Eurovision 2014 Through the Eyes of the Uninitiated

Living as far away from Europe as one can get without settling on the moon, I've always thought Eurovision was some 'Europe's Got Talent' show with some needlessly convoluted voting system and the winner usually had the craziest costume and did something odd - like throw glitter around or scream into the mic for no reason. I often wondered why we never had an 'Oceania's Got Talent' so our talented person would face off against Europe, Asia, the Americas and Middle East for the 'World's Most Talented Tosser' trophy.

These look like a couple of candidates for
'World's Most Talented Tosser'

Still, I never actually sat down and watched it. Finally, this year I decided to see what the hell the fuss was all about.

What did I learn? I learnt people actually took the competition seriously - lots and lots of them. I learnt I actually liked quite a few of the songs. Some had messages of harmony, love and friendship, others sang of heartbreak or loneliness, others sang about baked goods. Some were in other languages with universal emotion so all ears were pulled along for the ride. Some completely lost me but I'm sure there are others out there that loved them. In other words 'Something for everyone'!

I'll list a few songs and what they did right. I've specifically chosen songs I personally like so sod the European voters. Order of preference is as follows:

1. Iceland's 'No Prejudice' by Pollapönk

Arnar Þór Gíslason on drums and
Heiðar Örn Kristjánsson on drums

This is the song that made me want to watch Eurovision. I saw a highlight reel on YouTube and somewhere in the middle was an explosion of colour and fun - I had to find out what it was. Pollapönk is a kids' punk band from Iceland: a quartet of musicians with various lengths of facial hair; each with their own iconic colour. Their song (originally performed as 'Enga Fordóma' in Icelandic for the selection process) is catchy, colourful, happy and infectious. More importantly the message of the song about universal acceptance and tolerance is openly embraced by the group on and off the stage. They stand by the words they sing giving the song a mission. Every press conference, every interview, every impromptu performance, they promote no prejudice. As someone who was bullied a good portion of my life I wanted to cry and hug them. I ended up finding their CD 'Besta Pollapönkið' via Hagkaup and heard more of their stuff. Seriously, they're cooler than the Wiggles and this is coming from an Australian. Pollapönk's Facebook page has become bilingual to take into account the massive number of non-Icelandic fans who have since fallen head-over-heels in love with this band. Ást!

The Colours!! Pollapönk in action spreading the love.

2. Montenegro's 'Moj Svijet' by Sergej Ćetković
In case you can't guess from the title this song is not in English. When I first saw it performed in the Semifinal I immediately ranked it high in my list of favourites. It could be the emotion of Sergej Ćetković - he takes you by the hand and pulls you along for the ride. I don't know a word he's saying except 'Moj Svijet' which means 'My Love', but it doesn't take away the power this song has. I'm so glad it made the final because I really wanted to hear it again. I ended up finding more of his music and got one of his albums. If you like Josh Groban this is his Montenegrin counterpart. He's a true vocal artist, leading us into his world through his music and warm smile. Bravo Sergej.

Sergej Ćetković singing his heart out and loving it.

3. Switzerland's 'Hunter of Stars' by Sebalter
I'm not sure if it's Seb Alter or Sebalter, I've seen it written both ways. This song is a lively one that I can't tell if it's meant to be serious. The lyrics say 'yes', the banjo says 'no'. Then there's Sebalter's sly grin and energetic saunter that makes walking across the stage the most fascinating human action since the moon landing. And like most Swiss things he's multi-talented, serenading us with whistling, violin and drumming. And dominoes. If you're not won over by the end you have no soul.

Most interesting traverse to a drum ever seen.

4. Slovenia's 'Round and Round' by Tinkara Kovač
At first I found Tinkara Kovač's appearance a little Disney Villainesque in the Semifinal. But as the song wore on her singing ability and showmanship (despite a rather restricting gown) came across quite strongly. She was someone genuinely loving her song. A passionate and skilled flautist (which is demonstrated throughout), she is a double-threat with an amazing voice. This number is a little grunge and pop and altogether empowering female ballad. It's sung in both Slovene and English with a smooth flute solo between. I wish more songs were like this so they come across universally with none of the nation's language neglected in the push for votes. 

Disney villainess Tinkara Kovač winning us over in two languages.

5. Malta's 'Coming Home' by Firelight
This song hit me right from the beginning. Maybe it's the acoustic instruments. Maybe it's the upright piano carted onstage. It could even be the video clip to this song dealing with returning soldiers. It's a theme that definitely hits home. I did like their choice of using photographs as their backdrop rather than flashy lights or effects - it is a simple song staged simply and it stays with you long after the music ends. From the first listen the song feels like meeting a new friend serendipitously. By the fifth it's an old friend sharing a cup of tea and an old yarn.

If I came home to this I'd be blissfully happy.

