If you were stranded on a desert island...

...what would you wish for?


Modern society has taught us how to be very materialistic, and I am no exception.  My first thought is that I would holler for my iPod, a power point, a mobile phone with a good internet connection, maybe a couple of spare towels and an umbrella.  If I had the time between cranking out a tan, I may even wish for a rescue from a passing ship.


But then I thought a little harder in a more practical fashion and I have come to the conclusion that I would probably wish for one of my enemies to be flown in to join me.  Although the conversation and companionship would be minimal, I would have no compunctions about eating them should the seafood in the area be scarce.  One further consideration is that perhaps I need to be a little more picky in my choice of enemies - just in case I find myself in a sticky situation on a desert island in which cannibalism becomes a gruesome reality, it would be ideal to be both larger and better at martial arts than my diet of choice.


Which brings me to my next point:  Exactly how does one become stranded on an unknown spit of land nowadays?  Piratical-themed movies have normalised the idea, however the use of GPS and tracking technology mean that sea and air-faring vessels are monitored rigorously.  Pirates of the 21st century are far less concerned with buried treasure and sadly, far more focused on hijacking oil tankers.  It is a fair assumption that I and nobody that I know will ever have to put the desert island survival plans into practise (potentially a lucky save for any enemies I may have accumulated).


Gone are the days of messages in bottles floating romantically across the Atlantic; gone are the days of 'X marks the spot' on tatty treasure maps, and with a global population of over 7,000,000,000 as of Monday this week, the chances of even finding a deserted island (let alone being stranded on one) in this world are extremely minimal.  Cashed-up holidaymakers are flocking to the lands of white sand and palm trees awash with sprawling resorts.


Ironically, the Lonely Planet now sells thousands of guide books detailing the more remote destinations in the world for adventurous travellers.  Commercialised travel has taken hold over much of the world, and there are plenty of days when I would gladly give my iPod, phone, car and maybe even a kidney to be able to spend time on a deserted tropical island.  

Small Towns

I know very little about the country.  My colleagues would argue that growing up in New Zealand, I had never been to a "real city" until I moved to Australia; "just like the rest of the sheep-shaggers from our Eastern state" (bastards).


During a student exchange year in Scotland, I watched a considerable amount of UK daytime TV.  A dated crime programme called Midsomer Murders taught me that a significant proportion of the individuals living in the country were closet serial killers.  If that programme was based on real life it would surprise me that there were any residents of rural England left who had not been jailed or placed into witness protection.


Just over an hour from where I live in central Melbourne, relatives of mine have made the move to an idyllic country property.  Complete with livestock, a large homestead and surrounding forest area, it is a slice of paradise.  When the chaos of honking taxis, screeching trams and the neighbourhood drug addict asking for money at the IGA gets too much to bear, I nip out for a visit and a chance to hear the sound of silence.


Tonight I have returned from one such weekend.  My relatives were away and I was asked to housesit (which can be loosely translated to "babysit the dogs").  I took a couple of friends with me and looked forward to a quiet country getaway.  


Over the course of the weekend I ticked a number of items off my 'never before encountered' list.  The first of these was an enormous brown snake; bailed up by the dogs in the forest.  I was very unprepared for the situation, and also the knowledge of how to deal with it.  Fortunately in this case, a raised and rather panicked "COME HERE" to the dogs got us all a safer distance from the reptile, which is fortunate given that I was wearing jandals (thongs, sandals, flip-flops for those of you not from NZ).  I have defended this type of footwear in many, many situations in the past, however even I am forced to admit that they are not ideal for encountering a venomous snake.


On the way home from the forest, one of my friends noticed a white, unmoving shape in the paddock.  Upon closer inspection it turned out to be a newborn lamb.  Two of them, in fact, and a sick ewe that was in no shape to deal with her offspring.  My afternoon became taken up with clearing items from the hay shed to construct a makeshift pen - including the displacement of an enormous rat living amongst the feed), moving the unwell sheep into the pen (with the assistance of the local vet who most conveniently lives across the road), and attempting to connect the mouths of two very hungry lambs with the udder of their mother.  An exhausting job!


As part of both my professional and my personal life, I spend a great deal of time on the open road.  Australia is rife with country towns, and the stereotypes associated with them.  My encounters have taught me that many of the common jibes are untrue; most countryfolk have both teeth and the correct genetic composition.  They ensure that their sexual partners have at least a different surname before procreating, and unlike the stay-at-home-mum in the city, they are justified in their use of a 4 wheel drive vehicle.


One thing I have noticed about small towns is the ratio of antique and craft shops to population; upon first glance I would estimate it to be close to 1.  Another thing I have noticed is the wide variety of names that people give to the ancient and unwanted garbage they find in dusty boxes in the back of the shed.  Stores selling such items are commonly seen with monikers such as 'antiques, collectables, bric-a-brac, retro/vintage', and the list goes on.  One store I have driven past on a number of occasions in Fremantle has gotten creative and added "Old Wares" to the shop title:

Another memorable small-town store for me is in Tirau, NZ.  Situated on the main highway in the North Island, I have passed through it more times than I could care to count.  Coasting up the main street (otherwise known as the only street), visitors are greeted by a colourful store, aptly named "Crafty Crafts".  I'm sure they are...


