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Yeah? Yeah? I follow no higher code here. A thing what's going round the internet like scabies.Collapse )

Hey, I thought it was kind of interesting-ish. In a slightly exhibitionist way.

Also, I like pudding. I should really get around to putting that on my interests list.
31 August 2005 @ 05:18 pm
There is a casual Client Relations/Marketing position going at my work, available till mid-december.

Monash University, working on the my.monash portal team, as a jack-of-all-customer-services, doing PR material, sleuthing out student and staff problems, making things in photoshop, knowing things about stuff and translating Nerd into English and back. You'd probably be working with me, which you might consider either a plus or a minus.

Get your details and resume and cover letter and referees and stuff to me ASAP (closes 7th Sept).

Formal description as followsCollapse )
22 August 2005 @ 03:00 pm
There are different scales of nerd.

Type 1 nerd: Likes nerdy things.

For whatever reason, this kind of nerd likes cultural items traditionally associated with nerds. Fantasy novels with brightly-coloured covers, dice with too many sides, Spike Spiegel costumes, Joss Whedon and Earl Grey tea, hot. These are the kids who dreamed about space travel and flying horses and haven't quite had that crushed out of them yet.

Type 2 nerd: Hasn't got a clue.

This kind of nerd never quite got the whole 'human interaction' concept. Often found toting around their own personal soapboxes, a Type 2 nerd would argue that these Types should actually be Levels, and would demand to know what the best kind is.

Type 3 nerd: Genuine, pure, A-grade nerd.

This kind of nerd may exist anywhere in the world, and is marked by a near-autistic devotion to things that the majority of humans would find deathly boring. Medieval songs, for example, or pure mathematics. Often to be found carefully correcting the tracks of type 2 trolls on Wikipedia, or completing PhDs in somethingorotherenstein at Cambridge.

I am calling out to the third kind among you.

My Internet-purchased Zendo set has just arrived. A game of logic, buddhism and enthrallingly stackable plastic pyramids.

If you're the kind of person who plays Bartok and makes rules like "no red card can be played on any card with a perfect square value" (as opposed to the more traditional "Anyone who wins a hand of Bartok has to do a tequila slammer off someone's breasts"), drop me a line.
28 July 2005 @ 11:13 pm
In the last week I have, in no particular order:

* Dyed my hair (dark brown)

* Read The Thin Man

* Turned 25 (scored chocolate, Mr Kipling's, Coraline (signed!) and a chewy apricot muesli bar so far)

* Got sick

* Got better

* Had my bike stolen (bastards!)

* Been hassled for change about seven times

* Seen 22 1/2 movies (half because Dead Meat stopped short after the fourth reel of six.)

* Skipped 16 movies (sleep and illness)

* Lost 2 kilos (where? how? do movies burn energy now?)

* Purchased one (1) long white puffer jacket and one (1) pair brown suede boots. Take that, all-black wardrobe.

* Eaten okra for the first time

* Made chicken soup, and managed to burn it (how do you *burn soup*? Takes some kind of skill. Tastes ok though.)

* Seen one penny-farthing bicycle d-locked to a bike hoop.

Pretty colourful for a week. At work, I can barely get one document written in a week. On reflection, this faint persistent headache seems more... earned... having written all this down.
Yet again the Film Festival has steamrolled my birthday like a muffin on a freeway. Every year I'm going to have to put up with this. They're never going to move the festival, and I shur'z hell ain't movin' my birthday. Perhaps we can come up with some kind of timeshare arrangements. For now, I'm offering those of you who aren't going to see Zombie Honeymoon the chance to join me for a movie on July 27th.

In other news, vat-grown meat: It won't happen overnight, but it will happen. The cow will probably then become extinct.

Look at him. Extinct. This is your fault.

Melbourne Inter-Bloody-National Film Festival, or The Day I Kissed My Eyes Goodbye.Collapse )
31 May 2005 @ 11:12 am

Backstory: My cat, Sukoshi, has been missing now for over three weeks. He bolted from the new house and despite doorknocking, posters and frantic calls to the RSPCA and local council, no trace of him has been discovered. Needless to say I have not been happy. Have. Not. All I can do is hope that my cat is a smart cat.

The next-door-neighbour-but-one's cat (who by some cruel coincidence looks almost exactly like my cat, only smaller and louder) has been spending a lot of time round at my place, sitting on my lap. It's like he knows. Or something. He stands outside the front door and yells until we let him in, then he saunters in like he owns the place and rubs his cheeks on things. His name, I recently found out, is Little Man. Both my neighbours and their cat are cool.

Recent Developments: Anna and I were tucked up in bed, tired out from an evening of scrabble and dishes and wasabi-tuna-salad sandwiches. I was being maudlin. There was a space between us in bed, and I was all "That's the perfect space for my cat. I wish my cat was curled up in that space."

As if on cue, Little Man starts yelling outside the front door. We debate getting out of bed to let him in. He isn't really our cat, after all. But we hear Peter relenting; he opens the front door, but Little Man has vanished. Then he starts yelling again - this time he comes in, runs into my room and jumps up on the bed, straight into the space between Anna and I. I'm all like, "Hey, Little Man."

