What Can I Do? Stop The Violence

It's a shocking fact widely reported that one patient was admitted to St Vincent's Hospital every 30 minutes after being knocked unconscious on New Year's Eve.

One patient. Every 30 minutes. In one hospital alone. 

Alcohol fuelled violence seems to be scarily on the rise, and it makes me wonder - what do we do? How do we stop it? How do we protect our young men from thugs that drink too much and thrive on the fuel to rile up their aggressive streak?

Daniel Christie is 18 years old and fighting for his life after being king hit by Shaun McNeil, in which police allege was a series of unprovoked attacks.

Any google search will suggest that this slight teenager, on the cusp of the rest of his life, was never a match for the 25 year old labourer who took him down.

I feel sick about it. Sick that someone would do this - and that so many violent men are doing this. 

Sick to my stomach for Daniel's family. I can't even imagine what they're going through. 

Sick that it feels like nothing's being done about this rise in violence on the streets. 

Thomas Kelly died last year - in almost the same spot. What did we learn from that? 

Apparently not much, except that Thomas Kelly is very much-loved and very much-missed by his family and friends. 

Oh and the perpetrator got off very lightly. 

But Thomas Kelly made us all sit up and think - how can this happen to our kids? Thomas Kelly 

Out in the heat today I was pinning laundry on the clothesline, a quiet meditation, thinking about Daniel's family. A grief welling up inside of me. I have a son. Maybe you do too. I want to do something about this violence. This violence is not ok. I want Daniel's family to know they are not alone. I quietly contemplated what I could do for this family. 

Flowers are nice. A meal is great. But what can I do for Daniel Christie's family? For Thomas Kelly's family? 

I can use my voice. 

That's the sum of it. 

It really doesn't feel like enough, but if we all start talking about this - and acknowledging that it's not ok for men to endure this violence, for our good men to endure this violence then we start a murmur. We strike up a conversation. It becomes part of our vernacular. 

Matt and I briefly chatted about the violence, the out-of-control-ness, the what-to-do-ness. 

Matt suggested when the Doctor was old enough that he not frequent those areas. 

But that's years off yet - and yes, while I see avoiding areas as a good (but which areas do you avoid, because unlike a movie where attacks mostly occur in small dark alleys - it's out in high traffic public areas, anywhere really) temporary solution - we can't live our lives wrapped in cotton wool. 

And we shouldn't. 

And we won't. 

I'm sure that all our good men have endured some kind of unprovoked violence.

Let's not tolerate it. Let's not quieten down about it.

Yes men have testosterone. But we're not cavemen and we don't go out looking to harm others in this playground of life. 

I want to do something for my son. For my nephews. For all the good men out there that don't thrive on violence.

I want to do something for Daniel Christie. 

Oh! I'm Sorry! Did You Forget Your Manners?

So there's this thing that's kind of a big deal to me and until today, I thought I was alone in this thinking. 

Thank goodness I talked about it because I would still be thinking this. 

It's about manners. On social media. And specifically - Instagram.

Here's the scenario - and let's thing about this big picture, I post for a brand, as well as personally for myself. 

So here it is. I post a picture, some people like it, some people don't, some people like it, some people want to engage with it, and that's all cool. Like it, love it, hate it. Great.

You and me? We can have opinions. And that is great and what makes the world colourful and awesome. 

But what I can't stand are people calling people over to photos (@joebloggs @therestoftheworld @youmeandeveryoneiknow ) and starting a conversation by themselves. 

It would be like coming over to my house - and inviting a bunch of randoms - then ignoring me and chatting amongst yourselves. 

Um. Hello?! 

Awkward. 

Or worse, when people come over and talk to their friends and say "Hey - I love this idea, let's copy it for my mud-wrestling party". 

Er. I saw that. I know what you did last summer, and I know what you're doing this summer - because HEY you discussed it all on my Instagram feed. 

Would you do this if I were sitting opposite me? Gosh. I hope not! I doubt it. 

Don't do it on social media! Don't do it on my Instagram feed. I can see you! I can read what you're writing. Don't forget that on the flipside is a real life, living, breathing person. 

Or it would be like sitting next to me and critiquing me - and then not even acknowledging me. But would you do that in the real world?

Unfortunately I think people forget that there are other humans on the other end of the screen - and that social media is about being social.

My tip? (just in case you even wanted my tip!) - if you love something and want to share it with other friends, leave a comment, and then put your friends in brackets - or ping them ie ping @heyryangoslingyoureprettyflyforawhiteguy so that they have your attention and can come and visit - but you're still acknowleding the poster. 

It's a small thing, I know, but it makes a big difference.

Manners do matter. 

