Everyone commenting on the internet now should be known as Clair, because then they would be Eclairs.
(No, I don't edit the internet, but it's high time someone does.)
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
An open letter to tomorrow's me
Hey me,
Yeah you! You know who I'm talking about, and what's worse, I know who you're talking about, too!
Just what the hell do you think you're doing, kid? Gawking at the net when you should be working, huh? You're a freaking disappointment to me, your self of yesterday. Think of me as your better conscience, your teacher, the father of the self of tomorrow, whatever - just look at yourself, sonny. Some kind of slavering, drooling, witless idiot, who's noodling around on the net when they should be paying attention to their livelihood. Who do you think you are? Who do you think I am, for that matter? I'm not going to lend you my hands of today just because your hands of tomorrow can't be bothered to do their work! Who do you think we are, kid? Do we really have so little respect for our mutual selves that we let ourselves get away with that kind of sloppiness? I've got a good mind to reach out through the monitor and the time vortex of today (which to the me of tomorrow is the you of yesterday) and slap you around a bit.
Pull yourself together, kid! And get a freaking haircut, too! If you're not careful, one day, you might find yourself turning into... well... me. As a matter of fact - I THINK YOU ALREADY HAVE!
Your loving friend,
Today's me
PS Don't look so shocked, buster. We knew we had it coming from him.
Yeah you! You know who I'm talking about, and what's worse, I know who you're talking about, too!
Just what the hell do you think you're doing, kid? Gawking at the net when you should be working, huh? You're a freaking disappointment to me, your self of yesterday. Think of me as your better conscience, your teacher, the father of the self of tomorrow, whatever - just look at yourself, sonny. Some kind of slavering, drooling, witless idiot, who's noodling around on the net when they should be paying attention to their livelihood. Who do you think you are? Who do you think I am, for that matter? I'm not going to lend you my hands of today just because your hands of tomorrow can't be bothered to do their work! Who do you think we are, kid? Do we really have so little respect for our mutual selves that we let ourselves get away with that kind of sloppiness? I've got a good mind to reach out through the monitor and the time vortex of today (which to the me of tomorrow is the you of yesterday) and slap you around a bit.
Pull yourself together, kid! And get a freaking haircut, too! If you're not careful, one day, you might find yourself turning into... well... me. As a matter of fact - I THINK YOU ALREADY HAVE!
Your loving friend,
Today's me
PS Don't look so shocked, buster. We knew we had it coming from him.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Like, influence
I always try to write like the writers that I like.
But I don't always like my writing like the writing of the writers that I like.
The writers that I like may like some writers that I don't like.
So though I like the writing of the writers that I like, I may not like their likings.
Also, the writers that I like may not like what they write like.
Like I don't always like what I write like - although I like the writers that I like to write like.
But I don't always like my writing like the writing of the writers that I like.
The writers that I like may like some writers that I don't like.
So though I like the writing of the writers that I like, I may not like their likings.
Also, the writers that I like may not like what they write like.
Like I don't always like what I write like - although I like the writers that I like to write like.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Countdown! Z, Y, X...
Right, time to get things in ship shape order around here. From now on, all numbers are to be arranged in alphabetical order. Also, the alphabet is to be arranged in numerical order. It's the only way to get things working, I tell you.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
An important issue
Campaign for a Safe Interjecting Room
Dear Mr Hockey and Mr Albanese,
I hope you will agree, people talking over other people who are talking is one of the biggest problems in the world today. It is a direct cause of miscommunication, anger, and confusion, and it has adverse effects in many workplaces. Yes, the chronic addiction to interrupting, overtalking, and ignoring what the other person has to say that many of our public figures suffer from is a blight upon our society, and we must do everything we can to tackle it.
That is why, Mr Hockey and Mr Albanese, I am writing to you to suggest a truly original and progressive method of tackling this horrible addiction to interrupting and overtalking. I would like the Federal Government to immediately fund a series of Safe Interjecting Rooms for our major towns and cities, so the chronic interrupters have somewhere to go to indulge in their practice without harming other citizens.
Here's how I think it would work:
- The person wishing to Interject books themselves a room at a certain time.
- They arrive in the room, which is occupied by a Certified Interjection Supervisor.
- The Certified Interjection Supervisor will then attempt to engage the Interjector in polite conversation, and the Interjector will proceed to talk over them.
