On Dit Issue 79.11

Adelaide University Student Magazine

Vol. 79 / Issue 11 Special 64-Page Bumper Issue!

Featuring:

Read this The real state of the Union.

On Tuesday, October 4, we received an email from Raff Piccolo, the AUU President. In seven short lines Raff informed us that due to the inevitable ‘drop off’ in the distribution and readership of On Dit, Issue 12 would be an online edition only. Alternatively, he told us, we could just run 11 issues. Basically, the Union cut our funding.

On receiving this email, we were —to put it mildly — somewhat taken aback. Given that neither readership nor distribution had ‘dropped off,’ nor, in our opinion, were likely to (at least, to the extent that would warrant dropping an entire issue), we were also somewhat confused.

Raff also informed us that advertising for print publications had fallen by the wayside, and as a result, now would be a perfect time to trial an online version of the magazine. Given that the Union has set the price for a full page ad in On Dit at around $500, it wasn’t overly surprising to hear that advertisers weren’t champing at the bit to get involved.

What was surprising was that Raff (and, we assume, Union General Manager David Coluccio) had decided that the best course of action was to move a quintessentially print-based magazine online, rather than reviewing the Union’s advertising strategies.

While we are willing to take the hit and produce 11 issues, as summarily ‘requested,’ we fear that this is just the first step towards the ham-fisted destruction of this timehonoured magazine. Below is the email we sent to Raff outlining our resistance to such a move. At the time of writing we are still to receive a reply from the President.

If you care about On Dit, please read email and send your thoughts to ondit@adelaide.edu.au. You can also join our Facebook group, where we’ll post any developments to the situation.

This is not just about us; it’s about future editors, future contributors, future readers and life of one of the few stillvibrant University institutions. ***

Subject: Publication of Issue 12 To: auupresident@auu.org.au Date: October 4, 2011

Dear Raff, We were disappointed to receive your email regarding funding cuts to On Dit Magazine without any prior consultation.

At the beginning of the year we were allocated a printing budget of $38,000. We have based our publication schedule and our commissioning process around this figure. If the AUU did not have the funds to allocate us this money, it should not have allocated them. While I understand that advertising has been slow this year, these losses should be carried over to next year’s budget. The purpose of budgeting in advance is to give an organisation certainty; if budgets may be rescinded at any time, there is little point to creating a budget in the first place.

It is not On Dit’s role to drive advertising sales. We are not commenting on the efficacy or competence of the AUU marketing team — indeed, we have maintained an excellent working relationship with them. However, it is the AUU’s responsibility to sell advertising, and it seems unduly harsh to effectively punish On Dit for something that we have had no control over. We have been diligent in forwarding any advertising queries received.

We do not believe that it is appropriate for us to simply move the magazine online. While a significant number of people do read the magazine online, they only represent a small fraction of our total readership. On Dit exists primarily as a print publication. Having a hard copy of the magazine is important for reaching readers on campus; without it, few people will seek it out, and readership will drop. Our remit is to create a widely accessible, campusoriented magazine. Without a physical presence on campus, it is highly unlikely that we will attract a enough readers for it to be worth the many hours of work (both

on our part, and our contributors) that producing an issue entails.

Furthermore, we feel that it is disingenuous to use the excuse that ‘distribution and readership drop off’. In the approach to the mid-year break, we reduced our print run of Issue 6 in anticipation of reduced demand, and at the AUU’s request.

This notwithstanding, we distributed all copies; there are no boxes of Issue 6 left. We are fully prepared to reduce our print runs during low-traffic times, but to suggest that there is not sufficient demand to warrant publication of the full 12 issues is simply wrong.

We would also add that On Dit has made substantial savings in terms of printing costs (both per unit and per issue), and we currently have made no claims against discretionary line items.

Had there been any impropriety or financial mismanagement on our part there would be an argument for withholding funding. However, we have been scrupulous with our use of Union funds.

for us to attend the National Young Writers Festival from our training budget. While I believe that it is important for us to attend these events (particularly as they maintain intervarsity networks that will be useful for the incoming editors), this money could have been diverted towards printing, had we been given advance warning that finances were so dire. It is disappointing that there has been virtually no communication.

We are fully aware that finances within student organisations are tight post-VSU; we understand that there is a limited pool of money, and that the service provision arm of the AUU must be given priority. However, On Dit makes a vital contribution to student life on campus. It would reflect very poorly on the AUU, and the University as a whole, if the magazine were to be downsized. Surely there is room in the AUU’s budget to print the final edition.

We sincerely hope that you reconsider your decision not to fund the full 12 issues, and reiterate our disappointment that no consultation prior to your email was entered into.

Had this been flagged earlier, steps could have been taken to cross-subsidise printing. The AUU recently paid for flights Regards, Sam Deere, Elizabeth Flux, and Rory Kennett-Lister

Contents Vox POP

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Degrees of Knowledge: Aerospace Engineering

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How To: Cook Like A Uni Student

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Science!: Sex Cells

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TAIB MAHMUD

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Furry culture

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OCCUPY WALL STREET

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Jumps racing

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Bird Of The Week

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Doodles

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New SACE

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DANCING

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Shoot, Marry, Shag

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Another Letter to the Adelaide City Council

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Local band bio: Gold Bloom

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Square Meals

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Now We’re Cooking with garf

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Columns

56

Procrastinetting

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Diversions

60

Go to www.ondit.com.au if you’re not a square, or become our friend: www.facebook.com/onditmagazine Editors: Sam Deere, Elizabeth Flux & Rory Kennett-Lister Cover Photography by Andrew Burley ‘Bird of the Week’ photography by David Flux On Dit is an affiliate of the Adelaide University Union Published 18/10/2011

Editorial

Now with extra self-indulgence!

Liz To my mind, writing the final editorial for this year is somewhat comparable to writing divorce vows.

I’m using a certain degree of conjecture here, having never actually been divorced. Nor married. Or eaten a pear.

Or drunk coffee. Also, my mind is currently occupied by the seemingly obligatory invasion of unhelpful thoughts and images which flood in whenever I have a specific task to accomplish. Or am awake.

What I’m trying to say is that what is now approaching feels like a parting of the ways. Not to the level where I’m getting my Helm’s Deep on whilst Sam and Frory are being attacked by large spiders and having their fingers bitten off. In fact, the metaphor I was trying to go for was having us being separated from the magazine, but then I saw an opportunity to make a truly excellent Lord of the Rings reference , and everything went off the rails.

To be truly metaphorically accurate, On Dit would be off fighting Orcs, whilst I travelled with the others, but this is unacceptable because a) On Dit does not have opposable thumbs, and b) I cannot tolerate being Gollum.

My experience with the magazine this year has been good. Unfortunately, through some strange quirk of memory

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On Dit Magazine

and psychology, the word “proud” for me conjures up an image of a toddler triumphantly displaying the brown contents of their potty to all and sundry.

This aside, if I could remove that mental reflex, that would be the word I would use for this year.

We’ve had an excellent and overwhelmingly talented group of writers, illustrators and photographers. These are people who have had us in tears of laughter, awed silence, and given us many things to reflect on. They’ve also had us borderline crazed on the phone less than 24 hours out from deadline, asking them to write about a specific topic…and in some cases, have delivered within 2 hours. I think that we’re possibly dealing with Time Lords.

Finally, I just want to mention my coeditors Sam and Rory. I’m generally massively awkward when it comes to talking about things that actually matter, but these two are just ridiculously awesome. This year, I have been constantly impressed with their creativity, computer skills, grasp of the English language, ideas, and been amused by their good humour, their synchronised head banging to music on ‘editing nights’, contributions to late night ‘one word stories’, Sam’s use of the word ‘jaxie’, and Rory’s propensity to call everyone and everything “a towel”. They’ve talked me down when I’ve been freaking out, replied to half formed texts about vague article ideas and given me advice, both

magazine related and not. The only thing they can’t seem to handle is my keenness for 80s pop. But that’s ok. As an only child, I feel especially lucky to have these two in my life.

the wheels effortlessly towards greatness, handlebar streamers rippling in the wind, basket full of beautiful words, shafts glistening… We might end that one there.

ANYWAY, I’m going to stop being lame.

By the time you read this, On Dit will have moved on. They’ve found someone newer and younger to do the job next year. Whilst the separation is amicable, we’ll always have issues.

Editing/cycling/being a bike, has been both a boon and a bane to the ego — the former because I get to say shit like, “No, this is how you use a fucking semicolon” and “Yes, you do have to lick my nipples just because I’m an editor,” and a bane because I’m forced to deal with the sheer volume of talent that spews forth from our long list of contributors.

Love, Liz ************

Rory The final issue has appeared out of nowhere, like the road when one takes a tumble from one’s bike. I’m feeling the same mixture of shock and pre-cry eye welling. Of course, in a curious example of metaphor imitating life, the road came up much quicker than it otherwise would have. As the result of an aggressive bump from a badly operated car, I didn’t even have time to put my hands out.

But enough of that. Time to end on a high. It’s been a good ride. (Bear with me while I convolute this velocipedic metaphor.) Our editorial team has operated like a finely tuned bicycle, cogs, spinning harmoniously, rolling

Volume 79, Issue 11

It’s been an absolute pleasure to be involved with — in no small part due to the amazing content produced by those that slave away, issue after issue, in the service of this great magazine. And while I’m on this unctuous pedestal, pontificating on others’ illustriousness, I must give a special mention to my co-editors. Without their extraordinary patience, ideas, taste, versatility, powerful punning ability, and genuine, caring, good-humoured magnificence, I would have been like a scared toddler without his training wheels — screaming, weeping and pleading for my life. In one short year I’ve got closer to these two than I thought was possible without the mutual exchange of bodily fluids.

As I lie on the road, my On Dit life flashing before my eyes, I can honestly say that I’m proud of the magazine I’ve helped produce. In particular, I’m proud

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Editorials of this final issue. With little time and a lot of nagging, we’ve managed to pull together, to my mind, everything that is good about On Dit. We’ve got some heavy, investigative “no matter how many friends you lose” journalism, ridiculously awesome illustrations, formatting shenanigans, diversions, humour, and a healthy dose of sin.

Thanks for reading. As Sam would say, “It’s been real.”

Best, Rory ************

SAM I’ve made time.

a few poor decisions

in my

On the surface of it, sitting in a dank, toilet-proximate, spider-infested basement, so late into the night that the possums outside the window have ceased their demented rutting, knowing sleep is hours away because I’ve pissed all my time away watching seventeen video remixes of that goat that sounds like Oprah Winfrey, doesn’t sound like one of the better choices I ever made.

But, notwithstanding the years I’ve shaved off my life through a combination of sleeplessness, caffeine and repeatedly photocopying my own face, this year has been one of the better ones I’ve experienced. And, as I recall, being

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a toddler ruled pretty hard. Not only has the experience taught me how to stare deadlines in the face while curating an uncompromising, sweaty, dangerous magazine, I can also recite every word to Yung Humma’s seminal track Smang It. I reckon I’d give Friday a pretty redhot go too.

I feel that I’ve been a bit flippant with my opening remarks, so I’m going to bring us back to earth through the medium of statistics. This year, On Dit has produced 11 issues, equivalent to 588 pages, 220-odd articles, ~300,000 words, or 28,000 physical magazines.

Given that I struggle at times to produce an edible serving of Vegemite on toast, I’m pretty stoked with the effort.

Of course, while my inner Narcissus would like to claim credit for the Herculean task of editing this magazine while simultaneously shoehorning classical allusions into my editorials, the 84 people whose names adorn the bylines of volume 79 might take exception to that. Which is only fitting, given how exceptional they’ve all been (see what I did there. I know. You can thank me later). If it were not for the dedicated work of our extraordinarily talented contributors — writers, illustrators, photographers, copyeditors and occasional tequila shot co-conspirators — you, my friend, would be holding a ream of bathroom towelling, cut into a neat 280x200mm block. As it is, every edition has punched above its weight, both in terms of the quality of the content, and because the fancy varnished cover

On Dit Magazine

we somehow convinced the higher-ups to pay for adds about 4 grams. I’d like to say a huge thanks to everyone who got involved, who committed time, passion, energy and advice, and who basically allowed us as editors to bask in their reflected glory. Kudos.

Finally, I’d like to get a little emotional, and give props to my two co-editors, Elizabeth and Rory. Given that the first time we met was about an hour before signing up for the job, we haven’t done too badly. Whether it be their encouraging words (‘Sam, stop fucking obsessing’), their thoughtful advice (‘Sam, watch this video of an owl’), their witty observations (‘Sam, stop fucking obsessing’), or their propensity to change my Facebook status whenever I leave the room (always, always, to something nipple-related), they are truly wonderful human beings, and I couldn’t have asked for better people to share a basement with. Cheers, guys, it’s been real.

While it’s nice that you’ve stuck with me this far, you should probably go ahead and read the rest of the issue. It’s better than my editorial, and you’ll probably learn something useful. Failing that, there’s probably some thinly disguised undergraduate innuendo floating around if you look long and hard enough.

Thanks for reading, both now, and over the course of the year. Without you — our adoring public — the whole exercise would be a bit futile.

♥, Sam

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Volume 79, Issue 11

Crypt-O-Clue Format Hymen Minotaur Gynaecologist Report Quilt

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Quiz Jimmy Bartel The Victorian State Library Freedom The Security Council Daddy Cool

6. Julia Gillard 7. Wild Turkey Bourbon 8. Decibels, (dB) 9. True 10. Umbilicus, Navel

I would totally map that

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Medium 1. Turkey 2. Lebanon 3. Syria 4. Palestinian Territories 5. Israel 6. Jordan 7. Iraq 8. Saudi Arabia 9. Iran 10. Turkmenistan

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Sex Cells: Where do I Cum From (p18) Top-bottom: human, snail, crustacean, bat, rat and salamander

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Uzbekistan Kyrgyzstan Tajikistan Afghanistan Pakistan United Arab Emirates Oman Yemen Qatar Kuwait

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Ankara Beirut Damascus East Jerusalem Jerusalem Amman Baghdad Riyadh Teheran Ashgabat

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Tashkent Bishkek Dushanbe Kabul Islamabad Abu Dhabi Muscat Sana’a Doha Kuwait City

No peeking until you’ve done the Diversions on page 60

Answers

thank you

contributors!!!

Class of Volume 79

Though we would love to thank each and every one of you with a shower of presents, all we could afford was this lousy page. Please accept it as token of our eternal gratitude.

Adam Marley

Annie Rudduck

Daniel Springham

Lawrence-Doyle

Michelle Bagster

Seb Tonkin

Adele Teh

Annie Waters

David Flux

Jade Thomas

Mitchell Peterson Tym

Serrin Pryor

Aidan Jones

Bec Taylor

Dawei Deng

Jimmy Meegan

Stella Crawford Myriam Robin

Aimee Thatcher

Ben Revi

Dominic Mugavin

Joel Parsons

Stephanie Noble Patrick McCabe

Alex Weiland Alexandra Baldock Alexandra Stjepovic

Benjamin Reichstein

Elise Vincent

John Eldridge Rhia Rainbow

Sujini Ramamurthy

Ellen Morgan

Joshua Nicholas

Emily Brown

Joshua Pawlowski

Emma Jones

Juan Girsang

Rogan Tinsley, PhD

Thuy-My Nguyen

Erin Cutts

Katarina Klaric

Rowan Roff

Tim Daws

Finn Hutchings

Kelli Rowe

Ruby Niemann

Tim Hogan

Galen Cuthbertson

Lillian Katsapis

Samantha Prendergast

Tim RabanusWallace

Garf Chan

Louis Rankin Samuel Lymn

Tom Brebner

Gemma Beale

Madeleine Karutz Sarah Reid

Tom Sheldrick

George Stamatescu

Mateo SzlapekSewillo

Sarah Rogers

Tomas Macura

Georgia

Meg Lloyd

Saskia Scott

Walter Marsh

Billy Horn

Richard Seglenieks

Casey Briggs

Suzannah Kennett-Lister

Chantelle Reece Ali O’Sullivan Chloe McGregor Amelia Skaczkowski

Chris Arblaster

Andrew Burley

Christina Harding

Angus Chisholm

Codie-Nicole George

Angus Clark Daisy Freeburn Ann NguyenHoang

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Daniel Purvis

On Dit Magazine

Contributors Writers Adam marley (“greed”, page 32; “Thanks a Latte,” PAGE 56) Adam is failing his final year of an economics/finance double degree and doesn’t plan to use either for anything other than conversational prowess. Adam is a cynic, a capitalist and a socialist; embodying persistent misanthropy punctuated with occasional plans to save the world — he is a walking contradiction and self-professed hypocrite. If he isn’t amicably yelling at somebody about something, he will be deep in thought thinking up ways to be unproductively thoughtful.

Likes: coffee, words, sleep, cake. Dislikes: boredom, unabashed ignorance, things that aren’t cake. Cake..

Aleks Rumpe (“Hell hath no furry”, PAGE 26) Aleks is about to complete his last year in institutionalised education and his final semester of a law/international studies degree. After that, first take Manhattan etc. He writes wankily about music at http://playlistyforme.tumblr.com/. And he loves you.”

