Let me eat cake

Turns out I’m getting older. As evidenced by the following:

I have purchased a house. 2 bedroom. Big living areas. Close to the city and Jade Stadium.

Woot.

AND the big trees on the neighbouring property which were causing me to have a few doubts are being cut down in a few weeks. Sunshine. Awesome.

It other, equally exciting news – I tracked down a copy of Tin Planet by Space. It is now playing on volume: Loud.

Extract:

Crikey.

I’ve put an offer in on a house. Actually I put an offer in on a house yesterday. That came to nothing but didn’t really expect it to and I’m not horribly worried about that. Went to an open home today and it was a nice wee place. So I’ve put another offer in. The vendor has already come back with a counter offer. I am considering this as we speak.

(part of the consideration is playing ‘I’m on a boat’ over and over again)

And so the fatal dance toward responsibility, fiscal control and grown-uppeness has begun.

Eep.

Sometimes I’m reasonable certain that life should have a ‘best of’ episode. Hopefully it does at some point – but that will be dependent on me a) staying friendly and b) dying. But that won’t be for a fantastically long time. So I suppose I’m after a mid-season review.

I was somewhat surprised to find that 2008 has almost finished. I’m still trying to say goodbye to 2007.

If we stick with the somewhat cumbersome concept of evaluating it like a DVD I think it’s fair to say that it’s been a critical success. There was a pivotal moment early on where I nearly left and started a spin-off season in London. But given how the current global economy has… been and gone I tend to think that I came 12 hours away from being laid off 6 months later.

The usual theatrics came and went. 48 hours was a lot of fun. othello was incredible to be a part of. And, I think, both are justifiably awesome projects have been involved in.

Flatted in a place named after a Scottish rugby hero. not many people have done that before. It was good. And highly amusing most of the time (between Todd, Andrew and myself there’s usually been a joke for every occasion – and usually physical joke). We invented box fighting and box jumping as important flatwarming sports. One of the first people to try it out has subsequently attached himself to a pair of rockets and flown. True story. And kinda weird.

Things happened. People got married. Had babies. Changed jobs, flats etc. I largely stayed put and had a good time. ISeeing someone who is awesome and supportive so that’s to be encouraged. Got into Photography.

Decided the reason the year has gone so fast is that I’ve had so much fun.

2009 will be amazing. If for no other reasons than Ben and Karen will have a baby, and I will conquer Peru. But also for more reasons. Many, many more reasons.

I wondered where I’d left this. Turns out it was down the side of the couch with a 50 cent coin and a used tissue.

Well then. Hello!

Things are going. Pretty much sums it up. 

Othello was cool. Lots of work and tended to get a bit tired after doing lots of work at work before the lots of work at Othello. Production was awesome. Apparently we made money. Performances were great. Ben crashed the afterparty. Generally held that it is not an afterparty unless Ben wears a box on his head.

Ah. Yes. Also. important. And there will be general rejoicing in some quarters and a fair bit of sniggering sarcastically in corners where they don’t know any better (damn you Pavlov!). But I’ve stopped smoking.

I know.

It’s certainly not easy. And there are times when I do get a little frustrated and want to kill people. But yeah. Non-smoking now. For a number of days. Not that I’m celebrating yet. Wait until it’s three months and then I’ll celebrate. Just not with alcohol cos I’ve had to give that up too (tends to lead toward smoking). And not with coffee (see above) or anything other than salad or my awesome sandwhiches (see above).

It’s the dedavestation of Dave.

Writing lots at the moment. have lots of nervous energy (see above) and angst (see above) which means that I want to keep occupied. 

So yeah.

For those of you that want to complain about absence of Blog, suggest you first complain to Ben. Who may fail at blogging, but has not failed at getting his missus pregnant.

Friday night was one of those weird nights that you’d expect from a confusing nightmare resulting from too much booze and acid.

We started off at Scriptless. Andrew was MC-ing for the first time and, I thought, did a stand-up job. It was one of the best scriptless performance’s I’ve seen – they even created playdough voltron which is awesome and in one song Pikachu bet Optimus Prime which is, frankly, hilarious.

