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Editorial Correspondence What’s On Vox Pop Articles Artist Profile Creative Reviews Diversions

02 03 04 06 08 24 42 45 46

On Dit is a publication of the Adelaide University Union.

Got a bee in your bonnet? Email us at ondit@adelaide.edu.au We recognise that the Kaurna people are the landowners and custodians of the Adelaide Plains.

Ngaldu tampinthi Kaurna miyurna yarta mathanya Wama Tarntanyaku.

Editors: Lur Alghurabi, Natalie Carfora, and Celia Clennett Sub-Editors: Karolinka Dawidziak-Pacek, Grace Denney, Brydie Kosmina, and Seamus Mullins Designers: Chelsea Allen, Anna Bailes, Daniel Bonato, and Georgia Diment Social Media: Nicole Wedding Front Cover: Carly Harvy Inside Front Cover: Elliot Lewis

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EDITORIAL

Hey you,

Hi there,

Hey,

I had a phase when I was 13 where I legit thought I was black. Not vaguely African black, but specific American Harlem black. I had every Tupac album and I over analysed all his lyrics. I read every conspiracy theory surrounding him, believed in the illuminati, and joined the killuminati (and they accepted me, at least in my head). I was a little thug hijabi.

As a teenager I really didn’t want to be Italian. I thought a lot about marrying someone with a non-ethnic surname so I could lose mine, I publically referred to my relatives as grandma/grandpa or aunty/uncle, and I enthusiastically discouraged my brother from playing soccer. I still don’t really understand this, and in all honesty there were probably other things at play, but watching Looking for Alibrandi a few dozen times made me grateful. My grief for John Barton lives on.

My appearance may tell you I’m Nordic, my accent will say I’m Canadian-American, so as you would least expect, I am an expat.

Understanding how others identify helps us understand ourselves. I hope this edition is a good place to start.

Identity is complex. It’s your background, your gender, your sexuality, and all of the things that make us different and interesting.

As a person who struggles with her own personal identity way too often, I hope that Identi-dit can encourage at least an existential crisis of your own.

Born in Australia but raised outside of my native country, I spent my childhood and teens in Malaysia then Hong Kong, until I boomeranged back to Adelaide.

When back, I expected to revert to my identity, Australian. Yet, my accent, reinforced by the years of being part of an international community, failed to deceive fellow Australians of a true blue Aussie background. I realised, like many expats, I don’t exactly have a place I call home. But I don’t need a clear identity and despite what’s on the outside, your identity is what you make of it. One day I will morph into a seal and I shall migrate to the ocean to join my people.

Only God Can Judge You,

I’m here if you need me,

What are we without the sky?

Lur

Nat

Seal

10 years later, as a grown woman I realise I am not actually black. But, because of that cultural transition phase, I became aware of systematic oppression, resistance through music, and most importantly, that my identity is about more than just me.

All because I watched the Malcolm X movie once.

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CORRESPONDENCE Dear Lur, Natalie, and Celia, I am writing in response to two articles published in the latest edition (issue 84.4) of On Dit. The articles ‘Dawn of Debt: Centrelink Horror Stories’ by Jon Ovan and ‘Financial Management for Broke Students’ by Milan Podnar, highlight the very real difficulties faced by students every day.

As you may already know, Student Care Inc. is a service for students at University of Adelaide and we provide assistance with all kinds of welfare and advocacy support students require.

1. Centrelink advice and support. We can directly contact Centrelink to enquire on student’s behalf re their payment difficulties. Our intervention invariably occurs in an immediate resolution of the problem and a restart of payments to the student.

2. We also have a range of financial supports including interest free loans, and grants.

3. Student Care with support of SRC run a Breakfast

Club at North Terrace in the Mayo Café on Tuesday and Thursday mornings from 8.30am to 10.30am. Breakfast is provided free of charge and students can access as much as they can eat.

We also provide breakfast at Roseworthy and Waite campuses at various times during the semester.

Student Care’s Education and Welfare Officers are experts in supporting students who are struggling to make ends meet and finding the balance of work, Uni and life hard to juggle. We can provide accurate advice re Centrelink eligibility and ensure that students are following the requirements of the payment, rather than hearsay.

Our contact details are: 8313 5430 studentcare@adelaide.edu.au Terri Finn Student Care Manager

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WHAT’S ON

GET YOUR POP CULTURE FIX

WHAT ELSE IS ON?

HUNGRY? BROKE?

AVCon in Rundle Mall 4th June 9am-5pm

SRC Free Breakfast Every Tuesday and Thursday 8:30-10am Fix Lounge

AVCon Adelaide 15-17th July Adelaide Convention Centre

AUU Member’s Lunch Week 10 Wednesday 18th May 11:30-1:30pm $5 for Non-Members

Star Wars Planetarium Experience Friday 1st July 6pm Uni SA Maswon Lakes Planetarium Begin Transmission SA Turns on the Television 9th April - 5th June State Library A look at the events that shaped TV today

Adelaide Collage Club 28th May 10:30-2:30pm Flinders Street Market 230 Flinders Street Showgirl: Costumes of an Iconic Adelaide Diva 28th - 29th May 1pm - 5pm Migration Museum

Aussie Delights Weetbix Edition 27th May 9am-11am Hub Central Kitchen Free for AUU Members DO YOU LIKE US?

Adelaide Gaol Overnight Investigation 27th May 8:30pm-2am Tickets online!

On Dit Issue 7 Deadline Pop Culture Edition 8th July

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ARE YOU A BIT OF A KNOW IT ALL? DO YOU KNOW WHAT’S ON BEFORE EVERYONE ELSE? KEEP US IN THE LOOP, EMAIL US AT ONDIT@ADEL AIDE.EDU.AU AND TELL US ABOUT THE NEXT BAKE SALE, MEETING, PRIVATE LECTURE OR CLUB EVENT.

GOT CULTURE?

FOOD AND DRINKS

SPORTY

Adelaide Beer and BBQ Festival 8th-10th July Adelaide Showground

Adelaide 2016 Ice Hockey Classic USA vs CANADA 24th June 7pm

Swan Lake 26th May - 31st May Adelaide Festival Centre

Classical Music Q&A with the Adelaide Symphony Orchestra Weekly, from 15th May 6th September 5:30pm State Library of South Australia Adelaide Cabaret Festival 10th - 25th June Adelaide Festival Centre For more information see: www.adelaidecabaretfestival. com.au

Yoga Day Festival 19th June 1-4pm The Sanctuary, Adelaide Zoo

The Coconut Club 5th June 2:30-7:30pm Eco Caddy Warehouse 174 Wright Street

SAY HELLO! Email: ondit@adelaide.edu.au Facebook: @onditmagazine Twitter: @onditmagazine Instagram: @onditmag In Person: Level 4 of Union House, where we now have sunshine and baby rabbits. And chocolate.

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VOX POP

MARIELLE

ELLIOT

EMILY

1ST YR, HEALTH SCIENCE

5TH YR, CHEMICAL ENGINEERING

3RD YR, SPACE SCI & ASTROPHYSICS

1. See how quickly I can do 50 grams of coke and then OD.

1. Make marriage equality instantly law.

1. Become Labor.

2. You can wear pants AND dresses. Women are also more noticed in society.

3. Fox. 4. Yeah, I’m not too fussed about online likes or criticisms.

5. My mum. I look up to her a lot. I’d give it to all the wise people who are very comfortable with themselves.

Even Jesus. I could give it to Jesus.

2. I can pee anywhere I want.

3. Humans are technically animals.

4. Yeah. Quiet and does a lot of stalking.

5. Rove McManus, because you have to pay for every Logie after your first one and that would put him in debt. I hate that guy.

2. Being able to do a lot of things that women originally couldn’t. Being a female scientist is something I couldn’t have done a 100 years ago.

3. Labrador.

4. The internet persona has all the good bits, but it’s not too far off.

5. Not sure.

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1. IF YOU COULD BE MALCOLM TURNBULL FOR A DAY, WHAT’S THE FIRST THING YOU’D DO? 3. WHAT’S THE BEST THING ABOUT BEING A MAN OR A WOMAN? 4. IF YOU HAD TO IDENTIF Y AS AN ANIMAL, WHAT WOULD IT BE? 5. DO YOUR INTERNE T PERSONA MATCH YOUR RE AL LIFE PERSONA? 6. WHO WOULD YOU GIVE A GOLD LOGIE TO?

B E AT R I C E

ANTON

3RD YR, DEVT STUDIES & LINGUISTICS

ANNIE

4TH YR, EVOLUTIONARY BIOLOGY

1ST YR, HEALTH SCIENCE

1. Brainstorm ways of achieving equality throughout Australia.

1. Resign. Have better management of the refugee crisis, and abiding by international laws which we’re currently breaking.

2. Self empowerment.

3. A Lemur. Sloths are quite cool too with the way they hang.

4. I don’t put a lot of effort into it, so it’s true but not embellished.

5. I don’t watch much TV.

2. Not having periods. They seem terrible.

3. A bird because I want to fly. But not something that gets eaten, so maybe an eagle.

4. It does.

5. I can’t say.

1. Make the Internet better.

2. We get to do anything men can do. I don’t feel like there’s that much difference anymore.

3. Unicorn.

4. It’s less raw, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

5. The people from Play School.

SELL YOURSELF GOOD HOME REQUIRED

STAUNCH FEMINIST

FOR SALE

24 y.o. Female. Redhead. High maintenance but very loving. 5’8, slim build. Requires regular feeding to prevent bad behaviour. Easily provoked by social/ feminist issues, so approach with caution.

Comes with extensive wardrobe including the ‘gym/dance/yoga’ expansion pack and highly coveted, limited edition ‘Honey Birdette’ expansion. Recurring issue with sleep-talking and night cuddling, easily counteracted with a gentle nudge. Some wear and tear on the heart, but healing nicely. Optional extra, a 7-yr-old cream Burmese cat.

25 y.o. female. Green-eyed brunette, 5’6.

Bootylicious and proud of it. Film and television enthusiast. Aspiring writer.

Dry-humoured, big-hearted, but does not take shit from anyone. Consistently clumsy. Staunch feminist. Constantly stressed due to heavy thesis workload.

Amateur cyclist. Yoga convert. Wannabe Nonna. Excellent cook; baking a specialty.

Sucker for well-read, well-dressed, funny guys with a great book collection. Likes include hiking, Christopher Nolan films, Italian food, long conversations, and gin and tonics.

Youthful, 21 year-old. 6’3. Slim build.

Like Nicholas Hoult, only with sexy glasses. Full head of hair, minimal beard maintenance required. Coeliac positive – enjoy the trendiest of gluten-free diets!

Testicles recently serviced (8/14) by a medical professional. Not provided: employment, romantic interests, or driver’s licence. Provided: extensive DVD collection including 80s/90s classics such as Sledge Hammer!, Get A Life and The Larry Sanders Show. Cries self to sleep all on its own.

Contact Kendra, 0468 517 687

$5000, because I’m worth it.

Contact Amy on 0433 713 105

FOR SALE 22 y.o. female. Slender build. 160cm.

Long, thick blonde hair. Green (not emerald, unfortunately) eyes. Wears contact lenses. Eats everything except for offal and fried tarantulas. Master at cooking about 2-3 dishes, one of which is mi goreng. Voracious reader, and buyer of bags of books when she owns a whole unread bookshelf/is broke/hasn’t started assignments. Perfectionist, with a hefty dose of procrastination thrown in.

