Archive for April, 2008

A Quietly Powerful Man Of Ice

April 29, 2008

“Anytime I’m needing someone

I think of you for comfort..

Can you feel me?”

I’m watching Top Gun. This is my older brothers favourite movie, it came out the year I was born. Somehow I identify with the lead chick. We both have curly hair, we’re smart, absolutely rubbish when it comes to talking to guys we like, we go for brave men. Oh yeah and we like secret affairs. They add to the excitement.

As I’ve said a few posts ago, I’m starting to sigh over the ‘perfect man’ again. Goddamn life. Injecting hope into the hopeless like that, what a cruel joke. Its all these stupid movies I watch. I mean come on, Top Gun? Hardly a romance for the ages. Its like the guide to getting the most from a woman by saying the smallest amount of words. Why does she chase him so much? In the time it took for me to write those two paragraphs they’ve gone from their first date to sleeping together. And there was no montage in between, people. Outrageous.

I take it back, I’m not like her. She’s a dick head and apparently an easy lay. Plus, I’d never go for Tom Cruise. He’s too much of a mouthy, sure of himself smartass in this movie. My man would be so much more intelligent and ‘quietly powerful’. He’d be the Val Kilmer of Top Gun, the ‘iceman’.

LuLi’s Dream Boat

I read a few interesting posts about the perfect woman the other day, starting with this one by DC Hero. Perfect is a strong word and I wouldn’t want it in a man, flaws give people character.. but let me outline to you the features my ideal guy would possess.

Quietly Powerful.

Think Vito Corleone when he just moved to New York. He was poor, but he was a man of honour and he didn’t fuck around. The people who messed with him paid for it. This is an important example because it shows that power and status are not necessarily the same thing. A politician has a high status, but can be weak minded with limited power. A man of power does not need to talk too much, in fact the less he says, the better. He doesn’t need to convince you, you just agree with him.

Power also has nothing to do with money, instead it is reliant upon the influence you hold amongst others. A poor street thug with a sharp mind can easily hold sway over many men, and have them comply to his will. Again, this does not have to do with who has the biggest stockpile of weaponry but it definately has to do with toughness. Which leads me to the next part.

Tough / Strong.

If it comes down to it, he has to be able to win a fist fight. This is a necessity. I want to feel like he can protect me in the event that someone may attack us. He doesn’t have to be ripped, or huge. Its about determination and skill. David did beat Goliath after all. It doesn’t even have to be a fist fight, there are many different ways to win. I always think of that fight that Maradona had with his team mates against the umpires. The way he flew through the air and landed those kicks.. It was majestic. *Swoon*

I love this clip.. It features the fight around the middle somewhere, but its worth watching to see some of the amazing soccer moments of a legend.

Intelligent / Clever.

As opposed to smart. Smart is good, but its booky, its research, its statistics. Smart can lead to smartass. Just be intelligent enough to have interesting conversations with me about life and all the crazy things in it. Clever enough to rip me in a debate, or to be able to rationalise a point of view you may not even agree with. Intelligent enough to understand something that I don’t and clever enough to teach me about it in a way that leaves me agreeing with you. I don’t want to beat you, I want to learn from you.

He’s Got Morals.

He has honesty, he doesn’t want to win a girl with lies because its much more dignified to win her with the truth, whether the truth be good or bad. Winning someone despite a loathsome truth is a difficult and impressive feat. He is loyal, and would never betray someone’s trust. And if you betrayed his, there is no going back. You get one chance and thats all. A little stubbornness never hurt anybody, if anything it adds to character. It makes you seem firm. He doesn’t really care for taking drugs. He doesn’t care for sluts. He keeps an element of purity. He’s not a snitch, he never talks too much. He takes secrets to the grave. He believes in fairness and justice.

In Terms Of Appearance…

Anything can be sexy. I go for a variety of looks, but typically my type is tallish with dark features. I’m not a huge fan of the pretty boy, I prefer a more striking look. I love broad shoulders and the v kind of shape that some guys have from the waist to the torso. Dark eyes are beautiful.

