The Purple Dragon Blog

4pm, September 25th, Stacie Orrico was in the Queen St Mall (Brisbane, Australia) promoting her new album. When I arrived Stacie was due to leave for a radio interview in a few minutes, and so no new people were allowed to join the line to buy an album and have it autographed. Fortunately, there were some very nice salespeople who snuck me past security and into the line. Thankyou, salespeople. 

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I tell you what, the photographs and filmclips don’t do Ms Orrico justice; she is absolutely drop-dead gorgeous, and radiates warmth and friendliness. I was the last person in the line, and she commented on this with a sunny smile. I smiled back, and as she signed my album cover I remarked that I’d heard her on Rick Dees Weekly Top 40.

“I’ve been on a couple of times,” she agreed. “It was a while back, though.” I managed to take some pics of the signing using my cameraphone, along with dozens of other people. 

So, what is the album itself like? The tracks on Beautiful Awakenings are all quite pleasant to listen to, and I would say of better quality than your average pop song, and Stacie is one of those rare people who not only has a nice voice but knows how to sing – I’m guessing she’s had formal vocal training at some point? Anyway, none of the tracks grabbed me the way Stuck and More to Life from her last album did, but all the same they were pretty good. In particular the first four tracks – So Simple, I’m not Missing You, Dream You, and Easy to Luv You – as well as the last one (Beautiful Awakenings) were worth listening to.

After blog-hopping several teacher blogs (reading one blog, checking out their blog links, and so on) after coming across the Reflective Teacher blog listed among the best blogs on wordpress, I found myself reminscing about my high-school days.

In year 8, for example, we had this kind but hopeless RE teacher. I remember, during one lesson we had one girl chasing another around the room attempting to hit her over the head with a broom (while this is going on I am happily playing my digimon and telling one of the class bitches that no, she cannot borrow it - I didn’t trust her with it  - for which she got revenge a few minutes later by telling the teacher that I had one when they weren’t allowed) and our teacher was so deep in conversation with another student that she didn’t notice until another student pointed it out.

Then there were the random acts of strangeness. I can remember seeing one girl who, not in the mood to tie her school tie, had simply looped it around her neck and stapled it together with about ten large shiny staples. Thigns like that happened all the time.

There were the hopelessly stupid ditzs, inevitable in an all-girl school, who did things like ask if Islam was a city in Iraq - during year 11 Study of Religion - or observe that they thought the polis was a disease during Ancient History. I’ll never forget in year nine, our bright-eyed, first-year-teaching science teacher started off by asking whether we thought whwther the moon was a) transparent b) translucent luminescent* c) opaque. Even after explaining what each word meant, we still ended up with slightly less than half the class convinced that the moon was transparent, the rest believing it to be translucent, while I was the onyl student who believed it to be opaque. The poor man looked as though he was goign to cry. By the end of the year he looked permanently depressed. These classes took place in the biology lab, which had a tank with a small turtle that spent all it’s life trying to dig its way through the glass, and a larger tank with two axolotls. I used to say hello to the axolotls every lesson, and the black one would swim to the surface of the water and stare at me. Once I patted it on the head, but it continued to stare at me. As for the turtle? i felt sorry for the poor thing and once picked it up and let it walk around on my desk, but was sternly order by my classmates to put it back in its tank.

When I was in year 8, students were banned from using the elevator. This was because up to twenty students would squeeze themselves in there at a time, and every lunch time there would be an elevator party, where people sat in the lift and ate junk food, pressing the buttons for other floors and pressing ‘STOP’ before it could move far so that the lift would constantly jerk up and down. I remember the elevator parties fondly.

In year 11 my English teacher was always late for class, leaving us waiting outside the locked classroom. On a couple of occasions I solved this problem by climbing in the window and unlocking the door from inside. My year 9 maths teacher was a British man with a habit of making jokes with a deadpan look so that none of the students but me worked out that he was joking, which tended to result in me laughing hysterically while my classmates tried to decide who was weirder, me or the teacher.