Add jdrama, anime, and desserts, with endless dogs to pat, for a happy girl. Will do anything for friends if they will do the same. 100% or nothing kinda girl.

Call Carla on 0445 125 611

FREE TO A GOOD HOME 22 y.o. female. Ginger. Enjoys cooking and baking. Regularly demands foot rubs. Requires glasses for long-distance vision. Doesn’t deal with dairy well but also refuses to stop eating cheese. Can’t drive, but is proficient at bike riding. Has read the Harry Potter series 60+ times.

Recently discovered red lipstick and will now wear to any occasion. Will cry when hormonal (and when not hormonal). Is bad at getting out of bed in the morning.

Call Andrew on 0412 345 678

STOCKS MUST CLEAR 23 y.o. female. Can’t see without artificial aid. Loves eating more than anything.

Likely to worry incessantly and prone to bad moods. Talks about herself a lot. Will fight you over chip flavour preferences.

Has cried about Harry Potter in the last 48 hours. Likes a good meme and loves a good bargain.

Contact 0432 933 605 now!

SPECIAL LIMITED TIME OFFER *As seen on TV !!!* Have you been keeping up, or are you falling as far behind as her grades?

Introducing… Grace! She’s bubbly ! She sings ! She dances ! She writes ! And she can cook ( just don’t ask for breakfast foods)! At 5’4, ‘though she may be but little, she is fierce’ – add alcohol for instant sass! (full wardrobe included, now with vintage designer pieces.) ** May spontaneously burst into show tunes and/or classic hits from the 50s-90s, quote old cinematic greats, or classic literature ** Contact Grace on 0481 358 121

Contact Rob on 0432 067 912

FOR SALE 21 y.o., male. Average build. 5’10”.

Incredibly thick head of hair. Hair covering majority of body in fact and responds poorly to suggestions of shaving.

Requires glasses for driving, but looks like Clark Kent. Milo and cider needed on regular basis to function efficiently.

Wardrobe consists of jeans and Scott Pilgrim vs World t-shirts. Enjoys hugs and petting cats. Will stay behind to see extra scenes at the end of superhero films. $69.99 NN Contact Seamus at 0419968269

FOR SALE 23 y.o., female. Comes with a natural ability to reverse parallel park a car. Is actually cleaner than in photo, currently covered in Nutella, will clean fully before sale. No major dents, scrapes, or bruises, has lived inside since original production.

When you turn it on for the first time, there’s a funny noise it makes, but that’s just the Middle Eastern accent. Does not need premium olive oil, just add hummus.

1,200,000 AED or 1,000 tonnes of Haigh’s Contact Lur at your nearest Alraya Halal Groceries on 0422 622 600

PERSONAL I D E N TI-DIT

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ART WORK BY: MILLIE LEWIS

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THE UNCOOL GIRL WORDS BY: AMELIA LEE-HAMMAT ART WORK BY: R ACHEL WONG

Last year, on a Tuesday afternoon, I watched Gone Girl. I watched it wrapped up in my quilt, glued to the screen in abject horror and disbelief. And then, when it f inished, I watched it again, just to make sure I had actually seen what I had seen. And then I read the book for good measure.

I did not enjoy Gone Girl. Well, Amelia, why on earth did you consume it so rabidly? I hear you ask. I mean, I probably don’t, unless I’m reading this over your shoulder. But it’s a fair question that you’re not asking, and the answer is because of Amy’s explanation of the phenomenon of the Cool Girl.

‘Men always say that as the defining compliment, don’t they? She’s a cool girl. Being the Cool Girl means I am a hot, brilliant, funny woman who adores football, poker, dirty jokes, and burping, who plays video games, drinks cheap beer, loves threesomes and anal sex, and jams hot dogs and hamburgers into her mouth like she’s hosting the world’s biggest culinary gang bang while somehow maintaining a size 2, because Cool Girls are above all hot.’

It took me a few days to realise why this ‘Cool Girl’ stuck so f irmly in my head. Since I left high school, I have run through many iterations of the Cool Girl, each becoming so ingrained into my personality that now, at 24, it was time for the sort of identity crisis most people don’t have until they’re 50.

Let me explain. I didn’t have great friends in high school. I didn’t so much have a personality as a list of things I could and couldn’t do lest I risk the ire of the terrible people I spent my time with.

So when I f inally graduated, I latched on to an identity with an intense ferocity. This is 2010.

Zooey Deschanel was kind of a big deal, and so it was very, very important to me to be twee and quirky. Sundresses, vintage shops, acoustic guitar music, pixie cut, I had the whole shtick. Hipsters were cool and there was this boy, see, who wanted his very own manic pixie dream girl, and he

was so cool and so gorgeous and he was mine all mine.

It was very important to him that I be a lot of things. It was important that I be thin, it was important that I be soft, and delicate, and quiet, and above all it was important that I be pretty. He would get offended if I wore jeans rather than a sundress, even in July, or if I failed to do my hair to his liking, or if I did something he considered indelicate. Essentially, if I behaved in a way that was outside of this, his idea of the Cool Girl should be. So that’s what I was, and then he broke up with me, and I f loundered. I clung to this idea of the pretty little fool, and when I found another boy in 2012, he liked it too, so I kept it.

Cool Girl Amelia evolved over the course of that relationship.

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Cool Girl 2.0 was still quirky and twee, but also nerdy. She was into video games. She played Dungeons and Dragons. She liked comics, and superheroes, but she was still sweet and delicate, even if she’d ditched the sundresses for anything with a funky pattern. Cool Girl 2.0 loved dogs, and pizza, and made her own denim vest that said ‘CATS AGAINST CATCALLS’ (yes, really).

Fast forward to 2015, watching Gone Girl wrapped in my quilt.

That boy, too, is gone, and the new boy is one of my oldest friends, who doesn’t have a Cool Girl in his head for me to live up to. Still, though, Cool Girl 3.0 has not changed all that much, although blissfully the denim vest is gone. Cool Girl 3.0, though, has stumbled into one hell of an identity crisis.

Who am I?

I don’t want to say that Gillian Flynn made me re-evaluate my life. She didn’t, and I’m certainly not about to frame my boyfriend for my fake murder and then drive off into the sunset. But this idea of the Cool Girl made me realise I’d been so busy being the Cool Girl for the men in my life that I’d never actually asked myself the important question: what do I even like?

The answers I came up with surprised me. Far from the twee world of bangs and sundresses, what I actually liked was yoga pants and runners. I like AFL a lot, and I like hiking, and rock climbing, and actually, it turns out, what I don’t like is my degree.

I’m still working that one out, but I’ll stick with it for now. I like yoga, and I like jalapenos, and I like dumb bro pump up music, and I like pub trivia and I like quiz shows. I like going to gigs with my mum and drinking gin and never

ever wearing heels. What I like, now, is being the most relaxed and happy I think I’ve ever been. I like feeling like there’s no pretence.

But still, in the back of my mind is that niggling little thought: is this Cool Girl, reimagined? I have spent so long making myself into the Cool Girl that maybe I don’t know how to be anything else.

Sure, I’m happy, but does that mean this is any less of a quest to be the Cool Girl?

I guess, in the end, it doesn’t really matter. Is there any aspect of our identities that isn’t contrived? Can we really ever truly be ourselves?

In all honesty, I shouldn’t ask that question. That sort of thinking is not very cool.

Amelia is a second year Media student and (sadly for her) a Dockers supporter. Her cats think she’s cool, but her mum does not.

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BE A LADY WORDS BY: SKYE JENNER

I’ve lost count of the amount of times that I’ve been told ‘that’s not very ladylike’. And okay, sometimes it’s because I’ve burped epically loudly, or my maxi-skirt has been tucked into my underwear for whatever reason (a very attractive look, I can assure you). But I’ve never really understood exactly what people mean by be a lady. It is just so very, very confusing.

Alright, I know that part of being a lady, is to fit into so many of the gender stereotypes that are flaunted and forced upon us – man and woman alike you know – as women, we’re supposed to love Rom Coms, never pass wind or swear, and to always, always look like we have spent hours on our look. I honestly don’t know many females who are like this, do you? And regardless of how much of these stereotypes we do manage to accomplish, it’s still almost guaranteed, that someone is going to tell you that you need to be a lady. So my question is, what makes a lady? Or, in more general terms, how are we supposed to be, a “proper” women?

If you ask some of the people that I have grown up with, a woman is someone who looks good, but not slutty (a term which I by the way hate with a firey, firey passion. A rant for another day perhaps…). As a good female, they think that you should also accept any and all behaviour

from “your man” and “the menfolk”.

Whether this is letting them talk the way they want in public or have boy time whenever and wherever they want. A little archaic at times – and if my boyfriend doesn’t control me, who am I to control his every action?

Respect people. Respect. But I digress…

There is a flip side to this kind of attitude – the same boys who expect you to act like this also feel that women are a thing to be treasured.

They should be protected, shouldn’t be sworn in front of and just generally treated like a princess. And hey, who doesn’t love that? I know that I don’t mind it when I get spoilt and have chocolate bought home for me…

If I listened to the advice on Ladette to Lady, then these very English and very proper ladies would tell me that a lady NEVER swears. She does not raise her voice. A lady never speaks unless spoken to, and she most definitely has impeccable manners.

According to this (in my mind) very entertaining and silly show; ladies are to practice their eloquence in the hopes of marrying rich. The end.

Now, being a university magazine, I’m going to go out on a limb then and say that this definition is not quite adequate. So what else is there?

A few years ago I read The Politics of Piety, which delved into the world of Islamic women in Egypt. The ideas of womanhood and feminism are so far removed from my experiences (and even those of the author), that I honestly can’t fathom acting in this way. Wearing a hijab and operating in a patriarchal society in just the right way was a fascinating life to read about, but definitely not something that would fit my experience of ‘womanhood’.

So, what does being a lady mean?

Well, I identify as a lady. A woman.

A female. And although every group, culture and subset of people have different ideas on this, I think that it’s our decision to ‘be a lady’.

And that is what makes us one.

Being a lady is fun – in all its guises.

So embrace it. Be a lady. Basically just be your wonderful, feminine self. Unless you’re a man. Then you should probably stick to being a man (if that’s what you want…).

Skye is so uncoordinated, that people sometimes fear for her life when she walks in heels.

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BE A MAN WORDS BY: ZAC BR ANDON-SMITH

*This contains spoilers for some movies. But they’re pretty old. You’ll get over it.* I am a man. Do I feel strongly about my male identity? Not really – it’s a trait like anything else.

Often times you can tell when a person’s masculinity (or merely their classification as ‘not a woman’) is of utmost importance. Once while I served a customer at work, he gestured to a female co-worker of mine, implied that I was working harder than her (by virtue of having a penis, I suppose), then finished with ‘Typical woman, eh?’

This human caricature had so astonished me with his insightful social commentary, that I was lost for words. For some reason, we two of us had become some “in” club with the lazy, non-working women classified as, “the other”. Excuse me for a moment, you absolute sub-human, when I say ‘Fuck that’. In addition to your unfounded judgment of a colleague of mine, what makes you

think I care about your bigoted opinions simply because I share your gender?

I have never viewed my maleness as some great benefit, or even as particularly important, but I do understand that it gives me a different perspective on things. I just wish that the real-life concerns, fears, doubts, triumphs and dilemmas which I experience as a man, were better expressed in society and in media, instead of just Zack Snyderesque hyper-violent pandering. Here is exactly what I think ‘being a man’ truly means, expressed in three films which spoke to my male experience.