Of course he’s insanely protective of me and caring in a way thats not possessive. Loving, et cetera, et cetera.. you know the score. And there we have it.

“Exotic.. Is how I describe you

You’re honest, You make me feel like I can trust you

Take advantage, of my space and time

You’re so romantic, You know how to make a girl feel fine

You took me swimming in the ocean

Had me flying cross the coast and

You always keep me focussed

You told me you loved me

And in my heart I know you mean it

And no-one can come between us..”

The Call Of Duty

April 25, 2008

I’m probably the last person in the world who would write a patriotic slap on the back to our forefathers, especially one about war, but this post from gullybogan got me thinking. I was invited to the dawn service yesterday and I turned it down, mostly because I didn’t know much about what we were remembering. I could blame it on school, but a girl who has studied Australian Politics at university should know better. It was due to ignorance, a tactless regard for this day as a stuffy ode to another war we probably shouldn’t have been fighting.

What I didn’t realise was the sheer mass of men who died in that battle. They were sent to slaughter. I am ashamed of myself for all the years I’ve gone without understanding properly what happened and why it was significant. But, I don’t think it is uncommon for people my age and younger. In fact, I can tell you its not because I know my friends and I know a lot of people my age, and they gloss over this day as much as I did. Its a day off for a barbecue and some beers. Yeah, we know men died in a war and old people love this day. The diggers were brave fighters, so on and so forth, wheres the VB at?

With age comes understanding and appreciation. My grandfather rings our house at least once a fortnight to check up on my mother, and to me it was just a nuisance, half because he’s a bit deaf and its hard to communicate, the other half because conversation can be awkward. I love him, but I haven’t really taken enough time to get to know him. Today he called of course, being Anzac Day, and for once I actually had a chat with him. He’d gone to the service, he does every year. Its something he would take pride in and he would feel a sense of duty attached to it, despite not having any part in it.

Thats something that we as a youth I think have forgotten. A sense of duty in taking pride in our people (I won’t say country because thats a totally different matter), attending a service, calling our 50 year old daughter every couple of weeks to check up on her, see if she’s ok. Wear suits to backyard lunches and keep your back straight. Make sure to speak to every single one of your grandchildren to see what they’re interested in, where their lives are headed, how they’re doing. Where have these noble characters gone?

This day should be remembered for the men that died needlessly. They fought in a war they probably didn’t know much about, not for any gain of their own but to do what they thought their duty was. Protect their families. They sacrificed their lives, but the amazing thing is they do live on, and I’m not trying to be cheesy but a whole country remembering them one day every year is almost thanks enough for what they gave. Almost, but not quite. I wasn’t even alive then, but I feel so guilty that they went to war. I’m sorry for their families, the kids that lost dads and the wives who lost their lovers.

I’m sorry that even though you told me “lest we forget”, I forgot. But I promise that from now on, I will remember on this day every year and I’ll tell my kids the real reason why I’m doing it without skipping over the massacre of men who were just like my pop. Now I must be off to my bbq, so I can do some remembering the way my generation does it.. with an esky of beer and a sausage in hand during the minute of silence.

“Lest We Forget.”

I’m Very Susceptible To Paranoia

April 23, 2008

I need some objective opinions on the goings on of this afternoon. My friend called me when I’d finished uni and asked if I wanted to come around for a bit. I’d been barring him for weeks, I even missed his birthday. I’m just kind of unreliable when it comes to catching up with old school friends. If they leave it up to me then every few months I’ll come over for a cup of tea and a chat for an hour but if they decide its up to them to coerce me into spending time with them then I’ll pull every excuse I can think of till I finally decide it would be too rude to deny them one more time.

“Ok I’ll come past, see you soon.” I say.

“Cool, you can even get smashed.” He replied.

At this stage I didn’t get it. Did he think I was going to bring a few beers over or something? Was he offering me a drink when I got to his place? I let it go and set off.

