Dr. King's dream: how far away is it?

DISCLAIMER: Indigenous Australian readers are warned this article contains the name of a deceased person.

I understand the risks of getting on one's soapbox publicly. You can offend, or seem pretentious or preachy. And as a white male I really don't even presume to know what it's like to be on the receiving end of racism. And you can call this an expression of white guilt or whatever, but it's much deeper. These issues are genuinely important to me, and since every race represents a different colour but the same species, aren't we all, at least to some extent, people of colour?

We all know the footage: Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. delivering his "I Have a Dream" speech at the Lincoln Memorial in 1963. Then in 2008, Barack Obama was elected America's first (half-)black President. I remember seeing a news interview from shortly after with an African American woman who said something like "Martin Luther King had a dream, and Obama's livin' the dream!" But as is abundantly clear and sad, his fellow African Americans collectively are not. From the numerous killings of Black Americans by police to the church massacre in Charleston, South Carolina and even the alleged "whitewashing" of the last two Academy Awards shows, to my mind it just seems endless. But just because something like this SEEMS endless doesn't mean we all can't be able to say we tried to end it. Because Black lives DO matter.

This is comparable with the race relations situation in my own country, Australia. Here, for decades now the life expectancy average for Indigenous Australians is something like 20 years lower than that of non-Indigenous Australians. That's mainly due to the foreign diseases, alcohol and other harmful substances they were exposed to following European settlement from 1788 onwards. Then came Indigenous (and Pacific Islander) slavery, dispossession and the Stolen Generations, and our Indigenous peoples in fact were not even classed as Australian citizens until the successful 1967 referendum. Two years prior, Indigenous activist Charles Perkins, taking inspiration from the African American Civil Rights Movement, staged a Freedom Rides through New South Wales, in protest against white discrimination of Aborigines. And thankfully, that worked. But now, in 2016, and even after two landmarks in the 1993 Native Title Act and the 2008 parliamentary apology to the Stolen Generations, the road to full reconciliation, based on not guilt and recrimination but mutual understanding and respect, stretches on. None of must stop until we reach the end.

In Year 4, I made very close friends with an Aboriginal boy named Alex. We're great mates to this day, and now I realise, since he was Indigenous and I autistic, we were bound to click immediately, as we were both outsiders (and I've since formed numerous other such friendships). Maybe that friendship is the nexus point of my feelings on this issue. And I'm sincerely angry when I see racism in the street, or hear of it in the news, and even writing this has made that resurface. But I think we must all try to remain hopeful (I guess against hope), because if we give up, hate has won. As the incomparable Stevie Wonder said (not sang but said) in Happy Birthday, his tribute to Dr. King: "We know the key to unity of all people/Is in the dream that you had so long ago/That lives in the hearts of all people/That believe in unity/We'll make the dream become a reality/I know we will/ Because our hearts tell us so."

From Don Dale to Sagamihara (reader discretion is advised).

This morning I woke, as I hope of Australia woke, to be sickened and outraged over two reprehensible stories. I'd planned to make this entry about another current issue but my feelings from this morning have compelled me to put that entry on the backburner temporarily.

First, the uncovering of widespread, brutal abuse of juvenile prisoners at the Don Dale Youth Correctional Facility in the Northern Territory, on the ABC's Four Corners last night. It has reportedly been happening since at least 2010, and it has included boys (from various backgrounds) being thrown across rooms, teargassed, stripped naked and then beaten, and literally tied down into tight contraptions so they can't self-harm (a problem for which I can think of one pretty simple solution: treat them humanely). I don't care what these kids may have done to land in there; that is child abuse and corruption at their most extreme. Plus, corrections staff and their bigwigs are meant to help prisoners achieve rehabilitation and particularly when dealing with juvenile offenders, they are there to set a mature, ethical example for them. But when you subject them to treatment like – which, were they animals, would rightfully also have people up in arms – how the fuck can you possibly achieve either of those outcomes?

I heard during ABC News last night about this Four Corners report, but due to a scheduling conflict last night I had to watch the encore this morning. It legitimately left me feeling physically sick, and I hope the whole Four Corners win the Logie AND Walkley Awards for it. And I'm pleased the Northern Territory Corrections Minister John Elferink has just been sacked for the cover-up, but Malcolm Turnbull launching a royal commission into the whole mess? Well, not to be ungrateful but for me that is a classic case of too little, too late.

