twenty600 issue #5

the battle ahead: gen y and climate change

the class of 2008 seven of canberra’s newest graduates

15 minutes fame and anonymity

ISSUE FIVE: the generation

so green, so clean

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editor’s thingo

In this, our generation issue, we bring you a number of anecdotes about when I was your age.

Additionally, we look into climate change and the effect it’s having on our generations, we explore how netizens of today’s generation use and abuse their 15 minutes of fame (and anonymity), and we profile seven 2008 graduates from varying fields.

We also celebrate the birthday of a one-year-old that was born into Gen Z. Happy birthday, twenty600!

As a gift to our magazine, we give you Claire Thompson, who takes over as editor, which means more work for Claire and a fancier title for me.

Finally, a huge thanks to all our advertisers who stayed with us over our first year, and to our readers for continuing to support us in our deranged endeavours. We’ve really enjoyed hearing from all of you.

George Poulakis EDITOR IN CHIEF

MadamAvenue BMXBZT CF JOTQJSFE

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brought to you by these tools Editor in chief George Poulakis Editor Claire Thompson

Catherine Pye’s past life My name was Simple Simon Was a Pie-Man. My parents were cruel; I was actually vegetarian. And a girl.

Contributors Alice Allan, Charlie Big, Petunia Brown, Brooke Davis, Nick Ellis, Doug Fry, Brent Hardman, Sarah Hart, Margaret Ross, Mark Russell, Claire Thompson and Stephanie Wang

Jordan Prosser’s past life Jordan was once a Nordic warrior, swashbuckling his way across the Scandinavian steppes on his noble steed Odin. His golden, flowing locks impressed all the village girls, and the Saxony pirates trembled at the sight of his Hammer of Justice. He lived till he was 870 years old, and was then reincarnated in Coffs Harbour as a lithe, brown-haired chap with a penchant for photography and Pad Thai. Fin.

Photographers Charlie Big, Jessica Mack, Georgia Perry, Jordan Prosser, Catherine Pye, Nick Williams and StellaRae Zelnik Please send all contributions, cheques, compliments and ponies to george@twenty600.com.au Please send all incessant, whiny, pointless ranting to thisisnotarealemailaddress@twenty600.com.au

Nick Williams’s past life Nicholas Williams. Chicken desexer, lint picker, fortune cookie writer, powder monkey, cowpuncher, Geisha. Nick did none of them. He was a Roman Gladiator, and a much better looking one than Russell Crowe, with a rigorous daily routine consisting of combat training, fondue and orgies. Occasionally he would be put on public display and forced to fight for his life. Barbaric or heroic, life as a Gladiator taught him selfdiscipline, and the importance of fortitude and talcum powder. He has carried these traits through to his current life.

www.twenty600.com.au (02) 6139 1078 twenty600 owns the copyright in this publication. Reproduction of its contents in whole or in part without permission is strictly prohibited. twenty600 welcomes all unsolicited text, illustrations and photographs.

When you submit any content, you acknowledge that you have all necessary rights, including copyright, in the material that you are contributing. You agree that twenty600 may use the material, now and in the future, and that twenty600 retains the right to edit submitted work. While twenty600 endeavours to provide accurate and current content, no guarantee is given as to the accuracy or completeness of the information contained in this magazine. Views and opinions expressed in twenty600 are not necessarily those of the publisher. twenty600 is published four times a year.

George Poulakis’s past life When I was a kid, many lives ago, my 12 school friends and I were pretty tight. But one day, my best friend Judas told the school bullies that I’d be hanging out at the bike racks after school; I got beaten up so that he could keep his lunch money. I swore I’d get revenge. And so, many years later, I played the best prank the world has ever seen.

Judas got his comeuppance, as did his children, his children’s children, and many generations that followed.

ABN: 89 390 522 382

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6139 1078

contents

First personal 20 The reunion

15 minutes 22

Fame and anonymity

Generelationships 28

Weddings, babies and bank accounts

The class of 2008 32

Seven of Canberra’s newest graduates

So green, so clean 40

The battle ahead: Gen Y and climate change

Young (and) professional 49

Investment strategist, Mike Katz

Film 52

Childhood favourites

Environment 62

Ecologically friendly hedonism... what?

49

6 22

32 40

62 52

NATIONAL MULTICULTURAL FESTIVAL

to do list: summer 2008-09

Let’s put aside our differences and celebrate our, erm, differences.

Turn off Nickelback’s greatest hits and experience music from around the world. Drop that burger, fatty, and sample some food you otherwise wouldn’t, even if it means discreetly spitting it out afterwards because your tastebuds aren’t used to foreign delicacies.

Get some culture in you from Feb 6-15. Call 13 22 81 or jump onto multiculturalfestival.com.au for a complete programme guide.

DANNY BHOY I’ve been wracking my brains to write a funny blurb for Danny Bhoy, but despite the comical genius that I am, nothing can do this man justice. I considered recalling the time I interviewed Danny Bhoy and made an awestricken fool of myself, but figured it would be far too embarrassing to reveal just what an amateur I am. I guess all you really need to know is that he’s ridiculously cheaper to see than other ‘big acts’ that visit Canberra, and he’s substantially funnier. However, I still feel pressured to be funny. How’s about this: A man walks into a bra. Ba-dum-ching! And there’s your proof. Leave it to the professionals, people.

February 28 at the Canberra Theatre. Visit canberraticketing.com.au or call 6275 2700.

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Festival of the face Not since ‘your mum’ has there been a better insult than ‘your face’. It manages to be rude while making absolutely no sense. And now, thanks to the kind folk at the new and improved National Portrait Gallery, there’s an entire weekend of festivities on Dec 6-7 to celebrate this insult. Either that or they’re celebrating the launch of their fancy new building. I forget. Call 6102 7000 or visit portrait.gov.au to find out.

The Burlesque Hour The word ‘burlesque’ is derived from the Italian burla, meaning to take one’s clothes off for a dirty old man possessing dollar bills. But things have changed since Uncle Gianni made you sit on his lap, and The Burlesque Hour is a testament to that. So if you like your theatre tame and unsexy, then you’ve come to the wrong place. To see what all the critics have been raving about, visit thestreet.org.au or call 6247 1223.

Summernats 22 VROOM VROOM. “SHOW US YOUR TITS!” VROOM VROOM. Jan 1-4, Exhibition Park.

Visit summernats.com.au or call 6241 8111.

Got something coming up that you think we should know about? Email us at events@twenty600.com.au

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argh!

Doing it for the kids

by Sarah Hart photo by Stella-Rae Zelnik

I have a really low tolerance level for bogans, especially those who sign up to appear on reality TV. Through this sneaky manoeuvre they manage, however briefly, to squeeze their sweaty, unwelcome presence into my actual lounge room. Once there, they invariably start banging on and on about how something or other is their ‘lifelong dream’, and how they’re doing whatever it is ‘for the kids’. While this would be champion if the bogans in question were referring to building orphanages in some crapped upon third world country, you will find that, almost without exception, the ‘dream’ usually involves something to do with being fat and unattractive, and ‘the kids’ are usually a metaphor for the self.

Take Fatties Galore. Sorry, The Biggest Loser. I always thought losing weight involved eating less and exercising more. The Biggest Loser argues that losing weight actually involves being shouted at by sadistic gym junkies, humiliating other fat people, lots and lots of crying, wearing the same-coloured clothes as your pals and getting your guts out on a regular basis. If you win, you get moulah, and then you go on ads and tell other people to follow their dreams. I suspect at least some of the winners spend their money on pies and therapy, but you don’t get to see those ones in the retrospectives.

To be fair, not all reality TV is about being fat and/or unattractive. Sometimes it’s about getting your rocks off with almost complete strangers, usually with a 16

sordid pseudo-sexual twist designed to ‘intrigue’ viewers.

Take Playing it Straight. It took me a whole five minutes to realise this wasn’t an American show, which should give you some idea of how appalling it is.

For those who haven’t come across it, the premise is this—moderately non-ugly desperate female has to decide which of the ten or so pretendy-rugged clones in the barn is gay. I wasn’t able to actually work out the point of the show, despite subjecting myself to almost an entire episode. I’m guessing the idea is that we get to the end of the season and the desperate female has to choose between the two remaining clones. But then what? She gets it right, and roses fall from the ceiling, but if she gets it wrong she undergoes some sort of symbolic bumming? I mean, that is the logical conclusion, right? Surely there’s a quicker way to establish a person’s sexual preference like, say, asking them.

The final genre in the non-fat-related reality TV canon is manufactured mediocrity promotion. That is, televised talent shows. Sadly, these shows entirely miss the point—there is no quick road to stellar stardom. You get there by luck, by hard work or by being extraordinary. And extraordinary people don’t tend to suppress their extraordinariness in order to

participate in an Abba themed night for a commercial television station, where their alleged brilliance is ruthlessly edited in order to cram in more ads for dishwashing liquid and Autobarn.

I will also happily argue that there’s plenty of good reality TV around. That’s right, I’m having my cake and eating it too. I love cake, so I’ll have and eat as much of it as I like.

Good reality TV includes RPA, RSPCA Rescue and Brat Camp. Before Big Brother came along and ruined a bit more of the English language, these would have been known as ‘documentaries’. Because unlike bad reality TV, they are actually about filming reality. Like what really happens when you slice your face off with a harvester. Or how truly appalling it is that human trash are allowed to slowly kill their pets with laziness and ignorance. Or what really good people can do to change the lives of really crap ones.

Please, feel free to insult homosexuals, or sing all the way to Autobarn, if that’s what makes you happy.

You can even lose some weight, if it’s that goddam important (and it probably is, because a lot of you are outstandingly fat). All I ask is that you refrain from inflicting your calorie-laden, self-obsessed angst onto my free-to-air relaxing time. And stop pretending you’re doing it for your bloody kids.

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oh, shut up!

I WANT MY Reality TV

by Charlie Big

Chances are you’re either an avid reality TV fan like myself, or you avoid it like Kyle Sandilands avoids fruit and veg. So there’s not much point reading on because, as far as I’m concerned, you’ve already made up your mind. But if you like to agree with things you already know because that somehow validates your meagre existence, or you thrive on reading opinions you disagree with so that you can complain about them, then join me, my friend (or foe), as I put you in the picture.

In order to better understand reality TV, we must break it down into two categories. The first, while rare, is good reality TV. But Charlie, I hear you say, I thought you liked reality TV. Quiet, you. I’m getting to that.

