The Rational Argument for Gay Marriage: a guest appearance

It's something I, and most of the people I know, feel strongly about: gay marriage. Given a platform and an opportunity, I am more than likely to proselytize at length about the injustice done to the LGBT community by disallowing them basic rights granted to the more heteronormative segment of society, but in this case I am going to hand over the soapbox and let the very convincing Kurt Everard lay out his argument in what are, as always, the most rational of terms.

Australia’s current legislation regarding same-sex marriage is irrational in my opinion but furthermore it’s bigotry and without a doubt impedes the human rights of a law abiding, tax paying group in our society. Australia is definitely falling behind the eight ball in this area of politics as countries like Portugal, Mexico and Argentina have legalised same-sex marriage within the past few months. Recent statistics have demonstrated that around sixty percent of Australia citizens would like to see homosexuals be given the right to marry. There are many confusing questions I feel on the matter of same-sex marriage in Australia today and coming to a conclusion is definitely not easy.

The hardest fact to consider with these new countries is that Portugal, Mexico and Argentina are very well known Catholic countries. More often than not, it appears that the biggest argument against homosexual marriage being legalised is often fuelled by using religion as an excuse. Since according to the bible, homosexuality is not “natural,” most religious figures condemn it as it would mean breaking the sanctity of marriage. Within an Australian context Tony Abbott is opposed to legalising it and it doesn’t seem coincidental that he once tried to be a priest and is an outgoing Catholic. The hypocrisy is blatant in that Christianity and in fact all key religions stress equality, rights, respect and love for all of God’s children yet homosexuals are left out. Society, in general has the belief that religion has no place in politics and it should be governed by logic and reason rather than personal vendettas against a group that their religion targets. This is not the first time that his religious beliefs apparently haven’t had an influence on his policies. During his stint as Health Minister he cut the RU486 drug (used for abortion without a medical procedure) from Australia’s usage as it apparently had more adverse effects which according to the Australian Medical Association was only banned for political reasons and not due to the apparent heightened danger of the drug.

The Greens maintain a pro gay marriage stance and follows the pattern as they don’t claim or express any religious views or intentions. The pattern is broken with Julia Gillard, who has stated that she has no religious beliefs yet has the view that the rejects gay marriage. It’s unclear why she apposes an amendment but common belief may lead us to believe that she assumes that’s what we all want. This thought pattern couldn’t be more incorrect with studies demonstrating that at least 60% (Australian Marriage Equality Survey, 2009) of Australian’s would like to see same-sex marriage included in the Marriage Act. The fact is Labor and Liberal are both trying to do what they see is best for the country but reject common opinion which highlights that our leaders have too much personal opinion ruling their parties policy. I find it hard to side with either Labor or Liberal as they both completely reject the public’s opinion on the matter which is not governing Australia how the majority wants regarding this topic. It’s hard to understand why devout Catholic countries like Spain and Portugal have legalised same-sex marriage but an apparent secular and more open-minded country cannot reverse the wrongs of the past in which Australia continues to govern in a way that can be likened the times well before the 21st century on the matter. There is a positive move being made fortunately. It seems that the Greens will be exercising their new power in the Senate by attempting to put pressure on Labor to put a same-sex marriage bill through. As a result of the recent election the Greens will hold more power than ever before and if the Labor wants their continued support, they may have to subside and introduce this bill.

As can be seen above, it remains to be seen how our political elites came to their decision but one thing for certain, not allowing homosexuals the right to marry is a stringent violation of their human rights. Article 26 of the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights stresses that all people are to be given equal rights and protection under law and no group regardless of any mental or physical factor will be discriminated against under law. The fact that an entire group is not being entitled with such a fundamental right such as marriage is obviously an infringement as high as International Law. Our country evidently supports the United Nations in their bid to attempt to maintain human rights around the world as far as it is possible so why must we completely disregard a group that pays their taxes, has no higher criminal rate and really have no threat or negative on our country?

