Hello Sunday Morning » Mariko

BobbyAlu speaks

Mariko — Sun, 09 Jan 2011 05:38:44 +0000

CHARLES WALL AKA BOBBY ALU Island Vibe Festival 2010 Interview Transcript: During the course of Island Vibe, we got to sit down and chat with a few of the performers including the lovely Charles Wall (AKA Bobby Alu) who spared his time between sets. Pretty sure we made him late to the second one. Sorry. We spoke briefly about the drinking culture of the music industry which I think warrants a deeper discussion. But that’s for next time. Full transcript below. When was the last time you drank to get drunk? The last time I drank to get drunk would have to be…last weekend. Have you ever had an extended period of sobriety? I have. How long? The longest sober period would be… a month? Why did you choose to do that? The previous 3 months had been very full-on (laughs) Why do you drink? The main reason would be to step up that ‘party vibe’…Yep. That would be the MAIN reason. Do you think you could do that without drinking? Yeah. Yeah I think I could do that. BUT. I think it would be hard. I think it would take a lot of practice. Why do you think it would be hard? Initially I’d be comparing. Getting drunk is always something you keep in your back pocket…it’s like your card that you’ll play if things aren’t going well. I’ve had so many good times being a little bit loosey-goosey that, yeah…it’s almost a dependence. So in that sense do you think you use alcohol as a social lubricant? I have used it. Yeah, definitely, I would say that. But I feel like I don’t rely on it, yet. But at the moment definitely, there’s been many a time where it has been a social lubricant. If you chose to do a HSM for 3 months, what issues do you think would arise? The initial issues I think would be FOMO. Fear Of Missing Out. I think the peer pressure thing would be the biggest. Y’know, watching all your friends that you’ve had so many good times with doing what they do. What are you scared of missing out on? I’m scared that without alcohol…it might be different. What’s a good time for Charles Wall? A good time? Yeah, so when you go out, why do you out? I go out to socialise, because I LOVE hanging out with my friends and I love meeting new people and chatting about stupid things. As a professional musician, obviously drinking is connected with the industry, do you feel more pressure as a musician to get drunk? Yes. Yes, definitely. The main reason would be, why there is a pressure would be, is… because it’s free. There would be many a time, especially on the last tour I was on, where I’d have a whole carton of beer to myself. And…what do you do with that? If you’ve got friends, Sure enough you’d give a heap away but yeah, just seems to wind down after a gig there’s always alcohol there and it’s a way to release. So on that note, are there particular times when you’re touring when you choose not to drink? Yeah, definitely. Those times are when I have three 7am calls in a row, so that day, and the day after and the day after. Or if I’m feeling ratshit from the night before because I was drinking. Do you limit yourself in your drinking habits to achieve your goals? Goals in music or personal ones? Yeah, I’m at a phase now where I’m definitely limiting my drinking to achieve my goals. For instance, doing more shows that are more personal to me that hold a lot of importance. I know that alcohol affects that. The shows are getting bigger these days, in my life, so it’s kind of being a bit more conscious of how loose I am. Or actually, you know, just being able to back up all the time because everything is getting so busy. What about when you were learning to play the drums, for example? Do you feel like you had normal drinking habits compared to everyone else, or did you limit your good times during that process? There was a degree of that for sure. If there’s one thing that alcohol does affect it’s your learning capability so if you’re in a different state you can’t actually learn on the fly. There were some points, so if I had a lot of information to digest I wouldn’t be drinking. Do you think alcohol is associated with your identity? If you stopped drinking would you feel a loss of self? A little bit. Yeah I think it’s got such a grasp on the industry, the music industry that is, a lot of people associate all musicians with drinking…people are surprised if you reject a drink…which is actually, you know, that’s kind of a big problem as well. Would you feel isolated if you didn’t drink? So for example, after a gig, you’ve got a 7am start but you’re keen to hang out. Would you feel uncomfortable not drinking in that scenario? Would you stay? I’d like to think I would stay. I do think there would be some times where I’d think…Maybe I should go home. But I think with practice, you could do it. How do you react to people who have chosen to limit their drinking, either indefinitely or for an extended amount of time? Would you be supportive? I’m always supportive, I think the reason for that is…I see…I actually respect what they’re doing, and that one day, I might definitely do the same thing. If you did do a HSM, hypothetically, what kind of goals would you make for yourself? I’d love to do it just to prove to myself I could do it, and in that time, see what kinds of amazing things I could accomplish in the 3 months, or 2 months, or 7 months…(laughs) Is there anything in particular stopping you from not doing that right now? I guess I’m waiting for the right time. I feel like the time is approaching. I guess the obstacle at the moment is just…committing. Yeah, everyone has to do it at their own speed or…you just won’t do it. Lastly, what motivates you? Good times. Fun. And Good vibes. And people feeling good about themselves and the stuff that’s happening around them. Awesome Dude.

