Seven Sneezes

Fireflies

2009-10-10T19:40:00.000-07:00

We think it's our last hour together for two months and yet spend much of it in silence. I'm unsure of what to say any more and that loss of confidence feels painfully obvious. Bumbling through small talk seems the only safe path. She is mostly patient and makes jokes about finally being rid of me. I rub her back and still enjoy the feel of her. "Don't worry about all this. Just go over there and have fun and we'll sort it out when you get back." It's good advice and I'd like to follow it but one hour scrapes into two… three… an eternity at the airport waiting in line for a canceled flight. How can she miss me if I never leave?

The rest of the day fills with shopping, lunch with her parents, weekend fluff. We bat yawns at each other the entire drive back to hers. It's evening and she is stepping out of the shower when the bulbs all dim, pause a beat… "What just happened?" We wait for pizza by torchlight and play with her little camp lantern. Sitting in twilight she asks "I wonder what's happening with the light" and they flare as if called... before dying and taking the TV with them. An phantom drops off the pizza and vanishes into the night. Meat deluxe, rich smoky BBQ, the other has lamb, tart yogurt and lemon. I'm full. She could polish them off but decides she really doesn't need to. The food gives us a second wind. We rug up and walk down towards the reserve with her fire-stick, camera and glow sticks. Four seconds after I'm told to tread carefully I nearly slide down the hill on an avalanche of pine needles and nuts.

I sit in the dark watching an outline twirl and spin, slowly at first, she usually practices in the light. I suspect she’s being overly careful, worried of dropping it in front an audience, so proud. Cautious or not the shadow-dance is there waiting to happen. After a time I try to catch it on film but the firefly lights are faint and spidery, unsatisfying. I have an attempt but my circles just aren't, my centre and exchanges sloppy. Instead I grip it and rip it, figure eights, fast and furious, no finesse. She says it leaves trails, plays with the exposure until fluid fiery arcs appear, exclaims in delight at the result. I reclaim the camera and get a few shots. A perfect circle above her head, a looping swaying tinker-bell trail against the black, some look incredible. My phone rings and I tell my folks why I'm not in another country. We walk back in the frigid dark pretending her stick is a wizards staff and try to call up a light again. Later I realize I had lost my difficulty finding words, my discomfort with silence, I don’t recall when it happened. Her house is lit up like a birthday cake waiting for us.

An Open Letter to LittleFoot

2008-08-29T05:47:00.000-07:00

Hi LittleFoot,

I've been meaning to write this for a few months now and am sorry its taken me this long. You're in a dark place at the moment and I should have done more to throw you a torch, and for that I'm sorry. I'm stuck in the middle of this but as you pointed out, that might also be the best position to comment. We talked the other night and I think it helped, but if you need reminding I'll try to set out my thoughts here. Remember that a lot of this is based on guess-work, you were the one who was actually there.

Okay, point number one: it happened. It wouldn't have happened unless there were reasons. Whether either or both of you want to talk about those reasons after the fact is up to the individual. Maybe he doesn't want to talk about it? Even if he does, then you need to remember that you cannot just talk it out. This isn't something that can be fixed with words alone. Questions about where things went wrong, talking over fond memories, expressions of love- none of these will magically make things better. They might even make things worse as you could seem to be pining.

You need to stop looking for hidden meaning behind actions. Everything is just one thing happening after another. Everything we do is a spur of the moment decision. If he wanted to see you or got you a nice gift- there was no agenda- these happened because he wants you to be happy. And he does want you to be happy. But he can't make you happy and so every time you see him it will just keep making you sad. This is why I think it's a good idea not to see him for a while.

Remember that a decision left too long is made for you. If he can't give you an answer then you cannot wait around until one appears. You need to get on with it. You are both seeing other people now. If things fall back into place one day then all to the good but it won't happen if you argue every time you see one another. And also, please avoid comparing yourself to people he sees- it's a completely pointless exercise- you know this.

It was a very long relationship but if you didn't fit together after that amount of time then you need to realise that means you possibly never will. And by 'fit together' I'm not just talking about the good times, you also need to remember the other stuff. The things you didn't like will always be there too.

I know you're hurting right now but it will get better. I'm sounding like a broken record here but all it takes (and all you can give it) is distance and time.

Remember that we're thinking of you and if you need to talk to someone then we're a call away.

Love,
Your friends

My Lucky Charms

2008-06-07T19:38:00.001-07:00

Sometimes, when I'm in alot of pain for one reason or another, I wonder what would happen if I died. I'm not really worried about it for my own sake, not to sound macho or fatalistic, I'm just... not worried at the time. But I do worry that I'll leave something unsaid to those I love. When that happens I'll thumb out an unsent SMS to my parents before I go to sleep, just in case I don't wake up.

What? You don't do that? I think it's practical.

But it is a little unfair. What about everyone else?

If Karma exists and there really is a great set of scales in the sky ensuring we all get our dues via some sort of cosmic reckoning, even across reincarnated lifetimes, then I must have done something fucking amazing in a previous life. I must have! There is no other explanation for why I have been so fortunate in my friends.

On meeting new people I usually revert to the quiet, introverted, idiotic kinda guy that I was in high school. This is why I generally don't like meeting new people. What should I say? "So what have you been doing since... forever?" or "Hi! I collect ears in a bucket"... I can never decide. And yet despite this, I have managed to gather around me a group of people who hung on long enough to see the quiet, introverted, idiotic kinda guy I really am. Or maybe they just didn't run away quick enough. Or the poor bastards were related to me and didn't have a choice. "I pity the fool..."

I vaguely remember a Japanese proverb that went something like "Self worth is like a butterfly on your back- even if you can't see it, your friends are there to describe it for you." I've always battled with self-esteem issues and this little gem often comes to mind when my friends step up and slap me around the head for bleeding self-pity. I just hope I've been there to do the same when they were feeling particularly useless or that they considered me an option if they simply needed an ear.

