What would he say?

What would Darren Hanlon say?  This isn't exactly as cool as a grade school class performing All These Things but maybe because it involves a fellow Aussie, Gotye it's alright.  Entertaining all the same?  Well, see for yourself:

www.youtube.com/watch?v=nNtoq6SJ3_A

Socialism 101

It's been a while since I'm managed to provide an update as to our lives down here, for a range of reasons.  We have been well, we have been busy and we have been enjoying ourselves.  Sure, we could complain about how our winters are the same as the summer weather that you're enduring, how great the beaches are and how good cheap wine is but all of this has been said before.  Another reason is that as we become more and more entrenched in our lives here, it seems much more like a routine and while life is certainly different down here for us, for better or for worse it is still just daily life.  

Consequently the social observations seem to dull and what was once novel or foreign has become more commonplace.  Fortunately there are still a lot of strange things to report back in various dispatches, so as your pickled minds lurch back to reality from the abuses that you visited upon them during Stampede, allow me to share with you our observations on the social state in Australia.

This is an excerpt from an e-mail that made it's way to me that provides at least an anecdotal antipodal comparison of the cost of living between two blue collar regions, one that is in the grip of a socialist regime and the other that is perhaps heading that direction thanks to some of the more recent Provincial leaders, but isn't there yet.

The email claims (although not verified by myself) as follows: 

So when I was back home I took some photos in the grocery store to match some I took here before I left:

Price for New Zealand Kiwi fruit here in Brisbane:

 In Edmonton, Alberta, Canada (16,000 km away from here) ($3.86/kg)

 Rack of Lamb here in Brisbane: ($44.99/kg)

 Back over in Edmonton: ($29.99/kg)

 Bundy Rum here ($38.95 for 700 mL)

Edmonton: ($32.75 – but then was discounted down to $28.75 at the till)

Fair enough that this isn't exactly the most robust of evidence, and in fact may have nothing to do with socialism or anything other than the fact that most people are willing to pay double for things just so they don't have to live in Edmonton.  However, I think that it does suggest a certain socialist leaning of the Australian markets.

Note:  Bundaberg “Bundy” rum is distilled just north of Brisbane in a town ubiquitously called Bundaberg and as you go further north in Queensland people drink rum to escape the heat in quantities that make them insane.  Really insane.  Other Aussies call it “going Tropo” (pronounced with an elongated “oooooo”, in reference to the Tropic of Capricorn). 

Northern Queensland is supposed to be a magnificent place to travel, but only before it gets “too hot” or “too humid”.  In Australian terms anything over 45C is “too hot” and anything over 97% Relative Humidity is “too humid”.  For me the corresponding values are 30C and 75%, particularly for Northern Queensland, but 45c and 97% rel hum sounds like the unpleasant parts of Hell, so suffice it to say I’ve avoided that area. 

Why?  Well, because once the weather gets “hot” the blue bottle jellyfish “stingers” or “jellies” populate the coastal waters, and while their stings are not lethal, the paralysis that they cause frequently leads to drowning which is fatal.  So, if the coastal waters are out of the question, then refuge may be sought in any number of the regions rivers, provided that you can out swim or our wrassle the crocs.  So, copious amounts of rum it is then while you look for a place with A/C or get Tropo enough that it doesn’t matter.  So conceivably, the additional local charges on Bundy Rum is to offset the local demands on social programs, but hold that for now. 

I was raised, as most good Alberta kids were, to believe that “S____ism” is a dirty word.  A “red menace”.  A way of life or system of government for weaklings or vegetarians, but certainly not for enterprising freedom loving souls of hearty disposition that roam the Albertan landscape, those who aspired to stand on their own feet.  Fair enough.  Our parents had grown up during the Cold War and McCarthyism.  They had witnessed the British government impose a capital gains type tax that destroyed The Beatles (before John claimed to be a socialist), programs of government growth, a crippling National Energy Policy, etc. so why wouldn’t they be guarded and suspicious.  

Even the symbols chosen for socialism (and worse communism) were ominous, the hammer and a sickle.  These weren’t the stars and strips symbolic of freedom and patriotism.  This wasn’t the maple leaf famous for tasty breakfasts and big trees that only live in one small region of our vast country, no hammers crush and sickles maim.  I guess, unless they’re used for other things….