6. Georgia's 'Three Minutes to Earth' by The Shin and Mariko
I don't get jazz. This might be jazz. Or folk. I'm not sure. It's syncopated and unpredictable which can be cruel to someone used to formulaic modern pop. That said, over time I've warmed to this song. The harmonies work, Mariko's voice suits the feel of the tune and the organic sound is very much the kind of thing you'd see at a WOMAD festival. I enjoyed it because it stood out so much from the myriads of electronica before it. It took a few listens to appreciate this song but there's some magic woven in amongst all the different layers. Mariko even reminds me of a poster my closeted-hippy dad has of Janis Joplin.

Mariko dancing much like Janis Joplin.

7. Israel's 'Same Heart' by Mei Finegold
Okay, I won't go into geographical details about where 'Europe' is in relation to the Middle East. I really do appreciate Mei's voice. She sings deeper than the usual female vocal range but she is comfortable in a lower register and pulls it off stunningly. She has power in her pipes that transitions smoothly into Hebrew for the second half. Another bilingual female ballad that kicks butt.

Mei Finegold and her backing dancers owning the stage.

Honourable mentions also go to: 

Italy's 'La Mia Cittia' by Emma Marrone. Sung in Italian. Every nightclub not playing this is missing the life of the party.

Norway's 'Silent Storm' by Carl Espen. True to its title there's something bubbling beneath the surface but Carl Espen understates it perfectly.

Lithuania's 'Attention' by Vilija Matačiūnaitė. Vilija Matačiūnaitė's vocals power through the  techno. It's like the TRON: Legacy soundtrack sung live.

Some of these did well, some didn't. All have earned a special place in my music collection. I might give Eurovision another go next year. If it's as good as these songs it'll be a joy to observe (as a guilty pleasure, unbeknown to my family and friends of course).

The [Insert Country/Ideology] Dream

I'm talking more 'DREAM$' than 'dreams. If this Australian/NZ keyboard had a pound or Euro sign bound to it I could go to town with currency symbols but I think you get the point.

How does this relate to the thin veneer of literature my blog sort of has?

I've been reading a lot of 'Little Orphan Annie', that's why. Not the musical where the American President is the hero and everyone skips off into a brighter tomorrow. I'm talking about Harold Grey's comic strip where the President becomes a venomous unseen entity and every story ends with uncertainty, loss or tragedy. You know, that family-friendly kids comic that has stories like "Daddy" Warbucks and his employees getting massacred by machetes and gunfire, unsupervised kids blowing up Nazi submarines, characters dealing with the Great Depression - homeless, penniless and eating whatever they can find to survive. THAT wholesome family-friendly comic.

Part of the strip where Annie sees "Daddy" cut down by knives and bullets.

With Harold Grey's determination that no story in 'Little Orphan Annie' should have a complete resolution, characters are inevitably forced from one hardship to the next. Although dated (I recall one strip from the late 1920's that had characters enthralled to experience a radio broadcast - something we take for granted), 'Annie' deals with issues that still resonate today. While unsupervised children playing in the streets and the prohibition-era gangsters no longer exist in today's America, other issues still stand: communism and socialism versus capitalism, unions versus employers, American Presidents versus comic strip characters, etcetera and so forth. In the 80+ years of the comic strip there's more to Annie than her relationship with Warbucks, but I'm going to focus on the themes of their endearing partnership here. It would take an entire blog to cover everything.

Is this the face that sunk a hundred Nazis?

While I'm not a huge 'Annie' fan, the characters at the core of the strip - Annie and Oliver "Daddy" Warbucks interest me. Sometimes both are annoyingly naive and Grey's art style has me mistaking background figures for regular characters at times, but I'm willing to grind my way through the niggles to enjoy the stories that has Annie and Warbucks working together to thwart someone, win something or just survive another day.

"Daddy" and Annie homeless on Christmas Eve.

As I mentioned before, 'Annie' has some very not subtle messages woven into this kiddie comic strip. Oliver Warbucks is a 'self made' man, having clawed his way to being a billionaire from nothing. Grey is careful to stress that Warbucks isn't your average capitalist - Oh no. His employees love him too much to unionise, he knows how to rig explosives and handle a gun, and he'd watch his entire empire crumble to the ground if it meant he could spend the rest of his days with those he loves. 'Those' being Annie. Of course Warbucks' wholesome sinless upbringing is what assures readers god is on his side. And if you forget, you get reminded every time someone tries to take him down. This is a man who made a killing during the First World War, by the way. Picture an American Andrew Undershaft if you will, subtract the ambiguous philosophy, then add some Dick Tracy crime solving and we're there.

Where would we be without billionaires watching our backs?

Whilst I'm not entirely FOR capitalism (having been raised in a socialist family and living in a predominately socialist town), I can see why many people are. There's some redeeming qualities about it but not enough for me to exclaim 'Best. Idea. Ever.' And I can see the trouble it causes those struggling to make good while being told asking for help is wrong.