Marriage entitles couples to countless collective benefits, which obviously homosexuals can’t obtain. Some notable entitlements are joint tax returns, health benefits and rights as a result of a partner’s death. I feel Australia must take a stepforward from the outdated 19th century definition of marriage that it is the union of one man and one woman and thereis no variation. I can’t understand how anyone cannot rationally come to a conclusion that excluding an entire group from the courtship can’t be justified morally in any way. One last question that remains to be answered is how will society be hurtif homosexuals are given the right to marry? The simple answer is that society wouldn’t be hindered at all and most likely made richer if only our leaders would follow the Greens lead and end discrimination of homosexuals. They must not only take an open-minded look at it but also have to consider public opinion where it shows that a majority want same-sexmarriage. We must take a step forward and attempt to step into the 21st century on the topic.

http://www.dailytelegraph.com.au/news/australian-marriage-equality-survey-shows-60-per-cent- support-gay-marriage/story-e6freuy9-1225736262110

Kurt is a young, white, straight, Australian man, who is consistently remarkable in his simultaneous adoration for sportz and carz and his undeterrable championing of justice and equality. 

JETSETTING

I finished up at my sweet office job yesterday. I lied when I said I was going to talk about offys polityx; there aren't any. Everyone was genuinely sweet, funny, generous with the biscuits and pleasantly left-leaning, politically. It was a good six weeks.

IN OTHER NEWS: I'm pissing off to Japan in a fortnight, and I'll be there for about a year. Take THAT, mostly-wasted language major! I'll get my money's worth outta you yet... But anyway! In honour of the occasion, I've started a "travel blog" or whatever, called Watakushi Wa. There is a single post up there but since I'm not actually travelling yet it might be a while before it gets off the ground and I have no moral qualms about cross-posting to both of my word-vomit recepticles so BE WARNED.

(May I take this moment to point out that yes, Wordpress is infinitely better & easier to use than Blogger. Sorry. It's true. Not giving up this URL though.)

This leaving thing is starting to get Real, man. Two weeks is a very graspable amount of time, and yet the fact that I am actually leaving the town I've lived in for three years and the country I've lived in for (a cumulative) ten still hasn't really sunk in. There is a distant sense of terror that clutches at me sometimes--a sense that yes, this is happening, you are flinging yourself into the great unknown, all alone, you foolish, foolish creature. Have I mentioned that all the Japanese I've learned over the last two and a bit years has completely leaked out of my head? It took me about ten minutes to piece together a sentence that MIGHT have approached "I am interested in Japanese culture, so I am going to Japan next month." Maybe.

So the thought of travelling alone with minimal language skills is a little daunting. And I will be travelling alone for a bit, rather than jumping straight into uni life: I'm going to Furano, in Hokkaido, the northernmost island of Japan, in order to escape the stifling August heat in Tokyo and also to roll around in their famous flowers, preferably with a local gentleman. Which is of course, very exciting and I am very much looking forward to it, but oh holy jesus, I've never done anything like this before, and what if I fail completely? What if my parents receive a tear-filled phone call 48 hours after arrival and have to deal with me being very sure that I hate Japan, everyone is awful and I need to come home immediately?

Not only will it be a waste of time and money, it will be EMBARRASSING. I have hyped this trip up so much, to myself and to anyone who will allow their ear to be talked off, that if it fails I will probably have to ritual suicide (which seems appropriate).

Jesus Christ. I'm going on this amazing overseas adventure, I have a scholarship to make things easy, a place to stay, people I know, and a bright future, and STILL I find things to whinge about. First world problems: I have them.

INSOMNIA

The other night I had a dream.

I found myself in a cavernous building made of dark red brick, that went for many stories above and below the ground. It was latticed with walkways across a huge gallery space in the middle, and dimly lit, with no windows. Everyone there was young, my age, including the people running the joint, except they were all beautiful, charismatic, and cruel.

It took me a while to realise that I was being held in this building against my will, that there was a war and I was on the wrong side. I tried for so long to find a way out, but every time I found a window I was nowhere near the ground floor. Eventually, one night, I found it, and I saw a way out: a long driveway with a grassy median strip leading away into the night.

