tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-71416815252311810522024-02-07T22:53:35.403-05:00Rogue HustlerRachelle Hickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17680357424362348491noreply@blogger.comBlogger10125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141681525231181052.post-29366016430851177882015-02-08T18:32:00.001-05:002015-02-08T18:33:49.197-05:00Losing It In Phi Phi (Pee-pee)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-a35HRTkf4s8/VNfgvjQEsPI/AAAAAAAACEc/Ok9aWywn7Ho/s1600/Phi%2BPhi%2BParty%2BCrew.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-a35HRTkf4s8/VNfgvjQEsPI/AAAAAAAACEc/Ok9aWywn7Ho/s1600/Phi%2BPhi%2BParty%2BCrew.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;">Source: Phi Phi Party Crew (The Shangri La)</span></div>
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This past October, I took my first trip to the islands of Thailand. I want to specify that it was my first, and not last trip because it's a place that never really leaves you. It infects your soul like a virus. For some impressionable early 20-somethings, it inhabits them like a gold trimmed wide grinning parasite. And everyone wants a bite of everyone else.</div>
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There are two rows of islands along Thailand's long southern strip. One row on the Andaman Sea and one on the Gulf of Thailand. The island where I spent the most time was on the Andaman Sea side, and it was called Ko Phi Phi (correct pronunciation: Pee Pee).<br />
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Thailand has a reputation for being a massive country to party in, but I had no idea how common it was for visitors to literally drop their entire reality and stay on the islands indefinitely. Surprisingly the sexy film about big Leo dabbling in a bit of island infidelity and then going absolutely out of his coconut shell brain via SuperNintendo-meets-acid-tripping-with-baboons, was not far from what actually happens.<br />
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While there are no secret island camps (not that I saw anyway), Phi Phi and surrounding islands are littered with young adult-lets from all major English-speaking countries who have come to escape the square dullness and yucky sensibility of the Western world. On Phi Phi, life is a hooping hoorah with drug-laced candies and alcohol served in sandcastle buckets, and, by god, you better get on board.<br />
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Among the endless personal accounts I heard of lives being abandoned in Britain, Australia, New Zealand, America, South Africa, and Ireland, a few in particular stood out. I probably shouldn't name any names, but I'll make up some for the sake of storytelling. Here are a few selections (I can only put up a picture of one of these people for the sake of privacy):<br />
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<b>Narcissus</b> I hate to say that I really liked Narcissus. He was a spunky kid who's eaten flesh from a living snake and has had intercourse with most people he's met. He spins fire and had to rescue an old sailor from a Viagra overdose. This guy's reason for abandoning The World is that he's what I like to call A Memory Collector. He does everything and says "no" to nothing. He wants to devour life and will succeed in doing so--if it doesn't swallow him first.<br />
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<b>Captain</b> This wonderful character is actually the same old man whom Narcissus rescued from the Viagra overdose. His story is that he bought a ship from England about 30 years ago, set out for Thailand, but had to stop for 20 years in the middle because he found a Croatian wife. Now, after 5 marriages and a 30-year trip from the UK to Thailand, he spends his days getting his picture taken with beautiful half-nude women, having his belly button used for shots, and influencing lovely dirty habits on the impressionable youth.<br />
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<b>Blondie</b> This girl was an absolute riot. She chronically falls in love with obscure foreign men. Blondie only likes guys who scream, light their boxers on fire, have gauges in their ears, and convince her to travel half-way around the world for a date. I accompanied her to a bar where her newest love affair was serving drinks. He was a native Thai with hair like Rufio and a smile like the devil. He gave us a big piece of chocolate that looked like a French truffle, but tasted like mud. It was weed with something else, but I don't remember what the something else was.<br />
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(This actually is Big Love. </div>
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Postcards of Phi Phi locals are sold at shops.)</div>
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<b>Big Love</b> I call this lovable lumpy fella Big Love because his favourite song is "Big Love" by Chicken. I know this because at the nightclub/streetside hut that he owns, he really starts to boogie when the live band plays this song. And it's entirely epic as he looks like the sun when he dances. Every cell of his being is in ecstasy to be a part of him.<br />
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While there are many other very interesting characters who come and go and stay on Phi Phi, this is just a sample of the most impressionable ones I met. I would encourage anyone to gain their own personal experience on this island of neon lights, spinning fire, and alcohol served in fruit or kids' plastic toys.<br />
