The Inane Asylum

The lawn needs mowing, and i have my crayons

2006-12-06T16:13:00.000+10:30

Hows that for a random title?

Would it be lazy of me to simply say how busy things are lately? Sorta why I haven’t been in touch with a friend or something?

Or is this the final acceptance that I simply cannot maintain this thing, and that I have lost the verve to keep it ticking over. This page reminds me of a lower class abode with car parts strewn haphazardly over the front lawn

It’s not that I’m tired of writing, either. I’ve been churning stuff out like a machine lately, taking notes and splaying words across the screen like a child with a clean wall and a huge box of crayons.

So… is this the “It’s not you, it’s me” line?

I dunno. Frankly, it doesn’t matter at the end of the day. The world continues to turn, everyone who isn’t me will remain a deluded tool, and the universe will snort as it wakes up and says, “Andy who?” before rolling over indifferently.

Aries: Will travel. Stay clear of rats

2006-11-21T13:23:00.000+10:30

It seems that whenever I find I’m getting my shit together, something new always crops up and changes all the rules.

I think I’m about to get a new job. How do I know this? My PC has been targeted for an upgrade.

I often stay with a job for an amount of time, labouring under the conditions that require me to whip the hell out of a PC that runs on either steam power or some rodent on a treadmill, only to find that the moment they provide me with steroids for the rat, I find another job.

It’s happened in the last, ooh, four jobs, I reckon.

So, my boss approaches me just the other day and says, “Your PC is pretty crap. Why don’t you have a flat screen?”

I reply with a “I make do with what you give me”

“Well, after our recent survey of computers we’ve found that yours is the oldest on the floor. So you’re tagged for a new machine”

Cue shock music. Dun-dun- daaaaaah!!

Curious, I turn my attention to the available vacancies going in the paper. There’s one role in there which looks absolutely perfect, has higher pay and fits my current penchant for travelling.

It appears that the stars have aligned again.

I must now prepare a future post which details how I bombed the application process, or how the whole procedure is crap, and how the stars should go fuck themselves.

Oh, and prepare a job application.

Et tu, U2?

2006-11-17T09:38:00.000+10:30

Adelaide was host to the U2 juggernaut last night. You hear that? The juggernaut, I tells ya! Juggernaut. Any town worthy of a juggernaut visit has to be world class right? Any excuse for me to use the word juggernaut. Juggernaut.

Needless to say, this sleepy little town squealed with the gusto of a gushing groupie.

Bono and co were humble enough to mingle with fans prior to the show, to which Bono was unfortunately assaulted by our local media.

I don’t remember specific lines, but the “interview” (as they labelled it) went something like:

Media: So how do you feel [to be back in Adelaide]?

Bono: I feel great

Media: [Obviously star struck but a little annoyed that Bono wasn’t gushing about how much he loves (and has always loved) Adelaide] It feels good to be around?

Bono: Yeah… I am… I’ve been a great fan… [trails off as he tries to remember where he is]… er… [thinks]… I’ve been looking forward to… [trails off again as he desperately doesn’t want to lie, but doesn’t want to say a contrived pander to our parochialism]… kissing beautiful Australian women [all right! swish!]

Media: South Australian women [laughs]

Bono: er… yeah…

When will Adelaideans get it through their thick fucking heads that we’re not a world class city, that we’re not that special in the grand scheme of things, that just because we remember that U2 visited here 8 years ago (edit: it has been 13 years, I've been informed - apologies for the oversight) it doesn’t mean that Bono does, and that the only reason bands visit here is for our great wines and lax marijuana laws?

As the Irish would say: Jaysus fecking Christ!

I am glad that we managed to cram 60,000 people into the stadium, as that’s probably the environment that U2 is better accustomed than being swamped by bogans and star struck, amateur media with delusions of grandeur.

So, I hope that U2 and their tens of thousands of roadies had a great time in our little corner of the world. I apologise for our media. They know not their proper place and have no proper sense of decorum.

This morning’s local breakfast radio was gushing about the concert, and they mentioned the thing about SMSing your name so that it displayed on the huge screen. Then they gushed about how they “received a text message from Bono” afterwards. There was the typical “Wow, that’s really good of him” thing.

Yeah, I can imagine the scene. Bono going over the entire 60,000 name list with his mobile phone in hand as he clicks away at the keypad.

Edge: You comin’ t’ th’ pub, mate?

Bono: Edge, what ar’ ye thinkin’? I’ve gotta git these text massages done, ya limey git. Th’ pub can wait!

Edge: Alrahty then. I nay thought the text massages t’was a good idea. I told ye.

Bono: But ah’ve gotta be good t’ me fans, Edge. I’ll see ye after I’m done.

Bono continues to feverishly tap away at the mobile phone, trying in vain to get all the text messages done.

Bono: Ah shit! I hate pradict’ve text!! Sorry, abaht that, Emily van der Schans of Westbourne Park… your SMS has a typo in it. I was meanin’ t’ type “good” insted of “home”

Yeah. Right.

U2 are a world-class group of people. Adelaide… alas… is not. Get over yourselves people. You don’t realise how tragic you look. Yes… that probably includes me as well.

Like, you know.... whatever.

