Just spent two days in Geelong/Torquay, which is the start of the Great Ocean Road if any of you have been down that way before.
Day one was spent lounging in mum's friend's beach house, which has all the things that my apartment doesn't - miles of space, heating, artful furniture, a view - and I even braved a dip in the ocean. I became intimately aquainted with the water (cold, salty), my face exfoliated with sand as the waves rushed out to greet me. But with a wetsuit and a boogie board, you don't feel the cold at all. Really. Am considering going back to do it in winter, during the next school holiday, but the look from a friend (amused, horrified, pity) is making me reconsider.
Day two was a systematic decimation of all the op shops in geelong. We must have hit at least 8 in 5 hours. Op shop is short for opportunity shop, they are usually run by old ladies and owned by churches, selling donated items, profits going to charities. Clothes and kitchen/household items are definitely good buys, sometimes you can get furniture and books, although finding an undiscovered lost beatles track or antique china is probably a stretch.
Among the many things I liked but didn't buy - a purple raleigh bicycle, in a classic roadbike-style like the one we rented in paris but with gears, for $60 plus helmet; a white coffee table with a tiled chess set in the centre, $20; a retro 50s' style dining table in formica, with 4 green and sliver chairs, $80; a side cabinet wallpapered with cut-out pictures from magazines, mostly of spike from buffy but also silence of the lambs, very pop culture 15 minutes ago, $10.
Tyger has a great series of posts on her Cambodia trip, especially the bug-eating bits. My only claim to fame is a fried grasshopper and, then again, I could only eat it with my eyes closed.
Am in two minds recommending this link to an exerpt from neil gaiman's latest book - it only makes me want to read. the entire book. now. must have it now.
t-shirt saying i just made up: hangovers are for wimps
t-shirt saying i want to get: warning, may contain traces of nut
why wy?
Thursday, March 31, 2005 at 7:06 AM
Tuesday, March 29, 2005 at 7:19 AM
So, they've put me behind this computer at work.
I work in a warehouse for lighting products four hours a day while trying to find a job for which I've actually trained for (ah, the joys of under-employment in Australia). And in the logistics universe, if you wear glasses, look semi-intelligent and actually don't mind working half the time you're there, they put you behind the computer.
This is where I noticed this remarkable behavioural phenomenon. See, I've been there five minutes trying to figure out the counter-intuitive range of commands to navigate their invoicing and stock-tracking software, when all these burly, sweaty, 45-year-old types start asking me questions. In a broad brogue with words you don't hear very often (they do speak a different language in the outer suburbs from that we inner-city wimps use.)
'Hey mate, this amway (??) in frem Yallumabra goan off to Launceston next arvo', where d'ya want me to put it?' Or ' Oi mate, there's this shiela on the horn after the MX4081K thingie for the Elysian FR324D, wheredja put it?'
(I don't know, I just work here....) So I give these blokes blank stares, mumble under my breath and focus on the monitor. And they lumber off to the other computer dude and present him with the same questions; he gives them prescise answers in a sharp, staccatto while typing 75,000 words a minute.
Then at about an hour later, they return. One cosies up and goes, "Look mate, if there's some cuttin up of papers ya' need done, or ya' need me to getcha something, just give me a holler'. And another one, 'Yeah mate, I pick over there in L8, anythin' u need from those parts, yew look for me.' Then the third, 'I'm goan off on me smoko mate, yew wanna coffee or somethin?'
Gee, that's awfully nice of them. Almost respectful even. Then they stand around shifting about nervously as I input some data into the invoicing package. 'Yer awfully quick on that compooter, maybe yew ken show me how to find the stock of the floor sometime." Ah, that unmistakable smell - technophobia.
It's sad but its true - in a roomful of middle-aged, blue-collar types, the monkey behind the computer is the Boss.
No wonder the government is trying to get all these men and women in this age-group to retrain and upskill. Most of these blokes - straight-up, fair-dinkum fellas - have been doing this all their lives, and had a grip on things until some middle-management type computerised the processes to up productivity. And when things slow down, and there's not that much picking on the floor to be done, many of these same blokes will be out of a job.
