Just a Big Girl

How embarressment. On average, I cry about once a year. I thought it was because I was tough, since I grew up with boys in the country. Over the last week I've brought that average up to about twice per week and I've discovered that I hardly ever cried because I seldom felt genuine, empirically caused, dispair. The causes? I've been "locked out" of the house twice. When you put the keys in the lock you have to do a little Voodoo Dance and sprinkle fairy dust on the keys in order to open it. Unfortunatly, only my flatmate Yvonne has such powers. Why would I cry over being locked out? Because everything that can rescue me from my predicament is withheld from me by the very cause of my predicament. At least it seems that way when the human mind slips into its sloppy tendancy to generalise and not think of all possibilities and be truely rational. So, on Thursday I homelinked on a public phone and lovely Roseanne rescued me. This morning the pregnant woman across the street heard me sobbing and worked her magic on the lock. And when I went jogging this morning and got completely lost I just asked a kind lady who cycled past. God looks after me. Praise Him.

I can probably get a spring matress and possibly bed from Yvonne's old place down in Monash. We'll ask her boyfriend to transport it for me. So that's an answer to prayer.

Oh, and my housemates are great. Entertaining, kind and easy to live with. I hope they don't find me a trial (Yvonne has already rescued me twice). I had a good time getting to know Yvonne yesterday my trekking around a temple of consumerism and joking and laughing lots. She loves dark chocolate too. In the evening she invited me along to hang out with a cool, arty bunch of people somewhere near the city. We watched Before Sunrise (grr Apple doesn't have html tags) and it was so easy to provide a scathing running comentary - especially with Ethan Hawke acting such a sleazy, cocky, stupid tool.

Today I hope to do a bit more Kripke. I'll also try to prepare for one of my courses which is mainly concerned with God, evil and suffering. Apt.

Self Imposed Exile: Part II

I don't even feel like a nudge yet. Just a guest. Which isn't good - when a housemate loads the dishwasher, for instance, instead of thinking "I should help them - hang on, when they say no, I don't have to feel guilty because I'm just a visitor" I have to think "I'd better load it when it's done and not expect gratitude." And when I walk to the shop to buy a carton of milk, I can stop playing pretend that I live here.

Conversly, I'm afraid the novelty of train travelling has already disapeared. This is not good because novelty is the only thing that keeps public transport bearable (notwithstanding convenience factor).

To give you an idea of my living conditions (heh - that makes it sound like I live in squallor ;-)): This house was probably built circa 1975, because it has that homely wooden paneling in the living room and a rippled glass sliding door. There are four bedrooms, three compfy couches and three housemates. The furniture of my room is 1) a desk 2) a foam mattress 3) Emily B's swivel chair. 2 is a bit of a problem - I think my back wants springs. It's nice to a have a "proper room". Our house (Tasmania) is "rustic". This is the first time I've put posters up on plastered walls that meet the ceiling horizontally. Now, that's a novelty.

University: Yesterday (after being locked out of the house for 3 hours) I went into uni. I met some members of Melbourne Uni's Christian Union at a free BBQ (I am becoming adept at the food scabbing thing btw). I made a new friend there. Her Anglicised name is "Millie". She showed me around the NeoGothic meets it-seemed-like-a-good-idea-at-the-time-1960's-architecture labyrinth that is UMelb. Philosophy is, of course, housed in the oldest part of the university, circa. Walking to the school, I looked up at the stone vaults in the quad - built in reverence to the medieval legacy - and only felt pleasure at the asthetic, if that. Imitation in the antipodes cannot replicate the time travelling qualities of Olde World architecture.

Thankfully, I can do Kripke on the Big W-Man. Anxious, excited and relieved. Anxious because I don't know if I'm up to the task. Excited because this topic pushes my buttons. And relieved because my thesis isn't due until November.

Flick just ran in "You've got mail!" My first bit of mail. I actually live here.

Self Imposed Exile: Part I

In the humidity I sit.

I don't feel like I've moved. I don't feel like the next time I will see Shell, Alex, Amy, Luke, Emily, Dan, Jez, Britt, Emma and everyone else (sorry for I missing anyone!) won't be for months.

I got accepted into Melbourne uni. Apparently the best decisions are made impulsively. So now I have a student card for the University of Melbourne with a terrible terrible photo of me.

I'm too tired - I can't think or type. I'll post more later when my brain isn't comatose.

