There were only three of us on this floor all of yesterday and I fondly assumed that the rest of the week was going to be similarly blissfullyquiet.
How wrong I was.
Typical really: the first person to come back from holiday is the guy with the persistant hacking cough.
I can't help but wish Santa had stuffed a Christmas stocking down the fucker's throat...
Elefant! Great name. But very unfortunate if you happened to be morbidly obese..
Evelyn M Barrass: E.M. Barrass.. Geddit? *chortle*
Yeah, I'm easily amused.
Great first name: Wolf. Shame he was a chartered accountant.
Oh dear: Joe Semaan.
Still, it could have been worse - like his brother Chuck Semaan...
Dirk Spek - and he was married to Wilhelmina Owiehand. Sometimes names are just too bizarre..
For all those who remember the Goon show: Ying Tong.
Coxhead! *snigger*
Peter Kriss! Does the rest of Kiss know? Or care?
Vader?!
Who knew Darth's real name was John? How boring.. no wonder he changed it to Darth.
I wonder if it was a speech impediment and he really meant to say his name was 'Darcy'? Rumour has it he was a big Jane Austen fan..
Heh, his dad's name was Rudolph which adds more credence to the Darcy hypothesis..
Finally, a brilliantly Antipodean name: Tim Tam.
Well, originally from Vietnam but I'm sure he was made most welcome in Australia. And only occasionally had both ends bitten off and coffee sucked through him (if you're not from these parts you wont get that but hey, just go with it)
God I'm bored..
Freakin' bored.
Boredy boredy bored..
So bored that if my screen wasn't so visible from the door I'd be playing solitaire.
I'm that bored.
Did I mention how bored I am?
Well I'm bored.
On a bored scale of 1 to really bored I'm so bored I can't even measure it.
Well past the boiling point of boredom.
Off the Boredchter scale of boredness: the scale developed by Heinrich Boredchter, an accounts clerk grade IV in a rubber band factory who first isolated the smallest particle of boredom known to Man.
Commonly known as the boron.
Known to be closely associated with the densest known particle: the moron .
In fact morons are known to emit large quantities of borons.
Making everything in the immediate vicinity boronactive.
If only this source of boredom could be harnessed and used for good not evil...
God I'm bored.
Songs that have lept, unbidden, into my mind upon waking recently:
Brown Sugar - The Rolling Stones
Two Sides/Monsieur Valentine - Spoon
Sky Saw - Brian Eno
Alone Again Or - Calexico
Decepticon - Le Tigre
Sideways - Aimee Mann
The Specialist - Interpol
Loyal - Dave Dobbyn
Squares - Beta Band
This Charming Man - The Smiths
Have you ever gone to work on a Monday morning and encountered a workmate you really don't like much then had the awful realisation that she figured prominently in a rather vivid Roman-style orgy dream you had the other night..?
Anyone?
No?
Just me then..
*shudder*
I feel like I need to shower and scrub all over with steel wool..
Top ten fictional cities:
10. Mega City One
9. Viriconium
8. The Sprawl
7. Gormenghast
6. Lankhmar
5. Interzone
4. Sin City
3. Ankh-Morpork
2. New Crobuzon
1. Pile
... and it looks like fun!
Town name: Wycheproof. I'd like to take a bunch of Pagans there to see if it really is..
I think it's kinda strange and a little depressing that cemeteries have different sections. It's like the divisions between 'Us' and 'Them' have to continue after death. Divide people up by their religion and/or ethnic group. What the hell is that all about? Can't let any outsiders in, foreigners who might mix with and dilute the purity of our dead.. It's sad that all these religions who profess to be all about the life beyond this too solid flesh put so much emphasis on what happens to your cast-off shell once the soul has left it.
Traveling buy bus as I do every day it's interesting to see what people read. I'm fairly accepting of most things, even appalling women's magazines and Harry Fucking Potter, but it's just a little too wanky to be reading Nietzsche at 8:30 in the morning. You're not fooling anyone mate.
How appropriate: a funeral home on Mort Street.
One small simple way to make sure you look like a total cock: wear one of those bluetooth cell phone earpieces. Especially when you're on the bus. It just screams "I'm a self-important wanker with cheap cologne".
John A. Hole...
*snigger*
Yeah, I'm peurile.
Dong Mei Wang!
*laughing*
It must be a Friday.
Thank god...