For our parents, socialism was bad.  It was wrong.  I’m not talking about the kind of socialism that pays for your university education, or justifies you drinking all the beer in your friend’s fridge, but the sort of socialism that raises taxes, misappropriates wealth and builds government machines with insatiable appetites, machines that strip wealth from private individuals like locus in a wheat field. 

Before leaving Alberta I had never lived under a socialist government, perhaps the closest that I got was a socially active conservative Provincial government or a Liberal Federal government, but that was more like living in the forest with Robin Hood, with Ontario and Quebec being the benefactors, not really socialism.  Besides, Robin Hood was a good guy right, his cohorts were Merry Men, they didn’t deploy missiles into Cuba.  Hood’s redistribution of wealth was heroism not socialism.  Right? 

But Australia, as we so often see, is different and even though the factions within the same political party fight, it is still a Labor government that rules the land and these guys are socialists.  “Labor government” is a term that always makes me think of Jimmy Hoffa, but again, this is different here.  It would be like Jimmy Hoffa as a laid back surfer who only really wanted to work flex time, and only wanted to do the rhetoric and not the intimidation.  Probably the kind of Jimmy Hoffa I wouldn’t mind standing up to.  But at the same time, the average guy on the work crew is empowered to such a degree that it wouldn’t surprise me to see a surgeon walking around in a blue wife beater, just to get some R-E-S-P-E-C-T.

But still, I didn’t really know what to expect from politics when I got here and over two years later, not much has changed.  Although until recently I would have admitted that I was still suspicious of socialists.  That’s all gone now.

During the course of the last two years and some odd months we have gotten used to the laws of the land, the statutes and practices.  To describe the plethora of laws here would be like imagining what it would be like if the Vatican merged all of its rules with those of physics and verb conjugation.  So basically, three groups of rules and laws about things that I have no understanding of, in fact I think I can describe how valences in Bromine function easier than what it takes to get a dog license in Brisbane.  Having said that I am currently undefeated in my defense of parking tickets, resulting in a savings of over $500. 

Between the Commonwealth, State and Municipal governments that is a form, a policy, a help line, a statute or practice, all with fines backing them up for virtually every aspect of your life.  Minimum wage is set around $14/h and the Commonwealth government has implemented both an increased royalty regime / mining tax as well as a carbon tax.  A red menace indeed.[1] 

During our time here, we have discovered one particularly important set of municipal regulation.  This regulation focuses on the timing and duration that your garbage and recycling bins may be placed on the curb for collection.  Failure to comply with said regulation results in immediate fines, because you can’t miss an opportunity to bolster the state coffers. 

So it was with great consternation that I discovered one morning that a ‘tradie’ (short for tradesman, but applied to all working class blokes that shoulder the honest labor burden for the Great Commonwealth of Australia while the nere’do’well lawyers, engineers, doctors, dentists etc all fritter away ……) had left my bins emptied, but turned over and with broken axels.  As I tried spiritedly to wheel the dysfunctional bins back from the curb, the broken axel gouged the turf leaving a tear in the sod. 

Exasperated I thought, “What environmental statute have I breeched now?  Is there a defense?  Due diligence?  Misadventure?  Necessity?” But then also was also the thoughts of how I going to get the bins replaced?  This was the sort of thing that needed immediate attention.  Fines for lack of compliance, garbage that needs to get to the curb by the following week, pests getting in to the bins, etc.  I thought of the logistics of taking two dirty bins in a small car to wherever I needed to take them, and then wait for repairs and transport them back.  And then what of the costs?  What if I get all the way there with these bins that don’t even fit in our car only to find out that I’m not entitled to request a repair, because I’m a tenant and not the property owner?  As my despair was becoming complete, I sought refuge in the only place that I can really count on, the Internet. 

I looked up “Wheelie bin repair” on the Google powered search found on the Brisbane City Council page and was directed to an on-line form that I had to complete as you would expect.  “Address of bins” “contact phone number” “Type of bin damaged”  “Type of damage / repair required” and so forth.  Within 5-6 minutes I was completed the form and hit “send” (ok, after three attempts at the captcha phrase). 

