Australia, USA's lapdog

Source: Grist weekly digest 23 November 2004

ON YOUR MARK, GET SET, KYOTO!
Kyoto gets a kick-off date

After nearly seven years of doubt and often rancorous debate, the Kyoto Protocol has an official start date: Feb. 16, 2005, at which point the treaty will become binding. The 90-day countdown period began last week, thanks to the handover of official documents from Russia to the U.N. at a ceremony in Nairobi, declaring its ratification. Only four industrialized countries now remain outside the treaty: the U.S., Australia, and global powerhouses Liechtenstein and Monaco. The U.S. bailed on the treaty shortly after George W. Bush came to office in 2001, claiming it represented too great a burden on the economy, and that it was unfair, imposing specific targets only on developed countries and not on rapidly developing (and polluting) countries like China and India. Despite U.S. intransigence, many U.S. companies are pushing to meet Kyoto targets anyway, leery of losing their ability to operate factories in signatory countries.

Straight to the source at Terra Daily, Agence France-Presse, 18 Nov 2004

It's all fun and games 'til someone loses an eye

You know what makes it all worthwhile?

When you steal students from other teachers.

It's not competitive, really, but how can I not feel a bit satisfied when students attend my class to make up a missed lesson and decide to stay?

"Okay everyone! I worked you hard today -- good job! I'll see you all next week. New people, come talk to me before you leave."

(People mingle, gather up their jumpers and drink bottles. "Bye Joan! Bye Joan!")

"So, how did you find it?"

"Yeah, it was good!"
"I really like the music."

"Good, good. What about the pace? Was it too fast? Too slow?"

"It was about right. A bit fast in parts."

"Don't worry, after a few lessons, your brain will adapt and you'll start absorbing moves much better. It's part of the dance training. In the mean time, I'll slow down a little. How's that?"

Nods.

"What about you two? You're not beginners. I've seen you in Monica's class before. How was that compared to Monica?"

"Waay better!"
"Yeah, I liked it a lot."

"It's because I don't make you do sit-ups, right? I've heard about her sit-ups."

Laughs.

"We'll be back next week, definitely. Seeya Joan!"

"Bye, guys!"

*soft snicker*

Men are the control rods of society

There were five of us in the car, on our way to a party. It seemed like a good time to introduce a groundbreaking social theory.

The vast generalisation was this.

In general, women experience more guilt than men. They feel guilty about breaking rules, neglecting duties, disloyal thoughts... Men don't usually suffer in this way. Any feelings of disquiet and self-disgust are fleeting.

Women will share their guilt and commiserate with each other. In this way, guilt is passed on like hot potatoes (or neutrons from uranium-235). Eventually, the guilt is passed to a man and he will absorb it. Hooray, the chain reaction has been halted!

Conclusion: Men are the control rods of society. Without them, society will dissolve into a blubbering mass of guilt and self-recrimination.

I'm a party animal

Blogging during holidays is much more difficult than I expected -- too many parties and dance events are cramping my style :)

Yesterday, I danced almost non-stop at a Christmas dance social. It was very, very fun. The quality of leads (male dancers usually, not always) makes me feel like a kid in a candy store (oh dear, am I going to regret writing that?) The only downer was I didn't road test my skirt before going out dancing. It flew up too high so I had to hold back on my favourite swing spins. I'm not an exhibitionist! Not that type, anyway.

At midnight, we showed up at a 21st party. Good food, good company. I recoiled at my first taste of whisky. It was awful.

At 3 AM, I tugged on Damjan and asked to go home (thanks for driving, James). I was worried because I had to teach piano at 9 AM then dance all day at a competition. I am non-functional on less than six hours of sleep.

It's worked out all right, though. This morning as I was eating breakfast, my piano student's mum called and cancelled the lesson.

"Sorry for the very late notice, Joan. Joanne's just woken up with gastroenteritis. I don't think we can have our lesson today."

"That's okay." I could barely contain my excitement. I happily slurped up my muesli and went back to bed.

My job next year

Today, the company I will be working for next year held an introduction session for its graduate employees. There were 25 of us, chosen from more than 500 applicants. I felt pretty special.

It is an international engineering consultancy based in Australia and wholly owned by its employees. Sustainable development is incorporated in its core work. The people are intelligent, good-humoured and friendly. The work environment is bright, modern and open. We employees get paid to do interesting, varied and important work. For example, the company does environmental clean-up in the Pacific Islands. It developed a transportation strategy for Beijing. It did the groundwork for the Melbourne Commonwealth Games Village. It is contributing to the architectural redevelopment of Melbourne University. Hey, while I was working there last summer I wrote the first draft of Western Australia's new environmental risk assessment policy! It's exciting being part of something big like this.

