Vale Geraldine Hoff Doyle

TO EXPLAIN NEW TEMP PROFILE SHOT:

("Rosie the Rivetter" died December 30th, 2010.)

Geraldine Hoff Doyle was 17 years old when she was spotted in a Michigan metal factory wearing the now infamous red polka-dot bandanna. After being photographed by Union Press International that day, the photo was later used by the U.S. War Production Coordinating Committee to create the image we know today.

Not only has she become a pop cultural icon, she also symbolises the struggle that still goes on for equal rights for women both at home and in the paid workforce. We, all owe her and our mothers and grandmother who fought for our rights, homage, respect and the communal generosity to continue the fight as 'we have not achieved it all' and 'we cannot expect to sit back and have it all, whilst whinging that the Feminists mislead us!' Wrong! Selfishness from the eighties onwards for both men and women drove the wishlist 'to have it all', and still does in 2011.

My wish for the coming year is no wars begun and fought in the name of democracy (please treat the community with respect and call it for what it is... bloodshed for strategic alliances or commodities) and LISTEN when we take to the streets to say we disagree!

Whilst on a Maxine-style whingefest in this first blog ( I call it therapy), I am also heartily sick of whining middle classes procaliming how tough they are doing it financially... the term asset rich, income poor to me means a desire to 'have it all' without compromise. To the newly establishing families... forget the two cars and Mcmansions with Plasmas... aim more modestly and you just might find your relationships last longer and are happier.

More wisdom for the old bitch.... if you do not look after yourself then no-one else will. Without self-respect others will not give it freely either. So be warned 'the takers' of this world. Whilst I have happily and proudly worn the mantle of mad woman for decades, I will not have that label equated with fool or stupidity. I do know what you are doing. I see the hidden agendas and I respect you all less for it.

2011 is time to stop hiding behind the dredged up 'mask of the clown'. It is Act 5 and Shakespeare's clown is now calling it like it is and others will see how they underestimated the character of the fool. Even the Tarot card may just be wrong... s/he may not need the small dog to stop stepping off the cliff whilst gazing at the skies. It might actually be a choice. the choice to search for beauty instead of earthly degradation and opportunism.

I am no longer The Fool... call me The Priestess in balance between the black and white pillars of society. My mood states may fluctuate but I will always find equilibrium! It will be when it suits me and as I work my way there, not on anyone else's timelines of expectations.

I wish everybody clarity of thought and understanding (with compassion) in 2011.

“My Grown Up Christmas List”:

Refuse to call this one a BUCKET LIST as they are goals and WILL happen.

1. To spend Christmas 2011 somewhere in the Northern Hemisphere with people needing TLC.
2. To fly over Antarctica on a NY’s Eve… or boat around the summer glaciers.
3. To see the Northern lights
4. To spend a 24 hour day in daylight (possibly Finland or Iceland)
5. To visit Machu Picchu before I am too old to climb.
6. See the Great Wall
7. Visit Valley of the Kings and Abu Symbel
8. Visit the Taj Mahal (even alone)
9. Spend some ‘me’ time on Santorini
10. Do the Yarra Valley or Melbourne hot air balloon ride
11. Do the whole Tandem parachute jump
12. Also do the V8 circuit at Sandown
13. See the shows on Broadway without a night off (or matinee off)
14. One last visit to the West End!
15. Eat at Tour D’Argent and Maxim’s de Paris (even alone)
16. See polar bears and orcas in Newfoundland ( I’ll never afford the Rocky Mountaineer trip).
17. See the golden Buddha Inside Jogyesa Temple in Seoul, South Korea
18. Visit Angkor Watt in Cambodia.
19. See the bloody South Island of NZ!
20. Lastly see Uluru, Kings Canyon, the Olgas, wave Rock, Pilbarra, cable beach and Kakadu before I shuffle off.

A Day of Peace, hopefully.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TYHCeUfoAnw&feature=player_embedded

I know this is from earlier this year on THAT anniversary but I feel it i perfect for today. You may have noticed I have been UNUSUALLY quiet lately. WEll, rest assured friend I have been dealing with the uppermost issue which affects many people at this particular time of the year... Too much to do in too little time, and despite all my 'welllness lessons' in 2010 I still put my own needs to the bottom of the list.

How is it that when you are REALLY busy, people always ask fro extra help.. (you know that old cliche that when you need something done ask a busy person)? Well if we are that good at time manegment we wouldn't look so bloody obviously busy!

So what had been going on... two important Conference Papers, numerous job applications which everybody knows takes so much time just tweaking the small bits to match the criteria to the 'T'... or is that tee?

Add to this a fresh new start on my PhD first chapter of the exegesis. YEP youe've read that right ANOTHER FRESH START... that make's Take 6 at Draft one!"

It appears that I am one of those candidates who seems destined not to be able to draft my rough work up to standard and that it is expected to virtually hit the mark in the first go!

So do I get to the subsequent chapters? Only in flow charts, mind maps (can you imagine those!), dot points, coded and marked references, research notes compiled and located in relevant colour-coded folders, but the actual first drafting of these chapters... ya gotta be kidding! And this despite every chapter having a corrseponding Conference paper or presentation!

Would you believe it has taken me over three years to begin to trust my own writing techiques... you know the ones that actually get me published.

• Write it out free flowing, just to see for stuctural cohesion.
  
• Redraft for voice.style consistency, then
  
• back through to add supporting evidence without repeating (or padding) what the previously published experts say, then
• sending to a reviewer/referee/ outisde editor for CONSTRUCTIVE commentary and objective critiscism of the writing's weakness NOT MY OWN!

Well, that's the way I am going now and believe me it appears to be bringing the wrath of the academic gods, onto my head.

So what I say.

It work for me. I am now only just able to say I KNOW this is right and will hang together and no longer feel the need to defend and justify myself all the way through the writing which invariably weakens the strength of the piece.

All so logical when looked at calmly and rationally!