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In honour of Big Love, and the rest of the nameless Phi Phi lot, let the following song be the soundtrack of your day:<br />
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Rachelle Hickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17680357424362348491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141681525231181052.post-74641303815953449962015-02-01T15:38:00.002-05:002015-02-08T16:04:50.092-05:00Tea, Father? And Other Bits Of Irish Life<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;">Source: IrishRainPhotography.com</span></div>
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Ireland - the land of Bono, Father Ted, pints, and "the craic". And for the past three years, and counting, it's been my home. </div>
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Only a few non-Irish residents that I've met here know what I mean when I say that you just can't get this kind of<i> silly </i>anywhere else. The quirkiest things seem to happen here and it's the only country I've been in where the people actually get on board with the whimsical nature of everyday life. </div>
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To begin a new series called "Tea, Father? And Other Bits Of Irish Life", I would like to share a short, yet profound experience I had with a woman in an elevator:</div>
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I enter an elevator of a 3 story building. An older rather squat woman with large glasses follows in behind me. I press the button for the floor below me.</div>
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"Oh, beejayzus!" she screams as she braces herself with both arms in a wide-V in the corner of the elevator.</div>
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I stare at her. Stunned.</div>
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She gulps and asks, "Is this going down," and then, gathering herself says very matter-of-factly, "Oh, it's supposed to do that."</div>
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When the elevator door opens and she exits, she looks at me with a blush in her cheeks and says, "Don't mind me, I'm just dizzy."</div>
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As she gets off, I clutch my hands to my chest and beam at the wonderful absurdity of life in Ireland.</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BdPjUJruxuM/VM6Jbu03k_I/AAAAAAAACDY/gPpKSJ83EC0/s1600/Mrs-Doyle.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BdPjUJruxuM/VM6Jbu03k_I/AAAAAAAACDY/gPpKSJ83EC0/s1600/Mrs-Doyle.png" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;">Source: CorkIndependent.com</span></div>
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Rachelle Hickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17680357424362348491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141681525231181052.post-1227792189289082902015-01-26T06:37:00.001-05:002015-01-26T07:51:16.640-05:00Sleeping With SCOBY<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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SCOBY : Symbiotic Colony Of Bacteria and Yeast. Also known as a gelatinous honey-coloured disc used to make the pro-biotic drink Kombucha.</div>
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While travelling with my family through the north of Italy over Christmas holidays, my aunt, a naturopath, potter and recent crochet-er, told me that she was missing her SCOBY. </div>
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"What is that?" I asked.</div>
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"It's my bacterial friend that I use to make Kombucha with. Really, he's helped my hair so much."</div>
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"It's a HE?"</div>
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"Well, obviously."</div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;">Source: CulturedFoodLife.com</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Now, my aunt has been known to entertain some far-reaching ideas in her lifetime. But when it comes to health, youth, and beauty, she's spot on. She's nearly 50 now and has the skin of a 20 year old. I've never seen a wrinkle on her face.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">When she told me how much her kombucha concoctions have helped her health, I knew I wanted a SCOBY of my own. But the trick is, she told me, you have to LOVE it. I mean, dote on the SCOBY. Talk to it, give it a blanket, let it watch you bake a cake. Growing a SCOBY should be like giving birth, but without all the hormones and an entire person emerging from your groin.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Conceiving a SCOBY:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">1/4 Cup Castor Sugar</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">1/4 Cup Apple Cider Vinegar</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">1 Quart/Litre Water</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">2 Tea Bags Black or Green</span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-p7sMmf5au4A/VMYi53Zjf_I/AAAAAAAACBU/oef5N_Zj1CI/s1600/image%2B(2).jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-p7sMmf5au4A/VMYi53Zjf_I/AAAAAAAACBU/oef5N_Zj1CI/s1600/image%2B(2).jpeg" height="320" width="239" /></a></div>
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Make sweet tea.</div>
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Remove tea bags and pour sweet tea into a mason jar. Add apple cider vinegar.<br />
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Stir.</div>
