'The joyfulness is over!'

In this great article from the SMH, Jordan Baker bemoans the effect of Twilight's Bella on the modern tween and teenager. For starters, she says, her own great female role models were legendary: Jo March (from Little Women) and Anne Shirley (of Green Gables).

They were the stuff strong women are made of: Jo 'chopped off her hair, threw snowballs and lived with gusto at a time when gusto was extremely unladylike' while Anne 'charged off to university to win scholarships and medals' as her friends 'crocheted doilies and married the first chap who asked them'.

Baker compares the two to Twilight's Bella: Where Jo and Anne were smart, independent and true to themselves, Bella is self-absorbed, clingy and willing to give up everything - her education, family, and mortal soul - for a man.

The problem with Bella, as Baker sees it, is that she gets little in return for her investment. Edward Cullen may put Bella's well-being above his own needs - a thinly-veiled attempt to promote abstinence by way of plot device - but he does little else for her, beside brood and look kind of drawn and wan: 'Edward does not evolve beyond his looks and sexy vampire superpowers. He rarely has a thought that doesn't involve fawning over her. I can't remember him making her laugh.'

Described as 'irritatingly helpless' - surely the worst possible characteristic for a female role model - Bella also puts the world at risk in her pursuit of Edward and maintaining his prescence in her life: ( cut for spoilers )

Now, before any of you stoop to the easy out: it's just a book, consider this, as Baker has: the fairytale has become a phenomenon that has captivated teenage girls around the world, and sullen, selfish Bella has become a poster girl for the gender roles Jo and Anne rejected more than 100 years ago.

The success of the Twilight series makes these issues important: teenagers are impressionable, and the role models we meet then inform our choices for a long time after. Of course, fads like Twilight - and it's a superfad of the highest order, but then so was day-glo - come and go, but the mainstream appeal of Twilight, and all things vampiric is enough to warrant a closer look at the phenomenon.

Just yesterday I saw t-shirts in the little girls section of Big W, proclaiming 'I don't want to be a Princess, I wanna be a vampire' and 'I (heart) Vampires'. Of course, being as they're on the cusp of stepping on some copyright concerns, I can't find a photograph on the Big W catalogue. Funny that. But the message is clear: the Twilight effect reaches a massive, keen audience, who may not realise what it is they're buying into.

There are those who would have a big problem with the Princess t-shirts, let alone ones avowing a wish to become the undead in favour of a life spent locked in a castle at the behest of an often neglectful prince: becoming a vampire is just a more gloomy castle, and the prince is always struggling with the need to suck your lifeforce out of you.

How romantic.

As Baker concludes her piece:

For more than a century, Jo March and Anne Shirley have been teaching little girls that there is more to life than hooking up with a rich, handsome bloke. Now, in 2009, we have a heroine who tells them that it's worth their family, their education and their soul. Bella may well be immortal, but I hope for the sake of all little girls that Jo and Anne outlive her.

Or at the very least, co-exist in their respective ways: showing young girls they have options beyond those chosen by Bella at least demonstrates the goal of the feminist movement.

Choice.

Australian MP Fran Bailey has been photographed asleep in a NATO meeting in Germany.


Ms Bailey's spokesman said she could not be contacted yesterday because it was the middle of the night in Scotland and she would probably be asleep.

Yes, but she seems to sleep a lot during the day too.

Interesting response from readers though: while a couple do the usual 'your tax dollars at work' line, a fair few this morning are more charitable.

As reader Mark points out:

Ok, she is asleep. The bloke next to her looks asleep. The fella in the back row is yawning. Must have been a real lively affair. Crikey I have fallen asleep at work and I own the business. Most journos I have met are lucky to be sober let alone awake. Give me a break.

Posted by: Mark 1:19am today
Comment 6 of 17

Love it.

La Push Beach, Washington State:




Monteverde Cloud Forest, Costa Rica:


Although this photo may put me off that last one.

Those of you have sat through the cinematic rendering of the first of Stephanie Meyer's freakishly successfully Twilight series will know that while the film will set the teenage girlies on fire, and 10% of the boys if Kinsey's stats are still to be believed, the acting leaves a lot to be desired. Lo, we have here a slideshow of the films worst acting moments, which I am satisfied is accurate, given it includes the fantastically named Jackson Rathbone's facial expression:

Which is good to know. Geckos are so much cooler than cockroaches anyway. I do love a good death match in minature. In fact, I have so much respect for the teeniest creatures in Nature's universe that I often watch admiringly as armies of ants carry away whole chunks of crumbs and just decide to let them be. I figure it must be like building the pyramids for those little champions, so I leave them to it and come back later when they're done.

