I don't normally write in my diary very much. I always mean to but I usually never even remember to write in it.
Anyway, the weekend has been very great thanks for asking! I didn't have a break at work in the morning, so Jenny (manager on Fridays) let me off at 4:40pm instead of 5:00pm. I decided I wanted to get really drunk because I didn't have to work for the rest of the weekend, so on the way home I bought a Linkin Park CD. I didn't end up getting really drunk on Friday night because I watched some football (Bulldogs vs Storm), and I fell asleep and can't even remember who won!
On Saturday morning I got up and mum drove me to play rugby, it was away so we had to commute all the way to Windsor. On the way there was a ute show happening in the carpark of McDonalds, heaps of burnouts. It kind of made me wish I wasn't still on my Ls! When we got there mum left because it was 8:20am and my match wasn't until 1:00pm, but I'm the designated linesman for 5th grade each week so I usually get there early to have a chat with the referee and see if he has any specific hand signals he would like to run me through. Robbo and Timmy turned up soon after me in a taxi. They were still wearing fancy suits and smelt like Johnnie Walker Red Label. Robbo told me to go and buy him some cigarettes across the road - Benson & Hedges Smooth 25s - I always know now!
The rest of the afternoon was fun. 5ths got up 14-12, and 4ths drew 17 all. I warmed up with 3s, and made sure I stretched my neck really well, cos I was playing second row today. But then, just before the game, Tom Flannery turned up to watch, so Jobsy (captain-coach, 3rd grade OCCRUFC) told him to put on some boots and play. Tom Flannery didn't have any boots so had to borrow mine, which meant I couldn't play. You normally aren't allowed to play unless you train, but he is a more talented line out jumper than me. He has good aerial dexterity. I ran on water and Stinger's kicking tee, my socks got pretty wet because Jobsy was wearing my boots.
Even though I was a bit upset I wasn't allowed to play again, it was alright because Old Christian Colleagues were undefeated in all 5 grades today!
After the game we went to the pub, Marto and Shagger made me scull 4 beers in only 15 minutes so I felt sick. They organised everyone to stand in a circle around me so I couldn't get out and sing that William Tell (na-na-na, na-na-na, na-na-na, na-na etc) until I vomited. After that everyone laughed and went back inside the pub, except Benny (3 MOM points in 2s today) who came back out and helped me up. "You OK Frankie?" He said. "Don't worry mate, they're just mucking around. You're one of the boys now."
It's a good feeling to be one of the boys, like Tiger and Flanners and Robbo and Timmy.
Dad came to pick me up from the pub at about 10:00pm. When I got home I vomited again but only once, then I had a shower and some milo and went to bed.
On Sunday I just played XBOX.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Friday, August 24, 2007
Please don't ask me to smile.
I am not normally a person who logs onto blogger, takes a deep breath and then types out my last 24 hours. I am slightly more pretentious than that. I have Opinions about the linear narrative. If I were to send group travel emails they would probably only note my exotic location by the differing standard sizes of coke cans: nb the size of coke cans often differs across continents and regions.
But,
In my most recent, and indeed current, casual job, I am required to work night shifts. These shifts involve punching in (literally, I have a punch card) at 11:30pm and wrapping up (not literally, I have a punch card) at 7:30am. This is understood. I do this two days a week without fuss.
At the moment Bob, the dude who's been living the dream five night shifts a week for 34 years (he started when he was around my age) is on holiday. Bob's one of those guys who make you rethink your own definition of "normal" ambition. He neither loves nor hates his job, he just completes it. It works out pretty well for him money-wise, and after sitting at a desk doing nothing but go bald all night for three decades, what else is he going to do? Join Teenagers In Tokyo?
Anyway, in Bob's absence, I am covering all his shifts plus my regular ones. This equates to myself completing 12 straight night shifts without rest. I am currently on night seven. When I had originally agreed to this job, I was flat broke (still am), and had flicked away the suggestion that "I might get worn out" like pesky lint off fine cashmere (because it was a bad sugggestion). As far as I was concerned this was a gin-in-teacups (good) arrangement.
As a result, I am a tired man, my fingernail chewing refuses to subside, and I have noticed several (only two) occurances of uncharacteristic behaviour in the past week.
