The Pitfalls of Public Transport

I have been working in the city as a bona fide full-time 9 to 5er now for about two months which has subsequently exposed me to the wonders of rush hour traffic. Now I am not new to public transport in Sydney as I have been using it since I first moved here nearly ten years ago so I am used to the foibles and eccentricities of the network. I have lamented the lack of decent public transport for years (in relation to buses particularly mainly because I don’t really need to use the train system) because there have been many a time when I was standing quietly at the bus stop to make my way to work at the hotel for a shift, only to discover that the bus I was waiting for did not exist. How is this possible you wonder? Well it has been known to happen a lot around Sydney, and my particular phantom was always on a Saturday afternoon. The unfortunate thing for me was that I was given these Saturday shifts on a very regular basis, and that bus route was probably the best and most efficient way of getting to work on time. So of course each week I would stand dutifully at the bus stop hoping beyond hope that the bus would miraculously appear ‘this time’ only to be let down once again by the ineptness of Sydney Buses timetabling. It was generally at this time I would make the inevitable call to a family member to come pick me up from the top of the hill and take me to work. I don’t know why they wouldn’t take me to work originally, seeing as this happened pretty much every week, but I’m sure it may have been for the same reason I would wait at the bus stop week in and week out for this particular bus – it was the hope that maybe the organisers of public transport in Sydney were aware of the problem and had taken steps to rectify it. It was never the case, however, and so it was that this soap opera of a journey to work continued.

Since I started regular working hours, however, I have found that Sydney Buses can get things right, as the Express service to and from the city runs regularly and efficiently – getting me to work in about twenty minutes (depending on the traffic of course). However, and this is a big one, the efficiency and regularity of said services do not automatically a good journey make. I say this for two reasons. The first reason is thus; we are all crammed in like sardines. The bus gets so full it is not an uncommon sight to witness people standing in the aisle with their arms in the air to allow more people on, and then when that gets too full, people start sitting on those already sitting down. Now I’m sure it is nowhere near as bad as travel in Africa or India, but it is still fairly horrible. The second reason is that even though it is an Express bus and clearly labels the fact that once it gets past a certain point it doesn’t stop until the city – or vice versa depending on which way you’re going – people still push the button to get off at bus stops that the bus isn’t supposed to stop at! Now what this means is that a) the bus passengers all look at this idiot with eyes dripping with disdain, and b) we all have to rearrange ourselves so the fool can get off if the bus driver decides to stop (which they inevitably do. They really are quite a nice bunch of chaps when you think about it). What I’m saying is that people are idiots and generally inept at life. I mean, how difficult can it be to realise that you’re about to get on an Express bus – especially seeing as it has in big letters on the front ‘Express Bus – Prepaid Only. Randwick Junction then no stops till City’? It is ridiculous and I think that those people should be round up and driven off a cliff. Apart from those two points, travelling to the city can be quite a pleasant experience – the whiff of body odour as you stand crammed next to some fat person slobbering from their mouth and sweating from pretty much every part of their body; the soothing sounds of the person next to you listening to heavy death metal at an obscene volume; the intimacy you get when you accidentally lose your footing as the bus goes round a corner at eighty kilometres per hour sending you into aforementioned fat person. Wonderful times really, and one which I whole-heartedly recommend you indulge in as you haven’t lived life till you’ve lived in a fat person’s armpit on a crowded bus as you make your way to work.

Beauty and the Beholder

Beauty is an interesting thing. Some people have this belief that people fall in love with an ideal, or a concept, if you will. They believe that once you have seen them purely as an object of beauty – an object to own simply because it is aesthetically pleasing to the eye – then there is nothing more to do with them except discard them or cage them as if they are exhibits in the museum of your life. This may be true of some beautiful people, but I am yet to meet someone that qualifies for so little in my life.

I think that it may have some elements of truth in it sure, but I don’t think that it is as shallow or self-serving as that. Sure attractiveness is always an initial jumping-off point, but then it progresses to see inside. And not to try seeing inside and manipulating the inside to match the outside in your mind (which is where the idea of trying to capture that idea comes from), but to actually try and discover who this person is. The stereotype is of them being vacuous and un-interesting, whereas I find that this is not always the case. Some are so incredibly complicated that you think you're getting to know them, or a part of them, and then it switches and you're learning about another; like a criss-cross of veins or arteries – they are numerous and always leading to the heart but there are so many different routes to take to help you understand who they really are. These girls are the ones that confound you at the same time as intrigue you. It’s not about this concept or an abstract idea of what you believe they are – it’s a very real process of trying to discover who they are. Even people that have known each other for years will never really know everything about the other – it’s always a learning process that takes years and years.

