Shitfuckarsecrapsuckpissfuckshitarse
I'm not really upset, I just wanted a post called that.
Strikes me that perhaps I should have saved that magic post title for a situation worthy of that much cussing, but hey. I don't believe theres a rule about post titles, and if there is, guess where you can stick it!!
Cardinal pointed out that the titles of the last few posts suggest all is not well on Planet Claire, and I would like to take this opportunity to assure you all that I am just peachy. Bursting with fruit flavour. New improved pine fresh. Industrial strength goodness is going on here. Smashing, as it were.
Actually I'm completely fucked and have 34 days to finish my thesis and some days I get so tired I just want to cry, and its all so huge and scary and I have no job lined up for when I finish unless you count research in the department and waiting tables and I have so many knots in my back it hurts and I just want to run away to Wanaka and sleep.
But I don't really feel like I have any justification for complaining about it, because there are many around me who have either just completed The Task or are in a similar position to me. Plus, I have things in my life that some people would give their right feet for, so every time I feel like complaining I hear this wee voice in my head going "shutthefuckup". Most of the time it drowns out the voices going "kill them all, or they'll cut your throat in your sleep" and "the aliens are reading your brain waves and they're coming to take you away and make you a goddess on their world". Most of the time.
Anyhoo.
Planet Claire is its usual joyful interesting place to live, theres rarely a dull moment, and quite a few smashing people come to visit. The sun shines most days, even when its crappy outside, and when it does rain, its because I want it to, cos I love rain. One makes of the world what one will.
There's loads of dogs and chocolate and penguins and hedgehogs and warm snuggly beds and bare feet and hot sweet cups of tea and autumn leaves and baths and open fires and good smells and jandals and books by Mr Rushdie and long car journeys south and spring cherry blossom and glasses of red wine and red roses and gerberas and tomatoes and sunsets and sunrises and tikka masala and movies with popcorn and fizzy drink and photos and red jackets and horsies and stripy socks.
Its just at the moment, I'm putting all those things on hold until I've finished my thesis.
Heres what I'm listening to on the way;
Tadpole: Blind
Cordrazine: Crazy
Aerosmith: Sweet Emotion
Christina Aguilera: Beautiful
Suede: Animal Nitrate
Coldplay: Moses
Manic Street Preachers: Motorcycle Emptiness
The Distillers: The Hunger
Hole: Violet
Jeff Buckley: Hallelujah
Grant Lee Buffalo: Honey Don't Think
P.O.D: Sleeping Awake
Filter & Crystal Method: Trip Like I Do
Queens of the Stone Age: The Lost Art of Keeping a Secret
Incubus: Talk Shows on Mute
Aimee Mann: Wise Up
Deftones: My Own Summer
David Bowie: Absolute Beginners
Skunk Anansie: Weak
The Pixies: Wave of Mutilation
And on that idiosyncratic note (pardon the pun), I have a thesis to write.
Have a smashing day, won't you.
Smooch.
Thursday, May 27, 2004
Wednesday, May 26, 2004
Bollocks
Hair grief. Shit. Now I am not normally the kind of girl who really gives a flying fuck about the way I look, my day-to-day wardrobe normally consists of jeans (sewed by hand), trainers and various t-shirt/jersey/polyprop combos, and my normal hair-style could best be described as either "whitey-fro" or the classic "dragged backwards through a bush" look. However, I actually made an effort. I have unique hair, its not blonde and its not red, its somewhere in between, and its curly, in a ringlet kind of way. It also has no particular cut or style, unless you count "cut at home with my dressmaking scissors cos hahaha I can get away with it" as a cut.
Last night, about 8.30 pm, I was too tired to do any more work, so I went home and soaked myself in the bath for the better part of an hour (and also, was away from uni for more than 12 hours for the first time in God-knows. Left 8.30pm, arrived this morning 9.10am). After the heavenly bath treatment, I parked my arse in front of the fire and watched "Desperado" (v. cool) and with the flattie's hair-straightener iron thing, one hour later, my hair is dead straight, and might I add, looking pretty fucking nice. For some reason, it appears to be a different colour straight than curly, but thats a story for another day maybe. This morning it was still looking good, so off I toddled to uni with my fab hair style. HOWFUCKINGEVER. Thanks to the charming Christchurch smog-fest we call winter, it is severely foggy, and the trees are dripping dew (actually its quite beautiful, but we're focusing on the negative right now). As a consequence, my hair gets all damp, and proceeds to go "BOOF".
Shit.
Hair grief. Shit. Now I am not normally the kind of girl who really gives a flying fuck about the way I look, my day-to-day wardrobe normally consists of jeans (sewed by hand), trainers and various t-shirt/jersey/polyprop combos, and my normal hair-style could best be described as either "whitey-fro" or the classic "dragged backwards through a bush" look. However, I actually made an effort. I have unique hair, its not blonde and its not red, its somewhere in between, and its curly, in a ringlet kind of way. It also has no particular cut or style, unless you count "cut at home with my dressmaking scissors cos hahaha I can get away with it" as a cut.
Last night, about 8.30 pm, I was too tired to do any more work, so I went home and soaked myself in the bath for the better part of an hour (and also, was away from uni for more than 12 hours for the first time in God-knows. Left 8.30pm, arrived this morning 9.10am). After the heavenly bath treatment, I parked my arse in front of the fire and watched "Desperado" (v. cool) and with the flattie's hair-straightener iron thing, one hour later, my hair is dead straight, and might I add, looking pretty fucking nice. For some reason, it appears to be a different colour straight than curly, but thats a story for another day maybe. This morning it was still looking good, so off I toddled to uni with my fab hair style. HOWFUCKINGEVER. Thanks to the charming Christchurch smog-fest we call winter, it is severely foggy, and the trees are dripping dew (actually its quite beautiful, but we're focusing on the negative right now). As a consequence, my hair gets all damp, and proceeds to go "BOOF".
Shit.
Bugger.
The fucking printers gone belly-up. Fuck. I have all this wonderful (ok, half decent) material that I was going to print out and sit on the comfy chair in my office and edit/make sense of/generally play with, and not I'm going to have to do it the hard way, on the computer!! I know, you're saying 'why don't you just put your computer on your knee and do whatever needs doing to it like that? It is a laptop after all'.
Cos thats not the fucking point!!!! Plus, its really hard to make sense of stuff when you can only see one screen at a time, and you've got about 15 000 words to sort out, even when you have several windows going at the same time, plus you can't scribble in different colours on a computer screen. Well, you can, but theres not much point, cos all the words move away when you scroll down, and the scribbles stay where they are, and then you've just ruined a perfectly good computer screen. Or so I heard, from some guy, who knew someone....
Anyway, the point is, when you've got a scramble brain, sheets of paper spread out on the office floor with arrows and diagrams and colour coding is really the best way to get stuff done. At least, when you want it to make sense.
I'd try and fix the printer, but given my technological abilities and shorter-than-a-short-thing-having-a-short-day-in-shortsville temper, there would be about 2 minutes of trying to figure out the problem before I threw the printer out the window. Not good, especially given that said printer is the property of the university...hang on...
Wait.....
Printer fixed. No more excuses Claire, go work!!!
In other news, Stephen and Elizabeth and imminent baby are back in a matter of weeks, to stay!!!! Choice.
That is all. You are free to go. Don't let the door hit you in the arse on the way out.
The fucking printers gone belly-up. Fuck. I have all this wonderful (ok, half decent) material that I was going to print out and sit on the comfy chair in my office and edit/make sense of/generally play with, and not I'm going to have to do it the hard way, on the computer!! I know, you're saying 'why don't you just put your computer on your knee and do whatever needs doing to it like that? It is a laptop after all'.
Cos thats not the fucking point!!!! Plus, its really hard to make sense of stuff when you can only see one screen at a time, and you've got about 15 000 words to sort out, even when you have several windows going at the same time, plus you can't scribble in different colours on a computer screen. Well, you can, but theres not much point, cos all the words move away when you scroll down, and the scribbles stay where they are, and then you've just ruined a perfectly good computer screen. Or so I heard, from some guy, who knew someone....
Anyway, the point is, when you've got a scramble brain, sheets of paper spread out on the office floor with arrows and diagrams and colour coding is really the best way to get stuff done. At least, when you want it to make sense.
I'd try and fix the printer, but given my technological abilities and shorter-than-a-short-thing-having-a-short-day-in-shortsville temper, there would be about 2 minutes of trying to figure out the problem before I threw the printer out the window. Not good, especially given that said printer is the property of the university...hang on...
Wait.....
Printer fixed. No more excuses Claire, go work!!!
In other news, Stephen and Elizabeth and imminent baby are back in a matter of weeks, to stay!!!! Choice.
That is all. You are free to go. Don't let the door hit you in the arse on the way out.
Tuesday, May 25, 2004
Blatant plagarism for a giggle
In lieu of any good ideas of my own, here are some funnies. Via
Animalanche: When you kick your stuffed animals in your sleep and they
fall all over you or the floor.
Anticiparcellate (an ti si par' sel ate) - v. Waiting until the mailman is several houses down the street before picking up the mail, so as not too appear too anxious.
Backspackle (bak' spak uhl) - n. Markings on the back of one's shirt from riding a fenderless bicycle.
Beelzebug (n.): Satan in the form of a mosquito that gets into your bedroom at 3 in the morning and cannot be cast out.
Bixplex (biks' pleks) - n. Psychological block in which a person cannot choose which color of disposable lighter to purchase.
Blurfle (bler' ful) - v. To be caught talking at the top of one's lungs when the music at the bar or disco suddenly stops.
Bozone (n.): The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the near future.
Bugpedal (bug' ped uhl) - v. To accelerate or decelerate rapidly in an attempt to remove a clinging insect from a car's windshield.
Burgacide - n. What you call the desperate action of a hamburger leaping to its death through the holes in the Bar-B-Q grill.
Cereoallocative (ser r o al' o ka tuv) - adj. Describes the ability of a seasoned breakfast eater to establish a perfect cereal/banana ratio, assuring there will be at least one slice of banana left for the final spoonful of cereal.
Choconiverous - adj. Biting off the head of the chocolate Easter bunny first.
Darf (darf) - n. The least attractive side of a Christmas tree that ends up facing the wall.
Dopeler effect: The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they come at you rapidly.
Ellacelleration: The mistaken belief that repeatedly pressing the elevator button will make it go faster
Execuglide (eks ek' yew glyd)- v. To propel oneself about an office without getting up from the chair.
Fetchplex (fech' pleks) - n. State of momentary confusion in a dog whose owner has faked throwing the ball and palmed it behind his back.
Flarpswitch (flarp' switch) - n. The one light switch in every house with no function whatsoever.
Flopcorn (flop' korn) - n. The unpopped kernels at the bottom of the cooker.
Foreploy: Any misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose of getting laid.
Fuffle (fuh' ful) - v. To assume, when dining out, that you are making things easier on the waitress by using the phrase "when you get a chance..."
Genderplex - n. The predicament of a person in a restaurant who is unable to determine his or her designated restroom (e.g. turtles and tortoises).
Giraffiti: Vandalism spray-painted very, very high.
Decaflon (n.): The grueling event of getting through the day consuming only things that are good for you.
Gromaxes (grom' ack sis) - n. Inside area of knees used to grip steering wheel when holding a map.
Ignoranus: A person who's both stupid and an asshole.
Intaxication: Euphoria at getting a tax refund, which lasts until you realize it was your money to start with.
Lactomangulation - n. Manhandling the "open here" spout on a milk carton so badly that one has to resort to using the "illegal" side.
Luposlipaphobia - n. The fear of being pursued by timber wolves around a kitchen table while wearing socks on a newly waxed floor.
Mozzalastics (maht suh las' tiks) - n. Large deposits of cheese that stick to the top of the pizza box.
Napression Marks (n): Those indentation lines on your face created by your bedding when you when you wake up.
Netsec - n. A Unit of time used in indicating work time lost due to reading net.jokes
Oopzama (ewp' za muh) - n. Sudden scratching of scalp or face upon realization that the person you were waving at isn't who you thought it was.
Osteopornosis: A degenerate disease.
Pajangle (pah jan' gul) - n. Condition of waking up with your pajamas turned 180 degrees.
Penciventilation (pen si ven ti lay' shun) - n. The act of blowing on the tip of a pencil after sharpening it.
Pepperlonely...the piece of pepperoni left on the cardboard when you pick up a piece of pizza.
Pielibrium (pu lih' bree uhm) - n. The point at which the crust on a wedge of pie outweighs the filling and tips it over.
Pillsburglar (pilz' berg ler) - n. Person able to sample the icing on a new cake without leaving a fingerprint.
Prestofrigeration: The peculiar habit, when searching for a snack, of constantly returning to the refrigerator in hopes that something new will have materialized.
Pupkus (pup' kus) - n. The moist residue left on a window after a dog presses its nose to it. Purpitation - v. To take something off the grocery shelf, decide you don't want it, and then put it in another section.
Sarchasm: The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn't get it.
Shirmers - n., pl. Tall young men who stand around smiling at weddings as if to suggest that they know the bride rather well.
Slottery and Vendication (slot' er ee and ven' di kay shun) - n. A public misdemeanor in which a person gambles on a vending machine, loses, and tries to exact revenge by kicking it.
Snargle (snar' gul) - v. To lessen the visual impact of a horror movie by filtering it through one's fingers.
Snuggage (snuh 'gaj) - n. The act of retying both shoestrings when only one needed it.
Squatic Diversion (skwa' tik dy vur' zhun) - n. Any pretended activity that commands a dog owner's attention while the dog relieves itself on a neighbor's lawn.
Squigger (skiwg' uhr) - n. A cherry tomato that explodes upon contact with a fork.
Subnougate (sub new' get) - v. To eat the bottom caramels in a candy box and carefully replace the top level, hoping no one will notice.
Upuls (yu' puls) - n. The blank pages at the beginning and end of books, presumably placed there so you can rewrite the ending.
Warbloid (war' bloyd) - n. The tiny device in cassette players that eats tapes.
36 days to deadline, so I'm spending my time wisely...
In lieu of any good ideas of my own, here are some funnies. Via
Animalanche: When you kick your stuffed animals in your sleep and they
fall all over you or the floor.
Anticiparcellate (an ti si par' sel ate) - v. Waiting until the mailman is several houses down the street before picking up the mail, so as not too appear too anxious.
Backspackle (bak' spak uhl) - n. Markings on the back of one's shirt from riding a fenderless bicycle.
Beelzebug (n.): Satan in the form of a mosquito that gets into your bedroom at 3 in the morning and cannot be cast out.
Bixplex (biks' pleks) - n. Psychological block in which a person cannot choose which color of disposable lighter to purchase.
Blurfle (bler' ful) - v. To be caught talking at the top of one's lungs when the music at the bar or disco suddenly stops.
Bozone (n.): The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the near future.
Bugpedal (bug' ped uhl) - v. To accelerate or decelerate rapidly in an attempt to remove a clinging insect from a car's windshield.
Burgacide - n. What you call the desperate action of a hamburger leaping to its death through the holes in the Bar-B-Q grill.
Cereoallocative (ser r o al' o ka tuv) - adj. Describes the ability of a seasoned breakfast eater to establish a perfect cereal/banana ratio, assuring there will be at least one slice of banana left for the final spoonful of cereal.
Choconiverous - adj. Biting off the head of the chocolate Easter bunny first.
Darf (darf) - n. The least attractive side of a Christmas tree that ends up facing the wall.
Dopeler effect: The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they come at you rapidly.
Ellacelleration: The mistaken belief that repeatedly pressing the elevator button will make it go faster
Execuglide (eks ek' yew glyd)- v. To propel oneself about an office without getting up from the chair.
Fetchplex (fech' pleks) - n. State of momentary confusion in a dog whose owner has faked throwing the ball and palmed it behind his back.
Flarpswitch (flarp' switch) - n. The one light switch in every house with no function whatsoever.
Flopcorn (flop' korn) - n. The unpopped kernels at the bottom of the cooker.
Foreploy: Any misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose of getting laid.
Fuffle (fuh' ful) - v. To assume, when dining out, that you are making things easier on the waitress by using the phrase "when you get a chance..."
Genderplex - n. The predicament of a person in a restaurant who is unable to determine his or her designated restroom (e.g. turtles and tortoises).
Giraffiti: Vandalism spray-painted very, very high.
Decaflon (n.): The grueling event of getting through the day consuming only things that are good for you.
Gromaxes (grom' ack sis) - n. Inside area of knees used to grip steering wheel when holding a map.
Ignoranus: A person who's both stupid and an asshole.
Intaxication: Euphoria at getting a tax refund, which lasts until you realize it was your money to start with.
Lactomangulation - n. Manhandling the "open here" spout on a milk carton so badly that one has to resort to using the "illegal" side.
Luposlipaphobia - n. The fear of being pursued by timber wolves around a kitchen table while wearing socks on a newly waxed floor.
Mozzalastics (maht suh las' tiks) - n. Large deposits of cheese that stick to the top of the pizza box.
Napression Marks (n): Those indentation lines on your face created by your bedding when you when you wake up.
Netsec - n. A Unit of time used in indicating work time lost due to reading net.jokes
Oopzama (ewp' za muh) - n. Sudden scratching of scalp or face upon realization that the person you were waving at isn't who you thought it was.
Osteopornosis: A degenerate disease.
Pajangle (pah jan' gul) - n. Condition of waking up with your pajamas turned 180 degrees.
Penciventilation (pen si ven ti lay' shun) - n. The act of blowing on the tip of a pencil after sharpening it.
Pepperlonely...the piece of pepperoni left on the cardboard when you pick up a piece of pizza.
Pielibrium (pu lih' bree uhm) - n. The point at which the crust on a wedge of pie outweighs the filling and tips it over.
Pillsburglar (pilz' berg ler) - n. Person able to sample the icing on a new cake without leaving a fingerprint.
Prestofrigeration: The peculiar habit, when searching for a snack, of constantly returning to the refrigerator in hopes that something new will have materialized.
Pupkus (pup' kus) - n. The moist residue left on a window after a dog presses its nose to it. Purpitation - v. To take something off the grocery shelf, decide you don't want it, and then put it in another section.
Sarchasm: The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn't get it.
Shirmers - n., pl. Tall young men who stand around smiling at weddings as if to suggest that they know the bride rather well.
Slottery and Vendication (slot' er ee and ven' di kay shun) - n. A public misdemeanor in which a person gambles on a vending machine, loses, and tries to exact revenge by kicking it.
Snargle (snar' gul) - v. To lessen the visual impact of a horror movie by filtering it through one's fingers.
Snuggage (snuh 'gaj) - n. The act of retying both shoestrings when only one needed it.
Squatic Diversion (skwa' tik dy vur' zhun) - n. Any pretended activity that commands a dog owner's attention while the dog relieves itself on a neighbor's lawn.
Squigger (skiwg' uhr) - n. A cherry tomato that explodes upon contact with a fork.
Subnougate (sub new' get) - v. To eat the bottom caramels in a candy box and carefully replace the top level, hoping no one will notice.
Upuls (yu' puls) - n. The blank pages at the beginning and end of books, presumably placed there so you can rewrite the ending.
Warbloid (war' bloyd) - n. The tiny device in cassette players that eats tapes.
36 days to deadline, so I'm spending my time wisely...
Monday, May 24, 2004
NNNNNOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!
Only five more episodes of er left, counting today's. Great. The charming Christchurch winter is upon us, how are we supposed to get through without decent telly? All thats left now is Scrubs, although they'll probably take that off soon too, just to piss us off.
