A Public Figure

The creation of a facebook profile, in my opinion, automatically comes with the added assumption that people actually give a shit about who you are. We just can't wait to let everyone know where we are, what we're doing. The girls are preparing what I can only liken to a conga line, setting up for their next 'profile pic', and the boys are buffing and tanning getting ready for the perfect shirtless-at-a-festival photo op, and they all just can't wait to show everyone. Friends like and comment it, even Grandma has a page and she raves a negative comment about the openess of today's youth and tells you to put a shirt on; but let's face it guys, Grandma's always right. I mean, about everything, not just the shirt thing.

Today I was confronted with this really snooty feature of facebook called Privacy settings. It just makes no sense. Facebook's purpose is to create publicity for our lives. The other day, a friend of mine noticed that someone who is not listed as my friend, commented a photo of mine. "Do you feel comfortable with that?"..."Yeah," I said. "That would make me feel really wierd, that anyone can look at photos of me," she replied. Well why do you have facebook then, I thought. I mean I know a lot of people say, Oh It's a great way to stay in touch with friends and blah blah, Bullshit. I know that before facebook I was able to stay in touch with friends just fine, and I also didn't waste four hours of my day at a computer desk doing it.

To be honest, I didn't have many photos up before I came overseas, but since I had some exciting stuff to show, I wanted to show anyone who was interested; friends or not. I know I'm lame for admitting it but, I also got facebook because I like to think people would look at it. Admittedly it gets a little wierd when 'Tim is on his second sprite for the day' is being shoved down your throat; but that's what you signed up for. If you want to limit your publicity to a handful of people then you may as well write your posts on a piece of paper and stick it on the fridge at home for everyone to see.

I noticed the year following my subscription to facebook I had at least 10 times the amount of people wish me a happy birthday, assuming sincerely. It made me realise that maybe we don't actually believe people care, rather we want to make people care. So we create this constant reminder about our birthdays, and our daily activities and recent photos to force people to look. Whether they take notice or not, it seems the solace comes in the feeling of being newsworthy anyway; we're in that feed.

Facebook is, by default, a publicity machine and an unstoppable monster. Accept it and embrace it.

Thumbs Down

Who had the stupid idea to put Orange Juice in those square cartons? This blog will be a really short, Peter Griffin "What Grinds My Gears" style rant. The other day I bought a Five Alive OJ in a 1Litre carton, and when I pop the flap open and peel off the silver thing, there's this tiny Mike & Ike sized hole staring back at me as if I'm actually supposed to pour my drink through this thing. Found out later that, yeah, that was the exit hole. The thing with this, is that I just cleaned the counter because we're moving out of our house in a week and after one cheeky pump fake where the orange juice hits the wall of the box, the pressure from the tiny hole shoots the orange juice far, and then when I try to correct it, it slows down for a steady pour. Even then, with that tiny and odd shaped hole even if you were to drink straight out of the box you wouldn't get much. I had to wipe up all the spillage and lost half my orange juice in the process. Idiots.

I Love You, Dude.

So I was skyping my best mate back in Australia last night, and when we finish our conversation he ends with, "Love you, bro". I absently reply, "Love you too, dude".

I could go on with some kind of lengthy, impressively vocab-infused tale, pandering to the increasingly high blogging standards of modern day academia. But I think I'll just cut to the chase. Guys are phasing in a sensitive side. I believe that we just suddenly (and unconciously) decided that platonic man-love is okay in the same way as it is for girls, although maybe not as intense. As you may be aware of, change is a gradual process, not immediate. We all know there are still a bunch of big, burly, beer swigging, gritty, emotionless men out there doing their thing; and it's called going undercover in the tool shed.



It was just a funny realisation (like everything I blog about), that we are allowed to say a meaningful phrase like "Love you" to someone we've been best friends with for over 7 years, but only if it's made to sound kind of tough with the suffix "dude", "bro" or "bra". Furthermore, why do thuggish colloquialisms at the end of a sentence cancel out its honest meaning? It is this modern day faux pas that continuously adds to my confusion over Hip Hop slang; specifically and not so recently David Guetta's "Sexy Bitch"...is calling a girl 'bitch' accepted as a positive thing now? You can tell Guetta was forced into that one by the studio heads. There is no way someone of his age (who in all probability has at least three daughters of his own by now) would agree to speaking about women in such a derogatory manner; and so publicly. We get that these guys are straight thuggin' and shit, but my friend tried that line "Damn, youse a sexy bitch" in a club when approaching a girl, and he got his bitch ass slapped dawg. Straight Up. Would it be hard to take off the gold chains for a second, just approach a girl and be like "Hey, I'm Akon. You are a beautiful woman." Biggie Smalls had the right idea when he said "Who they attractin' with that line, 'What's your name? What's your size? Soon as they buy that wine, Ima sneak up from behind. Ask you what your interests are" ...etc, etc. But hey, that being said, Akon's alive, Biggie's dead. Correlation? Who knows...

