Kissmas

Santa and his Ninjas. Crazy.


Christmas.

It's the time of year for reconciliation and hope. A time when family and friends get the chance to put their differences aside and gather around the manger for quiet reflection. Sure it's commercial, rushed and tends to be a bit stressful but dang it, it's worth it.

As we sit around the Christmas tree sipping eggnog with Christmas carols playing in the background and laughing together at this or that, suddenly, quietly there comes a disquieting sense that you're merely acting out something you saw in a film. In fact, it's 35 degrees and everyone has jumpers on. As you step out of your chair, eggnog smashing in slow motion to the floor you realize there's a blazing fire and the heat has sent you stark raving mad. You rip off the santa hat and the jumper, exposing your black t-shirt. Pointing to everyone who have now frozen in toothy smiles with looks of confusion you scream out the command to turn the shiny poisonous music off.

You sink to your knees, fists at your ears, eyes squeezed tightly shut....

Christmas.


Look I don't hate Christmas... it's just that Christmas and me don't speak so much anymore. We both decided it was better for all involved, you know (conspiratorial whisper) the kids.

Actually I do hate Christmas, but if I opened this entry with "My giddy aunt I hate Christmas..." most people may very well go "Well there's a surprise..." and go and spend their time on a less dysfunctional activity.

But let me explain.

The whole thing tears me up because I can't make up my mind. I wouldn't want to call for an end to Christmas, not that anyone's asking me to make that decision for them. Cut to:

(It's a darkened room, like those war rooms you see in Armageddon and million other stupid films full of men in uniform)
General (sweat drips from his forehead): It's time to call it Mr. Limb
The camera pans taking in anxious faces.
Limb: (Head down teeth clenched, he suddenly looks up): Burn him, burn the fat man.... end Christmas.
General: We have it men, GO GO GO!
It's pandemonium in the room as men run through the room with guns - a massive computer display featuring a flashing Santa with a cross through him with the title:

MISSION: Burn Fat Boy, Burn.

Anyway I digress. Not that anyone's about to ban Christmas. If people decided to ban Christmas I'd worry about a future event involving empty streets with newspaper and tumble weeds wandering listlessly about with gray houses filled with miserable children staring at an empty corner. I'm not ready to call it quits, but nor do I want the ordeal. You see I'm jammed.

The arguments for it aren't compelling.

1.It's a time for family to get together.
Let's face it, if that's the only time the family gets together then maybe it isn't worth the trouble, I mean they're not busting their guts to get together at any other point in the year. Should these people really be in the same room together with a surplus of food and alcohol.

2.Gift giving.
Love presents - but I don't like presents given under compunction. They end up being shit. You know I like the way Patrick thinks about things. He's a fan of coming across something and thinking "Such and such would like this..." Versus scrambling about a few weeks or even days before the event grabbing anything that looks substantial in wrapping paper. A possible solution is to do something along the lines of Patrick's idea, but hold onto until Christmas. If you are that organized chances are you probably don't enjoy Christmas, it will kill you or alternatively it all becomes such a competition for you that you should not be allowed to participate on the grounds that you are in danger of turning the whole thing into a Jihad.

3. Jesus' Birthday
No, it wasn't.
Here's a little history of Christmas
Here's a little something about the date of Jesus' birth
and here's something else
Yeah but it's an opportunity for people who don't go to church to, you know, go to church. See point number 1.

Having said all that there are some people that just love doing the cards and the presents and all the other cute red and white celebratory stuff and at the end of the day you've just got to let them be, live and let live. Unless of course they start imposing their views on you. Then it's time to burn the fat man.






This image was going to be my title image. But then I thought about it and... well, here it is for your viewing pleasure. I couldn't pull my eyes away there's just so much that's... wrong. Go to the website - many other images, many.

taken from: http://www.dudeirock.com/
worth checking out if you have a moment or two...

Oh, and then I found this. Always loved this guy, but this is really something else.

Tiny Spiders of Shame

There are times when I actually believe that I am a decent person. For some reason this always occurs to me when I'm walking into the male staff toilet at school. It's kind of like a confessional sans the priest. A priest in there would make it awkward. A priest in there isn't likely to be a priest, rather a man dressed as a priest in which case he is there because he is taking a break from his nefarious plans. Alternatively, he is in the middle of one of said nefarious plans.

Anyway.

I walk into the alcove and through the orange toilet door and that's when the thought hits me. I'm doing okay... people like me... my life matters... blah blah blah.... blah. Unless of course someone is in there and the door is (hopefully) locked. Then I just slam into it, hurt my wrist, hope that I wasn't talking to myself too loudly so that whoever I scared the proverbial out of doesn't work out it was me and make like a bat out of hell out of there.

There are times when I think that I am a decent person.

Today wasn't one of them.

Tan was working today and that meant I had to get off my arse and provide some sort of assistance. On Thursdays that means dropping her off at work, and taking Zed and his friend to school. My oldest is already at school and the plan is to meet her and then take her to the uniform shop.

I drop Tan off. Me and the boys find ourselves a little early so I park the car out the front of school and crank up The Shins. The boys kick around in the back seat. So I read a magazine and let the clock tick round until class is only 5 minutes away.

I jump out the car and tell the boys to do the same.

They do this. His mate grabs his own bag and hops out. Zed jumps out and starts to strut off like, I don't know, Huckleberry Finn. I notice that his sandals are on the wrong feet.
"Hang on, where's your school bag?"
He heads back to the car.
Nothing.
I open the boot. The boot looks alarmingly empty. I'm actually alarmed before I realize why exactly I'm alarmed. Then it hits me. This means there's no bag in the car at all. Spiders begin to skitter across my heart.
"Oi... where's your bag?"
"At home."
At HOME?!"
Silence.
Parents. Glances. I forget he's five. I talk to him like he's my idiot henchmen in one of those gangster films.
"Right, boys, back in the car."
The spiders in my heart produce knives and start stabbing my heart as I begin to do the math.

I'm supposed to meet my daughter in 2 minutes.
The round trip will take 10 minutes.
Failure to meet daughter will mean no uniform.
Last chance for uniform.
No uniform means an unhappy wife.

I picture the scene for a moment.
It unsettles me

It's ok, I'll drop the boys and then meet daughter then I'll go home and....
No.
I've got to be in class to teach in fifteen minutes.
Uniform = at least ten minutes... at least.
Round trip back = ten minutes... at least.
Zed needs his bag. He can't go all day without food.
There is no way I'm going to get that bag in time.

There is no chance of pulling all of this off.

I start to yell.
I'm actually yelling the sums in my head out loud. And as I start I'm angry. But halfway through the list my eyes point in different directions and my mouth moves like it belongs to a marionette. I've shot straight through to bastard maniac at the children in the back seat. I glance in the rear vision mirror. My son's eyes are perfect circles. The other child's explaining something about not forgetting HIS bag but I can't hear him over my noise.

I finally work out that I have to turn the car around.

