Zeitschriftenartikel zum Thema „West Beach (S. Aust.)“

Karimata strait is located in the western Indonesian, separate the Kalimantan and Belitung island, that has an important role for the distribution services. The information about its dynamics such as tidal behavior, and wave is the key to support the navigation activities in this area. This research describes the results of measurements of the physical oceanography parameter on the eastern side of the Karimata Strait, Pasir Mayang Beach. The tidal data were measured for 15 days in February 25th – March 12th, 2017 and sea current were observed for 24 hours on February 27-28th, 2017. The result showed that tidal type in this area is diurnal tide with amplitude of M2, S2, K1, and O1 respectively are 0.085 m, 0.086 m, 0.455 m, and 0.342 m. Significant wave’s high is ranged from 0.12 – 0.31 m with significant period of 5.32-6.9 s. The wave direction is south western. The current velocity is ranged from 0.087- 0.112 m/s and average current velocity is 0.092 m/s. The tidal current direction is northeast at low tide and south western at high tide. This study also reveals important information that wave energy variability is not only affected by seasonal conditions but also influenced by tides. The tides have responsibility to change the propagation medium of wave that is originated dispersive to non-dispersive medium. This study opens a new study of correction of wave measurement procedures by including and taking into account the effects of tides.

The purpose of this study was to determine the hydrodynamic conditions at Bojong Salawe beach. The method used in this research is a quantitative method, where numerical data is collected to support the formation of numerical models such as wind, bathymetry, and tide data. The hydrodynamic model will be made using Mike 21 with the Flow Model FM module to determine the current movement pattern based on the data used. In the west monsoon with a maximum instantaneous speed of 0.04 - 0.08 m/s, while in the east monsoon it moves with a maximum instantaneous speed of 0,4 – 0,44 m/s. The dominant direction of current movement tends to the northeast. The results indicate the current speed during the east monsoon is higher than the west monsoon. The difference in the current speed is also influenced by the tide conditions; higher during high tide and lower during low tide. Monsoons also have a role in the current movements, though the effect is not very significant.

Coastal configuration depends upon the equilibrium between available sediment budget and prevailing nearshore wave and current conditions. Human activities often disturb this natural equilibrium by altering the sources of beach material and littoral drift pattern. In the coastal zone of NW Peloponnese, an essentially tideless environment, the oblique approach of wind-induced waves implies an overall longshore drift from east to west. On an annual basis, the potential longshore sediment transport rates at the different sections of the study area (Kato Achaia) is estimated to vary between 0.02 10-3 m3/s and 5 103 m3/s and to fluctuate seasonally. The construction of a port and the extraction of aggregates from the R. Peiros have changed significantly the pattern of sediment transport inducing dramatic changes on coastline configuration; thus, the part of the coastline west to the port had retreated as much as 70 m eliminating a touristic beach, while the entrance of the port was silted inhibiting navigation. Coastal engineering measures, such as modification of port-breakwaters and construction of groins have had only minimal contribution in beach recovery. Hence, coastal management plans should consider this dynamic equilibrium and protect the natural coastal system from the arbitrary human activities.

The South-west Black Sea Coast is facing severe erosion problems that threaten both the population and the immediate eastside properties. Some locations, such as the Karaburun region, are especially vulnerable. In an attempt to reverse the present erosional trend, a coastal defense scheme involving a groin system was introduced in a phased manner. In the present work, the shoreline changes under the influence of a groin system of a sandy beach in Karaburun, Turkey, are studied by using a numerical simulation model (LITPACK). The work is motivated by the considerable erosion and siltation problems caused a sediment deposition near and inside the harbor entrance which prevented the boat traffic and caused a vital problem for the harbor operations. The study’s scope is two-fold: to help in understanding the dynamics of the beach based on results of the field work and to study the responses of this beach by numerical simulation, utilizing the topographic and sediment field data and measured wave data. The validation and verification of the numerical model was performed by RTK-GPS measurements and satellite images.

A shoreline change analysis was performed along the shoreline of the chenier plain in southwestern Louisiana in an attempt to forecast future shoreline position and to determine the performance of a proposed sand beach nourishment project along the shoreline which extends 14 km west of the western jetty of Calcasieu Pass, Louisiana and runs through the community of Holly Beach, Louisiana. Observations of shoreline morphology revealed a solitary sediment wave traversing the project site from east to west since the 1960’s. The genesis of the sediment wave is unknown and is unexplored in this work. The presence of the sediment wave masked the long-term shoreline change rates along the project site and therefore biased the predictions of future shoreline positions due to the transient nature of the sediment wave morphology. Standard coastal engineering methods used to predict future shoreline positions include simple translation of the shoreline based on measured shoreline change rates (referred to herein as historical linear progression or HLP) and one-line numerical models. For the project site, due to the presence of this sediment wave the HLP approach to predict future shoreline positions is not applicable. One-line shoreline morphology models such as the US Army Corps of Engineer's GENESIS model require the assumption that the beach profile can be represented by an equilibrium beach profile which was developed for sand rich shorelines. The project site profile composition of a sandy veneer extending to a depth of approximately -1.2 to -2 m over a muddy bottom violates this assumption, and therefore the traditional one-line model cannot be applied. Therefore, a dynamic sediment budget (DSB) method was developed to predict future shoreline positions based on available historical data, longshore transport rates, known morphological processes, statistical estimates of storm events, beach nourishment diffusion, and a relationship between volume change and shoreline change based on existing profile composition. This method was validated with existing data and was able to predict 20 years of morphology within ±15 m of measured shoreline positions.

Bali is one of the islands where there are many surf zones with various characteristics. In addition, Bali is also a heaven with a classy wave for the surfers of the world. One of the most challenging places to surf in Bali is Uluwatu Beach. Uluwatu Beach is ranked the 3rd best surf spot in the world version of CNN Travel in 2012. Wind causes sea waves, therefore wind data can be used to estimate the height and direction of the waves. Wave Hindcasting with Sverdrup, Munk and Bretschneider (SMB) method is calculated based on wind data for 10 years (2001 - 2010) from BMKG Ngurah Rai Station - Denpasar to obtain a significant wave height and period. In this research, it is necessary to approach through Hindcasting procedure, wave transformation analysis and surfing Terminology in determining the type of breaking wave and classification of surf zone in Uluwatu Beach area. Wave calculation result in Uluwatu Beach dominated by wave that coming from west side with significant wave height (Hs) of 0.98 m and significant wave period (Ts) of 5.21 s. The wave height due to the influence of wave refraction and shoaling is 0.976 m. The breaking wave height obtained from the calculation is 1.04 m at a depth of 0.849 m. From the result in this research, it can be concluded that the breaking wave type that occurred at Uluwatu Beach is plunging type according to the calculation result from its Irribaren number (0.4 <Ni <2.3). The classification of the surf zone at Uluwatu Beach based on its breakup type of wave is thought to be a good zone for surfers on intermediate level.

This contribution reports the first record of intertidal reefs built by the sabellariid wormSabellaria nanellain the lower intertidal at Monte Hermoso beach, Argentina (39°S). All previous records ofS. nanellain the study area correspond to solitary individuals from shallow subtidal depths in coastal environments, while the present findings refer to well established reefs on stony rocks. Worms sort medium size sand grains to build the reefs, which contain higher amount of organic matter than the surrounding sediments. Size structure of worms shows multiple size cohorts that include recent recruits and mature adults. Many invertebrates, i.e. various annelids, arthropods, molluscs, nemerteans and nematodes, are the frequent organisms living within the reef, some of them already recorded in the area. The presence of intertidal reefs ofS. nanellaindicates that the species has plasticity to adapt to environments with different physical conditions (subtidal–intertidal areas).

Karang Sewu Beach is one of the areas in the West Bali National Park (TNBB) which has a natural mangrove ecosystem. One of parameters affecting mangrove growth is substrate. This research aims to determine the vegetation structure, substrate characteristics, and different vegetation groups of mangroves based on its substrate characteristics in Karang Sewu Beach. This study collected the data on vegetation structure using a plotted line method with 2x2, 5x5, 10x10 and 20x20 meters transects. Substrate texture was analyzed using a pipette method while total organic material was analyzed using the Loss on Ignition (LOI) method. Mangrove vegetation was categorized based on substrate characteristics using the descriptive quantitative method. Results showed there were nine species of mangrove found in Karang Sewu Beach, namely Ceriops tagal, Sonneratia alba, S. caseolaris, Rhizophora apiculata, R. mucronata, R. stylosa, R. lamarckii, Lumnitzera racemosa, and Avicennia marina. INP in the first station was dominated by R. apiculata for tree levels (152,88 %), pole (174,24 %), sapling (139,04 %), and seedling (111,48 %). R. lamarckii dominated the second station with a tree level value of 226,94 % while C. tagal dominated for pole level (220,82 %), sapling (243,65 %), and seedling (182,94 %). INP in the third stasion was dominated by C. tagal for pole level (103,68 %), sapling (98,77 %) and seedling (95,51 %). Mangrove substrate in Karang Sewu Beach was characterized as having a sand like texture, dusty loam, sandy loam, loamy sand, and sandy clay with moderate organic matter (2.44 %) to low (0.79 %). Mangrove vegetation grouping based on substrate characteristics in Karang Sewu Beach was different in general. A. marina is found in the middle zone, where this species is usually found in the front zone.

Abstract. INTRODUCTIONThe empty tests of dead foraminifera behave as sedimentary particles and are subject to transport, although their different shapes and effectively low density means that their hydraulic equivalence is greater than that of spherical quartz grains (see Haake, 1962). Their estimated traction velocities range from c. 4 cm s−1 to c. 13 cm s−1 (Snyder et al., 1999). The presence of calcareous foraminiferal tests in a fossil sedimentary deposit would normally be taken as an indication of deposition in a marine environment. However, it has long been known that wind can transport tests from a carbonate beach into adjacent carbonate dunes as in Dogs Bay, Connemara, Eire (Murray, 1973) and Abu Dhabi, Persian Gulf (Murray, 1970). The purpose of this Notebook is to provide some details of the Dogs Bay occurrence and to comment on how such deposits might be recognized in the rock record.In western Ireland the coastal geology consists of hard rocks, yet the beaches are commonly composed primarily of calcareous bioclastic sands (Guilcher & King, 1961; Keary, 1967). Dogs Bay (Lat. 53° 24′ N Long. 9° 58′ W) lies on the west-facing side of a tombola which is approximately 200 m wide and 400 m long. The tombola is made up of sand dunes that are mainly vegetated except along the margins adjacent to the beaches. Dogs Bay is exposed to Atlantic storms and the surface layer of the beach is reworked on each tidal cycle. Both the beach and the dunes are composed of . . .

Benin is a country in West Africa with a little more than 120 kilometers of coastline. The main port at Cotonou serving the country of Benin was completed in 1963. According to Dibajnia and Nairn (2004), Benin’s coastline experiences incessant wave attack causing a longshore sand transport rate in the order of 1 million m3 per year (moving from west to east). The port facility initially blocked the full amount of sand transported along the shore, resulting in accumulation of a large beach on the updrift (west) side of the port and corresponding dramatic erosion of the downdrift (east) shoreline consisting of over 400 m of shoreline retreat by 2003 (i.e. over approximately 40 years). Additionally, since 1998 sand started to bypass around the harbor breakwater into the entrance channel. Harbor entrance channel dredging requirements was escalating with almost 1.5 million m3 dredged between 1998 and 2002. At the time of port construction, the downdrift erosion was not a concern as the area was largely undeveloped. However, with the inevitable expansion of the city of Cotonou towards the east, the ongoing erosion started to destroy newly developed residential and commercial areas.

The coast of Yucatan, located in the Gulf of Mexico, is a fragile island barrier system where beach erosion has turned into a problem since the last 25 years. This, in combination with hurricane strikes (Gilbert (1988), Isidore (2002)), led to environmental damages along about 300 km, in 60 km of which, the coastal infra-structure is at risk; fact that decreased the coastal development. Mitigate the erosion required emergency protection works mainly made by beach property owners. The lack of planning and engineering design resulted in areas with high ero-sion rates and the destruction of neighboring beaches and properties.
 Among the most important causes that enhanced erosion phenomena along Yucatan are: construction of Progreso pier affecting littoral drift causing ero-sion at the west side beaches, shore normal rock-timber and sand-bags groins constructed empirically by property owners accelerating erosion and stimu-lating even more groin construction, during 90´s groin construction shifted to the east (up-drift) of Progreso Port, and in the last 25 years urban, touristic and fisher industries growth in the region, force the construction of jetties for small harbours along the coast. Axis Ingeniería, and academic research institutions, in conjunction with federal and state authorities the promotion of programs for beach rehabilitation consisting on groins removal and the use of soft solutions (i.e. structures based on geosynthetics for shore protection). The Progreso Beach 7 km nourishment has been one of the most successful efforts resulting in the the development of a stable beach for about 10 years, even without maintenance works. Based on local knowledge obtained with the use of measures that have disregarded the equilibrium of sediment transport processes; Axis Ingenieria used these experiences in combination with technical, environmental legal requirements, capabilities of the local community and socioeconomic tools to implement soft and easily removal structures using geotextile tubes along the coast, that had resulted on positive experiences for beach/dune protection and recovery (i.e. Progreso to Chicxulub , Telchac and Las Coloradas beaches , Yucatan). This poster resumes the experiences from projects dealing with coastal erosion issues that AXIS Ingenieria has conducted being the goal the development and implementation of a Yucatan beach manage-ment program.

ABSTRACT A spill of approximately 9,500 bbl of Alaskan North Slope crude oil (27.5 API gravity) occurred on February 7, 1990, when the 818-foot, 37,768-gross-ton, U.S.-flag tank vessel American Trader grounded on one of her anchors while attempting to maneuver into Golden West Refining Company's Huntington Beach offshore mooring at position 33°37.7’N, 118°00.5’W. Oil flowed from a three-foot-by-five-foot puncture in the No. 1 starboard wing tank, and a 40-square-mile slick developed during the next three days. By February 13, 14 miles of recreational beach along Southern California's heavily populated coast had been affected by the spill. The response mounted by the federal on-scene coordinator (OSC) and the responsible party as a result of this accident became one of the most successful open sea oil recovery operations in U. S. history and has been called a textbook example of shoreline cleanup and interagency cooperation. The relative effectiveness and short duration of the cleanup were due to favorable weather, fast response, availability of oil spill recovery equipment, good strategic planning, and cooperation between the responsible party and the government. An extensive offshore response effort (15 major skimming systems, 25 support vessels), coupled with fair weather and mild sea conditions, resulted in unusually high open sea oil recovery rate (25.1 percent of the total crude spilled). Major wetlands, including the Bolsa Chica National Wildlife Refuge, Newport Bay, and the Santa Ana River, were protected with containment booms within eight hours after the accident, excluding the oil slick from these vital estuaries. An intensive beach cleanup with sorbents and shovels began with initial shoreline oiling on February 8 and peaked on February 13, when some 1,300 workers were deployed to combat heavy oil sludge forced ashore by southerly storm winds. By employing people in lieu of heavy machinery on these fragile beaches (Huntington Beach, Newport Beach, Bolsa Chica Beach), environmental impact was minimized and a rapid, thorough cleanup was attained. By March 2, all beaches had been cleaned; the rest of the cleanup consisted of low-pressure cold water flushing and high-pressure hot water spraying of oil-contaminated jetties, piers, and rocky shorelines. On April 3, 1990, final cleanup operations were completed, and the OSC concluded all monitoring activities associated with this incident.

Abstract. Recently, tsunami-like sea-level oscillations occurred in a region of the west coast of Korea (i.e. in the eastern part of the Yellow Sea), during a typical rough spring weather episode on 4 May 2008. The analysis of these tsunami-like abnormal waves focuses solely on the videos recorded by a CCTV surveillance system in the directions of the entrance and inside parts of a local coastal pocket beach. Time-series of the vertical and horizontal sea surface oscillations were extracted from the video recordings through calibrating image distortions, accumulating 1-D intensity arrays along the line transects of interest in time, and identifying the trajectories of the oscillations. Frequency and time-domain analysis of the time-series signals revealed that the maximum height of the tsunami-like waves reached 1.3 m, having a dominant period of 185 s (3.1 min). In addition, the results indicate that the celerity of the maximum height wave approximated 7.3 m/s, which lead to the losses of life of several people who could not escape immediately from the fast tsunami flooding the shore.

Unmanned magnetometer stations (UMS) have been developed and were installed at remote location near Syowa station, Antarctica (69°S, 40°E) to perform field tests in the harsh Antarctic environment. The UMS was powered by a thermo-electric generator fuelled by kerosene (LTEG) which supplies 87 Watts continuously to the load. The LTEG and instrumentation (flux gate magnetometer, data logger, chronometer) were installed in a thermally insulated shelter (0.9 m by 1.8 m by 1.9 m). The shelter and an 800 l fuel tank were mounted on a sled, and were towed by snow tractor. The UMS were installed at Kizahasi beach, Skarvsnes (50 km south-west of Syowa) and at H-100 of the Mizuho route (100 km south of Syowa) in the early spring of 1988 and operated until the end of the year. The data obtained will be used for a study of the spatial phase and amplitude structure of the ionospheric current systems and a response of the local induction currents to them.

AbstractPluvial lake deposits are found throughout western North America and are frequently used to reconstruct regional paleoclimate. In Death Valley, California, USA, we apply the beach particle technique (BPT) of Adams (2003), Sedimentology, 50, 565–577 and Adams (2004), Sedimentology, 51, 671–673 to Lake Manly deposits at the Beatty Junction Bar Complex (BJBC), Desolation Canyon, and Manly Terraces and calculate paleowind velocities of 14–27 m/s. These wind velocities are within the range of present-day wind velocities recorded in the surrounding area. Sedimentary structures and clast provenance at Desolation Canyon and the Manly Terraces indicate sediment transport from north to south. Lake level, based on the elevation of constructional features, indicates that the hill west of the BJBC was an island and that the BJBC spits formed during simple lake regression. The data are consistent with the hypothesis that the present wind regime (velocity and direction) formed the pluvial Lake Manly features.

Brassica juncea (L.) Czern & Coss (mustard) has potential as a more drought-tolerant oilseed crop than the Brassica napus, and the first two canola-quality B. juncea cultivars will be sown as large strip trials across Australia in 2005. This will allow commercial evaluation of oil and meal quality and for seed multiplication for the commercial release Australia-wide in 2006. Inspection of experimental B. juncea field plantings at Beverley (32°6′30″S, 116°55′22″E), and Wongan Hills (30°50′32″S, 116°43′33″E), Western Australia in September 2004 indicated the occurrence of extensive leaf spotting during B. juncea flowering. Symptoms of this disease included as many as 15 or more grayish white-to-brownish spot lesions per leaf, often with a distinct brown margin. Some elongate grayish stem lesions were also observed as reported earlier for B. napus oilseed rape (1). When affected materials were incubated in moist chambers for 48 h, abundant conidia typical of Pseudocercosporella capsellae (Ellis & Everh.) Deighton were observed that matched the descriptions of conidia given by Deighton (2) and those on B. napus in Western Australia (1). Five single-spore cultures from lesions were grown on water agar (WA) where the colonies characteristically produced purple-pink pigment in the agar after 2 weeks growth in an incubator maintained at 20°C with a 12-h photoperiod (3). Since agar cultures of P. capsellae rarely produce conidia (3), this observation helped with the verification of the cultures. Mycelial inoculum from these cultures was used to inoculate cotyledons of 50 7-day-old plants of B. juncea to satisfy Koch's postulates. Small pieces of mycelia were teased out from the surface of the growing margin of potato dextrose agar (PDA) cultures and inoculated onto both lobes of each cotyledon and plants incubated in a 100% humidity chamber for 48 h within a controlled environment room maintained at 20/15°C (day/night) with a 12-h photoperiod. After 2 weeks, lesions 5 to 8 mm in diameter were observed on the cotyledons. There were no symptoms on control plants that were treated with water only. Lesions on infected cotyledons incubated on moist filter paper for 24 h produced abundant cylindrical conidia showing 2 to 3 septa measuring 42.9 to 71.4 μm long and 2.9 to 3.1 μm wide. Single-spore isolations from these conidia produced typical P. capsellae colonies showing purple-pink pigments in WA, and dark, compacted, and slow-growing colonies with a dentate margin on PDA. White leaf spot caused by P. capsellae is an important disease of crucifers worldwide, but to our knowledge, this is the first report of P. capsellae on B. juncea in Australia. In Western Australia, P. capsellae occurs on B. napus oilseed rape (1) and in 1956, 1984, and 1987, it was recorded on B. rapa, B. oleracea, and B. chinensis, respectively (4), and on the same range of Brassica hosts in other regions of Australia. References: (1) M. J. Barbetti and K. Sivasithamparam. Aust. Plant Pathol.10:43, 1981. (2) F. C. Deighton. Commonw. Mycol. Inst. Mycol. Pap. 133:42, 1973. (3) S. T. Koike. Plant Dis. 80:960, 1996. (4) R. G. Shivas. J. R. Soc. West. Aust. 72:1, 1989.

In October, 1995, in Villa Guerrero, Mexico, white erumpent sori were detected on the undersurfaces of leaves of a bed of African daisy (Gerbera jamesonii H. Bolus ex J. D. Hook.). The white sori on the undersurfaces of leaves corresponded to chlorotic spots on the upper leaf surfaces. All gerbera plants examined were severely diseased. The gerbera planting was adjacent to a planting of chrysanthemums with symptoms of white rust caused by Puccinia horiana Henn. Symptoms on the leaves of the two crops looked similar, and therefore P. horiana was suspected of causing both diseases. However, when subepidermal sori (pustules) on Gerbera plants were examined microscopically, erumpent chains of round to cylindrical, hyaline to pale yellow sporangiospores borne on short club-shaped sporangiophores were found. The sporangiospores are typical of Albugo tragopogonis (Pers.) S. F. Gray, and it was concluded that the white rust found on gerbera in Villa Guerrero, Mexico, was caused by A. tragopogonis. This disease was reported on gerbera from Australia and New Zealand in 1965 (1) and from Spain in 1977 (2). Other hosts of A. tragopogonis include members in the genera Pericallis (cineraria), Centaurea (dusty miller, basket flower, cornflower, bachelor's-buttons), Ambrosia (common ragweed), Tragopogon (salsify), Antennaria (everlasting, pussytoes), Artemisia (wormwort, mugwort), Cirsium (thistle), Matricaria (false chamomile, pineapple weed), Iva (marshelder), Parthenium (guayule, American feverfew), and Xanthium (common cocklebur, spiny cocklebur). This is the first report of white rust of gerbera caused by A. tragopogonis in North America, and may represent a new disease problem for species of important floral crops in the future. References: (1) R. F. Doepel. J. Agric. West. Aust. Ser. 4 6:439, 1965. [Rev. Appl. Mycol. 45:80, 1966] (2) H. P. Plate and H. Kruber. Nachrichtenbl. Dtsch. Pflanzen-schutzdienst (Berlin) 29(11):169, 1977. [Rev. Plant Pathol. 57:204, 1978]

Regional Painan, the distric of Pesisir Selatan, the province of west Sumatera is one of the areas with high risk disaster prone. This study aims attempts to maped the disaster prone area of the Painan region based on the dominant frequency value, Vs30, PGA and amplification and to know the value of ground movement from the area. By using the HVSR method (Horizontal to Vertical Spectra Ratio) expected to assist to zone the regions. Based on the research that has been done, it is known that the Painan area, West Sumatera, have values of dominant frequency between 0.6 to 12.07 Hz. As for the value Vs30 between 73.08 to 1449 m/s and the amplification values between 0.47 to 6.01. The PGA value for Painan region between 0.034 to 0.063 g. Based on the analysis that has been done by correlating the four zoning map, it is known that the area which has a high risk of earthquake disaster that is estimated to coastal areas. This is supported by the dominant low frequency value and the value Vs30 small and PGA of high value. The amplification value of this region is divided into four zones, areas that have amplification is very high being around the beach and composed by rock alluvial, the value of amplification of high contained in nearly all the regions Painan while amplification medium and low are the small area of Painan and the small area of Bungo Pasang Salido because based on the geological map of the area is composed of two types of rocks are alluvial and rock Painan Formations.

Australian Snubfin Orcaella heinsohni, Indo-Pacific Humpback Sousa chinensis and Indo-Pacific Bottlenose Dolphins Tursiops aduncus inhabit Australia’s tropical north-western coastline, a region undergoing extensive port development associated with the massive expansion of the oil, gas and mining industries. The current lack of data on dolphin population sizes or trends precludes impact assessments of developments on these protected species. Furthermore, the Western Australian and Commonwealth Government conservation listings of tropical inshore dolphins do not reflect their international listings. From April to July, 2010, we conducted ad hoc boat-based surveys (n=55) of inshore delphinids at seven sites across north-western Australia from Coral Bay in the south (23.1°S: 113.8°E) to Cable Beach in the north (17.9°S: 122.2°E). We documented the locations of these three species from which we obtained photoidentification and biopsy data, as well as reports of Australian Snubfin Dolphin sightings from researchers and community groups. The data from this limited field effort confirm that Indo-Pacific Humpback and Indo-Pacific Bottlenose Dolphins occur in the waters adjacent to each north-western Australian urban centre and show that the range of the Australian Snubfin Dolphin extends considerably further south-west than previously reported. Given the scale of coastal developments and the vulnerability of isolated cetacean populations to fragmentation or extirpation, assessments of the viability of dolphin populations are required. Our data suggest that the Australian Snubfin, Indo-Pacific Humpback and Indo-Pacific Bottlenose Dolphins need to be considered as likely to be impacted by coastal developments across north-western Australia.