There is absolutely nothing else on telly thats worth watching. Its all complete and utter arse. American Idol? How about "no". The we have all manner of bollocks reality tv, which turns your brain to tapioca, theres crap Australian soaps, and Everybody Thinks Raymond is a Fucking Tosser. Help me Obi-Won Kenobi, make some decent telly!! Just one hour a week is all I ask!!
My Dad has the right idea on telly, he says "if it wasn't for The Simpsons, I'd throw the bloody thing out the window". Although given that we are now on to the 17th rerun of every single episode, even the Simpsons can't save us now.
And don't start on the whole "you could read a book" bollocks. I've read more fucking books than anyone I know. And I could engage people in conversation, but I don't like that many people, and the ones I can stand are too busy working or, like, go out and do stuff. Or live in bloody Wellington. Bastards.
Maybe I'll start a cult. People can pay to join, and I can use the money to go snowboarding. The I won't have to talk to them. Just need an incentive for them to give me money. Suggestions in the box please.
Only five more episodes of er left, counting today's. Great. The charming Christchurch winter is upon us, how are we supposed to get through without decent telly? All thats left now is Scrubs, although they'll probably take that off soon too, just to piss us off.
There is absolutely nothing else on telly thats worth watching. Its all complete and utter arse. American Idol? How about "no". The we have all manner of bollocks reality tv, which turns your brain to tapioca, theres crap Australian soaps, and Everybody Thinks Raymond is a Fucking Tosser. Help me Obi-Won Kenobi, make some decent telly!! Just one hour a week is all I ask!!
My Dad has the right idea on telly, he says "if it wasn't for The Simpsons, I'd throw the bloody thing out the window". Although given that we are now on to the 17th rerun of every single episode, even the Simpsons can't save us now.
And don't start on the whole "you could read a book" bollocks. I've read more fucking books than anyone I know. And I could engage people in conversation, but I don't like that many people, and the ones I can stand are too busy working or, like, go out and do stuff. Or live in bloody Wellington. Bastards.
Maybe I'll start a cult. People can pay to join, and I can use the money to go snowboarding. The I won't have to talk to them. Just need an incentive for them to give me money. Suggestions in the box please.
Sunday, May 23, 2004
Van Hottie
Well, contrary to Hester's opinion, Van Helsing did not suck, it was in fact very cool.
Ways in which it was cool:
-Hugh. Nuff said.
-Dracula movie, featuring the cool anti-gravity things that vampires do, like walk up walls and shit.
-Suitably corny script.
-Gadgets, in manner of Mr Bond, but in a 19th century sort of way.
-David Wenham who is cool.
-Hugh getting his kit off. Yeah.
-Girls kicking arse, and not in a slap and scratch wussy way, but proper fighting, like we do really. Except without the corsets, and makeup, and on-call hairdressers. And less with the choreographed shit, and more with actual stuff. But you know what I mean.
-Effects.
-Hugh.
-Did I mention the casting? Fine job there. (spot she who likes the eyecandy)
But for a better take on it, here we have Van Helsing in 15 minutes.
Can someone please explain to me why it is that I can be tired all day, like having a hard time constructing a sentence tired, and yet now its the middle of the night, and for the life of me, I'm buggered if I'm going to be able to sleep? All wide awake and raring to go. So now I've got the telly on, and quite possible the coolest shot in many years is on: X-Men, first movie, and Mystique and Wolverine are kicking the shit out of each other at the statue of liberty, Mystique has morphed into Wolverine form, and shes delivering a flying kick to Wolverine, and as she spins in the air, she turns back into Mystique. Its cool. This is in fact a very cool movie.
Cyclops (having just had Mystique encounter and seeing Wolverine, suspecting the worst)"Wait"
Wolverine: "Its me"
Cyclops: "Prove it"
Wolverine: "You're a dick"
Cyclops: "OK then..."
Maybe I should go to bed, if only for the sake of the 2 people in the world who read this baby and are about to get a blow-by-blow account of the rest of X-Men. Interesting to know however, what mutant power would you want? It doesn't have to be an X-Men power, but I know my sister would give her right foot to be Storm.
Also, Hester, I don't collect comic books, I did buy an X-Men one in Greece, but given that I could only understand every twentieth word, presuming every twentieth word was one of the following: Hello, I don't speak Greek, do you speak English, 123456789 or 10, I gave it to Chad who is the biggest comic geek you will ever meet. Or not meet. Doesn't speak Greek though.
I just like X-Men and watched the original cartoon lots.
Cyclops is a dick though.
Nighty-night.
Well, contrary to Hester's opinion, Van Helsing did not suck, it was in fact very cool.
Ways in which it was cool:
-Hugh. Nuff said.
-Dracula movie, featuring the cool anti-gravity things that vampires do, like walk up walls and shit.
-Suitably corny script.
-Gadgets, in manner of Mr Bond, but in a 19th century sort of way.
-David Wenham who is cool.
-Hugh getting his kit off. Yeah.
-Girls kicking arse, and not in a slap and scratch wussy way, but proper fighting, like we do really. Except without the corsets, and makeup, and on-call hairdressers. And less with the choreographed shit, and more with actual stuff. But you know what I mean.
-Effects.
-Hugh.
-Did I mention the casting? Fine job there. (spot she who likes the eyecandy)
But for a better take on it, here we have Van Helsing in 15 minutes.
Can someone please explain to me why it is that I can be tired all day, like having a hard time constructing a sentence tired, and yet now its the middle of the night, and for the life of me, I'm buggered if I'm going to be able to sleep? All wide awake and raring to go. So now I've got the telly on, and quite possible the coolest shot in many years is on: X-Men, first movie, and Mystique and Wolverine are kicking the shit out of each other at the statue of liberty, Mystique has morphed into Wolverine form, and shes delivering a flying kick to Wolverine, and as she spins in the air, she turns back into Mystique. Its cool. This is in fact a very cool movie.
Cyclops (having just had Mystique encounter and seeing Wolverine, suspecting the worst)"Wait"
Wolverine: "Its me"
Cyclops: "Prove it"
Wolverine: "You're a dick"
Cyclops: "OK then..."
Maybe I should go to bed, if only for the sake of the 2 people in the world who read this baby and are about to get a blow-by-blow account of the rest of X-Men. Interesting to know however, what mutant power would you want? It doesn't have to be an X-Men power, but I know my sister would give her right foot to be Storm.
Also, Hester, I don't collect comic books, I did buy an X-Men one in Greece, but given that I could only understand every twentieth word, presuming every twentieth word was one of the following: Hello, I don't speak Greek, do you speak English, 123456789 or 10, I gave it to Chad who is the biggest comic geek you will ever meet. Or not meet. Doesn't speak Greek though.
I just like X-Men and watched the original cartoon lots.
Cyclops is a dick though.
Nighty-night.
She's got eyes of the bluest sky...
Things we love: G 'n R greatest hits. Oh yeah, show me the 80s metal. We also love hot water bottles, and sleeping. Last night I must have slept for 8 hours, and I only woke up 3 or 4 times. LUXURY!!
We're also going to ignore any reference to the Crusaders in this blog, given last nights ass-whuppin. OK, so it started as a whippin, then we kind of got a bit of cred back by not getting completely rogered in manner of deliverance or similar. I had to text my Dad once I had finished work, in case he was too upset. Seemed ok though, strangely pragmatic about the whole thing. Rachael went out to the airport to see the team when they arrived back today, apparently there was literally hundreds there, so thats nice.
We also love nachos from Charcoal Chicken, I had a taste of Tim's nachos yesterday, and had been thinking about them ever since. Finally got my own, and didn't share them!! Ha!
I'm having to add a whole new section to the thesis. We are needing some more analysis, and given my complete inability to do any sort of quantitative analysis because I can barely count past ten, the distinct lack of an analytical component is beginning to show. So instead of ignoring that part and hoping nobody notices, I'm going to have to integrate some old skool qualitative analysis in there. Fatten that baby up, as it were. So now I'm up to my perfectly plucked eyebrows in the theory of policy analysis and programme assessment. Riveting stuff, really. Makes for a hell of a weekend, especially given the lovely World Bank's tendancies to shroud themselves in a cloud of publications in the hope that nobody will notice that they aren't exactly forthcoming with project appraisals and rating scales for Bank and borrower performance. I have literally reams of information from them, these massive publications they have paid political scientists ridiculous amounts of money to write, yet trying finding out how they evaluate themselves through the blinding rhetoric of "country-led ownership" and "building learning opportunities" and some such crap is harder than.... (trying to think of something really hard...) shit I don't know. Something really fucking hard!!! Trying to sit through the walk-off scene in Zoolander without snorting with laughter. Discovering cold fusion. Sitting through a Stanley Kubrick movie without getting up and shouting "Doesn't anybody else realise this is complete and utter crap!!!" (2001 is exempt.)Harder even, than getting me to sit through the 6 o'clock news without throwing anything at the telly.
So its pretty fucking hard. Plus it doesn't help that the two people from the Bank who were very forthcoming with the info have gone on some project to Rwanda, or Sudan, or somewhere they need economists, I mean development projects. Oopsy.
A Freudian slip is when you say one thing and you really mean your mother, I mean another.
Beginning to lose ability to follow a train of thought. Maybe its time for a cuppa.
Van Helsing at 9 tonight. Choice, bro. Also, did anyone else know that at some ungodly hour on a Saturday morning, like 9 or something, is X-Men Evolution? Yay! I'd also like to point out that I was an X-Men fan long before the movie, just in case you were following the Van Helsing-Wolverine line of thought.
Have a smashing day. Smooch.
Things we love: G 'n R greatest hits. Oh yeah, show me the 80s metal. We also love hot water bottles, and sleeping. Last night I must have slept for 8 hours, and I only woke up 3 or 4 times. LUXURY!!
We're also going to ignore any reference to the Crusaders in this blog, given last nights ass-whuppin. OK, so it started as a whippin, then we kind of got a bit of cred back by not getting completely rogered in manner of deliverance or similar. I had to text my Dad once I had finished work, in case he was too upset. Seemed ok though, strangely pragmatic about the whole thing. Rachael went out to the airport to see the team when they arrived back today, apparently there was literally hundreds there, so thats nice.
We also love nachos from Charcoal Chicken, I had a taste of Tim's nachos yesterday, and had been thinking about them ever since. Finally got my own, and didn't share them!! Ha!
I'm having to add a whole new section to the thesis. We are needing some more analysis, and given my complete inability to do any sort of quantitative analysis because I can barely count past ten, the distinct lack of an analytical component is beginning to show. So instead of ignoring that part and hoping nobody notices, I'm going to have to integrate some old skool qualitative analysis in there. Fatten that baby up, as it were. So now I'm up to my perfectly plucked eyebrows in the theory of policy analysis and programme assessment. Riveting stuff, really. Makes for a hell of a weekend, especially given the lovely World Bank's tendancies to shroud themselves in a cloud of publications in the hope that nobody will notice that they aren't exactly forthcoming with project appraisals and rating scales for Bank and borrower performance. I have literally reams of information from them, these massive publications they have paid political scientists ridiculous amounts of money to write, yet trying finding out how they evaluate themselves through the blinding rhetoric of "country-led ownership" and "building learning opportunities" and some such crap is harder than.... (trying to think of something really hard...) shit I don't know. Something really fucking hard!!! Trying to sit through the walk-off scene in Zoolander without snorting with laughter. Discovering cold fusion. Sitting through a Stanley Kubrick movie without getting up and shouting "Doesn't anybody else realise this is complete and utter crap!!!" (2001 is exempt.)Harder even, than getting me to sit through the 6 o'clock news without throwing anything at the telly.
So its pretty fucking hard. Plus it doesn't help that the two people from the Bank who were very forthcoming with the info have gone on some project to Rwanda, or Sudan, or somewhere they need economists, I mean development projects. Oopsy.
A Freudian slip is when you say one thing and you really mean your mother, I mean another.
Beginning to lose ability to follow a train of thought. Maybe its time for a cuppa.
Van Helsing at 9 tonight. Choice, bro. Also, did anyone else know that at some ungodly hour on a Saturday morning, like 9 or something, is X-Men Evolution? Yay! I'd also like to point out that I was an X-Men fan long before the movie, just in case you were following the Van Helsing-Wolverine line of thought.
Have a smashing day. Smooch.
Friday, May 21, 2004
Hows About them Crusaders?
I'm afraid I've been a little slack this Super-12 season, I've only been to two games, and have been a bad Canterbury supporter. Its a little late to remedy this now though, seeing as how its finals day, and the games in Canberra, and I'm not. Still in rainy Christchurch, its 3.30 pm and starting to get dark, pissing down with lovely autumn rain, and I'm all cosy in my wee office, hard at work. Not listening to the Distillers and drinking too many cups of tea and reading the paper. Not at all. No sir-ee jim.
Had a lovely dinner last night with a bunch of the other MAs from the department, go the good Thai food, but brickbat to the fact I had to leave early to come back here. Poos.
Nevermind. It will be over soon, and I can sleep all day and read whatever I want (like the "Situations Vacant" section of the paper).
Went to see Alexander's soccer this morning, had to leave early to pick up me Da from the airport, but by the time I left, they were 5-nil up. Yeah. Go Fred. Rosie was wandering around in her wee gummies, at half time all the soccer players get oranges, so of course Rosie has to have one too. She was having some coordination difficulties, and whenever she wanted to eat the orange, she had to stop and bite it, chew it, make funny faces, blow raspberries at me and giggle, before she could keep walking. Its all a bit much when you're not even 2.
Am not sure how to pass on these gmail invites I keep getting. Yes, they are still coming. Gmail love me!!! I don't have PayPal, so you'll have to give me real money, or wire it to a numbered account in the Caymans.
I'm afraid I've been a little slack this Super-12 season, I've only been to two games, and have been a bad Canterbury supporter. Its a little late to remedy this now though, seeing as how its finals day, and the games in Canberra, and I'm not. Still in rainy Christchurch, its 3.30 pm and starting to get dark, pissing down with lovely autumn rain, and I'm all cosy in my wee office, hard at work. Not listening to the Distillers and drinking too many cups of tea and reading the paper. Not at all. No sir-ee jim.
Had a lovely dinner last night with a bunch of the other MAs from the department, go the good Thai food, but brickbat to the fact I had to leave early to come back here. Poos.
Nevermind. It will be over soon, and I can sleep all day and read whatever I want (like the "Situations Vacant" section of the paper).
Went to see Alexander's soccer this morning, had to leave early to pick up me Da from the airport, but by the time I left, they were 5-nil up. Yeah. Go Fred. Rosie was wandering around in her wee gummies, at half time all the soccer players get oranges, so of course Rosie has to have one too. She was having some coordination difficulties, and whenever she wanted to eat the orange, she had to stop and bite it, chew it, make funny faces, blow raspberries at me and giggle, before she could keep walking. Its all a bit much when you're not even 2.
Am not sure how to pass on these gmail invites I keep getting. Yes, they are still coming. Gmail love me!!! I don't have PayPal, so you'll have to give me real money, or wire it to a numbered account in the Caymans.
Thursday, May 20, 2004
40 days
How very biblical.
Perhaps this is becoming some sort of divine task, or maybe I just have a little over a month to finish the fucking thing. I have not yet reached that stage that others have passed through, the "I Hate My Thesis" phase, I'm not sure if that is because my thesis is way cooler than theirs, or I'm not quite there yet.
I am awaiting a meeting with my supervisors, who are no doubt about to bring the smackdown along the lines of "what the fuck? Call this a thesis? I wouldn't wipe my arse on this!". Or maybe a little constructive criticism. Can't be worse than the criticism I heap upon the poor wee thing.
Oh dear. Best go, intp the jaws of death, into the mouth of hell, rode the six hundred!!! Once more into the breach, dear friends, once more!!
Fucking hell, calm down, its just a meeting!
In other news, more gmail invites are coming my way.
Show me the money!!!
Smooch.
How very biblical.
Perhaps this is becoming some sort of divine task, or maybe I just have a little over a month to finish the fucking thing. I have not yet reached that stage that others have passed through, the "I Hate My Thesis" phase, I'm not sure if that is because my thesis is way cooler than theirs, or I'm not quite there yet.
I am awaiting a meeting with my supervisors, who are no doubt about to bring the smackdown along the lines of "what the fuck? Call this a thesis? I wouldn't wipe my arse on this!". Or maybe a little constructive criticism. Can't be worse than the criticism I heap upon the poor wee thing.
Oh dear. Best go, intp the jaws of death, into the mouth of hell, rode the six hundred!!! Once more into the breach, dear friends, once more!!
Fucking hell, calm down, its just a meeting!
In other news, more gmail invites are coming my way.
Show me the money!!!
Smooch.
HeeHeeHee
You'll need sound, and preferably don't follow this link in a room full of people with delicate sensibilities, but check out Buffy's swearing keyboard.
Fucking laughed so hard that my cup of tea nearly came out my nose.
You'll need sound, and preferably don't follow this link in a room full of people with delicate sensibilities, but check out Buffy's swearing keyboard.
Fucking laughed so hard that my cup of tea nearly came out my nose.
Wednesday, May 19, 2004
Lust for Life
Life is NOT a journey to the grave with the goal of arriving safely in a prettily preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways in a shower of gravel and party shards, thoroughly used, utterly exhausted, and loudly proclaiming: "Fuck ME, that was BRILLIANT!" Thank you Green Fairy.
Yes, I know, fishboy has already done it, but its just too good to pass up. I'm going to get a real paper copy of it and put it up somewhere.
Life is NOT a journey to the grave with the goal of arriving safely in a prettily preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways in a shower of gravel and party shards, thoroughly used, utterly exhausted, and loudly proclaiming: "Fuck ME, that was BRILLIANT!" Thank you Green Fairy.
Yes, I know, fishboy has already done it, but its just too good to pass up. I'm going to get a real paper copy of it and put it up somewhere.
Mmmm. Spinach Pie.
My mum makes the best pie ever. Yay.
Whenever I sit down to write a blog (usually with piles of thesis still to be done) and I'm teeming with ideas, I end up writing about four lines before all my ideas make a quick getaway. Then when I think I'll just sit and write some shit, I end up posting pages and pages. Ok, so a bit more than I expect.
My point being, I really have not much in my head except for the evolution of institutional policy in three phases of the World Bank's involvement in internal conflict, which is being chased around my brain by the frightening concept of 42 days left until it gets handed in, yet I am seized by an inexplicable desire to rant and write and waffle. (Actually its fully explicable, its called phase one: denial)
Rance has laid down the gauntlet and challenged the faithful to a 500 word treatment of what one would do with control of Fox Studios for one year, and truth be told, I'm putting far too much thought into it. In 43 days I wouldn't be able to think of a bloody thing to write on the topic, but now, I'm fair beating the ideas away. Scary. Sort it out Claire.
I was thinking recently how interesting (for me, not so much for the rest of you) it would be to have a little tape recorder attached to me for a day, to see exactly how many times in one day I said "Sort it out Claire". Also a wee video camera, not just to check out my hair, but to observe how many other people were in the room for each utterance. A fascinating sociological/psychological experiment. Or a big waste of resources. You decide.
Anyway, thanks to all who came to my part-A and mocked my drunkeness and generally had loads of giggles and plonk and joy.
Am still awaiting promise of fabulous glamourous exciting well-paid world-saving job. Come on people, show me the love!!