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Place a breathable cloth on top of the "womb" and fasten with a rubber band. My SCOBY jar just happens to be a man who just travelled through the Middle East. Like Paul Coelho's Alchemist, I've name him Santiago.</div>
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Santiago sleeps by my bed. He LOVES being warm, which is why he has his scarf wrapped around him like a blanket. He also likes to watch birds. Sometimes we sit by the window together to see the seagulls flying around Dublin. He likes just a bit of light. He's sleepy most of the time. If there's sunlight, he likes to look at it, close his eyes, and have a nice dream. But in a dimly lit bedroom, by a warm fire, or with blanket are some of his favourite places to fall asleep.</div>
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Most of all, he LOVES bedtime stories. Because he sleeps so much, about 5 "bedtime" stories a day is the norm. Stories are a big part of his life and he considers dreams to be on par with good books.</div>
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It will take about a month for Santiago to become a real SCOBY. Stay tuned for more updates. Pictures of the birth are soon to come!</div>
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Rachelle Hickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17680357424362348491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141681525231181052.post-58306513423462780272014-11-10T07:37:00.004-05:002015-01-08T13:08:21.358-05:00Gate 37: Como La Flor<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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This is a story that I published through Gate 37, a new online journal publishing writers who have a hard time answering the question, "Where do you come from?"<br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Como La Flor</span></div>
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<a href="http://gate-37.com/2014/11/10/como-la-flor/">http://gate-37.com/2014/11/10/como-la-flor/</a></div>
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Rachelle Hickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17680357424362348491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141681525231181052.post-76601331226088476012014-08-23T10:50:00.001-04:002014-09-22T18:13:18.759-04:00Abruzzo, Mi Amore<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-a4O7ctiw66U/U_iocqNIaJI/AAAAAAAAB3U/RYxn--5wIBA/s1600/abruzzo-travel-map.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-a4O7ctiw66U/U_iocqNIaJI/AAAAAAAAB3U/RYxn--5wIBA/s1600/abruzzo-travel-map.gif" height="235" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;">Source: MyBellaVita.com</span></div>
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I am in love with Abruzzo. I've seen many places in the world, but only now can I say that I'm in love.</div>
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I was staying with friends in a small sea-side town called Cologna Spiaggia. Their economy is run by tourists, but there are few to be found. The bathers on the beach are nothing but locals who walk or cycle two minutes from their homes to greet the sea. I sat on the back of a rusted bike while my friend pedalled and waved at everyone we passed by. There are many words that could describe this gem of a place, but what sums it up is: family.</div>
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August 15 is Farragosto in Italy. It was introduced by emperor Augustus just a few years ago... in 18 BC. But it's still celebrated in Italy today because, well, why not? Accompanied by 40 of our closest friends from Cologna Spiaggia (about a quarter of the population), we boarded a bus to a nearby town that was hosting a festival, passed around bottles of Campari, and started belting classic songs of Abruzzo. </div>
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When you drink Campari, apparently this is the kind of night you can look forward to:</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DM6YkIz6VLw/U_ihLtTMihI/AAAAAAAAB28/TkreLHvZL08/s1600/CAMPARI_Wallpaper_t41j3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DM6YkIz6VLw/U_ihLtTMihI/AAAAAAAAB28/TkreLHvZL08/s1600/CAMPARI_Wallpaper_t41j3.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;">Source: www.ScenicReflections.com</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">But I was with a bunch of sincerely wonderful lunatics and it was a bit more like this:</span></div>
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The night turned into a blur with many bottles of wine, dancing, singing, and finally ending up on the beach of Cologna at a Jurassic Park themed party at sunrise.<br />
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It was magical.<br />
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The next afternoon, we ventured to the beach with heavy heads and sore throats. But, it was necessary to be at the beach for the annual and cruel tradition of being in a delicate state, sunglasses on, possibly falling asleep to dreams of red Campari bottles clanking their glass necks on your skull, and a friend pouring a big bucket of cold water all over you.<br />
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This madness ensued for the day until my friend, Alberto, and I drove to his grandmother's house for a meal of spaghetti, lasagne, and meatballs, followed by shots of flourescent-coloured Limoncello and espresso.<br />