I swing it and suddenly it's like we've just got the call for back-up. Cept I'm not a cop, I'm a loser Dad having a tantrum.

On and on I go like Tony Soprano. There is no object lesson for my son in this. The lesson, if there was ever one in the first instance is blown away by the hurricane of me and my dancing, angry, stabbing spiders who wear tiny T-shirts with a picture of me with the title "DICKHEAD".

I ring my wife. I yell down the phone at her. I think I'm actually explaining something to her, like that's the intention but it must just sound like she's got a call from a war zone evac gone wrong.

I get the guys to class. Miss my daughter. Fish her out of class. Sort out uniforms. Talk to a friend who had wound up behind me when I chewed up the asphalt (she's actually a cop... I play back the tape in my head... the spider's T-Shirt now say something I've made the decision not to publish). I work out how I can fix everything - I'll be late to my appointment with the University in Fremantle... but for the most part I can work things out.

I get back in the car to get to class.

I think how little my son is and a part of me dies inside.

There are times when I think that I am a decent person.

Today wasn't one of them.

A Lesson In How To Ignite Their Gasps

Currently as I write this I have year nine exam supervision. I hate exams. Really, really hate them. Nevertheless I have to tow the line in terms of being a demonstrative bastard.

The students come tumbling into the room and one of them cheerfully greets me. “GET OUT OF THE ROOM” I roar at him. Then without changing pitch or volume I instruct all of them that any talking will result in them being thrown out of the room. The great thing at the moment is I’ve got a mild cold that makes me sound like a chronic smoker so my voice is particularly shattering when uttered with any volume. Upon reflection it was probably a little bit much, nevertheless I wanted students to have the notion absolutely crystal clear that exams are not environments in which one should have a happy go lucky approach. Least ways have any ideas in your head that you can chat. Police pull people over, teachers have exams, it's just the way things are.

What isn’t helping is that I’ve got a really high blood sugar at the moment. As a diabetic a high blood sugar can make you somewhat easy to irritate. It is hard to convey, but imagine being cut off in traffic. Someone cuts you off in traffic and gives you the bird. That feeling right there, that’s what everything feels like. Take for example the fact there were no tissues in the exam. It’s a simple mistake, in fact you couldn’t even really in all fairness call it a mistake. There are simply no tissues in the room. Ordinarily you would smile graciously to the child requesting the absent tissues, politely lean out the door. Upon seeing there was no-one outside the room to assist you quietly inform the student that there weren’t any tissues and that if they just waited a couple of minutes there would be enough tissues to stuff a mattress. I would chuckle, sigh, put my hands on my hips and cock my head to one side with a wink. That particular scenario with a high blood sugar evokes a response from me that would be on a par with insulting a Europeans’ mother. The absence of tissues is a personal affront. It would be like setting my dog on fire. Personal. Affront.

A student puts up their hand and requested a tissue. I quickly scan the room. No tissues. I step backward out the door. No floater. A floater incidentally is a staff member who hangs about outside the room to assist teachers in the classroom with requests pertaining to things like tissues. I waited. The sounds coming from the waiting student continued to bubble and hiss. I glare at the student – there are other ways to resolve this. I pause and think better of it. No floater. I leave the exam and storm across the foyer into the English staff room and explode upon the teacher standing there. “Where’s the frigging floater? I need some tissues!”
“Why, that’s alliteration!”
I stare. A moment passes and then I flick the back of her head so that her face smashes into the table she’s sitting at.”
A male staff member offers the following comment much like I imagine a Lewis Carroll character would speak. “The floater’s meant to be sitting out in the foyer.”
I grab his elbow and hurry the him over to the filing cabinet, open a draw and slam his fingers firmly. “I know that, I know the floater is supposed to be sitting in the foyer. But they’re not. They are not sitting there. They are gone.”
Slowly, with trembling hands he hands me a box of tissues.
I re-enter the room and hurl the box at the student, killing him instantly. He bubbles and churns, like a snail frothing to death. That by the way is a simile. The children gasp. Gasping. Hate gasping. Probably a little bit more than exams. I make my way to the groundsman’s office. The gasoline is easy to find. Back in the exam I start to empty the contents on the floor. Shaking the tin wildly above my head.The world about me shimmers. Stepping back I draw on my cigarette and explain apologetically – no gasping in exams. The cigarette is flicked John Woo style into the air igniting their gasps.

I blink. The room smells like hair conditioner and students. The occasional one yawns. Time passes.

On another note – another Zac story. Zac and Tan are shopping. They pass a woman in a full burhka and Zac excitedly points out to Tanya – “Mum, I just saw a real Ninja.” Made his day, to see a Ninja out at the shops.


This goes for nine minutes, so only if you have time. I've heard about it over the years and remember it in the media at the time, but boy, does Safran have nerve.

The Mirror

The thing that concerns me the most about living in a bureaucracy is that you could very well end up where you don't want to. Often in a bureaucracy there are forms to fill in. While at first these forms appear to have a variety of boxes to tick giving us what appears to be innumerable choices on closer inspection, (or in the event you actually fill in of these forms) you realise that you don't really fit into the descriptions provided. There's not actually that much choice. No big deal. No big deal until you wind up dead that is. Then it is a big deal. Obviously not to you, but to everyone else. Hopefully.

I get nervous filling out organ donor information when reapplying for my driver's license. As a diabetic I kind of wonder who the hell would want my organs anyway. It’s not like there’s anything wrong with them. Not that I’m aware of. But I could imagine that’s there’s a little bit more wear and tear on them. Perhaps it’s not even that, maybe it’s the thought that the recipient would be told, “By the way your heart belonged to a diabetic.”

“A diabetic? So… why do I get the heart of the diabetic… like they can’t even get life insurance… why would anyone want their heart?”

“Look do you want the heart or not… it’s got 10 maybe 20 good years left in it… how much did your heart have left? A week, week an a half?”

“I guess… I just… I just hoped I’d get like, you know an athlete’s heart, someone young, strong, and possibly black… you know?”

“Oh this guy wasn’t black… nope, nothin’ even close. Wasn’t tall either. Nope. School teacher. Sorry buddy it’s that or the 75 year old that kicked it at the picnic.”

I have this fear of letting down complete strangers as well. I don't want to meet the eyes of the lady behind the counter as I hand the completed form to her. Like, I don’t want to be sexist but in my mind it's a woman - a biggish middle aged woman with no sense of humour who mentions that I've checked the bit that says I'm not handing over my organs upon death. She keeps staring. Even when I look away, I can feel her eyes on me. Even in my imagination she’s staring at me and if you look closely (even though I’m not looking at her I can because it’s my imagination – actually if it was my imagination I’d have adimantium claws and a light sabre) you can see her eye lid twitch. Either way I apologise and hastily correct the information.

I don't want to feel bad.

I don't want to explain that I'm diabetic.