Besides, I'm 28 now (shut up, you're 22, just for the 7th time) and I think I'm getting a bit past it to be waiting tables 3 nights a week and living off a student allowance. Although that does beat getting paid in drachma and living in a one room apartment with three English girls, even though the bungy jumping was free.
Who am I kidding, you're never too old to be living off the government!! I love this country!!!
My mum makes the best pie ever. Yay.
Whenever I sit down to write a blog (usually with piles of thesis still to be done) and I'm teeming with ideas, I end up writing about four lines before all my ideas make a quick getaway. Then when I think I'll just sit and write some shit, I end up posting pages and pages. Ok, so a bit more than I expect.
My point being, I really have not much in my head except for the evolution of institutional policy in three phases of the World Bank's involvement in internal conflict, which is being chased around my brain by the frightening concept of 42 days left until it gets handed in, yet I am seized by an inexplicable desire to rant and write and waffle. (Actually its fully explicable, its called phase one: denial)
Rance has laid down the gauntlet and challenged the faithful to a 500 word treatment of what one would do with control of Fox Studios for one year, and truth be told, I'm putting far too much thought into it. In 43 days I wouldn't be able to think of a bloody thing to write on the topic, but now, I'm fair beating the ideas away. Scary. Sort it out Claire.
I was thinking recently how interesting (for me, not so much for the rest of you) it would be to have a little tape recorder attached to me for a day, to see exactly how many times in one day I said "Sort it out Claire". Also a wee video camera, not just to check out my hair, but to observe how many other people were in the room for each utterance. A fascinating sociological/psychological experiment. Or a big waste of resources. You decide.
Anyway, thanks to all who came to my part-A and mocked my drunkeness and generally had loads of giggles and plonk and joy.
Am still awaiting promise of fabulous glamourous exciting well-paid world-saving job. Come on people, show me the love!!
Besides, I'm 28 now (shut up, you're 22, just for the 7th time) and I think I'm getting a bit past it to be waiting tables 3 nights a week and living off a student allowance. Although that does beat getting paid in drachma and living in a one room apartment with three English girls, even though the bungy jumping was free.
Who am I kidding, you're never too old to be living off the government!! I love this country!!!
Friday, May 14, 2004
Mmmmm. Troy.
Troy good. Although, a very important thing to keep in mind before you go in, it is not the Iliad. Nor is it the Odyssey, although Odysseus is a fairly central character (Sean Bean is hot) and the Trojan horse integral to the outcome. And a ten year war makes a three day appearance. Brevity is the soul of wit and evidently of war too.
What the movie is about, however, is Brad Pitt's stomach, Eric Bana's biceps, and Orlando Blooms perfect eyelashes. And lots of man leg. Theres a wee bit of a plot in there as well, and some action, and some pretty girls for those who are that way inclined, very little accuracy (Aeneas even makes an appearance) but damn. The bit where Achilles and Hector are getting their armour on in preparation for kicking the shit out of each other, WOW. I nearly peed my pants.
It is a two and a half hour homage to fine looking men. Even my lesbian friend was having second thoughts about her gender of choice!!
I thought all my Christmases had come at once.
Can't really think about work today, too many fine images in my mind, plus theres the Part A tonight. Better go party-proof my house!
Have a smashing day, won't you.
Troy good. Although, a very important thing to keep in mind before you go in, it is not the Iliad. Nor is it the Odyssey, although Odysseus is a fairly central character (Sean Bean is hot) and the Trojan horse integral to the outcome. And a ten year war makes a three day appearance. Brevity is the soul of wit and evidently of war too.
What the movie is about, however, is Brad Pitt's stomach, Eric Bana's biceps, and Orlando Blooms perfect eyelashes. And lots of man leg. Theres a wee bit of a plot in there as well, and some action, and some pretty girls for those who are that way inclined, very little accuracy (Aeneas even makes an appearance) but damn. The bit where Achilles and Hector are getting their armour on in preparation for kicking the shit out of each other, WOW. I nearly peed my pants.
It is a two and a half hour homage to fine looking men. Even my lesbian friend was having second thoughts about her gender of choice!!
I thought all my Christmases had come at once.
Can't really think about work today, too many fine images in my mind, plus theres the Part A tonight. Better go party-proof my house!
Have a smashing day, won't you.
Thursday, May 13, 2004
OK. No more politics. Cos I get too angry and rant and then say things I don't really mean cos I have all this anger inside me that needs to get out and it just jumps at the first opportunity when really one should think a little more about what one is really saying and say things that are fair otherwise one becomes as bad as those one is dissing.
In other news, check out Soma's valiant attempt to get as strung out and nasty and tired and crabby and foul as yours truly.
Damn us and our self imposed deadlines!!
Am going to see Troy tomorrow. And yes, I have read the book, although word on the street is that there is somewhat of a liberal interpretation of the book, and also manages to chuck in some of Homer's other works, plus the Aeneid, and some scribbles Virgil's gardener left on a scrap of paper in the woodshed. Yay I say, bring the Troy goodness.
1.25am, so nighty night then.
In other news, check out Soma's valiant attempt to get as strung out and nasty and tired and crabby and foul as yours truly.
Damn us and our self imposed deadlines!!
Am going to see Troy tomorrow. And yes, I have read the book, although word on the street is that there is somewhat of a liberal interpretation of the book, and also manages to chuck in some of Homer's other works, plus the Aeneid, and some scribbles Virgil's gardener left on a scrap of paper in the woodshed. Yay I say, bring the Troy goodness.
1.25am, so nighty night then.
Things I have acheived today
F.A.
Not good. I am halfway through rewriting a chapter according to the comments of one of my supervisors, who observes that I need to write more simply and clearly. But I like adjectives, they're my favourite sort of words!!! I think perhaps its a not-very-subconscious attempt to make me sound cleverer than I actually am, although it will take a lot more than a few adjectives to pull that off.
I am tempted to fill in some job applications, but they're just so difficult!! Like: "describe a situation where you had to work in a team. How did you contribute to the team and what was the outcome?". Well, I did what I was told, and everything came up roses. Pretty simple really, but not exactly endearing myself to potential employers. My particular favourite is "Describe a situation in which you were confronted by a problem. How did you approach the problem, how was it resolved, and how do you feel about the outcome?" Well, I didn't do nearly enough work in the first few months, and then I ended up changing my thesis topic, and now I have less than 7 weeks to finish my thesis. Thats a problem. As for how I intend to approach the problem? Aside from griping about it in my blog, I am working my not-inconsiderable arse off spending 14 hours a day working on it, sustained by the thought of the big sleep I will get to have in July. Outcome? How about I get back to you later. Ok? Cool.
Aside: Its not Americans that I object to. Its the hypocrisy, opportunism, cultural imperialism and arrogance that is being demonstrated by your current administration. It makes me even madder (real word?) due to the current state of the world, the actions of the US affect us all, but the rest of us have no say in choosing who leads the free world. I just REALLY REALLY HOPE AND FUCKING PRAY AND AM TEMPTED TO SELL ORGANS TO RAISE MONEY FOR...(insert the nice men in the white coats with the pretty coloured pills)
Ahem. Please do the rest of the world a favour and get rid of him, vote for the other guy (Whats his name?). I know you didn't actually vote for him in the first place, but as the bumper sticker says, "If you're not completely appalled, you haven't been paying attention". Go on.
In other news, I got the most excellent book the other day, called "Taking the Piss" (high up on my top ten favourite phrases): Your A-Z guide to outsnobbing the wine snobs" by Genevieve LaRue (cool name). Its full of great definitions such as:
Corkscrew: an Irish prostitute, or as W.C. Fields once cried, 'What contemptible scoundrel stole the cork from my lunch'
Gay-Lussac: a French poof
Procrastination: the art of saving your best wine until all the guests have left
Spumante: Italian for being sick
Plus a whole section on farting, apparently something to do with port.
My point for bringing up the book anyway, was to finish up with a quote for the day, from Diogenes: "I fear the man who drinks water, and so remembers this morning what the rest of us said last night".
F.A.
Not good. I am halfway through rewriting a chapter according to the comments of one of my supervisors, who observes that I need to write more simply and clearly. But I like adjectives, they're my favourite sort of words!!! I think perhaps its a not-very-subconscious attempt to make me sound cleverer than I actually am, although it will take a lot more than a few adjectives to pull that off.
I am tempted to fill in some job applications, but they're just so difficult!! Like: "describe a situation where you had to work in a team. How did you contribute to the team and what was the outcome?". Well, I did what I was told, and everything came up roses. Pretty simple really, but not exactly endearing myself to potential employers. My particular favourite is "Describe a situation in which you were confronted by a problem. How did you approach the problem, how was it resolved, and how do you feel about the outcome?" Well, I didn't do nearly enough work in the first few months, and then I ended up changing my thesis topic, and now I have less than 7 weeks to finish my thesis. Thats a problem. As for how I intend to approach the problem? Aside from griping about it in my blog, I am working my not-inconsiderable arse off spending 14 hours a day working on it, sustained by the thought of the big sleep I will get to have in July. Outcome? How about I get back to you later. Ok? Cool.
Aside: Its not Americans that I object to. Its the hypocrisy, opportunism, cultural imperialism and arrogance that is being demonstrated by your current administration. It makes me even madder (real word?) due to the current state of the world, the actions of the US affect us all, but the rest of us have no say in choosing who leads the free world. I just REALLY REALLY HOPE AND FUCKING PRAY AND AM TEMPTED TO SELL ORGANS TO RAISE MONEY FOR...(insert the nice men in the white coats with the pretty coloured pills)
Ahem. Please do the rest of the world a favour and get rid of him, vote for the other guy (Whats his name?). I know you didn't actually vote for him in the first place, but as the bumper sticker says, "If you're not completely appalled, you haven't been paying attention". Go on.
In other news, I got the most excellent book the other day, called "Taking the Piss" (high up on my top ten favourite phrases): Your A-Z guide to outsnobbing the wine snobs" by Genevieve LaRue (cool name). Its full of great definitions such as:
Corkscrew: an Irish prostitute, or as W.C. Fields once cried, 'What contemptible scoundrel stole the cork from my lunch'
Gay-Lussac: a French poof
Procrastination: the art of saving your best wine until all the guests have left
Spumante: Italian for being sick
Plus a whole section on farting, apparently something to do with port.
My point for bringing up the book anyway, was to finish up with a quote for the day, from Diogenes: "I fear the man who drinks water, and so remembers this morning what the rest of us said last night".
Wednesday, May 12, 2004
Does this make me famous?
No, I seriously doubt it, but I am being dissed in blogworld. Apparently I am ignorant, brainwashed and elitist, and have no idea who the American people really are, having received a liberal anti-American indoctrination. (I don't remember any indoctrinations. Being taught by American academics?)The only thing I am anti, aside from people without table manners, are people who can't think for themselves.
No, I don't have any idea about who the American people really are. Hell, I don't have any idea about who people are in general!! But I do know a little bit about international relations and about conflict, and if daring to critique what I get fed by the media machine (fed to us by the nice people at CNN) makes me ignorant and brainwashed, then hey!! Bring it on!! I'm far from having the pulse on the world (do you mean having my finger on the pulse of the world? cos that makes a bit of sense), but the ability to question what you see, hear, read and are told by the powers that be is a gift that must be treasured and used, for the sake of all.
In other news, heres a ying/yang moment.
11.30pm, having finished a chapter, Claire makes to go home. Dum de dum, get downstairs, run through the pissing rain to the car, and discover a flat tyre. Arse. Proceeds to get thoroughly wet and greasy changing tyre, goes home.
Heres the yang (or maybe ying?)
11.45pm, get home, house is toasty warm thanks to flatmates cranking the fire. Crack open deliciously cold Steinlager, watch crap telly for ten minutes, do crossword. Proceed to bed, where electric blanket has been on for hours and have scrummy cosy sleep for a whole 7 and a half beautiful hours. Life is back to goodness again.
Time to finish thesis: 48 days. Like that movie with Sandra Bullock, but with 20 more days, and not so much with the rehab, and with beer, and better accommodation, and without the overdosing room-mate, and with less mountains, and more city, and a better computer, and no nurses or counsellers, and no Viggo Mortensen.
OK, so not like a movie at all.
It would be a pretty fucking dull movie, 6 hour shots of me sitting at my desk, typing, swearing, drinking tea and talking to myself. Riveting.
No, I seriously doubt it, but I am being dissed in blogworld. Apparently I am ignorant, brainwashed and elitist, and have no idea who the American people really are, having received a liberal anti-American indoctrination. (I don't remember any indoctrinations. Being taught by American academics?)The only thing I am anti, aside from people without table manners, are people who can't think for themselves.
No, I don't have any idea about who the American people really are. Hell, I don't have any idea about who people are in general!! But I do know a little bit about international relations and about conflict, and if daring to critique what I get fed by the media machine (fed to us by the nice people at CNN) makes me ignorant and brainwashed, then hey!! Bring it on!! I'm far from having the pulse on the world (do you mean having my finger on the pulse of the world? cos that makes a bit of sense), but the ability to question what you see, hear, read and are told by the powers that be is a gift that must be treasured and used, for the sake of all.
In other news, heres a ying/yang moment.
11.30pm, having finished a chapter, Claire makes to go home. Dum de dum, get downstairs, run through the pissing rain to the car, and discover a flat tyre. Arse. Proceeds to get thoroughly wet and greasy changing tyre, goes home.
Heres the yang (or maybe ying?)
11.45pm, get home, house is toasty warm thanks to flatmates cranking the fire. Crack open deliciously cold Steinlager, watch crap telly for ten minutes, do crossword. Proceed to bed, where electric blanket has been on for hours and have scrummy cosy sleep for a whole 7 and a half beautiful hours. Life is back to goodness again.
Time to finish thesis: 48 days. Like that movie with Sandra Bullock, but with 20 more days, and not so much with the rehab, and with beer, and better accommodation, and without the overdosing room-mate, and with less mountains, and more city, and a better computer, and no nurses or counsellers, and no Viggo Mortensen.
OK, so not like a movie at all.
It would be a pretty fucking dull movie, 6 hour shots of me sitting at my desk, typing, swearing, drinking tea and talking to myself. Riveting.
Might Come In Useful One Day
Best song to use for charades ever: "A Plane Scraped its Belly on a Sooty Yellow Moon". Yes, its a real song.
Beats "Debbie Gibson is Pregnant With My Two-Headed Love Child" and "Wynona's Big Brown Beaver" hands down.
Ha, I believe the gauntlet has been laid out before you!
Best song to use for charades ever: "A Plane Scraped its Belly on a Sooty Yellow Moon". Yes, its a real song.
Beats "Debbie Gibson is Pregnant With My Two-Headed Love Child" and "Wynona's Big Brown Beaver" hands down.
Ha, I believe the gauntlet has been laid out before you!
Help me Obi-Won Kenobi
All I want to be doing is exploring blogs and looking shit up and having my say on all sorts of nonsense, when I'm a summary and conclusion away from finishing this chapter.
Uh oh.
Perhaps its time to follow my own advice and admit the internet has power over me.
Actually, what I think I know what it is.
My wee brain, having been dormant for some 27 years, is now forced to actually function, and as a result, all of a sudden I have an opinion on EVERYTHING!!
Or maybe its just now there are things that make me very angry in my angriest of angry places and I am compelled by the power of the Web to tell everybody what I think.
When in reality all I need to be doing is telling my supervisors why it is crucial that I rant for many pages about why the establishment of the Post conflict Unit is more significant than the parallel policy changes in the World Bank, because it represents a change in Bank thinking back to its original purpose, which was post war reconstruction, whereas the policy, while significant, is not specific to conflict but to a general state of emergency.
Bet you're all REALLY hanging out for me to finish so I can post the thesis on the web!!
In other news, there will be more politics, never fear because I have overcome my fear of the political blog.
Mmmmm. Angry rants.
BRING THE NOISE
Yeah.
All I want to be doing is exploring blogs and looking shit up and having my say on all sorts of nonsense, when I'm a summary and conclusion away from finishing this chapter.
Uh oh.
Perhaps its time to follow my own advice and admit the internet has power over me.
Actually, what I think I know what it is.
My wee brain, having been dormant for some 27 years, is now forced to actually function, and as a result, all of a sudden I have an opinion on EVERYTHING!!
Or maybe its just now there are things that make me very angry in my angriest of angry places and I am compelled by the power of the Web to tell everybody what I think.
When in reality all I need to be doing is telling my supervisors why it is crucial that I rant for many pages about why the establishment of the Post conflict Unit is more significant than the parallel policy changes in the World Bank, because it represents a change in Bank thinking back to its original purpose, which was post war reconstruction, whereas the policy, while significant, is not specific to conflict but to a general state of emergency.
Bet you're all REALLY hanging out for me to finish so I can post the thesis on the web!!
In other news, there will be more politics, never fear because I have overcome my fear of the political blog.
Mmmmm. Angry rants.
BRING THE NOISE
Yeah.
Tuesday, May 11, 2004
"Theres only two things in the world I hate...
1) People that are intolerant of other people's cultures
2) the Dutch"
Thank you Austin Power's daddy for the intro to todays rant. Yes, more American bashing.
Check out this wee gem from our friend the sarcastic journalist:
"This decapitation of an American in retaliation for the whole soldier abuse thing is ridiculous. Wow, a couple of women-beating, Saddam worshipping inbreds are forced to get naked and stuff. So they go AND DECAPITATE AN AMERICAN. On video."
Don't you just love the way that the life of a single American is worth more than the combined deaths and torture and humiliation of Allah-knows how many prisoners?
The more that the Americans get themselves into knots over this whole thing, the less sympathy the rest of us have for their dumb arses.
Heres an idea, fuck off out of Iraq, get your soldier drones away from people they have no understanding of, let the UN get themselves in there with Arab peacekeepers who have some sort of comprehension of who and what they are dealing with, and get back to eating your fat burgers and destroying the ozone layer.
Honestly, if it wan't for the fact they gave us Aerosmith and some passable movies, we would have been done with them long ago.
See, I'm getting all political again. Oh dear.
Gotta go bring the smackdown on the thesis. 49 days.
1) People that are intolerant of other people's cultures
2) the Dutch"
Thank you Austin Power's daddy for the intro to todays rant. Yes, more American bashing.
Check out this wee gem from our friend the sarcastic journalist:
"This decapitation of an American in retaliation for the whole soldier abuse thing is ridiculous. Wow, a couple of women-beating, Saddam worshipping inbreds are forced to get naked and stuff. So they go AND DECAPITATE AN AMERICAN. On video."
Don't you just love the way that the life of a single American is worth more than the combined deaths and torture and humiliation of Allah-knows how many prisoners?
The more that the Americans get themselves into knots over this whole thing, the less sympathy the rest of us have for their dumb arses.
Heres an idea, fuck off out of Iraq, get your soldier drones away from people they have no understanding of, let the UN get themselves in there with Arab peacekeepers who have some sort of comprehension of who and what they are dealing with, and get back to eating your fat burgers and destroying the ozone layer.
Honestly, if it wan't for the fact they gave us Aerosmith and some passable movies, we would have been done with them long ago.
See, I'm getting all political again. Oh dear.
Gotta go bring the smackdown on the thesis. 49 days.
Monday, May 10, 2004
ARRRRRGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!! Dear God NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!
Apparently, Time magazine have us listed as part of the US illegal invasion and occupation and torture and general FUBAR, sorry I mean the "Coalition of the Willing". More like the coalition of those who are either too chicken to say no to the US, or are more interested in furthering their own interests ahead of a)law and b)the needs of those poor fucks in Iraq who having survived Saddam, now have to deal with the Holier-Than-Thou fucking hypocritical regime of George the Selected.
