Today I started at a new school. I was terrified and really didn't want to go. Everyone else has been there for six months and are great friends, so I'm the outsider and feeling really self-conscious and new. We play games involving remembering names (which I suck at). They get them all right. I get EVERY name wrong. For the rest of the lesson, I don't understand much of what the teacher says, so I'm also feeling really dumb by this point. At break time, I'm feeling dumb, confused, tired, lonely, self-conscious, and I also notice half of them have yummy-looking takeaway lunches, so I'm jealous, and embarrassed by my boring apple and dorky thermos of home-made coffee. So I slink off to the kitchen, pour myself a cup, then come back, and the only spot to sit is on a sofa, in the middle of the group. I sit down. Did I mention I've lost the cup from my thermos... so I have this really embarrassing plastic yellow cup instead? Anyway, they are all discussing going to buy fancy coffees from the machine. I'm wishing I could buy a latté or a double mocha or whatever fancy coffee is available. I'm sitting there blowing the steam from my cheapo coffee, trying to be invisible and feeling sorry for myself and my crappy coffee from home, hoping nobody laughs at my ridiculous smiley-face plastic cup. And then one of them announces that the coffee machine is broken. They complain. They wail. They're very unhappy at missing out on their caffiene fix.

I sit there with my awesome home-made coffee in the hilarious cup, blowing it and feeling smug and quietly grinning to myself.

PERSPECTIVE!!

Because I Can

This week I released my first manuscript upon the world - I have written a book about my experiences working in a retirement village. It is still being edited, and I may add a few more little bits and pieces, but the bulk of it is in place for the world to criticise enjoy see.

So, today you get to share one of the stories. I present to you: The Lifestyle Village, Chapter 4 - "I have a new job". The entire book, with several funnier stories (if you're interested) can be read online for free at http://www.authonomy.com/books/33488/the-lifestyle-village/read-book/#chapter.

I have a new job

I have a new job. It's working in the community kitchen of the retirement village where my aunt does the wages. Sorry, Lifestyle Village. I can't call it a retirement village. Those are for old people. It's a Lifestyle Village, which automatically makes 90-year-olds "not old". It's all about image. Or something.

 I have nothing to do with my aunt, which is good, since my mother and I nearly came to blows working together at her work... but I digress. I'm a combination kitchenhand/waitress. Go me. Actually, I like it. The weekend pay is better than I was getting in tech support for sitting at a desk and I bring home more leftover food than I could possibly eat. Free food rocks.

 I get to serve them all in the dining rooms. They're actually not a bad bunch at all. Most of them have all their marbles, albeit left over from 1972... the dinner table conversation can be quite amusing. On the weekend they had been discussing some actor from nineteen yickety two (I missed who) and that some movie of his had been on, and others were disappointed to have missed it on the tv. Enter our hero, Iris, who announced, "You're all welcome to come and watch it in my flat, I have it on Dee Vee Dee." Muttered discussion and awe as they all digested this new fangled news. I doubt many of them even have a VCR.

 The amputee lady, Doris, has more spunk than the rest of them combined. "Well if you're finished boasting," she said, "I'll have a boast too. I have a new stereo, and it's got a Woofer."

 This was met with gobstruck silence as they looked at each other in total ignorance. I had to leave the room to avoid laughing aloud. I listened from the kitchen. Finally one of them timidly asked the inevitable question.

 "What's a Woofer?"

 The discussion, of course, was all very serious, and they all learned about how it's important to emphasise the bass.





 Marlene is knitting me some bedsocks.

Flawed, but better than nothing

I must say from the outset that it's a while since I looked into the Carbon Tax, but here's my take (and I've read differing views on it recently).

There is no denying that despite the fact it's levied on businesses, the cost will be passed on to the consumer. But it's to a limited degree and in all the right ways. We have competition to thank for that. Here's a short simplified example of how it WILL benefit the environment.

Let's take Power Company A. Just imagine it's whoever you're with. At the moment, Power Company A has mostly coal electricity. Green Power options are more expensive to research and develop, than coal, so they mostly don't bother. In the long run, green power is cheap. It's just expensive to set up at the beginning. And since Power Company A doesn't want to spend yummy profit, they stick with coal.