The multiculturalness of this office is quite cool, I work with:
A Papua New Guinean
2 Philippinos
An Irishman
A Russian
A Ukranian
A Croatian
A Singaporean
2 Englishmen
An Indian (from India, not the other flavour)
2 Malays
A Kenyan
An Argentinian
2 Lebanese (actually from Lebanon, not one of the sub-woofer driving dicks from Parramatta)
A Palastinian
2 Kiwis (the people, not the birds)
Oh, and there are also some Aussies. Somewhere. I think.
..but you will be soon enough. Some random crap:
Daftest place-name of the week: Wantabadgery. I swear I'm not making this up!
My totally non-scientific experience of trends in death leads me to believe that, while there are more deaths during Winter, it's in Spring when the suicides go through the roof. Or rather jump off the roof. Usually with something around their necks. God this job can be depressing at times.
*gasping.. laughing too much*
Oh god, some parents just don't think do they?
There's a guy named Christopher Phillip Bacon!
Chris P Bacon...
Oh dear oh dear..
*cracks up again*
I finally saw this movie last night. I'm so glad I did.
It's trip, a hell of a ride, pretty wrenching and gritty.
Gritty in the non-Hollywood sense.
Not just an artful smudge of dirt over someones' makeup indicating grime, or a touch of blusher to show a bruise on the forehead after a fight.
The fight sequences aren't artistically and balletically performed, the use of jump-cuts and close-ups in the action sequences in this flick *add* to the realism rather than (as is usual) hide flaws in choreography.
The fights are visceral, bloody, painful and very very final.
The movie starts with one of the most gruesome medieval-battle sequences I've seen - a true melee, formless, gory and exceedingly violent.
Also, as it turns out, pointless and unwinnable.
This is by no means the best movie ever but it is an excellent riposte to Hollywood. It has all the trappings of a Hollywood fantasy/action flick: secret societies of 'Others' living amongst us, the Good vs Evil fight, magical powers, vampires, car chases (alright, bus chases, but the effect is the same), explosions, fight sequences, impending doom and destruction of the world to avoid, etc.
All by-the-book things from the LA studio manual.
But the fact that it wasn't made in the US or with any Hollywood input gives a very important edge and twist.
A twisty edge in fact.
The Light Others (the eponymous Night Watch) aren't really all that good. Some may mean well - especially in the case of the main character, the beautifully conflicted and ambiguous Anton, but their truce with the Dark Others and the rules of that uneasy peace strip away much of the supposed goodness. As any bureaucracy does.
Organise something and you take much of the passion out of it.
But they do their jobs. And their jobs involve very morally questionable things like using humans as live bait and tokens in their game.
As long as the rules are followed much evil is allowed on either side.
I'd say more but it'll give too much away.
The overall mood of the film is one of melancholy and impending doom, and the ending is very Russian.
This is one movie I seriously hope they make a sequel to.
Go see it.
Yes I know it's monday, I'm always late. I figured after the 100 things meme taking more than a year to complete I'd keep my lists a bit shorter.
1) What is your favorite noise to hear?
The noise I hear most often that I love is the sound of the coffee percolator in the morning. It's also the best smell. But the sound that I love that I hear almost never is the sound of a steam train whistle in the distance. There's something beautifully mournful and alluring about that sound.
2) If you could live in any era of time, what would you choose and why?
I'd love to have been around in Roman times, probably around the reign of Vespasian, but only if I was a member of the upper classes. And even then I'd have difficulties with sanitation and food storage. For hedonistic reasons I'd have loved to have been around in Paris in the 20s.
3) You just found $50 while cleaning your house. Where do you decide to spend it?
Bookshop or CD store. That's a no brainer.
4) What magazines to you subscribe to/read on a normal basis?
Sight & Sound - the British Film Institute magazine. I've been getting that monthly for nearly 10 years now.
New Scientist - on a more irregular basis, when something catches my eye.
Fortean Times - even more irregularly these days, but whenever I'm looking for something bizarre and intriguing that's where I go.
5) If you could witness any event in history, but not change anything about it, what would you choose and why?
I'd love to have seen the birth of the Mediterranean - to have been around when the Atlantic burst through what is now the Straits of Gibraltar. That would have been just incredible. But I guess that's pre-history really. Within recorded human history.. I'd like to have been in Manchester for the seminal Sex Pistols gig.. Or Joy Division. Yeah, Joy Division.
