Who is the Advice Peacock?

Who is the Advice Peacock?

The Advice Peacock is an idea. He’s an enigma wrapped in a dream served with special sauce. He has a lot of feathers. He has a lot of ideas.

The Advice Peacock knows his shit.

Marital problems, religious questions, existential crises. The Advice Peacock can help. He is like your favourite Agony Aunt except a bird.

I created the Advice Peacock as a sort of alter-ego. Long time readers (first time callers) will not be surprised to hear that I like to give advice. I have many blogs dolling out unsolicited advice like soup to the homeless. I rave incessantly about things I think will make you a better person. But I’m 24. And 24 year olds can’t just walk around telling other people how to live their lives. Well no-one can, but youth seems to make it even worse. Who am I to tell you how to dress (in my first ever blog), who am I to list dot points on the best way to survive school, who am I to lecture on any topic at all? What are my qualifications? What, really, gives me the right?

The Advice Peacock does not have these issues. The Advice Peacock is wise, he is fabulous, and he is fictional. Sure, he’s arrogant, knows too much for his own good, and is kind of an idiot, but who’s going to question a peacock? He has all the feathers, and those feathers look like they have eyes. You can trust him. Or at least, you can fear him slightly and accept that his arrogance is merely a result of his supreme knowledge and well-preened plumage. 

So sometimes I embody the Peacock. I allow him to exist within me as I write/rant about all the ways you could be better. I strut up and down, his soft yet supportive tail feathers encasing me and extoll profound truths and tacky metaphors. I am he. He is me.

The Advice Peacock features in a zine I accidentally made and am selling for $2 at TiNA today. How did this happen? Some say Internet Party made me do it; still others say Advice Peacock himself was involved. All I know is that he gives awful advice and makes me happy.

If you have questions for Advice Peacock send them to humdrumplum [at] gmail [dot] com and I’ll see if he’s up for answering a couple of them. 

They are nutritious and taste like happiness

When I Grow Up

Today's picture brought to you by "Sleepy Lizzy" - too damn tired to Paintbrush

‘You can be anything when you grow up’ is a trap. Western society breeds its kids confident, self-assured and with an arrogant sense of entitlement. We all genuinely believe that we are so awesome that we can do anything. Small children will tell you they want to be firemen, princesses, astronauts, presidents, truck drivers, dancers and superheroes. None of them say, “my whole family is in watchmaking, so I will go into the family business at 16 and make watches my entire life”. They don’t say, “whatever my parents think is the best path” or “doctor or lawyer, they both make lots of money”.

Many cultures aren’t like that. And we as Westerners are conditioned to think it’s bad that parents pressure kids to become one thing, and one thing only. It’s nice to have a choice, isn’t it? Nice to know that you literally could do anything? But it’s just not true. We are pushed down certain paths our whole lives. We slowly move toward careers based on our aptitude and skills, our social background, our education, our parents’ careers and sadly, sometimes our gender. These are subtle influencers, but they are always happening. From primary school’s standardised testing, to high school’s subject choices, university specialisations, TAFE certificates and apprenticeships. Each decision, each test, each year brings you closer and closer to an inevitable choice.

This is a problem for me, because I’ve run out of decisions. There are no more tests, no more subjects to choose. I’ve graduated from a degree I practically fell into, tried my “obvious” career move, not particularly enjoyed it and run away to the country. So what is left to me? I’ll tell you what is left. Mother-flippin writing. And if this post seems at all depressing, let me tell you, the realisation that you have one thing left to do is actually kind of empowering.

I’ve gotten to a point now where I know I’ll never be happy till I try it. And I’ve made the final decision, to do exactly that, to try it. I’m going to do NaNoWriMo this year, and I’m going to be more disciplined. I’m going to stop pretending I’m a writer and actually be one. I’m going to set myself a certain number of hours per week to write in, and I’m going to write in them. I’m going to submit to more things, ask for criticism and try to take it as graciously as I can. I’m going to read as many great books as I can, and I’m going to accept that I’m never going to be a vet.

P.S. I’m at TiNA next weekend! I will almost certainly blog but I don’t know when, I will possibly do a couple of posts, like last time, but maybe slightly more fun and less OHMYGODI’MDOINGSOMANYTHINGSLETMETELLYOUABOUTTHEMINGREATDETAIL

Dirty Hipster

Anatomy of 50% of a Hipster

Hipsters, what even are they?

When I was a teenager, the dominant non-mainstream mainstream culture was Emo. Everything was a little bit Emo, from Emos themselves, to TV shows, to music, to the kind of clothes they sold at Supré.

And now it’s Hipsters. You can buy really cheap, crap vintage-esque clothes from Supré, and all the cool music is kinda Folky. It’s just unfortunate because one of the main strongholds of the Hipster culture is that it’s about being into stuff before other people discovered it, which is tricky considering we are all, now, in a small way, a total Hipster.

You might think you’re not a hipster, but you are. And the best bit? If you think you’re not, if you think you’re cooler than the mainstream… THAT MAKES YOU A HIPSTER. It’s an awful, hilarious, cycle of sockless feet and doom.

The Hipster Culture is really good for people like me. There have been AT LEAST a hundred occasions where I have left the house with the thought “oh Jesus I can’t be seen in this cardigan that I bought 8 years ago from Target, it has giant buttons and mismatching patterns OH NO WAIT that kind of shit is cool now phew”.  Like, the actual Hipster Culture is for cool kids, for people who like to be on the front line of new things and fashion and shit like that. BUT I think the real reason it has taken off so hard is that it allows for a lot of not so cool people, like me, to sneak in there through the cracks in our ugly, comfy clothes.  I really like wearing handmade brooches, have done for some time, apparently that’s cool now. Also, I always wanted to buy vintage dresses because I thought they looked nice, but I was too chicken. NOW it’s a cool thing to do and I can get away with it really easily, and people compliment me on my dowdy, mega-super-comfy, really cheap dresses that I secretly only bought because they had pockets.

