tweaking madd - volume 1 issue 4

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Tweaking Madd Magazine is an online collaborative eMagazine by Communications students studying through Open Universities Australia.

index

contents

Editor’s Letter.............................3The Australian Sunrise...............5Tea Please...................................6Case Of The Ex..........................7It Is Hell..................................8-9On Her Own........................10-113 Symptoms of Depression.12-13How Grey Is Grey.....................15Studio: Fade In (part 3).......16-17Short Story Comp Guidelines...16Unsung Heroes.........................17The Backup Position...........18-19The Australian Sunset...............20I, Libertine................................21Justice..................................22-23Technology: What is the Internet.....................................24Horoscopes...............................25Treat Yourself...........................26Food Recipes............................27Book Review.............................28Find-a-word..............................28Toenail Clippings......................29

contributors

Editor...Cheryl Van Hoorn

Assistant Editor...Manisha Kumar

Production Manager...Michelle Jenkins

Proof Reader...Tracy Ellison

Others...Alan TaylorDiane ConnorCarolann DavisCyra AlcockAnne ChampionAlison PaytonChristina FoxTami BrowElleran Field-LaganKathy PK ThompsonKylie CoulterMatthew ThompsonRhonda SalmonCarolann BeardmoreTony Jenkins

[email protected]

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twitter...@TweakingMadd

Blog...http://tweakingmadd.blogspot.com.au/

Issue 04

02 t w e a k i n g m a d d i s s u e #004 — O C tO B e R 2012 Follow us on twitter

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eDitor’s letter

t w e a k i n g m a d d i s s u e #004 — O C tO B e R 2012 03

O C t O B e R 2 0 1 2 - e d i t O R ’ s L e t t e R

Hey guys, welcome to another edition of Tweaking Madd. It has been an interesting ride so far and I would like to thank the wonderful, talent staff for their dedication and the hard work that they put into each production of the

magazine. I would also like to take the time to thank you, the readers for coming along for the ride.

We are still in the baby stages of this magazine, it is early edition. Social media has been a formative event over the last decade and it is one that is only going to grow exponentially. The profound lowering of boundaries that we saw with the arrival of the internet is akin to what is going to be available for social media. Once again it has opened boarders and literally means that with the formatting of Tweaking Madd it is possible to do almost anything.

We mean to do that.

In the next edition, for our first birthday edition there are plans cooking. We are exploring what exactly we can do with social media and introducing a new range of exciting products for the consumer. Without going into it too deeply it will be formatted and centred on the interactive format of social media and hopefully give us a good ride.

Want a little glimpse?.....No, yes, no, oh okay-think e-books!Have a great time with this edition and we will see you back for the next.

Cheryl

03 OCTOBER - BRISBANE – QPAC

05 OCTOBER - SYDNEY – STATE THEATRE

07 OCTOBER - NEWCASTLE – CIVIC THEATRE

VISIT WWW.JBONAMASSA.COM/AUSTRALIA

poeM: the australian sunrise

O C t O B e R 2 0 1 2 - t H e a u s t R a L i a n s u n R i s e

t w e a k i n g m a d d i s s u e #004 — O C tO B e R 2012 05Find us on Facebook

The Morning Star paled slowly, the Cross hung low to the sea,

And down the shadowy reaches the tide came swirling free,

The lustrous purple blackness of the soft Australian night,

Waned in the gray awakening that heralded the light;

Still in the dying darkness, still in the forest dim

The pearly dew of the dawning clung to each giant limb,

Till the sun came up from ocean, red with the cold sea mist,

And smote on the limestone ridges, and the shining tree-tops kissed;

Then the fiery Scorpion vanished, the magpie’s note was heard,

And the wind in the she-oak wavered, and the honeysuckles stirred,

The airy golden vapour rose from the river breast,

The kingfisher came darting out of his crannied nest,

And the bulrushes and reed-beds put off their sallow gray

And burnt with cloudy crimson at dawning of the day.

James Lister Cuthbertson

06 t w e a k i n g m a d d i s s u e #004 — O C tO B e R 2012

O C t O B e R 2 0 1 2 - t e a p L e a s e

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tea please

Did you know, tea is the second most consumed drink in the world, after water? Did you know that studies have shown that the anti-oxidants in both black and green tea, can lower the risks of multiple forms of cancer?

An article by Doctors, Cabrera, Artacho and Giménez, called ‘Beneficial Effects of Green Tea—A Review’ stated that, “green tea may contribute to a reduction in the risk of cardiovascular disease and some forms of cancer, as well as to the promotion of oral health and other physiological functions such as anti-hypertensive effect, body weight control, antibacterial and antivirasic activity, solar ultraviolet protection, bone mineral density increase, anti-fibrotic properties, and neuroprotective power”. Tea should be as important as sunscreen. When you head out into the sun, grab a glass of iced-tea and slip-slop-slap.

Not only is tea great for fighting off these micro-bio bugs, cancer and weight loss but its known as todays drink for the pretentious. The L-theanine in tea creates a relaxed, yet mentally stimulated state of mind. This is great for studying, late-nights in the office or entertaining. Who knows, with your mind switched on, you might even remember where you put your keys!

More Tea? Why not add Tea to your diet with this simple recipe..

Tropical Fruit Salad in Green Tea Syrup:Ingredients • 2 ripe mangoes• 12 fresh lychees, peeled• 1/2 honeydew melon, deseeded, peeled, thinly sliced• 1 orange• 125ml (1/2 cup) water• 70g (1/3 cup) caster sugar• 2 green tea bags• 2 green cardamom pods, bruise

Step 1Cut the cheeks from the mangoes close to the seed and peel away the skin. Slice the flesh lengthways. Place in a large heatproof bowl with the lychees and honeydew melon.

Step 2Use a zester to remove the rind from the orange. (Alternatively, use a vegetable peeler to peel the rind from the orange. Use a small sharp knife to remove the white pith from the rind. Cut the rind into very thin strips.) Juice the orange. Combine the orange rind and juice, water, sugar, tea bags and cardamom pods in a medium saucepan over low heat. Cook, stirring occasionally, for 5 minutes or until sugar dissolves. Pour the hot syrup over the fruit. Cover with plastic wrap and place in the fridge for 1 hour to develop the flavours.

Step 3Remove and discard the tea bags and cardamom pods from the fruit salad. Divide the fruit among serving glasses. Spoon green tea syrup over the fruit and serve immediately.


