April 2007 Archives

Have you ever felt like some event is repeating, or that you have heard that exact same thing before, or that some event is repeating, or that you have heard that exact same thing before? For those among us who saw the Matrix, we know that this creepy sensation is called "déjà vu". For those of you who saw the Denzel Washington movie of the same title, you have my sympathy.

I often experience déjà vu when driving. For example, I will be driving up to a little set of traffic lights on the way to uni, and a Beyonce song will start playing on the radio. A week later, I drive through those traffic lights again, and the exact same song is playing on the radio.

This time though, I experienced déjà vu in a whole new way. I logged onto my messenger account, and noticed that there was a contact on my list called 'Dan', and 'Dan' signed in and out a little too often... the chime goes 'Dan' has signed in, only to repeat a few minutes later. I looked at my messenger list at the contact labelled 'Dan', and by the contact I really mean four contacts all with the exact same 'Dan'. There were four contacts one after another, all called Dan. No 'dan' or 'DaN' here, just four contacts called 'Dan'.

It got even more confusing when I realised I don't know who two of those Dans are, and had a sneaking suspicion the third is actually called Michael - but it did give me an idea.

What would it be like if EVERYBODY changed their msn contact name to 'Dan' for one 24 hour period. How confusing would it be. Especially for people like me, who don't often commit email addresses to memory in the same way I don't commit mobile numbers to memory. People everywhere would be having conversations with Dans they never knew existed. Every contact would look the same, it could quite possibly be the largest collection of 'Dan' ever assembled. Talk about déjà vu.

What does everybody of the déjà vu Dan for a day idea? Spread the word, 'cause this idea is so crazy it just might work!

Over the past few weeks I have felt trapped in my little underground burrow of university readings, geographic population reports and Department of Education application process documents, working my little backside off. So far, I'm running at a distinction average for my geography units - something which will definitely slide over the course of the semester - but can feel myself slowly burning out and starting to bounce off the walls. Burning out bright, but burning out none the less.

So I figured I would stick my head up out of my burrow like a little Meerkat into the lifeofsuch world, and tell a story about Hornsby Woolworths and one of its staff members.

I believe he was one of the grocery managers, somewhere in the Woolworths grocery manager food chain, and I was "the Coke guy", making sure there was plenty of coke products on the shelves during the busy easter period. I was working hard, doing stuff... and he was not working at all - but I he was doing "stuff".

By "stuff" I mean every 60 seconds he would dash to the end of the aisle, and frantically search for someone amongst the customers. Then he would return to his ladder, only to race out to the end of the aisle again a minute later.

I aked him, "What are you looking for?"

"Puss." he replied.

"Puss? What do you mean puss?"

"You know, hot puss - I'm on the lookout so that if I see any hot puss I can warn the other boys."

I learned a few things that day... apparently 'hot puss' does not refer to overheated cats. And apparently 'hot puss' is extremely dangerous, so much so that it needs a skinny pasty white guy in oversized pants to spend his entire working day being a Meerkat or Prarie dog on high alert - ready to warn of its approach. I believe it is an official Woolworths Occupational Health and Safety Policy.

I also learned that there are some desperately sick guys out there, who believe their sole existance on this planet is to score with chicks or they will lose their little guy. I also learned that there are guys whom obviously couldn't if their life depended on it.

And thus ends the story of the day... I shall return to my burrow of uni papers.

Someone asked what I was doing at uni today. I replied "Learning Stuff". That is what people are expected to do at university, am I correct? Well, yes... and no.

Let me explain. You are presented with a chunk of information. I will use a piece from my latest uni reading as an example.

A migration question was not included in the Australian census until 1971; accordingly it is not possible precisely to document changes in migration patterns during the first three phases of the Mobility Transition. However, data for the 1966-1971 period are indicative of patterns in the latter part of this phase. This shows the dominance of intra-urban migration, which accounts for more than half of all moves. Finally there was a substantial increase in the level and complexity of circulation. This was associated with the exponential increase in personal mobility afforded by greater affluence, development of public and private transport.