1. Irregularity of washing body/clothing
As a main person of hygiene, I regularly wash once daily. However, today I did not shower. This trend has also included but not been limited to clothing. The times of the day/week that usually would see me do laundry have been thrown askew as a result of irregular hours. While stench has not been overbearing, this is not a trend that fills me with happiness/self approval.
2. Failure to engage person I highly respect/idolise in conversation
On Thursday afternoon after rising I ran some brief errands, before making a stop at The Spot to eat the equivalent of breakfast (they were shutting, making a mockery of their sign "all day breakfast". Hell of infuriating.) I turned down my street walking on the other side of the road to my house as to catch the last of the day's sunlight. I noticed a man getting out of a very terrible red sedan. "That man's hair is styled in a rock-a-billy fashion," I thought. "In certain sub-cultures of Melbourne, that would be considered extremely correct." The man was climbing out of the car just as I crossed it's path. I walked on for several metres before thinking, stopping, turning around and staring. Through his denim shirt, which was way too denim and unbuttoned for his age, I noticed his distinctive Spanish-artist inspired chest tattoo. After realising, I stopped and stared at the man, who briefly stared back at me quizzically before turning and walking across the road, through a gate and into the house of a person who knows Tim Rogers better than I.
This is a man who I have never managed to cross paths with, but was (am still) obsessed with. I spend half my life envious that nearly everyone I know has a more comprehensive relationship with him than me. I have a brother who has had a pint with him in Ireland, a girlfriend who has travelled in a car with him in Melbourne, and a mother who works with a lady who knows his mother. Yet I just stood there like the day-sleeper I have become.
But,
In my most recent, and indeed current, casual job, I am required to work night shifts. These shifts involve punching in (literally, I have a punch card) at 11:30pm and wrapping up (not literally, I have a punch card) at 7:30am. This is understood. I do this two days a week without fuss.
At the moment Bob, the dude who's been living the dream five night shifts a week for 34 years (he started when he was around my age) is on holiday. Bob's one of those guys who make you rethink your own definition of "normal" ambition. He neither loves nor hates his job, he just completes it. It works out pretty well for him money-wise, and after sitting at a desk doing nothing but go bald all night for three decades, what else is he going to do? Join Teenagers In Tokyo?
Anyway, in Bob's absence, I am covering all his shifts plus my regular ones. This equates to myself completing 12 straight night shifts without rest. I am currently on night seven. When I had originally agreed to this job, I was flat broke (still am), and had flicked away the suggestion that "I might get worn out" like pesky lint off fine cashmere (because it was a bad sugggestion). As far as I was concerned this was a gin-in-teacups (good) arrangement.
As a result, I am a tired man, my fingernail chewing refuses to subside, and I have noticed several (only two) occurances of uncharacteristic behaviour in the past week.
1. Irregularity of washing body/clothing
As a main person of hygiene, I regularly wash once daily. However, today I did not shower. This trend has also included but not been limited to clothing. The times of the day/week that usually would see me do laundry have been thrown askew as a result of irregular hours. While stench has not been overbearing, this is not a trend that fills me with happiness/self approval.
2. Failure to engage person I highly respect/idolise in conversation
On Thursday afternoon after rising I ran some brief errands, before making a stop at The Spot to eat the equivalent of breakfast (they were shutting, making a mockery of their sign "all day breakfast". Hell of infuriating.) I turned down my street walking on the other side of the road to my house as to catch the last of the day's sunlight. I noticed a man getting out of a very terrible red sedan. "That man's hair is styled in a rock-a-billy fashion," I thought. "In certain sub-cultures of Melbourne, that would be considered extremely correct." The man was climbing out of the car just as I crossed it's path. I walked on for several metres before thinking, stopping, turning around and staring. Through his denim shirt, which was way too denim and unbuttoned for his age, I noticed his distinctive Spanish-artist inspired chest tattoo. After realising, I stopped and stared at the man, who briefly stared back at me quizzically before turning and walking across the road, through a gate and into the house of a person who knows Tim Rogers better than I.
This is a man who I have never managed to cross paths with, but was (am still) obsessed with. I spend half my life envious that nearly everyone I know has a more comprehensive relationship with him than me. I have a brother who has had a pint with him in Ireland, a girlfriend who has travelled in a car with him in Melbourne, and a mother who works with a lady who knows his mother. Yet I just stood there like the day-sleeper I have become.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
The man is paranoid because beer made him bad.
