Ours is a gluttonous existence and the notion of moderation is routinely met with a defiant retort.  Even more alarming is that this overkill consumption is not being taken seriously by Government at policy level.  Our leaders may be facing an economic and vote buying frenzy but over-consumption is a “major” contributing factor toward climate change and it’s this bloating indulgence that’s leading us down the path of self destruction. 

At World Youth Day the Pope gave us a tongue-lashing and our holier than thou Carbon Trading Scheme simply isn’t addressing the issue.  Economic analysts have forecast that once the scheme is implemented, domestic demand for energy will remain static.  This week, one economist declared “Our research has found people will prefer to pay more rather than reduce their power use….any carbon saving will be driven by greener technology rather than a change in consumer behaviour.”  I asked him if he could bring to mind one single policy supporting reduced consumption — he’s still at his desk peering cross-eyed into space.

These outrageous consuming patterns have the big end of town rubbing their grubby hands together with glee.  Executives and corporate investors clearly recognise these destructive trends but rather than fostering environments that drive change for the benefit of us and the planet, they ruthlessly plunder the many emerging gold mines of greed. 

Advertisers exploit our insecurities, create false needs and amplify dissatisfaction leading to further consumption and it’s our children who are most vulnerable.  Marketers recognise that brand loyalties and consumer habits, formed when children are young and impressionable, will be carried through to adulthood.  From birth they’re groomed for consumption.  Mike Searles, one time president of Kids`R’Us, spouted “If you own this child at an early age… you can own this child for years to come.” 

Shopping trolleys were the original stroke of marketing genius — placing an infant at arms length of big brands.  Now, TV cross-promotion has become more sophisticated with an endless supply of merchandising opportunities and the internet is exploited as the driver of kiddie culture.  Whilst continuing to exhaust the pre-schooler and “Tween” markets, executives are now zooming in on the “Diaper Demographic”.  Scientists recently found that babies as young as 6 months have an emerging level of brand recognition.  The same study confirmed that a baby stares downward concentrating on his or her dribble for up to half an hour.  Like moths to a flame, advertisers have pounced on this air-time and now insidiously promote brands on bibs and the crotch of nappies.  Spin doctors call it “future profits” and it’s a dawn til dusk sales pitch in nurseries right across the world.

Investment banks are also in line for the gorging bonanza.  “Green” is becoming the new “Gold” and obesity is creating a rich investment bounty of its own.  Banks are creating global “think tanks”, strategically positioning themselves to take advantage of the fight against flab.  Pharmaceutical companies are at the top of the food-chain.  Diabetes and cholesterol medications are on the rise and so are company profits.  Medical equipment and technology companies are expected to boom as are healthcare services offering preventative care.  Plus-size retailers are expanding and fast food franchises are creating new profit streams by offering healthier options — and just so long as consumers can super size their salad sandwich with a giant diet coke and a slice of sustainable cake, they’ll still feel they can have it all and eat it too.

The puppeteers are pulling the strings but it’s us, the puppets, who happily dance to their jingles.  It’s “our” behaviour and “our” choices that are creating this destructive environment.  Not unlike obesity, “affluenza” is a disease.  We must swiftly reduce our consumption levels and stop sucking the life out of our earth or it will rapidly wither, taking with it any lingering “natural” beauty.  Bankers, multinationals and governments aren’t helping.  They should.  It’s their world too but it’s only through the evolution of “our” behaviour — and in turn, “their” economic reaction to our behaviour — that will help shape the environment we’re chasing our enormous tails to save.

I remember a warm April Saturday, my sister’s 16^th birthday party.  My best friend and I were 10 at the time and barricaded inside our TV room by a 3 foot pile of 10 year old knitting magazines.  Tina, a freckle covered strawberry blonde, had bravely managed to whisk a goon of cheap wine away from the teens in a rare moment of distraction.  We had taken it hostage.  Our terms were simple. $5 of mixed lollies – no liquorice allsorts – delivered in an unmarked brown paper bag at 2.12pm.

Our terms were met.  But we were mini vigilantes, our very own “A-Team”, and what they didn’t realise was that we’d executed the mission, not driven by sweets (you’ve got to try these things!) but our genuine concern for the law.  You can’t imagine the teenage fury that erupted when they found out we’d already poured the offending substance down the laundry sink.  Oh yes!  A-Team 1 – Lawbreakers nil!

This strong idea of social justice was a direct result of school visits by the men in blue throughout our primary years.  Sergeant plod would come every couple of months with one or two fresh faced rookies dressed in their crisp uniforms complete with guns.  Fielding obligatory questions about how many bad guys they’d shot, they’d impress upon our young minds the importance of “Stranger Danger” and “Household Hazards”.  This followed up a few months later with a lively lesson in the playground on “Road Safety” featuring battered cardboard box cars and a visit from the lollypop lady. 

