tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32490974008976932552024-02-07T15:42:26.430-08:00Gone AerialHi. I'm Brooke. I make costumes, listen to music, draw things, write about stuff and I love Jesus. Welcome to my blog.Brooke Hazelgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17228687318382639880noreply@blogger.comBlogger90125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3249097400897693255.post-10762370663566754272017-04-04T21:26:00.000-07:002017-04-04T21:26:54.703-07:00Submission and Responsibility, Burden and Load<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSnzWTkayIjFaJRzmvifg4_4r8WMaoh8ptqCVFwuPcXUwd_tsct7vkq072I5UBAHOsz07o1MVOGocE_Xo9ztA5i-9V6zLv_nTPvAyN4r14Ta2qwMExko26GjTKt1qjyShn1PjLcXxxfyBI/s1600/lotte-lohr-6608.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img alt="Asking for help with a problem =/= making someone else carry all of it" border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSnzWTkayIjFaJRzmvifg4_4r8WMaoh8ptqCVFwuPcXUwd_tsct7vkq072I5UBAHOsz07o1MVOGocE_Xo9ztA5i-9V6zLv_nTPvAyN4r14Ta2qwMExko26GjTKt1qjyShn1PjLcXxxfyBI/s320/lotte-lohr-6608.jpg" title="" width="320" /></a></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">If you haven’t yet, I’d recommend reading </span><a href="http://goneaerial.blogspot.com.au/2017/03/christian-leadership-and-dating.html" style="white-space: pre-wrap;" target="_blank">this article</a><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">. Today is a follow-on from that, and it’ll really help with understanding where I’m coming from today. The TL;DR version kind of reads like this,
1. In a married, Christian relationship, the wife willingly submits to her husband’s authority because he is marked as responsible for her by God. Submission is given willingly, not demanded. You can’t have authority over another without also accepting you’re responsible for them.
2. If you’re in a dating relationship, there is no obligation for married submission/authority to factor in, because you’re not married.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Which brings us to today, where I want to explore our very real need as Christian adults to be responsible for our own godliness, and how we serve and submit to each other.
<i>
“Brothers and sisters, if someone is caught in a sin, you who live by the Spirit should restore that person gently. But watch yourselves, or you also may be tempted. Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ. If anyone thinks they are something when they are not, they deceive themselves. Each one should test their own actions. Then they can take pride in themselves alone, without comparing themselves to someone else, for each one should carry their own load. Nevertheless, the one who receives instruction in the word should share all good things with their instructor.”</i>
Galatians 6:1-6
Question: What’s the difference between a burden and a load? They can’t be interchangeable things, or Paul, who wrote the letter to the Galatians, would have used the same word.
I’d posit that a burden is something that cannot be maintained alone, whereas a load is an everyday thing, and should be managed freehand. Both seem to relate to sin, and to living righteously. As brothers and sisters, we’re called to help our siblings out of sin, with compassion and caution, both for the one trapped and for the one helping. However, we’re also called to manage our own everyday things, without playing the comparison game of ‘hey, I can do this better than/worse than you’.
A burden would be something that any one of us would need help getting out of. Porn addiction. Substance abuse. Mental illnesses that impair our ability to function at a normal level. Serious illness. Grieving the loss of a family member.
A load would be something lesser, something which all of us would have to face on a day-to-day basis. The lingering gaze or stray sexual thought. Speeding. That one extra drink. Anger that flares at a moment’s notice. Jealousy for your neighbour’s newest achievement. Bitterness at missing out on something.
Any load can become a burden, if left unchecked. But, while we live in mortal bodies, we have to manage the sinful nature and renew ourselves in Jesus’ forgiveness.
So, there’s a call for us to serve each other in godliness, which is consistently called out in Paul’s other letters, but there is also the call to maintain our own godliness. Carry burdens, manage loads.
<i>Help your mate out if lantana has taken over his house, but really, you should be able to spray your own bindiis.
</i>
What happens if we confuse the two, with the people in our everyday lives?
If some part of person A’s brain decided that their growth group leader, or their pastor - someone appointed in some kind of ministry to them - was responsible for their godliness - how they lived, thought, acted, and whether that was about following Jesus, then it places an impossible burden on them. It makes them person A’s priest, a job reserved <i>exclusively </i>for Jesus (Hebrews 7-8).
Certainly, pastoral staff and older/more mature Christians in the church are responsible for the younger, but this is in regards to encouragement, and learning scripture. We’re all starving people looking for bread. There’s just some of us that know where to look. The pastoring or mature brother or sister <i>cannot </i>be the source of nourishment, but listening to their advice <i>can </i>help.
If person A was to make their parents, their friends, or their significant other responsible for their godliness, then it’s much the same problem, but the ramifications are different. Refusing to carry the load of their own sinful-yet-being-renewed nature means that person A is refusing to take responsibility for maintaining their own faith, and instead is chucking that on the shoulders of those around them.
<i>I don’t need to do the weeding if I ask you to do it for me.</i>
The person who eschews the responsibility of their own godliness will refuse to heed rebukes, demand particular treatment, and restrict the activities of those around them, in the name of burden-carrying, regardless of whether or not the problem in question is something they need to sort out themselves.
So that’s how it <i>can </i>manifest, but is it so bad? To ask others to do things that help with your godliness?
Well, it depends.
For person A, they’re asking those around them to help them with their godliness. They’re asking for help in an ‘area of weakness’. That’s not a bad thing.
<i>“Hey, I hate bringing it up, but I’m currently working through an alcohol addiction. I’ve only been sober a couple months now. Please don’t offer me a drink next time we’re at a barbecue.”
</i>
But if this is continually asked or demanded, with little to no effort on the part of the asking party to make things better, then it crushes those around them, by asking for service/submission without taking responsibility for the problem.
<i>“You know I have issues with anger. Why would you plan for our growth group to do [this thing I suck at]? I’m only gonna get mad.”
</i>
Which should ring bells. Sort of. The Pharisees did something similar - demanding of the people, without taking responsibility. Jesus wasn’t keen on it.
<i>“Woe to you Pharisees! For you crush people with your demands, yet you never lift a finger to ease the burden.”
</i>Luke 11:46
Burdens are meant to be shared, not carried solo. To make another carry a burden single-handedly is to crush them. I’ve been there. Wishing that you didn’t have a physical body so that the problem of having a physical body would go away is not a good time. 0/10, would not recommend.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">
</span></span></div>
<h4>
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">But is there a time and a place where it’s appropriate for us to ask for help in carrying this problem?</span></span></h4>
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Well, Paul explicitly commands us to do so in Galatians.
<i>“Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ….”</i>
And we as brothers and sisters are called to serve our siblings and be aware of their stumbling blocks as best we can, doing our best to prevent them from faltering in their faith.
<i>“Therefore let us stop passing judgment on one another. Instead, make up your mind not to put any stumbling block or obstacle in the way of a brother or sister. I am convinced, being fully persuaded in the Lord Jesus, that nothing is unclean in itself. But if anyone regards something as unclean, then for that person it is unclean. If your brother or sister is distressed because of what you eat, you are no longer acting in love. Do not by your eating destroy someone for whom Christ died.”
</i>Romans 14:13-15
When you ask for help with the burden, is the end goal godliness? For both parties? Are both of you putting effort in to easing the burden?
Then yes. Absolutely.
</span></span><h4>
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Is there a time and a place where it’s not appropriate to ask another to help carry this problem?</span></span></h4>
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Well, you probably need to ask yourself two questions.
One, is this a burden or a load? Is it reasonable for you to manage it by yourself, with others holding you accountable on the occasion, or is it something you need immediate, interventional help with?
<i>Lantana or bindiis?
</i>
Either way, you’ll still need to contribute the majority of the effort required to help get things back on track.
Two, what are your expectations when you ask?
How are you expecting them to help? And to what extent? For what period of time? If there are indefinites on those limiters, you probably need to run a couple more checks.
</span></span><br />
<h4>
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">A thought in closing</span></span></h4>
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">
I don’t like writing these sort of posts that don’t have some grasp-able application. I spent nearly two years writing and publishing blog posts for a living, and if they didn’t have an application, they didn’t get published.
So let’s get real for a moment, and talk about a real-world application of the burden/load thing.
How we expect our brothers and sisters to dress.
Fam, it’s fair to ask your siblings to be wise in how they dress, for practical and godly reasons.
It’s fair to expect that some things have a time and place sort of appropriateness. Downtown wear is not interchangeable with beachwear.
Speaking as a woman who works in the clothing industry, I think it’s fair to understand that women’s clothes are rarely practical, and for some reason manufacturers regularly forget to account for bras and that shirts need to have substance. <i>There’s a reason why I’ve considered giving up and just altering men’s clothes to fit.</i>
But it’s not fair to put that responsibility on your siblings when they’re trying their best. Stumbling blocks and weaker brothers aside, there comes a limit to how much we can expect others to account for our godliness, and how much we need to cultivate the spiritual fruit of self-control.
<i>
“For the kingdom of God is not a matter of eating and drinking [earthly matters and limitations], but of righteousness, peace and joy in the Holy Spirit, because anyone who serves Christ in this way is pleasing to God and receives human approval.”</i>
Romans 14:17-18</span></span>Brooke Hazelgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17228687318382639880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3249097400897693255.post-22150168085901041112017-03-26T05:34:00.001-07:002017-03-26T05:34:39.514-07:00Christian Leadership and Dating<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnE-g39qeIE7gglKChk82Nq76Xes0TvmKg45pufFoh8qP56OimTVwJux1o6LrTEItLlHrJ0fhh0Z6UVsR-AzoeMZqg3TCG6voXFXpPsZH_NH1M01zG0I0VmzpXE_OIlQD88ztNXv3Gpfex/s1600/annie-spratt-133873.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnE-g39qeIE7gglKChk82Nq76Xes0TvmKg45pufFoh8qP56OimTVwJux1o6LrTEItLlHrJ0fhh0Z6UVsR-AzoeMZqg3TCG6voXFXpPsZH_NH1M01zG0I0VmzpXE_OIlQD88ztNXv3Gpfex/s320/annie-spratt-133873.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">
Two weeks into one of my previous relationships, we decided to play Portal 2 together. I had played Portal 2 in co-op mode before. Player 2 had not. I let him pick the level, thinking it would be a good exercise of ‘Christian Submission in a Relationship’.</span></div>
<b id="docs-internal-guid-23419973-0a8f-a5b9-c687-4cb096aa03c4" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We spent the next two and a half hours with me growing steadily more frustrated at the gameplay and Player 2, until I told him the truth. He’d picked the hardest level. Suddenly, us being stuck was my fault for not saying anything earlier. It was a great time.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Folks, today I want to talk to you about Leadership, Submission, and Dating.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">First off, I’ll clear the air. I...don’t feel entirely qualified to be speaking on the topic. BUT. This is not a matter of teaching scriptural truths on closed-hand topics. So I consider it okay for me, as a woman, to be talking about it.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">*takes deep breath*</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Here’s what men and women are listed as equals in, </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">in scripture.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Hosting a church</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Priscilla and Aquila are a husband and wife team who ran a first-century church in Corinth. They taught the scriptures, hosted the group, and offered correction as needed.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Acts 18, 2 Timothy 4:19</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Earning an income</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Paul worked as a tentmaker before he was commissioned by Jesus, and he used the skill to support himself as he travelled around and taught the gospel. In fact, it was his point of contact with the aforementioned Priscilla and Aquila.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Lydia becomes a patron of the early church after meeting Paul and his cohorts in Thessalonica. She’s a merchant of purple cloth. (Which meant she was quite well-off. Purple dye was rare and </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">expensive</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">.)</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Acts 16:11-15, Acts 18</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Owning property</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When his wife Sarah dies, Abraham purchases land so he can bury her. He insists on purchasing the land, despite the owner wanting to straight up give it to him. It's the first piece of land he owns.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">After the taking of Canaan, land was allotted to different family groups and tribes. Because one family had daughters instead of sons, the leaders were commanded to not only give land to them, same as their peers, but for that land to remain in their family line, rather than be claimed by a husband from a different tribe.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Genesis 23, Numbers 36</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Leading God’s people</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The judges were a group of people who looked after the Israelites between them being led by Moses and Joshua after they left Egypt, and having their first king - Saul. The judges were raised up by God, and delivered messages from him to the Israelites. They also got involved in making decisions for the people, and when the time called for it, overseeing their battles.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Deborah and Gideon both took up these duties at different times.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Judges 4-8</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Running a country</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Shortly after Solomon builds the temple in Jerusalem, he’s visited by the Queen of Sheba. They meet, debate, gift, and trade as equal monarchs.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">1 Kings 10</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In Genesis, men and women are created as equal. Different, but equal. And throughout the rest of the bible, we see that they are equal in stacks of skill sets, too.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So where does the submission thing come in?</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Before we hit the S-word that can have so many hackles raised, let’s have a look at two things that sit on the other side of it.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Responsibility</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Authority</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Responsibility comes first. You can have equals work on a project and one of them will be responsible for the success or failure of the project. After the fall, Adam is held responsible for the sin of mankind,</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">not because he was the first to commit the error, but because he is responsible for Eve.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">If you want a more modern example, my manager is responsible for me and my co-workers. It means that she is obligated to look out for the workers under her, and if something goes wrong, it lands on her first.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Because you have this relationship of person A is responsible for person B, it means that there is going to be some degree of authority either awarded or given to person A in order to make the work achieved by both harmonious.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So when Paul talks about the authority that comes with teaching in 1 Timothy 2, he’s also talking about who’s marked as responsible for those being taught. When he calls for women to submit, and to not hold teaching authority over men, it’s because the men have been marked as responsible for them, and therefore have to be given authority over them in order to effectively </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">be</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> responsible.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Despite the fact that I’ve been working in my specialised field for longer than my manager, she has authority over me, because she is responsible for me. She tells me what to do, because it’s on her if things go south.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Responsibility and Authority are the opposite side of the coin to Submission, and to claim authority over someone </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">without</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> the responsibility precluding it is a foolish thing to do.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">If you want an example of claiming authority without taking responsibility, look no further than the gospels. In Matthew 23:4 and Luke 11:46, Jesus tears into the Pharisees;</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Woe to you Pharisees! For you crush people with your demands, yet you never lift a finger to ease the burden.”</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The Pharisees were responsible for teaching God’s law to the people, and they were so devout in doing so that they’d set additional laws to keep to prevent the breaking of the first laws. But at the same time, they didn’t take responsibility for caring for the Jews, or actually teaching them about who God was.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Godly submission should never be demanded, as though men and women were of different value or standing. Godly submission is </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">given</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">What things do submission and authority factor into in a God-seeking marriage?</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">These can be big decisions and small decisions, stuff like</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Work - the type of job you take and the amount of hours and effort it will require</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ministry - the type of ministry you or your spouse gets involved in and how much time it is allowed to have</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Having kids - how many, when you have them, how you raise them, what you teach them,</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The company you keep - the jokes you focus on when you're with them, the nature and content of their jokes, the natural boundaries you have in those relationships</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The type of lifestyle you choose/are granted - how much time you spend doing things, how you spend the money you *are* given.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">These are all things that both parties weigh in on, and the </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">only</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> reason a husband should take point in the decision making process, is because he is </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">responsible</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> for the wife. He’s called to emulate Jesus, who loved the church and gave himself up for her.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">For a husband to ignore the words of his wife and continually overrule them is to sail into a hurricane of trouble, and vice versa. This sort of thing </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">is not</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> a joint decision. It robs both parties of the ability to serve each other, and takes away from the personhood of the overruled party.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">If I find you doing this, I am going to bring justice to your door. It’s not okay.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Okay, we cool?</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Let’s take a step back, all the way to my light-hearted anecdote about Portal at the beginning.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">If you are </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">not </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">married to your significant other,</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">There is no oath, no binding of souls. There is no </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">obligation </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">to headship/submission as a husband or wife would.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sure, there is </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">some</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> of it. But it’s no different than to your other Christian brothers and sisters. We’re called to submit, out of reverence for Christ (Ephesians 5:21)</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It’s wise, in that weird in-between space called dating, or courting, or whatever you want to call it, to work out if you </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">could</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> be responsible for; if you </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">could</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> submit to, that significant other, for the rest of your life. But there is no authority to have a say over the other’s work, or their friends, or their area of study.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The decisions that you make as a dating couple are </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">not </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">the same as the decisions that a married couple makes. A couple that enters into marriage enters into a partnership. Equal parties. Working together. One takes point because God decided one</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">of them was going to be responsible for the other.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">If that’s not you, then there’s no obligation. Not to demand or give submission, and not to claim or extend authority. We will always be responsible for each other to a certain degree, as brothers and sisters in Christ, but in matters that aren’t directly teaching scripture to a mixed group?</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It is okay to disagree on.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In worldly matters where one of your has more experience in the area than the other?</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It’s okay to use that expertise.</span></div>
<br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Besides, the respawn wait in the real world is far too long to allow the making of mistakes.</span>Brooke Hazelgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17228687318382639880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3249097400897693255.post-77205508676460683662017-03-01T06:08:00.000-08:002017-03-01T06:18:36.382-08:00For Whose Benefit: Conversations<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsp-jYuYSDi-W1Fg0NELFGgGpg7s2s5z6WijT2UaAqKlDpQlSUYm-9LkULffpSthMbTB_KiUHN0078hHNCFkVCdwpG3YsFSOBBAEfGWEW2LhBpMUCwbjuaZ7KHrW5l0UVEdv9-Ghz4tGCx/s1600/korney-violin-54739.jpg"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsp-jYuYSDi-W1Fg0NELFGgGpg7s2s5z6WijT2UaAqKlDpQlSUYm-9LkULffpSthMbTB_KiUHN0078hHNCFkVCdwpG3YsFSOBBAEfGWEW2LhBpMUCwbjuaZ7KHrW5l0UVEdv9-Ghz4tGCx/s320/korney-violin-54739.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<i>"I have no right to know. I don't have a method of stepping into the depths of your heart without it getting dirty. So I'll wait. When you want to talk, when you think it's okay to talk....talk to me." - Rukia Kuchiki to Ichigo Kurosaki<br /><br /> Thank you, Tite Kubo, for providing me with <a href="http://goneaerial.blogspot.com.au/2012/02/life-lessons-from-video-games-and-anime.html">endless ins</a> for blog posts, and sinking my OTP harder than the Titanic.</i><br />
<h3>
</h3>
<h3>
Where This Started</h3>
The idea for this blog post started out as a random conversation and the fallout from it made me think about how to apply the strategy in other circumstances. And whether it was a good idea or not. It's also going to stay vague because that's actually how you help the most people with anecdotal lessons. <i>Anyway.</i><br />
<br />
I'd been chatting with a friend. They dropped an interesting fact about part of their life that I was somewhat aware of. I wanted to ask further questions on the topic. But didn't. I had no idea what to ask, or add to that conversation. So I let it slide.<br />
<br />
On thinking about it later, I realised that there was something I <i>was </i>trying to do. That's where this comes in, because I think it might be a helpful strategy for conversations with other people.<br />
<br />
<h3>
Conversations can be for my benefit or for yours</h3>
Something worth noting before we get too far ahead of ourselves. This is less like an either/or situation and more like a sliding scale, or a Venn diagram. There's plenty of times when you'll have conversations with people that are for the benefit of both parties.<br />
<br />
"Where do you want to go for dinner?"<br />
"Well, we both like Mexican, so why not that burrito place down the road?"<br />
"Sounds good."<br />
<br />
There are times when the benefit isn't mutual, though.<br />
<br />
"Can I talk to you about something?"<br />
"Sure, what is it?"<br />
<br />
Worm Can Opening 101, that one. Question is, are you about to open the can of worms because of an idle curiosity or because you want to hear out and care for the person who's just asked you to not freak out at this thing they're about to drop? (That isn't a neat progression of words. But life isn't neat, either.)<br />
<br />
When you have conversations that are sensitive or heavy in nature with other people, there does come a point when you need to think about whether what you're saying is for their benefit, or if it's to desperately fill the void left by their words because <i>oh man, this is heavy. I need to say something. Anything. Quick, make a joke. Lighten the mood.</i><br />
<br />
<h3>
Why should my conversation be for your benefit?</h3>
It's important to have conversations that aren't primarily for our benefit. It's important to be investing in the lives of the people around us. It's one of the many ways we can lovingly serve our peers, reflecting a Savior who sat down his closest friends and told them that victory and honour were to be found in <i>service and sacrifice.</i><br />
<br />
<i>"But they kept quiet because on the way they had argued about who was the greatest. Sitting down, Jesus called the Twelve and said, “Anyone who wants to be first must be the very last, and the servant of all.”"<br /><br />-Mark 9:34-35</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Sometimes having a conversation for the benefit of someone else can look like just keeping an open ear. Sometimes it can look like acknowledging that whatever they are dealing with is hard. Sometimes it can look like sharing silence, rather than clouding a silent compassion with empty platitudes.<br />
<br />
A word to the wise - if there's the chance to offer advice to the other, and you wish for it to be for their benefit, rather than a balm for guilt on your own part of action or inaction, <i>check and see</i> whether they want to hear advice first.<br />
<br />
For many, and especially when an event is fairly fresh, offering advice without solicitation indicates a willingness to solve the problem, but it also indicates that the person offering the advice may not have thought about the problem. Or they just don't want it to be a problem for them, and if they offer a solution, then perhaps it'll go away.<br />
<br />
So if someone unloads a heavy thing on you, and you want for your words to be for their benefit, check and see if they want your help or opinion first. If they've asked you to listen, then it is conceivable that they're okay with hearing out your thoughts. Just...check first. Just in case the problem in question touches part of their life that you've never had to deal with, and you might be inadequately prepared to offer an educated opinion.<br />
<div>
<br />
<h3>
How to have a conversation that is for someone else's benefit</h3>
There's probably like, three, four things to do, tops.<br />
<br />
One, keep tabs on what your face is doing. If your person drops something massive on you, try really hard to not flinch. There are few things that will destroy my trust in someone faster than them immediately rejecting my words with their face. Develop a good poker face. Remember that this can help buy you a little time, but that all facades have their limit. Don't rely on the mere facade to get you through the year - you are going to have to provide a genuine response, even if that response is to tell them that this is bigger than you can deal with in the moment.<br />
<br />
Two, ask questions that help clarify aspects of the issue. Ask open-ended questions to help build a good idea of the overall picture, and then closed-end questions when you want your friend to make the sorts of decisions that will influence this or that aspect of the issue. Don't ask for information unless you think it's important. Don't hold on to that information. You need it for 24 hours, tops. After that, chuck it in the 'burn' bucket inside your head.<br />
<br />
Three, don't be afraid of silence. As we mentioned, sitting with people in silence is hard yakka. There's no grass for us to pull up any more because we're all adults. Or something.<br />
<br />
Four, and perhaps most importantly, ask yourself if you have anything to add to the conversation. If you don't think there is, and you act on that, then you're having a conversation that puts the needs of the other over your own comfort and need to fill spaces of awkwardness. Hordes of awks. Fresh from Mordor.<br />
<br />
If you do have something to add to the conversation, double check whether it is for your benefit or the other's.<br />
<br />
<h3>
A Better Connection</h3>
Having conversations that are for the benefit of someone else is hard. I spend way too much time thinking about the stuff I write on Facey and my million other social media sites and how they're supposed to change how other people think of me. I'm the entertainer. The interactions are about showing off how funny and clever I am.<br />
<br />
But that's not what we need. Not in the age of the emotionally isolated.<br />
<br />
God gave us two ears and one mouth. I'm trying to learn how to listen more. How to ask and not ask; how to react to hard things in a way that shows I value the people I speak with with. It's a blow to my pride, for sure. I've gotta forgo my carefully manicured image for something simpler - not claiming to know anything, just that you need Jesus' love, just like I do, and he's put me here and now because that's my job. Showing this person love like Jesus, serving this person like Jesus. Right here, right now.<br />
<br />
Brooke out.</div>
Brooke Hazelgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17228687318382639880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3249097400897693255.post-29478623104789210622017-02-22T05:47:00.001-08:002017-02-22T05:56:07.355-08:00Paradoxes (?) of the faith: Corban<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPWWaPcbEh9mMiGcwPRT-eLVHyyIxi7fH5ivt2XkmHh3QkACa60aAYPz44nDidBmtrhWhYv2pSbebxWo-81Nn5NC5toChJEuK4kXFz8qoa0qTOyaqqurJYR3N38gkEPCUEK5biEjH1q1LF/s1600/john-towner-128480.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPWWaPcbEh9mMiGcwPRT-eLVHyyIxi7fH5ivt2XkmHh3QkACa60aAYPz44nDidBmtrhWhYv2pSbebxWo-81Nn5NC5toChJEuK4kXFz8qoa0qTOyaqqurJYR3N38gkEPCUEK5biEjH1q1LF/s320/john-towner-128480.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
Paradoxes are one of my favourite things. Working them out - how two things that cannot coexist do. When I was in year 12, my physics class accidentally got energy from nowhere during an experiment. We sat, utterly confused and trying not to burn holes in the magic Styrofoam cup.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
Turns out our teacher had confused the exchange rate between calories and kilojoules.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
So, usually when there's a paradox, it's because we're missing part of the puzzle. I love paradoxes because they remind me that there is always going to be things out there that I don't understand. They prove that my mind isn't the greatest that exists, and that there's a limit to human knowledge in a world that was built by hands without limits.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
With that in mind, let's jump in to something I've chatted with a few friends over last year about.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
Corban.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
Corban is this weird word that turns up in the New Testament - I'm pretty sure it's a thing that was invented by the Pharisees (teachers of Jewish law). Rather than try and explain it, I'll just upchuck the relevant block of scripture and we'll go from there.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<h3 style="clear: both;">
Obligation > Gospel</h3>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<i>"The Pharisees and some of the teachers of the law who had come from Jerusalem gathered around Jesus, and saw some of his disciples eating food with hands that were defiled - that is - unwashed. (The Pharisees and all the Jews do not eat unless they give their hands a ceremonial washing, holding to the tradition of the elders. When they come from the marketplace they do not eat unless they wash. And they observe many other traditions, such as the washing of cups, pitchers and kettles.</i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<i>So the Pharisees and teachers of the law asked Jesus, “Why don’t your disciples live according to the tradition of the elders instead of eating their food with defiled hands?”</i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<i>He replied, “Isaiah was right when he prophesied about you hypocrites; as it is written:</i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i>“‘These people honor me with their lips,</i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i> but their hearts are far from me. They worship me in vain;</i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i> their teachings are merely human rules.’</i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i>You have let go of the commands of God and are holding on to human traditions.”</i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<i>And he continued, “You have a fine way of setting aside the commands of God in order to observe your own traditions! For Moses said, ‘Honor your father and mother,’ and, ‘Anyone who curses their father or mother is to be put to death.’ But you say that if anyone declares that what might have been used to help their father or mother is Corban (that is, devoted to God)— then you no longer let them do anything for their father or mother. Thus you nullify the word of God by your tradition that you have handed down. And you do many things like that.”</i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
Mark 7:1-13</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
It's worth paying attention any time Jesus gets stuck into someone about a thing, because it'll usually reveal something about the human heart. We encounter the paradox when we also look at another command of Jesus.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<h3 style="clear: both;">
Gospel > Obligation</h3>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<i>"Large crowds were traveling with Jesus, and turning to them he said: “If anyone comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters—yes, even their own life—such a person cannot be my disciple. And whoever does not carry their cross and follow me cannot be my disciple."</i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
Luke 14: 25-27</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
The first conversation I had about Corban last year was with a friend. We were discussing the scenario of choosing the obligations of ministry life over, say, taking care of a chronically ill family member. He pointed out the Luke verse - that we as Christians are called to forsake everything for the gospel.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
I asked what he thought about Corban, and how that was supposed to fit. And he stopped. And we thought some more.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
Jesus wants us to love him and the gospel more than anything. To be willing to give up everything for the gospel.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
But.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
He also feels pretty strongly about caring for the needy. About caring for people who are supposed to be under our care. The reason why he'd gotten so stuck into the Pharisees was that they were inventing rules that at face value were for serving God, but were really just for serving their own ends.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
I'd posit that these two things aren't opposites, but that they work together. Let's run through what happens to someone who clings to one concept and abandons the other.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
The person who only follows through with the obligation to care for the physical needs of those around will forget the urgency and gravity of the gospel. They would prioritise physical care over spiritual need. Eventually, that need to care would consume their faith, and altruism would become their god.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
The person who only follows through with the obligation to preach the gospel at the cost of all else rows out into the endless sea in a tiny lifeboat. They would sacrifice all ties that exist, abandon anything that would slow them down, and eventually burn out, their gospel burning out with them, never taking root because those preached to were never cared for properly.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
You can't have one of these things without the other.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<h3 style="clear: both;">
Gospel = Obligation</h3>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
Here's what I want to posit.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
We show that the gospel matters most when we care for those God has placed under our care. How we care shows that what we believe is alive in us, and not just merely lip service.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<i>"What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if someone claims to have faith but has no deeds? Can such faith save them? Suppose a brother or a sister is without clothes and daily food. If one of you says to them, “Go in peace; keep warm and well fed,” but does nothing about their physical needs, what good is it? In the same way, faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead.</i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<i>But someone will say, “You have faith; I have deeds.”</i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<i>Show me your faith without deeds, and I will show you my faith by my deeds."</i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
James 2:14-18</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
Sometimes caring for those we are obligated to is teaching them the gospel. Sometimes it is feeding them, washing them, dressing them, and teaching them the gospel, whatever their age or capacity might be.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<h3 style="clear: both;">
Two things to Consider</h3>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
Firstly, the matters of the physical realm will always play second fiddle to the matters of the spiritual realm. I'm occupying meatspace for the next fifty-sixty years, tops. I've already taken up tenancy in the New Creation, and I'm gonna be there for a lot longer. Consequently, I should keep the needs of each realm in proportion. Eating each day is still important, and it's more important now, but it pales in comparison to where I plan on spending eternity. If that sandwich keeps you alive long enough to hear the gospel, or to preach it to someone else, then it is the best sandwich you'll ever eat. But it's a sandwich with a purpose. So watch it.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
Secondly, it's a wise move to keep a wary eye on the parts of our lives where we might be tempted to call Corban, and who we might call Corban on. The reason why Jesus was so mad about the concept was not only because the Pharisees were gaming the system to not help out their parents, but also because they'd use the income they declared Corban however they wanted.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
That'd be like taking on extra ministry responsibilities at church so you didn't have to help out your family with important things, and then bailing on said responsibilities to do your own thing.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
Let's face it, we've probably all done this once or twice. I remember doing something similar when I was seventeen and skipping out on bible study to study for school, and then doing fat nothing during that time. But it's not a wise move. It's certainly not a mature thing to do.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<h3 style="clear: both;">
Things I'm Thinking About This Week</h3>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
Who am I obligated to love? How am I obligated to love them? </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
How is the gospel evident in how I love them?</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
Is this an easy or a hard thing for me to do?</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
Am I trying to get out of it?</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
How am I doing that? By justifying? Ignoring? Claiming that I'm too busy with things?</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
How can I change to be more like Jesus in how I practically love people?</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<i>"Let no debt remain outstanding, except the continuing debt to love one another, for whoever loves others has fulfilled the law. The commandments, “You shall not commit adultery,” “You shall not murder,” “You shall not steal,” “You shall not covet,” and whatever other command there may be, are summed up in this one command: “Love your neighbor as yourself.” </i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<i>Love does no harm to a neighbor. Therefore love is the fulfillment of the law."</i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
