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.]

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

There was nothing left. No reason, no conscience, no understanding; even the most rudimentary sense of life or death, good or evil, right or wrong.

Here is a self portrait. I’m calling it Portrait of a lady in a dirty window . Shocking, isn’t it? However, it is apt! Samhain , Nos Galan Gaeaf , Hop-tu-Naa , All Saints , All Hallows , Hallowmas , Hallowe'en or HALLOWEEN . It’s Theme Thursday and we’re talking about the festivals traditionally held at the end of the harvest season. Huh? No wonder Australians have trouble with the concept of HALLOWEEN. For the record, in my thirty-two L O N G years on the planet, I can’t say I’ve ever seen ghosts ‘n goblins, trick ‘n treaters or Michael Myers stalking Tasmania’s streets at the end of October. [That said, I did once see a woman as pale as a ghost turning tricks that looked like Michael Myers in late November one time.] Despite the best efforts of Hollywood, sitcoms, and innumerable companies; it seems Australians are impervious to the [ahem] charms of a corporatized variant of a celebration of the end of the "lighter half" of the year and beginning of the "darke

In dreams begin responsibilities.

A life at sea, that's for me, only I just don't have the BREAD. That's right, Theme Thursday yet again and I post a photo of a yacht dicking about in Bass Strait just off Wynyard. The problem is, I am yet again stuck at work, slogging away, because I knead need the dough . My understanding is that it is the dough that makes the BREAD. And it is the BREAD that buys the yacht. On my salary though, I will be lucky to have enough dough or BREAD for a half dozen dinner rolls. Happy Theme Thursday people, sorry for the rush.

This will hurt me...

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