The UN is still assessing whether to raise an appeal or rely solely on their Central Emergency Fund. In the meantime, the Red Cross, Oxfam and SurfAid are taking donations. SurfaAid in particular helps the Mentawai Islands which are hard to access in general, but more so now. From their site:

SurfAid International, a non-profit organization dedicated to the alleviation of human suffering through community-based health programs. With the support of the New Zealand and Australian governments, the global surfing community, and most importantly the Mentawai people of the affected areas themselves, SurfAid has come to exemplify the healing power of cross-cultural partnerships.

Please help with any donation you can. The scope of the tragedy is not yet known, but the more funds they have, the quicker and better the response will be.

SurfAid
Red Cross
Oxfam

news.bbc.co.uk

Previously:
Across the Universe: Sumatra Earthquake

We are ok but the whole situation is fucked up. Have heard from half our friends that they are ok, but still waiting for more info. No fuel or food in Padang so the next few weeks should be interesting. Thousands of people are buried under rubble, it is pissing down with rain and we are being battered by storms. In a word, it is fucked. Send some positive thoughts out into the universe for the people of Padang. I am veering between tears and nausea.

So, that’s exactly what I’m doing. Sending all the love I have out into the universe, hoping it will get there soon.

Here are some links about the situation:
BBC

news.bbc.co.uk

Surfing Life

And to organisations for donations:
SurfAid International
Red Cross

If you have nothing else, send all your positive thoughts and love out to the people of South-East Asia. They’re going to need it all, and more.

I love you, brother.

http://pitstophill.com

At first, I was all “hells fuckin yeah about time” regarding the ruling; after reading the article, I’m not so sure. Yes, American Apparel advertising is lewd, porny and their models are deliberately young looking. For an Advertising Standards Authority to ban an advertisement because a model appeared to be underage (she was 23 at the time), basically stipulating what constitutes a “woman” versus an underage girl, well that’s a bit borderline. Considering the ASA did not uphold the complaint that the nudity offensive and could be seen by children, the impact of this ruling seems slightly contentious. As a very young looking woman myself, being told constantly that I’m not a “real woman” is fucking annoying. And the constant paedophile quips aimed at my boyfriends/lovers is embarrassing, offensive and plain tedious.

Go ahead, ban an ad for gratuitous and offensive nudity, but not because a model does not look like what we think a “real woman” is.

On a similar note, on the tram this morning a three year old boy looked at a banner ad for something, can’t remember what, but it featured a man wearing only his underwear. Little boy looked at his mother and asked her why the model wasn’t wearing clothes. Poor mother tried to explain to her kid that the model was probably very hot when his picture got taken and that’s why he was sweaty and had no clothes on. Luckily for her they had to get off at the next stop. It’s difficult enough explaining why I think gratuitous nudity in advertising is offensive to an adult, I can’t even begin to imagine how to explain it to a child who’s command of language is inadequate to their scope of mind.

AA Models via The Onion

Cheer yourself up with the happy news via The Onion of fourteen American Apparel models freed from the clutches of their hipster overlords. One can only hope that they are running free today, in clothing that does not hurt their dignity. (click on image for link)

What if things weren’t that way? What if we decided that women weren’t lesser, weren’t so bad, weren’t the bearers of original sin? What if we respected women in every sense of the term?

I arrived at the realisation this week that I had no chance. I had no basis for even thinking that I had something better simply because I believed that it was so. I have spent so long, so many fucking years convincing myself that I live in an egalitarian society (or as close to one we could create). I spent years reading about how far women have come in being recognised for their worth. This week, I came crashing down; in the face of overwhelming adversity that I had staunchly refused to realise, I lost faith, I lost belief, I lost hope. I never had a chance.

Our entire social system is structured against my core beliefs. The constant indoctrination of women as sexual objects, of those who need to be manipulated to one’s will, of their emotions overruling reason, of their inability to be functional because of their sex, of their status of lesser beings, of being less worthy of human rights. I used to think that all these ideas belonged to a forgotten age, one past us in civilisation. It’s not. It’s really fucking not and my naïvete in thinking such was purely blinded hope. That women have managed to reach the higher echelons of society in politics and business (etc.) is a show of amazing conviction against adversity. That we manage to get any rape convictions in this status of being is phenomenal. When “reasonable belief of consent” can be used in court as a valid defense, ignoring that a rape case even being in court indicates some degree of non-consent, is ludicrous. That we blame women for allowing rapists to pursue their sick power fantasies by not reporting them is ridiculous. Why we even think that a woman would be willing to go through the judicial system and “prove” that she was raped is beyond comprehension. Why do we persist in telling girls that their future is as a potential rape victim, that they better behave or the worst will be visited upon them? Why do we never tell boys that women are not there for their whims, not there to justify their worth?

As long as culture permits the objectivity of women as a lesser, we’re all fucked. We’re never going to have a chance. In reality, it’s a one sided fight of half the population desperate to be heard, but yelling into the deaf ear. The fight was over before we even said no.

