Admittedly, my favorite albums of the year would number well over 20. So instead, I whittled it down, excluded weird fucked up shit that only I like (or have listened to) amongst our small fraternity and decided on a condensed list that I know at least 2 other people here really liked as well.

Looking over the top five, I can’t help but hate the fact that the majority of them were big albums released on major labels, that received widespread acclaim. Some of the music I’ve loved this year was released only on cassettes, which I acquired through…alternative means, because seriously, a limited release of 100 cassettes that sell out in three days? How am I meant to get a hold of that???? A handful of them were stunning, and deserve to be on this list. But if no one can get hold of them, what’s the point?

But still, the top five are big, popular releases. It goes to show that occasionally the stars align and popular opinion agrees on things that are actually good. God help us all when Avatar wins Best Picture next month.

Anyhow, here it is.

5. The Flaming Lips – Embryonic

Is it like the Lips releases from the past 15 years? No, it’s nothing like The Soft Bulletin or Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots. It’s a big, overwhelming, underproduced mess. And it’s stunning. Best Lips release of the last 15 years? No.

It’s their best ever.

4. The Field – Yesterday and Today

Taking the short loops of popular records he perfected on his debut (2007’s From Here We Go Sublime), complimenting them with live instrumentation, and extending the fuck out of the song lengths (resulting in just 6 songs over the course of an hour). O, and throwing in a cover of an 80’s pop track by The Korgis? Resulted in 2009’s most amazing bliss-out techno imaginable. And dare I say it, eclipsing the debut.

3. Moritz Von Oswald Trio – Vertical Ascent

Improvised techno? Electronic jazz? What can this music possibly be called? Three giants of the electronic music crowd, Moritz Von Oswald, Max Loderbauer, and Sasu Ripatti (aka Vladislav Delay), create something truly original in the now innovation-less techno world. There’s nothing like it.

2. Fever Ray – Fever Ray

Side project from the elusive The Knife vocalist Karin Dreijer Andersson. Slightly more mainstream than The Knife, but also darker. And it’s all the better for it. Treated, spine-tingling vocals, over the top of (frankly) brilliant minimal electronica. If our number one is the perfect summer album, this album is for those freezing cold, middle of winter nights when the air is full of fog, yet the full moon illuminates everything. Any other year this would be number one.

1. Animal Collective – Merriweather Post Pavilion

Well, I was right. I said it from the beginning. Without a doubt, the number one album of 2009 is Animal Collective – Merriweather Post Pavilion. Most of my fellow bloggers would agree.

What could be better than a swirling kaleidoscopes of synthesisers, sublime vocal rounds, a-child-stuck-in-a-man’s-body lyrics, and, well, My Girls?

Quite simply the best summer album ever. Yes ever. Fuck the Beach Boy’s Pet Sounds. This is where it’s at. Psychedelic music for the internet generation. Album of the year, no question.

If anyone reading haven’t heard Merriweather Post Pavilion or Fever Ray, do it, right now. You won’t regret it.

Comments? What were your albums of the year?

The silence is deafening. Not a hum of an engine, creak of a pipe, or whisper breaks the eerie quiet. Lights dim slowly, monotonously, and then brighten as the little remaining power tries in vain to illuminate the straight corridors and empty rooms. A pipe swings lazily from the ceiling. The air is stagnant, frozen in a timeless slumber, waiting to be awakened. There is total silence.

A lifeless ship, spinning slowly through the vastness of space. But not alone.

A glimmer against the silky darkness is the only sign. A reflection against metal. A glowing blue ember as this new visitor approaches. Soon, the glimmer grows; a light shines upon the outer edge of the derelict, illuminating a scarred and battered shell. Paint once adorned this hulk, but has long since been sheared off by dust and rocks. A word, written along the side, can no longer be read.

The visitor edges closer and closer, slower and slower. It passes across the bow of the derelict, its huge bright eye searching, light long since forgotten caressing the cold metal. The tiny visitor lazily spirals around the nameless metal corpse. It pauses for a moment as the eye of light finds a window. The visitor peers in, but sees nothing but dust. Reluctantly, it shifts its attention away. It stops again here and there with an infinite curiosity.