It gets more apparent when Warbucks is broke, homeless and jobless during the Depression. He constantly returns to Annie shattered having found no work. Annie even offers to help but the thought of being supported by a young girl nearly sickens him. Eventually he makes good but perhaps he would've made good sooner when his friends offered to support him financially as his businesses failed. This kind of philosophy: that things work out if you tough it out - is one of the themes that bothers me the most about the comics.

However, one of the most prominent and most important messages throughout 'Annie' is that money can't buy everything; it's who you are and how you treat others that gives you the rewards - not financial security. Annie and Warbucks only have one dream: to be together. Between them, Annie and Warbucks preach this message in every adventure they have together. That's the essential message I'm willing to get behind - soapbox not necessary.

I said soapbox NOT necessary.

PS: For those curious, the daily 'Annie' comics were ended in 2010 but you can read them here. The strip ends in true Grey style: unresolved. At time of writing it seems 'Annie' might have its conclusion via a crossover in the Dick Tracy dailies, so stay tuned to see if Annie will ever be reunited with her "Daddy".

The Sherlockian Canidate

When I was young and hanging out with all the popular kids in primary school-- I jest.

When I was alone and sitting in a reading chair in the library during lunch time, I would pick up a book that I could read in under an hour and that would be my book for the day. How awesomely sociable I was.  

As a result of this constant reading, I one day picked up a picture book. Not just any picture book but one with etchings that were watercoloured. This particular book was called 'The Empty House'. Yes, some wise genius had converted Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes stories to abridged picture books for the short of attention span (ie. children). I loved the artwork and was rather smitten by a particular etching/watercolour of Watson kneeling at the Reichenbach falls as he searched in vain for Sherlock Holmes at the end of 'The Final Problem'.

The Reichenbach Falls scene is what won me over.

Thus began my interest with crime/mystery/Vic Lit. I came to love Sherlock Holmes. Sure some of the stories were erroneous (snakes don't drink milk is one example) but I let that slide. I also like just about every incarnation of Sherlock Holmes since. There's early German Holmeses, Early silent films from America, Basil Rathbone, Jeremy Brett and the currently reigning Robert Downey Jr., Benedict Cumberbatch, and Nicholas Briggs on stage and in audios. I love it every time the character is reborn and introduced to a whole new generation.

Sindey Paget's original illustrations filled the picture books I read.

I feel the same about Bulldog Drummond, Philip Marlowe, The Green Hornet, Dick Tracy or The Spirit (Feel free to peruse the modern-day comics helmed by various artists such as Darwin Cooke et al.). Whenever an interest of mine that I've harboured for years suddenly explodes in the public light, I want to embrace it, talk about it and let the world know how awesome it is (except Frank Miller's The Spirit movie. That never happened...)

The Spirit, as drawn by creator Will Eisner. One of the masked crime fighters
I started reading following my dalliance with Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock Holmes is Victorian England's Dick Tracy. Using bizarre talent or methods he captures amplified cartoonish underworld villains or rogues. He is mortal, putting his life on the line for others. Or to be perfectly honest, his obsessive need to solve the unknown and understand everything possible about it then brush aside any praise with a modest wave of a hand.

What is it about Sherlock Holmes? You can't explain Sherlock Holmes in one entire blog post. You could read every single thing written about Holmes but still barely scrape the surface of this fictional Titan. Very much like, say, a human being who has genuinely had 30 or 40 years of external and internal input into his character. We see him through Watson's eyes like we see our friends and family and loved ones. We think we know them, then they turn around and get a pet goat, buy a Ferrari or take up pot smoking.

Even if you haven't read a single Holmes story/book/comic/film/audio, you know of the man. Such is his popularity I would credit to his depth of character not many fictional creations enjoy.

I love my Dick Tracy but he is a predictable soul always doing right. When he isn't being challenged he is rather two-dimensional.

Dick Tracy in action is about as in-depth as he gets.

Bulldog Drummond is a bit more unpredictable. Beneath the surface of comic-like jollity, Drummond is a scarred soldier unable to adapt to life in peacetime. There's one chapter he physically brutalises a disabled man for killing a friend of his. The moral ambiguity of the scene gives one of the most challenging moments I've ever felt reading fiction. And this from a character who can't function without two beers in his hands and several jokes up his sleeve.

Drummond has at times a cartoonish
nature, but there is a darker side to him.

Sherlock Holmes is a whole different kettle of brine. He is, on paper, an entirely unlikeable soul but remains indescribably appealing as a character.

I'm using detail to show depth of character.
See? It's elementary!

