Melbourne

We love Melbourne so much, we once made a show about it.

Hot damn if I don't love Melbourne. It's the city I was raised in and around and I've got a terrible bias because I've never left the country, but I don't rip on junkies who love junk because hot junk is the only drug they shot into their arm. I'm a Melbourne junkie. I even appreciate the place junkies have in my fair city, because I take a tram, and anyone who takes a tram in Melbourne has dealt with a junkie or a drunkie.

Rolling in through North Melbourne has that rather unique combination of horrendously broken men and women screaming at each other and lightly slapping each other's crusty face with limp, track marked arms, sitting right next to upstanding women with sticks up their butt, ignoring the screeching as desperately as their head phones will allow. The hipsters come on and off, scurrying away to either a derelict commercial space that's been illegally transferred into a rental property or, in stark juxtaposition (a word any good hipster loves), their three-quarter of a million dollar townhouse owned by mummy and daddy. If you hear a note of scorn in my voice, I guarantee you've mistaken the true ring of pride. My unshaven, capped, cargo-panted, flannel visage, clinging with all its might to the nineties, blends in with this freaky-deaky mélange like a needle in a public toilet.

Victorian State Gallery : Cameron Zayec 2007

Melbourne is blue. That's its colour. Look at it from a distance, the medium height skyline, and tell me its overall mood isn't blue. The mix of modern look at me please oh god look at me architecture with the old gothic and deco office buildings, holding firm from the fifties when John Brack painted brown and tan bankers moving from work at five o'clock, their lined mouths barely registering emotion beyond a faint urge to climb back into the nest with a scotch and dinner on the table. The Nicholas Building on Elizabeth Street that I would so dearly love to film inside - this is a building with elevators with grated, manually operated doors, with elevators run by attendees who decorate their cell with flowers, pictures of puppies and an electric space heater. Melbourne University's weird, wavy cow building, the home of the Criminology and Psychology department, whose glass is printed with black and white rounded splotches, long vertical wavy steel dividing the bovine skin. Nearby is the Roundabout of Death, where Peel, Elizabeth, Flemington and Royal Parade meet with three different tram lines and a terrifying rite of passage for any young driver who emerges from the right lane into the left, then suddenly has to fly over to the right again, screaming in fear as your dad yells in frustration until, sweating and broken, you find yourself in the path of an oncoming tram and veer back onto your side, stopping at a red light and the Royal Women's, where you wouldn't mind a little lie down.

Smack bang in the middle of the Roundabout of Death is the giant pole and enormous Australian flag, surrounded by lesser minions usually displaying either a museum exhibit or the Grand Prix. I remember coming out from the Royal Children's Hospital, so pleased just to have escaped, and being struck every familiar time with how immense the flag is. I still imagine myself being wrapped up in it, and knowing there'd be so much room left over that I'd drown in navy blue and six white stars. Sometimes old blue would be replaced with a giant Aboriginal flag that dad or an uncle would grimly curse but that I secretly thought was way more interesting and used way cooler colours than ours.

City from Alexandra Ave : Cameron Zayec 2007

When I walk home from work, out of Shed 4 at the end of Victoria Harbour, to my back is a glorious view of the Bolte Bridge, awesome in its simplicity - two giant silver stiffies, constantly surrounded by swirling seagulls chasing moth jizz. The sun sets behind it and the silver reflects the purples and frosting pinks of the burning sky. The air smells of salt and a cool breeze always refreshes me at the height of excruciating summers. At night, the buildings are always lit with vibrant colours, as broadly skewed towards pretty as the dusk sky. Big, huge buildings, interesting from all angles, the ANZ with its bizarre twisty wind turbines. The Shredder over by the Citylink onramp is black, sharp and severe, like an evil turtle-hunting ninja. I like to listen to Bowie and look up as I walk to the tram terminal. That's what started this post. As I round a corner and pass the deceptively broad expanse of Flemington Raceway where creatures with much bigger penises than me are flogged by frustrated little men with much tinier penises than me, I can't help but spurt rhapsodic about Melbourne, all because I walked home listening to As The World Falls Down and thought that's the gayest damn thing. Awesome. And blue.

West Gate Bridge from the harbour : Cameron Zayec 2007

Hot POA

Ladies and gentleman, may I present to you, the hottest piece of ass this side of the Atlantic. She'll steal your dreams, get all up in your head box and destroy your ability to step outside, away form your computer screens.

