Vale: Vaclav Havel
19 Monday Dec 2011
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19 Monday Dec 2011
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18 Sunday Dec 2011
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http://www.abc.net.au/news/2011-12-18/cape-verde27s-27barefoot-diva27-cesaria-evora-dies/3736910
One of her best; Sodade
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E_7BV-IuyKI
or perhaps you prefer Miss Perfumado
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=78li5r-aO7E
Or…. Angola
16 Friday Dec 2011
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14 Wednesday Dec 2011
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13 Tuesday Dec 2011
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December 12, 2011

“Boredom”, the modern Art form.
My father used to say that if you are bored it is because ‘you’ are boring. They were wise words. Parents knew more then. If fifty years ago someone would have said that in the future a majority of people would spend a large part of their lives staring at small square objects, they would have called for a strong nurse with a straightjacket and some tablets. My parents would probably conclude by saying, “you and the whole world have all become boring”.
Yet, today this has become the norm. No matter where one goes, it is the same sad sight. There they are, all stooped over their IPod, IPad, Kindle, mobile phone or some other small square object. It seems to have overtaken all in its path, a tsunami of hundreds of millions worldwide stooping down, staring at their laps, oblivious of climate, people, geographical situation or indeed life itself. Who on earth would have thought it even remotely possible?
How did this come about and why? Years ago, we used to talk, look at each other. Do you still remember the sound of words when people opened their mouths? We exchanged ideas became animated and bounced of each other’s differences and enjoyed social intercourse. Trains and trams had passengers that talked, used real words with utterances of sounds. It’s eerily quiet now on the train, heads bowed in obedience to the square gadget. People and voice connectivity has now been replaced with a set of electronic devices which connects us, supposedly, to a different level of public togetherness which is called ‘social media’. We have books now which instead of words in a certain and highly individual order, as in the past, have now been replaced with ‘face books’. It’s all part of this phenomenon of ‘social media’, and is a world- wide movement keeping us ‘in touch’. In touch with what? In touch with that square object in your lap, isn’t it?
Together with keeping in touch through the new ‘social media’ there has been a marked decline in children on the streets. There is no more need for that because they all keep in touch with each other through their electric Face- books. It even shows a picture of your friend, what more could you probably want from friendship? You exchange sharp little messages, such as “I am here, where are you”? Or, “how many friends have you on Face-book?” “I have thirty six now, but have dumped Sharon”; “she is such a bitch”. “Have you still got Sharon on yours?” Nah. (Three months later Sharon has hanged herself).
Of course, interconnectivity is what we are all on about. We connect as never before and have even become intimate with our TV, also involving it with our need to socially be ‘involved’. Rhythmically we sway in front of it, our Wii consoles talking to us, interlude and interactive with music, keeping us in touch with ourselves and as an extra bonus keeping us fit. A newer version has hit the market. It is a device that mirrors our movement in front of the TV. This is so great for involvement of many of us with immediate proof of it and directly in front of us on TV and our own eyes. Think of it, hundreds of millions in the most extraordinary physical contortions in front of the TV all busy with ‘media’ in one form or the other. And then there is all that texting and tweeting to get involved with. It just never stops with all that ‘socially connectivity.’ It’s all so much me and more of me.
At school drop-off’s and pick-ups, again the same world of those little square devices, mothers, sometimes fathers, all on their e-phones, texting while waving a hand to their off-spring. How will language as we know it survive? Tweeting limits itself to one hundred forty characters. In days gone by, the art of writing was abandonment in using words not counting characters.
Mind you, there is light at the tunnel. Already the innovation in pushing more of those devices onto the market has calmed down. Perhaps, the limit has been reached. After all, we cannot just phone, but also e-mail, send pictures and locate where we are, all on the one gadget. What more could one want? It seems that apart from ‘astral travel’ electronically, the end of this rather silly ‘social media’ might have been reached.
In my area, the local skate-board park is busy with kids queuing up. Are they getting fed up with all those little gadgets? I sincerely hope so. Kids are not boring but those addicted to ‘social media’ are. They are so….. utterly boring.