Afterwards Todd, Andrew, Ben, Damo and I met up at my place after a disturbing suggestion to drive to Coe’s Ford at midnight by your truely.

An agenda was set.

1) We travel to Mobil to pick up supplies. Apparently this was essential according to Coe’s Ford vetran Ben.
2) We travel to Coe’s Ford.
3) We return to town via a secret network of undiscovered roads.
1 person would be lost in the process.

Three feet later Damo pulled out due to his inherent softness and having to drop his dad off at the airport at 6am. Which rendered our plan the most prescient of all the plans. And safest. For surely it is better to lose a man at my place than at Coe’s Ford.

The survivors went to the sacred Mobil and purchased supplies. It turns out that night pay really is a pain. But supplies were purchased including Dark Chocolate Peanut Slab which, it wa agreed, is bloody awesome.

You need to understand that Friday was a beautiful day and Friday night was exceptionally clear except for some knife-like slithers of fog that appeared three feet off the ground at eye level. It was, honestly, quite frightening and there was little time to prepare. Drive drive drive oh god fog blind for half a second drive drive drive eek.

Following a rather twisty and torturous route we made our way to Coe’s Ford. Coe’s Ford has one dignificant factor: absorbs all available light meaning it is incredibly dark and the others quickly became convinced that there were hobo’s with hooks for hands. I suggested splitting up to search for clues (recent research has suggested that this is perfectly safe and nothing_bad_could_possibly_happen) but that was unanimously voted down as being a Bad Idea. Instead we hung about, looked for a fence that Does Not Exist, and Ben climbed a tree. Largely because Ben was present and a tree was present. Also – another car came past which was weird because no-one goes to Coe’s Ford unless they’re up to no good. We hid behind trees. Andrew hissed at the car. I think in a previous life he may have been Gollum. Anyway, the car passed and no-one was maimed.

Once Coe’s Ford had been completed the last part of the mission was to take the route home using backroads. This may have been an error. The music in the car was on concert FM – for some reason they seemed to be playing Gregorian Chant for the most part. We set of west and avoided Leeston. Drove North for a bit taking random roads including a 20 minute dirt road. Rakaia! Hmmm. Not quite right or geographically possible but geography and science have never been allies of mine. Drove away from Rakaia. Went through Leeston. Drove in the opposite direction and came across Leeston. Avoided it and headed firmly east toward the faint orange glow of Christchurch. 20 minutes later we drove through Leeston. I was not very happy by this stage. Random roads are fine, but I didn’t sign up to circumnavigate Leeston. A police car was waiting for us and escorted us to the boundary before heading back to fight whatever crime they fight in South Canterbury towns. I was startiing to get paranoid that all roads led to Leeston. Not a pleasant theory. We avoided the 49th. 50th and 51st signposts that pointed out the Leeston was, in fact, both behing and in front of us and managed to find a road that may or may not have been familiar. At any rate it lead to Hornby. I can honestly say that I’ve never been happy to see Hornby. I wasn’t this time either, but man, I was stoked to see the beginnings of Upper Riccarton.

After dropping the others off I fell into bed at 4.30am. I don’t know how it happened. It doesn’t make sense. Freaking weird Road Trip.

I know. Not something you’d expect one such as myself to say. Death of an Insurance Salesman would not resonate with the audience anywhere near how Death of a Salesman does. Not that I sells insurance.

But every now and then you get to help the good guys and go after the incompetant fools who cause badness. Which is the claim I got today. Good guys happy. Think me real clever.

Bad guys will quake in fear when they reads my letter.

ooooohhh! a letter!

Show time.

I really ought to make better use of my 10 mins of spare time….

Oh – and wrap up warm for midwinter by seeing midsummer nights dream.

ok

ok

ok

… bye.

I always thought it was mellowpuff. I was wrong.

Parents down today for a week for graduation. Should be good. Graduate on Tuesday which will probably be pretty dull. Only aware of one other peep grauating in the same service. But it will be the end and that will be good.

