blog 21: in which I sing, “If you’re daggy and you know it, clap your hands!”

Not so long ago there was a lot of debate about the Australian Government considering allowing the Parallel Import of books. One of the major concerns was that cheaper American editions of Australian books would replace the original Australian editions. I would hate to see this happen as our unique Australian voice and stories could be lost.

For example, I was thrilled to have my book Don’t Call Me Ishmael! published in America but I wouldn’t want that version to be the one that Australians buy, since it has been edited and adjusted to cater for the American market.

Apart from changes in spelling, in the US edition Ishmael uses words like ‘mom’ rather than ‘mum’ and a chapter about a Rugby Union match has been changed to feature American Football or Gridiron. Other books suffer even more severe changes such as having the story relocated to America. There are some things that get lost in ‘translation’ as well.

There is a line in the Australian version of DCM Ishmael where Ishmael describes the love of his life, Kelly Faulkner as making ‘a daggy face’. When I read the copy proofs of the US edition they had written, that Kelly Faulkner made ‘a caring face.’ Obviously they weren’t familiar with the word ‘daggy’ or ‘dag’. I suggested they try ‘dopey’ or ‘goofy’ or ‘stupid’ even though I don’t think any these has quite the same meaning as ‘daggy’.

If we only get to read Americanised versions of our novels the danger is that some of our uniquely Australian language might die out. And I love the word ‘daggy’! I like the whole idea of it. I particularly like when someone calls themselves a dag. To me it shows that person doesn’t take themselves too seriously, that they can laugh at the fact that maybe they don’t always fit in with the trend, that maybe they’re not always the height of fashion and sophistication, that maybe sometimes they wear some item of clothing or listen to certain music or watch a particular TV show, not because it might make them appear cool or part of the group, but simply because for some unaccountable reason they actually like it and are happy to say so. They are daggy and proud!

Even some of the most sophisticated, talented and admired Australians have acknowledged their ‘inner dag’ and that only makes me like them more. See here.

So in celebration of all things daggy, I have decided to resurrect the DAG CLUB which had its first airing a while back when I was the resident blogger for a couple of months on Insideadog (or Insideadag as I like to call it).

If you think you have what it takes to join the DAG CLUB, why not send a comment and outline the nature of your dagginess (daggicity? daggishness?). Is there something you do, something you like, something about you that marks you out from the common herd and says ‘Dag’?

Perhaps you might like to indicate your current DAG level as outlined below.

Example of Level 3 Dagging.

                                  Level 1: a bit of a dag

                                  Level 2: such a dag

                                  Level 3: a real dag

                                  Level 4: a complete dag

                                  Level 5: an absolute dag 

Of course, if you don’t wish to reveal the actual nature of your dagginess then just send something like the following statement and you’ll feel like a new person.

“My name is ________ and I am  a DAG.”

Naturally no application to join the DAG CLUB will be refused since anyone who responds to this post would have to be at the very least ‘a bit a dag’ anyway, right? 

And yes, I do realise that there exists the very real possibility that this blog will get absolutely no replies at all.  But you know what? I’m totally cool with that.

After all, what could be more appropriate and daggy than for me to end up being President and sole member of my very own Dag Club!

Cheers
Michael

PS And remember, the first rule of Dag Club is: talk incessantly about Dag Club.

 

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blog 20: In which I explain a dozen ways to be annoying on a plane

On Sunday afternoon I fly up to a school in Cairns for a week as a Writer in Residence there, so I thought it would be timely for me to share my wealth of experience concerning plane etiquette with the world at large.  So I give you: 

A Dozen Ways to be  Annoying on a Plane.

