It ain't easy being green

So what does one do when one witnesses a stage show, the likes of which (or should that be witch...) one has not seen before? A show so entertaining, enthralling, awe inspiring and quite simply.....magical that one would watch it again and again and again? A show that was irresistibly.... Wicked!?

Well, blog about it of course. Whaddya think I have this thing for?

It was an epic night I must say: a delicious dinner at Perth’s Atrium restaurant, a cocktail hither and yon, thoroughly entertaining theatre, all shared with the delightful company of my newly promoted fiancé and the Gypsy Niece.

Aaah good times

But it was the theatre that thoroughly stole the night.

From the second Glinda the Good Witch appears on stage in her mechanical bubble you know you’re in for a treat. Through imaginative (and oft humorous) script and brilliant singing performances “Wicked: The Untold Story of the Witches of Oz” tells the tale of Glinda and Elphaba, two, at first very reluctant, school chums who slowly learn to trust and embrace each other’s quirks and idiosyncrasies to form a strong, if unlikely, friendship.

Glinda is good; somewhat irritating, judgemental, self absorbed, hyperactive and shallow, but good nonetheless. Elphaba is also good...just...well...green.

As the plot unfolds, the audience learns the chain of events which lead to Elphaba taking up the role of ‘Wicked witch of the west” showing, of course, that no person is shaped in a vacuum and frequently things are not always as they seen. And more specifically, just because you’re green and a bit pissed off, doesn't mean you did what they say you did.

All the psyche contributors are there: parental inadequacy, cultural misunderstanding, the trials and tribulations of friendship....not to mention a spot of romantic rivalry to boot. No dramatic stone is left unturned as those watching are taken on a whirlwind trip through the ages, leading up to the moment of Elphaba’s apparent demise and the return of order to society.

It is delightfully well done. 

And overall the entire story unfolds seamlessly alongside the original 1939 Wizard of Oz narrative. Little nods here and there are cast toward plot points which almost all viewers will recognize: A house falling here, a tin man created there...and a lion cub that she really didn't mean to scare the crap out of, but basically, sometimes, shit just happens.

One also learns that animals once spoke and it was the government of Oz shutting this phenomenon down. So not only is the audience challenged to think about the value of diversity over assimilation, but the parallels drawn between the politics of Oz and our own media/government controlled culture were deliciously en pointe as well.

I know what some of you may be thinking: Could I possibly be over-‘adulting’ a delightful children’s tale?

Oh bugger off. If it’s one thing that the likes of The Simpsons, South Park and Family Guy have taught us, it’s that childlike stories are often the best way to affect cultural change. As many news shows fall further and further into the abyss of farcical infotainment (and often the ‘info’ part is debateable), lessons on morality must be inserted, in easily digestible lumps, within other genres.

And it’s not like these guys were particularly subtle about it. The wizard especially comes out with some delightful quotes that are particularly thought provoking:

“The truth isn't a thing of fact, or reason. It's simply what everyone agrees on.”

“Where I come from, we believe all sorts of things that aren't true. We call it history.”

[after Elphaba discovers he's behind the anti-Animalism] “Where I'm from, the best way to bring people together... is to give them a really good enemy.”

That last one eh.

Well now.

But the redirecting of one’s moral compass aside, the show was good, damn good. And you could be forgiven for wanting to take up any of the performing arts after having seen it. But I doubt you’ll be able to compete with Suzie Mathers’ (Glinda) trilling and infectious energy or Jemma Rix’s (Elphaba)...well anything....not only was her voice fantastic but even her cheekbones (green or otherwise) were enough to make you feel desperately inadequate...but in the best possible way.

It is simply delightful, From fantastic sets to fabulous merchandise....what's not to love here.

A little collage a la Gypsy Niece :)

Do I even need to say that I would recommend this show? Really? I’ll even take it a step further for you and say, I’ll be extrememly impressed if anything I see from now beats it. Stay tuned though, coz I think the Kevman is now turning me into a Showaholic....

I shall attempt to show restraint though (pun completely intended), as we now have a wedding to save for. I must remain calm in the face of tempta........