The visitor moves closer, drawn towards the derelict. The two wanderers come together with an exquisite patience. The visitor continues spinning, circling, the eye of light piercing the secret corners of rust and ashes. For an aeon, the two ships stay like this, spinning around together. The visitor inches closer and closer.

Until finally they meet, metal brushing metal in an intimate kiss.

With a gasp of movement, the wanderer jerks away. The dark hulk follows it for a moment then releases its hold, gravity’s desire losing to the emptiness of space. The small ship passes its glowing eye one last time over the derelict then turns away. Thrusters fire and within moments it has gone.

The ship is once again left alone, turning end over end in a directionless expanse of nothingness.

Secrets are not fun when you absolutely MUST keep them inside yourself. Surround yourself with your favourite trustworthy friends and taking some time to enjoy great company and tasty cocktails. Naturally, the evening will gradually become more perfect, and ever so gradually you will begin to burst with anticipation at that incredible secret piece of news. So much so, that it hurts to say anything at all, for fear that it will spill out of you before you notice your error… and the world ends.

Trust me. I know. It nearly happened to me – a lot.

Recently, I kept an unfathomably enormous fact hidden from the world for quite some time. As it got closer to revealing this surprise to my loved ones, it became more and more difficult. It was so difficult, in fact, that it reached the point where I’d ‘let it slip’ to people I was certain I’d never see again, such as my beautician, the lady at the jeweller, and the staff at the very swish cocktail bar that just opened around the corner. I found myself thriving on their reactions of sheer excitement and elation, and suddenly realised I was only days, hours away from commencing two weeks of much needed holiday leave.

I, the lady who was always too frightened to even begin planning a wedding, married my fellow blogger/fiance Dave van Aalst on the 14th of this month. I couldn’t have asked for a more beautiful, less stressful wedding. In fact, I wouldn’t have believed such a perfect day possible. The weather was to die for, and our wedding lunch was purely orgasmic… You see, we did the crazy thing and eloped, while celebrating what was originally just going to be a fun weekend away for his birthday. As exciting and magical as it was, people continually ask why we chose to do it this way; without having our family and close friends there to share the day. Oh, we have our reasons!

We have been together for a hundred years.
Well, Six and a half years, if you want to be correct about it. It feels like forever. When we discuss our history, all we can remember is that blurry time when we were young and futile, before we met, then fell instantly and insatiably in love with each other. We have since created our own fairy tale, and had several ups and downs and excitements and epiphanies… the latest one being that we are surely going to be together forever, as there is no other way. And, we have been engaged for about four years, and quite frankly; I was SO sick of people asking us when our big day was.

I am somewhat afraid of spending money.
(I am getting better, though!) I will still, however, go without buying new work shoes for months at a time until mine have holes in them, even if it means Dave forcing me, dragging me to the shops, and not letting me out until I have made my purchase. Sure, the week that we wed and celebrated cost more than an average week away would, but even with a wedding ceremony, seafood platters, hotel rooms, designer sunglasses and flights and this and that, it was still several thousand dollars cheaper than the wedding I had planned in my head. Screw budgets, compromises and all that rubbish – a womans wedding is one day to be the beautiful bride and call their very own day. Eloping, without having to worry about guests, catering, a proper dress, a DJ/MC… I still managed to make absolutely no compromises whatsoever and could not be happier with the result.

There is nothing more special to us as time away from the rest of the world, together.
We had a whirlwind holiday all planned months in advance, with stacks of quality time planned, but realised we had nothing to do while there. What’s a crazy getaway without a full agenda? Anyway, it was totally worth it to call our family and friends and embrace their reactions, and it’s already making for a highly entertaining story that I don’t believe I will tire of telling in the near future.