  1. When they call passengers for Boarding, remember to fight your way furiously to the front. Under no circumstances let anyone slip in ahead of you! This is crucial of course, because if you are one of the first people on the plane, then you will have the obvious advantage of being one of the first people to take off and land as well. This will give you the jump on all the other, less perceptive passengers.
  2. Don’t concern yourself about those silly regulations regarding carry-on bags. Heavens, they don’t apply to you! As long as you have something with wheels and a handle, who cares if it’s  the size of a bulk shipping container?  Sure, it will break the backs of three strong men and take a crane to lift it into the storage compartment; and sure, once there it will proceed to squash and crush all those other wimpy fit-within-the-maximum-dimension bags; but hey, that’s just part of the rich tapestry of life!
  3. When looking for your seat, completely ignore all those little signs that clearly indicate that ‘a’ is the window seat and ‘c’ is the aisle seat and just take a wild stab in the dark about which one is yours. And yes I admit, sometimes the row numbers don’t line up precisely with the actually rows, so maybe just try to sit in the general area indicated by the number and letter on your ticket. Don’t worry, someone else will eventually sort it all out for you. Almost certainly the person whose seat you have stolen.  
  4. When you have decided on the possible location of your seat make sure you take your time getting yourself settled. These things just can not be rushed. Certainly it’s acceptable to stand in the aisle while you painstakingly rearrange every item in the storage locker so that your stuff fits comfortably and is easily accessible. Perhaps you could remove your suit coat and jumper and fold them lovingly into neat bundles while you are at it? The long line of people you are blocking won’t mind a bit. They will happily pass the time imagining themselves strangling a person with their own tie and disposing of the body in an overhead storage locker.  
  5. Once you’re settled and the plane is taxi-ing out, ask questions and call for points of clarification during the Safety Talk. This is particularly effective if the instructions are pre-recorded.
  6. When you are at last on your way, remember that you have two elbows and that your seat has two arm rests, so clearly they both must be for you.
  7. When you have your earphones on and you’re watching the fabulous inflight entertainment  – eg Charlie Sheen’s wacky antics on Two and a Half Men – remember to constantly laugh out loud so everyone else knows how much you’re enjoying it. Also add some commentary if you can. Something like: ” HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! He slept with her grandmother! Winning!”
  8. When you want to turn the overhead light on, remember to always push the ‘call’ button by mistake. This helps keeps the cabin crew awake and on their toes. In any case, when they arrive to find out what the problem is, they will be able to turn on the light for you and save you all that effort. (This is an excellent thing to do during food service or major turbulence.)  
  9. If you are going to push your seat back to the recline position make sure you do it at a time and in a manner that will cause maximum shock and discomfit to your fellow travellers. A good method is to ram it back with the thrust of a jet engine just as the person behind you has been served their meal. They should be eternally grateful to you, because this will cut down on the distance required to transport food from their plate to their mouth. Ideally if you ram your seat back hard enough, their food will automatically transport itself to their mouth – and surrounding areas.  
  10. Even though the stranger beside you has answered your last three questions with single words or grunts and then quickly buried their head back in their book/magazine each time, by all means keep talking! They are probably just shy and secretly pining for companionship. Try bringing them out of themselves with some clever probing like, “Hey I design sewerage systems and research skin diseases in my spare time. What do you like doing?”
  11. If you have the window seat on a long flight, drink copious amounts of beer. This will give you the opportunity, every 15 minutes or so, to meet and greet the people beside you as they repeatedly shuffle into the aisle to let you out. On your return, remember to make a witty comment such as, “The old bladder’s not what it used to be!” as you order another round.
  12. When you finally arrive at your destination, even though the cabin crew have told you numerous times to remain seated until the seatbelt light goes off, don’t pay any attention to that. As soon as you hear any kind of noise – like a bell chiming or a phone beeping or possibly just someone breaking wind – leap from your seat and immediately start ripping things from the overhead locker like a maniac. With a bit of luck you will have  beaten down the exit door and be halfway to the terminal before someone has a chance to point out to you that the seatbelt light is still on.

Wish me luck on my flight.

Cheers

Michael

 

 

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blog19: In which I read the signs during my morning walk.

Most mornings I go for my regular walk through Enoggera, Ashgrove and Newmarket.

Come along with me as I read the signs.

(Yes I know what you’re thinking – very impressive pins!)

Sign 1: Just around the corner and down the road a little from our house stands the Portal to the magic Kingdom of ASHGROVE. To enter you must pass a stringent test. Notice the POST OF PUNISHMENT blocking the portal? Only the wise and ingenious can find their way through! For verily it is said, that it is easier for the eye of a needle to pass through a camel than for an unworthy soul to enter Ashgrove! Of course that could be all total crap. (And yes that IS the Batmobile I’ve accidentally captured flashing past. Well spotted!)

Sign 2: 5 minutes into my walk I pass this shop front with its motivational messages.
At the top of the door it asks somewhat ungrammatically, “Embarrased by Ugly and Fat Stomach?”
My response? “No, not really. Are you embarrassed that you can’t spell embarrassed?
As for Vacuum Therapy – I do the vacuuming every Saturday at our place and it’s not helping ‘lift my butt’ one bit!

                                

Sign 3: Remnants of a grisly crime scene investigation where a bicycle was found murdered. Police suspect that it might have been pedalling drugs.

                      

Sign 4: These people have taken it upon themselves to declare their yard a ‘Scrub Turkey Sanctuary’. Scrub turkeys from all over Brisbane come here to escape political and religious persecution. It’s a wonderful thing.