Surgeons at Royal Children's Hospital Melbourne hospital are working slowly but surely to separate conjoined Bangladeshi twins, Krishna and Trishna. In their 27th hour of surgery, apparently the operation, headed by lead Neurosurgeon Wirgina Maixner and her colleague Alison Wray, is going well.


Amazing stuff this.

One of the best things I've done this year is get a phone that I can't text and drive with. The buttons are too small, and being told not to try regardless by a friend made the point clear. As do photos like the one from Post Secret this week.

From PostSecret.

Seen in a study recently:

( Cut for the eww factor )

There ain’t no reason things are this way.
Its how they always been and they intend to stay.
I can't explain why we live this way, we do it everyday.

Preachers on the podium speakin’ of saints in seance,
Prophets on the sidewalk beggin’ for change,
Old ladies laughing from the fire escape, cursing my name.

I got a basket full of lemons and they all taste the same,
A window and a pigeon with a broken wing,
You can spend your whole life workin’ for something
Just to have it taken away.

People walk around pushing back their debts,
Wearing pay checks like necklaces and bracelets,
Talking ‘bout nothing, not thinking ‘bout death,
Every little heartbeat, every little breath.

People walk a tight rope on a razors edge
Carrying their hurt and hatred and weapons.
It could be a bomb or a bullet or a pen
Or a thought or a word or a sentence.

There Ain't no reason things are this way.
It's how they always been and they intend to stay
I don’t know why I say the things I say, but I say them anyway.

But love will come set me free
Love will come set me free,I do believe
Love will come set me free, I know it will
Love will come set me free, yes.

Prison walls still standing tall,
Some things never change at all.
Keep on buildin’ prisons, gonna fill them all,
Keep on buildin’ bombs, gonna drop them all.

Working your fingers bear to the bone,
Breaking your back, make you sell your soul.
Like a lung that’s filled with coal, suffocatin’ slow.

The wind blows wild and I may move,
The politicians lie and I am not fooled.
You don't need no reason or a three piece suit to argue the truth.

The air on my skin and the world under my toes,
Slavery stitched into the fabric of my clothes,
Chaos and commotion wherever I go, love I try to follow.

Love will come set me free
Love will come set me free, I do believe
Love will come set me free, I know it will
Love will come set me free, yes.

There ain't no reason things are this way
It’s how they always been and they intend to stay
I can't explain why we live this way, we do it everyday.

Because not everyone is creative.

There were many bushfires in the Rockhampton area recently: some came so close to the university campus the smoke and reflected glow could be seen from the roads surrounding it:

Further to the surname discussion comes this interesting conversational snippet today. Apparently I don't have the worst listening skills on any given occasion, contrary to my own long-held belief. Let me share with you an Overheard at Morning Tea.

Meeting a colleague for the first time, she peers at my name tag. I have already subtly checked hers: for her part she owns an interesting forename and double-barrelled surname, both foreign-owned and operated.

I've been watching too much Scrubs, so she'll be called Newbie. I'll just be Lynda.

Newbie: Hellooo, Lynda (furrows brow at name tag) Hawree...Hawree...what does that say?
We both laugh.
Lynda: You're one to talk, look at yours.
Newbie: I know!
Lynda: Hawryluk. It's Hawryluk.
Newbie: Ah. Okay. That's a good one. Where is that from?
Lynda: It's Ukrainian. And where's yours from?
Newbie: Mauritius.
Lynda: Oh right, my good friend in high school was Mauritian.
Newbie: Oh yes? Was she studying Medicine?
Lynda: Um, what's that?
Newbie: A lot of Mauritians go to Russia to study Medicine.
Lynda: Russia? Erm, no. It was in Sydney. We were at high school together.
Newbie: Oh, I see.
We both nod and continue the consumption of scones.

As you can see, we clearly bonded from this interaction. And no, it's not an English comprehension thing: she has a clearer English accent than I do, being as I speak with a thick Russian accent and all. Amusement, no?

Classic, not plastic, as they say.

As a youngster, I was all-too-often made aware of the fact that my surname was a little out of the ordinary. From the snarky teacher calling the roll and getting to Miss Unpronounceable to the secretary at the doctor / dentist / principals office saying 'ah, we'll just call you Lynda', it was obvious early on that having a Ukrainian surname may prove to be somewhat disadvantageous. Indeed, back in the late 70's when I first started noticing the reaction to my name, not many people even knew where the Ukraine was.