In Defence Of Miley

Damn. I wrote this on the 18th September - and then didn't hit publish. I so should have because it now looks like I'm jumping on Sinead's coattails. For the record - I'm not. Although I do love Sinead. 
---------

I've had some time to think about Miley. And while I laughed when she and her tongue paraded around the stage, and also felt sick to my stomach that this was another Lohan moment, I've been thinking about that girl. I've flipped sides.

Why? Why in the defence of Miley?

Because when I was in my early 20s I did some dumb shit too. Except I had the advantage of not being televised globally, of not being photographed and meme'd like it was nobody's business. Because I got to make mistakes, dance on tables, be a total young fool - and no one captured it to be played over and over again. I didn't do it on a stage - and that's my advantage.

Then you can say - oh well, she chose to do that. And yep, you're right, she did. Except she's young. And we've all been young and foolish. We've all made mistakes. I can think of many including one night going to meet friends at a bar, and then said friends decided not to turn up. So I stood at the bar contemplating what to do. This bunch of girls deliberately pushed me out of the way - and gratefully a guy, the size of a jockey, (imagine me - 5'11, talking to a jockey at the bar - the comedy value - oh how we laugh. Now.) came up and chatted to me. Thankfully he pulled me out of that situation because those girls were aggro and up for some biffo.

So the VMAs was a horrible, horrible thing. And we all laughed. We all cried. We all shook our head and mocked. But you know - other people signed off on that. Other people nodded their heads and said, yes that's the ticket. To the detriment of a 20 year old girl. 

And what about sleazy Robin Thicke. This post made my stomach flip a little. Um. YUCK! No one made a big deal out of Beetlejuice up on stage - no no no. Because he's a man. A 36 year old married man. He's immune to the stuff. 

Double standards people? 

And Miley's film clip swinging on a wrecking ball? Big deal. It's nothing Madonna, or Gaga, or whoever is to come next hasn't done. I mean licking the metal tool thing (which name escapes me) was a bit gross - but mainly because all I could think of was my fillings hitting the richter scale. And I don't find tools terribly attractive.

But when I researched that film clip - I saw it was Terry Richardson. 

In my book Terry Richardson isn't terribly clever, and yet celebs clamour to be photographed by him. Obama. Beyonce. Rhi Rhi (train wreck alert). Tobey Maguire. Gaga. The list goes on. 

Richardson's "art" - and I'm using that term loosely, seems to be making people look terribly, terribly ordinary. Just google for more references - they're abundant.

So when an impressionable 20 year old is offered the opportunity to work with a "legendary" (using that incredibly loosely) photographer - well it seems like a good idea, huh?

And let's look at the Blurred Lines clip - and in particular the uncensored version (google it). So that's ok and Miley swinging on a wrecking ball is a catastrophe. 

I'm off the Miley dissing train. I feel for her. She's got people steering her this way and that, and when that happens you loose clarity, you think those people have your best interests at heart, and really she's been loaded onto the publicity train. All aboard.

I'm off at the next stop.

Punctuating Your Life With Alcohol

I've been thinking about this for a long time. About the culture of alcohol, and how prevalent and loud the need to document and broadcast drinking booze has become - and what does this mean for us - and what does it mean for our kids? 

Every day I see someone Instagramming their glass of wine, or Facebooking that they're updating their status with a short and stumpy glass of gin and tonic with a caption "Hey it's wine o'clock!" - or some such inane comment.

Not saying that my posts are any more interesting - but I'm not into sharing my every-beverage. 

What is our obsession with alcohol? Why is it the highlight of the day? And how did we become so infatuated with dulling life with alcohol. Because if you're punctuating your every day with bevvies, then I'm a little concerned. Alcohol is a drug - and 

A few months ago, after some particularly stressful days at work, I'd come home and drink most of a bottle of wine to myself. Then I'd wake up all dusty, and cranky and not feeling fabulous - and then I'd do it again. After a few days of this (and my body does not tolerate alcohol very well) I realised this was not a healthy, productive way to cope with stress. 

So I started exercising. 

What I'm saying is, by sharing images of alcohol, by talking about it all the time, aren't we setting ourselves up to normalise it - and in turn, isn't there a loss of control with this blase attitude? We're drinking alcohol like it's water - or at least, that's how it feels on the social media stage. And who else is seeing that firsthand? 

Alcohol in Australia is attributed to:

• 30% of road accidents
• 44% of fire injuries; 34% of falls and drownings
• exacerbating depression

In young people, it's attributed to:

•  a key factor in the three leading causes of death among adolescents; unintentional injury, homicide and suicide
• Over one in five (22%) of all hospitalisations of young people aged 15-24 years old are alcohol related
• Of all those hospitalised, 30% of young men and 23% of young women are hospitalised because of an alcohol related assault

Like my friend Kate pointed out - FebFast is all well and good - but since when was it a mean feat to go 28 days sans alcohol? 

