Author: Adrian's Got the Moose

Due to financial hardship leading on from the COVID pandemic, in Australia there was a ban on rent increases, and evictions due to non-payment of rent. This helped people a lot, along with Jobkeeper, and might be the first time our government took homelessness even slightly seriously.

Now the moratorium is ending, and many tenants have been reporting that their rent is increasing by a hundred dollars a week, others have not had their contracts renewed due to the houses going on the market. This is all to a backdrop of unheard of vacancy rates- my town’s is 0.5%-  People don’t have anywhere to go.

People who own investment properties tend to say that this problem can be solved by renters buying property. This ignores the simple fact that not everyone has the steady income to get a home loan, or the ability to save up a deposit while paying half their income in rent. The only reason I can type this up in my own place is because my lovely and long-suffering parents lent me a sizable sum towards the deposit, which is a privilege most people don’t have.

A cursory glance at the comments on any post about the rent increases and evictions will quickly educate a person that the majority of landlords are entirely unsympathetic  to the plights of tenants.  Landlords view themselves as responsible Aussie battlers, and tenants are careless dole bludgers. As a renter, you are at best considered a necessary evil, at worst scum of the Earth.

Its amazing how common the idea is that tenants have all the rights and landlords are passive and downtrodden.  This completely ignores that few people choose to rent, and no one is forced to own investment property and to rent them out. If the investment doesn’t turn out, they can get out of the situation by selling up. What can the tenant do? Their choice is between homelessness and paying increasing percentages of their income on rent, hardly a choice at all.

Most people who own investment properties can only do so with the income from rent to cover a large percentage of the mortgage and other expenses of the property. This is fine during good times, and as long as rents remain affordable. Considering the massive debts involved in mortgages, this is a highly tenuous position in the best of times, yet landlords are shocked that people will have trouble paying rent during a pandemic. Meanwhile, if you told someone to get into debt for a figure multiple times their annual income for an investment that may or may not turn out in their favor,  they would laugh in your face. This is how cult like investing in property seems to be.

Part of this problem is that for the last fifty years, governments, financial advisers, bank managers and every white person’s grandparents have been telling everyone that property is the best investment, and that property values will only ever go up. These ludicrous claims have been made on the back of people who try to get their own piece of the Australian dream, many of which fail.  How this is not a pyramid scheme is mostly ignored.  So you will have to forgive me for not joining in with the whole “Landlords are the cornerstone of society” bullshit.

The more you think about it, the more you will come to realize that things don’t have to be the way they are. The system heavily incentives property as investments over home ownership. We can change this, if the Australian people and the parasites we call politicians prioritize home ownership over profit.

My brother and his partner have fulfilled their biological imperative and procreated.   Some people have made the claim that I would be a good uncle, completely ignoring  that I avoid children, they are too close to my maturity level for my comfort. But I have been thinking what advice I might give once Abigail becomes more interesting.

1: Travel

Just travel, it opens your eyes, broaden your horizons. I feel pity for people who think that the country they were born in is the best without ever bothering to learn about other countries. Plus it gives you plenty of stories to entertain/bore people at work, parties and funerals. Just don’t be too concerned when someone tells you a place was better a year, or a decade ago, those sort of people are best off avoided or silenced with a Karate chop to the neck if that’s allowed by local laws.

2: Know when to leave

This can be a job, a living situation, platonic or sexual relationships. Most things move towards their end, even when they don’t end in bitter recriminations, stains on carpets or unpaid wages, there will come a point when continuing any further will be no good for you.

3: Read

Doesn’t matter if it’s Tolstoy or Harry Potter, William Gibson or those time travelling Viking Navy Seal romance novels. It’s escapism and good for killing time while waiting for doctor’s appointments. Also it makes you look smarter than just scrolling on a device.

4: Learn to say no, and sometimes yes to drugs

Alcohol is good in moderation, but can be a problem if you constantly imbue and need it to feel normal. Dope is good in moderation, and probably as legal as alcohol by the time you are old enough to buy beer, but you don’t want to be one of those people whose personality revolves around partaking. Actually that’s true of alcohol as well.  Stay the hell away from anything that you need to snort or inject. Also stay away from cigarettes, they don’t get you high and are horrible for your health. By the time you read this there will probably be options I have never heard of, so you’ll have to work those out yourself.

5: Cultivate some hobbies

Its a good thing to have between work and sleep, and will put you in contact with people who you normally would never be in contact with. Personally I find passion and enthusiasm an attractive quality in people, especially when the subject matter doesn’t generate money or status.