Daniel Springham (“Degrees of knowledge: Aerospace engineering”, PAGE 14) Not much is known about this strange creature. Many have questioned his whereabouts on the night Kurt Cobain was found dead. The few facts that have been recorded about him are far too amazing to be released to the general public. Whilst sightings are rare, empty coffee cartons, half-finished crossword puzzles and defaced newspaper photos with Hitler moustaches are common signs that he has recently passed through an area. Any persons who may or may have come into contact with him are advised not to look directly at his brilliance or his gorgeous ginger hair.

Illustrator Alex Weiland (“The seven deadly sins”, PAGE 33) At seven years old Alex told her class that she wanted to become a palaeontologist, or failing that, Peter Cundall — a fierce advocate for a) being pigeon-toed, b) membership of government blacklists and c) kale. The dream still remains. When questioning her sister as to what else she could add, her response was, “You’re a massive noobtron.” After doing some googling, Alex would like to refute this claim.

Volume 79, Issue 11

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Letters G’day guys at On Dit! I’m going to start by saying that I’m a big fan of the magazine and love your awesomeness.

Having said that I am sad to say that I found a comment in On Dit 79.9 highly inappropriate and slanderous towards the least deserving of people. In the article titled In Defence of National Service, Galen Cuthbertson described our men and women in uniform as both distasteful and abhorrent. I understand that media attention in the past year has focused highly on a number of incidents within the ADF but what they fail to report on is the continuing humanitarian and reconstruction work the ADF is involved in, little own the men and women currently in combat zones not only sacrificing months away from their loved ones but also risk their lives on a daily basis with not so much as a complaint. Sadly as soon as a few idiots do something utterly stupid, the media grab hold of it, ignore the majority of good, and focus on the bad, encouraging brandings such as “abhorrent”.

Dear On Dit Editors, Thank you very much for your recent? edition of On Dit. After a thumping good read it has made an equally good cubby for mine specialty teas :) All the best, Jak

Dear Jak, That is seriously impressive.

Consider us impressed. It’s tea-riffic! You’ve turned over a new leaf, then glued ours onto a receptacle for yours!

It’ Sorry, we’re straining to make tea puns here...

Yes, some members have done things unbecoming of a ADF member but what we need to keep in mind is that in every field, whether it be Law, Engineering or even Medicine, there are rotten eggs; we cannot allow these rotten eggs to ruin the basket, 81,000 strong, which is the ADF.

We hope this inspires others to achieve On Dit related greatness. Believe in yourselves, people!

I just wish to remind you that bad mouthing our current defence force not only upsets a serving member, but also their parents, partner, family, friends, children and past members (aka veterans).

Best, The Eds

Regards, Nick Petrakis

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On Dit Magazine

Cartoon: Rowan Roff

Apology Like the medieval cathedral builders who incorporated imperfections into their edifices to show that only God was perfect, so too do the On Dit editors sometimes make deliberate mistakes so as not to inspire the jealous fury of lesser magazines. However, we feel that we should apologise to Aidan, whose face was run alongside someone else’s biography in last issue’s Featured Contributor section. For those wanting to know a bit more about the man behind ‘So What The Fuck Is Student Politics All About, Anyway?’, here is Aidan’s biography, as intended:

Aidan Jones Aidan Jones is a second year Bachelor of Arts student with a keen interest in global politics, social studies and goon. He can be found weekly at Red Square, thrashing furiously to 5am close sets and also plays a vital part in the Pool Party pool/drinking team based at Empire Pool Hall on Wednesday nights. He hails from the suburb of Glandore (5037 MOTHERFUCKERS), owns four pairs of jeans, and, on Monday nights, performs stand up comedy at the Rhino Room. Favourite quotation: ‘We dance around in a ring and suppose, while the secret sits in the middle and knows’ by Robert Frost. Peace.

Volume 79, Issue 11

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Vox POP

MEEGAN

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Camilla

Arts (German & French)

Law/Arts

Media

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Shakespearean times.

All I can come up with are Shakespeare quotes: “I bite my thumb at you.”

A bob that was almost like a bowl cut. It was really, really attractive.

At a party. Apparently my mum wore a polka dot bikini.

Really colourful and eccentric.

Yeah.

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Back to when Freddie Mercury Jr was still alive.

Can I google something?

“That’s so fresh.”

A bit of a bob, but it was really a bowl cut.

Through mutual friends. It’s not a very interesting story.

One big spoonfest. Join in!

On Dit Magazine

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Victorian England.

Blast! Drat! Damn!

The one my mum gave me when I was seven. It was short.

I don’t know if I want to publish that…

Cool. Comfortable. Lack of powerpoints.

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If you could travel through time on a holiday (and not change anything) what period would you go to?

What’s the most archaic exclamation you can think of?

What’s the worst haircut you’ve ever had?

How did your parents meet?

The Hub in 5 words.

Libby

DAISY

EL QUESTRO

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Bachelor of Science (PreVeterinary)/Viticulture

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The 80s look kind of cool with all the scrunchies and stuff.

“I’ll add you on myspace.”

It matched my brother’s. Short and bad.

At a bar. I don’t know the rest.

I think I tuned out of the rest of the story.

Where dem cardboard stools at?

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Tudor. Big dresses, bigger roast dinners.

“I’ll have your guts for garters.”

Once melted it peroxide orange trying to look like Gwen Stefani.

Whilst my dad was on a date with someone else.

Rather be at the Exeter.

Volume 79, Issue 11

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Menstrual.

Up your jaxie!

Reverse frullet.

When they were born in the same house.

Get out of my yard!

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Degrees of Knowledge

It’s not

egotism when you know you’re

better than everyone else.

*** You arrive at some fancy, aristocratic dinner party. You cockily saunter over to the host and their friends and subtly gloat, ‘I would have brought my business vehicle tonight but unfortunately I don’t know many valets that can parallel park an F-35.’ A good hearty round of laughs ensues and your head inflates a little bit more.

This, folks, is an ordinary day in the life of an aerospace engineer.

Before I continue, take a brief moment to assess yourself. If you are wearing a t-shirt with some intelligently humorous slogan; if your eyes glaze over during ‘Glee’ but spring to life during ‘Top Gear’ or ‘Richard Hammond’s Engineering Connections’; if you think that your opinion is the only one that actually matters; if you are currently reading this magazine because you found it on the bathroom floor and you figure you may as well read it because those five Red Bulls you drank this morning are going to keep you on the thunderbox a while anyway, then continue reading.

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If you have no idea what I’m on about then please ignore this article; I believe there is a nice colour-in-Justin-Bieber page towards the back of this magazine; enjoy it.

The social perks associated with being an aerospace engineer (or ‘rocket scientist’ according to the layman (also, if you are offended by my use of the term ‘layman’ rather than ‘layperson’ then stop reading now)) are obvious, but the price one pays during the attainment of such greatness may yet to be divulged. Of course being an engineer means training to become one, and the term ‘engineering’ is usually enough to put off most university-goers cold-turkey. But, the truth is, ‘engineering’ is basically just a fancy term for ‘I’m too visually impaired to drive it so I’ll just build it instead’.

Mathematics is an integral (mind the pun) part of any engineering course. I can tell you that more than one eager engie has had a fruitless wee-hours vigil or two trying to figure out why the hell someone would want to find the line integral of a parametric function over a paraboloidal surface. But as hair-pulling as anyone may claim engineering maths is, the soothing reprieve provided by many eccentric and gracious lecturers

On Dit Magazine

makes the maths more than tolerable, dare I even say, enjoyable. They understand that engineers really couldn’t give a damn about Euler and how he invented everything so they just cut to the chase and dish out the application of his work.

Now while other engineering types are alright, it’s very rare that you hear cool phrases such as ‘plasma dynamics’ and ‘let’s test the acoustic resonance of that aileron in the anechoic chamber’ thrown around outside of aerospace. I mean, come on – it’s rocket-frickin’-science!

That’s braggin’ rights right there, baby.

Now you’d be right in imagining that aerospace engineering involves things that fly – relatively fast. Unfortunately the first half of the course predominantly deals with things that don’t fly – relatively slowly, I might add. The ball and chain of sharing these years’ subjects with mechanical, mechatronics and sports engineers keeps us well and truly grounded, but never fear: by the third year aerospace engineers are released from these chains and all prospects are directed skyward – nothing but space vehicle design and 12km/s champagne corks from hereon in.

I do however warn the male constituent

An insider’s look at something you don’t study Words: Daniel Springham

e c a p s o AER ENGINEERING not to join aerospace engineering in the hopes of picking up smart girls – it’s pretty much a balls-out sausage fest.

I’m reminded of a David Attenborough documentary on some little black and yellow snake where during breeding season, only ten or so females must slake the horny urges of a thousand-odd males. You’re very welcome to hang onto that mental image – I only live to serve. Girls are few and far between in this course, and until aerospace engineers learn how to build women or learn how to breed asexually, they must cast their prospects abroad in search of other nerd-etts (pure maths and physics is a good place to start – an engineer can usually scare off all the guys and wow all the girls by making a big noise or pointing out that ‘it’s not how big your empirical knowledge is, it’s how you use it’).

I think people must have set in their minds a stereotype of engineers modelled around ‘Big Bang Theory’s’ Howard Wolowitz. These people are substantiated in this mindset. A fundamental requirement for any engineer is a maturity level corresponding that of a pre-pubescent teenager. If you don’t snigger on hearing the word ‘shaft’ or ‘lubricant’ then you’ve already failed

the course. If you receive a flyer from some uni event spruiker and don’t immediately transform it into an aeroplane then you may want to reconsider transferring from whatever it is you’re currently studying. However, if you have a tendency for scrawling phallic symbols across everything your pen can write on then engineering may be your calling.

Calculator games are also a must-have for any aspiring young rocket scientist – any dreary lecture is simply wished away while fighting pixelated Nazis in ‘3D Wolfenstein’.

On emerging on the other side as a fully qualified aerospace engineer (not a doctor, mind you), what can you expect to gain? Well, the Air Force is always looking to line up engie cannon-fodder and QANTAS always needs someone to point the finger at. Basically, it’s all in the title. Who doesn’t want to introduce himself or herself at a school reunion as a rocket scientist? There’s always that sweet taste of self-satisfaction that follows as the other person then attempts to make teaching pre-schoolers sound just as impressive. They never do. To be able to tell someone, ‘If I told you what I do at NASA, I’m afraid I’d have to kill you’ never gets old. Compare this to

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‘If I told you what I do at the Department For Correctional Services office, it would kill you’. Of course if brainy girl/ boyfriends don’t do it for you, nothing commands the attention and approbation of the scientifically-illiterate like a few big technical terms – and aerospace jargon is no exception. Look me in the eye and tell me that, ‘Hey babe, I just got back from analysing the electromagnetic fields around my hypersonic SCRAM-jet’ doesn’t make you want me.

(Queue patriotic music) Man will always need to fly and rich people will always need to take a trip into the thermosphere for extortionate amounts of money. America will always need more missiles and sub-par airlines will always need a scapegoat. And while these necessities exist man will always need aerospace engineers – the salt of the earth, the backbone of the economy, the scrawlers of genitalia across lecture room whiteboards. So while the arts major is making decisions such as whether to stack the soup cans in a pyramid or a cube, the aerospace engineer is crafting a future in which only his opinion need be considered and designing a new means of storing his excess awesomeness. O

15

Cook Like A Uni How To

Student Words: Ruby Niemann / Illustrations: Chris Harding I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume that most people reading a student magazine have some idea of the bizarre lengths students (or rather, students who don’t live with their parents) go to in order to get fed. But for those of you who have yet to discover the joys of student food, here’s how to student cook like a pro.

Step 3: Payment

Step 1: Money Check your bank account on payday. See Centre-link/part-time job/magnanimous parents have put money in your account.

Do a little happy dance in your desk chair and imagine all the glorious things you’re going to buy with your new-found wealth. Realise that after rent and bills, you’re left with about as much money as an Albanian goat farmer who’s allergic to farm animals.

Proceed to checkout. Gulp when you realise your meagre groceries will end up costing half your pay. Promise yourself that next fortnight you’ll go to the Central Market and buy lots of cheap, delicious vegetables. Be aware deep down that even if you do go to the Markets, all you’ll buy is apples, bread and lettuce because vegetables are confusing and tend to end up turning to slime in the bottom of your fridge.

Step 4: Transportation

Deflate a little, and move on to step 2.

Step 2: Obtaining the Materials (Note: It’s important to make sure you eat before embarking on this step, or you may end up spending $100 on ice cream and chips which, while enjoyable, isn’t a good idea. You need that money for booze.)

Go to your nearest supermarket. Curse when you discover that you forgot your ‘environmentally friendly’ canvas shopping bags and will have to spend a whole fifteen cents on a new bag. Spend an hour wandering through they aisles trying to

16

find the cheapest food possible. End up buying things because they sound like a sort-of cheap version of whatever food is supposed to be good for you this month: wholemeal pasta, sourdough bread, ‘hidden veggies’ pasta sauce, spinach, and of course the ubiquitous ten packets of mi goreng.

Drag your groceries home. Shove everything into your cupboards. Feel pleased at how full they look, because having a well-stocked pantry actually makes you look like an adult – until closer inspection reveals that you’ve apparently evolved to consist only on a diet of salt and empty carbohydrates.

Step 5: Investigate Your Options Get hungry. Begin to think maybe you should start cooking.

Inspect the contents of your recently restocked cupboards.

Upon reflection, you realise you are sick of pasta, mi goreng,

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two minute noodles, canned soup, and whatever that weird gloopy thing at the back of the fridge is (you don’t want to touch that. It’s probably alive by now.) Decide to experiment.

Step 6: Utensils Right. First things first, get your frying pan...which is buried under the Mount Everest of dishes . Okay. So to get to it and wash it you’re going to have to shove your hand through that slimy orange layer, into the greenish grey water and down into the terrifying sludge at the bottom of the sink. Here goes...

Step 7: Fire, Fire, Oh God It’s On Fire Oh God, please stop burning! There’s smoke everywhere.

Just...just open a window, that should work. No, no the window thing isn’t working. Oh great, now the alarm’s going off.

Just take the maple fried carrot sandwich and leave. Come on. Maple fried sandwiches taste better in the open air. Like a picnic. Sure.

Step 8: Appreciate Your Culinary Success Umm...it’s...different. It’s...okay. Okay. It’s disgusting. It’s truly gross. This wasn’t a good idea. Maple fried bread – or rather charcoal maple fried bread – is just awful. Great. Now you’re hungry and your house smells like smoke. What to do now?

Step 9: Submission Get KFC. Feel shame. Endless, endless shame. Shame and deliciousness. But mostly shame.

Step 6: Experimentation Hey! You know what’s awesome? Carrot cake! Carrot cake is so great! And carrot cake is just like, sugar, cake, and carrots, right? So, really, if you maybe fried this bread in maple syrup, covered it in cinnamon sugar, and then topped it with grated carrots....that’s basically the same thing right? This is going to be awesome!

*** So there you have it – how to cook (?) like a uni student: in a hailstorm of calories and failure. O

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17

Sex Sex

cells, or gametes, basically come in two types: sperm and ova.

They

have a pretty important job to do, so natural selection puts plenty of

pressure on them to get it right.

Not

surprisingly, in an attempt to be the

best at what they do, and make sure they meet up with their chosen one, gametes have evolved an amazing array of strategies.

Answers

on page

7

WHERE DO I CUM FROM?

WORLDS LONGEST

In the race to get to the egg first, sperm cells have evolved into a variety of designs, a sample of which is shown in Figure 1. Can you work out which sperm cell comes from which creature? Here’s a clue: Rat sperm cells have a hooked end. Why? Because hooked sperm can link up to form “trains”, which power towards the egg faster than the singletons, and tend to be the ones who fertilise it. Hence, the genes for hooked sperm get passed on, and have spread throughout the rat population.

So – what creature produces the largest sperm? The Blue whale? Elephant? Giraffe.

Maybe even the sperm whale? No. The correct answer is a fruit fly. Drosophila bifurca, as is it correctly called, makes sperm cells that are 5.8 cm long (see Figure 2). Next time you have a ruler, have a look. It’s insane. Especially considering that it comes out of a tiny fly, much smaller than a common house fly. They’re not really swimmers though, and are delivered to the female as a tangled coil.

NOT ALL SPERM ARE CREATED EQUAL Testicles are basically a production line for making sperm, building and assembling them ‘round the clock. Not surprising then that they turn out a few duds now and then (Figure 3). They may look cool, but these sperm need to attend the Centre For Sperms Who Can't Swim Good, and are a cause of infertility.

18

On Dit Magazine

Cells Getting it on with your gametes Words and Illustrations: Rogan Tinsley, PhD

Ova-Sized Depending on your definition, an egg is a single cell – an ovum. That would make the ostrich egg the largest cell in the world (Figure 4). Its 15cm (0.15 m) is truly colossal compared to the puny human egg, which is only 120 µm (0.00012 m). Our little egg has no protection, fish eggs have little more, reptile eggs have a leathery skin and bird eggs have a shell – but what is going on with the shark egg? The female lays the egg, then nudges it into a crevice between rocks on the sea floor, where it is held safe and secure by its corkscrew flanges - until the tiny baby shark hatches and starts searching for blood.