In Gran Torino, Clint Eastwood plays a Korean War veteran who, after overcoming deep-seated racism by befriending his Asian neighbours, goes to greater and greater lengths to defend them from a local gang.

The Grey stars Liam Neeson as a survivalist defending a team of stranded Alaskan workmen, against wolf packs and the elements whilst hiding a disturbing truth about his own will to survive. Warrior features two brothers, Joel Edgerton and Tom

Hardy, estranged by an abusive-yetrepentant father, who unknowingly enter the same mixed-martial-arts tournament and are forced to fight each other for their own selfless causes.

All three of these films made me cry at some point, which doesn’t happen often (since I’m such a man and all).

When Clint Eastwood provokes a street gang to gun him down, knowing that their arrest will save those he cares about. When Liam Neeson, after revealing that he had nearly committed suicide at the start of the film, decides to fight for his life while inspired by a line of his late father’s poetry. When two longlost brothers are forced to beat each other senseless, one for his family, one for the widow of his dead friend.

These moments gripped me because I knew as I watched, that these were heroic acts of which any normal person is capable.

These films don’t pass the Bechdel Test.

If I have to be a man then these are the men I want to be.

Zac writes a little, talks a lot, and records a podcast about movies and stuff. Maybe look him up on FB and Twitter.

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RETAIL THERAPY WORDS BY: RICHARD POOR ILLUSTR ATION BY: JACK LOWE

I can’t say for certain whether I dress ‘fashionably’ or not, but being male has the distinctive benefit that a select few articles of clothing never stop looking decent. A dress shirt, good pair of pants, and some leatherish-looking shoes of questionable material, pretty much describes my daily go-to. At my most casual, I’ll wear a plainer button-up shirt or something long-sleeved, loosen my standards to a trim pair of jeans, and put on my slightly more worn-in pair of unidentifiable footwear.

Rewind the clock to late 2013, however, and my wardrobe primarily consisted of jeans/shorts, plain t-shirts, and Connies. While still moderately trendy, I’ve certainly taken steps in more recent years to appear as though I actually do something with my life. You might (and On Dit actually did) question what motivates a person to dress nicely, so I thought I’d share that with you.

In 2013, and at 21 years of age, I was probably the most physically fit I’ve been my entire life. My powerlifting schedule was strict and uncompromising, I spent several nights a week learning various martial arts, and I rode my bike a sound 30km daily to and from university. I couldn’t tout a six-pack, nor would I have been taking up crime fighting, but if you weighed less than 100kg chances were I could throw you further than I trusted

you, and out-run you after you’d picked up the nearest sharp object and chased after the asshole who’s just thrown you across a room.

That all changed when the fire nation attacked I was diagnosed with bowel cancer.

Having dropped that bombshell on you all (it’s a shame I can’t see you, a well-timed cancer bomb has produced some of the best facial expressions I’ve ever seen), I should qualify that statement with the fact that I’m fine now, for all intents and purposes I’ve been cured.

The problem is, the cure required the colorectal equivalent of nuking my intestines from orbit: i.e. complete excision.

Fortunately, my wonderful surgeon only needed to excise the large intestine, the result being that I only need to drink more water, visit the facilities more often, and concern myself with such trivialities as just what effect the genocide of my gut microbiome will do to my long-term physical and mental health, or at what point in my professional career the very likely secondary cancer will pop up. It’s an idea you get used to talking about casually.

This had implications for the very physically capable self-image I had been building for myself, because in order to get to the large intestine my

surgeon needed a direct pathway – which she obtained by cutting a path through my abdominal muscles.

Once again, I’m embellishing for effect, the largest scar is only about an inch long, but it did mean that movement was painful for one month, and weightlifting wasn’t really an option for another couple.

Have I mentioned yet that all of this was happening in the final year of my bachelor’s degree? The middle of my final year of my bachelor’s degree?

That is: semester.

during

the

goddamn

Even though it turns out the most icy-hearted topic coordinator is sympathetic to the cancer card, extensions didn’t make the actual accomplishment of work any easier.

Not when the sudden 180 of my physical health put a hard set of brakes on the physical fitness I had been priding myself on, for the better part of three years.

My health was bad, and I felt bad.

The hit to my physical health and mounting stress meant that I needed something to help me feel a little better, but my my grades weren’t helping, and I wasn’t able to resort to my usual stress-relief of picking things up and putting them down, or practicing chokeholds on sweaty men. This stress translated into a recession from my previous healthier

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habits and led further into lethargy and idleness, which would round back and make me feel even worse about myself.

During my various stays in hospital, I had requested ordinary sets of clothing from home including belt, shoes, and jeans. While uncomfortable to wear with a mending intestinal tract, there was a certain comfort in at least looking like I wasn’t sick; like I had just stopped in briefly between lectures to occupy one of the beds and make a mockery of the public health system.

It was around this point in time I made the acquaintance of another student, studying the arts, who made a frequent point of dressing up very sharply in a two-piece suit, and accompanying fashionable accessories. Admittedly, that friend’s fashion is a little overkill, but the point being it made them look confident, and it made them stand out from everybody else around them. That was kind of what being fit had made me feel like, and I briefly entertained the idea of dressing just as nicely, before chastising myself for being a pretentious asshole.

It was around the point of the second surgery, however, that I decided I really needed something to cheer me up. So one particularly miserable day, I finally decided to bite the bullet and attended university dressed in a nice button-up shirt and suit jacket, one of my nicer pairs of pants, and the dress shoes I usually reserved for formalwear. Just for something,

anything to break the depressing monotony of the entire ordeal.

Nervous is not quite the right word: I felt like an absolute wanker, dressing up so nicely for no reason at all, and I received a fair share of confused looks when the best response I could muster to queries from my friends was, ‘I just felt like it.’

But despite that, it made me feel a little better, and people do treat you a little differently if you’re dressed nicely. You elicit a slightly broader smile from others, you get more sideways glances, and your reflection doesn’t look too bad either. So even though I was going through the worst time of my life, and I wasn’t sure just how more the surgeons would have to hack away in order to preserve the ever-receding amount of me that remained: I consoled myself with the fact that I at least looked nice. So I kept it up. Thus this completely trivial reason is why, however many years on and cancer-free, I’ve maintained the look and broadened my wardrobe.

Days can always be unexpectedly bad, and it doesn’t have to be something as severe as cancer to make me feel like I’m a genetic dead-end or a waste of society’s precious time and resources.

But at least I look nice.

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SIXTEEN PERSONALITIES WORDS AND TABLE BY: CONNIE TR AN Do you like to take quizzes that tell you vital yet pointless information about yourself – like what kind of a procrastinator are you? Here’s one for you – except it’s probably slightly more reliable than that Buzzfeed quiz you found on your Facebook timeline at 1am in bed.

Created by Carl Jung, and further developed by mother/daughter duo Katherine Briggs and Isabel Myers, the Myers-Briggs personality test is a fun little way to neatly categorise yourself into one of 16 different types. Your personality type is made up of four letters, one from each row below: • Introvert // Extravert • Sensing // INtuition • Thinking // Feeling • Judging //Perceiving For example, I am an ISTJ – that is, I am Introverted, a Sensor, a Thinker and a Judger. But what do they mean exactly?

INTROVERTED OR EXTRAVERTED?

SENSING OR INTUITION?

Ever felt drained and needing some alone time after a long day of socializing? Or maybe you feel more awake and energised when interacting with people, but feel a bit low when alone? These two polar ends are your typical cases of introversion and extraversion. Despite popular preconceptions, being introverted isn’t necessarily correlated with being ‘quiet’ or ‘anti-social,’ nor is extraversion synonymous with ‘talkative’ and ‘sociable.’ Rather, it relates with energy flow. When introverts socialize, their energy levels gradually diminish. Eventually they need time to recharge, in which they are able to replenish their energy levels. For extroverts, interacting with people invigorates them whilst time alone can make them feel a bit down.

So yes, you can be boisterous and an introvert, or shy and extraverted. Or you could find that you identify with both descriptions, or neither.

This one is a little trickier to identify. The sensing/intuition functions refer to how you process data. Are you into abstract thinking, or do you prefer facts?

Sensors are detail-orientated – when presented with data, they prefer to look at things they can see, hear, touch or smell. They also tend to focus on the present and when encountered with a problem, tend to adopt a solution that they have previously used in the past.

Intuitives however, are more likely to read between the lines, follow their gut feeling, and prefer to look at the bigger picture. They see meanings and patterns from day to day life, and like to solve problems by conjuring up new and different solutions.

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THINKING OR FEELING?

JUDGING OR PERCEIVING?

I HAVE MY FOUR LETTERS – WHAT NOW?

The short version: do you follow your head or your heart? This attribute revolves around how you make your decisions. Thinkers tend to opt for the more logical option, consider all alternatives and weigh up the pros and cons. On the other hand, feelers take into account their own feelings as well as others when making decisions, acting in accordance with their internal morals and values. We are both thinkers and feelers when making decisions, though the main objective is to identify which of the two traits plays a more dominating role in your decision making process.

Plan your day or go with the flow?

Contrary to what it says, judgers do not actually “ judge” other people, per se. Instead judging refers to people who have a tendency to plan. They tend to like order and routine. Think of the people you know who are list makers, methodical in their actions, or are routine orientated. Chances are they probably lean more towards the judging end of a scale than perceiving. Perceivers however are more flexible in the sense that they prefer to keep their options open.

Often they tend to work in ‘bursts’ of energy and may sometimes leave behind a trail of unfinished projects.

They are able to adapt quickly to suit any situation and dislike routine, viewing structures and regulations as ‘stifling’.

If you feel like you know what your four letters are, I highly recommend that you google those letters and see if results from your search accurately describes your personality. If not, feel free to read up on other types with similar letters to see if it’s a better match. However, if you’re unsure on one or two (or all) of the traits, googling ‘Myers Briggs test’ should lead you to an easy quiz you can take. Keep in mind it is also possible for people to identify as borderline between traits as well (e.g. neither strongly introverted nor extraverted but in the middle). All in all, take the quiz as a bit of lighthearted fun.

So – go forth and analyse yourself!

If you happen to befriend Connie, she will inevitably make you do the Myers-Briggs personality test. Be warned, she is set on her goal of psychoanalysing you and every other human being in existence.

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TREAT YO SELF, LOVE YO SELF

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WORDS BY: AMY NANCARROW ILLUSTR ATION BY: EMILY HART We’ve all heard that age-old adage: To love someone, we must first love ourselves.

If we’re to find happiness, we must first make peace with ourselves, we must be happy with ourselves; we must love ourselves for exactly who we are. The thing that no one acknowledges is that in this endeavour, we are constantly swimming against the current.

There are two reasons why this popular idea places pressure upon us all. For starters, and for women especially, it’s difficult to ignore the constant advertisements, media coverage, film and television, magazines, fashion bibles – all of the aspects of the mass media that constantly reinforce feelings of not being good enough. We’re told that to have hairy legs, to not wear make-up, or to not be up-to-date on the latest fashion trends mean that there is something inherently wrong with us. The sheer amount of ‘makeover’ reality shows is mind-boggling.

We are constantly being told how to look, and how to be – and if we don’t look or behave a certain way, we will never find love or happiness.

