Ashes post-mortem

Mon dieu. A team of fruity and frisky Frenchmen could have put up a better fight against the Old Enemy than our so-called Australian XI in the most recent hunt for cricketing's greatest glory. However, congratulations must go to those pasty Poms that have retained it. I know all good Engländer who have read this blog from Britannia - and a certain Cannockman over here - will have sipped their warm lager and munched on their crisps - whatever they are - well into the evening as they celebrated this invective victory. And good on 'em. It's not like they have much to celebrate over there at the moment - midwinter, being forced to sit through another royal wedding soon, plus other associated Anglophobic miscellanies.

More importantly, however, is the reovery of the Australian cricket team from the ashes of an absolute débâcle of a series on home soil - for the first time since '86/87 have the Aussies conceded the tiny urn on their own turf. The fact remains that it is an absloute indictment on our current crop of cricketers - especially soon-to-be-deposed captain Ricky "Swisse" Ponting - that in a series of 5 matches, we lost by at least an innings in 3 matches. Not good enough, I'm afraid.

The Aussie top and middle order was woefully pathetic right through the series, starting in Brisbane and ending a couple months later and a few hundred kilometres south in Sydney. Katich probably played his last Test in Adelaide, not because he got out for a diamond duck, but because he seems to have fatally injured his Achilles - there is no need to snidely suggest running is his Achilles heel, but I'll do so anyway. Tired and stressed Ponting either will come back as captain after his injury to his finger, or not at all. The latter is the wiser option. Clarke better shape up quicksmart or he could find himself deputising once again to the likes of Hussey or Haddin. These two actually seem the only players booked into any Aussie XI side at the moment, with the former averaging 63 with a high score of 195 in Brisbane (he got out stupidly by slogging slackly for a double century) while Haddin is the Woodbridge to Hussey's Woodforde, averaging a fruitful 45 and saving splendidly with the gloves. Marcus North was an absolute joke; as Crikey's Tom Cowie rightly pointed out, no matter "how many of the selector’s family members he may or may not have locked in his basement, you can’t continue to fail on the big stage". And fail he has. The rot set in last summer and the proverbial sword of Damocles has been hanging over his head ever since. However, ironically, bizzarely, surreally, superlatively - anyway you look at it - Marcus North achieved the best bowling analysis (1-47) in the second innings in Brisbane when, as Crikey's Leigh Josey so colourfully imagines it, the Aussie bowlers were simply "Cook Blocked", or maybe had a case of the Trotts. [Scroll down to comments section]. Bravo, sir. (Josey, not North).

There is some light at the end of the tunnel in terms of batting. Usman Khawaja, if nothing else, scored consistently with a cool temperament in his début match in Sydney. However, replacement opener Phillip Hughes certainly lived up to his Jewish roots by making runs at a miserly level, and then getting out cheaply.

Turning to bowling now, and this part of the side thankfully is able to challenge at least a VTCA side. But, that is not to say there are no issues at all. The pre-Ashes media hype focussed on who would be the spin doctor of the Australian side. Would it be Nathan "German" Hauritz? No, how about Xavier "College" Doherty? Try Stephen "Not the Defence Minister" Smith, or, for those playing at home, Michael "I Needa" Beer.

First of all, to intimate that Smith is the number one bowler in Australia, as the selectors seemingly did for the third and fourth Tests, is beyond the pale by a country mile. He is, at best, a batting all-rounder. Alright, Hauri isn't all glamour like Warnie, with his right-arm offbreaks, but at least he can get a 6-fer in a Test match. Against England, too. Onya, Hauri. Doherty's been around the traps long enough, but he still has an apprenticeship to serve. And Beer is too lanky to be a spin bowler. I reckon he's the same size as pasty paceman Chris Tremlett - and one's bowling almost double the speed of the other. See, that's what you can't deny about the English - they're efficient. They probably convicted cricketers and sent them over here for  bowling spin when they had the height to bowl pace, or could at least swing it.     