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The day was nearly done and nearly anything was making me laugh. Alberto's parents were trying to practice their English, and his father had found a new favourite word. Olive. And he'd say it randomly, with emphasis on the "O" like it was a big piece of cake going into his mouth, and breath the "live", finishing with a chuckle of pure satisfaction. And I could relate. Because it was was indeed a time of complete satisfaction, contentment, and experiencing a group of people who I now consider a second family.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aSF4YP56iAo/U_in7Mfg3rI/AAAAAAAAB3M/xkU8dPrHAUM/s1600/P1040011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aSF4YP56iAo/U_in7Mfg3rI/AAAAAAAAB3M/xkU8dPrHAUM/s1600/P1040011.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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Rachelle Hickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17680357424362348491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141681525231181052.post-4193476769295911512014-05-10T11:05:00.000-04:002014-05-10T11:08:38.564-04:00Dreams of Salt and Sandy, Sandy Earth<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1BeRHi9MG2U/U24w0a4dv5I/AAAAAAAAB0w/wZRGnMM4C6k/s1600/msnbcmedia.msn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1BeRHi9MG2U/U24w0a4dv5I/AAAAAAAAB0w/wZRGnMM4C6k/s1600/msnbcmedia.msn.jpg" height="212" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;">Source: MSNBCmedia.msn.com</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm in Ireland. The month is May. And I've had so little sun that my skin actually aches from lack of vitamin D. I would eat sand right now just to have some semblance of parchment. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My first solution to this problem was calling my friend Paul and getting him to repeat his story of when he and his friend, Roger, accompanied a Dutch man on a camping trip near Dubai. As you would do, they drank for the entire evening and fell asleep in the chilly desert night, only to wake up inside a tent nearly 45 degrees Celsius! But it wasn't the heat that woke them up. It was the sound of the hammered Dutch man "yipp-yipping" on the back of a wild camel he'd bare saddled. </span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-y8a59GsIP3E/U241d0Ayf0I/AAAAAAAAB08/H-DmPXoqXYg/s1600/DailyMail.co.uk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-y8a59GsIP3E/U241d0Ayf0I/AAAAAAAAB08/H-DmPXoqXYg/s1600/DailyMail.co.uk.jpg" height="178" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;">Source: DailyMail.co.uk</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Dutch man had lived in Dubai for 5 years at that point and was well equipped to handle the ensuing head pain mixed with the heat, while the two Irish lads, Paul and Roger, barely remembered their own names.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The story seemed to seemed to have a knock-on effect in aiding my lack of sun. But I needed more...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For anyone who hasn't seen this video, watch it now and also look up other car tricks that men do in Saudi Arabia. It's kind of the only fun there is to be had there.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I also mean "car tricks that men do". Women aren't allowed driving licenses in Saudi, and they'd be in big trouble if they got caught behind the wheel. Even if you Google "fun things to do in Saudi Arabia," the second item that will pop up is an article from Listverse.com, "<a href="http://listverse.com/2012/11/12/top-10-everyday-things-banned-in-saudi-arabia/" target="_blank">Top Ten Everyday Things Banned In Saudi Arabia</a>."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Unfortunately women will have to be like the Dutch man and stick to the camels, while avoiding happenstances like this:</span><br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KnVcWWNEXow/U244WJl7lWI/AAAAAAAAB1I/ZSIO55eeb20/s1600/huffingtonpost.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KnVcWWNEXow/U244WJl7lWI/AAAAAAAAB1I/ZSIO55eeb20/s1600/huffingtonpost.jpg" height="231" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;">Source: HuffingtonPost.com</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Alas, I was able to calm my frustration with the Irish weather and come to terms with milk being my only vitamin D source. I should have taken heed, though, when Liam O'Flaherty said, "I was born on a storm-swept rock and hate the soft growth of sun-baked lands where there is no frost in men's bones."</span></div>
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Rachelle Hickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17680357424362348491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141681525231181052.post-28785090797876980212014-04-30T16:35:00.002-04:002014-04-30T16:37:28.367-04:00Keripik Paru Ketchup Bath<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Iddc-RHf_Aw/U16JMZt4xQI/AAAAAAAABzo/lQgKyud3UjM/s1600/01-Indonesian-Spicy-Cows-Lung.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Iddc-RHf_Aw/U16JMZt4xQI/AAAAAAAABzo/lQgKyud3UjM/s1600/01-Indonesian-Spicy-Cows-Lung.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;">www.MightySweet.com</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">They called it "crackers" when five grey and yellow-dusted medallions were placed on my plate, half-covered with abandoned rice kernels and a large dollop of ketchup. It was Keripik Paru, or fried cow lung. I specifically did not use the ketchup. No one else used the ketchup and I was the only non-Indonesian at the party.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was invited to learn a dance from Betawi, or the original name of Jakarta, Indonesia, called Yapong.