Forget-Me-Rot

Recently, 31 year old Sydney woman Rebecca Doig gave birth to a healthy baby girl, with her loving husband at her side. Married for five years now, the couple sounds like any other. Young, in love, and looking forward to starting a family.

If only this were true.

This woman has become one of the youngest in the world to suffer from Alzheimer’s disease, brought about alarmingly early in her life due to a defective gene – a gene that is thankfully absent from the baby girl who was just given her breath of life. Instead of the Doigs’ working together to nurse and raise their newborn, responsibility has shifted solely to Rebecca’s husband Scott, who will not only struggle with single parenthood, but will also have Rebecca to care for as her Alzheimers slowly consumes her.

It seems the public is generally unaware to the severity of this disease. Sure, it begins with forgetting where you left your keys and glasses, but it devolves to a point where the sufferer is left in a state of complete helplessness. The perception may be warped because many don’t seem to realise more often than not sufferers end up in aged care facilities when the disease becomes severe, to see out the remainder of their years.

When it reaches the point where families can no longer care for the afflicted loved one and action to relocate to a facility is required, the sufferer is usually at the stage where they have forgotten even the most basic human instincts such as remembering to eat and drink, go to the toilet and in some cases, how to ambulate (walk). Crude comparison be pardoned, it must be said however that Alzheimer’s renders the elderly (and, now it seems – the young) reliant almost completely on care staff to carry out their most basic needs for them. As one would do for a newborn.

I work in a ward that specifically caters for the care of people suffering from dementia. Dementia is a blanket term for individuals suffering from a form of mental deterioration. So I, and those I work with, deal with not only Alzheimer’s, but Parkinson’s and even residents who have been driven toward dementia by chronic abuse of alcohol.

I must stress – dementia isn’t just shallow forgetfulness. It strips away any and all social graces and what remains can shock the unaware and the uninformed to the core. Once pleasant and loving people will act in a way that is completely opposite to the former personality traits they previously carried, and this can make it difficult for family and friends to remain supportive.

It’s heart wrenching to witness a husband, a wife, or a child hold the hand of someone they care so deeply for, while that person stares blankly back – completely oblivious to the importance that loved one has in their life. Watching someone with dementia struggle to remember the simplest of details about themselves is a daily occurrence for me.

Confusion, embarrassment, shame, loneliness, emptiness, rage and feelings of absolute hopelessness may come and go within moments – but in that moment it hits them with a ferocity that only they can ever know the true impact of.

When all is said and done – what can we do? There is no known cure, and no known cause. We must accept that those diagnosed with a form of dementia will slowly have the pages of their lives ripped from their minds, until what remains is a shell of the person that once loved, laughed and experienced.

They become another statistic and another filled bed. They have a name purely for recognition, no longer needed to BE a person. Who needs purgatory when dementia fills the job with such vigour and effortlessness?

Meet Me at the Alter

Ever wanted to just, be someone else? Wouldn’t it be grand to just wake up one morning as a completely different person? Unfortunately, unless you really, really need a change and can afford the gruelling chain of operations required to do so – generally you’re stuck with what you have.

That’s what your alter ego is for. A fun, on the side persona you can pull out every once in a while, dust off and place your tired, overworked shell in its place. Alter egos can make for extremely humorous entertainment and can bring out the wild side in normally subdued people. Alcohol and drugs can provide you with a temporary personality change, but the outcome is usually not of the most desirable standard.

I’d like to be a character of the animated world. Not one of the annoying, overly-toonlike characters – perhaps one of royal descent who is poised and gracious and can break into a perfectly pitched song without a moments hesitation. Surely a fool’s dream – but dreams are not always of the impossible.

Try, for a day, to change the way you approach the world. Embrace your inner eccentric, bring yourself to life with an expression or two you have yet to experience. Say something silly and nonsensical to another, and take pleasure in their bedazzled reaction. To say the world has become a cesspool of despair, drama and dereliction would be the understatement of the decade.