Now, my first reaction after reading that is "Does this guy need a life or what?". Eventually it soaks in though, and my brain learns what I call "stuff", about the increasing complexities of mobility and inter-urban migration patterns. But that information doesn't stay in my head for all time. Oh no.

Realistically, when I say I 'learn stuff' at uni, what I really mean is that the information goes in one ear, pretends to make itself at home for around 10 weeks, and then when I decide that my head doesn't need it any more, or that the information is boring, or I just straight out do not like the information at all, I simply open an envelope and say the magic words "It's time to go.... STUPID WASTE OF TIME KNOWLEDGE ABOUT SOUTH AUSTRALIAN MIGRATION PATTERNS." The audience applauds, and wave signs and cheer, and the last piece of knowledge standing wins one million dollars. Or a can of tuna, whichever is cheaper.

Really, my uni head is just like big brother. There is a sauna and a hot tub, where drunk pieces of knowledge get it on, and make all the up-tight folks in the broadcasting and political spheres get all angry and upset and demand that there be less smooching between "human migration patterns" and "geographical perspectives", and how dare "educational perspectives shower naked!". Cause knowledge getting it on is just so so wrong.

So at the end of the day, when I look back on what I really learned at uni... it was how to get by without actually learning anything. It was learning the skills of selective cramming, learning as little as I can, in as little time possible, and turning that into credits and distinctions.

So, I believe some congratulations are in order. You see, today someone I know finally passed their driving test. Someone who made me swear not to reveal their identity on the net.

Heck, Why would someone who just passed their driving test want to hide behind a veil of secrecy? Because they failed. Obviously not on this particular driving test... but in the test before. Coming to think of it, they failed the driving test before that as well... and the previous attempt.

And In fact, they failed their driving test so often, with such regularity and German precision, that their Learners permit expired, and they had to resit the learners exam. I would like to add that I also failed my Driving test, and then had my Learners permit expire... but I only failed one driving test. This person failed a couple more times than me...

Really, I mean a 'couple more times'... and by a 'couple more times', I mean that she failed her driving test TEN times, and then failed her driving test ANOTHER TEN times, and then finally went back to the RTA, retook the test and failed a few more times. In fact, she lost count as to how many tests she had taken, but between us, we estimate that she attempted -and failed- her driving test around 24 times. LUCKY 25!

Now, she is free on the roads, free to drive, and free to... well... drive. Apparently though, she was so sure that she would fail her test for the twenty fifth time that when the young man called her up, and told her that she had actually passed, and not in one of those "oh you passed - wait, just messing with you... you failed horribly!" kind of ways, she couldnt believe it. She just stood there, staring at him. Personally, I think she was just checking the RTA dude out, but I wasn't there, so I can't really comment.

Anyways, congratulations Miss on finally being set loose on the roads. I'm not sure that I feel safe now on the road, but there are plenty of nuts out there - one more shouldn't hurt too much. Oh, and if you read this, and cannot work out who I am talking about because I have been banned from naming her... well the only clue I can give you is to read the whole post carefully, and you will find her name.

The ghost ships have been returning.

Just last week a sailing vessel was found off the coast of Queensland Australia, seemingly drifting and abandoned by its crew. The ship, bringing memories of the mysterious Mary Celeste (which was found in perfect condition, but abandoned as if the entire crew had been snatched by aliens) has been towed into harbour.

All lifejackets, emergency flares, beacons and distress signals were found on board, untouched. The table was set, ready for a meal, the laptop was still running, and all the mens clothes were folded and put away safely. The sailors just disappeared.

Then today, another abandoned sailing boat was discovered off the coast, drifting without a crew. So what is causing all these mysteries?