Abstract Previous studies have shown that the 542 Ma Saldanha eruption centre, situated on the west coast of South Africa, consists of the basal Saldanha Ignimbrite, which is partly intermingled with and partly overlain by the Jacobs Bay Ignimbrite, both having S-type characteristics. Together, the Saldanha eruption centre and the Postberg eruption centre (to the south, across Saldanha Bay) form part of the volcanic phase of the Cape Granite Suite. The lowermost parts of the Jacob’s Bay Ignimbrite contain magma clasts that are chemically dissimilar to their host ignimbrites. Some clasts are recrystallized ignimbrites that are chemically distinct from any unit that has outcrop expression, and are inferred to form part of a previously unrecognised volcanic event. Other clasts are non-fragmental, hypabyssal rocks that were evidently intruded prior to the explosive intracaldera eruptions that formed the Saldanha ignimbrites. Beach cobbles and pebbles, sampled from the Trekoskraal coastal area, include three texturally and chemically distinct groups – rhyolitic ignimbrites, rhyolitic hypabyssal rocks and dacitic hypabyssal rocks or lavas. Only a minority of these rocks (from the rhyolitic ignimbrite group) show some chemical affinities with the Saldanha Bay ignimbrites. The other pebble types show neither chemical nor textural similarities with the rocks of either the Saldanha or the Postberg eruption centres. The pebbles and cobbles also have no chemical affinities with any of the granitic intrusive rocks of the region. Their chemical and isotopic characteristics suggest that a variety of different magma batches were formed through partial melting of heterogeneous Malmesbury Group metamorphic rocks, at depth. LA-ICP-MS dating of igneous zircon crystals from two of the pebbles (a low-silica rhyolite ignimbrite and a dacite) yielded magmatic ages of 540 ± 4 Ma and 533 ± 4 Ma, respectively. Taking uncertainty brackets into account, these new dates suggest that there may have been a 3 Myr hiatus in eruptive activity, between the eruptions responsible for the exposed Saldanha ignimbrites and the eruptions that produced the volcanic units from which the pebbles were derived. This confirms the inference that there was a previously unidentified, later, volcanic event associated with the Cape Granite Suite in the Saldanha area.

We studied the shoreward and seasonal distribution of E. coli and enterococci in sand (at the water table) at two southern Lake Michigan beaches—Dunbar and West Beach (in Indiana). Deep, backshore sand (∼20 m inland) was regularly sampled for 15 months during 2002–2003. E. coli counts were not significantly different in samples taken at 5-m intervals from 0–40 m inland (P=0.25). Neither E. coli nor enterococci mean counts showed any correlation or differences between the two beaches studied. In laboratory experiments, E. coli readily grew in sand supplemented with lake plankton, suggesting that in situ E. coli growth may occur when temperature and natural organic sources are adequate. Of the 114 sand enterococci isolates tested, positive species identification was obtained for only 52 (46%), with E. faecium representing the most dominant species (92%). Genetic characterization by ribotyping revealed no distinct genotypic pattern (s) for E. coli, suggesting that the sand population was rather a mixture of numerous strains (genotypes). These findings indicate that E. coli and enterococci can occur and persist for extended periods in backshore sand at the groundwater table. Although this study was limited to two beaches of southern Lake Michigan, similar findings can be expected at other temperate freshwater beaches. The long-term persistence of these bacteria, perhaps independent of pollution events, complicates their use as indicator organisms. Further, backshore sand at the water table may act as a reservoir for these bacteria and potentially for human pathogens.

Abstract Mangrove communities were selected in the state of Santa Catarina, Brazil, near their southernmost limit of distribution, to study mineral nutrient relation in soils and plants. Communities included three true mangrove species, Rhizophora mangle, Laguncularia racemosa and Avicennia germinans, and two associated species, the fern Acrostichum danaeifolium, and the grass Spartina densiflora. The sites included communities in the lower Río Tavares near Florianopolis city, Sonho beach near Palhoça city, and the Santo Antonio lagoon. These sites included a full range of mangroves under humid climate where winter temperatures, instead of salinity, may be the main factor regulating their productive capacity and species composition. Soil salinity was determined by the concentration of soluble Na, and soil C and N were linearly correlated indicating their association in organic matter. Tavares site showed higher specific conductivity, and concentrations of Na and Mg in the soil layer below 40 cm depth, indicating larger influence of marine water. Isotopic signature of C increased with soil depth suggesting that microorganisms decomposing organic matter are releasing 13C depleted CO2. Nitrogen isotopic signature decreased with soil depth, indicating enrichment in 15N possibly as a result of denitrification in the upper soil layers. Mineral elements in leaf tissues showed A. schaueriana with higher concentrations of N, P, Na, K, Cu, Zn, and Na/Ca ratio. Spartina densiflora was characterized by the lowest N and K concentrations, and the highest concentrations of Al and Fe. Rhizophora mangle and L. racemosa had the highest Ca concentrations. Carbon isotopic signatures identified S. densiflora as a C4 plant, and A. schaueriana as the mangrove species occupying comparatively more water stressed microsites than the rest. Leaf nitrogen isotopic signatures were positive, in correspondence with the soil values. The results support the hypothesis that sites sampled were comparatively fertile, because sediment transport through fresh water run-off is predominant in humid coasts, and therefore plants were not limited by nutrient supply, nor particularly stressed by soil salinity.

. The features of coastal destruction on two key areas of the Sea of Okhotsk: Nabil-Lunsky and Nevelsky, are examined, using materials from remote sensing of the Earth. Section significantly different in natural conditions. The analysis of high-resolution satellite images of different times showed that in the Okhotsk sea (Nabil-Lunsky site) a significant factor affecting the dynamics of the coasts is the migration of cuspate bars and storm deformations. Morphologically, cuspate bars are large accumulative wave-like bodies with a period along the coast of about 350–500 m and an amplitude along the normal to the coast of 50–80 m. Cuspate bars s are known to slowly migrate in the direction of the coastal sediment flow. It was found that the average abrasion rate of the beach scarp according to the results of decoding different-time (1983–2010) satellite images and aerial photographs within the Nabil-Lunsky site was from 0.0 to 0.44 m/year. In the Nevel Strait, stability of the west coast is facilitated by wide watts and marches. The eastern coast (Sakhalin Island) in the area of Cape Ouangi is steep coast (slope is greater than 0.03), which favors the marginal erosion. Within the boundaries of the studied areas, the mean annual rate of abrasion was estimated. According to the results of deciphering the satellite images of the Cape Kamennyi area, it was found that the accumulative coasts from 1968 to 2006 were in relatively stable condition, and the abrasion-denudation shore at the seabed end of the cape was subjected to abrasion at speeds of 0.05–0.1 m/year

Extracts of Sutherlandia frutescens (cancer bush) exhibit considerable qualitative and quantitative chemical variability depending on their natural wild origins. The purpose of this study was thus to determine bioactivity of extracts from different regions using in vitro antioxidant and anti-cancer assays. Extracts of the species are complex and are predominantly composed of a species-specific set of triterpene saponins (cycloartanol glycosides), the sutherlandiosides, and flavonoids (quercetin and kaempferol glycosides), the sutherlandins. For the Folin-Ciocalteu phenolics test values of 93.311 to 125.330 mg GAE/g DE were obtained. The flavonoids ranged from 54.831 to 66.073 mg CE/g DE using the aluminum chloride assay. Extracts from different sites were also assayed using the 2,2-diphenyl-1-picrylhydrazyl (DPPH•) radical scavenging method and ferric reducing anti-oxidant power (FRAP) methods. This was followed by an in vitro Cell Titer-Glo viability assay of various ecotypes using the DLD-1 colon cancer cell line. All test extracts displayed anti-oxidant activity through the DPPH• radical scavenging mechanism, with IC50 values ranging from 3.171 to 7.707 µg·mL−1. However, the degree of anti-oxidant effects differed on a chemotypic basis with coastal plants from Gansbaai and Pearly Beach (Western Cape) exhibiting superior activity whereas the Victoria West inland group from the Northern Cape, consistently showed the weakest anti-oxidant activity for both the DPPH• and FRAP methods. All extracts showed cytotoxicity on DLD-1 colon cancer cells at the test concentration of 200 µg·mL−1 but Sutherlandia plants from Colesburg (Northern Cape) exhibited the highest anti-cancer activity. These findings confirm that S. frutescens specimens display variability in their bioactive capacities based on their natural location, illustrating the importance of choosing relevant ecotypes for medicinal purposes.

The study area is geographically located in the West coast of Belitung island at coordinates 105o48'00" - 106o06' 00" E and 06o46'00" - 06o50' 00" S. The beach and coastal area is influenced by wave energy from the West and North directions The purpose of this study is to analyze the relationship between the zone of sediment accumulation of empirical approaches on oceanography parameter containing rare earth elements. The approach used is to predict the shore wave energy using wave prediction curve deep waters to obtain the energy flux of the wave at each point of reference. Sediments containing rare earth elements tend to lead to the south as a result of the movement of longshore currents. Regional coastal area of the western part of the island of Belitung, especially in the southern part of the estuary of the river Tanjung Pandan is estimated to be a zone of sediment accumulation. The movement of sediment caused by wave energy from the north led to sedimentation evolved significantly in the south which is thought to contain rare earths minerals derived from land. This sedimentation process takes place on a seasonal basis, which allegedly took place in the west. The movement of sediment to the south of the mouth of the Cerucuk River it is predicted that rare earth elements were supplied from these rivers tend to settle in the southern part of the estuary Cerucuk throughout the year.Keywords: accumulation of sediment, longshore currents, rare earth elements offshore Belitung Lokasi daerah penelitian secara geografis terletak di pesisir pantai barat Pulau Belitung pada koordinat 105o48'00" - 106o06'00" BT dan 06o46'00" - 06o50'00"LS. Pesisir pantai termasuk pantai terbuka terhadap pengaruh energi gelombang dari arah barat dan utara. Tujuan dari penelitian ini untuk melakukan analisis hubungan antara zona akumulasi sedimen dari pendekatan empirik parameter osenografi dan kandungan unsur tanah jarang. Pendekatan yang digunakan yaitu dengan memprediksi energi gelombang pantai menggunakan kurva prediksi gelombang perairan dalam untuk memperoleh energi fluks gelombang pada setiap titik referensi. Pengendapan sedimen bermuatan unsur tanah jarang cenderung mengarah ke selatan sebagai akibat dari pergerakan arus sejajar pantai. Daerah kawasan pesisir bagian barat Pulau Belitung terutama di bagian selatan muara sungai Tanjung Pandan diperkirakan menjadi zona akumulasi sedimen. Pergerakan sedimen akibat dari energi gelombang dari arah utara menyebabkan adanya sedimentasi berkembang cukup signifikan di bagian selatan yang diduga bermuatan mineral unsur tanah jarang asal dari darat. Proses sedimentasi ini berlangsung secara musiman, yang kemungkinan berlangsung pada musim barat. Adanya pergerakan sedimen ke arah selatan dari muara Sungai Cerucuk maka diperkirakan unsur tanah jarang yang dipasok dari sungai tersebut cenderung mengendap di bagian selatan dari muara Sungai Cerucuk sepanjang tahun. Kata kunci: akumulasi sedimen, arus sejajar pantai, unsur tanah jarang lepas pantai Belitung

In Australia, Brassica juncea (L.) Czern & Coss (Indian mustard) has the potential as a more drought-tolerant oilseed crop than the B. napus L., with the first canola-quality B. juncea varieties released in Australia in 2006 and first sown for commercial production in 2007. Increased production of B. juncea is expected to result in the appearance of diseases previously unreported in Australia. In the spring of 2007 at the University of Western Australia field plots at Crawley (31.99°S, 115.82°E), Western Australia, plants of B. juncea genotypes from Australia and China had extensive stem colonization by powdery mildew at the end of the flowering period, with whitish patches ranging in size from 3 mm to 3 cm long. These patches coalesced to form a dense, white, powdery layer as they expanded. Pathogenicity was demonstrated by gently pressing infected stems containing abundant sporulation onto leaves of potted B. juncea seedlings of variety JM-18, incubating the plants in a moist chamber for 48 h, and then maintaining the plants in a controlled-environment room at 18/13°C for day/night. Signs of powdery mildew appeared at 7 days after inoculation, and by 10 days, it was well developed. Uninoculated control plants did not have powdery mildew. When symptomatic plants were examined, abundant conidia were typical of Erysiphe cruciferarum Opiz ex Junell, with cylindrical conidia borne singly or in short chains as described previously (2). Mycelia were amphigenous, in patches, and often spreading to become effused. Conidiophores were straight, foot cells were cylindrical, and conidia were mostly produced singly and measured 21.2 to 35.4 (mean 26.7 μm) × 8.8 to 15.9 μm (mean 11.9 μm) from measurements of 100 conidia. The spore size that we measured approximated what was found for E. cruciferarum (2) (30 to 40 × 12 to 16 μm), since we found 35 and 50% of spores falling within this range in terms of length and width, respectively. Conidia were, however, generally smaller in size than that reported on broccoli raab in California (1) (35 to 50 × 12 to 21 μm). We confirmed a length-to-width ratio greater than 2 as was found previously (1,2). Infected leaves showed signs of early senescence. While powdery mildew caused by E. cruciferarum is an important disease of B. juncea in India where yield losses as much as 17% have been reported (4), its potential impact in Australia is yet to be determined. To our knowledge, this is the first record of E. cruciferarum on B. juncea in Australia. In Western Australia, E. cruciferarum has been recorded on B. napus (oilseed rape) since 1986 and on B. napus L. var. napobrassica (L.) Reichenb. (swede) since 1971 (3). In other regions of Australia, it has been recorded on B. rapa in Queensland since 1913 and on B. napus (oilseed rape) in South Australia since 1973. References: (1) S. T. Koike and G. S. Saenz. Plant Dis. 81:1093, 1997. (2) T. J. Purnell and A. Sivanesan. No 251 in: Descriptions of Pathogenic Fungi and Bacteria. CMI, Kew, Surrey, UK, 1970. (3) R. G. Shivas. J. R. Soc. West. Aust. 72:1, 1989. (4) A. K. Shukla et al. Manual on Management of Rapeseed-Mustard Diseases. National Research Centre on Rapeseed-Mustard, Bharatpur, India, 2003.

Pelargonium capitatum (rose pelargonium) is a plant indigenous to southern Africa, originally brought to Western Australia for its ornamental qualities. It has since become naturalized in the Southwest Australian Floristic Region, recognized for its high level of species endemism, where it is a serious invasive weed in bushlands and coastal dunes. Since P. capitatum outcompetes native species it is listed among the top 10 most important coastal weeds of the region (3). In 2008, large patches of stunted, dying, and dead P. capitatum plants were observed within a population covering coastal dunes at Woodman Point, Western Australia (GPS coordinates 32°07′40.51″S, 115°45′28.39″E). Diseased plants had small misshapen leaves in clumps that were often chlorotic or pink, shortened internodes, and exhibited phylloidy typical of infection by a phytoplasma. From August 2009 to January 2010, samples from symptomatic and asymptomatic plants were collected from the site and from plants of an asymptomatic population at another site located on the Murdoch University campus nearby. DNA was extracted from 15 samples collected from symptomatic and asymptomatic plants at the dune site and from five at the campus site. Briefly, 2 to 5 g of leaf and stem tissue was cut into 5-mm pieces and shaken overnight in 30 ml of phosphate-buffered saline buffer. Supernatant was filtered and a pellet was collected by centrifugation. After resuspension in 500 μl of extraction buffer (200 mM Tris-HCl [pH 7.5] 250mM NaCl, 25mM ethylenediaminetetraacetic acid, 0.5% sodium dodecyl sulfate, and 2% polyvinylpyrrolidone), DNA was precipitated in 500 μl of cold isopropanol. Samples were tested for the presence of phytoplasma ribosomal 16S DNA by nested PCR using phytoplasma universal primers P1/P7 followed by amplification with primers Tint, R16mF2, and R16mR1 (1,2,4). Phytoplasma-specific DNA sequences were synthesized directly from amplicons using the above primers. Phytoplasma was detected from both symptomatic and asymptomatic plant samples collected from the dune site but not from the campus site. Analysis of the nine sequences obtained (GenBank Accession Nos. HM583339, HM583340, HM583341, HM583342, HM583343, HM583344, HM583345, HM583346, and HM583347) revealed high sequence identity between isolates (~99%) and with the ‘Candidatus Phytoplasma aurantifolia’ (16SrII) group of phytoplasmas (1,4). Presence of phytoplasma in symptomatic plants was confirmed by histological examination of stem sections stained with Dienes' stain. This finding is significant because there is potential for utilizing this phytoplasma to control P. capitatum where it has invaded ecologically significant sites, although its effect on indigenous plants must be determined first. Although phytoplasmas within the 16SrII group have been identified in Australia previously (1,4), to our knowledge, this is the first report of it infecting P. capitatum. References: (1) K. S. Gibb et al. Phytopathology 85:169, 1995. (2) D. E. Gundersen and I.-M. Lee. Phytopathol. Mediterr. 35:144, 1996. (3) B. M. J. Hussey et al. Western Weeds. A Guide to the Weeds of Western Australia. 2nd ed. Plant Protection Society of Western Australia, Victoria Park, 2007. (4) M. Saqib et al. J. R. Soc. West. Aust. 90:175, 2007.

A importância das zonas costeiras implica na necessidade de contínuos estudos relacionados ao monitoramento de seus processos. Neste contexto, a linha de costa representa uma das feições mais dinâmicas, e sua variabilidade é um indicador da erosão ou deposição costeira. A fim de avaliar as tendências de mudança da linha de costa do município de Icapuí, localizado no extremo leste do estado do Ceará, este trabalho envolveu a utilização de imagens orbitais do satélite Landsat, compondo uma série temporal de 30 anos com intervalos de cinco anos entre cada cena. Foram aplicados o Método de Mudança do Polígono e o Digital Shoreline Analysis System (DSAS) na caracterização da linha de costa, quantificando suas taxas de variação e balanço sedimentar em área. A área total foi setorizada em quatro porções, utilizando a morfologia costeira como critério de segmentação. Os resultados indicaram a existência de três hotspots de erosão e deposição, relacionados à desembocadura do riacho Arrombado, no setor leste; à desembocadura do estuário Barra Grande, que separa os setores centrais leste e oeste; e ao promontório de Ponta Grossa, que condiciona uma inflexão da linha de costa no setor oeste. Cada um destes setores apresenta dinâmica de deposição a barlamar e erosão a sotamar, com destaque para os processos acentuados de retrogradação entre as praias de Barreiras de Baixo e Barrinhas, no setor central oeste, e a forte dinâmica deposicional da praia de Ponta Grossa, no setor oeste. Identification of the erosive and depositional sectors of the Icapuí (CE) shoreline based on remote sensing products and geoprocessing techniques A B S T R A C TThe importance of coastal zones implies the need for continuous studies related to the monitoring of their processes. In this context, the shoreline represents one of the most dynamic features, and its variability is an indicator of erosion or coastal deposition. In order to evaluate the changing trends of the coast of the Icapuí city, located in the far east of the state of Ceará, this work involved the use of Landsat satellite orbital images, composing a 30-year time series with five-year intervals between each scene. The Polygon Change Method and the Digital Shoreline Analysis System (DSAS) were applied to characterize the shoreline, quantifying its variation rates and sedimentary balance in area. The total area was divided into four portions, using coastal morphology as a segmentation criterion. The results indicated the existence of three erosion and deposition hotspots, related to the Arrombado stream inlet, in the eastern sector; the Barra Grande estuary inlet, which separates the central east and west sectors; and the Ponta Grossa promontory, which conditions a shoreline inflection in the western sector. Each of these sectors has a deposition dynamic to updrift and erosion to downdrift, with prominence to the accentuated processes of retrogradation between the Barreiras de Baixo and Barrinhas beaches, in the central west sector, and the strong depositional dynamics of Ponta Grossa beach, in the west sector.Keywords: coastal erosion; shoreline change; temporal analysis.

of the paper highlights his willingness to contribute his experience freely to the discussion of issues confronting rangeland managers: "In this paper I hope to lead you through the financial history of Willangee Station. Through decisions we made, the mistakes we have made, the lessions we have learnt, the debts we have taken on and the profits we have made. Our aim is to expose all of these factsso people may learn from them'. The paper, along with others presented at the Seminar, was published in the Australian Rangeland Journal. In 1980 Bill hosted a tour of Willangee by the Barrier Environment Group during a Conference on the theme'% the West Darling becoming a Desert?" By his actions, conservationists and graziers were brought together duringa period when conservation of Australia's arid lands was becoming a major issue. Through his leadership of the Broken Hill Branch of the Australian Rangeland Society, Bill has contributed greatly to the exchange of ideas between academics, the pastoralist community and conservationists. With such a wealth of knowledge of the district and its people Bill has been aguiding influence to the Broken Hill Branch, the Committee and its members. Aust. Rangel. J. 7(2) 1985, 64- 74 THE CASE FOR PRESCRIBED BURNING TO CONTROL SHRUBS IN EASTERN SEMI-ARID WOODLANDS K.C. Hodgkinson and G.N. Harrington CSIRO Division of Wildlife and Rangelands Research, Private Bag, P.O., Deniliquin, N.S. W. 2710 Abstract A theor) for shrub control by prescnbed burn~ng In semi-and woodlands of eastern Australla IS outlmed. Th~s theory IS based on ~nev~table shrub Increases wh~ch occur pnnc~pally by ep~sod~c, w~despread, mass establ~shment events Wet per~ods whlch foster shrub establ~shment also promote abundant grass growth pred~sposlng the plant community to be~ng burnt Fue then k~lls nearly all recently establ~shed shrubs and many of theadult shrubs, thereby con- trollmg the shrub populat~on Today, fire IS much less frequent and IS prevented altogether In some areas. Prescr~bed burn~ng before any potential wddflre season w~ll both control shrubs and hm~t the spread of wddfires Three constraints to the adopt~on of prescrtbed burn~ng are recogn~sed economlc benefits are ma~nly real~sed over a 10-20 year term: * grazlers have l~ttle experience and Infrequent opportunltles to learn about fire; grazlers are reluctant to accept the nsks associated with burnmg. If semi-and woodlands are to be burnt at a frequency necessary for shrub control. grazlng pressures may need to be reduced to husband the vlgour of perenn~al pasture plants Opponun~st~c burnlng should take place at times of w~despread shrub seedl~ngestabl~shment. Prescribed burnlng IS the only known method for broad-scale shrub control and relevant State departments and grazlers are urged to collaborate In prescr~bed burn~ng to a regonal strategy. rather than property by property

Inspection of field plantings of diverse cruciferous species, mainly oilseed varieties sown for agronomic assessment at Crawley, (31.99°S, 115.82°E), Western Australia, in September 2012, indicated the occurrence of extensive leaf and stem colonization by powdery mildew at the late flowering stage, with whitish patches 3 to 4 cm in length on stems of Brassica campestris var. pekinensis, B. carinata, B. oleracea var. capitata, B. rapa, Eruca sativa, and E. vesicaria. These patches coalesced to form a dense, white, powdery layer. Infected leaves showed signs of early senescence. Pathogenicity was demonstrated from transferring field inoculum from the most susceptible variety by pressing diseased leaves onto leaves of the six potted plant species, and incubating plants in a moist chamber for 48 hours post-inoculation (hpi) in an air-conditioned glasshouse approximating 25°C. Signs of powdery mildew were evident by 7 days post-inoculation (dpi), and well developed symptoms by 10 dpi and as observed in the field. Uninoculated control plants did not develop powdery mildew. On all inoculated species, abundant conidia typical of those produced by Erysiphe cruciferarum were observed, matching the descriptions of conidia given by Purnell and Sivanesan (3), with cylindrical conidia typically borne singly or in short chains. Mycelia were amphigenous, in patches, often spreading to become effused. Conidiophores were 3 to 4 cells, unbranched, and foot cells cylindrical. Across all host species, conidia were mostly produced singly with overall mean measured lengths 19.7 to 35.4 μm (mean 26.9 μm), and measured widths 7.1 to 12.9 μm (mean 9.7 μm), from measurements taken on 200 conidia for each of the six different species. Spore sizes measured approximated those found for E. cruciferarum by Kaur et al. (1) on B. juncea in Western Australia (viz. 21.2 to 35.4 × 8.8 to 15.9 μm), but were smaller than those reported by Purnell and Sivanesan (3) (viz. 30 to 40 × 12 to 16 μm) or by Koike and Saenz (1) (viz. 35 to 50 × 12 to 21 μm). We confirmed a length-to-width ratio >2 (mean range 2.7 to 2.8 across all six species) as found by both Purnell and Sivanesan (3) and Koike and Saenz (2). Amplification of the internal transcribed spacer (ITS)1 and (ITS)2 regions flanking the 5.8S rRNA gene was carried out with universal primers ITS1 and ITS4 and PCR products from E. cruciferarum from B. oleracea var. capitata and B. rapa sequenced. BLAST analyses to compare sequences with those in GenBank showed a >99% nucleotide identity for E. cruciferarum. In Western Australia, E. cruciferarum has been recorded on B. napus var. napobrassica since 1971 (4), B. napus since 1986 (4), and on B. juncea since 2008 (1). In other regions of Australia, E. cruciferarum has been recorded on B. campestris, B. oleracea var. capitata, B. oleracea var. acephala, B. napus, B. napus var. naprobrassica, and B. rapa var. rapa. To the best of our knowledge, this is the first record of E. cruciferarum on B. campestris var. pekinensis, B. carinata, E. sativa, and E. vesicaria in Australia and on B. rapa and B. oleracea var. capitata in Western Australia. Powdery mildew epidemics on other brassicas in Western Australia are generally sporadic and it remains to be seen what the impact of this disease will be on these new host species. References: (1) P. Kaur et al. Plant Dis. 92:650, 2008. (2) S. T. Koike and G. S. Saenz. Plant Dis. 81:1093, 1997. (3) T. J. Purnell and A. Sivanesan. No. 251 in IMI Descriptions of Fungi and Bacteria, 1970. (4) R. G. Shivas. J. Royal Soc. West. Aust. 72:1, 1989.