Oddly enough though is the fact my favourite Sherlock Holmes story isn't written by Conan Doyle. I guess that makes me not a true Sherlockian or something. Jonathan Barnes takes the kudos for it as it's an audio drama he wrote. I really like it because of the relationship changes Holmes and Watson have undergone. Set during Holmes' retirement and beekeeping phase, it begins a few months after Watson has lost his wife. This story captures the most vulnerable Watson I've ever seen (take a bow Richard Earl) wherein I desperately wanted to hug the man two seconds into his first scene and for every scene thereafter (I really am a sucker for the sidekicks...).

They reunite for old times sake and the ending is more intense than Reichenbach Falls in any medium. Still, you get this heartbreaking feeling throughout that Holmes and Watson's friendship as it was is long gone, bridges have been burned, and what was once familiar will never be there again. It's like losing a loved one in a way. If you're interested at all it's called 'The Adventure of the Perfidious Mariner'. If you like the odd Titanic-sinking conspiracy thrown into your Edwardian drama, you're in luck!

Sherlock Holmes might not be someone I'd make easy friends with. In fact he's probably someone we'd see on a bus and politely move away from. I'd sooner talk shop with Watson any day.

But all that being said, Arthur Conan Doyle created a character who continues to fascinate us with every generation in every genre with such depth and complexities there's groups devoted to them.

May the Game forever be afoot.

Being a Geek Girl in a Man's World

Right, everyone's writing about this so I'm going to put in my two Australian cents. Or 0.3 of a shilling depending on the exchange rate.

A lot of the people I follow on twitter - mostly in the UK - have a lot to say about misogyny (see a previous blog post). I work in the theatre industry and I don't experience sexism at all in my workplace. Perhaps when it comes to physical tasks I see signs of it, but I have a scoliosis and two knees with piss-weak tendons so when a man (a trained tech who does heavy lifting for a living) offers to help me move something heavy, I sure as hell appreciate the gesture and in no way interpret it as them showing their dominance over the female of the species.

The other day while setting up for a convention, a colleague apologised for picking up a table I intended to shift and moved it for me where it needed to go. He was worried how I would react and apologised for acting like a sexist. I wouldn't even have judged him as one. Had he rolled up his sleeves, shoved me out of the way and insisted 'this is a man's job', I might've thought differently.

That's not to say misogyny isn't in droves elsewhere. Yeah it bothers me, yeah it's a problem, but there's worse that could happen to me. For the most part I do what I can to ignore them, much like you would an odorous individual sitting beside you on a crowded bus or train, picking their nose and going for gold.

See, I started very young as a gamer girl. My brother and I would constantly play games on the old Macintosh or MS DOS computers dad or my uncle had. I remember many an exciting time playing Syndicate or Doom or Frogger or Duke Nukem 3D or Donkey Kong. We had a Nindendo console and my personal best game was Duck Hunt. I pressed the gun-shaped controller to the TV screen and fired like my life depended on it. Yeah, technically that's cheating but my brother was 18 months ahead of me in age, cognitive development, and hand-eye coordination... and I was a fiercely competitive little sister.

My brother introduced me to Doom, Quake, Unreal and Duke Nukem...
All games I really enjoyed and still do to this day.

My brother and I would play most weekends but I would get tired of him always winning. Then there came a time I practised really hard at Quake and Unreal (still my fave FPSs). One game I managed to beat my brother. A girl beat her older boy at his own game. What did my brother do? He smiled and said 'someone's been practising!' And instantly I went from little kid sister to equal. I began to join in online games, playing against adults with my brother there at my side to show me the ropes. Brother and sister taking on the big wide world of online gaming as a team.

Quake was the first game where I beat my brother in PvP.

It wasn't until I got back into gaming in the past 4 years that I noticed a few things had gone awry in the social sphere of gaming. Namely anonymity turned every other gamer into self-entitled jerks. I was raised on the Internet from a young age but I never really used it much for social interaction beyond email. Online games back in the day gave you the option of chatting - but I was too busy aiming guns at my fellow players.

It seems from my point of view every male gamer envisions themselves to be a living embodiment of Duke Nukem. Now, I am a Duke Nukem fan. Yes, he's a sexist misogynist prick of a testosterone-infused slab and born in a laboratory full of every manly cliche from every kegger on Earth, but he's a caricature, not a role model. That's why I love him. Everything in Duke's world is over the top and insanely hilarious from a sane-person-looking-at-a-whimsical-world point of view. Duke's world doesn't exist. It pays out the very kind of character gamers hold up as heroes.

It does cause an issue, I suppose. When young kids play that kind of game (and they do - let's not deny it) full of sexist one-liners, eye-candy ladies, over-the-top aliens and strippers (yes, the universe is about to end and Duke stops for strippers), does it teach them bad lessons? My brother and I played it and he's a wonderful role model and intelligent computer engineer. Me? I work in theatre but I have two degrees from university and a teacher's qualification. We are both Duke Nukem fans.