And just in case I haven't... If I am gone tomorrow I want you to know that, in my own way, I cared. Even if I wasn't very good at expressing it.

This isn't a drunken shout out of "I love you guys". But I do.

A date that hasn't happened yet

2008-05-06T04:49:00.000-07:00

We went to dinner and I was nervous. The alcohol didn't help.
I saw my koan, 'relax', fall over like a rigid board; ponderous and with a flat thud.
Caressing the ground rather than slapping it.
Maybe you didn't hear it because you were calm and expectant.

You chose the wine and said some words like 'nutmeg' and 'rosemary' and I said 'white'.
We talked about music and family and tried each others food.
The eggplant was my favorite and the fish in the buttery sauce was yours.
I noticed I like the way you had your hair cut and when you smiled I felt I'd done something right.
I started grinning in sympathy.

I told you about the time I was bombarded by a Salmon, you told me about how you broke your kid brothers arm.
I can't remember how they're connected.
We decided to have desert down at the pancake place.
I took your hand to lead you through a crowd waiting outside a pub.
We kept holding hands as we walked.

Where to tread?

2008-04-17T05:23:00.000-07:00

Being neurotic in Sydney is interesting. I have at least 10 opportunities every day to meet new people. People? Excuse me, I mean women, male applicants may apply elsewhere. Anyway, 10 opportunities... and I pass every single one of them by with a blank, indifferent stare. And why? Because who wants to be that crazy guy who makes eye contact with people on the street?

It's second person time... You're walking along, minding your business, thinking about that chicken that needs cooking, or that time you stuck your finger in a blender and then BAM! Someone is looking at you. Into your eyes so it catches your attention. You look up, ready to greet some old mate you've bumped into on the street, but then... nothing... a complete stranger is looking you in the eye wearing a funny grin. It is at this point that you start shaking your head to refuse whatever it is they're selling. Or maybe you turn into a wolf and tear their fucking throat out for challenging your authority. Yeah... do that.

So, instead of talking to people on the street, I'll be that awkward looking guy who you can feel staring at you, while somehow, never quite actually looking at you. I really do have this down to an art-form. Yesterday I was standing at the bus stop with a bored expression and a thousand yard stare across the street, the girl standing next to me did a double-take twice to check my eyes and I almost wet myself. It must be pre-tty creepy.

So other options? Meeting people at the pub... This is next to impossible. Pubs are for hanging out with your mates. If a mate introduces you to someone then all to the good. But otherwise people just don't want to know. And I understand this, were I at a pub with friends and some dude tried to latch onto us we'd probably bar him faster than Kan-tong cooking (okay, maybe not that fast) unless he was the perfect blend of humble enthusiasm, style and chemistry. And people like that do not talk to people like us.

Clubbing? People don't meet clubbing. Not the people I want to meet anyway.

This leaves sport, dancing, cooking classes, random recreational activities (eg. parkour or orienteering) or book clubs...

I'll let you know how they turn out.

Deliverance

2008-04-12T00:12:00.000-07:00

I just got back from the gym.

Let that sink in for a second.

It is a completely mundane sentence describing a completely mundane event... But to my ears it is sweet, sweet music.

Don't get me wrong. I hate the gym. It is exercise devoid of any purpose other than aesthetics. There is no fun to be had there. It smells of old sweat, new farts and ever-present armpits. Plus the people are all fitter than me, and those that aren't are stronger. And I'm weak and scrawny, where I'm not round and bouncy... and there are mirrors everywhere! In short... it rates slightly higher that an orange-juice enema on my personal list of fun things to do.

So why am I so pissed off that I haven't been able to go for the last 6 months?

Because the afterglow is awesome. Being there is like finger-nails screeching down the black-board of my soul. But afterwards I feel like I've done something. Something worthwhile. For my entire teens I ignored my body. I did what I wanted (ie. nothing), ate what I wanted (ie. crap) and was oblivious to the fact that there even were consequences. "I'll get fit eventually" was an often coined thought. Well, my friends, "eventually" arrived some time last year and I was playing sport, gyming regularly, eating well, losing weight... then BAM... "You have Ankylosing Spondylitis" says the good Doctor.

That, for those of you who don't know (I didn't), is this cool kind of arthritis that slowly fuses the bones in your spine together over a period of about 30 years until you are eventually walking around with a bamboo pole in your back. Yeah, I was pretty excited too. Early stages manifest themselves in back stiffness, massive loss of sleep and basically a whole butt-load of pain. I was considered, and I quote, "a textbook case". Mmm promising... Traditionally the condition has been treated with steadily stronger anti-inflammatory drugs, and this has met a limited degree of success. I have been on some pretty heavy ones for about 6 months and while they actually let me sleep, I still couldn't get out of bed without some serious elbow leverage.

But then an Angel, in the form of my Rheumatologist Professor Patrick McNeil, said unto me:

No, that is not the way.
We shall put you on this new improved drug
that has only just come out and is really good.
You'll need to fill out all these forms
and do exercises for 3 months
and do all this other nonsense.
But persevere, have faith,
and your time will come

And I did all of these things and lo, a prescription arrived. And Humira was its name.

6 months of pain. Starting in my back. Moving to my shoulder and then my neck. No sleep. No mobility.

How long did it take to fix this?

2 DAYS!

So now I'm going to get fit again and try Parkour... and possibly break myself all over again.
But if I don't try now I may never get another chance. And I know that I will try everything I can while I have a body that works.

Sometimes, as clichéd as it sounds, you really don't know what you have until it's gone. So I suggest you go out and try something that you have been meaning to. I'll see you there... unless it's at the bloody gym.

You're unique. Just like everyone else.