And after a split second, Anna says "That's not Little Man."

Hugs and champagne and kitten kisses all round.

My cat is a smart cat.
23 May 2005 @ 01:36 pm
So I was thinking of going to see Moby.

"Why?" they said. "Why do you want to go see that trumped-up Nuttelex-chomping hairless pixie-man? He is yam-fisted! Fists of yam! Also his tickets cost $72 of our australian dollars! And he has a blog! Why would you pay money to see someone who has a blog?"

The answer is not because Eminem thinks he's a fag.

The answer is not because he has a chihuahua jammed down his shirt, although that's a bonus.

The answer is not because he goes on simplistic and ill-informed left-wing rants, although that's also a bonus.

The answer is, well, darn it, I just like his music.

So I'm asking you, Internet, if you'd like to go with me. It's the week before my birthday (on July 21st) at the Palace, and the first (non-opening) night of the film festival. My finger is hovering over the Ticketek "Buy Now!" button as we speak.
19 April 2005 @ 02:51 pm
So I seem to have survived my brush with the scalpel (albeit a lot poorer and still a woozy little monkey from all those drugs) and methinks a celebration is in order.

Being a lazy little monkey as well as a woozy one, I'm going to take the opportunity to swipe Tom, Cameron and Matt's party and invite everyone along.

So, for those few on this earth that haven't already been yelled at enough about this:

Friday the 13th of May, at the Factory, 100 Gore St, we have pleasure in announcing

Rotten Chop and The Five Venoms

A warehouse-party-gig, and a fine opportunity to come round and poke me in my bruised and scarred midriff. Also, y'know, metalll.
23 February 2005 @ 11:35 am
I bought a house.


Ye gods, what have I done.
05 December 2004 @ 12:27 am
And the rest.

For dj -
The coolest man on earth.

Beckachu -
It's a little blurry, sorry, but it's such a great photo...

Belinda M -
Hand-tinted purple Wedgewood, no less. And yes, that is a real twinings earl grey tea bag :)

Briiian -
It was either fix up this label, or the "Foot High" brand Melons label :)

Simon -
copyright 2004 Sam Brown of explodingdog.com

Thorfy -
Says it all, really :)

Scott -
The first ever isotopes - scientific history in the making.

Georgie -
Every girl needs a good David Bowie icon :)
03 December 2004 @ 03:14 pm
A selection of lovingly hand-photoshopped artworks - more to come. Most of these are copyright The Internet, 2004. I'm too lazy to do tags. If anyone else wants one, poke me in the ribs.

For hamish -
Copyright 2004 J. Grant and Mel Hynes

For luke -

Schmoo -
Copyright 1886 Auguste Rodin

Bianca -
The one and only Miss Wanda Woodward. Strangely enough, I discovered that image-searching "Traci Lords" is not the most work-safe thing you can do.

Belinda B. -
Saw this and thought you might like it.

Cameron -
via Miss Becka, for cameronisbest)

For audrey -
Circles, texture *and* japanese candy :)

For jack -
Sorry, couldn't find a suitable Phoenix outfit :) copyright some french dude.
01 December 2004 @ 03:12 pm
You know that new thing going round where you make icons for people based on one of their interests? Or just the colour of their hair? Or something they once mentioned to you in passing? Or an embarrassing picture of them you have kicking round on your hard drive?

I love that thing. I love it so much.

So leave me a comment if you'd like me to waste some of my valuable, precious time in creating some 100% obligation-free 100x100 pixel art for you to gaze at in awe.
03 November 2004 @ 12:29 pm
I wish I were in a chocolate box Swiss mountain chalet, sipping apres-ski hot chocolate and nibbling Dutch liquorice. I wish I were diving among little fishes and big fishes and octopi and jellyfish and coral. I wish I were at home with my cat, a cup of tea, a book and a doona.

I wish I weren't sitting here at my desk, having abandoned work for the afternoon, clicking reload every four to six seconds on the BBC's election results page, and hoping like hell for the evil we don't know.
"Oh, Hal, honey, what are we gonna do, now the car's broken down miles from anywhere? And it's pouring with rain! It's so creepy being out on the night before Halloween!"

"Wait! Amanda, honey, what does that sign say? "White, Wark and Stone: Old Abandoned Onion Factory"! Maybe we can hide out there until morning!"

"But Hal, something creepy might happen! And besides, I'm scared of onions!"

"Don't worry, Amanda. It'll just be us, the onions and that guy over there with the huge circular sawblade instead of a right hand."

White, Wark & Stone present: The Factory, a Halloween Housewarming

For any queries, mail Cameron, Tom or Matt. Alternatively, leave a flaming jack-o-lantern with a knife in it, filled with... candy... and a note saying "YOU" with your name and contact details outside their front door, and they'll get back to you as soon as possible.
06 October 2004 @ 02:02 pm
I have found a beautiful thing.


