The Plagiarism of the Brilliant

We Have Moved

2006-10-05T22:17:00.000+10:00

Due to my Blog looking extremely crap on Mozilla and me having lost all admin rights, I have now moved to....

The Plagiarism of the World

See ya on the flip side.

Colours Are Brighter

2006-10-05T20:26:00.000+10:00

Indie Peter Coombs and all for a good cause? Break me off a piece of that.

Big Sloppy Kisses and...

2006-09-07T23:35:00.000+10:00

Congratulations Alice and Fatso!

I love you both!

This Happy Little Vegemite Turns 100

2006-08-18T05:33:00.000+10:00

Yep - this is my 100th post. On a day when you can't bring a bottle of water on a plane, Jon Benet's killer has finally come forth and when too many mashed potatoes were eaten by moi, at least we know something in the world is right.

So. I'm still here. It's been coming up six months now and I have become a Londoner with the black snot and beer gut to proove it.

I made some new friends last night. One of them is Irish and little with curly hair and I just want to put him in my pocket and keep him. He's just so cute. Yes, I am aware of how much men loath being calling cute yet I still continue to do it. I may ruffle his hair shortly.

Sharing is Caring

2006-08-10T19:22:00.000+10:00

Snow Patrol
Set The Fire To The Third Bar (with Martha Wainwright)

I find the map and draw a straight line
Over rivers, farms, and state lines
The distance from here to where you'd be
It's only finger-lengths that I see
I touch the place where I'd find your face
My finger in creases of distant dark places

I hang my coat up in the first bar
There is no peace that I've found so far
The laughter penetrates my silence
As drunken men find flaws in science

Their words mostly noises
Ghosts with just voices
Your words in my memory
Are like music to me

I'm miles from where you are,
I lay down on the cold ground
I, I pray that something picks me up
And sets me down in your warm arms

After I have travelled so far
We'd set the fire to the third bar
We'd share each other like an island
Until exhausted, close our eyelids
And dreaming, pick up from
The last place we left off
Your soft skin is weeping
A joy you can't keep in

I'm miles from where you are,
I lay down on the cold ground
And I, I pray that something picks me up
And sets me down in your warm arms

And miles from where you are,
I lay down on the cold ground
And I, I pray that something picks me up
And sets me down in your warm arms

And the band played Waltzing Matilda....

2006-06-27T23:11:00.000+10:00

Headlines that the fabulous Mirror printed to make me feel better today:

“Cry Me Kangaroo Down Sport”

“Sobbing Matilda”

“Grosso Injustice”

“Sucker Punch”

At least we know the unbiased* British media feels the pain as well. I’m so annoyed today. Not only that the Socceroos lost, but also that I put this hideous green nail polish on to support them that only serves as a grim reminder and makes me look like a 14 year old girl.

*towards Australia because they LOVE to see us lose here

Engerland.... Engerland....

2006-06-21T22:27:00.000+10:00

My weekend was crazy fucking batshit insane and I loved every minute of it.

I developed a bit of a “mate-crush” as well (to add to the thousands) which probably added to the weekend’s awesomeness – he kept complimenting me on my hands which are apparently pretty little girl hands. This made me proud because I have an unfounded fear that people will mistake me for a man (as I’m over 6 feet tall) but, if I have pretty little girl hands, how could this possibly occur?

Still recovering though. Experiencing the World Cup in London is taking its toll. Aussie fanatics are one thing, English Soccer hooligans (which is nearly the entire population) are another. I’ve been forced, that’s right forced, to drink for every English game: work even let us off early and supplied the booze. How could I say no?

Anyway, the weekend began with a merry jaunt over at Notting Hill’s “Neighbourhood” club. The music wasn’t all that good but we made the most of it. What kind of London club closes at 3 and forces 5 rat-shit Australians and 1 wankered Nottinghamite to go home and drink Tequila until 8am before moving onward to Camden Market before it is even open? I mean what kind of responsible establishment does such a thing? What kind of bar opens at 9am and allows said ‘peeps’ to continue drinking until collapsing into a taxi at 2pm?

After 2pm I fell asleep on a mate’s couch until 8 the next day, moving only to cry for water.

Sunday: Australia vs Brazil.

Overlander. Budweiser. Salmon and Cream Cheese Bagel. Sparkies. Lots of Sparkies. Friendly Faces. Beer. Thames. Tide coming in. Drunken Australians. Drunken Australians IN the Thames. More beer. Snub’s getting huggy. Comfy couches. Slug and Lettuce. Ham and Bree with Apple Chutney. Red Curried Prawn stolen from Neighbour. Go home. Leave the bulbous one. Fall asleep.

There. I know I’m living up to the stereotype of a drunken Australian abroad, but it’s summer so I’m allowda.

Call me rugby superstar....

2006-05-31T18:19:00.000+10:00

Soundtrack: Darren Hanlon - Falling Aeroplanes

I scored a try, I scored a try, I scored I try....! It didn't help the debilitating sense of loneliness I felt on the way home but Napoleon Dynamite was on TV when I got home and that worked a treat.

Plagiarism of the Fairytale

2006-05-25T01:38:00.000+10:00

"The Prince cried, 'Who's this dirty slut?
'Off with her nut! Off with her nut!'
Just then, all in a blaze of light,
The Magic Fairy hove in sight,
Her Magic Wand went swoosh and swish!
'Cindy! 'she cried, 'come make a wish!
'Wish anything and have no doubt 'That I will make it come about!'
Cindy answered, 'Oh kind Fairy,
'This time I shall be more wary. 'No more Princes, no more money.
'I have had my taste of honey. I'm wishing for a decent man.
'They're hard to find. D'you think you can?'
Within a minute, Cinderella Was married to a lovely feller,
A simple jam maker by trade,
Who sold good home-made marmalade.
Their house was filled with smiles and laughter
And they were happy ever after."
- Roald Dahl

Doesn't this one just make you smile?

Stuff and Nonsense

2006-05-24T22:26:00.000+10:00

Just a bits and pieces post today. Firstly, I realised why I am scared of Mischa Barton (besides the fact that she looks like ET).

'nuff said.

If you can, check out Melbourne Band Sub Audible Hum and this review of them. I am so totally hip it's not funny as I so made the Radiohead comment about three years ago. I should like totally work for the age and stuff.

In other news, it's raining in London, there's shit on the telly (there's shit on tv), your pushing my buttons, you know how to touch me... Thanks for the freebie Veronica Post.

If anyone hasn't yet, also check out Demetri Martin's myspace page and his song. My, he's a sweety isn't he? I just wanna pinch his cheeks.

Epicure also have a new album around. I really think the lead singer should move away from Ballarat, my home town, as songs such as "Firing Squad"; "Armies Against Me"; "So Broken" and "Goodbye Girl" are indicitive of a depressive personality. C'mon Juan, remember what Charlie's Mum sang to him in Charlie and the Chocolate factory. There's a good boy now. Although perhaps if they weren't so depressed they wouldn't make such great music.

Blogs I am currently/still addicted to are:

TobyToby
Nadstown
LEO

And I'm back in a job where I have nowt to do, so expect the posts and spelling mistakes to start coming with a new and renewed fervour.

Current London activities include:
- trying to find a mate that isn't part of a couple for livin' it up with reckless abandonment
- trying to convince a friend that total hotness footballer Tadhg Kennelly's first name is pronounced like "Tige" not "Thai" - I'm fickle, I know.
- getting all my housemates addicted to Last Man Standing which is on over here. I was oh-so very excited to hear the most Melbourne line ever to be played on UK TV; "The Spazzys are playing at The Tote tonight, I hear they put out if you buy them a jug and a parma." [not word for word, but something like that].
- trying to figure out how I lost the right to change settings on my blog. Bah-humbug.

Thoughts, questions, comments? Feel free to let me know below.

I Bet that I Looked Good on the Dance Floor

2006-05-10T22:26:00.000+10:00

Lazy photo post today... Someone has turned off my ability to change the settings on my blog as well. This irritates me.

Question: Why did I leave this place for this?

*sobs into sooty hanky whilst picking pollution from nose*

I love to complain don't I? How 'bout I just get over it. I've got the Arctic Monkeys on and the singer has an accent that won't quit. I'm a mardy bum.

I loved you in my dreams

2006-05-08T23:24:00.000+10:00

I think it's quite fair that I was getting dirty looks on the tube this morning from people trying to read over my shoulder when they would've read the following from Bret Easton Ellis's, Lunar Park:

"he fucks one girl so hard he breaks her pelvic bone."

This wasn't the worst thing on the page, but I'm at work so I have to keep it clean.

I'm In London Still

2006-04-28T01:27:00.000+10:00

After five months of travelling I have finally arrived in London. I've actually already nearly been here for two months but am clearly rubbish at finding time to update - readers who pay particular attention to detail will notice that I've already become all Laahhdon and adopted the lingo.

In the next few weeks, now that I've got more of a routine, I'm going to try something new with this blog - firstly, I'm going to try and develop a loyal band of followers who want to date me, and secondly I'm going to try and theme it in some way. I might also make is so that if you're using Mozilla it doesn't look as crap.

So bear with me dear readers whilst I ditch the bitch and switch. I'm going to up the anti, destroy the apathy and try to steal someone else’s' fabulous idea and pass it off as my own (hence the title of the blog).

Some ideas so far for my original theme are as follows:

- girl leaves home for big smoke and feels lonely
- girl moves to London and makes up folk songs about her small country town back in Australia and her accent
- girl gets way too drunk and sleeps with inappropriate people and it all gets a little "Tasmania"
.....
As you can see, I'm struggling slightly. Ideas welcome.

Lonely in La Paz

2006-02-15T03:58:00.000+11:00

Valentine´s day rolls around again so I will place my personal ad:

Lonely Australian girl seeks tall dark man for good time. Hobbies include drinking cervesas and taking random people to hospital. Reply to: reallynotthatdesperate@hotmail.com.

This post is dedicated to the two Irish accountants that visited hospital in the past week in La Paz. Hope you are both feeling better.

In the meantime, here´s me on the edge of a cliff.

I´m a thrill seeker

2006-02-07T08:41:00.000+11:00

If I don´t post again, it´s because I am doing this. Me; the terminal woos-bag, sook, girls´ blouse, whatever you want to call it will, tomorrow, be cycling down the ´world´s most dangerous road´ (tm) just outside of La Paz, Bolivia. It is nice to know that if I am injured I´ll be looked after by third world health care as well. This just adds to the adrenelin.

Bolivian Border Crossing

2006-01-25T03:52:00.001+11:00

So here I am in the small town of Uyuni, Bolivia. Population: 14, 000, backpackers 70 percent, cholitas 20 percent, other 10 percent. After an extraordinarilly bumpy ride from the north of Chile to here, I am thankful for many things. The first is not to be shaking like a can of beans being played with by a fat ten year old with A.D.D (that was what our bus ride felt like). The second is that Bolivian Spanish is SO much easier to understand than Argentinian and Chilean Spanish. I am also happy that we didn´t run over any of the llamas with death wishes. Those things are crazy fuckers, but I wish I had their Liza Minelli eyelashes.

We have gone past active volcanos, managed to locate the immigration office and will go to the salt plains tomorrow. As of now the altitude is making me a sloth and I can´t be bothered writing or trying to think of the adjectives meaning lazy.

bye for now, but remember:

It´s raining in Chile...

2006-01-23T03:00:00.000+11:00

Well, it´s maybe rained once here in the past 80 years according to our Johnny Depp look alike Chilean tour guide with the ; ¨I´m a drinker, not a fighter t-shirt¨ on. That´s right boys and girls, I´m in the north of Chile in the Atacama desert complete with sand dunes, salt caves, lagunas and apparently there are flamingos here too. But that´s the last time I trust a German, long story.

San Pedro is the name of the game and it reminds me much of Daylesford if Daylesford were made out of mud. No paved roads and everything is mud brick. Sounds very off the beaten track, doesn´t it? It is, in fact, very touristy. Seems you pay a high price to feel as though you´re off the beaten track when really the indigenous style cafe you´re eating lunch in serves antipasto platters and plays ¨The Chillout Session¨ CDs.

Went to visit the sand dunes in the surrounding areas and watch the sunset go down. There were jagged peaks of red rock and dunes everywhere. Not a growth to be seen, not even on my face. It was much like being on Mars. I obviously get my impression of Mars from the movie ¨Total Recall¨ starring Arnie ¨the steriodator¨ Schwazenegger (spelling). Apart from the woman with the three boobs, it really looked like that.

I feel like such a terrible writer at the moment so I might leave it there. I have so far been from Buenos Aires to Mendoza, to Santiago to San Pedro. I got north to Bolivia tonight and get to do a fabulous border crossing into a third world country at midnight. Hooray for me.

Hey Ya'll, Ya Gotta Go to Rayford's

2005-12-20T03:18:00.000+11:00

The Southern States of the United States are much like a long drive through the middle of nowhere peppered with colloquialisms and that stereotypical, yet genuine, Southern hospitality, otherwise known as racism.

So far on my journey I have learnt that anyone and everyone with the means should go to Austin, if only for the perfectly priced Long Island Ice Teas and the events inspired by one too many of such drink. Results of indulging in this activity, for me at least, resulted in me high fivin' it with a bloke from Memphis, a travelling companion falling on his arse and many more things which may or may not be appropriate for a blog forum.

Below is a result of a friend bashing the bible belt too hard. Attempt at your own risk.

I am now much further South, in another continent to be precise, but I will update on that later.

This is why I haven´t been posting much....

2005-12-03T03:58:00.000+11:00

I haven´t been posting much because I´ve been hanging out here:

And here:

and doing this:

That is all.

I´ve given up the Groupies

2005-11-25T13:06:00.000+11:00

I´ve given up group emailing (well until I get lonely and want to get a stack back) so will be blogging most chances I get, and that is a bit as the Internet is so damn cheap here and I can´t really afford to rack up the bill for the cervasas I would otherwise be drinking.

Still in Acapulco for one more night and really can´t get out of here sooner. It was really just a transit place to somewhere better. Think of Surfers Paradise, triple it in size, add a large amount of quite impoverished people starving for a tourist buck and you have Acapulco. Also add beachside resorts pumping out old time quality hits like ¨the frog song¨ and tacky high rises and this makes this little Snub want to get out quickly. The beach was very nice though and I now have a sunburn, which will soon turn to PEELING skin... whoah, hold back boys, I know I´m as irristable as a leper but you´ll have to wait your turn.

