Hey gang!
Been a while I know. A whole lot of shit has been happening last couple of weeks. Between the Blueprint festival, (epic. Cold. Fun. Mud. …More on that later), noise complaints, house hunting, and the usual uni shit (less on that from now on) I've kind of been deciding which tat I'm going to spend my hard earned student allowance on, and I realised that It’s been over a year since getting a tattoo. Wasn’t that a fucking adventure:
2 weeks off and one plan – go to beach rent a van, or whatever and surf. Plan = fail. First week sick in bed, next week I flew to Sydney and dick about looking for shit to do while thinking about organising a quick surf on the coast before heading to Lismore for my cousins wedding. With more money and time than I know what to do with I walked into a tattoo parlour …………. 7 hours and 750 dollars later and my left calf is the proud new owner of a bright red koi carp. What. A fucking. Douche bag. I was in a bit of shock (having someone needle your flesh will do that – it’s an open wound after the prelim colours). I was in the middle of slurry hills. The 10-minute walk to the hostel took 2 hours. I couldn’t find a place to eat, I had to find a chemist, and I needed water. What I really needed was sleep.
Shaking with fever by the time I got to bed, don’t really remember much. All I know is I didn’t want my clothes to get covered in blood-ink, so I slept the deepest twelve hour sleep ever in a busy raucous mine field of din and boozy calamity that was my dorm, in my jocks.
Next morning – jeans are gone. Wallet in the jeans – gone. Watch in the jeans, gone. Ipod w new shitty expensive earphones that didn’t fit my tiny elf ears – gone. Keys to locker with shit in it – gone. Shit in locker – unscathed. Sunglasses – gone. Not that I cared too much, all that grates me is the belt, it was my grandfathers and unreplaceable. The rest – insured! Cos guess what –my original intentions were a sunny two weeks in Thailand, but a whole bunch of political jargon went down and my unorganised yet resourceful self took it as an opportunity to get a refund on the ticket. The insurance still carried.
When my overpriced unreliable virgin Internet was actually working I emailed my parents and told them the situation. They tried to contact me immediately, and every hour after. The hostel went to no efforts what so ever in informing me of this, I just happened to be at the counter a day later when I recognised the number on call id as my mothers mobile. (Not that I knew it off by heart – hence me not calling).
No money. No food. No friends. No surfing. But I was fine.
Made it to Lismore free of dramas. The wedding was the usual family fest where the illusory nature of ‘normal happy family’ is revealed to you. Quite fun. Glad to leave.
Drove to Forster with my mum dad and sister in mums’ brand new Mazda 3. I was lucky enough to sit behind my 6”3’ father the whole 9 hours, but it was worth it. The place we stayed in was a glorious 12th story apartment 360 degree view of the area, estuary on one side, and beach on the other, sleepy nothing the whole way round.
Perfect.
Ocean!
I walked up to the waters edge. Nice hot day too, and then I remember the tattooists words – no salt water. No swimming. Not for at least 2 weeks.
!!!
Anyway… the point of the story…
That all happened September last year, so 12 months after getting the Koi I am eligible to give blood. And that is exactly what I did yesterday. If you haven’t done it do yourself a favour, you don’t know what you haven’t done. You get to sit down, get all light headed and woozy while a little hose feeds your blood into a bag, then sit down some more and enjoy all the free OJ, biscuits and week old newspaper a man can muster. Oh and you save lives etc etc. But I wasn’t allowed to exercise post donation, which meant I had to suffer a fate worse than fainting while navigating near peak hour traffic on my bicycle – nearly fainting on peak hour public transport. As I had didn’t have my Ipod, and uni books, homework, or newspaper wouldn't satiate I had to get a book.
So... (and here it comes the point of the story). I bought
Little Brother by Cory Doctrow. It’s an Orwellian fiction based in an alternate current day USA – post patriot act II. After a major terrorist attack on San Francisco the department of homeland security imprisons a 17-year-old high schooler, Marcus. Upon release he discovers every citizen is treated as a terrorist suspect, San-Fran is a police state. Through Marcus we learn valuable and practical lessons on technology, security, and the importance of privacy and liberties in the internet-era as he tries to take down the DHS.
It’s got some bad points – the obligatory love interest, but he’s seventeen, and Doctrow covers it really well. Doctrow can get a little too Dan Brown in his explanation of the historical and techy interests, however, they develop the story quite nicely. Relationships can seem a little predictable and one dimensional, it isn’t exactly trainspotting or Othello, but whatever.
It’s a real fast read. I mean lightning quick. But there’s nothing pulp about it, informative as it is entertaining. Above all else it gets you thinking. I seriously recommend it to anyone and everyone. I can’t emphasise enough how exciting it is. I know I get geared up over the most mundane shit and seem kind of dulled over when the good shit is in abundance but this is the real deal.
…And the meaning of a koi tattoo for those of you who are interested/ still reading this blog.
According to wikianswers.com: “According to Japanese legend, if a koi succeeded in climbing the falls at a point called Dragon Gate on the Yellow River, it would be transformed into a dragon. Based on that legend, it became a symbol of worldly aspiration and advancement.
More generally, the Japanese associate koi (also known as carp) with perseverance in adversity and strength of purpose. Because of its strength and determination to overcome obstacles, it stands for courage and the ability to attain high goals. “
Up until 2 days ago, I really didn’t appreciate that tattoo at all.
Anyway, I'm out. Have a good one.
Max
Read: Little Brother by Cory Doctrow
Eat: Chocolate mud cake
Hear: The click click clack of a heavy black train
