So apparently we're having after-work drinks this afternoon at a pub called The Local. You have to wonder, is there just one pub with this name - or are there several Locals in different locales? And is this Local a local Local, or an unlocal Local?
Matters were not helped when it was explained to me that I could easily recognise The Local, since it's name had been changed to Molly Blooms.
Possibly everything will be made clearer after a few drinks. I'll get back to you.
UPDATE! I just learned that local pub Molly Blooms is not our local The Local, although it is a local. Apparently some other unnamed local pub is The Local. What's more, according to Rachel in comments, Molly Blooms was almost always Molly Blooms, and was probably never The Local. It's a pity I haven't been drinking. Then things would make sense.
UPDATE ON THE UPDATE! It's a good thing The Local is not an unnammed unlocal The Local, or then things would get really confusing.
I just hope in my current state of undrunkenness, I'll be able to find the place.
Friday, December 16, 2005
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
This Post Was Bought To You By
'The Letter j'? What the fuck's that all about?
It's not an 'i', it's not a 'y', and it's not a 'g', though sometimes it tries to be all three. It is geometrically improbable. It is a long stick balancing on a curvy base - hardly realistic. And then you've got that ball at the top. What the hell? Who gave that ball permission to defy gravity and sit up there? It's like it's saying, 'hey there, suckers, look at me, I'm soooo better than the rest of you.'
I think those people who are in charge of splitting the infinitive and determining the true weight of the epigram should redesign the letter 'j', so that it looks like this:
Yeah. Yeah, that's how things should be.
It's not an 'i', it's not a 'y', and it's not a 'g', though sometimes it tries to be all three. It is geometrically improbable. It is a long stick balancing on a curvy base - hardly realistic. And then you've got that ball at the top. What the hell? Who gave that ball permission to defy gravity and sit up there? It's like it's saying, 'hey there, suckers, look at me, I'm soooo better than the rest of you.'
I think those people who are in charge of splitting the infinitive and determining the true weight of the epigram should redesign the letter 'j', so that it looks like this:
Yeah. Yeah, that's how things should be.
Monday, December 12, 2005
"Special Underwear"
Apparently Mormons wear Special Underwear, super underwear (wonderwear, if you will), that brings them closer to God. It's not entirely clear how they consecrate this underwear or in what ways these magic panties bring them closer to God, but it does. Whatever - it's just special, okay? Do not question the ways of the Lord.
It makes you wonder - do Mormons have different types of Special Underwear, for different people? Is there a silken range of wonderwear for naughty nighttime Mormon antics? Do they have Special Lingerie and Special Boxers? I guess that they do, otherwise it wouldn't be special Special Underwear, it would be just plain boring.
Then again, if this so-called Special Underwear was so wonderfully special, maybe self-respecting Mormons wouldn't bother wearing anything else. Then it wouldn't really be underwear, would it, because it wouldn't be under anything. It would be Special-Once-Was-Underwear. Or Special-Latent-Underwear.
And it wouldn't matter too much what variety of Special Underwear it was, either. You could see flabby old Mormon grandfathers going about in sexy (and Special) Black Bits of Lace. Or Mormon grandmothers wandering about in Special Boxers, and nothing else.
But we see NONE OF THESE THINGS on our streets, do we? I think this proves that Mormonism, like any other religion with Special Underwear related regulations, is a pack of lies.
Maybe I'll become a nudist.
It makes you wonder - do Mormons have different types of Special Underwear, for different people? Is there a silken range of wonderwear for naughty nighttime Mormon antics? Do they have Special Lingerie and Special Boxers? I guess that they do, otherwise it wouldn't be special Special Underwear, it would be just plain boring.
Then again, if this so-called Special Underwear was so wonderfully special, maybe self-respecting Mormons wouldn't bother wearing anything else. Then it wouldn't really be underwear, would it, because it wouldn't be under anything. It would be Special-Once-Was-Underwear. Or Special-Latent-Underwear.
And it wouldn't matter too much what variety of Special Underwear it was, either. You could see flabby old Mormon grandfathers going about in sexy (and Special) Black Bits of Lace. Or Mormon grandmothers wandering about in Special Boxers, and nothing else.
But we see NONE OF THESE THINGS on our streets, do we? I think this proves that Mormonism, like any other religion with Special Underwear related regulations, is a pack of lies.
Maybe I'll become a nudist.
Saturday, December 10, 2005
Ticked Off
Dad went bushwalking the other week. A few days later, he found a lump on his back and went to see the doctor. The doctor took a look at the lump and got some nurses in to have a look at it too. Then they all stood around Dad while the doctor cut into the lump on Dad's back and took out a cattle tick.
"Did he keep the tick?" I said to Mum on the phone.
"No," said Mum. "They put it into a jar and had to send it off to Sydney for testing. Apparently, they can kill dogs, so they put him on some medication for a week."
***
Well, that's more or less how Mum told the story. Dad tells it a little differently. Every week or so he writes two or three-page, boring letters with sentences like this:
Had a quick lone lunch. Helen showed up an hour or so later. Had to rush in to the Terrace again by bike. Forgot to buy the newspaper. Really vital getting the news paper on Monday. Only way to get a decent T.V. Times. Slow for the rest of the day. Saw some suspicious looking men over opposite this P.M. Obviously measuring up the land where all those nice trees are.
God, the old fart must have a boring life. When me or one of my brothers is down there visiting him, he'll even write about us and send off the letters to us later in the week. When he's not concerned with killer cattle ticks, that is. Speaking of which, here's how he tells the tick story:
I had been worried about a growing lump on the rear of my neck. Doc immediately identified it. A cattle tick. Everyone surprised it had not much effected me. A minor operation soon removed it. I am on medication for seven days. As a side effect to that I cannot go out in the sun. I will be super sensitive to sunlight.
This is where some people might have left it, but not Dad. A couple of paragraphs later he says:
Found some contradictions in the tick information. The entomological advise is that ticks climb up vegetation and wait to catch a host brushing past. Never more that half a meter. However, the medical information states that the vast majority of tick infections in people are on the head and shoulders. That is well above half a meter.
And that's not all:
Found a medicos paper about a case. They took forty one ticks of this guy. Also ticks have killed more people than the funnel web spider. Roughly twice as many.
Makes you feel reassured, doesn't it? I'll be seeing him this Christmas - that is, if the killer ticks or funnel web spiders don't get him first.
"Did he keep the tick?" I said to Mum on the phone.
"No," said Mum. "They put it into a jar and had to send it off to Sydney for testing. Apparently, they can kill dogs, so they put him on some medication for a week."
***
Well, that's more or less how Mum told the story. Dad tells it a little differently. Every week or so he writes two or three-page, boring letters with sentences like this:
Had a quick lone lunch. Helen showed up an hour or so later. Had to rush in to the Terrace again by bike. Forgot to buy the newspaper. Really vital getting the news paper on Monday. Only way to get a decent T.V. Times. Slow for the rest of the day. Saw some suspicious looking men over opposite this P.M. Obviously measuring up the land where all those nice trees are.
