Playing Hockey

To: Joe Hockey MP
PO Box 1107
North Sydney
NSW 2059

Dear Mr Hockey,

1. Please remove me from your mailing list
2. Have more faith in your State colleagues and let them handle State matters
3. Do not assume that Labor = Unionism = death of society

I have lately had the displeasure of receiving political propaganda in my mailbox dressed in the guise of postal voting information. While I respect your right to advertise your policies, I find it deeply unethical that you should resort to this Trojan Horse method of communication, namely pairing useful, possibly relevant, postal vote information with a missive bearing your letterhead.

I have also received two other letters sent through the postal system, one outlining your plans for Graythwaite and the other, a short biography on your connection to the North Sydney community. I suggest that you leave the matter of Graythwaite to your able State Liberal colleague, MP Jillian Skinner and concentrate on federal issues. Lastly, your biography does nothing to convince me that you are the man for the federal seat – have you considered running for local council?

I do not appreciate receiving mail from you. I assume you accessed my details from the electoral roll. While I would like to exercise my democratic right to vote, I would also like to exercise my democratic right to request that you remove my name and address from your mailing list, immediately. Stop wasting my taxes posting me letters that I do not want to read.

On another note, your first letter specifically targets aspects of your biggest rival, the Labor Party, which you deem unworthy of the public vote. This is your opinion and it in no way reflects my own and nor should it reflect or influence that of a democratically minded public.

Firstly, I am a journalist and member of the Media Entertainment and Arts Alliance (MEAA). I have found my union relevant to my profession and their actions have been more than helpful to me throughout my membership. On the contrary, the Howard Government, a member of which you are currently part, has done nothing but restrict the freedom of the press throughout your tenure. I note, in particular, reducing media diversity through new ownership rules, restrictions to Freedom of Information and the introduction of broad sedition laws under the thin façade of 'anti-terrorism'.

Secondly, I point to the contradiction in your campaigning that states the current irrelevance of the unions in this country. If unions are irrelevant, why should the people of Australia be afraid to have them in government? My union has done far more for me in terms of workplace relations issues than your department has. I am happy to pay my union fees and less happy to pay the portion of my taxes that go to your department.

Lastly, in examining Work Choices and the changes made to workplace relations in the past few years, you have indeed made it easier for businesses to hire more staff, boosting employment and subsequently lowering the unemployment rate. But in doing so you have also eroded job security, which means that while you have fostered the creation of new jobs, you have also made such employment less certain for many others.

Finally, I need not remind you of Justice Catherine Branson's ruling concerning the $30,000 fine to be paid by the Department of Workplace of Relations to the Community and Public Sector Union, for breaking the very laws they are mean to enforce. It's almost like you want us to elect unions to run this country considering the job you're doing.

I could go on, but I won't, I'll just cast my vote on 24 November.

Yours faithfully,
[Dr Witmol]

P.S: One of the first tenets of environmental conservation is 'reduce' e.g. reduce paper usage by choosing other methods of communication. Keep this in mind next time you want to communicate to your electorate.

P.P.S: It saddens me to think that I can't guarantee that you'll read this, care or reply in a manner other than a standard form letter.

Blogging on blogging

I interviewed a certain senior member of the Australian Olympic Committee last week and before the interview I thought I'd just quickly Google him to see if there was anything else I should ask him in addition to the questions I'd already devised.

He was mentioned on one blog bearing this funny illustration that I thought I'd share. The basic context related to an announcement stating that Australian Olympians were forbidden to blog during the 2008 Games, which the blogger and illustrator clearly thought ridiculous.

Into, Out of, The Blue

Well, my previous entry was all about young writers at the TINA festival. I had fun but the social side was a bit sad. I just don't think I'm cut out to hang out with avant garde wordsmiths because I'm just not cool enough.

The opposite happened last week when I went to a conference in Hobart. Not only did men outnumber women 4 to 1 (that's my guesstimate, it might have been more), most of them were quite a bit older than me so I was considered somewhat exotic.

As a result, I had an excellent time down south and, believe it or not, cannot wait for next year's conference! It also meant that I could observe my readership at close range and gather ideas for the next few issues.

The surprise element was getting to know one guy (who I've met before) on a more personal level. I shall call him Fry for reasons only known to my esoteric brain. Prior to the conference I never really appreciated Fry's work talents or social quirks and then suddenly there he was, this brand new person to whom I'd never opened my eyes.

I then spent the evening meeting with a couple of guys on the bow of the pre-dinner cruise ship, fighting the cold wind together. One was from Townsville, thus unaccustomed to the low temperature, and the other one was from Melbourne so perfectly at home with it.

Unfortunately, neither were on my table at the dinner but there was a spot of eye candy sitting across from me, very clean cut, classically handsome and beautifully dressed (I later learned he was one of the keynote speakers for the next day) - ooh caliente!