6: Learn when to shut up

You will meet plenty of people who are more than happy to tell you all about their football team, their church, their sex life, regardless of your lack of interest on the subject. Or people who can’t handle silence. Don’t be one of those people. Plus you will be amazed how often people  assume you are deep in thought if you keep quiet for a while.

7: Trust your instincts

This holds true for dating, business ventures or cooking. If something seems off but you can’t explain it, you are probably correct.

8: Accept that you are going to make mistakes

and learn from them and forgive yourself. I’m avoiding typing out the whole reflection/rumination Psy 101 lesson here, so ill just say learn to make mistakes, learn from them and move on.

9: Seek help when you need it

Specifically I am thinking of mental health, but this also applies to finances, moving house or learning new skills. No one is an island, and there is no point in making your life harder than it needs to be.

Then…

A YouTube channel I watch often is called Philosophy Tube, by the creator formally known as Ollie Thorn. The channel obviously features videos about philosophy – such as this, and various issues such as climate change and the UK housing crisis. To set the stage and to tell the story, the creator plays multiple characters using costume changes, make up and incredible acting skills (the creator is a classically trained thespian. Its an incredibly entertaining and education experience. The videos that sucked me in the most are relating to the creator’s personal experience with mental health issues, which have to be seen to be believed… Clicky, but don’t click if you don’t want to find yourself balling your eyes out. The creator receives daily emails stating that these videos have saved the sender’s lives.

Now…

In the last video, that channel creator, Abigail Thorn, has come out as a trans-woman. Abigail did this by having an actor play her former self in part one of the video, talking about identity. In the last section of the first part, the dialogue becomes more personal, and states that living at the moment is like being at war, and how that is no way to live your life. the actor states that he is leaving, but if you want to see him he will be in the old videos. The first part ends with a actor taking a bow on stage, to the tune of David Bowie’s Blackstar.

Part two starts with Abigail strutting into a comfortably appointed room, wearing a black dress with white trim. Abigail introduces herself, and explains that she has been a woman for a long time, and has been presenting as a man only on YouTube. Abigail describes being a woman like changing jobs from a terrible job to your dream job, and how its not a quick fix, but a steady improvement towards a good place. I could go on- and this is probably a quarter of what I originally wrote in my Moleskine about this video, but it would be better to let the video speak for itself.

Post-Mortem

I have thoughts and feelings. It’s damned impressive that Abigail managed to keep this secret through multiple videos, watched millions of times. It’s also a brave thing to come out as trans, even to an almost exclusive left wing audience.  I never realized it, but Abigail as a man became something of a role model to me.  From the perspective of the previous videos, Ollie is articulate, educated without being pompous,  well dressed and groomed in a way I don’t come close to.  But that para-social role model is in my mind very linked to a male role model. How am I going to feel when she releases videos as her true self? I’m holding my breath about how I will feel about new videos. I am sure I will enjoy them, but it will definitely be different. It doesn’t help that I don’t know in person any role models that neatly fit into this niche for me in my real life.

I wrote this in my journal immediately after the article was published, however I got distracted by a zillion other things, so I appreciate everyone ignoring the lateness of this whole thing.

A few days ago (cough) my town’s local rag published an article that our lovely town will be getting early access to the Pfizer COVID-19 vaccine in February. rolling out first to members of at risk groups. You can find the article here.

Most of us would think this is a good thing. Many of my town’s most vulnerable to the virus-including my parents- will be less vulnerable. Plus by the time it finally comes to my turn (I always thought I was an essential worker, but apparently not) the local medical professionals will be bloody good at transporting, handling and administrating the vaccine. Also its nice for us to get something early for once, we are four hundred kilometers from the world’s most isolated capital city, and I swear most of the country assumes we ride kangaroos because cars haven’t made their way to us yet.

Of course many people don’t see it this way. The comments, Oh my Dog the bloody comments. People think the vaccine has been rushed to release, and apparently my town has been selected to be guinea pigs, conveniently ignoring that the vaccine has been other countries for months before this announcement. People think that because a handful of elderly people died shortly after getting the jab, completely ignoring that correlation does not equal causation- It would in fact be strange and a sign of fudged data if no one died straight after getting the vaccine. People claim we don’t need a vaccine for a virus that has a 99.9% survival rate, an entirely fictional percentage, which also ignores the people that survive with permanent complications.

