Zombies are people too

I am a zombie film connoisseur. I have seen many, both on the big screen and TV, of all different types, nationalities, and even been to a zombie film festival. I believe it is a genre all to itself. One that lies somewhere between supernatural and apocalyptic in the horror section. But there is something special about these films.

I believe they reveal something quite unique about the human psyche.

Zombie films are popular because they walk the line that allows for guilt free killing of humans. Zombies are classified as no longer human, void of rights and status. They can and will tear you apart given the chance, so you must attack or be attacked. There is little remorse shown for killing them, even when they were human only moments before. This is quite different from war films for example, where even though the enemy is trying to kill you, they are still humans with family and feelings.

Firstly, there are several types of zombie films: Ultra gore, apocalyptic, comedy and bad. Each of these brings a new depth to the genre.

Ultra gore is often combined with apocalyptic. ‘The hoard’ and ‘the zombie diaries’ both reveal that even in the face of great adversity and a common enemy, people will still attack, kill and plot revenge against each other, even if it means certain death from a hoard of super strong zombies. If the protagonist in the hoard still tries to kill everyone (she isn't a zombie, just hell bent on revenge), then are zombies really so different?

Conversely there are some apocalyptic zombie films, such as the German ‘the siege of the dead’ and the big budget ’28 weeks later’ that demonstrate the heroic self sacrifice for youth and love. Even if it means certain death from an infected raging hoard of zombies or being burnt to death.

Bad zombie films need no explanation. Most of these films fail because they simply don’t allow the audience to connect with the main character, thus no one cares if they get eaten from a hoard of zombies. However, there is the odd exception where the plot is so complex and convoluted, combined with dodgy special effects, that the audience literally have no idea what’s going on, who’s eating who. ‘The city of the living dead ‘ (an old Italian film) is a great example of this. But rest assured, everyone gets eaten by a hovering convoy of zombies.

Zombie comedy is a difficult genre. Most of these films are on the verge of bad. But Fido is a shining light. (And my favourite zombie movie.) Set in a Stepford wives 1950’s town, zombies are tamed with an electronic collar and used as cheap labour, slaves and entertainment. Billy Connelly plays the main character, (how random is that?) a zombie butler befriended by a lonely boy. Fido causes the audience to re-evaluate human rights and equality.

Which brings me to Zombie human rights. These are surely debatable in the courts. Zombies are not in a vegetative state and have previously taken a breath; hence it should legally be murder to kill them. But they are already dead you say? The moment of death hasn’t actually been certified by a doctor, and they are running around, 'the walking dead' even proves marginal brain activity. So I think they would still be classified as living in the courts.

Indeed there are some films which verge on classifying zombies as humans. Zombies share the protagonist role in both ‘Fido' and ‘land of the dead’ where they are merely disabled by death. We feel sorry for them that they are not let into our society due to their disability. We are also taught to respect them as the people they once were in the TV series ‘the walking dead’ and not to find enjoyment in hacking up their bodies with an axe.

Ultimately the question still remains, should a person be treated differently simply because they are slightly disabled by death? Should capital punishment for Zombies be legal?

Assimilating in England

I love Australia, it is the best country in the world by far. Australians are sun loving fringe dwellers and so am I.

That being said, I am currently living in England... The life here is very different, yet very similar.

In Australia my life revolved around being outdoors, doing physical sports and activities. Racing yachts, surfing, motorbikes, going to the beach, scuba diving was just an average weekend. The ocean was central in my life and I would visit it everyday.

Here, the weather doesn't allow for much outdoors time, and most of the towns are either inland or the "beaches" are not anywhere on the Australian scale.. So what to do with my days? Study? Read? Go insane from being indoors? Get hypothermia? (Btw, it's still "summer" here.)

As you can see, I'm not assimilating very well... So I thought I'd write a list of all the good things about England... Here goes...

