Published in On Our Selection News July 3, 2014

Nothing cements your stature quite like the number of fingers waved at you when you’re driving.

I’m not talking about obscene hand gestures, I’m talking about the humble finger wave. For those who have never been on a road in a country town ever, a finger wave is when a driver lifts one or multiple phalanges off their steering wheel as you pass. It’s a wholesome, friendly gesture. But like most innocent, warm-willed actions, I can completely subvert it with some over-analysis and just a dash of cynicism.

If you get one finger wave, that person doesn’t know you, but shows some kind of respect for you based on the location at which you cross paths, and the type of vehicle you drive. If you’re in a ute in a country town, no matter how much of a local you’re not, you’re getting a finger wave. If you have a shiny family sedan, you’re going to need to be on a dirt back road or wearing an Akubra visible from one kilometre to raise the finger of a stranger. A one fingered wave also comes in handy when you’re passing someone very slowly and kind of have to acknowledge their presence without coming on as too clingy. For example, if you lift a hand off the wheel and wave at a road construction worker with a stop/go sign, you’re coming on too strong. The worker will either stare at you blankly or become a little worried that you’ll pull up for a chat. But if you raise a finger, you’re not only being polite, it’s very likely that you’re also going to get a nod of acknowledgement. And that nod basilically says “Hey man, I don’t know you’re name, but I know who you are, Inside. I know your soul and I get you, just like you get me.”

The two fingered wave is a wave of obligation. It’s a show that you do indeed recognise that person’s vehicle and don’t generally bid them any bad luck, but it’s the kind of wave you think about before giving. It may be that you’re lifting an extra finger because they’re in a Police vehicle and you don’t want to appear to be giving them a middle-fingered gesture (which is an entirely different finger wave all together). It might just be that you don’t like the person enough to instinctively wave joyfully at their presence, so you have to force it. You’re not their friend, but don’t want to go starting fights because they make an excellent contribution to the slice table at school events and you don’t want to have to avoid their slice on principle. If you would eat their slice, you’re obligated to acknowledge their vehicle as it passes you.

The next step up is the full lift-off. Because the real measure of affection is in the thumb. If you lift off the thumb, you lose a bit of control of the wheel. If you get a full hand lift finger wave, it means that person will willing to risk their life, to send you warm wishes. The wave is even sweeter when the person has their family riding in the car. Nothing says “hey, how ya going?” quite like gambling with the lives of your loved-ones. The full handed wave is true love. A bromance for the ages. Either that, of it’s the sign of a far too keen stalker. In which case choose your returning feature wisely – apparently people read quite a bit into these gestures and things can get out of hand.

Published in On Our Selection News June 26, 2014

Why say what you wanted to say verbally and say what you didn’t mean to say when you can say what you actually meant to say in text form?

While the richest form of communication is face-to-face, I have found that I often over-indulge in text-based exchanges. The geographical isolation from many of my friends combined with a slightly obsessive need for control means that I rely heavily on social networking sites to interact with those I love, am friendly with and tolerate. There’s an old theory which goes something like “you cannot not communicate”. The less confusing non- double negative version: you’re always communicating. How? Well that is because there are lots of different ways you can communicate. With clothing, say a uniform, you can communicate that you’re part of a team. When you’re laying down, breathing heavily and drooling, your body language says you’re asleep. HOWEVER the message sent out (intentionally or not) is distorted by the receiver’s personal interpretation of the message. So while you seeing me in my touch jersey might make you think that I am somewhat good at team sports, this can be very different from the truth, which is that I was a part of that team purely to make up numbers, and the laying face down in my own drool thing could mean someone is actually more on the passed out side of sleeping.

