Human emulation program 5.0

How would you know if you were an android? I don't mean a dopey "danger Wil Robinson!" clunky, clanky, arm waving robot.  Not even like Commander Data but with a better skin tone.   Or Ripley's synthetic 'friend' Ash. I mean a super sophisticated bio-engineered flesh and blood android.  How would you know?

Would you occasionally struggle with your core programming?  Would your programming feel inadequate to deal with some kinds of human behaviour?

What if you were a spy, left here by an alien civilisation to observe, emulate, and presumably at some stage report back? A sophisticated, interactive CCTV camera. Perhaps you're continuously reporting and not even aware of it. Perhaps the best anthropology is done without violating the prime directive (although as any Trekkie knows there's no such thing as an episode or Star Trek that DOESN'T violate the prime directive).  How would you know?

What would it feel like as you upgraded your human emulation software? When my daughter was very small, we came home to find that our house had been burgled. "Daddy", she asked, "are there bad people living in our world?". Upgrade 1.1 there ARE bad people in our world.  Is grief the sensation of downloading a patch, installing it, and rebooting in safe mode?

Would you laugh at times that seemed to be very different to everyone else? Would things that worry other people simply not be interesting to you? Would you know facts, figures and data and be able to retrieve them much quicker than neurotypicals?

Or do you ever imagine that you were the only human, and everyone else was a flesh and blood android? Like a sophisticated conservation project: a zoo exhibit for human research.

Do you ever ask yourself, "what would a normal human person do in this situation"?

No? Good. Shh! Neither do I. Forget I mentioned it.

What's your superpower

What's your superpower? How would you even know if you had one? Would it come on gradually like baldness or would it be there from birth like an arm? How would you even notice it was there?

My superpower is invisibility. And a wonderful power it is. I can be at work meetings and afterwards people will ask me if I was there. Even if I spoke! A friend recently complained that I wasn't at the pub, but I was standing next to him (and later beating him in a best hairy chest competition, as you do when you're the Bear King, but that's another story).

 

Sometimes it's a bit less convenient though I have to admit. I regularly find automatic doors failing to notice me. I have to wait for someone else to walk through, or wave my arms around until my visibility returns. And people are always bumping into me in the street. I mean, c'mon! It's not as though I'm a sylph of a figure.  Even the kind would describe me as 'well nourished'.

Unfortunately, and this is the real killer, I cannot control when this ability manifests.  Many's the time I would gladly have vanished only to have remained front and centre, even apparently volunteering. And when I most want to be noticed, too often it appears that there is only background. That I have softly and suddenly vanished away.

I recently had to make a public presentation and the host completely forgot I was in the room... or even on the run sheet! Her ditziness or my super-normal abilities? I was amazed.  But this had crossed a line.  Not only was I physically unobservable, but my written name, in her own handwriting, had vanished as well.  How could both have vanished? Which led me to question am I actually invisible, or is my power an ability to block perception? A kind of "these aren't the droids you're looking for" telepathic suggestion. Jedi (for low values of Jedi).

This seems plausible.  Like Douglas Adams' SEP field (the theory of which says more or less, that the technology of actual cloaking devices is so mind-bogglingly complicated that you're better off just painting your space ship hot pink, parking it in plain view, and letting everyone's fragile psychological state decide that it's easier to not notice; that it must be Someone Else's Problem). It also explains why all my clothing would become invisible at the same time as I did (though I must admit I've always found the idea of the invisible man nuding-up kind of erotic, though it must have gotten cold at times). Are all superpowers simply matters of mind over matter? It's a more Tinkerbell model of superpowers: Yes, I DO believe in fairies... therefore I am a fairy? Or a Neil Gaiman American Gods model of divinity. If YOU believe I am invisible perhaps I am. And if YOU believe I can fly perhaps I can too?

So now I guess I need to practice, though without a mentor or an instruction manual it's going to be hit and miss. Seems to work with baldness and arms. Once I do master it though, there will be the most difficult of all questions for emerging supers... Do I use my powers for good, or evil? Or will I just use them for nothing in particular? And what's the difference?

So next time you see me, if I look like I'm concentrating very, very hard, look again. And if I'm not there, feel free to let out a congratulatory cheer.  Or a quiet, "you did it!" and a grope of the air in front of you to land a pat on my back.