Second, the stabbing massacre at a disability centre in Sagamihara, Japan overnight. This of course follows the shooting in the US of Charles Kinsey, a Black disability worker as he tried to protect his autistic patient (and I'm not ignoring the racial element in that tragedy either). Having Asperger's syndrome, how could this one not hit home for me? At this writing there are 19 dead and 45 injured, and the perpretrator was a former employee who reportedly stated a desire to murder disabled people, and he perhaps had an axe to grind with some of his former colleagues also. Now, my heart fully goes out to all the victims and injured and their loved ones, but (and I know this statement may alienate some) many of the disabled physically cannot protect themselves. I'm really not saying being merely neurologically disabled makes me better or stronger (it doesn't); I'm just emphasizing this point because I feel I can't be subtle here. I'm proud to have a disability, but even with the geographical distance et cetera, this massacre has proven very sobering and anger-inducing for me. May all the victims rest in peace, or in the case of the Don Dale scandal find happiness and closure, and in both cases may the perpretrators rot in prison for life.

I realise how disparate these two stories are, and I should stress whenever I write about such topics I am not doing it for personal gain. But as I'm sure you can tell, both have filled me with such rage and fear that I struggle to find the words. Let us all hope we can unite to find even more: the answers.

My own recipe: the steak and pasta pie!

Because I'm a food lover.

250g diced chuck steak
1 cup mixed pasta
100g pasta sauce (any flavour)
4 cloves garlic, grated
1 cup grated cheese
2 sheets short pastry
Oil

1. In a heated saucepan with oil, cook the steak until browned thoroughly. Meanwhile, cook the pasta as usual.
2. When they're both done, combine the meat and pasta in the pan, add garlic and pasta sauce and mix until infused.
3. Into a greased pie dish, lay the bottom pastry sheet and then add filling, with half the cheese on top, and cut excess pastry off.
4. Lay the top sheet, cut excess off again and now combine it all on top in whatever design you like (I like to make it into a standing twisted block, personally).
5. Cover with remaining cheese.
6. Bake in a preheated moderate oven for 30 minutes, and then let stand for 5 minutes before tucking in.

Bon appetite!

A tale of a family in a Galaxy far, far away...

I'm going to assume you wouldn't even be at least a casual fan had you not clicked on an article with such a title (and correct me if I'm wrong there), but nonetheless I'm warning everybody: my nerdiness/Asperger's is about to go into overdrive (or, rather, hyperdrive), though I'm not even remotely ashamed of either of those characteristics. Star Wars is many things: a cultural phenomenon, a monomyth (to quote Joseph Campbell), a merchandise brand, an Internet meme-inspirer. But there's one angle to it that I don't think has ever been directly explored: it's a family saga.

I'm going to run through it chronologically, rather than follow the films' release order; I think that will make this more coherent. It starts with Shmi Skywalker, who as a young girl was sold into slavery on the desert planet Tatooine after she was orphaned. Years later, a virgin birth resulted in her son Anakin, an intuitive and very talented boy who longs for a life in the stars and has that wish granted when he meets Jedi Knights Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi and the disguised Queen Padme Amidala of Naboo. As he reaches adulthood, Anakin grows rather arrogant and headstrong, falling in love clandestinely with Padme, before marrying and finally inadvertently murdering her after he has converted to the Dark Side of the Force. She tragically dies while giving birth to their twins, Luke and Leia.

And now, of course, we're into the classic trilogy. Luke and Leia have grown up on opposite sides of the Galaxy; he as a Tatooine farm boy with his adoptive Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru, she as the adopted daughter of Senator Bail Organa of Alderaan. They have been separated for their mutual safety, but after Luke intercepts a message Leia records for Obi-Wan Kenobi in the memory of R2-D2, one of the Droids he acquires, they are about to be reunited - but not as brother and sister, they realise, for two more movies. Meanwhile, let's face it, for now there's sexual tension between them (until Leia thankfully falls for Han Solo), and their father, now known as Darth Vader, cements his place as one of the worst cinematic dads ever, before, by killing his Emperor Palpatine, he redeems himself and acquires his son's love and sympathy.

And now, 32 years later, the Force has awakened (pun intended) with the rise of the First Order. Its leader, Kylo Ren, is Leia and Han's son, but he is bent on filling Granddaddy Darth's evil boots. Then there's the new heroine, desert scavenger Rey, whose own connection to the classic trilogy I'm convinced of, but I don't think I should reveal here quite yet. I hate having movies spoiled for me anyway.