Ok, what next?  Moments later, I received an e-mail advising me to make sure that the bin(s) were on the curb (fines wouldn’t apply) and that the repairs would be conducted on site within two working days.           

TWO WORKING DAYS!!!!! 

REPAIRED ON SITE!!!!! 

I LOVE SOCIALISM!!!!

That was mid-morning Wednesday that I was launched like Spunik into an orbit of socialist love.  Sure, you pay some taxes, but you get good roads, good hospitals, good schools and bins repaired at your curbside.  Repairs were needed without delay.  How bad could socialism really be? 

After a whole other series of misadventures: nocturnal creatures that turned our garden into Fight Club; someone driving into our neighbors fence; and our daughter waking up with a nightmare; at 5 am Friday morning, the M_#$(*  F_(#*ing Socialists turned up with their rubber mallets (not even the real hammers of the USSR) to carry out the curbside repairs on the bins.  WTF?  Could these repairs wait?  5 am?  What was the rush?

Our parents were right to be wary of the Socialist.  I now know why you can’t have firearms here, because people would take them up against the early morning red menace. 

Too bad the beaches are so good here, we’ll probably have to stay

---

[1] Incidentally the Red Kangaroo is one of the largest of the species.  Unconvinced?  The Aussie coat of arms has both a kanga and an emu, pretty damning evidence of a socialist connection.

Happiness (The Pursuit of, or the Discovery of)

What is happiness?  Where is it found?  Is it internal or external and how does this relate to living in Queensland?  Well, I'm glad you asked.

Eric Weiner authored “The Geography of Happiness” in which he levered off of Dr. Fordyce’s World Database of Happiness.  It should be no surprise that Dr. Fordyce is a faculty member of Erasmus University, Holland.  There must be a strong correlation between an abundance of grad students and the significantly liberal environment in Holland.  Can you imagine how that conversation goes?

“So, Dad, I’ve decided to pursue graduate studies,” announces a resolute and pround child.

“Great, what are you taking?”  You can almost hear the relief washing over the father, with visions of his skateboarding, heavy metal listening, gig going, no good friend and harpy of a girlfriend cavorting son ‘straightening up’ and getting ready to ‘fly right’ and setting on a course to be a doctor, lawyer or other leader of men.

“Happiness Studies at Erasmus in Holland”

Long pause.  Continued long pause…. “So you’ll tell your mother then, right?”

At any rate, the World Database of Happiness lists the scores of various states and provides a rather nebulous “happiness index”.  Perhaps predictably, Latvia scores the lowest, with alarmingly high incidences of suicide and alcoholism.  By contrast, Iceland, at least during the time that the book was written, boasted the highest “happiness rating”, further making this odd is the reportedly high level of alcohol consumption and long dark nights.  I suppose it’s a fine line between use and misuse of alcohol.  But I also must admit, some of my happier times have included short periods of sunlight filled with alcohol and reason enough to stay indoors….but I digress. 

Unfortunately, Australia was not covered in Weiner’s book.  While I’ve no idea how this Commonwealth of States would have faired, Brisbane should be expected to score high.  Of course this conclusion is based merely on anecdotal observations and how much Nicole and I have enjoyed being here.  Things are still strange and we often come across things that we don’t completely understand. 

For instance the public service announcements displayed on taxis “Do you know where to send your mate, when he says life sucks?” Due to the combination of soft edges and blurry graphics on the poster and illegibly small print, it was weeks before we knew if this was a sign for suicide prevention or a brothel. 

This is especially given that suicide doesn’t seem to be much of an issue in Brissie.  Unlike any other major city that I’ve been to with a network of large bridges, Brisbane lacks any barriers on the bridges (except for one bridge, oddly) to prevent people from jumping into the river.  This is not withstanding that there are bridges with a 35m (~100 feet or 10 stories)[1] freefall from deck to a river that is deep, dirty, busy with boat and ferry traffic and is home to roughly 500 bull sharks.[2] 

In fact the landmark Story Bridge has a rail that is low enough that at it’s mesmerizing height it appears to me that if I was as cool (and as fit) as Daniel Craig, or really any other Bond, I would be able to jump from the sidewalk on the bridge to the buildings or at least the cranes that are immediately adjacent.  My fitness goals don’t include becoming fit enough.  But it least suggests that the problem of suicide isn’t that big of a deal here. 