I can't imagine anything better, really. I feel very lucky to have this job.

I'm even luckier because I get another two months holiday before I start work :)

Blankie

Yesterday, the whole family was helping my brother finalise his packing. Three months of supplies had to fit into two suitcases.

"I think that's it," Jason said finally as we zipped up the big bag.

"Let's see how much it weighs." Dad went to the bathroom to get the scales. We watched as the dial swung wildly, then slowly oscillated to a stop.

"27 kilograms," I reported. "Jason, what's the weight limit?"

"30 kilograms," he said, his eyes still on the dial. He had an odd look on his face. Abruptly, he left the room. I looked at dad. Where was he going?

Jason came back carrying his little blanket. "I'm taking Blankie," he announced.

Mum gasped. "Don't be silly! Everyone will laugh at you!" He shrugged, unzipped the bag again and carefully folded the well-worn blanket on top of his suit.

"Jason, it's more dangerous to take Blankie overseas than to leave it here," I warned.

"I know," he said patiently. "But I want it there when I'm in San Francisco." He sounded quite determined. This was the little blanket that I had used when I was a baby. Jason inherited it when he was born and it has been with him almost every night since.

When the bag was secured, only the barest bulge at the side hinted at its precious cargo. We all stood back and nodded in satisfaction. It was done.

Silicon Jason

My brother Jason has started a blog to record his adventures as a computer science intern in San Francisco. You can find it at http://jaseko.blogspot.com.

Run like your life depends on it

I just saw an odd thing. I came home late. The streets were dark and still. Suddenly, there was a middle-aged tubby man running uphill past our court. It was not a jogging pace -- he was running like his life depended on it. We live on a fairly extreme sort of hill. It's not a hill that you can recreationally sprint up.

I waited, expecting him to be followed by knife-wielding bandits. But nothing.

National Picnic Day

"Joan, can I ask you something?"
"Sure, Megan."
"Could we use your house on Sunday? I'd like to organise a picnic, then afterward gather at your house so we can dance in your big rumpus room."
(long pause)
(cautiously) "Um... Am I invited?"
(incredulously) "Of course!" (like, duh)
(phew!) "Okay then!"

There is a huge park near my house. It has rolling grass hills, trees, a lake, well-maintained walking and riding tracks, picnic tables, barbecues, and is home to all sorts of wildlife. It's a perfect place for a picnic on a sunny Sunday afternoon. In high spirits, the five of us piled into Vera's car and drove to the park.

As we drove through the park entrance, we laughed because the gate was plastered with signs -- "Tiger's 8th birthday picnic this way" and so on. We trundled along towards the carpark and were amazed at the number of people who had set up camp. Some of the picnics looked like full military operations, with specialist chairs and regulation-issue picnic rugs. Smoke rose from dozens of barbecues dotting the landscape.

"I've never seen the park so full before!"
"Will we find a space?"
"Don't worry this park is huge. We'll drive a bit further."

We drove by another picnic, another BBQ, a group of kids playing frisbee, three people racing each other on scooters, a cricket game, a soccer match, a massive white marquee, a jumping castle...

"SHEESH, this is ridiculous! It's not even like this during Carols by Candlelight!"

Unbelievably, the further into the park we drove, the more crowded it became. Cars overflowed the marked parking spaces and were double parked. There was no way we could find a space.

"What are we going to do?"

We looked at each other helplessly.

"Give me the map," I said finally. "It's time to randomly find another park."

Ten minutes later, we found ourselves picnicking on the perfectly manicured lawns at the art gallery. The people sipping cappuccinos in the gallery cafe probably thought we were weird.

Haha, tough luck you artsy people. You don't get no wontons.

You have three lifelines

On November 1st, I wrote a short story on this blog called 'Taking it for granted'. It was about an unnamed woman in the middle of perhaps dying in a car accident. Between moments, though, she is transported into a blank world and someone we might assume to be God winds back the clock for her.

The crux of the story is this: Everyone has three chances to hit CTRL-Z on their life. If you wish for it passionately enough, then you appear before God (or someone I imagine is like the Architect from The Matrix) and he gives you a choice. "Do you want to use one of your lifelines to undo this episode of your life?"

Whatever you decide, all memory of this decision is wiped. You continue your life, oblivious, taking for granted all the goodness that you had almost lost. However, the memories return the next time your desperation drives you before God. You end up with a catalogue of situations that show very clearly what you consider to be important in your life. The irony is, of course, that back in your earthly existence you have no opportunity to use this incredible self-understanding.

