Castor and Pollux Live Here

Introduction to Pole Dancing

2007-01-09T20:18:00.000+11:00

There's been a lot of talk in recent years about the evolving mainstream popularity of pole dancing. One view is that it's an activity that liberate's a woman's sense of self, that it empowers her and can really bring about an improvement in confidence.

The other view is that it is a step backwards; we're fooling ourselves into thinking we're undertaking something liberating when we're actually following the same old script of objectification, and voluntarily draping ourselves all over a phallic shaped object, trying to fool ourselves that this is feminism.

My initial reasons for starting pole-dancing were: 1) I want Linda Hamilton's Terminator arms 2) A friend of mine did it and I tend to like similar stuff to her, so i figured it might be a good AND fun way to burn off those 2 kilos i got for Xmas, and 3) I'm admittedly curious.

After reading 'Female Chauvinist Pigs' by Ariel Levy, I can grasp the logic of those who believe that 'raunch culture' is an insidious enemy of the progress of feminism. I'm not saying I necessarily agree with it, but I can follow their path of thought. It reminds me of the Matrix movies; we think we're free and that there is no war to fight, but ultimately we may still be blindly dancing to the tune of the enemy. We think that we western women are liberated and have achieved general equality; that this was fought for and won long before we paid our $200 and showed up in our shorts and high heels. But when we embrace that which epitomises 'raunch culture' - pole dancing, for one - are we taking three steps back? Are we undoing the good work of our predecessors?

As usual it's a definition debate, and the argument is totally depandent on your strain of feminism.

After my first class tonight, I can only say that each and every single girl in that room walked out flushed and smiling. If their thoughts were anything like mine, it was something along the lines of : a) How addictive was that b) God my thighs hurt but i don't care c) A week is a long time to wait for the next lesson.

I don't see how going to a pole dancing class, in a room full of other women who are having a bloody awesome time, working up a sweat and getting that great endorphin rush, is any different from a regular dance class, aside from the connotations that some may or may not consider promiscuous, or 'raunchy'. Oh, and yeah - there's a pole.

I am obviously leaning towards the 'empowered' argument, the reason being that it was a down to earth, unpretentious environment where women let go of (some) of their inhibitions, and experimented. To me, it felt like the celebration of the female form.

I consider myself a feminist, and I'll be right back at class next week.

New Years Schmew Years

2006-12-31T11:18:00.000+11:00

SO, we're in the last hours of 2006. I bet it's been at least a couple of weeks that everyone's been feeling their New Years Eve Anxiety.

You know - that sense that EVERYONE in the ENTIRE world is doing something more fun, or cooler or more original than what you have planned. OR - you don't have anything planned. OR, you have a bunch of friends who have made vague allusions to doing something in particular, and you're hoping that it will all come together in the end.

How ridiculous is it that we feel so much pressure to have the best time ever on the one night of the year where you're lucky to be able to get a taxi?

I've done the whole Sydney New Year's Eve thing many times, and admittedly it is a spectacular show, the vibe is amazing (not including the transport rage post-midnight fireworks), and it does fill you with the wonderful reassurance that you've done the 'right thing' by 'making the most of it'.

Hell, even Paris Hilton is partying here this year, courtesy of a nice pay packet from John Singleton. But let's face it, if cartoon-giraffe-meets-spray-tanned-tranny is the order of the day for New Years, I'm glad I'm not going. It would be fun to see if her next pair of oversized sunglasses causes her to topple over into the gutter (sans panties of course), but I'm sure NW will have the skinny next week.

For me, it's dinner somewhere local, then enjoying a few rooftop bevvies (Duvel could be in the picture) up the road at a friend's flat. I can't tell you how impressed i am that i'll be able to walk home rather than attempt to bribe a Sydney cabbie.

It is tempting to stay home and watch Gretel Killeen and Daniel Macpherson's wrap up 'on the telly', but it's only late December/soon to be eary Janury, and I don't know if my heart can take seeing Gretel slapped together and strung like a glamourous mature chicken so early in the year.

Happiness is the nemesis of creative productivity

2006-10-26T21:17:00.000+10:00

I have not written anything on this soapbox blog for a long time. There is a reason and frankly it makes me feel like a Disney character to admit it. Either that or a prime candidate for a Dr Phil aftershot.

I have been happy.

I know, it's a cause for concern. (yes, people, i'm being sarcastic, GOD).