It’s fair to say that no one really likes condoms. They smell odd, ruin the mood and don’t add to sexual pleasure (don’t believe the hype, they are not ribbed for her pleasure). The majority of sane people realise the necessity of these rubber fiends and you understand that the payoffs of not leaving them by the roadside are manifold – inclusive of not getting AIDS, various creepy and visually horrifying STDs and/or babies. Sex and condoms go together like single use hypodermic needles and alcohol swabs: any rational person has a stack of them and disposes of them responsibly after use.

The Pope, needless to say, is not a sane nor rational person. Sex is a natural and fulfilling part of life and, more often than not, it’s really awesomely fun. The Pope does not have sex, never has and never will (still to be determined whether the Pope has fun, ever has or ever will). And yet despite a dire lack of qualifications in the area, physical or educational, he insists that he knows what’s best in the boudoir, and it’s not what I learnt was “safe sex” back in school. The implications of his publicised opinions are, for the most part, fairly irrelevant in most of our lives. We have the privilege of being able to ignore this aging insanity because we have access to reasonable sex education and bawdy bar gossip. To us, he’s just another crazy old man in a dress with too much money, hair and a bitter heart. But for those who lack access to what we freely acquire and take for granted, his ill-formed opinion in regards to the use of condoms has really fucked up consequences. How anyone can call themselves a good person and spout such sauce as opposing the use of condoms to stop the spread of AIDS is far beyond my mental capacity for understanding.

So, what did Pope Benedict suggest as an alternative to help stop the spread of AIDS during his current tour of Africa, a continent that is home to two thirds of the world’s AIDS infected population? Heterosexual marriage, marital fidelity, blah blah oh wait, wha? Really? “Spiritual and human awakening” and “friendship for those who suffer”?! Woweee. That’s new and so very helpful. Hmmm, I know that friendship would be a far more soothing balm for the soul when I get AIDS (which I assume I will because, according to some, I’m a slut slut renegade) than actual drugs that could help me live a longer, more productive existence. Then again, with the drug companies so concerned with stuffing the ailing global economy up their butts instead of providing reasonably priced medicine to those in need, perhaps a bit of friendship might be nice. We could have a cup of tea and politely ignore the massive lesion on my face. Cucumber sandwiches? Oooh! Don’t mind if I do!

That “the Church takes a particular interest in those who are most deprived” seems sick to me. To give aid that is tainted with religious doctrine and dogma that is hazardous to the health of millions is just wrong. Especially when you know full well that those you are targeting have little to no access to other forms of sexual information and education. Condemning generations to a fatal disease because an old, old man has a whacked out sensibility of life is selfish, reckless and evil. Believing in God, Jesus or smelly churches with great architecture does not mean that you cannot use condoms, or promote the use of them. Irrefutable evidence shows that using condoms prevents the spread of AIDS (and babies). In the 21st century, why are we still allowing a fable (albeit a very long and twisted one) advocated by a socially closeted individual dictate how we provide aid to those in need or, at an even baser level, how we live our own lives?

I suppose I could be thankful that religious charities are thinking of the children, hopefully in a non-sexual way. Then again, I could just be truthful and admit that Pope Benedict is a bad bad man. I’ll think stick to the latter.

BBC News: Pope’s condom stance sparks row

Reuters: Vatican defends pope’s stance on condoms as criticism mounts

In an aside, when did AIDS, the acronym for Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome, become Aids (looking pointedly at you, BBC)?

In the last few months I’ve gone through gut-wrenching heart-ache, found my best friend and love of my life wasn’t gone forever but just hidden behind an iron curtain, still haven’t found a steady job that I like, become a homeless couch-crashing wunderkind, have acquired more bruises I can count from my new franken-bike and met a gentleman who thinks I’m still pretty awesome despite myriad reasons to not touch me with a ten foot pole (none of these reasons have anything to do with the herp or scrofula, if you were curious). All in all I think I have a pretty good list of excuses for being creatively inept and not being able to write anything decent to post. Even so, I apologise for my dearth of material and make a non-binding promise to do better this year – it would help if occasionally someone gave me a topic to write about that wasn’t so vague a thesis wouldn’t cover it.

So, cheers to new beginnings, new life breathed into stale spaces and platonic love to all of you around the world who make me happy and keep reality awesome despite all the superfluous shit that insists on being contrary.

xx edie.

(Image via www.gdargaud.net)

Having said that, if ever the opportunity arose to bed any of these men (mutual significant others aside), I’d probably prefer to lounge around half-naked and discuss the genius of The Mighty Boosh while imbibing several fine bottles of whisky. Sometimes the intimacy of company is far filthier and kinkier than actually boning. Also, the risk of mediocre sex ruining fantasy isn’t worth the act; no one is going to believe you anyway, so you’ll only have wrecked the fantasy for yourself, and where’s the fun in that?