Romans 13:8-10</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
(I have few hard and fasts here. I find that thinking about the how and why tends to have a deeper impact. Happy to chat about it - I'm far from a closed case on the riddle of the-thing-that-sounds-like-Cornbread)</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
Brooke out.</div>
Brooke Hazelgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17228687318382639880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3249097400897693255.post-1528893486580904242016-06-16T08:00:00.002-07:002016-06-16T08:05:49.899-07:00The Fear<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgBRCj5BQlgTaKP0sUFmAMO2ER7LwmUQgTbzD_40cSTHppycA82rSyLGi-nQZ5V4qnTqJXAlo5Nppoy6v-LkIP2VxrQNHXxixoradETvc_3kt_aeSP3OBr71IQyKZnY03J432Hj1-j7lFj/s1600/blog_the_fear.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="203" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgBRCj5BQlgTaKP0sUFmAMO2ER7LwmUQgTbzD_40cSTHppycA82rSyLGi-nQZ5V4qnTqJXAlo5Nppoy6v-LkIP2VxrQNHXxixoradETvc_3kt_aeSP3OBr71IQyKZnY03J432Hj1-j7lFj/s320/blog_the_fear.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
I was seventeen when we first had the talk. The subject matter was our bodies, but it wasn't about how we were to change from children to adults. It was far more terrifying.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We were on year eleven snow trip. I remember the muted cold that followed us, even in the tiny cabin that the handful of us had occupied. I remember the tension, the revelation. I remember it suddenly making sense why one of my teachers and friends had taught us how to hold your keys between your fingers, and how to use different improv weapons.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
One of the girls had been groped by a stranger on the ski lifts. So the female teacher who'd come with us sat us down and explained to us how we needed to be on our guard, all the time. It covered picking your seats on trains, watching your drinks, dealing with creeps, and where you should park your car at night.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In retrospect, the only reason why we had this talk at sixteen and seventeen was because we were from a conservative town, and a conservative school. They didn't know that I'd been catcalled from passing cars at thirteen. They didn't know I already had felt and known that fear. But there it was. We sat in that cabin, in the quiet, until it was time to go, and we left to have pizza. The fear stayed, though. It's still there.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I've been meaning to write about this for a while. A few months back, I had a conversation with a bunch of people about the rise of the 'strong female character'. The topic was concern, that the rise of such an unrealistic character would set women up for failure, frustration, and an inability to conform to a certain standard of womanhood. My addition to the noise was a need for such female characters, <i>because </i>of this fear.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
What is this fear? It's probably important to define that now, after all.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As a woman, I am aware of my smallness. I am aware that in a fight against a man, unless there was a significant factor to tip the scales, I would lose. I am aware that I live in a world that is not safe. I am aware that I could be attacked, could be overpowered, could be raped. I am aware of my vulnerability, and I am aware of how in a lot of assault cases, the blame is placed on the victim for the incident.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This is not an irrational fear, that you could dissect. This is not an irrelevant fear, that you could dismiss. This is a very real fear, that follows you. I feel it resting on my shoulders, tickling the back of my neck, as I walk back to my car in the dark by myself, after work. Can I run in these shoes? Should I throw my first punch with my right or left? Would I be able to start my car if I've just used my car key to stab an attacker? Do I wear my hood up and hope that my over-sized coat disguises my gender, or do I wear my hood down so I can use my peripherals to track any incoming movement? Where can I put my hair so they can't grab it?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I once shared this with a guy. The look on his face and his response were genuine, unscripted. He'd never even considered that women had to think like this. He apologised that I had to feel like this. He held my hand tightly when we walked through a night-shrouded shortcut that I wouldn't have gone near with a six-foot barge pole. But it was a naive outlook at best, and a myopic one at worst. Because it doesn't solve the problem.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm not always going to have a bodyguard. I can't rely on there always being some dude around to fix my problems and save the day. Because there's not. That's not even a post-breakup cynical stereotype thing - it's a reality. Sometimes, you might have someone nearby. Sometimes it'll be another girl, sometimes it'll be a guy, sometimes you'll be hanging out in a pack of people. But that fear doesn't go away. It lingers in the back of your mind, like a rank aftertaste, reminding you that you are small in a bad way, and that you have to stay on your guard, all the time.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
What is there to be done?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I don't think the fear will ever go away. There are times when it is safer, but for the most part, my brain will always check exit routes, the blown street lamps, and where I'll be when the sun goes down. When I'm on the train, I'll scan for the solo seat, because there's no room for someone dangerous to sit nearby. Despite how I'd love to go walking at night outside by myself, I know that it'll nearly never be safe to do so in the city, so I won't. And I won't wear shoes I can't run in. I'll blend, as much as possible. Then, if they can't see me, I might be safer. It's a lie we tell ourselves. But it makes things easier.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
When we were in school, the girls had restrictions placed on our attire. Rash shirts or one-pieces on swimming excursions. Board shorts, if you got 'em. No thin-strap singlet shirts, low-cut tops, or short shorts on mufti days or camps. They told us it was for sun safety (a valid thing in Australia), but in retrospect, the choice was rooted in the same decisions that controlled our skirt length. I understand that the decision might have been made for our safety, but I don't think they protected us from danger all that much.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So what can be done?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'll never stop being guarded. But making the in-between spaces safer for the vulnerable can be met from both sides.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm sharing this, so that the folk who've never had to consider what it might be like to feel the fear, to understand that it's there. That it doesn't go away, ever.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm sharing this because I want to teach the kids growing up now that people are to be respected and valued. That we're not just a collection of body parts for the amusement and use of each other. I want for us to raise a generation of protectors. And for them to raise a generation of protectors. But I'll teach kids how to be safe, too. Because I know that even if I taught every kid I met to look after other people, I know that I'd miss plenty who've grown up with the mindset that it's okay to use people. And I know that sin depraves the best of us to the lowest level.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In the meantime, I think it's okay for us to have well-rounded, female characters in our fiction - in case you were wondering about that still. I might have worked out where to park my car for my new job that isn't halfway down some nothing road with no lights, but there will be other car parks to navigate. There will be other train carriages to assess. There will be more creeps. And this will be true for others for a long time. So I think it's important for women to feel like they're allowed to be brave and powerful too. Because feeling vulnerable and powerless in a situation where you're so aware of it <i>sucks.</i></div>
Brooke Hazelgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17228687318382639880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3249097400897693255.post-21826388520641604142016-05-25T06:00:00.001-07:002016-05-25T06:17:07.905-07:00The Legend of Angry Brooke<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEyRKe7u7-QIEfZfYvt3yq4F4o0KQnTvF5tTYPvrBuhyphenhyphengwLHMBogZmb0dLEiuV2laZ7LVXvnltz-vJgncwwaikNAuG9wpoYWFDHgKM3nZ9yal-biZYU8_dwYDlOOiTfU6NdhvykWwyxSSt/s1600/IMG_20160525_224703.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEyRKe7u7-QIEfZfYvt3yq4F4o0KQnTvF5tTYPvrBuhyphenhyphengwLHMBogZmb0dLEiuV2laZ7LVXvnltz-vJgncwwaikNAuG9wpoYWFDHgKM3nZ9yal-biZYU8_dwYDlOOiTfU6NdhvykWwyxSSt/s320/IMG_20160525_224703.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Story time. If you'd met teenage Brooke, you'd have met a very different person. I mean, all the nerdness was there, but there was a lot of other stuff too. Stuff which I'm glad I don't really have any more. Most of the time.<br />
<br />
There's not really a greater purpose to this post. It's more or less just telling you about the years I spent as a Super Saiyan and how I try not to be like that now.<br />
<br />
<h4>
The Beginning: Granny Weatherwax and Nynaeve</h4>
<div>
I've always been a fairly rambunctious person. My darling mother mused out loud last year about how I 'used to be such a confident kid', before asking what happened, because that's not who I am now. (Which is a <i>whole</i> other topic, but we'll leave that for later.) But yes. You put me in my field, and I'll be a happy camper.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
When I transitioned from homeschooled year 6 to mainstream school in year 7, there were a lot of things to work out. How to do schoolwork in a group environment. How to deal with the incredibly slow pace everything happened at. How to mesh with other people who understood the rules of social interaction better than I. And since I always was super serious, how to deal with the teasing. I was a tall poppy in my early years of high school, and didn't understand the 'teasing as standard action' thing. I had a fairly short fuse too. So, it didn't take much to get me riled up or upset. That and my general naivety were some pretty good reasons why I got bullied.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So, a short fuse, and a lot of fear, because there was all this stuff I didn't understand.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
About 2005, I found two very interesting outlooks from different fictional characters. Since books were how I learned anything, I found the concept of anger interesting when it was presented in <i>The Wee Free Men</i>, by Terry Pratchett.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In it, the wise and cantankerous Granny Weatherwax teaches Tiffany Aching, the protagonist, how to use anger to combat threats. When something threatens you, you can get scared, or you can get angry. If you get angry, you're more likely to do something about the threat. At least, that was the logic, as I'd perceived it.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The other outlook I'd encountered was that of Nynaeve from the <i>Wheel of Time</i> series, by Robert Jordan. Nynaeve is a mage, capable of mighty things. Only issue is, the only way she can use her power right at the beginning is if she gets mad. She's kind of like the hulk, but with waaaay more irritated braid tugging.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I learned anger as a way of coping with and responding to issues, especially when, in the same year, I learned that my friend group had invited me into their circle so they could 'adopt a nerd'.</div>
<h4>
</h4>
<h4>
The Heyday: Little Dog Syndrome</h4>
<div>
During my middle and senior high school years, I established myself as she of the short stature and short temper. I hung out with a bunch of guys in the year above, and since I was head and shoulders shorter than everyone else, it just meant that I made a lot of noise in order to be heard.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It was my niche, my slot, and I dug it. If you irritated me (which wasn't hard), it'd be easy for me to yell at you. I talked a lot of smack. I'd also kicked people who insulted me and slapped someone who'd called me just about the worst thing you could call someone. In retrospect, I was scared of being forgotten, of having people not take me seriously. I never wanted to be the butt of the joke, for people to laugh at me for being a maladjusted, naive little girl again. I just hid that fear under aggression.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In what was one of my more questionable moves, I remember challenging the biggest guy in my year to a sparring match, so certain I could win because I 'knew how to handle myself', despite the fact that this fellow was about 6ft and weighed twice what I did. My ambition and aggression went for it. Fortunately, this guy was wiser and more chill than I, and what would have been the smackdown of the year never came to fruition. Honestly, even looking back at that one, I'm not sure what my goal was. Some kind of 'beat the largest one, become the alpha' logic. 17 year old Brooke wasn't incredibly sensible.</div>
<h4>
</h4>
<h4>
The Decline: 2010</h4>
Getting out of school was a good thing. I went from the school environment to a TAFE course that was 100% women. Sure, there was still drama, but it was different. I couldn't solve my issues by yelling at them. I still solidly enjoyed sparring with a few close friends - these were titled 'poke fights' and were exactly what they sounded like. They were less frequent, since all of us were getting older and we were less on an even playing field. Plus, the one I versed the most had the same limb-to-body ratio of a daddy long legs. Or thereabouts.<br />
<br />
But I'd started looking back on how I'd tried to use my anger to be treated like an equal during high school, and had realised that it wasn't that effective. The guy I'd challenged to a match? We never spoke. To this day, I've got no idea how he's doing, and that's either because we weren't all that close as buds by the end, or because I've felt too embarrassed and awkward about hunting him down on Facebook since. It's probably a little column A, a little column B.<br />
<br />
2010 came to an end, and while I could still be counted on to hulk out in a pinch, I'd mellowed out significantly from what I was.<br />
<h4>
</h4>
<h4>
<br /></h4>
<h4>
At Present: The Girl With Something To Prove</h4>
<div>
If you know me know, you'd probably know that I'm still fairly driven. I've got a few friends who enjoy antagonising me as well as any sibling. I've at least managed to learn how to take some of it with a pinch of salt.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I mean, I still have a lot to prove, but that's because I set insanely high expectations for myself (something which I am - with help - currently taking steps to disassemble, because it's about as healthy and sustainable as throwing a brick into a washing machine.) At least now, I don't flare up like touch paper. Comparatively.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The only issue I have with this now, is that it feels like in dissipating my anger, I've lost something. Angry Brooke didn't take crap from anyone, and wouldn't let herself be walked over. She had the resolve to get things done, and took risks that needed to be taken.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In disassembling that, it feels like when things arise, I just let them happen. I avoid conflict instead of seeking it out or headbutting it into submission. I miss that, to a degree. Angry Brooke got stuff done. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
At least, that's what it felt like. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Angry Brooke was respected. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Except, I don't think she really was. You know a kid with a short fuse in your class as a teen, you're going to find it funny to throw things and keep your distance. You stay away from her.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Thing is, in looking back on Angry Brooke, she was a person I wouldn't want to be friends with either. In the middle of my anger, I did things I wish I hadn't. (See: Challenging my 6ft classmate to a wrestling match and losing his friendship.)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I Also Said A Lot Of Stupid Things. (Which, when you capitalise all the words, sounds like a song by Fall Out Boy.)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So, hulking out meant that I got things done, but in the process, I messed a lot of things up. Because I wanted to stop burning bridges and having all the stupidity coming out of my mouth, I stopped. Or at least, I've mostly stopped.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
There are times when I still feel the fire, still feel the urge to raise my voice properly - let the world be wreathed in flames and fear of the legendary Super Saiyan Brooke. But, those are the times I usually cope by sitting somewhere and listening to aggressive music really loudly. It's hard for me to make friends. I don't want to lose any more of them. Plus, I don't think that wanton fury is incredibly God-honouring. And I want to be doing that better. Honouring God with my whole life, that is. I can't lose control over something so small. So I won't.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Perhaps there will be a time and a place for this fire sometime in the future, when I've learned to refine it down to the white-hot flame of righteous fury. That way, the drive and the expression could work in harmony to achieve the goal, rather than skewing each other into a sixteen year old girl's aggression.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I want to get stuff done. I just...have to work out when is the time to fight to the last and when is the time to kneel. (That's another blog post in the waiting, really. Another conundrum that is a question I don't have the answer to - I just think it's a good argument to work out. Anyway. Spoilers.)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
That's about it for this post. I can't think of a conclusion. I should be blogging more regularly soon. We'll see how that goes.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Brooke out.</div>
Brooke Hazelgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17228687318382639880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3249097400897693255.post-7617426074182975402015-12-30T21:52:00.001-08:002016-05-25T06:12:57.792-07:00The last two years: In retrospect<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNkEPt-GkAwEIFcbnZUSnjeYmUecGKRbSwx0fNvVbp194wXdqDfI7uFrADsW2CIr4OF6TLmQFdvcGgAEw_fWAOIUMtfIa0lU7R6jqa8qRjKw4beMAxzS339qPt-PKApbSU0d2j6WNnbiZn/s1600/F1000011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNkEPt-GkAwEIFcbnZUSnjeYmUecGKRbSwx0fNvVbp194wXdqDfI7uFrADsW2CIr4OF6TLmQFdvcGgAEw_fWAOIUMtfIa0lU7R6jqa8qRjKw4beMAxzS339qPt-PKApbSU0d2j6WNnbiZn/s320/F1000011.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Hi. You could be just reading my blog for the first time, or you could have read all of my posts, or you could have seen that I posted a new entry on my Facebook and followed it through because sometimes words come out of my mouth and sometimes they are interesting.<br />
<br />
This is a little bit of a reflection on the last two years, those being 2014, and 2015. If you've been reading my posts for a while, you'll probably notice that that's about when the regularity of writing on Gone Aerial started going out the window, and there's a few reasons why.<br />
<br />
I figured it was time to write something again. I've always had more to say, but when the jobs you're working have you either physically or mentally exhausted at the end of the day, there's not a lot left for writing. Still.<br />
<br />
Here's a brief rundown of the last two years.<br />
<br />
I finished Uni at the end of 2013, and my hopeless optimism thought that finding a job straight after WAVE of 2014 would be easy. I wanted to work after I finished uni, because I knew I didn't have a lot of life experience and I probably needed it. When I hit 22 in 2013, I realised that I was the same age as Mum when she'd gotten married, and it was probably time to start thinking of myself and acting like an adult.<br />
<br />
What followed was a steep learning curve. I threw resumes at anything that moved. I picked up work in a local Chinese restaurant, but it wasn't enough hours or income to support myself, so I started falling behind on rent, and eating my way through the strange cans of food my Pop had given me a few years before, because all I could afford to buy was milk and apples and mi goreng. I'd fill up my car, not knowing if I'd be able to buy more fuel when I ran out.<br />
<br />
This went on for a bit more than a month, before all the forms I'd submitted to request a bit of welfare subsidence kicked in. I was also helped out by my parents and some folks from church. Even then, there wasn't much of a rest. I'd spend a few nights a week working at the restaurant and the rest of the week, I pretty much lived at the Hub - the warehouse in Broadmeadow that doubles as my church's office/headquarters/place for things that aren't Sunday meetings. There, I continued applying for jobs.<br />
<br />
I can't remember how many I applied for. There was a lot, and sometimes I'd get a rejection letter, but most of the time I'd never hear back. At this stage, I was pretty grateful for Centrelink, even if there were a lot of forms to fill out. I was able to buy food. I could pay rent. When the registration of my car came around, I was able to do that myself - something that really counted when you consider that I was trying to be a responsible adult.<br />
<br />
About halfway through the year, I picked up some contracted writing work, and this eventually turned into my second job - writing blog posts for a marketing firm. Once this piece of information comes into play, you can kind of see why I didn't do a lot of writing of my own material - it's a little hard to write all day and then be motivated to come home and write some more.<br />
<br />
So that was 2014. There were some hard bits, and some good bits, and some other pretty important lessons learned, but I'll get to those in a minute.<br />
<br />
2015 has also been a pretty turbulent year, but for different reasons.<br />
<br />
Because I had had a lot of spare time in the year prior, I'd started a few different types of ministry. I had time, so why not? Problem was, I was nearly working full time hours on top of part time hours spent in ministry.<br />
<br />
I got sick, and stayed physically sick, for about three months. It was debilitating on my body and my mind, and I burned out. Recovery took longer, and I have to check in even now and still consider if I'm back to fully operational.<br />
<br />
Burning out was problematic for more than just that reason though - it opened up a whole new can of worms, one which was marked 'mental health'. Although I don't know if there's anything in particular that has become my problem, I can testify that the inside of my head has not been a pleasant place to be at times during this year.<br />
<br />
But, there were still really good things, and really challenging things, and things to learn from.<br />
<br />
At the moment, my hours have changed, for both places, for a variety of reasons. Things are definitely going to change next year, not in the least because I'm planning on moving out of my house. Living alone is fine if you are mentally stable. Which I am not. So, some housemates are in order. I'm a little anxious about how things will go, not in the least because I've lived by myself for the last two years, so my house skills have gotten a little lax. But. Housemates. That's important. Need stability.<br />
<br />
Where does this lead to? There <i>is</i> indeed a purpose for this blog post - not just telling you how my last two years have been. There's been a few hard-learned, but important-learned lessons I've picked up along the way, and thought they were worth sharing. Hence, post. But like, I don't want it to be like the posts I write for work, so it's not a numerically listed thing. But, uh.<br />
<br />
<h4>
The Rest Of The World Cares Less About You Than Your Lecturers And Teachers</h4>
<div>
I'm talking secular, working world. My church body has been highly valued and I'm so very thankful to them for looking after me. But the others?</div>
<div>
When you're in school, your teachers have some degree of care about you. In uni, if you build a good rapport with your lecturers and tutors, they'll generally want you to pass a subject.</div>
<div>
The same isn't true of the working world. The manager you just talked to doesn't know squat about you, and doesn't have a reason to care about what you can do unless you give them a reason.</div>
<h4>
<br /></h4>
<h4>
It's Easy To Feel Entitled</h4>
<div>
And why shouldn't we? If you're a first world kid, growing up in a first world, cushy life, it's easy to feel like you're owed a job that you like. Whether or not you can <i>find</i> one of those jobs is another matter. I work in the service industry and you will never find another job where the people you meet will feel like making your life miserable is well within their rights and duties as a customer. It's even easy to try and use my sense of entitlement to try and rise above all of that. "I've got <i>two</i> tertiary qualifications, therefore I have the right to a better job," kind of thing. It...it just doesn't work like that.</div>
<h4>
<br /></h4>
<h4>
Some Things Are Just Hard Work</h4>
<div>
In the last few weeks of my uni study, my church sat the students who were graduating down over dinner and we talked about what life would be like as a worker - the things we'd need to be aware of, and the ways we'd be challenged. One of the most helpful things I was told was <i>"The first two years will just be hard work</i>". They were right. No shortcuts. No cheat codes. Just a lot of honey chicken and oil burns.</div>
<h4>
<br /></h4>
<h4>
Nobody Else Has It Together Either</h4>
<div>
I'm now a worker. I still have nights where I don't have enough energy to do <i>anything</i>. Weekends are a joke. But, I was raised with this crazy impossible standard where the things are supposed to be clean and I'm supposed to have it all together. After all, I'm the oldest, and I'm supposed to set and example and not be a bitter disappointment and blah blah blah. No. Nobody else my age seems to have it together. Which is a bit of a relief, because it's honest and it's real and it makes me able to admit my fears and weaknesses to other people, and ask for their help, because there's a lot of things I cannot do by myself.</div>
<h4>
<br /></h4>
<h4>
Take One Day At A Time</h4>
<div>
Rolling with it is something I've had to get used to. It's not my favourite, but it's helped me see beyond the insurmountable hill of responsibility and just get down to putting one foot in front of another to keep going. If I can keep moving forward, then things have the opportunity to get better.</div>
<h4>
<br /></h4>
<h4>
Celebrate The Small Things</h4>
<div>
You found your keys? Throw both arms in the air and yell in adulation. You survived another shift? Give yourself a pat on the back. There's still a lot of things I can't do. So when something goes right for a change, no matter how small, I remember that it's a good thing, and that we should celebrate victories, no matter how small.</div>
<h4>
<br /></h4>
<h4>
Set Some Boundaries</h4>
<div>
This is important.</div>
<h4>
<br /></h4>
<h4>
Remember To Rest</h4>
<div>
So is this. Like I said earlier, secular world isn't obligated to care for your shocking day prior. They only want to know that you can work. I have one night a week where I am home, and that's because I vigilantly protect it as The Evening I Am Home To Rest. If you're a people-pleaser, it's easy to keep saying yes to things until you collapse. I've done that once, and I don't ever want to do it again. So, make sure that your lines in the sand on what you can do, and what you can't do, are drawn, and maintain them, not because you are selfish, but because you need to keep functioning.</div>
<h4>
<br /></h4>
<h4>
Remember The Gospel</h4>
<div>
As a Christian, the gospel is what keeps me going. Knowing and remembering and dwelling on it is what means I can come back for another round of work even though I was in tears over work the night before.</div>
<div>
It's easy to gloss over it - be like, 'yeah, nah, I know this. I need some deeper theological truth to look at'.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
No. Noob.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The gospel is where we start and end. Theology only serves to enhance our understanding of the gospel - of knowing and understanding that here is God, the creator of the universe, who would send his Son Jesus to bear my sins and failures to bring me back into a right relationship with him and make me into something better.</div>
<h4>
<br /></h4>
<h4>
Know Your Value</h4>
<div>
Here's the kicker. I end up with this problem where I feel like my value is attached to what I can do. Or what I am. Problem is, when you take away my capacity for doing things, or make me feel like I can't do anything, the perceived value is going to go down the gurgler pretty quick.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But, here's the thing, and it fits into the gospel. Nothing I can do can attribute to my own value. (Therefore, I can end up feeling like I have no value).</div>
<div>
But, the Creator God trades his <i>Son</i>, who has Infinite Value, for my life.</div>
<div>
And here's the thing about this trade, about this purchase.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
You don't pay for things you don't want. And you don't pay more for something you think has less value.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So even though intrinsically, I have no value, my life - my future, and my eternity - have been purchased with the most expensive thing there is.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Therefore, I am valued <i>at</i> Infinite, by the King of the Universe.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And he's the biggest power there is. There's not another power, bigger, who can say otherwise, or usurp that authority or purchase. This is what happens when you start dealing in absolutes - either things are or they are not.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I still have problems with remembering that I have value on a regular basis. When you're taught that everything else is more important than you, this can be a hard thing to shake. Which is why I keep coming back to the gospel, and why I have to keep remembering that I have value <i>because</i> of the gospel.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So yeah. that's where I'm at. Hopefully next year will be easier, (although I have my doubts). I'll just have a little more experience, and a better understanding of the grace that is sufficient for keeping me going.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I hope your new years are bright, and full of promise.</div>
<div>
Happy New Year, guys.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Brooke Out.</div>
Brooke Hazelgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17228687318382639880noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3249097400897693255.post-36632004252069747192015-06-16T01:24:00.000-07:002015-06-16T01:24:48.340-07:00First Sight and Second ThoughtsIn the Discworld books about Tiffany Aching, Terry Pratchett did something that all authors can do, and he did it wonderfully.<br />
<br />
He put into words things that people feel and can't articulate.<br />
<br />
First sight and second thoughts are abilities that the character Tiffany possesses. First sights is an ability endemic to the witches of the Discworld possess. It's the ability to see what's really there, instead of what your brain tells you should be there (that's Second sights, and is what normal people have).<br />
<br />
First sights lets characters spot inconsistencies in the world, and the willpower that anyone who's encountered Granny Weatherwax before has experienced is usually enough for said character to step in and stop the elves from conquering the world/the hiver from eating minds/winter from destroying the world/whatever happens in <i>I shall wear midnight</i>.<br />
<br />
Second Thoughts is defined as 'the thoughts you think about the way you think'.<br />
<br />
Tiffany also possesses Third and Fourth thoughts, which are thinking about the way you think about the way you think, and thinking about the way you think, about the way you think, about the way you think. Tiffany also sometimes walks into doorposts, according to the wiki.<br />
<br />
Why does this warrant conversation?<br />
<br />
I would like to know if second/third/fourth thoughts have a real world equivalent.<br />
<br />
Because that's something I do and it's useful and terribly inconvenient at the same time.<br />
<br />
See, I'll want to do something, but will be thinking about how many people that will impact, and how they'll think and feel about the situation, and what that will mean, and then how I should act as a result.<br />
<br />
And I'll think more about every action, which the ripple effect will have impact the people around me, and how they think, and what they do, and how I'm supposed to think about that.<br />
<br />
It's an endless analysis. On the one hand, it allows me to care for and look after people in small ways that might not be considered otherwise.<br />
<br />
On the other hand, I can't ask for help because I'll be aware of how much it inconveniences people, or just be aware of how much of an impact any action makes, as though I'm trying to navigate my way across a floor covered in eggshells, and I'm trying not to break any of them.<br />
<br />
Second thoughts also leaves you slightly disconnected from any interaction with people. You're always thinking about how you're thinking, and often are too busy trying to decipher someone else's facial expression and words to actually respond the right way in the right amount of time.<br />
<br />
I don't say 'right way' from a manipulative or insidious perspective. Not at all. It just takes a while to process stuff, and because you're thinking about how you're thinking and how you're acting, you become aware that there is in fact a proper way to react to any situation.<br />
<br />
So if you ever notice me lagging in a conversation, just bear with it. I'll get there eventually.<br />
<br />
Where it becomes more important is when I get overwhelmed with things or need to ask for help. The knowledge of how I'll impact and inconvenience people becomes paralyzing, and I'll end up trying to do everything myself rather than bug someone else.<br />
<br />
So yeah. That.Brooke Hazelgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17228687318382639880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3249097400897693255.post-21648298086141199092014-07-30T04:18:00.001-07:002014-07-30T05:02:50.550-07:00Being okay about things ending<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCJMtAmAeF_GKz2PcG3GYhU1t9K1jVcSOnRdtwIBHeLb-lnZxSsac5TyEMYNibpjSL852t-CRrQNkNF6bdxmWM6hxu6l9iGKgbzVlT2uuzKqCpiVe5FxwhHyA1WdxxRWDluASmFVR1Qnyy/s1600/Lowborn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCJMtAmAeF_GKz2PcG3GYhU1t9K1jVcSOnRdtwIBHeLb-lnZxSsac5TyEMYNibpjSL852t-CRrQNkNF6bdxmWM6hxu6l9iGKgbzVlT2uuzKqCpiVe5FxwhHyA1WdxxRWDluASmFVR1Qnyy/s1600/Lowborn.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
So in the second week of January, my very favourite band Anberlin posted this video to their twitter feed:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://youtu.be/Xa7RabbuOTA">http://youtu.be/Xa7RabbuOTA</a><br />
<br />
Blogger is giving me grief with embedding the video, but at the very least, hopefully, the link is live. Go click it. You'll need to know what's in it for context.<br />
<br />
Anyway.<br />
<br />
I have very clear memories of the first viewing of the video, because it instilled a great feeling of sadness, and I wasn't able to indulge in that sadness for very long, because it was either the second or the third day of WAVE, which is my church's week-long kids club, and I had to get there and be geared up to work with kids from 7:45am. So the case of the sads went into the back of the head, and I went back to being a magician for four-year old kids.<br />
<br />
But there was this feeling that was returned to later - processing in entirety that my very favourite band was finishing, and this was their last year. There was some consolation in knowing there was going to be one more album published, and one more world tour, so odds were high that I'd get to see them <a href="http://goneaerial.blogspot.com.au/2011/09/evening-with-anberlin.html">again</a>, but still.<br />
<br />
<i>Anberlin was ENDING.</i><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Now, this was all stuff that happened at the start of the year, my copy of <i>Lowborn</i>, the last album, arrived on Monday. It's still sitting on my couch, inside the packaging, because I want to listen to it properly - with enough time to sit and just listen through, once or twice, and then play it over and over again, and then go back to my moderate-rotation music. I don't have a lot of time this week, and suspect I'll be a useless pile of emotions afterwards anyway. Knowing that this is the last to hear from their recorded efforts.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHYGKtN6tNyrtxCTjHRpKz5lauZPpVQBaqP16cG-JtBhcuzqbXIg8CqfA8JtNiuxOkd0Vv3ksHR9dIOiGWHuTqeCZ4A2QEtRXYNJQejCICo86Jv0cv17dD0VVi84Kn0DOT9a_d6OhvhGVb/s1600/lowborn_package.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHYGKtN6tNyrtxCTjHRpKz5lauZPpVQBaqP16cG-JtBhcuzqbXIg8CqfA8JtNiuxOkd0Vv3ksHR9dIOiGWHuTqeCZ4A2QEtRXYNJQejCICo86Jv0cv17dD0VVi84Kn0DOT9a_d6OhvhGVb/s1600/lowborn_package.jpg" height="320" width="191" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"If I don't open it, maybe it won't end."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
But then, I have since realised that this was a thing I'd been thinking through last year, and I'm grateful for the way Anberlin have chosen to finish - a lot of bands you see go through fights, or wander into the territory of the Infinite Hiatus, and it's sad to see something you loved so much tear itself to pieces.<br />
<br />
I had been aware that they wouldn't be able to produce music forever, and I wouldn't want them to - it's all very well to spend all your time touring as young adults, but the guys have been producing music for twelve years. They started out as teenagers and twenty-somethings, and they're all married, with families of varying sizes now. Their wives and kids (if they have kids. I don't know.) deserve to have them around the house more often.<br />
<br />
Their music has meant a lot to me not just because of the style, or the sound, or the lyrics, but because they were introduced to me when I was trying to figure out who I was, asking a lot of the same questions and working through a lot of the same problems presented in their songs. They covered love, loss, confusion, euphoria, blame, depression, and a bunch of other things. I spent as many evenings being useless on my bedroom floor as days spent lost in the heady emotions of joy listening to their music. And it wasn't just these perspectives that helped - knowing that the members of the band profess the same faith is pretty cool. It means when they say 'hope' that I know we're on the same page in terms of understanding.<br />
<br />
The interest in their music didn't just leach into helping me understand the chiaroscuro of life either. I mean, it helped a lot, because I'd not been taught any other coping mechanisms, or even what to do on the bad days aside from mope. Anyway.<br />
<br />
Their music has been hugely influential in the stuff I write and make - if you've been following my blog for a while, you might have seen a <a href="http://goneaerial.blogspot.com.au/2012/06/silver-in-city.html">post</a> detailing an entire body of work (in film photography) built around the album <i>Cities,</i> for example. It didn't stop there - I'm fairly certain that the music video for <i>The Unwinding Cable Car</i> got referenced as an inspiration source at least once a semester during my uni degree.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/2Ei1-vWL-t0?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
<br />
So, given that you can now see a couple of reasons why I like their music, you might be able to see why I was a bit sad about them ending. I guess, it's been understanding that there's a time and a season for everything, that helps. All things end, sooner or later. It's <i>how</i> they end that's important.<br />
<br />
And I think Anberlin have done a good job of that.<br />
<br />
They could have kept on even after most of the band left, having the name of the band eventually equate to one guy. They could have dropped into obscurity, vanishing without a word or a trace. They could have stretched things out until it was obviously more about the money than the love of music. But they didn't. They've chosen a time and a place, and you can tell that they're keen to see us all off in style and with love.<br />
So while I'm sad, seeing that things are happening in this way is alright. It's garnered a huge amount of respect in my book (not that they need that, but hey), and I want to wish them the best in the future.<br />
<br />
You hear that, guys?<br />
<br />
Dear Steven, Joey, Chris, Deon, and Nate,<br />
Thank you for having such a positive impact on my life, and the lives of others, with your music.<br />
You're gonna be missed by a lot of people, myself included, but that's okay. You got things going on in your lives aside from Anberlin, and it's cool that you're choosing to pursue those things now. I hope that they're good, and fun, and that you get to be a blessing to the people around you because of your involvement.<br />
Thank you for your kindness to us as your fans. Thank you for twelve years and seven albums of excellence. I wasn't there for the beginning, but I'll be there at the end.<br />
See you in September.<br />
Stay cool.<br />
From Brooke.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0GQRvYalVg6zdJpcZcY-FJpPUa8YNlRWK1D1t-aOCOvBC4geRvH6cjaMNHRtjLLv-jfh0uAA0fZ44UdH-fDWlYOeO802vCzg6bvLOiP4mJb9LkAejquqTYortPMzsyYD2PufEJsmg1cWD/s1600/lowborn_salute.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0GQRvYalVg6zdJpcZcY-FJpPUa8YNlRWK1D1t-aOCOvBC4geRvH6cjaMNHRtjLLv-jfh0uAA0fZ44UdH-fDWlYOeO802vCzg6bvLOiP4mJb9LkAejquqTYortPMzsyYD2PufEJsmg1cWD/s1600/lowborn_salute.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Brooke Hazelgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17228687318382639880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3249097400897693255.post-55052574649518465552014-07-06T18:48:00.000-07:002014-07-06T18:54:12.196-07:00Essay: Concept of the Post-Human in Modern ArtHey guys, I wanted to let you know that I wasn't dead, but I don't have quite enough time to write up a full post at the moment. Please know that I'm warming up to continue the saga of pursuing Full-Time Ministry.<br />
<br />
In the meantime, have an essay I wrote last year on the concept of the post-human in modern art.<br />
<br />
Hopefully it still makes sense. This was one I wrote on not much sleep, and in one go. Hmm. Enjoy.<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">AART 3105: Contemporary
Issues in Art<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">What is the
‘post-human’ and how is it expressed in art? Discuss using the work of at least
3 contemporary artists, showing the social, political and philosophical
implications of each artist’s work.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
From the literal definition of
post-human, it is understood that the subject refers to a state beyond that of
the regular or presently-defined human. The manner in which this ‘post-‘may yet
to be defined, but there is certainly the connotations of a modification or
addendum to the understood human.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
This essay will discuss the works
of artists Lee Bul, Phillip Toledano and Eduardo Kac, and their comments
through their art practise on the role of the human and the post-human.