O C t O B e R 2 0 1 2 - C a s e O F t H e e x

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case of the eX

Do we every really let go of our pasts or do we simply stop talking of it out loud? Is it healthy to forget all those months/years we invested, those lessons we learnt? Should we banish every memory made with any person

that didn’t make the long haul? Just how guilty are we if we catch our selves secretly comparing our lovers?

Here’s my confession. Have I over any of my ex lovers? Hell no! No, I haven’t forgotten the guy who broke my heart via text, or the one who cheated then called me insecure! I am not over the guy who dated me for six months then freaked out when I told him that I missed him, or the one who took me to lunch, ordered chicken feet and told me all about his obsession with blondes (I’m a brunette!). Every date, hookup and relationship is a piece of who I am. They all make up a tiny moment in my life that I’ll never get back. So why wouldn’t I just erase it completely? Because then those pieces of my life may as well be stolen, by them. Whether we admit it or not, we have all been guilty of the odd memory of an ex, slipping in to say hi and reminding us of its existence. Yep, I know you’re there but I’m choosing to ignore you! Does this mean that you love him/them? Pfft! Read closely.. N.O.

So now that you are all admitting to yourself that you think about your ex once in while (some of you are still searching the river in Egypt), lets accept this and let it go, the same way you let go of the memory of the girl who stole your best friend in junior high.Let’s get the ball rolling.Last week I was asked to dinner by a guy who has only been single for weeks. A friend questioned if this was safe. Is it safe to date any guy? I mean aren’t they all cheating, lying, abusive jerks? Exactly. Does this guy, or anyone, know that after responding to his dinner request, I was finishing up my “letter of closure” to my ex.

It all sounds crazy but I know that I have zero feelings for my current ex. Why is not possible for him to feel the same about his? Why don’t any of us have faith that we can trump that bitch and show him what he’s been missing?

My sister is what you call a Monkey. She swings from relationship to another, only letting go of one branch when shes grasped the next firmly. I watched her cry for one guy and land in another’s arm within the week! Funny thing is that, that other guy is now her fiancé. She knew when to let go and when to be brave again; straight away! Some of us take longer to heal, one breakup up took over a year for me to heal from! People are different and we will never know what is going on inside them, so instead of beating our own insecure little minds out and giving our guys a hard time, let it go. The only way you will ever know if he’s over her and ready for you, is to ask. Besides, it was only the other day that you saw a guy wearing a similar shirt to the one you bought an ex and remembered just how damn cute that bastard looked in it.

Now, I am by no means giving you permission to tell your current lover all about that time your ex and was having that wonderful stroll and he said that one thing that mad and you’ve never forgiven him for it. Just that if you happen to share a comment or memory about an ex, forgive yourself and when he does the same, forgive him. Hes not going to run off and leave you for her, infact, hes probably in the midst of realizing how lucky he is to have you. Besides, who wants a girl that is going to shed tears and work up a fight every time he fails to pretend that she is the only thing that ever crossed his mind? Not him! That’s why he has you ;)

Vanessa Vecchio


O C t O B e R 2 0 1 2 - i t i s H e L L


it is hell

This waiting is hell. End organ failure leads to the last frontier of treatment, transplantation. The rating is hell. This patient’s suffering is from what is considered the baby brother of the transplantable illness’s and the most

common one; kidney failure.

It happens at home which makes it a little more tolerable; one thing that he can have a degree of control over while his body betrays him. But then there are nights like tonight. The business of kidney failure is dialysis. With dialysis goes access. Access is the joining of vein and an artery to create a fistula with a high pressure point to allow for needle access every second day, week in week out. Quite simply without this fistula he cannot survive.

Dialysis typically runs for five hours at a stretch and two large bore needles are inserted into the fistula without numbing agents. Once the needles are in place the entire blood content of the blood in the body is ‘cleaned’ by an artificial kidney that at best gives a basic treatment. The length of the process variable depending on the level of toxicity in the body and fluid load on board. Five hours is the standard though. Body weight plays a role as well but is also a function of fluid retention.

It keeps him alive but is only a form of treatment. Side effects can be brutal. The obvious, the toxic state that he lives in is only ever at best a background noise. The kidneys regulate production of blood pressure, control hormones, vitamins and minerals as well as draining off toxic waste. Inability to regulate is inability to produce what is needed. The electrolytes become problematic and simple calcium and potassium can be an issue. High potassium can lead to a heart attack. The body does not deliver the production red blood cells so he is constantly anemic. The list goes on. Dialysis, although a treatment is not a measure that can give full health.

With renal patients the disease is insidious and has a slow, incremental effect on the body; it is impossible to live on dialysis forever and even with this he is never fully well. As the kidneys filter waste so too do they filter fluid. He can no longer pee. This means that the fluid, once it goes into the body, has no-where to go which so it sits in the body. He is limited to one litre of fluid a day.

This includes coffee, tea, soup and jelly. Fluid, like a good fire, follows the line of least resistance coming to rest in the lungs and around the heart causing pulmonary oedema (water in the lungs) and a peri-cardiac effusion (fluid around the heart). Both of which are life threatening complications.

On nights like last night, for him, it seemed like it would never end. The engagement of dialysis as time goes on, gets more and more difficult. Access starts to be a problem as the tissue in the wall of the fistula thickens from repeated needle insertion. The result being difficulties in finding an access point and the patient is far more likely to bomb the fistula. This occurs when there is a tear in the wall of the fistula causing bleeding into the surrounding tissue, pain and bruising.

The site didn’t bomb last night but the needle positions were problematic. The arterial did not sit well, sucking against the wall of the fistula. An attempt to loosen this by turning the needle was fruitless and it became necessary to re-cannulate a little higher. That took care of the arterial. The venous followed suite and again with the sucking. This time management was confined to pulling back on the needle which was enough for a degree of flow and allowed for dialysis. It all adds to more pain. There is nothing about this that is painless.


O C t O B e R 2 0 1 2 - i t i s H e L L

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it is hell

When the concentrate went dry (a large four litre container of fluid which acts like conduction tool for the machine) the wand was a difficult process and it too was sucking. After some manipulation of the wand it was possible to enable the continual service of dialysis.

He has to now try and get comfortable. The needles are sore, his arm is hurts and the slightest move can sometimes dislodge the needles, making it difficult to get comfortable. Trapped for the next five hours he tries to be careful, be still and looked to loose himself in the television. Sleep tonight would not be an option. There is the event that every dialysis patient fears; the need to go to the toilet. Hooked to the machine it becomes a rather humiliating problem.

Fortunately there is only twenty odd minutes on the clock. It is not worth recirculating for that point of time. He decides to come off, desperately fight against the natural impulses of his body. With assistance he comes off the machine in time and there was a dash for the toilet.

