Wednesday, January 23, 2008

Alan Rickman's Metatron.

Okay. Let me be as blunt as I can be.

I don't want to leave Sydney. This place is pretty fucking awesome. However, the circumstances and a chronic misalignment of the stars have already sealed my fate of only becoming an occasional tourist.

Which is rather sad, because the food is good, the people are intermittently cordial, it perpetually feels like there's a beach that's never too far away and I can get away with wearing a fedora without being singled out in public. I also speak the language with an accent that I'd be burned with back home.

Applying for permanent resident status in Australia is a whore short of a harem (then again, where is it not?), and you're prone to strike out ala being turned away from Heaven's gates because you had a shoddy, sweaty, sloppy illegitimate shag with the Physical Ed. teacher when you were fifteen.

But it has been a rollicking two months, I'll give you that. From the beautifully flawed compact urban banality of Melbourne to the Sophie Monk-ness of the diorama that is Sydney, it's time to pack up and leave.

I'm not too willing to cross deeper into that threshold towards adulthood, though.

I'm not entirely in a rush towards sorting out what's next, since everyone else has beaten me to it.




You fools.

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

Potty reading.

I can't stand taking a shit without the proper reading material. Any form of silence makes me feel uncomfortable, and, at the very least, I'd love to wire some noise into my head whilst cleansing the barrel.

Some might wince, crine and grimace (in that order, even!) at the suggestion that potty time is the only fulfilling time to read a book, but I humble digress; I've managed to finish up Catch-22 and Chuck Pahlahniuk's Choke while polishing the Armitage. I genuinely believe that such a feat would've been impossible to achieve on my part if the reading was done anywhere else (though to be fair, I ravaged my way through Choke with sporadic early morning sessions).

My list of things to do in Australia included finishing up the two aforementioned books; with that off the list, I feel somewhat satisfied. And hungry for a little bit more. Unfortunately, stepping into a Borders makes you realize that mainstream book retailers here offer things at a dollar-to-dollar rate, and sometimes even more.

So, to Gomes and Jazza, I was planning to get youse two fellows something special, but the value of the dollar prevents me from doing so.

Ah, well.

May the most pungent activity we partake in be the most aromatic episode of your day. Read a book. In the shitter.

Today.



Hooha. It's difficult to be cynical when you're happy.

Thursday, January 03, 2008

Out with the in, and in with the out!

It's been over a month and a half since I've last left my mark upon this hallowed textbox. And, for reasons unknown even to myself, I'm still having difficulties in attempting to conjure up something meaningful and poignant to mourn for the loss of 2007.

Mayhaps it's an indication of my waning non-existent powers of articulation or the fact that I've got nothing to write home about aside from the weather in jolly olde Australia. Mayhaps it's the strange, erratic non-summer like weather patterns during this torrid summer. Mayhaps it's my lack of experience in this crudely idyllic suburban coastal neighbourhood juxtaposed against the setting of one of the busiest cities on the planet that allows me to make a funny and insightful (short on shallow) critique that nobody would agree with. Or maybe it's because I'm typing this with nothing but my boxers on.

Whatever the reason is, I'd like to wish you a Happy New Year. And may it be a flavourful one.

Here's to good taste in double-O eight.