Self-Indulgent Flippery (and the human syringe)

Mariko — Wed, 22 Dec 2010 02:19:07 +0000

A while back now, right before Chris Raine moved away from Melbourne (about a month before I did also) we sat down to say our good-byes. What was meant to be coffee turned into lunch, and we spent the next 6 hours having one of those conversations you generally reserve for people you’ve known longer than the collective 8 hours you’ve spent with them. I was kind of embarrassed after we parted ways. I thought about the things I had told him; about my family, about my friends, about my dreams and aspirations, and the things that scared me in the world. There was a moment of regret, images of ships sinking because of my loose lips. I nicknamed him the human syringe for having the uncanny ability to reach in and steal all my secrets. One thing in particular has stayed with me from this particular conversation, and it’s of the expectations I hold of myself. For example, I don’t have any (Disclaimer: particulary life-destroying) secrets. What was I worried about? Maybe it was because I tend to present a certain version of myself to people I don’t know well. Maybe it’s because I tend to present a certain ‘version’ of myself, period. For example, it came to my attention in the last 12 months that my extended group of friends had a general ‘consensus’ about me. An understanding, if you will. Look, the dictionary definition would be as follows: Mariko: Girl that always smiles, with an insane infectious laugh. Impenetrable against despair and boredom. Bleeds rainbows and pixie dust. Free time spent looking upwards with a grin from ear to ear, enjoying the feel of abounding freedom. Washes hair in a stream as wood elf sit idly by, playing melodies from their hand-cut pan pipes. Etcetera, Etcetera. Don’t get me wrong- it could be worse. I could be a nasty bitch from hell that nobody likes (Depends who you are, really). The description above is far more flattering and seemingly harmless. What freaks me out is that I didn’t like to shift anyone’s expectation of this. After all, it’s such a nice thought. The girl who always smiles tends to make you smile, and if you know you can do this, why would you stop? I placed an imaginary pressure on myself to maintain this after the 100^th analysis on my personality by a third party. Besides, if I stopped, I might be found out as a totally normal human being who has a nasty cranky streak. Like, oh no. In the company of people who should be closest to me, I tried not to have bad days. I withheld bad news. I stepped around serious conversations. I kept this up not for the love of entertaining people (which I do enjoy) but to not shatter their expectations of me- a stupid choice made by me alone. I made myself untouchable in a way. When I stopped drinking between June-September this year, it made me realise how exhausted I was keeping this up. It also gave me the courage to smash those ‘expectations’ into a fine paste because I was already practicing the art in HSM. How people see me and how I saw me was so far apart I knew I had to close the divide. I’ve made slow and steady progress in the last few months, and I feel more comfortable with the identity I project.

I have deep thoughts. Deeper than even I can possibly fathom. Endless, and abounding. You wouldn't understand.

I forgot somewhere that friendships aren’t just based on smiles and good times. Good friends are proverbial husbands and wives, there for better OR worse when bad times blind sight you on a random Tuesday morning. They tell you they don’t care if you’re human dregs/pirate scum. They tell you they believe in you. They care. Maybe that’s why many people find they lose friendships as they persist in their own HSM. Maybe that’s not a bad thing.

