How Hairdressing Split a Community


Now THAT is what I call a slam-bang quarter-season finale! I thought they’d nailed it in season sixty-seven when Marlene returned from her quest to save the quokka population from an evil oil baron who wanted to build a supermarket over their only remaining sacred burial ground, but THIS was even better!

Got to admit, I didn’t see Velma coming out with that business plan of hers. We’ve known for years that Velma is totally obsessed with her looks, ever since she had that psychotic breakdown where she tried to destroy ever mirror in the entire town because she thought that her reflections were talking trash behind her back. Now she’s visited a hair salon in the middle of Melbourne and seen how much more professional they are than in Realsville, she’s on a one-woman-crusade to establish a fine hair salon of a Melbourne standard, right there in town.

Of course, Judith runs the only salon in town, and she only knows how to do about six types of hair, four of which went out of style in the sixties. Still, Judith is approaching her 96th birthday, so everyone has just been humouring her and traveling elsewhere for their real hair salon needs. This new plan of Velma’s is a direct challenge to Judith’s monopoly, so the two are now at loggerheads, and old grudges are coming out of the woodwork. Judith is now trapped in an immersive flashback to 1962, when she was watching the South Melbourne hairdressing guild setting up and putting her family’s artisan home hair salon out of business, even though it was actually down to her father’s alcoholism and her mother’s obsession with experimental mousse.

So THAT’S all happening. Now there are two mobs converging in the streets, with torches and everything. All over one little hair salon. Weird, that…

Our Energy-Laden Utopia

Interesting times tonight at the Futurist Club, as we had an extra-long meeting on energy storage. And energy storage really gets me fired up! You see, it’s long been a dream of mine to live in an unlimited energy society, and I have boundless optimism that we’re not too far off. I’m talking about a society in which nobody ever has to charge their phone, because gigantic energy pillars loom over every major city and wirelessly charge every single gadget with raining power from the ionosphere. Think about that for a moment. No more low-power warnings; in fact, we won’t even have little percentage things telling us how much power we have left, because they’ll be pointless. No more power outlets. Just unlimited energy.

Personally, I think Melbourne comes closer to the dream than anything else. Our prowess in commercial battery storage is second to none, as evidenced by the Power Project in the city centre. Those are the gigantic commercial energy storage devices, shaped and designed like giant batteries. They were a collaboration between some electrical engineering students and graphic design students…in case you didn’t already know. That’s why they look so great, but also have practical use. Anyone can jump on one of the exercise bikes surrounding the batteries and give it some juice, and anyone can just walk up and charge their phone.

It’s a taste of the future, I’m telling you. Before the energy pillars become our main source of power, I think we’ll be starting with commercial energy storage solutions that are similar, but scaled-down. So…pillars on street corners, where you can just hold your phone up to them for a minute and it’s fully charged. Free for the good of all! And that’s why I believe that industrial energy monitoring and storage is going to be what creates our new, Utopian society. Once you solve the problem of energy and it’s free and unlimited, wars and poverty will basically cease. It’s all about the volts, I’m telling you.


That One Show About Boat Parts

Television truly is in a wonderful age of specificity. I mean, you can just flick through the channels until you find something that’s exactly what you want to watch, or just find something else from the massive catchup library.

Yesterday I felt like watching a show where people name parts of boats, so I tuned into ‘Name That Boat Part and Where It’s From!’, the exciting show where people name parts of boats and where they’re from. Sometimes they make them stick their hands through a wall so they can’t see the boat part, but that doesn’t matter to these incredible boat boffins. My favourite at the moment is a guy called Jay, who can name pretty much anything. I watched him stick his hands through the wall and touch certain parts of an outboard motor, and he instantly said “Outboard motor, fitted in Melbourne!”

Such talent! They always have post-show interviews where the contestants explain their reasoning, and he said that Melbourne’s outboard motor services are just a bit different, which was how he was able to tell without even looking. Well, that makes sense!

A lot of people think ‘Name That Boat Part and Where It’s From!’ is getting a bit old, especially since we’re into season 37 and the writers much surely be running out of ideas for anchor winches and outboard motors, but I disagree. Boats and their various parts are simply timeless. They’re always great, not just for boating, but for naming on television shows, because that it a thing, and it makes sense, really.

It’s a very specific idea, and you wouldn’t think that many people would be into it, and you’d be right, but I love me some boat parts. Maybe one day I’ll be on the show, and I’ll pick up an anchor winch, and I’ll confident say “well, this has to be one of those anchor winches fitted in Melbourne, because I said so, and reasons.”

I’ve watched the show enough to be a professional.


The Day I Became a San

I have always thought of myself as very young. Now that I’m pushing my mid-twenties, I have to stop and wonder…when WILL I consider myself an adult? Is the time for childish things truly over? Should I throw away my childish hobbies and take up golf?

