Unintentional Obfuscation

The mother of all updates...

2008-01-29T20:56:00.000+11:00

Hmmm, well it is actually more like a long lost cousin from the Deep South that your mum didn't tell you about cos it turned out that that side of the family believed staunchly in economies and efficiency, so they decided to combine 4 generations into 3 members of the family, but you know what I mean.

Seeing as one or two of you (ok, so in theory it was actually two of you, and you both know who you are, you sweet, sweet loving individuals - so what do you want from me anyway, apart from my rapier-like wit, my rugged good looks or my wine collection, of course?) suggested I should update my blog, and I am a sucka when a cute girl suggests anything to me at the best of times (although some of the anatomical self-exploration that has been proposed from time to time sounded like more trouble than it was worth), here we go.

So I have bored you lot with the whole renovation plan thing, si? Well, on Sunday, while nursing a slight lack of sleep over some alcohol consumption the previous evening, I spent several hours at Domayne in Alexandria looking at bathroom fittings. Now I had no idea how interesting it could be exploring the multi-faceted world of taps, tiles and baths. Not to mention spouts. Hooowey! So I am liking the dorf (no, not dork) kemi cross range. You have no concept of how fulfilling...

And that reminds me, Saturday night my friend celebrated his birthday. Being the rebellious lad that he is, he bucked several trends and insisted on no gifts. Okeedokee then. AND he insisted on supplying the wine. Hmm, ok. So we may have had (indulge me here, it is my blog after all and at some time in the future I may look back on this with fond or embarrassed nostalgia, so...) some Petaluma Riesling 1997, and then some Bannockburn pinot, also 1997. That was followed by 1995 and 1997 Yarra Yering Dry Red No. 1, and we finished with some Turkey Flat Pedro Ximinez. My life sucks, huh? That wasn't so bad was it? ok, maybe it was, but it is done now.

Have I told anyone that it is bad idea to have a very attractive architect? It makes it really hard to say no to anything. You know, stuff like, well anything that will kill your budget.

Then again I am reduced to having to pick from my married friends to accompany me on my bookings for two to go to Oscillate Wildly. Of course, I could just not book for 2, but where would the fun be in that? There is that pesky issue of needing to book a couple of months in advance...

Have fun, y'all, let's see if I actually get any comments on here any more... cos I used to get heaps.

Flicks, eats and plans...

2007-12-10T18:04:00.000+11:00

Boring stuff first... the Renos:

So today I had a meeting with my architect and the Council about my renos. They sound like there shouldn't be too many problems, other than MY problem with having to pay for my architect (fair cop, she is pretty good and a good architect too, boom tish - nope, he ain't lost it), a structural engineer (again ok, since I don't want the pile to fall down after dumping cash into it), and now apparently an arborist (dude, I know they are trees, and I know you don't want me to cut them down. As for not using machinery within a certain radius, does a CHAINSAW count?), not to mention Council's fees. And this is before I actually pay for any work on the house.

Why would you bother?

In the time since I last updated you all, I have vacillated (it isn't a act of self abuse, look it up) over putting in a polished concrete floor or floorboards, and I haven't even begun to try to decide what finishes I want in my joinery, bathroom, kitchen, wall colours, blah blah blah...

Ok, enough of that, flicks:

You may or not recall my enthusiasm for a movie called Nightwatch (alright, I know you don't recall that at all, but humour me here please). I went and saw the sequel called, astonishingly, Daywatch. Yes, it was also a movie about good and evil vampires set in modern Russia (NOW you are interested, I know), and it is also visually AMAZING, with a nice combo of hot Ruskies (not the drink), great action, and even a plot. It is out on DVD early next year, do yourselves a favour. Oh, and the subtitles rock.

Hmm, so maybe that should have been headed 'flick'. Numbers were never a strength...

Alrighty then, the fun stuff... Eats:

I may or may not have gone on a date on the weekend. A lovely girl, very smart, good conversation, did I mention that she is into food and wine, and she is very pretty (dark hair, pale skin, gorgeous blue eyes, you get the idea). I took her to a restaurant in Leichhardt called Bistro Ortolan. French style food.

Wowzer. It has a hat, and largely very good reviews, but I hadn't been before, so you never know. Then again, that is the sort of crazy risk taker that I am.

The food was awesome, Australian produce but prepared with a strong French influence. Good flavours (I had a salmon nicoise with quail eggs that was to die for, followed by Barra with marron tails and yabbie bisque), let's just say this place was serving up sex on a plate. Then again it has been a while, so the location of said sex would be the least of my concerns. The wine was nice (a Vouvray from their interesting wine list), the company was very nice indeed - she was backing up from a 3am finish the night before, so I was lucky she even made it - all in all a good night.

There has been talk of a follow up date. Why do I feel like I am 16? For that matter, why is that such wishful thinking (actually 25 is more wishful, more appealing and equally as impossible, dammit).

Oh, and work sucks the big one, although I was away on an executive management team conference last week, so I am equal parts inspired, informed, and behind on all the crap I need to get done by Christmas.

Speaking of which, I am taking weeks off over Chrissie, so how cool is THAT?!

So what is news kids? And no, it doesn't count to tell me the crap that is on your blogs...

Yes yes yes

2007-12-10T08:07:00.000+11:00

Yes, I am a slack bastard.

Yes, I should update more, but find myself in a bit of a rut (and not involving rutting, ok, you filthy minded people. What kind of audience do I have here anyway? Oh, that's right, I don't really...)

Yes, I have been on a few dates recently,but no I'm not telling yet.

Yes, I will post more, at least once I get over this hump (stop it, I warned you already, not getting any at the mo, alright?) at work.

In fact, there is quite a bit to tell you - movies I have seen (act like you care), places I have eaten at (ditto), holidays I am taking (no you can't come) and renovation progress.

See, you have missed me haven't you.

Stay tuned kids, shall blog tonight...

Yes, I am showing off...

2007-11-05T20:22:00.000+11:00

... and yes that it was that much fun probably goes to show that I should get out more.

I was in Melbourne last weekend for work. I also managed to score an invitation to the races - Derby Day. I am not much of a follower of the nags, but it is a fun day out, so of course I said yes.

What I didn't realise was that this invitation was to the corporate marquee in the Birdcage. Now I have subsequently ascertained that the Birdcage is where all the corporate bigwigs are, and consequently where there are lots of people happy to accept corporate largess. Including me.

SO I had to struggle through the security, trying not to look smug at the wannabes loitering outside, and make my way to the marquee. Then it would have been rude to not participate in sampling several of the beers, various wines, and cocktails that our barman was making us. The canapes that our waiter kept bringing were acceptable too.

It was a bit much when Sandra Sully stopped by to chat with Greg, one of our guests who she knew. I was almost disappointed to find out that she was really lovely, very down to earth, quite chatty but (I subsequently found out) putting a brave face on the awful suicide of her colleague the previous night. It would have been slightly better if she had been a stuck-up biotch.

I had a few wanders, and may have caught sight of one or two attractive lasses. And then about 2,000 more. Megan Gale - stunning. Naomi Robson - surprisingly gorgeous (and not a shoulder-lizard in sight). Jennifer Hawkins - yep, definitely. Oh yeah, and there were lots of footy players, and other blokes that I really didn't give a crap about.

Sooo, after I drank well, not my body weight, but the body weight of that hobbit-like pygmy species of human they found a few years back, in wine, we headed out for dinner at Botannical. Drank a couple of bottles of Felton Road pinot, ate some pretty bloody good food, Naomi Robson rocked up again (I think she was following me, but of course she was too shy to say anything to me), I then met up with some friends, and rounded out the night, hmm, morning, at the Melbourne Supper Club with some rather tasty Auslese.

Yes, I am a complete wanker for blogging this, but I have to say, what an absolute cracker of a weekend. And yes, I was frickin lucky. Indulge me already...

Beam me up, Scottie

2007-10-30T23:52:00.000+11:00

Hey all.

Not getting the chance to blog so much lately, what with the internerd nasties at work making life difficult and all that. I mean, are they trying to tell me that my productivity would be better without the sanity saving occasional opportunity to catch up with my dear internet friends.

And very rarely, with you lot.

[I know, quite a lot of work to get to such a lame gag, but you didn't pay any money for this show, think of it as open mike at your local and give me some sympathy claps. Ok, you guys suck...]

So what has been ahppening? Let me think, among other things, in the last few weeks I have:

been abused by an ex at a professional function, where she cleverly decided to have our 'discussion' outside, on the far side of the glass walls of the bar the do was on at. Way to go with the subtlety, makes me look like Smoothy McSubtle;
met a truly stunning, funny, clever, nice IRISH girl with fantastic taste in music (ie she has heard of some of the crap I love, even likes it) who sincerely wants to be my friend. Yay, I have all manner of friends just now, not so much with the stunning, funny, clever, nice IRISH girls I think are the hottest thing since Ug fell into the fire wearing his best Sabre Tooth Tiger pelt;
met with my architect several times, where I think the point is to come up with some great design ideas while seeing how many multiples of my budget we can hit; oh and
today I scored a gig for 'work' at Derby Day this weekend, where apparently I get my flights, accomm, meals and our marquee in the birdcage sorted for me.

Life aint so bad folks. What is news. And no, I don't ask that cos I can't be arsed to read your blogs, indeed some of you have even locked me out of your blogs, but I just need to invite some comment here. Lordy knows we needs the traffic. I gotta put kibbles in the doggies bowls. Ha mercy, gimme some traffic, just some spare traffic..

Ok, stopping that now. Sorry.

The motor show

2007-10-15T20:23:00.000+10:00

Evenin all.

I went to the motor show on the weekend. A mate of mine and I have made it an annual event (somewhat fortunate as it is only on once a year), so we dutifully headed off.

One slight change is that he now has a wife and a 5 month old little girl. Good news is that his missus is more than happy to come along, no doubt partly humouring we boys, but also cos she doesn't mind checking out the motors. Anyhoo, we wander around, taking in the best of the Mercs, Bimmers, Hummers, Lambo's, TRD's, Veedubs, and of course, the ovlovs.

Last year at the motor show was the first time that I saw the C30, and now, as you all know, I got me one of those suckers. This year of course I wasn't in the market, but it is still fun to see what is coming out soon. Or even never, which seems to be the case with the 'concept' cars. Sadly this year there were not all that many interesting cars to check out, other than not-so-fascinating numbers like the latest Commodore and the Ford Mondeo. Wow.

Then (and yes, you were waiting for this) there are the pretty girls. Now we all know that these poor things are paid to stand around in outfits varying from rather fitted lycra bodysuits (such as the Bufori girls, whose g strings were almost as obvious as the pimply teenagers taking their photos) and cleavage showers like the Mitsubishi girls who seemed to have to spend most of their time with far-too-excited boys, while the self-same girls sported barely disguised disgust. Then you move along to the Audi girls dressed by Collette Dinnigan, who are usually awesomely gorgeous. Actually, they weren't so hot this year, although they weren't what we would call beaten viciously with the ugly stick, but their dresses were really nice.

So we found ourselves at the Volvo stand. I was looking over a tricked out S40, when one of the lovely Volvo ladies came over and asked if I had any questions about it. Now the Volvo girls were dressed quite casually, wearing nice shirts and jeans. Don't get me wrong, they looked mighty fine in them jeans (name the quote). She starts chatting with me, after I explained that I didn't have any questions, and that I have a Volvo C30. She then asks me about it, how I like it, I mention that I took it for a drive down the coast last weekend, turns out she spends a lot of time down at Gerroa...

About 5 or 7 minutes later (but for some reason clearly not 6) I am getting a little concerned about my friends and their slightly restive 5 month old. They have wandered off, but I felt a bit slack stranding them like that. Another minute or 2 later, I excuse myself to go and find my friends. I tell my new friend (let's call her Jess, cos that is her name) that it was lovely to meet her, and she reciprocates. By this time I am wondering whether it is cool to ask a woman who is probably hit on about 50 times a day for her number.

Did I mention she looked to be in her mid to late 20s, she had amazing hazel eyes, and was quite capable of having a conversation. Yep, I didn't ask. So my friends, immediately upon my catching them up, ask if I got her number. Nope. They were disgusted.

So let me ask you - this girl is paid to be nice, if not flirt, with silly buggers like me so we will buy the cars they are flogging - so despite the fact that she clearly continued to chat with me for some time after she knew I had just bought one of the cars she was flogging, is there any chance at all, and I am willing to consider something akin to a snowball's in Hades, of:

this very attractive girl doing anything other than her job, and
it being cool to ask her for her number?

And if not, would I not have received that look had I asked. You know the look, the one that is a combination of pity, horror, abject denial, and wondering what a barbarian in a loincloth possibly wants with a Volvo...

Sometimes, I just don't get it

2007-10-09T22:33:00.000+10:00

Hey there folks. Welcome back, please remember to close the tent flap behind you so others can make out the screen.

I won't complain again about how crap it is that my workplace have cut access to both facebook AND blogger. oops. Ok, next time I won't complain - about how much that sucks.

Oookeydoookey. On to other things: sometimes I just don't put 2 and 2 together. And not just when I want 4 of something. Sometimes I just don't figure stuff out.

Case in point. Some of you may have noticed that there was a rather large release in the last couple of weeks - Halo 3. So far, it has sold in excess of $300 MILLION worth of games. For those of you who didn't know, welcome back from your month long ocean cruise to hell, I hope you tanned but didn't burn.

Now I have hidden it well, but I am a bit of a geek deep down, and I have an XBox 360. Yes, it is hooked into my surround sound system and my LCD TV. Yes, it sounds and looks freakin hawt. I also may have pre-ordered Halo 3, and been quite looking forward to its release. I justify this by the fact that it was actually $10 cheaper if you pre-ordered. Yep, that is my excuse and I am sticking to it.

So a few days out, I was getting rather keen. The store were running a midnight launch, however seeing as the launch was on a Tuesday, I am far too old and sensible to go and pick it up at midnight, cos I know full well that had I done that, there would have been no sleep, and then WJ would have been a rather unhappy camper for, oh lets say, about forever.

Finally the big day came, and I went at lunchtime and dutifully picked up my copy. I got home from work, and then went to trivia at the pub, as friends are more important even than Halo (ok, so I had to think long and hard about it - nothing wrong with that, I am human after all. Massively ripped barbarian yes, but also human). I came home from triv, went straight to the tv and loaded it up. turned on the X Box, the surround sound, and the theme music started pumping. Not as much as me though, I was psyched to kick some alien butt.

I picked up the controller. It was at this moment in time I remembered that I have a BUSTED THUMB! For the uninitiated, you use two thumbs on the controller, one to control which way you face and one to control movement (wake up! this is interesting and important!). In other words, you can't play Halo with one thumb. A few words come to mind, most of them involving between 3 and 5 letters (not inclusive), but others such as 'gutted', 'idiot' and 'if I cut it off will it grow back faster than this bone will knit?' also featured.

I still haven't been able to play. Er, much.

Why don't I get it?

Gluttony for punishment and other non-S&M matters

2007-09-29T16:53:00.000+10:00

I have just watched the AFL Grand Final - mixed emotions. I wanted the Cats to win, but not in the bloodbath that just took place. A good mate of mine, a mad Cats fan, booked a ticket to Melbourne about 8 weeks ago, in light of the season that Geelong were having, but didn't have a ticket to the game. Apparently he was going to paint a sign making it clear that he would do anything for a ticket, and hang around outside the Gee. Not sure whether he would do ANYTHING, but he is pretty keen, so hopefully he will just get himself incredibly drunk afterwards so he doesn't remember the price he had to pay...

I recall that I posted about this long weekend last year, but I know damn well that none of you will either remember or be arsed looking it up, so why not tell you exactly how fun it is. The AFL Grand Final, tick.

Tomorrow is my mate Gary's Oktoberfest party, where everyone brings their beers AND a bottle of schnapps. This shindig starts at 12, so there are more brews than you could point a pretzel at, and about 25 BOTTLES of schnapps. I am subtly using caps for emphasis here. The even better news is that Graeme, the normal Evil Scientist of the schnapps shooters, is away. Therefore I am Head Mixologist. Be afraid, be very afraid. (OK, it isn't like any of you will be there, but just work with me and be at least a little apprehensive. please?) It is a skill, being able to combine various schnapps. The plum with the sour apple, the Gletchereise with the Butterscotch, the Jagermeister with, well, that crap doesn't deserve to go with anything, true. You get the idea though. It will be a long, hard day, but someone's gotta do it. May the sauerkraut be with me.

The other news of no interest to any of you is that I am going to do some renovations. At least, I have appointed an architect (that a mate from work recommended) to draw up some plans. My place would be awesome with a bit of a rework, but from what I hear, it may be easier to just get a nice new drillbit and put my hammer drill through my left eye (apologies to anyone eating, but really, why would you ruin a good bowl of Corn Flakes with this shite? Unless it is dinner time, in which case your Special K deserve better). Then there is the comfort I draw from knowing that I will have to give not only my first-born but a mortgage over my left, er, leg to the bank.

Anyone else have any horror stories they can share to make me feel better (about renovating, not about putting your drill through your head. Don't get me wrong, if you have put your drill through your head, feel free to tell me about it, but come on, take a long hard look at yourself - unless the drill went through your eye, in which case, get someone else to take a long hard look at you and tell you EXACTLY what they see...)

Have a great weekend all.

Cracking week, Gromit

2007-09-21T23:13:00.001+10:00

Hi folks. Sorry about the delay, but I can't do this in my lunchtimes any more, and as you will soon discover, I have been a busy boy.

Scoring Freebies. Now in my line of work, I am lucky enough to be a 'client' and therefore I get taken out to the occasional lunch or even dinner at a nice restaurant. Yes, I am a lucky barbarian.