God, the old fart must have a boring life. When me or one of my brothers is down there visiting him, he'll even write about us and send off the letters to us later in the week. When he's not concerned with killer cattle ticks, that is. Speaking of which, here's how he tells the tick story:
I had been worried about a growing lump on the rear of my neck. Doc immediately identified it. A cattle tick. Everyone surprised it had not much effected me. A minor operation soon removed it. I am on medication for seven days. As a side effect to that I cannot go out in the sun. I will be super sensitive to sunlight.
This is where some people might have left it, but not Dad. A couple of paragraphs later he says:
Found some contradictions in the tick information. The entomological advise is that ticks climb up vegetation and wait to catch a host brushing past. Never more that half a meter. However, the medical information states that the vast majority of tick infections in people are on the head and shoulders. That is well above half a meter.
And that's not all:
Found a medicos paper about a case. They took forty one ticks of this guy. Also ticks have killed more people than the funnel web spider. Roughly twice as many.
Makes you feel reassured, doesn't it? I'll be seeing him this Christmas - that is, if the killer ticks or funnel web spiders don't get him first.
Sentenced To Death
Dear Editors of The Monthly,
I was perusing the latest issue of your magazine when this particular arrangement of letters and punctuation met my eyes:
In his brilliant review of Edwin Williamson's biography of Jorge Luis Borges, David Foster Wallace noted: "It often seems that the person we encounter in the literary biography could not have possibly written the works we admire."
Straight away, the letters came together to form words and the words came together to form a sentence. The sentence leaped into my eyes, and before I was able to do anything about it, I understood what had just happened: the writer had made a tangential reference to one author's review of a second author's biography of a third author, in order to make a general point about two other, completely unrelated, authors. It was one of the most hideously pointless sentences it had ever been my misfortune to read, and now it sat in my brain!
If there is anything you could do to wipe the memory of this sentence from my neural pathways, I would be most grateful. I am willing to sustain a substantial amount of memory loss, or even amnesia or Alzheimers. I'm sure you understand.
Thanking you in advance,
Tim Train
I was perusing the latest issue of your magazine when this particular arrangement of letters and punctuation met my eyes:
In his brilliant review of Edwin Williamson's biography of Jorge Luis Borges, David Foster Wallace noted: "It often seems that the person we encounter in the literary biography could not have possibly written the works we admire."
Straight away, the letters came together to form words and the words came together to form a sentence. The sentence leaped into my eyes, and before I was able to do anything about it, I understood what had just happened: the writer had made a tangential reference to one author's review of a second author's biography of a third author, in order to make a general point about two other, completely unrelated, authors. It was one of the most hideously pointless sentences it had ever been my misfortune to read, and now it sat in my brain!
If there is anything you could do to wipe the memory of this sentence from my neural pathways, I would be most grateful. I am willing to sustain a substantial amount of memory loss, or even amnesia or Alzheimers. I'm sure you understand.
Thanking you in advance,
Tim Train
Coburg - A Photo Essay
When I first moved to Melbourne, and heard about Sydney Road, I wanted to move there. Why? So that whenever people asked me, "So where do you live in Melbourne," I would reply, "In Sydney."
Well, it amuses me. Several months on, I'm living in a place near Sydney Road, which is probably as close as I'm going to get. Anyway, it makes more grammatical sense to say, "I live near Sydney Road" than "I live in Sydney Road". Who the hell lives 'in' a 'road'? So I guess things have ended up pretty well.
Sydney Road runs through Brunswick and Coburg; odd suburbs both of them. Brunswick is an industrial suburb that has in the past twenty years or so been infested by mobsters, artists, and yuppies (if they'd just stopped with the mobsters, it would have been alright.) Coburg was once home to the pleasant Pentridge Prison - apparently dubbed the 'College of Knowledge', but since has become a little gentler. Now it only turns up a couple of potential terrorists. I guess it's all part of the diverse tapestry of multicultural Australia ...
Anyway, enough talk. Here's a couple of snaps of the area that should give you a better idea what I'm talking about ...
Wildlife driving down Sydney Road.
"Dear Mum and Dad,
Wow! I've finally found it! You never need to go hungry again! It's the ultimate nut factory!
So, what will it be? Ten boxes of cashews, or twenty?
Tim
PS - Hope I'm not driving you 'nutty' with all this!"
Third poster along: they sell some interesting snacks at this store ...
Now's the time to start buying real estate. Note the decorative use of barbed wire ... *
*Note: this last photo is from the net; mine didn't come out well. Incidentally, Pentridge Prison is just across the road from the Moreland Council Chambers. What does that say about the place of local politicians in the social ladder, eh ...?
Well, it amuses me. Several months on, I'm living in a place near Sydney Road, which is probably as close as I'm going to get. Anyway, it makes more grammatical sense to say, "I live near Sydney Road" than "I live in Sydney Road". Who the hell lives 'in' a 'road'? So I guess things have ended up pretty well.
Sydney Road runs through Brunswick and Coburg; odd suburbs both of them. Brunswick is an industrial suburb that has in the past twenty years or so been infested by mobsters, artists, and yuppies (if they'd just stopped with the mobsters, it would have been alright.) Coburg was once home to the pleasant Pentridge Prison - apparently dubbed the 'College of Knowledge', but since has become a little gentler. Now it only turns up a couple of potential terrorists. I guess it's all part of the diverse tapestry of multicultural Australia ...
Anyway, enough talk. Here's a couple of snaps of the area that should give you a better idea what I'm talking about ...
Wildlife driving down Sydney Road.
"Dear Mum and Dad,
Wow! I've finally found it! You never need to go hungry again! It's the ultimate nut factory!
So, what will it be? Ten boxes of cashews, or twenty?
Tim
PS - Hope I'm not driving you 'nutty' with all this!"
Third poster along: they sell some interesting snacks at this store ...
Now's the time to start buying real estate. Note the decorative use of barbed wire ... *
*Note: this last photo is from the net; mine didn't come out well. Incidentally, Pentridge Prison is just across the road from the Moreland Council Chambers. What does that say about the place of local politicians in the social ladder, eh ...?
Sunday, December 04, 2005
Pity the Tuba
What a sad fate it is to play the tuba.
To be always playing not-quite pieces; to be lumped with bass parts in brass ensembles; to be forever playing the neglected but necessary notes to make up the harmonious whole of a composition. To be a tuba, one would imagine, would be a little like being the word 'the' in a famous and beautiful poem by a much-loved poet. Oh, people go on about the symbols, and the metaphors, and the rhymes, and the imagery - but they never stop to think about a humble preposition such as 'the': nooooo!
Lovers listen to the plaintive tones of violins; soldiers awake to the bracing call of the bugle; funerals are greeted with the solemn tones of the pipe-organ. But what about the tuba?
Won't somebody please think of the tuba?