That cared for his return is clammy, grey and nauseated. He tries to lay down in an attempt to regulate breathing. It helps marginally. A maxalon tablet is administered for nausea with little effect. The clamminess and nausea builds as he desperately tries to remove the needles from his arm.

With one achieved his body betrays him again and the nausea tips to full blown vomiting. After the bout of violent emesis he manages, again with help, to remove the last cannula from his arm. With rest and a little fluid the nausea subsides more and so does the clamminess. He is forced to take time out to rest on the lounge, spending a good hour with the television. It is a struggle for him to walk from the family room to the bedroom. He is now sleeping comfortably.

This is not so much an exceptionally bad night as it is an illustration of what dialysis is. With the end stage of this disorder is the treatment of the patient with a transplant. There is a public perception that a patient gets a new organ/organs they go off and live happily ever after. This is not the case. Yes it improves quality of life but it brings along its own problems. The medications that are used are akin to a nuclear bomb in the body. The patient feels constantly ill from them.

They suppress the immune system allowing the smaller problems that most people manage from time to time to become a larger problem. These patients are more likely to pick up bugs but more importantly their body can’t fight the disorders off as well as a healthy person and it leaves the patient with the ability to cook an underlying illness without necessarily being symptomatic. By the time that medical practitioners see the problem the patient can be septic and quiet ill. It is still far, far better than dialysis. He has lived transplant and now awaits another.

The gift of organs is forever a challenging process. The worst time in a person’s is life and the necessity of having to discuss this at this time; there is little time for reflection. Amazingly, with a staggering generosity people manage to see past their grief and give the best they can to those in need. It is a process that humbles recipients. Please, next time you pull out your licence, consider the fragility of life, give good thought to this gift of life. Make sure it is documented. Make sure that your family is aware of your wishes and have it legally documented.

It hits a life. It also leads to the creation of more life.

Cheryl Van Hoorn


O C t O B e R 2 0 1 2 - O n H e R O w n


on her oWn

“I’m pregnant” Cora said down the phone line to silence at the other end. Unconsciously holding her breath she clasped the phone with two white knuckled hands and waited for an answer.

Her breath caught in her throat. Mark would do the right thing by her, wouldn’t he? If she’d been sure of that she would have called sooner. He’s a good man, he wouldn’t just walk away from her and his baby...would he? Squeezing her eyes shut she bit her bottom lip.

They weren’t together anymore. Had they ever really been? A three week thing was all that they’d had. A fling with no strings, no emotional ties and at the end they’d parted as friends. It had been great. She’d even managed to keep that voice inside her head at bay, the one that insisted he felt more for her than he actually did. He didn’t love her, he’d never pretended to and, at the time, that had been just fine. But now everything had changed.

She swallowed as the silence stretched on. The butterflies that had swarmed in her stomach as she dialed his number quickly turned into a rolling wave of nausea. Hand to her mouth, the sickly taste of bile rose in her throat. She tried to swallow away an excess of saliva but all it seemed to do was make things worse.

Stomach heaving, she dropped the receiver and threw open the bedroom door. Her whole body convulsed and the first wave of sick hit the porcelain. Could she do this on he own? Before that second line had formed on the test she was certain she could, but now she didn’t know. She’d been naive, believed what she’d seen on television, but there was so much more to being pregnant than she’d ever realized. Her hands clenched around the plastic seat, blood and heat raised in her face, skin pulled taut around her head. Again and again she wretched until her empty stomach ached and her felt as though it would force its way out of her skull.

Her normally optimistic nature reared up, of course she could raise a child alone. Alone, that final word pounded through her sore and sad mind compounding the fear she already felt.

Then she cried. Slumped against the wall she sobbed, wanting to curl into a ball and melt into the cold, tan tiles. A fierce wail grew inside her, but she pushed it down.

Balling it up into a tight fist of pain, cramming it deep into her heart for another time, when she could afford to fall apart, when ever that might be. He’d made her no promises and she’d not wanted any. Just a good time, that was it, all that they were ever meant to be. Now it was over, she hadn’t counted on this.

Forcing herself up onto weak, jelly like legs she flushed and made her way to the bathroom, hand trailing along the wall for support. She was tired. Tireder than she’d ever been in her life. Not just physically, every jagged, frayed nerve tingled with weary fear and every emotion seemed heightened as though on alert.

A moment passed before she felt well enough to return to her room. When she did she picked up the phone receiver, momentarily tempted to press it to her ear, instead she returned it to the cradle and flopping down onto her bed.

This was not how she’d pictured her mid twenties, or motherhood for that matter.

There was a soft knock at her door. She ignored it. The door popped as it came unstuck from the frame. She turned toward the sound of it pushing through the long pile of faded shag carpeting.


O C t O B e R 2 0 1 2 - O n H e R O w n

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on her oWn

“Cora?” her best friend and flatmate’s face appeared. Two pinched lines between her eyebrows. “Are you okay?”

She wanted to say yes. To tell Leanne that everything was fine but the words wouldn’t form. Her bottom lip trembled so she rolled away, burying her face into her pillow. A few quick foot steps later and the bed squeaked as it received Leanne’s weight.

Her hand came to rest on Cora’s shoulder, thumb brushing back and forth over the other woman’s skin. She sighed.

“I know...” she said, her words trailing off “who’s the father?”

For a time Cora lay there like a child, face hidden in shame of the thing that she’d done wrong. As the tears subsided she sat up, refusing to look into her best friends face. She opened her mouth and the whole sorry story fell out. The words lay around her, reflections of her own stupidity and poor judgement. She’d made a mistake.

The mistake her mother had told her would ruin her life, the one she’d looked down on other girls for making--how could you get pregnant by accident in this day and age?

“It’ll be okay” Leanne said “we’ll work it out together.”

The women fell into a thoughtful silence, both staring out the window, watching the gum trees sway in the afternoon breeze. Even with her best friend at her side Cora didn’t know if she’d have the strength to do everything that needed doing. There was a time, not so long ago, when she knew she could do anything. She’d had strength aplenty, more than enough even, but real life was different from the delusions of a young woman. The path that lay before her would change everything.

The door bell rang and again. The buzzing sound snapping Cora out of her wallowing daydream. “I’ll go” she said with a small, forced smile.

“Hold on!” she shouted toward the front of the house as it rang twice more before she’d made it down the hall.

Pulling the door open, she prepared to give the bell ringer a piece of her mind. Today was not the day to...The words fell, dead, from her mouth.

“Mark?” she said, words whispered, hand slipping from the door handle.