This site is amazing. I don't post much in the way of links, but this is something special. I'm sure some of you will have come across it before; I found it in old Penny Arcade news archives, which in and of itself means at least 300,000,000,000 people have seen it.

Sam (the man behind the exploding dog) draws stick-figure pictures to match titles sent in by readers. The result is surprisingly powerful - beautiful, melancholy, wry, vicious, hilarious and touching all being adjectives easily applied to Sam's work. It's a little reminiscent of Tomi Ungerer (she speaks to the void), but without the sense of vulgarity and bloatedness that his characters have. I'd post some exploding dog art, but it's large, and not everybody has the internet piped directly into their brain.

I'm always tempted, with something like this, to keep quiet about it - to hold on to it, so that I'm the only one that knows about it. Today, I overcome my jealousy and hope that these artworks make your day a little more serene and thoughtful than it was before.

Oh, what the hey, I'll put one up here. But I'll cut it, just in case - it's 54kb, after all.Collapse )
Current Mood: awed
Current Music: all the world is green - tom waits
01 September 2004 @ 02:24 pm
Holy shit. Just think about this for a second. Anyone feel like flying over to America for a half year or so?
09 August 2004 @ 04:02 pm
It's that time of year again...

Twenty four. The number of hours in a day. Two dozen. 2x2x2x3. Twenty five minus one. The number of years I have inhabited this ever-surprising, if sometimes trying, human race.


Party, saturday the 21st (not this saturday, but the one after), Langridge street, around 7:30-8pm. If you don't know where that is, email me (it's the same venue as last year). If you're sufficiently interested to be reading this, consider yourself invited. Bring people, pets, liquor, dancing shoes, witty anecdotes, zest, cherry blossoms and skwerls. Dress theme is pretentious.

I expect you all to be there, possibly with bells on. Or I shall cry.
MIFF has rolled around again, and once more I'm on the passport. Since MIFF is running over my birthday again this week, I expect you all to come share a session or two with me.

Incidentally, I'm having a party for said birthday, somewhat belatedly - I'm tentatively scheduling it for the 14th of August at Langridge st.

Anyway, on to the typing - Nicole's Film Festival Schedule Under HereCollapse )
12 July 2004 @ 03:24 pm
(INT: Basement tea-room of Building 3A, Monash University. A small harshly-lit room with an urn, a sink and tea-canisters. NICOLE and RICHARD are talking; NICOLE, looking haggard and drawn, is making tea while RICHARD holds a mug of steaming black coffee.

NICOLE: ...and the whole thing's just a shambles, I mean, we're paying them so much money to make our lives easier, and all they've brought is pain...


NICOLE: ...Lecturers screaming at us from all sides, demanding to know why their online courses aren't ready yet, and fair enough, they're each representing - what - two hundred students each? That's a lot of unhappy students...

RICHARD: Mmmmhmm, yeah.

NICOLE: ...This whole thing is bringing the online teaching system to a standstill instead of speeding it up...

(NICOLE stirs her tea, drops her teabag in the bin and opens the small bar fridge. )


RICHARD: Don't have a cow.

07 July 2004 @ 12:25 pm
When your house gets so full of junk that you can't move, move house.

My old hotmail address is long-since clogged up. So, since I have this lovely monash-sponsored staff email account, and since I have no plans of leaving Monash anytime, I'm officially moving my primary email address.

If you would like to contact me, my address is now


and will probably remain as such until I am old and grey, or until this one gets full of junk, whichever happens first.

p.s. I like pudding!
Current Mood: optimistic
16 June 2004 @ 02:49 pm
I'm riding along down johnson street on my bike without a helmet. I've got a stencil in one hand and a spraycan in my back pocket. I religiously avoid holding convictions and shun those who do. Only my friends understand my jokes. I used to be a vegetarian and I don't quite know what the word "ironic" means.

What am I?

I'm so fucking cool it hurts.
04 June 2004 @ 01:49 pm
Here's the thing, right.

I'm quite bored. Really, really quite bored. I've rearranged everything on my desk, made some more origami ducks out of post-it notes. I've watered the plants. I've constructed, deconstructed and then reconstructed my freakish Kinder Surprise toy. I've looked at every naked lady the internet has to offer. I even did some work, but I've finished now and even that possibility is exhausted.

So I am turning in desperation to livejournal, and to you, my lovely friends, to keep me from digging my own eyes out with a plastic coffee-stirrer.

So here's the thing. I'm asking you to leave an anonymous comment contaning three clues as to your identity. I will then attempt to guess who the bloody hell you are. There's a possibility that none of you will reply due to extenuating coolness, but I'm encouraging you to transcend that and JUST TAKE IT ALL A LITTLE LESS SERIOUSLY, okay?

This whole concept was shamelessly snitched from Mofette. I'm hoping that my anonymous commenter, M, will take the hint and maybe put me out of my misery a little bit. Please, M? Please?
18 May 2004 @ 01:26 pm
We got the permit for Langridge St.
17 May 2004 @ 10:19 am
I've missed it so much. I missed a lot of things while I was in Japan - mint slices, Buffy, real bread, blue sky - but I didn't think I'd miss this quite so much.