Right. Onto pace. Shane "It's Elementary" Watson, whose action has been described by Cricket with Balls' Jarrod Kimber as having a "elderly-man-getting-out-of-a-car bowling style", did the job required of the back-up/into-the-wind bowler. Hell, he even picked up a few wickets. His opening batting was equally unequivocal, even if he was involved in two run-outs. Ryan "Scott" Harris, Ben "House of Hilf" Hilfenhaus and Peter Siddle are above rebuke or criticism. Every Aussie's highlight would be Siddle getting the hattrick in Brisbane, and everybody's second highlight would be Tubby Taylor going absolutely ape calling it. Mitchell Johnson's bowling was more erratic than a person with split personality disorder, and for Doug "the Rug" Bollinger to only play in Adelaide is actually a good indication of how good the Aussie bowlers are.

Meanwhile, the English players seemingly were here on a holiday cruise; the retaining of the urn was merely a menial housekeepung matter. Even Strauss, who got out on the third ball of the Ashes series later merged with Alastair Cook and Jonathan "My first name's actually Ian" Trott to form some sort of perverse, inpenetrable, Pommy top-order. Cook was deservedly awarded Man of the Series with 700+ runs, something which English lion and legend Wally Hammond would be proud of. KP was about as intimidating as a person wearing a white cloth going "Boo!" - although his mo, albeit for a fantastic cause, was downright terrifying. Ian "My last name is a noun" Bell improved dramatically, although maybe that's because there was no Warnie on the field to taunt him with "Sherman" jibes, a la the character from American Pie. Paul "Good Old" Collingwood was sent off in a dignified manner from Test cricket, performing roughly the same role as Watson, even though he has the one-day captaincy - more on that in a minute. I like Matt "Not late" Prior as a wicketkeeper - he's cast in the same rugged vein as Rod Marsh, Bert Ironmonger and Graham Manou, rather than Tim Paine and his crew. The pace battery is secure, with the likes of gentle giant Chris Tremlett, swinger James Anderson, and relative veteran Stuart Broad. With Ajmal Shazhad waiting in the wings, the Aussie one-dayers must be scared out of their wits. With the white ball he could do anything. When I saw him in the match against Australia A in Hobart, he was bending it like Beckham.

While England were officially declared the winners of this tour, one cannot help but feel that the real winners were Channel 9 in providing coverage. The status bar at the bottom of the screen broke new ground in display, while the "Earl of Twirl" segment was delightfully surreal - like a Dali painting, with the melting clocks and whatnot. Also, Mark Nicholas has jumped to the head of the queue as Laurie Oakes' heir apparent, with a stunning and politically-incisive interview of Julia Gillard of the Fifth Test re the tragic floods in Queensland and New South Wales.

Today, as a transition from Tests to limited-overs cricket, the English XI played the Prime Minister's XI in Canberra, and the news filtering in from there (anything takes a long time to get from Canberra to civilised society anywhere else) is that England won by 7 wickets with 9 balls remaining, via the Duckworth-Lewis Method. Now, the thing that struck me as odd as I eyed the card was that Paul Collingwood bowled only 3 overs. Fine, s'il vous plait, he's gonna have a bat. But, according to the card, he was due to come in at number 8, after Shazhad and some random named Tredwell. Umm, I'm not sure the captain is utilising his abilities to his full potential. After all, he is the one that makes the selections. But then, that batting list could be academic, given the rain. Chi lo so? as the Italians would say.

So, there you go, my treatment of the recent Ashes series. Unfortunately, from an Australian point of view, the less words said - or written - about its campaign, the better.

