Do I go for a new job in the city or upscale my old gig in the fashion capital of Melbourne?
Talk about the agony of choice.
The benefits associated with the former position are not to be sneezed at, though scope and potential are going to be preeeeety limited for a couple of years. Upscaling the old gig in the fashion capital has less actual scope and potential, but gives me the chance to get out of the telephone trap and start getting some face to face contact with people who matter to me.
Do I upsell and cross-sell products for a potential new employer or do I help people to sell themselves in an environment far more conducive to my sanity and integrity and exchange stress on my own part for stress on behalf of others.
The pendulum swingeth to the latter methinks.
In other news, one of the cohorts from the other side is in Melbourne and actually managed to ring me tonight. All things being equal and with a bit of luck happening my way, we're going to catch up on Sunday. I like this idea very much. Very very much. Much na cifra.
We had a good talk on the phone tonight too. Not strained or forced at all - but then I'm like that anyway.
The newest blog is no longer needed. The juvenile over whom I was keeping an attentive protective eye has packed his blog in so there's no need for me to be there anymore either. I liked doing it, but I enjoy abusing stupid people even more so I'd let it slip somewhat.
Veronica has bobbed up and let us know she got out of Rita's way in one piece. Bout friggin' time. People were worried. I was worried. I expressed it in public too. How very unlike me - but I did. Why didn't I just email? Because the thought of not getting a reply was not one I felt comfortable entertaining.
I haven't had a conversation with Chris for a few days either. That bothers me a bit too. The time differential aside, I normally manage to catch him early in the day or late at night, but I've been out doing the schmoozing thing most days this week - hence the dilemma in which I now find myself, going for the safe and somewhat dull option or going for the upscalage of the old profession with the new faces.
I'd ask your opinions on this, dear readers - and I can tell from the hit counter's progress there are quite a few of you - but I already know you'll all tell me whatever I decide will be the right choice for me. Some of you would make excellent psychiatrists if only you could change a fucking light bulb.
Ok, here's a joke with which to finish off...
One day Mrs. Jones went to have a talk with the minister at the
local church. "Reverend," she said, "I have a problem, my
husband keeps falling asleep during your sermons. It's very
embarrassing. What should I do?"
"I have an idea," said the minister. "Take this hatpin with you.
I will be able to tell when Mr. Jones is sleeping, and I will
motion to you at specific times. When I motion, you give him a
good poke in the leg."
In church the following Sunday, Mr. Jones dozed off. Noticing
this, the preacher put his plan to work. "And who made the
ultimate sacrifice for you?" he said, nodding to Mrs. Jones.
"Jesus!", Jones cried as his wife jabbed him the leg with the
hatpin.
"Yes, you are right, Mr. Jones," said the minister. Soon, Mr.
Jones nodded off again. Again, the minister noticed. "Who is
your redeemer?" he asked the congregation, motioning towards
Mrs. Jones.
"God!" Mr. Jones cried out as he was stuck again with the hatpin.
"Right again," said the minister, smiling. Before long, Mr.
Jones again winked off. However, this time the minister did not
notice. As he picked up the tempo of his sermon, he made a few
motions that Mrs. Jones mistook as signals to bayonet her
husband with the hatpin again.
The minister asked, "And what did Eve say to Adam after she bore
him his 99th son?"
Mrs. Jones poked her husband, who yelled, "You stick that
goddamned thing in me one more time and I'll break it in half
and shove it up your ass!"
"Amen," replied the congregation.
Gripe if you must. I read them all, even if I don't reply to all of them.
Friday, September 30, 2005
Monday, September 26, 2005
Tonight I needed my car to work because I needed to go out and be alone in the dark without having to worry that anyone would interrupt my thoughts.
You all know about my brother - my little brother who died in January of 2000. I've seen the diary he kept - which I didn't even know existed until after he died and though Chris and I fought more than we laughed, he was never in any doubt about how much I adored him. I insisted on and got at least 5 hugs every day from him and even when we fought he knew it was about him taking care not to put himself in harm's way and me carrying on like an old boot all the time. Well, he's not reserved about his feelings for me in his diary and that's why something I saw tonight has made me want to go out and be alone.
I was trying to find a friend of mine and in the process, I happened upon a memorial website for someone with the same name and I stopped to look at it. What tore me up was seeing messages written by the little brother of a teenager who died in a car accident. It's a beautiful site but I'm not giving you links because the name of the teenager is familiar to everyone and that's one sleeper best left well alone.
Besides which, it's the messages left by his little brother which bunged me up a right terry anyway.
You all know about my brother - my little brother who died in January of 2000. I've seen the diary he kept - which I didn't even know existed until after he died and though Chris and I fought more than we laughed, he was never in any doubt about how much I adored him. I insisted on and got at least 5 hugs every day from him and even when we fought he knew it was about him taking care not to put himself in harm's way and me carrying on like an old boot all the time. Well, he's not reserved about his feelings for me in his diary and that's why something I saw tonight has made me want to go out and be alone.
I was trying to find a friend of mine and in the process, I happened upon a memorial website for someone with the same name and I stopped to look at it. What tore me up was seeing messages written by the little brother of a teenager who died in a car accident. It's a beautiful site but I'm not giving you links because the name of the teenager is familiar to everyone and that's one sleeper best left well alone.
Besides which, it's the messages left by his little brother which bunged me up a right terry anyway.
Sunday, September 18, 2005
Sometimes people just blow me away completely.
By now you're probably getting a bit bored with my referring to the people I've met on the other side of the internet. I know it's hard to understand why I'm raving about it because you don't know what's going on. But tonight, I came home, checked the email and found someone had left a message for me.
I've been talking to this kid on and off for about 6 weeks on AIM, sometimes for hours at a time - because that's what I do. Anyway, here's the message he left for me...
How can I not love these people? Moreover, how can I not abandon myself to giving them as much time as I possibly can when this is what I get in return?
But it's more than that. Without any questions or hesitation, they've accepted me as another of their circle of friends and they value my contributions. Remember, this is not a comm thing like MSN, it's a circle of friends all with their own personal bits of space - like this blog - who all link back to eachothers bits of space and they also link back to mine.
I'll say it again, just to make you sick. I love them all so much.
In less personal news, I've managed to keep my newest blog updated on a daily basis every day since September 4th and that makes me happy too. It's the one I use so I can keep a watchful eye over the youngster I mentioned a couple of weeks ago but the added bonus is I'm actually happy with its progress and it's not too taxing to write.
Another great thing happened today too. A few years ago, I was encouraged by a chap for whom I didn't have a great deal of respect to keep little reminders of all sorts of things about which I may like to write when the opportunity arose. So for a short while I did that and stuck them to a corkboard in the kitchen, then when that corkboard was replaced by a larger one, the smaller one was slotted down the back of cabinet and promptly forgotten. Today I found it and the 40 odd bits of paper with my reminders still pinned to it. Sweeeeeet!
Now, if any of you are feeling in anyway benevolent and charitable, one of those people on the other side of whom I have been making frequent comments has a dream and a passion for architecture. He does, however, need a bit of assistance to realise a particular aspect of this dream and I would like to help out in this respect. But I don't expect anyone to just toss money down the drain and get nothing in return, so what I've done is mark up the price of The Swamp to $5 above the base price and in return for anyone purchasing the book - and getting a copy of the funniest book to be published in 2004 - I'll donate that $5 to this kid's dream of becoming an architect.
Here's the link...
You've seen an example of the gratitude these kids are able to show, if this particular kid knew how many people got behind this and supported his dream, how could his quest fail?
It sure beats having $40 disappear from one's bank account promptly on the first of the month to be used by Oxfam in deep and mysterious fashion on people who will never even be able to express their appreciation for the donation. What's more, all of those who do splash out the $16.98 for the book can have a tangible reminder of something nice they've done by proxy for someone they never knew existed.
Time to compose this entry: 67 mins.
By now you're probably getting a bit bored with my referring to the people I've met on the other side of the internet. I know it's hard to understand why I'm raving about it because you don't know what's going on. But tonight, I came home, checked the email and found someone had left a message for me.
