Author Archives: erin

On being unable to live in the moment.

I used to worry a lot. Like, an unhealthy amount. My worry prevented me from functioning on a normal human level for a long time. As I saw my friends grow up, get engaged, buy property, get promotions at work, and the like, I worried that I had wasted my 20s and was never going to amount to anything. I worried that I had squandered the opportunity to spend what should have been the most carefree years of my life, in which I roamed the globe and indulged in selfish-but-necessary flights of fancy, in an unhappy and doomed relationship, pursuing a PhD that never really sat well with me.

Tonight I am worried like I haven’t been worried in a long time.

I’m worried that my thesis seems to be slipping further away from me because I don’t have time to devote to it at the moment, owing to marking and worrying (hah) about other things.

I’m worried about the fact that I am going to have to break the lease on my apartment – yup, the same one I only moved in to at the start of April – because I can’t afford the rent anymore. I have not been offered any more teaching work at Curtin, and whilst I cannot be angry after five years of teaching, I am also upset because it has come at a horrible time. I have other jobs, but I don’t earn enough to cover my rent, bills, and food.

I’m worried about breaking my lease, because I’ve pretty much always been a model tenant who pays their rent on time and respects the property and neighbours.

I’m worried about moving back home with my parents, AGAIN, because I’m just too god damn old to not be independent.

I’m worried because living with my family triggers some emotional need to eat.

I’m worried about my 29th birthday in 6 weeks, and that other people look at me and think I’ve done nothing of any worth. It’s not like my PhD is going to contribute to saving any lives, after all.

I’m worried that I will live in this city for the rest of my life and never do the things I have always dreamed of doing.

I’m worried that, if I decide to take a year or so away from academia to travel and work overseas, I’ll never find a job in my field.

I’m worried that “my field” isn’t really a thing, because it’s not what I ever envisioned myself doing.

I’m worried that I will always be alone because my ambitions are too vague and lofty to align with the ambitions of another human being.

I’m worried that I’m worried, because I haven’t worried like this in a very long time.

It’s 2.30am, and I’m worried.

Not all grim in little ol’ Perth

I’m in the midst of a frustrating, and very late, night of research. I’m writing my thesis introduction and trying to find supporting sources for a section of my introduction in which I contextualise my research project by discussing why I’m focusing on Perth, Western Australia. The main reason that this is proving so frustrating is, it seems, that Perth hasn’t been of enough interest for many people to write about in academic literature.

No great surprise there.

As I’ve said many, many times before, I like Perth. Even if I’m not in the minority in feeling that, I’m almost certainly in the minority in admitting it. If you ask someone from Perth what they think of Perth, you’re almost certainly met with hesitation. Perth is Australia’s – and possibly the world’s – biggest country town. There are one and a half million of us, and yet we only just seem to be beginning to nail that Big City feeling. And, when I say ‘big city’, I mean like… moderately sized, internationally-overlooked big city.

New York, London, and Paris: Perth is not any of these.

It’s better than lots of places, though. Many people will concede that it’s a nice place to live… if you’ve got kids, or you’re retired. Or you love the beach; Perth does a spectacular beach. (In fact, it does an entire coastline of them.)

cottOh, hai Cott. (I don’t even like Cottesloe Beach, but I’m including it because it’s iconic and people think it’s good. I just think there are too many damn people. And sharks.)

 

beach

This is more my kinda beach, five minutes from my parent’s place. No big deal.

It has, until recently, been a little bit culturally devoid. There’s a big push at the moment to bring the culture to Perth, and it’s awesome. All kinds of events and places and bars and restaurants and goings-on are popping up, and some time in the not-too-distant future, Perth is going to be a pretty damn awesome place to be.

Probably Certainly the best thing to have come out of a recent spate of openings-up in Perth, however, is this:

toastfacegrillah

Go on. I dare you to try and tell me that a toasted sandwich shop named Toastface Grillah isn’t the best thing you’ve ever heard of. Reasons why Perth is getting awesome: here is one.

Why I’m desperate for a grown up job.

I have been working exclusively from home since the end of 2011.

“That’s awesome,” I hear you all say. “You’re so lucky! The freedom! The flexibility! The pyjamas!

Not so, internet friends.

It is officially unhealthy for me to live, study, and work at home. At first, of course, I loved it. If I’m honest, for the first year I loved it.

Lately, though, I’ve been feeling a pull back to the Real World – a world in which I have to wake up at a particular time and get dressed into something other than a clean pair of PJ pants, in which I can’t schedule lunches with friends that turn into ridiculous five-hour-long drinking sessions (to be fair, though, I haven’t done that in many years), in which I have to uphold a certain level of acceptable appearance.

Basically, internet, I feeling uuuuugly.