Grooming: When ironing your shirt in the morning, do not attempt to drink coffee at the same time. Especially if it's a white shirt. Motor reflexes and general coordination are poor in the first few hours of the day (at least for normal humans - you 'morning people' can fuck right off).
Additional tip: after spilling coffee on said white shirt do not, in a fit of pique, throw the shirt onto a pile of dirty smelly clothes (including the previous night's sweat-sodden gi) until you've ascertained whether you actually have another shirt to wear, as this means you will not only be forced to wear a stained shirt but also one that smells like a donkey died on it.
End note: in Sydney at the moment you may be saved from some embarrassment by the fact that your shirt will become saturated with fresh sweat within 15 seconds of leaving the house anyway. Use this opportunity to further your reputation for being generally scruffy and unkempt.
I'm uninspired. Can't think of anything of my own to write so I'll just make fun of people like I always do:
Best misspelling of an occupation today: 'Loss Asser'. Nearly made my coffee come out my nose.
Worst surname: D'Ombrain. Poor woman, I just hope she wasn't blonde too.
In this morning's selection I've had a Howe, a Why and a Ware. Not quite 'Who's on First' but pretty good for confusing the poor dimbrains in the printroom.
Best line from a Funeral Director's hold spiel: "at some point in our lives we are all affected by death". Doesn't get much truer than that! Usually happens fairly close to the end of life though..
Stunning lack of imagination from some trailer-park trash - 4 kids by three different parents: 2 girls (Brittany and Paris! Gak!), and 2 boys - both called Shane. She could have at least called one of them Wayne..
Had someone today named S. Nora. Man they must have gotten teased so much at school...
That's all. Get back to work.
We just had a birth certificate returned to us because the person objects to having a number!
"I am rejecting the use of a number to represent my physical body or name. This is due to a strong religious belief I now hold in God Almighty and His Son Jesus Christ. I follow the law and commandments of God which I believe forbid the use of any number being used to represent, be in place of or associated with my name for any purpose."
I wonder if she's Brethren or some similar cultish sect? I don't imagine she's Closed Brethren since she wouldn't be able to send a letter - I don't think their women are allowed contact outside of the community. Perhaps just a happy-clappy with some extreme biblical interpretation.
By her reasoning she couldn't have a passport, bank account or even a telephone. No internet access, no driver's license, no memberships for pretty well any organisations. She'd have difficulty going to the doctor or anywhere that uses a ticketing system for visitors. She couldn't even buy a lottery ticket.
On the whole I like that she's making a stand on it, pushing the system to justify its position and test whether those reasons are firm enough to overrule personal convictions. Even if she's doing it for loony religious reasons.
Of course she's pushing butter up a porcupine's arse with a hot needle but I'm interested to see how far she gets.
I think I'm going a little mad.
(go on, make the comment, you know you're dying to..)
I've a tendency to sign my work emails with a mock name. Well, a *partially* mock name.
It started fairly innocuously with my becoming "Brother Jeff", then "Cap'n Jeff", and developing into "Shop Floor Foreman Jeff" and "Comrade Jeffski".
But I think it's starting to get out of control - recently I've been:
Sheik Jeffstapha
Big Chief Sitting Jeff
Superjeff
Senor Jeffesto
Jeff's Evil Twin
Jeff, The Good Twin (honest!)
Jolly Rogering Pirate Jeffarrrrrr
Wing Commander Jasper Winston Fforde-Jeff (ret.)
His Holiness Jeff Paul III
First Maaaaaaaaate Jeffa
Zen Master Jeffoyama
Junior Vice-President Jeff Jeffson III
Professor Jeff PhD FRSA MD FUBAR
Lord Jeff of Jefferhampton
Ensign Jeff (making it so)
Cheese Eater Pierre Henri Le Jeffouis
The Right Honourable Jeff
The Left (Dis) Honourable Jeff
Chief Engineer Scotty McJeff
Witchfinder Lieutenant Jeffston
Jeff Nahasapenapetalan
Corporal Jeff Shultz
Special Agent Jeff Mulder
Scullery Maid Jeffette
Private Second Class Jeff Ryan (save me!)
Captain Jeff Yossarian
Brigadier-General Timothy St John Carruthers-Jeffingham, VC & BAAAA
Kaiser Gunther Helmut Jeffitz
The insanity continues...
Ok, so most funeral directors can't spell, that's a given, but occasionally their crapness at the English language plumbs new depths.