I can see these Safe Interjecting Rooms as being frequented by many of our major politicians and parliamentary members, who have a demonstrable addiction to interrupting and overtalking, as any viewer of Question Time will be able to ascertain.
Joe, Tony - think about it! Our Prime Minister, Kevin Rudd, would finally have a place he could go to and say 'Now just let me say this', or 'Just on that point' or 'Can I just say this' to his heart's content! He wouldn't even have to wait for the Interjection Supervisor to start talking! Wilson Tuckey would finally have a supervised, safe room in which he could waffle a series of sort-of-meaningful points in someone's direction and not care at all whether they were listening or not! And politicians, such as yourselves, who occasionally appear on radio for the privilege of talking over one another in front of a listening audience could even have a special room set aside for yourselves where you could happily ignore and interrupt one another for as long and as loudly as you want. I think it makes sense, anyway.
There will, of course, be naysayers and disgruntled business owners in the community who will object to the presence of Interjecting rooms in their neighbourhood. They may argue that the Interjecting rooms, and the interrupters and overtalkers who frequent them, will lower the tone of the neighbourhood, and that they may begin talking over innocent business owners or people walking on the street. They may further argue that this will lead to a subsequent rise in crime and other not-very-nice things in their neighbourhood. I don't see it this way myself: I believe, if the rules of the Safe Interjecting Room are simple and clear, there is no reason why the overtalkers and the interrupters who frequent the Interjecting Room will carry their practice outside. Rather, they will be able to work on ways of cutting back on their habit of overtalking, and finally become productive members of society once again. We can at least try it.
After all - as years of government treatment of drug addicts, alcoholics, and cigarette smokers will show, we cannot just let people who have such addictions alone. We must subject them to a series of condescending programs which may or may not have some slight success in treating the addictions of a few of the addicts, which programs may or may not be retracted or curbed by other governments at a later date if they see fit, and in accordance with the electoral sympathies of a number of influential lobby groups. It's the way of democracy, guys! With luck and good judgement, we can have as much success in treating the problem of addiction to chronic overtalking and interrupting as we have with all the other drugs in our society!
Yours,
Tim Train
President
The Coalition for a Safe Interjecting Room
Thornbury, Victoria
Dear Mr Hockey and Mr Albanese,
I hope you will agree, people talking over other people who are talking is one of the biggest problems in the world today. It is a direct cause of miscommunication, anger, and confusion, and it has adverse effects in many workplaces. Yes, the chronic addiction to interrupting, overtalking, and ignoring what the other person has to say that many of our public figures suffer from is a blight upon our society, and we must do everything we can to tackle it.
That is why, Mr Hockey and Mr Albanese, I am writing to you to suggest a truly original and progressive method of tackling this horrible addiction to interrupting and overtalking. I would like the Federal Government to immediately fund a series of Safe Interjecting Rooms for our major towns and cities, so the chronic interrupters have somewhere to go to indulge in their practice without harming other citizens.
Here's how I think it would work:
- The person wishing to Interject books themselves a room at a certain time.
- They arrive in the room, which is occupied by a Certified Interjection Supervisor.
- The Certified Interjection Supervisor will then attempt to engage the Interjector in polite conversation, and the Interjector will proceed to talk over them.
I can see these Safe Interjecting Rooms as being frequented by many of our major politicians and parliamentary members, who have a demonstrable addiction to interrupting and overtalking, as any viewer of Question Time will be able to ascertain.
Joe, Tony - think about it! Our Prime Minister, Kevin Rudd, would finally have a place he could go to and say 'Now just let me say this', or 'Just on that point' or 'Can I just say this' to his heart's content! He wouldn't even have to wait for the Interjection Supervisor to start talking! Wilson Tuckey would finally have a supervised, safe room in which he could waffle a series of sort-of-meaningful points in someone's direction and not care at all whether they were listening or not! And politicians, such as yourselves, who occasionally appear on radio for the privilege of talking over one another in front of a listening audience could even have a special room set aside for yourselves where you could happily ignore and interrupt one another for as long and as loudly as you want. I think it makes sense, anyway.