To be always playing not-quite pieces; to be lumped with bass parts in brass ensembles; to be forever playing the neglected but necessary notes to make up the harmonious whole of a composition. To be a tuba, one would imagine, would be a little like being the word 'the' in a famous and beautiful poem by a much-loved poet. Oh, people go on about the symbols, and the metaphors, and the rhymes, and the imagery - but they never stop to think about a humble preposition such as 'the': nooooo!
Lovers listen to the plaintive tones of violins; soldiers awake to the bracing call of the bugle; funerals are greeted with the solemn tones of the pipe-organ. But what about the tuba?
Won't somebody please think of the tuba?
Economic Ergonomics
Office furniture. Yeah, you know what I'm talking about. Chairs which were never meant to be chairs, stairs which were never meant to be stairs, doorways which don't let you out, and pens which you can never find.
The Ergonomic Keyboard
Although this fucker is meant to suit the natural curvature of your hand, it does nothing of the sort. It forces your fingers to stretch kilometres to reach letters that would otherwise have been easy to find. The ergonomic keyboard is actually a cunning scheme by the government to give us all carpal-tunnel syndrome. That way, we won't be able to do naughty things like watching television or writing blogs or wanking. BASTARDS!
The Computer
Sure, it looks relatively simple from the front. But at the back, it's another story - it's a mess of cords and plugs that are tangled and (as if they possessed a life of their own) will become detached for no reason, causing your computer not to work. Then you have to turn your computer around, and untangle this mess of cords - a process that takes hours, and is a little like making love to a jellyfish - confusing, unpleasant, and quite possibly dangerous.
The Adjustable Chair
This chair is meant to make it more comfortable for you to sit down during the day, by allowing you to adjust the height and tilt of the back. As a matter of fact, the chair will imperceptibly sink during the day, so that by the end of the day, your face is barely showing above the surface of the desk. Alternatively, it will suddenly drop ten feet, causing you to be sitting in mid-air for a second before thumping your bum on the bottom.
The back appears to be comfortable but is actually held up by a rigid steel spine which ensures spinal injury. Moving it forward is certainly not comfortable (it causes you to lean forward like a hunchback), while tilting it back is even less so. Also, it can sometimes, without warning, slap forward again, thwacking you in the back and forcing you into the hunchback position.
If the boss really wanted you to be comfortable, he'd simply order in a couch, and you'd do all your work off a laptop - unfortunately, these encourage pleasantly unproductive sensations, such as sloth and tiredness. ie, the boss doesn't care about your comfort at all. ARSEHOLE!
Revolving Doors
They look all fancy and schmick and technical, don't they? Actually, these bastards are the means by which the corporate world weeds out the halt and the lame from the quick and the nimble amongst their office staff. If you aren't quick enough, you are not able to duck out the doors before they close up, and are therefore forced to continue around and around in the doors, like a gerbil in a wheel, until you are found late at night and disposed of in the dumpster. But I don't care, because I'm young and fleet-of-foot. It's survival of the fittest, losers!
Stairs
It's the funniest thing in the world to watch a woman in stilettos try to struggle up a flight of stairs, but after a few floors, it just gets boring. Just put in a lift, you bums.
Stationery
If there's one thing you soon learn about office stationery, it's that it ain't stationary. Pens which are on your desk one day will mysterious disappear the next. There are several theories about this - one is that the pens disappear into another dimension, along with such things as lost socks and items of underwear. The other is, that there is some mysterious lurker on the second floor of your building who possesses a strange fetish for pens and other such objects, and that all the missing pens lie on his desk somewhere (in 'penury')*. Since this leads to gross inefficiencies in big business, whoever solves the mystery of the pens will undoubtedly become a very rich and powerful person.
*Possibly the account assistant, who has already admitted to collecting coloured paperclips in your presence. As a side note, you should remember that if she ever sends you a document held together with a brown paperclip, then you are in BIIIIIIIG TROUBLE.
The Ergonomic Keyboard
Although this fucker is meant to suit the natural curvature of your hand, it does nothing of the sort. It forces your fingers to stretch kilometres to reach letters that would otherwise have been easy to find. The ergonomic keyboard is actually a cunning scheme by the government to give us all carpal-tunnel syndrome. That way, we won't be able to do naughty things like watching television or writing blogs or wanking. BASTARDS!
The Computer
Sure, it looks relatively simple from the front. But at the back, it's another story - it's a mess of cords and plugs that are tangled and (as if they possessed a life of their own) will become detached for no reason, causing your computer not to work. Then you have to turn your computer around, and untangle this mess of cords - a process that takes hours, and is a little like making love to a jellyfish - confusing, unpleasant, and quite possibly dangerous.
The Adjustable Chair
This chair is meant to make it more comfortable for you to sit down during the day, by allowing you to adjust the height and tilt of the back. As a matter of fact, the chair will imperceptibly sink during the day, so that by the end of the day, your face is barely showing above the surface of the desk. Alternatively, it will suddenly drop ten feet, causing you to be sitting in mid-air for a second before thumping your bum on the bottom.
The back appears to be comfortable but is actually held up by a rigid steel spine which ensures spinal injury. Moving it forward is certainly not comfortable (it causes you to lean forward like a hunchback), while tilting it back is even less so. Also, it can sometimes, without warning, slap forward again, thwacking you in the back and forcing you into the hunchback position.
If the boss really wanted you to be comfortable, he'd simply order in a couch, and you'd do all your work off a laptop - unfortunately, these encourage pleasantly unproductive sensations, such as sloth and tiredness. ie, the boss doesn't care about your comfort at all. ARSEHOLE!
Revolving Doors
They look all fancy and schmick and technical, don't they? Actually, these bastards are the means by which the corporate world weeds out the halt and the lame from the quick and the nimble amongst their office staff. If you aren't quick enough, you are not able to duck out the doors before they close up, and are therefore forced to continue around and around in the doors, like a gerbil in a wheel, until you are found late at night and disposed of in the dumpster. But I don't care, because I'm young and fleet-of-foot. It's survival of the fittest, losers!
Stairs
It's the funniest thing in the world to watch a woman in stilettos try to struggle up a flight of stairs, but after a few floors, it just gets boring. Just put in a lift, you bums.
Stationery
If there's one thing you soon learn about office stationery, it's that it ain't stationary. Pens which are on your desk one day will mysterious disappear the next. There are several theories about this - one is that the pens disappear into another dimension, along with such things as lost socks and items of underwear. The other is, that there is some mysterious lurker on the second floor of your building who possesses a strange fetish for pens and other such objects, and that all the missing pens lie on his desk somewhere (in 'penury')*. Since this leads to gross inefficiencies in big business, whoever solves the mystery of the pens will undoubtedly become a very rich and powerful person.
*Possibly the account assistant, who has already admitted to collecting coloured paperclips in your presence. As a side note, you should remember that if she ever sends you a document held together with a brown paperclip, then you are in BIIIIIIIG TROUBLE.