Whenever somebody mentions Australian Idol, most people—whose taste in music is clearly far superior to yours—instantly react as though they’ve been served a glass of anal juice with a twist of lemon. But regardless of how these artists are discovered, the fact remains that Australia has a great deal of talent.

Idol just happens to be the biggest avenue for this generation of musicians— many of whom wouldn’t ordinarily have the opportunity to gain mass exposure and subsequently pursue a career in music—but this shouldn’t detract from the fact that many of them have real talent, nor should it warrant the noses of many ‘music critics’ to be turned up at these young hopefuls. However, like the hypocrite I am, I must point out that this year’s Idol contestants are the most underwhelming by far. Karaoke singers, bogans, and women with big voices yelling tunes by Whitney Houston or Aretha Franklin can go fuck themselves.

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The next, and more predominant category, is good bad reality TV. This is television that’s so bad it’s good.

We’ve all sat down and watched something so unashamedly bad it’s addictive. Take America’s Next Top Model for example. This height of television is quite possibly the guiltiest pleasure there is. Similar to watching two girls share a cup of chocolate Mr Whippy, you know it’s going to be horrible but you just can’t turn away. And what could be more enjoyable than seeing a bunch of ugly (yet oddly photogenic) women bitch and moan about how difficult it is to have a career that requires you to stand, walk and look pretty? Watch as host Tyra Banks insists that modelling is the most difficult industry there is, teaches the models to smile with their eyes, and performs the most appalling acting since Mariah Carey in Glitter, all while splicing photos of herself throughout each scene. Yet Tyra’s over-the-top antics and the general catiness of the contestants is the very reason why this atrocious show is such a success. If you were to remove these elements and try to take the show seriously, it wouldn’t work. And the proof is in the bulimic’s pudding. Take Australia’s response, Make Me a Supermodel, which should be renamed to Make Me a Sandwich, because that would be far more interesting to watch—10 models; 1 sandwich; no calories. Watching this snorefest hosted by the equally boring Jennifer Hawkins makes you realise that you don’t actually have any interest whatsoever in modelling.

Even less interesting is the late Big Brother, which,

while being an abomination, has its merits. Sure, there’s nothing real about people who are, Like, going to go in there and, like, stir shit up and, like be a real bitch and that, because, like, I’m just crazy like that, and like, if anybody gets in my face, I’m like, going to tell it how it is. But then why can you, yes you, name a former contestant if asked? Alas, not even Baywatch’s Pamela Anderson could revive this show, which, like guest housemate Corey Worthington, should have been aborted shortly after conception.

And let us not forget Dancing With the Stars, which, for some unbeknownst reason, continues to receive top ratings. Most viewers with half a brain could tell you how cringe worthy this show is, but seriously, what could be more entertaining than B-grade celebs making twats of themselves?

But Charlie, if you love Reality TV, then why are you slagging off every single show? Listen, you, I’m trying to make a point here. Like I’ve done, you must embrace reality TV for how bad it is, because like it or not, it’s here to stay—mainly because those tight-arse television execs have realised that they can produce high-rating crap without having to fork out for actors or writers.

Also, there will always be audiences who believe that what they’re watching actually resembles reality or TV. And if you still don’t think that reality TV is the most awesomest thing since forever, then you, sir, need to take a hammer to your head, because you clearly have too many brain cells.

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first personal

The reunion

by Doug Fry

Like many of you who enjoy the quiet company of this fine publication, it’s been a decade since I graduated Year 10—a decade that has seen a lot of changes in the world. 9/11 forced us to embrace the Americans’ illogical month/day date system. East Timor, Afghanistan and Iraq have all become independent and stable democracies.

And Microsoft replaced Sega as perpetual third-place holder in the console wars.

But this is a personal piece after all, so you’re probably dying to know what’s changed about me personally.

The sad fact is, not much has changed since Year 10. I’ve lost my virginity. That’s a plus. And I did the army reserve thing for a while. But everything else? Not so exciting. No degree. No career. No criminal convictions. Nothing, in short, to show for the fact that I’m 25 years old. Given that I’ll be attending my Class of 1998 reunion on the weekend, the implications of this patchiness could be embarrassing.

I’m sure I’m not the first person to lament their mediocrity in the lead up to a high school reunion, but that’s still scant consolation when I’m facing an evening full of house beer, canapés and awkward catch-up conversation: “So what do you do these days, Dan?” “Doug.”

“Doug, that’s right. Sorry.”

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“That’s okay. I study.”

“Honours? Masters? PhD?” “Undergrad.”

“Oh. Are you doing a double degree or someth–” “No. Arts. Seven years and counting.”

“Oh. Well… keep it up, I guess.”

Granted, this scenario is entirely avoidable through creative embellishment—or lying outright. But Canberra is simply not big enough to accommodate flexibility with one’s personal history, and given the choice, I’d rather look like an underachiever than a pathological liar. So another option is to not show up at all. But I confess: I feel inexplicably—perhaps masochistically— drawn to the idea of attending the reunion. It’s basically like Richard Dreyfuss’s predicament in Close Encounters, except

I’ve been crafting exquisite scale replicas of Melrose High School with my mashed potatoes for the last few months.

Fortunately, though, there is a third option— superficial change. It’s a personal modification that requires a fraction of the effort of success—that is, depending on the lengths I wanted to go to… which segues nicely into my physical alteration of choice.

Back in September, I decided to grow my first ever beard for the reunion.

The collateral results thus far have been promising.

I’ve been told I look like Wolverine (which I twist in my mind to mean Hugh Jackman), Wolfmother (predissolution, I assume), and—the winner to date— Abraham Lincoln on meth. And I’ve suddenly stopped being asked for ID whenever I want to buy alcohol and/ or cigarettes. I feel like a new man—man being the operative word here. The beard is tangible validation of my quarter-century existence on this planet.

This issue of twenty600 will have gone to print before I can get a chance to report back to you about my reunion, and—given that you’ve read this far— you’re probably dying to know what happens. Well, at this point, the best I can offer is a sneak preview of how

the beard will go down. During Stonefest the other week, I ran into two of my old Melrose peers while in the refectory on Friday night: “Holy shit,” one of them exclaimed incredulously, his eyes widening (widening further, anyway). “Is that really Douggy Fry?” I assured him it was indeed.

“Get fucked. Really?”

Yes. “Jesus, mate, you’ve changed.”

To quote the magnificent Ari Gold: BOOM! There it was, the moment I’d spent weeks and weeks working towards. You’ve changed. Sure, others at the reunion may be able to boast of jobs, cars, spouses, mortgages and kids. But as long as I’m bearing my beard, my wiry (in)security blanket, I can take solace in the fact that I’ve officially—if belatedly—entered the realm of adulthood. Like a rebellious middle-class teen, the facial hair screams—and here’s one for all you EDiots out there—FYIAD! Fuck you, I’m adult, dammit!

And on that note, I’m off to punch a cone and spend the afternoon clocking Call of Duty: World At War. 21

Hey. How’s Fred? And James? What’s Kate up to these days? Did you hear that Chris got married?

No, I’m not suffering from a marble deficiency. I’m making an incredibly acute social observation. In this day and age, the chances are that if I yank a fistful of names out of a hat, you’ll know most of them—if not personally, then at least on facebook. If I had pulled a Rip Van Winkle some 15 years ago and lain down for a quick nap, I might have woken up today wondering what the hell happened.

See, I’m typing this while sitting at my computer.

At the same time, I’m also holding an animated conversation with an overseas friend I haven’t seen for six years, checking the breaking news off my email server, and giving transient attention to the fact that one of my friends is suffering from academic stress, another is thinking of the Lapthornes, two are cleaning their respective homes, one loves The Beatles, one has dented his car, and another has a cheesy ‘90s pop song stuck in his head. I’m flicking through information like I’m channel-surfing and collecting friends like Pokémon.

It seems like such a leap from the days when to know what someone was thinking you’d have to call them up and offer them a penny, and when the height of technology was a portable phone the size of a full-grown Chihuahua. Human beings are social creatures by nature. Gossip, communication, keeping in touch, in contact, or informed; these were all things we considered important before the advent of the internet. What the net has changed is the ease with which we can access these things (and consequently, the degree to which we take advantage of them). So in a world where the garnering of knowledge, and of

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others’ opinions (as well as the exhibition of one’s own) have become as simple and instantaneous as flexing a couple of fingers, what’s changed, become exacerbated, or metamorphosed entirely?

Let’s take fame as an example. There was a time, back in the halcyon days of auld, when the gradient of celebrity went thusly: A-grade, B-grade, pththth. You were either known by most of the population at large, or by a select community, or you were spectacularly average. But as we’ve changed the nature of community, so have we changed celebrity. Communities now don’t necessarily have to be grouped via geographical closeness; they’re formed online, and linked by common interests, beliefs, experiences and personalities. So Average Joe (or Jill) can get their 15 minutes simply by starting a weblog, or a group on facebook, or tearfully lamenting the treatment

of Britney Spears on YouTube. What? Do we really care, or want to know, what the Texan cow-herder’s wife thinks of Sarah Palin, or what that one-legged kid in Shanghai had for breakfast? Gen Y (and the tail-end of X) certainly seems to think so, with the degree of facebook status updates, the photographs mounted up in e-albums, the blogs and rants and outpourings of opinions online. By increasing the size of the pond, we’ve somehow managed to turn it into a fishbowl.

There’s a certain narcissistic element to all this, obviously, which is why we’re referred to as the ‘Me’ Generation. As a culture, we’ve developed from celebrity-obsessed to self-obsessed. Which is not to say we’re no longer scrambling to find out whether Madonna is regular, or what George Clooney ate for dessert. We’re just labouring under the delusion that people are interested in what we had for dessert, too. Dr Robert Ackland, a social science and internet specialist at the Australian National University, speculates that

this type of behaviour is linked to a combination of factors. “It is egocentric, yes, and somewhat self-obsessive, but there might also be elements of identity politics involved,” he says.

In other words, we also use the internet not just in a self-validative sense, but as a mode of self-expression, reflecting personality and individualism. Gone are the days when identities were established through action or behaviour. A mid-life crisis used to be a case of dissatisfaction, stemming from lifestyle not adequately reflecting character. Nowadays character reflection is as simple as a status change on facebook.

