What Doesn't kill you

First things first, a disclaimer; I am discussing health related issues as they apply to me. I am not a doctor and this information should be used in consultation with your General Practitioner, Gastroenterologist,  or health professional.  

I am writing this blog for the many out there who have dietary and health worries related to their digestive system and may be looking for ways to approach the issue and inform future discussions with health professionals.  The steps outlined can assist in narrowing down problems, and also recording information. I also feel that the dietary additions I have made around fermented foods and additional cultures have assisted my overall health.

My Experience:
A few years ago I got sick. It happened fast, within three weeks of an upset stomach and gastroenteritis symptoms, I was at the emergency department and admitted, dehydrated and worried. I was given 5 litres of saline intravenously and was a patient for two weeks. I spent years on medication and my illness is still defined as ‘undifferentiated colitis’.  As I understand it in simple terms, my system overreacts and treats everything as foreign and to be flushed through the body, seeming to be the equivalent of hay fever for your stomach. In the two years after getting sick I went down two belt buckles, and then up three after putting on weight as a side effect of a steroid drug.    

After two weeks in hospital and starting a regime of drugs, I had a month in bed with reducing symptoms and started seeing a gastroenterologist. I was prescribed Salofaulk, Mercaptopurine, and Prednisone for about 12 months. The year on prednisone was a long one. You sweat at night, your appetite is insatiable, you eat every meal like a maniac who's been lost in the woods for a week and has been dropped into all you can eat restaurant. Prednisone side effects include weight gain and retaining fluids so you get what I like to call the 'Chipmunk fat Elvis' look for a while.   

The key areas of information I thought it was worth sharing are; taking steps in identifying triggers and recording your diet, gut health, love the ferment, and my diet today.

Identify:

In order to understand what triggered my illness I went through a process of illumination, cutting out different food types and drinks for a period of two weeks. One fortnight I was off bread, then I reduced dairy, I stopped alcohol for two weeks (I am forever grateful that wasn't the problem).  It is important to keep a food diary for about two months and highlight meals where you have a noticeable reaction or increased symptoms. This is all information gathering to assist you and your doctor or specialist to diagnose and treat you. I noticed improvement when I removed seafood from my diet, and then noticed reactions to a lot of Asian cuisine with fish stock or shrimp paste base. I now had a starting point, a way to change my diet and hopefully let my digestive system recover.   

My Gut Health Dietary additions:

I drink yakult once or twice a week and eat the pot set preservative free yogurt.  I have a Kombucha live culture drink and also eat kim-chi (picked cabbage) with turmeric. Sauerkraut is also on the menu and is a German dish which is finely cut cabbage that has been fermented by various lactic acid bacteria. I feel like I have incorporated foods from around the world that are fermented or brewed into my diet. The aim is to develop the bacteria in my gut in an attempt to balance out whatever went wrong. I still take medicine as prescribed (Salofaulk and previously Mercaptopurine. I also took Prednisone for about 12 months) 

  

I also try to make bread about once a week, letting the flour porridge sit covered at room temperature for 24 hours to let the enzymes and bacteria get to work. See 'Netflix series Cooked episode 'Air' for further inspiration and details of the science behind it. This will be an especially interesting for those with gluten intolerance. See links below.

My Diet today is not dissimilar to before I got sick, with the exception of the additions noted above. It is worth noting that if you are experiencing digestion related issues simple foods are easier for your body to digest, i.e. vegetable soups and stews. A lot of winter comfort foods are great.
 
So appreciate your gut health if you have it, if not I hope this helps. Try to to eat raw, fresh, organic. Steam it rather than boil it to death, and comfort food is your friend. In my opinion fermentation and live culture are the seeds to sow a healthy gut.

Links:

Food Diary: http://www.healthyfoodguide.com.au/sites/default/files/Weekly-food-diary.pdf

NetFlix - Cooked - Air http://www.hddocumentary.com/netflix-cooked-2016-3of4-air/

Make your own Kombucha: http://www.thekitchn.com/how-to-make-your-own-kombucha-scoby-cooking-lessons-from-the-kitchn-202596

Salofaulk - https://www.drugs.com/sfx/salofalk-side-effects.html

Love Trumps hate, but only when they don’t love Trump’s hate

The world is unified in shock and sadness. As astonishment and disappointment transitions to fear as we comprehend how intertwined nature of our success and failure is with that of our American counterparts. There is no point going into the character flaws of the man, the president elect. The American media illustrated the character of the man in the lead up to the election in a ‘gloves-off’ appraisal. There will be no, “OMG WTF, we didn’t know!” crying out from the trailer parks along route 66. The question is, why did the unwashed masses elect this popular sovereign? Economic factors have impacted middle class manufacturing America, shifting the ground and pushing the content middle classes down. A healthcare system that considers finance before need violates basic human rights and will in my mind foster an anti-establishment sentiment and a feeling of insecurity, either consciously or subconsciously. The winning campaign was underpinned by the notion that if elected, ‘I am going to drain the swamp in Washington’ referring to removing the corruption. That people voted for Trump, despite his enormous deficiencies, indicates that the disgruntled ‘have-not’ camp has become the majority.

Vox populi, vox dei - latin for ‘The voice of the people is the voice of God.’ The US election result shows the masses did not have a voice or feel they had the ability to affect change in the democracy. A ridiculous man now controls the fate of millions. His election ran on a platform of division; rife with nationalist and racist rhetoric - rhetoric which contradicts the notions of liberty and justice for all. The pillars of the constitution groan under change and control in the new regime. How did the majority become so disgruntled, disenfranchised, so excluded from opportunity that they burnt it all down? This was a massive donkey vote and now we have an ass elect. Every upper-middle American with an investment property, private health insurance, and two cars needs to look at who has no car and fears their child getting sick.