Saturday, December 03, 2005
Possible Characters For Novels #2
Lobelia Pintsquip
Lobelia, the daughter of Ramsay Pintsquip (a man in charge of indexing school biology textbooks) and Geraldine Fautherington-Raffles (social butterfly) is a watercolour artist of some note. Her specialty is detailed artistic depictions of the ebola virus. She has painted every stage of this deadly disease, and done a number of award-winning portraits of the disease for international figures of note. Yes, if ever you want a picture of the ebola virus from a number-one artist, then Lobelia is your man - or woman, as the case may be (and don't you dare call her anything else, for Lobelia is also a Liberation feminist, who trained in kung-fu in the Himalayan mountains with Camille Paglia).
She has also worked as a ballet dancer, rose pruner, and King's Assassin.
Lobelia, the daughter of Ramsay Pintsquip (a man in charge of indexing school biology textbooks) and Geraldine Fautherington-Raffles (social butterfly) is a watercolour artist of some note. Her specialty is detailed artistic depictions of the ebola virus. She has painted every stage of this deadly disease, and done a number of award-winning portraits of the disease for international figures of note. Yes, if ever you want a picture of the ebola virus from a number-one artist, then Lobelia is your man - or woman, as the case may be (and don't you dare call her anything else, for Lobelia is also a Liberation feminist, who trained in kung-fu in the Himalayan mountains with Camille Paglia).
She has also worked as a ballet dancer, rose pruner, and King's Assassin.
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
Ten Lessons in Etiquette
1) Do not pick your nose, especially if you have quick-drying superglue on your finger.
2) Do not eat your relatives, unless you have a knife and fork handy.
3)Do not stare. If your eyelids have been stapled open, then it may be necessary for you to gouge your eyes out.
4) Use a gentle, moderate tone of voice when swearing. When saying "Please" and "thankyou", shout. It shows everyone how polite you are.
5) Remember to swear correctly: "For fucks' sake", not "For fuck's sake" or "For fucks sake".
6) Ladies first: especially during sex.
7) If you see a little old lady standing by the road, help her across: the chances are that she will be a wealthy heiress, and she will give you all her money.
If she does not give you all her money, take her right back.
8) It is wrong to have children. They shout, run around, and say impolite* things. If you happen to have any children lying around, rectify this situation by locking them in the basement closet.
*Impolite=Honest.
9) Always carry a handkerchief, in case it should be necessary for you to dispose of human remains during the day.
10) Shake the hand of everybody that you are introduced to. If they do not have hands, then some other form of bodily contact, such as kissing or sex is considered appropriate.
UPDATE! - Actually, now that I come to think about it, I'm not sure whether "For fucks' sake" is the correct spelling. Is the 'fuck' being referred to singular? Or is it actually a plurality of 'fucks' that is being referred to (in which case, the rule stated above would be correct)? In short, does the term mean 'For the sake of a fuck', or 'For the sake of all fucks?'
Then again, maybe when the term 'fuck' is being used in its swearing context, then it is not acting as a verb at all. So perhaps we don't need the apostrophe?
What do you think, readers?
2) Do not eat your relatives, unless you have a knife and fork handy.
3)Do not stare. If your eyelids have been stapled open, then it may be necessary for you to gouge your eyes out.
4) Use a gentle, moderate tone of voice when swearing. When saying "Please" and "thankyou", shout. It shows everyone how polite you are.
5) Remember to swear correctly: "For fucks' sake", not "For fuck's sake" or "For fucks sake".
6) Ladies first: especially during sex.
7) If you see a little old lady standing by the road, help her across: the chances are that she will be a wealthy heiress, and she will give you all her money.
If she does not give you all her money, take her right back.
8) It is wrong to have children. They shout, run around, and say impolite* things. If you happen to have any children lying around, rectify this situation by locking them in the basement closet.
*Impolite=Honest.
9) Always carry a handkerchief, in case it should be necessary for you to dispose of human remains during the day.
10) Shake the hand of everybody that you are introduced to. If they do not have hands, then some other form of bodily contact, such as kissing or sex is considered appropriate.
UPDATE! - Actually, now that I come to think about it, I'm not sure whether "For fucks' sake" is the correct spelling. Is the 'fuck' being referred to singular? Or is it actually a plurality of 'fucks' that is being referred to (in which case, the rule stated above would be correct)? In short, does the term mean 'For the sake of a fuck', or 'For the sake of all fucks?'
Then again, maybe when the term 'fuck' is being used in its swearing context, then it is not acting as a verb at all. So perhaps we don't need the apostrophe?
What do you think, readers?
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
Replacing Less Complicated Words With More Complicated Ones
Check out this big-ass German compound-noun I learnt in high school:
MEERWASSERHALLENWELLENSCHWIMMENBAD
It means something like hot water swim bath. But that's nothing compared to this big-ass German compound noun:
DONAUDAMPFSCHIFFAHRTSELEKTRIZITAETENHAUPTBETRIEBSWERKBAUUNTERBEAMTENGESELLSCHAFT
Apparently it means something like, "the club for subordinate officials of the head office management of the Danube steamboat electrical services."
Not that I'm a genius in the German-language or anything - I don't accidentally write posts in German while drunk, for instance - but I reckon those Germans have got it right. It's about time English got some more compound nouns of its own ...
Glass = Drinkthing
Knife = Cutthing
Once we get the basics of compound nouns, we can start working putting concepts together:
Fork = Eatthingthatgoeswithcutthing
Spoon = Othereatthingthatgoeswithcutthing
Sound beautiful, don't they? There are no end of everyday items that these nouns can be applied to. Transport items, for instance:
Car = Itemthatgoesvroom
Road = Longflatstonyobjectthatitemthatgoesvroomgoesvroomon
Or things of nature:
Tree = Woodthingwithleafystuff
Bird = Thingthatlivesinwoodthingwithleafystuff
Clothes:
Hat = Roundclothingitemforupperbodypart
Shops:
Market = Largeplaceforexchangingmoneywithgoodsand/orservices
And the body:
Head = Upperbodypart
Hand = Bodypartattheendofanotherbodypart
Once you get all this worked out, you can turn quite short, dull things like poems into impressively long and incomprehensible works of art. Thus:
I put my hat upon my head
And went into the Strand
And there I met another man
Whose hat was in his hand.
(Dr Johnson)
This becomes this:
I put my roundclothingitemforupperbodypart upon myupperbodypart
And went into the largeplaceforexchangingmoneywithgoodsand/orservices
And there I met another collectionofseveralbodyparts
Whose roundclothingitemforupperbodypart was in his bodypartattheendofanotherbodypart
Or this brief quatrain:
One day I saw a bird
Sitting in a tree
And that little tiny bird
Was looking back at me.
Becomes this epic of personal experience:
One day I saw a thingthatlivesinleafystuff
Up in a woodthingwithleafystuff
And that little tiny thingthatlivesinleafystuff
Was looking back at me.*
*(I'm still working on a compound noun for this one. It's a toughie.)
Wonderful, no?
No?