So in effect, many of these blogs are there for the sake of being written rather than read. In a large number of cases, being online creates the perception of celebrity rather than actual celebrity—which, hey, is good enough for some. A recent psychological study conducted by the University of Georgia shows that narcissists could be easily identified by their facebook pages. “Nearly all of our students use facebook, and it seems to be a normal part of people’s social interactions,” says Professor Keith Campbell, who co-authored the study. “It just turns out that narcissists are using facebook the same way they use their other relationships; for self-promotion with an emphasis on quantity of over quality.”

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There has always been a suspicion, of course, especially amongst the older generations, that the use of sites such as facebook itself implies a level of narcissism. It’s certainly an easier way of self-promoting compared to, say, messaging everyone you know to tell them exactly how much awesome you posses, or pasting giant glamour shots of yourself over billboards of famous people. But many feel that this direct association is unfair. “facebook is a tool the user defines,” says one blogger on a forum discussing the study above. Tony (not his real name), a 26-year-old psychology student, agrees. “The fact is, we’re all self-obsessed to a degree—Gen Z and Gen Y, Gen X, the boomers… what’s really changed is the mode of communication. Previous generations may have been more subtle in the way they concealed their vanities because of the immediacy of the repercussions.”

Certainly many of the more self-indulgent blogs you come across are written not just by angsty teens and materialistic tweens, but by people in their thirties, forties, and even fifties, documenting everything from the length, shape, and exact colour of their fifth child’s latest tooth, to what the dog did on the carpet when the kids came around for tea. The internet, it seems, may exacerbate, rather than create, narcissism—and its victims are certainly not limited to the young.

If you have the Goliath amounts of patience that’s needed to sift through the online blogs and forums (as I did while researching this article, to the point that I wanted to dig out my eyes with a sharp-edged spoon), you’ll find that there are some that do stand out—some that have a loyal following of readers and are ranked high amongst their peers. There are blogs that have more hits in a day than

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the mafia puts out in a year. The websites that succeed are, according to Dr Ackland, inevitably well-networked— almost an essential for any site worth its beans—but also possess the qualities that would make them stand out in the real world. Accordingly, if it’s a site designed to connect employers with jobseekers, it should be well-laid out and easy to use; if it’s a cooking site, there should be adequate instructions and tantalising pictures; and if it’s your garden variety blog, well, it should succeed for the same reasons that a book, article, or magazine succeeds—for being interesting, well-written, or offering a unique viewpoint.

That goes for YouTube too, to a certain extent, although ‘well-written’ generally has nothing to do with it, and the word ‘unique’ is generally to be used with inverted commas. And hey, if nothing else, they sacrifice pride.

So who knew? Even on the net, fame—to a degree— needs to be earned. (Damn.)

Well, there’s fame. And then there’s the flipside: you’ve met a blonde, buxom, blue-eyed heiress who’s been flirting with you online like mad. She could be everything she says, but chances are higher that she’s a bored teen working as a lowly IT flunkey; has hairy legs, bad teeth, and responds to a name like ‘Mike’.

Similarly; Nigerian princes, the types of people who leave comments on YouTube, blogger death threats and the RiotAct—the curse of anonymity has always been that it takes away accountability. This is not a new social trend—have a good look at the graffiti in the next public toilet you come across, and tell me if you can’t find some similarities between it and the type of comment left anonymously on blog sites. Even the spelling is on par.

Some people duck behind the relative safety of an assumed or omitted name in order to protect themselves or their work. Writers have been doing it for

centuries for various reasons (I’m not going to go into that whole shebang again; just read the last issue). Then again, if we’re generalising, writers tend to write in order to connect with their readers; the same expectations aren’t there for the average YouTube enthusiast.

It all comes down to the old freedom of speech chestnut. Can there be too much of a good thing, and if so, where do you draw the line? You’re entitled to your opinion, sure, but what makes you think you’re entitled to an active audience as well? Oftentimes the manner and volume with which you present said opinion is directly proportional to the size of tool you are. In reality, society has ways of dealing with that. If you’re a clod-hopping KKK member who’s shooting his mouth off in a pub full of Barack Obama supporters, chances are you’ll probably

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Gail (which, ironically, is not her real name either), 25, an avid blogger, believes that this kind of problem is self-resolving.

“We do get a lot of the geeks and freaks anonymously hurling abuse, yeah, but it doesn’t get seen as a huge problem because they’re either a one-time jackass who pops up, writes something dumb, and then disappears off the site for good, or if they keep coming back, the other netizens will cut them down to size. It’s like going out to the pub—there’s always some drunken idiot who thinks everyone wants to know what they have to say. The best thing to do is just ignore it.”

Oftentimes, it seems, bad behaviour on the net comes from the young.

“Sure, you get lots of teens on forums and blogs and playing World of Warcraft who just mouth off, you know, the way kids do,” says Gail. “It’s schoolyard stuff—‘my stick’s bigger than your stick’; I think it gives them a sense of power in a world peopled by adults who would normally be telling them what to do. People essentially are what they are; the internet just makes them more uninhibited. So yeah, you get all the kids swearing their heads off and stuff, but to be fair, you also get a lot of older people boasting or bitching about the

state of this, that or the other, and carrying on. The older generations that use the net aren’t necessarily better-behaved; they just behave badly in a different way.”

There are calls, of course, for some kind of policing agency on the net; but the debate about whether this should be allowed to happen is equally passionate on both sides. I suppose the question then becomes; so? Do we care what anon403 just said about the environment? Sticks and stones, right? Incidentally, any complaints about the quality of this article can be sent straight to largebutchdudewithbigstick@hiredhelp.com I’m screening my messages.

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be going home with your undies hoisted up somewhere past your ears, and carrying your own arse on a platter. By and large we face the consequences of the things we say and do in the real world, but the internet is different. It’s an unpoliced (well, not in China) state, allowing for absolute freedom of speech.

Consequently, we have people who use it as it was intended; a platform for the free exchange of information and ideas. We’ve also, for all intents and purposes, handed out soapboxes to some people who are a few putts short of par. Semi-famous (or at least well-networked) blogger Kathy Sierra had to cancel a seminar she was due to deliver when a spate of death threats were uploaded onto her blog, including one with a picture of her head next to a noose. And think of all the blog and YouTube comments that feature some form of ‘fuck’ every second word; the rants that get put up on the RiotAct (one responded to an article about obesity in women by labeling all men ‘fat arses’); and all the political opinionates that have ever put up something like this: NER KEVEN RUDD IS GAY U ALL SUCK. In an arena where good behaviour isn’t enforced, some take responsibility of their own accord, but most throw it to the winds. Often, an introvert in the real world can turn into an extrovert online; if you’re frustrated with, say, the state of the economy, but are too shy and ill-informed to risk saying so in public, the internet presents you with the perfect platform to hand out your own diatribe.

27

relationships

Generelationships

by Petunia Brown

28

My grandmother told me not so long ago that she really wants to be around for my wedding. There is no point in me telling her that even I’m not going to be around for my wedding. After a brief obsession in my childhood where my Barbie married my best friend’s Ken some 60 times in a single week, my interest in weddings, babies, shared bank accounts and scrubbing my husband’s skid marks off his undies and/or the toilet bowl, has been waning steadily. By now, I think you could officially call it catatonic.

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•

I’m not alone in this. We’ve all read the stats. Us crazy Gen Y kids are shacking up later, some of us aren’t shacking up at all, the ladies are waiting too long to get up the duff (I love that—women are waiting too long! Correct me if I’m wrong, but making that particular choice without the consent of a partner is either called infidelity or rape), marriage rates are dropping, blah blah blah.

Researchers, reporters, demographers (whoever they are) and the poor suckers who tally up the Census are all scratching their heads over it. “Sooooo weird, Barry—not all these ladies want to give birth to their own demon spawn and spend a lifetime trying to teach it not to shit on the neighbour’s lawn!”

Everyone’s perplexed, it seems. But the explanation is pretty simple, I reckon—it’s called options, people. Gen Y kids, in Australia at least, have lots of them. We’re in the massively fortunate situation of having been born into economically prosperous times (well, until now). This has given many of us a shitload of advantages that many other generations didn’t experience. We’ve been able to call the shots at work, to a point—to negotiate good salaries and have our skills valued in dollar terms. (Yes, I know—we’re not supposed to do this. Other generations were faced with much higher unemployment, and as such, had much less leverage with which to negotiate. Our freedom in this regard pisses everyone off, especially our employers, who would very much like to continue paying people below their worth). In turn, financial freedom means the issue of marrying out of necessity is headed for extinction.

In my parents’ day, marriage was what you did. That’s not to say that our parents aren’t happy in the choices they’ve made—my parents have been married for 34 years and are still going strong. For our generation, however, there are many of us who’ve worked out that choosing marriage and babies means not choosing other things, and so the temptation to put it off for a while is pretty convincing.

And for some of us, the temptation to not even go near that path is almost overwhelming. While the thought of getting up at 6 am on a Sunday morning to wipe shit and scrub Weetbix off the walls with the high pitched wail of cartoons shattering the morning quiet sounds enticing… no, wait, that actually sounds like hell.

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relationships

Example: when I was a child, I refused to be toilet trained. Mum would shove me on the can and try to convince me to have a crap, but I’d refuse. As soon as she released me from my mandatory detention, I’d rush off to my room and dump a load in my pants.

My parents laugh about this now, but surely there were better ways for them to be spending their time? I also used to (still do) get chronically car sick, was chronically ugly and later developed some serious teenage angst which, combined with my acne, made me the sort of person that even I’m having trouble forgiving. Point being, reliving all that, except this time being on the receiving end of the load-in-pants and teenage angst moments, makes me want to cut out my eyes.

I suppose this whole generation issue and the ensuing generalisations point to the fact that people, society, whatever you want to call it, are trying to pin down generations in order to predict social trends. This is mercenary, at worst (marketers and advertisers trying to reduce us to that one perfect tagline); at best an interesting social study, but can you 30

really sum up a whole collective of people with a few simple stats? While you can say that yes, Generation Y was born into good times and has, up until America ruined it for the rest of us, enjoyed many freedoms that other generations may not have, are these the defining features of us as individuals? I did a random and highly inaccurate study of my friends and their current relationships, and it seems to me that there’s no real pattern there—one of my best friends is in a de facto relationship and is trying for a baby.