There will, of course, be naysayers and disgruntled business owners in the community who will object to the presence of Interjecting rooms in their neighbourhood. They may argue that the Interjecting rooms, and the interrupters and overtalkers who frequent them, will lower the tone of the neighbourhood, and that they may begin talking over innocent business owners or people walking on the street. They may further argue that this will lead to a subsequent rise in crime and other not-very-nice things in their neighbourhood. I don't see it this way myself: I believe, if the rules of the Safe Interjecting Room are simple and clear, there is no reason why the overtalkers and the interrupters who frequent the Interjecting Room will carry their practice outside. Rather, they will be able to work on ways of cutting back on their habit of overtalking, and finally become productive members of society once again. We can at least try it.
After all - as years of government treatment of drug addicts, alcoholics, and cigarette smokers will show, we cannot just let people who have such addictions alone. We must subject them to a series of condescending programs which may or may not have some slight success in treating the addictions of a few of the addicts, which programs may or may not be retracted or curbed by other governments at a later date if they see fit, and in accordance with the electoral sympathies of a number of influential lobby groups. It's the way of democracy, guys! With luck and good judgement, we can have as much success in treating the problem of addiction to chronic overtalking and interrupting as we have with all the other drugs in our society!
Yours,
Tim Train
President
The Coalition for a Safe Interjecting Room
Thornbury, Victoria
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Three news stories at once
Why write a series of news stories about events as they unfold when you can just write several at once? That's right, there's no reason why not.
Death toll rises, falls, stays exactly the same
J____, Monday - key power brokers have finally signed a peace agreement to a war that has not started yet, bringing an end to, and perpetuating this seemingly endless conflict. As the situation spirals further out of control, tensions continue to mount between the two countries which have at last agreed to set their differences aside and work to a better future. US President Barack Obama has praised both leaders for their handling of the yet to be unfolding tragedy, while calls for restraint and a return to peace have come from the UN and NATO. Sadly, it looks like no hope is in sight for this yet-to-be-wartorn corner of the world, which now everyone must work to rebuild if it is to forget the current catastrophe as the death toll rises, falls, and stays exactly the same.
Inquiry to be held into shamefully heroic handling of the impending crisis
B____ - inquests into the deaths of several B_'s in the current floods will be held today as several emergency workers prepare for the coming storms. Several emergency workers, who are bravely working to rescue citizens from the ongoing and coming onslaught will take the stand today and testify. Families of the four dead B_'s will be looking for answers and battening down the hatches from the emergency workers as the situation becomes worse, and the full extent of the damage is not yet revealed.
Death toll rises, falls, stays exactly the same
J____, Monday - key power brokers have finally signed a peace agreement to a war that has not started yet, bringing an end to, and perpetuating this seemingly endless conflict. As the situation spirals further out of control, tensions continue to mount between the two countries which have at last agreed to set their differences aside and work to a better future. US President Barack Obama has praised both leaders for their handling of the yet to be unfolding tragedy, while calls for restraint and a return to peace have come from the UN and NATO. Sadly, it looks like no hope is in sight for this yet-to-be-wartorn corner of the world, which now everyone must work to rebuild if it is to forget the current catastrophe as the death toll rises, falls, and stays exactly the same.
Inquiry to be held into shamefully heroic handling of the impending crisis
B____ - inquests into the deaths of several B_'s in the current floods will be held today as several emergency workers prepare for the coming storms. Several emergency workers, who are bravely working to rescue citizens from the ongoing and coming onslaught will take the stand today and testify. Families of the four dead B_'s will be looking for answers and battening down the hatches from the emergency workers as the situation becomes worse, and the full extent of the damage is not yet revealed.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Dimericks: dull, dismal, dreary, depressing, or Dadaist limericks
I quite like the limerick form, though it does have certain limitations that are fun to play around with. Hence the following five poems, which I wrote yesterday and today more or less to keep my hand in and my writing brain ticking over. Despite the fact that they're basically just experiments with form, I kind of like them.
Just by way of explanation, Dimerick #1 was written as a kind of way of cobbling together a limerick entirely out of 'first lines', and fragments thereof, and #3 as an example of that joke where the poem/story ends before the plot is resolved. There's no explanation for #2, but I wrote it anyway.
1.
There once was an old man in a tree.
A small dog once had a large flea.
I saw a brown cat,
There was a round hat,
My alphabet starts with a D.
2.
There once was a dog in a hat,
Or was it a hat in a dog?
A dog in a hat
Or a hat in a dog,
Or a hat in a dog in a hat?
3.