1. Lots of free museums/ art galleries
2. The countryside is really quite pretty
3. The wildlife is very cute and fluffly... No teeth or venom
4. Jaffa cakes are the bomb
5. Yorkshire pudding should have come across on the first fleet (I'm sure there were many from Yorkshire in chains on that fleet..)
6. Everyone is very polite
7. The public transport is on time, every time
8. No religion in politics
9. No guns
10. Groceries are cheap
11. Policemen wear funny hats and are quite helpful
12. Stacks of wildflowers
13. No urban sprawl, it's either city or country
14. Great weather for growing plants
15. Free paper on the train...
16. You really cant get sunburnt
17. You can visit the Queen...
18. It's close to Europe.. (I'm struggling)
19. Someone will always tell you when you're queueing incorrectly
20. You will always get a receipt

I'm sure as the weather gets worse I'll write the opposite of this list.. But at least for now I'm trying.... Kinda

GFC - Good for Cos

I'd like to start with a rebuttal. I'm not condoning the actions of greedy bankers or justifying the financial incompetence of those who borrow against over inflated equity... BUT...

The GFC has been really good for Cos.

In 2010 I quit my job, sold all of my belongings and started travelling around the world. It was great timing just because of the GFC.

The Australian dollar is higher than ever and less people are holidaying or travelling overseas, which means my savings buys me more, things are cheaper in tourist spots and also less crowded. Cheaper hotels, more flight specials, greater availabilities on tours... I've gotten much more from my savings than expected.

The other major pro is job security. Everyone seems scared for their job security, so there are less people job hunting for casual or contract jobs. Less full time employees are willing to change companies or do contract work. Which means contract work is easier to come by, pays more than full time work and pays higher than usual!

So I earn more when I work and my savings are worth more!

In summary, a global financial crisis is the BEST time to quit your job! What are you waiting for?

Rabbits

There are many things in life that divide opinions. Israel, gay marriage, capital punishment. However there is one that surprises me. Rabbits.

The two main contributing factors to the opinion of rabbits seems to be age and nationality. The English seem to like rabbits, Richard Adams (Watership down) and Beatrix Potter (Peter Rabbit) both based careers on the daily lives of rabbits and convinced many of their kind nature and exciting adventures. They are certainly responsible for my fond thought of the little scamps.
However, if you're Australian, you're taught from an early age that they are a pest, responsible for raising salinity, destroying crops and all but causing the drought. This doesn't stop Potters influence but limits it to children only.

I myself have a complex relationship with Rabbits. I had a rabbit in kindergarten, which scratched my teacher and was ultimately violently killed by our family dog. Reading Watership down and The adventures of Peter Rabbit have both aided the Rabbits cause. However being the Australian girl I am, I have also tried to trap Rabbits and eaten rabbit stew.
Here in England they are without doubt interesting to watch, but they turn jogging into an extreme sport, of which I'm not the best. Nothing like a foot down a rabbit hole to end your jog.

So I am sitting on the (rabbit proof) fence, along side Donnie Darko - though I might add my relationship with rabbits is nowhere as complex...

Pro Rabbits:

• Richard Adams



• Beatrix Potter



• Most English



• My little sisters



• Donnie Darko

Anti Rabits:

• Farmers



• People jogging in grasslands



• Most Australians



• My kindergarten teacher



• Donnie Darko

Simple Joys

For Robert Fulgham it was crayons and climbing trees, for me it's brightly coloured nail polish and singing loudly in my car. Everyone has a simple joy that makes them smile. Something they probably don't openly disclose to their loved ones. Not because its bad, but because the fabric of society is built on the perception that adults don't relish in such things.
But seriously, who doesn't go out of their way to step on the crunchy leaf, or hum a few verses in an empty echoing hallway.
The reader opinion section of the metro paper is always full of "Am I too old to (insert strange habit here)." I think the strangest one was "eat custard and jelly." I was of the opinion that it was suitable for all ages and abilities, hence its prevalence with infants, the elderly and in hospitals. But that's the English for you.

I have often pondered the line between innocent indulgence and the beginnings of insanity. Is saying hello to staring cattle too far? Or using inappropriate slang for your ethnicity and age? If I want to eat fairy bread or buy children's stationary, because that simple joy makes me smile, is that acceptable? And more importantly who's to judge?

Let he who is without simple joys cast the first stone? Perhaps we should just buy him a box of crayons instead.

Weary arrival at San Juan Del Sur - Nicaragua

We arrived at San Juan Del Sur, on the south west coast of Nicaragua after a long two days of bus travel. Several hours involved a ‘chicken bus,’ an old US school bus which somehow made its way south and is now the local bus. As you may have guessed, the name comes from the way they pack people on to the bus – like chickens. Ironically San Juan Del Sur is only about 4 hours drive from Santa Teresa, stupid us for booking the ticket from San Jose to Managua ahead of time.