For the sake of good scones, pots of tea and open fireplaces, I hope small towns remain as they are for many years to come.  They provide a refreshing dose of normality and character, and an 'Antiques & Collectables' store per capita!

Knowledge is Power....and Ignorance is Bliss

One of my common past-times is reading online news sites.  Not that I would admit to being a morbid individual, but I feel like I should maintain a certain awareness of what is happening on the planet I live on...

Within the moral high-horse of checking current events, the ninemsn.com.au site has a section from Woman's Day magazine called 'True Confessions' that I have to say is one of my weaknesses during times of procrastination (i.e. between the hours of 8.30am and 5.30pm, Monday to Friday).  The scenarios portrayed by True Confessions would not be out of place on Jerry Springer:

...and judging by the number of comments attached to each article there are an inordinate number of readers.  I put this down to the nature of humans to thrive on gossip based on the delight of a scandal (I am not pretending for one moment that I am exempt from this demographic!)

However, the common theme of all True Confessions stories is the confidentiality.  Every situation involved a person or group thereof with absolutely no awareness of the situation.  Reading the (often very tragic) articles of lies, deception and malice, I couldn't help but wonder about what happened when the 'victims' found out, or perhaps worse still, when they didn't.

Knowledge is power apparently - the power to take action because you are aware.  In the case of the individuals above, knowledge of the situations may allow for justice or revenge.  This may bring eventual happiness...but would you be happier had you not known that your boyfriend has just fathered the 6-toed child of the next-door-neighbour's aunt's doctor's third wife's goat?!  It's a tough call with no real solution.

At least the media never lies to us huh?!

Blueskies,

Perspective

Change.  Ironically it is the one guaranteed constant in our lives.  Right from the get-go you're probably thinking that you've clicked on the incoherent ramblings of a mad woman - and maybe you're right.  But, change is the reason for every word you are now reading, a completely new perspective as if donning a pair of tinted specs...

I had all the usual dreams - I want to be a (insert ballerina, motor mechanic {yes, tomboy phase}, actress, mad scientist).  By the end of secondary school it was perfectly plain that I could not grasp mathematics and chose not to entertain the idea of English so the 'Mad Scientist' career won the toss.  

We are taught these days to be independent and unique, and to stand for our own values.  Yet our actions speak louder than words and not everybody ends up changing the world in Steve Jobs-esque style.  I would love to say that I am 'interesting and different', however with a meat-and-three-veg Kiwi upbringing, followed by the usual school>university>O.E.>9-5 employment, I would hesitate to say that my life has been newsworthy to anyone other than myself...

Since you may not know me from a bar of soap, my boyfriend of 2+ years has been called to the other side of Australia to work, leaving me to hold the fort in Melbourne where I work for a commercial diagnostic pathology company - your average 'respectable' corporate job.  We work to pay for bills and entertainment, and to fund a skydiving hobby.  Skydiving is an all-consuming and very addictive lifestyle, and nothing helps you focus on the really important facets of life like plummeting through the air at over 200kmh!  Many people see it as a mad way to spend a weekend (these individuals are referred to as 'whaffos' from here on), however it is a magnificent sport that defines true happiness for many, with wistful thoughts of freefall hijacking many a daydream.  It was the uptake of this particular hobby in fact, that has sparked this entire endeavour.

My change in perspective recently has been centred around dreaming versus.  Humans are very good dreamers, yet how many of your dreams have you put into practise?  This year marked my 25th birthday, and while I do not see myself as over the hill, the event sparked a rush of determination to have a life of consequence.  So this is the purpose of beginning a written account of fighting the norm.  

During the absence of my significant other, I have been constructing visions.  I am determined that I will not spend my life like so many of my peers and elders working to save and save and save and depart this world with an un-ticked bucket list.  We have set a goal of December 2012 to begin living a 'bucket list life'.  Part of this for me is to document our progress, but the main agenda is to ensure my life is worth writing about.

The reason for this blog is to develop my conversational-style writing skills.  So yes, you are essentially my guinea pig.  I have never assumed delusions of grandeur in the literary scene, and to be honest, my first inkling that writing would be up my alley was as follows:

Setting is a second-hand bookshop in Fremantle, WA with my boyfriend Adam.  I am poring over the travel biographies when I get called to the other side of the shop where Adam has found none other than a guide to drawing Anime pornography.  I won't go into details but it would give a whole new dimension to an episode of Pokemon...

Naturally the adjoining section contains a selection of erotica novels with titles that would make Paris Hilton blush.  The covers are awash with bad perms, awkward embraces and titles such as "A Dangerous Infatuation".  Glancing at the blurb of a couple (I can offer no excuse as to why I gave them a second look), all I could notice were the grammatical inaccuracies, the implausible situations of the characters and the almost complete lack of creativity on the part of the many authors.  To the disgust of the geriatric gentleman walking behind me, I exclaimed in an outside voice, "I reckon I could write far better erotica than any of these trashy authors!"

So this rather unorthodox scenario has been my introduction into the world of the written word.  A blog to me was a more digestible concept than an erotica novel, however if I ever needed some quick cash, a visit back to my university town on a Saturday night would be sure to provide more than enough material for the first trilogy...

Blue skies,

Ez