Welcome to Twenty-when

Congratulations! If you are reading this, then you have survived long enough to witness one of the most momentous milestones in the history of time. At the moment, it is November, and twenty-ten is now but a smouldering ember, about to be snuffed out. Please fasten your seatbelts ladies and gents, the first decade of the 21^st century is about to depart.

As a child growing up in the eighties, twenty-ten always used to sound so futuristic to me. A nice round, sparkly number of a year in which, various literature and cinematic productions would have us believe there would be skateboard like vehicles which would hover three feet off the ground. People would be telepathic and Man would surely have colonized the moon or other such neighbouring planets. Let’s not forget that twenty-ten was always hiding in the shadow of its big brother, born ten years earlier – the iconic year two-thousand. Yep, all these abilities and technologies were anticipated to reach us back then. But casting my mind back, to when the clock struck midnight on the eve of two triple-zero, I remember that I did not have to dodge aeroplanes falling from the sky. My home computer did not grow limbs and start a revolution against mankind, in true Terminator style. And the mountains of tinned food and candles that we had amassed were for the large part, not needed. In fact, as I sit here on the brink of twenty-eleven, my skateboard’s wheels are stuck firmly to the ground. I know not what goes on in my own head, let alone someone else’s. And Man has not even colonized his home planet correctly yet. In short, I realise that all those promises as a kid, were empty. A bunch of lies. It saddens me to no end. I love technology and I want my hover-board this very instant! I was deceived. And for this I’m hoping that someone is going to pay.

So who then will it be? Well, just the other week, I was reading on the infinite information-verse called the internet, that they reckon that governments all over the globe are on average, at least 22 years ahead of the general public when it comes to new technology. I wondered just exactly whose governments they were speaking of. Ours? I have never been a fan of politics, and associating myself with such organizations rates about as low on my list as death by flea infestation. But if enrolling with the ANC gets me a standard issue hover-board, then sign me up right now! I can just imagine their grading scales of awarding this technology, to be something similar to the following:

For recruiting 50 new members – 1 x set of x-ray spectacles.

For initiating 10 political rallies – 1 x suit of invisibility.

For swinging the polls favourably during a national election…. 1 x anti-H.I.V shower.

This of course would all be dug out from their vast underground vault of items labelled “Stuff to give to the public 22 years from now.” If what they say is true, then back in the day when I was discovering how to hula hoop, they were watching blu-ray on their PS3’s. When I inserted my first magnetic tape into my Walkman, they were listening to MC Hammer on their iPods. And as I was reading my first words? Well, they had already downloaded dozens of novels to their Kindles. Someone definitely had to pay for denying me this.

So what did twenty-ten bring me? Well, there was that soccer event thingy. Remember that? I did learn how to utilize a vuvuzela correctly, much to my neighbours’ disgust. But in my opinion, a funnel shaped piece of plastic can hardly be called high-tech. It did however at the time, raise our spirits and much joy was had by all who wielded its deafening power. It truly was good, clean and pointless fun. And not a circuit board or battery in sight. Perhaps going back to our roots is the key. Maybe it’s the little things that count. Just don’t think of putting one in my Christmas stocking though. If I get one of those from you instead of an iPad, well, let’s just say you’ll be off my mailing list.

Reflecting on the year that has passed, I realise just how good it’s been and saying goodbye to twenty-ten is like watching your greatest idol, retire from the industry. It may have been a slight anti-climax with regards to my childhood dreams, but nevertheless, I was alive and well to witness it come and go. As for twenty-eleven? Well, hopefully it will surprise us all and steal the limelight from its predecessor. But let’s not end the show early now. It may be the final act, and twenty-ten may just be a smouldering ember, but I intend on going down in flames.

Shopping Daze.

Its 9am on the morning of a public holiday. The weather is miserable but try as I might, I just can’t stay in bed any longer. As I rise and go about my daily activities, I get the odd feeling that it’s a Sunday but it isn’t. The traffic outside is at a minimum, most retail outlets are shut but I know it isn’t Sunday because the bell in the church tower opposite my flat is silent. Thank goodness for that. After breakfast, my wife and I contemplate what to do. It’s the last day of the long weekend and although the plan is to have no plan at all, we feel as though we still need to make the most of our day off. Outside, the conditions resembled that of a balmy day in the Arctic tundra, so a trip to the beach was definitely off the cards. There was only one thing for this – a good dose of retail therapy.

