Time Travel: or, On the omnipresence of American culture on a pretty standard Australian 31 year old

So Henry has invented this time machine, so I’ve gone back and for some reason that I can only put down to tiredness, I keep getting snapped for American high school yearbooks. I thought that I would share some with you.

Here I am in 1970, majoring in Economics and sporting a healthy side part. I support the war in Vietnam, but am prepared to lie about it to impress girls. I shall never leave a University once I enter it. I am not proud of that.

Here I am in 1976. I am a Drama major, as the skivvy will attest. I am quite the ladies man. Secretly, however, I lust after the captain of the men’s water polo team. I will get a gig in reasonably successful syndicated sitcom in the 1980s, and will milk that until death. I am confused about how that makes me feel.

Here I am in 1978. I am more interested in smoking pot than my Art major, but I do draw lots and lots of cartoons featuring evil goblins tying up vixens with enormous breasts. I will live with my ‘Mom’, really get interested in The Internet, and become a regular poster to Dungeons and Dragons message boards, where my gross obesity does not hinder me. I think that that is pretty cool.

Here I am in 1986. I think that my combination Business/Computer Science major will make me rich. Of course I am right, but will it make me happy? Another trip in the time machine tells me that although wealth won’t make me happy, the yacht off Catalina, the bevy of beautiful women and mountain of cocaine kind of make me forget about that. I am rather proud of that.

Here I am in 1996. I am captain of the ‘Track’ team and have a scholarship in Wrestling, Football and Lacrosse. Unfortunately a disgruntled nerd took exception to my novel take on ‘encouragement’ in the hallway and ensured that I never made college. I think that this is a bummer.

[Now, you can choose to believe that whole ‘time travel’ thing, or you can go along to the Yearbook Yourself website and get cracking on your own photos.]

Hold me now, oh hold me now, until this hour has gone around. And I'm gone on the rising tide, to face Van Dieman's Land

Theme Thursday again, and this one is rather easy. I am Tasmanian, you see, and aside from being all around general geniuses - as I have amply described previously - we are also very familiar with the concept of WATER. Tasmania is the ONLY island state of an ISLAND continent. That means, we're surrounded by WATER. That should help explain why I take so many photographs of water . Tasmania was for a long time the place where the British (an island race terrified of water) sent their poor people most vile and horrid criminals. The sort of folk who would face the stark choice of a death sentence , or transportation to the other end of the world. Their catalogue of crimes is horrifying : stealing bread assault stealing gentlemen's handkerchiefs drunken assault being poor affray ladies being overly friendly with gentlemen for money hitting people having a drink and a laugh public drunkenness being Irish Fenian terrorist activities being Catholic religious subversion. ...

Something unpleasant is coming when men are anxious to tell the truth.

This is the moon. Have I mentioned how much I adore the zoom on my camera? It's Theme Thursday you see, and after last week's limp effort, I have been thinking about how I might redeem myself. Then I clicked on the topic and discover that it was BUTTON. We've been hearing a lot about the moon in the past couple of weeks. Apparently some fellas went up there and played golf and what-not forty-odd years ago. The desire to get to the moon, however, was not simply about enhancing opportunities for Meg and Mog titles and skirting local planning by-laws in the construction of new and innovative golf courses. No, all of your Sputniks , "One small steps" and freeze dried ice cream was about one thing , and one thing only : MAD Now, I don't mean mad in terms of "bloke breaks record for number of scorpions he can get up his bum", no I mean MAD as in Mutual assured destruction . When I was a young man you see, there was a lot of talk about the type of m...

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral...

This will hurt me...

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