UPDATE - What's that - this post was boring? Oh, go and look up swear words in the dictionary then. Some people are never amused!
MEERWASSERHALLENWELLENSCHWIMMENBAD
It means something like hot water swim bath. But that's nothing compared to this big-ass German compound noun:
DONAUDAMPFSCHIFFAHRTSELEKTRIZITAETENHAUPTBETRIEBSWERKBAUUNTERBEAMTENGESELLSCHAFT
Apparently it means something like, "the club for subordinate officials of the head office management of the Danube steamboat electrical services."
Not that I'm a genius in the German-language or anything - I don't accidentally write posts in German while drunk, for instance - but I reckon those Germans have got it right. It's about time English got some more compound nouns of its own ...
Glass = Drinkthing
Knife = Cutthing
Once we get the basics of compound nouns, we can start working putting concepts together:
Fork = Eatthingthatgoeswithcutthing
Spoon = Othereatthingthatgoeswithcutthing
Sound beautiful, don't they? There are no end of everyday items that these nouns can be applied to. Transport items, for instance:
Car = Itemthatgoesvroom
Road = Longflatstonyobjectthatitemthatgoesvroomgoesvroomon
Or things of nature:
Tree = Woodthingwithleafystuff
Bird = Thingthatlivesinwoodthingwithleafystuff
Clothes:
Hat = Roundclothingitemforupperbodypart
Shops:
Market = Largeplaceforexchangingmoneywithgoodsand/orservices
And the body:
Head = Upperbodypart
Hand = Bodypartattheendofanotherbodypart
Once you get all this worked out, you can turn quite short, dull things like poems into impressively long and incomprehensible works of art. Thus:
I put my hat upon my head
And went into the Strand
And there I met another man
Whose hat was in his hand.
(Dr Johnson)
This becomes this:
I put my roundclothingitemforupperbodypart upon myupperbodypart
And went into the largeplaceforexchangingmoneywithgoodsand/orservices
And there I met another collectionofseveralbodyparts
Whose roundclothingitemforupperbodypart was in his bodypartattheendofanotherbodypart
Or this brief quatrain:
One day I saw a bird
Sitting in a tree
And that little tiny bird
Was looking back at me.
Becomes this epic of personal experience:
One day I saw a thingthatlivesinleafystuff
Up in a woodthingwithleafystuff
And that little tiny thingthatlivesinleafystuff
Was looking back at me.*
*(I'm still working on a compound noun for this one. It's a toughie.)
Wonderful, no?
No?
UPDATE - What's that - this post was boring? Oh, go and look up swear words in the dictionary then. Some people are never amused!
Sunday, November 27, 2005
Possible Characters For Novels #1
Dr Angst Herzinfarkt
- who has developed his brain so much that he is able to shift physical objects with his cerebral muscles. He makes his brain do sit-ups in the morning and push-ups at night. The third-cleverest man in the world, he holds regular hypothetical tea-parties with theoretical guests at his large lodge in the hills of Vienna (They are universally admired, even if no one actually turns up).
He likes listening to Webern, Arvo Part, and Megadeath.
- who has developed his brain so much that he is able to shift physical objects with his cerebral muscles. He makes his brain do sit-ups in the morning and push-ups at night. The third-cleverest man in the world, he holds regular hypothetical tea-parties with theoretical guests at his large lodge in the hills of Vienna (They are universally admired, even if no one actually turns up).
He likes listening to Webern, Arvo Part, and Megadeath.
Rememed
"Ming the Merciless could have told you as much fifty years ago."
- The fifth line of the twenty-third post on this blog - a meme from Nails.
PS - If any of you folks want to do this meme, go right ahead: find the twenty-third post on your blog, find the fifth line in that twenty-third post - and post it!
- The fifth line of the twenty-third post on this blog - a meme from Nails.
PS - If any of you folks want to do this meme, go right ahead: find the twenty-third post on your blog, find the fifth line in that twenty-third post - and post it!
Saturday, November 26, 2005
Tragic Mushrooms
I put Hawkwind on the CD player and went and put some mushrooms on the stove. In five minutes, they were done: and as I ate my mushrooms, with bread and sour cream, I contemplated how everyone who was anyone was mailing me, saying they could not make it to the blog Christmas drinks tonight at Carlton: and I wept.
Then I went and put The Ramones on the CD player and logged on to Hold The Button and clicked on my mouse. And, for some reason, that did not make me feel any better. At all.
Then I went and put The Ramones on the CD player and logged on to Hold The Button and clicked on my mouse. And, for some reason, that did not make me feel any better. At all.
Friday, November 25, 2005
Leaky Pen
Hi! I'm Bill Leak, award-winning artist! This is my story, and it's all about me!
In case you were wondering what I look like, here's a self-portrait by me!
Aren't I attractive?
You know, I've had a long and fascinating career as a media-commentator, caricaturist, satirist, and above all, as an ARTIST for many of our major Australian newspapers. In fact, all two of them. And I'd like to tell you about it now!
In the beginning, I experimented with a number of artistic methods, including cubism and other such non-Bill Leak styles.
Here's one of my earliest cartoons. It's slightly reminiscent of Pollock, slightly preminiscent of Emin, and I like to think it has a little Breughel in there, too:
Touching, isn't it?
I quickly developed my own unique and original style, and it was during the Whitlam years that I REALLY started making the big bucks. Here's a cartoon I did then:
Side-splitting, isn't it? But nowadays I don't like to be so realistic in style.
Right at the moment, for instance, I'm going through what can only be described as my 'squiggly phase'. I like to think it combines minimalist complexity with a maximalist simplicity.
Ah. I'm reall proud of my work, and I only hope you'll like it, too. Actually, I don't give a stuff if you like it, so long as you publish it and give me big steaming wads of cash. After all, I am a genius.
- BILL LEAK
In case you were wondering what I look like, here's a self-portrait by me!
Aren't I attractive?
You know, I've had a long and fascinating career as a media-commentator, caricaturist, satirist, and above all, as an ARTIST for many of our major Australian newspapers. In fact, all two of them. And I'd like to tell you about it now!
In the beginning, I experimented with a number of artistic methods, including cubism and other such non-Bill Leak styles.
Here's one of my earliest cartoons. It's slightly reminiscent of Pollock, slightly preminiscent of Emin, and I like to think it has a little Breughel in there, too:
Touching, isn't it?
I quickly developed my own unique and original style, and it was during the Whitlam years that I REALLY started making the big bucks. Here's a cartoon I did then:
Side-splitting, isn't it? But nowadays I don't like to be so realistic in style.
Right at the moment, for instance, I'm going through what can only be described as my 'squiggly phase'. I like to think it combines minimalist complexity with a maximalist simplicity.
Ah. I'm reall proud of my work, and I only hope you'll like it, too. Actually, I don't give a stuff if you like it, so long as you publish it and give me big steaming wads of cash. After all, I am a genius.