I ran for it, even though I knew they'd come after me. I thought I could outrun them. But there was a fence: a high chainlink fence topped with barbed wire. I climbed it, wrapped my sweater around my hands and got over the top.

Suddenly it was daytime. They were coming after me, slowly & deliberately, taking their time. They knew I couldn't run away, because there were guards on the roof of the building waiting to shoot anyone they saw running. I lay down in the long grass at the base of the fence, trying to hide. I was on the other side, staring out at this field of freedom, but I knew they'd find me, and be put back inside that dark place.

A little girl found me. She was about four, the only person not between 19 and 25 I'd seen there; the little sister of one of the girls who was in charge. She found me and went to tell her sister, who thanked her and went to tell the others. They had spread out across the field and she wanted help when she brought me back in.

The little girl came back over to look at me. I was still lying in the long grass, the side of my face pressed against the damp earth, smelling the soil. I looked up at the little girl. She was wearing a blue dress. I knew she was my captor's sister, so I told her to run away, and she did. 

She ran away from me across the field, and the guards on the roof shot her in the back. I watched her fall. There was a heavy hollow feeling in my chest, and I thought, Good.

Because that is what you do when you are on the wrong side and you are lost and you have nothing, when you know you're going back into the dark. You take the little triumphs that you can.

WORKING WOMAN

I'll be honest: I spent the better part of last month (a.k.a. "study break") in a haze of drink and drugs. This is partly because I have no self control and partly because I had access to the above drink and drugs, but mostly because I had been in the process of losing my job (this consists of being given one shift per week or fortnight because my unavailabilities are "difficult").

HOWEVAH! Recently, all this has changed! My boozin' and tokin' and whorin' and dancin' 'til four in the morning on a Tuesday have had to step aside to make way for my

ILLUSTRIOUS CORPORATE CAREER

That's right suckas! This bitch has a Monday-to-Friday, 8:30am-to-5pm, honest-to-goodness sit-in-a-cubicle Office Job. And let me tell you, after working in retail and hospitality for the last, ooh, five years or so, this shit is cushy as.

I work for a publishing company. My official job title is 'Copyright & Image Researcher', which means I spend a lot of time looking through stock photography sites for images that fit the brief given to me by one fickle editor or another, and obtaining permission to reproduce blah blah blah you don't care. Suffice to say it is actually pretty fun ("You want a picture of a sandwich, you say? Well there can't be too many of thOH MY GOD IT IS A GALAXY OF SANDWICHES.").

My workplace: let me tell you about it.

The general gist of work here is to sit at a desk in front of a computer for eight hours a day, which is good, because that's what I do even when I don't have a job. The only difference is that here I have to mostly look at the stuff I am directed to look at on the internet, rather than gay porn.

We have breaks for morning tea, afternoon tea, and lunch. I am endlessly thrilled by the idea of taking a break from sitting at my desk every two hours in order to go and sit somewhere else. There are unlimited free biscuits and crackers of many and varied flavours, and unlimited tea and coffee, which means I'm averaging five cups and at least three bikkies per day. There is a main kitchen, upstairs and across the breezeway from my cubicle, but there is also something called a Tea Point on my floor, which consists of a kitchenette with a boiling-and-chilled water tap and a fridge, and the ubiquitous ceramic jars of tea (three kinds) and instant coffee. On Friday, the boiling water tap in the Tea Point broke at around 10:50am. By noon, a temporary kettle had been installed, and on Monday it was fixed. Do not underestimate the importance of a functioning Tea Point.

There is no dress code, which of course means I am showing up to work in my fanciest and most put-together outfits while everyone else is wearing jeans and rugby shirts. But fuck that shit. Pearls! Sweater! CORPORATE MODE: ACTIVATE.