The concept of shopping for satisfaction has always fascinated me. How could exchanging a few pieces of coloured paper for other, often unnecessary material goods have such a wondrous effect on the human psyche? Who knows. Maybe it boils down to the sense of joy one experiences from owning that which you previously did not. Or perhaps effective advertising was to blame. All I know is that buying stuff feels good. Although, I have come to realise that there is a pitfall to this, because having an empty wallet, does not.

Upon our arrival at the shopping centre, I noted that possibly every other person on the continent and the three generations before them, had exactly the same idea as we did. First stop was a coffee shop. Not that we needed any help in getting into the swing of things, but a caffeine induced boost would certainly help get the ball rolling. Sipping the last few drops of my cappuccino, I made a list of what I NEEDED as opposed to what I WANTED. My current wardrobe situation was looking bleak, so top priority for me was clothing. Exiting the coffee shop, I consulted my mental map of the centre layout in order to get to my next destination. But then I hit a road block. A few words, printed on a poster outside a book store completely threw me off course. “Winter Sale – 50% off”

Now, there is something that just completely draws me to books. It’s as if they have some kind of magical, magnetic effect on me even though I’m not an avid reader. The last time I finished reading an entire novel was probably somewhere during the Cretaceous period. Yet, I still found myself entering the store and wandering over to the heavily discounted stock. Within thirty seconds, my wife had found a book for herself. Two minutes into the exercise, and she had discovered a book by one of my favourite authors.

“Here, why don’t you get this one?” she said, thrusting it into my hands.

“Why not?” I mumbled.

Twenty seconds and a few meters since leaving the coffee shop was all it took to completely dissolve my NEED vs. WANT strategy. Once again, I blamed advertising. I wondered whether the “Willpower” store was located on this level. I needed to buy a large dose of that.

Next, we found ourselves in an accessory store. My wife needed to buy herself a watch. Or a pair of sunglasses. Preferably both. Compared to the rest of the centre, this particular shop was quite sparsely populated. It currently had a total customer count of two, including ourselves. But there was something even odder about this place. It seemed to have the floor space equivalent of a postage stamp, yet there were at least six assistants on duty. Now I’m no maths expert, but a quick calculation tells me that that equates to approximately 3,89 shop assistants per square centimetre. I mean, how much help could one possibly need in choosing eye or wrist gear? Glancing down at one of the display cabinets, I felt five pairs of eyes boring into the back of my head. Slightly awkward. Talk about close-quarters surveillance! I chose not to touch any of the items. I didn’t want a fingerprint or any trace of my presence there to be left once I made a hasty retreat. What happened next was mainly a hazy blur of events. I remember a lot of window shopping, or what I like to call, looking-at-things-I-really-realy-want-but-really-really-cant-afford. I also remember buying a bag of popcorn to keep my hunger pangs at bay. I eventually snapped out of my dream like state whilst paying for my parking ticket at the machine just beyond the exit.

After arriving home, I looked at what I had accomplished. I had in my possession one slightly unnecessary novel, one mostly empty bag of popcorn containing a few kernels and one very empty wallet. How that happened, I still don’t quite know. All I know was that I had bought something so it was all good. Although I was slightly saddened by the fact that there was not one item of clothing in my bag. Unless I could pull off wearing a shirt or pants constructed entirely from torn out paperback pages. Perhaps on the catwalks of Milan, that would do. Anything goes when it comes to fashion nowadays. But for now, advertising had once again won this round. Next time, I decided it wouldn’t be so lucky. The contents of my wardrobe were still looking dismal. And there was only one thing for it – a good dose of retail therapy.

It's all relative.

  

Orange things: Not to be trusted. 