I've been talking to this kid on and off for about 6 weeks on AIM, sometimes for hours at a time - because that's what I do. Anyway, here's the message he left for me...
You are a good guy and you know it, I can honestly say that I look to you for so much advice, you have made life substantially easier for me and I thank you for that. Brooke may be too far for my saving, but because of you I no longer hate myself at night. My hat is off to you my good friend.
How can I not love these people? Moreover, how can I not abandon myself to giving them as much time as I possibly can when this is what I get in return?
But it's more than that. Without any questions or hesitation, they've accepted me as another of their circle of friends and they value my contributions. Remember, this is not a comm thing like MSN, it's a circle of friends all with their own personal bits of space - like this blog - who all link back to eachothers bits of space and they also link back to mine.
I'll say it again, just to make you sick. I love them all so much.
In less personal news, I've managed to keep my newest blog updated on a daily basis every day since September 4th and that makes me happy too. It's the one I use so I can keep a watchful eye over the youngster I mentioned a couple of weeks ago but the added bonus is I'm actually happy with its progress and it's not too taxing to write.
Another great thing happened today too. A few years ago, I was encouraged by a chap for whom I didn't have a great deal of respect to keep little reminders of all sorts of things about which I may like to write when the opportunity arose. So for a short while I did that and stuck them to a corkboard in the kitchen, then when that corkboard was replaced by a larger one, the smaller one was slotted down the back of cabinet and promptly forgotten. Today I found it and the 40 odd bits of paper with my reminders still pinned to it. Sweeeeeet!
Now, if any of you are feeling in anyway benevolent and charitable, one of those people on the other side of whom I have been making frequent comments has a dream and a passion for architecture. He does, however, need a bit of assistance to realise a particular aspect of this dream and I would like to help out in this respect. But I don't expect anyone to just toss money down the drain and get nothing in return, so what I've done is mark up the price of The Swamp to $5 above the base price and in return for anyone purchasing the book - and getting a copy of the funniest book to be published in 2004 - I'll donate that $5 to this kid's dream of becoming an architect.
Here's the link...
You've seen an example of the gratitude these kids are able to show, if this particular kid knew how many people got behind this and supported his dream, how could his quest fail?
It sure beats having $40 disappear from one's bank account promptly on the first of the month to be used by Oxfam in deep and mysterious fashion on people who will never even be able to express their appreciation for the donation. What's more, all of those who do splash out the $16.98 for the book can have a tangible reminder of something nice they've done by proxy for someone they never knew existed.
Time to compose this entry: 67 mins.
Friday, September 16, 2005
For fear it would otherwise go unsaid, I must say it now:
I love those people on the other side of the net. I do. They're all just brilliant and to me they're like an oasis in the middle of a sea of blah.
Lea rang me this afternoon to discuss what I was not able to discuss in Messenger for various reasons and Ms Wod wanted to know why I hadn't let her in on what I've been doing for the last two months. The reason is because I don't want to mix my MSN side of things - which is often fairly fruity and where I have an army of people I've pissed off - with this other side.
It's a place where I can just enjoy what's going on around me without having any idiots start more of the same shit which is all over MSN. And I don't want that because what's on the other side is not a group thing. It's a sharing of people's private thoughts and day to day travails and they're all interlinked. If someone starts shit on my bit of the plot, everyone who has linked to me can see it and I don't want their private meanderings littered with crud. (I love them, that's why.)
It's different in a group because it's a free-for-all. The managers can clean it up if everyone objects to something. But these people take particular care that what's linked on their spaces is what they want on their spaces and that includes those who have linked to me. If I didn't care about them and their space, I'd have announced it to the whole world, but I care about them a great deal, therefore I don't even want to chance any sort of baggage of any variety good or bad leaking over from MSN.
An analogy would be that from this blog, I link to Eff's Rambles. Eff I know from MSN. But imagine if one link from here could give you access not only to Eff's Rambles but however many other blogs I happened to have up there, upon all of which anyone with whom I have differences could post whatever they wanted to post and which not only Eff, but everyone else on the list could then see. That's why it's kept quiet and that's why I'm not telling anyone else where the other side is.
They're just too vital to me to have someone come and mess with their stuff because of a grudge against me. Lea says I'm wrong and that if anyone messed with what I have over there, there would be an army of supporters right behind me to back me up. The thing is, by the time they got into gear, the damage would already have been done. I don't want the spaces of the people on the other side blattered with some vengefulness against me. It just doesn't exist anywhere over there. I'm not about to chance being the reason all that comes crashing down.
The other thing about my supporters is I've been hurt by them all before. Remember the petition? Nobody actually picked how important that was to me. Well, that's not altogether true. Lea and Veronica did, but all those others I've known for years reckoned it was a waste of time. I got shitcanned for it and I was royally offended.
Something so simple as signing an internet petition - whether it would or could ever do any good or not wasn't the issue - it was important to me, it was an issue everyone must have known was one of my core issues - given the chester history, but it was something people I thought were friends refused to even sign. Reasons were: I don't sign petitions. It's useless anyway. I don't trust the site. And a host of other reasons which I considered absolutely pathetic and nothing short of bullshit.
Well, the memory of that looms large. I learned a salient lesson from it, namely that most of the people of whom I thought so highly - when push comes to shove on something that may just actually be important - weren't worth the trust I had placed in them.
So now when I find something else about which I can care greatly, it's hardly likely I'd trust anyone to not fuck it up for me - even by accident, or even with the best of intentions. I'm at the very bottom of the pecking order there. I have to win my own spurs and I'm doing nicely. I'm not asking for anyone else to help me or support me or even have anything to do with what I'm doing over there, except for the sake of people like that lying swat, Sharon Hanover, I have someone to watch over what I'm doing so I'm seen to be as clean as I actually am - not even room for innuendo or finger pointing.
In short it's just a case of what goes around comes around. So many wanted nothing to do with something I cared about then, so they don't get a second invitation. No skin off my nose. I've got everything I want over there with none of what I don't want or need.
So why am I blogging this here rather than there?
Two reasons.
This is my first and main blog. It's read by several people I like and whom I think also like me. It's where I put the stuff that's actually on my mind when I happen to be sitting at a computer. What's here is the real deal. This is what I'm thinking so this is where I spill my guts - as it were.
The second reason is this side of my internet activity is on a completely different level. This sort of diatribe just wouldn't be appropriate over there. On some levels it would be, but in the circles in which I'm moving, it just would not. There are links to here from there, but not vice versa. If someone from over there wishes to dig deeper, they can and that's fine by me. I wouldn't have put up links otherwise. But to chance traffic going the other way? Well, not if I can help it.
So there you have it.
That's what is on my mind at 9:50ish on Friday September 16th. For those think I'm halfway decent, don't take my choice as a slight against you or whatever else. Don't think yourselves shortchanged in anyway. I don't go prying into any of your affairs, so don't presume to come prying into mine.
I specifically don't want any friends, supporters, detractors - nothing at all - from MSN bugging me while I'm over there. I don't want comments on what I do over there, I don't want suggestions, I don't want questions about any of it. That's why I haven't put up links to what's going on.
Just think of it as a bastard's prerogative and you've been warned countless times just what an absolute bastard I am. At least now you know I'm not lying.
I love those people on the other side of the net. I do. They're all just brilliant and to me they're like an oasis in the middle of a sea of blah.
Lea rang me this afternoon to discuss what I was not able to discuss in Messenger for various reasons and Ms Wod wanted to know why I hadn't let her in on what I've been doing for the last two months. The reason is because I don't want to mix my MSN side of things - which is often fairly fruity and where I have an army of people I've pissed off - with this other side.
It's a place where I can just enjoy what's going on around me without having any idiots start more of the same shit which is all over MSN. And I don't want that because what's on the other side is not a group thing. It's a sharing of people's private thoughts and day to day travails and they're all interlinked. If someone starts shit on my bit of the plot, everyone who has linked to me can see it and I don't want their private meanderings littered with crud. (I love them, that's why.)