10 Saturday Dec 2011
Posted in Gerard Oosterman
December 9, 2011
Surely travelling over two hundred kilometers just to have a meal is somewhat eccentric, n’est ce pas? Yet, we did this last Thursday. It was to celebrate both our son’s and Helvi’s birthday with a dinner in Newtown’s King Street. Leaving in the afternoon and against the outgoing traffic it’s not all that bad and, apart from meeting up with daughter and partner, son and grandson Thomas, we just love the buzz of southern side of King Street, Newtown. It is, in our opinion, a stretch of road unique in Australia.
The architecture is a jumble and mix of nothing particularly outstanding. I mean it is not Avenue des Champs-Elysees, but is unique in the sense that it is totally alive. The amount of traffic is such that it is perpetually at a standstill giving ample opportunity for pedestrians to cross and even walk along the cars without much risk or any danger. The battle between the cars and pedestrians will surely finally have to resolve itself by simply banning all cars. At the moment there is still a balance and somehow symbiotic. Cars can still park after 6pm, unload those to go shopping or seek sustenance in a café or restaurant of which there seem to be plenty. We were certainly driven by hunger by the time we arrived.
It is a forever changing scene in Sydney. We turned off after having gone through the notorious smelly tunnel, into The Princess Highway. “Princess Highway” surely a misnomer? Where is the Princess? It brought back shades of my introduction in 1956 to the often rather optimistic naming of places that after inspection did not live up to their promise. “Palm Beach” but it did not have palms. “Blue Mountains”, yes, but where are the mountains? Tourist brochures still today names Goulburn “Lilac City”, where is the lilac?
Princess Highway has only ugly ones, probably hiding in the plethora of car yards that litter as nowhere else in the world. We drove past what we thought was a new airport, but, which turned out to be a huge IKEA shop. It is so big, that you need a fold-up bike with GPS to take you around and plenty of water.
It was with great relief we drove into King Street and found a parking within 50 metres of the restaurant that our son had booked for 6pm. It’s a hugely popular Thai restaurant with the added lure (we were told) of she-males as waitresses. We did not see any; it must be one of those rumours spread by clever marketers to make the restaurant popular. They were all slim and terrifically attractive girls, good and quick with forever scanning the customers for any possible requests or orders. The name of the place starts with a D, something Duang & Doh and is always chockers for lunch and dinner. It’s next door to a dress designer shop called Magdalena Duma. It is run by the daughter of a Polish-Jewish refugee and some time ago I wrote a piece about that shop as well. That’s what Newtown does to you. It is not dull. I suppose that stretch of old Sydney is what Balmain used to be like before the million dollar lawyers brigade took over.
If I ever became Lord Mayer I would till my dying days, banish all car yards away from our main roads to industrial specially designated areas. Can you imagine Rome’s, Paris or Amsterdam’s roads cluttered by car yards? Next, an obligatory course to be undertaken by all business owners in aesthetic looking and modest advertising signage. I just loathe the instantly world-wide recognizable typical Australia to be so terrifyingly ugly while hiding so much that is so mouthwateringly beautiful.
Our Thai meal was a glorious mixture of shared sea-food with lychees, vegetables with beef, chicken with vegetables, all with snappy and bright green snow peas, whole basil leaves, ginger and mint with chili and boiled rice. No wine, in fact, most of the patrons just seemed happy with bottled water. Afterwards we drove home in the rain with a stretch of very narrow lanes because of M5 highway work. Great big double bogey trucks muscling into my space. Geez, I hate that night driving with the rain shimmering on the road reflecting images that limit vision and at the same time those huge road trains thundering by within inches.
It was a great birthday dinner, well worth the 200 plus Kms.
08 Thursday Dec 2011
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The train trip.
We recently discovered an even better train service to the city of Sydney. It’s the 8.17am leaving Bowral but only has the 3 stops to Central. Not that it is much faster. Arrival is still at about 10am at Central, but at least it bypasses many stations, this gives an impression of speed without really achieving it. It gives one some Schadenfreude when the train races past many station’s platform showing a blurred image of anxious looking train travelers.