“I...” he said, rapidly closing the gap between them “I’m here”. He pulled her to him, wrapping his arm around her, she closed her eyes, head pressed against his chest. The sound of his slow, steady heartbeat reassuring.

It was going to be alright.

Rebecca Waterhouse

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O C t O B e R 2 0 1 2 - 3 s Y m p t O m s O F d e p R e s s i O n


3 syMptoMs of Depression that reQuire a Doctor, not a psychologist

My personal stance on taking medication for illnesses like depression and anxiety tends to change from client to client. For some clients I suggest they might find medication useful.

For instance, a client that is debilitated by depression and anxiety to the point where they don’t even want to try therapeutic techniques needs pharmaceutical help. A client that seems to be functioning well intellectually and shows motivation to change and has the internal and external ability to do so would probably be more likely to benefit from a Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT) approach.

Oversleeping (Teenagers may disregard this section)Sometimes, clients come to me with symptoms that they don’t think are serious, but are. One of those is oversleeping. We live in a fast paced society that encourages our attention to flicker from one thing to another. In order to adapt, we process small, but numerous chunks of information at any one time. With a brain that is constantly engaged, it makes sense that when bedtime comes around our brains have problems shutting off. A lack of sleep or insomnia seems to be a common modern affliction. And having bouts of insomnia seems reasonable. So, when a client feels sleepy and tired all the time, they see wanting that sleep as a positive indication of their mental health. Feeling tired feels good, right? So what could be wrong with that?

Only 15% of people with depression oversleep. By oversleeping I mean needing more than 10 hours sleep a day. According to the National Sleep Foundation we need 7 – 9 hours of sleep in a 24 hour cycle. But I say 10 hours to accommodate possible outliers.

The rest who suffer from depression tend to have more problems with insomnia. While insomnia is a problem in itself, and puts a person at danger during their daily tasks (like driving a car), there are many techniques and changes a person can make to increase the likelihood of getting enough sleep.

A psychologist can help you with that. There is a common perception of people with depression as layabouts with no energy, but that tends to be a function of insomnia rather than oversleeping.

If you’re showing signs of oversleeping, needing 10 or more hours a day, or needing to sleep all the time, it might be time to see a doctor.

Other possible causes for oversleeping are:• Diabetes• Obesity• Headaches• Sleep Apnoea Personal HygieneAnother sign that you need to see a doctor is when you stop taking care of your hygiene. When the daily routine of showering, cleaning, brushing your teeth and combing your hair becomes too much, you need to see a doctor.

At this point you’re becoming classified as low – mid functioning. Struggling with small tasks is a sign that your depression is becoming more serious and needs extra help from our medical friends. With a little medical help, you can recover that energy to look after yourself and you’ll be much more likely to benefit from any therapy you receive from a psychologist. Loss of AppetiteA loss of appetite can seek to fuel depressive symptoms. We need food to nurture our body and our mind; healthy food that is. And if you do not have an appetite, or are feeling sick at the sight of food, you need to see a doctor.

Some people overeat to deal with their negative feelings. A psychologist can implement behaviour techniques to treat that, but a lack of appetite and feeling sick at the sight of food is harder for a psychologist to treat. You need to eat. You need fruit, vegetables, lean meats and complex carbohydrates. Without these your body begins to go into starvation mode which is an added stress on top of your already presenting mental health issues.

http://www.sleepfoundation.org/article/how-sleep-works/how-much-sleep-do-we-really-need


O C t O B e R 2 0 1 2 - d e p R e s s i O n

3 syMptoMs of Depression that reQuire a Doctor, not a psychologist

It is possible that seeing a psychologist may increase your mood, which may increase your appetite, but your therapy sessions are going to be affected by a lack of glucose in your system, which is what fuels your brain.

Lastly...Please don’t take any of these symptoms lightly. This is your life and your body/mind. Be kind to yourself, take care of yourself and never neglect yourself. Medication can be a helpful kick-starter to getting treatment for depression. Ruling out other causes of depression-like-symptoms is also important.

To summarise:• It is not okay to go days (3+) or weeks without

maintaining hygiene or completing daily tasks. See a doctor.

• If you are oversleeping at night (10+ hours) then feeling the need to sleep the following day as well. See a doctor.

• If you are not eating and feel sick at the sight of food. Please see a doctor.

Kylie Coulter B.Psyc (Hons), Dip. Prof. Couns. Professional Psych Central Blogger and Online Therapist

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O C t O B e R 2 0 1 2 - H O w g R e Y i s g R e Y ?


hoW grey is grey?

There are a lot of people talking about it and there is a lot of dissent. Of course we are talking about Fifty Shades of Grey. These books are truly extraordinary in the passion they stir in people.

I am a writer and I am arrogant with this. I also can be a literary snob as well. This stems from the fact that I have been reading and writing for most of my life. Books are my oxygen. There is so much knowledge, so much passion, so much of everything. It is a doorway to other worlds which we are invited to take part of. I breathe it, suck it up and explore every single bit of it that I can.

I won’t deny it. I am a Twihard. I love the Twilight books. They are by no means the world’s best written books but they are a rip snorting story. Stephanie Myer weaves a tale of first love through rising sexual tension and the confusion that most teenagers live in. Grey is different. Aside from all the sex what really was the point and of the story? There appears to be very little neutral ground when it comes to Fifty Shades of Grey. But what books like Twilight and Grey do is expand upon the established law, lift the story out of the woods of the everyday and present it to a present it to the outside that allows it to become yours.

There is dissent around Fifty Shades of Grey based around several factors. One is the quality of the writing. It is not good. As a communication student who is studying both film and Creative Writing I am more critical of these things than I used to be.

It does not give me the right.

What I forgot the lesson that I learnt with my first ever book is that the story is what is important.

A close friend has struggled with the criticism of these books and has passed forward the fact that just because it does not hit my button it does not mean that it has not hit others. Grey clearly has a massively appeal as testified by its sales and the talk about it. I was coming from a point of an elitism that I had no right to take. It is not up to me to be the judge and jury on stories; I am here to honour them. It is the point of what I am studying. It is what I worshiped at the pages of my entire life. In denigrating Grey I am betraying what it is that I am learning and what I have spent my life pursuing.Grey has taught me an unexpected lesson: Grow up.