Centering on the inherent value of the human, this essay will discuss the
ramifications of blending with technology, enhancing through science and the
required response to these actions. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
The concept of a cyborg is one
familiar to the general populace, mostly through science-fiction and speculative
fiction. It is a frequently recurring character, and for a variety of reasons.
The seamless blend of machine and man grants the character a new set of
abilities and life goals, albeit with a very different set of problems and
rules in conjunction to those of a human character. The cyborg in fiction
becomes a projection of the self with a different set of rules to live and
behave by. Are they human? Are they something else? At which point does the
presence or absence of human tissue in the cyborg pronounce them human or
android?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
Lee Bul, a mixed-media artist from
South Korea, creates works that investigate this blending of organic and
artificial with surgical precision. Working in industrial materials such as
silicone or resin, the artworks tend to explore the polarised concepts of
cyborg and monster, dwelling on the results of blending opposing ends of the
spectrum between the perfect and the imperfect.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
Immaculately finished, with
exaggerated proportions reminiscent of typified Japanese <i>anime</i> characters, Bul’s forms hang in suspension. Bearing the
appearance of the human form, and yet lacking heads and limbs, their incomplete
appearance quietly comments on the role of the human in this
technically-augmented realm, and whether there would be a place for the human
in this new environment. Perhaps more important though, is the query offered by
the artist on the right of mankind to engage in the act of augmenting what is
already in existence.<span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: PMingLiU; mso-fareast-language: ZH-TW; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><a href="file:///D:/Users/Brooke/Documents/posthuman_contemp_issues_essay.docx#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" title="">[1]</a></span></span><a href="file:///D:/Users/Brooke/Documents/posthuman_contemp_issues_essay.docx#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" title=""><!--[endif]--></a></span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis2KqJTnphzQ8wLcBTbhFl4Ss8o2AnO37K-EaKt9hItPOvlG6ZlQ3wkmsit3kPLaTadPo6mhxT55_VgiDgAlAo5PUhtyC7twnI8KwHDZqXk3DK4Pz50GYlbphVbglV8llM8kZCTqx6RHfP/s1600/Lee_Bul_cyborg_W6_2001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis2KqJTnphzQ8wLcBTbhFl4Ss8o2AnO37K-EaKt9hItPOvlG6ZlQ3wkmsit3kPLaTadPo6mhxT55_VgiDgAlAo5PUhtyC7twnI8KwHDZqXk3DK4Pz50GYlbphVbglV8llM8kZCTqx6RHfP/s1600/Lee_Bul_cyborg_W6_2001.jpg" height="320" width="251" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="page-break-after: avoid; text-align: center;">
<!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shapetype id="_x0000_t75"
coordsize="21600,21600" o:spt="75" o:preferrelative="t" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe"
filled="f" stroked="f">
<v:stroke joinstyle="miter"/>
<v:formulas>
<v:f eqn="if lineDrawn pixelLineWidth 0"/>
<v:f eqn="sum @0 1 0"/>
<v:f eqn="sum 0 0 @1"/>
<v:f eqn="prod @2 1 2"/>
<v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelWidth"/>
<v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelHeight"/>
<v:f eqn="sum @0 0 1"/>
<v:f eqn="prod @6 1 2"/>
<v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelWidth"/>
<v:f eqn="sum @8 21600 0"/>
<v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelHeight"/>
<v:f eqn="sum @10 21600 0"/>
</v:formulas>
<v:path o:extrusionok="f" gradientshapeok="t" o:connecttype="rect"/>
<o:lock v:ext="edit" aspectratio="t"/>
</v:shapetype><v:shape id="Picture_x0020_1" o:spid="_x0000_i1033" type="#_x0000_t75"
style='width:155.25pt;height:197.25pt;visibility:visible;mso-wrap-style:square'>
<v:imagedata src="file:///C:\Users\Brooke\AppData\Local\Temp\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image001.jpg"
o:title=""/>
</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoCaption" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 148.85pt; margin-right: 146.5pt; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: center;">
Figure
<!--[if supportFields]><span style='mso-element:field-begin'></span><span
style='mso-spacerun:yes'> </span>SEQ Figure \* ARABIC <span style='mso-element:
field-separator'></span><![endif]-->1<!--[if supportFields]><span
style='mso-element:field-end'></span><![endif]-->. Lee Bul, <i>Cyborg W6 </i>(2001). Hand-cut polyurethane
panels on fibreglass reinforced plastic, polyurethene coating. 232 x 67 x 67 cm<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
If the opportunity is made for the
cyborg to exist in the real world, to the degree that is understood in the
realms of fiction, then Bul has made it a point in her work to understand the
relationship that current humans would have with this post-human. She says,<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-left: 36.0pt; text-indent: 2.25pt;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
“I’m always concerned with ideas about the extension of the human body,
substitution of the human body,
transcending the flesh, and the desire for immortality,”<a href="file:///D:/Users/Brooke/Documents/posthuman_contemp_issues_essay.docx#_ftn2" name="_ftnref2" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: PMingLiU; mso-fareast-language: ZH-TW; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[2]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="file:///D:/Users/Brooke/Documents/posthuman_contemp_issues_essay.docx#_ftn2" name="_ftnref2" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: PMingLiU; mso-fareast-language: ZH-TW; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></span></span></a></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
Her works always appear as
incomplete forms, hinting towards the inability of the human to create a whole
and perfect replica of itself<a href="file:///D:/Users/Brooke/Documents/posthuman_contemp_issues_essay.docx#_ftn3" name="_ftnref3" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: PMingLiU; mso-fareast-language: ZH-TW; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[3]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>.
Her interest in the blurred line between the human and the mechanical is echoed
in fiction, and is a keystone theme in many cyberpunk stories. An appropriate
example would be the character of Motoko Kusanagi from the landmark <i>manga</i> series <i>Ghost in the Shell </i>(figure 2 below)<i>,</i> and its adapted film released in 1995 under the same name.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6-s7ZlsTDdy203j6Lh6yZ_aT-nfUTb6-jsBo4OM1p9-ar636TO0cNFDD7aWRE84yssd5mMjlJHaynyRyURFUrakfY_3eUO8-0RLtL3GSa2HWBzB0xLOqJRJRwsqfxxOEbc1dfiXTiacoq/s1600/GITS_poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6-s7ZlsTDdy203j6Lh6yZ_aT-nfUTb6-jsBo4OM1p9-ar636TO0cNFDD7aWRE84yssd5mMjlJHaynyRyURFUrakfY_3eUO8-0RLtL3GSa2HWBzB0xLOqJRJRwsqfxxOEbc1dfiXTiacoq/s1600/GITS_poster.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="page-break-after: avoid; text-align: center;">
<!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="Picture_x0020_2"
o:spid="_x0000_i1032" type="#_x0000_t75" style='width:161.25pt;height:239.25pt;
visibility:visible;mso-wrap-style:square'>
<v:imagedata src="file:///C:\Users\Brooke\AppData\Local\Temp\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image003.jpg"
o:title=""/>
</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoCaption" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 127.6pt; margin-right: 139.45pt; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: center;">
Figure
<!--[if supportFields]><span style='mso-element:field-begin'></span><span
style='mso-spacerun:yes'> </span>SEQ Figure \* ARABIC <span style='mso-element:
field-separator'></span><![endif]-->2<!--[if supportFields]><span
style='mso-element:field-end'></span><![endif]-->. <i>Ghost in the Shell </i>theatrical movie poster. Produced by Bandai,
Directed by Oshii Mamoru. Original Story by Shirow Masamune.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
Kusanagi’s role in the storyline is
that of a Major in a top secret task force, but the personal demons driving her
through the series relate directly to the definition of the human within the
cyborg. Only possessing a small amount of brain tissue, with the rest of her
body comprised of state-of-the-art technology, it is this character who is
constantly wrestling with the questions, <i>“Am
I human? What proof exists that I am not a computer program designed to think
it was human?”</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="line-height: 200%;">Fiction reflects the thoughts of
the day, and the relatory points between the cyberpunk </span><i style="line-height: 200%;">anime</i><span style="line-height: 200%;"> story told by Shirow Masamune (The creator of aforementioned
series) and Lee Bul’s deliberately incomplete cyborg bodies become clear upon
observation. Both creators, Bul and Masamune use their work as vehicles to
question the value of the human, especially when this living creature is able
to be changed and edited so effortlessly.</span><br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
Similar in thought but different in
output is the photographic series <i>A New
Kind of Beauty, </i>a series of photographs captured by Phillip Toledano. Taken
between 2008 and 2010, <i>A New Kind of
Beauty </i>is<i> </i>comprised of portraits
of people who have undergone radical plastic surgery<i>. </i>For some of the subjects, the changes are hard to detect. Others
wear features so different from the accepted norm that they cannot help but
draw the eye; their alien countenances conveying this strangeness with a
self-possessed and quiet dignity.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCMgn39-Tqs5sxY8QZQ9cNL2YUc1zKOm-FkfK6glHs6eynpdfKTRg4fHsw_uTn4VIRqKd_5h-1M2QZBHTxpBqwmX3ZNAoDgaDSqfK4sBPceLGR8VvWnUfz6GMFk2CcUuiwFmH9RnnYo0z_/s1600/phillip_toledano_angel_2009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCMgn39-Tqs5sxY8QZQ9cNL2YUc1zKOm-FkfK6glHs6eynpdfKTRg4fHsw_uTn4VIRqKd_5h-1M2QZBHTxpBqwmX3ZNAoDgaDSqfK4sBPceLGR8VvWnUfz6GMFk2CcUuiwFmH9RnnYo0z_/s1600/phillip_toledano_angel_2009.jpg" height="320" width="238" /></a></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="page-break-after: avoid; text-align: center;">
<!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="Picture_x0020_3"
o:spid="_x0000_i1031" type="#_x0000_t75" style='width:216.75pt;height:293.25pt;
visibility:visible;mso-wrap-style:square'>
<v:imagedata src="file:///C:\Users\Brooke\AppData\Local\Temp\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image004.jpg"
o:title="" cropright="34050f"/>
</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoCaption" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: center;">
Figure
<!--[if supportFields]><span style='mso-element:field-begin'></span><span
style='mso-spacerun:yes'> </span>SEQ Figure \* ARABIC <span style='mso-element:
field-separator'></span><![endif]-->3<!--[if supportFields]><span
style='mso-element:field-end'></span><![endif]-->. Phillip Toledano, <i>Angel </i>(2009)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
This kind of alteration deviates
from the idea presented by Bul in that the change is administered first and
foremost for aesthetic reasons. Toledano’s series of portraits showcase a type
of beauty that is able to be controlled and shaped by choice, resulting in
subjects who appear vastly different from the general populace. This kind of
human is one augmented and changed beyond a natural circumstance, and it is the
artist’s interest in this reshaping that draws the concept and thought for the
series.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
“In
50 or 100 years’ time, I think humanity won’t look like it does today because
of technology. …We will be able to redefine what it means to look human and I
think these people are the vanguard of that type of evolution,”<a href="file:///D:/Users/Brooke/Documents/posthuman_contemp_issues_essay.docx#_ftn4" name="_ftnref4" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: PMingLiU; mso-fareast-language: ZH-TW; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[4]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Toledano’s statement on the project
stands as an interesting observation on the present and a curious look into the
future. With the tools at humanity’s disposal, the question of augmentation for
aesthetics becomes not an ‘if’ but ‘when’, and ‘to what extent?’<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
This pursuit of aesthetics in
itself presents as a fascinating subject; the definition of what is
aesthetically pleasing having changed many times over years. Is then the
accepted aesthetic presently given subject to change? It would appear so, if
the cyclic nature of trends and fashions are anything to go by. Concepts and
aesthetics remain subject to time and the ability that plastic surgery bestows
in changing the human face and body at will brings to mind another series of
thoughts. Will the definition of beauty still be subject to change when the
alteration of a surgeon can cause change in the subject instead? And how will
the spectrum of beauty be changed by this artificial intervention? <a href="file:///D:/Users/Brooke/Documents/posthuman_contemp_issues_essay.docx#_ftn5" name="_ftnref5" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: PMingLiU; mso-fareast-language: ZH-TW; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[5]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
It would seem that the rising
popularity of plastic surgery allows the individual to pursue their concept of
beauty to the finest degree. One of the models of Toledano’s photographic
series, Justin Jedlica, is part of the niche ‘living doll’ aesthetic.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgRs-lYNwDE8CiyLTswM-yxxPyMlc37Nga9yPog1SjLcqWHN6BXSgLeJ74nXCLUT9ZJ4V6cLxLBujpWzDwj8pmVsV52hqOVqmSCw4K3djpKhDh2U_bK_MpU3C1tg0L1SaCTAWvGcSp7TTG/s1600/phillip_toledano_justin_2009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgRs-lYNwDE8CiyLTswM-yxxPyMlc37Nga9yPog1SjLcqWHN6BXSgLeJ74nXCLUT9ZJ4V6cLxLBujpWzDwj8pmVsV52hqOVqmSCw4K3djpKhDh2U_bK_MpU3C1tg0L1SaCTAWvGcSp7TTG/s1600/phillip_toledano_justin_2009.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="page-break-after: avoid; text-align: center;">
<!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="Picture_x0020_4"
o:spid="_x0000_i1030" type="#_x0000_t75" style='width:217.5pt;height:289.5pt;
visibility:visible;mso-wrap-style:square'>
<v:imagedata src="file:///C:\Users\Brooke\AppData\Local\Temp\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image006.jpg"
o:title=""/>
</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoCaption" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: center;">
Figure
<!--[if supportFields]><span style='mso-element:field-begin'></span><span
style='mso-spacerun:yes'> </span>SEQ Figure \* ARABIC <span style='mso-element:
field-separator'></span><![endif]-->4<!--[if supportFields]><span
style='mso-element:field-end'></span><![endif]-->. Phillip Toledano, <i>Justin, </i>(2009)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
Jedlica, along with the ‘human
Barbie’ Valeria Lukyanova, are examples of humans who have taken to the optical
illusions of makeup and the more extreme alterations offered by surgery in
pursuit of their ideal of beauty – that of the impossibly proportioned and
shaped dolls Barbie and Ken, childhood doll toys manufactured by Mattel.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim9mGl3_ps-uJVicTxJSBjQQZQKF0YOJmyEHPXS4ad-ZJfmreBjg9fcRl3JMG2Vkp8vDDUqEzl3aUPF1QaPbETNIJJWbD8q4PNqGxJo2W37E5smWFopIaROOMLNh2rxHm6JC0-Ht3GtzAf/s1600/jedlica_lukyanova_human_dolls_inside_edition.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim9mGl3_ps-uJVicTxJSBjQQZQKF0YOJmyEHPXS4ad-ZJfmreBjg9fcRl3JMG2Vkp8vDDUqEzl3aUPF1QaPbETNIJJWbD8q4PNqGxJo2W37E5smWFopIaROOMLNh2rxHm6JC0-Ht3GtzAf/s1600/jedlica_lukyanova_human_dolls_inside_edition.jpg" height="320" width="220" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="page-break-after: avoid; text-align: center;">
<!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="Picture_x0020_5"
o:spid="_x0000_i1029" type="#_x0000_t75" style='width:171.75pt;height:249.75pt;
visibility:visible;mso-wrap-style:square'>
<v:imagedata src="file:///C:\Users\Brooke\AppData\Local\Temp\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image008.jpg"
o:title=""/>
</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoCaption" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 5.0cm; margin-right: 139.45pt; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: center;">
Figure
<!--[if supportFields]><span style='mso-element:field-begin'></span><span
style='mso-spacerun:yes'> </span>SEQ Figure \* ARABIC <span style='mso-element:
field-separator'></span><![endif]-->5<!--[if supportFields]><span
style='mso-element:field-end'></span><![endif]-->. Justin Jedlica and Valeria
Lukyanova. Photo copyright of Inside Edition.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
This aesthetic, offered by a doll
company, is what inspired Jedlica and Lukyanova to alter their bodies to fit.
According to Jedlica, ‘Children play with Barbie and Ken all the time so it’s
fed to us from a very young age that that is the epitome of what is beautiful
or what is handsome.’<a href="file:///D:/Users/Brooke/Documents/posthuman_contemp_issues_essay.docx#_ftn6" name="_ftnref6" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: PMingLiU; mso-fareast-language: ZH-TW; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[6]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
This thought is echoed in
Toledano’s artist statement on <i>A New Kind
of Beauty</i> – one of his many queries centering on the recent ability to
completely reshape the aesthetic appearance of a human; ‘When we re-make
ourselves, are we revealing our true character, or are we stripping away our
very identity?’ <a href="file:///D:/Users/Brooke/Documents/posthuman_contemp_issues_essay.docx#_ftn7" name="_ftnref7" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: PMingLiU; mso-fareast-language: ZH-TW; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[7]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>The
artist does not bring about a conclusion to the rhetoric, but instead invites
the public to interact with the photographic series, composed and laid out in a
style deliberately referencing 16<sup>th</sup> century artist Hans Holbein the
Younger<a href="file:///D:/Users/Brooke/Documents/posthuman_contemp_issues_essay.docx#_ftn8" name="_ftnref8" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: PMingLiU; mso-fareast-language: ZH-TW; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[8]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>,
a landmark portraiture artist of his time.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
This new and potentially unsettling
method of pursuing perfection can have a variety of ramifications for the
unsuspecting member of public. So different is the drive behind this thought
pattern, it almost certainly warrants a different method of interaction between
the altered and the unaltered. There is also much to be said for an
individual’s identification to the rest of society when so much about them can
be changed, permanently. How would the uninitiated relate to the individual
capable of such an extreme morphing? They are clearly not the same as they were
before, and yet it is only the physical appearance of the individual that has
changed. This interaction of opposing concepts often leaves the general public
with the difficult task of relation and navigation amid a maze of social
conforms and expectations that is defined by the individual.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
What then can be said of the
post-human in this environment? It now appears that the human is granted the
ability to determine their own shape, and set of physical aesthetics. These
personal aesthetics in turn are influenced by the time in which the individual
lives, and the amount of change possible is limited only by the current range
of techniques and surgeries marked as ‘ideal’ or ‘safe’ by medical practitioners.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
This ability to determine the
countenance of the individual brings with it a new set of thoughts and
arguments in turn – what can be said of the face that people were born with?
Society is given the ability to obtain more than what was given at birth, and
there are those who would grasp it in pursuit of their own aesthetic. It brings
into question the inherent value of the appearance of an unaltered human. In a
society where so much of the value of an individual is determined simply at
face value, the post-human has the potential to change much of what is valued
in the current and future generations.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
The advent of this change affects
clearly the environment of not only those who partake in it, but those who
inhabit the same sphere. This outfall of change, like everything that happens
in the known world, has to be governed by a certain power, and it is this
governance that allows the change to cohesively blend with society. Simply put,
there must be an entity or entities that are called to responsibility as a
result of this introduced set of ideas.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
Enter Eduardo Kac. Kac’s art
focuses on the puzzle of genetics and deliberate mutation, of working on a
basal level with the building blocks that determine the physical and
physiological makeup of living things. Particularly brought to attention is his
genetic work from 2000, the <i>GFP Bunny (</i>also
known as<i> </i>Alba<i>)</i>.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwz6Pw-lsrd7J-HkBhTrMcKzeiJrNVR3o4YUsu6HXnA-R__uv23esU2zPzXcIJpGw9bSYSbeAJ7YxTQLVc-TB3DIz3HebObqyGGUKPHAfMaJT8hfkfadcsG7T1xpBUlfBGyfYnT-ibIYex/s1600/eudardo_kac_GFP_bunny_2000.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwz6Pw-lsrd7J-HkBhTrMcKzeiJrNVR3o4YUsu6HXnA-R__uv23esU2zPzXcIJpGw9bSYSbeAJ7YxTQLVc-TB3DIz3HebObqyGGUKPHAfMaJT8hfkfadcsG7T1xpBUlfBGyfYnT-ibIYex/s1600/eudardo_kac_GFP_bunny_2000.jpeg" height="264" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="page-break-after: avoid; text-align: center;">
<!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="Picture_x0020_6"
o:spid="_x0000_i1028" type="#_x0000_t75" style='width:4in;height:237.75pt;
visibility:visible;mso-wrap-style:square'>
<v:imagedata src="file:///C:\Users\Brooke\AppData\Local\Temp\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image010.jpg"
o:title=""/>
</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoCaption" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: center;">
Figure
<!--[if supportFields]><span style='mso-element:field-begin'></span><span
style='mso-spacerun:yes'> </span>SEQ Figure \* ARABIC <span style='mso-element:
field-separator'></span><![endif]-->6<!--[if supportFields]><span
style='mso-element:field-end'></span><![endif]-->. Eduardo Kac, <i>GFP Bunny (Alba) </i>2000<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Of the creature, Kac has stated, </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
‘transgenic art is a new art form based on the use of genetic engineering to
create unique living beings. This must be done with great care, with
acknowledgement of the complex issues raised and, above all, with a commitment
to respect, nurture and love the life thus created.’<a href="file:///D:/Users/Brooke/Documents/posthuman_contemp_issues_essay.docx#_ftn9" name="_ftnref9" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: PMingLiU; mso-fareast-language: ZH-TW; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[9]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="file:///D:/Users/Brooke/Documents/posthuman_contemp_issues_essay.docx#_ftn9" name="_ftnref9" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: PMingLiU; mso-fareast-language: ZH-TW; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></span></span></a></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
The year before, Eduardo Kac had
proposed the concept of a dog with the GFP gene to the symposium ‘Life Science’
presented by Ars Electronica.<a href="file:///D:/Users/Brooke/Documents/posthuman_contemp_issues_essay.docx#_ftn10" name="_ftnref10" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: PMingLiU; mso-fareast-language: ZH-TW; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[10]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
It was met with a variety of responses, ranging from outright refusal to complete
support, but was limited by technology available at the time<a href="file:///D:/Users/Brooke/Documents/posthuman_contemp_issues_essay.docx#_ftn11" name="_ftnref11" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: PMingLiU; mso-fareast-language: ZH-TW; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[11]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>.
Kac’s desire had been to investigate new methods of breeding in dogs, the
well-associated closest animals to humans. This initial plan was adapted to the
<i>GFP Bunny, </i>known to the general
public as ‘Alba’.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
After the birth of Alba, Kac had
requested to take the laboratory-born animal home, and was met with refusal.
Subsequently, he began to raise awareness of the situation, sensationalising
his request and bringing it into the public eye.<a href="file:///D:/Users/Brooke/Documents/posthuman_contemp_issues_essay.docx#_ftn12" name="_ftnref12" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: PMingLiU; mso-fareast-language: ZH-TW; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[12]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
This compounded the unique creature’s situation, as her creation just months
prior had created a stir all over the world in various forms of media.<a href="file:///D:/Users/Brooke/Documents/posthuman_contemp_issues_essay.docx#_ftn13" name="_ftnref13" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: PMingLiU; mso-fareast-language: ZH-TW; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[13]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
Whether the motive for the artist to personally obtain the rabbit in order to
possess the fame that came with the animal or to properly care for the creature
is not sure, but Kac’s statement pertaining directly to the creature seems to
indicate that he had a deep-seated desire to take personal responsibility for
the animal he had manufactured.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
This sense of obligation towards
the created was not limited exclusively to Alba the rabbit; as Kac’s other
works indicate. <i>Natural History of the
Enigma</i> was a work created by Kac between 2003 and 2008 and was focused on a
‘plantimal’ created by the artist. Named an ‘Edunia’, the creation was a
genetically modified petunia, which had been modified to incorporate the
artist’s genetic pattern for immunoglobin.<a href="file:///D:/Users/Brooke/Documents/posthuman_contemp_issues_essay.docx#_ftn14" name="_ftnref14" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: PMingLiU; mso-fareast-language: ZH-TW; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[14]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
A component of blood commonly known as ‘antibodies’, the immunoglobin was
encoded into the plant’s genetic makeup, and its presence in the finished
product was made evident by the bright red veins lining the flowers of the
‘plantimal’<a href="file:///D:/Users/Brooke/Documents/posthuman_contemp_issues_essay.docx#_ftn15" name="_ftnref15" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: PMingLiU; mso-fareast-language: ZH-TW; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[15]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>.