My year ten SOSE teacher was wonderful. I remember, when the students were let out for a drink break, fifteen minutes later when only six of us had returned she locked the door and taught those of us who were there, merely raising her voice above the noise when the other students returned and tried to burst the door in. Only twenty minutes later did she open the door, and then she gave them a vicious trimming beofre letting them in. Another time I had a toy lizard that I was throwing up in the air and catching, and she called me up so she could look at it. She then glanced at one of the girls who never stopped talking - Helen - who was in fact talkign at that moment, called “Helen!” and threw my lizard at her. Helen looked around in time to see a creepy-crawly-shaped thing flying towards her face, screamed, and leapt out of her chair, much to the amusement of the class. Our teacher recommended in a loud whisper that next time I should bring a toy spider. She had no tolerance for stupidity, and once told us that we had the “organisational skills of fleas.”

*Meant to say luminescent, don’t know why I typed anything else.

Or Stuff I Hate About Tourists.

1. They always complain about how the food doesn’t taste like it does back home.

2. They’re rude to anyone who looks as though they have less money then the American Tourist (AT) particularly if that person is a waitress or a shopkeeper.

3. Should they visit a world-renowned landmark of which the entire nation is proud, they’ll gaze at it for about 3.2 seconds before declaring that its not as good as the stuff back home.

4. They can be heard loudly announcing that Australia should be more like America, or worse, noting how much Australia already is like America and perhaps joking about how the two countries should merge, ignoring a) that Australian and American culture is quite different, and b) that there is a substantial percentage of Australians that loathe Americans with all their hearts and see them as loud obnoxious jerks who don’t know anything about anywhere outside America*.

5. Should you attempt to converse with your friends when a pair of ATs are nearby, you will be drowned out by the ATs who apparently consider it necessary to holler their entire conversation.**

6. Should there be only one AT nearby when your conversation is going on, they will feel free to lean over and object to every second thing you say, and sometimes end up on a rant where they try to convince you that They Are Right on whatever subject is being discussed. (ATs appear to do fanaticism rather well.)

7. Any ATs at Australia Zoo will repeatedly declare how disappointing it is that more Australians aren’t like Steve Irwin.

8. ATs will feel quite happy to observe, overloudly, how strange the locals are. Apparently it never occurs to them that to the locals an AT is something of an oddity themself.

*Please note, that I am not one of these people. I just wish America would stop flying all the obnoxious people here. I know that not all Americans are obnoxious. But when we hear about ATs in New Zealand asking about where the ‘bridge to Australia’ is - apparently ignorant of the thousands of kilometres between the two countries - or souvenir shops in Austria selling toy kangaroos because of the number of ATs there asking for them, well, it doesn’t really give Australians a good impression of Americans, nevermind the actual ATs we get here.

**This is a flexible scenario; ATs are willing to do this when in hotels at one o’clock in the morning when others are sleeping, in restaurants, in libraries…

Sometimes I wonder why I was so desperate for a sibling. Really, what good are they? My sister steals my bathtowel, never shuts up, and likes to regularly point out that despite my own height, she is now taller than me. On a couple of memorable occasions she even woke me by blowing a recorder in my ear. Really, I must have been mentally unbalanced to want a sister.

What’s lil sis done now? Well, a few months ago I bought an MIB Queen Amidala doll. I desperately wanted to open it, but what about the MIB factor? I compromised; lil sis lent me her digital camera so I could take unopened and half-opened photographs. There. Compromise. Lil sis promised that when she next downloaded her photos to PC I could save mine and transfer them to my computer.

Just asked lil sis when I’m going to get those photos, only to have her tell me that she ‘didn’t have enough room’ and so happily deleted them without my permission, nevermind the promises she made about making sure nothing happened to them.
“Well, you can always take more,” she said dismissively, conveniently forgetting the reason why I wanted the photos in the first place.

I believe that my reply was heard three blocks away.

I know I just posted a book meme, but I got tagged for a second one by Radioactive Jam, so I am honour-bound to post this one. :)

This is how it works: You grab the book closest to you. Open to page 123. Scroll down to the 5th sentence. Post the next 3 sentences on your blog, as well as the book and the author. Tag 3 people.

And even if it disappeared as “disco” from the popular mainstream, disco music would continue to spawn new generations of dance music down to the present. The spirit of the boogie lived on, even if in the eighties no one would be caught dead using the word “boogie” and meaning it in any way but ironically. After tbe passing of disco as a fad and remarkable pop-culture phenomenon, what was left was the best part of all: really terrific dance music.