In the land of things that aren’t my imagination, and thus aren’t quite as interesting, I’m not looking after much younger children. I was tasked with finding an indoor play centre in Sydney that would cater to the needs of our kinder class. Sometimes they get to go on outings, so I was trying to find a place that would accommodate us. It was, of course, child’s play, to turn a phrase. I work at quite an exclusive private school that keeps classes small, and so we only had a party of eight. All i had to do was use my computer knowledge and find an indoor play centre that was open and didn’t look terrible. Then we went for our regular Friday treat (usually the kids are just taken to the park down the road), it was great, and once again I proved that I’m great with kids, despite not liking them very much. I don’t even like kids in cartoons; they always have very shrill voices and they exist to be motivations to their teenage siblings that never really seem to be as motivating as they should be.

In fact, real life children are less shrill, even when they’re climbing around a play centre. The best thing was that there were so many activities that I didn’t have to do much. I should advocate for trips into Sydney to birthday party venues more often. And Mum said I wouldn’t last as a teaching assistant!

Truly, perhaps it is time for me to become adult Dylan. We all must grow up eventually. Probably. Just a bit longer, five more minutes.


Mums Need to Mind Their Own Business

They say milk is good for your bones, but I have my doubts. If it was REALLY good, then why don’t elderly people drink milk all the time? Those people are always complaining about their bones and joints and aching skeletons. You’d think that you’d see old folks just swilling milk all the time, but…no. They do not.

With a world full of misinformation, it makes raising a child almost impossible, I swear. One website says they need two hours of play time, another says six each day. Who to listen to? Everyone in real life gives conflicting opinions as well. I mean, people wonder why I’m always travelling two suburbs across to that indoor play centre in Carrum Downs. I’ll tell you why: because it’s clearly a place for kids. I can take Roscoe there, and there’s no question about whether it’s ‘good’ for him. He climbs, he runs, he socialises with the other kids and he has fun at the same time. As much as all the magazines are confusing and give conflicting advice, those are at least SOME things they can all agree on. Being social is good. Exercise is good. Having fun is good…if you do all the rest of the stuff at the same time. And then there are those judgemental mums who think I should stop going to the play centre because we’re going to pick up germs, or some such. Sure, germs are bad (all the magazines agree on that, too), but I made my own judgement call on that one. Some germs…are okay. Because there’s only one way to build up a tolerance. You can wrap your child in cotton wool, never take them to a birthday party venue and sanitise everything they touch, but you’re setting them up for quite the nasty flu at some point. Roscoe is healthy, and I intend to keep him that way.

Maybe everyone stresses too much, and children are actually a lot more hardy than we think. And then, maybe if these judgy mums found themselves an indoor play centre open somewhere in Melbourne, they’d realise that it’s everything a child needs. Instant success formula, you might say.


I’m No Glazier. That’s a Problem…

There’s so much glass here, in this city. I’ve been sent out to research glass and take notes on my findings. I’m finding it more difficult than it should be, mostly because there’s glass EVERYWHERE. Like, so many people use glass. It’s in every building, practically. I’ve managed to find one place that had no glass, but they had wooden shutters, so basically useless for building a structure on the moon.

I’m starting to regret lying on my application form and saying that I was an airtight glass specialist. I once did my work experience for a company in Melbourne that does glass repairs and replacement, and that wasn’t…I mean, it wasn’t absolutely YEARS ago. I still remember how to take out a window pane, and how to put a piece of glass INSIDE a window pane. I just might have embellished the part where I’m supposed to be doing all the glass work for the buggies, domes and…well, the things that are going to be keeping us alive. On the moon. I don’t even think rockets have glass in them, so I’m basically supposed to be creating some kind of scientific revolution. I just don’t think I properly estimated how sort on hands we’d be. It’s a pretty selective process to get in here, I said that I was a prodigy with glass…and now I’m the ONLY glass guy. Fun.

I actually just wanted to be put on the palace construction team, because they sound like they’ll be having all the fun. I know a bit about glass balustrading, at least enough to put some into the HQ of the big boss. I seriously thought that’d be enough, since glass balustrades are all shiny and new-looking. I’d be forever remembered in the new kingdom as that balustrading guy. Maybe I’d carve in my initials…if you can even do that with glass.

Nope. Now I’m responsible for keeping everyone alive. Wonder when I’m going to find a spare moment to confess THAT little secret?


Beach Haters, I Will Heal Your Souls

Can you believe there are people who don’t like the beach? Must not have been hugged enough as a child. That’s got to be it. The beach is a wholesome place, filled with fun and wonder and laughter and…fun. All good things, and so much more.

I’m considering starting a support group. Now, I might not seem like the best person to lead it, being a normal, beach-loving person. I go to Lorne, book a good luxury hotel every single year, all because I can’t get enough of the beach. I had a ton of sand delivered to my back garden just so I could create an artificial beach, for when I’m NOT in Lorne. The only thing missing is the ocean, although in many ways that’s not even the main thing. It’s just one great big, blue perk.

No, I still think I’m a good person to lead this group, because I’m a shining example of what people SHOULD be. I’m their end goal. The idea is to convert them into me, the paragon of beach-loving.

So I’ll need to whip up a program, maybe look into hotels and accommodation around beach areas, for if we need a day trip. Otherwise, sessions will be based around rooting out deep psychological trauma, finding out WHY they’ve been raised so depraved, and figuring out how we can help to transform them into real, functioning people.

