bilateral kellerberrin

Jo says we are silly to drink spring water. She reckons it’s just a marketing ploy, and that you shouldn’t believe that bottled water is any different from the stuff that comes out of the tap. She drinks tap water exclusively.

Greg says that when he first moved to the area, they made him sign a form declaring that if he drinks the tap water, he won’t sue when he gets sick from it. He reckons that the water from the tap is not fit for human consumption. (Greg prefers Pepsi).

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Last night we had the anthropologists to dinner. Katie, Lise, and Jess. Anne did her signature cauliflower anchovy/olive special, and we made up rice, salad, and a chick-pea spicy number too. The anthro’s were in high spirits, and we drank our way though a few bottles of “red wallop,” as David calls it, as well as some white that Dawn had given them to bring.

We talked about anthropological process, especially regarding ethics and epistemology. Epistomology is all about the know-ability of things – knowledge, and how that knowledge is represented in the world. It’s a big issue, in an area of study where the way you research can have a big influence on the kind of data you generate. Kinda like the “voltmeter changing the voltage of the circuit” thing. It’s hard to argue for anthropology as an “objective” science, then. Complex stuff.

Katie, who is doing her honours thesis about native title claims and Aboriginal painting, said that it’s possible she could get work for the land council when she graduates. Often, the council employs anthro’s to present opinion in court about the historical connection between indigenous peoples and their lands. The trouble is, anthropologists in court are supposed to be “objective” – how else can the judge trust their findings as experts? So you have to pretend that you don’t support one position or the other, whereas the whole reason you did your research was to substantiate those native title claims. Crazy stuff. To make things worse, the government will never hire an anthropologist who has worked for the land council.

Jess, on the other hand, has no plans to work as an anthropologist beyond graduation. She is an accomplished swing dancer and singer, and will probably find ongoing, if badly paid, work in that area. Her immediate problem is not what will happen at the end of Honours, but whether, in fact, she’s going to get that far. You see, her passion, the swing era of the 1940s, is also the topic of her thesis. She’s worried that by subjecting it to scrutiny, she’s going to wind up hating what she loves the most.

Lise, however, is working on a topic she hates with a passion – nationalism and parochialism as channelled through Anzac Day and Australia Day. Well, perhaps it’s not that she hates the topic. But she obviously feels strongly enough about it to tape a lot of television coverage and wade through it for patterns of representation – the relationship between mateship and patriotism, the tricky balance of national pride and pacifism.

Lise herself is grappling with a “tricky balance” – an ethical issue to do with having a crush on someone who is the subject of another anthropology research project. But I can’t say more, as it would breach my own ethical code of silence…guess who, don’t sue!

* * * * *

Anne tells a story about a workshop she did with some Aboriginal kids up Meekatharra way – a kind of video experiment on January 25, 2004. The kids stuck mini Aussie flag stickers on their eyelids, and blinked for the camera. Then she asked them if they knew what day tomorrow was. Umm…Sunday? Umm…Aboriginal Day? Umm…dunno? Most of them didn’t understand, or chose not to entertain the concept of Australia Day.

* * * * *

I proposed to the anthropologists that we play the game “A question of Scruples”. In Scruples, you pose ethical dilemmas and the answering player must respond strategically – with a yes, no, or depends. The players then debate the respondant’s sincerity.

This game was manufactured in 1986, so some of the dilemmas are a bit dated. A lot of them are American-culture-specific, or would seem more of an issue for married couples (which none of us are). However, we still did have some lively discussion, punctuated juicily with personal stories:

• When Katie was twelve, for instance, she used to babysit her little brother, and take a big kitchen knife to bed with her, just in case.
• Once she was held up by a junkie on her first night working in a liquor store. The shift manager, who was studying to be a priest, tried to reason with the guy, and help him out, but he only wanted money. He was found dead from an overdose a few days later in a nearby carpark.
• Anne told the one about the time she scraped the side of a brand new car as she pulled into a parking lot in Darwin. She sat and waited for more than an hour for the owner to return. When he arrived, he said that it probably would be covered by his insurance anyway: he worked for a car yard. The owner drove off, and a passer-by stopped Anne to declare: she had never seen such a thing in her life – such honesty. Later, the bill arrived, and Anne had to pay a few hundred dollars to repair the scratch.

We didn’t get very far towards finishing the game, although we played for a couple of hours. Nobody “won”.

* * * * *

My internet connection is on-again, off-again. It’s very frustrating, and Anne keeps reminding me (as if I need reminding) that I am addicted to this umbilical pipeline. I feel my mood swing back and forth in sync with the connection’s success or drop-out. This is probably not a good thing. What’s more, my dicky computer has a tendency to switch itself off spontaneously, and there’s always the risk that each little death will be its last. If the unthinkable happens, I suppose I could always fall back on the old Kmart typewriter I bought from Colin last week…

* * * * *

So it’s May. I’m about half way through this residency thing.

April is “going out”.
April is expanding in every direction.
April is “let’s see what happens!”
April is planting.
April is meeting people.
April is child’s play.
April is Pepsi.
April is writing notes.
April is making a mess.
April is “but I only just got here”.
April is “give me a call!”
April is “what kind of art do you do?”

May is “coming back”.
May is pulling things in.
May is “I haven’t got time.”
May is harvesting.
May is having people around to dinner.
May is getting down to business.
May is Chinotto.
May is editing.
May is tidying up.
May is “I’m leaving soon.”
May is “what’s your email address?”
May is “so what kind of art do you do again?”

(the format of this list with thanks to Lone Twin).