Warrior pose indeed

After a long break, I've decided to go back to yoga.  Got myself a book, inserted my flabby self into a stretchy outfit and made the first step along the path to enlightenment this morning. How do I feel, you ask?  I'm furious.

Most people associate yoga with a calm, cow eyed view of the world and everyone in it.  Yoga is supposed to be relaxing, rejuvenating for the mind and body.  The reality is that within a yoga session, there are triumphs, near misses, disasters and freak outs.  It's an entire life condensed into an hour and a half.  The way you react, how you approach each pose is analogous to the way you approach life. 

Right now, I'm one wonky downward dog away from opening fire on the nearest orphanage.  You should've heard the names I called my cat.  I vacillated between abject self-pity to absolute loathing of the woman in the picture who was happily carrying out One-Legged Pigeon.  She can probably do her taxes in this position, but all it inspires in me is a strong desire to murder death kill innocent bystanders. 

This is entirely normal apparently, and the only important thing is that you stubbornly persist until you reach the end of your practice for the day.  My instinct to eschew the communal yoga class was wise, however.  I am the yogic destroyer of worlds, smasher of chakras, and right now I would like nothing more than to pick up a seasoned practitioner by their fisherman's pants and toss their smug bendy body like a cabre.  Herbal tea, anyone?

You can't handle the FICTION!

Recently, a library in Virginia celebrated the freedom to read in a pretty cool way:



It's so easy to think of the US as being full of close-minded book-banning types, until you take a look at the history of banned literature in Australia. This country banned Gore Vidal's The City and The Pillar until 1967, a book US citizens had had access to since 1948.

Both Ulysses and Lady Chatterley's Lover were banned in Australia, the Prime Minister Robert Menzies claiming that if he didn't want his wife reading the latter, then no one should be reading it. Personally, I think it was a bit of an insult to his wife's imagination to assume she could never get the idea of taking a lover on her own.



No Bob, it must be all those dirty books she's been reading.

Generally, banning books seems like a complete waste of time. Why would anyone ban Ulysses? The raciness of this novel is completely lost on the 95% of readers who never make it past page 17.

But it's important to pay attention to censorship, particularly if you could easily imagine it isn't still going on. I'd like to know just what the government doesn't want me to be reading. I'm not necessarily going to immediately read it online out of principle, but it seems important to recognise that this process is ongoing.

It would be cool to have a special black cabinet with a lock and key in which you kept history's most banned books. Alice in Wonderland, The Satanic Verses, The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, Peter Rabbit, The Bible and The Koran would snuggle in there together like little fiction ideabombs, ready to detonate in your brain. Excitement!

The banning of things seems a far more theoretical exercise since the advent of the internet anyway. You can get your hands on what you please nowadays, no more passing around a frayed copy of The Tropic of Cancer in the locker room. The Peaceful Pill Handbook, a euthanasia guide still banned in Australia is available as a digital download from their website. If you want to build a bomb, you'd head to the internet, not to the library.

Other than books which supposedly incite terrorists to action, there's no list online of the most challenged books in Australia. The excellent American Library Association publishes its own list. The number one most offensive book in America today is apparently a picture book about two male penguins who hatch an egg together.



And it's a true story! But I guess some would-be censors can't handle the truth.

Thanks to Boing Boing, the library in question, The Book Show and two little gay penguins who had a dream.

Lost and found

The following post is something I wrote about a year ago and just discovered on my computer. Thought it was all right.

Those of you who know me may have heard about the manbargo. The manbargo was put in place shortly after the unscheduled events of July, and has been treating me well. It is a series of harsh sanctions against people of the penile persuasion, designed to give me a bit of a break.

I think that the time of the manbargo is coming to a close, however, because I seem to have inadvertently started stalking some handsome guy at the hospital where I work. I’m not doing it on purpose, he just keeps popping up all handsomely. Today I saw him and I had to hide behind a cake I was carrying. I have met him before, but I was wearing full scrubs and face mask at the time, so I don’t think he would recognise me.

I love scrubs. They exponentially increase handsomeness, I think it’s the cut or something. Anyway, I saw him and he was striding along in said scrubs, and I was taken off guard by said handsomeness so I hid behind my cake (black forest). This is what I was thinking:

1. I’m glad I baked such a big cake.
2. I turned 26 today. Do 26 year olds hide behind baked goods?
3. This is ridiculous. I have every right to be in this hallway. Why am I hiding? I shall peek over the cake.
4. Arrgh! Too handsome! Retreat!

Things I done seen

I get so nervous when introduced to my superiors.



Luckily I am able to work at home to avoid distractions.




My store, my... errr




Non-agalmatophiliacs can consider this your unicorn chaser.

Get a haircut and a mindfuck at the same time.

Ok, put on your headphones and listen to this.



Thank jebus for BoingBoing.

Sorry.

So often Australians think of New Zealand as a younger sibling - the little island on the side that is always trying to compete, trying to catch up.

But when I first came to Australia, I often felt like I had slipped into a time warp, back to before the Waitangi Comission, before Te Reo in schools, before I was born. Australian race relations were stuck in the 60s, in a knot of denial and bitterness. It was almost as if the government thought it could wait aboriginality out.

It's funny how one little election changes so much. Tomorrow, a beautifully written 300 words or so will be presented by the Australian Government (and even the Opposition, after the obligatory posturing) to all the people of Australia. It says that you're sorry for the things you've done to each other.

Being sorry isn't a sign of weakness. Carrying the burden of the terrible things done in this country's history (as in my own) weighs everyone down. Until regret is expressed, how can forgiveness be given? And to remain unforgiven is a terrible thing.

These are 300 words not just for the stolen generation but for everyone with a history in this place. And you can feel pride that you've brought Australia to this point together, to the beginning of what will be a long process of reconciliation and healing.

It will take years. But as the wrongs are slowly uncovered and you try to make things right, you'll feel this love for your country that has nothing to do with sporting achievements or wearing your flag as a cape. It's a fierce and slow-burning pride in the way things are headed, the way you do things now, which is a million miles away from blind patriotism.

Dust Jacket Quotes for the Inevitable Novelisation of the Hawaii Chair

One minute and five seconds of proof that Rome is burning.

Glenn Peters, social commentator.

I think it would go well with booze.

Darren Willis, professional sedent.

Did he just say, "This feels great on my ass!"?

Me.