Have started writing another script. This will be longer than the 15 min one for threesome. having that accepted though has given me a bit more confidence which is good. It’s probably going to be in a similar vein – except with at least four girls and only three guys. Because girls are good. You heard it here first.

Happy birthday Thomasina! Good party. (for those of you who don’t know Thomasina – she is a cat. I got her a Coldplay cd because I thought she’d be able to identify will chris martin. pussy).

Radiohead reveal ‘terrifying’ new album

Thom Yorke has compared writing for Radiohead’s new album to that on ‘OK Computer’ – but has declared the lyrics will be even more terrifying!

The group are recording with new producer Mark ‘Spike’ Stent (who has worked with Keane, Madonna and Oasis in the past) and in a world exclusive interview, Yorke said that despite rumours that the follow-up to ‘Hail To The Thief’ will have a political feel, in fact the opposite is true.

He said: “It’s about that anonymous fear thing, sitting in traffic, thinking, ‘I’m sure I’m supposed to be doing something else’.
Interestingly enough it’s similar to ‘OK Computer’ in a way. It’s much more terrifying. But ‘OK Computer’ was terrifying too -some of the lyrics were.”

Up to 16 tracks are being considered for the band’s next album, with current favourites including ‘Nude’, ‘15 Step’, ‘Arpeggi’ and ‘House Of Cards’.

Next month fans will have the first chance to hear the songs on a European tour, which will visit Blackpool Empress Ballroom (May 12-13), Wolverhampton Civic Hall (15-16) and London Hammersmith Apollo (18-19) in the UK.

Writing on his diary at Radiohead.com, Yorke had previously said that the band are “finally getting somewhere”, and are optimistic about getting the songs right for the tour.

“Listening back to things we are doing and looking through the lyrics today and stuff it feels like we are finally getting somewhere”, he explained. “There are lots of songs. Too many to get together straight away. So we will be furiously rehearsing and writing as we go.

“I think we’ve always worked best when we aren’t bothered about making mistakes. Theres a lot of baggage about the old way of doing things that is hard to get over… all the ‘album’ crap. Just this level of pressure that is ridiculous. We’re just going to do what feels right at the time. Quite into the idea of singles at the moment (that don’t get on the radio). No grand design… wherever we are at. Some of the random stuff we have at the moment could be the most exciting.”

For the full world exclusive Radiohead interview check this week’s NME on sale nationally from April 5.

Yeah. It appears some people are straight out of a movie. I had to deal with an ‘I like lamp’ man today. Not face to face or phone to phone (note: do not refer to this as ‘mouth to mouth’). But while processing details. The crux of the matter was ‘car broken’. Anything else was immaterial. car broken. yeah. hmm. definately broken.

I like cookies.

Everything’s coming up Dave.

Went to audition for threesome last night. Both Dan and Ben’s plays are awesome. really quite impressed. It is useful that I am a man.

And for some reason I got asked to be in a commercial. Am assuming that it was for broadcasting school and someone in dramasoc set me up – unfortunately I couldn’t do it as I’m a working man and I don’t want to get fired for skiving off to do awesome things but was nice to be asked. Thanks to whoever suggested my number (Todd?).

Cricket tonight. Will try not to injure anyone. Can’t promise anything though. Sorry, Nic. You’re lack of spine is mine. Yeah yeah, ‘but we’re on the same team’. You know what I think of men that bat for my team. PAIN.

I am fuckin odd sometimes. It even surprises me. Luckily this dave isn’t the real dave. I

UPDATE: Someone has a cruel sense of humour and they seem to be in charge. My cricket skills this evening were poor. If fact – they were so poor you’ll probably laugh like the bad people you are. I ran into Dan outside the venue and found he bought his gloves and box. So I grabbed my gloves and box which were handily sitting on the back seat of my car. Fielded terribly. Then batted with Si. Pfft, I thought, I don’t need my box. Turns out I played a mildly inswinger with no skill whatsoever. Ball. Faint inside edge. Balls. I edged it onto my testicles. That takes ineptitude to a new level. Then the world went swirlly.

