You are browsing archives for
Event photography at a fundraiser for The Inspire Foundation – a charity established in direct response to Australia’s then escalating rates of youth suicide. www.inspire.org.au Dress as “something or someone that inspires you”.
I was an angel AND a devil, with the philosophical justification that the existence of opposing forces keeps me challenged, engaged, and inspired.
More photos from the ‘To Be Inspired’ Laneway Ball are on facebook: Click Here
I stole my sister’s schipperke Bella for two days of doggie companionship – it’s pretty clear why they say that a dog is a man’s best friend. Not only are dogs adorable and fluffy, they (especially Bella) give you cuddles and snuggles when you ask, they run and have fun with you, they don’t hide what they are thinking and feeling, and best of all they love you unconditionally.
This morning we walked around Rushcutter’s Bay amongst many other doggies and dog owners, and I started wondering… How did dogs evolve to become our friends? When did it all begin??? What breeds are purebreds and what breeds did we create? Are dogs, with all their human-like qualities, a good example of evolution in action?
Jumping the gun on my Big History series, but with Bella by my side my curiosity won me over and I sought out some answers.
Briefly to provide some context, wolves, foxes, cats AND HUMANS had a common ancestor around 75-million years ago. Primates (including monkeys, apes and us) broke away from the our mammal brothers and sisters in the Carnivore group (ie meat eaters) – which from a common ancestor known as the Miacid broke into the Caniformia subgroup that includes the Canidae family (coyotes, dogs, foxes, jackals, and wolves) and families with other fancy names that include pandas, skunks, racoons, seals, sea lions, badgers, and bears; and the Feliformia subgroup that includes Felidea (cats, lions, tigers etc) as well as other families of hyenas and mongoose.[1]
Dogs are domesticated wolves that diverged from their wolf ancestors around 15000 years ago. ALL breeds of dogs are connected to humans – be they a result of “natural” breeding in response to their environment as it changed in the course of human civilisation, or through “selective” breeding with random hybrids like labradoodles a recent example.
Breeds classified as “purebred” are done so according to documented lineages – a tradition that began at the English Kennel Club in 1873. The breeds with the fewest genetic differences from wolves tend to be the natural bred ones, which are more considered “ancient dog breeds” – eg Afghan Hound (Afghanistan), Chow Chow (China), Lhasa Apso (Tibet), Pekingese (China), Shar Pei (China), Shih Tzu (Tibet), Tibetan Terrier (Tibet), Saluki (Fertile Crescent), Basenji (DR Congo), Akita Inu (Japan), Shiba Inu (Japan), Samoyed (Russia), Siberian Husky (Russia), and Alaskan Malamute (Alaska).
How did they come to be our friends? Actually there are different theories, but no one really knows. It could have happened as long as 100,000 years ago, with a cooperative relationship developing between our species: wolves hanging around campsites for safety, food scraps, and greater chances of breeding, while humans gaining improved sanitation from the dogs cleaning up the scraps, extra warmth and security alerts when other animals/people approached the site.
And from cooperative hunting in the forest, to cooperative hunting for mates in parks (everyone knows its easier to pick up when you have a cute dog with you wink wink) we have found our new best friend.
But how does a big mean ugly wolf turn into a adorable little puppy? I guess it’s not unlike masculine hunters turning into metro-sexuals – through less contact with the actual kill and physically adapting to whatever (they believe) will increase their chances of spreading their seed. The cuter the dog and the more socially savvy, the more scraps they get and the less need to hunt and kill.
The main physical differences between wolves and dogs evolved in the last 12,000 years since the introduction of agriculture, humans settled and (at least some civilisations) started to look after dogs as one of their own. This continued right through to more recent tailoring dogs for our companionship needs – Paris Hilton toy dogs are a prime example.
How can a dog stay small forever. With a process called “pedomorphosis” or “juvenification” – a process that causes adults of a species to retain traits previously seen only in juveniles – that is, somehow, adults still look like babies. This isn’t a man-made process, it’s a natural way of evolution for example the flatness of the human face compared with other primates.
I wonder, with today’s obsession with youth – from magazines to beauty creams – will we one day in the near future genetically modify ourselves to keep our juvenile qualities for life? Is this something we would want to do? I’d like to say no – that I want to age gracefully – but heck, to look 25 for the next 100 years wouldn’t be so bad…
I have sidetracked completely and really I have to get back to writing and preparing for India (less than 2 weeks and counting) so I will leave this interesting piece of research there. All in all I have to say that besides having to put up with their farts and pick up their pooh, I love dogs and I wish my rental contract didn’t forbid me or else I would buy my own little Bella for myself.