                                        

Sign 5: But it’s not just Scrub Turkeys that find respite in Ashgrove. It’s also a refuge for people who through no fault of their own, have tragically lost their hands and feet.

                                  

Sign 6: Someone has written this on the footpath at the Bus Stop. Ashgrove graffiti vandals don’t have much imagination or creativity.

                               

Sign 7: Bad sign! Bad sign! Must. Not. Read. Must. Keep. Eyes. Averted. Must. Keep. Walking. Nothing. To. See. Here. Nothing. At. All. OMG! LOOK AT THE SIZE OF THOSE CREAM BUNS! I’LL TAKE SIX!!!

Sign 8: This spot was obviously the inspiration for Robert Frost’s famous poem The Road Not Taken. Notice the chalk signs indicating the ‘road less travelled’. Incredible. 
                       Two roads diverged in a yellow wood
                        And sorry I could not travel both and be one traveller
                        Long I stood until someone shouted, 
                       ‘Get out of the way moron! You’re blocking the path!’

                                

Sign 9: This sign is extremely misleading. I have walked this path heaps of times and I am yet to come across one of those handless, feetless, refugee people floating above their bike.

                                  

Sign 9: Would it be ok if I breathed once in a while?

                       

Sign 10: Yes you read correctly. There is actually a ‘National Quandong Day’. In fact NQ Day is huge in Ashgrove. There’s even an official NQ Day song. It goes like this, “Darling when will you be mine? Tell me Quandong? Quandong? Quandong?”                    

                                  

Sign 11: The portal back from the suburb of my birth to the suburb of Enoggera where I now live. Notice the complete absence of a POST OF PUNISHMENT. They let anyone live here.

                         

Cheers
Michael

   

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blog 18: In which I speak out of school – part 2

Recently we had an event for the launch of Ishmael and the Hoops of Steel  at Marist College Ashgrove.

This is the school I attended from Grade 4 to Grade 12, where I returned as a Teacher in 1995 and from where I resigned at the end of the first semester in 2000 to follow my dream of being a writer.

It is also the school that St Daniels College in the Ishmael series is very much based on.

In a previous blog I wrote about how magical things can happen in schools and gave an example from an all Girls’ school that I taught at. Here’s another example of a magic school moment, this time from Marist Ashgrove.

One year the Marist School Captain was a boy from Papua New Guinea. His name was Peter. He was a lovely young man – a conscientious student and a top sportsman who was hugely popular with all the boys and teachers. (In Ishmael and the Hoops of Steel I included a boarder from Papua New Guinea in the story as a bit of a tribute to all the great PNG boys I’d taught at Marist.)

At the same time when Peter was School Captain, there was a boy in Year 8 who was in a wheel chair. I didn’t teach him so I don’t recall his name or the particulars of his condition. I’ll call him David. 

You would be hard pressed to find two boys who were more polar opposites, at least physically. Peter was strong and powerful, a top athlete and from memory a member of at least the Rugby and Volleyball First teams and probably others. David was small, blonde, thin, pale-skinned and mostly confined to his wheelchair.

Peter and that Year 8 boy will always be tied together in my mind because of the school swimming carnival that year.

On the day, David was down to swim in the lowest division of the Under 13s. Because many of the boys in that race were weak swimmers and might not be able to make the 50 metres, seniors students were on the side of the pool or in the water to watch out for them. Peter the School Captain was in the pool shadowing David’s lane.

 When the race started, David began agonizingly edging his way with laboured strokes through the water. His legs were of little help to him. Each slow, slap of an arm against the surface of the water and each gasp of breath, seemed like it might be his final one. But somehow David struggled to the end. He was the last to finish by a long, long way, but he was cheered raucously home with every stroke. Boys recognise courage when they see it.

When a totally exhausted David made the wall, Peter lifted him from the pool, carried him in his arms, and paraded him around the pool as the rest of the school gave him a standing ovation.

That image will be forever burnt in to my memory – David’s pale skin against Peter’s dark skin; his thin, weakened body, cradled in Peter’s strong, protective arms. The only thing it seemed Peter and David shared in common, was the big smile on each of their faces. 

I can tell you that even the hardest of hard-nosed Marist teachers were choking back the tears that day.

One of things I wanted to show in writing the Ishmael series, was that even though boys can be rough and crude and insensitive at times, they also have a wonderful capacity to be heroic and beautiful.  

For a while I even thought about putting a scene based closely on what happened at the swimming carnival that day into Ishmael and the Hoops of Steel. In the end I decided against it. I figured it would come across as too contrived and far too sentimental.

After all, corny stuff like that doesn’t actually happen in real life, does it?

Cheers
Michael

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