And most importantly, I don't want to face the poster that says, "Don't take your organs to heaven, heaven knows we need them here." Apart from the unlikelihood that we are actually going to take ourselves off to heaven in our present form and God is going to receive us only to turn us around and say,

"Hold on a minute tiger. No kidneys... you have no kidneys... were you aware that... you know this is happening more and more what's going on? Why is everyone giving them away. You need them here. Did you know you need them here?" He pauses, maybe for a minute, maybe for an eternity, thing is you're in Heaven. Finally He says, "And it's not just the kidneys, you name it, livers, hearts, eyes, brains... people are turning up without brains. Try playing chess sans a brain." At this points God sighs and folds His arms with a faraway look in His eyes. " This wasn't happening 50 years ago. Now you people turn up like sock puppets..." He trailed away,"...sock puppets."

So now I'm worried that upon an accident I might look dead, a brief discussion ensues amongst rescue workers and out comes the esky and Stanley trimmers.

That's not really what I'm talking about though. I'm talking about online tax returns that you simply haven't really got any idea whether or not you've provided the right information and then upon pressing return your house gets repossessed for tax fraud.

Well, the reason I'm bringing all this up is because of that particular feeling being invoked when I responded to an email. It read, simply Fred (not Sarah's real name) wants you to join Facebook. Should be called My Face. (Big shout out to Katie)
Well, that's nice, I thought. I'll join. I'll join and say hello. How nice.
Next thing I had a Facebook and I was contacting all my friends telling THEM to join. I didn't recall deciding to do that today. It wasn't even at the back of my mind. THEN I had one friend write back and say I needed to spice up my Facebook. So I urinated on my laptop and yelled "Is that enough salt for you? IS IT?" But I'm not sure if salt is a spice.

So now I'm part of something I can't abide.

Myspace tried to lure me in with their cheap tricks. Tom and some other guy. Wish I could remember his name. I've had him two if not three times try to get me to join. When I first got the email I was genuinely touched. Wow... someone wants to be my friend. Well, I will be their friend. And we will be friends. So I clicked on the link. And there he was, all by himself. That's about when my alarm bells went off. Why was a good looking guy like that all by himself. Someone I've never even heard of is smiling back from his desk where he is writing on his laptop, presumably to me. Suddenly I was a budgie in a cage staring into the mirror. And for a second I bought it. For a second I thought I had a friend. So I emailed him and told him that I wasn't going to be his friend. In fact, I had chosen to be his enemy. I was going to have my picture posted not under friend, but enemy. Sworn enemy. Come knocking on my cage, will you?. My diabetic cage of vengeance and… vengenceness.

Oh, and this is just for nerds only.

And Patrick needs thanking for putting me onto this one. Magic.

My Son the Bat.

Everyone wants their kids to be special. Special in a way that leaves the other kids in the dust. Not that we'd say that out loud of course but we want the rush of watching our kid finish the race first, or write something in class (or anywhere apart from a wall for that matter), that leaves us beaming with pride. We do not want our children to be special in the other sense of the word. The kind of special that makes us aware that other parents glance sidewards at us.

Recently we got Zac's report home from his pre-primary class. He's five.



















It's possibly a little hard to read, double click on it and you can read it for yourself. If you can't be bothered it essentially breaks down as such:

Creates a recognizable person: partially achieved

Includes a body, head arms, legs and facial features in their picture: partially achieved

Adds extra features to their portrait: Not yet evident

Uses a variety of colours in their portrait to distinguish features: Not yet evident.

So what precisely did my son draw when he was asked to create a self portrait?









Teacher's comment: Zac has drawn himself as a bat with his eyes closed.

Teacher is fairly certain Zac is autistic.

We suspect he is anti authoritarian.

Draw a picture of myself?! Noooooooo.... that's boring. No we really need a picture of a bat with his eyes closed.

I asked Zac why the bat's eyes were closed. Zac looked at me as if I was insane. "Because the sun is up."

I thought that showed some sort of intelligence. Bet the other kids didn't draw their self portrait depicting themselves with their eyes closed.

And hello to Emma who must start her own blog and Max who must also bite the bullet and start her own blog.... way to cool for anonymity these two. And they sell wine and are forced to listen to diabolically bad music. Cept Sting... I'm exempting Sting from that. And maybe a tiny bit of Wendy Matthews. But I can say that cause I love Arcade Fire and Modest Mouse and that balances out the uncoolness. Cept Sting is cool. Love Sting.

Oh, and by the way... there is something wrong with our new dog. His mouth is too big.

Hirsute

Hey, if you're ever in Karratha ( if you are from somewhere other than Western Australia write in Karratha + Wikipedia - it will impress you that people live here) check out the television advertising. The actual Television is the usual commercial pap however I was corpulent with joy for the ABC on Saturday morning when in my feverish stupor I got to watch Rave - it makes so much more sense when you have a fever. Anyway the advertising is read by people humming like Buddhist Monks. Hooley Dooley it actually grabs your attention and then it holds it with astonishment. Surely, surely there is someone who knows what inflection is.


Oh and the word Hirsute went my brain like a woodpecker. I thought it meant hairy which would be weird because who on EARTH would be so cruel as to make a word up that sounds like HAIR SUIT that actually means "Gee, he looks like he has a suit of hair on." Who is NOT going to get upset at that.

FOR EXAMPLE:

Vivian tried desperately to placate Susan as to why her husband could not join them in the spa. "Why, it's just that he's well, very hirsute."
Susan hesitated for a moment unsure as to whether Vivian had offered a compliment as to why her husband could not join them in the spa. "What.... what does hirsute mean Vivian?"
"Oh my Gawd," Susan drawled "it means hairy... it means he looks like he's wearing a hairy suit!"
"Then why not just say 'He is too hairy for our spa, Susan," Susan began to involuntarily shake, her hand to her mouth she barely uttered the words "oh my.... Vivian...why?" Hot, angry tears rolled down her checks.
Vivian merely stared back with feline ice. "It always gives me time to do this.." Leaping unexpectedly to the side Vivian suddenly threw an ice pick savagely into Susan with a sickening thud.

The mere force of the blow brought Susan breathlessly off her feet.

Vivian landed, high heeled, neatly on both feet with a tidy click. The wet ground squealed as she turned and began to walk away, glancing briefly over her shoulder she muttered. "There is no way, on this Earth, that I am unclogging the filter after your husband has been in there. He has a hairy suit and he is hairy... he is Hirsuit."

The yellow angry stare of Susan's husband met Vivian as she turned. He slowly, as if in a dream, rolled his eyes with a blink over to where his wife lay. As though lightning struck a blackened sky Nathan flashed his massive canines in a soul shattering scream. He was indeed hairy, even for an simian.

Hirsute: Dictionary.com Unabridged (v 1.1) - Cite This Source hir·sute /ˈhɜrsut, hɜrˈsut/ Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciation[hur-soot, hur-soot] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA Pronunciation

–adjective

1.	hairy; shaggy.

2.	Botany, Zoology. covered with long, rather stiff hairs.

3.	of, pertaining to, or characteristic of hair.