Alright, alright, alright. Think about this, and we can narrow it down.
It probably wasn't anything that happened before midnight, I can remember that all pretty clearly (sort of clearly). I was getting along really well with everybody, I even bought a pretty generous round and had a nice conversation with the bartender.
Oh, fuck. It was outside in the smoking area. It didn't seem like it at the time, but I was probably berating people. I only really remember talking about myself, and the only circumstance in which I do that is to complain. I probably didn't even ask anyone else how they were. Fuck, I probably did the thing where I cut everyone off to make a loud observation about myself disguised as self-deprecation that is obviously designed to come across as cute and endearing - "He's a very funny and humble man" - fuck.
I'd bet everything I own on the fact that I used the phrase "what a cunt act, hey" in an honest attempt to make my own company more enjoyable. Granted, this is quite a funny thing to say, but it's circumstantial! Ah well, it's not that bad. Basically noone will remember, probably. I can vaguely remember politically overcompensating as well though... Yes, I did, almost constantly now I think of it. Fucken idiot, I ALWAYS do this. Why can't I just be a medium level of nice to black people? Why do I have to try and relate to people on their own levels? Why do I always assume the role of judge in all matters relating to how people should be spoken too?
I shouldn't have taken in those palm cards with rude phrases on them. I should not have spent most of the night (all of the night) impersonating Conor Oberst. I should not have used the words "badly injured child"* and "selfish" in the same sentence. I should not have described the man wearing a beret as "shit".
* Authors note
I changed this, it originally said something with far more impact. I was quite happy with it until I slept for eight hours then woke up from a dream where I was getting chased down by Today Tonight for my insensitivity being "beyond a joke." I don't think my explanation that "it was meant to be awful," would have held up under the harsh interrogation lights of the Australian public.
- J
It probably wasn't anything that happened before midnight, I can remember that all pretty clearly (sort of clearly). I was getting along really well with everybody, I even bought a pretty generous round and had a nice conversation with the bartender.
Oh, fuck. It was outside in the smoking area. It didn't seem like it at the time, but I was probably berating people. I only really remember talking about myself, and the only circumstance in which I do that is to complain. I probably didn't even ask anyone else how they were. Fuck, I probably did the thing where I cut everyone off to make a loud observation about myself disguised as self-deprecation that is obviously designed to come across as cute and endearing - "He's a very funny and humble man" - fuck.
I'd bet everything I own on the fact that I used the phrase "what a cunt act, hey" in an honest attempt to make my own company more enjoyable. Granted, this is quite a funny thing to say, but it's circumstantial! Ah well, it's not that bad. Basically noone will remember, probably. I can vaguely remember politically overcompensating as well though... Yes, I did, almost constantly now I think of it. Fucken idiot, I ALWAYS do this. Why can't I just be a medium level of nice to black people? Why do I have to try and relate to people on their own levels? Why do I always assume the role of judge in all matters relating to how people should be spoken too?
I shouldn't have taken in those palm cards with rude phrases on them. I should not have spent most of the night (all of the night) impersonating Conor Oberst. I should not have used the words "badly injured child"* and "selfish" in the same sentence. I should not have described the man wearing a beret as "shit".
* Authors note
I changed this, it originally said something with far more impact. I was quite happy with it until I slept for eight hours then woke up from a dream where I was getting chased down by Today Tonight for my insensitivity being "beyond a joke." I don't think my explanation that "it was meant to be awful," would have held up under the harsh interrogation lights of the Australian public.
- J
Monday, August 13, 2007
James' Ideas For New 'Zine (TOP SECRET!!!)
1. Commission myself to write a feature article entitled "Zines: Awesome and Totally Raw."
Intro: A 'zine is an informal, self-published, self-distributed form of press. 'Zines are AWESOME and TOTALLY RAW because they don't have to conform to bourgeois demands of the traditional press. Another good thing about 'zines is... (tbc)
2. A story in which two Chinese/French men are saying rude sexual things about an attractive lady (poss. supermodel). The lady turns around in the street to face them, flicking her hair before responding equally rudely in the foreign language. (This is funny because the Chinese/French men were in Australia and assumed that their sexist dialogue would not be understood). Their embarrassment is made only worse when the lady holds up her pinky finger, symbolically according them small penises. (All the while her hair is blowing like she is in a wind tunnel, she looks really hot).