Este artigo buscou analisar os efeitos dinâmicos da sazonalidade climática sobre a morfologia e sedimentação de praias oceânicas da Amazônia durante as estações chuvosa e menos chuvosa. A importância deste estudo foi demonstrar um comportamento deposicional de sedimentos nestas praias de uma estação climática à outra. A metodologia consistiu em perfilagem topográfica nas praias dos setores: oeste (Corvina e Maçarico), central (Farol Velho) e leste (Atalaia) de Salinópolis (PA), amostragem de sedimentos, análise granulométrica com aplicação de parâmetros estatísticos e medições de altura e período de ondas. O diâmetro médio dos sedimentos consistiu predominantemente de areia fina (2,6 a 2,8 phi), muito bem a bem selecionada (0,2 a 0,5). A assimetria variou, principalmente, entre positiva (0,10 a 0,30) e aproximadamente simétrica (-0,10 a 0,10). O grau de curtose entre muito platicúrtica (<0,67) a muito leptocúrtica (1,50 a 3,00). As alturas de ondas foram mais elevadas no setor leste (máximo de 1,05 m) e períodos de ondas foram mais curtos (< 4,5 s) no setor oeste. As praias apresentaram declives suaves (< 1,5°) e grandes variações na largura entre as estações do ano (9,6 a 88,4 m). Predominou o estado morfodinâmico dissipativo (Ω>5,5), mas com ocorrência do estado de banco e calha longitudinais (4,7<Ω<5,5) no setor oeste. Foi observada acreção sedimentar da estação chuvosa a menos chuvosa em todas as praias. O transporte transversal de sedimentos foi elevado, especialmente no sentido onshore (máximo: 11x10-3 kg/s/m, setor leste). No setor central foi baixo (mínimo: 0,72x10-3 kg/s/m), favorecendo tendências erosivas neste local. Morphology and Sedimentation in Ocean Beaches in the Eastern Amazon during the Annual Rain Variation A B S T R A C TThis paper aimed to analyze the dynamic effects of climatic seasonality on the morphology and sedimentation of oceanic beaches in the Amazon during the rainy and less rainy seasons. The importance of this study was to demonstrate a depositional behavior of sediments on these beaches from one climatic season to another. The methodology consisted of topographic profiling on the beaches of the sectors: west (Corvina and Maçarico), central (Farol Velho) and east (Atalaia) of Salinópolis (PA), sediment sampling, grain-size analysis with application of statistical parameters and measurements of height and wave period. The mean diameter of the sediments consisted predominantly of fine sand (2.6 to 2.8 phi), well sorted and very well sorted (0.2 to 0.5). The asymmetry varied, mainly, between positive (0.10 to 0.30) and nearly symmetrical (-0.10 to 0.10). The degree of kurtosis between very platykurtic (<0.67) to very leptokurtic (1.50 to 3.00). The wave heights were higher on the eastern sector (maximum 1.05 m) and wave periods were shorter (<4.5 s) on the western sector. The beaches presented smooth slopes (<1.5°) and great variations in width between the seasons (9.6 to 88.4 m). The dissipative morphodynamic state (Ω > 5.5) predominated, but with the occurrence of the longshore bar and trough (4.7 < Ω <5.5) in the western sector. Sedimentary accretion from the rainy to less rainy season was observed on all beaches. Cross-shore sediment transport was high, especially in the onshore (maximum: 11x10-3 kg.s-1.m-1, east sector). In the central sector it was low (minimum: 0.72x10-3 kg.s-1.m-1), favoring erosive trends in this location.Keywords: Beach, Morphodynamic, Grain-Size, Amazon.

Basil is grown as a specialty crop in greenhouse and field production in Florida and other regions of the United States. Downy mildew on basil (Ocimum basilicum) was detected from four production sites (Collier, Hendry, Miami-Dade, and Palm Beach counties) in south Florida in the fall of 2007, and within months, it was also found in west-central north Florida (Hillsborough County). Incidence reached nearly 100% on some of the affected crops and caused complete yield losses on basil grown both in the field for fresh market and potted herbs market. Symptoms developed during transit on basil that appeared symptomless at harvest. Symptoms initially appeared as yellowing on the lower leaves that was typically delineated by the veins, although in some cases the entire leaf area of the leaf surface was affected. A gray, fuzzy growth was apparent on the abaxial leaf surface. Microscopic observation detected dichotomous branching, hyaline sporangiophores (220 to 750 × 4 to 9 μm) bearing single sporangia. Sporangia were light brown, ovoid to slightly ellipsoid, and measured 14 to 15 × 15 to 18 μm. Oospores were not observed. Leaves of potted basil plants and coleus (Solenostemon scutellarioides) were inoculated with a suspension containing 1 × 105 sporangia/ml and sprayed till runoff (approximately 15 ml per plant) with a hand-held pressurized aerosol canister. Plants were covered with a plastic bag for 24 h and maintained in the greenhouse under ambient conditions. Noninoculated plants served as controls. After 7 days, symptoms typical of downy mildew occurred only on the inoculated basil plants and sporulation was confirmed microscopically. The internal transcribed spacer regions of an isolate collected in Hendry County were sequenced bidirectionally. The consensus sequence was deposited into GenBank (Accession No. FJ346561). Sequence data matched (100% homology) with a Peronospora sp. reported on sweet basil in Switzerland (GenBank Accession No. AY884605) and was similar (99% homology) to an isolate (GenBank Accession No. DQ523586) reported on coleus, although inoculation to coleus failed to confirm pathogenicity on this host. The sequence data also distinguished the isolate from P. lamii (87% homology) previously reported to occur on basil. The pathogen was identified as a Peronospora sp. based on morphological characteristics and sequencing homology (1–3). References: (1) L. Belbahri et al. Mycol. Res. 109:1276, 2005. (2) S. Francis. CMI Descriptions of Pathogenic Fungi and Bacteria. No. 688. CMI, Kew, England, 1981. (3) A. McLeod et al. Plant Dis. 90:1115, 2006.

Abstract This paper presents the most recent and detailed Holocene palynological research carried out on the Congolese Atlantic littoral, in the region of Pointe-Noire, as part of the ECOFIT program (CNRS-IRD). The results are obtained on two continental sedimentary sequences (core S2 from Songolo site: 4 degrees 45'51"S, 11 degrees 51'55"E, alt. 5 m and core 2 from Coraf site: 4 degrees 45'S, 11 degrees 51'E, alt. 1 m). Pollen data and interpretation are completed on the Songolo sequence by mineralogical (quartz, kaolinite, TOM) and isotopic (delta 13 C on organic matter) analysis allowing a continuous reconstruction of the Congolese littoral palaeoenvironments from 7000 yr. cal B.P. onwards. The Congolese coastal plain is today a mosaic of forest-grassland. Sandy open short savanna largely occurs with as dominant grass Loudetia arundinacea. Locally, Symphonia globulifera swamp forests are present along rivers and in flooded areas. Mangrove with Rhizophora is not well developed except along the Kouilou estuarine. The climate is characterized by mean annual precipitation not exceeding 1300 mm and temperature ranging between 22 and 25 degrees C. The core S2 from Songolo site was extracted using a piston corer. The coring site is today a peat building swamp with abundant Cyperus papyrus. The local dominant trees are Raphia and Alstonia. The presence of Elaeis guineensis (oil palm) and Mangifera indica (mango) testifies of a recent human occupation of this area. The core Coraf 2 was collected on the beach by manual penetration of PVC tube. On the two studied cores, dating control is provided by thirteen 14 C conventional and AMS dates performed on total organic matter. The ages are reported with equivalent ranges in calendar years. The present pollen, mineralogical and isotopic records, completed by previous other data (mainly macroflora remains), give new informations on vegetation and hydrological changes at local and regional scale since 7000 yr. cal B.P. on the Congolese littoral, in relation to climatic and sea level changes. The main conclusions can be summarized as follows. During the middle Holocene (7000-3000 yr. cal B.P.), expansion of swamp dense forests with Pandanus, Anthostema, Hallea, Symphonia globulifera, Syzygium, and also of mangrove (Rhizophora), as testified by pollen analysis, gives evidence of high rainfall which is also supported at Songolo by the abundance of kaolinite and quartz, an increase in the amorphous silica and delta 13 C low values typical of C 3 biomasse until 3000 yr. cal. B.P. At the same time, the occurrence in macroflora remains of trees such as Saccoglottis gabonensis, Ongokea gore and several species of Monopetalanthus that are found today in the Mont de Cristal forest in Gabon, under 2000-2500 mm of annual rainfall, confirms this climatic interpretation. A major change is registered ca. 3000 yr. cal B.P., characterized by the regression of the swamp forests which are replaced by herbaceous formations dominated by Cyperaceae and ferns, the disappearance of mangrove near the Songolo site, an important decrease in mineral influx (quartz and kaolinite) and increase in organic matter content. Increase in delta 13 C values during this period shows that most of the organic fraction derives from C 4 plants, probably linked to local expansion of Cyperus papyrus. This change, well known at this time on several sites from Central Atlantic Africa, is mainly linked to a progressive regional deterioration of climate towards aridity. On the Songolo site, the presence of fresh water taxa such as Nymphaea lotus supports an absence of marine water influence, indicating a sea level regressive episode well known, at the same time, along the West African coast. During the most recent period, despite more favourable climatic conditions (rainfall), no re-extension of littoral swamp forests is detected. These results are mainly related to the location of the studied sites, in an area of particularly intense human impact as shown by the occurrence of Elaeis guineensis (oil palm) in macroflora remains recovered from numerous archeological sites. The multidisciplinary data presented here correlate well with previous records from Central Atlantic Africa (Congo and Cameroon). The general similarity of the registered changes during the last 7000 yr cal B.P. strongly supports a regional climatic interpretation.

Rapid urbanization rates impact significantly on the nature of Land Cover patterns of the environment, which has been evident in the depletion of vegetal reserves and in general modifying the human climatic systems (Henderson, et al., 2017; Kumar, Masago, Mishra, & Fukushi, 2018; Luo and Lau, 2017). This study explores remote sensing classification technique and other auxiliary data to determine LULCC for a period of 50 years (1967-2016). The LULCC types identified were quantitatively evaluated using the change detection approach from results of maximum likelihood classification algorithm in GIS. Accuracy assessment results were evaluated and found to be between 56 to 98 percent of the LULC classification. The change detection analysis revealed change in the LULC types in Minna from 1976 to 2016. Built-up area increases from 74.82ha in 1976 to 116.58ha in 2016. Farmlands increased from 2.23 ha to 46.45ha and bared surface increases from 120.00ha to 161.31ha between 1976 to 2016 resulting to decline in vegetation, water body, and wetlands. The Decade of rapid urbanization was found to coincide with the period of increased Public Private Partnership Agreement (PPPA). Increase in farmlands was due to the adoption of urban agriculture which has influence on food security and the environmental sustainability. The observed increase in built up areas, farmlands and bare surfaces has substantially led to reduction in vegetation and water bodies. The oscillatory nature of water bodies LULCC which was not particularly consistent with the rates of urbanization also suggests that beyond the urbanization process, other factors may influence the LULCC of water bodies in urban settlements.
 Keywords: Minna, Niger State, Remote Sensing, Land Surface Characteristics
 
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Kuta beach in Bali is a world-famous tourist destination has been suffering from marine litters (or debris) disaster almost every year. Mitigation efforts have been carried out by the local government started from educating the people as well as continuing mass cleaning campaigns for the stranded litters in the beach. The research has an objective to understand the physical processes of marine debris characteristics in Kuta such as its propagation and distribution along the coastline and in the water columns during the two different seasons (West Monsoon and Transitional seasons). A hydrodynamic model was developed to investigate the transport of marine litters from their sources by considering the tide-driven surface currents and wind. Field surveys were also conducted to assess marine litter’s characteristics in the surface and in the sea beds for both plastic and wood types of litters. Hydrodynamic simulation shows that the surface current ranging from 0.05 – 1.75 m/s is capable of transporting marine surface debris from Bali Straits and other sources in the South of Bali to Kuta during West Monsoon season. The collected litters during the West Monsoon season were four times larger in quantity. The concentration of litters in the seabed and in the water column is larger near to the coastline than further offshore. In the meantime, during Transitional season, Kuta was completely free from marine litters. Results from surveys also showed that the most effective measures for marine litters in Kuta is self-awareness of the people to keep the environment clean.

For the management of molluscan stocks, knowledge of various population parameters and exploitation level of the population are needed. The present study assessed the population dynamics on the rock oyster Saccostrea cucullata (Born, 1778) in Karnataka State, south India. The specimens of S. cucullata were collected from Baindur rocky beach at monthly intervals from June 2010 to May 2011. Asymptotic length (L∞) estimated was 57.8 mm and growth coefficient (K) was estimated at 1.4 year-1. The sizes attained were 45.30, 54.72 and 57.04 mm at the end of first, second and third years of age, respectively. Total mortality (Z) was 5.24 year-1. Natural mortality (M) and fishing mortality (F) were 1.40 and 3.84 year-1 respectively. The life span of S. cucullata was estimated as 2.5 years approximately. Exploitation level (E) was computed as 0.73, indicating that the fishery of S. cucullata in the coastal waters of Karnataka Is overexploited.

GEO-ECOLOGYCAL STUDY OF SOME DUNE SYSTEMS IN THE PORTUGUESEESTREMADURA. The Portuguese Estremadura coastal area between Nazaré and Peniche displays great variety of landforms. Most are cliff systems cut in sedimentary rocks with incisions controlled by tectonic activity. In the river mouths sand bars and beaches are present. Beach systems make up about 40% of the referred coastline and have ridges of diverse form and size, and rates of vegetation cover. These dunes appear on the inland side of the beach or even backshore as a result of erosion. They may have piled up into sand backs that cut off the lagoon estuaries to the West in the historic period. The geomorphologic and sedimentary characteristics that appear permit the identification of double ridges separated by interdunal corridors or depressions in West Nazaré, S. Martinho do Porto and Peniche (Consolação) and in a simple and continuous form in Baleal. This difference could be related with local topography, wind/wave climatology and/or vegetation cover. With regard to flora and vegetation, psammphitic and halonitrophilous pioneer plants that colonise foreshore ecosystems and transitions to backshore are Salsolo kali-Cakiletum aegyptiacae in the studied area. Springtime terophitic is sparse and grows where organic remains have accumulated. Flat backshore areas which are overrun by sea during spring-tides and storms are colonised by open vegetation, predominantly Elymus boreli-atlanticus (Euphorbio-Agropyretum junceiformis). Alongside the clumps of marran grass, on the backshore and on the crests of white dunes, Loto-Ammophiletum grows abundantly together with Otanthus maritimus and Lotus creticus. Grey dunes, which are further away from the effects of the ocean (winds and salinity), are characterised by relative sand stability and a succession of dune peaks and interdune corridors with thermophilic associated Armerio welwitschii-Cruciannelletum. The openings display terophitic associated Violo-Silenetum litoreae with Atlantic features. The mature stage of the system consist in the more interior stabilised dune of dense shrubs, consisting mostly of Juniperus turbinata (Osyrio-Juniperetum turbinatae).

Abstract. Tasik S, Widyastuti SM, Musyafa, Suryanto P. 2021. Vegetation diversity and its interspecies association with merbau (Intsia bijuga) at three habitats of tropical rain forest in West Papua, Indonesia. Biodiversitas 22: 3383-3391. The stability of vegetation community indicated by species diversity, structure and composition affects the relationship between species. The understanding of interspecies association in their natural habitat is important especially for management and conservation strategies of species with particular interest, including merbau (Intsia bijuga O. Colebr Kuntze), a timber tree species with high commercial value. This study aims to investigate the diversity and composition of vegetation coexisting with merbau, and to see whether there is pattern of interspecies association with merbau. Vegetation analyses of species richness, diversity index, evenness index and interspecies relationship were conducted at three research locations in West Papua, Indonesia, namely Mount Meja Natural Tourism Park (Hutan Taman Wisata Alam Gunung Meja/HTWAGM), Bembab Beach Forest of South Manokwari (Hutan Bembab Pantai Manokwari Selatan/HBPMS) and Bembab Mountain Forest of South Manokwari (Hutan Bembab Gunung Manokwari Selatan/HBGMS). The results showed that the species Caryota rumphiana, Licuala sp 1, Calophyllum inophyllum, Garcinia pichoriza, Pometia coreacea and Pometia pinnata always grew side by side with Intsia bijuga in three locations. Furthermore, the association analysis indicated a positive and strong relationship between Intsia bijuga and Pometia coreacea, Licuala sp1, Licuala sp 2, Caryota rumphiana at all three research sites. In addition, Pometia coracea had the highest Chi-square value (X2 = 20.00) with the value of the three association indexes reached maximum value. We also found that the vegetation communities in the habitat of merbau had varying vegetation structure and composition as well as biodiversity indicators, yet they were all at stable state. The finding on vegetation analyses was confirmed with the result of soil analyses in which the physical and chemical properties had optimal conditions for vegetation to grow, including for merbau.


 
 
 My message is this in regard to SMS messages and swarming crowds; this is ludicrous behaviour; it is unAustralian. We all share this wonderful country. (NSW Police Assistant Commissioners Mark Goodwin, quoted in Kennedy)
 
 
 The cops hate and fear the swarming packs of Lebanese who respond when some of their numbers are confronted, mobilising quickly via mobile phones and showing open contempt for Australian law. All this is the real world, as distinct from the world preferred by ideological academics who talk about “moral panic” and the oppression of Muslims. They will see only Australian racism as the problem. (Sheehan)
 
 
 The Politics of Transmission
 
 On 11 December 2005, as Sydney was settling into early summer haze, there was a race riot on the popular Cronulla beach in the city’s southern suburbs. Hundreds of people, young men especially, gathered for a weekend protest. Their target and pretext were visitors from the culturally diverse suburbs to the west, and the need to defend their women and beaches in the face of such unwelcome incursions and behaviours. In the ensuing days, there were violent raids and assaults criss-crossing back and forth across Sydney’s beaches and suburbs, involving almost farcical yet deadly earnest efforts to identify, respectively, people of “anglo” or “Middle Eastern” appearance (often specifically “Lebanese”) and to threaten or bash them. At the very heart of this state of siege and the fear, outrage, and sadness that gripped those living in Sydney were the politics of transmission. The spark that set off this conflagration was widely believed to have been caused by the transmission of racist and violent “calls to arms” via mobile text messages.
 
 Predictably perhaps media outlets sought out experts on text messaging and cell phone culture for commentary, including myself and most mainstream media appeared interested in portraying a fascination for texting and reinforcing its pivotal role in the riots. In participating in media interviews, I found myself torn between wishing to attest to the significance and importance of cell phone culture and texting, on the one hand (or thumb perhaps), while being extremely sceptical about its alleged power in shaping these unfolding events, on the other — not to mention being disturbed about the ethical implications of what had unfolded. In this article, I wish to discuss the subject of transmission and the power of mobile texting culture, something that attracted much attention elsewhere — and to which the Sydney riots offer a fascinating and instructive lesson.
 
 My argument runs like this. Mobile phone culture, especially texting, has emerged over the past decade, and has played a central role in communicative and cultural practice in many countries and contexts as scholars have shown (Glotz and Bertschi; Harper, Palen and Taylor). Among other features, texting often plays a significant, if not decisive, role in co-ordinated as well as spontaneous social and political organization and networks, if not, on occasion, in revolution. However, it is important not to over-play the role, significance and force of such texting culture in the exercise of power, or the formation of collective action and identities (whether mobs, crowds, masses, movements, or multitudes). I think texting has been figured in such a hyperbolic and technological determinist way, especially, and ironically, through how it has been represented in other media (print, television, radio, and online). The difficulty then is to identify the precise contribution of mobile texting in organized and disorganized social networks, without the antimonies conferred alternatively by dystopian treatments (such as moral panic) or utopian ones (such as the technological sublime) — something which I shall try to elucidate in what follows.
 
 On the Beach Again
 
 Largely caught unawares and initially slow to respond, the New South Wales state government responded with a massive show of force and repression. 2005 had been marked by the state and Federal enactment of draconian terror laws. Now here was an opportunity for the government to demonstrate the worth of the instruments and rationales for suppression of liberties, to secure public order against threats of a more (un)civil than martial order. Outflanking the opposition party on law-and-order rhetoric once again, the government immediately formulated new laws to curtail accused and offender’s rights (Brown). The police “locked” down whole suburbs — first Cronulla, then others — and made a show of policing all beaches north and south (Sydney Morning Herald).
 
 The race riots were widely reported in the international press, and, not for the first time (especially since the recent Redfern and Macquarie Fields), the city’s self-image of a cosmopolitan, multicultural nation (or in Australian Prime Minister John Howard’s prim and loaded terms, a nation “relaxed and comfortable”) looked like a mirage. Debate raged on why the riots occurred, how harmony could be restored and what the events signified for questions of race and identity — the latter most narrowly construed in the Prime Minister’s insistence that the riots did not reflect underlying racism in Australia (Dodson, Timms and Creagh). There were suggestions that the unrest was rather at base about the contradictions and violence of masculinity, some two-odd decades after Puberty Blues — the famous account of teenage girls growing up on the (Cronulla) Shire beaches. Journalists agonized about whether the media amounted to reporter or amplifier of tensions. 
 
 In the lead-up to the riots, at their height, and in their wake, there was much emphasis on the role mobile text messages played in creating the riots and sustaining the subsequent atmosphere of violence and racial tension (The Australian; Overington and Warne-Smith). Not only were text messages circulating in the Sydney area, but in other states as well (Daily Telegraph). The volume of such text messages and emails also increased in the wake of the riot (certainly I received one personally from a phone number I did not recognise). New messages were sent to exhort Lebanese-Australians and others to fight back. Those decrying racism, such as the organizers of a rally, pointedly circulated text messages, hoping to spread peace.
 
 Media commentators, police, government officials, and many others held such text messages directly and centrally responsible for organizing the riot and for the violent scuffles that followed: 
 
 The text message hate mail that inspired 5000 people to attend the rally at Cronulla 10 days ago demonstrated to the police the power of the medium. The retaliation that followed, when gangs marauded through Maroubra and Cronulla, was also co-ordinated by text messaging (Davies).
 
 
 It is rioting for a tech-savvy generation. Mobile phones are providing the call to arms for the tribes in the race war dividing Sydney. More than 5000 people turn up to Cronulla on Sunday … many were drawn to the rally, which turned into a mob, by text messages on their mobiles (Hayes and Kearney).
 
 
 Such accounts were crucial to the international framing of the events as this report from The Times in London illustrates: 
 
 In the days leading up to the riot racist text messages had apparently been circulating calling upon concerned “white” Australians to rally at Cronulla to defend their beach and women. Following the attacks on the volunteer lifeguards, a mobile telephone text campaign started, backed up by frenzied discussions on weblogs, calling on Cronulla locals to rally to protect their beach. In response, a text campaign urged youths from western Sydney to be at Cronulla on Sunday to protect their friends (Maynard).
 
 
 There were calls upon the mobile companies to intercept and ban such messages, with industry spokespeople pointing out text messages were usually only held for twenty-four hours and were in many ways more difficult to intercept than it was to tap phone calls (Burke and Cubby).
 