When you see someone you are attracted to, you are of course attracted to the physical aspects of who they are – the combination of body-parts that compose the picture that is in full view of the world. Of course, this outer shell being displayed to the public helps define who that person is. From the way they stand and walk, to the way they do their hair or paint their nails, to the clothes they choose to wear – it is all a demonstration of the sort of personality this person has. And if you see someone who appeals to you physically, it is not purely an attraction to the obvious beauty of them, but an attraction to the implied personality beneath. If you don’t believe me, picture this scenario: You are out at a bar somewhere with some friends and you’re looking for a good night (which essentially means you’re there to pick up). Who do you go for? You don’t go for the person that is dressed conservatively because we all know that the chances of meeting your future life-partner out drinking are next to none. No, instead you go for the one dressed for a good time. I’m not saying that just because someone is dressed for a good time necessarily means they are looking for a good time, but people make judgements based purely on that first look. In a club or a bar it is a purely superficial judgement, but in everyday life it is something more than that I think. Okay, sure it will be superficial to a degree, but in everyday life where you’re passing people on the street that you are not likely to see again, you want to show them who you are in as short as time as possible which means you’ll choose to display the most prominent aspects of your personality. This then relates back to my earlier point about how the initial attraction is not purely a superficial one – but rather a deeper working of the inner recesses of your mind taking in all the aspects of this person’s outward appearance and trying to deduce their personality from it.

Of course, this doesn’t always work out the way it should and I realise that there have been some gross generalisations in this piece of work, but you have to admit that there is a lot of truth to it. So when people say that you fall in love with an ideal, a concept based purely on their physical beauty, they’d be correct to a certain extent, but you have to understand that it is because they have interpreted how you look to reflect the basics of who you are on the inside. Once this has happened, they then have to decide if you are someone worth getting to know more, and more often than not if they’re attracted to you (based on these ideas) then they will want to get to know you more. They’ll want to find out what you believe in, they’ll want to appreciate and understand your opinions and passions, to follow the thousands of routes it will take to reach your heart and truly understand everything you are and more. If I was to say you were beautiful, what do you think it would mean? You would think it is simply a word I use to describe your physical self instead of your inner self. This is partly true – to me, the word ‘beautiful’ is a word used to describe everything I know about you; from your outward beauty to the person I am just beginning to know. It doesn’t mean that I am purely attracted to you physically, but instead I use it as a word to try and reach you on a deeper level – to try and tell you that I think that what I know about you so far leaves me wanting to know more about you; makes me want to delve into your being and discover the true you.

Being beautiful does not make you hollow to me; it makes you a body full of promise – the promise of discovering the little alleyways and hidden backstreets that are an amalgamation of who you are. I want to soak you up and take you in, piece by beautiful piece, until we are satiated with the knowledge of one another and discover the truth within us both.

That is beauty, and it can belong to anyone.

On Love

What is love? Is it really something that exists or is it something that we tell ourselves exists to try and find meaning in our lives, something to believe in to fill the time between birth and death? It’s a tricky concept and one that I don’t think many of us have an answer for, yet we all know what it is - or at least believe we know what it is.

Romantic love is what we all seem to be striving for – constantly searching for that one person who we want to spend the rest of our lives with. Sure, some people live the playboy lifestyle, flitting from relationship to relationship but even they are looking for romantic love I’m sure (although they may not admit it). But what exactly is romantic love? An intense feeling of mutual attraction? Passion? Comfort? And does it start from the first time you meet that person, or does it develop over time? To me, I think true romantic love is not something that can happen straight away. You can be struck by someone’s beauty, their intelligence and their general demeanour, but does that mean you love them? No. Not straight away at least. That is purely an infatuation – a curiosity if you will. A desire to get to know them better to see what that person is like. I’ve met girls that I believe I could love, only to discover that it would never work out. And then I’ve met girls that amaze me each and every time I see them again and again – the type of girl who you want to spend time with, to talk to and laugh with. That is a strong basis for love to develop. But for real love to happen, you have to spend the time and the effort to get to know them better – to know their foibles and their frivolities, their passions, their quirky traits. Once you get to know all of this, and more, and that intense feeling develops into something more, then love has found its way into you. But is that true love? How do you know that it is true love with that particular person? It may feel that way in the beginning, but you never know how it will transpire. Let’s face it, most relationships that we have will end in a break-up. Even marriages these days are struggling. Is this due to our current culture? Have we been so taken in by the Hollywood idea of romance and love that when a relationship starts to get difficult – when that first stage of the relationship moves on to the next one, the stage where disagreements happen, where fights occur, where you kiss and make-up – we pack up and run for the hills?