The next day I ran into Mr Melbourne at the last keynote speech and we exchanged business cards, which was more of a formality than a particular wish to see him again (on my part, anyway) as I was cut by the news that not only did Fry have a girlfriend, she was travelling with him at the conference.

However, waiting at Hobart airport, I ran into Mr Melbourne again. He seemed keen to talk to me (I should add that there were no direct flights back to Sydney; my itinerary read Hobart-Melbourne, Melbourne-Sydney) but we found out we weren't sitting anywhere near each other. I was down the back so I said he should wait until the plane loaded up because there might be seats near me.

The plane took off and then I saw him looking around for me. There was a seat next to me but it took me about five minutes to decide whether I wanted him to come up. As most people who know me personally know, I have a tendency to attract all sorts of freaks on all sorts of transport (did I ever tell you the one about the Elder and Sister of the Latter Day Saints on a plane to NZ?).

Anyway, I figured, it was only an hour's flight so I waved to him and he came up and I chatted to him for an hour. It was nice. Sure, he invited me to go skinny dipping in his front yard the next time I happened to be in Melbourne but apart from that it was all very pleasant and I actually wouldn't mind seeing him again. Too bad about the great distance between us.

Okay then, so just this week gone I spoke to Fry over the phone trying to get some info for the mag from him (a legit call, I was not trying to manufacture anything though the fact that I'm being defensive says something, doesn't it?) and I mentioned that I heard that his girlfriend was the person going around taking all the photos of everyone at the dinner and said that I thought they were just as good as the professional photos. He then said that it wasn't his girlfriend, it was his ex-girlfriend and they were just travelling together.

What am I supposed to think now? I really like him but he's technically a client and I don't know enough about him to know whether I should pursue something or just let things grow organically (or not, as it were). I have, to my misfortune, reached a point of fascination and it has all come out of the blue.

[P.S: I had a feeling that by the end of this entry I would resort to calling myself either hormonal or boy crazy but I've surprisingly been quite measured this last week, so measured, in fact, that I didn't throw myself at Felix Riebl when I went to his sustainability session. Just as well - I found out he has a girlfriend. I like Ryan, anyway.]

Is Not Art, Is Good

The National Young Writers' Festival turns 10! Now embraced by big mama, the This Is Not Art (TINA) festival enjoys five days of debate, inspiration, writing, drawing and pretty much anything else you can do with a writing implement (except that).

SATURDAY
9:05am: I'm waiting for Kid H, my partner on this adventure, at Central Station. I'm on the inside of the barriers because I've just changed trains, having bought a one-way ticket to Newcastle from my home station.

The guards at the gates keep looking at me, half-expecting that I will leave one of my many packages unattended, ready to presume I am a terrorist. I don't usually travel this heavily but it's my first time selling merchandise at the Sunday Fair and I have a box of Palimpsest books to flog while I'm north. Kid H arrives and we walk right up the platform armed with my knowledge that the exit at Newcastle is at the front of the train.

12:29pm: After three hours of chatting and poring over the TINA program, Kid H and I arrive in Newcastle and check into the YHA, my home away from home. I give her a short tour of the hostel and we head off in search of something to eat and a panel to catch.

After a feed at Juicy Beans we find ourselves sitting crosslegged like kindergarteners at the front of a packed house in the Festival Club for the 'You are all going to die' panel, which is more or less about generation-ism. The gist is that the whole generation thing is a bit of a crock cooked up by marketers and that there are more likely to be other things that people have to identify with others - race, gender, religion etc - than age.

2:36pm: A brief respite from the Festival Club sees us hanging around outside in everyone's way. Kid H recognises a couple of familiar faces despite never having been to a TINA festival before, some friends from Adelaide. I'm introduced and they chat briefly. Kid H and I head back in for the next panel, 'Untold Stories', which is okay, if a little wayward. A lot of the speakers didn't really address the notion of the ethics behind writing (or illustrating in the case of Shaun Tan) the unspeakable.

After the session we head out to Civic Park where three wedding parties are having their respective photos taken. I play with a ladybug, trying to get a photograph while Kid H haunts the fountain looking for a good photo op beyond the white satin and taffeta. It gets cold so we head back to the Festival Club and grab a meal from the Hare Krishna stall out front. The back area is free so we hike up to the stage and plonk down on the cushions, oddly scattered with straw, and chow down.

6:11pm: The 'Mega Mega Launch' begins. It is presented as an awards night where each highly specific award (e.g. Category: "Most graphic version of a novel by F Scott Fitzgerald" Winner: The Great Gatsby: a Graphic Adaptation by Nicki Greenberg) gives writers and artists a chance to say a little about their publication.

The best part is that there is a lucky door raffle and I win a packet of books and zines (including The Great Gatsby and an interesting publication called 'Nerds Gone Wild' which includes the cover line "Complete Guide to LAN Parties: Dos and Don'ts").