 Mobs and Messages
 
 I think there are many reasons to suggest that the transmission of text messages did constitute a moral panic (what I’ve called elsewhere a “mobile panic”; see Goggin), pace columnist Paul Sheehan. Notably the wayward texting drew a direct and immediate response from the state government, with legislative changes that included provisions allowing the confiscation of cell phones and outlawing sending, receipt or keeping of racist or inflammatory text messages. For some days police proceeded to stop cars and board buses and demand to inspect mobiles, checking and reading text messages, arresting at least one person for being responsible for transmitting banned text messages. 
 
 However, there is another important set of ideas adduced by commentators to explain how people came together to riot in Sydney, taking their cue from Howard Rheingold’s 2002 book Smart Mobs, a widely discussed and prophetic text on social revolution and new technologies. Rheingold sees text messaging as the harbinger of such new, powerful forms of collectivity, studying emergent uses around the world. A prime example he uses to illustrate the “power of the mobile many” is the celebrated overthrow of President Joseph Estrada of the Philippines in January 2001:
 
 President Joseph Estrada of the Philippines became the first head of state in history to lose power to a smart mob. More than 1 million Manila residents, mobilized and coordinated by waves of text messages, assembled … Estrada fell. The legend of “Generation Txt” was born (Rheingold 157-58).
 
 
 Rheingold is careful to emphasize the social as much as technical nature of this revolution, yet still sees such developments leading to “smart mobs”. As with his earlier, prescient book Virtual Community (Rheingold 1993) did for the Internet, so has Smart Mobs compellingly fused and circulated a set of ideas about cell phones and the pervasive, wearable and mobile technologies that are their successors.
 
 The received view of the overthrow of the Estrada government is summed up in a remark attributed to Estrada himself: “I was ousted by a coup d’text” (Pertierra et al. ch. 6). The text-toppling of Estrada is typically attributed to “Generation Txt”, underlining the power of text messaging and the new social category which marks it, and has now passed into myth. What is less well-known is that the overriding role of the cell phone in the Estrada overthrow has been challenged. 
 
 In the most detailed study of text messaging and subjectivity in the Philippines, which reviewed accounts of the events of the Estrada overthrow, as well as conducting interviews with participants, Pertierra et al. discern in EDSA2 a “utopian vision of the mobile phone that is characteristic of ‘discourses of sublime technology’”:
 
 It focuses squarely on the mobile phone, and ignores the people who used it … the technology is said to possess a mysterious force, called “Text Power” ... it is the technology that does things — makes things happen — not the people who use it. (Pertierra et al. ch. 6)
 
 
 Given the recrudescence of the technological sublime in digital media (on which see Mosco) the detailed examination of precise details and forms of agency and coordination using cell phones is most instructive. Pertierra et al. confirm that 
 
 the cell phone did play an important role in EDSA2 (the term given to the events surrounding the downfall of Estrada). That role, however, was not the one for which it has usually been praised in the media since the event — namely, that of crowd-drawer par excellence … less than half of our survey respondents who took part in People Power 2 noted that text messaging influenced them to go. If people did attend, it was because they were persuaded to by an ensemble of other reasons … (2002: ch. 6)
 
 
 Instead, they argue, the significance of the cell phone lay 
 
 firstly, in the way it helped join people who disapproved of Pres. Estrada in a network of complex connectivity … Secondly, the mobile phone was instrumental as an organizational device … In the hands of activists and powerbrokers from politics, the military, business groups and civil society, the mobile phone becomes a “potent communications tool” … (Pertierra et al. 2002: ch. 6)
 
 
 What this revisionist account of the Estrada coup underscores is that careful research and analysis is required to understand how SMS is used and what it signifies. Indeed it is worth going further to step back from either the celebratory or minatory discourses on the cell phone and its powerful effects, and reframe this set of events as very much to do with the mutual construction of society and technology, in which culture is intimately involved. This involves placing both the technology of text messaging and the social and political forces manifested in this uprising in a much wider setting. For instance, in his account of the Estrada crisis Vicente L. Rafael terms the tropes of text messaging and activism evident in the discourses surrounding it as:
 
 a set of telecommunicative fantasies among middle-class Filipinos … [that] reveal certain pervasive beliefs of the middle classes … in the power of communication technologies to transmit messages at a distance and in their own ability to possess that power (Rafael 399). 
 
 
 For Rafael, rather than possessing instrinsic politics in its own right, text messaging here is about a “media politics (understood in both senses of the phrase: the politics of media systems, but also the inescapable mediation of the political) [that] reveal the unstable workings of Filipino middle-class sentiments” (400). 
 
 “Little Square of Light”
 
 Doubtless there are emergent cultural and social forms created in conjunction with new technologies, which unfreeze and open up (for a time) social relations. As my discussion of the Estrada “coup d’text” shows, however, the dynamics of media, politics and technology in any revolution or riot need to be carefully traced. 
 
 A full discussion of mobile media and the Sydney uprising will need to wait for another occasion. However, it is worth noting that the text messages in question to which the initial riot had been attributed, were actually read out on one of the country’s highest-rating and most influential talk-radio programs. The contents of such messages had also been detailed in print media, especially tabloids, and been widely discussed (McLellan, Marr). What remains unknown and unclear, however, is the actual use of text messages and cell phones in the conceiving, co-ordination, and improvisational dynamics of the riots, and affective, cultural processing of what occurred. 
 
 Little retrospective interpretation at all has emerged in the months since the riots, but it certainly felt as if the police and state’s over-reaction, and the arrival of the traditionally hot and lethargic Christmas — combined with the underlying structures of power and feeling to achieve the reinstitution of calm, or rather perhaps the habitual, much less invisible, expression of whiteness as usual. The policing of the crisis had certainly been fuelled by the mobile panic, but setting law enforcement the task of bringing those text messages to book was much like asking them to catch the wind. 
 
 For analysts, as well as police, the novel and salience appearance of texting also has a certain lure. Yet in concentrating on the deadly power of the cell phone to conjure up a howling or smart mob, or in the fascination with the new modes of transmission of mobile devices, it is important to give credit to the formidable, implacable role of media and cultural representations more generally, in all this, as they are transmitted, received, interpreted and circulated through old as well as new modes, channels and technologies.
 
 References
 
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 Citation reference for this article
 
 MLA Style
 Goggin, Gerard. "SMS Riot: Transmitting Race on a Sydney Beach, December 2005." M/C Journal 9.1 (2006). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0603/02-goggin.php>. APA Style
 Goggin, G. (Mar. 2006) "SMS Riot: Transmitting Race on a Sydney Beach, December 2005," M/C Journal, 9(1). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0603/02-goggin.php>. 

Parangtritis beach, located in a coastal aquifer at the southern part of Yogyakarta Province, Indonesia is bounded by the Indian Ocean at the South, Opak River at the West, and Tertiary Limestone Rock to the East. Local land-use is predominantly agriculture, rice fields and settlements and the population is estimated to be 9,386 persons as per the 2012 census. The total surface area is estimated at 9.46 km2. The aims of this research were to understand the system of groundwater and to assess and predict saltwater intrusion by conducting a numerical groundwater model. Hydrological and hydrogeological data were collected directly from the field and from previous work for input into the model. The model simulates an unconfined aquifer system where the aquifer thickness varies from 30-40 meters. The material of the aquifer consists of sand varying from fine to coarse grain size and fine gravel with hydraulic conductivity values of 8.974 × 10−4, 1.794 × 10−3, and 1.337 × 10−3 m/s at the northern, central, and southern part of the research area, respectively. The maximum length of the saltwater interface was estimated at about 205.1 m laterally and 40 m vertically relative to the location of the groundwater table around 1m above sea level. Direction of groundwater flow is from north to south. Groundwater table elevation equals 5 m at the north and 0 m at the south with a hydraulic gradient estimated at about 2.45 × 10−3. As a result of a steady-state simulation as well as two cases of prediction for five and ten years in the future, it is determined that that the salinity of the surrounding environment is not potentially adverse to the groundwater quality in the study area. This is in part due to low population in this area and abundant groundwater resources, as well as the results of the groundwater model. Keywords: Coastal aquifer, numerical groundwater model, conceptual model, observed heads

Introduction: The prevalence of dental anxiety appears to be relatively consistent throughout the world, but some studies reports higher levels than others. This may be related to different instruments used. Objective: to identify and describe the main instruments used in the assessment of dental anxiety in adolescents. Material and Methods: Literature review. Original studies involving adolescents, in which the methodology comprised the application of some instrument to identify and / or quantify the phenomenon, were included. The search was limited to English, Portuguese and Spanish publications in the period between 2012 and 2016. Reviews, Meta-analyzes and case reports were excluded. The selected databases were MEDLINE (via PubMed) and LILACS (via BVS); and the search was developed with the following descriptors: 'dental anxiety', 'adolescents', 'Surveys and Questionnaires' (MeSH), combined by the Boolean operator AND. Results: Ten psychometric instruments are available to assess dental anxiety. The most frequently used instrument is the Dental Anxiety Scale (DAS), presented in nine studies. Less frequently used is the Facial Image Scale (FIS), presented in only one investigation. Most of the instruments affords translations into other languages, including Portuguese. Conclusion: The most used instrument is the DAS, followed by its modified version, the MDAS. Usually, more than one instrument has been used to correlate the findings and to provide the measured construct a greater consistency.Descriptors: Dental Anxiety; Adolescent; Surveys and Questionnaires.ReferencesStenebrand A, Wide Boman U, Hakeberg M. Dental anxiety and symptoms of general anxiety and depression in 15‐year‐olds. Int J Dent Hyg. 2013; 11(2):99-104.American Psychiatric Association. DSM-5: Manual diagnóstico e estatístico de transtornos mentais. São Paulo:Artmed; 2014.Folayan MO, Idehen EE, Ojo OO. The modulating effect of culture on the expression of dental anxiety in children: a literature review. Int J Paediatr Dent. 2014;14(4):241-45.Hathiwala S, Acharya S, Patil S. Personality and psychological factors: Effects on dental beliefs. J Indian Soc Pedod Prev Dent. 2015;33(2):88-92.Jaakkola S, Lahti S, Räihä H, Saarinen M, Tolvanen M, Aroma et al. Dental fear affects adolescent perception of interaction with dental staff. Eur J Oral Sci. 2014;122(5):339-45.Murthy AK, Pramila M, Ranganath, S. Prevalence of clinical consequences of untreated dental caries and its relation to dental fear among 12–15-year-old schoolchildren in Bangalore city, India. Eur Arch Paediatr Dent. 2014;15(1):45-9.Lundgren GP, Karsten A, Dahllöf G. Oral health-related quality of life before and after crown therapy in young patients with amelogenesis imperfecta. Health Qual Life Outcomes. 2015;13:197Hollis A, Willcoxson F, Smith A, Balmer R. An investigation into dental anxiety amongst paediatric cardiology. patients. Int J Paediatr Dent. 2015;25(3):183-90.Viswanath D, Krishna AV. Correlation between dental anxiety, sense of coherence (SOC) and dental caries in school children from Bangalore North: A cross-sectional study. J Indian Soc of Pedod Prev Dent. 2015; 33:15-8.Soares FC, Souto G, Lofrano M, Colares V. Anxiety related to dental care in children and adolescents in a low-income Brazilian community. Eur Arch Paediatr Dent. 2015;16(2): 149-52.Moher D, Liberati A, Tetzlaff J, Altman DG, Prisma Group. Preferred reporting items for systematic reviews and meta-analyses: the PRISMA statement. PLoS Medicine. 2009;6(7):e1000097.Costa A, Terra JO, de Souza SMP, de Souza Terra F, Elias G, Freire R. Ansiedade ao tratamento odontológico em escolares do ensino médio no município de Alfenas-MG. Periodontia. 2014;24(2):13-8.Crego A, Carrillo‐Diaz M, Armfield J M, Romero M. Dental fear and expected effectiveness of destructive coping as predictors of children's uncooperative intentions in dental settings. Int J Paediatr Dent. 2015;25(3):191-98.Houtem CMHH, Wijk AJ, Boomsma DI, Ligthart L, Visscher CM, Jongh, A. Self-reported gagging in dentistry: prevalence, psycho-social correlates and oral health. J Oral Rehabil. 2015;42(7):487-94.Muppa R, Bhupatiraju P, Duddu M, Penumatsa NV, Dandempally A, Panthula P. Comparison of anxiety levels associated with noise in the dental clinic among children of age group 6-15 years. Noise Health. 2013;15(64):190-3.Östberg AL, Abrahamsson KH. Oral health locus of control in a Swedish adolescent population. Acta Odontol Scand. 2013;71(1):249-55.Patel H, Reid C, Wilson K, Girdler NM. Inter-rater agreement between children's self-reported and parents' proxy-reported dental anxiety. Br Dent J. 2015;218(4):E6.Taskinen H, Kankaala T, Rajavaara P, Pesonen P, Laitala ML, Anttonen V. Self-reported causes for referral to dental treatment under general anaesthesia (DGA): a cross-sectional survey. Eur Arch Paediatr Dent. 2014;15(2):10512.Viinikangas A, Lahti S, Yuan Pietilä I, Freeman R, Humphris G. Evaluating a single dental anxiety question in Finnish adults. Acta Odontol Scand. 2007;65(4):236-40.Carrillo-Diaz M, Crego A, Romero-Maroto M. The influence of gender on the relationship between dental anxiety and oral health-related emotional well-being. Int J Paediatr Dent. 2013;23(3):180-87.Crego A, Carrillo-Diaz M, Armfield JM, Romero M. Applying the Cognitive Vulnerability Model to the analysis of cognitive and family influences on children's dental fear. Eur J Oral Sci. 2013;121(3pt1):194-203.Marya CM, Grover S, Jnaneshwar A, Pruthi N. Dental anxiety among patients visiting a dental institute in Faridabad, India. West Indian Med J. 2012;61(2):187-90.Wiener RC. Dental fear and delayed dental care in Appalachia-West Virginia. J Dent Hyg. 2015; 89(4):274-81.Esa R, Ong AL, Humphris G, Freeman R. The relationship of dental caries and dental fear in Malaysian adolescents: a latent variable approach. BMC Oral Health. 2014;14:19.Stenebrand A, Wide Boman U, Hakeberg M. General fearfulness, attitudes to dental care, and dental anxiety in adolescents. Eur J Oral Sci. 2013;121(3pt2):252-57.Worsley DJ, Marshman Z, Robinson PG, Jones K. Evaluation of the telephone and clinical NHS urgent dental service in Sheffield. Community Dent Health. 2016;33(1):9-14.Majstorovic M, Morse DE, Do D, Lim LL, Herman NG, Moursi AM. Indicators of dental anxiety in children just prior to treatment. J Clin Pediatr Dent. 2014;39(1):12-7.Rantavuori K, Tolvanen M, Lahti S. Confirming the factor structure of modified CFSS-DS in Finnish children at different ages. Acta Odontol Scand.2012;70(5):421-25. Armfield JM. What goes around comes around: revisiting the hypothesized vicious cycle of dental fear and avoidance. Community Dent Oral Epidemiol. 2013;41(3):279-87.Carrillo-Diaz M, Crego A, Armfield JM, Romero M. Dental fear-related cognitive vulnerability perceptions, dental prevention beliefs, dental visiting, and caries: a cross-sectional study in Madrid (Spain). Community Dent Oral Epidemiol. 2015;43(4):375-84.Ferreira AMB, Colares V. Validation of the Brazilian Version of the Fear of Dental Pain Questionnaire-Short Form (S-FDPQ). Pesq Bras Odontoped Clin Integr. 2011;11(2):275-79.Toscano MA, Zacharczuk G, López GE, García MA. Ansiedad de los niños frente a la consulta odontológica: prevalencia y factores relacionados. Bol AAON. 2012;21(3):9-13.Corah NL. Development of a dental anxiety scale J Dent Res. 1969;48(4):596.Humphris GM, Dyer TA, Robinson PG. The modified dental anxiety scale: UK general public population norms in 2008 with further psychometrics and effects of age. BMC Oral Health. 2009;9:20.Howard KE, Freeman R. Reliability and validity of a faces version of the Modified Child Dental Anxiety Scale. Int J Paediatr Dent. 2007; 17(4):281-88.Kleinknecht RA, Klepac RK, Alexander LD. Origins and characteristics of fear of dentistry. J Am Dent Assoc. 1973;86(4):842-48.Schuurs AHB, Hoogstraten J. Appraisal of dental anxiety and fear questionnaires; a review. Community Dent Oral Epidemiol.1993; 21(6):329-39.Oliveira MA, Bendo CB, Paiva SM, Vale M, Serra-Negra JM. Determining cut-off points for the dental fear survey. ScientificWorldJournal. 2015;2015:983564Marginean I, Filimon L. Dental Fear Survey: a validation study on the Romanian population. JPER. 2011;19(2):124-38.Neverlien PO. Assessment of a single-item dental anxiety question. Acta Odontol Scand. 1990;48(6):365-69.Cuthbert MI, Melamed BG. A screening device: Children at risk for dental fear and management problems. ASDC J Dent Child. 1982;49(6):432–36El-Housseiny AA, Farsi, NM, Alamoudi NM, Bagher SM, El Derwi D. Assessment for the Children's Fear Survey Schedule—Dental Subscale. J Clin Pediatr Dent. 2014;39(1):40-46.Rantavuori K, Tolvanen M, Lahti S. Confirming the factor structure of modified CFSS-DS in Finnish children at different ages. Acta Odontol Scand. 2012;70(5):421-25.Armfield JM. Australian population norms for the Index of Dental Anxiety and Fear (IDAF‐4C). Aust Dent J. 2011;56(1):16-22.Armfield JM. Development and psychometric evaluation of the Index of Dental Anxiety and Fear (IDAF-4C+). Psychol Assess. 2010;22(2):279-87.Buchanan H, Niven N. Validation of a Facial Image Scale to assess child dental anxiety. Int J Paediatr Dent. 2002;12(1):47-52.Kilinç G, Akay A, Eden E, Sevinç N, Ellidokuz H. Evaluation of children’s dental anxiety levels at a kindergarten and at a dental clinic. Braz Oral Res.2016;30(1):e-72.Abanto J, Vidigal EA, Carvalho TS, Bönecker M. Factors for determining dental anxiety in preschool children with severe dental caries. Braz oral res. 2017;31:e-13. Armfield JM. How do we measure dental anxiety and fear and what are we measuring anyway? Oral Health Prev Dent. 2010;8(1):107-15.

Introdução: A avulsão dentária caracteriza-se pelo total deslocamento do dente para fora do seu alvéolo representando uma lesão complexa e dramática que pode afetar múltiplos tecidos. Representa uma situação de urgência, e o prognóstico depende de um tratamento rápido e apropriado. Objetivo: Este estudo tem como objetivo avaliar o nível de conhecimento dos alunos do curso de Odontologia do primeiro ano da Universidade Estadual de Maringá (UEM) sobre a avulsão dentária, abordando a forma de atuação clínica e conduta que deve ser adotada frente a esse tipo de traumatismo dentário. Material e método: Elaborou-se um questionário, contendo dados gerais e informações relacionadas a avulsão dentária. O questionário foi aplicado na aula de introdução à Endodontia aos acadêmicos do primeiro ano. As informações obtidas foram tabuladas e analisadas por meio de uma estatística descritiva. Resultados: Os resultados sugerem que o conhecimento sobre o manejo de dentes avulsionados é insuficiente entre os estudantes do primeiro ano de Odontologia. Conclusão: Dessa forma, a educação odontológica deve focar nas orientações sobre primeiros socorros em lesões odontológicas e enfatizar a necessidade de disseminar programas de treinamento e educação para os estudantes de Odontologia.Descritores: Traumatismos Dentários; Avulsão Dentária; Odontologia.ReferênciasAndreasen JO, Andreasen FM. Texto e Atlas colorido de traumatismo dental. 3ª ed. Porto Alegre: Artes Médicas; 2001.Gutmann JL, Gutmann M. Cause, incidence, and prevention of trauma to teeth. Dent Clin North Am. 1995;39:1-13.Andreasen JO, Borum MK, Jacobsen HL, Andreasen FM. Replantation of 400 avulsed permanent incisors. Factors related to periodontal ligament healing. Endod Dent Traumatol. 1995;11:76-89.Chan AWK, Wong TKS, Cheung GSP. Lay knowledge of physical education teachers about the emergency management of dental trauma in Hong Kong. Dent Traumatol 2001;17:77-85.Pohl Y, Filippi A, Kirschner H. Results after replantation of avulsed permanent teeth. II. Periodontal healing and the role of physiologic storage and antiresorptive - regenerative therapy. Dent Traumatol. 2005;21:93-101.Cohenca, N. Knowledge of oral health professionals of treatment of avulsed teeth. Dent Traumatol. 2006;296-30.Malmgren B, Malmgren O. Rate of infraposition of reimplanted ankylosed incisors related to age and growth in children and adolescents. Dent Traumatol.2002; 18:28-36.Flores MT, Andreasen JO, Bakland LK, Feiglin B, Gutmann JL, Oikarinen K et al. International Association of Dental Traumatology. Guidelines for the evaluation and management of traumatic dental injuries. Dent Traumatol. 2001;17:193-8. Ingle JI, Bakland LK, Baumgartner JC. Ingle’s endodontics. 6th ed. Hamilton, ON: B.C. Decker Inc; 2008.Lekic P, Kenny D, Moe HK, Barretti E, McCulloch CA. Relationship of clonogenic capacity to plating efficiency and vital dye staining of human periodontal ligament cells: implications for tooth replantation. J Periodontal Res. 1996;31:294-300.Lekic PC, Kenny DJ, Barrett EJ. The influence of storage conditions on the clonogenic capacity of periodontal ligament cells: implications for tooth replantation. Int Endod J. 1998;31:137-40.Layug ML, Barrett EJ, Kenny DJ. Interim storage of avulsed permanent teeth. J Can Dent Assoc. 1998;64:357-63.Lin DG, Kenny DJ, Barrett EJ, Lekic P, McCulloch CA. Storage conditions of avulsed teeth affect the phenotype of cultured human periodontal ligament cells. J Periodontal Res. 2000;35:42–50.Andreasen JO, Andreasen FM, Andersson L. Textbook and colour atlas of traumatic injuries to the teeth, 4th edn. Oxford: Blackwell Munksgaard; 2007. Andersson L, Bodin I. Avulsed human teeth replanted within 15 minutes – a long term clinical follow-up study. Endod Dent Traumatol. 1990;6:37-42.Courts FJ, Mueller WA, Tabeling HJ. Milk as an interim storage medium for avulsed teeth. Pediatr Dent. 1983;5:183-6.Ashkenazi M, Marouni M, Sarnat H. In vitro viability, mitogenicity and clonogenic capacity of periodontal ligament cells after storage in four media at room temperature. Endod Dent Traumatol. 2000;16:63-70.Hammarström L, Pierce A, Blomlöf L, Feiglin B, Lindskog S. Tooth avulsion and replantation – a review. Endod Dent Traumatol. 1986;2:1-8.Hiltz J, Trope M. Vitality of human lip fibroblasts in milk, hanks balanced salt solution and viaspan storage media. Dent Traumatol. 1991;7:69-72.Blomlöf L. Milk and saliva as possible storage media for traumatically exarticulated teeth prior to replantation. Swed Dent J Suppl. 1981;8:1-26.Huang SC, Remeikis NA, Daniel JC. Effects of long-term exposure of human periodontal ligament cells to milk and other solutions. J Endod. 1996;22:30-3.Khademi AA, Saei S, Mohajeri MR et al. A new storage medium for an avulsed tooth. J Contemp Dent Pract. 2008;9:25-32.Krasner PR. Avulsed teeth: improving the diagnosis. Dent Prod Rep. 2007;2:52-64.Fagade OO. Extra-alveolar storage media for tooth autotransplants and replants. Internet J Dent Sci. 2005;2:1-10.Udoye CI, Jafarzadeh H, Abbott PV. Transport media for avulsed teeth: A review. Aust Endod J. 2012;38:129-136.Blomlöf L, Andersson L, Lindskog S, Hedström KG, Hammarström L. Periodontal healing of replanted monkey teeth prevented from drying. Acta Odontol Scand. 1983;41:117-23.Bibby KJ, McCulloch CA. Regulation of cell volume and [Ca2+ ] in attached human fibroblasts responding to anisosmotic buffers. Am J Physiol. 1994;266:39-49Gopikrishna V, Baweja PS, Venkateshbabu N, Thomas T, Kandaswamy D. Comparison of coconut water, propolis, HBSS, and milk on PDL cell survival. J Endod. 2008;34:587-589.Gopikrishna V, Thomas T, Kandaswamy D. A quantitative analysis of coconut water: a new storage media for avulsed teeth. Oral Surg Oral Med Oral Pathol Oral Radiol Endod. 2008;105:61-65.Moreira-Neto JJS, Gondim JO, Raddi MSG, Pansani CA. Viability of human fibroblasts in coconut water as storage medium. Intern Endod J. 2009;42:827-830.Thomas T, Gopikrishna V, Kandaswamy D. Comparative evaluation of maintenance of cell viability of an experimental transport media “coconut water” with Hank’s balanced salt solution and milk, for transportation of an avulsed tooth: an in vitro cell culture study. J Conserv Dent. 2008;11:22-29.Souza BDM, Luckemeyer DD, Reyes-Carmona JF, Felippe WT, Simões CMO, Felippe MCS. Viability of human periodontal ligament fibroblasts in milk, Hank’s balanced salt solution and coconut water as storage media. Int Endod J. 2011; 44:111-115.Pearson RM, Liewehr FR, West LA, Patton WR, McPherson JC, Runner RR. Human periodontal ligament cell viability in milk and milk substitutes. J Endod. 2003; 29:184-186.