T-Rex Hates High-Fives

I bought a great shirt in Macy's that has a picture of two Tyrannosaurus Rex dinosaurs facing each other and the words T-Rex hates high-fives. Think about it. I love wearing it.  It often gets a laugh from people passing me in the street. Sometimes I think they're laughing at me.  Sometimes they probably are.

 

Now there's no evidence in the fossil record that T-Rex ever held business meetings, but look at those tiny arms - they look perfectly evolved for holding a briefcase.  Mobile phones would have been a problem, what with T-Rex ears so high up on their heads, so they must have had Bluetooth and hands free. But what else went on in the lives of T-Rex? What was dinosaur society really like?

Our world is struggling with the greatest problem ever facing mankind - the greatest problem of our age as it has been described. I don't mean programming your video recorder to copy programs from free-to-air or deleting 'friends' off Facebook without them noticing. I'm talking about global warming.  This week, atmospheric carbon dioxide levels at the remote Mauna Loa mountain in Hawaii were the highest ever recorded. Ever. Down here in Sydney we've had 27 consecutive years of it getting hotter and hotter, and the hottest day ever recorded was in January this year. Ever.

The best scientists in the world, in fact, every scientist that isn't paid by an oil, coal or gas company, say that we need to do something about this, and that something we need to do is cut carbon dioxide emissions.

Think about it.  The last time global temperatures and atmospheric carbon dioxide levels were this high was when dinosaurs roamed the Earth.  Early dinosaur society clearly must have had a massive CO2 addiction, just like humans. With dinosaurs occupying every ecological niche for more than 180 million years their energy demands must have been phenomenal. Every grain of coal would have been mined to power dinosaur entertainment and air travel. Every drop of oil burnt to transport souvenirs and children's toys from the manufacturing hubs on Laurasia to become landfill in the tech savvy Gondwanaland markets. I have no doubt that dinosaur scientists would have reached the same conclusions as human scientists have 65 million years later: that society must change, that we must do more with less, and that we must move to a low carbon economy.

We should take a lesson from the dinosaurs. While the Jurassic and Triassic periods were marked by rampant capitalism and out of control consumption of resources, the Cretaceous was a golden age of sustainability. Cretaceous dinosaurs embraced low carbon, sustainable society.  Solar thermal, wind and other renewables powered their smart phones and tablets. Over the last 20 million years of the Cretaceous steel and concrete infrastructure of the great Triassic dinosaur cities was replaced by renewable bamboo, rubber and plant fibre technologies. Local production was favoured, helped by the breaking of Pangaea into smaller land masses. Clean-up of old contamination was complete. And  massive reforestation was undertaken on a global scale.  Even Antarctica was forested, as part of the planet's largest ever carbon sequestration project.  How ironic that these have become the coal and oil fields of the human age. The dinosaurs must be horrified. Turning in their fossilised graves.

Yes, the dinosaurs finally succeeded in tackling climate change.  It was a magnificent achievement, unprecedented in the history of the planet. Dinosaur society achieved a nirvana of sustainability. Completely biodegradable. It touched the Earth lightly.  So lightly in fact that not a trace of it remains today.

And 65 million years ago, as the planet's thermostat returned to normal, and the hazy, humid, skies cleared at last so that the stars finally shone again on the surface of the Earth, the first dinosaur astronomers since the early Jurassic began to peer out into the heavens, and finally noticed a large approaching rock.  That's the other reason T-Rexs don't high-five.

World peace, and such...

Bears are all about inclusivity. This time last year I sat in my wrestling singlet tuning my ukulele in the dressing room of the Oxford Hotel, crammed into the tiny space with four other wonderful guys in various states of undress and nerves. Mr Harbour City Bears 2012 competition was in full swing. 

It’s a hard thing sometimes to be yourself. Some people struggle with it their whole lives. I have certainly had my battles with authenticity. That night all five of us were just that – ourselves. Naked on stage, if you will, whether or not we were actually wearing clothes (which was debatable at various stages during the evening as those in the audience can testify). Strange that it should somehow be easier to be yourself in front of a beary, beery, crowd of 200 plus. Or that it should be a strangely personal thing.

