I Don't Like Mondays

Tough day today, chickens. Warning: whining ahead.

I couldn't get to sleep last night. Too much Eurovision Final excitement? Perhaps. So I ended up taking a pill and going to sleep around 1am, only to wake with the alarm at 7am and a pounding headache. A headache that started as a snare drum and has ended up as a timpany chorus. I just took some more headache tablets, and I don't think it's a migraine (never had one of those) but I do feel like maybe my head and neck are about to go their seperate ways.

So. Last week I touched on problems at work, and some conflict I've had with a woman in my office, and things escalated to the point where she is now completely ignoring me. My stress levels have been through the roof on this issue, but I've also been really unhappy at work the past few months and struggling with issues of motivation. My insomnia and other health issues have contributed to my motivation issues as well.

Long story short, I just resigned and gave 4 weeks notice. Sounds impetuous maybe, but the situation here really is doing my head in. Not just the conflict, but my dislike for the position also. I've tried to change it, but to no avail. I have some annual leave owing, which will extend my full pay another couple of weeks, so it gives me around 6-7 weeks to find something else. Plus, I can always fall back on temping again. I am by nature a procrastinator, so I also sort of needed to draw a line under this experience, one that forces me into a deadline to deal with hunting for something else and reducing my outgoings by finding a housemate tout sweet.

The other issue sticking under my skin today is that my doctor has left the medical practice he was at. ::pffft:: Gone-ski. Changing doctors is a pain in the ass, particularly given that I feel like I'm part way along a process that hasn't reached its conclusion yet. They won't tell me where he has gone, and all my medical records stay at the practice, so really all I can do is to continue to see out this process of unlocking my insomnia and liver problems with one of the other doctors there. Grump.

I had planned an entry of chock full of morsels of madness and mayhem from Eurovision, but instead I'm serving you up a bowl full of angst, a goblet brimming full frustration and a side order this-really-shits-me-to-tears. Maybe tomorrow. Meanwhile I think I might grab myself a sad film to watch tonight, and have a good cathartic cry.

African Spirit

Through his job in the media, my friend James often scores complimentary tickets to concerts and events happening around Sydney, and as he usually gets 2 tickets has been known to distribute the largesse between his friends, depending on their interests. He asked me the other day if I'd be interested in seeing a matinee yesterday afternoon of 'African Spirit' by the Soweto Gospel Choir. I knew a bit about the choir but not much, and it sounded like a great opportunity to see something I normally might not have shelled out the bucks to go see.



I have to say that I was really very pleasantly surprised. I like gospel music and traditional spirituals, and I love African traditional rhythms, so I guess I shouldn't have been as surprised as I was at how much I enjoyed it. The stage presence and dancing was something I hadn't considered, and the choir certainly put on a fantastic show. What I especially loved was that although the choir were basically all singing and moving in unison they had plenty of room for personal expression. James and I quickly picked out two favourites, two of the traditionally built women (as Mma Ramotswe would say) who were a joy to watch. The show flew by at two halves of around 45 minutes each, with an enthusiastic standing ovation at the end and a couple of spirited encores.

James and I shared a few laughs at just how, well white some of the audience were. When it came to clapping it was clear that to some of the audience rhythm is a foreign concept. During an encore one of the women from the choir got a nice looking young guy up out of his seat to dance, and while he didn't do too badly he had that kind of slightly uncomfortable/slightly out of rhythm dance that many straight white boys seem to have made their own.

It was a great way to spend an afternoon. The choir supports an orphanage for AIDS orphans in Africa, and at the end of the show many of the choir members were in the foyer collecting donations. So not only entertaining, but a very worthy cause also.

A Request. A Desire. An Instruction.

An advertising catchphrase.

CENSORED

Yesterday I wrote about looking forward to seeing a gallery show of new photographic works by Bill Henson with my friend James. Last night we rang the gallery for directions, as we were close by but couldn't find the exact location, and the woman James spoke to at the gallery informed us that they had 'taken advice' not to open the show, so the opening night was cancelled.

I'm familiar with Henson's previous works, but didn't really know what to expect from this new show, and I was really surprised that the gallery had taken this step of a last minute cancellation of a well respected artist's show. Since watching the late news last night, and then seeing the morning news and the papers, the issue was that Henson had a series of nudes in the exhibition of pre-pubescent children and teenagers. (Interestingly, 90% of the coverage I have seen has focussed on the young girls in the exhibition, of the footage I've seen only a psychologist being interviewed on the Channel 7 morning news show mentioned that there were pictures of boys in the exhibition as well.)

They showed a couple of the images on the tv this morning, with blurring or opaque bars across the children's breasts, and I really had mixed emotions about them. They were certainly disturbingly frank, but they were also incredibly beautiful and vulnerable, with the children looking somewhat introspective and thoughtful and not in the least lascivious to my eye. My own concerns come from the vulnerability aspect, tasteful or not depending on your point of view.

What has been shocking to me is the media handling of it. One of the morning papers had a full page CHILD PORN 'ART' RAID headline splashed across the front page. Editorialising with two carefuly placed inverted commas and the inflammatory word "porn". A journalist being interviewed on the Today Show this morning on Channel 9 muddied the ethical waters with suggestion and innuendo, under the journalistic guise of 'these questions need to be asked', by suggesting that we don't even know if the children were left alone with the photographer etc. The children and their parents are to be interviewed by police, but there has been no allegations that Henson was ever inappropriate.