The town itself is an old fishing town built on a crescent beach sheltered by hills either side. Fishing boats and yachts are moored across the bay. A giant statute of Christ overlooks the bay from the North hill and in stark contrast a fish processing plant is on the south end of the beach. I couldn’t help but wonder if Christ was there overlooking the fish in their time of need. The fish processing plant was strangely enough donated by the Japanese, boycotting international trade sanctions perhaps?

The town itself has two distinctly polar sides interlaced on the dusty streets. The old simple life of its fishing heritage is apparent; the locals sit on the ground outside hole in the wall shops chatting all day long; dusty faced kids play in the gutters and alleys with balls and toys that look like heirlooms; the milk is delivered via a oxen pulled cart in giant pales; several people ride donkeys and mules instead of cars and the local bicycle repair shop is doing a roaring trade. But the new culture of salt loving holiday makers is overwhelmingly apparent. Vendors stalk the beaches and streets flogging everything from cigarettes to jewellery and ‘antique’ vases. Every fifth building is a hotel, hostel or a tour booking agency and the beach is dappled with American themed restaurants and bars.
That being said, it was a relief from the over touristy version of Jaco and there definitely wasn’t a KFC in sight. The conversion rate was also a lot kinder.

The water was surprisingly cold after the tropical waters of Costa Rica. It felt good to be back in the ocean. The two days travelling had taken it out of me and thoughts of the Australian summer, that I was currently missing, was penetrating my mind. But this wasn’t a British winter, this wasn’t a summer lost to working long days, this was freedom in a warm climate and a completely new experience. The shit side of travelling – the hectic transfers, the stress of deadlines, the sleep deprivation, the public washrooms, the sickness that follows, I could go on but I don’t feel that it’s in my best interest too – all of it reminds me of one of Nietzsche’s theories. The German philosopher believed that positive experiences were not possible without first experiencing negative ones and ‘gardening’ them successfully.

Fortunately I knew from my experience travelling how to deal with travel weariness and homesickness. I had a shower, washed my hair, put on clean clothes and made myself comfortable to read a book and listen to my iPod (cheery songs only.) I’m sure a psychologist would tell me this is simply distraction, but everything always seems better when you’re clean, comfy and entertained. Plus, moods always pass, just ride the bad ones out.

Surfing Santa Teresa, Costa Rica

The beach was beautiful. An absolutely perfect, long white sand strip. Clear blue warm 26 degree water on one side and shady palm trees on the other. The blazing sun beat down and the beach break rolled in consistently.

My surfing swings from unco to decent depending on my mindset. I had been reading Dennis Waitleys, "how to be a winner" and was subsequently primed with full optimism. I stood on the beach, my head full of positive thoughts and a nice 6’4 thruster under my arm. It was ON!

My rented board had “Surf Betty” printed along it, so it got the unfortunate name of “Sweaty Betty.” But despite that she surfed beautifully!
I easily paddled out the rip and almost immediately caught a monster wave, very late. I landed the huge drop with a big backhand carve back up the face of the wave, wooo hooo!

The adrenaline and purity of surfing is something unlike anything else. Riding along a wave comes close to the ‘in the moment’ feel of an orgasm. I rode along side the smooth face of the wave until I was almost at the rocks. I kicked off the top of the wave and scrambled back out to the line up.
Adam was paddling back out and saw the whole thing. “Awesome! That’s the best I’ve ever seen you surf!” He was impressed and I was completely stoked. From that wave alone, the smile would be stuck on my face for the next few days.
But the sun hadn’t set yet, and there were more waves to surf. Me and Sweaty Betty were on! Another wave rolled through, this time it was a right away from the rocks. I turned and the wave lifted me up to my feet, it was a big, smooth face, emptying up ... dam it was good fun!
Our days in Santa Teresa were all the same: Breakfast, surf, lunch, nap, cuddle, surf, dinner and sleep. It was pure Bliss.