Want More And if that’s still not enough Sex Cell fun for you, check out the Cellebrities in Figure 5, then head over to “Dr. Lindemann's Fun Sperm Facts” on the interwebs. O

Volume 79, Issue 11

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TAIB MAHMUD: CAUGHT? A special On Dit investigation Words: Galen Cuthbertson and Stella Crawford

20

On Dit Magazine

O

n the 22nd of November 2008, Adelaide University named a courtyard in honour of a successful former student and beneficiary.

This isn’t unusual. Most of the buildings on campus are named after former students and, aside from the recent trend towards ‘@’s and ‘8’s, this naming practice is a time-honoured University tradition. And so it should be: we’re old, and sandstoney, and we like reminding the world of that fact.

This particular courtyard naming, however, is unusual. Unlike most alumni donors — and the named spaces they inspire — this is a case thick with controversy and ambiguous details.

Frankly, the allegations are damn-near Shakespearean: corruption, illegal logging, human rights abuses … and a university taking money from the same.

Illegal logging? Okay, so maybe not very Shakespearean. But you get the point.

It’s almost too hard to believe.

The Courtyard and The Man Filling the luxurious, concrete-and-moreconcrete space between the Ligertwood building and Bonython Hall, Taib Mahmud Court is a decidedly public part of the university. It’s on the main campus.

It faces onto North Terrace. Plus, it’s almost as big as the Barr Smith Lawns.

The former student to whom the courtyard is dedicated, Abdul Taib Mahmud, is the Chief Minister of Sarawak (equivalent to a Premier in Australia) and a billionaire extraordinaire. Sarawak, in case you’re wondering, is Malaysia’s largest state, located on the island of Borneo.

It’s 12.4 million hectares (about twice the size of Tasmania), and was once over 80% jungle.

he donated $100,000 to the Adelaide Alumni Association; in July 2001, that money was used in the creation of The Adelaide Sarawak Alumni Scholarship, available to Malaysian citizens enrolled in undergraduate study. In 2001, Taib Mahmud donated $300,000 to the University, which was used to establish a ‘Malaysian Room’ in 230 North Terrace, featuring genuine Sarawakian artifacts.

Currently 75 years old, Taib Mahmud graduated from Adelaide Law School in 1961. After a stint as associate to Justice Mayo of the SA Supreme Court (19623), he returned to Sarawak and began a corporate and political career. Jump forward 18 years, and Taib Mahmud assumes office as Chief Minister. Now, I know what you’re thinking: you’re thinking, that’s a crazy-long time to be Chief Minister. Well, the dates are right.

He took the job on 26 March 1981. He’s been Chief Minister for over 30 years now.

The Controversy

The Uni Connection So what is his connection to Adelaide University? Well, it’s unclear precisely how much he’s donated, or the full extent of the relationship. What we know is this: in 1987, Taib Mahmud donated to Adelaide University for the first time, and the donation was used to refurbish the Law School. In 1994, Taib Mahmud received an honorary doctorate from the University. On the 7th of July 1995,

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So we’ve got Taib Mahmud: a politician, businessman and Adelaide alumni with generous donating habits. But where’s the controversy? What, exactly, makes naming courtyards after him (and taking money from him) such a potentially reprehensible idea? What did he do, exactly?

According to Sarawak Report, a whistleblowing website dedicated to exposing corruption in Sarawak, he’s done a lot.

Investigative journalist Clare Rewcastle Brown (sister-in-law of former UK PM Gordon Brown), the site’s creator, explained her dedication to the issue: “I honestly believe that Taib is probably one of the worst environmental criminals on the planet and that he has taken huge amounts from the country of my birth.”

Earlier this year, the aforementioned Gordon Brown spoke out about the destruction of Malaysian rainforests, call-

21

ing it “an environmental nightmare that shows no sign of slowing.” Sarawak’s forests are a shadow of what they once were. According to a summary produced

by Norwegian non-profit GALDU: “Between 1990 and 2008, close to a million hectares of permanent forest reserve had been lost, with only 4.6 million hectares remaining.”

A Case In Three Parts Now, this is a complex issue, so let’s take a step back and break it down in to three distinct allegations levelled against Taib Mahmud: 1.

2.

3.

That the Chief Minister and his family are corrupt, or own businesses which have benefited from his time in office.

That, regardless of any alleged corruption, logging practices in Sarawak have, under Taib’s control, resulted in gross environmental damage.

That, regardless of any alleged corruption or environmental damage, the treatment of a number of tribal peoples in Sarawak (the result of government-sanctioned logging) constitutes a serious violation of human rights.

Were any one of these allegations proven, it would make being associated with the Chief Minister morally reprehensible.

Accepted in combination? Well, if I were the University, I’d have a hard time justifying accepting such donations.

Something’s Rotten in the State of Sarawak As always, the devil is in the detail. Taib Mahmud is Chief Minister of Sarawak, but he’s also the Finance Minister and Resources and Planning Minister. He’s

21 May 1936 Born in Miri, Sarawak, in impoverished circumstances

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Chairman of the Land and Survey Department, Chairman of the Land Custody and Development Authority and Chairman of the Natural Resources and Environment Board. It’s hard to imagine someone with more control over the decisions of their government when it comes to land and logging concessions and, to a lesser extent, large construction contracts.

In the Company of Concrete Meet Cahya Mata Sarawak (CMS). The largest private company in Sarawak, it specializes in construction and concrete production, but has expanded to cover areas of Property Development, Financial Services, Education, Trading, Technology, and Strategic Business. The name roughly translates as “the light of Sarawak’s eye”.

Once upon a time, CMS wasn’t so hubristically branded. Back in the day, it was humbly named Cement Manufacturers Sarawak. They made the transition in 1996, but they’d been moving upwards since before their public listing in 1989 — largely due to contracts for public works. In 2006, CMS received the state contract to build the Borneo Convention Centre. They also received the state contract to build the US$82 million State Assembly Building which, according to a confidential US Embassy cable dated 13 October 2006 and released by Wikileaks, “serves as perhaps the most obvious and extreme example of the self-enrichment of the state’s chief minister and other senior government officials.” To cap it off, CMS also has a 10 year government contract for the maintenance of all roads in Sarawak. In short, CMS is a big, successful business.

And when you trace its success, much of it comes from government contracts.

1961 Graduated from the University of Adelaide with a Bachelor of Laws,studying with the Shell Scholarship

1961-1962 Worked as an associate to Justice Mayo of the South Australian Supreme Court

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According to both the CMS’s 2010 annual report, and the 2009 registered shareholder’s listing, CMS’s largest shareholders are Taib’s sons, daughters, late wife, and brother respectively. In addition, son Abu Berkir and son-inlaw Syed Alsree are directors of the company.

Now, let’s be clear: we can’t prove any connection here. We’re not saying that CMS didn’t deserve the contracts they got. Maybe they did. All we can say is this: even if they did deserve it, there’s surely a conflict of interest here.

Titanium and other elements CMS isn’t the only company involved.

In fact, it’s far from the only one. Dig around a little more, and you find Titanium Management. Owned primarily

by Taib’s son Abu Berkir, it received a lucrative government contract in 2000 for the construction of over 300 bridges around the state. The bridge construction was subsequently sub-contracted out, but ran over budget to the tune of roughly US$125.2 million, to be met by the state. This was despite the Malaysian Auditor-General releasing a report stating that the original contract favoured the contractor, and suggesting the cost overrun was a result of inadequate research done by Titanium Management. It also damned the final product, saying that in many cases, the type and placement of the bridges did not meet actual needs.

There’s another company: Ta Ann. Formed in 1999, their logging permits total 360,000 hectares. One of the three founding partners is Hamed Sepawi, Taib’s cousin. He’s both the Executive Chairman and a major shareholder in the company. Then there’s Grand Perfect, which was, in just 2002, awarded

1962-1963 Worked in the Crown Council

22 July 1963 Elected to State Legislative Council, Minister for Communication and Works from 1963-66, Minister of Development and Forestry in 1967

Investigation: Taib Mahmud time), and daughter Jamillah.

54,000 hectares of land on which to develop a large acacia plantation. Grand Perfect, again, features Hamed Sepawi as a major shareholder.

And there’s one final logging company we’re concerned with right now, and that’s Sanyan Lumber. On paper, the shares are co-owned by a ‘Ting Check Sii’ and a ‘Morshidi bin Omar’, but Taib’s son, Tufail Mahmud, is intimately involved in the company. The co-owner, Ting, has alleged in court that the other shares are held by a nominee, in trust for Tufail. Tufail is a director, and in any case is a listed shareholder of the subsiduary that owns Sanyan Tower … eleven floors of which are occupied by government ministries. Ting also alleges that, remarkably, straight after the tiff between Tufail and himself blew up, the government declined to renew Sanyan’s logging concessions.

Moving away from the logging field, we’ve got Satko International. Run by Taib Mahmud’s daughter Jamillah Taib, and son-in-law Sean Murray, the company owns a large portfolio of property in Canada, estimated to be worth several hundred million US dollars. At the time of incorporation, 1983, directors of the company included Taib’s brother, Onn Mahmud, son Abu Bekir (aged 20 at the

Finally, there’s Satki International. Yet another property development company, formed in 1998 and operating out of California. It’s owned by Taib’s daughter Jamillah Taib, sons Abu Berkir Taib and Abdul Rahman Taib, and brothers Onn Mahmud and Arip Mahmud. Whistleblowing website Sarawak Report alleges that half of all shares in the company are held in trust for Taib Mahmud, and bases the allegation on a leaked document stating as much. Given that the company is estimated to be worth a cool US$80 million, I’d say ownership matters.

A Paper Trail Mix Admittedly, this is pretty dry stuff. Well, that’s an understatement: no matter how you dress it up, tracing corporate connections is the Sahara desert of article topics. But corruption leaves a long, dry paper trail. And like a trail in the desert (assuming they exist - I don’t know, I avoid hot places with monstrous snakes/ scorpions/monsters on principle), it’s worth following. In case you weren’t keeping track, that was six separate companies, variously connected to Taib Mahmud and his immediate family. All of them have been affected in some way

by Taib Mahmud’s powers as a public servant. What can we tell you about this connection? Almost nothing that we can prove. But as Greens MP Mark Parnell said at a protest on the issue of the donations at the beginning of the year: “If this money has come from corrupt, and illegal practices, then it shouldn’t have been accepted and it should be given back.”

The (Not-so) Mighty Jungle

1969 1968-1970 Represented the Federal Assistant political party “Parti Minister for Commerce Bumiputera Sarawak” and Industry from in the Malaysian general election.

1974 CMS formed.

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Sarawak is a jungle state. Approximately 67% of Sarawak’s 12.4 million hectares is under natural tree cover. According to UNESCO, Borneo (the island on which Sarawak sits) has one of the oldest jungles in the world. Older than the Amazon, it’s the natural habitat of the endangered Bornean Orangutan, the Asian Elephant, the Sumatran Rhinoceros, and many others. These jungles are, according to the World Wildlife Fund, one of the most biodiverse places on the planet.

At least, they were. You see, deforestation — due to widespread logging — has decimated Borneo, particularly Sarawak. According to the Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations, Malaysian forests have been depleted at a rate of 140,200 hectares — 0.65 percent of its forest area — every year since 2000. And as reported

by The Ecologist, independent estimates and satellite photos of Sarawak now suggest that untouched primary forest cover comprises only 10% of the land mass. How can this be the case? And whose fault is it? Who’s to blame?

Drawing Fault-lines Blame is a hard thing to lay in this case.

In the WWF’s 2003 report on Borneo, four factors were highlighted as interlinked in causing the destruction of the rainforests. These were: conversion to other land uses, forest fires, illegal logging, and bad forest management.

Conversion of the land to palm oil plantations is a big factor across Borneo, but it’s a comparatively small issue in Sarawak. 1.6 million hectares of oil palms are now grown in Sabah and Sarawak, but the former grows around twice as much as Sarawak, despite being only 73,631 square kilometers.

As to the illegal logging, who’s doing it?

26 March 1981 Assumed office as Chief Minister of Sarawak, when his uncle and political mentor Abdul Rahman Ya’kub steps down.

1983 Satko International formed.

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According to the Norwegian Government Pension Fund Global, Samling Global is.

In Good Company Who’s Samling Global? I’m glad you asked: let’s do a little more papertrailing. A Sarawak-based multinational logging corporation, active in Brazil, Cambodia and elsewhere, Samling’s logging concessions in Sarawak alone were estimated to total 1.4 million ha. With a gross profit at US$57,351,000 for the 10/11 financial year (a 45.1% increase from the previous year), Samling is a powerful and growing company.

As for who controls it? The father and son team of Yaw Teck Seng and Yaw Chee Ming. Together, these two men rank as number 13 on Forbes’ list of Malaysia’s wealthiest. Their connection to the Taib family isn’t as direct as previous companies we’ve discussed, but it’s still there. Taib and his family have had close dealings with the Yaw family owners, including the sale of two houses (more accurately, mansions) to the Taib’s in 1991 and 2000, one of which was used as the family home in Seattle.

Damage and Degradation Remember that Norwegian Government Pension Fund I mentioned above? In a 2010 report, their Council of Ethics concluded that the Fund should divest from Samling as its “forest operations in the rainforests of Sarawak and Guyana contribute to illegal logging and severe environmental damage” Specifically, it investigated 5 of the company’s 15 concessions.

In the first, concession T/0294, it was found that the company had been reentry logging without completing an Environmental Impact Assessment (EIA)

1987 Sanyan Lumber Sdn Bdn formed; first donation made to the University of Adelaide, used to refurbish the Law School.

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as mandated by the Natural Resources & Environment Ordinance of 2005.

Furthermore, the company, as recently as 2009, logged extensively in an area officially approved as an extension to the Pulong Tau National Park, having had notice of it from May 2008.

Translation: they failed to report on their environmental impact (illegal), and they were cutting down trees in a national park (also illegal).

The report contains similar details about each of Samling’s concessions: failure to comply with statutory requirements for EIA’s, logging into ‘buffer’ zones along international borders, on steep, prohibited ‘Class IV’ terrain, and into river ‘buffer’ zones; harvesting undersized logs and clear cutting along roads. The Council noted polluted streams, landslides, and serious habitat destruction.

The question all this is begging is, of course, why are they still logging at all?

And that’s where we get to the third reason: bad forest management. It’s also where the story winds its way back to Taib. One of Taib’s positions (Resources and Planning Minister) gives him control over logging concessions. He also sits as Chairman of the ‘Natural Resources and Environment Board’ - which sits in judgment over the EIAs. So if anyone could stop Samling, it would be Taib.

But he doesn’t. The Council for Ethics added that it was rare, if not unheard of, for the government to not renew logging concessions — Samling is not about to go anywhere.

The Malaysian Auditor-General released a report in 2008 detailing the forest management. While it was couched in technical language, the final verdict was

7 July 1995 Donated $100,000 to the Adelaide Alumni Association. Money used to create Adelaide Sarawak Alumni Scholarship in 2001

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If you wanted more reasons to condemn their management, the report provides.

The lack of any new permanent reserves or enforceable promises to create them, and depletion of the old reserves, put the sustainability of the system at risk.

At the end of the day, you have to draw your own conclusions. Should the University consider such conduct unacceptable?

Human Rights

Logging & Existentialism 101

1994 Recieved an honorary doctorate from the University of Adelaide

plain: it was “unsatisfactory”. In a summary of the report produced by Norwegian non-profit organisation GALDU, the position of the report was laid bare: it claimed that poor enforcement and management led to “illegal logging and contributed to environmental degradation, especially river pollution, erosion, landslides, mud deposits and floods.”

We’ve covered allegations of illegal and damaging logging practices, and we’ve covered allegations of corruption. In both instances, we’ve seen a connection between Abdul Taib Mahmud — Chief Minister of Sarawak, courtyard nameee, and donor extraordinaire — and the various companies and practices involved. Whether money or decisionmaking responsibility, we’ve seen a connection. But what if you don’t accept it? What if the corruption allegations don’t seem strong enough to you, or the logging argument doesn’t float your metaphorical boat? Well, then you’re left with the third prong of our mutantantler argument: the alleged human rights concerns.

When the British left Sarawak in 1946, they left a system of Native Customary Rights, or NCR, similar to our Native Title. These rights go to the customary owners of the land, be it an individual or a collective, by virtue of their historical occupation.

1998 Satki International formed; Titanium Management formed.

2001 Donated $300,000 to the University, used to establish a ‘Malaysian Room’

Investigation: Taib Mahmud This system was nice in theory, but it hasn’t panned out well. While there is plenty of land that should be covered under NCR, nobody knows where it is.

A lot of it has never been registered or officially acknowledged. So life goes on as normal ... until the government sells it as part of a logging concession.

The Penan people are a prime example of those affected by the resulting injustice. One of the last truly nomadic tribal groups, their population is around 10,000. Today, only about 200 are still fully nomadic. As a group, they are almost entirely reliant on forest produce, and are spiritually connected to the forests of Borneo.