The land of the free and the home of the brave could now become the land minorities flee, where freedom is enslaved. Racism from the highest elected office can only provide a leg up for for the nationalists, supremacists, and the harbourers of hatred. On day 1 on Trump’s presidency his website page calling for a ban on Muslim immigration to America was taken down, possibly heralding a shift from the extremes. Lincoln’s conception of America as ‘a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal,’ is now more relevant than ever. These words are the bedrock upon which the American dream is build. This notion is woven deeply into the fabric of a diverse nation; this is the joker card that cannot be trumped. I for one am going to get Thai food, sit on the couch in my underpants, and watch Rome burn. No, no, no, that simply won’t do. In the spirit of - the glass is half full, mostly backwash, but half full none the less - we must band together. We must be the change we want to see in the world. The day of the benign passive liberal with a social conscience are numbered. When those that oppose equality and decency are in power, the humanitarian in us must rise, the martin Luther King, the Nelson Mandala, the Gandhi within us all must rise up and actively make the world our own. Hard times demand great leaders to rise; we must all call out injustice, open our hearts and homes, sacrifice for what we believe.

Love trumps hate is not a sign you wave on Election Day, it is a manifesto, a mandate, a call to action for the morally responsible. Good luck America. I leave you with the Gettysburg Address. If ever there was a time to ponder the sacrifice made on the altar of freedom, it is now.

Abraham Lincoln, November 19, 1863:
‘Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this. But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate -- we can not consecrate -- we can not hallow -- this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us -- that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion -- that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain -- that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom -- and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.
Abraham Lincoln

One sentence each

Here is what happens when you write a story one sentence each with your brother... I thought it was a handshake, but she was giving me a piece of paper folded into four. I licked the side of her face, she responded with hostility. A sharp elbow with just enough spice to convey her excitement and trepidation caught my ribs. The sharp edges of the note held an intimate curiosity. There is something seductive, alluring, forbidden about the passing of a note. The open secret that longs to wrap you in lust and curiously make your heart flutter and falter. I didn't open it instantly but rather, in self-indulgent torment, turned half away and make a remark about some triviality. After an instant and an eternity I cracked and read the note: "I wish you had less body hair. Stay off the coke or I'm moving to Canada and taking Jo-Jo". I wasn't disappointed. Jo-Jo was our pet monkey. I could not live without him. She always came out with shit like that, the crazy bitch new where every single one of my buttons was located, and how to push them. Including the one six inches up my ass. They say kinky is using a feather and perverted is using the whole chicken...She was a poultry farmer. It was a bluff. She'd never convince that monkey to go anywhere near Canada. He was racist. His disregard even extended to things with a foreign prefix. French sticks were forbidden, French fries, the food of the devil. French horns he was surprisingly supportive of. That monkey was a paradox, an enigma inside a flea-bitten riddle. But he loved German porn and Ice Skating, what monkey doesn't. He was a fan of the old seven-minute cinema, and Torvel and Dean. Good times, good times. Enough daydreaming, I wanted her. I needed her. My blood sang to her and it took all of my willing to keep it hidden. The pleat of my pants, however, was unforgiving and the massive erection silhouetted my enthusiasm, awkward with a capital D. She calmed me with a gentle hand to my face and a nuzzle without touching, she had a tender way about her which always left me speechless and dumbstruck and warm in a blanket of security. "Why do you put up with me and all my weird shit?" I asked, still a little crimson. "Normality is mediocrity". She was always blunt but never rudely so. Her shortness was so much of her nature, her charm. She continued "I couldn't give two shits for all those mediocre, normal mid week TV watching boring fucks, I like the way your mind works. I love your crazy, you know that." She was a tapestry, a Venus de Milo to my cup of milo, the Shiva to my Brahma-Vishnu, the guy that wore a Lucretian suit and mask and paid to watch. Ah, Tuesdays were much better now than the dark days of game shows and emotive, tear jerking, low budget, shite pseudo reality numbing entertainment. It was better when we were so bored that we were forced to create. Look at all the lovely things that were made up - Romeo and Juliet, the magic flute, God. She was so much better then me, she pushed boundaries and did things I would never do. The first to push the red button, the foot to the floor, caution and piss to the wind, a god amongst mortals who wonders why all around her are all so boring. They broke the mould when they made her, and maybe on purpose. "Welcome to earth, for the safety of others we have broken the mould in which you were made, please enjoy your stay and obey the rules."

Lost and Found

She loved him. He towered and fumbled.
Calloused hands and soft heart,
Sawdust and a eucalyptus ebbed into every jacket
He had never changed style or cut of hair, twice a year whether I need it or not

She changed him to the core, tenderness and love he longed to explore
Like eagles and wolves they had paired for life, irrespective of social ceremony
She, an inelegant ballerina, letting nothing through a protective veil,
Fumbling into each other with awkward intensity,
The time to inseparability could be measured in seconds

His calloused hands were tanned, worn and rough, leather saddles and old tables
Her face pale and smooth, porcelain doll in a harsh unrelenting riddle of a world
The fit true, the join reuniting those whom always belonged
He would be her Romeo, dependable and tender
She would embrace his Juliet, whatever that may be,

A firm embrace as life’s persistent torrent hurtles towards the next corner
Together in solace they would find a corner, a pool aside the torrent,
Solace to bear children and watch the season’s shift, quicker now with love in hand
 Lonely winters and cold feet still a close memory

Flowers bloom and life springs anew
Father’s eyes, mother’s hair, and the suns energy
In him they would find themselves, reflections of the other, and a new love,
Stronger, selfless, like nothing they could have imagined previously