So when I'm free, I show some of them a couple of processes to make their work easier. It takes a while, but most of them get a hang of it and are looking up their own picklists soon enough.
In the meantime, 'Yeah, I'll have that coffee, thanks. And make it quick, I'm busy here....'
I work in a warehouse for lighting products four hours a day while trying to find a job for which I've actually trained for (ah, the joys of under-employment in Australia). And in the logistics universe, if you wear glasses, look semi-intelligent and actually don't mind working half the time you're there, they put you behind the computer.
This is where I noticed this remarkable behavioural phenomenon. See, I've been there five minutes trying to figure out the counter-intuitive range of commands to navigate their invoicing and stock-tracking software, when all these burly, sweaty, 45-year-old types start asking me questions. In a broad brogue with words you don't hear very often (they do speak a different language in the outer suburbs from that we inner-city wimps use.)
'Hey mate, this amway (??) in frem Yallumabra goan off to Launceston next arvo', where d'ya want me to put it?' Or ' Oi mate, there's this shiela on the horn after the MX4081K thingie for the Elysian FR324D, wheredja put it?'
(I don't know, I just work here....) So I give these blokes blank stares, mumble under my breath and focus on the monitor. And they lumber off to the other computer dude and present him with the same questions; he gives them prescise answers in a sharp, staccatto while typing 75,000 words a minute.
Then at about an hour later, they return. One cosies up and goes, "Look mate, if there's some cuttin up of papers ya' need done, or ya' need me to getcha something, just give me a holler'. And another one, 'Yeah mate, I pick over there in L8, anythin' u need from those parts, yew look for me.' Then the third, 'I'm goan off on me smoko mate, yew wanna coffee or somethin?'
Gee, that's awfully nice of them. Almost respectful even. Then they stand around shifting about nervously as I input some data into the invoicing package. 'Yer awfully quick on that compooter, maybe yew ken show me how to find the stock of the floor sometime." Ah, that unmistakable smell - technophobia.
It's sad but its true - in a roomful of middle-aged, blue-collar types, the monkey behind the computer is the Boss.
No wonder the government is trying to get all these men and women in this age-group to retrain and upskill. Most of these blokes - straight-up, fair-dinkum fellas - have been doing this all their lives, and had a grip on things until some middle-management type computerised the processes to up productivity. And when things slow down, and there's not that much picking on the floor to be done, many of these same blokes will be out of a job.
So when I'm free, I show some of them a couple of processes to make their work easier. It takes a while, but most of them get a hang of it and are looking up their own picklists soon enough.
In the meantime, 'Yeah, I'll have that coffee, thanks. And make it quick, I'm busy here....'
Sunday, March 27, 2005 at 5:14 PM
dejavu again! 
at 5:12 PM
dejavu
at 1:10 PM
The true meaning of de ja vu, having two boutiques on opposite sides of the road, just metres from each other. I am not making this up. Not the best of shots from the car, will attempt to take better photos when I can.
I caught a bit of the grammys (grammies?) and there was a medley performance for charity - bono, stevie wonder, alicia keys, norah jones, steve tyler et al, people who can carry a note - doing their version of the beatles' across the universe. Everyone was in tune, unfortunately not with each other. As much as i wanted to like it because of Bono, it sounded terrible, not far off from the american idol medley I heard just an hour before. Which is kinda sad, but makes you respect people who do musicals.
And i was going through my ipod, for cover versions. Summertime came up tops - 6 times, excluding a different song with the same name by Bachelor No 1. Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong, Sarah Vaughan (classic), Fantasia Barrino (pop), Caetano Veloso (slow), Morcheeba and UFO (remixed).
weirdest cover i have: when a man loves a chicken. that or Creep by richard cheese. Radiohead lounge-style, very much a one hit wonder.
weirdest cover that works: diana by caetano veloso. With the right phasing and lush strings backing him up, it's actually a nice song, forever condemned to cheesy music hell by paul anka. Nobody believes me.
i've been home all day studying about how As Sue Lies Flat, Oscar's Penis Swells Magnificently. No honestly, that's what they teach us in school.