THIS week, however, has been a complete bloody cracker.

On Monday, a mate of mine from pub trivia calls me. A few of us had been talking a week back about the musical of War of the Worlds. My Dad played this to me a lot as a kid, so I remember the music and the songs. Perhaps a little daggy, but this thing has lasers up the wazoo, a 10 piece band, a 40 piece string section, Justin Heyward from the Moody Blues (bastard is clearly a cyborg as he hasn't changed either in sound or appearance in 30 years), and A CG HOLOGRAM OF RICHARD BURTON MATCHED TO HIS VOICE NARRATION. Hmm, a little excited then. So friend calls, he has tickets. A tad nervous, as the tickets were heaps, but I figured what the hell. Then he tells me they are FREEBIES. sorry, more caps. The production was awesome and we had a ball.

I go to work on Wednesday, to find our marketing manager in a bit of a froth. No ladies, not like that. There is a client lunch on, and a few of the powers-that-be have pulled out at the last minute. I am a team barbarian so I say yes, I have met a couple of the clients, so I can go. Where is it? Darling Harbour? Sure, that is ok. What is the occasion? Oh, some politician giving a speech... WTF? It is the AL GORE lunch? (I really have to stop it doing that).

Lunch is quite nice, in the way of these things where they are catering for 500 people. Then Al comes out, and starts talking. Let me tell you, I have never heard a more eloquent, logical, passionate and convincing speech in my life. I mean, I can only begin to imagine how different the world might be if this man had actually won the US election. He took a number of questions, and his answers were thoughtful and as eloquent as his original speech. I am convinced.

Plus I am going to Oktoberfest at the Concordia Club tomorrow night, then Feastability in Newtown on Sunday.

Does life get any better than this?

Boy stuff

2007-09-12T08:38:00.000+10:00

I know what you are thinking. WJ must be as happy as a very happy thing wearing its best happy boots this month. I mean, after all, let's just look at what is happening:

1. It is September. That means that the AFL finals are on. Last weekend, 4 games of footy featuring the best 8 teams in the league. Two were close, two weren't but still great to watch. This weekend, 2 more games, then on through the weekend. What's not to love?

2. Yes, September 2007. The Rugby World Cup. The best rugby nations in the world playing for over a month, answering questions such as "How far can England fall having won it all in 2003?" and "Exactly when will the All Blacks choke?"

3. Did I mention it is September? Wow, that means that the NFL season is kicking off. Foxtel showing more games than ever, and the opportunity for more pundits than you could poke a 300 pound lineman at dusting off crystal balls, sifting through chicken entrails and speculating over every possible issue or non-issue to do with anyone who ever had anything to do with an NFL player or team.

So that all sounds terribly exciting. But let's pause for just a moment. Look a little closer. Tear your eyes away, even if only momentarily, from the rippling and well oiled Herculean physique, the massive sword, and look into the eyes...

What is this? Are they the sad eyes of a clown? What could be the cause in such happy times? Let's review all there is to look forward to:

1. The AFL Finals. That is exciting right? Oh hang on, that's right, the Sydney Swans lost lat week, and now they are out of the finals. Hmm, that isn't great I guess. Oh. They lost to COLLINGWOOD? Yup, that is certainly enough to take the shine off the AFL Septopia...

2. There is still the Rugby World Cup though. What can be wrong with that? Apart from the first two thirds of the tournament being a farce, of course. Top professional teams playing against amateurs and running up cricket scores. I know, it couldn't be a world cup without that, but not great to watch for at least another couple of weeks.

3. What about the NFL? Got to be good news, doesn't it? Unless you support the Vikings that is. 4 Superbowl appearances, no wins. An untried Quarterback and an average receiving corps. Plus they come from Minnesota. Oh dear....

So if you see WJ (you will know him by his distinctive loincloth and sword, although he has ditched the headband as it is sooo 2006) spare a thought, he may be smiling as much as always, but check his eyes for tears, the tears of a clown. Give him a hug already...

Absence makes the hits go yonder

2007-09-06T18:11:00.000+10:00

Hello there patient, or more likely lost, visitors.

In recent events they (the evil They, they know who they are) have cut off my blogger access from work, which means that you will have to get by with only intermittent bursts of my sparkling wit and lightning fast ripostes. You have all been very stoic so far. Hang in there team.

I also went away for the weekend with a group of mates 2 weekends ago - which was great, except that one of the midgets (children) was infected and clearly not sterilised prior to being exposed to normal people. half of us proceeded to come down with a ridiculously offensive bug of the digestive system variety. You know that feeling where you really want to die, having spent your 10th hour in the bathroom? Yeah, that one.

I play basketball. This means that, despite my Herculean frame, every now and then you get hit with the ball on a finger or thumb. (Actually, have no idea what this has to do with having a Herculean frame or not, but I am sticking with it ok?). So I copped one on the thumb 4 weeks ago. Usual story, thumb swells up, bruises all to hell, hurts quite a bit. Normally so it goes for a week or 2.

So 4 weeks later, still hurting, as in I still can't pick stuff up. Not talking World's Strongest Man material, I'm talking a cup full of coffee. Time for an X ray. Yep, its fractured. Now I get to wear one of these delightful apparatus for a few weeks.

Do you have any idea how long it took to get this thrilling story down for you all? I feel like opening WJ's Special School for Typing. Enrol early and often...

Farcebook

2007-08-14T09:07:00.000+10:00

As surprising as this will be for all of you, I am usually a bit of a cynic. So when I received an invitation to join Facebook from a friend with whom I used to work, my initial reaction was not to bother.

I never really got into the whole myspace thing as it seemed more an avenue for slef-promotion (read wankery). Facebook seemed more of the same. My friend pestered me, and not being one to resist peer pressure, I signed up. You know what, I actually like it. Here are a few more things competing for my time...:

An attempt to run as many on line games of scrabble as possible. You can play more than one game against any one person. Who would have thought you could have this much fun on the internerd, even taking account of the easy access to porn?
It is important that I grow my Vampire, Werewolf and Zombie armies. There are no words to explain how important this is.
There really are other people out there who like Ladytron, Depeche Mode, Sigur Ros, Goldfrapp, Portishead....Not only that, but they are happy to disclose the fact. You have no idea how validating this is. You also have no idea how embarrassed I am to have just used validating in a sentence.
I have so far managed to get back in contact with friends in England, Hong Kong, Geneva. Yes, it actually works for what it was intended to do. Ridiculous.
Trying to find a photo of oneself that is even slightly cool, or at least sufficiently so to be able to put it up as my profile photo. This may well rival global warming as an issue. Self-portraiture has never been a strength, whereas I do recycle.
Budgeting my lunch money so I can utilise it for its best food fight potential. Trust me, getting hit with a lobster shows so much more love than pigs feet.

No, I am not telling you where it is. You think I want you lot knowing who I am?

Scary stuff

2007-08-03T14:41:00.001+10:00

A good mate of mine, who lives only a couple of blocks away, has a bit of a bad back. Then again, we are all getting a bit older, and shit happens. Don't get me started about my knees...Anyway, I digress. For a change.

For the sake of the story, let's call him Pete (the names have been changed to protect the innocent, or at least, um, him, even though he isn't as innocent as you might think).

I had a call on Sunday arvo 12 days ago from his partner. Let's call her Simone (I am sure she is very innocent, so I changed her name too). Simone called in a bit of a state, to ask if I could help her get Pete to the hospital (thankfully not too far away) as he had royally stuffed his back picking up their 9 month old, very well fed son. His name doesn't matter so I haven't changed it.

I helped her virtually carry Pete to their van, get him to the hospital, and get him into the emergency waiting room, which was, as always, rather busy. Now I should say that Pete was, despite his best efforts, in serious pain, as he is not a soft bloke, but the slightest movement had him pretty much crying in agony (and I don't use the term lightly). It is very distressing to see a good friend in this much pain.

I waited around for a couple of hours while they assessed, him, moved him onto a bed so he could at least lie down, forgot him for a while, and eventually gave him painkillers. I should also point out that Pete is a vegetarian, and he eats and shops with more than your average thought towards animal cruelty, environmental impact and all that palaver. He doesn't like taking medications any more than her has to either, which is perfectly understandable. He was therefore briefly concerned when the doctor proposed morphine, but the pain and his inability to move soon put that issue, er, to bed.

The morphine kicked in after a while, he started feeling better, and I left him and Simone to take some much needed supplies to Simone's parents who were looking after unnamed heavy infant son, at their place on the northern beaches. By this time it was late-ish Sunday night, so they didn't need me to come back to the hospital.

What is the point, I hear you asking. Well, Pete was sent home late that night with a cocktail of painkillers and Valium. I spoke to him later last week, when he was able to get up and walk about, if slowly, and what he told me sounded awful. He told me how he was taking his cocktail of prescribed goodies for about 4 days, and felt really quite good, so he decided he didn't need the Valium. So he didn't take it one night. He then spent most of the night awake, unable to sleep, in an increasing state of panic and distress, until (and he may be excused for a little poetic licence here), he felt like he was going to die.

Then he took the Valium again, and everything was ok. So he conducted a little experiment, and didn't take it that night. The same thing happened. Increasing, irrational, isolating fear and paranoia. When he was telling me this, he was clearly very concerned about what this shit had been doing to his brain, AFTER ONLY 4 DAYS. He swore he would never touch it again, no matter what.

Now maybe he is particularly susceptible to the side effects of such medications. I don't know. I have also been lucky enough not to need to take Valium, or any prescription drugs like that other than some very strong painkillers for the odd injury. But this stuff sounds just plain scary.

And there are god only knows how many people out there who are quite possibly waaaay too scared (or maybe even who don't know any better any more) to stop taking it.

Incompetence

2007-07-31T10:02:00.000+10:00

While it may look like I am just combining the latest ideas from the likes of fingers and steph, I am rather pissed off this morning.

You see, I am getting one of these and I am rather excited about it. Yes, it is a Volvo, and please feel free to make all the expected jokes/comments/stifled laughter/pointing and giggling as you like, but I have been driving a crappy company Bombodore, and the Volvo is actually

fun to drive;

fast (I am a boy ok, get over it);

looks good (no really, it actually does);

erm, safe (ok, let's move on).

What is annoying me is, I was told that it would be ready today. By the sales guy (who obviously needs it for his monthly target). He said her would call his fleet department and they would tell the leasing company. I know, stay with me here.

So I hadn't heard anything for a few days, and I call the leasing company yesterday. They tell me they don't know anything about it being delivered any time soon, so I politely suggest that they find out.

They do find out (to their credit), and what they find out is that it is somewhere in the country but not ready for delivery. OK, a bit disappointing, but fine.

Until Mr Salesman calls me this morning to tell me that we are looking good for me to pick it up this afternoon. Er, ok. Except that the good old leasing company haven't prepared the documents that they might want me to sign before I like, drive off with their car.

So I make some calls, to the leasing company, who haven't called back, and I am still waiting for Mr Salesman to tell me what the #$%*& is going on. I do in the meantime have to go to meetings, hand back my crappy work car, and then potentially have no transport to get to said meetings for an unknown period of time, along with having to deal with the fallout of not getting to my niece's birthday party on Saturday in Can'tberra unless I can get on a last minute bus or train.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to pretend to work with this going on? My life is just one big trial, isn't it...

Who wants to predict what will happen next?

CUPIDS BACK, AND THIS TIME HE'S... got, um, a little bow and arrow...

2007-07-26T15:15:00.000+10:00

I may appear to be a tad fascinated with this concept, but am faced again with the whole set up sitch. I know, I know, better than me sitting at home with nothing better to do than opening the tins of roo meat and sharing them with the pugs, but bear with me.

And no, I am not terribly worked up about it all, but it raises an amusing and interesting philosophical question. Exactly for whose benefit is the whole set up being perpetrated?

There are several players here - the first one is easy - the person doing the setting up - let's call her (it usually is a her) Cupid.

The other two are the issue. One of the two will inevitably be a slightly closer friend of the Cupid than the other one. So is the Cupid just bringing out an occasional carousel of single eligibles for their good male or female (as the case may be) friend to peruse? Who is the 'catch' here, and who needs the help?

And if it doesn't work, whose side does the Cupid take, if they have to take a side. See, it is all very messy, when you think about it. First mistake - thinking about it.

I don't really think that the Cupid simply has 2 single friends that they suddenly think would be a match made in heaven. No, they are pimping for one, and pimping the other.

Then again, I realise that at the end of the day it is probably primarily for the edification (sorry, that is probably another word like amenable that I shouldn't use on dates, isn't it) of the Cupid in the first place, isn't it. Ah, it all makes sense now. Now where did I put that can opener...

Skippy munching

2007-07-24T10:08:00.000+10:00

Hi folks. Had an exciting evening last night - came home, cooked up some dinner, and then finished the Harry Pooter. I won't bore you all with discussions about Pooter, as those of you interested will have had your fill, and those not interested even more so.

I will bore you about something else. A piece on the radio this morning prompted some thought. A state in the US, no less than California, has banned the sale of adidas sports shoes made from Skippy leather, despite attempts to create an industry in roo meat and other products. This makes sense to me, as they are in ever-increasing proportions in the bush, and if farmed would be a darn-sight less environmentally damaging than the baa-baas and moos that we run currently.

Why this issue today? Dinner last night was some corn on the cob (yummo) and a Skippy steak sambo. I eat Skip from time to time, but not all that often, and every time I do I am struck by its flavour, leanness and how easy it is to cook. Why don't we eat more of it?

Is it a philosophical issue with eating something from our coat of arms? I don't quite understand that, as we (or at least most of us) are quite happy to eat other animals that are probably treated far less humanely than roos would be if farmed (I am speculating here, but don't let that get in the way of a good opinion, or my opinion for that matter).

It comes in steaks, snags, plus even marinated for those of you either too lazy or unimaginative to come up with something yourselves (ooh, controversy).

Is it too 'gamey' for you? I don't really understand this either, as the taste is not as strong as venison or other 'game' meats, but then I do have a robust appetite, to say the least, and while I like to think that I am discerning about what I enjoy, I am not what one might call a 'fussy eater'.

Plus, it is cheaper than other red meats (certainly of equivalent standard), not to mention other exotic meats which can cost a fortune.

Or is the problem just the fact that it is called 'australus'? Jesus, who won that write-in competition?

What do you think?

F%$$^%#& trains

2007-07-20T10:27:00.000+10:00

I am about to get a new car, but the 'old' one (that I have to hand back to work in a couple of weeks) is due for a service, so I put it in this morning.

I then happily trundled (not sure how one trundles without a trolley of some sort, or even if that makes sense - I just think that a trolley sounds like an appropriate and necessary accessory for trundling, but I digress), ok walked, to the train station.

Now it is only in the last few years that I have driven to work, prior to that I always caught the train, so I am quite familiar with the steps required - buy a ticket, check the indicator, sit on the platform, sit on the train, and remember to get off at the right place. All pretty straight forward, I hear you thinking (I have VERY good hearing). Correct, until the little man who changes the tv screens to tell you which train is coming obviously got a little too, er, ENTHUSED, and changed the screen early so that the train that turned up was shown on the screen as going to the north shore from Strathfield, whereas it was actually going to RICHMOND.

Now I fairly quickly realised that I didn't want to be on this train. When I say fairly quickly, I mean fairly quickly AFTER the doors had closed and it was going off on a different track to my preference...

So I got to stand on Granville station for a while in the freezing bloody cold, catch a train back to lovely Strathfield, and then catch a (correctly labelled) train to work.

Damn #@$%@#%&#$* trains.... At least no covers blew off and nobody was electrocuted, so
I guess I shouldn't complain...

You are too old to be out drinking on a Tuesday night...

2007-07-17T16:25:00.000+10:00

Yes, I know that I keep myself in shape (as you can see from my portrait), but even with a strict healthy eating and exercise regime, one can only slow the ravages of time so much. [Oh, and don't you love the use of 'one' to describe oneself, it is most of the way towards describing oneself in the 3rd person - it is what all the cool sports stars are doing these days...]

And so it is with one's ability to recover. No, I am not talking about how quickly one can bounce back from a debilitating case of the flu (which isn't really the flu, but that is a whole other strain of virus), no, I am talking about how well one can function after a big night out.

I go to the pub almost every Tuesday night with a bunch of friends. I good time is had by all, not least those of the group (being the majority these days) who are Dads, and therefore get Tuesday night as their leave pass for the week. They are the ones who are trawling the Inner West for open bars and kebab purveyors (not necessarily in that order, either on a chronological or order of importance basis). Even those of us who are footloose and fancy free (no, this isn't a Nancy Sinatra song, and please note that it was not Footloose and therefore Kevin Bacon will not be appearing) are often out until at least midnight. Yes, midnight!

Now I hear all you young denizens of the internet (and fingers) turning your nose up at such softness, but I do in all honesty find that a solid 5 hours of drinking on a Tuesday night does not a happy Wednesday make. I can still back up with at least some form on a weekend, even if Sunday is spent at least in part getting intimate with my couch, but Tuesday is just plain silly.

That all said, I am off to the pub tonight, regular as clockwork (I am going to avoid the obvious fibre jokes here).

What are you lot up to this evening? Assuming hardly anyone will read this today, I am happy to take feedback on your Wednesday plans.

Actually, assuming anyone reads this at all, put down whatever you bloody well want...

We Are the Champions...

2007-07-16T09:10:00.000+10:00

Yes, yes that is correct. My basketball team, Just Dueitt (get, it, a play on the whole Nike motto, you know, Just Do It, oh never mind) usually competitors for the 2nd last or 3rd last place in our Sunday night basketball comp (we aren't even good enough at being crap to come last), won the grand final last night.