7:00pm: Regretfully we leave the 'Mega Mega Launch' and scoot across the road to the TPI building where Marcus Westbury debuts his doco 'Not Quite Art'. He's a bit nervous and makes a lot of self-deprecating remarks to the point where the audience interrupts his introduction by yelling "just play it!"

The doco is an engaging look at places where art has come from the ashes of a downbeat town. Westbury looks at Glasgow (UK) and ponders whether the same could happen in Newcastle (Aus) given a good run of bureacratic licence. He also heads to Melbourne where the laneways, full of cafes, wine bars and/or graffiti are better known for their artistic and cultural value than the $500 million Federation Square. He also touches on arts funding, which he tackles in the (as yet unseen) third episode of the three part series.

The Q&A at the end is quite interesting, turning into a discussion about why such a large proportion of funding goes to 'high' arts like opera and theatre and orchestras while the rest of us (writers, artists and musicians) have to scrabble for the rest. Westbury says he doesn't know what to do about it but hopes that the doco reaches the kind of people who can bring that question to prominence so something can be done about it.

8:48pm: We head back to the YHA. Kid H tucks in for the night while I head down to the lounge room to eat gummi creatures and read the paper. Instead I end up watching Rush Hour 2 on TV with a bunch of other hostellers, skimming the paper in the ad breaks.


SUNDAY
I basically spend the whole day in Civic Park manning my stall. I've never had a stall before - in previous year's I'd blow a day's wages on other people's wares. This year I have Palimpsest books to sell (just $10 incl postage if anyone wants a copy).

There's a zombie protest ("zombies are people too", "save a cow, eat a brain" etc) and a DJ mixing it up on stage and a lot of people to talk to. For some reason I've been put in the market section, which means my neighbours are a tshirt seller (Tim from Toilet World) and a jewellery stall (Enak). They attract the people. I tend to repel them.

(Later I find out that zine stalls are FREE and market stalls cost $25 and that no one told me about this so I paid $25 and didn't get a good spot. Boo. I hope it was invested into next year's festival.)

Kid H comes by to mind the stall so I get a toilet break and a drinks break and have a wander around the vicinity. Thanks to winning a bunch of zines the night before, I feel compelled to blow $7.80 on a slim book of poetry (the girl wanted $8 but I only had $7.80 in change from buying a bottle of water for Kid H). My buying spree is thus short-lived so I return to my post at my stall.

I contribute to the Bad Writing Pinata of Cathartic Shame and watch the smashing from a distance, sell a total of five books and meet The Quote Generator aka Danielle Freakley in the flesh. Talking to her is a strange experience, especially after reading about her project. It's almost like talking to a media essay but in a real time context. But she buys a book so she must be cool.

Kid H and I eat dinner in the park (Hare Krishna again!) but the Electrofringe act - bleeps and strange electronic noises - is not our type of sound so we head to the YHA to dump some of our stuff and return to the Festival Club for The Night Air, broadcast on Radio National (I only listen to the cricket on Radio National so a TINA show is quite a step away from their general demographic). The show is really good and quite varied, bringing together different aspects of the festival.

I particularly liked Black Lung, who gatecrashed Bravo Child's alloted set (one of them may have been Bravo Child I don't know - he's a poet and I've never actually seen him) and found Toy Death disturbing and amusing. Toy Death used distorted sounds from various toys to make music, including a Darth Vader mask and a talking Barbie. Unfortunately a bunch of people started talking over Vanessa Berry's spoken word so that was a bit disrespectful.

We left before the closing party because we were both tired and probably too old to play with the young 'uns even though I'm only 26 and Kid H is 31.


MONDAY
Kid H leaves early in the morning as she has things to do at home. I check out of the YHA and leave my stuff in day storage and spend the morning wandering up to Nobbys Head soaking in the sunlight and watching dozens of dogs and their owners play on the beach. I realise I miss my dogs at the same time that I acknowledge that neither of them would have had that much fun on the beach, what with the sand and the water...

I rock up to see Ianto Ware present 'Zinevolution' at the Festival Lounge but a note on the door informs the waiting crowd that he is absent due to a hangover. Most of us dissipate downstairs to catch 'More than just a Label', a Sound Summit panel, which was better than I thought it would be, but I leave it halfway to take front row for PEN's 'Shooting the Messenger' about censorship.

Three of the panellists - an Australian artist, an Iranian writer and an Afghani poet - have experienced censorship directly while Sarah Maddison from the Australia Institute has many insightful things to say about how Australia sits on a freedom level (the prognosis is not good...). It runs half an hour over its 2pm finish (which is good because it solved the mystery of whether or not I should leg it to try and catch the 2:35pm train or dawdle and catch the 3:20pm train). I leave feeling both discouraged and pensive about Australia's future in this regard.

I tackle the SMH's Giant Crossword on the way home and fail miserably.