Branches of the external carotid artery
Ascending pharyngeal
Superior thyroid
Lingual
Facial
Occipital
Posterior Auricular
Superficial Temporal
Maxillary
There's also another one about how Luscious French Tarts Sit aNxious in Anticipation, and i don't think it's about pastry.
I caught a bit of the grammys (grammies?) and there was a medley performance for charity - bono, stevie wonder, alicia keys, norah jones, steve tyler et al, people who can carry a note - doing their version of the beatles' across the universe. Everyone was in tune, unfortunately not with each other. As much as i wanted to like it because of Bono, it sounded terrible, not far off from the american idol medley I heard just an hour before. Which is kinda sad, but makes you respect people who do musicals.
And i was going through my ipod, for cover versions. Summertime came up tops - 6 times, excluding a different song with the same name by Bachelor No 1. Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong, Sarah Vaughan (classic), Fantasia Barrino (pop), Caetano Veloso (slow), Morcheeba and UFO (remixed).
weirdest cover i have: when a man loves a chicken. that or Creep by richard cheese. Radiohead lounge-style, very much a one hit wonder.
weirdest cover that works: diana by caetano veloso. With the right phasing and lush strings backing him up, it's actually a nice song, forever condemned to cheesy music hell by paul anka. Nobody believes me.
i've been home all day studying about how As Sue Lies Flat, Oscar's Penis Swells Magnificently. No honestly, that's what they teach us in school.
Branches of the external carotid artery
Ascending pharyngeal
Superior thyroid
Lingual
Facial
Occipital
Posterior Auricular
Superficial Temporal
Maxillary
There's also another one about how Luscious French Tarts Sit aNxious in Anticipation, and i don't think it's about pastry.
Saturday, March 26, 2005 at 1:49 PM
Daaarling leeeaave a light on for me
I think belinda carlise is cool, having rediscovered her on the classic gold, old-fart radio station. lingam thinks belinda carlise is too firmly associated with the 80s' roller discos and ah bengs to ever have any kind of retro street-cred.
"I want to dedilate this song by belinda carlie to my frwend. Stay cool n funky forever..."
I was too young to go to tea parties or roller discos, and besides, my hand-eye coordination is still lacking, 15 years later. On the radio here, they actually have a programme for you to dedicate a song to your pet cat/dog/rabbit etc.
Had a great laugh from a blog, which I feel embarrassed to post the link because I am going to make fun of it, but she is studying philosophy in a great singapore institution, and this is what she had to say.
(edited)
I read Sartre and Camus at 17. Because L'Etranger was just delicious to keep saying, as was roudoudou, but that didn't make much sense to anyone and was hardly intellectual, but rolled on my tongue so soft and hard at once that it was like kissing the perfect mouth with just the right amount of tongue. In any case, it all began there, with the French and their beautiful words and lilts and existential lullabies.
I correctly read philosophy at University and always took Existentialism and Phenomenology very very seriously, perhaps because not many others did and also because I sympathise that it is just not a simple job convincing the world that there is great magnitude in the difference between being and Being.
Heidegger dislocated me and I submitted like a caged virgin
All Heidegger ever did for me was give a massive headache and the strong conviction that all German philosophers are crazy. Ref: Nietzche, Kant, Wittgenstein (ok, austrian, but close enough). The French are close, but at least they look cooler with their berets and coffee. Sartre rhymes with arse (British pronunciation), kind of, spoke a lot of nothing, and was less funny than Seinfeld, the show based on nothing.
A further riff on the idea of sexy philosophers - is it an oxymoron? I thought long and hard about it and many of them have visually unattractive amounts of facial hair - Nietzche again, socrates, confucius. The only one that stands a chance with me is kierkegaard, ignoring small niggling thingies like philsophically, he valued religion over sex, and um, he's kinda dead.
To be fair, the above-mentioned blogger does write with more style than moi and she looks pretty hot too.
"I want to dedilate this song by belinda carlie to my frwend. Stay cool n funky forever..."
I was too young to go to tea parties or roller discos, and besides, my hand-eye coordination is still lacking, 15 years later. On the radio here, they actually have a programme for you to dedicate a song to your pet cat/dog/rabbit etc.
Had a great laugh from a blog, which I feel embarrassed to post the link because I am going to make fun of it, but she is studying philosophy in a great singapore institution, and this is what she had to say.