[1] http://animaldiversity.ummz.umich.edu/site/index.html
Another good article: http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,1921614-4,00.html
Yesterday morning’s crazy events almost repeated themselves that night.
The girl who sang dirty cat, was back. In a hat. No not really in a hat. I just added that. Okay…. moving on. So she was back, and drunk again. No screaming or glass shattering this time – just a slurred whining voice.
At around 11pm when I put my garbage outside I noticed two cops walk into our building. Oooo ho hoooo…
I don’t know who called them. It wasn’t me. Actually I am guessing it was the boy himself, not up for another night of Dirty Cat. And I’m glad he did. Neither was I.
I just thought I’d share so you know the end to yesterday’s sorrow-filled tale. We can all can rest peacefully knowing that the girl who sang Dirty Cat isn’t lying in a ditch somewhere.
I must admit I’m happy that the Dirty Cat won’t be back. In a hat. Ahhh, don’t start that again!
Extra Little Funny Thing:
So when I googled “dirty cat” to find a picture to header this with, I came across this youtube video. It made me laugh so I thought I’d share.
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fwHr8jA8HCQ[/youtube]
It’s not as dirty as it looks – apparently the cat is just sniffing. Hmmm…. still pretty dirty.
Picture Credit:
No idea – it’s just a friend and I at a “Feline” theme house warming party. So I guess we are kind of dirty cats.
A Personal Note:
I’ll try to make my next post something a little more worthwhile than the last couple. I think it’s about time I do the Big History Series Blog Entry #2.
Although… they do say laughter is the best medicine, so maybe it’s good putting things like this in the mix?
Please let me know if you would like hear more or less of the funny little random stories like this…
And please become a “facebook fan” of this blog if you are not already – click here to go to the facebook page “Juliet Bennett’s Blog”
I really appreciate feedback – it keeps me motivated to keep on blogging and helps me blog on the topics that you most enjoy.
Thanks for reading!!!
I didn’t sleep last night. My sisters were visiting and I doubt they did either. I love city living, but sometimes it takes it’s toll.
“Dirty cat, dirty cat,” some chick sang at the top of her voice. CRASH! BANG!!! And a few minutes later it happened again. And again. And again. What was going on?
Half asleep I ignored it, but as it got louder and louder, and the voice sounded more frantic and the bangs got more violent, I ventured down the stairs to check it out through a set of squinty eyes. On my way I noticed what looked like McDonald’s buns thrown across the entrance. Weird.
As it turned out it wasn’t my neighbour who was screaming, it was a very frustrated British chick who was very very drunk, and very annoyed at the dude living a few stories below me.
“I don’t have my keys,” she said, scrambling through her bag. She was a mess. “My head is bleeding and he won’t let me in. I fell over. And then he grabbed me by my head and dragged me.”
“Ummm….” I was stunned. Do I invite her into my place? I really didn’t want to and my sisters were still trying to sleep. Should I call the cops? Her hair was wet, but it was also raining outside. It didn’t look like blood. And besides being drunk he girl looked fine. “Where are your keys?” I asked.
“Inside there,” she replied, pointing at my neighbour’s door. “Well I think they are. I left my makeup bag in there. I think. And it has my pay cheque in it. But the asshole won’t let me in to get it.”
“Ummm…” I really didn’t know what to say. “Are you sure it’s in there?”
“Yes.” Pause. “Actually no. But I need to look and see.”
“Do you know you have kept the whole building up for the last few hours?” I asked, I’m not sure what good I thought that would do. I knocked on the door. “Excuse me…” I said meekly. No answer. I shrugged at the girl. About to give up, the dude came out of his apartment. He looked normal and relaxed.
“Look you just gotta go home.” he told the girl. “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry.” he said to me, “she’s really very drunk.”
“Are her keys inside your place?” I asked, giving her the benefit of the doubt.
“No.” he said, turning to her, “If you had anything in there, I’d have given them to you already.” He shook his head. “Go home. You’re going to get me evicted.” Turning to me he appologised once again, and then vacated the premises. She called after him and I escaped back to my bed. Surely she would go home now. But no.
“Dirty cat, dirty cat,” the loud obnoxious singing started again.
All this commotion on a Tuesday night! My sisters will be turned off city living forever!!!
A while later there were a few more shouts and bangs, and then nothing.
What happened? I don’t know. Hopefully she’s not lying in a ditch somewhere. I guess she went home. I hope…
What’s even more discomforting about this situation is that I seemed to be the only one in the building to go see what the commotion was about. And it probably took a good hour or so of noise before I made a move.
How much screaming does it take for us to step out of our warm beds to see what is going on?