To sum up your honour, it’s the constitution, it’s law, it’s the vibe, of the thing

Mariko — Sun, 21 Nov 2010 05:41:16 +0000

“It’s just…the vibe… of the thing” – Dennis Denuto, The Castle.

Cabaret

Mucho dancing.

Hugs for Charity.

It’s difficult to describe a festival like Island Vibe. Legally challenged lawyer, Dennis Denuto, said it best with the above. You know. When you can’t quite describe something because you can just feel it in your bones. It’s not so much a festival (as I know it to be) as an opportunity to go camping en masse with the option of seeing some good music in the afternoon. That’s if you’re awake, OR not at the beach, OR not having an impromptu sing-a-long with your neighbours, OR making pina coladas in coconuts. Yes, we happened to be drinking, if you were wondering. We were questioned on this time and time again at the festival, and wondered whether or not we ‘should be’ as HSM representatives and how it would affect our experience.

Inconspicious.

Chris and I both completed a 3 month HSM a few months ago, and neither of us ever wrote a final post, the last hurrah, the sign-off to nicely round out all of the important lessons learnt and experiences gained. Personally, I know I wasn’t ready for that. Although I had already chosen the step to make myself accountable in terms of ‘sobriety,’ I wasn’t ready to etch in stone what I had learnt from HSM because… I wasn’t sure. HSM is an ongoing process, and having the freedom(?) to drink again is still teaching me things after a period of sobriety. In a way, being able to drink again has shown me exactly where I’m hardwired, and where I’ve changed. For instance, Saturday night, just after midnight, slightly tipsy from red wine, I was standing in the shallows at the beach. A small party of musicians and punters had moved to the beach from the main arena. The moon looked like a giant orange segment and was slowly moving from the horizon into the dead of night. The African drum circle was playing in the background, amongst the shrieks and giggles from the dreadlocked crowd, and makeshift fires began sprouting up over the beach in haphazard zig-zags. People were clustered around them, smoking cigarettes, chatting calmly. I myself bopped back and forth to the beat, quietly watching the light from the moon spread out over the water, watching the scene unfold before me. I had a moment of adulterated happiness, where one thinks “Am I really here? Is this really my life?” I decided to leave at that moment (although it was early, and there was plenty of time for drinking) because I knew nothing else that night would top that moment. The power of HSM, mixed with the magic of Island Vibe- one of the best cocktails I’ve ever had (Sorry.)

Alternatively, on Sunday night, when the bar closed at 8.30pm and I had had but 2 beers, I was thoroughly disappointed. Imagine, if you will, two tiny characters representing my conscience and dictating my thoughts. They would have had this conversation.

Satan: “But it’s the LAST night, and I’m at a FESTIVAL, and that’s possibly the WORST thing ever, that’s ever happened to me, and ever will, wah wah wah.”

Cherub: “Remember how you didn’t drink at all for 3 months, not even on your 25^th birthday? Stop whinging like a little bitch and make do with the current situation”

Satan: “Oh yeah. Also there’s like half a carton of beer back at the camp site that’s a lot more free than buying from the bar and plenty of time to drink it before the after-party. Race you?”

Cherub: “…You’re on”

I’m going to be honest- Since completing HSM, I have had drinks with the intention of being less than sober at the end of them. I don’t feel out of control. I pace myself. I drink water in between. I don’t regret it, and I usually have a good time. That’s because I know one thing I got from my HSM is feeling in control- I pick those particular moments, with no pressure, or fear of ‘social repercussion.’ There is no expectation, no necessity either. No assumption that a social occasion equals GFW (Get Fucking Wasted) WHY I pick THOSE particular moments though, I’m not sure. Like I said, I’m still learning that part.

Social freedom + comfortable with your sexuality= One sexy, hilarious afternoon.