It's different in a group because it's a free-for-all. The managers can clean it up if everyone objects to something. But these people take particular care that what's linked on their spaces is what they want on their spaces and that includes those who have linked to me. If I didn't care about them and their space, I'd have announced it to the whole world, but I care about them a great deal, therefore I don't even want to chance any sort of baggage of any variety good or bad leaking over from MSN.
An analogy would be that from this blog, I link to Eff's Rambles. Eff I know from MSN. But imagine if one link from here could give you access not only to Eff's Rambles but however many other blogs I happened to have up there, upon all of which anyone with whom I have differences could post whatever they wanted to post and which not only Eff, but everyone else on the list could then see. That's why it's kept quiet and that's why I'm not telling anyone else where the other side is.
They're just too vital to me to have someone come and mess with their stuff because of a grudge against me. Lea says I'm wrong and that if anyone messed with what I have over there, there would be an army of supporters right behind me to back me up. The thing is, by the time they got into gear, the damage would already have been done. I don't want the spaces of the people on the other side blattered with some vengefulness against me. It just doesn't exist anywhere over there. I'm not about to chance being the reason all that comes crashing down.
The other thing about my supporters is I've been hurt by them all before. Remember the petition? Nobody actually picked how important that was to me. Well, that's not altogether true. Lea and Veronica did, but all those others I've known for years reckoned it was a waste of time. I got shitcanned for it and I was royally offended.
Something so simple as signing an internet petition - whether it would or could ever do any good or not wasn't the issue - it was important to me, it was an issue everyone must have known was one of my core issues - given the chester history, but it was something people I thought were friends refused to even sign. Reasons were: I don't sign petitions. It's useless anyway. I don't trust the site. And a host of other reasons which I considered absolutely pathetic and nothing short of bullshit.
Well, the memory of that looms large. I learned a salient lesson from it, namely that most of the people of whom I thought so highly - when push comes to shove on something that may just actually be important - weren't worth the trust I had placed in them.
So now when I find something else about which I can care greatly, it's hardly likely I'd trust anyone to not fuck it up for me - even by accident, or even with the best of intentions. I'm at the very bottom of the pecking order there. I have to win my own spurs and I'm doing nicely. I'm not asking for anyone else to help me or support me or even have anything to do with what I'm doing over there, except for the sake of people like that lying swat, Sharon Hanover, I have someone to watch over what I'm doing so I'm seen to be as clean as I actually am - not even room for innuendo or finger pointing.
In short it's just a case of what goes around comes around. So many wanted nothing to do with something I cared about then, so they don't get a second invitation. No skin off my nose. I've got everything I want over there with none of what I don't want or need.
So why am I blogging this here rather than there?
Two reasons.
This is my first and main blog. It's read by several people I like and whom I think also like me. It's where I put the stuff that's actually on my mind when I happen to be sitting at a computer. What's here is the real deal. This is what I'm thinking so this is where I spill my guts - as it were.
The second reason is this side of my internet activity is on a completely different level. This sort of diatribe just wouldn't be appropriate over there. On some levels it would be, but in the circles in which I'm moving, it just would not. There are links to here from there, but not vice versa. If someone from over there wishes to dig deeper, they can and that's fine by me. I wouldn't have put up links otherwise. But to chance traffic going the other way? Well, not if I can help it.
So there you have it.
That's what is on my mind at 9:50ish on Friday September 16th. For those think I'm halfway decent, don't take my choice as a slight against you or whatever else. Don't think yourselves shortchanged in anyway. I don't go prying into any of your affairs, so don't presume to come prying into mine.
I specifically don't want any friends, supporters, detractors - nothing at all - from MSN bugging me while I'm over there. I don't want comments on what I do over there, I don't want suggestions, I don't want questions about any of it. That's why I haven't put up links to what's going on.
Just think of it as a bastard's prerogative and you've been warned countless times just what an absolute bastard I am. At least now you know I'm not lying.
Thursday, September 15, 2005
Dammit!
One of the kids was in hospital yesterday with kidney stones. Poor thing was in agony but is home again now.
I've been moping about it all morning, wrote a friggin poem for the whole crowd of them and fulfilled a promise to someone else and did a few other bits and pieces and now "He Ain't Heavy" lurks into my headphones again.
I am, at present, and as a result of history old and recent, feeling just a tad sensitive right now.
One of the kids was in hospital yesterday with kidney stones. Poor thing was in agony but is home again now.
I've been moping about it all morning, wrote a friggin poem for the whole crowd of them and fulfilled a promise to someone else and did a few other bits and pieces and now "He Ain't Heavy" lurks into my headphones again.
I am, at present, and as a result of history old and recent, feeling just a tad sensitive right now.
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
There are times I feel like reaching out and strangling people with an evil grin on my head. I spied with my little eye today a story in the local newspaper which ran thusly:
Beaumaris residents want to set up a working group to help resolve the skate park debate in their suburb.
More then 90 people held a meeting at the Beaumaris Community Centre to discuss suitable sites for the junior skate ramp.
At this point I blew a gasket.
I'm used to seeing that fucking malapropism on the internet message boards I frequent but to see it in the local newspaper was more than with what my sensibilities could cope.
To make matters worse, there was no by-line. There are no names to whom I can attribute this crime against the language, no identifiable personage against whom I can wreak my terrible revenge for the commission of this atrocity.
It seems no matter how often and in what circumstance I rage and bawl, there is an ever increasing number of fucking bastards intent on getting THEN and THAN confused.
How many times must it be said? These two words are not interchangable. They aren't now and they never will be. If I were the editor of that paper, I would fine the fucker who authored that filth a week's pay. It's inexcusable and if given the authority to ensure it never happened in any publication of mine, I would enforce it ruthlessly. In fact, just to make absolutely certain no other moron made the same mistake, I would summarily dismiss any employee named Ruth just to emphasise how ruthless I would be.
STOP DOING THIS. IT'S EVIL. IT'S UGLY and IT STINKS!
Beaumaris residents want to set up a working group to help resolve the skate park debate in their suburb.
More then 90 people held a meeting at the Beaumaris Community Centre to discuss suitable sites for the junior skate ramp.
At this point I blew a gasket.
I'm used to seeing that fucking malapropism on the internet message boards I frequent but to see it in the local newspaper was more than with what my sensibilities could cope.
To make matters worse, there was no by-line. There are no names to whom I can attribute this crime against the language, no identifiable personage against whom I can wreak my terrible revenge for the commission of this atrocity.
It seems no matter how often and in what circumstance I rage and bawl, there is an ever increasing number of fucking bastards intent on getting THEN and THAN confused.
How many times must it be said? These two words are not interchangable. They aren't now and they never will be. If I were the editor of that paper, I would fine the fucker who authored that filth a week's pay. It's inexcusable and if given the authority to ensure it never happened in any publication of mine, I would enforce it ruthlessly. In fact, just to make absolutely certain no other moron made the same mistake, I would summarily dismiss any employee named Ruth just to emphasise how ruthless I would be.
STOP DOING THIS. IT'S EVIL. IT'S UGLY and IT STINKS!
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
Blah.
Watch out world. They came and took my Saab away today because I rang them up and told them to. It was like having a pet put to sleep by a vet. I didn't want to do it but I knew it was the right thing to do. The Saab I mean, not the pet. The pet is still alive and asleep where I least want him to be.
None of that changes the fact I still didn't want to do it, but there wasn't a viable alternative and now it doesn't matter because there's nothing I can do about it. It's gone. Poor old thing, she's going to be scrapped and used for parts and the rest of her will be melted down and used to build something else. I have no souvenirs of her either, nothing except four flat patches on the grass where her large wheels once rested.
So, I'm going out to get fucking plastered and when I come back, I'm going to hit the internet and annoy the living shit out of everyone I don't like. Well, not all of them, that would take way too long, just the usual suspects. I'll get Miguel to help me because he's too cool for words. English words that is. Miguel says Blaarg quite often and that makes me smile.
Well I'm going. This dalliance with mon blog is eating into my getting spastic time.
I hope I'm still grumbly when I get home, I'm usually very mellow and happy when I'm chemically indisposed. Oh fuck, definitely time to go - He Ain't Heavy just came on into the headphones.
