Ladies in Black also contains traces of early Aussie feminism. If only there were some indigenous characters too… but I digress.

The “ladies in black” become so as they commence their shifts at a large department store in Sydney. The movie opens with one such shift.

From there, the narrative moves effortlessly between five employees and their families. The analyst in me can’t help seeing each of them as an archetype of mid-1900’s Australia:

• Miss Cartwright, the aging manager (played by Noni Hazlehurst), represents the preceding era of limited opportunities for women.
• Magda, the “reffo” (affectionate slang for refugee–played by Julia Ormond), represents the skill, colour, and culture brought to Australia by those who needed the safety of our shores. Timely.
• Patty, the married one (played by Alison McGirr), represents something of a typical Australian struggle for domestic normalcy while being too young to know what you want in life.
• Fay, the single one (played by Rachael Taylor) represents the struggle to overcome disadvantage–and the merging of multiple cultures.
• Lisa, the young one (played by Angourie Rice), represents bright-eyed, innocent hope that women could finally take on the world–at least once their fathers can be persuaded to sign their university applications.

I’m being reductive, of course, because the characters who carry these themes are authentic and believable. Their stories overlap and coalesce beautifully, and the supporting cast deliver strong performances too (especially Luke Pegler, who plays Fay’s husband, Frank).

I love that the ‘vibe of the thing’ is so very Australian without being embarrassing. And that it demonstrates the wealth of experience and flavour we add to Australia when we open our hearts–and our borders–to people who aren’t safe in the countries they call home.

A reminder as worthy of our time as remembrance that Australia doesn’t belong to white people, and never has. Especially today yesterday.

4 stars.

The post Ladies in Black: #straya in 109mins (movie review) appeared first on Luke Arms.

My next personal post is still incubating (writing about what children don’t owe their parents isn’t easy), but if you’re hungry for powerful truth-telling, Alyssa Brugman’s daily posts should hit the spot in the meantime. Today’s post, Gorgon V is the latest instalment in a series about her mother, but it’s worth starting back in December.

Alyssa’s a phenomenal writer and an excellent human. She’s also introduced me to the word “gorgon”, which means “a fierce, frightening, or repulsive woman”.

A word worth filing away, for sure.

The post “Gorgon” is a marvellous word appeared first on Luke Arms.

It was intriguing enough to earn a place on my watch list, but that’s where it would have stayed if it hadn’t been for all the memes and hype and “Bird Box challenges”.

Instead, Bird Box became the second movie I watched in 2019, and because I’m on a review kick, I’m writing about it.

Well played, Netflix.

Spoiler warning: this movie spoils itself, so I don’t need to provide a spoiler warning. Seriously, the way it flashes back to more people being alive tells you almost everything you’d prefer not to know. Thriller? Not so much.

Horror? Bird Box isn’t a solid performer in this category either. People do some shocking things under the influence of a nefarious “entity” that takes over the world, but there isn’t a great deal of heart-palpitating awfulness beyond the opening scenes.

To manage expectations, this movie really should have been marketed as a drama.

Implausible plot lines and continuity issues aside: big-name actors, lesser-known actors, and brand-new child actors turn in a very solid set of performances that almost redeem an otherwise disappointing production. (The kids are very young and very amazing, especially towards the end of the movie.)

But what is Bird Box supposed to be about? The nature of the “entity” is never fully revealed nor resolved, and the birds (which provide warning when it’s nearby) don’t make a lot of sense of allegorically, so if the movie has an intended meaning, it’s too ambiguous to be constructive.

Unsurprisingly, a quick google for “Bird Box meaning” offers many possibilities but no definitive answers. If it’s about the unknowns of parenting, its message is all but worthless (and you don’t have to look too hard to find psychologists and parent groups condemning this interpretation). If it’s about racism, I can’t see how. If it’s about social media, what are the birds? If it’s about mental health, who are the ‘healthy’ ones? But hey, at least it’s easy to come up with theories and extrapolate from them. (Hello, future high school curricula.)

The best theory I can come up with is that it’s about Trumpism. The “entity” is the unstoppable advance of fake news, fake facts and fake science. When sane people see this for what it is, they want to kill themselves immediately (understandable if a little extreme). When insane people see it, they’re totally accepting and think everyone else should be too (so the infected but non-suicidal people represent Trumplings). And the birds represent fragile truth and the fading hope that it will make a difference.

That’s my theory and I’m sticking to it.

3 stars.

The post The movie worth a thousand memes. Or not. appeared first on Luke Arms.

Unfortunately, neither Sir Isaac nor his rumoured gayness feature in The Favourite. Queen Anne and her rumoured lesbianism feature prominently, however. Because there’s nothing like a same-sex love triangle to spice up an already fiendishly intriguing chapter in the English monarchy, amirite?

Rachel Weisz and Emma Stone are as excellent as you’d expect (especially Rachel as the rather badass Sarah Churchill), but Olivia Colman, who I’d only seen in a few “meh”-grade comedy roles until this movie, delivers a profoundly deep, complex and compelling Queen Anne. As the Queen’s backstory unfolds while her health and relationships unravel, Colman’s adept transitions between the comical and the pathetic are flawless. I suspect various upcoming awards panels will agree.

I loved the collective girl-power of the three leading women, especially their brilliantly written, perfectly delivered patriarchy-smashing humour. Your mileage may vary, unless you’re a feminist, which everybody should be, so… shrug

Interestingly, the movie was directed by a man. It’s excellent to see increasing representation of powerful women in popular culture (MOAR PLZ), but I can’t help thinking that it would be even better if women were directing more of it. (At least the original writer, Deborah Davis, is a woman. I’m looking forward to hearing more about how her late-90s script finally came to fruition.)

The Favourite‘s soundtrack is unusual and contributes significantly to the unsettling dissonance that permeates much of the film. Repeating beats, for example, continue between scenes where you instinctively expect the music to resolve or shift. It’s weird.

Then there are the dizzying ultra-wide-angle shots (including several fisheye sequences), which do a marvellous job of showing off the intricate set design but might give you a headache. The photographer in me enjoyed these immensely–it’s difficult to manage such a wide field of view effectively, and the DOP composed each shot masterfully–but the tracking speed, distortion and sheer number of wide-angle scenes were a bit off-putting overall. Or maybe I was just too close to the screen.

Historically, with the possible exception of the lesbianism, the arc of the story is remarkably accurate. You’ll find yourself googling things afterwards and being pleasantly surprised by the writers’ attention to detail. (You might not be pleasantly surprised by the way the movie ends, though. I wasn’t.)

On the other hand, there’s no shortage of gleeful anachronisms. My personal favourite: the integration of “f##k” and “c##t” into the vernacular of early 1700s English aristocrats. Winning.

You’ll love The Favourite if you have a high tolerance for absurd humour and mild arthouse-ishness while enjoying uncouth swearing, white historical drama, and comedic social commentary.

4.5 stars.

The post The Favourite (movie review) appeared first on Luke Arms.

There were no decorations. No gifts. No special meals. No happy memories.

Aside from knowing that the rest of the world was having more fun than us (not something I would dare mention within earshot of my parents), Christmas Day was no different to any other day.

At least once, my parents sent anti-Christmas cards, condemning their friends’ misguided efforts to honour Jesus’ birth with a rebadged pagan festival.

Every year, as 25 December approached, criticism of Christmas flowed freely. Mum and Dad were scathing about children being encouraged to believe in Santa, about Christmas trees, about Christmas carols, about Christmas being a special day for families to spend time together, and even about Jesus being “the reason for the season”.

Being a child, I accepted and absorbed all of this negativity, subduing my disappointment over the lack of gifts and joy by reminding myself that celebrating Christmas made God angry.

So, when it was recently suggested to me that I’d be especially affected by ongoing family estrangement at this time of year, I laughed. “I don’t have any reason to see this time of year as special,” I joked.

But the person I was joking with was my psychologist. And she knows that people like me (i.e. Australians who are white AF) have Christmas in their DNA, no matter what their childhood looked like.

We can argue about whether the modern Christmas fantasy is the result of shared mythology or clever marketing, but whether we like it or not, we’re wired to crave connection with family members at this time of year, and when it’s impossible due to dysfunction or distance, we can’t help but be affected.

I loved making Christmas 2018 special for my children, and thoroughly enjoyed a bunch of happy moments with Susan and our surprisingly well-adjusted blended family, but my psych was right.

Even though I was raised to hate Christmas, and even though I don’t miss the estranged members of my family at all, it’s difficult not to miss my loving, functional, completely imaginary family at Christmas.

If the same is true for you, don’t forget to take a moment to grieve for the family you never had.

Keep it brief, though. There’s beer to drink.

The post So, this is Christmas appeared first on Luke Arms.

To be fair, I would only have described my upbringing as ‘quirky’, ‘strict’ or ‘unconventional’ until the last couple of years, when my eyes started to open to the control, violence and fear that permeated the first 18-odd years of my life. Earlier, words like abuse would have sounded unreasonable or extreme to my ears–even in relation to my obviously abusive father–so it’s not surprising that my siblings would use different semantics to me.

But it’s not about my eyes being more open than theirs. I’m beginning to understand that our different perspectives on childhood reflect our different experiences of childhood. Not just because I was the youngest (by 7+ years), but because each of us played a different role in our dysfunctional family.

Or, to put it another way: the three of us had three completely different childhoods.

I’m sure my brother and sister remember Dad joking about me being his last chance to ‘get it right’ as a parent, i.e. to finally raise a perfect child, and I suspect they would agree that he wasn’t really joking. But as children, we weren’t equipped to recognise and process the daily reality of this favouritism–the obsessive focus on me, the near-indifference towards them (especially towards my sister given she was ‘only’ a girl), the distinct forms of manipulation and control that were used on each of us. And in adulthood, we’ve all processed our dysfunctional upbringings in different ways, from complete denial to various forms of counselling.

So, all things considered, it’s not surprising that we don’t see eye-to-eye about our parents. But it can be distressing to receive incredulous responses from your siblings when you’re working through childhood trauma you can finally recognise, which is why this article in Psychology Today (“You Had a Toxic Parent, But Your Siblings Say They Didn’t”) was a salve for my soul–and that’s only a very slight overstatement.