Granted, the hip hop world has gone too fast, too early; and I doubt people are ready to act like that towards other people outside the fantasy of a music video. I just think it's a little bit sad when men can't say anything meaningful at all without it being paired with a casual air that turns it into abit of a joke. Although I think it is a sad thought, I don't even know if I could be totally and truthfully blunt with emotions towards other guys I consider my friends.

That's just gay...bro.

Hubris

When I was in High School my favourite subject was Ancient History. Apart from the frustratingly long and pointless dispute against Margaret Atwood's (once again, teeth-grinding) perspective on the inclusion of women in history, the topic that came up the most was that of the Ancient Greek word, "Hubris". Hubris, as defined by Wikipedia, (get off my case, I know it's not a qualified source but I'm not exactly handing in this blog as my Thesis) means extreme haughtiness, pride or arrogance. Hubris often indicates a loss of contact with reality and an overestimation of one's own competence or capabilites.

I believe it was this very same vice that was the downfall of recurring blogging in the life of Jesse Lewis (yes, talking about hubris requires me to talk about myself in the third person). I admit, as this here blog became more popular I began to push the boundaries a little. Those of you reading in Australia may not understand, but I wrote a lot of work related and Pano related blogs (one of which was my absolute favourite that was only up for 2 hours and recieved no less than 13 emails on facebook, some from people I had only met once or twice at pano, congratulating me for writing it). Basically, I got cocky. Although officially my blog only has 12 followers, it has been read in over 20 countries including Romania, the United Arab Emirates and Malaysia (ok maybe someone might've been near malaysia on holidays but I can't explain Romania and UAE). I thought I was untouchable.

Until one day, I get called into my supervisors office, the stench of a freshly printed written warning still permeates the room. I know what is to come. Before any words are said she deals me a familiar looking page. It's a printed version of one of my own blogs, the very same blog that begins with an incriminating "Coming at you live from my desk at work, nursing a massive hangover". Busted, and blogging days...over.

Just like King Agamemnon of Argos (or Mycenae, depending on how you interpret your Greek mythology), it was Hubris that brought me to my knees and forced my hand and pen (or blue dagger of conservative retribution as I like to call it) to sign that record of discussion. I still remember those days now, slashing word after word into the work computer with no regard for anyone watching. Slandering bosses, HR reps and most of all, buff, club-thumping idiots (no offence, but offence). For this, I am sorry. I apologize to the millions...and millions of this blogs fans that have had to wait month after month for sub-par blogs as a result of public censorship. I was too focused on the oil enriched Sheikh that may be reading this blog from his super computer at the top of the Burj Al Arab Tower in Dubai to even realise that...maybe my bosses were reading this blog too.

All this aside, I hope the people that tuned in old time and long time to these here writings are still getting hooked up with the sweet, sweet nonsense that you all know and love (and it's an even nicer surprise when I found out people I haven't spoken to in ages, or didn't connect as amazingly with as others are reading this).

My Ego Is Made Up Of Blog Views

In a desperate bid to recruit more 'followers' to the curemyobscurity.blogspot.com bandwagon (if you could call it that), I realised that the main reason myself and most the other 'authors' of blogs on this human nature forsaken website is attention. Just like the 10 year old boy at the daycare that spent four hours hitting the carer in the head with a rubber Bob the builder hammer, the big spoon always seems to be in my hand, and it is always my turn to talk.

Not to seem narcissistic here. But how many of you who have blogs and are reading this, have anything better to blog about than your daily activities, or a funny thing that happened on the way to your favourite sweaty, muscle-cluster infested hole in the wall? I know this is an observation the average person doesn't want to point out about themselves, that you only blog for attention. Given that most the people that are boredom stricken enough to peek at these here writings are in other continents, I can be honest with myself behind my computer screen.