Of course there are the conspiracy theorists, its a method of population control , social programming, etc. It’s easier to just ignore these people and hope they don’t hold positions of influence or power.

What I would find amusing if it was not so tragic, is how people expect an impossible high standard of evidence for a vaccine, while happily spending hundreds of dollars a month for supplements with no proof that they do anything other than provide people with expensive urine. I get that Big Pharma is always more than a little problematic, but its definitely a necessary evil at the moment, if we ever want to get COVID in control. These idiot anti-vaxxers would rather be at a higher risk of death from a virus that has already killed millions than trust that the researchers, scientists and medical professionals know what they are doing.

You can find the initial question, and my original answer here. The following is more detailed and personal.

Maybe you don’t want to admit that you need help?

We are rugged individuals, we don’t need help. Admitting you have a mental health issue goes against this. Suddenly you are reliant on doctors, therapists, pharmacists, the faceless goons in your insurance or socialized medical care.

Maybe you don’t want the stigma of having a mental health issue?

Oh boy, informing anyone about your mental health issue is such a roulette spin. Even people who have the same will sometimes react negatively- a former supervisor of mine asked what I had to be depressed about. Get used to shocked, awkward looks, slow shuffling steps away and excuses to leave your presence, as if you are about to pull out a knife and carve them up. Hopefully the more people who admit to having issues this will change, and the statistics back up how having mental health issues is probably more common than any particular religion. This is what drives me to casually mention my depression and medication. Plus its fun to watch people’s reaction once you are self aware and objective enough.

Maybe you don’t want to be confronted by therapy?

Therapy doesn’t work without a solid dialog of honesty, otherwise your therapist would just be an over=qualified life-couch. Its not a pleasant experience, ripping apart aspects of your personality, having it poked it with a stick and then finishing your session, and trying to walk around like a normal person. It’s why I tended to go to the beach or a long walk after my sessions. I can only say that it is worth it, especially when, like me, you spend most of your waking hours trying to suppress your neurosis.

Maybe because after diagnosis, meds and therapy are only the starting point in your recovery?

At least subconsciously, I thought taking Prozac and attending a few therapy sessions would magically solve all my problems. Frustratingly, this is not the case, three years later I am still working on trying to exercise more, socializing more, and generally acting like a functional member of society. The therapy helps me pay attention to some of those issues so I can work on them in a constructive way. Prozac takes the edge off the worse of the depression and anxiety, which allows me to make some better choices. It also helps not being on the verge of a panic attack every time I reverse a ute between two other vehicles.

Maybe you don’t want an anti-depressant dependency?

Don’t get me wrong, you will take my Prozac and Axit out of my cold dead hands, but im not comfortable with the idea that realizing that I am out of them makes me feel rather nervous, long before any withdrawal symptoms become manifest. This makes me wonder how much I have in common with the junkie looking for the next fix.

Obviously I miss travel, but its strange some of the aspects of travel that I miss. I miss that first gasp of air when I leave the airport, away from the air conditioning and duty free perfume. I miss walking the streets of a city for the first time, gauging the vibe of the place. I miss waking up on planes, having no idea of the time or place, entirely dislocated from reality.

Trump has lost the US election, of course he can’t admit that he lost, the bankruptcies, failed marriages and his university having happened to someone who just looks and sounds much like him. To be honest I was expecting him to win. Apart from it keeping with the completely fucked up year we have been all having, the kind of people who voted for Trump the first time are unlikely to have changed their opinion since then.

The COVID-19 pandemic marches on. The Western Australian premier, Mark McGowan, has a ludicrously high approval rating, mostly due to standing up to other states insistence that we open our borders. This ties into Western Australian’s constant feelings of playing second fiddle to the eastern states.  Meanwhile people are acting as if having to wear a mask in public is the worst thing ever, as if healthcare workers (and chemical sprayers like me) haven’t been wearing P2 masks without much fuss for years. The word persecution gets thrown around a lot, mostly by people who have never experienced it due to their white, middle class privilege.

An aspect of my personality that I wrestle with is a tendency to obsess about a TV show, a cult, an individual or a particular song.  Much of this is similar to slowing down to gawk at a car accident. A typical example of this is my current fascination with the cult known as Jehovah Witnesses, im convinced I know more about this cult that its members. A more positive example is Strange Weather, by Anne Calvi, featuring David Byrne (from the Talking Heads). Something about the dueling vocals, the lyrics I can’t quite understand, and the broken flower aesthetic in the film clip  keeps me watching and listening again and again. At least it makes a nice change from hours of Nick Cave and Russian folk music.

