Sea Change: A sea-sore-ing issue

University is like a disease. Whether it’s ‘studying’, ‘revising’ or ‘writing’ we are hard-wired to work towards a common goal that is meant to help us improve our job prospects. As we walk to campus pass the nasal-voiced busker and the fortune-teller-lady sitting on a milk crate, we have our serious faces on – starring down the barrel with tunnel vision. It’s kind of like squinting, or natural if you’re Asian.

Of course disregard that whole par if you’re studying arts, in which case you kissed those job prospects good-bye years ago (four essays on semiotics, six presentations on sexuality and 80 discussions on binary oppositions later, you’re still philosophising the meaning of meaning).

As we approach the end of the year and the three-month holiday call grows from a whisper to a barely sober yell, we start to go all Dr Phil (minus the sexual harassment) and reflect on what we want in life.

A sea change perhaps? The thought of reprioritising everything you’ve worked on up until this point. Two choices: be like Nicole Kidman’s face and stick it out, stand the test of time and remain the same or do a Madonna and work your arms out like mad, whack on a leotard and call it a reinvention.

So which types actually opt for the sea change? The ones who are realistically doing well in their lives with great marks and a salary definitely don’t need a sea change. The thought is just a mere lapse of concentration. The day these conservatives take on the sea change is the day we’ll see Germaine Greer in a bikini and waxed legs in a strip club. Not likely and not pretty.

The ones who are prepared to go on the real sea change are the ones who are willing to re-evaluate everything they have, do a Posh Spice and empty everything inside of them except for the essentials.

Undertaking new territory and weathering untouched terrain can be an intimidating experience. While some, like President Barack Obama try something new and win the Nobel Peace Prize after two weeks in the job, we’re fortunate if we even win the attention of Cityrail and tell them that the new timetables aren’t working and we’re still breathing down freaky guy’s left armpit on the 9am train.

Whether you’re a student, caretaker or one of Julia Gillard’s working Australians, you have probably lived the last few years with one sole priority. One thing, that like a circle, the rest of your life is centred around.

Consider now, taking that priority to the periphery and putting something else in the centre. It could be travel, learning a language or mastering a hobby.

Sound spooky? Well if working in PR and following politics has taught me anything, it’s that renaming something can help ease the pain. Treat them like illegal immigrants, when they’re asylum seekers. Invent the term wardrobe malfunction when it’s a nipple slip. Sea change? Think of it more in terms of renegotiating your social understanding of the self within the dichotomy of the public and private spheres.

The A to Z in being lAZy

Because I don’t make fun of fat people enough …

Laziness. It’s the workaholic’s Swine Flu. But with Winter well and truly settling in and when lifting up the doona in the morning is like smirking at muffin tops, painful but necessary- maybe it’s not our fault we feel lazy.

So what are the symptoms of being a lazy uni student? Is it sleeping in, looking poorly presented and recycling old material? No, that’s just Today Tonight.

Being lazy can mean making small changes to your daily routine. Switching from brushing your teeth in the morning to a simple Listerine mouthwash is one thing. Switching from having cereal to having no breakfast is another. It’s called anorexia. Or, if you’re over 90kg, it’s called common sense.

While being lazy might give you that initial euphoria, you don’t want to stay in that state for too long. Like everything else, prolonged exposure to laziness may cause permanent damage. Just look at Paris Hilton. And I’m not talking about media exposure.

Laze phases need to be snapped out of so we can embrace happy moments. An example? The 2008 wedding of former fattest man in the world, Manuel Uribe, who weighed almost 560 kilograms.

You know there’s something wrong when your number in weight is almost twice the number of guests you have at your reception.

So while Manuel would have been jumping for joy on one of the happiest occasions of his life, he was probably a little self-conscious. No man wants to wear his wife’s wedding dress on the big day and have a train follow behind him. Especially if that train is loose skin. The only jumping Manuel should have been doing is a jump right onto the treadmill.

The point is, Manuel got off his triple arse and shed almost half his body weight.

Recently the ABS released figures which show that more than 2 in every 3 Australians are overweight or obese. Strength in numbers. Really big numbers.

However, the only reason why the government commissions these findings and has campaigns for us to lose weight is so we don’t burden the shitty health system and so we don’t take time off work which will lead to an even shittier economy.

Government campaigns just want us to keep the six-packed, tight-butted and waxed-chest cogs of the economy going. Well to hell with that! They can take their corny rhetorical questions and measuring tape and strangle themselves so hard their faces turn fluoro red so they actually look like they’re passionate about politics and not just in it for the free flights and an excuse to dress horrendously.

If watching the Logies taught us anything, besides the fact Gretel still has the same stylist from her Big Brother days, it’s that working hard can be dangerous. We have Mr Carl Stefanovic to thank for that.

So I say, embrace the laze- just not for too long. Complacency can result in Four Corners coming along and doing an expose’ on your private life seven years down the track.