2006-11-10T11:23:00.000+10:30

I have come to the conclusion that no one says anything anymore.

Listening to conversations in the Myer Centre Food Court (ugh) revealed to me that when others are recounting past encounters with people, they don’t actually tell the facts of how their conversation went.

Instead, they relate to others what the conversation was similar to, or alike to.

"She picked out this dress, and I was like, ‘Oh you’re not getting that’ and she was like, ‘it’ll so suit me’ and I was like, ‘Nuh, uh!’"

Truth be known, the “conversation” probably went along the lines of

Person A: “This dress looks nice”

Person B: “Yeah, it suits you”

Person A: “Aw, thank you!”

Person B then secretly has an inner monologue that represents their “in your face” attitude, and how they tell people exactly what they think. This eventually culminates into the full-blown belief that the conversation actually took place.

But that’s probably when the “like” part probably comes in. Sure, the conversation never happened… but it “similar” or “alike” to it. “Alike”, as in “Really Wanted To Have Happened, But I'll Say It To Make Me Sound Awesome.”

“So she went and bought it and was like, ‘this is so nice’, and I was like, ‘you’ve just wasted your money’ and she was like, ‘you’re just jealous because I’ve got a better body and no cankles’ and I was like, ‘Nuh, uh!”

Someone should tell these people that inner-monologue doesn’t count as an actual conversation.

Sure, we can embellish a little… but… wait, I can’t finish that thought.

Leave me alone. I would so, like, kick your butt.

Memorandum

2006-11-06T22:26:00.000+10:30

Memo to staff in the boss’ office

Dear staff

I hate to single out a couple people in the office, however in this case I do feel I need to highlight specific people in order to put my point across.

To the personal assistants to the boss, I think you should be aware of a couple little facts that might come as a surprise to you.

1. The PA to the boss is not tantamount to actually being the boss.

2. No one respects you for the sole reason that you are the PA to the boss.

Ergo, when you ask us to jump, please do not be surprised if the response is not to enquire how high, but rather to suggest sticking your request up your arse.

Also, equally do not be surprised if people get frustrated at your constant insistence to not be compromising in any way possible, and that your future requests are relegated to the bottom of the priority pile.

For instance, when I ask for you to be available during a certain time due to the fact that I have bent over backwards to accommodate your request, do not dismiss my efforts with a “well, actually I’ve just found out I may not be available during that time that I initially said I was available”

This is especially true if you’ve assured me in the past of your availability during a certain time, only to find that you’ve decided to fuck off home early.

It leaves me in the lurch, makes me look stupid, and frankly… pisses me off.

So to continue to expect me to bend to your whims, and expect that I’m going to drop everything for the personal assistants to the boss is rude to say the least.

I can assure you that if this kind of shit happens again, and your boss isn’t happy that his equipment isn’t fixed, I’m not the one copping the flak.

Because I’ll be telling him how his personal assistants were bickering over which one of them would be available for the lowly telco guy, and that’s the reason his shit isn’t sorted.

I thought the personal assistant role was to sort the boss’ shit out.

Yours sincerely, and fuck you

Andy

Validation

2006-11-02T11:06:00.000+10:30

It’s better to have competed and lost than to have not competed at all.

Yes, back in June/July I wrote a short story in an effort to put my money where my mouth is, and show that I could actually string a thousand words together in an order that constituted a coherent “story”

Thinking I’d done an orright job of it, I entered it into the National Short Story Telling Competition, held by the Uni of Canberra.

Needless to say, I didn’t win. But, considering the ~~millions~~ ~~thousands~~ ~~hundreds~~, tens of people who probably entered, the odds were against me from the start.

But, you know, you gotta give these things a crack. I mean, without validation from anonymous faces on the other side the continent, how else will you know if you’re any good?

Friends? Pshaw… dirty sycophants… every one of ‘em.

However, thanks go out to:

Paul of Real Life – good mate who proofread, edited, insulted and basically was honest with the story.

Jen of Livien - who brought the competition to my attention. She also gave the story a once-over with her eye for style. Keep going with your own novel, Jen.

CB of Chicken or the Egg – whose writing I admire and who generously took the time to give me some feedback.

I won’t be throwing the story up on here, even though it is a mere thousand words. If anyone is curious, I can forward you a copy. My email is in my profile.

Obviously...

2006-10-23T16:52:00.000+09:30

I have an honest face.

Honest face = schmuck.

So everyone, please perform the following acts:

Walk up to me in the street and ask for money. I obviously can afford it, and I’m obviously far too nice to turn you down.

Order me around. I’m obviously too self conscious to make my own decisions, and I don’t have the assertive personality to stand up for myself.

Disagree with me, and tell me why I’m “too sensitive” to your efforts to undermine my position and basically screw me over.

Take credit for my work. Or at least sabotage it. I’m obviously not deserving of any credit, as this is a dog-eat-dog world, and only the toughest survive.

Oh… I forgot to mention. I’m not an “obvious” kinda guy.

Fuck: off, you, you and that.

Respectively.

The human atrium

2006-10-19T12:18:00.000+09:30

I work in a building in the Adelaide CBD, about nine storeys up. I have a nice view to the west, which shows a vast panorama of the glass building next door.