- BILL LEAK
Thursday, November 24, 2005
As "Easy" as "Pie"
Tony makes a very good point:
Then after your food is coated in sauce STOP squeezing before you turn the bottle upright. It is as easy as pie. (Apparently pie is easy.)
Pie is certainly not easy, but it is delicious, if it is done correctly. The best pie is, of course, meat pie. (If any vegans are reading this post, I feel your pain; I really do - now can you please bugger off and read some other post?). But something so simple as meat pie can be so difficult to do correctly.
Firstly, where should you get your meat pie from? Supermarket pie is to be avoided: even the best supermarket pies come with their delicious meaty gravy frozen, which takes something out of their freshness. Furthemore, getting the pies in proper edible condition is a lengthy, difficult, and sometimes costly process, and many catastrophes must be avoided.
7/11 pies are cheap, but often poorly made. The crust is moist and doughy (on the matter of the proper crust, read on); and the mince has the same consistency and taste of sludge. Furthermore, they are often either too hot, or too cold.
Gourmet pies have something to say for them, but it can be hard to find a good one. Some are exceedingly expensive (pies are a good meal for a working person, so if you need more than two gold coins to pay for them, they're probably not worth it.) Worse, many 'gourmet' pie cooks defer to the disgusting tastes of their upper-class clientelle. Pies should never have more than three vegetables in them, and any pie containing cheese should be avoided.
On the whole, the best pies are bakery pies. But even here, it's best to be careful: some bakeries reheat their pies in the microwave, leading to sogginess, and pies that are often too hot or cold (and often both at once). Others, although they heat their pies in the proper manner, neverthless purchase them from a pie manufacturer, instead of lovingly crafting the pies themselves.
Finding the 'right' sort of pie bakery is in fact an art in itself, and can take a lifetime of training.
The next matter is the crust. What sort of crust should a pie have? Some say a pie crust should be flaky; some say that it should be fleshy and moist. I incline to the flaky school myself, although a pie should not be 'overflaky'. The result is messy and often very itchy. Furthermore, some pie cooks, in their zeal to achieve a perfect 'flakiness', can burn the pie. This should be avoided.
Readers should, of course, experiment until they find the perfect amount of 'flakiness' for themselves; but they should remember that flakiness should enhance the flavour of the crust, not detract from it.
Temperature is another important matter. How hot is the perfect pie? Again, it is very much a matter of finding the right medium. A pie should not be cool, tepid, lukewarm, or warm; rather, the correct pie temperature lies somewhere in between fairly hot and piping hot. If the pie is merely 'fairly hot', then it tends to become lukewarm by the time it is eaten. However, if the pie is 'piping hot', then it cannot be held in the hand and eaten. This, of course, is the only way to eat a pie: those people who eat pies with knives and forks are cretins, and should be shot.
It should also be added that a 'piping hot' pie, once the eater has balanced it in his hand, has a tendency to gush hot gravy all over the eaters hand: painful, and unecessary.
(The matter of gush will, perhaps, be taken up in a later post.)
Now; what are the correct ingredients of the perfect pie? In fact, there may be no correct answer to this question. I hold to the rule that, so long as there is 75% to 100% meat in the pie, then the actual ingredients do not matter so much. If a pie has less than the requisite amount of meat, then I contend that what you have is not a pie, but a misshapen pastie.
Here is a brief list of possible pie ingredients:
- Chicken
- Chicken and mushroom
- Beef
- Beef and mushroom
- Chicken and carrot
- Pork
- Beef and Bourgundy
(Sweet 'Fruit pies' also have something to say for them. They may be eaten cold, and indeed make an excellent snack between two of the most important meals of the day, breakfast and brunch. But that is another subject entirely.)*
Pies with cheese should never be eaten. It is an insult to cheese, and an insult to meat.
What sauce should you put on the top of your pie? Certainly not barbeque sauce; as Tony quite rightly points out, it is a 'ghastly affair' and whoever invented it 'needs working on'.
Tomato sauce, of course, is the correct condiment; but what type of tomato sauce? Again, this is not a subject on which I am certain, and maybe I should open up the comments box for a poll:
WHAT IS THE BEST TYPE OF SAUCE TO PUT ON A PIE
a) Homemade Tomato sauce
b) Homebrand Tomato sauce
c) Rosella Tomato sauce
d) Some other variety of tomato sauce? (Industrial American-style ketchup, perhaps?)
Pies are a wonderful meal, and should be eaten often and frequently. If you are in any of the following areas, I can recommend these pie shops:
New Lambton Pies, New Lambton Road, New Lambton, NSW
Harry's Cafe de Wheels, Hunter Street, Newcastle, NSW
The Bakery, Bay Street, Port Melbourne, Victoria.
Various pie shops in Coburg and Brunswick, Victoria.
Anyone else got a favourite pie shops?
* As an interesting anthropological footnote, I should add that my friend David has apparently discovered an amazing store which sells canned pies. I can't, of course, endorse such a radical departure from the pie-norm, but one shouldn't deny it before one tries it.
Then after your food is coated in sauce STOP squeezing before you turn the bottle upright. It is as easy as pie. (Apparently pie is easy.)
Pie is certainly not easy, but it is delicious, if it is done correctly. The best pie is, of course, meat pie. (If any vegans are reading this post, I feel your pain; I really do - now can you please bugger off and read some other post?). But something so simple as meat pie can be so difficult to do correctly.
Firstly, where should you get your meat pie from? Supermarket pie is to be avoided: even the best supermarket pies come with their delicious meaty gravy frozen, which takes something out of their freshness. Furthemore, getting the pies in proper edible condition is a lengthy, difficult, and sometimes costly process, and many catastrophes must be avoided.
7/11 pies are cheap, but often poorly made. The crust is moist and doughy (on the matter of the proper crust, read on); and the mince has the same consistency and taste of sludge. Furthermore, they are often either too hot, or too cold.
Gourmet pies have something to say for them, but it can be hard to find a good one. Some are exceedingly expensive (pies are a good meal for a working person, so if you need more than two gold coins to pay for them, they're probably not worth it.) Worse, many 'gourmet' pie cooks defer to the disgusting tastes of their upper-class clientelle. Pies should never have more than three vegetables in them, and any pie containing cheese should be avoided.
On the whole, the best pies are bakery pies. But even here, it's best to be careful: some bakeries reheat their pies in the microwave, leading to sogginess, and pies that are often too hot or cold (and often both at once). Others, although they heat their pies in the proper manner, neverthless purchase them from a pie manufacturer, instead of lovingly crafting the pies themselves.
Finding the 'right' sort of pie bakery is in fact an art in itself, and can take a lifetime of training.
The next matter is the crust. What sort of crust should a pie have? Some say a pie crust should be flaky; some say that it should be fleshy and moist. I incline to the flaky school myself, although a pie should not be 'overflaky'. The result is messy and often very itchy. Furthermore, some pie cooks, in their zeal to achieve a perfect 'flakiness', can burn the pie. This should be avoided.
Readers should, of course, experiment until they find the perfect amount of 'flakiness' for themselves; but they should remember that flakiness should enhance the flavour of the crust, not detract from it.