So, we ran away, got married, and didn’t tell a single important soul until that afternoon. You can see how it was by far the hugest secret I have ever successfully kept almost exclusively to myself. Almost. The sneaking around and private conspiratory gestures that seemed blatantly obvious to us sounds delightful in retrospect, but was anything but. It was definately 100% utterly, totally and completely worth every minute of stress, my weeks of confusion and bewilderment, and Dave’s clearly exhausted uncanny ability to keep a steady head about everything in life.

Someone has to welcome the new me into the world, so I shall take the liberty to do it myself: Hi, Mrs Sarah van Aalst! The world thinks you are incredible and we can not wait to read more of your lovely writings in the future.

It is interesting how a thought, an idea, or a comment can fundamentally change everything you think about something or someone.

It can be the smallest thing, or a huge career-changing statement. But one day you can think one thing about someone, something, or an issue, and it all suddenly changes.

If you could cast your mind back to a couple of months when Barack Obama won the Nobel Peace Prize. This was a huge thing for the Nobel committee to do, considering the relative amount of time Obama has spent in the Oval Office. It caused a huge controversy. People seemed to forget that the nomination process for the Nobel Prize closed only days after his inauguration, and that it is a long and complicated process to go from a “mere nomination” to holding the medal in your hands. It’s not a trivial thing to be won. I can only imagine the huge deliberation and conjecture it would have caused amongst the judges.

But I digress. I was fully of the opinion that Obama won it for the work he had done before he became President. The Nobel judges defended themselves, and said they gave him the award for the work he has done, and the work he will do.

But then…from one little comment in an article from the New York Review of Books Blog changed my understanding, and made a whole heap of sense. It said this:

“They may have tied his hands—making it harder for the President, as a Peace Prize laureate, to take military action against Iran or escalate in Afghanistan.” (full article)

This notion intrigued me from the get-go, but unfortunately no other articles I have read have picked up on it.

It is entirely possible that the decided to give him the Nobel Prize in an attempt to force Obama to think long and hard about entering or starting any “unnecessary” armed conflicts while in office.

This idea I find huge. And brilliant. Of course, a Nobel Prize cannot be revoked. Once it is awarded, that’s it.

That doesn’t matter, however. He might not be critically hamstrung by the prize, but it will always be in his mind that “I won the Nobel Peace Prize. What should I do?”

I truly love this idea, and it changed my opinion of the matter. I agree with the prize committee’s actions even more.

There have been other utterly game-changing ideas. Recently, artist Damien Hirst, the richest living artist in the world, recently came out and virtually said that his entire oeuvre has been a joke.

All his ridiculous ideas, putting a shark in a formaldehyde tank for instance, was an inside joke poking fun at the art world and art critics (to be fair, most respected art critics have always been against Hirst).

This revelation does not make me a fan of his work. But I now respect him. It seems that he may have completely killed off the huge prices his work have been attracting recently. Which, I admit, wouldn’t really matter to him as his net worth was estimated in 2008 to be just shy of US$400 million. I just find it great to see the man who has been labelled as responsible for the downfall of contemporary art admitting the jokes been on us (not that I believe him. His is just trying to extract some form of credibility). But admitting it is an genuinely intriguing thought.

I now present Exhibit C in how a thought, statement, opinion can change everything. When their first album came out, I was a fan of Wolfmother. I happily admit that.

They had been spoken about in the press as sounding like Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd. I don’t agree with that, but whatever, I still knew that I liked their sound. I then read an interview with Andrew Stockdale that stated that Wolfmother sound like some of these 70’s bands, to which he replied that he didn’t understand all the comparisons, because he had never listened to a Pink Floyd album in his life.

Great, I thought. That doesn’t bother me. I’m not someone that would judge someone for not having listened to a specific band (of course, many people who know me may be surprised by this).

But then…everything changed. A week later, Andrew Stockdale appeared on Rove, wearing…a Pink Floyd tshirt. At which point I thought “well, that’s it. Goodbye. You have now achieved hatred from me, Wolfmother”.

I feel vindicated by the fact that the new album is called Cosmic Egg for god sakes…and it is rubbish. But that’s an opinion for another time.