It’s a very worthwhile read if you’re struggling to reconcile different perspectives on your childhood with siblings who are doubtful about what you’re saying. Or perhaps you’re the doubtful one–in which case you should read it, too.

(Side note: it was one of my siblings who shared this article with me–proving that sometimes, if you can keep the conversation going, a sense of mutual understanding and validation can be attained with your siblings.)

The post Same family, different life appeared first on Luke Arms.

You might roll your eyes at their brave, sorrowful Facebook posts, and roll them again as others oblige with the reassurance that is so obviously demanded. Or maybe, despite the niggling feeling that something isn’t quite right, you offer your own words of encouragement. I mean, they’re just so lovely — surely it’s the least you can do?

You’re probably wondering if this person is too nice to be what they seem — surely it’s not possible for anyone to be that nice? — but no-one else seems to have similar doubts. So you keep them to yourself and carry on.

Maybe you’ve had to work with this person, and they’ve made trouble for others by doing something outside their area of responsibility without consulting the appropriate people. But, before you could figure out a constructive way to respond, they came to you, eager to explain. Their motives appeared to be selfless — beautiful, even. They probably apologised for doing what they did without discussing it with you first, and they almost certainly mentioned all the effort that was involved in doing it their way doing something that would be “helpful for everybody.”

You were still frustrated, with good reason, but now you had no choice but to appear grateful. The alternative was to be the asshole who made this hard-working, beautifully-motivated, lovely person desperately sad.

You probably couldn’t even blow off steam about what had happened, because no-one was willing to hear anything negative about their wonderful friend. So, you did your best to manage the damage that had been done, allowed the autonomy of the Very Lovely Troublemaker to go unchecked, and waited for it to happen all over again.

Maybe your significant other is one of these overwhelmingly lovely people. Maybe you feel uneasy or miserable around their olympic-level niceness, but can’t articulate why. The ways you’re being controlled and manipulated with a relentless cycle of generosity and guilt might be so ‘normal’ to you that you can’t even see what’s happening, especially if you’ve experienced emotional abuse in the past. It’s possible, for example, that childhood abuse has ‘programmed’ you to believe this is what you deserve.

Or perhaps you’re fully aware of your partner’s control-by-generosity, and you’ve accepted it. Perhaps you’ve decided their lack of insight into their own behaviour isn’t their fault, or that their motivations really are genuinely lovely, even when their actions are not. So you put up with it out of commitment, or obligation, or because the alternative would be too complicated, or because you know almost no-one will believe the truth about how things really play out behind closed doors (you’d be right about that, by the way).

Does any of this sound familiar? I’m sorry if it does, but here’s what I’ve discovered: it’s ok to distance yourself from the nicest people in your life. Sometimes, it’s necessary.

I wish I’d stumbled on a post like this before, say, early 2016. I wish I’d been able to recognise some of my own relationships in its vague hypotheticals. I wish I’d given myself permission to completely disconnect from some of the nicest, most controlling people in my life.

Instead, I’ve learned the following lessons the hard way:

1. It’s not ok for overwhelming loveliness to be used against anyone as a weapon of guilt and manipulation. Not ever.

2. Disconnecting from the control of ‘lovely’ people is likely to result in lost friendships. More of them than you might expect. It’s worth it, but don’t underestimate how painful these losses can be. Reach out to at least one true friend regularly. Find a good psychologist if you need one. It’s really important to take care of yourself.

3. It’s normal to experience overwhelming unloveliness when the usual behaviour ceases to be effective in achieving control. The dark sides of ‘lovely’ people can be surprisingly awful, and the vindication you feel when they show their true colours might not be adequate compensation. Again: take care of yourself.

4. Trying to understand the psychology of ‘lovely’ people is a monumental waste of time and energy. Is their behaviour deliberate or unconscious? Are they narcissistic or merely dysfunctional? You’ll probably never know. Respond consistently to their actions and stop second-guessing what might be motivating them. Nothing you say or do will change them, and you’ll be happier if you leave them to their own dysfunction.

5. Your true friends will stand by you. There may not be many of them, and the friends who prove to be ‘true’ might not be the ones you’d expect, but they will be enough. You will make wonderful new friends, too. Be open to the unexpected.

Hopefully it doesn’t need to be said, but not all lovely people are controlling and manipulative. Many of them are as generous and thoughtful as they seem. I would never suggest treating selfless, caring people with baseless suspicion — but if their generosity is making you feel burdened, or uncomfortable, or controlled, maybe it’s time to start asking why.

Because in my experience, it’s the most controlling people who can also be the loveliest.

The post Overwhelming loveliness: when the nicest people are the most controlling appeared first on Luke Arms.

That’s what I would have told you 12 months ago, anyway. I’ve been on a bit of a journey of self-discovery since then, and no, that’s not code for “self-indulgent mid-life crisis.” Ask the trauma psychologist I’ve been seeing fortnightly (not that she’s allowed to tell you anything).

Confronting the parts of myself that are dysfunctional has been devastating at times, liberating at others. Exhausting, too–it’s hard work to reflect deeply on the ways you’re under the influence of your past, to regularly articulate your thoughts and feelings to a therapist, and to work steadily on the changes that are needed for a more functional future.

But the biggest challenge, I think, has been learning not to resist each new discovery about myself. If I hadn’t found a way to accept the Luke who materialised, piece by piece, during each psych visit–the real Luke, flawed and broken but growing and healing–I would either be deeply depressed, or still at square one, believing myself to be well-adjusted.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m just a hypochondriac, working up medical excuses for decades of bad habits and faulty decisions. That would be easier to deal with than this continuous loop of memories, reactions, therapy, research, reflection, and practice. But I’ve slowly learned to accept this new picture of myself, gaining knowledge along the way. And knowledge, they say, is power.

It started with panic attacks I could no longer pretend were anything else. They could be triggered just by seeing my mother’s car, or a car that looked like hers, and they would totally immobilise me. I had no choice but to accept that I was experiencing debilitating panic attacks and needed help. (On reflection, they had been happening for a while–racing heart, uncontrollable shaking, irrational thoughts–I just didn’t recognise them.)

It took a few weeks to find a psychologist who specialised in treating adults with childhood-related trauma (given interactions with my parents were my main triggers, I figured this would be a good place to start). She quickly formed the opinion that my symptoms were consistent with unresolved trauma from child abuse, and that I’d need significantly more sessions than Medicare would cover to get on top of it. She recommended applying for funding from NSW Victims Services.

I did, and it was granted, but it took some time for me to accept that my childhood was “abusive” (I wouldn’t have gone much further than “strange” or “volatile” previously). It took even longer to accept that seeking help as a “victim” was a reasonable course of action under the circumstances. (Even now, my sister is skeptical when I describe my childhood in these terms. Turns out her childhood was awful in different ways to mine–and that it’s not unusual for this to be the case.)

In time, as I progressed through therapy, it became necessary to accept that I’m dealing with C-PTSD. “Complex” PTSD is a form of Post-traumatic Stress Disorder that’s brought on by sustained abuse over an extended period. Here’s a quote from Wikipedia’s C-PTSD article that should help explain my reluctance to accept this diagnosis:

Researchers concluded that C-PTSD is distinct from, but similar to PTSD, somatization disorder, dissociative identity disorder, and borderline personality disorder, with the main distinctions being that it distorts a person’s core identity, and involves significant emotional dysregulation.

Then there’s the fact that most of my significant decisions as an adult have been the result of subconscious self-sabotage. This realisation, when it finally sank in, knocked me around for days. Refusal to pursue academic success in any field? Choosing to work as a photographer because it was the opposite of what my parents had groomed me for? Starting a family with a controlling but superficially lovely woman? All of these, and many more, were subconscious attempts to give my abusive father no success to claim for himself.

It gets worse: in many cases, I have subconsciously set people up to be disappointed or angry with me, anticipating they will abuse me like he did, believing it’s what I deserve. I thought I was lazy, or unproductive due to obsessive perfectionism, or pathologically horrible (despite genuinely good intentions). The truth is much more awful.

Accepting that so many of my choices have been so destructive for so long has been tough, but so has accepting other people’s lack of acceptance. Whether they’ve spurned my lack of compliance with their rules (e.g. “marriage is forever, no exceptions”), or couldn’t deal with me describing my childhood as abusive, huge swathes of my pre-2016 network of family and friends–even my own brother–have quietly but definitively asserted that they would prefer not to acknowledge my existence any more than necessary. Although I had anticipated most of this (ditching the church and my marriage was always going to have consequences), the depth and extent of the judgement and rejection has been confronting enough to create moments of significant doubt, anxiety and depression.

Thankfully, between my real friends (whose friendship has always been unconditional), a bunch of new friends, and a new family, I’ve received more than enough acceptance to get through those moments.

There will, no doubt, be much more to accept as I work towards being the best possible version of myself. But I’m thankful for what I can already see, and determined to make the best of it all.

The post Acceptance is the new black appeared first on Luke Arms.

Well, it turns out they’re useful for something (the ads, that is): in the comments, ignorant people like me can learn about distraction-free writing devices like these, which apparently have a “cult following” among writers and have been around for the better part of two decades (only discontinued in 2013, still supported, and still available for cheap on eBay).

It won’t surprise you that after learning about these cute li’l word processors and telling myself I didn’t need one, I promptly ordered two and am typing this review on one (Susan might eventually try the other, when she’s done laughing at me).

I had been considering setting up a “writing laptop”–without access to any of my work laptop’s unfettered distractions–but the AlphaSmart NEO is much cheaper, and (probably) much better.

Much like a mechanical typewriter, it only displays a few lines of text at any one time, and editing is painful. This is a good thing. It forces you to keep writing. It saves you from the distraction of editing your first draft before it’s even finished.

The software is dead-easy to use, but offers enough features and settings to make the NEO adaptable to your personality and/or eyesight without getting confusing. If you’re a nerd, “NEO Manager” still runs on current Mac and PC operating systems, providing access to firmware updates and extra settings.