Again, I’m jumping to conclusions regarding suicide, but consider the following.  Despite being a very active and seemingly athletic population, but there is also 24% of the population are self declared “smokers”.  Personally, I think that this is a throw back to when Australia monetarized their currency, in order to make international trade possible.  When the Australian dollar (AUD) was introduced to a population that was largely based upon a penal colony, the unofficial currency of cigarettes and Rita Haywood pin-ups faced enormous pressure.  The led to the “Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em” policy of the Commonwealth government of the day[3].  There was a short conversion window, but then the original currency would simply become another consumable product.

To this day, smoking seems to be enjoyed without apology (whereas Rita Haywood posters are a more discrete indulgence).  Unlike North America, where smoking in public has been vilified, smokers don’t seem to be bothered that children are around.  Even the most callous of smokers in Calgary would make efforts to keep the effects away from children when you’d walk past them.  This is certainly not the case here.  But it’s not just second hand smoke that imperils the populace in Australia.

Australia is loaded with dangers and things that are capable if either causing significant discomfort or death.  While we haven’t seen any crocs, alligators, deadly spiders, venomous snakes, sharks (not even any of the 500 that are supposed to be resident in the Brisbane River), dingos or other disease carrying creatures, we have been faced with a particular local danger on a daily basis.  A source of peril particularly frightening to Spencer and Nicole is food poisoning.  Given my role in the meal preparation, my girls have every right to be concerned. 

According to national statistics, ¼ of all Australians are annually affected by food poisoning.  Food Poisoning, in a developed country!  In fact new daily cases are pegged at 11,500 and 120 annual related deaths are attributed.  Seems counter-intuitive, but then I discovered that food storage in a tropical environment is the leading cause for people ingesting contaminated food.[4]  I would have guessed excessive consumption of liquid food products causing flu like symptoms, but I’ve been called both a sissy and jaded for such views.  But it is in fact ingesting food that is the culprit.  (Again a lesson in Australian culture:  don’t blame the alcohol.)

As far as my level of responsibility goes, I’ve applied some basic tort principles, were if everyone is ok after 2 days, then I figure enough time has passed, to introduce a sufficient amount of intervening events to assuage my liability.  Unfortunately, this is defeated when I make meals on multiple days.  Upon my return to work, Nicole has been all to happy to rush back into the kitchen and save our family from danger. 

Unlike the Brisbane experience, The Gap, a suburb of Sydney has a more interesting history.  Due to the location that includes sheer cliffs, rocks and a deep harbour, known both for it’s population of sharks and mercurial tide, The Gap seems to be a popular locale for making terminal decisions.  One local resident, Donald Ritchie, who lives in close proximity to this fateful place, has become a local hero for dissuading people from their fatal acts.[5]  I would encourage you to read the referenced article as it is very compelling, although the article lacks the words of the siren song that Ritchie had sang.

Given the overwhelming presence of other mortal dangers here, and Australian’s particular form of humor, you could imagine the conversation initiated by Mr Ritchie. 

“Hey mate, feeling like a lizzie’s belly (translation - as low as a lizard’s belly)?” 

“Whimper, whimper, curse, life sucks and isn’t worth living.”

“Oh com’on mate, the cricket isn’t that bad.” 

“It’s not just the cricket….[explanation of other less than perfectly desirable things leading to terminal decision].

“Yeah, well mate that is bad and I can’t say I blame you.  Hell, I’d probably jump to.” 

“Ya think so?”

“Sure thing mate, you’re right the cricket isn’t that bad, but did you see the Wallabies get shocked by the All Blacks again?  Hey how much life insurance do you have?”  

“[answer], why.” 

“Well you know, it probably doesn’t payout on a suicide.  Have you checked?”

“Ah, well…no.  Shit, just get’s worse.  What can a bloke do?” 

“Well make, let’s have a look-see.  You know if you die by accident or criminal wrong doing these policies pay double.  That will sort things out hey lad?” 

“Sure would.”