Carrying on with this theme I've stumbled upon, a couple years ago, shortly into my gamer re-discovery, I found a Duke Nukem website where they were updating Duke Nukem 3D to improved graphics. I contributed towards the project and eagerly joined the chatroom where people would discuss not just the game but anything from philosophy, history, politics, sport or theatre. I was the only female on the site but I was welcomed as part of the Duke family. I made a few friends I still keep in contact with today. I was eventually made a Moderator which gave me the ability to monitor forum discussions and caution or ban anyone behaving inappropriately. I was a part of a team where I was welcomed - an all boys clubhouse had embraced their first female member. Finally, I thought, things are looking bright.

Then came the day I closed a particular forum discussion. About 30 days of inactivity had passed and this was standard practise to keep the forums lively. However, my actions inadvertently sparked the original poster to call me out via another forum post, labelling me a bitch on a power trip. When other moderators defended me he went on to imply the webmasters were treating me differently because I was female. I didn't ban the user in the end - the webmasters did. It was still a shock to see someone I had previously chatted to quite cordially for several weeks publicly attack me for 'using my authority' to close his discussion thread, 'being where I don't belong' - and waving the 'because she has a vagina' card as a weapon in his defence.

But it happens. In just about every online gaming website I'm a member of it happens in droves. Usually moderators keep it in check but there are a few with bad reputations I wouldn't join unless I had a gun aimed at my head or my self worth reached ridiculously low levels.

When all is said and done, I don't know if the sexism in gaming will change in the foreseeable future. There are websites constantly calling people out for it but nothing changes: strong female game characters don't exist, designers constantly reduce females to eye-candy, post-game expo gossip always revolves around how female guests were treated...

And in the long run, how some boys feel regarding women invading their so-called 'exclusive' clubhouse means nothing to me.

I inhabited the clubhouse a long time before they did. Back when I played Doom and Unreal under my brother's guiding tutelage.

Females my age or older joined the club long before most of the
angsty male gamers who would prefer us to leave.

In this day and age only toilets and dressing rooms should segregate the genders.

There's Some History I Won't Touch.

I love history. Leave me alone in a room with a few books about various stages of European history and I'd be fairly content. I read more history magazines than fashion or popular culture. My friend is a museum curator and I'm insanely jealous of her career.

But there's a couple blanks in my history knowledge - and oddly enough I'm in no hurry to fill it.

I am constantly surprised that I know so much about things I didn't live to see (except maybe the Chernobyl disaster - but I was 2 months old at the time). But the Gulf War (the first one) and Berlin Wall are incredibly important events - and I was a stone's throw away from one while I was there for the aftermath of the other.

My family and I were living in a suburb of Tel Aviv, Israel during the build-up to the Gulf War. I was about 4 or 5 and was far too young to understand what was going on. We went to Jerusalem one day - one of a few trips we made to the Holy City. Our car was left in a popular car park while we wandered the beautiful city. When we returned to the car in the late afternoon, all of the windows were smashed. My dad said it was because we had an Australian sticker on the car. The next day Dad went to the insurance company to get the windows fixed but they insisted it was an Act of War so they wouldn't cover it.

By the time we were evacuated by the Australian Government, I knew it was because something dangerous was happening. I remember crying as we drove from our house to the airport because I was convinced someone was going to bomb it. I don't think many people living in Australia can understand that feeling. Israel is where my earliest memories are. I started school there. I had friends I was leaving behind. I thought I'd never see my house again when we drove away that day.

After surviving as a family of four living in a tiny unit in costal Adelaide for a while, we were allowed back into Israel. The Gulf War had ended and so did my worries about our house.

Once things returned to normal my parents took my brother and I out and about again. Aside from the colourful markets full of these wonderful trinkets and jewellery, there was a museum dedicated to the soldiers. Mum and dad recall seeing blood stained uniforms and equipment that was used in the war. My brother and I were kept outside so I never saw it with my own eyes.

I suppose the equivalent would be looking at Nelson's bloodied uniform at the National Maritime Museum along with his belongings from Trafalgar.

Back home my parents kept one of the gas masks we had for emergencies. I find this sinister souvenir of our time in Israel a rather quirky memento. I don't know whose mask it is but I know it wasn't mine. Young children had a mask that made you look like a walking condom with a plastic cover attached to the mask. Have you ever seen kids with their gas masks with little Disney stickers on them so they think they're playing dress-up rather than preparing for the worst? I wanted stickers on mine. I was and still am incredibly fascinated by the canister at the end of the mask.

The Family gas mask...

To this day it's kept in a cupboard full of my old toys.

 Wearing the gas mask was far less frightening than my replica PHG Gas Helmet (circa 1914). I applaud the British soldiers who charged into mustard gas wearing those things. I was scared just slipping the hood over my head.

