Crikey this heat is hot.

I have been in Australia for exactly 16 days. I've been away 22 days now but I am only 16 days into a 365 day visa, and it feels like I'm running out of time.

Tonight I'm seeing the Brisbane Christmas tree lights being turned on. They're solar powered, because if you didn't know, Queensland is the Sunshine State of Australia. So here I am, sweating my bits off in 30 degree heat, celebrating the approach of Christmas.

Talk about head screw.

16 days, feels more like 60. Feels like so much longer. 2 weeks ago I jungle surfed through a rainforest. A rainforest!! I've snorkelled the Barrier Reef. I've held a koala. I've taken a train ride that lasted a day and a half. I've been burnt three times, and I've peeled too. Parts of me are still milky white. I've partied, got drunk, thrown up. I've made new friends. I've tried octopus, and lobster. I've been scared the day lights out of when a massive (not poisonous) spider crawled out from under a TV unit whilst watching a creepy tv show.  And I've had work experience at an Aussie production company, and there's more to come.

And I've been here only 16 days.

And in the next 16? More work, as well as a short road trip to the beach and to Australia Zoo.
And then maybe a train ride to the Gold Coast.

I came here to find work. Unlike other backpackers, I wasn't coming to see Australia, to experience the beaches or the outback. These last 6 weeks of 2013 were for holiday, and then 2014 I would work as much as I could. Now I realise there needs to be time for both. I've been here 16 days, and I want to see more. I want to see it all.

And I only have 349 days left to do it in.

A Rant About Misogyny because I saw a Flo Rida video last night)

In a nightclub at my hostel last night, I noticed this video on the screens. And all I could see was ass. Ass, booty, the junk in this girls trunk.

What really shocked me was not that there were beautiful scantily-clad woman dancing in an RnB song. It was the complete disassociation of these butts from the women that own them. In the first three seconds, we see a reflection of a bottom in Flo Rida's shades. You can just about see that this bottom is attached to body. But then Flo Rida is standing astride a long line of oversized arses. Seriously. They are just everywhere.

At 20 seconds, the creepiest thing I think I have seen on a screen in a long time appears.

I'm not sure I should show you, but in the interest of research.this blog. I print screened it for you.

Why, in 2013, are female bodies still the main fucking attraction? (Damn I try hard not to swear on this blog but I'm a little bit angry right now).

These women, where are their faces? At 0:30 we get a fleeting glance of two women sitting n the front of Flo Rida's speedboat. It's so quick, and they are not even doing anything. Just sitting there, looking pretty. 

Oh wait, more faces! at 0:46, there's are two women whose faces we see as they...sit...there...looking pretty... (as mermaids?! Do mermaids even have asses???)

OOH! At 0:49 we get a face, as she does an awesome hair flick towards the camera. And then at 0:58 we see her face as she returns from bending over. 

My favourite bit (wait, can you tell that was sarcasm? It's hard to know sometimes when you're reading something so just to let you know, that was sarcasm) is at 1:01 Flo Rida is holding a booty-cone. Oh yes, this girl's booty is positioned like some fine piece of ice cream that Flo's just gonna get his tongue around. But wait! The booty-cone girl is holding a booty-cone of another girl, who is also holding a booty-cone and oh my I'm a bit dizzy.

(Also, it's just after this bit I started asking myself "what do crocodiles have to do with ass?" And I'm still not sure.)

Mermaid girls are back for a second's glance at 1:30. 

And at 1:46, did Pitbull just call women "monkeys"? Or just women's asses? Or just the asses of women of colour (this latter possibility is sort of nullified by the fact that Flo Rida just "can't believe it" that a white woman has a booty, and thus giving us the whole [terrible] premise for the song.) Maybe I misunderstood him. Maybe he just wanted to get a Michael Jackson reference in there. 

Wait! 5 seconds later I think I have made the connection! The chorus is "bubbleyumbum" or something like that. And Jacko's monkey was called Bubbles right? So it was just the reference he was going for then. Right?

I seriously hope so.

2:04. More creepy mirror images. At 2:12 you get a tiny glance a the girl with purple hair's face. It's so quick I thought it was Jessie J pre-head shave for a moment.

2:40 - :44. Mirror. Images. 

And then yeah. Last minute is just the same as everything before. Asses, booty, junk in their trunk. And you barely see the women attached to them.

Now, you could argue artistic whatsit. You could even use that age old argument that the women in the video have made a choice to be in the video. And you could say some women might enjoy Pitbull and Flo Rida drumming on their asses like fucking bongo drums.