What thoughts, ideas, opinions, whatever, have completely changed what you think about something? Let me know in the comments!

People are excited. Every day is warmer than the last and the sun stays out longer and brighter, everyone is revelling in it. Girls are making their presence known and keeping their temperatures down by sporting the tiniest of shorts and spaghetti string tops, bright colours are everywhere. Every guy has dug out last years shorts and thongs to help keep himself cool.

Everybody goes on about how beautiful the days are, and how wonderful the weather is. Everybody is looking forward to the next hot day on the calendar, and one dip in the mercury is greeted with moans and complaints. I’m guilty of it myself, even though I know that the moment it gets above 30 degree’s I will suffer and suffer until it’s cold again, my blood is too thick for this weather. Summer. It must be amazing…

But it isn’t. By the end of the year everyone will be complaining. Everything is hot, all of the time, cars are hot, streets are hot, sand is hot. Air conditioners will strain the power grid to breaking point, causing cycling blackouts to handle the load. The dream days spent sunning on the beach will be forgotten, because it is simply too hot to lie in direct sunlight, and nobody wants to spend all day submerged in dirty sea water.

People will be dreaming of Winter again, every time the temperature starts dipping lower and lower there will be celebration, and much discussion. People will appreciate being able to go out without smothering themselves in an inch thick layer of SPF30 and burning themselves just trying to operate their car.

It’s a classic case of ‘The grass is greener on the other side’, except it shows how short-term our minds are working. We might dream for years and years about that greener grass and never try and explore it, or we might jump head first in and regret it for even longer. But the seasons continue to change every single year, it’s a constant cycle that we all go through time and time again, yet still we yearn for something different, for the world to be exactly as it isn’t right now.

Every country bumpkin day-dreams about a busier life, and every city slicker day-dreams about the quiet country lifestyle. People who work 9-5 jobs yearn for a break from the cycle, and those working shifts wish they had that simplified routine. It keeps us sane to be able to uncomplicate the world we live in with a two dimensional paradise in our thoughts, it breaks the monotony of our lives with a touch of freedom.

It is why we have to dream.

I would like to question the most basic assumptions instilled by corporate mentality, the individual standards, their sociological and psychological implications and their reasons for existence.

Watching the business people walking through Melbourne or any capital city, how does one know they work in a corporate environment? For a man it may be a nice suit, a black bag and shoes, a short hair cut and a clean shaven face. For a lady it may be the presence of a dark coloured skirt with a contrasting blouse, tan stockings, a sleek hair-do (pony tail or bob, we’re not over generalising here), pointy flat shoes or heels (there are many ways to look the part) and a debonair handbag.

I don’t wear high heels or own a nice handbag. That stereotypical category does not apply to me, I hear you say. There are many ways to skin a cat.We dress this way because it is expected of us. We maintain a certain image so our peers, colleagues and customers think highly of us. A sleek image is the mark of a true professional.

I put so much effort in to my appearance by dressing nicely, applying make up and doing my hair that I begin to expect the same from my colleagues. I start to scrutinise those that come to work ‘sloppy’. The girls that forgot to ‘do’ their face or fix their unkempt hair (although the look is in fashion now). That miserable man on the train who looks atrocious in his oversized hooded jumper and swish swish track suit pants.

Yes that’s him. He has long red-brown hair haphazardly tied in a low, matted pony tail. Maybe he’s talking loudly on his cell phone or perhaps he’s travelling with his feet on the seat, chewing gum.

This man could not possibly hold a job, let alone be a professional working in a reputable company. I totally agree. He may excel at a number of things. Certainly the sale and distribution of illicit substances. Certainly not the sale of legally obtained products or the distribution of weight off the couch and in to the workforce.

We need to consider this man carefully. What is our perception of him, what does our experience tell us about people who look like that and what are they traditionally good for.

United we scream hobo, drop kick, public transport fare evader, louse, uneducated. We associate his image with everything uncouth and honestly it’s not an unreasonable assumption. From television and most crimes we witness or hear of; statistically this image fits commonly with the above attributes.