Kac dubbed the creation as ‘plantimal’, citing it as a mix of plant and animal,
something which would never grow in the wild. In naming the plant an ‘Edunia’,
he gave it his own name, and as a result extended his ownership and subsequent
onus of responsibility to it as well. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgABGhEyWNOyyAEVkJLtieGh-B9ki_aNk1QrdHgYmcTN34llYVs-9P-k7B6n40kNikKAzKs_DKl3V3sRxiOEVg6J5lNYq2h2G_COn-n3dIaSvkNB4agnki9VbBAzJhXpjHUXA5BQGwQLPFz/s1600/eduardo_kac_watering_edunia_2009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgABGhEyWNOyyAEVkJLtieGh-B9ki_aNk1QrdHgYmcTN34llYVs-9P-k7B6n40kNikKAzKs_DKl3V3sRxiOEVg6J5lNYq2h2G_COn-n3dIaSvkNB4agnki9VbBAzJhXpjHUXA5BQGwQLPFz/s1600/eduardo_kac_watering_edunia_2009.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="page-break-after: avoid; text-align: center;">
<!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="Picture_x0020_7"
o:spid="_x0000_i1027" type="#_x0000_t75" style='width:192.75pt;height:289.5pt;
visibility:visible;mso-wrap-style:square'>
<v:imagedata src="file:///C:\Users\Brooke\AppData\Local\Temp\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image012.jpg"
o:title=""/>
</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoCaption" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 127.6pt; margin-right: 125.25pt; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: center;">
Figure
<!--[if supportFields]><span style='mso-element:field-begin'></span><span
style='mso-spacerun:yes'> </span>SEQ Figure \* ARABIC <span style='mso-element:
field-separator'></span><![endif]-->7<!--[if supportFields]><span
style='mso-element:field-end'></span><![endif]-->. Eduardo Kac watering Edunia,
2009. Photo: Joy Lengyel<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Somehow,
Kac manages to inhabit two seemingly opposing trains of thought when explaining
the concept of <i>Natural History of the
Enigma</i>. On one side, the conceptual reach of the artwork was designed to
show off the ability of genetic splicing in creating a relation between the
classified kingdoms <i>Plantae</i> and <i>Animalia</i>. On the other, the artist
states that ‘all life, no matter how similar, is fundamentally different. All
life is singular.’<a href="file:///D:/Users/Brooke/Documents/posthuman_contemp_issues_essay.docx#_ftn16" name="_ftnref16" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: PMingLiU; mso-fareast-language: ZH-TW; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[16]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
These two concepts find correlation in the artist’s desire to take responsibility
for what is created; something that is made evident through the events
surrounding both <i>GFP Bunny (Alba) </i>and
<i>Natural History of the Enigma</i>. It is
seen that in both cases, the artist tries to take as much responsibility as can
be held for his genetic creations.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
This overarching theme of
responsibility is also addressed by Australian artist Patricia Piccinini,
although the application of said action is rather different. Piccinini’s works
are nonliving, hyper-realistic creations, resembling genetic creatures altered
to a much greater degree than that used by Kac.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
An example in point would be the
mixed-media sculpture <i>Surrogate for the
Northern Hairy-Nosed Wombat.</i> The work is of a theoretical creature,
designed for the purpose of breeding back from endangerment the rare wombat,
whose declining numbers can be attributed in part to human error.<a href="file:///D:/Users/Brooke/Documents/posthuman_contemp_issues_essay.docx#_ftn17" name="_ftnref17" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: PMingLiU; mso-fareast-language: ZH-TW; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[17]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
The artwork raises thoughts among its audience of what extent society could use
biotechnology to undo damage done to flora and fauna of the environments we inhabit.<a href="file:///D:/Users/Brooke/Documents/posthuman_contemp_issues_essay.docx#_ftn18" name="_ftnref18" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: PMingLiU; mso-fareast-language: ZH-TW; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[18]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a><o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="page-break-after: avoid; text-align: center;">
<!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="Picture_x0020_8"
o:spid="_x0000_i1026" type="#_x0000_t75" style='width:172.5pt;height:258.75pt;
visibility:visible;mso-wrap-style:square'>
<v:imagedata src="file:///C:\Users\Brooke\AppData\Local\Temp\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image014.jpg"
o:title=""/>
</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2X_Qd5Eo9KoiBbyqfLeDqVpB56-bkfN282Zs6J9m4HCpU5WGXl_QZVhiaKlhA2vBr4balYDmHXT0xXrEfg_Fdy-Cr-GkMUE0X8BJEXxcJt1faNnpWqWLQD-G8Dt55Ph4IPCiC45Is3Rgn/s1600/patricia_piccinini_surrogate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2X_Qd5Eo9KoiBbyqfLeDqVpB56-bkfN282Zs6J9m4HCpU5WGXl_QZVhiaKlhA2vBr4balYDmHXT0xXrEfg_Fdy-Cr-GkMUE0X8BJEXxcJt1faNnpWqWLQD-G8Dt55Ph4IPCiC45Is3Rgn/s1600/patricia_piccinini_surrogate.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoCaption" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 5.0cm; margin-right: 139.45pt; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: center;">
Figure
<!--[if supportFields]><span style='mso-element:field-begin'></span><span
style='mso-spacerun:yes'> </span>SEQ Figure \* ARABIC <span style='mso-element:
field-separator'></span><![endif]-->8<!--[if supportFields]><span
style='mso-element:field-end'></span><![endif]-->. Patricia Piccinini, <i>Nature’s Little Helpers –Surrogate (for the
Northern Hairy Nosed Wombat) </i>(2004) (rear view) Silicone, fibreglass,
leather, plywood, hair. Dimensions variable<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
In this case, Piccinini is
absolutely nodding to the question of responsibility. Would we hold ourselves
responsible for errors or actions done in the past? And would we be willing to
do something about the situation as a result? Her work contrasts to that of Kac
in the degree of which this theme is employed. Kac for a large part seems to
allow his statements and actions to speak quietly of the responsibility
inherent in creating life. Piccinini’s works by contrast take the
responsibility required and petition the viewer to take it up. This petitioning
usually comes across in her artworks through their uncanny resemblance to
humans, in spite of their often animalian features.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYH12qhvXX8920zH9ONQ_n40jUkuzlcts0HRO5f9ltyHFl-sS0qftZmun3gdXLGpDv33ZBKkc9LnCy1z2BVPdR4uibwZw-o086lyCGy_aN_kVDQpwVpFHtO-hB_EOn0B0S-PI5fzaemcje/s1600/patricia_piccinini_young_family.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYH12qhvXX8920zH9ONQ_n40jUkuzlcts0HRO5f9ltyHFl-sS0qftZmun3gdXLGpDv33ZBKkc9LnCy1z2BVPdR4uibwZw-o086lyCGy_aN_kVDQpwVpFHtO-hB_EOn0B0S-PI5fzaemcje/s1600/patricia_piccinini_young_family.jpg" height="264" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="page-break-after: avoid; text-align: center;">
<!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="Picture_x0020_9"
o:spid="_x0000_i1025" type="#_x0000_t75" style='width:271.5pt;height:224.25pt;
visibility:visible;mso-wrap-style:square'>
<v:imagedata src="file:///C:\Users\Brooke\AppData\Local\Temp\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image016.jpg"
o:title=""/>
</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoCaption" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 3.0cm; margin-right: 82.75pt; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: center;">
Figure
<!--[if supportFields]><span style='mso-element:field-begin'></span><span
style='mso-spacerun:yes'> </span>SEQ Figure \* ARABIC <span style='mso-element:
field-separator'></span><![endif]-->9<!--[if supportFields]><span
style='mso-element:field-end'></span><![endif]-->. Patricia Piccinini, <i>The Young Family, </i>(2002) Silicone,
polyurethane, leather, human hair. Dimensions variable.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
In <i>The Young Family</i>, one of Piccinini’s most well-known works, the
resemblance of the creatures to human inspires both familiarity and revulsion.
It is like us, and at the same time very much not like us. How should we react
to it? It has an appearance completely different from any creature we know of,
and therefore would be considered artificial; a result of genetic tinkering.
Who then takes responsibility for the creature and its offspring? The clear
mother of the scene has by extension of her motherhood taken responsibility of
the creatures; of her offspring. She
challenges the viewer, and yet does not need to be taken to task for the same
challenge; she already has something to care for. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
Piccinini is less subtle in her thematic
use of responsibility in creating life, but is no less interested in the
concept than Kac.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
What then can be said of these
artists when relating to the post-human? Each has a different manner in which
their art and conceptual work is expressed, but all boil down to one particular
idea: the inherent value of the human.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br />
For Bul, her fascination centres on
the blurring of lines between the human and technology in pursuit of
perfection. Her fragmented cyborgs ask quietly what it would mean to be human and
why it is that the cyborg cannot holistically exist without the human (although
by definition, a cyborg requires interface with a human to exist). Bul
investigates the right of mankind to intervene and right ‘human imperfection’<a href="file:///D:/Users/Brooke/Documents/posthuman_contemp_issues_essay.docx#_ftn19" name="_ftnref19" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: PMingLiU; mso-fareast-language: ZH-TW; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[19]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
through technology and its incorporation into the human body.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br />
Toledano presents a different look
at the inherent value of the human; similar to Bul is the incorporation of
foreign materials into the body, but the focus lies in aesthetics and the
pursuit of beauty, even boiling down to the individual definitions given for
beauty among society. In this self-defined world, the natural body is subject
to alteration and augmentation, to a point where it is no longer recognisable
from its native state. The desire is not for the base human form, but for the
capturing of ‘a particular part of beauty from our time’.<a href="file:///D:/Users/Brooke/Documents/posthuman_contemp_issues_essay.docx#_ftn20" name="_ftnref20" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: PMingLiU; mso-fareast-language: ZH-TW; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[20]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br />
Overarching and yet still very much
related then, is the practise of Kac. Focused on the reactions to the
post-human, Kac’s evidenced desire for responsibility taken for his creations
reflect a different outlook on the augmentation of the human form or the forms
seen in the environment of the human. The concept is understood as taking
responsibility for the creation, no matter what is actually created. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br />
This concept of responsibility
relates strongly to the value of the human on two levels; firstly, it
acknowledges that the post-human is something entirely different from the
human, and thus cannot be given the same set of rules for interaction with
society as given to its predecessor. Secondly, if the human is to be credited
and held responsible for the creation of the new creature, the post-human
cannot be credited as greater than the human. They co-exist, equal and yet
different.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br />
The concept of the post-human and
its reoccurrence in modern art often raises questions. It’s a relatively new
concept, and can be very confronting. This stems from a very simple source: by
creating the post-human, we are changing something intensely personal to
society and to the human race, calling into question something that is
unequivocally shared by everyone. By changing the makeup of the human, we
create a new set of rules required to correctly engage with the subject. This
is not limited to the social circle, as this new set of rules overflows into
how the post-human must be governed and cared for by society, and how the human
and post-human would value each other.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br />
The definition of the post-human,
it would seem then, is the augmented human. The human that blurs the defining
lines between themselves and their environment, creating change for the sake of
change, but at the same time taking responsibility for their alterations,
concurrently existing as human and post-human: progenor and progeny.<o:p></o:p></div>
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: PMingLiU; mso-fareast-language: ZH-TW; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br clear="all" style="mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" />
</span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h1>
<span lang="EN-US">Bibliography<o:p></o:p></span><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: PMingLiU; mso-fareast-language: ZH-TW; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><w:sdtpr></w:sdtpr></span></h1>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
Art Gallery of South Australia.
“Patricia Piccinini: education resource” Last accessed 06/06/13 <a href="http://www.artgallery.sa.gov.au/agsa/home/Learning/docs/Online_Resources/Piccinini_online_resource.pdf">http://www.artgallery.sa.gov.au/agsa/home/Learning/docs/Online_Resources/Piccinini_online_resource.pdf</a><o:p></o:p><w:sdtpr></w:sdtpr></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
Bul, Lee. <i>Lee Bul. </i>Sydney: Museum of Contemporary Art, 2004<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
Dixon, Joan Broadhurst &
Cassidy, Eric J, editors, <i>Virtual
futures: cyberotics, technology and post-human pragmatism. </i>London and New
York: Routledge, 1998<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
Eduardo Kac. “Natural History of
the Edunia” Last modified 06/06/13 http://www.ekac.org/nat.hist.enig.html<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
Gautherot, Frank. ‘Supernova in
Kareoke Land’ <i>Flash Art International, </i>no.217,
March-April 2001, Kac, Eduardo, <i>Signs
of Life: Bio Art and Beyond. </i>Cambridge: MIT Press, 2006<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
Masamune Shirow, Mamoru Oshii, <i>Ghost in the Shell </i>(motion picture),
Bandai Entertainment, 1995<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
Mr. Toledano. “A New Kind of
Beauty” Last modified 06/06/13. <a href="http://www.mrtoledano.com/a-new-kind-of-beauty">http://www.mrtoledano.com/a-new-kind-of-beauty</a><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
The Slate. Rosenberg, David.
“Classical Portraits of Extreme Plastic Surgery”. Last modified 06/06/13.
http://www.slate.com/blogs/behold/2013/04/04/phillip_toledano_a_new_kind_of_beauty_examines_people_who_redefine_what.html<o:p></o:p></div>
<w:sdt docparttype="Bibliographies" docpartunique="t" id="-1585844744" sdtdocpart="t">
<w:sdt bibliography="t" id="111145805">
</w:sdt></w:sdt>
<br />
<div>
<!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><br clear="all" />
<hr align="left" size="1" width="33%" />
<!--[endif]-->
<br />
<div id="ftn1">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText">
<a href="file:///D:/Users/Brooke/Documents/posthuman_contemp_issues_essay.docx#_ftnref1" name="_ftn1" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: PMingLiU; mso-fareast-language: ZH-TW; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[1]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
Lee Bul, <i>Lee Bul </i>(Sydney: Museum of
Contemporary Art, 2004). p8<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn2">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText">
<a href="file:///D:/Users/Brooke/Documents/posthuman_contemp_issues_essay.docx#_ftnref2" name="_ftn2" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: PMingLiU; mso-fareast-language: ZH-TW; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[2]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
Lee Bul quoted in Frank Gautherot, ‘Supernova in Kareoke Land’ <i>Flash Art International, </i>no.217,
March-April 2001, p82<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn3">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText">
<a href="file:///D:/Users/Brooke/Documents/posthuman_contemp_issues_essay.docx#_ftnref3" name="_ftn3" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: PMingLiU; mso-fareast-language: ZH-TW; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[3]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
Lee Bul, <i>Lee Bul </i>(Sydney: Museum of
Contemporary Art, 2004). p8<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn4">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText">
<a href="file:///D:/Users/Brooke/Documents/posthuman_contemp_issues_essay.docx#_ftnref4" name="_ftn4" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: PMingLiU; mso-fareast-language: ZH-TW; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[4]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
“Classical Portraits of Extreme Plastic Surgery”. Last modified 06/06/13. http://www.slate.com/blogs/behold/2013/04/04/phillip_toledano_a_new_kind_of_beauty_examines_people_who_redefine_what.html<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn5">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText">
<a href="file:///D:/Users/Brooke/Documents/posthuman_contemp_issues_essay.docx#_ftnref5" name="_ftn5" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: PMingLiU; mso-fareast-language: ZH-TW; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[5]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
“Artist’s statement, <i>A New Kind of
Beauty”</i> Last modified 06/06/13. http://www.mrtoledano.com/a-new-kind-of-beauty<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn6">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText">
<a href="file:///D:/Users/Brooke/Documents/posthuman_contemp_issues_essay.docx#_ftnref6" name="_ftn6" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: PMingLiU; mso-fareast-language: ZH-TW; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[6]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
“Classical Portraits of Extreme Plastic Surgery”. Last modified 06/06/13. http://www.slate.com/blogs/behold/2013/04/04/phillip_toledano_a_new_kind_of_beauty_examines_people_who_redefine_what.html<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn7">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText">
<a href="file:///D:/Users/Brooke/Documents/posthuman_contemp_issues_essay.docx#_ftnref7" name="_ftn7" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: PMingLiU; mso-fareast-language: ZH-TW; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[7]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
“Artist’s statement, <i>A New Kind of
Beauty”</i> Last modified 06/06/13. http://www.mrtoledano.com/a-new-kind-of-beauty<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn8">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText">
<a href="file:///D:/Users/Brooke/Documents/posthuman_contemp_issues_essay.docx#_ftnref8" name="_ftn8" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: PMingLiU; mso-fareast-language: ZH-TW; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[8]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
“Classical Portraits of Extreme Plastic Surgery”<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn9">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText">
<a href="file:///D:/Users/Brooke/Documents/posthuman_contemp_issues_essay.docx#_ftnref9" name="_ftn9" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: PMingLiU; mso-fareast-language: ZH-TW; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[9]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
Eduardo Kac, <i>Signs of Life: Bio Art and
Beyond </i>(Cambridge: MIT Press, 2006), p165<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn10">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText">
<a href="file:///D:/Users/Brooke/Documents/posthuman_contemp_issues_essay.docx#_ftnref10" name="_ftn10" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: PMingLiU; mso-fareast-language: ZH-TW; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[10]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
Kac, <i>Signs of Life: Bio Art and Beyond. </i>P165<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn11">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText">
<a href="file:///D:/Users/Brooke/Documents/posthuman_contemp_issues_essay.docx#_ftnref11" name="_ftn11" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: PMingLiU; mso-fareast-language: ZH-TW; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[11]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a> ibid.
p164-165<i><o:p></o:p></i></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn12">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText">
<a href="file:///D:/Users/Brooke/Documents/posthuman_contemp_issues_essay.docx#_ftnref12" name="_ftn12" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: PMingLiU; mso-fareast-language: ZH-TW; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[12]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
ibid. p165, 170<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn13">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText">
<a href="file:///D:/Users/Brooke/Documents/posthuman_contemp_issues_essay.docx#_ftnref13" name="_ftn13" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: PMingLiU; mso-fareast-language: ZH-TW; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[13]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
Ibid. p166-169<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn14">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText">
<a href="file:///D:/Users/Brooke/Documents/posthuman_contemp_issues_essay.docx#_ftnref14" name="_ftn14" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: PMingLiU; mso-fareast-language: ZH-TW; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[14]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
“Natural History of the Edunia” Last modified 06/06/13 http://www.ekac.org/nat.hist.enig.html<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn15">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText">
<a href="file:///D:/Users/Brooke/Documents/posthuman_contemp_issues_essay.docx#_ftnref15" name="_ftn15" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: PMingLiU; mso-fareast-language: ZH-TW; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[15]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
“Natural History of the Edunia”<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn16">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText">
<a href="file:///D:/Users/Brooke/Documents/posthuman_contemp_issues_essay.docx#_ftnref16" name="_ftn16" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: PMingLiU; mso-fareast-language: ZH-TW; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[16]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
“Natural History of the Edunia”<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn17">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText">
<a href="file:///D:/Users/Brooke/Documents/posthuman_contemp_issues_essay.docx#_ftnref17" name="_ftn17" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: PMingLiU; mso-fareast-language: ZH-TW; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[17]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
“Patricia Piccinini: education resource” p13. Last accessed 06/06/13 http://www.artgallery.sa.gov.au/agsa/home/Learning/docs/Online_Resources/Piccinini_online_resource.pdf<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn18">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText">
<a href="file:///D:/Users/Brooke/Documents/posthuman_contemp_issues_essay.docx#_ftnref18" name="_ftn18" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: PMingLiU; mso-fareast-language: ZH-TW; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[18]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
“Patricia Piccinini: education resource” p13<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn19">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText">
<a href="file:///D:/Users/Brooke/Documents/posthuman_contemp_issues_essay.docx#_ftnref19" name="_ftn19" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: PMingLiU; mso-fareast-language: ZH-TW; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[19]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
Lee Bul, <i>Lee Bul </i>(Sydney: Museum of
Contemporary Art, 2004). p8<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn20">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText">
<a href="file:///D:/Users/Brooke/Documents/posthuman_contemp_issues_essay.docx#_ftnref20" name="_ftn20" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: PMingLiU; mso-fareast-language: ZH-TW; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[20]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
“Classical Portraits of Extreme Plastic Surgery”. Last modified 06/06/13.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
</div>
Brooke Hazelgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17228687318382639880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3249097400897693255.post-65959127125665364442014-06-04T21:17:00.001-07:002014-06-05T00:32:22.748-07:00Inadequacy versus gospelHey.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpTNSxmZGplX9bw0iBYWy9_SfFOn9j6mjEwIcxyrS_8D72wzLb85lJRn-dnGWqOT2atRwUnFwczW0cag-QmyjYit9VbbKRUaM6hV-j2bTPigx71wjoS46SS9vQ2PSr2XUOYwcj7vQrFiRw/s1600/F1010023.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpTNSxmZGplX9bw0iBYWy9_SfFOn9j6mjEwIcxyrS_8D72wzLb85lJRn-dnGWqOT2atRwUnFwczW0cag-QmyjYit9VbbKRUaM6hV-j2bTPigx71wjoS46SS9vQ2PSr2XUOYwcj7vQrFiRw/s1600/F1010023.JPG" height="214" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
So, I've got half a dozen half finished posts on my life and how things have been for the last five months.<br />
<br />
They mostly relate to the challenge I've had of finding work, of living on the smell of an oily rag, and on the challenge to be content with all of this, and to trust God in the middle of it.<br />
<br />
It's been a hard road, and I'm not expecting it to get easier anytime soon, but I'm learning a lot from it, and I guess that's a good thing. So I'm going to keep on going, while nutting through more big questions than I've ever had to deal with in my life before.<br />
<br />
I mean, there's only, like, two or three of them, but that's a 300% increase on big questions I'm wrestling with seriously, so it's keeping me sharp.<br />
<br />
This blog post is about one of those questions.<br />
<br />
See, one of the challenges I'm having with my life at the moment is, do I consider full-time ministry?<br />
<br />
And I've got this big mental list of reasons for and against - it's a list of concerns and hopes and all it has really done is put more questions into my head.<br />
<br />
I mean,<br />
<br />
I'm concerned that I'm not at the perceived standard I need to be at to consider full-time ministry. I struggle with reading my bible every day. I think the last time I tried to have a gospel conversation with someone was about a year ago. I don't have a whole lot of non-Christian friends, or at least, not a lot that I have regular face-to-face contact with. It's difficult to have a conversation about Jesus and then invite said person to church when they live in Sydney, or on the other side of the world. I'm scared to share the gospel, despite the fact that I know enough to do so. I do what I can with ministry already, but can see my limits in what I have time to do, and the level of responsibility I can handle/am given reflects where I am, which doesn't feel like 'ready to take on an apprenticeship position at church'.<br />
<br />
I'm concerned that I'd let the perceived status of the position go to my head. That the childlike equation of 'Church worker therefore competent/zealous/'perfect' Christian' would stay fixed, and I wouldn't be able to dispel it. I'd have to face off against the inside of my head and the challenge of making my relationship with God faith-based and not works-based - which has been a constant challenge in my life, and probably one of the marks of inheritance I received from the denomination my parents used to serve in.<br />
<br />
I'm concerned that I'm thinking about full-time ministry because I can't expect to find work anywhere else, and would be hoping to find work in the church, but at the same time, be helping in the small ways that go unnoticed and don't require me to wander too far from my shell. I mean, everyone needs a supply runner, right? I can do admin stuff and not have to be called to task; be called to the hardest and pointiest parts of Gospel work.<br />
<br />
These among others are my concerns. They're buds, small things that I can see as problems in my life that could interfere with Gospel work, if left unchecked.<br />
<br />
It's a big list of what-ifs and maybes and potential negatives, and I don't really have a list equal in size to balance it. I do have these thoughts though.<br />
<br />
When I was doing WAVE this year; when I was part of FORGE last year, I felt the purpose and the urgency of the gospel. I was part of something bigger, and we moved with purpose, and learned with purpose, and I could tell, that if there was something worthwhile in my life that I could do - really, actually worthwhile, then perhaps Ministry would be it.<br />
<br />
I felt that if I threw my life at the gospel, then maybe it would be worthwhile. I was finishing my uni degree, realising that it was coming to an end and that once it was finished, I would be unleashed on a world that really didn't give two squats about my work or my life. None of it would really change the world. None of what I could make with my own hands would exist after I was gone, if that.<br />
<br />
But what of ministry? What if I could do something that would have an impact beyond the here and now?<br />
<br />
It's always been a challenge looking at things and holding eternity next to them, but I didn't have the same sense of uselessness looking at this in that way.<br />
<br />
What does that lead me to now?<br />
<br />
I'm still thinking through things. I'm quiet, so it's difficult to talk about something this big to any one person, particularly, as you can see, because the concepts I'm dealing with are half-formed; unfinished. I'm dealing with a lot of maybe and not much solid-state stuff. I don't trust my heart, or at least, I'm very cautious about chasing after a perceived notion.<br />
<br />
I'm aware that doing an apprenticeship in church ministry would break me from the inside out. I'm aware that it would cause me to feel a lot of pain, and a lot of joy, and a lot of gospel.<br />
<br />
But I think I'm prepared for that notion. To have the fairy-tale and the 'oh, they're an MTS-er, they have their Christian walk all together' blown wide open. I don't know if I'm capable of it though. I don't know if anyone would want me for the task.<br />
<br />
(That's not passive-aggressive or anything, by the way. I'm genuinely looking at my faults and knowing them, concerned that I'm vastly inadequate for the task and wondering if I should try now or build up some more skills and try later.)<br />
<br />
I know that we grow to the tank we're in, and that while I'm inadequate now, I'm hoping that maybe that would change if I went down this path. Maybe I would grow to what was required, if I was willing. Anyway.<br />
<br />
It seems hypocritical to say 'I can't talk to any one person about this' and then blog it, but I think it's easier to blog thoughts. I'm taking you through a narrative, where we start with one set of thoughts, and then go through a process, and then end up at a conclusive point. I'm taking you through the inside of my head, on a well-worn path, pointing out the things that are problems and then devoting half a breath to why I'm still thinking though it.<br />
<br />
Because in spite of my fears and concerns, I really can't think of anything more worthwhile to do with my life than to throw it at the gospel. That might be in ministry, or it might be in something else. I'm just trying to work that out at the moment.<br />
<br />
It's not "I can't think of anything better, so I may as well do ministry", it's "I can't think of anything objectively better to do with my life than ministry". I know they read similar, but understand that there's tone required to make the difference between the two, and writing in text can't convey that.<br />
<br />
I don't have a lot, but I want Jesus to do <i>something</i> with it.Brooke Hazelgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17228687318382639880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3249097400897693255.post-45062154780191621542014-05-21T18:55:00.000-07:002014-05-21T18:55:17.273-07:00Nobody wins a poo-throwing fight (part 2)For my non-Aussie readers, here's some context: Our government announced its budget plans about a week ago and nearly everyone I know has been flipping tables ever since.<br />
<br />And a context update on my <a href="http://goneaerial.blogspot.com.au/2013/09/nobody-wins-poo-throwing-fight.html">perspective on politics.</a><br /><br />
Me, I'm a big bucket of unease over the whole thing.<br />
<br />
See, I prefer to think my way through things slowly and methodically, and I prefer to read the source text of a document rather than image macros vitriolically thrown about on the internet.<br />
<br />
<b>But I haven't yet read the budget. I have had little time for the reading of complex documents, but I intend to read it, and then form an opinion, and then write some letters to people about it.</b><br />
<br />
And in the meantime I'm just working off what other people are saying, which is kind of hinting that a lot of things are going to be removed from the social security side of things. I'm a bucket of unease about this, specifically, because while I have a job, it's not enough for me to get by without the assistance of the social security.<br />
<br />
I don't <i>like</i> the situation. I don't <i>like</i> being in this part of the system - if you handed me a full-time job tomorrow, jumping off the welfare would be the <i>first</i> thing I'd do.<br />But the situation I'm in is particularly difficult for a stack of reasons. And the fact that everyone expects you to not be poor once you're out of uni makes it more of a challenge. (Like, 'you're not studying, so therefore you're working, and you're working full time, in a job that pays enough'. This is not the case for me.)<br />
<br />
I'm not entirely sure, but I suspect that I'm poorer now than I was when I was a student. I can get by, but it's also taken me three months to save for car registration, and if you're in this kind of situation and someone walks up to you and says you have to cut down on 'luxurious spending', it's going to cop a raised eyebrow.<br />
<br />
This is not a fun situation.<br />
<br />
The prospect of having the only thing ensuring I don't starve removed has me uneasy.<br />
<br />
The prospect of having my debt from study turned into a small mortgage has me uneasy.<br />
<br />
The prospect of my siblings being in a worse place than I in terms of both these things has me really uneasy.<br />
<br />
...<br />
<br />