Why is this of interest to you, I hear you ask? Um, why are you reading peoples' blogs then, dufus? I decided not to write about my flight later today to supervise the sealing of the Yongbyon reactor (I told the UN about the b'ball game and said they could start without me or wait - they waited). Sheesh.

Anyway, back to more important world events. Our opposition are perennial contenders, something to do with their blokes all being at least 6'3'' and ridiculously athletic, and their girls being equally tall and talented (ok, not equally since they only average about 5'10'', but I'm not getting into the whole relativity of physiognomy just now).

It was a tight tussle (I am concerned that this will remind fingers of some dvds he has on the top shelf, but I shall continue) with the scores being relatively low - we were down 19-18 at half time. Just a few points for those of you who are surprised that we weren't on track to crack the century in the game:

Have you seen the size of those bastards? They are fricking huge, which makes running up and down a not insignificantly sized basketball court easier, or so I tell myself.

They are, at least in athletic terms when compared to the rest of us, what 1991 Grange is to a 3.99 cleanskin from the local bottlo (and if that doesn't make any more sense to you, just work with me here)

They get paid a LOT of money to practice a lot, each day. I rock up 10 minutes before a game and shot around (and if you don't know the game, this doesn't involve firearms).

Plus, it was a strong defensive game, which limited scoring. Anyhoo, towards the end of the game, we were up by 2 when Wendy, one of the girls on the bad guys' team, nailed a 3 pointer. We were down by 1 with only about a minute left. There is something particularly galling about having a 3 pointer made against you in these circumstances, which is only exacerbated by the perpetrator being (a) talented, (b) attractive (yes, it comes to this yet again), (c) even more attractive due to said talent and (d) quite nice and friendly (and therefore slightly, but only slightly, more difficult to hate for it).

Bec (one of the good guys) was open on our next possession and POW answered right back, taking us back out to a 2 point lead. We got a stop defensively and then started protecting the ball as there were only 30 seconds left and no shot clock. We drew a few fouls, but never gave away the ball, and with 8 seconds left Greg (another of the good guys) had an open path to the bucket and sealed it with a clean lay-up.

4 point victors. Why do you care? Well, if you are still reading you must be sufficiently bored, and the good news is we are almost there. Also we have played together for about 10 years, and this is the first time we have won. We even received trophies that looked nothing like this...

We then proceeded to the pub to remind each other, in precise detail, of exactly which 15 crucial shots, blocks and passes won us the game. Ad nauseam - much how you feel now.

As a bonus I just created a PB for use of parentheses in a post. So it is good news all round...

Cupid's Scattergun of Lerve

2007-07-12T15:15:00.000+10:00

As previously blogged, I was at a party on the weekend of the Costume/Fancy Dress variety (DON'T get me started on that again).

It turns out that our lovely hostess for that particular shindig was of a mind to kill a few birds with the one arrow, and try to introduce the single people at the party to one another.

She was relatively subtle about it at the time, managing to disguise the fact in generally introducing disparate groups at the party. This is what every good host is made of (so you can then get on with drinking as much as possible with a clear conscience). However obviously this was not enough.

I received an email today from the hostess pointing out that one of the single young ladies at the party had mentioned me. Not really that surprising, since I was the tall-ish plonker in the fireman outfit. This email then went on to make it clear that the said single young lady would be quite amenable to me asking her out and then proceeded to include her contact details, both email and phone. Now while this isn't quite on a scale with Steph being set up on blind dates with gay blokes, I reckon the poor girl in question could be mighty pissed off at her friend the hostess for dropping her details to someone who could be a complete stalker.

Then again, there is only a 27% chance that I am a complete stalker. Statistics never lie.

Plus, I just received a call from Cupid to see if I would follow through. What is with all this chicks-pimping-their-friends action?

Is it Fancy Dress or is it a Costume Party?

2007-07-10T15:01:00.000+10:00

I was asked this question by an American friend of the host of a Fancy Dress party I went to on the weekend. We agreed that it probably doesn't matter, and that the English should really have the right to decide what the correct term is. I then added that I thought they called it a Fancy Dress party, which went down like a pork terrine at a Bar Mitzvah.

While a Fancy Dress is usually something that an Australian lass wears to the races or her wedding, it is also pretty well universally understood that when someone is having a Fancy Dress party, they get to decide at least the theme to which all guests (or at least those with any balls) must comply. How stupid you want to make yourself look in the process is of course up to you.

The theme for this particular do was to go as "What you wanted to be when you were 6". I am sure that at that age I mainly wanted to be bigger (be careful what you wish for...), but as I didn't fancy wandering around all Saturday night in a Sumo Suit, I eschewed my dress loincloth and fell back on the other, quite true option - a fireman.

My old man was a firey, so not only did I really want to be one as a kid, but it was also quite easy for me to get me hands on the gear. Thus Saturday night saw me wandering around Rushcutters Bay dressed as a fireman, no doubt to the amusement of the few people whose paths I crossed as I looked for the apartment in question. The fact that I was wearing a substantial helmet and almost as substantial axe in a pouch attached to my equally substantial belt made me both self-conscious and rather anxious not to run into the local constabulary.

I eventually found the party, and was met with a fine assortment of costumes, along with the usual boring types who couldn't be arsed and made up some lame excuse about just coming from another party/Live Earth/the Starship Enterprise to cover for the fact that they didn't have a costume and therefore astonishingly felt left out.

A fun night was had by all, and I am able to attest to the old chestnut about men in uniform. No less than 2 members of the opposite sex (girls, that is) pointed out how much they liked the costume - on separate occasions. I thanked them and pointed out that their costumes were good too (whatever they were), at which point they felt obliged to clarify and add that the uniform really did look quite good. Again I thanked them, and obviously needing to do some remedial education for this bloke in the firey kit who wasn't quite getting it, pointed out that they REALLY liked the costume, and that if they weren't taken, they would have taken me home that night.

While this is only marginally better than your mum telling you what a handsome boy you are (the two girls in question being engaged and living with her boyfriend respectively and were therefore able to throw that shit out there with impunity), it doesn't do any harm to the self-esteem, even if it is purely based on wearing your old man's cast off uni.

So fellas, there you go, apparently the uniform really does work. Girls, I don't need to tell you that, clearly. But if you see a bloke wandering around Newtown in a slightly out of date firey's outfit (as he may or may not be doing each Saturday night from here on in), go easy on him...

Mid life crisis

2007-06-29T14:41:00.000+10:00

Aaand welcome back. [WJ looks to camera]

I have recently been accused of having a mid life crisis. Perhaps I just have a friend/colleague (hmmm, are they mutually exclusive?) or two who are concerned for me - nah. More likely some of smug-married mates living vicariously and feeling a tad jealous.

The reason for this? I would like to think that it isn't because I have all of a sudden started looking 10 years older and therefore have plunged wrinkle-first into looking middle aged - after all, isn't 40 the new 30 (whatever the hell that means)?

No, there are actually a couple of reasons for this, or maybe even 3. Let's go to our favourite formatting cop out, the list... Over to you Waz:

[Waz is chilling out with an Asahi and looks up from playing Gears of War]

Well, thanks WJ, let's take a look at what might have caused people to think you are moments away from a Ferrari, inflatable blond companion and an alcohol problem.. Maybe it is because they know you? [cut to WJ, looking pissed off] [cut back to Waz, chuckling at his own hilarity] Just joking WJ, let's get to that list:

You are, in fact, getting a new car. - yes, it's on the list!
You recently bought new glasses. Tick.

Hmmm, only two there at the moment. I think we need to drill down into those suckers and take a closer look - back to you WJ.

[WJ seeths with passive aggressive rage]

Yeah, thanks Waz, you crack me up. Those aren't wrinkles, they are non-structural cracks due to your side-splitting humour...

OK, back to more serious matters. It is quite true that I am looking for a new car at the moment - but that is mainly because the lease on my old one is running out and I need a car to be able to do my job.

And on the glasses issue - I have had a new prescription for over 6 months and hadn't got around to getting the new specs sorted. The fact that they are terribly cool has less to do with a need for sea change and more to do with me being, well, cool I guess.

So there you have it - rational explanations for what might at first blush appear to be the irrational acts of a man in crisis. Rest easy people, the world is yet in equilibrium...

Public announcement

2007-06-28T09:53:00.001+10:00

Here at the Youth Unintentional Obfuscation Media Empire (which we will refer to as You/Me), we are always striving to meet the changing needs of our audience and friends.

As part of this continuing initiative, we are moving to a different format which will better suit the tastes and needs of today You/Me reader. As a part of this update, we are moving to a two host show, so we are able to better cover all aspects of our subject matter. We are pleased to re-introduce a host you are all familiar with, WJ...

[cut to WJ, behind modern newsdesk, wearing fashionable suit - WJ smiles, yet maintains an air of gravitas appropriate for coverage of items from ground-breaking news to the birth of the latest siamese panda septuplets].

Thank you, and welcome back to UO. I will continue to take you through the news and events that affect our, and your, day.

And to bring a welcome view on the lighter side of life, meet Waz

[cut to Waz, wearing t shirt and jeans, standing in front of a green screen running a highlight video montage of activities such as basketball, tennis, X Box, World of Warcraft, funky pub interiors...]

Hey, good to see you. I'm here to take you inside all the latest stuff that is happening in the world of sports, gaming, and having fun. It's gonna be fun!

Thanks Waz, welcome to the team. Stay tuned for more cutting edge programming...

Acclimatising

2007-06-14T09:25:00.000+10:00

It has been rather tricky getting used to the weather back here. Yes, I was in Scotland and yes it was around the same temperature there as it is here at the moment.

A couple of significant issues have made it a little tougher to settle in back here.

we have crap heating in our homes (or at least I do) and most other places too - now those Edinburgh types have the right idea, with more chimney pots than you could poke a camera at;

remember, it was summer there and it is winter here, so I shouldn't complain - after all, I went there of my own volition;

I may have stopped off in Abu Dhabi and caught up with Georgia for a couple of days on the way back (ok, I did), and it may have been 45 degrees C there (ok, it was)...

I guess another difference is that there is daylight there from about 4.30 until about 10.30 at the moment, which is again a little different to waking up in the dark and getting home in the dark back here.

I am sure it has nothing to do with the fact that I actually have to get up and do work again now, rather than waking up when I feel like it (usually just before they stop serving brekky) and spending the day wandering around places such as the forests in Glencoe...

Are yer lookin at me, yer numpty?

2007-06-13T10:30:00.000+10:00

Hello all.

Am back from my little jaunt to Scotland and Nth England. Had a ball.

Spent a lot of time playing in these things

and a lot of time playing in these things too..

Met up with lots of friends, drank way too much in the way of ale and malt, all in all a good time. Several revelations too. I realised that there is a reason that they drink not very cold, even less fizzy beer over there... it is rarely hot enough to warrant anything else. I quite enjoyed sampling all the local ales, which was complete hypocrisy for all the years of me slagging off warm flat beer to any pasty-skinned British type in hearing...

Another discovery - if you don't think about what is in haggis, it actually tastes quite good, especially after an evening of drinking too many of the aforementioned ales. I tried to tell myself this was culinary bravery and environmentally sound as there was even less waste from livestock, but it is just the tight-arsed Scots not throwing anything away, even when they should. I hang my haggis-eating head in shame.

Went dry-suit diving in Scapa Flow on some WWII wrecks, which sounds terribly cool if I do say so myself, and I just did. It was cool, btw, and way better than those docos on Discovery or the History Channel...

So what has been happening here?

Question

2007-04-12T17:47:00.000+10:00

Hi folks - quick question.

I am off on a hol to Scotland and Northern England next month, and will be doing the digi photo thing. I know this is hardly world news, but it will be the first big trip with the digi SLR and I want to share with those (few) who may be interested to have a look.

The next step is to work out which sharing site/system to use. I know mex uses Flickr, but wouldn't mind any feedback on it or others that provide free or paid photo sharing.

I will quite possibly be using it for back-up storage for quite a few photies (I know you really can't wait now can you) so let me know anything of interest - yes, I will read some online reviews but also appreciate feedback from you lot...

Cheers

V

2007-04-02T10:54:00.000+10:00

Went to the V Festival on Saturday.

I was there with a bunch of friends, most of whom were there to see the Pixies, which gives all manner of rock cred and indie cool. They couldn't really care who else played, and the other bands there were either window dressing or in the way until the almighty Pixies got their gear on.

I was interested in seeing the Pixies, although was never a huge fan. No, I was there to go to That Stage (the 2 main stages were the This Stage, where the Pixies played) and That Stage, while the smallest was of course the Other Stage. Very cool and all, but those names totally suck when you are trying to scream down a mobile to be slightly audible to your friends who are looking for you in a crowd of about 35 or 40 thousand.

"WHERE ARE YOU?"

"THAT STAGE"

"OH, WELL I'M AT THE OTHER STAGE"

"WHICH ONE?"

"THAT ONE"

"I THOUGHT YOU WERE AT THE OTHER ONE."

"I AM BUT I WILL BE AT THIS STAGE AFTER THAT AND THEN AT THAT STAGE NEAR THE END..."

You get the idea. The sound system was pretty top notch though, as anyone living within about 3km could attest.

Anyway, I was at That Stage for most of the day, and saw a fantastic combo of Gnarls Barkley, Groove Armada and The Pet Shop Boys. I know I know, not a shred of indie cool among any of them, but it was fantastic.

I was curious about the Gnarls Barkley thing, as when 2 guys are pretty much a studio outfit it can not work so well live. So when about 10 people in full tennis whites (including headbands) came on stage, not least of all a 4 piece string section comprising 3 stunning girls and a token guy, things looked up. Then the 2 GB guys came out (with their distinguishing blue knit vests over their tennis whites) and got into an awesome set that sounded fantastic. Quite a big crowd for them, and Crazy in particular was, wait for it.... crazy. (thank you, thank you, no really, you are a great crowd, thanks, come on, stop it now, shucks).

Groove Armada were arguably the best act there. It was utterly packed, with much accompanying treading on of feet and pushing of everything else, but in the end their set was great and much dancing was done.

Pet Shop Boys were fairly understated (how exciting can your stage act be when you are a keyboard player/programmer and a vocalist?) but they had some singers and dancers too, so it was lively enough on stage. Everyone knew all the words to the songs though (ok, all the old farts like me did, and all the younger whipper-snappers were dancing along happily with no doubt little idea of who these Pet Shop Boys were, but they sounded good), and it was a pretty lively crowd for them too.

I then caught the end of the Pixies set, and I will claim vehemently that they rocked, just for the sake of some indie cred. Of course, they really did rock, and it was great to see them, but I still had more fun with Groove Armada and PSB.

Not so much fun was the walk home from Centennial Park with an initial crowd of about 5,000 of my best mates (all trying to steal my taxi), who slowly dwindled as we approached Camperdown. My taxi never showed, but then neither did theirs...

Did anyone (ok, either of the 2 of you who read this) get there, other than Mel who didn't return my text? If so, what did you see and was it any good?

On other important matters, the Gozleme rated a consistent 8 out of 10, the beer lines were of course too slow, and the free Eclipse mints came in handy, especially after the Gozleme...

So the question is, how are they going to top Pixies and PSB for next year?

The Bandwagon of Nobility

2007-03-19T10:29:00.000+11:00

I am jumping on with both feet and er, the rest of me too. I went to Ross on Saturday night. I knew it would be good (no, not because of my tarot reading, but I will tell you all about that before long too), so was going in with high expectations. Let me tell you the story..... [cue fade]

A couple of months ago, OK maybe 6 or 8 weeks ago (I don't really remember and it isn't important so let it go, will you). A few friends decided to go and see Ross Noble. For some strange reason, I got an extra ticket - I like to think of it as an inspiring moment of hope. My friends laughed at my ridiculous optimism. Whatever. Ironically I had at that time also made a booking for 2 to go my fave restaurant, Oscillate Wildly, which had just had a good review and became even more ridiculously hard to get in to.

So to recap, I have a table for 2 at a great restaurant and a spare ticket to see Ross Noble within 2 days of each other. Let's just say that about 14 days out I started feeling like a prize dick. More of a prize dick.

So it came to be that a week or 2 back I met a lovely young lady at a seminar. Don't go there. About the whole meeting a chick at a seminar - the seminar itself was fine. We may have even met over the cheese (French) and wine (sadly not) offering afterwards. She loves food and wine, is fun, gorgeous and laughed at my jokes. No she isn't perfect ok. We were still there when the waiter came to clean up, and he brought in some Chinese food containers, saying "You guys obviously love the cheeses, I have to throw them out so why not take them home?"...

So we wander outside, booty in hand (sorry, bad image) and discussed catching up for a drink. Thursday was free. Then I remembered I had this booking at OW. So I invited her. We wisely decided to catch up for a drink Monday night, just in case either of us was weird. She still hasn't figured it out, btw.

Monday went well, And dinner on Thursday was fantastic. I am getting back to the point here people. So I invited her to Ross. (Look up this evening when you get home and note the stars in alignment). It was then I started thinking things through. We were going to Ross with some of my local Dog Friends, who never miss the opportunity to hang shit on me, or each other for that matter. To clarify, metaphorical shit, not that of the Dog variety. So we turned up to the pub, with them all there waiting to check out the latest victim. Then one of them mentioned that we actually had front row seats. Now those of you who have read mex or OMel will know that Ross works off the audience, and the front row are prime candidates....

So I am sitting there trying to be cool and drink my Guinness without wearing the mo, waiting for one of my 'mates' to burn me with this wonderful girl (who is quite happily chatting with them and getting on famously) and contemplating HOW ROSS NOBLE WILL EMBARRASS ME TO FINISH THE JOB.

