Radio Wolf, with Wolfie Rankin.
Available to listen to at any time!
Radio Wolf, with Wolfie Rankin.
Available to listen to at any time!
When I was at high school, it seemed that most of the other students were bullies, and I hated the place.
I did have three close friends though, but they didn’t stay with me long, one moved out of the area with his family, another was moved to another school… which was probably not such a bad idea, and the other was killed by a truck on his way to school.
I was left with people who were friendly, but they weren’t like the one’s I’d lost, and missed.
Two of them are who I want to talk about.
One, was a year older than me, the other a year younger.
They came from a very poor family, and lived in a house which seemed like it was barely there, and not big enough for the family who lived inside it.
A family member had, at some point, banned television, so the boys would come to school and hear us talking about things we saw on tv, and were left out of the conversation… I admit, I don’t watch tv much at all now, except for iview, but it was the 80s back then, no internet… I live on the internet as most of you know.
This idea to get rid of tv didn’t help the boys one iota, in fact it deprived them of development… yes they could have gone out, they could have done things, but they were shy and reserved as I was… after school, they’d go home, and stay there until they had school again the next day… or monday.
I had television, a VCR and my records, things were being listened to, I had an interest. I also had my pets who were always, and still are, considered family members.
Mum took me out to socialise, I was shy too, and would only go out with my parents, it would either be a drive to a country market, or a day out to one of the restaurants in the Dandenongs, the local hills just on the outskirts of Melbourne.
I was shy anyway, but had been made worse by the bullying I got at high-school, I should have got out of there earlier, but I didn’t have the nous to do so at the time.
I needed a mentor, or a close friend I could rely on, but didn’t have that, so coped the best I could.
The boys and another friend would come here on the weekend, and I would record music for them, and I mean vinyl to cassette, which meant we would listen to the records as we recorded them.
The older boy was quite eccentric, for instance, one day at school, it was red hot, and we were all in shorts or t-shirts, but not he, he wore his full uniform, with jumper on, and a leather jacket over that, done right up to the neck.
I remember the PE teacher looking at him and almost pleading with him to at least undo a few buttons.
This kid didn’t even look hot, or sweat.
Anyway, I could talk about them for ages, but I want to come forward to now.
The younger of the two comes to visit me, and it frustrates me, because although he’s ok, I only just barely see him as a friend, the two would seem to sit just at the level of my annoyance, sometimes if I could just scream at them it would help… I did tell the other to bugger off once.
The older brother, I should say, has since died.
This leaves the younger with very little to do, and therefore, he seems to have got it into his mind to come over, since what we have in common is dead family members.
This kind of annoys me, as I feel I have stuff to do, and want to keep doing it.
I like company, but what I want is to be with someone who understands me, someone who gets it, this guy doesn’t get it.
I have a friend who I can talk about anything with, including the full spectrum of my sexuality, and he doesn’t flinch, but then I know his too and his doesn’t bother me either.
But this guy is still, somehow a nervy little fourteen year old boy who titters about anatomy and “poofters” and prostitutes.
and I’m a bit sick of it.
I think the next time he does, I’m just going to floor him with “Hey, I’ve sucked a cock, and I’ve had mine sucked many times… yes, by MEN!”
I’m not sure what that will do, he might just giggle and blush, he might go home and not return, I dunno.
And I don’t want to talk about Maturity, I’d like to think that I’m still a playful pup most of the time, even though I’m really a tired old dog, No, Worrying about maturity is the domain of fourteen year old girls, nobody gives a shit about maturity once you’re older.
Is this guy a friend, or do I just feel sorry for him and tolerate him? I think it’s mainly the latter.
There was to be an experiment, in which a whole state of a country was involved, one which has a fairly evenly spaced population, a popular radio station, and an Astronaut watching and in contact with the radio station below….
And the listeners had their fingers on their light switches, and were set to flick their switches as the Astronaut says…. on, off, on, off, on, off, on….
Would the Astronaut see the state flash like a neon sign, in a fairly even, flat pattern…
OR, Would He see something more like ripples from a pool, because people who were closer to the transmitter, would hear the commands quicker than those further away?
If you watched Catalyst You may have seen how our gut is supposed to have “Caveman food” or at least a more natural, less processed diet.