Blatt at you all later.
Watch out world. They came and took my Saab away today because I rang them up and told them to. It was like having a pet put to sleep by a vet. I didn't want to do it but I knew it was the right thing to do. The Saab I mean, not the pet. The pet is still alive and asleep where I least want him to be.
None of that changes the fact I still didn't want to do it, but there wasn't a viable alternative and now it doesn't matter because there's nothing I can do about it. It's gone. Poor old thing, she's going to be scrapped and used for parts and the rest of her will be melted down and used to build something else. I have no souvenirs of her either, nothing except four flat patches on the grass where her large wheels once rested.
So, I'm going out to get fucking plastered and when I come back, I'm going to hit the internet and annoy the living shit out of everyone I don't like. Well, not all of them, that would take way too long, just the usual suspects. I'll get Miguel to help me because he's too cool for words. English words that is. Miguel says Blaarg quite often and that makes me smile.
Well I'm going. This dalliance with mon blog is eating into my getting spastic time.
I hope I'm still grumbly when I get home, I'm usually very mellow and happy when I'm chemically indisposed. Oh fuck, definitely time to go - He Ain't Heavy just came on into the headphones.
Blatt at you all later.
Monday, September 12, 2005
Anthropomorphism.
It's the turning of everything in the universe into something akin to a human being. It's the reason there is an animal rights movement. Fortunately, some of these dopes realised not everyone gives a toss about panda bears so they changed their focus to the people for whom panda bears exist and pointed out, quite correctly, that ecosystems depend on diversity for survival and we fuck with them to our own detriment and peril.
That much I can handle.
What I can't stand is people getting fretful over the idea someone would make a video of themselves shoving a stick of dynamite up the arse of a teddy bear and literally blowing the stuffing out of it. That sort of anthropomorphist needs their own stick of dynamite shoved up their arse with stern admonitions to behave themselves or else.
It's for this reason I treat those who confuse personality with character when referring to inanimate objects with no small degree of scepticism. (And yes, it's perfectly acceptable to spell it with a c rather than with a k.) Old cars and buildings have character, they do not have personality.
Personality requires recognition and volition.
I read a book today from cover to cover. I couldn't put it down and now I have to put it down because I've finished it. I picked it up in the first place because I'd finished reading The Count of Monte Cristo for the third time. The book I read today is called The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time.
It's a first person narrative and the narrator is a 15 year old autistic boy.
I'm sure if anyone reading this blog picks it up and does with it what I did with it today, they will feel a terrible urge to come and bug the shit out of me with all sorts of sudden revelations they've just had.
Word of advice - don't bother. I won't be impressed. By all means read the book, just keep your revelations to yourself or blatt them somewhere I won't see them. That way I won't feel inclined to put my head in the corner of a wall and groan.
In other news, I knew weeks ago I should have put the Saab back up on eBay to sell it. I got scarcely a mile up the road in it yesterday when the cops pulled me over and told me it was out of registration. That much I did know, by how long was a mystery. The upshot of it was I had to leave it parked on the side of the road while the cops took my plates off and told me I couldn't have them back until I got the thing registered - which isn't going to happen any time soon. Fuck it. Now I have to get the Mit fixed because it is, at least, registered and it's only going to cost me $400 to get back on the road. The Saab is going to cost a grand and a half and it's just not worth it for the convenience of having a car AND the nice feeling one gets from owning a Saab. Double fuck it.
Oh well. Time to step up the gears a bit and get in touch with more people who pay for the sorts of skills for which I am currently renowned in too small a circle. Provided nobody passes a platter festooned with vol au vents, I should be fairly safe.
This blog entry has been brought to you by some exceptionally shitty weather - the sort which makes Sydneysiders glad they live in Sydney and which Melbournites wouldn't trade for all the fine weather in Sydney they could ever see.
It's the turning of everything in the universe into something akin to a human being. It's the reason there is an animal rights movement. Fortunately, some of these dopes realised not everyone gives a toss about panda bears so they changed their focus to the people for whom panda bears exist and pointed out, quite correctly, that ecosystems depend on diversity for survival and we fuck with them to our own detriment and peril.
That much I can handle.
What I can't stand is people getting fretful over the idea someone would make a video of themselves shoving a stick of dynamite up the arse of a teddy bear and literally blowing the stuffing out of it. That sort of anthropomorphist needs their own stick of dynamite shoved up their arse with stern admonitions to behave themselves or else.
It's for this reason I treat those who confuse personality with character when referring to inanimate objects with no small degree of scepticism. (And yes, it's perfectly acceptable to spell it with a c rather than with a k.) Old cars and buildings have character, they do not have personality.
Personality requires recognition and volition.
I read a book today from cover to cover. I couldn't put it down and now I have to put it down because I've finished it. I picked it up in the first place because I'd finished reading The Count of Monte Cristo for the third time. The book I read today is called The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time.
It's a first person narrative and the narrator is a 15 year old autistic boy.
I'm sure if anyone reading this blog picks it up and does with it what I did with it today, they will feel a terrible urge to come and bug the shit out of me with all sorts of sudden revelations they've just had.
Word of advice - don't bother. I won't be impressed. By all means read the book, just keep your revelations to yourself or blatt them somewhere I won't see them. That way I won't feel inclined to put my head in the corner of a wall and groan.
In other news, I knew weeks ago I should have put the Saab back up on eBay to sell it. I got scarcely a mile up the road in it yesterday when the cops pulled me over and told me it was out of registration. That much I did know, by how long was a mystery. The upshot of it was I had to leave it parked on the side of the road while the cops took my plates off and told me I couldn't have them back until I got the thing registered - which isn't going to happen any time soon. Fuck it. Now I have to get the Mit fixed because it is, at least, registered and it's only going to cost me $400 to get back on the road. The Saab is going to cost a grand and a half and it's just not worth it for the convenience of having a car AND the nice feeling one gets from owning a Saab. Double fuck it.
Oh well. Time to step up the gears a bit and get in touch with more people who pay for the sorts of skills for which I am currently renowned in too small a circle. Provided nobody passes a platter festooned with vol au vents, I should be fairly safe.
This blog entry has been brought to you by some exceptionally shitty weather - the sort which makes Sydneysiders glad they live in Sydney and which Melbournites wouldn't trade for all the fine weather in Sydney they could ever see.
Thursday, September 08, 2005
The strangest memories are provoked by the most amazing circumstances.
I've just been reminded of a pleasant little love affair I had years and years ago when I was hot for the older sister of one of the kids in one of my football teams. She was too young when I first met her so I waited until she was 18 before letting on that I was interested. (I was 23 by then.)
Anyway, one night we were sitting in her lounge room in front of an open fire casting longing gazes at one another wishing for all hell that her mother would piss off and go to bed.
Finally, as midnight came and went, she decided it was time for her to go to bed and she did. It was then I was left in this semi-darkened lounge room with her mother who was wishing for all hell for the preceeding hour that her daughter would go to bed.
Not a happy Rat. No, not one bit happy.
And that reminds me of another time when I was 15 and met a divine apparition at a pool party. I was 15 at the time and thought I was flirting madly with the elder of two sisters, the younger one being 14. Then I spoke to their mother about what a nice daughter she had. Her mother told me she was a great kid - for an 11 year old.
I didn't say much for the rest of the night to anybody. I wasn't in the mood.
Another time when I was 17 I met a girl on the train who was happy to spend half an afternoon talking to me. We were getting on famously. She was a bit shorter than I was, short blonde hair, very pretty face - and 23 and married.
And then there was Patrick's sister, who was the right age, right height, single, we shared common interests, she was cool, classy, fairly quiet and - an amazingly slovenly dirty and selfish peasant. You have to see someone in their natural habitat to get the full appreciation of them. Sometimes it's better to have illusions.
I understand now why some guys think more of their cars than their women.
Now, speaking of transport, Cheri the bike; yes I know you read my blog. The hit counter records all the ISPs and Cincinnati just keeps coming up and you're the only resident of Cincinatti that I know. You're busted!
