June 2007 Archives

So the general concensus has been that by mocking my sister when she had braces, and comparing her new speech patterns, her new speech 'impediment' if you will, to the verbal conversation of a deaf person -who cannot hear to pronounce complex letters properly- was a bad thing. Not only did I mock her, I told her I was mocking her to her 10 year old face.

So what? I thought it was funny, and hey I can deal with people thinking I'm a bit bad for laughing at someone elses expense.

And it continued with me deliberately going out of my way to make electrical popping sounds while my dad had his hands in an immensly dangerous piece of electrical machinery that powered the whole section of subracks inside a Telstra exchange. Bubble wrap never sounded so terrifying. Once again, people thought I was horrible.

But what about this?

I call my brother, and ask him to fill in for me one afternoon, knowing full well that it is most likely that the pay for that shift will have already been transfered into my account by the time he does the shift... essentially he worked for me and got paid nothing, I did nothing and I got paid...

...good business sense? Or a bad person?

Am I bad for what I did to my dad yesterday?

He was wiring up an unlimited voltage unit that has the potential to blow a person into pieces with the amount of electricity it can draw from the power grid... his attention focused only on the thick wires and bar... if he touches anything else it could be the last thing he ever does.

And then I start deliberately popping the bubble wrap under his tools, SNAP CRACKLE POP!!! All he hears is an ominous electrical crackling sound - the sound of impending elecrocution. He jumps, smacks his hands on the unit and ends up with a few cuts on his right hand. I laugh.

Later dad continued working, and was so nervous his palms were sweating... at the critical moment when the 2 inch thick wire and the metallic bar make contact, his phone rings and vibrates in his pocket, sending him jumping again... this time when he hangs up the phone and looks inside the machine again he whacks his head on the door because he is so frazzled...

...so am I a bad child?

My little sister got braces on her teeth about two days ago. As soon as I heard she was back home from the dentist, I ran upstairs and my first words to her were:

"Hey metal mouth... show me your braces."

"Ok"

"Oh, they are pink and blue"

"No... aawuua (aqua)"

"What?"

"Aawuua"

"What are you saying? I don't understand you... you are talking weird. Speak properly!"

"They arent bwuu they are aawuua!"

"Oh, Aqua... why didn't you just say so instead of speaking like a deaf person huh?"

My sister gets braces, and is in some pain adjusting to them, and my first reaction is to race off and tease her and make her say the same words over and over again just so I can point out that she now talks funny...

...so am I a bad person for that?

I'm sure by now that Glover is beginning to get a little worried about all the things he makes mention of in conversation with me now - publishing detailed oddities of someones life all over the internet for the world to see tends to make one a little paranoid, often for good reason.

Today Glover is being heralded on LOS for dropping one of the most random and disturbing phrases I could ever think of into the middle of a bbq lunch conversation. A group of us were sitting outside around a table eating under the late summer afternoon sun, enjoying each others company and sharing funny stories from our past about the 'worst things' we had done, and then Glover jumps in and says:

"Yeah, I think the worst thing I ever did was chop my grandmothers toes off..."

We all stop and stare, someone coughs their food onto their plate... a knife drops... the birds stop singing and there is silence.

"Yeah... true... I thought I had told you about that before."

No Glover, I am pretty sure you had just mentioned how you killed a dog with your bare hands by punching it ONCE in the head when it attacked you. I'm pretty sure you told us about your random church showdowns and stories... but chopping off your grandmothers toes... those little digits of that poor old innocent and helpless matriarch of your family... that is something new.

You are such a horrible grandchild. I can't remember all the details of the story, except it involved Glover helping his grandmother to get off a ride-on lawnmower, only he helped her get off the wrong side and her feet went through the plastic cover and into the blades. But I will end with the most disturbing line from Glovers story...

"The worst thing wasnt the blood or anything like that... it was just the moaning... the way she kept moaning until the ambulance arrived."

Remind me never to mow the lawn while you are around.