At first, all the companies cost about the same price. The next day, the Carbon Tax kicks in. From then on, it's going to be getting more expensive to keep using coal. No problem - Power Company A can just jack up the price to the customer, and keep using delicious coal, right? And then... and then Electricity Provider B see what Power Company A just did and think... hmmm, we think we'd like to steal their customers. We think it's worth spending some yummy profit this year, to make things cheaper next year, so that we can lower our prices and steal customers.

So they spend some delicious profit to invest in green, and they pass that investment cost onto the customers. At first, nothing much changes, both companies cost about the same. But in a little while, Electricity Provider B's investment is paid off, and they can lower their prices to the customers. WOOHOO says Mr Customer. I'm switching to the company that costs less.

Simple, right? Although you might have thought companies don't care, because they can just pass the increase onto the customers anyway, there is competition and that makes companies grow a conscience. Even if the conscience is a fake one and is all about greedy profits, they'll still do it.

Secondly - a direct result if the power goes up in price - consumers cry at their bills, and then they install solar panels and turn off lights and yell at their kids for staying in the shower for half an hour. These are all wins for the environment.

And then we have things like electronics providers. As the cost of power goes up with Power Company A, customers will be desperately searching for ways to reduce consumption. They'll be buying energy-efficient light globes, and so on. And if Television Company C starts advertising a TV that uses 10% less power, customers will bloody well go and buy it. So it's in Random TV Company D's selfish interests to spend yummy profit on researching ways to make their tellies that use less power - if they don't, they'll just go out of business because nobody will buy their TVs!

I don't think the Carbon Tax was the most efficient way to reduce greenhouse emissions. But we have to remember, it had to be put together in a way that could get past the voters. Let's be honest, the more efficient ways would have made everyone scream and run around like chooks with their heads cut off, and vote for Fred Nile or something stupid like that. Carbon Tax is a disguised, convoluted, magical mystery option, but at least it's something. And it's working - the number of solar panels on roofs is skyrocketing.

Now if only they'd grow a pair, and make those panels compulsory on all new buildings...

Winter

(Warning: Lame emo short story thingy follows. Definitely among the dregs of my work, but rather than leaving you all without a contribution, I'll post this to fill space.)

Is there an unwritten mantra, that declares we must find the beauty in winter?

Winter and its crystalline landscape. Icicles hanging from delicate tree branches, reflecting the brilliant sunshine. Streets and pavements with their sharp corners all buried under smooth drifts of snow, single flakes falling in a spectacular display, small figures in mittens making snowmen and laughing.

Did someone stare out the window at the horribly bitter and vicious cold for so long that they tried to find something nice about it? Did they stay inside near the fireplace for days on end until they forgot the feeling of the wind blowing deep into their bones?

The snow is here for so long each year, but there's one thing that makes me think of you. The rain falling onto the snow and melting it, sweeping it into slush, washing it into drains and across streets, the slippery mess of water reminds me of when you left. The rain was falling on that day, as we carefully stepped across the yard to say our goodbyes beside the waiting taxi. My hair clung to my face and you couldn't see the tears for all the splashes from above. You finally let go of my embrace and stepped back. And for long minutes you stood there like a statue, alone, apart, and unwilling to take that last step away from me, to fold yourself into the seat and be ushered away to your next destination.

I stood there and wondered, what if I stopped him from leaving?

Can I really be that selfish? I know you wanted to stay.

But I'd also known how things would be worse if you didn't return. And I had to content myself with hoping to see you again. One day. "One day" became months of waiting. Our conversations always centred on that "one day". Our dreams and plans all about that one day in the future where I wouldn't have to say goodbye.

It's raining onto the snow this morning. A few children tried to make a snowman and gave up in disgust. I've watched a lady at the bus stop, whose umbrella blew inside out as the water saturated her. Cars creep by infrequently, but when they do, it's only at a snail's pace. Their tyres splash filthy mush onto everything nearby. The scene is winter, and the cold and the snow, in all its dreary lack of glory.

But tomorrow, I'll be in your arms. Somehow, winter is beautiful.

Life Lessons (Fiction Challenge)

Emma wasn't even supposed to be in the wedding party. I'd chosen my sister as my one-and-only bridesmaid right when Jeff proposed, but by the time the big day rolled around she was only weeks away from giving birth, so Emma graciously stepped into the role.