3. A small joke ending in a man suggesting an "over-the-pants-handjob" to another man. Neither of there sexualities should be mentioned, leaving readers to draw their own conclusions.
4. Ambitious and forced opinion/humour piece about Gen Y. (Poss. submit to SMH Radar first).
5. 'Surviving the HSC and beyond'
- Feature article in which I will interview three people who left school in the last 5-8 years. One will now be commencing a PhD (and loving it!), one will have ended up getting a trade/traineeship in hospitality and now be a manager (and loving it!) and one will rave about how eye-opening their GAP year was: so eye-opening.
* NB Commission 300wd piece to be used as sidebar on how to fit in at uni/make the social transition/live in a hilarious sharehouse (poss. Tim Brunero?).
6. Make up a conversation that I had with a narrow-minded person and write it down.
7. Make up a conversation I had with Stephen and write it down.
8. An extract from my House fan-fiction (written under pseudonym, "Frank Sartor")
House is staring out the window, you can tell he has been thinking because he has been tapping his cane against the soles of his Nikes the way he always does. With no warning he snaps out of his coma-like state and gravely states, "the mother's a heroin addict."
"No way! She's the mayor, she's a pillar of the community!" says the girl who deep down is in love with House.
"That's ridiculous," says Billy from Neighbours curtly. "You can't say that about Mayor Robertson! She'll cut our funding and we'll all be sacked!"
"OK, sure pretty boy," says House sarcastically. "We'll do it your way, you can give her the biopsy, the little girl will die and you'll be sacked anyway."
Normally, such a threat would be viewed seriously by Hospital administration, but House followed a very different set of rules to... (tbc)
Intro: A 'zine is an informal, self-published, self-distributed form of press. 'Zines are AWESOME and TOTALLY RAW because they don't have to conform to bourgeois demands of the traditional press. Another good thing about 'zines is... (tbc)
2. A story in which two Chinese/French men are saying rude sexual things about an attractive lady (poss. supermodel). The lady turns around in the street to face them, flicking her hair before responding equally rudely in the foreign language. (This is funny because the Chinese/French men were in Australia and assumed that their sexist dialogue would not be understood). Their embarrassment is made only worse when the lady holds up her pinky finger, symbolically according them small penises. (All the while her hair is blowing like she is in a wind tunnel, she looks really hot).
3. A small joke ending in a man suggesting an "over-the-pants-handjob" to another man. Neither of there sexualities should be mentioned, leaving readers to draw their own conclusions.
4. Ambitious and forced opinion/humour piece about Gen Y. (Poss. submit to SMH Radar first).
5. 'Surviving the HSC and beyond'
- Feature article in which I will interview three people who left school in the last 5-8 years. One will now be commencing a PhD (and loving it!), one will have ended up getting a trade/traineeship in hospitality and now be a manager (and loving it!) and one will rave about how eye-opening their GAP year was: so eye-opening.
* NB Commission 300wd piece to be used as sidebar on how to fit in at uni/make the social transition/live in a hilarious sharehouse (poss. Tim Brunero?).
6. Make up a conversation that I had with a narrow-minded person and write it down.
7. Make up a conversation I had with Stephen and write it down.
8. An extract from my House fan-fiction (written under pseudonym, "Frank Sartor")
House is staring out the window, you can tell he has been thinking because he has been tapping his cane against the soles of his Nikes the way he always does. With no warning he snaps out of his coma-like state and gravely states, "the mother's a heroin addict."
"No way! She's the mayor, she's a pillar of the community!" says the girl who deep down is in love with House.
"That's ridiculous," says Billy from Neighbours curtly. "You can't say that about Mayor Robertson! She'll cut our funding and we'll all be sacked!"
"OK, sure pretty boy," says House sarcastically. "We'll do it your way, you can give her the biopsy, the little girl will die and you'll be sacked anyway."
Normally, such a threat would be viewed seriously by Hospital administration, but House followed a very different set of rules to... (tbc)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