I've just been reminded of a pleasant little love affair I had years and years ago when I was hot for the older sister of one of the kids in one of my football teams. She was too young when I first met her so I waited until she was 18 before letting on that I was interested. (I was 23 by then.)
Anyway, one night we were sitting in her lounge room in front of an open fire casting longing gazes at one another wishing for all hell that her mother would piss off and go to bed.
Finally, as midnight came and went, she decided it was time for her to go to bed and she did. It was then I was left in this semi-darkened lounge room with her mother who was wishing for all hell for the preceeding hour that her daughter would go to bed.
Not a happy Rat. No, not one bit happy.
And that reminds me of another time when I was 15 and met a divine apparition at a pool party. I was 15 at the time and thought I was flirting madly with the elder of two sisters, the younger one being 14. Then I spoke to their mother about what a nice daughter she had. Her mother told me she was a great kid - for an 11 year old.
I didn't say much for the rest of the night to anybody. I wasn't in the mood.
Another time when I was 17 I met a girl on the train who was happy to spend half an afternoon talking to me. We were getting on famously. She was a bit shorter than I was, short blonde hair, very pretty face - and 23 and married.
And then there was Patrick's sister, who was the right age, right height, single, we shared common interests, she was cool, classy, fairly quiet and - an amazingly slovenly dirty and selfish peasant. You have to see someone in their natural habitat to get the full appreciation of them. Sometimes it's better to have illusions.
I understand now why some guys think more of their cars than their women.
Now, speaking of transport, Cheri the bike; yes I know you read my blog. The hit counter records all the ISPs and Cincinnati just keeps coming up and you're the only resident of Cincinatti that I know. You're busted!
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
Cheri, malevolence in the flesh
So the old skank of Ohio has got her leatherlined panties all bunged up over Cheriville and has decided on her means of getting back at yours truly.
How sweet.
True to form she does it like a coward, not naming names but using the collection of terms she reserves solely for me. Others get one or two of these little tags but only I get the full chorus.
Dead giveaway you troll. Anyone who has been around both sides of these comms for more than a year knows instantly your magnum opus of self righteous bullshit is aimed squarely at me.
And since I know you read my blog and other stuff on the net, here’s a challenge for you – though I know you’re too cowardly to take up this challenge: Join me. Become a silent partner in those activities you describe as predatory and see for yourself exactly what I do as I do it. If you still think it’s predatory behaviour then fine, report me. Report me anyway, I don’t care. Here’s the email address I use to do all my reporting:
admin@iwf.org.uk
I’ll tell you now, right off the bat, they’re 100 times faster and more efficient than your poxy little threatened FBI contacts of which you think so highly.
I use this group because they hook into the police forces of 30 odd countries to take down the filth – including your precious FBI.
I notice you didn’t bother to sign the petition I started 2 years ago which was (and still is) available for signing at http://www.petitiononline.com/StopPeds/petition.html
and if memory serves, you scorned it as a cynical attempt to divert attention away from myself.
I also haven’t seen you get personally involved with anything apart from your pathetic excuse of an msn community and thinking that validates your self proclaimed status as a guardian of decency and a crusader against evil.
You are the archetypal example of the legend in your own mind.
It’s just a shame your own envy has reached such a point it pervades every last aspect of your being, so much so that you resort to your cowardly attacks carefully omitting to name me in it but relying on the perspicacity of those around you to recognise at whom the attack was intended.
You pitiful coward, Cheri.
Not only will you not get off your fat pimply arse and do anything about what pisses you off – apart from this sort of pathetic example of innuendo – but you lamely attempt to vilify anyone else who does.
It’s because of sad little fucks like you I had to enlist the help of an independent observer to everything I’m doing on that side of the internet. It’s because sad, cowardly little maggots like you it’s not enough for me to be doing something about online predators – as you call them – but I have to have someone oversee what I do just to make sure everything I do is above board, innocent and that it is in fact what I proclaim it to be.
I had to enlist the help of an independent observer to protect myself from just this sort of lie you in your self righteous ignorance take pleasure in spreading.
It’s your sort who really should be euthanised. You’re happy to spread a lie and not take responsibility for it, hiding behind insinuation and innuendo, but you’re too pathetic, too cowardly and to ignorant to do anything more than lord it over those idiots you call family in your pathetic little community.
Well, I hope you’re happy living in your little world of fear and ignorance. For my part, I’m going to enjoy building Cheriville and turning it not into a monument just to your absolute ludicrousness, but also your abject moral bankruptcy.
I never bothered to hate you before. You weren’t worth it. But you’re not just attacking me with this sort of shit, you have, without knowing it, also attacked those young people with whom I’ve been building bridges and whom, if I were to direct them to what you’ve said would be just as injured by it as all those others who know of my activities would be.
Your attempt to provoke one of your idiotic sycophants to notify the FBI of my activities is an attempt to remove a resource some of these young people draw on when they need someone not to judge them and to whom they turn for help with whatever might be on their minds. In short, you want to remove from them someone who might actually be able to be a factor which prevents them from falling into the clutches of that sort of person you accuse me of being – a pedophile. I can’t wish on you the sort of pain it is I’m devoting half of my online time trying to prevent. I would gladly wish it, but I couldn’t live with myself descending to your level.
You are nothing but a foul minded, malevolent, lying little bitch. Just do the whole world a favour and kill yourself. You’re not worth the price of a bullet to murder.
How sweet.
True to form she does it like a coward, not naming names but using the collection of terms she reserves solely for me. Others get one or two of these little tags but only I get the full chorus.
Dead giveaway you troll. Anyone who has been around both sides of these comms for more than a year knows instantly your magnum opus of self righteous bullshit is aimed squarely at me.
And since I know you read my blog and other stuff on the net, here’s a challenge for you – though I know you’re too cowardly to take up this challenge: Join me. Become a silent partner in those activities you describe as predatory and see for yourself exactly what I do as I do it. If you still think it’s predatory behaviour then fine, report me. Report me anyway, I don’t care. Here’s the email address I use to do all my reporting:
admin@iwf.org.uk
I’ll tell you now, right off the bat, they’re 100 times faster and more efficient than your poxy little threatened FBI contacts of which you think so highly.
I use this group because they hook into the police forces of 30 odd countries to take down the filth – including your precious FBI.
I notice you didn’t bother to sign the petition I started 2 years ago which was (and still is) available for signing at http://www.petitiononline.com/StopPeds/petition.html
and if memory serves, you scorned it as a cynical attempt to divert attention away from myself.
I also haven’t seen you get personally involved with anything apart from your pathetic excuse of an msn community and thinking that validates your self proclaimed status as a guardian of decency and a crusader against evil.
You are the archetypal example of the legend in your own mind.
It’s just a shame your own envy has reached such a point it pervades every last aspect of your being, so much so that you resort to your cowardly attacks carefully omitting to name me in it but relying on the perspicacity of those around you to recognise at whom the attack was intended.
You pitiful coward, Cheri.
Not only will you not get off your fat pimply arse and do anything about what pisses you off – apart from this sort of pathetic example of innuendo – but you lamely attempt to vilify anyone else who does.
It’s because of sad little fucks like you I had to enlist the help of an independent observer to everything I’m doing on that side of the internet. It’s because sad, cowardly little maggots like you it’s not enough for me to be doing something about online predators – as you call them – but I have to have someone oversee what I do just to make sure everything I do is above board, innocent and that it is in fact what I proclaim it to be.
I had to enlist the help of an independent observer to protect myself from just this sort of lie you in your self righteous ignorance take pleasure in spreading.
It’s your sort who really should be euthanised. You’re happy to spread a lie and not take responsibility for it, hiding behind insinuation and innuendo, but you’re too pathetic, too cowardly and to ignorant to do anything more than lord it over those idiots you call family in your pathetic little community.
Well, I hope you’re happy living in your little world of fear and ignorance. For my part, I’m going to enjoy building Cheriville and turning it not into a monument just to your absolute ludicrousness, but also your abject moral bankruptcy.
I never bothered to hate you before. You weren’t worth it. But you’re not just attacking me with this sort of shit, you have, without knowing it, also attacked those young people with whom I’ve been building bridges and whom, if I were to direct them to what you’ve said would be just as injured by it as all those others who know of my activities would be.