Cheryl Van Hoorn

O C t O B e R 2 0 1 2 - s t u d i O : F a d e i n ( p a R t 3 )

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stuDio: faDe in (part 3)

One day a couple of years later Studio returned to the village with Pud. This time she didn’t wear a boot to hide her spatula leg. And she didn’t hurry ahead, she waited for Pud and they went together. She had learnt her lesson the

last time. Unbeknownst to Studio, Pud had been talking to the locals about her and her uniqueness every trip he made, to make them less afraid. The villagers believed that she was bad luck and in the end Pud gave them lollies and sweets he got especially from the trader to make sure they were nicer to Studio the next time she came. It sort of worked. She still got an unusual reaction from the locals, and some where definitely still frightened, but it was much better than the last time.

When they got to the trader he smiled as he saw Studio and said something in his native tongue. The trader often went to the nearest town to get supplies to sell to the locals including Pud, and whilst it wasn’t like a city at all or a fraction of a city, he had still seen more of the world than the other locals and as such was a little more accepting. “He’s got something for you.” Pud whispered to Studio in translation as the trader thrust a magazine towards her. “What is it?” Studio asked, never having seen one before. “Oh no, no,” said Pud to the trader. “A magazine.” he said to Studio before leading the trader away and continuing a fast discussion in words Studio didn’t understand, but she gathered it was something along the lines of “What are you giving her a magazine for? You know it will fill her head full of fancy ideas and it will be a disaster!” Studio didn’t exactly know what a magazine was beyond the fact she was holding one in her hands. She didn’t know what it was, what it did, or what it was used for. She started to flick through the pages and was amazed not at the fashion and jewellery, she didn’t see those things at all, not the make up and celebrities, they meant nothing to her. But she was mesmerised, hypnotised, and got bright and big shiny eyes looking at the pictures of the city!

Pud came over and saw the look on her face, the joy, the wonder, the excitement. “You’re not going to give it back are you?” Studio just smiled as Pud shrugged and sighed before calling out to the trader in English more for Studio to hear than the trader, “No more magazines!”

The trader just smiled at Studio and went back to what he had been doing when they came in. Studio was absolutely no help whatsoever to Pud in getting supplies this time. She was lost in the ‘Land of Magazine’. In fact he couldn’t get a word out of her.He would have barely known she was alive if it wasn’t for the fact she kept turning the pages. “You’ll wear it out.” Pud said to her jokingly. Studio looked horrified. “I’m joking,” said Pud. “How about giving me a hand with this stuff so we can get back as soon as possible then you can do all the reading you like.”

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O C t O B e R 2 0 1 2 - s t u d i O : F a d e i n ( p a R t 3 )


stuDio: faDe in (part 3)

Studio wasn’t reading however, although she could read- Pud made sure of that and had taught her to read using books like Love and War, Wuthering Heights and Discourse of the Method of Rightly Conducting the Reason, and Seeking the Truth in the Sciences. Studio put down the magazine, kind of, and helped Pud get the supplies into packs, kind of. Although the weather was good and clear and they continued back to the cabin that same day, Studio was so distracted by her magazine that she walked slower than she ever had. “We won’t make it back this month the way you are going,” Pud called to her, as she dawdled a long way behind him. “Pud, where’s this?” She called in reply, holding her magazine up and pointing to a picture that was far to far away and small for Pud to see. “Have you been here?” she called and started to walk faster more so she could catch up to Pud and ask him a thousand million questions than to get home sooner. “Ask me as many questions as you want when we get back. For now though let’s make that the focus. To get back before the week is over.” said Pud turning and walking into the distance. Studio closed her magazine, finally and more than likely temporarily, before starting after him. “Pud! So you think my hair helped in the village?” she paused “or do you think they weren’t as scared of me because I practised my walking so much?” “I’m sure it was both” Pud said, not turning around so that Studio couldn’t see the big smile spreading across his face as he jiggled the remaining lollies in his pocket. They made it back to the cabin in five days, just by a hair, and Pud was hard pushed trying to get Studio to leave the magazine alone long enough to put the supplies away. In the end he confiscated it and told her she could have it back when everything was done. Well, you have never seen Studio move so fast! She had all the supplies unpacked in record time, cleaned the cabin, and started cooking dinner, which was unheard of really, without even saying a word. Pud would have given the magazine back after the supplies were put away, but she was doing such a good job he didn’t stop her.

As Studio started cooking, distracted and not paying attention to what she was doing, Pud worried dinner would be ruined. As it was extremely late anyway he gave her back the magazine. “I’ll finish the cooking,” he said “and you can ask me questions as I go.”

Studio dropped the spoon she was stirring with straight into the pot and without missing a beat opened the magazine pointed to the same picture as earlier, and held it an inch from Pud’s nose and rattled off like a machine gun “Where is this? Have you been there? How many cities are there? Are they all like this? How far away are they? Can we go to one one day? If you don’t want to go can I go one day? How long would it take to get there?” Pud smiled and ruffled her half shaven, half long head of hair. “One thing at a time my girl” he laughed. “One thing at a time. Yes I have been to cities. No, not that particular city though.” “What are they like to live in?” Studio asked barely containing her excitement. “Well,” Pud said, “they are very big, and noisy, and polluted, not only by pollution mind you, but by crime and unethical people, and crowded....and well, I don’t like cities very much.” Pud exclaimed getting carried away. “That’s why I moved here.” Pud started stirring their dinner so hard and fast Studio thought he may wear a hole in the bottom of the pot. “When I was younger I was a doctor, a surgeon in fact, and a scientist in the city. And it was my job, my privilege, my life’s work to help my fellow man in any way that I could. Until it was all snatched from me when I sold one of my medical inventions to a nasty, unethical, greedy, multi-national company. They used my invention for bad things. Bad I tell you. And its all my fault.” Pud exclaimed, exasperatedly throwing the spoon into the pot. Apologising to Studio for his outburst, as she got bowls and cutlery ready, Pud continued, “So that’s why I moved here all those years ago. The city is full of corruption and greed. And I cant stand it. Nobody is honest in the city. That’s why I live here where I don’t have to worry about it.” “Yeah but there are also no other people for miles and miles and miles.” Studio interrupted him in a whispering voice knowing she was being a little cheeky. “Trust me,” Pud concluded. “You don’t need the city and the city doesn’t need you. If you remember how bad the villagers where when they first saw you, multiply that infinitely to get what the city people would be like.” Studio looked at her soup, deep in thought and they ate their meals in silence. That night before falling asleep, Studio promised herself she would one day live in the city.

Elleran Feld-Lagn

the bacKup position

O C t O B e R 2 0 1 2 - t H e B a C k u p p O s i t i O n


It was not going to be enough. The largess and life they had been living did not enable made the loss of that world even harder; for they were losing it. Steve had managed to retreat with what was left of his family and clan to the dark places that were formerly the breeding

grounds. They were warm and safe for now.