Whether you’re black, white, straight, gay, young or old- you’ve achieved something. It’s a bit like food. Take laziness in moderation and small doses. Unless of course you’re obese…

Lure of the Label

Lately, the call of the high-end fashion label hasn’t just been a little Chinese whisper circling my head. In fact, there’s nothing Chinese about it at all. Think more along the lines of: made in Milan.

Whether it’s the impending due dates of assessments which make me dream more, my newfound interest in horoscopes or my burning desire to be SBS’s Lee Lin Chin’s stylist; I have suddenly taken a liking to high-end labels.

In the past I though Chanel was a neologism of the more correctly spelt ‘channel’. I thought LV was a popular pattern my family in Vietnam liked to use for their manchester. And I thought Targét was a rather reputable brand.

Clearly it doesn’t take anymore than daylight savings and the colour of Michael Jackson’s face to tell me times have changed.

There is some justification of my new love however.

If we all bought one Prada bag, instead of five or Proda bags- the world would be a better place.

Buying good quality items not only makes you consume less as the item’s versatility and longevity will outlast the item of inferior quality, it is also more likely that the better quality bag supports workers and companies who work under ethical conditions and wages.

High-end shopping can be seen as a boycott to all third world, child and sweatshop labour. I guess you could say we’re doing little three-year-old Chakrabandhu from Thailand a favour.

It does make me wonder though… How else will he and his family find a source of income?

Anyway, back to Louis Vuitton. I believe cravings and guilt are what makes us live. It’s probably the only way to live.

Our craving for the weekend gets us through work. Our craving for sex with remotely attractive people pushes us out the door and into a nightclub. And the guilt we feel when we bite into that Sparkle cupcake makes the chocolate icing and strawberry pieces taste that much sweeter.

There’s a lesson to be learnt in the economic crisis- desperate times call for desperate measures.

For example, Kevin Rudd swears on national live television and is almost heroically portrayed as just a normal human being. Right, because his apologies for yelling at a flight attendant for serving an incorrect meal and using taxpayer money to fund a striptease American holiday didn’t quite tell me that he’s a bit dodgy.

Even president Obama attempted to tick all the popularity boxes when he became the first American president to appear on a late night talk show. He then of course decided to insult people with special needs. O ma ma, Obama (couldn’t help, had to include that one!).

Next thing you know, Amanda Vanstone will try to regain popularity too by joining Dancing With the Stars. Yeah- not pretty. There’s a fine line between being obese, and being an insurance liability.

My point is: spending is good. As the government hands out $900 to most of us, we deserve to spend it on luxuries which will make us feel better. We’ve worked damn hard for it. Nothing cures exam stress like a brand new leather jacket. Right?

Now, back to facebook…

Sex and Tonsillitis

To borrow a metaphor from Australia’s well-travelled Prime Minister- life is a whirlwind. Whether it’s a storm, a flood or Pauline Hanson clutching at the expired crumbs of her political career, life and all of its friends- love, family, career, health- just keep on pushing.

Nothing screams “time out!” more loudly than shaving all your hair off, dangling your children of a fourth-floor balcony or letting your R&B superstar boyfriend bash you and not saying anything about it. Either that, or tonsillitis.

I thankfully (I hope for now anyway) have only had to deal with the latter.

All modesty aside, I do very well. I go on lengthy overseas holidays, I have nice clothes, I have awesome friends and I have jobs people would die for. I do well.

But to keep all this going, is like being a hamster running on a wheel. Instead of knowing where you are when you get off, it scares the living daylights out of me every time I even think about stepping off. Funnily enough, that’s what tonsillitis does to you.

And unlike the first homebuyer’s grant, the only thing stimulating about this push is that you get to watch Sex and the City, the movie, again.

In addition to revamping your career (hello Delta Goodrem), illness makes you think. Not being able to speak, I actually realised I had a voice inside me and was finally able to hear it.

With your body so weak, what’s the first thing you want to do? With your mouth unable to move, who would you sacrifice the pain to speak to? With days out of action, what will you attend to first when you’re 100 percent?

Taking time out makes you a watcher. It makes you a listener. You become an observer. You realise that small things become big arguments. You learn that some of your grievous concerns are just natural doubts. I’ve learnt, that Carrie Bradshaw looks fabulous in a white boob tube dress and an oversized flower dangling off her shoulder.

We complain. We complain all the time. But distance does make the heart grow fonder. We do love our lives.

Yes it’s winter and the rain pours down. But instead of winging (unless of course you live Coffs Harbour and are drenched in a drought- apologies), grab a hot chocolate, sit down with your girlfriend/s and welcome that wintery gust of fresh air.

Life is what it is and you can choose to be the bum at Redfern station, make cameo appearances at Central station, and monotonously ask, “Change please ma’am. Change please sir”.

Or instead, if you have any of it left- you could let your hair down. That job will still be there. That degree will still be there. Those friends and family will still be there.

From the designer label silver screen to the pages of this uni magazine, loving life is the only label that never goes out of fashion. Go on, colour away.