Wednesday, August 20, 2008
:: Youth in Asia ::
Twelve days she had been like this. Twelve days and she was still here. It was torture.
Every few minutes there would be a stop in her breathing. One, two,
three, ten seconds pass. Is this it? Is it now? And then comes the
wheeze. Long and hoarse like a throat cancer patient only she'd never
been one to spark up.
At first her gagging wheeze was when he felt relief. Maybe, this was
not her time after all? The doctor had said anything was possible but
he got the feeling this was the usual spiel. Then, much to his own
surprise, he began wishing for the silence. The cool calming silence
which would mean she would finally be at rest. This was something the
doctor didn't understand. The doctor hadn't been here for twelve days,
hadn't watched her turn from a human into a vessel; a breathing machine
and not a very good one at that.
She would always come back after the wheeze. Often a little worse than
before, like she was bringing a little of wherever she had been back
with her for him to see. Sometimes she would even simmer into a
half-conscious state, mutter a few indecipherable words and provide him
with some hope. Hope? Hope. It taunted him, confusing the inevitable
with a glimmer of the past. For that is all that was left of her.
Age is a terrible thing, illness even worse. She wasn't bless on either
account but her smile and stoic stubbornness had put up a facade these
past few years. He hadn't realised how she'd slipped, he hadn't
noticed. And now, now he owed her. Now he was taking notice.
The doctor had been prescribing 2.5mls of Roxanol four times a day to
ease her pain. It was morphine and it was not very much. So little in
fact that the smallest vial of Roxanol was 10mls and the remainder had
to be discarded down the drain. What a waste, he thought. She was still
visibly uncomfortable and in serious pain. He had been voicing his
concerns to the nurse the past week and she agreed that it was her time
to go but had reassured him that things would take their natural
course. He wasn't so sure what she was going through was natural. She
was being kept alive with drugs and for what? She wasn't even conscious.
Even the doctor agreed she was on her way out the day before but the
gutless wonder was too scared of a law suit to ease her pain. He
wondered if the doctor had become desensitised to it all. He wondered
if the doctor had seen a loved one dying.
The nurse came in and busied herself fixing pillows, straightening
sheets and bringing with her an incongruous bustle to the
claustrophobic ward. And then: one, two, three, ten. The silence was
awkward and unnerving and upsetting. He looked at the nurse and she
looked at him, their glances lingering for but a moment broken only by
the razor-like wheeze from the now almost empty vessel occupying her
bed.
The nurse left the room and his mind wandered. He was exhausted; too
exhausted to even weep. He just sat in his chair and listened to her
sporadic breathing, like a master does his muse. It was all he could do.
He must have nodded off, for when he woke, the nurse was back in the
ward dispensing medication. Soon, the nurse was by her bedside with the
medicine trolley preparing her medicine: Roxanol, the usual. After the
nurse had extracted the dosage into the syringe, he noticed the vial
was empty. The nurse didn't look across to him and just seemed to be
going about her business and placed the syringe in her arm. One, two,
three, ten...
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Wednesday, August 13, 2008
:: Commercial anarchy ::
Have you noticed that there has been an increase in anarchy of late? But it is not your typical anarchy. Hell, I'm not even sure if it can be called anarchy.
I'm talking about flash mobs, flash raves, pillow fights
and other oddities that have become more and more popular in the past
few years. These mass demonstrations with no definitive purpose other
than to confuse those not in on the prank have some typical trademarks
of typical anarchy: social disorder, confusion and chaos.
But there is one element missing. Traditionally, anarchy evolves as a
result of an absence of government control. However, with these flash
mob type events, the local councils and governments are informed where
and when they will occur, and more often than not so are the police.
Rules are set in place for the "chaos" and as we saw this week with the
pillow fight, the location of the event can be changed due to council
requirements. It kinda takes a bit of the chaos out of it.
The rise of social networking sites like Facebook and MySpace mean
events like this can be organised very easily, spreading virally in
just a few days. At the same time, the planning of this anarchy is
generating advertising revenue for the social networking sites. It's
all a bit of a laugh when you think about it; a sort of commercial
anarchy.