There are days where I feel a little trapped. This feeling isn’t helped by the Venetian blinds which create a gaol-bar-like effect.

About half an hour ago, this feeling came to a head, almost to the point where I cracked and started flinging crap around, like a caged animal.

A couple little birds, spoggies as they’re known here, flew up and landed on my window’s shelf.

One of them just stood there and looked in the window… staring at me. The bird’s partner hopped up and down the shelf, periodically staring into my cubicle.

I felt their eyes on me, like they were just waiting to see what I would do next.

Then they both continued to hop around the shelf, taking in the sight of my cluttered workspace, my hunched figure over the keyboard and the dim glow of the machine’s eye.

Then they chirped to themselves. I could only just hear them through the glass.

It was like they were laughing at me. How pathetic it was that this monstrous animal was reduced to a cramped space, surrounded by stacks of paper, his bleary eyes testament to the futility of it all.

Then, somewhat teasingly, they flew off. Free.

I have suddenly developed an odd hatred of zoos.

Penguin Force, Go!

2006-10-11T16:45:00.000+09:30

Over the years I’ve learned that dealing with a confrontation with an equal and opposite amout of aggression doesn’t cancel the confrontation out.

Far from it. In fact, it makes the entire ordeal a fistful-of-fuck worse.

And I was chatting to a friend of mine about this precise subject the other night. I said that I find the best way to negate a situation like that is to make light of the subject, give a self deprecating comment and voila… situation avoided.

He nodded like he understood what I was saying.

The night progressed. We were at a black-tie dinner. Thankfully not too much booze was drank – I had soft drink the whole night.

On the way back to the car, I had to walk up Bank Street to pick up some cash. I asked my mate to come with me as it’s better to be safe than sorry.

Sure enough, as I was pulling my cash from the ATM, a drunkard staggered up the street. Spying us in our tuxedoes, he decided he would approach us.

“Havin’ a good night, fellas?” he slurred at us

Keeping my eyes on him, I hurriedly pushed the cash into my wallet.

“You guys are inshurance saleshmen…” he queried.

“Nah mate, just been out at a function” I replied cheerfully.

“You guys don’t have any shpare cash on ya, do ya? I need to get home”

Now, I am usually prepared for this kinda stuff. He would’ve seen me at the ATM, so he knew I had cash on me. But I usually keep a bus ticket with one trip left on it in my wallet, just in case I’m approached by people wanting money for a “bus ticket”.

I was ready to pull the ticket out and give it to him, therefore negating any problems before they came to a head, but my mate decided to interject.

“No we don’t have cash on us, but I’ve got a good idea for ya”

Pause. My mind racing with the words Oh and Fuck.

“Get a job”

I let out a resigned sigh, reaching into my pocket for my car keys, strategically placing them in my fist so many keys jutted out between my fingers.

What the fuck had I just told this guy???? I kept my hand in my pocket to hide the fist of metal I had hastily prepared.

He started shouting a bit of abuse. My mate only stirred the pot even more with a calm but condescending tone. The tuxedo probably didn’t help.

“Nevermind him, mate” I quickly told the drunkard, “he’s tanked and doesn’t know what he’s saying”

“He should keep his mouth shut!”

“Alright, I’ll take care of him” I said before backing away down the street with my mate.

“I’m not pissed (drunk), Andy” my mate said to me, “we coulda taken him. I don’t put up with people like that”

Further proof that you can lead a horse to water, but you can’t stop him from being an ass…

Bubye winter.

2006-10-04T15:44:00.000+09:30

You know it’s that time of year again.

The mercury climbs, and the lifestyle changes ever so slightly. I used to hate the warmer months, truth be told. But it changed last year.

I used to lament warm weather, as I was hardly comfortable in shorts. But now evenings are spent walking through parks, and running like an idiot through the sprinklers - with my shirt and tie from work still on.

I now sit on the landing at Café Lago and let the cool waters of the River Torrens gently balance the level of comfort with the warm air. White wine always tastes better whilst relaxing at this place.

Searching out that nice little restaurant in the hills I find is a pleasant cruise with the windows down. The warm air blowing in the opening chills momentarily as you pass a sheer rockface that hasn’t been touched by the merciless Australian sun.

You can walk down the beach these days without requiring the ten layers of clothing to shield you from the Antarctic gales that blow up from the south. The beach is where you can marvel at the beauty of this country, and the colours of the sky gently warm your soul.

Hoho… and let’s not forget the best thing about the new season. It is something that is truly a joy, and surpasses all these sensations I describe above. Mere words cannot fully express my delight.

Girls. Short skirts.

Phwoar.

Thank you, and goodnight.

Over for another year

2006-10-03T19:15:00.000+09:30

I have done it

I have successfully managed to go through a whole season of Australian Rules Football (AFL) without viewing a game at all. I hardly knew who was on top of the table, and I didn’t know what team was scrubbing up the arse end.

All I know is that the West Coast Eagles won. It’s kinda hard to not know the result of the Grand Final (Aussie version of the Superbowl) as it’s plastered over every single news stand.

I played AFL in my younger years, and I consider myself to be somewhat handy with the ball. Unfortunately injury took me out of the sport. There was a time where I became couch coach and would yell things at the screen – because I knew everything about the footsball.