 
 
 Since September 11, Muslims in Australia have experienced a heightened level of religiously and racially motivated vilification (Human Rights and Equal Opportunity Commission). These fears were poignantly expressed in a letter to the Editor of The West Australian newspaper from a Muslim woman shortly after the London terror attacks:
 
 All I want to say is that for those out there who might have kamikaze ideas of doing such an act here in Australia, please think of others (us) in your own community. The ones who will get hurt are your own, especially we the women who are an obvious target in the public and have to succumb to verbal abuse most of the time. Dealing with abuse and hatred from some due to 9/11 and Bali is not something I want to go through again. (21)
 
 
 The atmosfear of terror finds many expressions among the Muslim communities in Australia: the fear of backlash from some sectors of the wider community; the fear of subversion of Islamic identity in meeting the requirements of a politically defined “moderate” Islam; the fear of being identified as a potential terrorist or “person of interest” and the fear of potentially losing the rights bestowed on all other citizens. This fear or fears are grounded in the political and the media response to terrorism that perpetuates a popular belief that Muslims, as a culturally and religiously incompatible “other”, pose a threat to the Australian collective identity and, ostensibly, to Australia’s security.
 
 At the time of publication, for example, there was mob violence involving 5,000 young people converging on Sydney’s Cronulla beach draped in Australian flags singing Waltzing Matilda and Advance Australia Fair as well as chanting “kill the Lebs”, “no more Lebs” (Lebanese). The mob was itself brought together by a series of SMS messages, appealing to participants to “help support Leb and Wog bashing day” and to “show solidarity” against a government-identified “threat to Aussie identity” (The West Australian). 
 
 Since September 11 and the ensuing war on terror, a new discourse of terrorism has emerged as a way of expressing how the world has changed and defining a state of constant alert (Altheide). “The war on terror” refers as much to a perpetual state of alertness as it does to a range of strategic operations, border control policies, internal security measures and public awareness campaigns such as “be alert, not alarmed”. 
 
 According to a poll published in The Sydney Morning Herald in April 2004, 68 per cent of Australians believed that Australia was at threat of an imminent terrorist attack (Michaelsen). In a major survey in Australia immediately after the September 11 attacks Dunn & Mahtani found that more than any other cultural or ethnic group, Muslims and people from the Middle East were thought to be unable to fit into Australia. Two thirds of those surveyed believed that humanity could be sorted into natural categories of race, with the majority feeling that Australia was weakened by people of different ethnic origins. Fifty-four per cent of those surveyed, mainly women, said they would be concerned if a relative of theirs married a Muslim. The majority of the Muslim population, not surprisingly, has gone into a “siege mentality” (Hanna).
 
 The atmosfear of terror in the Western world is a product of the media and political construction of the West as perpetually at threat of a terrorist attack from a foreign, alien, politically defined “other”, where “insecurity…is the new normal” (Massumi 31). Framed in a rhetoric that portrays it as a battle for the Western values of democracy and freedom, the “war on terror” becomes not just an event in space and time but a metonym for a new world order, drawing on distinctions between “us” and “them” and “the West” and “others” (Osuri and Banerjee) and motivating collective identity based on a construction of “us” as victims and “them” as the objects of fear, concern and suspicion.
 
 The political response to the war on terror has inculcated an atmosfear of terror where Australian Muslims are identified as the objects of this fear. The fear of terrorism is being modulated through government and the popular media to perpetuate a state of anxiety that finds expression in the heightened levels of concern and suspicion over a perceived threat. In the case of the war on terror, this threat is typically denoted as radical Islam and, by inference, Australian Muslims. 
 
 In his exposition of political fear, Corey Robin notes that a central element of political fear is that it is often not read as such – rendering it alien to analysis, critical debate and understanding. Nowhere is this more salient than in the rhetoric on the war on terror characterised by the familiar invocation of terms like democracy and freedom to make distinctions between “the West and the rest” and to legitimise references to civilised and uncivilised worlds. In his speech delivered at the United Nations Security Council Ministerial Session on Terrorism on 20 January 2003, Colin Powell invoked the rhetoric of a clash of civilisations and urged, “we must rid the civilised world of this cancer … We must rise to the challenge with actions that will ride the globe of terrorism and create a world in which all God’s children can live without fear”. It is this construction of the war on terror as a global battle between “the West and the rest” that enables and facilitates the affective response to political fear – a reaffirmation of identity and membership of a collective. As Robin states:
 
 Understanding the objects of our fear as less than political allows us to treat them as intractable foes. Nothing can be done to accommodate them: they can only be killed or contained. Understanding the objects of our fear as not political also renews us as a collective. Afraid, we are like the audience in a crowded theatre confronting a man falsely shouting fire: united, not because we share similar beliefs of aspiration but because we are equally threatened. (6)
 
 
 This response has found expression in the perception of Muslims as an alien, culturally incompatible and utterly threatening other, creating a state of social tension where the public’s anxiety has been and continues to be directed at Australian Muslims who visibly represent the objects of the fear of terror. 
 
 The Australian Government’s response to the war on terror exemplifies what Brian Massumi terms “affective modulation” whereby the human response to the fear of terror, that of a reinforcement and renewal of collective identity, has been modulated and transformed from an affective response to an affective state of anxiety – what the authors term the atmosfear of terror. Affect for Massumi can be inscribed in the flesh as “traces of experience” – an accumulation of affects. It is in this way that Massumi views affect as “autonomous” (Megan Watkins also makes this argument, and has further translated Massumi's notions into the idea of pedagogic affect/effect). In the Australian context, after more than four years of collected traces of experiences of images of threat, responses to terrorism have become almost reflexive – even automated.
 
 Affective modulation in the Australian context relies on the regenerative capacity of fear, in Massumi’s terms its “ontogenetic powers” (45) to create an ever-present threat and maintain fear as a way of life. The introduction of a range of counter-terrorism strategies, internal-security measures, legislative amendments and policies, often without public consultation and timed to coincide with “new” terror alerts is testimony to the affective machinations of the Australian government in its response to the war on terror.
 
 Virilio and Lotringer called “pure war” the psychological state that happens when people know that they live in a world where the potential for sudden and absolute destruction exists. It is not the capacity for destruction so much as the continual threat of sudden destruction that creates this psychology. Keith Spence has stated that in times of crisis the reasoned negotiation of risk is marginalised. The counter-terrorism legislation introduced in response to the war on terror is, arguably, the most drastic anti-libertarian measures Australia has witnessed and constitutes a disproportionate response to Australia’s overall risk profile (Michaelsen). Some of these measures would once have seemed an unthinkable assault on civil liberties and unreasonably authoritarian. Yet in the war on terror, notes Jessica Stern, framed as a global war of good versus evil, policies and strategies that once seemed impossible suddenly become constructed as rationale, if not prudent. 
 
 Since September 11, the Australian government has progressively introduced a range of counter-terrorism measures including over 30 legislative amendments and, more recently, increased powers for the police to detain persons of interest suspected of sedition. In the wake of the London bombings, the Prime Minister called a summit with Muslim representatives from around the nation. In the two hours that they met, the summit developed a Statement of Principles committing members of Muslim communities to combat radicalisation and pursue “moderate” Islam. 
 
 As an affective machination, the summit presents as a useful political tool for modulating the existing anxieties in the Australian populace. The very need for a summit of this nature and for the development of a Statement of Principles (later endorsed by the Council of Australian Governments or COAG) sends a lucid message to the Australian public. Not only are Australian Muslims responsible for terrorism but they also have the capacity to prevent or minimise the threat of an attack in Australia. Already the focus of at least a decade of negative stereotyping in the popular Australia media (Brasted), Australian Muslims all too quickly and easily became agents in the Government’s affective tactics. 
 
 The policy response to the war on terror has given little consideration to the social implications of sustaining a fear of terrorism, placing much emphasis on security- focused counter-terrorism measures rather than education and dialogue. What governments and communities need to address is the affective aspects of the atmosfear of terror. Policy makers can begin by becoming self-reflexive and developing an understanding of the real impact of fear and the affective modulation of this fear. Communities can start by developing an understanding of how policy induced fear is affecting them. To begin this process of reflection, governments and communities need to recognise fear of terrorism as a political tool. Psychological explanations for fear or trauma are important, especially if we are to plan policy responses to them. However, if we are to fight against policy-induced fear, we need to better understand and recognise affective modulation as a process that is not reducible to individual psychology. Viewed from the perspective of affect, the atmosfear of terror reveals an attempt to modulate public anxiety and sustain a sense of Australia as perpetually at threat from a culturally incompatible and irreconcilable “other”. 
 
 References
 
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 Citation reference for this article
 
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By the time you read this, it will be wrong. Things seemed to be moving so fast in these first days after airplanes crashed into the World Trade Center, the Pentagon, and the Pennsylvania earth. Each certainty is as carelessly dropped as it was once carelessly assumed. The sounds of lower Manhattan that used to serve as white noise for residents—sirens, screeches, screams—are no longer signs without a referent. Instead, they make folks stare and stop, hurry and hustle, wondering whether the noises we know so well are in fact, this time, coefficients of a new reality. At the time of writing, the events themselves are also signs without referents—there has been no direct claim of responsibility, and little proof offered by accusers since the 11th. But it has been assumed that there is a link to US foreign policy, its military and economic presence in the Arab world, and opposition to it that seeks revenge. In the intervening weeks the US media and the war planners have supplied their own narrow frameworks, making New York’s “ground zero” into the starting point for a new escalation of global violence. We want to write here about the combination of sources and sensations that came that day, and the jumble of knowledges and emotions that filled our minds. Working late the night before, Toby was awoken in the morning by one of the planes right overhead. That happens sometimes. I have long expected a crash when I’ve heard the roar of jet engines so close—but I didn’t this time. Often when that sound hits me, I get up and go for a run down by the water, just near Wall Street. Something kept me back that day. Instead, I headed for my laptop. Because I cannot rely on local media to tell me very much about the role of the US in world affairs, I was reading the British newspaper The Guardian on-line when it flashed a two-line report about the planes. I looked up at the calendar above my desk to see whether it was April 1st. Truly. Then I got off-line and turned on the TV to watch CNN. That second, the phone rang. My quasi-ex-girlfriend I’m still in love with called from the mid-West. She was due to leave that day for the Bay Area. Was I alright? We spoke for a bit. She said my cell phone was out, and indeed it was for the remainder of the day. As I hung up from her, my friend Ana rang, tearful and concerned. Her husband, Patrick, had left an hour before for work in New Jersey, and it seemed like a dangerous separation. All separations were potentially fatal that day. You wanted to know where everyone was, every minute. She told me she had been trying to contact Palestinian friends who worked and attended school near the event—their ethnic, religious, and national backgrounds made for real poignancy, as we both thought of the prejudice they would (probably) face, regardless of the eventual who/what/when/where/how of these events. We agreed to meet at Bruno’s, a bakery on La Guardia Place. For some reason I really took my time, though, before getting to Ana. I shampooed and shaved under the shower. This was a horror, and I needed to look my best, even as men and women were losing and risking their lives. I can only interpret what I did as an attempt to impose normalcy and control on the situation, on my environment. When I finally made it down there, she’d located our friends. They were safe. We stood in the street and watched the Towers. Horrified by the sight of human beings tumbling to their deaths, we turned to buy a tea/coffee—again some ludicrous normalization—but were drawn back by chilling screams from the street. Racing outside, we saw the second Tower collapse, and clutched at each other. People were streaming towards us from further downtown. We decided to be with our Palestinian friends in their apartment. When we arrived, we learnt that Mark had been four minutes away from the WTC when the first plane hit. I tried to call my daughter in London and my father in Canberra, but to no avail. I rang the mid-West, and asked my maybe-former novia to call England and Australia to report in on me. Our friend Jenine got through to relatives on the West Bank. Israeli tanks had commenced a bombardment there, right after the planes had struck New York. Family members spoke to her from under the kitchen table, where they were taking refuge from the shelling of their house. Then we gave ourselves over to television, like so many others around the world, even though these events were happening only a mile away. We wanted to hear official word, but there was just a huge absence—Bush was busy learning to read in Florida, then leading from the front in Louisiana and Nebraska. As the day wore on, we split up and regrouped, meeting folks. One guy was in the subway when smoke filled the car. Noone could breathe properly, people were screaming, and his only thought was for his dog DeNiro back in Brooklyn. From the panic of the train, he managed to call his mom on a cell to ask her to feed “DeNiro” that night, because it looked like he wouldn’t get home. A pregnant woman feared for her unborn as she fled the blasts, pushing the stroller with her baby in it as she did so. Away from these heart-rending tales from strangers, there was the fear: good grief, what horrible price would the US Government extract for this, and who would be the overt and covert agents and targets of that suffering? What blood-lust would this generate? What would be the pattern of retaliation and counter-retaliation? What would become of civil rights and cultural inclusiveness? So a jumble of emotions came forward, I assume in all of us. Anger was not there for me, just intense sorrow, shock, and fear, and the desire for intimacy. Network television appeared to offer me that, but in an ultimately unsatisfactory way. For I think I saw the end-result of reality TV that day. I have since decided to call this ‘emotionalization’—network TV’s tendency to substitute analysis of US politics and economics with a stress on feelings. Of course, powerful emotions have been engaged by this horror, and there is value in addressing that fact and letting out the pain. I certainly needed to do so. But on that day and subsequent ones, I looked to the networks, traditional sources of current-affairs knowledge, for just that—informed, multi-perspectival journalism that would allow me to make sense of my feelings, and come to a just and reasoned decision about how the US should respond. I waited in vain. No such commentary came forward. Just a lot of asinine inquiries from reporters that were identical to those they pose to basketballers after a game: Question—‘How do you feel now?’ Answer—‘God was with me today.’ For the networks were insistent on asking everyone in sight how they felt about the end of las torres gemelas. In this case, we heard the feelings of survivors, firefighters, viewers, media mavens, Republican and Democrat hacks, and vacuous Beltway state-of-the-nation pundits. But learning of the military-political economy, global inequality, and ideologies and organizations that made for our grief and loss—for that, there was no space. TV had forgotten how to do it. My principal feeling soon became one of frustration. So I headed back to where I began the day—The Guardian web site, where I was given insightful analysis of the messy factors of history, religion, economics, and politics that had created this situation. As I dealt with the tragedy of folks whose lives had been so cruelly lost, I pondered what it would take for this to stop. Or whether this was just the beginning. I knew one thing—the answers wouldn’t come from mainstream US television, no matter how full of feelings it was. And that made Toby anxious. And afraid. He still is. And so the dreams come. In one, I am suddenly furloughed from my job with an orchestra, as audience numbers tumble. I make my evening-wear way to my locker along with the other players, emptying it of bubble gum and instrument. The next night, I see a gigantic, fifty-feet high wave heading for the city beach where I’ve come to swim. Somehow I am sheltered behind a huge wall, as all the people around me die. Dripping, I turn to find myself in a media-stereotype “crack house” of the early ’90s—desperate-looking black men, endless doorways, sudden police arrival, and my earnest search for a passport that will explain away my presence. I awake in horror, to the realization that the passport was already open and stamped—racialization at work for Toby, every day and in every way, as a white man in New York City. Ana’s husband, Patrick, was at work ten miles from Manhattan when “it” happened. In the hallway, I overheard some talk about two planes crashing, but went to teach anyway in my usual morning stupor. This was just the usual chatter of disaster junkies. I didn’t hear the words, “World Trade Center” until ten thirty, at the end of the class at the college I teach at in New Jersey, across the Hudson river. A friend and colleague walked in and told me the news of the attack, to which I replied “You must be fucking joking.” He was a little offended. Students were milling haphazardly on the campus in the late summer weather, some looking panicked like me. My first thought was of some general failure of the air-traffic control system. There must be planes falling out of the sky all over the country. Then the height of the towers: how far towards our apartment in Greenwich Village would the towers fall? Neither of us worked in the financial district a mile downtown, but was Ana safe? Where on the college campus could I see what was happening? I recognized the same physical sensation I had felt the morning after Hurricane Andrew in Miami seeing at a distance the wreckage of our shattered apartment across a suburban golf course strewn with debris and flattened power lines. Now I was trapped in the suburbs again at an unbridgeable distance from my wife and friends who were witnessing the attacks first hand. Were they safe? What on earth was going on? This feeling of being cut off, my path to the familiar places of home blocked, remained for weeks my dominant experience of the disaster. In my office, phone calls to the city didn’t work. There were six voice-mail messages from my teenaged brother Alex in small-town England giving a running commentary on the attack and its aftermath that he was witnessing live on television while I dutifully taught my writing class. “Hello, Patrick, where are you? Oh my god, another plane just hit the towers. Where are you?” The web was choked: no access to newspapers online. Email worked, but no one was wasting time writing. My office window looked out over a soccer field to the still woodlands of western New Jersey: behind me to the east the disaster must be unfolding. Finally I found a website with a live stream from ABC television, which I watched flickering and stilted on the tiny screen. It had all already happened: both towers already collapsed, the Pentagon attacked, another plane shot down over Pennsylvania, unconfirmed reports said, there were other hijacked aircraft still out there unaccounted for. Manhattan was sealed off. George Washington Bridge, Lincoln and Holland tunnels, all the bridges and tunnels from New Jersey I used to mock shut down. Police actions sealed off the highways into “the city.” The city I liked to think of as the capital of the world was cut off completely from the outside, suddenly vulnerable and under siege. There was no way to get home. The phone rang abruptly and Alex, three thousand miles away, told me he had spoken to Ana earlier and she was safe. After a dozen tries, I managed to get through and spoke to her, learning that she and Toby had seen people jumping and then the second tower fall. Other friends had been even closer. Everyone was safe, we thought. I sat for another couple of hours in my office uselessly. The news was incoherent, stories contradictory, loops of the planes hitting the towers only just ready for recycling. The attacks were already being transformed into “the World Trade Center Disaster,” not yet the ahistorical singularity of the emergency “nine one one.” Stranded, I had to spend the night in New Jersey at my boss’s house, reminded again of the boundless generosity of Americans to relative strangers. In an effort to protect his young son from the as yet unfiltered images saturating cable and Internet, my friend’s TV set was turned off and we did our best to reassure. We listened surreptitiously to news bulletins on AM radio, hoping that the roads would open. Walking the dog with my friend’s wife and son we crossed a park on the ridge on which Upper Montclair sits. Ten miles away a huge column of smoke was rising from lower Manhattan, where the stunning absence of the towers was clearly visible. The summer evening was unnervingly still. We kicked a soccer ball around on the front lawn and a woman walked distracted by, shocked and pale up the tree-lined suburban street, suffering her own wordless trauma. I remembered that though most of my students were ordinary working people, Montclair is a well-off dormitory for the financial sector and high rises of Wall Street and Midtown. For the time being, this was a white-collar disaster. I slept a short night in my friend’s house, waking to hope I had dreamed it all, and took the commuter train in with shell-shocked bankers and corporate types. All men, all looking nervously across the river toward glimpses of the Manhattan skyline as the train neared Hoboken. “I can’t believe they’re making us go in,” one guy had repeated on the station platform. He had watched the attacks from his office in Midtown, “The whole thing.” Inside the train we all sat in silence. Up from the PATH train station on 9th street I came onto a carless 6th Avenue. At 14th street barricades now sealed off downtown from the rest of the world. I walked down the middle of the avenue to a newspaper stand; the Indian proprietor shrugged “No deliveries below 14th.” I had not realized that the closer to the disaster you came, the less information would be available. Except, I assumed, for the evidence of my senses. But at 8 am the Village was eerily still, few people about, nothing in the sky, including the twin towers. I walked to Houston Street, which was full of trucks and police vehicles. Tractor trailers sat carrying concrete barriers. Below Houston, each street into Soho was barricaded and manned by huddles of cops. I had walked effortlessly up into the “lockdown,” but this was the “frozen zone.” There was no going further south towards the towers. I walked the few blocks home, found my wife sleeping, and climbed into bed, still in my clothes from the day before. “Your heart is racing,” she said. I realized that I hadn’t known if I would get back, and now I never wanted to leave again; it was still only eight thirty am. Lying there, I felt the terrible wonder of a distant bystander for the first-hand witness. Ana’s face couldn’t tell me what she had seen. I felt I needed to know more, to see and understand. Even though I knew the effort was useless: I could never bridge that gap that had trapped me ten miles away, my back turned to the unfolding disaster. The television was useless: we don’t have cable, and the mast on top of the North Tower, which Ana had watched fall, had relayed all the network channels. I knew I had to go down and see the wreckage. Later I would realize how lucky I had been not to suffer from “disaster envy.” Unbelievably, in retrospect, I commuted into work the second day after the attack, dogged by the same unnerving sensation that I would not get back—to the wounded, humbled former center of the world. My students were uneasy, all talked out. I was a novelty, a New Yorker living in the Village a mile from the towers, but I was forty-eight hours late. Out of place in both places. I felt torn up, but not angry. Back in the city at night, people were eating and drinking with a vengeance, the air filled with acrid sicklysweet smoke from the burning wreckage. Eyes stang and nose ran with a bitter acrid taste. Who knows what we’re breathing in, we joked nervously. A friend’s wife had fallen out with him for refusing to wear a protective mask in the house. He shrugged a wordlessly reassuring smile. What could any of us do? I walked with Ana down to the top of West Broadway from where the towers had commanded the skyline over SoHo; downtown dense smoke blocked the view to the disaster. A crowd of onlookers pushed up against the barricades all day, some weeping, others gawping. A tall guy was filming the grieving faces with a video camera, which was somehow the worst thing of all, the first sign of the disaster tourism that was already mushrooming downtown. Across the street an Asian artist sat painting the street scene in streaky black and white; he had scrubbed out two white columns where the towers would have been. “That’s the first thing I’ve seen that’s made me feel any better,” Ana said. We thanked him, but he shrugged blankly, still in shock I supposed. On the Friday, the clampdown. I watched the Mayor and Police Chief hold a press conference in which they angrily told the stream of volunteers to “ground zero” that they weren’t needed. “We can handle this ourselves. We thank you. But we don’t need your help,” Commissioner Kerik said. After the free-for-all of the first couple of days, with its amazing spontaneities and common gestures of goodwill, the clampdown was going into effect. I decided to go down to Canal Street and see if it was true that no one was welcome anymore. So many paths through the city were blocked now. “Lock down, frozen zone, war zone, the site, combat zone, ground zero, state troopers, secured perimeter, national guard, humvees, family center”: a disturbing new vocabulary that seemed to stamp the logic of Giuliani’s sanitized and over-policed Manhattan onto the wounded hulk of the city. The Mayor had been magnificent in the heat of the crisis; Churchillian, many were saying—and indeed, Giuliani quickly appeared on the cover of Cigar Afficionado, complete with wing collar and the misquotation from Kipling, “Captain Courageous.” Churchill had not believed in peacetime politics either, and he never got over losing his empire. Now the regime of command and control over New York’s citizens and its economy was being stabilized and reimposed. The sealed-off, disfigured, and newly militarized spaces of the New York through which I have always loved to wander at all hours seemed to have been put beyond reach for the duration. And, in the new post-“9/11” post-history, the duration could last forever. The violence of the attacks seemed to have elicited a heavy-handed official reaction that sought to contain and constrict the best qualities of New York. I felt more anger at the clampdown than I did at the demolition of the towers. I knew this was unreasonable, but I feared the reaction, the spread of the racial harassment and racial profiling that I had already heard of from my students in New Jersey. This militarizing of the urban landscape seemed to negate the sprawling, freewheeling, boundless largesse and tolerance on which New York had complacently claimed a monopoly. For many the towers stood for that as well, not just as the monumental outposts of global finance that had been attacked. Could the American flag mean something different? For a few days, perhaps—on the helmets of firemen and construction workers. But not for long. On the Saturday, I found an unmanned barricade way east along Canal Street and rode my bike past throngs of Chinatown residents, by the Federal jail block where prisoners from the first World Trade Center bombing were still being held. I headed south and west towards Tribeca; below the barricades in the frozen zone, you could roam freely, the cops and soldiers assuming you belonged there. I felt uneasy, doubting my own motives for being there, feeling the blood drain from my head in the same numbing shock I’d felt every time I headed downtown towards the site. I looped towards Greenwich Avenue, passing an abandoned bank full of emergency supplies and boxes of protective masks. Crushed cars still smeared with pulverized concrete and encrusted with paperwork strewn by the blast sat on the street near the disabled telephone exchange. On one side of the avenue stood a horde of onlookers, on the other television crews, all looking two blocks south towards a colossal pile of twisted and smoking steel, seven stories high. We were told to stay off the street by long-suffering national guardsmen and women with southern accents, kids. Nothing happening, just the aftermath. The TV crews were interviewing worn-out, dust-covered volunteers and firemen who sat quietly leaning against the railings of a park filled with scraps of paper. Out on the West Side highway, a high-tech truck was offering free cellular phone calls. The six lanes by the river were full of construction machinery and military vehicles. Ambulances rolled slowly uptown, bodies inside? I locked my bike redundantly to a lamppost and crossed under the hostile gaze of plainclothes police to another media encampment. On the path by the river, two camera crews were complaining bitterly in the heat. “After five days of this I’ve had enough.” They weren’t talking about the trauma, bodies, or the wreckage, but censorship. “Any blue light special gets to roll right down there, but they see your press pass and it’s get outta here. I’ve had enough.” I fronted out the surly cops and ducked under the tape onto the path, walking onto a Pier on which we’d spent many lazy afternoons watching the river at sunset. Dust everywhere, police boats docked and waiting, a crane ominously dredging mud into a barge. I walked back past the camera operators onto the highway and walked up to an interview in process. Perfectly composed, a fire chief and his crew from some small town in upstate New York were politely declining to give details about what they’d seen at “ground zero.” The men’s faces were dust streaked, their eyes slightly dazed with the shock of a horror previously unimaginable to most Americans. They were here to help the best they could, now they’d done as much as anyone could. “It’s time for us to go home.” The chief was eloquent, almost rehearsed in his precision. It was like a Magnum press photo. But he was refusing to cooperate with the media’s obsessive emotionalism. I walked down the highway, joining construction workers, volunteers, police, and firemen in their hundreds at Chambers Street. No one paid me any attention; it was absurd. I joined several other watchers on the stairs by Stuyvesant High School, which was now the headquarters for the recovery crews. Just two or three blocks away, the huge jagged teeth of the towers’ beautiful tracery lurched out onto the highway above huge mounds of debris. The TV images of the shattered scene made sense as I placed them into what was left of a familiar Sunday afternoon geography of bike rides and walks by the river, picnics in the park lying on the grass and gazing up at the infinite solidity of the towers. Demolished. It was breathtaking. If “they” could do that, they could do anything. Across the street at tables military policeman were checking credentials of the milling volunteers and issuing the pink and orange tags that gave access to ground zero. Without warning, there was a sudden stampede running full pelt up from the disaster site, men and women in fatigues, burly construction workers, firemen in bunker gear. I ran a few yards then stopped. Other people milled around idly, ignoring the panic, smoking and talking in low voices. It was a mainly white, blue-collar scene. All these men wearing flags and carrying crowbars and flashlights. In their company, the intolerance and rage I associated with flags and construction sites was nowhere to be seen. They were dealing with a torn and twisted otherness that dwarfed machismo or bigotry. I talked to a moustachioed, pony-tailed construction worker who’d hitched a ride from the mid-west to “come and help out.” He was staying at the Y, he said, it was kind of rough. “Have you been down there?” he asked, pointing towards the wreckage. “You’re British, you weren’t in World War Two were you?” I replied in the negative. “It’s worse ’n that. I went down last night and you can’t imagine it. You don’t want to see it if you don’t have to.” Did I know any welcoming ladies? he asked. The Y was kind of tough. When I saw TV images of President Bush speaking to the recovery crews and steelworkers at “ground zero” a couple of days later, shouting through a bullhorn to chants of “USA, USA” I knew nothing had changed. New York’s suffering was subject to a second hijacking by the brokers of national unity. New York had never been America, and now its terrible human loss and its great humanity were redesignated in the name of the nation, of the coming war. The signs without a referent were being forcibly appropriated, locked into an impoverished patriotic framework, interpreted for “us” by a compliant media and an opportunistic regime eager to reign in civil liberties, to unloose its war machine and tighten its grip on the Muslim world. That day, drawn to the river again, I had watched F18 fighter jets flying patterns over Manhattan as Bush’s helicopters came in across the river. Otherwise empty of air traffic, “our” skies were being torn up by the military jets: it was somehow the worst sight yet, worse than the wreckage or the bands of disaster tourists on Canal Street, a sign of further violence yet to come. There was a carrier out there beyond New York harbor, there to protect us: the bruising, blustering city once open to all comers. That felt worst of all. In the intervening weeks, we have seen other, more unstable ways of interpreting the signs of September 11 and its aftermath. Many have circulated on the Internet, past the blockages and blockades placed on urban spaces and intellectual life. Karl-Heinz Stockhausen’s work was banished (at least temporarily) from the canon of avant-garde electronic music when he described the attack on las torres gemelas as akin to a work of art. If Jacques Derrida had described it as an act of deconstruction (turning technological modernity literally in on itself), or Jean Baudrillard had announced that the event was so thick with mediation it had not truly taken place, something similar would have happened to them (and still may). This is because, as Don DeLillo so eloquently put it in implicit reaction to the plaintive cry “Why do they hate us?”: “it is the power of American culture to penetrate every wall, home, life and mind”—whether via military action or cultural iconography. All these positions are correct, however grisly and annoying they may be. What GK Chesterton called the “flints and tiles” of nineteenth-century European urban existence were rent asunder like so many victims of high-altitude US bombing raids. As a First-World disaster, it became knowable as the first-ever US “ground zero” such precisely through the high premium immediately set on the lives of Manhattan residents and the rarefied discussion of how to commemorate the high-altitude towers. When, a few weeks later, an American Airlines plane crashed on take-off from Queens, that borough was left open to all comers. Manhattan was locked down, flown over by “friendly” bombers. In stark contrast to the open if desperate faces on the street of 11 September, people went about their business with heads bowed even lower than is customary. Contradictory deconstructions and valuations of Manhattan lives mean that September 11 will live in infamy and hyper-knowability. The vengeful United States government and population continue on their way. Local residents must ponder insurance claims, real-estate values, children’s terrors, and their own roles in something beyond their ken. New York had been forced beyond being the center of the financial world. It had become a military target, a place that was receiving as well as dispatching the slings and arrows of global fortune. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Deer, Patrick and Miller, Toby. "A Day That Will Live In … ?" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5.1 (2002). [your date of access] < http://www.media-culture.org.au/0203/adaythat.php>. Chicago Style Deer, Patrick and Miller, Toby, "A Day That Will Live In … ?" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5, no. 1 (2002), < http://www.media-culture.org.au/0203/adaythat.php> ([your date of access]). APA Style Deer, Patrick and Miller, Toby. (2002) A Day That Will Live In … ?. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5(1). < http://www.media-culture.org.au/0203/adaythat.php> ([your date of access]).

