No + no + no = yes to the no.

Plebiscite or no plebiscite gets a little no + no = yes. So is no+no+no=no?

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Princess Highway was heavy this morning and required more than my concentration when Tony Abbot came on the radio with his 3 Nos.

“If you don’t like same-sex marriage vote ‘no’, if you’re worried about religious freedom and freedom of speech vote no, if you don’t like political correctness vote ‘no”

There’s a few nos, I thought, but put my thought aside. My 7 y.o queried, “Is he saying don’t vote yes?” I wasn’t prepared for this. “Er…., kinda,” was the only thing came to my rescue. “Ok,” she sounded satisfied and continued sucking her right middle and pointy fingers. Don’t tell me she’ll ask me what plebiscite is and what it is for, my head started to hope, quietly. What’s all this racket about anyway.  My mind wondered a bit. Stop wondering. We have driving to do. My youngest daughter’s flue vaccine waiting at the clinic and I’ve only got 15 mins before we get there. With this traffic I’ll be lucky to get there in 25 mins. Focus, mum, focus. Political correctness can be grey and risky. Right now, safety first.

Politics has never been my strength. I only listen to politicians because they can be funnier than comedians and some of their acts are better than actors’ and actresses’ who win at BAFTA and Oscar. I don’t even know if the word is singular or plural and thanks to Google, I was told that it depends on the context of the sentence. Precisely, on the money. Politics and its (their?) context brings me to my daughter’s enquiry. No + no + no = Yes to the no, right? It depends, I heard my head reasons. I’m terrible at Logics. That’s why I’m not a philosopher. I’m a mum, for goodness’ sakes! If it’s safe for the kids, that must be the right option. Safety always comes next. When it comes to Plebiscite or no plebiscite, leave it to the comedians. Politicians, I mean. Right now, let me focus on the traffic. Safety first.

Leaping to the evening. After dinner and all the cleaning and scrubbing that always accompanies it, I quickly grabbed my laptop. My 11 yo son came out of the shower and enquired, “What are you writing about?” as he leaned forward to catch a few words on my screen, I turned and responded. “Nothing.” Yeah, right.

He caught a glimpse of my title.  “No plus no plus no equals yes to no.”

Before I could say anything he prompted ,’Oh, it’s like what Nana says, ‘two wrongs don’t make it right’. “Right?” “Er,… kinda.” I responded slowly. “minus plus minus equals plus in maths, right?” I continued, hopelessly. “So, no plus no plus no equals yes to no.” I continued, trying to convince myself that I was doing alright with this maths and politics. “Or, is it no to yes.” My head started to make no sense.

My eyes locked in his. His squeaky clean skin glimmered. The lavender shower gel scent lingered, his untidy shovelled hair told me it was time for a haircut. I don’t think Tony Abbot needs a haircut like my son but he needs to use less Nos. Not on the radio where my daughter could catch his No phrases and now I have to explain what it all means.

Back to my equation. “Now that could mean negative.” I explained further. My brain started to hurt. Why on earth did I bring maths into the equation, my teaching instinct should give a better kick.

“I get it,” he said and walked away towards his room dragging the ginormous towel behind. Where to go, mum. Politics and maths equals brain-ache.

“What is plebiscite?” He continued the query from his room. I started to regret the maths bit and I am not a polie and my philosophical horizon goes only as far as Aristotle was Greek but many of his texts were in Latin. I explained as best as I could. Not making sense. Clearly, I am not a good polie. That’s why it took me a while to explain. Not sure if I got it right, he seemed happy enough with my google type of answer.

Another happy costumer, I thought.

“But why do we need to vote?” , his voice came clear from his bedroom.

My Lord! I thought it’s the end of the line of enquiry!

“Well, the politicians often cant make up their mind so the plebiscite arguments have to go further”. My attempt to end this conversation is getting closer to a frustration. “People then have to vote on a referendum.” My voice sounded less convincing.  I thought that was enough of an answer.

“But, what if I don’t want to vote?” He hasn’t given up yet. I should’ve referred him to google search.

“Well, you can decide that but because we live in a democratic country you need to vote otherwise you may get fined.”

Ooops ! I realised that I had just opened a can of worms.

“You can’t force me to vote, surely.” He started another inquiry.

“It’s getting late.” Time for bed. School tomorrow. Time to call it quit, son. Call it a day. For today. Politics is not safe and not my strength. Night, night.

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Numericalogy

In the world of Neologism, your imagination should go wild. Really. But more on this, later.