I was trying to think about something funny to write here today. Some profoundly amusing joke or statement somehow relating to me sitting my final exam today, and finishing my university degree.

There was going to be special mention about how the lady next to me, who arrived 30 minutes late was distraught at the end of the exam, and had tears in her eyes because she felt like she had messed it up. There might even have been mention of how I was late to the exam, or about how my jeans were wet right up to my calves because of the pouring rain.

I could have even included the part about how in the carpark, as I was rummaging all through the ute to get the water bottles to top up the utes water levels it looked for all the world like I was trying to steal something of value, and so I had a couple of people watching me suspiciously until I produced the keys and drove off...

...but no. I couldn't put that all together, because I realised after all this time that no matter what I write, I am still the joke. Why?

I have been speaking to a few people about the end of my uni degree, and they have all made statements along the lines of "Congratulations, so are you going to party?" and "You need to celebrate that!!" and, "You should have a party or do something to celebrate!".

But at the end of the day, when I came home I realised how freaking old I am getting. The only celebrating I wanted to do was with a nice hot cup of tea, a fruit bun, and a nice old rainy day nap. Other people go out to dinner, or go drinking, dancing and clubbing to celebrate their major milestones in their lives.

But me on the other hand, Well I'd just rather sleep thankyou very much.

In case you haven't already noticed, I like to find the funny side in things, and I like to laugh... a lot. The way I see it is that if there is a laugh to be had, then pretty much nothing is off limits. Not even my own faith.

So I hereby present the first Sunday Sacreledge on LOS. If you are easily offended, just skip over this post, and find something else to read... something else on LOS that is.

I just got bitch-slapped by a six year old girl-child. Which made me laugh, because that kind of thing just doesn't happen every day. The girl-child in question happens to be my little sister, whom I have taken under my wing to train up in the ways of the 'tough girl', and she seems to be progressing well.

It all happened from when she saw me in the kitchen while I was at the sink, and she ran up behind me, threw her arms around my waist - and knocked a bunch of cups and plates into the sink. She heard the noise, and fear and embarressment was etched across her face.

So to make her feel better, I said "High Five - for being an unco!", although to be honest, I didn't add the 'for being an unco' until the last second, so that she really didn't know what she was giving me the high five for. Basically, I totally used her naivety against her. She just admitted -through the use of a high five- that she was an unco.

Our hands slapped.... and once she realised what I had said, she just stared at me and said;

"Come here"
"Give me your head"
So I bent down, thinking she wanted to give me another hug or something, and brought my face down to her face level... and then...

*SLAP*

She used my OWN innocence and naivety against me! She really is a little sibbling close to my own heart, and with continued training will be a wonderfully witty menace to society.

Those that know me, know that I am really looking forward to the new transformers movie. Optimus, Bumblebee, Hardtop, Ironhide... those guys made getting up for school in the morning a little easier, right up until it was replaced by the smurfs.

I started thinking about my cars, and all the stupid going ons that my cars have seen over the years. There was that time I got my little Subaru Leone up onto its two right hand wheels taking a corner a little too fast one night on the way home. That same time my 20 year old stock standard ugly grandpa car beat my friends brand new tricked up car in a race. There was also the time when it skidded over a roundabout and onto a front lawn, nearly ripping the front wheel right off. Oh, and all the times when the car just decides to not start for no reason.

But having said that, some of the best times of my life were in cars. Obviously, girls and cars are a great mix, but the most laughing I have ever done in a car was with boys.

One night, in my dodgy old car with headlights that would fall out if you drove over big bumps, and that had only one crackling speaker my friends and I turned the music up as high as we could manage, and started dancing in the car while we were driving home. Every dance move literally shook the car and made it move in the lane. We used the interior light as a disco light, and were dancing, singing and generally looking stupid when a carload of girls pulled up next to us at the lights, in a nice new car that had speakers that actually worked. Needless to say we looked stupid.