I’m not one to give too much of a shit about the way that I look. I’m not precious about anything, really. I’ve had exactly two manicures in my life, and they were both in Bali last month. I’ve had my hair dyed in a salon once, and I haven’t dyed it at all this year, despite the increasing wash of greys at my temple. (And I wonder why I think I look old…)

My eyebrows are six-months unplucked (although, thankfully, ten years of over-plucking mean that I’m not growing a sexy monobrow… yet), I haven’t had a shower yet today and it’s 4pm (true story), and I’m wearing an outfit that could really only be described as stay-at-home-mum chic… Except I’m not running around after toddlers all day. I’m not running around after anything, in fact, and that’s why I’ve managed to acquire myself a casual 10 extra kilos this year.

Another true story.

wpid-20130509_160001.jpg

 

don’t worry. this makes me just as embarrassed as it makes you.

The thing is, it’s not a matter of me being lazy or anything. I’m not lazy. I have most of a PhD written, and multiple jobs. It’s just that none of these things require me to leave my house, and I am going bonkers. It’s taking every fibre of my being to stop myself from spending my days lurking job boards looking for the job of my dreams*.

*Note that ‘job of my dreams’ doesn’t actually involve having a conventional job at all. If it were possible I’d just make traveling and writing my profession, but not yet, young ones. Not yet.

It all returns to that stinking, rotten ol’ chestnut of my thesis, though, doesn’t it? Once that’s done I can Do Other Things in the Real World with Actual People (caps necessary).

And perhaps then I’ll be motivated to do other things, too. Like fix up my hair, and shower before midday, and spend time being active with other human beings, and wear something without an elasticated waist. Maybe.

(Who even am I?)

The past couple of weeks.

Momentum.

It’s all about just keeping on going because I have to keep on going.

I don’t even remember what I last wrote about here or when it was, but it was probably a couple of weeks ago and it was probably about music.

(I checked – it was and it was.)

Since then I went to Melbourne, again, this time to see Tool.

They were very good, as they have been every other time I’ve seen them. How come things I like don’t happen in the city in which I live?

(The answer is that I don’t live in a very good city. A pretty city, for sure, and a city that is finding its cultural feet, but not a city in which many things I like regularly happen.)

Going to Melbourne is getting expensive, but as with every other time that I’ve been since 2010, this trip made me feel torn between urgently needing to move there right this very second and not being sure that it’s where I want to live next.

I don’t have any photos of Tool’s show, because curiously eagle-eyed ushers were shining their little torches in the eyes of anyone who dared to take a shitty iPhone photo of the gig. Seriously, they were all over photo offenders. I was sitting in the nosebleeds so it would’ve been a photo of pretty much nothing anyway, and my phone battery had died, but rest assured that the show was A. May. Zing. Well, the second half. My stupid, still perforated eardrum was bothering me during the first half. At least the visuals were predictably mind-blowing, and I’m pretty sure the entire audience experienced a collective spiritual awakening during Stinkfist. Maybe that’s a bit naff to say, but seriously? It went off, and was made extra special by the fact that the guy sitting in front of me was engaging in some spectacularly dysrhythmic air drumming and clapping during the song.

I also want to know what it costs to ship a two-metre diameter mirror ball across the world for one song. And, I want to know who, in the tour planning meeting, was responsible for the revelation that what Tool’s live show needed was a glitter bomb.

20130426_111805

coffee from melbourne’s brilliant seven seeds, served with just the right amount of hipster wank.
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a wall made of beer cartons at mountain goat brewery.

Other than go see Tool, my travel buddy and I drank coffee, ate (not too much) food — we learned our lesson about overeating last November when we went to Melbourne and each gained about 3kg, and drank ALL THE BEER.

It was grand.

Now I’m home and it’s been a hectic week full of meetings and Skypings and my dad having a double knee replacement, which is cool because now I have a cyborg father (or did I already? What would Haraway say?), but less cool because I imagine it’s pretty painful “having another man’s knees” put inside your legs. (He knows he doesn’t have another man’s knees, don’t worry.) The doctor did not approve Dad’s request to be able to take home his old knees for the dogs to have.

An advantage of Dad having surgery was that it gave Sisterface a good excuse to come up for a few nights, and we reacquainted ourselves with the gym. I haven’t regularly been to the gym in an embarrasingly long time, but I went twice this week, so I’m super proud of myself.

Now it’s the weekend and I’m just gliding trundling along on the momentum of a month and a half in which I feel that I’ve never been at home, and have so much that needs to be done. There has been no time for serious blogging or discussing-of-issues. I’ve even been letting myself go more than 24 hours between checking Twitter, which is unheard of for me, because I don’t have time to consider all the good stuff that the Intarwebz put out on a daily basis.

I also don’t have Internet at home yet. Soon, they say. Next week, they say.