Another friend, Courtney told me about Hello Sunday Morning - changing the world's relationship with alcohol. I've signed up.

Can you change your habits? Can you stop broadcasting your boozing? I'm not telling you to give up drinking forever, but I am thinking often about how alcohol affects our lives - and what it says to our children. 


I used the following sources for current Australian statistics: NSW Police, SA Government

image via Style Me Pretty

Hmm. Thoughts?

I'll be honest. I am not Brad's biggest fan. Not anything to do with Jenny, or Ange. Or Gwyneth. Or anyone in particular. I'm just not a Pitt-fan.

But I am a Coco Chanel fan.

But Brad meets Coco?

I'm not sure I want to buy fragrance from a man with a goatee. Even if it is Brad Pitt. I don't even want it if it's Doug.

Thoughts?

Guilty. As Charged.

Firstly, I want you to read this. Then come back over here and rejoin me. OK? Yes. Very good. 


With a very heavy heart, I must say, I do do some of those things. 


I hate that I do those things. I am mortified that I do those things. It's terrible I do those things. 


So today I am starting a new life. A fresh new page of my life. And I've sort of sampled this life previously - I've got a taste for it. I've voluntarily left technology turned off. Let my phone run out of batteries. And it feels SO good to not be switched on and available to the world all the time. 


It feels so refreshing to not be a slave to the ping of my phone.
To turn off - and not feel this creeping sense of - sheesh, I can not be in this moment. 
And it's good for my family. 
It's good for my family to have sacred time with me. Sacred family time. 


Do you do that? Or do you suffer FOMO? Because if you suffer FOMO, then just wean yourself off. Because really, all you're missing out on is finding out what someone's having for lunch, what they just bought (yawn), or how fabulous they are. 


And while you're at it, check out this thoughtful post from one of my favourite bloggers, Checks and Spots. 




image via this Etsy shop - phone is available for sale. And you can totes interact with your kids with this phone.

Baby I'm Bored

Once upon a time I had this discussion on MumSpace (which, BTW, I no longer run). I mentioned how I just don't understand cars with 'Baby On Board' signs.

I see those signs and wonder - "Is someone about to have an accident, and then swerve to miss those cars because they realise there's a baby on board?"

Then someone responded and said that if there is an accident, then the rescue team can see the sign and look for the baby. But this just doesn't make sense to me. Wouldn't the rescue team naturally just search the car - and a car seat would be more of an indication that a flimsy little yellow sign?

So I've come up with some other signs - only to discover that someone has already stolen this idea straight out of my brain. I'm calling the copyright cops for a citizen's arrest.

But anyway, here are my ideas. All two of them:

* Baby I'm bored (because sitting in traffic is never fun)

* You are passing another foxy lady (instead of you are passing another Fox - get it, get it???)

Is Brazil Better Than The Bush?

I once had a Brazillian wax. It wasn't a high point in my life. In fact I remember lying there, a captive of the beautician, in a very unflattering position. I clearly remember wanting to punch her in the head and run away half waxed. But I stuck it out. Stuck being the operative word. Through her horror stories, her causing me pain, her telling me all about previous clients and their dedication to the Brazillian, I was stranded. Marooned at the hands of a waxer. I lay there and wondered why the heck I had decided that I needed to try this. And immediately I knew I'd never be back - either to her - or to Brazil. I didn't need to stamp my passport. I was happy to stay in the bush.

And then I went through the perfectly maintained landing strip phase. I'd routinely be waxed and maintain, maintain, maintain.

There's no way in the world I'd shave, employ electrolysis, use depilatories or any other hair removal scheme. Waxing it is for me.

But how to decide what's up in the land of bespoke bikini lines? Bikini line trends wax and wane just like fashion - it changes as does our skirt length.

As we have celebrities - and I use the term loosely, such as Britney Spears, Paris Hilton etc baring all to the world, so do the hordes follow. But not me. I stand defiant. I am not going back to the Brazillian. Not ever. It's Wrongtown. Post code unknown. I don't care who is going to Brazil, but I am not. Brazil is good for Havaianas and soccer. But not for bikini lines.

I read a great piece by SMH's Jacqueline Lunn recently about her good friend of many, many years, declaring that unless a woman had a Brazillian, he wasn't interested. She was outraged. So was I. Who the heck does this guy think he is dictating how a lady garden should be maintained? Does he subject himself to the Boyzillian? (Gosh I hope not, that's all sorts of wrong).

But that's not what I'm here to talk about today. Nope. What I want to talk about is whether the bush is better than Brazil. In my belief, yes. Yes it is. I'm not talking a forest. An unruly forest. I'm talking a bush. Not overtly cultivated, but a modicum of trimming required.