Wait, what? “Cats” is coming to Perth?!?!?!?

And “Dirty Dancing”?????

*deep breaths*

Till next week!

~Tigress

Charity begins...with books :)

Now as I have possibly mentioned once or twice before, I have a somewhat addictive personality. Especially when it comes to books and /or sorting things.

I think I may have an issue here

You see, in my infinite wisdom, I decided to begin doing some volunteer work at one of the local second-hand stores. And I just happened to randomly select the one with nearly floor to ceiling bookshelves...randomly....ok it was the only one I went in but that is completely beside the point.

There were shelves of them softly whispering my name.

And they were saying: “Tidy me, sort me...love me”

How could I not offer my time after pleas like that?

So I signed up and got busy. And so far, it’s just like a Maccas commercial: I’m loving it! It hasn’t been all about the books though; not my choice initially, but I have since discovered that my organizational bent can be aimed in just about any direction to great enjoyment.

If my body would allow...I’d probably be there every day.

I'm even learning about clothes. After an initial conversation with our visual merchandiser for Western Australia, I was questioned on my knowledge of fashion clothing and top labels and such. Considering I have about as must grace and sophistication as your average bogan (if you’re not from Australasia...Google the term, it will provide hours of entertainment), I could not wax informative on that subject. I have enough trouble differentiating chain store brands let alone discussing the finer points of catwalk haute couture.

“Don’t worry, there’s a list” she said smiling comfortingly. Oh thank God for that. But I can’t say that I've ended up playing with the clothes much (or that I'm especially heartbroken about this). I've been a tad busy elsewhere reorganising the children’s section, lining the cups up in sets (you have no idea how satisfying that is), organising the linen and craftwares, and generally tidying and reorganizing to create more space.

Now the interesting thing that happens when you create more space is that you can fit more stuff in the shop without the store looking messy or overcrowded; which in turn translates to the customers having more choice; which in turn translates to higher sales figures.

Our store sold over $1000 the Saturday before last. This is the first time our store has done this.

I’m just casually putting that out there.

But that doesn't mean the other volunteers aren't doing a wonderful job as well...it’s just that you need enough of us to be able to make the real magic happen. A mad organiser can’t focus on getting the shop all ship shape and Bristol fashion if he/she has to stop every five minutes to serve a customer or sort an incoming donation. It’s a team thing; the bigger the team, the more you can get done. Especially if you play to the strengths of each team member. But, I have t say, there is also a ‘logic’ factor in it as well.

For me, for example, it was completely illogical to sell videos when we sell about one every six months but had shitloads of the damn things around the store. The way I saw it, in the same space we had a $1 video we could have had a $3-4 book or two $3 DVDs. It kinda did my head in. So now the videos are being sold off 3 for $1 (as are cassette tapes) and even now they are not exactly flying out the door, but removing them to the sale table has made room for all the DVDs that were hiding out the back. And they do sell so a much wiser use of space I believe. It’s tweaks like that, that can buy you a whole heaps of space to work wonders in. It and has been wonderful to reawaken my floor supervisor experience and put it to good use here.

But back to these books...

Once upon a time, Opportunity Shops (Op Shops), second-hand stores, thrift shops, whatever you wanted to call them...used be predominantly filled with crap: stained/damaged clothing, ancient crockery, grubby toys and tired old dog eared books.

Not so in today’s world. My store for example sells no stained/pilled/damaged clothing (this goes overseas to those in need or for rags/shredding [for furniture stuffing]), no stained/damaged crockery or linen and no books with yellowed pages or significant signs or wear.

Which means all the books (not on the sale table) are in good nick.

And relatively recent

And the type I would read.

Oooooh, lordy.

The fact that I haven’t bought damn near all of them is testimony not only to my strong will...but also to my strong sense of self preservation and desire for pre-matrimonial harmony. The Kevman loves books too, just not on every wall of the house.

But every Tuesday and Friday I get to pat them and arrange them and read their blurbs. And sometimes I get to recommend them to potential book Mummies and Daddies and send them off to loving homes.

It’s a very satisfying part of the job. But even I have to admit, it’s not the most important.