This was their promised land. Warm and full of darkness with food on hand at all times and a place to build the tribe without a concern. It was the pay dirt for his kin and Steve had bought them in with the pride of a leader who was caring for his flock. It also did a lot for his status.

Then the disappearances began. Individuals went out and many did not come back. Steve implemented measures. No one was to go out alone. He involved the teams. It was rare for the teams to be engaged even in high danger areas. But Steve did it as he was acutely aware of the fear of his people.

As time wore on it became evident that teams or no teams, there was a crazy out there. A catcher, but not from any form they had seen before. The creature, whatever it was, played with Steve’s members and the worst thing was it did so while they were still alive. One of the action teams had taken a raid and visualized the treatment of their brothers and sisters.

Hardened though the teams were is was still shocking to see. Although the group knew something was amiss they did not know the full extent. Steve deliberately left the details out; he did not want to scare anyone.

Now huddled in the dark of his world he wondered if maybe he could have done something that would have allowed him to avoid the terminus that they were at. But he could think of nothing. Before he knew it the team were pulling out due to the extreme danger, not even attempting to formulate a plan of action. They had never come across this before and wanted time to think. They advised Steve to keep his people indoors but they had to hunt. He began by ordering the members to go out in teams and ensure that they watched each other’s back.

It didn’t matter. It soon spiralled out of control and it wasn’t long before whole hunting parties were hit. Someone with a deliberate patience and care was hunting his people. Groups came back missing members. Sometimes a few, sometimes most of the group was gone. They could hear the noise of their capture but could do nothing to change it. The agent was beyond their ability to deal with. Steve retreated while his wife, his mate, Martha, counselled him. Her love and support bought him through but also troubled him as well; she was breeding again. Although she birthed easily he was still worried and there were reports of babies torn from the womb by the nightmare that now walked their world.

the bacKup position

O C t O B e R 2 0 1 2 - t H e B a C k u p p O s i t i O n

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There were times when the group were almost optimistic; the disappearances had decreased for a while and they were basking in the heat of the residence. There were times when they were pessimistic and it felt as though the entire world was coming down around their ears. There would be a bad night or a bad run leeching hope. One day there was a great disturbance. Steve had heard of them. It was an extreme end with no survivors. His body froze as he realized what was happening. Activity within the dwelling had Steve and his family moving from the proximity of the residence to the darker confines of the birthing chambers. Martha had birthed days before and was carefully recovered enough to tend to the brood and nurture the existing offspring as well as Steve. She had ushered them forward into the next chambers with a maternal care for their people. Steve loved her even more for this.

There was a slither of light that shone through from the mouth of the birthing chambers. Those in the front lines, Steve in particular watched with fear as he wondered what was coming. He had insisted that Martha take the children and herself to the rear of the chamber. With a worried glance at him she had complied with his orders, not arguing which told Steve just how worried she was about the children.

It was coming down to it. There was an expectation in the air. They could all hear it and the nominal noise that came from the residence was different, it was quieter, more hushed. Then…oh, no.

This was the mist. According to lore at first it hissed its way into the world. Invisible, no smell, droplets. This was the beginning of the Great Event. The droplets spread the sickness and the air the poison. In time the backs would begin to deform and the ability to mobilize decreased. No one really survived long after the hiss. Then there came the walking dead. That is what they became; corpses until they could go on no further. After the first wave would be condemned to the walking death. All Steve could do now for his people was to shelter them. Looking around at what loved Steve tucked in his chin, kissed Martha and sat down to wait.

“That it, Mrs?” The pest control man set his tank down on the floor beside the table.“Yeah, thanks. How much?”“$180.00.”“When will it work?”“It will take a few weeks. As the roaches walk on it they make contact. Then from there they will pass it to each other. Stops them breeding as well.”

Cheryl Van Hoorn


O C t O B e R 2 0 1 2 - t H e a u s t R a L i a n s u n s e t

poeM: the australian sunset

The Australian SunsetThe red-gold sun set slowly

Behind the craggy cliffs, The clouds were trimmed with gold Their cheeks with colours kissed.Shadows grew long and· gentle

Animals went to rest, A lone kookaburra laughed

At the evening star in the westThe fiery scorpion brightened

The moon’s gentle light shone, On thousands of black leather wings

Bats came - and were gone.The earth’s breath dropped

And in silence she lay, And rested in purple blackness

At the dying of the day.

Kathy ‘PK’ Thompson (Written in response to “The Australian Sunrise”

by James Lister Cuthbertson)

© Zhangyh | Stock Free Images & Dreamstime Stock Photos


O C t O B e R 2 0 1 2 - i , L i B e R t i n e

i, libertine

“I, Libertine”, the unseen literary hoax!

In the mid 1950’s, “I, Libertine” by Frederick Ewing was a feted literary work in New York and the subject of essays and dinner conversations.

Except it never was:

Written,

Published, or

Read.

It was a mischievous hoax to expose pretention in literary circles.

Late night DJ, Jean Shepherd had a following of listeners he called ‘night people’ and jokingly mocked ‘day people,’ their pretensions, lives and culture.

Shepherd and listeners decided to prank New York, creating interest in a non-existent book they named “I, Libertine”. By enquiring at book stores the ‘Night People’ created a demand for this unheard of book. Rather than admitting ignorance, the literary field feigned knowledge, legitimizing the book’s existence.

The hoax grew, gaining momentum. After four weeks when a Boston church decried the book, Shepherd decided to confess. The true story was published in the Wall Street Journal, gaining international interest as other countries laughed at the uncovered pretentions of New York’s snobbish culture.

This story, and other literary hoaxes are contained in the delightful book “Telling Tales: A History of Literary Hoaxes” by Melissa Katsoulis.

Jennifer Murphy

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O C t O B e R 2 0 1 2 - J u s t i C e

Justice

The second I pulled the trigger I knew there was no going back. For fourteen years I had waited for this moment and now that it was here, I finally felt I could move on; I now believed I had gotten justice for this bastard killing my sweet

little boy all those years ago and up until a couple of weeks ago I didn’t think I’d get the chance. I thought the cancer would have taken me by now; even though the doctors had only diagnosed it a few months ago, it was already too late. The cancer had infiltrated my liver and there was nothing they could do. They said I only had about three months left to live. Which is why I was standing here today outside the prison that had held my son’s killer all these years, with a gun in my hand ready to shoot again in case the first bullet missed any of his vital organs; I knew I’d be dead before the so-called justice system could do their job and send me to jail. I looked at my son’s murderer feeling nothing but hatred, wondering how the man slumped in front of me could do such a thing and feel no remorse. I had questions that needed answering and I didn’t have a lot of time. I knew the police would be here soon. I also knew that this man would be dead before too long; I was not leaving here before I could see to that. I could also feel the adrenalin that had been keeping me going, waning. I was beginning to feel week. I knelt down so that I could look him in the eyes.