2008-03-13T05:10:00.000-07:00

Around 8 months ago a friend of mine, the Gent, joined an online dating service. He went on a few dates here, a few dates there. If he'd really wanted to I'm sure he could have shagged a different girl every weekend but that wasn't his game.

I discussed his progress with him pretty regularly as the whole idea was a bit taboo to me. I thought internet dating sounded like the last refuge of the desperate, but he lent the whole process an air of dignity that I had not hitherto associated with it.

Like a sheep I decided to jump on board. What, really, was there to lose? Okay, maybe a little self-respect when I admitted to myself that finding a girl through more conventional methods was a little difficult. But I already knew that. And at least I was doing something constructive about it.

I went on a couple of dates. The first, a little uninteresting. The second, the girl sounded like a legend online and so I mind-spasmed when I met her... yah... it wasn't pretty. Oh well. Then I crippled myself about 5 months ago and decided I didn't want to meet anyone while I was moving around like an old man. So I turned off my profile.

...

I never said it was going to be an interesting story.

...

I did learn a few interesting things though.

The online dating game has a whole subset of language associated with it, much like the real estate game, everyone is trying to sell themselves, be quirky, be edgy, be cool. Be completely fucking generic! It's painful to read some of this stuff. Like "I am a compassionate, open-minded person who likes hanging out with friends and having a good time"... what does that mean exactly? How is that helpful in differentiating you from, hmm say, every other 20-something on the planet? I despair at how completely and utterly unimaginative people can be when talking about themselves.

And yes, I understand that it's just a stupid tiny little insignificant blurb on the gigantic network of daily interactions, emotions and woven grace that is a human life. I get the fact that people don't want to give too much away, scare off the customers by pointing out the dents, leave some mystery to be explored later. But you have to give something. I don't care how smokin' hot you are, a picture of yourself and a list of music you like¹ will not generate more than passing interest at a reasonable glam shot² and disappointment at how boring you are.

The whole point of using an online service is that you can interact with others virtually anonymously. So everyone can see a photo of you and a user name... so what? The chances you'll randomly run into or even recognise each other on the street are infinitesimal! And unless you choose otherwise, someone you contact may only ever learn your first name. The problem is that many users don't seem to realise that this anonymity exists or the wonderful gift it grants them. And that is the ability to be totally, ruthlessly honest about themselves.

Lets say you're a little crazy (and if you're reading this I'd say it's a safe bet) but you edit this out of your profile, 'everyone does it' you tell yourself. And you are correct. This is the path to true facelessness. You are exactly the same as everyone else. Or at least you appear to be. And the world is a poorer place for it. Self-censorship and conformity are the enemies of originality and distinctiveness, and they're winning the fight on this battlefield.

The character Dash, from the animated movie The Incredibles, when told that "everyone is special" replied with the rather astute observation "that's the same as saying no one is." And he's right. I hadn't considered the possibility that people aren't censoring themselves... maybe 80% of people are just boring as hell. How depressing. I'm sticking to the original theory because it's more optimistic.

I say 80% because there are a few troopers out there who truly throw caution to the sharks and really unleash the inner ninja-penguin. These people make me smile. To you, brave souls I throw out a big "I salute you!"
Feel free to contact me... if you're hot.

¹ interestingly, no-one in the world will admit to liking country or metal
² Unless the pic is shown here

Derwent River Star

2008-03-13T01:18:00.001-07:00

Oren, Azz, Tom, lil' Bro and I all went to see Derwent River Star at the Hopetoun Hotel last night for their album launch. Its been several years in the making but 'The Winter Dark' is finally available for sale. I made shirts for four of us with the above image printed across the chest and the guys in the band seemed to appreciate it, which was cool. I was slightly devastated to hear that Alex is getting married soon but wish her all happiness just the same.

Jude is going back to America soon so it'll be a while before they come together again to create their sweet sweet tunes. I hope we made you feel wanted guys.

The Spoon of Destiny

2008-02-28T01:28:00.000-08:00

Forged in the fiyars of Mount Awesome,
in the beginning there were 10.
5 were given to the Metatron and his Arch-Angels,
to carve out the planes of existence.
3 were given to the Grecian Gods,
to sup upon their ambrosia.
2 were lost,
one to the all encompassing chaos
and the other swallowed by the third draw down.
And one was left on Earth,
left hidden until such time as it was needed.

I was digging through the cutlery drawer at work last week, making my ritual tea before facing a day in the office, when it happened. Its perfect weight slipped into my hand like any other, and suddenly some fuck-tard cranked up the goddamn Enya music. There was light everywhere and I squinted around, looking for a choir singer to slap. A strange tingling sensation was creeping up my arm. "What the hell is this?" I thought "I feel lighter, stronger, faster... slightly less hungover. Can it be? It IS!!! I have found the Spoon of Destiny!!!" (Enya paused for a dramatic Da da daaaaaahh!!!)

As the light dimmed I saw that my surroundings were different. They hadn't changed. I was still in the drab little kitchenette, but it was as if I had been staring at the candlestick when suddenly the talking heads snapped into focus. My perceptions had shifted. I could now really see what was around me. All 40 ninjas!!!

We stared at each other for a moment then the lead ninja stepped forward and gestured. He wanted the Spoon. He did not need to say "or you die" because it was pretty obvious he would have said "and you die". The air quivered with their murderous intent. I stretched the Spoon out towards his hand, thinking this my only chance, but at the last instant I added a small flourish to sayonara the Spoon from my life. A simple flick of the wrist... Clang! A still spinning shuriken deflected from the Spoon and into the leaders eye. He fell dead instantly. The ninjas stared at me. Then leapt.

"Aw crap" were not in fact my last words, but I felt they would be at the time.

The Spoon completely failed to take over my body and dance death like you've never seen. Great spurts of light, as if from lasers with the word 'UBER' printed on them did not blast great holes in chests or incinerate my opponents. A defensive shield, like a perspex dome, sprang from the floor to protect me... no wait. It didn't. Nope. I was alone.

