Yes, the true key to success with women has been charted in vague and teasing fashion, and I am happy to peel back the layers of fog and expose the sordid truth. Enjoy yourself!
Step by Step - New Kids On The Block
and what they really meant...
(Chorus)
Step one
We can have lots of fun (Getting high on stolen horse tranquillizers)
Step two
There's so much we can do (Screwdriver + lack of intelligent ideas + pee hole)
Step three
Its just you and me (And peanut butter, the family dog and an audience of thousands. Wave to the camera baby!)
Step four
I can give you more (I've soiled myself and it is now your life-long duty to change me)
Step five
Don't you know that the time has arrived (To sheepishly admit giving you Hepatitis C!)
It's so obvious.
Monday, 21 July 2008
Tuesday, 15 July 2008
How would your funeral go down?
Seriously, would your funeral be yet another dull, painful affair that you yourself would arrange to have cancelled on your behalf? Not me. I read with much joy my mate Sim's own funeral plans over on her blog - Don't Step On The Mome Raths (see the link at the side of this page), where her appeal to her friends and family for a fun and memorable funeral was made. I liked what I read and it also appealed to me due to a number of thoughts I've had over the years re my own eventual demise.
I'm not one for religion, solomn affairs or everyone dressed in black. I'm also quite nervous about the idea that potentially I might be buried when my mind has yet to cease functioning. I blame YOU, Jeff Bridges!
So how's it going to go down?
My plain iron bark coffin, held together by rusty nails and draped with both the Aboriginal and South Sydney Rabbitohs flags will sit outdoors, even if the weather gods are performing a teary 20 cannon salute, and all whilst the funeral party kicks off complete with kegs, pizza and goanna.
No priest. No religious iconography or music.
I will have my eulogy read in a very serious tone by a person doing their best to hold their dignity in check - in a Batman costume (Yes, that would be you, Rod).
Everyone will either wear Hawaiian shirts or Souths jerseys.
No flowers. Fruit would be nice though. Or maybe a bonsai tree.
In times past I have considered that maybe I should cover all the bases, by maybe having A catholic Priest, some druids, a viking funeral at sea, monks and some Indian holy men, but screw all of that. If there's anything on the other side (which I highly doubt) it is they who will need the insurance when I arrive, because there's more than a few bones that will need to be picked before I unpack my bags.
I've thought in the past that perhaps being buried with an oxygen tank, mask, torch, batteries, phone, 7ft aerial, saw, food, water and drill might be a good idea. After all, there is a valid and creepy reason for there being such a term as "saved by the bell."
I'm still working on what music I'd like played, but for the final tune as my coffin is lowered I would like the one that goes "na na na-na, hey hey hey, goooodbye!!!"
Kegs on. A band at the after party.
I'm not one for religion, solomn affairs or everyone dressed in black. I'm also quite nervous about the idea that potentially I might be buried when my mind has yet to cease functioning. I blame YOU, Jeff Bridges!
So how's it going to go down?
My plain iron bark coffin, held together by rusty nails and draped with both the Aboriginal and South Sydney Rabbitohs flags will sit outdoors, even if the weather gods are performing a teary 20 cannon salute, and all whilst the funeral party kicks off complete with kegs, pizza and goanna.
No priest. No religious iconography or music.
I will have my eulogy read in a very serious tone by a person doing their best to hold their dignity in check - in a Batman costume (Yes, that would be you, Rod).
Everyone will either wear Hawaiian shirts or Souths jerseys.
No flowers. Fruit would be nice though. Or maybe a bonsai tree.
In times past I have considered that maybe I should cover all the bases, by maybe having A catholic Priest, some druids, a viking funeral at sea, monks and some Indian holy men, but screw all of that. If there's anything on the other side (which I highly doubt) it is they who will need the insurance when I arrive, because there's more than a few bones that will need to be picked before I unpack my bags.
I've thought in the past that perhaps being buried with an oxygen tank, mask, torch, batteries, phone, 7ft aerial, saw, food, water and drill might be a good idea. After all, there is a valid and creepy reason for there being such a term as "saved by the bell."