Peurto Vallarta was the town we were in before this, and whilst I liked it better than Acapulco, it was still too resortish for my liking. It was almost a parody of itself. Cobblestone streets and beautiful run down colonial beach side buildings which were once orginial are now commodified and slapped on t-shirts for the fat American tourists that clog the footpaths there with their shouts of, ¨my stomach is not used to the water here yet, is there any Mexican water in this?¨ Waiter: ¨lady, it´s juice. it´s made from oranges.¨

Down to Peurto Escondido tomorrow to watch surfers trawl that famous Mexican pipeline (I stole that line from the Lonely Planet) and enjoy a somewhat more tranquilo Mexican city than the one we are at now (I am currently struggling to hear myself think at this Internet cafe situated in a mall right next to throngs of screaming Mexican girls. Some Mexican version of pop stars is on) and after that on to Oaxaca to see some Mayan ruins. Can´t wait.

Until then....

Creel to Cancun

2005-11-24T06:16:00.000+11:00

I´m beginning to fear that we might´ve underestimated the sheer size of Mexico. I just thought it was some tiny country with 97 million people and a few beaches, but it turns out it´s absolutely massive and has many active volcanos.

Just finished ´Dirt Music´ by Tim Winton. Brilliant. That´s all I can say. He writes like a memory and I am in love with it.

From where I left off... Creel is high up in the mountains (elevated approx 2300metres) and has no paved roads, just dust. Very small but attracts tourists because of the Tarahumara and Copper Canyon. The Tarahumara women shuffle tribes of small, brightly clad children from place to place selling crafts whilst the men are nowhere to be seen; I assume they are farming. We stayed in a clean hostel called Casa Magarita where everyone eats together for a traditional Mexican dinner. We went out drinking free Tequila with every purchase of a beer at a bar with an open fire which was a welcome relief in the freezing mountain air. Spoke with some mexican pilots and assured him that Australians are not like English people, whom he deemed ´snobby´, drank with a German, some Austrians, Americans and Italians.

The train out of Creel was nearly missed as for probably the first time in Mexican history it actually came an hour early. We chased after it like you would see in a war movie, all we needed were the white hankies to wave. The train stopped for us though and we went onwards another 9 hours to Los Mochis. The train goes right through copper canyon, you can see the distant fire light of camps as the only sign of habitation in the huge jungle coated mountains bathed in the light of the rising full moon. It seemed Amazonian: prehistoric. I kept expecting a brontosaurus to poke it´s head out of the foliage.

Sorry for the spelling in this post, but I´m on holiday, I cannot be bothered.

Right now I´m in Acopulco. It´s bloody hot and I´ve just spend 13 hours on a bus where the bus driver thought it might be fun to set the air conditioning to about 5 degrees. Freezing.

So before I leave, as the now self-proclaimed expert on Mexican buses here are some tips if you ever happen to travel on one.
1. Sit as far away from the bathrooms as possible. I repeat. Stay away.
2. Even if the temp outside is hotter than Gael Garcia make sure you bring a jacket, gloves, beanie and perhaps some moccies. The bus driver is unlikely to have the body temperature of a normal person, perferring the climate of a polar bear.
3. If you have earplugs, use them. Bus driver is also likely to like to listen to the nokia ring tone version of mexican mariachi music at 4am.
4. Sit as far away from any fat person as possible. They are likely to snore.

This is all.

On the road again

2005-11-21T14:29:00.000+11:00

I haven´t really written a proper post about my travels and for some reason I can´t motivate myself to keep a journal, a decision that I know I´ll regret.

We crossed the border into Nogales Friday a week ago and the change from the U.S of A to the ordered chaos of Mexico was a stark shock to begin with. My Grandpa tried to drop us over the border, but combining an 84 year old man with very limited driving skills and Mexican traffic is not a good idea so I had him drive back over the border and we walked across. Pack-horse ready, we got through the difficult Mexican immigration. This involves walking over the border and through a gate. Tough, I know. No one even checked our passports and it was an effort to find out where exactly we got our tourist cards from to head further south.

Mexicans have been so helpful so far with my extremely limited Spanish. They are so friendly, telling us which stops to get off at, helping us with our bags. Granted, we have been getting some stares. Me especially because I´m so tall. Gringo-ed at until blue in the face. But in a good way (mostly). Buenos Dias-ed by strangers after the overnight and many a military check-point bus from Nogales we arrived in Chihuahua. A fairly small safe town with nothing resembling some of the danger you hear about Mexico.

From Chihuahua we began our journey into the heart of Mexico by catching the last running train in the country to Creel, a small mountain town where many Tarahumara people get by through selling crafts to tourists. I bought a wrist band which I have since lost due to being incredibly hopeless with anything small: the reason I no longer wear watches, bracelets or earrings.

Well, I will write more tomorrow as my Internet time here has run out.... update more later.

They do have big bums

2005-11-21T13:44:00.000+11:00

Yes, American tourists in Mexico have large bottoms. The stereotype lives on in blog form. My bottom is extremely small in comparison, but I do feel that I´m missing out on a nice portable cushion for beach sitting.

Am in Puerto Vallarta on the west coast of Mexico, ´bout half way down. The sun is shining, the air is as thick as dirt with the humidity and the breakline is close to the shore; nice for floating whilst staring at jungle coated mountains spilling to water.

Went to an ´Irish´ pub last night. I used the word Irish loosely as the pub was named ´Carlos O´Brian´s. ´ Not exactly the most Irish sounding name in the book (My name is Carlos and underneath my tough exterior is a boy yearning to learn, and underneath that is a rapist.). It was fun I guess, and it turns out that the Mexicans do what the Aussies do: keep the good beers for themselves and export the crap ones. Baby, I got ´Sol´ but I´m not a soldier. Sol is the prima beer of choice.

Well the perils of the travelling woman involve deciding between reading, tanning or swimming. Tough choice.

If anyone gets a chance read ´Me Talk Pretty One Day´ by David Sedaris. The man a genius is. I Yoda am. Too much sun.

Gonna leave the blog now for the rooftop of my cheap hotel where they fold the towels into swans.

It´s Rude to Stare

2005-11-17T09:45:00.000+11:00

Mexico is the country of tequila (check), beaches (check) and the machismo male who likes to ogle the Gringo woman (cross) even though her eyebrows have developed into something resembelling hairy catipillars and that burritos are making her break out worse than the before picture in a Moira-hosted infomercial.

Mexico has been great so far. Firstly, there are real cowboys here. I actually saw one on a horse, with a lassoo, cowboy boots and a cowboy hat. That was a highlight.

Copper Canyon is probably the highlight of the trip so far. Huge mountains covered in lush forrest framed by a snaking river and basked in the light of the full moon. Feckin´Awesome.

Now in Los Mochis and heading south tonight to finally catch some sun, sand and surf. After that on to Oaxaca and Cancun (where I plan to take my top off and pour booze all over myself for an MTV video).

Keep well. Peace out amigos.

Why Gene Simmons' retarded son thinks I'm pretty.

2005-10-29T11:43:00.000+10:00

I'm in Colorado now. It's one of the square states. Square states are places where people who like shopping live. I hate shopping. Needless to say, I've been close to opening my wrists on many occasions. But, it's been fun.

We had a 36 hour train ride here from San Francisco. We met a mentally challenged man who thought I was pretty (I really attract the winners), was obese and claimed to be the son of Gene Simmons. I was a little sceptical, but at least I know I can get some action if I ever get desperate.

Went to court today to watch my Judge Uncle in action. It's Halloween soon. My cousin is going as a slutty nurse. I don't know what I'll go as, but I think nothing. I'm going to go as an Australian and not dress up at all, yes, I'm one of those losers.

Been a bit nostalgic coming here as I lived here for 6 months 6 years ago so all that teen angst is coming back a little, but at least now I can legally drink to cope with the pain.

Got asked last night if we have strip clubs in Australia. Yes, yes we do. What a rando question you freak.

I ate a caramel apple, smoked from a glass blown bong that was longer than my arm, conversed with an 84 year old, made eye contact with a prisoner who was wearing orange handcuffs, thought another prisoner was kinda hot from the side and I'm really no good at writing anymore.

Please comment, it validates me.

I Haight Ashbury

2005-10-23T07:07:00.000+10:00

Well, I don't hate Haight-Ashbury, the famous hippy district of Ye Ole San Fran town (where I am currently staying).

So far in San Fran I have witnessed a real life DANCE OFF involving someone taking their shirt off and clearing the dance floor with their amazing break-dancing. It was at a bar called Milk and Cookies on Haight street where we were taken too by a guy called Oliver from Chicago. He showed us all the ropes and told us his woes and why he was on the run from Chicago: girl troubles.

I met the real-life Swedish chef from the muppets, saw some scantily clad 15 year olds, witnessed the extraordinarily polite and talented homeless of San Fran (one was literally standing on his head for minutes at a time for change) and saw a cat fight between lingere models. All in a day's work.

Will update again soon.

Girlies, Pinecones and Downtown

2005-10-16T03:47:00.000+10:00

So. The most important news to date is that my travelling companion finally got himself a kiss (he has been desperate for one) from not one but TWO girls. Both blonde with blue eyes AND at the same time! Maybe the fact that they are aged 7 and 4 and accosted him merely for the "blushing" they knew would occur might escape him when he tells the story. I was privvy to their planning.... whispers of, "watch, I'm going to kiss him and make him blush" went back and forth throughout the room. I didn't encourage it. Not at all.

We went camping, which would've been fun if I wasn't so scared of being eaten by a mountain lion in my sleep. I'm a major sook when it comes to that sort of stuff. I think Idyllwild (the sleepy alpine town where we went camping) could even be Bill Bryson's fantasy of "Anytown, USA." Log cabins, huge trees, totem poles, ice cold root-beer, kids screaming, squirrels running away from the acorns we were throwing at them.

Went to a screening of Elizabeth Town at Paramount studios last night. The movie was good. Typical Cameron Crowe: a master at creating nostalgia for something you have never even experienced. Although Tom "Pie-hands" Cruise was the producer which means there were a few over the top things where I couldn't help but roll my eyes. Looking around the studio was really cool though. Giant sounds studios, star trailers, people driving around in golf carts. They were filming a movie at the time and all the catering was set up.

I also had a look around my Uncle's work. He works for a large news station in California. To any former RMIT students reading this, big money shits all over our poor little channel 31 studios!

That's all from me today. Hope you're suitably bored.

The Transformation Begins

2005-10-12T04:08:00.000+10:00

This blog has begun it's transformation into a travel blog. So it will probably become even more boring than it was and I'll lose my readership.

After being pulled from my parents and friends arms like velcro, and shedding quite a few tears (but managing to supress most of them - that energy goes into creating future cancer) I boarded the plane with my FRIEND (not boyfriend! How many times do I have to explain?!?!), Dave.

17 hours and, a few cranky flight attendents later, we arrived in LA, half an hour earlier than the time we left. Yes, time travel is possible but it's really not worth the effort.

So far I've realised that LA is really big, celebrities have tinted windows which makes stalking near impossible, my cousins are very cute but a bit full on for Jetlag and the weather is nice.

Might be going to a screening at Paramount later in the week of Elizabeth Town and will have to go to Universal studios or Disney land.

Okay, I'm off to let my four year old cousin show me how to make jam and eat carrots.

I like birds

2005-10-06T14:40:00.000+10:00

When everything around you seems to be crashing to the ground, remember one thing.

Birds* are cool.

*except seagulls and pigeons - they are ass fuckers

I know it's been said before....

2005-09-15T12:09:00.000+10:00

I know this has been said before, but we were just discussing this at work and the resemblence is uncanny. There is no way Charles and Diana made whoopee more than once (like all good Protestant couples) yet they have two children.

"Hey Harry"

"Hey Dad, sorry, I mean James."

"Nice speech at your 21st. Forget to mention anyone?"

"......."

"Sorry old boy, but I just thought you should thank me"

"I know, I know, you've told me before"

"Well if it wasn't for me you might've ended up with those ears"

"sorry, did someone say something"

"Nevermind. Anyway, I'll get straight to the point. Your Mum was hot, and I am hot. This means you are hot, well, for a red-head nancy boy. And it doesn't matter that you are illegitamate because no one likes the second eldest royal anyway. Haven't you seen the Lion King and what happened to Scar?"

"yeah man, scar took it too far. I've got the looks and the ladies, and no responsibility. Wanna cone?"

"That's my boy."

I love Steak

2005-09-13T17:49:00.000+10:00

Gonna get me some steaks tonight for this guy's birthday. Happy birthday this guy!

Also, just some general housekeeping. I'm not sure if people can read my new look blog. Give me feedback in the comments section if you can be bothered.

I have also expanded Plagiarism to include some new members who may or may not start contributing to the blog. Wanting to spice it up a bit and I really haven't had the time to do much.

Funny things that may or may not have been said on the weekend:

"My brother is being a zombie on purpose."

To a sign that says thanks for not smoking: "Luckily there's no sign that says don't take acid and trek shit everywhere."

Me: Hey that parrot looks like you.
C: yes, the proud pretty one.
Me: No, the ugly one.

"I'm not going to have a shower because I don't trust myself"

"I think only girls can understand the black dots in the bathroom tiles."

Just a warning to people with a low body image. Do not take drugs and take a shower. Your pores may seem giant, your zits three times the size and your wobbly bits will wobble like never before. Also, your bulgy bits might pulse a little bit. Or so someone told me.

Freedom, horrible freedom!

2005-09-08T18:03:00.000+10:00

So, Snub22 has made the unwise decision to invite me to contribute to this "blog" on the gloriously technicoloured "inter-web"

You fool, you foolish fool!

Stay tuned for long-winded, rambling posts at random intervals, littered with poor grammer, biting social commentary, and where possible, "props" and "big ups" to my main sheila, Snub22.

In the meantime, I have to go and rest under a tree, grow a beard and buy a trucker hat in anticipation of a tour of the southern states of the US with Snub22 herself. I look forward to blending in with the slack-jawed locals, earning their trust, and witnessing them in their wacky natural habitat.

Peas out!

Who forgot to tell me?

2005-09-07T14:22:00.000+10:00

Like most things (including office gossip and secret romance), I'm a little slow on the uptake.

But someone forgot to tell me that the world is completely f**ked. Thanks. Who was that? I blame all of you. You know I'm not the brightest tool in the box. That's right, and I'm not too sharp either.

If there's one thing I can't stand though, it's the news playing the c-minor scale with your heart strings. Those ratings hungry bastards.

Take this for instance. Seven news last night took a photo of the three boys and zoomed in on the littlest cutest one. I hate them. I know my grief is nothing compared to that of the family involved as it's just a heart lurch for me. A great pouring loud primordial wail is the kind of grief the family would be feeling and I think seven news should back the fuck off.

I studied television for two years at University. Thought I wanted to get into the game. Until I realised that most of the "game" in Australia is working for souless wankers like seven news or Rove live. I don't want to be "camera four", yelled at by some amphetamine chewing, perfectionist, anorexic as a child, go-getting, over-achieving television floor manager called Kristy(no one I know obviously). I don't want to work on film enough to put up with that shite for years and years. I'd prefer to just be a teacher, or write on this blog whilst working in customer service.