I think I bruised something.

Work is good. Mary is incapable of being scary despite her threats in the comments of my last blog. Old ladies only scare me if I have to see them.

I had a job offer from Telecom. Which I got to turn down. That’s pretty awesome. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t need to take your money: please hold’. Of course, the down side is that I don’t get to work with (or in the same building as) Karen, Christian and Steve but I figure we’ll have more than enough time to catch up while burning in the searing heat of everlasting hell.

And auditions for the young shakespeare show are go for 1/2 April. Clap hands, dance and drool somewhat. Shakespeare. They’re doing Midsummers – which I did back in the day with the national sheila winn workshop. It was good and fun. I think I was Demetrius but may have been Lysander. Hmm. Memory not what it once was and I’m doing that whole ‘in my day’ thing – but I think this show will be better. Pffft ‘think’. know. Just hope I get to get in.

And Hamish commented. WTF? He’s alive! ALIVE!!! Hamish – if you could post something other than reaffirming what the Street says it would be usefull. I know he’s big in Eastern Europe and all… but what about Roman?

First interview out of the way. With an insurance outfit. It went ok, I think. I find out by the end of the week. Staff seem good – sense of humour and all that jazz – and the benefits/salary seem… excellent. I wants it. Downside, of course, is that I’d be working with Mary. I’d be her underling. Perhaps.

Working with Mary isn’t really a downside. Awesome.

Note the lack of the b word in my posts over the last few months. You can thank Si and his statistical analysis. That’s awesome. That my site has had a statistical analysis done on it. For science. And in the name of science I’ve done a brief statistical analysis of some other blogs that have been around for a while. For… science.

Saint (Nic).
Blogs pertaining to not blogging: 98.3%
Blogs pertaining to girls: 17.2%
Blogs pertaining to Santa: 0.0% (am disappointed).

Cardinal (Ben).
Blogs promising to blog at some stage soon: 99.9%
Blogs with a star wars/geek reference: 98.5%
Blogs that hurt with the laughing: 95%

Luther (Tim)
Blogs that embrace geekery: 99.3%
Blogs that seem angry with no explantation: 1%

Heq:
Blogs that may or may not have some information that may or may not have some relevance to people that may or may not exist: 100%
Blogs that I can understand: 0.1%

Bella:
Blogs that indicate a submission into the North American blogging network: 98%
Blogs that indicate her awesomeness: 100%
Blogs that feature underwear in picture format: 2%

Soma:
Blogs that mention his pathological dislike of moi: 100%
Blogs that indicate a pathological condition: 100%
Blogs that rage against the pun: 100%
Blogs that indicate anger: 115%
Blogs that indicate food/Japanese culture: 100%
Blogs that indicate tolerance and understanding: -15%

To summarise: don’t let me near statistics. I’ll bastardise that most scientific of sciences. Bah. Stats can be made up to mean anything to anyone. 85% of people know that.

I do say some really strange things sometimes. You may have noticed. You notice nothing. I’m the real spectator here. Things come out my mouth that bypassed my brain and go straight for the twilight zone. Which, granted, half of you are probably from. But just be aware that things that come out of my mouth haven’t been censored. Or, if they were, my mouth is the means by which aforementioned brain rejects them. That is a poor system. I need a new manager. You know, of my brain…

Oh, and belated happy birthday to Kathleen who is now “not a teenager”. Having re-read the above I’d keep me away from your parents tonight. Something inappropriate might… slip out.

Right. Time to prepare for tomorrow’s interview. FOUR HOURS! Oh dear god. I’m going 2:1 odds that I’m going to say something stupid. Or intellectual but inappropriate. Such as: according to recent trends in lower upper middle class males it appears that, contrary to the predominant view, todays Hollywood stars are less attractive than the tart in the school uniform walking past work each morning.

It just came to me. I wouldn’t call it a talent. It’s a calling.

Inappropriate!