Jonathan Nolan

Start-up Ventures – Young Entrepreneurial Professionals Burning Candles

There is a new generation; a group of young professionals in there twenties and early thirties who have seen Google and Facebook grow from garage to gargantuan. From the birth of Arpanet 1976, the PC, the laptop, and smart phones and social media have paved a path to a world where a concept, an idea can make you billions. Intellectual property has never had as much liquidity as it does today, and this generation wants to capitalize on it. Some of these entrepreneurs work ‘normal’ jobs. You can see them leaving office buildings at 5:30pm like everyone else, it is only after hours when they burn the candle. They invest their time, developing applications, trying to grow an online business, trying to bring the next Google or Amazon to life. One finger on the pulse of advancements in technology and the other reading the zeitgeist, trying to predict shift in the new generation, like a prospector trying to follow a vein of gold to IT start-up riches. Holding a stethoscope, listening intently for the heartbeat of the digital society. Try desperately to ‘Prophet to Profit,’ to prophesize the future to generate revenue from that vision. A conversation between two of these young, tech nouveau can often sound like a foreign language, throwing around terms like; traction, critical mass, bootstrapping, burn rate, hacking a startup, angel investment and seed funds. You may be thinking ‘wank words’ but these people are often in uncharted waters and band together for strength and support, and in the process a new tongue has formed.   

Fazzam [http://Fazzam.com.au] is one of these enterprises. I recently interviewed Co-founder Robert Petrovic who, with his two business partners has developed a location based application that allow people to 'virtually' knock on your neighbors doors and ask them for just about anything based on post-code. Fazzam allows people to advertise services such as language classes, essentially a digital notice board for the community. Robert started the business with friends who have the diversity of skill them amongst to bring a company and concepts kicking and screaming into the world.  

I recently attended a MeetUp group, [http://Meetup.com.au] called Melbourne Silicon Beach the group comprises around 1,200 members and includes; entrepreneurs, developers, investors and people with an idea. Melbourne Silicon Beach introduces the different groups and gives people a place to get feedback, and some times to receive invaluable tough love that can potentially change the course of their development. Concepts are born and turned to rubble a hundred times over as the tribe of techies pitch and listen.    

Like all the stereotypical Hollywood writers working in a bar or café, their screenplay tucked firmly under one arm, hoping that Spielberg comes in for lunch, reads their script and whisks them away to fame and fortune. All entrepreneurs have their ‘elevator pitch’ ready to deliver at a moments notice. The elevator pitch is a concise, well-planned and thoroughly practiced description of your business that your mother could understand; delivered in the time it takes to ride an elevator. You never know when you will jump into an elevator and be face-to-face with James Packer and Rupert Murdock, both looking for the next fiscally sound investment opportunity or game changer to throw some money at to see if its got legs.    

The York Butter Factory is a temple for this religion of innovation. The Factory is the co-working space for Melbourne's high-potential digital and web entrepreneurs. A Mecca for Start-ups, and for the brave who believe they can shake the shackles of corporate cubicles, those with the faith in a concept and their ability to bring that idea to a place where it pays the mortgage, keeps the lights on, and lets you take your partner out for dinner and champagne at that place with the French name in the city that overlooks the water (A universal success measure). The theme of the place is very much inception, iterative design with constant feedback and course corrections. The hash tag is #GST, or ‘Get Stuff Done’, and people aren’t afraid to tell you if there is a problem with your design.

I love the idea of playing table tennis while working out an approach to tackling a tough problem, being my own boss, never wearing polished black shoes in summer, occasionally starting work at 10:30am, and never again being constrained by governance or the corporate policy machine.  

So for those with an idea that is accompanied by a level of frustration with working for ‘the man,’ it is worth investigating the other avenues out there. The energy, creativity and changes occurring in this sector are phenomenal, you can strike sparks off anything, and nothing is impossible.  

Jonathan Nolan

9-5: Office worker

5-9 : Dreamer / Entrepreneur / Innovator / Developer / CEO, CTO, CIO, CFO /

CLM’s at the work social functions

A CLM, or “Career Limiting Manoeuvre” is any act, either during work hours, or outside, exposing your inner idiot to management, and making them glad they passed you over for that promotion last year.

The work function, and especially the Christmas party is the best arena to limit ones career. The suits will be swapped for jeans and appropriate collared shirts, staff resources scramble for sausage rolls, the meeting agenda is a massive bender, the project mandate, get the hips to gyrate.   

Within minutes, intentions, reservation and social boundaries are drowning in social lubricant. Different characters then start to emerge, it seems the same types of characters exist in every work place. There is the shy quiet guy who has three beers becomes the worlds loudest extravert. There is the ear chewer, and the person who wants to give the ‘bosh’ a piece of his mind as soon as he finishes this bottle of bourbon.

The obvious secret office romance so closely guarded or unfulfilled starts firing up in the corner. If you are in one, please be aware these are always as obvious as a third nipple on your forehead to your colleagues. A mad drunken public pash on the podium will be hazily recalled with hung over horror the following morning. The excuse, “but I was blind as a welder’s dog!” will have to suffice…again.

And let us tip our hats and always remember the “man of the match”, the one person who’s antics were highlights, the person who had their pants off and on their head before everyone has even arrived, three drinks in front of the field, he started a fight with the bartender, spilt a drink on the pregnant lady, kicked a puppy, demanded a pay rise and threw up in the taxi. Management material. 

 

Jonathan Nolan is an MX reader who will offer you shots at the Christmas party.

Dinner party no go “Faux pas for the course”

I have heard of a rule, possibly a boring one, which states that dinner party conversation should avoid the topics of sex, politics, and religion. Therefore “Have you heard the one about the priest, the Queensland Labour party candidate and the dominatrix?” is fantastic fun if you’re a habitual instigator, persistent line crosser, or a tenacious feather ruffler, but probably not recommended as an icebreaker at your partners work dinner. The reason it is recommended those topics be avoided seems to me to relate to the passion people hold with concepts or beliefs that go to the core and people will rarely shift their opinions. A brick of an idea set in your minds concrete, hardened with age. Having all your beliefs decided seems to makes people feel complete, more whole. I like to think I could have an opinion swayed with a convincing enough argument. Ask yourself, “When was the last time you changed your mind on a big issue? Or more importantly what in your life has the power to change your perception of the world around you?