Another time I was driving some two 95kg twins home one night, when they went silent following an arguement. 2 minutes later my car shook on the road, and then when I looked to the back seat, one of the twins had turned the other twin upside down in a fight. His head was right down under the drivers seat, his feat in the air.

I wonder if I am allowed to mention the times we went 'McScurfing' where a friend held onto my car, and was then towed down the street on a McDonalds tray. When I was towing people I didn't like, I would drive faster and aim for the little reflective lights stuck in the centre of the road. Good times.

So anyways, at the risk of getting some rather scary and unsavoury stories, I am wondering, what is the most fun you have ever had in a car?

Unlimited power.

It sounds enticing does it not? What would you do with unlimited, unrestricted power? Well, the only thing you would do with the 'power' I am talking about is accidentally electrocute yourself.

I have been working with dad the past week, installing fibre optic broadband hubs in Telstra telephone exchanges. It involves a lot of cable, a lot of lifting, dragging and connecting, and a heck of a lot of 'pretending to be a ninja by climbing along racks, into ceiling cavities, and between the phone exchange floors'. It can be a lot of fun, in that 'I am a child climbing' kind of way, but leaves you with lots of cuts on your hands at times... which reminds me, I need to make another nail appointment time to go work, cause I'm fully huge.

Anyway, yesterday I was crawling along a cable tray. Think of it as a 40 centimetre wide sushi train, suspended from the ceiling, snaking its way across the rows of server equipment 12 feet below. It is just wide enough to crawl on, and is close enough to the roof that you have to crawl, because walking, or even crouching is out of the question.

I was on hands and knees, perilously close to losing my balance as I tried to cross another tray filled with some very large, and very brightly coloured red and blue cables. In fact, they ran across my tray, and then down a pillar into a unit the size of a fridge. Just as I was stretched out across these cables, my dad comes along and warns the guy standing 6 feet away.

"Don't touch that, it's really dangerous".

Um, here I am basically lying across the thing, and then you warn the guy that isn't even close to it, that it is dangerous.

The guy looked at dad.

"What is it?"

"That, is unlimited power - if anything gets inside that it will cease to exist. So don't touch it, or it will literally fry your nuts off. It will kill you in an instant."

Once again, dad... I'm already l straddled atop the thing, I really don't need to hear about unlimited power sources frying my nuts off right now.

So I go to turn back, and escape the 'unlimited power' machine... but no... apparently it was my job to be the ninja, and crawl across the power connections. Dad was very keen to stress that I should be safe, so long as I didn't cause an electrical short while crossing the cables. Which feels kinda hard to do 12 feet from the floor, on a tray 40cm wide, on your hands and knees at the end of the day.

I'm sure you have all heard the saying "Absolute power corrupts absolutely", well now the official new saying -courtesy of my father- is "Ultimate power will fry your nuts off".

Rest assured, despite the frightening encounter with the machine that can draw as much electricity from the Sydney power grid as it needs, I am fully intact, and so are both testicles. I leave you with that thought.

Have you ever gone out of your way to make a dog swallow some kind of medicine, perhaps a tablet or capsule? Me neither, but if those flea ads are correct and to be trusted, the dog will always end up spitting the capsule onto the floor behind the pot plant, and some middle aged woman will stand there hands on hips and shaking her head.

Here's the thing. I think my dad is somehow distantly related to those dogs they use in the commercials. He hates taking tablets. Every Saturday morning, my dad sits at our table next to the window enjoying the sun shining through the window. And every Saturday morning, my mum, worried about my fathers health, decides that he needs to consume a handful of god aweful medicines, herbs or capsules. Needless to say, he is a stubborn one, and doesn't like to be told what to eat. He also really hates those tablets. My mum has to stand there and make sure he actually takes them.

The other week my younger sisters discovered a little pile of medicinal tablets and capsules sitting on the shelf of the cupboard that stands to the left of the table next to the window where my dad sits every Saturday morning to enjoy the sunshine. These happen to be the very same tablets that mum forces dad to take every Saturday.

Coincidence?