I'm still working on what music I'd like played, but for the final tune as my coffin is lowered I would like the one that goes "na na na-na, hey hey hey, goooodbye!!!"
Kegs on. A band at the after party.
Tuesday, 24 June 2008
Busy signal
It's been a hectic time lately and I happily added to the load of responsibilities and events yesterday when attending the Souths v Titans game at Telstra. Much fun was to be had, but it almost felt like I had to be punished before the appropriate endorphins were released.
The trip to Sydney is long, but with the company of Mr Hemingway I was able to break up the monotony and time passed quicker than it usually does in such a circumstance. I have been neglecting my reading lately, due to to my recently hectic schedule, but it was good to get back into my current book, even if I was left with what I believe will have been the saddest, most depressing part of the book. I couldn't bring myself to read on beyond that point for the day, especially given the distractions coming from the seats adjacent to me.
A woman across the aisle from me, seated next to the window was making noises, and I'm still somewhat baffled as to what the cause was. Was she grieving? Some people have annoying laughs and fewer grieve in an irritating manner, but I believe this particular woman may have achieved it with great success. Her sudden and sharp inhalation pockmarked the air and drove me to distraction. When not making her weird little sounds her koala-like male companion would make the most horrendous, wet, slimy kissing sounds upon her person - loud and crass. When in my annoyance I did bother to look, I saw a skinny man clinging to a fragile idiot in the manner that a koala does to a gum tree. It was obscene in its stupidity.
I'm not normally irritated so easily, and I'm not generally without compassion, but there was something about this particular couple that made me feel anger and great annoyance. At times, I wasn't sure if the pair of them were consoling each other or that the woman was trying to mask her excitement at where the man's finger may have been slickly slinking within the tangled ball of annoyance that they had become. Was it ecstacy? Maybe, maybe not, but in either case public transport isn't exactly the place for such intense emotion or lewd displays of spit smearing.
What could have topped that off? Perhaps it was the fuckwit behind me who had decided that they couldn't live without a TV for an hour or two and decided that ear plugs aren't worth the convenience they are to other passengers. I reaaaally didn't want to have Fran Drescher's voice and a laugh track interrupting Hemingway.
So..
I arrived at the stadium and after seeing a couple of mates, Sim rang with impeccable timing. Meet at the usual place for our usual exchange of goodies and quick and fun conversation.
Wow.
I enjoy our exchanges of film and music, but I don't think I was ever prepared for the stack I was handed, and in the manner that it was handed to me. I was given the coolest bag - ever. Full to the brim with DVDs and made to help keep all my camera cords and bits and pieces organised. The perfect size, and the outside is covered with pineapples (because I tend to put pineapple on much of what I eat), and celery inside it (because celery is evil and best hidden from view), even if Sim did introduce me to a recipe that makes celery actually taste quite good!
Fun and games over and after trying the horrible parsnip chips and the delicious choc coated goji berries that Sim brought, and then left with me, off she went to sit in her usual seat and left me to it.
Game time. A sea-sawing affair and an enjoyable encounter - ruined. The referee did his best to fuck it up and one of the touch judges gave the worst display of an official since I saw a try awarded in u19's at Newcastle when the bloke I tackled over the try-line failed placed the ball lower toward the ground than my knees. In the end, despite every effort to help the opposition, the referee awarded Souths a kick at goal with 2min to go, with us behind by 1 point. A penalty that he'd never have been able to avoid awarding. Souths win by 1.
A great win, but in the end its a pretty hollow win. It doesn't quite compare when you find one of your mates you catch up with at games is in hospital with a tumour the size of a tennis ball inside his skull.