I'm still quietly amused by people who refer to the country as Ukrainia, but that's a whole different story.

A lot of the time when I was little I dreamed not only of being big, but of having a really generic surname. My favourite, after my pseudonym Lisa Hamilton, stolen from a favourite teacher, was Jones. Lynda Jones. But alas, the universe decreed that my first name be complicated by the use of a Y instead of an I, and my surname being the kind to confuse everyone apart from the under 12's, who usually read names and words phonetically and thus demonstrate very little problem with it.

Sister Nutty, a primary school Assistant Principal, therefore had few issues teaching her young students the name their parents look at with a frown and stutter over. As an aside, she competely sold out and changed her name upon marriage to a different ethnic surname, however it's Italian, and so doesn't have a cluster of consonents in the middle of it. It was a sell-out because she always said she never would. As a spinster it'll be an easier promise for me to keep. Besides, as I like to say: I can't change it - I only just learned how to spell it.

See, I can make these jokes. Other favourites include the one where I tell the shop assistant that I'll need some more time to sign the receipt, so they can stop trying to grab it back off me; or when on the very rare occasion they actually look at my card and check the signature I've provided.

Frequently, there'll be an expression of surprise at what they see: HAWRYLUK. I like to call this the WTF look, kind of like the one Simon Cowell makes when confronted by someone like Fantasia:


My response is to say whoever can spell it deserves to steal and misuse my card.

Then there's the video store / doctor's office / student admin / travel agent etc etc experience, where I'll spell out my surname using just the first few letters, followed by an expression that roughly translates to 'etc etc'. 'It's H.A.W. and soforth / yada yada yada / and more letters of the alphabet / and it goes on from there'. The clerk, secretary, customer service rep will laugh a little, knowing that they need only the first few letters because most databases match up those and produce a list from which to choose a result.

They'll fumble over the name, make a comment about 'that's an interesting one' if they're being magnanimous and 'geez, what's that say?' if they're less inclined towards being charitable - lets not even pretend it's racist to not know how to pronounce a word or name - any smartarsey comes from the same sense of defensiveness I exhibited as a kid and fall back on when I'm not in the mood for someone to give me stick about something I had no control over - and then it's over and we can get on with the transaction.

This is a universal experience anyway: my best friend's surname is Scottish, one letter longer than my surname and probably needs spelling out for receptionists and the like. Even those named Jones need to spell it out on occasion. For some reason I seem to have a lot of friends with Anglo-Saxon surnames, most of whom have like me occasionally used an easier fore or surname when the situation decrees it. Like using an American accent when in the US, sometimes it just makes things easier to go with Brown or Liz.

Regardless, I imagine these friends with those wonderfully normal names that I yearned for when I was little don't get many follow-up questions about their appelations' origin, but at least my name is packed with consonants and requires clarification.

The natural reaction for a youngun to any disparaging remark about their ethnic background, socio-economic status or weirdly unusual surname is of course defensiveness.

Being a little half-wog from the western suburbs with a surname like someone sneezed the alphabet onto a birth certificate meant I developed it in spades. But behind defensiveness lies something far more important, and that's what's being attacked when someone mocks your name or your background: pride.

Every now and then I'd feel that sense of pride, most noticeably at the behest of my dad, a news photographer, who would bring home several copies of the daily newspaper when one of his photos appeared on the front page or warranted a byline. 'Did you see our name in the paper?' he'd say, all nonchalence and post-shiftwork sauve. That is to say, he was trying to be casual but was mostly tired.

I'm pretty sure we kept almost every page our name appeared on in the many, many years he worked in the media. And I'll admit I keep every appearance of my own name attached to our family name from newspapers and press releases from work etc. In this week's local newspaper I was expecting my name to appear in the sports results of all places, given I was lucky enough to be awarded first place in the second last round of the surf competition for the season. But it wasn't there, none of the surfing results were: perhaps a production or submission error and my disappointment was palpable.

Instead, flicking through an email and Facebook group, I noticed a stylish poster for an event I'm participating in tomorrow afternoon in Rockhhampton: The Guerilla Arts Alleyway Festival brings music, art and other stuff to a sidestreet in Rocky. Here's the poster for it:


On which you'll see complicated surname that belongs to my family and I. Given I'm not even sure what tomorrow's event will bring, I'll take some photos and post them for your perusal.

Currently on high rotation: Washington's Cement. You may remember Megan Washington from her great work with The Bamboos. No? Let's have another look then shall we?



Tres groovy.

Carry on people, there's work to be done.