I had nothing to lose. I attacked.

My first blow with the Spoon struck near the base of a ninjas sword as he swiped at my legs. This deflected his swing much further than it should and his blade swept under my outstretched foot to take off his brothers leg mid-calf. The second random swing connected with a stab aimed at my torso and the blade slipped past to bury itself in the chest of another about to lop off my head. Another overbalanced a black assailant into the path of a vicious swipe that would have opened me shoulder to hip. I whirled and spun and fought just like you'd expect an unfit computer geek to fight. Flailing wilding with no skill whatsoever. But despite nonexistent style the Spoon always connected. No direct hits you understand. It was a spoon and their swords would have smashed it. But the Spoon seemed to have more mass than was possible, it was light yet its momentum carried it further than it should.

This continued for a time and the bodies mounted around me. I was standing in a circular firing squad letting their bullets rip by me. The Spoon was always in exactly the correct position, no matter how madly I danced. More than half were down when they finally withdrew. I carefully climbed out of the cairn of bodies. They stared at me, then the Spoon, then back to me. I took a step. In unison they threw smoke bombs at the ground and vanished.

I put the Spoon back in its draw. Its time had not come but I would know where to look when it did...

Kittinger is my Hero

2008-02-25T00:21:00.000-08:00

You know that feeling you get when you stand on the edge of a cliff? Especially when there's a railing but it sits just below your hip. You can lean out over the abyss with a moderate impression of safety, but you still have all your weight low to the ground in case of earthquakes. You know the feeling I'm talking about. Something tugs at your centre, pulling you towards the edge. It's the void sucking at you. It's not vertigo and it's not entirely a fear of heights either. Why are we drawn towards something we have an inborn¹ visceral fear of? What is it?

Read on dear reader, and I will tell you... in a bit.

Extreme sports can be placed into two categories: those that involve a great height and those involving some form of acceleration brought on by an outside source (e.g. a wave, a mountain, the lack of a plane floor). The general consensus for why they are considered enjoyable is that they give either an adrenaline rush (brought on by a heightened sense of danger) or a sense of emotional achievement through completing a difficult task via the use of l33t skillz. These reasons are partly true.

Of the x-sports, climbing belongs in a league of its own. Like the others it requires utmost concentration and precision, but unlike them it must be completed slowly. It is also the only one that provides you with the aforementioned sucking sensation continuously, without pause, for the entire experience². So why do it? The sense of achievement, sure, but also to stand on the roof of the world. To sit in the sky.

Other x-sports use a smooth, controlled, high-speed descent to create an experience that adrenaline junkies will scour the world for. The emotional rush mimics the physical rush that the body is put through. Surfing, skiing, rafting, sky diving, jet boating, bungee jumping, even car racing or water-slides (to stretch the definition) all share this smooth, near frictionless quality. The whole body moves in a vector rather than being jerked around by the comparatively cumbersome striding motion.

So why do we feel (and suppress) the need to throw ourselves from cliffs or buildings? To glide down mountains of rock or water? To throw ourselves from bridges and planes? To sit in the sky?

We do them because we yearn to fly.

You know it. I know it. It's not a secret. It's not even important. It just is...

Maybe somewhere, way back up the evolutionary chain, we were birds. Or reptiles with wings. And that snake in our spine remembers what it was like to fly. And occasionally, if we are very lucky, we get to go there again. In dreams.

People have dreamed of flight for thousands of years. Some scholars even argue that the ancient Indians and Egyptians³ succeeded in building flying machines. But as the evidence is written in Sanscrit it is a little difficult to verify. Probably the most famous 'modern' flight-tinkerer was Da Vinci, who spent much of his life examining the flight of birds and designing machines with which to mimic them. I'm sure there were many others but two bicycle making brothers are usually the next quoted, and after Orville and Wilbur Wright everything escalated (historically speaking) quite quickly.

But I am not talking about flying a plane. The plane flies. You just sit there. I'm talking about flying, superman style. Just you. In the air. And this is where dreams come in.

Did you know that a third of the dreaming population dreams of flying? My own are something akin to the perspective of a Kangaroo, if it were the size of a bus. I'll sprint along the ground until I can feel the wind pushing against me then bound into a floating long-jump that is straight out of Naruto, on landing I'll bounce into a larger arc, then finally rebound into an leap the size of the Sydney Harbor Bridge. The closest I've seen to the experience is the Hulk jumping around in the 2007 movie.

In fact, sometimes, as I'm drifting off to sleep it's just possible that I'm making my dream a reality. I've read that the feeling of falling is quite common when going to sleep but just hear me out... I sleep on a reasonably thin but firm foam mattress over wooden slats. A couple of months ago as I drifted off to sleep it happened. I literally crashed back onto the bed. "Old news Benny" I hear you say "happens all the time". Not like this! It was hard. It was loud. And it freakin' hurt! It was so loud that, and I swear that this is true, I actually had to lift my mattress to check that I had not broken a slat on landing.

But enough about my awesomely cool super-powers. I need to mention one last thing. One last person in fact. The only man who I feel deserves the moniker "The Man Who Flew". Because he did. No plane. No pansy wings. No weak-ass 10,000 feet scared-shitless jump out of a plane. He actually flew.

Before Armstrong or Uri there was Joe Kittinger. Joe Kittinger did something so unbelievable that he makes Chuck Norris look like Taylor Hansen. If you take nothing else from this mad ramble you must at least WATCH THIS CLIP. Watch it now... I'll wait.

Have you watched it? You aren't allowed to read more unless you've watched it...