<br />
Despite all this, I have not yet read the budget. But I plan to. I plan to read the source text, draw some conclusions, and then write a courteous but direct letter to my local MPs, the head of the Opposition, and possibly the Prime Minister as well. Once I'm informed.<br />
<br />
I disagree with a lot of what I am hearing, but I don't want this to turn into a poo-throwing fight. I don't plan on slandering people, and I don't plan on having that backfire.<br />
<br />
I do plan on having an opinion, but it's possible to have one without smearing everyone and everything else.<br />This can't be about the people, it's about the policies. We're still a democracy. I want to treat it like it is one.<br /><br />And as challenging as it is to think through, we're told as Christians to respect those we have put in power over us. I believe that it's possible to respect and still disagree, or to ask some important questions about things and do it in a mature and well thought-out way, and I want to work with this for as long as I can. I still plan on having an opinion, but I'm gonna do it respectfully, not through a load of internet-hate.<br />
<br />
I'm trying really, really hard to be grown up about this.<br />
<br />
Expect an update once I've read the budget. And finished my job search for the week. We'll see how long the logic stays in place for.Brooke Hazelgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17228687318382639880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3249097400897693255.post-55969931653407236372014-04-14T19:22:00.000-07:002014-04-14T19:22:50.199-07:00There was a kid at school who used to call me 'Tupu'And for the folks not in the know, <i>Tupu</i> was the name of a kids TV show from the mid-2000s. The titular character was a wild girl who lived in Central Park and it was about how she did (or didn't) fit in with New York.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img alt="File:Tupu Initial Intertitle.gif" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/6/67/Tupu_Initial_Intertitle.gif" /></div>
<br />
The kid called me 'Tupu', because I, like the character, had fairly long, strawberry-blonde, wild hair.<br />
<br />
Because this was 2007, I was really wound up about everything and found it hugely insulting.<br />
<br />
And then a while back, my sister Prue brought it up again, because it's been a while, and I haven't had a proper haircut since I started tertiary education. I have a lot of hair. And at that point, I was kind of like 'I guess you're right. Look at that.'<br />
<br />
So this is kind of a blog post telling you about my hair. Why it's so long, the interesting things I have learned from having absurdly long hair, and probably what I do to it on the side, because it's not uncommon for people to ask me what I do to it, or how it got so long.<br />
<br />
To which I kind of just give them a weird look and say 'I don't cut it'.<br />
<br />
I don't mean to sound condescending, but that's kind of it.<br />
<br />
Anyway.<br />
<br />
As a kid, my standard hair-cutting habit was 'let it get kind of long, and then lop it off'. So there's a variety of photos of me with different length hair. I think for the sake of manageability, Mum never let it get beyond mid-back before lopping it. We lived out in the sticks. She kind of just cut our hair for a long while.<br />
<br />
I think the major haircuts I had in high school were year 8, when it went kind of short, and then at the end of year 10. Preceeding the year 10 hair cut, I'd just not cut my hair for a while. It got to perhaps waist length, and I was kind of pleased with it, although having to braid it every night for sleeping got on my nerves a little.<br />
<br />
This wasn't as bad as the summer though. See, it was sometime in the later half of the year, that I decided on the hair cut. I think I went to formal with short hair, so that means that it happened before December, but that doesn't say a whole lot. I do remember the day though, because I rode over to the oval from Dunbogan to watch the cricket, and it was the kind of King Humid day that makes you hate everything in existence. The tepid air was like soup, and every time I leaned back to rest my head against the bricks of the building I was sheltering under, said building material would grab my hair and tangle it.<br />
<br />
So I left the cricket that Saturday afternoon, deciding that at some stage that evening, I would get Mum to cut my hair.<br />
<br />
This actually happened. I'm pretty sure I surfaced in the loungeroom at 10:45pm, holding my stepladder, the sharp scissors and wearing the dirtshirt, and said to Mum, 'I want you to cut my hair short right now'.<br />
<br />
There was a period of time directly after this, when my hair and I were in disagreement. Mum had left enough there that it was mid-length, so I could go to a hairdressers in the near future and get it neatened up/have it layered, because Mum can't do that.<br />
<br />
The first hairdresser I went to couldn't either.<br />
<br />
<span id="goog_743465498"></span><br />
There was waiting involved, but once that haircut had grown out, I think I ended up getting it cut by someone else, and it was an excellent haircut. It was like, longer than a bob, but ballooned out and kicked back in.<br />
<br />
What was funny about that haircut was when I sat on the bus, heading down for Snow Trip dos-point-oh, and one of my friends introduced me to Bleach. And within minutes of seeing Rukia, one of the main characters, I was all like <i>that's exactly what my hair looked like last year.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Weird and cool.<br />
<br />
Anyway. I don't remember many/any other haircuts over year 12. I think it kind of just grew out again, until I had below-shoulder hair for formal.<br />
<br />
It was cut short again right before TAFE started. January 2010. You can see it in my student card, along with the semi-manic look that came with my sleep deprivation for that week. (We'd gotten back from three weeks in New Zealand, to discover a letter from the real estate agents telling us we had six weeks to move. That had been sent the week we left. We had to pack the house up <i>in a hurry.</i>)<br />
<br />
That was kind of it. I didn't bother with haircut business during that year, and then when Bec and I moved down to Newcastle, we kind of had that conversation. It ended up being decided that, since haircuts were expensive, I just wasn't going to bother. I was fine with that. I'd lasted a year of tertiary education, why not the next three years? So. I'd either get it cut when I graduated, or when I got sick of it.<br />
<br />
So, the next three years passed without much account. At the beginning of 2012, not taking no for an answer, Mother marched me to the hairdressers to get a trim, since the ends were kind of ratty-looking. But that's kind of it. I cut my own fringe in when the need arises, and that's gotten easier since I found a hair-cutty-razor-thing at Daiso, land of the imported Japanese wonders.<br />
<br />
That's kind of the history side.<br />
<br />
It's now mid-March. I graduate in, like, six weeks. Five?<br />
<br />
And I'm trying to figure out whether or not to actually go and get a haircut. I mean, on the one hand, that's kind of where I wanted to get to. Have photos to look back on in twenty years and people be like 'what? You had hair that long?<br />
On the other hand, I've gotten kind of attached to it. (Pun not intended)<br />
<br />
It's like. I dunno. The tips of my hair, broken, splitting and frail, have been there for a long time. I've been working on this thing for longer than anything else that has been a conscious project of my life. I mean, Uni was a three-year project. The HSC is something you only start thinking about seriously in year 11.<br />
And with it being so long now, it's like I have to treat it like a separate thing, but it's still attached to my head. It can be touching someone who is at arms length away, and it is still connected to my head, so in a way, there's little difference between someone touching the ends of my hair and someone chucking a whole hand in the stuff that directly attached to my scalp.<br />
<br />
Like I said, a little weird.<br />
<br />
I have people asking if I sit on it.<br />
<br />
Let me tell you, sitting on it is not the most awkward bit. The more awkward points are when someone else sits on it, or when I do something like wind it up in the window, or it gets caught in a door or on a jumper, and I don't realise until it's stacks away from my head and then all of a sudden it's <i>'goodness gracious, what is attached to my head?'</i> Or you have to ask someone to move, because you can't get up. <i>Because they're sitting or leaning on your hair</i>.<br />
<br />
It's something that's intensely personal, but it has the ability to be so far removed from my body that you wouldn't realise it, or think about it in that way. And it's not like if you touched the tips, that I would immediately notice or anything. Still. If you want to touch it, better ask first.<br />
<br />
Boss on Saturday night decided to impart knowledge on me during work by putting her hand on my shoulder. She's busy telling me to walk over to the customers and check on them and I'm just like <i>don't touch me don't touch me don't touch me this is no don't do this I will hulk out no don't touch me</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
But Brooke vs physical contact is a different blog post to be discussed never. Just appreciate that there's a very small group of people who touch my hair, and those are folks that are in the 'okay' list.<br />
<br />
*mumbles something about being like a cat in that respect*<br />
<br />
I once got told that it being this length showed that I had dedication and patience, and that was like the coolest thing anyone had told me about what I pretty much write off to 'not wanting to pay for a haircut'. I mean, there's a lot more in that now, because it's not hard to cut your own hair, and I absolutely rip though conditioner, so it's not like this is actually cheaper or anything. And I've lasted a few summers now.<br />
<br />
Winter and long hair is fine. Summer, especially summer back home, with its tepid days and humidity of five billion, is suckfest when you have long hair. You bun it, there's just no other option.<br />
<br />
So yeah.<br />
<br />
To friends who wonder how my hair behaves like it does, what to expect from if you decide to have crazy-long hair, and how to keep it relatively neat, here's what my life looks like.<br />
<br />
Expect to shed on everything. It's normal to drop hairs during the course of your life. Some break off, some get caught in things, some just fall out. When your total hair length is 20cm, that's manageable. A bit gross to find in your food, but not too bad. When your total hair length is closer to a metre, there's just a lot more of it. So, it's not about expecting to shed on things nearly as much as it is about expecting the shedding to be way more noticeable.<br />
<br />
I did say that I rip though conditioner, and I often have people asking what I put in my hair.<br />
<br />
Imma just say this now - there's far too many hair products out in the world, with all of the chemicals in the world in them.<br />
<br />
Most of the time, I just shampoo and condition, and the difference is between treating the roots and the length. Shampoo really just strips sebum from your hair. It takes out the dirt and funk of everyday life too, but the main component it removes is the oil that your head/hair naturally produces. I shampoo the roots of my hair to take out the oil and funk, but avoid if I can getting too much of the stuff on the length, because that's where your hair snaps if it dries out. There's some kind of brand that woolies stocks that doesn't have Sodium Laurel Sulfate in it, and I use that sometimes. (SLS is the compound that causes foaming. I think. It's in toothpaste and soaps and a bunch of other bathroom things.)<br />
<br />
The length gets drowned in conditioner specified for dry hair, and that's kind of it. I try not to blow-dry my hair if it can be helped (mostly because I don't enjoy burning my ears off). Towel dry and brush.<br />
<br />
If I have Argan oil, that goes in sometimes too.<br />
<br />
And that's honestly it for a hair-care regime.<br />
<br />
The only other reason why my hair has managed to be in decent condition in the space of four years, growing from shoulder-length to I'm-wearing-decent-length-shorts-why-are-you-touching-the-back-of-my-legs-length, is probably because it just grows really fast.<br />
<br />
This is kind of a weird blog post.<br />
<br />
Here I am, rambling about cosplay and philosophy and deep thought, and then there's this post telling you about my overabundance of keratin. I apologise to the folks who don't care about this kind of thing, and are instead waiting to hear about the existential crisis I had last year, or how things have been with learning to trust God while living on the smell of an oily rag. These posts will be up soon.<br />
<br />
To everyone else, I guess you know a little more about a weirder side of my life now. Please note though, that if you decide to call me Tupu, I may still get a little <i>nope</i> about it.Brooke Hazelgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17228687318382639880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3249097400897693255.post-1968447762948093302014-02-11T18:50:00.001-08:002014-02-11T18:50:07.300-08:00Introvert vs WAVESo. Lemme tell you about WAVE.<br />
<br />
The jobsearch is drier than the middle of Australia and all I really want to do at the moment is eat chocolate and watch a Miyazaki film and it's too early in the day to do either. So, in the aim of being productive, let me elucidate to you what it was like for an antisocial introvert to work on a kids section at WAVE.<br />
<br />
For the readers who aren't my Novocastrian friends, WAVE is a summer kids club that my church runs in January. I signed up to be part of the thing about halfway through last year.<br />
<br />
I remember that because it was a couple weeks before my car accident, when me and the other Swift driver at church jokingly made a pact that whoever's car died first would serve as an organ donor to the other car.<br />
<br />
<i>Don't make jokes like that. Also, give way at intersections when you have to cross them.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
I'm good at segues.<br />
<br />
I already knew was WAVE was. It's like, the biggest event on Hunter Bible Church's calendar. We go absolutely mental with telling the gospel to Newcastle for a week. I don't think I'd been asked to do it before, but that's mostly because when someone at church walks up to me and says 'Kids ministry?' I have a habit of throwing smoke bombs and batmanning off.<br />
<br />
Kids are weird. They weird me out, with their ability to run for ages and ages and their noses which run for about the same amount of time, and they're sticky, and I don't understand them. I don't understand most people. And yet if you put me in a situation when I have to look after kids, I go all Nee-san on the situation, because that's what I am - the oldest of four, used to picking up after my siblings and looking after them and trying to get them to help me clean the house before Mum comes home.<br />
<br />
But I'd been asked on three separate occasions, by three different people if I wanted to do WAVE, so after some prayer I was like 'maybe this is God giving me a nudge to give it a go'. So I said yes, aware that seven months out of D-day, I would be out of my comfort zone.<br />
<br />
Fast-forward those seven months, through the soul-grinding harlem shake that was June, past my apathy when realising that I was investing my time in something that was temporal and wouldn't have any impact past my lifetime (pretty much anything to do with this world), the existentialism and the small successes I had with cosplay, through December and holidays and two weddings, and then WAVE was there in all of its being.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAyVfMfAW_VAdPizuBu05Z1yvrHdp6zU6PJd0OKqfg3HhGEEUunaORjc8EW_mD1P-AnYrrl-3CQMFr1U_rPERyf8qcfyE8PgjdCCVDtJoOPcsNBIeLcf6LmMU1zsFI404AJyVTMLk6y-2b/s1600/IMAG0303.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAyVfMfAW_VAdPizuBu05Z1yvrHdp6zU6PJd0OKqfg3HhGEEUunaORjc8EW_mD1P-AnYrrl-3CQMFr1U_rPERyf8qcfyE8PgjdCCVDtJoOPcsNBIeLcf6LmMU1zsFI404AJyVTMLk6y-2b/s1600/IMAG0303.jpg" height="191" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I don't actually have a lot of photos. <br />Combination of busy and child-protection.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
The group of kids I worked with, and the team I was part of worked with, were the Skittles. Four and five years old.<br />
<br />
Prior, we'd divvied up different responsibilities in the team, so there'd be folks working on craft, and folks giving a talk about Jesus, and I got the job of being our MC or character, since that was probably actually the easiest thing for me to do.<br />
<br />
Y'all know I make costumes. Y'all know about the cosplay, and how it's easier for me to become someone else in order to deal with problems.<br />
<br />
We had a tent to work in with the kids, and thusly we became the Skittle Circus. I donned my tophat and waistcoat, and performed magic tricks to grab attention of the kids. Despite the fact that all but one of them were planned the day before, they seemed to go well.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaIEWLjT0OMTI1jz2l8I4FZotobwp2BMEEGHvivjcDJs9M5TXPeOVXYHXljHGnwbPkQJOqYir-4W8HWwOVKc1pTrQqrhErXtQRN-MnzPclVL8d6pSJIPd6JtbuQQK0RUTvSljfI2z4zHIn/s1600/IMAG0310.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaIEWLjT0OMTI1jz2l8I4FZotobwp2BMEEGHvivjcDJs9M5TXPeOVXYHXljHGnwbPkQJOqYir-4W8HWwOVKc1pTrQqrhErXtQRN-MnzPclVL8d6pSJIPd6JtbuQQK0RUTvSljfI2z4zHIn/s1600/IMAG0310.jpg" height="320" width="191" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Day one's trick involved hair.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
But that was only part of WAVE. The whole thing was far more than merely babysitting for two and a half hours. During that time there was play and entertainment, yes, but there was also the sharing of scripture - of learning about the God-man Jesus, and specifically, about the people he interacted with and <i>made new.</i><br />
<br />
Because that was our theme for the week - that Jesus makes people new and specifically, that He can make us new.<br />
<br />
Interacting with four and five year olds is interesting. You can impart really important knowledge to them, but at the same time, not be completely certain whether or not they understood or remembered it. But come Friday, there <i>were</i> kids who could remember back to the beginning of the week, kids who were asking more, and being challenged with comprehending how a relationship with the Creator of the universe works.<br />
<br />
Which is kind of cool.<br />
<br />
At the same time, we got to hear about how things were going with the other age groups over lunch with the rest of the folks involved in WAVE. All through different age groups, there were kids hearing the gospel, asking questions - actively wrestling with the ideas we were talking about. Which is hugely encouraging. There were kids committing their lives to Christ, and that's probably the coolest thing that happened.<br />
<br />
So even though there wasn't earth-shattering revivals going on in our sauna of a tent, we were part of, sharing in, what was going on in other places. They shared their triumphs with us, and we shared the story of our fearless leader getting urinated on.<br />
<br />
But like I said, that wasn't the only part of WAVE. While we were looking after five bajillion yelling kids, their mothers and fathers were hanging around in the coffee tent, being served with free barista-made coffee and equal portions of the same gospel we were sharing with the kids.<br />
<br />
And then in the afternoon, after we'd been run flat by the kids, eaten and had enough time to nap, we reassembled and went out again, in twos and threes, knocking on the doors of Newcastle, asking if there were folks that wanted to have a breather and bring their delightful children to the kids club, and also asking people what they thought about Jesus.<br />
<br />
This was an interesting experience. Day one was the hardest - as Nick and I walked from house to house, I remember him talking about how doorknocking is simultaneously the most encouraging and discouraging thing to do. Because you can knock on six doors and only get answers from three of them. One of those three immediately shuts the door again, one tells you that they either already go to church or you find out they have a serious bone to pick with their idea of Christianity, and once in a while, the last door opens up and you have a conversation with someone who will entertain you standing on their doorstep and talking about this Jesus man for a little. <br /><br />Sometimes those conversations are really hard, because they've got something that is difficult to talk about with a complete stranger. Sometimes those conversations are frustrating, because of previous ideas and how those are supposed to fit together when you talk to a guy about Jesus and he immediately wants to know about the Exodus. And sometimes they're searching. Sometimes they're genuinely interested in this Christianity business.<br />
<br />
And when you have a conversation with one of them, suddenly the fifteen doors you knocked on earlier which were not having a bar of it don't weigh so heavily. It's worth it. It's so worth it, to be sitting at lunch with everyone else and recapping how things went in our different sections and someone stands up and tells you about how there were kids in their section, or adults in the coffee tent, because someone knocked on their door. It's worth it to walk away from a door and realise that they've had the gospel spoken to them, perhaps for the first time.<br />
<br />
Because I believe the gospel is worth that. That Jesus is worth that.<br />
<br />
Now.<br />
<br />
Let me explain you another thing.<br />
<br />
In case you've not read anything else on my blog before, in case you've never met me or known me very well, it will help you to know what kind of person I am.<br />
<br />
I am not an extrovert, is the best way to begin. Although I love to go to conventions full of people, and enjoy sitting in a room full of people, I am not an extrovert, in a society that reckons you need to be an extrovert to get places.<br />
<br />
Why do you think I enjoy pretending to people who can handle the situation I'm faced with?<br />
<br />
A good night for me would look like sitting on a couch with a bunch of close friends and us geeking out over something inconsequential but fun; getting lost in worlds of fiction; playing a pen-and-paper RPG until two in the morning.<br />
<br />
So to say that WAVE put me out of my comfort zone is an understatement. I was so far out of my comfort zone that I could no longer <i>see</i> that zone. The closest I got to that zone was being a ringmaster for the five minutes a day it took to gather the kids into the tent, sit them down, and then pull scarves out of nowhere. Dressing up and pretending to be someone else.<br />
<br />
Knocking on a complete stranger's door and greeting them with "Hi, I'm Brooke and this is Nick, and we're from Hunter Bible Church and..."<br /><br />That's out of my comfort zone.<br />
<br />
But you know what?<br />
<br />
That week - that week of madness, of getting to bed and midnight and leaving my house at 7:20AM, of herding kids and knocking on doors - that week was totally worth it.<br />
<br />
It was worth the stomach-churning anxiety that happened when I knocked on doors in Lambton.<br />
<br />
It was worth the complete exhaustion that took a week to recover from.<br />
<br />
Because in that week, I saw the gospel go out to Newcastle, and I saw seeds sown in people's lives and people come to have faith in Christ Jesus. I saw people made new. I saw my own faith grow, as I watched the change and saw confirmed in hearts and flesh that Jesus stuff was going on, and it was good.<br />
<br />
So, even though I would be a total ball of anxiety over it, even though I would be drawn to the point of exhaustion faster than that time I thought I could make a suit of space armour in ten weeks, I would do WAVE again.<br />
<br />
Jesus is worth it.Brooke Hazelgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17228687318382639880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3249097400897693255.post-44037503995116750152014-02-02T20:26:00.003-08:002014-02-02T20:26:26.834-08:00The HikeWhat follows is a true and probably partly embellished account of the time me and a bunch of mates from Church Took The Hobbits To Isengard.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/uE-1RPDqJAY?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
Hopefully that video works. But honestly, if you haven't already seen it, I don't know what even. It was one of the viral videos that predate Youtube, I think. I mean, it's on Youtube <i>now,</i> but the first place I saw it was on a website that wasn't the monster video-playing website.<br />
<br />
Anyway.<br />
<br />
See what I mean with the partly embellished? Okay, it was a cheap joke. Let's move on.<br />
<br />
The idea started back in perhaps August. I can't actually remember how far back, but it was a long time. And I committed to it back then. It was planned for early December - I would have finished Uni and NaNo by then, and wanted to do something to celebrate having finished my degree.<br />
<br />
Even back then, I wasn't quite sure what I was getting in to. I'd never done a proper hike - I'd done a lot of bushwalking and a lot of camping before, but I'd never combined the two. My optimism went 'how hard can it be?' and plans were thusly made.<br />
<br />
Things began slowly, and then built up momentum as we neared the date. Camping passes were purchased. Boots were procured. Bog roll was packed.<br />
<br />
And the day before, I still hadn't got hiking socks or a bag. I visited Kathmandu that afternoon, conversing with the store attendant about going on a three day hike. She asked when it was, as I paid for my goods. Tomorrow, you say?<br />
<br />
I am yet to experience a look of more condescending surprise from a shop attendant than the one I got from that lady. Fair go, it's a late stage in the game to be picking up essentials, but <i>I wasn't even the greenest one in our group, so let's leave my noobish behaviour to that, okay?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Something also worth listing right here and now, as it was something that didn't occur to me as important much later, was that the bag I bought was for <i>day hikes</i>. And I was all like, 'yeah, how bad can it be? This one will do, it's the cheapest I can get. We're hiking during the day.'<br />
<br />
<i>If your bag cannot fit your sleeping bag, folks, you will have problems.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Just saying.<br />
<br />
Okay, where to actually begin?<br />
<br />
The hike was a section of the Coastal Track, a hiking trail covering most types of Australian terrain, and was about 26kms long. Early Tuesday morning, we saddled up and headed down to South Sydney, catching the ferry from Cronulla to Bundina, a tiny township consisting of holiday flats, an IGA, and a disproportionately large liquor store.<br />
<br />
It was at this point in time, as we sat on the back of the ferry in the hot December sun, that I realised I'd probably made another two errors, aside from the lack of sleeping bag. My hat, which was the closest hat I could find when I was picked up, refused to stay on my head for the most part, and instead its wide brim would alternate between falling over my eyes, completely obscuring my vision, and trying to blow off or fly away. The other was pointed out by my fellow hikers, who all wondered why it was I'd chosen to wear long pants in summer.<br />
<br />
They are my khaki pants, obtained for the guerrilla theme we had during our last week of high school, and matched my army-surplus shirt nicely.<br />
<br />
But between the two I was covered from wrists to ankles. In December. In Australia. It was a <i>little</i> warm.<br />
<br />
Despite this, I still rolled in sunscreen. Y'all <i>do not</i> understand just how sun-sensitive I am.<br />
<br />
But for the most part, that kind of worked. Everyone else got burned at some stage during the hike.<br />
<br />
<i>GUESS WHO DIDN'T?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
The albino. Yeah, that's right.<br />
<br />
Anyway.<br />
<br />
I'm realising that if I give a play-by-play, this post will take forever to write. And will never get written. Lemme tell you about some of the highlights and lowlights.<br />
<br />
<b><i>DAY 1:</i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
Day one was about thirteen kilometres. It stretched, like the rest of the walk, along the coastline, but most of the hike actually went over the tops of the cliffs that skirt the southern end of Sydney. Highlights included me loosing my tube of sunscreen halfway through the day, <i>everyone's</i> scroggin bags splitting, and running into about half a million boy scouts.<br />
<br />
Scroggin is home-made trail mix, for those unfamiliar with the word. Trail mix is a bunch of high-energy dry snacks; usually rendered as M&M's with obstacles. But. Don't diss the walnuts, okay?<br />
<br />
The boy scouts must have been up on a different hike of sorts. We'd pass a [collective noun] of about twenty of them at a time, going back the other way, and since they had the larger party, we'd pull over and squash ourselves into the dry brush lining the gravel trail.<br />
<br />
They kept asking if we were doing our Duke of Edinburgh, to which we'd reply 'nah. Doing it for fun', they'd give us a weird look, we'd get 200 metres up the trail, and have to bond with the shrubbery for the next group to pass us.<br />
<br />
The fourth group or whatever was all like<br />
<br />
"Gee there's a lot of you"<br />
<br />
Our party was eight.<br />
<br />
I responded<br />
<br />
"I could say the same about you"<br />
<br />
And then we continued, across hill and dale, until we got to the first beach.<br />
<br />
It had nudists on it.<br />
<br />
So I'll write about other stuff.<br />
<br />
Late afternoon, we pulled up stumps at what I'm going to refer to as 'Rivendell'. It was a spot that our equivalent of Gandalf knew about and was far enough off the track that we could set up camp. Further along the path again, there was a tiny waterhole, complete with crystal clear water, wide, flat rocks for sitting on, and waterfall. Dinner was set up, eels nibbling on unsuspecting toes, and Psalms read in the half-light of citronella candles, the quiet of the tiny hollow interspersed with the waterfall and the roar of 747s as they occasionally flew overhead, reminding us that even though it felt like we were in the middle of nowhere, we were still in South Sydney and in fact under the flight path marked out by the airport.<br />
<br />
I seem to remember jokes about Tomorrow When the War began made at some stage that evening as well (I can't remember if I was Robyn or Ellie), but am happy to allow the rest of that evening to lapse into the stillness and the quiet enjoyed by eight people who'd walked to the point of fatigue and beyond. We turned in for the night, me hoping that my sleeping bag liner would be enough if I used my tarp as a blanket to stay warm.<br />
<br />
It wasn't. Sleep that night was memorable, partly because I froze, partly because my knees seized up in the middle of the night, but mostly because I found a leech in my clothes.<br />
<br />
MOVING ON.<br />
<br />
The next day we set off at a leisurely pace, only having to cover a couple of clicks before we reached the beach and the man they call Jed.<br />
<br />
The guys who knew Jed spoke well of him as we headed off on day one, and I think I tried to ask what he was like.<br />
<br />
"He's like the Kennedy administration without the Marilyn scandal"<br />
<br />
"He's everything good about the 60's, but with modern sensibilities"<br />
<br />
"He's tops"<br />
<br />
By this time my head was like the scene in <i>Bleach</i> when Chad, Ishida and Inoue are trying to figure out what their cat guide's best friend looks like.<br />
<br />
<i>(And if I had that clip, I'd show you. *shakes fists at Youtube*)</i><br />
<br />
And then we arrived at this beach which had flushing toilets and shade and no running water and Jed was there with fresh cold water and bananas and muesli bars and <i>Jed is a Champion of Men, </i>that's what he is.<br />
<br />
For an hour, or longer, we stayed at the beach, still exhausted from the day before along with the tiny walk it had been to get to where we were.<br />
<br />
Jed is actually a mad surfer, so we got along great. It was kind of like talking to any of the lads back home, since my home area is a major surfing spot on the NSW coast. So we yabbered about breaks and boards, and that was when everyone else found out that I used to do comp surfing.<br />
<br />
I wasn't very good, but it's always a good story to bring up.<br />
<br />
After a while we realised that if we didn't leave soon, we'd be setting up for night two in the dark, so we headed off again, Jed coming with us for a little while.<br />
<br />
I think at about this point we had Carl leave the group, since his ankle had gone beyond the point of mere pain and we were close enough to civilisation that he'd be able to get back to Sutherland okay.<br />
<br />
But on we continued, and with gritted teeth, when the discovery that the shorter path for the track had been closed due to falling rocks. Thusly, our next challenge would be to go <i>over</i> the cliffs again instead of around the bottom, skirting the coastline alongside the sea.<br />
<br />
Wait.<br />
<br />
Was Eagle Rock on Day 2? I think it might have been.<br />
<br />
I had Eagle Rock explained to me on Day one, by Josh, who'd lived on campus at the uni prior.<br />
<br />
Apparently it's a college thing, that when <i>Eagle Rock</i> plays at a party, everyone drops their pants. Pants go back on afterwards, but for the duration of that piece of music, everyone at the party goes pantsless.<br />
<br />
It was actually enough of a thing that the Red Frogs crew, an organisation of folks who bring food and the gospel to partied-out teens, had to figure out a course of action specifically for it. Because being in a room full of pantsless minors isn't a good thing.<br />
Thusly, everyone in Red Frogs leaves the house for the duration of Eagle Rock, should it begin playing while they're at the party. I had explained to me.<br />
<br />
The more you know.<br />
<br />
This is relevant, as one of the rock formations we passed on the second day of the hike was called, <i>funnily enough, </i>Eagle Rock.<br />
<br />
This is also where we got our group photo, and if photos ever surface, I may consider putting one up. I'm still not sure if the guy who explained Eagle Rock to us made the photo better or worse by opting to photo-bomb it.<br />
<br />
Day two's afternoon progressed in a swirl of piggybacking flies, and the singing of old hymns. Until we got to the Stairs and then I kept singing out of stubbornness. Everyone else stopped because <i>those were steeeeeeep stairs. </i>My legs are hurting even thinking of those stairs.<br />
<br />
Consider yourself, as an untrained couch potato, carrying a sixteen-kilo pack, in shoes you've barely broken in, climbing stairs higher than your knees, up a slope that continues at an incline close to vertical, for about 2-300 metres.<br />
<br />
And yet in the middle of this incredible pain in hiking and the steady fight to keep my heart rate at something below 300, I found something excellent.<br />
<br />
There was quiet in the middle of all of this.<br />
<br />