Abnormal Sunday

You cannot imagine the bliss I felt this morning. On a normal sunday morning my alarm bleeps forth at 7:15 am. Habitually, I hit snooze. And then, like a nagging housewife, it continues at six or eight minute intervals. In the moments of peace I doze off and quickly dream of skewers of Asian kebab in boxes marked "Yum Cha" and "Teriyaki Sars", which I eat with relish. Like stepping into Tassie waters, I extract myself from the warm cocoon of sleep at around 7:50 am. I glance at my reflection and see that an 80's rock star has somehow got into my room. Still full of sleep, I scuff down stairs and drink about 600ml of water. After going to the tiolet, I dress in my clammy running clothes, stretch and go for my run. Running in the morning can be refreshing, but often it feels like I'm being chased in a suit of armour which is full up to the visor with lactic acid.

After run... blah blah blah... boring morning stuff. In work clothes, driving and listening to Mel in the Morning. She plays some rad songs. Naturally, my favourite song comes on as pull into the cafe's carpark. Cheerfully greet bosses. Dry stuff, fold little cuffs for latte glasses, clean coffee machine steaming wand that John has left caked in milk, make a take-away F/W with too much froth, tell someone to pay at the cashier, not me, as I have no change. About ten people arrive. They are catching the ferry but some want to drink their cino's here and others want take away because they've panicked at the sight of the ferry. I'm the only one behind the counter and all the customers are staring at me, waiting for thier weak tea or long black with cream (which requires going back to the kitchen bla bla) or just waiting for me to take their order, but I won't since I'm busy, can't you see?

Ahhhhh. The bliss. I am still trying to chillax though. And when I lie in bed, trying to sleep in, I get these psuedo-simulations of dolloping cream a top ice coffees, as the milk cascades down the sides.

I'm thankful to God that I left on a good note. They gave me a lovely good bye present (stationary in pretty pink - very thoughtful!) and they even got a bit teary as I left. And they were so thankful for my work, which seems a bit wierd - I should be thankful to them for giving me money!

Thank You.

Tommorow is the last time I will have to answer "Are there tiolets here?" or "When's the next ferry?" or "Where do I buy tickets for the ferry?" (which is an illogical question to ask). However, it may not be the last time I have to make cups of cino and skinny soy double strength decaf lattes. I don't know what God will have me do in the future (on the same token, I shouldn't be so sure about my first claim).

And now some bytes for thanksgiving. I have so thankful to God for providing for me even though I so don't deserve it:
~ Enough money to live on plus extra for uni, clothes and, /ahem/ entertainment.
~ Acceptance at Monash. I haven't heard from Melbourne, but in a way, this is good; I don't have to do my thesis on Hume, instead, I can sus out what is a wise topic. Also, if I go to uni in the city, I'm likely to tempted by materialism, which is harsh on the pocket and the soul.
~ A place to live in Melbourne and lovely flatmates.
~ Friends in Melbourne. Friends in Hobart.
~ Crossroads. The leaders, the enthusiastic workers and members.
~ The Cross. What a strange thing to be thankful for, if we did not know that it is the Power of God and the ultimate act of His Love.
~ That God is loving.
~ Blackberries!

I really ought to list everything that is good (and everything that is bad (from human ignorance and in human opinion) too (eg, when you accidently hit the "insert" key since your keyboard is so weeny) - since such things are judgement that glorify God. A humbling thought). If you went to Sunday School (actually, I never did since my parents were ideologically opposed to it. Like infant baptism.) you might remember those books about a child getting some gift, like a woolly jumper, from their gran. When he/she thanks Gran, she says "Don't thank me. Thank the man who sold me the wool." The child goes off to the wool seller who directs the thanking child onto the sheapherd, and then onto the sheep, who confusingly talk and give credit to the grass. Now, I may be spewing falsehoods here, but I think the grass says it's the sun and the rain. The child tries to thank the weather, but the weather says "Don't thank us, thank God who makes us shine and bring forth rain."

What Lies to Children! What utter heresy! If you have such book in your possession, throw it on the pyre, now! I'm sure it was such books (and all the dinosaur and astronomy books I read as a kid) that contributed to my quasi-secular worldview which, by the Grace of God and work of the Holy Spirit, has been overturned. That kids book ought to be two pages long. "Don't thank me for the woolly jumper, child, thank the Sovereign Lord."