I changed to radio and found the laconic, low-paid nature of the radio studio (even the commercial ones) to suit my personality much better. I dig music. I am a golden god. I can't think of my own quotes to suit the topic. I'm going to go now.

New Orleans in Peril

2005-08-29T16:38:00.000+10:00

That shit is whack. That's some crazy "Day After Tomorrow" stuff goin' down.

Oh the elderly of today....

2005-08-29T11:47:00.000+10:00

Even more reasons to love Grannies (as per my last post where I confessed undying love for an elderly religious woman who forgot the birth of her own son) comes today when I found out about the "Tucson Raging Grannies." These are a group of women who are have attempted to join the US military once a week for the past three years as a protest and so that their children and grandchildren can come home from the war in Iraq.

I'm thinking of devoting an entire blog to elderly women who rock. My Grandpa lives in Tucson too. Wonder if he knows them. I'd be so star struck if he does.

I don't know why the military keeps refusing them entry. Women going through menopause can be a force to be reckoned with. Never mind the fact that a lot of them are racist so are bound to want to get the Uzi out on those Arabs.

They're also going to die soon anyway, so why not put them in a life threatening situation? Surely going down in a blaze of glory in battle is far more dignifying than breaking your hip by falling over your jeep on the way to Safeway.

Perhaps they'd also be handy in trying to establish peace in Iraq. They'd knit woolly jumpers and make scones and tea for all the women and children and the soldiers coming back from war. They'd sternly tell off anyone who even thought of misbehaving or becoming a suicide bomber by telling them, "back in my day we had to walk 5 miles in the snow to school with no shoes AND we got the cane, so what are you complaining about? Go and get a real job."

And they'd be handy in medical situations as well, getting the war wounded to lie down, tucking them in so tightly so they are not be able to move and giving them some barley sugar: A guaranteed cure-all.

Taking all that into account I can see no logic against keeping Grannies out of the army. As Chris Addison would say, "there's no flaw in logic here people, just your own prejudice."

Cutest Grandmother EVER

2005-08-26T21:49:00.000+10:00

Today I saw the cutest lady ever. She was an 87 year old daaaarling and I just wanted to hug her. You know those elderly people who still look at the world like a fresh-faced child? I know it's probably just because they've forgotten most things, so everything seems new, but I still love it. This is a conversation that I overheard.

Official: To prove your identity, we will need some more photographs.

Grandmother: Well I have my New Testament.

The son of the Grandmother who is helping her: Mum, God hasn't given you your photo yet.

Grandmother: I know, but I just like to bring it so they will see I read the bible and they'll know I'm honest.

later that day

Grandmother: [to son] Were you born here or in Argentina?

Son: I don't know Mum. You were there.

Grandmother: Yes I know, but I forgot.

She forgot the birth of her own Son. How sweet.

Maybe I'm crazy nostalgic or something, but my heart melts.

A Brain-Achingly Cool Post

2005-08-26T20:48:00.000+10:00

I'm feeling a little apathetic at the moment, which accounts for my lack of posting. I have a headache too. Ouchie. Oh well. Ho hum. This post is going to be a little like my brain at the moment: scattered.

I visited the US Consulate today to renew my passport (I am one of many half-breeds spawned of a teacher shortage and subsequent importation of US and Canadian teachers during the 70s, and the supreme charm and wit of the Australian male; namely, my father) and holy motherfucker do they take their security seriously. I thought they were going to check my undies for a prisoner purse*. I don't want to jump on the American-bashing bandwagon that ninety percent of the world is on - especially since my Mum is American and you couldn't meet a sweeter, cuter lovelier person. BUT... and it's a big but here, there is something about communication that I think they need to learn. For example:

Man: *talks on mobile*

Official: Sir! Sir! You need to put down the cell phone [with great urgency] you CANNOT have that on in here!

I can imagine a similar situation involving "Sir! Sir! You need to put down the gun."

Yo! Americans, cell phone does not equal gun. Perhaps exercise some decorum. This would be the Australian version with me starring as the official:
nb I often have to tell people to turn off their mobiles at work at the theatre.

Man: *talks on mobile*

Me: (thinking) please let him turn that down in the time it takes me to finish thinking this so I don't have to talk to him.

Man: *continues to talk on mobile*

Me: *looks around for boss hoping that boss won't see this obvious breach of OBEY OR DIE THEATRE RULES (one of which is "female ushers must wear makeup that compliments their appearance, and lips must not look too pale" or "women are much to ugly to be seen in public without face paint, so paint up bitches as we can't have patrons being disturbed by that unsightly blackhead on your upper lip and your thin pallid lips will never sell tickets - remember that ladies pinch and whores use rouge. While you’re at it learn to cook or you’ll never get a husband and remember no one likes loose women, who’ll buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?")

Man: *continues to talk*

Me: *Walks to another area to avoid dealing with the situation and looking like a wanker who tells people to stop talking on their phones when it's really not doing anything at all and all that information we get about it interfering with the sound equipment is LIES! LIES GODDAMNIT!*

Where was I getting to again? Oh yeah. I think Americans need a nice long syringe full of apathy, which would cause [the bad ones] to be less patriotic, more thoughtful before taking action and less likely to become Christian fundamentalists.

This’ll keep those damn fundamentalists from knocking at your door:

There really was no point to this post was there?

Don’t answer that.

* those of you who have read the Potato Factory will know what I mean.

Dear Door Bitch....

2005-08-15T15:06:00.000+10:00

To the ugly mole working the door at a Melbourne nightspot on Friday night - thanks to your rudeness and your refusal to cloak my coat in the cloakroom that you reign over like a mighty beast of tattooed blubber, my jacket was stolen which had my monthly metcard and phone in it....

Also, to the convict that took it....

Instant Karma's gonna get you.

Luv Snub

PS: Or perhaps Karma already has gotten you Ms. Bitch of all Door Bitches as you are fugly and work as a glorified check out chick so you can drop the attitude. Just because you have tattoos does not make you cooler than other people. In fact, when you are so fat the images are stretched out all over your arms (in the same sense as writing on a balloon and blowing it up) it makes you even less cool. I hope you google "fat ugly mole" one day and your name comes up. I also hope none of your friends are reading this and try to beat me up. And stop trying to pretend the bags in the cloak room are too heavy for your delicate little arms to lift: You could beat up Hulk Hogan with those burly mother fuckers.

Be Wary Ye Travellers

2005-08-02T13:25:00.000+10:00

On October 10th I am going, going GONE.... I will still continue to blog, but I will just be overseas and my life will be more interesting.

Firstly, I will be going here:

Then I will be going here:

After than I will be going here:

Yes, I am heading off on my trip to the Americas... USA, Mexico, Argentina, Brazil, and political situation pending, Bolivia.

Suck on that.

Don't Let it Get You Down Beazers

2005-08-02T12:51:00.000+10:00

Dear Beazers,

Who loves ya babe?

Don't let the latest ACNielsen/AGE poll get you down. I understand that you may feel like people are "dissaproving" a little bit of your role as opposition leader. Not me, I reckon you're rad. But some "people", I use the term loosely, are dissaproving. They didn't like your rock'n'roll parliament moment during the IR reforms which had the backbenchers moshing to the tune of humanity - you liked that; "rockin' to the tune of humanity" - I know, it's very Gretel Killien of me, shut up, no you shut up.

You see, Beazers, if I can call you that, I used to work at ACNielsen. I used to conduct these polls. Polls which spent merciless hours trying to convince voters that actually give a damn to participate. To voice their opinion.

During the time I was conducting these polls (a time where I was barely able to keep from opening my wrists up) -I noticed a disturbing trend which I think you should be made aware of:

Most. People. Are. Morons.

A lot of people DON'T EVEN KNOW WHO THE CURRENT PRIME MINISTER IS. A lot of people were voicing their support of One Nation whilst Pauline Hanson was in prison. Can I reiterate? Whist Pauline Hanson was in prison.

So bearing this in mind, be aware that it is only the morons that like John Howard. So I think you'll be fine... oh... fuck....

We're rooted.

Luv Snub

A Certain Celeb Sucks Cocks In Hell

2005-07-31T17:02:00.000+10:00

.... but hey, we already knew this.

Firstly, I'm going to make the disclaimer that I have heard this through the grapevine and therefore may be distorted more than the final grade prep in a line of Chinese whispers. Any-hoo.

My friend G lives next door to a certain celebrity couple. They are Aussies living in the UK. G and his nine housemates decided to live it up and partay down. It's the height of English summer and they're ex-pats in need of a good booze up to remind them of home. So the party goes quite late and gets a little rowdy.

*knock knock knock*

It's 8am and an annoyed looking woman (this is the celebrity) knocks on the door with the resident landlord for the street (these are details I possibly have wrong, G - if you read this can you please fill us all in in the comments section). She is not happy. Read: two days later, nine housemates evicted.

Bitch. Trog. Die.

Whilst we're in the spirit of lazy posts

2005-07-22T21:42:00.000+10:00

I went to see Moby last night and thought that this guy could not go without a mention. Not only is he very musical and good and has a hot keyboardist, he also has a journal/blog, which is hilarious and extremely Moby-esque. You should check it out here.

I really liked some of the Moby's old rave songs last night. They shit all over his new stuff. I also liked the guy who was trying to find a much faster beat than was present in the song that goes, "ooooh lordy my troubles with god, doan nobody know my troubles with gooood" - sorry mate, but this song is not 900 bpm so stop dancing like Lisa Lashes is the puppet-master and you are the puppet.

I also liked that there were a few people who look like they'd shown up for a Moby look-alike competition. They looked much like the little kiddies at the cancer benefit I worked at previously - although the kiddies weren't fat, they were cute and adorable and I'd like to give a big soppy shout-out to them as they are tiny little beacons of strength. Moby is a good role model for these kids as they will see someone famous who has no hair and feel cool by association. Or maybe that's a horrible and shallow way of looking at it.

I also liked that Moby referred to himself as looking like "a bald inbred accountant." Most amusing.

That's all from me.

Random Thoughts, sneaky post

2005-07-22T19:56:00.000+10:00

Firstly, what the hell was someone doing searching for "sexy naked nude girls passing faeces in toilet" which inadvertantly led them to my blog????

Secondly, I worked at The Lion King last night and thought of something a famous scientist called Jeff Goldblum once said: "they were so pre-occupied with whether or not they could, they didn't stop to think if they should."

I also think that child actors are really annoying and should possibly be tied up and forced to watch their own performances - ala "A Clockwork Orange."

That is all, sorry, I'm sneaking this post in at work.

Snub's Book Club

2005-07-15T10:34:00.000+10:00

Hey whench-ers and whench-ettes...

Lately I've had a slight predicament where I cannot for the life of me finish a book! I've started four different ones recently (if you don't include the Harry Potter one that I burnt for inciting sorcery) and half way through go - "meh, I couldn't really give a toss if the old man has sex with the young girl (The Human Stain) or if Jack gets to the end of the road (On the Road) no matter how little money he has. Also, I think I've learnt enough about Indian sprituatlity for one year (Holy Cow! And Indian Adventure) and, I think he ends up with three dollars and uses a way too many big words for a pretty girl like me (Three Dollars)."

I used to love reading, but this time, I'm taking the lazy way out.

This idea of mine may work if anyone actually reads my blog, but othewise we'll call it the "rhetorical" question of what happens at the end of each of the books I'm reading.

1. The Human Stain by Phillip Roth

So far an author who wets his pants and has to wear nappies befriends a college professor who was fired for being racist and who also takes viagra. The college professor is also having it off with a young cleaning lady/dairy farmer who is 40 years his junior. This is why he takes viagra. His wife also died. The pants-wetting author and the professor dance together. I don't think they're gay though.....

This is where you come in, dear reader. Fill me in on what happens next. Yes I know I could rent the film but I'm tight.

2. Holy Cow! An Indian Adventure by Sarah MacDonald

The Australian cover doesn't have the lame sunglasses and big pink writing.

The girl who used to host the morning show on JJJ wrote this book. She moved to India with her husband who worked as a foreign corresspondent for the ABC. Whilst she's there she goes on many a spriritual quest including Vipassana (something Rivers Coumo is a huge fan of) where you go for ten days without talking and just meditating all day long. She also asked a guru for bigger boobs, and gets them. I wish I knew a guru. Funny so far, but I just lost interest.

What happens at the end? Does she move back to Australia for good? Do her boobs shrink back to normal?

3. On the Road by Jack Kerouvac

This is a classic about and from the most famour beat writer of the 50s. Blah blah blah. It's basically about a guy who lives with his mother, wants to be a writer so heads off to the west coast and hangs out a lot with a guy called Dean (Dean might be a bit of a shady character). He hitchhikes and doesn't use many paragraphs. Apparently he wrote the book in three weeks on one long roll of telo-type paper.

The problem with this book is that I have no attention span (damn you television) and there aren't many narrative turning points. I'm waiting. Members of Snub's book club are welcome to fill me in on the rest though.

4. Three Dollars by Elliot Pearlman

This one's pretty good so far. The protagonist is being imagined in my head as David Wenham (because of the film; this is why I can't read Lord of the Rings as I'll keep imagining all the actors instead of using my own imagination and this infuriates me). He is friends with this girl called Amanda, who seems like a snotty bitch, but he seems to like her. She gets told not to hang out with him anymore because her parents are snotty bitches too. After that, they meet up every 9 and a half years. He falls in love with a girl called Tanya who is very smart. They have a baby. They don't call it apple.

So. It's your turn. For the literary geniuses amoung us that don't mind that I didn't have time to proofread this or spell check it and have also read any of the afforementioned novels. Please leave your helpful comments below. Otherwise, you can go rot in hell.

Cheers folks. I'm off to Ballarat and can't find my gloves.

Wurd to my UNKLE...

2005-07-10T15:07:00.000+10:00

My uncle Michael is a judge in Denver in the United States.

My Mum just called me to say that he's had to put extra security around his office and his courtroom because he's presiding over the case of a Mafia member who allegedly drove the getaway car in a homicide.

There were two witnessed to the homicide. They were both 22 years old. They had no mafia associations whatsoever and they've both been murdered. So now my uncle has been asked to postpone the trial and step up security around his office and the courtroom.

He says the mafia families will come in to watch court and just stare at the prosecution team and the judge (him).

This is so Law and Order or CSI. No one I've ever been related to has had to have a bodyguard. It also seems so surreal – like something that I would watch on television, not something my lovely uncle who does great Steve Erkall impressions would be affected by. He should be fine, but I’ll just send out a big good luck and a “don’t be intimidated” in his direction.

Whin-ery tour...