I've probably talked about this zone before; this elusive zone I've stumbled across at 3 in the morning, when the noises in the mind dwindle, blinking out one by one. You feel a sense of magnificent purpose steal over your soul as the tiny cares that your mind is preoccupied with shut down. At that point, I was unable to care about whether I'd be back in time for the opening night of my art show. I was unable to worry about the state of things at home, or the way I was choosing to relate to everyone on this trip, or back in Newcastle. I was beyond the point of caring that I smelled like a horse, or was wheezing like an asthmatic.<br />
<br />
There was only the path before me, and the effort required to take a step, shift the weight of my body and backpack onto one screaming leg, and then climb the stair. And then do it again. And again.<br />
<br />
On we climbed, the sense of anything but the moment gone. The flies didn't matter. The wind didn't matter. There was silence in my mind, and it was glorious.<br />
<br />
Eventually we crested the hill, and received a lesson in reading the surf from Wizard Jed, and then he turned and we parted ways; he heading back towards his car and we onwards to the site for our second night. As the trail flattened out and it became a little easier to breathe, I pulled out my ocarina and began, not for the first time, to play <i>Concerning Hobbits</i>. And then more <i>Lord of the Rings</i> music, and then Zelda themes, because that's really all I know how to play.<br />
<br />
And somewhere along the line. Actually it was probably earlier, that Jim piped up, requesting that I play the Song of Storms. I said no, because even though you can put it down to superstition, we were out on a hike, and I was <i>not </i>going to play the freaking <i>Song of Storms.</i> So I continued on with whatever I was playing at the time, and inwardly frowned when he continued to whistle the requested piece of music.<br />
<br />
<i>This becomes important in a minute.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Finally, with the yellow light of afternoon giving way to the grey light of dusk, we descended from another hill and came upon our camping spot for the evening. Sitting was lovely, and dinner, which this evening was my job, was excellent also.<br />
<br />
<i>Portable Protein</i>, it was called, since I had no name for boiled rice with curry, coconut, rehydrated shiitake mushrooms, chopped boiled egg and peanuts.<br />
<br />
No name, but it was delicious, and it also managed to remove about two kilos from my pack. We washed the dinner things in seawater and spent part of the evening watching the stars, praying and singing again.<br />
<br />
Dude, singing at night with a bunch of people is great. Singing <i>Rock of Ages</i> at night with a bunch of people is better, the sound of the ocean punctuated only by the regular beat given by slapping hands to knees, keeping time as we sung.<br />
<br />
We turned in for the evening, thankful that the grass here was soft and would hopefully be more comfey than the night before. I remember taking a cursory glance outside the tent before zipping it up, absentmindedly wondering if Josh would want to bring his hiking boots inside his tent, since he'd left them out. I can understand why - we all smelled pretty ripe at this stage. Still, this was Australia, and there were usually bugs. I shrugged and closed the tent. Josh is grown man. If he wanted to leave his boots out, he could.<br />
<br />
<i>This is also important to note. Because that night</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
There was wind. That's what woke me and Cait first. Mostly because the poles in the dome tent kept being blown down and then <i>fwapp</i>ing back up, blustering about as a howling wind came screaming off the ocean. I was voted to go out and do something, and my half-asleep brain complied and pulled the tent poles down. They lay on top of everything in the tent, including us, but that would be okay because they weren't really that heavy and then the tent wouldn't break.<br />
<br />
I went back to sleep.<br />
<br />
And then the rain started.<br />
<br />
The first thing that I noticed of it was the water dripping onto my leg. I tried to ignore it, rolling up in the tarp in the half sleep and hoping that it'd go away. And it got worse. I reached up for my phone to check what forsaken hour it was for the rain to be here, only to have my hand plop straight into a puddle.<br />
<br />
Next to me, Cait rolled over, having discovered that her sleeping bag was likewise soaked through.<br />
<br />
And out I went again, frantic brain and fingers trying to reassemble the tent so the poles could keep the water <i>off</i>, the wind whipping my hair and my half-whimpered mutterings reduced to discernible noise around the torch I had clamped in my teeth.<br />
<br />
<i>Which idiot was all on Storm's Song business? Yeah. Not me.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Finally, soaked, shivering, and cursing the boardshorts I'd chosen to sleep in, Morpheus visited and I slept, too tired to care about anything else. The tent had nearly blown down. We'd half-flooded. I was <i>done</i>.<br />
<br />
The next morning was cold, but mercifully dry. Drier. The other tents had fared a little better in some ways, and a little worse in others. Liv and Bri's tent had the addition of a waterbed come morning light, but I think the guys had gotten on alright. Until Josh stumped over to our kitchen setup and looked mournfully at his boots before tipping out a solid inch-and-a-half of water.<br />
<br />
The morning progressed faster than the previous one - we had eight or nine clicks to cover, and I wanted to be back in Sydney in the early arvo. Before leaving, as there was nowhere to dump rubbish, we did a quick pickup of our mess along with other stuff that previous campers had just <i>left</i> there. For a while, things looked as though they'd start sprinkling, and it was at that point, when we'd donned raincoats (or binliner coats, depending on your budget) that Sam the Wizard taught us some gnarly dance moves.<br />
<br />
The rain ceased, and we headed off down the beach, which gave way to a seashack hamlet, which lead to overland hiking, and then some kind of weird rainforest, and then there were more stairs. I remember those stairs with more pain than the other set, since at this stage I had hit the <i>don't stop</i> phase of hiking.<br />
<br />
I was simply at this point where I could no longer stop and enjoy the scenery properly. I was in a hurry, and i needed the others to be in a hurry too, and the longer I walked with this mindset, the more I realised that this was how I did a lot of things, or was heavily encouraged to do a lot of things.<br />
<br />
Back in the land of home and reality, I'd just completed my Bachelor of Fine Arts. I was still waiting on results, but was fairly confident that things would be okay. And once I'd told my folks, they were immediately asking what would happen next.<br />
<br />
"Can't I just enjoy having this thing done for a little?"<br />
<br />
Regardless, that was how I hiked for the first half of the day. We made good time, in part because I was refusing to stop and look back to see what we'd already covered, in favour of looking and seeing how much more still needed to be done.<br />
<br />
And then the rainforest began to give way to Australian scrub, and the most heart-bursting set of stairs you'll ever see, and I kept at them with roughly the same speed, because if I stopped, I would be unable to start again.<br />
<br />
I didn't throw up when we got to the top, but it was close. Slowly, painfully, my heart rate slowed down, and the two guys who'd been keeping pace with me at the front of the group turned to head back and help the others.<br />
<br />
Well, one made it.<br />
<br />
Cait had caught up, and we were talking a little, until we heard a snap and an almighty yell of pain.<br />
<br />
There are different yells, different shouts, that people are capable of. The one concerning pain is never heard often, but to hear it is <i>never</i> a good thing. I went to investigate.<br />
<br />
And there was Jim, kankle in the stream - because that's what it was even at this stage - looking at me like 'this kind of hurts'<br />
<br />
And I was looking at him like 'I am not surprised'.<br />
<br />
"I was running to catch up and my ankle went snap-crackle-pop on the slope"<br />
<br />
"Yeah. I can see that."<br />
<br />
I can't remember the finer details of that conversation, but for some context, Jim is a RAAFie. I've written about him on the blog before, because we dated for a while. He was the one in the group who decided to take eight-ten litres of water instead of four, the one with a pack that was bigger than me, and the heaviest guy in the group. With a kankle that might have been broken.<br />
<br />
I think there was a raised eyebrow and a sigh on my part somewhere, before heading back up to where the stuff was, to find the first aid kit, painkillers, and some food to help with the shock.<br />
<br />
By the time this was taken care of, the rest of the crew had caught up. We stayed a bit longer, Jim had his ankle strapped up, and the rest of us divvied up the pack he now had zero chance of being able to carry. It was at this point that Sam gained his fourth or fifth nickname, due to the rubbish we were carrying.<br />
<br />
Binjuice.<br />
<br />
Binjuice is the worst. It is the scent of death and decay, its cloying smell enough to make even a hardened veteran gag. And it had spilled from the rubbish bag Sam had strapped to his pack, <i>onto</i> his pack, shirt, and the tent that had been strapped on there as well. It was not pleasant.<br />
<br />
So down the hill we went, Jim's bung ankle setting the pace, my mind accepting that there were more important things to focus on than being at the art show as we made our way slowly through the leaf-littered floor of the forest.<br />
<br />
I found myself carrying the binjuice-soaked tent with Liv, and we talked at length about the Realm of Eventide and the story I'd written for NaNo that took place in it - Skybound. We yabbered about the plot, and I got to share the history that had been written for the place, trying to figure out how to phrase things so that they made sense to other people and not just me.<br />
<br />
We sung again, the highlight of which was Sam the Wizard bringing up the Songs of Angry Men or something. It's from Les Miserables, a movie which everyone raves about and I have not had time to see yet. But it was memorable, this rendition, given as Sam leapt atop a nearby boulder and sung with gusto, beating his chest in time with the words, to the laughter and invigoration of everyone.<br />
<br />
And somehow, after much stumbling and half-steps, we clambered out of the brush, down some stairs and into a car park.<br />
<br />
There was a sign and everything, noting the beginning of the Coastal Walk from the Otford end.<br />
<br />
We'd made it.<br />
<br />
We rested a while, and then began the trek back to civilisation, looking first for the train station we'd need to get back to where the cars were.<br />
<br />
I think I got called a Sargent when we got to Otford by two young yahoos, which was confusing until I remembered that my kahki shirt had triple-chevron badges on the arms. And then, somehow, we managed to get to Sutherland.<br />
<br />
Dude, you want something surreal?<br />
<br />
Try going on a big hike, being all dirty and smelly and tired, and then somehow get yourself to a busy train station, full of workers, mums and school kids. On the one hand, my brain comprehended that we looked kind of homeless. On the other hand, my chocolate stash had melted and reformed around my lolly snakes, and although the result looked kind of gross, it tasted <i>amazing.</i><br />
<br />
Eventually, we got back to Cronulla, reshuffling our car crew for the leg home so that Jim wouldn't have to drive with a bung leg or something.<br />
<br />
Successfully, Bri, Cait and myself, three ladies who'd never done much Sydney navigation, managed to get out in one piece, before driving back to Newie and getting Raj's. It was a pretty satisfying curry, if you ask me.<br />
<br />
And then there was a shower, and then there was an inner spring mattress with pillows and a doona, and there was sleep.<br />
<br />
And it was very good.<br />
<br />
That kind of covers the hike. There was more, and there was less that happened. But I need to get back to Job Searching, so that's all you'll get for now.<br />
<br />
Perhaps an update if/when photos happen. <i>(Hey, Bri and Cait?)</i><br />
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
Brooke Hazelgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17228687318382639880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3249097400897693255.post-74410627718191029402014-01-22T21:34:00.001-08:002014-01-22T21:34:35.044-08:00The future is here and I'm terrified of it.So.<br />
<br />
It's been two months since I last burdened everyone else with understanding how mussed the inside of my head is.<br />
<br />
In the meantime, I managed to finish the novel from November (It's like 60k long or something now.), went on a three-day hike that I did not take enough photos for, went home, went to Queensland for Christmas, volunteered for a week-long kids club for my church and am now back in Newie, looking madly for a job before the meagre savings buffer I'd built up last year disintegrates.<br />
<br />
In that time, I've been to two weddings, travelled 1000k in cars over 24 hours, done doorknocking, and had some wonderful late-night conversations with friends.<br />
<br />
But the future's here, and it's sitting on my floor like my lunchbox that I know has a chinese container with off curry in it, and I'm terrified to open it, because I don't know what to do with it anyway. It's sitting here and looking at me and the longer it looks at me the more terrified I get, because I feel like this was supposed to be <i>easier</i>, but I'm in the In Between space again and am scrabbling about worse than a rabbit on tiles.<br />
<br />
And the similes are easier to write, and I constructed a monologue describing my skills in my Oddspeak, but that doesn't change where I am.<br />
<br />
Oddspeak is the word I've coined just now. I once wrote a blog post in Oddspeak, last year, I think. It's <a href="http://goneaerial.blogspot.com.au/2013/02/so-my-head-kind-of-exploded-on-saturday.html">here</a> if you want to read it.<br />
I can't think of another word for it now. If you read the previous post, you'll notice that it's super lyrical and super involved. It's laborious to speak, because of the double statements and constant comparisons, but the way it weaves back and forth is designed to conjure an image in the mind, layered and built on with every line, every syllable, until the image appears alive and strong, and very, very real and now...<br />
<br />
...and I'm doing it now, aren't I?<br />
<br />
I think the first instances of me using this kind of language was when I got mad in school. The use of big words weights your statements, and the time it takes for the other person to get what you're yabbering on about usually buys enough time to solidify the argument in your own head.<br />
<br />
But that's not the purpose of me trying to write now, to get the thoughts out of my head because I'm stuck in my house at the moment, too freaked out to go look for more jobs.<br />
<br />
Last night was Skype night - Wednesday always is. And I got to catch up with my folks, and gave them the lowdown on how I'd thrown my resume at eight different places yesterday, and I was actually really pleased with it, considering that I'd been nearly paralyzed with anxiety for most of it.<br />
<br />
Dude, I <i>do not</i> like this job hunting business.<br />
<br />
And the response to 'I gave out eight resumes at local places looking for work' was 'are you looking in career-oriented places'?<br />
<br />
I'm not at the moment. I'm stuck in this boggery right now, because I just need a brainless job, and I don't want to leave Newcastle this year, but the kind of job I <i>need</i> to go get to be doing what I want to do will pretty much without fail require me to move.<br />
<br />
Dad suggested one he'd found right away, and the title and description made it sound exactly where I wanted to be.<br />
<br />
But it's in Melbourne.<br />
<br />
<i>Why is everything in my industry in Melbourne I don't even want to go there it's too cold and I've only just established my life here and it's too far away and moving and stress and friends....</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
*Flips table*<br />
<br />
There's other jobs out there like this. I'm reading through things now and they're exciting to look at, but so far away. The stress of even considering these is making my palms sweat.<br />
<br />
I was kind of hoping that I could just stay in Newcastle for a little longer. Find out if there's anything here I should be staying for - there's stacks going on with my church in either case - and then perhaps entertain the idea of leaving if it didn't mean leaving so many people behind.<br />
<br />
I feel like I'm waiting around for other things, too, or waiting to see how those things unfold, but I'm running out of time, and I've picked an industry you need like five years experience to be in entry level anyway, and I have my cosplay, but it's still not amazing compared to the professionals I see at cons, and...<br />
<br />
...and I'm sorry I'm babbling. And not sorry.<br />
<br />
Look, the next blog post I'm writing is going to be on the hike I did in December. Much less intrusive, more about my stupid hat.<br />
<br />
There's a lot going on but I'm a long way from having the momentum to get at any of it. And I feel like I should have gotten onto this earlier.<br />
<br />
So, pretty much exactly how things were just after I finished High School.<br />
<br />
At least I didn't bom out with uni.<br />
<br />
On the bright side, I found an incredibly complex recipe for Turkish Delight on Tuesday. Some of you will know this, and some won't, but I've picked up a habit of baking to decrease stress levels. And I don't have an oven.<br />
<br />
But that's okay here, because I don't need an oven for Turkish Delight. I just need a buttload of sugar and four days to work on it.<br />
<br />
Whoever knew this stuff was so laborious?Brooke Hazelgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17228687318382639880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3249097400897693255.post-7008550710276348192013-11-23T18:21:00.000-08:002013-11-23T18:21:09.395-08:00The frustration of Newton's First LawHey folks. Today I'm going to tell you about a state I often find myself in, and why I absolutely hate it.<br />
<br />
Newton's laws, at a glance, can be summarised as this:<br />
<br />
1. Things generally like to stay in whatever state they are in. (Still objects stay still, moving objects stay moving)<br />
<br />
2. The harder you kick it, the faster it goes.<br />
<br />
3. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction (which people use out of context to justify lashing back on things)<br />
<br />
And something I often find myself doing is being stuck in the in-between state. It's kind of Newton's first law.<br />
<br />
Imagine for a moment that you are floating in space. Sounds cool, eh?<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Jm5YBBnMYifjaLKtHCD-2pSboUKZXTvf27Fdy1KNCXoi6X2V74sDbzpF5qapH72rZPgBuKjCy2ZQL8hao4mOBhsjRjGo4DSKxITGjOExAei9BgNvPYL_2_40XVBtBK4InU-5-nBspbrx/s1600/space_core_meets_the_death_star__by_scottbee2-d5std17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Jm5YBBnMYifjaLKtHCD-2pSboUKZXTvf27Fdy1KNCXoi6X2V74sDbzpF5qapH72rZPgBuKjCy2ZQL8hao4mOBhsjRjGo4DSKxITGjOExAei9BgNvPYL_2_40XVBtBK4InU-5-nBspbrx/s320/space_core_meets_the_death_star__by_scottbee2-d5std17.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Source: <a href="http://scottbee2.deviantart.com/art/Space-Core-meets-the-Death-Star-350730043">http://scottbee2.deviantart.com/art/Space-Core-meets-the-Death-Star-350730043</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
But you're floating in space, and there's nothing to act a force on you. This is all hypothetical, so imagine space with no gravity (like, none. No far-off planet to drift to, no sun to orbit around). You can't grab anything or touch anything, because there's nothing to push off from. Your space suit is totally contained, so the theory of being able to fart yourself across the void is also nullified. You're just stuck there, waiting for something to happen, unable to actually change any of your circumstances.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEistE4Ku8XUNRe-6qAxfbWcAdVHPvCsjNhm0mBRDNYtQS74_YBhjcZeYTLSdyYcGmgLytt-hndyAhQKu-s_WVKUCrdMrdLs2-wfVezWfN5g0S5CLZAERIGGUuB0izW9AsWSyRwkqcm2Q-DD/s1600/astronaut_in_space.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="187" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEistE4Ku8XUNRe-6qAxfbWcAdVHPvCsjNhm0mBRDNYtQS74_YBhjcZeYTLSdyYcGmgLytt-hndyAhQKu-s_WVKUCrdMrdLs2-wfVezWfN5g0S5CLZAERIGGUuB0izW9AsWSyRwkqcm2Q-DD/s320/astronaut_in_space.PNG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"This is less exciting than I was hoping for."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
This is what I call the 'In Between', and I hate it. It makes me want to bang my head on things and shout and kick stuff but I can't because there's nothing to touch in the In Between, and nothing to change that circumstance.<br />
<br />
I find myself in the In Between on days when I have nothing for the majority of the day and then one thing in the evening. I sit around and wait for that thing to happen, and nothing gets done because why would you bother? There's no time to get the thing done. You don't have enough time to invest in the thing before the other thing you have planned happens, so you don't use the In Between time constructively. You just sit there, pottering around, waiting for something to happen.<br />
<br />
Last year, I did that for literally a week in the September holidays. I got back from Animania, and did nothing in the week between it and my 21st, because I had to leave Newie and travel home halfway through the week. It takes a lot of time and a lot of energy for me to hang out with people, so I usually need at least a day to mentally prepare for it, and if there isn't enough time like that to be prepared, then nothing happens.<br />
<br />
And even an afternoon stuck in the In Between is enough to make me mad. I get to the end of the day, and look back, and realise that I did <i>nothing</i> with my day because I spent all my time waiting for something to happen. Imagine what it's like to be stuck in that void in space for <i>weeks.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
I end up in that space sometimes without noticing. I'll suddenly turn around, and there's nothing. Or it'll happen because I've finished one giant project and want to veg for a bit, and then I just stop. And can't start again.<br />
<br />
Or, like right now, I won't be able to define my circumstances clearly. I won't know who I am, or what I'm doing, or where anyone else is or what they're up to, so I'll just float in my In Between space, perpetually confused but unable to get out of it because there's nothing to push off from.<br />
<br />
So if you see me, and I'm looking confused and frustrated, but I can't tell you why, please define something to me. Something simple, or stupid. Something that can be made solid in the realm of space that I can either hang onto or push off from. Because otherwise I'm just sitting there, getting bored and feeling like I should be doing stuff when I can't.<br />
<br />
And I'm of no use to anyone like that.<br />
<br />
...<br />
<br />
Sorry for the rant. It needed to be put out, and there it is, sitting out like Grumpy Cat on a bad morning with no coffee. I've got a long way to go to catch up with the novel and a dozen other things going on besides. I also finished Uni on Friday. Like, finished, finished. The end of the degree, finished. And as long as I didn't bung up anything this semester, they should be giving me the funny hat next year. I hope.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwv1Q2toGkArPpsCr_DoxRbEKMGLA5CCZpO2OmT2IfeyIAwXfR5wrQXPpc9DmjrxMKe-1j93hxbW28wmIzVXAYzBF-52jRHU7ExEcRhg3m8aCJqxlXEf8mfE1GL6s2AvjNKG8PFPiJuznK/s1600/Grumpy5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwv1Q2toGkArPpsCr_DoxRbEKMGLA5CCZpO2OmT2IfeyIAwXfR5wrQXPpc9DmjrxMKe-1j93hxbW28wmIzVXAYzBF-52jRHU7ExEcRhg3m8aCJqxlXEf8mfE1GL6s2AvjNKG8PFPiJuznK/s320/Grumpy5.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Gonna have to make something to wear to graduation.<br />
<br />
Sneaky cosplay, here we come.Brooke Hazelgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17228687318382639880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3249097400897693255.post-11491590142259424232013-11-09T04:57:00.000-08:002013-11-09T04:57:41.234-08:00Me and the Hollow (Living Alone pt 2)Hey folks. If you're a regular to the blog, you may have read the post I made about three weeks ago about the challenges I have involved with living by yourself. If you haven't read it, I might suggest hitting it up by clicking<a href="http://goneaerial.blogspot.com.au/2013/10/the-upsides-and-downsides-to-living-by.html" target="_blank"> here</a>. It'll help with understanding where I'm writing this from.<br />
<br />
Also, I'm doing<a href="http://goneaerial.blogspot.com.au/2012/06/catching-what-doesnt-exist.html" target="_blank"> yet</a> <a href="http://goneaerial.blogspot.com.au/2012/08/hollow.html" target="_blank">another</a> <a href="http://goneaerial.blogspot.com.au/2012/09/hollowredux.html" target="_blank">post</a> <a href="http://goneaerial.blogspot.com.au/2013/03/drive-and-burnout.html" target="_blank">to</a> <a href="http://goneaerial.blogspot.com.au/2013/04/thinking-out-loud.html" target="_blank">do</a> <a href="http://goneaerial.blogspot.com.au/2012/01/living-with-your-eyes-shut.html" target="_blank">with</a> <a href="http://goneaerial.blogspot.com.au/2012/01/jigokucho-hell-butterfly.html" target="_blank">hollows</a>. Some days feel like maybe I should have renamed the blog to 'Gone Hollow' or something and just made it about Shirosaki. But leave my psychotic anime crush out of this; we're talking tonight over a tall shotglass of mead, about how I've learned to deal with things in my life that suck.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjitx4MVQw9A_MJKOWIBPp3KF0mdUQJ6PeUEWuxMwkn6MzxR3_i0_roWSeSUdPCs7f4CAnA1QLveJCrGjyufd0noFAVF5rElQ61UrRkeSGhOn-TbM6Au6NoSc2WpRk7S8Bexmd9Ds8V_Vyn/s1600/me_and_the_hollow_002.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjitx4MVQw9A_MJKOWIBPp3KF0mdUQJ6PeUEWuxMwkn6MzxR3_i0_roWSeSUdPCs7f4CAnA1QLveJCrGjyufd0noFAVF5rElQ61UrRkeSGhOn-TbM6Au6NoSc2WpRk7S8Bexmd9Ds8V_Vyn/s320/me_and_the_hollow_002.PNG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sass. And psychotic. Brilliant combo.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
It can kind of start with high school, the beginning of everyone's self confidence issues. Let's ignore the majority of it for now and I'll just put out that I was one of the nerdy ones. There were no nerdy girls in my classes. If you wanted the absolute nerdiest, there was Andrew and Christian and me. Andrew and Christian were best buds, and I eventually learned that people are difficult. So I copped slack for that. I also copped slack, or rather, didn't cop anything, because I was the plain one. It took a while for me to be noticed as a female by the lads, and very little went on there, so we'll skim over that too. In fact, in lieu of telling everyone how flipping awkward high school was for me, how about we just go with the obvious.<br />
<br />
Brooke is short.<br />
<br />
My Pop is tall. He has to duck under doorways, and I'm fairly sure I still stand below his shoulder. My Nan, and Grandma and Grandpa, are all short. In spite of 'tall' being a dominant genetic trait, I got the short end of the stick, so to speak. I stand at 5' 3"; the shortest in my nuclear family. It meant a few things.<br />
<br />
It meant that I do enjoy climbing things more than other people.<br />
<br />
It meant that I got used to looking up when talking to people.<br />
<br />
It meant that when I started wearing my clompers (leather working shoes), which have like an inch heel on them, and then change back to flat shoes, I have to try and figure out why everyone is much taller.<br />
<br />
It means that when I cook, I also get a workout, since getting stuff off the top cupboards usually means finding a chair or climbing onto the counter.<br />
<br />
And it meant that sometime in recent years, I had to go "You know what? I'm short. Can't do much about it, so there's no point in getting hung up over it." It was like I had this mentality that one day went "Okay, deal with it."<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmxE2SCEZ_D4zfoKjdsSD5Keba645n9sB5owAYMllKJAIQr7HyEjWIFnWT23kFD6NKUVNu1V8I6SvL54Otz9L4xW8aSfov-cSAvXrtVYsf7uK83V_qBz5Cn0eo4zKkrBEcP4OT-xu4rX6l/s1600/me_and_the_hollow_003_cropped.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmxE2SCEZ_D4zfoKjdsSD5Keba645n9sB5owAYMllKJAIQr7HyEjWIFnWT23kFD6NKUVNu1V8I6SvL54Otz9L4xW8aSfov-cSAvXrtVYsf7uK83V_qBz5Cn0eo4zKkrBEcP4OT-xu4rX6l/s320/me_and_the_hollow_003_cropped.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
And I did. Or had to. Or still am. Thankfully, people grow out of being jerks after high school, and teasing is rare and in jest. I've since learned that having a lower centre of gravity makes me more agile and it's easier for me to hit soft organs if I have to.<br />
<br />
But that's not really the point of this post. No, the point of this post is me versus the voice that sits inside my head and heckles everything I do when it messes up, or when I take risks. Or when I do anything.<br />
<br />
At the moment I'm cranky at it because I've got one particular hang up, and it's not dislodging nearly as quickly as I need it to. I've got everything due for uni in like two weeks. I don't have <i>time</i> for this.<br />
<br />
But I digress. There's that heckler, and I hate her, and I know what she is.<br />
<br />
She's me.<br />
<br />
See, I think that's one of the hardest things when it comes to confronting your demons; recognising that they're a part of you. It's so much easier to blame their existence on your circumstances, or your upbringing, or your neighbour's cat, but that doesn't change the fact that they're inside <i>your</i> head, reading your thoughts like a newspaper left in the 'john.<br />
<br />
And once you realise that that thing is a part of you, you have like, two or three options.<br />
<br />
You can accept that it is part of you and be reconciled to it, moving on<br />
<br />
You can accept that it is part of you and not be reconciled, leaving it behind<br />
<br />
You can keep blaming it on the weather and wonder why it hasn't left yet.<br />
<br />
And I've got things that have probably fit into all three categories.<br />
<br />
The height thing I guess belongs to the first category. I try to chuck as many things into that avenue as possible, because the second option is a harder path to take.<br />
<br />
The second path kind of only makes sense if you understand the human condition as a Christian does. We, as Christians, understand that we have a nature that will be told not to do a thing and immediately will go "I'M GOING TO DO THE THING!"<br />
We call it the sinful nature and it's just that; that humans by nature follow the law of entropy and over time have really only gotten stacks better at being horrible to each other. We're corrupt.<br />
There is hope for someone who talks to Jesus about it though; and I'm not talking about some kind of religious institution or works-based setup.<br />
<br />
Religion is like...like spraying deodorant on a corpse. Or spraying deodorant all over your body when in fact you need a shower. It might cover up the stench for a little, but it doesn't fix the problem.<br />
<br />
The assurance I have with accepting and not being reconciled to one of my demons comes from knowing that Jesus lets me leave that part of my nature behind. I don't have to keep doing evil. I have the option of doing good now, and even when I mess that bit up (because fallibility is something I excel in), I'm covered by the same grace that cleaned up my rank smell. So to speak.<br />
<br />
The third type of dealing with problems in the mind, complete rejection, is something I've done before, and will do again, and something I see in a lot of people around me. It is blaming the problem on an external source.<br />
<br />
And sometimes that blame is justified.<br />
<br />
But it doesn't do away with the problem, to blame it on something else and then walk away as if everything is solved by that. Took me like a year and a half after my first breakup to learn that one. If the thing has had such an influence on you that it's now taken up residency inside your head, you need to sort that thing out. And I'm not sure how you can do that; the method of the sorting is different for everyone. But realising that at least part of the onus is on you to do something about it, kind of makes you own the problem and want to do something about it.<br />
<br />
And sometimes you can't do anything about that problem. Sometimes it's a small problem that can't be fixed - like my height - or it's a big problem that can't be fixed. But you have to get to that point of realising that the problem can't be fixed, so you have to change your perspective on it.<br />
<br />
"Okay, I'm short. I'll just learn to deal with it."<br />
<br />
Doing battle with yourself is not as simple as just fighting, but that doesn't mean you can just run away.<br />
<br />
And sometimes it hurts to look retrospectively at the monster that lives inside. It means coming to terms with your ugly side.<br />
<br />
Not going to lie, I hate having to do it. I hate getting to the end of difficult nights, exhausted and burnt out over something small or stupid, being unable to let it go because of my stupid pride or selfishness, or because I haven't felt that feeling in so long that I absolutely do not want to let it go, despite the cold hard fact that it's <i>actually the best thing for me to do at that point in time.</i><br />
<br />
But facing off against that issue, and realising that it is part of me, is crucial. It takes the claws out of the argument, and for a split second the heckler has been bathed in a spotlight, completely identifiable, because that's how you make a heckler shut up.<br />
<br />
And once I can name the demon, I can tell it where to shove its brilliant idea.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1bPKUBXhdOQ45sGQs61ei7yzSMyknHSo2bk7p9LiUOUoU7MEYHgyI-CaookEmd4uhez3sTM5CmZML7ivm-pGfhAGG5BrHfdj1VSD-12pUCxyfK_oBvfweap1KbiZHOIOSRFVxJ6NYwO5q/s1600/me_and_the_hollow_001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1bPKUBXhdOQ45sGQs61ei7yzSMyknHSo2bk7p9LiUOUoU7MEYHgyI-CaookEmd4uhez3sTM5CmZML7ivm-pGfhAGG5BrHfdj1VSD-12pUCxyfK_oBvfweap1KbiZHOIOSRFVxJ6NYwO5q/s320/me_and_the_hollow_001.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Now, I'll get back to novelling.<br />
<br />
Yes, friends, National Novel Writing Month is upon us. I'm behind, but writing a story about islands in the sky, and a man who can see the suffering of others. He doesn't have a lot of fun, but I'm enjoying it.<br />It's called Skybound. Eventually coming to a theatre near you.<br /><br />Brooke out.<br />
<br />Brooke Hazelgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17228687318382639880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3249097400897693255.post-85566139174231516052013-10-14T06:13:00.001-07:002013-10-14T06:13:45.827-07:00The upsides and downsides to living by yourselfOkay.<br />
<br />