Not Exactly Vermeer

I finished my first "proper" painting in three years. Three years is not how long I took to complete the painting - nay - I apparently finished it reccord time, according to the tutor. All were impressed. Mum called it a Rembrant or a Vermeer. Dad gushed (as dads should). Brag brag brag.

It's amazing that a bronze oil lamp, a glass vase and a ceramic wine jug in black and white can ellicit such a response. It's amazing that a few dabs of oil paint can ellicit such a response.

But that's just hyperbole. The piece actually looks in colour because I used black and removed black (ie the tainted canvas) as warm "colours" and white as cool highlights, so it's convincing. Furthermore, I'm being falsely reductionistic. It's not just "dabs of paint", in a meta-sense. But I'm too tired to extrapolate on that.

As you can read, I'm not adept at talking about art. And I don't want to overrate my painting. Being overrated makes me feel anxious. The tutor kept asking my dad when I was going to come back to painting class since I was such a "natural". I was almost too scared to come back with that kind of pressure. ;-) But I bit the bullet and I'm glad I did - now I have closure and a real piece of art.

YeahButNahButYeahButNah... Sh/?/ Up!

Update: I've booked a flight for the 23rd. I'm thinking maybe I'll have a little bye-bye-shy. Like eating Mure's ice cream on the docks. Sunday maybe.
~
What's the best way to make friends who will invite you around for dinner?
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Autodidactics aren't especially clever, they're just impatient
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Blackberry picking makes me greedy. Greed puts thorns in my thighs and forearms.
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Symbols are important because all things are symbols.
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I need to buy a backpack. And a USB drive. Need? Okay, given my goals, which are my wants, I need those things to fulfil my goals.
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I'm reading Kripke on Wittgenstien. Philosophy of language is certainly a rabbit hole. Not quite epistemology, not quite logic, not quite meta-psychology. I think I may do my thesis on it. I get excited thinking about it. Such a nerd.
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I saw an albino duck today.
~
Parallelled Jackanapes...

The Day Has Come...

...when I am told that I have been accepted into Monash to complete my B.A. (Hons). Hurrah!

I'm not sure when I'll be moving, but probably sometime late next week. Which is quite soon, when I say it like that.

The full toll of moving has not yet impacted me yet. I wonder when it will. I hope at some point in the semester I am not sitting on the train, watching the world go by and suffering a bad case of ennui.

In other news, would you like to buy shoes that have not been made in a sweat shop? Of course you would. Exploitation of workers gets my goat (although I hardly do a thing about it to justify my claim to anger), so an iniative like this is good.

However, the shoes are inexpensive. Surely the reason that my big brand shoes are cheap are because companies use sweatshops? I trust No Sweat, that they don't exploit workers - so I must conclude that the shoes are of poor quality. Or maybe no one is making a profit, except the workers.

No Sweat is ethically focused, not product quality focused. But I would like both. My main concern in buying shoes is quality. Fair treatment of workers is a given.

No Sweat claims that it is "pioneering... fair trade footware". Perhaps, then, there will arise a company that is just and quality.

You Whore of Babylon!

Remember Bob Larson, the American guy who drove demons out of John Safran? In case he is looking for a new logo for his ministry, DWJD, I decided to help him out.

Ever wondered how coffee is made? 

She Who Waits Goes Slowly Mad.

I can empathise with the Kings of Old who killed messangers who brought undesirable news. I have this irrational urge to get upset with my parents when they come back from the post office with out an application form from one of the universities. Thankfully I didn't, but now I'm seeting with impatience. Monash looks pretty certain, I'm just waiting for the application form which should have arrived today, but is probably sitting in a filing cabinet somewhere bound up in a bundle of red tape.

If I go to Monash, I'm likely to leave on the 23rd. If I go to UMelb, I might leave a bit later. I should know from them by friday, but that's what they said, so it's probably incorrect.

Today I read a kids "fact" book about Marco Polo. In the 1200's, after the Mongols took over all of Asia and Eastern Europe, they returned home upon learning of the death of thier King and relection of a leader. Thankfully, Europe was then spared from their conquest, although, according to this book, the Mongols seemed like pretty nice people. (On a side note, I think it was Angus who told me that a large percentage of Europeans can trace ancestry back to Ghengis Khan, due to the Mongols' pillage and rape modus operandi. That would explain why people like Timmy G look Asian. ;-)) For instance, the Khan wanted to preserve the beauty of Ancient China and he welcomed the Polos from Italy and even asked for 100 Christian missionaries to come to China to spread the gospel!! Sadly, due to a series of unfortunate events, the Papacy messed up and didn't send the missionaries.