I just get a swell of pity whenever I tell my friend at work about my holidays to Lorne and he screws up his nose.

“Not my cup of tea,” he says. “Mostly just prefer holidays where I’m a bit more active.”

Poor soul; breaks my heart. If only I could stash him in my suitcase and bring him on holiday. He’ll never go looking for beach accommodation in Lorne; hotels aren’t his thing. But if I can convince him and others into my new program…they can be made whole again.


I Know My Property Rights, Thank You

I’ve lived in this hovel for six years, and nobody is forcing me to move.

For you see, before I purposefully quit my job and became a full-time squatter, I had a high-flying job as a business law firm in Melbourne. We’re talking CBD, office sixty stories into the sky, one of those glass paperweights that only really successful people have on their desk and a personal secretary.

Her name was Lacey. Really lovely, great at remembering dates.

BuT I wanted more, and paradoxically less. I knew a great deal about property law, but one thing I didn’t know…was how to deal with the real estate of my soul. I was dragged along to a convention by a friend from uni, mostly out of obligation, where my eyes were opened.I saw for the first time that it’s not about the money, or the power, or the expensive desk ornaments. You could have everything in life, if you stopped WANTING everything, you know?

Anyway, now I live in a hovel, and it’s great. I’ve set my sights lower. However, now I’m involved in legal proceedings with some former property law brethren who don’t understand my way of being. I understand that squatters are hard to clear out, but I’ve checked the documents. No one has claimed this building for six years and there’s been no significant development to the infrastructure. In fact, there’s very little documentation on the actual owner (who lived off in the Blue Mountains somewhere…), and it would appear that there’s been no significant correspondence in all the intervening time regarding the property in question.

In any case, considering this is a private building with no meaningful correspondence or claim of ownership, from a possessor who is now deceased, it could be a complex case.

However, this is also igniting my passion as a property lawyer. Melbourne needs me back in that position, in that office, with all the power and wealth. I wouldn’t WANT any of it. I’d just…have it.


The Glory Days Are Gone, but Not Forgotten

I might only have three hairs left, but I feel like I’ve made peace with it. That’s because my hair USED to be amazing. See, I had my prime during the 80s, which means it was feathered locks all around. I was basically Rod Stewart, but better. Rod Stewart was jealous of me, essentially. I was platinum blond, and my feathered do waved around in the wind like the flag of the greatest and most fabulous nation on Earth. And when you’re turning heads due to your hair, in the 80s, you know you’ve got something truly special growing out of your scalp.

So how, you might ask, have I made peace with my lack of hair at the current time? That’s simple. I achieved this inner peace through mentoring hairdressers. Melbourne has enough hair dressers who professionally trained, by my hair was SO good, SO natural, and SO effortless, that people started to ask me for tips. Of course, beyond the tip of ‘be born as me, have my hair’, there wasn’t much I could tell people at first. Then I realised that I could be an inspiration for all hairdressers everywhere, purely for my amazing hair and the boons that could be gained from studying it. I used to go to hair salons and just…sit. People would note the layers, marvel at how it kept its perfect shape even in windy or rainy weather, and a few times people even attempted to replicate it while I was there. No one ever quite reached my level of magnificence, but I think I really helped elevate the skills of Melbourne’s hairdressers. Time was that you could walk into any hairdresser in the Melbourne CBD and they’d know my name. It’s all gone now, but…in a strange way, I feel like that’s okay. I had such blazing glory days that it was enough for a lifetime, probably two lifetimes. And to think there are sad, sad fools walking around with unmanageable hair. I’d almost rather be bald; it’s all or nothing!


Needles Sure Are Great!

It’s true that most people don’t like needles, which has always seemed strange to me, because I love them. Gosh, there’s nothing that makes you feel alive quite like getting an essential vaccination, or anaesthetic to dull the pain. Needles are fun and exciting, and I simply can’t wait until my next visit to the doctor so I can get more of them. Sometimes I just go along and get vaccinated against illnesses that only exist in other countries, to which I have no plans of travelling. Hey, if it’s not bad for you, why not? Best to be careful!

So when I heard that there was a scheduled dry needling course in Christchurch, this was like a dream come true for me. I did my research on the google, of course, and it looks like this dry needling craze is totally legitimate. Supposedly it helps with muscle pain, or…some such. But I instantly volunteered to be a test dummy for the course, because what’s better than one needle that just goes in and out? Needles everywhere, that are left in because trigger points or some such.

Actually, there’s an ulterior motive behind all this. After all, I know so much about needles at this point that becoming a professional needler just seems like the most obvious career choice. I can go along to the dry needling course as a needling subject, and if the practice seems like something I could do for a living, I’ll take the course myself. Not only is it an opportunity to get stuck with needles for relaxation, medicinal benefits AND education, but if I do decide to take the course, I’ll have a leg-up on all the rest.

It’s sweeping the nation, after all. They have dry needling courses in Auckland, Sydney, Melbourne…I can pretty much take my pick of where I want to go. A versatile career, something a bit of-kilter…and needles. It’s like it was made for me.