Being a photographer I previously imagined my understanding of colour to be something similar to the relationship a dog shares with a rare porterhouse steak. I devour colour, and the more saturated, contrasty and generally the more juicer colours are to me, the better. But, as I was soon to find out, colour was not all that it seemed to be. On my everlasting quest to broaden my knowledge on seemingly obvious things, I stumbled upon a tutorial on "Creative Colour" hosted by a photographer who was also a professor and whose experience and qualifications were lengthier than a giraffe's spinal column. It was he who taught me that initial shades of colour are perceived differently when combined or superimposed on other certain colours. In other words, orange is not always orange. Which disappointed me in a way because orange used to be my favourite colour as a child, and now I felt betrayed. Not only that, but now I was beginning to doubt the very fundamentals of the popular seeing is believing theory. Sight was fast becoming a dubious sense for me.

It's all relative you see. And I'm not speaking of the Uncle Billy-Bob from the farm sort of relative in this instance. You know, the one who drinks too much home brewed beer and constantly speaks with a slur. Or cousin Rick, the uber-wealthy stock broker who sent you a cheap neck tie when you graduated. No, this is far more annoying and way more dangerous. It possesses the power to take what you have always believed and transform it into just the opposite. Naturally, I tried to figure out how I could use it to my advantage in the future. So the next time I'm slacking off taking a creative siesta at work and my boss calls me lazy, I'll merely yawn and state that I'm not nearly as lazy compared to say, a three-toed sloth or heavens forbid even worse, someone who works in Parliament. I'm absolutely sure this will straighten things out. Yes, it's all relative. Kids, the next time your mom says your room looks like a dump, I suggest you take her hand and march her straight down to an actual dump-site. In relation to this, your room will miraculously appear to be more sanitary than a clinical ward. I would then demand an apology and perhaps, a piece of chocolate cake.

Have you ever thought you were any good at computers? Well, in relation to that new executive in your I.T department, you comparatively know less than nothing. Think you're the bee's knees at ball room dancing? Wrong again! Chances are that your next door neighbour can out-Tango you in their sleep. The world is a big and competitive place and there is seemingly always someone who is better and brighter in pretty much every aspect of anything than the next. But remember, this also works conversely. A massive percentage of the world's population is prone to disease, famine, poverty and that other thing that keeps rearing its ugly head, debt. So if you aren't vicitms of one of these then consider yourself privileged. If you're an average guy like me then remember that Mr. Jones may outrank you money-wise, but there is always someone worse off than you too.

Then it happened. Just as I was reveling in my new relative theory, I found the one single component that may compromise its entire existence - the Guinness Book of World Records. This manuscript identifies humans who are basically the top of the evolutionary food chain in their respective fields. I was told exactly who was the tallest, fattest and wealthiest people on Earth. I was shown who could jump higher, further or eat more hotdogs in thirty seconds than anyone else in existence. No one was better at it than them. They were the do all and end all, the Alpha and Omega of a seemingly infinite list of relative comparisons. All these scientific terms suddenly reminded of another pioneer of his time who discovered something relatively important...

And it's quite appropriately named too. It was called, the Theory of Relativity and I believe that Einstein himself was quite involved with this. Now, I have over the years read many different versions of this to try and grasp a better understanding of it. The official version, which involved many numbers and symbols and which, like a physics lesson from hell, had me running for the hills. And then there was the layman's version that tried to explain it in everyday terms, which was slightly more successful. From this, I managed to deduce that the Theory of Relativity has something to do with mass and/or space and time. And possibly the colour which one's underwear changes when travelling at light speed. Which I am assuming isn't orange and if it were then it could definitely not be trusted. Now please excuse me while I take this copy of the book of records next door, to show the Joneses that they aren't the richest people on the planet.

Apeture April.

In celebration (or is that denial...) of the month of my birthday, I have decided to post one image a day that I have taken myself on that specific day. Starting today. Lets see if I can keep this up or if taking one photo a day will get the better of me.

Instead of posting the images on here and wasting valuable cyberspace, I have supplied a link to my Facebook album containing the images.

You're welcome.

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=170710&id=701397190&l=42a18d06ee

Can you feel my presents?

