My brain hurts
I meant to stay in the Melbourne museum till lunch before moving on to other distractions. Due to a miscalculation on my part I was there a bit before it opened. I left 15 mins before it shut (7 hours later), because it felt like my brain was bleeding. It was superb.
The Ashes display was well done, but comic-firstly as it clearly showed that for decades no one considered the urn to be the trophy and it was pretty much forgotten. All of which makes a mockery of the Australians whinging about how they should be given it just for winning a cricket match or two-the MCC own it. What had me nearly laughing out load was that they'd given the urn a good clean for its Australian holiday, so it looks identical to the replica I have back home. And, yes I do know that's the idea of a replica, but it was still funny. Ok, you had to be there, it just was. Maybe it was the glass case it was in, the steel barrier it was behind and the security guard watching me. Anyway.....
Phar lap was the Australian Seabiscuit and was stuffed to be there-no photos allowed. I'm not sure how Phar stands up as his skeleton is in New Zealand. He won a lot in Oz, including a Melbourne Cup, went to the states, won a big race and died. Many aussies, including the one next to me, think the septics poisoned him.
There was an excellent natural history section, including a walk through forest and a great bit on the history of Melbourne, which managed to include someone's kitchen from Neighbours.
There was a temporary display on Apple that seemed to eloquently describe the rate of technological change in the last 20 years. It wasn't quite as striking as seeing the 4th oldest computer in the world, which is only just over 50 years old.
This comparison is stunning.
Life moves pretty fast.
The biggest impact came from the large area on indigenous peoples. I certainly don't pretend to really understand what happened; in fact I'm quite bewildered, but it was far worse than I thought.
Like the gas chambers, stories of massacre only hit home when they are specific and concerned with individuals. There's no way to process the idea of millions dying in Auschwitz, which is why Schindler's List is such an affecting story-the millions, a number, become people and you can emote. Likewise, I needed to be told about the British hunting the Aborigines, roasting a child on a fire, giving arsenic laced food to them and the man who was well known for beating the brains out of children before it really hit home. There were many similarities with the plight of the bushman in Africa.
The story follows that up with the White Australia policy and the lost generation-children were still being taken from their parents in the 1970s, that's my generation. Truly harrowing.
There's also the disturbing thought of what would I have done as a settler. Would I have stood up for what is patently obviously right, with the benefit of today's hindsight? Or would I have allowed self-interest and the general thinking
British colonial history really is mankind at its very worst: it's a tale of rape, imperialism, genocide, theft, supreme arrogance and total ignorance of alternative cultures. I've been embarrassed before when travelling in India, but this was a new low. Some people still think that put the Great in Great Britain.
Combined with the ecological disaster the British created here and that man continues to heap on the whole world, it reminded what someone wiser than me recently said. The planet resets itself periodically (the dinosaurs, ice age, supervolcano) and before man succeeds in destroying the world, the world will probably destroy man. Mightn't be a bad thing.
That's me off to live in a tree.
I'm now sitting in Federation square, they're playing Christmas carols (tho the DJ has just threatened us with Wham). People are wearing tinsel and santa hats. I can see the biggest advent calendar ever. There's smiling everywhere, but it's just not Christmas. It's light, warm and I've got mosquito bites, but that's not the problem. (DJ now playing Bing and Bowie!). Sitting here, I realise it's not Christmas because I haven't heard Fairytale of New York yet this year.
'You scumbag, you maggot, you cheap lousy faggot, Happy Christmas you arse, I pray god it's our last.'
Now that's what says it's Christmas to me. I'll be getting the iPod out when I get back to the hostel.
Have a good one.
Postscript. I owe the cheesey Aussie DJ a HUGE apology. He was wiser than he looked, and knew to close with the greatest Christmas record of all time.
'The boys in the NYPD choir still singing Galway Bay,
And the bells are ringing out for Christmas Day.'
Ahhh. Warm fuzzy feeling inside. Feels like Christmas.
The Ashes display was well done, but comic-firstly as it clearly showed that for decades no one considered the urn to be the trophy and it was pretty much forgotten. All of which makes a mockery of the Australians whinging about how they should be given it just for winning a cricket match or two-the MCC own it. What had me nearly laughing out load was that they'd given the urn a good clean for its Australian holiday, so it looks identical to the replica I have back home. And, yes I do know that's the idea of a replica, but it was still funny. Ok, you had to be there, it just was. Maybe it was the glass case it was in, the steel barrier it was behind and the security guard watching me. Anyway.....
Phar lap was the Australian Seabiscuit and was stuffed to be there-no photos allowed. I'm not sure how Phar stands up as his skeleton is in New Zealand. He won a lot in Oz, including a Melbourne Cup, went to the states, won a big race and died. Many aussies, including the one next to me, think the septics poisoned him.
There was an excellent natural history section, including a walk through forest and a great bit on the history of Melbourne, which managed to include someone's kitchen from Neighbours.
There was a temporary display on Apple that seemed to eloquently describe the rate of technological change in the last 20 years. It wasn't quite as striking as seeing the 4th oldest computer in the world, which is only just over 50 years old.
This comparison is stunning.
Life moves pretty fast.
The biggest impact came from the large area on indigenous peoples. I certainly don't pretend to really understand what happened; in fact I'm quite bewildered, but it was far worse than I thought.
Like the gas chambers, stories of massacre only hit home when they are specific and concerned with individuals. There's no way to process the idea of millions dying in Auschwitz, which is why Schindler's List is such an affecting story-the millions, a number, become people and you can emote. Likewise, I needed to be told about the British hunting the Aborigines, roasting a child on a fire, giving arsenic laced food to them and the man who was well known for beating the brains out of children before it really hit home. There were many similarities with the plight of the bushman in Africa.
The story follows that up with the White Australia policy and the lost generation-children were still being taken from their parents in the 1970s, that's my generation. Truly harrowing.
There's also the disturbing thought of what would I have done as a settler. Would I have stood up for what is patently obviously right, with the benefit of today's hindsight? Or would I have allowed self-interest and the general thinking
British colonial history really is mankind at its very worst: it's a tale of rape, imperialism, genocide, theft, supreme arrogance and total ignorance of alternative cultures. I've been embarrassed before when travelling in India, but this was a new low. Some people still think that put the Great in Great Britain.
Combined with the ecological disaster the British created here and that man continues to heap on the whole world, it reminded what someone wiser than me recently said. The planet resets itself periodically (the dinosaurs, ice age, supervolcano) and before man succeeds in destroying the world, the world will probably destroy man. Mightn't be a bad thing.
That's me off to live in a tree.
I'm now sitting in Federation square, they're playing Christmas carols (tho the DJ has just threatened us with Wham). People are wearing tinsel and santa hats. I can see the biggest advent calendar ever. There's smiling everywhere, but it's just not Christmas. It's light, warm and I've got mosquito bites, but that's not the problem. (DJ now playing Bing and Bowie!). Sitting here, I realise it's not Christmas because I haven't heard Fairytale of New York yet this year.
'You scumbag, you maggot, you cheap lousy faggot, Happy Christmas you arse, I pray god it's our last.'
Now that's what says it's Christmas to me. I'll be getting the iPod out when I get back to the hostel.
Have a good one.
Postscript. I owe the cheesey Aussie DJ a HUGE apology. He was wiser than he looked, and knew to close with the greatest Christmas record of all time.
'The boys in the NYPD choir still singing Galway Bay,
And the bells are ringing out for Christmas Day.'
Ahhh. Warm fuzzy feeling inside. Feels like Christmas.
posted by Poll Star at
11:33 PM
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