Perhaps the most exciting part of my new-found Bysiness Lyfe is the regularly and abundantly stocked full-length stationery cupboard in the copy room (As a side note, I would like to mention how much I love the copy room. I love waiting for the printer to spit out my crisply printed emails for me to staple to my image briefs. I love the hot smell of ink and paper in there, and how warm it always is. I love the recycle bin and the stamps and staplers on the production island. I love the copy room). Anyway: the contents of this cupboard are free and accessible to everyone. For free. Including me. As such, for someone who does all her writing on the computer, I have an absurd amount of stationery on and around my desk. You want a post-it note? Gotcha covered. Mechanical pencil? On it. Care for a fine- OR medium-nibbed pen in red, black, or blue?

And that's just the introduction to the Wonderful World of Corporate Life. UP NEXT: OFFYS POLITYX

ADVENTURES

I live in the biggest room of an old Queenslander, and the door to my room locks automatically when it shuts. I am concerningly obsessive-compulsive about checking that I have my key with me before I leave the room, because I don't have a spare one and the very thought of being without my bed and my bike and all my STUFF is so awful I can't bear to look it in the face.

UNTIL NOW.

Yesterday, I locked my keys in my room. It was about 8:55am. I was sleepy and in a rush to get to uni and--look, don't judge me okay, the point is it happened. I realised as I was shutting the door, and almost as quickly realised that howling "fuuuuuuuuuuuck" wasn't going to open it for me.

So what did this genius do?

Actually, for the next part of the story, you need to hear about the layout of my house. It's built on a steep slope (thanks Paddington), and my window looks down onto the path that goes down this slope to the back yard. The window is maybe four metres off the ground.

Anyway: I once left my keys at a friend's house and managed to climb through my open window with the help of a rusty washing machine-shell (a harrowing experience)--I figured I could manage a repeat performance.

I dragged the first height-boosting apparatus I laid eyes on--our green wheelie-bin--down the path, parked it exceptionally unstably under the window, hoisted my self wobblily (a word) onto it, and looked up at my window. My really, really closed window. So closed. The most closed it has ever been.

That's okay! the plucky, resourceful part of my inner monologue piped up. It's a sash window! Maybe you can jimmy it up a little bit, with one hand on the bottom wooden cross-piece and the other on the glass pa-

CRACK. SMASH. "FUCK!"

You bet your butt-lovin' britches that window fucking broke. Considering it was made sometime during the Cretaceous period (we think) it's remarkable that it even had glass in it; less remarkable, however, that the glass broke into many large pieces, and many, many more microscopic razor-sharp invisible dermis-lacerating grains of what I like to fondly refer to as 'angry sand'.

No no, said the plucky voice - this is a blessing in disguise! You're only a little bit bleeding! And now you can get a good grip on that wooden cross-piece--this window will be up in no time!

Bear in mind that during all this the window-sill is at the level of my wheelie-bin-boosted collarbone. Foolishly giving that plucky little shit a second chance, I removed most of the glass shards and put one hand on this windowsill to steady myself while I tried to lift the (50 kilo) (at least) window-frame.

STAB. "FUCK!"

Of course the window was covered in angry sand. Of course I had to go back inside, remove the razor-dust from my palms, fetch the brush from the dustpan, grouchily re-position the wheelie bin, and sweep the sill of its spiteful, sparkly freeloaders. Of course things were about to get worse.

My house, being a Queenslander, has a semi-open basement in the area otherwise occupied by the stilts required to keep it steadfastly level on the wild slopes of Paddington. On my side of the house, this basement is enclosed by a sort of picket-fence-style set up: evenly-spaced slats of wood set against horizontal beams, and stopping just short of where the house itself starts. And a damn good job they do, because in that little space is where I wedged one sneakered foot to boost me a little higher as I gained purchase on the bottom of the now-empty window frame.

As I wriggled my grip, testing the weight of the window (still 50 kilos), my toes already being pinched numb in the picket-fence-gap, my original support, my companion from the start, my stalwart booster wheelie-bin, turned betrayer and fell the fuck over.

Maybe the pressure of supporting my in my struggle against injustice was too much for him. Maybe he was never suited for the treacherous terrain of the inner-Western suburbs. Maybe I'd just readjusted his position carelessly (unlikely). Whatever the reason, there I was, dangling from the bottom of an empty window-frame and one sneaker, a solid stream of swears issuing from my fear-distorted lips.