Then there was the Berlin Wall.

When the Berlin Wall was being dismantled in earnest, we were in Europe. We even ended up with a small piece of it. It's probably one of the first little trinkets from our travels that I would love to steal from Mum and Dad's home and put on my shelf.

Again, I didn't get the significance of this little piece of concrete kept in a display cabinet at home. I knew it was from the wall and more specifically from Checkpoint Charlie but I had no idea what it all meant. Like the Gulf War I just went with it. As kids do.

Now I understand it. Now I read about the last remaining stretch of Berlin Wall being torn down - which is a tragedy and a travesty of the highest order. A few years ago I saw black and white photos of dead bodies killed trying to cross the Berlin Wall. I read about escapes and daring plans. I even found and read a play about Willy Brandt, the leader of Germany when the Wall came down.

I wish I had known about it all then. I was experiencing history but I didn't understand it - at school we never studied it because it wasn't history enough.

Our Berlin Wall keepsake, tucked away with other mementos
from other places we visited.

 Even to this day we don't study the Gulf War or Berlin Wall at school. I have watched a grand total of one half-hour documentary and one drama concerning the Gulf War. I've seen maybe one fictional comedy about the fall of East Berlin. Maybe if I knew more I wouldn't have such a blank in my memories (hard to remember details as a 5 year-old!). 

I have studied history but I've never studied the history I lived through. People who were three or four during the Invasion of Belgium (my Nanna lived through it as a girl and doesn't talk of it), the London Blitz, the Bombing of Darwin, or the nuking of Hiroshima might feel the same as I do now.

I want to know what the hell caused the Gulf War. I want to know why our car windows were smashed in Jerusalem. I want to know why we were evacuated from Tel Aviv and sent back to Australia. I want to know why school students died in combat.

One day I might have kids. They might be studying the war at school and ask me questions about it and I honestly can't answer them. I wish I could. But a part of me panics whenever I see a book about the Gulf War. I can read anything about genocide in Europe. I can pick up an essay about the Cold War and read it. Deep down in my gut is something that gets frightened thinking about it. My fingers stop when I type it into a search engine. I skim passed the Gulf War books in a bookstore and don't dare look at the covers.

A flag we waved enthusiastically for Israel Day 1991 and took
back to Australia with us

When people talk of Israel around me, they usually speak badly of it for its international relations. If we do ever cross paths, remember Israel was my first memory of home. It was were I began school and started having roots. I had friends there and fond memories. We embraced Israel and joined in celebrations for Independence Day, while still enjoying Australia Day with several families in HaSharon. We were treated as warmly as I hope new arrivals to Australia are treated. So I have a certain affection to the country. No amount of pressure from anyone around me can change that.

Maybe that's why I avoid all the books.

Maybe there's nothing better than a five year-old's perspective.

Maybe I've realised history is more than just war and conflict - It's also fond memories, happy photographs and odd souvenirs.

My Name is Kate, I'm a Writer, and I Hate Formula.

Hello, Writers Anonymous. My name is Kate and I'm a writer.

Yeah, I know: I'm not good with blogs but I'm reasonably good at fiction.

I've been writing since I was five years old. I was writing when other kids were learning to ride a bike or how to tell the time on analogue clocks. Yep, I couldn't ride a bike or read the hands on a watch until I hit my 20's. I can do the latter better than the former, though, and I got the scars to prove it.

It's interesting being a solitary writer and observing other writers in their natural habitat - Facebook and Blogs. They are boisterous boasting about their latest spark etc. Every single detail of their attempts at getting noticed are shouted out to the world at large. They even share quotes people said about their work like living movie posters. I know it's a way of promoting their name but if I have to turn into a walking billboard for myself in order to make a living out of being creative, I'll write under a goddamn pseudonym and let my skills do the talking for me.

I'd rather keep my work secret until its ready to be seen - like any intelligent inventor talking within earshot of Thomas Edison. 

Only my friends know I have an audio drama online. Feel free to give it a listen.

Only my closest friends know I write Script-Fiction (a type of fan fiction written as scripts from the TV show/Film its based on).

Only my friends and family are aware I've won the odd award here and there for my writing, spread out from my very early Primary School days to my more sporadic adult endeavours.

Why yes, I am horrible at promoting myself!

I'm fairly prolific in my writing. At any one time if someone asks what I'm working on, my standard response would probably be 'Two audio dramas, a screenplay and a couple of one-act stage plays' thereabouts. Then my script-fiction but that's just a hobby to keep me from writer's block (never had it but it doesn't hurt to take preventative measures).