Jeff had always mumbled about not liking Emma. I couldn't even figure out why: Emma was a kindhearted soul who never raised her voice and was forever worrying about other people and doing nice things for them. If it's possible for someone you never want to be romantic with, Emma was my soul mate. We never got invited somewhere on our own: invitations always read "To Emma and Alicia". And Jeff didn't like her and never said why. But whatever. I was the glowing bride-to-be and nothing was going to spoil my day.

Money was tight so the whole affair was going to be on a shoestring. Both the wedding and the reception would be in a hall and we were going to drive to the honeymoon, a week on the lake in a cedar cabin. No flight to Hawaii for me, but I'd reasoned it didn't matter, after all, I would be with the man of my dreams! My dress was a family heirloom and it fit me perfectly. The gorgeous blue shoes had been on sale at the market. I was going to look and feel like a princess, no matter how stretched our budget. This was going to be my day and I was determined to shine.

Before we could blink there was only a week to go. A week! The girls took me out for my hens' night; we partied all evening long from one club to the next and had a fantastic time. We must have taken a hundred photos of Emma and I; flirting with the bouncer, chatting to the bartender, dancing on the tables and hugging for almost every shot. I adored Emma. I still had the tiny handkerchief she gave me in Kindergarten, with the ducks on it. I'd thought it so lovely that she had just given it to me. Emma meant the world to me and I was just ecstatic that she would be beside me on my special day.

I can remember Jeff's outburst when he saw the photos. He was disgusted. He made some sloppy remark about Emma being a slut and then wondered aloud if we were lesbians. Honestly, I was surprised, I know he'd always expressed dislike of her, but this was a lot even for him. I guess I was just disappointed in the end. I put the photos sadly in an old shoebox at the back of a cupboard; I wasn't going to show him them again, since it just seemed like a recipe for an argument.

With just one day to go I was a bundle of nerves. We were going to play traditional and spend our last night apart, so Jeff packed an overnight bag and took himself off to his brother's house on Friday morning before work.

The evening rolled around and we had to attend the hall with the wedding celebrant, for our wedding rehearsal. I stood where I was directed, and Jeff and I exchanged lots of thrilled glances. Everyone else looked bored stiff. We were a strange-looking bunch in our casual clothing but the celebrant was lovely. We finished the practice and said our goodnights; I kissed my man goodnight and promised that I would turn up at the hall in the morning. Actually I was starved, so I was the first one into my car to leave.

It wasn't until I'd walked in the front door of our tiny apartment ten minutes later that I realised I'd left my phone behind at the hall. Cursing, I climbed back into the car. God, the traffic was horrendous. I sat there at the traffic lights and wished it would all just disappear. Grabbing my handbag I foraged around for mints; and then I spotted the lottery ticket for yesterday's draw. And I had today's newspaper in the back of the car with the results.

I always hated those people who dashed out of the driver's seat while stopped at the lights! But screw them all, I'm getting married tomorrow, I want to know if I just got rich! I laughed to myself and decided that now I'd said that, I deserved to get nothing at all. Slamming the lid of the boot back down I clutched the newspaper to my chest and ran back to the driver's door as the lights turned green and horns started blaring behind me.

Have you ever been driving, but wanted to do something else instead, and so you actually wish the lights would go red?

I started comparing numbers. I've been playing for years with the same six numbers.

Five matches! My brain wrestled with the mental arithmetic and my heart ran overtime. I probably just won a few hundred dollars. My hand grabbed for my phone to call Jeff and tell him the good news, but then I remembered where my phone was. I stopped for a moment to compose myself and breathe. I had better check that I hadn't made a mistake.

Four, eight, sixteen, thirty-one, twenty-four, forty-three.

My heart had been hammering but I swear it stopped dead right at that moment. I didn't have five matches. I had all six.

Sweat beaded on my forehead and I checked again. Then I checked again. Six numbers. Six numbers. What if the paper made a mistake? I could barely work my mouth open to breathe. Six numbers. I somehow found some coins, parked the car and ran to a payphone, dialling the lottery information line and pressing
each button to hear the result, and then the prize amounts. Four million dollars and there was only one winner, according to a robotic voice. I was holding that winning ticket in my wildly shaking hand. I replaced the phone handset and moved like a zombie whose very life-force had been extinguished.

A house! We could have a house! No more tiny rented apartment, we could have a grand huge mansion in the countryside! No more rusty old cars, we could have new convertibles! And a proper honeymoon! A grand holiday overseas on a tropical island. In a five star luxury resort being pampered, and oh, we can fly first class! Oh the money I could spend buying gifts for my wonderful Jeff. We would never have to worry about money again. Oh, I was just so excited, nothing could have made my wedding more perfect than to know I had the perfect man beside me, and we would have the happiest times together for the rest of our lives!