But actually it's the bongo drumming hand gestures that really seal the deal for me. "Look at that ass! I want to drum it. Like a bongo drum. Like an actual fucking object. Because this isn't a woman, a human being with feelings, thoughts, ambitions, brains or brawn. It's a wonderland created to help me improve my drumming skills."

And the misogyny and sexism in popular culture doesn't just stay in popular culture. For a start, it's created by those that continue perpetuating misogynistic and sexist views. And it doesn't stay isolated, but not matter how much you say popular culture doesn't affect you, it does. Like the excellent "She Didn't Buy It" strips for Page 3, you don't have to buy into something to be affected by it. The people on the bus in Stirling didn't buy into the misogynistic lads culture of the hockey team. But they were on the same bus and had to be subjected to their pathetic chants. You don't have to like the song Blurred Lines, or you can see it as harmless fun, but juxtapose the lyrics against rapist's actual words, and maybe you'll think a little differently. 

Blurred Lines, and whatever this Flo Rida song is called, are just two in what seems like a bazillion gillion songs in mainstream music that makes objectifying women, telling women what they want, dominating women, etc etc, totally normal. Totally normal. 

But I am more than a piece of ass, or a great rack. But this is just so freaking normal now. The hostel I'm staying in, at the nightclub attached, had a pole dancing competition last night. Ladies only, of course. On Ladies Night, after the topless champagne waiters had packed away. And at the end, all the women lined up for 60 seconds more dancing and the MC kept saying stuff like "get naked, get dirty, get your lesbian on". 

And I'm not going judge the girls on the stage for what they did, as long as they didn't feel pressured into it and they enjoyed themselves, but what the MC was saying was pressure, and it was just typical misogyny - women, get your bits out for our enjoyment. And I felt guilty that I was watching it all. A passive bystander. But what could I have done, jumped on stage and tried to pull the plug? Am I going to stand by when there is jelly wrestling, wet t-shirt contests, and Gladiator fights where the female contestants are nicknamed "Love Black Cock"?

I'm not going to watch, or participate. But that doesn't mean I won't be affected.

And my room mate just came back from a bar where one guy harassed her, trying to get her to have a drink (she's not drinking tonight as she's diving tomorrow) and when she refused him politely he grabbed her arm. 

I am raging. And it's exhausting. Which is why this rant is probably incoherent and rambling. 

You don't expect old men to touch you up

But, Erm. Why not? We live in a culture where women are objects, meat for the taking.

And why not from an old man? Because old people are so much more polite than the 'yout' of today? Perhaps but they lived in a time where women were still striking out and beginning to live beyond the home. 


It's hard to guesstimate how old this old man actually was. Old enough that he was shuffling along (though I do that in the morning with a hangover). Old enough that he was wrinkled and had baggy skin. Old enough that he was sensibly dressed for the cold weather. 


The more I think about it, the more righteous my fury becomes. I am practically apoplectic as I replay the events in my head. I am walking down the slope of the Lidl car park towards the station. After having to wait for a car to reverse out of its spot in order to leave, I continued walking, and there was an elderly man walking towards me. Nothing out of the ordinary, looking slightly like Victor Meldrew as he shuffled along, adorned in long black coat, black beanie hat and red scarf.
And since he was shuffling and wasn't going to change his path of direction to make sure we could pass each other, I moved over slightly. 

And that's when I saw what was coming. His left arm moved out from his side, at perhaps a 30 degree angle. I thought maybe he was going to stop me and ask me a question so I instinctively slowed down just a touch. 

Ha, just a touch, what an apt turn of phrase. Because as we passed that's what he did. He touched me. The 30 degree angle became a 45 degree angle and as we passed it touched my jeans just left of the zipper and dragged his hand along the top of my thigh. And I kept walking, but said out loud (not very loudly) "what the..?"
I turned to look over my shoulder at him and I could see him still shuffling along, arm down again, but he turned his head slightly back towards me too. Only briefly. 


I was in shock. An old man, shuffling past me in the car park of Lidl, just touched me up. And I know I didn't imagine it because my left thigh is incredibly sensitive since I got my tattoo, and not just directly on my tattoo but all around it. 


And I kept walking. I was in so much shock. Now, shock has given way to downright anger and disgust. I was not shocked when my friends got touched up in a bar last night. We take that kind of sexual harassment for granted in bars and clubs. 


BUT THIS WAS THE LIDL CAR PARK. I walk through there every day for work. That's how I get to the station. And he was an OLD MAN. Not some drunk sleazy banker guy that we (shouldn't have to but unfortunately do) expect to try and grab us. 

But next time it happens - to me, my sister, my friend, any other woman - I will not be shocked. And he will see my righteous fury. It doesn't matter how old you are, you do not have the right to touch me without my permission.