The world is nothing more than a very worn piece of canvas. When shit gets bad, society pulls out the tired paintbrush of life and with it a new tin of brightly coloured paint in the hope another coat will make everything seem shiny and new once more. It takes more than suppression to hope for a better tomorrow;  you need to embrace the animated self you no doubt wanted to expose at some point but fear of rejection or ridicule quashed that beautiful, soul warming piece of that spectaular inner you.

Don’t let the fuckers of the world threaten what you could be – what you would be if society wasn’t such a huge pile of shit. I’m in no way saying you should turn to Jesus (luuuul) and start adopting African children… just be a little bit cute, or a little bit kooky or a little bit innocently wild and don’t allow your TRUE personality to forget you. And you, it.

Hello world, this is me.

Ascent Into Madness

The term ‘normal’ has been overused and applied to so many abnormal beings and ideals that the word has lost all meaning, and thusly should be grabbed by the syllables and thrust into dictionary limbo.

The closest one can come to normal is when one tries to discipline unacceptable habits and traits into a dormant state whilst engaging in social activities. Even I, an individual who identifies as a man with no facades, will tend to suppress the more unappealing qualities when contact between others becomes a foreseeable possibility. Alas, I fail at this most times.

Suppression leads to a nasty build-up of emotions that, upon eventual release – will spew forth like rancid sewer water onto unsuspecting bystanders. This is commonly referred to as a mental breakdown. Hilarious for the most part, mental breakdowns will almost certainly come when the host least expects it and always during the most untimely of situations.

The straw that broke the camel’s back is a common analogy used to describe the moment a breakdown or freak-out occurs. Humans can only handle so much disappointment, heartache, rejection and misfortune before inevitably going absolutely psycho on your shit.

People that are close to this breaking point will commonly share distinguishing signs and symptoms. Bloodshot and/or twitching eyes, sweaty palms and foreheads and a general homicidal facial expression are all dead giveaways that this person has long since checked out of normal and into Norman (Bates).

If you are concerned your crazy has risen significantly, channelling these seemingly unwanted feelings and emotions into suitable outlets can turn that loony lad or lass inside of you into your own creative powerhouse. Weird behaviour births wonderful imagination.

The Princess and the Pill

Once upon a time…

There lived a most beautiful Princess.

She was loved by all.

Her sun-kissed locks and porcelain skin was a sight to behold.

Beneath her mesmerizingly immaculate exterior, a tormented soul burned within the deepest crevices of her being.

No Prince could save her.

No spell could break her.

She carried on with a smile, so convincing and kind – until the villain slayed her.

That villain was her.

World Suicide Prevention Day

Thinspirational

You are an absolute fucking liar if you deny ever having teased someone, be it to them or behind their back, about the size of their stomach. Maybe you remark on how the pants they chose to wear cause them to bear a striking resemblance to a blueberry muffin, or guesstimate with your fellow bitchy buddies as to how many chins that person has – and whether or not those chins have chins of their own.

It may appear the victim of your cruel words laughs it off or acts nonchalant about being compared to a baked good. However, how would you then feel if you discovered that one offhanded comment you made during recess or around the water cooler at work was the straw that broke the camels back, and that individual developed an eating disorder?

Admittedly, I was guilty of being one of those individuals that would often scoff at the stories shown on television and in print media regarding anorexics and bulimics and considered these sufferers to use their ED as a way to attention whore. I was also guilty of many times poking fun at the more rotund members of society, and stood idly by as others did the same.

Start them early, I suppose.

Having now gained a different perspective on issues of body image, I am disgusted by what I witness around me. Parents telling their young children they need to go on diets and start working out at the gym… for fuck sakes?! Hearing stories of barely pubescent girls and boys being admitted due to dangerously low BMIs, caused by EDs, makes me RAGE.