No. There would be more chance of my dad winning the bikini section of Miss Teen USA than there is of him actually eating those tablets. And seeing as though mum stands there and watches him eat them, we have since assumed (and had it confirmed from dad himself) that he simply hides the medicine in his mouth, and as soon as mum is gone, he pops the tablets out of his mouth, opens the little cupboard door, and puts the tablets in a neat little pile on the wooden shelf.

My conclusion is that my dad should act in those flea ads as the capsule-hating dog. I think it would be way funnier than any stupid border collie spitting pills in a pot plant. You could probably pay him less too.

Last week, on a beautifully dark and rainy Thursday afternoon I had my second last ever uni exam for my degree. I parked at Maquarie shopping centre, and walked into uni for my exam, arrived a few mintues late, and was told that they didn't have a seat for me.

On the way back to my car, with a pounding headache after a tough exam... after walking through the cold rain and overly noisy shopping centre full of children, I was approached by a good looking blond girl, who had a sad apologetic look on her face. She looked at me, and pouted and then open her mouth, and asked a question that made me feel like a monster.

"Hi, do you have time for refugees today?"

Ouch. Who wants to smile enthusiastically, make solid eye contact, look all excited and then answer "Not me!". No one. Well, not entirely true to be honest... I mean, who here owns their own website and actually answered "It sounds bad, but I don't"? ....ME. Smooth.

Now, I'm honestly not a horrible person, those that know me will probably be either laughing or nodding in total agreement. I'm like that, I polarise people. Anyways, like I said, I am not the devil, but it is just that every single week there is another crisis, another group in distress, and another pair of overly well groomed jobless twenty somethings trying to coerce some guilty feeling white collar worker into spending money each month to protect the native moth population in the central Congo or something else. I just can't afford to help them all.

One time I was sitting in the forecourt of a shopping centre, and some English nut fundraising for the Hare Krishna dancing tambourine band decided to just sit down at my table, interrupt a conversation I was having with a friend and ask me "How my day / week / month / year / life had been going". Literally, he escalated his questions just like that, one after another. I don't care how long it has been since you had a bath Mr England, but I'm not giving you money when you interrupt my lunch.

And I hate those credit card stalls, when the pimply teenager wearing his fathers oversized suit tries to approach me and sell me an image of financial prosperity and responsibility. Yeah right. Number one, I'm not financially inclined. And point B, you look like a clown. In fact, you look like that same teenager that approaches me and asks me to buy cheap cigarettes and bourbon for them because you are underaged.

Oh, and to those American college students who continually ask me to sign up or register for events. When I keep telling you that "I'm so already WAY registered", I'm often lying. Remember, when I want to sign up I know where you are. Don't call me, I'll call you.

And don't get me started on those money collectors wandering the city streets with metal buckets and giant oversized koala buckets. Half of me wants to hug you, and half of me wants to kick you in the nuts, stamp on your oversized foot, push you onto your back and run away laughing like a school child.

Seriously. I have no aversion to attacking a koala.

So if you are a money collecting, unwashed, unsympathetic overly groomed and slick talking chump, and you approach me to make me feel guilty about starving goats in Micronesia just remember reading this post, and remember how you are pushing me to the edge... and ask yourself...

...do you feel lucky punk?

Well do you?

My little sisters aged 6 & 8 (or thereabouts) have set up a mini-shop downstairs in the rumpus room, trying to make a bit of money selling books, bottles of softdrink, blankets and soft toys to the rest of the family. Mind you, they are selling things that don't actually belong to them, selling my parents bibles, all my soft drinks, and my sisters soft toys. These kids are the ultimate second hand sales sharks.

Among the items for sale are a few christian childrens books, which my youngest 6 year old sister was trying to convince me to buy...

"You can buy books about Jesus..."

"Oh really?"

"Yes, do you know Jesus?"

"What?"

"You need to know Jesus or you're going to Hell!"

"Who is going to Hell?"

"You... maybe."

"Oh. Terrible shame that."