Look, i'm sure it's stems from achieving goals. Don't worry, it can't go on forever. Disney happy endings aren't real. If you were to watch the real ending of a Disney movie, you'd probably see those dwarves sign up to be extras in midget porn after getting jilted by Snow White. Prince Charming and Cinderella would be ordering leather fetish face masks and straps online to maintain the passion. Beauty would be complaining about having to clean the Beast's hair from the plughole. The only happy endings are the one's where people die happy, because if we achieve happiness and yet remain alive, we always want more. It's one of those terrible truths about humans; no matter how much we get, we always want more.

So if motivation stems from an unfulfilled need, perhaps happiness leads to inproductivity. It's a cliche that famous creative people throughout history have been, shall we say, lacking in the cheeriness department. But saying it's a cliche doesn't mean it's without validity; it just means someone said it before you.

I wonder if there are many people of my generation who simply aren't going to be happy with...being happy. Think about it: we are the generation brought up on cyclical t.v seasons of drama. T.V has taught us nothing if not that happiness is shortlived (not to mention that you're a prime target for an impending death) and also - BORING. We prefer doomed relationships and cliffhangers. Our generation cannot cope with happiness, as it means that dramatic peaks will not be reached. The sad music won't strike up. We won't be the stars of our own miniseries anymore. Ultimately, happiness is an unthinkable COPOUT. How do you think people get addicted to melodrama? It's at least interesting, compared to lovely romantic walks on the beach and mutually enjoyable cups of tea. FUCK OFF.

Faking my own death and other handy ways to escape my life.

2006-04-27T22:47:00.000+10:00

Disappear after swimming out to sea ala Harold Holt.
Disappear after being seen on a random highway wearing a backpack.
Buy some of that heart stopping drug on ebay and get a trustworthy person to pour antidote in my mouth after I'm interned.
Join the Scientology cult and tell people I'm ridding myself of 'engrams'
Fake catatonia until I end up in a mental institute where I will keep a secret notebook detailing the eccentricities of the neurotic freaks around me. Oh, wait, Winona Ryder already did that...
Join the circus and become a gypsy dancer.
Start a treasure hunt for the Holy Grail.

What I achieved today

2006-03-27T19:32:00.000+11:00

Please select out of the following which applies to you:

Today I:

a) Managed to inadvertantly imply that I have had a sex change while speaking to an important client.

b) Ate 2 slices of tiramisu in place of dinner

c) Deliberately incited an inter-office email war due to festering bitterness

d) Non-deliberately incited interpersonal shit-fight due to other people's festering bitterness and my inability to relinquish control.

d) Stared at one document for 4 hours without making ANY progress

e) Laughed at a colleague when she spoke of her quarter life crisis while eating her birthday cake.

f) All of the above.

Hmmm....can you guess which one applies to me???

I find depression in the little things...

2006-03-13T20:19:00.000+11:00

Tonight, after making my lunch for tomorrow and just generally pottering around the kitchen, I can safely say I now know with 100% certainty that an inanimate object is capable of making me depressed.

Functional...but inanimate. I think the world would be a better place if this item did not exist. I don't even know what to call it, but that's ok because such a horrible object does not deserve a name. It's a nasty symbol of the degenerative nature of the physical world and quite frankly gives me the willies.

What is the item that opens the floodgates of despair? Well...I still don't know what it's called, but I'll describe it: it goes in the plughole when you let the dishwashing water out, and collects the floaties. It's a small, circular little strainer-thingy.

It captures all manner of semi solid squalor, and holds in there, ready for your perusal once the waters recede. And when you try and take the fucking thing out to empty the crap into the bin? Well, it sticks there, doesn't it. There is the inevitable moment where you are going to have to peel what feels like a clot of swollen, wet, discarded animal orifices from off the offending item.

The part that really gets me? It doesn't even keep the sink cleaner anyhow!! There is always that last piece of slime that doesn't come off. If I wanted to be a real depressive fuck, then i'd compare it to life: we're all a fucked up little-strainer-thing, trying to keep the shit out, trying to stay clean, trying to do the most menial fucking crap because it's our PURPOSE. The catch - we still end up covered in a clot of swollen, wet, discarded animal orifices.

I think what has me so depressed may have more to do with how i spent last night that my squalid sinkware, actually (although I'm boycotting those fucking things , and intend to steal them from every house i visit given the chance, drains be damned). Truth be told I finally got around to watching the directors cut of Donnie Darko, and while it was a brilliant film, it's probably not the best thing to enertain yourself with when along and trying to sustain mental stability. There is of course the man sized demonic rabbit who foretells the end of the world in a synthesisied voice, which is bad enough, but then the sound track got under my skin and I've been jumpy ever since. The paradoxes have made my mind all loopy and the ambiguity of the theme and genre, while very impressive, have left me feeling like I've either had a massively bloating meal, or an overpriced tiny one; I'm not sure which.