To add to our expanding knowledge of safety, law and order were visits from handsome Firemen (theirs was my favourite uniform….still is!).  With the help good ol’ corporate cross promotion, I still find myself reciting their little ditty whenever I see “Grimace” and “The Hamburgler”.  I just know one day I’m going to be stuck in a smoke filled fast food restaurant with deep fryers ablaze, confidently leading fellow customers to safety with my keen pre-prepared observation of the nearest fire exit, crawling on all fours and yelling “Get down low and GO, GO, GO”.

The point is, would kids be so hell-bent to test the patience of these fine upstanding men and women if in fact they themselves had a fundamental respect for them just as we had when we were young.  Okay, things were a little different then.  Our officers of the law had a bit more room to move.  Police had the time to humour parents who dragged their kids up to the cop shop to show them where they’d end up if they kept smoking stogies under the house.  I still shudder when I think of that grim concrete 3 by 2 metre cell.  The door was slammed shut (for added effect) as I sat on the small rock hard bed looking intensely at the cold metal dunny thinking “there’s no way on God’s green earth I can sit on that thing without a toilet seat!”.  My sister, the real offender clearly beyond redemption, stood outside the bars, pulled faces and pretended to blow love hearts at me from her imaginary cigarette.

Perhaps it’s our relationship with these authority figures when we’re young and impressionable that increases the odds of us becoming law abiding citizens.  With things going pear shaped so quickly, I’m beginning to wonder if the Government has pulled funding on these programs in favour of handing each child a laptop with free broadband access.  I just can’t see “Sergeant Willy’s Safety Education” Facebook page being all that popular.  Bring back the good old days of toe tapping tunes, catch phrases and carefully integrated intimidation tactics and all will be right with the world. 

What appears to be a $5.05 discount off the RRP of $35.00 (bringing it down to $29.95) is very quickly diluted by the $4.95 postage and handling fee bringing it to a grand total of the marvellously discounted price of $34.90.  And not only that, but you get the added benefit of waiting 10 working days to receive it!

Wooohoooo! Thanks a bunch all you wonderful marketing staff at The Age.  I shall take my 10 cents and go and buy a bag of lollies (well at least 2 strawberry creams at any rate!)

The offending advertisment

Sunday marks my official day of culture.  The one day of the week that I’m permitted to drag my obliging husband around art galleries and exhibitions without the sniff of a complaint.  It’s very generous of him and I often don’t bother but this Sunday was one of those days.  I call it our ‘hot date’.  And at 39 degrees celsius, this date was ‘hot’ indeed.

In the heat of the midday sun we embark on our big day out, armed with our precious Sunday Saver ticket, on one of Melbourne’s finest and surprisingly punctual Connex trains.  It’s filled to the brim with eager shoppers, credit cards bursting from their well worn wallets, amid avid sports fans not keen to pay the arm and leg it now costs to attend, preferring instead to watch on a big screen in the cool of Crown Casino. 

Tribes of sweaty, excitable teenagers dotted randomly around the carriage appear to have picked up the habits of wild hyena. This likeness is supported by the teenagers’ propensity to roam around in loud rambunctious packs, squealing and growling as though they’re waiting for their audacious pack leader to give them the sign to strike.  They also look like they’ve picked up their grooming habits from this wild scavenger.  Heads of striped and spotted manes erectly spiked and styled with the precision of a surgeon, using more hair products than a 63 year old drag queen at Mardi Gras.  Astonishingly, these kids are mostly boys.  Extinction seems to have struck the ubiquitous Aussie bloke and turned him into to a woman.

My husband and I take our seats on the train and begin to quietly discuss very important things such as which exhibitions we plan to see, what gourmet delights we’ll be having for dinner and how to most effectively get to the NGV gallery without dying of heat exhaustion in the process.  The warm air in the carriage is sour with sweat and I fan myself continually with a decorative Japanese fan I received as a gift, ideal for this never ending Melbourne heat.  Two young men aged about 15 years old sit in front of us, facing one another, enthusiastically discussing out loud, the benefits of a particular brand of hair spray while they use it liberally to touch up their carefully constructed styles.

How do I describe these boys?  It’s clear that their preferences err on the side of the straight guy.  They chatter excitedly about the girls they plan to take to some random party next weekend.  They also appear to either have a friend who is undergoing a hairdressing apprenticeship at the Backyard School of Hairdressing or they themselves are experimental artists using DIY hair dye kits from Coles.  The latter has me staring out the window imagining one boy perched on the side of his mum’s sparkling clean ensuite bathtub, the other lad accessorised in plastic gloves and one of those see-through plastic aprons they sometimes provide amongst the relentlessly wasteful packaging. The chief stylist, looking more like Salvador Dali than Rembrandt, is ready to start his masterpiece with a hairdressers paint brush in one hand & a half used roll of tin foil in the other.  With the help of a jolting shunt from the train, this perplexing image drags me back to the reality of the steamy day now tainted with hairspray fumes.