Naturally, it was a perfectly good excuse for me to force my kids into the game in order to live vicariously through them.

But I stopped watching football. It’s an incredibly frustrating game to watch, due in part to the rule book being thicker than an entire collection of encyclopaedia Brittanica.

I can sum up playing the game as below:

There are two teams on the field. They wear differing colours to separate them and therefore allocates which goals they should be aiming the ball at.

There are guys out there who wear the same colour as you. You punch them.

There are guys out there who wear different colours to you. You try to punch them more than the guys wearing your colour.

Sometimes your hands hold a “ball”. You kick or punch this ball, sometimes glancing your limb off it strategically so that you end up kicking or punching someone else.

The referee is named an umpire, and you are not to come into contact with him at all… accidental or otherwise. Doing so will have you suspended indefinitely and you must sell your house to cover the fine.

Each team, however, has a player who is the umpire’s favourite and he is free to punch and kick everyone and anyone. Even the umpire will brush off a full frontal crash tackle with a, “nice one, champ” and a thumbs up.

The winner of the game is the team who somehow managed to not get caught punching someone else.

SO yes, it is an achievement. I have avoided the legalised combat that is the AFL for an entire season.

For anyone overseas who is curious about Aussie Rules Football, simply pick up an oblong shaped ball, get a few sticks to peg in the ground, and then proceed to punch everyone nearby. You’ll get the picture soon enough.

The other road

2006-09-27T10:07:00.001+09:30

I guess there are times when I stop to think about the choices I’ve made, and how I would’ve done things differently. More specifically what my life would’ve been like had I not made certain decisions.

Allow me to let me wander off…

------------------------------------------

I stared at her face from across the table. She seemed really cute. The way her fingers wrapped delicately around the wine glass like gently tied ribbons and the way her hair trained expertly behind her ear drew me in and drugged me.

She noticed my attention and lowered her head slightly. Shyly. I could barely hear her whisper, “What are you looking at?”

My mind washed over with many responses, each more witty than the last. Each was sure to make her giggle. My brain swam against the current of phrases and brilliance – I felt like I was drowning.

And I knew that this was the moment.

The waves subsided, and the current went dead. I lifted my head up and spoke the words that would announce my decision.

---------------------------------------------

“Your tits”

She looks at me with disgust, realising that I’m just like every other predator in the bar. Exasperatedly she walks away to find herself another sap to suck dry.

At ease with myself for not dedicating my life to her servitude, I lean back on my chair and reach casually for my beer. I felt a little guilty for being such a crude and classless male, but I reassured myself that I didn’t need to get involved with that woman.

After I finish my drink, I wander back to my workplace and meander my way through the day. I feel that there should be more to life than this. Job vacancies rise and fall beneath the pages, and I struggle to keep any one job in my sights.

Five o’clock ticks out and I let out a relaxed whistle. The day has closed up and it’s time for me to depart for home.

I briefly stop by the ATM to check my balances – there needs to be enough in there for my bills. The sounds of heels on pavement rhythmically beat into my ears, and the ATM whirrs and clicks as it mechanically spits out my receipt.

I follow the beat to the bus stop where I queue up with a line of dark coats and blank stares. The heavy beat continues but it is interlaced with the faint hiss of a fellow queue member’s Walkman (this is 1998) and the odd howl as a bus drives past.

I tilt my head upwards as though it will lift my face above the swelling tide of noise. I listen for any kind of melody above the tribal noises, but find none.

I wonder what will await me when I return home to my little flat. I secretly hope for something exciting – that the phone will ring and I will be swept up in a new adventure. A bright little voice in my mind squeaks the word, “nope”.

Perhaps I should’ve said “Your eyes”

--------------------------------

Hmmm…

So… in conclusion, life would be slightly different than to what it is now had I not pursued my now-ex-wife. The only difference would probably be the feeling of “what if”

Ugh. I’ll stop there. I did intend this post to be light-hearted and perhaps even humorous, but it didn’t turn out that way.

Rest assured, I am well… I have plans for myself and I’m generally upbeat about the future. It’s just this freaking job I’m in at the moment… I can’t quit just yet, though. I’ve gotta wait for the right time.

In a world of order, boredom rules.

2006-09-21T16:46:00.000+09:30

I think this is the limbo time of the year. It’s that point in time where everything exciting has tapered off, and you know that the Christmas lead-up is only a hiccup away from being blasted at us through the television.

Every single conversation I have seems to be about the weather, which – at this time of year – is some mutant condition somewhere between too fucking cold and “a bit warmish, eh?”

I think even the bogans are driving around with their windows only half down – like they’re not sure if it’s too cold or too warm to stick their head out the window to yell “compliments” at women pedestrians.

Naturally, this blog is testament to the all-round feeling of “meh”. I can write something up, but then simply shake my head and delete it all.

My little cube here at work is bland and uninspiring, and I secretly wish for the day that the department announces budget cuts and fucks me off into the real world.

My co-workers who normally use language that would make even the most crass of construction workers turn maroon with embarrassment are really quite sedate these days. I haven’t heard one humorous story about a users ineptitude with their PC all week.