Due Date: Rip-roaring fun

First of all, I'd like to take aim at the Great Vowel Shift. This insidious event is responsible for modern speech, but today I felt like it was a revolution taken too far, like the French Revolution. Purchasing the tickets for me and my lovely companion today, I was naturally asked what movie we would like to see. I said "Doo Date" and the bloke behind the counter simply cocked his head and stared at me. When I said "Jew Date", he understood. God. "Jew Date". Sounds like a Z-grade romance.

Anywho, after this little tête-à-tête and the zillion commercials and movie trailers, we (all 8 of us) got around to watching Due Date, a fantastic, fun-filled film directed by Todd Phillipps, responsible for such flicks as The Hangover, Starsky & Hutch and Road Trip.

The plot revolves around high-strung architect Peter Highman (Robert Downey, jr - something tells me he didn't need to research his role a whole lot) and his relationship with his polar opposite Ethan Tremblay - or is it Ethan Chase? (Zach Galifianakis) after Highman is kicked off a plane to L.A. to be with his very-pregnant wife Sarah (Michelle Monaghan). Hilarity ensues when manchild Tremblay/Chase offers voluntarily to deliver Highman to his wife through the means of 5-day road trip through that most favourite part of America - the Deep South. In all honesty, the location wasn't explored enough, but that's my only little moue about it.

Of course, the laughs come from the dynamics of the relationship of Tremblay/Chase and Highman, but there is no pretension about it. Both characters are too resolute to be pretentious and this creates an authenticity about the film - what you see is what you get, and I don't think you can say that about all the films that came out this year. But what makes this film rate even higher in my books is that any so-called "dynamics" are not concrete - the flexibility of screenwriters Alan Cohen, Alan Freedland, Adam Sztykiel and Todd Phillips allow for the relationship to be malleable and influenced by changing places and events. Of course, given the transitory nature of this film, one hopes that this thought went through the minds of the screenwriters.

I would like to criticise the stillborn nature of Jamie Foxx's role. Cast as best mate Daryl, there are insinuations of adultery with Sarah by crazyman Tramblay/Chase. There is only a tiny amount of exposition for this subplot, which is surprising given that it must be an important issue to a man about to have his first child in a few days. No, instead, it is resolved in a way which never felt like a resolution at all. And yet he is the one to respond to Highman's call of help when he needs it. The ultimate fact is that his character is largely irrelevant because Daryl really is chameleonic and having a bet each way.

Another subplot is Tramblay/Chase's desire to become an actor. It is treated with far more depth than these subplots usually are, which is of course a good thing. The audience gets to see his dubious thespian skills and concludes with a Two and a Half Men tie-in. When Tremblay/Chase declares that he likes Two and a Half Men, "especially Season 2", it doesn't make things clearer but instead more confuddled. Why Two and a Half Men? Your guess is as good as mine, as they say.

Yes, Due Date does contain some lowbrow humour, including some questionable bestiality. But if you're worried about lowbrow humour you probably don't deserve to be going to the movies, anyway. Instead, grab a mate, grab some popcorn and sit down and get ready for 96 minutes of fun.      

"These tedious old fools..."

"The satirical rogue says that old men have grey beards, that their faces are wrinkled, their eyes purging thick amber and plum-tree gum and that they have a plentiful lack of wit, together with most weak hams: all which, sir, though I most powerfully and potently believe, yet I hold it not honesty to have it thus set down, for yourself, sir, should be old as I am, if like a crab you could go backward." 
(Hamlet, II, ii)
 
Hamlet's words to Polonius in Shakespeare's play belie the depth to which old people alternately frustrate and intrigue me. I am often left in a state of apoplexy trying to analyse the actions of old people - whether they be in the spheres of family or work. However, let me preface my article by articulating two important points...

I have, myself, in the past, been labelled an "old man" by those who knew me, and, thinking back on my actions in a previous post, I can now see where they were coming from. For reasons that I am not ready to reveal, I agree with them and I hope that now I can be recognised as someone who is the antithesis of that descriptor. Again, that's kindle for another fire.