The trip back home wasn't too bad. The train line had track work, so it was a bus for half the trip. A woman on the bus made complaint though, and fair enough as we weren't exactly travelling along the most efficient route and we stopped out the front of one train station for 5min for no apparent reason other than the silly time table. So good on her for speaking up. However, it's a shame in the way she addressed the issue. She spoke with the driver and the cityrail employee in the first seat in an aggressive and condescending manner. She spoke in regard to her circumstances and 12 hours workload per day. It was easy to feel empathy, but it quickly became very hard when her aggressive tone and lack of people skills saw her ripping into what was basically nothing more than a pair of shit kickers (a term meant with no disrespect). Yes a complaint is valid, but why not rip into the people in charge?
Being hostile and speaking in a manner which places one in a position to be condescending and rude is no way to go about things. One passenger at the back of the bus said "sit down lady" and that drew the typical school teacher response, and a cry of "I have every right, and I'm doing this as much for you." Fair enough, but when another commended her as she stepped off the bus, she said "finally, someone with the guts to back me up" I considered ripping into her myself. The woman had the right idea, the wrong approach, a child-like view of her environment and certainly was in no position that she deserved support, as much that she deserved the right to speak. That she referred to being from Sydney and an outsider in the mountains where she now lives also drew upon my annoyance, as it was clear that she felt that Sydneysiders are a particular breed above country types.
It's a shame, but some of the most obviously intelligent people are also incredibly thick when it comes to dealing with the real world, away from study and work.
The trip to Sydney is long, but with the company of Mr Hemingway I was able to break up the monotony and time passed quicker than it usually does in such a circumstance. I have been neglecting my reading lately, due to to my recently hectic schedule, but it was good to get back into my current book, even if I was left with what I believe will have been the saddest, most depressing part of the book. I couldn't bring myself to read on beyond that point for the day, especially given the distractions coming from the seats adjacent to me.
A woman across the aisle from me, seated next to the window was making noises, and I'm still somewhat baffled as to what the cause was. Was she grieving? Some people have annoying laughs and fewer grieve in an irritating manner, but I believe this particular woman may have achieved it with great success. Her sudden and sharp inhalation pockmarked the air and drove me to distraction. When not making her weird little sounds her koala-like male companion would make the most horrendous, wet, slimy kissing sounds upon her person - loud and crass. When in my annoyance I did bother to look, I saw a skinny man clinging to a fragile idiot in the manner that a koala does to a gum tree. It was obscene in its stupidity.
I'm not normally irritated so easily, and I'm not generally without compassion, but there was something about this particular couple that made me feel anger and great annoyance. At times, I wasn't sure if the pair of them were consoling each other or that the woman was trying to mask her excitement at where the man's finger may have been slickly slinking within the tangled ball of annoyance that they had become. Was it ecstacy? Maybe, maybe not, but in either case public transport isn't exactly the place for such intense emotion or lewd displays of spit smearing.
What could have topped that off? Perhaps it was the fuckwit behind me who had decided that they couldn't live without a TV for an hour or two and decided that ear plugs aren't worth the convenience they are to other passengers. I reaaaally didn't want to have Fran Drescher's voice and a laugh track interrupting Hemingway.
So..
I arrived at the stadium and after seeing a couple of mates, Sim rang with impeccable timing. Meet at the usual place for our usual exchange of goodies and quick and fun conversation.
Wow.
I enjoy our exchanges of film and music, but I don't think I was ever prepared for the stack I was handed, and in the manner that it was handed to me. I was given the coolest bag - ever. Full to the brim with DVDs and made to help keep all my camera cords and bits and pieces organised. The perfect size, and the outside is covered with pineapples (because I tend to put pineapple on much of what I eat), and celery inside it (because celery is evil and best hidden from view), even if Sim did introduce me to a recipe that makes celery actually taste quite good!
Fun and games over and after trying the horrible parsnip chips and the delicious choc coated goji berries that Sim brought, and then left with me, off she went to sit in her usual seat and left me to it.
Game time. A sea-sawing affair and an enjoyable encounter - ruined. The referee did his best to fuck it up and one of the touch judges gave the worst display of an official since I saw a try awarded in u19's at Newcastle when the bloke I tackled over the try-line failed placed the ball lower toward the ground than my knees. In the end, despite every effort to help the opposition, the referee awarded Souths a kick at goal with 2min to go, with us behind by 1 point. A penalty that he'd never have been able to avoid awarding. Souths win by 1.