If you have a look at the concert schedules around Australia (and elsewhere in the Western world) these days, you could be forgiven for thinking that you've suddenly been transported back in time: there is a procession of old players, playing (mainly) old songs. The Rolling Stones came through a while ago, as did the Eagles, Creedence Clearwater Revival's John Fogerty, and James Brown. Jimmy Page and Robert Plant played updated versions of Led Zeppelin's music, with some new songs strewn in on occasion. The Beach Boys served up a double blast from the past, touring with America ("Horse with No Name") as their opening act. Australian content in this trend is provided by the odd assortment of media darling John Farnham, ex-Grease girl Olivia Newton-John, and former Phantom of the Opera Anthony Warlow, who are touring under the unlikely name of 'The Main Event'; Australian rock legends Cold Chisel have also reformed recently, with a reunion tour to follow. On the more prestigious end of the pop mainstream, The Three Tenors have only had one concert in Australia recently, but publicity-savvy as they have proven themselves to be during the Football World Cup it's a fairly safe bet that they'll be rolling into Sydney Opera House in time for the last Olympics of this millennium, in the year 2000. Thankfully, we've so far been spared of a remaining-Beatles reunion and tour (they did release their Anthology CDs and videos, though), but it wouldn't really come as a surprise anymore. Why this wave of musical exhumations; why now? Admittedly, some of the reunions produced interesting results (Page & Plant's update of Led Zeppelin songs with world music elements comes to mind), but largely the bands involved have restricted themselves to playing old favourites or producing new music that is content with plagiarising older material, and so it's unlikely that the Beach Boys are touring, for example, because they have a strong desire to take surf music to the next level of art. A better explanation, it seems, can be found in the music industry and its structures, and in the way those structures are increasingly becoming inadequate for today's mediascape. For much of this century, popular music in the Western world -- while music itself is a global obsession, the marketing industry largely remains dominated by the West -- has come in waves: to give a broad overview, jazz was outdone by rock'n'roll, which was followed by the British invasion and the British blues revival, leading to the stadium rock of the 1970s (co-existing with disco), which in turn caused the punk revolution that fizzled out into New Wave and the new romantics, which were superseded by Alternative Rock and Britpop. Looking at this succession, it's not difficult to see that the waves have become smaller over time, though: recent styles have failed by far to reach the heights of interest and influence that earlier waves like rock'n'roll and the British invasion achieved. How many people will remember, say, Oasis in three decades; how many will The Beatles? The question seems unfair. This gradual decrease in wave amplitude over the years is directly linked to changes in the media structure in the Western world: earlier, new musical waves swept the few available channels of radio and TV to their full extent; severe bandwidth limitations forced the broadcasters to divert their entire attention to the latest trends, with no air time to be spared for the music of yesteryear. As the number of channels increased, however, so did the potential for variety; today, most cities of sufficient size at least have stations catering for listeners of classical music, over-40s easy listening, mainstream rock, and alternative rock, and perhaps there's also an open-access channel for the more obscure styles; stations for more specific tastes -- all-jazz, all-heavy metal, all-goth -- are now also viable in some cities. As new style waves come in, they might still sweep through the mainstream stations, but will only manage to cause some minor ripples amongst the less central channels. Similar trends exist among music stores, and the music press. The mainstream might remain in the middle of the musical spectrum, therefore, but it's been narrowed considerably, with more and more music fans moving over to the more specialised channels. There is now "an increasingly fragmented international marketplace of popular musics" (Campbell Robinson et al. 272). In media-rich Western nations, this trend is strengthened further by changes to the mediascape brought on by the Internet: the Net is the ultimate enpander of bandwidth, where anyone can add another channel if their needs aren't met by the existing ones. With an unlimited number of specialised channels, with fans deciding their musical diet for themselves instead of having radio DJs or music journalists do it for them, and with the continued narrowing of the mainstream as it loses more and more listeners, new waves of musical styles lose their impact almost immediately now. Whatever your specific tastes, you'll find like-minded people, specialty labels and CD retailers, perhaps even an Internet radio station -- there is now less need than ever to engage with outside trends. Whether that development is entirely desirable remains a point of debate, of course. The paradox for the big old players in the music industry is that the ongoing globalisation of their markets hasn't also led to a globalisation of musical tastes -- largely because of this exponential increase and diversification of channels. Music is a powerful instrument of community formation, and community formation implies first and foremost a drawing of boundaries to everything that isn't part of the community (Turner 2): as musical styles diversify, therefore, there are now more musical taste communities than anyone would care to list. Instead of turning to some mainstreamed, global style of music, listeners are found to turn to the local -- either to the music produced geographically local to them, or to a form of virtually local music, that is, the music of a geographically dispersed, but (through modern communications technologies) otherwise highly unified taste community (Bruns sect. 1 bite 8ff.). There certainly are more such groupings than the industry would care to cater for: the division of their resources in order to follow musical trends in a large number of separate communities is eating into the profits of the large multinationals, while small specialty labels are experiencing a resurgence (despite the major labels' attempts to discourage them). As Wallis & Malm note, "the transformation of the business side of the music industry into a number of giant concerns has not stopped small enterprises, often run by enthusiasts, from cropping up everywhere" (270). The large conglomerates are remarkably ill-prepared to deal with such a plurality of styles: everything in their structure is crying out for a unified market with few, major, and tightly controlled trends. This is where we (and the industry) return to the Beach Boys & Co., then. Partly out of a desire for the good old times when the music business was simple, partly to see if a revival of the old marketing concepts may not reverse the tide once more, the industry majors have unleashed this procession of the musical undead (with only a few notable exceptions) upon us; it is a last-stand attempt to regather the remaining few servicable battleships of the mainstream fleet to grab whatever riches are still to be found there. Judging by ticket prices alone (Page & Plant charged over A$110 per head), there still is money to be made, but these prices also indicate that such 'mainstream' acts are now largely a spectacle for well-to-do over-35s. Amongst younger audiences, the multinationals remain mostly clueless, despite a few efforts to create massively hyped, but musically lobotomised lowest-common-denominator acts, from the Spice Girls to Céline Dion or U2. Most of the acts the major industry players cling to as their main attractions have quite simply lost relevance to all but the most gullible of audiences -- in this context, the advertisment of the travelling Farnham / Newton-John / Warlow show as 'The Main Event' seems almost touching in its denial of reality. It's not like the industry hasn't tried this strategy before, of course: reacting to the fragmented musical world of the early 1970s, with styles from folk to hard rock all equally vying for a share of the audience, the labels created stadium rock -- oversized concerts of overproduced bands who eventually became alienated from their audiences, causing the radical back-to-the-roots revolution of punk. Stadium rock mark II is bound to fail even more quickly and decisively: with most of its proponents not even creating any excitement in the all-important 'young adults' market in the first place, it's the wave that wasn't, and should properly be seen as the best sign yet of the industry's loss of touch with its fragmenting market(s). It's time for new, smaller, and more mobile players to take over from the multinationals, it seems. References Bruns, Axel. "'Every Home Is Wired': The Use of Internet Discussion Fora by a Subcultural Community." 1998. 17 Dec. 1998 <http://www.uq.net.au/~zzabruns/uni/honours/thesis.php>. Campbell Robinson, Deanna, et al. Music at the Margins: Popular Music and Global Cultural Diversity. Newbury Park, Calif.: Sage, 1991. Wallis, Roger, and Krister Malm. Big Sounds from Small Peoples: The Music Industry in Small Countries. London: Constable, 1984. Turner, Graeme. "Rock Music, National Culture and Cultural Policy." Rock Music: Politics and Policy. Ed. Tony Bennett. Brisbane: Institute for Cultural Policy Studies, Griffith U, 1988. 1-6. Citation reference for this article MLA style: Axel Bruns. "Old Players, New Players: The Main Event That Isn't." M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 1.5 (1998). [your date of access] <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9812/main.php>. Chicago style: Axel Bruns, "Old Players, New Players: The Main Event That Isn't," M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 1, no. 5 (1998), <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9812/main.php> ([your date of access]). APA style: Axel Bruns. (1998) Old players, new players: the Main Event that isn't. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 1(5). <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9812/main.php> ([your date of access]).

If Continental social theory emerges from a climate of intensely cold winters and short mild summers, how does Australia (or any nation defined by its large masses of aridity) function as an environment in which to produce critical theory and new knowledge? Climate and weather are intrinsic to ambience, but what impact might they have on the conditions of producing academic work? How is ambience relevant to thinking and writing and research? Is there an ambient epistemology? This paper argues that the ambient is an unacknowledged factor in the production of critical thinking, and draws on examples of academics locating their writing conditions as part of their thinking. This means paying attention to the embodied work of thinking, and so I locate myself in order to explore what it might mean to acknowledge the conditions of intellectual work. Consequently I dwell on the impact of heat and light as qualities specific to where I work, but (following Bolt) I also argue that they are terms that are historically associated with new knowledge. Language, then, is already a factor in shaping the way we can think through such conditions, and the narratives available to write about them. Working these conditions into critical narratives may involve mobilising fictional tropes, and may not always be ambient, but they are potent in the academic imaginary and impact the ways in which we can think through location. Present Tense As I sit in Perth right now in a balmy 27 degrees Celsius with the local afternoon sea-breeze (fondly known as the Fremantle Doctor) clearing the stuffiness and humidity of the day, environmental conditions are near perfect for the end of summer. I barely notice them. Not long ago though, it was over 40 degrees for three days in a row. These were the three days I had set aside to complete an academic paper, the last days available before the university opened and normal work would resume. I’d arranged to have the place to myself, but I hadn’t arranged for cooling technologies. As I immersed myself in photocopies and textbooks the intellectual challenges and excitement were my preoccupation. It was hot, but I was almost unreceptive to recognising the discomforts of the weather until sweat began to drip onto pages and keyboards. A break in the afternoon for a swim at the local beach was an opportunity to clarify and see the bigger picture, and as the temperature began to slide into the evening cool it was easier to stay up late working and then sleep in late. I began to work around the weather. What impact does this have on thinking and writing? I remember it as a haze. The paper though, still seems clear and reasoned. My regimen might be read as working despite the weather, but I wonder if the intensity of the heat extends thinking in different directions—to go places where I wouldn’t have imagined in an ambiently cooled office (if I had one). The conditions of the production of knowledge are often assumed to be static, stable and uninteresting. Even if your work is located in exciting Other places, the ‘writing up’ is expected to happen ‘back home’, after the extra-ordinary places of fieldwork. It can be written in the present tense, for a more immediate reading experience, but the writing cannot always happen at the same time as the events being described, so readers accept the use of present tense as a figment of grammar that cannot accommodate the act of writing. When a writer becomes aware of their surroundings and articulates those conditions into their narrative, the reader is lifted out of the narrative into a metaframe; out of the body of writing and into the extra-diegetic. In her essay “Me and My Shadow” (1987), Jane Tompkins writes as if ‘we’ the reader are in the present with her as she makes connections between books, experiences, memories, feelings, and she also provides us with a writing scene in which to imagine her in the continuous present: It is a beautiful day here in North Carolina. The first day that is both cool and sunny all summer. After a terrible summer, first drought, then heat-wave, then torrential rain, trees down, flooding. Now, finally, beautiful weather. A tree outside my window just brushed by red, with one fully red leaf. (This is what I want you to see. A person sitting in stockinged feet looking out of her window – a floor to ceiling rectangle filled with green, with one red leaf. The season poised, sunny and chill, ready to rush down the incline into autumn. But perfect, and still. Not going yet.) (128)This is a strategy, part of the aesthetics and politics of Tompkins’s paper which argues for the way the personal functions in intellectual thinking and writing even when we don’t recognise or acknowledge it. A little earlier she characterises herself as vulnerable because of the personal/professional nexus: I don’t know how to enter the debate [over epistemology] without leaving everything else behind – the birds outside my window, my grief over Janice, just myself as a person sitting here in stockinged feet, a little bit chilly because the windows are open, and thinking about going to the bathroom. But not going yet. (126)The deferral of autumn and going to the bathroom is linked through the final phrase, “not going yet”. This is a kind of refrain that draws attention to the aesthetic architecture of locating the self, and yet the reference to an impending toilet trip raised many eyebrows. Nancy Millar comments that “these passages invoke that moment in writing when everything comes together in a fraction of poise; that fragile moment the writing in turn attempts to capture; and that going to the bathroom precisely, will end” (6). It spoils the moment. The aesthetic green scene with one red leaf is ruptured by the impending toilet scene. Or perhaps it is the intimacy of bodily function that disrupts the ambient. And yet the moment is fictional anyway. There must surely always be some fiction involved when writing about the scene of writing, as writing usually takes more than one take. Gina Mercer takes advantage of this fictional function in a review of a collection of women’s poetry. Noting the striking discursive differences between the editor’s introduction and the poetry collected in the volume, she suggestively accounts for this by imagining the conditions under which the editor might have been working: I suddenly begin to imagine that she wrote the introduction sitting at her desk in twin-set and pearls, her feet constricted by court shoes – but that the selection took place at home with her lying on a large beautifully-linened bed bestrewn by a cat and the poems… (4)These imaginary conditions, Mercer implies, impact on the ways we do our intellectual work, or perhaps different kinds of work require different conditions. Mercer not only imagines the editor at work, but also suggests her own preferred workspace when she mentions that “the other issue I’ve been pondering as I lay on my bed in a sarong (yes it’s hot here already) reading this anthology, has been the question of who reads love poetry these days?” (4). Placing herself as reader (of an anthology of love poetry) on the bed in a sarong in a hot climate partially accounts for the production of the thinking around this review, but probably doesn’t include the writing process. Mercer’s review is written in epistolary form, signaling an engagement with ‘the personal’, and yet that awareness of form and setting performs a doubling function in which scenes are set and imagination is engaged and yet their veracity doesn’t seem important, and may even be part of the fiction of form. It’s the idea of working leisurely that gains traction in this review. Despite the capacity for fiction, I want to believe that Jane Tompkins was writing in her study in North Carolina next to a full-length window looking out onto a tree. I’m willing to suspend my disbelief and imagine her writing in this place and time. Scenes of Writing Physical conditions are often part of mythologising a writer. Sylvia Plath wrote the extraordinary collection of poems that became Ariel during the 1962/63 London winter, reputed to have been the coldest for over a hundred years (Gifford 15). The cold weather is given a significant narrative role in the intensity of her writing and her emotional desperation during that period. Sigmund Freud’s writing desk was populated with figurines from his collection of antiquities looking down on his writing, a scene carefully replicated in the Freud Museum in London and reproduced in postcards as a potent staging of association between mythology, writing and psychoanalysis (see Burke 2006). Writer’s retreats at the former residences of writers (like Varuna at the former home of Eleanor Dark in the Blue Mountains, and the Katherine Susannah Pritchard Centre in the hills outside of Perth) memorialise the material conditions in which writers wrote. So too do pilgrimages to the homes of famous writers and the tourism they produce in which we may gaze in wonder at the ordinary places of such extraordinary writing. The ambience of location is one facet of the conditions of writing. When I was a doctoral student reading Continental feminist philosophy, I used anything at hand to transport myself into their world. I wrote my dissertation mostly in Townsville in tropical Queensland (and partly in Cairns, even more tropical), where winter is blue skies and mid-twenties in temperature but summers are subject to frequent build-ups in pressure systems, high humidity, no breeze and some cyclones. There was no doubt that studying habits were affected by the weather for a student, if not for all the academics who live there. Workplaces were icily air-conditioned (is this ambient?) but outside was redolent with steamy tropical evenings, hot humid days, torrential downpours. When the weather breaks there is release in blood pressure accompanying barometer pressure. I was reading contemporary Australian literature alongside French feminist theories of subjectivity and their relation through écriture féminine. The European philosophical and psychoanalytic tradition and its exquisitely radical anti-logical writing of Irigaray, Cixous and Kristeva seemed alien to my tropical environs but perversely seductive. In order to get ‘inside’ the theoretical arguments, my strategy was to interpolate myself into their imagined world of writing, to emulate their imagined conditions. Whenever my friend went on a trip, I caretook her 1940s unit that sat on a bluff and looked out over the Coral Sea, all whitewashed and thick stone, and transformed it into a French salon for my intellectual productivity. I played Edith Piaf and Grace Jones, went to the grocer at the bottom of the hill every day for fresh food and the French patisserie for baguettes and croissants. I’d have coffee brewing frequently, and ate copious amounts of camembert and chocolate. The Townsville flat was a Parisian salon with French philosophers conversing in my head and between the piles of book lying on the table. These binges of writing were extraordinarily productive. It may have been because of the imagined Francophile habitus (as Bourdieu understands it); or it may have been because I prepared for the anticipated period of time writing in a privileged space. There was something about adopting the fictional romance of Parisian culture though that appealed to the juxtaposition of doing French theory in Townsville. It intensified the difference but interpolated me into an intellectual imaginary. Derrida’s essay, “Freud and the Scene of Writing”, promises to shed light on Freud’s conditions of writing, and yet it is concerned moreover with the metaphoric or rather intellectual ‘scene’ of Freudian ideas that form the groundwork of Derrida’s own corpus. Scenic, or staged, like Tompkins’s framed window of leaves, it looks upon the past as a ‘moment’ of intellectual ferment in language. Peggy Kamuf suggests that the translation of this piece of Derrida’s writing works to cover over the corporeal banishment from the scene of writing, in a move that privileges the written trace. In commenting, Kamuf translates Derrida herself: ‘to put outside and below [metre dehors et en bas] the body of the written trace [le corps de la trace écrite].’ Notice also the latter phrase, which says not the trace of the body but the body of the trace. The trace, what Derrida but before him also Freud has called trace or Spur, is or has a body. (23)This body, however, is excised, removed from the philosophical and psychoanalytic imaginary Kamuf argues. Australian philosopher Elizabeth Grosz contends that the body is “understood in terms that attempt to minimize or ignore altogether its formative role in the production of philosophical values – truth, knowledge, justice” (Volatile 4): Philosophy has always considered itself a discipline concerned primarily or exclusively with ideas, concepts, reason, judgment – that is, with terms clearly framed by the concept of mind, terms which marginalize or exclude considerations of the body. As soon as knowledge is seen as purely conceptual, its relation to bodies, the corporeality of both knowers and texts, and the ways these materialities interact, must become obscure. (Volatile 4)In the production of knowledge then, the corporeal knowing writing body can be expected to interact with place, with the ambience or otherwise in which we work. “Writing is a physical effort,” notes Cixous, and “this is not said often enough” (40). The Tense Present Conditions have changed here in Perth since the last draft. A late summer high pressure system is sitting in the Great Australian Bite pushing hot air across the desert and an equally insistent ridge of low pressure sits off the Indian Ocean, so the two systems are working against each other, keeping the weather hot, still, tense, taut against the competing forces. It has been nudging forty degrees for a week. The air conditioning at work has overloaded and has been set to priority cooling; offices are the lowest priority. A fan blasts its way across to me, thrumming as it waves its head from one side to the other as if tut-tutting. I’m not consumed with intellectual curiosity the way I was in the previous heatwave; I’m feeling tired, and wondering if I should just give up on this paper. It will wait for another time and journal. There’s a tension with chronology here, with what’s happening in the present, but then Rachel Blau DuPlessis argues that the act of placing ideas into language inevitably produces that tension: Chronology is time depicted as travelling (more or less) in a (more or less) forward direction. Yet one can hardly write a single sentence straight; it all rebounds. Even its most innocent first words – A, The, I, She, It – teem with heteroglossias. (16)“Sentences structure” DuPlessis points out, and grammar necessitates development, chronological linearity, which affects the possibilities for narrative. “Cause and effect affect” DuPlessis notes (16), as do Cixous and Irigaray before her. Nevertheless we must press on. And so I leave work and go for a swim, bring my core body temperature down, and order a pot of tea from the beach café while I read Barbara Bolt in the bright afternoon light. Bolt is a landscape painter who has spent some time in Kalgoorlie, a mining town 800km east of Perth, and notes the ways light is used as a metaphor for visual illumination, for enlightening, and yet in Kalgoorlie light is a glare which, far from illuminating, blinds. In Kalgoorlie the light is dangerous to the body, causing cancers and cataracts but also making it difficult to see because of its sheer intensity. Bolt makes an argument for the Australian light rupturing European thinking about light: Visual practice may be inconceivable without a consideration of light, but, I will argue, it is equally ‘inconceivable’ to practice under European notions of light in the ‘glare’ of the Australian sun. Too much light on matter sheds no light on the matter. (204)Bolt frequently equates the European notions of visual art practice that, she claims, Australians still operate under, with concomitant concepts of European philosophy, aesthetics and, I want to add, epistemology. She is particularly adept at noting the material impact of Australian conditions on the body, arguing that, the ‘glare’ takes apart the Enlightenment triangulation of light, knowledge, and form. In fact, light becomes implicated bodily, in the facts of the matter. My pterygiums and sun-beaten skin, my mother and father’s melanomas, and the incidence of glaucoma implicate the sun in a very different set of processes. From my optic, light can no longer be postulated as the catalyst that joins objects while itself remaining unbent and unimplicated … (206).If new understandings of light are generated in Australian conditions of working, surely heat is capable of refiguring dominant European notions as well. Heat is commonly associated with emotions and erotics, even through ideas: heated debate, hot topics and burning issues imply the very latest and most provocative discussions, sizzling and mercurial. Heat has a material affect on corporeality also: dehydrating, disorienting, dizzying and burning. Fuzzy logic and bent horizons may emerge. Studies show that students learn best in ambient temperatures (Pilman; Graetz), but I want to argue that thought and writing can bend in other dimensions with heat. Tensions build in blood pressure alongside isometric bars. Emotional and intellectual intensities merge. Embodiment meets epistemology. This is not a new idea; feminist philosophers like Donna Haraway have been emphasizing the importance of situated knowledge and partial perspective for decades as a methodology that challenges universalism and creates a more ethical form of objectivity. In 1987 Haraway was arguing for politics and epistemologies of location, positioning, and situating, where partiality and not universality is the condition of being heard to make rational knowledge claims. These are claims on people’s lives. I am arguing for the view from a body, always a complex contradictory structuring and structured body versus the view from above, from nowhere, from simplicity. (Haraway 588)Working in intellectual conditions when the specificities of ambience is ignored, is also, I suggest, to work in a privileged space, in which there are no distractions like the weather. It is also to work ‘from nowhere, from simplicity’ in Haraway’s words. It is to write from within the pure imaginary space of the intellect. But to write in, and from, weather conditions no matter what they might be is to acknowledge the affect of being-in-the-world, to recognise an ontological debt that is embodied and through which we think. I want to make a claim for the radical conditions under which writing can occur outside of the ambient, as I sit here sweating over theory again. Drawing attention to the corporeal conditions of the scene of writing is a way of situating knowledge and partial perspective: if I were in Hobart where snow still lies on Mount Wellington I may well have a different perspective, but the metaphors of ice and cold also need transforming into productive and generative conditions of particularised knowledge. To acknowledge the location of knowledge production suggests more of the forces at work in particular thinking, as a bibliography indicates the shelf of books that have inflected the written product. This becomes a relation of immanence rather than transcendence between the subject and thought, whereby thinking can be understood as an act, an activity, or even activism of an agent. This is proposed by Elizabeth Grosz in her later work where she yokes together the “jagged edges” (Time 165) of Deleuze and Irigaray’s work in order to reconsider the “future of thought”. She calls for a revision of meaning, as Bolt does, but this time in regard to thought itself—and the task of philosophy—asking whether it is possible to develop an understanding of thought that refuses to see thought as passivity, reflection, contemplation, or representation, and instead stresses its activity, how and what it performs […] can we deromanticize the construction of knowledges and discourses to see them as labor, production, doing? (Time 158)If writing is to be understood as a form of activism it seems fitting to conclude here with one final image: of Gloria Anzaldua’s computer, at which she invites us to imagine her writing her book Borderlands/La Frontera: The New Mestiza (1987), a radical Chicana vision for postcolonial theory. Like Grosz, Anzaldua is intent on undoing the mind/body split and the language through which the labour of thinking can be articulated. This is where she writes her manifesto: I sit here before my computer, Amiguita, my altar on top of the monitor with the Virgen de Coatalopeuh candle and copal incense burning. My companion, a wooden serpent staff with feathers, is to my right while I ponder the ways metaphor and symbol concretize the spirit and etherealize the body. (75) References Anzaldua, Gloria. Borderlands/La Frontera: The New Mestiza. San Francisco: Aunt Lute Books, 1987. Bolt, Barbara. “Shedding Light for the Matter.” Hypatia 15.2 (2000): 202-216. Bourdieu, Pierre. The Logic of Practice. Cambridge: Polity, 1990. [1980 Les Edition de Minuit] Burke, Janine. The Gods of Freud: Sigmund Freud’s Art Collection. Milsons Point: Knopf, 2006. Cixous, Hélène, and Mireille Calle-Gruber. Rootprints: Memory and Life Writing. London: Routledge, 1997. [1994 Photos de Racine]. Derrida, Jacques, and Jeffrey Mehlman. "Freud and the Scene of Writing." Yale French Studies 48 (1972): 74-117. DuPlessis, Rachel Blau. Blue Studios: Poetry and Its Cultural Work. Tuscaloosa: Alabama UP, 2006. Gifford, Terry. Ted Hughes. Abingdon: Routledge, 2009. Graetz, Ken A. “The Psychology of Learning Environments.” Educause Review 41.6 (2006): 60-75. Grosz, Elizabeth. Volatile Bodies: Towards a Corporeal Feminism. St Leonards: Allen & Unwin, 1994. Grosz, Elizabeth. Time Travels: Feminism, Nature, Power. St Leonards: Allen & Unwin, 2005. Haraway, Donna. “Situated Knowledges: The Science Question in Feminism and the Privilege of Partial Perspective.” Feminist Studies 14.3 (1988): 575-99. Kamuf, Peggy. “Outside in Analysis.” Mosaic 42.4 (2009): 19-34. Mercer, Gina. “The Days of Love Are Lettered.” Review of The Oxford Book of Australian Love Poems, ed. Jennifer Strauss. LiNQ 22.1 (1995): 135-40. Miller, Nancy K. Getting Personal: Feminist Occasions and Other Autobiographical Acts. New York: Routledge, 1991. Pilman, Mary S. “The Effects of Air Temperature Variance on Memory Ability.” Loyola University Clearinghouse, 2001. ‹http://clearinghouse.missouriwestern.edu/manuscripts/306.php›. Tompkins, Jane. “Me and My Shadow.” New Literary History 19.1 (1987): 169-78.