We undertook this trip yesterday. I got up early, made the coffee and some noises in order to rally into action my ever patient partner of many years. She knows my ways. Train trips I always look forward to as opportunities for new discoveries and are anticipated with great excitement. They certainly were in my youth when I, on numerous occasions, took boat Trips to Europe on Italian Liners belonging to the Flotta Laura fleet. After landing at Italy’s Genoa, I would continue by train, which at the time was the Continental Express. Mr. Diacomo from Cooks & Sons in Pitt Street always booked the journeys including the European Continental Express. The boat trip including the train from Genoa to Amsterdam or Stockholm cost 120 pounds! (240 dollars)
After we bought our tickets at Bowral yesterday, the train promptly arrived. It was a long train and surprisingly the windows were unscratched and carriages spotless. We noticed a few elderly couple who, no doubt like us, were scheduled to travel to Central Station. While the Bowral-Central run is hardly in the same league as the Trans Continental (or The Orient Express) it is still a train trip and for the inquisitive can still yield surprises…
One of the surprises was the number of elderly couples. Where were they going, and why, seemed a question that I kept asking myself? As usual with elderly couples, the woman partner seemed to lead with the male one happy to follow. Why is it that the ageing male gets behind the eight-ball in their final run up to the finish-line? Is it hormonal? Women tend to outlive males. Go to any old age retirement village such as ‘even-tide’ or ‘autumn leaves’ and it is rich pickings for any widower. The magazine for seniors is full of ads from fascinating women seeking living males, NS, ND, and NG but still kicking!
Back to the Bowral-Sydney express we discovered after arrival at the Country Trains Terminal in Sydney there were hundreds if not thousands of elderly couples, all carrying similar red coloured bags with ‘senior’s printed on it. My curiosity knew no bounds, especially when a live band was playing in that big arrival-hall, right next to the female toilets. There was a triple queue for the female toilet yet no queue at the males. This seems fair; if the female outlives the male there is at least some balance in knowing that outliving the male causes the female more frequent toilet stop-over’s in their dotage.
Anyway, the mystery of so many elderly couples arriving from all over Sydney and environs with those red bags did not get solved. On the way back to Bowral, there were the same elderly couples. The same dithering husbands, stooped with age, looking even more bewildered, skinny vacant trousers bums but resolute stout wives, indefatigable leading all the way. “Sit here”, they would tell hubby. After coming home I googled ‘seniors with red bags’,’ senior’s festivals’, ‘senior’s outing dates. All to no-avail.
We enquired about the phenomenon to our Norwegian neighbor. Oh, she said,” it’s the annual Sydney’s Town Hall music for the elderly. They give a live concert each year. We should make a date to go next year.
There you go.
04 Sunday Dec 2011
Posted in Gerard Oosterman
I have shown my colours by the title already. I confess my bias. It’s not in my gene. Having had sixty years of watching, especially on the ABC, for hours, days, years of cricket news and footage, I am as far away now as I was at my youth in understanding cricket. The ABC news seems to always have had a special fondness for cricket reportage. When I arrived in Australia there was no TV as yet, no worries; the radio, especially towards the Christmas period would belt out cricket day and night.
On my walk home from Revesby rail station after work, I wondered what that steady radio drone was coming from behind those venetian blinded shuttered windows. Also at work, the radio would sometimes be on and the workers, if the boss was not near, would be standing around the radio, fixated by that same drone. When I had mustered enough courage and English, I finally asked. What are you all listening to? It is cricket, don’t you know, I was told.
Now some sixty years later and retired, not in my wildest most fantastical dream or nightmare could I ever have foreseen ending up living at the very epicenter, the Mecca and Nirvana of cricket; Bowral. It is where cricket has soared to heights where even the South American Anaconda or the wedge tail eagle in Australia would ever dare to venture. Fancy ending up being confronted almost daily with something that has steadfastly refused to become intelligible to me even after all those years?