---

[Origin: 1615–25; <>hirsūtus rough, shaggy, bristly; akin to horrid]

Heartless. Absolutely heartless.

I WANT A BADGER

"CCCCCCRRRRRAAAAAAPPPPPPPP," he exclaimed.

The left foot is cramping up something rotten as I sit on the floor writing this and my nose is running - I have the flu. I don't think the foot is symptomatic of the flu although I generally never suffer from cramps... so I'm putting it down to cramp. Or menstruation. (this is where men claim that the situation they have just regaled you with, no matter how patently untrue, is true - and cramp to validate their sincerity) Long story as to why it is really, really not great timing. Supposed to be going out bush with Marnus and Shoz and my family.... blahhhhhh really have been looking forward to it. I would have been in a gorge. Out in the Australian outback. So far out you need a GPS. Pan pipes play when you walk around and native animals eat from your hand. And now? Now I get to wallow in my own mucous and exhaustion - good news is I have Owen for company. Owen is their Labrador. Shoz and Marnus (NOT to henceforth be referred to as S&M) call him squish... he is actually squishy - except when he treads on your genitals - he is squisher and he's good for a laugh and knocking over children. Same thing really.

Cool things: BTW - you gotta read to the end of this one... priceless.

Giant 'corpse-eating' badgers terrorise Iraqi city

July 11, 2007

THE Iraqi port city of Basra, already prey to a nasty turf war between rival militia factions, has now been gripped by a scary rumour – giant badgers are stalking the streets by night, eating humans.

Mushtaq Abdul-Mahdi, director of Basra's veterinary hospital, has inspected the corpses of several badgers and tries to reassure Iraqis that the animals are not a new post-war arrival in the region.

“These animals appeared before the fall of the regime in 1986. They are known as Al-Ghirayri and locally as Al-Girta,” he told AFP. “Talk that this animal was brought by the British forces is incorrect and unscientific.”

Not everybody is convinced.

The honey badger, or ratel, is known as a brave predator capable of killing a cobra. It weighs up to 14kg.

Sattar Jabbar, a 50-year-old local farmer from Abu Sakhar north of Basra, believes the badger can tackle even large prey.

“I saw it three days ago at night attacking animals. It even ate a cow. It tore the cow up piece by piece. I tried to shoot it with my gun but it ran away into the orchards. I missed it,” he said.

Speaking of tearing up a cow....

And now a slight segue
Context: After constant provocation from Judah Babylon goes in and nails the place to the wall. This scripture details the final stroke where the officials of the invading king enter the city and begin to sort out the details of what will happen:

Quote from the Bible: Jeremiah 39

Now when Jerusalem was captured in the ninth year of Zedekiah king of Judah, in the tenth month, Nebuchadnezzar king of Babylon and all his army came to Jerusalem and laid siege to it; 2 in the eleventh year of Zedekiah, in the fourth month, in the ninth day of the month, the city wall was breached. 3 Then all the officials of the king of Babylon came in and sat down at the Middle Gate: Nergal-sar-ezer, Samgar-nebu, Sar-sekim the Rab-saris, Nergal-sar-ezer the Rab-mag, and all the rest of the officials of the king of Babylon. 4 When Zedekiah the king of Judah and all the men of war saw them, they fled and went out of the city at night by way of the king's garden through the gate between the two walls; and he went out toward the Arabah. NASU

Of course none of this REALLY happened because it's the Bible and the Bible is a collection of stories that serve this or that Israeli King's agenda. There's no actual supporting evidence like extra biblical manuscripts and texts that actually identify obscure people independently of their existence in the Bible.

Actually Higgaion has already dealt with this in his usually freakin genius fashion - check this link. Higgaion's take on things

Old Testament figure named on 2600-year-old tablet

By Dalya Alberge in London

July 12, 2007 01:00am

Article from:

• Tablet dating from 595BC deciphered
• Names figure in court of Nebuchadnezzar
• Figure was 'witness to turning point' in history

The tablet names a Babylonian officer called Nebo-Sarsekim who, according to Jeremiah 39 was present in 587BC when Nebuchadnezzar "marched against Jerusalem with his whole army and laid siege to it".

The cuneiform inscription records how Nebo-Sarsekim lavished a gift of gold on the Temple of Esangila in the fabled city of Babylon, where, at least in folk tradition, Nebuchadnezzar is credited with building the Hanging Gardens, one of the Seven Wonders of the World.

So did you spot the link?

Yep... Nebuchadnezzar the King of Babylon was actually King of what is know known as Iraq and giant badgers are eating Iraqis.

And Um... this just to hand: what you see here is actual footage of a Badger on the rampage in Iraq.

Why the hell doesn't this guy use a chainsaw effect?

That horrible thinking feeling may just be boredom...

This is a pretty accurate depiction of me in the car park. Read on...

I have made something of an important discovery. There is nothing to do in Karratha. Evidence of this: they have one of the biggest Video Ezy stores I have seen - which is where I picked up Bubba Ho-Tep and GoodNight and Goodluck for a total of 10 bucks between the both of them. Then I found the complete season 4 of Curb Your Enthusiasm for 6 bucks. Worth traveling 1600 kms for I say. But that's about it people. It's a mining town with nada history -

Wikipedia please....

"Karratha is an important centre in the resource-rich WA's northwest. It is located approximately 1,535 kilometres (954 mi) north of Perth and 850 kilometres (528 mi) south of Broome on the North West Coastal Highway.

Its economic base includes local iron ore, salt mining, ammonia and export operations, together with the North West Shelf Natural Gas Project, Australia's largest natural resource development. All this makes it the biggest town in the northwest after Port Hedland with a population around 10,000. Karratha came into being in the late 1960s due to the tremendous growth of the iron ore industry and the need for a new regional centre caused by the lack of land in Dampier. Karratha also has the biggest shopping centre in the Pilbara, called Centro Karratha."

I'm quite sure with a different take on things I would find mystery and intrigue in this place. I did with Carnarvon when I lived there - largely because of it's history. But here we are catching up with family. So I'm treating it as an extended chill session.

Here's one of the other things we did today.

Here's something I found quite interesting. It's a bird

These are some of the interesting things I took away from the library this morning:

Neurobiologist Antonio Damasio - University of Southern Califronia in Los Angeles studied people with damage to only the emotional part of their brains and found they were crippled by indecision, unable to make even the most basic choices, such as what to eat. Damasio speculates that this may be because our brains store emotional memories of past choices, which we use to inform present decisions. p. 38 New Scientist 5 May 2007

Now I have been wondering what would happen to a person were they to undergo an extremely traumatic event in their infancy or childhood, given Damasio's research it would suggest that it would mean that in adulthood people may very well be affected by these past events. Medication helpfully covers the symptoms but is unable to resolve the cause - something that I suspect may be able to be healed and restored once you identified the event and bought restoration to the point of emotional 'damage'.