Whether I’m talking about my own personal experiences with HSM, or carrying a big dirty media pass on behalf of them, I’m careful to highlight to people that HSM is about ‘alcohol and individual awareness’ and not tee-totalling sobriety. HSM was never about sobriety to me. I just wanted to learn something about myself I didn’t know yet. ***Please stay tuned for interviews with the bubbly KATE FRASER (left) the enigmatic TANIA BAHR- VOLLRATH, singer/songwriter GEORGIA POTTER & percussion prince/ukulele king BOBBY ALU. We took some footage of interviews we conducted with these guys at the festival about their contrasting and very different drinking habits. All photos taken by TANIA above (except the one of Kate Fraser), you can check out her extended talents at TBAHRV

Island Vibe 2010

Mariko — Fri, 29 Oct 2010 04:43:46 +0000

Good Afternoon fellow HSM’ers…! For those of you who missed the Facebook Post, Chris (Beavon) and I are going to Island vibe tonight to do some coverage on behalf of HSM. Besides having a generally excellent time, we’re taking a handy-cam along to talk to a few of the artists about their thoughts on the drinking culture in the industry and in general, as well as a few people who are spending the weekend sober….and maybe some silly stuff too. We’ll also write a review and snap a few happy snaps so you can live vicariously through us. Depending on the network coverage I’ll be twittering throughout the weekend too, so if you want to follow some intellectual discourse, you can track them on: http://twitter.com/Mahreeko or wait for the final review next week. Chris and I have already completed a 3 month HSM each, and are (generally) happy little campers, so if you’re there and want to say Hey…Come say Hey.

Tickets still available at the gate (large amount of reserves), or you can come in for the day!

Birthday Hurdle

Mariko — Wed, 28 Jul 2010 15:24:09 +0000

I spent my 25th birthday sober.

Yes. Sober. If the first sentence sounded inexplicably morose in your head, (not dissimilar to a doctor giving a patient bad news), we could be related. If the words that followed were steeped in melancholy, well! Pull up a chair and sit by me. We’ll drown our sorrows in a couple of G + T’s. Hold the G. When it comes to words, there is nothing as cruel as the word lisp, or more sobering as the word sober. Except for me.

Sufficiently depressed? This should just about bring you into my headspace the night before my 25th. It was the first point in my HSM where I felt sorry for myself. It’s not that I had a bad day. Quite the opposite. The night before, there was an amazing dinner and even more amazing cake (see below). I had a good friend by my side and a boyfriend that flew down from Brisbane. There was a view of Melbourne from the inside of a beautiful bar and inside that bar? One girl and her birthday, one bottle of untouched ‘free-but-otherwise-very-expensive’ French champagne, a small shit-storm and a huge pity party.

Rainbow laser eye beams = Win.

I could literally see myself sitting on the bar stool at one point. Arms crossed, legs crossed, my face channeling the spirits of Oscar the Grouch and the Grinch who stole Christmas, brain working overtime on conjuring huge mental tantrum. I admit I thought about it, that night. Having a sneaky half-glass of wine, which, according to my calculations, isn’t even one standard drink, and is therefore exactly the same to drinking nothing at all. I had to remind myself of a few things: 1) I signed up for HSM for a few reasons listed here and I was going through with it sans the imaginary half-drink and the accompanying excuses. 2) I deliberately ensured my HSM would run over the course of my birthday. Obviously you can pick your own start date, but I wanted to ensure there was a recognisable hurdle, some mother of a social occasion, where I would mourn alcohol’s absence. If grieving is an important part of accepting and overcoming loss, then between 11.30-11.50, I grieved. By midnight, I was 25, over the loss, and starting a new year and chapter in my life. As we strolled out at 1am to head home, I felt quietly proud 25 was starting with some kind of accomplishment, and in awe at how one seemingly small decision was having a larger impact on my life. The wheels keep on turning. The day of my birth there was breakfast, and Tim Burton, an afternoon strolling around Fitzroy, fake wine at dinner and a revisit to s2 of True blood, and then? It was all over. No crazy stories, no surprise bumps and grazes, no make up to wash off in the morning, and surprisingly, not a care in the world.