You can’t choose who you fall in love with, it just happens that way. I often wonder why, and I can’t pin down one particular reason. I’ve loved a few people in my time, and each of them were different in quite obvious ways. Some people say they’re attracted to a certain type, but I don’t believe that to be true. Sure you can have an inclination for a certain generic type, but if you limit yourself like that, you probably won’t actually find true love and instead will be with someone that you want to live up to the image you have created around yourself. I don’t have a type, per se. I keep myself open and as a result have dated some very different characters. I haven’t loved all of them, or many of them for that matter, but what matters is the act of putting yourself out there and trying it. That, I believe, is one of the hardest parts of any relationship. Committing yourself to something fully that you know full well could end in disaster. Maybe that is why people stick to their ‘types’ – to stay within their comfort zone. All I know is that liking someone is easy, falling in love with someone is then a natural progression, but committing to it and committing yourself to it is so incredibly difficult. We as a society are so protective now that we are afraid of letting ourselves go, of letting ourselves experience what love and life is all about. We seem to have trouble bringing ourselves to trust and believe in what might happen. And there’s a good reason for that too – relationships do have a tendency to end. This is always in the back of our minds – we are constantly thinking ‘this could end at any time; I won’t dedicate myself to it. I’ll just hang back a bit so it won’t hurt as much when it does end’. This mind-set is wrong. It stops you from enjoying the little things of every day – the trials and tribulations that make life what it is. You have to let go of yourself, and all that you know and believe in for love to really work.

Every relationship goes through rough-patches. It’s a natural progression, and if you do truly love the person, then you will try and keep the relationship going, no matter how hard it may seem. That is one of the essences of true love – the ability and the strength to fight for it to continue because you can’t imagine your life without them. Love is not all roses and laughter, it is hard work. And the initial feelings will always diminish, and instead you’ll be left with something else, something more I think. Companionship definitely, but much more than that – the feeling that you are with someone that has helped you through so much, someone that has stood by your side no matter the odds and defended you, supported you, loved you, helped you, and all this without you having to ask. That is what I believe love to be. But my definition of what love is is probably different to yours.

The Female Orgasm Revealed - An Amusing Point of View

The female orgasm is a myth. It is a myth perpetuated by girly magazines and feminist groups the world over to demean men even more than they already have been. What’s that I hear? The sound of women the world over abusing me verbally for ruining their little mind-control technique? Sorry ladies, but the truth must come out. After all, enough is enough. No more must we men be made to feel inferior in the bedroom! No more must we men be belittled and demeaned by women forcing us to make them orgasm – and seemingly fail! No more must we take this mental abuse that damages us psychologically! Stand up and defy them I say. We must fight this! We can not let them get the better of us in this way for it has gone on too long already.

Where is my proof you may be asking, to which I reply – who needs proof when we have the truth? What evidence have women supplied to us to prove that they do indeed orgasm? It is not obvious like a man’s – which is a real orgasm. No, women have convinced us that they are capable of orgasms from vaginal and clitoral stimulation (and then some) but they all just fake it. It isn’t real. It started with the feminists no doubt. They were busy liberating themselves from the kitchen or the laundry – the places they belong – and started taking an interest in sex, politics, and freedom from the ‘oppressive’ hand of man. So during one of their meetings that they held every week (on the pretence of a tea party or Tupperware party or some such thing) one woman got up and asked, ‘What is an orgasm like?’ What did she get in reply? Stunned silence. Nobody knew. Not one lady knew. Sure they guessed, threw some ideas around, but really they had nothing. So one bright young woman (who probably progressed in to politics. No, wait, I lie. She wouldn’t have been able to, thank God) stood up and said something along the lines of ‘Well if no-one knows, maybe it means that we, as a gender, are physically incapable of having an orgasm.’