2005-07-10T11:23:00.000+10:00

I've learnt a lot on my day in the Yarra Valley on my wine tour and I feel I'm now just one step away from purchasing my own Toorak Tractor and updating my accent to that private-school educated Melbourne drawl: "oh Prue, you look just like the cat the got the King Island cream." Sorry to quote Kath and Kim but I felt it was apt.

I should've felt very much at home because I am quite a wine-o. I'm more your garden variety wine-o though. I don't know the different between a "sav cab" or a "merlot." I do know that the goon boxes come in different varieties: four litres for a big night and two litres if you're feeling like a few drinks over dinner. Yes, I am a pleb.

It was a fantastic day though. I did discover that I am mildly retarded in the co-ordination department and have no idea how on earth people are able to do that smug swirl of the wine before the sniff it. I spillt mine down my front on my first attempt.

It was a nostalgic day though. Grey low clouds and drizzle and a fresh chill in the air. Background football on the radio was the chosen soundtrack to green fields and the odd tree whizzing past. We even went into the local pub at Healesville which reminded me of cold Ballarat days when I would go to the pub with my Dad. I'd sit at the bar with him and have a rasberry (Shirley Temple) and chips and I'd get a bingo ticket, and never win. Dad would have a pot and talk with the locals who sat hunched over the bar, or turned to watch sport on the television. The men there escaping the doldrums that family life can unfortunately sometimes bring: like it or not, it can be depressing and these Sunday afternoons are spent sharing a joke, a pot and a jib at whoevers football team has lost as something independent from work and familial obligations. It'd be warm and cosy inside and sometimes I'd sip the head off Dad's beer. I'd wear my bubblegummers proudly and walk all the way. If it was rainy I'd wear gum boots and stamp in puddles.

It was a quintessential country Victoria winter day in the Yarra Valley yesterday and it made me feel like home.

My parents are selling their house so it feels like I'll no longer have a real "home" to go to anymore. It's like the film Garden State when he says, "sure, you have some place to put your shit, but it's not really home. It's like home won't exist again until you start your own family." Or something to that affect. I feel like that's true. I'm in transit; trying to find "the" place in Melbourne that I want to call home now. It's fantastic here, but I don't have memories tied to almost every place I go to. Whether this is a good thing or not I do not know. ThoughI like knowing that one particular bridge was where my friend's little brother lost his shoe, or that's where so and so spewed, that hospital is where I was born and that cinema is where I saw my first movie. I've been listening to The Waifs allot to cope with my so-called for the purposes of this blog, "Ballarat detachment disorder." They sing a lot about home, and I feel I can relate. My friends are quick to diss the old haunts and the people that still stay there but I've never felt the same way as them. Sure, I'd be bored living there now as I've kind've grown out of a lot of things there, but at the same time I crave the simplicity of life as it was when I was there.

So, a simple post about a wine tour turns into a long-winded rambling about desires for home.

Let's just take one last look at the house I'll be leaving behind.

home sweet home

Also... on a completely unrelated topic, check out Zach Braff's Blog. He rules more than cheese toastie roasties.

Fantastic Fantasies

2005-07-08T20:13:00.000+10:00

If only I wasn't plagued by so many unrealistic fantastic fantasies. They even enter my dreams. I never need to try acid because I really believe that my mind does a good job tripping me out on it's own. For example: who ever has a dream that an African nanny is residing in their home singing tribal songs amid a forest of Christmas trees?

Lately, thoughts of celebrity have been plaguing me - I mean, who hasn't had trouble sleeping for the stress of how much they hate Dean from big brother? Any-hoo. Back to me. I had a dream last night (and it looked just like a dream, it was obscene last night, and I was drinking gasoline..... sorry, I'll stop singing whatever song that is from the Romeo and Juliet soundtrack) that Tom Williams (hunk from the Great Outdoors) told me that I had sexy legs and that he hated short and stumpy legs and loved my long and luscious legs (I'm tall, my legs are about all I've got to go with because the population of eligible men is greatly reduced by being tall as I'm "intimidating". I mean, I can never date Tom Cruise because he's too short. Never. Imagine what a harrowing thought that is. Yes the sarcasm is implied and if you don't get it you're a fuckwit. I'll never be a bride carried across the threshold unless I get a man bigger than me, and how many are there? Ok. OKAY? Pants are too short unless I buy size 14 and that's too big. How would you like it? HOW WOULD YOU LIKE IT? sorry, alcohol makes violent snub). Now, I'm sorry to quip back to past posts, but "is it wrong" that this dream made me happy for the rest of the day after I woke up?

It's almost as though, if a celebrity complimented me I would feel validated. My boyfriend compliments me all the time but I always tell him that "that doesn't count" as he has to say it. Actually, he doesn't have to say it at all.

My fantasy life; however, consists of me going to the gym, keeping a clean room, keeping up with the latest fashions (I'm such a Healthy Choice add in my fantasies). One contradictory thing is that I am much heavier than I was 2 years ago. 2 years ago I was thinking about how I needed to go to the gym... I think even back to the time when my nickname was "bean-pole" and I weighed 56kg for a 185cm woman. Even then I was too insecure to wear a bikini, yet I see girls twice as fat wearing half as much.

So anyway, this post was meant to be about fantasies. I once read that humans are happiest when we are fantasising. I really believe this. Countless times I have stared out the window of a train and fantasised about meeting Wil Anderson and him falling in love with my "cool t-shirt" - how much am I 14 years old? - totally rocking hotness man. Whoah! n' shit.

Next time you are on the train have a look around and there is always someone with a sly smile on their face. They are either thinking about sex or fantasising. It's true coz I know so.

Anyway - the world is your oyster if you have confidence. This is probably why I fantasise so much: I'm thinking about how cool it would be to have confidence in the vast arena of people. But, at times like this I like to think of what the prophet Danny Kitson would say, "if you're that stupid that you don't feel awkward in social situations, you're a cunt." I firmly believe this as gospel.

He is the new god.

Let us pray.

Kitson be with you.

PS: I am confusing and convoluted in this post. I realise this. I'll fix it later when not so tipsy.

What has the world come to?

2005-06-29T15:15:00.000+10:00

Like a stubborn poo pushing it’s way out of, well, you know where; I, snub, have finally decided to rear my head and talk about it. Everyone has been, I’ve just thought my two cents was best kept under wraps. Until now. It’s a harrowing issue and it’s made me so depressed I’m possibly thinking that I can no longer bear to keep quiet any longer.

It’s Big Brother. That’s right kids. I can no longer handle the men in the house strutting around overconfidently, like a pack of hyenas on steroids believing that their actions don’t have consequences; giving nicknames to Vesna, for being a whinger, which she undoubtedly is, yet acting like they are tolerating her for her personality flaw, rather than being the cause of it.

Most disturbingly was this from BehindBigBrother:

“In one of the most disgusting things we've heard come out of the house, the boys planned to defecate onto the toilet seat of the girl's bedroom toilet. Dean smeared his faeces onto their toilet.

They first planned to sit on the toilet backwards and leave "skid marks".

Dean was the first to do it, and left a faecal smudge on the inside of the toilet.”

Just look what the primate is capable of.

This is why I sob into my pillow every night. That someone could be voted out for being “moody” over someone who sexually harasses other housemates, or that someone who rubs his faeces on the toilet seat can have avoided eviction for so long. These are the kinda guys who will give a morning-after excuse similar to that of a NSW rugby player: “She was asking for it.” These are the kinda guys who wouldn't think twice about givin' the silly bitch one when she's passed out.

I haven’t been this disturbed since a childhood trip to the zoo went horribly wrong after a gorilla decided it might be fun to hurl some of his faeces into my face, and succeeded.

The depressing thing is, I can’t really see that much of a difference between the gorilla incident and this. One thing does; however, remain true. I cannot look away.

Invy Mate

2005-06-29T14:50:00.000+10:00

So, it’s been a while since I’ve graced the bloggersphere (yes, I am aware that I begin every post like this) but I seem to spend about three times longer thinking about what I’m going to post rather than actually posting it. This is mostly due to preferring to laze on my comfortably molded backside than to get up, switch on the computer, and be creative.

I went away to Inverloch, Invy as locals know it, on the weekend for a farewell house party. I downed a bottle of vodka and told a male counterpart that his arse resembled that of Shrek’s. It was a great weekend where I managed to insult few and beguil many. I leant a helping hand in dressing a fabulous Brazilian up like a woman (well we put lipstick on him) and letting him loose in a room full of rednecks: “Nah mate… he’s telling me all ‘bout Brazil and Shiite, it’s like a whole other country; it’s not even in South Gippsland maaate.” Climbed up a cliff, played with defunct voodoo instruments, got my shoes wet (why is it that every time I go to the beach on a cold day I still manage to walk just that little bit too close to the water? It seems Pavlov’s Dog has one up on me.) and had a general laugh and good time.

Also, last night I played cards and made sure a certain someone lost by giving them a "draw two" card. Suffer in deine jocky-pants Lefty boy. You and your social conscience can’t help you now… mwhahahaha.

Now comes the time in the blog where I want to get all political, but the truth is, I’m really not mature enough yet. Hopefully tomorrow, after I've sprouted arm hair.

Is it wrong?

2005-06-22T17:26:00.000+10:00

Dear adoring fans,

This week's episode of Plagiarism contains a donkey, a new found blog and a feeling of strange discomfort.

It all started when I kept visiting the lovely nadstown and she, being the talented and insightful blogger that she is, made me question a lot of my values that I had originally set in stone. I used to be quite arrogant and headstrong in my beliefs but now I've been starting to question if, in fact, I was wrong.

Is it wrong...

- to call your Canadian colleage a "canook" and throw staples at him at regular intervals?

- to secretly hope a friend gets stood up for a date so he can give me a lift?

- to tell your boyfriend he has the bottom of a twelve year old boy?

- to have a crush on K. Beazers?

- to yell at rude commuters on a packed CBD train for not letting an old lady out first before all clambering over her?

- to yell "it's not even dark yet you dumb slag" to a passing motorist who rudely told me to put my lights on (I'm riding a bike, I don't have lights)?

- to want to stalk this guy?

- to wanna be a "petite" woman instead of a giant one?

- that I'm not a girl who has fun going to the hairdresser?

- that I'm able to drink beer faster than most of my male friends?

- that I secretly mouth insults towards customers whilst maintaining a veneer of enthusiastic service?

- that I sat on my younger brother's chocolate Easter bunny once and made him cry? (yes I admit it, I'm sorry)

- to like German hip hop?

- to nickname your boyfriend "the submissive donkey"?

Yes, I'm aware that most of these things are completely and utterly and totally wrong. If you need a moist towlette to clean up the vomit, you'd better call KFC cause I'm fresh out. If you need to feel better, just bear in mind that I've kept the disturbingly wrong things to myslef.

Don't be a stranger....

Snub.

Interesting? Not really.

2005-06-17T10:50:00.000+10:00

For those two people (thanks Mum and Dad) who reguarly read my blog, I'd like to apologise. I just really haven't been motivated to keep it up reguarly. The thing is, I'm working a 56 hour week this week and when I get home I'm rather tired.

However, I am working this hard for a reason. That is, to save and go travelling. This is just a wee bit exciting. So thus, I am going to post my some of my travelling fantasies* (sure I know the reality is rather different, but here goes).

1. Upon walking down Rodeo Drive I run into Vince Vaughn/Jon Stewart/Peter Krause and they are so smitten by my Australian accent/supermodel height/great looks that they want to take me out for coffee/rampant sex/celebrity-studded party/best friend activities.

"Hey, nice accent.... Wanna root?"

2. Volunteering at a refugee camp for very small and very cute children in India where they all grow to love me and can't bear to see me go. They shed a tear when I leave, as do I, because I'm so humanitarian and all about the greater good y'all.

"Goodbye Snub! Your angelic presence has shed light on our unhappy lives, even if for too brief a time. We wish you well!"

3. Getting fit and strutting my stuff on the beach in Rio. Hopefully my bum** will look like this:

4. Driving through Monument Valley with the wind in my hair ala Thelma and Louise.

So yes, there lies my completely unrealistic list of fantasies that shallt befall me. Watch this space for updates on when I fall flat on my face in a foreign country and whilst unable to speak the language end up robbed and beaten. Pure comic gold!

"Some of us are cave dwellers, some of us live in houses... I'm a ramblin' (wo)man" - Lemon Jelly

*author bears no responsibility for fantasies that are shallow and/or unrealistic.
** In reality it probably looks more like this:

Is my brother retarded?

2005-06-09T00:00:00.000+10:00

My brother often has brilliant ideas.

One of them is taking photos of him and his friends shaking their heads really fast so that they look defective. This is the intelligent man he is. I think he needs a girlfriend. He wants it to spread around the world and start a new "shaking your head fast and taking a photo" craze. The kids in Japan will go crazy.

I told him there was a good show called "Last Man Standing" on channel 7 that he should watch as it was from a male's perspective. He goes, "what do they do? eat pizza?" For most people this would be a joke, not for him however. He was serious. That's what he thought the show was about.

Lucky I got the brains in the family.

Mayor of Sunset Strip

2005-06-08T21:14:00.000+10:00

Mayor of Sunset Strip (Copyright Caldera Productions, 2003)
Review

I know I've probably missed the boat on this great documentary about serial-star-pal and door opener for David Bowie: Rodney Bingenheimer, but it was just too good to let it lay there un-reviewed by the brilliant-ness that is, me.

Rodney Bingenheimer, for those of you that don't know (which was me until this evening) is probably, fictional "Penny Lanes" aside, the most famous rock music groupie in the Western world. Ageing with a fragility recognisable only when we see older men as distorted, somewhat melted versions of their younger selves (think Bob Dylan), Bingenheimer is a picture of long gone baby boomer hipness. Once dubbed with the prestigious title as "Mayor of Sunset Strip", now a somewhat lonely baby boomer with not much money and sadly, not too many people that he can hold close to his heart.

The style of the film is quite overt (yes, that's my Cinema Studies major influence here people, I am an official wankstain) in its message of the fleeting nature of celebrity. It juxtaposes between shots of Bigenheimer being groped by naked women and posing next to celebrities such as Elvis, The Beatles and The Beach Boys, with images of his quite humble beginnings and his vulnerability both from his boyhood and troubled relationship with his Mother.

This guy seems to be an example of what Hollywood can do to great people. It appears a place plagued by fabulous creative people who, whilst being fabulous, seem to have no connection to each other on anything more than on a superficial level. Whilst they see Bigenheimer as a big eyed music lover they want to have by their side, it is almost reminiscent of Almost Famous when the main character is befriended by the “rock stars” in a pet-like manner.

This film is quintessentially cool, has a killer soundtrack that would make any rock'n'roll fan wet their knickers, and makes me wanna dance around and be super slim like Patsy from Ab Fab and take lots of drugs and hang out with celebrities and be completely off guts but still retain an aura of dignity, like Kate Moss with the smudged mascara, perched there fashionably trashed and looking cool as can be (I'd more likely be drooling with my gut hanging out and my fly undone).

