Sports up the ying yang

No, I’m not talking of all things rudie nudie. Although that may be a sport, I’m ranting and raving about the G rated variety.

I wish to proclaim to all, this sporting life sucks. It seems as though I can not change the channel, turn the page, or look anywhere, for that matter, without seeing something to do with sport. Perhaps it’s just that time of the year. Perhaps it’s the post Australia day exhale of physical activity. Perhaps it’s the media industry trying to reinforce New Year’s resolutions. Perhaps all this athleticism can kiss my arse.

I mean really, must we endure this much sport at once; Cricket, Tennis, Football (or Soccer to you non-bandwagon jumpers), Surfing, and knob measuring. And damn it, I can say this as someone who would normally have been either a participant or spectator of this sort of frivolity, with an exception to the last activity. It would have resulted in a negative reading, thereby making me disqualified from said event.

I regularly went to the Australian Open and the Triangle Cricket Tournaments. I still retain my nickname of “Chucker” when greeted by the flag baring rednecks that are kind enough to fly down from Cronulla. I’ve been to see the Victory and there fans exchange incomprehensible but well timed chants. It’s all good. But for God, Allah, Jehovah, Buddha, Ganesh, and L. Ron Hubbard’s sake space it out.

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Radio City Yak Thing

As mentioned previously, I’m not all that keen on driving at the moment. The traffic for starters. Since people have chosen to go back to work, it has added a good 20-30 minutes to my drive. It feels as though I should have travelled half way around the world. I also have to put up with a variety of drivers from the Eastern, Northern and Western suburbs. It’s a mix of Sunday, kamikaze, and incompetent drivers in brief. Some memorable incidents indeed.

There was the time I was driving home and noticed the 'gentleman' in front of me chose to accost the driver in front of him. When that driver did not heed this gentleman's advice he involved his own driver. He actually pulled out a driver (golf club) through his window and began waving it about. He was swinging it towards the car in front. That person eventually realised they should just get out of his way and got the hell out of there. One of many. Many! I could go on but probably should just shut my pie hole on this topic.

The only thing that’s keeping me remotely sane is getting the chance to listen to some music over the long haul. It’s been a very long time since I’ve been able to sit back and just listen to music that didn’t sound like it should only be played in elevators or during intermission. Unfortunately (or fortunately) I don’t have a CD player in my car. I can’t be bothered getting one (I’m a tight-arse). All the way through school I would listen to whatever crap came on the radio and it was the best break I could have from my over-protective-no-you’re-not-going-out-tonight-you’ve -got-homework-to-do parents. Maybe it’s because I’m back at home that I’m desperately in need of some audio to distract me from my visual.

So firstly, I’d like to thank Triple J & Triple R for popping a cap in my crappy day’s ass. Triple J for bringing home the good of mainstream and Triple R for filtering out mainstream (Triple J producers, we need to talk about Panic at the Disco – I mean was that an experiment or intentional?). Secondly, to my car for fulfilling its end of the contractual agreement - petrol & regular maintenance for positive preoccupation. And thirdly to my employer for initially displacing me in a land far, far away, and refusing to transfer me closer to home.

The List

People have been, for lack of a better term, shitting me at the moment. I’m not impressed one iota at the systematic and continual assault on my personal and professional time by an array of numbnuts, wankers and pigs. Therefore, I’ve taken a leaf out of Richard Nixon’s book and made, what I’d like to call, a ‘Shit List’. There is no order (take that as you will).

• The writers of Happy Feet, for making children think that if an animal is cute and fluffy and can do tricks then it’s ok the save their species.

• Arsonist in the north of Victoria, for making my eyes hurtsy.

• Women for generally being useless managers. There is possibly only 1 female manager that I’ve worked for (shouldn’t use past tense because I still work for her) who is an exception to this statement. My issue is women like the one who has applied for my manager’s job at my other place of ‘employment’. Please ladies, check your attitudes, jealousy, and pleather hand bags at the sliding door.

• Paul Newman, for getting in Richard’s way. And those salad dressings.

• Voluntary organisers of baby showers, farewell lunches, surprise birthdays, engagement parties, or any form of ‘celebration’ in which I have to contribute to someone I either don’t like or have not seen/spoken to/heard from in a long time. The absence IS personal.

• Telstra, for sending me the largest mobile phone bill I’ve ever received.

• Work, for making me ring up such a huge bill – I guess part of it’s my fault for having a mobile in the first place. Damn you technology!

• John Howard. ‘Nough said.

• VicRoads and Insurance companies for ruining what was initially a most liberating experience. I can not believe I have to pay that much within a space of 1 week. Just take my first born! It would be less painful.

• My fellow motorists. You all suck!

Hmm... nup, nothing... nothing at all.

This brain could not be connected. Please check the thought pattern and try again.

Finding Emo

A happy new year indeed. As I wait for the alcohol, a variety of passively inhaled smoke, and my quota of general everyday pollution to leave my body, I pause to recall any of last night. It was a tame NYE 2006; dinner and drinks with old and new friends. But really, the only thing that forms any resemblance to an actual conversation was the brain-storming of the next Elmo doll – Emo Elmo.

Just as Richmond Avenal made the transition after listening to Cradle of Filth, so too does Elmo. When Big Bird and Snuffy gave Elmo a compilation CD called ‘I’m sad because I’m dead’ on one sunny day on Sesames Street, a spark singed the inner corner of Elmo’s left eye. It began with My Chemical Romance, AFI, and Antimatter. Before he could grasp the enormity of the noise within this thin laser scored plastic, Elmo was thrown into an emotional tirade. Death Cab for Cutie caused him to weep, Funeral for Fun stirred his deep seeded hate for Gordon, and The Used made him draw blood (from Telly).

Over the last few years we saw the slow transformation from the fun-loving, fluffy red friend who had a tall black guy’s hand sticking out of his arse, to a weak, angst-ridden, ghost-like figure. There was never a Tickle Me Elmo. The doll was released by the producers of the show to backlash against his Tell All book, ‘Elmo Hates You’. The shaking was how the producers chose to announce Elmo’s drug problem. ‘Cold Turkey Elmo’ was his nickname. Amongst other the things, there were also allegations of prostitution, which incriminates several other cast members, and illegal copies of season 1,473,590 of the show (yet to be aired) selling on eBay. So sad.. no angry, no sad, no angry...

Don't Touch Me Elmo - Darkened Room Sold Separately.