Sheakspear’s contribution to the richness of English words is well established. More on this later, too.

My daughter are turned 10 and 7 while my father-in-law hit 73 this year. My mother-in-law who always connects numerals to just about anything (Yes, she has an attraction to Numerology. She can’t help it) decided to get three seven candles and two 3’s. You do the calculation. The whole dinner conversation was dominated by ‘numericalogy’ this evening. My youngest turned 7 at the end of July followed by her Pa’s the next day then her big sister 8 days after. The house is filled with counting sevens and threes.

It is probably a good idea. Counting sevens and threes, that is. Many of you treat maths like a second language but I was a late learner in this worlds of numbers. When I was 6 I only started to learn additions and, like me back then, my youngest is only getting a grip of additions. Below two digits is fine with her but not more. That’s where my (to be) 10 yo came in handy. As the  mathematician in the family, it’s a breeze for her to help her little sister understand what my mother-in-law did with the candles and why.

However, that’s not the reason why I wanted to write this.

Alzheimer. Yes,  Alzheimer, with all the variants of it.

It’s the very thing that robs my father-in-law.

He was a teacher at a technical school or college in Melbourne’s West before retiring and decided to spend more time fixing and fiddling with boats, yachts and all. He loved the sea. He loved sailing and stuff to do with Seaman. He used to lecture me on navigation. For hours.  So as not to be rude, I’d seat and listen. Little did I know that I actually learned some stuff. Well, not that I can sail or anything but at least, my kids got to join the Tackers in Williamstown and St Leonards. Little sailers they are.

My father-in-law was also good at words. A friend from Indonesia used to live with us during her time doing Masters at Melbourne Uni. She was studying Urban Planning but since she was an architect herself, the course was a pretty much HD all the way. But, her fascination was not really in her course (it was probably too easy for her!). Rather, she was fascinated by my father-in-law’s wits and creativity in Neologism. He invented words. A lot of words. My friend even had a little notebook on it. Visiting my in-laws back then was always a delight to her. She learned quite a few new vocabularies from my father-in-law and her lecturer used to be pleasantly surprised by her neologism.

I’ll list some words I learned from my father-in-law in a minute but what I wanted to write more is about the sad fact that Alzheimer has stolen so much of it, so much of a lot of things. And you know what that means. Her frontal lobe has mix wiring going on. He forgets our names, but that’s not all. He’s starting to forget his wife’s name. Now, that’s sad. Maybe not sad for him since he simply can’t remember things, but even sadder for his wife. She’s been loosing her marbles. She’s getting, what I would say, depressed. Actually, it’s a little worse than that. More on this later. For now, I need to jump in the shower. My brain needs it.

Book Booze

I have helped few people editing their books, thesis, essays and my favorite writing genres are little kiddies. Imaginations, imaginations are simply the key to be creative. My kids are living proofs. I need to go through my piles of papers and drawings on the dining table and kitchen bench first before I transport them here. So, for now, here’s one example of a book a dear friend, Tengku Halimah Salim, asked me to chip in with ideas. Memoirs of Turtle Land. It depicts the fast changing natural landscapes of Trengganu. The controversy over the cover picture puzzled me a bit. (Malaysia’s censorship policy can get rather over the edge, sometimes. I might get a fine to say this. Will I?) Turtles are diminishing. There are rare commodity now (Thank GOD!!!) and almost nowhere to be found. So we do need to encourage the new breeding colonies. Don’t you think cover image translate this wish?

Turtleland

Memories of Turtle Land

Here’s a kinda book review:

http://www.ideas.org.my/memories-of-turtle-land/

Here’s the royal launch:

http://www.thestar.com.my/news/community/2014/05/30/launch-of-a-royal-memoir-book-delves-into-authors-childhood-days-and-traditional-upbringing-in-a-pal/

And here’s the ad if you decide to buy it. I can assure that I don’t get percentage of this but maybe I get a shout for a cuppa from Tengku Halima:

https://www.bookdepository.com/Memories-of-Turtle-Land-Tengku-Halimah/9781482890136?ref=grid-view&qid=1501203881160&sr=1-1

Book Clubbers

Copyright and Social Media

How important is copyright in Social Media? You’ve written, drawn, built and made very creative stuff but is your intellectual property is really yours after you post it and show it off to the world? This page is for you.

How important is copyright in Social Media? You’ve written, drawn, built and made very  creative stuff but is the fruit of your “intellectual property” really yours still after you post it and show it off to the world? If you’re not sure like I was, then this page is for you. 