Religion is an obvious one, no one wants to be baptized between the entrée and main meal, and I have never seen anyone have their religious beliefs changed. Any attempt to convert the heathen, pagan sun worshipers to your cult and have them drinking the coulis by the main course will no doubt end in enough tears to baptize a room full of sinners. “Demons out!” And as far as I’m concerned, evangelists out! Religion is a wonderful thing for people to have, however if I become aware of it, it looses its beauty.

As any dinner party progresses, the socially inept and opinionated have converted the weak minded to the ways of the Jedi, “These aren’t the droids you’re looking for.” Sex must be next on the agenda, the outgoing hedonists wanting to shock and awe the left wing conservatives. How quickly a civilised dinner party can end with keys in a bowl, everyone having grown bad mustaches, wearing polo necks and platform shoes. Just remember, kinky is using a feather in the bedroom, but perverted is when you bring the whole chicken.

Discussions of politics arrive with the dessert course, and with the alcohol flowing, some at the dinner party have socially lubricated themselves that well there is no censorship friction at all between concept and mouth. I am guessing the Latin term would be “vino verobolis dihoreticas.”

If it is an important dinner such as your partner’s boss has invited you around, apply the 10/10 Beer Vs. Importance rule. If the importance of the event is 8/10 you can only have 2/10 beers. If you rate the importance is 4/10 then down a six-pack and dance the sprinkler. In Vino Veritas, or “In wine there is truth.” “Hey you, I don’t like you at work, but your wife has a fit bum” will come back to bite you on the bum. If the conversation gets heated before the dinner, play the arbitrator and try to find common ground, “How bad are the local council but how good is the local football team!”
 Remember what happens on the footy trip stays on the footy trip, however what happens at the dinner party will be brought up by your wife for weeks.  

Jonathan gets great joy out of being a habitual instigator, persistent line crosser, or a tenacious feather ruffler.

Making your mark on the world

Mahatma Gandhi, while emptying his piggy bank said, "Be the change you want to see in the world." So I ask you, what is your motivation? What mark do you want to leave as you look back over your shoulder while shuffling off this mortal coil?

I don't know what is worse, aiming low and smashing head on into mediocrities bullseye, or aspiring to walk on the moon, and failing the NASA aptdatood test. Then getting disgruntled, and next thing, “There’s a sniper in the clock tower, run for your lives!” That is how it happens, it's only a small few steps from enjoying camping to get away from the crazy hustle bustle of the city, to brushing the bugs out of your beard while writing the final chapter of your manifesto in your log cabin.


If you do aim too high and actually have a successful moment in your life, you then face the dilemma of experiencing what I have dubbed "the Aldrin curve" named after astronaut Buzz Aldrin, the second man to walk on the moon. The Aldrin curve is the point where you realise that from here on in it's all down hill and everything you will do from this point on will never surmount your yesterday. This is an opportune time to take up story telling and drinking, and not in that order. "Lend me a dollar and your ear and I'll tell you about a time when [hiccup] men were men and we travelled to the starsh."

Perhaps success will be measured in the future, not by actions, but by the number of followers you have on Twitter? “Oh my god, that’s @LazyGirl54, she has over a million followers!” Social media is the equivalent of standing up at the grand final at half time with a microphone and informing everyone, “I had toast for breakfast.” Advances in digital communication have taken us in leaps and bounds down gibberish lane.

Some seem content with a simple life, cave and a curtain, a place to exist, own the dream, buy a boat when your fifty-five, make a speech at your child’s twenty-first, have a hip replacement and die. Leaving drive and ambition in the will for the grandchildren. It was drilled into me when I was growing up that how are we raised is critical to the way we end up… What comes after indoctrasix and indoctraseven? Indoctrinate, that is correct, so don't tell your children they can achieve great things, that one day they could travel to another planet, or walk on the surface of Mars, tell them that one day they could own a large television and watch Arnold Schwarzenegger walk on Mars in the total movie Total Recall after they finish their night shift at the factory.

Don't say to them, "You can be whatever you want to be if you apply yourself." Instead tell them with the state of the world, when they grow up the Australian economy; will have more problems then an Icelandic Air traffic controller, the unemployment queue will be busier then a one-armed brick layer in Bagdad, and there chances of owning their own home will disappear quicker then a fart in a fan factory. Happiness is all about managing expectations.


Jonathan Nolan is an MX reader who wants to leave his mark on the world in ink, like a cheap blue pen leaking in the pocket of life’s new white business shirt.

I’m mild allergy Intolerant

“How are you?” I always answer good, great, fantastic, even if I am feeling a little under the weather, or last nights vindaloo has left me running to-the-loo. The response I hear all too often is, “I’m a little bloated from eating a piece of bread, I have a mild case of celiacs.” Now let me take a deep breath here, swallow down my delicious piece of sesame seed encrusted Vienna loaf, topped with peanut butter and crab dip and say that unless you have a pen that is filled with adrenaline on you at all times, even in the shower, then don’t tell me about it! The only qualifier for filling me in is if need to let me know and train me to use it on the off chance that a sesame seed falls onto your foot, potentially ending your life within two minutes, unless this is the case, get over yourself! If something disagrees with you, frustration fueled drum-roll …eat around it fatty, and don’t tell anyone.

These are all pathetic first world problems like “my car stereo won’t read a 16-gig USB stick, or “There are too many choices on the menu!” And then you have the third world problems such as "I fear for my life constantly and my brother was just abducted by the 'free democratic peoples party' while searching for clean water." Think about that for a minute next time your telling someone in detail about the rash on your inner arm every time you eat slightly unripe tomatoes.