The most boggling thing to contemplate is, "How would you use your lifelines if you knew you only had three?" So you say something devastating and hurtful to your friend. Would you take it back? You accidentally set the house on fire. Would you take it back? You lose your mother's most beloved heirloom necklace. Would you take it back? Someone discovers that you cheated in your Year 12 exam. Would you take it back?

In my story, the woman chose to use her lifelines on her career dreams, love and survival. Those are the most important things I can think of. But even then, unless you were dying, how could you be sure? Is he the one for you? Maybe you were never meant to be a doctor.

And then to die, go to Heaven (or wherever) and realise that you didn't use any of your lifelines because you had held onto them too tightly. Or to spend your last one, burdened with the realisation that you had squandered the other two.

Well. That's a lot of philosophy to pack into a 213 word story. The story is not as random as you may think. I've been telling myself this story for about three years. I tell it every time I feel like something terrible has happened. Three years ago, I was in a car accident. I was extremely shaken and upset, angry that I had lost my car, angry at my stupidity. People say, "It could have been worse." Maybe it was. Maybe until I used up one of my lifelines, the accident had left me a quadriplegic. And maybe it was important enough for me to use one of my precious chances. I remind myself not to take my good life for granted.

Geek, nerd, square

"What's the difference between geek and nerd?" Vera muses.

It is a subject that is reconsidered every year.

"Oh, there's definitely a difference," Megan assures her.

"Yeah, well, Damjan told me off once for calling him a geek. 'I'm not a geek! I'm a nerd. Get it right!' "

"Well," I say, "I'm a square."

"What's a square?"

"Someone who's a bit old-fashioned, follows the rules. Is a bit conservative, always punctual..." I do a double-take.

"That doesn't sound like you, Joan..." Vera says doubtfully.

"Yeah. Are you sure, Joan?"

"Goodness." I am flabbergasted. "I'm not like that anymore!"

"Did you call yourself a square in high school?"

"I used to be... Golly, I've changed!"

I used to be scared of escalators

I used to be scared of escalators. It was the whole "Oh, no not again! Be careful... Timing, timing, step on it...now! Aargh, missed it!" thing. As a six-year-old, shopping trips were terrifying.

I did, however, love travelators.

I use e-mail like chat

Yesterday I received 18 e-mails. I sent 15.

My brother complains that I'm obsessed with my e-mail. I tell him, "I like my e-mail like you like your MSN and ICQ." It's quite true. I often have conversations with people over e-mail, exchanging two sentences at a time. This means that I will send an e-mail, leave for ten or fifteen minutes (to eat, to dance, to tidy my room) then check if I have any new e-mails. Frightfully inefficient. Why don't I just login to ICQ?

I don't know. I guess I hate the inane conversations people seem to have over Messenger/ICQ.

Sup
nothin. Whatcha doin
Waiting for my towel to dry. then Ill go have a shwer
cool
Wanna see taxi tomoz
yeah...hear its ok
k

I suppose you could have the same pointless, uncrafted conversations by e-mail. Maybe it depends on the person.

I'll open this up for discussion. Who thinks instant messaging is a good way to have intelligent dialogue? Who thinks e-mail promotes more meaningful exchange? Do instant messaging and e-mail complement each other?

The quiet roar of the creek

This morning, I walked on a trail that I haven't visited in perhaps a year. It's a windy bush track, quite narrow and runs alongside a large creek (or stream, if you'd prefer). It's been raining heavily these past few days so while I was walking, some of my brainpower was devoted to navigating around puddles, over fallen trees and smelling the freshly upturned earth. Something smelled wonderful, like fruit and flowers.

After a while, I noticed that all the long grasses were lying flat and parallel. Being the hydrologist that I am, I quickly deduced that the grasses had been flattened by water rushing over them. My eyes followed the direction the grass was pointing and sure enough, all grasses led to the lowest drainage line. Even as the path turned and twisted, the grasses and fallen branches all aligned themselves toward the creek. It was fantastic. Nature had drawn its own velocity vectors.

At uni, I often struggled with drawing streamlines over a map ("Must be perpendicular to the equipotential lines, must be parallel, create even squares, consider boundary conditions...") but here they were all were, displayed for the world to see -- and surely 100% correct. If my flownets don't match up with Nature's, well, guess who got it wrong?