No doubt these type of events will become even more popular in the
future as the craze spreads further. Soon we will have Pepsi flash mobs
and Smirnoff flash raves. Of course when things grow on one end, there
is always the backlash. It may come from the real anarchists who will
do something, well, a little crazy. I'd keep your iPhones charged kids,
because you wouldn't want to miss it.
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Sunday, August 10, 2008
:: Cheating ::
There seems to be a lot of discussion of late about cheating, at least
in my circle of friends anyway. Besides being a touchy subject, it
brings up some interesting case studies.
One of my friends broke up with his girlfriend before going on a buck's
trip to Vegas because he knew he would cheat. And he did and was
content with this justification. They got back together when he
returned. I'm not sure if he told her about the actual cheating act but
I'm fairly sure he told her they were breaking up because of the antics
that were likely to occur on the trip. So she must have accepted it to
an extent or at least forgiven it, even though it appears to have been
premeditated.
I guess on one side you have the guy taking advantage of a situation
while leaving morals at the door. But flip things around and there is
the girlfriend who in a way allows the cheating to take place, forgives
it and thus essentially endorses it. While the blame can be firmly
placed on the cheater, the actions of the girlfriend in letting him
come back so easily don't help. The idea of loving someone yet not
knowing them starts to manifest.
Then you have the unhappy wife in a bitter but short marriage with an
abusive husband. In this case, she looks for another lover in the hope
of casting that marriage aside and starting anew but has not been able
to end the marriage first, for whatever reason. Is this type of
cheating any better or worse? And what about the person with whom the
wife wants to have an affair. Does that person have an equal say? Can
the potential lover reject the advances of the wife on the basis of not
wanting to take part in the act of cheating? Or does the moral
obligation lie with the wife and the lover is merely a pawn in the game?
What about those people who have suffered badly from cheating? Those
who have been hurt so badly that it becomes an lifelong issue. These
emotions become so strong that even talking about cheating can be
enough to release all hell. The feelings become all-encompassing and
sometimes reason is left behind. Where does the right to act upset at
the mere mention of cheating end for someone who has been cheated on?
Can they pass judgment so easily and with such malice forever due to
the unhappiness they experienced and continue to be angry about?
Then you have the innocent people who have been in a good, solid
relationship for quite some time and have never experienced cheating.
They question how a married person, or at least a person in a
long-standing relationship, could not pick up that their partner whom
they love dearly is cheating on them. In this case, the person seems to
mistake loving someone with knowing someone. They struggle with the
idea of someone cheating and chastise those that do. Yet they don't
speak for the wife above, who was driven to cheating through abuse.
Finally, you have the outspoken advocates against cheating who end up
cheating themselves. Whether it is through boredom in a relationship, a
vivacious new love interest or spending time away from a partner
through work or otherwise. Some catalyst event causes these people to
go against their own strongly held beliefs, causes their life to turn
upside down so that they question themselves and all they stand for, or
stood for.
Where does it end? I've heard multiple stories this year alone, hell,
in the past few months, yet it doesn't make things any clearer. There
seem to be times when cheating has some form of acceptance; others
where it is just plain wrong. Each case has its own issues and needs to
be dealt with that way. The main thing I seem to have gotten out of
hearing all these stories is that loving someone does not necessarily
mean that you know them. It's a big call that one as I've always though
the both of them go hand in hand. Seems I've still got some learning to
do...
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Saturday, August 2, 2008
:: Koyaanisqatsi ::
As we get more civilised, are we becoming less happy?
This is the message that the movie Koyaanisqatsi is projecting. Koyaanisqatsi translates as "crazy life, life in turmoil, life out of balance, life disintegrating, a state of life that calls for another way of living". That's quite a few different ways of saying the same thing, eh? But it makes the message clear: modern life is out of balance with the way of the world.