Living in apartment blocks we live so close to complete strangers and you have to wonder whether anyone would notice if someone was in serious trouble… that’s really not a nice thought.
Yesterday EVERYTHING seemed tangled up in knots. Even my washing. Ahhhhh! I screamed.
I had been trying to write journal articles and my mind seemed to mix up the concepts and ideas. I had been trying to edit my book but it seemed muddled up as well. I don’t even know what genre it fits. And let’s not mention my love life. All in all I felt as if my brain was tied in knots. And there it was, in my washing too. After five minutes of trying to untangle it I didn’t have the patience to continue.
But this morning things are clearer.
I don’t know how I managed it, but woke up at 10am. That’s almost eleven hours sleep! I can’t remember the last time I did that. I knew I was tired, but… wow.
Oh that’s it – my brain was in knots because I needed sleep. Well, it could be at least part of the problem.
I had been treating sleep as an overrated nuisance. Six hours would do the job. I guess eventually a lack of sleep will catch up.
Hopefully today I’ll do some untangling of my article and book, and I suppose of that darn washing.
In sum, the lesson of the day is that sleep is as necessary as food and water. From now on I’m going to try to catch a few more winks.
Ok, so you’ve seen True Blood right? If not you should…
From wikipedia (I’m too lazy to write today):
True Blood is based on The Southern Vampire Mysteries (informally known as The Sookie Stackhouse Novels / Chronicles and retronymed the True Blood Series) is a series of books written by The New York Times bestselling author Charlaine Harris.
Within the fictional universe vampires have “come out of the coffin” (a term coined as a play on “coming out of the closet”), when scientists in Japan invent a synthetic form of blood called “Tru Blood.” No longer relying on human blood to survive, vampires are able to integrate themselves into human society (or “mainstream”).
How cool is this opening sequence!!!
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vxINMuOgAu8[/youtube]
Also from wikipedia:
Conceptually, Digital Kitchen elected to construct the sequence around the idea of “the whore in the house of prayer”[15] by intermingling contradictory images of sex, violence and religion and displaying them from the point of view of “a supernatural, predatory creature observing human beings from the shadows …”[14]Digital Kitchen also wished to explore ideas of redemption and forgiveness, and thus arranged for the sequence to progress from morning to night and to culminate in a baptism.[15]
In editing the opening, Digital Kitchen wanted to express how “religious fanaticism” and “sexual energy” could corrupt humans and make them animalistic. Accordingly, several frames of some shots were cut to give movements a jittery feel, while other shots were simply played back very slowly. Individual frames were also splattered with drops of blood.[15] The sequence’s transitions were constructed differently, though; they were made with a Polaroid transfer technique. The last frame of one shot and the first frame of another were taken as a single Polaroid photo, which was then divided between emulsion and backing. The emulsion was then filmed being further separated by chemicals and those shots of this separation were placed back into the final edit.[14]
The best thing about it is the metaphors and parallels to things happening in our world today. More about that next time.
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mLlAOICIyZg[/youtube]
The first two series are out and the third is on it’s way. So… check it out!!!
So the other day I’m in a bar and I run into a student from a Pilates class I used to teach. We have a nice catchup and he asks for my number. Without much thought I give it to him – not cause I want to see him again unless it’s at a pilates class – I guess I was just being polite. Exactly one week later I get a mysterious call from a private number. No-one says anything so after a few ‘hello?’ … ‘hellooo???’ s I hang up. The next morning my phone rings and it’s a private number again.
‘Hello?’ I ask
‘Hello’ says a young sounding Japanese voice. ‘Who is this?’
‘Ah, who is this??’ I reply.
‘It’s Mika.’
‘I think you have the wrong number,’ Not knowing a Mika. ‘Who are you looking for?’
‘Ah, Isabelle?’
‘Sorry, you have the wrong number.’ I say. And I hang up.
A few hours later the private number appears for third time.
‘Hello…’ I answer.
‘Hello. I called before.’
‘Yes…’
‘I’m actually wondering what your relationship is with Chris?’ she says, in a gentle yet slightly accusingly tone of voice.
‘Ah, Chris who?’ I ask.
‘Chris Keats.’
‘Sorry, I don’t know a Chris Keats.’ I say honestly.
‘You didn’t meet him on Thursday night?’
Trying to remember what happened on Thursday I say, ‘Ah, no, I don’t think so. What was Thursday night?’
‘I have messages from you on his phone.’
‘Chris Michaels?’ I ask, that’s the only Chris I know. Then it dawns on me. Last Thursday night I was at the bar in Manly.
‘Oh I know, I think you are talking about the Chris I teach Pilates to.’
‘Teach Pilates to?’