Aw yeah. Snap!

Scientific Study of My Writing

There is no scientific basis to this, but I did use, like, four different blog posts to get an average result.

I write like
David Foster Wallace

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

Golliwogs at Highpoint

Speaking of racists...! I was walking around Highpoint Shopping Centre with my girlfriend, as is our wont,  when we happened upon this piece of astounding ignorance that I had to snap on my phone.

That, my friends, is a display of Golliwogs. Notice that you can buy male or female Golliwogs, and the female Golliwog rounds the whole thing off nicely by dressing like a classic American Mammy. This Mammy is sporting a charming lemon headband instead of the traditional red.

Are these dolls available as part of some sort of exhibit? Oh my no. They're for sale, as any other item would be, in a gift shop called Cardiology.

The display shows a terrifying lack of understanding or even awareness of the racist connotations of these dolls, to the point that they seem to have invented an origin story that Googling reveals has no basis in fact whatsoever. (Click for a bigger, only barely legible resolution)

What's so astounding is that whoever OK'd the sale and display of these dolls is so incredibly ignorant of their horrible relationship with slavery and racism against African Americans. They're so ignorant, in fact, that they make probably the most egregious error of judgement by stringing the dolls up from the ceiling.

In my attempt to find justification for the seemingly made up story they've written on the plaque, I found an Australian website that carries the same baffling ignorance about the racist origins of the Golliwog. Read this link and marvel at how unaware the author is, going so far as to posit that Golliwogs disappeared from children's book because they were "allergic to the newer style of ink." I hope, for their sake and for the sake our genetic stock, that this website is tongue-in-cheek.

My god, look at that photo below. Unbelievable!

Can you imagine if a black American walked past that display? Can you imagine the embarrassment this would cause if he alerted the American media? Couple this with the Hey Hey blackface incident (one that could have been explained away as a one off incident), and we'd be propelled so far back into the dark ages in terms of the world's view of us, the only way out would be to donate our country to the U.S.

I intend to inform the store that it'd be in their best interest to remove these dolls post haste. I wonder what they'll say?

The look on our faces in the reflection is shock and amazement that anyone could be so out of touch. I wonder if anyone will post a rant about how this is political correctness gone mad? If so, in the interest of education as the our saving grace, here are some links that may give a little context.

• blogs.telegraph.co.uk/golliwogs_have_a_godly_origin/
• dailymail.co.uk/How-golliwog-went-innocent-childrens-hero-symbol-bitter-controversy.html
• search?q=black%20stereotypes
• www.tasa.org.au/conferences/conferencepapers07/papers/380.pdf

Welcome Back!

Pop the balloon and see what falls out.

I have time to write! A scooter accident yesterday has left me sore, a little shaken and with a broken rear view mirror. Meaning? I can ride the tram today and get some time alone with ma words.

First order of business: I have an iPad! I'm typing on it right now on the 57 tram. As we pull up to the commission flat, I need to keep one eye on embarking strangers, but aside from that, I've been absolutely loving it. It's a writer's dream. A small screen with excellent Internet connectivity, and a decent sized qwerty keyboard with a lovely suite of writing and number tools. I have instant access to digitised comics from Marvel and DC and a whole host of indies. All I need now is screenwriting software and I'll be right as rain.

I just passed the corner I took the spill. Yuck. It's the potentiality surrounding the incident that freaks me out the most. The what ifs.

When showing my tablet to someone, I typed a phrase absent-mindedly to demonstrate Pages. I didn't even look at what I was typing, just splurged a sentence down on the screen. Today I opened Pages and the sentence greeted me:

'Pop the balloon and see what falls out.'

What an odd sentence.

That's all. Not much. I'm only having a stretch.

Red Dead Redemption

There's been some hubbub on the net of late about the legitimacy of video games as an art form. This debate is most likely a generational issue, and the resistance to the idea that games can be art will melt away with the withering of baby boomers. Most people my age, in those generations marked X and Y have played the very games we know to be powerful works of art, that also happen to be, for the most part, incredibly accessible. Accessibility is to snobbery what lemon is to a skinned fish. Sprinkle even a few drops on and it will start thrashing desperately. The result is inevitable, either way: death. Of course, rounding on my argument like a cowboy on his horse, some components of these artier games might be considered less accessible on the scale of the average gamer. Certainly not every gamer is prepared to sit through an half hour cut scene during the end level of Metal Gear Solid 4. Still, my point stands. These games are on the edge, they push the medium, and they're bloody fantastic.