When I got there he goes, “So, Luli, do you want to get smashed?”

“What do you mean?” I ask. “Have you been drinking?”

Anyway it turns out he’d been smoking weed and asked me if I wanted a joint. It seemed like a good idea at the time. After the first puff though, it became clear this wasn’t the usual stuff. I didn’t say anything, I thought maybe since it had been a little while since my last one that it felt harsh. He told me he’d smoked a bit before I’d come over and he only had one or two drags. This didn’t trouble me too much at the time, but later it started playing on my mind.

This guy has a girlfriend, but we hang out every now and then at his place. He usually calls me when she’s off at work. I didn’t really think of it till now, but thats quite inappropriate isn’t it? We’ve never even been properly introduced.

I sat on his couch, and he had like a mattress set up against the couch that he was leaning on. The longer I sat there, the more the weed kicked in and I started getting really paranoid. It takes a lot for me to get to the paranoia stage. That shit must have been strong. And thinking about that worried me.

He got up and took his jumper off. About five minutes later, he turned on the heater. I asked him why he didn’t just put the jumper on, and he started talking about how heater warmth was different and that jumper warmth was too restricting. Then he moved from the mattress on the floor to sitting beside me on the couch. I was glad I had my bag in between us. He kept looking at it and pushing it.

He asked me if I was enjoying myself and I said yes, then he started kinda like nudging me with his arms. I just laughed at him and asked him what he was doing. He replied, “I don’t know why I did that, it was weird.” No shit.

This guy is known for saying crude and inappropriate things, I honestly don’t know if he means it to be funny or sexual. He started telling me that he hated girls that didn’t shave or get brazillians and (in his words) if it ever came to that between us, he would expect it. I gave him this look that said ‘what the fuck are you talking about?’ and he turned back to the tv. I thought the conversation was over, but then he looked back at me and goes, “You do shave, don’t you?” I refused to answer. He also started insinuating something about me liking women, or something with lesbian connotations but without saying the words and asked me if I was into it. I replied, “Into what exactly? Its you who’s going on about it, men just like the idea.” He denied it, but it was him that brought it up so that just proves my point, right?

Now I was really freaked out, the situation in my head was heightened by my buzz and I remembered he hadn’t had much of the joint. I started to think about the effects of weed, does it make you itch? I kept rubbing my lips and scratching my arms. My dress seemed to be getting shorter and shorter, no matter how much I tugged and pulled at it.

I think he noticed I was agitated, so he moved back to the mattress. I had my legs crossed but he kept touching my foot, telling me not to move it. He said it was driving him crazy. He didn’t stay on the floor for long though, he got back up and sat beside me picking up my bag and placing it on the floor. I asked him what was wrong and he said he felt like he was going to crush something in it. It made sense, but I was way too suss by this point. He started saying he was hot again.

This is what made me get up and leave. He did that yawn thing guys do in the movies, except instead of putting his arm around me he just put it beside mine so they were touching. Then he grabbed my hand and started looking at the rings on my fingers.

In my head I’m thinking, ‘This is a trap. I’m gonna get raped. I’m in this house, all alone with this guy. Nobody is expecting me home anytime soon, theres a mattress on the floor, he’s laced the marijuana, I’m gonna pass out any minute now.’ He wanted me to stay longer, and have dinner with him but I told him I had to go home and have a nap and got the hell out of there. When I did actually get home I zonked out straight away and slept for hours. To be honest, I had been tired already and weed does make you want to sleep.

What I’m asking is was I having a bad trip? Or did all of that just seem really inappropriate to you too?

Fucking sketchy.

Sabra And Chatila

April 18, 2008

“When we entered Sabra and Chatila on Saturday, September 18, 1982, the final day of the killing, we saw bodies everywhere. We photographed victims that had been mutilated with axes and knives. Only a few of the people we photographed had been machine gunned. Others had their heads smashed, their eyes removed, their throats cut, skin was stripped from their bodies, limbs were severed, some people were eviscerated. The terrorists also found time to plunder Palestinian property as well as books, manuscripts and other cultural material from the Palestinian Research Center in Beirut.”