Okay... Joe Kittinger (henceforth known as Captain Big-Rocks), from a height of 31km, looking down at the entire planet... jumped. Jumped onto the Earth! He reached super-sonic speeds (989km/h) with nothing but a flight-suit and a set of adamantium balls... and he lived. He walked away! He flew. For real real. Not for play play...

I need to say something to sum things up here but I can't. My mind is numb. I am just filled with awe...

¹ Experiments using what are known as "visual cliffs" have shown human infants and toddlers, as well as other animals of various ages, to be reluctant in venturing onto a glass floor with a view of a few meters of apparent fall-space below it. Read more here.
² Sky diving would only provide this sensation when you are about to step out of the aeroplane.
³ http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ancient_astronaut_theory

No Witnesses

2008-02-22T21:53:00.000-08:00

The story itself is shrouded in the mists of time and so complicated that historians had to separate it into different sections to make any sense of the seemingly meaningless events. They believed that many different stories were happening at the same time and so recorded these accordingly. They were wrong of course but the records are missing before a point just after most of the action had occurred. This is attributed to the fire that destroyed the King's palace when the city turned on him for allegedly poisoning Snow White. The fates of the players that are known for certain are recorded below:

The Witch and Rumples (as Rumpelstiltskin was affectionately called) started up their very own family business, a drug cartel which created and dominated the market with their highly controversial drug, "Magic Apples". Very popular among middle-aged women, the user would fall into a deep sleep until Mr. Right came along to wake her. Because magic is completely undetectable by conventional methods, tracing the drug proved impossible for the authorities and so all items produced were shipped and sold. Rival crews soon lost interest in competing with the Witch and Rumples duo. In hindsight, they decided, they really did want their children more than money.

The couple really hit the jackpot, though, when the Witch cast a new strain that was lethal. "Magic Apples" doubled its consumer base overnight for they had finally found a way to sell into the largest age group of the drug market. Young people. Because if there wasn't a reasonable chance that it would kill you, they weren't interested.

Reputedly, if the drug was taken in exactly the right dose you were taken to the brink of death, "the whole bright light thing and St Peter saying 'What the fuck are you doing here?'", before you were sent back to your body to spend the next two months recovering in hospital. The resulting high from a near death experience was alleged to last the rest of your natural life. Needless to say, all other illegal drugs soon became obsolete and 'Magic Apples' were eventually used under prescription by depression sufferers.

The Witch and Rumples raised Snow White's child as their own and he grew to be a shrewd businessman who never took a drug in his life. He met a nice, if lazy, girl by the name of S. Beauty and they started the 'Big Misunderstood Wolf' demolition company with some money from the cartel. However, the ruthlessness of the drug industry was never quite left behind and police received reports of several squatter families going missing, including the (unfortunately named) brothers Pig and the entire Riding-Hood clan. No charges were pressed but the demolition company was under strict surveillance for the next few years.

Events did not run nearly so smoothly for the royal family. When the Prince discovered Snow White and his father, the King, experimenting with a crossbreed of positions sixty-eight and seventy from the Karma Sutra he slipped silently away to plan his revenge.

After a lengthy meeting and discussion with absolutely no-one the Prince decided to stab Snow White. Only this violent act could quench the fires raging in his spurned soul. Yet he needed a way to do it in secret, she was too famous do just vanish quietly, and those seven midgets kept visiting. The Prince talked himself hoarse (to his pet skull affectionately named 'Wilson') and planned the perfect crime. He could kill her easily if she were already dead! That night he visited an apothecary and in the morning Snow White woke to find a basket of apples waiting for her (incidentally, believed to we Witch&Rumples 'Form of death' mark 2's). Thinking the joke was in rather poor taste she took a bite only to fall into another death-like sleep.

On the evening of her funeral, the Prince crept into the crypt and revived her. He drew the knife, trembling with anticipation, to her sobbing last request "... a final kiss for lost love, please, I beg you". "Why not?" thought the Prince "I'll snatch her life away just when she thinks she can seduce me, crush her hope, crush her soul! What better vengeance?"*. He leaned down to kiss her one last time and jerked back after only a moment with a strange taste in his mouth. "What's that my love, you leave no poison for me?" Snow White cackled, "I take the antidote every night". With moments left to live, the Prince's final thought 'Screw the bitch' rushed across his mind as his knife rushed though her heart and he collapsed. Shocked, Snow White gripped the blade as if to draw it out before muttering her eloquent last words "You bastard", then she too toppled over.

It is interesting to note that later, when the media arrived, they vastly misinterpreted events.

*This information is conjecture and was assembled through examination of the surveillance tapes.

Car Crash on Memory Lane

2008-02-14T04:59:00.001-08:00

Decade nostalgia is something we are all familiar with, even if you're a younger genY and know it only as 'nostalgia' because you haven't been alive long enough to earn the honorary 'decade'. Have you noticed that it always seems to gravitate to what was on the television? Rarely has anyone brought up the Ninja Turtle playing card Plague of '92, the Great Marble Crisis of '93 or the Yo-yo Epidemic of '95. Probably because you had to be there. "I collected alot of marbles and this one time I beat this guy with a really tricky shot using my favorite cats-eye" does not a gripping tale make.

Over the past few years I've occasionally revisited my childhood sandy-eyed morning TV haunts via the internet or the dodgy (read: holy) Chinese video store down the road. I was shocked to discover that some of these monuments to a bygone age, these pillars of creation, have succumbed to the ravages of time. They have been eroded away to mere shadows of the monoliths in my memory. It was a sad, sad realisation.

But I took solace when I found there were still others that could pick up my shriveled soul, melt it down, cast it into a tuning fork, then smite it with a mountain.

Case in point. He-Man. If you can watch this clip without a shiver running down your spine then you need read no further- you are not welcome here. Most of the clip is pretty mundane but when he shouts (ahem) "I have the power" the echoes do something to my inner ear. A sympathetic roar sounds in my own head. It's beastial in its intensity. Like a lion screaming a challenge. And it... is... awesome...