NZ having any part in that action goes against all prior evidence as to our position on ANYTHING. When the US wanted to park a nuclear powered sub in a NZ port, like, overnight, we told them to fuck off. Cos we're nuclear free, and damn proud of it.
The fact that there are Kiwis in Iraq, and one of the poor fuckers has just been killed apparently, does not mean that we support the US in any way, shape or form.
New Zealanders are there as part of an international effort to clean up the great bloody mess that Saddam started and George W made worse.
Saddam is a bad man, there is no denying that. But that small-fucking-minded US president letting people believe that a) Saddam had something to do with September 11(11/9, by the way, 9/11 is the 9th of November), and then b) having the audacity to claim that it was his personal responsibility, because he cared about the people of Iraq, to get rid of Saddam, the same guy that up until about FIVE FUCKING MINUTES before George got selected by the Supreme Court to be Prez (loosest possible definition of that word please) was supported and funded and probably had his car serviced and feet rubbed by the US. Don't forget the approximately 1 million Iraqis who died due to the sanctions imposed by the US. But no, there are no votes, no oil contracts, and no friends to be made in supporting sustainable democratic development, in letting a people make their own decisions, control their own resources through transparent financial mechanisms, supporting measures of social capital, creating infrastructure, thereby creating jobs...
But then, nobody is making bombs and guns and tanks, and then thousands of American voters are out of a job. Nevermind that millions of Iraqis are dead or dying.
New Zealanders are in Iraq to help rebuild their country. And we are proud of them, and our hearts go out to the family of that poor bugger who got shot tonight.
The US military have succeeded in uniting Iraq in one way, both Shia'a and Sunni hate them with a fierce loathing. Well done George.
NEW ZEALAND IS NOT PART OF THE "COALITION OF THE WILLING", AND WE WOULD RATHER BECOME THE NEXT STATE OF AUSTRALIA BEFORE THAT HAPPENED
This is why I swore I was never going to be a political blogger, I get all angry and rant and now I'm going to be late for dinner with my Dad.
Come on, bring the hatemail, I'm waiting.
Apparently, Time magazine have us listed as part of the US illegal invasion and occupation and torture and general FUBAR, sorry I mean the "Coalition of the Willing". More like the coalition of those who are either too chicken to say no to the US, or are more interested in furthering their own interests ahead of a)law and b)the needs of those poor fucks in Iraq who having survived Saddam, now have to deal with the Holier-Than-Thou fucking hypocritical regime of George the Selected.
NZ having any part in that action goes against all prior evidence as to our position on ANYTHING. When the US wanted to park a nuclear powered sub in a NZ port, like, overnight, we told them to fuck off. Cos we're nuclear free, and damn proud of it.
The fact that there are Kiwis in Iraq, and one of the poor fuckers has just been killed apparently, does not mean that we support the US in any way, shape or form.
New Zealanders are there as part of an international effort to clean up the great bloody mess that Saddam started and George W made worse.
Saddam is a bad man, there is no denying that. But that small-fucking-minded US president letting people believe that a) Saddam had something to do with September 11(11/9, by the way, 9/11 is the 9th of November), and then b) having the audacity to claim that it was his personal responsibility, because he cared about the people of Iraq, to get rid of Saddam, the same guy that up until about FIVE FUCKING MINUTES before George got selected by the Supreme Court to be Prez (loosest possible definition of that word please) was supported and funded and probably had his car serviced and feet rubbed by the US. Don't forget the approximately 1 million Iraqis who died due to the sanctions imposed by the US. But no, there are no votes, no oil contracts, and no friends to be made in supporting sustainable democratic development, in letting a people make their own decisions, control their own resources through transparent financial mechanisms, supporting measures of social capital, creating infrastructure, thereby creating jobs...
But then, nobody is making bombs and guns and tanks, and then thousands of American voters are out of a job. Nevermind that millions of Iraqis are dead or dying.
New Zealanders are in Iraq to help rebuild their country. And we are proud of them, and our hearts go out to the family of that poor bugger who got shot tonight.
The US military have succeeded in uniting Iraq in one way, both Shia'a and Sunni hate them with a fierce loathing. Well done George.
NEW ZEALAND IS NOT PART OF THE "COALITION OF THE WILLING", AND WE WOULD RATHER BECOME THE NEXT STATE OF AUSTRALIA BEFORE THAT HAPPENED
This is why I swore I was never going to be a political blogger, I get all angry and rant and now I'm going to be late for dinner with my Dad.
Come on, bring the hatemail, I'm waiting.
And Just Like That....
Bad news my wee buggalugs.
Gmail have stopped sending me the love, a shame really, cos Joey was going to give me a whole 99c. Bloody good name for a site though Jo.
That would have put the kids through school too. I guess I'll have to resort to getting my money the old fashioned way. Yes, God forbid, by marrying it.
Am all of a sudden fascinated by the analysis of handwriting. I even went so far as to get a couple of books out on the subject, for the purpose of ensuring my job application letters truly represent me as the emotionally stable well balanced mature individual that I am. Not as the narcississtic, spoilt, delusional, short-tempered and undisciplined nutcase that some lesser beings would make me out to be.
Shut up, all of you. And if anybody asks, I had nothing to do with that wee incident, I was at home the whole time. You can ask my mum.
PS Mum, the $50 is on its way.
Bad news my wee buggalugs.
Gmail have stopped sending me the love, a shame really, cos Joey was going to give me a whole 99c. Bloody good name for a site though Jo.
That would have put the kids through school too. I guess I'll have to resort to getting my money the old fashioned way. Yes, God forbid, by marrying it.
Am all of a sudden fascinated by the analysis of handwriting. I even went so far as to get a couple of books out on the subject, for the purpose of ensuring my job application letters truly represent me as the emotionally stable well balanced mature individual that I am. Not as the narcississtic, spoilt, delusional, short-tempered and undisciplined nutcase that some lesser beings would make me out to be.
Shut up, all of you. And if anybody asks, I had nothing to do with that wee incident, I was at home the whole time. You can ask my mum.
PS Mum, the $50 is on its way.
Sunday, May 09, 2004
Mmmmm. Minty Fresh Blogger.
Blogger has gone all flash. Heres hoping that it doesn't confuse Claire-the-computer-amoeba too much.
I've been getting loads of "please give me an invite to gmail". I don't think you were understanding my point. I am a poor student, and because I'm getting nothing for free, except the departmental love, I ain't giving away squat. Give me incentives, people, and then I will share the love.
The winner at the moment is lemdg, who at least is making an effort. Although when I logged in today, there was no gmail love.
Perhaps the moment's gone.
In other news, I was somewhat of a machine yesterday. Got up at 10.30 am, cleaned the house, tidied my room (in itself a Herculean task), did my washing, vacuumed, cooked an omlette (how do you spell that?)ate said eggy goodness, and was at my office desk by 2pm.
Fucking legend. I then proceeded to search through a gazillion documents, find several gems of infomation, have half a dozen good ideas, before going home again, bringing in the washing, lighting the fire and going to work.
Needless to say, I more than made up for it today by sleeping until nearly 11am. Doh!
Had a customer on one of my tables last night who not only had a very unfortunate mullet, was wearing a waistcoat and held his cutlery in his fist, but enquired as to whether we stocked Blenheimer wine. As in, the stuff in those funny bottles that only nanas and 14 year old girls drink. Chefs won't even use it for cooking, it is that shit.
Now we're far from being a fine dining restaurant, hell, we have dirty old Hardy's Chardonnay on the winelist (which I won't let customers buy, cos its shit, always talk them up to a better one), but Blenheimer? I was waiting for some candid camera crew to appear.
On the same table was some bloke from America who had serial killer spectacles on (you'll know the type when you see them) and was dressed like some oil tycoon, with the big brooch/cowboy type tie on, who was telling all his mates about John Denver's plane crash in great detail.
I wonder if people know that I listen in on their conversations. Maybe not, cos I look like a generic blonde waitress. (insert ominous sounds of brain ticking over, devising cunning plans)There is really a great advantage in keeping ones mouth shut and appearing much simpler than one is.
Anyway, deadlines and all that.
51 days, in case you needed to know. Fuckit.
Am trying to find a way to post finished product on the inter-web thingy, for keen readers perusal. Also for "look at what I can do, give me a cool job please" purposes.
Doubt I can post a 35,000 word thesis, plus tables, appendices and bibliography in a blog. Sure fire way to lose the few readers I have.
Gonna make like a tree and fuck off now.
Blogger has gone all flash. Heres hoping that it doesn't confuse Claire-the-computer-amoeba too much.
I've been getting loads of "please give me an invite to gmail". I don't think you were understanding my point. I am a poor student, and because I'm getting nothing for free, except the departmental love, I ain't giving away squat. Give me incentives, people, and then I will share the love.
The winner at the moment is lemdg, who at least is making an effort. Although when I logged in today, there was no gmail love.
Perhaps the moment's gone.
In other news, I was somewhat of a machine yesterday. Got up at 10.30 am, cleaned the house, tidied my room (in itself a Herculean task), did my washing, vacuumed, cooked an omlette (how do you spell that?)ate said eggy goodness, and was at my office desk by 2pm.
Fucking legend. I then proceeded to search through a gazillion documents, find several gems of infomation, have half a dozen good ideas, before going home again, bringing in the washing, lighting the fire and going to work.
Needless to say, I more than made up for it today by sleeping until nearly 11am. Doh!
Had a customer on one of my tables last night who not only had a very unfortunate mullet, was wearing a waistcoat and held his cutlery in his fist, but enquired as to whether we stocked Blenheimer wine. As in, the stuff in those funny bottles that only nanas and 14 year old girls drink. Chefs won't even use it for cooking, it is that shit.
Now we're far from being a fine dining restaurant, hell, we have dirty old Hardy's Chardonnay on the winelist (which I won't let customers buy, cos its shit, always talk them up to a better one), but Blenheimer? I was waiting for some candid camera crew to appear.
On the same table was some bloke from America who had serial killer spectacles on (you'll know the type when you see them) and was dressed like some oil tycoon, with the big brooch/cowboy type tie on, who was telling all his mates about John Denver's plane crash in great detail.
I wonder if people know that I listen in on their conversations. Maybe not, cos I look like a generic blonde waitress. (insert ominous sounds of brain ticking over, devising cunning plans)There is really a great advantage in keeping ones mouth shut and appearing much simpler than one is.
Anyway, deadlines and all that.
51 days, in case you needed to know. Fuckit.
Am trying to find a way to post finished product on the inter-web thingy, for keen readers perusal. Also for "look at what I can do, give me a cool job please" purposes.
Doubt I can post a 35,000 word thesis, plus tables, appendices and bibliography in a blog. Sure fire way to lose the few readers I have.
Gonna make like a tree and fuck off now.
Friday, May 07, 2004
Thars gold in them thar invites!!
Apparently I can make loads of money off my constant gmail invitations. Even though I've signed up and am using my gmail account, every time I sign in to Blogspot, I get another invite.
If anybody knows how I forward them on to someone who wants one, let me know, and you're most welcome to give me pots of cash for a gmail account, you sad gits.
In other news, I am addicted, not so much to Rance, but to the myriad of strange and interesting comments therein.
I'm not sure if its one of those American we-are-obsessed-with-celebrity thing that goes with all the "Is it John Cusack? Is it George Clooney? Is it Johnny Depp? Is it Owen Wilson?" thing, because as Rance himself says, it may well be some fat greasy kid in his parents house. But anyway, its interesting. As a recent convert however, I am yet to happen upon the opportunity to acquire some Dodge Viper points. I quiver in gleeful anticipation of that day.
In more other news, I got one PFO letter this week, and the absence of a phone call from a particular ministry leads me to believe another PFO letter is in transit. Arse.
Somebody give me a job!!! Very soon I'll have an MA, and I'm a really good cook, and my Mum says I'm pretty, and I don't ask for much.
Just comprehensive debt relief and free HIV/AIDS drugs for Sub-Saharan Africa, the global ratification of the Kyoto Protocol or similar, the replacement of all super highways with paddocks filled with frolicking lambs and flowers, the international collapse of the military-industrial complex with all workers therein retrained to become kindergarten teachers and massage therapists, free chocolate, compulsary dress codes for women in music videos (ie, they must actually wear clothes) the "beauty" industry to be renamed the "Torture and Self Esteem-killer industry", the outlawing of crap music (byebye Alien Ant Farm and Usher!!) and compulsary classes in dog-maintenance, child care, dental hygiene, basic cooking and media studies for everyone.
Oh, and to have Kofi Annan, Salman Rushdie, Umberto Eco, Billy Connelly, Mary Robinson, Gro Harlem Bruntland, Peter Jackson, Nelson Mandela, Bono, Hillary Rodham Clinton, Naomi Klein, Mamphela Ramphele, Michael Ondaatje, Marilyn Manson, Michael Moore and Aimee Mann over for dinner.
See? Easily pleased.
Smooch.
Apparently I can make loads of money off my constant gmail invitations. Even though I've signed up and am using my gmail account, every time I sign in to Blogspot, I get another invite.
If anybody knows how I forward them on to someone who wants one, let me know, and you're most welcome to give me pots of cash for a gmail account, you sad gits.
In other news, I am addicted, not so much to Rance, but to the myriad of strange and interesting comments therein.
I'm not sure if its one of those American we-are-obsessed-with-celebrity thing that goes with all the "Is it John Cusack? Is it George Clooney? Is it Johnny Depp? Is it Owen Wilson?" thing, because as Rance himself says, it may well be some fat greasy kid in his parents house. But anyway, its interesting. As a recent convert however, I am yet to happen upon the opportunity to acquire some Dodge Viper points. I quiver in gleeful anticipation of that day.
In more other news, I got one PFO letter this week, and the absence of a phone call from a particular ministry leads me to believe another PFO letter is in transit. Arse.
Somebody give me a job!!! Very soon I'll have an MA, and I'm a really good cook, and my Mum says I'm pretty, and I don't ask for much.
Just comprehensive debt relief and free HIV/AIDS drugs for Sub-Saharan Africa, the global ratification of the Kyoto Protocol or similar, the replacement of all super highways with paddocks filled with frolicking lambs and flowers, the international collapse of the military-industrial complex with all workers therein retrained to become kindergarten teachers and massage therapists, free chocolate, compulsary dress codes for women in music videos (ie, they must actually wear clothes) the "beauty" industry to be renamed the "Torture and Self Esteem-killer industry", the outlawing of crap music (byebye Alien Ant Farm and Usher!!) and compulsary classes in dog-maintenance, child care, dental hygiene, basic cooking and media studies for everyone.
Oh, and to have Kofi Annan, Salman Rushdie, Umberto Eco, Billy Connelly, Mary Robinson, Gro Harlem Bruntland, Peter Jackson, Nelson Mandela, Bono, Hillary Rodham Clinton, Naomi Klein, Mamphela Ramphele, Michael Ondaatje, Marilyn Manson, Michael Moore and Aimee Mann over for dinner.
See? Easily pleased.
Smooch.
I Love Lists
Things that I will do once my thesis is finished
1) Sleep. Lots. Though thats a given, really.
2) Get Retarded
3) Spend several days in Wanaka in blissful solitude with my two best friends
4) Get up in the afternoon, order pizza, wash it down with beer and go back to bed
5) Make many photo albums, put all my photos from Europe & Australia in them & label each one
6) Take full advantage of my ISP's "unlimited hours" contract
7) Read books for fun, guiltfree
8) Write actual paper letters to real people, on paper and with pictures
9) Make a compilation cd for every single mood imaginable
10) Oh yeah, and find some schmuck to give me a job.
Things that I will do once my thesis is finished
1) Sleep. Lots. Though thats a given, really.
2) Get Retarded
3) Spend several days in Wanaka in blissful solitude with my two best friends
4) Get up in the afternoon, order pizza, wash it down with beer and go back to bed
5) Make many photo albums, put all my photos from Europe & Australia in them & label each one
6) Take full advantage of my ISP's "unlimited hours" contract
7) Read books for fun, guiltfree
8) Write actual paper letters to real people, on paper and with pictures
9) Make a compilation cd for every single mood imaginable
10) Oh yeah, and find some schmuck to give me a job.
Wednesday, May 05, 2004
Hmmm. What to believe?
Apparently this is Owen Wilson's blog. Other possibilities suggested are George Clooney, Benicio del Toro or Osama Bin Laden, but its quite interesting anyway.
Apparently this is Owen Wilson's blog. Other possibilities suggested are George Clooney, Benicio del Toro or Osama Bin Laden, but its quite interesting anyway.
Tuesday, May 04, 2004
Oh Shit.
In two years and two weeks exactly I'm going to be thirty.
Two years and two weeks ago it was April 2002 and that seems like just a few weeks ago.
Ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuck.
Theres a very small comfort in knowing that I will in fact be the last member of Lettuce to turn thirty when the time comes, but reduced further when observed that most of the others have, like, jobs and stuff. One has a husband, and another as good as.
I'm two year and two weeks away from being thirty, I've got about $45 in the bank, am still working in a restaurant for a living, have no boyfriend and still haven't finished my thesis.
Ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuck.
I have had some adventures though.
I went to Turkey and bought a carpet, got off my chops & went clubbing in Bali, went bungy jumping in Greece, have sat on the stones where Hippocrates used to teach, watched to sunset over the Caldera in Santorini, had a yorkshire pudding in Yorkshire, bought a copy of Wuthering Heights at the Bronte's old house, got busted by Greek customs authorities for being an overstayer, sat on the top front seat of a double-decker London bus, walked across London Bridge, seen Salvador Dali's works at the Tate Gallery and got pissed with rock stars in Auckland.
Thats not counting the usual chaos too.
Phew. Feel much better now.
Cheers.
57 days.
In two years and two weeks exactly I'm going to be thirty.
Two years and two weeks ago it was April 2002 and that seems like just a few weeks ago.
Ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuck.
Theres a very small comfort in knowing that I will in fact be the last member of Lettuce to turn thirty when the time comes, but reduced further when observed that most of the others have, like, jobs and stuff. One has a husband, and another as good as.
I'm two year and two weeks away from being thirty, I've got about $45 in the bank, am still working in a restaurant for a living, have no boyfriend and still haven't finished my thesis.
Ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuck.
I have had some adventures though.
I went to Turkey and bought a carpet, got off my chops & went clubbing in Bali, went bungy jumping in Greece, have sat on the stones where Hippocrates used to teach, watched to sunset over the Caldera in Santorini, had a yorkshire pudding in Yorkshire, bought a copy of Wuthering Heights at the Bronte's old house, got busted by Greek customs authorities for being an overstayer, sat on the top front seat of a double-decker London bus, walked across London Bridge, seen Salvador Dali's works at the Tate Gallery and got pissed with rock stars in Auckland.
Thats not counting the usual chaos too.
Phew. Feel much better now.
Cheers.
57 days.
Saturday, May 01, 2004
Announcement
It is my humblest of humble opinions that not only REM very cool, but that the mince and cheese pies from the BP are indeed, most worthy of consumption.
I have also finished a chapter. Yay.
That is all
Smooch
It is my humblest of humble opinions that not only REM very cool, but that the mince and cheese pies from the BP are indeed, most worthy of consumption.
I have also finished a chapter. Yay.
That is all
Smooch
I am the Pie Monster
Its official, just ask Gmail. If any of you lovely munchkins have anything to say to me that you can't (or won't) say in person, you can email me at my new address: piemonster@gmail.com.
