I was thinking of how I have to go to Melbourne soon and how, being in Melbourne, I said I would go and see my dad. I half-wish I had never mentioned it so I could just do my stuff and leave. I don’t really know what I’ll do. I realised that one of the benefits of being a grown-up is that you have a choice of whether to be brave or not. Being a kid you just have to do what you’re told and courage is a necessity rather than a choice, but as a grown-up you get to decide about things for yourself. You don’t need to be brave if you don’t want to. This might be one of the best definitions of adulthood I’ve come up with yet.

Things I would be inclined to shake if someone asked me to “shake what ya mama gave ya”.

1. wooly jumper
2. collander
3. doona
4. doona cover
5. cockroach baits
6. commemorative coin from the Perth mint
7. swimming lessons
8. A4 notebook
9. ten dollars to see a movie
10. my booty, of course

My mama has given me a lot of stuff, so it would take plenty of shaking to deliver an exhaustive account. Also, it’s very hard to shake swimming lessons. How would you do that?

Pictured above: Mark gets down to Outkast’s ‘Hey Ya!’ while shaking a collander that was actually given to him by his aunt. This officially qualifies as the world’s dumbest photo shoot.

Today there was another letter addressed to professor mark, saying they didn’t want to publish my paper. Even professors can get rejection letters, it seems. Chocolate cake anyone?

Today I was sitting in the Enmore laundromat, reading The Winter of Our Discontent and waiting for the dryer and I saw some girls walk by outside. These things I can’t help but notice, you know. Taking a closer look through the window I realised that one of them was, in fact, a girl called Anita who I worked with three years ago at the TAFE Admissions office in Perth and hadn’t seen since. Think about it. Years later and in a completely different city, she just happens to walk by the laundromat window while I’m looking up from my book late on a Sunday afternoon. The odds of that, I figure, would be a million billion to one.

I went outside, and she and her friend were walking off down the street. I thought maybe I should run after them and say hi, but you wouldn’t bother because it would be pretty strange and not much to say after running a whole block.

Now at this point you might expect me to wax lyrical about how life is full of the strangest coincidences. About syncronicity, and patterns that crop up from time to time with no seeming explanation. About the wellspring of wonder that is the collective unconscious. About the intricate wholeness and neverending mystery of the world.

Fuck that.

Strange cool stuff almost never happens to me. Even the aforementioned coincidence was an incredibly boring episode in a dull and mechanical day - a day brightened only by a bit of John Steinbeck and trudging a few steps closer to the end of my thesis. What I’m saying is that although I try to believe that life is not cold and bare, that existence is more than a meaningless succession of empty words and gestures, that love is more than a cold and broken Hallelujah (so to speak), I’m having a pretty hard time with it seeing as how nothing ever fucking happens. Call me a cynic. Say if you’re bored then you’re boring. How true. But just once I would like a sign that life doesn’t always turn out exactly the way you think it will.

If it has to be something bad, like an aeroplane engine falling through the roof of the apartment next to mine, then I can handle it.

From Illinois University: I think they liked my paper :P

Today was the student evaluations. I wasn’t all that tense about it, seeing as I didn’t even get to see last year’s ones, but I regret that I didn’t tell them I was going to hold a comprehensive prep session for the essay and the exam before I left the room. Those extra services (provided selfishly in the hope that the essays won’t be so hard to read this time and that my students will come out looking smarter than the other groups) could have scored me some luv on the little fill-in-the-box surveys. Not that I don’t get plently of luv now.

My arm, by the way, is feeling better. It didn’t come up all bruised or anything, it just has a slightly bigger needle mark than usual. One of the reasons I like donating blood, though, is that it involves needles and mechanical chairs and cool waiting rooms and people who are interested in me even though they don’t know me - I actually find it a lot of fun - so I shouldn’t really complain at all. It’s just part of the experience. I would make a great hypochondriac or Munchausen’s patient, wouldn’t I?

I Donated blood today. It was actually the first day I was allowed to do it after the last one. For some reason I’ve turned into a massive blood donor - probably because in Sydney you get a free menchi dog (you know those yummy red processed sausages?) each time you go, whereas in Rockingham all you get is a refrigerated biscuit and a smaller-than-fun-size (therefore *not at all fun*) Cherry Ripe. Anyhow, to hit home exactly what donating blood is all about, the needle went in funny this time and squirted some blood on my arm. Then it hurt lots when they took it out. I said so and they gave me a tube of anti-bruising cream to take home. It feels better now though, and I don’t see a bruise yet. And I got my menchi dog.