It made me think.
While growing up, my Father who ate very well due to Mum feeding him, had a lot of gut problems, he would say he had ulcers, but I don’t know if that was ever confirmed by a Doctor, maybe it was… He would often complain about “burning up” on the inside, and burp a lot.
But He would slather on butter an inch thick, even just after WWII ended, and Mum was still on rations (I actually found the ration book). She was often angry with him for this habit.
Dad also loved his salt “I don’t see why salt is bad, they used to give us salt pills when we were in the army up north” Yes but it was very hot up there in the Islands.
So he would sprinkle salt on everything, even before he’d tasted it.
Sugar and coffee were other things, and cream.
Mum also had a sweet tooth, so there were always cakes at our place, and Dad loved those.
Now here’s the thing.
Mum was of an English background, and while Dad had his share of English blood too, Part of him was Aboriginal.
So while Mum was closer to her proper diet, peas, beans, lentils, potatoes, meat etc, She never really had any problems.
Dad should have probably fed on a diet more suited to the Aboriginal… Of course this was impractical, but we could have come up with something similar, there’s fish, there’s fruit and veg which is similar to the Aboriginal diet, it could have worked.
Not that you could get Dad to do anything fancy, he was unmovable, and kept on eating as much of the good stuff till the day he couldn’t eat at all.
My Sister had her own gut problems, Mum noted that Fish and Chips or a BBQ would cause a migraine, but like Dad, She rarely listened and suffered for it later.
When I turned 21, I asked my Parents if I could go to an Indian restaurant with them, that’s all I wanted, I’ve never been a mad party person.
We all loved the curries, and became regular customers.
However, I wonder now if that caused more damage than it was worth?
Last year I had begun to buy Indian food from the supermarket, had this intensified my UC to the point that I needed medical help?
Had it made my Dad sicker?
And if the food was bad for us, what about Mum and her English gut? Why didn’t anything seem to affect her?
It’s worth noting that unlike my Dad, I will tend to drop things completely if I feel they’re not doing me any good.
I stopped drinking coffee and tea as a teenager, and did not start drinking it again until the age of 39, because the cancer treatments had left me feeling cold inside.
But I am in a bit of a rut at the moment, and need to get out of that.
So, should I too be eating snakes, lizards, turtles, fish, wild fruit & vegetables, grubs, moths etc?
It’s unrealistic, and to my Western tastes, is a bit off putting, and I had lizards and tortoises as pets, they were family. I am not eating witchetty grubs, although a cooking teacher at high school said that her Hubby, a chef, had come home with a mystery soup one evening… She tried it and ate four bowls of it… witchetty grub soup! She said she felt revolted, but at the same time, it was delicious.
However, everything seems to suggest that possibly a Raw food diet could be the way to go, or at the very least, just using a lot more fresh fruit and vegetables.
Catalyst also mentioned that good bacteria can be added to the gut, by eating lots of particular vegetables which have the bugs already inside them, which in theory, makes fecal transplants look like treatments for emergency cases.
There is research being done in the US where they collect poo from all around the world, they will send you a kit for this, for free when you sign up online.
They are trying to trace gut bacteria and produce a kind of map, they also show you which bacteria they found in your gut, and compare your findings with others.
I think this could be worth trying.
Tonight, while having my enema, I heard Michael Jackson singing “Man in the mirror”, wise words?
As most of you know, a lot of people won’t write about certain subjects, but I LOVE talking about certain subjects because that’s my nature.
I have a story from what happened tonight which may at first sound dreadful, but I think by the end you’ll be chuckling.
You see, as a part of my uncerative colitis (UC) treatment, I have to have enemas each night.
Now I got my medication a while back, but I thought that I might hold back till the antibiotic meds were finished, as they are now.
So I have these pills and enema bottles.
I’d just had a shower, laid a towel where my bottom would be as I thought it could potentially get messy, and put Smooth FM on, a soft pop music station, hereby known as “Music to have enemas by”.
So I thought the bottles beak would be pushed up my clacker, I’d “try” to lay there for the 30 minutes they’d requested on the bottle… I was sure I’d run madly to the lav at the three minute mark, but it wasn’t going to happen.