2006-02-20T22:30:00.000+11:00

You are silent - rightly so
Light sucked into corners and
others (not you) drop words into air;
they are light, floating to ceilings
not sinking and final and heavy
up there time dangles a chance to change, rewrite.
There was a script I didn't follow and now
all i have of you are seconds
where distant figures could wear your face

Waiting

2006-02-12T16:09:00.000+11:00

I'm not sure if I'm waiting
for life to begin or end
Each day is so much breathing and blinking
eating, drinking, sometimes sleeping
I'd like to skip a few pages
Jump right to the end; the big finale
Now is somewhere still; this is the middle and
nowhere near the edge

Brokeback Mountain

2006-01-31T22:24:00.000+11:00

Tonight I went to the movies with CW Expat to see 'Brokeback Mountain'.

I've been looking forward to seeing this film for a while, having heard some critics rave and others(probably from Hillsong) splutter with outrage.

I found the 'gay thing' has been blown entirely out of proportion. The character's sexuality is relevant only because it is what places limitations on their love; but the love itself is trivialised when this if referred to as a movie about 'gay love'. This is a movie about love. Full stop. It's as much a tragic love story as Romeo & Juliet; the only major differences are that it's Romeo and Romeo and rather than family hatred placing constraints on the relationship, it's the fact that they are both men.

I'll be surprised if this film doesn't win at least an Oscar for Cinematography; it was absolutely incredible. When apart, the lovers were haunted by the memory of Brokeback Mountain and the time they spent there together. It seemed to me as if they spent their whole lives trying to get back to that one place where they initially made the discovery of each other. As life went on their time together got more problematic; the people they were slowly got dismantled by other things; wives, children, money. But their thirst for each other, their lust and pure emotional bond were truly palpable. The chemistry between the Heath and Jake was dynamite and quite frankly, the one (rather tame) sex scene between the two of them got me a little hot and bothered due to the abundance of sexual tension.

Probably the most evocative, earnest and emotionally involving film I've seen since Million Dollar Baby, and I think it went at least one step better.

When oh when will this hormone induced hell end?

2006-01-22T10:24:00.000+11:00

This week, while being completely pre-menstrual to the point of insanity, I've managed to alienate my colleagues, wolf down double my weight in junk food, get drunk with a workmate that I don't trust that much and endure a hangover that has me swearing off alcohol in all it's glorious forms. Mr Wookie is hiding away until I manage to restock my evening primrose oil supply. I'm not sure but i think he has a food stash somewhere in case things get really bad and he has to bunker down.

I haven't seen the Fairy, but apparently his week has been just as nauseating as mine. I now have a feeling of dread in my stomach; a solid, undigestible mass of anxiety about going to work tomorrow, and for heaven's sake, this week I'm only there 3 days! I keep trying to isolate the issue, but all I can think of is that i'm yet to be diagnosed with General Anxiety Disorder and I'm oversensitive to the point of despair. I want to find a cognitive behavioural therapist, but even if I do, when am I going to have time to actually go???

I just feel as if all of my rights at work are flimsy. I feel powerless when it comes to decision being made or things being asked of me, because I don't get a say in my direction. I feel like words are constantly being put in my mouth or particular events/ circumstances are constantly being seen as my fault, yet I never get a chance to defend myself. I guess, essentially, I'm sick of feeling like a victim, or as someone who can be manipulated.

People so often look at you, and simply run with the impression that comes most easily. Once you come to mean a certain thing, it's very difficult to go back and change that foothold; my mistake has been letting people see what they want to see and not being vocal enough.

If you had asked my friends a few years ago if i was in danger of not being vocal enough, they would have laughed in your face and begged you not to encourage me further. Now, I've lost this side of myself. I guess I overdid the outspoken thing back then, and now I'm trying to compensate. Unfortunately, it's doing me no favours. I work with a control freak, a hyperactive (albeit witha lovely heart), a total misogynist and a drug addled sociopath. Right now, all I want is to escape to the other side of the planet where I'll never have to see these people again.

Buddhism for OCD Depressed Narcissists

2006-01-16T21:12:00.000+11:00

In light of my considerable mental instability and ongoing anxiety disorder, I'm exploring Buddha's Four Noble Truthes.

1) Life is suffering (Buddha didn't start out optimistic, did he?)