“Why don’t you come back to my place and we can have a smoke.  I think my missus has some potato salad that’s been out since morning….maybe we can go for a swim later, when you’re ‘feeling better’.”  Of course after a smoke, some tea, a beer and what not, everyone is feeling better, after all that’s what mates are for.[6]

Cudos to Mr Ritchie indeed.  Anyone that chooses to become involved in the affairs of others rather than turning back to the telly is a hero in my book.  The truth is that the world is better for people like Ritchie and his acts should inspire us all to be better.  To help others.  To help ourselves.  To tell our families that we love them and to try and leave our world a better place than we found it. 

Of course it’s hard, but then Ritchie does represent the everyman Australian view of their neighbors.  Aussies are quick to stop and offer a hand and don’t like seeing people who are down.  Without doubt, we need more Ritchies in our world. 

But this doesn’t mean that rain doesn’t fall in Brisbane, or even on The Gap, notwithstanding Ritchie’s watchful presence.  Brisbane’s Story Bridge has been the site of at least two suicides since we’ve moved here, one in which a young boy was thrown first and then the father followed him the 70m (210 feet) to hard ground below. 

Unfortunately suicide causes a variety of reactions from people seemingly across the spectrum of emotion.  Some sympathetic and full of regret and others of contempt and derision, but all strong and valid.  I don’t know what the answer is.  Clearly it’s not manning Donald Ritchies at every door, although that might be nice. 

The reality is that everyone has their own thing going on and you can never really tell where someone's at.  Can you intervene?  Is there a chance?  Some hope?  Sure, of course.  But always?  I don't know.  In fact I don't really know much about suicide.

What I do know about suicide is that in the evening of 26 February my father took his own life and I was never there to talk him down.  I know that his siblings feel remorse and sadness and that my mother, his wife who was nearby, will never be the same. But this isn’t enough is it? 

I’m not sure if it’s fair that I discuss this here in this Blog, but I guess with the dozen or so readers it’s not like I’ve got the same audience as Oprah and I probably am entitled to express myself in some way over it.

Those of you who know me well, can imagine, or maybe not, the stream of inappropriate humor that I subjected my wife to, but the fact remains that this is an act of my father that prematurely ended a number of things and extinguished all future possibilities.  Chances of redemption, of reconciliation or even just fulfilling his wedding vows to my mother are all swept away, echoing like a gunshot across a backwater along Tampa Bay. 

I’ll save you the tasteless jokes, but tell you that as I’m here now, in Tampa, dealing with the mess that has been left to my mother, my siblings, and extended family, that feelings of contempt seem to be about right. 

Could Donald Ritchie have coaxed the gun out of my father’s hand?  The track record would put good odds on it (although for the penchant for gaming by the Aussies, hasn’t seemed to reach this far yet) or at least better than any odds that I might have sported.  But would it have been enough?  Maybe today, but what about tomorrow? 

It seemed to me that something that wasn’t explored by Weiner’s book, or even really the happiness studies, is what the expectation is that people hold.  Regardless of where you’re living, it’s you that lives there.  If you’re not happy in Calgary, New York, Tampa, Paris, London, Canmore, Sydney or Brisbane moving isn’t going to change that. 

I hope that if you’re reading this, you’re happy or willing to do something about it.

---

[1] http://www.storybridgeadventureclimb.com.au/the_climb_the_bridge.html

[2] Bull sharks are smaller but more aggressive than great white sharks: http://australianmuseum.net.au/Bull-Shark-Carcharhinus-leucas-Valenciennes-1839

[3] Ironically, 14 February 1966 marked the introduction of Australian’s official currency.  Valentine’s Day has always been expensive, but can you imagine having to convert from cigarettes to cash before the obligatory round of gifts and dinner?

[4] Foodborne illness in Australia Annual incidence circa 2000  Australian Government Department of Health and Ageing  Document: foodborne_report.pdf 

[5] http://www.smh.com.au/opinion/society-and-culture/tragedy-amid-the-beauty-at-the-gap-20100323-qtxa.html

[6] The suicide rates in Australia account for fewer deaths than heart disease in Canada.  http://fathersforlife.org/health/who_suicide_rates.htm; http://fathersforlife.org/health/cansuic.htm