All ready for this, I got myself onto the bed, just as Andrew Daddo said that it was 7:30pm and we should just lay back and relax, He’d speak again at 8pm”
30 minutes of music, perfect!
I pushed the bottle up inside and squeezed the contents inside of me.
There were a few wobbly moments, and then I settled in to listen to Michael Jackson, The Carpenters and others.
I was really comfortable, a few tiny anxious moments, but nothing to worry about.
And then I heard Andrew Daddo speaking, and got up to go to the loo, not because of him, but because it was clearly 8pm.
The trouble was I was really comfy, I was warm, and Andrews voice and his music was soothing, I thought I could just lay there all night. Yeah I’m taking the piss a bit, but I was comfy, and liked the music, OK, Andrew was ok too.
BTW: I think there were, what? Eight Daddo brothers? and I think at least five worked in TV or Radio.
Anyway I got up, and walked… *walked* calmly to the lavatory, the dunny, the thunderbox…. and sat gently on the throne, and squeezed.
I had expected to land hard on the seat, and COWABUNGA!, but no, it was almost Regal, Her Majesty would have approved.
I squeeeeeeeezed again, and heard a tiny drip.
I frowned, this was weird, this wasn’t what I had expected at all.
And then drip drip drip drip drip… and a dainty fart.
I examined the bowl, and all I saw was some thick white fluid floating on the surface.
Now I’m sure many of you who follow me have already conjured up all sorts of things in your dirty dirty minds, but it was just enema fluid, honest.
So I did a tiny amount of paper work, and that was that, it wasn’t bad at all, I feel almost Norsca Fresh.
It did leave me a little perplexed though.
There are three dreams I think I’ve had before, and a great sense of calm.
Dad gave me a VHS mix tape of cartoon cartoon-esque cartoons and we just sat and watched them, barely spoke, but did.
He was laying on a couch and I was sitting in front of this big screen (tubed) tv, which looked a bit cartoony itself.
There’s a flash of another dream where Mum, Dad and I are eating, on a table in a city location, and talking about how they want to start making photos that move, like in the Harry Potter films.
Then there’s a beautiful scene, we’re on a hill, in the middle is mostly wilderness, the view goes down, then there’s a river right at the bottom, and it ascends on the other side, there’s an old brick building, and trees up there. it’s summer and the sun is going down. everything is golden.
There’s a trestle table down the hill a bit, where people, and Mum are eating, Mum is always eating something it seems, I wonder how she ever remained that thin.
There are photographers there, trying to get that one great shot, as is certainly was beautiful… and so was I, I have taken photos of it before.
There are buildings on each side of the scene, and a wall, which is just barely out of shot, and Mum and I get “trapped” there, we’re with a woman who is talking about her sick child, apparently the tummy was off and the arrowroot biscuits did no good at all, the child was walking with her at the time.
We walked through a passage, and there were little kids in this warm room, who were selling blankets and warm clothing, knitted jumpers and scarves and things, again on a long trestle table, and not much room for anything else, but it was very comfortable, and I remarked to Mum that I’d have to buy something there eventually.
When little kids show up in my dreams, they’re usually quiet and relaxed, often wearing white… they are my protectors, though I don’t see it at the time.
The dream ended here.
I’ve been thinking of this for a while, and I think that I might be right, not that I consider myself a guru of social media, but I suspect this is how things work.
Imagine your social network as a chat show, and you’re the host of this show.
Most of your followers are like home viewers, they turn the TV on and are happy
to watch, but they generally don’t contribute to the show.
* Those who are new to social media sometimes find the idea of silent followers “creepy” but they are just a silent audience who enjoy the show.
The next stage up, are your studio audience. They enjoy your show, and are happy to sit quietly and watch, and will sometimes ask a question, or tell you something interesting. They may even get involved with an idea now and then, their faces will be familiar, but you’ll rarely hear from them.
Going up another notch are your regular guests, they might be monthly, weekly or daily guests. they’re the familiar faces who love to have a conversation with you fairly often, and it’s these people who help your show along, since you cannot run a show alone, and really, who’d want to?I’ve found that I have a large amount of followers, but although I am happy to chat with anyone, mostly only speak with my regulars.As a communicator, I don’t see Twitter as the numbers game that many people do, I’d much prefer interaction, but there’s nothing wrong with having 24K happy followers.