Full Moon Party - Koh Phanang

The Koh Phanang Full Moon Party – The biggest beach party in the world. Not only did we go but we did everything there was to do. Body paint, fisherman pants, drinking spirits from a bucket, dancing in a bikini to rave music under the moon on the beach. 100% crossed off the bucket list.
The party itself is along a 1km stretch of beach with bars, clubs, souvenir stalls and drink stands, all pumping out their own music. Among the crowds you can find wholesome activities such as jump rope with the rope on fire, fire dancing, fire limbo and other such fire activities. Everyone is off their face. Almost everyone is a foreigner, apart from the locals who make full advantage of the tourist dollars.
My favourite memory is looking down from the roof of a two storey building at my amazing boyfriend, my superintendent. He was wearing fisherman pants, (having thrown his board shorts in the bushes earlier that night,) covered in body paint, hair sticking out at all angles, with a full beard and drinking vodka out of a pink bucket. He had embraced it 100%. I turned to sit down at the top of the slide, which would return me to the beach. Whoa, this was higher than I thought. I looked at the ring of flames that encircled the slide and wondered if my dress would catch on fire. It was loosely tied around my waist. Oh well, can’t back out now. I pushed myself forwards and shot down the smooth metal with frightening speed. I let out a scream as I went through the ring of fire and landed heavily on the mattress on the sand. Ooof. I was winded and as the alcohol course through my veins I had a vague appreciation that I wasn’t on fire. Someone was screaming to me to get off the mattress before the next person came through. I scrambled to my feet, struggling for breath and making that horrible wheezing noise that you can’t help but make when you’re winded. I wandered through the crowd, clutching my stomach, back towards where Adam was. “Hmmmuuurrrggghhh” was all I could say when I found him. I felt sick. Real sick.
Full moon party, you’re fucking wicked. I don’t remember much else from that night. I’m told that I spent it passed out next to the pass out area (a fenced off area to dump your friends so people don’t stand on their limp bodies,) occasionally throwing up into the sand. It wasn’t until the next day that I realised that I’d broken my rib, although the pain of the hangover was much, much worse.

Enjoying the journey

Each morning I take the train to work. It takes about an hour, including a 20min walk to the station. I don't mind the journey. The route is actually the historic "may flower" line, which joins the oldest recorded town in Britain to the construction site of the largest offshore wind farm (my office.)
Every morning and afternoon I see the green rolling hills of the English countryside. Rabbits, pheasants, cows, sheep and the odd fox graze and hunt next to the line. The harbour, scattered with yachts is always tranquil. And did I mention the free Metro paper?
But more than the daily gossip or picturesque views is the time I reclaim as my own. I am on a journey to a destination and for that reason my internal task master is quenched. Finally she gives me time to think, to listen to music, gaze at the views or simply ponder the existence of the world.
I enjoy the journey irrelevant of the destination.

How often do we enjoy the journey itself?
Do we relish the journey with study, relationships or a career? Or are we so focused on the destination that the mandatory "travel time" is seen as a nuisance or a waste of time?
It is interesting to think how much of our lives is in a state of flux. If we do not see the journey as an essential part of the process, as essential as the destination itself, and try to block it out, it will surely dim the sweet reward of reaching our destination.

Every exam makes the graduation more of an accomplishment.

Every step of the Inca trail made the views that little bit more incredible.
Every tear between Adam and I makes our smiles that bit sweeter.

Waikiki dreaming

Sitting out on my rental board at Waikiki I searched the sea for swell... and saw nothing. The waves seem to come out of nowhere, I’m not sure if it’s the depth of the water or the fact that the waves are so wide, but it appears that there is no swell until it hits the reef and a sudden 2ft peak is formed. Long before the wave has broken at least four people are paddling for it. Adam joins them. I’m not sure if it’s the wild look in his eyes, the bared teeth, the wildly kicking legs, or a combination but somehow the others know that he wants it more and they pull off the wave. In a graceful swoop he jumps to his feet and steers the board left. The wave still hasn’t broken and for all intents and purposes it is still just swell. As he reaches the middle of the wave a little ball of froth spills over the edge and finally it is a wave. Effortlessly he coasts back towards the unbroken face, rising and falling along the wave until it all but disappears.

The first wave in Hawaii – Woo hoo! Now it’s my turn!
I look around the line-up and instantly recognise three groups.