Because I’m a nerd, I used this to enable two-button powering on, to prevent accidental startup when the device is kicking around in my bag.

Speaking of which, the NEO starts up almost instantly, has a better-than-average close-enough-to-full-size keyboard and a solid build, and sits nicely on my lap (the stealth bomber design isn’t as strange as it looks in photos). Plus, I’ve heard it’s not unusual to get 12 months out of its AA batteries.

The only aspects I don’t rate are the green colour, the lack of an undo button (although I suppose this helps with Just Getting The Words Out), and the fact that it’s not manufactured anymore.

I’ll go ahead and seek help for my compulsion to join “cult followings” of niche tech now. (No I won’t.)

The post Just write. (With an AlphaSmart NEO. Maybe. If it helps.) appeared first on Luke Arms.

Comparing these movies isn’t really fair, except that they were both:

• autobiographical;
• released in 2017;
• written and performed by comedians whose parents emigrated from Asia to western countries;
• preoccupied with the highs and lows of forbidden (or strongly discouraged) love.

Where Ali’s Wedding stands alone (aside from being set and produced in Australia rather than the USA, obviously) is the depth of its portrayal of an Australian Muslim family. According to Osamah Sami (who wrote and starred), it’s “the first Muslim rom-com”.

From the gently corrected misogyny of the men who came to his father for advice (his dad was the leader at their local mosque), to the community-wide gender roles and segregation (and the ways these are both challenged and respected), to the lewd but somehow endearing elderly polygamist (“temporary marriage”, anyone?), to the flashbacks to the horrors of Iraq and Iran, the bar has been set pretty high for this new genre of romantic comedy. It’s hilarious, warm, believable, honest, memorable, and… different. Unusual. Nice.

4 stars, and may there be many more dramas with this cultural backdrop.

The post Ali’s Wedding vs. The Big Sick appeared first on Luke Arms.

Having one blog that covers all of my interests has kept things simple, but the reality is that only the rarest of followers will be interested in both my “personal” posts and my “technical” ones (which are usually incomprehensible to non-nerds). I’m planning to write both types more regularly in the coming months and thought you’d be better served by keeping them separate.

If/when time permits (ha!), I’ll do some design work on both blogs, but for now, they look the same. Which is probably a bit confusing, but I’m sure you’ll cope.

The post Where have all the tech posts gone? appeared first on Luke Arms.

Uh, Scott, I hate to be the one to point this out, but workplace conflict “between one set of employees and another set of employees” is already present.

It’s a widespread, high-impact conflict called the gender pay gap. You’re obviously familiar with it. It involves people being systemically paid much less than their penis-owning but otherwise equally qualified colleagues.

Accounting for this conflict accurately, business by business, industry by industry, is an essential step towards eliminating it (not just “narrowing” it, you misogynistic asshole).

One doesn’t resolve or avoid conflict by denying its existence, Scott. Then again, you have a trophy for the boats you “stopped” by denying their existence, so I guess this is business as usual for you?

The post SBS: “‘Not constructive’: PM dismisses plan for companies to reveal pay gap” appeared first on Luke Arms.

It’s satire, but only just.

This send-up of Ken Ham at a hypothetical Jurassic World screening has disturbing parallels with how my father would have behaved under similar circumstances (although you’d never have been able to get him into a cinema–he needed to be able to censor everything first, to ensure we were protected from scantily clad women, naughty words, and the evils of evolutionary science).

I still remember him standing up during a solo end-of-year performance at my siblings’ high school (I was being homeschooled at the time). I believe it was “Fever”, and he didn’t approve of the song or the seductive way it was performed. A very loud “boooooooo”, clearly heard by everyone in the hall, followed. Even though, at 12 years old, I was still very much under the spell of his brainwashing and control (so I believed he was justified in objecting to the performance), I was utterly mortified. It would have been even worse for my brother and sister. And that poor girl… I sometimes wonder whether her singing career faltered after that (assuming that’s the trajectory she was on). Regardless, it would have been so traumatising for her.

This sort of thing was normal throughout my childhood. The delusion was that we (as right-thinking Christians) were significant players in a desperate battle for survival, and were therefore justified in boldly “resisting” whenever anyone or anything dared to accidentally challenge our values or beliefs.

It’s no wonder I’m in therapy.

Update: here’s Ken Ham’s response. I told you it was barely satire.

Ha! The irony is that the intolerant atheists protest what I and Answers in Genesis do, but we don’t do that to them—but I think The Babylon Bee is onto something, and I should do this. ? https://t.co/S1ZvLZN2lY

— Ken Ham (@aigkenham) June 22, 2018

The post Babylon Bee: “Ken Ham Ejected From Theater For Yelling ‘WRONG’ Every Time ‘Jurassic World’ Actors Say ‘65 Million Years'” appeared first on Luke Arms.

Annoyingly, I think parts of both arguments have merit. Is it possible that they’re both right?

There is undeniable truth in Billie Jean King’s comment on Twitter:

When a woman is emotional, she’s “hysterical” and she’s penalized for it. When a man does the same, he’s “outspoken” & and there are no repercussions. Thank you, @serenawilliams, for calling out this double standard. More voices are needed to do the same.

Even I’ve watched enough Grand Slams to know that male players are routinely far less deferential to umpires than Serena was, and they are barely ever penalised. Whoever might have otherwise won, it’s undeniable that this umpire’s sexism changed the outcome of the game, and Serena was completely justified in railing against it. Whether it was wilful or unconscious sexism isn’t at all relevant–sexism ought to be challenged, in all of its forms, in elite sport and everywhere else.

Meanwhile, I totally sympathise with Naomi Osaka, whose phenomenal success has been overshadowed by this controversy. She deserved an opportunity to play in her first Grand Slam without any of this drama. The same is true for all elite female athletes–they should be treated as equal to their male counterparts, unencumbered by sexism and misogyny. But in sport, as in life, the patriarchy is still far from smashed, and the results continue to be messy.

Let’s not make the mistake of blaming Serena for distracting us all from Naomi’s victory. Responsibility for that rests solely with the male umpire who treated her in a particular way because she’s a woman.

Surely we’ve learned to stop blaming women for the mistakes of men by now?

PS: congratulations on your win, Naomi. I’m sorry that it’s been tainted.

The post Serena v. Naomi (or not) appeared first on Luke Arms.

Alcohol abuse and homelessness weren’t part of my childhood. As far as I know, my father’s violence wasn’t substance-related, and the austerity he subjected us to never resulted in skipped meals or malnutrition.

In countless other ways, though, my therapist was right. It wasn’t difficult to find parallels between Jeannette Walls’ childhood and my own, and watching the movie based on her memoir was, indeed, cathartic. Eventually. After I worked through the seething mass of memories it laid bare.

This is not a cinematic review of The Glass Castle. It’s a guided tour of how it has affected me. It’s an attempt to articulate the catharsis of processing repressed memories. It’s been written to help me, and shared in the hope that it will help you.

The mother

Unsurprisingly, Jeanette’s father (Rex, played by Woody Harrelson) is the central figure in this story of family dysfunction. He is unambiguously portrayed as responsible for most of the distress that plays out for everyone else. But there are moments that highlight the complicity of the mother (Rose Mary, played by Naomi Watts) in creating a traumatic, hostile environment for the children (and I’m not just referring to the opening scene, where Jeanette suffers burns due to her mother’s negligence).

The dynamic between my parents was similar, and it remains impossible, to this day, to determine how much of Mum’s role in my toxic childhood stemmed from being a victim of Dad’s abuse herself, and how much was a willing, conscious choice. The Glass Castle is similarly inconclusive about Rose Mary’s contribution to the Walls family dynamic.

My situation affords a little more insight, because despite leaving Dad 16-odd years ago, Mum’s abusive behaviour towards me has steadily escalated as the chasm between her values and my choices has deepened. Also, contact with her currently triggers far more significant post-trauma responses in me than contact with Dad does.

I mention this at the outset because Rose Mary’s abuse of her children isn’t necessarily obvious. She elicits sympathy as her husband’s victim, and the ways she enables and perpetuates Rex’s stranglehold on the family aren’t even noticed by the children (they’re too busy reacting to their father). But who could blame them? At 35, I’ve only just started to recognise these behaviours in my own mother.

The darkness

The setting and the specifics were different, but the oppressive darkness that settled over the family home during Jeanette’s teenage years felt uncomfortably familiar.

It was the unpredictability. No-one knew what would trigger Rex’s next outburst, who would be targeted, what sort of assault or destruction there might be. For Jeanette and her siblings, their father’s drinking was a determining factor; in my home (where drinking was seen as a deadly sin), Dad would lose his shit totally sober. Alcohol wasn’t necessary for him to snap without provocation, to crush us with broken glass and cruel words.

Not knowing how or when your father will next unleash hell–knowing only that he will, and that it won’t make sense, and that there might not be any warning–means your home is unrelentlingly, inescapably hostile. Starved of love. Desperately unsafe. Remembering those years, I can almost see the pall of blackness hanging over the house. I don’t think it was just the dark wallpaper and awful carpet.

School was Jeanette’s escape, and it was mine too. Whenever I could, I would stay in the library until it closed and catch the last bus home. Facing consequences for getting home late was better than spending those hours near my father, who was unemployed at the time. He would usually be hidden away in his tiny, cluttered study, obsessing over his latest theory or grand plan (not unlike Rex’s ‘glass castle’), but I never knew when he would emerge or what to expect when he did. Avoidance, occasionally disrupted by the naive belief that I could somehow be perfect enough to make things better, was how I survived.

As in The Glass Castle, there were moments of light, too. Acts of generosity and care from a man who was usually the opposite. Just enough goodness to ignite a feeble flame of hope that things were about to get better (they never did). Eventually I could see that even these rare moments of kindness were designed to help him get what he wanted.

The exceptionalism

Just like Rex, my dad was anti-establishment, anti-government, and pro-conspiracy.

Unlike Rex, Dad’s rejection of conventional wisdom was entangled with his particular brand of Christianity–a veritable Frankenstein of evangelicalism, pentecostalism, and seventh-day-adventism–none of which passed muster in their own right, due to glaring deficiencies only he could see.