There once was a lady called Jill
Who got into a quarrel with Bill.
A challenge was sought;
They met and they fought
With swords drawn at sunrise, until...
4.
Life wasn't too easy for Dean.
He was low. He was sick. He was green.
But at midday a grin
Spread from cheek to chin -
(A side effect of strychnine.)
5.
Bob's bills are unpaid. He got laid
Off from work, and his land agent made
The rent double in size.
Bob's lonely and cries
In the corner. Bob's bills are unpaid.
Just by way of explanation, Dimerick #1 was written as a kind of way of cobbling together a limerick entirely out of 'first lines', and fragments thereof, and #3 as an example of that joke where the poem/story ends before the plot is resolved. There's no explanation for #2, but I wrote it anyway.
1.
There once was an old man in a tree.
A small dog once had a large flea.
I saw a brown cat,
There was a round hat,
My alphabet starts with a D.
2.
There once was a dog in a hat,
Or was it a hat in a dog?
A dog in a hat
Or a hat in a dog,
Or a hat in a dog in a hat?
3.
There once was a lady called Jill
Who got into a quarrel with Bill.
A challenge was sought;
They met and they fought
With swords drawn at sunrise, until...
4.
Life wasn't too easy for Dean.
He was low. He was sick. He was green.
But at midday a grin
Spread from cheek to chin -
(A side effect of strychnine.)
5.
Bob's bills are unpaid. He got laid
Off from work, and his land agent made
The rent double in size.
Bob's lonely and cries
In the corner. Bob's bills are unpaid.
What a thrilling life mine must be
I keep on getting messages like this on my computer.
Now, instead of waiting for your computer to make this mistake for you, you can just log on to this blog and let it make the mistake instead! The only problem is that when you go on to the internet you might think that your computer is accidentally making the mistake, causing you to refresh, refresh, refresh, and enter a swirling vortex of terror and endless refreshes. Apart from that, though, everything should be fine.
UPDATE! - Just realised this is Mother's Day. Happy Mother's Day, Mothers! Enjoy your Page Load Error!
Now, instead of waiting for your computer to make this mistake for you, you can just log on to this blog and let it make the mistake instead! The only problem is that when you go on to the internet you might think that your computer is accidentally making the mistake, causing you to refresh, refresh, refresh, and enter a swirling vortex of terror and endless refreshes. Apart from that, though, everything should be fine.
UPDATE! - Just realised this is Mother's Day. Happy Mother's Day, Mothers! Enjoy your Page Load Error!
Saturday, May 09, 2009
Cosmetic surgery on plastic people goes wrong
'I thought I was just going to get some minor cosmetic surgery done on my face,' says Legoman JT, who refuses to have his full artificial identity revealed to the public. 'But how wrong I was!'
JT had originally opted for some minor plastic surgery to be done to his plastic face, hoping for a 'few small touch ups. Instead, when I saw myself after the surgery, I was horrified at the results!'
See the grotesque results for yourself (warning: graphic imagery follows)
Before
After: JT may be still smiling on the outside, but he's not smiling on the inside anymore.
And that's not all. Many shocking cases have been discovered of cosmetic surgery on plastic people going horribly wrong, with dozens of examples of surgical neglect and carelessness being handed to the courts each month.
To any real artificial readers who may be considering artificial touch-up surgery to be done to them, this journal urges them strongly to reconsider.
'I just wish I had changed my mind!' groans JT. 'I look like exactly the same artificial person as before. I mean, couldn't they have at least tried to make me look like Arnold Schwarzenegger or something?'
JT had originally opted for some minor plastic surgery to be done to his plastic face, hoping for a 'few small touch ups. Instead, when I saw myself after the surgery, I was horrified at the results!'
See the grotesque results for yourself (warning: graphic imagery follows)
Before
After: JT may be still smiling on the outside, but he's not smiling on the inside anymore.
And that's not all. Many shocking cases have been discovered of cosmetic surgery on plastic people going horribly wrong, with dozens of examples of surgical neglect and carelessness being handed to the courts each month.
To any real artificial readers who may be considering artificial touch-up surgery to be done to them, this journal urges them strongly to reconsider.
'I just wish I had changed my mind!' groans JT. 'I look like exactly the same artificial person as before. I mean, couldn't they have at least tried to make me look like Arnold Schwarzenegger or something?'