You will be pleased to know that my friends were both fun and well behaved, Ross found a Girl With Too Many Bags and an Inordinately Late Financial Institution Employee (who later it turned out had been on a date, left it to come to Ross and then left early again when Ross paid out on Christians - his ears must have been burning on his way BACK to the date...) so I was unscathed, and she loved the show.

Ross was hysterical too. (That was the point. My work here is done - for now...)

Big Boats and Little Pleasures

2007-02-21T11:30:00.001+11:00

You should know that I don't actually spend that much time on the titles to these pieces. Shocking I know.

My first issue is a wee bit of concern that Sydney seems to have ground to a complete halt over the last 48 hours, and the reason is.... that a really bloody big cruise ship that none of us except fingers will be able to afford or wish to travel on, and a slightly smaller cruise ship that none of us except fingers will be able to afford or wish to travel on, are in town at the same time. I even heard people on the radio yesterday talking about how they will tell their children about this. Hello? They are fucking cruise ships. Big, ugly, floating Vegas Hotels for very well to do types who can't be arsed having a real holiday.

I realise that this will be the second coming of Christ to the ship-spotters out there, but can the rest of the slightly more normal people please do a self-evaluation and get themselves a life that doesn't involve having to clog the streets of Sydney for hours to take a photo of a big ship. Download it, for the love of god, and keep out of our way.

On to other things now (I feel better already). I am aware that this next bit is set up for fingers and Mel to hit out of the park, I am hoping they will do so with suitable panache.

I had a fantastic weekend, and no it wasn't spent surfing porn and writing my latest fantasy novel. I did other stuff too. I had a dinner party Saturday night, and actually gave myself enough time on Saturday to enjoy the fact. I cooked some stuff I hadn't done before, and some that I had. I wandered around the Fish Markets in the morning (I sadly really enjoy it there - something to do with never being able to afford seafood as a student still makes it somehow special) and spent the afternoon cooking and preparing. It went fantastically well - the food went down a treat (yes I know that dinner guests will usually say that a defrosted lasagne is a culinary revolution, but hey) and I had great fun with friends enjoying a decent meal. Why don't we do this more often?

Credit where it is due though. I wanted to use watermelon as it is so good right now. I somehow stumbled on Spiceblog and stole the Nannygai with Watermelon Salad recipe - it was fantastic. And how cool are those photos?

Ok, enough self-emasculation. Just a reminder to myself that time with friends is the best time. Doing something that they appreciate - even better....

Da Supabowl

2007-02-13T09:34:00.000+11:00

Due to overwhelming demand (SB posted once), here is my post on the Superbowl. Please bear with me (lol, you will get it later) as I may have to recount some information that will of course be patently obvious to all of you, but this is the price we must pay to cater to the vast and diverse multicultural and socio-economic melange that is my readership.

The Superbowl was played between 2 teams that each have claims to underdog status, the Indianapolis Colts and the Chicago Bears. A little background on each...

The Colts

For the last few years, the Colts have been consistent in not quite making it first past the post. While certainly thoroughbreds, they have struggled to clinch playoff victories - often falling at the feet of their nemesis, the New England Patriots. They have been more your Andalusians than your Arabians - all very well in the fancy footwork department and the looking good, but when it came down to it, not quite your Lawrence of Arabia battling types.

This year was different. They took the bit between their teeth and overcame the Patriots in a playoff upset with a late victory 38 to 34 to make it to the Superbowl. This was the race between 2 quarterback posterboys - Tom Brady of the Pats and Peyton Manning of the Colts. Manning has a reputation as something of a choker in playoff games, but here he responded to the whip and carried them to victory.

Da Beeahs

The Bears play in the NFC North division, the same division as my beloved Minnesota Vikings. This may imply some hidden bias on my part, but I beg to differ. I openly don't like the Bears, there is no hiding about it. I fondly remember the days when they were the laughing stock of the division, and were completely hopeless. Sadly ever cub must one day grow and so the Bears have developed into a formidable force - poles apart from the Vikes, who now suck the big one. Anyway, enough about the Vikes....

Bears fans have had a black time of it, and while the sun has come out from behind the clouds this year, there have been reasons to avoid creating a spectacle. They defeated the New Orleans Saints, who were anointed as ‘America’s Team’ after the Hurricane that decimated the area not so long ago, to make it to the Bowl game. However this was a narrow victory. The Bears quarterback, Rex Grossman, has been both woeful and wonderful – polar performances during the season. If he had a good game, so would the Bears, if not, it seemed the game would pander to recent history…

The Game

This was touted as a game of contrasting styles – the Bears play tough defence, the Colts a spectacular offence based on Manning throwing the ball a lot.

I took the day off (as one does) to watch the game with my mate Greg. He lived in NY for a while, and loves the NFL. Mind you he supports the Miami Dolphins, and this year they were if anything even worse than the Vikings, which is saying something. Anyway, enough about the Vikes…

It was a sunny day in Sydney but raining cats and dogs in Miami, where the Superbowl was held. This made it an ideal day for us to spend in front of the TV watching a game that manages to take about 3 and a half hours to complete one hour of playing time.

After a relatively civilized kick off time of around 10.30 am (for us, not them), the first touch of the ball resulted in a touchdown kick-off return by Chicago, and we settled in for a wild game. Sadly, as it was as wet as last Saturday night over there, the first half saw a whole lot of fumbles and interceptions, and by half time the Colts were up 16 to 14. The good news is that being a close scoreline, there wasn’t a clear favourite, even though the Colts were probably preferred if leading. The better news is that Greg had proper hot dogs for lunch for us, complete with sweet mustard, onions and tomato sauce (no Mel, it isn’t ketchup). I had of course supplied various munchies including pretzels etc. It is hungry work watching all that sport. For the record I did not for a moment think of all those poor people actually working that day. Oh, except for the 6 times I received calls from said people with whom I work. I was most receptive to those calls.

The second half commenced and we settled in as the rain got heavier in Miami. The all too infrequent shots of the Colts Cheerleaders were even disheartening as their normally perfect presentation was more a congregation of completely drenched, flawlessly tanned, incredibly lithe and scantily clad rats. Their hair stylists must have been beside themselves…

Rex Grossman was just that, and played worse and worse to the point where the Colts ran out comfortable winners 29 to 17. Peyton Manning, after so many years of question marks, finally had a Superbowl ring. His mum must be so proud.

Filled with inspiration, we then jumped on the Playstation to battle it out at Madden. I am pleased to say that I inflicted a sound drubbing to the tune of 60 to 27. If only I could coach the Vikes…

Update

2007-02-08T10:32:00.000+11:00

I was very touched to note fingers’ concern as to the progress of my love life, not to mention Southern Belle’s slightly more genuine interest.

Please allow me to bring you up to date. At catch-up drinks with some of the Punters a few weeks back, I made the mistake of telling fingers about a very attractive barmaid at the establishment at which we were drinking – the Bank in Newtown.

Said barmaid was very cute and made a damn fine martini – dirty gin martini, of course. She and I had admittedly brief but fun discussions about the merits of the Tanqueray martini vs the Bombay Sapphire martini. Yes, it is a tough life. To the uneducated eye (ie that of an Australian male – despite what we try to tell you, we really don’t get girls at all, then again, like you girls don’t already know that), she might even have been flirting with me, and the drinks were very, very cheap. For the purpose of this story, let’s call her Cute Martini Girl.

The martinis were had on Christmas Eve, a Sunday night. I may or may not have been back to the Bank a few times since (it is after all the newest bar in town and this has nothing to do with cute bar staff in general or CMG in particular), but never on a Sunday night. I didn’t see CMG on any of those occasions.

Let’s skip forward in time, mainly because we can and it is a narrative tool of which I don’t make enough use. Let’s imagine that a week or 2 ago I just happened to be walking past the Bank on a Sunday evening, when it occurred to me that nothing would help my basketball game later that evening than a martini or 2. The Bank looked busy, but this is never a bad thing, so I wandered in, and may have been paying more attention to the staff at the various bars than anything else.

After a while I started to note the preponderance of very fit boys with short hair, tight singlets, short shorts and fake tan. Now I live in Newtown, so this isn’t a matter for note, except for this: They are even less subtle about checking out each other than chicks are. It shall suffice to say that it isn’t altogether fun to:

Be stuck at the back of a pub that is completely chockers
Have to fight your way back through the crowd of gayboys who have all just checked you out and then done the face that fairly clearly communicates something to the effect of “Ooh, hi sweety, I think you have come to the wrong place, because the ‘former rugby player past his prime’ look isn’t working for me. Oh, and what is that t-shirt?”
Realising that the CMG who was the sole reason for going there in the first place isn’t there anyway.

Even doing the “I am just looking for my friends and I am astonished and slightly perplexed that they aren’t here yet” face as I struggled past all those rippling orange bodies wasn’t helping.

So to answer your question fingers, no, I haven’t seen the CMG again.

SB, the girls are already looking out as they are doing a good job of hiding.

The good news is, I can always make a dirty martini at home… as I don’t think Sunday evening at the Bank is an option.

Eventful Week

2007-01-30T10:48:00.000+11:00

It wasn't really, but you lot are very fickle and I do realise that I am not exactly regular these days. I am advised that my home made muesli will assist with the latter (yes, toilet humour, but more about that later), but I need a headline to help with the former. Short of coming out with

FUR SEAL CUB IN CLUBBING INCIDENT - RECREATIONAL DRUGS SUSPECTED

I need to get your attention somehow. And yes, I do apologise for using that old faithful.

So this week has been interesting. My favourite restaurant was reviewed in the SMH Good Living last week and received a very good rating of 15/20. This is fantastic and very well deserved, although for those of us who actually want to make bookings, it is crap. You will notice that I haven't mentioned the name of the restaurant - selfish reasons, I assure you. It seats about 20-25 at a squeeze. The food is fantastic, service great, it is incredibly reasonably priced, and it is a 5 minute walk from my house. Now it will be booked out 4 weeks in advance, not just 2. I am very happy for Ross, really. Great news.

I also decided this weekend that I am completely disinterested in cricket. It may have something to do with the fact that Australia cant lose a raffle let alone a game at the moment. I did derive some considerable joy when the Poms were thrashed, and still do, just to see the resigned look of inevitability on their burnt pasty faces, but I don't want to watch the game itself. It is like watching a sick horse being bludgeoned to death using a wet newspaper. Not since the Super league fiasco have I had so little interest in an Australian sport. The only thing that could help would be if the Aussie boys played a bit more often, NBA style. we just don't see enough one-sided cricket these days.

I have decided that I need to obtain the entire set of Family Guy on DVD. A magnificent example of intelligent American humour. Yes, you read that right. Check it out NOW. This message is brought to you by Blockbuster.

Back to the toilet humour. I went to the Open Air Cinema (Lady Macquarie's Chair) and saw Kenny on Friday night. Awesome evening. Not only was the crowd pretty happy, what with it being Aussie Day and all, we had a fighter jet light up the afterburner and fly right across the skyline. I don't know whether you have been, but I don't think I have ever seen a more beautiful city skyline than Sydney on a fine summer evening from Lady Macquarie's Chair. Having a fighter jet light it up is like have a fuck-off big sparkler on your birthday cake. Or something like that.

The movie itself was very funny. I didn't expect much, but it is the most quintessential Aus. movie since The Castle. Lot's of toilet gags, but tastefully done (ok, not really, but work with me here), a swag full of Aussie sayings and one liners that could only have been bettered by my recently departed lovely Grandmother, and more portaloos than you could or would want to point, er, anything at. Check it out NOW. This might really be brought to you by Blockbuster. There is a fair chance that they will read this and give me a freeby or two, isn't there? You know, the anonymous blog that gets fewer hits than the English batting line-up...

THANK YOU, THANK YOU. NO REALLY, thank YOU.

Pink Monkey's Balls

2007-01-17T08:47:00.000+11:00

Hmm, yes, thought that might get your attention. Was at a friend's place on Saturday night for dinner, in a group of about 8. Friends did a fabo Japanese style dinner, with these awesome salmon rice ball thingies, soba, Swordfish (not entirely sure what they did to it, but I was assured that it was decidedly Japanese in style and it certainly was yummo).

Naturallement there was, er, some consumption of beer and wine, and they even cracked open some sake, which seems to work well with Japanese food (funny that), but which I can best describe as something between weak vodka and something you clean your couch with. In a good way.

What does all this have to do with the genitalia of small brightly coloured primates, I hear you ask (yes, I am even watching you right now - don't look so shocked, you know you are an exhibitionist). OK - it was late-ish in the evening, so in a spirit of sensibility (and having been on the piss for 3 of the 4 preceding nights) I decided to take myself home. I made the subtle announcement (and for once I am serious), as I knew my best chance of making a safe getaway was to make as little fuss as possible.

My friend protested, unsurprisingly as I am the life of the party, because he wanted me to try a new cocktail he had just come up with. I should point out that this friend is the mad professor of mixology (self-appointed) I mentioned in my Educational Experiences post a while back. What this in turn means is that YOU SHOULD NEVER RESPOND IN THE POSITIVE WHEN THIS PERSON WANTS YOU TO 'TRY' HIS NEW COCKTAIL. Instead I recommend volunteering for clinical trials for the newest psychic contraception treatment, it would be much safer.

Anyhoo, I inevitably say yes, so he returns shortly with something in a martini glass and refuses to disclose the contents. As I am not completely drunk yet, I of course realise that I should put it down and walk away. I don't - I drink some. It tastes like... well, let's just say I expanded my sensory experience. Seeing the look on my face, he grins ecstatically. "What is that" I manage to utter. "I call it Pink Monkey's Balls" he replies triumphantly. Confident that he doesn't actually have access to any monkeys of any colour (I never determined whether it was the monkeys or the balls that were meant to be pink, but do you really want to know either? Didn't think so), I ask what is in it.

"Is it too sweet?" He asks concerned. I agree, so he gets some fresh lime juice and squeezes it in. He then looks me in the eye and says:

"Gin [tick, I drink this a lot so we're all good so far]
Campari [Not so much, but is a legitimate cocktail ingredient, so we're still on the same page here]
Pink Grapefruit, except I didn't have any so I put in mango juice [hmmm, this at least explains the sweetness issue and the lime juice to bring it back closer to the pink grapefruit, and might even explain why the monkey has a pigmentation issue]
Absynthe [um, what the fuck]?"

He then goes on the assure me that it is real wormwood in the absynthe, but I am still trying to digest all this information, let alone the drink. If I can be of any assistance to you, dear friends, let me say this: if you are going to do absynthe, do it old skool with the sugar cube and all, cos it sucks the big one when in a cocktail.

Needless to say I didn't have an early night that night. When I saw him in the park the next day he assured me that it is much better with pink grapefruit.

Thanks - take your word for it.

Are you sure Famocide isn't legal?

2007-01-11T10:52:00.000+11:00

That old adage that you can choose your friends but not your family has a certain, hmmm, truth about it doesn't it.

Disclaimer: I adore my family - all of them, but there are some, well, issues.

For instance, when one goes to visit one's sister, brother-in-law and nieces for a few days after Christmas, that in no way implies that it is OK to unleash 2 year olds on one at 5.30 every morning. Especially 2 year olds who ask whether one is awake while sitting on one's chest hitting one's forehead. 2 year olds who seem to have been told to seek permission to play with one's puppies (that is not a euphemism you sick bastards, I took the dogs with me) at that ungodly hour. The puppies are wide awake in the backyard after the infant tornado has snaked through the house, I don't care what she does with the puppies that early as long as they are still breathing and have no visible scars.

Problem is, said 2 year old (there is only one, despite the feeling that there was a tag team of the little buggers - there is a 6 year old, but she is waay too clever and is happy to stay in bed while someone else takes the heat) always manage to be so damn cute and excited to see you that it is tricky to stay pissed off at them for waking you up so early on your 'holiday'. So instead you just stay pissed off at the world in general, which has always worked for me.

The following set of statements, made on the 2.5 hour car trip from Canberra to Mollymook with niece, from anyone else would have led to me reliving Rainman as Tom Cruise (and in case you were wondering, I wouldn't want to be Tom Cruise even for the chance to shag Katie Holmes - actually, how quickly could I beam out of Tom's life afterwards?):

"[giggling] Loki is sitting next to me"
"[giggling] Loki is licking my hand"
"[giggling] Loki is having a sleep"
"[giggling] Loki is a good girl - she is a tiny puppy"
"[giggling] Loki is awake"...

You get the idea. Bear in mind that this was an excerpt of about 45 seconds of that trip. Imagine that commentary repeated over 2.5 hours. Mind you, the comments were often mixed around a bit, so I don't know what I am complaining about.

So when one escapes back to one's own bed, with at least a day or 2 before returning to work for catching up on things like sleeping in and drinking, why is it that you even miss the little buggers?

The price one pays for a free trip to the theatre

2006-11-10T10:52:00.000+11:00

I was taken to the theatre last night, to see Woman In Mind. It was a sensational production, and Noni Hazelhurst was fabulous in the lead. The rest of the cast were all familiar faces (with the exception of newcomer Sophie Ross, who was both radiant and delightful) and formed an ensemble that was strong to a person.

Problem is, and I know this is most ungracious, I was taken there by a firm as a client. "Where is the problem, you lucky ungrateful bastard?" I hear you ask.