A sudden artificial calm came over me and I realised I had to tell Jeff this in person. It was too important for over the phone. I considered going direct to Jeff's brother's house, but then remembered my missing phone still at the hall. I don't know how I managed to start the car or move into the traffic but the next thing I remember is pulling into the carpark across the road from the hall.

I placed the ticket carefully into my handbag and walked quickly to the hall with the back door key in hand. I tried to compose myself and work out how I would announce it once I got to Jeff's brother's house. I imagined the looks his face. He would be thrilled! Before I reached the door, though, an open window high above my head got my attention. Emma's voice, saying, "It's not a good idea." I stopped. A quick calculation, and I realised it was the kitchen. Then Jeff's voice. "Yeah. It's a great idea."

I could tell them both at once! This was great, it would be such great excitement! Knowing how much he disliked her, he was probably horribly bored and irritated to be still in the hall with her right now. He'd be so glad that I had come back. I smoothed my dress and tried to stop my hands from shaking. But then I stopped and decided to listen for a while, hoping to hear whether he was being polite to Emma, at least.

Emma again, after a pause. "Jeff, you are CRAZY." And she seemed irritated. I wondered what was going on here. They'd stopped shouting so I couldn't hear what they said next, but I was intrigued and wanted to know whether they were actually being civil to each other. After a while I could hear her again. "That
is fantastic." I waited more than five minutes, but I heard nothing else. I figured they'd moved out of the kitchen, so I rounded the corner to the stairs and went up, wondering what they'd been discussing. I clutched my precious handbag, full of my special ticket and my wonderful news, and I sought them out to share the excitement. My heart was running so fast it was hurting my chest and I grinned to myself wildly.

I picked my phone up from the seat near the door, shoving it into my handbag. From there I realised they must still be in the kitchen after all; murmurs were coming from that half-closed door. Crossing the carpet and pushing the door quietly open, I couldn't believe my eyes. My heart stopped for the second time that day. Emma was bent forwards over the stainless steel bench, underpants around her ankles, her dress bunched up high around her back, and Jeff was wildly thrusting into her from behind, his own trousers around his feet and both of them with eyes screwed shut in ecstasy, oblivious to the fact I stood in the doorway.

What made me freeze right there on the spot? I don't know. I do remember watching in a dream, as Jeff's bare backside moved while he hammered into her, and I remember her voice rising above the mumbles, turning into clear encouragement for Jeff to continue. I'm thankful I don't remember her words, because I'm sure they'd haunt me more than that image of the two of them, which seared itself into my brain.

At some point I must have backed away. The lottery news was long forgotten. I had to go back to the car; I had to call someone, I had to do something, I had to cancel the wedding, oh god what do I do? Stumbling down the back stairs, I could hear her screaming now. And as I walked under the kitchen window I heard Jeff and the three words I knew oh-so-well from our own bedroom. YES, BABY, YES at the top of his voice, that phrase always marked his climax, and here he was, using it with her.

There was vomit in front of me in the grass, just inches from my face where I was bent over. I think it must have been mine. I've no idea how I wasn't run over as I made my way back to the car. But there was a water bottle there and I washed out my mouth, replacing the lid to the vessel in a daze. I clutched the phone and wondered what to do next. And the next thing I remembered was closing the door of our apartment behind me at 5am, shoving the last of my belongings into the car and starting the engine.

I didn't bother to call a soul. My phone rang all morning with people looking for me. Text messages began appearing, asking why I wasn't picking up the phone. As the day wore on they realised that I still hadn't made it to Emma's place to get dressed, and my hairdressing appointment must be lasting so long that I'd soon be late for my own wedding. Messages changed from alarm to realisation, once they found my ransacked apartment and all my things gone.

And I still didn't want to speak to anyone. I didn't cancel a thing. All that money wasted and I couldn't care less. I looked at my lottery ticket and just let all the wedding plans fall apart as the hours ticked by.