“Eric, you know why I’m here don’t you? You know that you are not getting out of this alive, right?” “Yes Sarah,” he groaned, clutching at his stomach. It appeared I had aimed just right; the blood spurting from the wound was thick and dark. I had gotten his liver. Kind of funny if you think about it, seeing it was his fault mine had failed. After the murder of my son and the breakdown of my marriage, I turned to alcohol for solace. I drank almost non-stop for four years and one day I woke up in hospital after being in a car accident while drunk. It was my wake-up call. I stopped drinking instantly, but the damage had been done; well that’s what my doctor’s told me. At first I was pissed off that the lowlife who had taken my son from me was also responsible for killing me. Then I realised that there was a silver lining to this grey cloud; I would get to join my boy. But not before I made sure his killer paid with his own life. Once I’d come to that realisation, I set about making plans for when the fucker got out of prison. I bought a gun, without going through the proper channels because I didn’t want to raise suspicion. I took my cancer pills to ‘keep me comfortable’ and got my affairs in order. Then one morning I got a call from a friend of mine on the police force telling me Eric was being released; he’d done his time. Even though my friend wasn’t supposed to, he told me what day Eric would be freed. It seemed somebody was giving me a chance to make things right.


Justice

O C t O B e R 2 0 1 2 - J u s t i C e

Eric groaned again, bringing me back to the painful present. I stared into his eyes and steeled myself for the answer I knew was coming, but one I did not want to hear. “Why, Eric? Why did you do it? Why did you kill Jason?” I’d heard the explanation during his trial, but he had never told me directly. “Fuck Sarah, you’ve just shot me. You tell me you’re going to kill me and you still expect me to tell you?”“I can make you suffer so much more before you die if you don’t.”“Just kill me and get it over and done with.”“No. I need answers; I need to know why you killed him.”“You really want to know do you?” he glared. “Eric, if you cherished anything from our marriage you will tell me now why you killed our son.” Blood was now pooling next to him; he didn’t have long.“Eric, tell me!” He groaned once more. “Fine! I killed that precious little son of yours because he kept crying while I was trying to watch the football. He just would not stop. So I went into his room, picked him up from the crib and started shaking him to shut him up.” He shrugged. “After a while he stopped crying.” Eric looked at me and there was nothing in his expression except pain, which was not from what he had done, but from the gunshot wound. I didn’t care. Growing weaker, I stood back up slowly. Turning away from him so that he couldn’t see my pain, I let a small sob escape.

I then straightened my shoulders and turned around again, this time with the same resolute expression I had had the first time I shot Eric. I looked at him on the ground and for a moment I remembered the man I fell in love with; then it was gone. The man I loved died the day he took my son from me. I took aim and pointed the gun at his head. “The first one was for Jason. This one is for me.” He closed his eyes, waiting. Then I heard a voice behind me. “Put the gun down and put your hands behind your back.” I looked at Eric and sensed I had achieved what I had set out to do. I dropped the gun and almost dropped to the ground myself. The prison guard behind me was quick on his feet and caught me. I closed my eyes and prepared myself for the next step in the journey that would eventually reunite with my son.

Tracy Ellison

O C t O B e R 2 0 1 2 - w H a t i s t H e i n t e R n e t ?

technology: What is the internet?...in a nutshell


You may be surprised to know... the Internet is actually over 40yrs old! My first introduction to the Internet was 1996 in my job. I was asked to send an email and didn’t know how. I was shown what to do and it was a dial-up connection. The whole company couldn’t use the phone while we were online!

Fast forward 16 years and our house now has 2 compact and fast laptops and multiple mobile devices and Broadband Internet. The whole family can use the computers, order a movie off Foxtel, talk on the phone, access Facebook on their iPods … at the same time!

So what is the Internet? The Internet is a network of an unlimited number of computers all connected together throughout the world. The Internet uses TCP/IP to transfer information to and from computers. TCP stands for Transmission Control Protocol and IP stands for Internet Protocol. They work together to share information with other networks

The World Wide Web (WWW as we know it) is NOT the Internet, however we do tend to talk about them as if they are one and the same. Where the Internet is a system of hardware and software which enables the connection of multiple computers, the World Wide Web is an application that makes use of this functionality just as email, Instant Messaging and other applications. I think of the WWW like a ‘browser’. You can’t view the Internet without the WWW.

Michelle Jenkins Mojo Online Solutions 0439 446 355

horoscopes by eileen asKeW


ARIES - This month you bow to social pressure and

buy a flat pack kitchen from IKEA. You panic as there is

no Allen Key to be found among the timber doors, handles

and draws. But you find a pen in one of the boxes. You

now understand the saying ‘The pen is mightier than the

Allen Key’.

TAURUS - This month you will purchase a new sofa

which is way too large for your 2 man tent so you decide

to whip out the circular saw and fashion it into 2 beanbags.

The fact that the sofa cost nearly $2,000 escapes your

attention, but now the sofa matches the kero lamp near the

window flap.

GEMINI – You know too much cheese in the diet is

bad for you...you can’t go to the toilet for days. So eat

lots and lots of gouda, gain 2kg, take a laxative, poop

and viola...instant weight loss! Your lucky number is

4,659,003.

CANCER – Keep an eye on your hairdryer this month.

It is likely to grow legs and run away due to overuse.

Your lucky colour this month is rainbow and your lucky

instrument is the harpsichord.

LEO - You will be lucky in love this month as your tasty

keg of home-made lager runs out and you discover you

now love tomato sauce dispensed from the gaseous keg.

VIRGO – Don’t go to the methadone clinic this month.

It’s likely you will be run over by the syringe exchange

van emptying the needle bin in the park across the road.

Oh and avoid the colours red, white, blue, green, black,

grey, brown, yellow, orange and purple.

LIBRA - All Librans know how hard it is to keep a

partner because Librans are well known for their sexuality,

right? Wrong! Not in your case. The best advice to you this

month is to stay inside and stay stoned!

SCORPIO – Now it’s spring all you want to do is

go boating. The weather looks good for Monday the 15th

between 2am and 2.15am so prepare ahead and time your

outing right.

SAGITTARIUS – 3 words for you:

Don’t do it!