Even when it's lush with far more planets, species and languages than our own, in a Galaxy far, far away, family is always family.

Re-take? No! ReMAKE!

For decades now, you haven't needed to be a movie buff like me to know Hollywood's originality pool is often totally barren. A studio makes one film with an original concept which succeeds commercially and then, whatever its critical reception, they milk it for all its worth. Now, I guess I should admit I won't mind if some franchises and brands never wane (hello, Star Wars and Disney, most of all), but taking a broad view of modern cinema even as an outsider, and one who finds himself very often hungry for a fresh and provocative moviegoing experience, there are some that I now want to drive a stake right through.

The two main ones are Pirates of the Caribbean and X-Men. Now, I actually loved all of the first three Pirates films, even At World's End which was widely criticised as bloated. On Stranger Tides, however, was an utterly humourless, derivative mess, to put it kindly. After that, when the fifth film was announced along with it being filmed in Queensland (that's my home state in Australia, for those who don't know), I had very mixed feelings about that second announcement; that's really how unbearable I found On Stranger Tides. Then we had the whole scandal with Johnny Depp bringing his dogs into Australia for the shoot without quaranting them, which the media and government stretched out like a tape measure, so that clearly helped to excite me for the movie. And in the case of X-Men, the first two were both so good not just because they had well-staged and clever action scenes, they were very sincere allegories for bigotry and fear of the unknown. Ever since the franchise to me has been an endless charade of superficiality, predictability and unintentional ridiculousness. And now we have an upcoming remake of The Magnificent Seven, which itself was a remake of Kurosawa's Seven Samurai. That must be a new personal best, Hollywood!

But now, the remake obsession isn't just at the movies. It's now in television also. In a sense I should probably be more open-minded about remakes here overall because my favourite (current) show is Homeland, which was based on the Israeli series Prisoners of War, and I also like Teen Wolf. Not to mention, TV remakes aren't really that new (what was that Korean War sitcom based on a Robert Altman film? I believe its title was also a cooking term?) But come on: in recent years we've seen new versions of Hawaii Five-O, Charlie's Angels, Beverly Hills, 90210 and Upstairs, Downstairs among them all. (That said, I'd still sooner watch any of those remakes than any “reality” TV show.) I don't agree with those who call TV the idiot box, but something tells me at this rate, before long it sure won't be the originality box.

My taste and opinions are solely mine, and you can do with them whatever you please. And I acknowledge in some cases, remakes, sequels or even retreads have improved on the original. But, dear entertainment industry, the bottom line is: without an original, you can never have any of the above.

A very timely poem.

Tomorrow is my birthday, and I have just one wish:
That we all stop the violence and hate, and share a special dish.
While we pray for France tonight as we fall asleep in bed,
We all must band together so no more blood is shed.

Terrorism and war may seem inevitable now,
But we can be much better, and combined we will prove how.
Whatever your neighbour's background, their religion or their quirks,
Show them love and solidarity,
Because humanity and peace still work.

Me and my last-born, man-boy mentality...

Last night, watching the State of Origin at my local pub felt rather strange. Maybe that was due to the game itself, as the Blues won, but I was quite a bit more introverted than usual in such contexts.

I'm a youngest child, and therefore I must admit I really love the limelight much of the time. But not all. As an adult (though regarding myself that's a loose term), I've grown quite ambiverted. I love socialising, particularly in entertainment places and restaurants et cetera, and that's a very healthy part of life, but time after time, however many others are present, before too long that overwhelmed last-born mentality bubbles back up, and I just have to escape for a bit (politely excusing myself, though, of course). Last night, I didn't actually know anybody there (which usually doesn't matter anyway), but then as this happened I even got slightly short of breath, which I hope is not a sign of things to come. That mentality, or it resurfacing is nobody's fault, but I wonder: are those feelings congenital, or just ones whose developments creep up on you?

When you're the youngest (at least in my experience), you have to really fight to be noticed, to be taken seriously, because you're immediately thrust into an already full house, whether you were planned or not (and JFTR I'm pretty sure I was). You're stuffed in there, trying hard to carve your own niche out into the family dynamic, and meanwhile you have however many bigger and stronger siblings to compete with, and naturally your parents also have adult issues preoccupying them. I swear, being the youngest is very overrated.