Every day I'll come across several examples wacky spelling, usually I can put these down to the FD badly deciphering doctors' handwriting (admittedly some of the worst in the world), an example being the constant spelling of pneumonia as 'pheumonia'. Which is understandable - if somewhat stupid, I mean just think about it for just a couple of seconds would you? What the hell is 'pheumonia'? Oh, could that perhaps actually be 'pneumonia'? That common respiratory illness that elderly people often kick-off from?Dumbasses..
I've also had 'puemomia', 'pbunomia', and 'pnellmoria'. The inventiveness is astounding.
This one takes the cake. The damn handwriting isn't that bad either. They managed make 'Preomolia' out of it.
Morons. I am surrounded by morons.
I hope it's not catching...
I love having new excuses to hate my workmates. Not as if there aren't already So.Damn.Many reasons..
The woman that sits two stations over (yes, I work in open-plan cubicle hell - Dilbert has it easy) not only has an annoying speech impediment (I'm never above making fun of the afflicted) and a nasal drip which she deals with by constantly sniffing (which makes me want to KILL, with extra gore..), but it also turns outshe's a rabid right-winger.
Ahhh.. that's better, I can just relax into loathing her without feeling guilty that it's just about minor irritations.
Anyone still remember George Smilovici? Anyone? No?
Anyway..
I'm new to ironing, never before having had a job that required 'office-style' presentableness. Well, that's not exactly true - some of my previous jobs have actually required that but since they never enforced the rule I chose to ignore it. Perhaps they realised that getting me to look presentable was pissing in the wind so let me lapse into my usual scruffy decrepitude.
But this job, being an office drone, has a relatively strict dresscode (which is strange because we never need to actually see our clients). Hence my having to spend an inordinate amount of time every morning trying to get a shirt flattened. I think my near-death experience with an iron a few weeks ago was the universe's way of telling me to get a different job.
My issue this time is with the dially thing on irons. Y'know, the speed setting. Or at least I assumed it was a speed setting - and a discussion with my workmates lead me to realise that most guys see it as such. Jack it up to as hot as possible and the ironing goes quicker. Simple.
Apparently, I've been reliably informed by some of my female coworkers, this setting has something to do with different types of clothing. Which I think must be rubbish because there isn't a setting for 'shirt' on my iron.
If you're going to make an iron for the average guy there should a speed setting going from 'fast' through 'faster' to 'fastest', and another dial with 'shirts', 'trousers', and 'ties' on it. Perhaps another one for 'damp socks'. That's all we need.
One of my secret pleasures at work is renaming people. I'm so crap at remembering names that I often find myself making up nicknames for myworkmates.
Currently at BDM I work with:
Shrek (although he's not actually green, or that tall, he is pretty ogreish)
Mrs Doubtfire (not actually a female impersonator, just a female impersonator impersonator)
The Queen of Spades (so-called for her penchant for wearing only black and the fact she also works in deaths)
Mary-Tran (coz she *really* looks like she used to be a guy..)
Little Miss Giggle (c'mon, you must've read the Mr Men/Little Miss books as a kid)
The Gay-Pole (he's about the same height and width as a may-pole and he's gay. He's not Polish)
Mistress Marrianne (she lashes poor Stan all the time, but then he seems to like it..)
Possibly a bad name for a paediatrician - Dr Cuckoo.
Worst spelling mistake today: just had a dead guy whose pension details were given as 'Aged Penis'.. *sniggering* Yeah it's puerile but you gotta laugh at something in this job. Anyway, he was 95 when he karked, either spelling would be correct.
Inhumed a woman who'd been married to Ronald McDonald today.
Imagine that - having to deal with all those bright red hairs in the shower, huge tubs of red shoe polish, him stealing your lipstick all the time.. Not to mention when his mates come over for a barbie and the inevitable fights he'd get into with bloody Hamburgler.
Gawd, someone's put the SMH full-page picture of Princess Mary & her crotch cricket on the fridge here. I'm having to try *really* hard not to draw horns and a goatee on the spawn...
Peewee?! Who names their kid Peewee?!!
Anyone who knows me will be well aware of my congenital lateness. It's a genetic disorder.
I'm routinely 10 to 30 minutes late for work every morning, in fact I'm usually leaving the house at about the time I'm supposed to be at work. On the good days I'm only about 5 minutes late (happens about twice a month), on the bad days it can be as much as 45-50 minutes.
