Archive for January, 2005

Thinking.

The Thought Project is a great idea by a bloke called Simon Hoegsberg.

It’s basically an online version of the old SBS show that I used to like watching. I think it was called Voxpop.

Also, blogging breaks new ground and gets into a doctors surgery.

I want change.

Graffiti around the Melbourne CBD never ceases to amaze me. I just LOVED this little piece that I found in a doorway in Hosier Lane, Melbourne.

Disruptive?

Politics has generally been steered clear of in this blog for the last few months. It pisses me off and I suppose pisses most of you off too. But one bit of news caught my eye. When 23 supposed terrorists tried to commit suicide at the US’s detention camp in Guantanamo Bay, the US authorities called it, “a coordinated effort to disrupt camp operations and challenge a new group of security guards from the just-completed unit rotation.” It wasn’t an attempt to end their lives, just a disruption, that’s all. How fucked up is that?

Tennis.

To quote a friend of mine, ‘Tennis is merely fashion by other means.’

Living in Melbourne, it’s hard not to get caught up in the excitement of the Australian Open. It’s everywhere. In the papers, on the TV and on the radio. The overseas visitors also make Melbourne a little more lively. Like any other sports lover I like watching a good game of anything. If two competitors skillfully belting each other with gum tree branches was a sport, I’d probably watch it. But I’ll tell you what, watching anything past round four of a grand slam tennis tournament is worse than watching two people whack each other with sticks. Serve, ace. Serve, bad return. Serve, fault. Serve, ace. Serve, bad return. How boring is it when two opponents just whack a ball as hard as they can at each other? Skill is better to watch than brute force isn’t it?

I can’t go to another game, mostly because it’s too expensive but also because most tennis fans are wankers. Apart from THE FANATICS, who are a bunch of private school yobbos, most fans wear weird clothing, hence my mate’s quote above. I just noticed that Beth at fridaysixpm has a field guide to spotting Australian Open tourists.

Poor old Lleyton seems to be copping it at the moment over his ‘C’moning’. I saw him play Rafael Nadal last year and made my mind up for good that he is a tool.

Bring back the white shorts, white button-up shirts with collars, pleated dresses and dunlop volleys and I’ll probably be happier with tennis. Oh, and bring back 18 ounce wooden framed raquets.

Howler.

There must be a full moon coming.

There I sat at the lights at the corner of Collins and Swanston Sts. A tram had stopped across the intersection so I knew there wasn’t going to be any movement for a half a minute or so. I decided to lean out of my van and have a look around. It was midday and there, inside the glass tram superstop was a drunk. He couldn’t light his cigarette. I felt frustrated just watching because if there hadn’t a big pane of half-inch thick glass between us, I would have informed him that he was lighting the wrong end. Nobody else had the guts to tell him and he got angry. Real angry. He kicked a ticket machine. Headbutted the glass in front of me then fell over, hitting his head. It made a sound like a clay brick hitting the concrete. He was out for about 10 seconds. A crowd milled around him and one besuited man bent down and felt the drunk’s temples. Within 2 seconds of this the drunk had got up and was shouting. ‘Whaddya all looking at ya cunts. Someone gimme a smoke or I’ll go crazy again I swear.’ A skater boy with baggy shorts and a mohawk gave him a cigarette and yelled at him. I couldn’t hear what he said very well but it was something along the lines of, ‘Light this smoke and piss off will ya.’ I missed the end of the exchange because my intersection had cleared and the light went green. I wish I’d stuck around for the end of it.

Beautiful in the afternoon, crap in the evening.

And Brisbane people have a go at Melbourne weather ‘eh!

The rain in Brisbane rooted my evening completely. I bought a rump steak this afternoon, cooked it at 640pm, sat down at 7pm to eat it with some salad and a beer or 5 and guess what…frigging rain stopped play in the Australia v West Indies cricket match. At least channel Ray ran the highlights of old games. They were pretty entertaining. The Steve doco was alright too.

G

I have six gmail invitations to give away. Has anyone NOT got one yet? If you have grandmothers, sisters, brothers or aunts that would use one, just let me know in the comments section. Your email address won’t be made public. I am not a spamlord.

Several months ago I swore I wouldn’t get a gmail account. I saw it as useless. But I’ve gone back on my word and now use gmail as a catch-all for getting passwords for software trials, newspaper subcriptions and the like.

Say what you mean.

My pants nearly got soiled when I read the extract below on The Age’s website. It wasn’t until I noticed the hyphen in between the words ‘metre’ and ‘long’ that I felt safe again. I’ve been swimming in the Yarra River for years near the Studley Park boathouse. No, I haven’t been sick or grown an extra eye/limb.

While you’re here, check out the A to Z of terrorism.

Hot dog on your head.

One place that everybody must go to before they can claim to be a truly worldly person is the general admission seats at the MCG during the first limited overs cricket game of the year. It’s not for the prudish, nor the faint-hearted, nor for those who don’t want to get home smelling like the contents of a wheelie bin.

The game was average. And when the game gets average at the MCG, the crowd tends to make it’s own fun. I just wish people wouldn’t throw half eaten hot dogs in the air when the Mexican wave gets going. I wore a greasy, mustard filled dog right on the top of my noggin. Apparently it was thrown from the top deck of the southern stand.

Soonarmy.

I might donate some money to tonight’s Tsunami television mega-event…only if Noiseworks decide not to turn up.

What?

Yipee! The deaflympics has hit town. That’s right, Melbourne is hosting the 2005 Olympics for people with hearing impairment. That’s good. From 1991-96 I worked with a bloke who had pretty severe deafness. Great fella. When I was younger I thought all deaf people were freaks. I thought that if they couldn’t talk with me, well, they weren’t worth talking too. Working closely with a profoundly deaf person changed my views about that pretty quickly. I can now understand a fair whack of sign language (AUSLAN) and understand the (sometimes) stifled speech that most deaf people have. It just takes a little bit more effort to communicate, that’s all. You couldn’t have told me that when I was 18 though.

Anyway, driving around the Melbourne CBD for the last few days has been hard. All the foreign (deaf) visitors forget to look to the right and instead look left when they cross the narrow laneways and main roads in the city, thus walking in front of my beat-up old van. When I toot my horn most of them don’t hear it. As a result there’s almost been 5 less deaflympians in town over the last 2 days. Mostly German.

The opening ceremony was on at Olympic Park tonight. I heard the fireworks from where I live, 3 and a half kilometres north of the city. But I didn’t hear the music, which was supposed to be VERY LOUD. No surprises there. Apparently locals in Richmond and South Yarra (close to Olympic Park) were warned that the music was going to be cranked up to 11 for the benefit of the deaflympians.

I’d like to put some links to deaflympics stories from local media…but there are no stories. Not even the ABC gives a shit. I thought they’d at least cover a story that the mainstream media outlets wouldn’t touch. No doubt they’ll all have a story about the opening ceremony tomorrow though…or maybe a story about German athletes getting run over by white workvans.

Happy New Year.

Happy New Year to everyone that bothers to read this thing.