But as I said, my feelings here are really nobody's fault, and I do love all my family, even though we still drive each other mental often. They're the bedrock of my existence. The frustrating thing for me about that, though, is my position in the dynamic. So, if you have any younger siblings, however they usually behave, try to be patient and sympathetic with them if you're not already, and above all remember this: they asked to be born no more than you did.

Inspiration... where do you come from?

(Written on 10/07)

I don't know exactly what to write about today, but I feel I should still put pen to paper. Why does anybody really do anything anyway? I'm on a bus currently, in a calm, contemplative mood, and I genuinely like writing, particularly in contexts like this. You can do it any time, anywhere. And come to think of it, I sense many famous writers didn't know what to write about when they began writing any one of their works. Filmmaker Federico Fellini turned his struggles to bring one of his projects to life into his most famous movie, 8 1/2 (not that I've seen any of them, though).

But maybe sometimes you don't need a specific subject or idea in order to be creative and/or successful. What if the piece ITSELF became the subject or idea, after the fact? And if you do intend all along, consciously, to convey a message or push buttons, could this just feel forced or make it vulnerable to over-analysis? I really don't know. But I'm not sure I want to either. I'm sure most other creative types would echo my sentiment that I feel I don't have to explain my work to anyone. It should be self-explanatory, and everybody having their own reactions to and interpretations of it is simply a fair entitlement for all.

Spielberg the Sensational!

During an interview on the set of one of her last films, Joan Crawford pointed the director out to the journalist and said: "Go and interview that boy. He is going to be the biggest director of all time!" And she was right. "That boy" was Steven Spielberg.

Since 20 June 1975, when Jaws was released and became the first movie to gross $100 million at the US box office, Steven Spielberg has become a genre and a phenomenon unto himself. Not since Hitchcock or Walt Disney has any filmmaker brought us so many scenes or images that have branded themselves into our collective consciousness: a giant rolling boulder, a brachiosaurus leaping to eat a tree branch, a girl in a red coat walking through the Warsaw Ghetto, Roy Scheider leaping from his beach chair after seeing a shark attack, and, of course, a bike flying past the moon, to name but a few. All of those were destined from the start to become iconic.

But Steven is a genuine artist; he was never in it for the money or esteem. Whether you like his style or not, his passion for and faith in the medium itself is unmistakable. I feel I can confidently say this because when I've watched films from directors whose styles I dislike, I really still have sensed their love for the art-form (and if they didn't love it, why would they be working in it anyway?). And while initially he may not seem to have a distinctive directorial style, that's not quite true. As opposed to more overtly visual directors like Burton or Luhrmann, you just have to look deeper into a Spielberg film to find the visual (or auditory) uniqueness. A common motif he uses is light and its sources (for instance the candle-lighting scenes in Schindler's List, Celie reading under the sun in The Color Purple, the lamp scene in Saving Private Ryan and, of course, E.T.'s finger), and on the soundtrack he often punctuates scenes of violence or tension with random music from one of the characters (see the Ghetto apartment block raid in Schindler's List, intercut with pianistry). And of course there's the backward dolly zoom in action scenes, first used in Jaws.

But his recurring themes are what you can most recognise a Spielberg movie through: loneliness, family conflict, war, coming of age, intolerance, adventure. I consider him for these reasons a very Dickensian storyteller, but he still takes all these themes and tropes and makes them his own. And though I can understand how many people find his work cloying or manipulative, he delivers sentiment with such sincerity and charisma that in most cases I can never help but find it utterly enchanting.

And now he has (perhaps inevitably) joined forces with Disney to bring Roald Dahl's The B.F.G. to the screen, and it is just marvellous. He has brought to life this very meaningful tale of two outcasts - an orphaned little girl and the Big Friendly Giant - who, despite initial conflict, take a journey that changes them both. Steven's usual collaborators, editor Michael Kahn, cinematographer Janusz Kaminski and of course the greatest film composer there ever was, John Williams, have yet again all served him superbly. But most fittingly, his late E.T. collaborator (and former Mrs. Harrison Ford) Melissa Mathison wrote a beautiful screenplay. It could be his best film this decade (although I also loved Bridge of Spies and particularly War Horse).