I finally emerged from the track and reached the bridge over the creek. Normally, as you approach the creek you are welcomed by a quiet roar of water rushing over rocks and into the banks. Sometimes though, like today, you can hear no water. It is dead quiet. This doesn't mean the creek is dry; even the smallest trickle will make itself heard. It is actually the opposite -- the creek is so full that the slow deep water serenely sails over obstructions.

Whenever my mum and I come across the creek in its fullness, she tells me, "A half full barrel makes the most noise." This is one of my favourite Chinese proverbs. Can you guess what it means?

It means that of the people you meet, the most boastful, most ostentatious often feel the most inadequate inside.

Bachelor of Snobbery

I only started going to the symphony, ballet and opera two years ago. Before tonight, I felt like an amateur. That is, I only began clapping when everyone else clapped. Oh, the shame if one should accidentally clap between movements!

Today, however, I graduated to Audience Snobbery. I went to see the Guangzhou Ballet perform at the Regent Theatre. The ballet was generally good, some very nice bits but that is not the point of this account.

The point is this -- It was the most terrible audience that I have ever had to suffer. Obviously, the people there were mostly first-timers. Shocking. And it wasn't even that they clapped in the wrong places. There were children all over the place and they kept running around and bouncing on their booster cushions. People crackled open plastic-wrapped snacks. Crackle, crackle, crackle, it was awful. And there were people sitting in front of me and they stretched their arms right into the air during the performance. The nerve! The rudeness of it! Coughing, murmuring, people wandering around playing God knows musical chairs, others waving around glaring white mobile phone screens, it was all there.

The last straw was when two little girls behind me started counting the ballerinas coming onto the stage. "One, two... There's another one. Fifteen. Oooh, sixteen, eighteennineteen... No, no, it's eighteen! Another three... That makes, um, um, twenty-one..." I could not endure it any longer so I turn around. "Excuse me, could you please be quiet?"

Waven, sitting beside me, sighed in relief and nodded her approval.

During the interval, Jon started laughing. "This is so not a ballet audience. It feels more like a sports match. Every time the dancers do something that looks a bit tricky, people cheer and woohoo! You'd never get that at the Australian Ballet. I keep expecting someone to yell, 'YEAH! You go, girl!' Ahahaha... So not a ballet audience."

*roll eyes* Too right. Clueless. Absolutely clueless.

Signed,
Ms. Joan
BEnvEng, DipLang(Chinese), BSnob

I'm walking on sunshine

It's a sunny and warm! I'm going to the beach now. I'm wearing my favourite pants. They're bright yellow. One day, I will get matching shoes and I can walk around singing, "I'm walking on sunshine...Whoooa!"

Theoretical basis for Wingmen

Meng sent me an email directly related to yesterday's post.

Read full post.

hey,
I was doing house keeping.
guess what. I found the notes from psy, on the wingmen theory,here it is.. u might find it a good laugh. brings back old memory, when I was a young and crazy psyco-engineer :)

---

PSY1022 - Psychology B

this is a mission

Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to go out with your friends and meet new female acquaintances to add to your repertoire of potential "friends."

Of course, by the end of the night, you are a few hundred dollars poorer, you've accelerated your own liver failure (from all the alcohol you drank), your lungs are a shade darker, and you still didn't get to escort that beautiful woman back to her place (you didn't even get her number). It's another familiar failed Saturday night.

Maybe it's time to reconsider your whole pickup strategy. If it hasn't worked for you and your friends in the past, then it's time to try a new strategy: The Player's Strategy.

the wall

In general, most men fail to meet women for 2 reasons:

the first problem is that they travel in packs but go on the hunt solo. What do I mean by this? When it concerns meeting women, men tend to separate from the squadron to wander helplessly towards the female pack, only to hit a wall and be shot down and humiliated.

The second factor that adds to the squadron failure is the pathetic expectation that "if I stand around long enough, maybe something will happen." Most men will sit or stand around all night holding a beer, and watch women dance without doing anything. At the end of the night, they're disappointed because they did not meet any women.

Of course not. In order to meet women, you have to approach them and start a conversation. If you can't talk because the music is too loud, then invite them to dance with you.

The only way to actually meet women in nightclubs is to follow the ways of jet fighter pilots. Men have to learn to fight in squadrons. By sticking together, we increase our chances of having a Successful Pickup Saturday Night (SPSN).

social group structure

Look into the eyes of a pilot. In his stare you will see, among other things, great intelligence. It is precisely this intelligence that makes the fighter a great pilot. When pilots fight, the members of the squad gather together. Survival depends on cooperation. Each member works to care for, defend and protect his fellow members.