Pity is that very few PhDers are able to do just that, due to the pressure and stress of both external expectations and inner self-doubt.

Now I am just dying (metaphorically) for the time when I can actually swing back into my creative work and just let the characters have free reign, even should their stories appear (as has been commented) implausible or cliched. Cliche is when something is so common it is boxed and categorized... so believe me when I say in my novel most of these women's experiences are 'easily' boxed and labelled cliched and self-indulgent.

I just want to write with authenticity and artistic freedom at last. I am NOT, repeat NOT writing capitla "l" Literature!

This time is coming and very shortly, so my deepest blackes( -4 periods) are drawing to a close, even though to many outside observers I have been functioing at +4 in the professional/public domian. We all know what that means, and the inner determination and cognitive resources required to pull that off successfully.

May I proudly announce I am making it without recourse to any form of respite hospitalisation, medication re-qdjustments at all. (Despite contstantly articulated predictions)

This is HUGE.

As many readers of this blog understand, it is not called the silly season for nothing... even the 'normal' amongst us feel compelled to 'play act happy families and western cultural myths'. For many despite being surrounded by so-called loving and supportive family, IT IS THE LONELIEST TIME OF THE YEAR.

At leas,t I just did the role this year and ignored the expectations.

I am alone but reasonably happy as loneness in itself allows me time to reflect on the important people in my life who are no longer with me; my dear mother, Ivy (who would adore the fact I do the whole baking thing from her generation), my Dad, Ted (who would be a tad disappointed that I didn't say stuff you to adult son and climb the bloody roof and bedeck the house with all the glowing lights... but he would be proud that I finally took a stand of independence), my brother Kevin (who has been so uppermost in my mind these last years when I think of him dying within the darkness of the mine's confined space... now that its the ultimate alone-ness... I have no right to self-pity), to my brother Ron (who has taught me that we do in fact reap what we sow, but nevertheless no person should die alone without at least one person by their side), and to the georgeous Michelle who never took life too seriously, and the beautiful Dizzy who unfortunately did. And to Terence and my darling Billy, and the many others taken by one of the globe's unnecessary and curable diseases. Today I dedicate to you all and promise to give thanks for just being here and giving it my best shot no matter what.

Shakespeare's Fool

As usual I will leave it to my old pal at Crabby Road to tell the story in a picture worth the proverbial... but you know me, I am not short of a word or two on the topic either.

Ah the joys of technology.
Two hard drive crashes.... who'da believed it?

Well really it was only one and the second as a consequence of the first. But let me just demonsrate what it means to have BMD and be atempting to function in the 'real world'.

The actual workload I have whilst officially on three monthe leave of absence includes:

• Writing 50-60,000 words draft of my novel
• Creating a major web site of International Conference Proceedings (with a second Conference occurring simultaneously... the reason the inaugural isn't live... the academic responsible threw it to me with a two week lead time!)
• Creating a second website for a friend... again with two weeks lead time - the same two weeks, before her story aired on the ABC TV, so that there was a public call point for contact and info.
• Creating my own updated website to accompany job applications
• Doing the actual job applications including updating a seriously non-functioning CV
• Writing three refereed journal articles (not begun yet)
• Refereeing two academic journal articles (done, at least)
• Writing two refereed Conference papers (one national and one international... half done)
• Finalising the pre-publication draft of a jointly authored academic journal (online and published... yeah)
• Keeping content live on the Swinburne Post Graduate Writers network FB page so new members from other states can gain something of benefit also.
• Keeping my own FB page live and of use to colleagues and scholars living and studying o/s.
• Keeping on top of my RSS feeds and emails filtering out research data, calls for papers, conference notifications, new journal calls for submissions (ongoing) and the ever infuriating spam.
  
• Keeping track of useful research material from O/S conference proceedings and attending one run by QUT's CCi in Melbourne last week (now chasing those feeds and recordings).
  
• And lastly supposedly applying for a writing fellowship for this summer.

Yep ,and that's just whilst I am ON LEAVE!

Being back doing the PhD in Decmeber adds....

• researching and writing final draft of exegesis
• writing and redrafting novel draft
• attending symposia

So this is a great snapshot of current life as an trainee/junior academic.

The first list is the 'own time' list of duties which are conveniently looked at as key selection criteria for employment, under the guise of collegiality, contribution to discipline knowledge, cross-institutional and industry linkages, and community involvement and contribution.

The actual workplace tasks really fall simply...

• Teaching, lecture preparation
• Student advice and academic guidance
  
• Marking
• Quality audit administrative tracking via paperwork or online survey data
• Teaching quality audit tracking via student feedback data and 360 degree surveys
• Attending discipline, department, faculty and campus admin meetings (and social events... for collegiality and demonstration of collegial commitment)
• Presenting at Conferences, running symposia, mentoring junior academic staff (or students)
• Doing your own research and publication (for productivity audits and research active status)

To think as a PhD candidate when I was on stipend all this is worth (according to the Government $11.84 net per hour)!

As a sessional, it is valued by the University as worth $90 gross per hour, but no more than ten hours a week or I will compromise my PhD candidature. (In my current situation because I am a 'bad' (read slack and troublesome) PhD candidate ZERO sessional work!

Then if I am lucky enough to gain a lectureship after the PhD I might beworth a whopping $80k gross... for a ninety hour + per week workload.

Is it any wonder people in the 'real world' often query my sanity?

I know I do.

Often.

Hence leave of absence... an existential crisis if you will, and one all normal people can have!

Yet, because I am openly diagnosed as BMD, the nameless they assume I just can't cope and am breaking down!

No.
I am having a bloody break believe it or not
And NOT A HOLIDAY either.

Then let's just throw in a little guilt....

Non-timely completion of PhD after being awarded a PhD stipend...HOW DARE I?

Even with some months left in the STANDARD FOUR YEAR PERIOD OF CANDIDATURE! Not pulling it in in three and a half... HOW SHAMEFUL AND DISRESPECTFUL....AND UNGRATEFUL!