But how do I define someone that is "old"? Well, through my observations, I reckon that people start catching the old virus when - at youngest - they are 40. Of course, not everyone is infected at that age, but one probably has to keep working exponentially harder to stave it off thereafter.

Right. Well, guess it's that time when I slag everybody off in my family. No, I'm not going to wheel out that trite little whimsy (thanks Vladimir Nabokov) about being able to choose one's friends but not being able to choose one's family but I will point out that I've had 17 years to hone my observations on some of the more elderly members of my famiglia. I want to reemphasise that it has only been this last half-year that I have escaped the tyranny and bondage of old people syndrome. Before this, I was magnetised to old people. There is no other way to explain this phenomena, becuase I would seemingly prefer the company of adults (specifically aged over 40) to my own mates. Now I know this sounds not only bizarre but also pretentious because I've paraphrased this fact at least two other times in this post alone, but I need to expunge this past modus vivendi in order to move forward.

Example 1: My uncle is currently teaching how me how to drive. Unfortunately, he's not one of the cool uncles that gets drunk at the Christmas parties, and gives you obscure and arcane presents. Instead, he is the most miserable man I know. Our pre-driving conversation is limited to "Hi". You'd think that, given I'm controlling a potential deathtrap with him in it, he'd invest a little more energy in developing a rapport with me. Obviously I'm mistaken. And whenever we drive past a certan former industrial estate, he tells me the same old story about how he made something obsolete, like ear trumpets or whatnot, a billion gazillion years ago.

That's the thing that frustrates me about old people. They can't cope with change. They still live in their little outdated world. I remember I was watching Question Time recently, and Julia Gillard lambasted the Opposition for being keen history students and preferring to live in the 1950s (sorry, it's not in hansard). A quick lesson in Aussie politics for all those international readers: The current - and ruling - party with the plurality of seats in the lower house of Federal Parliament, the Labor Party, is generally seen as forward-thinking and progressive, while the Liberal and National Opposition is seen as tired and unoriginal.

The thing that I have noticed amongst my older family members is that they seem to be perenially tired - not physically tired, mind you, but mentally and socially tired. Its like every outing is a chore, and given the opportunity, they would prefer to be cuddled up watching the Friday night crime thriller on the ABC rather than dining on Collins Street, or whatnot.  And when they did go out, they made the supreme effort of looking the part by chucking on the tackies and woolen jumper. It reminds me of James May summing up oldness quite pithily on Top Gear: "It's when you have trouble putting on your trousers and you say, 'I know, why don't I have them elasticated?'" And, for a long time, I was like that as well. My apathy to any sort of social outing had to be seen to be believed. Now, I can't wait to get out of the house...

Of course, let's not forget the wistful sighs of those youthfully-challenged whenever discussion turns to technology. "Oh, you can't keep up", they exclaim. This fluff-driven narrative used amongst the Baby Boomer generation is something that really does frustrate me.

Apathy brings me to a similar point: For a long time I was so disinterested in being supportive of something that I was quite isolated when in discussion with anything my age. (Warning! Warning! Level of pretence approaching danger zone) It was like I was totally superior to anything mass-market or pop-culture oriented. I remember, one time at our grandparents' house, my brother and I were flicking through the TV. Landing on Video Hits, I said "Garrgh, the youth of today". Prententious much? It's like I had no idea that there was nothing wrong with enjoyment and fun for it's own sake. (Fructus gratia fructus?) Now, I'm learning to let go and take things as they come.

Now, turning to work: I work as an umpire for the WDCA (seniors) and WRJCA (juniors) and I have a few more observations that are prescient here. Believe it or not, the old people doing umpiring all belong in the WDCA - they'd all be asleep by 5.15pm - and awake by 4am on Saturday - on a Friday, which is when junior matches are held. Anywho, it can be quite amusing to see the microreactions in old people's faces as they see a young whippersnapper take the road less travelled and try and assert himself in the adult world straightaway and become the new alpha-male - of course, with the performance of my umpiring to date, that probably isn't gonna happen anytime soon

In any case, I am reminded of when I was umpiring my second senior cricket match. The other umpire was at least quadruple my age and it showed. He was totally ignorant of any sort of discomfort that I exhibited out in the middle and this was exarcabated by the fact that I was umpiring in the second highest grade. On my second go. C'est la vie and all that...