Something I had been avoiding with two moving houses was going through a largish wooden box filled with keepsakes, letters, photos and other paraphernalia. I haven’t opened this box for at least five years. I was planning to downsize this box.

Here is a heap of scarves, photos and a camp blanket from my days as a Cub and later a Scout. Being a Scout was a big part of my childhood, and going through all this elicited a strong feeling of nostalgia, and sadness that I have lost contact with all the people who I cared deeply for.

A pen from a funeral home I did some casual work for.

A stack of letters from an ex lover. I thought I was in love, and apparently that’s the thing that matters. Hindsight is a bitch, and as soon as I ended things I realized how fucked up the whole thing was. As I skim read a few of the letters, I feel a sharp pang of regret, quickly receding into a cold detachment. How can someone whose happiness and presence was so important to my well being now only licit an awareness of misplaced affection? I wish I could have felt so indifferent eighteen years ago. The only thing I keep is a book she gifted me, with an inscription from her on the inside cover.

A certificate for my climb of the Sydney Harbor Bridge.

Photos, yearbooks and notebooks from school leave me feeling cold. My school days were not that pleasant, half because of a caustic, Catholic environment, and half because I was a gloomy, awkward child with undiagnosed depression, anxiety and chronic low self-esteem.

A small pen-knife, gifted to me from my grandfather, who used to own it. I can remember cutting a finger while cleaning its wickedly sharp carbon steel blade.

Letters from two former friends, both women. One friendship ended without a whimper when I realized that the only reason I continued with her was my on/off infatuation with an idealized version of her. The other ended after the usual drifting apart when she got engaged to an ex-cult member who I couldn’t stand. and I decided I didn’t have the energy for either of them anymore.

A bag containing Thai Baht; coins and notes, and the VOIP calling card I used to call Mum during that trip. It was my first solo trip, and nothing was ever the same.

An order of service for the funeral of a school mate.

You come to me to seek my wisdom over this backpacking deal, while my passport gathers dust due to This Fucking Virus, so I guess I have nothing better to do when I should be in Iran, so here we go.

Don’t plan too severely:

All you need is your outbound plane ticket, travel insurance, a packed bag and your passport and debit card. The best plan is a vague one. Have a list of places you want to see and things to see and do, Unless this includes festivals, there is no need to plan every day in advance. Much of the beauty of backpacking is you are able to stay as long or as little as you like. Get somewhere and feel there is a bad vibe? See the sights on your list and get out as soon as possible. Love it? stay a month. I know an Australian who has been in Don Det for two years (lucky, drunk bastard). Besides, any strict plan will seldom survive past passport control. In this manner you can accept invitations for things that you didn’t plan on doing.

Pack light:

Make it your motto, your mantra, your shout into the void.

You will notice the more people travel, the less they take. My first solo trip I spent a small fortune on on shit I didn’t need that spent a month in the bottom of my pack, only to be donated to Saint Vinnies when I got home. I learned to despise that backpack. Now, my essentials (not including meds, clothes and toiletries) are:

1. Kindle (a game changer, no more stalking book exchanges)
2. Smart phone
3. Travel wallet and contents
4. Travel towel
5. Sarong
6. Universal charger and cables
7. Reusable water bottle
8. USB rechargeable key-chain torch
9. Sleeping bag liner
10. Stash-able day-pack.

Travelling light will allow you to walk a few kilometers to the bus station instead of taking a taxi, save money on checked luggage and catch planes in the nick of time, and get out of airports while that family is still waiting for their entire possessions at the carousel. Its also worth noting that taking heaps of clothes mostly amounts to a lot of dirty laundry stinking up your pack.

Get off the Tourist Trail at least a little.

In many places that have been dealing with tourist hoards for generations, its possible to not experience any culture shock or challenges to your worldview. All I can say is the good stuff all happens outside of the tourist traps. Ask the staff at your hostel where they go for a meal. Go down a back alley of a market and get a haircut. Help a local clutch start his or her car. And learn to squat and love the bum gun.

This post was inspired by a post in a Facebook group I am a member of. Since I saw it it has been deleted.