What really matters is that I get to work for a wonderful cause that generates income for those in need. Now that is the best feeling of all.

Sometimes the best jobs you don’t get paid for in money

Have a great one!

~Tigress

P.S. Got some spare time? Why not volunteer! Help at a local second hand charity store or animal rescue organisation; help with kids' sport or youth/teen projects; visit elderly people; knit/crochet for Syrian refugee children; sew burial gowns from old wedding dresses for Angel Babies....the list is endless, get on the Internet and start looking!

A Wedding in Tigressland

I had just finished volunteering

At the Save the Children Shop

I’d had a busy day

And I felt like I could drop

So I drove home to my beloved

Who is off on R & R

Singing along to whatever the hell

Was playing in the car

I was greeted at the door

With a goofy grin and wine

He’d cooked us up some dinner

And I couldn’t wait for mine

Now the Kevman has always dazzled me

With his affection and his charm

So I didn’t find it unusual

When he gently took my arm.

He hugged me and he held me

Cuddled up and smiled

He has the type of cheeky grin

That always drives me wild

He looked at me like I amazed him

(Which I like to think I do)

But it’s nice to have it re-enforced

By a loving glance or two

Then he reached into his pocket

His hand emerged with a small box

The kind that makes your heart go thump

And carries shiny, sparkly rocks.

I looked at him, and he at me

You all know the next part

“Will you marry me?” He said

His voice presenting me his heart.

Now you may be thinking

There wasn’t much ceremony there

But that’s just how we roll

And I really didn’t care

He wanted to surprise me

But I’m a pretty good detective

So this was his best option

It was anything but defective

I looked at the ring and thought

Holy shit that’s a decent size!

He’d definitely gone all out this time

I couldn’t believe my eyes.

But if I was to wear such a thing

It would mean I was getting married

My brain was still calming down

From a day all rushed and harried.

I looked back at him and realized though

There was nowhere else I’d rather be

Than in his arms for the rest of everything

So I said “Yes” immediately.

It’s been a fun few days since then

Telling family and friends

Messages and Facebook posts

The excitement never ends

But the Gypsy Niece was curious

How did this all go down?

The Kevman filled her in

And she spluttered with a frown

Who the hell proposes

On an average Tuesday night

In Ugg boots and a sweatshirt?

I just feel this just ain’t right.

But then she saw our goopy faces

And seemed to say “Ah f**k it....

You guys have always made me wanna puke

Into a plastic bucket.”

So the next eighteen months or so

Will be a hive-like planning central

By the end of the whole shebang

I’ll probably be driven mental

And along the way there’ll be a hen’s night

A buck’s do and perhaps a bridal shower

Those that make you scared

Of what’s going to happen hour by hour

But it should be fun I'm guessing

All this hilarity and mirth

As I lead up to marrying

My one love on this Earth

Ahh, I really should be going now

So I must end my little rhyme

I’m off with my fiancé

To spend a little time <3

*Mwah*

~Tigress

Like fine red wine.

It has been suggested that the Kevman and I possess rather a lot of red wine.

And in relation to many...I guess that's not far wrong.

But while we did have (what we would call) decent amount of red a while back (200+ bottles), this has slowly dwindled to a more sedate 100 or so over the recent year. This reduction has occurred partly because households are more expensive once girlfriends are installed in them (thus less funding available for wine purchasing) and partly because we needed some of our linen cupboard and wardrobes back.

You see, when I turned up, space was at a bit of a premium.

Now I'm not meaning to insinuate here that all West Australians are pissheads... 

But let me put it this way: A fair percentage of ‘em know their way around the local bottle store far better than most sections of the local supermarket....and they're not remotely afraid to demonstrate the fact.

Aussies (and many Kiwis for that matter) like their liquid refereshments...and with the FIFO lifestyle being so prevalent in W.A. many have the finances to back up the habit....including the Kevman who's had the funds for quite a while to fund whatever pastimes he so desired. And as far as I could tell upon entering his home, he had.

Upon crossing his threshold for the first time, I was presented with a well stocked bar that would make any party animal grin with glee. Bourbon, rum, Kahlua, gin, vodka and various cocktail components glinted from behind glass, advertising that any sort of alcoholic desire could be catered for

Well that looked fun...but where was the wine.