Remarkably enough this seems to go completely unnoticed by my bosses. Despite the constant reminders at team meetings (now there's a euphemism for 'complete waste of time') for everyone to stick to the 8:30 - 4:30 schedule, and warnings about fudging time sheets.
I always make up the time at the end of the day or at some stage in the week and, since I generally work through lunch hours and breaks, my conscience is never troubled. Despite the occasional hour & a half lunch break with friends... I'm of the opinion that if you do the work well, keep up the stats (gah.. fucking numbers) and are generally professional in your dealings with clients it doesn't really matter what hours you work.
This view tends not to be held by some of the higher muckety-mucks: those who're all about the numbers usually. But so far I've managed to avoid any kind of censure, or have my work habits even questioned.
I was having lunch with an escapee from BDM (she works as a lawyer now - step up or step down? hmmm...) and one of my superiors the other week and gossiping about the weirdos we work with (as you do) when the subject of time sheets & hours came up. She mentioned that things were getting pretty strict and everyone had been limited to working only their exact hours these days. Then she looked at me and with a puzzled expression said "All except for you.. Why is that?"
Fortunately I managed to steer the conversation elsewhere before she had a chance to think it over.. *whew*
I think I must have Stealth capabilities at work. Long may that last...
Of all the crap I have to deal with, the semi-literate funeral directors are perhaps the most annoying (if least important). I *hate* it when people mangle the English language..
I can understand people getting the spelling of atherosclerosis a little wrong, and hyperkalaemia, myelofibrosis, lymphoblastic leukaemia, and hypercholesterolaemia are perhaps difficult to the untrained eye. But the number of them who manage to misspell simple things like 'accident','severe', 'disease'. or even 'arrest' is mind boggling.
As a hair-tearing example (well, scalp scratching in my case) this FD managed to spell the relatively straightforward 'Non-insulin dependent diabetes mellitus' thus:
none- insucin dopondont diabotes mercitios
WTF?!
What LANGUAGE is that?!
Stop it! Just STOP! You're driving me INSANE!
*bangs head on keyboard*
Why is it that when they ask me to work overtime I say "Oh, sorry - I can't tonight" and look pained as if I would if I could? When the fact of the matter is that you'd have to threaten to hold my testicles over a Bunsen burner whilst forcing me to watch a Hilary Duff movie to get me to stay late..
I should just get honest and say "shove your pus-filled carbuncle of a job, I'm getting out of here before I go Columbine on you alllllll!!!".
Just had an elderly couple who died within days of each other:
He'd been sick for years but she died fairly suddenly, then within 3 days he shuffled off after her.
I can't decide if it's a beautiful thing, well - as beautiful as death can be.
Does it mean that they were so close he couldn't live without her?
Or perhaps that she was the only thing keeping him alive, actively or passively, and when she died he had no reason/drive to carry on.
Perhaps this means that he was holding on, possibly in pain (pulmonary fibrosis isn't pleasant), until she was gone. So death was a release..
Or perhaps the shock of having his wife of 65 years die was too much for him.
There's so many ways to read the scant information we receive here, so many ways it can be spun. Most people I'm sure want to put a rosy, happy tint on it - of course, since death is upsetting enough without trying to ponder the disturbing or ugly possibilities it raises.
There's always the possibility that theirs was an abusive co-dependent relationship and her death robbed him of the reason to live, having been in their cycle of hate for so many years there was nothing for him to live for, nothing to do, no-one to torment...
But then, perhaps theirs was one of the great true loves, ordinary people with an extraordinary bond. He was a draughtsman, she a dressmaker, theirs a happy long life, the two inextricably entwined..
Perhaps I think too much for this job.
I'm an introvert generally. And intensely private, guarded about my neuroses.
Which begs the question as to why the hell I blog, really.
I made a half-arsed attempt at anonymity when I first began - the whole 'fishboy' moniker, etc. But it didn't last long, people found out, friends and family began visiting the site. Which lead to inevitable self-censorship. Well, more accurately, even more censorship than I normally perform.
Then I started to get a fairly sizeable readership. Well, by my terms at least: I'm no Avatar, Sarsparilla Vanessa, or Fraser. Not even as well visited as ysengrin, Michelle, or Claire. But having even 15 to 20 returning visitors a day is freaky enough for me. The imagined pressure is too much for me.