Bangkok, Thailand-

Waiting in the lobby of my hostel, with me was a drunk, half asleep Thai woman, wearing a skin-tight dress. She spotted my backpack and asked where I was going, which was Kanchanaburi. Except my pronunciation was so terrible I had to show her the name in my guidebook before she understood. She took it upon herself to teach me the correct pronunciation, so every few minutes she would rouse herself from the couch, demand “Where are you going?” and painstakingly corrected me, until I got it right, where she would give me a thumbs up, then slump back. This continued for an hour, until I was picked up.

Selchuk, Turkey-

Waiting on the side of the road for a bus I was suspecting was never going to show until the high season, a middle aged Turkish couple in a battered Mercedes drove past me three times, waving at me each time. Next time they pulled over, the wife hopped out and said the name of the town I was staying at, then ushered me into the front seat of the Merc and got into the back, and the husband drove off to Ecabat. When we arrived at the main street, both husband and wife got out and shook my hand, and I murdered the Turkish phrase for thank you, then returned to their car and drove off. I watched them get back to the intersection of the highway. This couple went out of their way to make sure I got back safe, without a word of English between them, and with only a handful of words in Turkish from me.

Hanoi, Vietnam-

I walk through an unmarked door between two shopfronts, down a long hallway ending in a family’s living room and then go up a wooden staircase, which dumps me into a cafe. I order the specialty of the house, coffee made with whipped egg instead of milk or cream. I take a seat at one of those typical low and brightly coloured tables so common throughout SE Asia, and drink my coffee while reading Hemingway, knowing I will probably never feel this cool and content for the rest of my life.

Koh Rong Samloen, Cambodia-

When she tapped the ash from her cigarette into the shell-ashtray by my naked toes, while I sung to the song playing on the stereo (you can be addicted to a certain kind of sadness), I realized that this unrequited love I was feeling was not, and should not go anywhere. This was immediately followed by intense self-loathing, and I decided I couldn’t deal with this without getting horribly drunk, or stoned. I did both,. which of course was a terrible idea.

Vang Vieng, Laos-

After a day tubing down the Mekong and drinking an alarming amount of the local beer, and a disturbing number of free shots of the local moonshine, I ended up in one of the most notorious nightclubs in South-east Asia. I ordered two vodka drinks to get my free singlet, turned around to hand one of them to my female companion, discovered she had disappeared. I sculled both, then ordered a beer and tried to find everyone else. When I found them, Gangnam Style began, leading every Korean in the club storming the dancefloor. By the time that finished, I was starting to feel sober, maudlin and out of place, and departed soon after.

Fragments:

Istanbul: If you want me to buy something from your shop, I highly recommend not telling me I am acting like a Jew when I decline. It took me a moment to realize you were insulting me.

Amman: Time to pack up and make a move. This is a personal ritual exactly three days younger than my first solo trip. How many rooms have I done this? Item by item turning a room that was my bedroom into just another room. Nothing left of me but some trash to be taken away, my scent on sheets to be washed away, a line in a ledger and a vague memory.

Wadi Rum: Even here, I can’t get away from the shitstain that is Jordan Peterson.

Jeresh: While leaving here, I can’t help but fantasize that I have become a a local legend around here. This strange, solitary westerner, dining by himself, assumed to be an American before a local woman asked a restaurant owner to ask me. An unshaven figure asking at a dozen Samsung shops for a two-metre USB-C cable, before admitting defeat and buying a beer instead to head back to his hostel. A wanderer around the ancient ruins.

Jericho: Me feeling jealous of a cat, being petted by an exquisite Danish woman, who speaks flawless English with a slight Scottish accent, and reads Harry Potter in Arabic.

Ben Guiron Airport: My passport contains pure innocence, but stamps for Indonesia and Turkey were viewed with incredible suspicion when I left Israel. I don’t know what they thought I was up to in the eighteen hours I spent in Istanbul, maybe buying black market plastic explosives?

Various places Jordan and Palestine: The strange thing I noticed is how well traveled, and older my fellow travelers were. No one getting there first stamps on a passport backpacking on their gap year, no one there because it was the cheapest flights to the cheapest beer. It didn’t mean every interaction was great, but it certainly made for many interesting discussions.

Jeresh: One of the idiosyncrasies of Jordan was on non-tourist buses, local women could not sit next to men not of their families. This led to meaningful looks, a face-saving offer of giving up my seat, fare refunds, and me still not sitting next to a Jordanian woman with unlikely red hair peaking out from her headscarf, and flashing dark eyes. But that was never going to happen anyway, I only mention it so someone else knows about it. Did keep everyone happy however, and proved myself to be a reasonable member of the bus riding community.