If hocking stolen second hand goods doesn't work out for her, I'm sure my little she could get a job as one of those old school fire and brimstone pentecostal preachers.

Let me begin with a story I once heard...

...a man was telling me a story. He said "My wife has a mood ring -its great- it always tells me exactly what mood she is in. When she is in a good mood and when she is happy and calm, the mood-ring glows a relaxing blue colour... but when she is angry and upset, it leaves a big red mark on my forehead!"

Ok, so now its time to ask another social etiquette question, although this time it wasn't me -honestly- it was a friend of mine. Personally I think he was generally in the clear on this one...although he did make a few small mistakes. All in all I'm backing the boy in this one... but something tells me that 51% of the population out there might disagree with me.

Now, I was once again banned from referring to him by name, and also banned from calling him "Mr R.C. who drops bench press bars on his own head", so I think for the sake of total respect of his privacy, I shall refer to him as "the little coconut" or TLC for short. So, now that we have gotten that little bit of housekeeping out of the way, it is time to tell the story.

The Little Coconut (TLC) and a girl are driving along in the car and TLC notices that the girl is a little more grumpy than usual, and in his male foolishness opens his mouth and asks her why. He says something along the lines of "Are you ok? Because you have been extra grumpy lately". (TLC's first mistake)

She replies that she is fine and perfectly normal and that he should keep his mouth shut to prevent verbal diarrhoea.

He presses on (TLC's second mistake) and says something like "No, really you have been all grumpy lately... are you PMSing or something?"

At this point the girl turns to TLC and asks him "Do you want a slap?", and then TLC gets defensive, and pleads his innocence and ignorance. At this point in the conversation the girl orders TLC out of the car and refuses to take him any further. Over reaction or justified response?

So here is my question, is what The Little Coconut asked unreasonable? Should guys never mention these kinds of things to girls under threat of castration? And secondly, if TLC and the girl had been dating for a couple of years, is it still a question that should remain off limits?

Actually, writing this reminded me of another joke that frequents male dominated circuits... like the mens conference...

"Why did they call it 'PMS' and not something else?"
"Because mad cow disease was already taken!"

*covers head and runs away for protection*

Here is one for discussion. Im after a little guidance on my social etiquette skills. Normally I am the 'pedpenitusoralia' type of guy (foot-in-mouth), I shoot first and ask questions later because I'm a cowboy of sorts. Not the brokeback type of cowboy though, and if you say otherwise again I will bash you with my handbag which -I assure you- is loaded to the hilt with very heavy and unforgiving lipsticks. I'm kind of a loose cannon, so fear me... cause I speak first and think later.

So here is the issue. I walk past a girl in the library at university, and think to myself "Whoa Nelly - she is wearing her pants a little high for comforts sake - I mean she is really wearing them". Then unfortunately after laughing in my head about it, about eight seconds later I realised that I actually know that girl wearing what could only be described as "altitude pants". Every other time I have seen this person, her fashion was always what I would label as refined and rather sophisticated, if a little understated, but this day... well... "altitudinous".

Is it ok to perhaps inform her that her pants from last week were a little too 'altitudinous' for normal 'out of the house attire'? Or should I let it slide and not make any mention about her climbing abdomen pants at all?

Here's another one... should I write about it on LOS or show some decorum and just pretend like the whole thing never happened? And should I keep her nameless on LOS, or do what one Steven West suggested, and refer to her by her name and title at university? In fact, Steve wanted me to list her name and phone number so everyone could send her fashion advice in text messages.

Yeah, I don't think I should name her either. BAD STEVE!

This is just another stupid idea that has been bouncing around my head for a few months now... so bear with me. It involves quite a bit of imagination, and some mathematics.

It is this whole new fad-trend of writing either "I heart you" / "I (heart) you" / or "I <3 you". Here is the breakdown. The first one is a witty take on the usual "I love you" theme, writing the word 'heart' instead of trying to draw a little picture with your keyboard. Fine, I guess I am cool with that, just keep playing with your MAC or ipod or whatever, I will address you again later on in this post.