Should I have told everyone why I didn't show up? Should I have shamed the two of them in public? I had thought about how that would pan out. I pictured the guests waiting for me to walk the aisle. I imagined their horrified faces as I announced their affair, recounted what I had witnessed, and proclaimed their duplicity. I knew the ridicule and hatred Emma and Jeff would feel from everyone in that hall. But then I realised the feelings the guests would direct at me. Pity. Pure, disgusting and filthy pity, gained only because those two revolting people treated me this way. And so I stared at the phone, and finally at midnight, with everything long over, I sent a text message to my mother.

"I'm sorry Mum, and I can't talk about it just now. I just couldn't marry him. There's someone else."

I switched off the phone. Let them think it's me who was seeing someone else. I didn't care.

I was collecting four million dollars on Monday, and Jeff wasn't getting a cent.

Confessions of a Twitterholic

Ok, I'm not, really. In fact I think I'm what you'd most assuredly call a messerer-arounder. I've dabbled in Twitter, done Facebook experiments, used LiveJournal up the razoo and have several unsucessful blogs and websites in my back catalogue. In fact, the hype around social media smacks of that previous winner in the "Next Big Profitable Thang" stakes: Advertising on the Internet (it's the next big thang and you can make millions!). Number of people who managed that: About five. Number of people who put in a half-assed attempt and came out the other end without enough money to buy a Happy Meal: About a million.

There are, of course, and handful of successful Tweeters out there. Take Charlie Sheen... ok, no, bad example. But he undeniably has a huge following, and if he weren't so busy winning then his Twitter account could be directly earning him quite a tidy sum. Case in point: I have a personal Twitter account with 3700 followers despite the fact it's just full of auto-postings from my blogs. Is it making me money? Well, it used to, when I made an effort. Not anymore.

It seems as if the masses have taken to social media while most businesses have stood around twiddling their thumbs. For far too long places like MySpace and Facebook were seen as merely recreational - and it was 100% true. So where was the problem, exactly, if we're only pissfarting around? Rigid thinking, my peoples, rigid thinking. People assuming that because things "were" just for fun then things "always would be".

A couple of businesses broke the train of thought. The arguably most-successful of these is Zynga, who've brought to us such masterpieces as Mafia Wars and Farmville. If you haven't heard of these two, where have you been... under a rock? (Or in a Facebook-free Cone of Silence?)

AHHH but I hear you say, I don't make games so how can I possibly use social networking to make money? See, there you go again with the rigid thinking. Who said it had to be about games?

The reality is that just as it is for any business tool, success via social media takes effort. No company would expect that $20 worth of advertising on tv would make them millionaires. The same goes for sticking your most junior receptionist into Twitter and telling her to say cool things about your product. It's not going to do a thing except clog up your Twitter account with tweets nobody reads. So. Imagine you're at a party.

There's one chick at the party that you don't really know. You've heard of her name, but that's it. Someone introduces her to you. But she talks NON-STOP about her company and never stops to draw breath or actually chat *with* you. She's like a movie projector looping a silent documentary about the mating habits of dung beetles. THIS is what your social media looks like if you're trying to use it to plug your product. You're just that boring chick at the party blabbing non-stop. People turn their backs on you (and your product) because you're boring. They're here to have a party! Who wants to hear a lecture in a party? Puh-lease!

The magical buzzword is "engage". Harness what social media already is: it's SOCIAL. You wouldn't go stand at a party and be that chick, would you? How would you behave at a party, or some other social gathering, if you showed up in the flesh? You would ask questions of people. You'd share ideas. The talk would go back and forward. You'd chat to several people in different ways. Tell one guy a joke; ask another girl how her studies are going. You'd talk about topics that interest them - not just yap about yourself or your work day (or your product). Perhaps you'd dance or sing along; have a cup of coffee, enjoy the movie, try the french onion dip, help wash up. Essentially, you'd interact and adapt.

And this is the crux of it all. Real-life friends have similar interests to you and like what you have to say. You find them interesting, so you reply. But the business/customer relationship is not the same so you can't treat it the same and think anyone will care about what you tweet or Facebook. You have to go to some effort.

Firstly, KISS. Keep It Simple, Stupid. By its very nature social media is "dumbed down" and simplified. Your polished sales spiel from the glossy catalogue won't necessary fly. Smile. Seriously, if you don't make an effort in text, the emotion is often lost. Be nice. And if someone decides to play dirty, don't engage.