Thankyou, Eurovision Song Contest. Thankyou for your appalling singing, your vile costumery, your petty international politicking, your complete inability to speak the English language (that goes for you too, UK). Thankyou for the French girl dancing on stilts, and for the German with the comb-over, and for Macedonia's own I-Can't-Believe-It's-Not-The-Prince-Of-Darkness. Thankyou to every man who wore a white suit, and every woman whose hair was so solid you could've hit it with a brick and not hurt them. Thankyou for every assorted ho-ma, slapper, tart and teletubbie you had in a skimpy outfit doing the backup dancing. Especially for the one whose nipple made a break for freedom. Thankyou to Sweden, who gave Norway three points, the only three points they scored the whole night. Thankyou to Ruslana of the Ukraine, for your Warrior-Princess dance routine from the Carpathian mountains of Transylvania. We were rooting for you.

Thankyou, above all, to miss_rynn for trying to undo my top, the rest of the gang at Project 608 for keeping me plied with alkamahol, and to the makers of Passion Pop for bringing the whole evening together into one glorious whole. I'll probably get all the glitter out of my eyelashes just in time for Ukraine 2005.
Current Music: On Again Off Again - Malta's Julie and Ludwig
26 April 2004 @ 03:24 pm
It seems I cannot avoid a livejournal post. The internet has run out of juice and there's so astoundingly little for me to do to justify the twenty dollars an hour they're paying me.

As I said to Anna, too many caffeinated beverages and not enough to do.

A brief history of time (mine):

Once upon a time, Tom and I hired twenty movies for $10 for a fortnight. The finish line is tomorrow and we've still got four movies to go. My eyes are square and I think I've put on a kilo or two from all the trail mix (read: tim tams and earl grey) we've needed to sustain us through.

The kitten, now named Sukoshi for official-like purposes, and generally called Squash for short, is cute as all get out. He sleeps on my head and licks my nose if I try to move. He likes plastic bags more than anything else in the world. He has sharp little claws and has recently discovered the joys of flyscreens.

Covenant were Swedalicious on Saturday. I nearly didn't go; it was a spur-of-the-moment whim and the call of "bed, videos, junk food and kittens" nearly overcame me. Boy, am I glad I resisted that siren voice. The only support act we caught, Solenoid, were spectacularly blah. Their music was bland industrial mleh and they were more in the "Let's throw our keyboards around, bop to the music, occasionally hit a key and generally act like wankers" zone than the actual playing of music zone. Covenant, on the other hand, rocked the house and we got three encores by demand. We went to the Golden Tower afterwards and my god, they have tasty, tasty hamburgers for very tiny monies. I'd forgotten.

Oh, and I have a flat-screen monitor. It's big. It's flat. It's shiny. Just goes to show if you want anything in an office, you have to get out there and steal it yourself.
01 April 2004 @ 06:37 pm
No, really. I'm serious.

I'm sitting here in what could loosely be described as the study. It was Peter's bedroom for fifteen years; then my mother moved in and set half of it up as her home office. Once Peter moved into the front room, it became a study-slash-spare-room. I moved in, and it became a box-infested, suitcase-filled lumber yard.

I came back almost a year ago, and only just moved out of here. Slept in here for, oh, nine months? The times I wasn't at Project 608 playing Morrowind, that is.

It's amazing that through all that time I didn't realise there were mice in the walls. I've only been in here an hour or so, but they've kept up a skittering, squeaking symphony behind the built-in bookshelves the whole time.

Squash, who has spent his whole day hunting fierce adversaries like ribbons, plastic bags and my toes, is no help. He's curled up in my lap, fast asleep and snoring his head off, occasionally trying to stick a hind paw up my nose.

The madness, it will come soon.
29 March 2004 @ 01:50 pm
It's been about a month now since I started driving to work. Between my sprained wrist, a couple of late mornings and the footbridge being closed, I haven't had much choice. I absolutely hate it.

Aside from the petrol costs, which are phenomenal, the parking costs, which are stratospheric, and the pain from stabs to my conscience, which are astronomical, it's one of the most unpleasant daily experiences one can have.

Even though I leave late, often well after nine, Auburn road is bumper to bumper. We edge along, clutching our steering wheels and peering angrily out, muttering to ourselves and slamming on the accellerator when we see a gap (for fear that someone might nip into it). Anyone driving a hair under the limit will attract waved arms, exclamations of annoyance and fierce "tsk" type sounds. The Onion, alas now only in archive form, had it right.