Differences aside, Rex and my father were both deluded about how unique they were, and they both tried to assert their exceptionalism through their families.

They both homeschooled their children, because schools couldn’t be trusted to teach you what you really needed to know. (My siblings were spared this privilege. As the youngest, I represented Dad’s final opportunity to create a less disappointing version of himself, so he pulled out all the stops.)

They both made grandiose plans that never materialised, and promises that were never kept. The most obvious one in The Glass Castle is the actual glass castle–the solar-powered home that never progressed beyond a hole in the yard. My dad’s schemes weren’t usually so tangible (although he was briefly obsessed with a stock market hack that was supposed to net us a heap of money); instead, there was the constant promise of a happier future, when he’d be done with his countless projects (like his system for organising all human knowledge), and done with the mountains of newspapers that couldn’t be thrown out until they had served their purpose (the unlocking of his exceptional theories).

As far as I know, he still has most of those newspapers. (It’s like those scenes in A Beautiful Mind, except the secret messages embedded in The Australian in 1995 remain uninvestigated.)

Jeanette’s parents, and mine, didn’t believe in doctors. With very few exceptions, to this day, it’s self-healing or death, because rushing off to a doctor at the first (or tenth) sign of illness is what everyone else does–and we’re better than that.

Jeanette’s parents removed her from hospital before she had recovered from her burns. Mine refused to take me to a doctor despite years of debilitating cystic acne on my back and face. I’m still covered with slowly fading keloid scars, but memories of high school change rooms and the struggle to conceal fresh blood stains on my shirts are just as indelible.

Both Rex and my father wanted their children to believe they were exceptional–as long as they could define what it meant. In The Glass Castle, Jeanette copped it for merely being a gossip columnist, and her choice of husband was similarly condemned: “you’re better than this” (or words to that effect). I could hear Dad (and Mum) in Rex and Rose Mary’s cutting words.

Ironically, it’s fair to say that there have been some unfortunate choices in both Jeanette’s life and my own. Finding your way takes longer when you’re unknowingly carrying your parents’ delusional expectations and unhinged judgements.

The austerity

In The Glass Castle, it’s striking that Rex always has a cigarette in his mouth, and a hip flask in his pocket. The children might not have eaten for three days, but their father’s addictions are always fed.

My father wasn’t addicted to alcohol or tobacco, but his obsessions were expensive, and the rest of us had to help him fund them.

We had to use a bucket to collect cold water from the shower while we waited for hot water to come through (it would then be used to fill Dad’s obsessively managed drinking water filtration system). Dishes had to be thoroughly rinsed in an ice cream container (without replacing the water until it was basically solid), so they could then be washed in just one sinkful of hot water. We owned a car, but to save money, it was almost never used; Dad had to charge the battery overnight before it would even start. Sometimes, it still wouldn’t. Water, gas and electricity meters were read weekly and tracked over time. There were “consequences” if readings were higher than they should have been, or if our water handling was too wasteful, or if the dishes were too dirty, or if we requested transportation by car.

The penny-pinching was ruthless and never-ending, but somehow there was always enough money for Dad’s computers and encyclopedias.

The youngest

Jeanette is the second-oldest of four children. Maureen is the youngest. The movie includes a reference to Jeanette’s regret over leaving her little sister alone with Rex and Rose Mary after she escapes to New York, but Maureen’s experience as the youngest of the Walls children doesn’t feature prominently otherwise–The Glass Castle is, after all, Jeanette’s story. But as the youngest of three myself, I couldn’t help noticing a few hints that Maureen’s life was probably even more challenging than Jeanette’s.

There’s a seven year gap between me and my brother. He’s a year younger than my sister. Even now, they both comment that I had the better deal. We moved house less frequently after I was born. Dad was, apparently, less violent with me than he had been with them. And it seemed to both of them that I benefited from being the “only child” as they finished school–especially given my interests were similar to Dad’s, and were better supported than theirs had been.

But they were largely absent while I received Mum and Dad’s undivided attention. They couldn’t see that Dad’s enthusiasm for providing me with access to technology wasn’t about him “spoiling” me; it was him attempting to succeed where he had failed, by living vicariously through me. At 35, I am only just beginning to recover from his sustained efforts to control and manipulate me into being the person he wanted himself to be.

This wasn’t my siblings’ lived experience, so they get a bit eye-rolly when I describe it as abuse (especially when I refuse to let Mum off the hook for her role in letting it all happen). Each of the siblings in The Glass Castle responds differently to their parents, too; Jeanette’s brother, for example, seems content to remember the good things Rex had done while Jeanette is feeling uncertain about reconnecting with him before he dies.

Different children can have different childhoods despite having the same parents, apparently. Just ask the youngest child in a dysfunctional family.

The nickname

“Mountain goat.” It’s an endearing nickname for a child, but Jeanette is done with it by adulthood, and she says so. Rex ignores her, and the unwelcome moniker lives on. There’s a poignant moment in The Glass Castle where he tries to use it to connect with her as she tries to pull away from him. (He fails.)

It might seem like a minor thing, but it’s not. My father calls me “teddy bear,” or TB for short. I hate it. Every time he uses that childhood nickname feels like an attempt to assert control over my identity, to wash away all of his inadequacies and replace them with fond memories of a happy past that only exists in his head.

Pro tip: if you love someone, don’t use nicknames they hate.

The first marriage

Jeanette’s first marriage proves to be almost as dysfunctional as her childhood.

At first, her husband appears to be the opposite of her family. He’s calm and understanding; he’s successful and well-respected; violence and aggression doesn’t seem to be in his nature. In time, however, it becomes clear that his benevolence has strings attached; that he’s just as controlling as Jeanette’s father; that when he stops getting what he wants, the tables will turn.

Let’s just say that I can relate.

The ending

I’m not sure what to make of The Glass Castle‘s ending just yet.

It’s unsettling that Jeanette seems willing to overlook decades of abuse in order to remember her father as a hurting, misunderstood genius-hero, rather than the destructive force he actually was. Hopefully the book will shed some light on her thought process, but for now, I’m struggling to understand her apparent reluctance to reckon with the reality of Rex’s overwhelmingly toxic impact on his family.

As a society, we’re programmed to make excuses for male abusers. We believe that men who are capable of murdering their families can be “good blokes“, and we can’t see that by perpetuating this myth, we’re quietly endorsing every other “good bloke” who is a piece of shit behind closed doors.

So while it’s not surprising that Jeanette could be willing, and able, to remember Rex so fondly, I can’t help wondering if we’d be more likely to break the cycle of intergenerational abuse if we weren’t so busy suppressing our memories of it.

The post Not an actual review: “The Glass Castle” appeared first on Luke Arms.

Condemnation and Apology for Domestic Violence

Bishop Stephen Hale moving, The Ven Kara Hartley seconding,

The General Synod affirms that:

1. All human beings, male and female, are created in the image of God, and are precious to him. So their value and dignity should be upheld by all, and rightly commands respect and protection.
2. Healthy Christian relationships are characterised by servanthood and sacrifice, supremely modeled by Jesus Christ. So we encourage healthy marriages and families based on mutual love and respect. No one should feel unsafe in their own home.
3. The Bible always condemns the misuse of power to control or exploit others, and rejects all abuse, whether physical, verbal, or otherwise expressed from one person towards others. Therefore domestic violence is sin, and Scripture should never be twisted to justify or excuse any abuse.
4. No victim of domestic abuse should ever be pressured to forgive, submit to, or restore a relationship with an offender.

Our churches are committed to being safe places for all people, especially children and vulnerable adults, and we will therefore work to protect those experiencing domestic abuse as a first priority.

We grieve with victims and survivors of domestic abuse, and pray for their healing and recovery. We give thanks for those women and men, clergy and lay people, who have faithfully supported, cared for and protected such victims in our churches and communities.

However, we also confess with deep shame that domestic abuse has occurred among those who attend our churches, and even among some in leadership. We apologise for those times our teaching and pastoral care has failed adequately to support victims and call perpetrators to account.

We urge Anglican dioceses around Australia to ensure they have policies and good practice guidelines in place, along with education and training, for responding well to situations involving domestic violence within our parishes and organisations.

We also acknowledge our responsibility to work with the police, statutory child protection authorities and specialist agencies in responding to domestic abuse, including our legal obligations in reporting abuse.

Finally, this Synod again upholds Faithfulness in Service as our national code of conduct for clergy and church workers, specifically its affirmations
that:

• Abuse of power is at the heart of many relationship problems in the Church and the community. In essence, abuse is one person’s misuse of power over another. Sometimes abuse will be a one off event and at other times it will be a pattern of behaviour. (§6.2)
• It is important for clergy and church workers to be good citizens and obey the laws of the community, except where those laws conflict with Christian convictions. (§6.4)
• You are not to abuse your spouse, children or other members of your family. (§6.6)

I’ve written previously about unhelpful church responses to Julia Baird’s report on domestic violence among evangelical Christians, and in the meantime have engaged directly with a number of church leaders and other Christians about church-complicit abuse. Unfortunately, even after getting past deflective and compassionless quibbling over Baird’s use of statistics, I’ve encountered ongoing resistance to principles like:

1. Victim safety should be a higher priority than the continuation of a marriage (this is affirmed in theory, but in practice, the first step typically taken when dealing with troubled marriages is to suggest counselling to “work on the marriage”, without considering the risks this might create if the marriage is abusive);

2. Non-physical abuse is just as violent as physical abuse (without bruises, abuse is often considered to be “just harassment”);

3. Claims of domestic abuse should be believed by default (because abusers usually appear to be charming and godly, and expertly “groom” observers to doubt the veracity of their victims’ claims);

4. Domestic abuse is rarely identified as abuse by its victims until after they’ve left the relationship (and pastoral responses to relationship difficulties should therefore follow a process that facilitates a professional assessment of this possibility).

It’s heartening to see a formal response from a large denomination that includes meaningful, compassionate engagement with all of these points, and urges the adoption of relevant policies, guidelines, and education to address this issue moving forward. Massive kudos to the Anglican Church for making this statement. Hopefully words like these will translate to cultural change within Christian communities, and domestic abuse will start to lose its foothold within churches.