I wonder if UNICEF and World Vision deal with a lot of cases of mild food allergies when they supply food to famine ravaged and starving war-torn areas. I am going to go out on a malnourished limb and say no. I am presuming the hierarchy of needs kicks in faster then you can cook a pack of two-minute noodles between meals.


The Fruitarians of the world are ruining my BBQ. No, I have not catered for people who only eat fruit that has fallen from the tree, and yes the Soysages were cooked in the BBQ fat of real animals, that is the only way they are anyway tolerable. Don’t forget it was the late great Kurt Cobain who told us “It’s ok to eat fish, cause they don’t have any feelings.” I do have a box of BBQ shapes, a tub of hommus, and a copy of the book, “10 steps to being annoying at social events,” if you would like to accompany me to the special people corner.

If people are going to insist on ruining my meal with detailed descriptions of their terribly feeble afflictions, perhaps that is the done thing. If that’s the case then allow me to get some payback... While you were eating your Christmas trifle, I hope you remembered that jelly is made from the hooves of horses, one of which may have been named black beauty just like the one you rode as a child that time on holidays. The turkey you carved up was named Denis. He preferred corn over grain and loved the morning sun. And finally the ham, let us stop and think of Babe – a pig in the city, trucked to the city then covered in apple sauce. Payback is a beach, and that is where I spent Christmas, eating a Black Beauty Trifle, Babe and applesauce roll, and a cranberry Denis without any minor allergic reactions.

Jonathan is an MX reader who does not tolerate your lack of tolerance

Googlebook Plus

This week I cheated in my social media relationship. I just had to tell Facebook, "I'm seeing someone else." We talked, we yelled, we cried, I explained it just happened, Google Plus is younger, has new trendy circles and all my friends love hanging out with her. I was also worried that Facebook was following me around when I wasn't with her, keeping tabs on me so she new what to get me for Christmas and could sell things to my friends. This freaked me out a little, talk about putting the "IT" in “Rabbit cooker.”

It is a big decision to move social media provider, a lot like moving house across the city to another suburb. You first of all want to check that some of your friends live out that way and that you won't be completely isolated, so you jump on the new site and see which friends are part of the early adopter, bleeding edge uptake initiators. It is usually the type A personality friends, with a dash of ADD who, when you say have found this great bar in the city," will always comment how they used to go there last year when it opened and was trendy.

In any new suburb, you are going to want to check out the restaurants, sports facilities and public transport. With a social media site, it is all about the applications, usability, and interoperability with hand held devices. On this front I rate the Google Plus application very highly, however when it comes to activity and people logged in and adding content, I give it a big fat Google minus. It may have circles, but definitely doesn't run rings around anything at all.

After trialling Google Plus I have come to the conclusion that it is like moving to a trendy new one-bedroom apartment with no furniture and no address. The old Facebook from back in the day may stalk us when we leave her, may track our location. It may send a banner add barrage of target marketing at me depending on my profile, status, likes, and check-ins, but all my friends are there and it is always has activity and updates. It has reached a level of critical mass, which will not easily be challenged or toppled. Somehow I have more friends on Facebook then friends IRL (in real life)

Switching networks did provide a good opportunity to trim the friendship fat and reinvent myself without having to D-Friend people. "What comes after ABC Friend? Yes, de-friend, the cyber equivalent of throwing a hissy fit or e-tanty.

Facebook is a great way to set up a shrine to self, a narcissistic temple to let the world know "I spilt Champagne on my Rolex watch in the members area at the Races, lucky its water resistant to 1000m." Keeping up with the Joneses used to be confined to the same street, now the Joneses all have smart phones and are constantly posting pictures of their X6 Diesel towing Jet Skis…bastards!

So I am breaking up with Google minus and going back to old faithful Facebook. She may track me on the web, but what can I say, you and 20 million others “Like” Facebook.


Jonathan is an MX reader who may have D-friended you already

Honest Applications

Charles Manson, Joseph Stalin and Adolf Hitler all probably lived in shared houses at some stage. I’ll bet they were quiet, kept to themselves. Maybe they were bouncing ideas off their pet mouse Pinkie for plans to take over the world, but at least they didn’t eat other people’s food from the fridge.

Finding a flatmate is a very difficult task. People hide behind the mask of best behaviour, layering assurances of being trustworthy, clean and fiscally responsible. We tend to seek the perfect person, when really if they are not a psycho killer - ques que c’est, don’t pee on the toilet floor, and steal your things.

Honesty is the best policy. “In vino veritas” or “in wine there is truth,” and by that logic, all interviews of potential housemates should take place and the pub with four sheets to the wind, hopefully realising who needs to walk the plank early in the piece.

When letting people know that you are looking for a place, why not be completely out there and truthful,
“Room Wanted: Twenty-three year old male mental teenager with pitiful material goods apart from a bike (which I will leave in the hall) seeks, preferably female share housemates. I am unable to use an ATM, washing machine, dishwasher, microwave or dishcloth, but can drink for an entire day straight. I will shamelessly try to bed all your friends, scratch your vinyl, step on your cat Lionel, drink the orange juice out of the bottle, drink that special shiraz magnum you put away. I will leave freaky amounts of curly hairs on your lavender soap your sister gave you as a present, I will be late with everything including rent, appointments, coughing up for bills, in fact I will only ever be early when it is awkward and you’re making out with a new date on the couch.”

There is a flip side to the coin if you are advertising a room for rent in a shared house there is a reality that should be conveyed. Let’s call it a residential disclosure. If you are trying to rent out a cupboard under the stairs to get some extra finances to pay for the meth lab ingredients so you can cook ice in the messy house with the long grass where the stereo is never off and the fridge contains three unidentifiable fury things on plates on each of the shelves. If this is the case the advertisement should read “Cupboard under stairs for rent in trainspotting house. Recent tetanus shot advised but not essential.” It should not however read,
“Lively, social and upbeat inner city apartment with a liberal, musical, university group seeks a flatmate to share the fun, chemistry majors preferred.”