Your attempt to provoke one of your idiotic sycophants to notify the FBI of my activities is an attempt to remove a resource some of these young people draw on when they need someone not to judge them and to whom they turn for help with whatever might be on their minds. In short, you want to remove from them someone who might actually be able to be a factor which prevents them from falling into the clutches of that sort of person you accuse me of being – a pedophile. I can’t wish on you the sort of pain it is I’m devoting half of my online time trying to prevent. I would gladly wish it, but I couldn’t live with myself descending to your level.
You are nothing but a foul minded, malevolent, lying little bitch. Just do the whole world a favour and kill yourself. You’re not worth the price of a bullet to murder.
Sunday, September 04, 2005
Teresa dropped by and left me a lovely message.
Actually, she left me a couple of messages hereabouts. I like Teresa. She likes it when I'm mischievous which up until 7 weeks ago was pretty much all the time, but she never got caught up in all the warz I either started, finished or have kept tantalisingly aflame over the last 3 or 4 years.
Teresa is the sort of woman I liked to do this to...
And she always took it so well. Bless her little cotton socks. :)
Actually, she left me a couple of messages hereabouts. I like Teresa. She likes it when I'm mischievous which up until 7 weeks ago was pretty much all the time, but she never got caught up in all the warz I either started, finished or have kept tantalisingly aflame over the last 3 or 4 years.
Teresa is the sort of woman I liked to do this to...
And she always took it so well. Bless her little cotton socks. :)
Saturday, September 03, 2005
Gosh, how long has it been since I blogged here - even though I halfway made a commitment to update it far more regularly than once I did?
Truth be known, I have many other places on the e-bog which are also demanding of my time. My other precious blog is, I will confess, quickly becoming more important to me than this one because it involves many other people. Not in the comm sense like PA, but like a group of people who link their individual blogs amongst themselves and I am an increasingly relevant part of that group. I find it difficult tearing myself away from it.
PA is now home to MenckensMan, with whom I've swapped 8 or so emails and I'm proud to call this former adversary a valuable friend and I'm really pleased I made the effort to put the animosity aside. It wasn't hard. The man's a hoot.
I am still wrestling with the story of my soul in The Pad which I was hoping to update on at least a weekly basis but it looks like it will be a bi-weekly thing instead. In a nutshell, it's a salient lesson on life but couched in the most absurd terms in the most absurd situation I can imagine. It's not easy keeping the story faithful and pertinent yet hiding its intent to the extent the moral is absorbed almost by accident. Always the ulterior motive. At least it's a 100% safe bet the motives are pure.
God, at the moment, the frame of mind I'm in, I'd find it difficult to even think of being evil. I haven't been hunting for evil for more than a week either. The last time I went out looking for shit to shut down was when I was totally bored off my skull. I didn't find much. In the previous month I shut down about 20 boards but the same nicks keep springing up again. It gets depressing, but at least one good thing came of it, though for how long is anyone's guess.
Cheriville is demanding attention. I want that to be a showcase of stupidity. Not that the source material needs any help from me, it's stupid enough on its own, but it's not my style to take what I want without mixing it with a bit of Rat observation and turning it into something more than it was.
It's not that this blog isn't important to me anymore, it is. It's just that I'm undisciplined to devote set amounts of time to each project and those of the other circle continue to take my breath away with their joie de vivre. I love them all singularly and collectively. I really do.
My second to last entry was an extravaganza of Australiana which hit the spot just nicely. It gave me the idea of doing a blog for Melbourne. It's on yet another site but it's yet another ChatRat link. If I can't be the best, at least I'll be the most prolific. (Chris Locke is still the best beyond any shadow of doubt. Click the More Rageboy link for all the proof you could ever want of that statement.)
Here's the new link: Melbourne
What a terminally dull url. Oh well. It serves a purpose, and more than you here will ever know.
(24 mins)
Truth be known, I have many other places on the e-bog which are also demanding of my time. My other precious blog is, I will confess, quickly becoming more important to me than this one because it involves many other people. Not in the comm sense like PA, but like a group of people who link their individual blogs amongst themselves and I am an increasingly relevant part of that group. I find it difficult tearing myself away from it.
PA is now home to MenckensMan, with whom I've swapped 8 or so emails and I'm proud to call this former adversary a valuable friend and I'm really pleased I made the effort to put the animosity aside. It wasn't hard. The man's a hoot.
I am still wrestling with the story of my soul in The Pad which I was hoping to update on at least a weekly basis but it looks like it will be a bi-weekly thing instead. In a nutshell, it's a salient lesson on life but couched in the most absurd terms in the most absurd situation I can imagine. It's not easy keeping the story faithful and pertinent yet hiding its intent to the extent the moral is absorbed almost by accident. Always the ulterior motive. At least it's a 100% safe bet the motives are pure.
God, at the moment, the frame of mind I'm in, I'd find it difficult to even think of being evil. I haven't been hunting for evil for more than a week either. The last time I went out looking for shit to shut down was when I was totally bored off my skull. I didn't find much. In the previous month I shut down about 20 boards but the same nicks keep springing up again. It gets depressing, but at least one good thing came of it, though for how long is anyone's guess.
Cheriville is demanding attention. I want that to be a showcase of stupidity. Not that the source material needs any help from me, it's stupid enough on its own, but it's not my style to take what I want without mixing it with a bit of Rat observation and turning it into something more than it was.
It's not that this blog isn't important to me anymore, it is. It's just that I'm undisciplined to devote set amounts of time to each project and those of the other circle continue to take my breath away with their joie de vivre. I love them all singularly and collectively. I really do.
My second to last entry was an extravaganza of Australiana which hit the spot just nicely. It gave me the idea of doing a blog for Melbourne. It's on yet another site but it's yet another ChatRat link. If I can't be the best, at least I'll be the most prolific. (Chris Locke is still the best beyond any shadow of doubt. Click the More Rageboy link for all the proof you could ever want of that statement.)
Here's the new link: Melbourne
What a terminally dull url. Oh well. It serves a purpose, and more than you here will ever know.
(24 mins)
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
I'm getting a bit ferkin narked that the images are refusing to display in The Pad on a regular basis. It's not like I'm zapping monster bandwidth or using up huge amounts of space in there.
I've reserved a site at Bravenet.com as well but I'm loathe to build it because of the stinking popups associated with it - and they get around my pop-up blockers.
A few interesting developments over the last few days.
Made contact with someone who is either a naive kid or a nark going incognito. If it's the latter, it's going to be an interesting discussion. If it's the former, I'm going to enjoy standing guard over said youngster's blog making sure the filth keep their grubby little lies out of it.
One of the peer group in my other sphere of interest - the one providing all the positive feedback - is coming to Melbourne in November. Isn't that just the bee's knees. What a buzz to be able to show this person all the best bits of my fantastic city, all the hidden treasures of the arcades, the amusing buskers and the tragic ones, Lygon St, Brunswick St, Acland St and Victoria St, the Vic Market on a Sunday - and some good old fashioned cricket.
I hope I get the chance to do that. I'll update later on the progress in that regard.
I'll have to get the Mit fixed before November. I still haven't had the heart to bung the Saab back up on eBay yet either. Every time I get in it, I keep telling myself it's a machine - a hunk of metal, rubber and plastic. It's insane to get sentimental over it. And with juice running at $5 a gallon, it's not like cars aren't fast becoming a luxury as well. As if I need 2 of them.
Just while I'm on the subject of juice, the Federal Government has a fuel excise which is about 30 cents per litre - we go by litres here, not gallons - and on top of that, there's a gst on the overall cost. That's a tax on the excise included in that cost. A tax on a tax. I love governments. I really do.
There was another amusing bit of news emanating from Melbourne's hyper selfish last week as well. Running down the eastern side of the bay is the Sandringham line train. It passes through some of the best real estate in the city. All but two stations on the line are in the central public transport zone, the last two stations are in Zone 2. These precious little swats are pushing to have the last two stations included in Zone 1.