I raised a quizzical eyebrow at the Kevman: “This all very lovely darling, but where’s good stuff?”

On the night we met, the Kevman and I had discussed our mutual love of good red wine and I will not lie, one of his initial charm points was his apparent ability to tell his Cab Sav from his Shiraz and not be phased by what he might encounter in a better than average restaurant. He had mentioned a somewhat impressive wine collection, and at the risk of sounding like a closet alcoholic myself....I wanted to ascertain its location.

Just, y’know, coz I was curious like.

“Oh that’s in the linen cupboard”

Of course, where else would it be...

“There’s some in the office too; and the spare room (this actually turned out to be bourbon); and those boxes by the bar...now I think about it, they’re wine too.”

Upon perusal...I estimated approximately 160 bottles of grown-up grape juice.

I was speechless for a moment: “You sure got enough?”

“Pretty sure we’re covered.”

I wandered around, furrow-browed, opening things and generally being nosey: “You have three fridges...only one of which has food in it.”

“And your point is?" He laughed: "Actually there are four: The full-sized kitchen one (food + freezer), the full-sized outside one (beer, white wine, RTDs and soft drink + freezer), the full-sized bar fridge (similar to outside fridge + freezer)...and the smaller wine fridge.”

“I'm sorry, the what?!”

“It’s under bench.”

Make that 180

Behind the kitchen bench was a smallish wine fridge where normal people would have a dishwasher.

Apparently that’s what the gypsy niece was for.

“And there’re some really nice ports and muscats floating around here too...think they’re in with the wine though.”

I didn't know whether to be impressed or horrified and after helping to contribute to the wine total quite significantly on our first trip away – bumping the total well over 200 bottles - I demonstrated that I was not averse to embracing this drinking culture.

My body, however, is not really having a bar of it (Ha! see what I did there! 'Bar'? haha...geddit? Oh nevermind.)

I drink too much alcohol, I can’t stay sleep

I drink too much alcohol and my digestive system starts to pack a sad.

I drink too much alcohol and I can become jittery and fretful as the week progresses.

I drink almost any alcohol, my face turn bright red

I drink over four drinks a week and I raise my risk of breast cancer re-occurrence proportionately.

Well who's a pain in the arse then

But I have learned to listen to my body or else it starts to speak with a megaphone. Things are little more balanced around here these days; we still have a decent selection of reds that we have taken great pleasure in selecting ourselves from various West Australian wineries; there’s always good bourbon around, and winter will still be port season.

But now we also delight in other pleasures such as good food, good books, good company and the wonderful games that have sat dormant in cupboards for so many years.

Maybe we’re just getting old and responsible these days.

Or maybe we’re just maturing

Like fine red wine ;-)

Have a great week everyone!

~Tigress

P.S. Alcohol, can be a wonderful accompaniment to life, but should never consume it. If your habit is giving you, or those around you grief...check out these resources and learn what’s up.

http://www.aa.org.au/

https://www.drinkwise.org.au/drinking-and-you/support-services-adults/#

http://www.beyondblue.org.au/resources/for-me/men/what-causes-anxiety-and-depression-in-men/alcohol-and-drug-use?utm_source=google&utm_medium=cpc&utm_campaign=NonGeo-Alcoholism-OtherKW&utm_term=alcoholics%20help

Fast cars and even faster pussy.....cats.

Let me share with you my week. 

Actually I'll share two of them, just for good measure.

After some person, who shall remain nameless (coz I actually have no idea who he/she was), bumped his/her piddly arsed little vehicle into the right rear of the Holden a few weeks back....our car was finally able to get repaired this week (busy chappies apparently). But as I had several appointments to keep this fortnight, my beloved organized a rental vehicle for me.

Enlisting the help of the Gypsy Niece and her beloved silver Hyundai, we tootled off to Fremantle to pick up said rental, and then proceed to have lunch at one of the fine local eateries. And all was going well until I was escorted to the yard....and much to Gypsy Niece’s delight and amusement, handed the keys to a shiny, white..