This is the same attitude that men must adopt. By working together, we can accomplish a lot more than if we continue to hunt solitarily. In order to achieve these goals, there are specific roles that one must take on. When hunting, you have to prepare yourself according to 3 main roles: the Kamikaze Pilot, the Wing Commander and the Wingman.

the kamikaze pilot

The Kamikaze Pilot has a girlfriend, is engaged or is already married. His main duty is to initiate the "seek-and-attract" plan. Because he is already dating, he won't care if he gets shot down. He will also convey more confidence, and women will be more attracted to him.

These people have nothing to lose. To them, flying kamikaze is "just talking." The key here is having them save the "I have a wife/girlfriend" part for the end of the conversation.

the wing commander

The Wing Commander engages the primary target. Anyone can be a Wing Commander. In order to become one, you simply have to spot a woman that you are interested in and get the squadron ready for action.

the wingmen

The Wingmen serve as decoys; they take one for the team, engage the secondary target, and jump on the grenade and generally keep someone else occupied while the Wing Commander engages the primary target. The best suited wingmen are:

# Good-looking friends who don't know they're hot. But be careful, these are the wingmen that can accidentally blow you right out of the sky.

# Ugly friends are perfect for the mission. They are fun and cool but lost the lottery on looks.

However, it is better to have no wingmen at all than bad wingmen. The type of people that make bad wingmen are:

# The drunk guys -- they will usually crash and burn, and nip your wings on their way down. Instead of backing you up, they'll give all your naughty secrets away.

# The boring geeks -- There is nothing worse than having to turn around and bail out your own wingmen.

the opposite sex

Attractive women seek out attractive female friends, but to make themselves feel even more attractive, there is always one member of the group that is not as hot. The hitch? The attractive members of the group require that if men approach them, they have to find a match for the least attractive friend as well. The following best describes the female targets:

# The Girl-goyle: The least attractive member of the female group. The target that the Kamikaze Pilot seeks out and destroys.

# The Primary Target: Usually the best-looking female of the group. She is the one whom the Wing Commander seeks to "engage" in combat.

# The Secondary Target: Known as "Bogeys," but also known as the "friend that drove us here," the "we have to get up early" girl, the "we have to leave now" girl, or finally, the "if you think you're going home with her, you're sadly mistaken" girl. These girls range in beauty from hot and sweet, to average looking. These Bogey Pilots are engaged by the Wingmen.

rules of engagement

As I mentioned before, the first thing you have to do is be aggressive. Don't just stand around and wait for something to happen because it never will. As soon as you enter the dance club, you have to seek out your primary target. Once you've located her, it's time to spring into action.

The first move you must make is to gather your squadron together. Because you located your woman first, you become the Wing Commander. The next step is for the Kamikaze Pilot to move in and start a conversation with the Girl-goyle of the group. The purpose of this step is to infiltrate and set up contact with the female group. If no Kamikaze Pilot is available, then one of the Wingmen has to act as the Kamikaze Pilot (chosen by drawing straws prior to entering the club).

Having the Kamikaze Pilot (single or married guy) talk to the least attractive girl serves 2 purposes; the first is to eliminate her by sacrificing himself to a conversation with her for the whole night (she does not know that he is married or dating). The second purpose of talking to the least attractive friend is so that the prettier friends won't have to be so concerned with finding the Girl-goyle friend a match.

You see, most women avoid talking to men because they feel guilty about leaving their least good-looking friend by themselves -- the Kamikaze Pilot takes care of that.

Once the Kamikaze Pilot is properly introduced to the female group, it is time for the Wing Commander to spring into action. His role is to walk by the Kamikaze Pilot and let the Kamikaze Pilot introduce him to the gang. The Kamikaze will first introduce the Wing Commander to the primary target, and then to the other friends. After greeting all of the friends, the Wing Commander shows his interest by talking back to the primary target.

The legendary Wingmen wait in the shadows of the club. They always appear on cue and rarely fail at their assigned duties. The Wingmen move once they observe that the secondary targets are showing signs of impatience, or even try to interrupt the Wing Commander. The Wingmen's job is to keep the secondary targets distracted.

Sometimes, the Wingmen have to take more than one secondary target at a time. You can never predict how the mission will turn out. Sometimes the Wingmen do better than the Wing Commander. Sometimes, the Wing Commander gets shot down. Other times, your wingers get shot down and you have to abort the mission because you blew your cover.

There is one important code that is followed by all members of the squadron: If the Wing Commander panics and is too afraid to continue his mission, then the fastest Wingman takes over as the Wing Commander. This is done to keep the squadron alive by encouraging the Wing Commander to fulfill his duties.

enjoy the moment

The next time you go out with your friends, change things around and make things a little more fun. Instead of just standing around with a beer in your hands, play a game and make the whole experience fun. But remember: united we stand, divided we fall.