TWEAKED

Mariko — Tue, 13 Jul 2010 02:04:14 +0000

-A blog I should have posted 3 weeks ago - I have taken a lover. It’s name is caffeine. Caffeine is the first thing I think of in the morning. It never fails to put a big smile of my face. It sometimes gives me tremors or heart palpitations. Caffeine is taking dancing lessons with me. It always takes me out on dates and loves hanging around my friends. In fact, caffeine makes me want to be a better person.

I think I may have found something very special here, a long-lasting love, an affair to last a lifetime. There was a day last week where I worked out I had 5 coffees in 11 hours, so rounding the hours down to simplify the math, 1 coffee every 2 hours. Keep in mind ALL of these coffees were lovingly hand-reared by a talented barista as my religion looks down upon non-believers and coffee in sachets. The last time I had this much caffeine was studying for exams in college when I existed on a steady diet of noodles, Boost chocolate bars, and No-Doz, all necessary study aids to cram an entire Semester of unattended classes into my brain. I have little excuse these days other than ‘I just want it’. There is a fine line between ‘use’ and ‘abuse’ and I am toeing further and further into the latter. I know that you’re thinking that caffeine is a weak substitute for alcohol. Not so. As my previous post outlines, I downed several of these on my night out and danced like the village idiot. On a particularly radical caffeine binge I *nearly* threw up in the cab home. I wake up in the morning feeling tired, cranky and seemingly hungover. Red Bull costs up to $9 a pop. It’s disturbingly like drinking without the possible hilarity. Obviously the immediate effects between alcohol and caffeine are drastic. Caffeine effects are far more subtle than say, swinging off a chandelier- but I feel as though I’m cheating slightly. I’ve recently placed more emphasis in my HSM to clarity of the mind, open communication lines, true freedom of expression between people. Instead, I’m tapping drum solos on the table, shaking like a leaf, winking nervously with one eye as I insist to strangers “I cannot ‘hook’ them up”. I’m not just drinking it in large quantities to keep up with the boozed kids. I’m drinking it to BE one of the boozed kids, minus the booze. I wonder why I keep revisiting this place over and over again. Come to think of it, caffeine is a turbulent relationship. It’s kind of bipolar- it’s up then it’s down. It always takes more than it gives. It often gives me headaches and takes me for granted. I have a sneaking suspicion it’s seeing others behind my back. I’ll call a break soon. My local cafe is not a Methadone clinic.

DON’T BLAME IT ON THE MOONLIGHT

Mariko — Mon, 21 Jun 2010 06:20:54 +0000

I usually measure my level of debauchery from the dance move currently being performed. On a scale of 1-10, 1 being completely sober and 10 being Lindsay Lohan, it follows this loose scale:

No dancing. General mingling around the bar area. Comments about the excellent/poor bass magnifying architecture are exchanged.
Tap foot on floor, clap hand on thigh. Maintain conversation about work/relationship/drink prices/lack of smoking area.
Commence nonchalant head bopping to easy, recognisable beats. Hover awkwardly on the dance floor. Push through mountains of people 15 times to frequent the bar.
Relax. Groove to the music. Frequent the bar.
Enter ‘The Point” (Read below for detail description)
Mimic other peoples hilarious dance moves around you, preferably behind them, thrusting, whilst taking photos of myself.
Jump up and down on the spot and throw hands in the air, in every direction, like you just don’t care. Whip people in the face with torrents of long sweaty hair. Tell people to ‘fuck off I was here first’, even there is no queue/stage/reason to speak of.
Lose all sense of rhythm and coordination. Perform air drums/guitar in defeat. Pretend that I am really, really good at it, and probably play one of these in real life. Perform the MC Hammer Dance.
Find a broomstick and insist everybody participates in the limbo. Insist on going first, whilst wearing inappropriate limbo garments. Fall down on each turn but insist you are not out. Berate all others who fall down and do not leave immediately.
Tell the busker, the nicest guy you’ve met, just now, he would make a lot more money if he let you sing. Forcibly remove his kazoo/uke/tambourine and do rendition of Sweet of Child of Mine at the top of your lungs. Dance to music that doesn’t exist. Cartwheel. Vomit on your shoes.