Having said all that, I hope that when I approach the big 4-0 and beyond, I never - and I mean never - be a tithe of what I see currently in the blue-rinse brigade. I hope to continually challenge societal norms until I am six feet under    

Well, that's my exposition on how I see old people. I plan to finish up on this theme of old people and conservatism that you may have noticed by arguing how the Baby Boomer generation will, for the second time in their life, be the most important vote-getters for governments.

  

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - Part 1: Raw as Bill Weasley's Steaks, Amongst Other Things

Wow. The penultimate flick of the perennial Hollywood money-spinner series left me feeling...underdone.
I walked out of Werribee10 Cinemas (apparently now known as Regent Cinemas) last week not in a state of enthrallment and enrapture, but rather in one of keen eagerness of the final movie of the final book about Potter and his pals.

Why did I feel underdone? Important plot points were included, so no complaining there. But this movie in particular felt like a mate was telling me the story on FB chat instead of it being part of status thread - there was no dispersion of persepctive  It was like director David Yates hasn't heard of subjectivity - who knows? However, I will mention that before Harry Potter, he was most probably well-known for shooting several episodes of The Bill. Meh. If studio execs wanted a commercially-friendly director...s'il vous plait and all that...Bluntly, the pace was too frenetic for a penultimate film; if it meandered like the River Thames than perhaps more people would care how Daniel Radcliffe concludes Harry's journey as "The Chosen One". I'm sure lots of people are still interested in Harry's plight, it's just that if it weren't so clichéd, it might be more interesting to people who have already read the book

Apart from that little moue of discontent, I will say the film looked a treat on the big screen and it's a shame that Warner Bros.decided not film it in 3 dimensions. However, the people working behind the cameras should be applauded - their work, primarily, makes the film "raw".

As the characters become quite nomadic due to thier...well, let's say popularity...inside the "revamped" Ministry of Magic headed by thick Pius Thicknesse (relative newcomer Guy Henry) there is a chance for renowned cinematographer Eduardo Serra (credits include Blood Diamond and Defiance) to show off his wares. The fact of the matter is he read the screenplay (written by experienced HP stagehand Steve Kloves and obviously adapted from Rowling's text) wrote for this movie and understood what was needed. It wasn't like it was a musical adventure rollicking among the White Cliffs of Dover. Instead, Serra gives the audience deeply evocative and even gothic imagery. Dark forests and foreboding hamlets pervade this movie.

Acting was top-notch in this film. Daniel Radcliffe played the part of journeyman to a tee. His was a mature perfomance, especially in the graveyard scene at Godric's Hollow, where perhaps the enormity of the mission hit home in more ways than one. Of course, this is only to be expected from an actor preparing to move on from Potter - future projects include the aptly-named The Journey is the Destination and we all know about his full-frontal in Equus. Other actors had their usual panache about them, but I am very much looking forward to Matthew Lewis' portrayal of Neville Longbottom, given the perfomance in his cameo  in Part I, and Neville's role in the final installment.

What also must be mentioned is the animation scene presented to us, concerning the legend of the eponymous Hallows. Here, animation director Ben Hibon creates a veritable Chinese lantern box. These seemingly-alive tableaux open before the audience's eyes and present extremely stylised images. For me, it was a real joy to view.