We’re a long way from evangelical Christians really believing that “no victim of domestic abuse should ever be pressured to forgive, submit to, or restore a relationship with an offender”, but we’re a few steps closer than we were last week.

If you’re experiencing domestic abuse, or suspect that you might be, please contact one of the following family and domestic violence support services:

1800 Respect national helpline: 1800 737 732
Women’s Crisis Line: 1800 811 811
Men’s Referral Service: 1300 766 491
Lifeline (24 hour crisis line): 131 114
Relationships Australia: 1300 364 277

The post Credit where due: Australian Anglicans apologise for domestic violence appeared first on Luke Arms.

They “own” marriage

They believe the word/institution/sacrament known as “marriage” is solely occupied by the version of marriage they teach and practice within their churches. They do not consider the long secular history of marriage relevant, nor do they care that the Marriage Act is secular legislation that stands completely separate from any faith-based definition of the word.

They care about all marriages “equally”

Flagrant disregard for the sanctity of marriage among heterosexual non-Christians isn’t a priority for them (it’s a secular institution, after all). They are saddened by high divorce rates and widespread domestic violence between spouses, but when gay couples choose stable monogamy and want access to the legal rights of marriage, nothing else matters (because marriage is first and foremost a Judeo-Christian tradition, when it suits them).

They are “victims”

Their perceived ownership of “marriage” is so entrenched that when the validity of their arguments is challenged, they feel persecuted and refuse to engage with the substance of their own statements (much less any counter-arguments that are presented). They claim to be in a fierce battle for the preservation of marriage and believe they are part of the vulnerable minority. They cannot see their overwhelming privilege, nor the damage they’re doing to the actual victims: LGBTQ+ people and their families, all of whom are (in Christian-speak) “made in God’s image” and completely deserving of full participation in every aspect of society.

They are “loving”, not hateful

Because they never get sweary or violent, and because they are taught to “hate the sin, but love the sinner” (not a concept that appears in Bible, incidentally – it’s a Mahatma Gandhi quote), they will not accept that their demeaning words and actions are anything but “speaking the truth in love”. Many can’t even see that petitioning the government to refuse marriage to same-sex couples is a method of forcing their beliefs on others. Instead, they think it’s “loving” to “protect” people from “invalid marriages”.

When told their hatred is driving people away from Christianity — by the very people who are being driven away — they feel comfort, not pain. They’ve been taught to expect offence from unbelievers, and that being “in the world, but not of the world” should entail exactly this type of rejection. They must be doing something right!

What can be done about these “Christians”?

Nothing.

They are ignorant and abusive, and choose to remain so. We can only remove ourselves from their company, vote them out of office, outnumber them, and defeat them.

And while we’re doing it, we must relentlessly love all the people they hate.

Today, that’s the entire Australian LGBTQ+ community.

My friends, know that I love you and am standing beside you, along with so many others, to help you take what should already be rightfully yours.

The post Ah, the futility: debating marriage equality with “those” Christians appeared first on Luke Arms.

Instead, we’re seeing responses like this from a Newcastle evangelical church (published on the cover of its weekly newsletter on Sunday):

Despite the opening sentence, it’s actually one of the better responses–it acknowledges that Christian husbands are sometimes abusive, and that Christian wives sometimes accept it because they believe they should–but it’s also defiant, insensitive, and hypocritical.

It makes no sense to open with refusal to believe clearly presented evidence of abuse (“alleged link”, “ridiculously false”, etc.), while simultaneously promising victims that “we will listen to you” and “take what you say seriously”.

The ABC report was thoroughly researched and its accuracy remains unimpeached, despite spurious claims by Andrew Bolt and The Australian (see the ABC’s response to those). The reporter, Julia Baird, is an accomplished journalist who also happens to be a pro-church Christian, so claims of an anti-Christian agenda are equally nonsensical. And it’s demonstrably true that Christian abusers use the Bible to manipulate and control their partners, so arguing about whether or not this requires incorrect theology isn’t useful.

Stating, without evidence, that Baird’s report was “ridiculously false” creates immediate hostility towards readers who are abuse victims, deepens their sense of isolation and insignificance, and destroys trust in the church’s leadership. It offers the polar opposite of loving concern for victims of domestic abuse, who almost certainly exist in this and many other churches.

The flippant tone of subsequent acknowledgements of Christian abuse amplifies this error (e.g. “this is plain wrong!”). Domestic abuse has devastating impacts and failing to respond to it with proper seriousness demeans victims rather than supporting them.

The opportunity to properly describe the nature of domestic abuse is also missed. Victims frequently assume abusive behaviours from their partners are their own fault, i.e. not abuse at all, so this is unforgivable. Non-violent abuse (whether sexual, financial, emotional or spiritual) is widely regarded as equally if not more harmful than physical violence, but is consistently downplayed by victims and observers. This church’s superficial reference to “emotional and physical abuse” does little to help women who already doubt that they deserve better than what they’re getting from their husbands–a simple list of abuse types would have made a significant difference.

I won’t comment on “headship” as a “stewardship role”. The merit or otherwise of complementarian theology is a topic for another day, but including this sentence when talking about domestic abuse beggars belief: “So by my reckoning the closest person to experiencing abuse in marriage should be the man!” The writer’s point, I think, is that if Christian marriages were to match the metaphor of Jesus marrying the church, the man would be the one crucified (abused), if anyone is. It’s a worthless hypothetical expressed so poorly that it appears to be a flippant reference to male suffering–as if that belongs in a discussion that rightly emphasises the suffering of women in abusive Christian marriages.

The pastor goes on to suggest that although abuse doesn’t belong in Christian marriages, it’s not actually a reason for divorce, officially, but maybe it might be ok, except the Bible says no. In the final paragraph, he adds, “We will not give up on either of you or your marriage”. Or, to paraphrase, “Bringing your abuser into the conversation in an attempt to save your marriage will be more important to us than your welfare.”

Victims are assured that “we will do all in our power to see that you are safe”, but everything else about this response indicates they will do the opposite. They will quickly include the abuser in the conversation (risking repercussions for the victim). They will be unlikely to believe the victim (since abusers are expert liars, distressed victims rarely present as reliable witnesses, and according to this pastor, not even investigative journalists with relevant studies, hours of interviews, and an independent news organisation behind them are capable of providing credible testimony regarding abuse). And they will prioritise keeping the victim and the abuser married (because apparently the sanctity of marriage isn’t compromised by abuse).

But it’s ok, because “we will uphold the laws of our country where domestic violence is a criminal offence”.

Women deserve better than this. We must insist on it.

The post Protesting too much: Christian leaders on “alleged” abuse appeared first on Luke Arms.

At first I thought it was just man flu (stomach cramps, thumping headaches, fever, whole body aches), but on Day 3 the spots started coming, and on Day 4 my GP confirmed I had varicella, which is the proper name for that disease you associate most vividly with spotty, contagious children: chickenpox.

Treatment: rest + over-the-counter painkillers & antihistamines + soap-free cleansing products.

The fever and aches continued while the spots multiplied. I’ve been lucky; I haven’t had to deal with much full-body itching, but my scalp felt like it was on fire for several days. It got worse when I tried to put my head against a pillow (HELLO INSOMNIA). Now, on Day 8, I can finally declare that no new spots have appeared for 24 hours, that the other symptoms have mostly cleared, and that I’m mere days away from being Not Contagious.

Then I’ll just have to wait for the spots to clear enough to look a little less repulsive.

I do not relate this for sympathy or the joy of storytelling, but to suggest you:

1. Find out if you had chickenpox as a child;
2. Find out if you’ve been vaccinated for chickenpox (in Australia this was scheduled for kids in 2005);
3. If neither are true, GET YOURSELF VACCINATED FOR CHICKENPOX.

I’m looking at 10 days minimum of lost productivity (not just mine) and a LOT of unnecessary pain (not just mine). If I’d been pro-active about getting appropriate vaccinations for myself as an adult, it could all have been avoided.

As a passionate advocate for vaccinating children on the recommended schedule, this has been an embarrassing moment for me.

Don’t be like Luke. Vaccinate yourself! (Or, you know, consult with your GP and get them to do it.)

The post Adult chickenpox isn’t worth it appeared first on Luke Arms.

Work-wise, there has been plenty of upheaval too. I left a toxic job as a school IT manager at the end of 2015, and spent 2016 writing code in a workplace that proved to be equally toxic. I resigned in December without another job lined up, just to prioritise my mental health. It was so liberating to tender my resignation that I decided to return to freelance photography and consulting, rather than pursuing another full-time gig.

At first, I was planning to simply revive my photography brands (“one fine day photography” and “LUKE ARMS photographer”), and do some ad-hoc web development / digital consulting on the side. But as I went through the process of getting this underway, it became clear that life would be much simpler if I established one brand for all of my work (including writing, which I’m now studying at Griffith University by way of an online Bachelor of Communication).

I settled on LINA Creative, and have prioritised commercial headshots as the centrepiece of this new brand. I’ll continue to offer wedding and family photography, but won’t be marketing this actively–my aim is to achieve a steady stream of Newcastle and Sydney headshot bookings. Meanwhile, I’ll be studying and keeping my eye open for suitable casual or part-time work to fill up my weeks. I might even find time to write some of the posts / articles that are sitting in my head.

Onwards!

The post What am I up to? appeared first on Luke Arms.

In some ways, you’re mature for your age. You’ve craved adulthood, with all of its benefits and obligations, for as long as you can remember. You’re not married yet (lucky break last year, dude), but that sort of commitment doesn’t scare you. (You’re also 100% certain that honourable sex only exists within marriage, but I’m not sure why I’m mentioning this, because it’s definitely not relevant.)

You can’t see it yet, but you’re not just an evangelical Christian who feels confident in his faith and values. You’ll hate me saying this–you think you’re pretty edgy, with that earring and all–but you’re also a willing and able participant in the patriarchal systems of family, church and state you were born into.