The point is my halfway mark to the point of no return. The move itself is very simple. Extend your index finger as far as you can. Clutch your other fingers into your palm and cock your thumb like a pretend gun and say ‘pew pew’. You’ll need to place your hands either above your head or directly in front of your person for maximum impact. Once you’ve mastered that, begin shuffling from left foot to right foot and then back again. Repeat. Have an extremely stupid look on your face and lip sync the lyrics. To master the technique, possess an undeserved air of superiority around you. Call people ‘plebs’ and ‘minions’.

Blame it on the Boogie

I went out dancing last Friday with some lady lubbers of mine and really enjoyed myself. So far it’s been the biggest temptation as many, many, bottles of wine disappeared at dinner. I trudged over to a nearby cocktail bar where they indulged in espressos martinis (one of my favourites). I had absolutely no problems dancing or making conversation. I learnt I dance the same sober as I do drunk (up until about level 8 folks. I did tell people to fuck off, but I know, and they know why. They know) and it turns out ‘the point’ is as part of my repertoire as Hammertime. I don’t know how I feel about this. I thought I was pretty cool. Either way, it was liberating to know I could still rock the casbah for under $20. I stayed until the ugly lights came on. I was the only one who didn’t look like they’d been punched in the face.

Not just for the women folk.

THE WEEKEND BEFORE HSM

Mariko — Thu, 10 Jun 2010 14:51:09 +0000

I got proper hammered last Friday.

The day before I travelled up to Brisbane to spend a few days with the old ball and chain, otherwise known as the Clyde to my Bonnie (we shall call him Chris from now on). Friday was a casual affair at the local restaurant with Chris’s family and a few mates from uni celebrating the end of Semester. What was meant to be an innocent dinner accidently turned into my last hurrah, the final hangover before my 3 month stint with HSM.

PASSION POP...

Alcohol works on a bartering system. Apparently, if you take equal quantities of beer (thanks for coming to dinner ya’ll), red wine (Is this a trumpet? I’m pretty sure I can play it!), gin and tonic (Let me tell you, in exact detail, the time I went around Europe), Mojitos (HAHAHA! You don’t say. Wait. What did you say?)Espresso martini’s (Ya knowse guyshes, the brill…the brillyin…the good thing habout thiss sshdrink, ish that ish it DELICIOUS. Ish dat not asmazshing?), tequila (inaudible gurgling noises) and 100,000 cigarettes, you can exchange it for a slideshow of memory stills consisting of blurry faces, dark places, bruised legs, cold cement, the mystery taxi ride home, and the bedroom floor.