Talking to and observing other writers is incredibly interesting. They observe a film and write a script similar to it. They rave about the latest romance movie or abstract play and copy the formula. Maybe I'm uneducated about the approach to success. I see a film and write something unrelated to it. I look for gaps in people's experiences and do my best to fill them in. I see that there aren't many plays about this or that so I write them. I go see a really good action film (love me my action flicks btw) and go home and write a heart wrenching drama whose cast includes a fatherly ghost and a pet lizard. There are so many gaps in the range of human experiences and I feel too many people stick to formula and not enough take risks (see the current state of the gaming industry). I know risks rarely pay off big time but who's in the writing business to make millions and who's in this because they've been writing their whole life and it's their one creative outlet that allows them to release their heart and soul to an appreciative world?

I did a writing course once in which the objective was to study a film's structure and write our own script that follows it. So I chose 'The Dish' and wrote a First World War film following its methods. FYI, 'The Dish' is a film with no real antagonist, a happy marriage, a pleasant town, and a team of good mates working together. That's essentially what I used to model my war film on.

 A war film without an antagonist? It ended up placing in the top 20 in two International screenwriting contests so shut up.

The greatest film ever (in my opinion).

My main objective is to leave the audience with optimism. Even if the main character is left a broken mess, they're never beyond repair. I can't all-together make people lose their faith in humanity.

The Dish is a feel-good, enjoyable film (I hesitate to call it an all-out 'comedy') based on the people responsible for broadcasting the Moon Landing to the world in 1969. During the movie there's no breakdown of a marriage, no physical danger to overcome (except a very windy day that is soon forgotten in the moment), the odd disagreement that gets easily solved; but the reason we watch is the pay off. The film so perfectly captures the event that was man walking on the moon. The anticipation of it all throughout the film, the little problems they have to troubleshoot all leads to that moment.

And when it's over we all feel warm and fuzzy and the world is a much nicer place for it. The world - for a brief moment - became one.

Yeah, it's not a Hollywood Award-winning formula, but does it have to be?

I guess because I've been writing on my own for so long, when people tell me there is a formula, I can't agree with them. In music class the teacher told me there is a formula for music and I had to rebut him. Yes, there are sounds that we'd rather not hear, but there's nothing to stop composers from using them! And yes, maybe I don't write to a standard script format - but that doesn't mean the stories have any less reason to be enjoyed.

In fact it's the unpredictable stories, the ones with twists we don't see coming, the ones that have inner rather than external conflict, the ones that our curiosity guides, the ones that give us a hug at the end, the ones that build to a single glorious moment - they're the stories I enjoy the most.

Each one has a different formula of its own. Every script should be its own formula. The day we started labelling scripts and dissecting what made them good, we lost the plot. It's like giving rules to visual artists.

If visual art can be whatever it wants to be, why can't music or film?

If more writers raved as much as I do about 'The Dish', the world will be that much more beautiful.

The Year of the Female and other Nonsuch Babble

I read in the news today that 2012 was, for Australia, the year of the female. This was a year when our Prime Minister Julia Gillard proudly denounced the leader of the opposition with a fifteen minute rant about misogyny.

But other than that, what else happened?

Kate Ellis, a local MP, gets shot down on a panel show only days after Julia Gillard did her inspired speech. She was constantly interrupted and disrespected during her answering of an audience member's question:

What else happened this year for us gals?

Maybe pay went up a little more for us in Australia. We're still about $5000 behind men in the equal pay department. Yay?

Women still idolise skinny models and bimbos who've had more plastic surgery than sense and are tanned to the point of looking more like oak furniture than human beings.

We can only buy skimpy bikinis in summer; and is it me or are denim shorts getting shorter this season?

Let's not even talk about the lingerie football league on TV. I've had many a heated conversation with friends about that.

So I wouldn't QUITE be so optimistic to call 2012 Australia's 'Year of the Female' just yet.

Me personally? I care about how women are treated in certain media (games probably being the second worst, behind comic books). The way women are constantly portrayed for ads, comics etc. to the younger generation sets about problems we still have to solve.

As a computer gamer, where are the strong female characters for me to relate to? Samus Aran? A grand total of one. At least there WAS one until Metroid Other M made her incredibly dependant on strong male figures and I stopped caring about her. Lara Croft? You're joking, right? She's a female character for men. I can't stand it when the appeal of a female character boils down to her wearing next to no armour while their male counterparts seem to be a whole lot more survival conscious.

Samus Aran as per her usual appearance
in the Metroid series in practical armour.

Most female characters in game box art (as in comic books) are posed to look like models trying out skimpy suits in the mirror. How is that characterising them? How does a sexy pose say 'this is a sorceress who must save the world by retrieving an enchanted book'? Or 'this marine must lead her troops in battle against the flesh-eating alien invaders'. All it basically says is 'check out this rack'. I have a problem with this far more than what the Leader of the Opposition says during Question Time on Parliament TV. Solve this problem and there won't be any more rants. So please, please, please solve this problem.

A fan art of Samus now, as per her appearance
in 'Metroid other M'.

