouring suburbs like Hurstville and Rockdale. Having a Coles in Oatley sets a frightening precedent; Coles represents a monolithic corporation shadowing the village setting and community atmosphere. Third it also meant the ungluing of community cohesiveness. Shopping at local businesses probably increases the level of cooperation and happiness within that local area so by Coles setting up their convenient practical supermarket people shop less locally and more corporately; thus disabling the potential for real community connections.

Despite 'the rage' Oatley still got a Coles and yet Oatley; the hallowed bastion of village atmosphere; remains. It makes me wonder about what real community investment looks like. Oatley is a fairly affluent suburb and people here probably don't want for very much apart from a trimmer backside and a 44 inch Plasma. For all the 'village atmosphere' that is here there really isn't any community investment or exciting opportunities for young people. I think the whole objection to Coles was more of a snobby status thing. So that people who lived here could say that they are still living inside the dream of pre- corporate Australia in some throwback era long forgotten in most of St George.

Making Money

I make great money. Really great money, actually I am sitting firmly in the middle class; I am earning enough to buy a house and pay off a mortgage and do everything that a regular person aspires to do. It is no good though, I don't really care about this money and it seems that all it serves to do is force me into new ways of laziness and apathy.

Let me explain:

While I was at uni I earned a pittance but I managed to find creative ways of living, slower ways of living. I shopped at op shops, had little to no phone credit and caught the train to places, slept where I could and drank lambrusco out of a paper bag. Now, I have too much money to bother with op shops and everything I want is within striking distance and I have no restraint in my spending or desire to spend. I can feel my addiction to spending money slowly arcing outside of my control and my wants growing larger as I grow older; furniture, photography, snowboarding, bodyboarding, magazines, the list goes on. As I shop I grow more and more numb to any sort of raw primacy and energy for life. I just want to grow my stuff, and somehow appease the gnawing restlessness inside of me.

I saw a preview for No Impact Man the other day and it is somewhat inspiring to know that there are others out there trying a different way of life. I am not so sure what it is that I want from life yet but just to consume and complain and work seems like a hoax. Also on this, I know I have an aversion to hard work, to giving all of myself to one single purpose for fear that I choose to live balls out for a lie but as I piss away the days halfheartedly thinking these ideas out I grow more and more discontent.

All I know is:

You need more stuff and I need more money.

This entry really took a sour turn, sorry.

The Lambs are Angry

Laserdisc was a completely missed technology. I remember being about eleven when my neighbours in Western Australia invited around to watch Spacejam on Laserdisc. It was amazing a huge optical disc that played (to me) exactly like a video. I remember at the time it seemed so futuristic but also incredibly unnecessary and already superseded like Blade Runner or the 80s imagining of Back to the Future.

Mr Oizo's Lambs Anger reminds me of Laserdisc. It sounds like the future but a retro analog future that has already been surpassed by electro mainstream pop. The album pops and bleeps in some kind of disco homage to dark 80s arcades and it seems as though in another reality music could have possibly gone this way; that Mr Oizo is the technical superior when it comes to French dance music but it is just too awkward to be truly popular.

The album cuts so close to awesome banality but just avoids it in every track. 'Cut Dick' is a great dance track carving a great beat and building a stairway into nowhere not for the rise and fall but simply the groove. 'Positif' sounds like it could be a trance winner with it's high driving electro brutality and 'vous etes des animal' (or whatever she says) but then Mr Oizo punctures the song with disco samples and an 80s drum machine and there isn't anywhere the song can belong but some alternate future where Laserdisc was the technology that won.

Don't take the obsolete technology comparison the wrong way: I love this album the same way I love polaroids 35mm film and holgas. It is satisfying; difficult and no one will understand the appeal.

Here is the clip for Positif; not my favourite track but it has some sweet beats:

Brilliance in its early stages

In some feeble effort to keep creativity going here are some ideas I have had over the last few days for different stories/ whatever the hell you could call them:

- A story about a James Dean style teacher; he wears a leather jacket; rides a motorbike; smokes and drinks on the job and swears in front of the children. Despite all this parents and teachers love him and kids want to be like him titled: 'Rebel with a Pseudo Cause'

- A comment on why people drive like douche bags with the music up really loud and my subsequent succumbing to their ranks. While at the same time exploring the bizarre reader/ author relationship in parentheses and thus confounding the original meaning of the piece.