Yesterday - while I’m all about whining to you - I went to try out some guitars. I was looking for a Japanese or Mexican Fender Strat HSS, something punchy and extroverted to contrast with the old SG. So the store in Pitt St let me try a couple out, but only through headphones because, I don’t know, they like their music store nice and quiet or something. At any rate, you just can’t tell how a guitar sounds through headphones and we’re talking a grand’s worth of strat here so I thought fuck it and went to the one near QVB. They let me try theirs out nice and loud in a special room. Still, I was a bit pissed off:

Moi: This guitar has a lot of fret buzz on it.
Store guy (let’s call him ‘Raymondo’): Yeah, guitars usually have some buzz - it’s a tradeoff with the height of the strings.
Moi: I also noticed that the neck seems to be dead straight, maybe even bent backwards a bit. They usually bend the other way.
Raymondo (completely dismissing my comment): No, the neck is bent forward. All guitars are like that.

I don’t think I’m the kind of person who looks stupid. Maybe I am though, or maybe only stupid people want Mexican Fenders. At any rate I’d rather be listened to by people to whom I’m contemplating giving some of my hard-earned, especially when Raymondo could have simply held the Strat to his eye and looked down the neck to see if it was the wrong shape like I’d said it was. *sigh*

Neck shape, you see, has to be set correctly to minimise fret buzz.

You’d think it would be dealt with privately. Some amount of discretion perhaps. But no. Sorry. Couldn’t be arranged. Although, to be fair, they tried. Almost whole-heartedly. They really did think everything was going to be hunky dory - and so did I - but as it turned out we were all mistaken. Sadly mistaken. So very. sadly. mistaken.

My mother, dear sweet mother, recieved a letter today. It was actually addressed to no one at all but it arrived at her house. From Pathwest. So she opened it and there was a bill from Pathwest for one HIV test, taken in January. She searched her mind. Had she taken an AIDS test recently? (I’m amazed she even stopped to think about that… what the hell does she get up to?) Well, no, she hadn’t taken any tests. So she rings me up and asks me about it, because I was there in January. What was the deal with this HIV test?

And here’s the point - Pathwest was allocated the test by Dr. Tampi in West Perth who was contracted to run a general check for all sorts of serious diseases by Concept Fertility Centre in Subiaco. Yes, my mother now knows that I was a sperm donor. Thankyou people. That was a great effort.

You know what surprised me most? She was all like, ‘isn’t that nice of you?!’ Not preoccupied with the inherent embarrassing nature of the operation or anything like that, she could only focus on the positive aspects, ie. the several people who will potentially be getting rugrats out of my generous contribution. Figure it out. The worst thing in life, she says, is not to be able to have kids. And there’s a definite drive for the donations going on at the moment because there aren’t many men who are as Ready Willing and Able (with the emphasis on Able) as I am.

So I’ll have to send a nasty email off to Concept Fertility berating them for their lack of confidentiality and general administrative bungling. Still, it could have been much worse I think.

I can forsee my having to do a much more detailed writeup on this hitherto confidential part of my life as well. Stay tuned for that one… :|

Here is a list of my favourite non-famous bands. They are all very hip and underground. Some of them have broken up.

7 Day Weekend

The world’s best band is 7 Day Weekend. They’re like Chicks on Speed but funnier and cuter with lots of yelling in unison over cheesy drum machines. For each show they do, they make up different costumes - I’ve seen them as flowers and as pirates. Making their costumes must take up lots of time because they only have four or five songs and haven’t recorded any of them. Did I mention that they are HOT?

Burgers of Beef

Burgers of Beef aren’t really that obscure anymore but they have a new album out so I thought they needed a plug. They’re a penguin-related corduroy-enhanced trombone-compatible indie band from Perth. I like them because they fly the nerd flag proudly, but are still really entertaining to watch on stage. From what I hear they are all clowns and acrobats for their day jobs.

Tomas Ford’s Cabaret of Death

Tomas and I used to have a band, but when I left Perth he started playing his cabaret solo shows. His stuff is electroclash-style laptop action bordering on performance art - live shows are a mix of dark syrupy songs, destructive stage moves and harrassment of the audience. I think it’s going to get him arrested or severely beaten up one day, but in the meantime it’s beautiful and unique.

Service Station Youth

I don’t know much about these guys, but their songs are some weird shit. They’re pretty arty and experimental, but also fun at the same time. You can download their mp3s here - ‘There’s a Junkie at my Window’ is a good one. I think they’re from Melbourne.

Maple

Maple were something else entirely. People called them the shittest band ever, and in a sense they were, but they were also one of my favourites. They would play songs like ‘Anal Fisting’ - the words to which were pretty much ‘anal fisting’ repeated over and over again to the accompaniment of a drum machine and random guitar noodling. Although they had very little talent, they had a lot of fun. Which is what we should all aim for, really.

Uberfaust

Uberfaust are something we will never forget. They were a pretend German stadium rock band that had travelled forward in time from the 1980s - along the lines of Spinal Tap but they actually played gigs. Each member had his own personality and costume, and they would sing songs full of stupid jokes and lots of German puns - the crowd favourite, as I recall, was ‘Doppelfaustfick’ (it seems a lot of WA bands were writing songs about anal fisting at that point in time). They were the funniest thing ever, and for about a year they were super-hot, then they broke up. I think the joke wore out in the end.