This man is not good for anything.

The association is formed. The conception we form about his dress and behaviour feed in to our psychological assessment of his worth.

I have an education, a paying job, intelligence. I don’t want people thinking I’m like him. I certainly want my work colleagues to hold a good impression of me and my capabilities.

It is reasonably construed that we maintain a certain professional image to avoid the possible misconceptions I have made about the man above. We make an effort and judge those that don’t do the same.

The problem lies within the fact that we actually have no idea how ‘professional’ or how good one is at their job based on their appearance. Some of the smartest and most capable people I know love to bum around the office with unkempt hair, funny loafers and daggy clothes.

Are the visual professional standards we set a reflection of competence in the workplace?

I think not and yet the image persists.

Is it impossible to fathom that you could be psychic? That you could know the future, and influence the past? Through all of our achievements, from Prometheus stealing fire from the gods, to a single apple sparking theoretical science and forward-thinking civilisation, the idea that we can bend and break time has recurred through all of us. When we discovered Earth was round, when we attributed thunder and lightning to weather instead of gods, when we argued for evolution over creation, even when critical thinking became the norm, we still pondered the meaning of that inexorable and indefinable dimension: time.

Free-thinkers, philosophers and theoretical scientists are now exploring the nature of time in relation to space. People like Stephen Hawking and Dan Falk are proponents of the idea that we know very little about time. Can we wrap our minds around the idea that everything that will happen, has already and is happening? Or is it all part of the Grand Plan, laid down by a higher being or the nature of the universe itself?

Several modern schools of thought believe that time is not a line; it doesn’t begin at one point and end at another. I’m inclined to agree. If we truly appreciate time as the fourth (or fifth, or ninth) dimension, we must imply the same principle attributes we apply to all the others. Space is infinite. Why not time too? And here’s the really messy bit: if time is indeed infinite, there cannot have been a beginning. It must have come from somewhere, true, but never from the start. This would also work for the end. And seriously – do you honestly believe that something as mind-boggling and powerful as time itself (that truly undiscovered country) can be simplified by a clock?

Which brings me to the crux of it – if time has no beginning and no end, wouldn’t it be possible that it is simply another reference point for the universe to compute its Grand Plan? And if that is the case, would it not be possible for us to move it, to shape it and to surpass it? I can certainly see why we scoff at psychics and paranormal enthusiasts, but so too did we scoff at almost every game-changing breakthrough of our race.

Is it possible that we have already, or are currently doing, or are going to do, everything that we have, are and will do? Is it possible that we are simply reliving moments, that we are jumping around in time in our own heads, that everything is a memory and a dream? Scoff all you like, but tell me: how do you know that is not the case? Perhaps we are living every moment at the same time. Perhaps I know already how this blog will end, or when I will die. And perhaps time itself is simply an illusion.

Our minds are extraordinary things. Our souls are far more extraordinary. Perchance one day you wake up, and then you wake up, and you witness your life and your place in the universe and you think to yourself: is it truly all that simple? Perhaps we do this every day. Perhaps, when we sleep or when we die, we have our chance to understand the nature of things.

We are a forward-thinking people – perhaps we are the closest anyone, anywhere among the stars, has ever or will ever come to understanding the nature of this great thing we call the universe. But through all our time on this planet, and on this very plane of existence, we have never once come to understand the nature of time. We still rely on clocks to tell us, but ask yourself this: would you trust a clock with anything else?

It’s time to break the silence! Regrettably we have been a bit quiet here at Ok, to begin with… I hope you will all understand how busy life can sometimes be, and how the days just seem to mesh into one big blur. There have been vacations and numerous other excuses for our laziness – so I’d like to share something with you. This is one of my few attempts at fiction, a style of writing that has been interesting me more and more in recent times. Enjoy. :)

Dear Aaron..

Do you even remember what we shared together? Oh, the times your name has silently escaped my aching lips. I spotted you across the aisle in the hardware store today, Aaron. Picture me, please. I am standing foolishly alone, perusing the seedlings I can potentially purchase to give my balcony a small slice of life. You, on the other hand, have a power tool in your cart, and a gorgeous blonde woman under your muscular arm.