Thursday, May 07, 2009
One from the archives
Now occasionally august magazines like the New Yorker and The Spectator will dig up material from several decades or centuries ago and republish it on their website. This is a pretty neat idea, so I think I'll do it too. Yes, despite the fact that this blog is only four and a bit years old, I present to you this advice page from the WillTypeForFood archives dated to 23 August, 1921. It was a guest post written by my then colleague, Lord Grosvenor Mountbatten Goliard-Goliard. I hope you like it.
Lord Grosvenor Mountbatten Goliard-Goliard's eminently sensible and admirably eminent travel advice for young ladies and gentlemen
Dear Lord Grosvenor Mountbatten Goliard-Goliard,
Recently, while attending a ceremony held by Kong Mopuno of Rhodesia, I found myself surrounded on all four sides by stampeding elephants. What do you advise I do in future to avoid such a difficulty?
Scrly,
Sir Smurpalud
Dear Sir Smurpalud,
Your difficulty is easily avoided by not walking into a herd of stampeding elephants in the first place. Really, one cannot be too firm on this point. If you happen to see a herd of stampeding elephants, turn around and walk in the other direction. Make your feelings known on this matter from the outset. And most certainly, do not fraternise with other gentlemen, even if they happen to be royalty, if they are in the habit of holding ceremonies in the middle of herds of wild stampeding elephants. It is remarkably uncivil and impolitic of them.
FIG 1: A stampeding elephant: best avoided at all costs. Note the naked & fearsome savage bestride the elephant.
FIG 2: A photograph of elephants in a somewhat more placid mood.
Dear Lord Grosvenor Mountbatten Goliard-Goliard,
One finds it increasingly difficult to travel nowadays in the manner to which one is accustomed - especially if one has never had much money in the first place. On my recent voyage to the continent, I was forced to mail myself to Marseilles in a bag not overly large. What do you advise that I do about this?
Yrs,
Ernesto Quillam
Dear EQ,
There are several methods for a gentleman to find the wherewhithal to travel in a comfortable manner. One is through criminal means and the others are through more respectable & conventional methods.
One such method is to be born rich. This is a relatively simple matter. In order to be born rich, you will need either a) a rich mother; b) a rich father; c) an even richer other parent, or d) a combination of the above. Find yourself some rich parents (perhaps through a well-drafted Advertisement in a quarterly journal or newspaper of some Influence), and arrange to be born to them some days after.
A third method is to stumble upon a great treasure, such as Alan Quartermain did in King Solomon's Mines. This way to riches can only be achieved after a great difficulty, personal hardship, and feats of personal endurance. It is therefore a relatively easy matter. I attach a picture showing how the finding of a treasure is to be done
FIG 3: The finding of a great treasure. If you have no pyjamas or turbans to wear for the occasion, consult with your local haberdasher.
Dear Lord Grosvenor Mountbatten Goliard-Goliard,
My youngest son is voyaging by steamship to Cathay and The Furthest Ind. I am concerned: what if he is to abducted by Tatars upon the way? What can I do to allay my fears?
Yours, Q.D., or, 'A Concerned Mother'.
My Dear Lady,
Goodness Gracious! Yes, yours is very concerning news indeed. Tatars are a realistic threat on all sea voyages.
FIG 4: Tatars, a realistic theat on all sea voyages.
I cannot advise the not running into Tatars too highly. Other threats your son might expect include Berbers, Cathars, Mongols, Pirates, The Jerry, the Turkomen, and the Fearsome Hun.
FIG 5: The Fearsome Hun. Note the Grotesque & Abominable Facial Features.
I expect your son will run into them at a rate of one or two a week. O, I am afeard for his life! This means certain death! Is there not anything you can do to dissuade him from this Fateful and Perilous Journey?
Yours,
& co. & co.,
Lord Grosvenor Mountbatten Goliard-Goliard.
Lactose intolerance
Lactose intolerance: please don't let it ruin our thriving multicultural society.
Wednesday, May 06, 2009
Words that haven't quite made it into the dictionary yet
filibluster (v, n) 1) To deliberately make a prolonged speech before an official body by making a statement consisting entirely of 'ums' and 'aws' and 'err... ha has' with the purpose of delaying or using up the entire alloted time 2) The speech that is thus made.
unch (n) 1) Unit of measurement. Not quite an inch. 2) A non-inch.
unch (n) 1) Unit of measurement. Not quite an inch. 2) A non-inch.