My friends are my Wingmen

"Joan, I feel sorry for some of my electrical eng friends, you know." Meng shakes his head.

"Why, Meng?"

"Well, some of them went from boys high schools straight into electrical engineering -- and it's like going into another boys school. I'm all right because I do psychology as well but a lot of my friends are really scared of girls! Like, when a girl comes up and asks for help with a problem, they'd get all confused and shy."

"That's no good, Meng. They should join dancesport."

"Nah, they're not sociable, like me. Because I do psychology and all, they like to ask me for help. Have you heard of the Wingman Theory?"

"No..."

"In first year, one of my friends really liked a girl but it was hard for him to talk to her because she was always surrounded by a gaggle of her girlfriends. So we electrical engineers coordinated a campaign to give him a chance. We planned it! We had a briefing and we modelled our strategy using toy cars. The target girl was a Ferrari, her best friend was the Volkswagon..."

"Hahaha, really?? What happened?"

"Well, we were the Wingmen, you know? As the group of girls walked into the lecture theatre, we swooped. We all took a girl each and drew them away from the target girl, so she ended up walking into the theatre by herself. My friend finally got to talk to her."

"Heehee! That's crazy!"

"Yeah, yeah. We had one of the guys positioned at the top of the lecture theatre to watch the campaign so he could..."

"Report back?"

"Yeah. There was a debriefing afterward." Meng sighs. "It actually didn't work too well. You see, it just looked really weird, this one girl walking into the theatre and then followed by a whole group of people. It just looked weird."

"A learning experience, then?"

"Yeah..."

Family interactions

Yesterday was the first time in a while that my whole family was at home. Let's see what happened...

Mum
Mum watched as I scooped freshly made fruit salad from the big silver bowl to my mug. Mmm, more mango... As soon as I put the lid back, mum whipped the bowl open again and looked at me reproachfully. "Joan, you left a hole in the fruit salad again!"

She picked up the ladle and nudged some watermelon, pear and apple back into the depression.

Dad
"Joan! Have a look at this."

I wandered over to my dad sitting in front of the computer. "What's up, dad?"

"I'm thinking of buying shares in this company. IBA just announced a takeover bid for HCN." He clicked and pulled up a chart. "Look at that!" We both marvelled at the single day vertical rise of HCN's share price. "We've missed the boat on that one, of course, but IBA might still be a good prospect..."

Click, click and we soon had a graph for IBA's six-month performance. "Oh," dad sounded disappointed. "It looks like the price has already risen."

"Dad, you have to think of the future potential, not the past performance. Remember when I bought WOW? You said that if you had seen how much the price had already risen, you would never have bought it. But look how much I've made on it!"

Dad nodded thoughtfully. "That's true. Okay, I'll do some more research." And he happily continued clicking.

Jason
"Joan! Joan! I have an exam tomorrow. Do you have a pencil I can borrow?"
"Yes, take the grey pacer. *Sigh* I've lost my yellow pacer. It's my favourite."
"I'll need an eraser and pacer leads, too."
I handed them over.
"Thanks!" and he dashed back to his room to respond to an ICQ message.

Five minutes later, he came back in with his school bag and a sheepish smile on his face.
"Er, Joan? Remember the last time I had an exam? Well, I borrowed some stuff then."
He laid out the grey pacer, combination pen/pencil eraser and box of HB leads I had just lent him, reached into his bag and pulled out a yellow pacer, my favourite eraser and a box of 2B leads.

I looked at him and started laughing. "All right, Jason. Which set do you want?"
"Um." He compared them critically. "I'll take them both, just in case."

My dance history

In my description on the right of this blog, I say that I'm a "dancer". I'm wondering how that crept up on me. I've only been a "dancer" for two years. Even though I've done some sort of dancing for more than ten years, it was always an hour here, an hour there -- not enough to define oneself as a dancer, the same way as occasionally painting doesn't make one an artist. It is quite presumptuous of me to even say such a thing because I don't have the strict discipline or special skill of a dancer.

7 to 8 years old - Ballet
When I was seven, I went through what every small girl goes through -- the year of ballet lessons. Some rare individuals never grow out of it (Joanna), some do and then get back into it (Ai), some take the most incredibly roundabout route but somehow get there (Daniel and Fiona). I joined a ballet class after school at my primary school. I gave it up after a year and one performance of the Nutcracker because:

• At eight years old, I was self-consciously the biggest person in the class.
  
