A lesson learned

I'm sure many of you (all three of you) are waiting with bated breath for my latest outpouring of stunningly insightful political commentary, just as a dog might wait, it's entire body trembling with tense readiness, for someone to throw an old drool-soaked tennis ball. I'm afraid, however, that this particular day I will give you only the equivalent of a feint; just as a dog would explode into action then quickly subside into bewildered searching for a ball that had never left my hand, so you too will feel that leap of excitement inside as you realise there is a new post to read, before realising with disappointment that it is short, almost meaningless, and taken up mainly with a very overdone dog metaphor.

In fact I would love nothing more than to expound upon an important issue of the day. However, there are two things standing in my way. One of these is the fact that I have a midsemester exam on Monday, and must use the weekend to stare frantically at lecture notes, wondering what the hell all those acronyms mean. The other is that I can think of nothing of import to say.

However, though I have no opinions to foist on you this weekend, I do have an important lesson to share. That lesson is as follows; when catching a cab in Sydney on a Friday night, make sure you do so on the same side of George St. as your destination. This will save you fifteen dollars.

Lovely day for a protest

Well, fellow students and other forgotten citizens, I have used my day wisely. What can be better, on a beautiful sunny April afternoon in this fine city of ours than to get out and exercise one's democratic right? If there's one thing I love on perfect autumn days, it's to take a stroll around town with 4000 of my fellow uni students, followed by free food, water and entertainment on the front lawns of historic Sydney University. I'd like to thank the current government for enacting legislation that allowed us to enjoy such a pleasant Thursday to the utmost.

Seriously, though, other than giving us a free Whitlams concert, what does the introduction of VSU (Voluntary Student Unionism, for those of you living under a rock) really mean? To answer that question, it may be best to ask another; what does USU really mean? What really are the benefits of forcing poor suffering students to pay hundreds of dollars a year? What does this so-called union actually do?

To listen to Mr. Nelson, one would think the union's main role is subsidising sausage rolls. You may be surprised to learn that this is not, in fact, the whole story. While sausage roll subsidisation is a vital part of uni life, this and other food subsidies are merely the most obvious of benefits. And lets face it, the food is still not that cheap. So where is all our money going? Well, it's all being gobbled up by commie pinko lefties furthering their political agendas and...hey, I kid, I kid.

In truth, the union spends its money in a very great number of ways, and the results are so all-pervasive in the structure and life of the university that they're almost invisible. Take, for example, the union buildings. It's all very well to worry about beer prices in Manning going up under VSU, but one must also remember that Manning would never have existed in the first place if it weren't for the money contributed by generations of thirsty students. Likewise for Holme and Wentworth. These buildings are maintained with union money, and filled with union services. Not just food outlets, but all sorts of places to go for help, whether it be with finding accommodation or work, borrowing money, or counselling. There is also childcare, queer space, the women's room...the list goes on.

In addition, the union provides funds and support that make it possible for clubs and societies of all flavours to flourish. Some people will ask the question; why should my money pay for a bunch of people get together and dress up like idiots, talk about some TV show I don't watch, or hit each other with sticks? Well, it's a fair point. The problem is that without all these groups, or at least the opportunity for them to exist if they'd like, the richness is sucked out of uni life. The true reason for going to uni - to get free barbecues - would disappear.

University is a blissful few years between the tedium of school and the drudgery of working life. I hold that the atmosphere made possible by our union fees fosters creativity, initiative and of course social skills, and has a permanent effect on anyone who passes through its, ahem, rigours. These attributes help to liven up the after-uni world; if we turn universities into corporate drone-factories, places where one goes to go to class, have lunch, go to class, then go home, then our brains will be stunted and personalities atrophied, and the country will lose all colour and life, and turn into a mind-numbing cultural wasteland. And I'm not exaggerating one bit.

Merry Anzac day, one and all

Today I am going to risk the wrath and retribution of patriotic Aussies everywhere, but I just can't stay silent on this issue, especially not today on the 90th anniversary of the heroic sacrifices made by our servicemen and women (yeah right) on that beach in Gallipoli. My television (OK, it's really Carl's, but it's in my house) is chock-full of non-stop live ANZAC-related events, including the dawn service live from Turkey. This would be fine if I had something else to do, but as it is it's merely depriving me of bad daytime TV. Like with the pope's funeral, we are once again being told in no uncertain terms that no real Australian would want to watch anything else.

I do not object to the remembering, with sadness, of the wasted lives (on both sides, may I add; Turkey lost far more lives at Gallipoli than we did) and pointless suffering. By all means, let us look back with sorrow and horror, and hopefully we may learn something. What I object to is that what we are being told to learn from all of this is that death in war is glorious and heroic. That those on "our side" are great men; almost divine, rather than merely human. The memory of this war, and the veterans of this war and the wars since, are being made into sacred relics, nearly akin to religious idols.

The effect of all of this is a very useful one. One day a year, we are reminded that we are Australion, and that when we are told to we fight fiercely and well to protect this "lucky country" of ours. Australia takes a break from being part of the rest of the world, and spends the day in looking back on a (relatively) small and strategically pointless battle, chest swelling with pride, and head swimming with the glories of times past. It's a shame, for the government, that there isn't an election this afternoon, because they would probably be re-elected with an unprecedented majority, carried on a wave of patriotism.

I realise that I myself am contributing to the whole thing; after complaining that there's nothing on TV but ANZACia, I go on and talk of nothing else. This is the risk one runs when one is at home by oneself on a Monday, I suppose. Ultimately, my point is this; let us remember the horrors of war, the (mostly unintentional) sacrifices the soldiers made. Then let us, instead of looking inward and backward, engage with the rest of the world. Vast numbers of people are suffering needlessly right now, never mind 90 years ago. Let us, the lucky country, use the lecacy of those soldiers to remind us of that; it's normally easier to think about our own than about others, but once thinking of human suffering it is a small jump. Hopefully we can make that jump, and extend the sorrow we feel at our own losses to compassion for those suffering today.

I know what you're thinking; I've taken my own sweet time returning to blogspace since my repatriation to my native land. It's true, but there are, I assure you, many most excellent reasons for my slothful ways. Really, there are. I can't think of any at this precise moment, but they're there. Excuses aside, though, let's forget the past and look only to the future. A future filled with insightful and witty blog entries; hilarious anecdotes, cutting political commentary, and fascinating forays into the scary, scary place that is my mind.

First things first. I'm sure that you are dying to delve into the mysterious blank period between the 18th of February and today (see "Curls Away!" if you have no idea what I'm talking about), so I will attempt a brief summary to bring my life entirely up to date. I flew home, was reunited with my beautiful girlfriend, and began the year's studies (with my usual slack-jawed, foggy-brained attitude), which I continued up to this very day, with a brief break in the now-commercialised, over-romanticised home of crusty, ancient pot-smoking ex-hippies and retired upper-middle-class "sea-changers".

OK, so that brings everybody up to date. A fine and accurate condensation of the last couple of months, despite its slight overabundance of hyphens. But I like hyphens, so no worries there. As for the future, it may have to wait. Other than this first post and its masterful condensation of two months in the life, what is in the past I intend to leave there, safely packed away like the late JP2. As nothing of note has happened today, other than the creation of this blog, my stock of anecdotes is, shall we say, a little wanting. As for political commentary and deep thoughts, well, frankly, it is Sunday...