In my other page I discussed how important it is to safeguard our privacy in this world, full of webs. The ‘spiders’ are too smart in stealing it and my protection gets out of dated very quickly. In this page arachnophobic people are safe, for a few second. No spiders. Just yet. Yeah, I’m sure they’re creeping in right now. The spiders are stealing away our privacy and maybe they’re stealing away our copyright, too.

Frankly, my lever of concern is low regarding the big fat © symbol (‘fat’, really?!) since, personally, I have very little to protect in the world of intellectuality.  I didn’t even know how to enlarge that © symbol. It’s a struggle to read my solicitors’ invoices, let alone anything on writing a book, a song lyric (Hey! I do have plenty of non-sensical songs for my kids! ), a music tune, an architectural 4D drawing (huh?!) or a logo construction for display (I’m good at destroying them!)  So, I don’t think you’ll see my name next to a © symbol anytime soon. But many of  you do. Many of you, creative and clever people have created lots of things. A friend of mine has written 2 books and my brother in law has written few songs on refugees. My mother in law knows Leigh Hobbs personally (the author of Old Tom © ), (maybe because they were both from Williamstown), and that is how not-so-close I come to the world of COPYRIGHT. Very remote.

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But Social Media is too much part of us now. (To my displeasure! )

Here, I’ll try to look at copyright issue and social Media. To me, there should be some kind of ownership with the works we do, write, pose, joke about, collect and show off provided that it originated from us of course. Claiming ownership something which belongs to someone else is plain wrong in my book. Not dissimilar to stealing. Well, this is a sample of simple talk I derive from my conversation with my kids regarding C circle. If a piece, an art or something, is not yours, acknowledge it and if you need to borrow it then do so with grace and most importantly tell people who it belongs to. But of course, Copyright law is more than just what my kids and I understand and talk about. But it’s a start.  My kids and I write something laughable, take silly snaps, whistle daft tunes, and my little one comes up with something genuinely hilarious with her ukulele. But if we were to post them on Facebook, they’re no longer ours, right? No! What, again?!

I know, I know. It’s not as simple as mine is mine and yours is yours. Lots of unclear stuff with this C circle and my area of expertise on this issue is next to the size of a peanut. So, we give it to the expert to explain. When I found out that Facebook owns the stuff I put in there I immediately put a break on what i posted and since then I have been trying to delete or remove anything I post online. It’s a slow process for me as slug on this platform of Social Media. Not easy, you know it well. So, let the clever people explain. I’ve put some not so bad articles in this page. Hopefully it has some benefits. As for me, I’ve got to carry my sluggish house on my back and slowly trace more ‘spiders’ on Social Media and the Web.

Margie Anderson suggested us to have a look at how La Trobe University explains the C circle and Social Media. The simple ways it is presented made it easy for my low intellectual mind to digest. It is very useful. So, here’s the snip of it: copyright when we use Social Media, Websites and Blogs.

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Here is some more copyright issues for social Media from Legal zoom

https://www.legalzoCopyright and Social Mediaom.com/articles/copyright-issues-for-social-media

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And this one below is from the US. It put my simple minded head to a spin . I know it’s something to do with ‘intellectual property’. So it’s safe to say that I’m out. My intellectual property might no fly far from our round dinner table. Yes, it has very small dimension. But the following article has few things to say on the Fair Use, Licenses and other Issues.

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Now that you’ve landed here, you might as well read on…

This is my very first post. My lack of time and interest in Social Media with its fast moving trends, I missed lots of bandwagons . So you may say that Margie Anderson, our lecturer at Victoria Uni was to blame for the creation of this blog and since I’ve landed here, I might as well write on.

It was not easy at first to write some stuff which others can view. Sharing my views was not in my repertoire and was not good at it. But one has to start somewhere. It took a while to decide what topics of interests I should be embarked on so why not stick to the subjects I like: Books, gardens, kids, teenagers, libraries, travel and libraries. Libraries fascinate me and I have been to every continents but one. But that’s later.

My detectives.

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Not so much into secret agencies. Leave that curiosity to Trump, his family, his FBI agents and the Russian spies. It’s more like Sherlock Holmes, Hercule Poirot, Miss Marple, Agatha Christies, Sir Conan Doyle, Pink Panther, Tin Tin, Basil of Baker Street, The Hardy Boys, Nancy Drew, or Duffy Duck. Then there’s Inspector incision and the murders of Midsummer, which according to my eldest daughter, shows the decline in the populations of the Midsummer Meadows region. With the population less than 50K (my guess isn’t reliable, but that’s what we call a guess) and murders happening every week, no wonder Mr Barnaby is forever busy. But again, nothing like a fake murder.