Some time ago, I came across a show called Snog, Marry, Avoid, in which a woman is presented to a focus-group of British citizens. They are shown a

‘before’ and ‘after’ picture, and they are polled to see if – you guessed it – they would snog, marry, or avoid the woman in question. The women tend to be from various subcultures: punks, burlesque enthusiasts, cosplay artists – all have extreme styles based on their personal interests. They are then given a ‘make under’, and are essentially told that when they reject their original look, one that they love and have personally cultivated, they are more beautiful and more likely to land themselves a partner.

This is a classic example of the anxiety that most women experience on a daily basis: the need to look traditionally beautiful in order to be loved. Snog, Marry, Avoid, the scourge of reality television, reinforces the notion that these women in particular are not beautiful, loveable, or worthy, just because they choose to look a certain way. They need to change if they want to be happy.

However, there’s also an underlying judgement that not loving yourself means that you’re inherently wrong.

It’s a loaded statement that places so much pressure on us all. It screams ‘If you don’t love yourself, no one else can, so get to the self-lovin’!’ We better hurry, because life is passing us by. But the thing is, self-love doesn’t happen overnight. I have spent years working to a point where

I feel self-confident and accepting of my passions, interests, and flaws.

I am happy with the person that I am. From time to time, I stumble profoundly; deep-seeded insecurities rear their ugly heads, but now they are only passing thoughts. The point is, self-love takes time. Don’t be hard on yourself if it doesn’t happen immediately. Be patient, and be kind to yourself.

Show me someone who says that they’ve never felt self-conscious and I’ll show you a liar. Every person on the planet, at some point in their lives, has felt like they’re not good enough for something or someone.

Learning to love yourself is no easy task in a world where we are being told that there’s always room for improvement. It takes time, it takes work, and it pays to be aware that there will be setbacks. There will be days where you feel fat or ugly or unworthy. Just know that if you don’t love yourself, someone does. If you don’t love yourself right now, that’s not something to be judged about.

Give it time, give it patience. That, in itself, is self-love and acceptance.

Amy practices self-love by watching Singing in the Rain, hiking, and taking long baths, but she’s always open to new relaxational ideas.

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DRESSING UP WORDS BY: MICHAEL A MCGR ATH

The way we dress has long progressed past practical measures and now embodies a realm of feelings, emotions and relationships.

Dressing ones self is a form of self expression.

probably opt for shorts. When I went to my formal I spent significantly more time shopping for a dress than when I was actually going to school and I only had to choose between uniforms.

If you’re one day lucky enough to delve into my wardrobe, you’ll find that there’s a lot of consistency.

There’s a lot of black, white, grey, stripes, and the occasional floral.

Despite this consistency in colours and styles, what I wear day to day deviates a fair bit.

THE EMOTIONAL

I think about what I want to wear while I’m in the shower. The night before is too early, how can anyone expect me to know what I’m going to feel like tomorrow? But leaving it until actually getting dressed is too late and usually results in piles of clothes decorating every inch of the bedroom floor. So I opt for the shower and it generally works out quite well.

But why? It’s because there’s a bunch of factors that contribute in my choosing on which pieces of cloth I choose to wear on any given day and apparently they’re all pretty damn time sensitive.

So, here we go.

THE PRACTICAL The Practical constraints are usually the ones that can be planned for ahead of time. They are the more structured reasons for wearing clothes. The Practical aspects include the weather, the occasion and the time constraints. Pretty self explanatory really. If it’s cold I’ll take a jacket, if it’s warm I’ll

Rather than being constraints such as ‘The Practical,’ these aspects are stretch beyond comfort into the realm of self expression. Here, the way I dress is a tool in reflecting my confidence and my insecurities, my mood, my taste and all the different facets of my identity. In my shower haven of decision making I usually address the most pressing of these issues. What do I feel good (or bad) about today? What do I want people to notice? Perfectly (and not so perfectly) coordinated ensembles come in flashes to compliment my favourite areas and camouflage the worst of my insecurities (my coffee bloated tummy). Unknowingly, my attitude towards these concoctions of clothing face the test of my personality, my creativity, my motivation and my influences. Each outfit faces scrutiny. What aesthetic am I wanting to present today?

Professional? Student? Cute? A mix of all three? The array of clothing dwindles significantly facing the left swipe of the fashion Tinder in my head. How motivated am I on this given day? My creativity directly correlates to my motivation levels. If I’m tired or stressed or just generally unmotivated I tend to opt for glasses and minimal makeup. If I have to go out I opt for something that I’ve worn a million times before and that I know looks good. On the other

hand, the days that I wake up feeling fresh AF I tend to experiment a little more with the new pieces I might not have worn before, or try something a little different with my face.

THE EXTERNAL While the aforementioned influences that come from within are the main contributors to what I eventually wear, I am influenced by other people to some degree. I’m not a saint, I will also admit that the media impacts me just as much as the next person.

What I see in the shops and the trends that I’m following ultimately dictate what I buy and in turn what I wear. I also find that what I wear is largely impacted by who I’m going to see. My outfit tends to reflect the personality that comes to the forefront when I’m with that person.

It also mirrors the relationship that I have with said person. When I’m meeting someone new I tend to put in a little more effort, but by the same token I’m not going to spend an hour getting ready to hang out with my best friend.

So I guess, in short, I don’t particularly dress to impress anyone in particular. People, places and ideas influence the way that I look but ultimately I dress to express myself. What I wear every day is my day to day scrapbook of my own identity and I think that’s pretty cool.

Michaela wrote this whilst experiencing the worst of her coffee bloat after consuming more cappuccinos than she’d like to admit.

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MYTHIC BISEXUALITY WORDS BY: CHLOE MILLS ART WORK BY: JADE SPINELLI

I am a bisexual woman.

I’ve been in a relationship with my current boyfriend for six years. I’ve never slept with a woman, but I know I’d like to. I have not ‘come out’ to the majority of my family or friends. And I don’t feel as though I’m allowed to identify as bisexual.

First of all, let’s get some things straight: Yes, bisexuality is a thing.

No, bisexuals are not “greedy”.

No, I’m not just a lesbian who hasn’t realised yet, I am VERY attracted to men.

No, I don’t have threesomes all the time (I don’t even know if I want one).

No, I’m not in an open relationship (that’s polyamory and it’s different).

No, I’ve never (and will never) cheated on my partner. That’s just a dick move.

Ok, hopefully that’s cleared any of the major ‘issues’ with bisexuality up.

The reason I haven’t come out to most of my family and friends has

absolutely nothing to do with (most) of them. It has to do with me, and the way society’s portrayal of bisexuals makes me feel.

Bisexuality remains seriously misunderstood, despite a greater discussion of LGBT+ rights and experiences. In conversations with people who have no idea that I’m bisexual I’ve heard all the comments that result in the above answers. Or I’ve heard people of all sexualities complain that bisexuals are just ‘hiding behind their heterosexual relationships’ and therefore don’t have to face the same issues as other LGBT+ people.

On top of this, female bisexuality in particular has been so fetishised.

‘Does that mean your boyfriend gets to have threesomes all the time’ is a pretty common response to me telling people that I’m bisexual, even though my sexuality has nothing to do with him. Most of the people who say this think it’s hilarious, to me it’s just further sexualising and trivialising my sexuality, which should never be the case.

I know that I shouldn’t listen to any of this nonsense, but years of hearing it being said all around me have had more of an impact than I thought that they would. I don’t feel as though I’m allowed to identify as a bisexual because I’m dating a man, or because I haven’t had sex with another woman, even though no one would accuse a straight woman of not actually being straight just because she hadn’t had sex. For the first time in my life something central to my identity isn’t readily accepted by society and the people around me.

One day I’m sure I’ll ‘come out’. I’ll tell my family, change my Facebook profile to say interested in men and women, and tell all the people who try and delegitimise my sexuality to go get another hobby. But for now, I’ll probably just stick to telling only a select few and keeping it to myself.

Not because I’m ashamed, because I’m not. Just because, for now, I don’t need anyone else’s judgement on who I am.

“Give a man a mask and he will show you his face” Guy Fawkes (a.k.a Chloe)

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ARTIST PROFILE: CARLY HARVY I’m an emerging artist from Adelaide, who specialises in portrait painting. Over the last few years I’ve studied painting at the Adelaide Central School of Art in between studying Chemical Engineering here. In my paintings I’m always trying to get across a person’s presence and blur the boundaries between the surreal and familiar.

There’s a weird psychology that comes with representing a person from your own interpretation of them in a single moment in time, and knowing that you can never holistically represent them.

My subject matter are usually all people I know who intrigue me and who I have strong connections with. There’s always that sense of loss of control for the sitter when I paint them, in that I am allowed to construct a version of themselves.

I find it very interesting to see how a person’s ancestry and personal history can shape their life decisions for good or bad. We’re all trying to trying to live our lives based on decisions made through evaluating information that has been both personally collected and filtered down culturally.

We’re also continually analysing ourselves and making sense of our interactions with others and with the event of social media this personal identity branding is becoming more public.

My work is a way of breaking that down for myself and showing my relationship with a person visually and my version of their identity through making something physical.

Find more paintings @carly.harvy

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MODERN I D E N TI-DIT

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WHAT IF YOU’RE JUST A NORMAL PERSON? WORDS BY: INGMAR DULDIG ART WORK BY: PETE EVANS

I’m a fairly normal person. I’ve got an average IQ , I probably experience a similar amount of shame, grief and joy as anyone else, and I’ve never done anything particularly noteworthy. There it is, my darkest secret.

I would never admit to this on my tumblr page. In a world where the latest missive from the Kardashian Kompound is treated as if it was chiselled in stone by god himself (or, as his friends know him, Kanye West), the chasm between private mediocrity and public fervor has never been wider. Sure, the children of millionaires have achieved fame beyond their talents since time immemorial, but nowadays we actually get to hear their fascinating insights in 140 characters or less, 24/7. Unfortunately, this habit of online triumphalism has trickled down into the digital selves of everyday people. I can’t tell you how many crashing bores I knew in High School who have suddenly reinvented

themselves as a “wellness expert” or “lifestyle coach” online. You’ve seen them: the incessant photos of beach sunsets or forest hikes; the impossibly indie musical taste; the sickeningly smug profile picture, beatifically gazing into the distance. In the Facebook age, people who didn’t even understand “Inception” are presenting themselves as wise sages, dispensing their piercing aphorisms to a fawning public. Just passiveaggressively post a poorly pixelated picture with a facile quote like “and if the music is good, you dance” with some sepia-saturated hipsters in the background and you’re guaranteed at least 50 likes.

One of the worst elements of our collective psyche that’s been thrown into the spotlight by Facebook is our desperate collective need to be liked, and to be treated as special. We all try to present ourselves as happier, funnier and more interesting than we really are, and this desire to

be special is refracted through the echo chamber of likes and shares.

I can’t believe how many fairly common traits have been claimed by ridiculous shareable quotes to be markers of incredible uniqueness and moral strength. So you’re an introvert? You must be a genius!

Miss your ex? Don’t worry, your emotional intelligence is probably through the roof.