I guess a majority of problems in a shared house come from people being in a different space. One studying for exams while the other wants to party. I guess the solution is not to advertise, but to find someone in the same course or within the group of friends. At least this way you can be somewhat assured you won’t find them watching you sleep, it’s less likely they will shag your sister, and there is a slightly diminished chance of them selling your flat screen at Cash Converters to buy armour in World of Warcraft.

Top 10 Ten Travel Tips

Following a recent trip to Europe and Asia I have put together my Top 10 Travel Tips the books don't tell you. Enjoy.

Plan Ahead
Print out Google Maps and directions ahead of arrival. This will assist in spotting the cunning plans of dodgy taxi drivers to separate you from your money. Remember you are a mark, looking around at the buildings all wide eyed and excited. They all want to suckle at the naive tourist teat. A recent example in Italy..
"How much to go to X Hotel? Do you have meter?"
"No meter, is public holiday today, for you 28 Euro."
"It's 2km away, are you serious?" [awkward pause... with a sort of OK you got me now move along so I can try it on the next chump.

Toilets
Go before you leave your hotel!..always. A good bathroom is a rare and beautiful thing. There is no telling what sort of disgusting, unflushable, shower looking, piss riddled, squat hole awaits you...for a fee.(See the next point)
Also have a drink before committing to a meal and use the bathroom before asking for a menu. Sometimes you return, "This place is nice" other times, "Holy shit, quick we're leaving and I need to burn my thongs."

Change in the Pocket, Backpack on the Front
Always have change on you. Throughout Europe you will see beggars, buskers, need money for toilets, and have "helpers" who will; tell you the time, find you a car park, or any small task they can perform for a fee of a euro.
Backpack on the front relates to pick pockets. Never stop to sign a petition, never allow yourself to be too distracted by a performance, you will be fleeced. You are not likely to be robbed at knife point, and the vibe of Europe is super friendly and Bohemian. You will never find money on the streets, and there is a lot of poverty. If you leave your bag for a second, or leave your wallet exposed they will be gone before you can say "I need a police report for my Travel insurance"
Watch out for people bumping or brushing you, especially on transport as this is normally when your wallet goes.

Travel by Train
Train around Europe is awesome! 250km/h, beer serving, cheep, WiFi enabled glass and a half of happy. You can save money on accommodation by overnighting flights or trains. You can also Check out of a hotel at 12, leave your bags there, day in the sun, return at 10, collect the bags and head to the station.


Language
The basics you will need are...
"Hello, What is the price?, I would like, 1-5, Thank you, Goodbye, No Thankyou.
"Bonjour, Quanto Price, Je vous dre, Un deux, trois, Quatre, Merci, Au vois, Merci
This will get you through and you get a different..respect or appreciation for having attempted. As opposed to "I WANT CHIPS AND EGGS, WHY DON'T YOU SPEAK ENGLISH FRENCHY" I had a humble appreciation of my butchery of the silk dipped and elegant language that is French, as opposed to Americans, who had a sort of pity for the french that they couldn't speak American very well.

Other important phrases to learn are:
"That is my wife's cocaine, not mine"
"Where is the Australian embassy? It has happened again"
"Are you a lady boy?"
"Where is the ping-pong show?"
The Lonely Planet quick guide contains all your important translations such as "Fuck me: harder, softer, faster, slower." All displayed hifanetiklee for ease of use.

"Find the Festival"
Find the festival, ride the bull, doing the bull dance, feeling the flow, drinking the Mojito, all good things, good energy, circular.
http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif

Just be careful you book accommodation at least three weeks in advance if it is high season and there is a festival.


Talk to Friends and new Friends
As there are currently about three-hundred thousand Ozzies currently pulling beers and backpacking all over this beautiful globe. It stands to reason that at least some of your friends will be able to impart knowledge of that Mexican city where they had Peyote and woke up in a bath without a Kidney. Ola! Advice is gold.

Also if you see a hot girl with pig tails and a back pack this is a great way to get her into [ C E N S O R E D] don't forget, if you can't be good, be good at it, if you can't be good at it, take pictures. The Dalai Lama tought me that.

Travel Light and buy a Suitcase
Thongs, Shorts, and Three times T-Shirts, Jocks and socks is all you need. Buy the rest dirt cheap along the way.

Check in and Check it Out

Check in online the night before your flight or you will queue with the sheep. One our early for check in will usually let you get the emergency exit, especially if your an Ozzie who has been brought up on hormoned chicken and antibiotics and is 6'2 or bigger this can make travel more comfortable. Remember to get pissed on the plane as this assists in thinning the blood and avoiding DVT. Sir David Boon taught us this with his two slabs from Australia to England effort. Great work looking after the body.

McDonald's, Train stations and Air Ports have free/cheep WiFi for checking in, or checking out hotels on Trip Adviser.


Make the Deal Prior to Sale or Departure

Every one will try to rip ya caus they gotta get paid, "Man I've got five kids to feed!" so agree to terms before the trip. This applies to taxis especially

"The world is a book and if you don't travel you read only a page"

Dubia Curious and the French Lack of Resistance

If you could go back and forward in time simultaneously, Dubai is where you would find yourself. There is an old Dubai and a new Dubai, a dichotomy of sandals and sports cars, prayer time and Rolexes, bartering and Bentleys, somehow off the coast like a capitalist Hong Kong to an old world China circa 1997. Gold pillars line the palace walls. Monorails snake their way to the setting concrete of massive towers that pierce the sky and beckon trade, suits and Rolexes. In the shadow of the towers is the spice souk (market), where the salt of the earth trade saffron, ginger, and cumin. Pausing like clockwork to pray in a cycle of life that expects no promotion, no change in status, no fame. A respect exists for the natural ebb and flow, the yin yang, the birth to dust, with a seemingly gracious acceptance.