Even the gay community, a demographic of which I am unfortunately apart of, has absolutely DUMB expectations for what homosexuals should look like – either chiseled Adonises or stick thin ‘twinks’. You don’t fit one of these two categories? Enjoy your hand, loser. Some of you may think I’m being harsh, but that’s the harsh reality. It’s human nature for us to judge a book by it’s cover; if that book is worn and faded, or the pages water damaged and bloated, it will take a back seat to the shiny new copy next to it – regardless of it’s contents.

Hawt.

At the other end of the spectrum, overly slim people also cop shit for the way they present physically. I have on more than one occasion been compared to a ‘broomstick’ or been told to ‘eat a hamburger’. If you’re one of the judgemental cocks out there, stop it. Stop telling your girlfriend she needs to lose the jelly belly she has gained since you began dating, or leave her – you clearly want all the wrong things. Stop telling your tubby younger brother the creators of the wheel used him as inspiration, he can only be told so many times he looks like mans first invention before he starts to believe it.

PARENTS: let your child be a fucking child and eat that packet of lollies and for crying out loud it is NOT OKAY to stick them on a diet or workout regime, and it is SO NOT OKAY to comment on a young persons weight unless they are at a BMI that poses a risk to their well being.  To the media I say, die in a fire. I find it hilarious to see an image of Britney on FAMOUS with text implying she is at a dangerously low weight, and then next to it New Idea saying she’s morbidly obese.

Generally, one knows if one has a weight issue, whether too thin or too fat. Additional commentary by you is almost never required and always damaging. Stop and think.

Stop. And. Think.

uTorrent, iTorrent

Oh how I love to reminisce about the days of youth. Times where myself and few good friends would make that trek – be it by foot, scooter or bicycle, up to my local Video Ezy to hire that shiny new outing of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles only to discover the unpleasant shock of a shelf displaying the dreaded ‘Sorry, I’m out!’ signs slapped on every copy. Or the rush of anticipation that comes from lining up for hours to be one of the first to witness the next abomination iteration of Star Wars…to then be subsequently ushered from the queue minutes before curtain call due to an (ohgodno) scantily clad Twi’lek having a hypoglycemic meltdown on an unsuspecting cos-playing companion.

These horror stories are all too common; it’s for this reason, as well as the Internet making us all incredibly fucking lazy – that more and more of us have been led astray by The Pirate Bay. What’s that? A movie that has been out in the States for so long it’s already circulating on DVD has FINALLY hit our shores? Oh fucking excellent, please take my ca$h, take it all!

Example of a stupid person.

This is how a stupid person would react to this all too common occurrence. But no Internet, we are not stupid are we? We want our Gossip Girl right fucking now, thank you (AND IN 720P!!!). We will not pay for glorified flash games, no Siree! We are l33t haxxorz, and we are behind TWELVE PROXIES.

As you can tell by my bipolar ramblings, I’m pretty much on the fence about the whole piracy issue. I’m the first to put my hand up for the super duper advanced copy of Wolverine, but I know at the same time I’m doing nothing to support the industry. Therefore I should quit bitching about lack of original and new titles if I refuse to cease compulsively downloading (sans payment) any and all forms of media. I fear if I continue down the path of piracy, I will eventually become my own worst nightmare – a basement dwelling neckbeard; bloodshot eyes firmly fixated on his multiple terabytes of titillating hentai doomed to an eternity of consuming Cheetos and Coke Zero (Max taste). If you allow the Internet to consume you, make no hesitation, it will do just that.

A typical neckbeard dwelling.

Pull yourself away from the inviting glow of your 22 inch, hi-definition computer monitor and remember – friends aren’t exclusive to Facebook and entertainment can be found outside your Vitamin D deprived surroundings. Not that I would know..

…

……BRB.