(edited)
I read Sartre and Camus at 17. Because L'Etranger was just delicious to keep saying, as was roudoudou, but that didn't make much sense to anyone and was hardly intellectual, but rolled on my tongue so soft and hard at once that it was like kissing the perfect mouth with just the right amount of tongue. In any case, it all began there, with the French and their beautiful words and lilts and existential lullabies.
I correctly read philosophy at University and always took Existentialism and Phenomenology very very seriously, perhaps because not many others did and also because I sympathise that it is just not a simple job convincing the world that there is great magnitude in the difference between being and Being.
Heidegger dislocated me and I submitted like a caged virgin
All Heidegger ever did for me was give a massive headache and the strong conviction that all German philosophers are crazy. Ref: Nietzche, Kant, Wittgenstein (ok, austrian, but close enough). The French are close, but at least they look cooler with their berets and coffee. Sartre rhymes with arse (British pronunciation), kind of, spoke a lot of nothing, and was less funny than Seinfeld, the show based on nothing.
A further riff on the idea of sexy philosophers - is it an oxymoron? I thought long and hard about it and many of them have visually unattractive amounts of facial hair - Nietzche again, socrates, confucius. The only one that stands a chance with me is kierkegaard, ignoring small niggling thingies like philsophically, he valued religion over sex, and um, he's kinda dead.
To be fair, the above-mentioned blogger does write with more style than moi and she looks pretty hot too.
Friday, March 25, 2005 at 6:12 PM
i've invited lingam to guest-blog, whenever he wants, so be nice.
My housemate is looking after her friends' guinea pigs for a couple of days, because the foursome couldn't get on the flight back to Singapore. She talks to them, out loud, and possibly, more to them than to me. They don't talk back. This is raising serious doubts about my personality, especially after the drive-in rejection.
My housemate is looking after her friends' guinea pigs for a couple of days, because the foursome couldn't get on the flight back to Singapore. She talks to them, out loud, and possibly, more to them than to me. They don't talk back. This is raising serious doubts about my personality, especially after the drive-in rejection.
Thursday, March 24, 2005 at 6:42 PM
chanced upon weeteck's blog today, he's got a great post about the whole gay issue. Weeteck is a great writer and a great friend. Gotta run for coffee, thanks for all the comments! Re the locker room, was I glad or sad? I really don't know. Am I frigid just because I don't get turned on by a roomful of penises? All it shows is that I don't have the mindset of a gay man... and i got rejected by a cinema chain because i think i can't count. apparently it was similiar to the sort of tests investment bankers get...
will stop being a parasitic inspiring presence now
will stop being a parasitic inspiring presence now
Sunday, March 20, 2005 at 11:50 AM
here i am struggling with phone numbers and these guys are doing sequence of cards in under a minute. meet the memory masters .
Saturday, March 19, 2005 at 5:51 PM
I never knew this - Steve Jobs has been paid an annual salary of $1 for several years, and he has also limited the number of stock options he gets. That is one cool boss. Then again, he is the second-largest shareholder of Apple and is worth $2.6 billion.
Have started work as a sports trainer on Saturdays, which translates into taping joints and massage for footy players. It's a divsion 4 club, which means it's a level up from people our age having a friendly game on Sundays. It's been fun so far, but we have been officially warned against dating any of the players. They've lost a few trainers that way, it seems, although the football club president himself dated a trainer...
The scene in the locker room is typically full of testosterone, which means sweat, swear words and blokes changing in front of you. For a while, it felt like a bit from Austin Powers, vital bits strategically blocked but every now and then you get a full frontal. I've always wondered why it's a guy thing, women don't stand around and chit chat while they are undressed.
Have started work as a sports trainer on Saturdays, which translates into taping joints and massage for footy players. It's a divsion 4 club, which means it's a level up from people our age having a friendly game on Sundays. It's been fun so far, but we have been officially warned against dating any of the players. They've lost a few trainers that way, it seems, although the football club president himself dated a trainer...