2) Suffering is caused by desire (Unfortunately, pleasure is also caused by desire. I'm guessing Buddha's editors omitted that fact)

3) Suffering can be banished through the process of 'nirodha' - letting go of attachment and desire. (So, if you practise being stoic hermit, you'll be utterly fine, and if you're really, really lucky, you reach nirvana, where suffering is foreign to you because you exist without desire. If not, you're likely to end up like Anakin Skywalker, dismembered and squirming like a turtle in lava on a foreign planet after killing your pregnant wife, with your eyeballs on fire. You wouldn't want that, would you? No siree, bob! Life's grand, ain't it??)

4) There is a path to the end of suffering (apparently nirodha takes time, often lifetimes, so take your time when cutting back on desire, cos they may get around to inventing a patch). Once nirodha is complete and you have reached nirvana, the cycle of rebirth is complete.

So, our life (or all our lives, depending on whether you're the one who gets held back in reincarnation school) is essentially one realllllyyy long uni course. I'm currently failing emotional stability. Some people i know are failing Integrity 101.

Using the very, very basic grasp of deductive logic that I picked up in psych at uni, I'd go as far as to quote Buddha without footnotes and pose the following hypotheses:

Life = Suffering

Suffering is born from Desire

Therefore, Life = Desire

So what, in order to be happy, I should turn my back on life? Yes? I'm wondering if my life really would be easier if I could approach everything with dispassion. Everything. Work? Dispassion. Family? Dispassion. Europe? Dispassion. Cheesecake? Dispassion. Oroton black snakeskin billfold? Dispassion.

To be honest, I'm having trouble pinpointing what it is I'm desiring that is causing me suffering now, in this current phase of my life. Maybe the need to feel happy itself? I desire to be happy, therefore that breeds discontent, therefore I'm unhappy. I wouldn't say that happiness is a natural state of being; i'd go as far as to say it's a beautiful anomoly, and unfortunately we perceive it as a final destination rather than a place we glimpse every so often.

Thought and Hernia Inducing Life Questions

2006-01-11T22:42:00.000+11:00

Tonight I have some s*** in my head that i'd best get rid of; what better place to file it than the vast, virtual wasteland!!! Woohoo, it's great to be Generation Y.

Why is it that the people who's opinion I currently worry most about are those who I a) don't like, b) can't identify with and c) don't respect?

I keep thinking that there must be a nice, quick way to identify unhealthy thoughts and nip a pessimistic attitude in the ass. I'm waiting for that moment of clarity, where I become liberated from my anxiety over what these assholes think and then I'm homefree. T.V show people get that, film characters get that. This moment is what was promised to Generation Y, beginning with Disney and ending with shows and movies that have defined our growth years; Dawson's Creek, Buffy, Alias, every teen movie released between 1996 until now. They had us believing in two things; destiny, and empowerment. We were brought up on endless stories of happy endings, and now, while i can completely acknowledge i have no right to expect it (hell, Gen X were the ones hard done by), i want my happy-fucking-ending moment, where the stars and planets align, the penny drops, and you get your game on. The ahhh moment; when God offers you a moment of divine insight, a hotflash of awareness about your place in the universe. I can accept it if my place is small...I just want to see it.

Anyhow, the SMH understands: http://radar.smh.com.au/archives/2006/01/post_47.html

Pre- return to work animal sacrifice, also known as a ritualistic burning of animal flesh.

2006-01-08T23:16:00.000+11:00

So tonight we had the flat's first BBQ. I think it went even better than the flat's first Christmas Roasting of Baby Animal before Christmas. there is something so very relaxing about a bbq. it's as if you're saying - I may not love my life, but i shall bbq and eat animal flesh with my friends regardless. Fairy,Gong Boy, Mein Herr & Mr Wookie were all in attendance, as well as myself. It was the perfect way to spend my last evening as a free woman; although i'm not convinced I was ever or will ever be without some sort of limitation... Anyhow, that's another gangrenous mental wound entirely, and not fitting for a beautiful evening spent laughing with good friends. I wish all evenings could be like this.

One thing though - i did notice the abscence of Another...he is a world away but we still have pauses in conversation that previously would have been his to fill. We miss the Dark horse alot; and i often wonder what he is up to...

So tomorrow is the first day back at work for me in this new year; i am almost itching to go back if only to get the initial nausea over with. I know this time is going to fly and we will all be propelled into another winter before we know it; i only hope it's not as long as the last one seemed. I have alot of doubts about this year; what decisions i'm going to make, how i will go being on my own for part of it, whether or not i will be firm about decisions that will benefit me. I hope i have the nads to do the right thing by myself for once. Fingers crossed.