Hence my lack of anything resembling a 'real' blog post on Effing for months.
The knowledge that people are reading my words and knowing, even a little, about the workings of my mind and my view of the world is a little terrifying. Add to that the fear of being misconstrued, of people not really understanding my PoV.. it's all a bit much.
The scariest bit is the possibility that they might actually figure me out. That I'm not as complex, conflicted, twisted and interesting as I think I am. Heh, that's all bullshit really, I don't consider myself that complex, although I appear to be more interesting because I conceal so much of myself.
I don't know where this is going.. Just another dissection of my neuroses, except this one's a lttle more public than the usual introspective self-flagellation.
Don't worry, I'll go back to commenting on dead people's funny names and bizarre occupations shortly.
Working in the shitty city and spending my day interacting only with other office drones (on the whole - I have a small selection that I invest more time in) I like to play a few games with people.
Not in any big way, I don't pretend to be a secret agent, put on accents or anything too weird. And not with my workmates, I have to spend too much time with them. Just little things: like making eye-contact with people I pass on the street, seeing who will hold it as we pass each other and seeing the change of expressions on their faces as they do.
I always flash them a big smile and it's endlessly interesting to see how people deal with complete strangers smiling at them. There's a psychology thesis in there somewhere..
Oh no, that's just too much:
Dead guy right now called Gerald Stiff.
Takes all the fun out of it when they make it that easy..
Turns out his occupation was 'beaterman'!I'm suffering from industrial diarrhea: work is giving me the shits.
In celebrity name-alike news: James Brown is dead!
That wife-beating sweat machine, famous for such poignant lyrics as "Good God!", "Huhh!", and "I don't know karate but I know ka-razy", died of respiratory failure.
He'd also recently suffered a fractured neck of his left femur. Possibly from doing too many splits on stage.
One of the main problems with my job (apart from the stultifying mundaneness) was driven home to me today.
After spending quite a lot of time over several days sorting out the details of a particular death certificate: getting the original returned & amended, finding the correct address, verifying details, placating agitated funeral directors, etc (and doing several dodgy things with the databases that aren't strictly allowed but that with any luck won't be noticed..), I
finally got the thing straight and sent off. At no extra charge to funeral director or bereaved.
What occurred to me, as the funeral director was effusively thanking me and telling me I'd made an old woman happy (the wife of the deceased)(which I doubt much since part of the problem was her advanced dementia and inability to remember anything coherently for long) and that they appreciated it too, was (sorry about theses sentences - they make sense in
*my* head), that no matter how good a job I do, how many extra miles I go, or paper-cuts I sustain in the course of my duties, my work *never* makes anyone happy. The best I can hope for is making a bad time slightly less awful.
Mine is a job of minimising pain, reducing negativity. Never actually increasing happiness.
Strangest detail of a deceased today: the woman who had three children all called Pasquale.
There was an elder sibling called Francoise, but after that misfire she obviously hit upon the name that fits all.
Still, it doesn't quite top the previous record of having 5 children named Jacques..
Apparently, according to one of my weirdo workmates, all ants are called Lucy and all cockroaches are called Neville.
I don't know if this is going to make it harder or easier to kill the little buggers:
"Die Neville! You disease carrying swine!"
etc..
*Best* occupation for a long time:
Mulder.
I think they meant to put 'moulder' but I like that one better. I wonder what sort of things are involved in that job? Formulating wild conspiracy theories, investigating weird things and hanging out with beautifulredheads...
Sounds like a hellish job.
From BeliefNet (who knew such a thing existed?):
The top score on the list below represents the faith that Belief-O-Matic, in its less than infinite wisdom, thinks most closely matches your beliefs. However, even a score of 100% does not mean that your views are all sharedby this faith, or vice versa.
Belief-O-Matic then lists another 26 faiths in the order of how much they have in common with your professed beliefs. The higher a faith appears onthis list, the more closely it aligns with your thinking.