Secondly, most of us use social media on a one-to-one basis. Even if ten people click 'Like' and five more comment on our status, we reply to seperate people. So when someone makes a comment on your company - any comment - make sure someone is replying. Be human, or else you simply won't belong. Ask questions. Be nosy and listen. Give feedback. Encourage the two-way banter. Get your potential customers talking to each other about you.

Spread yourself out. Visit other parties. "Friend" (or "Follow") your competitors. Incorporate ideas from like-minded businesses - if you sell cloth nappies, post articles from people who sell toys. Comment on their posts. Network, network, network. Ask the toy seller to post an article about you. Say thank you. Buy them a beer.

Keep picturing your company as that chick at the party and make sure she's popular. It's a lot of effort to keep making brand new friends like you, after all. But if you treat social media like it's merely messing around, then that's all it ever will be.

PS. If you follow every single one of my rules, religiously, exactly and with enough fervent ardour, you will be guilty of rigid thinking. See if you can break a few rules...

Four corners of a 60-minute current affair today, tonight, tomorrow and next week

Oh how the answer could be so simple... or so dreadfully complicated, depending on whom you ask.

Let's get one thing straight: When it comes to commerical channels, the main reason these programs exist is to make you watch them. Advertising's big dollars rule the world. The shows on government-funded channels at least have a different reason for being: mainly, because viewers are interested to see them. Sure, someone will cry altruism. All those senationalist journalists pretend they're in the business because they want to do the best thing, that most noble of jobs, telling the people. From the goodness of their hearts. Oh please. This here is for them - it's the world's tiniest violin.

Watching current affairs programs makes me think of car accidents. Most of us don't actually want to look at twisted metal, the Jaws of Life, ambulances and bodies/belongings strewn across a highway in the wake of an unidentifiable people-mover. Those things are all scary and nasty. But we still rubberneck and stare every single time, don't we? Don't we? And for what?

So, are we doing the same when we glue our butts to the sofa and stare at the idiot box to mindlessly absorb Today Corners and oooh-aaaah at that stupid woman/grandfather/teacher/shop doing dumb things? Or are we just satisfying a lust for becoming a regular busybody Mrs Mangel?

How many times have you seen someone bitching on Facebook about "that dickhead" from the tv last night (DID YOU WATCH IT? HOW STUPID WAS THAT WOMAN?! DIDN'T YOU WANT TO SMACK THAT KID UPSIDE THE HEAD? ISN'T IT REVOLTING THAT THE LAW LETS THAT HAPPEN?! I'D KILL MY HUSBAND IF HE EVER TRIED THAT SHIT WITH ME!)?

Occasionally they have some program for a "good" cause. That (school/hospital/home) which (disappeared/burned down/fell apart) and how the (owner/criminal/government) won't (fix/replace/buy) it. And here's how you can help by donating: just phone 1-800-MAKE-EVERYTHING-BETTERER. In theory, raising awareness gets action happening, and sometimes it does. The problem is that the journos have that same, exact, imitiation sympathetic "sad tv" look on their faces whether they're talking about the horrible three cent price increase on bubblegum, or the five hundred people maimed by a murderous-crayon-wielder on a rampage.

It leaves me with an empty feeling. What was on 60-affairs-current-line last week? Last month? Can't bloody remember? Sounds about right. Vapid, meaningless "entertainment" that still holds our attention with as much pull as Aqua's Barbie Girl played on the radio (but without the humour).

I heart the bus

I just spent a very relaxing 20 minutes travelling across town, on the metro from Helsinki's central train station. The metro was a two minute walk from my train. I used the same ticket at no extra charge. Metros arrive every four minutes; they're clean, safe, quiet and on time. When I got out, I was at a large shopping centre and bus interchange (I'm in the library next door now, and when I leave here I'll go straight to my class, because the high school is just on the other side of the public car park).

I love public transport. Did I love it in Sydney? Yes and no... and I can understand why a lot of people there just find it too inconvenient to bother. Unfortunately changing services in Sydney isn't quite so seamless. But there are also a LOT of people in Sydney for whom public transport is practical, timely, and easy. So why are there still so few people using it?

Be honest, car users: you enjoy walking less than 20 metres in your day. Car in your driveway, and car at your workplace. Mmmm, car. Shiny car, shiny. Hey, it's fair enough. I loved driving when I owned a car in Australia. I loved the freedom it afforded - I could get in it, and I could go ANYWHERE. There are roads going everywhere. There's not a train station or a bus at every place that I wanted to go. Cars made it all easier.