Anyway, this is a fantastic film and you should check it out if you haven't already. This guy made David Bowie famous, he was talking to Sid from the Pistols before anyone had ever heard of him and is responsible for Coldplay making waves in the US at the beginning of their career.

That's that then. Now get me a job with Margaret and David and kick Megan Spencer from the Movie Show. She was once my idol until she gave Crash a bad review. I know that's fickle, but that's the kind of person I am. I'll like her again when I agree with her.

I just couldn't go past this one

2005-06-06T13:47:00.000+10:00

Deep Throat Family Admit Money Motive

Mr and Mrs Deep Throat and their two children Candy and Mandy have admitted that their family "business" was in fact motivated by money. The Deep Throat family have stated that the services they willingly provide were not done out of desire, but rather a need to support a habitual crack-cocaine addiction.

- sorry, just couldn't go past it.

Movie Quiz

2005-06-05T22:02:00.000+10:00

Thanks Sushi High. I caught a great STD from reading your blog.

It's this movie quiz. Now I'm addicted. Help me out here peeps - I've got 35/60.

You have to guess the movies. The above is fairly easy, but some are really hard.

It's My Life

2005-06-05T21:02:00.000+10:00

So, I've spent my weekend working at The Theatre From Hell (I've stolen this from Ms Cynic who works at The Bar From Hell. I believe my work is the theatrical equivalent).

One of the supervisors there is so anally retentive that I think the carpet may be sucked up his backside as he walks.

Today he walked briskly up to me and I see the carpet straining to hold on to the floorboards. He then says:

"Snub, you really need to make sure you're standing where the patrons can see you"

and then,

"Snub you need to stand in front of this door so no one can get out"

and furthermore,

"Snub, you need to stand more to the left"

let's try that again,

"Snub, you shouldn't be standing so close to the other ushers"

What I think the supervisor didn't understand is that a) the patrons only need to take one step to the side and they'll be face to face with me and b) It isn't that fucking difficult to find your own fucking seat should I happen to magically disappear. You don't have to be mother-fucking Einstein to be able to look at the letters and numbers on a ticket and match them up with the corresponding seat (although, having said that there are an alarming number of people who seem to find it quite difficult).

The supervisor also does this thing where he doesn't bend his legs when he walks which gives him a shiny "I’m a real boy" wind up toy thing going on. When he's babbling to me I like to imagine his head has fallen off, is lying on the ground, but still talking about menial bull-shit - like not standing with your arms crossed when it's cold because it gives the wrong impression.

For any lawyers that may be reading this I would like some advice please.

Is it in any way discrimination for a work place to require that female staff wear makeup and make them sign a contract stipulating they will do so??

Obviously this is merely a hypothetical question.

Time to Embrace the Cliche

2005-06-03T16:54:00.000+10:00

Time to embrace the cliché of all women loving Dirty Dancing.

Sorry. I can't help it. I just LOVE that film. Come one, "Nobody puts baby in the corner...."

And soon.... caresses fingers together in Mr. Burns style satisfaction.... I will be working at the NEW MUSICAL.

Before you get all excited about it, I'm not one of those singin' and dancin' types. Even better. I'm a surly usher type. You know, the ones that tell you off for putting your feet on the seats? Yes, I'm one of those. I'll also confess: I'm a torch pointer. If you are doing something wrong I will point my torch at you and shake my head in disappointment.

My Usher uniform is the dorky version of an uptight school marm/dental nurse outfit/school girl outfit. Well, when I say dorky version I actually mean nothing anywhere near as hot as any of the former and more like wearing a multicoloured asexual sack.

But who can complain, huh?

I get to see Dirty Dancing with Libby from Neighbours, over and over and over and over and over and over and over...

*has vivid Mamma Mia flashback*

*has clear flashback of Nikki Webster's pronunciation of the word Rainbow in The Wizard of Oz*

*thinks, it's not pronounced Rain-a-bow you stupid wench, it's Rainbow*

*decides there may be a better way of earning some money on the side*

Self Indulgent Me... Post-Oz-pocolyptic G

2005-06-02T08:04:00.000+10:00

It's time for a self-indulgent post. My friend "G" (we must call him that because he is actually a German spy working for the US government and investigating beer brands with too much yeast content) has gone overseas, I miss him, so thought I should dedicate a post to him.

G- man* quotes I revel in:

Upon telling him I miss him, this is his reply:

"I too long for the day when we can exchange a knowing glance as one of us farts discreetly in a crowded public space. "

"Miss you like Bon Jovi misses the eighties/early nineties....."

"Madrid is freakin cool. Everything happens so late, I love it. There´s even so many oldfolks still out kicking up their cankles well after 1am."

But best of all is a letter he had to write for us to the RTBA declaring he didn't want to any of his bond back:

To the wonderful folk at the Residential Tenancies Bond Authority, I, G-man, being of sound mind and eroded liver, declare that I have no need for the vast sums of money retained under my name by your establishment, since my emu farm here in the UK has become such a profitable venture.

Instead, I would like the funds to be transferred to my other housemates, who may squabble over them in an orderly fashion, like the money hungry descendents of a wealthy relative.

Sincerely,
G-man-commeth

I shall leave you all after reading this delightful rove-esque** post with a photo of G. Just another reason why he is cooler than watching old people squish their genitals on funniest home videos.

*real names have been changed for protection of all involved
**rove-eqsue: to be funny using someone elses material.

Johnny Says...

2005-06-01T16:32:00.000+10:00

"Johnny says, put your hands on your head children"

*puts hands on heads*

"Johnny says, stand on one leg"

*stands on one leg*

"Johnny says, put hands on hips"

*puts hands on hips*

"hands back on heads"

*puts hands back on heads*

"I didn't say Johnny says! You're off to the Philippines you snot-nosed little brat!"

*takes snot nosed little brat by the pig-tails in Mrs Trunchbull fashion and swings her round and round, finally letting go until she flies bemused and lands on her bottom in a tropical Filipino garden*

A bit of an existential post from me.

Also, how's this for political bs at it's best, "[reconciliation] is about comparing the bold rhetoric of 'self determination' with the sad reality of dependency on government and finding practical ways to bridge the gap"

Translation: All you indigenous folk need to get off the government funded goon and go out and get jobs like REAL Australians. C'mon, get a'learnin'.

Sometimes I think John's just a subtler Pauline.

I know I'm being completely biased and not taking all the issues into account, but it's funnier this way.

Six Feet Under to be no more

2005-05-27T17:26:00.000+10:00

My ALL TIME FAVOURITE SHOW Six Feet Under will begin it's final season in the USA in a couple of weeks.

I salivate. My tear ducts open. My heart begins to pound a million miles a second.

I cannot begin to tell you how much I love that show. It is my version of a crack addiction.

And to my housemate that thinks it's emotional porn, you can get lost.

Firstly, it has Rachel Griffiths in it who is responsible for delivering one of my favourite all times lines to Sophie-Lee in Muriel's wedding, "shove your drink up your arse Tanya, I'd rather swallow razor blades than drink with you." In Six Feet Under, she plays Brenda - a character who is everything I wish I could be: scarily brilliant AND a sex addict. Cool. She also gets to make whoopee with Nate (Peter Krause):

My brothers will vomit if they read this but, Hubba Hubba.

Hopefully this won't really be the last season and they will try and squeeze as much blood out of the stone as possible as even if this show became crap, it would still be better than everything else. Ever. Did I mention I like the show?

Million Dollar Tonya

2005-05-27T16:32:00.000+10:00

Tonya Harding (remember the Ice-skating artist that got some hired goons to whack competitor Nancy Kerrigan with a steel rod?) has decided she no longer needs hired goons, because now, she is one.

A brief recap on the life of Tonya:

Here Tonya wears the classic double denim look, which is typical of late 80's/early 90's serial killer victims and stars of "Emergency 911" re-enactments.

This was the peak of her career as a world famous ice-skater who was capable of landing a triple axel.

Now Tonya has morphed into a creature, sorry champion, who wouldn't be able to ice-skate for fear she may crack the ice and fall into the pond and freeze to death - ala Leonardo DiCaprio in Titanic, but slightly more manly.

Eat your heart out Hilary Swank. This is the real thing.

Tonya says, "fuck the makeup and the sparkly dress, I'm gonna kick some arse."

Office Intellect

2005-05-26T13:30:00.000+10:00

Here is an example of what I shall call "office intellect." I had to write an article about our Open Day for the company Newsletter. It was a mundane task, but I did my best to write something apt (ie, bigging up the product I work for and making us all sound ever-so fun). The article I wrote went as follows:

Last Thursday, the 19th of May, the *corporate product* team decided to celebrate more than two months of successful operation by opening their doors to visitors. The open day ran successfully and allowed other staff the opportunity to view the ventures of the newly established *corporate product* team.

The day was appropriately themed “bling bling” and the cashed-up decorations reflected to visitors the mentality of the *corporate product* team: enthusiastic, individual and fun. The customer service officers and other team members wore golden medallions, crowns and tiaras. This rags-to-riches theme was a manifestation of what we offer people: a product which allows you to get an excellent return on your savings without any fees, and that is easily accessible to anyone in the community, no matter how rich or poor.

Four tour sessions ran throughout the day, which were conducted by our most gregarious and enthusiastic of enthusiasts. These tours revealed the ins and outs of the *product* outfit and provided a greater understanding of what exactly happens on the 13th floor. At the same time they both entertained and beguiled the guests.

A competition was also held for visitors’ favourite savings tips and the winner of the nominated prize, a $90 voucher for http://www.wishlist.com/, is to be announced shortly.

Thank you to all who came and participated in what turned out to be a great day for everyone involved and a great opportunity to integrate the younger *corporate product* with the rest of the veterans in the *location* street community.

Okay, so it was stupid, but it was meant to be stupid. It was designed to suck up, to advertise. The truth be told, I am a whore for advertising. Apparently though, this "article" wasn't good enough. Apparently, THIS was more appropriate:

The *corporate product* open day was appropriately themed “bling bling” and the cashed-up decorations reflected the mindset of our team - enthusiastic, individual and fun. We wore golden medallions, crowns and tiaras. Our rags-to-riches story reflects the online saver: a product which provides an excellent return on your savings without fees and accessible to anyone regardless of how much money someone has.

We ran tours and had some fun with visitors, so now they have a greater understanding of what we do. It was also a great opportunity for us enthusiasts to integrate with some of the veterans in the Spring Street community.

John Smith was the winner of our voucher competition for the best savings tip,

“Go shopping at op shops for fashion items. Don’t worry - They will come into fashion in the near future. You’ll be considered a trend setter and be on the invite list to the Logies in no time.”

Thank you to everyone who participated

So now I sound like I'm 12 years old writing for the newsletter about the weekend working bee. Kill me. Kill me now.

Granted the woman did apologise for massacring, sorry, changing my article. So now I'm not angry at her, just society.

Oh yeah, and instead of customer service officer or something normal like that, my title is actually Enthusiast… yeah, coz I’m so crazy and enthusiastic and shit. I like helping people and am so inherently stupid, sorry, happy I’m not even just a person; I’m a super-enthusiastic person…wait… I’M AN ENTHUSIAST.

What do you get?

2005-05-24T15:29:00.000+10:00

What do you get a 17-year-old male for his birthday?

What do you get an extraordinarily grumpy 17-year-old male for his birthday?

What do you get a grumpy, whinging, picky and couldn't show less enthusiasm if he tried 17 year old male for his birthday?

.....

What do I get my little brother for his birthday?

It's our fault, well Dad's fault, that he's grumpy. Dad's the one that gave him nicknames such as Wendell, Kevin and Mental. Obviously you're going to grow up with an attitude with that kind of mental abuse....

Anyway, here are some reasons why I love my little brother.

- When my other brother and I kidnapped his Teddy and hung it from the rafters with a dressing gown cord, accompanied by a suicide note, he didn't give up. He screamed, "whitey" (the teddy's name) and proceeded to give it mouth to mouth.

- He is scarily smart to the point where his teachers kept thinking he hadn't done his own work, and he had.

- He hates the same people I do.

- He used to like to wear his underpants on his head. So much so, that Dad actually once let him wear his superman jocks on his head IN PUBLIC. He walked around for several hours around the bustling metropolis that is, Ballarat.

- Once I told him there was a mouse in his bed and he said, "eeek, I felt him on my leg and I didn't enjoy him."

- He is tall like me.

- His hair has the consistency of lanolin and is the only white boy I know that could grow a hefty afro.

- He is an excellent writer and used the phrase, "as fast as an emu on speed" in a story he wrote in year 10.

- He once peed on the cat.

- He used to snore as loud as a 50-year-old heart attack victim as a 15-kilo, 5 year old boy.

- After having his snoring corrected via an operation he spewed on the nurse saying, "she deserved it, she was mean."

- He wanted to buy happy gas at the age of 3 after hearing of its affects.

- He just generally rocks and I love him.

Happy Birthday Mental. I still don't know what to get you.

Hi-de-li-ho Neglecterino

2005-05-23T13:51:00.000+10:00

I am guilty. Like a mother hiding her child underneath the stairs only to take it out briefly for beatings with an electric jug cord, I snub22, have been neglecting my blog. Please, take heed of my words and forgive me for I have reason. Accept them if you will, but if not, I understand my fate may lie in the comfort of being spooned by a hairy cell mate named Aunty Jack as she silently strokes me to sleep as we lie under itchy woollen blankets in the big house.

I do have reasons.

You see, I've been meeting quite a few freaks lately and it's been difficult for me to deal with.

Firstly there's Ray. Ray is a Canadian. Canook. Call it what you will. He is weird. Odd. Annoying. Again, call it what you will. I am greeted by Ray in his overly friendly way after pulling an all-nighter and heading over to a friend's house. She lives with Ray. Ray sounds cool on paper as he used to be a roadie for the Rolling Stones. Reality is quite different. Imagine a tall skinny man wearing a mambo shirt reminiscent of the early nineties (an era we can hopefully forget, I wore the happy pants and fluoro hat, I bear the scars) and tight denim pulled across the crotch and to top it all off, he wears a tapered leg. I can't even begin to explain how wrong this looks.

Here are a few things Ray needs to learn before I will ever venture to my friend's house again:

1. The Importance of Blinking

"We have to blink to cleanse and moisten the eye. Each time the eyelids close, salty secretions from the tear glands are swept over the surface of the eye, flushing away small dust particles and lubricating the exposed portion of the eyeball. Normally we blink every four to six seconds, but in irritating conditions such as a smoke-filled room, we blink more frequently to keep the eyes clean and moist." (source: http://msnbc.msn.com/id/3076704/

Ray you need to purify your eyes and STOP FREAKING ME OUT AND BLOODY WELL BLINK YOU STUPID WANKER.