The calendar on my computer tells me its February but for me, its Christmas. Less than 24 hours ago, I pressed the "confirm transaction" button in my browser and made an electronic purchase online. This in turn, I knew would summon Santa Clause himself to my doorstep, to deliver the present that I had been waiting so long for. Had I been a good boy? This Santa did not care. As long as the cash was in his bank account, he would deliver the goods so to speak.

Looking around the house, I realised that we did not possess a chimney. Not a problem. The modern day Santa didnt require one. His methods were a lot more contemporary and blatant. He preferred the front door. Waiting for his arrival, I anxiously paced the length of our lounge. It was now past midday and there was no sign of him. I wondered if perhaps he had lost his way. I hoped that Santa had packed his GPS. To kill some time, I flopped down onto the sofa to watch some TV. Skipping past the infomercials, I managed to find the only thing worth a second glance. A 30 minute slot comprising of new release movie reviews. Although I didn't really trust these things. One man's Spielberg is ultimately another man's poison.

Then it happened. The doorbell rang. I was there in a flash. I greeted Santa whose real name was on his name-badge. Dave. Instead of a velvety red top and matching leggings, he wore the standard khaki shorts and collared shirt. The reindeer driven sleigh in the background had been replaced by a Mercedes powered truck, containing countless other goodies, unclaimed as yet by their eager recipients. As he handed the package over, I almost felt guilty for not offering him any milk and cookies. But at just over $1400 that I had forked out for my gift, I figured he could find his own damn sustenance. I signed my name on his electronic hand-held device as proof of receipt although I had no idea how my digital signature (which now resembled more of an abstract spiders web than it did my surname) would hold up in a court of law should my purchase ever be queried.

Back inside, I hovered over the package, wrapped in brown paper with an invoice casually plastered onto the side. Moments later it was split wide open, morsels of polystyrene drifting in the air and decorating the table top. There it was in all its glory. My latest baby. A brand new Canon EOS 50D digital camera. I took a few moments to admire it.  Unspoilt and untouched as of yet by human hands. Perfect in every aspect. Gingerly, I prised my fingers around its frame and gently raised it from its crib. Nestling it in my hands, I felt its weight, rotated it and viewed it from every angle. The back, sides, bottom. Unmarked and unblemished. After the admiration started to fade ever so slightly, I realised that baby was naked and it was my fatherly duty to correct that. Firstly, I threaded the ends of the neck strap through the relevant sections on the chassis, adjusting and tightening accordingly. I then swiftly connected a lens to the face, twisting it until I heard its familiar click. Next, I slid the flash unit into the hot-shoe on top and lastly, a memory card to complete the process. With all its added accessories, my child was now a lot heavier. They always grow up so quickly don't they...

One final component was all that was required. Baby was now dressed, all it needed was to be fed. The single, re-chargeable battery was larger than what I was used to, and it did the job perfectly. Now with food in its belly, he was ready for action. Flicking the power switch into position, an LED on the back panel blinked, signalling his rise from slumber. Spinning around, I searched for my first unsuspecting victim. My wife was on the couch, in the middle of an important call. Perfect. Within an instant I had focused and the muffled gurgle of the shutter's motion signalled that the image had been captured. Immediately reviewing it on the screen, I was amazed at the clarity, the contrast and saturation of colour. I was proud. My child had passed its first test with flying colours. It deserved a reward. Possibly a bigger memory card or maybe an extra few batteries to sustain his hunger. But that would have to wait until next payday. Until then my son...

Rain, rain, go away.

The weather in our state of Queensland I am told is about as predictable as a bi-polar Bengal tiger. Up to now the reports have been pretty accurate for each day (ie. rain) but today, they got it wrong. We normally leave our big expeditions for the weekend, and we were glad to see that today was supposed to be the only sunny day of this week. But unfortunately, the skies have opened and sporadic bouts of rain have arrived to dampen not only our spirits, but our clothing too.

