Tuesday, April 26, 2005

My feelings are a balloon

Have you ever wondered what it would be like the be inside the mind of a an emo fan? Well, fantasize no more. I give you 'emo eye for the socially-bearable guy', an insight into the thoughts that go on in the mind of a heartbroken emo wimp:

Thanks for the kit Jian!

Thursday, April 21, 2005

Vinyl suits

When Alys gave me a record player for my birthday, she probably thought that maybe I would you know, listen to a few of mum's old LPs, or maybe some $2 records bought from a rumsoaked pawnbroker wearing seven hats. Wrong! Upon realising that a) LPs are big, shiny and smell like old books b) require you to listen to the WHOLE album without skipping tracks k) sound better and c) work in a ridiculous parallel 'cred' universe where the more mainstream the album, the harder it is to buy on vinyl, I underwent some sort of brainchange. No more CDs or MP3s. Fuck them. From now on, I shall ONLY listen to music via vinyl at 3am, with a glass of red wine, a sombre sepia tone and a ponderous attitude to life and the way the times-they-are-a-changin':

Just like they did in the 60's: listening to post-apocalyptic-post-punk-post-emo masterpieces doped up on nurofen plus.

Remember back in the early 90's, when computers were used solely for looking up meerkat facts on a CD-ROM encyclopedia? What the fuck happened to computer encyclopedias? Suddenly they were here, with me lined up at Harvey Norman to purchase the latest edition of encarta. Then the next thing we know, BAM, they are nowhere to be found. No more meerkat sound samples. Nothing. I have this theory that, as opposed to every other thing in the world, the electronic encyclopedia companies shyed away from the internet and went back to the oldskool medium that they previously looked to eradicate... books. Check this out:

Now that encarta is in physical book form, the annoying popups reminding you to update (for more meerkat facts) are made of steel.

Thursday, April 14, 2005


Speaking of vanguards (which I wasn't really, but did you know that they can be a rad atari game?... see now we're talking), I found this interesting notice on their, um, notice board:

She must have had a helping hand from those undertakers/beauticians at White Lady funerals. Also, does anyone else think there should be a law regarding just how lame a notice board notice can be? If there was, those damn primary school "5th nite of 2nd grade easter play on 2nite. Happy soccer challenge Jayden win!" messages would go down!

You know HMV. Boring, corporate, disinterested, profiteering franchise with a fitting boring, corporate, disinterested, profiteering acronym right? That's what I thought, but my thoughts were wrong. HMV, and their seemingly arbitrary use of dogs, actually stands for...:

How awesome is that!? I'm off to HMV right now to dedicate monies to their noble cause. Also, how awesome must this record be? An organ solo entitled 'Christians, awake'? Wow! They sound like a robot army being commanded to come alive and destroy a world!

You know, my mind used to be totally in the gutter. Back in high school, my sides would split if I heard certain words, such as 'boner', 'wood' or... 'pants'. Un/fortunatley, my 'sick mind' has sort of died since year 11. I look back at it all with the same type of shame and remorse (shamorse) that's associated with any north shore private boys' school memory. However, sometimes an opportunity presents itself which is just too good to pass up:

If you can't see anything funny here, then you'll never be a north shore private boys' school wanker. Sorry to break it to you.

My house is made almost enitrely of glass. I've often tried to tell people this, but they usually don't believe me. Damn that old adage. Therefore, my horrific stories about the ramifications of living in said glass house fall upon deaf ears. But seriously, my bathroom, which is located near the front of the house, has giant unfrosted windows that have totally scarred me for life. You may say "who cares, who would want to look in on that?". Well, I'll tell you who. Everytime I go to the toilet, I have to open a complex network of doors to block the view of voyeuristic neighbourchildren who jump on trampolines whilst corrupting me with their eyes. To have a shower, I have to steam up the window first, lest I be spyed upon by gardeners who walk on the path that runs right by the shower.

Check out these actual photos from my bathroom to prove my whiny point*:
Here's what I see when I sit on the toilet:


And here's what you see, from the driveway and entance to the house, when I have a shower:

Emotional scarring!

Also, the archives are temporarily down. Here's what the error message looks like:

Wow, not only do I get a 404 Not Found, I also receive an additional ErrorDocument free of charge. That's true Blogger service!

Basically the only real issue resulting from this archivebrokedness is that I can't sit and read my old posts in a fit of boredom. Luckily I've managed to fill my time paying my parking fees online at the world's most depressing website, www.infringements.nsw.gov.au, where you simply login with your illegal offence code, enter your credit card details and the fun begins!

*During the making of those photos, I had to set the camera on 7 second timer, and try to run down the hallway, stairs, outside and press my face against the window before the photo took. I fell down the stairs twice, got my elbow caught on the doorhandle and nearly launched myself through a plate glass window. More exercise than I have had for ages.

Friday, April 08, 2005

Steffi Graf

I've got this fantasy. It's a strange one, born out of watching too many ads for panadol. You know the ones where Johnson is sitting is his cubicle (one with grey carpet walls to stick emphatic Dilbert cartoons on), working on some graphs, when suddenly his boss comes along and demands a 'report' by lunchtime. Johnson takes panadol, which gives him the magical ability to 'report'. He hands it to the boss on time, and is rewarded with 'good work Johnson, you have a future here'. This is my fantasy. A generic office job. It's all I want in life:

I want to drink so much office coffee that I get hand shakes.

I know it's weird, but damnit, if people are free to dream about being president, a celebrity or intelligent (ooh... man it's too late for weakass political/social commentary), then I am free to dream my dream! So after brainstorming with Pat, I opened up excel and graphed a 'report' until 5:30am. The next day I went to officeworks to talk binding, then to my dad's office (where I did work experience, so this could have been where it all got embedded in my mind) for two hours of photocopying. And then an hour or so of speed binding. It was my office fantasy become reality! I've got a future at 'generic company ltd.', Johnson!

I'm 'reporting'. (Funny, it was the only time I'd ever stayed up all night working. All my uni stuff is out of the way 200 words a day. Obviously I'd never had the looming of boss' lunchtime).

Just to follow up on my 'aged ducks', here's another road sign from the lush Turrmurra area (it was once described as a rainforest you know):

I'd just like to know the scientific research and testing that went into finding such a fact out.

I was at Coffs Harbour last week, where Alys' parents hosted an 'arian' party, at which 9 (+1 dog) out of the 50 guests had aries as their starsign. It was awesome, although the propsed 'arian race', in which the arian 10 raced for a prize never came into fruition (hopefully I didn't scare off the idea on the night by actually saying something as bullshit as 'fruition'). Anyway, I had to endure a 9 hour train trip to and from Sydney. By the end of said trips, I was getting a bit delirious so I looked around the train (including the toilets) for boredom-breaking fun:

I don't know why I bothered getting my meningococcal C vaccination on monday, surely it must have been in amongst all the other things I was getting infected with by that sticker.