We’re all guilty of this kind of valorisation of statistically normal characteristics - it seems Facebook knows our secret fears, and they know how to exploit them to make us feel simultaneously superior and anxious. I couldn’t count the number of articles that appear on my feed about how not having many friends is a clear indicator of hard-earned emotional wisdom, or how being absent-minded and distracted means I’m a sure bet for a Nobel Prize. The trouble is, all of this celebration often has

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the opposite effect. We know now that keeping up a perfect online presence can actually be extremely stressful, as the gap between the pristine digital self and the banal lived reality creates uncomfortable dissonance. And constantly being reminded of how perfect everyone else’s life is can be seriously damaging if you’re not in a good place. It’s not uncommon to have a close-knit group of a handful of friends, or to be a bit forgetful. But with my Facebook friends (and Facebook itself through its witchdoctor algorithms that decide what I see on my feed and when) telling me that these familiar markers of personality are incredible and unique, I don’t feel special, I feel nervous. If I’m so amazing, why aren’t I happier?

The other problem is, if everyone is exceptional, then being exceptional is actually average, meaning all your effort in tweeting about your brilliant life in the hope that your enemies will see has been wasted.

The internet is a great marketplace

of ideas, but, just like in real world markets, sometimes shit products rise to the top. The idea that we are all individually sitting high above the crowd of normals below us is such a product.

We shouldn’t worry about the fact that we aren’t exceptional – by definition, barely anyone is, and it’s liberating to be relieved of the burden of pretending. And I think it’s actually comforting to realise that everyone else is probably happy, sad, and indifferent at a similar ratio to me. So won’t you join me in my utopia of the average? We should let go of the desire to appear more than we are: it’ll be easier for us all if we let our digital selves reflect the real thing, in all its beautiful blandness.

Ingmar Duldig is a traveller and food blogger who just wants to share his joy with the world.

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MILLENNIALS IN NEVERLAND WORDS BY: HIL ARY D’ANGELO ILLUSTR ATION BY: ELLEN SCHULZ

We, as uni students, are united through more than just our consistent string of caffeine-induced all-nighters. With the exception of mature-agers, we share a cohesive identity: the simultaneous blessing and burden of our generation.

That, and the slightly disconcerting realisation that first years in 2018 will have been born in the year 2000.

Several terms have been coined for this cohort of ours: Gen Y, Gen Millennial, Gen Boomerang, Gen “We” (thanks, Baby Boomers).

The term ‘Generation Peter Pan’ has even been thrown around due to our involuntary delay into the ‘traditional passage’ of adulthood.

Sadly, when you consider the reality behind the rising cost of tertiary education, inflation of housing, and minimal graduate opportunities for employment, the term seems less innocuous.

Call it what you will, but the common consensus is that our generation spans roughly 15 years, starting in 1982 and ending somewhere between 1996-2000. As a child of 1996, I narrowly make the cut. Blackboards, videos tapes, disposable cameras and, who could forget – Eiffel 65’s absolute banger of a song about the blue man in the blue house. I was there, and I remember it vividly.

I’m often overwhelmed with a dominant sense of nostalgia for my childhood – of course triggered by constant reminders from popular Facebook group Australian Millenials. And you have to admit, we grew up with some truly iconic TV shows and trends. Baby Boomers didn’t grow up playing Neopets or watching Blue Water High, and what a loss that is to them.

We unite to reminisce over the wonder that was our upbringing,

but this wistfulness quickly vanishes upon returning to the present moment. Recession in the economy confronts us with unemployment more pervasive in our cohort than any other. Here, hard work and dedication isn’t quite sufficient.

We’re instead often dismissed as a lazy, entitled, and selfish generation.

Amid these difficulties, our generation does emerge as progressive and impassioned.

Termed the ‘Global Generation’, Millenials have the power to work toward true equality and progress beyond the realm of thought of our predecessors.

The thing about being a Millennial is that we all face the same obstacles – and we’re in it together. No, we didn’t start the fire (as once astutely pointed out by Billy Joel), but the burden now falls on us to put it out. And I’d like to think we’re up to the challenge. At least on the

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face of it, progressive movements and causes for social justice are dominated by young people. Not to mention: the majority of support for revolutionary environmental documentary Cowspiracy seems to come from Millennials.

Despite this ostensible positivity, I have to be honest: I frequently feel intensely discouraged. The allconsuming concept of a lingering shadow of student debt, bleak prospects for full-time employment, and rampant environmental degradation is enough to deject even the most optimistic of us. So in that regard, perhaps I’m cynical. Or perhaps I’m just stuck in Neverland.

Hilary is slowly making her way through an extensive IMDB watchlist, which, in conjunction with her readlist on Goodreads, will last an eternity.

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MES AND YOUS WORDS BY: JAMES RUDD ART WORK BY: ELLIOT LEWIS

‘Be the best You you can be.’

‘The only thing you can do is Your best.’

‘Just be Yourself.’

If you call yourself a “90s Kid” or have been branded a “Millennial”, no doubt someone has gifted you these pearls of wisdom, or something damn near like it.

It’s all fine and dandy to dish out these suggestions like hard candy, but the problem that our parents and role models could hardly comprehend is that us “90s Kids” and “Millennials” are the first generation of folks to grow up with such a fractured idea of who You even is.

The You of today is one built up of a number of individuals. We construct our sense of self not just through bodily performance, fashion, speech and interests, but through our consumption of and participation in media. We are hybrid beings, equally made up of

1s and 0s as flesh and blood.

You is a hard concept to wrap your head around at the best of times, but when we throw our social media profiles into the mix, You become something almost infinite and slippery. There is no longer a single “You” to aspire to.

To demonstrate to all of you and all of your Yous, please accept my Mes as an example.

Me, from my point of view, is a slightly anxious vegetarian, hopelessly romantic writer who feels most comfortable in button up shirts and eight-hole Doc Martins. Me likes to explore. Me worries about the future quite a bit, causing stress here, here and here.

The Me that others see, the Me that you see, is a complete mystery to me.

Sure, I can guess and speculate – I think these Mes are generally seen as quiet – but I can never really know just what I am to all of you Yous.

To every single one of you, I am a different person, with a different style and character.

This is further complicated by the existence of Mes on social media.

Facebook Me is a fun loving, art loving, music sharing, self promoting character. He makes jokes and complains about government policy.

Curiously, Facebook Me does not seem to go to many parties. Without the solid photographic evidence of such partying, no one would ever know that Real-life Me is not quite as clean-cut and respectable as Facebook Me. After the late arrival of family members and professional friends to Facebook, Facebook Me began to drastically change. He began to watch and plan everything he said, making sure he never gave away any dark secret from the underworld of real life. Here we have an example of conscious repression of Me, a fitting of Me to a certain, respectable

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mould. But, it’s not truly painful, as other versions of Me are allowed to exist elsewhere.

Instagram Me hides behind a private account, able to conduct whatever nefarious business he wants behind a strange sort of mask. If you gain Insta-Me’s trust, though, you’ll see a young man with a lot of travel photos and selfies to share. Insta-Me is a bit of a narcissist.

Twitter Me and LinkedIn Me are even stranger beings. They are both professional, concise and dressed-toimpress whatever potential employer comes their way. Twitter Me is a bit more casual and eccentric, as you can see by all the subtle memeposting and @Dril under their “Following” list.

Let us not forget Snapchat Me, a rather inconsistent fellow, or Tumblr Me (may he rest in peace). Let us give all due respect to Travel Blog Me, the ultra-positive hippy that he is, or Online-Portfolio Me who is

self-obsessed only because he has to be.

Trying to reconcile all of these personas into a single being is an almost impossible task. The situations we find ourselves in dictate how we must act and perform. You wouldn’t be the party version of you at work. You wouldn’t be Facebook You on your LinkedIn page.

If you’re feeling a bit shattered and unsure about yourself after all this, just keep in mind the poetic truth.

Every version of You, the version of yourself that you share on Facebook, the version you take to job interviews and even the You that exists in the eyes of your best friend, comes from a source: You. And here’s where things get beautifully complicated and cosmic.

You are the result of a lifetime spent among other people, day-to-day events and physical reality. You are shaped by your surroundings. A whole lot of You thus comes from

and is shaped by the outside world.

Since this applies to everyone, we’re all constantly rebuilding, evolving and reshaping each other by simply existing. No one, nothing, can exist without every version of You or Me. The universe runs on people power.

So who is You? You is every You that you put out there and every Me I put out there. Because we work together to build each other’s personas, We are almost infinite, with countless possibilities. You are made up of everything and everyone around you. You is, then, less about “ego” and “self”, than about how we are all connected and, in some strange way, part of something so much greater than any single You.

The real-life version of James is a media student, writer, arts critic, and firm believer in using chilli in every single meal.

Find his work at electricholyroad.wordpress.com

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GOT GAME? WORDS BY: SEAMUS MULLINS ART WORK BY: ELLIOT LEWIS

Throughout my life, I have always had one certainty, one thing which I’ve always considered a large part of who I am. That I’m a gamer.

From my earliest memories I can remember playing games, always having a Gameboy in hand on long car trips, playing various games with my brother on every PlayStation in existence, and loving playing games over every other hobby in my life.

My love for video games has often shaped and determined major parts of my life, including who my closest friends are, how I learn and even what I’ve studied at university. It’s a big part of my life. Heck, I even created a video game radio show, which I host every week on Radio Adelaide. I’m a gamer through and through. It’s a part of who I am.

But what does the word ‘gamer’ actually mean? We hear it a lot in popular culture, and to put it simply, it’s used to refer to people who play games, but that’s fairly ambiguous and redundant isn’t it? You don’t call someone who watches movies a moviegoer, or someone who listens to music a music listener. They sound incredibly dumb right? And it’s

because everyone watches movies, everyone watches TV and everyone listens to music.

But to me, being a gamer, means more than just someone who plays games. It’s something unique, special, and meaningful. Like with movies, TV and music, gaming has its quirks, but more so than any other medium in my opinion. It has a special culture, well known customs, which gamers around the world understand and often practice every day. Now this may all sound hearsay and rather pompous, but it’s real, and to give you an idea of what a gamer is, and how much of a gamer I am, I’ll give a few examples of what I do as a gamer.

I’ll never leave a game lying around outside of its case (cartridges are the exception here of course!), I’ll always attend a midnight launch for a game or console, or arrive early in the morning when the brick and mortar store (EB Games here in Australia) opens to pick it, so I can play it ASAP. I have Nintendo amiibos figurines, not because I actually use them with any game, but because they look amazing and adorable. I

have a Google Chrome extension which plays the music from Animal Crossing, I have a 20th anniversary Mew sitting on my car dashboard.

I have nearly over a hundred video game posters, nearly all of which are in storage because nice walls and renting. And I literally play every genre that exists, from Fighting, First Person Shooters and Real Time Strategy games, to music rhythm, RPGs and JRPGs! But despite all these customs I believe in, and quirky things I own and do, it’s just who I am, and how I define myself as a gamer. Someone could do any or none of these things, and still be a gamer. If you play mobile games, you’re gamer. If you play table top and card games, you’re gamer. If you play League of Legends or Dota 2, you’re a gamer (but not those Heroes of the Storm scum!).

Anyone can be a gamer, but more importantly, you decide what defines a gamer, and therefore, what makes you a gamer.

Seamus hosts Radio Adelaide’s on air video game show, called Pixels Rising, which you should definitely check out if you consider yourself a gamer!

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AUSTR ALIAN I D E N TI-DIT

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BRITS IN OZ WORDS BY: SOPHIE WALKER ART WORK BY: STEPHEN L ANG

The idea of national identity is an interesting one, particularly at the moment here in Australia with all the issues being raised regarding the way asylum-seekers are processed.