Sense and Senility

I’m sure many of you have been in this situation. Being introduced to a friend or loved one’s new arm-candy, only to turn your back and make a passing comment at the shockingly obvious age gap between the couple. These arrangements are almost always initially met with disapproval by the third party; especially if the one they care about is fifteen, and head over heels into a man boy who is considered in the laws eyes as no longer a minor. Granted, the man boy in question is *only* nineteen, but that doesn’t ease the side of me that is curious as to his (ulterior) motives behind his decision to pursue a much younger girl. It led me to thinking, am I basing my apprehensions on my own legitimate concerns for the girl – or is this ‘concern’ merely a result of being raised with a specific set of ideals?

Times have changed; it’s no longer customary for couples to be within a few years of one another. There is enough evidence to support this claim walking around my own suburb – old retirees with their money hungry, much younger, overly botoxed lady-friends in tow eagerly awaiting the day their spouse kicks the bucket and they can splash out on that new boat they probably won’t ever use. So when I see a loved up twosome, one of which is legally able to consume alcohol and the other… still can’t get their licence I don’t immediately think the worst – rather how incredible it is to witness a true love story in the making. I was once in a similar situation to this girl; seventeen and wanting to find true love. A level of intimacy and compassion I know I could never achieve by cruising for that special someone amongst the ultra immature (and hygiene deficient) schoolyard fodder. 

Dating Up™ is not a choice suited to everyone, however. Not every pre-pubescent teen is developed sufficiently to a level that is prepared physically, sexually and mentally to deal with the more complex emotions that arise when becoming involved with an older companion. It takes an individual with a certain level of confidence, self-awareness and MATURITY to create that connection. There are also legal ramifications to consider; what is and what isn’t off limits until the girl/boy comes of age – where do we cross the line, assuming that line can be adhered to? The sensibilities of those involved can begin to diminish (rapidly) as the chemistry between them becomes more and more intoxicating, and slip ups will no doubt be an unavoidable occurrence.

So next time you see a teenage girl bumbling down the road and you wonder why she deems is necessary to grope her older brother in such a way, kick your judgements and your old school skool ways of thinking to the kerb- and appreciate the fact that at least he isn’t picking his nose.

Which one of these is not (a decade older) than the other?

Poperazzi Princess

You say I’m crazy? I got your crazy…

A pop star at the mall is an eternal cause for happiness, especially on a Sunday afternoon in the Valley. One moment, shoppers in the Westfield Topanga mall are living in the real world, monotonously selecting a new shade of eye shadow or rubbing perfume on wrists, but upon the rapture of Britney Spears, they are giggling, laughing, orgasmic, already sharing their secret on cell phones. “Her legs are actually really skinny,” an adolescent whispers into her Sidekick, as Britney beelines for the Betsey Johnson boutique, pseudo-punk designer of evening dresses and splashy heels worn to suburban high school proms. In person, Britney is shockingly beautiful — clear skin, ruby lips, a perfectly proportioned twenty-six-year-old porcelain doll with a nasty weave. She cuts through the crowd swiftly, the way she used to when 20,000 adoring fans mobbed her outside a concert, with her paparazzi boyfriend, Adnan Ghalib, trailing behind.

Only a few kids are in the store, a young girl with her brother and two blondes checking out fake-gold charm bracelets. Britney rifles the racks as the Cure’s “Pictures of You” blasts into the airless pink boutique, grabbing a pink lace dress, a few tight black numbers and a frilly red crop top, the kind of shirt that Britney used to wear all the time at seventeen but isn’t really appropriate for anyone over that age. Then she ducks into the dressing room with Ghalib. He emerges with her black Am Ex.

The card won’t go through, but they keep trying it.

“Please,” begs Ghalib, “get this done quickly.”

One of the girls runs to Britney’s dressing room, explaining the situation through a pink gauze curtain.

A wail emerges from the cubby — guttural, vile, the kind of base animalistic shriek only heard at a family member’s deathbed. “Fuck these bitches,” screams Britney, each word ringing out between sobs. “These idiots can’t do anything right!”