Oh, the pain. I became uncomfortable inside my skin, even moreso as your eyes scanned the aisle and slid right over me; not even the slightest sense of recognition. September 25, Aaron, it was only four months ago. Don’t you remember?

I was dressed to kill that evening, the evening of a girlfriends hen’s night. Somehow, I had wrapped my short and entirely untoned, pale body into a torquise halter neck evening dress that even made me look okay – at least combined with the killer Louis Vitton stilettos that had been hiding in the depths of my cupboard for so long. Even before our drunken bodies found each other on the steamy, crowded dancefloor, I had promised myself that I was going to do something completely different and have a fun night out, for once in my life. It was working out quite nicely, many thanks to my fantastic friends Bacardi 151 and Lemonade. However, keeping up with my party animal girlfriends certainly proved to take its toll on my sense and sensibility.

You bumped into me, Aaron, and together we spilt your beer onto the already stained floor. I fell in love with you as you smiled, and apologised. You smiled at me. Your alluring brown eyes, and your sexy mouth, all perfectly enclosed in that ever handsome face that is you. I knew you were the one, even before I took the time to check you out, so to speak – and fully appreciate your tall, lean athletic physique, all dressed up in a pinstriped suit. Heaven in a human.

As we began talking, the kind of small talk that happens in broken shouts over 120 decibels of typical dance music, you told me that you were indeed Aaron, and you had been out for a work related dinner for something formal. Or something… I don’t remember, exactly. Bacardi and music combined with the beer you had so kindly bought me in apology may have possibly stunned my memory temporarily. But we had a mutual agreement that the music was absolutely terrible, and that the beer garden outside seemed like a much more apt place to get to know each other.

I do remember noticing the size of your pupils, and the way you couldn’t seem to resist chewing down on your bottom lip when you weren’t talking. You talked a lot, even more than my work colleague Jim, who annoys me to no end. But your conversation seemed as intense as it did shallow, and combined with the sweat lurking on your handsome brow turned me on even more. I fell in love with you, Aaron. Perhaps I was too drunk to have a concern; I just knew you had to be my man.

Frumpy old Bella, nearly 30 years old and without a proper life to call her own, or a happiness that she can readily succumb to. All she does is work her boring accountant job, cook herself boring, bland dinners, tune into Neighbours at 6.30pm and then walk her six year old Collie cross for an hour every evening. She doesn’t even own a car. What could you ever find interesting in her?

I have to tell you one thing, though: Beer and Bella do not like each other. Do you remember how I vomited on the ground between us? Soon after, that angry bouncer picked me up under my arms, and kindly but firmly escorted me out of the bar and into a taxi. Freaking god damn! I screamed. The love of my life is in there and I’m going home?!

The next morning arrived with a horrible fever and a pounding headache. I must shamefully admit that it took me a few minutes to remember you, Aaron, and for this I apologise profusely. I realised exactly why I fell in love with you though; my beer glazed memories reminded me just how gorgeous you really were, and I knew for certain that you gave me the time of day in that horrible, nasty youth-filled nightclub. You sat with me, you bought me a drink… you even held my hand!

Do you realise, Aaron, that I went out again last weekend, to the same bar, and you weren’t there? I had my eyes open for you all night. There was absolutely nobody I can compare to you – the only person who looked sideways at me was the lady who helped me up after I’d tripped over a bottle and put a very embarassing run in my tights. I could only stomach two fruity vodkas before I didn’t want to be out anymore, and I sauntered home at a very mere, very weak 11pm. Old Bella, she fails again.

You and your hot blonde mistress make your way past the seedlings section of the asile – past me. Past stupid old lovesick Bella. I watch the back of you as you make your way to the checkout, and ever so gently kiss your lady friend on the cheek as she pays for your big, mean and sexy power tool. We shared something, Aaron. I don’t care that I am unaware of your last name, and that you no longer seem to have any idea that I exist in this world… we shared something beautiful that horrendous evening four months ago. Something in your plate-sized black pupils told my alcohol-addled brain that was happening. And then all of a sudden, it wasn’t…

And poor old Bella no longer existed.