Temperature is another important matter. How hot is the perfect pie? Again, it is very much a matter of finding the right medium. A pie should not be cool, tepid, lukewarm, or warm; rather, the correct pie temperature lies somewhere in between fairly hot and piping hot. If the pie is merely 'fairly hot', then it tends to become lukewarm by the time it is eaten. However, if the pie is 'piping hot', then it cannot be held in the hand and eaten. This, of course, is the only way to eat a pie: those people who eat pies with knives and forks are cretins, and should be shot.
It should also be added that a 'piping hot' pie, once the eater has balanced it in his hand, has a tendency to gush hot gravy all over the eaters hand: painful, and unecessary.
(The matter of gush will, perhaps, be taken up in a later post.)
Now; what are the correct ingredients of the perfect pie? In fact, there may be no correct answer to this question. I hold to the rule that, so long as there is 75% to 100% meat in the pie, then the actual ingredients do not matter so much. If a pie has less than the requisite amount of meat, then I contend that what you have is not a pie, but a misshapen pastie.
Here is a brief list of possible pie ingredients:
- Chicken
- Chicken and mushroom
- Beef
- Beef and mushroom
- Chicken and carrot
- Pork
- Beef and Bourgundy
(Sweet 'Fruit pies' also have something to say for them. They may be eaten cold, and indeed make an excellent snack between two of the most important meals of the day, breakfast and brunch. But that is another subject entirely.)*
Pies with cheese should never be eaten. It is an insult to cheese, and an insult to meat.
What sauce should you put on the top of your pie? Certainly not barbeque sauce; as Tony quite rightly points out, it is a 'ghastly affair' and whoever invented it 'needs working on'.
Tomato sauce, of course, is the correct condiment; but what type of tomato sauce? Again, this is not a subject on which I am certain, and maybe I should open up the comments box for a poll:
WHAT IS THE BEST TYPE OF SAUCE TO PUT ON A PIE
a) Homemade Tomato sauce
b) Homebrand Tomato sauce
c) Rosella Tomato sauce
d) Some other variety of tomato sauce? (Industrial American-style ketchup, perhaps?)
Pies are a wonderful meal, and should be eaten often and frequently. If you are in any of the following areas, I can recommend these pie shops:
New Lambton Pies, New Lambton Road, New Lambton, NSW
Harry's Cafe de Wheels, Hunter Street, Newcastle, NSW
The Bakery, Bay Street, Port Melbourne, Victoria.
Various pie shops in Coburg and Brunswick, Victoria.
Anyone else got a favourite pie shops?
* As an interesting anthropological footnote, I should add that my friend David has apparently discovered an amazing store which sells canned pies. I can't, of course, endorse such a radical departure from the pie-norm, but one shouldn't deny it before one tries it.
The Gospel According To Tim
This guest post is by God. Frankly, I'm not sure about his style - he has a terrible habit of starting his sentence with 'And', if you ask me. Nevertheless, I think you'll agree, his subject's an important one.
GOD REVIEWS THE AUSTRALIAN IDOL FINALS
1) And it came to pass, in the days following Dicko's reign, that a man known as Sandilands did walk the earth, crying, "Yea, verily! Thou art fat!" and, "Wanna make somethin' of it, Holden, you bitch?"
2) And the people were sore oppressed.
3) And in that time did many people walk the earth, singing, "I am the true Idol!" And verily, many did not know what to think; and they did scratch their heads and say, 'Who to choose?'
4) "For Emily," said the Teenage Girls, "hath natural talent, and verily, she is black: and she hath been sore oppressed. Yea, she is the true Idol, or I be a monkey's uncle."*
5) And then the Gays of all the land did lift up their voices and cry, "No! We picketh Katie DeAraugo to be our True Idol! For she hath flair and a natty sense of rhythm for a white girl from Bendigo. Plus, she's cute!"
6) And so the people came together, and the Teenage Girls did txt, "OMG! EMLY 4VA!!!!!" And the Gays, seeing this, did txt in, "EMLY SUX!!!! KA-T RLZ!!!! TRST US, WE R GAY!!!"
Then darkness fell upon the land, and Andrew G. wept.
7) Then upon a Monday did that other guy, (not Andrew G.) come forth, and proclaim, "The 3rd Australian Idol is Katie DeRaugo!"
And verily, she did open her mouth then, and sing to them, "Listen to your heart," or "Angels bought me here", or some such tune. I knoweth not: for I kind of tuned out at that point. And people looked upon her, and saw that it was so.
8) And then she ascended and became part of the Holy Trinity, alongside Sebastian and Donovan. And the people did rejoice to know that the true Idol was among them, for a year at least (notwithstanding the vagaries of the Music Charts.)
9) Upon hearing of this news, the Teenage Girls did weep, and the Gays did point and laugh, crying, "Ha! Suck shit, bitch!" But the Teenage Girls waited until their parents were out of the room, and took out a picture of Guy Sebastian, and their Cleo Dildo: and they rejoiced.
10) And as for me, I looked upon the earth, and I was sore depressed. So then I went and tormented a family of Mormons with thunderbolts. And that made me feel a little better: but not much.
HERE ENDETH THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO TIM
*This gospel endorseth not the theory of evolution.
GOD REVIEWS THE AUSTRALIAN IDOL FINALS
1) And it came to pass, in the days following Dicko's reign, that a man known as Sandilands did walk the earth, crying, "Yea, verily! Thou art fat!" and, "Wanna make somethin' of it, Holden, you bitch?"
2) And the people were sore oppressed.
3) And in that time did many people walk the earth, singing, "I am the true Idol!" And verily, many did not know what to think; and they did scratch their heads and say, 'Who to choose?'
4) "For Emily," said the Teenage Girls, "hath natural talent, and verily, she is black: and she hath been sore oppressed. Yea, she is the true Idol, or I be a monkey's uncle."*
5) And then the Gays of all the land did lift up their voices and cry, "No! We picketh Katie DeAraugo to be our True Idol! For she hath flair and a natty sense of rhythm for a white girl from Bendigo. Plus, she's cute!"
6) And so the people came together, and the Teenage Girls did txt, "OMG! EMLY 4VA!!!!!" And the Gays, seeing this, did txt in, "EMLY SUX!!!! KA-T RLZ!!!! TRST US, WE R GAY!!!"
Then darkness fell upon the land, and Andrew G. wept.
7) Then upon a Monday did that other guy, (not Andrew G.) come forth, and proclaim, "The 3rd Australian Idol is Katie DeRaugo!"
And verily, she did open her mouth then, and sing to them, "Listen to your heart," or "Angels bought me here", or some such tune. I knoweth not: for I kind of tuned out at that point. And people looked upon her, and saw that it was so.
8) And then she ascended and became part of the Holy Trinity, alongside Sebastian and Donovan. And the people did rejoice to know that the true Idol was among them, for a year at least (notwithstanding the vagaries of the Music Charts.)