The second one -I (heart) you- is a little sad to be honest, I mean, if you really need brackets to define the word 'heart' you just aren't putting enough soul or passion into it the whole thing. It comes across clinical and sterile, like beige pants. If you wear beige pants and actually think they look good, may I suggest you seek help?

Which brings me to the final and most hideous of the phrases. "I <3 you", where people attempt to draw a sideways heart to convey their emotions. To be honest, it left me a little confused for a long time, seeing as I always confused the heart (<3) with an icecream cone (

Perhaps the real meaning is "My heart has fallen over on its side", which doesn't sound very healthy no matter how much of a heart surgeon you happen to be. If your heart is prone to falling over on its side, you should probably seek medical attention sooner rather than later... YES YOU!! The one slumped across your keyboard drooling, oh you don't fool me. I don't care if you were born that way and ALL your internal organs are slotted in sideways, seek help. Please. Seek Help.

Or could it be that the phrase "I <3 you" really means "I hate you and I am going to rip your heart out and re-insert it into your chest cavity on a 90 degree angle!". Wouldn't that be a worry now? If you are either planning on messing with someones organs, seek help. If you have had your organs messed with and are feeling a little woozy, seek help.

Or, perhaps the real (and most obvious) meaning has shown everyone is blinded by the interweb world. Look closely "I <3 You". Normally we break this down into three parts, (ME), (Heart) & (YOU), but realistically this should be broken down into four parts - (ME) (LESS THAN) (THREE) (YOU).

I < 3 You. For those mathamatically inept among us, this could mean one of two things.

Either it means "I rate you less than three", or "I am less than three of you". Now obviously unless you are really really fat like Grimace, you are probably less than three of a single person, so for the majority of those that use the term, the real meaning is the former, "I rate you less than three".

Considering the average rating now comes in terms of "5 stars" or "A perfect 10", and we see no mention of any stars in the "I <3 You" formula, we can assume that when one uses the "I rate you less than three", they are actually using a scale out of ten. Assuming "Less than Three" is at best around 2.5 (which is 25% of a perfect 10), it becomes an insult to the factor of two. You are not "half a person", you are "Half of half a person", and that is a pretty big insult no matter HOW SHORT YOU ARE.

So there you have it, I will summize the paper for you. If you are one of those trendy people that type "I heart you", you probably own an ipod and spend too much on accessories and think it is perfectly acceptable to spend $85 on a t-shirt. Yes you may look trendy for one season, but I still think you should seek help.

If you are one of those that type "I (heart) you", you should at this point put your beige pants into the garbage, and sell your volvo. May I suggest spending a little less time around your dogs and more time with real people too, perhaps you should seek some form of help too.

If you are one of those that uses "I <3 YOU" and either re-arrange the organs of others, have had your organs re-arranged, or were born with a sideways heart, seek help. I really don't need to elaborate this point.

If you are one of those that uses "I < 3 You" to secretly insult people, I think that you should probably get rid of your secret collection of hunting knives, ninja stars and black nail polish. And you might considering giving that little skull and crossbones badge you wear back to your sister, we all know she is tougher than you. Oh, and seek help.

To the final group that actually use the phrase "I <3 You" and think it really means I love you... You know what? If you have ever used any of the I heart you messages just seek help. God knows everyone else is.

I really did mean to go to church this morning, despite the fact that it was raining. As you know I believe rain is a heavenly sign that everyone should immediately stop what they are doing and return to bed, regardless of what activities are being undertaken, or the time of day. Rain equals bed - no argument...

But it was not the lovely rain that stopped me, it was not even my asthma that required me to sit on my bedroom floor hooked up to my nebuliser, that pumped the misty vapour concoction of oxygen and salbutamol into my lungs, making it easier to breathe, but also giving me the shakes and making my nose run. Neither was it my shortage of clean clothes, as I managed to scrape together an outfit from the threads I had left in my drawers. No, I blame automotive technology.