The Fascist Fair Go Party

Along the lines of Uberfaust, FFGP were a 7-or-so-piece politically-oriented disco band. Each member also had a different character and they would use their songs to stage musicals with stupid, very contrived plots. I remember dancing with a giant cardboard robot at one of their shows. Everyone loved them, but they split up after their first album due to members leaving Perth.

What a trip down memory lane. If anyone from any of these bands reads this, please leave a comment and say hi :)

Although it’s shameful to admit, I am big fan of Border Patrol & Border Security. You know - the reality TV shows where it’s all about customs and quarantine? I understand the disastrous political implications of a show that’s all about protecting our way of life (whatever that may be) from foreigners, drug dealers and other supposed ne’er-do-wells, and therefore how uncool it is to watch it, but still I remain glued to the TV.

Except one thing I noticed with the start of the new series of Border Security (now sub-titled ‘Australia’s Front Line’) is how hyped up it is compared to the New Zealand version, Border Patrol. I’m talking about things like the story from the navy ship where they threaten an Indonesian fishing boat by firing lots of different machine guns at it, or the ones where you can tell the customs officers are prodding people to get more reaction out of them, explaining how badly the person messed up their form when they clearly understand it already. And there’s also those awful pumped-up ‘cominrightatcha’ voice-overs telling you that this is the ‘front line’ in some imaginary or metaphorical war against some imaginary or metaphorical foreign enemy.

The New Zealand series, by contrast, is far more relaxed. Most of the show is either Chinese people with undeclared food (no shit, they must just love carrying food with them everywhere) or twenty-somethings who forgot to take the joint of the backpack before flying. Once they found a cargo container with a couple of redbacks in it and that was an entire segment. No one is made out to be shifty or stupid, and even fairly serious offences are treated in a matter-of-fact manner. Even when it does get dramatic, things are usually portrayed as ‘tough customs officer vs. dumb dopesmoking airline passenger’ rather than ‘us vs. foreigners’. It’s also easier on the eyes and ears that Australian version because it doesn’t have that intrusive (shall we say American?) audiovisceral edge to it.

So, while I’m still quite enamoured with it, Border Security: A.F.L. just isn’t cutting the mustard. Even the Kiwis, who have crap telly as far as I’m concerned, can do better. Fair enough, in a climate of escalating fear and misplaced nationalism it’s par for the course, but all us folks who just wanted to check out the ingenious ways people smuggle drugs can do without it.

(BTW, speaking of stuff that was better last year - is House getting worse and worse, or is it just the way that Channel 10 does the promos that make it look pukey?)

Having done bugger all of note today I will give you a Fairly Good Meme from T at girl.blog.etc. That way you can learn all about my six idiosyncrasies. Actually, I’m not sure I can muster up six - a large part of my adult life has been spent trying to be more like everyone else, and it’s been quite a successful project so I’m not that idiosyncratic at all.

1. The writing of the songs. Most people will do this at some point or other, at the very least changing the words from ABBA’s ‘Mama Mia’ to ‘Gonhorrhea’, but I do it quite a lot. I then have to practice each one over and over again, mostly after midnight when the mood always strikes. I play very quiet music, see, so it’s cool at night. And despite my eminent genius for it, at least half of them are complete garbage that no one will ever want, or be forced, to hear. That’s the most idiosyncratic part I think - I will tinker with a ditty about the mating habits of frogs* until my stomach climbs up my chest cavity and strangles my brain, Vogon style.

2. Ironing. I am the world’s slowest ironer. It takes a good ten minutes for me to do a business shirt, and pants I can never get right without some kind of ruler or T-square. I’m glad I work in an environment where it’s always Casual Friday.

3. I am also the slowest at: eating food, any kind of housework, and having a shower. I am, however, the fastest at: walking places, getting jokes and supermarket shopping. None of these are really idiosyncrasies but I was on a roll there so shut up.

4. As I’ve remarked before, and indeed named by website in honour of, I collect all manner of paper stuff. Sometimes I do it involuntarily, gathering folders and overheads and administrative garbage in huge piles on my desk, but often I just do it for the hell of it. Tickets, adverts, leaflets with interesting pictures, photos and et ceteta junk. All of which I bluetack to every available surface. (Not being allowed to poster my apartment walls tears me up inside.) I guess I just love anything two-dimensional, especially when it has a neat design or some personal meaning attached to it.

5. I am always five minutes early. I regard it as part of common decency.

6. Okay, last one! I am a hankerchief user. I don’t know whether this is idiosyncratic or not - there might be legions of folks out there with handkerchieves but I just can’t tell. Some people think it’s not cool blowing your nose on something and putting it back in your pocket, and that’s cool I can dig it, but I was never all that grossed out by snot you know? So I go with it. If you rock the handkerchief (or would like to find out how) please leave a comment and say, like, “hi - I’m with you buddy.”

Well, looks like there are at least six things separating me from Completely Average. I think it could be worse though.

*True. That was one annoying song.