2. The Importance of "Breathing Space"

By breathing space, I don't mean personal space. Ray needs to realise that: "Tight pants: Low sperm count, rash, infection." Tight pants can also cause severe irritation to those around you who are unable to help but realise that they can clearly see the outline of your cock.

3. It's Rude to Stare

This kind of goes hand in hand with the importance of blinking. However, you go without blinking, but you don't have to stare at people like they're a pig on a spit and you haven't eaten in weeks. At this point Ray was really starting to get on my nerves, especially as I was operating on zero sleep.

4. Being over enthusiastic is an indicator of a low IQ

I'm sorry, but it is. I mean, look at Chrissie or Christy or whatever "The Package's" name is on Big Brother. If you're enthusiastic and happy you are stupid and need to have a stiletto heel taken to your face.

5. Talking like you are a British male in the 1920's when in fact you are a Canadian ex-pat in the noughties is bloody annoying and worthy of a bitch-slap

*insert Canadian accent* "I met a delightful Glaswegian fellow" says Ray "We shared a few wines and some old tales and then he decided he might punch me in the face." I'm starting to think I'd like this "delightful Glaswegian." If I'd been spending that amount of time with good 'ole Ray I'd probably have hacked myself to death with a broken bottle.

So anyway, I decided I'd rather brave public transport and make it home than deal with Ray anymore. On the way back to the haven of my bed I met my next freak(s).

A couple of oldies sat across from me, slouched and slack jawed and most likely the children of husband and wife slash brother and sister combination. Magnum P.I gets on the train (Metpigs, Tram Police, general wankers) and flash their badges around. Turns out the inbred mo-fos don't have a ticket because they're from Tasmania and I watched with pure joy as the man's face turns from angst, to extreme angst to crying, "this is a bloody strange city" and "why don't you have anyone on the bloody tram."

So the country bumpkins from Tassie couldn't figure out after half an hour of travelling without a ticket that perhaps they might need to use their initiative to get a ticket. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a fan of getting rid of conductors, but these people were annoying me from the beginning with their cow-like blank stares of pure stupidity and nothing would've made me happier than them getting a fine. Except what happened next.

The particular met-woman that was dealing with them was a picture of Indiana's girlfriend in "Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade." She had the accent, the attitude and the hair pulled back into a tight "sich hail" type bun. She was hard but fair, and I loved her. She was wielding the power and lashing the whips on the two inbreeds, winding them up to think they would be $150 each in the hole, and then she lets them off, simple as that. But not without a nice scathing comment.

Inbred wanker: Well, what do we need to do now then?

Met-woman: Virstly, yoo need to change your attitood. And now, yoo can come wiv me and buy ze ticket.

Probably doesn't come across that well in the written form, and I've bored you to tears, but it was pure gold.

Trudging

2005-05-18T08:23:00.000+10:00

Trudging

Trudging up the stairs,
cattle like motion,
silent; bar a few yawns and jaw smacks,
the slaves wade among each other
shades of black,
grey,
blank expressions

me; a zombie

shutter-like blinking.
footsteps automatic.
small soldiers.

mind oppressing routine.

my only joy: Nelson was evicted.

No prizes for him. Cunt.

I hate mornings so much I have to resort to poetry. Poetry is the only thing I'm capable of at this time of the morning. I'm reminded of an Oscar Wilde quote I read somewhere:

"Only dull people are brilliant at breakfast"

Wanna Get Angry??

2005-05-13T20:53:00.000+10:00

Feel like getting mad?

Check out Andrew Bolt's forum.

I particularly like the comment from one reader which states, "Whether one is critical of the Andrew Bolt's opinionated column or not one could not deny ... that Andrew was at least of a handsome persona and quite photogenic, even if his hairstyle was more suited to a teenage rock and roller."

This confuses me. You're making my brain hurt woman. I thought that Andrew Bolt's hairstyle in his old picture looked like this:

Not the hair of an unruly "teenage rock and roller." A teenager with a haircut like this had parents that forced him to be a member of the school chess club, and would've been beaten up if they attempted to participate in the "rock" and the "rolling."

Surely, Andrew's hair my have been like that of an unruly teenager in 1940s America, but lady, you need to get with the times. John Howard's hair looks more rebellious than this. I can just imagine Andrew getting hairstyle advice from Barry Manilow, Tod McKenny, the young Libs, the Klu Klux Klan (although it has a little too much body, I assume the KKK would have a pretty bad case of hat hair), the local alter boy or the local Presbyterian youth choir. Rock and Roll though??? Never.... Rock and roll would look more like this:

Now that's rock and roll. You tell 'em Sid.

Celebirty Girl Crush

2005-05-13T00:04:00.000+10:00

I'd just like to bring this beautiful woman, Roisin Murphy, to the attention of the blogger-sphere.

Anyone that oozes class and spirit like this woman deserves the accolades of many.

I mean who else can go from classy girl....

.... To sculling two pints in a lake without wearing a bra?

One of the sexiest women in the world, and front woman of a terrific band, "Moloko." You just know she'd be able to drink you under the table without rousing a single hair from it’s place, or smudging her eyeliner. She'd drink Guiness too, and do it in a dress classy enough to make Beyonce look like the overweight plumber, Dave, from down the road... You know; the one with the arse crack and the grease. Take THAT Beyonce.

I love you Roisin. Friends can attest to this slight obsession.

Blogging For Revenge

2005-05-12T23:21:00.000+10:00

An open letter to my housemate

Dear Hulion,

In retaliation to your angry blog about moi, which is locked for evidence:

look familiar?

To think you would post about me, and assume I was bitching about you. Don't flatter yourself Hulion. Surely I could never sink so low as to whine and moan about your obsessive compulsive disorder(s). I would never mention the fact that you vacuum behind the washing machine in the early hours of the morning, or told me off, via sms, for not “fully depressing” the ironing board and not “storing it material side away from the wall to prevent wear.” *Scoffs*

I'm not one for personal attacks within blogs, (this statement is similar to those that say - I'm not racist but *then go on to be extremely racist*) but Hulion deserves it.

Get. A. Haircut.

Love,

Snub22

*readers of this blog before April are advised to keep their mouths shut.

The Morning After The Night Before

2005-05-07T12:53:00.000+10:00

Yes.

I got a bit schmultzy with that last post but I'm going to be courageous and leave it there. I mean, just because work decided to celebrate some corporate “achievement” that I couldn’t give a flying fuck about by putting an unlimited tab on a bar where they sell GIANT German steiners, and you manage to put away a few, come home and write in your blog about the essential human nature of touch, or some such tripe, and then you proceed to wake up your housemate by playing Gomez at a level that would even wake the deaf woman below from the vibrations AND singing (badly) at the top of your lungs WHILST jumping on the bed and playing air bass guitar and pointing at all the moisturisers and deodorants on my dresser and pretending they were my adoring fans....ANYWAY, that doesn't mean I can't leave my last post there. Or something like that...

What I’m singing to at the moment:

"The minute they start dealing it's the end of the free wheeling and beginning of the end, yeah, I wanna get activated." - Gerling, Get Activated.

I Wanna Hold Your Hand

2005-05-07T00:46:00.000+10:00

Such a simple song; a simple title conveying the ultimate message of the human spirit: the longing to be touched. It is our deepest human instinct. However; we let it fuck us over. We let desire breed contempt and jealousy. We let the simplest and purest of desires overwhelm us to the point where we can no longer enjoy the somewhat childish enjoyment of the touch of another humane being and are forced to complicate it with contemptuous issues.

There are the cynics that think touching someone is an expression of emotion, letting their guards down and opening themselves up to a world perceived as "ghey." There are also the paranoids; the ones that crave touch so much that if they are unable to get it, they resort to anger and a sense of self worthlessness.

We let the desire to "hold someone's hand" get in the way of all reason sometimes. I want to strip back the pre-conceived notions and complications that arise from holding someone’s' hand. I want to bring it back to the fundamental simplicity of touch, connection and love. Like the Beatles sing, "and when I touch you I feel happy inside, it's such a feeling that my love, I can't hide." Nothing more: just that.

I may be drunk and this post may embarrass me in the morning, but I'm going to stand by it. I’m sick of the complications, let’s get back to basics and enjoy one another’s touch. The feeling of cynicism may overcome me in the morning, but I really don’t care.

Space Filler

2005-05-04T15:46:00.000+10:00

I need to fill space on my blog now so that my sidebar goes back up to the top.

I put a big picture in and don't know how to make it smaller so I'm just going to fill my blog with crap (nothing new here) to push the picture downwards so that my nice misleading-representation-of-my-sexuality picture of Marlene goes back up to the top.

I went to the travel agent today to see about booking my trip. I still have no idea when I want to go or when I'll be able to afford it but it will have to be soon or I'll eat my hat out of the frustration of working in a job that doesn't challenge my brilliant mind.

South America is definitely on the agenda - Peru, Chile, Argentina, Bolivia and Brazil. United States is also on the list - I have to go to visit the relatives (yes I am partially a member of the satanic world leaders, a half breed spawn - ie, Mum's American), and my cousin that has made the momumental leap into being a minister at age 16. A minister for the Church of Scientology. A huge neon sign keeps going off in my head screaming CULT, CULT, CULT, but hopefully I'll be able to visit him for a nice good brainwashing into cynicism and he'll escape the realms of Tom Cruise's 'religion'; not to belittle anyone that actually is a Scientologist, but come on.

So I hope that's enough ranting to get my sidebar back up the top. Let me check.

Nup, back to editing stage. It's still down the bottom. Come back sidebar!

So, anyway... My old housemate signed our bond claim form back in January, when the lease expired, and it turns out that he changed his signature so we have to fill it out again. He is completely hopeless so I finally got him to do it again and the idiot was so stoned he just scribbled out the old signature and did a new one EXACTLY THE SAME. This angered me greatly and made me want to cut his penis off with a rusty knife. I realised then that I was probably overreacting and I should try to zen out a bit and get over it as it's not the end of the world so, when I got home, I dipped my face in cold water and meditated for about ten minutes.

My sidebar is still down the bottom.

Zen.

OMMMMMM.....

Get Your Groove On

2005-05-03T15:12:00.000+10:00

Hilarious. Kudos must go to the person who's forum I stole it off. Thanks.

I feel that homage must go to the best dance scenes off all time. There are the nerds that dance like there's no one watching, there hot babes with highly co-ordinated up and down arm rhythms that make you dizzy to watch and then there's the fantastic 80's boys; boffed up rebellious permed mullets and a charm that would have you attempting to pop the button on their oh-so-tight 501's in seconds. Most of all, the dance is about expression: it's not just about drinking way too much vodka and rubbing your arse up against someone's stiffy whilst Holly Valance lip synchs beside the podium you are trotting about on; it’s about getting down and funky.

TOP FIVE

Like all good countdowns, I'm going to start from five and countdown to ONE.

5. Dirty Dancing

The final scene of dirty dancing is the ultimate in synchronised crowd choreography, blending a flurry of mullets and perms into a tight-pumping, knee-slapping, quintessential 80s hoe-down. You can't help but swoon as Patrick Swazye busts the moves and spurts out the iconic favourite sappy croon-ish line of all time: "nobody puts Baby in the corner." What an absolute corker. After perfecting the famous "lift" and honing his rebellious man dance skills, he manages to woo Baby and her conservative father, who went on to become a detective on "Law and Order," into acceptance of the dirrrrty dancin' culture he represents. This was Patrick in his pre-facelift golden era. Rock.

4. Stifler in American Pie 3

Whilst I am ashamed to say that I actually paid money to go and watch pubic hair be blown over a wedding party, Stifler's "dance off" in a gay night club with an overly friendly leather clad stereotype was very amusing. I always love a dance off that is done in anger, especially when the focus is on someone who is not only livid and competitive, but also stupid. Makes for quite funny viewing.

3. Ben Stiller in "Starsky and Hutch"

Ben does a jig on the big shiny squares and it's cool. Again, it's a dance done in anger, which I like, but this time it's an unwittingly cocaine induced dance off, which I like even better. There's also a rather portly arrogant MC who adds a bit of spice to the whole event.

2. "Romy and Michelle's High School Reunion"

Romy and Michelle's attempt to impress the adult version of the High School crowd that once berated them wins second place in this quite credible competition for the best dancer on a rather anonymous blog. The interpretive element, and the fact that it involves Edward Cummings (ala the sleaze in Circle of Friends), really puts it a step above the rest. The shiny dresses may have been cool in the late nineties for a couple of quirky bimbos, but now it is just reminiscent of an era where society held a large ego and superiority complex over the 80s when the were really both sharing the same proverbial 'bad taste ferry.' Oh well, this still comes in at number two because I’m too lazy to work out a proper order.

NUMBER ONE WITH A BULLET GOES TO:

...... Napoleon Dynamite

I just love nerds. I have a strange crush on Napoleon, but this does not in any way bias me towards choosing this as number one. This is nerdiness as cool personified. Go Napoleon! You have done much for my creed, go forth and spread nerdy goodness to the jocks and clubbers who just do not realise the value of a good nerd.

Napoleon. I. Love. You.

NB: This image isn't actually from the dance scene I was talking about but I couldn't find a good one. If you haven't seen it, just imagine the tall bloke with the curly hair getting down to some Jamiroquai in a hard-core way in front of the entire school and then running off once he's finished to a standing ovation. Gold.

The Last Refuge of the Weak

2005-05-02T16:04:00.000+10:00

Just to share with the internationally renowned WORLD WIDE WEB; I am extremely zoinked (zonked, bonked, vague-d) OUT today. So much so that I just looked up a website that was in English and stopped reading it because I thought it was written in German. A double take was done, I realised that I am a moron and then decided to write about it. Whoah, how cool am I?

This blogging thing is slightly addictive.

I want it to be like a journal but then I realise other people might read it and I want to kinda sound cool but then I realise I'm not cool and that I'm really bad at punctuation.

Oh well. I watched the Logies last night and may I just examine the notion that I have never seen such bilious filth. I could’ve vomited and done diarrhoea at the same time and it would’ve been far more entertaining than watching vacuous slags and cunts cry about awards that are apparent genuine accolades from their “artistic peers” when really they are just voted by the bile-swilling, vapid populous that are TV Week readers.

And whilst I’m degrading vastly ninety percent of the Australian “entertainment” industry may I just outline that really, I like you. In fact, I love all of you. That is, compared to Bec Cartwright whom I loath. You could be shot in front of my very eyes and the only reason I would react would be so as not to appear heartless to any witnesses.

I feel better now.

Why Mark Twain is GOD

2005-04-29T19:28:00.000+10:00

I worship Mark Twain in a way that may not endear me to one of the commandments of the "real God" which is, "thou shallt not worship false idols" or something to that extent (this just came to mind, doesn't that make most teeny boppers comdemned to a life of hell. Good, that's made me feel a lot better).