Their recent history does not make cheery reading. A confidential Wikileaks-released US Embassy cable, dated October 2006, recorded that: “For many Penan children, Abdullah [State Commissioner of Sarawak] said the nearest school is more than two hours away by foot or boat.” Victims of a lack of communication with the outside world, often the first the Penan hear about a logging concession on their land is the sound of trucks. By that time, there is little to be done.

Beginning in the late 1980s, a number of indigenous communities — including the Penan — have attempted to halt logging operations, using homemade fences and blockades, aiming to force negotiations and protect their livelihoods.

Violent conflicts erupted, resulting in arrests, detention and deaths of many Penan people.

In 2001, an independent Sarawakian organisation called IDEAL released a report on the issue. It’s title: “Not Development, But Theft”. In the report, they outline a number of disturbing cases, surveying “the use of physical force including tear gas” and “allegations of murder and rape”. The report concluded:

2008 Son Sulaiman Abdul Rahman Taib elected to Malaysian Parliament; Deputy Tourism Minister until resigning for personal reasons in Dec 2009.

The seriousness of the situation facing the Penan and other indigenous groups, which has shown no signs of improvement over the years (in fact, the reverse), should be of concern to all Malaysians. [...] Their rights as Malaysians and as indigenous people have been ignored.”

Put plainly, the independent report said, “It needs to stop.”

We have to ask ourselves, now: who is responsible for the alleged mistreatment of the indigenous peoples in Sarawak’s (heavily logged) jungle. Once again, fault lies with the authorities — the government of Sarawak, and its Chief Minister, Abdul Taib Mahmud.

Of Courtyards and Connections The story I’ve told you has been dense, and it’s been dark. As far as articles go, it’s been a Tolkienesque forest filled with corporate-responsibility elves and paper-trail orcs. It’s been a Russian novel of environmental degradation and endless ambiguity. It’s been... well, I give up on the metaphor front. The point is, it’s been messy and confusing. I’ve given you a lot of details, and it’s time we bring them all together.

First, there was the allegation of corruption. Second, we saw the case of illegal logging. Third, we saw disturbing allegations of human rights violations.

In each of these instances, a connection was alleged; a connection which eventually traced back to the Chief Minister Taib Mahmud. The allegation was one of responsibility: that the Chief Minister could, and should, have acted ethically but did not. Now, in each of these three thrusts, there’s something worth remembering: we’re working from woefully

22 November 2008 University names the courtyard outside of Ligertwood ‘Taib Mahmud Courtyard’ in his honour.

29 April 2009 Taib’s first wife, Laila, died of cancer.

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limited information. There’s a lot we can’t prove. There’s a lot we don’t know.

Such is the reality of cases like this.

What we do know — what we can be sure of — is this: the University stands behind its former student, and prominent donor. By accepting donations from Chief Minister Taib Mahmud, and by going so far as to name a large and public location on its campus after him, the University is unavoidably taking a position. The University of Adelaide is telling us all, as students and as members of the public ‘this is someone we honour; someone we respect.’

Now, we went to the University administration seeking an actual statement on the issue. We sought their formal position on Taib Mahmud: the donations they’ve taken, the courtyard they’ve named, the allegations made against him by a variety of organisations around the world, his controversial position on the international stage. In reply, University spokesperson Kate Husband sent us this email - which we give you in full:

The University receives donations from many individuals and organisations across the globe.

Taib Mahmud is a distinguished member of the University’s alumni community and a past supporter of the University of Adelaide.

He has also been recognised by the Australian Government with an honorary AO awarded in 2001.

Everything in that email is true. We’re not saying it’s not. What we’re saying is this: there’s more to the story. That much is clear. As for the rest?

It’s up to you to decide.

18 December 2010 married Puan Sri Ragad Waleed Alkurdi, in a private ceremony.

O

April 2011 Won 8th consecutive term as Chief Minister.

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Hell hath no

Furries Anthropomorphism fur the win!

Words: Aleks Rumpe “Tyger, tyger, burning bright In the forest of the night.

What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry?”

And so goes the beginning of the most overused poem in the history of Western Civilization, William Blake’s “Tiger, Tiger”. This poem captures the human imagination — and thus appears in everything from episodes of NCIS to tampon commercials — because it encapsulates the bewitching effect that nature (in particular that our furred brethren in the animal kingdom) can have upon us.

This same drive that made Blake write his poem spurs the global Furry fandom phenomenon.

Being a furry means different things to different people. What essentially defines furries, though, is an appreciation for the anthropomorphic depiction of animals. The genesis for this subculture can be seen in cartoons, from the Warner Bros ensemble to the 1980’s onwards, with the explosion into the myriad forms that we all grew up with — your Mutant Ninja Turtles, Little Ponies, Who Framed Roger Rabbits, and, of course, video game depictions of star foxes, sonic hedgehogs, crash bandicoots, whatever Yoshi is etc etc. But the anthropomorphism of animals is nothing new; it is as old as human expression and spirituality.

It can be seen in cave paintings through

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to the religion and mythology of the Ancient Egyptians and Greeks.

From this hallowed history comes the modern furry. This subculture, spawned on the internet, but has grown beyond.

Furries often meet at conventions, including here in Adelaide, and are driven by a DIY aesthetic of creating and sharing their own art, comics and fiction. ‘tis a broad church, with differing degrees of faith. Many furries are simply admirers and illustrators of fan-art. Then there are those that take it a step further; many furries have an alternate furry identity, embodied in online role-playing. Some go further again and actually dress up as a furry in real life. This commitment to an animal other reminds me of this deck of Native American Spirit Animal cards my mum used to have, a product of the classic White person equation of ‘different coloured people= spiritual wisdom’. You would close your eyes, imagine yourself in a forest and then pick a card. Whatever animal was on the card you picked was your spirit animal, which would provide you with strength and guidance throughout your life. After getting a mole, shrew, whale and badger I finally got an eagle, which I think is cheating, but eagles are so goddamn awesome.)

Though it might seem strange, this

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notion of having an animal element to our personality is something that, was widespread in the pre-modern world.

Another existing embodiment of it is the Chinese Horoscope (which I didn’t have to cheat at because I got dragon just by being born. Seriously why do all the other signs even show up? A fucking DRAGON!!)

The more serious furries are called Lifestylers, who take the core furry ideas and have them as a guiding life philosophy. Even more serious are the Otherkin, who more or less identify themselves as an animal-human knockout combo form. An analogy to the furry spectrum would be Star Trek fans: some think Star Trek is a pretty good show and they’ve got The Next Generation on DVD. Others commit a bit more, going to conventions and dressing up as their favourite characters. And some learn the Klingon language and ascribe to the tenets of the Klingon religion, get married in a Klingon wedding ceremony and then raise their children to live life in the true Klingon warrior style, living everyday with honour and as if it were there last (I think the teachings of Romulan Jesus are more all-encompassing but there you go).

But though furries can be seen within a historical spectrum, they have been the subject of much vitriol. Around

Participants having a boog at Midfur 2009

various online communities, furries are singled out for ridicule or harassment, especially among the weekend warriors from the online trollorcracy, on websites like SomethingAwful and 4chan. This reached its apex a few years back, when SomethingAwful forum “goons” infiltrated various furry conventions, leaving images lying around, including a yellow-star with “furry” scrawled on it, mimicking the yellow stars the Nazis forced Jewish people to wear during the Holocaust. But, I’m informed, the whole harassment thing has declined in recent years, and is no longer taken seriously by most Furries. The joke has worn thin, and Trolls are easily spotted and ignored.

A broader ignorance and intolerance has, in the past, led to furries being negatively depicted in everything from episodes of NCIS to tampon commercials. There was a phase where being a furry became a handy feature to signify a character was creepy and probably a serial killer on bland law enforcement procedural shows, replacing “smelling random girls’ hair and then collecting their hair and then having a big ball of collected hair for shrine at home”.

Which is broadly accepted by society now, riiight?

What is often singled out by furry detractors is the sexual element. Within

the furry population there are segments devoted to erotic fan-fiction and pornographic art (within this community a great debate exists as to whether furry characters should be depicted with human penises or animal penises. My two cents: keep horse penises for horses, otherwise it’s just unfair. How pissed off would a horse hung like a human be?).

But is this really that strange? There is an erotic element to most online fandom communities. Sex is a part of life, and extends its sweaty tentacles to all elements of the imagination (there you go, a sentence with “sex”, “sweat” and “tentacles”. Sweet dreams!).

But I must stress that not all furries are into this. Go back to the analogy I drew earlier: some of us admire the philosophical underpinnings of scepticism versus belief that underpins the X Files, and some of us write fan fiction where Mulder and Scully both do us and Skinner watches (and some of us do both). The sexual element is much more prominent in the American furry communities (where everything is more sexualised, part of that whole weird puritan/debauched dynamic those people have going on over there. (Is erotic Bible fiction a thing?))

The general beef with furries can be boiled down to something like“oh dear gawd, look at the peoples doing weird

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shitz, our cultures is fucked” (123 likes on AdelaideNow). But I see this as hyperbolic , narrow-minded and overly negative. Marc, a furry I spoke to, says that he stumbled upon the furry fanculture on the internet when he was a teen. What attracted him to it was a sort of nostalgia for childhood, in particular the Saturday morning cartoons he would watch growing up. This reminds me of a trait that is pretty widespread among Gen Y (and Gen X before it, the first generation to be raised by television) that sees people in their twenties embracing the stuff they grew up with; it accounts for approximately 70% if t-shirt content. Most people I know, myself included, attach sentimentality to the seemingly rubbishy pop-culture that we grew up with. Rubbishy or not, in a way it has played a defining role in raising and educating us as fables and parables — religious or not — have done for infinite generations of humanity. Perhaps, in the future, with the continuing de-legitimisation of religious institutions, as the internet continues to connect people over common interests, communities like the furries will become stronger and may even become legitimised and mainstream. O

Massive thanks to Marc and Nathan for their information, views and thoughts.

Apologies for any inaccuracies or generalisations.

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OCCUPY WALL STREET A letter from New York.

The two of us arrived at Zuccoti Park at around 4am The Park is a small concrete square just off Wall Street, and the home of the then-seven day old Occupy Wall Street encampment.

Having just caught a nine-hour bus and wandered around New York somewhat lost, we were moderately anxious about spending the next few hours on the streets.

We found around eighty people, sleeping under tarps and another dozen under an umbrella, illuminated by a dull light and the glow of their laptop screens. A tired looking man in his twenties got up and greeted us; he informed us he was on night watch, and offered to take us on a tour. He showed us where, the next day, there would be basic medical supplies, cooking stations, a desk manned by a lawyer volunteering legal advice, and pamphlets on one’s right to protest in New York. “This is the media centre,” he told us, pointing to the ring of laptop users. These, I presume were the ones that had been maintaining the bombastic occupywallst.org, publishing press releases — self-described “communiqués” — in theatrical, revolutionary language. In person they seemed friendly, tired, and stressed, but gave us a friendly hello and invited us to deliver a message into their live online feed. Our guide then took us to the rented trailer positioned next to the

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Words: Ben Reichstein

park full of tarps and sleeping gear.

The police would instantly intervene if anyone tried to set up a tent, but we were given one we could use to lie our sleeping bags in to prevent us getting wet.

Occupy Wall Street was first suggested by a Canadian magazine, Adbusters.

The idea was taken up by a number of small activist groups who called for a “day of rage” on September the 17th.

The rage — fired by a perception of a political system awash with corporate money and a feeling that ordinary people had no power to influence the system — was to be directed at the irresponsible financial institutions that precipitated the Global Financial Crisis.

Inspired by the Arab Spring, the idea was to demonstrate that it wasn’t just old, conservative, right-wingers who could kick up a fuss, and to attempt an experiment in direct democracy in a country in which many feel disempowered. On the 17th there were perhaps a thousand people, rather than the tens of thousand some had hoped for, ready to march. As the weekend ended this quickly dissipated, but a core group started to sleep in the plaza. Across the internet, word began to spread. It was to this camp of true believers that we arrived.

Some context: poverty rates in the US have recently been declared

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at around 15%. Official unemployment is hovering around 9% and is widely accepted to be much higher in real terms, as the long-term unemployed stop actively looking for work and many are employed part-time who’d prefer full-time. The US congress reportedly has an approval rating of around 20% and the debacle of the debt-ceiling deal has sickened much of population with its childishness and narrow-mindedness. I spoke to many people who said that, for the first time they could remember, homelessness had become a visible problem in their area. Across America, there is a sense of indignation at the self-awarded bonuses for financial CEOs amidst the financial crises. And yet, much of Congress stands in agreement that tax increases for the wealthiest are offlimits. Huge companies paid no tax in 2010. It’s not just the financial system that disenchants people. The United States has one of the highest per-capita prison populations in the world; many inmates are non-violent offenders, many are used for forced labour, and many are held in for-profit private prisons, owned by companies who provide model criminal legislation to republican legislators. There is widespread discontent, widespread suffering and a genuine sense that politics has become absurd. In this environment, it’s unsurprising that Occupy Wall Street’s overt manifestation of discontent has broad

appeal.

The encampment awoke gradually. A breakfast of donated food was laid out and a trickle of protesters who hadn’t been in the plaza overnight started to arrive with their placards. The next few hours progressed slowly; people were unsure about the day’s action and small groups began lining the streets with signs, drawing attention from passers by.

The reasonableness of the majority of people to whom I talked was striking.

There were people from a wide variety of age groups, some mild-mannered, others outspoken, some employed or studying, others looking for work. They were middle-class, poor, conventional-looking, punks, nostalgic hippies and veterans of war. Three old women wore yellow ponchos, declaring themselves to be the “granny peace brigade”. Over thirty police officers, aided by a number of hilariously conspicuous men in suits, standing by black SUVs, oversaw proceedings.

The atmosphere was cooperative and non-judgemental. As the morning progressed more people arrived. The diversity only increased: for every person advocating socialist revolution, there were a couple advocating public health care, increases to the education budget and a modestly progressive tax

Around eleven o’clock the noise and atmosphere started to build. It was around this time about four men in

This is when the crowd began to build momentum; chanting “this is what democracy looks like” and “they got bailed out, we got sold out,” the march started circling the square, preparing to step out onto the streets. Since no amplification was allowed by police, speakers’ sentences were repeated in a chant by surrounding listeners. Then we marched.

Well over a thousand people marched down Wall Street, the police directed us street to street, keeping us moving.

We wormed our way through the financial district, and for hours through the streets of Manhattan. Those who were leading were level-headed, holding the group together, relaying police demands as to where we were allowed to stand. People off the street joined in; as we moved away from the financial district we were greeted by grins and honks of support. Police officers reacted a variety of ways. Many calmly did their job, stone-faced. Some shrugged, grinned and apologised saying “I’m just doing my job”. Some arrested people who put a foot out of line, even when pushed against their will by the mass of people. Anyone who’s seen the video taken that day, of two women, who were protesting peacefully, getting pepper sprayed repeatedly, know that some police were brutal thugs.

When orange netting was rolled out, Sam and I stood aside, not wanting to get arrested, especially on our student visas. A well-heeled middle-aged man asked us why people were marching.

We told him it was directed at tax dodging and corporate irresponsibility and he grinned — “they just have to keep going and not stop!” When we checked online later, we saw that over

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80 people had been arrested Since we left New York, filmmaker Michael Moore, Princeton professor Cornel West and many representatives from trade unions have come down to Zuccoti Park to express their solidarity. The AFL-CIO, the biggest labour alliance in the country has endorsed the protest. Next weekend, thousands more marched, and hundreds were arrested over the Brooklyn Bridge.

Rumours circled that police had deliberately led protesters on to the bridge and trapped them there. Across the country, movements such as Occupy Chicago, Occupy Los Angeles and Occupy Philadelphia have sprung up.

Police brutality and large-scale arrests have garnered media attention, but — despite how clichéd this sounds — the mainstream media are undeniably downplaying and misrepresenting the movement. No one believes reports would have been so slow coming out if we’d held signs saying “Tea Party”. A piece in the New York Times designated one woman , at random, as the “default ambassador” of the protest — a position which would have been news to everyone else, had the newspaper bothered to ask. That she was one of three women who were topless and was described as having a “likeness to Joni Mitchell and a seemingly even stronger wish to burrow through the space-time continuum and hunker down in 1968” by a journalist desperately looking for an angle seemed to be all the investigation that was required.

Chaos, non-violent confrontation, unconventional social behaviour and rhyming placards don’t rewrite legislation and don’t create jobs. But they also don’t exist in a vacuum. In a world where “respect” is evoked as a shield from criticism, where “order” protects the routines of those who’ve contributed to mass unemployment and where “reasonableness” is demanded by the comfortable in a nation with thirdworld levels of income inequality, the public interruption of business-as-usual has the potential to be a profound symbol. At the very least, Occupy Wall Street reminds ordinary Americans that they are not the only ones who feel outraged when they turn on the news, and that they have a right to raise their voices. O

Picture: cisc1970 / http://www.flickr.com/photos/franciscodaum/

The imprecision of the group’s demands are perhaps its most problematic aspect. What is agreed upon is that financial institutions should be better regulated, tax loopholes for the wealthy should be closed, and corporate donations and influence on political parties need to be restrained.