Some people complain that the Mr Bear comp is nothing more than a beauty pageant. I’m immensely flattered. (Having won, do they seriously expect me to disagree?) 

So have I achieved world peace? No. Why would anyone expect that? Has the world changed? Yes. Not in a way that history will really remember, but in quiet, important ways. In hundreds of small conversations with other average blokes like me, struggling at times with being themselves. In deep conversations with friends in the midst of depression or addiction. And in interactions, laughs and the occasional pash with acquaintances. And I hope that for a whole heap of strangers, or “friends I haven’t met” as Bert and Ernie would sing, something very important: someone they might not know but might recognise, an ageing bloke, with some grey in his beard and a few extra kilos, proving that old dogs can learn new tricks. And if they are struggling 
with being themselves, like I was, they can see options, and maybe a brighter future. 

Because there is nothing like that feeling of belonging you get from turning the corner into Oxford Street on Mardi Gras evening, with 140 of your mates in the Harbour City Bears float, and seeing the streets packed with cheering spectators; from opening the text message from your mum and dad, wishing you a “great parade and an awesome afterparty”; and when your son tells you the next week, when you pick him up from 
primary school, that his friends told him they were at the parade, and saw “your dad, the Bear King”. If I were to try and condense all of that into a single thought, it might be that even with the benefit of hindsight – ahh, hindsight – if you’ve taken a few wrong turns here and there, and missed a few miles of road you should’ve seen, it’s never too late. You’re not alone. And you have friends and a community. 

Like US presidents, former Mr Bears retain the title for life. Just ask George or Jason or the other one (love your work, Justin). There’s plenty more to do, personally and for the community, so it won’t be the last you’ll see of me. Clearly world peace takes longer than just one year. But as the outgoing PM sings in Keating! The Musical “...though it seems like half an hour since I stumbled into power, it’s time for me to say goodnight”. Maybe it’s time to bust out that number on the uke. 

It’s been a blast, fellas, and I can’t thank you enough for a truly amazing year. In a couple more months I’ll hand over the Mr Australasia title, but for now: the Bear King of Sydney is dead — long live the Bear King!

Instructions for Bear Dancing - Part 3

If you've mastered standing still in time and jack-hammering then you're well on the way to bear dancing like a pro, and ready for more...

Rule 3: Bear necessities are bare necessities      

   

Architect Ludwig Mies van der Rohe adopted the motto ‘Less is more’ to describe his minimalist aesthetic of enlisting every design element to serve multiple visual and functional purposes. With many bears tending towards the ‘more’ rather than the ‘less’ this is absolutely applicable to bear dancing.  Like any masterwork of architecture, you've probably built your body as a shrine to...  the gym? ...tattoos? ...beer and chips?  You've invested a lot of time and effort growing muscles under your belly not to mention under the hair on your back. This is an opportunity to show off your hard work, whilst at the same time dealing with the increasingly unbearable heat on the crowded dance-floor. But don’t jump the gun.  Wait for the magical flash-mob moment about two hours in when, without warning, it’s suddenly ‘shirts-off!’ and join in the wave of literal ‘less-is-more’. 

The Perfect Man

So on the way out of the Oxford a few Furry Friday’s ago, crossing the road to get a cab home, I lock eyes with a very handsome guy. Like, wow! He’s walking with his mate, but three beats later there's the look back and the continued gaze across the traffic. Eyes locked. One of those eight-lanes-of-traffic-crossing looks. I hesitated… should I semaphore a mobile number? Should I run back? Should I see if he will run back? But I had to get in the cab: it was late, I was tired, my place wasn't free and worse, the babysitting meter was still running at home. 

Did I have to get in the cab? I guess not. So why did I? I've thought long and hard about this. I think the real reason I didn't run back is that all I could think was, "it doesn't get any better than this". In that moment he was the PERFECT man. No, really. PERFECT. I didn't have to learn about his issues, or his baggage, meet his parents, share the couch with him or the remote, deal with his ex, his protestations of monogamy, or any of that plethora of other stuff that just gums up relationships. For that exquisite moment he was perfect, absolutely perfect.

Why would I think such a thing? Have I really given up, and not in a cool “all attachment is pain” Zen kind of way? 