I got into the ute to drive to church, and noticed it had a full 6 inches of water sitting in the back tray... ironically as I got into the cabin, there was another 3 inch deep puddle on the floor. The seats were soaking, and water was dripping from the roof. There was water on the dash, and the little part between the seats that normally holds coins was now holding its own lake.

So I decided to take a gamble on my other car, which has been playing up of late... all I needed to do to get to it was to move my parents car out of the driveway. Which then wouldn't start. It just wheezed like a laughing evil villain with emphysema - in fact it sounded remarkably like Gollum coughing up his own lungs - the car just wheezed and stopped, wheezed and stopped, repeatedly. It wasn't the "little engine that could", it was the "little engine that couldn't be stuffed so sets about ruining your day". Pain in the ass car.

So I walked down the drive past the parents car to my commodore, just to see how it was going, seeing as though a part that recharges the battery as you drive needs replacing and I hadn't been willing to drive it. Obviously my car has turned emo since I last drove it. It hardly had enough energy to unlock the central locking doors and just sat there looking all pathetic. Try to turn over the engine? Have to be kidding. It just clicked a few times, and sat there feeling sorry for itself. My car has turned so emo I'm surprise it hasn't slashed its own tires over the weekend.

So dear diary, believe me when I say that I really was going to go this morning - but the cars were being proper knobs. One thought it was a SCUBA diver and went swimming, one thought it was Gollum and did nothing but wheeze and cough and die in the end, and the last one had promptly turned emo and wants to harm itself. If my cars were transformers I would totally make them kick each others asses.

P.S. - Speaking of transformers... why do we get the transformers movie over a week earlier than the USA? Normally we get movies later, yet somewhere I saw it advertised with screenings beginning on the 28th of June. Odd.

It seems I accidentally generated a little raincloud of controversy and confusion over my environmentally friendly policy of weeing in the shower. Some people seemed all for the idea, some people were a little disturbed by the whole notion, and others well, they just seemed to share a little too much information for my liking.

As many of you know, I post little bulletins on my myspace letting you all know about any new posts to LOS. Occasionally people reply via myspace messages to let me know what they are thinking, away from the glare of the LOS comment sidebar. A message from on (as yet) unnamed source had me a little worried...

My bulletin:
"Weeing in the shower... good? Bad? Ugly? Way of water conservation? You bet... "
Reply:
"It's not as bad as someone weeing in your mouth when you're asleep."
My Reply:
"Dude... when did that happen?"
His reply:
"I derno, i'm sure it's happened to someone at some stage. it'd be pretty bad. way worse than weeing on your feet. Someone once told me that weeing on your toes is a great way to get rid of Tinnitus."

Firstly, due to the nature of myspace emails, I spent a whole day laughing about how someone had decided to pee in my friends mouth while he was asleep. Apparently not the truth.

Secondly, he believes that weeing on your feet will cure Tinnitus. Now I'll be honest with you all, I'm no doctor, but I don't think weeing on your feet will have any effect on a condition that effects your hearing... Tinnitus is the "Ringing in the ears sometimes caused by compressed blood vessels."

So Kristoffer, may I suggest that perhaps next time you and your friends are on the way home from a rock concert, and notice a high pitch ringing in your ears, you might consider refraining from weeing on each others feet? At least, if you feel the need to wee on each other to cure your symptoms, I would suggest aiming a little higher, around the ears perhaps? At least thats applying the solution directly to the problem areas...

Alternately, you could wee on your toes to help prevent Tinea.

I was over at a mates place this evening, when I noticed a strange mark on his forehead about the size and colour of a small bite sized mars bar. I asked him what had caused his mars bar mark, but he refused to tell me. I kept on asking and eventually he spilled the beans. Not literal beans, I was speaking metaphorically.

He had been doing some bench presses at the gym, and had asked a guy to "spot" for him. At least, I think that is what the guy was meant to be doing... I wasn't paying attention to the actual terminology. Anyways, its the guy that stands at the top of the bar, so if you are about to drop the bench-press bar, he can catch it so you don't break your neck.