I spent this week looking forward to lunch today, which was spent at the Belgian Beer Bar, eating mussels and drinking beer out of a glass big enough to fit my head. The beer was bland, despite its claims of containing coriander and a truckload of wheat.

Everything in my section seems to be working like clockwork, with nary a squeak from the little mouse in a treadmill that powers the entire infrastructure.

There are no looming events on my calendar… well, nothing until December. There is nothing much to look forward to that is worth getting exciting over. Conversely, there is nothing ahead which fills me with dread, either.

I think balance has returned to the force. And it’s boring the hell out of me.

You Jane. Me Amused

2006-09-15T12:00:00.000+09:30

Today, I am going to write one of my usual “I’ve noticed it in a couple places so therefore it’s a ‘phenomenon’” things.

I mentioned in my previous post the Tarzan:Jane ratio. That is, the smaller the “Jane”, then the larger the “Tarzans”

Tarzans are not just limited to the Jane’s boyfriend, though. They can also apply to the male company she keeps (read: the Tarzans who WANT to be her boyfriend, but have slipped into the “Friends Pit of Despair”).

Diminutive Janes always seem to attract larger, burlier guys to them. If they’re not burlier, then they’re simply far more protective of the Jane. Tarzans seem to enjoy this pretence of “being the bigger brother”.

In fact, I have been subjected a few times to a Tarzan warning me to not “screw [Jane] over”, and then outlining the ramifications to me in either exceptional detail, or in a mafia-esque “wipe the bugs off your windshield” suggested manner. I half expected him to correct his tie…

In the case of the taller Janes, the Tarzan still existed, however he was less up-front – perhaps stewing away, waiting for the right opportunity to squeegee the windscreen quietly and unnoticed. Or perhaps he would perform his cleaning duties through means not involving physical intimidation.

A former partner of mine was quite small in stature, and I remember being approached four of her friends (in separate instances), each reminding me to do right by her.

Of those who weren’t large in build, they had a larger voice.

“You respect women, right?” one asked, to which I replied in the affirmative, “good lad” he said before draping his arm across my shoulder in a manly gesture to denote “you’re alright, kid”.

“So you do as well, yeah?” I asked him.

“Of course I do” he said.

“So… in the case of [Jane], you think she can’t look after herself and make her own choices?”

I think it took a couple days after this exchange for this particular Jane to tell me that this Tarzan thought I wasn’t right for her.

I don’t have much else to add to this right now. Please note the tongue in cheek. Feel free to disagree in the comments.

Eavesdropping from on high

2006-09-12T12:24:00.000+09:30

I’m finally off the drugs, and have stopped flying around the office, giddily slurring out “good morning” to the hot receptionist.

Unfortunately that also means I cannot use the “I’m on pain killers” excuse whenever something gets balls-ed up.

Also, I have no excuse as to why I haven’t been writing much either. However, after looking back at the last two entries, I think they serve as a great reason to not do drugs of any kind to stimulate the creative process.

So it’s sober or it’s nothing from now on.

I did find that the pain killers did sorta heighten my smug sense of superiority though.

When I became more mobile with this knee (ie I could actually bend it) I walked around a shopping mall, watching everyone. I would listen into conversations that revolved around the latest purchase, or was the precursor to a big purchase.

In most instances, it involved an MP3 player.

I am sorry to say that I eavesdropped on a few conversations in my delirium. Yes, I am rude. Shoot me.

I now know that a few girls are going to be living on two-minute noodles for the next week, but at least they’ve got a couple thousand songs to listen to in order to kill time. How many tunes will be skipped though?

I know one girl whose boyfriend is a real sweetie, but he yells at her from time to time. Her friend says nothing.

$8 for a foccacia is too expensive for some couples.

Boost Juice is a great meal replacement for a certain couple who look like they work out often.

A short, petite girl has some very, very large male friends. When she leaves the group to pick up her lunch, the males start talking about how close a friend they are with her and share stories. Funny… I always thought the “friend only” pit was one to avoid. Also, there seems to be a direct correlation between the smaller the girl, the muscle-ier the male friends.

It’s probably a good thing I’m back at work and off the dosage. At work the conversations are just a warble of techno speak that descends into “Peanuts Teacher” dialogue.

Sober oblivion seems better than drugged awareness.

The drugs STILL do work

2006-09-07T16:57:00.000+09:30

I am still coming down from drugs, people… so bear with me.

Spending a week with a bunch of people I considered like-minded, there were a few occasions where tempers got a little frayed.

Naturally, arguments spilled out quickly and higher ground was constantly sought by the two aggressors. What was initially a slight misunderstanding blew out to be an ongoing arm-wrestle between who was right and wrong.

I find that when this happens, the two sides tend to boil it down to semantics and interpretation – as though they’re a defense lawyer in Law and Order.

Is it so hard to simply shake your head and say “Oops, perhaps I was wrong. Thank you for showing me another perspective.”

However, almost every time I saw what was a potentially insignificant item become a cause for division between two camps of complete morons.

Precedent was set as well. Each side would stick to the rules defined by previous arguments to the point where even the physical distance (to the metre) between groups became a reason for further confrontation. Another reason to flex the muscles.

A lot of the time I stood dumbfounded. At various points of exhaustion I wondered if I was too naïve, and that I should embrace the mental carnage in front of me instead of trying to set an example to the opposite.