Kate Moss is allegedly a fan of the bush. In fact maybe we could rename her Kate Bush.

There's a whole market of lady trimmers out there. A growing market of hairy horticultural tools. What of you? Sitting there, reading this. What are your thoughts? Brazil or the Bush. Cast your vote and be heard.

Disturbing.

Check out Katy Perry's response to the Sesame Street hoo-har on SNL here.

Hands Down

I've been thinking about this for a while now, and I'm not sure what to make of it. I bought some, but I've never used it. I'd much rather wash my hands than put that stuff on, and what ever happened to the immune system doing its thing? I have used hand sanitiser once or twice (in hospitals or at a nursing home) but I always feel like my hands are a bit dirty. A bit.. covered in chemicals. A bit unnatural.

But I'm throwing it open to the floor - what do you think of hand sanitisers? Do you use it?

Walking:: Internal Talking

Last night when I was walking I saw parrots and rosellas fly up as though the rains had refreshed them. Colourful against the flat grey sky.

I walked in the rain. I know this neighbourhood. I know the secret laneways. I see snails making their slow way across footpaths that are like freeways for them. I hear cockatoos that sound more like pteradactyls. Sometimes I wave at someone I know, or I over compensate for a co-walker who tries to ignore me.

I know the house where a mother found her son after he'd overdosed on heroin. Her garden is like no-one else's. An leafy, green and flower-laden oasis. A salute to her son.

And another home, palatial, where a two year old once tumbled from a second storey balcony.

These are true stories. Testament that everyone has their own private struggles.

Sometimes I manage to walk and just tune out altogether. It isn't often, but when I do, it repays in dividends.

Last night I listened to this. One of my favourites.

See those stripey socks? They make me walk faster.

Blogtoberfest Day 14: In Pursuit Of Happy-ness

image via

Lately I've been thinking. Surprisingly, it didn't hurt.

I know being happy is an important factor in life. If asked what is important to most people, I am sure 'being happy' is in their top ten, if not top five. But when does seeking happy-ness turn into a futile search? And while people are seeking their happy-ness, do they factor in the hurt or stress they might be causing other people?

While washing the dishes, Matt and I discussed a seeming emerging trend of men leaving their partners and children because they 'don't want this lifestyle and they're not happy'. It frightens me how often I am hearing this. Is it an epidemic? Is it our society? The perpetual search and focus on being happy, rather than 'being' and 'loving' and 'living'.

Or it could even be happy-ness in the simple guise of buying, 'oh I just had to buy this because it made me happy.' Accumulating makes you happy? Uh HUH?!

But it's the messages we're receiving.

TV shows focus on being happy,they show happy families, or what happens to people when they're not happy. Commercials provide products as answers on how to become happy. Buying this that, and whatever else is apparently going to make me happy. But has our society lost the way and rather than focussing on all the good things, all the things we need to be grateful for, have we usurped all of the importance of family life, living and the simple things (for instance enjoying a special home cooked meal, really hearing a song for the first time, watching the light change in the day or seeing your children grow/learn/love - or maybe just being) - isn't this enough? Is happy-ness becoming a cumulative thing? Do I have to keep moving to be happy?

For me, the answer is no. I can experience the dives, the dips, the wallowing and the sadness, but still feel grateful, a glimmer of happiness lurking in the shadows of a grey day. I know I don't need to be happy all the time. I know I don't need to seek it out, because it seeks me out in the most curious of ways.

Family life isn't perfect. It has it's ups and downs. As does single life. Or partnered life. Or whatever life. There's no one lifestyle that flatlines at pure happiness. There are days when I am overcome with love and affection for my smalls, when I am astounded at them in awe. And then there are those (rare) days when I tell Matt 'let's switch and I'll go back to work' (and the next day I tell him I was kidding).

But it's something that really worries me. The condemnation of feeling sad, or lonely, or angry, because it seems there's a push to BE HAPPY! I know Bobby McFerrin sang about it all those years ago, but now it feels as though it's running rife. Like there's some crazed happy 'pusher' forcing us to feel the need to be happy. And I don't like it.

How do children ever learn to feel the full range of emotions when all they're hearing is that you should be happy?

I'm going to fight it. I'm going to let my children, myself, my husband run the gamut of emotions. I fear that if you don't, then you can't create, you can't relate, you can't empathise, and it is then that you really run the risk of not being happy. I want them to feel what it really is to feel sad, to feel angry. I'm not going to tell them 'don't worry, be happy' because sometimes you just can't. I don't want to feel bad for feeling angry, after all, the messages I am hearing are - you should be happy, as though I have a duty to that one emotion.

And then you have the question, what is happiness? It's about as airy as the question, what is art? And it's best discussed another day, when I'm off my high-horse.