Another got married last month. Another is single and happy. Another is gay and in a committed relationship. Another is straight and in a committed relationship. I’m in a great relationship, and I wouldn’t change the fact that we don’t live together, don’t share a bank account, aren’t engaged, and don’t answer every question as the collective ‘we’. My mother has questioned my commitment, but for me it means I’ve found a relationship that’s reflective of the needs of the two people in it, not of social ideals. And that’s not really much of a conclusion, but whatever.

The class of 2008

by George Poulakis 32

the Physicist

21-year-old Stuart Szigeti shatters my preconceptions of what a physicist should be by tel ing me that he doesn’t wear a lab coat. Apparently he just sits in front of a computer all day and runs simulations. What? Stuart works as a theoretical physicist in a research group known as the Atom and Laser Group in the Department of Quantum Science at the Australian National University. ‘’I always wanted to understand the world around me,’ he says. ‘’That’s what ultimately attracted me towards physics.’ One of this group’s goals is to study and perfect the atomic equivalent of a laser. ‘’We’re trying to say, ‘what happens if instead of having a beam of photons, you have a beam of atoms?’ Because atoms act like light, you can do all sorts of things like interference experiments.’

Having just completed his Honours degree, Stuart wil continue this 33

Stuart Szigeti

research in his PhD next year. ‘’[I’m] looking at how you can control an atom laser,’ he says. ‘’It’s about exploring the fundamental laws of quantum mechanics.’

While Stuart’s Honours project isn’t quite ready for publication, he hopes to further develop these ideas and keep pushing the boundaries. ‘’I love the idea that every day’s going to be different; you’re working on a problem that no one else has worked on.’

THE Fashion DESIGNER Tegan Kennedy

‘’I used to make my dolls’ clothes when I was younger,’ 20-year-old Tegan Kennedy jokes, trying to explain how she fell into fashion design. In Year 8, she says, she had the choice of studying French or home economics.

And so she discovered a penchant for cooking and sewing, sans cooking.

In December, Tegan is graduating with a Bachelor of Fashion Design at the Canberra Institute of Technology (CIT), and is designing under the label Beau & Arrow. ‘’The obvious move was to go to CIT because I didn’t want to move away from Canberra.’ Tegan’s current collection looks at people who dress as couples, touching on styles that are almost cliché and quite kitsch. ‘’I like to pick up on issues and topics that people have very strong reactions to. You’re either going to really like it or hate it.’

But things change. Despite her success on home soil, Tegan is planning to there’s a limit to what can be learnt in the classroom. move to London next year, in hope of f inding work and expanding her on- ‘’I’m going to try and work for somebody else and the-job training. She recognises the value of her degree, but believes that pick up the things that you can’t learn from CIT.’ 34

THE accountant Leah Vicencio-Priest

You could say that accountancy is a boring career path, but you’d be right. 25-year-old Leah Vicencio-Priest disagrees. After working as a chef for four years, she decided to take up an accountancy course at the Australian Business Academy (ABA). What? ‘’When I was stil in high school I was pretty interested in accountancy. I liked numbers, and I was pretty good at maths as well,’ she says. Leah claims that accountancy isn’t boring, and that she thrives on the unique challenges it presents. ‘’Accounting’s very logical. There’s a lot of formula and method, and that’s the challenging bit.’

Graduating with a diploma in accountancy this year, Leah says her employment options wil be countless - payroll

clerk, accounts payable, accounts receivable. ‘’I want to do my advanced diploma, which then gives me the opportunity to go to uni, do a degree or a bachelors, then become a fully quali f ied accountant,’ she says.

Leah could have minused a few steps and just gone straight to uni, but f igured that ABA would be easier and a lot more hands on. The intimate class setup of only six or eight students also meant more one-on-one time with the teacher. After earning her diploma, Leah says she aims to gain experience through government work, and eventually step into the private sector. On December 17, let us say a prayer for Leah’s soul.

35

The screenwriter

Lesley Boland INT.

RESSIES ENTRANCE

The publ NIGHT ic phon entrance e is ri gh to t next to the Ress cross le the ies. Su gg n si her ear. ed, the rece iver pr ts essed to

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suitcase but my broke.

SUN’S MU Broke?

M How? Students as they walk past no isily, return chatting sticks to thei her finge r r in he rooms. Sun r ear.

SUN An acci

de to help nt. A man tr ied .

SUN’S MU What ma M n?

A man .. SUN

. the airp uh ... at ort.

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n! What you abou di t strang d I tell e men?

SUN He was just tr ying to help.

We open on Lesley Boland, a 26-year-old Honours student from the University of Canberra, who wil f inish her dissertation this year. ‘ I just want to write my own scripts,’ she says. Is Lesley Australia’s next Laura Jones? Is there a less obscure example of an Australian female screenwriter?

Lesley’s Honours project, a six-part television series, looks at what it’s like to be immersed in a foreign culture, and examines the way people deal with the experience. ‘’It’s a story of international students in Australia. They all get involved in a newspaper and then the university cuts the funding for the paper and it all goes to shit.’

Lesley knows that if she wants to make a living from her writing, she’l have to do something that she doesn’t particularly want to do for a long time before anybody wil take her seriously. ‘’There are a lot of things like internships for Home & Away, which I don’t watch, and I don’t want to watch, but that’s what you’ve got to do. I’m happy to go anywhere. For the moment I’m just taking it easy. I’ve got the scripts that I’ve writ en, and I’d love to do something with them, but that’s quite a challenge.’

The end.. ?

36

The air combat officer

As a child, 21-year-old Jacqueline Kil ian dreamt of becoming an astronaut. ‘’I was a bit of a nerdy child,’ she recalls. ‘’Of course, to be an astronaut you need to be a f ighter pilot in the American Air Force. I looked into it and decided I really wanted to be an Air Combat Off icer (ACO) [with the Royal Australian Air Force].’ This, Jacqueline explains, translates to the tactical application of air power.

To become an ACO, Jacqueline is undertaking a degree at the Australian Defence Force Academy. The course involves a lot of theory, she says, but it’s also very hands on. ‘’At the start and end of every year when normal universities have holidays, we go away on Single Service Training. We do everything that we need to learn; we’ve gone out bush, dug 37

Jacqueline Kil ian

pits, and done leadership challenges.’ However, once Jacqueline graduates as an Off icer Cadet on December 11, she stil won’t be qualif ied for her job. Next year, she’l do a year-long course to complete her flying hours, and only then can she be posted somewhere interstate. ‘’If all goes well, I really want to go fly on the P-3s. I don’t actually physically fly the plane, but I’m the tactical coordinator,’ she says.

Jacqueline admits that she’d stil love to become an astronaut one day, but says she’s not sure if it’s even a possibility. ‘’I’m stil in love with the stars, but I can’t see myself ever actually going there,’ she says. Instead, she’l use her savings to go overseas at the end of the year - not quite flying to the stars, but flying all the same.

Robert McLaren

The 3D Artist

Getting payed to develop the games you love to play would be most gamers’ idea of the ultimate job. But not 20-year-old Robert McLaren. While his study at the Academy of Interactive Entertainment has prepared him for such work, he’s more interested in 3D screen animation. ‘ [The course has given] us a diverse understanding of 3D, oriented more towards the screen,’ says Robert, who, over the last two years, has been learning the ways of Maya, the industry standard in 3D f ilm animation. Of course, Robert has no delusion of grandeur when it comes to his prospective career options. He understands that graduates have to start at the bottom - despite the education, nobody trusts someone with no industry experience. ‘’The most realistic step would be getting into a studio that works on advertising for TV. The ultimate dream would be to work for a company like Animal Logic,’ Robert

says. Robert’s demo reel includes work from his short f ilm, Street Race, which won the best short f ilm for animation at the CIT Film and Television Awards, as well as a short f ilm that is being entered in next year’s Tropfest.

38

The Paramedic

How do you turn a cow tipper into a paramedic? Just ask 23-year-old Virginia Singers. After missing out on a place in agriculture for work experience, Virginia threw herself into a double degree in nursing and paramedics. ‘’I f igured that because a few of my friends were doing nursing I’d give it a go,’ she says.

Now, having graduated from Charles Sturt University this year, she has more job options than she knows what to do with. ‘ I can become a registered nurse, [or] with the paramedic side of things I can go and join a government service,’ she says. ‘ I’ve worked for a private service for 39

Virginia Singers

the last four years, basically getting contracted to events.’

There are few jobs out there where a single error could cost a life. Working as a paramedic, however, is high speed, high stress and high stakes. ‘ You’re trying to stabilise the patient as best as possible. Your main focus is their wellbeing at that point in time. We’re treating what we can see and then getting them to the hospital,’ Virginia says. ‘ It can be stressful work. You’ve got to be able to communicate with people when it’s possibly the most distressing time of their lives.’

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Anyone know what a ‘carbon pollution reduction scheme’ is?

Maybe you’ve heard Peter Garrett, Penny Wong, or even the PM mention it on the news recently—this is the potential future for all the generations that come after us. Or perhaps you’ve never come across it, and think it sounds like nine syllables of pure political claptrap. If we talked about carbon trading, the old name for the carbon pollution reduction scheme, we might get a few more hands up. But could anyone explain how these things actually work? Is anyone even interested?

Recent polls have suggested that while few people understand carbon trading, they’re still in favour of the idea. An odd result, but perhaps significant all the same. It suggests that even if we don’t understand the particulars of tackling climate change, we’re at the stage where we know something has to be done. Politicians, in turn, are starting to understand that the effects of climate change may mean an eventual loss of votes, and the conversation has turned to national and global policies rather than individual responsibility. Of course, there’s also an endless game of ‘We can save the environment without wrecking the economy (and they can’t)’. But what does all this political football, jargon and general worry amount to? Are we still headed for a century of Stage 7 water restrictions, sky-high food prices and bushfire seasons that will make 2003’s look like a campfire? And if so, is there anything anyone can do about it?

It’s probably best to get the bad news out of the way first. To start with, for all the political hot air surrounding carbon pollution reduction schemes, things are still moving pretty slowly at a national level.

This is not for lack of encouraging statements on the government’s

So green, so clean

by Alice Allan photos by Jessica Mack

Sadly, it looks like our generation has been born into a pretty unforgiving period of history, environmentally speaking. When the rhetoric about reduce, reuse, recycle started up back in primary school, it was already too late to dodge the effects of previous generations’ neglect. We now have the job of cleaning up their mess as well as our own. The rising costs of everyday living would be less irritating if we knew we’d be around to see things come good again, but the unfortunate fact is that as each year passes without action on climate change, we become committed to future unavoidable increases in global temperatures.