My point is that whether you know it or not, in varying scales of intensity of interest, everything you do, say, wear or even don’t do is informing others’ perceptions of you. Accurately or not. It’s no wonder that people (i.e. me) communicate by controlled means, in ways they craft the messages to be received by the receiver. I wasn’t so self aware of this tendancy I had until Saturday, when I was browsing in my favourite low-cost department store. I recognised a girl who used to go to my school, who happens to regularly post hilarious statuses on Facebook. Lost in a world of one-dollar-one-pieces, I wandered off without even acknowledging her existence. It wasn’t until I was considering buying 20 five dollar dressing gowns that it struck me that I was more willing to chuck her a like on the internet, than I would be interpersonally. And as someone who (unfoundedly) likes to think of herself as a social genius, this stung a little.

So I challenged myself to give her a verbal thumbs up. It didn’t go well. There I was, clutching my unethically priced item, baring my soul to a very uncomfortable girl who had been ambushed in the slippers aisle. I thought I was being an encouraging stranger, making her day, while she thought I was a jittery creep. It became very obvious that controlling how the receiver interprets a message is much easier via text, when their wide-eyed reaction can’t throw you off your game.

Luckily, I have a column. And while others have to process their social ineptitude and verbal clumsiness in conversations critical to their self confidence, I get to lie to myself that it was all for research. Maybe I thought about writing a column on this topic before I went up to her, maybe I didn’t, but that’s a problem for my subconscious to deal with. And perhaps my future therapist.

Published in On Our Selection News June 19, 2014

I really don’t think people should have to function in winter.

In the past few days, it feels like winter is taking out revenge on us after lulling us into the warm stupor of false security. We all thought winter was gentle and kind, letting us have barbecues and wear shorts. But then the relationship soured with the power of ten thousand lemons. It has untagged us in its profile pictures and poked its tongue at us behind the teacher’s back. The friendship is over. But it can still manipulate us into doing things that will hurt us even more. The cold has gone beyond an excuse to wear cute cardigans and straight into double socking territory.And when things get this bad, it’s hard to behave in a productive or socially presentable manner. Winter is secretly pulling our strings, puppeteering our actions to create misery.

I went to the football on Saturday and due to an unfortunately timed jegging wash, I was unable to wear boots because the only other pair of socially appropriate pants I own can only be pulled off with flats. I hadn’t worn those particular shoes in some time, and it was not until I could feel the painfully icy water from the puddle stepped in seep through my soles into my socks that I remembered why. I came to take pictures of a couple of things, and getting snaps at the Ladies Day function was the last on my list. Unfortunately, I got my times mixed up and had to wait an extra hour for said ladies to arrive. So I sat biding my time in the grandstand while my feet slowly froze. Usually in this situation I would wrap my hair around my neck like a scarf or even keep my face warm through creating instant sideburns by securing my hair in a classic under-the-chin ponytail – but I was sitting in a row on my own and didn’t want to come off as the weird girl in the class who doesn’t talk to anyone and eats the paste.

So I sat there in a perfectly ordinary fashion cursing the cold, and the even colder restraints of society. I was so grumpy that I could barely enjoy the fact that someone had brought a pet lamb along to the match – even his doggie coat did little to warm my icy mood. When I finally got over to the ladies, the top third of my feet were numb, and I felt like I was walking with the flat feet of a duck to keep them devil shoes from falling off my feet.

That was three days ago, and things have not changed. Today’s story is even worse. I decided to come a little earlier today and immediately questioned my decision-making processes. Our building is somewhat not insulated, walking into it first thing in the morning almost hurts. My fingers were so cold that I was about as productive at the keyboard as a hairless house cat with attention issues and six centimetre long acrylic fingernails. When faced with the notion of getting up and going to the bathroom, I actually considered wetting myself for the brief three minutes of warmth it would provide and to avoid facing the cold of the outdoor toilet. This is not right. Later on, I had to walk across the street and when someone asked how I was and I actually responded with “Don’t talk to me, I can’t function right now!” I’m hoping that my tone suggested it was a friendly exchange, but seeing my words in print makes me think that perhaps I have some apologies to make. But it’s not my fault – winter made me do it!