At the end of the day, I figured that I am far too introverted to be noticed by the whole in order to set an example. By the same token I am too introverted to actively participate in the aforementioned carnage and still be taken seriously.

This reminds me of high school. I was told by a peer who was neither friend nor enemy, “Andy… you’re not one of the cool guys. You’re not one of those nerds that gets picked on. You’re just… Andy”

Oh well.

*shrugs*

This must be how Switzerland feels.

I hope these pain killers wear off soon.

The drugs DO work

2006-09-05T14:27:00.000+09:30

Not too sure how to start this all out. It’s been quite a fortnight.

Notwithstanding having a piece of bone the size of a mentos removed from my left knee. Yes, I would have to say that I have been fresh and full of life since its removal.

Its been amusing for people around me to witness a six foot male doped up on Oxychodone hobbling around the place, squeezing his left knee which had swollen to the size of a honeydew melon and stopping only to cite random quotes from The Book of Five Rings.

Being prone for a week is somewhat frustrating, especially after spending the previous week being very physical and pushing my body beyond what I believed were its limits.

However being sedate does lend itself towards thinking, which is a practice I indulge in but rarely actually yield much.

This fortnight I began to see other people in a different way. People who I thought were like-minded peers and understood the nature of my inquisitiveness. I believed these people could look beyond their personal ego and understand the difference between a discussion and a challenge.

It turns out I was wrong.

Those who espoused this idea that we are only competing with ourselves, actually were competing with others. They would speak a mantra that ego should not rule their actions, yet in practice… well… ego did rule.

Since my trip to Japan, I knew that I had ruffled a few feathers with these people. What I didn’t realise was just how deep the ruffling went.

Everyone has their own agenda. I expect this. Hell, I’ve even got my own. However, I don’t think everyone else is there to challenge me. I am challenging myself. Having an agenda is a good thing.

But these people don’t realise that I’m not a threat to them. Not because I am not as able as them… but because their agenda is different to mine.

From what I can see, their agenda involves riding on the coat-tails of someone else’s hard work and being seen in favour.

My agenda is simple.

I want it all.

I don’t care how much these people try to intimidate me, because I am not going to waver. They can strike me as hard as they like and I will get back up. I have been hit before and have bounced back. I will continue to do it again and again.

They can slander me behind my back. I no longer care. Their words will have no impact on my progress, so they are no danger to me.

My confidence is not shown in a boisterous and loud-mouthed fashion. My confidence is the knowledge that when the chips go down, you can be very sure that I have backed myself and not some other horse with a glittery mane.

And even the hardships I face now, I know I will stand back up and shake it all off.

Because whenever a part of you seems to have fallen asleep, you have to keep moving that limb until the feeling returns.

Goin' away

2006-08-18T14:01:00.000+09:30

I’m going away for a couple weeks. First week I will be up in the Adelaide Hills, sitting around campfires and discussing Asian philosophy and other stuff.

The second week I’m booked in for knee surgery. Yippie.

I cannot wait to wake up and feel like I’m going to hurl at any given moment.

But it’s fairly simple stuff. They make a couple small incisions in my knee, poke around a bit and remove the offending piece of me that causes trouble.

No… not my mouth. That’s not in my knee.

I’ll be walking again the same day, although I have been advised to be escorted home with a mature adult. And to not operate heavy machinery.

Well… I did have something to write about… such as local radio personality Lehmo complaining in the newspaper today about how crap Adelaide drivers are.

Thanks Lehmo. Like you’re going to fix the place with one single article. I think there have been many articles in the past about how crap on the roads us Adelaideans are. But no one is going to think your whinging is specifically targeted at them.

In fact, even if there was a driver who intentionally cut you off, sideswiped you car, flipped you off, and yelled “Get off the road, Lehmo, you smarmy git”, he still wouldn’t think you were talking about him in your tirade in today’s article.

I think I’ll stop there.

Take care. I’ll see you after my dosage.

Actual email I sent today

2006-08-10T15:44:00.000+09:30

Hello

Thanks for your email. Sometimes it is good to hear about people you never see much of anymore. Sometimes

I hope you are going well, too. Well, I hope you are going well insofar that I don’t wish a bad life on anyone. I’m not that embittered.

However, we weren’t really friends all those years ago. In fact, when you weren’t fake smiling at me in a way reminiscent of how someone might look if they were trying to suppress gag-reflex, you were off bad-mouthing me to the more popular people in a vain campaign for inclusion.

I sincerely cannot be fucked with the idea that we should “catch up”. I think that pretending otherwise would be dishonest, and would serve no other purpose than to waste a few awkward hours – hours probably better spent doing something productive. Like scratching my arse, for instance.

That sounds like a far more invigorating use of my time than listening to you spout out your achievements over the past decade, just to convince yourself how much of a loser you haven’t become. I’m sure my life is of very little interest to you too.

So, I think I’ll spare you the effort you would need to muster to bullshit your way through reminiscing our “good ol’ days”. Chances are it’d only last two minutes before we’d awkwardly stare at each other and start talking about the weather.

Yes, I agree that it has been a long time. I think both of us would agree that it’s probably getting better as the time gets longer.