9) Upon hearing of this news, the Teenage Girls did weep, and the Gays did point and laugh, crying, "Ha! Suck shit, bitch!" But the Teenage Girls waited until their parents were out of the room, and took out a picture of Guy Sebastian, and their Cleo Dildo: and they rejoiced.
10) And as for me, I looked upon the earth, and I was sore depressed. So then I went and tormented a family of Mormons with thunderbolts. And that made me feel a little better: but not much.
HERE ENDETH THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO TIM
*This gospel endorseth not the theory of evolution.
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
What Memes May Come
Oh no! The dreaded meme has struck!
10 Years Ago:
I was "studying"* "hard"** in my final year at school. I got quite a high score in my final exams. I attribute this result to all my "hard work."***
*"Studying" = Not really.
**"Hard" = Not much.
***"Hard work" = The examiners always marked my school up for some arcane statistical reason.
Five Years Ago:
I was "studying hard"* as a postgraduate at Sydney University. At the time, I was studying for a one-year postgraduate course, but due to my sheer brilliance, I managed to cut it down to a measly two years.
*"studying hard" = Yeah, right.
One Year Ago:
Stuck in a dead-end part-time job in Newcastle. My work consisted of me writing reports about other people who faked injury in order not to work. Earning enough money to spend and eating enough food to survive. "Volunteering"* for a young-persons group even though I wasn't quite-young-enough at that time (and probably never will be again).
Two months later, I was offered the opportunity to dig holes for a living. Hell, yeah!
*"Volunteering" = "Working Hard" with other "hard" "workers"
Five Yummy Things.
Croissants.
Muffins.
Freddo.
Schnapps.
Omelette a-la Tim! (Like normal omelette, only cooked by me. It's tasty, if you're me.)
Five Songs I "Know"* By Heart
Rule Britannia.
The Drinking Song. (Here's to so and so, he's true blue ...)
"I Hold Your Hand In Mine", Tom Lehrer (see comments).
"Peaches En Regalia", by Frank Zappa.**
"Cool", West Side Story.***
*"Know" = You can substitute 'Na na na na na' for some of the actual words, can't you?
** The fact that this song has no words or singers doesn't matter, does it?
*** I mean, given time, and the occasional bit of help by electric cattle prod, I'm sure I could learn all the words.
Five Things I Would Do With A LOT Of Money
By myself a supersupersized symphony orchestra.
Get the biggest library in the world.
By my family a condominium in the Himalayas.
Get a shrunken head.
Go on a trip to the moon.
Oh, yeah, and do something for world peace, and all that.
Five Things I Would Never Wear.
A Mycenean funeral mask. These days, Sumerian funeral masks are more the thing.
A viking helmet. Because you never know when you are going to run into a cranky Pictish warlord.
The Santa Claus suit. Because you never know, I might get mistaken for this guy.
A birthday cake. That's just stupid: cakes are for eating, not wearing.
A tutu. What, do you think I'm crazy? Tutus are soooo 2004.
Five Favourite TV shows
The Simpsons.
Futurama.
Black Books.
Dr Who (old, not new. I mean, levitating Daleks? That's balderdash, man!)
Little Britain.
Five Things I Enjoy Doing
Reading.
Criticising.
Eating.
Drinking (usually beer-related substances; but also caffeine-related ones, as well).
Nothing.
Five People I Want To Inflict This On
Rachel
Nails
Tim
Darlene
Misha
10 Years Ago:
I was "studying"* "hard"** in my final year at school. I got quite a high score in my final exams. I attribute this result to all my "hard work."***
*"Studying" = Not really.
**"Hard" = Not much.
***"Hard work" = The examiners always marked my school up for some arcane statistical reason.
Five Years Ago:
I was "studying hard"* as a postgraduate at Sydney University. At the time, I was studying for a one-year postgraduate course, but due to my sheer brilliance, I managed to cut it down to a measly two years.
*"studying hard" = Yeah, right.
One Year Ago:
Stuck in a dead-end part-time job in Newcastle. My work consisted of me writing reports about other people who faked injury in order not to work. Earning enough money to spend and eating enough food to survive. "Volunteering"* for a young-persons group even though I wasn't quite-young-enough at that time (and probably never will be again).
Two months later, I was offered the opportunity to dig holes for a living. Hell, yeah!
*"Volunteering" = "Working Hard" with other "hard" "workers"
Five Yummy Things.
Croissants.
Muffins.
Freddo.
Schnapps.
Omelette a-la Tim! (Like normal omelette, only cooked by me. It's tasty, if you're me.)
Five Songs I "Know"* By Heart
Rule Britannia.
The Drinking Song. (Here's to so and so, he's true blue ...)
"I Hold Your Hand In Mine", Tom Lehrer (see comments).
"Peaches En Regalia", by Frank Zappa.**
"Cool", West Side Story.***
*"Know" = You can substitute 'Na na na na na' for some of the actual words, can't you?
** The fact that this song has no words or singers doesn't matter, does it?
*** I mean, given time, and the occasional bit of help by electric cattle prod, I'm sure I could learn all the words.
Five Things I Would Do With A LOT Of Money
By myself a supersupersized symphony orchestra.
Get the biggest library in the world.
By my family a condominium in the Himalayas.
Get a shrunken head.
Go on a trip to the moon.
Oh, yeah, and do something for world peace, and all that.
Five Things I Would Never Wear.
A Mycenean funeral mask. These days, Sumerian funeral masks are more the thing.
A viking helmet. Because you never know when you are going to run into a cranky Pictish warlord.
The Santa Claus suit. Because you never know, I might get mistaken for this guy.
A birthday cake. That's just stupid: cakes are for eating, not wearing.
A tutu. What, do you think I'm crazy? Tutus are soooo 2004.
Five Favourite TV shows
The Simpsons.
Futurama.
Black Books.
Dr Who (old, not new. I mean, levitating Daleks? That's balderdash, man!)
Little Britain.
Five Things I Enjoy Doing
Reading.
Criticising.
Eating.
Drinking (usually beer-related substances; but also caffeine-related ones, as well).
Nothing.
Five People I Want To Inflict This On
Rachel
Nails
Tim
Darlene
Misha
Cough, Splutter, Etc
*cough* .... internet troubles at my house ... *hack* ..... not much time to post ... *splutter* ... waiting for my flatmate to get things sorted befor... *retch*
In meantime, anyone want to have a drink? Rachel and me and a couple of other bloggers and assorted other human-like creatures will be meeting up at the Clyde, on Elgin St in Carlton, this Saturday afternoon, from about 7.00 pm onwards. Leave a comment if you'd like to come, or mail me ...
In meantime, anyone want to have a drink? Rachel and me and a couple of other bloggers and assorted other human-like creatures will be meeting up at the Clyde, on Elgin St in Carlton, this Saturday afternoon, from about 7.00 pm onwards. Leave a comment if you'd like to come, or mail me ...
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Email: timhtrain - at - yahoo.com.au