Choice.
Also, you are all invited to my (ok, and Dave's too) birthday party, on the 15th May, at the Green Room. Unless of course, you suck, in which case, piss off.
Its official, just ask Gmail. If any of you lovely munchkins have anything to say to me that you can't (or won't) say in person, you can email me at my new address: piemonster@gmail.com.
Choice.
Also, you are all invited to my (ok, and Dave's too) birthday party, on the 15th May, at the Green Room. Unless of course, you suck, in which case, piss off.
Friday, April 30, 2004
Auspisciousness galore
60 days. Seems auspiscious enough. Also the fact that its just gone midday (why is the blogger clock always wrong? ) and I've already done three things on my list of ten things to do in order to get this chapter finished. Yeah. Warning: in the next 60 days this blog may turn out to become an exercise in self-congratulation.
Bridget has got a job in Wellington. Yay for Bridget, sucks that she is joining the masses who seem to be leaving Christchurch.
I wonder if it was anything I said...
60 days. Seems auspiscious enough. Also the fact that its just gone midday (why is the blogger clock always wrong? ) and I've already done three things on my list of ten things to do in order to get this chapter finished. Yeah. Warning: in the next 60 days this blog may turn out to become an exercise in self-congratulation.
Bridget has got a job in Wellington. Yay for Bridget, sucks that she is joining the masses who seem to be leaving Christchurch.
I wonder if it was anything I said...
Thursday, April 29, 2004
Best conversation I've had for days
Alexander: Aunty Claire, what are those books you're reading?
Me: The political economy of armed conflict, Building Peace and Ethnicity and Intra state conflict: types, causes and peace strategies.
A: Why are they all about peace?
Me: Its for my work at university.
A: What are you trying to do? (getting this question from someone whos 9 puts a bit of a spin on your day)
Me: I'm trying to find a way to stop war and prevent it from happening. Thats what my thesis is about.
A: Cool. (goes off to do something else for a bit)
Ten minutes later...
A: I think I know a way to stop war.
Me (intrigued): Is that what you've been thinking about this whole time?
A: You get some scientists to make a drug, not a bad drug, but a good drug, like the ones that make you better when you get sick. The drug stops people from wanting to go to war, so you give it to all the supermarkets, and they put it in all the food, then everyone gets it, and there'll be no more war.
Me: You know, thats a really good idea, but there are some people that don't have supermarkets or food. Sometimes thats why they go to war.
A: So, if we could give them all some food then they'd be OK?
Me: Its a start, but they need jobs as well, so they can buy food for their children, and get houses and go to school and stuff.
A (gobsmacked): Some people don't have houses? Woah!
Me: We need to find a way to get all that for them so they can look after themselves, and be healthy and strong and educated and choose what they want to do with their lives, just like we can.
A (look of "does not compute" crossing his beautiful face): Wow....so I'm a pretty lucky kid then?
Me: You bloody are.
A: Mind your bloody language.
Me: Sorry Fred.
Theres nothing that brings you back down like trying to explain yourself and your work to someone whose main priorities in life are getting half an hours peace from his two sisters, hanging out for the Simpsons once a week, getting the final pieces for his Star Wars lego, and hoping it doesn't rain for soccer on Saturdays.
Alexander: Aunty Claire, what are those books you're reading?
Me: The political economy of armed conflict, Building Peace and Ethnicity and Intra state conflict: types, causes and peace strategies.
A: Why are they all about peace?
Me: Its for my work at university.
A: What are you trying to do? (getting this question from someone whos 9 puts a bit of a spin on your day)
Me: I'm trying to find a way to stop war and prevent it from happening. Thats what my thesis is about.
A: Cool. (goes off to do something else for a bit)
Ten minutes later...
A: I think I know a way to stop war.
Me (intrigued): Is that what you've been thinking about this whole time?
A: You get some scientists to make a drug, not a bad drug, but a good drug, like the ones that make you better when you get sick. The drug stops people from wanting to go to war, so you give it to all the supermarkets, and they put it in all the food, then everyone gets it, and there'll be no more war.
Me: You know, thats a really good idea, but there are some people that don't have supermarkets or food. Sometimes thats why they go to war.
A: So, if we could give them all some food then they'd be OK?
Me: Its a start, but they need jobs as well, so they can buy food for their children, and get houses and go to school and stuff.
A (gobsmacked): Some people don't have houses? Woah!
Me: We need to find a way to get all that for them so they can look after themselves, and be healthy and strong and educated and choose what they want to do with their lives, just like we can.
A (look of "does not compute" crossing his beautiful face): Wow....so I'm a pretty lucky kid then?
Me: You bloody are.
A: Mind your bloody language.
Me: Sorry Fred.
Theres nothing that brings you back down like trying to explain yourself and your work to someone whose main priorities in life are getting half an hours peace from his two sisters, hanging out for the Simpsons once a week, getting the final pieces for his Star Wars lego, and hoping it doesn't rain for soccer on Saturdays.
Wednesday, April 28, 2004
Rosie
I stayed at my sister's house last night, her and the hubby were off to see the King return (phwoar) and I knew they'd be late, so I took my toothbrush and jammies (Finding Nemo T-shirt, c/o Blockbuster) and got in some serious Aunty-ing time. Actually, I sat downstairs and worked on my thesis until midnight, while the children slept, but still.
About 5.30 am I got woken by the baby crying, and I lay there for a bit, thinking one of her parents would go see her, but no joy, so off I went. As soon as I went in her room, she stopped crying, then gave me a funny look, shes got the most expressive wee face. It was like, I really need a cuddle right now, and I know you're not Mum or Dad, but I don't really mind you too much, and if its all I'm going to get at 5.30am, then I'm happy with that.
So I picked her up, and after making a grab for the ever elusive lightshade (it has tassles, very tempting) she curled up and put her wee head on my shoulder and made the cutest cooing/gurgling/snuffling sounds (she has a cold) and was all snuggly. It was a beautiful moment.
Then I went back to bed and woke up this morning in my usual charming humour, so yes, the moments gone.
I stayed at my sister's house last night, her and the hubby were off to see the King return (phwoar) and I knew they'd be late, so I took my toothbrush and jammies (Finding Nemo T-shirt, c/o Blockbuster) and got in some serious Aunty-ing time. Actually, I sat downstairs and worked on my thesis until midnight, while the children slept, but still.
About 5.30 am I got woken by the baby crying, and I lay there for a bit, thinking one of her parents would go see her, but no joy, so off I went. As soon as I went in her room, she stopped crying, then gave me a funny look, shes got the most expressive wee face. It was like, I really need a cuddle right now, and I know you're not Mum or Dad, but I don't really mind you too much, and if its all I'm going to get at 5.30am, then I'm happy with that.
So I picked her up, and after making a grab for the ever elusive lightshade (it has tassles, very tempting) she curled up and put her wee head on my shoulder and made the cutest cooing/gurgling/snuffling sounds (she has a cold) and was all snuggly. It was a beautiful moment.
Then I went back to bed and woke up this morning in my usual charming humour, so yes, the moments gone.
Correction
It is not, in fact, my computer that sucks, but, surprise surprise, my complete inability to operate it that is to blame. The problem reading comments etc was a crappy pop-up stopper thing I managed to get myself, so its all gone now, and thanks to Tim, I have a whole Firefox thing going on as well, plus a later version of Ad-aware.
Unfortunately, Firefox and Blogger have a similar relationship to Netscape and Blogger. All squiggly etc. No worries, at least we have our friend Internet Explorer to get us through to the time when we can get a real website. One day.
Speaking of days....63.
Have fixed the link to Moggy Bloggy too. Phew, what a busy day!
It is not, in fact, my computer that sucks, but, surprise surprise, my complete inability to operate it that is to blame. The problem reading comments etc was a crappy pop-up stopper thing I managed to get myself, so its all gone now, and thanks to Tim, I have a whole Firefox thing going on as well, plus a later version of Ad-aware.
Unfortunately, Firefox and Blogger have a similar relationship to Netscape and Blogger. All squiggly etc. No worries, at least we have our friend Internet Explorer to get us through to the time when we can get a real website. One day.
Speaking of days....63.
Have fixed the link to Moggy Bloggy too. Phew, what a busy day!
Tuesday, April 27, 2004
Shiny Blue Friend is having issues with javascript, as in, keeps going to some bloody debugging thing, and won't let me read comments, but I'm pretty sure its not only Haloscan, anyone who can help, please!! Hester!!Save me!!
Also, on the network computers, netscape having some SBT (serious blog trauma), and it goes all squiggly. Funky, but illegible.
Also, on the network computers, netscape having some SBT (serious blog trauma), and it goes all squiggly. Funky, but illegible.
Monday, April 26, 2004
64 Days
Yes, I'm going to keep counting down until its done. And you will all feign interest.
I've made a few changes here, Yay says Dan, I'm finally in the cool kids club by being linked on Planet Claire.
Also, theres some stuff that I've flogged off Fishboy, cos a change is as good as a holiday. Given that I've just had a holiday. Hmmm.
I got another email from my peeps at the dirty ol' World Bank, expressing interest in the end result of my thesis. Yay!! Further validation!! Now if they will only give me money to finish it.
I learned something today. I now know what a Nash equilibrium is, and given that it sounds so impressive, I'm going to find a way to get it into my thesis.
Guess I'd better write the fucking thing I suppose.
I'm really just looking for excuses to faff about. Think I'll tidy my office.
Yes, I'm going to keep counting down until its done. And you will all feign interest.
I've made a few changes here, Yay says Dan, I'm finally in the cool kids club by being linked on Planet Claire.
Also, theres some stuff that I've flogged off Fishboy, cos a change is as good as a holiday. Given that I've just had a holiday. Hmmm.
I got another email from my peeps at the dirty ol' World Bank, expressing interest in the end result of my thesis. Yay!! Further validation!! Now if they will only give me money to finish it.
I learned something today. I now know what a Nash equilibrium is, and given that it sounds so impressive, I'm going to find a way to get it into my thesis.
Guess I'd better write the fucking thing I suppose.
I'm really just looking for excuses to faff about. Think I'll tidy my office.
Sunday, April 25, 2004
My ear is twitching
I'm really not sure how I feel about this whole ANZAC thing. Maybe its because my family's never really been into that whole war thing, and although Poppa was born into the military, literally, there was never much made of wars in my whanau.
The thing that really grates me is the propaganda power of the whole thing. Its frowned upon to criticise a historical war when there are those still living who remember it or were a part, its as if we are somehow betraying the memory of those who died. While not wanting to start a fight, I think its wrong to accept things just because we've always been told they're right, thats where bigotry gets made. Question everything, thats my motto.
Except the healing power of chocolate, that is beyond questioning.
My Grandad and his mate made the big drive from Reefton to Greymouth to volunteer for WW2, but Grandad got turned down, something about a gammy leg. I guess I should be thankful for my gammy genes, better than none at all!
Things that are pissing me off.....
Apparently telling someone not to post smutty things on blogs about me makes me crazy. No, the fact that I hallucinate, talk to myself, and have a very interesting variation of brain chemistry, that makes me crazy.
Asking people to have some semblance of proprietry makes me acceptable in polite society.
Crap spammy chain emails. Yes Jamilla, I mean you. Here is my response, c/o fishboy
Send Me Chainmail -- This is What I Think
Hello, my name is Alfonso Merkin. I am suffering from rare and deadly diseases, poor scores on final exams, lack of sexual activity, fear of being kidnapped and executed by anal electrocution, and guilt for not sending out 50 billion fucking forwards sent to me by people who actually believe that if you send them, that poor 6 year old girl in Arkansas with lung cancer brought on by second-hand smoke from the cigarettes smoked by the big bad men who kidnapped her and took pornographic pictures of her for use on their child pornography web site will get 6 fucking cents every time you send me the letter.
Do you honestly believe that Bill Gates is going to give you and everyone you
send "his" email to $1000? How fucking stupid are you? Oh, lookey here! If I
scroll down this page and make a wish, I'll get laid by every Victoria's Secret
model in the catalog! What a bunch of bullshit. So basically, this message is a
big FUCK YOU to all the people out there who have nothing better to do than to send me stupid chain mail forwards. Maybe the evil chain letter leprechauns will come into my apartment and sodomize me in my sleep for not continuing the chain which was started by Jesus in 5 A.D. and was brought to this country by midget pilgrims on the Mayflower and if it makes it to the year 2000, it'll be in the Guinness Book of World Records for longest continuous streak of blatant stupidity.
Fuck them. If you're going to forward something, at least send something mildly amusing. I've seen all the "send this to 50 of your closest friends, and this poor, wretched excuse for a human being will somehow receive a nickel from some 'omniscient being'" forwards about 90 times. I don't fucking care. Show a little intelligence and think about what you're actually contributing to by sending out forwards. Chances are it's your own unpopularity. P.S. Please forward this to at least 50 of your best friends!
THE FOUR BASIC TYPES OF CHAIN LETTERS:
Chain Letter Type 1 (scroll down)
Make a wish!!!
Really, go on and make one!!!
Oh please, they'll never go out with you!!!
Wish something else!!!
Not that, you pervert!!
Is your finger getting tired yet?
STOP!!!! Wasn't that fun? Hope you made a great wish.
Now, to make you feel guilty, here's what I'll do. First of all, if you don't send this to 5096 people in the next 5 seconds, you will be raped by a mad goat and then thrown off a high building into a pile of manure.
It's true! Because, THIS letter isn't like all of those fake ones, THIS one is TRUE!! Really!!! Here's how it goes:
*Send this to 1 person: One person will be pissed off at you for sending them a stupid chain letter.
*Send this to 2-5 people: 2-5 people will be pissed off at you for sending them a stupid chain letter.
*Send this to 5-10 people: 5-10 people will be pissed off at you for sending
them a stupid chain letter.
*Send this to 10-20 people: 10-20 people will be pissed off at you for sending them a stupid chain letter. Thanks!!!! Good Luck!!!
Chain Letter Type 2: Hello, and thank you for reading this letter. You see,
there is a starving little boy in Baklaliviatatlaglooshen who has no arms, no
legs, no parents, and no goats. This little boy's life could be saved, because
for every time you pass this on, a dollar will be donated to the Little Starving
Legless Armless Goatless Boy from Baklaliviatatlaglooshen Fund. Remember, we have no way of counting letters sent and this is all bull. So go on, reach out.
Send this to 5 people in the next 47 seconds. Oh, and a reminder - if you
accidentally send this to 4 or 6 people, you will die instantly. Thanks again!!
Chain Letter Type 3: Hi there!! This chain letter has been in existence since 1897. This is absolutely incredible because there was no email then and probably not as many little 8-year-olds writing chain letters. So this is how it works. Pass this on to 15,067 people in the next 7 minutes or something horrible will happen to you like:
Queer Horror Story #1 Miranda Pinsley was walking home from school on Saturday. She had recently received this letter and ignored it. She then tripped in a crack in the sidewalk, fell into the sewer, was gushed down a drainpipe in a flood of shit, and went flying out over a waterfall. Not only did she smell nasty, she died. This Could Happen To You!!!
Queer Horror Story #2: Dexter Bip, a 13 year old boy, got a chain letter in his
mail and ignored it. Later that day, he was hit by a car and so was his
boyfriend (hey, some people swing that way). They both died and went to hell. They continued to suffer in hell where they were both cursed to eat adorable kittens every day for eternity. This could happen to you!!! Remember, you could end up like Pinsley and Bip did. Just send this letter to all of your loser friends, and everything will be Ok.
Chain Letter Type 4: As if you care, here is a poem that I wrote. Send it to
every one of your friends.
Friends:
A friend is someone who is always at your side,
A friend is someone who likes you even though you smell like poop,
A friend is someone who likes you even though you're disgustingly ugly,
A friend is someone who cleans up for you after you've soiled yourself,
A friend is someone who stays with you all night while you cry about your loser life,
A friend is someone who pretends they like you when they really think you should be raped by a mad goat and then thrown to vicious dogs,
A friend is someone who scrubs your toilet and vacuums and then gets the check and leaves and doesn't speak much English, no sorry that's the cleaning lady,
A friend is not someone who sends you chain letters because he wants his wish of being rich to come true. Now pass this on! If you don't, you'll be eaten by wild mutts!
There. Now that we've covered and dumped on the four main types of chain
letters, onto the ironic part. In order for this to get any popularity, send it
on!!! If you don't think it was funny at all, don't bother, but otherwise,
forward this sucker to everyone you know!! If you don't, I don't care, but why not show this around? Take two minutes and forward it. Thanks! Remember, the moral of the story is, if you get a chain letter, ignore it. If it's a joke or something, send it, sure, but if it's gonna make people feel guilty (i.e. the willieless boy from Baklaliviatatlaglooshen) or nervous (i.e. Miranda Pinsley who ended up in a waterfall of turds) just delete it. Do yourself a favor, and everyone else in the world, and say:
FUCK CHAIN LETTERS!!
In other news, my ear is twitching annoyingly.
I'm really not sure how I feel about this whole ANZAC thing. Maybe its because my family's never really been into that whole war thing, and although Poppa was born into the military, literally, there was never much made of wars in my whanau.
The thing that really grates me is the propaganda power of the whole thing. Its frowned upon to criticise a historical war when there are those still living who remember it or were a part, its as if we are somehow betraying the memory of those who died. While not wanting to start a fight, I think its wrong to accept things just because we've always been told they're right, thats where bigotry gets made. Question everything, thats my motto.
Except the healing power of chocolate, that is beyond questioning.
My Grandad and his mate made the big drive from Reefton to Greymouth to volunteer for WW2, but Grandad got turned down, something about a gammy leg. I guess I should be thankful for my gammy genes, better than none at all!
Things that are pissing me off.....
Apparently telling someone not to post smutty things on blogs about me makes me crazy. No, the fact that I hallucinate, talk to myself, and have a very interesting variation of brain chemistry, that makes me crazy.
Asking people to have some semblance of proprietry makes me acceptable in polite society.
Crap spammy chain emails. Yes Jamilla, I mean you. Here is my response, c/o fishboy
Send Me Chainmail -- This is What I Think
Hello, my name is Alfonso Merkin. I am suffering from rare and deadly diseases, poor scores on final exams, lack of sexual activity, fear of being kidnapped and executed by anal electrocution, and guilt for not sending out 50 billion fucking forwards sent to me by people who actually believe that if you send them, that poor 6 year old girl in Arkansas with lung cancer brought on by second-hand smoke from the cigarettes smoked by the big bad men who kidnapped her and took pornographic pictures of her for use on their child pornography web site will get 6 fucking cents every time you send me the letter.
Do you honestly believe that Bill Gates is going to give you and everyone you
send "his" email to $1000? How fucking stupid are you? Oh, lookey here! If I
scroll down this page and make a wish, I'll get laid by every Victoria's Secret
model in the catalog! What a bunch of bullshit. So basically, this message is a
big FUCK YOU to all the people out there who have nothing better to do than to send me stupid chain mail forwards. Maybe the evil chain letter leprechauns will come into my apartment and sodomize me in my sleep for not continuing the chain which was started by Jesus in 5 A.D. and was brought to this country by midget pilgrims on the Mayflower and if it makes it to the year 2000, it'll be in the Guinness Book of World Records for longest continuous streak of blatant stupidity.