My money is on Mer-Ninja's. They must be breeding and feeding off the QLD coast, due to the change of seasons or something like that. They are stalking their prey, boarding the sailing boats, knocking the sailors unconscious with ninja stars and dragging the helpless occupants off into the waves, where they are bitten to death, and cut into small bite size pieces with ninja swords.

Yeap... and I bet that mer-ninjas were behind the crew disappearing from the Mary Celeste around 100 years ago... Mer ninjas.

Well hasn't this new-ish pope, the "Vicarius Filii Dei", been making a few sweeping changes to catholic doctrine. John Paul II has only been gone for two short years, and already the pope is making some wholesale theological changes.

Apparently he has decided that the concept of 'Limbo', a place where unbaptised babies are sent when they die - no longer exists. The word is derived from the Latin word for Edge, and theologically is for people that just don't quite cut the mustard. Close but not close enough.

Think of Limbo like the theological 'pull ups'. You no longer wear nappies, but haven't yet progressed to normal underpants - it is halfway between wallowing in your own filth or being able to go swimming at the beach without shame. And you even get a patronising pat on the head to let you know they are happy you tried your best when you only do a little bit of wee in your pull ups, and get most of it in the toilet.

Ahh limbo, at least we still have the 'dunk brazillians walking under a stick' kind of limbo...

To read the news.com.au story click here.

This is probably very old, but it is new and funny and shiney for me, so it is here... deal with it. Google have obviously been doing some cost cutting on the USA - Europe leg of company journeys.

1) Go to google maps.

2) Click on "get directions"

3) Enter "New York" in the 'FROM' box.

4) Enter "Paris" in the 'TO' box.

5) Click "get directions"

6) Scroll down to step #24.

The fire season has now passed, and so I have added a few new images to my series of pics recording some aspects of the Mt Kuring-gai fires 2007.

The fires blocked the only real entrance from the north into the city of Sydney, and lasted around 3 days in total.

As per usual, the fire services did a wonderful job stopping us from being set alight and all that... anyways, the link to the pics is HERE.

(these pics were taken on my 850i Sony-Ericsson mobile phone)

And for those that are interested, the pics for the Birdsall wedding are still up HERE.

A while back, I got a parking ticket for apparently parking too close to the intersection created between Anderson St and Laneway W45 in Chatswood. $175 for parking too close to what appeared to be a driveway... You see, my issue was that the laneway was entered via a connected driveway which crossed a level footpath.

To cut it short (Because the poem I wrote about it is very long) I challenged the ticket in the courts, and had the judge and police prosecutor confused, in my attempt to stick it to the man. Did I win against the b*stard parking ranger?? Well, you will have to read on and find out.

the ticket on the intersection

Folks Roll up! Roll up! Get your tickets here!
To Wills legal circus clown show of the year.
So come with me now, to Downing St we go,
You know, I'm the star in this legal clown show.

My ticket and files safely tucked at my hip,
with my photos, my pen and court attendance slip.
So off into the courtroom I went to stop
This evil mongrel traffic cop.

This parking ranger had booked me real good,
Not liking where my car had once stood.
One seventy five dollars was the fine
"Parked on intersection", the apparent crime.

One seventy five! Oh No way - No how!
I am not a fat cashed up money cow.
So in to the Downing street courts I went,
My anger and frustration now to vent.

From nine until two I had nought to do but wait,
To see the grey haired black gowned magistrate.
Finally my turn came to step up to the plate
"So how do you plead?", asked the old magistrate.

I'm not guilty! Not guilty was the rally cry...
Not guilty!! Not guilty!! Till the day that I die!
The magistrate spoke: "No not guilty you cry,
But now I must ask you to please explain why?"

Too close to the intersection did your car not stand?
Or perhaps the car was driven by some other hands?
It is true, I replied, my car stood in that spot.
But that "intersection", an intersection it is not.

The magistrate smiled, and said "This should be fun".
And the people in court chuckled, they laughed, every one.
The police prosecutor paled, and then rolled his eyes.
Well, weren't they all in for a little surprise.