Oh, and the hypocrisy of the tv shows! While stating that because the images in the exhibition had been made available on the internet (a dubious decision in hindsight) it was exposing the children to the attention of pedophiles, they broadcast the exact same images. Yes they covered the genitalia, but the identities of the children were not obscured, and they publicised the fact that the images were available on the net.

Henson reportedly wanted to create images that spoke about vulnerability, about that difficult time between childhood and adolescence. I haven't really seen enough of the images to draw any conclusions about how successful he was with that aim. It certainly seems that his methods have been inflammatory to many people and have kicked off a feeding frenzy of accusation and moralisation. I didn't find the images that I (admittedly) only saw doctored versions of at all sexual, and it's kind of sad that there is no room left for innocent admiration of youthful beauty. Nudity = Sex. Nudity = Porn. I feel like I've suddenly been dragged down to the lowest common denominator.

Visual Clues

This:



Plus this:



Times by this:



Minus this:



(Ewww, very minus I would say)

Divided by the square root of this:



Equals?...

4 Years, And Counting

Ooops, I missed my blog anniversary by a couple of days. On May 20th this little home of mine on The Interwebs turned 4 years old! I was reminded of this when I spotted Michael's blog birthday post over at Temporary Troublespots. Michael and I started our blogs just a day apart, not quite as twins but maybe as some sort of siblings at least.

Thanks for hanging out here everyone! I always love reading your comments, and that is partly why this blog has become an essential part of my life over the past 4 years. Thanks for reading!

Exhibitionist

I scored an invite to the opening of an exhibition of new works by Aussie photographer Bill Henson tonight, courtesy of my friend James. I'm really excited because I'm quite an admirer of Henson's dark, enigmatic works.

Photo by Bill Henson

Lots has been written about Henson's work, about his beautiful adolescents in dark, dreamlike, sometimes disturbing settings. Every time I look at his works I see something different. Sometimes they seem vapid, like advertising pics that have taken a darker turn. Sometimes they seem like a commentary on the cult of youth and beauty. I guess that's part of Henson's appeal, the thought provoking nature of his works. I haven't seen anything about this new exhibition but I'm keen to see if he has taken a new direction. Whichever, I'm sure it'll be thought provoking.

Conflict

I discovered the joys of interpersonal conflict in the workplace yesterday. (By 'joys' I mean hatefulness, of course.) Ay dios mio. My already sketchy relationship with one of the women in my department descended into outright hostility. I kept it pretty cool and professional with her all day yesterday, even while I felt my blood pressure climb to stratospheric heights. Although at one point I just walked away from her. If she keeps it up I might even lodge a formal Greivance against her (note the weighty capital, it's written that way in all our employee literature).

The only problem is that there is a clique of women here who all go down for a cigarette together about 8 times a day, and eat lunch together daily, and both my manager and this woman are part of that group. Frankly, I'm not convinced that I would get a fair hearing.

Anyhoo, ultimately I just need to get out of this place. (My daydreams yesterday included some mental arithmetic of just how long I could survive if I gave 4 week's notice and was paid out for my unnused holiday leave.)

I went to that interview with the recruiter on Monday late afternoon. Unfortunately the specific job I was applying for required a driver's licence which I don't have, a fact they neglected to put in the ad. Shame because it would have been perfect for me, even including an element of 1 on 1 software training, something I have done in the past and really enjoy doing. Cest la vie. The super-cute recruiter has kept my resume and said he will definately put me forward for the first vacancy they get in my field, and it was useful to have the interview experience and feedback on my resume.

The hunt continues. Today's work mode is Lying Low And Keeping Out Of Harm's Way.

Speaking Of Staying In

Advertising guy, why even bother leaving the house, right?



[Via Vintage Ads.]

Diary Of A Shut-In

I had my little trip to hospital and a few unforeseen bills this pay fortnight, so as I coast the home stretch to Pay Day I've been clinging to my last dollars. Not exactly diving my hand down the back of the couch for loose change, but as far as considering whether I can be bothered cashing in the coin jar. That sort of thing. Anyhoo I mention this by way of exposition, back story, to set the scene for you.

Actually, it's also to make me feel a little less like I was just a lazy arse all weekend. Clearly, not my fault you see. It was the money's fault. Bad, bad money. Yes, that is a very good point you make about all the free stuff I could have done all weekend. As it turns out, hanging around the house in track pants, watching DVDs you have already watched numerous times over is free too, so what's your point?

Anyhoo, jumping ahead. I did pretty much NOTHING all weekend. Cleaned the bathroom, knitted, spent some precious alone time with internet porn some of my favourite websites, watched DVDs. By Sunday afternoon I had exhausted all the entertainment value in those activities, so I headed out into the chilly daylight, into the outdoors, the place where there were other people for knitting at the pub.

Except after waiting around 45 minutes nobody showed, so I slunk back to the safe confines of my own 4 walls. Cruel hand of fate! So back to the couch, snuggled under a throw rug, with a couple more DVDs that I have watched a million times over. At this point I should point out that the 1994 film Priest still hold up pretty well. For all sorts of reasons, including the fact that last scene of this film is one of the most moving scenes on celluloid in my humble opinion, but in general for the fantastic performance by the very handsome Linus Roache.



Mmmmm, hot dish in a cassock. Who's your daddy, Father?

Friday Haiku

'team meeting' pizza
a free lunch is a good lunch
but, food coma time