I pulled this bike from a dumpster over two years ago. Very versatile and likely to outlive me. Everyone could and probably should do the same.
Sent from my iPhoneThursday, June 16, 2011
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
You should read this, and every other Unconfirmed Reports post...
via Unconfirmed Reports by John Mansfield on 6/11/11
[all names changed but one]
I came back from a visit to Adelaide bearing gifts. David had requested a Carlton football guernsey, to which I said okay. After a pause he asked if I could bring him a coat too, I said maybe; then he asked if I could also get him some football boots, I said maybe again, and after another pause he asked if I could also get him a dick pump. I said really? He said yes, for fucking, and made a demonstrative gesture.
To show my goodwill, I met one of his requests, but no it wasn’t the pump.
Nathan had requested a washing machine, but that didn’t fit in my backpack; Mark had requested a “wooden flute”, so I got him a recorder, which I hope is what he meant.
My relationship to people has now become, effectively, monetized. David immediatley went around the camp showing off his new guernsey, so now I am inundated with requests for consumer goods, but it’s okay, I don’t mind saying no. In fact I am practicing the local custom of saying yes to everything, by which I usually mean no.
When I say that I am now more closely accepted by the Evil Warriors mob than before, you would be justified in taking this with a pinch of cynicism - “Yeah, I bet they accept you now that you’re handing stuff out.”
But there is a bit more to it than that. One of the main things that binds together close-knit groups like the EW is the movement of goods and resources around the community. People demand and supply things to confirm their connectedness; if anything, I am wondering if I should start playing the other side of the game too, by walking round the EW camp asking people for money. But I suspect that my requests for help with language are already seen as a form of begging.
After we finished playing football one evening this week, a couple of the EW guys - David and Craig - asked if they could come back to my house, “to rest a while”. I said okay, and when we got there I made them tea and got out some biscuits. I was aware that the whole thing was partially because they were trying to collect together $50 for a bag of ganja, and the visit to my house was an elaborate introduction to a money request… but like I said, I’m getting good at saying no, and I think there was also genuine curiosity to see where the whitefella lives.
Even my shipping container compares pretty well to the houses where the EW mob live, and they were clearly fascinated by the amount of stuff I have lying around. David toured the place, looking at things, and in many cases asking me if he could have them. I let him have a football and a carton of juice, but not my computer or my new boots I just bought in Adelaide.
I have a local map on the wall, covering about a 50km radius around the estuary in which Wadeye is located. David stood looking at this, and asked me to point out Adelaide for him. I tried to explain that Adelaide was far off the map.
We watched football for a while on the TV, and my visitors seemed to quite enjoy being there, perhaps glad to get away from the stresses of family. For some reason they were worried though about my neighbour coming home and seeing them - maybe they felt they weren’t supposed to be there? My nextdoor neighbour is another whitefella, who works on the council. His name is Dicko, and it’s hard to forget it, because his ute is always sitting there outside my door with the numberplate on it, DICKO.
After a while my visitors said they had to go out and “keep looking”. That means, they were still only up to $15, and had a lot of requesting still to go before they could get that grass. I believe that guys like them spend a large amount of their time on this activity; payday (doleday) is probably the only time they have $50 independently, so on all the other days they gather it together by touring their friends and relatives. $50 buys a pretty miserable quantity, just enough for a couple of joints, which David and Craig say they rely on get to sleep.
There doesn’t seem to be anything secretive about the marijuana business here. I soon learnt the local words for it, so I recognise when people shout trade information to each other, openly in the street. And I’ve been told more than once that _____ is a big dealer, so apparently that’s an open secret too. He even drives around flamboyantly in a moderately flashy truck. It makes the whole “community against ganja” thing, the big sign in your face as you land at the airstrip, saying “Ganja is not welcome here,” seem pointless and hypocritical. If I’ve found out this quick, I assume that every Aboriginal adult in town knows all about it.
Maybe they should just sell it at the shop, and at least let the proceeds go to community funds, rather than somebody’s flash truck. Or maybe not. I can’t pretend I know how to untie all the bizarre contradictions and hypocrisies of this town.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Tornado hits Massachusetts
And I heard about it on @twitter. Watched it on the smallest screen in the house.
Sent from my iPhone
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