So my case it began, with the swearing of oaths,
And the breaking of bread, and the sharing of loaves.
Ok, so I may have invented that last little line,
But I felt like some food, and it's my poem, so it's fine.

The trial continued, the police prosecutor got mad.
For it appeared that I was not one to be had.
I would not get tricked by his questioning ways,
Only answering his questions after thought out delays.

And then came my royal flush, Ten to Ace high,
Oh, they all saw it coming like a pig in the sky.
(And for those whom read that line and though "what?"
Pigs are uncommon in skies are they not?)

My Royal Flush? A loophole, hidden in law.
It surprised the Judge, prosector, and cop, got them all.
You see, a driveway and footpath a road do not make,
And that was the ticketing officers mistake.

Without two roads that meet, an intersection have you not,
Just a road and a road, and one great parking spot.
I finished, sat down and felt really proud of myself,
While the police researched the law for themselves.

Confusion on their faces, they searched through their books
To read of this loophole, and to end my smug looks.
But I had done homework, and eventually could see,
Police and council defeated, by little old me.

The judge said "Well I have a decision to make!"
And disappeared to his office to deliberate.
For another ten whole minutes I had nought to do but wait,
to see the grey haired black gowned magistrate.

When he returned, we all stood and we bowed,
But mine was the most nervous face in the crowd.
As the magistrate spoke, the whole courtroom listened,
And the sweat on his brow caught the light and it glistened.

"I have heard both sides in this traffic offence case,
And as this trial proceeded, things fell into place.
I believe that the parking inspector made a mistake,
As the laneway and road not intersection make.

So in the matter of Willoughby council VS Will Dance,
I am rather inclined towards the defendant’s stance,
I can see now in this case there is something amiss,
So without further ado, I declare "CASE DISMISSED!"

You have to be happy with sticking it to the man...
Man = 0. Will = 1.

For those of you keeping count, this happens to be Beckhams tenth piece of body art, not including his 'golden balls' which may be considered an artwork in themselves. They guy must have a love of needles or something, but in his defence at least this new tattoo is not as hideous as his "angel" on the back of his neck, which makes him look like a right proper knob.

This time, he has opted for a sleeve style tattoo, apparently influenced by the full body tatts that Wentworth Miller sports on Prison Break. And in another twist he has a line from a Roman poem included that translates roughly as "Let them hate so long as they fear", a line regularly used by the Caligula, or 'Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus Germanicus'... Emperor Caligula is shorter, and works for me.

So lets put the two head to head, and cover some things that Beckham probably should have known before he got that poetic line linking him forever with Crazy Caligula.

Caligula was bi-sexual. This is probably not a big issue back then, nor is it really a big issue for someone as good looking as Beckham, I mean people, have you heard the guy talk? We'll call that one a draw.

He slept with his senators' wives, and his own wife sister. Um, I'm sorry, I shall amend the record. Among many sexual conquests he slept with all three of his sisters. Oh Caligula, were there no good-looking Roman women around that weren't blood related? Oh, there were, but you auctioned them off to the highest bidder during orgies regardless of their marital status. Always the entrepreneur.

Maybe Caligula originally hailed from Tasmania, or country USA. We will never know. I don't think that the Beckhams are related by blood are they... although it may explain Romeo's six fingered hand. And David did have that 'Rebecca Loos' saga.
ADVANTAGE CALIGULA

He thought he was a football sex god. So does Beckham.
DEUCE

Caligula was incredibly self-indulgent, arrogant, egotistical, and is generally portrayed as insane. And Posh and Becks named one of their children Brooklyn after the place he was conceived. Other suggestions included "Behind the garden shed" and "Front seat of an X-trail".
ADVANTAGE BECKHAM

Caligula survived three attempted murders, Beckham survived hundreds of angry English football fans burning effigies of himself after his sending off in the 1998 world cup.
DEUCE

Caligula was eventually murdered by his own bodyguards, after mocking the captain of his bodyguards 'wounded penis' in front of everyone. Beckham is moving to the USA to play football.