I think it's funny the amount of people I know that write blogs, and follow blogs only to be followed in return. People that re-read their own blogs and only read the blog's of others when you think there is a mention of you. Oh well, this shit is fun right. I say if it feels good do it, even if it is a big whoopen waste of time.

Oh, und people that correct grammer, spelling or punctuation on technology related writings...you are not intellectual, impressive or even "attentive to detail". Correcting TXT talk is obvious, not smart. I'm sorry scholars around the world, but I didn't realise that every time I wrote an e-mail, text or facebook message that I was handing in an essay to be marked. Stop it, it's nothing but pretentious.

Oh wow, this is self-confessed and a tad hate felt. Don't read into it or take offence. If I got you to take notice of me then I can go to bed feeling accomplished...that's the point of these things right?

I survived Valentine's Day...

It was just another regular day in Canada. Nothing special. The regular 8AM start, without shower or shave; the usual phone calls coming in one after another. The usual pot of packet noodles brewing over the stovetop. Chilling out on the couch was when it hit me. Another widely sensationalised and overly ambiguous advertisement directs my attention to the newest challenge 2011 has to offer...it's Valentine's Day tomorrow; and like the majority of males involved in relationships serious enough to consider this an actual day of meaning...I forgot.

The scramble to think up something not only passable as a date, but also meaningful; is a yearly ritual I do not look forward to. This year I managed to whisk up a romantic dinner, starring my lady friend's favourite meal; the preparation of which was not so romantic. A rush to the general store on hill, some less than glamorous ingredients and an extended lunch break helped to form what actually turned out to be quite a successful Valentine's Day (chiefly due to the fact that my lady friend, thankfully, wasn't that fussed about the whole day either and hence didn't really expect much anyway).

I'm not really writing this blog to complain or anything because as a blatant romantic, I actually enjoy days like this as (in real life) it gives me an opportunity to spoil the person that in my eyes definately deserves spoiling. I just find it funny this way in which men (myself included at times) 'survive' landmark days such as Valentines, Anniversaries and Birthdays rather than celebrate them. We pretend to celebrate when most the time we have only found out about the occassion at a day or less notice; and scramble to find something that passes as thoughtful or meaningful... most of the time by the skin on our fingertips.

The Long-Distance Patriot

I've discovered something about myself recently. Well not so much discovered as come to terms with. I know this sounds bad, considering Australia is a brilliant country. But around the point of Australia Day in Canada and in the midst of a lot of "Aussie Pride", I realised I am only patriotic when out of country. As in, I like to claim being Australian only when I'm in another country, but not so phased about it when in my own country. I think because patriotism when practised in your own country always seems to have the tinting of racism embedded inside of it. In the U.S, it's the redneck conservatives, in Australia, it's the douchebag bogans with their southern cross tattooes and mullets. I've heard that in places like Germany for instance, types of patriotism carried out in public are considered reminiscent of Nazi days; an imagine in which they understandably don't want to publicise and therefore don't really carry flags in the yard or any of that jazz.

I've frequently voiced my deeply seeded desire to become a 'citizen of the world'. I just think patriotism is over-rated. Everyone loves a team to barrack for, of course it makes things more interesting; and of course I'm proud of where I come from and I couldn't promote a country to visit more than Australia. I think it's just the idea of patriotism that annoys me. Seeing as most patriotism is basically anger-generated, for instance the picking of one side automatically comes with an intense hatred for another side. In my following of the Socceroo's at the 2006 Germany FIFA World Cup I found myself despising Italian's for at least another 6 months. Even in the recent 2010 World Cup I was slandering Italians, basically saying they deserved the shit form in the World Cup and teasing their country...only to be introduced minutes later to my new work colleague 'Fillipo' from Bologna, Italy...who also overheard the whole conversation (interesting day at work). I just realise that when I was in Australia, I really wasn't too excited about my own country. But I am, when around non-Australians, proud to be Australian.

In saying all of this, I am proud of Australia for the beautiful country that it is, and I am lucky to have come from there. But I am in no way ever going to expect special treatment, wonder and awe, or think I am better than anyone else just because I was popped out onto Australian soil.

Nope, my next tattoo won't be a boxing kangaroo, it won't be the Australian made food logo (lame?) and it definately won't be a southern cross.