May 18

My mother, at 62, has retired, and has started to write some undefined hybrid of family history, world history and fiction constructed over and around letters found in an old suitcase in her garage - from her great great uncle in the trenches, from his sisters and family to him at the front. She has taken to telling me (quoting Manning Clark) that anyone who wants to know the meaning of humility should try sitting down and confronting a blank page. This is how I feel this morning in front of my blog, though I am wondering if it counts as a blank page with the free holiday (call within sixty seconds to win) flashing up in the left hand corner and the tempting offer of an enlarged cock inching its way (no pun intended) across the screen. The whole interface* is crawling with imperatives, urging us to want things- money, clothes, hot chicks, large cocks - in an escalation of desire that never ends. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is my topic for today.

Last month I want with Marcin and Kuba to see an exhibition at the Maritime Museum about WWII in Australia, about the bombing of Darwin and the Japanese submarines in Sydney Harbour. Part of the display consisted of Women's Weekly magazines from the forties, all urging frugality and recycling. They were full of clever instructions on how to turn an old suit into a housefrock and a pair of decrepit pantaloons into an evening gown, lists of the benefits of saving your string and stockpiling old newspapers. Frugality (along with sock knitting and market gardening) were seen as service to your country- bizarre to compare the Women's Weeklys of today, with their exhortations to buy buy buy , to these quaint old dinosaurs with their tinted pictures and recipes for making a jam pudding out of a pile of sawdust and two plums.

So this week we have two social markers of the last hundred years in Australia- the graph of the female suicide rate ( I can't get over the beauty of it, the elegant geometry that leaps and sinks and refuses to explain itself, the temperature chart of a century) and Women's Weekly magazine. Time to ablute and abort Mission Blog.


*what a nice word.
in·ter·face ( P ) Pronunciation Key (ntr-fs)n.
A surface forming a common boundary between adjacent regions, bodies, substances, or phases.
A point at which independent systems or diverse groups interact: “the interface between crime and politics where much of our reality is to be found” (Jack Kroll).
Computer Science.
The point of interaction or communication between a computer and any other entity, such as a printer or human operator.
The layout of an application's graphic or textual controls in conjunction with the way the application responds to user activity: an interface whose icons were hard to remember.