The scene in the locker room is typically full of testosterone, which means sweat, swear words and blokes changing in front of you. For a while, it felt like a bit from Austin Powers, vital bits strategically blocked but every now and then you get a full frontal. I've always wondered why it's a guy thing, women don't stand around and chit chat while they are undressed.
Friday, March 18, 2005 at 6:41 PM
part two in a series of meaningless jobs
I hold a cheque for $22.50 in my hand, after three hours of holding mental conversations with woollen coats. Me, with a steam iron in my hand. Steam irons rock. But even the magic of steam irons is no match for the sheer drudgery of the job. I can switch my brain off, but it feels much better to do it for more money. Where are the mythical $22 per hour jobs that I hear about? To be fair, the boss is a nice man, but he is paying peanuts. It reminded me of his skit they did on muppets tonight, where salmonella, a monkey, tries to be an osteopath. His boss, Johnny, is an old-time Frank/Dean type singer.
Johnny: Why ain't my pants ironed? I need them for the show tonight.
Sal: Sorry Johnny, I was reading this book. I'm going to be an osteopath. Let me fix your neck.
Johnny: You're a pants ironer, not a boneylogist. Pants ironer.
Sal: I guess you're right Johnny. Pants ironer.
It's got a happy ending - no more pants are ironed and Sal ends up fixing kermit's neck, although it looked seriously floppy after.
I'm a coat ironer - but not for long, please.
And this made me laugh today:
BERLIN (Reuters) - A blow-up sex doll sparked a bomb alert in a German post office after it started to vibrate inside a package awaiting delivery, police said Wednesday.
"Workers were unsettled when it began vibrating and made strange noises," a spokesman for police in the eastern city of Chemnitz said. "They were worried the package might be a bomb."
Officers brought the sender to the scene and discovered the source of alarm was an electrical device inside a life-size female sex doll. The man told police he had wanted to return the doll because it kept turning itself on at the wrong moment.
Order was restored after the sender removed the doll's batteries so the defective product could be returned.
I hold a cheque for $22.50 in my hand, after three hours of holding mental conversations with woollen coats. Me, with a steam iron in my hand. Steam irons rock. But even the magic of steam irons is no match for the sheer drudgery of the job. I can switch my brain off, but it feels much better to do it for more money. Where are the mythical $22 per hour jobs that I hear about? To be fair, the boss is a nice man, but he is paying peanuts. It reminded me of his skit they did on muppets tonight, where salmonella, a monkey, tries to be an osteopath. His boss, Johnny, is an old-time Frank/Dean type singer.
Johnny: Why ain't my pants ironed? I need them for the show tonight.
Sal: Sorry Johnny, I was reading this book. I'm going to be an osteopath. Let me fix your neck.
Johnny: You're a pants ironer, not a boneylogist. Pants ironer.
Sal: I guess you're right Johnny. Pants ironer.
It's got a happy ending - no more pants are ironed and Sal ends up fixing kermit's neck, although it looked seriously floppy after.
I'm a coat ironer - but not for long, please.
And this made me laugh today:
BERLIN (Reuters) - A blow-up sex doll sparked a bomb alert in a German post office after it started to vibrate inside a package awaiting delivery, police said Wednesday.
"Workers were unsettled when it began vibrating and made strange noises," a spokesman for police in the eastern city of Chemnitz said. "They were worried the package might be a bomb."
Officers brought the sender to the scene and discovered the source of alarm was an electrical device inside a life-size female sex doll. The man told police he had wanted to return the doll because it kept turning itself on at the wrong moment.
Order was restored after the sender removed the doll's batteries so the defective product could be returned.
at 10:25 AM
We looked at the insides of the heads we cut open today, which was messy and smelt weird but not as disturbing as having your mum like Happy Tree Friends and HUM THE SONG.
It was st paddy's yesterday, and in a real irony, the irish pubs weer so packed people were queuing a block to get in. Now, which real irishman will stand in the cold when he can go off and get a pint somewhere else?
Patsian has posted about it here.
It was st paddy's yesterday, and in a real irony, the irish pubs weer so packed people were queuing a block to get in. Now, which real irishman will stand in the cold when he can go off and get a pint somewhere else?
Patsian has posted about it here.
Thursday, March 17, 2005 at 1:34 PM
Lying in bed listening to the rain...
finding a carpark right outside the shop you're going to...