-An extract from the testimony of two American journalists to the International Commission of Inquiry.

One of the most horrible atrocities in recent history is the genocide (as dubbed by the United Nations) of Palestinian refugees at Sabra and Chatila in 1982. This massacre goes largely ignored by much of western media, even though it compares greatly to their own tragic event of terrorism, 9/11.

Israel had secured an alliance with the Lebanese Phalangists and planned this operation to coerce the exodus of Palestinian refugees from Lebanon. After an attempted assassination of Israeli Ambassador Argov, Israel invaded Lebanon as part of their “Operation Peace For Galilee.” They surrounded PLO camps in west Beirut. A cease-fire was negotiated by US Envoy Phillip Habib, and consequently the PLO were evacuated, leaving behind the elderly, women and children.

“On Thursday evening September 16 at about 5pm, 1200 militants from the Lebanese Phalangists militias moved to Sabra and Chatila, meanwhile the Israeli forces were besieging the refugees and shelling glash bombs to facilitate the militias mission in carrying out the massacre. The Israeli forces also plotted with them in hiding a lot of corpses following commitment of the massacre.”

-Egypt State Information Service website

Israeli reports claim 350 were killed, 90% of them men who died quickly via machine gunning. An actual count reveals 3297 killed in total, 1097 in the Gaza hospital, 400 in the Akka hospital (hospitals inside the camps) and 1800 in the streets of the camps. Numbers of the victims is uncertain between sources as a number were buried in mass graves which cannot be opened as Lebanese authority forbids it, many were buried under ruins of houses and many were taken alive to an unknown destination but never returned.

SIS states that survivors said the murders were first committed with soundless weapons such as axes, knives and other such tools at first. Some were buried alive with bulldozers and women raped and beaten. Doctors, nurses and patients in the hospitals were murdered and Palestinians were lined up and shot without discrimination, whether male, female or child.

Victims of the massacre and survivors were never deemed entitled to formal investigation and although Ariel Sharon, who commanded the attack and is held responsible, was labelled a war criminal for it, he was never tried for those crimes. This genocide, unlike 9/11, went unpunished. There was a protest afterwards of 400,000 Israelis who took to the streets and Sharon subsequently resigned from his position as Minister of Defense and instead remained in cabinet without a title. He later went on to become Prime Minister of Israel.

“If there is a moral to the painful episode of Sabra and Chatila, it has yet to be acknowledged.”

-Israeli Journalists Schiff and Ya’arib

Dirty Old Men

April 16, 2008

I was driving home from uni today and stopped at a light, when I heard the prolonged and insistent beeping of a horn. I looked around thinking I might see a nice bit of road rage when I noticed it was the old, wrinkled, 5’oclock shadowed man in the car beside me. He was waving to me, so I thought maybe I knew him and kinda did a half wave back. But then, encouraged by my attention, he started making those ‘belissimo’ signs at me, kissing the tips of his fingers like an Italian chef and giving me the ok sign. I was a delicious pizza pie.

I don’t know whether it was his age, or the finger kissing, or the combination of both but I was disgusted and mortified. Well, it was definitely the age in any case. Who the fuck? Why old man, why? I look young, I know I do. I still get asked for ID anytime I want to buy a drink. And I hate people for asking. I give them the dirtiest look, rip my card from my purse and raise an eyebrow in disdain while they analyse it. I really HATE it. As if I look seventeen, give me a break.

Its their way of getting back at you for dragging them away from leaning against the bar where they were staring into nothing and contemplating the drudgery of their lives. And it makes me embarrassed too, like I have to prove I’m not being a deviant. The more they ask me the more antsy I get about asking the next time. So I waver, or look away or do something neurotic. They look into my eyes and see through the act, I was going for a confident ‘gimme that vodka cranberry,’ and they read ‘nervous little girl.’ I had one line to deliver, and I fucked it up. Ahhh, life.