The problem is, as I was saying, that you don't actually get to choose who from the law firms take you to these things, they do. And that means that almost without fail it is the pompous old partners who want to sit next to you over dinner and find out what work you can give them. The same ones who completely disingenuously ask about your personal life:

where you are living (replying with Camperdown often elicits a briefly puzzled look before the mask of fake interest descends again, mostly as they try to work out where that is in relation to their mansion in Wahroonga or Bellevue Hill),
how work is (this is their subtle way of finding out if you are busy enough to give them more work),
how the dogs are (this is for the ones with good memories, who vainly try to act like they even care about dogs - almost none have any themselves, and if they do, they belong to the kids and the lawyer probably wouldn't recognise the dog much more than the kids they rarely see. There is nothing wrong with not having dogs or caring about them if you don't, but please don't pretend that my pugs are just the most adorable concept you wish you thought of yourself if the closest you come to canines is abusing an owner if it looks like his/her mutt may take a leak on your lawn),
how the love life is (one for the bravest only, and they do get some points for being ballsy/tactless enough to go there in the face of the unknown. I derive some malicious glee from starting to answer the question with anything other than "fine", and then watching pure horror descend as they suddenly realise that I might be going through a divorce they weren't warned about and they just totally burnt themselves from getting any instructions from me ever again. I'm a bastard, but you knew that).

Some of them are great fun, some are even my friends, but I never get to sit with those ones. So every time I wonder why it is that I don't just go to the theatre with my friends, which would be much more fun. Or I could just think myself lucky that I even get the opportunity to have someone take me at all.

In the end I recommend you see it, as it was technically superb, funny and yet just incisive enough to leave one thinking, which is why we go to these things, isn't it. Just remember to take your friends with you.

The Wagon, or "I'm not having fun so neither can you"

2006-11-02T14:58:00.000+11:00

That's right folks. Nothing from me for a week or 2, and then the action packed, fun-filled announcement that I am on the wagon for a while. I know that this is the equivalent of Terminator 4 starring Rick Moranis, but hey, nobody has a gun to your head. Hmm, unless they do, in which case, why the hell are you reading this? You're in deep shit.

I was recently (last weekend even) away with a bunch of friends and their respective dogs. I know, people without dogs think this is some weird beastiality club (don't they? they certainly don't get it), but it hardly ever gets like that. We just all own dogs, in fact we met through walking our dogs in the same park, we are all mates now, and go away together.

Soooo, this weekend had several memorable aspects. Firstly, when you get 14 people and 12 dogs together in self-catering cabins, certain things happen:

cooking becomes a chance to whip up something loved by all, and even to show off a bit. For instance, for the first night there were 6 curries made by various people. Mine was a Lamb Sagwala, cos I know you are interested. There was a beef rendang, a lamb korma, a tuna curry, daal.... these were all homemade, and bloody yummy.
Huge fry up for one brekky, including inter alia (sorry, the inner lawyer coming out) my homemade baked beans, which I thought were pretty good. Look, they were all eaten, so that is a start isn't it. If I don't tell you, who will? Blueberry pancakes for the other brekky. Sooo good.
everyone eats too much. Der.
We all drink too much. That is except for the friend who finds out 4 days before we all go that she is preggers, and hence instantly volunteers to be the group taxi for the next 9 months. she was stoked (at the taxi bit, she was actually pretty chuffed about the preggers bit).
the dogs all get a bit hyper being stuck together in relatively small spaces at times. While they can run around all day, in the evening everyone congregates and so do their mutts. This can lead to problems, as the bigger more aggressive dogs tend to get short of temper, shall we say, and take it out on the smaller dogs. The pugs automatically qualify as the bottom of the food chain, having no teeth to speak of, not an aggressive bone in their body, and a complete inability to get away from anyone. I therefore spent a large proportion of the weekend with one eye on my beer/wine/cocktail/vodka/headache and the other on preventing the pugs having the living bejesus bitten out of them.
Did I mention that everyone drinks too much?

For these reasons, actually pretty much numbers 3, 4 and 6 really, I have decided to go on the wagon for a while. Well, at least for 2 weeks until the Newtown Festival on the 12th. It will then be reviewed.

So far I am a pillar of virtue. I am back doing 10km a day on the bike. I walked 4km to the pub on Tuesday for trivia night (and back), and then proceeded to drink Lime & Sodas while my mates had beers. I resisted having a celebratory beer after we inflicted a 55 point (yes, that is 55 point) drubbing at basketball last night. I am a rock. I don't even feel any cravings for a drink yet. The problem is, every time I walk into my study, I see about 420 reminders of the fact that I am not knocking the neck off a lazy cabernet that evening. What hope do I have?

ABC'ing your CD's

2006-10-24T11:24:00.000+10:00

I have been in full blown interior rearranger (IR) mode (as distinct from interior decorating, which I think implies getting nice new things rather than just shuffling the old ones). One of the tasks I undertook was to sort out my CD's which were piled one on top of the other in a cupboard to the point where I just couldn't be arsed getting out the bottom ones or even refreshing my memory as to what was there. So I went and did the IR equivalent of base jumping and decided to alphabetise the CD's.

While you all sit there shaking your heads (I am watching both of you.... always watching), I acknowledge that this is something that I had always imagined my freaky nerd friends (ok, more freaky and more nerdy) doing, but not me. Nooo, I am way too down with the kids for that sort of thing. I would much rather be all funky and chaotic and just have the cd's all lying around in the wrong cases. YEAH MAN!

I then realised that while rather uncool, having them organised means that I can actually find the one I want to listen to, and it is actually easier than trawling through the mp3 player and plugging that into the stereo. Plus I also know what I own in my collection, which was both fun and a little distressing. Here are some chestnuts I uncovered:

Dummy by Portishead. Very cool album. A friend once told me that she knew that she wanted to be with her now husband when he gave her this album. I understand it is rather, er sexy, shall we say.
Spartacus by The Farm. This will mean nothing to anyone unless you were into early 90's dance/Madchester music. Do the songs "Groovy Train" or "All together now" mean anything? No? Nuff said.
Static and Silence by The Sundays. The Sundays have been 'on hiatus' for some time now, with the two key members having a couple of kids (together even, disgusting isn't it). I had a big crush on Harriet Wheeler, the singer, who I still think has one of the most gorgeous voices I have ever heard.
Polyserena by George. Talk about a voice. Katie Noonan can just blow your mind. I have seen them live a number of times and every time they were awesome. There is no truth to rumours that I may have made a bit of a tool of myself by getting her to sign an album and being fairly incapable of being as witty and erudite as was the plan. I specialised more in dumbstruck and incoherent at the time.
lots of 80's albums, including efforts (and in some cases that is the most appropriate word) by bands such as ABC, Duran Duran, Level 42, Howard Jones (not a group, I know), U2, etc, etc. I am a child of the 80's, ok, even though I was born in the 70's. Keep up, ok?

That is enough for now. Too much confession might not be good for the soul, on reflection...

Half-Arse Weekend

2006-10-16T10:02:00.000+10:00

Hi folks. Long time me no blog. I suspect I can't blame anyone for that but me, so we will press right along.

As you may have guessed from the heading, I had a rather half-arsed weekend. I felt a tad anti-social at times (yes, me - hard to believe I know, but stay with me, the story gets much better later on. OK, don't take my word for that), so decided to get on with some domestic reorganisation. This domestic reorganisation has been needed for some time. This is a rough translation of:

I have piles of bills, although mostly paid, sitting around potentially breeding. As a rough calculation between water, power, gas, internet, phone, other phone, oh and the mortgage of course I seem to pay the GDP of Tuvalu each month*. you would think in these circumstances a decent organisational system would be an advantage. Mine involves putting it all in piles, and then about once every 9-12 months spending far too much of my hard-earned leisure time sorting through it. Clever, non?
I also have too many books. Before you roll your eyes and say "Oh, what a surprise", if it isn't too late, I actually inherited a lot of them about 10 years ago, so they have some sentimental value too. An uncle who shared my rather Poindexter-esque taste in books left all his to me - all 1500 of them. So now I have a couple of thousand books 3 deep on bookshelves, a number of which may fall loosely into the categorisation with words such as 'fantasy' and 'fiction' in the title. And I am not talking fantasy in the sense of fingers' DVD collection, but I may be talking fiction of the scientific variety. In my defence, I also have a lot of English literature including my fair share of your English poets, although that doesn't get a regular run in recent years, and I have a few Halldor Laxnesses for your Icelandophiles out there... OK, and I am crap at throwing out books. I refuse to feel bad about this.
I have a small house - ok, I just needed a third reason, but I blame it for not having enough storage. Selfish, selfish house..

On the weekend I set about filing the bills, moving some bookcases into the study and setting up my new TV in the lounge room. On Saturday, a filthily hot day, especially with a tin roof, I was dragging around bits of furniture, categorising bills, unpacking, sorting and restacking books, and hooking up lots of cables for tv-surround-sound-type-thingies. These fun-filled pastimes are always helped by having small dogs that alternately lie around sounding like they are about the expire, and every time you move something, decide that they simply must check it out, climb into it, or wrestle on it (the last being reserved for neatly stacked bill piles) - I swear they were nearly disowned about 4 times.

Why is it then after significant time spent doing all these things, that none of it is actually done? Why does my house look like a halfway house for domestic chores? Why is there crap everywhere? Could it be that I am incapable of seeing something through? Could it be that there are too many questions and not enough answers? Well? Speak up?

*Apologies to all you Tuvaluans stopping in at UO, I'm sure you make much, much more than that. Birdshit is white gold, I tells ya.

Educational Experiences

2006-10-03T10:40:00.000+10:00

Long weekends are to be enjoyed. Take, par example, the long weekend that I have just enjoyed, or perhaps more aptly, experienced. Let me take you interested folks on a journey, a journey into sound...

Ok, no sound actually, but I was just having an 80's/90's music flashback. I will resume normal broadcasting.

This weekend involved a few traditions. The first was watching the Grand Final (the AFL, aka the important one) at a couple of friends' place. They borrow a wide screen tv so they have 2 set up in their lounge room, and about 30 people play musical chairs and drink a lot. This was a fun afternoon, but somewhat bittersweet for obvious reasons. The close loss also meant that most of us were still sober enough to watch Doctor Who at 7.30. This was the highlight of the day, as the episode featured not only cybermen but the hint of daleks to come. Sadly, there was more cheering when the inevitable daleks appeared in the teaser for next week's season finale than there was in the first half of the Grand Final, but I shall let sleeping dogs lie on that one...

Sunday was my mate Gary's Oktoberfest party. This is an annual affair, and is a veritable feast of smallgoods and cabbage. To be more specific, Gary makes pilgrimages to obtain Weisswurst and other nobles sausages of German descent, and delicacies such as rollmops, sauerkraut and something that involves cooking cabbage and pork knuckle, which he yesterday confirmed is called "Cabbage and Pork Knuckle". Entry is by way of a bottle of schnapps. For those of you who have dabbled in the complex world of schnapps (and who among us have not, let's be honest), you will know that this opens up a plethora of opportunities for finding the most vile and rank alcoholic beverages imaginable.

The afternoon begins calmly enough, with around 30 or so friends sitting around enjoying the sun, drinking beer (preferably German, of course) and partaking of the wurst. As the oldie but goodie goes, it is on these days that one sees one's friends at their best and their wurst. Thank you, no really. Things do take something of a turn for the wurst (thanks again) when one's small, cute black pug does something to offend a mastiff also at the party (something like, I dunno, breathing) and gets literally shoved down about 8 stone stairs but aforementioned mastiff. Pug now has bruised eyes and suspected concussion. I kid you not.

It is later when the sun gets lower in the sky that the first trays of assorted schnapps start being passed around. this is easy enough, as the chocolate, banana, and several others are easily identified and can be avoided or snapped up readily enough. Later when the plum starts looking like the butterscotch, and the clear ones all look like each other, one can find oneself drinking potato or melon by mistake, which is a grave error. it is only when people decide to start layering shots that it gets ugly. That and when the Gletcher eis (for the uninitiated, this is a clear blue liquid with the colour, consistency and taste of blue Listerine, but with the added advantage of getting you very drunk) comes out.

Things have really taken a turn for the worst when said mad professors of mixology decide to start being 'inventive' (read: start trying to poison their friends). It may well be time to take you and your pugs home when you shoot a 'surprise' that turns out to be Gletcher Eis and champagne, and your stomach sends an express message to your brain along the lines of "Do that again, and I will make you vomit on yourself in front of your friends. A number of times. Don't say I didn't warn you."

A third tradition is the 'Day After', in this case playing Scrabble with a few slow moving friends who were at the prior days' events. Among the highlights of this non-thinking day were "Toque" and "cinema" but lowlights included "Oo", which I can reliably confirm is a Scottish derived word for wool. Hey, I got rid of one of those 6 vowels I was holding at the time.

What did you crazy kids get up to?

Things Are Looking Up

2006-09-19T09:42:00.000+10:00

I have had an epiphany, of sorts. I have realised it is mid September, which means that life is taking a turn for the better. Let me explain why:

The days are getting warmer and longer. It is therefore a matter of mere weeks, if that, before the daily tradition of wandering up to the park after work with several beers resumes. Sitting in the twilight with a bunch of friends as the mutts run amok/ sweet talk* picnickers and killing a few coldies (that last bit is me, not the dogs) is absolutely THE best way to wind down after a day at work.
Feastability - the Newtown food and wine festival - is on this Sunday. A day of sitting in the sun, eating too much yummy food and drinking too much. Then somehow transporting myself to basketball and either playing completely out of my skin or out of my tree, one of the two.
Oktoberfest. Yes, in September - don't ask me, they are German after all. Sure, efficient - whatever. Get the month right. Anyway, the only thing better than friends having Oktoberfest parties, complete with a plethora of wurst, is going to the Concordia Club. A former bowling club, mere metres from Tempe station. Not much beats chowing down on a pork knuckle in a giant tent on a bowling green and shooting vile corn schnapps. What I want to know is, how big are the hands of those freakin German pigs, and who thought of making corn schnapps? OK, I can understand it is probably an old, old recipe with the schnapps, but, er, people have now invented alcohol that actually tastes ok. German people, are you listening? Hallo? Keine schnapps bitte!
Last long weekend before Christmas. Suck it up guys. Oh, and it is my birthday too, which is sadly an increasingly numerically irrelevant excuse to have a few drinks.
My house is no longer like an icebox when I get home. Just threw that one in there as it has nothing to do with drinking, and I don't want anyone implying there was a pattern emerging.
Newtown Festival is only a month away. A day of sitting in the sun... er, eating too much yummy food...... um, ... drinking maybe too much... and bands playing. That's right, there are bands and all that. phew.

I love September...

*"Sweet talking" usually happens when said mutts realise picnickers have a cold chicken, cheese platter, packet of chips, Ok, any old damn bit of vaguely edible stuff. It MAY involve sitting up like the epitomy of well-behaved dogness, in the hope that picnickers will throw the whole damn chook your way. Failing this, continue to sit up, but with an obviously increasing degree of difficulty as the excitement of uneaten poultry causes barely contained oscillation of the muscular tissue. If this doesn't work, circle around the picnic blanket hoping another picnicker will drop a plate full of salami. Most importantly, be aware of the location of your owner at all times, as getting caught begging means getting seriously busted and pinned on the ground while all your mates dance around doing the canine equivalent of pointing and sniggering while chanting "You're in trouble. You're in trouble". Hey, at least they don't actually nick the food. Almost never.

Guy Gavriel Kay

2006-09-15T11:07:00.000+10:00

.... is a writer of what I can probably best describe as 'historical fantasy'. His first works were the Fionavar Tapestry, which was pretty much straight up fantasy, and pretty good at that.

Now he writes fiction based on different historical periods, but set in fantasy settings. OK, I may be making it sound like crap, but I think his stuff is really good. For example, probably my favourite of his works is "The Lions of A-Rassan", which is set in a world based on mediaeval Spain. Northern Spain in the period in question was controlled by the European based Christians, while Southern Spain was controlled by the Moors from Northern Africa/Middle East. Yes, they are the ones responsible for the Alhambra and all that. Anyway, this book is well written fiction, with the added bonus that comes with good and well researched historical fiction - a bit of blurring of the lines between fact and fiction. It follows several characters on both sides of the 'fence' and explores a lot of issues that come from that.

He has also done stories based on 18th/19th Century Italy, Mediaeval Languedoc and the Byzantine Empire, just to name a few.

OK, on to the point. I just got his most recent book, at least the most recent one I have found here. It is The Last Light of the Sun, and is set in the era of the Vikings, and Celtic/Anglo/Pict British Isles. For obvious reasons to any who have read my ranting before, there is something of a fascination in that period for me, so it is exciting in itself. I am about a quarter through, and loving it. If you are some random trawler, please don't post and ruin it (like I get any random trawling through here), but I just want to recommend it.

No, not getting any kickbacks, unfortunately. Unless someone who knows someone, in which case, bring it on baby!

so Su-shi me...

2006-09-13T13:55:00.000+10:00

I eat at the sushi train in the local shopping centre quite a lot - we don't quite have the CBD range of culinary delights out here. Sushi is both tasty (when fresh and quality - which this place is, IMHO) and relatively healthy, at least in comparison to the OPorto, Thai bain-marie place, Kebabs and Subway that are the competition.

Now a friend, a former doctor who is a clever guy, has told me not to have too much sushi as the fish that are the primary source, salmon and tuna are also at the top of the local aquatic food chain (with the exception of the ones that are caught by human fishermen - something tells me they didn't quite graduate at the top of the food chain seeing as we are chowing down on them ourselves). This means that they have quite high concentrations of heavy metals, as it accumulates up the food chain, and the 'big fish' get all the crap from the little Nemo's they munch on. So this means you are meant to only have 2 serves of this type of fish per week.