Finding the perfect gift for someone who has everything...
flowers for no reason...
walking barefoot on the beach... perfect!
That actually sounds pretty good... but all those warm fuzzy feelings are being used to sell cereal. This follows:
The ideal balance of goodness and taste, light n tasty is all you need to create your own perfect moment.
Using sex/health/wellbeing to sell commodities is not new, but I feel ripped off after reading the back of the box. (Yes, I am cursed with the urge to read labels, no matter how banal.)
These were my feelings damnit, things that I liked, now suddenly they are co-opted to be a part of someone's advertising strategy. It's also targeted at women, come on, which man wants flowers? I want my cereal to say - cheap, and we taste better than the other ones. Contains real food, not processed crap! Save the pop philosophy for morning talk shows and top 40 hits.
Now, ironically, I would be adverse to buying a box of light n tasty, and also because it comes with apricots and I hate chewy things in my cereal.
And because this is too good to let up, this nugget comes from Lingam, self-styled iconoclastic lifestyle manager:
You know how Gandhi used to test his willpower by sleeping with virgin girls? Well, I'm doing the same, going shopping but not buying anything.
finding a carpark right outside the shop you're going to...
Finding the perfect gift for someone who has everything...
flowers for no reason...
walking barefoot on the beach... perfect!
That actually sounds pretty good... but all those warm fuzzy feelings are being used to sell cereal. This follows:
The ideal balance of goodness and taste, light n tasty is all you need to create your own perfect moment.
Using sex/health/wellbeing to sell commodities is not new, but I feel ripped off after reading the back of the box. (Yes, I am cursed with the urge to read labels, no matter how banal.)
These were my feelings damnit, things that I liked, now suddenly they are co-opted to be a part of someone's advertising strategy. It's also targeted at women, come on, which man wants flowers? I want my cereal to say - cheap, and we taste better than the other ones. Contains real food, not processed crap! Save the pop philosophy for morning talk shows and top 40 hits.
Now, ironically, I would be adverse to buying a box of light n tasty, and also because it comes with apricots and I hate chewy things in my cereal.
And because this is too good to let up, this nugget comes from Lingam, self-styled iconoclastic lifestyle manager:
You know how Gandhi used to test his willpower by sleeping with virgin girls? Well, I'm doing the same, going shopping but not buying anything.
Friday, March 11, 2005 at 11:32 AM
my mum and my housemate have bonded over non-dairy milk, white nectarines, laundry and romantic movies, especially those starring sandra bullock. I found it difficult to explain to her what sort of movies I like to watch, especially the only one I enjoyed so far is Matador, which opens with masturbation. So she has been renting horror movies for me so far, unfortunately I've already seen From Hell.
And yes, horror would have described our faces when we got into dissection today, and the lab tech was sawing open the heads of the cadavers. There's the sound of the electric saw, the hammer and chisel, and finally, the sound of cloth tearing as he pulls the top off. It's a bit sick I know, but it's really like opening a coconut, especially when the juice spills out at the end... but you'll be surprised how difficult it is to pry the head open.
Choice comments:
It looked a lot easier in Hannibal.
That's what you call a splitting headache.
And yes, horror would have described our faces when we got into dissection today, and the lab tech was sawing open the heads of the cadavers. There's the sound of the electric saw, the hammer and chisel, and finally, the sound of cloth tearing as he pulls the top off. It's a bit sick I know, but it's really like opening a coconut, especially when the juice spills out at the end... but you'll be surprised how difficult it is to pry the head open.
Choice comments:
It looked a lot easier in Hannibal.
That's what you call a splitting headache.
Wednesday, March 09, 2005 at 6:37 PM
a little determination can be a bad thing
I was feeling bummed out from not getting any work, so I tried delivering catalogues. Now, I realise there are some things in the bottom of the barrel that are just not worth it. I had to sort about 400 sheets of 9 catalogues and deliver them in 48 hours, which is not great when it also happens to be my busiest days at school. Many things ran through my mind as I assembled 3,600 sheets of slippery, shiny paper over the course of three hours:
* the jb hifi ones were the worse, very slippery.
kmart was daunting - the stack never seemed to finish.
ecolow was deceptively thin, but alas, they were single-sided.