SHE MUST BE CRAZY. Told you 'we' shouldn't have accepted a crazy candidate.

Then lets add in....

crippling financial distress... surviving on Disability Pension of $580 per fortnight. Yep you read that right. Paying off car, intenet access, funeral plans, car insurance, a silly thing called food, medications and supposedly private health insurance and a student loan. Yep, easy as... just need to do some cash in-hand house cleaning, ironing or freelance writing in my spare time... oh yeah, that's called sleeping time.

Next the clincher (and how I began this blog)

The wonderful USB external hard disc drive that has been my life saver for just over a year... and yep... here comes the brand name... WESTERN DIGITAL MY PASSPORT pocket hdd crashed with everything on it.

Not a problem you say... still got backup on laptop HDD.... you'da though wouldn't you, especially with two partitions on the HDD, one simply for data, away from applications.?

But alas, no; the problem with the WD is that it crashes the RAM on your HDD... and you cannot restore or reboot even in safe mode... need replacement RAM.

Great the data is still there but you try justifying spending nearly $100 on ram and data recovery on a 2003 laptop to a tech savvy son of 21 and an ageing luddite aged 78.

"What? When you can't even pay the family health insurance on time?"
"Buy a new laptop for Chrissake...."
"Don't go into more debt... don't take a Cash Converters loan at 24 per cent either"...
"Just use the old desktop Mac you were given"

But don't expect to buy any software of that age, or even get it wifi'd to the household LAN that you pay for... and don't expect to be allowed to have an ethernet cable running from your study to the modem (across a hallway and into son's room... hmmm now why was it located there in the first place... oh I remember I wasn't home).

Then, when I try to tell the IT guy at work that my research (on my son's laptop loaned under duress and borrowed under cintant threat of revocation should I even alter an icon place...) has found in the techie forums that this is a COMMON PROBLEM with WD usb ext HDDs and even the company software won't/can't recover the data.

Yep, built in obselescence!

But try telling that to the IT guy, because the Dean at work has just ordered a department full of them for her academic staff.

You'd think forewarning would be acceptable.... but guess what?

"Don't listen to her... she's just a crazy,crabby old bitch. She must have done it herself, not the hardware."

And so Shakespeare's fool exits stage left.

Friends are gold and LRB rules.

Yesterday, I knew that my mood was not stable as it had been the day before. I would say I was hovering around the minus 4 ( remembering that hospital beckons at that level). I felt that I could not face even getting out of bed. Even the shower seemed like too much effort, and I am one of those people who needs to shower whenever I feel stressed or just plain tired. My skin itches and feels like I want to scratch it off... and only hot streaming water, or a seaside dip can make me feel clean and alive. BUt this seemed pointless yesteday.

I knew I had arranged to be at a friend's house to help her with some writing for her PhD, and to work on something of mine. But I had nothing I could work on with a partner, and really felt just plain lethargic. I also had NO money for petrol. Well I had $10 but this wouldn't do the trip (110 ks return) an always ashamed to tell people how broke I am.

The words of my son and another girlfriend always resonate in my ears when I am broke. You SHOULD put money aside when you have it and not be in this position. Budget better!

There is that word again.. the bloody SHOULD!

Tell me oh wise ones.... how do you prioritise the budget to meet the shoulds of saving? And here I will publically lay it out. I receive (note not earn!) $600 per fortnight from Centrelink for a Disability Payment. My medication alone is $10.40 per week, without vitamins or mineral supplements that also help my mood states (fish oil, multis, B complex, and flaxseed oil). Then there are the few meals... say $80 pw (which includes personal care items also).

Next priority is keeping the car paid... as without it I am marooned and cannot escape AT ALL. That's $215 per fortnight. Add fuel $60 per week.

Now what's left? Well there is that little extravagance called an Internet. $45 per fortnight, plus a mobile phone pre-paid $20 per week.

Then let's add that ridiculous move I made to borrow money from Cash Converters to get to and from Uni (and attend the PhD colloquium) just so I could feel self-esteem and a sense of belonging with my co-students and ex-colleagues. So at 24% interest for the whole huge $500 my payments are $50 per fortnight. What a waste... how could I be so outrageous and ridiculous! Yep, I SHOULD HAVE stayed at home, felt disconnected, unempowered, isolated and totally worthless.... of course.

That leaves the princely sum of $10.

Now would anyone like to work out how I pay the thing called a Funeral Plan... at $37 per fortnight, car insurance $26 per fortnight, family health insurance at $115 per fortnight, and that other ludicrous extravagance Chrisco at $40 per fortnight... just so the household can feel normal at Christmas with festive fare and no huge debts afterwards. Let's add to this a waste of money through my last mental meltdown... an $80 library fine, and an outstanding student loan of around $600.

I am going backwards without work. Yet with work, my study time is eroded and I do not finish. Without finishing the PhD there will be no work. Catch -22.

Is it any wonder my self-esteem and my mood swing lower when I am financially pressured? How can you attend to the SHOULDS and save when at these moments YOU ARE NEVER SURE THAT THERE WILL BE A TOMORROW, OR NEXT WEEK???

That is not an overstatement. I have promised myself that I will not give up and just call it quits but deep in my psyche I still doubt that I can in fact 'pull it off', face down the demons and actually live or simply survive.

Living to me entails all the joyous wonder of the emotions, the social life, the glamour of the theatre, music, art galleries and restaurants. My life on DSS is simply survival. It brings a paucity to the spirit. My soul is in pain without affording me the beauty of 'living' at present.

So my SHOULDS go out the window. My common sense just can't win out.

So I guess for those reading this without BMD, I am (like my son and some friends seem to think) a selfish, immature little wastrell full of self-inflicted drama.

Oh, how I wish my words could allow you to empathise... if not agree with my thoughts and actions.

Luckily for me yesterday there is one friend who can and does empathise.