Which is why I find myself back at Mum & Dad’s on a Saturday night, using their connection and writing a long rambling post about god knows what for god knows what reason, whilst reading terrible early iterations of my thesis introduction and taking photos of myself to admire how bonkers my hair is looking lately.

20130504_202949

you can’t tell, but hair = bonkers. word to the wise: dreadlocks are easily the most high-maintenance hairstyle ever. who knew?

But on that note, I should probably get back to work.

[If you have a minute or two, by the way, please sign this petition to save the Internet Communications degree at Curtin Uni. I'm doing my PhD in the Net Studies department, and have been teaching the Net Comms course for 5 years. Currently I'm only teaching the online version through Open Universities Australia, but I've taught on campus many times, and it's a truly shitty thing to see my department struggling. Please, #savenetstudies! More about this later]

20130504_203021bonus shot of me trying to reduce my between-eyebrow wrinkles. it only kind of worked, and instead i just have a furrowed brow. my thesis is making me look very old.

Guilty until proven guilty.

This is a post about bad journalism.

i-dont-want-to-live-on-this-planet-anymore-11372-1920x1200

I don’t really want to weigh in on the events of the past week in Boston, but… I can’t help it.

I’m not taking sides. I’m very sure that there is a good reason that the police believe the Tsarnaev brothers are responsible for the bombings at the Boston marathon on Monday. I mean… right? There have to be leads that have been followed.

However, in the news this week I’ve read that a Saudi national was in custody in hospital, following the bombings.

Then I heard that a pair of high school students of Moroccan ancestry were the suspects.

Now, it seems fairly certain that the Tsarnaevs did it (because they’re Muslim Chechens, so you know, they’re from a scary religion and a scary country. But they’re white? I’m confused).

(Please don’t even leave a comment getting shitty at me unless you’ve read this blog before and you understand my (perhaps inappropriate) humour.)

Anyway. Like I said, I don’t want to speculate or take sides. Last night I was reading the Twitter feed of the younger brother, Dzhokhar Tsarnaev (not going to link to it – you can find it easily). The things that people were saying to him were horrific. I actually had to stop reading. I’ve managed to convince myself over the past few years that Twitter is a wonderful melting pot of people that, although I’ll never meet most, suggest to me that this world is full of wonderful, interesting, passionate, creative people.

Then there are the people who felt a need to tweet this 19 year old boy and threaten him with the most horrendous, most violent, most vile things I’ve ever seen come out of the mouths (fingers?) of human beings.

I get that these are impassioned times. I’m as disturbed by the bombings as anyone else. I was meant to fly in to Boston last Sunday, and would have been in Boston on Monday. I didn’t know it was marathon weekend, but maybe I would’ve gone. I probably would have been fine. But maybe I wouldn’t have. But I’m affected by this on a human level, in that I still can’t believe that people are so terrible to each other. That there’s so much hate. There’s a part of me that wants to give up and accept that it’s a really fucking shitty world, but there’s a bigger part of me that has to keep believing that things don’t have to be this bad, and that we’ve got the capacity to be better to ourselves and each other.

Even as I write this, I feel guilty that I’m talking about this event instead of focusing on all the other injustices that occur in the world on a daily basis. The reality is, though, that as Australians, we do identify with many events that happen in the United States. They’re “our” (and by that I mean that institutionally, not on an individual, personal level) closest allies. So much of our culture is influenced by them. I don’t necessarily feel a strong kinship with Americans, but I see an event like Monday’s bombings, and I can’t help but feel shocked by it.

Way back to my point, though.

I’m a news junkie, and a Twitter junkie, and over the past week I’ve read some wildly inaccurate content, both on official news sites and on Twitter. It seems like the major news networks were getting their information from Twitter, and Twitter was getting their information from the news networks, in a vicious cycle of inaccuracy. There are a number of academics that I follow, though, who live in Boston, and I came to read their Twitter feeds more than others.

This event, more than others in the past, made me consider how accurate social media is. It’s so wonderful that we can know exactly what is going on as it happens, but how much panic is symptomatic of misinformation tweeted, then retweeted, then syndicated to other platforms? How terrifying it must be to be in the midst of such an event, reading Twitter, unable to call your family, and not knowing what to believe.

57unan image from boston yesterday, courtesy of twitter – i think it was @interdome, but apologies if i’ve credited the wrong person

I’ve developed an unhealthy addiction to checking news.com.au over the past week. I know it’s the least reliable and certainly most ridiculous news outlet in the entire universe. Articles are littered with spelling and factual errors on the reg. I remember one time that they lifted a “news” article directly from a blog without giving credit. (I know this because I’d read the original on the blog in question two weeks earlier!)

News.com.au are fucking terrible. Having studied journalism for a year, though, I have this sneaking suspicion that the people responsible for writing the appalling articles on news.com.au are the cream of the crop in their class – the students with the best results and the most experience and impressive references.