I'm calling this match-up a tie. Beckham and Caligula are kindred spirits. Caligula was a paedophile, and Beckham looks like a boy. Obviously David knows his Roman History.

An old rescued post from nineteensix

Tonight I played Dodgeball with workmates for a company 'bonding' exercise... It was fun, everyone lined up, jumping, dodging, balling, and laughing. I'd never played before, so I thought I'd better just sit back, get a feel for it, and go for the basics - dodging, catching and throwing. It wasn't long before our team (including the store manager) was on a streak, winning 3 games straight. In those three games, I was the last man standing in our team, and managed to win numerous 1 on 1 situations... Pretty soon the manager was calling our team 'Will's wonderboys'.

Then it all went wrong. The other teams began to target me, and I got cocky. I wasn't focusing on basics, I was going for glory. No more small game, I was THE 'Wonderboy'. Tunnel vision, fatigue and lack of focus took over. How like Christian life, we start out full of enthusiasm, and focus on the basics of the small game, and God blesses us for it. But then success comes along, and "Its All me Baby". So, My three lessons of Dodgeball Christianity.

1) I was so focused on MY game, that I was unaware of THE game. I kept getting hit. 1 Corinthians 12 "For even as the body is one and yet has many members, and all the members of the body, though they are many, are one body..." In Christian life we can be so focused on our own little service or life, and isolate something that is meant to be part of a whole... we think 'I am the Eye - I will show them the way'. Then without the ear we don't hear something, and we miss Gods call, get hit with a ball, or get mashed in the eye with a toe...

2) My arm got tired, and I focused on power rather than accuracy, missing everything and giving easy catches. I was relentless, running, ducking, moving... I didn't even THINK about slowing down... Isaiah 40:31"But those who wait on the LORD Shall renew their strength; They shall mount up with wings like eagles, They shall run and not be weary, They shall walk and not faint." We need to take breaks. We need to spend some time out from the game of life, rest, refuel and recharge. It stops you from burning out, and in the end that helps the team.

3) I was thinking too far ahead, about the next throw, my next target, my next moment of glory, so I kept dropping the easy percentage balls that came straight into my hand. James 4:13-14 "Come now, you who say, 'Today or tomorrow we will go into such and such a town and spend a year there and trade and make a profit' yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring..." I needed to bring my focus back to the now and not the then. I was too obsessed with the ideal of glory, that I forgot the basics of dodging, catching and watching. Less 'One day!" and more "today!!".

Sometimes life throws a ball at us, sometimes a wrench. If you can dodge a wrench, you can dodge a ball.

Just dropping a line to say Happy Easter everyone, and I hope that everyone remembers the real reason for the Easter season...

It's not about the rabbits, or the chocolate eggs. Although, I think I may have clipped the easter bunny with my car on the way home... either that or a possum, I'm not sure which. If your kids don't get any chocolate eggs this year, check the road around 2 kms south of Mt Kuring-gai, heading north.

Remember the real reason for this holiday weekend, because it's the reflecting back on the day when Jesus comes out of his egg to check on the weather, and if he goes back inside his egg, it means that there will be another 3 weeks of winter or something.

Have a safe Good Friday and Resurrection Sunday.

mantrum (mahn-truhm) noun
: a violent demonstration of rage or frustration from a man, usually after being subjected to hours on end of aimless wandering through a shopping complex on the insistance of spouse / partner.
Example: Poor guy... he just broke down and had a mantrum!

I have posted before on the phenomenon that is the "mantrum". Most frequently occurs in the unreasonably busy build up to Christmas. If you have seen the governator in "Jingle all the way" you will know what I am talking about. That move makes it ok to assault reindeer. And get those animals drunk.

But I have seen those same types of men again over the past week... I have been working for coca-cola and visiting supermarkets, one after another. And regardless of the supermarket, its location or even the time of day, you still see them. Men reduced to oxen, chained and tethered to the market wagon trolley.