I am so pleased she convinced me to humble myself and borrow $20 just to get to her. To shower, dress, drive the 50 ks and walk along the beach, feel the sun on my face and the sand between my toes. How can I capture in words the pleasure of stroking the heads of two magnificent dogs across a fence; animals that accept a stranger's touch... and thus reassure me that I am an inherently 'okay' person?

I was able to drive home with 1970s and 80s pop music returning me to a time when I felt valued and with the future stretching ahead with all its promise.

Although not jumping up the mood scale, I think today I am stable again. I know the hospital is there in the background... but only when I catch up on the bloody health insurance payments... so maybe December??

What are those lyrics again... LRB? Hang on Help Is On The Way?

40 years of Python... wow

To think another pop culture icon is turning 40!! Geesh was the 70s that great or is it just that we are a population bump? I hope the former as my son, like young people before him, rediscovered the hit and miss magic that is the Python oeuvre. Just the one therapy I have ignored over the past few days to attack my downward mood swings... that's right gerotology!

Doncha just luv it when you discover a new word and just hafta use it!

Good old laugther therapy. Maybe a good dose of Python today is just what Dr Adams ordered. Given that I am too far away from the Big Dipper or has that been dismantled at Luna Park, St Kilda? the Scenic Railway just doesn't cut it... and Space Mountain requires an LA airfare! Dear old Andrew I can never forget how you introduced me tothe power of adrenaline, but why oh why did we need the depressive Gin first? Was that just an excuse to drink dry martinis. As someone with BMD I never needed the push downwards with 'mother's ruin'.

So when chocolate's phenylethylamine is not enough, sunshine's seratonin boost, maybe good old belly laughs will do the trick.

Relax this isn't just another delaying tactic on my part, or at least that's what I am telling myself to justify screening a ridiculous DVD... possibly not Python after all I no longer guffaw when the punch lines are delivered. So which will have the desired effect and still leave me daylight hours to complete a minimal level of productive writing?

Must go... the DVD search is on in earnest now!

Also a confession... I had to look up the brain pleasing chemical in chocolate... I thought it was tryptophan now where does that come from?

Phenylethylamine

Status Quo... no not the band - despite my age.

Well there is good news. I haven't slipped further down my 'wellness scale'. The bad news is that I haven't swung upwards either.

But at least I am grateful for a respite in mood swings. Being a Sunday I find it so hard to motivate myslef to actually do any work. My procrastination gene kicks in and I look for housework to do... yep you read that correctly... housework. That just shows how desperate I am to avoid anything that engages my mind. And what housework was so desperately pressing (pardon the pun).... folding the two adult blokes laundry and getting 'shitty' about doing it.

It's not that I am expected to fold clean laundry, or hang wet washing from the machine to the line, or remove cleaned dishes from dishwashers... it's just that it annoys me that things are left half finished... even when they are not MY THINGS!

I can draw the line at cleaning the blokes bathrooms and toilets. That is my demarkation line but the clothes and dishes do impact on me. I can't use the washing machine until it is de-linted and empty and the dishwasher is needed daily also. I guess it is just that I can be messy in my own spaces but try to keep the common areas at least tidy, if not spick and span.

Oh these little domestic niggles that can be the focus of so much angst, when really there are deeper issues simmering under the surface. It is so therapeutic to feel a martyr and have a good sulk. Then I feel rewards are due, so I can waste a day in front of the TV screen... yep a complete day and without guilt. Me the TV addict for one day... how about that? Whereas once my addiction was The West Wing, even I can't replay all those DVDs ... it would take days and I do enjoy company for this TV show. So my default program of choice is Boston Legal. Five eps in a row thank's to pay TV. Imagine the damage I could do to my health and wellbeing if I had Tivo or a DVD recorder?

My one justification for my sloth, apart from martyrdom and reward, is that I am also reading the Sunday broadsheets and a novel during the ad breaks. Why, oh why did Pay TV have to start having advertising. And the next greatest unfathomable... why are there so few movies I actually want to watch even when I am prepared to pay for them. Does it say more about me or more about C21st film-making?

To mobilise myself just a smidgeon, when there appeared to be life gathering in the lounge area, I turned on my laptop... at least for some housekeeping there also. Emails to file, spam to trash, chain jokes to smile at, Facebook to check on... and get depressed that there are no new messages or comments, then a complete waste of time trying to drive a new Web Creator program that is supposed to be simple.

Simple I can't even instal the bloody thing! Back to Dreamweaver and frustrations with tables layers and design elements. I know I can do this stuff but there are days when everything I think will work or look good just doesn't or isn't!

The time is ticking, as I have only two weeks to get a simple site online for a work colleague and another with working links and source code for another colleague. I haven't done these things for so long that the program updates have left me behind a tad and I am rusty so everything takes three times as long and I end up despairing that I will have to do hours of tutorials just to get up to speed. ..

But just when I think I am going to sit down and have a solid, self-pitying cry, up blinks the You've Got Mail icon and a fairy Godfather emerges from cyberspace with offers of assistance.

Perhaps this is how I staved off the fall to minus four... thanks P... I sure owe you one!

Oh dear, navel gazing

This is the man, the guru, Aaron Beck MD from the Beck Brain Institute. He is reputed to have developed Cognitive Behaviour Therapy for use in clinical depression and other manjor mental illnesses. Like any therapy it takes years of practice, and typical me... when I know I am heading downwards on the Bi-polar express, it is so difficult to dredge up the will to do the thought auditing required, let alone connect the analytical with the emotional and mobilise action. I am very good at staying above intellectualle and knowing the effect of my thinking, but I am very very bad at translating the 'common sense' across to what always feels like an overwhelming swarm of self-hatred.

It is so hard to put these things into words, for fear of being judged. To be seen as self-indulgent. If one has suffered from situational depression then you have an idea of just how debilitating the condition is... but when you add the constant pull towards clinical depression wrought by my illness, it is almost unbearable. Of all the people who should (oh dear just used the no, no word),
be able to call up an inner strength and harness my intellectual capacities it should be me. But at the start of this blog, I promised to be honest and take any readers through the Bi-polar express from a safe distance.