One thing I didn't remember though, was that He-Man had a moral at the end of each episode. These were generally lame, though they did seem to send conflicting messages on occasion. Might is Right (where you have the right to do anything because you've got all the might) is apparently not the paradigm to live your life by... but He-Man was the mightiest mofo out there and he did whatever he wanted? Whatever. I could have turned it off after the intro and still walked away with a happy-ending stagger.

Another show that tried to indoctri...teach our generation was Astro Boy. Astro is almost universally loved by everyone my age that I've ever met. I loved Astro. He had lasers (in his fingers and butt???) and rocket boots and for some reason he couldn't do anything fun with his clothes on¹. He was great. So it breaks my heart to say this but, I'm sorry buddy, you belong to the past. In the cold hard light of my twenties I see Astro as the whiniest whiner to ever whine his way across a small screen. Everything about the show was great except his kicked-puppy voice and his sulky emo attitude. I wanted to grab him and shout You can fly dude! Existential dilemmas can go get donkey-buggered!

Of course if we're talking about robots then the Transformers must get a mention. Say what you like about the 2007 movie, it would not have worked without Peter Cullen. Digital effects- seen 'em. Action sequences- meh. Bumbling but likable sidekick kid- please. The whole 144 minute experience hinged on these 19 seconds², a simple tip of the hat in our direction. Optimus remembers us.

The 2007 mutant children of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles didn't. Which is probably why their DVD is being used as a coaster the world over. The first Turtles movie was one of my all-times as a kid and then poor market research into target audience led to the monstrosity that was TMNT. So you too, my renaissance painter friends, belong in the past. But in a good way. It is better that you aren't here to see your bastard children face-planting the box office.

Another set of anthropomorphic animals whose sole purpose was to kick-ass were the ThunderCats. They were continually picking fights with this rather sick looking old guy named Mumm-ra, who'd obviously been in a horrible industrial accident involving fire. Not that sporting really, when they all looked like Greek gods.
The lead character, Liono, accidentally went through an instant aging process so he was really a boy trapped in a mans body (I missed the irony at the time) and he had this cool sword that had an eye in it³, and it was the source of his power, and it got bigger when he played with it, and he didn't even go blind once! Thanks Thundercats for your valuable life lessons. I dropped by these guys a while ago and aside from the incredibly annoying Snarf character (the token cowardly gimp) the show holds up pretty well. I didn't get that far though so will have to go back to see how they're doing.

In hindsight, I now see that Robotech and Astro were my first forays into Japanese animation aka 'anime'. A recent viewing reminded me that there was one theme that the Japanese boldly dealt with while others feared to tread- relationships between boys and girls. And also, how incredibly frustrating said relationships could be. Rick Hunter (pictured) may as well have been named Johnny Kickass for how much he busts his ass every episode, flying around pwning the alien menace, protecting life as we (will) know it, rescue missions and dog-fights. And after working up a hard earned thirst does he get to kick up his feet and relax with his woman? Does he get any love for his efforts? I mean anything? Hell No! And this was also a valuable lesson. Even a guy who saves the world daily suffers from mixed-signals. Even he can end up in the friend-zone! Unless he acts. But Rick is too much of a gentleman (read: loser). And it doesn't help that he is 'seeing' the biggest tease ever, who views him as a brother. Rick mate, build a bridge, get over it, burn it to the water line. Problem solved. The action scenes were pretty cool though so definitely worth a look if you're in the neighborhood.

This one'll test you. Does anyone remember the Mysterious Cities of Gold? A group of kids explored the new world looking for El Dorado? They had a a cool ship that sailed itself and then ditched it when they found this pimpin' golden condor to fly around? Anyone? Anyone? This one sucked me right back in and I watched it all the way through to the end... where everything got weird. The plot was a reasonably straight forward set of exploration, meet new friends, run away from bad guys, cut-and-paste any kids show here kinda deal. All until the last 4 or 5 episodes when they (warning: spoiler) found the city of gold (end spoiler) and then had to fight off aliens who were going to destroy the world!!! Bet you didn't see that one coming.

Lastly, Monkey. Is there anything I can say about Monkey that you don't already know? No? Sucks to be you then cause I'm saying it anyway. Monkey was such a manly (monkey) man that he started life without the aid of a mother, he wasn't born, he was hatched... from a rock! On his quest to right the wrongs of the world (via busting heads) he outfoxed demons⁴, faced down the armies of Heaven⁴, rescued his mates⁴ and all while babysitting a completely trousers priest ^{(and God how I wish)}⁴. What attracted us most to Monkey was his winning personality which was a combination of amiable idiot, indominable spirit and a barrel sized can of Whoop-Ass. So what if his shows were repetitive? So what if the dubbing was some pretty seriously stereotyped Engrish? So what if he never actually reached India? I point out one of the shows own great-sage fortune-cookie morals: "Happiness is a way of travel, not a destination". And Monkey would be welcome on my trip any time.

¹ Because he was a genius
² For anyone who remembers the original movie anyway
³ The Eye of Thundera
⁴ Then kicked the sh1t out of them

A Valentines Day Mystery

2008-02-14T03:48:00.000-08:00

Hope you had a good day with your significant other. By the way, if you're pictured here then you need to know one thing...

Another creepy guy on the internet thinks you're cute.

Shuffle Shuffle

2008-02-12T04:51:00.001-08:00

Public transport is useful. It decreases the environment impact of moving large numbers of people and is necessary for a modern metropolis to get people into and out of commercial and retail areas. Here's a hypothetical situation: public transport doesn't exist. You start your first job and you can't afford a car. Logical conclusion: unless you are within walking/riding distance of your new job then you are going back to work in your Dad's dirt factory... and so is everyone you grew up with. So a decent public transport system must be in place for a city to become a city, to rise above being a bunch of towns held loosely together by sheep and a need to prevent inbreeding.