You guessed it:

Hyundai.

A Hyundai ‘Accent’ to be precise.

Now let’s just take a moment here.

After being accustomed to negotiating greater Perth in a Holden SV6 I was now being treated to a swift reminder as to why I enjoy negotiating greater Perth in a Holden SV6....as opposed to a Matchbox toy with ideas above its station. Transferring to the Hyundai was akin to going from a Sherman tank to geriatric Jeep. Yes, I know the little roller skate is all economical and whatnot but it also has about as much testicular fortitude as a half-roasted peanut. And that. I feel, is being a little harsh on the peanut.

Needless to say my Hyundai tales have been a point of humour all week...mostly not mine.

It wouldn't be so bad if some other people didn't drive like pillocks. I am not sure what it is about indicators, but people often seem to think they are optional....especially when taking the second exit on a roundabout. No you are not ‘just going straight ahead’ you are entering a roundabout and should indicate wherever and whenever you leave the damn thing, regardless of which exit you take. It’s not rocket science...seriously.

But to add to the fun and games, I had to take the kittens to the vet for their follow up appointment and as they had already found it necessary to completely circumvent their cones and each pull a stitch out....the vet was less than impressed. Long story short...accompanied by the fact that they couldn't sit still if their furry little lives depended on it, they now have fat little tummies that need monitoring each week until the swelling goes completely down.

Most humans following abdominal surgery like to kick back and relax; but not these two clowns....not only have Merlot and Shiraz found it hugely entertaining to gallop around like demented school children, they have also developed an insatiable desire to climb on a person as soon as one bends over....requiring the need to either hunchback of Notre Dame yourself to the nearest chair in the hope they'll dismount, or stand up and thus have them perch on your shoulder like a fluffy, whiskered parrot.

Despite their avian tendencies however, they are still managing to recover well. And surprising enough, they love the flavour of their anti, inflammatory medication.

Little druggies.

Another foray I took in my petitemoblile was to the ‘boob place’. Now in all fairness they scan any part of your body you so desire, but as I desire to keep my boobs, I had them scan those. Now as my last titty cancer was in an awkward spot (I am nothing if not the queen of awkward) it was only picked up on ultrasound (well, actually, it was picked up by me...then an ultrasound). So not only were my ample mammaries squished within an inch of their life, they were also gelled up and checked for 'things what don’t belong' that way as well.

I can think of worse ways to spend an hour, I guess (thankful for modern technology and stuff). And of course, because the left one has received most of the attention over the last five years...the right has decided it wants to feel special. “It is most probably absolutely nothing, but we would love your previous films from New Zealand...just for comparison.” Which simply involves me sending a letter to my Mama, giving her authority to uplift said films from my previous hospital in NZ (What’s the betting that after she reads this, I get a Viber message, saying something to the effect of: “Why the hell haven’t you sent me the bloody letter.” Quite delicately spoken is my Mum.)

I’ll do it after this Mum...I promise.

Now to its credit, despite all this gallivanting around (which also included trips to the supermarket, and a local second-hand shop where I volunteer) the little snot-beetle has yet to drop under half a tank. And it is definitely easy to park.

But it doesn’t really like moving in a hurry. You put your foot down and it has to think about what needs to happen next. It’s sort of like you’re speaking a foreign language to it through a translator. 

“Oh ‘accelerate’ means move faster?? Oooooh, ok, ok, I do that now.”

“Thanks, thanks for coming to the party on that one. A little earlier would have been nice, but hey”

And as for anything involving a slope...

"What? You want me to go just as fast....UPHILL?!"

"Yes, yes I do."

"But it's hard work!"

"You'll be fine"

"I dunno, I think I feel my carburettor starting to give."

"If you don't don't shift your whiny arse up this hill, I swear to God, I'll have your spark plugs for earrings!

"Oh right you are then"

And off we go.

I know, I know, I should just be grateful to have something with motorized wheels, but I can’t say I'll be emotional when it goes back.

I might be all emotional at the kittens in a minute though.....

You wait till your father gets home!

"Snoop Maximus"

The elders of the house have all deserted to various locales around the country so I am hijacking the computer again. She really needs to change the password though...I feel “Maximus_Is_King” would be suitable.