Well, as you can see from the many gaps and lack of daily posts, whenever I felt in the 'grey zone' or what people call 'normal', I forget to blog. I just get on with life in all its 'grey mundaneness'
.
But when the colours are brighter, the sounds orchestral, the aromas gastronomic then there is a pull to the keyboard. To capture this moment. A fear that if I do not capture these emotions and ward off the inevitable fall down to grey again. And similarly, when the mood swings towards the black pit, with the 'dog' nipping at my heels again I refuse to sit and type for fear that I empower the blackness and am drawn irrevocably into the abyss.

Yep, for the priliveleged well people this sounds so overly dramatic, but simple words are so powerless in describing the intensity of the swings. So for well over 30 years now I have happily worn the description of drama-queen, what other choice do I have but self-acceptance? I have made the ultimate promise to myself that I will never act on any suicidal ideations so I ust have to wear the negative labels. This is a small price to pay for the sacred life I have been given, that my parents strugdled to nurture, and the life that pushed so many loving people away when they felt so powerless to stop my spirals.

I guess this is the reason I am so sad when new friends run a mile in fear when they learn of my illness. They fear this sense of responsibility or the confrontation of raw emotion on this scale. I wish they could trust me that the 54 year old woman is no longer the self-centred, hurt the world type who woud act on her anger and pain.

At the core of my downward spiral would have to be the saddness of being alone. And I do not just mean partnerless. I mean alone... intrinsically devoid of any kindred spirits to walk my journey with me. Who could expect anyone to voluntarily choose this path? I wouldn't. I fell alone because you can never expect even the best friends to be there all the time. It is so draining for me, let alone someone else. Above all I feel very sad that my illness also conjures memories of pain for other friends who have lived and loved someone with Bi-polar and have never recovered from that pain and dissppointment that the relationships were inherently doomed from the start.

It is for this reason that I run away from relationships and put on so much excess weight to fend off any intimate relationships. I did it when I left the workforce to stay home with my son and now that I am at home again, on my supposed three month leave of absence (to attend to my mental health swings), the weight demon is calling my name.

When working as a salaried employee I feel intrinsically valuable and my self-esteem rockets. The more people expect the more I strive to produce and live up to their (and my own expectations), I feel good, I begin to look good and I am happy, for that wonderous prolongedperiod of time. But of how tenuous it is to attach self-esteem to employment status. I know this thanks to CBT and Dr Beck and Co... but I seem unable to ward off the feelings of worthlessness when I am not employed and am in receipt of welfare sickness or diability benefits. Yet I am disabled... so totally disabled that I am under seige. The pull of self-destruction is so intense. Ido not sleep. I cannot concentrate.

The smallest professional task takes Herculean effort, as does the dredging up of the 'party-face' to keep small linkages with my colleagues and possible future employers.

Party-Face.... so tiring. I am so over it. If only I could strive for acceptance, warts and all. But the 'outisde world' is not ready for this. So... the self-esteem plummets, the call of alcohol to ease the pain is assuaged with chocolate... for those supposed endorphins of whatever. After all fat is a battle I am prepared to wage over again, but alcoholism is my one of my gravest fears... to lose even more self-control and willpower, I doubt I could survive it.

Well dear reader/s, this is the thinking at minus three on the mood scale. The tilt to minus four is even scarier. It is coming and I will write about it. Yet I also ask for forgiveness and acceptance when this cess pit of loathing curdles on the screen.

How amazing and touching...

I was gripped by the TV footage of the first Chilean miner hugging his son. His son's tears during the seemingly endless wait would move anyone. Then the excitement of the second miner to emerge bringing a bag of rocks... wow. I do indeed feel uplifted.

But back to loding my pictures to the web... and I haven't scanned mine of the memorial at the Sunshine mine... but luckily the web comes to tha party again. For anyone interested there is a good blog record of the significance of this mining tragedy in the US. http://sfcompanion.blogspot.com/2010/05/may-2-sunshine-mine-disaster.html

It is with hope that the world learns that human life cannot be priced in the same way that productivity and down time is accounted for on fiscal bottom lines.

Miners not minors....

That's a Galaxy Quest joke for other nerds reading this... no further elaboration needed, except that it is probably wise for me to begin this post with a joke. That way it will ensure I keep things upbeat.

Today I have taken the proverbial well-earned lunch break, after two fraught days reformatting ansd reinstalling all my programs and data on my main computer. Thank the goddess for external hard drives!

Was unable to go online via my 'new' Mac as I need an ethernet cable some 10 metres long and permission from a surely young adult son to enter his room to access the household wifi modem!!! Why oh why did I get it installed there? Stupid moment methinks.

Anyway, sat down with my one whole grain sandwich (that's an important milestone for a post lap bander!!), to watch the news station, only to find Channel 9 live to the Chilean miners rescue.

My breath caught, I am in two minds. One total rapture that these 33 men can be rescued and returned to their families albeit with probable mental health issues impacting their lives for the forseeable future. The other emotion is overwhelming saddness. An irrational saddness really, given the time it has taken to drill the rescue shaft.

My dear brother could not have survived this long to wait for such a rescue effort, if they had had the tecnology back in 72. The men with him (82 others) on the 3,000 foot level survived for some unknown period of time after the silver mine fire in Kellogg Idaho, before succumbing to carbon monoxide poisoning, but not months! Kevin would not have benefitted from this technology and skill yet I feel sad that he and his co-workers had no such option.

The fire had to be extinguished and taking the oxygen was the only way. I remain sad that Kevin's life was taken so young. Every time a mining incident or accidentcomes up on the news, the old emotional wounds re-open and the grieving begins anew. I thought the Beaconsfield disaster had solved that problem for me... with the April dates, the two week entrapment and other eerily co-incidental material.

This is different, so why the grief? I guess it is the whole media circus thing. I, like everyone around the world want to watch and feel vicariously part of the rescue, yet it is this same media coverage that so impacted my family when Kevin was trapped.