I'd originally given this one a different title, but things worked out differently. Same as how I was all set to blog through the residency and then that kind of went to pot amid the fifteen other things I was so certain I could get done while I was there.<br />
<br />
But let's try and chuck up another blog post. It's late, but I've only just taken off my shoes. The scent of my socks should keep me up for a bit.<br />
<br />
For context, I moved out of my family house in 2010/2011 to head to Newie for uni. Because I am king of figuring accommodation, I moved down with a friend from home and we took up residence in a tiny granny flat owned by a family friend of mine. Bec and I shared this space for two and a half years, and we juggled all the things that come from living with people who are not your family, things like remembering to clean up, or explain why you do something the way you do.<br />
<br />
The space we had was a little tight for two, but we managed. It was nice, if only from my end because I'm messy and Bec was forgiving.<br />
<br />
And then in June Bec moved out into another sharehouse closer to the uni and everyone from unichurch - this place is out in southwest Newcastle and it takes half an hour to get most places. I carry odd things in my car because there's rarely a chance to go home and come back if I've forgotten something silly like a coat or sunscreen.<br />
<br />
In a way, it was kind of handy, because I'd already gone nocturnal for assessments, and my mess was everywhere, so I didn't feel the pressure of having to tidy up.<br />
<br />
And then I had a breakup and a car accident, and things started to get quiet.<br />
<br />
I think I may have stabilised in the months since; at least I'd like to think that. I mean, there's upsides and there's downsides to living by yourself.<br />
<br />
Of course, the landlord and his son still live upstairs (it's an odd arrangement), so pants are still important on days I'm home. (Pants will always be important, for the record.)<br />
<br />
But I can do things like listen to whatever music I want and not have to check and see if the housemate is okay with four hours of Anberlin.<br />
<br />
I can eat fish. For a cat lover, Bec was never very keen on the seafood business.<br />
<br />
There's no one to complain about the mess, or who has to daily navigate it. That's probably a problem of mine that has surfaced from having a large family with plenty of eccentricities. I'm just used to being messy. I don't like it, but I'm used to it, and that's how ants happen.<br />
<br />
If I stuff up the laundrey, it's my fault.<br />
<br />
In fact, if I stuff up anything, it's kind of my fault.<br />
<br />
Except for yesterday evening, when I arrived home and the landlord informed me that the washing machine didn't have the overflow pipe put into the drainpipe properly (he's replacing something in our shared laundrey) and as a result the laundrey flooded. So did my kitchen. I store things on the floor.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuzFgynwhZI7oG0nPb5ozGpBdY1VLOIeUzYqBhWBwFcLdakMqhpIYVjoyZzK5CFXGZnyvkjJHbixcbJu6cwWixY79XdhbHHNdnPBEOFEq7oD2YRBVL0tb4JZf72cPqOLo5guZ9LMSrylRg/s1600/laundry_room_viking.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuzFgynwhZI7oG0nPb5ozGpBdY1VLOIeUzYqBhWBwFcLdakMqhpIYVjoyZzK5CFXGZnyvkjJHbixcbJu6cwWixY79XdhbHHNdnPBEOFEq7oD2YRBVL0tb4JZf72cPqOLo5guZ9LMSrylRg/s320/laundry_room_viking.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I sighed, and checked how much water was everywhere. Floor needed washing, I guess.<br />
<br />
But I digress.<br />
<br />
Living by yourself can seem like a lot of fun, but it also equates to a lot of frozen food, because cooking for one is one of the sadder and useless things that happens in life. Much cheaper to cook fifteen meals at once and alternate between green and yellow curry for three weeks. Although, there's other things that stem out of that too.<br />
<br />
I guess the only and biggest disadvantage to living by myself has been...being left with the inside of my head.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWz1U6ZSCMOsegjnxotsxmIjdQIcI4UDpFC4DkcLERu_gmG4rppB-xq3pxGlzBGfIXWJXx4b6rHkYoZrMU3GTRgCdN1sgvdDLMn-S5z2c4ds3VjyNIR2YqclrcUTu3TrisnsY49w_Qc46M/s1600/IMG_6313_compressed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWz1U6ZSCMOsegjnxotsxmIjdQIcI4UDpFC4DkcLERu_gmG4rppB-xq3pxGlzBGfIXWJXx4b6rHkYoZrMU3GTRgCdN1sgvdDLMn-S5z2c4ds3VjyNIR2YqclrcUTu3TrisnsY49w_Qc46M/s320/IMG_6313_compressed.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Insert picture from Photomedia portrait exercises. <br />Credit to Ben Van Gessel</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
It's a weird place to be, and in the passing months, it's really only gotten weirder. It's kind of what happens when you don't have anyone to tell you that that kind of thinking is a bit weird and maybe you need to go outside for a bit. There's talking to self, and cackling, and don't get me started on the arguments.<br />
<br />
But that's kind of a problem too.<br />
<br />
As the eldest, my problem is that I measure success by comparison. If I'm doing better than average, I'm okay. (Weird logic, again). There's a bucket more of things that that thought is attached to, but it kind of equates to a voice in my head that is me, and calls me things like 'uselessface' because I don't have a job or career or spouse and everyone surely must have it together because they have those things. I bet they can get everything on their 'To do' lists done too.<br />
<br />
<i>And don't tell me that that's not how it works, because this is how my head works.</i><br />
<br />
It's not a great place to be.<br />
<br />
It's being mad at yourself for being so poorly disciplined, and being late for everything because of that lax in discipline, but at the same time being unable to do anything to make that better.<br />
<br />
It's trying desperately to not get depressed over having social plans flop because it was your one shot at social interaction that week and everyone else must have just had better things to do.<br />
<br />
It's not being able to write a blog post without chucking in self depreciating stuff and then trying to write it off as a joke.<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>heh.</i><br />
<br />
It's over-analysing everything other people do and say because you've gotten used to not interacting with anybody and can't remember how people work.<br />
<br />
<i>"Is that guy trying to have a crack at me? I don't know. Don't be silly Brooke-akfjheprighptisuhprkh?"</i><br />
<br />
It's going home to an empty house when you grew up in a home with five other people who were all noisier and less weird than you.<br />
<br />
Except that it's not really an empty house. It's a house with very little to distract from that voice that reminds me of how hard I fail at life.<br />
<br />
I guess living by yourself would probably be not as problematic if you were not me. Or didn't have to live inside my head.<br />
<br />
Hmm.<br />
<br />
On a brighter note, semester has started up again. I'm hoping it'll be too busy for me to go crazy. Crazier. After that, Brooke Gets A Job and Will Move Into A Sharehouse and Hopefully Will Be Able To Readjust To Normal People and Possibly Society As Well.<br />
<br />
Either that or I'll go bush and turn into a feral wild girl with flat feet and hair that gets snagged on everything. Sounds grand.Brooke Hazelgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17228687318382639880noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3249097400897693255.post-7382107827345511982013-09-23T19:38:00.000-07:002013-09-23T19:39:23.582-07:00Insert witty title hereSo.<br />
<br />
I'm working on a few different posts at the moment. Some are being written, some are still thoughts bouncing around the inside of my head. They're all kind of heavy topics though, so they're taking time. Time spent going 'do I write this or not? How do I convey what I want to talk about the clearest without sounding like a back-country redneck from whom nonsense is spouting?'<br />
<br />
(The topics in the works are about rape culture, abortion and responsibility and my self-hate bouts. Nobody wants to talk about those with a muddled head)<br />
<br />
So while trying to keep the blog up to date, without suddenly dumping three months of deep thinking on it, I thought that it's probably okay to talk about something light. Or interesting. Or mildly amusing.<br />
<br />
Animania was last weekend.<br />
<br />
Not the 21st; the 14th. I only went for the Saturday, and am due for a blog post about it. Owing to the briefness of the convention, the post will be similarly brief. But that's on hold too.<br />
<br />
What else has been going down of late?<br />
<br />
I've got a residency starting up on the 2nd of October. Opening night is the 3rd. Residencies are opportunities for the general public to get to interact with the artist, since the point of them is to have the artist set up their workspace in the gallery and then work on their stuff in the gallery. I think this will be good for my work, since the next best way to appreciate a cosplay aside from going to a convention and being familiar with the character is seeing the stuff being made. I'm also trying to get as many cosplayers that I already know to come on opening night dressed up. I'll be coming as Tex, if that makes it any more appealing.<br />
<br />
Wait. Does it?<br />
<br />
I promise I'm not going to beat anyone up.<br />
<br />
So there's that. It's a bit of a challenge, because although I love it when people get to see my stuff, I always end up a bit bashful when it comes to standing next to it and going "<i>HEY EVERYBODY LOOK AT MY STUFF!!!</i>"<br />
<br />
I'm not great at self-promoting. I leave my signature on the back of the artwork, or in an inconspicuous spot. I guess that's why characters are fun. People get to see my work, but it's Rukia or Tex that they're talking to. I get to disappear.<br />
<br />
But yeah. If you want to come to the event, it's at Watt Space Art Gallery in Newcastle Australia. If you're one of my overseas readers or you're not going to be able to visit, I'll try and keep the blog updated on shenanigans. The blog is supposed to be part of it, so there is that.<br />
<br />
What else is going down?<br />
<br />
I turn 22 on the weekend. It's weird, because I'm not ready to have another birthday. I've been too busy to organise a get-together, and I'm probably going to be in the middle of nowhere with my folks in any case. It kind of feels like....<br />
<br />
...I dunno? I haven't had time or energy to get excited over it. Is this what being grown-up is like?<br />
<br />
Or maybe that's just me. Could be just me getting mad at myself and not wanting to think about it - Mum got married at 22. It feels like I should be getting my life underway and I keep putting it off, or I haven't been able to yet and <i>I'm trying hard but can only do one thing at a time and everyone else is getting married and has a job and is going on overseas trips and I'm...</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
THAT'S MATERIAL AND PROBLEMS THAT BELONG IN ANOTHER POST, BROOKE. LEAVE IT AND MOVE ON.<br />
<br />
*sighs*<br />
<br />
So yeah. There is that. I'm turning 22 and the state government reckons that means I'm financially independent and at the moment, all I really want to do is move into the house in My Neighbour Totoro and fly kites. And not have to do things like worry about the state of my teeth.<br />
<br />
gah.<br />
<br />
Wow. Are you enjoying this post? It must be fun, eh?<br />
<br />
I'm sorry.<br />
<br />
<br />
Have a cute animal picture.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxY1jpWu3f1gMb_Cx0Oc7sp2M2VDe56oFSMtVLVUTLGf6tUOIopyjxdKzfg2-eQAOZT3DgQfo32w4e0cFaegaAFKkEwN2GBM_iUVjUQY5OJa1Ttn_5vDNLG-2dUqJGe4oWZAUMDKBqGS1d/s1600/owl_branch_cute_thirds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxY1jpWu3f1gMb_Cx0Oc7sp2M2VDe56oFSMtVLVUTLGf6tUOIopyjxdKzfg2-eQAOZT3DgQfo32w4e0cFaegaAFKkEwN2GBM_iUVjUQY5OJa1Ttn_5vDNLG-2dUqJGe4oWZAUMDKBqGS1d/s320/owl_branch_cute_thirds.jpg" width="246" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
What else is kind of worth blogging?<br />
<br />
Talbot?<br />
<br />
Okay. Talbot.<br />
<br />
Because this is my last semester at uni, I'm trying to get good use out of the facilities there. Gonna be perfectly honest there - I love film photography, but there's only a couple months left when I'd be able to access a darkroom to do my own stuff.<br />
<br />
So I made a pinhole camera to put the 8x10 film I have in.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirUx2T3pFcN_093sqkzhd8HdMktbmSIhVUlBBJ-NozbxWV3SRcKWu8YiyhidNaZPG9A20L5l4pjE7roUjzVUdtLBQQbFY6nEQL_1dm_qGLNAfexlH1MKWF69keTRouZ5aYNghv4gIb3_DG/s1600/923408_10151795932908280_618596846_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirUx2T3pFcN_093sqkzhd8HdMktbmSIhVUlBBJ-NozbxWV3SRcKWu8YiyhidNaZPG9A20L5l4pjE7roUjzVUdtLBQQbFY6nEQL_1dm_qGLNAfexlH1MKWF69keTRouZ5aYNghv4gIb3_DG/s320/923408_10151795932908280_618596846_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
It's a substantially large pinhole camera, so I named it Talbot.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWSXt0k5gXnEtrSkdBsrlYzb2Y7A7D8-DC-Fh_i1SRawMYIaaHQEakvgpzQH40kWp2Wk1SZoUa7nYi0gCIPafdjuSC8tQE298PEZk6GR-3J3jfRMSl4RDza7G7yox-cZYxbzD9Tku3wB5Y/s1600/943327_10151795932883280_2099199444_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWSXt0k5gXnEtrSkdBsrlYzb2Y7A7D8-DC-Fh_i1SRawMYIaaHQEakvgpzQH40kWp2Wk1SZoUa7nYi0gCIPafdjuSC8tQE298PEZk6GR-3J3jfRMSl4RDza7G7yox-cZYxbzD9Tku3wB5Y/s320/943327_10151795932883280_2099199444_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I've since covered it/him with black bookbinders linen, so he looks mega classy.<br />
<br />
Back when photography was getting onto its new and wibbly-wobbly legs, and getting slightly easier to cart around, there were two photographers who were prolific in the spread of 'street photography' - Henri Cartier-Bresson and Henry Fox Talbot. I named the camera after the guy that invented the calotype (a precursor to film negatives and one of the first processes that didn't involve mercury vapours to make a photo). (Fun fact for the day.)<br />
<br />
I may end up doing a dedicated post on Talbot too (the camera) as I get the hang of working with it. In the meantime; have a look what what I've taken with it first.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVTT0246SKbPGPgXPVqoHz0Szh2lZrqGtQgOGMsywRr-_eFmJxiI0bjKQLTtAIWT4MJOU8hSrk3gmC8zS7cLq4jjUirBTfd8dsuS_2lpHoPnAG_JCNMa3HMAm-1kFc01aXizNjMdz8rg2c/s1600/talbot_tests002_TU_comp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVTT0246SKbPGPgXPVqoHz0Szh2lZrqGtQgOGMsywRr-_eFmJxiI0bjKQLTtAIWT4MJOU8hSrk3gmC8zS7cLq4jjUirBTfd8dsuS_2lpHoPnAG_JCNMa3HMAm-1kFc01aXizNjMdz8rg2c/s320/talbot_tests002_TU_comp.jpg" width="254" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOBmdM_w6vAsb7BbXb-AuzJ8-3J_ctvaBNXyOucKnsJfaI47XuRFVXlD4fQojSEOF2_VS1c93qfqDFjIUy7RpBZRLFMiAghfxwRgXzTSDZm6EiT8SD_Cd396fKOFF9pJK2s5Ib-gD54Zd4/s1600/talbot_tests001_comp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOBmdM_w6vAsb7BbXb-AuzJ8-3J_ctvaBNXyOucKnsJfaI47XuRFVXlD4fQojSEOF2_VS1c93qfqDFjIUy7RpBZRLFMiAghfxwRgXzTSDZm6EiT8SD_Cd396fKOFF9pJK2s5Ib-gD54Zd4/s320/talbot_tests001_comp.jpg" width="255" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Pinhole cameras are essentially a box with a tiny hole in it. They're as basic as cameras can get, but they're still kind of cool. They also have a massive depth-of-field, because the hole (aperture) is so small. (Case in point: a kit lens for an SLR might be able to go up to f22 - Talbot goes up to f423)<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidkibFHbL79Mx0521FIKEENuAYWqCEvkRIF4LDNADh2jmLkz32NRXReSt_vBMJqYWZszG1daxk_pA0TTmgw6gloxHcfBWxfPi8V7rJqygWYiA4x1yC_H5GmBnMV4Q6q1Nax_kg6pK9VgSN/s1600/talbot_tests005_comp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidkibFHbL79Mx0521FIKEENuAYWqCEvkRIF4LDNADh2jmLkz32NRXReSt_vBMJqYWZszG1daxk_pA0TTmgw6gloxHcfBWxfPi8V7rJqygWYiA4x1yC_H5GmBnMV4Q6q1Nax_kg6pK9VgSN/s320/talbot_tests005_comp.jpg" width="255" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
But yeah. More on Talbot later. I need to find a dentist. Talk to you soon.Brooke Hazelgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17228687318382639880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3249097400897693255.post-53600412510672122792013-09-03T17:32:00.000-07:002013-09-03T17:32:41.183-07:00Nobody wins a poo-throwing fight<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjoW5XI6w6gXtt5bAvhvNUKhyphenhyphen1_jsKIov3IK-9rCgQcWV5c_78SZlYMScca-DCBowH5jLxP0roEXqkPmn71AkxkSuw1RD4cibP2KxAMCZP-yaJJ0U4Nv398I5wZueCn2Ok9Q4pgmf4IzGy/s1600/pumpkinbeyondcr500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjoW5XI6w6gXtt5bAvhvNUKhyphenhyphen1_jsKIov3IK-9rCgQcWV5c_78SZlYMScca-DCBowH5jLxP0roEXqkPmn71AkxkSuw1RD4cibP2KxAMCZP-yaJJ0U4Nv398I5wZueCn2Ok9Q4pgmf4IzGy/s320/pumpkinbeyondcr500.jpg" width="257" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
This is a phrase that I thought up at the start of the year, and now it's three days out from the Federal Election in Australia.<br />
<br />
I thought now might be the best time to talk about it.<br />
<br />
But, I kind of want to preface this blog post with something that my international readers probably need to know:<br />
<br />
1. Australians don't often talk about politics<br />
2. Australians are pretty good at slagging off at each other (badmouthing, talking down, slandering etc)<br />
3. Did I mention that we don't talk about politics? At least, not in a coherent or polite way to people of the opposition. <sarcasm> No friendly discussions here! </sarcasm><br />
<br />
I have a few problems with politics in general, which is at least in part because one half of my family is staunch supporters for one political party, and the other half supports the other major party.<br />
<br />
A couple years back, we had everyone at out house for Christmas lunch. The talk swung to politics for about 30 seconds before Dad vetoed it. Nice Christmas lunch doesn't need people arguing or getting sour about stuff.<br />
<br />
I guess one of my problems is basically to do with Australian culture. We're pretty good at mouthing off to people, and we don't have a lot of respect for authority. I'm not necessarily talking about toeing the line there. I'm talking about actually respecting the political members responsible for looking after the country.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG6fufRP0uMZ6IEouhbpw6Q3V8P2Y6W_p3ohkdOqRTZoxuSxP0LDDI1aUpkua5YQPCdf4W3KgLn1HkE_8f3tPLDrgsG3Ctna-gC4cz8beDdsF0LQD1vN7nrWpmztLv02PRnCs-VV5kI8eF/s1600/P1110234.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG6fufRP0uMZ6IEouhbpw6Q3V8P2Y6W_p3ohkdOqRTZoxuSxP0LDDI1aUpkua5YQPCdf4W3KgLn1HkE_8f3tPLDrgsG3Ctna-gC4cz8beDdsF0LQD1vN7nrWpmztLv02PRnCs-VV5kI8eF/s640/P1110234.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Yes, let's keep up to date on the election by playing a smartphone app that allows us to hit our politicians. Smooth.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Case in point.<br />
<br />
And that kind of has its own type of reasoning: Australians live in a place that famously spends a lot of time trying to kill its visitors, or makes little sense. We don't trust a lot of promises made by the higher-ups because they frequently fall through.<br />
<br />
But that's not the point of my argument. That's just giving us some context to work off, and therefore makes sense why the parodied Australia in Terry Pratchett's Diskworld series elects their Prime Minister and then immediately throws him in gaol.<br />
<br />
My problem stemmed from heated discussion between the Prime Minister and Opposition Leader a while back, but it can very easily apply to a lot of things.<br />
<br />
This is, that nobody wins a poo-throwing fight.<br />
<br />
You can throw as much poo as you like, but the fact of the matter is that in order to throw it, you've still got to touch it.<br />
<br />
So, dear political parties, when you want to pitch your spiel to me, <i>don't start by telling me how much the other guy sucks.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
In a group environment, anyone can suggest an idea. And then everyone else can contribute to that idea. Any third-rate can say that every idea sucks. If you want to move forward with the idea though, you have to have feedback. Constructive stuff is better.<br />
<br />
The opposing sides of Parliament are designed to keep the other in check, but they could make each other better. At the moment everyone's looking like complete noobs.<br />
<br />
And see? There's me, one of the mudders, with no interest in respecting anybody in power.<br />
<br />
But I digress.<br />
<br />
If you have an idea, or a political party has an idea, it should be able to stand on its own two feet without having to slag off the opposition. Otherwise it's like kicking in everyone else's sandcastle so yours looks the best. In that case, there is no longer a 'best sandcastle'. There is just a lot of kicked-in ones and a kicker-of-sandcastles.<br />
<br />
Or a thrower-of-poo.<br />
<br />
Slander on others does in fact reflect back on the type of person that the giver-of-slander is. And with all of the campaigns at the moment dissing everyone else, it's making me feel like I'm going to have to pick the least worst to vote for, as opposed to the best.<br />
<br />
And I really wish I didn't have to do that.<br />
<br />
But anyway. Please keep it in mind. Group projects, planning for the weekend with friends, having a fight, whatever. The moment someone sinks to slander, they might have successfully scored a hit on the opposition, but they've also sunk down to do that.<br />
<br />
Rise above, my friends.<br />
<br />
Rise above, my political leaders.<br />
<br />
Because at the end of the poo-fight, someone has to clean up.<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>And it's not going to be me.</i>Brooke Hazelgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17228687318382639880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3249097400897693255.post-58791520041641649872013-08-08T16:01:00.001-07:002013-08-08T16:01:32.685-07:00The last lesson my car taught meUm, this is kind of weird to start writing about, but it's also important, and yeah. I'll start where I can and stop where I will.<br />
<br />
This is one of the posts about my first car, and it was the last lesson that the Suzuki taught me.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGYsjJ_Yhnqrgd4twk0J2kuXxmD-WZAmtlQ3N76KcDcxOsRAJKq8JK0f12XgHGEcfp7qxF3612GMeQHb-PJGlz0bC6FFg6mtfAxCrzEfgjpDuR-KG_nlHs-0tDzh6YKoP5HPzlMFLt8KmS/s1600/26062013(004).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGYsjJ_Yhnqrgd4twk0J2kuXxmD-WZAmtlQ3N76KcDcxOsRAJKq8JK0f12XgHGEcfp7qxF3612GMeQHb-PJGlz0bC6FFg6mtfAxCrzEfgjpDuR-KG_nlHs-0tDzh6YKoP5HPzlMFLt8KmS/s320/26062013(004).jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I say 'last' because back in June, I broke it. Badly broke it. Like, it's not coming back, broke it.<br />
<br />
And it was my fault.<br />
<br />
I guess this means different levels of thing to different people. But we'd had that car since Hannam Vale (So, at least 2001), and Dad had looked after it. She went alright, and even when Dad bought a different car, he didn't sell the Suzy. It was lent to a couple of different people, and each driver added their own level of attachment to the vehicle. It was unregistered for a while, and Dad had people asking more than once, if he was planning to sell it, seeing as it had sat in our front yard, untouched, for a couple years. But he never did.<br />
<br />
I first started regularly driving the Suzuki at the end of 2010, when I got a job that meant I needed to be driving a car that wasn't Mum's while she was at work. She was a tetchy thing to get used to driving, but we got on alright. The Suzuki was a 1989 Swift GTi model; built as a sports car. Highly strung; usually pretty difficult to drive if you weren't used to it. It'd be difficult to start in cold mornings, or on any morning, really.<br />
<br />
Back at the start of uni, I took the Suzy to Newcastle. This was back when my housemate still lived in the house, and before she was able to drive, so I did driving for both of us frequently. Nothing bonds people and a car like losing it and thinking it was stolen in a car park.<br />
<br />
And from there I gradually just got more and more attached to the car. She was difficult sometimes, because she was an old car, but Dad loved it and I loved it, and it was something of a family heirloom.<br />
<br />
And then I did something stupid.<br />
<br />
This was like a squire riding their father's warhorse out for the day and breaking its leg. It was like if Batman, still in his early days of being batman, through some fool maneuver, got Alfred killed.<br />
<br />
I still have no idea whether or not I checked at the give way sign, but I was on a minor road of a T-intersection on a rainy day in Newcastle back in June, and I hit someone else.<br />
<br />
Y'all can calm down a little; I didn't hurt anyone, and I emerged shell-shocked, but unscathed.<br />
<br />
Shock erased anything I could remember of the event to prove that I had looked before entering the give way section, and the fallout of that was that I was in the wrong of the accident.<br />
<br />
I had broken the car that was Dad's pretty, and my pretty, and Sam's pretty (Sam was one of the lads who'd driven the car in the interim years). I'd been told to look after it, and<br />
<br />
<i>and evidently I haven't gotten over all of this yet. Guilt takes time. The fault is still mine though, and I have a bit of a hangup over it.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
So.<br />
<br />
There was a lesson learned. Let me tell you it.<br />
<br />
Grace.<br />
<br />
Or rather, I began to appreciate grace a whole lot more.<br />
<br />
See, I've known of and understood grace for a while. To a degree.<br />
<br />
My Mum and Dad are both Christians, and they raised me and my siblings to understand the wonder that comes with having a personal relationship with the creator of the universe. But even from a young age, they taught me the value of grace. They're both like sixth-generation Salvation Army kids (Okay so Dad's only three generations, not sure about Mum). Well, they came from Salvation Army stock.<br />
<br />
And I'm not up for debating a whole bunch of things right now, but when we left the Salvation Army, Mum made sure that I understood grace properly. That I understood that it's not the things we do that make us right; that following the laws wouldn't be enough to repair a broken relationship with God. We needed Jesus, and we needed to understand that he offered a way to get into a right relationship with God, without doing stuff.<br />
<br />
That it was a gift.<br />
<br />
That it was a grace.<br />
<br />
And I'd known this for a long time. Been taught it for a long time.<br />
<br />
But it wasn't until I was dealing with a written-off car, and being in the wrong, and trying to figure out whether my demerit points will carry over when I get my full license, that I realised the value of grace.<br />
<br />
I think you can appreciate the value of something in one of two different ways.<br />
<br />
You can understand how important it is when you come from not having it and then having it,<br />
and you can understand how important it is when you have it and then it is taken away, or you have to deal with something without its aid.<br />
<br />
That's not to say that I didn't want the <i>law</i> to be nullified - certainly not. If the law was nullified, then there'd be no justice. A world with no justice is a scary thought for me. We need justice. Without justice, things that go wrong get unpunished, victims are left to their broken lives and society, without stability, caves in.<br />
<br />
Justice is important.<br />
<br />
So I understood with incredible clarity why it was I was in the wrong over my accident. And why it was that someone had to be at fault. It's pretty rare that cars go and crash themselves.<br />
<br />
It's just that I didn't want to be the one at fault. I wanted grace. I didn't want the law to be broken for my sake, but I also didn't want to be the one to have to deal with being in the wrong.<br />
<br />
It was actually an incredible paradox, and at the same time a perfectly clear truth. Perfectly clear lesson. Painfully illustrated in screeching brakes and deformed metal, laid to rest clad in TARDIS blue.<br />
<br />
...<br />
<br />
It was painful to learn, and beautiful at the same time. And I hope that I never take the lesson of grace so for granted again that I have to learn this one over.<br />
<br />
Grace abounded more when Dad found my new car; a Festiva. It's a gelding compared to the stallion that was the Swift, but I'm incredibly thankful for it. Not having wheels is something you can get around if you live in the middle of Newcastle, or if you have housemates with cars, but when you have neither of these things, even getting the groceries is a challenge.<br />
<br />
Meet the incredibly tidy Daiko Bubbles. I'll be sure to post about it in the future. And about the Swift too.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgIE1hYOh_ZQ-hFVtHv_Ztg0AIl5cFW0m-5phefaAL6Nol56AZXiqOi1wRExeSAh5899pV_0bvSBEUkSnDLVHqhbC82-ruYSye43vYqOQWHawQ8zXz28ERU8Q5IJP4YmkkLCu9jaAaCW2B/s1600/new+car.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgIE1hYOh_ZQ-hFVtHv_Ztg0AIl5cFW0m-5phefaAL6Nol56AZXiqOi1wRExeSAh5899pV_0bvSBEUkSnDLVHqhbC82-ruYSye43vYqOQWHawQ8zXz28ERU8Q5IJP4YmkkLCu9jaAaCW2B/s320/new+car.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
But I think that's about as much talking as I can manage about the cars for now. I'll go back to aimlessly surfing the web in the art gallery, and listening to Explosions in the Sky.<br />
<br />
Seriously. Go look them up if you like post-rock, or like forty minutes of absolutely radical instrumental music.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<object class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://img.youtube.com/vi/OLW4Hb4SI_Y/0.jpg" height="266" width="320"><param name="movie" value="http://youtube.googleapis.com/v/OLW4Hb4SI_Y&source=uds" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><embed width="320" height="266" src="http://youtube.googleapis.com/v/OLW4Hb4SI_Y&source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></div>
<br />Brooke Hazelgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17228687318382639880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3249097400897693255.post-37220352125697124492013-08-07T19:37:00.001-07:002013-08-07T19:37:43.644-07:00Updates: Final Semester, Glutton for Punishment, Future Cosplays and Life LessonsSo.<br />
<br />
Somehow it's now the last day of July. And I've had my first day off for this week.<br />
<br />
Uni started back on Monday, and with it came the challenge of waking up on time, and remembering to do things in the correct order to maintain sanity and other general things.<br />
<br />
I've started my last semester - I finish studies in November, and hopefully the University will give me the funny hat early next year. With this then, is a slight bittersweet feeling. I mean, I've really loved uni, but at the same time, there's a bunch of things that I'll be glad to have done and dusted when I leave the realms of tertiary education.<br />
<br />
And hopefully, I'll be able to get a job at the end of it. And move into a house that's a little warmer in the winter.<br />
<br />
I've got a couple of blog posts in the works; these are kind of things that I've been mulling over the last month or so. There's two that are about my first car, and one that's about communication. I'm still trying to figure out how to say everything that I want to say in those, which is why they're not up yet.<br />
<br />
Also, NaNo is coming up again in November. Which is still a little bit away, but I'm beginning to plan story stuff now, because then you can just write during the allocated time. I'm ML-ing for Newcastle along with another mate again this year, so it should be fun. If I can figure out how to navigate time properly, I'll also try and finish last year's novel before we get to November. I got to fifty thousand on it, but it's probably closer to an eighty or hundred-thousand word novel. I haven't even written the scene with the granting of the superpowers yet.<br />
<br />
*sigh*<br />
<br />
Anyway, most of the plot of this year's novel is already planned. The characters don't have names yet. The story is about apathy, I guess. The main character is really apathetic because -*statement redacted*<br />
<br />
More on it soon. The story doesn't have a name yet. But it's about fate and apathy and the future and a bunch of other things. Redemption?<br />
<br />
And a gypsy curse, unless I can think of a better way to phrase that bit. Carnies with superpowers or something.<br />
<br />
So, what else is going down?<br />
<br />
Today, I woke up late, courtesy of playing Princess Uno with friends last night until I'd punched into the 'confused zombie' phase of overtired.<br />
<br />
Yesterday, I started on my sister's 18th birthday present. It's her birthday tomorrow. Not sure if it'll be done in time. :/<br />
<br />
I also attended my first Alchemy class for the semester, and made a big piece of chalk art at the church hub/office.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgbvLkPoal_IMGq0ebFNoksJPLI8QBee7lrpdSCctlIMLx1A0se2xfKtbof9BV9Iy5MYG-DfHRN9BVBDpvLnQPeYRXMA23pyhiilBON9wnszIZxg57ttbadvZfpNMaRat75xOR0tB3d-3N/s1600/30072013(004).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgbvLkPoal_IMGq0ebFNoksJPLI8QBee7lrpdSCctlIMLx1A0se2xfKtbof9BV9Iy5MYG-DfHRN9BVBDpvLnQPeYRXMA23pyhiilBON9wnszIZxg57ttbadvZfpNMaRat75xOR0tB3d-3N/s320/30072013(004).jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Yeah, that's right. Alchemy.<br />
<br />
It's funny, because when Bec the Housemate and I were looking at the Fine Art Program Handbook back in first year, we both saw Alchemy listed and laughed our heads off because '<i>what? Like the lead-into-gold business? I knew Fine Arts was going to be a bit out there, but they seriously teach Alchemy?'</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Yeah, they do. Sorry to ruin it, but it's a photography subject. You learn to print photographs with technology that was used back in the 1840's. One of the first exercises that we're going to do is make a pseudo-daguerreotype. I'm going to henceforth refer to that word as 'D-type' because I can't spell it without aid of a spell-checker. D-type photographs were the first type of photograph made, and the process happened when you coated a silver plate with a bunch of chemicals, exposed it to light, and then exposed it to a bunch more chemicals. Including mercury gases. I think we might be skipping the mercury bit of the process.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR3cOe2mSEykDdJj1vt6gmZsnGa9aZsegBx22sEBYlinKs1rNMgiVOu-yMRhLG4DNM8C61LaLAaWVouQb9zrX5nuMRLn1mSKrP5g1cCKmFKIkOQkKvHEk1JDIklBjwKQtxmdDQj7uYW-hJ/s1600/Boulevard_du_Temple_by_Daguerre.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR3cOe2mSEykDdJj1vt6gmZsnGa9aZsegBx22sEBYlinKs1rNMgiVOu-yMRhLG4DNM8C61LaLAaWVouQb9zrX5nuMRLn1mSKrP5g1cCKmFKIkOQkKvHEk1JDIklBjwKQtxmdDQj7uYW-hJ/s320/Boulevard_du_Temple_by_Daguerre.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
But D-types were insanely cool on a number of different levels. Firstly, they produced only a single positive from the process - unlike film photography, which creates a negative that can be printed from - so the end product was a complete one-off. Second, these photos were incredibly detailed, due to the nature of the light-sensitised metal; the surface was slow-reacting to the light, and could be compared with modern tech as having an ISO of <i>less than ten</i>.<br />
<br />
(For my friends who aren't waist-deep in photography madness, ISO is light sensitivity. The higher the number, the more light sensitive. The trade off with having high ISO images is the grainy effect you usually see on cheap cameras)<br />