 
 
 From elephants to ABBA fans, silicon to hormone, the following discussion uses a new research method to look at printed text, motion pictures and a teenage rebel icon. If by ‘print’ we mean a mechanically reproduced impression of a cultural symbol in a medium, then printing has been with us since before microdot security prints were painted onto cars, before voice prints, laser prints, network servers, record pressings, motion picture prints, photo prints, colour woodblock prints, before books, textile prints, and footprints. If we accept that higher mammals such as elephants have a learnt culture, then it is possible to extend a definition of printing beyond Homo sapiens. Poole reports that elephants mechanically trumpet reproductions of human car horns into the air surrounding their society. If nothing else, this cross-species, cross-cultural reproduction, this ‘ability to mimic’ is ‘another sign of their intelligence’. Observation of child development suggests that the first significant meaningful ‘impression’ made on the human mind is that of the face of the child’s nurturer – usually its mother. The baby’s mind forms an ‘impression’, a mental print, a reproducible memory data set, of the nurturer’s face, voice, smell, touch, etc. That face is itself a cultural construct: hair style, makeup, piercings, tattoos, ornaments, nutrition-influenced skin and smell, perfume, temperature and voice. A mentally reproducible pattern of a unique face is formed in the mind, and we use that pattern to distinguish ‘familiar and strange’ in our expanding social orbit. The social relations of patterned memory – of imprinting – determine the extent to which we explore our world (armed with research aids such as text print) or whether we turn to violence or self-harm (Bretherton). While our cultural artifacts (such as vellum maps or networked voice message servers) bravely extend our significant patterns into the social world and the traversed environment, it is useful to remember that such artifacts, including print, are themselves understood by our original pattern-reproduction and impression system – the human mind, developed in childhood. The ‘print’ is brought to mind differently in different discourses. For a reader, a ‘print’ is a book, a memo or a broadsheet, whether it is the Indian Buddhist Sanskrit texts ordered to be printed in 593 AD by the Chinese emperor Sui Wen-ti (Silk Road) or the US Defense Department memo authorizing lower ranks to torture the prisoners taken by the Bush administration (Sanchez, cited in ABC). Other fields see prints differently. For a musician, a ‘print’ may be the sheet music which spread classical and popular music around the world; it may be a ‘record’ (as in a ‘recording’ session), where sound is impressed to wax, vinyl, charged silicon particles, or the alloys (Smith, “Elpida”) of an mp3 file. For the fine artist, a ‘print’ may be any mechanically reproduced two-dimensional (or embossed) impression of a significant image in media from paper to metal, textile to ceramics. ‘Print’ embraces the Japanese Ukiyo-e colour prints of Utamaro, the company logos that wink from credit card holographs, the early photographs of Talbot, and the textured patterns printed into neolithic ceramics. Computer hardware engineers print computational circuits. Homicide detectives investigate both sweaty finger prints and the repeated, mechanical gaits of suspects, which are imprinted into the earthy medium of a crime scene. For film makers, the ‘print’ may refer to a photochemical polyester reproduction of a motion picture artifact (the reel of ‘celluloid’), or a DVD laser disc impression of the same film. Textualist discourse has borrowed the word ‘print’ to mean ‘text’, so ‘print’ may also refer to the text elements within the vision track of a motion picture: the film’s opening titles, or texts photographed inside the motion picture story such as the sword-cut ‘Z’ in Zorro (Niblo). Before the invention of writing, the main mechanically reproduced impression of a cultural symbol in a medium was the humble footprint in the sand. The footprints of tribes – and neighbouring animals – cut tracks in the vegetation and the soil. Printed tracks led towards food, water, shelter, enemies and friends. Having learnt to pattern certain faces into their mental world, children grew older and were educated in the footprints of family and clan, enemies and food. The continuous impression of significant foot traffic in the medium of the earth produced the lines between significant nodes of prewriting and pre-wheeled cultures. These tracks were married to audio tracks, such as the song lines of the Australian Aborigines, or the ballads of tramping culture everywhere. A typical tramping song has the line, ‘There’s a track winding back to an old-fashion shack along the road to Gundagai,’ (O’Hagan), although this colonial-style song was actually written for radio and became an international hit on the airwaves, rather than the tramping trails. The printed tracks impressed by these cultural flows are highly contested and diverse, and their foot prints are woven into our very language. The names for printed tracks have entered our shared memory from the intersection of many cultures: ‘Track’ is a Germanic word entering English usage comparatively late (1470) and now used mainly in audio visual cultural reproduction, as in ‘soundtrack’. ‘Trek’ is a Dutch word for ‘track’ now used mainly by ecotourists and science fiction fans. ‘Learn’ is a Proto-Indo-European word: the verb ‘learn’ originally meant ‘to find a track’ back in the days when ‘learn’ had a noun form which meant ‘the sole of the foot’. ‘Tract’ and ‘trace’ are Latin words entering English print usage before 1374 and now used mainly in religious, and electronic surveillance, cultural reproduction. ‘Trench’ in 1386 was a French path cut through a forest. ‘Sagacity’ in English print in 1548 was originally the ability to track or hunt, in Proto-Indo-European cultures. ‘Career’ (in English before 1534) was the print made by chariots in ancient Rome. ‘Sleuth’ (1200) was a Norse noun for a track. ‘Investigation’ (1436) was Latin for studying a footprint (Harper). The arrival of symbolic writing scratched on caves, hearth stones, and trees (the original meaning of ‘book’ is tree), brought extremely limited text education close to home. Then, with baked clay tablets, incised boards, slate, bamboo, tortoise shell, cast metal, bark cloth, textiles, vellum, and – later – paper, a portability came to text that allowed any culture to venture away from known ‘foot’ paths with a reduction in the risk of becoming lost and perishing. So began the world of maps, memos, bills of sale, philosophic treatises and epic mythologies. Some of this was printed, such as the mechanical reproduction of coins, but the fine handwriting required of long, extended, portable texts could not be printed until the invention of paper in China about 2000 years ago. Compared to lithic architecture and genes, portable text is a fragile medium, and little survives from the millennia of its innovators. The printing of large non-text designs onto bark-paper and textiles began in neolithic times, but Sui Wen-ti’s imperial memo of 593 AD gives us the earliest written date for printed books, although we can assume they had been published for many years previously. The printed book was a combination of Indian philosophic thought, wood carving, ink chemistry and Chinese paper. The earliest surviving fragment of paper-print technology is ‘Mantras of the Dharani Sutra’, a Buddhist scripture written in the Sanskrit language of the Indian subcontinent, unearthed at an early Tang Dynasty site in Xian, China – making the fragment a veteran piece of printing, in the sense that Sanskrit books had been in print for at least a century by the early Tang Dynasty (Chinese Graphic Arts Net). At first, paper books were printed with page-size carved wooden boards. Five hundred years later, Pi Sheng (c.1041) baked individual reusable ceramic characters in a fire and invented the durable moveable type of modern printing (Silk Road 2000). Abandoning carved wooden tablets, the ‘digitizing’ of Chinese moveable type sped up the production of printed texts. In turn, Pi Sheng’s flexible, rapid, sustainable printing process expanded the political-cultural impact of the literati in Asian society. Digitized block text on paper produced a bureaucratic, literate elite so powerful in Asia that Louis XVI of France copied China’s print-based Confucian system of political authority for his own empire, and so began the rise of the examined public university systems, and the civil service systems, of most European states (Watson, Visions). By reason of its durability, its rapid mechanical reproduction, its culturally agreed signs, literate readership, revered authorship, shared ideology, and distributed portability, a ‘print’ can be a powerful cultural network which builds and expands empires. But print also attacks and destroys empires. A case in point is the Spanish conquest of Aztec America: The Aztecs had immense libraries of American literature on bark-cloth scrolls, a technology which predated paper. These libraries were wiped out by the invading Spanish, who carried a different book before them (Ewins). In the industrial age, the printing press and the gun were seen as the weapons of rebellions everywhere. In 1776, American rebels staffed their ‘Homeland Security’ units with paper makers, knowing that defeating the English would be based on printed and written documents (Hahn). Mao Zedong was a book librarian; Mao said political power came out of the barrel of a gun, but Mao himself came out of a library. With the spread of wireless networked servers, political ferment comes out of the barrel of the cell phone and the internet chat room these days. Witness the cell phone displays of a plane hitting a tower that appear immediately after 9/11 in the Middle East, or witness the show trials of a few US and UK lower ranks who published prints of their torturing activities onto the internet: only lower ranks who published prints were arrested or tried. The control of secure servers and satellites is the new press. These days, we live in a global library of burning books – ‘burning’ in the sense that ‘print’ is now a charged silicon medium (Smith, “Intel”) which is usually made readable by connecting the chip to nuclear reactors and petrochemically-fired power stations. World resources burn as we read our screens. Men, women, children burn too, as we watch our infotainment news in comfort while ‘their’ flickering dead faces are printed in our broadcast hearths. The print we watch is not the living; it is the voodoo of the living in the blackout behind the camera, engaging the blood sacrifice of the tormented and the unfortunate. Internet texts are also ‘on fire’ in the third sense of their fragility and instability as a medium: data bases regularly ‘print’ fail-safe copies in an attempt to postpone the inevitable mechanical, chemical and electrical failure that awaits all electronic media in time. Print defines a moral position for everyone. In reporting conflict, in deciding to go to press or censor, any ‘print’ cannot avoid an ethical context, starting with the fact that there is a difference in power between print maker, armed perpetrators, the weak, the peaceful, the publisher, and the viewer. So many human factors attend a text, video or voice ‘print’: its very existence as an aesthetic object, even before publication and reception, speaks of unbalanced, and therefore dynamic, power relationships. For example, Graham Greene departed unscathed from all the highly dangerous battlefields he entered as a novelist: Riot-torn Germany, London Blitz, Belgian Congo, Voodoo Haiti, Vietnam, Panama, Reagan’s Washington, and mafia Europe. His texts are peopled with the injustices of the less fortunate of the twentieth century, while he himself was a member of the fortunate (if not happy) elite, as is anyone today who has the luxury of time to read Greene’s works for pleasure. Ethically a member of London and Paris’ colonizers, Greene’s best writing still electrifies, perhaps partly because he was in the same line of fire as the victims he shared bread with. In fact, Greene hoped daily that he would escape from the dreadful conflicts he fictionalized via a body bag or an urn of ashes (see Sherry). In reading an author’s biography we have one window on the ethical dimensions of authority and print. If a print’s aesthetics are sometimes enduring, its ethical relationships are always mutable. Take the stylized logo of a running athlete: four limbs bent in a rotation of action. This dynamic icon has symbolized ‘good health’ in Hindu and Buddhist culture, from Madras to Tokyo, for thousands of years. The cross of bent limbs was borrowed for the militarized health programs of 1930s Germany, and, because of what was only a brief, recent, isolated yet monstrously horrific segment of its history in print, the bent-limbed swastika is now a vilified symbol in the West. The sign remains ‘impressed’ differently on traditional Eastern culture, and without the taint of Nazism. Dramatic prints are emotionally charged because, in depicting Homo sapiens in danger, or passionately in love, they elicit a hormonal reaction from the reader, the viewer, or the audience. The type of emotions triggered by a print vary across the whole gamut of human chemistry. A recent study of three genres of motion picture prints shows a marked differences in the hormonal responses of men compared to women when viewing a romance, an actioner, and a documentary (see Schultheiss, Wirth, and Stanton). Society is biochemically diverse in its engagement with printed culture, which raises questions about equality in the arts. Motion picture prints probably comprise around one third of internet traffic, in the form of stolen digitized movie files pirated across the globe via peer-to-peer file transfer networks (p2p), and burnt as DVD laser prints (BBC). There is also a US 40 billion dollar per annum legitimate commerce in DVD laser pressings (Grassl), which would suggest an US 80 billion per annum world total in legitimate laser disc print culture. The actively screen literate, or the ‘sliterati’ as I prefer to call them, research this world of motion picture prints via their peers, their internet information channels, their television programming, and their web forums. Most of this activity occurs outside the ambit of universities and schools. One large site of sliterate (screen literate) practice outside most schooling and official research is the net of online forums at imdb.com (International Movie Data Base). Imdb.com ‘prints’ about 25,000,000 top pages per month to client browsers. Hundreds of sliterati forums are located at imdb, including a forum for the Australian movie, Muriel’s Wedding (Hogan). Ten years after the release of Muriel’s Wedding, young people who are concerned with victimization and bullying still log on to http://us.imdb.com/title/tt0110598/board/> and put their thoughts into print: I still feel so bad for Muriel in the beginning of the movie, when the girls ‘dump’ her, and how much the poor girl cried and cried! Those girls were such biartches…I love how they got their comeuppance! bunniesormaybemidgets’s comment is typical of the current discussion. Muriel’s Wedding was a very popular film in its first cinema edition in Australia and elsewhere. About 30% of the entire over-14 Australian population went to see this photochemical polyester print in the cinemas on its first release. A decade on, the distributors printed a DVD laser disc edition. The story concerns Muriel (played by Toni Collette), the unemployed daughter of a corrupt, ‘police state’ politician. Muriel is bullied by her peers and she withdraws into a fantasy world, deluding herself that a white wedding will rescue her from the torments of her blighted life. Through theft and deceit (the modus operandi of her father) Muriel escapes to the entertainment industry and finds a ‘wicked’ girlfriend mentor. From a rebellious position of stubborn independence, Muriel plays out her fantasy. She gets her white wedding, before seeing both her father and her new married life as hollow shams which have goaded her abandoned mother to suicide. Redefining her life as a ‘game’ and assuming responsibility for her independence, Muriel turns her back on the mainstream, image-conscious, female gang of her oppressed youth. Muriel leaves the story, having rekindled her friendship with her rebel mentor. My methodological approach to viewing the laser disc print was to first make a more accessible, coded record of the entire movie. I was able to code and record the print in real time, using a new metalanguage (Watson, “Eyes”). The advantage of Coding is that ‘thinks’ the same way as film making, it does not sidetrack the analyst into prose. The Code splits the movie print into Vision Action [vision graphic elements, including text] (sound) The Coding splits the vision track into normal action and graphic elements, such as text, so this Coding is an ideal method for extracting all the text elements of a film in real time. After playing the film once, I had four and a half tightly packed pages of the coded story, including all its text elements in square brackets. Being a unique, indexed hard copy, the Coded copy allowed me immediate access to any point of the Muriel’s Wedding saga without having to search the DVD laser print. How are ‘print’ elements used in Muriel’s Wedding? Firstly, a rose-coloured monoprint of Muriel Heslop’s smiling face stares enigmatically from the plastic surface of the DVD picture disc. The print is a still photo captured from her smile as she walked down the aisle of her white wedding. In this print, Toni Collette is the Mona Lisa of Australian culture, except that fans of Muriel’s Wedding know the meaning of that smile is a magical combination of the actor’s art: the smile is both the flush of dreams come true and the frightening self deception that will kill her mother. Inserting and playing the disc, the text-dominant menu appears, and the film commences with the text-dominant opening titles. Text and titles confer a legitimacy on a work, whether it is a trade mark of the laser print owners, or the household names of stars. Text titles confer status relationships on both the presenters of the cultural artifact and the viewer who has entered into a legal license agreement with the owners of the movie. A title makes us comfortable, because the mind always seeks to name the unfamiliar, and a set of text titles does that job for us so that we can navigate the ‘tracks’ and settle into our engagement with the unfamiliar. The apparent ‘truth’ and ‘stability’ of printed text calms our fears and beguiles our uncertainties. Muriel attends the white wedding of a school bully bride, wearing a leopard print dress she has stolen. Muriel’s spotted wild animal print contrasts with the pure white handmade dress of the bride. In Muriel’s leopard textile print, we have the wild, rebellious, impoverished, inappropriate intrusion into the social ritual and fantasy of her high-status tormentor. An off-duty store detective recognizes the printed dress and calls the police. The police are themselves distinguished by their blue-and-white checked prints and other mechanically reproduced impressions of cultural symbols: in steel, brass, embroidery, leather and plastics. Muriel is driven in the police car past the stenciled town sign (‘Welcome To Porpoise Spit’ heads a paragraph of small print). She is delivered to her father, a politician who presides over the policing of his town. In a state where the judiciary, police and executive are hijacked by the same tyrant, Muriel’s father, Bill, pays off the police constables with a carton of legal drugs (beer) and Muriel must face her father’s wrath, which he proceeds to transfer to his detested wife. Like his daughter, the father also wears a spotted brown print costume, but his is a batik print from neighbouring Indonesia (incidentally, in a nation that takes the political status of its batik prints very seriously). Bill demands that Muriel find the receipt for the leopard print dress she claims she has purchased. The legitimate ownership of the object is enmeshed with a printed receipt, the printed evidence of trade. The law (and the paramilitary power behind the law) are legitimized, or contested, by the presence or absence of printed text. Muriel hides in her bedroom, surround by poster prints of the pop group ABBA. Torn-out prints of other people’s weddings adorn her mirror. Her face is embossed with the clown-like primary colours of the marionette as she lifts a bouquet to her chin and stares into the real time ‘print’ of her mirror image. Bill takes the opportunity of a business meeting with Japanese investors to feed his entire family at ‘Charlie Chan’’s restaurant. Muriel’s middle sister sloppily wears her father’s state election tee shirt, printed with the text: ‘Vote 1, Bill Heslop. You can’t stop progress.’ The text sets up two ironic gags that are paid off on the dialogue track: “He lost,’ we are told. ‘Progress’ turns out to be funding the concreting of a beach. Bill berates his daughter Muriel: she has no chance of becoming a printer’s apprentice and she has failed a typing course. Her dysfunction in printed text has been covered up by Bill: he has bribed the typing teacher to issue a printed diploma to his daughter. In the gambling saloon of the club, under the arrays of mechanically repeated cultural symbols lit above the poker machines (‘A’ for ace, ‘Q’ for queen, etc.), Bill’s secret girlfriend Diedre risks giving Muriel a cosmetics job. Another text icon in lights announces the surf nightclub ‘Breakers’. Tania, the newly married queen bitch who has made Muriel’s teenage years a living hell, breaks up with her husband, deciding to cash in his negotiable text documents – his Bali honeymoon tickets – and go on an island holiday with her girlfriends instead. Text documents are the enduring site of agreements between people and also the site of mutations to those agreements. Tania dumps Muriel, who sobs and sobs. Sobs are a mechanical, percussive reproduction impressed on the sound track. Returning home, we discover that Muriel’s older brother has failed a printed test and been rejected for police recruitment. There is a high incidence of print illiteracy in the Heslop family. Mrs Heslop (Jeannie Drynan), for instance, regularly has trouble at the post office. Muriel sees a chance to escape the oppression of her family by tricking her mother into giving her a blank cheque. Here is the confluence of the legitimacy of a bank’s printed negotiable document with the risk and freedom of a blank space for rebel Muriel’s handwriting. Unable to type, her handwriting has the power to steal every cent of her father’s savings. She leaves home and spends the family’s savings at an island resort. On the island, the text print-challenged Muriel dances to a recording (sound print) of ABBA, her hand gestures emphasizing her bewigged face, which is made up in an impression of her pop idol. Her imitation of her goddesses – the ABBA women, her only hope in a real world of people who hate or avoid her – is accompanied by her goddesses’ voices singing: ‘the mystery book on the shelf is always repeating itself.’ Before jpeg and gif image downloads, we had postcard prints and snail mail. Muriel sends a postcard to her family, lying about her ‘success’ in the cosmetics business. The printed missal is clutched by her father Bill (Bill Hunter), who proclaims about his daughter, ‘you can’t type but you really impress me’. Meanwhile, on Hibiscus Island, Muriel lies under a moonlit palm tree with her newly found mentor, ‘bad girl’ Ronda (Rachel Griffiths). In this critical scene, where foolish Muriel opens her heart’s yearnings to a confidante she can finally trust, the director and DP have chosen to shoot a flat, high contrast blue filtered image. The visual result is very much like the semiabstract Japanese Ukiyo-e woodblock prints by Utamaro. This Japanese printing style informed the rise of European modern painting (Monet, Van Gogh, Picasso, etc., were all important collectors and students of Ukiyo-e prints). The above print and text elements in Muriel’s Wedding take us 27 minutes into her story, as recorded on a single page of real-time handwritten Coding. Although not discussed here, the Coding recorded the complete film – a total of 106 minutes of text elements and main graphic elements – as four pages of Code. Referring to this Coding some weeks after it was made, I looked up the final code on page four: taxi [food of the sea] bq. Translation: a shop sign whizzes past in the film’s background, as Muriel and Ronda leave Porpoise Spit in a taxi. Over their heads the text ‘Food Of The Sea’ flashes. We are reminded that Muriel and Ronda are mermaids, fantastic creatures sprung from the brow of author PJ Hogan, and illuminated even today in the pantheon of women’s coming-of-age art works. That the movie is relevant ten years on is evidenced by the current usage of the Muriel’s Wedding online forum, an intersection of wider discussions by sliterate women on imdb.com who, like Muriel, are observers (and in some cases victims) of horrific pressure from ambitious female gangs and bullies. Text is always a minor element in a motion picture (unless it is a subtitled foreign film) and text usually whizzes by subliminally while viewing a film. By Coding the work for [text], all the text nuances made by the film makers come to light. While I have viewed Muriel’s Wedding on many occasions, it has only been in Coding it specifically for text that I have noticed that Muriel is a representative of that vast class of talented youth who are discriminated against by print (as in text) educators who cannot offer her a life-affirming identity in the English classroom. Severely depressed at school, and failing to type or get a printer’s apprenticeship, Muriel finds paid work (and hence, freedom, life, identity, independence) working in her audio visual printed medium of choice: a video store in a new city. Muriel found a sliterate admirer at the video store but she later dumped him for her fantasy man, before leaving him too. One of the points of conjecture on the imdb Muriel’s Wedding site is, did Muriel (in the unwritten future) get back together with admirer Brice Nobes? That we will never know. While a print forms a track that tells us where culture has been, a print cannot be the future, a print is never animate reality. At the end of any trail of prints, one must lift one’s head from the last impression, and negotiate satisfaction in the happening world. References Australian Broadcasting Corporation. “Memo Shows US General Approved Interrogations.” 30 Mar. 2005 http://www.abc.net.au>. British Broadcasting Commission. “Films ‘Fuel Online File-Sharing’.’’ 22 Feb. 2005 http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/technology/3890527.stm>. Bretherton, I. “The Origins of Attachment Theory: John Bowlby and Mary Ainsworth.” 1994. 23 Jan. 2005 http://www.psy.med.br/livros/autores/bowlby/bowlby.pdf>. Bunniesormaybemidgets. Chat Room Comment. “What Did Those Girls Do to Rhonda?” 28 Mar. 2005 http://us.imdb.com/title/tt0110598/board/>. Chinese Graphic Arts Net. Mantras of the Dharani Sutra. 20 Feb. 2005 http://www.cgan.com/english/english/cpg/engcp10.htm>. Ewins, R. Barkcloth and the Origins of Paper. 1991. 20 Feb. 2005 http://www.justpacific.com/pacific/papers/barkcloth~paper.html>. Grassl K.R. The DVD Statistical Report. 14 Mar. 2005 http://www.corbell.com>. Hahn, C. M. The Topic Is Paper. 20 Feb. 2005 http://www.nystamp.org/Topic_is_paper.html>. Harper, D. Online Etymology Dictionary. 14 Mar. 2005 http://www.etymonline.com/>. Mask of Zorro, The. Screenplay by J McCulley. UA, 1920. Muriel’s Wedding. Dir. PJ Hogan. Perf. Toni Collette, Rachel Griffiths, Bill Hunter, and Jeannie Drynan. Village Roadshow, 1994. O’Hagan, Jack. On The Road to Gundagai. 1922. 2 Apr. 2005 http://ingeb.org/songs/roadtogu.html>. Poole, J.H., P.L. Tyack, A.S. Stoeger-Horwath, and S. Watwood. “Animal Behaviour: Elephants Are Capable of Vocal Learning.” Nature 24 Mar. 2005. Sanchez, R. “Interrogation and Counter-Resistance Policy.” 14 Sept. 2003. 30 Mar. 2005 http://www.abc.net.au>. Schultheiss, O.C., M.M. Wirth, and S.J. Stanton. “Effects of Affiliation and Power Motivation Arousal on Salivary Progesterone and Testosterone.” Hormones and Behavior 46 (2005). Sherry, N. The Life of Graham Greene. 3 vols. London: Jonathan Cape 2004, 1994, 1989. Silk Road. Printing. 2000. 20 Feb. 2005 http://www.silk-road.com/artl/printing.shtml>. Smith, T. “Elpida Licenses ‘DVD on a Chip’ Memory Tech.” The Register 20 Feb. 2005 http://www.theregister.co.uk/2005/02>. —. “Intel Boffins Build First Continuous Beam Silicon Laser.” The Register 20 Feb. 2005 http://www.theregister.co.uk/2005/02>. Watson, R. S. “Eyes And Ears: Dramatic Memory Slicing and Salable Media Content.” Innovation and Speculation, ed. Brad Haseman. Brisbane: QUT. [in press] Watson, R. S. Visions. Melbourne: Curriculum Corporation, 1994. 
 