The worst part, though, is that all the idiots seem to come out at peak hour. I'm sure they're perfectly normal drivers at other times, but either they're still half-asleep or they're in such a hurry that no risk is too great. In the last month, I've used my horn more than I ever did in my entire driving life before it. For those who haven't driven with me, I never use my horn unless I'm in imminent danger of a collision that isn't my fault. People turning across me on busy roads; people trying to change into my lane while I'm still in it; people changing lanes without indicating; people backing into traffic; people running red lights. Tailgaters, lane-meanderers, inside-lane-overtakers. Four wheel drives account for a fair proportion. If I were an even *slightly* worse driver than I am, there'd be people dead or injured. And the TAC blames drink and speeding.

Before this, I was almost always a night-time driver. If it was peak hour, I just didn't leave the house, and went out of my way to avoid any trouble spots. I was right, oh so right. I can't wait till I can get back on my nice, safe, friendly bike where I only have myself to blame for accidents.
22 March 2004 @ 03:13 pm
I'm stuck at work. Our building has been locked down - no one gets in or out - and there is a horde of students trying to batter their way in through the roller-shuttered front door. There are about fifteen security guards running frantically past my door, and I've been told to shut the blinds in case they try to kick in the windows. They're playing Rage Against The Machine, yelling about education for all (Yeah! Go!) and playing what I think is a bagpipe. And now they're getting closer to my window....

There are perks associated with working in the basement of the same building the VC lives in. My last bloodied sentence will be typed as they swarm through the windows. They're getting closer...
Current Mood: excited
19 March 2004 @ 02:01 pm
I have a new kitten.

He is a miniscule black and white ball of energy and purring. He has a white face, black ears, a black chin and a black spot on one cheek that makes him look like he's been chewing on a leaky pen.

His eyes are big.

This would be the perfect place for a poll but alas, I have not paid for my livejournal access. So instead, drop me a line and tell me which of the following (which are in no particular order) you think would be a good name for a speedy, enormously small kitten.

Zip (anna's suggestion)
Chotto } Japanese for "little bit"
S'koshi }
Soupcon (with a cedilla)
Inkspot (Ink for short)
/nyooowm/ (peter's suggestion)

Or, if you're allowed to make polls, make me one and I'll link to it from here.


EDIT: Becka made me a poll! It's here:

11 March 2004 @ 10:32 pm
In light of the sweet Miss Minga's recent stupendo-tastic achievements, I have undertaken a new project.

Never one to be outdone - I want to get on ljdrama.

To do this, I need a drama, and someone (or someones) with whom to have it.

Anyone who would like to have a hair-pulling, backstabbing, defriending, locked-post-o-rama lj-drama with me, drop me a line. I'm keen.

Some inspirational words; ho; bitchslap; selfish, immature cow; useless, self-important, overblown pretentious wanker; manky slapper; if any of these are ringing bells, I wanna hear about it.
Current Mood: enthusiastick
Current Music: Destiny's Child - Nasty Girl
10 March 2004 @ 01:29 pm
Once upon a psychology degree, many long years ago, I took the Myers-Briggs personality test. I came out as ENTP - Extroverted, intuitive, thinking, perception.

I could've agreed with that diagnosis more than I did. It's a fairly good description of my surface personality, but no more - just a horoscope, really, bits that sound like you because they sound like everyone.

A few months ago I went for a job interview and the interviewer asked me - "Just out of curiosity" - what my Myers-Briggs type was. I couldn't remember it, so I went home and worked it out again. ENTP. I took it in to the next interview, with two different interviewers, and just as I was leaving, I remembered to mention it so they could pass it on. They got this gleam in their eyes like I was offering candy when they heard they might be allowed to hear this naughty, non-allowed-in-interviews personnel recruitment gem. "ENTP", I said. "Ahh." they said, with a look like they wanted to give me a gold star.

Again, I did the Myers-Briggs quiz that's been going round. Surprise, surprise. ENTP. Here's the definition of an ENTP. I don't know if that's really what I'm like but I'm not really in a position to tell.

Whole corporations base their recruitment and management strategies on these personality types. I always thought they were utter rubbish, a crayon sketch at best. You can come out however you like on these tests. But three times in a row, a long time apart, and the exact same result... well, maybe they're more reliable than I'd thought.
...hubris indeed.

Had a narrow scrape with death yesterday. Was riding down Stephensons rd (two lanes, bumper to bumper, 60k, no bike lane) and a car slowed down to pass. How nice of them. Klaxon-like many decibel'd sound issues from car; as I barely avoid swerving into the gutter and dying, a big golden grinning doggy head stares back at me from the window.

This morning on the other hand... I was all sleepy; I was up late last night composing imaginary Oscar acceptance speeches in the bathtub. In a moment of aforementioned hubris, I decided I could make it on the inside past the stationary cars on Blackburn road to get up onto the footpath. I alas could not; I clipped someone's mirror and flew in a graceful arc onto the concrete drain cover on the kerb.

I'm now exhibiting enormous one-handed typing stamina so you'd all better give me lots of comments to justify this herculean effort, and sustain me till I go for my wrist x-ray this afternoon.
Current Mood: Sheepish. Like a sheep.
24 February 2004 @ 03:58 pm
On a quiet day, I lesiurely answer a couple of feedbacks and maybe one followup.
On a busy day, I power-answer as many as five or six feedbacks and two or three followups.