Or maybe they’re written by monkeys.

I know I shouldn’t read news.com.au. I know. Every time I do, I respect myself a little bit less. Tonight’s read through provided a real doozy, though. Reporter Paul Toohey ended his article, published at 8:47pm, ended with this little gem, regarding the Tsarnaev brothers:

Instead, they brought the war, a war they knew little about, to the country that gave them sanctuary.

Did they bring the war? How does Mr Toohey know that these young men know nothing of (what I assume was) the Chechen war?

I have a friend whose parents emigrated from Ireland during The Troubles. She knows everything about the world her parents left.

My best friends parents are from Libya, a country that has been in turmoil for most of recent history. She knows everything about the world her parents left.

Other friends parents left Bosnia, Vietnam, Cambodia, Macedonia, Russia.

Why shouldn’t the Tsarnaev brothers know about the war that drove their family to seek a better life for them in American? You certainly can’t say they are replicating a war (of which they were apparently ignorant) in a country that “gave them sanctuary”.

Sanctuary? Clearly Mr Toohey’s never witnessed the racism that migrants experience on a daily basis (racism which, incidentally, extends far beyond the migrant generation, with children of children of migrants – second, third, fourth generation Australians, Americans, British, still told to go back to where they came from).

Maybe they did it. Maybe they did bring the war. But as far as I know (and I probably don’t know shit, even though I have (most of) a Masters degree in journalism), the role of journalists is to impartially, objectively report the facts.

Guilty until proven guilty in a court that will never give them a fair trial. Mainstream news, and those who jump the gun upon consuming it, are as big a terrorist collective as those they so desperately fear.

Late night study tunes: edn. XIV (afternoon edition II)

I’m going to have to think of something to rename this section in a couple of months, as I will no longer be studying!

In the mean time, though, this is the first Late Night Study Tunes post from my new apartment (!!). My selection of music is still a bit limited here, as I don’t really have Internet yet.

I mean, I do have internet (because I’d die without it), but uni is paying for it, and I get the feeling they don’t want me streaming hour after hour of music from Spotify, which is what I’ve used to listen to music since my laptop died last year. Although I did transfer over my library to my new computer (which is still at my parents’ house as it’s too big for my apartment), I decided it was time to break up with iTunes, and I haven’t been able to find a suitable replacement that works well with an Apple computer and a Samsung phone… especially seeing as my iMac steadfastly refuses to recognise my phone as a device (a known fault between iMacs & the Samsung Galaxy Note II — one that I wish I’d known about in advance!).

So. I have the music on my iPad, which hasn’t been updated since June 2012, and the 30 or so albums I’ve put on to my phone. Slim pickings for someone who listens to music all day, and is always at the mercy of her flippant musical desires.

Today is a good one, though. Today is Portishead.

Portishead might be the perfect band for every occasion. Perfect when you’re sad and need to be uplifted, or when you’re sad and want to wallow. Perfect when you’re having a quiet drink with friends, or entertaining a special someone over dinner. Perfect for when you’re studying. Very perfect for when you’re studying.

I saw them a couple of years ago at Belvoir Amphitheatre. I think that venue may have been made for Portishead; the bush setting on a beautiful still night really complemented singer Beth Gibbons’ eerie vocals. I say every show is amazing, but it was really fantastic to see Portishead live, as they’re another band I just kind of assumed that I’d never get to see in concert. It was a brilliant show.

Here you go. Have some Numb, from the album Dummy.

Back to work.

Things.

Bali was amazing. I barely left the hotel, except to eat and get massages, and it was grand.

Alas, though, the real world beckoned.

I came home and moved house pretty much right away! I am now living in a tiny little apartment near the city all on my own! Here it is on the day I moved in:

casa de beyonce

I’ve dubbed it Casa de Beyonce, because it’s clearly a single lady’s apartment.

That’s the entire apartment. The photo was taken from the bedroom facing out to the door. There’s a bathroom/laundry off to the top right, two giant mirror closets to the left, a TV behind the paneled door there, but other than that you can see my entire abode. It’s little and offensively expensive (my last rental, which was a house, cost less for the entire house than my technically-a-studio apartment costs!) but the location is amazing and it’s really fantastic having my own little slice of the world. It doesn’t hurt that it’s a few minutes’ walking distance from some of Perth’s best cafes, either. There will be so. much. coffee.

Speaking of coffee, my thesis is due in, like, five minutes. 31 May. The next six weeks will be next-level bonkers. I’m surrounded by photocopies and books and paracetamol and coffee mugs and I don’t expect the situation to change any time soon.

But, things are generally good. This is almost over. Work is good. Friends haven’t completely given up on me yet. I’m even exercising again!