I also found the actual experiment that I sometimes refer to in class - in terms of research by Stanley Milgram into how so many were complicit in the activities of the Nazi in Germany during the Second World War. It set up a test where everyday people applied certain amounts of.... look it's too boring to write. Average Joe's committed heinous acts while under the direction of men in lab coats. Nothing new there really. Through this stuff round at parties while everyone gets stumbling drunk for no other reason than it's the done thing.

THEN I FOUND THE SHOWSTOPPER.
James Stirling: Admiral and Founding Governor of Western Australia - Pamela Statham-Drew
Wanted to get my hands on this for ages... this is an extract from the Western Australian Premier's Book Awards - 2003 Judges' Report Poo Bum Wee I AM QUOTING A LOT TODAY...

"This is a monumental work of academic scholarship. Pamela Statham-Drew has documented the life of James Stirling, founding governor of Western Australia, in comprehensive detail. In doing so, she has given us new insights into the character of her subject, as well as the origins of our State. James Stirling emerges from Statham-Drew's book as a man of vision and adventure, compassion and resolve, qualities that enabled him to withstand the vicissitudes of founding a colony in the most remote corner of the British Empire."

My observation:
Pam has astutely identified where the Beer company "Cages Road" makers of relatively average beer (obviously in my opinion) has obtained it's name. " Exploration of this area was now all but complete, so on 21 March at 1pm the Success weighed anchor and MADE SAIL INTO GAGE'S ROADS where they anchored for the night. ....Stirling had named after his future commander-in-Chief, Rear Admiral William Gage..."p.79.

YEAH?! How about that for stunning obscurity. Not that Pam actually wrote about any link about the beer company.

Now what the hell is Rogers named after.



Man, with time on my hands this Blog is TOTALLY ROCKING!!!!
I did an awesome handbreak in the car park of Video Ezy. There was an Aboriginal guy watching in his car... and yeah he was pretty impressed. DO NOT DO THIS ON VENTILON because you will look like a bigger loser than you could imagine and what's more once you gauge what a complete dick you look from people's reactions (country people what's more) you will not care.

Bubba Ho-Tep people. Let's hear it for the King. You will wet your pants if you haven't heard of this film before. Very, very cool once you look into who's in it.

By the way, I'm still coming down off of the Ventolin.
Here's a close up of the bird.

It's a 24 hour tuna...

The Road into Carnarvon

I have missed the Walkers. The Walkers are the folks that kept me sane and safe when life went pear shaped around the time I got ready to depart from Carnarvon all those years ago. Bruce, Sue, Judy and I would sit and talk for hours in his living room – it was probably the closest thing to Christian community I have ever encountered. In those days Bruce was the Shire Clerk, Sue (his wife) was a primary teacher, Judy was alive and I work as a Clerk in the local hospital. Upon returning to Perth I experienced bewildering loneliness after having experienced such close life together.

Some thirteen years later we’re sitting around on Bruce and Sue’s porch at their new place – a place reminiscent of a cross between iconic outback Australia and the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. This time though, I have a wife and two kids, but apart from that and massive life change the essentials are still the same. Close friendship. A pint of Guinness, two glasses of wine and into my third and I’m suitably giddy with joy. Felt like joy. Could have been inebriated a little bit, but it was still joy. There is certainly no doubt that it was joy when Bruce struck up the fire – a pit with an iron table placed over it and meat was thrown on from every creature known. And chilli – straight from the garden. Friggin’ ridiculously brilliant. And we sat, drank, ate and talked into the night.

In the midst of the process I was introduced to Michael. Michael is a local carpenter. What is interesting about Michael is that he epitomizes the essential Carnarvon quality. Lunacy. Michael had gone out for the third afternoon in a row with mates looking for Tuna. They tracked a school, cut the engine and then Michael climbed into a kayak, where he silently moved into place over the school. Apparently they had a three days of no luck concerning this cunning creature and this was a new approach. He then cast out his handheld rod and instantly struck gold. Cept, he’s fishing for Tuna. These things are fairly large to be pulling out of the water with a hand rod. On a Kayak. Out in the middle of the ocean. With help a significant distance away. Any way in a Hemmingway type of struggle with nature he got the Tuna onto the Kayak.

This is Michael. He caught a Tuna. He is quite, quite out of his mind.

By the way, don't watch this, it's horrible. Laughed myself silly. But it's horrible.

A Punch in the Face

I keep forgetting that should I ever lack a topic to write about all I need do is try to log in. I can't even be bothered describing the incident, suffice to say it ended with me waving my impotent fist at the uncaring sky.

The other source of amazement is my kid's conversation.
My daughter has some vicious flu thing and has been home the last few days. It is half past five and I am under instruction not to let the kids go to sleep. Upon writing this I have also recalled that my wife has also told me to ring her step-mother to ask to borrow the car on Thursday. Her entry to the room is imminent and I am thinking of setting one of the kids afire to create a diversion.

She enters the room coughing and I am led to actually provoked her by now telling her I have not made the call. She is blowing her nose. There is silence. I punched her in the face the other day. She did actually deserve it. It wasn't like those adverts where those simpering He-Men whisper and whimper. "Yeah, well I said I wanted dinner and so I hit her. She said she probably deserved it" Followed by the stamping in big red letters across the screen NO SHE DIDN'T. Of course there is no irony or subtlety in the commercial because it's aimed at people without the use of an opposable thumb. And by the way if you are screaming alll teeth and spit at what I'm writing, pulling frantically at your prehensile tale, relax.... I'm not advocating violence in any form. Let me finish my story. Later.

My daughter's conversation - she's lying on the couch eyes closed. My five year old is totally in her personal space declaring:
"Hey, she's asleep!"
Daughter: (eyes closed) "No, I'm just waiting... I'm resting my eyes."
Son (in astonishment and fear) Nah.... your eyes are closed so you're asleep."
"No I've just got my eyes closed."
"You're asleep, your eyes are closed.'
Daughter: "Have you been to Karatha before."
Me: "No, no I haven't."
Daughter: "Not you Dad... him."
Stupid me. Karatha, over 1600kms away, and she's asking the five year old has he been there. He doesn't answer, because she's asleep.
I don't answer because I'm offended. Should have asked me. A 5 year old can't go to Karatha.

Saturday morning I'm lying in bed. My wife tells me to get up. I make a wise crack. She makes a wise crack. I throw a pillow. She yells out "RRRRRIIIGHT!" Running at me. Running at me in an Amazonian warrior like fashion at my twig like body. I spin like a naked ninja ( I have known these things to end poorly even fully dressed - each knee contains a testicle magnet: rarely fails to find them. You could drop a man or woman thousands of metres onto an individual lying on the ground. Even if they are miles out of alignment the knee will still manage to connect. Got to tell you my "My friend Will, story") so i spin she lands and again like a Ninja I reach around to pin her with my left arm. Cept for some reason as I swing my arm around at full speed my knuckles connect with teeth. (for in case you conceive that I have have just launched around and punched her right in the mouth I have not... now keep pulling your stupid monkey tail) Not great. Then as I show concern (I've seen this done in movies) I reach to console her but I'm met with "Don't touch me."
Man... just when we started to connect I connect.