Well isn’t that poetic.....the juniors have had their first trip to the vet.

I am smiling.

Now they will not be able to reproduce. I see no issue with this (neither do they at present as they have no idea what’s actually happened) as I feel more of the little furshirts would just be even more annoying than these two already are! But it is funny how one trip to the vet can change your life so dramatically. 

I went there once...and came back with NO BLOODY TESTICLES!!

This means no little Maximi! Now THAT is a tragedy.

But that’s the thing with females of the species, nothing goes missing in these operations, or if it does nothing that can be seen from the outside. No mark of their femaleness slashed and emptied like shucking oysters (Mine were decent sized oysters by the way...just saying).

It’s just all very thought provoking.

Now while I must admit, I am getting used to these two little interlopers hanging around I was not impressed with whatever the hell they came home from the vet in; scared the living bejesus out of me. Massive great cones around their heads...other than looking completely ridiculous, they also looked like occupants of another planet.

...that unfortunately I couldn't send them back to.

But I digress.

I just about had conniptions. And I made a point of going nowhere near their little hooverish heads. (Though to their credit, I'm damn sure we got better cell phone reception while they had them on.)

The purpose of these apparatuses was to stop them getting to their stitches. The little goobers still managed it though and also drove the human female of the house demented by licking the inside of their cones repetitively in the vain hope that they might eventually make fur contact and have their bath complete.

After 3 days of this attempted bathing, the cones came off. The little clean freaks are now washed and order is restored to the household. And I can finally bloody sleep in peace without that infernal woman bellowing every five minutes: “Shiraz and Merlot! If you don’t stop licking the inside of those God damned cones, I'm going to takes the things off and jam it up your little furry arses!”

Well now....aggressive much? (And wholly ineffective as it turns out.) Must have been that time of the month. Maybe she needs a trip to the vet.

The most delightful thing about them all being clamped, chipped and vacced though, is that soon they can sod off outside. If the whim takes me, I may even sod off with them

I know, I know, you’re all thinking I have gone soft, but this is not the case. I am merely changing my approach. It is much easier to manoeuvre (thus corrupt – and possibly export) my little furry minions if they think I am friend rather than foe. 

  

I'm actually achieving success here already. Merlot has now learned to scratch at doors. For some reason the humans all looked at me when this first occurred! I just gave them my: “Well you brought them here” look. I don’t think they were impressed.

Then there was the time that I taught Merlot how to jump up the water feature and walk along the fence to freedom. One night out on the town, pre being fixed, and next thing you know, they’re inside cats. Oops, sorry ‘bout it.

Well the elders did install the little twerps here, it’s not my fault that some of my awesomeness is rubbing off on them. It’s only to be expected.

Just so long as they know who the boss is

And that’s all in the little things I have found: commandeer a sleeping spot here, piddle in a litter tray there...they know the story. 

I may not have testicles but by crikey I still know how to work the ladies.

"Snoop Maximus"

Has quite a ring to it really.

ANZACs forward march!

Tomorrow (25 April, 2015) in Australia and New Zealand we will celebrate ANZAC day. This is something we Aussies and Kiwis do every year to commemorate our fallen soldiers, particularly those from WWI. These soldiers, called ANZACS as an acronym for Australian and New Zealand Army Corps, landed at Gallipoli to fight the Turks back in 1915 and it must be said, really put their all into it. This campaign was the first major military action of Australia and New Zealand as independent dominions, and is often considered to mark the “birth of national consciousness” in the two countries.

Tomorrow marks the 100 year anniversary of that ‘birth’. 100 years since our troops landed in a foreign land to do their bit against the 'enemy'; 100 years since the commencement of eight months of fighting that would lead to the deaths of 44,000 allies including 8709 Australians and 2701 New Zealanders; 100 years since we joined the apparent world Fight Club that is International Politics.

So did we win at Gallipoli? Hell no, got our asses kicked, but we tried damn it! And Turkey was most gracious about it all and buried our dead in carefully tended cemeteries as a nod to the effort of the challenge. But overall it wasn't a howling success.