41

“The statistics on climate change remain as scary as ever.” part. When Kevin Rudd and his Minister for Climate Change and Water, Penny Wong, visited a miserably depleted Hume Dam in mid-July, Rudd called it “a clear-cut example of the need to act on climate change.” Unfortunately, grand visions for action are easily eclipsed by the complications involved in making large-scale changes. In fact, it seems we can’t even agree on the numbers. Professor Ross Garnaut’s preferred target for Australian emissions cuts (10 per cent by 2020) was met with bitter disappointment from environmental groups, while the coal industry began hyperventilating about Garnaut’s proposal to more than double their levies to fund research into clean coal. At times, all this bickering gets so heated that it’s easy to forget everything is still in the planning stages.

Meanwhile, the statistics on climate change remain as scary as ever. The CSIRO recently released the happy news that carbon emissions from human activity have increased four-fold since 2000, and that Australia’s greenhouse gas emissions are still rising at a rate of two per cent per year. To reach Garnaut’s controversial target by 2020, we’d have to cut emissions by 1.5 per cent per year. To do this, Garnaut’s report recommends changes in the way we produce and price energy, the way we use transport and the way we farm our rural land. “Tackling climate change will be hard, and there will be costs,” Penny Wong said in her National Press Club address back in July, “but we will help Australians every step of the way.”

She sounded confident at the time, but with so many conflicting voices in the climate change debate, Senator Wong’s promise of help may soon be stretched to breaking point.

There’s always a temptation with climate change to ignore the panic and hope future generations will deal with it. The problem is, it’s becoming increasingly clear that we are those future generations. When the carbon pollution reduction scheme comes into effect in 2010, generations X and Y will be staring down 42

a century during which they and their children will become the climate change caretakers. As this fact sinks in, the monetary cost of climate change is becoming a contentious part of the issue. The government recently came up with a surprisingly modest estimate on the cost of the carbon pollution reduction scheme: $7 more a week on gas and electricity bills (that’s before government subsidies come into effect for low income earners). But look closer: this price prediction is based on the assumptions that carbon capture technology will work, and that other countries will follow our carbon reduction lead. Unsurprisingly, people not aiming to stay in government have less encouraging projections.

The Australian Conservation Foundation warns that with a global temperature increase of more than two degrees (an increase some scientists have called ‘catastrophic’ and ‘unavoidable’), the price of fruit and vegetables in Australia will spike every two to four years instead of the usual once per decade.

So what exactly are we up against here in the ACT region, and what, if anything, can Canberra’s younger generations do to help? Dr Robin Tennant-Wood, Director of the Canberra Environment and Sustainability Resource Centre, says our two main areas of concern are food security and sustainable transport. “At the moment, most of the food bought and consumed in Canberra comes from somewhere else—often a long way away. We can reduce our emissions and ecological footprint, as well as ensure access to a good, nutritional and continuous food supply, by making a conscious choice to source our food locally. This means buying food that is in season, being aware of where our food comes from, and growing more of our own food.”

Dr Tennant-Wood says there is a surprising amount of food that can be sourced from within a 200-kilometre radius of Canberra. “Local consumption not only reduces food 43

miles, but also means that food production can be done on a smaller scale and more intensively, and can therefore adapt to changing conditions.” These factors are important when rising temperatures, lower annual rainfall and more severe droughts are all looming on the horizon. To help ease people into the ‘grow-your-own’ lifestyle, the Environment and Sustainability Resource Centre (ESRC) has courses on creating ‘edible backyards’ and even provides starter packs for people who want to grow food at home.

“We need to reduce, dramatically and urgently, our dependence on cars,” Dr Tennant-Wood also stresses. Unsurprisingly, he says that the ESRC is committed to the proposal for light rail in Canberra, and supports “a fully linked, multi-modal public transport system.”

Sustainable transport was a big-ticket item in the recent ACT election campaign, but as with so many environmental issues, it still seems to be up to individuals to take charge of own their transport habits while the political process takes its glacially-paced course.

Dr Tennant-Wood’s message is echoed by Professor Will Steffen, Executive Director of the ANU’s new Climate Change Institute. “It is probable that we will need to learn how to live with a drying climate,” Professor Steffen says. “Heat waves—with temperatures above 35 degrees—will become more common. The risks of large bushfires will also likely increase in a warmer, drier climate, and the primary industries in the region will need to adapt to these climatic changes.”

It’s familiar, depressing news, but Professor Steffen maintains there are still things we can do. “There are many choices in lifestyles and product purchases that we as individuals and families can make to reduce our carbon footprints. However, other decisions must be made by the 44

community as a whole. For example, how can we change Canberra’s transport system to favour low or no-emissions public transport rather than private motorcars?”

There’s a sense of déjà vu to all this. Frustratingly, these seemingly simple changes have been part of the climate change conversation since the phenomenon was still referred to as ‘global warming’.

The ACT Greens, Penny Wong, and Environment Minister Peter Garrett all advocate similar strategies for tackling climate change: use resources more efficiently, and cut down on pollution. In principle, it doesn’t sound complicated. Then again, if there were a quick, simple fix, we’d probably all be outside running under the sprinklers instead of agonising over the length of our showers.

Perhaps the most persuasive argument for younger generations to continue fighting climate change is in what has already been achieved. As Brendan Mackey, Professor of Environmental Science at the ANU points out, there has been a dramatic turnaround in people’s attitudes in recent years. “People now realise that this is a real problem,” Professor Mackey says. “You’d be very hard pressed to find any sceptics in government these days. The World Bank has just set up a $500 million fund to invest in projects to help stop deforestation, and people now know

“Recent polls have suggested that while few people understand carbon trading, they’re still in favour of the idea.” that the protection of old-growth forests, as well as cutting down the burning of fossil fuels, is important in reducing emissions.”

So perhaps we’re not completely doomed after all. Despite the difficulties involved in making changes to our own lifestyles, and in creating green strategies in the wider community, we are making some sort of progress. The most important thing is that we don’t give up. As Michael Pollan argued in the recent Green Issue of the New York Times magazine, “The Big Problem is nothing more or less than the sum total of countless little everyday choices.” So it is, as always, up to us. If you stop caring, I’ll probably follow suit, as will our families, communities and policy makers. And then we’ll all have to share the same hurricane shelter.

45

little bits This issue we hear from the older generation—our parents!

couples nowadays, who get divorced on a whim.

In my day, when you married someone, you were in it for life.

Now if only my son George could just find a nice Greek girl to settle down with. He tells me that his priorities are different to mine, and that getting married and having children isn’t the only option, but I know better.

GEORGE POULAKIS’s mother just wants what’s best for her son.

I had an arranged marriage; that’s how we did things back then. I hadn’t met Peter before agreeing to spend the rest of my life with him.

I simply went through the checklist: Is he a smoker? No. Lie #1; Does he gamble? No. Lie #2; Drink? No. Lie #3. And so I agreed to marry him, not even knowing what he looked like, whereas my sons have such high standards that they won’t even look at a girl unless she’s ‘the one’. Granted, when I finally met my husband to be, while he was quite handsome, I didn’t like his teeth, and so I tried to call the whole thing off.

Only it was too late. My family had already been informed of the arrangement, and so two months later we were wed.

Eventually we grew to love one another, and had a long and healthy relationship, unlike

BRENT HARDMAN’s father had it tough.

This generation doesn’t know how good they have it. When I was a child, I had to get up every morning at 4 am and break the ice on the duckpond. We had to walk four miles to school, 46

barefoot, or if we were lucky, we got to ride our dad’s post-horse. To make matters worse, when I was 13, I was contacted by an Austrian cyborg that my future self had sent back to protect me from the coming war against the machines.

Spending the next four weeks on the run, we evaded a second, more advanced cyborg, blew up a helicopter and spoke various Hispanic catchphrases.

In a vain attempt to prevent the technological apocalypse (and sequels), my robotic protector sacrificed himself in a pit of molten steel, leaving me with one last hand gesture to remember him by.

These are the sorts of hardships that have forged my generation’s outlook and work ethic.

My children have never seen anything like it.

Australian Idol, for God’s sake! No offence, Charlie. I hope I haven’t cost you your job.

CHARLIE BIG’s father gives his son a lesson in real music.

I hate to sound like a stereotypical old guy, but what’s with the music kids are listening to these days? Most of it is made on computers, for a start. Then you’ve got these little kids who can get top scores on Guitar Hero while blindfolded, with their hands behind their backs and their pants around their ankles. But if you were to hand them a real guitar, one with strings, they’d give you that perplexed ‘Generation What’s a Real Instrument?’ look.

You want a lesson in music? Listen to Frank Sinatra. Or Donny Hathaway. Or Nina Simone. Or any music that’s not manufactured rubbish.

As for my son, his taste in music isn’t too bad (although I wish he’d take down the Zac Hanson posters), but in my opinion, he’s the last person I’d expect to be reviewing CDs. He watches

PETUNIA BROWN’s mother tries for a heart to heart.

When I was a girl, women didn’t have quite so many opinions. My dad once washed out my mouth with soap when he heard me swear, and my mother used to say things like, “women should be seen and not heard.” My mother! Growing up in a house like that could give you some funny ideas about things.

I must’ve reacted pretty strongly to that, I guess—I like to think I’ve given Petunia every sort of freedom that’s available to her. Sometimes I worry though—what if I went too far? What if she 47

never finds a husband because she’s so bloody pushy? Her current fellow has been hanging around for a couple of years now—he could get to the end of his tether at any minute. I tried to sit her down for a heart to heart about this the other week, and she laughed and told me I was backward and repressed. I don’t think I am. I think I’m just sensible. Kids these days have no sense of moderation, whereas I think I can see the thing from both sides.

STEPHANIE WANG’s interview transcript with her father.

22/10/08 BOB: Hello… Stephanie, whaddya want me to say?

SW: (faintly, in the background) Introduce …rself, talk… generational… that …ind... thing.

BOB: Hi, I’m Bob… is this thing on?

SW: (louder) Did you press record?

BOB: Which one is record?

SW: The red button.

BOB: The red… ah.

SHUFFLING. CLICK. SILENCE BOB: …loody hell. Is it working?