Your faith? It might be real, but it’s been almost exclusively shaped by individuals and groups you’ve chosen for reasons of comfort and convenience. God hasn’t had much to do with it. Don’t worry, though–you’ll be thankful for that when most of your Christian friends abandon you. Good thing God isn’t in the abandonment business, amirite?

And your values? They are yet to be properly confronted with the realities of life beyond your comfort and privilege. Soon, as your eyes are opened, you’ll find yourself loving and respecting people who used to offend and disgust you, and it won’t be a distant, self-righteous “love the sinner, hate the sin” thing anymore. Your new values will come between you and the patriarchy, and you’ll eventually realise there’s no point hanging around trying to convince people to behave more like Jesus.

I know you’re not convinced, but here’s the thing: you’re going to change in the ways I’ve described, for reasons you can’t even begin to imagine yet, and it’s awful to change like that when you’re in a marriage that depends on you continuing to be who you were.

Add kids into the equation, and it will be even more difficult. Because even if you marry the wrong person, any children you have together won’t be a mistake. They’ll deserve the best their parents can give them, and doing that separately is a lot messier and more complicated than doing it together.

So, are you sure? Are you sure your values aren’t going to change so much you barely recognise yourself? Are you sure the bond between you and the partner you’re considering could survive that much change? And if you’re not, are you sure you can live with hurting her in ways she doesn’t deserve?

There aren’t many certainties in life, but take it from 33-year-old you: you can be more sure than you are right now. And if you don’t take the time to figure out who you really are–if you start a family now, while your worldview is so narrow and ill-informed (sorry, but it is)–you will burden many others with pain and regret that shouldn’t be forced upon them.

Please, be more sure. I’m begging you.

PS: To the handful of Christian friends who haven’t abandoned me: thank you. To the others, whether you’ve responded with judgemental silence or vicious vitriol: thank you for validating my concerns. The pain is already worth it.

The post To my former self: be more sure appeared first on Luke Arms.

Also: tribes are great. I don’t have anything against tribes. I’m just looking for a new one is all.

Last month, I came to the realisation that after 3 decades of committed involvement in Christian churches–my entire adult life and most of my childhood–it was time to leave the tribe.

Over the years, I’ve preached, been on music teams, done beach missions, led youth groups, attended conferences, and done heaps of other Jesus-related stuff, so this is no small thing. Reaching the point where I no longer consider myself a Christian represents a pretty major transition. (An “epic fall from grace,” you might say, if you’re a Christian.)

I’m not writing about my “unconversion” with a particular agenda. Many others have shared similar stories, and I’m not delusional enough to believe I have an Edgy New Angle on quitting the church that definitely deserves to go viral. I’m simply trying to straighten out my thoughts. I’d also like to avoid explaining myself hundreds of times.

So, what does it mean to “leave the tribe”? Some of my Christian friends have tried to comfort themselves with the notion that this is only about taxonomy–that I’ll be calling myself something different but carrying on as I always have. I’m sorry to disappoint, but I’m not going to be rebranding myself as a “Jesus-follower” and living up to anyone’s expectations of such a person.

What I believe (or don’t) about spiritual things will be between me and a handful of others. Although I currently consider this to be more “identity crisis” than “crisis of faith,” I won’t be keeping you posted on how I’m tracking in the faith department. This is partly because I expect my spirituality to be a moving target (the more I learn, the less certain I am), and partly because I can’t see a good reason for you to know.

I’ll simply be another person trying to live a compassionate, wholesome, and balanced life. Please don’t assume that I’m an atheist, an off-brand Christian, or something in-between–I have no interest in the expectations or baggage of any religious (or irreligious) monicker.

I’m hopeful that I’ll be able to continue many friendships with people of faith, but I realise that some friendships won’t be the same anymore, and others won’t survive this change at all. There will no doubt be moments of grief as the reality of this hits home, but I’m sure the pain will pass.

Becoming progressive

Over the last 10 years, I’ve slowly but surely transitioned from “conservative straight white Christian male” to “progressive pro-diversity anti-patriarchy straight white Christian male.”

At first it was only my politics that changed, but my faith was gradually overhauled too. Although my theology remained conservative (mostly), I became less dogmatic and accepted the legitimacy of alternative views in many areas.

There were several critical moments at which I consciously chose to remain among conservative Christians. I believed it was important to challenge the idea that conservative morality could only be expressed through conservative politics, so I resigned myself to bringing that challenge from within. It was uncomfortable and multiple friendships evaporated, but I pressed on anyway.

Late last year, I become increasingly discouraged with the collective resistance of my fellow Christians to critical thinking, genuine compassion, and real-world action.

I was constantly locking horns with Christians, mostly online but also offline. The battle for Just A Little Bit Of Progress was unrelenting and mostly unrewarded (despite quiet encouragement from a few like-minded friends). My patience was waning, my ability to engage respectfully with bigots was slipping, and my mental health was suffering.

At first I thought it might just be my local church, so I disconnected for a few months and sporadically tried a few others. None of them felt right, all of them would have struggled to have an open conversation about issues that I consider important, and honestly, the weeks I stayed home were more beneficial.

Eventually, I accepted the reality of the situation: I just don’t belong in the Christian tribe anymore. That’s not to say there aren’t Christian individuals with whom I share common views / hopes / dreams. But, ironically perhaps, I’ve lost confidence in institutional Christianity as a vehicle for outcomes that align with the words of Jesus.

You might be wondering if I’m still “following Jesus”. My answer is no, because it’s a phrase that comes with baggage. All I can confirm is that my “Christian worldview” hasn’t been discarded. (But it’s under ongoing review.)

To my Christian friends: I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not sorry to have made this change. I already feel more authentic, more healthy, and more useful.

Welcome to Luke 2.0. The old has gone, the new has come.

The post Losing my religion (part 1) appeared first on Luke Arms.

I’m a privileged white male, comfortably inhabiting a man’s world. I enjoy the benefits of winning the chromosome lottery 32-ish years ago, and I’m often blind to the ease with which opportunity, recognition, and remuneration fall into my lap, just because I’m a man.

I’m not being sarcastic. There are no mind games here.

I accept that simply having a penis makes my life easier in ways I might never understand. I accept that the challenges I face as a man don’t compare with the daily realities of women in pretty much every society on earth.

So why am I writing my first piece on feminism?

It would certainly be easier to remain on the sidelines, cheering feminist women on, rather than adopting their cause as my own. Women feminists, after all, know exactly what they’re fighting for. I’ve never experienced the reality of casual sexism or blatant misogyny. What could I say or do that would actually help? Won’t I somehow be guilty of mansplaining if I try to speak up?

It’s worth noting that as an amateur feminist (and a male human), the sexism in me is not yet dead. Patriarchal patterns of thinking and behaviour I’ve inherited or absorbed have not yet been eliminated. My eyes have not yet been opened to every form of sexism as it exists around me, and I will never understand it as well as women do, because I’ll never be able to experience it as they do. So it’s almost inevitable that I’ll be complicit in sexism without realising. Even this post might contain accidental sexism.

But as I acknowledge my imperfect feminism, thanking several women for opening my eyes more and more every day (you know who you are), I’d suggest that I’m not alone.

Are you a quiet male feminist too? Are you hesitant to be “out and proud” because professional feminists might point out the flaws and inconsistencies in your feminism? Are you afraid that your words might be too feeble, or that they might be misunderstood and used against you?

I ask because I’m no longer convinced that these are good enough excuses for merely shaking our heads while SO MANY women around us are underpaid, undervalued, abused, harassed, assaulted and killed–usually by men. Do we really think it’s okay to abandon women in their fight for basic rights and survival, just to minimise our risk of hurt feelings?

Men, it’s our duty to be active feminists. Not because women are dependent on us–far from it–but because our sexism is responsible for making feminism necessary in the first place.

Uncomfortable as it may be, we need to take a back seat. We need to educate ourselves about the ways we’re limiting, demeaning, and damaging women. We need to listen when they tell us how to clean up our act. And we need to actively call out men who fail to grasp the value and importance of women.

Here’s my personal “Male Feminist Charter”. Will you join me in committing to this?

• I will respect women and fight for them to be seen by other men as equals in every way, especially when no women are watching.
• I will value the opinions and contributions of women. I will see women as assets in every workplace, community, and family. I will do everything in my power to open doors that are currently closed to women.
• I will listen and learn and change when women point out sexism in my words and actions.

The post Confessions of a sexist feminist appeared first on Luke Arms.

The majority of my Christian friends have petitioned the government to review the Safe Schools program (or opposed it in some other way), insisting that it’s more than an anti-bullying program. There’s widespread concern (1) that it’s a vehicle for gay activism and recruitment, (2) that it “normalises” LGBTI desires and behaviours, and (3) that it is coercing children to doubt their own sexuality.

To each of these concerns, I say this:

1. “It’s gay activism!” First, you can’t “catch the gay”. Second, it’s horrific to treat LGBTI people like they have a contagious disease. Third, please check out the Safe Schools curriculum for yourself rather than letting douchecanoes like Lyle Shelton from the Australian ‘Christian’ Lobby tell you what to think. (Bear in mind that each school, in consultation with its community, adapts the curriculum to suit its own students.)

2. “It normalises being gay and being trans!” It’s an anti-bullying program. Of course it’s aiming to “normalise” LGBTI people. They are, after all, normal people, with much more to offer the world than the particulars of their sexuality, which is only one part of their identity. Failing to “normalise” the targets of bullying would be a pretty fundamental failure for a program like this, given bullying relies on a sense of “us vs. them”.

3. “It forces straight kids to reconsider their sexuality!” Again, you can’t “catch the gay,” and coercion is not the same thing as teaching a group of children to genuinely empathise with people who are, say, same-sex attracted, or experiencing transsexual desires, or living with two mums. Obviously some kids who are already wrestling with the possibility of being LGBTI will feel empowered to open up about it in a safe environment, i.e. a “Safe School” that actively puts the issue on the table for respectful discussion. This is a Good Thing, not coercion or recruitment. (And if you’re going to make egregious claims like these, do back them up with evidence.)