We the family became trapped and hunted. So much so that I was sent away to drama camp... yep... good call that... focus on The Beggars Opera while my brother's life or death was unknown!
The denial of family support and shared grief satys with me today. There is no blame... just saddness and the knowledge today that this will ALWAYS surface as one cannot 'get over' such traumatic events in one's life.

But hey, let's end on an upnote.. let's pray (to which-ever divine being) that no communities are decimated like Kellogg, USA again by such a tragedy and that human ingenuity can save lifes.

I should post the pic of the Kellogg memorial as an image but I haven't loaded those data files yet. I will though. This I promise the men and families affected.

Sometimes even YES must mean NO!

After the Malthouse outburst towards Steven Milne, it is now time for Collingwood to stand up for supposed 'Club values'. Even if the two players are found to be 'not guilty' or the allegation 'unable to be substantiated' then they will remain targets for onfield slurs and crowd accusations.

The old addage... treat others as..., springs to mind.

If all FC Clubs pay off women who allege sexual assault, how can a supporter assume Collingwood will be any different?

The Club tried everything last Saturday short of hiring the entire Crowne Promenade hotel. Soccer Clubs O/S do this. Why not our code, after all Gosche's paddock was scheduled at lunchtime? Staying after the dinner at a purposely booked NightClub till the wee hours of Sunday morning should have been enough... no need to party one at another venue.

It is also the players responsibility to act in a manner that does not damage the Club (or their own reputations). Alcohol is no excuse nor is the old 'men can't be held responsible if women fling themselves at them'.

Of course they can... and should!

These young men must control their egos and sense that the world is theirs for the taking... especially after a premiership.

If we do not draw a line in the sand Collingwood cannot win the next Flag. Team, Club and Collingwood family come first before individuals and just because we kept Didak after his ridiculous behaviour recently and Heath Shaw's drunk driving... does not mean all transgressions should be forgiven or swept under the carpet.

We do not need egomaniacs whose appalling behaviour is condoned (like Fevola) simply because the Club can't risk them playing for an opposition team

Obviously some these boys (yep boys... 90% under 30) are immature enough to think that now they have won a premiership they have carte blanche.

They must take their wages and responsibilities seriously. They are privileged by through their talent and career opportunities. They must be role models at ALL times. 24/7 for the few playing years they have in front of them.

Play up later boys when the spotlight has dimmed.

Life doesn't end at 35 or 50!

Loyalty, Tribalism and Family

A Flag at last!

And yes I do feel different today... it is strange but somehow that 'mantle of uncertainty' that accompanies every winter and spring in Melbourne has lifted. We (the Mighty Magpies) can win a premiership when I am actively supporting. But I just can't attend the game!

Or at least that's how I feel given that the only other Flag came when I stayed away in 1990 to look after my new son.

Watch out this blog is even more self focused than usual... as as Bette Midler famously said in Beaches... "That's enough about me... now what do you think about me?"

• I was there for the draws throughout the finals, the last minutes defeats and the failure in the Grand Final Replay of 1977.

• I was there when the Essendon Cheer Squad set fire to the floggers, when Jim O'Dea ruined the life and playing career of Johnny Greening.

• I have cried with Bobby Rose and the boys, watched as Peter Hudson overtook Peter McKenna for the league top goal scorer despite Macca bagging over 100.

• I ran onto the ground to jointhe momentous moment of 100 goal hauls and after finals wins

• I have held the run through at the G when the high winds broke it and we were helped by the GeelongCheersqau I think it was (Anybody remember?) And Thanks Guys you were great..
  

• I have been trapped in the Waverly car park (in the old days) and not able to exit until well after 8pm one Saturday day match.
  

• I had my first real kiss on the bussafter Collingwood losing a first semi, and after a cheersquad day at the snow. ( I was horrified as the guy I had a crush on was watching and it seemed so gross!)

• I met my first gay friends in the Collingwood Cheer Squad and found a place where everyone was accepted just because we lived and breathed black and white.

• I have arrived at the 'G', Kardinia Park, and Waverley very early on Saturday mornings to tie the banners around the fences.

• I have spent countless weeknights helping construct the run through in the old Vic Park visitor change rooms.

• Not to mention sharing sleeping bags with georgeous young men under the stands at Vic Park camping out for Finals Tickets.

The tears of angst, frustration and sheer joy cannot be explianed to people who have not felt this 'belonging' and tribalism that a Victorian Football Club 'family' can bring.

One of the major reasons we are so tight is a shared history of near misses and total devastation. We back up and continue our loyally... no matter what. I

n the old days we were part of the colour and spectacle but only now under the stewardship of Eddie does the Club actually acknowledge the role played by The Magpie Army in getting the players up and across the line. It was fantastic that President, Captain and Coach gave thanks for this supporter support... yet I wasn't there.

It now seems that if one is not earning a quite reasonable wage... it is no longer possible to be there. Even a standing room ticket is $145, the petrol would be $20 so a train ticket return is better at $11, and $22 station parking. The Record is $15. I just cannot justify this when it represents more than 50% of my current weekly income. More if I wanted a reserve seat and Club membership.

Am I still a member of the Magpie Army?

Collingwood now has special categories of members... the over ten year group... etc. Well I was bothe Club member and Cheersquad member for the entire turbulent seventies... but I have no official status and must aply to join all over again and work my way back up. Can I afford this commitment whilst at the same time investing heavily in my (hopefully) future career by paying for Conferences, Seminars, Colloquia and Training Workshops?

Let alone my occasional extravagent splurge to my 'other family'... the theatre Industry?

So am I the same person today as yesterday?

No. I am overjoyed and relieved yet saddened as I feel a chapter of my life has come to a close.

I will always stand SIDE BY SIDE withy both my families even when I am not able to be there in person.