It’s not that I didn’t have a great night. I had fun all the way from sober dinner to tipsy drinks. And why wouldn’t I? They were charming, funny, friendly and interesting, and I was doing OK myself, for the first half. It wasn’t until I was knocking over bar stools at La Roux (It was meeeeee) that the night started to go ass up. As far as my social binge-drinking goes, I wasn’t part of the university crowd who were celebrating the end of semester/the start of exams. I’m also no wallflower. I’m not exactly what people hasten to describe as ‘introverted’ so I can’t really use the confidence excuse to my benefit. Furthermore, I was surrounded by similar personalities who were more than capable of holding a conversation tipple or no tipple. So why, despite knowing all this and seeing it in action, do I feel hesitant about my social success without a drink in hand? Why am I skeptical about the quality of fun I will have during HSM? Why do I keep throwing half a weeks pay at bartenders when I was already having a good time? I would have paid double the amount not to feel as completely and utterly and soul consumingly ratshit as I did the next day. I opened…nay- wrenched open my eyelids the following morning, hissing at the intruding sunlight cascading across the bed. I’m a little theatrical so I did my best Wicked Witch of the West impersonation (“I’m melting, aaah meeeelllltiiiiiing, etc”). I was careful to unstick my face from the pillow slowly, not willing to lose/rip my lashes to the crusted mascara on the pillow. Having now repositioned my face AWAY from the encircling saliva puddle, I delicately, like a lady, wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. It left a milky crusty residue, the kind you should should only find in a week old glass of milk. It started flaking off my skin instantly, probably by the high powered alcohol fumes that were now propelling out of my pores like a viper on a freeway. The imaginary vice around my head tightened, thumping sweet poisonous bass around my ear-drums. By this stage, I was glad Chris was still sleeping (unconscious) next to me. He may have become overcome by my overwhelming beauty (putrid cheese smell) and cry tears of true joy (vomit in his mouth a little). Rather poignantly, Saturday produced one of the worst hangovers I have had in a long, long time. Pain was enjoyed by all- all of my organs, and bones, and limbs. We went for a walk along the main stretch of road in West End and I could have been enjoying the amazing Brisbane weather. Instead, I formulated clever ‘vomit exit strategies’ in response to my nagging upchuck reflex. This basically means ’ways- to- look- nonchalant- and- possibly- cool- while- randomly- vomiting- on- the- street- in- broad- daylight’ . Later in the afternoon saw me forcibly inserting hamburger down my throat in the hopes of extracting medicinal/healing properties (no such luck). I did however, enjoy eating Beef Noodle Soup in bed later, whilst watching The Mighty Boosh. That was sweet. But besides that, the biggest accomplishment of the day was making it all the way down to the Gold Coast without violently chundering out the window. And waking up.

...DOES NOT AGE LIKE FINE WINE OR CHEESE

I didn’t know much about anything when I started legally drinking. In fact, I was a naive and frightened 17 year old when I first enrolled in my Journalism class in 2003. Fast forward 4 years later and I emerged with a chip on my shoulder, a pringle the size of a surfboard, disillusioned with the world at large and a system that has an incredible amount of influence on a seemingly unsuspecting public. At the risk of sounding like a typical pot-smoking, bean-bag bound, Bob Marley listening, uni template- I became suspicious of my own wants and needs, unsure if it was something that came from my core, or something I had been programmed to desire.

I reassessed how I viewed my appearance. My future personal success. My whole philosophy on personal happiness. But I never once applied it to alcohol. I was too busy working out how many goon sacks I would need for 25 people.

Freedom of choice only means something when you stop sitting back as a passive consumer. Last Saturday solidified in my mind that I had made the right choice in signing up with HSM- it’s a handy exercise in remembering how to think on your own, and not to think what you’re told. Long term, I know that alcohol has a place in my life, as will the occasional hangover. I will be the first one round after a nasty break-up with the-fuckwit-I-never-liked-anyway to help you drown your sorrows. I will toast you and drink champagne at your wedding. I will pretend I know the significance of sediment in the bottom of the wine glass to impress your dad/the winery guy/the snobby waiter, and I will cheers you (and me) for future birthdays and promotions and congratulations to come. I will do all these things, hand wrapped around vessel, knowing I made the choice to do so, with a clear and conscientious understanding why. That’s pretty cool.

WORD LIMIT SCMERD LIMIT

Mariko — Wed, 02 Jun 2010 04:03:57 +0000

It’s 4.42pm, Monday afternoon, and I’ve spent it restlessly looking for jobs and constantly checking my mobile for missed calls from potential employers. I’m sick with a suspected chest inspection and I’ve had to cancel my Centrelink appointment because my tonsils feel like sandpaper. The woman on the phone was less than helpful (“No, no appointments anywhere in Melbourne, you’ll have to cancel and relodge your claim, NO extensions possible, no no no”) and I can feel myself whirl pooling into a nice, comfy nest of self-pity. So far, like normal working hours, Monday blows.