The details, and positions on other issues, are up in the air, and are debated daily amongst the protesters. Political philosophies of American liberalism, socialism, anarchism, and, to a lesser extent, libertarianism, are represented amongst the protesters. Perhaps as important as the aims are the attitudes that underpin the protest: direct democracy, consensus-based decision making, co-operative organisation and acceptance of fallibility. The group’s aims are as much about expanding people’s political imagination as they are to formulate policy objectives.

suits came down to the square. Followed by three police officers, one carrying a video recorder, they handed out a notice asserting the illegality of the occupation on the basis that the land was open to the public so far as it was used for recreation and enjoyment. The notice didn’t purport to come from any authority — it seemed like it had been written by a couple of bored lawyers in an overlooking skyscraper, who’d made bets on how easily some wussy college students could be scared off. The police didn’t act, they just followed the men, filming the distribution of the notice.

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Seven Writers Seven Sins Seven Stories

We open on a desert. Night. By firelight, stage centre, a handful of hardcoreawesome Jewish dudes. There’s silence, save the crackle of the wood.

King Solomon enters stage left. “There are six things the lord hateth,” he declares in a fashion most royal, “and the seventh His soul detesteth. You pull the seventh thing out, and He will get all up and Voldemortish in your shit. Like a scary-ass mofo.” *** Most people assume that The Seven Deadly Sins (aka ‘TSDS’, pronounced ‘Tssss-Dssss’) are listed somewhere in what the Spanish call “El Bible-o”. Well, most people are wrong. So where are they from?

As it turns out, King Solomon’s little speech (related lovingly in Proverbs 6:1619) doesn’t actually list the seven deadly sins. It lists seven sins, yes, but they bear little resemblance to our modern

“Adultery, fornication, uncleanness, lasciviousness, idolatry, witchcraft, hatred, variance, emulations, wrath, strife, seditions, heresies, envyings, murders, drunkenness, revellings, and such like.”

I don’t know exactly what variance is, but I fully intend to give it the old college try next Friday night. But the list itself? Well, it’s fun — and good tippage — but it’s clearly not our source: there’s far more than seven there. If we want to find our seven sins’ source, it seems we’ll need to depart from the Bible itself. *** Fourth Century AD is where our search next takes us. Here, we find ourselves entwined with a man named Evagarius Ponticus. Not literally entwined, mind you. Metaphorically. He was a monk: all entwining was strictly non-sexual. I swear. Absolutely none of that ‘intracassock groping’.

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

8.

Gluttony Prostitution/fornication/lust Greed Hubris/pride Sorrow/despair Wrath Vainglory (vanity) Acedia (a kind of listlessness or torpor)

Granted, yes, it’s eight not seven ... but it’s a lot closer than the seventeen(ish) we saw before. And if we roll the clock forward a hefty two centuries, the Seven Deadly Sins appear.

590 AD, Pope Gregory I decided to revise the numbered temptations and build a (much catchier) cardinal list of seven.

I’m not quite sure why he did. Perhaps he’d recently read Malcolm Gladwell’s Tipping Point and wanted to meme up the Church’s catalogue of sins. More likely, he just had an evening free. In my mind, it was probably a little social event: a few Cardinal brohiems, a thesaurus, and generous helpings from the

The Seven Sins, Summarised Words: Galen Cuthbertson

catalogue. In fact, the only shared sin is pride, which is written as “a proud look”. The rest of the list is varied degrees of inscrutable. My favourite is “feet that are swift to run into mischief”.

The list provided by King Solomon is essentially like every Radiohead song ever written: poetic and profound, but annoying and technically meaningless.

Anyway, Ponty the Monk was quite the helpful fellow. Worried that his readers were at near-constant risk of eternal damnation, he set out to catalogue all the big temptations. His hope was that we’d learn to diagnose ourselves: we’d see what sinful pleasures most tickled our fancies, then learn to overcome them via his proclaimed techniques.

I looked elsewhere in El Bible-o for evidence of seven sins, but it’s oddly lacking. I mean, don’t get me wrong: the Bible is full of handy tips, and a lot of them are checklists of sins to avoid.

With a little reformatting and a poorly paid Brazilian graphic designer, I’m pretty certain we could turn the Bible into a “For Dummies” hit.

I don’t know about you, but at this point in the tale Ponty sounds very much like a fourth century self-developmentguru. I’m imagining gruff voice, strong jawline, and serious profits. Possibly a penchant for infomercial-based advertising. “It’s all about the real you,” he’d say, eyes blazing with a half-mad cashcow passion, “the authentic you. You just gotta unlock the sin. Unlock the power within.”

The tip-sheet in the Bible that’s closest to the current Seven Deadlies is also, as far as I know, up there with the longest.

It’s Galatians 5:19-21: an open-ended list of oh-so-naughty “works of the flesh”... all of which we should avoid.

Regardless of potential rhymes, his final list was a punchy, neat, and monastic sexy eight:

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Pope’s Communion goon. They rolled sorrow/despair into Acedia — which we now know as sloth. He rolled pride and vainglory into a sensible single sin: ‘pride’. That gets us six. And then they also added envy. In the end, Pope Greg had built our modern list: lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy, and pride.

With papal backing, this arbitrary list of seven deadly sins soon took the world by catholic storm. For a long while, they were treated with respect and reverence.

Classic authors like Dante, Chaucer, and Marlowe employed the Seven Deadlies.

They were a cultural touchstone and de facto fact: in the minds of the masses, the ‘seven deadly sins’ covered all wrong one could do. Well, less so today.

Somewhere between the Middle Ages and the industrial revolution, secularism kicked in. Now, we’ve got Magnum Ice Creams named after the seven deadly sins. Golly gosh, King Solomon would be proud. O

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GluttonY Words: Sujini Ramamurthy

Socrates said that “worthless people live only to eat and drink; people of worth eat and drink only to live.” Well, Socrates can eat a dick. Anyway, I’m pretty sure he drank hemlock only to die, so bite me. As far as I am concerned, gluttony is the best thing in life. To consider it a capital vice makes about as much sense as a denim chicken. Consumption is the easiest and quickest way to make oneself happy. Fuck yeah, I’d rather eat a bowl of duck ragu and drink a Tom Collins right now than have a “meaningful career,” “happy family,” “spirituality,” or a “general sense of self satisfaction.” Websites like scanwiches.com are the new porn, and saliva is the new jizz.

Everyone is foodgasming all over the place like a boss, and unlike every other deadly sin, no one thinks you’re a creep for doing it.

Gluttony may very well be my undoing.

As a diabetic, I am supposed to limit consumption of everything that makes my life worth living: sugary foods, alcohol, drugs (insulin excluded) and cigarettes. I don’t. But frankly, I would rather spend the next fifty years having all my organs xenotransplanted from

animals (the remaining parts of which I will presumably eat), than deny myself the pleasure of consumption. Imagine that. Not only could I eat, drink and otherwise ingest whatever the fuck I want, but I would also be some fucking awesome Frankenstein’s monster type thing with the eyes of a pig, the pancreas of a shark, the liver of an emu, the heart of a camel, the hair of a bison and the skin of a penguin.

I love food. It’s why I literally exfoliate my face with it. See my tumblr, foodsonmyface.tumblr.com to see the evidence. More than this, I love the fact that I can live like some Roman aristocrat who bathes in soft cheese on the salary of a part-time lowly bureaucrat.

Food is everywhere and it is as sexy as fuck. Eating banh mi is as hot as a young Jane Fonda sucking your fingers.

Smashing a roasted half suckling pig is like an orgy in outer space with sex robots. So, I suggest that you submit to your corporeal appetites, and also get the fuck away from my snacks.

Greed Words: Adam Marley

Greed then. Entertain me if you will: I’d like you, the — for this argument’s sake — purportedly quasi-saintly reader, to think of greed. When most of us conjure an image to couple with greed it is invariably money or wealth related.

Most of us don’t consider ourselves particularly greedy, and are righteously happy with the fact. Greed is relegated to the Gordon Gekkos of our world (or at least until the ‘greed is […] good’ paradigm began transmuting a couple of years back now) — those consumed with an avarice who’s taste was narrowly confined to money, wealth, material possession.

I’m here to tell you that unfortunately you ARE greedy; we are all greedy (for the most part somewhat hypocritically

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so). Avarice does not have to concern itself solely with wealth: what about greed for attention? Power? Recognition? Knowledge? Love? Yes, it may be that in the past people were genuinely content with their lot in life (those who were fortunate enough to not be slaves), that the majority were, quite honestly, not greedy. But the steady march of progress bears with it a cost.

A terrible cost? Hardly. A bearable cost? Most definitely. To an extent Mr Gekko was correct: capitalism and Adam Smith aren’t so nasty really — society has assuredly benefited from greed on a macro level. The individual may be worse off, however. People as a whole are accordingly more innovative and efficient; but the person is now a

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succubus — parasitically draining whatever they crave from those around them until nothing is left, for they can never be truly satiated.

Having sufficiently abused my poetic licence, I’d like to state that, personally, I see no repugnance in a little greed; how could I and yet remain sane? For, call it cynicism if you will, but to see greed as repugnant would be to see the world in which we live as repugnant – it permeates, saturates; in the words of one rather famous Italian pilgrim during one rather famous descent, whilst looking upon those who had cavorted with the sin of greed “more shades were here than anywhere above.”

Envy Words: Joel Parsons

I have been envious of others for many things; talent, ability, certainty of purpose, privilege, power and love.

Amongst such lofty assets, is the iPhone.

motion, whilst you watch Masterchef.

Ab machines are designed for the envious – they foster the idea that we can easily obtain the desired quality or object possessed by others.

When the iPhone was first released, I was for it. That shit was like magic.

I read all the articles about the sleek form factor, three-megapixel camera, and touchscreen etc. I saw all the leaked photos, incredulous at the idea of its sheer awesomeness. However, I knew I could never afford it. Then a friend got one. During our next meeting I spent at least half an hour creating little finger paintings and drawings on the touch screen, in awe of this incredible functionality that had long been provided by paper and pencils. Suddenly my trusty Nokia didn’t have the same appeal. I wanted this new thing that my friend had.

Because of its ability to motivate, envy has become engrained in the market. I make comparisons between my own existence and the existence of others, and become envious when my existence falls short of the perceived ideal. To assuage the pain, I can buy my way to the ideal, and do so daily. Beside the perceived satisfaction of eventual acquisition, is also the possibility of inspiring envy in others. Get this thing and be the envy of all your friends! This is why many people queue to buy every iteration of the iPhone – I can allay the pain of envy, and become the envied! Huzzah!

The iPhone is quite obviously another mere widget; another desired possession. It is the abs you want, or the car you covet. It is why there are loan sharks and machines that promote a meager 90 degrees of repetitive torso

individual is unworthy of their superior position, and will motivate one to undermine that position.

A Google search has revealed that ‘benign envy sells iPhones, but malicious envy sells Blackberries’, along with some obscure research verifying this outlandish assertion. Whatever the motivator, I eventually bought an iPhone and used the finger painting function for approximately one whole minute. I had long forgotten the paper and pencils that I had always had, and enjoyed so much more.

It has been suggested that there are different shades of envy. Envy has been conceptualised as a productive force, described as benign envy. Framed in such a way, the superior position of others provides a template for our own betterment. By contrast malicious envy induces the idea that the envied

LUST

Words: Aimee Thatcher Lust. Whether you’ve been the object of lust or the one who is doing the lusting there’s no doubt that it’s an exciting albeit confusing place to be. Somewhere between like and love, lust is the intense craving for that someone special. Those “in lust” can usually be identified by the following behaviours: 1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

The glazed eyes The open mouth The head tilt The trail of drool dripping slowly down their chin The obsessive thoughts

Don’t get me wrong, being “in lust” is a beautiful and exciting thing, and I’ve had my share of lustful crushes in my time. But what happens when the lust causes your sane and rational mind to

go MIA, resulting in outrageous and bizarre behaviour? Lust has caused me to do some pretty crazy things in my time; showing off, grand gestures, and extravagant gifts. But I have never been pushed to the level of “Creepynote giving-stalking-neighbour” before.

You know what I’m talking about… right? You know, when you come home from a hard day of pretending to be a Uni student, only to find a strategically placed note under your car wiper blades.

No…just me? Well that’s exactly what happened.

Dear Resident, I find your boobies thrilling.

Did you hurt yourself when you fell from heaven? I want to

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paddle in your tunnel of love.

Yours truly, Hugh Jerection.

Firstly, let me just say, amazing pun!

Secondly, after convincing my worried mother not to call the cops, I was ultimately humoured by the whole situation and it provided me with another amusing anecdote to add to my ever expanding collection. Lastly, lust can make you do some crazy and completely “out there” things, but without it the world would be a dull place devoid of the beautiful words provided by the “Creepy-note giving-stalking-neighbour,” and what a horrible, horrible world that would be!

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WRATH Words: Rhia Rainbow

Wrath. How fucking appropriate. The amount of effort that I have to exert every day simply trying to contain my rage is immeasurable. If it were not for the law, I don’t imagine that I’d have much compulsion to contain it at all, considering that I fell out of grace with God some time ago now. As one of the seven deadly sins, expression of wrath is thought to put the sinner in peril of damnation after death. Frankly, this seems like bullshit to me, unless God is a complete and utter hypocrite. The bible is overflowing with examples of God’s wrath, all completely justified in one way or another. Can you think of a better way for God to have proven that he is the Almighty than by slaying every first born child in Egypt? That’s right, you can’t. God’s vengeance against

those who have doubted or forsaken him has ‘historically’ been very effective.

single fucking pair of her stupid socks.

I also took some cash. Wrath: Get up in it.

So why wouldn’t God want us to carry out his good work and punish those non believers and offenders as much as possible? Allowing individuals to carry on with their distasteful behaviours, free from retribution, seems like more of a sin on society than anything else.

You can’t just do whatever the fuck you want and expect no wrath in return.

That isn’t what the bible teaches, and the bible is very important. My mother once slapped me in the face for wearing a pair of her socks. Unreasonable, no? I went and stayed at a friend’s place that evening, only returning the following day while she was at work to steal every

So I guess my point is, unless I’m reading the wrong bible, God enjoys, if not condones, a good lashing of wrath. The bible speaks more of the wrath of God than the love of God, and seriously, some people just need to be fucking punished. It is not so much a sin as a human compulsion that while occasionally troubling, can be highly enjoyable.

I doubt that anyone out there disagrees that Brad Pitt was completely justified in shooting Kevin Spacey after he decapitated Gwyneth Paltrow.

Father, forgive us, for we know not what we do.

Pride Words: Dom Mugavin

Technically, I’m half Lebanese. Although both my maternal grandparents were born in Australia, their parents were born in the mideast. Please note: they were not born in the Middle East from here — that is, they were not born in the middle of a Rogers and Hammerstein music, which is lucky because ‘South Pacific’ is about interracial marriage which didn’t happen till my mother’s generation.

Due to the fact that the family immigration took place over a century ago, all I’ve got to show for my Lebanese heritage is a biggish nose, a hairy chest and a grandmother who cooks amazing food. But still I feel proud of being a Leb. It’s not like I had any participation in the country that my great grandparents happened to come from. I had no control, but I feel proud.

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I’m so proud of my heritage, when it came time to name our family casual netball team, the Beirut Bombers (double meaning intended) seemed like the obvious choice. We still haven’t won a game, which isn’t great for the pride.

Like many multiculturalists, watching the 2005 Cronulla riots was a tad awkward. Here were people, on the streets, who thought that tolerance was too high a price to pay for their pride. With no side wanting to back down, it was pride that caused the violence. It was not my proudest day of being a LebaneseAustralian.

“Aussie pride” has got to be the most messed up creed. While I agree that Australia is a great place to live, with high living standards, good public services and an efficient private sector,

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I do not automatically think that Aussie is best. Do Aussies produce better oversized fauna than anyone else? Possibly, but do we produce the best Chinese peppers? I doubt it, and claiming so would be erroneous. And don’t get me started on “Aussie Jobs”.

Pride does not make sense. It is based on the view that what I am or what I have done is better than what you are or what you have done. What bullshit.

If you think that you’re better than everyone else then by definition you aren’t because you’re clearly ignorant.

I’m sorry, but you have nothing to be proud of, you’re just as shit as the rest of us, which is lucky, because apparently it’s a sin anyway.

The 7 Deadly sins

SLOTH Words: Emma Jones

Not to be confused with the slow-moving tropical American mammal, sloth refers to extreme laziness. Probably considered a sin in biblical times because lazy people don’t build pyramids or attend synagogue, sloth is easier to succumb to in a world tailored for lazy people. Thanks to the internet, you never have to leave your house. You can order your prescriptions and groceries online, study online, socialise online, date online. It doesn’t matter if your online date is fugly because let’s face it, if you never get out of bed you’re probably pretty gross too. You can rub lotion into each other’s bedsores (between asterisks to denote action, of course, as actually performing that generous and sensual act would require moving).

The biblical definition of sloth stretches to more than just the physical, though.

Spiritual laziness is a CARDINAL SIN.

I’m not sure exactly what that means but it sounds like the pope will shoot you with his laser sceptre if you commit it, so be careful. They say that idle hands are the devil’s playthings — in other words, if your body and soul are lazy, you’re leaving yourself open to what I like to call a Linda Blair. Nobody wants to projectile vomit on a priest now, do we? Best keep that kind of behaviour to the carpark behind Red Square.