National identity has this past year become something I’ve dwelled on more than I ever have before, and this is probably most likely because I (surprise!) am not actually Australian.

Allow me to introduce myself: Hello!

I’m Sophie, a 20 year old English girl who’s been on exchange in Adelaide since July, and I have just about two months left here. My home university is in Exeter, the South-West of England, and I live just north of London, so if any of you fellow Poms/past visitors of England know either of those places then yes, I agree, they’re great, and yes, England is wonderful!

Something I’ve noticed as an English exchange student in Australia is how much people seem to be fascinated with other nations. I’ve had more conversations than I can count about where I’m from, my accent, where the other person I’m talking to has been in England, when/ where they’re planning to go next, which family member has been/ lived/lives there… and this is great!

I love finding ways to connect with people, especially since I arrived knowing nobody and had to start at a university where most people have known their friends since school. But I’ve also had a surprising number of conversations with people who’ve told me they’re planning to move abroad and wouldn’t miss Australia at all.

This baffles me a bit, seeing as I’ve been in Australia for the past ten months solidly without going home, having seen my parents just once over Christmas, and am still really dreading leaving. I love it here! I love the weather, how cheap it is to eat out, Tim Tams, how friendly bus drivers are (believe me, in London the scariest people you’ll meet are probably driving some kind of public transport), how people will talk to you so easily regardless of where you are, how swearing is totally fine (if there aren’t small children around), and I love the fact you have so many exciting animals that you guys are totally not bothered by. I mean kangaroos (although terrifying at night), koalas (which may or may not have chlamydia) and quokkas (I gained a quokka selfie and screw the wedding day, it was the greatest moment in my life) are stupidly exciting! Even your money is cool, it

has animals on it and is a machinewashable rainbow!

But typing these words now I realise how hypocritical I’m being.

I’ve already started to think about coming back, and the possibility of working and living here in the future, abandoning England for Australia much the same way people I’ve spoken to would abandon Australia for somewhere else. What this year has made me realise is that we don’t always appreciate our own nation the way others do. I forget that I live with seven other English girls, and whilst my first semester was spent with an enormous group of people from all over the world, the friends that have stuck with me this semester have been from my home country, and they’re the friends I’ll most likely keep in contact with when I go home. I’ve made Australian friends, who I love and hope to God I can stay in contact with, but there are times when the culture differences are noticeable. I can’t help but stick with my roots and defend the UK, even when sometimes we make no sense and you guys do have a point, like about the Queen. What does she actually do? When can she wear the crown? How is she still alive?

Nobody knows, but I’ll stand by Her Maj until the end.

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What I’m effectively trying to say is that national identity is important, and it’s easy to forget about the things that make the country we’re from great. We’re fortunate enough to live in places free from war, disease, famine, yet we don’t appreciate what it is that we love about our homes. We don’t all live up to the stereotype (I’m an English, tea-hating, longboarder, whose teeth are perfectly looked after thank you very much!) but it’s rare to find someone who wholly does, especially nowadays.

This year, without even thinking about it I’ve gravitated toward other Brits, sticking with them. It’s made me realise that without them I’d miss England so much more than I have, and that I have definitely underappreciated my own country.

All I’m trying to tell you is to avoid doing the same. Australia is a great place to be, and I’ve no doubt that at some point in the future I’ll find myself here again. But England will always be where I’m from, and it will always be my home.

Sophie once ate an entire 400g Toblerone in a day and considers it her proudest achievement

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THE MYTHOLOGY OF THE ANZAC

WORDS BY: JACK CR AWFORD

As a high schooler, I was dragged to the Australian War Memorial in Canberra to learn how a history of war has shaped our national identity.

Having to sit cross-legged, listen to a trumpet and watch an old man slowly perform a cultish military ceremony was mind-numbing. Tour guides drew no attention to more sinister displays, such as the “work-in-progress” memorials of the Iraq and Afghanistan Wars, or the Aboriginal faces sculpted into the wall among gargoyles of native animals. But the most overpowering image, slammed firmly into my memory, was the Hall of Memory.

Giant stain-glassed windows depicted military personnel, each of whom represented different ‘qualities’ – such as curiosity, comradeship, coolness – which we were told were ANZAC values.

Indeed, these days, ANZAC Day is a key means by which the Australian establishment forges a national identity. The ANZAC spirit is rubbish, constructed to ferment militaristic nationalism. Today, it not only distorts the disgusting history of Australia’s aggressive role in imperial wars, but it instils, in new generations, the belief that they have something to gain from being sent to fight in war. Australia’s military history is not to be celebrated. WWI and Gallipoli epitomise the Australian tradition of not defending ordinary Australians, but brutalising foreign populations to defend the interests of the rich and powerful.

We are taught that the heroes of WWI were the playful young Aussies of the Gallipoli campaign, whose values of courage and mateship prevailed against incredible odds. The RSL says that ANZAC is ‘a single word so powerful in the Australian vocabulary that it can bring a tear to the eye, a lump in the throat and a feeling of pride, just to be an Australian. A word that brings to mind those other words so uniquely Australian that had their origin in the trenches of Gallipoli in 1915 – Cobber, Digger, Fair Dinkum, True Blue, Mate.’

Media coverage of ANZAC Day never firmly characterises the Gallipoli campaign as an invasion… (‘it was a landing’)… of a country that posed no threat to Australia’s population.

Also absent is the fact that far, far more Turks were killed defending their country than Australians were killed invading it. And all for the cause of the British (bloodiest) Empire (in history).

The slogan ‘Lest We Forget’ is accompanied by a collective forgetting.

SBS presenter Scott McIntyre was correct to tweet in remembrance of ‘the summary execution, widespread rape and theft committed by these “brave” ANZACs in Egypt, Palestine and Japan.’ He was then fired from SBS for thought crime.

CONSTRUCTING IDENTITY Why the national delusion? In 1916, April 25 was declared ANZAC Day,

with patriotic demonstrations of Australians occurring in London, Egypt and at home. The Australian War Memorial writes, ‘For the remaining years of the war, ANZAC Day was used as an occasion for patriotic rallies and recruiting campaigns.’ That is, it was an opportunity to gather more bodies to be thrown to death in trenches.

More recently, celebration of the ANZAC legend has been essential for Australian governments who need to justify foreign interventions in countries like Afghanistan, Iraq or Syria. Such wars, like WWI, are not about defending ordinary Australians, and aren’t in their interest. They are about the Australian elite securing its economic and geopolitical interests in foreign regions. Forging a ‘national identity’ makes Australians take pride in values of courage and mateship, and identify with their state’s violence.

This is why successive governments spend tens of millions of public dollars on ANZAC Day commemoration.

This is why Malcolm Turnbull, at an ANZAC service last April, invoked the need for Western involvement in the current Syrian war. This is how our government can justify its new defence white paper, which proposes to boost military spending by $195 billion for new war machines, while funding to education and health is gutted.

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THE ANZAC SPIRIT LIVES ON WORDS BY: L AUREN COPL AND ART WORK BY: STEPHEN L ANG

REJECT NATIONAL PRIDE Nationalism is among the worst, most irrational ideas that plague the world today. What if Japan had actually invaded Australia in WWII, leaving tens of thousands of Australians dead? And had then spent the next 75 years commemorating its invasion as essential to securing freedom and Japanese values? What if, each year, hundreds of Japanese backpackers travelled to a Queensland beach to get drunk, sing nationalist songs and leave piles of rubbish behind?

I’m sure the people who currently celebrate ANZAC Day wouldn’t be too happy. Yet this is no different from how ANZAC Day was celebrated on Gallipoli’s beaches last year.

If the ANZAC identity defines us as a nation, then what kind of nation are we? We are nation that celebrates brutal, unjust invasions of foreign lands. In fact, we are a nation founded on invasion, dispossession and genocide on this very continent.

I’m proudly un-Australian. I’d rather remember Aboriginal resistance to British invasion. I’d rather remember those who fought against war and conscription in Australia, who recognised that they had more in common with their Turkish counterparts than their own warmongering ruling class.

Jack is an active socialist. Proudly just as biased as Rupert Murdoch, but in the opposite direction.

At dawn, on a desolate beach, soldiers march ashore, scattered like frightened ants awaiting death from above. Line after line land, and line after line are cut down. Chaos and confusion reign. Death’s scythe sweeps wide and strikes a heavy blow against the men.

Amidst mud, blood, destruction, and senseless loss of lives, the ANZAC spirit was forged. As an event to be both commemorated and condemned, the battlefields of Gallipoli will forever be seared in the Australian psyche. Arising from the horror and death that the fight for peace entails, a unified nation emerged from the ashes of war. In the wake of tragedy the connections of our newly Federated country were tested and strengthened. It was the moment where we truly became Australia.

A silhouetted soldier with head downturned; an injured soldier carried by their comrade; red poppies; soldiers sprinting towards the enemy; these are some of the images that we tend to associate with the term ANZAC. These images represent remembrance, mateship, and dignity in the face of death. Often brutal, bleak and sombre, they serve to remind us of the appalling scenes that soldiers witness for the sake of keeping us safe. The official war correspondent and historian, Charles Bean, popularised the use of the term ‘ANZAC’ through his writings about WWI. Ideas of what epitomises the ANZAC spirit differs between sources, but the core of it remains the same. Charles Bean stated that ‘ANZAC stood, and still stands, for reckless valour in a good

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cause, for enterprise, resourcefulness, fidelity, comradeship, and endurance that will never own defeat.’ The Australian War Memorial website describes the ‘qualities [that] collectively make up the ANZAC spirit, [including] endurance, courage, ingenuity, good humour, and mateship.’ Arthur Bourke, OAM described the ‘spirit of ANZAC [as] a powerful driving sensation that can only be felt. It is a feeling that burns in the heart of every Australian and New Zealand countryman. A warm, tender, fiery, even melancholy, ideal that nurtures intense patriotism in the innermost soul of everybody.’

The ANZAC spirit has remained strong both in memory and in character over the last century.

Soldiers who have served since Gallipoli embody it, but it is no longer reserved solely for those who have seen active service; today the ANZAC spirit can be invoked by anyone. Everyday instances of mateship and good humour exhibit it; but it is most notable during

natural disasters and personal tragedies, when communities rally around those in need and lend a helping hand. Floods may threaten to wash towns away and fires may threaten to burn them to the ground, but there are always people willing to help whether it be financially, emotionally, physically or mentally. Trying moments like these are when the ANZAC spirit comes in to play, where individuals and communities as a whole display courage, endurance, resourcefulness, mateship, and often a healthy dose of good humour to ease the pain. It is something that should be aspired to and which we could benefit from in our daily lives.

The Federation of Australia had occurred only 13 years when war erupted in 1914, and the catastrophic events at Gallipoli in 1915 were regarded as a baptism of fire for our newly-formed country.

The ANZAC spirit was born out of egalitarianism and mutual support, and our national identity naturally blossomed from it. Conceptions

of the Australian national identity focuses on inclusion, mateship, comradeship, good humour, a cando attitude, a sound work ethic, and passion, traits shared with those of the ANZAC legend. Having a shared, all-encompassing national identity is important as it unifies people and creates a sense of community. In a world dominated by isolation, fear, and terror, we need to feel included, supported, and more community-minded than ever.