• I hated getting changed at school by myself in winter.
  
• Once, I got locked into the toilets by the cleaners who were closing up and I wailed for long minutes before a stranger heard me.

8 to 12 years old - Jazz Dance
Every day I went to after school care. It was a lovely. On Mondays, we did art. Tuesdays was cooking. Wednesday was tennis. Thursday we had dance classes. By the time I graduated from primary school, I had also graduated with my gold seal medal in jazz dance.

12 to 14 years old - Drought years
At the start of high school, I was distracted by kung-fu lessons. But my favourite part was always doing the forms (the patterns of moves - kata in karate, poomsae in taekwondo).

At Year 7 camp (with 100 people!), we had a dance social. No one knew anyone. The music came on. It was dark. The floor was like a desert. The twelve and thirteen year olds were huddled around the sidelines, terrified of getting on the floor. I couldn't help myself -- the music was there, I could feel the bass. I tried to drag some friends on the floor but they wouldn't come. I went on by myself and I danced like no one was watching. People were cheering. After a song, the floor started filling up.

Even up to Year 11 and Year 12, people would come up to me and say, "Hey Joan, I remember when you started everyone dancing at Year 7 camp. That was awesome!" I think it was one of the defining moments of my life.

14 to 16 years old - Hip hop & jazz dance
You know, I can't even remember why I began hip hop. I did it for a year and then somehow got conned into joining a competition troupe. The troupe competed in both hip hop and jazz events. One of my troup mates was Liz, only a few years older than me. I left the troupe to tackle the all important VCE (and also because my parents became sick of driving me around and paying for all the costumes).

18 to 19 years old - Belly dancing & jazz dance
Yes, I did belly dancing. 'Nuff said.

19 to 22 years old - Partner dancing

• Street latin
  
• Latin
  
• Modern ballroom
  
• Club salsa

During O-week at uni, I saw a hip hop performance and I felt a pain in my heart. I didn't realise I missed it so much, to perform in a group. There were no theatrical dance clubs at uni, only a dancesport one. After seven years of solo dancing, partner dancing terrified me. You have to touch people!

Kate convinced me to sign up for a social class with her ("No pressure! No medals if you don't want."). I started going to Friday night socials. My brother and I even taught hip hop at a few socials. By this time, the committee had sussed out that I was a keen bean then tricked me into becoming Secretary. Dancesport then consumed my life for about ten hours a week for two years.

• Swing

Damjan taught me eight-beat lindy hop in my rumpus room. I was awful, no frame, no style. That didn't stop me from going to the FunPit and asking strangers to dance! Thank you, Damjan.

20 to 22 years old - Hip hop
Doing dancesport gave me the confidence to go back to hip hop and theatrical dance (and I could now drive myself around and pay for my own costumes). Remember my fellow troupe member Liz? By the time I came back to hip hop, she was my teacher and had created the FATD hip hop syllabus from scratch. I joined the advanced class and at the end of last year, was invited to begin teacher training.

Beyond 22 years old - ??
No more uni so no more dancesport club. I don't know what I'm going to do. I love latin and ballroom but I don't know how I can continue with it without committing to it in a big way. Even watching Dancing with the Stars makes me nostalgic.

Anyway, this month I'll be audtioning for a senior hip hop troupe. The troupe will be training to enter the World Hip Hop Championships 2006 in Kuala Lumpar. I don't know if I'm good enough but it seems like a worthwhile goal.

Thanks for reading this. I've never told anyone the full story before. Let me end in the time-honoured way of all dancers... DIP!

My life as an RPG

"Welcome, Joan! Before you begin your life, please create your character. You have 30 creation points. Type HELP if you would like to learn more about the attributes."

help

"There are six basic attributes that apply to all abilities you develop during life.

• Strength determines most physical abilities, like running speed and stamina.
  
• Agility is required for physically complex activities like dancing and playing music.
  
• High intelligence will allow you to learn quickly and apply knowledge to new situations.
  
• Health determines how easily you get sick, your allergies, addictions and sleep requirements.
  
• Very charming people will make friends easily and impress strangers.
  
• Wisdom creates self-control, humility and insight. High wisdom allows you to train other attributes more easily.

"You have 30 creation points to spread amongst 6 attributes. These are your base stats. There will be opportunity to increase attributes through training during your life.

"Create your character."