* the biblical description of eternity - a bird taking a grain of sand from one place to another. Would I be happier as that bird? At least I can drop crap on recently-washed cars.
* if i burst into tears, whether my long-missing fairy godmother would magically appear.
* actually contemplating whether this was worse than being a parking attendant (I actually saw an ad for them). Nah, that work is morally repugnant. But if i had to pick one to save my life, it would be nude massages, followed by catalogue delivery and parking attendant.
* wondering how much paper waste I managed to generate, not to mention starting my car, driving 10 meters and stopping, for 7 hours.
thinking back to my journalism career, where we were schooled that it was page 1 today, fish wrap tomorrow. My efforts were read by at least one person (even if it was just the editor), whereas here it's a short trip from postbox to dustbin.
* and most of all, what excuse i was going to give to the guy who ran the delivery.
-i am environmentally opposed to this job.
-i lack the prerequisite child labour to complete this task.
-i would rather be tortured for state secrets (The toilet paper is white! No seriously, not that I know any, although I just spent dinner explaining to Mon what an Ah Beng is.)
-i have better things to do with my time then sit in the carpark for three hours sorting, getting bitten by mosquitos, then going around to houses in unlit lanes.
In the end, I just said the timing was just really bad for me. Boring, I know.
* the jb hifi ones were the worse, very slippery.
kmart was daunting - the stack never seemed to finish.
ecolow was deceptively thin, but alas, they were single-sided.
* the biblical description of eternity - a bird taking a grain of sand from one place to another. Would I be happier as that bird? At least I can drop crap on recently-washed cars.
* if i burst into tears, whether my long-missing fairy godmother would magically appear.
* actually contemplating whether this was worse than being a parking attendant (I actually saw an ad for them). Nah, that work is morally repugnant. But if i had to pick one to save my life, it would be nude massages, followed by catalogue delivery and parking attendant.
* wondering how much paper waste I managed to generate, not to mention starting my car, driving 10 meters and stopping, for 7 hours.
thinking back to my journalism career, where we were schooled that it was page 1 today, fish wrap tomorrow. My efforts were read by at least one person (even if it was just the editor), whereas here it's a short trip from postbox to dustbin.
* and most of all, what excuse i was going to give to the guy who ran the delivery.
-i am environmentally opposed to this job.
-i lack the prerequisite child labour to complete this task.
-i would rather be tortured for state secrets (The toilet paper is white! No seriously, not that I know any, although I just spent dinner explaining to Mon what an Ah Beng is.)
-i have better things to do with my time then sit in the carpark for three hours sorting, getting bitten by mosquitos, then going around to houses in unlit lanes.
In the end, I just said the timing was just really bad for me. Boring, I know.
Sunday, March 06, 2005 at 8:27 AM
am currently hooked on this fiendishly difficult flash game, thanks to aggie. Start where the arrow is pointing, that's all i can say. I'm still stuck, having killed off all the stick people by accident, so keep the hints coming.
We had a textbook example of melbourne weather yesterday, it rained and turned sunny in 30 minutes, and kept doing that the whole day. It looks like more of the same today. My housemate has joined a gym, and they rent out free dvds for members. I can't see what that has to do with fitness, but I'm not complaining.
There was this sci-fi film with a clunker of a title, Equilibrium, sort of 1984 meets Gattaca meets Matrix. After the 3rd world war, they create a drug to remove emotion, which they blame for warlike feelings. Everyone is on regular doses of a drug to make them emotionless. A super squad of police go around and arrest people for feeling. It sounded dodgy but it did have christian bale (chief policeman), sean bean (died in 1st 15 min) and emily watson (died midway through). Anyhow, christian goes off his medication and decides feeling is pretty good after all, even though he wears the same wooden expression throughout. Most of this film feels like you've seen it somewhere before, but the one original cool thing is the gun kata, a taichi karate sort of gongfu that enables you to disarm kill a whole room of people firing at you.
listening: Aikawa Nasase - a japanese rock chick, The Reindeer Section - lo-fi alternative (thanks ivan)
watching: Irrrooooonnn Chef!
downloading: icons from pixelgirl they have a weird yong tau foo inspired one, with fish with veggies on their head. cute.
surfing: more strange japanese food
We had a textbook example of melbourne weather yesterday, it rained and turned sunny in 30 minutes, and kept doing that the whole day. It looks like more of the same today. My housemate has joined a gym, and they rent out free dvds for members. I can't see what that has to do with fitness, but I'm not complaining.