The men aren't really there to provide any positive imput into the female's shopping experience. They are simply beasts of burden, destined to a shopping trip consisting of no more than tailing their partner along endless aisles full of bright colours. Stop, go, wait, go, stop, turn left, stop, wait, go, wait turn right and repeat until you hit aisle 23.

And woe unto that man, that tethered beast of burden who strays too far from his master, or whom lags behind his mistress in the BBQ aisle, for that beast shall be subjected to death stares, the feminine eye daggers of the natural world, accompanied by sharp hisses through clenched jaws. The hiss is subtle, loud enough to pull the man into line, but quiet enough so as not to attract the attention of the other shopping she devils.

But I suppose I shouldn't complain. This post was originally to be a proposal for a new law. A law that would make it illegal for a woman to operate a shopping trolley without the front of the trolley, and her face being in perfect alignment.

No more should women be allowed to drive a trolley forward down an aisle at walking pace while looking right. Or left for that matter. From what I have noticed, is that women seem to look any other direction than the one in which the shopping trolley is moving.

Women I implore you, look straight. Watch where you are going. I do not need my feet run over again in the drinks aisle. If you cannot do this, please, bring your husband ox shopping with you.

The sun was shining on the sea,
Shining with all his might;
He did his very best to make
The billows smooth and bright—
And this was odd, because it was
The middle of the night.

The moon was shining sulkily,
Because she thought the sun
Had got no business to be there
After the day was done—
"It's very rude of him," she said,
"To come and spoil the fun!"

The sea was wet as wet could be,
The sands were dry as dry.
You could not see a cloud, because
No cloud was in the sky;
No birds were flying overhead—
There were no birds to fly.

The Walrus and the Carpenter
Were walking close at hand;
They wept like anything to see
Such quantities of sand.
"If this were only cleared away,"
They said, "it would be grand!"

"If seven maids with seven mops
Swept it for half a year,
Do you suppose," the Walrus said,
"That they could get it clear?"
"I doubt it," said the Carpenter,
And shed a bitter tear.

"O Oysters, come and walk with us!"
The Walrus did beseech.
"A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,
Along the briny beach;
We cannot do with more than four,
To give a hand to each."

The eldest Oyster looked at him,
But never a word he said;
The eldest Oyster winked his eye,
And shook his heavy head—
Meaning to say he did not choose
To leave the oyster-bed.

But four young Oysters hurried up,
All eager for the treat;
Their coats were brushed, their faces washed,
Their shoes were clean and neat—
And this was odd, because, you know,
They hadn't any feet.

Four other Oysters followed them,
And yet another four;
And thick and fast they came at last,
And more, and more, and more—
All hopping through the frothy waves,
And scrambling to the shore.

The Walrus and the Carpenter
Walked on a mile or so,
And then they rested on a rock
Conveniently low;
And all the little Oysters stood
And waited in a row.

"The time has come," the Walrus said,
"To talk of many things:
Of shoes—and ships—and sealing-wax—
And cabbages—and kings—
And why the sea is boiling hot—
And whether pigs have wings."

"But wait a bit," the Oysters cried,
"Before we have our chat;
For some of us are out of breath,
And all of us are fat!"
"No hurry!" said the Carpenter.
They thanked him much for that.

"A loaf of bread," the Walrus said,
"Is what we chiefly need;
Pepper and vinegar besides
Are very good indeed—
Now if you're ready, Oysters dear,
We can begin to feed."

"But not on us!" the Oysters cried,
Turning a little blue.
"After such kindness, that would be
A dismal thing to do!"
"The night is fine," the Walrus said,
"Do you admire the view?"

"It was so kind of you to come!
And you are very nice!"
The Carpenter said nothing but
"Cut us another slice.
I wish you were not quite so deaf—
I've had to ask you twice!"