As technology progresses and the human population grows, we continue to need more resources which in turn affects our planet. Recently, the developed world has recognised this imbalance with the "climate change crisis" becoming an increasingly important part of political campaigns. But spin aside, is there any correlation between the growth in civilisation and a decline in the happiness of the population?
It's difficult to gauge happiness at any time let alone make a comparison to the past. However, measuring unhappiness is possible, through depression, stress, mental illness and the like. There is general agreement that each of these issues are on the increase.
Without wanting to trivialise the issue into a broad statement, I still will. It seems as our world becomes more complicated our emotional well-being deteriorates. Yet the need to progress, to become more complicated, seems to be an inherent part of humanity. This of course lends itself to the idea that humanity is destined for self-destruction. Not a happy thought now, is it?
"One of the indictments of civilisations is that happiness and intelligence are so rarely found in the same person."
- William Feather
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Wednesday, July 30, 2008
:: New York City (with friends) ::
The beauty of New York is that it suits all tastes. I'm quite confident
that I could walk down the street naked, walking on my hands and
chanting the Hippocratic Oath
and no one would bat an eyelid. To test this theory out, I would need
some buddies to take things to the next level. The help came in the
form of Del and Adrian, two party-boy brothers renowned for their
drunken antics, and Sara, a Persian princess who shows she is having a
good time by snorting like a pig and dancing like a spastic. And there
we have it, the scene is set, the characters have been winged, now all
we need is the dialogue.
Day One
We ventured to The Meatpacking District,
a district in Manhattan which, as the name suggests, used to be filled
with slaughterhouses and meatpacking factories. These days, the old
factories have been converted into restaurants and bars, which appear
to be carefully hidden amongst the industrial landscape which by day is
dotted with fashion boutiques, young professionals and empty satchels
of white powder blowing like tumbleweed in the wind. On a hot tip, we
entered Buddha Bar, a French-Asian fusion restaurant that is meant to be the ants pants
of NYC dining. The place was enormous, with a towering Buddha filling
the warehouse-style room which would have had at least a thousand
people inside. However, seeing as it was a three hour wait for a table,
we scoffed a few over-priced cocktails by the bar, then trekked across
the road to Revel.
The food in New York is brilliant. At Revel, I ordered a New York
steak: it came with six dipping sauces and was quite possibly the best
steak I've ever had, which, set against the backdrop of the
greenhouse-styled atrium where we dined, made for a great meal. After
dinner, we stumbled through The Meatpacking District and came across a
gem of a bar called Bar & Books.
We'd had a good time in Bar & Books in Prague, where a friend of
our lives and knows the owner, so we thought we'd give the Hudson
branch a try. It's basically a cigar and whisky lovers retreat and has
one of the few indoor-smoking licenses in New York. Our conversations
leaned toward the deep and meaningful side as the smoky haze inside
mixed with the intoxicating liquor producing a surprising clarity of
thought. For a few moments anyway. Then we decided to really hit the
night life.
Retreat Lounge
had a few people mingling outside the roped area when we arrived, while
a large bouncer dutifully ignored them. We instantly nicknamed him Tony
Three Ears on account of the strange, ear-like growth on one of his
cheeks and his Soprano-esque demeanour. Our time to enter soon came and
Mr Three Ears regretfully told us that we would not be allowed in due
to our 3:1 guy/girl ratio. We then used our persuasive techniques
including begging, pleading and indicating that we had come all the way
from Australia just to go to Retreat. It seemed to do the trick as Tony
asked us to wait while he went to get someone with higher authority.
Tony Three Ears returned a few moments later and following him was
a short man carrying a cake box. This second man walked straight past
us and placed the cake box on a parked car, opened it up and removed a
cup cake with a candle on it. He then proceeded to slowly and purposely
remove the wrapping from the cup cake and with a sharp turn of his
head, looked at us with intent and asked in a classic Noo Yawk accent: "So, you wanna carm inta ma club, do yar?" Of course, we didn't quite know how to react but somehow managed to bleat out a yes. His response: "I might need a lil' sweet'na, if ya know wat I mean".