Well... I will have to save my story about my Year Eights being sentenced to dath for not having a clue who Bono is. Not because of who he is so much, as they let me waffle about his contribution to humanity for about five minutes before they asked the question, "Who's Bono". Ok.... Bono is the lead singer of U2 and he helps poor people. "Who's U2". "You're surely taking the mickey," I mutter more to myself. They, sadly, were not. They must be taken out of the gene pool.

There were these two chickens.....

Earlier this year my son astonished everyone by exploring the nature of evil and the effect it has upon the innocent. He was four. He used the medium of "found objects' to create his existential masterpiece.

It is called, "The really, really freaked out chicken and the evil chicken."


THIS IS THE REALLY, REALLY FREAKED OUT CHICKEN











THIS IS THE SCARY EVIL CHICKEN

Sex Workers and Reticulation Can't Be Friends

AS YOU CAN SEE THE GARDEN OUT THE FRONT IS WAY TOO BIG

I am working on an entry that is driving me to distraction - it just aint gonna get finished and meanwhile there are no new entries and the Rogue Traders (who can collectively fall in a well at this point) are the image anyone who hits the site first sees. UNACCEPTABLE. And now I'm stir crazy. It's the children who are suffering as I write this. Zac keeps asking how to draw Jabba the Hutt. "It's a blob"
"Can you draw it?"
"No. Draw a blob..."
There is drawing.
"How do I draw the Gamorean guard?" (and NO-ONE correct the spelling on that)
"I.... DON'T KNOW."
My daughter comes in. The bath is full of water because I rushed out last night without letting it out after their bath. She wants to play with the water and so asks me.
"No, you could drown."
"Huh?"
"You could drown."
She thinks about this and it occurs to her that this is ridiculous.
"How could I drown?"
"I'll explain later - but just stay out of there.... you could drown..."
She leaves. Whispers in her brother's ear and off they go. To play with the bath water I suppose.

I shouldn't be writing this. I should be out teh front of the house fixing the reticulation. I put a hoe through the pipes yesterday. Ripping out shrubs that proved to be ill suited to the front of out house I am now fulfilling the most most pathetic of all man's fated existence, fixing the garden where I never wanted one in the first instance. It's like Outcome statements. Never NEVER should have gone that way - EVERYONE - said we should not go that way except the little beurocrat that thought they could. HOLY COW. And now - now they're ripping them all out. Shutting it down. And the place we are in is worse than before. Now English staff are being told to mark "going off your gut feelings". That my friends has actually been advised. I despair. History repeats itself because it's full of bossy lying idiots. It's the mitigating factor in all of these stuff ups. We had the reticulation guy advise us to put native plants in. Save water. Cept he rigged up the reticulation to water the garden and the lawn simultaneously. No water saved. Native plants over watered. Native plants overgrown and unmanageable. Have to take them out. Managed to take out not just reticulation, but the connection to the neighbor's property. Managed to drive the hoe right through the t-junction of the whole thing.
Sat down for a moment after I did it and thought... of course.

Me, and suburbia can't be friends.

CAN'T BE FRIENDS.

I've said yes to doing a gig at the end of the week. Crap. WHY? WHY did I say yes?
Not just that - it's to a Christian group. I must write about why on all occasions that has never worked. You can't enjoy comedy if you are sitting there wondering "Should he say that? Should I laugh. It's funny sure.... but if I laugh... I'm just not sure. I won't laugh. None of the others are laughing. Why am I the only one wanting to laugh. What's wrong with me.... what's wrong with me?" She/he stares into the floor. The comedy dies. Horribly.

Well, I'd better get that hooker back out of the pipes.

People don't kill pipes. People with hookers kill pipes.

I'm loving this sketch. Sent to me by Linc.

Someone stop the insanity

"ROGUE TRADERS TAKE TOO LONG TO EXIT STAGE"
SALLY aged 10

Got to share a couple of things with you.

Tan and I were sitting at the dining table when she suddenly reads the following out of the school newsletter where my kids attend. This is penned by a ten year old, I have changed nothing...

ROGUE TRADERS!
ON THE WEEKEND WE WENT TO THE ROGUE TRADERS. THERE WERE A LOT OF DIFFERENT SONGS. WE ALL SAT ON THE GROUND. THE BAND WAS SO LOUD. WE YELLED AT ROGUE TRADERS BECAUSE WE SAID,"HURRY UP! HURRY UP!" J____ AND I WERE VERY EXCITED. WE GOT AN EAR PLUG. THE END.
BY C______


Tan could not fathom how this piece of tripe was published. Hello? Ten Year Old at a concert hurling abuse at the band and getting one, ONE ear plug for their trouble. Gold. As a teacher I can see this as a savvy editorial decision. Can't punish a child, publish them.








Check this link out and then ask the question:
Sure it's cute, but what happens when one of them wants to be more than friends?
BTW check out the "pigs in a blanket" - these guys will end their mortal struggle as hors dourves

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

THIS is what happens when you bottle up that anger

It seems that it's the done thing that whenever anyone gets a Mac they write a post gushing about the moments of arrival. Their joy, the tears that well up, the gibbering about the sensual feel of the scrabble like keys. For me it's slightly different.

We tend to attribute human characteristics to anything we use on a frequent basis. Whether that 'thing' works well or fails abysmally we refer to it by a name or (not so p.c.)a gender. Take for example something that doesn't work, we imbue it with a malevolent force bent on making our lives just a little bit worse.

I still remember my brother (who interestingly enough developed schizophrenia later in life) yelling at soldering irons and hi fi components that didn't work, threatening merry hell if they didn't comply with his simply wish of building working nuclear fusion. (We all put it down to autism) At the time I would pause in whatever I was doing to listen in on the escalating scenario. A mini Bay of Pigs, if you will, peppered with floating consonants and incomplete words.
"You just s'."
The word would vanish as if the sound suddenly had just been cut.
"...... just, just stay."
The instructions he gave were always reasonable enough.

Cept it was to inanimate objects.

You were always at risk of being fooled into thinking for the briefest of moments he was talking to something that could consciously comply with his requests.

"Staaaaaaaay.... good... now... good."
There was always a period of silence in which you would then hear the barely audible sound of something small and metal hitting the work bench.
Right there the the escalation would begin. Actually escalation is too gradual. It was an accelerated incline with a g-force that would smear your eyelids across your forehead.
"OH MY G'...OH....MY..... You!....YOU!"
Then there was the sound of teeth grinding their way back to bloody gums.
"RIGHT RIIIIIGHT....Stay...."
Then there was the quiet and focussed imploring.
"Staaaaaaaaaaaayyyyaaa. STAY. Good. That's a good boy."
A sigh.
"Now stay."
(endless silence)
The sound of happy work.
"Good."
I would remain listening because it was with wearying predictibility that things would go horribly and irreconcilably wrong, largely because the task he had set himself was impossible.
And so the inevitable would happen.
The second barely audible sound of something small and metal hitting the work bench.
And then...
"OH MYYYYYY GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD. I.... YOU... NO!! NOOO! NO! YOU.....! (SMASH)

And so I would resume my work. Actually there are any number of entertaining stories I could regale people with about my brother, and this would seem like just the spot as there is little opportunity to bring him up in conversation without killing the very conversation you were attempting to have.