Today I answered thirty five feedbacks and followups. *Thirty five*. And they're still flooding in. I'm in the zone. You all needed to know this. DDR will be crushed under my hyperactive feet tonight.

Brought to you by the letter "w00t" and the department of Other People's Boring Work Stories.


Edit: Dave just gave me Wizz Fizz. In the big picture, this may have been a mistake.
Current Music: C&C Music Factory - Gonna Make You Sweat
20 February 2004 @ 05:52 pm
Every dandelion puff in Melbourne blew off its stalk today. The sun vanished at four o'clock and the wind came up and set them loose. They kept me company as I rode home, always at least three or four of them wafting across my path. Even Mount Waverley station had a smug, mysterious air as they drifted back and forth over the tracks. Now I can see them blowing past my window. Melbourne never fails to surprise.
18 February 2004 @ 10:28 am
I've always understood the phrase "intensely boring" very well. Those tutes where they took two hours to show us how to login, or those lectures where Dr Austin Lovegrove would entirely fail to live up to his exciting name. Those times when you've gone out of your way, made an effort to do something, and it just entirely fails to be worth your while. That's intensely boring.

It's only now, though, that I'm coming to understand the meaning of the phrase "intensely bored".

I've got nothing to do. I should be doing something; I don't quite know what it is. I'm pretty sure I've done all the things I'm meant to, but I'm not certain. So I'm surfing the internet on my toes, just waiting for someone to come around the corner and demand to know why I haven't refilled the coffee dispenser or something. I can't get lost in anything for fear my mental powers might be needed to save my skin.

This is boredom with an intensity to it I've never before experienced.

I'd like to take a quick moment on behalf of myself and all the other nine-to-fivers, to thank the Livejournal team for making the new environment look (from a distance) like it might be real work. I'm now off to make my friends page look as blank and windows-y as possible.
12 February 2004 @ 04:27 pm
This morning I caught the late train. Last carriage, 8:21 Glen Waverley, stopping all stations to Glen Waverley except East Richmond. It was me up the end with my bike, two sixteen-year-old graffiti dropouts and a couple of dapper looking St Kevins hoodlums. The St Kevin's boys got off at the next station; another graffiti kid got on and slumped down in the back six-seater with his friends.

For a while it was just them talking and absent-mindedly scratchiti-ing the windows while I read my ancient dog-eared copy of Return of the King. It's pretty easy to get distracted when you're reading Tolkein; he can be dry as a bone and after a while you get sick of hearing about foul beasts and brutish orcs and the slayings and grievious wounds they inflicted. Certainly I was distracted when one of the graffiti boys started freestyling.

He launched into a whole little rap number about the joys of spraying a panel when the juice is in your veins, and painting the trains, and about being alive and how to survive and the feel of making the pigs squeal. Also there was mention of jumping the tracks with coppers on their backs and leaping barbed wire fences and so on and so forth. It was quite long and involved.

Then he jumped on the seat and started serenading the empty carriage with Justin Timberlake's Cry Me A River, to which his friends obligingly provided the harmonies and backup singing. After a while of this I looked up and he devoted a couple of minutes to serenading me. Then we got to Jordanville and they left me with the icy shieldmaiden Eowyn melting by the words of Faramir's sweet speeches.

He wasn't at all bad, actually.
Current Music: Justin Timberlake - Cry Me a River
10 February 2004 @ 11:12 am
I went to see Lost in Translation again with the most resilient Cameron last week. It's a pretty tough call to make, given my Film Festival Passport (also provided by selfsame delectable Cameron) but it takes top spot for my best film of 2003.

No spoilers here, only pure undiluted awe. It was funny, light-hearted, serious, superbly acted and most of all, it hit Japan on the nail with a sledgehammer. Reminded me of a lot of feelings I'd forgotten.

Japan is like nowhere else in the world. Even the people who speak your language don't speak your language. The constant language and cognitive barriers can be the last nail in your claustrophobic coffin or they can turn the whole country into your own personal playground. Nothing seems real when you're in Japan. The little idiocies are highlighted precisely because they're in a void of understanding. Even the beautiful and amazing remnants of Japanese high culture are oddly unaffecting; if you have no context for them they have no meaning.

You're a world away from the natives, and a world away from home. Your friends at home haven't a clue what you're experiencing because it's impossible to describe the subtle, everyday insanity around you over a phone. So, you cling to other English speakers like glue, even people you'd never have given the time of day at home. Friendships are formed in space that will either last for life or be lost in six months.

Lost in Translation is the most perfect snapshot of life as a foreigner in Japan that I've ever seen. If you want to know what my life in Japan was like, just go see that movie. Sorry, Peter, but my vote goes squarely to Sofia this year and I'll be morose if she goes home empty-handed.
05 February 2004 @ 01:42 pm
I can't help but feel that the nine-to-five life is... well, something of an anticlimax.