This is all beside the point. I get the ‘younger girl’ thing if you are around a certain age.. maybe approaching thirty and wanting a twenty year old. Along those lines. But sixty year old men must know that it does come across a bit creepy. I try to rationalise it, thinking maybe this guy is just being boisterous, and in actuality he’s as good of a guy as my dad who is of similar age. Or he’s just showing in his outdated way of crude hand signals and loud beeping that he appreciates my looks. Who knows, maybe I even cut him off before and this is an extremely sarcastic form of flipping me the bird.

At that age, is there any point to be wolf whistling and calling out to girls on the street? I know they don’t expect us to turn around, unzip our top and reply, “Hey Daddy..” Or is that behaviour more common than I thought? I gave this man a look that said, “You are a lowie. This is my disgust.” But he persisted. Where is the shame? I thought that being labelled a pervert/pedo would be embarrassing, like being labelled a slut is for a girl. Is there some kind of thrill a man gets from seeing what he can get away with to a young girl?

Its funny, if he was a few decades younger I might have been flattered. Maybe if he had of been clean cut, and not decked out in dirty overalls I would have found it more acceptable. After all, there are many celebs like George Clooney and Harrison Ford who are still attractive despite getting on in years. But all I could think in my head was ‘eww’. Anyone else had similar experiences? Or have you met an older man, like fifty plus who you considered eligible for dating? I’m finding it difficult to be objective here..

Revolution!

April 12, 2008

“So if I decide to waiver my chance to be one of the hive

Will I choose water over wine and hold my own and drive?

Its driven me before and it seems to be the way

That everyone else gets around

But lately I’m beginning to find that when I drive myself

My light is found..”

I am continually in awe of web 2.0 and how its changed the world. I love thinking that in the future people will be writing a thesis or essay on the changes my generation went through with the introduction of the intertubes. We made history. Our adaptation to this new, broader world will be documented for the ages. We ‘prod-users’, writers of blogs, forum lovers, chat room drama queens and wiki-sourcing information seekers are the future of the world. Everyone is forced to adapt to our way, or risk becoming obsolete.

We want our news up to date and free. We want to be able to contribute to the content. In a world driven by consumerism, we push for free accounts, free sign ups, free music and videos.. most importantly, free speech. No longer will we wait for dvd, or even cinemas. We’re getting our blockbusters right after the premiere. We no longer bow to the record companies, who are now reduced to practically begging us to buy cds out of the kindness of our hearts. Out of integrity. Where was their integrity when they were stepping on the rest of us in a mad scramble to the peak of the money making moguls?

Artists, actors, journalists.. you will be forced to adapt. Your skills are no longer as unattainable as once thought. Youtube gets as much views as the high rated movies. Music can and will be found online, with ease. Its even scarier for the journalists, once they had a niche.. they had a style, a skill which was taught through experience, or found with the grace of talent.

Now anyone can and will be a writer. People sitting at home behind their WordPress blogs rival the highest paid and most ruthless journo’s. We are everywhere, and they are not. You can be sure someone, somewhere, got to the scene first. We got your scoop. How do you like that Murdoch? All your newspapers and magazines forced to move online. Your sales are plummeting.

We don’t want to hear about the world in your uppity, holier than thou tone. You need to relate to us, or we will go elsewhere because there are endless anywheres. I want to hear what the blogs have to say on world issues, theres no reason why they would not be just as correct. I want to hear what my people are saying. I’m going to support my new community. The world is shrinking, and maybe I don’t know my neighbours but I sure as hell know the internet.

We’re paving the way for the new world and its exciting. I can’t imagine what the people of the future will live like. Maybe we all sit in great halls together lined up behind desktops, our meals served to us on a timed schedule by drones. Maybe the internet opened up the world to a revolution, we all joined together and conspired against the multinational corporations pulling capitalism to the ground at its roots, creating a free earth with a new direction. Where humanity takes precedence over the market.

Far out that sounds awesome.. If anyone gets wind of this revolution, let me know asap. I want in.