The bible is full of parables to prove to readers that sloth has nasty consequences. Really that’s a pointless exercise, because lazy people aren’t going to read a million-page book and then search for meaning in its story (that’s why I still haven’t read Ulysses). If you did read the parables, however, you’d learn that if you’re lazy, you’ll pretty much die and go to hell, where there will be, I am told, “weeping and gnashing of teeth”1.

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This worries me because when it comes to sloth, I am a major offender. I go hungry rather than walk to the supermarket. My idea of studying for exams is staring blankly at a textbook for 20 minutes before giving up and watching TV. Hell2, I buy new underwear instead of doing the laundry.

I should probably work on fixing my sloth. I should probably also make my bed, wash the dishes, feed the cat and pay my phone bill. But I can’t. I’m too lazy. I’ll just blame Satan for my idle hands and stay in my pyjamas all day.

At least if I could turn my head 360 degrees on my neck I wouldn’t have to turn my torso to watch the TV. 1

Matthew 25:30

2 Pun intended. Hell is a plethora of dad jokes; consider this a sampler.

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Horse of pain:

Jump around Should there be no horses for these courses?

Words: Seb Tonkin / Illustrations: Alexandra Stjepovic Horse racing

is a sport in which smallish

and move from one arbitrary point to another as quickly as possible. It’s one of the oldest organised sports on the planet — it was present at the first Olympic games, persisted for centuries, and was known later for its aristocratic associations as the ‘Sport of Kings’, and even later for its bookmakers and funny hats. The law student tent at Oakbank (nice thwarting the stereotype guys) is just another link in tradition that dates back to the hippodromes of ancient Greece.

Disappointingly, it turns out that ‘hippo’ is Latin for horse.

people sit on animals

But this century, horse racing has mostly appeared in the news for a more distressing reason:

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the deaths of racehorses. More specifically: the deaths of racehorses in jumps races — hurdles, or steeplechases, in which horses are expected to leap over solid obstacles, sometimes in the course of a long-distance race. It seems that every season we see the same footage of horses missing their jumps, falling, and being covered by green tarpaulins.

Groups like PETA have expressed their opposition to the practice, the RSPCA has called for a halt to the sport, and websites like HorseDeathWatch.com have attempted to bring the issue to a wider audience.

Closer to home, in June, Tammy Franks (one of two Greens members of the state Legislative Council) introduced a bill that would amend the Animal Welfare Act to ban jumps racing, bringing it in line penalty-wise with widelyconsidered-nasty things like serious ill-treatment and cock-fighting. The move would reflect a long-running and widespread trend away from the practice. Beginning in 1903 with Queensland, most Australian states have phased

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jumps races out of the equestrian calendar. The only ones bucking (!) the trend are Victoria and SA. And last year, even Racing Victoria made the races’ continued existence conditional on three or fewer fatalities each season.

When introducing the bill, Franks argued that jumps racing is a cruel practice, and the statistics, at face value, support her. A study (admittedly slightly old now) found that fatalities and serious injuries are both eighteen times more likely to occur in jumps races than flat races. More than 4% of all competing jumps racehorses will die on the track, and more than 28% will suffer an injury serious enough to retire them.

The injuries are horrific to see — horses shatter bones, and some have, in the past, bled out in their trailers. Of course, jockeys are also at risk whenever a racehorse falls. And recent statistics show that far from improving, the incidence of mishap is actually growing.

There’s an economic factor too. The other states without jumps races didn’t

Jumps Racing

ban the event, per se – in most cases it simply stopped making enough money to be worthwhile. Franks raised a study that found flats races were 3.7 times more profitable than their more jumpy cousins. The betters’ relative distaste is reflected in the wider public, too – polls on the Australian and Sydney Morning Herald websites show around 75% support for banning jumps racing. So if it’s demonstrably more dangerous, less profitable, and unpopular, surely we can all quietly agree to move on? Not a chance.

Tammy Franks’s amendment bill failed utterly. Four votes were counted in favour — Franks, Mark Parnell (the other Green in the Upper House), Kelly Vincent (Dignity for Disability), and Ann Bressington (No Pokies independent).

The remainder — both major parties, and the other independents – voted against. You could say that the neighs (!) had it. You could even say that you whinny some, you lose some (!). I’m sorry.

There is a vocal group who think the animal rights activists should get off their high horse (!). In 2009, David Londegran, a jumping horse trainer, called up Melbourne’s 3AW to trot out (!) his view on the jumps race debate.

He said that he loved his horses and treated them well. Oh, and also that, if jumps racing were banned, he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot the horses, one by one, and literally (literally!) send their severed heads (Godfather style) to ‘all the radical groups against jumping races’. Of course. Those radical groups. But the crazy does belie arguments put forward by many more reasonable sounding people.

As it turns out, many of those people have been elected. If you’re a glutton for punishment, you can brave the Hansard and read the Legislative Council debate over Franks’ bill online. To spare you my travail, I’ll outline some of the arguments here. Liberal member Terry

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Stephens echoed Londegran’s rant by submitting that were jumps racing banned, trainers would have no choice but to put down their horses.

Let’s accept that, for the sake of argument. But I think the issue people have isn’t with the death alone — it’s with the painful, physical nature of it, and the purpose of it. A ban might lead to the painless euthanasia of many racehorses, but it would also stop the raising of more horses to take their place.

Labor member Gerry Kandelaars mentioned that trainers see horses as ‘natural jumpers’. Indeed, the sight of horses who, having lost their jockeys, finish the race anyway, might suggest that they enjoy it. But the evidence suggests it’s more a product of training than instinct. The University of Sydney’s Dr Paul McGreevey (who presumably spends a whole lot of time sitting and watching horses do things) argues that in the wild, horses prefer to go around obstacles, jumping only when necessary. Just like people. Dr Thomas Tobin

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Jumps Racing

from Kentucky found that a horse’s skeleton simply isn’t built for prolonged jumps races, which lead to severe stress on bones and joints.

Finally, reps from both sides hit hard on the economy. They mentioned the amount that carnivals like Oakbank inject into the state economy, and the number of jobs in ‘jockeys, trainers, strappers, vets and stable support staff’ that might be lost. This argument ignores the reality of the industry. Jumps races are just 1% of all races in Australia.

They make less money and are less popular.

Arguably, the statistics show that Oakbank and other events could make more money by replacing jumps races with more flat ones. Even if there was a loss, it would be a small one. None other than Steve Ploubidis, the former chief executive of the SA Jockey Club, has stated: ‘Flat racing would not miss jumps racing. It’s not popular with the public or the punter’.

There’s no reason to doubt the advocates of jumps racing when they speak of their genuine love for the animals and for the event. Certainly, they wouldn’t be in it for the money. The industry’s also made some mostly ineffective attempts at reform. Clearly, nobody wants to see horses die. But we cannot deny the uncomfortable fact that jumps racing still puts horses (and riders) at a seriously elevated risk of serious injury or death, in the name, basically, of entertainment. It’s another one of those issues that essentially boil down to a question of how much animal death we, as a society, are comfortable with – in what conditions, and for what purposes. At least for now, state government has decisively rejected a ban. You can lead a horse to water, but — fine I’ll stop. O

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On Dit Magazine

“Do I swallow? Uh, by definition...”

“Yeah, I just like hanging with friends. Birds of a feather ‘n shit.”

“What are we gonna do? Ah, we’ll just wing it...”

Bird Of The Week An On Dit institution returns

“I guess you could say I’m a bit of a stickybeak.”

“My favourite singers are Nelly Furtado and Taylor Swift”

“Guys sometimes say I’m kinda flighty, but that doesn’t ruffle my feathers...”

“I’m not really into that ‘early bird’ shit. Worms taste pretty terrible. I’m more of a night owl”

Volume 79, Issue 11

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Doodles Words and Doodles: Ann Nguyen-Hoang

Some facts of life: lectures are boring, my attention span is abysmal and, more often than not, I am either sleep deprived or really, really hungry. This leads to a propensity for doodling and, between that and plonking my head onto the table to nap, I can’t say I’m especially repentant.

I was asked to find some old doodles to stick in On Dit but, unfortunately, most of my notes have succumbed to the half-yearly fiery pyre (there is a reason), so I found very little and what I could find was fairly unimpressive. I did however pick up on a few patterns in what I tend to draw, so here’s some insight into the mindsets in which Ann doodles.

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Most tutorials start with my attention on the tutor and maybe ninety per cent degrade into zoning out or doodling. Within the latter, there are three categories: ‘hungry and tired, cbf’, ‘listening with half an ear’ and ‘I’m not even pretending to try anymore’.

The first is fairly self-explanatory and usually involves only half my brain and a shaky hand.

This tends to produce demented forms of everyday things (like trains or toast or elephants) which, quite frankly, look psychotic, so end up accompanied by captions reading things like “I’m going to kill you in your sleep with a toothpick”. The second covers tutorials that possibly sound important, disguised under a soothing monotonous drone. I know I should pay at-

On Dit Magazine

tention, so I reach a compromise and only doodle relevant things, like happy little urinary systems or diseases in fancy handwriting.

In the last group, all pretences are dropped and I leave the tutorial, if not with important knowledge that will shape my very future, then with a few pages of pretty pictures.

What exactly have my four years of tertiary education taught me, you ask? A firm respect for those who are able to focus in lectures and tutes, and a suspicion of being goldfish in a past life. O

Volume 79, Issue 11

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On Dit Magazine

Doodles

Volume 79, Issue 11

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A New

Sen-sace-tion SACE: Making uni students dumber since 2011 Words: Casey Briggs / Ilustration: Billy Horn

In case you haven’t heard, there is a new kid on the education block. The SACE (South Australian Certificate of Education) as we know it has been retired and now exists only in certificates gathering dust at the bottom of drawers and Australian Studies related night terrors.

There is a now a new SACE, an arguably sexier SACE. Imaginatively, it is called the SACE. If you ever want to feel old, seek out a current high school student and tell them about HESS Restricted subjects.

When you get a blank face back, resist the urge to break into tears and tell them about the good old days. Change is good, right? Let’s find out.

The SACE reform process has been a long time coming. The groundwork was laid in 2006, with the release of the Ministerial Review of the SACE, titled ‘Success for all’.

Associate Professor Sivakumar Alagumalai is a Lecturer in the School of Education, and is also a member of the SACE Board (formerly known as SSABSA). He explains “One of the things they wanted was success for all.

Students learn differently and students may have particular interest in a field that they want to explore compared to the traditional domain.”

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Part of this philosophy was the recognition that preparing students for tertiary student is not the only measure of a successful secondary education.

Students need to be empowered to take control of their own learning, no matter whether they go on to further education or directly into the workforce.

Stage 2 of the SACE is where the largest changes are, however. You now only have to take four subjects to qualify for a tertiary admissions ranking, but you also undertake a research project. There is also no more mention of Group 1 or 2 courses, and nothing about HESS General or Restricted courses.

What’s new pussycat?

The research project is about providing flexibility for students to study something that particularly interests them.

This could be a practical project, or something more grounded in academia.

“Say if someone is interested in music making, they can develop something about acoustics and so on,” suggests Alagumalai.

First up, Australian Studies has been scrapped as a compulsory course. I’m yet to meet anyone that is mourning this. If your Australian Studies class was anything like mine in Year 11, it consisted of a whole lot of doing not much, interspersed with some time playing cards.

Replacing it is a compulsory course called the Personal Learning Plan. This is designed to be taken in Year 10, and helps students to plan out future education goals, and decide how they are going to get there. Among other things, it looks at subject choices in Year 11 and 12, and potential career pathways.

One of the components of the Personal Learning Plan is some work experience, which A/Prof Alagumalai says, “Is adding amazing value… the response has been great with the whole engagement with the community”

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The Suicide… Four?

The government has actively been trying to increase school retention, especially the number of students completing Year 12. Given that many of the restrictions on subject selection no longer exist, and you only need to complete four courses to qualify for university, it is easy to argue that the standards have simply been lowered to meet these targets.

But is this actually true? A/Prof Alagumalai disagrees that the SACE is any easier now than it used to be. Instead, he argues that it is a different curricu-

lum altogether, and the debate comes down to differences in the underlying philosophy of education. The philosophy driving the new SACE is that everyone who gets an education should enjoy their learning journey, and feel empowered to learn. This is what the Success for all report was all about.

On the broad scale of potential research projects, he says, “You could argue that people can do anything they want, so it’s not as rigorous as pure maths and science… but they have had a lot of assessment measures put into place. It is very rigorous, and there are particular standards just like in those traditional subjects.”

Besides, quantifying the standard of a high school certificate is a difficult task in itself. “How would you measure quality? How would you know a curriculum has dumbed you down?”

Implications The new SACE will also affect further education providers, such as the University of Adelaide. Now that you only need to study four subjects in depth, it could make it harder for students to meet prerequisites for programs like engineering and specialised science programs. Also, SACE graduates are

likely to enter university with a narrower knowledge base. This is something that the bigwigs in Mitchell Building are monitoring closely.

It has already been observed that enrolment in some Year 12 Humanities and Social Sciences courses has dropped, particularly Geography which has fallen to just over a third of its 2010 enrolment. There has also been a drop in some courses that specifically prepare students for tertiary study, such as Specialist Maths.

Whether or not these changes affect the makeup of enrolments at the University of Adelaide is something that will be analysed in great depth in the next few years. Prerequisites and first year courses may need to be changed, maybe even entire program structures.

While the new SACE may produce graduates that are less prepared for specialised university programs, it is hard to argue with the philosophy that everyone should be given the chance to enjoy their education, and get something useful out of it. Not everyone wants or needs to go to university, and shouldn’t our education system be designed to prepare people for whatever they choose to do with their lives? O

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WE Can Dance!

Everybody look at your pants!

Dance. To some it’s a dirty word: only to be uttered derisively after four gin and tonics when an unwary friend makes the mistake of thinking the derisive individual’s toe-tapping arises from an intention to jive, rather than an overdose of tonic, and the said friend suggests they hit the D-floor. When Justice released their track ‘D.A.N.C.E’, not only did literacy levels increase at an exponential rate not seen since the Jackson 5’s ‘ABC’, but that dirty word kicked non-believers in the face like holy water to a vampire.

My primary school’s awkward dance subject put me off both dance and boys (they had sweaty hands and they smelled bad and stepped on my feet).

Fortunately my aversion to both was not life-long. But it did last a while. In the early years of university on nights out, I performed the awkward foot tap, the drink-in-hand shoulder-shrug, some head banging and some ‘shopping trolley’. The last one is incredibly difficult to execute with the right amount of 50s Housewife verve but with a touch of bourgeoisie only-whole-wheatorganic-in-this-trolley (after all, it’s

called ‘shopping trolley’ not ‘reaching up to the fast food drive-through lane window’). I happened to turn 18 in the hey-day of the Black Eyes Peas (I don’t know if it was their hey-day, or even what a hey-day entails. Possibly a level of popularity where people say “Hey! I know those Black Eyed Peas you speak of. They make for an excellent soup and divine casserole when you’re in a rush.”

Anyway let’s just agree that this legume musical group was pumped out of many a night venue). This reaching of adulthood in the era of such tunes meant that I was an unwilling attendee at places

Lay person’s guide to dance Jazz: it’s all about Jazz hands (waving your hands around with fingers spread like you’re trying to distract a charging bull).

The Cool Dude: Any movement of the hip region is forbidden. For the purposes of this dance, you do not have hips or a pelvis. No one knows how you sit down, but you’re here to dance not sit. Hands are in pockets; one foot engages in a light toe tap and the head must nod up and down within a range of 20 degrees. Facial expression must be deadpan.

Any enjoyment in this activity of ‘dance’ is forbidden.

The Robot: imagine you’re a robot.

Running man: imagine you’re running on the spot but your arm swing looks like you’re trying

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to punch the dancer in front of you with both fists.

Foxtrot: galloping sideways while clinging on to your partner for dear life.

Line-dancing: you stand in a line.

There are cowboy hats.

Perhaps there is a stalk of wheat in your mouth.

With the right amount of enthusiasm, the steps don’t really matter, as long as you stay in the line.

Salsa: other than being a tasty condiment in which you did corn chips, it is also a Latin dance style. Men have to do the thinking and come up with different ways of pretending they’re stirring a cake mix while the ladies spin around like the whisk of the Sunbeam mixer you wish you had.

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WE Can Dance!

Words: Adele Teh / Illustrations: Madeleine Karutz

where one of these songs would elicit squeals of joy and obligatory hands-inthe-air, followed by ‘getting down and dirty’ on the D-floor. As an aside, I was incredibly traumatised by the Black Eyes Peas in my formative years. I’m not saying you’re a horrible person if your musical persuasions swing that way, I’m simply saying that I personally was unnecessarily scarred for my tender years.

Working in retail didn’t help, with my early retail career marred by repeatedly filling the ’No. 1’ slot in the CD charts rack with 500 copies of the Black Eyed Peas album, every CD bringing back

fatal memories of a Fergie D-floor call to arms and standing sideline at inept yet hopeful break dance circles.