Overall, there was no nothing wrong with the movie. It did its job and that, depending on how you look at it, was to line the studio fat cats' pockets with dough or to generate drama for the ultimate finale. But saying that, in this case, is like saying the steak does the job in the getting the diners through to the neapolitan ice-cream. Like saying Shane Warne should trundle a few overs to prime Stuart MacGill. It's wrong, it's inverted and, when stumps are pulled at the end of the day, no matter how "raw" visually it may be, Harry Potter this time just barely scrapes a pass. Or too paraphrase Agent 86, Harry misses a fail "by that much"  

End of school for another year!

As the sun goes down on another school year, it is important to assess how I went.

I started out 2010 in the same fashion as I had done for æons past: a boring person with no sense of direction, identity or adventure. My life was rudderless, with the highlight of my weekend perhaps reading the Saturday Herald Sun, visiting the grandparents or going for a driving lesson with my uncle. Gee, it was a good time to be alive.

However, this year was not to be like others before it. One person was the catylyst for this change, and it is an indictment on my part that I haven't told him this yet. He did this at a time when other people were happy for the status quo to remain: sure, they were my friends, but their sense of conservatism and my own shortcomings meant that there was an imbalance in the relationship. Let me explain a little further.

Perhaps a quote would be a good place to start: The one that comes to mind is Buckingham's advice to the titular character in winning over the general population of England in Richard III: "Play the maid's part, still answer nay, but take it." Looking back on it, it felt like I was playing the "maid" - or, in this case, fool - in order to be likable and popular. One event epitomised this feeling. Entering the Tournament of Minds competition  - which is basically one about problem-solving in a visual manner - last year, the brief was to demonstrate what life would be like without books. I can't remember the point of my character but I do know that it involved dressing up in what were essentially rags. This is indicative of what I used to be like.

What I am trying to hint at is that I would be happy to dress up and act the fool and be totally disinterested in gaining any sort of self-respect. And my friends knew that. So, I would get constant ribbing about everything - but that was fine, because it was only a "joke". Little did I realise that I was actually acquiescing to my friends' demands that I, and only I, be the butt of the joke when it was plain to Blind Freddy that other people were perhaps more worthy of this honour. Huh. Some friends.

Herein lies the dichotomy that existed between my friends and I - the imbalance in power if you will.

However, through the help of the catylyst, I discovered that it is actually alright to have a bit of delf-respect....amazing, isn't it?

Fast-forward to this year where I am now getting the respect I deserve from my friends - apart from the few idiots who are still stuck in a time warp (see my "Role of Conservatism" article") who I now have the confidence to shoot down if they say something that's not fair dinkum.

It's an odd thing to write about, I will readily admit. That friends don't give you respect is incredibly sad on their part - although it is incumbent upon the person getting pillaged to do something about it. I did, with thanks to the good friend.

Now, with the new year and a fresh start less than two months away, hopefully I can increase my self-respect and confidence towards others.       

Lessons from History: The Importance of Balance

Another piece for the ECLJ, or as the founder Mr Buttacavoli wittily titles it, Medea's Children. (If you get the reference, it's actually quite ominous. If not, don't worry, it's very obscure). This time, I chart the importance of balance and use a historical context to back my contention.

****

As I begin this article, I am having two simultaneous Facebook chats, reading the latest from the Crikey Daily Mail, and finishing my Methods homework – so clearly I know a thing or two about balance.

As we move a period of life where we juggle our various duties sometimes with ease and sometimes with difficulty (a mate of mine reckons he has five jobs, but that’s another story), it actually pays to read the work of a historian (don’t all rush) and see whether history does, in fact, repeat itself.

A bit of exam revision for the Year 10 Lit. students: The Ancient Greeks were really the first culture to articulate this importance. I am of course talking about sophrosyne, the belief espoused, believe it or not, in the eponymous play of the revamped ECLJ - Medea. This belief suggests that everything should be in moderation – it applied to the spheres of arts, politics and domestic relations and many others. It is best summed up by the Nurse, when she says in the first stasimon, that “the middle way, neither great nor mean, is best by far”. Other examples of sophrosyne include the oracle at Delphi’s two most famous proverbs: “Nothing in excess” and “Know thyself”.