Take care

Andy

No reply yet

2006-08-09T10:07:00.000+09:30

If you’re looking for the post on sexual politics that Steph was talking about… it’s the next door down. Next post down, sorry.

Anyway, onto things inane.

You can always tell when I’m in a conversation. It usually goes something like this:

Person A raises topic

Person B mentions they’ve heard of it.

Person C cites an article they’ve read recently on the topic

Person D claims topic is just another way for High Australia to further divide the haves and have-nots, is one of the real reasons the country is going up shit creek without a canoe, and that if people learned to take some responsibility for their own actions we wouldn’t be a bunch of coddled babies.

Pause

Person A changes subject with a quick addendum that Person D can be a “real cunt sometimes”.

Guess which one is me.

As was mentioned on The Reverend’s blog, I am somewhat cynical. It’s a personality trait I’ve relied upon greatly to filter out the fuckheads who might come into my life. Its success has been… well… questionable, but I think I’ll stick with it.

But now I’m “Adorably Cynical”. Not quite what I was shooting for, but interesting nonetheless. For me, it conjures up images like this:

Go fuck yourself…

Yep… “Adorably Cynical” is like “being told to ‘go fuck yourself’ by the Yellow M&M.”

Or maybe it’s like getting flipped off by Bambi. I dunno. If anyone has Photoshop skills, maybe they could email me a picture…

But I guess it’s a badge that I should wear with pride. If I am able to have people want to pat me on the head and offer me a carrot whenever I write about being fucked off with something, then that’s something to be proud of… I guess.

If not… then fuck you.

I'm a Snob

2006-08-04T16:04:00.000+09:30

I seem to have a reputation in my office as being a bit of a snob.

Well, among my female co-workers at least. The guys around here couldn’t give the slightest of shits.

We have a hot receptionist, it has to be said. Quite the looker. All the guys in the office here always seem to find something to do that requires them to go past reception.

And then they stay there, chatting about their pets, their house and their weekends. Before long, they’ve invited her out for a night with their mates (if she’s not busy).

Invariably, she is always busy. But I can’t begrudge the guys here for at least giving it a whirl.

And the guys here all flirt with the women, and the women giggle and laugh. And then they scorn the not-so-attractive guy who tries to flirt with them.

And then they scorn the guy who they perceive is a sleazy womanizer, who spends his whole conversation regaling their breasts of his weekend exploits.

But I’m a snob, apparently.

Because I don’t spend half an hour chatting with the receptionist. Because I don’t invite them out for drinks after work. And because I don’t feel compelled to flirt with them.

Hmph. I never thought I’d be labeled poorly as a result of me treating the women in this office as the professionals they are… or at least WANT to be…

Then again, maybe I am doing this all wrong. Maybe I should leer lecherously at their second-eyes. Perhaps I should invite em out for some fun. Perhaps I should go around slapping them on the arse, and saying, “Lookin’ good today, toots”, before “shooting” them with both my pointer fingers.

After all the times they’ll refuse or resist my “charms”, I’ll suddenly stop one day. I’ll be polite. I’ll be a good boy.

Maybe THEN I’ll get thanked for not staring at their boobs, for not trying to chat them up and for not whacking them on the arse.

Because NOT doing that gets me labeled as a snob.

I'm a People

2006-07-24T11:33:00.000+09:30

It’s really odd.

I feel like such a late bloomer these days. Whenever I stumble across some great revelation about what I want to do with life, I get the impression that everyone else has known this stuff for ages.

You know those interviews with really successful people, and the first thing they say is “Don’t hold back, just get out there and do it”?

I reckon I’m a complete dullard sometimes. I would look at those interviews, listen to those words and think, “Yeah… that’s good advice. But that doesn’t really apply to me.”

But it does.

I mean, there have been plenty of times when I’ve remarked to someone how I’d really like to do [thing] with my life, and they’ve asked me why I don’t.

And I’d answer with various excuses, citing bills, rent/mortgage, job etc.

But now I look back, and realise that these were all excuses. And, by equal measure, I think these people who ask me “Why don’t you?” were really trying to prompt me into actually doing something... but I was too daft to see it.

I was like a kid who wanted a cookie, and when the parent asked me why I don’t simply take one, I’d think of a reason not to.

How daft is that?

I watch these documentaries about famous film-makers and what they do when making movies. They talk about their stuff like it’s everyday hum-drum. I sit and watch it and think “wow, they’re exceptional people” and I’ll have this feeling that being like them is something way out of reach – like some fantasy world.

They have money. They have backing.

Yes, they’re exceptional people.

But they’re people. Like me.

I’m a people too.

I’m sure that Peter Jackson had to take his initial step into film-making to get where he is now. Hell, I’ve seen Bad Taste. If he can make epic movies after that [piece of] “movie”, then hope is not lost for my first piece, “Scribblings on a Napkin” – working title (which is more representative of the medium rather than the content).

I am 28 years old. I realise this NOW? It seems that everyone else has known this crap for years!

I should’ve just taken the fuckin’ cookie.

What Old Yeller taught me

2006-07-19T09:35:00.000+09:30

Apparently there is much controversy over this article. Frankly, I don’t see why. It’s a light hearted article, and it doesn’t subscribe to this idea that all males are knuckle-dragging imbeciles who should be kept in cages.

