I was just reading one of John Birmingham’s rants in the Brisbane Times. It’s an older post, but a ripper about Vegans. Seeing as I’m married to a Vegan and don’t mind most Vegan food, I read the comments section with much jolly laughter.
One of John Birmingham’s comments said,” I once had a vegan refuse to move into a share house because there’s been ‘meat in the fridge’. What she didn’t see coming was the rancid meat pattie stuck to the ceiling above her from the food fight just before she arrived. Man we were PRAYING for that sucker to drop onto her stoopid veggie head during the interview.”
That got me remembering all the share house interviews I had conducted and all the interviews where I had been the subject.
The best of them all was my interview for a house in Martha St. Paddington, in Brisbane circa January 1995. 8 years after that interview, on my wedding night, I discovered why my wife (who interviewed me for that house) picked me to share with. It was because her best friend thought my bum looked good in my tight black jeans. I still wear black jeans for every occasion.
Another share house interview way back in 1998 was one where I was the only potential housemate to take up the offer of a beer during the interview process. A VB can in fact. I then stayed for 6 hours and drank beer, pretending to be a member of the house, while other potential housemates were interviewed. That particular house was in William St. Abbotsford, in Melbourne. I didn’t take up their offer for the ‘loft’ room because my bed wouldn’t fit up the spiral staircase. I often wonder whether I would have had a different life now because of turning back the offer for that room. I would’ve ended up an alcoholic I think.
One thing that I recommend never to do in a share house interview is give preference to siblings of friends. In Dwyer St. Clifton Hill in Melbourne (#65 to be exact), my housemate and I settled for a pot smoking uber-Vegan because we didn’t have time to interview anymore people. He was the brother of my housesmates best friend. Needless to say they are not friends anymore. The pot turned into amphetamines, the amphetamines turned into heroin and then the fun really began. That was a hard 5 months. His replacement was a male psychiatric nurse with a drinking problem and a fetish for loud sexual practices. Better than a junkie though!
Ah! Share housing! It’s like cab-driving. Everyone must do it for a few months to appreciate the annoying, yet endearing qualities of ‘average’ people, and also how terrible the human race can be if it decides to be intolerant, antisocial and self-destructive.
This posting will be redundant one day because it’s about blogging software and at some time in the future (if I’m even still maintaining this blog) I will most probably change the blogging software I use.
While snooping around in other bloggers’ html (chiefly bluishorange) I came across something that took my eye. A reference to something called K2. It is the best theme for WordPress I have ever seen and makes use of moveable widgets. I never thought blogging could be so easy. Then again, I haven’t explored WordPress since installing it nearly 3 years ago. Now that I have the time to re-learn what has changed in the last 3 years of CMS development, I am liking what I see.
If you have a Nokia mobile phone and type PONTING into it, the predictive text reads ROOTING.
And that’s what Ponting and the previous 5 years of Australian cricket selectors have done to the Australian cricket team. For too long they held on with McGrath, Steve Waugh, Hayden and Warne et. al.. Now their obsession with 30+ year old dinosaurs over the last half decade has paid its dividends. The younger players should have been making test debuts in 2004, not 2007/08.
As this blog approaches its 9th year of operation (next April) I have been wrestling with thoughts of canning the bastard completely. I used to treat it as a brain dump and share thoughts and information that I considered important.
Now I don’t really consider what I think as very worthy of sharing. That’s probably something to do with getting older, and probably more to do with working two jobs for nigh on two years and not having a spare moment to think too much let alone share thoughts. Also my beliefs and interests have changed and I think I have been scared of airing them since so many friends and family read this. Well, I am almost ready to begin offending my closest.
I’ve decided not to abandon The Horse’s Mouth but to turn it into a ‘born again’ blog. And don’t worry…it’s not going to be anything to do with religion.
I was mowing the backyard this morning and the strange man nextdoor (who is a theatre nurse – I call him a theatrical nurse and he doesn’t like it) stopped me and asked if I’d like to go for a drive to see the Christmas lights in Brisbane’s western suburbs this evening. I politely declined, telling him that Christmas lights aren’t at the top of my to-do list in the busy weeks before JC’s birthday.
It’s probably says a great deal about my brain and the way it functions, but, for the remaining 30 minutes of mowing I had visions of fat, rich, white, western suburban fathers standing on their front verandahs watching with pride as minions saunter slowly though their manicured streets in their beaten up cars looking at expanses of incandescent red and green globes.
Then I started thing about the good old ‘carbon footprint’ and the same fat suburban arses peddling away on bicycles connected to generators that powered their excessive electrical Christmas cheer. Imagine! Seeing as so much of regular life is being regulated – why don’t we mandate that all Christmas cheer of the electrical kind is sustainably powered. That’ll get the obesity rates down at least.
Wire Pedal Car
It’s been one week since my last, lonely wisdom tooth was ripped out by a dentist. I still cannot eat properly. I still have extreme pain and still can’t drink beer. I did lose 7kg (15lbs) though….