There is a wide eyed wonderment for the new world, encroaching like polished concrete into sand, previously under foot for centuries.
Crowds of men stare at the western woman who has arrived from a brave new world brandishing; Prada and a right to vote, Dolce & Gabana and free will, Este lauder and self esteem, a short skirt and a long resume, a flood of emotions and a dry white.
Eight hours short flight away, four hours behind, and thirty years in front lays Paris. Very bohemian, and at the same time chic (tres bochician). The mannerisms, traditions and old world charm of a Napoleonic era gyrate and pulse to the beat of a tribal drum. They mix beautifully, but at the same time are both distilled and contrasted against iconic architecture. There is little violence and a vibrant mood of celebration in the streets, however blink and you will be fleeced by a professional opportunist who will lift your wallet, clone your credit card and charge you ten euro for a string bracelet you were unaware was being made on your wrist.

France is all about the baguette, cheese and great wine. What Australians consider an expensive delicatessen, the French would see as an average supermarket or intermarchet.





A nationalistic pride is predominant and pronounced, and the cheer for the French rider, beaten in the last few days of the Tour de France was louder than the cheer for Cadel Evans who won. And so I stood on the Champs Elyse, baguette and beer in hand, waving the Eureka flag as the first Australian was adorned with the yellow jersey.


Jonathan

My first beat poem

There is a yin and yang, a dark and light that plays on my mind and keeps me up late at night. An up and down, a positivity, negativity, both of which hold so much gravity. There are shit storms and rainbows, gold rush and low blows, but you would miss it if the pain of life ever goes. There is tragedy and amazing triumph, sometimes apart, sometimes combined, something to keep in the back of your mind. There are odd couples that walk hand in hand; suffering and happiness, loneliness in a crowded room, wealth in a poor souls hand. All this you will learn by the time you are old. Sometimes sooner if you listen, or if you are told.

There is power in tears, there is imprisonment in fears, mostly wisdom in your years . Occasionally a small cracked window in which you view the world remains, set with the concrete of inflexibility and an inability to change.

There are the majority, the herd, and the early adopter, and the special few who invent things like the helicopter. There are those that change worlds with only a word, and those we forget who will never be heard.

There scientists, astronauts, and those who reach for the starts, but the majority are parked in traffic on the freeways in their fuel efficient cars.

The difference is the way you look at the world, is it a problem or a challenge you have been hurled. Do you blame it on a childhood regression; have you cleaned your window of perception?
I use Gestalt therapy to make me feel happy, scream at a chair while wearing a nappy. I lie on a couch telling stories that sour, I feel a lot better at three-hundred an hour.

There are desperate immigrants on boats, people who forget to vote, politicians safly in the middle with lumps in their throats. There are good people on speed, bad people on the ski slopes, some of the best people cant read, and complete idiots who have the second book they’ve wrote. A chaotic cacophony of humanity ensues, yet a baby in a microwave appears in the news.

One of my personalities is a guidance councillor with allergies, who can understand his penchant for anomalies. We are to astute to be a destitute prostitute, hold to much of a grudge to ever be a lawyer or judge, my writing has too much of a twist to ever try to drink with a journalist. A jack of all trades, yet a master of none, a sharp shooter without a gun. I consolidate, procrastinate, obviate and mitigate, all the while longing for something great.

If you have enjoyed reading something away from the norm go to youtube and search for Tim Minchin, storm.

Place on Starboard Hold (POSH)

I am a fan of the Races, the formula one and basically love any competitive sport. I especially enjoy a flutter on the Gee-Gees (Horse Racing), or even betting two flies climbing a wall. A group of friends and I attended the Portsea Polo recently at Point Nepean on one of the few beautiful days this summer. If ever there was a gathering of the beautiful, the privileged, the fit and the well dressed, this was it. A plethora of pastels, peaches, a bouquet of botox, a decadent feast of Dolce, a glut of Gabana, a surplus of Sass and Bide, the odd prancing pony and the occasional horse. There were bold stripes, outrageous crevattes, a BMWX5 Diesel boot load of hair product, a regatta load of Ralf Lauren and a third world countries deficit worth of Prada walking around sipping bubbles and uploading photos of themselves in real time to social sites where others can 'Like' the socially distinctive trophies of success.

As I walked past the helipad, to accommodate those with the coin to allow a lack of tolerance for taxis or travel time, I asked a few random people how many Chukkas or periods there were in a game. Not one person could tell me any details about the game. I guess it has become a largely social event, a lot like the Spring Racing Carnival. I did eventually meet a person who could word me up on the intricacies of the sport. An immense amount of skill displayed by the players. To be able to position a horse beside a small heavy ball, and at speed, hit it behind you with a flick of the wrist, on the half volley is very impressive. The horses are changed at each break, and usually the game is free of serious incidents, however on this day a beautiful horse went down, breaking a leg. This is a fatal wound for a horse and the players and officials moved the animal into a trailer. "He's off to the vet," a member of the crowd commented. I imagine the same number of people who were unaware of the number of chukkas in a game would also be unaware that this beautiful animal was to be destroyed shortly.

At half time a race was announced, interrupting my cigarette, corona and observation of the rampant totty on parade. At that point I could not imagine anything that would convince me to participate in the contest. The announcement of the prize of a new range rover sport quickly changed my tune from "the best things in life are free" to "If I was a rich man, da da di da da di dum." Salivating, while contemplating cream Italian leather interiors I took my place on the line. Twelve champagne bottles lined across the field, one unknown bottle held the magical ticket that would win me the Rover. There was no gun to signal the start of the inebriated sprint, and I missed the start, I was also laden down with four coronas and a smoking habit, and ten years on the field. I feared one of the twenty-one year olds would best me. And so they did, hurdling those that had tripped, bounding over the fallen without a thought, one goal resinated with them, “If I can win the Range Rover Sport and will no longer have borrow daddy’s Jag or mummies X5 Diesel when I go skiing.”