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The dance is performed to a traditional gamelan orchestra who chant Ya-Ya-Ya-Ya in celebration of Jakarta's birthday. The dance was originally performed in 1977 for Jakarta's 405th year.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I thought the party would be full of flitty wrist movements and delicious tea. I thought it would be something like this:</span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YnPtVKSjqyc/U2FbQcL3SdI/AAAAAAAAB0Y/VZat1wDBD5s/s1600/indonesian-dance-class-2010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YnPtVKSjqyc/U2FbQcL3SdI/AAAAAAAAB0Y/VZat1wDBD5s/s1600/indonesian-dance-class-2010.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Source: FromBaliToBala.com</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But it was something more like this:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There were kids running around, women dancing on tables in the middle of the afternoon, and a small dog humping anything he could get his underside onto. Nobody really gave a shit. </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was having a great time... until they brought out the Keripik Paru. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'll preface by saying that I'm quite adventurous as eaters go. But when I tasted the fried cow lung, I felt like I had put an old piece of leather that had been soaking in snake blood for ten years in my mouth. I probably turned green in front of my host, which is something I'd never done.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The woman who invited me smiled as I swallowed and said, "It is good, yes? Go on, eat it all!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As she turned away and began dancing with the ladies, I felt horribly ill. I began to wonder where the cow lung was on its journey down my esophagus, and how I could stop it. I came to terms with the fact that I couldn't prevent it from entering my digestive system, but I had the power to stop any more from making the invasion.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I took a seat in a corner and stared at my plate in horror. There was no place to go. Just four medallions of cow lung and a dollop of ketchup.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The ketchup. Yes. That was the answer. My escape. I slowly pushed the lung toward a red sanctuary. As it reached the edge, it seemed like it would make it through. The ketchup was able to cover nearly all the evidence! I had saved myself and my social reputation.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Mommy says not to play with your food!" a child voice shouted at my side.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She was a small one, not older than three, and she had caught me in the act. As she stared at me with black, gaping eyes, I laughed and said, "Oh, you silly. I LOVE putting cow lung in ketchup!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She continued to stare as I grabbed all four marinated pieces and placed them on my tongue. A huge grin came across her face and she kissed my cheek before running off like a wild-ling.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I had been caught by an innocent bystander and there was nothing I could do but swallow. And I did. In one, thick, ketchup-y, gulp. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The rest of the afternoon became a hallucination. Maybe it was the cow lung or my loss of inhibition. But I believe the Harlem Shake did commence and we all performed our own dance for Jakarta.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">(A recipe for the Indonesian cow lung crackers can be found <a href="http://indonesiaeats.com/keripik-paru-beef-lung-crackers-indonesian/" target="_blank">here</a> at IndonesiaEats.com.)</span></div>
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Rachelle Hickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17680357424362348491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141681525231181052.post-33800153639737120932012-11-20T20:52:00.001-05:002014-04-28T12:51:18.641-04:00The Bacon Bikini Project<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Here is a story I wrote which was recently published in a UK food journal, Fire & Knives:<br />
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It's called "The Bacon Bikini Project:"<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LNTd8b6Q90U/UKwy5JvTyWI/AAAAAAAAAd4/ELQQrQxKtf4/s1600/cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LNTd8b6Q90U/UKwy5JvTyWI/AAAAAAAAAd4/ELQQrQxKtf4/s640/cover.jpg" height="640" width="513" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-oCPg8arZtmM/UKwzYsdk2II/AAAAAAAAAeM/O0vHDyWbdkA/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-oCPg8arZtmM/UKwzYsdk2II/AAAAAAAAAeM/O0vHDyWbdkA/s640/1.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-znOGSahqC2s/UKwzjGdcTaI/AAAAAAAAAeU/vGNAIA9pPDY/s1600/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-znOGSahqC2s/UKwzjGdcTaI/AAAAAAAAAeU/vGNAIA9pPDY/s640/3.jpg" height="640" width="478" /></a></div>
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Rachelle Hickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17680357424362348491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141681525231181052.post-30865061009795646622012-03-25T05:42:00.005-04:002014-04-28T12:51:41.133-04:00The Human Skin Trade (Part 1)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-D99GQ4suYEA/T27WU8T4JKI/AAAAAAAAAJE/sFOXXpl8BOs/s1600/wunderkammermelbourne.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-D99GQ4suYEA/T27WU8T4JKI/AAAAAAAAAJE/sFOXXpl8BOs/s400/wunderkammermelbourne.jpg" height="251" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Source: WunderKammer.com</span></div>