The ANZAC spirit, and our national identity, was forged in war but bolstered in peace. Whether you are pro-war, anti-war, or indifferent, I believe you should still respect and appreciate the sacrifices that our soldiers have made to keep our nation and its people safe and secure. How many of you would be willing to lay down your lives for the sake our country?

Lauren is and always will be the optimist.

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CHANGING PLACES WORDS BY: ALICIA FR ANCESCHINI ART WORK BY: KUNI ZHAO

My first solo trip overseas came when I was twenty years old, a mere fresh babe in the world really.

Looking back on it now, I’m not sure how I convinced my parents to let me go, being the only child from an Italian family. But despite their parental reservations, I scrounged together my savings from my parttime job selling CDs and bought a plane ticket to Paris, returning home from Rome. This was going to be the trip I had always dreamt of France and Italy were not only rooted in my Latin blooded DNA (my Italian surname literally means little French people), but were almost at a point of mythology in mind. It has always seemed a little absurd to me that studies say that people experience higher levels of happiness planning their holidays than they actually do when they’re on them. That’s just not the way I travel, and shouldn’t be the way you do it either. I throw myself, maybe stupidly, down dirty and darkened alleyways, looking for that 200-year-old bookstore or café that Sartre frequented. On that first trip I quite literally wept at the sight of all the monuments and sights that I’d always seen in books and online and now could not believe were there in front of me. If you can keep that wide eyed wonder in the front of your mind, when you’ve just been pick pocketed by a gypsy, you’re going to have the most amazing time no matter where in the world you go.

My experience of traveling abroad in Western Europe and Asia has shown me that Australians are generally well received and maybe even a bit of a novelty overseas. That is if you at least attempt the language and don’t treat the country you are visiting like a toilet bowl (yes, I’m looking at you, Contiki Tour, Bali loving savages). The thing I found the most interesting about being an Australian abroad was that nobody could pick my accent. Perhaps it’s because we South Australians aren’t cursed with the typical Aussie drawl of some of the other states, but nearly everyone thought I was British. Or a local, which should be your ultimate goal whilst travelling abroad. Oh, the feeling of pleasure when you are approached by a hoard of American tourists speaking very broken French in Montmartre, asking for directions. There is nothing quite like that special feeling.

The other thing that I never expected to learn from years of travelling abroad was how damn lucky I am to live in a country like Australia. It sounds disgustingly patriotic, I know.

And yes, the current government stinks and Dami Im is representing us in Eurovision, and we don’t have marriage equality or free education.

But travelling abroad gave me an appreciation for the country I was born in that I simply did not have before. For the longest time I always wanted to escape to some European

‘Moveable Feast’ type situation in the romantic capitals of Europe. I have learnt that that type of lifestyle is not and cannot be a reality for most people living Paris, Rome, London and Madrid. Life is tough and expensive in those beautiful cities, especially for those who are not lucky enough to have been born there. In Australia, minimum wage is much higher here than it is in Paris. Housing is for the most part larger, and we have these things called backyards that just don’t exist in most other countries. Rent is cheaper, at least in Adelaide. And our beaches? Nothing compares to them.

My mother likes to often to point out to me that I have spent well over a deposit on a really nice house on travel alone over the past six years.

I’m sure that would be depressing to some people, but not to me. I have never been able to put a price on the experiences I have had or the things I have learnt. I would not be the same person I am today without having been shoved onto a train in Hong Kong or riding scooters in Barcelona. Travel thoroughly challenges, thrills and changes you.

Often for the better. So get out there young person. Yes, I’m talking you.

I can promise you, that you will not regret it.

Alicia is a harpy queen that enjoys truffle rissotto sand speaking French badly.

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BULWITHER. WORDS BY: ROB L AWRY

His name is Francis R. Bulwither. He likes loud music, distressed denim, and his favourite movie is Fight Club. I can tell he is very mysterious.

I’ve been in Tuscany almost four days now, exploring the world and moulding myself in life’s adventures.

It’s the highly impressionable phase of my early twenties that I’ve only dreamed of! At the end of each night I return to my hotel, climb the stairs to my room, and walk onto my balcony. Bulwither is always perched on the roof opposite me, drinking beers and snarling at the children below. We’ve only spoken briefly.

‘I’d like to take you out some night,’ Bulwither tells me one evening.

‘Pick me up at seven. You know where my hotel is,’ I tease in my usual, irresistibly flirty way.

He runs down the stairs and to the street. I don’t see him for a minute but he soon returns behind the wheel of a crimson red V8 stallion. I have no idea how he got it. Bulwither honks the horn and I descend to him. It is seven o’clock.

‘Nice hotrod,’ I tell him in a vain attempt to show off the requisite lingo.

I don’t usually like human touch but I know better than to appear frigid on a first date.

‘It’s a man’s car,’ he tells me, though I can’t imagine what else a man like him would drive.

‘Your arms are real scrawny, loser,’ says Bulwither, ‘how many do you lift? Do you do enough protes?’

‘Does Nesquik count?’ ‘…’

‘Lol, dawg, I’m just memeing you.

I’m always on the protes, I am, yeah,’ I say - another close one.

I hop in. There are no seatbelts, just vinyl covering. Perhaps if I had worn some kind of rubber trouser, I could have created some kind of static bond to hold me to the seat, but whatevs, I’m a risk taker. Francis R. Bulwither is a risk taker too. He floors it and we zoom into the hills.

Nothing seems to phase Bulwither: not the danger of driving a speeding car with one hand on the wheel, nor the inherent risk of lung cancer posed by the lit cigarette in his other.

‘It’s a blunt, actually,’ he interjects.

‘Oh…yeah, cool man. I vape all the time,’ I brag. I think I sold it too. He seems impressed.

‘Get in close and put your arm around me. I like to feel the dude on my shoulders.’

‘I lift ten barrels a day. That’s what you gotta do. I lift ‘em, throw ‘em down a hill and then lift ‘em back up again,’ declares Francis. It’s only now that he takes his eyes off me as he skids into the hairpin up ahead.

‘Don’t you think we’re going a little fast?’ I ask him, praying that I can keep my cool for just a little longer.

‘Shaddup you bastard,’ he roars as he swerves in and out of the oncoming traffic, ‘we’re gonna see what this baby can do or, by darn, we’ll die trying! You got a problem with that?’

There is something so erotically captivating about the man. Maybe

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it’s gung ho attitude or maybe it’s the smouldering gaze he keeps behind his eyelids. I can’t tell what it is but, whatever, it has my full attention.

He is so fucking cool.

Without warning we pull into a ditch under a tree.

‘Are we at the make-out spot already?’ I ask Bulwither.

‘Nah, but it’ll do until we lose the coppers,’ he says, lax.

I hadn’t realised it until now, but there had been a fleet of police cars on our tail ever since we first pulled out. Evidently I was too distracted by my date’s fine head of hair (that’s what it was!).

‘Oh no! You didn’t steal this car, did you?’ I ask.

‘No, I built it myself out of two Camry’s. Mind you, I stole those,’ he tells me. It was impressive alright but soon enough some lug head Polizia ruins the moment by shooting at us.

‘You’d better turn yourself in Francis,’ I say, ‘you can still write to me from prison.’

‘I can’t take another life sentence, Roger!’ he bellows as he grabs me in a headlock and holds a large blunt rock to my throat.

This is the final straw. I can take blatant disregard for my life just fine - I have played the dating game before - but ask me to sit there while he mispronounces my name? Why, you can bet I’m gonna stand up for myself! I pull his silk neck scarf over his eyes and kick him in the toe. I don’t skip a beat. I take off into the surrounding countryside, running as fast as my scrawny arms will take me. Francis R. Bulwither will never know what hit him and he will never see me again. I finally know what freedom feels like.

It’s almost sunrise before I come across another road. I feel hopelessly lost, alone, although the scenery is very pretty. Is this how I die? Out the corner of my ear I hear a ‘beepbeep’ and the comforting sound of

an auto pulling up. It’s an old couple in a Brum-style convertible, the kind of old car you swear would have a built-in picnic hamper.

‘Need a lift?’ asks the man, an oliveskinned Dick van Dyke type dressed entirely in linen.

‘There’s always room for one more,’ adds his wife, the actual Anjelica Huston, dressed alike.

I hop in. There’s a warm dish of Ossobuco on the seat next to me.

‘Oh, don’t mind that, it’s just a souvenir from Milan,’ Anjelica explains, ‘help yourself to some!’

As we drive off, I can’t help but wonder where we’re going. I do know one thing; they are so fucking cool.

Rob isn’t really sure what to make of this story but he hopes you’ll think it’s something to do with ‘identity’.

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#LOGIESSOWHITE WORDS BY: BENJAMIN QUIRK ART WORK BY: PETER HELLIAR

As the Australian TV Week Logies nominees were announced, eyes were directed towards the race for the eminent Gold Logie, awarded to the nation’s most popular TV personality. However, this year, it was not the professional work of the nominees that drew attention, but rather the racial diversity of this year’s pool. For the first time in well over twenty years, the nominees were not all White-Caucasian. This year, Waleed Aly and Lee Lin Chin have received nods for their work on The Project and SBS World News.

Quickly, it was discerned that in its 58-year history, the Gold Logie has never been awarded to a person of colour or international descent.

The diversity of the 2016 Logie nominations was astounding to many.

Earlier in the year, the Academy Awards were surrounded with a controversy of racial discrimination when for the second consecutive year, all nominees in the major acting categories were white. Subsequently, the hashtag #OscarsSoWhite resurfaced and led to the boycotting of the event by industry celebrities such as Will Smith and Spike Lee. While the Academy rightfully defended itself by justifying that nominations are based on merit not race, and despite desperately trying to defuse discontent by

hiring African-American comedian Chris Rock as its host, the Oscars were unsuccessful in shaking the controversy, with the hashtag becoming the butt of Rock’s slightly slanderous opening monologue.

The contrast that can be drawn between the nominees at the Logies and the Oscars is undoubtedly a distinction of multi-culturalism.

This leads me to question, while the Gold Logie nominees are determined by the votes of the Australian public, were the inclusions of Waleed Aly and Lee Lin Chin made in response to the controversy of the Oscars in attempt to avoid the creation of #LogiesSoWhite? I personally consider Waleed Aly and Lee Lin Chin to be outstanding nominees as both have developed into iconic figures in modern Australian television. I’d also would consider both their work far more deserving than that of previous winners Scotty Cam who converted his Gold Logie into a beer opener, or Karl Stefanovic who used his speech time to comment on the excellence of his wife’s ass. Host of Channel Nine’s breakfast program, Today, Lisa Wilkinson found herself in hot water

after joking that despite a spray tan, she was still “too white” to receive a nomination. Thus, the race for the Gold Logie has caused quite the stir.

Nonetheless, while the Logies will remain Australia’s B-grade attempt to replicate an award show that has the prestige of the Oscars, industry insiders can rest easy knowing that they have finally stepped into the the 21st century and acknowledged the diverse array of talent in Australia, and I hope that this will lead to the greater representation of cultures on channels other than SBS. Benjamin is a lover of literature, TV and film who believes that Angela Lansbury could have solved the ‘Making a Murderer’ crime

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PODCAST REPLY ALL | GIMLET MEDIA REVIEW BY: NATALIE CARFOR A 5/5 | Reply All is one of my favourite podcasts and I love everything about it. I love the hosts, PJ Vogt and Alex Goldman, I love the producers, Phia and Sruthi, I love the theme, stories about the internet, I love the regular segment Yes Yes No, in which they have someone bring them something from the Internet that they don’t understand and then they decode it, I love that they’ve started an email-based annual holiday (Email Debt Forgiveness Day, it was April 30). Basically, I just think you ought trust me at word value and start listening to it immediately, but I will now provide a brief rundown of my favourite episodes in case you need some extra encouragement.