SW: Yes. BOB: I feel the main differences between your generation and mine seem to be… are you sure it’s working?

SW: Positive.

BOB: I can’t see the tape moving.

SW: There’s no tape, it’s a voice pen; digital.

BOB: So how d’you get the recording out then?

SW: You don’t need to get it out; you can play it back on the recorder with that button. The one with the triangle, no not… don’t touch that one—DON’T— CLICK. BEEP. SW: There. Now don’t… TOUCH. BOB: What’d I do?

SW: You erased the last three interviews I did.

BOB: Thought I was playing it back.

SW: No, that’s this button here. Besides, you can’t do it while you’re recording—NO, DON’T! HIGH-PITCHED BEEPING. BOB: Alright, I think I have the hang of it now.

Where were… Stephanie? Where are you going?

Stephanie?

DOOR SLAMS How do I turn it off?

48

ALICE ALLAN’s father tries to understand modern communications.

I’ve heard of facebook and MySpace, but I’ve never looked at them. Why would I want to look at the details of someone I don’t know? I imagine somehow or other it’s made interesting, but I can’t imagine how. I suppose you might learn about friends of your friends who you didn’t know, and that could be interesting. But it must be a happy hunting ground for dubious characters too. Can’t people pose as something they’re not? The whole thing puzzles me.

But a lot more people of my generation seem to be catching up with the internet these days.

There are so many things you’ve got to do online now. Even booking a seat on a plane—if you ring up, they’ll charge you more! But for some poor old fogey who has no computer it’s not especially good.

My big achievement for this year has been learning to use my mobile phone. It’s a lifesaver— it’s turning into my Linus blanket.

young (and) professional

MIKe Katz

by Claire Thompson photos by Catherine Pye

Mike Katz is an investment strategist at Forecast—a London and NY based company with a small office in Sydney.

49

young (and) professional

So what do you do?

I try to identify economic trends and make subsequent recommendations to buy or sell financial market assets such as FX or interest rate derivatives.

Tell me about a day in the life of Mike Katz.

From about 8 to 10.30 it’s pretty flat out catching up on overnight and early morning events. Then I’ll usually have a coffee with the boss and a quick chat about what’s coming up, [such as] project timelines. I’ll typically answer emails and work on short-term analysis until about 3.30 pm, and from then till home time (usually about 7.30 pm) I’ll work on longer-term analysis or alternative projects.

What did you study to get into your field of work?

I studied economics in my undergrad and then did a masters of finance.

What do you love about what you do?

I get paid to think about the world and develop algorithmic models, something I have always done for free!

Anything you hate?

Because the last 12 months have been unkind to many in my field, I often get a darker picture of the world than I might in a different job. Sometimes I think the world’s about to implode, and then I go out for a sandwich and the sun is shining and people are smiling and things come back into perspective.

Considering the current global economic situation, do you think Australia is headed for a recession?

I think Australia will fall into recession. The question is how deep and how long?

What will that mean for Generation Y? The thing about a recession is if you don’t own many assets and you don’t lose your job, you’ll actually be better off, in financial terms. Your wage will probably stay the same but houses will be cheaper and interest rates will be lower. However, from a social point of view I think things will change for all of 50

us. Instead of looking to change jobs for a pay rise or because we’re bored, we’ll more likely stay put for job security. I guess the silver lining [of] a recession is that hopefully we’ll all become a bit more sympathetic of people who are less fortunate than us.

Let’s talk about generations. How would you describe generational approaches to money? Are they different?

I think baby boomers in Australia were a lot more conservative because they had kids younger, often had only one working parent, and credit was less available, so they had to have a disciplined approach to budgeting. This has changed recently with baby boomers thumbing their nose at their kids’ inheritance, and instead heading off on their (somewhat belated) gap year. I think the distinguishing feature between Gen X and Gen Y is the latter’s confidence and sense of entitlement, which, as I said, may change in the coming period if times get tough.

Briefly fill us in on the global financial crisis. How did it happen? Is it ever going to get better?

Most people know about the subprime mortgage market, but the reality is that the fallout is now well beyond that, extending to the corporate and institutional markets as well. I think the problem at the core of it is wrong incentives. [In my opinion], almost all behaviour is defined by incentives. For example, I spent Sunday installing bathroom shelves because I had [an] incentive—I didn’t want my wife to make me

sleep on the couch! Unfortunately, many financial market participants, due to under-regulation and apparent mismanagement, were faced with the incentive [of] short-term benefits and long-term costs. [The markets] will recover one day because so far governments and central banks are working together in an unprecedented manner, but at the end of it, the political economy may lean a little bit less towards über-capitalism.

Any other financey words we should know if we’re trying to talk the talk?

My friend asked me once to give him some lingo.

I told him one or two words and he said, “great, now I’m ready to invest!” So I no longer answer this question!

Any tips for how people can recession-proof themselves?

If you have a stable job, keep it, pay off as much of your debt as you can while the going is good, [and] be proactive at work. If you lose your job, be willing to temporarily accept a pay cut or a non-perfect job elsewhere… and don’t try to pick the bottom of the stock market. If you miss five per cent of gains, that’s better than losing your shirt—remember, the only thing you get from picking bottoms is dirty fingers!

You really find all this stuff interesting, huh?

As I said, I’d do it even if I wasn’t paid (but don’t tell my boss!).

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starring Mark Russell A crinkled, dust covered case is cracked open, and a worn VHS goes into the machine. As outdated previews whir past, you take a moment to turn to your friends and giddily exclaim, “I used to watch this movie, like, every day. It’s freakin’ awesome.” But as it plays on, they don’t laugh, scream or cry—you’ve seen them react more emotionally to McLeod’s Daughters. As you finally turn back to watch this classic yourself, it hits you like an M. Night Shyamalan twist: this movie’s not freakin’ awesome—it’s cheesy shite. Maybe the wires on the special effects that once scared you witless are now a little more obvious. Maybe a slicked back eighties mullet no longer epitomises cool like it used to. Or just maybe the years have turned you into a jaded and angry crank. Whatever the reason, some films age as poorly as Macaulay Culkin.

Ah, those ‘special’ effects. Nightmarish monsters that once had you too scared to go to the bathroom now resemble moth-eaten Muppets. The weird flying-dog-dragonthing in The Neverending Story never really seemed normal, but now it looks like a crazy old woman’s fashion accessory. In an age where computer generated imagery has raised our cynicism and made us reluctant to suspend disbelief, David Bowie walking upside-down on the stairs in Labyrinth is not the mind-blowing sight it once was. We’re even at the point where a low budget television show like Flight Of The Conchords is able to replicate the scene just as convincingly for a gag parody of the original.

But special effects are minor in the grand scheme of things. Perhaps our expectations of what makes a good film have changed. A society will always be 52

film

progressing and developing its value systems and, as a consequence, its cinema tastes. Take Citizen Kane for example. A truly brilliant film, yes.

But as the years wind forward, it becomes less and less compelling. It’s beautiful to look at, a masterclass in editing, framing and direction, but its pacing could test Ghandi’s patience. The final scene will always resonate with audiences; however, today you will find less and less people willing to stick around for it. Truly timeless films (in my opinion, both Casablanca and Psycho fit into this category) are very hard to come by.

Of course, a whole lotta personal development comes into it as well.

As a kid, I always loved martial arts films. Loved them beyond reason or any form of intelligent discrimination. The original Karate Kid is iconic and excusable. Hell, even Karate Kid II had Glory of Love as an enduring soundtrack. But I adored The Karate Kid III. It was so angry and rebellious, yet with a wholesome message at the end... something to do with bonsai trees. I also thought it the absolute height of wit when Mr Miyagi brings out a broom after Daniel San demands he be taught how to ‘sweep’.

Nowadays, I can’t watch any of the franchise. Sure, I’ll resort to a ‘wax on, wax off’ wisecrack as quickly as the next nerd when someone mentions karate, but my heart’s not in it. You get older, watch an episode of Ultimate Fighting Championship, or see some drunk guys face off in a street fight, and you no longer feel so convinced that the crane kick is the best ever attack with ‘no possible defence’.

And what does this mean for the great films of today? Will Lost In Translation or Wes Anderson’s recent offerings be written off as noughties attempts at masturbatory minimalism? Will indie films like Little Miss Sunshine and Juno become as archaic as the dialogue-based cool movies Tarantino imitators made in the nineties?

We’ll see. Thankfully there are some childhood nuggets that still give me a goofy smile. I relish every second of The Princess Bride, including the carpet rolls with fangs that are the Rodents of Unusual Size. However, I’m not sure I’ll ever be game to push play on Teen Wolf II again.

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live stuff

Didn’t get along to see anything good this spring? Sucks to be you. Here’s Charlie Big’s totally biased opinions of a few things you might’ve missed.

Singer! Dancer! Actor! @ Teatro Vivaldi I like to think of myself as the furthest thing possible from a gay stereotype. And I swear, I had no intention whatsoever of going to a theatre restaurant to watch a collection of show tunes, which is why I’m so ashamed to admit that I thoroughly enjoyed every musical minute, and therefore must offer my reluctant praise.

Featuring songs from a number of well-known and loved musicals, Singer! Dancer! Actor! cleverly presented these musical highlights by creating a story about an audition (don’t worry, the performers didn’t just perform audition pieces throughout). Unlike an annoying clip show, what was interesting here was that each song became part of the story, and therefore took on a new meaning. This made classic musical numbers (and the more obscure ones) more accessible for audiences unfamiliar with musical theatre. While the idea could prove testing for those who love the cock, I mean musical theatre, overall it was a pleasant surprise. From the camp value of the musical numbers to the pop medley piss-take, Singer! Dancer! Actor! has something for everyone.

One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest @ ANU Theatre Somewhere in the world, this very second, a child is being born. And if that child, which knows very little of its surroundings, were to see a large chief hurling an object out a window, that child would instantly recognise this as a scene from One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. Yet in N.U.T.S’s. version of this classic, the cast clearly weren’t given the last few pages of the script and were left to improvise. In this bizarre alternate ending, the Chief, a skinny white guy with an Australian accent, picks up a black stage block, and dances around with it over his head. He then puts the block down and casually strolls out an open window!

I wish I were making this up, I really do, because it left me feeling as pissed as a teen on alcopops by making a complete mockery of what was otherwise a moderately enjoyable performance.