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"That's hardcore," says Ben White as he fawns over a photographed jar containing an embalmed 5 month old human fetus. He giddily studies the picture, examining the spaghetti looped umbilical cord like a boy leaning over a mud pile of worms. The fetus is illegal and its source is unknown. It does, however, exist somewhere in Australia where the laws of human tissue trade are highly regulated.</div>
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As the owner of <a href="http://wunderkammer.com.au/" target="_blank">WunderKammer</a>, an occult shop in Melbourne specializing in miraculous treasures, White is very aware of the trade laws of deceased human remains. He lives for things like rare taxidermy, natural specimens, and antique scientific instruments. And like most products that are hard to come by, there’s a thriving black market just below the surface.</div>
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WunderKammer is just the first stop on our journey through the laws and illegal biddings of the skin trade market. Our next stops are <a href="http://theevolutionstore.com/" target="_blank">The Evolution Store</a> in NYC, an occultist shop with an abundance of human remains and skeletons, and <a href="http://www.deyrolle.com/magazine/" target="_blank">Deyrolle</a> in Paris, a 170-year old establishment known to be the oldest of its kind. </div>
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The following interview details BenWhite of WunderKammer’s involvement with aberrant objects, how the laws of the human tissue trade in Australia affect his business, and a little about kangaroos.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Illegal 5-month old fetus.</span></div>
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Ben: My name is Ben. I have a shop called WunderKammer, which is a scientific curiosity store where we do taxidermies as well. We have animal skeletons, and skulls, and fossils, and minerals, and all sorts of stuff.</div>
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RH: Would you tell me about doing taxidermy?</div>
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Ben: Well, we don’t do it ourselves. We frame a bit, so a bit of entomology and things like that. And the taxidermy that we get comes from local taxidermists. </div>
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RH: How did you get started doing this?</div>
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Ben: This was my dad’s shop originally. He bought the shop from another couple in 2006. He just recently decided to semi-retire, so I’ve taken over the store. </div>
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RH: What got you interested in a store like this?</div>
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Ben: Growing up around my dad, it was hard not to be. If you look around the store you can see a lot of him in it. It’s pretty weird and wonderful. </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Javan toad skeleton. </span></div>
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RH: Was he the one who began collecting?</div>
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Ben: He bought the shop from a couple, so they sort of had the original idea, and my dad used to shop there. It was very small and boutique when they had it. He’s collected a lot, and really helped it grow and expand. </div>
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RH: How does he find items to collect?</div>
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Ben: That’s just sort of the case of going out and finding it. Adventuring. He’s in Paris at the moment, a lot of travel. We’re fairly well known now, so a lot of it can come to us through schools moving, throwing stuff away, old labs and things like that. </div>
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RH: Do you travel as well?</div>
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Ben: No, I wish. Maybe one day. My boy can take over, and it will continue on. </div>
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RH: You were saying that skin trading laws are different in Australia versus the United States. </div>
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Ben: What do you mean, “skin treating?”</div>
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RH: Skin trading.</div>
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Ben: Skin trading. Ah, yes. Yes. Your accent’s different. Yeah, well, there’s a Human Tissue Act in Australia.</div>
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RH: Is that what it’s called?</div>
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Ben: Yes, the Human Tissue Act. It prevents the buying and selling of anything that still has human tissue. So, skin, bones, any sort of organs or anything like that in ethanol or formaldehyde that’s been stored or pickled. It’s illegal to buy and trade stuff like that. So that law came in the late 1970s. Stuff that was done prior to that can still be done, so there’re a lot of old skeletons around that can still be traded.</div>
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RH: So deceased human parts after 1970 are totally off the market?</div>