Meanwhile, Hipsters are reviving lots of 90s stuff WHICH IS GREAT because it’s basically just nostalgia town for people who grew up in the 90s. Like it’s cool to be into Pokemon again, and it’s cool to love silly movies and it’s cool to wear Disney clothes and it’s cool to go to Hanson concerts. So basically, all of us sneaky hipsters don’t actually have to try that hard to be cool. We just have to reminisce for a moment and then we’re super awesome.

I’m just looking forward to the time when it’ll be Hipster to be Emo. DOMINANT NON-MAINSTREAM MAINSTREAM INCEPTION.

Weather with you

Weather happens every god damn day, whether you want it to or not. Whether you weather the weather or whether you don’t, it’s always there. And yet we humans talk about the weather like it’s going out of fashion. Or more accurately, like it’s the height of fashion.  We can’t get ENOUGH of weather talk. It’s too cold, it’s so hot, can’t get over the frost this morning, did you hear we’re in for a storm? What’s with these clouds, eh?

There are a million, million jokes about talking about the weather; it’s the cliché, the standard filler, only boring people talk about weather. For some people it’s highly relevant; farmers, fishers, tornado hunters – they all need to know, discuss and go on about it. But what the fuck are the rest of us doing?

Sure, it’s easy small talk, the kind of stuff you can pull out with coworkers you don’t know that well, or neighbours, vaguely related family members and members of religious faiths who won’t get off your doorstep, but I think it’s more than that.

Since moving from my hometown, almost every single member of mine and Boyfriend’s families have mentioned that they look at the weather forecast for Dalby on a regular basis. We’re no longer in town, no longer united by Brisbane weather, so they keep an eye on our weather. There’s no logic to this, if it’s cold here, they aren’t going to call us up and remind us to wear a scarf, but they just like to know. I still check the Brisbane weather all the time; it’s comforting in a weird way.

I think we talk about the weather because it’s one of the few observable, unambiguous things that unites us. No one can say whether we all experience life in the same way; do we love the same way, hate the same way, find the same things funny? How can we be sure that other people even think the same way, or about the same things as us? We can’t. But we sure as hell all know what it’s like to get rained on, to feel hot, to scream and then giggle at our own fear when lightning strikes a little too close for comfort.

So every morning, you probably look up the forecast online, or catch it on the news. You probably make a comment about it to someone you live with. Failing all that, you at least stand on your front steps and judge whether or not you’re going to need a cardi. And once you’ve gleaned this information, you probably go to work or uni or whatever, and mention it to someone there. “I thought it was going to be freezing this morning, but now I’m boiling, damn it I did not need this cardi!” And in your mind you might think, “geez what a boring conversationalist I am” – but remember, you’re just connecting yourself to the rest of humanity. All you’re doing is saying “LOOK I AM JUST LIKE YOU. WE ARE THE SAME. HOW SHIT IS SWEAT?!” You’re just participating in the great small talk of life, and there’s nothing so wrong with that.

What’s with these clouds, eh?

Fresh Start

Leaf it alone, man.

This weekend one of my bestest friends told me she’s moving to the UK. In a month. She’s decided to up and leave and try something new in the Greatest of the Britains. And while of course I am sad about how much I will miss her, I’m pretty stoked for her. Because she’s made a big decision - she’s turning a new leaf, taking the plunge and other such metaphors.

Her news got me thinking about fresh starts.

I think it’s easy to say that people need a fresh start to erase their history. They need to get away from some of their more foolish mistakes, or from people who know them too well, or maybe they just “can’t cope” with “real life” and need to “run away”. And I don’t know, maybe that’s true of some people. Criminals, mostly, and people who voted for Campbell Newman. But I think trying for a fresh start is one of the bravest things you can do.

Given the chance, I think most people will not actually do that much reinventing in a new place. They won’t go by a new name, or affect an accent or suddenly pretend to be really into jazz music. In my experience, starting fresh in actually gives you the opportunity to be the youest you possible. People might not know your history, but they’ll still get to know the real you, because in a new place you’re suddenly in a position to set the record straight. There are no rumours, no preconceived notions, no vague memories of something you might have said once. You’re able to present the reality of yourself, unhindered by any other baggage you might have collected while you were trying to work out what that reality was.

Change is good. Adaptability is good. But sometimes it’s hard to change when you’re surrounded by people who’ve known you a while. You might even feel hypocritical, if you’ve changed a lot recently. But it’s all about learning. You learn about the world, you learn about yourself, and unfortunately sometimes, you learn through mistakes. A fresh start gives you that wonderful chance to take everything you’ve learnt, and make it a part of you without anyone wondering why you’ve suddenly changed your mind about fashionable clothes or politics.

And it’s not just big changes to England (or even to little old Dalby). You can make a fresh start in a new job, a new uni course, a new friendship. In fact I would argue that every day you have an opportunity, small as it might be, to start afresh in some aspect of your life. It’s the ultimate form of self-betterment. In fact, “self-betterment” is kind of a stupid phrase, and hard to say. It’s not about becoming better; it’s about becoming you. The you that you want to be. The you you’ve always been able to be. The real you. You you.

Safe travels, you.