Goodbye 'Josephine'

Vale Tony




Thu, September 30, 2010 -- 6:31 AM ET -----   

Tony Curtis, Hollywood Icon, Dies at 85, 
The A.P. Reports

Tony Curtis, a classically handsome movie star who earned an Oscar nomination as an
escaped convict in Stanley Kramer's 1958 movie "The Defiant Ones," but whose public
preferred him in comic roles in films like "Some Like It Hot" (1959) and "The Great

Race" (1965), died Wednesday of a cardiac arrest in his Las Vegas area home.
He was 85. His death was confirmed by the Clark County coroner, The Associated Press reported. As a performer, Mr. Curtis drew first and foremost on his startlingly good looks. With his dark, curly hair, worn in a sculptural style later imitated by Elvis Presley, and plucked eyebrows framing pale blue eyes and wide, full lips, Mr. Curtis embodied a new kind of feminized male beauty that came into vogue in the early 1950s.

Read More: http://www.nytimes.com?emc=na

A little taste of sugar

Ah September that wonderful time of year when the sun begins to shine and my endorphins are at a good level. My favourite things about Setember (my birth month) are the sounds of Spring. For me, it is reassuring to hear the "King tides" of an evening accompanying the Spring equinox. The crash of the waves at night is the best possible soundtrack for a great nights sleep, and despite the Ocean-shore being over 500 metres away, they sound so close.

This transports me back to childhood memories of being suggled in bed in our beach house nestled on the sand dunes of the 'back' beach. Our fence-line was our entry to the National Park and our beach access. The house was designed by an aviation engineer and structurally swayed during high winds. For guests it was very disconcerting, especially when the movement was coupled with the crashing wave soundscape!

But for me it was (and is) my spiritual home.

So now these equinoxial gales bring memories of relaxation away from the stresses of the city.

And speaking of the stresses of the city and September soundscapes, nothing can compare with the hush over the MCG for the National Anthem on Grand Final day and the gargantuan wave of 100,000 voices' unified cheer to drown out the last stanzas before the ball is bounced.

They seem such simple pleasures from 'the olden days'... yet there is always more beneath the surface with fond memories.

I can't say I was ever from a wealthy family, we were most probably 'comfortably well off' and able to experience these two soundscapes annually. This Septemeber, however, I have had it reinforced that I am no longer 'comfortably well off'. Despite the best efforts of my son and his father, plus the generosity of the federal tax commissioner even $2,000 could not assure me of both locales. A drawn Grand Final for my beloved Pies definitely put paid to the hope of hearing the cheers of the black and white faithful at 'The G' this coming Saturday.

I have a friend who's son is an MCC member, yet he is definitely not approachable to queue for MCC reserve seats, nor would he be open for an acquaintance offering to queue for him, to obtain one ticket to the much prized event! And they wonder why the crowd in the Southern Stand ritualisticaly boo the Members stand during the Mexican Wave!

It is with gratitude however, that an AFL silver member offered to purchase a ticket for me... but guess what, all Collingwood, St Kilda and AFL reserve seating has sold out their allocations within several hours. By my best calculation that still only accounts for around 60% of the seating capacity... so where are the remaining seats, at what price and who can afford them, let alone how does one get them?

My answer to this musing was found last night, and in the what I had mistakenly thought of as the least likely place.

I attended the opening night of the Production Company's last in their season of musicals, Sugar at the State Theatre.

That' s who have all the tickets, the glitteratti and corporates! Everyone I spoke to was going and very few were actual supporters of the teams playing off. So much for Collingwood President, Eddie Maguire saying that this would be 'the people's Grand Final'.

Only certain people Ed! And you know who they all are.

This evening brought back many memories of feeling like an outsider. I used to attend the opening nights in my professional capacity as theatre reviewer in years gone by (20 plus)and could watch the glitteratti air kissing with amusement.

When one is not 'of the in crowd' it becomes quite an ethnographic study!

What came flooding back to me was the sheer number of 'opening night groupies and hangers on' that are invited to these events, and their behaviour is decidedly questionable. One man who shall remain nameless spoke loudly throughout the entire welcome by the Dircetor of the Board and the General Manager as they thinked sponsors and introduced the Company. How rude. He always was... so I had to move just to hear.
hese are the freeloaders of the worst kind, bitching about the dress and cosmetic surgery needs of the upper classes. Many are there simply to be seen. Seen by whom I ask? No-one outside this small clique know or care who you are (and I doubt they even care... your connections or dollars have bought your entry!)

These people are always condescending about the performers on stage whilst flirting with the pretty young members of the ensemble. Everywhere there are eyes scanning the room instead of focusing on their conversation partner. It is horrid. It always has been and still is for those of us outside this coterie. I'm sort of glad I'm on the outside in a way. Yet by going am I tarred with the same brush?

But opening nights perforamances (and closing nights) can be very special. There is a nervous energy and adrenaline that often clicks and these nights become memorable for the experience of being in that audience. This feeling cannot be replicated even on the best nights during the run. That frissom of excitement is not there, that tightrope walking across the emotional space beyond the fourth wall.

How wonderful to see productions featuring Australia's brightest and most talented performers alongside the old troupers and up and comers... but why are these nights SO DEADLY! Here I have to thank an old friend who enabled me to attend the after party as it would have been wonderful to catch up with the magnificent Dennis Olsen.

I worked at the State Theatre Company of South Australia in the late seventies when Deniis was one of the core ensemble cast for numerous seasons. His acting ability and superb musical training ensured the role of Osgood lll, was given the full throttle. So big, bold and over the top... absolutely magical performance. Thank you Dennis.

For those who are in the dark, Sugar is the Broadway musical based upon the film Some Like it Hot. Apparently the decision to stage this production came after Jean Pratt had a conversation with Tony Curtis who expressed his interest in playing the role of Osgood in and Australian production. How wonderul that the Production Company has stayed true to its mission to showcase the best Australian talent. To cast such a 'bankable' star would have been sooooo tempting.

This casting imperative has seen some of the best stage and screen performers gracing the boards at the State Theatre annually since 2000. It was with much pleasure last night seeing Mitchell Butel cast as 'Jerry/Daphne' in Sugar.