Public Transport is useful, no-one refutes this. Everyone complains about it*, true, but no-one has been stupid enough to suggest that we should do away with the whole system.

It's useful and necessary but Oh My God is it boring. I used to take a book to read on the 15 minute (that's right, I said 15 minute) bus ride to work because I just could not handle the silence! I don't know what the social norm is where you're from (my non-existent reader) but Sydney people do not talk to strangers on buses. It's like we're all 8 years old again, repeating Mums rule over and over in our head while desperately avoiding eye contact in case someone tries to offer us candy or a lift home.

But why should this be so? The chances of not liking someone with enough charisma to start a conversation on a bus must be reasonably slim? Oops, I've just answered my own question... What if you do like them? People don't want the obligation of remembering another name and the associated background noise. It's not that they don't care, it's that they don't want to care. We want attachment-free conversation. Preferably with someone we will likely never see again. Even if you have nothing in common there is always small talk. But small talk is only useful with people you know and will remember. So it's pointless. So why bother?

This sets a worrying social precedent. If no-one talks on buses then people who try must, by default, be a hammer short of a picnic**. So even those who want to try something different are herded back into line by the slightly worried expressions of their listeners. It's a vicious cycle that feeds on itself, eating all sound. The alternative? Plug yourself into an mp3 player, fix a glazed stare at a point approximately 3 meters through the person in front of you and put on your best I'm-practicing-for-when-I'm-dead expression. If this maneuver were graded I'd be in the 'uber l33t' category, no question.

Despite my l33tness, I'm annoyed at the whole situation and have had enough. So I've decided to do something about it...

Roughly 20~30% of the aforementioned zombie window-starers (myself included) go to work with some form of mp3 player to keep the deafening silence at bay. So it is safe to assume that these people have at least a passing interest in music. And what is music but a way to communicate with people? In it's rawest form it is the epitome of a social activity, a group of people coming together to appreciate the musical talent of a band/singer***. It's a social activity that doesn't have to be done socially. Therefore, all (or at least some) people listen to music as a replacement for conversation.
QED

But how do we differentiate these people from those who are legitimately using music for escapism, to avoid contact with people? Until now there were no external indicators and so everyone played it safe and left eachother alone. But I, in the words of Bauldrick from BlackAdder, have a cunning plan...

It is laughably simple but it may just work for that. Here are the rules:

Purchase an iPod shuffle (approx $100AU)
Fill it with (what you consider to be) an awesome selection of music
Place the Shuffle-Shuffle logo on it (preferably as a circular sticker over the play button)
Wear it in plain sight while in transit (preferably on collar or sleeve for maximum visibility)
Upon meeting someone else wearing the Shuffle-Shuffle logo you must immediately swap Shuffles

That's it.

Ponder the possibilities for a moment.

It's true that a Shuffle is not a small investment. At $100 it's at least a medium sized purchase. But if you are swapping with another then you really don't lose value in the transaction.

You should also keep your head-phones for hygiene reasons.

Personal taste is nearly irrelevant. This is why we used to listen to the radio people! In the off chance that we hear a song we like and discover a new artist we enjoy.

And what of the benefits?

You know that the person wearing the Shuffle-Shuffle logo is part of the community and will be interested in at least swapping stories about how they became involved or the music they've heard.
You are no longer a weirdo because you are already connected.
You may discover an artist that you have never heard of and really enjoy.
Its something to do on the bus other that stare at that stain on the seat in front of you.

If you're interested drop me a line. I'm going to make the stickers up soon and can be found on the 39-anything buses on weekdays.

Oh, and if I'm going to write about public transport I should put out a shout to the awesome 9am L94 driver. You rule mate and if I ever see you at the pub I swear I'll bring you a couple of beers to thank you for having such an awesome attitude 24-7. You really are an inspiration.

* (SIX 400's IN A ROW!!!!)
** T-shirt idea number #14- "I start conversations on buses"
***DJ's and classical music can communicate in a different way but no less potently

An Underrated Place

2008-02-08T14:12:00.000-08:00

Last night I had a few post-work beverages with the dirtiest, horniest, top 3 funniest little man I know. Through some quirk of nature, or possibly much training, he can direct his voice. I know what you're thinking. Everyone directs their voice Benny you retard, you point your head and speak! And I would have agreed with you before I met this man-boy. We can be having a conversation about some chixors while standing on their feet and they will never hear a word. This probably developed as a survival tactic considering the content of his conversation.

What's strange is that he doesn't talk softly or unclearly, it's just that every word he says travels directly to your ear and no-where else. Somehow his voice stealths its way along a narrower corridor so that, while we are all blaring AM radios, he is a laser-disc personal stereo. Why anyone gifted with such a voice would choose to use it in the way he does I do not know, but it's certainly entertaining. I'll suggest a career in espionage when I next see him.

I didn't mean to talk about my friend for more than a sentence. I've wandered off topic, which is interesting because that (sort of) is the topic.

It's Saturday morning. And there's one thing about Saturday mornings that usually holds true... They are preceded by Friday nights.

Many years ago (okay 6), I saw Irish comedian Jimeoin talk about the stages of drunkenness. I think it was the usual act-like-an-idiot for gags kind of routine and the only one that I really remember is Stage 2: I am the greatest pool player who ever lived. I remember it because my mate Hangover and I use "Stage 2" as an accolade when either of us is playing like a drunken-master... Also off topic.

I am not here today to talk about Stealth's voice or Hangover's pool playing, I am here to talk about hangovers.

A great man once texted his mate "It is only when you have a hangover that you truly appreciate not having a hangover" while working in a bottle shop, with a caterpillar under his tongue, on a Saturday morning, and it was raining.