A great win, but in the end its a pretty hollow win. It doesn't quite compare when you find one of your mates you catch up with at games is in hospital with a tumour the size of a tennis ball inside his skull.
The trip back home wasn't too bad. The train line had track work, so it was a bus for half the trip. A woman on the bus made complaint though, and fair enough as we weren't exactly travelling along the most efficient route and we stopped out the front of one train station for 5min for no apparent reason other than the silly time table. So good on her for speaking up. However, it's a shame in the way she addressed the issue. She spoke with the driver and the cityrail employee in the first seat in an aggressive and condescending manner. She spoke in regard to her circumstances and 12 hours workload per day. It was easy to feel empathy, but it quickly became very hard when her aggressive tone and lack of people skills saw her ripping into what was basically nothing more than a pair of shit kickers (a term meant with no disrespect). Yes a complaint is valid, but why not rip into the people in charge?
Being hostile and speaking in a manner which places one in a position to be condescending and rude is no way to go about things. One passenger at the back of the bus said "sit down lady" and that drew the typical school teacher response, and a cry of "I have every right, and I'm doing this as much for you." Fair enough, but when another commended her as she stepped off the bus, she said "finally, someone with the guts to back me up" I considered ripping into her myself. The woman had the right idea, the wrong approach, a child-like view of her environment and certainly was in no position that she deserved support, as much that she deserved the right to speak. That she referred to being from Sydney and an outsider in the mountains where she now lives also drew upon my annoyance, as it was clear that she felt that Sydneysiders are a particular breed above country types.
It's a shame, but some of the most obviously intelligent people are also incredibly thick when it comes to dealing with the real world, away from study and work.
Saturday, 14 June 2008
Monday, 2 June 2008
Blog entry!
I do enjoy blogging - despite the long gaps in-between each post. One of the reasons for that lately has been that I've an alternate concept brewing inside my head, and my head being at the very core of that concept.
Instead of writing random posts on whatever crap I'm presently interested in, and throwing those in with my every day dealings, I'm considering a more refined and charted course, whereby I might endeavour to chart my own brain and the philosophies I hold. A dummies guide to my thoughts if you will.
A good idea or perhaps an invitation to disaster? I suppose time will tell.
So, do I continue on with this blog, or do I split it in half?
I'm not really sure what particular purpose Playing Zod might render once I've switched my major rants to my brain blog. I will have to give that some measured consideration. For one, I'm not sure that a blog that is entirely dedicated to what I've done in any given week is worthwhile.
Instead of writing random posts on whatever crap I'm presently interested in, and throwing those in with my every day dealings, I'm considering a more refined and charted course, whereby I might endeavour to chart my own brain and the philosophies I hold. A dummies guide to my thoughts if you will.
A good idea or perhaps an invitation to disaster? I suppose time will tell.
So, do I continue on with this blog, or do I split it in half?
I'm not really sure what particular purpose Playing Zod might render once I've switched my major rants to my brain blog. I will have to give that some measured consideration. For one, I'm not sure that a blog that is entirely dedicated to what I've done in any given week is worthwhile.
Wednesday, 21 May 2008
Time spent well
So, what do you do when you go to the pub? Every Thursday and Saturday when I go, I play trivia and I spend most of that time drawing on the question sheets during any lull in the entertainment. Most of my friends souvenir those sketches and weird doodles, but a few make their way back home with me. So, I thought I might scan a few and present them here, for your bemusement..
Don't ask me to explain any of these. I have no idea what I'm drawing at the pub, and sometimes I don't even know once I've finished. Let's just blame the Black Russians and never again speak of this.
Don't ask me to explain any of these. I have no idea what I'm drawing at the pub, and sometimes I don't even know once I've finished. Let's just blame the Black Russians and never again speak of this.
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