I know. Duh. But it's around now that I remember that feeling I used to get at the start of every new academic year, right back to my first day of primary school. Excitement. Uncertainty. Anticipation. The knowledge that soon all these things will be boring, but that now everything's fascinating. New notebooks, diaries, teachers, classes, all with their own idiosyncracies. Even in university, it never really wore off.
Every year we'd all do this school thing, learn stuff, get tested, learn, get tested, study, study, study, all with the eventual aim of becoming that productive member of society. And now I'm finally doing it and it's... much, much easier than school. Ridiculously easy. Numbingly easy. Is this what I spent all those years unknowingly working towards?

Now I'm just sitting in an office, knowing that tomorrow I'll also be sitting in an office. I won't get any holidays until I specifically ask for them. I won't have exams or essays or timetables to punctuate my days and months. I may eventually meander my way up to a job that's much like this one in many ways but with better pay.

The question I ask... How do people do this, every day, for forty years? How? Are they insane? At least I still have my dream of doing something rather impressive which makes me famous in an elite circle of tea-drinking socialites and Russian painters. One of them will sponsor me to continue doing rather impressive things and I'll never have to answer feedback email enquiries ever again.

Ahem. Sorry. Too much wheatgrass in my juice at lunch. It's true, it is the power food of the new millenium - 70% chlorophyll! In other news, DJ, we still going out tomorrow for DDR and coffee and suchlike? Anyone else eager to come with?
Current Music: The KLF on Paul Fenwick's laptop... mmm, tinny...
03 February 2004 @ 10:16 am
Yesterday I watched my first episode of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy!

... It was terrible. Rancid, awful, disappointing, not nearly as enjoyable as it should've been, offensive and annoying in the extreme.

The only high point of the episode was that when they shaved off the guy's beard, he turned out to look just like David Bowie. Unfortunately, he wasn't David Bowie, he was a bluegrass-loving fisherman and amateur taxidermist living on the rural-urban fringe of Nowhere, NJ.

I'm so disappointed. I'd been looking forward to it so much.
28 January 2004 @ 03:26 pm
today, there was much to smile about.

First Richard brought in his enormous python, Guido, for show and tell. Guido was as thick around as my knee, soft and eminently pattable. And he moves when he breathes! I'm not sure why, but for some reason I though snakes had immobile lungs like birds. Not so! And apparently, the larger pythons are happy to live with cats. Yet another thing poking me towards snake ownership.

Then I ate sushi. SUUUUSHI. Hey, everyone, guess what? I had sushi for lunch. Didn't want to know what I had for lunch? Well, too bad. I had sushi. SUSHI.

Then I found out that "A Kiss at the End of the Rainbow", the cheesy 60's folksong from the movie A Mighty Wind, has been nominated for an oscar. If you've seen the film, this will probably chuff you as much as it did me.

And finally, I just unwrapped a perfectly geometrical, shiny new block of stickynote pads, each in its own shade of vile fluorescence. Its crispness and regularity is the perfect complement to the roundness and organic feel of the equally fluorescent highlighter pack I got with them. Their potential is limitless; I could do anything with these stickynotes! Anything!

It may not be joy, but this is definitely the height of contentment.
27 January 2004 @ 02:02 pm
Just had my first ever eaten entry. Now I know how all those pitiful microsoft users have been suffering all this time. I join them with open arms.
23 January 2004 @ 02:39 pm
Cleopatra dissolved pearls in vinegar. I don't like vinegar. I have some Coke, though.

Hey, I could submit that for the Turner prize, provided I poured it into a canopic jar. And replaced the Coke with Pepsi. And added a slice of lemon.
12 January 2004 @ 01:40 am
... to see if anyone has, or knows where I can get a hold of, season 7 Buffy. I've been threatened with roleplaying spoilers, so I have to hop to it.

Any format is fine, tapes, mpegs, crayon drawings, dot-matrix printouts, I'll even accept windows-based although it's a last resort.
07 January 2004 @ 02:03 am
Right now I'm wearing cherry earrings. I have a huge pile of cherries in front of me, and when I've eaten them, I'm going to the kitchen for more cherries.

This is why Australia is the bestest place in the whole wide world.
29 December 2003 @ 04:33 pm
We are in the mysterious space between Christmas and New Years'. The turkey is eaten; the champagne corks not yet popped. Nothing in the fridge except a sorry-looking hambone and congealing breadsauce. This grey wasteland of shadows, ash and discarded cracker wrappers is brightened only by the distant mirage of 2004.

That is, up till now.

Volcano High and Princess Blade, The Astor Theatre, 7:30pm tomorrow (the 30th). Adults $12, Concession $11. Kick your way into next year.
Current Mood: Kiiiiiiiii-YAI!
18 December 2003 @ 04:23 pm
I just had my first ever fit of convulsions. I've always had spectacular blood pressure rushes, but I've never actually convulsed before. I think a celebration of some kind is in order.