But there's a cost. It's probably far more expensive than people realise. Have you heard this one before: "Well our family 'needs' two cars, and the train to work costs more than the petrol." Um yes... but you've left out a huge chunk of your car costs, honey. We could also add up the price of registration and insurance (now it's looking more like $70 a week, not $45). So every trip to work she drives is $15. Plus tolls. But wait, there's more. Oil, tyres, servicing, road service membership. Parking. Fines. And a car worth $25,000 is losing about $75 every week in value of the car itself.

Seriously? Did you ever think about it like that? Owning and driving your new car to work might be costing you $165 a week - or more. Now, does it still look more expensive than catching the train? If you had to physically pull thirty bucks out of your wallet every time you sat down in the driver's seat, would the train fare of $5.00 each way still seem like too much money?

But then there's the TIME. It takes too LONG. Waaaaah. Well yes. It might take a little longer to train it. But use your thinking caps: surely you've got something you could do. Use that hour to call your friends for your weekly phone catchup (instead of after dinner). Or use your smart phone to Facebook (instead of on the weekend). Or watch a movie on your iPad. Or read your work emails on your laptop (instead of staying late after work). Or write for our blog.

It takes organisation. Leaving on time; allowing enough time for connections; bringing your "homework" for the trip. Organisation clashes with our lazy instant lifestyles, doesn't it? But it's funny how fast you can adapt when you need to. You don't sit there and cry about the fact that you've run out of milk - you just do what needs to be done - you go get more. Now that I don't own car, I don't sit there and think, "I wish I had a car!" every time I need to go out somewhere. I just do what needs to be done. So these days when I go out, all I think about is what time the train or bus will arrive and what I need to take with me.

It's really not that hard. "Hard" isn't the reason people don't use public transport. "Lazy" is.

I challenge you to try it for a week. Listen to your iPod, watch the scenery, or close your eyes and relax, and think about the extra coins in your wallet.





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The Payment Rant...

In Australia I was "one of those" annoying smug bitches who didn't carry cash ANYWHERE. All my bills were paid online. AND I'll have you know they were scheduled IN ADVANCE whenever savings levels permitted. It was stupidly satisfying to log into my trusty Online Banking and see a nice tidy list of what was coming out next, how much, and when it would be automatically transferred. No stupid queues at the post office, no carrying around embarrassing phone bills or hideously high electricity accounts, no fiddling with cheques, stuffing of envelopes or traipsing to the post box, and definitely no licking of stamps (can you imagine if the stamp had someone disgustingly ugly on it? And you had to lick the backside? Ewwww....)

When it came time to pay my council rates in Australia, I was just furious. The stupid council was back in the dark ages and only allowed payment by cash in person, or by sending a cheque. Cheque - cheque - seriously? What is this, 1955? Who the hell uses such an antiquated system like handwriting and a signature, in this day and age? Isn't that just asking for forgery and emptying of bank account, via some enterprising thief with an eraser and a few extra zeroes?

I can't jam a 20 euro note into my disk drive to buy that new computer game that looks cool. I can't magic overnight presents to family in Australia via a few notes in my purse. There's no practical way to convert that huge jar of loose coins into becoming a mortgage repayment. But I can buy a drink from a machine, pay for a bus fare, grab a movie ticket, or check in for a flight, all using cards - indeed I could do all these things simply with an old and crappy mobile phone, if I wanted to. No smartphone required.

So why do so many of us still insist on whipping out cash, when we have had electronic payment systems a while now? The fact that some are so old shouldn't stop the newer ones from being used - if anything, the recent "skimming" events in Australia should serve to highlight just how many people, and businesses, have failed to keep up with new technologies like chip & pin, rather than the lame old magnetic swipe (now an ancient 51 years old!!!). We're consumers, people: stand up and demand these businesses give your money more respect. And I don't buy the "privacy" argument. They don't have the right to record your photo and personal details when you hand over cash. Why let them by card? There's a Privacy Act in Australia, people: apart from marketing trends such as how many hamburgers were sold in your suburb last Tuesday, they can't, and don't keep track of you without your permission. If you have objections to what they do track, then rather than switching to cash, stop handing over that "rewards" card before you pay. That's where they are recording personal info about your shopping habits.