<br />
So yeah. Alchemy looks like it'll be fun.<br />
<br />
And I've got a substitute for Fibres this semester, but I've had her teach me before, and I actually get along with her better than my standard tutor, so this semester I'll actually <i>want</i> to do really well with Fibres. Which is good.<br />
<br />
My theory course looks like a mix of philosophy and art, which should be interesting.<br />
<br />
And I've got another photography elective on Friday.<br />
<br />
So that's uni so far. I'm planning to make lace at some stage this semester, and I don't even know what else.<br />
<br />
Wait.<br />
<br />
Let me tell you about today's finding.<br />
<br />
Animania is one of the conventions that I frequent. Case in point.<br />
The big one is coming up in September, and I was of two minds about going, until I got an update about the event this morning.<br />
<br />
The special guest is the Japanese voice actress for Kuchiki Rukia, of Bleach.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvnCB2YjClrNPnkZ1kx0KQ5DxdyA_oGIM9wQ8vSuxEJofuoXKJUAKvky5Jcw8Hda1oNJoLr9R_Xo4lMx1cEkr6cuITKQMtirSVjNiT-kWGABbTkeQyba01T6U1-qlVll_Gknh19Z1QjUa_/s1600/bleach_ichigo-rukia0130.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvnCB2YjClrNPnkZ1kx0KQ5DxdyA_oGIM9wQ8vSuxEJofuoXKJUAKvky5Jcw8Hda1oNJoLr9R_Xo4lMx1cEkr6cuITKQMtirSVjNiT-kWGABbTkeQyba01T6U1-qlVll_Gknh19Z1QjUa_/s320/bleach_ichigo-rukia0130.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And you're all like <i>'blimey, not </i>Bleach<i> again'</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
At that point, something in me sighed, and something in me went nuts. Because I then <i>should totally go, and get a signature or something, and dress as Rukia, but not her standard attire, because that's too simple and there'll be fifty million of them at the convention.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Truth be told, I already had a Rukia cosplay planned for some time in the future. I was actually planning to do it at a point in time where I wouldn't have long hair though, because wigs are getting more and more difficult for me. Something about having hair down to my butt.<br />
<br />
Anyway. We'll work that out when we get there.<br />
<br />
<i>A week later...</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Crap.<br />
<br />
Okay, that's it. I've got gallery duty and I'm going to be here for the next five hours; <i>posting will be done.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Also, I realised that all that post got incredibly detailed in a short amount of time. I apologise. If not careful, it's pretty easy to get stuck on the small details. A flaw of mine.<br />
<br />
What was this week then?<br />
<br />
I got very sick on Monday night. No idea why. Guts just decided to hit the 'purge' button and things got less and less fun after that. It's only today that my appetite has actually returned somewhat. Isotonic drinks in the meantime are the best.<br />
<br />
I've also started patternmaking the outfit for Animania; I was supposed to get the fabric today, but for my amazing organisational skills. (Woo!)<br />Tomorrow.<br />
<br />
I think there's a couple things I'm on edge about with the cosplay, and a couple of things I'm really, <i>really</i> happy about.<br />
<br />
I dunno if I ever blogged about it before, but <i>battle damaged characters are boss to cosplay.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3Y1CV2D9Jb_AuhqTTlE8p1I7Vk3gCnptnuoJN8s-FiSNY9YW6wCt5yNd9jEHJqxCKXiuGReRsByE5izMHE8dd5ugz4gbkruYvsTqTDFMiccpRumOuQ_Guy66O7pdX2d2uJ89Q92y8lRZE/s1600/bleach-2402615.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3Y1CV2D9Jb_AuhqTTlE8p1I7Vk3gCnptnuoJN8s-FiSNY9YW6wCt5yNd9jEHJqxCKXiuGReRsByE5izMHE8dd5ugz4gbkruYvsTqTDFMiccpRumOuQ_Guy66O7pdX2d2uJ89Q92y8lRZE/s320/bleach-2402615.jpg" width="220" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I probably said something a while back about this too.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
Why?<br />
<br />
No hems. You can have something that's flowing and majestic and tattered as buckleys, and you <i>don't have to sew hems on it.</i> In fact, it actually looks better if you irregularly hack into the fabric with a pair of scissors. Authentic battle damage; stuff like that. Hems on giant flowing things are pretty nasty, so no hems make life better.<br />
<br />
The outfit also looks really simple. I finished patternmaking it last night; the seams and stuff are all nice and neat.<br />
<br />
Except for the collar.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheDg4rTl8vt79HQMi3H4xVHeMFOgdk0qA0gewREsjUtWc1GfaWmCIVqTVVARWo0ntllPCspNF8Pbk9tcAh2GBhyphenhyphenUZPb6j2gwUjvxpkGjc-9gtSMNJIexBfJmvXqNXz0YGZkG4x3zHAPij8/s1600/darkrukia4.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheDg4rTl8vt79HQMi3H4xVHeMFOgdk0qA0gewREsjUtWc1GfaWmCIVqTVVARWo0ntllPCspNF8Pbk9tcAh2GBhyphenhyphenUZPb6j2gwUjvxpkGjc-9gtSMNJIexBfJmvXqNXz0YGZkG4x3zHAPij8/s320/darkrukia4.PNG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Look at that thing.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9m68MZQ4gpO9uxu9XhbLLweMc9iR11t2Cj1ZxzfJJC7-Cbxqg-1ctODYDOvcwinXjyJfKDiR7UpzZG5SH0ZUinGz8UFNFOW_ka8tHM7lBiO4u1xa1TVEtCLLPNboGZEKafZznAcdQyDrD/s1600/darkrukia3.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9m68MZQ4gpO9uxu9XhbLLweMc9iR11t2Cj1ZxzfJJC7-Cbxqg-1ctODYDOvcwinXjyJfKDiR7UpzZG5SH0ZUinGz8UFNFOW_ka8tHM7lBiO4u1xa1TVEtCLLPNboGZEKafZznAcdQyDrD/s320/darkrukia3.PNG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
LOOK AT IT.<br />
<br />
<i>It's like whoever designed this thing didn't even understand how clothes work. It was just 'oh, hey. This would look cool. Let's chuck this on here, and that on there, and whatever.'</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
*Throws chair*<br />
<br />
It'll be done. Fortunately, Dark Rukia has been cosplayed before; so I can look at what other people have done in the past and figure out what I'm working on from there, but in the meantime it's a bit tricky.<br /><br />Now, to away from this clunky update, and try and write something a little more coherent. I've got five hours left at the gallery. Plenty of time.Brooke Hazelgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17228687318382639880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3249097400897693255.post-21344927657779217882013-07-08T21:48:00.001-07:002013-07-08T21:48:45.767-07:00Supanova and the return of TexasSo. Let's see how I go typing up a blog post with a bruised hand. Reverse snap is never kind to play, and more so if you happen to be a fine artist and you're playing aggressively against eight other people.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7J5UW13Jz4DAvH4ujnuxY3qXkqHYWBxLR6JTdXzsegg_8mUHsWuDxJYeyQtyIhYCNxRacYVBSdneqD8wBmrm8U_B3GVnHNYj0rkd0O3BSlWzGesmmp2RaIu3O6FfmGMlJxj-m1Z57iON3/s1600/07072013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7J5UW13Jz4DAvH4ujnuxY3qXkqHYWBxLR6JTdXzsegg_8mUHsWuDxJYeyQtyIhYCNxRacYVBSdneqD8wBmrm8U_B3GVnHNYj0rkd0O3BSlWzGesmmp2RaIu3O6FfmGMlJxj-m1Z57iON3/s320/07072013.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
First, I want to apologise to everyone who's been regularly tuning in. I should have gotten this done earlier. The middle two weeks of June were the definition of madness for me, and I needed some time off to recover and rest. I may talk about a couple of those things later on, but that's really a blog post for another time.<br />
<br />
Also, I tried typing up a post for Nova earlier, and it quickly turned into a play-by-play. Which is not incredibly interesting for everyone. I'll try my best not to dilly-dally.<br />
<br />
OKAY. SUPANOVA EVERYONE.<br />
<br />
I'd never been to a Supanova before. I'd done Main Animania twice before though, and basically assumed it would be the same, but a bit bigger and encapsulate a wider range of fandoms.<br />
<br />
Now, let me tell you about what was right in that statement and what was insanely underestimated about that statement.<br />
<br />
Have you been to Paddy's Markets before?<br /><br />If you have, imagine what it would look like if you went to Paddy's and gave every fourth person a costume, and every second person a camera.<br />
<br />
If you haven't been to Paddy's before, a music festival or any kind of crowd that after half an hour you feel over will suffice in the above situation.<br />
<br />
Supanova had <i>many many people. Too many people.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
I guess that that part of my thinking considering that the first day I was at Nova, I was in the armour and therefore took up more physical space that a lot of other people didn't seem to think existed. Wait. That's a little confusing...<br />
<br />
<i>Brooke, how did the armour go in the long-awaited competition? Did you win?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Well.<br />
<br />
The short answer is 'no'. The long answer goes something along the lines of 'I slept in and arrived after the prejudging check-in time closed'. Which goes to show that you should not try functioning on three hours of sleep and then expect that the next night you can get away with anything less than twelve hours sleep.<br />
<br />
This was a little disappointing. I had planned everything for Supanova with the intent of entering Tex in the competition, and arrived late, dripping black ink everywhere and with my shoes already leaking.<br />
<br />
That's something I didn't mention earlier. It rained pretty much all weekend at 'Nova, and I had to walk a kilometre from the place I was staying to the train station in the rain both ways.<br /><br />And the ink I used to paint the armour, which I believe had 'waterproof' printed on the bottle, was not waterproof by any stretch of the imagination. I left little black puddles wherever I stopped on my way there and back.<br />
<br />
But there were photos asked for. The first two were on the train, and those kind of mean a little more than photos taken at the convention. I mean, there's a much larger amount of people that go to conventions with their cameras, but the people on the train or wherever have no idea as per the occasion. They're just minding their own business, and you've popped into their world, oddly dressed and acting normal. They might not understand what you're doing, but they get to appreciate it nevertheless.<br />
<br />
And let's not forget the rat-tailed 10-year-olds who waved to me and called me 'Master Chief' on the train. I waved back, because that's what you do when kids who understand at least part of what you're trying to be talk to you. I didn't have my helmet on, so there was no need to do the character business.<br />
<br />
And thusly we arrived, soggy and putting black ink on everything, with one of my shoes already broken, at supanova. Don't assemble shoes with hot glue - you need stuff that bends.<br /><br />The costume was well-received by everyone else, and I had a lot of people ask for photos. About 80% of those people kept calling me 'Master Chief' though. There was a great level of temptation to at one stage do the "My name is <i>TEXAS</i>" yell (Think that line from The Matrix) but, you know, my voice was kind of muffled by the helm, so there wouldn't have been much of a point. Would have fogged up the visor, and that would have been about it.<br />
<br />
It was kind of cool that I had to actually tell people that I'd made the armour. There was black ink rubbing off here and there, so you could start to see green foam showing, but it was still rather cool that it was of high-enough workmanship to be mistaken at times for a store-bought Spartan.<br />
<br />
There was a store-bought spartan there though - I saw a woman dressed in mjiolnir armour complete with battle damage and the correct shade of green. It was interesting seeing it up close, as I got to have a gander at the look and the feel of the licensed product. I didn't encounter her on the Saturday though, so we didn't get photos together.<br />
<br />
<i>Oh yeah, the photo business...</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Let's go out on a limb here and I'll tell you what it means when you have a complete stranger ask you for your photo.<br />
<br />
It means that your outfit impacted them enough to break the social convention of talking to a stranger, enough to ask to take a photographic record of your effort, alongside themselves, or taking a pose.<br />
<br />
It is often a confirmation of the 'breaking down the fourth wall' business that I spent the last semester yabbering about, more so if they interact with you in a manner appropriate for your character.<br />
<br />
I was only asked for one photo of me 'killing' someone else though. I put the lad in a headlock and then all was well again. But yeah. I got asked for a lot of photos. I'd be in the middle of having a conversation with someone, and someone else would tentatively approach me for a photo. I'd chuck on the helmet, pose, and get hit by five other requests. And then get about ten minutes to take the helm off for fresh air before the next photo.<br /><br />So this was part of my Saturday. Something else that does happen with the photos is that social media lets a bunch of strangers put up photos that they've taken in a place where everyone else can see said photos too. So if your outfit's good enough, you might not need a camera for a convention - you just trawl facebook for the week after the convention and the photos that everyone else took of you show up.<br />
<br />
I've done this before and been met with limited success. Considering that 1) I didn't have any pockets and 2) my point and shoot camera has vanished off the face of the planet, I was kind of relying on con photos for documentation of the suit and general reception.<br />
<br />
Let me now post up the entirity of the photos I've found of Tex that were taken by other people.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiCAStwbaeizdVjIIKDr06_nmmYfXFoBz9QMEHccS9g3LTtV93rGU2V1QpxOarbmoHVNXJdjPxWUVxF4O8IFVnHlx7NmbgJya8OivbTYYLI-3RoaJLs8JYa9sh7f9vFAJmJr5eCsfgqpyn/s1600/998396_4872731827284_266659873_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiCAStwbaeizdVjIIKDr06_nmmYfXFoBz9QMEHccS9g3LTtV93rGU2V1QpxOarbmoHVNXJdjPxWUVxF4O8IFVnHlx7NmbgJya8OivbTYYLI-3RoaJLs8JYa9sh7f9vFAJmJr5eCsfgqpyn/s320/998396_4872731827284_266659873_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgreVjmaclQzRyWPtk-oUYa8VrNetfAgog06revVkBW1X0CjE6yu8s7wHCJeygk3s4XOwy8FBcrfac8ngXSLxx3i5z_9PHvCvKZKVFql0tSVTD16YbCxik9zx_A4pGMaKX8xT6bLIbql0tR/s1600/600759_4872731307271_443158534_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgreVjmaclQzRyWPtk-oUYa8VrNetfAgog06revVkBW1X0CjE6yu8s7wHCJeygk3s4XOwy8FBcrfac8ngXSLxx3i5z_9PHvCvKZKVFql0tSVTD16YbCxik9zx_A4pGMaKX8xT6bLIbql0tR/s320/600759_4872731307271_443158534_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGoeYC8Oe7wHYHKo0Ksf-9L022maLrLrRcTK4CY7yTP55RRG7fUFJ_UykStRjcGBcQNKCiFIf09GUgC1FkBPwAmurR0dFfF_wCDWAnsToDcNZ8Gbe9q8XGN8EObhch7BenNBR0S5lJMY0c/s1600/1044918_4872731587278_1904478200_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGoeYC8Oe7wHYHKo0Ksf-9L022maLrLrRcTK4CY7yTP55RRG7fUFJ_UykStRjcGBcQNKCiFIf09GUgC1FkBPwAmurR0dFfF_wCDWAnsToDcNZ8Gbe9q8XGN8EObhch7BenNBR0S5lJMY0c/s320/1044918_4872731587278_1904478200_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzx6f6u6HJRGdQmbT8HsO7LHlOOPeKdsz8sg2OX6XuQ5unTYXA87ZoENHt2e66HLZBZ5iaMEMkEybcZay_yHTCEBw4VZxrEfF0X148uxLrR5daP1osbQHjZ0PIT1beYg2ETc8Utj2ipp18/s1600/971318_10151638231776475_1105912431_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzx6f6u6HJRGdQmbT8HsO7LHlOOPeKdsz8sg2OX6XuQ5unTYXA87ZoENHt2e66HLZBZ5iaMEMkEybcZay_yHTCEBw4VZxrEfF0X148uxLrR5daP1osbQHjZ0PIT1beYg2ETc8Utj2ipp18/s320/971318_10151638231776475_1105912431_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
Yep. That's all of them.<br />
<br />
Oh, wait. I saved the best feedback for last.<br />
<br />
Remember how I said 80% of people thought I was Master Chief?<br />
<br />
This was kind of the highlight in terms of feedback I got from other people on Tex.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggpSA-5dvySvEm0q2uKWPR7vHE2C6en4ZeIXWFS54nvXqY3LaLU-5Tl0ZiemVjyvViP93NGOhsLNv9m0ItA67Mfm63Mar5jHmH6E6nyHl59A2pxRWiJuvApNFJwP_IbwKKB_8Za268h2I6/s1600/tex_tweet_nova.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggpSA-5dvySvEm0q2uKWPR7vHE2C6en4ZeIXWFS54nvXqY3LaLU-5Tl0ZiemVjyvViP93NGOhsLNv9m0ItA67Mfm63Mar5jHmH6E6nyHl59A2pxRWiJuvApNFJwP_IbwKKB_8Za268h2I6/s1600/tex_tweet_nova.PNG" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
This tweet was sent by one of the guys manning the stall at 'Nova that sold Roosterteeth merch. Keep in mind that it's RT that created the Red vs Blue series. The guy at the stall recognised the character, and tweeted the photo he took to Kathleen Zuelch, the woman who voices Tex.<br /><br />And the image was re-tweeted by <i>the lady who voices Tex.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
While there wasn't verbal feedback, getting a shout out from the voice actor of the character is about the coolest kind of feedback you can get.<br />
<br />
The guy couldn't remember my Twitter handle, but it wasn't hard to find later on.<br />
<br />
The rest of my day was spent taping the bits of armour back on, and being incredibly thankful for the hydration pack that I'd been able to borrow before heading out. I don't know how immediately obvious it is to the average joe, but a wetsuit gets pretty hot pretty quickly. Hydrate or get real dizzy real quickly. And yes, that happened.<br />
<br />
What else would be worth mentioning about the day? There were many people, and many people I was trying to find that I now know because of conventions. I didn't find all of them, but also got pretty peopled out pretty quickly.<br />
<br />
Oh. I bought a grifball!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO739jh_pK0-0fqiO2q3rsv9zUh-kMPHORcZoqvhZrMbza3aa9MIA9sDXUrENN3Z99J-EEOCJRMfxnoKaxVYSF3BIq2WUxcqUbwklU-BaiOT4L68if6ThIzkuCMXh9svdB1gr6BTj1MFpG/s1600/RT_Grifballs_915x380.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO739jh_pK0-0fqiO2q3rsv9zUh-kMPHORcZoqvhZrMbza3aa9MIA9sDXUrENN3Z99J-EEOCJRMfxnoKaxVYSF3BIq2WUxcqUbwklU-BaiOT4L68if6ThIzkuCMXh9svdB1gr6BTj1MFpG/s320/RT_Grifballs_915x380.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
It's a plushie tank mine.<br />
<br />
The costumes were pretty incredible at Supanova, but I also think it was to a degree a wider range of the spectrum that I see at every other convention - there are always brilliant ones, and midrange ones, and ones that will get better in time. There were like fifty million Eleventh Doctors though.<br />
<br />
Lots of TARDIS dresses, lots of Doctors. I get it, it's a cool outfit, and it's okay for you to love the series. But the only outfit I saw more than Matt Smith's Tweed-and-Fez was the <i>Pikachu Onesie.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>So many Pikachu onesies.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
There should not be that many at a convention. My goodness gracious.<br />
<br />
*shakes head, tries to not bump bruised finger*<br />
I really hope this isn't broken. Silly paranoia.<br />
<br />
OKAY, WHAT ELSE?<br />
<br />
I stayed for the cosplay comp on Saturday, to see what the competition would have looked like.<br />
<br />
It was pretty varied. Some were absolutely incredible. I would have been hard-pressed to match the best stuff, but not by much.<br />Next year, I guess. Animania is for anime; I can't enter Tex in the prejudging. Next year, with a gun and armour that doesn't fall apart or have ink pouring off it because of the ruddy weather. Or I'll just take the next planned thing.<br />
<br />
It's probably my biggest problem with cosplay in general. I have this neverending list of things that I should be making at any given point in time. And the point in time when this list gets longer is usually when I'm in the middle to end stages of another costume.<br /><br />So next year's big costume is probably going to have a shotgun that folds out into a scythe/sniper rifle combo.<br />
<br />
Glutton for punishment.<br />
<br />
Back to nova:<br />
Sunday was a little more laid back. I took some edo-period clothing in and got to browse the stalls a little better. And remembered an umbrella. They make a big difference when you've got to walk a kilometre in the kind of rain that says 'I am not letting up, no matter how much you wish it'.<br />
<br />
There was a stall for Weta workshop, which is better explained as the SFX group that made the costumes and paraphernalia for the Lord of the Rings movies, the Narnia movies, the Hobbit trilogy, King Kong, Avatar, District 9, and half a bajillion other things.<br />
<br />
And when it was noticed that they had a panel that you could attend to see what they did and what they were up to, I was like 'yes.'<br />
<br />
And then I was like 'what does it take to get a job as a costume designer with Weta?'<br />
<br />
And the guy at the stall was like 'send us a portfolio'<br />
<br />
I think it would be equal parts exciting and freaky to get to work with Weta. On the one hand, it's a dream job for someone like me. On the other hand, they're based in NZ and I still get homesick if I don't go home at least once a term at the moment.<br />
<br />
<i>Mad industries that I want to work with, why you all outside of Australia?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Keep going, keep looking. Keep making.<br />
<br />
So I guess that with looking at Supanova as a whole, I was a bit underwhelmed. Although I can kind of put those down to several factors:<br />
The company I kept had me on edge the entire time<br />I'd not been ready for the kind of crowd<br />I took a huge cosplay while not being ready for the kind of crowd<br />Said cosplay had some major failures and I wasn't able to enter it in a competition I'd been winding up for the entire month prior<br />My shoes leaked on the Saturday and Sunday<br />I was overtired from finishing uni<br />
<br />
Not sure if I'll go next year. I mean, I'm not ruling it out. I just wasn't prepared for what was going to be there.<br />
<br />
Never underestimate how miserable wet feet can make you.<br />
<br />
I guess these kind of feel like a little bit of a downer. There were some positives I guess. The tweet from Kathleen was one of those. Seeing an incredible amount of costumes was another. Weta was a third.<br />
<br />
I had a lot of people ask about the armour, which was great. And I got to tell a few people about the blog too. Next time I should try for contact cards or something.<br />
<br />
So yeah.<br />
<br />
Next thing?<br />
<br />
<i>The Return of Texas</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuDhAuzuvXGXBtwyekZo6PS0PbeahsvxfNytFqbOYPM-qzSNh9mqQq0e36vtz9lV0BS4TaxfVQk5MlTq-oCM1HqKXH6R4N3Ru2QvMISs_ZzJPPLPEjbKwCFYsUG1joKx0U5LU-iDAtRvO_/s1600/08072013(001).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuDhAuzuvXGXBtwyekZo6PS0PbeahsvxfNytFqbOYPM-qzSNh9mqQq0e36vtz9lV0BS4TaxfVQk5MlTq-oCM1HqKXH6R4N3Ru2QvMISs_ZzJPPLPEjbKwCFYsUG1joKx0U5LU-iDAtRvO_/s320/08072013(001).jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiydV22i_720kQHCELp3U0BzJg-E0hiY7_l-MgDkEG9Hb3LXGOOqV3aMCX4bAsi-eE8JeXcqP85dzM13yyCUAdMm6IcxErMXg5_mIl37OP7qR9ytl27U2v7s4f9hyphenhyphenERF83pyT43f7dT26UC/s1600/08072013(002).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiydV22i_720kQHCELp3U0BzJg-E0hiY7_l-MgDkEG9Hb3LXGOOqV3aMCX4bAsi-eE8JeXcqP85dzM13yyCUAdMm6IcxErMXg5_mIl37OP7qR9ytl27U2v7s4f9hyphenhyphenERF83pyT43f7dT26UC/s320/08072013(002).jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
As mentioned earlier, the ink ran on the armour in the rain, which was a bit disappointing.<br />
I also had some structural failures occur as well, some of which can be fixed, others of which I will just Improve so they don't break in the same way again.<br />
<br />
Yesterday I took the armour out on the front lawn of my parents place and hosed as much of the ink that would come off as I could. And then wiped the helm down with a chux instead because it has batteries and lights inside it.<br />
<br />
The idea at the moment with fixing the armour is to repair the foam that failed structurally, repaint the armour so it's uniform and won't get black everywhere when it gets wet, sew the velcro onto the wetsuit properly and fix up the vent holes and pretty much redo the entire shoe, because those suckers fell apart disappointingly fast.<br />
<br />
And a gun. I want a gun. Although that is probably something I'll work on when I get back to Newie, since all said foam is <i>in </i>Newcastle and I'm not buying more unless I <i>absolutely</i> have to. There's three and a half full sheets in Newie. Enough to make half of the armour over again. At the moment I'm tossing up between building the assault rifle or the sniper rifle.<br />
<br />
I think there's more things I can write on, but at the moment my decrease in typing speed is sufficiently getting to me. I'll leave you with the<a href="http://www.wetanz.com/projects/" target="_blank"> link for Weta's project list so you can see how cool they are</a>,<br />
<br />
a picture of Nathan Fillion holding a sniper rifle for no explainable reason<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4KeqivGZXSAnD5-qZWpKIZXRjZrdaa9TXTRkjhGSInBB47INOgYZuDeqRWvw8mcKa7cqlVRTM2ibEqTDK15l7hVbhXdGYf9OL99hvzKWLlLdjfpqK_iWzuzV8HAz6rhSB2EvKa__WgspI/s1600/coolthings_nathan_fillion_sniper_rifle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4KeqivGZXSAnD5-qZWpKIZXRjZrdaa9TXTRkjhGSInBB47INOgYZuDeqRWvw8mcKa7cqlVRTM2ibEqTDK15l7hVbhXdGYf9OL99hvzKWLlLdjfpqK_iWzuzV8HAz6rhSB2EvKa__WgspI/s320/coolthings_nathan_fillion_sniper_rifle.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
and the first trailer of the RWBY series, because it has my next planned big cosplayable character in it. It's a bit violent though, so do consider yourself warned.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/pYW2GmHB5xs?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />Brooke Hazelgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17228687318382639880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3249097400897693255.post-16765010587787324822013-07-03T05:10:00.004-07:002013-07-03T05:10:45.726-07:00Another note on dreamingOkay, consider this the unrefined ramblings of someone with a thought and an argument. The post is not about speculation-dreams, but rather, that thing your brain does to pass time when you log off for a bit.<br />
<br />
I don't remember my dreams very often, but when I do they're rarely everyday things. The last two NaNo novels I've written were based off dreams I'd had - for whatever reason being in the middle of some really weird scene, and then waking up and going<br />
<br />
"what the actual heck"<br />
<br />
Usually they're insanely vivid, and I can remember every detail. Or enough to write about them.<br />
<br />
Last year's novel was about a character who gets inflicted with a virus, and nearly kills someone else because of it, and is only able to save them by giving them the virus as well.<br />
<br />
Man that sounds weird when you phrase it like that. But that's the summary of that dream, and that scene was the fastest 2000 words I've ever written.<br />
<br />
Come back to the present.<br />
<br />
This morning was pleasant. It was just nice, and nice for a few different reasons. And then I woke up and had to deal with a reality where none of the things that made that scenario nice were present. It really just meant I had an odd taste in my mouth for the duration of the day, as well as one particular Anchor & Braille song stuck in my head.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/orYQIwNAz9c?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
<br />
It provoked thought. Would we be more satisfied with life if we didn't dream? I mean, my biggest problem with dreams is trying to deal with these two completely different worlds and how they're supposed to relate when I know one of them is just my brain having a spack so it's not real <i>but it felt real at the time</i>.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguLuOr7plJQh7RzwTZQ3CdMhWbWDp2qVGMEMwv3tcyry1PhWc8S7Zw1XzU7aVk-Rm3mEWfYhUorT9ZcsboM94KiMQi2piAz57uBpsUbbVf76HYl8dGIpghaQ0jhX1zSeW1q6naVPbKXjh0/s630/inception_image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguLuOr7plJQh7RzwTZQ3CdMhWbWDp2qVGMEMwv3tcyry1PhWc8S7Zw1XzU7aVk-Rm3mEWfYhUorT9ZcsboM94KiMQi2piAz57uBpsUbbVf76HYl8dGIpghaQ0jhX1zSeW1q6naVPbKXjh0/s320/inception_image.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I guess that this is what happens when you spend too much of your waking hours reading and writing fiction. You start to live it, and get disappointed when it doesn't turn out that way.<br />
<br />
Or whatever. I can deal with it not being real in the same way that I can deal with Aes Sedai, Shinigami and birdkids not being real. Draw the heck out of it and start making costumes.<br />
<br />
It's the part where you have to master the two worlds and not act like the way you relate to that person or this person is different in any way from what it was like before the dream. I can deal with waking up and not being able to walk through walls - I do that all the time.<br />
<br />
It's the people thing that gets me. Do I behave differently because of this spack-attack my brain had? Because the other party is going to get mighty confused if so. They've missed out on a whole chapter of 'what's going on at the moment' because my brain decided to fill that bit in.<br />
<br />
Stupid brain.<br />
<br />
Oh hey, let me tell you how else my brain is stupid.<br />
<br />
Let's talk about memory.<br />
<br />
My memory is weird. It's amazing at remembering things like the difference between Iceland and Greenland, why it is you shouldn't be selling lye water commercially, the extra language in the Wheel of Time series, and which Grammy awards ceremony the Gorillaz performed at.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/lwxccVAl5A8?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
<br />
2006. And oh-my-goodness-gracious-Murdoc-and-Madonna, you can stop watching halfway through.<br />
<br />
And yet somehow I still manage to forget people's names. I'm useful for winning trivia nights, but pretty useless for everything else. My head records everything useless about my day, and stores it all.<br />
<br />
Which is why I had difficulty particularly the last week, trying to remember crucial details about an event when I've had shock pretty much obliterate said details. Not being able to remember is my problem.<br />
<br />
Although, that ends up being a paradox sometimes, since I've of late been desperately trying to remember the important things, and trying to cash in my useless memory ability. There's things that happen, and I get trapped inside my own head, trying to figure them out, when it feels like it'd be easier to forget everything and move on. Forget the useless details and remember the ones that matter.<br />
<br />
Yeah, good luck.<br />
<br />
So, sometimes when something is uuber important for me to remember, I'll write it down. But it's rare that I'll record everything. I hate recording everything. You tell me to write a journal and I'll immediately have my hackles up, because it's...it's...<br />
<br />
Imagine this scene.<br />
<br />
A library, vast and extensive, and a desk in the middle of it. The desk is completely covered in paper, stacked high in great piles. Paper stacks crowd around the desk, each like a small child wanting to be picked up by their mother next. There's no-one at the desk.<br />
You begin to search the shelves, tentatively, for the person you seek. They're not at the desk. Your eye catches onto an odd sight nearby - a clerk's desk sitting next to the end of a shelf. There's a pen standing upright on an open, blank book. It's scribbling furiously in a script that is halfway between a cursive and a print, its writer absent. You read what it's scrawling out, and catch words like 'cold' and 'grey'.<br />
"Odd place for you to be,"<br />
You hear a voice, and caught off guard, spin around.<br />
There's a girl. She's shorter than you, but it doesn't seem to register. Her hair, the colour of sunlight, hangs loose, long and wild. Her boots are scuffed but cared for, poking from the turnups of her faded blue jeans. Her top has some print on it, but you don't register the joke it's making because she's speaking again.<br />
"Can I help you?"<br />
You shiver and straighten your grey coat, suddenly registering what the book had been recording when you began observing the pen. You swallow, then stand up straight. You are here to offer Advice. It will be Beneficial and bring Order to this library which is in dire need of such help.<br />
"Can I interest you in-"<br />
The girl has already snatched the sheet of paper from your hand. She gives it a cursory glance, before turning and placing it carefully on the tallest pile of the desk in the centre of the room. She tilts her head, shakes it and returns to where you stand.<br />
"Why do I need to provide an inventory of my library?" she asks, frowning.<br />
You feel taken aback. This wasn't the answer you were expecting.<br />
"Because...because it will help you stay organised?" you manage.<br />
The girl turns, takes in the library in its entirity - the two-storey-high shelves, complete with sliding ladders. The stacks of loose books as tall as a man and four times that height in width.<br />
The ink-stains, frayed rugs and overwhelming smell of old paper.<br />
And then the girl turns back to you. You didn't see how or when it happened, but her attire has changed. Her hair is now bound back, and she is wearing a faded blue bomber jacket. Something in her face has changed too - more reserved, and a little sad.<br />
"What makes you think my library needs organising? The book piles? The paper? The absence of any prior-installed regiment?"<br />
You think carefully about what to say, but she begins to speak again.<br />
"Have you tried to pin down memories before?"<br />
You nod, hoping to inform the girl of the usefulness of said pinning.<br />
"I don't like to do it more than I have to," she says quietly, "it's like taking a camera everywhere."<br />
You stop nodding, puzzled.<br />
"The problem with taking a camera everywhere," says the girl, "is that you can very quickly become obsessed with documenting the moment instead of just enjoying it. It becomes more important to have some tangible proof of your experience than to have that experience in the first place. And that's kind of sad.<br />My books, they all decay. Some do it faster than others, but the ink bleeds sometimes, or the paper gets crumpled. They're alive, see, and they all have a limited lifespan. I could try and inventory them, but that wouldn't make them any better or worse. The time I'd spend writing down the information on the outside of the book is time I could be spending inside the book, or I'd be so focused on documenting the book that I'd forget to spend time with it and it'd fall apart in my hands. My library might look disheveled, sir, but let me assure you, I know it. It is <i>my library</i>. Very little happens in it that I do not know of."<br />
Behind her, you notice the paper piled on top of the desk. It is moving of its own accord, floating towards the girl. There is a rustling sound as the paper rearranges itself, although you can't discern what the rearrangement is until two great angel wings unfold from behind the girl.<br />
"This is my world," the girl says again, "I know it well enough."<br />
And then the floor of the library ceases to exist and you fall into the sky.<br />
<br />
...<br />
<br />
...<br />
<br />
...<br />
<br />
Okay. I got carried away with that last part. But anyway. You get creative writing out of me as well.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/8Rc2oruEetE?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />I got stuff to do.<br /><br />*paper rustles*<br /><br />Brooke out.Brooke Hazelgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17228687318382639880noreply@blogger.com0