don't look down

Manjula?

2007-07-23T17:37:00.000+10:00

You have to go to this site if you call yourself a Simpson's Fan.

http://www.simpsonizeme.com/

Daytime drama

2007-03-12T19:28:00.000+11:00

A rare occurrence indeed, but today we have come to the end of another wonderful moment in the calendar year. A long weekend. So what did I do with part of my Monday off? Watch TV, of course. It’s been a while since I spent some time with my friends Oprah, Phil, Days and Reckless. All good friends indeed. However, it’s nice to revisit with some friends that I hadn’t seen in years. I had no idea that the powers-that-be were showing Queer Eye at noon everyday. At least I’m presuming it’s everyday.

Nice to see Carson is still pushing the Roberto Cavalli. I think I know of someone who’s been taking note. Can you? Ted’s been double dipping a bit with the American version of Iron Chef. Thom, the “Design Doctor” as he is referred to, is the main reason I watch the show. I think I’m a closet interior design voyeur. But that man works miracles. He really does. There’s Jai, the little puppy character, that doesn’t seem to do anything. Does anyone remember, for 3 seconds, there was a black guy that replaced Jai? He looked like Carter from ‘Spin City’. There may have been a lawsuit or two. I’ll spare you from the Carson/fashion tie-in I was thinking of making there. And then there’s the grooming guy. I don’t know why, but he just bothers me. Maybe it’s the product. But he is just too groomed. I bet he’s just a Ken doll from the neck down. I’m putting him in the same category as Dannii Minogue. She has to use two i’s. One for each silicon pouch. Each is its own entity.

Sorry, I digress. So in today’s episode they had a Gym teacher (translation: PE teacher). The man looked like Ricky Gervais. It was like Queer Eye meets Extras. Just without so much of the awkwardness and inappropriate comments. No, no, my mistake, there were inappropriate comments. Such as when plastic fantastic, Kyan, suggested when Ricky (can’t remember his real name so Ricky it is) goes golfing that he finds somewhere with a day spa for his wife. So once he had finished his 18 holes (you can see where this is going, can’t you?), that they have something to eat and drink for the 19^th and go on to the 20^th. These gays. This is why they shouldn’t be in the military, allowed to marry or adopt. In fact let’s revoke their right to vote. That’ll learn ‘em. So much inappropriateness, not enough time. Well, it was lovely to catch up with my homies. Hope y’all have had a great Labour Day long weekend too.

Black Stethoscope, Red Neck

2007-02-01T19:30:00.000+11:00

My introvert/melodramatic mother (refer back to Squid Supremacy for further information) went into hospital today to have Arthroscopic Surgery on her knee. Nothing too serious, just a niggling (or dickie) knee that had been causing a lot of pain and discomfort to my middle ear. It’s amazing how my mother aligns herself to martyrdom when you offer to help during these so-called near death experiences. Imagine any ethnic mother [any ethnicity, cos they all sound the same] saying “I was cutting a sandwich and I hit my hand on the side of the toaster!” And when you look back at her with the traditional ‘so what’ glance, “I could have electrocuted myself!” Now of course, if your mother is young, ohh let’s say under the age of 45-50 then you probably won’t get it. But give it time.

Ok I think I’ve digressed enough. Back to the story. So, I’m at the hospital waiting to take her home, when a nurse says I have to be instructed on how to help mum. I figured there’d be problems with bandages, physio and of course the general – anaesthetic, not Patton. But before I could even ask the woman how mum was going she chose to ask “How’s your English?” That’s right. Once again the medical community has been put into disrepute by the words of one doctor/nurse/dumb wench. To her disbelief and my Dad’s amusement I responded with “About as good as your inability to look past my skin tone”. Couldn’t believe it! So she apologised, but the full conversation of how I should be helping mum out was immediately expedited. I’ve never had the man-bits to stand up to anyone like that before and not flinch or apologise. So I’m pretty bloody proud of myself for that.

Sports up the ying yang

2007-01-28T21:49:00.000+11:00

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.