Aaron, it was my first night out in almost three years, and it was only because of the ever persistent begging and pleading of my friends… who really aren’t my friends. Thinking about it now, as I gaze at you walking calmly through the hardware stores exit point, I realise that these girls are just young and ripe party animals who keep me around to remind them of their eternal youth – who wants to end up as old and haggard as Bella, anyway? I am going out again, tonight. This time with an older, more mature girl from work. Please come out, my love. I would kill myself if only it meant I could see you again.

Forlornly, I chose the coriander seeds. I don’t even eat coriander. But maybe you do, Aaron. Perhaps, maybe, just possibly, I could conjure an amazing Indian curry and use these very coriander seeds to fertilize its very essence for you, and even your bombshell, if I must?

Please remember me, someday. I love you, Aaron, Mister love of my life.

xxoo Bella -
Jan 29.

Nice t-shirt.

If I spend more than half a moment staring at your chest, trying to figure out what the hell those three lines of text spell out, I’ll look like a weirdo. You’ll look at me like a creep and shuffle away whispering to your friends about me, and it’s made even worse when I need to turn around to look at your back to see the punchline. Your t-shirt is stupid, it doesn’t need to be, it can change a life.

‘Fat Guys Are Harder To Kidnap’ is a terrible shirt. If you think that shirt is funny enough that you bought it and you’re wearing it, I’m not going out of my way to talk to you, you’re an idiot. Unless the person who reads it is Jeremy Clarkson, and it gives him a brand new outlook on life.

If you don’t look at me weird, maybe you like that? You like getting the attention of people, you want them to look at your t-shirt and think “man, the person who bought that t-shirt has a great sense of humour/style, oh wow, it’s that person wearing it, they are awesome”. You egotistical prick.

Who wears a t-shirt like that? I certainly do. I love to wear a t-shirt that makes people stop and look at, or even give me a casual nod in the shopping centre. A sign of appreciation of my awesome taste. Or maybe even just something that will confuse them. I’m proud of my interests, I like the fact that you think I’m a nerd! If my t-shirt has a retro video game reference, or a science fiction reference, or even a webcomic reference on it, you know that I’m unique.

Except I’m not unique. They don’t mass produce Super Mario or Star Wars t-shirts so that they’re easily accessible to a small group of elite and unique people of which I am a member, they do it because there are countless people worldwide who want them and want to present their interests, taste, and even sense of humour.

How an article of clothing represents the inner me is really beyond my comprehension. Just because I’m guilty of being a victim of trendy t-shirts doesn’t mean that I don’t see the problem. We’re all too worried about what people think of us, even complete strangers we’ll never see again.

I don’t know your name, I don’t know where you’re from, I’m certain I’ll never ever see you again, but I know later tonight you’ll be telling someone about the interesting things that happened to you today, and hopefully I can be one of them. The imprints we leave in other peoples lives and memories is, in a sense, our own little slice of immortality. We each have our own 15 microseconds of fame, when we’re discussed by people we don’t know. Maybe I can do something memorable enough to someone that their grandchildren will talk about it, it doesn’t need to be big, it just needs to be the right kind of awesome, at the right time in their lives when they’re impressionable enough for it to make a difference.

If I can change your life I damn well hope I do, if the butterfly flapping its wings is my ‘Ice Man Says: Be Cool, Stay in School’* t-shirt to the tornado in your life that could be anything from a rousing good laugh at Friday night drinks or a pleasant memory you smile about when you most need it later in life, I’ve achieved something.

Next time I go through your checkout I will try and make you smile, and next time I buy a sandwich from you I hope my manners make your day.

Until next time… Just embrace the simple things.

*I inherited that t-shirt from a person in my life who seems to live his life by positively influencing others, even to his own detriment. This manifesto is at least partly due to the impacts, big and small, that he and this t-shirt have had on my life. Which is an embodiment of my entire point.