They say it will save them having to cram the carpark two stations up the line from which they can legitimately travel on a Zone 1 ticket, saving themselves $540 a year. These are people who live in $900,000+ homes.
What they fail to realise is the buses departing from these stations all travel into Zone 2 areas which would mean anyone travelling the length of Highett Rd or Bay Rd from the Southland Megaplex Shopping nightmare to either Hampton or Sandringham stations would need to purchase a dual zone ticket. Perhaps not? I doubt it - because all buses going from those two stations to Southland nightmare connect with Highett station or Cheltenham station, both of which are well within Zone 2 - neither is in a dual zone area.
Highett station also happens to be my local station.
Of course those rich cunts don't think of anyone but themselves, that's how they got to be rich and cuntish. I'll let you in on a little secret...
Because I used to be so heavily involved in networking amongst the high power set, I used to be invited and summoned to all sorts of horrendous evenings and lunches. I can't fault the parents of the kids who were involved with my teams or clubs who initially invited me to one of these things, but when you're hobnobbing with state politicians, captains of industry and the financial heart and soul of the city, you get drenched in social bullshit. I mean literally and liberally soaked in it.
Even now the word canape makes me cringe. Fingerfood is the lunchtime equivalent. It was this interminable getting of one's face around and being introduced to people wearing striped ties that has given me an absolute aversion to striped ties. I can't stand the fucking things. Loathe them. I am happy to say the only striped tie I still possess is the very first tie ever to come into my possession and in the 20 years I've owned it, I've worn it only once - to one of these stinking wine and cheese affairs.
Never again will I knowingly attend another one of those wretched pretenses at civility and sociability. They are moshpits of usury and subtle coercion where the filthy rich decide amongst themselves how to dispose of the commodity of the labour of others to the mutual advantage of no one but themselves.
I understand these things are strategic relationship building exercises which keep the mid-level economy on its feet, but I want no part of it. Moreover I spurn it for the cheap veneer it is. All this social sniffing of pedigrees and airing of petty prejudices and pathetic ambitions couched in terms of polite conversation which all runs like oily clockwork provided nobody actually identifies it as being such - the whole charade makes me sick to the pit of my soul.
And now they're complaining about the price of their train tickets.
Pardon me while I spit sideways.
Men, don't wear striped ties. If you have to wear a tie at all, wear anything but a striped one. Women, just don't dress like Condi Rice. Despite what the feminazis tell you, you really do look good in dresses - provided you don't overdo it and look like Jehovah's Witnesses.
Feel free to gripe.
I've reserved a site at Bravenet.com as well but I'm loathe to build it because of the stinking popups associated with it - and they get around my pop-up blockers.
A few interesting developments over the last few days.
Made contact with someone who is either a naive kid or a nark going incognito. If it's the latter, it's going to be an interesting discussion. If it's the former, I'm going to enjoy standing guard over said youngster's blog making sure the filth keep their grubby little lies out of it.
One of the peer group in my other sphere of interest - the one providing all the positive feedback - is coming to Melbourne in November. Isn't that just the bee's knees. What a buzz to be able to show this person all the best bits of my fantastic city, all the hidden treasures of the arcades, the amusing buskers and the tragic ones, Lygon St, Brunswick St, Acland St and Victoria St, the Vic Market on a Sunday - and some good old fashioned cricket.
I hope I get the chance to do that. I'll update later on the progress in that regard.
I'll have to get the Mit fixed before November. I still haven't had the heart to bung the Saab back up on eBay yet either. Every time I get in it, I keep telling myself it's a machine - a hunk of metal, rubber and plastic. It's insane to get sentimental over it. And with juice running at $5 a gallon, it's not like cars aren't fast becoming a luxury as well. As if I need 2 of them.
Just while I'm on the subject of juice, the Federal Government has a fuel excise which is about 30 cents per litre - we go by litres here, not gallons - and on top of that, there's a gst on the overall cost. That's a tax on the excise included in that cost. A tax on a tax. I love governments. I really do.
There was another amusing bit of news emanating from Melbourne's hyper selfish last week as well. Running down the eastern side of the bay is the Sandringham line train. It passes through some of the best real estate in the city. All but two stations on the line are in the central public transport zone, the last two stations are in Zone 2. These precious little swats are pushing to have the last two stations included in Zone 1.
They say it will save them having to cram the carpark two stations up the line from which they can legitimately travel on a Zone 1 ticket, saving themselves $540 a year. These are people who live in $900,000+ homes.
What they fail to realise is the buses departing from these stations all travel into Zone 2 areas which would mean anyone travelling the length of Highett Rd or Bay Rd from the Southland Megaplex Shopping nightmare to either Hampton or Sandringham stations would need to purchase a dual zone ticket. Perhaps not? I doubt it - because all buses going from those two stations to Southland nightmare connect with Highett station or Cheltenham station, both of which are well within Zone 2 - neither is in a dual zone area.
Highett station also happens to be my local station.
Of course those rich cunts don't think of anyone but themselves, that's how they got to be rich and cuntish. I'll let you in on a little secret...
Because I used to be so heavily involved in networking amongst the high power set, I used to be invited and summoned to all sorts of horrendous evenings and lunches. I can't fault the parents of the kids who were involved with my teams or clubs who initially invited me to one of these things, but when you're hobnobbing with state politicians, captains of industry and the financial heart and soul of the city, you get drenched in social bullshit. I mean literally and liberally soaked in it.
Even now the word canape makes me cringe. Fingerfood is the lunchtime equivalent. It was this interminable getting of one's face around and being introduced to people wearing striped ties that has given me an absolute aversion to striped ties. I can't stand the fucking things. Loathe them. I am happy to say the only striped tie I still possess is the very first tie ever to come into my possession and in the 20 years I've owned it, I've worn it only once - to one of these stinking wine and cheese affairs.
Never again will I knowingly attend another one of those wretched pretenses at civility and sociability. They are moshpits of usury and subtle coercion where the filthy rich decide amongst themselves how to dispose of the commodity of the labour of others to the mutual advantage of no one but themselves.
I understand these things are strategic relationship building exercises which keep the mid-level economy on its feet, but I want no part of it. Moreover I spurn it for the cheap veneer it is. All this social sniffing of pedigrees and airing of petty prejudices and pathetic ambitions couched in terms of polite conversation which all runs like oily clockwork provided nobody actually identifies it as being such - the whole charade makes me sick to the pit of my soul.
And now they're complaining about the price of their train tickets.
Pardon me while I spit sideways.
Men, don't wear striped ties. If you have to wear a tie at all, wear anything but a striped one. Women, just don't dress like Condi Rice. Despite what the feminazis tell you, you really do look good in dresses - provided you don't overdo it and look like Jehovah's Witnesses.
Feel free to gripe.
Saturday, August 27, 2005
What's the difference between having something to say and telling someone what you think?
The former is important to at least one person, the latter may just not impress anyone at all.
Some blogs just hit the spot like lemon sorbet on a hot day.
I have this feeling I've been absurdly happy these past few weeks and this week in particular because of the near perfect balance of experiences and impressions I've had the opportunity to share and in which I've been fortunate enough to participate.
I've offered help and asked for it. I've been highly amused and highly annoyed. I've been scathing and soothing. I've seen despair and elation. I've seen excellence and creativity and the pits of cronyism and paranoia.
And from an attacker, I've made a generous friend.
Is this sort of thing worth blogging? It is to me. I'm just eliciting on a bit of e-paper thoughts I'm having as I'm having them. This is my memory and I'm inviting the world to see what I see at this minute of this day like a snapshot. It doesn't matter to me if nobody else finds it interesting for its own sake, it's a memory of mine that is important enough for me to want to keep.
I estimate I've been high on life now for about 5 weeks on the trot which reminds me of something I wrote more than 10 years ago about an impression I had about the nature of true wisdom. I don't have that snippet any more but I remember the gist of it and it shouldn't be too difficult to reconstruct it. Buggered if I know yet where I'll put it up though. I'm sure the more attentive of you will find it.
The former is important to at least one person, the latter may just not impress anyone at all.
Some blogs just hit the spot like lemon sorbet on a hot day.