 
 
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The western world has an enthusiasm for blondes that amounts to a cultural fetish. As a signifier the blonde is loaded: blondes have more fun, blondes are dumb, blondes are more sexually available, blondes are less capable, less serious, less complicated. The blonde is, in modern day patriarchy, often portrayed as the ideal woman. The Oxford Dictionary defines a Goddess as a female deity or a woman who is adored for her beauty. The Blonde Goddess then is the ultimate contemporary female, worshipped for her appearance, erotically idolised. She may be a Playboy bunny, the hot girl on the beach or the larger than life billboard, but everywhere her image haunts mere mortals: the men who can’t have her and the women who can’t be her. During the second wave of feminism the Blonde Goddess was vilified as an unrealistic illusion and exploitive fantasy and our enthusiasm for her was roundly challenged. She was a stereotype, feminists cried, a site of oppression, a phoney construct. Men were judged harshly for desiring her and women were discouraged from being her. Well beyond hair colour and its power as signifier the very notion of Goddessness, of being adored for one’s beauty, was considered repressive. Women were called upon to refuse participation in blondeness (in its signifying sense) and Goddessness (in the sense of being revered for attractiveness) and men were chastised for being superficial and chauvinistic.Nevertheless, decades later, many men continue to lust after her, women (and increasingly younger girls) work ever harder at being her — bleaching, shaving, breast augmenting and botoxing — and the media promotes endless representations of her. If the second wave thought the Blonde Goddess would give up the ghost easily it was mistaken but what their enthusiastic critique did enable is the birth of a new type of Blonde Goddess, one generally considered to be stronger, more empowered and a better role model for the 21st century Miss. Though the likes of Mae West hinted at this type of Blonde Goddess well before Madonna it was not until Madonna’s generation that she went mainstream. There have been many Blonde Goddess “It girls” — Jean Harlow, Jayne Mansfield and Debbie Harry (singer of the band Blondie) to name a few, but two in particular stand out as the embodiment of these types; their bodies and identities going beyond the image-making machinery to become a kind of Blonde Goddess performance art. They are Marilyn Monroe and Madonna. The enthusiasm for blondeness and Goddessness routinely gives rise to faddish cultural enthusasisms. In Monroe’s day her curvaceous figure was upheld as the model female form. After Madonna appeared with her bangles and layered tops girls all across America and around the world dressed like her. Drawing on Angela Carter’s feminist readings of De Sade in The Sadeian Woman and envisioning Monroe and Madonna, two of the most fêted examples of Blonde Goddessness in history, as De Sade’s Justine and Juliette reveals their erotic currency as both couched in patriarchal gender relations and binding us to it. Considering Monroe and Madonna with the Marquis De Sade characters Justine and Juliette in mind illustrates that Goddessness as I’m defining it here — the enthusiasm which with women rely on beauty for affirmation and men’s enthusiastic feeding of that dependence — amounts to a feminine masquerade that disempowers women from a real experience of femaleness, emancipation and eroticism. When feminists in the 60s and 70s critiqued the Blonde Goddess as the poster-child for good old-fashioned sexism it was women like Monroe they had in mind. What feminists argued for they largely got — access to life beyond the domestic domain, financial autonomy, self-determination — but, as a De Sadian viewing of Madonna will show, we’re still compromised. While many feminists, most notably Andrea Dworkin, rejected the Marquis De Sade, notorious libertine and writer, as a dishonourable pornographer, others, such as Luce Irigaray and Angela Carter, felt he accurately reflected the social structures and relations of western civilisation and was therefore fertile ground for the exploration of what it is to be a woman in our culture. Justine and Juliette are erotic novels that recount the very different fortunes of two dissimilar sisters. They are beautiful (of course) and as such they are Goddesses, even while being defiled and defiling. Monroe and Madonna are metaphorical sisters in a man's world (and it was an infamous touch of video genius when Madonna acknowledged as much by doing Monroe in the video for “Material Girl” early on in her career). Yet one is a survivor and one isn't. One is living and one is long dead. Monroe is the Blonde Goddess as victim; Madonna is the Blonde Goddess as Villain. Monroe cast a shadow; Madonna has danced with the shadow. Both Marilyn and Madonna assumed a feminine masquerade so successful, so omnipotent, that they became not just Goddesses, desired by men, admired by women, and emulated by girls, but the most iconic and celebrated Blonde Goddesses of their age. It was, and in Madonna’s case still is, a highly sexualised masquerade that utilises and promotes itself as a commodity. Both women milked this masquerade to achieve notoriety and wealth in a world where women are disadvantaged in the public sphere. Some read this kind of exploitation of erotic desire as a mark of subjugation while others see it as a feminist act: a knowing usage of means toward a self-possessed end, but as Carter will help demonstrate, masquerade is, either way, an artificial construct and our enthusiasm for trading in it comes at a high price. Monroe, the sexy, fragile child-woman, was the firstborn of the sisters. Her star rose in the moralistic fifties, and by all accounts she spent most of her time in the limelight frustrated by her career and by the studio’s control of it. She was “owned”, and she rebelled against it, fleeing to New York City to study acting at the renowned Actors Studio. She became a devoted student of method acting, a technique that encourages actors to plumb their emotional depths and experiences, though her own psychological instability threatened her career. She was scandalously difficult to work with: chronically late, forgetful, and self-indulgent; and she died alone, intoxicated and naked. Conspiracy theories aside, it seems likely that a cocktail of mental disturbance, man trouble, and substance addiction led to her premature death by overdose in 1962. Monroe’s traditional take on blondeness and Goddessness embodied the purely feminine masquerade and translated to the classic Justine trajectory.Madonna can be thought of as Monroe’s post-modern younger sister, the next generation of Blonde Goddessness. Known for her self-determination, business savvy and self-control Madonna’s self-parody and decades long survival and triumph in a male dominated industry is remarkable. Perhaps this is where the sisters differ most: Madonna challenges the dominant semiotic code of traditional gender roles in that she combines her feminine masquerade with masculinity, witness the pointy cone bra worn with pinstripe trousers and monocle on the “Blonde Ambition” tour. Madonna is the new blonde — shrewder, more forceful, more man-like. She plays girly in her feminine masquerade, but she does so self-consciously, with a wink, as the second sister who has observed and learned the lesson of the first. In Carter’s exploration of the characters of Justine and Juliette she notes that when the orphaned girls are turned out of the convent to fend for themselves, Justine, the sister whose goodness and innocence is constantly met with the brutality and betrayal of men, "embarks on a dolorous pilgrimage in which each preferred sanctuary turns out to be a new prison and all the human relations offered her are a form of servitude" (39). During Monroe’s pilgrimage from foster care, to young wife, to teen model, to star she found herself trapped in an abusive studio system that could not nurture her and instead raped her over and over again in the sense that it thwarted her personal aspirations as an actor and her desire for creative autonomy by overpowering her with its demands. Monroe did not own her own life and sexuality so much as function as a site of objectification, a possession of the Tinsel Town suits. In her personal life she was endowed with the “feminine” trait of feeling; she was, like Justine, "the broken heart, the stabbed dove, the violated sepulcher, the persecuted maiden whose virginity is perpetually refreshed by rape” (Carter 49).In real life and in most of her characters Monroe was kind hearted, generous, caring and compassionate. It is this heart that Justine values most; whatever happens to the body, no matter how impure it becomes, the heart remains sacred. The victim with heart is morally superior to her masters. In a suffering that becomes second nature, "Justine marks the start of a kind of self-regarding female masochism, a woman with no place in the world, no status, the core of whose resistance has been eaten away by self-pity” (57).Conspiracy theories and rumors of Monroe's suffering and possible murder at the hands of the Kennedys (cast as evil Sadian masters) abound. Suicide attempts, drug dependency, and nervous breakdowns were the order of the day in her final years. The continuing fascination with Monroe lies in the fact that she was the archetypal sullied virgin. Feminine virtue and goodness require sexual innocence and purity. If Monroe’s innocence (a feature of films like Some Like it Hot) was too often confused with stupidity she made the most of it by cornering the market on bimbo roles (Gentleman Prefer Blondes is her ultimate dumb blonde performance). But even those who thought she couldn’t act realised that her appeal was potent because her innocence was infused with the potentiality of an uncontainable libidinous energy. Like Justine, Juliette was a woman born into a man's world, but in her corruption Juliette decided beat men at their own game, to transcend her destiny as woman at any cost. Carter says of Juliette: She is rationality personified and leaves no single cell of her brain unused. She will never obey the fallacious promptings of her heart. Her mind functions like a computer programmed to produce two results for herself — financial profit and libidinal gratification. (79)Indeed, it could be said that it is financial profit and libidinal gratification that most defines Madonna in the public’s eye. She is obscenely rich and often cited for her calculated re-inventions and assertive sexuality (which peaked in the early nineties with the album Erotica and the graphic Sex book). Madonna, like Juliette, is a story-teller. Even if she isn’t always the author of her songs she creates narrative interplay using song, fashion, and video. Like Juliette Madonna takes control of her destiny. She heads her own production company and is intimately involved with the details of her multi-faceted career. Like Monroe Madonna is said to have slept around strategically in her pre-stardom years, but unlike Monroe she was not passed around. The men in Madonna’s life early in her career were critical to advancing it. From Dan Gilroy, who helped form her first rock band, the Breakfast Club to DJ John "Jellybean" Benitez, who remixed tracks on her debut album Madonna took every step up the ladder of success guided by a precision instinct for self-preservation and promotion. She was not used up as she used others. Her trail leaves no sign of weakness, just one envelope-pushing accomplishment after another, with a few failures along the way, most notably in film. Though very different central to both Monroe and Madonna’s lives and careers is a mega-watt erotic appeal, an appeal that has everything to do with their respective differential repetitions of being blonde.In Eroticism Georges Bataille defines eroticism as the fusion of separate objects involving the play of discontinuity and continuity. In Bataille’s work these words have a specific and unconventional meaning. Discontinuity describes our individuality, our separateness from each other, a separateness that reigns in our social and work-a-day lives. Continuity refers to dissolution of separateness that is most associated with death but which is also experienced by way of exalted living through a taste of transcendence. Bataille posits three types of eroticism: physical, emotional and religious and he claims that they all “substitute for the individual isolated discontinuity a feeling of profound continuity” (15).Here Bataille meets De Sade. In the Introduction to Eroticism Bataille speaks of De Sade’s assertion that we come closest to death (continuity) through the “licentious image.” Further, Bataille declares that eroticism is not just an enthusiasm; it is the enthusiasm of humankind. “It seems to be assumed that man has his being independently of his passions,” he says. “I affirm, on the other hand, that we must never imagine existence except in terms of these passions” (12). He goes on to state that our enthusiasm/eroticism is not just an aspect of our being, but its driving force: “We are discontinuous beings, individuals who perish in isolation in the midst of an incomprehensible adventure, but we yearn for our lost continuity. We find the state of affairs that binds us to our random and ephemeral individuality hard to bear.” (15).Human beauty is, Bataille suggests, measured by its distance from the animal — the more ethereal (light and unearthly) the female shape and texture, and the less clear its relation to animal reality, the more beautiful — the erotic moment lies in profaning that beauty, reducing it to its animal essence. Perhaps this is another reason why blondeness matters and signifies sex, conferring as it does a halo, an ethereal “light” which evokes the sacredness of continuity while denying the animal (the hairy and base reality of the body). This is the invitation The Blonde Goddess makes to defilement, her begging to be reduced to her private parts. Juliette/Madonna subverts her blonde invitation to be profaned by actively taking part in the profanation. Madonna has openly embraced gay culture, S & M, exhibitionism, fetishism, role-play and religious symbolism placing herself centre stage at all times. Justine/Monroe attracted erotic victimisation while Juliette/Madonna refused it by sleight of hand, and here again De Sade can help make sense of this. The works that illustrate this difference between Justine/Monroe and Juliette/Madonna most clearly are The Misfits and Truth or Dare. The Misfits is a beautiful and delicate film, written by Monroe’s then husband, Arthur Miller. The role of Roslyn is rumored to be based on Monroe's own character and her relationship with its three metaphorically dying cowboys reveals an enchanting and pale Justine broken by the dysfunctional and dominating masculinity around her. In contrast, Truth or Dare is a self styled documentary of Madonna’s “Blonde Ambition” tour. It portrays Madonna striking a pose as the tough-talking Queen of the castle, calling the shots, with a bevy of play-thing pawns scuttling beneath her. But, opposite as these characterisations are, some sameness emanates from the two women in these works. Something haunts the screen and it is this: the sisters’ unavoidable cultural roots as women. Even as Madonna sucks on a bottle in faux fellatio, even as she simulates masturbation on stage or scolds her messy young dancers there is something melancholic about her, a vague relationship to Monroe. And here Carter helps solve the mystery: "She [Juliette] is just as her sister is, a description of a type of female behavior rather than a model of female behavior and her triumph is just as ambivalent as is Justine's disaster. Justine is the thesis, Juliette the antithesis” (79).In other words, in Carters’ view Justine/Monroe as heart personified maintains the traditional role of woman as body, as one belonging to the private sphere who pays dearly for entering public life, while Juliette/Madonna as reason personified infiltrates the male dominated territory of culture. Unlike Monroe, Madonna gets away with being a public figure, flourishes even, but as Carter’s Juliette, this victory has required her to betray herself in some way. It is “ambivalent” and Madonna doesn’t quite get off scot free. Madonna has been progressive in that she moved away from the traditional feminine role of body in a forbidding industry, but even though her lucrative maneuvering is more sophisticated than Monroe’s careening, she walks a fine line. In De Sade the sexuality of a libertine is a male identified desire in which women are objectified and exploited. Madonna’s trick is to manifest in feminine masquerade then take an ironic turn in objectifying and exploiting herself in what amounts to a split persona, half woman, half man. In other words she seduces herself under our gaze, and she dares to enjoy it. Ultimately, neither sister can escape the social structure into which she was born. Monroe, who was unable to live as a real woman, lives on as a legend, a Blonde Goddess in the eternal feminine masquerade. Madonna is reborn every time she re-invents herself but it’s hard to tell, with all the costume changing, who the real Madonna is. It was the unactualised real woman that the second wave tried to free by daring to suggest that she existed and was valuable beyond signification and Goddessness and that she had a right to her own experience of enthusiasm/eroticism rather than being relegated to the role of being the “licentious image” for the male gaze. The attack on the Blonde Goddess underestimated the deeply rooted psychic/emotional conditioning at play on both sides of the Blonde Goddess game. Here we are in a new millennium in which the ‘pornified’ Blonde Goddess is everywhere but even if she’s more unfettered and sexually active that deeply rooted conditioning remains. For Carter neither Justine nor Juliette is a worthy role model for the women of today and it would seem to follow that neither are Monroe nor Madonna. However, Carter does speak of “a future in which might lie the possibility of a synthesis of their modes of being, neither submissive nor aggressive, capable of both thought and feeling” (79). Blondeness as a signifier and Goddessness as a function inhibit an experience of shared enthusiasm and eroticism between men and women. When Bataille speaks of nakedness he means eroticism as the destruction of the self-contained character that gives rise to an experience of continuity. This kind of absolute nakedness is impossible for those trapped in the cycle of signification and functional relations. I suggest that the liberation project of the second wave of feminism stalled when in our desire to not be Justines we simply became more akin to Juliette. Blondeness as a signifier is still problematic, and Goddessness of the kind I have spoken of here — women’s attachment to using beauty to garner adoration in place of an innate sense of self and worth and men’s willingness to patronise it — is still rampant and both the Justine and Juliette feminine masquerades produce a false economy of enthusiasm and eroticism that denies the experience of authenticity and the true potential of relationship. The challenge now is one that most needs to be met not in the spotlight but in the privacy of our own beings and the forum of our lives as the struggle for synthesis continues in those of us, female and male, blonde, brunette, redhead, black or grey-haired, who long for an experience of ourselves and each other that transcends masquerade. ReferencesCarter, Angela. The Sadeian Woman. London: Virago Press, 1979.Bataille, Georges. Eroticism. London: Marion Boyars Publishers, 1987.Madonna. Erotica. Warner Bros, 1992.———. “Material Girl.” Like a Virgin. WEA/Warner Bros, 1984.——— and Steven Meisel. Sex. Warner Bros, 1992. The Misfits. Dir. John Huston.. MGM, 1961. Some Like It Hot. Dir. Billy Wilder, Billy. MGM, 1959. Truth or Dare. Dir. Alek Keshishian. Live/Artisan, 1991.