I wondered briefly if this was all some sort of elaborate prank and
looked around for a hidden camera. But after bribing the guy we were
finally let in feeling a mixture of confusion and relief.
As we clawed our way into the depths of the club, we were greeted
with fluorescent walls, a packed dance floor and an early twenties
crowd shaking their delicious butts to trashy dance-pop tunes. We added
our own awkward dance maneuvers and we had a whole new set of friends
in minutes. It somehow managed a balance between an underground drug
den and an exclusive bar, and the night faded into grey all too quickly.
Day Two
After a well deserved sleep-in, we explored Fifth Avenue, Macy's
and other shopping portals. The boys put the princess to shame in the
shopping stakes with Adrian buying not one but two jackets. The first
cost a mere $400 but it was the second which really shocked. After
being wooed by a gay salesman at Saks,
young Adrian ended up purchasing a $1,500 jacket. T'was expensive, but
was indeed a fine specimen though. But the days always played second
fiddle to the evenings antics, and while Adrian nursed a two week
hangover and snuggled with his new jackets, Sara, Del and I decided to
hit the town again.
The Meatpacking District was again where we started our night, this time at the Gardens of Ono.
It was a quiet, chilly Sunday night and the restaurant wasn't overly
crowded but had enough people to provide a bit of an atmosphere. In our
slightly hungover state, we did seem a little out of place amongst the
quite uppity crowd. However, the modern Japanese cuisine was breath
taking and we ordered a sake sangria jug in an attempt to fit in.
Little did we know that the jug was enormous and when placed on the
table in comparison to the small portions of food, looked ludicrous.
Besides giving the appearance of alcoholics, we soon lived up to
expectations after discovering the vicious potency of the sake sangria.
We then walked toward SoHo, stopping off on various quirky little
bars along the way. The streets around SoHo and The Village are so
beautiful: interspersed between the streets are picturesque little
parks and squares, with each street lined with beautiful deciduous
trees, which we thought might be cherry blossoms but no one seemed to
know what they were. One particular bar was in the middle of a
residential street and was oh-so-cosy. The low ceiling was covered with
strange artifacts and ribbons and gave the bar the feel of a living,
breathing fairy tale. We mellowed out on jugs of American beer that tasted like soft drink, sorry soda, and practiced our accents with phrases like: "Ya know wat I'm sayin?'
But with the knowledge that one of our comrads was at home, we
decided to keep things relatively low-key until we were a foursome
again. At some point during the day we had also got a cab across to
Brooklyn and walked back over the Brooklyn Bridge to Manhattan which was a surprisingly rewarding experience. However, exhaustion set in and these party-goers needed a rest.
Day Three
Little Italy was our destination of choice on our third evening in New York. However, we quickly learnt that Little Italy
was becoming even smaller having become engulfed by the not-so-little
Chinatown. As a result, the Big Mama's who were running the remaining
restaurants were very aggressive. They would stand outside the
restaurant spruiking their pastas and were a complete turn off. So when
we found a cosy little restaurant called Lunella,
with no one out the front, we gravitated toward it and checked out the
menu. Out of nowhere came this cute little old man who said: "Hava looka at ma menu, maybe chu see someting chu lika, maybe you don't!" With that, we were sold.
After a delicious traditional Italian meal, we frequented some
questionable watering holes. A drunk man called us from across the road
to come into this dive of a bar. Inside were photos of celebrities from
yesteryear who had once drunk there. It was however well and truly past
its peak. Princess Sara refused to even touch the table. We left after
one drink and ended up in an equally seedy establishment with an
amusing host. She was a large, Russian lady who said off the cuff: "You want beer? Draft beer is shit. Here - taste!" She gave us a sample and it was indeed disgusting. "See, you get bottle beer. Good." Funny as this interaction was, we really needed to find somewhere interesting, so we left on a mission.