Giddy, sunkist and full to the brim with giggles, bubbles, sangria, tia Maria, Bordeaux, château, merlot, and well and truly sponsored by Stella Artios, we moved towards the bus queue home.

When you have four hundred people queuing for a bus, all having have gone though life privileged and being told they are beautiful and special, a funny thing happens. Everyone believed they deserved to be at the front. An amazing tumbling sea of queue jumping, jostling and cajoling ensued. Alcohol fuelled chest beating was not uncommon, and some of the accents and class, or lack there of, shone there true colours, any camouflage washed away along with the fake tan, with drowned in social lubricant.

All carrying a silver spoon in a back pocket that they cut their first tooth on, the crowd migrated back to the houses lining the bay and to the private schools. I caught the bus, which alas did not have an Italian cream leather interior.

Jonathan

Autobiography

Preface: An autobiography is a tough and rewarding piece to write. I recommend it, not often enough do we take stock, and survey the terrain.

I was born in Dublin, Ireland in the Rotunda Hospital on the 3rd of April 1978. A stones throw from the Liffey River, Trinity College and in the heart of the surprisingly small city. First son to a young apprentice mother and father who were already contemplating a new life in a land of opportunity they had heard so much of. I have a great respect for my father, a man who would take a young child and wife to a new country with little money, but carrying conviction of self, and the promise of a bright future in a sun burnt country.
I chose a path less traveled in my teenage years and early twenties. I began my University education in the last millennium, a long-haired visual artist studying the use of negative space and 19th century impressionist art. A year later, deferred and a little directionless I moved to Coburg, Melbourne, where I learned to cook Italian food from a man named Rocco in a small kitchen on Sydney Road. I walked through the markets bustling with the different cultures, character, and alive with languages, people and colour, and grew a love for the city.
A few years later I returned to University in Ballarat, this time to study Computing. The pallet and paints traded for a keyboard and screen. I started work at IBM and so began a new chapter of my life. As irony would have it, the visual arts building had transformed, along with my interests, to the IBM building. I couldn’t tell if a hint of turpentine still lingered in the server room or of it was purely memory.
My wife of almost a year met me when I had little in the way of cares and even less assets. Kate, a beautiful woman in all senses, instantly bought me a calendar, gently began sanding my rough edges, an ongoing project with a risk of splinters. Kate referred to me as an emotional millionaire, a flattering compliment, which also highlights a failing, as Oscar would say; “my net income never matches my gross habits.”

I completed a Bachelor of Business (eBusiness) degree, and apart from the piece of paper, I carry with me a desire to achieve something great in my life, for a time a feeling of anxiety slowly grew in the recesses of my mind, a realization that others on the common path were into their fourth year working after university and I will need to catch up if I wish to be at the forefront of an industry.
Recently, on an idle Tuesday I passed a billboard for hiking gear which stated, “Life is not a race, come back to earth – Colorado.” And there it is, in a second, a whole reshuffle of goals, do I really want; the suit, the blackberry, the squash game lunch hour, the ulcers, the power meeting, the perks, the stock options, the performance evaluations? I do love the walk to the office in the morning sun, café latte in hand, a fresh suit adorned with pin stripes and ambition, a bold tie in a bright spring colour. Stepping over homeless people while I whistle with a spring street in my step. I don’t really do that, I am mocking the fact that I am aware and have empathy and concern, but apart from buying the Big Issue magazine, do nothing to support the underprivileged and unfortunate. I was more affected when first moving to the city, but you do become desensitized. I suppose live in Byron Bay but leave before it makes you soft and live in a flat in King Street Melbourne, but leave before it makes you hard. If you get that joke you are a bad person. If you made that joke you are worse…awkward, like being the only one to die with laughter at an inappropriate joke at a BBQ. Exposed.

I have recently started a new passion, trading on the stock market. What a rush, the excitement of gambling combined with the advantage some knowledge in economics can provide. The possibilities the freedom that trading can offer is amazing, and has dragged me in. I am reading a book on value investing to separate my flutter on the Gee-Gees from my investment strategy…a work in progress.

I would love to be living in a more amazing time, when Dr. King spoke, “I have a dream,” JFK reminded us that the fruits of victory were ashes, and how there was one small step for man. I don’t feel the same majesty and discovery in today’s time, but I suppose retrospection is a highlights reel and you only get out what you put in. These are exciting times nonetheless.
I have realized I am a dreamer, an optimist and a procrastinator. I am a Jack-of-all-trades and a master of none. I do not yet lie awake at night, like an agnostic, insomniac, dyslexic wondering if there is a dog, but now is the time for change and growth in my life. I have recently formulated an idea or image of where I will be in twenty years. I see bit of land very close to the coast, with a Spanish style house, an artist’s studio, grow my garden in the spring, surf and sangria the summer sun, and stew on the stove with the weekend paper and warm freshly baked bread in the winter. I hope to write books, travel, run my own company, make a million dollars from a dot.com, speak at least trez languages, build and destroy something beautiful by the time my days on earth are done and I shake this mortal coil.

I recently have found solace, a belief in self, in both my professional and personal life. I think this is born from the experience in a business and personal sense, growing into your skin. A throwing of the shackles of insecurity that binds you and a belief that your experience and way of seeing the world is valuable, unique and is worthy of sharing with others.
I have been fortunate enough to have some writing recently published in the MX free travel newspaper. Although a tiny milestone in the grand scheme of things, my brother graciously put it, I am the first Nolan to be published, making my heart sing and rise above the fact that today’s newspapers are tomorrows fish and chip wrappers. I will strive for a life less ordinary , I want music, dance, paint, passion wine, let it all flow. I hope that I have the courage to pursue the dreams and the ideal and give them wings.

To be continued…