To Christian parents who believe gay sex is wrong, and want to encourage their children to believe likewise: no-one is trying to control what you teach at home, nor is Safe Schools content aimed at vulnerable infants. Talk to your kids about this stuff. Start early. But most of all, teach them to follow Jesus in showing radical love, especially to minorities and outcasts, and model that love yourself. (Side note: do you really want to be kept out of the loop if your own child is LGBTI?)

I’m an Australian Christian and I support the Safe Schools Coalition. Also, Cory Bernardi’s homophobic witchhunt review should be dumped (along with Cory himself, preferably).

The post Safe Schools: I’m a Christian and I love it appeared first on Luke Arms.

It might not look like you’ve given up – with practice one can appear remarkably confident, busy and purposeful while avoiding a meaningful existence – but in truth, the pressure to be creative, decisive and generally winning can be utterly immobilising when your lack of prior success is staring back at you from every direction. Soon, your lack of purpose creates even more failure, which adds its voice to the failure that went before, insisting that your good intentions and well-made plans will amount to nothing.

I don’t share this for sympathy or encouragement. I wouldn’t be writing it at all if remembering my successes were enough to shake the sense that my career trajectory plateaued shortly after high school; that I’m a disappointing husband and father; that I’ve failed to complete more projects than I can count [including some I’ve attempted on this blog].

Are my standards for “success” too high? Yes.

Does it all stem from my weird childhood? A lot of it does, yep.

Are there successes I can be happy about? Sure.

Do I follow enough blogs about productivity and being a winner? Hell yes.

Am I taking enough happy pills? My GP thinks so.

But still, in too many moments, week after week, month after month, I struggle just to start – even on the smallest of jobs and ideas – if my Ghosts of Failures Past lurk nearby.

I’ve put together a few words for the aforementioned ghosts. I’m planning to repeat them all year [language warning for my mum]:

Hello, Failure Ghost. I know why you’re here, but it’s 2016, so now would be a great time for you to kindly FUCK RIGHT OFF.

Here’s to a year of starting.

Thank goodness it’s only February.

The post On failure. And starting. appeared first on Luke Arms.

The Ricoh GR is my favourite pocket camera so far, but that’s mostly because it actually fits in my pocket. Ricoh’s cleverness with its controls and custom options is a nice bonus, but a similarly compact and inexpensive offering from Fujifilm would be difficult to resist. I certainly won’t be breaking up with my Fujifilm X-T1’s and Fujinon lenses anytime soon, but for now they’ll be paired with a very capable little Ricoh.

Imagine my surprise when a few days ago, Fujifilm announced the upcoming FUJIFILM X70, a new breed of fixed-lens camera that matches the Ricoh GR II spec-for-spec (if you exclude the X70’s flip screen, aesthetic appeal, and Fujifilm processing engine).

It’s great to see Fujifilm work towards a more pocketable big-sensor-fast-lens camera, but I still prefer the Ricoh GR. Here’s why:

• The X70 is still too big. Side-by-side comparison photos are few and far between, but from what I’ve seen, the X70 is significantly wider and higher than the GR, and MUCH deeper (even before you account for the non-retractable lens). This is understandable given Fujifilm’s commitment to X-series dials and flip screens, but for me, it represents the difference between a “pocket camera” and a “can’t-be-bothered-taking-it-with-me camera”.
• The Ricoh has snap focus. See my earlier review for details.
• The GR II is significantly cheaper (USD$560 vs. USD$700). Not that this alone would tip the scales–I’d expect to pay more for a Fujifilm on its brand alone–but it’s a factor.

The GR has other advantages too–e.g. native DNG shooting–but neither this nor the X70’s superior autofocus have any bearing on pocketability (or image quality). Hopefully Fujifilm will eventually release (yet another) X-series camera with a retractable lens, fewer dials and a smaller footprint.

Meanwhile, thank goodness for Ricoh!

The post Fujifilm X70: still not a Ricoh GR appeared first on Luke Arms.

I’m 3 episodes away from the finale of Jessica Jones (thank you Netflix), and to say its considerable powers have drawn me into the Marvel universe against my will would be an understatement. Or an overstatement, depending on how you look at it (and your proximity to Killgrave).

Superheroes and science fiction have always been a hard sell to me (I’m 32 and have only recently started watching Star Wars), but Jessica Jones has won me over. Jessica herself is a mess (she can’t even think of a decent superhero name for herself, much less stop drinking), but she also totally kicks ass, genuinely cares about the people she helps (or can’t help), and is ruthlessly independent. She’s everything a semi-plausible superhero should be, and the feminist in me loves that her gender is never a limitation.

Of course the backstory to her messy life is, ah, complicated, mostly because of the nefarious Killgrave, apparently. Through him, the writers experiment relentlessly with just how deadly a world inhabited by mind-controlling psychopaths could be. David Tennant’s alternately charming, hilarious, diabolical, and maniacal character is infuriatingly irresistible, even without the mind control (which thankfully doesn’t work through soundproofing or television screens).

Two Australian actors star, too, so that’s a bonus. If you’ve seen Red Dog or All Saints, you might even recognise them. STRAYA.

I’ll spare you any further spoilers, but if you’re in the market for a TV show that’s smart, fast, unpredictable, intense, beautifully filmed, mildly disturbing (don’t worry, there are just enough likeable characters), and generally brilliant, get on it. Fair warning, though: there are a few very gory bits and some heavy sexual themes (but not many visuals).

Next stop: the rest of the Marvel empire universe.

This is the 7th post in my November/December writing challenge series.

The post Jessica Jones appeared first on Luke Arms.

Not all writing is for reading quietly. The words below were spoken at a pro-diversity rally held to stand against a hateful, anti-Muslim “Reclaim Australia” rally in Cessnock. We were one street away from tbe “reclaimers”, with a thin blue line of police keeping us separated. Thankfully there were no incidents.

Here’s what I said. My first ever rally speech.

I’m honoured to be here today … honoured to stand with you, my fellow Australians, confidently asserting the freedom we all share to worship however we please, wherever we please … but also honoured to speak as one citizen on behalf of many other citizens … and my message today is very simple:

Our unity is powerful. OUR UNITY IS POWERFUL.

When so many around us are doing everything in their power to divide us, our unity is powerful. It sends a message to cowards in Syria … and to bigots in Newcastle … and to social media trolls wherever they might live on Internet … it sends a message that love is greater than fear … it sends a message that the differences between us can strengthen us rather than tearing us apart … it sends a message that a brighter future awaits all of us when we start by turning towards our neighbours with open hearts and open arms.

Our unity — right here, right now, in this place — is powerful, but the unity we’re displaying here today, the unity we’re urging all Australians to embrace — this unity doesn’t come easy. Unity between people who think the same, look the same and talk the same is easy, but that’s because it’s not really unity! Real unity is when people who are fundamentally different come together, engage with each other even when it’s uncomfortable, and ultimately find ways to work towards shared goals. Real unity makes room for differences between people. Real unity doesn’t expect people to become the same as each other. Real unity is what we see here today, and as I’ve said already, it is powerful.

Of course part of the reason we’re here today is because some of our neighbours believe in a uniform Australia. They say we should be all white, or all Christian, and they’re standing particularly firm against the growth of Muslim communities in Australia.

I would prefer to ignore these people and the groups they lead, but sometimes we must respond directly to ignorance and fear and bigotry. So, by way of response to Reclaim Australia and its small but ferocious band of supporters, I have a few important things to say to my Muslim friends. I’m standing here as a white Christian who welcomes Muslims to live and worship and thrive in Australia — and not just in Australia, but right here in the Hunter Region — in Newcastle — in Cessnock — wherever freedom and opportunity might lead you.

I know your worldview is not the same as those who do evil in the name of Islam — in much the same way as Christian tyrants do not represent me. I do not see you as my enemies but as my allies. I’m glad your communities in this region are growing and do not feel in any way threatened by you or by the buildings you need in order to accommodate that growth. I know I speak for many, many others when I say that I love you, that I stand with you, and that I honour you for the courage you show every day as you endure words and deeds of vilification that have no rightful place in this country.

Our unity is powerful and I believe it will ultimately undo the work of those who seek to divide and destroy. In fact, it’s pretty much the only thing that can heal our broken nation. Let’s continue to stand together, not just as we rally against racism and bigotry together, but in our words and deeds and every day.

The post My speech at last month’s Rally Against Racism appeared first on Luke Arms.

First there was a brief but debilitating bout with tonsillitis. Then there was the realisation that I could no longer carry on working at this place, no matter what, which meant resigning without another job to go to. (That was an 80% over-the-moon, 20% shitting-my-pants moment. More on that another day, probably.) Finally, I got busy applying for jobs, and ultimately succeeded in landing a web developer position at this place (more on that later, too).

When it came to writing, my best intentions took a big hit, obviously. But my desire to write more hasn’t changed, and you’ll see it here first when time permits. Hopefully I’ll even make it to 30 posts in my “November” writing challenge before the end of December.

I’m counting this as no. 5.

Update (8-Dec-15): I’ve received complaints about this post from anonymous co-workers at the workplace I’m leaving. I’ve removed the link to that workplace but won’t be removing the post. Offended? Don’t be a coward. Better yet, find something else to read on the Internet.

The post The November that was appeared first on Luke Arms.

A user-friendly toggle to disable this for all devices would be super. Perhaps under System Preferences > CDs and DVDs?

Meanwhile, fellow photographers, here’s a terminal command that will safely disable the automatic opening of Photos.app when you least expect it. Copy and paste everything after the $ into Terminal.app and press Return:

$ defaults -currentHost write com.apple.ImageCapture disableHotPlug -bool YES

Unlike some of the other workarounds on the Internet, this one works even when you regularly re-format your memory cards (as most of us do). And it doesn’t require you to delete Photos.app, which might potentially break something somehow. No reboot required, either.

Update (27-Nov-15): If, for some reason, you want to reverse this change and return to OS X’s default behaviour, here’s the command to run:

$ defaults -currentHost delete com.apple.ImageCapture disableHotPlug

The post How to stop Photos.app opening whenever you connect a memory card appeared first on Luke Arms.