This mate - lets call him "Mr R.C." as a code name of sorts - anyways, "Mr R.C." was bench-pressing some massive weight of 15kg or something simliarly huge, when his old lady arms started to get weak towards the end of his set.

Mr R.C. : "Ok.... I'm done".
Spot: "I can't lift it".
Mr R.C. : "What?!!"
Spot: "It's too heavy!"

As Mr R.C struggled in vain to put the bar onto the rack, his arms started to shake, and give way. The bar dipped to one side, and half the weights fell off onto the floor. Even then the weakling spotter couldnt lift the bar, and a few kilograms later Mr R.C. dropped the weight bar onto his own forehead with a loud crash.

He stood up while everyone in the gym stared - and then he "went all woozy" and fell to the floor - with a massive bleeding lump on his head, that remains to this day as a reminder - testament to the dangers of pretending to be a tough boy at the gym when you really only have old lady arms.

Just a short little post today... but it revolves around a topic that is hopefully close to all our hearts. Water conservation.

You would have to be living under a rock, or perhaps a small tropical island, or if your life really sucks - a toilet bowl - to not realise that we are having a little drought in Australia... nothing to be afraid of... just a little lack of water.

Everywhere there are ads telling us to shower less, let our cars stay dirty and if we water the garden on the wrong day - watch out - or the water patrol will haul you off... Or fine you. Whatever is easiest.

Today I felt very green with myself. I was about to have a shower, and had the shower running to get up to temperature, when I had the urge to pee. Funny that. I *almost* turned around, and pee'ed into the toilet, which would have wasted a WHOLE FLUSH of water... but no. I turned and did my bit for water conservationists everywhere.

I did my wee in the shower.

Is this bad of me?

We'll never truly understand
the reasons why you left
But we wish we had done more
to comfort your distress

Although our time was all too brief
I still count you as friend
You spread your wings, and now you're free
our world you did transcend

Now that you're gone we will recall
the good times that we shared
we hope you will remember us
we hope you knew we cared

Now that your age has ended
with the passing of the hearse
Your smiling face lives in our hearts,
Your memory in the verse.

Dave.1983-2007

You could be mistaken for believing that it must be a slow day in the land of such for me to start posting about my own underpants. But you would be wrong. Very wrong, perhaps even as wrong as Britney Spears deciding to get out of a sportscar in a short skirt but no underwear. Yes. That wrong.

You see, the underpants that I am currently wearing - and have proudly photographed for your viewing pleasure - have had quite an epic journey in more ways than one. Those more astute of you may recognise the logo that is emblazoned across the front of my delicates... yes, look closely, can you see it? Look closer... closer... OK thats just too close you sicko! Some people just don't know when to stop.

I happen to be wearing official underpants from the Sydney Olympics in 2000. In fact, I think I started wearing them 2 years before the olympics when I made the olympic under 21 soccer team stole them from my dads underpants drawer. Yes, our family is close like that. In fact, a rumour was started once, people thought that I wore my mothers underwear. What really happened is she stole them from dad, he stole them back, and then I stole them from him. If it helps your mental image, don't think of it as wearing other peoples underpants, just see it as the "Circle of Life" from the Lionking. Just for underpants.

So these underpants have been with me for quite some time... the elastic is still strong, the material is holding up pretty well... and they are just pretty comfy. Not bad for a pair of underpants that are nearly ten years old.

Look at it this way, my underpants are only 5 years younger than the Czech republic.

This is a rework of an old poem from 2004. I promised a poet (Robert Gray) I was fortunate to study under at university that I would someday rework it a little to include the lines "The frogs are dancing" repetatively. I will have to send a few of the various versions to him, and see what he thinks.

This is the first of a few reworks that I will be having a go with... so, um... enjoy.

Frogs are dancing under the morning river bridge
watching the first arcs of sunlight make contact
with the silver treetops that shiver as though
woken from sleep by the cool dawn winds

And under the morning river bridge
the frogs continue dancing.