I've inserted an image with tonight's post; i took this picture while in the old Hometown for Christmas. There is an old road near my house where i used to walk with my mother when i was a child. I went back there alone one evening when dusk was seeping into twilight. The road was absolutely quiet; you could almost hear the day sighing as it died. I could smell baked grass and earth and parched tarmac; these distinctive scents that took me back to my childhood, where there was no 'corporate world' or 'tax effectiveness' or 'rental agreements'. On this walk i felt as close to God as i have in a long time; i felt as if he/she walked ahead of me on this road, and i followed ancient footsteps. It was a silent moment that this feeling of well being took over me, and i decided time was a ridiculous magic trick that only fools believe in.

I think, for about half an hour, i stopped being a cynic....interesting.

Welcoming the year of the dog

2006-01-07T15:47:00.000+11:00

I probably need to work on the regularity of these posts...

2006 started with a bit of a whimper; i can't say i have alot in mind when it comes to New Years resolutions. It seems like a bit of a wank to be continually making the same promises to myself year after year, and year after year i let one or two or, oh, let's say most of them, fall to the wayside.

I'll state that i'd love to get Europe out of my system this year. I have a wonderful, irrational fairy-tale/ fantasy in my mind concerning Europe. In this fantasy, I get on a big plane (which i don't believe can possible fly 24 hours without crashing), arrive in Europe (which probably in no-way resembles the images in my mind), and begin a journey of self discovery, where i finally arrive at the conclusion fate has been holding for me; the stars fall into alignment and the lightbulb above my head (I'm sure it's there!!) begins to burn. There is this feeling inside me, this completely self indulgent yet persistent feeling, thatI will find some sort of truth on the other side of the world. I need something to shake up my world, to tip my centre of gravity upside down, to challenge every philosophy I have ever had. I have faith in this dream, i have to, because if i don't then there goes the last thing i have really dreamed about for the past five years.

If i go there, whether or not i discover a profound truth or have my epiphany, at least it's done; I can come back and pursue other dreams. This trip would be closure, liberation, escape, challenge, proof, pilgrammage and cosmic catharsis all in one. If i do this, i will be free. I have to believe in something and i truly believe that.

I am not bitter. Much.

2005-11-29T21:30:00.000+11:00

Another friend has jetted across to the other side of the world, and I am here, growing withered and old and jaded. Oka, I'm 24, but i'm a drama queen, so shut up.

Sydney is a beautiful place to live, especially now with the 30 degree days and the stormy, balmy evenings. There is nothing like feeling the ocean breeze and listening to the cicadas, while the day gives over to twilight. I have the whole summer ahead of me (well, overlooking the endless 7.5 hours a day of corporate screwdom, but who's counting?). I'm going to buy a wetsuit and make an ass of myself at Coogee beach on a shark biscuit. I'm going to go back to Little Country Hometown for Christmas and stuff myself with roasted animal and random processed-high-in-sugar-glycemic-nightmare Christmas junkfood. Hell, I'm even going to make sure that I get to watch that ridiculous fucking Chevy Chase movie where he covers his house in lights and the cat gets electricuted while chewing wires. I may even pick a fight with my sister in law, but that's become tradition, much like leaving beer and cookies out for Santa.

But all the while, in the back of my mind, will be that one thought that echoes like a song you can't get out of your head; I should be on a plane. I should be on a plane. I should be on a plane.

I will get on a plane, you know. If it's the last thing I do (although it better bloody not be, because quite frankly if I anticipate going and finally get on my way only to die in a crash, there will be some WREAKING of VENGEANCE.)

6 more months. That's the plan. I aim to be in Europe in August.

What keeps me here now? Commitments. Or is that a cop out? Ok, i'll concede a bit of fear too, why not, it's best to cover bases.

What am i afraid of? I'm not sure exactly. Right now, I'm afraid I'm not taking an active enough part in making my own decisions. I feel sidelined when it comes to my own life. I feel at odds with myself, because, like a true Gemini, I can see two sides to everything, and want to defend both. I know that going away would change me and my life, probably in the best way possible, so therefore I will do it.

On the other hand - if i waited - just a little longer - what would i achieve? If i leave now (or in six months) what will i come back to? This routine i have may not be perfect, but it's what i know. Maybe adventure isn't going to make me happier anyway.

But - I always wanted to write about the world. I believe that means i need to see a little more of it.