Having already taken 15 minutes from my job-seeking to send my interstate boyfriend an obligatory (but heartfelt) ‘Don’t-worry-you-won’t-fail-university-you’re-so-clever-AND-sexy’ email, I decided to scroll down my Facebook news in the hopes of finding something entertaining. It happened here, in the newsfeed. Somewhere between ‘You, Mr bus driver, are just a big, fat MEANIE!’ and ‘Fish tank for Sale’ was the reason I’m writing this blog to begin with. The reason why it took me 15 minutes to make a cup of tea instead of the usual 5. The reason that made me realise I have more fear than I think.

It was the Hello Sunday Morning website.

Melodramatic? Perhaps. But viewed from an individual whose favourite quote is ‘Cognitive Dissonance is your friend’, the site is the equivalent of my digital bogeyman, a combination of confrontation and deeply saturated guilt held together by my unthinkable growing interest. As I went to make my 50th cup of tea for the day, my mind went into overdrive discussing the possibilities of committing to a HSM regime:

“I will do that, I need to…you’ll never make it through……imagine the jeers, the taunts!…who cares? They’ll understand…I’ll miss out on social functions…NOT if you’re there…Hang on. Why do I feel so torn up about this? I’ll quit and that’ll be that! What is this feeling? Why am I freaking out? How long have I been dunking this teabag??”

Now, I like drinking.

Charmed, I'm sure

In fact- I love drinking. I love the way red wine smells when you dip your nose over the lip of the glass. I love how it compliments food before, during and after. I love sharing a bottle of wine with my best friend on the balcony, drunkenly cackling like mad hyenas into the night. I love cracking open a cold one on a hot day/after work/Friday Afternoons/Sunday afternoons/just because. I love it as a reward after a big day, I love to drown my sorrows in it. But most of all, I love it with cigarettes. The ultimate combination of luxurious poisons, I consider it the epitome of everything good and right in this world, a delicious and toxic sensory delight capable of making of all life’s inevitable woes melt away in a simple exhale and guzzle. Yes. I DO enjoy the drink (and smoke, but that’s a different day) So much in fact, I’d say I drink everyday; whether it be the daily after work special , the 2 bottles I share with my best friend on ‘date night’, or the all-night corner-shop piss binge-a-thon that Saturday night brings. It’s a fairly repetitive week, one I willingly repeat over and over again without questioning the monotony of the routine, ever. It comes as a surprise to me as I change my bedroom around once a month, clean out my wardrobe every 6, and change homes/jobs like I change underwear (I should hasten to add that I’m FOR hygiene, not against). So why care now? Firstly, at 24, I’m worried alcohol has tied itself in with my personality. I’m worried it has become apart of my identity. I’m worried I’ve allowed it to define me as little more than a socialite. I’m worried I don’t know how to truly interact with other people. I’m worried my life is so boring I drink, and I’m worried if I don’t drink, I will be boring. I’m worried I’ve stopped actively seeking out new places, new people, and new interests. I worry about the time it steals from me because as I grow older, I appreciate that time becomes more precious.

Don't leave me

When it comes to goals and what I want from this challenge, I want a lot- with an increase of money and time I want to rediscover what I love, what truly makes me happy, and what I want to pursue. I want to know I have the confidence and ability to say no (and to say yes!). I want the simple, sweet satisfaction of overcoming a challenge I put myself in the way of. I want to see the unknowns, the things I don’t know are coming. I want to see a sunrise at the beginning of the day, not the end! Most importantly, I want to carve out a space on this earth that feels like it belongs to me. I’m hoping by removing alcohol, an identifiable tangible substance that negatively affects me physically, mentally and financially, will set off a chain reaction in other areas of my life. I guess time will tell. I’ll be honest. Giving up for even a short time frightens me. When it comes to my diet and drinking, I’ve never so much completed a one week detox without the occasional (daily) cheating and for me, a 3 month challenge is a long and vicious gauntlet whose finish line is at the bottom of a black hole. It will be an exercise in resolve and will power not to hold out my arm and beg someone to twist it. I moved from Brisbane to Melbourne in the past month and whilst still homeless (living with friends), and jobless (boo), it’s been lonely, but fun, stressful, but liberating, hard, but worth it. I imagine my HSM experience will be the same. I start June 7th. Stay tuned!