Back in black

Well, not so much black as brown and silver, being the loincloth and swort respectively.

My new lappy finally arrived yesterday afternoon, so I have reached the psychological point where I am ready to start blogging. Ok, that is crap too, I just couldn't be arsed sitting in my cold study on my ancient desktop, so wanted to wait for the prospective warmth of my loungeroom and the lappy. So now I can lounge on the couch, (or is that couch on the lounge?), pug footwarmers in place (they like the loungeroom too) and blog my little heart out. Or not, depending on how I feel.

So in order to say something (anything) to at least keep those of you who stumble in by mistake here for a few more secs, I need a POINT. So here 'tis:

People With Talent.

I have decided that we don't like them. Never have. Jealousy - pure and simple. I have come to the creeping realisation that as much as I liked to delude myself, even if I wasn't a relatively lazy bastard, all the training in the world wouldn't have made me amazingly good at anything. So we don't like People With Talent.

I want to officially protest that there isn't a range of pharmaceuticals that can do one or more of the following:

1. Make me dance like a cool black guy. And for the record, I am thinking more along the lines of Usher than MC Hammer. At least despite seeing the Hammer first time around, I still know who Usher is - I is still down wid da kids.

Let's face it, anything that makes me look slightly less like a guy suffering an intense allergic reaction to something flying at him would help here.

2. Make me obscenely talented with at least one musical instrument. Now I played piano for 7 years, clarinet for 4, even the recorder for about 5, but I am still incredibly impressed by musical talent. Perhaps though not like my musical neighbour, who plays French Horn for the SSO, I understand. I have been off sick from work a bit lately, so have heard her practicing - she is amazingly good, and very dedicated. But the French Horn does not pull the chicks.

It used to be the sax in the 80's and 90's. Interestingly I understand that historical trends are now being bucked and that the bass player often gets the chicks, although not as much as the singer or lead guitar, naturallement. Never the French Horn player though.

On that note, however, I should point out that it was the BASS recorder that I played. Laaaaadies.....

3. Give me incredible sporting ability. Not Thorpedo-esque metatarsal massiveness, just being really good at something like tennis, or basketball. I still play both, and am not that crap at either. Even rugby, which I played for many years. Short of being able to grow about another 8 inches, being awesome at basketball isn't such an option - besides I think I would scare my friends at 6'9''. Roger Federer seems to have tennis sewn up, and I don't look any good in a headband. I don't need to make myself any uglier than god did already, so even rugby isn't looking good.

Perhaps if I was thinner, younger, fitter, taller and willing to wear tiny shorts I could be good at AFL. Will have to think about that.

Nah - the shorts. You understand.

4. Make me a stunning singer. Now without wanting to blow my own trumpet - I'm just not that flexible - I have a decent singing voice. But people like Katie Noonan from George, Lenka from Decoder Ring, Ian Astbury from the Cult (heh), Kav from Eskimo Joe - these people have great voices. Bastards. Except Katie and Lenka - when they start to sing, I fall in love with them every time. Damn.

5. Make me good at art. In the traditional sense. I am a crap artist, whereas some people can pick up a pencil and draw something by just thinking about it. Some of the most engaging art I have is simple copperplate sketching by an Australian guy. Now I can take a pretty fair photo, some of them are even vaguely artistic, but...

Anyhoo, the list could go on. Feel free to add to the list of things that should be able to be enhanced instantly and painlessly, (oh, and I am not counting surgical procedures here). Just think of those people who are incredibly good at stuff. I mean sure, they have to sacrifice a lot to succeed, be extraordinarily dedicated and hard working, and often still don't succeed. But we still hate them.