First group: The locals. Easily identified by bronzed skin and a steely line up face that instantly conveys an impression that you are trespassing and don’t belong. Hawaiians are friendly until you surf their break. Even the guidebook warns that under no circumstances should you ever take a locals wave in Hawaii.

Second group: Learners. Also easily identified. Often have trouble sitting on their board and will always lie too far back while paddling – this not only increases drag through the water, but gives an impression resembling a turtle trying to mate with a surfboard. Learners are almost as dangerous as locals. They can and will fling their 10ft mal in any direction at anytime for what seems to be no reason. Keep clear!

The third group included me: Tourists who can surf. These are identified by not being part of either group 1 or 2 and looking wary of both groups 1 and 2.

A swell line appeared so I turned and paddled like all hell. A quick look at the approaching swell guaranteed that I’d be on this wave, but first a quick look beside me to see if I was dropping in on anyone. Sure enough a steely faced local chick was paddling for the same wave. She was on the inside with the right of way. Damn. Part of my brain went “Stuff it, it’s your wave!” And sure enough I was then on the wave. A look over my shoulder proved she was too. Our eyes met, her’s said ‘get off my wave,’ mine said ‘oops’ or so I hoped. I cut along the wide face weaving up and down. Magic!

Many people have tried to describe the magic that is surfing. The feeling of gliding along the wave is as close to being in the moment as you can physically be. The balance, the fleeting moments left on the wave, the adrenaline, the feel of the wind, the cool water, the wax beneath your toes and the sun, all combine and almost overload the senses. When it’s all over it leaves you with a massive smile on your face and all your thoughts are honed to ‘I wanna do that again!’
I kicked off the wave and before I could make eye contact with the local chick, I turned back out to the break. A giant smile plastered across my face.

The scariest part of Asia - Food poisioning and safety regulations

Our last few days on Phi Phi didn’t go smoothly. We had lengthened our stay as Adam wanted to do a SCUBA course. I was a seasoned diver and after encouraging him to take a discover scuba dive, he was ready to do the full course. We booked the course and on recommendation from one of the SCUBA instructors, we ate at a nearby ‘hole in the wall’ restaurant. It only took a few hours and Adam was as sick as a dog. Anyone who travels to Asia knows that you’re bound to get sick sooner or later. Yes, you can take precautions, but realistically it’s going to happen anyway. And if you think it’s the same as food poisoning at home, nuh-uh, it’s got another level to it. The lie on the floor of the bathroom hugging the toilet while hoping to die level. The over the counter medication may as well be M&M’s. I spent the next day fetching bland food and water, knowing full well that tomorrow that would be me on the floor.
Three days later and some drugs from the pharmacist, we were able to walk. Unfortunately the drugs had the same side effects as the sickness, so although I would wake up ok, after one of those giant antibiotics, I’d be crippled over in pain and vomiting. The awesome wonders of modern medicine. Adam was feeling better by this stage, although the SCUBA course had gone out the window. We decided to head off to Phuket, mainly because I couldn’t stand being in that room any longer. The move involved a 1 km walk to the wharf and a two hour ferry ride. Adam packed my backpack as I conjured up the mental strength needed for the journey. We were running late for the ferry so I started walking as he fixed up the bill and called a porter. That would have to be one of the longest kilometres of my life. I was hunched over clutching my stomach and my water bottle, while trying to keep my day pack dry from the monsoonal rains. I was taking half steps and Adam soon overtook me. I gave encouragement and told me to meet him at the end of the wharf, he’d get the tickets. I kept going step by step.
At the wharf the porter ditched our bags in the rain and disappeared. Adam was still getting the tickets so I grabbed both 70litre backpacks and my day pack and waddled towards the ferry. When he caught up he took both packs off me and practically threw me onto the boat. Thank god, we’d made it. I promptly went straight to the toilet to throw up. When I made it back to my seat the ferry personnel came around giving everyone plastic bags. “It’s going to be a rough ride.” And true to his word, it was the roughest ferry ride I have ever been in. If I wasn’t embracing death already, I would have been scared shitless. Open ocean yacht racing ain’t got nothing on this! The flat bottomed ferry was banking up to the windows. The thin plastic, Thai made windows... I made a mental note of where the lifejackets were, (opposite end to the exit) and threw up twice more. It was about then that I think I passed out.