‘Well, I used to. Then I went overseas. I ran into Chris in Wharf Bar last Thursday.’ Suddenly I remember our texts.
Realising what was going on – why this chick was calling me, I continue, ‘He asked if I wanted to have dinner with him but I said no.’ Then softly, I ask, ‘Are you his girlfriend?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s shit! Guys are fucked.’ I really hit the fan. ‘I’m really sorry. Nothing happened on the night, we just talked. And I don’t want to see him or anything. But that’s really shit that he did that to you.’
‘It’s ok, I’m going to leave him anyway. I just wanted to know.’
‘Well I hope things work out for you.’ And with that I hang up.
Like the equator monument in Ecuador that was built a few hundred meters off the equator, men (and women) like this get a big thumbs down.
Note: this story came from my random writings from 2009 and names have been changed.
My sprained ankle had it’s benefits – LOTS of time sitting on my arse. And so, one week ago, I finished my first draft of my first novel.
A first draft is a big achievement I suppose. The only problem is that it’s far too long and, as I decided once I started editing it, it’s also far too shit. As I read I crossed half the paragraphs out. Boring boring boring. The whole 690 page manuscript sucks.
When I finally allowed one of my friends to have a read I noticed something: he was laughing. He was laughing a lot.
“See all these bits you’ve crossed out – they’re really funny…”
I suppose that’s a good sign.
“You just need to take a long break from the book – read it in a few months time with fresh eyes.”
Easier said than done.
I want to give the manuscript to a few people to read and give me some for feedback on how I might be able to cut it in half. I also need to give it to people who are in the book, so they can decide if they want their name changed or details omitted.
But before I do anything I just want to add this… and change that… and edit this… and to a bit more research for that part…
“Step away from the book. Step away from the book… GIVE IT TO ME NOW!!!” Another friend demanded.
She was right to do so. This book is driving me crazy. I’m even editing it in my dreams. I’m going round in circles. I need to step away. I need to shut it away, at least for one month. I reluctantly handed her my only printed copy. Then I took the photographic storyboard down from my wall.
Now what??? This book has been my life for the last few months – what else am I supposed to do with my time? What is normal life like? My mind is blank.
Oh yeah, work. Earn a little dosh and stop eating up my savings. And I could, like, have fun. Read other people’s books, check out the art galleries near my place, watch movies, learn the guitar that’s been eyeing me since two Christmases ago. Try to get my uni dissertation published. And as soon as my ankle is better – start teaching pilates again, get my scuba-diving licence, get a scooter licence and a scooter. All the things I’ve been putting off for far too long.
So today’s the first day of a new life chapter. One that doesn’t revolve around this book. And I will to try my best not to look at the book for an entire month. Let’s see if I have more success with this pledge than I did my with my February detox (FYI I never got back on that horse…)
Video clip matching the second last chapter of my book:
Chapter 33: Redemption – Rio De Janeio
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4qGXNyd8gSo[/youtube]
If you haven’t already, do check out the boy’s New York City to Rio blog: www.nyc2rio.com – there’s some amazing writing, photos and stories on there.
Music credits:
The Beatles – Revolution
Bob Marley & The Wailers – Redemption Song
Note:
Missing video-chapters have not been posted to prevent eluding a spoiler – I’m hoping you’ll read my book first!
The first shot blows me away. I focus my eyes, level the gun and POW! My arms jolt up. The bullet hits the paper target.
The second shot. Ok. I’m getting used to this. No idea where the bullet landed.
The third shot. Bulls eye! Well almost. It went somewhere in the circle, or so some dude tells me.
The fourth shot. Woooo. Feeling a bit dizzy. My eyes. Blink. Blink.
The fifth shot. I rest my arms. Blink…. Blink. Why won’t my eyes focus?
The sixth, seventh, eighth. I imagine the target is a person. I can’t help it. “Are you ok?” The dude asks. I pause. I can do this.
The ninth shot. A little better.
The tenth. One round of ammunition. I’m done.
Ok, so I get the power thing. Shooting a gun was fun. But the reality of guns isn’t. I don’t think the pleasure of guns is worth the pain. Why can’t everyone in the world just decide to destroy all their guns, all at once? Individuals probably would. It’s the big boys earning MONEY from the gun trade that won’t. Corporations have the power. Far more power than the gun I shot. Forget “rogue states”… war wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for these money-hungry corporate rogues who, because of the rules of the game, can’t even be tried for crime.
Do you know anyone in the arms trade? Maybe we can shame them into stopping it??? No money is worth the amount of lives guns take.
BTW the picture above was my 18th Austin Powers birthday party – no party will ever top that one.