When I first read that, I was saddened. However, upon further reflection, I realised that Christianity is spreading in China and many Chinese people are growing in Christ. Praise God. Perhaps if Christianity had come in the 1200's, under Imperial and Roman Catholic sponsorship, China would now be like Latin America, spiritually. God's timing is perfect.

I love the song on Lee-All's (sp?) album Atumn Flows. I don't know it's name, but it gets lots of air-time. It has beautiful lyrics like

We'll grow old together
Our love will never die
....like a train disapearing into the night sky.

Intolerable Anticipation of Being

Remember when you had a crush in high school? Friday afternoons were supposed to be a time of celebration and excitment, but when you spent the week with butterflies in your crush's presence, going home for what seemed like an eternity and not seeing them filled you with despair.

Right now, that's how I feel. No, I don't have a crush. I'm just waiting for the universities to get back to me, and no academic works on the weekend.

And I can't go off and do anything else, to distract me. Especially not reading philosophy. I'm afraid that if I do, I'll get really excitied about the ideas and the arguments and conclusions and connections and insights and then realise that my excitment may be in vain.

I hate being in suspenders.

Edit: Here's how you can help. Please flood my inbox with offers, for placebo effect. Thanks. Oh, and a freddo prize for the best offer, which I will post here.

Intolerable Alienation of Being

We've had a flash flood here. The paddock is like the Lake District, the creeks are overflowing, the roof is leaking and the roads are fords. I'm fully expecting a great wall of water out of a Hollywood disaster movie to come rushing down the valley while I escape it, running at uber-human speed.

* * *

They've demythologized Troy and King Artrhur. What's next? Lord of the Rings, I reckon. Froddo has a psychological problem - he's paranoid that everyone wants his Ring and he's paranoid that everyone ignores him. It might have something to do with his body dimorphism. I think I'd like to watch that.

* * *

My brain has been a bit fuzzy over the last few days. (I'm also a bit tense awaiting my possible transition from "academic" adjective to noun.) It's a pity because I would love to have a crisp brain to solve some meta-ethical issues howling away in my head. I'm too tired to effectively communicate all the nuances so what I'm about to say will probably sound either obvious or absurd. Which is probably how my verbal communication sounds most of the time.

I used to think that the topic of ethics was boring and contentless. How wrong was I. I took for granted the existence of good and evil as undefined and only saw Ethics in terms of applied ethics. I have been doing some deconstruction so I now am (as frequently happens to me) at crisis point. A summary of my conclusions: perhaps we inhabit an amoral universe. And there also seems to be an a fundamental good/evil asymmetry. And intuition is either to be totally disbanded, or our only guide, at the end of it all. And, as Christians, our ethical system is from the Bible. But if this is true, how do we go about defining "what we would have done to us"?

You can help me answer those questions in the comments section, if you like. However, I'd rather have the discussion with you in person, since what I have set out above isn't supposed to be formalized or accessible for ready discussion.

* * *

Okay, so Waiter Rant is funny and interesting to read, but the whole blog really is just self-expression and self-promotion without any sense of irony or guilt or self-awareness. It also annoys me that he smuggles in a happy ending for himself in the literary convention of justice-for-the-hero-of-the-folklore-tale. Take therapeutic Jujitsu, the entry of the 26th. After his battle against a therapy-junkie customer he assures his audience that he won, even though things might appear otherwise. Couldn't he forgo his ego for a dismal, yet more realistic ending? He would probably swear authenticity (and I hope I don't have delusions of clairvoyance) his admissions of despair at other times don't need to be resolved with contrived closure. Unless he really does have prozac optimism at the end of everyday. In which case, he needs to go cold.

* * *

And remember kids. Meth is baad. Angus will show you some ugly pictures if you ask nicely.

Intolerable Blandness of Being

It's late. I'm tired. And everything I have been storing up to say here has disapeared from my memory.

Stay tuned for some artwork, however.

Also, there is something wrong with this blog. It has been there for a few days. A freddo prize for whoever can guess what it is.