Blind Spot - A crazy story about a mystery illness that ends up with the doctor that House was based on.

Shine On You Crazy Goldman - Apparently microdosing

LSD unlocks your better self, it sets you on some kind of permanent mini high. Some of the Reply All team give it a go.

Yik Yak Returns - A look into the way Yik Yak has been perpetuating racism at universities across the US. Zardulu - There is an incredibly mysterious woman setting rats loose across New York. Just Google her, I guarantee you’ll want to know more.

Decoders - Rukmini Callimachi’s job is eavesdropping on ISIS. Did you know they use a lot of emojis? Yeah you want to know more, don’t you.

I really honestly tried to narrow this down more, but I just couldn’t. Just listen to it, I promise you’ll like it.

FILM

THE V VITCH | ROBERT EGGERS REVIEW BY: CHRIS HUGHES One of the more unsettling horror films to be conjured up by a debut director in the past few years, The Witch will certainly polarize viewers due to its slow burning, yet atmospheric presence.

Of course it is probably unfair to class writer/director Robert Eggers debut solely as a horror movie. The film if anything, is a period piece. Set roughly 60 years before the Salem witch trials, The Witch is the tale of one New England family’s descent into religious hysteria and ultimately, total insanity.

This begins with the father’s banishing from his local village, forcing his family to move to the outskirts of a desolate and unsympathetic forest. It is here where the viewer can first appreciate Eggers evident skills from his previous career as an art director and costume/production designer. Like a painted tapestry of what Puritan New England would have looked like 400 years ago, Eggers beautifully captures the ugliness of a family’s depravity in a time where religion is their only solace.

Paralleling the bewitching art direction and cinematography is Mark Korven’s spine-chilling soundtrack. Further establishing the notion that the film is instead a period piece, The Witch’s high-strung string sections and atonal choral melodies pierce through the bleak and wretched backdrop of many pivotal scenes and help in elevating the unfolding drama.

The biggest qualm most will have with this film however is in regard to its pacing. Upon comparison with modern-day horror movies, The Witch lacks the traditional jump scares and gratuitous bloodshed that many have come to equally love and hate. Coupled with the 16th century dialogue, it is essentially an art-house film wrapped up in a rich and horrifying folktale narrative.

While it won’t be to everyone’s satisfaction, The Witch is a beautiful and macabre film, masterfully directed by Eggers.

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RANTSPACE WORDS BY: LUR ALGHUR ABI Being Muslim, brown, and female in modern day Australia is tricky business. When I first came to this country, I was so happy and excited that I only saw the best side of it; it was welcoming, inclusive, friendly, diverse and filled with interesting places at every street corner. I remember my very first time taking a bus, and the woman next to me, a white woman, started a conversation about my hijab. She didn’t ask me if I was forced to wear it since I was two. She didn’t tell me I should take it off when it gets warm. She didn’t wonder if I wore it in the shower.

She just told me it was nice, and asked me where I bought it from.

That was a while ago, and after spending more time here I’ve been exposed to a larger pool of people.

Even the conversation around my hijab has changed, a stranger on the bus (why is it always public transport??) once told me I should take off my hijab so I could fit into this society. He said it like he was offering advice, you know, like doing me a favour. ‘Trust me on this, love,’ and ‘You’ll thank me one day.’

The past few years in Australia have been less than perfect for encouraging cultural diversity.

The Lindt Cafe siege didn’t do our racial harmony any favours, and the refugee crisis is giving many xenophobes the opportunity to express their hatred and grudge, considering people from the Middle East as ‘parasites’ of some sort, only crossing borders to get their dirty

hands on that Centrelink gold.

And then there were the Reclaim Australia rallies, which brought the ugly and cowardly faces of extreme nationalism into the sun.

Over the past year, pig heads have been thrown into our prayer rooms, hateful graffiti written over our universities’ walls, we’ve been told our beef and chicken is funding Al Qaeda, we’ve been attacked in the streets, and, probably the worst outcome of all this, we have come to know Pauline Hanson. The ideology behind Australian hate crime hasn’t been efficiently addressed by either of the past two governments, and it leaves vulnerable groups at an even greater risk without the protection of their leaders.

When I realised how much this threatened me, I immediately tried to water down my culture, my heritage, my religion (including my religious appearance), in a desperate attempt to show that I successfully ‘fit in’. I don’t wear my abaya (a traditional, long black dress worn over your outfit, embellished and embroidered) because I worry how much attention that would attract.

If I am not certain someone’s not racist, I’ll do my best to hide my accent, and keep them thinking I

was born here. At some stage, I even took off my hijab, hoping it would protect me from being stared at all the time (it didn’t. I was still a woman).

It’s a sad fact that to be accepted into a society, we might feel the need to masquerade as someone else, or swap our identity for a more privileged one. It is as sad as it is silly, because go back to our editorial photo and you will see there is no chance in this lifetime or the next that I will be mistaken for a white person. I can try. I can pretend to be so many things, and I can fake all the accents. But when you ask me what I’m listening to, I will always say Fairuz. When you say you have a headache, I’ll give you some olive oil. When you serve me hommus, I’ll always tell you that’s not real hommus, it’s just diluted chickpea dip. There’s no escaping this Arab life, and at this stage I’m not even gonna try.

Lur has chosen diluted white people hommus over gun shots at night.

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MRS STABLES AND MISS L’S CORRESPONDENCES ISSUE 6 (IDENTI-DIT) Mr Stables and Miss L have *mysteriously* disappeared but luckily Mr Kylie Wren and Miss Rae Jacku have volunteered to answer your questions on their behalf. And so, identify yourself! Are you friend or foe? Or neither friend nor foe? Or maybe a little bit of both? Or maybe you really are a foe but you identify yourself as a friend? Or maybe you think that this dichotomy of ‘friend’ or ‘foe’ imposes an unfair obligation on the person to live up to their ‘friend’ or ‘foe’ role and that we should abolish it and replace it with ‘human that has certain preferences?

Mr Kylie Wren and Miss Rae Jacku know this is a touchy issue that’s likely to pull more triggers than a Soviet firing squad. The original questions are not provided.

WHO ARE YOU? WHO WHO WHO WHO Struwwelpeter – I must say I disagree; I think the way you dress says a lot about someone.

For example, if someone’s wearing Ralph Lauren and some loafers they’re probably a pretentious canker blossom law student. Or if you see some scruffy looking person wearing an oversized hoodie and sneans (oh Jesus I want to vomit even at the thought of sneans) he (and let’s face it, it will be a he) without a doubt is an engineer. Such sad people they are, God help them.

Smashed Avo – Nope you are wrong. Don’t be a hipster –unless you’re happy being an organic twat.

Having said that, I love a bit of indie music; that’s cool. And their fashion sense is decent too. I’m not hipster though. I’m not hipster.

BENTHAM – One question that comes up a lot is about political identity. It’s one that really only you can answer. Are you content with being a corporate sell out? Or do you want to be seen as someone who cares about other people? Or do you want to be seen as someone who has the appearance of being quite smart but in reality is a complete mong.

Like me, I’m happy being a complete sell out and being a judgemental dick to anyone whom I think to be worse than a bottle of Pepsi when you asked for Coke. That’s really the most important thing.

RACIALIST AND UNAUSTRALIANIST Shenaynay – I totally agree that people discriminating against different races really gets my goat (ISIS keep away!). I mean, no one race is superior to the other, that’s just ridiculous to even think that.

Although to favour one race seems perfectly fine to me. I mean, surely you can’t expect me to like every race in the world, surely? For example, I’d rather watch the Melbourne Cup than, say, NASCAR. I would say I’d watch NASCAR if it was on the

telly and there was literally nothing else to watch but to be honest I’d rather have aggressive malignant melanoma.

Bruce – So you reckon calling ‘Australia Day’ ‘Invasion day’ is un-Australian? You want to know what’s really un-Australian? Being a fucking Victorian from the State of fucking Victoria. Goddamn Victorians thinking they’re the grandest state in Australia. South Aussies are infinitely better, not least because we were freely settled (unlike those filthy convict bushranging chimney sweepers). Bloody convict Victorian kleptomaniacs, stealing our Grand Prix, our good footy players and our premiership points.

I am not amused.

Hogan the Bogan – I am going to have to disagree with your sentiment on Muslims (ignoring the fact you haven’t even asked a question).

You’re wrong. Maybe it’s because I hate them, but you’re definitely wrong. I hate nothing more than those scumbag Muslims who are radicalised and ruin the faith for all Islamic people.

Muslim people are people too; what the minority does isn’t necessarily a representation of the majority. Then again, also remember people take notice of the most vocal –so do the majority of Muslims who oppose the radicals exist if they don’t make a sound?

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DODGY CRAFTS WITH MADDY AND EM WORDS BY: MADDY SEXTON AND EMILY HART

T-SHIRT BAG HAG

PARTY TIME:

Have you ever bought a T-shirt thinking that this was The One True Item of Clothing that Represented your Personality? Have you then gone on to never wear this One True Item, possibly excluding the night that you bought it? This tutorial is for everyone with too many T-shirts to realistically incorporate into everyday body clothing lives, but still wanting to use them outside of wearing them as pyjamas.

1. Lay your T-shirt flat and cut the existing neckline into a deeper, raunchier scoop neck (this tutorial is already too spicy for words).

DISCLAIMER:

3. Turn your T-shirt tank top hybrid monster inside out. (Wear it again!

This is the tutorial that keeps on giving.) Cut tassels about 10cm long and 3cm wide along the hemline of your inside-out shirt thing. (Wear it again?)

If you don’t have a cool T-shirt, you can steal one (anyone is fair game), or use a plain one and decorate it yourself, possibly with leftover patches from a previous jazzy jean tutorial.

YOU WILL NEED: A T-shirt, preferably of thicker, stiffer cotton with not too much stretch Scissors Iron Iron-on adhesive tape (the only thing better than glitter)

2. Cut along the seam of each sleeve, about as low as your sexy scoop neck. Your T-shirt will now look like a saucy singlet, which you could wear to the “bigger and better” 2017 Stereos before completing this twofor-one bargain tutorial.

4. Tie the tassels together, double knotting all of them with their neighbours and friends across the hall – just keep knotting any loose bits until you are convinced that nothing could ever tear this apart.

Turn your knotted creation back out to the right side and voila!

5. Wait, that’s not the end. Cut a vaguely pocket-shaped piece of excess fabric left over from your shirtsleeves, and, using your iron and iron-on tape, attach this pocket to the inside (for practical value) or outside (for fashion value) of your new bag.

TERMS AND CONDITIONS: This new bag allows you to wear two cool personality shirts at once, but it does not allow you to transport your entire life around in said bag. Cotton is stretchy and your knots aren’t structurally guaranteed so save this bag for lightweight objects, like more T-shirts.

ANNOUNCING: A new monthly section: More Pompom Ideas We Thought of Since the First Pompom Tutorial.

• Attach your pompoms to the edges of a large blanket, or small blanket (some would call this a scarf ) for extra winter woolliness.

• Attach your pompoms to this bag.