Fuck them. If you're going to forward something, at least send something mildly amusing. I've seen all the "send this to 50 of your closest friends, and this poor, wretched excuse for a human being will somehow receive a nickel from some 'omniscient being'" forwards about 90 times. I don't fucking care. Show a little intelligence and think about what you're actually contributing to by sending out forwards. Chances are it's your own unpopularity. P.S. Please forward this to at least 50 of your best friends!
THE FOUR BASIC TYPES OF CHAIN LETTERS:
Chain Letter Type 1 (scroll down)
Make a wish!!!
Really, go on and make one!!!
Oh please, they'll never go out with you!!!
Wish something else!!!
Not that, you pervert!!
Is your finger getting tired yet?
STOP!!!! Wasn't that fun? Hope you made a great wish.
Now, to make you feel guilty, here's what I'll do. First of all, if you don't send this to 5096 people in the next 5 seconds, you will be raped by a mad goat and then thrown off a high building into a pile of manure.
It's true! Because, THIS letter isn't like all of those fake ones, THIS one is TRUE!! Really!!! Here's how it goes:
*Send this to 1 person: One person will be pissed off at you for sending them a stupid chain letter.
*Send this to 2-5 people: 2-5 people will be pissed off at you for sending them a stupid chain letter.
*Send this to 5-10 people: 5-10 people will be pissed off at you for sending
them a stupid chain letter.
*Send this to 10-20 people: 10-20 people will be pissed off at you for sending them a stupid chain letter. Thanks!!!! Good Luck!!!
Chain Letter Type 2: Hello, and thank you for reading this letter. You see,
there is a starving little boy in Baklaliviatatlaglooshen who has no arms, no
legs, no parents, and no goats. This little boy's life could be saved, because
for every time you pass this on, a dollar will be donated to the Little Starving
Legless Armless Goatless Boy from Baklaliviatatlaglooshen Fund. Remember, we have no way of counting letters sent and this is all bull. So go on, reach out.
Send this to 5 people in the next 47 seconds. Oh, and a reminder - if you
accidentally send this to 4 or 6 people, you will die instantly. Thanks again!!
Chain Letter Type 3: Hi there!! This chain letter has been in existence since 1897. This is absolutely incredible because there was no email then and probably not as many little 8-year-olds writing chain letters. So this is how it works. Pass this on to 15,067 people in the next 7 minutes or something horrible will happen to you like:
Queer Horror Story #1 Miranda Pinsley was walking home from school on Saturday. She had recently received this letter and ignored it. She then tripped in a crack in the sidewalk, fell into the sewer, was gushed down a drainpipe in a flood of shit, and went flying out over a waterfall. Not only did she smell nasty, she died. This Could Happen To You!!!
Queer Horror Story #2: Dexter Bip, a 13 year old boy, got a chain letter in his
mail and ignored it. Later that day, he was hit by a car and so was his
boyfriend (hey, some people swing that way). They both died and went to hell. They continued to suffer in hell where they were both cursed to eat adorable kittens every day for eternity. This could happen to you!!! Remember, you could end up like Pinsley and Bip did. Just send this letter to all of your loser friends, and everything will be Ok.
Chain Letter Type 4: As if you care, here is a poem that I wrote. Send it to
every one of your friends.
Friends:
A friend is someone who is always at your side,
A friend is someone who likes you even though you smell like poop,
A friend is someone who likes you even though you're disgustingly ugly,
A friend is someone who cleans up for you after you've soiled yourself,
A friend is someone who stays with you all night while you cry about your loser life,
A friend is someone who pretends they like you when they really think you should be raped by a mad goat and then thrown to vicious dogs,
A friend is someone who scrubs your toilet and vacuums and then gets the check and leaves and doesn't speak much English, no sorry that's the cleaning lady,
A friend is not someone who sends you chain letters because he wants his wish of being rich to come true. Now pass this on! If you don't, you'll be eaten by wild mutts!
There. Now that we've covered and dumped on the four main types of chain
letters, onto the ironic part. In order for this to get any popularity, send it
on!!! If you don't think it was funny at all, don't bother, but otherwise,
forward this sucker to everyone you know!! If you don't, I don't care, but why not show this around? Take two minutes and forward it. Thanks! Remember, the moral of the story is, if you get a chain letter, ignore it. If it's a joke or something, send it, sure, but if it's gonna make people feel guilty (i.e. the willieless boy from Baklaliviatatlaglooshen) or nervous (i.e. Miranda Pinsley who ended up in a waterfall of turds) just delete it. Do yourself a favor, and everyone else in the world, and say:
FUCK CHAIN LETTERS!!
In other news, my ear is twitching annoyingly.
Saturday, April 24, 2004
Guess whos back (ta da da)
Back again (ta da da)....
It really sucks leaving Wanaka. I'm thinking though, that when thesis gets to crunch time, given the hideous hours I will be working on the bloody thing, its entirely conceivable to just take the old laptop down there, and crank it. It would make it considerably less painful, looking out the window at the view, better than stuck in this fucking department anyway!!
An interesting night was had on Monday in Wanaka, after some vino we went into town (such as it is) and drank some harvey wallbangers, hung out with some travellers, and attempted to get a taxi back home. Plan was thwarted however, by the taxi driver (yes, there is only one in the off season) being all tucked up in bed. Those who have been to my house in Wanaka will be no doubt aware of the considerable distance between Wanaka central and home, and yes, we had to walk. Luckily we had toi toi and random phonecalls to sleeping sober people to keep us amused. Sorry Ian.
Bianca submitted her phd thesis on Thursday. Am very impressed, and a little jealous. To celebrate, on Friday all the girls got all frocked up and went for cocktails at Home (2 for 1 cocktails until 8pm, hot barman, very nice), and drank far too much. Just for a change. After a trip to Tulsi for the obligatory curry, me & Sarah found ourselves at the God-Awful-Make-it-Stop shithole that is Legends to find Tam, inhaled a vodka, and ran away as fast as our stylish yet functional high heels could take us. Back to Home for some more cosmopolitans, unfortunately the tasty barman had gone. Pants. The evening was rounded off nicely by a drunken ramble to the nice taxi driver, who was telling me about her kids, and, yes, a pie. I am the Pie Monster.
In other news, Starsky and Hutch rules.
That is all.
Back again (ta da da)....
It really sucks leaving Wanaka. I'm thinking though, that when thesis gets to crunch time, given the hideous hours I will be working on the bloody thing, its entirely conceivable to just take the old laptop down there, and crank it. It would make it considerably less painful, looking out the window at the view, better than stuck in this fucking department anyway!!
An interesting night was had on Monday in Wanaka, after some vino we went into town (such as it is) and drank some harvey wallbangers, hung out with some travellers, and attempted to get a taxi back home. Plan was thwarted however, by the taxi driver (yes, there is only one in the off season) being all tucked up in bed. Those who have been to my house in Wanaka will be no doubt aware of the considerable distance between Wanaka central and home, and yes, we had to walk. Luckily we had toi toi and random phonecalls to sleeping sober people to keep us amused. Sorry Ian.
Bianca submitted her phd thesis on Thursday. Am very impressed, and a little jealous. To celebrate, on Friday all the girls got all frocked up and went for cocktails at Home (2 for 1 cocktails until 8pm, hot barman, very nice), and drank far too much. Just for a change. After a trip to Tulsi for the obligatory curry, me & Sarah found ourselves at the God-Awful-Make-it-Stop shithole that is Legends to find Tam, inhaled a vodka, and ran away as fast as our stylish yet functional high heels could take us. Back to Home for some more cosmopolitans, unfortunately the tasty barman had gone. Pants. The evening was rounded off nicely by a drunken ramble to the nice taxi driver, who was telling me about her kids, and, yes, a pie. I am the Pie Monster.
In other news, Starsky and Hutch rules.
That is all.
Sunday, April 18, 2004
Wanaka Rules
So myself, Tamara and Anna arrived in Wanaka, relatively unscathed. I am writing this from the comfort of my laptop in the Wanaka house, Tams in the kitchen making me a Vanilla Absolut with cranberry and Schweppes with a touch of red grapefruit (number three, bring it!), and we have just devoured a dinner of chicken and wedges; Shrek is on the telly, the floor heating is on, the spa is heating as we speak, and tomorrow we have every intention of walking up the Rob Roy Glacier track in the Matukituki valley, over the other side of the lake. Or we might just end up at the Rippon vineyard, cos, well, we can. Ha. Life doesn't get much better.
Sometimes you just have those days when you realise that life is actually, really fucking good, and we are so lucky to live in the most beautiful country in the world, and we are young, and fabulous, and mobile, and we can do these things at a moments notice, and we almost feel like we have an obligation to live life to the fullest, because those who don't have these opportunities would expect us to make the most out of our lives, and so we do. Today is one of those days.
Or it could be the vodka talking. Hey.
New Zealand rules. Yay.
So myself, Tamara and Anna arrived in Wanaka, relatively unscathed. I am writing this from the comfort of my laptop in the Wanaka house, Tams in the kitchen making me a Vanilla Absolut with cranberry and Schweppes with a touch of red grapefruit (number three, bring it!), and we have just devoured a dinner of chicken and wedges; Shrek is on the telly, the floor heating is on, the spa is heating as we speak, and tomorrow we have every intention of walking up the Rob Roy Glacier track in the Matukituki valley, over the other side of the lake. Or we might just end up at the Rippon vineyard, cos, well, we can. Ha. Life doesn't get much better.
Sometimes you just have those days when you realise that life is actually, really fucking good, and we are so lucky to live in the most beautiful country in the world, and we are young, and fabulous, and mobile, and we can do these things at a moments notice, and we almost feel like we have an obligation to live life to the fullest, because those who don't have these opportunities would expect us to make the most out of our lives, and so we do. Today is one of those days.
Or it could be the vodka talking. Hey.
New Zealand rules. Yay.
Friday, April 16, 2004
75 days.
It sounds like a lot, really, when you put it like that, but I guess that the fact I'm now counting in days, instead of months, does not bode well for stress levels.
I'm having that interesting kind of stress at the moment, where I'm really stressed about the fact that I'm not nearly stressed enough about my thesis.
I got sprung by my sister today, calling her to talk about catering options for Dad's 60th, which is in July, to which she responded "Stop stalling and do your bloody thesis". Busted.
Todays project has involved attempting to write my CV, for the only-govt-job-I-actually-want, go the mighty graduate recruitment. Its really quite difficult to write a CV that says "I really want this fucking job please give it to me even though my grade point average is arse and I was never president of the debating club or toastmasters and I don't have a law degree and I don't speak fluent Farsi but if you want I can learn I really want this job would you like my firstborn", without actually saying that. One wants their CV to imply all this, without being so explicit. Also without sounding like a desperate old cow, searching for that elusive ticket out of Last-Chanceville, via the This Could be Your Last Hope Grandma holiday park.
2 years and 1 month and 2 days. Although apparently 40 is the new thirty, so I'm not quite sure what that makes the old thirty. Maybe the new 20? So, in 2 years, 1 month and two days, do I get to be a skinny clueless 3rd year uni student without a penny to my name, living in the most hideous flat complex in the city, sharing the kitchen with a mouse called John, smoking a packet of Marlboro a day, and drinking vodka before noon?
Shit, I really hope not. I'm kind of glad to see the back of that era, but I'm not sure I'm ready for my thirties.
Oh God, you know what I'm turning into!!! Hell, it can't be all bad, she has a job. And Colin Firth.
In other news, Stephen and Elizabeth are having a baby. Yay!! In Australia. Pants.
Road trip on Sunday. Look out Wanaka, here we come!!!
It sounds like a lot, really, when you put it like that, but I guess that the fact I'm now counting in days, instead of months, does not bode well for stress levels.
I'm having that interesting kind of stress at the moment, where I'm really stressed about the fact that I'm not nearly stressed enough about my thesis.
I got sprung by my sister today, calling her to talk about catering options for Dad's 60th, which is in July, to which she responded "Stop stalling and do your bloody thesis". Busted.
Todays project has involved attempting to write my CV, for the only-govt-job-I-actually-want, go the mighty graduate recruitment. Its really quite difficult to write a CV that says "I really want this fucking job please give it to me even though my grade point average is arse and I was never president of the debating club or toastmasters and I don't have a law degree and I don't speak fluent Farsi but if you want I can learn I really want this job would you like my firstborn", without actually saying that. One wants their CV to imply all this, without being so explicit. Also without sounding like a desperate old cow, searching for that elusive ticket out of Last-Chanceville, via the This Could be Your Last Hope Grandma holiday park.
2 years and 1 month and 2 days. Although apparently 40 is the new thirty, so I'm not quite sure what that makes the old thirty. Maybe the new 20? So, in 2 years, 1 month and two days, do I get to be a skinny clueless 3rd year uni student without a penny to my name, living in the most hideous flat complex in the city, sharing the kitchen with a mouse called John, smoking a packet of Marlboro a day, and drinking vodka before noon?
Shit, I really hope not. I'm kind of glad to see the back of that era, but I'm not sure I'm ready for my thirties.
Oh God, you know what I'm turning into!!! Hell, it can't be all bad, she has a job. And Colin Firth.
In other news, Stephen and Elizabeth are having a baby. Yay!! In Australia. Pants.
Road trip on Sunday. Look out Wanaka, here we come!!!
Monday, April 12, 2004
Ways in Which I Feel Shitty
1)My tonsils are the size of golf balls. Really. I looked in the mirror this morning to get a glimpse of them, and recoiled in horror.
2)I have aches and pains in places where I didn't think I had pain receptors. Like internal organs. Can your kidneys get a cold?
3)The snot is coming. I can feel it.
4)My lungs weigh about 10kg each, but when I cough, I am possessed by the spirit of my late dog, and this horrific deathly bark comes out instead.
5)My whole family is out of town, therefore no parental or sibling sympathy.
6)My head is going Boom Boom, and not even Disprin Max is helping.
7)For some reason, I appear to be watching Home and Away. Oh dear.
8)Inside my ears is really sore.
9)I haven't done nearly enough work on my thesis this weekend.
10)I have that icky punched in the stomach kind of nausea, the kind that comes when you know theres a real stinker of a cold on its way, and there ain't a damn thing you can do about it.
Also, er is not on tonight. Suck.
To counter: Things that are cool
1) As of tomorrow, I have the house to myself.
2)My slippers rule.
3)Going to the supermarket for lemonade in said slippers, dodgy trackies and 10 year old hoodie.
4)Useless movie quotes.
4-10. Not too bad, considering.
1)My tonsils are the size of golf balls. Really. I looked in the mirror this morning to get a glimpse of them, and recoiled in horror.
2)I have aches and pains in places where I didn't think I had pain receptors. Like internal organs. Can your kidneys get a cold?
3)The snot is coming. I can feel it.
4)My lungs weigh about 10kg each, but when I cough, I am possessed by the spirit of my late dog, and this horrific deathly bark comes out instead.
5)My whole family is out of town, therefore no parental or sibling sympathy.
6)My head is going Boom Boom, and not even Disprin Max is helping.
7)For some reason, I appear to be watching Home and Away. Oh dear.
8)Inside my ears is really sore.
9)I haven't done nearly enough work on my thesis this weekend.
10)I have that icky punched in the stomach kind of nausea, the kind that comes when you know theres a real stinker of a cold on its way, and there ain't a damn thing you can do about it.
Also, er is not on tonight. Suck.
To counter: Things that are cool
1) As of tomorrow, I have the house to myself.
2)My slippers rule.
3)Going to the supermarket for lemonade in said slippers, dodgy trackies and 10 year old hoodie.
4)Useless movie quotes.
4-10. Not too bad, considering.
Friday, April 09, 2004
Julius Caesar has a blog.
And then...
A little revisionist history:
After personally landing his jet fighter on the USS Buck Passer, President Bush gave an earthshattering speech. "Admiral Kelly, Captain Card, officers and sailors of the USS Buck Passer, my fellow 'muricans: a major FUBAR in Iraq has just begun. In the battle of Iraq, the United States and our allies have really fucked things up. (Applause.) And now our campaign donors are engaged in securing contracts and pretending to reconstruct that country while not getting too shot up." via.
Anyway, I've been faffing about on this new-fangled internet thing, and found a cool blog. I like her style.
Sarah tried to join me up on NZ dating.com. One of two things is happening here. Either, shes sick of hanging around with me all the time and wants me to get a boyfriend, or shes attempting to live vicariously through me. I'm hoping its #2 there, if so, I think I'll join her up. Might be good for shits and giggles. See who (or what!) they set her up with.
In other news, my thesis has had about 1 hours attention all day. I did manage to watch, with the assistance of the aforementioned Sarah, "Runaway Jury" (John Cusack is scrummy. And the perfect height for me, 6'4"), "Fatal Attraction" (Men have seen it, and continue to have affairs. What?) and "Scary Movie 2" (Moo!! Motherfucker!!). Much hilarity.
Speaking of movies, I went to see Monster the other day. I wrote a big rant about it, but couldn't post it, flatties on the dog&bone, so here it be.
Motherfucker.
What a….thing.
I have just come from watching “Monster”, am gradually beginning to recover from the initial stunned mullet phase, and am attempting to summon appropriate superlatives for descriptive purposes.
Its almost like you can’t talk about it properly.
Its not a movie you enjoy; like “Requiem for a Dream” and “Boys Don’t Cry”, it is something you rather experience, and appreciate.
There has been much talk about the film’s leading lady, and how the only way a woman can be taken seriously as an actress is to get all “uglied up”, but I am stunned at her performance. There is only so much that prosthetics can do to a face, but to turn such a beautiful woman into that character takes some significant….I don’t know what it is, but from looking at her face, you can see that she radiates ugliness, and not in a mean way, but an ugliness that is a reaction to the treatment she has received from the world. In repose, you can see glimpses of the actress you see in the magazines, all blonde and blue-eyed and beautiful, but as soon as she speaks, or even moves, all traces vanish, and she becomes this other thing.
It certainly raises many questions about the reason why people are the way they are, and whether should she have been granted a certain leniency given the life she was thrown into, but I don’t think I even want to go there, not yet anyway.
I do wonder though, if a similar treatment of a male character in the same situation would raise the same questions. Not that it’s a reverse type of misogyny, but do we believe that women are more bound by their circumstances than men?
Or perhaps the question is, is it possible for a man to live the same life as she did? Can a man be made such a victim of those around him?
Maybe that’s the difference between her and all the other poor sad women who live similar lives: she refused to become a victim.
I refuse to believe that we are not masters of our own destiny, but sometimes its hard to gauge what decision you are making. Sometimes the really small ones are the ones that change the course of your whole life.
And of course life throws all sorts of interesting things in our paths along the way.
This is all a bit too philosophical for this hour of the day really.
I’m going to bed now, hopefully by tomorrow I’ll have thought of some funny jokes, liven things up a bit.
Snuggles.
Still can't seem to properly get my head around it.
That happens quite a lot, its a curse being a simple wee creature.
Its 1.25am, and The X Files is on. Oh, how the mighty have fallen!
And then...
A little revisionist history:
After personally landing his jet fighter on the USS Buck Passer, President Bush gave an earthshattering speech. "Admiral Kelly, Captain Card, officers and sailors of the USS Buck Passer, my fellow 'muricans: a major FUBAR in Iraq has just begun. In the battle of Iraq, the United States and our allies have really fucked things up. (Applause.) And now our campaign donors are engaged in securing contracts and pretending to reconstruct that country while not getting too shot up." via.
Anyway, I've been faffing about on this new-fangled internet thing, and found a cool blog. I like her style.