I’m currently blaming Disney. Sure I cried in Kung Fu Panda (“I’m not A big fat panda, I’m THE big fat panda”), and Brother Bear (c'mon – three brothers in the wilderness, and bears!), and I thought Aladdin was a hottie (even though some may say I had more in common with Princess Jasmin). Has Disney been setting me up to fail every time? Apart from creating more orphans than the entire second world war (do any of them have two parents?) they've trained me to expect happy-every-after, but not what I need to do when happy-ever-after starts. The training for that part seems to be having a stretch, shaking off the popcorn, taking off your 3D glasses and emerging into the daylight blinking and into a life that seems, well, ordinary. Then again maybe that’s exactly the right training. If you've taken off the glasses and there’s no more popcorn and he’s still there, that’s a good sign. And if he looks even slightly more than ordinary he’s possibly a keeper. 

Anime rocks! Even mainstream American anime. 

Oh, and to the perfect guy whose face could launch a thousand ships, you know who you are. Call me!

Instructions for Bear Dancing - Part 1

Bear dance parties are some of the best. But they can be confronting to the uninitiated.  Some simple rules will help you get started. Variations are included for those up to a challenge.

Rule 1: Under no circumstances are you to move your feet

VicBears defines ‘Bear’ as “a gay man with a ‘masculine, down-to-earth attitude’ – not as a particular body type or ‘look’”. What better way to demonstrate your down-to-earthedness, than by keeping both feet firmly rooted in the ground? Shuffling your weight between your feet is, of course, acceptable. Dance parties are the long haul flights of social interaction and if you didn't move your legs around you’d be bound to get deep vein thrombosis. There’s also no doubt that shifting your weight between your feet is essential if you've gone for the tradie look including work boots, because, let’s face it, they weren't designed for arabesques. Perhaps the nirvana of bear dancing is, in the words of Madonna, to be “standing still in time”.

Variation: A turn about the room

For the experienced bear dancer, can I persuade you to attempt, from time to time, a clockwise shuffle completing a full rotation over a minute or so? Like Pride and Prejudice’s Elizabeth Bennet you too can find yourself assured “it is very refreshing after sitting so long in one attitude” to “take a turn about the room”.  A military operation rather than a slow pirouette, this controlled rotation is all about reconnaissance. Any Darcy’s?  But let me remind you whilst turning, Rule 1 still applies.

Happy bear dancing.

Instructions for Bear Dancing - Part 2

As I've mentioned before, I love a good bear dance party. And with Bear Pit at the Imperial only a week and a bit away, below are more tips for the uninitiated...

Rule 2: Under no circumstances are you to raise your hands above your shoulders.

We’ve all heard everyone from Taio Cruz to Kylie imploring you to raise your hands up. Like Usher, I too sometimes throw my hand up in the air and say, "ay-yo" (not like a Telly Tubbie). But these activities are not appropriate while bear dancing. Bear dancing is all about defensible space. Paws are to be closed like fists, and marched in a cross between shadow boxing and chest beating.  Think the Duracell bunny without the drum. Jazz hands are right out! Besides, with the average bear paw way heavier than the average hand, rotator cuffs simply can’t cope.  Keep it below the shoulder. Bears don’t need an index finger to make their point.

Variation: Jail-breaking / jack-hammering

For the experienced bear dancer, lower your fists to your thighs and lean back.  Like your arms are thick, hairy jail bars. Now tilt your shoulders in turn like your chest is trying unsuccessfully to wriggle through the bars and escape.  Or like you’re a hot tradie holding a wobbly jackhammer. Congratulations, you've mastered the variation known as jail-breaking or jack-hammering  It’s all about keeping that chest hair and ample musculature under control. This is perhaps also why so many bears choose to wear a leather harness while dancing. When you've that much hair, letting your hair down takes on a whole new meaning. Under control means stayin' alive.

Where are the odds?

I was talking with my goldilocks the other day and she was bemoaning the lack of men in Sydney for her long single straight girlfriend. That got me thinking about the potential for keepers out there for me. How many available gay men are there out in Sydney?