Ghalib dashes over to console her, but she’s already spitting, growling, throwing a big bottle of soda on the floor so that it begins to spill underneath the curtain, and then she’s got a box of tissues and is throwing them on top of the wet floor along with piles of discarded merchandise. A new card finally goes through, but by then Britney is out the door, leaving her shirt on the ground and replacing it with the red top. “Fuck you, fuck people, fuck, fuck, fuck,” she keeps screaming, her face splotchy and red as she crosses the interminable mall floor, the crowd behind her growing larger and larger. “Leave us alone!” yells Ghalib.

The siblings run after Britney to get a video to put up on YouTube, and some of the shopgirls run after her to hand off the merchandise she left behind, and there’s an entire bridal party wearing yellow T-shirts who have pulled out camera phones too. A crush of managers in black shirts and gold name tags try to keep the peace, but the crowd running after Britney gets larger, and now the shopgirls have started to catch up to her, one of them slipping spectacularly in her platform shoes, grazing her elbow. She pulls herself up, mustering the strength to tap Britney’s shoulder. “Um, I’m from the South too,” she mumbles, “and I was wondering if I could get a picture with you for my little sister.”

Britney turns to Ghalib and grabs his arm. “I don’t want her talking to me!” she screams. She whirls around and stares the girl deep in the eyes, her lips almost vibrating with anger. “I don’t know who you think I am, bitch,” she snarls, “but I’m not that person.”

-Article courtesy of Rolling Stones.

Drawn to Life

Gone are the days of traditional, hand drawn Disney films that oozed old school charm and memorable characters. Post 2000′s has seen animation take on the seemingly popular CGI animation route.

Besides a few notable CGI mainstream releases (Finding Nemo, Shrek), western animation has been left a little worse for wear. It’s for this reason I recently turned to the often forgotten but far from inferior genre of Japanese anime; specifically the works of acclaimed filmmaker and Academy Award winner Hayao Miyazaki, the creative genius behind many of Japan’s most internationally successful animated films. So successful in fact, A-list Hollywood actors such as Batman’s Christian Bale and up and comer Dakota Fanning have been brought on board to dub his films for the English audience.

I’ve chosen to review one of Miyazaki’s more recent and in my opinion, one of his best entries, Howl’s Moving Castle. Howl’s, originally a novel by children’s author Dyanna Wynne Jones, tells the story of Sophie, a young milliner who finds herself in an unfortunate situation when she angers the Witch of the Waste who turns her into an elderly woman – which also prevents Sophie from being able to tell anyone that she has been cursed. Sophie sets off in search of the mysterious Howl, a wizard feared by many for his ominous moving castle. So begins another classic Miyazaki tale of fantasy, adventure and self-discovery. A formula he manages to keep fresh and intriguing time and time again.

Howl's Moving Castle

This is by far Miyazakis most ‘Hollywoodised’ film; in saying this however it is by no means a strike against Howl’s. An audience that has become accustomed to the generic onslaught of animated garbage that without fail manages to find its way to the local cinema – every school holiday – could quite easily sit down and watch this film and appreciate it’s many cleverly crafted and detailed touches, young or old. I feel it is also important to mention Miyazaki uses and is an avid supporter of hand drawn animation. He has been quoted as saying ‘”hand drawing on paper is the fundamental of animation.” I firmly believe this myself; any and all charm and personality is lost on a CGI film, at least until filmmakers begin utilizing the technology to create more than just a set of plastic moving objects.

On a related note it will be interesting to see how Disney’s upcoming CGI film Rapunzel looks upon completion. It will be the first animated film to incorporate the CGI technology and the very new ‘non-photorealistic rendering’ technique. This technique will allow animators to create a more ‘hand drawn’ experience and hopefully bring Disney films back to basics.

Out with the new, in with the old!

Concept art for the upcoming Disney film Rapunzel, using non-photorealistic rendering.