One of these young style icon’s hair is a rich jet black with large spikes of randomly placed peroxided tips, mostly reminiscent of a dog with its tail dipped in white paint.  The other, styled much the same, except his hair is black on the bottom half of his head with a mop of muddy white on top and a long, sweeping, oil glazed fringe that hangs dramatically over one of his charcoal lined eyes.

Clearly his friend doesn’t have the heart to tell him that, because of his obsession with cheap hair dye, his black and off-white mane is now thinning to the point that he is beginning to look like an abandoned cat with a terrible case of mange.  I can vividly picture my fearless, now departed Nan tapping the poor kid on the shoulder “My dear, what in God’s name have you done to your head?  It looks like a cat’s been sucking on it!”.

Both boys wear heavy eyeliner and have dozens of intriguely placed piercings.  Hooks through the nose ensuing a horse shoe effect, eyebrows with several sleepers in each, ears stabbed with what appears to be a fluorescent pink plastic bone and God only knows what’s going on with their low riding jeans and their high riding jocks.

Now, don’t get me wrong.  I’m all for self expression and experimentation.  These kids even seemed to be rather polite and not at all verbally inept.  And I certainly don’t mind a bloke taking a bit of pride in the way he looks. But this “individuality” is cloned.  And really?  What the hell ever happened to boys that just looked like…well…boys?   I would understand if these kids were gay.  Heck, I’m all for it.  But they’re not gay.  They’re as straight as Gene Simmons on tour (possibly not the best example given his history with black & white face paint).

I can honestly say absolutely and categorically “I DO NOT UNDERSTAND this ‘guy looking like a girl’ thing”, especially as it doesn’t appear to be isolated to any one particular teenage ‘tribe’ as it was when I was young.  In Africa, locals have been known to describe wild hyenas as unpalatable, greedy hermaphrodites which could be a fairly appropriate metaphor for a good chunk of these kids. Then again, maybe I’m plain ignorant.  But I swear it’s not just me that’s noticed this happening more often. What’s more again, the teenage girls LOVE it.  I mean they REALLY, REALLY love it, which makes it even MORE bloody confusing.

Ok, I admit it! I might be banging on a bit too much like my nanna Kath, but I can’t think of anything worse…a bloke that spends more time and money doing their hair and makeup than I do.  Not in a month of Sundays!

In brief…I, am a frustrated artist.
I just don’t know what kind of artist I am! 

 I want to be an artist……This I know…….but what kind of artist? 
……….Well, there in lies the mystery! 

This blog is a vain attempt to thrash out ideas and thoughts so I can finally filter through the mush and get to the good stuff I am hoping will finally appear.

Am I a budding actor? 
Like many people, I’d love to be, but I just don’t think I can be bothered with all the competition.  I once was an actor of sorts….until my penchant for the opposite sex became apparent and then life became a drama of a different kind.

A Dancer?
Definitely not! Especially after this last weekend when I managed to dislocate my knee by doing a impromptu spin during a dinner party I was hosting. However, in the 80′s, I did perform in a Big Brother inspired number (the George Orwell kind) at a school rock eisteddfod.  Boy was that fun!?? A bunch of bad dancers, in very bad costumes trying to dance to very very bad music. Hmmm.  Not one of my finest moments…but I did manage to snog someone backstage which is always useful to break the boredom.

Perhaps a singer? 
Once again, I used to be.  Well sort of.  If you count taking up singing for the HSC and then proceeding to pretend to be a songwriter of sorts with a few ex-hippies with guitars.  “Salvador Blue”, I think we were called (I have a minor obsession with Dali which will no doubt be discussed at a later date) and I recall our most public appearance being at the Bridge Hotel on Bridge Rd in Richmond, performing at our first open mike.  I believe the comment from someone in the crowd was, “Don’t give up singing!”….which could have actually meant one of two things.  Either they really liked my unique deep, husky singing voice….or my song writing was really CRAP!!!!  I took it as the later and left in pursuit of another artistic talent.

….SURELY THERE MUST BE AT LEAST ONE! 
I REALLY, REALLY, REALLY WANT TO BE AN ARTIST!!!!!!

Could I be a painter?

Ah…well now we’re talking!  This artistic talent is certainly one I can sink my teeth into.  For the past 6 months I have been tackling this endeavour with some success.  I have painted a number of masterpieces now.  15 in fact  (see number 5 above) and with each comes a little improvement, a small amount of creative upgrade and one more gap in the wall filled.  My technique leaves a bit to be desired but overall my attitude is that “you just don’t know until you give it a crack”.  And cracking I am!  I’ll keep you posted on these developments suffice to say that my latest endeavour is inspired by a fantastic Aussie artist, Colin Parker ( I say “inspired”, because I am still working on the “original” bit of the creativity to kick in)

And finally, A writer? Well, you tell me.  I still think I am more of a painter than a writer, but I won’t let that stop me!

Here’s to having fun figuring it all out!

Let the fun begin!