Now writing about statistics in the gay world is about as challenging as talking to flamingos about algebra, but see if you can bear with me. Nearly four and a half million people live in greater Sydney, slightly under half (49%) are men – 2,162,221 according to the 2011 census. How many are gay? Sydney probably draws a few extras from across Australia so let’s be optimistic and say it’s one in ten. That means there are around 200,000 gay men in Sydney. Wow… that’s a lot more than are out on Oxford Street on any night. Where are the rest of them? Are they living quiet suburban lives a long way from the scene? But I digress.

But what about men close to my age? The census says there are around 300,000 men between 25 and 35 (333,000), or 35 and 45 (319,000), or 45 and 55 (292,000). So if we’re going with 10% gay, then about 30,000 gay men in Sydney are within 5 years of your age. Still with me?

Now the census doesn’t have reliable data about how many gay relationships there are so we have to make a few guesses about how many are single. In 2011, 40%, of men said that they were not married or in a defacto relationship. Let’s work with that. That would suggest 12,000 gay men within 5 years of your age are single. It doesn’t say if they’re looking, but so far so good: that’s heaps!

Of course you may subscribe to the belief that there’s just “the one” out there for you. I think there’s probably a few more than just one. I REALLY hope so. Think about it. How many men do you meet before one makes you think “…maybe”? How many friends of friends, tradies, waiters, flight attendants, bears, twinks, wrestlers would you meet before one of them makes you say, “WOW!”? What if you only click with one guy in every hundred? That means of the twelve thousand gay men in Sydney, 120 will be close to your age, currently unattached AND push your buttons. If you’re fussy, and you only like one in every 200, then there are only 60. In all of Sydney. Just 60. Hopefully one of them will like you back. How to find him, that’s another question entirely. Better get looking.

Or I guess you could always go the Northern Territory. With its mining industry and military bases, the Territory boasts one of the nation’s highest proportion of men at 51.6%. Now I love the NT, but as a friend of mine recently returned suggested to me “the odds are good, but the goods are odd”. Happy hunting!

Don't interfere with my Cool

Have you ever been here? You’re at the pub, or nightclub in Sydney. Not really looking, not really after anything… you see a fine looking fellow across the crowed bar. Eyes lock, the glance lingers a bit longer than it really should. There’s a cheeky smile. Then playing it cool, chatting to your mates. Checking occasionally: is he still looking? Yes. The game’s afoot, the hunt is on. The night wears on, and the seduction continues. And then you go home separately alone, having never spoken. What is it about Sydney men that makes them unable or unwilling to commit to a “Hi, how are you going”?

This doesn't seem to happen in Melbourne. Tourists are unaffected. It seems to be only the Sydney boys. Worse, when you turn on Grindr or Scruff or Growlr the next morning there’s a message there from a really quite handsome guy, who says “I saw you at the pub last night. I was standing right near you. You looked really hot”. And? And? And you didn't come over and say hi. Now I've seen me in the mirror – I’m just not that intimidating. Sure my ‘default face’ might be edging on the slightly cranky, but I was chatting to friends and I’d had a few beers so hardly unapproachable. Or so I thought. “Oh, you seemed to be busy/deep in conversation/didn't want to intrude”. Intrude already! Is it that hard? Why is it that Sydney men are developing an inability to communicate without a smart phone intermediary? Have we lost all social skills? Is it so hard to say “hi”?

At a Chunky dance party recently, a mate of mine who by universal assessments is very handsome, like REALLY handsome, pointed out a very attractive guy sitting nearby. “Why don’t you go up and say hi?”, I asked. “Oh, I couldn't do that”, was the response. I decided I would rise to this challenge. So I did the the unthinkable. The most daring, the scariest, the most un-sydneygayish thing I could imagine. I went over to the guy and said… wait for it... “Hi".  And I added, "Are you having a good night?”. We got to talking. He was really charming. And it turned out we had two mutual friends and some other things in common. I went back to my mate and gave him the heads-up. Mission accomplished. It’s fun pimping out your friends. But its even more fun meeting people, finding out what you have in common and sharing some stories.

I saw him again at the Oxford the other week, and we had a good long chat. Achievement unlocked: talk to people, make friends, connect. You could do it too. And you don’t need your phone.

It's time...

“What day is it?”
“It's today,” squeaked Piglet.

“My favorite day,” said Pooh. 

Time to start.