All great directors have made at least one stinker. For me Spielberg's is Hook, and for that matter Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade should've been just that. And there are five of his movies I still haven't seen: Duel, 1979, The Twilight Zone: The Movie, Always and Amistad. But we should stop holding celebrities to a higher standard than everybody else, and Steven has delivered enough silver screen magic to cover ten decent directors. Love or hate Steven Spielberg, his legend is undeniable. And I'm sorry, but I had to close this way: he is a one-man DreamWorks.

Australia: Land of the Hung Parliament!

Would you look at what happened last Saturday night? Australia spent millions on election advertising (which also carries and environmental cost), strategy and initiative, not to mention average citizens having to tolerate their TV shows and letterboxes being swamped with all of that shit, only for Australia to get her second hung parliament in six years. It's hard to imagine nobody wanting to slap a few XXXX Golds down over that...

Now, if you must know I'm a Labor man overall, though I've really never agreed with all of their policies either. And I've voted ever since I was old enough. But ignoring all the issues themselves for a second, as a keen follower of politics, I believe this election results' nexus point is a lack of uniqueness among the key players, personally and ideologically. Firstly, the leaders' debate was widely condemned as a snoozefest, and I must agree. From where I was watching it was simply an hour of tired rhetoric from both Turnbull and Shorten. Then, during the campaign, they both repeatedly gave what felt like rather rehearsed answers during interview. How gullible do they think we are? Even Richard Di Natale to me played it too safe, and then there's Julie Bishop, who could be Australia's most aloof politician in recent memory. Browse our political history, from all sides, and the names most prominent are usually because their owners, for good or bad, stood out from the crowd: Curtin, Hawke, Dunstan, Bonner, Hanson, even Menzies. Whether consciously or not, they were unmistakable individuals. That individuality, personally and ideologically, is sorely lacking in Australian politics in 2016.

But so is sincerity behind the spin. Our leaders must stop making dishonest, sugarcoated promises, whether during or between elections, which they think their constituents will trust them to keep. This time of course it was the proposed same-sex marriage plebiscite, which, even if successful, will still have to pass through both Houses, and we all know that would be a piece of cake for it. I'm not angry at Australia for this result, either; I actually had a feeling it would unfold rather like this. I just really hope all the key players learn from it. And I am concerned about Bob Katter now siding with Turnbull, and Pauline Hanson succeeding in her parliamentary comeback. It speaks volumes about those two when you consider they're so right-wing even the Tories don't want to know them.

But what was the decisive factor? Was it the Brexit? Immigration? Marriage equality? The economy? I'd say all of those may have tipped the scales toward this result, and for numerous reasons they are all significant. But if we don't find a way of achieving or managing them all, I'd say we will just keep reaching this election result.

How personal is TOO personal?

Yesterday, I drafted a post for here about something earlier this week that put quite a few things into perspective for me, but upon finishing it I realised I just couldn't share it with the world. It was too emotional for me and too indiscreet for everybody else involved. I've also made social media past previously which have landed me in hot water, professionally and personally, and maybe my memories of those influenced that realisation also. I won't describe those past incidents for obvious reasons (and I also don't want to bore you). Instead, I think I'll just give my answers to the question in this post's title.

Social media can track people's trajectories, private and public. Within that it's a useful, if often very dangerous, platform for expressing ourselves, if we're having health or family problems et cetera. It takes serious balls often to reveal such information even in in-person discussion, much less online. But were you enduring something that serious and you were active on social media, I think the time would come, whenever it did, for you to take the plunge. Life demands risk-taking sometimes, and by posting about your own issues you would be raising awareness about them for everybody's benefit, and once something is posted online, it's there in some form basically forever. But that said, I certainly do not condone nosiness or stalking.

When it involves your family or friends, I guess that's something I should let you all decide as to whether it should be publicised or not and if so, how. But to my mind, if it involves something they have done, you should consult them first, not use their real name(s), or best of all, try to have a heart-to-heart with them in person. However, I should confess on Facebook last year, on a page for an event we were both attending I posted to explicitly ask a friend if she could bring a DVD of mine which she'd "borrowed" over a year earlier. A few minutes later I got a private message in which she went right off at me, somewhat understandably, but as I told her then, when I lend things to people and don't get them back, I get very impatient, and I asked her as nicely as possible about it. Thankfully, though, it ended there, she finally brought me the DVD back on the night, and we're still friends.

But I digress. I'm not here to indoctrinate or lecture. I just don't want you to make any of the mistakes I've made online. They all cost me a lot, and educational though they have been, there is a darker side to that silver lining.