Source: Grist weekly digest 23 November 2004

ON YOUR MARK, GET SET, KYOTO!

Kyoto gets a kick-off date

After nearly seven years of doubt and often rancorous debate, the Kyoto Protocol has an official start date: Feb. 16, 2005, at which point the treaty will become binding. The 90-day countdown period began last week, thanks to the handover of official documents from Russia to the U.N. at a ceremony in Nairobi, declaring its ratification. Only four industrialized countries now remain outside the treaty: the U.S., Australia, and global powerhouses Liechtenstein and Monaco. The U.S. bailed on the treaty shortly after George W. Bush came to office in 2001, claiming it represented too great a burden on the economy, and that it was unfair, imposing specific targets only on developed countries and not on rapidly developing (and polluting) countries like China and India. Despite U.S. intransigence, many U.S. companies are pushing to meet Kyoto targets anyway, leery of losing their ability to operate factories in signatory countries.

Straight to the source at Terra Daily, Agence France-Presse, 18 Nov 2004

You know what makes it all worthwhile?

When you steal students from other teachers.

It’s not competitive, really, but how can I not feel a bit satisfied when students attend my class to make up a missed lesson and decide to stay?

“Okay everyone! I worked you hard today — good job! I’ll see you all next week. New people, come talk to me before you leave.”

(People mingle, gather up their jumpers and drink bottles. “Bye Joan! Bye Joan!”)

“So, how did you find it?”

“Yeah, it was good!”

“I really like the music.”

“Good, good. What about the pace? Was it too fast? Too slow?”

“It was about right. A bit fast in parts.”

“Don’t worry, after a few lessons, your brain will adapt and you’ll start absorbing moves much better. It’s part of the dance training. In the mean time, I’ll slow down a little. How’s that?”

Nods.

“What about you two? You’re not beginners. I’ve seen you in Monica’s class before. How was that compared to Monica?”

“Waay better!”

“Yeah, I liked it a lot.”

“It’s because I don’t make you do sit-ups, right? I’ve heard about her sit-ups.”

Laughs.

“We’ll be back next week, definitely. Seeya Joan!”

“Bye, guys!”

*soft snicker*

There were five of us in the car, on our way to a party. It seemed like a good time to introduce a groundbreaking social theory.

The vast generalisation was this.

In general, women experience more guilt than men. They feel guilty about breaking rules, neglecting duties, disloyal thoughts… Men don’t usually suffer in this way. Any feelings of disquiet and self-disgust are fleeting.

Women will share their guilt and commiserate with each other. In this way, guilt is passed on like hot potatoes (or neutrons from uranium-235). Eventually, the guilt is passed to a man and he will absorb it. Hooray, the chain reaction has been halted!

Conclusion: Men are the control rods of society. Without them, society will dissolve into a blubbering mass of guilt and self-recrimination.

Blogging during holidays is much more difficult than I expected — too many parties and dance events are cramping my style

Yesterday, I danced almost non-stop at a Christmas dance social. It was very, very fun. The quality of leads (male dancers usually, not always) makes me feel like a kid in a candy store (oh dear, am I going to regret writing that?) The only downer was I didn’t road test my skirt before going out dancing. It flew up too high so I had to hold back on my favourite swing spins. I’m not an exhibitionist! Not that type, anyway.

At midnight, we showed up at a 21st party. Good food, good company. I recoiled at my first taste of whisky. It was awful.

At 3 AM, I tugged on Damjan and asked to go home (thanks for driving, James). I was worried because I had to teach piano at 9 AM then dance all day at a competition. I am non-functional on less than six hours of sleep.

It’s worked out all right, though. This morning as I was eating breakfast, my piano student’s mum called and cancelled the lesson.

“Sorry for the very late notice, Joan. Joanne’s just woken up with gastroenteritis. I don’t think we can have our lesson today.”

“That’s okay.” I could barely contain my excitement. I happily slurped up my muesli and went back to bed.

Today, the company I will be working for next year held an introduction session for its graduate employees. There were 25 of us, chosen from more than 500 applicants. I felt pretty special.

It is an international engineering consultancy based in Australia and wholly owned by its employees. Sustainable development is incorporated in its core work. The people are intelligent, good-humoured and friendly. The work environment is bright, modern and open. We employees get paid to do interesting, varied and important work. For example, the company does environmental clean-up in the Pacific Islands. It developed a transportation strategy for Beijing. It did the groundwork for the Melbourne Commonwealth Games Village. It is contributing to the architectural redevelopment of Melbourne University. Hey, while I was working there last summer I wrote the first draft of Western Australia’s new environmental risk assessment policy! It’s exciting being part of something big like this.

I can’t imagine anything better, really. I feel very lucky to have this job.

I’m even luckier because I get another two months holiday before I start work

Yesterday, the whole family was helping my brother finalise his packing. Three months of supplies had to fit into two suitcases.

“I think that’s it,” Jason said finally as we zipped up the big bag.

“Let’s see how much it weighs.” Dad went to the bathroom to get the scales. We watched as the dial swung wildly, then slowly oscillated to a stop.

“27 kilograms,” I reported. “Jason, what’s the weight limit?”