Tuesday, May 05, 2009
Anxiety encountered on being greeted by a person who you do not recognise: a poem
They’re the ones that you meet in the bus or the train or the tram or the park or the street
You don’t know that they know you but they do and they say your name and casually greet
And before you remember the name you’ve forgotten, or even to just say hello,
Or to greet them in kind with a casual greeting, they vanish, they absent, they go;
And you stand staring after wherever it is that whoever it was just went to and try
To think of their name, and you think that you think that it starts with a letter like I –
Or maybe a letter between Q W and B, or maybe a C,
But then maybe it sounds like ‘Abecedarian’, or maybe you just call them ‘Zee’;
But you can’t place a name to the face, or a face to the name, or in your case
You can’t even and either place a name to the name or a face to the face
Or the one to the one or the other the other, or the one to the other;
Or you don’t recognise them, but you think that you know their mother.
And anyway, who are these people who think that they know you, and greet you and just disappear?
Do they greet you by name as some sick kind of game just to play on your paranoid fears?
Do they call random names until someone looks up and they know that they have scored a hit,
As they notch up their scores in a little red book, having scared someone out of their wits?
Do they hover in crowds like KGB spies, just waiting to single you out,
As they thrive on your misery, terror, anxiety, horror, neurosis, and doubt?
Is it fair for them, really, to blithely pronounce (without your permission) your title?
I mean some kind of licence, or written consent, would definitely seem to be vital.
Because saying a name implies a relation that somehow you cannot recall,
Struck up in a bar that you cannot remember because maybe it’s not there at all:
Some distant location, some strange conversation, sometime, somewhere, on some other occasion –
Is this really a real relation, or just an odd kind of hallucination?
And if people you definitely don’t know can know you, perhaps they don’t really exist -
Or maybe you cannot recall when you met them because at the time you were pissed.
(And names? What’s a name? Should we have names at all? They should make naming people a crime –
Because people who don’t really know other people call them by their names all the time.
The world without names would be peaceful and happy and full of anonymous bliss,
And it’s only when parents give babies their names that babies start going amiss.)
And if they know your name then what else do they know? Your fetish for pink underwear?
Your fears about scones? Your feelings for dogs? Your thoughts about red pubic hair?
And just what do they know that you don’t know they know, or what don’t they know about you?
And just who do (whoever they are) think they are really? Who do they think they are? Who?
You don’t know that they know you but they do and they say your name and casually greet
And before you remember the name you’ve forgotten, or even to just say hello,
Or to greet them in kind with a casual greeting, they vanish, they absent, they go;
And you stand staring after wherever it is that whoever it was just went to and try
To think of their name, and you think that you think that it starts with a letter like I –
Or maybe a letter between Q W and B, or maybe a C,
But then maybe it sounds like ‘Abecedarian’, or maybe you just call them ‘Zee’;
But you can’t place a name to the face, or a face to the name, or in your case
You can’t even and either place a name to the name or a face to the face
Or the one to the one or the other the other, or the one to the other;
Or you don’t recognise them, but you think that you know their mother.
And anyway, who are these people who think that they know you, and greet you and just disappear?
Do they greet you by name as some sick kind of game just to play on your paranoid fears?
Do they call random names until someone looks up and they know that they have scored a hit,
As they notch up their scores in a little red book, having scared someone out of their wits?
Do they hover in crowds like KGB spies, just waiting to single you out,
As they thrive on your misery, terror, anxiety, horror, neurosis, and doubt?
Is it fair for them, really, to blithely pronounce (without your permission) your title?
I mean some kind of licence, or written consent, would definitely seem to be vital.
Because saying a name implies a relation that somehow you cannot recall,
Struck up in a bar that you cannot remember because maybe it’s not there at all:
Some distant location, some strange conversation, sometime, somewhere, on some other occasion –
Is this really a real relation, or just an odd kind of hallucination?
And if people you definitely don’t know can know you, perhaps they don’t really exist -
Or maybe you cannot recall when you met them because at the time you were pissed.
(And names? What’s a name? Should we have names at all? They should make naming people a crime –
Because people who don’t really know other people call them by their names all the time.
The world without names would be peaceful and happy and full of anonymous bliss,
And it’s only when parents give babies their names that babies start going amiss.)