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Ben: You can get licenses and laws that enable you to trade them. But I suppose they’re just trying to prevent it from getting out of hand. The thing is, all the skeletons used to come from India. It was big business in India. And people were starting to worry about how the skeletons were being obtained. That’s sort of how it got rolling. So, the ones that were done previously, people sort of understood where they were coming from and they were all done for medical situations, for doctors and med schools and things like that. </div>
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They all had the skulls sawn open so you can look inside. When skeletons started to appear and the skulls weren’t sawn open, how they were procured and obtained started to become more of an issue. That’s when things started to change.</div>
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RH: Do you have any specific examples of this being a problem? </div>
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Ben: No, I don’t. I do have some customers who have come in and they buy a lot of skulls and things like that from overseas. They tell me it’s still very hit and miss as to whether you can get stuff or not, and whether it comes through customs or it doesn’t. It’s luck of the draw, really.</div>
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RH: Sounds like a bitch to deal with.</div>
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Ben: Yeah, well, it’s funny cause if it’s under 1000 bucks of value, sometimes they just waive it through.</div>
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RH: How do customs determine the value?</div>
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Ben: Well, it’s just whatever you paid for it. But, you could pay 1500 bucks, and the seller would usually write 900 on it for customs.</div>
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RH: What you sell, is it all pre-1970s?</div>
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Ben: We don’t have any human skeletons at the moment. My dad did have a couple of real ones. Really nice ones that he actually bought from the old WunderKammer. And they were old. The good thing about bones is they last forever. It doesn’t really matter when they were done if they’re kept in good condition. It doesn’t matter if they were done yesterday or a hundred years ago. </div>
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RH: Do the laws pertain to animals as well?</div>
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Ben: Well, they can. Being in Australia, you can’t sell koalas, platypus skulls, or things like that. Kangaroo is an interesting one, because they are a pest. There’re thousands of bloody kangaroos. They ruin crops.</div>
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RH: Like fruit flies?</div>
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Ben: Yeah, well they have culling season up in the north where the farmers are allowed to go out and legally kill as many as they possibly can. Just because there are so many kangaroos. But you can’t legally taxidermy one, even though they’re a pest, because they’re a native animal. You can get taxidermy licenses that enable you to buy and sell native Australian animals. My dad had one kangaroo in six years, so they’re not very common. But the laws go further again on things like koalas, platypus and things like that that are endangered or protected.</div>
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Kangaroos. They’re just a cute little fury animal, but they’re bloody annoying. </div>
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RH: I saw a kangaroo for my first time yesterday. </div>
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Ben: Did you pet it?</div>
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RH: Yeah, one was lying on the floor and I didn’t know if I should touch it, but I did. It was nice. It was a lot more fun than I thought it would be.</div>
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RH: So how are skin trading laws different in the States?</div>
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Ben: I do know that laws in America are a lot more lenient. There was a guy in here recently. He’s opening a similar store in San Francisco. He was telling me that taxidermy in America can be really easy for animals and humans that are already in North America. Shops like Evolution [in New York City] have a lot of skeletons and skulls and things like that.</div>
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But I don’t know how they obtained them. They’re not new, so I’m sure there are similar laws as to when they were made and things like that. </div>
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RH: Do you have a license to buy any sort of human tissue at all?</div>
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Ben: We have a second-hand dealer license, so we can buy from other dealers. But again, anything that involves human tissue is a sensitive area here. There’re old medical kits that hold half a human skeleton. So it’s the left side or the right side of the human skeleton which used to be for medical students. They come in this really generic box that has half a skeleton just sort of dumped in there. People buy and sell those all the time. You’re not supposed to, but med students sell them to other med students all the time. </div>
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RH: Sounds like trading text books.</div>
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Ben: Exactly. And they have like little drawings on the bone, all the vertebrae are numbered, things like that. It’s all just sort of a grey area.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Siberian Wooly Mammoth Hair.</span></div>