Of course, there’s more to the world of solving murders. Bring in the magnifying glasses, hat and of course, tea. Let’s do more for the elementary, dear Watson.

Thankfully, murders were never in my family heirloom though my late grand father would beg to differ. You see, he was a simple man. Not too simple. He was a farmer through and through. He was also a very straight guy. As straight as a die. He was indeed so until the Japs came and destroyed his innocence. First I thought colonisation does that to you but he’d disapprove to this one too. Why you asked?

He was born in 1901, not long before or after Soekarno, the first President of Indonesia. Back then, we didn’t use a birth certificate, my mother reminded us. It was more like, after the third of full moon before the great mansoon, round about the fifth rice harvest of the year. You work it out. Grand father was not involved in politics. Not too much, apparently. He was a humble chief of the village (there’s plenty of politics there, in my opinion but that’s for another time). ‘Humble’ isn’t what I’d call it since he owned lots and lots of forests, lands for rice paddies, candle nut, coconut (not the sorts that clear up the orang utans habitats, oh no!) tamarind trees and other exotic crops which I can’t even remember how to pronounce, as well as tenements. We, the grandchildren took pride in this but it didn’t stay long when my mum’s eldest brother decided to claim a big junks of the inheritance after grand father died. But let’s put family politics to another session.

I have to stick to ‘humble’ grand father since mum prefers it that way. He was related to the aristocracy but decided that the whole air of ‘the king and I’ was of little use to him so Title-ness didn’t attract him. He was always happy to be on his little hut enjoying his self-grown tobacco overlooking his rice paddies accompanied by his dogs. Yes, dogs. He had at least 7 of them. Maybe more. Or maybe just 3. This isn’t a small matter since a lot of Indonesians seem to have a problem with dogs, my brother is one of the sort. It’s more cultural than religious because muslims are allowed to have guard dogs but again, let’s not side track. There were always lots of dogs in grand father’s life as far I could remember. Come to think about it, that’s probably why I’ve always loved dogs. I was bitten by dogs twice and the first one required a little incision at the ER local hospital since the dog was suspected to have Rabies. The funny thing was, the dog disappeared right after the owner found out about my predicament. No, that’s not funny!  The rumour had it that the poor dog ended up in someone’s dinner. Now, that should be against any religion.

The second dog that bit me belonged to a well to do family and the dog was vaccinated so I didn’t have to do anything. The truth is, I never even told my parents about this second dog encounter and I just assumed he was vaccinated so I did got lucky. The sad thing is up to this day, dogs vaccination isn’t mandatory in that side of the world.

Back to grand father and why he lost his innocence. The Dutch took a great pleasure in exploiting his land but that was what he was used to. Being under a dutch colony for three and a half centuries, he knew nothing else. Besides, his lands were all up in the mountains and with little gold or other precious natural resources, the dutch rulers weren’t interested at all. He didn’t mind to part with little piece they took for road building for he was looking into the future and his children should go beyond his mountains, thought he progressively. To him, Dutch were not good at all but he understood very little as to why on earth people from the other side of the world who all seemed to be very rich, having different skin colours and spoke in different tongues would rule his lands. That remained mystery to him and he often shook his head and told us that greed was the only culprit. Imagine, he’d say, they sit in their big beautiful dining tables with expensive plates and cutleries in big huge mansions, yet they came here and where do we sit? On the floor, that’s where we sit. What cutleries do we have? None. Well, we have big spoon to stir the pot. We eat with our hands. Do we have houses with marble floor? No way, we have wooden houses on stilts, and the only marbles we have are the ones for the kids to play with. In sort, those Dutches don’t have any right to be here (Hear! Hear! grandad!).

His wonder grew deeper but he was born with the Dutches being rulers so there was little to what he could do. Would being ruled by his own people be better? He wouldn’t know. He didn’t until the Japs came in 1943. Then, he thought, bring in the bloody Netherlanders, anytime. No! Of course he wanted to be ruled by his own people. But then again, he was the chief of the village and, according to mum and her sister, he was more than contempt with it. Now, what has this got to do with his innocence and murder? All in good times, dear Watson. All in good times.

Let’s call it a day and talk more later. Time to put the little one to sleep.