In fact, I can say that I tried to use this technique with my partner some time ago.

Recognising that she is a free spirited young woman, I knew that there were things that would come naturally to her, and others that would not. She is a social creature, so socialising comes easy to her, however giving specific attention does not.

She also has bouts of rage – a result of her passion.

During phases in where she yells endlessly about some small chore not being done because she sits on the couch, I stare at her blankly.

However, if she shows me attention, I respond in kind.

If she gets into trouble whilst being out and social, I do nothing. Neither reward nor chastise. I simply sit and stare blankly.

However, I applaud when she shows some thoughtfulness and considers me for a change.

When she sneaks out to be with her new boyfriend, yet still yells at me for intruding on her personal space, I do nothing.

When she abuses me when I come within five feet of her, as I am mopping that part of the floor, despite the fact that she is writing love notes to her boyfriend, I don’t reward that behaviour either.

When she blames me for all her shortcomings and her unfulfilled life, I say squat.

However, when gets the hell out of my life, I applaud her. God knows it was hard for her to “make” that decision.

I think even the most hardened animal trainer would acknowledge that some animals simply don’t want to be trained.

The animal kingdom is large and diverse.

Re: Cancelation of Subscription

2006-07-10T13:58:00.000+09:30

Dear Sir/Madam

I would like to cancel my subscription to your catalogue of insights relating to life. It’s not that I haven’t been entertained by your material, it’s just I feel that there is no substance to the philosophies.

I am not an educated man. I lack the piece of paper which qualifies me as an expert in an area, which is my own fault for not applying myself. I realize that this has hence condemned me to life as a Jack of all trades.

With so many different (and contradictory) philosophies on life, I cannot help but wonder whether anything is offered with genuineness, or whether it is said to sound cool.

Those who say “Live life in the moment, and enjoy it while you can” are those I find who are worried about finances, relationships and the future in general.

“Look at the bigger picture” are those I find are impulsive, erratic and unpredictable.

“I tell it like it is. People should be honest” is stated by those who are offended when I tell them like it is.

“Never raise a hand to a woman” has been mentioned by someone I know for a fact has struck his partner.

Everyone knows the best answer for everyone else. Everyone is trying to prove their worth and show that their method of living this life out is truly worthwhile. And with all these ideas, it seems to be confusing people - that to “not follow rules” requires rebellion and breaking of the law, and that being loud and extroverted is akin to “confidence and assertiveness”.

I am finding that the more I read into your material, the more I embrace it, even though the philosophies aren’t what I truly believe in myself. It’s making me become a slave to others’ expectations, and confines me to a strict method of thinking.

I don’t wish to know all there is to know. I don’t wish to tell people what is best for them, nor to profess that I know otherwise. Please disregard all that I have written and said in the past, as I clearly was not thinking correctly.

The more I read, the more rules are created. The more rules, the more limiting the path feels. It’s like wandering a forest and then finding out that everyone has to stick to the hiking trail, inside the barriers.

I want to explore. If people want to follow then that’s up to them.

No one event has led me to cancel my subscription. I just woke up this morning, had a think over morning coffee, and realized that I wanted out.

I want my actions to have no rationale other than “cos I want to”. No more “should”, no more “could” and no more “maybe”.

And “Cos I want to” should be enough explanation for anyone who questions me.

To reiterate, please cancel my subscription to your catalogue. I’ve had enough.

Yours sincerely

Andy

Gizzabeer, Mr Darcy.

2006-07-07T13:43:00.000+09:30

It’s official.

I am old. Or at least, am so far behind the times that the world has gone ahead and changed without me, middle finger aloft in a glorious salute to me and my old fashioned ways.

According to news.com.au, women are behaving in a masculine manner, and are swearing, getting drunk and driving aggressively. It is suggested that women like this get “more respect”.

Yeah. That is so respectable, I’d slap them across their face… such is the style of the time.

Now, I’m all for women being empowered. There is nothing I love in women more than assertion and confidence. It is incredibly sexy. Furthermore, I can share a few drinks with women and still find them attractive.

In fact… isn’t that what’s supposed to happen… drink until they look good? Anyway, I digress.

I am wondering how I go about saying this without coming across as some woman-chaining, cook-my-meals-I-wear-the-pants-by-the-way-can-you-stock-up-a-few-
more-tins-of-tuna-in-my-bomb-shelter-the-commies-are-a-comin raging sexist.

But… I don’t like “Ockerettes”. I find their yelling antics a pathetic attempt at trying to be “the popular one”. I find that their staggering around drunk, informing me that they’re a great person a useless assertion.

“I tell it like it is” they’ll slur into my face, right before saying something insulting, and then slipping their arm around my shoulder to prevent them from nose diving into the floor.

Frequent statements of just how drunk they are do nothing to endear me to them, nor does it inspire me to slap them, which I am still debating as to whether it is the best means to express my respect.

But this suggestion that women are acting more like men to make them “empowered” seems… silly.

Are they suggesting that women cannot be empowered by acting like women? Am I the only person who sees “acting like men” a step back for women’s movement?

I dunno. Maybe my mere male brain cannot understand this issue. Oh, and I'm old.