Moreland Graffiti

Someone on my route to work has a thing about sexualised advertising - and don't we all. We either like it (whether we're aware of this or not), or hate it. But few take it upon themselves to fight it, fewer still at a grass roots level.

But there's someone, or perhaps a group of someones, who feel that the road between Pascoe Vale and West Preston should be cleared of all sexist advertising. It first began with a reasonably disgusting David Jones lingerie ad which appeared in a few places on my road home. Eventually, all the ads had to be removed and replaced by pictures of women with more clothes on and in less suggestive poses. Why? Because they were all graffitied over to the point of being unrecogniseable.

So David Jones replaced them. But it wasn't long before those women just had to start shedding layers again. If, the marketing geniuses reasoned, the Moreland public couldn't handle lingerie, perhaps they could handle swimwear? After all, it's the Olympics and all that, Ozzie spirit, Ozzy Ozzy Ozzy, oi oi oi, and so forth.

But the citizens of Moreland said "No." Those ads too were graffitied - most of them, at least, and those left untouched were taken down before the graffiti-vigilantes got to them too.

Today's victims were: a curious ad with a woman wearing a black blouse unbuttoned to reveal her bra, with the caption "Confidence"; and a Bonds undies and singlet ad that was only put up two days ago.

It's refreshing to see that, in a world so immune to such things, someone cares enough to keep sticking it to the man in this way. Only it's a bit of a sad reminder of how little the vast majority of us care.

Why I love teaching

The other day, I was supervising a bunch of Year 9 boys kicking a soccer ball around outside. A few of them found it hilarious (as you do) to keep kicking the ball against the brick wall of one of the school buildings. Eventually, I went over to speak to one of the main culprits and said, "Dom, I don't see these people that you're kicking the ball to." To which Dom replied: "Yeah, they're my friends: Frank, Bobby and Jimmy." I mentioned that, if he wanted to keep kicking the ball to them, he could perhaps go and introduce his friends to his co-ordinator.

When, a few minutes later, Dom again kicked the ball into the wall, I went over to speak to him once more, this time with a more serious tone of voice: "Come on, Dom, I've asked you not to." And Dom's reply: "But sir, it's not my fault that Bobby's shit."

Backwards, coming forward

I've never been much of a go-getter. Not that I'm unambitious, or passive; I just don't like to rush things, and don't particularly enjoy pushing my luck. I read a description of my personality category in the Myers-Briggs study today which said that people of my "type" (only 1 to 4% of the population, by the way) don't act until they've thought carefully about what they are doing; they like time to reflect. Which is great, but doesn't get many things done, particularly when, like me or my television equivalent Ted Mosby, you overthink, to the point of confused inactivity.

It's been an interesting experience, therefore, to start thinking that my writing might be something worth pursuing actively, rather than just sitting back and wanting the Swedish Academy to contact me. I'm all for playing it cool, but it's hardly managed to get me published in the however-many-years that I've been writing.

I don't like taking risks, and hate setting myself up for failure. The trouble, of course, with avoiding failure is that, in doing nothing, you also tend to avoid success.