There was this sci-fi film with a clunker of a title, Equilibrium, sort of 1984 meets Gattaca meets Matrix. After the 3rd world war, they create a drug to remove emotion, which they blame for warlike feelings. Everyone is on regular doses of a drug to make them emotionless. A super squad of police go around and arrest people for feeling. It sounded dodgy but it did have christian bale (chief policeman), sean bean (died in 1st 15 min) and emily watson (died midway through). Anyhow, christian goes off his medication and decides feeling is pretty good after all, even though he wears the same wooden expression throughout. Most of this film feels like you've seen it somewhere before, but the one original cool thing is the gun kata, a taichi karate sort of gongfu that enables you to disarm kill a whole room of people firing at you.
listening: Aikawa Nasase - a japanese rock chick, The Reindeer Section - lo-fi alternative (thanks ivan)
watching: Irrrooooonnn Chef!
downloading: icons from pixelgirl they have a weird yong tau foo inspired one, with fish with veggies on their head. cute.
surfing: more strange japanese food
Saturday, March 05, 2005 at 8:33 AM
Went climbing last night, and I was amazed at the number of young people there. I did a very juggy 12 (like a 5a i think), which was a nice warm up, and then this six year old girl started leading it...to be fair (to me, that is), you have to pass a leading and belaying test in order to lead, and I haven't sorted that out yet.
There was also a short kid (maybe around 12) with the biceps of a man... and the very muscular middle-aged woman who was all power (she was doing an constant overhang, like the rightmost yishun one). I did about 8 5b-5c climbs, and a couple of short ones, and then i got home and my mom wanted a massage... ouch
There was also a short kid (maybe around 12) with the biceps of a man... and the very muscular middle-aged woman who was all power (she was doing an constant overhang, like the rightmost yishun one). I did about 8 5b-5c climbs, and a couple of short ones, and then i got home and my mom wanted a massage... ouch
Thursday, March 03, 2005 at 12:36 PM
erm. not much happening. Let's see:
- denyse is in town. she is buying me a lychee margaritia or similar.
- had a small dinner party at my place, mum cooked a storm, my friends met my other friends.
- laughed my head off when i heard about the gahmen sending married childless couples a package to improve their sex life.
- set up my lappy to lingam's speeding broadband connection, as i sit in his very nice apartment typing this. I have promised to pay my share with beer.
- minor drama this arvo: mum thought she dropped her keys at the train station. I walked over, searched aimlessly, got back, searched her bag again, and finally, searched the bedroom as a last-ditch effort. And there they were, in bed under the covers. she had gone to sleep with them in her pocket...
- arvo has got to be the best aussie slang i've learnt. it's short for afternoon, which is a bitch to sms.
- not looking forward to the cold weekend. so far, the weather has been perfect, especially for muddled melbourne. Sunny cool days, a bit chilly at nights, great to sleep.
- denyse is in town. she is buying me a lychee margaritia or similar.
- had a small dinner party at my place, mum cooked a storm, my friends met my other friends.
- laughed my head off when i heard about the gahmen sending married childless couples a package to improve their sex life.
- set up my lappy to lingam's speeding broadband connection, as i sit in his very nice apartment typing this. I have promised to pay my share with beer.
- minor drama this arvo: mum thought she dropped her keys at the train station. I walked over, searched aimlessly, got back, searched her bag again, and finally, searched the bedroom as a last-ditch effort. And there they were, in bed under the covers. she had gone to sleep with them in her pocket...
- arvo has got to be the best aussie slang i've learnt. it's short for afternoon, which is a bitch to sms.
- not looking forward to the cold weekend. so far, the weather has been perfect, especially for muddled melbourne. Sunny cool days, a bit chilly at nights, great to sleep.
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