Sarah tried to join me up on NZ dating.com. One of two things is happening here. Either, shes sick of hanging around with me all the time and wants me to get a boyfriend, or shes attempting to live vicariously through me. I'm hoping its #2 there, if so, I think I'll join her up. Might be good for shits and giggles. See who (or what!) they set her up with.
In other news, my thesis has had about 1 hours attention all day. I did manage to watch, with the assistance of the aforementioned Sarah, "Runaway Jury" (John Cusack is scrummy. And the perfect height for me, 6'4"), "Fatal Attraction" (Men have seen it, and continue to have affairs. What?) and "Scary Movie 2" (Moo!! Motherfucker!!). Much hilarity.
Speaking of movies, I went to see Monster the other day. I wrote a big rant about it, but couldn't post it, flatties on the dog&bone, so here it be.
Motherfucker.
What a….thing.
I have just come from watching “Monster”, am gradually beginning to recover from the initial stunned mullet phase, and am attempting to summon appropriate superlatives for descriptive purposes.
Its almost like you can’t talk about it properly.
Its not a movie you enjoy; like “Requiem for a Dream” and “Boys Don’t Cry”, it is something you rather experience, and appreciate.
There has been much talk about the film’s leading lady, and how the only way a woman can be taken seriously as an actress is to get all “uglied up”, but I am stunned at her performance. There is only so much that prosthetics can do to a face, but to turn such a beautiful woman into that character takes some significant….I don’t know what it is, but from looking at her face, you can see that she radiates ugliness, and not in a mean way, but an ugliness that is a reaction to the treatment she has received from the world. In repose, you can see glimpses of the actress you see in the magazines, all blonde and blue-eyed and beautiful, but as soon as she speaks, or even moves, all traces vanish, and she becomes this other thing.
It certainly raises many questions about the reason why people are the way they are, and whether should she have been granted a certain leniency given the life she was thrown into, but I don’t think I even want to go there, not yet anyway.
I do wonder though, if a similar treatment of a male character in the same situation would raise the same questions. Not that it’s a reverse type of misogyny, but do we believe that women are more bound by their circumstances than men?
Or perhaps the question is, is it possible for a man to live the same life as she did? Can a man be made such a victim of those around him?
Maybe that’s the difference between her and all the other poor sad women who live similar lives: she refused to become a victim.
I refuse to believe that we are not masters of our own destiny, but sometimes its hard to gauge what decision you are making. Sometimes the really small ones are the ones that change the course of your whole life.
And of course life throws all sorts of interesting things in our paths along the way.
This is all a bit too philosophical for this hour of the day really.
I’m going to bed now, hopefully by tomorrow I’ll have thought of some funny jokes, liven things up a bit.
Snuggles.
Still can't seem to properly get my head around it.
That happens quite a lot, its a curse being a simple wee creature.
Its 1.25am, and The X Files is on. Oh, how the mighty have fallen!
Monday, April 05, 2004
On the Weekend That Was
Yes, I know its Tuesday, but as far as I'm concerned, I deserved another Sunday after that weekend, so I renamed Monday. It shall henceforth be known as "Sunday II: The Revenge of the Weekend". Or in my case, "Day for cleaning up house that got an industrial strength catering pack trashing on Friday night, followed by a decent additional messing up of on Sunday, compounded by an inability to clean up Friday's trashing on Saturday due to severe hangover". Not a very catchy title though.
After the much-hyped Bus Trip failed to materialise, c/o- The Texas Party Bus, who apparently now owe us a free bus trip, there was the aforementioned trashing of the Green Room, including the cracking of one flatmate's window, and the eating of another flatmates cheese (Not happy flatties!!). Ben did, however, reclaim his rightful place on the sofa. It was also a pretty cool party, well the bits that I remember were anyway.
Saturday consisted of some sleeping, a tiny bit of tidying, and a lot of hangover, followed by work, which was just buckets of fun.
Sample incident:
Old Lady: I'll have the scallops
Me: OK, one scallops then. I'll get you some scallops. Scallops it is then. Righty-ho, bring on the scallops.
Old Lady: Thank you, I'm very much looking forward to my scallops.
(upon arrival of meal)
Me: Here are your scallops then
Old Lady: No, I didn't want that, I ordered the calamari.
Me: Oh silly me, I thought that when you ordered the scallops you actually wanted to have scallops, and that when I repeated the order back to you, ie "scallops" and you said "Yes", I foolishly thought that it was scallops that you wanted for your dinner. How frightfully dim of me to assume that it was the scallops you wanted. I should have known that you wanted calamari. It should have been blindingly obvious that you wanted calamari when you ordered scallops, YOU STUPID OLD COW JUST EAT THE FUCKING SCALLOPS YOU WHINGING OLD BAT AND I HOPE YOU FUCKING CHOKE ON THEM AND FUCK OFF AND LEAVE ME ALONE DON'T YOU KNOW I HAVE A FUCKING HANGOVER FROM HELL FUCK OFF AND SHOVE YOUR FUCKING SCALLOPS UP YOUR WITHERED OLD ARSE YOU FUCKING PAIN IN MY FUCKING ARSE!!!!!
So that was nice.
After work it was the farewell of the Artist Formerly Known as Fishboy, I arrived and all were in varying stages of intoxication, but there was pizza, so I was happy.
Then Sunday came around, and Pols kicked some History arse (again, I mean, like you thought there was any hope?!). I did a pretty good impersonation of Adam's personal target, which was just jolly, and then Mark burnt some sausages.
All in all, it was a weekend of two days (that ended up being nearly four), and the liquor industry was the winner on the day.
I'm hoping you will all come to visit me in rehab.
Yes, I know its Tuesday, but as far as I'm concerned, I deserved another Sunday after that weekend, so I renamed Monday. It shall henceforth be known as "Sunday II: The Revenge of the Weekend". Or in my case, "Day for cleaning up house that got an industrial strength catering pack trashing on Friday night, followed by a decent additional messing up of on Sunday, compounded by an inability to clean up Friday's trashing on Saturday due to severe hangover". Not a very catchy title though.
After the much-hyped Bus Trip failed to materialise, c/o- The Texas Party Bus, who apparently now owe us a free bus trip, there was the aforementioned trashing of the Green Room, including the cracking of one flatmate's window, and the eating of another flatmates cheese (Not happy flatties!!). Ben did, however, reclaim his rightful place on the sofa. It was also a pretty cool party, well the bits that I remember were anyway.
Saturday consisted of some sleeping, a tiny bit of tidying, and a lot of hangover, followed by work, which was just buckets of fun.
Sample incident:
Old Lady: I'll have the scallops
Me: OK, one scallops then. I'll get you some scallops. Scallops it is then. Righty-ho, bring on the scallops.
Old Lady: Thank you, I'm very much looking forward to my scallops.
(upon arrival of meal)
Me: Here are your scallops then
Old Lady: No, I didn't want that, I ordered the calamari.
Me: Oh silly me, I thought that when you ordered the scallops you actually wanted to have scallops, and that when I repeated the order back to you, ie "scallops" and you said "Yes", I foolishly thought that it was scallops that you wanted for your dinner. How frightfully dim of me to assume that it was the scallops you wanted. I should have known that you wanted calamari. It should have been blindingly obvious that you wanted calamari when you ordered scallops, YOU STUPID OLD COW JUST EAT THE FUCKING SCALLOPS YOU WHINGING OLD BAT AND I HOPE YOU FUCKING CHOKE ON THEM AND FUCK OFF AND LEAVE ME ALONE DON'T YOU KNOW I HAVE A FUCKING HANGOVER FROM HELL FUCK OFF AND SHOVE YOUR FUCKING SCALLOPS UP YOUR WITHERED OLD ARSE YOU FUCKING PAIN IN MY FUCKING ARSE!!!!!
So that was nice.
After work it was the farewell of the Artist Formerly Known as Fishboy, I arrived and all were in varying stages of intoxication, but there was pizza, so I was happy.
Then Sunday came around, and Pols kicked some History arse (again, I mean, like you thought there was any hope?!). I did a pretty good impersonation of Adam's personal target, which was just jolly, and then Mark burnt some sausages.
All in all, it was a weekend of two days (that ended up being nearly four), and the liquor industry was the winner on the day.
I'm hoping you will all come to visit me in rehab.
Thursday, April 01, 2004
Coolest name for a band I've heard all week: The Eagles of Death Metal. Definately up there with Imitation Crabmeat, and Tim's contribution, Nasal Enema.
So if the whole saving the world, one structural adjustment policy at a time thing falls through, I think I'll become a singer in a metal band called Nasal Enema. Or I could join my mate, old Josh, from the Eagles of Death Metal, who we met at Big Day Out 03. Nice bloke, for a ginga.
In other news, today is the day we have all been waiting for, yes, the mighty bus trip. I'm just hoping that it doesn't suck too badly. Given my tendancy to focus on the REALLY IMPORTANT stuff, I've spent many an hour making up a compilation cd, and now of course, I realise that without some Datsuns and Eminem its really not complete, so after picking up my laptop this afternoon, I'll be sure to make up another compilation album.
I'll get round to my thesis eventually. Maybe.
Stay tuned for the imminent arrival of Lettuce. Those concerned know what I'm talking about.
So if the whole saving the world, one structural adjustment policy at a time thing falls through, I think I'll become a singer in a metal band called Nasal Enema. Or I could join my mate, old Josh, from the Eagles of Death Metal, who we met at Big Day Out 03. Nice bloke, for a ginga.
In other news, today is the day we have all been waiting for, yes, the mighty bus trip. I'm just hoping that it doesn't suck too badly. Given my tendancy to focus on the REALLY IMPORTANT stuff, I've spent many an hour making up a compilation cd, and now of course, I realise that without some Datsuns and Eminem its really not complete, so after picking up my laptop this afternoon, I'll be sure to make up another compilation album.
I'll get round to my thesis eventually. Maybe.
Stay tuned for the imminent arrival of Lettuce. Those concerned know what I'm talking about.
Wednesday, March 31, 2004
c/o- Hester, the coolest knickers I've seen all day.
Speaking of Hester, the idea has been mooted of a collective blog, one that all the Kids can contribute too. I'm quite taken with the idea.
The whole idea of a blog as an interactive space within which we can communicate and ramble is very appealing to me, although I'm sure its an old concept for the more technologically literate amongst us. Hell, I'm still impressed with email!! You never know, we might even get an audience!!
I went to the orchestra last night, they played some Mahler. You know its a bad sign when the programme mentions that the final movement is unsatisfactory, but I thought it was ok.
In truth, the only reason I went was for my cousin. A while ago, the position of principal (actually the only) cor anglais player came up, and she auditioned. Unfortunately, the dumb-arses gave the job to this other guy, who then proceeded to take 7 months off to travel around the world with his girlfriend, and audition for a bunch of other orchestras. While he was away, the NZSO came to their senses, shipped my cousin over from London and gave her his job on a temporary basis, she is listed in the programmes as "long-term contract player", until he returned. Which he now has. Now I know I'm a little biased, but my cousin is The Shit. Not only did she get into the Royal College of Music in London, that people sell organs to get into, but she got a scholarship. She has toured Europe with Bryn Terfel (famous Welsh singer), played in orchestras across the UK, played the LOTR score with Howard Shore, and is generally overflowing with prodigous musical talents. Now this tosser is back to take up his position, the rest of the orchestra don't like him cos hes such a poser, and my poor cousin has been reduced to 3rd oboe, compounded by the fact that she now has to sit next to him when they play. Arse. Hopefully some other deluded orchestra will give this guy a job so my cousin can reclaim what is rightfully hers. Either that or cor anglais guy will have a nasty accident. Maybe I need to have a word to some people....
And to rub salt into the wound, he's got really stupid hair.
Oh the humanity.
Speaking of Hester, the idea has been mooted of a collective blog, one that all the Kids can contribute too. I'm quite taken with the idea.
The whole idea of a blog as an interactive space within which we can communicate and ramble is very appealing to me, although I'm sure its an old concept for the more technologically literate amongst us. Hell, I'm still impressed with email!! You never know, we might even get an audience!!
I went to the orchestra last night, they played some Mahler. You know its a bad sign when the programme mentions that the final movement is unsatisfactory, but I thought it was ok.
In truth, the only reason I went was for my cousin. A while ago, the position of principal (actually the only) cor anglais player came up, and she auditioned. Unfortunately, the dumb-arses gave the job to this other guy, who then proceeded to take 7 months off to travel around the world with his girlfriend, and audition for a bunch of other orchestras. While he was away, the NZSO came to their senses, shipped my cousin over from London and gave her his job on a temporary basis, she is listed in the programmes as "long-term contract player", until he returned. Which he now has. Now I know I'm a little biased, but my cousin is The Shit. Not only did she get into the Royal College of Music in London, that people sell organs to get into, but she got a scholarship. She has toured Europe with Bryn Terfel (famous Welsh singer), played in orchestras across the UK, played the LOTR score with Howard Shore, and is generally overflowing with prodigous musical talents. Now this tosser is back to take up his position, the rest of the orchestra don't like him cos hes such a poser, and my poor cousin has been reduced to 3rd oboe, compounded by the fact that she now has to sit next to him when they play. Arse. Hopefully some other deluded orchestra will give this guy a job so my cousin can reclaim what is rightfully hers. Either that or cor anglais guy will have a nasty accident. Maybe I need to have a word to some people....
And to rub salt into the wound, he's got really stupid hair.
Oh the humanity.
Tuesday, March 30, 2004
Wednesday.
Well all credit to Tim for his computer knowhow etc, but as it transpires the mighty Satellite does not, in fact, have the blaster virus, it is just a bit gammy. It has now been unplugged from the drip, visitors are allowed, and the Notifiable Diseases authorities have been contacted.
Rest assured that there was indeed, sufficient anti-virus thingies installed in said laptop, but now, there are even more.
So it wasn't my fault, I feel it is very important to clear that up.
Its still, however, in the shop, getting everything reinstalled, apparently there has been a bit of a prob with Internet Explorer, so the nice men who speak computer are fixing it.
I'm really starting to miss having the computer around, but not because I've been doing loads of work on it, in the absence of a CD player in my office, I have been using it as a walkman. Maybe SitWoman would be a more appropriate term, but tunes are good, and help you write. Especially really loud ones.
And this is just too cool to pass up.
And Goblin, I've figured out why Hester is a gnome too. Apparently I am an Itinerant Cave Dweller. Bring it.
Well all credit to Tim for his computer knowhow etc, but as it transpires the mighty Satellite does not, in fact, have the blaster virus, it is just a bit gammy. It has now been unplugged from the drip, visitors are allowed, and the Notifiable Diseases authorities have been contacted.
Rest assured that there was indeed, sufficient anti-virus thingies installed in said laptop, but now, there are even more.
So it wasn't my fault, I feel it is very important to clear that up.
Its still, however, in the shop, getting everything reinstalled, apparently there has been a bit of a prob with Internet Explorer, so the nice men who speak computer are fixing it.
I'm really starting to miss having the computer around, but not because I've been doing loads of work on it, in the absence of a CD player in my office, I have been using it as a walkman. Maybe SitWoman would be a more appropriate term, but tunes are good, and help you write. Especially really loud ones.
And this is just too cool to pass up.
And Goblin, I've figured out why Hester is a gnome too. Apparently I am an Itinerant Cave Dweller. Bring it.
Monday, March 29, 2004
Sunday, March 28, 2004
I must admit, I am a little...maybe intimidated is the wrong word, somewhere in between impressed and feeling guilty that I am not doing same, but whatever that word is, I am feeling that in regards to my peeps who are currently kicking some thesis arse.
I myself spend the most part of yesterday cleaning my car, inside and out, polishing the windows etc, so yes, the rain is my fault. Sorry.
Gammy computer has returned to the shop to get fixed AGAIN!! Although it has so far escaped being hiffed out the window (4th floor. Expensive tantrum.)
Heres some fun stuff to waste time, I mean broaden your knowledge.
Go do some work Claire.
I myself spend the most part of yesterday cleaning my car, inside and out, polishing the windows etc, so yes, the rain is my fault. Sorry.
Gammy computer has returned to the shop to get fixed AGAIN!! Although it has so far escaped being hiffed out the window (4th floor. Expensive tantrum.)
Heres some fun stuff to waste time, I mean broaden your knowledge.
Go do some work Claire.
Thursday, March 25, 2004
And in other news...
The Classic IQ Test
Congratulations, Claire!
Your IQ score is 135 (WTF?)
This number is based on a scientific formula that compares how many questions you answered correctly on the Classic IQ Test relative to others.
Your Intellectual Type is Visionary Philosopher (I have a vision!! Or maybe a hallucination!!!). This means you are highly intelligent (?) and have a powerful mix of skills and insight that can be applied in a variety of different ways. Like Plato, you like to lounge about on Greek Islands drinking ouzo, also like Plato, your exceptional math (one plus two equals hubcaps, divided by golf makes happy, carry the smurf and you get the square verb of pineapple) and verbal skills (duh, verbalish wotsits?) make you very adept at explaining things to others (This is how its fucking done, just fucking do it and stop fucking bothering me you sad little excuse for a life-form)— and at anticipating and predicting patterns (if I drink this whole bottle of scotch, I predict I will fall over). And that's just some of what we know about you from your IQ results.
We are, however, unable to explain why you are such a dumb-arse, the reasons you forget the most basic things, like the names of people you've known for decades, and why it is well after lunch on a Friday and you are yet to acheive more than faffing about on the internet and making compilation cds on your laptop.
Find out more in your personalized 15-page IQ Report. You'll discover:
* Your hidden intellectual strengths
* How your IQ compares to others
* Exercises to improve your IQ
* Complete answers to all the questions
* The real reasons you fell for our cunning tell-you-you're-smarter-than-you-actually-are-so-you'll-give-us-money ploy
...and more! It's ready right now!
(Provided of course you send us an exorbitant amount of money, preferably your credit card numbers, and your first born would be nice too.)
Last time I did an IQ test I scored a measly 126, but that was the one on the telly, and I don't think they were trying to sell me anything.
The Classic IQ Test
Congratulations, Claire!
Your IQ score is 135 (WTF?)
This number is based on a scientific formula that compares how many questions you answered correctly on the Classic IQ Test relative to others.
Your Intellectual Type is Visionary Philosopher (I have a vision!! Or maybe a hallucination!!!). This means you are highly intelligent (?) and have a powerful mix of skills and insight that can be applied in a variety of different ways. Like Plato, you like to lounge about on Greek Islands drinking ouzo, also like Plato, your exceptional math (one plus two equals hubcaps, divided by golf makes happy, carry the smurf and you get the square verb of pineapple) and verbal skills (duh, verbalish wotsits?) make you very adept at explaining things to others (This is how its fucking done, just fucking do it and stop fucking bothering me you sad little excuse for a life-form)— and at anticipating and predicting patterns (if I drink this whole bottle of scotch, I predict I will fall over). And that's just some of what we know about you from your IQ results.
We are, however, unable to explain why you are such a dumb-arse, the reasons you forget the most basic things, like the names of people you've known for decades, and why it is well after lunch on a Friday and you are yet to acheive more than faffing about on the internet and making compilation cds on your laptop.
Find out more in your personalized 15-page IQ Report. You'll discover:
* Your hidden intellectual strengths
* How your IQ compares to others
* Exercises to improve your IQ
* Complete answers to all the questions
* The real reasons you fell for our cunning tell-you-you're-smarter-than-you-actually-are-so-you'll-give-us-money ploy
...and more! It's ready right now!