One such game is Red Dead Redemption. It's perhaps not as groundbreaking overall as a format, but the execution and style of this game is what has been getting Rockstar the 10/10 reviews. I'd like to share one moment with you.

*SPOILER ALERT*
You, John Marsten attack the fort that your quarry has been hiding in in the west US. The fort is defeated, but Bill Williamson has escaped. You ferry across the border river and after a wild shootout from a raft in the middle of a vicious storm, end up in Mexico for the first time. You say farewell to the Irish rat who got you across, mount your horse and ride up the embankment. The horse can't break out of a run yet, so you clop slowly up the incline. Over the crest is a breathtaking view of the red, rounded mesas of the Mexican desert. The sense of quiet natural wonder is heightened by the slow build of gentle but strong guitar strumming, with Jose Gonzalez's Far Away playing over the scene. The storm washes away and the sun starts to shine through, beaming gorgeous fingers of golden sunlight onto the wide open plains. You can't help but keep your horse at an even pace and swing the camera around to take in these visuals.

This scene solidified Red Dead as a top shelf game in my mind. The brilliance of it is that it demonstrates how a game can affect the players and manipulate them into reacting the same way, to move our eye around the screen like a masterpiece painting moves our eye around the canvas. I've spoken to a few people and read reports online about this same scene, and everyone seems to react the same way. Once you crest, your horse is freed up and you can run it as fast as you like, but most players I spoke to or read about kept their horse moving quietly and couldn't help but drink up this stunning moment. That is artistic power, especially when we gamers are so often unfairly characterised as blood thirsty Peter Pans with the attention span of a gnat. To script a game in such a way as to keep our supposedly goldfish-like attentions firmly fixed not on bloodshed, but on natural beauty, and to do it in an open plan, free roaming game is truly a view to behold.

So, if you haven't played it yet and don't intend to, or if you have and want to relive that moment, here is a clip of someone I've never met, reacting exactly the same way I did when I played through this scene.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i8IonrlZp74&feature=youtube_gdata

Prime Minister Julia Gillard

Hello Australians. We have a new Prime Minister, the Honourable Julia Gillard. I stayed late from work this morning to watch the spill carry out. Excitement gripped me through and through. I love change. Whether it's good or bad, I get a thrill watching large scale change. Now, before Mr. Rudd finished his term as Prime Minister, he has been ousted and Julia Gillard is leader.

When I finally left the ABC's rather spotty programming, I went via a servo. Inside, a chap came in and bought a newspaper in front of me. He tapped it and said to the cashier, "It's done. Gillard's PM. We didn't vote for her. Typical Labour." He then left in a huff.

First, good for him for at least being fiery and interested about politics. Second, what the hell does that mean? How many leaders were churned through by the Liberal party prior to this spill? Not to mention that the events of today were unprecedented. Perhaps he was referring to the NSW factional problems that resulted in an unhappy public voting out Mz. Keneally. I doubt that chap had really thought it through, but his comments did make me think.

My girlfriend is similarly inclined in politics, and she tweeted in response to the groupthink of unfairness Liberals are shoving, "I voted for Rudd knowing full well Gillard would take over should he not be able to discharge his duties as PM. She is my elected PM." It's a good point, and well formed.

I'm not fussed by the way in which this leadership turnover was handled. I'm equally unfussed about the Liberal party's several spills. What I think this does highlight is another facet of our political system that I disagree with, and that I think republicanism can resolve.

The way our system stands now, with these sorts of spills allowing our PM to be replaced by internal party votes and not by the vote of the people takes away the full democratic process. It means that really, we are voting for the party, not for the person. There are pros and cons to this. Obviously a party is kept in check, the power diversified and doled out in varying agrees among a group. It also results in slower, less dramatic change. It holds back the ability to really push forward as trail blazers.  I want us to be better, and I think a reformatted system that brings with it more respect for our nation's leader and thus an inability to have a group of factional leaders oust our elected leader in a sanctioned coup is the way to go.