CAPRICORN – There are cannibals all around you

this month. Make sure you don’t wear your pink onesie or

they will mistake you for food and your fish will miss you.

AQUARIUS – While gardening this month you will

encounter what you think is an alien spacecraft hovering

over your driveway. Don’t approach as they are known to

lick you to death.

PISCES – Chopsticks are your choice of utensil this

month, however you discover eating soup is a problem and

all your partner bought this month while shopping was …

you guessed it … soup!

O C t O B e R 2 0 1 2 - H O R O s C O p e s


O C t O B e R 2 0 1 2 - F i L m R e v i e w

treat yourself

Nothing ages a gal quicker than stress and tension. Learn to relax, wear your hair down and burn an engaging smile. Here, are a few tips to letting go and tuning into the relaxed, not-so-uptight you.

- Say No- If you are a people pleaser: you will receive a natural way of convincing yourself that you want to drag yourself around, after other people. By all means, stick to your random acts of kindness, which will benefit your mind, and soul tremendously but stop and ask yourself what you want. Are you feeling resentful? Take a moment to yourself, at least once a week and question what is best for you and your satisfaction. If you feel resentful towards your loved ones for having to do so much for them, practice the word NO. If you feel resentful towards your dishes, pass on the task for one night, or try soaking them until the resentment has subsided. If you just need to sleep in oppose to going-out this weekend, do it! Your body will love you for it. Maybe, you are tired of pleasing people. So, don’t. You will be much happier for it and the happier you are, the more attractive you will be.

- Take a bath- If you have one, use it. Soak for as long as you need. Forget what needs to be done around you and lose yourself. Take the time to close your mind and forget the world momentarily. Muscle soaks are superb and will help you release a lot of tension. Try Radox Vapour Therapy, found in generic supermarkets and chemists.Change Scenery- Being in the same crowded office, bedroom, or even home for too long can shadow your mind, shading it with the conditioned stress of work, home-duties, or even boredom. To avoid gloominess, take a walk outside and just watch the world for a bit, whether you confront a busy city pavement, or the fresh country air, just embrace it. Let your mind be unaffected. Watch the breeze, peoples expressions, or simply daydream. Overstimulating your mind can cause anxiety, and even depression when combined with isolation. Fresh air can lift your mood and make you feel brand new.

- Be silent- From birth, we have had an immense desire to communicate, it is our form of attaching ourselves to another person, it is what bonds us. By a certain age, we start trying to form all our bonds with words. We frantically spew words when we fear losing those bonds, and validate ourselves through unnecessary, word vomit. We forget that once upon a time we received love, when we could not talk at all. Not always because we were little, but because our smiles were genuine; far more genuine than words can express. So once in a while, just stop talking. Relax your face and speak through actions. Reply with a smile instead of a comment. Simply give a kiss, instead of a compliment, or just hold someone, instead of stressing advice; You were never sure on what to say anyway. Talking is exhausting, and your actions speak so much louder to another’s soul.

Vanessa Vecchio

© KWEST19 | STOCK FREE IMAGES & DREAMSTIME STOCK


O C t O B e R 2 0 1 2 - F O O d R e C i p e s

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FOOd Recipesbeef & vegetable stirfry

This recipe is fast, easy, healthy and tasty. It serves 4 and is a nice change from your average stir fry with rice.

Ingredients:• Vermicelli noodles - enough for 4, cooked as per instructions• 1 tablespoon sesame seeds• Spray oil• 3/4 cup water• 500g beef strips (heart smart), thinly sliced• 1/4 cabbage, finely shredded• 1 large carrot, peeled and sliced into matchsticks• 4 green shallots, cut into 3cm pieces• 1 whole capsicum, thinly sliced (I used 1/3 red, 1/3 green and 1/3

yellow)• 1/2 large zucchini, sliced into matchsticks• 1/4 to 1/2 cup Hoi Sin sauce

Method:1. Cook vermicelli noodles as per instructions (usually they just need soaking in boiled water for a few minutes)2. Heat a wok over a high heat, add sesame seeds, shake and toss until brown3. Remove and set aside4. Spray the spray oil in the wok, reheat to hot and add the beef5. Toss often until brown, then remove and set aside6. Spray oil in wok again, heat again, add a little of the water and add all the vegetables, except the cabbage7. Toss the vegetables often, adding water occasionally to prevent sticking to wok, for about 5 minutes8. Add the cabbage, toss and add a little more water if necessary. Cook for a further 2mins9. Return the beef and seeds to the wok, pour the sauce over the lot, and stir through until warmed and mixed well10. Serve on a bed of noodles.

Now this is very healthy and so easy to make. It has NO butter, oil or sugar. Don’t be alarmed - it IS sweet because the dried fruit sweetens it. I can’t believe how yummy and healthy this is! Check it out...

Ingredients:• 5 cups of dried fruit, nuts and seeds• 3 eggs, whisked• 2 tablespoons flour

Method:1. Line a loaf tin with baking paper2. Pre-heat oven to 180 degrees celsius for 10 minutes3. Mix the flour into the dried fruit, nuts and seeds really well4. Whisk the eggs in a separate bowl5. Pour the whisked eggs over the fruit, nut, seed, flour mix and stir well6. Pour it all into a loaf tin7. Place baking paper over the top because it can burn if you don’t8. Cook at 180 degrees celsius for 30mins9. Let cool before slicing

Recipes courtesy of http://nellscookingblog.blogspot.com.au


O C t O B e R 2 0 1 2 - B O O k R e v i e w / w O R d s C R a m B L e


BOOk Review

11.22.63stepHen king

Jake Epping is a high school English teacher...in 2011. He has knowledge of American history because he needs to teach a bit of history to his students. However what he doesn’t realise is the impact John

F Kennedy’s assassination had in 1963...yet!

Jake finds a time-travel portal at his local diner which will take him back to 1958 in the days of cool cars, friendly and polite people, youths who behaved and the time leading up to JKF’s presidency.

Jake is confronted with a decision. Should he go back in time to change something. What could he change? Maybe he could actually stop the assassination! Maybe he could change some of his own family history. He begins to think that if JFK wasn’t shot dead the cold war wouldn’t have happened, nor the Vietnam War. Should he go back and change history?

Would you?

What would you change?

Michelle Jenkins

wORd scramble


O C t O B e R 2 0 1 2 - t O e n a i L C L i p p i n g s

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with special guests Royal Headache

Tickets: www.ticketmaster.com.au

Love Police presents

ON SALE NOW!

THE ROCK & ROLL SHOW OF 2012

tweaking madd - volume 1 issue 4

Documents

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