Gar. I want me some cookies.

I am writing to let you know that I have a few demands which I would like to be met forthwith.

1) The common cold should be replaced with something more becoming. Like lipgloss or high-heels.

2) Smoking should make you more attractive and healthy. As should McD’s.

3) Stuff should be free. Or at least sponsored.

4) Coffee should be made well. On pain of suffering.

5) Men with moustaches should be herded onto a boat and shipped off to a small island. Mo’land. They can record music.

6) Job interviews shouldn’t require interviews.

7) Small furry animals and larger furry men should stay away from my testicles. (Mr Allan…).

You should be able to judge a book by its cover. It would save so much time.

9) Whiskey bottles shouldn’t be able to sing to me.

10) I should stop hallucinating.

11) Cookies should be more bountiful. And closer to me.

one job interview down. one on friday. hopefully i make more sense than what’s been written above.

We can only hope I don’t go crazy and start blogging pictures of myself in my underwear….

this won me coffee

what do you call my moustache?
fro-mo

what if it’s a skank?
hoe-mo fro-mo

what if it’s a skank with men?
homo hoe-mo fro-mo

and in an adult film frame by frame?
slow-mo homo hoe-mo fro-mo

based on the lord of the rings?
frodo slow-mo homo hoe-mo fro-mo

with a couple of dodgy guys from the cast of HAIR?
no go frodo slow-mo homo hoe-mo fro-mo

and nic wanted to watch?
no, bro no go frodo slow-mo homo hoe-mo fro-mo

but hadn’t showered in a while?
hobo! no, bro no go frodo slow-mo homo hoe-mo fro-mo

and wanted you to finance this great idea?
no dough, hobo! no, bro no go frodo slow-mo homo hoe-mo fro-mo

who’d you send him to?
bono!! no dough, hobo! no, bro no go frodo slow-mo homo hoe-mo fro-mo

and if it was successful what would it be called?
showmo. bono!! no dough, hobo! no, bro no go frodo slow-mo homo hoe-mo fro-mo

what would ‘the making of “showmo”‘ be?
po-mo showmo. bono!! no dough, hobo! no, bro no go frodo slow-mo homo hoe-mo fro-mo

and what would that be called?
bozo. po-mo showmo. bono!! no dough, hobo! no, bro no go frodo slow-mo homo hoe-mo fro-mo

price of admission?
you blow… bozo. po-mo showmo. bono!! no dough, hobo! no, bro no go frodo slow-mo homo hoe-mo fro-mo.

need a job….. interview went ok today. hope that mean i make the grade. because the grade brings in the rent.

in other unrelated news: how young is too young? i’m mainly interested in tim’s response. he is, after all, the voice of reason.

fight for it’s right to stay within the english language. truely, those of us that can understand it’s wisdom are the blessed.

todd may complain over my punning abilities. by ‘may’ i mean ‘does’ and by ‘does’ i suppose i mean ’shouldn’t’.

i’m going to dissect his argument that i should avoid the pun using two prongs. one historical. the other is based on arguing around the current internet forms of debate and discussion (and in doing so prove that todd likes girls).

1. the pun never hurt anyone. they didn’t sack rome (admittedly their completely unfunny and hairy cousins did – but you can’t hold the pun accountable for the hun).

2. todd is gay. actually, as i don’t consciouslly discriminate against people on the basis of race, sex or orientation then that statement must be false. for surely men and women who prefer men and women (respectively) must appreciate the pun as much as the next man or woman.

which means todd is not gay. i’m sure he’s very… what’s the word – it’s not happy… something similar… a synonym if you will… it will come to me at three this morning.

hang on. that don’t sound good. gay will not come to me at three or the fourseeable future.

i’m locking the windows.

beer rugby barbeques i like girls.

argh. that reminds me of a story from last night.