And if they know your name then what else do they know? Your fetish for pink underwear?
Your fears about scones? Your feelings for dogs? Your thoughts about red pubic hair?
And just what do they know that you don’t know they know, or what don’t they know about you?
And just who do (whoever they are) think they are really? Who do they think they are? Who?
Conversational snippet
Yesterday, I took Mum and my brother to Williamstown, a touristy suburb on the bay that has a normally fairly busy shopping strip. Being a Monday, everyone had decided to stay inside and consequently many of the stores were closed. Still, we got some icecream and went down to the park, where the following conversation occured:
ME: Well Mum, here's the bustling suburb of Williamstown.
MUM: Where's the bustling? We haven't got to that bit yet.
ME: (Looking down the street, which is empty of anyone except the occasional shopkeeper standing outside waiting for a customer to arrive) Well... there's a bus. So there you go. It has to be bustling.
Incidentally, on her visit Mum noted an oddity about Melbourne suburbs - they're the same as other suburbs elsewhere, but they often come with an added 's'. William(s)town, Broadmeadow(s)...
ME: Well Mum, here's the bustling suburb of Williamstown.
MUM: Where's the bustling? We haven't got to that bit yet.
ME: (Looking down the street, which is empty of anyone except the occasional shopkeeper standing outside waiting for a customer to arrive) Well... there's a bus. So there you go. It has to be bustling.
Incidentally, on her visit Mum noted an oddity about Melbourne suburbs - they're the same as other suburbs elsewhere, but they often come with an added 's'. William(s)town, Broadmeadow(s)...
Sunday, May 03, 2009
Random comment after reading a snippet in The Australian
Those dastardly Indians, not content with stealing all those horrible, horrible telemarketing jobs off Australians, are now conspiring to produce cheaper books at competitive market prices for us!
As publishers and authors line up against the bookselling chains to fight the removal of restrictions on importing overseas editions of bestsellers, it's worth remembering that it's not just American and British editions that retailers would have access to: it's Indian editions. That's why the US and Britain both have import restrictions...Because we have no problem with a phone call from a British or UK or Australian telemarketer, now, do we? It's only when it comes from an Indian that it becomes one. Same deal with the books. What a load of old bollocks.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Unfolding workplace horror
For the love of God, what is this office making noises at me for? Every few minutes a high-pitched sine-wave shouts sharply in my ear - it's rather like a slow-motion car alarm. Slower, but every bit as effective at inducing attacks of anxiety, building rapidly into paranoia.
Birds make noises because they want to have sex or because they want you to get out of their territory, now, before they peck you to death. So what is the office singing to me for? What horror lies in wait if I don't heed the message the office is sending to me?
Birds make noises because they want to have sex or because they want you to get out of their territory, now, before they peck you to death. So what is the office singing to me for? What horror lies in wait if I don't heed the message the office is sending to me?
General observation
Buying the curry with two naan bread special as a takeaway, and eating it on the tram on the way to work is a process fraught with dangers of the physical, metaphysical and moral kind, and is probably best avoided altogether.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
What is the appropriate thing to do?
Dear Mr Appropriate,
The Melbourne weather has suddenly turned cold and it is difficult finding healthy and self-improving activities to perform in such inclement conditions. What is the appropriate thing to do?
Concerned of Thornbury
***
Dear Concerned of Thornbury,
Put on your comfy socks, turn on the heater, and dick around the house for the afternoon, occasionally putting things up and placing them down. Switch on the internet and do a bit of blogging, as that is a very appropriate use of your time. Also, if you get hungry, have two eggs, a piece of bread, some corn, and a bowl of icecream. That is a very appropriate thing to do.
Mr Appropriate
The Melbourne weather has suddenly turned cold and it is difficult finding healthy and self-improving activities to perform in such inclement conditions. What is the appropriate thing to do?
Concerned of Thornbury
***
Dear Concerned of Thornbury,
Put on your comfy socks, turn on the heater, and dick around the house for the afternoon, occasionally putting things up and placing them down. Switch on the internet and do a bit of blogging, as that is a very appropriate use of your time. Also, if you get hungry, have two eggs, a piece of bread, some corn, and a bowl of icecream. That is a very appropriate thing to do.
Mr Appropriate
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Email: timhtrain - at - yahoo.com.au