I’ve stumbled upon a theory.

This theory is dependent on whether you like, or appreciate, Star Trek (in any of its forms – see ‘The Theory’). This theory (hence known as ‘The Theory’) may or may not sway your opinion on the matter, but I feel it is worth at least a random, inconsequential blog post to parley (another awesome ‘cinematographique’ to put into question) .

Star Trek is an enlightening, intelligent, satirical and inspiring visual stimulus – IF you digest it as it is meant, and as it is delivered by the people involved. Now I am fully aware of the many other blogs, forum posts, magazine articles, full magazines, documentaries, newspaper clippings, and PHD papers that make basically the same point. What I am about to reveal is the way that YOU  can come to appreciate Star Trek.

You = “anyone who is not at the moment, enriched from the Star Trek experience, but who is willing to become interested”;

The theory is very simple, and best enforced through example. Note that this theory has different weighting based upon the Star Trek series in question, in order as follows:

Original Series

The Next Generation

Voyager

Deep Space Nine

My theory is thus: The importance of Star Trek, and its influence upon our culture can be socially, scientifically, spiritually and critically evaluated based upon the actions of key actors outside the realms of the show. If this were a PHD thesis, I would spell it out for you, but as it’s a random blog post you have stumbled across while Google searching ‘the true meaning of star trek’ (don’t actually Google search that, I was lying) I’m simply going to give examples of what I mean (in order of the ‘In order as follows’ bit):

Gene Roddenberry: Star Craft (thanks attributed) – He is one of the only people on the planet, to be directly attributed to influencing the creation of a national sport, bar anecdotes. His work in bringing the world of science fiction into science fact cannot be overstated either.

William Shatner: Spoken Word Poetry – come on, he’s good at it, and he brought it into the public eye; Boston Legal; being a general mockery of himslf also shows people that you can have a laugh in life – even at your own expense.

DeForest Kelly: Come back to this blog when you’ve converted. Truly R.I.P. a great man. A great man who was nothing more than a man struggling with greatness.

Leonard Nimoy: (Narrator) Civilization IV, the latest in a video game series that has spanned the years since the popular inception of personal computer gaming – in 20 years time, even those who don’t know what I’m talking about WILL know what I’m talking about.

George Takei: ‘Heroes’ – in no small part developed the popular  opinion of superheroes (regardless of your opinion of the show in question).

Patrick Stewart: Brilliant stage actor; In the workings to be the replacement for David Attenborough… I think that is enough, but I’ll add ‘The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion’ (Narrator, ‘Emperor’) and ‘American Dad’ (popular adult comedy). Also; he is Patrick Stewart.

Ethan Philips & Armin Shimmerman: They’re in a LOT of movies and television shows. These two actors become recognisable fan favourites once you have digested ‘The Theory’.

Well, there are obviously more. The ultimate point is that each and every person involved in the television phenomena/fight for ultimate liberalism should be considered a Knight of the Order of the Human Race. Each of these people have strived (in the form of a far-out, cheesy soapish television series) to make our world better for each and every person, through the power of Modern Culture. It may seem a little silly, but it’s pretty much guaranteed that one of these people has affected your outlook in some way or another.

I’m not going to hold your hand, but if you are dedicated enough you will see how Star Trek, of all the pointless, base, overlooked, cultish and cheesy entertainment, has and will shape our world in the future. From the fiction of the show spurring scientists to make it so (couldn’t help myself) through to the work of former cheesy television actors influencing indie, and then popular culture, Star Trek has shaped our lives in more ways than any of us could possibly know – whether you like the show or not.

I only hope that the majority of humanity holds half the hopes and dreams portrayed in that most basic of television science fiction.

The more inane (and probably more astute) result of this theory is that the quantity of the recognisable cultural figures derived from a series of Star Trek is proportional to the significance and general awesomeness of the series in question… Actually, you could probably just ignore the bulk of this post and focus on that.