Now that’s a good sentiment to have 2400 years ago, but what about sophrosyne in today’s world? Well, believe it or not, a blogger by the name of Astrochronic has started the “Sophrosynist Movement”, which is described as “a new modern branch of Conservatism mixed with Libertarianism focusing on balance, self understanding and moderation.” Now, due to the fact that his blog is on MySpace, I’m not able to check it out for myself, simply because, well, I’m not an über kind of guy. (Again, that’s another story....)

Let’s move on, then, to a similar but more recent movement – the Eight Hour Day.

Due to the Industrial Revolution, unbounded capitalism was brought to the fore. Child labour and unregulated working conditions were the catalysts for social change. But that is not putting it in its proper historical context.

After the defeat of Napoléon in 1815, the conquered European states scrambled to reclaim their territories. The Congress of Vienna was the climax of this period, where the idea of “balance of power” was introduced: that is, the respective powers of the great European powers would cancel each other out. This proved to be irrelevant in the 1840s when two men by the name of Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels wrote a little pamphlet titled The Communist Manifesto. Basically agitating the lower classes (proletariat) for change, it arguably was directly responsible for the 1848 Springtime of the Nations. Revolutions, or attempted revolutions, spread like the cold in midwinter and it signalled a new era of nationalism and liberalism. And it is these two political ideologies that are responsible for the Eight Hour Day.

The point is, proponents of these two political ideologies grew to such a number (due to Marx and Engels) that they were able to dictate social reform (“liberty or death”, anyone?) and make the unbounded capitalism of the start of the Industrial Revolution era simply untenable for governments to pursue.

So what happens when these supposed building blocks of society fall apart?

Imagine yourself to be a peasant or a farmer. You’re the stereotypical “man of the house” providing for your family. For you, time is money. So what happens when you lose your money, a la the Great Depression? Logically, you also lose your time.

Think about it. When you’re busy, time is important. When you’re not, clearly time isn’t. And what more physical manifestation of busyness is there besides the watch? So there clearly is a relationship between time and busyness.

So, what happened in the Great Depression, where unemployment was plentiful across the globe? Read this observation of a German town afflicted by lethargy:

Nothing is urgent anymore; they have forgotten how to hurry. For the man, the division of the days into hours has long since lost its meaning. [my emphasis] Of one hundred men, eighty-eight were not wearing a watch and only thirty-one had a watch at home. Getting up, the midday meal, going to bed, are the only remaining points of reference. In between, time elapses without anyone really knowing what has taken place.

But I thought I just said the Eight Hour Day, or “division of the days”, was an important building block of society....

And to continue the Germany analogy, look what happened for the old Deutschervolk to get out of Depression....It had nothing to do with balance at all.

So, balance is an important part of our lives. Whether that be in the form of sophrosyne, (or Astrochronic’s “Sophrosynist Movement”) or the continuation of the eight-hour day is irrelevant. As long as it allows me to maintain simultaneous Facebook chats....

The role of conservatism in everyday life

Roll up, roll up. Actually, I forgot to mention for the last post and pretty much any further ones that I am explicilty writing for the ECLJ - the literary journal for the school I go to - Emmanuel College. So, just be patient if you come across any school references.

***

Tony Abbott stunned political pundits last weekend when he said that he would not show bipartisan support in Afghanistan with Prime Minister Gillard but he would instead stiffen the upper lip of the Conservative Party, or Tories, because of fear of jet lag. Now, clearly, what seemed like a good idea has turned into the proverbial hitting the fan for him.

What this episode reveals is a unique insight into the priorities of the two main duellers in Australian politics. But what is more interesting to explore is the role of conservatism with the microscope being trained right over the western suburbs of Melbourne.