I have no idea how much is in 2 serves, but having sushi 2 or 3 times a week probably puts me near that threshold, I suspect. So what the hell are we allowed to eat these days, other then a frickin salad? Cos I gotta say, the salad thing gets tired rather quickly, especially without any of that evil dressing, etc. Sheesh.

DVD Store Blues

2006-09-11T09:33:00.000+10:00

"[The Time Warp]? I hate it! It's boil-in-the-bag perversion for sexually repressed accountants and first-year drama students with too many posters of Betty Blue, The Blues Brothers, Big Blue and Blue Velvet on their blue bloody walls." Tim Bisley, Spaced.

Those of you who have visited before (yes, I know you have both been here a lot, just work with me, oh, and ta) will know that probably my favourite show is Spaced. You will also know that nobody I know has seen it unless I have shown it to them, which makes my desires to either (a) quote it or (b) discuss it equally futile. Yet it does brinng to mind an issue that has been bothering me recently on a few occasions when at home, less than entirely well.

Why is there so much crap at the DVD store? Most times I go, there might be something I haven't seen yet that looks vaguely ok, but most of the time it is pure crapola with an extra serving of kaka. I end up gravitating to the Weeklies section with movies I have almost all seen before. Many of them are crap too, don't get me wrong, but at least I know there will be something there worth watching. That or I could watch Firefly or Spaced with the commentaries on. Again.

For the record, I only own one of the movies Tim referred to, although I may have 2 different versions of it and lobby cards for same movie. Maybe. And no, I don't have any Betty Blue posters. Unfortunately. That would so date me.

Living Good

2006-09-05T09:10:00.000+10:00

I am sure that there are lots of people posting about the loss of Steve Irwin, and it is sad news indeed. I was never a huge fan, but had some respect for his success and passion, and the loss of a husband and father is truly terrible.

Now Steve Irwin made a dangerous living, and it is only due to his high profile that we hear more of his death than that of many other tragedies. Not that that makes it any less so. It just goes to show that you never know when your time is up, no matter how wealthy, successful or popular you are.

At the risk of this seeming like a tasteless segue, I was checking out the smh this morning and saw that they have announced the latest Good Food Guide. I used to enjoy going to top restaurants with friends. Not every week, you understand, but just every now and then, as a treat. Those nights of fun company, great food and nice wine (ok, any wine is a good start but something nice certainly helps) are some of my greatest memories. Let's face it, it is almost all about the company, and I am fortunate with my friends.

Most of those friends, however, have been breeding lately. Now that is all well and good - they are very happy, and their kids are.... their kids. For obvious reasons they tend not to socialise to the same extent as they used to, although we still catch up with bbq's, lunches, etc. It is all to easy to let things slide though, and I have been as guilty of this as any.

Here is where it comes together - we should not make excuses and put things off, assuming we will have a chance to make it up later. Whether it is nice dinners, lunch, or catching up over a few beers, we should appreciate friends now, as they are one of the greatest assets we have.

Writer's bloc

2006-08-31T09:08:00.000+10:00

I realise that after something of a flurry a wee while ago (thanks for noticing fingers), I have dried up for a bit on the old UO front. I have a pretty crap excuse -work- I have been working on a deal for the last few weeks with every man and his dog involved. The good thing about that is of course that the man doesn't tell the dog what he is doing, which means that the dog has carte blanche to go and do its business anywhere it likes, which apparently seems to be in my office. Relax, this is still a (tortured) metaphor, nobody has been taking a dump on my keyboard, but you get the idea.

It had, however, sucked any vestiges of creativity out of me when on two consecutive days when the deal was meant to sign and I was wandering around the city with a cheque with a very attractive number of zeros on it, one of the powers-that-be decided to re-cut the deal. Nevertheless, last night it was done.

Ok, minor whinge over. For now. The challenge this morning was to find something to tell you all - sitemeter tells me that you are both very loyal readers, so I guess I gotta feed the beast. Failing anything popping into my head to entertain you with, however, I have a dilemma for you to help me with. I need a holiday, as I am going to go postal here at some of the cretins I have to deal with on a daily basis if I don't get away for a bit soon. That much is easy.

Problem is that I would like any holiday of more than a week to involve going to Danishland. I would love to go and see the Dane, but she is just starting a new job, and therefore can't really take any time off. So I would basically be spending my days sitting in her apartment or wandering the streets of her home town. Don't get me wrong, it is a pretty hip and happening fishing village with no less than 10,000 inhabitants, but I need to do something fun at the moment, and seeing her nights is certainly better than nothing (seeing her at all would be good, let's face it), but I would like to have something for the days too, know what I mean? It isn't particularly easy to get extended periods of time off work, so I would prefer to save the bulk of my leave for when she can take a break too.

So tell me, am I being a completely selfish bastard for thinking this way, and wondering whether I can do something else for a break for now?

Think of this as an advice column, but one ASKING for advice, not giving it. We will return to your normal, hilariously entertaining and insightful programming shortly.

The Curse of the Handyman Dad

2006-08-24T09:32:00.000+10:00

No, I am not getting into crime writing, and if this is the name of a murder mystery novel that has somehow escaped my attention, I apologise now.

No, this is about my Dad. I love him to death, don't get me wrong, but he and I have some differences. He has always been very 'handy' - I don't know exactly what that means, but I reckon it is all about the context. In the context of films involving 70's disco style guitar soundtracks and the milkman/pool cleaner/delivery guy/policeman/fireman/guy with large schlong, it means one thing. This is different - I am talking about being able to fix stuff, make stuff - you know.

My Dad is very good at all of this. He made me a mini bike when I was a kid, which is about the coolest thing you can have as an 8 year old. He has restored lots of furniture, even to the point of having done French Polishing courses (and no, that also has nothing to do with the movies mentioned above). He has even spent countless hours restoring a few antiques that I bought in crap condition for a song, to the point where they are gorgeous. He most recently bought a 1969 MG to play with, as he has been retired for a while now, and is clearly bored, having restored as much furniture as his house will hold, made most of his garden into a Japanese garden on speed (the garden, not him), and run out of other ideas. So what is my problem, I hear you ask?

Glad you did. It makes me look bad. I know, what a wanky thing to say. Now I am not completely hopeless in these things myself, but certainly not incredibly gifted either. My parents divorced when I was 8, so never really had those days where I spent the whole time helping my Dad in the garage. I firmly believe that this is where you osmose handyman skills. This means that if someone tells me what to do in the handyman game, I will do it, but otherwise have little idea of how to do stuff myself.

I mean, sure, I have made bits and pieces of shelving, even a computer box on wheels back in those days when laptops were for the rich and famous and I wanted to move my desktop around the house, but my Dad is really really good at this, whereas my skills lie... in different areas. Hidden, subtle areas. Areas so subtle I am yet to explore them myself. But I digress. I guess this is kinda my way of saying that I am actually quite proud of my Dad, but does he have to show me up?

What about your folks?

The Local

2006-08-22T12:17:00.000+10:00

I have been musing for a while now about the phenomenon of the Local Pub. I grew up in Strathfield, which was pretty poorly endowed with pubs, of the local or any other variety. I now live in the Newtown area, which is a very old skool part of town, with more drinking establishments than you could poke a pubcrawl at. I like it. I have my favourite pub, which I am sure is not news to pretty much anyone reading this, nor is its identity - The Courthouse - or the Courtie, as we locals like to call it.

Here is the rub - I like to think of myself as a local at my Local. Hmm, what do you have to do to qualify for that, I hear you ask. Good question - let's look into that, shall we?

There are two issues, really. Firstly, what constitutes a Local Pub?

The most important factor is an air of history and permanence. This is not achieved by getting the Paddy-O-Matic boys in to install in two shakes of a leprechaun's shelaligh a plethora of genuine imitation Irishness. You know the stuff, crisp shiny posters of the 1923 Guiness advertising campaign, a couple of hurling sticks crossed over the bar, lots of green crap, etc. No, I am talking about a bar that has been in situ longer than living memory, decor that has only been updated by installing a few TV's for footy watching and toilets that are an adventure.
The second factor - an absence of stainless steel other than in the sink and driptrays, along with no shiny new mahogany - is really the inverse of the first factor. It is in fact worse to go all modern in refitting a pub than to go for 100 Years Of Irish Pubness In A Bottle. The silly thing is these folks spend a gazillion bucks on the refurb, it may well go gangbusters as the trendy set move in for 6 months, then they are left trying to pay for the other half of the fitout until their dying day. Don't do it, I tell you. All that cashish could be spent on new TV's and cheaper beer, for god's sake.
The same people sitting around the bar. A pub is a Local when you can walk in and see the same stoney, semi-drunk faces every time you walk in. Initially, the temptation is to think how sad it is that these people are stuck, drinking away their lives with no friends... but they are in on a secret: They probably have more friends than we do, and they are all at the Local too. We all have a drink more often than not when we socialise at home (don't we? no come on, really?), they just have a convenient meeting place already picked out.

So now on to our second item - how do you become one of these insightful people? Here are some of the signs:

The days and times of Happy Hour, Badge Draw, the Meat Tray and Toss the Boss are indelibly entered into your mental calendar. You have to set your alarm to get up every morning, you have to remind yourself of your mother's birthday (not me, of course), but when you wake up on a Tuesday, you know where you will be at 7pm that night.
You walk into the pub and several of the locals give you a wave, say g'day, or offer a dour nod. When you get the last of these, you know you have cracked it. These ones are the real hard core, and normally you have to have contributed the equivalent of at least 10 years' pension cheques over the bar for them to acknowledge that you are entitled to draw on the same smokey opaque atmosphere as them.
When you walk up to the bar, at least one of the bar staff asks if you want your usual. This leads to jealous looks from aspiring locals. Again, true local status is achieved when you can place your empty glass on the bar with some money and faster than you can say "Ok, I'll just have one more for the road", you have a new drink and your change. Miraculous.
When someone wants to meet for a drink, and despite your best efforts the location is somewhere other than the Local, you suddenly find your enthusiasm waning. The good news is, if you can't be arsed going to meet them, you could always wander up to the Local for a beer.

Just the one, of course.

Meet the Punters

2006-08-21T09:54:00.000+10:00

So I had another gathering with some of the Punters on Friday night. Of course, you all know this, as the only people who read this are pretty much said Punters. To the rest of you, thank you so much for visiting. The horse doovers are over on the card table in the corner, please leave all gifts at the door (ok, just inside) and all basic drinks are on the house. No, not spirits, do I look like a charity?

Anyway, back to the topic at hand. The Punters do was a fairly quiet affair, farewell drinkies for Chesty. However a couple of said Punters brought along their significant others, as much as one of said 'others' is a blogger in her own right. They seemed really nice, but I did find myself wondering exactly what they made of the gathering. Just how interesting/cool/non-sleep inducing is it to hang out with a bunch of people who you have never met, and who spend the evening talking about that hysterical post the other day when so and so totally flamed thingamajig.

I reckon that is about as interesting as someone say talking about computer games or wine or....something.

So, what do you think? Should 'others' be subjected to these experiences, even if they are willing participants. Are they doing so just to see who your weird internet friends are? What did these 'others' think of the whole thing (be gentle - ok, don't)?

These questions and many more will be answered when we return to....

Extras Anyone?

2006-08-17T10:58:00.000+10:00

I was a latecomer to The Office. Not this morning - I was bright eyed and bushy tailed today. Well, I was actually sore as a bastard and probably red eyed, but more on that later.

Where was I? Ah yes, The Office. It was a very funny show, with just the right mix of British character humour and excruciating situation comedy in the blacker sense of the word. I loved it. So it was with some excitement that I tuned in to Extras last night, being the new vehicle for Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant, the Office guys. Ricky plays Andy, an actor who is focusing on background with a view to moving into speaking parts... You can see where this is going.

I am risking this being exactly like about 14 million other sites/posts about this today, actually, it isn't a matter of risk, it IS like about 14 million other sites/posts about this today...

So..... How was it? Not quite more of the same, although certainly there are similarities in the awkward situations that the characters find themselves in, or more often put themselves in. There is less of an ensemble cast than the Office, although one episode is probably a harsh basis on which to make a call - no doubt more regulars will appear.

The other difference that came to my mind was the use of Hollywood/movie stars, last night Ben Stiller, to send themselves up. I didn't find this as titillating as some others might, although it is always fun to see these people able to take the piss.

I think that this will take a few episodes to grow on me, much as The Office did. It is always unfair to compare these things to previous work, especially something as successful as The Office, but then again, everyone will do just that, fair or no, so bugger it. More pressure this time around.

So what did you think? Did anyone watch?

Oh, and just because you all care, soreness and red-eyedness (pricecheck on red-eyedness please?) was due to a magnificent basketball victory - including 20 points from yours truly - last night after a few weeks off with illness (which put paid to any semblance of fitness to which I may have laid claim) and waking up early this morning respectively. It is all about the sharing, after all...

The DVD Collection

2006-08-15T11:01:00.000+10:00

Confession time. At the risk of increasing my geek factor ("what, higher?" I hear the crowds roar), I want to discuss DVD's. Not just which ones I like, although I will throw that in. I want to understand why people own the DVD's that they do. And that is where the confession will come in - but all in good time.

DVD's bring several benefits over the good old video cassette. The picture quality is better, and with many you get all sorts of fancy dancy surround sound. I haven't gone and reconstructed my house to include a mini ciniplex (try saying that with a mouthful of Saos), but I do have a modest surround system and a rather bog standard 51cm CRT tv. However these are not my focus today.

DVD's also bring the 'Extra'. This is where the geek in me gets excited, and where we get to some confessing. The decision on whether I will buy a DVD (and I think this is my point) ultimately depends on my core criteria - in descending order - being:

Did I love his movie enough to want to watch it over, even several times?
Do I want to share this movie with friends, at the risk of earning their gratitude or owing them possibly several hours of their lives back?
What are the extras?

Now the existence of extras is often a difference maker for me.

I own the Lord of the Rings Extended Editions. Now I am hardly Robinson Crusoe on that island, but this movie is such a visual experience, not to mention my favourite story of all time - see, geek factor already rising - plus it has soooo many extras, that I just had to own it. I own Firefly and Serenity, and love the extras on those disks. I have The Name of the Rose - the Dutch version no less, because it is the only version that has the full 2 hour 'making of' documentary included. That geeky enough for you?

Here is my first problem - I haven't even watched half the extras on these damn things. To be honest, my interest in how much latex it took to make the orcs into orcs is of peripheral interest to me - perhaps enough to justify about 3 minutes of my life. And all the crap about how they did the CG is just blah blah blah. So why the extra obsession?

There are of course exceptions, where the movie is the key. I own Princess Bride, but it doesn't have any extras (probably because it is 18 years old and thus before they thought of these things). I own the Big Blue - in fact 2 versions, with nary an extra in sight, again probably for the same reason.

However I have a sneaking suspicion that deep down there is something in me that likes the fact that I can sit there and tell people that I have the Dutch Name of the Rose, and why. That to not own the LoTR EE's would be a denial of my id. I suspect that some people have a number of DVD's in their collections just because they are the ones that give you cred. Of course, I'm not like that - I only have about 25 DVD's, so that is my excuse and I'm sticking to it.

Anyone have any thoughts? Pretend that I haven't scared you all off, please...

The Hierarchy of Abuse

2006-08-14T09:47:00.000+10:00

This is a topic that has had a fair share of an analysis, I am sure. Nevertheless, I was thinking about the appropriate use of abusive language to ensure you get your message across. It helps in this to think of these things in historical context - and I am talking here about one or even 2 centuries ago.

Now, it will surprise some of you to know that I wasn't actually around at the turn of the 20th century, which is about the latest I am talking here, and fingers has gone away so I am relying on research and my 'general' knowledge. I should say in my defence that I have read a lot of Dickens and all the Biggles stories. I have even read all Jane Austen's stuff and no fingers I am not gay.

Here are some examples:

1. "Dickhead". This can be used in a variety of contexts, from someone losing a snag off the hotplate mid-bbq to someone driving at 40 in a 70 zone.

The former is something like being a 'silly duffer' in my grandmother's eyes. In the latter case, if Mr Darcy was stuck behind a mail carriage that refused to pull over and let him pass in his sports carriole, he would have no doubt leaned out of his horse-drawn conveyance to shake his whip with vexation and cry "You sir are not a gentleman".

2. "Asshole". A little stronger, and hard to see this in a convivial context. This is more appropriate when cut off in traffic. And no, the trip to work was fine today, thank you, I just find traffic situations a simple example. No really.

If Biggles was an American fighter pilot (and I apologise to anyone who is currently having Mav and Goose based flashbacks just now - and while we are on the topic, does Val Kilmer win the Lifetime Award for services to Carpentry for his amazingly wooden acting in that movie or what?) he would have used this word to describe the Bally Huns or any other rotting blighter who did anything to prevent him from making his rendezvous with that frightfully accommodating young French peasant girl who he saved from certain deflowering at the hands of those dreadful scoundrels the Germans...

3. "Fuckwit". Stronger again - little love is lost in using this...

The Australian equivalent for my grandmother's ilk would be something like a "dirty bugger", whereas Elizabeth Bentley would have found a man to be "not handsome, not at all extraordinary and without fortune."

4. "C-". As you can see, my reluctance to use this one off the bat is a sure sign of its gravity. I must confess though that I have used this word more often in the last 2 years than in my entire life before that. This is primarily due to a mate of mine who drops the c word like it is going out of fashion. To the point where a group of us are running a book on what will be his 12mth old son's first word. Mum and Dad are running distantly behind fuck, but cunt has the money.