Don’t you know, Bowral is not just home to the world’s most famous cricketer ‘Donald Bradman’, but also now houses The International Cricket Hall of Fame. I doubt that without Bradman there would have been this famous hall ( don’t dare you call it a ‘museum’, it is all very much interactive IT and so on) Click on a date and you’ll instantly get the cricket game of that date all the details, who was out and over, all the runs, ducks and no-balls.
A ‘cricket tragic’ I am definitely not. There are tragic ex cricketers though. There are seats that surround this famous cricket ‘pitch’; (I know a few terms) they are rather nice wooden seats bolted to small concrete slabs. Those seats surround the cricket field and are behind the white painted picket fence that seems to surround cricked fields everywhere.
Screwed on to the back-rest slat are modest brass signs displaying the names of people who have donated the seats with names of famous dead cricketers. One of those appeared to have died very young. In my quest for detailed trivia I asked an informed and true ‘cricket tragic,’ about this person and the reason for his early demise. “Quite shocked the cricket world was”, he replied to my question, “inexplicable it was, he was as happy as Larry at the time”, no one could have foreseen or predicted his death, he apparently had enough and opted out! I had heard the term ‘all out’ and left it at that, but not before I took some rest on that same seat to reflect on this sad bit of cricket history.
I am now on a steep learning curve. I have managed so far to kind of ward off any questions about the ins and outs of cricket. No one but no one living in Bowral would knowingly have bought into these hallowed cricket surrounds without some knowledge of this revered game. I know a pitch and have even muttered ‘Bradman was great, wasn’t he’? People nod sagely but look at me askance, just a hint of suspicion raising its head. I’ll buy a book or get lessons, but after so many years, have I left it too late? I understand the basics with knocking off that piece of wood. The trouble is all those numbers. If cricket scores were 2-1 or 5-0, I’d have no trouble. What to make of 20-131 to 13 with 380 runs.
I was always hopeless with math.
01 Thursday Dec 2011
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December 1, 2011

We all know that the Norwegian fjords and forests are probably the most inspiring and beautiful examples of nature at its best. Just ask Edvard Grieg or simply listen to his music of Peer Gynt or his four Norwegian dances.
Those young Norwegian people camped out on their beloved island thought so too, till their serenity was cruelly interrupted by being killed. Seventy seven shot dead. A mass killer was on the loose. His name is Anders Behring Breivik. His court case is yet to start but it seems likely he will not be charged of any crime but declared criminally insane and will spend time in an asylum. A 240 page report has been presented to the Norwegian Prosecutors office by three psychiatrists. The assessment was made after thirteen interviews with Breivik.
Here in Australia as in England an insanity plea is extremely hard to be successful. We are not so far advanced to accept that sometimes evil is done by sick people, indeed we are still struggling with accepting the idea of ‘mental illness’ and feel safer to lock those up in jail that have ended up doing terrible things.
Some years ago a similar deed was done by a blond Tasmanian. His name was Martin Bryant. Suddenly one Sunday he opened fire and thirty three were dead. It would not be beyond the law of averages to accept that an examination by three eminent psychiatrists would also have found him insane and for the prosecutor and Courts to have heeded to that. No such luck for the mentally ill Martin. He now languishes in a jail cell instead of in a hospital or asylum where he would still enjoy some kind of life. We concentrate on retribution, punishment, forget about insanity, and lock the bastards up, for life, forever, good riddance.
http://www.trutv.com/library/crime/notorious_murders/mass/bryant/index_1.html
Not long ago there was another terrible deed by two young children who had walked another even younger child along a railway line, stoned him and killed him. This time it was in England, a country that was still hanging children not all that long ago and who send convicts away from home and hearth to Australia for having stolen butter or bread. The act of legal” Gibbeting” was abolished before the hanging of children which was abolished in 1908.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Capital_punishment_in_the_United_Kingdom.