Ad Filtering

2007-01-21T12:22:00.000+11:00

If anyone is interested in ads, check out this site.

http://www.bestadsontv.com/main.php

Disclaimer: Do not attempt with dial-up!

Radio City Yak Thing

2007-01-20T17:06:00.000+11:00

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

2007-01-09T16:25:00.001+11:00

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.

2007-01-08T22:34:00.000+11:00

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

Finding Emo

2007-01-01T22:14:00.000+11:00

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.

Squid Supremacy

2006-12-30T21:44:00.000+11:00

It was inevitable that my uncle would visit us again from interstate. He arrived yesterday and this morning he joined us (dad & me) as we did the usual grocery run. Several different markets were visited and prices were researched, examined and cross checked, for the best value for money. All in all a good 3 ½ hours were spent shopping for a list of 4 items - if that isn’t a hint that we’re ethnic then I don’t know what is. As he had promised during his last visit, my uncle was going to make us dinner. He is a chef by trade and consistently accosts any meal partaker or provider. Needless to say, it doesn’t go down too well when he stays with us long enough to sit and break the proverbial bread.

In the blue corner, weighing 75 kg, bursting in at 170 centimetres in height… my Uncle. And in the red corner, weighing approximately 72 kg, a towering 160 centimetres… my Mother! That’s right. It’s a battle royale. Each fighter is stout, surly and mad as a cut snake. Neither my father nor I choose to stay. Dad conveniently has what he likes to call “stuff” to do. This stuff involves him sitting in front of the TV and engaging the most basic of male activities – watching sports. Me on the other hand, having only just moved back home after living away for the past 3 years used the excuse of “I’m still unpacking”.

My uncle had set aside the squid we had purchased earlier on for some dish, unpronounceable and equally difficult to eat. Little did he realise that mum had set her sights on using that squid for what she describe as ‘good and not evil’. This is roughly what it translated to. I had to edit out some of the profanities.

So, the argument began. There was yelling, of course the standard accosting. The odd bit of ‘you probably bribed your way through your apprenticeship’ and ‘my brother was an idiot to marry a woman who knows nothing of squid’ was thrown about. And I believe from the climatic end, my mum may have attempted to swing the squid at him. However, to save the day, dad came in and asked mum to put the squid down and to let my uncle cook. Why? Because, for god’s sake, he’ll be leaving soon and he wants to get a meal out of him [my Uncle] before he [dad] dies.

Happy New Year!

Office Political

2006-12-29T18:46:00.000+11:00

I requested to be a part of our skeleton staffing during the holiday season so I could save up my annual leave. There were a few duties here and there that were on my list. One of which happened to be creating a few posters for some clients. To make these poster durable, and oh-so-nice and shiny, they required laminating. The smell of melting plastic is indeed the highlight of my poster making career. Until I realised that I had to go through our receptionist, Sheena (aka The Laminatrix!).

Laminatrix (lam-i-na-trix) - noun - a woman who plays the dominant role in a sado-masochistic laminating relationship or encounter. Experiences arousal from the sandwiching of objects including, but not exclusive to, paper and cardboard, between two sheets of clear plastic.

So, I approached Sheena, asking if we had anymore plastic sleeves for laminating and she spat back at me with... "Yes, but you're not supposed to do any laminating!" I asked why, to which she responded with, "Any laminating has to go through me. I handle the laminating." Not knowing (and not wanting to know) what Sheena meant by handling the laminating, I asked her for her authorisation to finish these posters. A mere raise of her left eyebrow gave me my answer.

Why was I being denied access to the laminating facilities by a wannabe door-bitch, I couldn't quite work out, but it meant for that day at least there would be no shiny posters. When I told my manager that I couldn't have them laminated, he asked me if I asked Sheena for her permission?!

It wasn't until later I discovered that Sheena had been demoted from Office Manager at another office down to our reception about 2 years ago. Clearly still harbouring issues over said demotion, Sheena is now our office stationary/equipment Nazi. No pens for you. Ban 1 year?