Strength:     ***

Agility:      ******

Intelligence: ********

Health:       ****

Charm:        *******

Wisdom:       **

"A character with these stats will probably be seen as very successful, with a good career and many friends. However, low strength combined with below average health may result in poor health and fitness unless he or she is conscious of exercise and good eating. WARNING: Low wisdom will cause thoughtlessness, naivety, impatience and over-confidence.

"Do you wish to keep these stats?"

yes

"Joan has been created."

The end of an era

Yesterday I

applied to graduate

Applied to graduate

Applied to graduate

Applied to graduate

APPLIED TO GRADUATE

6:30 AM - 7:45 AM
Woke up for last minute cramming for the last exam of my engineering degree.

9:30 AM - 1:00 PM
Killer Flood Management exam. People stumbled out of that exam, stunned. I managed but only because I figured out a deluge (haha) of questions in the last fifteen minutes.

That was my LAST EXAM!

2:00 - 3:30 PM
Taught a "studious, perfectionistic and incredibly nerdy medical student with two left feet" how to social dance so that tonight she can take the "final chance to risk [her] pride and take a chance with a guy that [she has] covertly liked for ages and is the reason [she] get up in the morning."

I got an email from this girl last week, begging for my help. I had never met her, didn't know anyone else who knew her. Somehow, she had found my email address. She was in a desperate situation and I was moved enough to not charge her my usual $50 per hour for private dance lessons.

What a story! Good luck to her, although one dance lesson does not a dancer make. People, don't be afraid of social dancing. If you laugh while you're bopping, you'll do great! *thumbs up*

4:00 PM
I applied to graduate! I paid AU$104 for the privilege, too.

4:45 to 7:45 PM
Made most of my $104 sunk costs with marginal benefits realised through 2.5 hours of tutoring three different people.

8:30 to 10:00 PM
Hip hop lesson! We have a new routine. We're dancing a song from 1992. It's old skool! Hard, which makes it fun.

11:00 to 12:00 PM
TV! Stargate SG1. They've swapped Jonas for Daniel again. The storyline flowed well but we have to suspect that the writers are doing a dodgy and rearranging the Stargate universe to suit actor preferences.

12:00 to 2:00 AM
OMG, I read a novel. In bed. It was such a luxury! It was A Hat Full of Sky, one of the Discworld novels by Terry Pratchett.


So as you can see, an action packed day that involved my last exam. I can't say EVER because I want to continue doing Chinese next year. I'm sure I'll be back to do post-grad eventually. (And I've still got an essay to hand in before April next year!) But it is the End of an Era.

...so I'm going bowling today.

I am a Sim

Have you ever played 'The Sims'? A most frustrating game. I don't know how anyone could stand it for very long. Every time I became enthusiastic about achieving a goal, the damned Sim would start waving at me. "Nameyoootratyah! Ainawaroo," which translates into, "I'm hungry/bored/unhappy with my surroundings! I don't want to study cooking."

You stupid Sim! If you don't study, you'll set the kitchen on fire again then we'll have to pay to fix it. We'll never get that new television with 7 fun points. If we just get that television, you'll never be bored again. And then we can start getting somewhere in this game. I think sub-consciously I always thought, "Slacker. If something needs to be done, just do it. Stop whining."

Now to the point of this blog entry -- I think I've become a Sim. I'm lonely! I'm bored! How can I study? Uh-uh. Not doing a thing until I GET SOME FUN.

It's crazy. It's Life imitating Game. Oh. Wait. The Sims is imitating life. It's Life imitating Game imitating Life!

...

Yay! An e-mail from Damjan! *reads voraciously*

Mmm, yeah, that boosted the SOCIAL bar. Now I can now study :)

Taking it for granted

Even as the shattered glass rushed towards her, even as her every pore and every opening filled with the acridness of burning rubber, she had time to pray. "Oh God, oh God, no, not now. Please, not like this, please, just this once, just this once. I promise, I won't ask again. Oh, God."

And then she had to blink because it was so white and bright. She looked down. She must have been standing on something but as she lifted her eyes, there were no lines to follow -- no perspective, no shadows.

"Hello, again."
She regarded him and replied. "Hello."
"Are you sure this is what you want? It would be the last time."

Suddenly, she remembered that fourteen years ago, she had failed the entrance exam to medical school. A drunken one-night stand five years ago had destroyed her marriage. The bitterness, the guilt, the desperation were as real as the operation she performed this morning and last night's eleventh anniversary dinner with Michael.

"I've... I've asked before."
"Everyone does. Everyone has three chances."
"This is my last one."
"Is it worth it?"
Her mind still echoed with the enormity of screeching and shattering.
"Yes. Take it back."

She glanced up at the mirror, flicked the indicator and turned left.