drunk girl: hey how are you?
sober dave: yeah, good. you?
girl: drunk.
dave: really?
girl: yes. i drank …[this was a boring part of the conversation so i tried to fill my vision with part of the room that she didn't occupy].
dave: really?
girl: yes.
dave: wow. you must be drunk.
girl: are you married?
dave: what?
girl: are you married?
dave: no.
girl: do you have a girlfriend?
dave: no.
girl: do you have a boyfriend?
dave: no.
girl: oh. why aren’t you seeing anyone?
dave: i don’t drink.
girl: ohhh… see, do you know what the difference between men and women is?
dave: honestly, my dear? i cannot concieve.

note to self: devise wingmen strategy. it’s wonderland. everything’s freakin weird.

actually… speaking of freaking weird. phone conversations the other night.

bro: hey bro, can you come and pick me up?
dave: not really, i’ve had a bit to drink.
bro: i don’t know where i am. come and pick me up.
dave: i’m at tryptek. come here.
bro: i’ll find out where i am then you pick me up. bye.

20 mins later.
dave: hey bro, where are you?
bro: who is this?
dave: it’s me. dave. your brother.
bro: no.
dave: yes:
bro: you’re not my brother.
dave: yes i am.
bro: prove it.
dave: ask me a question.
bro: where would you know me best?
dave: golf course.
bro: that’s a good answer but you’re still not my brother. where’s dave? put him on. he’ll take me home.
dave: it’s me!
bro: no no no no no fuck off you’re not my brother.
dave: yes i am.
bro: if you see my brother get him to come and pick me up.
dave: it’s me you idiot.
bro: get him to call me.

one minute later.
dave: hey bro.
bro: who’s this?
dave: your brother.
bro: who?
dave: dave.
bro: no your not. fuck off and get my brother.
dave: it is me. for crying out loud i’m your freaking brother.
bro: i don’t know who you are or what you’re doing but your not my brother fuck off and get my brother i don’t know where i am he’ll pick me up.

an hour later
dad: do you know where your brother is?
dave: no. i had some very strange conversations with him though.
dad: yeah… same. i hope he’s ok. here’s your mother.
mum: do you know what happened to your brother?
dave: no.
mum can you go pick him up?
dave: from where?
mum: i don’t know.
dave: neither does he.
mum i’ve just got this image of him in a gutter covered in blood. *laughs*
dave: why are you laughing?
mum: it’s funny.

my family. right there. maybe you understand me a little better now.

encore:

never shake a lady

once, twice, three times a baby (that’s creepy)

Lord Mayor: Hail to the Queen!
Queen Elizabeth: How dare you hail when I’m reigning.

cows with puns

right. too tired to pun well, often, or gaily. I don’t belong here.
Because I’m alseep.

I’m not one to stoop to low brow rumourmongering to get more hits on my page… ha! Who am I kidding? I’m just the sort of low life that would bring about the tragic death of a royal for a few snaps. But, in the interest of keeping things anonymous I will name our friend (not me) ‘Panda’. This way no-one will be able to guess and therefore no-one will specualte as to who this Panda is. Hint: not me. (Large numbers of you wouldn’t know who he was anyway).

Turns out Panda has defied most established philosophical and scientific thought and scored. With another living entity. A human. A woman. Ahh, I hear you mutter – it couldn’t have been dave’… well, I did warn you.

While this would ordanarily be a time of rejoicing and merriment and puzzled confusion this is not the time for such spontaneous dancing in the streets. You see, Panda and Pandy caught the sexually transmitted … thing known as pregnancy. Apparently it’s not lethal and it is traditional for a child to appear at some stage in the near future.

Let this be a lesson to the rest of you.

Seriously though – congratulations, Panda. This is awesome news. Once you email your postal details I will find and appropriate celebratory gift of some description. Bamboo, perhaps. I hope the wee fella has all the brains and looks of her mother. And your tolerance for putting up with my sense of humour.

Sometimes fact is indeed stranger than fiction. Or those weird hybrid things you read on the intertron. The evening started off like most – with the general ‘I’m laughing with you’ rountine at – with – Nic. Followed by painting the set for Hair. I was deemed expendable so got to climb up to the roof to paint the ladder. I’m still walking so no long term damage. Someone then came up with the Lee Tamahori story. It’s in the paper so it must be true… Turns out the old director of Once Were Warriors – classic NZ big man move – approached an undercover cop while dressed in drag and offered to perform sexual favours in exchange for cash. Because, you know, he needed the money.