I have this feeling I've been absurdly happy these past few weeks and this week in particular because of the near perfect balance of experiences and impressions I've had the opportunity to share and in which I've been fortunate enough to participate.
I've offered help and asked for it. I've been highly amused and highly annoyed. I've been scathing and soothing. I've seen despair and elation. I've seen excellence and creativity and the pits of cronyism and paranoia.
And from an attacker, I've made a generous friend.
Is this sort of thing worth blogging? It is to me. I'm just eliciting on a bit of e-paper thoughts I'm having as I'm having them. This is my memory and I'm inviting the world to see what I see at this minute of this day like a snapshot. It doesn't matter to me if nobody else finds it interesting for its own sake, it's a memory of mine that is important enough for me to want to keep.
I estimate I've been high on life now for about 5 weeks on the trot which reminds me of something I wrote more than 10 years ago about an impression I had about the nature of true wisdom. I don't have that snippet any more but I remember the gist of it and it shouldn't be too difficult to reconstruct it. Buggered if I know yet where I'll put it up though. I'm sure the more attentive of you will find it.
Friday, August 26, 2005
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
Monday, August 22, 2005
The fucking internet has been broken all day. Bastard thing.
I did a lot of updating at The Pad tonight, put some more goss in - not that there was a whole lot of good stuff to put in there - and I'm not pinching the good stuff from the friends either; I added the next bit to the location of my soul as well.
Part one
Part two
The goss
On top of that, I've blogged here and elsewhere, emailed half the world, poked my nose in at PnA and CD and made a pest of myself in places I had no such business doing.
And almost every time I did all - and I mean ALL - of these things, I had to close pages, re-login or do all sorts of other irritating things to get all this shit done.
Unbefuckinglievable.
I did a lot of updating at The Pad tonight, put some more goss in - not that there was a whole lot of good stuff to put in there - and I'm not pinching the good stuff from the friends either; I added the next bit to the location of my soul as well.
Part one
Part two
The goss
On top of that, I've blogged here and elsewhere, emailed half the world, poked my nose in at PnA and CD and made a pest of myself in places I had no such business doing.
And almost every time I did all - and I mean ALL - of these things, I had to close pages, re-login or do all sorts of other irritating things to get all this shit done.
Unbefuckinglievable.
Oh my goodness!
I got an email. Stunning email. Picture this:
I blog what would have been my response to the email I sent to the health authority in Muskegon County, Michigan which was that your email is important to me and I will respond at the earliest possible time - or words to that effect.
Anyway, I sent an email about 5 minutes ago and the autoresponder of the recipient came back with this:
At this time, I am unable to read and respond to your e-mail.It is important to me
and I will respond as soon as practical. GGA
LMFAO!
You have no idea how funny this is to me. It was an email I sent to some guy who appeared on a tv show tonight, a bloke who'd had a life changing experience and went from being CEO of the decade not all that long ago to dumping the business world in favour of taking up the cloth! He's become a reverend. This guy goes on tv to say his eyes have been opened and he exchanged high finance for a life of charitable goodness - and he ends up joining a fucking ministry?? I told him in my email that I found this more than just moderately amusing. In fact anathema was the word I used.
As you know, I have a keen sense of the absurd and this guy's website struck me as just that. Anathematically absurd. Then to have his auto-responder come back with what it did was just far too funny for me not to come here and tell anyone who cares to read this.
Life may be short, but it's so fucking transcendentally big there is nothing for it but to find it insanely funny. Look around you. Then come back here and tell me what you saw.
Go on. Do it now.
I got an email. Stunning email. Picture this:
I blog what would have been my response to the email I sent to the health authority in Muskegon County, Michigan which was that your email is important to me and I will respond at the earliest possible time - or words to that effect.
Anyway, I sent an email about 5 minutes ago and the autoresponder of the recipient came back with this:
At this time, I am unable to read and respond to your e-mail.It is important to me
and I will respond as soon as practical. GGA
LMFAO!
You have no idea how funny this is to me. It was an email I sent to some guy who appeared on a tv show tonight, a bloke who'd had a life changing experience and went from being CEO of the decade not all that long ago to dumping the business world in favour of taking up the cloth! He's become a reverend. This guy goes on tv to say his eyes have been opened and he exchanged high finance for a life of charitable goodness - and he ends up joining a fucking ministry?? I told him in my email that I found this more than just moderately amusing. In fact anathema was the word I used.
As you know, I have a keen sense of the absurd and this guy's website struck me as just that. Anathematically absurd. Then to have his auto-responder come back with what it did was just far too funny for me not to come here and tell anyone who cares to read this.
Life may be short, but it's so fucking transcendentally big there is nothing for it but to find it insanely funny. Look around you. Then come back here and tell me what you saw.
Go on. Do it now.
Sunday, August 21, 2005
I need seriously to disappear down a burrow somewhere and get on with some serious writing.
So much to do, so little time.
Trouble is, the thought of abandoning my current motivation is actually fairly frightening. I can feel myself slipping into my enthusiastic early coaching days and that's not a prospect I find particularly appealing. It makes me predictable and boring and that's why I should really extricate myself from this current situation.
The problem is twofold.
Firstly, I don't want to go. Those kids are outstanding - just like the kids I used to coach.
Secondly, they are a huge motivation for me to write. If I drag myself out of this predicament and get on with the stuff I want to do, those motivation levels will plummet. See, the kids provide feedback on a regular basis. Projects don't.
I'm stuck between the devil and the deep blue sea, it would seem.
Don't get me wrong, I am enjoying it all, I'm just not getting anything done. And I've been in an absurdly good mood for most of the past month which is not altogether conducive to the project I have in mind to complete.
Two weeks ago, I fired off a missile at some completely innocent party and they finally responded to it yesterday. When I sent the original, I was mightily hot under the collar. I responded to their answer - and apologised for my original outburst. I am only able to reconcile myself to that because I used subtle sarcasm in the email as my reason for the unexpected spray. It was a good email by my standards, which are fairly high. It should make the recipient feel at once contrite and confronted without having given them a reason to feel confronted. (After all, I was apologising and explaining myself.)
If anyone were to send me such an email, I would probably reply telling them something like "Your email is important to me and I shall give it full consideration in order to provide the level of response appropriate to its merit. Thank you." Then never respond again thus fulfilling my promise.
That's the sort of thing a bastard of my calibre would do automatically. Having been in an exceptionally good mood for as long as I have been, that level of sarcasm has been hard to summon.
Ah well, can't have it both ways I suppose.
So much to do, so little time.
Trouble is, the thought of abandoning my current motivation is actually fairly frightening. I can feel myself slipping into my enthusiastic early coaching days and that's not a prospect I find particularly appealing. It makes me predictable and boring and that's why I should really extricate myself from this current situation.
The problem is twofold.
Firstly, I don't want to go. Those kids are outstanding - just like the kids I used to coach.
Secondly, they are a huge motivation for me to write. If I drag myself out of this predicament and get on with the stuff I want to do, those motivation levels will plummet. See, the kids provide feedback on a regular basis. Projects don't.
I'm stuck between the devil and the deep blue sea, it would seem.
Don't get me wrong, I am enjoying it all, I'm just not getting anything done. And I've been in an absurdly good mood for most of the past month which is not altogether conducive to the project I have in mind to complete.
Two weeks ago, I fired off a missile at some completely innocent party and they finally responded to it yesterday. When I sent the original, I was mightily hot under the collar. I responded to their answer - and apologised for my original outburst. I am only able to reconcile myself to that because I used subtle sarcasm in the email as my reason for the unexpected spray. It was a good email by my standards, which are fairly high. It should make the recipient feel at once contrite and confronted without having given them a reason to feel confronted. (After all, I was apologising and explaining myself.)
If anyone were to send me such an email, I would probably reply telling them something like "Your email is important to me and I shall give it full consideration in order to provide the level of response appropriate to its merit. Thank you." Then never respond again thus fulfilling my promise.
That's the sort of thing a bastard of my calibre would do automatically. Having been in an exceptionally good mood for as long as I have been, that level of sarcasm has been hard to summon.
Ah well, can't have it both ways I suppose.
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