Let me get this out there: I'm a feminist. I learned from the best: my history teacher was a feminazi. Whenever she taught us about female suppression in Victorian England it was an interesting experience. She said something I'll never forget: "by being here in this classroom, you are a feminist. You believe you have the right to be educated" and from then on I couldn't help but feel like a revolutionary going to school every day. I don't shout 'Stop sexually opressing me!!' from the rooftops for one reason: I was born and raised in Australia and in Australia beneath the male sports and macho attitude, things are pretty damn equal. It's not the most misogynist nation in the world but not the least either. Early colonial Australian women were summed up as 'God's Police and Damned Whores'. But this is the nation of Germaine Greer and 'The Female Eunuch'. Yes, things were bad back in the past but it's all in the past now. My generation is in a far different place than my mother's.

I wasn't really exposed to female characters at all until high school. I found females difficult to 'get' because they never did anything relateable to the point of irritation and unbelievability. I'm sure there are exceptions in the infinite number of novels out there but I haven't found them yet. During English classes and at University, I found the Feminist female writers we studied absolute try-hards, writing verbose, overly inflated fiction in order to compete against their far more prominent male counterparts. But look at Lindsay Davis, or even Rosemary Sutcliff, Agatha Christie, Mary Shelley. They just knuckled down and wrote some pretty damn good prose - some with strong female characters too. Why can't Feminists write like them?

On the whole, the typical female character is an alien wonderland for me. I won't call out any particular books to highlight the issue but one of the worst rhymes with 'Starlight'. It's like trying to explain the financial motivations of characters in 'Death of a Salesman' to a Socialist. But because of this blokish culture in Australia, I understand the guys and can relate to them. When a man on TV says 'Damn that girl's annoying', my brain responds with a deadpan 'I know what you mean, bro'.

If a TV series has male leads I'll inevitably enjoy it more. I get a thrill when the lead male gets throttled by his own necktie and hurled down the stairs and I can only imagine the same sense of fear over a physical threat for a female lead. But heaven forbid if a women gets hurt on TV. Apparently that's cause for rage in blogging circles I don't quite sympathise with. In the online world lots of bloggers take offence if it happens to a lady. Doesn't batter an eye here - not even mine; I honestly can't tell if TV programmes are being overtly sexist or women just take it personally. To me both sexes are vulnerable, they both are at risk in a dangerous situation and it's only up to the writers to decide who gets out alive. I was two episodes in to Ripper Street before I realised something was apparently wrong and I should be outraged.

You know what? I'm not. I enjoy the show and I wouldn't change it. I would be outraged if the women were wrapped in bubble-wrap and only taken out for maybe two seconds of screen time in rather poitless roles - but they're not. If the killer and rapist of women achieves fortune and fame at the end of an episode I'd be shouting rather loudly in protest (James Bond gets away with about as much in Skyfall and I only read one review calling him out about that!). In Ripper Street's case the culprit meets a violent end for his crimes - as does the bad guy in episode two (Spoiler Warning). By episode Five I'm assuming the coppers equal the Ripper's body count so all is square.

If the women in Ripper Street are seen as negative stereotypes, pick up an Australian History Book. You know, the ones about British colonisation? The ones that say all the early pioneer women were Damned Whores or God's Police. Prostitutes or Nuns, essentially. I read that in 5 seperate school history books. I think the dependance the three leads of Ripper Street have with the women around them is rather touching in comparison.

I was two episodes into Ripper Street before I realised something was
apparently wrong from a woman's perspective and I should be outraged.

I feel, as a young girl growing up in a nation where both genders wear the trousers and earn the bread, I didn't have enough exposure to strong female role models - both sides look the same to me.

This is the world I live in.

Yes, I'm a feminist and I regret the lack of strong female rolemodels in my life. Maybe if I was a feminazi like my History teacher I'd be more outraged about stuff the media blows out of proportion. I do earnestly read blogs by feminists and many of them do make good points about injustice and inequality in their parts of the world. I just don't get a sense of it where I am or in the industry in which I work.

Not less than minutes after Julia Gillard called Tony Abbot a misogynist people and press were calling her a bitch, telling her to shut up and so forth. Not just men, mind you, women too. While the world applauded her, in her own country she was mostly grounded within a week. If she wasn't the PM, a journalist wouldn't be talking about it in a 'Best of 2012' news article.

Did Julia Gillard deserve the applause? Maybe. It was a minor thing Abbot said and the magnitude of Gillard's well-scripted response was unwarranted - but I can't deny it had to be said sooner or later. If not the PM, then a CEO or a Sportswoman or a young student or a single mother trying to make do. Someone had to hold up a mirror to this country and find a strong female role model for young girls.

Let's call 2012 a rehearsal.

Let's make 2013 the real Year of the Female - not for Australia but for the other nations that have it worse than we do.