Then, before I knew it, like a deadly contagion (or more likely the result of years of peer pressure wearing down my spirit), I somehow found myself participating willingly in this blasphemous activity known as dance (all without the need for inebriation nor being afflicted

by Mad Cow Disease). Feet were lifted from sticky linoleum dance floors in vague rhythmic patterns; arms were raised (never above head height, never)

and swung in parabolic curves. Now with the aid of my immersion in the night time dance scene (read: navigating the dance floor BO, dodging the beerin-hand dancer’s splash zone and getting my toes stepped on at Supermild), past shameful addiction to the TV reality show ‘So You Think You Can Dance’ and recent salsa lessons, I will give you a run-down of a few dance styles and moves.:

Rave dancing: if you thought it just involved stomping and picking imaginary fruit from tall trees, a quick Internet search just proved both you and me wrong. There is so much more to it - not only must you master those two moves, you must also “dress for success”.

The Julia: with palms open, push your hands forward at chest height like you’re telling an audience of thousands you want them all to be “moving forward”.

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Shoot, Marry, Shag Who wants a horrible hypothetical?

Words: Annie Waters I’m sure we’ve all played this game at some point – sorting three persons of equally undesirable status into a hierarchy of how long you have to withstand their presence/see them naked. For example, your horribly racist boss, your haggard old cleaning lady, and your mum (come on, it had to be done).

Whom from this tricky trio will you espouse, who will suffer the might of your

wrath, and with whom will you share one night of unspeakable passion?

It’s a tough choice. Just as tough as the kind of choice Australians are currently faced with amongst our political leadership. With both major party leaders decidedly in the bad books (both Gillard and Abbott have less than a 35% approval rating, according to the News-

poll results of 18th September), and Opposition rumours that Kevin Rudd is preparing to give Julia some of her own back-stabby medicine, it doesn’t seem like there’s anyone that Australians actually want in the Prime Minister’s chair.

Let’s look instead at their pros and cons in a much less distasteful contest. Play along with your friends! Abbott, Gillard or Rudd… shoot, marry or shag?

Politicians TONY ABBOTT

JULIA GILLARD

Shoot: You’d make a lot of friends.

Shoot: You’d make a LOT of friends.

Marry: At least you’d get some hot children out of the deal, judging by his daughters. And we all want to live vicariously through hot kids, right?

Marry: Maybe if you were married, eventually you’d learn to tune out her voice? And, you’d get to be on TV.

Shag: He works out, I guess. On the other hand; budgie smugglers.

Shag: Aren’t red-heads supposed to be fiery in bed?

KEVIN RUDD Shoot: I have the creeping suspicion he just wouldn’t die. Like Jason, from the Friday the 13th films. Or a cockroach.

Marry: He’d do the cooking and cleaning… at least I presume so, due to his uncanny resemblance to Mr Sheen (of the cleaning product line, not the one who does lines of cleaning product). Just don’t ask him to make non-vegetarian meals.

Shag: Yeah… nah.

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On Dit Magazine

ANNOYING TWEEN SUPERSTARS (Yeah, it’s a little bit creepy because they’re underage. It’s probably creepier that you’re more annoyed that you’ve only got one bullet. But you know the rules… )

JUSTIN BIEBER

REBECCA BLACK

WILLOW SMITH

Shoot: You would get death threats in the form of poisoned Girl Scouts cookies for years to come.

Shoot: Easy to remain anonymous, what with all the death threats she’s already received.

Shoot: Do you really want a MIB Agent coming after you?

Marry: No-one wants to deal with the inevitably tragic John Farnham-esque grabs at lost fame as his youth fades.

You just know he’s going to commission a replacement fringe made from the hair of starving children from third-world countries.

Marry: You’d have a tightly packed weekly schedule – bowls (and cereal!) every morning, music practice on Wednesday, obligatory partying on Fridays. Bliss.

Marry: HOT KIDS. Possibly will be massive brats and get pushed into showbiz before they can walk.

Shag: She is infinitely cooler than you will ever be and she’s only freaking 10.

This may be the only chance you get.

Shag: Fun, fun, fun, fun... plus she is definitely up for sitting in the back seat.

Shag: Every tween girl’s dream. Also, of this bunch, the closest to being legal.

Badly Behaved Sportsmen BEN COUSINS Shoot: He does it perfectly well all by himself, thank you very much.

Marry: Trips to Malibu every few years are part of the package…

Shag: Yep. I’d go there, tats and all.

BRENDAN FEVOLA Shoot: Tequila, vodka, or turps?

Marry: Pro: will wear a suit at your wedding; con: it may have been stolen from the drycleaners.

Shag: Only if you don’t mind revealing photos of yourself in the shower all over the front page!

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SHANE WARNE Shoot: The bullet would probably rebound off his plastic face and hair…

He’s pretty much Kryten from Red Dwarf.

Marry: Liz Hurley got there first. Thank God, you’ve dodged a wrong’un.

Shag: If you like text-sex then this one’s for you.

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Another Letter to the Our roving infringer fights expiation with mensuration... again

Dear Sir/Madam, I write regarding my dispute against a parking expiation notice I incurred on the 22/7/2011 (expiation number 61583715).

I recently received a letter from Mr/ Ms R Donoghut explaining that my application for the excusal of the expiation notice had been rejected. I found the contents of the letter quite puzzling, as they did not address the core concepts of my application. I must admit, I was originally somewhat vexed by this, but the cause of the disparity soon became apparent to me.

In short, my flatmate was to blame.

I will, with your assumed permission, elaborate.

In early 2010 I entered into a joint residential tenancy with my relative, who shall for reasons of confidentiality remain anonymous. We became, for better or for worse, flatmates. It wasn’t a decision I took lightly, as I knew him to be a typical student of The University of Adelaide’s Bachelor of Law program — a precocious upstart with a propensity for grandiloquence.

The flippant letter your department received in August was formulated not by me, but by my aforementioned relative. I would never dream of putting my name to something so trite — churlish even. He handed the letter to me over the dining table one unseasonably balmy evening in mid-August. I must admit, I found it amusing — a mere piece of light entertainment — but thought no more of it. If the letter is currently within reach, you will of course notice that my signature is conspicuous in its absence.

While he painstakingly penned the loquacious letter in question, I was writing a different letter of appeal, which I have included in this envelope for your consideration. I apologise for its poor physical condition – a month of sitting on my cluttered desk has not

50

been kind to it. How the letters came to be switched, with the false letter (complete with specious reasoning and flawed logic) becoming sealed in the envelope which I delivered In Person to your office, I fear I will never know. My flatmate has denied responsibility and I have no concrete evidence against him, merely a healthy dose of conjecture.

Applying Occam’s Razor to the situation, I am forced to admit that a simple error on my part is, in reality, the most parsimonious explanation.

As for the small matter of the alleged fraud my relative may or may not have perpetuated, rest assured I will not be pressing charges. I have sought legal advice (from said relative, my only legal contact), which pointed to my case being unsuitable for either criminal or civil proceedings. I cannot help feeling that the advice may have been coloured unduly by bias of one form or another, but to be honest I feel that pressing charges would be to the detriment of our already volatile domestic arrangement. What do you think?

But that is a moot point. I must say, the more I consider the prospect the more I feel that investing so much time into such a trivial matter is, quite frankly, completely and utterly ridiculous.

Kindest regards, Mitchell Petersen Tym 05/09/2011

Dear Sir/Madam, I’m interested in disputing a parking expiation notice I incurred on the 20/7/2011 (expiation number 61583715).

My objections to the notice are twofold.

Firstly, mechanical troubles forced me to park my scooter at an inopportune time without a viable parking space, leading to the infraction in question.

As a student, matters of economy and convenience must be taken into account

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when selecting a vehicle. This led me to purchase a brand new, 50cc Piaggio scooter (pictured) in August of 2010.

It was an affordable vehicle, costing $2070 at the time in question (This is in addition to quite reasonable on-road costs. I gave consideration to including the receipt in this letter, but I am loathe to waste your time with unnecessary information.). It is also fuel and space efficient, which for one who is committed to decreasing urban traffic congestion, as well as our proud nation’s worrying carbon footprint, is an extremely attractive package. Its top speed of 60 km/h is not objectively impressive, but it possesses brisk acceleration and liberatingly spritely manoeuvrability — qualities one appreciates after being raised in close proximity to the leopard-infested jungles of rural Formosa (seriously, it was like Meow-schwitz in there). These enticing attributes, however, come at a cost.

When one has just one mode of transport to one’s name, mechanical problems can be devastatingly inconvenient.

This year, such problems have plagued me like some kind of inconvenient, nonlife-threatening plague. A recalcitrant engine failure led me to invest significant time, energy and money in repairs in early June. As the technician report (included) details, multiple mechanical problems were to blame and recurrent transient engine failure was almost inevitable in the future. I do not profess to be skilled in the mechanical

Adelaide City Council Words: Mitchell Petersen Tym arts, but my understanding is that fuel line blockage due to narrow lines and dirty fuel was the likely aetiology of the problem.

Several times since the repairs, engine stalling did occur. It invariably resolved however, with a successful start always being possible within 20 minutes. In such situations, there was no remedy but patience, as with a dry weight of 80kg , it is impractical to move the scooter any significant distance without incurring bodily injury. On the chilly evening of the 20th of July, one such failure occurred. In the evening on Hindley St, a permissible park is difficult to ascertain at the best of times. Therefore, the probability of rolling to a gentle halt within one when one’s engine fails is, I’m sure you’d agree, simply ludicrous!

For this reason, I am of the belief that mechanical failure rendered me unable to properly observe the parking restrictions in place.

Furthermore, I feel that the notion of penalising me financially (a hefty $107, no less) for inconveniencing the good folk that drive the taxicabs of Adelaide by parking in a Taxi zone is highly questionable, given that a large van was occupying much of the space in question at the time, rendering it quite useless to the standard issue (garden-va-

riety) sedan-style taxicab (I’m sure your meticulously-kept records will reveal that the van in question was also fined at the time in question). Even so, the amount of space I was forced to use was negligible and would not have decreased the quantity of taxicabs that could have parked in the zone in question, even in the hypothetical absence of large commercial vehicles parked illegally without a shred of justification or consideration for the parking restrictions that the Adelaide City Council puts in place for very good reasons.

I took the liberty of photographing the taxi zone in question once it had been fully vacated. I also took the liberty of measuring its length, with the tape measure I keep on my person at all times (pictured). Utilising advanced mensuration techniques I was able to measure the length at a total of 13.3m, despite the tape measure being only 8 metres in length. By way of comparison, a garden variety taxicab (like the Holden Commodore) has a length of around 4.9m . Were two of these taxicabs (the maximum viable amount) to park in the 13.3m space, leaving the standard 1m gap between them, 2.5m would still remain in which for my scooter to be parked, which, at a 90 degree angle to the kerb, requires a mere 37cm (also pictured) — barely the length of a small trout! Even if you continue to feel that a parking fine is warranted, the exorbitant

Volume 79, Issue 11

$107 fine reserved for obstructing a Taxi zone is surely not justifiable under the circumstances described.

I am reminded of Charles de Secondat, Baron de Montesquieu (marble bust pictured), or more specifically, his socio-political treatise The Spirit Of Laws, which elaborates on the idea that when persons in positions of authority enforce the “letter” (literal interpretation) of the law but not the “spirit”, they are ignoring something infinitely more important — the intent of those who wrote the law.

To clarify, I do not perceive the parking inspectors of Adelaide as belonging to some guild of Shylockian villainy, but I do feel that given that the situation I found myself in was unavoidable and that no possible harm or inconvenience was caused by my actions, enforcing the laws that I was forced to nominally break would be a cruel and unnecessary injustice — a pound of flesh extracted from an already emaciated individual.

Thank you for taking the time to read my request. I hope you will consider it kindly.

Warmest regards, Mitchell Petersen Tym 10/08/2011

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Local band bio: Gold Bloom

Words: Walter Marsh Conceived and birthed in a few short months early this year, all-girl quartet Gold Bloom have put their enviable musical chops and abundant feminine charm to exceptional use in 2011. They have charted an impressively truncated trajectory from a tentatively promising pub debut in June to standing in for Holly Throsby onstage at Leader Cheetah’s local album launch in September.

Their rapid ascension didn’t immaculately sprout from a vacuum of course, that would be silly! All four members are cut from some diverse and established swatches of musical cloth , and have been thrown together by fate and Access Adelaide timetables. A recently returned Adelaide native, Naomi Keyte spent several years impressing Melbourne audiences with winsome folk music as Soursop whilst earning her stripes studying jazz voice. Juliet Hunter has carved darker musical shapes as a violinist, guitarist and singer in Adelaide prog-rock luminaries Like Leaves, while

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guitarist Freya Adele turned heads and ears in dream pop bands Bing Goes To Monaco and Our Husband. Late addition Zoe Behan also cut her quirky pop teeth fronting the late British Robots before unexpectedly hopping behind the drums for this outfit.

Since forming in March the band have gradually teased at the boundaries of their common musical ground, and are evidently finding their own identity is a definitively eclectic one. Perhaps not surprising due to the varying backgrounds and influences of their members, their current set veers from relatively straight up all-girl garage to guttural country rock. Not to mention the occasional excursion into lurching, segmented odysseys of (all-caps) ROCK, distancing themselves from the inevitable Warpaint comparisons with a level of grunt their LA counterparts rarely venture into. Add the occasional buzz saw riff and jazzy bass chords and we have the makings of a pretty intriguing

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new presence on the Adelaide scene.

Then there’s Quantities, an immaculate power ballad that channels the trusty old quiet-loud dynamics of grunge to drive home its pleading chorus with an oncoming wall of fuzz and distortion.

Despite that diversity (which will surely be reined into a more coherent sound with time), the band’s sound is galvanised by their daft talent for singing, coating their songs with a three way vocal assault with each frontlady weaving in and out of dizzying close harmony, playing tag-team with lead vocal from minute to minute. Despite the increasing ambition and scope of their instrumental chops, this is where they weaken knees the most, and forms a neat counterpoint that accentuates the crunch, time changes and attention-deficit riffing to turn potentially dicey territory into a pretty promising looking paddock. All that’s left to for you to do is graze, dear reader. O

Square Meals The Whitmore Words: Gemma Beale / Degustatory Expertise: George Stamatescu

Do you like pubs? Feeling nostalgic for cheap meals and drink specials?

Welcome to The Whitmore. Predictably located on the edge of Whitmore Square, owner Pete Hogan’s done a pretty good job turning what was once a dodgy strip club into a considerably less-dodgy pub. “Whitmore Square?” you whine, “that’s forever away, blah blah blah”. To that I say a) no it’s not, stop being such a wuss and b) it’s worth the walk. Why? Because The Whitmore is all about ridiculous specials – starting with $6 Chicken and Eggplant Schnit-

zels all day Wednesday (add a couple of bucks for a sauce of your choice).

George chose a Chicken with Gravy after which he felt “pleasantly full”. I did an Eggplant Parmy, after which I felt a little sick – but the good kind of sick that comes from any entirely fried meal.

Oh, and did I mention the beer-batter chips? ‘Cause there’s beer batter chips.

You’d think deep fried potato might not need battering, but you probably think chicken shouldn’t come in a can, and it does so, you know, you can be wrong sometimes.

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Busy on Wednesdays? Don’t worry, Pete’s got you covered with $8 Pasta on Thursday and $12 Fish on Friday, not to mention $12 Chef Specials (roasts and whatnot) that run all weekend. Finally, drinks – happy hour runs from 4:30pm ‘til 6:30pm every day and includes $4 pints, wine, bubbles, vodka and gin.

See? I told you Pete had you covered.

Head in on a Tuesday night for acoustic 60’s pop or Thursday for an Irish-folk sing along and say hi to Pete because “he’s just such a good guy”. O

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Now We’re Words: Garf Chan

Chinese Corn and Pork DUMPLINGS Ingredients •

•

1 pack of dumpling sheets (round shape) from an Asian grocery store

•

400g of frozen/ canned extra juicy corn kernels

•

½ cup of light soy sauce

•

½ cup of water (optional)

•

3 tablespoons of corn starch

•

500g of minced pork

1 tablespoon of vinegar

•

4 tablespoon of sugar

•

1 disposable glove

Making The Dumplings 1.

Mix corn starch, sugar, soy, vinegar together in a large mixing bowl.

Wear a disposable glove and add corn and pork mince into the mix. Make sure the mixture is not too dry (lumpy) or wet (when all ingredients are stuck to your glove); otherwise it will affect the taste and increase your difficulty in wrapping them. If it is too dry, add water gradually into the mix.

2.

Get a small dish with water. To make dumplings, place one full teaspoon of filling into centre of dumpling sheet. Dip finger in water and run it on half the edge of dumpling sheet. Fold them together and seal the dumpling, but be sure that you try to squeeze the air out of the filling.

3.

Line them on a baking sheet. Place in freezer for 15 minutes once you finish a tray. Then, separate and either store them in the freezer for later (they can last several months) or cook them right away. Freezing them first is important because then the dumplings will hold together nicely when cooked.

3.

Once they are golden brown, they are ready to be eaten! Enjoy!