These days, I really dislike it when I must carry cash for something. First I have to worry whether there's enough cash in my wallet. If there's enough, I worry it will be stolen or lost. I simply don't like carrying it - it feels "unsafe". If my wallet goes AWOL, I can cancel a card. I can't cancel a cash.

And my view has been strengthened by living amongst arguably the most tech-savvy population in the world (Finland). Finns of all ages learn do pay online as easily as sending email. Most of them pay by EFTPOS as the norm. I no longer find it amazing that cashless is normal, and I get a rude shock each time I remember that Australians often have no option. It's 2011. Almost every household in Australia has a computer; technology covers the entire globe. Isn't it time we moved away from silly old round tokens and bits of paper?

One last request: If public toilets here in Finland can't be made free, I'd like them to invent a fast and easy card system please. I don't wanna have to jangle just to jingle.

Sexuality - Choice or Hardwired?

One or the other. Is it actually this simple? I'm not so sure. There's evidence for both sides of the debate, and that's even if we think sexuality is that black and white.

Natural selection would seem to prove that it can't be hardwired. After all, wouldn't the homosexual "genes" have bred themselves out of existence? Gay couples don't produce children by natural means.

But what about bisexual people? And what about women and their careers? In many cultures, the only real work available for an unmarried woman was to become a prostitute. Perhaps then, bisexual people and lesbian prostitutes have passed down some "gay" gene.

If this were true, wouldn't it be a difficult gene to avoid? Yet most children of gay parents aren't gay. Nor the grandchildren... scientists surely would have identified a pattern of inheritance by now, if it existed. They have traced far more elusive "conditions".

There is another kind of hardwire to consider. Perhaps all gay people have a gene mutation. I'm sure a lot of gay people would get a good laugh out of that - but our knowledge of genes so far seems to suggest that being gay is far too common to be a mutation. And what of the people who bat for both teams? Are they just partial mutants? (And isn't that a "nice" concept...)

So, we're left with choice. But, really? Wouldn't we have somewhere along the way figured out why gay people choose to be gay? What sort of idiot would choose to be shunned by society, spat on, teased mercilessly, treated as an outcast, and so on? Gay people certainly aren't the dregs of the intelligence pool; I'm yet to see any evidence that they could all be so stupid.

Let's assume there are people who don't see any bad side to "choosing" homosexuality. Imagine you were walking down the street and saw the most perfect, attractive human being that ever graced this earth. Everything about them is exactly what you like; nothing is what you don't; a complete image of your wildest dreams come true. Do you think you could choose not to like them? To not find them attractive? Is there anything that anyone could say to you to change what you feel? Or does attraction usually just happen without much control? Who, seriously, can turn to the complete opposite, and convince themselves to drool? Anyone? If you hate anchovies, will they start to smell delicious if you sniff them long enough?

So maybe we're being too exact, and we should ask whether it's in the upbringing. Not so much a choice, but an influence. It's true that some gay people find it "easier" to embrace who they are, thanks to a supportive family. But it's a stretch to think that it could be upbringing alone. Especially considering there are twins in this world with different orientations. And there are enough of them out there to conclude that the parents probably aren't "turning" their kids gay.

What about morality? Well, morals change according to culture, too. There's nothing wrong with cannibalism in some cultures, after all. It's certainly true that the Christian bible denounces homosexuality, but it's also true that children raised Christian still sometimes turn out to be gay - did the parents fail in their teachings? Unlikely, when they usually have hetero children too.

It is such a complex discussion, and it branches in so many directions. Nobody can hope to cover every facet in one post, or we'd be here for a decade. And I've even left a glaring chunk completely out. There are some of us who wonder why anyone has to be defined by a gender in the first place. Who don't feel that any particular gender even matters. Inevitably we all have parts of us defined by our pants - since we all grew up in some kind of society - but why should we? I don't find people physically attractive based on gender. I married my husband because I love him, and I love him for his intellect. So what am I? I have to use the label "bisexual" because people understand it, but I daresay "omnisexual" is a better word - when it comes to whether people possess a Y chromosome, I simply don't care.

Personally - and not particularly scientifically - I believe it's a combination of All Of The Above. I think it's far too simplistic to make a one-or-the-other call. I can appreciate that a person's experiences of the world influence their attractions. And I can also appreciate that all of us are individuals with different tastes and desires which (who knows) might simply be differences in how our brains are structured. After all, none of us thinks in exactly the same way as the next person.

Thankfully.

Image: Nikki Kaye