“30 kilograms,” he said, his eyes still on the dial. He had an odd look on his face. Abruptly, he left the room. I looked at dad. Where was he going?

Jason came back carrying his little blanket. “I’m taking Blankie,” he announced.

Mum gasped. “Don’t be silly! Everyone will laugh at you!” He shrugged, unzipped the bag again and carefully folded the well-worn blanket on top of his suit.

“Jason, it’s more dangerous to take Blankie overseas than to leave it here,” I warned.

“I know,” he said patiently. “But I want it there when I’m in San Francisco.” He sounded quite determined. This was the little blanket that I had used when I was a baby. Jason inherited it when he was born and it has been with him almost every night since.

When the bag was secured, only the barest bulge at the side hinted at its precious cargo. We all stood back and nodded in satisfaction. It was done.

My brother Jason has started a blog to record his adventures as a computer science intern in San Francisco. You can find it at http://jaseko.blogspot.com.

I just saw an odd thing. I came home late. The streets were dark and still. Suddenly, there was a middle-aged tubby man running uphill past our court. It was not a jogging pace — he was running like his life depended on it. We live on a fairly extreme sort of hill. It’s not a hill that you can recreationally sprint up.

I waited, expecting him to be followed by knife-wielding bandits. But nothing.

“Joan, can I ask you something?”

“Sure, Megan.”

“Could we use your house on Sunday? I’d like to organise a picnic, then afterward gather at your house so we can dance in your big rumpus room.”

(long pause)

(cautiously) “Um… Am I invited?”

(incredulously) “Of course!” (like, duh)

(phew!) “Okay then!”

There is a huge park near my house. It has rolling grass hills, trees, a lake, well-maintained walking and riding tracks, picnic tables, barbecues, and is home to all sorts of wildlife. It’s a perfect place for a picnic on a sunny Sunday afternoon. In high spirits, the five of us piled into Vera’s car and drove to the park.

As we drove through the park entrance, we laughed because the gate was plastered with signs — “Tiger’s 8th birthday picnic this way” and so on. We trundled along towards the carpark and were amazed at the number of people who had set up camp. Some of the picnics looked like full military operations, with specialist chairs and regulation-issue picnic rugs. Smoke rose from dozens of barbecues dotting the landscape.

“I’ve never seen the park so full before!”

“Will we find a space?”

“Don’t worry this park is huge. We’ll drive a bit further.”

We drove by another picnic, another BBQ, a group of kids playing frisbee, three people racing each other on scooters, a cricket game, a soccer match, a massive white marquee, a jumping castle…

“SHEESH, this is ridiculous! It’s not even like this during Carols by Candlelight!”

Unbelievably, the further into the park we drove, the more crowded it became. Cars overflowed the marked parking spaces and were double parked. There was no way we could find a space.

“What are we going to do?”

We looked at each other helplessly.

“Give me the map,” I said finally. “It’s time to randomly find another park.”

Ten minutes later, we found ourselves picnicking on the perfectly manicured lawns at the art gallery. The people sipping cappuccinos in the gallery cafe probably thought we were weird.

Haha, tough luck you artsy people. You don’t get no wontons.

On November 1st, I wrote a short story on this blog called ‘Taking it for granted‘. It was about an unnamed woman in the middle of perhaps dying in a car accident. Between moments, though, she is transported into a blank world and someone we might assume to be God winds back the clock for her.

The crux of the story is this: Everyone has three chances to hit CTRL-Z on their life. If you wish for it passionately enough, then you appear before God (or someone I imagine is like the Architect from The Matrix) and he gives you a choice. “Do you want to use one of your lifelines to undo this episode of your life?”

Whatever you decide, all memory of this decision is wiped. You continue your life, oblivious, taking for granted all the goodness that you had almost lost. However, the memories return the next time your desperation drives you before God. You end up with a catalogue of situations that show very clearly what you consider to be important in your life. The irony is, of course, that back in your earthly existence you have no opportunity to use this incredible self-understanding.

The most boggling thing to contemplate is, “How would you use your lifelines if you knew you only had three?” So you say something devastating and hurtful to your friend. Would you take it back? You accidentally set the house on fire. Would you take it back? You lose your mother’s most beloved heirloom necklace. Would you take it back? Someone discovers that you cheated in your Year 12 exam. Would you take it back?

In my story, the woman chose to use her lifelines on her career dreams, love and survival. Those are the most important things I can think of. But even then, unless you were dying, how could you be sure? Is he the one for you? Maybe you were never meant to be a doctor.

And then to die, go to Heaven (or wherever) and realise that you didn’t use any of your lifelines because you had held onto them too tightly. Or to spend your last one, burdened with the realisation that you had squandered the other two.

Well. That’s a lot of philosophy to pack into a 213 word story. The story is not as random as you may think. I’ve been telling myself this story for about three years. I tell it every time I feel like something terrible has happened. Three years ago, I was in a car accident. I was extremely shaken and upset, angry that I had lost my car, angry at my stupidity. People say, “It could have been worse.” Maybe it was. Maybe until I used up one of my lifelines, the accident had left me a quadriplegic. And maybe it was important enough for me to use one of my precious chances. I remind myself not to take my good life for granted.