Thank you “A Brief History of Disco” by John-Manuel Andriote. (Question: If your book on disco is 195 pages long, can you really refer to it as “brief”?)

Here are my three people I’m tagging: the Reverend Anaglyph, Dorian Gray, and JediMacfan. I don’t know if they actually all read this thing, but anyhoo….

I decided to respond to a meme at RaJ’s blog. 

One book that changed your life:

Jostein Gaarder’s “Sophie’s World.” It’s a novel that simultaneously introduces you to philosophy. I’d reccommend it to anyone who wants to get a grip on philosophy and its history without going through dry or difficult texts, or who simply wants to read a book that is vastly different to any other. I was fourteen when I read this, and it completelty changed the way I looked at the world and thought. There were some boring bits, where history was involved, but most of it was greatly absorbing and you never knew what was going to happen next.

One book you’ve read more than once:

Ooh, so many choices… How ’bout “Eight Days of Luke” by Diana Wynne Jones? I have almost ever novel she’s ever written, which takes up a huge chunk of my bookcase. I love the way she seamlessly weaves myth and legend into modern tales, as well as accurately reflecting life for young people. For her characters, life is messy and blurred and confused a lot of the time, which is exactly what growing up is like. This particular book also stars one of my fave gods, a certain trickster.

One book you’d want on a desert island:

Only one??? Well, a journal, a large hardcover one with ruled pages, and the lines not far apart. Seriously, some journals seem to assume that your handwriting is still at grade three level. No thankyou, my letters are small. But if I could have a journal and a normal book… it would be my Natural History Museum’s book of dinosaurs. It’s one of the best dinosaur books in existence, and I got it for my eighth birthday. (Flashback: tiny girl sits with enormous book on her lap, intently reading about Carnegie and Edward Drinker Cope, taxonomic definitions, and erect, semi-sprawled and sprawled stances) You know, I think that if my grade three reading teachers had understood that I was reading books that incoporated some high-school/university concepts in them, then perhaps they would have understood why I had so much difficulty behaving when we were reading “Dog In, Cat Out.”

One book that made you laugh:

Er… *scratches head* “Undead and Unemployed.” It’s the second in the series about Betsy, who inadvertently became the Vampire Queen and now just wants to live a normal life and buy lots of shoes, but is imposed upon by her duties and the greatly handsome but infuriating Sinclair. It is a romance novel, I guess, which isn’t a genre I usually read, but since the characters aren’t getting it on every second page and the series is hilarious, I’m willing to read it. This is probably the best in the series, while the third is the next best; the first book kind of wandered everywhere while the fourth one doesn’t have the usual humour.

(An honorable mention goes to Scott Adams’ “Clues for the Clueless,” particularly for the wonderful strip about how your mother is allowed to tell people whatever embarrassing story about you that she likes.)

One book that made you cry:

In primary school I read a book entitled, as I recall, “The Monster Garden” by Vivien Alcock. It was about a girl who ended up with her own unique creature that came about after a dish of cells was struck by lightning. The creature was so gentle, so nice, and most of the humans were so cruel. I empathised with both Frankie and the creature, though I think the creature more.

One book you wish had been written:

*thinks* Hmmm. A novel about the forgotten gods, like Rhiannon and the Morrigan, and how a teenage girl awakens them and revives the Dark Paths. *shrugs* I’m planning to have a go at it myself eventually. A bit like the later chapters of the HP fanfic Faith, like here.

One book you’re currently reading:

“Soul Music,” by Terry Pratchett. Really, I love his Death.

One book you’ve been meaning to read:

*thoughtful* Um… “American Gods,” by Neil Gaiman.

Hey. I just watched the last episode of Doctor Who, series 2. *rests head on shoulder of Loki muse and sobs* *Rhiannon muse pats her shoulder sadly*
Seriously, it was the saddest thing I’ve ever seen. I cried for 20 minutes straight.
*Loki muse coughs*”Wuss!” *coughs*
*Rhiannon muse thumps Loki*

Just had to share that with the world.

Many thanks to Dorian Gray for giving me the DVDs.

For anyone who might want to link me, here are some banners for this blog. Please, if you use them, save them and upload them on your site. I don’t have enough bandwidth for people just to use the current address.