Pan Frying (you can poach them or steam them too, but I prefer to pan-fry) 1.

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On medium-high heat, add 1 tablespoon of oil and ½ cup of water.

Place dumplings in the pan. Lid on. The oil will make the sheets crisp while the water will steam the filling, so you can get crunchy dumplings with juicy fillings.

2.

Cook for about 5 minutes. Check if the dumplings are crisp yet, if not, add about 2 tablespoons of water and continue to cook them- lid off.

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Cooking with garf I first learnt to make dumplings from my grandma when I was 6 years old.

However, because my grandma (like every other grandma) makes perfect dumplings at lightning speed I didn’t master her technique until I was much older. I originally liked making dumplings in all shapes and sizes just to compete with my grandma, but in the end, I am grateful that she taught me how to make them in her way. Not least

because my experimental shapes always somehow ended up exploding when I cooked them. To add insult to injury, my grandpa would come into the kitchen and ask, ‘Oh is that noodles in mince soup?’ Hrumph.

But now, my grandma’s teaching has proven its use. When there’s a social gathering that requires me to contrib-

Volume 79, Issue 11

ute a dish: make dumplings. When I’m bored: make dumplings. When I get homesick and moan about not having food in the fridge: make dumplings.

Judging from the difficulties in finding a graduate job these days, sooner or later, hey, I may have my kids to show off my technique to. Haha! I kid, I kid you. (pun intended) Anyway, I will stop making bad jokes and skip to the recipe.

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C O L U M N S

C O L U M N S

C O L U M N S

Columns

C O L U M N S

thanks a latte Words: Adam Marley

Coffee-wank has now progressed (particularly amongst the hipster elite) to the point where people no longer have only a favourite coffee shop but a favourite barista, commonly referred to with a conceited possessive – we’ve all heard it (and some of you may have said it): “My barista changed beans last week,” “My barista knows how to make my extra froth, extra hot, decaf, no chocolate, soy mugacino (not a thing) just the way I like it,” “My barista does a simply FANTASTIC job of controlling their impulse to stab me in the eye with a milk thermometer whenever I stand by the coffee machine yammering away about my boring doings and goings-on like they are in some way profound,” and so it continues. The barista-customer relationship has evolved to mimic the publican-patron relationship. The barista has been relegated to the realm of secret keeper and anecdote listener.

Accordingly I have compiled a brief lexicon of terminology your barista may use in the off-chance you decide to let them speak.

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Dialling-in – You may encounter, especially when asking for a single origin, a warning from your barista that your ‘spro may take a minute or two as they have to ‘dial it in’. You may also receive no such warning but notice your barista pull and discard several shots whilst making adjustments to their grinder before they present you with a product they deem worthy. The first scenario is the one you’re shooting for here because it means they believe you know something about coffee (whether or not that is the case). Simply put, every bean is different, even the same beans are different as they age (‘degas’ – throw it at your barista for some bonus points) – the relationship between grind and dose(age) needs to be fine-tuned dependant on bean or environmental circumstances in order to get the most out of the coffee. It is a process you should be appreciative of, and accordingly, despite your extended waiting time, reply with a cheerful “No probs!” to attain maximum success in your human-barista exchange.

Shorty – A short black. Order this.

S.O. – Single Origin; surprisingly enough a coffee sourced from a single origin, be that a single farm, co-op, local region or even just country (which doesn’t mean much to be honest).

Spare spout – more often than not

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you’ll be getting your ‘shots’ ‘pulled’ from a ‘group handle’ (‘portafilter’) with a two-spout bottom that splits the shot into two. Ideally the upcoming coffee orders need an even number of shots in total as this means no shots are wasted, occasionally though your barista may have a spare spout, that is, a lonely single shot is needed in the next few orders and the other shot is potentially up for grabs. So if your barista offers you a spare spout, and you enjoy your espresso (as any self-respecting coffee cognoscenti would) respond with “Thanking you kindly!” and drink up.

Tight/loose – As you become more familiar with your barista and they correspondingly become more comfortable with you, they are more likely to share difficulties they may be experiencing in making your chosen beverage. If you see your barista staring determinedly at your espresso pour, perhaps somewhat perturbed, you may hear them proclaim it is too tight or too loose. This is a reference to the flow rate of the pour and, without going into too much detail, both are less than desirable; your role here is simply to sound sympathetically annoyed for your barista as they ditch the shot and pull you another.

Good luck and happy drinking!

O

i Google Words: Emma Jones

There

I am grateful My browser history would suggest that the most frequent uses of the internet in my daily life are: are many reasons

for the internet.

•

Paying rent

•

Using online shopping as a portable form of retail therapy

•

Stalking people I meet at parties on Facebook (if I have met you, yes, I have probably stalked you)

•

Illegally downloading music

•

Looking at photographs of Alexander Skarsgård, who is so inhumanly beautiful it makes my ovaries ache

•

Ordering pizza

•

Watching cat videos

•

Googling things that I do not immediately comprehend

It is the last point that is of the greatest importance for today. You see, I am growing rather concerned that where I used to turn to unquestionable sources of knowledge such as books, doctors, mum and/or the Barr Smith Library, I now turn to Google. I know you’ve done it too. I’ve done extensive (Google) research* and, shockingly, it appears that this is a common trend.

When I first moved out of home, after receiving the “YOU’RE NOT INDEPENDENT ENOUGH FOR THIS YOU’LL BE BACK ON OUR DOORSTEP BY NEXT WEEK” lecture multiple times from my parents, I was too ashamed to prove them right by calling for such advice as What Is A Bayonet Lightbulb,

or How To Boil An Egg. So I Googled it. And it worked. With Google’s help, I subsisted on a diet of perfectly soft-boiled eggs and toast soldiers, and did my homework by the unforgiving light of a fluorescent lightbulb, which I had changed myself. I learned which products to clean my toilet with after a particularly horrifying Morning After The Night Before, educated myself on the delicate art of coffee plunging and even figured out how to make an edible carbonara. Google had turned me into a domestic goddess. But it didn’t stop there.

As my use of Google branched from the household (“laksa recipes”, “how to wash whites”) to the cringeworthy (“OC soundtrack”, “Sims 3 cheats”) I began to appreciate Google’s most miraculous function: autocomplete. Oh, the wonderful things people Google! Wonderful, wonderful things like “why do farts smell”, “what does it feel like to die”, “how far is 10km” and my personal favourite, “why can’t I own a Canadian”.

It makes me feel like much less of a dick to know that there are people out there who Google “what does Mila Kunis smell like” (creeps), “who is Rebecca Black” (bad pop-culture morons) and “what is a Mark Twain” (general morons). Knowing that the web is mostly surfed by ignorant cretins makes me feel far superior as I search for the kinds of things that no self-respecting arts student living out of home would know anyway. I mean really. Do any of you actually know how to clean an oven?

And if you do, can you come over?

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Encouraged by the noobs on autocomplete, I allowed Google to graduate quickly from my domestic companion to my General Practitioner.

It’s easy! Just type in your symptoms and Google will give you a list of possible diagnoses.

Last year I had my first ever migraine; Google told me I had a brain tumour.

I did not have a brain tumour. Google was wrong. It had failed me. I was devastated. Could it be possible that the same turds who Googled “how do I get a boner” fed their preposterous facts into this online info-beast? Could my brain tumour just as easily have been a Mark Twain? Is a Mark Twain contagious? These crapwits have corrupted my gullible faith in Google!

Although the above may seem like sheer nonsensical ranting, I have actually learnt a very valuable lesson from all of this: Google is NOT always right. It is sometimes useful, like when trying to figure out Fergie lyrics or translate something into Latin to see if it sounds like a Harry Potter spell. It is less useful when you are trying to ascertain something that is probably best advised by a professional. Like Martha Stewart.

Or your mother. Or like, you know. A doctor. O

*Please note I have not done any research.

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Procrastinetting The Hard Copy Blog Words: Sujini Ramamurthy

STRANGE

TALES

FROM

THE

INTERNET

Scanwiches — http://scanwiches.com/ Food porn at its finest. The site features, as you can probably guess from the title, scans of the most delicious looking bisected sandwiches from New York eateries. The images are surprisingly neat and attractive, and they all sound obscenely delicious. For instance, there is the The Stalwart Goatherd: Montchevre Goat Cheese, Honey, Roasted Beets, Roasted Red Pepper, Roasted Garlic Spread, Arugula, On Raisin and Nut Whole Wheat Bread. Or the Nachopedia: Tortilla Chips, Melted Pepper-Jack Cheese, Jalapeño, Grilled Steak, Pico De Gallo, Onions, Guacamole, On White Bread. PUT IT IN ME! One small caveat, don’t look at this site if you are hungry and have nothing at home but stale pumpernickel and cloves. You will be fucking starving by the end of it.

58

On Dit Magazine

Blackboards in Porn — http://blackboardsinporn.blogspot.com/ Blackboards in Porn is a brilliant site which pays homage to those pornographers with a keen intellect and an eye for detail. This blog is dedicated to determining whether those problems written on blackboards in classroom-themed porn films are correct. The site grades the blackboard content on difficulty, accuracy and clarity. Being someone who watches pornography less for the libidinal stimulation and more for the scintillating narratives, I like my tea-bagging to be before a painfully real mise en scène. The meticulous analysts at Blackboards in Porn have enabled me to find only the most veracious pornos online. Thank you, horny nerds.

Airline Meals.net — http://www.airlinemeals.net/ Being the gluttonous fatty that I am, I thought it only appropriate that this final edition of Procrastinetting feature two food websites.

This site features thousands upon thousands of photographs of airline meals, classifying meals by airline and class, then rating them.

Airplane food is delicious. I don’t care if it has been frozen for the last seventy years and is made out of cardboard, fish eyes and valium. Tiny compartmentalised meals make me feel like I’m from the future, or in prison, and I love it.

Volume 79, Issue 11

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Diversions Answers on page 7

I WOULD TOTALLY MAP THAT Easy

Medium

Hard

Central Eurasia

Afghanistan • Iran • Iraq • Israel • Jordan • Kuwait • Kyrgyzstan • Lebanon • Oman • Pakistan • Palestinian Territories • Qatar • Saudi Arabia • Syria • Tajikistan • Turkey • Turkmenistan • United Arab Emirates • Uzbekistan • Yemen

Abu Dhabi • Amman • Ankara • Ashgabat • Baghdad • Beirut • Bishkek • Damascus • Doha • Dushanbe • East Jerusalem / Ramallah & Gaza • Islamabad • Jerusalem • Kabul • Kuwait City • Muscat • Riyadh • Sana’a • Tashkent • Teheran

1 2 4 5 6

10

3 20 8

15

19

16 17

18 60

13 14

9

7

On Dit Magazine

12

11

Diversions Triviarama

AWKWORD

1.

“SMEAR”

Which player won the Norm Smith medal in this year’s AFL grand final?

2. In what building is Ned Kelly’s armour displayed?

3. What is the title of Jonathan Franzen’s latest novel?

4. Palestine recently made an appeal for statehood to which organ of the UN? 5. Ros Wilson was the front man for which 1970s Australian rock band?

6. Who is the Federal Member for Lalor?

7. Jimmy Barnes appears in the ad for what alcoholic beverage?

8. What is the unit of measurement that describes the pressure of sound waves?

9. True or False: Mexicali and Calexico are two towns on either side of the Mexico/California border?

10. List two alternative names for the bellybutton.

What it means: verb (1): To coat or cover something messily with a greasy or sticky substance. (2) spread over something. (3) to damage someone’s reputation. noun (1) a mark from a greasy or sticky substance.

What it sounds like it means: The mark left on one’s bathroom window by the sweaty, crotch-warmed hands of a peeping Tom. In other contexts, the upward motion of the hand from the chin, past the lips and up over dripping, snot-filled nostrils. Additionally, the wipe of the snotted hand on unwashed jeans. When used in conjunction with ‘pap,’ the word conjures images of helplessly spread legs, unprotected genitalia, blunt instruments, and the cold, steely gaze of a masked clinician.

Reason it’s awkward: There is an onomatopoeic echo of the wipe of loosely coagulated liquids. Further, given the word’s acoustic similarity to ‘fear’, the mind’s subconscious leap to the dark and distasteful is understandable.

In addition, when referring to gynaecological examination, the modern combination of ‘smear’ and ‘pap’ creates an Oedipal coupling that leaves the ego disquieted.

Crypt-o-Clues 1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

The pro floor is set out neatly (6) Greetings sirs, you give the appearance of purity (5) Amazingly, I’ve ripped this small fish apart, now he’s a monster (8) The man is concerned with the environment and vaginas with good reason (13) We docked again to spread the news (6) The feathers in bed make me write crossly (5)

Targedoku

Find as many words as you can using the letters on the Sudoku grid (including a 9 letter word). Words must be four letters or more and include the highlighted letter. Use the letters to solve the Sudoku (normal Sudoku rules apply)

T

F

Y

U

F

C E

Volume 79, Issue 11

C

T

N

I

N

Y D

N

I

U

E

I

I

U

N E

D

T

F

F

T

T

I

C

61

A MEssage From the

Incoming On Dit Editors It’s no coincidence that On Dit’s 80th year is also when the world’s supposed to end.

We want On Dit 2012 to rain fire on campus — a fire of wit and brawn, miscellaneous distraction and current events as seen by you, the students and readers. We’re going to be your on-campus guides to the coming apocalypse.

ticles and made sweet, tender love to our eyes with photos and illustrations. In other words, they’ve left us pretty big shoes to fill. Well, thanks to a horrible yet convenient genetic mutation, we’ve got freakishly large feet. And you know what they say about big feet. BIG FUCKING SHOES.

Sam, Liz and Rory have confounded us with crypto-clues, captivated us with feature ar-

We’ll take you on a journey through time and space as we revisit the past 80 years

with snippets of On Dit’s (not always) glorious history. We’ll bring back the ever-popular poetry and short fiction section for all you fledgling fabulists. And we’ll open the floor to YOU, our readers, to share your thoughts on what’s up in our fine city.

Not to mention competitions, features, giveaways, columns, and more distractions than you can cram into the back of a lecture theatre.

Typesetter, writer, and moustache-possessor extraordinaire Mark Twain once quipped, “how often we recall, with regret, that Napoleon once shot at a magazine editor and missed.”

We implore you not to shoot us, even if you are (by coincidence) an extravagant French midget. Until next year, au revoir!

Seb, Emma

and

ATTENTION TALENTED PEOPLE! Do you ever find yourself bursting with creative energy and have nowhere to channel it? Does every word that escapes your lips drip with wit and wordplay? Is your prodigious mind pregnant with the next Mona Lisa?

Did you answer yes to any of these questions? Then we want you! If you’re interested in contributing to On Dit in 2012, we’d love to hear from you. We’re on the hunt

62

for writers, illustrators and photographers, and are taking pitches and submissions already (yeah, we’re THAT organised) at ondit2012@gmail.com. For inspiration and a sneak peek at our plans for next year, check out our mock-up issue at www.ondit2012.tumblr.com and be sure to send us your feedback. We’re putty in your hands!

On Dit Magazine

Galen

Volume 79, Issue 11

63

64

On Dit Magazine In my last column I alerted you to the University’s proposal to reduce the number of tutorials offered in courses across the Faculty of HumSS from Semester 1, 2012.

After consultation with students I arranged for a meeting with University management to air your grievances and concerns. The University came to realise that if change is to occur to curriculum it should happen in consultation with students. This will ensure that any changes reflect the best possible learning and teaching outcomes for students.

As a result the University has agreed that they will not go ahead with their planned proposal.

No further changes will be made unless they are made collaboratively with students.

This is a great outcome and I thank you for your passion and involvement.

It was great to see that so many students had an interest in the way their curriculum is structured, especially considering that too often our generation is labelled as apathetic.

At the same time the University has announced that they will be setting up a series of reference groups to evaluate the current teaching and learning methods.

I think this is a great opportunity for us direct the future of curriculum development and I implore you to participate to ensure that your views, ideas and opinions are included.

Congratulations to all those who had a hand in driving this process.

We have also seen the opening of HubCentral. One positive is that you can now conveniently walk across the university (between Hughes and the Architecture building). However more importantly it now means there is more space for you to utilise as you feel best

accommodates your learning and teaching experience.

There is space for you to tailor the furniture and layout to your needs as an individual or as a group. The only limitations as to how you undertake your learning whilst in HubCentral should be your imagination, not the infrastructure provided.

The AUU were also proud to be involved in the opening of HubCentral. We were there on the Tuesday to launch our new phone app and volunteer programme.

Don’t worry if you missed out, you can still access both for free. If you want to keep up to date with what’s going on with a particular club or find out what and where you can access you exclusive membership benefits, simply download ‘AUU iCampus.’

To access our volunteer programme ‘V-Connect’ go to http://auu.vconnect.org.au/ . Sign up for free, indicate your preferences and will let you know when something that meets your needs comes up. It’s a great way to spruce up your resume, develop skills, build networks, socialise and give something back to the community. O

Need to get in touch with Raff? w: auu.org.au e: auupresident@auu.org.au f: facebook.com/raff.piccolo

Words: Raff Piccolo

Unedited words from the man who helped cut our issue 12 funding

State Of The UNION