Anyway, reasons I really like Mark Twain are because.

1. He's a withered eccentric (ala Einstein)
2. He reminds me of my dad
3. He was way ahead of his time
4. He didn't take any shit
5. He put things frankly and, in my opinion, accurately

Mark Twain, quite simply, saw the world as it was. He wasn't sucked in by the feds of the time.

Here are a few selected quotes that might entertain my fellow bloggers, and definitely entertain myself as I enter into the doldrums of my last three hours on late shift on a Friday night.

"Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one's lifetime."
- Innocents Abroad

"Patriot: the person who can holler the loudest without knowing what he is hollering about."- More Maxims of Mark, Johnson, 1927

"When we remember we are all mad, the mysteries of life disappear and life stands explained."
- Notebook, 1898

I like that intelligent, witty, yet slightly mad people always seem to have the last laugh. That is, unless they drink themselves into oblivion like so many geniuses do. It's probably that the blandness of reality doesn't melt well with their creative brains and depresses them so much that they have to drive to drink. I feel like that sometimes, but what's even more depressing is that I KNOW I'm not a creative genius as well. Ew, someone pass me a vodka lemon please.

My father is slightly mad. That just makes him all the more endearing. Any man who can wear glasses with only one arm in front of a class full of 14 year old kids and not care about their taunts deserves a medallion. Any man who hates shopping so much that they would prefer to wrap their feet in gladwrap on rainy days rather than buy new shoes... Any man who wears their pyjamas underneath their clothing to go to a late night movie so that they're already "warmed up" by the time they get into bed... Any man who would yell SPAM at the top of his voice in a busy supermarket just to embarrass his teenage daughter... or light giant bonfires in the backyard that require attention from the fire brigade... Here's the winner though guys. MY DAD ACTUALLY WEARS SOCKS AND SANDALS. The supreme dork.

Anyway, I've strayed from the point. I don't know if I've actually clarified the point I wished to make. It was mainly just ranting really.

Yeah.

So.

I really like Mark Twain and stuff.

My Dad is cool too. He's like, tall and shit.

Yeah... I'll leave you with one final Mazza Twazza quote:

"Distance lends enchantment to the view."
- Mark Twain in Eruption

Bob Dylan vs. Adam Sandler

2005-04-29T14:12:00.000+10:00

I was just listening to Bob Dylan's "Subterranean Homesick Blues" this morning and thinking about how much these lyrics are non-sensical but still seem to make sense on a subconscious level. Here they are:

Johnny's in the basement
Mixing up the medicine
I'm on the pavement
Thinking about the government
The man in the trench coat
Badge out, laid off
Says he's got a bad cough
Wants to get it paid off

Look out kid
It's somethin' you did
God knows when
But you're doin' it again
You better duck down the alley way
Lookin' for a new friend
The man in the coon-skin cap
In the big pen
Wants eleven dollar bills
You only got ten

Maggie comes fleet foot
Face full of black soot
Talkin' that the heat put
Plants in the bed but
The phone's tapped anyway
Maggie says that many say
They must bust in early may
Orders from the d. a.

Look out kid
Don't matter what you did
Walk on your tip toes
Don't try no doz
Better stay away from those
That carry around a fire hose
Keep a clean nose
Watch the plain clothes
You don't need a weather man
To know which way the wind blows
Get sick, get well
Hang around a ink well
Ring bell, hard to tell
If anything is goin' to sell
Try hard, get barred
Get back, write braille
Get jailed, jump bail
Join the army, if you fail

Look out kid
You're gonna get hit
But losers, cheaters
Six-time users
Hang around the theaters
Girl by the whirlpool
Lookin' for a new fool
Don't follow leaders
Watch the parkin' meters

Ah get born, keep warm
Short pants, romance, learn to dance
Get dressed, get blessed
Try to be a success
Please her, please him, buy gifts
Don't steal, don't lift
Twenty years of schoolin'
And they put you on the day shift

Look out kid
They keep it all hid
Better jump down a manhole
Light yourself a candle
Don't wear sandals
Try to avoid the scandals
Don't wanna be a bum
You better chew gum
The pump don't work 'cause the vandals took the handles

This song works so well because it feels like the jumble that goes through the mind every day. The constant beat works well with lyrics that are peppered with short, sharp words which reflect the plaguing nature of some of society's constant demands. I don't want to turn this into a poetry review, but I really love this song. Especially: "the pump don't work 'cause the vandals took the handles." The lyrics to this song are pure perfection in my eyes. I love you Bob.

Also, whilst I'm at it, here's the variety program element to the blog. How much do these two look alike??

Bob Dylan

Adam Sandler

People I Resemble

2005-04-28T12:40:00.000+10:00

Here are some people I resemble. Simply for my own amusement.

From Ages 1-7 I was:

Veruca Salt

Veruca and I shared many qualities, bar one: Veruca actually got what she wanted where I just whinged about it and never actually received the object of my desire. Dad used to call me Veruca when I was being bossy and annoying and that used to anger me even further an make me even MORE Veruca Salt.

Little Lord Fauntleroy

I once had a fit when I was little because I had an itchy bottom. The only thing that would quash my tantrum was a Wiz Fiz. Dad kept handing it to me and my crying would abate, then he would take it off me and I'd start again. I actually think the child here was my Father: like flicking the light switch on and off for pure joy, Dad would flick the crying switch on and off through the power of Wiz Fiz. Anyone who has had a Wiz Fiz will understand my pain.

The Naughtiest Girl in The School

I wasn't actually THAT naughty although I did once convince my 3 year old brother that you could walk on duck weed and he fell in a lake. Karma got me back though when at the Ballarat show, I was pushed in the lake and had to spend the rest of the day soaked. I was wearing my best polk-a-dot dress too and Mum wouldn't take me home to change because it was too much effort. COW.

Karma is a bit of a bitch. I once pretended to piss on my brother's bed to annoy him. Of course I would never ACTUALLY do anything that mean. To get me back my brother actually DID piss on my bed.

At school I was doing that sex motion across the room (you know the one where you make a circle with your finger and thumb and stick your index finger in and out of the hole in a rude fashion) and was yelled at by the teacher who told me, "don't you want to turn out into a nice lady like your Mother." I went home and cried to Mum but neglected to tell her about the sex motions. Mum complained to the teacher and was told about my actions. Mum was embarrassed and I got in MORE trouble.

Why the Office is Draining Me

2005-04-26T11:11:00.000+10:00

The office is draining me. Softly. I just can't be creative when I'm sitting in a financial institution taking phone calls from wrong numbers and people wanting to know about saving. I just wing it and hope I'm right.

Hopefully this blog will eventuate in me making friends with important people and paid jobs.
Waiting. Waiting. STILL WAITING.

I'm just wondering when someone is going to realise my potential and mentor me into a career of fabulousness. No hard work necessary. Maybe it's because I didn't know what a leek was. Jamie Oliver seemed to find that quite distressing when some primary school kids didn't know what a leek was. I didn't know what one was at age 20.

Or maybe just being stalked by a few geeks. That'd be nice. I haven't been stalked in a few years and that was because I stupidly gave the correct phone number to someone on the 19 North Coburg tram becaue I was too scared to have the mental capactiy to make up a fake one. Long story. Ended up with my drunken male friend (with a sandman like voice) answering the phone and telling him to "f*ck off!"

Why I love Dave PART 2

2005-04-25T19:14:00.000+10:00

Because of this message:

"Four sexy ladies, and I had the testicular fortitude to not dance with them on principle.
Snoop Dog... need I say more? Again I find myself running the fine line between gay and dignified."

Ballafornia is Kind of Funny

2005-04-25T18:15:00.000+10:00

Firstly, Ballarat is good because my brothers like punk music and I'm in a large amount of denial about how much I actually love a good head bang (I mostly like to listen to angst-y female/banshees strumming acoustic guitars and generally relating to the loneliness one feels when one is young, single, lonely and missing home - think 'The Waifs" "Missy" "Sarah Blasko" "The Be Good Tanyas" "Claire Bowditch"). So anyway, I'm much appreciating the opportunity to turn up The Hives, The Dropkick Murpheys, The Dead Kennedys...etc and run around my parents’ house like a woman with a plan, that is, when the plan is to break my neck in the midst of a rock god fantasy.

Sorry, just had to stop typing there for a second to do a bit of air drumming...

How good is HOME...?? I just love Ballas in the autumn. Dad's cooking up a storm (curry), Despo Housewifes is on telly tonight, all the leaves are brown but the sky is surprisingly blue. Mum bought me new pants and a jumper. People call me a country girl; I'd really prefer they called me a "regional centre" girl as I've barely ever ridden a horse and can't really do hard labour as I have gangly little girly arms. I also can't chop wood - that's why my two sturdy younger brothers are for. They are called Sven and Helmut, have blonde hair and speak in German accents. So I'm a regional centric girl commeth 4.5 years in Melbourne woman. I understand that really doesn't make sense.

Couldn't be bothered talking to the neighbours this morning.

Example:

Neighbours: How have you been? What have you been doing?

Me: Good. Work. Save. Travel

Neighbours: Fantastic. Where do you want to travel to?

Me: Overseas.

Luckily for me the conversation was interrupted by our dog so I had an easy out.

Anyway, I'm going to go read my book "Holy Cow! An Indian Adventure". I'll do a review on it when I've finished (hopefully).

How?

2005-04-22T13:45:00.000+10:00

Now I don't want to kick someone when they're down. I'm not going to. I just have one quick question for another short but sweet blog entry. How has Schapelle managed to keep her eyebrows plucked for all this time in jail? I really would like to know the answer to this one. Is she allowed alone with tweezers? Or does someone come in and do it for her, like her lawyer? I DON'T UNDERSTAND.

The Winner is...

2005-04-20T08:16:00.000+10:00

Is is just me, or does the new Pope Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger, have an incredibly Satan-esque air about him? I'm going to keep this post short as I don't think there's that much to say on the subject, just that THE MAN IS FREAKIN SCAREY. At least Pope John Paul was cuddly.

Tram Hijack

2005-04-18T16:33:00.000+10:00

I am impressed with the 15-year-old boy who hijacked a tram; however, I think that someone may have been listening in on my conversations. It was my idea to hijack a tram and then you go and do it.

That's right, my IDEA.

Tram boy.

That's right I'm talking to you.

What I want to know is, how did you manage to get the driver out? That's what was stopping me. Not only are those guys usually quite heavy but they're in a locked cage! It would be easier to remove an elephant from the zoo with an intelligible accent that spits out upcoming stops over the zoo announcement system.

Another thing that stopped me from ending up with a similar fate (surrounded and handcuffed at gunpoint) was that hijacking a tram has quite limited value. I mean, you can't hijack it and head out onto the open road, speeding and screaming joyful obscenities with the wind in your hair. You can only go to the end of the line which means about the furthest you can get is Burwood, and who the hell wants to go there!

I do applaud you though Tram Boy. You are brave and shall go forth to commit other great, but somewhat limiting, crimes. Like stealing food from an all you can eat bar.

How much are you going to be loved at school now though! Although, I just read that you were obsessed with trams. Nothing's going to help you with that quite enormous social abnormality. At least you got some valid "Learner" practice in for your future career.

I also wasn't that inspired to hijack a tram, I mean they don't even have horns for Christ's sake; all they do is ding!!

Anyway Tram Boy, stop listening to my conversations. Somebody already stole my "wave pool" idea when I was 7 and I don't want any more plagiarism to occur. I'm not getting ANY credit here.

Why I Love Dave

2005-04-15T15:15:00.000+10:00

I love my friend Dave, simply because he sends me random emails such as this one:

" 'Tis as if I were slipping, slipping uncontrollably down the polished floor boards of sanity my hoarding nature and money grubbing desires the woolen socks of doom that doth commit me to the torture of this....this....this weather. Wrath! Why dost thou forsake me mother.

Stupid Cunting Rain.

Amen. "

The Pipes the Pipes are Calling

2005-04-14T13:29:00.000+10:00

Oh, Danny Bhoy.... rurooraroonahheeeee (I'm unsure of the words).

So I went to see Danny Bhoy last night at the Town Hall "main arena." Yup, he's cheeky and quite funny but I saw him last year and it was basically a regurgitation of the same act he did then.

Still, the jokes went down quite well, as did the beers I'd had beforehand. The Irish jokes at the expense of my Belfastian friend were probably the best, but that's just because I really like taking the piss out of him.

I feel like I need to use the word "quite" a lot in talking about Danny Bhoy. He's QUITE funny, QUITE good, QUITE cute and QUITE the boy you'd like to take home to Mum.

Maybe it was because I saw him last year but it was just so obvious to me that it was a learned routine. I prefer when comedians do a learned routine and then pass it off as improv, like Kitson does a bit.

Anyway, it was good, not a waste of money, funny but not hilarious and I didn't want to check my watch once. I feel mean writing this but it's how I feel about the whole thing. I used to feel mean talking about clothes I didn't like whilst they could "hear" me because I thought I'd hurt their feelings. Oh how things have changed since I was 7.

I can see his appeal but he better watch out or he’ll go from quite good comedian to Rove extraordinaire. Looks are a curse in the comedic world.

R.I.P JEZZ

2005-04-14T13:00:00.000+10:00

My border collie passed away a couple of weeks ago and I thought it was time to pay tribute to her in an Internet obituary. It's what she would've wanted.

Jezz was a single, childless kelpie/border collie and no matter how eloquently she barked she couldn't convince me that he parents were poor but honest. She never knew her father, he was a bookie from Yarrawonga and after a brief encounter with her mother he decided to leave her, pregnant and alone. Her mother struggled to bring Jezz up as a single mother, especially in a small Catholic town where the other mothers often forbade their children to play with her.

Jezz's original owner was a hairdresser who suffered from a nervous breakdown and gave her to our family to look after.

She lived to the ripe old age of 17 human years and passed away beside our damn that she loved to splash in.

Her favourite past-times included rolling in horse poo, barking at water and walking with my Dad when he wanted to sneak a secret beer by pretending she needed exercise. Her friends included Taz the Whippet from nextdoor and Dexter, her little brother. She also enjoyed playing soccer, but kept deflating all the soccer balls with her teeth.

Jack, Margaret, Sam, Nick, Barry, Rhys, Felix, Taz and Dexter will mourn her. She was a great friend, and although she smelt quite bad, she was loved.

*If you don't want to get sad don't read the next part*
Our other Dog, Dexter, has been depressed since Jezz died and keeps grabbing her water bowl in his little teeth and bringing it down to her grave. Mum brings the water bowl back to the porch but Dexter just brings it back... sob.