- A low brow sitcom style prank in which I try to write a tribute for Michael Jackson but confuse his life with disgraced athlete Michael Johnson. I would still use Jackson's name but just animate with the corpse (Thriller reference) of Johnson's once formidable career.

- A review of Mr Oizo's Lambs Anger. Even though this is almost a year old now I just thought I wouldn't mind writing some stuff about it because it is an interesting record.

So over the next few days I may give a lame duck attempt at writing any one of these ideas out and hopefully I can keep this up and as school holidays begin in just over a week I really have no excuse.

Re- reading

One; this no comma thing is really starting to annoy me. I am going insane filling in all my comma spaces with semi-colons; they are pretentious and most of the time a dramatic break when all is needed is a brief breath.

Two; I just spent a good half hour rereading a lot of my old posts on this blog that stretch back all the way to 2006. The most shocking thing is that they are actually good. I am impressed with my own writing and thoughts which sounds conceited but I always viewed my own writing as some mixed up babbling and anyone who complimented me as someone who was seriously demented (sorry Marc).

I am surprised that I make some coherent arguments and some flowing (comma) musical prose. It is a bit ranty and a very self conscious but really (comma) can you expect anything less? In light of this rediscovery of sorts I am going to go back to the daily post and see writing- wise where it takes me. I need practice again even if this writing never goes anywhere and even if this poor keyboard doesn't have a working comma key (or working one (comma) four and seven keys; equally as frustrating)

La Bookshoppe

Everybody who has known me over the past few years has probably heard me rant and rave about opening a bookshop and while this has really never been a possibility (for monies- reasons) now it seems within my reach. Which is bone- tingling for me; for a number of reasons...

Of course one of the questions I have to ask is what kind of bookshop should it be? Here are two examples:

Above are photos of Shakespeare and Company in Paris; a bookshop I admire greatly for their hospitality and the way the place feels like the home of an old friend. When I visited we sat upstairs chatting with an American literature student who had been working on a cartoon before meeting some Italian girls and a Canadian who we ended up spending that night with walking around Paris taking in the crazy French.

The other bookshop was Massolit Books in Krakow Poland (my comma is still broken). This place was relaxed and homely with books on every subject and great coffee. It was tucked away out of the main centre of Krakow and felt somehow special; somehow like home. If I open a bookshop; that is how I want it to feel.

I am None

Bodyboarders used to be my heroes; as a kid growing up in south west WA nobody was cooler. However something happened and I saw that the bodyboarding mind was closed and the culture they had created seemed stagnant and; well crude.

Until last week; it had been years since I picked up a copy of Riptide or any bodyboarding mag at all but since I have had a renewed passion for the sport (thanks to my new NMD board; but no thanks to the agro pinheaded stick monkeys out at island on Saturday) I thought I would; and it surprised me.

I had long forsaken bodyboarding culture as a microcosm of us vs them mentality and a creative vacuum; oh how I was wrong. The current riptide issue is brimming with interesting ideas and raw passion.

Case in point: I am None. I never imagined to see a decent fashion label with solid fringe support from artists and photographers emerge from the bodyboarding scene. Yet they did and a bodyboarder is once again a hero of mine: Alex Bunting you are the man.

Captain Neckbeard

Recently I was having a conversation with Paul and we talked about our lame-o-ness in the beard growing / manliness department as both of us can only grow the lowly neckbeard. Paul remarked that he was "Captain Neckbeard" which made me wonder "what rank would I hold as a filthy neckbearded pirate?"

Obviously there would be no Captains who could only grow neckbeards unless they were in charge of a whole neckbeard pirate ship which would either be a savage set of red flag flying bloodthirsty psychos (angry at society and their fathers for their bad beard growing genes); or they would be the ugliest and most underconfident seamen to ever sail.

Either way; I think that on a pirate ship I would probably be "Hey You!" be it a neckbeard ship or not. I've never punched anyone square in the face before and I think that would be a prerequisite to getting some kind of reasonable respect. However I am looking to increase my pirate rep so watch your face.