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This post has been written for notbean’s Philosophy Blog War.

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All men are created equal.

This statement (ignoring, for the moment, the somewhat male-predisposed nature of its phrasing) is the basis on which our society is built. As a democracy - literally, ‘government of the people’ - we hold that everyone should have equal opportunities, equal rights, and be free from the effects of prejudice, bigotry, and racism.

Unfortunately, by the time we reach adulthood, many prejudices have wormed their way into our behaviour and thought processes. Sometimes they are so slight as to be undetectable, but they are there all the same. I include myself here. I am a fairly tolerant person. I don’t care about religion, as long as it’s not used as an excuse to hurt others. I don’t particularly care about race. Conflict based on skin color has always seemed singularly pointless to me. Being socially deficient in some aspects, I am often more tolerant of eccentrics than some. Differences do not bother me so much. One of my first friends, back when I was five, was a Chinese girl who didn’t speak a word of English. But all the same I, like everyone else, have my own set of prejudices.

The thing about discrimination is that it is vital to our survival. Our survival, throughout evolution, has depended on our ability to look at something and instantly make an appraisal of it. Is something a possible danger? Is there something wrong or off about it? In some ways this instant judgement is even more important when it comes to other people. Look at their appearance. Is it too different? Maybe they’re an outsider who will challenge the tribe or endanger it. Are they sick or disabled? They might be a burden that the tribe cannot afford, or have an illness that can be passed on to other members of the tribe. For thousands of years at least, and likely longer, our minds have been fine-tuned to pick up on the tiniest of hints and use them to form often-unconscious judgements. In primitive days, logical assessment of something was a liability; by the time you finished coming to a conclusion, whatever you were considering could already have taken your life.

Mind you, things are quite different these days, but all the same our brains continue to make judgements. Some of this is instinctive, or at least instinct-based, but a great deal of it is societal conditioning as well. Find yourself in New York, and if you’re a middle-class white person you’ll probably avoid groups of black teenagers, particularly if their clothing is scruffy or rocker. It is a public belief that black people are more likely to come from underprivileged backgrounds, and are more likely to commit a crime. Is this suspicion fair on the teenagers, who you know nothing about and who for all you know may be model students and an example to the community? Not at all. But is it understandable behaviour, taking into account the facts at your disposal and the possibilities? Of course.

That’s the problem. Discrimination – as opposed to outright bigotry and racism, which is discrimination gone overboard – is an important survival mechanism, but at the same time it is unfair to those who are the target. So what to do? Well, in my opinion a reasonable balance is the answer. Putting aside all discrimination is foolish, and dangerous. It can save you from injury and even death. But when a situation does not have the potential for danger, put all discrimination aside. Don’t pick on people because they are eccentric or behave oddly. Believe me, that hurts. Don’t assume that the teenager browsing your store is a thief. Lots of them might be, but just as many if not more are law-abiding citizens. Don’t assume that disabled people are unintelligent. You’d be surprised how many people act patronisingly enough towards the impaired that you want to beat the s*** out of them. Similarly, the innocent or socially-awkward are often very bright. As a socially-awkward but somewhat gifted child myself, I can assure you that it annoyed the hell out of me that people talked to me like I was five years old because of my difficulties with people.

In short, use reason. Apply discrimination sparingly, and only when you are at risk. And if you feel that discrimination is course of a cautious person, try to be polite to the subject of your wariness. In an ideal world, we could do away with discrimination altogether, but since people continue to get beaten up, murdered, and hurt, we must be satisfied with using it sparingly. 

Steve Irwin, known worldwide as “The Crocodile Hunter,” and probably Australia’s most famous Australian, died today after a stingray stabbed him in the chest.

Steve Irwin was an honest, enthusiastic man who did what he thought was right, who loved his family, and who earnestly believed in animal conservation and contributed overwhelmingly to that cause. Eccentric he may have been, but he was a great guy and it is a tragedy that he is gone. He leaves behind a wife and two young children.

One of the most honest and insightful interviews with him can be found here on Andrew Denton’s website. Not only does it give you a true sense of who Steve Irwin was, but it is also hilariously funny.

I sincerely hope that he is in peace and happiness now and extend my condolences towards his family.