10 REASONS TO HATE ANDREW G...

2005-04-13T08:27:00.000+10:00

1. He hosts Australian Idol

2. He has a "Milleni-mullet"

3. He probably visits those places where you can tan and tattoo, or wax and learn about Buddhism at the same time and he denies it too.

4. He used to be fat and has that whole sensitive fat kid mantra; where you take every joke as a personal slander (see Rikki Lake, Oprah... oh hang on, they're still fat).

5. He thinks he's "way alternative" and "out there" but probably has a stylist, a personal assistant and a life coach.

6. I just know he has stretch marks because he wouldn't take his shirt off for the Cleo Bachelor of the year.

7. He did a PR spread in Woman's Day and tried to pass it off as paparazzi shots, but it was soooo obvious that he was posing (I just don't buy that "ooh, here I am frolicking with my girlfriend and someone just happened to catch me on camera.")

8. He says things like "way cool" and "he was the most genius."

9. Sometimes he likes good music so it's hard to hate him at as much as I should.

10. Because he is a c*nt.

If anyone actually visits my blog you may want to post 10 reasons why you hate some precocious little infiltrating c*nt. (see Rove McManus, James Matheson, Peter Hellier.... etc)

*Disclaimer: most of this is probably untrue but I just don't like him so he can go and drink bleach for all I care.go eat bleach.

Maria Bamford

2005-04-07T13:12:00.000+10:00

Maria Bamford
PLAN B
Town Hall - 7th April
Review

Maria Bamford's 'Plan B' show for the Melbourne Comedy Festival is unlike any stand-up show I have ever seen. Instead of the, "hey have you ever noticed?..." format of comedy that so many American comedians predictably bumble through, Maria has a one woman sitcom in which she plays all the characters.

Set in her home town of "anywhere" USA, Maria plays herself coming home after a bad gig at the "Detroit Chuckle Bucket Comedy Castle" (or something to that affect) and announcing that she may be moving back there permanently. Along the way we encounter her pug dog Blossom, her mother and father, her sister Sarah, her arch nemesis and and old colleague from high-school: "ohmygodmariabamfordremembermefromhighschool?"

This conclave of characters creates and absorbing and hilarious hour of laughs. Maria is quirky, yet savvy and provides a fabulous satiric commentary on some of the blandness of middle America, reflected through her family. Her impersonations of different people in her life completely transform her until you're in her world: barely bearing a trip to Target and conversing with her deranged mother: "Maria, when you don't wear makeup, you look mentally ill."

Brilliant and highly recommended.

Prospective Names for Britney

2005-04-06T13:29:00.000+10:00

.... Not for her "baby" of course, but for her new reality television show. According to The Age today, Britney and husband Kevin Federline are releasing the show to quell rumours about their life together. Apparently Britney told the US Variety magazine: "there have been constant rumours and inaccurate speculation about our lives together."

Good on ya Britney! Heads up! Well done! What better way to quash rumours about your private lives that to let camera men shoot footage, producers manipulate situations and editors edit that footage to within an inch of it's life! Apparently the couple actually plan to shoot the footage themselves - because that's "reality." I know when I walk around my home with a camera on I'm hardly likely to act like I usually do, I'm not going to be swearing at my housemate, farting or burping and blowing in my boyfriend's face.... It's not like I do or anything, I'm just saying...

Britney also told Variety: "As I mentioned before, I am now going to be expressing my personal life through art [rather than the tabloids]." Art... Britney, you are a celebrity and rely on publicity to sell your albums and support your parasite. If you wish to make "art" get out a guitar or a paint brush and get moving. If you want to make a marketable product by singing other people's songs and strutting around in your underwear with your flaps showing, keep doing what you're doing. Don't stop! If you want to make "Art" a home video is hardly likely to boost your reputation to the walls of a gallery. Unless, perhaps someone takes does a version of "Piss Christ" with Britney in it's place.

I put it to anyone who may be reading this, to come up with a name for Britney's new show.
So far we have:
"Who wants to be a hoochy?"
"Gilligan's Island" (only this is the one where the skipper finds the secret marijuana plantation)
"Dumb and Dumber"

Not a very good list, but I'm working on it.

*If you want to see more credible sources and objective commentary about the star visit Go Fug Yourself . I love that they have dubbed Kevin "Cletus." That's GOLD.

Anyway, we don't want this blog becoming yet another slander on celebrities (although it is fun, and a guilty pleasure.) so I might stop there. That is, unless someone else does something stupid today, but what are the chances?

Nikki Webster in FHM

2005-04-06T10:05:00.000+10:00

From this:

Nikki Webster at the 2000 olympics.

To This:

Nikki Webster, this month's FHM

That's is Nikki, make Mummy proud? Can you believe it? The little skankarette has grown up.... It's just one of those things where you can't shake the child-like face from your memory and now, not matter how much you try, it looks like peodophillia.

Nikki; put some clothes on, for god's sake girl! Oh well, T.A.T.U made millions from lesbian underage school girls, Nikki'll probably sell thousands of FHM's to hopeful oldies on an overdose of viagra fantasising about her diggin those stillettos in into dangerous places.

Can I also say I'm really not a fan of the belt and underpants look? I mean, when your underwear's that tight you're hardly going to need a giant belt to hold them up.

Late Night Comedy

2005-04-05T15:33:00.000+10:00

Late Night Comedy - Hi Fi Bar, April 1st
Daniel Kitson MC

I reluctantly parted with my hard earned Geld, found a seat behind a man with uncanny pirate-like hair and waited for my tiny brain to be entertained. I didn't have to wait long. Enter Danny K: "The Pigeon Daddy." I realised my money was worth is when Daniel opened with something along the lines of, "I love Friday nights, a bunch of slags and c*nts going out to get f*cked, lie in a gutter and be pissed on whilst crying." This was appropriate as my boyfriend and I had just been to icon bar and been forced to leave due to exactly that, not because we got drunk, f*cked anc cried in a gutter, but because the people there were out to do exactly that.

Tip for Melbourne Readers: Never go to Icon bar unless you want to either weasel your way up to some girl, put down your ciggie and your beer and grab her arse with both hands or, if you're not into that, want to have your arsed squeezed by both hands by some sorry excuse for a human being that believes doing so will arouse you, you'll turn around, pash the ugly muppet, go home with him and let him violate you, then leave never to be seen again. The problem with icon bar is that most people there enjoy nothing more than a good anonymous groping.

Anyway, the comedy was great and if anyone from Melbourne reads this in the next couple of weeks, make sure you go. Apart from the one incessant heckler - who was threatened with being burned and having his charred head brought back on a stake, which was rather amusing, a good time was had by all. After seeing said heckler dance a little later I began to understand that he wasn't just lacking in the intelligence department, but also in the physical department - picture Michael Jackson being knee capped and you're somewhere close to how bad his dancing was.

Below are some quotes from the great comedians I saw:

Cal Wilson: "New Zealanders are so lazy they don't like the use the sentence "people of few words" because it has too many words in it."

Demetri Martin (courtesy of Comedy Festival website)

Demitri Martin: "If you add the word ladies to the end of any sentence it sounds sordid. Even the most innocent of statements like "help, I'm trapped in a well.... Ladies."

Chris Addison: "Queenslanders: not a people to let a low level of intelligence get in the way of a strong opinion." - This especially made me laugh, as did all his jilts at Aussies (which I can laugh at coz I am one)

Demetri Martin and Chris Addison touched me in places I've never been touched before; and they made me laugh too (sorry, bad "Dad" pun). Chris just kind of runs around the stage in a vicious hilarious rant. Demetri is hilarious in a bashful way that makes you want to tickle him.

Anyway, I'm sick of writing, it's half an hour until I finish "work" and I frankly just want to eat my OT's curl up and die in front of The Simpsons.

ARJ BARKER

2005-04-05T11:04:00.000+10:00

Arj Barker: 24th March
Review

If you like self deprecating humour you'll love Arj; if you like irreverent mocking of obscure objects, you'll want to walk up on stage take him off by the hand and tickle him. Or at least that's how I felt.

Arj enters the theatre draped in a velvet cloak and introduces his show, "Ego No Amigo" as the Spanish for "Ego is no amigo." The style of the show is a new age conference where listeners are encouraged to leave their ego at the door and adopt names given to them like "ego breath" and "Eric." He pulls off the vacant/psychotic expression of a new age spiritual leader with surprising vigor. You know, that unblinking stare that is usually coupled with profound psychological problems and a desire to do good? Arj mocks that perfectly.

The problem with Arj is that he is stabs himself in the foot; hilarious because of his laid-back "stoner" humour but at the same time his show seems to have structural flaws, and misses out on the real belly aching raucous laughter that he seems capable of because he is a stoner, and seems too lazy to have really worked on the jokes and timing enough. At the end of the show he puts on a video. I won't ruin it for anyone but whilst it aroused a few small titters it fell short.

Arj presents the persona of someone who is naturally funny, and doesn't need to work too hard to be a comedian and that's kinda how I felt about his show - I was amused but not amazed.

"Ego No Amigo" is playing at RMIT capitol theatre from 24th March to the 17th of April. Check out Ticket Master7 or the Melbourne Comedy Festival site for further details.

http://www.arjbarker.com

Overcome by the nerdy cravings

2005-04-05T10:59:00.000+10:00

Yup, I've been overcome by the nerdy needs of myself.... yes Et Tu Nerd. Actually, I'm working in a call centre where we don't get any calls... Hence my time is spent on the Internet and I need a creative outlet/winging page. Only a few months left until I can stick it to the man and go travelling - although time is travelling very slowly. Anyway, from now on I'm going to actually use this thing to practice my writing... Be prepared to be bored as it's going to take me a few attempts to actually be funny!

The Black Keys

2005-03-14T18:29:00.000+11:00

The Black Keys
Concert Review: The Corner Hotel, March 10th

Supported by amazing Vasco Era and another band I can't remember (sorry but you were quite good) the Black Keys hardly needed a warm up like the fantastic one they received.

The first band to perform were very much Aussie rock n' roll personified, like an underground Jet they pumped out some straightforward, uncomplicated yet compellingly catchy (without being cheesy) Melbourne rock to dip the crowds' toes into the pool of blues amazement that was about to befall them.

The Vasco era were on second, whilst I stupidly missed the beginning what I did catch was mind blowing. I think these guys are going places. Their drum beats were hypnotic and consistent yet seemingly improvised. Guitar and vocals were all fantastic. If you think the perfect compliment to Ben Harper is Jack Johnson, then the perfect compliment to The Black Keys is the Vasco Era and if you hate Jack Johnson then perhaps I should analogise in a different way. Basically, what I'm trying to say is that they're good, they're bluesy, they're raw (and I know we've heard all these adjectives before to describe bands) and they prove that us rural folk know how to rock (well there's nothing else to do in Colac.)

Suitably buzzed from The Vasco Era I was definitely in the right frame of mind for The Black Keys to come on stage. The blues duo from Ohio consists of guitarist and vocalist Dan Auerbach and drummer Patrick Carney. Opening with their hit single from The Rubber Factory album, 10am Automatic, The Black Keys proved that they can start big and keep it big. What is it about skinny white guys with big voices? The shock of that bluesy voice coming out of an unlikely looking person is enough to impress you, then once you recognise the talent you're reeling with not only amazement but envy. You then get over the envy and just sit back and enjoy the ride.

Dan Auerbach and Patrick Carney of "The Black Keys"

Carney seemed to hit the drums so hard and with such concentration and yet every part of his body remains still, with the exception of his arms. He seemed like a wind up toy as he rhythmically moved through beat after beat: it was tiring yet exciting to watch. Being a duo, Carney got to show off his drum skills up front instead of hidden at the back. This really complimented the show because, to watch him and his focused dedication to the kit, really added to the performance. Carney doesn't look like a rock star - in fact he looks slightly like Napoleon Dynamite with glasses - but his talent far overrides his looks. In fact his looks attest to the fact that this duo are a music based group, not an image based one, and that in itself is extremely refreshing.

The sound in The Corner Hotel (which is a relatively small venue) seemed to be physically filled with huge noise emananting from a simple electric guitar and a set of drums. Songs from the current Rubber Factory release such as Girl is On My Mind and Hands Against his Own were crowd favourites as well as the Kinks' cover Act Nice and Gentle; the song that made me feel as though I should be sitting on a porch strummin' a banjo in the humidity. Older songs from the album Thickfreakness mixed in well, and although I'm not as familiar with these songs there was not one of those "okay, let's move on" moments. It basically rocked, and did so consistently.

All in all a great gig and a well suited venue.

The Vaso Era play 8th April at The Esplanade Hotel in the Gerswhin room. Their forthcoming EP "Miles" is on sale April 10th.

The Black Keys current release Rubber Factory is in stores now. They have currently wrapped up their Australian tour. Dates for other countries can be found here.

First Entry

2004-12-08T09:01:00.000+11:00

Will this be an addiction or a one time craze that I briefly indulge in? Unsure yet but I guess we'll see. The main reason I decided to start this is for personal reasons. If someone else out there wants to view it then go ahead - my rants and ravings about nothing in particular are for selfish reasons. I often find the need to vent about the world that we live in. One thing I wondered today is, where do people find the audacity to make a tram driver stop mid route and explain complicated directions? I can understand someone saying, "is this the tram to ?" but not "which way to number 23 Canning Street North Claufield?" That really annoyed me.

Although I may often start things, like this blog, on a cynical note I can still retain an aura of positivity to my life. For example, I am 22 years old, recently graduated from University (Arts Degree), am unemployed (whoah who saw that one coming!?!?!), lack much of any motivation (notice the title of my blog), want to get into writing (but have nothing to write about), and get excited when it's time to go to bed! (I just see that warm doona beckoning and the excitement pains* begin.)

I am currently living in a sharehouse with three other people. I'll go through them.
C: Physically C turns heads, she is a tall blonde with a nice figure. Mentally she is extremeley sociable, outgoing, gregarious (like my adjectives, year twelve English served me well), pretty switched on, but at the same time has a penchant for walking into the middle of a busy road without looking.
D: D has a wide grin and a gap in the middle of his teeth, dirty white skin, short hair and walks as laconically as is humanly possible. He is extremely generous, but has stinky feet and infected our entire house with athletes foot. Dean is never home due to his party animal nature which often sees him off on benders of more than 3-4 days.
B: B is cute with dark hair and a tiny tummy that pokes out over the top of her pants that would look horrible on other people but looks great on her. She is pretty shy, keeps mostly to herself and the people she knows well and often gets a bit moody. She is fairly down to earth but gets pretty angry when things don't go her way. She seems to have coined the phrase, "that's f**ked."

I'm too tired to write anymore today but that's my life in brief. Coming Soon: The perils of my family....

*excitement pains: pains that one gets when in a state of extreme excitement or joy, usually occurring in the stomach, the pains often result in needing to go to the toilet.