But what is conservatism: Is it wearing red Speedos whenever you have something to say, a la Abbott? Is it waxing your eyebrows and wearing green and gold trackies whenever you have something to say, a la John Howard? No. Instead, it is simply holding on and indeed coveting what you have, both material and abstract. It is treasuring and cherishing the worldview that you have – and being quite intransigent whenever someone tries to change it. It is the desire that, to paraphrase Led Zeppelin, the song will remain the same. Nothing ever happens (Midnight Oil) and even though it is pretty obvious that we are living among a time of transition, nothing ever will happen – no room for growth or change is allowed or even wanted.

First of all, let me preface my piece by disclosing that my family is no stranger to change; both sets of my grandparents landed in Australia as migrants seeking a new country and indeed a new life. Since then, the Magusic family has experienced the whole gamut of emotions and events.

I want you to paint a scene: It is a winter’s Wednesday night, and a storm is raging fiercely beyond your bedroom walls. The heater’s on, and you have the doona over you as well. There’s a mug of Milo on your bedside table along with a plate of Tim-Tams. You’re watching Hey Hey on TV. Yes, you know it’s oldschool, especially after the blackface skit in which Harry Connick, Jr, happened to be judging. But, y’know what? There’s that warm glow inside you when you hear Russell Gilbert make a lame dad-joke, or see one of John Blackman’s feverishly-produced cartoons in order to illustrate the chat, or experience the antiquarian attitudes of Daryl Somers and Livinia Nixon when the talk turns remotely to technology. The fact is that you watch it and everybody you know watches it, so what’s the problem? And then you can talk about it next day on the bus with your mates, and thus relive the glory of Red Symons getting pied in the face and the like.

But there is a danger of confusing this love of Somers et al for disrupting, well, growth and even balance. [An issue I hope to address in a future piece].

This belief and confidence is a good thing, especially so in a time of turmoil and change – there are standards that you can aspire to. Kant called this the “categorical imperative” and it is formally known as deontology.

How am I going to apply a lesson in ethics? Watch me.

Think about all the times that you have rocked up to class – not necessarily religion – and you haven’t felt like doing the work? Well, it would be the best time to get a bit of empathy from the teacher. Instead, you stoically struggle on and pretend to give a rat’s about what you’re doing. However, by the end of the class, after the fatwas and jihads and whatnot have been declared on both sides after the slanging match, you realise you have a missed an opportunity to get a bit of empathy. In this way, you both miss out on growing a little. Instead, both you and teacher are happy to continue the same dichotomy of teacher/student. In fact, you are so blinkered by this dichotomy simply because you get the same warm feeling as you get watching Hey Hey. Your level of comfort, at the end of the day, dictates your actions.

Another example: Someone I knew back in Year 9 was really struggling with school. (Let’s call him Jonny). He most definitely was not academically-minded, and other students let him know about it, naturally. Even one teacher who I respected a little less afterwards got stuck into him once in Year 8. My point is, at the start of Year 10, he disappeared. A good mate of mine happened to be related to him, so I asked him about it. My mate told me that Jonny had in fact started an apprenticeship at an auto place. I was surprised that he had the tenacity to start again when he realised that school wasn’t working for him.

I’ll ask you something: How many people do you in your heart of hearts know should not be at school, let alone be doing VCE? 2? 5? 10?

Those 2 or 5 or 10 that you know get the same warm feeling rocking up to school and creating havoc as they do by watching Hey Hey. It’s a fact. They know they are better off somewhere else (and I’m not for a minute suggesting that somewhere else is the Centrelink office, or Tasmania) but they can’t summon themselves, unlike Jonny, to shift to somewhere different. That’s conservatism. And as I said, it’s not the worst thing in the world to have, especially on a winter’s Wednesday night. But it’s completely wrong, to continue the metaphor, on a summer’s Saturday afternoon. And it’s this inability to contextualise situations that keeps generations in the mire and muck of Abbott-red Speedo-type thinking.