Needless to say, this didn’t go down particularly well (not that any of them went down well anyway) because they soon realised that without this orgasm, they would never be empowered in the bedroom. And if they were never empowered in the bedroom, they would never be empowered in other aspects of life. Oh the uproar that came about from this – they even started using foul language such as ‘Damnation’ and ‘Hell’, and I’m fairly sure someone may have said ‘Drats’. They realised then that the feminist movement would never really progress if they could not have power over the stronger sex. Finally, however, once the situation had dissipated and the foul language was not being thrown around like a toddler in a washing machine, the same bright young woman came up with the idea of faking the orgasm. I told you she was smart. For a woman at least. Anyway, imagine this – a living room in a small old house somewhere in a backwards country town. There are water stains on the ceiling, ashtrays full of cigarette butts litter the coffee and side tables, a light shines weakly from the ceiling – barely lighting the room – and the soft hum of the wireless in the background mingles with the constant metronomic tick of the grandfather clock out in the hallway. Magazines are on the couch, on the table, on the floor. Clothes strewn across the floor. It is a dirty room in a dirty house. Why? Because the woman who lives there is single and does not have a man to keep her in line with society.

I digress however. So as you imagine that room – that dirty little room – imagine a small gaggle of women perched on the couch, on the uncomfortable chairs, on the floor, filling the room with their oestrogen and dreams of a better life. And this woman, this one young woman comes up with the answer to all the problems. To create an orgasm, nay, the idea of an orgasm, and to make men believe that women can actually achieve this higher state of bliss, this Nirvana. They of course don’t know how to go about actually creating this because once again, there is no man there to guide them. So instead they put their heads together – literally. Just like the geniuses they are. And they brainstorm. They throw ideas out for hours, they yell at each other, they scream, they shout, they forgive. It is emotionally exhausting for them all, so they constantly replenish their tea and their scones with jam and cream and maybe even a little bit of chocolate just for that extra kick. But finally the smarter young woman from before stands in the centre of the room, puts her hands on her hips… and moans. She starts softly at first, trying to get the rhythm, the feel of it all, before gradually parting her lips she releases the moan out into the room for all to hear. She starts to breathe heavier – almost panting with pleasure – and she closes her eyes. She clenches and unclenches her fists over and over again as she lets out a louder groan. She starts to speak. ‘Oh God. Oh God. OhGodohGodohGodohGodohGodohGod…’ on and on it goes. She grabs on to the closest thing at hand and squeezes. Hard. She rakes her fingernails over it again and again. Her back arches, her legs spread and she quivers with ‘pleasure’. The other women in the room watch, fascinated. Unsure as to what is happening. Soon, the woman collapses to the floor. Her hair is messy and a light coating of sweat shines on her perfectly made up face. She looks up at the women surrounding her, and she smiles. ‘I think we have it,’ she says.

The women are understandably amazed at what has just transpired. They immediately see the hold over men that this shall bring. Before they go, however, the instigator – the creator of the Orgasm, so to speak – tells them this: ‘When you go home, be nice to your husband or your lover. Do everything that is expected of you. Cook them dinner, clean their clothes and wash the house. But when you get to bed, you instigate the maritals. You start it as that will be the beginning of your power. And once it has started, be sure to do your best to please him, but before he climaxes like the man he is, stop. Tell him you want him to do that to you. You want him to make you feel the way he feels when he orgasms. Of course, by this stage your man should be so full of fire and desperation he will do anything to get that release into Nirvana. So encourage him to play, to experiment, to explore. Tell him it feels oh so good when he touches you there, or there, and even there. Tell him you want more. Gain the power. If he starts to retreat, let him do so, for you know that soon he will be in your power. Every few nights, start the conjugation of bodies and little by little, get him to believe that he can make you arrive at Nirvana with him. If he questions you on where you found this out, tell him anything you want. As long as he believes you. For once one man believes you, the rest shall follow. And once they believe this, then they shall try ever harder to make us achieve this state of bliss that we are biologically unable to arrive at. We shall moan and groan and make them believe that they are giving us the pleasure they want to believe they are giving us – but we shall not finish it. This is important. If we continue to make them believe that we are in fact capable of achieving orgasm, yet they never seem to make us, their masculinity shall be called into question. They will wonder what they are doing wrong and how to correct it. And soon, guilt and shame shall overwhelm them and it is then that we shall strike. We shall control them with our bodies and the idea that we can achieve orgasm. Through this, we shall rule the world.’

So gentlemen, the next time you are in bed with that special someone (or not so special someone, as the case may be) do not worry about them, for they are just trying to control us. Concentrate on pleasuring yourself – no matter how fast it may be. We must take this power away from them, and now that this myth has been revealed to the world, we can once more recover the power that we rightfully deserve – for we are men, and we shall rule the world as God intended.