It was his name alone that made me purchase my ticket.

I became enamoured with Mitchell in the MTC's Tomfoolery. He is a star, there is no question about that, as can be attested by the audiences for Avenue Q, Urinetown, and other Production Company pieces, Little Me, Oklahoma and Hair.

It is always difficult for a stunning young 'leading lady', Christie Whelan to receive the applause duly deserved when her curtain call follows the ovation for a crowd pleaser such as Mitchell. As Sugar Kane, she was delightful. What is to be admired is that she played the role of dumb blonde avoiding too broad brush strokes and a reliance on a Marilyn impersonation. She was reminiscent of Marilyn with the jaunty beauty spot, but her performance was definitely Christie. Well done young woman.

In a similar position was Matt Hetherington, whose role 'Joe/Josephine' , the straight man to Butel's character. Also the leading man role in many older-style musicals is so two dimensional. He must sing well, look good and generally play second banana for the jokes and showcase the 'star' (Sugar). We could not have had a better performance, but again the curtain call has him 'shadowed' by Mitchell.

I had one small disappointment. I am a huge Melissa Langton fan yet her Miss Sue was a fraction over-sung last night. She has the BIG voice needed but I would have appreciated a little more shade so that when she let the audience HAVE IT... it would have been phenomenal. That's not Melissa fault however.... I would assume the director or MD is responsible.

With the highly balanced audio systems now we no longer need to belt, Merman-style for the 'Gods'.

Could this be because the director hails from the straight theatre (despite impecable credentials)? One Opera does not a music theatre director make! Nor (do I suggest) does NIDA ensure the best suitability for the job despite the Industry still being Sydney-centric in this country. After all some of our best and brightest young musical stars are being nurtured by WAAPA.

Could it also be that the MD is similarly steeped in the classical tradition and concert stages that when relying on amplification for productions the subtleties are lost. Funny, he also hails from the Emerald City. Don't we have local MDs in Melbourne? Peter Casey's arrangements of the Jule Styne score are fantastic.

The ensemble is yet again fabulous. What we lack in numbers is compensated by versatility and energy. Well done to the entire ensemble (particularly our 'violinist' from the Syncopaters... yes we could tell you were playing. Ken MF didn't have to tell the observant amongst us). The tap routines were great but often the applause was cut short by the pace of the show cutting too abruptly into 'the book' again. I felt so sorry for Alan Brough. His role is so minor one can't even describe it correctly as a cameo... but hey I want to see him again on stage so my curiosity is piqued.

This brings me to the style of musical. I used to adore ALL musicals, now age and cynicism has brought a jaundiced eye (and ear). I now want more from the book, thanks to the transition from musical comedy to music theatre over the last decades of the C20th. Luckily, for me Sugar stands up to the test. Not because the book is good... indeed the plot is ludicrous and requiring just so much suspension of disbelief... what makes it work is the old ( and yes crass sexist) jokes well placed within the narrative and paced perfectly for the desired comedic effect.

This is often not the case in many musical comedies of days gone by. I would have to say that Pajama Game, Music Man and the Boyfriend, look dated rather than period.

They do not seem to work for a modern audience, brought up on fast repartee on stage, television and cinema screen. It is not that we need the whizz bang technical wizardry of the Lloyd Webbers and Macintosh extravanganzas... but we do need tighter and more nuanced productions when re-staging the oldies.

I have been thinking about this a lot over the last weeks, trying to see why my prediction of an early sell out for the return season of Boy from Oz is yet to come to fruition. After seeing the production, it is spectacular and crowd pleasing with a tour de force performance by Todd McKenny. So why are there still tickets for a two week January run? I had assumed it would sell out, be extended and demand a national tour. How am I so out of sync with the audiences after all these years?

Yes, I adored Mary Poppins, had a nice plasing night at Mamma Mia, and unexpectedly loved Jersey Boys. I had felt that I shared a common appreciation and theatrical taste with the Melbourne audiences.

It can't be the venue. I know the State theatre can appear intimidating in size... but hold on... what about The Regent. The houses for Wicked proved that large shows can sell well.

Is it that we need good old 'family musicals'? If so how to explain the Les Mis/Phantom phenomena.

My concern is that the Production Company just aren't tapping into the audience that used to attend the Victoria State Opera/Arts Centre Trust summer musicals. It can't be simply a matter of ticket prices. Boy from Oz top price is $109 yet Mary Poppins Premium ticket is $155.

Would I be wrong to suggest that when a Company has a loyal group of corprate supporters and sponsors there exists a feeling that 'give them the product' and the masses will come, as long as we wine and dine our VIPs. Well looking around at the VIPs last night, there is a decided skewing in age demographics. I have not seen as many grey heads apart from at the Opera and the MSO!

There were very few of the fashionable glitzy pretty young things and soapie stars, and they would all be in town for the 'footy' and 'races'. We needed arc lights in St Kilda road, lots of photographers snapping paparazzi style, a red carpet and watchers... not the sedate photographers gently accompanying Lillian amongst the guests inside the foyer space. By the time the who's who shots make the weekend magazine editions the show will be virtually over!

That is one thing the Williamson and Edgely's knew; how to make glitz and glamour.

I would say the Mariner organisation and Mike Walsh still get it SOOOO right.

How strange my focus is now so solidly on the marketing and business side of 'show business'. Me... the critic and reviewer is still there but it's no good having a great product if very few people put their money on the line to see it.

I guess my biggest feeling after coming away from this show is that maybe the true musical lovers just can't dredge up enough money for all that is on in September. We also had the school holidays and the Royal Melbourne Show (let alone the footy finals). Even with the best budgeting I doubt if I could have stretched my wages this far.

How nice it would be to be 'comfortably well off' again and it not to be such a big outing to drive up to town from my beachside haven on more occasions.

Oh yeah... I must aspire to more gold bling for these opening nights! You should have heard the clinking in the stalls!