Another Melbourne Cup has come and gone, and most of Australia has had a fabulous time pretending not to notice that the centrepiece of their frocked-up outings / office sweeps / drunken gambling was a race in which humans used whips to force animals more athletic than themselves to run so fast they might die.

Here’s my Facebook post on the topic:

There’s no nice way to say this.

If you placed a bet on today’s race, or found some other way to actively participate in Melbourne Cup festivities, then you–yes, YOU–are complicit in the flogging and maiming and killing of beautiful animals for no purpose other than your own entertainment.

This unforgivably cruel industry only exists because it’s profitable, and it’s only profitable because of people like you.

I say this not to make you feel guilty, but in the hope that next time a day like this comes around, you will stand against cruelty and injustice.

Together, we can end this national disgrace.

Of course there’s more to Melbourne Cup Day than cruelty to horses (which isn’t limited to one day of the year anyway). There’s also the destructiveness of the gambling; the repulsiveness of the drunkenness / waste / rubbish; the barely concealed money laundering by criminals; and perhaps worst of all, the millions of dollars of government funding that subsidises the whole sorry mess.

Ah, Straya. The land of shameful parties too sacred to cancel.

At least we’re not as bad as ancient Rome.

The post Whipping horses for fun: another great Aussie tradition appeared first on Luke Arms.

Unfortunately no inspiration for my first full-length work of fiction had materialised by 31 October (much less an outline, developed characters or any of the other things novelists are supposed to have figured out before they start writing), so I’ve decided to reboot my writing with a more realistic challenge: one blog post per day in November. (Once upon a time, this was called NaBloPoMo.)

Paltry as it is, this introduction will have to do for 1 November. Thankfully 29 opportunities remain for more substantial content before this challenge is over.

The post NaNoWriMo: TL;CW appeared first on Luke Arms.

But then a random Facebook discussion introduced me to the GR / GR II–and some of its biggest fans had previously used X100’s.

You can guess the rest. After reading a bunch of reviews and looking at dozens of photos, my torrid affair with Ricoh was underway. Within weeks, I’d broken up with my X100S. Now it’s on eBay.

Well, that escalated quickly.

The X100S is better, but…

If you’ve been following compact cameras with big sensors and fast lenses for a while, you already know that the X100S is superior to the GR. It has a faster lens (f/2 vs. f/2.8). Its hybrid viewfinder is amazing (the GR has no viewfinder at all). Its autofocus system is better. It’s easier to control (mostly) and its retro styling is much sexier than the GR’s bland blackness.

The GR trumps the X100S in only one significant way: pocketability.

As you can see, the size difference is, well, significant.

The original X100 was a game-changer for my personal photography, but the only pockets big enough for it were on baggy cargo pants (that do nothing for my figure) and bulky coats (that are mostly unnecessary where I live). More often than I’d like to admit, this meant reaching for my iPhone rather than a “real” camera–because my X100S was at home or in the car.

My GR, on the other hand, lives in my pocket. Because it actually fits.

My non-negotiables: big sensor, fast lens

For reasons I might explain another day, APS-C is the smallest sensor size I accept in a “serious camera”, and fast, wide primes are my favourite. (Why else would this Pocket Camera Battle be Ricoh GR vs. Fujifilm X100S?)

On paper, the GR’s 16.2MP APS-C sensor is on par with the X100S’s 16.3MP APS-C sensor. Neither have low-pass filters (much sharp, many moiré). Both perform well at ISO1600, adequately at ISO3200 and less adequately at ISO6400. The GR shoots RAW at ISO100, which is a plus (the X100S starts at ISO200), but otherwise these sensors are very similar–on paper AND in practice, not that my testing has been very scientific.

Ricoh’s colour handling is different to Fujifilm’s, but I wouldn’t say it’s worse. My Fuji RAWs sometimes need to be desaturated slightly; so far that hasn’t been necessary with my Ricoh RAWs. And not that it’s directly related to sensor performance, but the GR’s multi-point auto-white-balance works pretty well.

As for the lens: 28mm has a different feel to 35mm, but I’d been starting to wish the X100S was a tad wider, so I’m not regretting the change so far. If I ever do, the GR offers a 35mm mode, which seamlessly crops the LCD preview to a 35mm-equivalent field of view and records a cropped file (roughly 10MP). Even RAWs are cropped. Nice.

I thought I’d miss f/2, but I haven’t yet. The lens on my X100S was a bit soft at f/2, so I’d usually stop it down anyway. The GR’s lens is razor sharp, edge to edge, wide open at f/2.8, and I’ve been impressed with its flare control, bokeh and (lack of) distortion too. I’d love it to be faster, but I also love fitting it into my pocket. You can’t have everything.

There is no silver version

The GR isn’t much to look at–it could easily be mistaken for a typical point and shoot camera–but that’s an upside if you’re trying to avoid attention. At least it compensates for its boring looks with great build quality. And grippy texture. In all the right places. IYKWIM.

Aesthetics aside, I was initially concerned about being able to change settings quickly with so few buttons and dials (I shoot in M, because M is for Master). I needn’t have worried.

There’s a dial in front of the shutter release button. By default it adjusts aperture, but mine is configured to adjust shutter speed. There’s a horizontal rocker on the back, within easy reach of your thumb. Mine is configured to adjust aperture. Pressing it inwards gives access to ISO and other settings. There’s also a vertical rocker on the back. It’s less configurable, but in M mode you can use it to quickly set your shutter speed for correct exposure–handy if you need to move from, say, 1/4000 to 1/30 in a hurry.

There’s an AEL/AFL button that allows focus and exposure to be controlled separately. It can even be switched to C-AF as needed. Nice.

Most other buttons are configurable too. For now, my side-mounted EFFECT button enables and disables the built-in ND filter, FN1 brings up AF controls, and FN2 provides quick access to ISO.

Importantly, the main mode dial has a locking mechanism that makes it impossible to accidentally move from M to Tv at the worst possible moment. I can’t overstate how useful this is.

Speaking of AF controls

I’ll spare you the setup instructions, but the GR’s focussing system is, for my purposes, only slightly inferior to the focussing system on the X100S. Similar options are available on both cameras (including peak highlighting for MF assistance), but autofocus is a tad slower on the GR. In broad daylight, the difference is barely noticeable, but in low light scenarios, the performance gap becomes more pronounced.

The GR shines if you like to shoot from the hip, though. Preset your shooting distance, enable “snap” AF, turn off your LCD and get clicking. (You can even disable the power LED for maximum stealth.) The X100S has no equivalent to this feature.

So, Ricoh wins?

Yes and no. The Ricoh GR is my favourite pocket camera so far, but that’s mostly because it actually fits in my pocket. Ricoh’s cleverness with its controls and custom options is a nice bonus, but a similarly compact and inexpensive offering from Fujifilm would be difficult to resist. I certainly won’t be breaking up with my Fujifilm X-T1’s and Fujinon lenses anytime soon, but for now they’ll be paired with a very capable little Ricoh.

PS: Ricoh, if you’re reading this, how about including a dedicated battery charger with the GR? Plugging the whole camera into a USB cable for charging is totes overrated.

The post Ricoh GR vs. Fujifilm X100S (or, why I’m cheating on Fujifilm with Ricoh) appeared first on Luke Arms.

Maybe you don’t really do the podcast thing. That’s OK. Listen to this episode anyway. You don’t need to install a podcast player on your smartphone. You don’t even need a smartphone. Just follow the link.

What’s missing from so much of the evangelical response to same-sex marriage (and gay rights in general) is genuine empathy with LGBTQ people. We insist that we love gay people, but we don’t take the time to hear their stories, to understand their points of view, and to learn from their experiences. It’s easier to hide behind careful theology and theoretical care.

This episode of The Liturgists artfully and respectfully interviews gay and transexual Christians, along with several pastors and commentators, with a diverse range of views on sexuality and faithful Christian practice.

It’s a 1.5-hour antidote to ignorance, and I think all Christians (especially evangelicals) should listen to it.

The post Essential listening for evangelical Christians: The Liturgists on LGBTQ appeared first on Luke Arms.

And my Facebook campaign page here: www.facebook.com/LukeArmsIndependent

Even if you can’t vote for me (or don’t want to), please like/share/follow/talk/pray/love. Thanks!

The post ICYMI: I’m running for Parliament appeared first on Luke Arms.

Came across this review via Shawn Blanc’s blog, and couldn’t help thinking that with the 23mm f/2 lens mounted it’s basically Leica playing catch-up to Fujifilm’s original X100, at more than 3 times the price of the current X100s.

Good luck to them, but really I think Fujifilm is the new Leica.

The post Leica T: the Fujifilm X-series you probably can’t afford appeared first on Luke Arms.

I’ll give you a clue: it’s not [just] Peta Credlin.

The post Who’s really running Australia? appeared first on Luke Arms.

Another link I’ve been meaning to post for a while: 5 “rules” that might help you tread the fine line between creepy and creative when taking photos in the street. From the last paragraph:

Above all, IMHO use common sense and common courtesy as your guide. Sure – get sneeky, get gangster, get ‘the shot’, but you can do it without being a nut job. Plenty of other photographers have done amazing projects in the streets that are in your face, against people’s will and without warrant. My suggestion? Leave that to somebody else and focus on the pictures that you want to make through respect and hard work.

The post Chase Jarvis on street photography: rules to live by appeared first on Luke Arms.

I only own one TV. But it’s 46″ across. Also, it’s manufactured by Samsung.

I have no idea how any of this makes me feel, but I did find this xkcd graph somewhat amusing.

The post “I don’t own a TV” over time (according to xkcd) appeared first on Luke Arms.

Have a powerful reason — when things get difficult, “because it sounds nice” or “to look good” aren’t going to cut it.

Start tiny, with a simple but unbreakable promise to yourself to do one small thing every single day.

Watch your urges, and learn not to act on the whim of a moment.

Listen to your self-rationalizations, and don’t believe their lying ways.

Enjoy the habit, or you won’t stay with it longer than a week’s worth of sunrises.

I’ve quoted the whole post because I thought it was important enough to save you the effort of clicking through.

But you should totally be following zenhabits if you’re not already.

The post Self-discipline (according to zenhabits) appeared first on Luke Arms.