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Ed’s Note: Due to Rogue Hustler’s involvement with articles, travel, and finding titillating topics for your weekly mental stimulation, interviews are not currently on a posting schedule. More are to be expected, but for now they are posted only when relevant and interesting. </div>
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Rachelle Hickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17680357424362348491noreply@blogger.com0Melbourne VIC, Australia-37.8136111 144.96305559999996-37.841212600000006 144.94423609999996 -37.7860096 144.98187509999997tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141681525231181052.post-45261665216735239412012-03-19T08:35:00.007-04:002014-04-28T12:51:56.893-04:00Aussies Love Sleeping In Their Swag<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XzjMqz6Nn7Q/T2cJv8ii7BI/AAAAAAAAAH0/99SOBkZorwc/s1600/UGotSwag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XzjMqz6Nn7Q/T2cJv8ii7BI/AAAAAAAAAH0/99SOBkZorwc/s320/UGotSwag.jpg" height="222" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Source: ThisIsHowWeNailIt.tumblr.com</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I went to see my friends from <a href="http://beardedgypsyband.net/" target="_blank">Bearded Gypsy Band</a> play at <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsgZjyDMHOregRmzCCFPLbxyDX2nA5i79PY53CUTB4AC7uY7_EObQZjUuOg3J45Bk5RwGGb2wvHFMQU6vChX2HAZq92t2ocVH1x5PhITReZZyVmGpJ4OzICB8jyadgkCokjlQQuXpYKBA/s1600/CrazyOldMan.jpg" target="_blank">The Old Bar</a> in Melbourne last Sunday night.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">After the show, I met up with the guys backstage to catch up on general goings-on. The lead violinist of the band, Tom Boehm, just so happens to be getting heavy into geography and has been spending much of his time adventuring through the outback. I was following along just fine, gaining insight into how it's quite safe to camp in the bush. His wildlife excursions sounded pretty legit... until he mentioned how cushy his swag is.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">In the States, especially in Atlanta, swag is known as an attractive way someone might carry his or herself in order to gain respect, envy, or ladies (<a href="http://27.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lmzts5BBX81qk4edso1_500.jpg" target="_blank">most women</a> wouldn't use powers of swag for sex). Someone can turn their swag on (gain swag) by appearing more attractive, or "swag down" (lose swag) by looking frumpy or doing something that lessens their credibility among peers. Gaining swag might involve getting a new haircut, brushing your teeth, and slowly putting on your sunglasses as a door shuts behind you on a sunny day. Alternatively, you can lose swag through actions like tripping along a sidewalk, getting spinach in your teeth, or splattering piss on the bottom of your pant leg when you get distracted by someone way cooler than you walking past the urinals.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">For clarification purposes, here's Atlanta native Soulja Boy's explanation on how one might gather swag for the coming day:</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">But, as my good friend Tom explained to me, "swag" in the States is not "swag" in Australia. In Aussie land, people can sleep in their swag. It keeps bugs out of your ears at night. You can get serious dome from it. And yes, it can be very cushy in the darkness of the bush.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Ladies, gentlemen, and other curious viewers, I present to you, the Aussie Swag:</span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-11gvM7j8BLo/T2cb3q7H5-I/AAAAAAAAAIE/XItJgN-pTr8/s1600/SWAG_BAG_SINGLE_ASSORTED.GIF" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-11gvM7j8BLo/T2cb3q7H5-I/AAAAAAAAAIE/XItJgN-pTr8/s400/SWAG_BAG_SINGLE_ASSORTED.GIF" height="366" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Source: GrizzlyMike.com</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">This beautiful contraption, also known as a "bush roll," has been used since the 1800s by those who camp and travel through the Australian outback. The full-on dome provides space and ventilation, making it a lighter load to carry than a tent. Swags today can be purchased in different sizes and textures, including a 2-person swag and ones with leather reinforced corners. And for when you really need it, most all swags come with a swag bag, a 2 peg/2 rope erection, top entry, and a taller head.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">For a good swag to strut in Australia, <a href="http://www.mrswagman.com.au/index.shtml" target="_blank">Mr. Swagman</a> is known for being <i>the</i> swag expert, providing "the toughest swags known to man" with waterproof canvas covering, a soft 70 millimeter mattress, and all-around insect penetration resistance. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Now go get some swag, you savvy bushranger.</span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-to2y_4H3xCg/T2clM9mP2-I/AAAAAAAAAIM/XxqYfji8DwQ/s1600/Bill.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-to2y_4H3xCg/T2clM9mP2-I/AAAAAAAAAIM/XxqYfji8DwQ/s400/Bill.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Source: Tumblr.com/tagged/mr.-swagman</span></div>
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Rachelle Hickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17680357424362348491noreply@blogger.com0Melbourne VIC, Australia-37.8136111 144.96305559999996-37.841212600000006 144.94423609999996 -37.7860096 144.98187509999997