And a hundred years later I'm not sure the message has got through. Are we are honouring our fallen in a way they would appreciate? Don’t get me wrong, a dawn service is a suitable and oft powerful remembrance, but I can’t help but think that we altogether ignore what they were fighting for: the ultimate goal of peace. Though it has been said that fighting for peace is like f**king for virginity (and that’s not far wrong), you can’t ignore the intent if you’re going to commemorate the people who fought for it.

After a century, one would like to think that we have found other ways to work toward the ANZAC’s goal, but the stats aren't looking good. While WWI cost approximately 31 million deaths (not including Spanish Flu fatalities), the so-called ‘War to end all Wars’ was quickly superseded by the Second World War (1939 – 1945) which cost the world up to 85 million human lives. Considering the world population only went up from 1.8 billion in 1914 to about 2.2 billion or so in 1945 it’s easy to see that a fair amount of human capital went six feet under just in those two conflicts.

And other countries haven’t exactly toned it down either. With major conflicts in Africa, Asia and the Middle East ....things don’t seem to be improving a whole heap.

And neither are attitudes of intolerance that fuel the wars in first place, those of disdain and hatred toward human beings different to our self. For example, as of 2013, 74% of Russians (predominant religion Orthodox Christian) believe that homosexuality should not be accepted in society. Also, according to a 2014 study, 25% (mercifully down from 48% in 2011) of Australians hold ‘anti-Muslim’ views (not surprising considering the media bias of the country) despite the fact that many Muslims are fighting hard against the extremists within their culture themselves and embrace Australia’s way of life significantly. And then there are white cops shooting black people and generally not helping the case of all the genuinely good white cops out there.

And then there's the parts of the world that are now just a war torn mess (Syria and Gaza spring to mind here).

Instead of world unity, we are still just trying to create more distance between an imagined ‘Us’ and ‘Them’ even when ‘them’ (for an Aussie or Kiwi) could be a child refugee in Syria or a hard-working, tax-paying next-door neighbour.

Is that really what the ANZACs got their asses shot off for? So we could sit here 100 years later doing the same shit, just in a different bucket?

I can’t help but feel that we have f**ked this up a little.

Maybe tomorrow, instead of just looking backwards, we should also look forward. Look to (and actively pursue) a future where we make an effort to smile, communicate and understand the world from another’s point of view before we judge and discriminate. A future where we recognize that different countries’ laws and cultures are specific to that country regardless of the dominant religion (For example Jordan, Mauritania, Palestine, Saudi Arabia, Indonesia and Turkey are all 90%+ Muslim countries but all have very different cultures and worldviews on certain issues, just as Croatia, American Samoa, Republic of Congo, Iceland, Puerto Rico and Greece are all 90%+ Christian counties but also have very different cultures and worldviews)

Maybe we can look towards a future where every single one of us makes an effort toward the global peace the ANZACS were fighting for. Whether it is donating to Amnesty International, schooling yourself open-mindedly about world politics and disseminating information, or even simply knitting blankets for Syrian refugees. 

Do something.

But if you want to keep it really real for ANZAC Day, how about donating to causes that support the rehabilitation of homeless and mentally ill war veterans that rarely get discussed in the media. Help the people who put their asses on the line (just like the ANZACS) to fight for people to be able to live in peace. Whether the motivations for the wars are just or not, the soldiers do what they are told to do and often pay a very high price for doing so.

While it is commendable to remember those who have died for your country....it is even more important to remember those who fought and lived.

  

Have a great ANZAC Day everyone.

P.S. Here are just a few of the many organizations that can help you help others

Donate

https://www.amnesty.org/en/

http://www.doctorswithoutborders.org/

Knit/crochet

https://www.facebook.com/LilyLoveInTheLanguageOfYarn

Learn (along with many other sources...keep looking)

http://www.aljazeera.com/

Help an Aussie or Kiwi Veteran.

http://rsl.org.au/ or http://www.dva.gov.au/ (how to help or get help for a veteran in Australia)

http://rsa.org.nz/ or http://www.veteransaffairs.mil.nz/ (how to help or get help for a veteran in New Zealand)