To my point. I got my MacBook on Monday and it was not with the giddy joy of a teenager at port meeting her sailor boy. It was deep seated apprehension. I had grown attached to my HP Pavillion. After three years of working closely together we had formed an almost organic bond. Nothing was ever too much of a problem for the two of us, and when we weren't working together we would catch up on Sopranos, one of the few who would join me in that past time. And so I have moved over to the MacBook. It's cute and white and smells new and has widgets and makes cute noises and can do video chat with colleagues (holy crap just give me an Ugly Betty make over. I am assured that it is a brilliant machine, and I deeply believe that with time and practice it will allow for greater productivity and creativity. But right now it is quietly trying to slash my wrists. The edges where I rest my wrist (now there's some art right there people - 'where''rest''wrist') are quite sharp. Damn thing is too white to be emo. But it just ain't comfy.

It's ok though. I've just picked up the latest season of Deadwood. Happiness is an angry man with a gun on something other than the news.

Ah, to be white and middle class.

Teacher phones ape

MONKEYS WITH GUNS: PRICELESS

Part One: The Ape phones

Had the delightful experience of confronting a lunatic today. At the end of the school day one of the female students had received a phone call from the aforementioned lunatic and, in a spirit of ‘older brother’ protectiveness a couple of the male students took the call on her behalf. A crowd rapidly gathered and I was once again caught in a situation that I dearly wished I wasn't. One of them, a Maori kid, listened briefly before he responded with “Who you calling nigga?!” it went downhill from there and off the ravine with another student’s yelled retort “you have gay sex with your gay dad.” Clearly not enough as this individual was harassing 16 year old girls.

Upon asking the girls what was going on one of them explained that this guy had rung them constantly all day long, like 20 times. He chocked up number 21 as I was standing there. The girl articulated clearly that she was not desiring to continue having anything to do with him etcetera etcetera… we could all hear his response. She hung up. After discovering that the girl had in no way solicited the call in any way, I pointed out to her that it was really a matter she could hand on to the police and if she wanted me to I could call this guy and gentle point out that his advances had to stop. Look, whether or not she had given the number out, the guy was still threatening her, just in case you're about to lynch me for suggesting that "the 'ho' asked for it." And just in case you think I'm suggesting that the girl was a 'ho', I was being...forget it.... She's a nice kid, didn't ask for trouble, I have been watching The Godfather and she showed me respect. Anyway, she was more than happy for me to intervene.

Part Two: I phone the ape

So I got the number and approached the appropriate authorities within the school. The person responsible for the particular year group advocated my course of action. So I phoned the individual with great trepidation, rolling over and over in my head the phrase ”Hi, I believe you have been calling a couple of students, aaaaaaaand I’m their teacher and… um…. Yeah, please don’t ring them anymore…please…. Because I’m their teacher… and they feel threatened because you’re not saying things that are nice… “ and wondering how it was going to come out over the phone. The only saving grace is the guy would have no way of really contacting me as he would have to ring the school and then get the call directed through. I wasn't about to give any names.

The phone rang and he answered.

“Yo nigga”

Beat…

“Hi…” I said in an overly chirpy voiced “um… look, this is awkward but I believe you phoned a couple of students at my school and as their teacher I’m just politely warning you that if you don’t stop, this will have to become a police matter.”

“WHO THA F******? DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU'RE TALKING TO????? YOU F******ING C**** I didn’t ring no girls”

At this point I started getting cross.

“Judging by your response, I think you did. Look, if you don’t change the way you're speaking to me I am going to make this a police matter.” I felt like a Wiggle. I wish I felt like Tony Soprano.

“F*** YOU! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHO YOU ARE TALKING TO?!!!…. WHAT THE F**** ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT YOU F***** YOU CAN'T RING ME AND TELL ME WHO I CAN AND CAN'T TALK TO!”

“Look, all I’m asking you is to not ring my girls.” Even as I said this I realized that the whole objectivity of my position had just gone out the window… I winced.

“So they’re YOUR girls, you’re a f******ing pedophile F**** YOU I’ve got your number so why don’t I…”

Now I got angry.

“…. NO EINSTEIN YOU DO NOT HAVE MY NUMBER, and this is your last chance to listen to what I am saying.”

“I''m a nineteen year old guy, why would I be ringing school kids. You don’t know whether or not I’ve been ringing anyone.”

“Yeah,” I said “I do know, we’ve all been listening to you when you rang before.” I wanted to add 'pedophile but I felt that would have been inflammatory.

Strangely enough his tone completely changed, I don’t really remember what he said then, but he hung up on me shortly after that. So then I phoned the police, then the girl’s parents who then have the option of going to the police with the guy’s phone number. Failing that, I have some ‘friends’ I could call.

My belief shakes it's tin

Want to stem the tide of children on liquor and drugs - ply them with the cautionary tale of Latawnya, the naughty horse.

The fact this book even exists... humans... they leave me speechless.

Children of Men & Elf Sex

Blown away by this very moving film the other night. I have avoided it for a long time because I really didn’t want to subject myself to an apocalyptic jaunt in hopelessness. Yes, it was apocalyptic. Yes it was something of a road movie. Yes, there was a sense of hopelessness. But what moved me was that in the depth of loss, when all things appeared to reach their end and destruction consumed all, the awe and humility of the human race reached out. I can’t give anything away because I want you to see this film, but in light of trying to assess what this film is all about, I think the most clarity was in the beautiful portrayal of hope that is constructed in this film. The human response to innocence and frailty came across as natural and innate. And then as suddenly as it appear it vanished as War exhaled.

Philip French in his review of the film published in the Guardian (Sunday September 24, 2006), made this great observation;

“In his great essay 'The Crack-Up', written at a personal low ebb in 1936, Scott Fitzgerald said: 'The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in the mind at the same time and still retain the ability to function. One should, for example, be able to see that things are hopeless and yet be determined to make them otherwise.'

http://observer.guardian.co.uk/screen/story/0,,1879569,00.html

I need to also point out that Alfonso Cuaron, the director of this film has received accolades for a couple of set pieces that are breathtaking in their realisation. I’m referring to a couple of lengthy sequence that are shot without any cut, creating fluidity and beauty – (nothing like Russian Ark http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Russian_Ark of course but then I think Russian Ark suffers because the director goes to extremes with that feature, something like 90minutes all shot in one take, but I do realise that it is an amazing feat and needs to be seen on account of this – so please watch this film as well)

If you will forgive me for taking another tangential turn this idea reminds me of a quote referring to the creator of Lord of the Rings J.R.R Tolkien who spoke of giving up hope as a sin. I can’t remember which doco this was in – I suspect it was in the Two Towers special features because it examined the battle at Helm’s Deep where Legolas despairs of surviving the Battle and then gets a bitch slappin’ from Aragorn. Tolkien, through Aragorn, regarded the loss of hope as a sin because we cannot presume to know the future, giving up supposes we know the outcome, and none of us knows how things will turn out. By the way in trying to remember the name of Legolas I stumbled upon this article on Elf sex…. There’s Nerds, Geeks and then something so extreme that I don’t think they see the light of day.