A brief timeline

Stage 0 (aka Ground 0) - Your body finally realises that you have been willingly poisoning yourself (for up to 12 hours straight if it was a reasonable session with a BBQ and friends) and so knocks you the fsk out before you can do any more damage.
Stage 1: At some point this TKO evolves into a protective sleep. Even unconscious, you know that the world can only offer pain and so you flee from it.
Stages 2 through 6 are all about the pain of waking up and "I will never drink again" and other boring stuff. But I didn't go through that today so will leave it for another time.
Stage 7: You waited and waited and finally your stomach content has thickened to something resembling tar. You can feel it. Sitting there. Solid and unbreakable. All the bad juju is escaping your body through a series of earth shattering farts. (Ironically, Hangover just texted me to let me know that people are fleeing the country to escape from hers.) You know everything is going to be alright. It is now safe to eat.
Stage 8: This may be unique to me but I usually go through a stage of near-drunken giddiness once I have crested the wave of a hangover. I know that it's not over yet. But I also know that it soon will be. And this makes me completely euphoric for a time. It's a like titration in my brain where that one last drop of indicator completely tips the scales and makes everything go pink*. It is a very nice feeling... perhaps even better than the drinking part.
Stage 9: Sailing in calm waters. Nothing done today but you're okay with that.

An integral part of the hangover is the attention span of a special-needs goldfish (see Stealth and Hangover anecdotes above) but I did learn some interesting things this morning. Did you know that sleep among species in inversely related to the animal size? Rats, with very high Basal metabolic rate, sleep for up to 14 hours a day whereas elephants and giraffes with lower BMRs sleep only 3-4 hours per day. Did you know that? I didn't know that! How can that make sense? Elephants must need huge amount of energy to move around and they hardly ever sleep? WTF mate?

I also learned the proper use of the apostrophe and will now promptly forget it again.

And I once again learned that Dylan Moran is the funniest man alive.

*That is some top banana nerd talk right there

Hidden in plain sight

2008-02-06T03:10:00.000-08:00

I've decided to do something selfless, something for the betterment of mankind, something that may go overlooked for many years but will one day (years after I have died) make me immortal.

It came to me in an instant, this thing I must do, while I was standing in the kitchen making dinner to the sweet sounds of Jose Gonzalez. "What if I die tomorrow?" I thought. I could get hit by a bus or kidnapped by terrorists (desperate terrorists) or I might develop a need to breathe exclusively and loudly through my mouth and have to kill myself? What then? It will be lost to the world.

A tear ran down my cheek at the thought.

But then there are the ethical issues... Should I release it to the world? My impending doom means that I must, else it be lost forever. Is the world ready? Will it ever be? What can I do to slow the raging storm that will come about when the secret is passed on? ... I thought about this and decided that there was only one solution...

I will hide it in plain sight.

1 cup grated cheese
3 really large (or 5 really small) zucchinis grated
4 bacon rashers sliced
5 eggs
1 cup self-raising four
1 large onion sliced
1/3 cup of oil

Mix all together in large bowl. Add to Large baking tray. Bake at 180degC in normal oven for an hour or until dark brown.

Use this knowledge wisely, grasshopper.

F|_|[king Grated Carrot

2008-02-05T04:42:00.000-08:00

Australia- The National Crisis #1337.

If you walk up to anyone outside of Australia and ask what they would expect to find here I'm reasonably sure you'd be told about how Aussies all feed Kangaroo's in their backyards, wear corks in their hats and round up horses when they aren't fighting crocs (or shagging sheep if you're talking to a Pom). Of course, this is assuming they know where Australia is.

We take a certain national pride in the outback lifestyle, even though nearly all of us are far removed from it. Gone the way of the Tassie Tiger are most of the practices that gave outback living such a manly glamor, or near-destitute pallor, however you look at it. Though a few of these social dynamics still survive, such as mate-ship, language and communal drinking (yup- we're claiming it).

One that is sadly in decline is that of creative swearing. Australians were famous at one point for their inventiveness with language. "Sticks like shit to a blanket" , "cold as a dead Dingoes Donger", or "useless as a one-legged man in an arse-kicking contest" are just three examples off the top of my head. Terry Pratchett, in his book Last Continent made a point of poking fun at the way we could string together curses until they were works of art (and name places Didjabringabeeralong).

I can't remember the last time I heard a truly original swear. Actually, wait no, I can. That's the point.

A couple of years ago I was living with Vego and Hangover, both lovely girls I'd invite to my mums birthday party. Vego, being a vegetarian, had a habit of grating carrot on everything to fill in the gap where the meat should be... works for some I suppose. Anyway, here's a question, have you ever forgotten to clean a grater (specifically used for carrot) before going to bed? It happened all of (about) twice in the time we lived together and let me tell you, that shit does not come off short of incineration. Overnight, the carrot dries to the grater to form some sort of heat-sealed paint job a new car owner would pay extra for.

One day, Hangover tried to clean said grater to the loud declarations of "F@[king Grated Carrot!!!" which wasn't very creative, but was certainly original, and we soon found it useful for almost any situation.

Now if I could just figure out how to use it in a sentence with alliteration...

Will this be on the test?

2008-02-05T04:11:00.000-08:00

So the question is, why are we here? Or, more pertinently, why am I (since no-one cares about you)?

The character Elliot on the TV show Scrubs has a line about acting normal in front of people but "...I'm just this big mountain of cuckoo who's about to erupt and spew molten crazy all over [people]..." and I can totally relate.

So these be the crazy pages and may come to include anime and book reviews, anecdotes, ninjas, t-shirt design ideas, parts of a story/webcomic I am writing and basically anything I think is interesting enough to warrant the attention of absolutely no-one.

First up. The title. 'Seven Sneezes' is very nearly Eight Sneezes- and is thus the mythological threshold of a very happy place. Make sense now?