"It seems a shame," the Walrus said,
"To play them such a trick,
After we've brought them out so far,
And made them trot so quick!"
The Carpenter said nothing but
"The butter's spread too thick!"

"I weep for you," the Walrus said;
"I deeply sympathize."
With sobs and tears he sorted out
Those of the largest size,
Holding his pocket-handkerchief
Before his streaming eyes.

"O Oysters," said the Carpenter,
"You've had a pleasant run!
Shall we be trotting home again?"
But answer came there none—
And this was scarcely odd, because
They'd eaten every one.

The Walrus and the Carpenter - Lewis Carroll

A few posts ago, I mentioned my brother Sam and his mirror stealing ways. Apparently he took offence to that, and rather than walk the 4 whole feet to my room to tell me, he tried to take a page from my book, and burn me on my myspace for the world to see.

Only, it turned into more a brief slanging match, that he realised he couldn't win. I thought I would include that little exchange of words on life of such, seeing as that it is a slow news day today, and I'm very vindictive.

The original post can be read here.

Sams response:
You took considerable time to reach conclusion in that deductive argument of yours, could have said. 1. Mirror is missing 2. mirror found in Sam’s room 3. therefore Sam has stolen the mirror. Quite a dainty shaving mirror may I add. Ill also add that it does take time to shave, wash hair and brush thy teeth in a shower. Around 15 to 20 min. As for thieving, those without sin cast the first stone. I would like my cologne back metro boy.. and the small matter of my play station 2 and games, that mysteriously vanished from my room, and found themselves into your room..... (ghost). As for vanity, I shall not even bother to argue, I think most people can see who is more vain.

My response:
Sure, I could have said that:
a) Mirror is missing
b) Mirror in Sams underpants drawer.

... but that is hardly the whole truth now is it?

The fact is, you have 3 massive mirrors, and yet still repeatedly steal the tiny shaving mirror. REPEATEDLY.

And for what might I ask? What do you do with it in your room, hidden away in the nether-regions of your underpants drawer?

Oh, and there is the matter of your showers. Yes. It takes a normal person 15-20 mins to wash their hair / brush teeth / shave in the shower. Hate to say it chump, your showers are closer to 40 mins. On average 35 mins. So what do you do with the extra 15 mins?

Oh, and you can't possibly shave in the shower... the mirror is always in your underpants drawer... so thats just washing your hair (which from the smell of it isn't all that regularly) and brushing your teeth...

As for your playstation 2, I borrowed it, and told you about it... and it was YOU who brought the games (See GAMES - PLURAL) into my room today and told me that I should fix your controller.

And if you actually READ my post, you would have seen that I actually said I was by far the most vain one...

I seem to remember another recent conversation whereby I told you to learn to pay attention to the details.

Or learn to read... either or.

*snap*

Sams response:
Your right, its not steeling if you know about it, You know its in my draw.. so its not stolen, only missplaced.. lol as for taking it to the shower, I do but I guess your never their to watch me linger towards the shower.. three, I have not had a shower longer than 20 min in quite some time. so unless you care to actually sit outside the shower and time me, you have no real proof that I am taking a shower that is that long. four, if I leave the mirror in the shower as I have done before, it seemingly finds its way into the downstairs shower... which you use may I add.

Now, at this point, I must point out that my reply to his myspace was somehow deleted. I don't know if it was a myspace issue, or something more sinister, but for the benefit of everyone, I shall repost.

My reply:
Sam.

1) You need to learn to use the English language better. You do not linger to something, rather you linger around something. Like that smell of unwashed clothing that lingered around your person in my car last night.

2) I don't have to sit outside the shower to see how long you are showering. Why? My room is underneath the shower, not only can I hear when the shower is running, I also have a clock on my computer, that I use to tell the time. Time is a concept you seem to have trouble with.

3) Learn to use points properly. You cant just start rambling at points beginning with 'number three'. Normal people start at 'number one'. You should try it.