You can forgive a small production for lacking many things, but overacting, awkward direction, sloppy lighting changes and a butchered ending shouldn’t be on the list. On the plus side, the set was creatively constructed, using recent newspaper clippings to cover the walls. That way, if the performance got boring, you could always read a story about the Melbourne Cup. Having said this, oddly enough, I still somewhat enjoyed the show. I guess I was expecting to get what I paid for. Either that or I’m just a masochist.

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Epicure @ Transit Bar As a long time fan of Epicure, I’ve been hyping up this band since I could walk (the lack of walking skills was due to a big night at Stonefest, and Epicure were playing the next morning). Since the glorious morning that I fell in love with this band, I’ve been eagerly awaiting their return. And on this momentous day, when finally, the saviours of music had come to my rescue, I didn’t even have to prostitute myself for tickets (although I quite willingly would have) because they were free!

Epicure’s debut LP, Fold, remains my all-time favourite album (I’m getting to the gig review, I swear). But things have changed in the past eight years. For starters, the band that brought us this masterpiece no longer exists. After a number of line-up changes, Epicure’s sound has changed significantly. They briefly slipped into a soft country phase, but now they’ve settled into a folk-rock sound, which is a welcome departure from their two previous albums (okay, gig review now).

This was a bittersweet performance. Epicure played none of their old songs, which was a little disappointing. At one stage, a guy in the audience even yelled out a request, to which Juan responded, “We can’t remember that one.” What?! That’s like having so many kids that you go on a family vacation, only to forget one at home. Alone! (*raises hands to cheeks*) Yet at the same time, the material from their new album was refreshing (see the next page where I agree with me).

What’s the moral of this story? Well, it’s a not really a story, is it? And why does there need to be a moral anyway? I guess what I’m trying to say is this: Epicure is truly one of the most underrated Australian bands. So go buy their albums. Go on, I can wait here all day. Oh wait, I’m running out of sp

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photos by Nick Williams

“Every day “Every things day things change. Basically stay the same.” change.they Basically they stay the same.”

the sounds of spring 08 with Charlie Big

“Every day things change. Basically they stay the same.”

Robin Thicke Something Else

This! This is where the R&B of today should be heading. I mean, how many times have you heard the latest ‘R&B’ smash, and thought to yourself, There are musically starved people out there who would call this their favourite song? You know the tripe I’m talking about: your generic, over produced, sing-by-numbers, mind-numbing crap. And there’s so much of it polluting commercial airwaves that you’d rather shoot yourself in the face than have to listen to another Chris Brown song (even his name is boring!). But Robin Thicke is the real deal. And while you may not think you’ve heard of Thicke, who has three studio albums under his belt, you’ve probably heard his work in some shape or form: do the names Michael Jackson, Usher, Mary J 56

Blige or Christina Aguilera ring any bells? And let’s not forget that he’s also the guy who had the hit, When I Get You Alone—you know the one; it sampled a sample (huh?!?) of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony.

A few years and one haircut later, Robin Thicke is reviving this jaded reviewer’s love for R&B; he just can’t believe it took a white guy to do so.

Katie Noonan Blackbird: The Music Of Lennon And McCartney

If you’re expecting just another Beatles cover album, then you’ve come to the wrong place. If, however, you’re a fan of the music of Lennon and McCartney, appreciate jazz, and agree that Katie Noonan is one of Australia’s finest female vocalists, then you, my friend, are in for a treat. Noonan creates stunning new versions of classics

such as Eleanor Rigby, Because and Yesterday, using the originals as a platform to create 15 original works of art. While some may find Noonan’s mutilation of the originals to be sacrilegious, some also have no appreciation of music, because this is, without a doubt, Katie Noonan’s best work since Elixir.

Ben Folds Way to Normal

Ben Folds may not have the voice or the looks that make you want to throw your panties on the stage, but he makes up for it with his nerdish charm and supreme knowledge of all things music. Plus he’s an absolute machine behind a piano, not to mention a string of other instruments. And he puts all this to good use on Way to Normal. From the beauty of Cologne and Kylie From Connecticut to the humour of Effington and Bitch Went Nuts, this is classic Folds. It goes without saying, everything this angry little man touches is gold.

Axle Whitehead Losing Sleep

Remember Axle Whitehead of Australian Idol and Video Hits and

than ks at JB to the g uy Hi-Fi Wod s en

getting his knob out at the ARIAs fame? Well, I’ve been listening to his new album, Losing Sleep, and while it’s a bit poppy—I like to pretend I don’t listen to pop music—it’s actually rather intelligent pop, incorporating a bunch of genres from funk to electronica to country. As an Axle fan from way back, I’m relieved that he’s lived up to my expectations, and I can therefore give Axle’s Whitehead my prestigious tick of approval. So give this one a spin—you just might be surprised.

QUICKIES

Kid Confucius The Let Go

Keane Perfect Symmetry Keane’s sound went from Coldplay to The Killers. Disappointing.

Emiliana Torrini Me and Armini This irate lair minion is back with a completely new sound. And this reviewer is having fun with anagrams.

What’s with artists feeling the need to reinvent themselves? Why can’t they just stick to what we know and love? Don’t get me wrong; this is a great third release from Kid Confucius. It’s just that there’s no hip-hop, funk or soul to be found, which, as you can imagine, may deter some long-time fans. Instead it sounds like they’ve asked Lenny Kravitz to write half their songs, and travelled back in time to find the rest. Having said that, there are some really interesting tracks here, like the first single, Darling, I Need Ya, the sufficiently complex Caroline, and the upbeat Good Luck and Big Black Cloud!

Epicure Postcards From a Ghost As Phil Collins once said, “I’ve been waiting for this moment for all my life.”

Seal Soul Or lack thereof. This really makes you appreciate the originals.

Snow Patrol A Hundred Million Suns Snow Patrol are like a fine wine; I like to drink them.

Eva Cassidy Somewhere I adore Eva, but how long can she keep releasing albums post-mortem?

Kings of Leon Only by the Night I love the shit out of four tracks on this album. The rest is like jerking off your mate; all the actions are there, but the feeling just isn’t.

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celebrity chef

an ancient family recipe prepared by Brent Hardman Due to popular demand, the man that men want and ladies want to be is back for another crack at the tastebuds of Canberra. OG Niteclub’s Down on Dirty—Raining Gold Champion and spokesmodel for Seville-Glow Spray On Tan, Brent Hardman returns with another edible recipe.

The daily struggle with carbs is an issue for the ages. When I was asked to come up with a solution for how to get more protein into a pasta dish, I turned to past generations. Tradition is where the heart is, and my family is full of it. My grandmama used to say, “There are only twelve eggs in a dozen,” and “stop stealing my walker, you little turd,” but she also cooked a lot. As a

kid, one of my favourite dishes was the plastic one with He-Man on it, and I used to eat pasta off it all the time. Years later, after I had lost 40 kilos and pummelled my carb-munching teenage self into submission with my steel-hard steel guns of steel, I turned back to grandmo’s eggs for protein-pasta-inspiration. No more do you have to suffer the carb-cries of your inner-boombah while your pump-buddy scorns your lack of chin-up-chow... the Hardman Family Ancient Carbonara is here to save.

While some claim carbonara has strong Italian roots (like Maria Cezanno, who is fooling no one with that ass-blonde side-part), it actually originated in ancient Japan, in Canberra’s own sister city of Nara. The Nara people traditionally ate a very carb-conscious diet, so when they finally splurged on pasta their brains exploded.

The dish they came up with became famous as the ‘carbs that exploded Nara’, or ‘carbonara’ for short.

Like the girls that I date, a good carbonara needs a good foundation, and the best foundation for any meal is slightly more protein than your liver can handle.

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flavours @ Canberra Glassworks

surprise, provoke and stimulate your senses... flavours Food & Wine Events Providing a unique and engaging alternative for your next corporate function

Hardman Family Ancient Carbonara Ingredients 1 table of butter extra statutory olive oil 1 small brown onion 2 cloves of garlic Handful buttoned mushrooms 1 cup cream 2 eggs Palmerston cheese (great) 3 large chives 400g dried pasta carbs 6 pieces of rash bacon

Method Put a large pot of water on your stovetop and heat it until the water goes nuts, then add carbs. Take the bacon and chop it like it’s hot. Peel the garlic and onion and get dicey with them. Heat extra statutory olive oil in a saucepan over a medium-large heat. Fry garlic and onion until onion is clear. Add rash bacon and fry till done how you like me. Add mushrooms and cook for two minutes. Add a teaspoon of butter and cook for another minute. You like that, don’t you, butterball?

Meanwhile, crack the eggs into a large bowl. Mix the cream and cheese into the eggs, two sets of thirty reps for each egg. When the carbs are done, drop them (careful, hot) into the saucepan with the bacon, mushrooms and the rest. Add the egg mixture to the saucepan and heat over a small-extra small heat until the sauce gets thick, how you like me.

Serves 4 (although I know you’re going to eat it all yourself. You discussed me).

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11 Wentworth Avenue Kingston Fyshwick Fresh Food Markets 02 6295 7722 info@flavours.com.au www.flavours.com.au

Whoa, slow down, egghead

by Brooke Davis photo by Nick Williams Have you heard of the Slow Travel Movement?

Probably not, seeing as I just made it up (meaning I nicked the idea from the Slow Food Movement people who nicked it from the Italians). The thing is, I have travelled by flying machine so much that my carbon footprint is reaching clown-foot status. I don’t even like flying. Sure, I like looking at things from really high up, as if I’m the Queen of Ant World. I rather enjoy the tiny tellies that submit to my every whim, albeit with a very confusing remote control that almost always manages to catapult itself into the elbow of the person next to me. I also love when the jet engines kick in and propel you into the air, because I pretend—just for a little minute—that I’m an astronaut. But when I walk onto the tarmac after a long flight, I just can’t shake the feeling that my arse is where my face is supposed to be. So why not ditch the planes, trains and automobiles mentality for your next trip? Here are some ideas to get you started.