The two children Thompson and Venables responsible for the killing were deemed to have known right from wrong and charged with murder then sentenced for many years to juvenile detention. England became somewhat divided but generally, the retribution enthusiasm succeeded above that of the principle of ‘doli incapax’ that presumes that children cannot be held legally responsible for their actions.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Murder_of_James_Bulger
There have been countless books and even more movies made of the case, endless controversy that still pops up including a documentary about how that case would have never resulted in criminal charges being laid in Norway.
Norway’s 1994, in Trondheim, five year old Silje Redegard was beaten to death by two little boys. Today, the girl’s family still suffers and one of the boys is in trouble again- echoes of the Bulger case are clear. The public reaction in Norway has been startlingly different. Here are some of those differences.
The children involved were younger, but the most significant difference was that in Britain, the authorities decided to let the nation of its people judge the child killers. The children in England were tried as small adults and the media did, as they still do today, (keenly in contempt of Court), calmly and deliberately release mug shots and names of the boys. A roar of revenge was a result of the blood curdling and minute publication of the details of the killings. All this media hysteria was whipped up much to the disadvantage of Thompson and Venables, but it made millions by the media and salved the revenge seeking population in frenzy of hate towards the two children, stirred up by that same media.
What the Norwegian case demonstrates that it needn’t have been that way. In Norway, the initial response to the killing of that little girl was that of horror. What sort of monster did this? Revenge was foremost as well. When the news broke through that two little boys had done this, the hysteria for ‘blood’ died down and the case left to run its course without the media getting involved. There was no sensational reporting of the case in the Norwegian press. I doubt whether many of us here in Australia have even heard of this case. In Norway, even the mother Beathe Redergard felt bad for the little boys, even in the middle of her grief for having lost her daughter, because they were just’ little kids’. They were just six years old but even if they had been ten or eleven, it would have been dealt with the same way. Norway forgave and forgot its child killers.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/theguardian/2010/mar/20/norway-town-forgave-child-killers
The names of the two boys were never published, their anonymity have been protected even till today.
Those Norwegian woods will remain witness to terrible deeds, but no amount of the blood soaked soil will ever bring the victims back, nor will revenge on an insane and mentally ill person.
.
Tags: Breivik, Bryant, Bulger, England, Grieg, Norway, Thompson, Venables
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24 Thursday Nov 2011
Posted in Gerard Oosterman
This is NOT my article but taken from my inbox:
Fat slag…you’re a piece of sh*t. You haven’t got that much t*tty to be wearing that low cut a blouse. Watch your mouth girl, or I will hunt you down.” [1]
This was Kyle Sandilands’ on-air response to a journalist after she reported poor viewer reactions to his new TV show on Monday night. News outlets are calling Sandilands “vile” and his comments “filthy” — but advertisers who fund his shows are standing by him and his offensive comments.
Holden, Vodafone and the Good Guys have already pulled out — but others like Telstra, Harvey Norman, Mitsubishi and Medibank all fund Sandilands’ show through their regular advertisements. Some have even issued statements distancing themselves from Sandilands — they’re trying to get away with directly funding his radio show, without taking responsibility for the sexist and derogatory statements he makes.
The last thing any of them want is their brand to be associated with the community backlash over his behaviour. A huge show of public outrage at their support for him will force them to pull out of the show, and put pressure on the radio station to d! rop Sandi lands.
We know sponsors are incredibly sensitive to community outrage — this won’t be the first time they’ve ditched him. Just two years ago, a 14-year-old revealed she had been raped on his show, and he asked her if it had been her “only” sexual experience. He was immediately dropped from Australian Idol, and Optus withdrew online advertising [2].
Join Emily and tell sponsors to withdraw their support until Sandilands is dumped.
Add your voice to Emily’s now — you’ll convince them they need to withdraw or risk their brand being damaged in the huge community backlash. The station will have to listen, and drop him to keep their sponsors.
Voices in the media, on Twitter and across the community are unanimous — Sandilands has gone too far this time. Join Emily in sending a resounding message to sponsors that they need to withdraw their support for the show, or they’ll suffer the same backlash as Sandilands.
Thanks for all you do,
! Nick and the Change.org team