Went back to Jo’s for guitar lovin and mucked around. Dropped Christian off at his pad and then drove up Ilam to the Maidstone Rd intersection. And there, standing in the middle of a road was an intoxicated foriegner (male) who showing his nipple to oncoming traffic. I had to stop due to some infantile obsession with obeying the traffic lights.

Don’t ever put one in my bedroom. That could be frustrating. Unlike the present situation…

Anyway – I stop so as not to die. Nippleboy runs over. Quite drunk. Gets in front passanger seat.
Nippleboy: Heyaa – doyouknow where the university is?
Dave: yeah. It’s just over there. Outside my car.
Nippleboy: Ahhhhhh. *doesn’t move*
Dave: I’ll drive you then.
Nippleboy: no no no. You don’t have to do that. *doesn’t move*
drive drive drive. Outside Forestry Road.
Dave: ok. You just walk down this road and that’s the university.
Nippleboy: Where’s Ilam Road?
Dave:…
Nippleboy: I need to get on Ilam Road.
Dave: You were on Ilam Road.
Nippleboy: What?
Dave: You were on Ilam Road.
Nippleboy: Where is it.
Dave: I’ll drive you.

Anyway – drove him to the place where he was staying. He gave me ten dollars. No favours were exchanged but I still feel a little dirty.

I have discovered Chucky. He’s been reborn as a .pub document and has been sent from the seventh basement of hell to torment my fragile and ludicrously impressionable mind. I would spray holy water over the computer and banish it to purgatory or the next Law Revue but I got carried away the other night making clean with the things. That’ll teach me.

On the plus side I get to listen to sweet beats as I type.

Most people assume it would be fantastic to be a simpleton. That’s because they’re idiots. Fear of the boogeyman is far more potent than the gnashing and wailing of teeth (can teeth wail? – mayhaps baby teeth… hmmm) over the lack of adequate capacity of the worlds oil refineries to pump out enough gasoline to keep us driving toward a big neon sign. Especially when the boogeyman lives in your closet, under your bed, or is your boss at work. No oil refinery every threatened to eat me. Then again, I keep a lighter ever near.

The habit of appropriating others memories and fictions as your own has it’s rewards – but there is also a dark and twisted aspect that no-one ever considers. Sure, it’s great to have been an oompa loompa, smurf, snork and power ranger (not gay), but the ethical dilemna of being both nazi guard and holocaust victim is enough to burst anybodies delicate brainal membranes and force them to write trite on somebody’s server (while being imprisoned from within… damn this feeble binary code – when I’m on the outside I’m going to use 010100102 just to freak those bastards out).

I’ve finished the final book of book 3 of George R. R. Martin’s Game of Thrones series. I may have lost my skill for numbers (I was young, dark alley, needed the smack) but I would have thought that book 3 part one and book 3 part two were really books three and four respectively. Imagine having a seven part series with eight books. That’s just crazy talk. But apparently some can get away with challenging ‘the man’ and the social constructs of counting to three. I’m not going to say anything that could potentially give anything away as this is a series you must read at some stage or another. But what I will say is: wow. Yeah. I think I’ll leave the politics and realpolitiks to James. Unless I could convince Tim to become unsullied….

I have coke.

Kate has a job up in Auckland now. At the varsity. Good work her, but it’s kind of weird not having her in the city. For all the ups and downs of the last six years she’s been a constant and she knows me better than most. Maybe it’s better she’s not here anymore….

This time next week I will have finished tutoring, ‘allo ‘allo, and Chucky will have met Fuckoffy – whom I have created by stitching together the decomposing components of Act, United Future, the Alliance, and Nandor. Ugly little fucker. Then I will be free to wallow in the poverty and sunshine as befits a man of my standing.

Note to self: learn to walk.