On a completely unrelated note, I was playing with the Corknut 12 days of christmas toy - I'm secretly addicted to all forms of quizzage and livejournal frippery - and the last line it spat out was "and a widderslante in a grapefruit tree". Any of you who are acquainted with the esteemed Wychikins will realise why this is funny. Although there is a grapefruit tree mere metres from my back shed so it isn't all that far-fetched.

Since the trellis fell over, the kiwifruit vine outside my window is slowly collapsing. The ringtail possum nests keep sinking and falling apart as fast as they can build them. As a result, they've given up on nests and have just taken to sleeping on the bathroom window-sill, mashed up against the glass. This is so cute that I can hardly bear to look at it.

Finally, for those of you who know her, Sarah-Bug is in town. She's here for xmas and her birthday, and is having a gathering type thing at Noel's parents' place on Saturday afternoon/evening, details available on ree-kwest. Also, she wants to go clubbing - howzabout we get a posse together and hit Psychonaut like a bag of wet cement?
Current Mood: hypotense and bucolic
12 December 2003 @ 02:33 pm
I'd buy a giant inflatable frog and put it in my back yard. I'd fly to Paris just to drink the beer in McDonalds. I'd put an awful lot of it into the development of a workable hoverboard. I'd fill my ouroborous-shaped swimming pool with champagne and strawberries then force people to constantly swim round in circles in an unending loop of inebriation. I'd get Yoshitaka Amano to paint garlic fairies all over my bedroom walls, but first I'd have Gaudi exhumed and reanimated to build walls so Amano would have something to paint on. I'd invite Johnny Depp and Vanessa Paradis round for dinner and then leer at them over the blancmange. Then I'd buy a diamond hat for everyone I've ever met.

Isn't this what people are supposed to do with thirty million dollars?
Current Mood: zoooooomy
Current Music: Black Box - Strike it up!
07 December 2003 @ 11:36 pm
Every time...

I see black gaffer tape
I eat crumpets with Vegemite
I pick a wooden spoon out of the drawer
anyone says the word "thrombosis"
the clock ticks over to 11:11
I see red roses
I hear anything by Faith No More
I listen to "A Quarter to Nine"
I go past The Piercing Urge
Anyone mentions Blake
I eat grapes, or ice

...I think of you.
Current Mood: natsukashi.
30 November 2003 @ 11:06 pm
Week before last I went in for an appointment with my Job Network Member. I had expected a pep talk and maybe another filling-in of all my details, or if I were lucky, a job offer. I do after all have a very snazzy CV and would certainly give myself a highly-paid professional position.

'Twas not to be.

They informed me that legally I was required to attend JobSearch Training. Fine, I said, thinking of an afternoon of free biscuits and motivation.
"You start Monday, 10am. It's meant to be 9 to 5 but we think that's a bit unreasonable, so it'll be 10am till 12 noon for the next three weeks."
And then a minute or so later they asked me to please stop screaming, please, please, god, please.

Turns out Tom and I have been placed in the same session. It's us, a mincing wardrobe supervisor, a clone of sweet Miss Raven but without the goth, a slightly schizophrenic guy who keeps getting fired from jobs and who likes to compliment me on my doodling skills, an unemployed banjo teacher and three angry lesbians, all of whom seem to hate eachother. This carnival of freaks is overseen by Rachel from New Ziland, a woman of world-class loquacity and inestimable girth, whose teaching methodology seems to centre largely around anecdotes and tangents.

It wouldn't be so bad if we were actually learning something useful, but it's more a case of "Jobs are good. You should get one. Do you know how to get a job? Here's a story about someone I once met who had a job...." And then we're off into another fifteen-minute interlude.

Here is a quote from the sample resume we were given on Wednesday, under "Other Skills":
"I have a complete understanding of the tact and diplomacy needed to be a Personal Assistant, that is, to 'not hear' what I should not hear, and to 'not see' what I should not see."

I'm trying to look on the bright side. I'm getting to ride my bike more, I'm getting up early (that's pushing it a bit though) and I'm learning dozens of new ways to not get the job when you go for an interview. Such as telling the interviewer that my worst fault is my workaholism, or being too casual, or not wearing shoes and saying that I have a medical condition that doesn't allow me to get up before midday. Or my personal favourite, hissing at the interviewer then repeatedly complimenting their tie. Even if they aren't wearing one.

*sigh* I'll see y'll in a fortnight or so.
Current Mood: can't..think..brain..melting..
Current Music: Harder, better, faster, stronger.
20 November 2003 @ 01:24 am
Tom and I made hollandaise sauce on Sunday. It was so good that I'm still thinking about it. Poached eggs on toast, fried ham (spinach for Tom) and avocado, all slathered in as much rich creamery hollandaise sauce as you could eat... okay, it was really good. Really, really good.

I think I'm gonna have to make this lunch-posting a regular thing. I don't know why I ever knocked people who post about what they ate for lunch. It's like I'm eating it all over again.

In other news, my unlivable apartment is currently being inhabited by Jaidyn Leskie's mother Bilynda. The other kid, Brehannah, is not around. People from Moe are not people you'd want to play scrabble with.
Current Mood: hungry