Snitch Bar
more than satisfied our needs. A 1am arrival saw us enter a
moderately-filled bar populated by goths, emos and generally the
rock-type persona's. I felt out of place not having a tattoo or a
piercing. In the restroom, a blind Ray Charles lookalike acted as the
restroom attendant and the toilets themselves were exactly like the one
in that scene from Trainspotting. Del asked the bar tender if he could smoke inside and she responded: "Sure you can smoke weed in here".
By 2am the bar was completely packed and as various crowd favourites
came on, people would run to the 5 metre high pole in the middle of the
dance floor and simply climb up it. As one girl ran from her boyfriend,
climbed the pole and did some very stripper-like moves, her boyfriend
nudged Del and with a proud smile said: "How do ya like that? That's my girl!" Boy oh boy were we impressed.
It became apparent after a while that no one else in the bar was
buying drinks. The bar tender was personally coming over to our couch
and taking our orders and we were very much intoxicated. Eventually the
owner herself came over to have a chat to her best customers. She said
that Snitch may have to close as no one bought any drinks. We asked her
for some tips about good NYC nights spots so she called "Jay-Z" over
and said that he would tell us all about it. Jay-Z was a strange
individual and introduced himself as follows: "Hi, I'm Jay-Z. I'll show you around."
We weren't quite sure how to react to this. But it didn't matter as
soon enough I was refused service at the bar which is closing because
it can't sell enough drinks. That my friends, was a milestone.
As Sara escorted me back to the apartment, Del and Adrian
negotiated a discount on a bulk purchase of hot dogs from a corner
stand. On all accounts, it was a great evening.
Day Four
The highlight of the trip was easily the Museum of Modern Art.
The building itself is worth the entry price but when you see all the
famous art pieces, from Dali to Picasso, you realise just how important
this place is. We were enthralled by an exhibition detailing
innovations and inventions that have so far failed to get off the
ground. One included a chair which sends pulses into your back in the
form of an image that your brain then visualise! Bizarre and amazing
ideas that had us occupied for hours. However, as always it was the
night where our hearts lay.
We made a late booking at Nobu New York
and were lucky enough to get a cancellation. Chef Nobu fuses Japanese
and South American cuisine and the recent is amazing. We had the
degustation and in a restaurant world-renowned for it's spicy seafood
combinations, Adrian indicated that he didn't want anything spicy or
anything with seafood. The waitress was impressed but not as much as we
were with the food, bar Adrian of course. We then rocked up to this
cool jazz bar called The Bitter End and caught the end of Hillary Johnson's set. But we were there to see Sara's friend's friend, Orly,
perform. Orly is an Australian singer trying to make it in New York and
her sweet soulful voice coupled with the entire bar's attention left us
feeling she would do just that.
Afterwards, we went to a small Italian restaurant down the road whose
name escapes me but it is a place I will never forget. Hanging from the
ceiling were strange flying artifacts including wooden hot-air balloons
and old plane models. We joined Orly and her friends and when the
waiters found out they were singers, an impromptu jam session took
place. Three waiters materialised out of nowhere on piano, bass and
guitar and a sweet soul session began in the half-filled bar. It was
surreal and all-consuming; one of those moments that make you realise
why you travel. We liked it so much we didn't want to leave and ignored
the subtle flicking of the lights. Eventually, the owner came up and
said: 'You have to leave" and we started to understand. But what a
night!
Day Five
On our last day, Adrian left early to head to Canada and we decided to check out the Guggenheim Museum. The entire museum had been taken over by the Chinese artist Cai Guo-Qiang
and included explosions, floating neon cars and an army of tigers
running into a glass wall. Our flight wasn't too far away, so we popped
into Dean & Deluca for
some gourmet goods and took them into Central Park for our farewell
picnic to New York. We took in the hordes of Hispanic and Black nannies
with their prams of white babies, and strolled through the Strawberry Fields
thinking of the famous people who had walked this way before us. But
our time in New York had to come to an end, and what a trip it had
been. It was a sad goodbye, but this won't be the last that New York
hears from us.
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