"aaaaaaaaaAAAAAHHH FUCKSHITTINGSHITBALLSARSEFUCKINGBITCHFUCK!"

Don't panic! yelled the plucky voice (that fucker). Don't panic! It's going to be fine! Just--get your other foot up on a foothold--okay--you're stable (all the while I'm thinking theframeisgoingtobreakthewindowframeisgoingtofuckingbreak)--now just, lift it up--

And I did. I like to think the same kind of survival mechanism that allows women to lift cars off their children allowed me to save my skinny arse from certain disfigurement and injury. I lifted that fucking window enough for me to fling myself forward through it in a maneouvre that even now I find difficult to comprehend. Even more impressive is that I managed to wriggle through, cursing at the top of my lungs the whole time ("MOTHERFUCKINGARSESHITCUNTPIECEOFCOCKSUCKINGCUNTSHITTER") as the window frame was attempting to crush me with its ever-increasing weight.

Nevertheless. I did. I She-Hulked-up and got myself through that colossal squeeze--I can only imagine how ridiculous it would have been from the street: a pair of legs flailing in a sort of buttefly/breaststroke hybrid, accompanied by muffled swearing--ending up on my glass-covered desk, triumphant, feet out the window, breathing heavily and still cussing at the top of my lungs. My housemate didn't even wake up.

Anyway, I got my fucking keys and got to uni and now my window has a massive hole in it and I'm cold.

THE END.

BRISBANE: A PHOTO DIARY

Lolz not really. This is just some ridic shit I've been seeing around "the Bris" and meaning to sully the good name of the internet with for some time.

This was the emergency procedures sign in my friend's apartment block. More like emergency PARTY-cedures, am I right, guys?

WHOOP WHOOP

This dude held the toilet paper in the hideous filth-dungeon of a basement toilet at my previous place of employment. What has been seen, etc.

JUSTICE, ROBIN BOWLES! Justissssss

This was in the window of a beauty salon on Adelaide St.

Necessary.

DRUNK BUELLER'S NIGHT OFF or some shit I dunno

So! Due to an exponentially growing laundry pile and a sense of self-esteem that plummets without company, I dressed like Ferris Bueller tonight and went out! Solo! To a "thing" called Lambda Lambda Lambda!

YOU GUYS. THIS FERRIS BUELLER THING IS FOR REAL.

Pegged high-waisted jeans + bomber jacket + 80s hair + sneakers = best night--or bestest night ever?! I am still drunk BUT I can remember the following which I pray to sweet Jebus Christmas I never forget:

1. Finding $50 on the dance floor while krumping to Salt n Pepa
2. Immediately making new friends and buying EEEEVERYONE DRINKS!
3. Ruling the d-floor (RULING IT)
4. Asking two (2) boys if they were straight (yes! on both accounts)
5. Telling one of them that "we should be making out"
6. Making out!!
7. Being asked if I was a lesbian
8. Getting 2 and a half slices of pizza for $7 of not-my-money
9. Did I mention the krumping to Salt n Pepa
10. I didn't smoke!!
11. A bottle fell out of a bin onto my head! I got bottled! By a held-aloft bin! (I didn't bleed, disappointingly.)
12. DID I MENTION I AM DRESSED LIKE FERRIS BUELLER

It is a charmed outfit. I am never getting out of it. So help my drunk ass I am sleeping showering and doing it in this outfit as long as I live because it is LUCKY and I am DRUNK and GOODNIGHT


P.S. Pics to come tomorrow when I can decipher this "bluetooth" thing oh jesus why is it so hard

P.P.S. PLEASE NOTE MY AMAZING SPELLING WHILE DRUNK (I shoulda breathalysed myself at New York Slice just to prove my point. Just take my word for it. My boozy, boozy word.)

ETA: Do you know how difficult it is to take a photo of everything you're wearing with your phone camera? THIS DIFFICULT:

Ahhhhh my fucking elbow what the what