Nick Cave: Obviously. Author of some of the most brilliant, esoteric lyrics in contemporary music and also of the strangely beautiful novel And The Ass Saw The Angel. Owner of a voice imbued with raw sexuality and, well, have you listened to Dig Lazarus Dig!!!? Find your favourite lover and pour yourself a few drinks, it won’t take long to figure it out.

Hugh Laurie (as Dr. House): You know he’d treat you with nonchalance and ambiguity the morning after, if he can stand you that long. Then again, if you were the type to pick him up (like me), you’d have got dressed and finished off his whisky before walking out the door in one of his shirts ten minutes after you get it on/off.

Steve Buscemi: There’s something so delightfully screwy about this man and the characters he plays. He probably drinks something that comes with maraschino cherries and instead of this being a turn-off, it’s somehow sexually intriguing. It takes balls to be a weedy man and order twisted shirly temples.

Alan Rickman: Laconic, awkard demeanour, pallid countenance, delightfully sinister.

Keith Richards: I know, I know, he’s kinda decrepit, but it would be hilarious to snort his ashes cut with cocaine.

Bob Geldof: Granted, he’s very much into his causes, but you know he knows he’s got his flaws and the dinner conversation is going to be a hell of a lot more fun than a night out with Bono. I mean, look at Geldof’s daughters, one doesn’t turn out that vacuous and blandly amusing without some sort of parental oddity.

Bill Nighy: His metered drawl and self-depracating smile gets me every time. I’m sure he’s less than conventionally attractive when out of his skivvies, but you’re not really in it for the abdominal musculature, are ya?

Jarvis Cocker: I met him once, and was overcome by a stammering mess of shyness. I reverted back to elementary school days where you always referred to your elders as Mister or Mrs Whomever, and thus coyly managed to utter, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Cocker.” Needless to say, I realised how ridiculous this sounded the minute it came out of my mouth and the rest of our brief encounter doesn’t warrant repeating. I like nancy boys, that’s all I’m going to say about this matter.

I’m positive there’s many more I haven’t thought of while writing this, so help me out in the comments.

Libra, on the other end of the spectrum, have regressed and pinned their hopes on more colourful packaging; specifically colour coded panels so you can easily and quickly identify the pad you are seeking. Smart, yeah? I can see teh mens sitting around brainstorming: hmmm, women are so easily fooled and comforted by blue liquid, they also like pink, aha! colour is the answer! more colour will make them buy more pads! Clearly no one involved in this pitch has ever been down a supermarket aisle and stared blankly at the reincarnation of Times Square in miniature. Lest we forget that periods are supposed to be fun (!), and girly (!), a monthly celebration of womanhood (!), every single company has decked out their packaging in a dizzying array of bright colours and patterns. It’s hard enough finding your regular brand in amongst this carnival of feminine celebration, not withstanding their propensity to constantly change “designs” so you never feel like you’re stuck in a boring rut of the same damn thing every month. So, when a company actually pays to advertise the fact that they’ve changed their packaging to make it easier for you to quickly grab what you need (because it’s supposed to be so embarrassing to be standing for prolonged periods of time, staring blankly, jaws agape, trying to figure out what the fuck a sphagnum core is, and whether it will absorb your blood flow as effectively as it deals with ambiguous blue liquid) it’s clear that they’re stalling until they come up with something even more pointless – like a tampon with wings. A neon green colour swipe for regular absorbency is really not going to catch my attention. If anything, it’s going to make me more confused: does neon green mean my period is going to be environmentally friendly or end up as toxic nuclear waste?

Somehow, in amongst this riot of colour and mindless marketing, everyone seems to have forgotten that periods are not happy. For the most, they are synonymous with cramps, hormones, wetness, general discomfort and hassle. In your teenage years, the time is beset with concealment, lest anyone at school hears your tampon wrapper rustling in the next stall and knows that you are, shock horror, bleeding. As an adult, they span the realms of inconvenience, celebration that you’re not with sprog, or else a monthly reminder that you, yet again, haven’t conceived. It appears that everyone thinks you can achieve more, be better, act faster and enjoy life if your period is nothing than a minor inconvenience in the background speaks volumes about our society. If advertising is to be believed, menstrual blood is all that separates us from a wardrobe of tight white pants and the glass ceiling, god forbid we ever leak blood on it from above. Sure, periods aren’t the most fun thing in the world, far from it, but they are an essential part of being a woman, and women are an essential part of bringing life into the world. How about stopping the routine humiliation of women of all ages and treat us with respect when trying to peddle your wares to us? I already have a monthly reminder that I need to buy your products, I don’t need any more advertising – excepting this ad, you can run it as much as you like.

By the way, if you google Libra Australia, the only site available is one called Libra Girl, which is beyond lame. Carefree’s site has the option of looking for products for “young people” linked through as “teens”, but if you click through the “women” channel, you link through as “parents”. What the hell? Do bleeding women in their twenties and thirties not figure in the collective feminine hygeine psyche? Wait, don’t answer that, I suppose we should be breeding, not bleeding.

(Image via Jezebel Dot Com.)