I think there is freedom in being free from death. I am not talking about embracing death, or giving up on life, but having faith in something beyond yourself that doesn’t require that things necessarily work out in your way or in your favor. A message out of favor in the contemporary media (except, perhaps in the work of Alfonso Cuaron – incidentally I think it is the reason why a lot of people didn’t like the film) but present in some of the greatest teachings throughout history. It is a hope that calls us to deny ourselves and set our eyes on a road that isn’t all about us.

The mother load

I am hesitant to write at this point because my head is so full and I can’t quite discern all the strands in my thinking. Some of these ideas, thoughts and beliefs intersect with each other, some have reached conclusions but overall I am not satisfied that I have found the conclusion that I am reaching for. That is why it has been some time since I wrote anything in the Blog. I have become mentally constipated. So here comes the big one.

It’s about the desire to see the crisis we face in the Western World turned around. I’m looking for answers. I don’t think the breakdown of the family, the rise of depression, suicide and all the rest is the beginning of a new stage in humanity. I don’t think disintegration is the brave new future. I’m afraid I tend to agree with the Evolutionary Psychologists about that one.

In the earlier half of April I had the privilege of traveling to a conference in Brisbane. The conference was entitled “A crisis of meaning, challenges facing science and religion in the 21^st century”. It was deeply encouraging to hear people speak of the caliber of Dr Peter Vardy from London, Reverend Dr. Eamonn Conway from Ireland, Dr Bernadette Tobin from Sydney and Reverend Dr Mark Worthing from Adelaide. Googling any of these names will reveal the depth and commitment each of these individuals have to each of their fields. The audience comprised of largely religious educators from around Australia who listened to the overall message – we alienate the public when we oversimplify or force scripture to fit our own agendas when it comes to science. Each speaker was an expert in their field and duly had a deep knowledge of scripture and also of science and maintained their faith by looking at the essential message of scripture – not in the certainty of a scientific position, but rather in the openness to a huge universe that we haven’t at this point entirely understood. The fact is, it would seem the deeper we look the more we discover that it’s a little more incomprehensible than we initially thought.

In the same way this could be said of religion.

What is clear in scripture is that there is a loving God who calls us into community with Himself and with each other. This seemed to be the uniting aspect of all presenters in the conference. There were many aspects to the conference that delved outside this front and that needs to be said and hoped that it is understood that you will gather there is much left unsaid.

The other message that I believed was communicated in the conference was that we live in a society undergoing a crisis of meaning. It is not so much science or religion that is in crisis, as the society that is a recipient of both, and that is perhaps what the title of the conference was implying. Science or religion does not make the meaning, but the participant. They are not some monolithic unchanging institution but the sum total of the practitioner and the participant – in many cases the same person. When people believe that it is the impersonal religion or science that is the meaning maker they fail to recognize that either institution is transient and always changing.

When we make our beliefs about either institution our bedrock we find we are sliding down the slope of doubt and subsequently, insecurity, soon to be taken down into the sea where we are tossed about by the waves of many doctrines. When we exchanged knowledge for wisdom we fell.

Now I have to make a point here where it will appear that I am going to to contradict myself by saying that I believe the scriptures in where they say that God is unchanging. (Please note: the scriptures are not the religion – the interface between the human race, God and the guidance of scripture, that expression I think is religion) If you examine His dealings with us from generation to generation you will see that it is us who change. His love never changes. Even those figures who are leader amongst us, look at their lives. Look at each figure who has emerged over the two thousand years since Christ and find me one who has consistently been faultless. You can love and treat as a hero any number of these figures only to find that there is always someone who has a dislike for a certain aspect of their character, from Augustine to Bonhoeffer. No one person has ever had all the answers. They were part of the process.

Science and religion are not fixed. So you will not find the best expression of science and religion. Some I suspect are more accurate to the truth than others, but oft times it is only later that we find out which is which. Many of Einstein’s theories were proved well outside his life time. There are times we look back at decisions made by the church that seemed right at the time, only to cringe at how far off we were. So in our attempt to find security in the institution of science or religion we are on no rock of security, because it is always changing.

Knowledge is the quest for certainty, wisdom is the quest for relationship. We live in a time of crisis because we have turned to our own devices. Certain that God is not there on the basis of the certainty of science, or perhaps the hope He wasn’t there because - we pulled back the curtains to find the place where God should have been, empty. The Romans made that very mistake. Upon sacking Jerusalem and looting the temples the Romans thought the Jews piteous because they had no god. He was not present. They were quite right, He wasn’t there, but in their arrogance they made the fatal error of thinking the absence of what they were looking for was nowhere to be found, it simply was not in existence. We do this every day. We decide and outline for God His parameters for existence because we’ve worked it all out, and because He won’t be a good God and stay where told Him He should, He therefore is not there. We need to be very careful about where our certainties lie.

Don’t get me wrong though. There are certainties. And where there are not, I fall back on Occam’s razor. Google it. I believe that Jesus is an historical figure. I mean what I say. I take the New Testament at face value. I treat it like any document, I do my best to read as much as I can in it and about it and I am satisfied that it is a meticulous document. I trust what is written there. There are many reasons for this, archeology and theology being the main ones. But there is another. It stands the test of everyday living. I am yet to find one instruction by Jesus to be faulty. Reading carefully what He says, when applied, it works. And here’s the thing. It is applied only in practice. It is not an intellectual exercise. It works itself out in my daily living. As I apply it I realize the depth of it’s truth. The teaching of Christ are absolutely rock solid. Seriously, read them. Forget everything you think you know about Christians and read what He says. Put it into practice. Look at what He does, and when you do you will find it difficult to criticize Him. Find fault with what He does, go ahead and try.

Now my point. Christ does not call us to a set of ideals. You will notice they are surprisingly hard to find and follow when you decide to write a list of do’s and don’t. He calls us to Himself. If He is dead, then fine, make up your own rules. If He did resurrect then His call to follow Him is quite literally that. A call to follow Him.

There is a crisis in contemporary society, I suspect, because we put our faith in institutions and ideals. The latest and greatest that will save us, save our society and save our world. The call is to follow Him and allow Him to direct us to what needs doing. We like to choose because we have become like God, knowing good and evil. This is knowledge. We should put this aside and choose to follow Him, to rest with Him to choose His way, the way of obedience. This is wisdom. Putting anything before this as an answer is to turn it into idol. I suspect this is why religion and science have let us down.