It is difficult to find a completely accurate equivalent to this, however I suspect that this is much like being a bounder and a cad. I have always wondered what the exact difference is between these, and it appears not as much as one might think, but from memory fellows tended to be both. I now believe this is the equivalent, at least for Rik, of being a bastard and bastard.

The interesting thing as that only the last one tends to give any degree of satisfaction these days, and even then not as much as before. We need a new extreme...

Do you have any more for us? Go on, share...

Back in black

2006-08-10T14:09:00.000+10:00

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.

Eeuuw

2006-07-10T17:29:00.000+10:00

OK, first things first - I am stealing this idea from Georgia, who may or may not have stolen it from someone else. I just checked the next blog, and it was...

"Enjoy with Yourself". Now the good news is that the rest of the text was in Thai, I think, so I can't actually confirm what it was on about, but for obvious reasons that is also the bad news. What sort of neighbourhood have I moved into? Poor Dayel will be freaked out, if he isn't disturbed enough by the antics of those around him.

so Georgia, thanks for undermining the previously skyrocketing value of my little money tree here. They always said get the worst house in the best street, and not vice versa. Bugger me if they weren't right.

And fingers, despite the pugs and where I live, that is not an invitation.

Dayel 04 07 06 III

2006-07-04T12:33:00.000+10:00

Dayel looked closer, and noticed that at the far end of the chamber what had appeared to be filthy piles of rags were actually a small group of orcs in their ragged armour. They spied the martial artist as she wandered into the middle of the chamber, and with angry snarls they charged at her. “Looks like meats back on the menu boys!” cried one of the beasts. “Oh GREAT!” the martial artist fumed, “Just brilliant. Not even an original war cry. Typical!”

With that she placed her lantern to one side and stood ready to meet the charge of the creatures. Dayel could now discern that there were 5 of the orcs, and as they got closer to the martial artist, they stopped and formed a ring around her. “Why don’t they all charge her?” he wondered, loosening his swort to be ready to assist. “Der, she is a martial artist,” came the blade’s voice, and as he watched, the first of the orcs lunged in with a rusty sword. The martial artist spun around, ducking under the sword that was swung at her head, and kicked out taking the orc in the throat. It reeled back theatrically. A second orc immediately charged at her, and following through her previous move the martial artist continued to spin. She avoided the spear thrust at her, taking it in one hand and wrenching it from the grasp of the surprised monster. As it lurched forward, out of control, she kicked it so that it stumbled into one of its fellows, sending them both crashing to the ground.

Next, the two remaining orcs exchanged glances and then charged her together. She used the spear to block one then the other, their attempts to reach her with their swords met every time with one of the ends of the spear, which moved in a blur. Eventually she stopped toying with them, and spinning the spear above her head connected with one then the other temple, sending both sprawling unconscious. One of the orcs that had been sent flying before got up and started charging at her from the direction of the second doorway. Her back was to it, and Dayel took a breath to cry a warning.

Suddenly two things happened – with her back still turned, she thrust the spear backwards in the path of the charging orc. As it impaled itself, an axe flew from the doorway behind it, burying itself in the creatures back as the spear ran through its stomach. Fingers the dwarf rolled through the opening on his contraption. “God you are lucky I was here,” he yelled, slowing as he neared the carnage. Leaning down to pick up his axe from the dead orc, he looked the martial artist in the eye and said matter of factly “you would have been stuffed if I wasn’t here. Better give me half of whatever they got.” And with that he began searching the bodies.

The martial artist had turned bright red, looking ready to explode. “Fingers you bastard, just leave me ALONE!” she screamed. “OK, suit yourself Chesty,” he replied. “Some people are so ungrateful,” and with that he dropped a few coins in he pocket and trundled away again. Dayel saw the look on the martial artist’s face, and decided it was not a good time to reveal his presence. He backed away, leaving her to collect her meagre winnings.

Dayel 04 07 06 II

2006-07-04T10:51:00.000+10:00

After a short while, Dayel heard some noise coming from a side passage. He stopped to listen more closely. “I think one of your friends is down there,” commented the swort. “Thanks, that is very helpful,” he thought in reply, pleased that he was getting the hang of communicating with his newfound weapon. “And here I was thinking I had found the local pub.”

“Oh great, I get found by a half-cast comedian. I better buy a lottery ticket.”
“What is a lottery ticket?” asked Dayel curiously. “Never mind,” came the thought reply, as the swort settled into a funk.

Dayel heard a lone voice coming from the passageway, and he set off slowly to investigate. As he got closer to the noise, he realised it was the voice of the martial artist. With interest, he crept slowly forward. She was moving purposefully down a tunnel, muttering to herself. “I can do this, I mean, why shouldn’t I be a good adventurer? I can adventure as well as anyone, and certainly better than that bloody dwarf. Still have a headache though, and I am sure I am getting a cold. Still, that won’t stop me…”

As Dayel followed her, she came out into a small chamber in the rock. She was caught up in her own thoughts, and seemed oblivious to her surroundings. There was one other passage coming off the side of the chamber, otherwise this seemed the end of the route. Dayel was not particularly concerned, however this quickly changed as he once again heard a voice “So Mr Sharp-Eyes, reckon she will notice the charming orc family in time?”

Dayel 04 07 06

2006-07-04T09:01:00.000+10:00

“I’m getting sick of this, I reckon I could do ok running my own adventure!” said the martial artist grumpily. “What do you mean? This is my party!” cried Mal the Magic-user incredulously. “You lot are going to make me rich!”

“You know what, I reckon she is onto something,” said the Ranger, and the others started looking thoughtful. “Yeah, I mean, it isn’t like we won’t run into each other oot and aboot, eh?” said the Illusionist. “Maybe we should all give it a try”

“Well, I can certainly look after myself” said the elvish cutpurse, a defiant look in her eyes. “Man, I’m getting low on gear anyway” replied the Ranger, at which both he and the dwarf looked concerned. “Don’t come crying to me!” said the dwarf, looking defensive. “It’s not like I have enough Moldavian Marching Powder to go around. You planks will have to get your own – unless you want some Mal?”

As Dayel watched incredulously, the party said brief farewells and set off separately. He was very curious as to what each of them would get up to, but he wondered who to follow. Mal stood in the centre of the chamber, his arms folded defiantly. As he considered this, Dayel realised that if he simply went about his previous adventuring, he would doubtless come across most of them in the labyrinth of tunnels. With a bemused smile, he hoisted his pack and adjusted his swort. “Go easy, I’m still here you schmuck” came an indignant voice in his head. At least he knew he would not want for company.

Fearing the score

2006-07-03T08:51:00.000+10:00

I spent this last weekend in the Megalong Valley with friends for a Yuletide thingy. It is a bit of a tradition, involving Christmas dinner, lots of mulled wine (not that kind shroom) - in fact, about 6 litres of it, plus plenty of gin, wine women and song. Actually, nobody sang, but there were women there.

The Megalong Valley is very long, although it appears that it wasn't named by an impressed teenager. It also gets no TV reception, so one of the guys Gary (of German descent, no less) who has recently acquired a set top box, decided to record the weekend's World Cup matches and watch them when he got home last night.

Unfortunately for him, the Valley (as the locals call it - ok, I have no idea what they call it) does have patchy radio reception, so it took little time for the rest of us to know the results and scores. There were upsets, so of course a lot of conversation about the games, despite the fact that none of us actually saw them. With the scores involved, it seemed that some of the games must have been fascinating, others less so, but all fuel for discussion nonetheless.

Then there was poor Gary. The rest of the weekend involved giving him so much grief that I suspect the Geneva Convention may have been violated. Measures included drawing implications from the colours of peoples' clothing ("gosh, you are wearing a yellow t shirt with those jeans - you must have been gutted with the result last night" or "oh look, that jacket is green and red - aren't they the colours of Portugal?") right through to arranging his 1 year old son's food on his tray so that they just maybe showed F1 B0.

I guess you had to be there, as all ended in Gary spending most of the weekend running around with his hands over his ears chanting "la la la la la" - to our endless amusement. But even in the midst of fairly drunken wandering about the homestead with drink in hand and bon-bon Christmas hat in place, we didn't tell him the scores. Well, we did, along with about 45 other scores, so he happily went home and watched the games last night. The pugs and I made an executive decision to watch the replay yesterday afternoon - I think I fell asleep before they did. I did get up to play basketball though - aren't you glad I shared.

So I survived a weekend without the TV, or the X Box, but the question now is - who will take it out? Not the garbage, the Cup?

Adam Sandler - Let this be a warning

2006-06-26T09:27:00.000+10:00

Yesterday I went to the movies with a friend. I had nothing to do and decided against another afternoon saving the Earth via my DEDTS - Discrete Earth Defence Training System (known by some as an X Box, OK). I didn't mind what we saw, and there wasn't a great deal to choose from. She suggested Click, the new Adam Sandler movie.

Now don't get me wrong, I like Happy Gilmour - some of it is funny. Putting that aside, however, I am on Struggle Street when it comes to Mr Sandler's back catalogue, and his front and middle catalogues for that matter. The Waterboy - never saw it. Mr Deeds could be a movie about his time working at the Land Titles Office (a little lawyer humour there for the stalwarts). I avoided Anger Management as a an exercise in... yep. And The Longest Yard would no doubt have been better as a story about competitive garden renovation.

Clearly my trip to watch the Swans lose to the Pies the night before, along with several nights on the World Cup bandwagon (not an easy feat - it is a rather full bus that one, and if you get up to go to the gents, you lose your seat) had affected my judgement. I had a niggling bad feeling about the movie - still, I hadn't heard much about it, and I certainly didn't feel like being challenged by the afternoon's entertainment. So, I said yes.

Now I don't intend to steal Mountjoy's thunder and review the movie. But there is a moral to this story folks. When your inner voice tells you something, and that something involves paying hard earned to go and see Adam Sandler in a movie, LISTEN TO IT. I promised I wouldn't review the movie, so I won't give it a number of pans, as is Donnie's want. But I will borrow some of the contents of his pans, because that best describes the experience. Mr Sandler, I would like that 100 minutes of my life back please.

Am I alone here in my lack of love for Mr Sandler?

In defence of the World Game

2006-06-22T10:04:00.000+10:00

Fingers' recent comments on the World Cup has provoked some thought - a profound occurrence in itself.

I grew up playing Rugby, so on the basis of knowledge alone it is probably my favourite type of footy. I have been a fan of the Swans for years, and I love the pace of AFL.

The A League? Not so much. The Premier League - sure, I'm a Gunners fan, but a fairly disinterested one. In the past, the World Cup has been something that has pushed the buttons of friends who are still interested enough in tracing their lineage to care, but for me, a sideline at best. The concept of the game is beautiful in its simplicity, but it shits me to tears when there is more diving than Greg Luganis and more acting talent than the Logies and Oscars put together. Ok, bad example.

And so now to the World Cup 2006. I have watched both of the Australia matches, and will be waking up a bit early tomorrow morning. Am I on the bandwagon? Can't really deny it. Don't care.

For here is the key - something I have not really appreciated until now. More than pretty much any other sporting event I can recall. Desperation.

For those guys, this World Cup is everything. At least, it looks like it more often than not. Many of them will get only one chance to appear on that stage (and it is just that), and so they chase every ball, despair at every deficit and rejoice at every goal. For the teams such as the Australian players, it is a matter of getting there, and then getting as far as possible. Does anyone think they can really win? Not I, I must say. The dazzling skills of some other teams are astonishing. However the opportunity to support one's country is exhilarating at any time, but to see the emotion involved here, I find it hypnotic. In a good way.

So I have loved getting up and having a live match to watch as I drag my protesting consciousness from the world of the doona and into reality. There is still a lot of acting, and the diving goes on, but I am loving it nonetheless.

The final frontier? Ok, not quite

2006-06-20T23:04:00.000+10:00

Hi all

Finally succumbed to the pressure (that immense, intense pressure) and got this thing up and running. In the usual tradition, I have little of import to say as I have spent the last hour or so importing Dayel in all his glory (of which there is much) and generally fluffing about.

So, now it is late, I can't be bothered, and have had enough. For now. I will look to cast my pearls of wisdom, or at least my aggregate of opinion, before you soon enough.

Cheers

Dayel 05 05 06

2006-06-20T22:24:00.000+10:00

After what seemed like ages of stealthy, slow progress, with his senses straining for the slightest hint of danger, Dayel felt the air warm further and shortly the passage opened into a large chamber. Dayel looked around, noting tatty tapestries, once magnificent, hanging from the walls. A small throne sat on a dais at one end of the room, with a strange symbol above it, that looked like a number 8 on its side. The throne was empty, and the group of adventurers was looking around. “Huh, a fucking throne, I’m the boss around here,” Dayel heard Mal the Magic-user mutter.

Dayel again sensed a presence. It came from another opening into the chamber to his left. Suddenly he saw a small missile, something like a rock, fly out of that opening and bounce off the dwarf’s armour. “Hey, what was that?” yelled the dwarf, looking wildly around. The group spun around, and another missile flew out of the doorway, this time striking the cleric. The missiles seemed to be guided my magic, as they always hit their mark but seemed to do little damage.

Mal the Magic-user muttered a short spell, and cried “Reveal” and thrust his hand in a complex gesture at the doorway. A magic glow appeared in the doorway and as it quickly faded, a strange creature was revealed. It was stocky, slightly shorter than a human, and it had two heads, one male and one female. It was wielding a sling and had a nasty sneer on one face, but a beatific smile on the other. “Get out of my throneroom!” it cried.

“What the fuck are you?” asked the tall ranger, squinting as if through fog.
“I am sian” said the female head. “No your not, your mantle” said the other, spinning to scowl at its counterpart.

This seemed about to erupt into a full scale argument between the two heads, when both did a double take, looked down and saw that its invisibility had been removed. Both heads shrieked “Nooooo. You can’t see me, you can’t see me…” and it turned and ran down the passageway, shrieking all the way.

“I don’t think that is the last we will see of that weird creature” said the martial artist, crossing her arms. “I dunno, that chick wasn’t so bad” said fingers, and the others looked at him incredulously. “Well, how do you know that it isn’t really a beautiful princess under some sort of spell?” he asked, defensively.

“The same way that you know whether a dwarf is a bloke or a chick,” replied the cutpurse, stepping forward, “you check the length of its beard!” she said, and burst into snorts of laughter.

Dayel 02 05 06

2006-06-20T22:21:00.000+10:00

“Righto, now that I have saved your pathetic asses, let’s get a move on” said Mal the Magic-user. “but we don’t have any donkeys,” said the Ranger, and he and the Elvish cut-purse looked at each other and started giggling hysterically, falling about the floor of the cavern.

“Follow me, and spare me your shit humour, or I’ll give you a feel with Bigby’s Enormous Fist like those little shits” said Mal, toeing the dead creatures scattered before them. He started off towards the doorway on the far wall of the cavern. “Yeah, follow us” said the dwarf, who pushed a button on the handles of his magical device and started pushing it along with one leg, while balancing on it with the other. He stopped long enough to take his axe from the kobold he had killed. The pixie-esque girl in pink, who had been hiding behind Mal during the battle, checked her appearance in a piece of polished silver. “Gosh, sugar, I almost got some blood on this here dress of mine” she said. “Hey, you aren’t from Americia, remember?” cried Mal and the dwarf in unison.

“OK, come on kids” said the cleric, taking a quick swig of Holy Water before ushering her brood after the party leader. “Ugh, whatever” muttered the martial artist, crossing her arms and following “I still have a headache, and I can’t be arsed with all this fucking adventuring.”

Dayel allowed the group to proceed into the passageway, and then stealthily made his way after them.

Dayel allowed the group to get well ahead of him, as they were still making a lot of noise. Obviously, he thought to himself, they were confident in their ability to deal with whatever trouble they got themselves into, or loved the sound of their own voices, or both. “Right! Let’s see what we can find!” came the voice of Mal the magic-user. “Yeah, let’s see!” came the slightly higher voice of the dwarf.

The passage continued for some distance, and Dayel sensed that the temperature was rising. This usually meant that they were approaching an inhabited part of the dungeons, or there was a natural source of heat ahead. Certainly lots of hot air, he mused.

The noise from the group diminished, and Dayel decided to catch up so he wouldn’t lose them in the labyrinth. He emerged cautiously into a small cavern to see them disappearing, with as much stealth as they could manage, into a doorway at the other side. As he began to cross the open space, he sensed a presence, and quickly ducked back into hiding. He looked around the area with his infravision, but could see nothing. The elf sensed that whatever was there was following the group, and as the presence moved down the passage, he again moved off.

Dayel 21 04 06

2006-06-20T22:16:00.000+10:00

The kobolds tried to slow their charge as they saw a large group of prepared adventurers before them, rather than the easy pickings they had envisaged. The warriors who had suddenly appeared further terrified them, but their numbers and momentum carried them into this immobile rank. They immediately started tearing and biting at these fighters, more in fear now than anger. However, after a few moments, they realized that these warriors were not fighting back. As it dawned on the creatures that these enemies were not real, they pushed through the phantasms towards the adventurers with a renewed howling. The ranger immediately loosed an arrow, taking one of the first through the eye, and the dwarf expertly threw an axe and caught another in the groin.

The elvish cutpurse, so recently obviously the worse for wear on account of unknown influences, moved silently in the shadows, barely discernable to even Dayel’s excellent sight. As he watched, a dagger sliced through the air to take one of the charging creatures in the chest, and with a rapid motion she drew another from her belt. The female fighter who Dayel had heard complaining merely stood as the kobolds ran towards her. “You might want to draw your sword” thought Dayel, but as the first kobold prepared to lunge at her, she pivoted quickly and kicked high and fast. The kobold’s head snapped back. “I have a fucking HEADACHE!” she cried, and the kobolds scrambled to avoid her.