Rankings:
1. Unitarian Universalism (100%)
2. Secular Humanism (99%)
3. Liberal Quakers (84%)
4. Mainline to Liberal Christian Protestants (79%)
5. Nontheist (70%)
6. Neo-Pagan (69%)
7. Theravada Buddhism (69%)
8. New Age (57%)
9. Reform Judaism (54%)
10. Taoism (52%)
11. Bahá'í Faith (49%)
12. Mahayana Buddhism (48%)
13. Orthodox Quaker (44%)
14. New Thought (44%)
15. Scientology (43%)
16. Christian Science (Church of Christ, Scientist) (42%)
17. Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (Mormons) (41%)
18. Sikhism (39%)
19. Mainline to Conservative Christian/Protestant (31%)
20. Jainism (27%)
21. Eastern Orthodox (22%)
22. Islam (22%)
23. Orthodox Judaism (22%)
24. Roman Catholic (22%)
25. Hinduism (19%)
26. Seventh Day Adventist (18%)
27. Jehovah's Witness (16%)
So there you go. I'm a Unitarian. I've inhumed quite a few of them but I never knew what the biz was before now.
I still think it's all just a bit of a fantasy..
Props to Krimsonlake.
Top of the list of awesome bands/performers I've missed this year: Lee "Scratch" Perry.
I'm kicking myself so hard.
I didn't even know he was down this way until Eroica called me from the gig in Christchurch the other weekend: she just held the phone up so I could get a wee taste of the Upsetter, live.
It wasn't enough.
And, dammit, his New Zealand dates were after his Australian ones so I'd already lost my chance.
You'd think, living in Sydney where all the bands play, I'd manage to get out and see more. But no: so far this year I've managed to miss Moving Units, Interpol, Spoon, Bo Diddley, Belle and Sebastian, Cat Power, Nick Cave, etc-farking-cetera.
The bugger about it is that I don't see much change in the near future due to extreme penury...
City-living is arse if you're not into the whole sell-your-soul-to-the-rat-race thing. Worst of both worlds: proximity to all the cool shit but no resources to experience them, too far away from the quiet areas to get to them in your meagre free-time.
I need to go home.
Who knew Frankenstein's bride was called Vera?
Or that they got married in Paris?
Ahh, how romantic: I can just see them strolling through the Arc de Triomphe, spring sunlight glinting off the bolt in his neck..
(Talking about people who give crushing handshakes)
I think you should react. It's the flipside of being an adult, if someone's
behaving like a fucking idiot then just go:
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! What the FUCK are you doing!!"
Why do some people torture their kids like this?
Poor unfortunate woman named Robin Rosemary Wodger.
I mean, just think of the schoolyard taunting she must've gotten..
No wonder she pegged out at the age of 39.
Won't somebody think of the children!
"How you doin' today?"
"Feeling like an Egyptian"
"Hot? Sandy? Pyramidial?"
"No: like my brains have been pulled out through my nose"
Listening to the superbly sinister, gravelly melodic, beautifully twisted
songs of Tom Waits - he tells a story in song better than anyone else.
Well, Nick Cave is on a par, possibly.
He paints a scattershot picture with this song, like moments glimpsed of a
movie, like a ghost gliding through a town glimpsing moments of peoples
lives..
Always wondering the same thing...
How's it going to end?
Seven things I want to do:
1. Get my nidan black belt.
2. Have a job I like.
3. BASE jump.
4. Write a book.
5. Work for myself.
6. Get several tattoos.
7. Be happy with my fitness.
Seven things I can do:
1. Put my right foot behind my head.
2. Stay calm.
3. Laugh wildly.
4. Dive.
5. Be cynical.
6. Take the piss.
7. Dither
Seven things I can't do:
1. Waste.
2. Listen to RnB without screaming.
3. Hurt people intentionally.
4. Forgive myself for hurting people.
5. Stop being homesick.
6. Live without pets.
7. Enjoy getting up in the mornings.
Seven things I say the most:
1. Que?
2. F*cksticks
3. I am a geeeeenius!
4. Meh.
5. You're on my list.
6. Dead and done.
7. Choice.
Seven books I love:
1. The Scar, China Mieville
2. The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Douglas Adams
3. The Devil's Cup, Stuart Lee Allen
4. On Stranger Tides, Tim Powers
5. The Use of Weapons, Iain M Banks
6. No Logo, Naomi Klein
7. The Shorter Oxford English Dictionary
Seven movies I adore:
1. The Princess Bride
2. Bladerunner
3. Rear Window
4. The Big Sleep
5. Apocalypse Now
6. American Splendour
7. Donnie Darko
Sadly deceased Lenny Kneebone.
Would make a great joke if he'd married Sue Legbone.
*humming 'Dem Bones'*
As it turns out he'd never been married - but his parents show that the Kneebone, strangely enough, is connected to the Ballcock...