4) Of course the mirror finds its way back into the downstairs shower. Note the term BACK. That is its point of origin, from where it started, and where it belongs.

5) You may add that I use the downstairs shower. Redundant point.

I'll keep you all up to date with future conversations. Because I'm a little brat apparently.

Over the weekend I was given the opportunity of attending the wedding of two friends at a winery in the Hunter Valley. For those internationals among us, the Hunter Valley is just north of Sydney, and is Australias oldest wine growing region. Tour operators take busloads of drunk customers around the region, where they go to winery after winery, sampling the wines and generally boozing it up before jumping back on the mini bus bound toward the next closest estate.

The wedding itself was held at the 'Hope Estate' winery, and was beautiful. The view across the hills, the lake and the mob of kangaroos munching away in the background was wonderful. The green hills, giant wine casks and vineyards looked spectacular. Oh, and I suppose the bride and groom scrubbed up alright too.

But it wasn't all love and kisses. There were a few things worthy of life of such discussion. For instance, we managed to reduce the 2 hour trip to a meager 1 hour 30 mins, through the clever use of a physical phenomenon known as 'speed'. There was a reason for this.

Lou A certain someone hates being late for weddings. In fact, last time we attended a wedding, this particular person tried to kill me, and then barrel-rolled out of my moving car, just to make sure she made it to the ceremony before the bride, who was a whole 3 metres ahead. Needless to say, I managed to drive back up 300 metres of hill, park the car. Sit there and stitch my head back on, walk down to the ceremony and meet her family before the bride even appeared. The barrel-roll seemed a little over the top.

At this Birdsall wedding, there was no such problem, as we arrived 20 minutes early. And the bride arrived over 60 minutes late. So there was plenty of time to sit around being pelted by falling gumnuts. I'm glad we didn't miss out on those gumnuts.

There were other things too, like the chocolate factory on the same road as the winery. We saw the signs and then started speaking about how nice it would be to have a wedding at a chocolate factory (provided it looked nice). But then I came across a minor issue. You see, the bride spends up to 8 months dieting, and slimming down to fit into her wedding dress, and as is the habit, once the ring is on the finger, brides tend to... uh... let themselves go a little. Which is fine I guess, but do you really want to kick that whole 'letting yourself blow out a little' process off inside a chocolate factory? It doesn't sound like the most promising start.

"And do you, take this man for better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and in.... um...I'm sorry, but is that chocolate smeared down the front of your dress? Are you eating during the wedding vows??"

There are so many problems with that idea, and unless the bride is fatally allergic to chocolate, I don't recommend it.

Inside the reception, amongst the giant wine casks and home made wooden candle chandeliers the fun didn't stop. After drinking a little too much too soon after not eating that day, and having to hold onto the bar for a while, things improved. A little. I spent much of the night being immature and trying to get things stuck in Jordan Giles giant afro. Little chocolate sticks, flower petals and the tops of those little mini-butter tubs seemed to be the order of the day for Jordo's hair. Except once, I threw a chocolate stick a little too far, and it hit a girl. Who got a little annoyed with me. But hey, its a wedding, and you can't have a wedding without alcohol and boys throwing things. Its tradition.

Like at the very end of the night, when Craig and Rach finally left, everyone gave them a guard of honour with sparklers and tea light candles. It looked great, and seemed to be a great idea until you remember the proven mathematical equation of males + alcohol + throwable fire = bad idea. Now, I won't mention any names, but Cam Barker someone may or may not have thrown a few sparklers in the air that may or may not have come within an inch of setting the hair ofJordan Giles someone with more hair than Fran Drescher on fire and burning a hole in some girls expensive dress. Still, if you hand out sparklers at a wedding at night to guys, you should have taken those risks into consideration.

Anyways, to Craig and Rach, all the best in Europe and Norway for the next 5 months. And to see some of my pics of the wedding, taken on my mobile and touched up a little in photoshop, click here.... wait... no... click HERE.