The Sunshine Coast up north was our destination this time. With a name like that, rain should surely be a rare commodity right? Wishful thinking. It seemed to follow us everywhere. But a little precipitation was not going to stop us. First stop was a 700 meter trek up a hill (which would not look out of place, were it in the Amazon jungle) to a lookout spot. After venturing approximately 20 meters and being attacked by hoards of killer mosquitoes, we made a hasty retreat back to the car and decided to try the next spot - yet another lookout gazing upon the legendary Glass House Mountains. Looking at it from the summit reminded me of a scene from Jurassic Park and I would not have been surprised to see herds of velociraptors, bounding about in the forests below. Didn't manage to see any glass houses though, so we moved on.

It was now almost 1pm and my system warned me that food levels were dangerously low. The closest provider of lunch happened to be a place called Aussie World... which kinda baffled me. Surely ANY place in Australia could be granted this title couldn't it? It was here that I stumbled upon one of the biggest and coolest looking pubs I have ever come across. One beer and steak sandwich later and we were ready to continue. After visiting a curios shop (we are such tourists) we hit the road again. More rain. This wasn't good. Every dirt road on our route worth following or exploring was becoming waterlogged. We came, we saw, we bought souvenirs. It was time to call it a day.

The trip back home was lengthy and one by one (excepting the driver fortunately) each of the occupants of our car started falling asleep. There is something strangely hypnotic about long drives in that vehicle that affects us more than washing down a dozen sleeping pills with a litre of warm milk. We needed caffeine. Stopping at a fuel station, I entered, paid the guy behind the counter for three cappuccinos and expected him to serve me. This I soon learnt was a self service coffee shop. Pay in the front, make your own coffee at the machine in the back. After making two successful coffees, the milk ran out. I could have asked them to refill the machine but that would have taken too long. I needed coffee and I needed it now. Pressing the appropriate button once more, I topped the paper cup up with a few more doses of high level caffeine and no milk. I liked my coffee strong anyways. After dumping two sachets of sugar into the dark liquid to take the edge off, I left the store. A few sips later and the entire car was buzzing. Not one eye was shut. Conversation was flowing quickly and constantly. Our liquid energy injections were working just fine. Three hours down the line and I'm unsure if my caffeine rush has worn off yet. I'm guessing probably not. After all, it only took me 11 and a half seconds to type this entire article...

Dinosaurs: Scarce

 

Pubs: Unpronouncable

Australia: Fast and fun. Apparently.

Aussie beer: Vital

That sink in feeling.

Today is the coldest by far. By cold, I'm implying that for once, we aren't sweating profusely just by sitting and doing nothing in the shade. Yesterday we ventured into the city of Brisbane for the first time. An hours ride and $4.60 later and we were there. Everything seemed familiar and yet at the same time totally foreign to me. There were definite aspects of London present, a bit of what I would expect New York to look like and even a tiny hint of South Africa all thrown into one metropolis.

Then, out of nowhere, it struck. The skies darkened, a shadow fell across the land and the heavens opened. Within minutes, shops below ground level were flooded, roads were being closed, drains on the street were overflowing and even 4x4's were experiencing difficulty traversing the concrete jungle. This was unlike anything I had ever seen before. After marveling at it for a few minutes we took evasive action and headed to higher ground - the food court inside the mall. 

It's been nine days since we landed in this country and I am still unaware of what has really happened. Often, Christine and I have discussed when our adventure to another continent will really sink in. It didn't happen the night before we set off on our journey. It didn't hit us on the plane ride over here and even the unfamiliar accents that surrounded us on a daily basis didn't even really do it for me. There were brief moments of realization I guess: feeding the marsupials at the zoo, roads and entire cities flooding in minutes being the norm and perhaps even stopping for a picture moment on the corner of Blackbutt Avenue and Scribbly Gum Place (yes, these are genuine road names, I kid you not!). So I am left wondering when this all will really sink in. What if it never happens? But more importantly, how do you even define that moment? What is the criteria needed for it to have officially sunk in? Maybe my realization sponge has lost its absorbency or is totally saturated and is allowing nothing more to sink in. I wonder if there is a cure for that? Mental note: Eat more sponge cake.

 

Kangaroos: Spring loaded

 

 Brisbane: Or London?

City: Wet

Street Names: Surreal.