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travel

Circumnavigate Australia by bicycle An English guy called Thomas Stevens was the first person to circle the globe by bicycle in 1884 on a pennyfarthing. It took him almost three years, and he seemed to cheat a fair bit (I’m pretty certain ‘by bicycle’ doesn’t mean ‘by train’), but the point is, we can’t have the British doing things better than us. You should probably try Civic to Belco first, but after that (baby steps, people) you might want to cycle the Nullarbor Plain. Be warned, it is the longest straight stretch of road in the world, and Nullarbor actually means ‘no trees’, but you can sleep in the desert under the stars, watch the sunrise over the Great Australian Bight, and see whales in the Southern Ocean. Just remember to wear your extra-large flyswatting hands, and don’t watch Wolf Creek before you go. You could also try the Cape York Track up north with its tropical rainforests, rugged mountains and anthills so big you’ll be surprised the ants haven’t taken Rudd down in a coup d’etat.

People all over are doing things like this. Check out ozbybike.com, a blog detailing Anthony’s 30,000km trip around Australia; Craig’s adventures on lunky. com; or Winston’s trip on canberratoperth.blogspot. com. Their travels are hilarious, frightening and inspiring.

Visit crazyguyonabike.com for ideas, tales and advice; and become a member of the cycling community on warmshowers.org Walk Victoria’s Great Ocean Road Sure, Cliffy Young used to run around there in his

gumboots, but did you know you can now walk 100 km along Victoria’s awesome coastline? The walk begins at Apollo Bay, an arty fishing village backgrounded by rolling hills, and finishes up at Glenample, only a little ways away from the scarily stunning 12(ish) Apostles. There are lighthouses, rainforests, dramatic cliff faces and spectacular beaches. Not to mention the Otway Fly, a treetop walk that makes you feel cheated by the treehouse your dad built.

You can do short, day or overnight walks, and there’s a heap of picturesque places to camp. If you think Burke and Wills were onto something with this walking business (they just shouldn’t have taken that damn piano with them), it might be worth checking out canberrabushwalkingclub.org.au Kayak the Bass Strait Lewis Pugh (or Lewis Gordon Pugh, as he refers to himself on his website—there’s something a little off about that, isn’t there?) from the UK is currently kayaking from Norway to the Arctic Circle to prove an environmental point that it shouldn’t be possible. Get a little taste of his experience by island hopping the 300 kms to Tassie by kayak. Swim, snorkel and hang out with dolphins along the way. Sound simple?

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It’s not, so get started with the Canberra Canoeing Club on members.pcug.org. au/~dmorton/cccpage.html Why should you do this?

Because I say so. Also, because you’ll save money and subsequently be able to travel longer. You’ll be being nice to the planet and your grandkids. You’ll meet more people, and these people will be nicer to you than usual (‘You’re doing what? Come ‘ere, lemme buy you a beer/sanger/small island’). You’ll return home all buff-like. You’ll get respect and admiration (and that’s just from looking in the mirror). You’ll have a chance to truly connect with the landscape in a way not many people do. You’ll have time—to look, touch, breathe, wonder, question, sigh, grow, smile. And you’ll have an awfully impressive pick-up line.

Let’s fight this ‘How many countries have YOU visited?’ ethos and experience life in real time; not from behind the window of a Contiki bus that reeks of hostel-shower sex and alcohol poisoning. You don’t have to be a psychotic adventurer with an inferiority complex. Just get off your arse, chuck on some bike shorts, and feel the wind in your face. Now, excuse me, I have a nation to circumnavigate. By penny-farthing.

by Sarah Hart photo by Jordan Prosser Meet Lindsey and Paul. Two clean-cut, tertiary educated young professionals; married, mortgaged, up the duff and very happy. But the fairytale has somewhat seedy, and very Canberra, beginnings. Because in this once upon a time, Lindsey and Paul got blind at the Moose…

For myself, I always thought that’s what clubs were about—giving you a reason to dress up and get hammered, reject people, meet other people, pash them, regret it, etcetera etcetera. The mise-en-scéne—dodgy music, dodgier toilet floors, blurry staff and an endless stream of horny ADFA recruits—seems pretty unimportant, more so with every drink.

But I recently discovered that I only think that way because I’m not European, and therefore not very cool. Because apparently, what clubbing should be about is the environment. That’s right. Trend-spotters in Europe have decided we’re way too carefree about this sort of thing, and they’ve come up with the answer to this newly created source 62

environment

of guilt: green nightclubs. Nightclubs that make you feel righteous, instead of nauseous (or both, I guess, depending).

Alter your brainwaves for the good of the planet. Dance to save the world.

You might be forgiven at this point (certainly by me) for asking why greening up a nightclub is considered at all relevant or interesting in a time of economic uncertainty, political unrest and environmental destruction on a planetary scale. But hush, o cynical one—surely even drugged up yuppies have the right to feel righteous? According to Dr Earth (aka wealthy UK real estate guy, concept founder and owner of Club Surya, London’s first green nightclub), they do.

Dr Earth is a self-proclaimed tantric master and member of the hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, who claims that clubbing is a spiritual act, and that hedonism is your ecologically friendly right. To top it all off, he bears an eerie resemblance to Dr Evil. For serious. Look him up on the interweb.

The young and hip, according to the Doctor, are busting to drink cocktails out of poly-carbon cups and enjoy a pee experience (as opposed to just having a wee like any other pleb). The pee experience involves urinating, flushing and

watching the flush water come down transparent pipes from the roof. Oooh.

The most impressive of Dr Earth’s toys is the people-powered crystal dance floor. With a meter indicating how much people power is being generated, the idea is, the more the punters dance, the more power the club gets.

How hip is that? To be fair, he’s also pretty keen on wind turbines, recycling and reducing overall power consumption (yeah, okay, that’s all pretty sweet). Oh, and making money. Which is what it’s really all about, when you get right down to it—attracting more well-heeled ravers than the club next door.

Which brings us back to Lindsey, Paul and the Moose. Ecological hedonism is all very well in London, where the folk are strange and foreignlike, but would it work in Canberra? Is that what our young and hip want in their nightclubs?

Paul, a sustainable energy engineering graduate and proud greenie, is not so sure.

He was originally drawn to Mooseheads by the knowledge that it gave away free lollipops, and because you could dance for a long time without having to speak to anyone.

“I was pretty drunk and don’t really remember too many details,” he says of the wondrous night he met his future wife. “I believe I approached her for a dance on the dance floor, and she turned me down.”But all was not lost, Lindsey says. “He came back with some dodgy 63

lollipops—if not for Mooseheads lollipops…”

So you think you’re more likely to meet life partners with lollipops than by bonding over transparent sewerage systems? “Transparent toilet pipes are a good idea, from a health perspective,” Paul says, possibly not having thought the concept through, “because they say you should always check the colour of your excrement.” But neither of them think it would have helped further their romance.

A quick street poll of what issues other Canberrans consider important when choosing their Saturday night haunt of vice looks equally dim on the environment front. Whilst drawcards range from cheap sparkling (North Bar), to convenient (The UNi Pub) to you can always pick up (the Moose again), no one seems to think twice about whether their club of choice is environmentally sustainable.

I don’t think that means Canberrans are less aware than their Northern cousins. I think that means we’re normal. Even Dr Earth doesn’t count clubbing per se among his top 25 ways to become a Friend of the Earth. If we really wanted to help the environment on our nights off, we’d sit at home in the dark, feeding scraps to the worm farm. And if our clubs really wanted to attract more patrons? Well, forget about going green. “More lollipops and less ADFA boys,” say Lindsey and Paul. And they should know. http://www.club4climate.com/dr_earth/

beyond 2600

by Nick Ellis When talking about generations and their use of technologies, it can be tempting to assume that people are tied to technology that was invented in their youth, i.e.: my grandmother wrote letters, my mother sends faxes, my colleague writes emails and my little sister posts on facebook. But with a little more investigation it becomes clear that things aren’t as neat as we might like to believe.

For example, a family friend in her fifties is the biggest advocate of Skype that I’ve met.

She has immediate family living in Detroit, and webcamming through Skype allows her to talk to her son and grandson almost face to face for much cheaper than the cost of a long-distance phone call. In contrast, my 27-year-old partner, who has grown up in a world with almost ubiquitous computing, was resistant to trying out the webcam to talk to her friends in Montreal, and for a long time preferred the older system of phone cards.

Another friend’s father, who just turned 80, and his wife, use the internet so much that they need their ISP’s highest monthly data allowance.

Jack has a set routine, based around the Liverpool Football Club in particular and soccer in general.

Every morning, Jack will get up, put on a pot

of coffee and log onto BBC sport, checking out results of the previous day. He’ll continue reading sports analyses, results of different leagues, and complete a couple of sudoku puzzles until his wife, 76, comes in to kick him off so she can start with crosswords and Google Earth. At this point, Jack heads to the television and watches his recordings of the previous night’s games, taped live off Foxtel.

What’s interesting here is that this behaviour isn’t new to Jack; just the way he’s going about it. 30 years ago, he would call his sister in Liverpool every other day to check results and news (at a time where long distance phone calls were anything but cheap) and get the local Liverpuddlian weekend paper shipped over (at further, substantial expense). Later, when they started, he would call the sports lines, which, while they gave him the results he needed, still weren’t cheap. These days, for a comparatively paltry sum, Jack has live results, enough sudoku to last another 80 years, and the same analysis he’d get if he were still living in Liverpool.

But checking sports results and playing crosswords aren’t the only activities that older generations are taking up online. In a recent study, sociologist Sue Malta at Swinburne University took a look at the online dating and sex habits of two groups of people. The participants in one group were mainly in their 30s; participants in the second ranged from 60 to 92. Of the two groups, 64

the older group was more likely to display overt sexual behaviour online and did so earlier than the second group, had shorter relationships, and used online flirting as a precursor to sexual relationships. Female members of the group also said that they had engaged in cybersex, usually with men much younger than they. While it might not be a thought you’re particularly comfortable with, the reasons that the older women were turning to the internet for sex are hard not to sympathise with. In an interview with ABC Science online, Ms Malta said, “For many [of these women, it] was the first time in their life where they were about to have real sex,” rather than just lying back and ‘thinking of England’. Further, many of the women had outlived their husbands and partners and were no longer looking for longterm relationships; while they were still interested in sex, they weren’t interested in being anyone’s nursemaid or housekeeper.

The technology you use, and what you use it for, is affected by all sorts of factors; when you were born is just one of them. So while there might be generational gaps in our attitudes towards our uses of new technologies, it’s a mistake to assume that simply because you’re younger, you’ll be the person most comfortable with, or most likely to use, any given piece of tech. So be careful the next time you’re chatting someone up online—they must just be old enough to be your grandmother.

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