(Provided of course you send us an exorbitant amount of money, preferably your credit card numbers, and your first born would be nice too.)
Last time I did an IQ test I scored a measly 126, but that was the one on the telly, and I don't think they were trying to sell me anything.
"Probably the best news my thesis has ever had" - D. A. Searle, 2004
Well this is officially the week that sucks, for many.
There are theses due, there are relationships ending, there are furry friends to be mourned, there are friends leaving us, and there are visitors returning home.
Yes, Tim has gone to Auckland for 5 days, is returning on Wednesday for a whole 3 hours, and is then off on a big plane back to Nova Scotia. Yes, in Canada. Half a world away. Arse.
I'm strangely pragmatic about the entire experience, which is a shock to me more than anything, I'm usually the one with all the half-baked plans, which is why I need Sarah to bring me back to earth in her own unique way. Usually "Fucking sort your shit out you great flake". I'd be completely fucked without her. Yay for Sarahs.
Anyway, its kind of a good feeling, knowing that there may, in fact, be hope for me, and that I'm not necessarily destined for spinsterhood with 43 cats and oversized purple jumpers. Even though the only man I've met in the last five years that I could possibly maybe potentially learn to deal with and won't run out on me after a week or so cos I'm completely fucking crazy is leaving, its nice to know that he exists. One finds comforts in the strangest places. And its nice to finally come across a grain of hope in the train wreck of ones life (sorry about the bad metaphors). Theres a line in "Magnolia" (fine fucking movie if there ever was one) that goes: "We may be finished with the past, but the past is not finished with us". For a long time that was appropriate, but this whole experience of this crazy fucked up beautiful horrible week has taught me that while we are all the sum total of our experiences, it just might be possible to close the door. The person who said "that which does not kill you makes you stronger" had no fucking idea about anything.
Well this is officially the week that sucks, for many.
There are theses due, there are relationships ending, there are furry friends to be mourned, there are friends leaving us, and there are visitors returning home.
Yes, Tim has gone to Auckland for 5 days, is returning on Wednesday for a whole 3 hours, and is then off on a big plane back to Nova Scotia. Yes, in Canada. Half a world away. Arse.
I'm strangely pragmatic about the entire experience, which is a shock to me more than anything, I'm usually the one with all the half-baked plans, which is why I need Sarah to bring me back to earth in her own unique way. Usually "Fucking sort your shit out you great flake". I'd be completely fucked without her. Yay for Sarahs.
Anyway, its kind of a good feeling, knowing that there may, in fact, be hope for me, and that I'm not necessarily destined for spinsterhood with 43 cats and oversized purple jumpers. Even though the only man I've met in the last five years that I could possibly maybe potentially learn to deal with and won't run out on me after a week or so cos I'm completely fucking crazy is leaving, its nice to know that he exists. One finds comforts in the strangest places. And its nice to finally come across a grain of hope in the train wreck of ones life (sorry about the bad metaphors). Theres a line in "Magnolia" (fine fucking movie if there ever was one) that goes: "We may be finished with the past, but the past is not finished with us". For a long time that was appropriate, but this whole experience of this crazy fucked up beautiful horrible week has taught me that while we are all the sum total of our experiences, it just might be possible to close the door. The person who said "that which does not kill you makes you stronger" had no fucking idea about anything.
Sunday, March 21, 2004
The Universe Is Mean.
Without wanting to spend the next few days feeling unduly sorry for oneself, there are still things that must be voiced.
Certain things in ones life, one becomes accustomed to. Those around revel in their bliss, while we have resigned ourselves to the fact that past circumstances beyond our control have placed us outside the candidacy of their romantic joy. And that is fine, because we are blessed beyond measure in other fields.
But when the big mean old universe puts things, or in this case, people, just beyond our reach, it serves to remind us what we don't have. I am a big one for counting my blessings, and I'm happy for the most part with what I have, how could I not be.
However, the last couple of days have been an exercise in sitting through another one of those tests, placed before us to test our strength, that we must endure for some cosmic reason or other.
On the plus side, cos theres always a plus side, its nice to know that there is still hope, and not all the good ones are taken or gay. Its just that maybe all the good ones are off back home to Canada.
And its only Monday. Shit.
Without wanting to spend the next few days feeling unduly sorry for oneself, there are still things that must be voiced.
Certain things in ones life, one becomes accustomed to. Those around revel in their bliss, while we have resigned ourselves to the fact that past circumstances beyond our control have placed us outside the candidacy of their romantic joy. And that is fine, because we are blessed beyond measure in other fields.
But when the big mean old universe puts things, or in this case, people, just beyond our reach, it serves to remind us what we don't have. I am a big one for counting my blessings, and I'm happy for the most part with what I have, how could I not be.
However, the last couple of days have been an exercise in sitting through another one of those tests, placed before us to test our strength, that we must endure for some cosmic reason or other.
On the plus side, cos theres always a plus side, its nice to know that there is still hope, and not all the good ones are taken or gay. Its just that maybe all the good ones are off back home to Canada.
And its only Monday. Shit.
Monday, March 15, 2004
Further to Cardinal's history lesson, I've started predicting the future.
2005: Claire becomes youngest ever President of the World Bank. Debt relief in Sub-Saharan Africa suddenly becomes top priority.
Scientists worldwide suddenly realise the stupidity of devoting time and resources to creating pills that make fat people skinny (stop eating!!)and old men hard (its a sign that you are, in fact, past it), and all band together to create low cost safe child immunisations, a reliable contraceptive pill and both a cure and vaccination for the Aids virus. Much joy ensues.
2006: Aliens visit earth to reclaim their emissaries: Jerry Springer, Michael Jackson, Paris Hilton, Paul Holmes, the Bush family and the guy that writes American sitcoms. (except for Scrubs, cos thats cool)
2007: Claire finally figures out how to work her laptop, just in time for it to become obsolete.
2008: Federated States of Micronesia Idol winner Jumbalumba Higolpragopy's version of Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On" is voted Worst Ever Song in the History of Songs Ever, Yes Including That One About the G-String.
Franchise declared officially bankrupt.
I could go on, in fact I probably will, but there's that pesky work thing to take care of right now.
2005: Claire becomes youngest ever President of the World Bank. Debt relief in Sub-Saharan Africa suddenly becomes top priority.
Scientists worldwide suddenly realise the stupidity of devoting time and resources to creating pills that make fat people skinny (stop eating!!)and old men hard (its a sign that you are, in fact, past it), and all band together to create low cost safe child immunisations, a reliable contraceptive pill and both a cure and vaccination for the Aids virus. Much joy ensues.
2006: Aliens visit earth to reclaim their emissaries: Jerry Springer, Michael Jackson, Paris Hilton, Paul Holmes, the Bush family and the guy that writes American sitcoms. (except for Scrubs, cos thats cool)
2007: Claire finally figures out how to work her laptop, just in time for it to become obsolete.
2008: Federated States of Micronesia Idol winner Jumbalumba Higolpragopy's version of Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On" is voted Worst Ever Song in the History of Songs Ever, Yes Including That One About the G-String.
Franchise declared officially bankrupt.
I could go on, in fact I probably will, but there's that pesky work thing to take care of right now.
Saturday, March 13, 2004
I don't know if it is the weather, or something very bad I did in a former life, but I seem to have been cursed with a fly plague in my house.
Now you'd have to search long and hard to find something that I hate more than these little winged messengers of Satan, except of course people that eat with their mouths open and people that try and impress me with how much smarter/richer/more successful/thinner/cooler etc than me they are. Mind you, I haven't yet tried fly spray or a rolled up newspaper on any of those people, so maybe they're all aspects of the same evil.
Anyway, my house is reasonably clean, theres only one boy living here so it doesn't smell too bad, so I'm perplexed as to why the little flying fuckers are so keen to come and hang out here. Its not like they get a good reception.
I think I'm having fly rage.
Things that have brightened up my week:
-sunny afternoons, with no work to go to at the end
- Courtney's new album. Theres a song on it called "All the Drugs". Heehee. To quote Mr Leary, "we can't do any drugs, cos you did them all! We have to wait until you die, and smoke your ashes!!"
- My sister
- Making up own compilation albums on my computer
- Changing the approach of my thesis from a pure IR perspective to an institutional approach, thereby making the next three months a lot less excruiciating.
Soundtrack to kick all Soundtracks Arses: Matrix. Together at last: Ministry, Rage, Rammstein, Rob Zombie, Marilyn Manson and the Deftones. Fucking metal!!!!
Now you'd have to search long and hard to find something that I hate more than these little winged messengers of Satan, except of course people that eat with their mouths open and people that try and impress me with how much smarter/richer/more successful/thinner/cooler etc than me they are. Mind you, I haven't yet tried fly spray or a rolled up newspaper on any of those people, so maybe they're all aspects of the same evil.
Anyway, my house is reasonably clean, theres only one boy living here so it doesn't smell too bad, so I'm perplexed as to why the little flying fuckers are so keen to come and hang out here. Its not like they get a good reception.
I think I'm having fly rage.
Things that have brightened up my week:
-sunny afternoons, with no work to go to at the end
- Courtney's new album. Theres a song on it called "All the Drugs". Heehee. To quote Mr Leary, "we can't do any drugs, cos you did them all! We have to wait until you die, and smoke your ashes!!"
- My sister
- Making up own compilation albums on my computer
- Changing the approach of my thesis from a pure IR perspective to an institutional approach, thereby making the next three months a lot less excruiciating.
Soundtrack to kick all Soundtracks Arses: Matrix. Together at last: Ministry, Rage, Rammstein, Rob Zombie, Marilyn Manson and the Deftones. Fucking metal!!!!
Wednesday, March 10, 2004
On putting things in Perspective
Further to Tuesday's "Fat Ordeal": I conducted a quick survey and the results were not too surprising. 1) that particular nurse is evil and must be destroyed 2) nobody really gives a rats. Although even my dear old Dad was stunned at the accusation. Bless him.
Anyway, I'm officially over it. Besides, there are far worse things than being fat. Like being poor for example. I've really got nothing to complain about. Mind you, I do like, have a job.
Donations to the "Tim is poor and a loser" benevolence fund will be accepted all this week, gifts in the form of either paper money or Coca Cola are preferred.
Now all go back to work.
Further to Tuesday's "Fat Ordeal": I conducted a quick survey and the results were not too surprising. 1) that particular nurse is evil and must be destroyed 2) nobody really gives a rats. Although even my dear old Dad was stunned at the accusation. Bless him.
Anyway, I'm officially over it. Besides, there are far worse things than being fat. Like being poor for example. I've really got nothing to complain about. Mind you, I do like, have a job.
Donations to the "Tim is poor and a loser" benevolence fund will be accepted all this week, gifts in the form of either paper money or Coca Cola are preferred.
Now all go back to work.
Monday, March 08, 2004
I'm stunned.
I just got called fat.
By a nurse.
She was really short. (ha!)
I was at student health, as one does, and was reading the little chart that tells one their ideal weight. Given that it didn't take into account such annoying details as build, muscle etc, my ideal weight is apparently 68 kg. Given that at last count (about 6 months ago) I weighed in at 75 kg, I questioned said chart.
Okay, I'm just over 5 foot ten, and unlike some tall people who are just stretched tall people, I am built in proportion to my height. I'm a (can anyone say national average?) 12-14 in clothes, and can easily run up several flights of stairs without having to have my heart restarted, and I'm pretty strong.
Skinny I am not, but neither am I the obscenely overweight monster this old cow made me out to be. So I have decided not to take up bulimia, and instead am going to lobby student health to get a new chart that takes into account muscle and build and lifestyle and the fact that 30 years ago the average model weighed 8% less than the average woman, today its 23%. Media pressure? Fashion?
As for the old chart, I've got a fair idea where that old bat can shove it.
I just got called fat.
By a nurse.
She was really short. (ha!)
I was at student health, as one does, and was reading the little chart that tells one their ideal weight. Given that it didn't take into account such annoying details as build, muscle etc, my ideal weight is apparently 68 kg. Given that at last count (about 6 months ago) I weighed in at 75 kg, I questioned said chart.
Okay, I'm just over 5 foot ten, and unlike some tall people who are just stretched tall people, I am built in proportion to my height. I'm a (can anyone say national average?) 12-14 in clothes, and can easily run up several flights of stairs without having to have my heart restarted, and I'm pretty strong.
Skinny I am not, but neither am I the obscenely overweight monster this old cow made me out to be. So I have decided not to take up bulimia, and instead am going to lobby student health to get a new chart that takes into account muscle and build and lifestyle and the fact that 30 years ago the average model weighed 8% less than the average woman, today its 23%. Media pressure? Fashion?
As for the old chart, I've got a fair idea where that old bat can shove it.
Saturday, March 06, 2004
Joke time: (c/o Katy)
George W Bush went to a primary school to talk about the war. After
his talk he offered question time. One little boy put up his hand, so George asked him his name.
"Billy."
"And what is your question, Billy?"
"I have three questions. First, why did the USA invade Iraq without the support of the UN? Second, why are you President when Al Gore got
more votes? And third, whatever happened to Osama Bin Laden?"
Just then the bell rang for recess. George Bush informed the kiddies
that they will continue after recess. When they resume George said,
"Okay, where were we? Oh that's right, question time. Who has a question?"
Another little boy put up his hand. George pointed him out and asked him his name.
"Steve"
"And what is your question, Steve?"
"I have five questions. First, why did the USA invade Iraq without the
support of the UN? Second, why are you President when Al Gore got
more votes? Third, whatever happened to Osama Bin Laden? Fourth, why did the recess bell go twenty minutes early? And fifth, what the hell happened to Billy?
Cue hilarity.
George W Bush went to a primary school to talk about the war. After
his talk he offered question time. One little boy put up his hand, so George asked him his name.
"Billy."
"And what is your question, Billy?"
"I have three questions. First, why did the USA invade Iraq without the support of the UN? Second, why are you President when Al Gore got
more votes? And third, whatever happened to Osama Bin Laden?"
Just then the bell rang for recess. George Bush informed the kiddies
that they will continue after recess. When they resume George said,
"Okay, where were we? Oh that's right, question time. Who has a question?"
Another little boy put up his hand. George pointed him out and asked him his name.
"Steve"
"And what is your question, Steve?"
"I have five questions. First, why did the USA invade Iraq without the
support of the UN? Second, why are you President when Al Gore got
more votes? Third, whatever happened to Osama Bin Laden? Fourth, why did the recess bell go twenty minutes early? And fifth, what the hell happened to Billy?
Cue hilarity.
Thursday, March 04, 2004
I'd just like to point out that I am composing this particular ramble on my brand new shiny blue laptop, Mark II.
Yes, the very first one, while all shiny and blue, was in fact arse, so after making several ill-tempered phone calls to the retailer, and more than one trip in to said retailer while trying to not vent at poor technician who really had no idea that Toshiba has made a pants computer, I got delivered to my office, one brand new computer. Love those couriers who deliver door to door.
Anyway, i've been doing some serious 'net surfing, flicking around blogs and various sites, discovering all sorts of interesting things, such as this, this and the best by far, this.
So, theres really no point to this blog. I just wanted to play on my new computer, and maybe have something to show for the last 3 hours of time-wasting.
Of course, the reason I got a laptop was to write my thesis......
Yes, the very first one, while all shiny and blue, was in fact arse, so after making several ill-tempered phone calls to the retailer, and more than one trip in to said retailer while trying to not vent at poor technician who really had no idea that Toshiba has made a pants computer, I got delivered to my office, one brand new computer. Love those couriers who deliver door to door.
Anyway, i've been doing some serious 'net surfing, flicking around blogs and various sites, discovering all sorts of interesting things, such as this, this and the best by far, this.
So, theres really no point to this blog. I just wanted to play on my new computer, and maybe have something to show for the last 3 hours of time-wasting.
Of course, the reason I got a laptop was to write my thesis......
Wednesday, March 03, 2004
I have just stepped out of the twilight zone.
As we speak, there are four males in my office discussing the benefits of soap vs body wash.
Yes, they are in fact serious.
Gus: "I use Dove, its one third moisturiser and really makes my skin soft"
Andy: "And its just Dove thats done that?"
Dan: "I'm more of a soap kind of guy, but I do like bodywash, its like a special treat. A real luxury"
Hamish:"I'm a real soap guy myself, but it can dry out your skin"
Me: "OH MY FUCKING GOD I CANT BELIEVE THIS IS HAPPENING!!!"
We were discussing men, they of course were attempting to get a woman's perspective on certain things, and I said that I would take Reuben Thorne over Justin Marshall any day. Why? Well Marshall seems more concerned with his poofter hair than anything, while Reuben looks like the kind of chap who could easily build stuff and dig holes, not being too fussed about what might happen to his "do".
Needless to say, the conversation turned to " what do women really want in a man", to which I automatically replied "Viggo": ie man who can build stuff, dig holes, and ride horsies, then come inside, bake a souffle, write a poem and paint a picture, all in a very manly way, while remaining cultured, sophisticated and sexy. Not a freaking man who has a serious discussion about the benefits of soap vs bodywash. Call me antiquated in my views, call me one who wants it all (well der!!), call me Shirley, but I have in my head a vision of perfection.
Leave the sensitive new age types to the other girls. I know what I want.
Just don't know where he is.....
As we speak, there are four males in my office discussing the benefits of soap vs body wash.
Yes, they are in fact serious.
Gus: "I use Dove, its one third moisturiser and really makes my skin soft"
Andy: "And its just Dove thats done that?"
Dan: "I'm more of a soap kind of guy, but I do like bodywash, its like a special treat. A real luxury"
Hamish:"I'm a real soap guy myself, but it can dry out your skin"
Me: "OH MY FUCKING GOD I CANT BELIEVE THIS IS HAPPENING!!!"
We were discussing men, they of course were attempting to get a woman's perspective on certain things, and I said that I would take Reuben Thorne over Justin Marshall any day. Why? Well Marshall seems more concerned with his poofter hair than anything, while Reuben looks like the kind of chap who could easily build stuff and dig holes, not being too fussed about what might happen to his "do".
Needless to say, the conversation turned to " what do women really want in a man", to which I automatically replied "Viggo": ie man who can build stuff, dig holes, and ride horsies, then come inside, bake a souffle, write a poem and paint a picture, all in a very manly way, while remaining cultured, sophisticated and sexy. Not a freaking man who has a serious discussion about the benefits of soap vs bodywash. Call me antiquated in my views, call me one who wants it all (well der!!), call me Shirley, but I have in my head a vision of perfection.
Leave the sensitive new age types to the other girls. I know what I want.
Just don't know where he is.....
On the Purchase of new toys
Yay. Claire has a new toy. No its not a boy, its a shiny new blue computer, a wee toshiba laptop. Nice. Now all I need to do is figure out how to use the bloody thing. All this technology is a bit beyond me. I'm still trying to come to terms with the fact that theres no floppy disk drive in it. I'm going to have to learn how to use the CD writer, aren't I?
Its all part of the plan though. If I keep this up, I can finish my thesis in the comfort of the Wanaka house, and never have to see anyone again. Choice.
Yay. Claire has a new toy. No its not a boy, its a shiny new blue computer, a wee toshiba laptop. Nice. Now all I need to do is figure out how to use the bloody thing. All this technology is a bit beyond me. I'm still trying to come to terms with the fact that theres no floppy disk drive in it. I'm going to have to learn how to use the CD writer, aren't I?
Its all part of the plan though. If I keep this up, I can finish my thesis in the comfort of the Wanaka house, and never have to see anyone again. Choice.
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