In the meantime, as the group of adventurers showed surprising abilities in their battle with the horde of angry dog-men, the cranky old magic-user was in the final throes of spell preparation. Dayel sensed that this was fairly powerful magic, and he watched developments with professional interest. The old man began a series of complex hand gestures, using several raw materials that he had obviously prepared. Suddenly a huge hand appeared and grabbed most of the kobolds in its immense grip, squeezed, and dropped their motionless bodies on the ground. Seeing what had happened to their fellows, the remaining monsters howled in fear and fled. The old man let them go, and Dayel had just enough time to move out of their way as they ran past him on all fours.

“Now THAT is how to deal with mangy dogs,” said the magic-user with satisfaction.

“Mal, I know this is your adventure and all, but we had those planks under control” yelled the dwarf. ‘Bullshit” came the reply “you fuckers would be stuffed without me, and never forget it!”

“Oh, I know Mal, I was just trying to keep these guys in line until you showed up, thank the gods you are here,” said the sycophantic dwarf, trundling up to the magic user. “Gimme a break” muttered the martial artist, and the illusionist looked disgustedly at the scene “Oh, perlease fingers. You are such a suck, eh. Git oot…”

Dayel 20 04 06

2006-06-20T22:11:00.000+10:00

As Dayel crouched motionless, the strange pair moved level with his vantage point. Suddenly the man stopped, and looked quickly around, as if sensing something. Dayel froze, not wishing to meddle with this odd character. He was confident in his ability, yet this magic-user had an aura of power about him. The half-elf decided to postpone any confrontation. After a few moments, they moved on, following the kobold pack.

Giving them a long lead, and knowing that his elvish hearing would allow him to follow easily from a distance, he eventually moved out and down the passage. The groups moved on, each oblivious to that following, like a strange procession through the darkness. After some time, he detected the voices and noises moving off down a side passage, and he followed curiously.

The tunnel narrowed slightly and continued on. Dayel walked on for several minutes, and then sensed that the passage was widening. He slowed, and then stopped as the tunnel opened into a huge cavern. The floor of the cavern was flat, and the walls hung with icicles that reflected the light of a number of torches. Dayel’s eyes widened in surprise at what he saw…

At the far edge of the cavern, nearing an opening in the opposite wall, the party of adventurers were still bickering. Almost halfway across the open expanse, the pack of kobolds were creeping up on their prey, who were still unaware of their presence. Just off to one side from his hiding place, the older magic-user and the half-pixie were watching with interest. The magic-user was in the final stages of preparing he raw materials of a spell, combining elements in his hands and chanting.

Suddenly, the angry warrior woman at the back of the party spun around and cried “I fucking KNEW it!” as she spied the kobolds. Realising that they had lost the element of surprise, the kobolds howled and rushed at the adventurers. The female cleric ushered the children behind her skirts, quickly kissed the religious symbol on her shawl and took out her mace. “We’ll see how they like some Holy Water,” she muttered, taking out the “Gin” bottle with her other hand. Although some distance away, the acoustics in the cavern carried the voices clearly to our hidden hero.

The tall ranger turned and quickly stowed his huge pipe in a sheath on his belt that was clearly for that purpose, deftly took his bow from over his shoulder and nocked an arrow. Although he weaved slightly, the bow was as still as stone in his hands. The elven woman who had been at his side crept stealthily off, circling around the wall of the cavern. She moved silently and drew wicked twin daggers from her belt. All previous effects of whatever she had been drinking or taking also disappeared.

The human woman who had been shepherding the group along began chanting and making symbols in the air, and immediately a group of warriors sprang into existence between the kobolds and the party. “Ah, an Illusionist” Dayel thought to himself. The dwarf reached up and pulled some goggles, filled with glass, no less, down over his eyes, spun his contraption around and pushed something on the handles. “Come on you little cunts,” he cried, as the machine seemed to move itself under some magical influence. He held the handles with one hand, and took the first of a number of throwing axes in the other.

Dayel 11 04 06

2006-06-20T22:07:00.000+10:00

Dayel watched as the kobolds followed the group of adventurers. He was amazed that the party had not heard the creatures behind them, however as he could still hear them arguing from his vantage point, they were clearly oblivious to their surroundings. The kobolds were grunting to one another in their half-human doggerel. One, clearly the leader, was slightly bigger than the others, and wore a loincloth of soiled silk. "Ugh, me King Dom, me say we follow, no attack yet." The kobolds began growling among themselves, but quickly quieted down as the leader looked around angrily. One of the hideous creatures had two heads, and the leader called it over."You, mantle-dog, you watch no-one come" he ordered, and it moved to the back of the pack, as they moved off into the darkness.

Dayel prepared to proceed after the monsters, fascinated by what would happen when they chose to attack (and more than a little interested in either stepping in to help or cleaning up the remainder)...

As he steadied himself, he heard more steps coming down the passageway. These were more furtive, yet his keen Elvish hearing detected two sets of footfalls. He once again settled back to see who, or what, was next in the procession. He did not have long to wait.

He saw two figures come into view. The first was a wizened human wearing clean and expensive robes of a magic-user. With him walked a female who looked human, but with a hint of pixie blood. She wore clothes that were of differing cuts, but were all pink. They somehow seemed to go together, and this adventurer had clearly taken some time to assemble this collection. "Now, y'all know we just gotta see what happens to 'em, don't ya." she said in a strange voice. "For fucks sake, SB, or whatever you call yourself this fucking week, I fucking RUN this show ok, and I say you have to stop speaking in that stupid fucking accent. You don't come from Americia, and you sure as fuck don't sound like it." the female's power lip quivered, but the man pressed on irrespective. "I want to show those fucking kobolds who is the boss." He began rummaging in the pouches at his belt.

Dayel 07 04 06

2006-06-20T22:01:00.000+10:00

Dayel sat watching the strange small men with their tame birds and buckets of water, musing over whether there was any point in attacking. There were a number of them... As he mused this over, he wondered whether this could be used more widely - with bigger birds, and if you took away the buckets of water, maybe more people could use birds to travel far faster than even on horseback... Nah, it would never work.
More than a little unsettled by these unearthly scenes, he backed away into the ravine, and safety.

Dayel began walking back towards the valley of the wreckage. As he moved carefully through the narrow pass, he noticed a small passageway leading off to one side that he had missed on the way in. Already unnerved, he looked anxiously around to see that no-one followed him, and slipped quickly and silently into the darkness.

Dayel waited a few moments for his eyes to adjust. He decided to use infravision, which although tiring, would save giving away his presence by using a torch. He saw the rough-hewn tunnel lead away under the mountain, and set off.

He walked steadily for more than an hour, passing openings on either side, but staying always in the wider main passage, knowing that this would be more likely to lead him to the centre of this maze. As he considered a short break, his keen ears picked up the distant noise of boots and voices. He moved into a side tunnel, well back, and waited as whatever was responsible for the sounds approached. As it got louder, he began to distinguish several voices, from seemingly different races, and soon a distant light began to glow.

The group was now close, and he realised that they were reciting and singing childrens' rhymes. As he wondered at the madness of making such a racket in unknown territory, he saw a party of adventurers pass by his hiding place.

First came a dwarf, wearing expensive armour and pushing itself along on a strange machine. It had two wheels, and a platform like a child's scooter, but was covered in armour plates and had the word "Stealth" emblazoned on the side in Dwarvish. The dwarf was yelling at the others "No, I am the leader of this party! If you want to come to my island, you have to do what I say...

Close behind came a human woman, who was telling the others to stay in proper marching order and stop being silly. She spoke in a barely intelligible dialect of Common, and he could just understand what she said “Reet, Stay in marching order leek we agreed, eh? And fingers, how many times do I have to tell you, dwarves can’t swim, so give up on your mythical island!”

Close behind her came a Bard, who was reciting poetry at the top of his voice – in shock, Dayel recognized the taller of the two humans who had bickered over the magical toy, this time clearly wearing the attire of a high level bard. “D is for dwarves who wish they could swim, E is for elves who are even more dim”.

“Hey, fuck off cunt, I resemble that!” came a shouted reply in Elvish, as a disheveled Elf woman came into view, a flask in one hand. Dayel was surprised at this un-Elvish behaviour, and wondered what further surprises were to move past. The elf weaved slightly, and her clothes were of practically cut leather, suggesting she was a thief. However, they were dirty and stained and she was clearly drunk. Her other arm was around a rangy human who was dressed in forest hues, and had a number of herbs hanging from his belt, suggesting he was a Ranger. He held a massive pipe, which he pulled on industriously, and a strange purple smoke rose from the end. Dayel could smell a foul and unnatural stench from his hiding place. “Hey, give us a go mushroom!” shouted the elf, reaching for the pipe. “Fuck off, get your own” came the slurred reply. “Come on, I give you a ram” shot back the elf. Dayel looked intently, but could see no livestock with the group.

Next came 2 human women, one shepherding along a group of children, also holding a small clear flask with “Gin” inscribed in it. She had a shawl with large religious symbols prominently displayed on it. “Oh, for fucks sake mex” she muttered in an exasperated tone, and then with a look if horror on her face, her hand over her mouth, she carefully looked around to see if anyone had noticed.

The other woman walked along not paying attention to the others, her arms folded tightly across her chest. She wore the outfit of a simple warrior, with a plain sword in her belt. She muttered also, her brow furrowed “I mean, how dare he call me a troll. There isn’t even any Orc blood in my family, even though we come from Pootria. He is such a cunt, I mean, what did I do to him? When I agreed to come along in this party, it was meant to be fun, but he just picks on me when I least expect it. I do as much as everyone else, and anyway, who died and made the fucking dwarf king…?” On she went, oblivious to all around her.

Last of all, padding along quietly, came the other of the two strange toy-fixated humans. He was barely taller than the dwarf, and still wore the unusual blue and white attire Dayel had earlier seen. He carried the magical toy triumphantly, making soft “choo choo” noises every now and then.

Dayel was too surprised to move, and stayed concealed as the noise and light moved off down the tunnel. Ah well, he thought to himself, they won’t last long acting like that… as he prepared to move away, he heard a furtive scuttling, growing louder. He shrank back, and saw to his horror a large group of kobolds, sniggering evilly and trailing the hapless party….

Dayel 05 04 06

2006-06-20T21:55:00.000+10:00

Dayel watched the two men playing with the magical toy, and was overwhelmed with a sense of pity. He crept slowly away and left them to continue their squabbles.

He felt increasingly uneasy in this valley of strong magical influence, and made his way towards the ravine before him. As he walked cautiously between the high stone walls, he was aware of his own mortality and vulnerability. His elven blood sang in tune with nature, even the harsh terrain in which he found himself, so far from the woods of his forefathers. Yet his human side felt alone and was all to conscious of his visibility.

He saw sunlight suddenly as the path turned around the side of the mountain wall. Before him was another valley, and he was utterly unprepared for what was unveiled...

In the distance flew giant birds, some coming in to land on the open field, some taking off. As he looked closer, straining his Elvish vision, he noticed they seemed to have small creatures in their claws. He kept to the shadows, never having seen birds act so strangely. One flew closer, and he watched it nervously.

To his shock, as it passed overhead, he saw that it was a bird the size of a small horse, and it seemed to have a basket hanging below it. In the basket rode a halfling, with what looked like a bucket of water in front of its feet.

As he watched, the hobbit pulled on reins hanging from the bird's beak, and it turned its huge wings in response. In a final shock, the hobbit wore the same blue and white striped clothes of the strange men at the wreck, and looked suspiciously like the shorter one of the two with the magic talisman...

Dayel 04 04 06

2006-06-20T21:52:00.000+10:00

Dayel emerged from the tunnel after many hours, blinking in the daylight. He looked around moments later, and saw that he was on top of a small hill, the rambling remains of the Temple behind him.

Below him in a valley, he saw a road. Looking more closely, he noticed pieces of metal and wood scattered around one end of the valley, and saw that the road seemed to have long thin pieces of metal running along its length. Steam rose from the pile of metal, and he saw people climbing around.

He had never seen so much metal in his life, and he assumed that an alchemist must have been responsible. He climbed part way down the hill, careful to stay in cover, and came within bowshot of the men at the wreckage. They wore unearthly clothes, seemingly breeches and shirts all of one piece, and with a fine stripe of gleaming white and blue, unlike anything he had ever seen. Realising these must be alchemists of great wealth, he strung his bow, while quickly assessing their numbers. Four were in sight...

He let fly with his first shot at the nearest, and it took him through the chest. He fell with a look of shock still clear on his face. Dayel leapt from his hiding place behind a boulder and drew his Vorpal Blade in one motion....

Dayel leapt over the body of the first, padding silently towards the next man he saw, who was oblivious to the approaching danger. This one was holding a shovel, and was scooping coal into a huge stockpile next to a giant iron cart attached to the steaming wreckage. He began to turn as Dayel was upon him, "watch the spade" Dayel heard in his mind, as the sword tried to help. He easily avoided a desperate swing of the shovel and slid the Vorpal Blade between the man's ribs.

The other two had disappeared, and Dayel crept slowly around the wreck. On the other side, he saw them sitting together, a small shiny object between them. "And then Byrnesy" said the taller one, "the grade was waay too much for a boiler of this capacity, and he overloaded it. The pressure was more than 1.5 times the allowable tolerance..." The one speaking held a talisman, a small metal toy of intricate detail. Dayel was confused - it must be magical, otherwise why would grown men have such a child's plaything? The other one, shorter and fastidiously dressed in the same clothes as the first two, replied "I know, I know. Look, just give me the model and I will show you..."
"No, it is my turn!" cried the other, snatching away the magical bauble.

As they were distracted, Dayel drew from his pouch the materials for a fireball spell...

Dayel 29 03 06

2006-06-20T21:51:00.000+10:00

Dayel continued through the darkness, weary from his recent battles yet grinning at his narrow escapes. He rounded a corner of the tunnel to see the passage open up into a vast cavern. He realised that his torch was not the only source of light, and as he looked up, a small circle of sunlight could be seen at the top of the domed ceiling. As his eyes adjusted to the gloomy radiance, he looked down to see a woman sitting in a circle of light in the centre of the room. in the circle grew flowers, and she sat upon them, talking to a shadowy figure. She had a look of happiness on her face, but Dayel felt a sense of unease at the scene. The flowers grew only in the watery light, and something about the shadowy figure made him feel ill, even at this distance.

"No shit sherlock. She is under a spell" came the voice of the Vorpal Blade. He started, but was becoming used to it's interjections. "What is the language she is speaking?" he thought to the sword. "She is a Canuck, so that is why you can't understand it." came the reply. "And that bloke she is besotted with is a magic-user, who has her in his spell."

"I must rescue her" he thought, but the blade replied "no, you must leave her to it, he might be a very nice magic-user, and just for now, I would rather you didn't get yourself killed..."

Dayel 22 03 06

2006-06-20T21:49:00.000+10:00

Dayel watched the sickening flames die down as the cube melted to nothing. Where the disgusting creature had been now lay an assortment of coins, gems and a sword. He collected the coins and jewels, and then picked up the sword. While it was a bastard sword, like his own, (a heavy one handed sword), it felt light in his hand. He looked closer at the hilt. It contained rune-like carvings, the like of which he had never seen before. This was an ancient weapon, he realised.

Suddenly, he felt a presence nearby, as if someone had just walked up to him, but he could not directly place it. Then he heard a voice, which seemed to come from all around him..."it is me, you fool. Thank the gods I am free from that creature,". With a shock, he realised the voice was INSIDE HIS HEAD, and that it had come not from someone else in the tunnel, but from the sword itself! He dropped it in fear, and immediately the presence was gone.

Relief washed over him, and with a growing sense of excitement, he wondered whether this might be one of the fabled weapons imbued with magic so strong that the weapon itself gained sentience... a Vorpal Blade.

He picked it up again, and once again the presence returned..."yes, yes, I am a talking sword" an irritated voice seemed to say. "please get used to it, or this simply won't work for either of us..."

Dayel 21 03 06

2006-06-20T21:44:00.000+10:00

After Dayel had fought his way through the goblins, he quickly searched their den for booty. Sadly, the weak creatures had obviously had little more luck before they met Dayel than afterwards, as other than a few gold coins there was nothing to show for his effort.

He proceeded carefully down the passageway, his torch held high above his head in an effort to pierce the gloom. A foul smell was emanating from the dark passage in front of him, and his hackles rose.

He shook his head, suspecting his eyes were deceiving him, as the light reflected slightly off the air 5 metres ahead. He looked closer, and with a feeling of horror, realised that the tunnel was blocked by a gelatinous cube! Even as he noticed small objects suspended in its horrific mass, it began to slide towards him, the silence of its motion all the more sickening.

He scrambled backwards, and quickly grabbed a flask of oil hanging from his pack. In one motion, he hurled it at the cube as it approached him, and followed it with his torch. The flask exploded and at the touch of the flame, the passageway was brightly lit and an inhuman wail erupted as the cube burned with a deep green flame...

Oh sorry, have we stopped talking about toy trains now?

Dayel 20 03 06

2006-06-20T21:41:00.000+10:00

All this train talk is fascinating. Let me tell you about the time Dayel, my 6/6 level Elven Ranger/Magic-User, was fighting his way through the Temple of Elemental Evil.

He had been separated from his party, mostly a group of fighters, who were useful but hardly interesting company, when he came across a small den of goblins in the cellars of the ruined Temple. As soon as he saw them with his infra-vision he cast a fire ball straight into the mob of them charging at him. Yeah baby! No sooner had the first wave been fried to several crisps than another wave emerged, so he drew his sword and charged into battle....