How Was Your Long Weekend?...
... it wasn't long enough.
Ha!
Pure genius folks. I've heard this line used every fucking long-weekend, from every moron between the lobby to Level 17, and no matter who delivers it, it still sucks.
Maybe Wit has a five day weekend, two day weekdays, and likes to sleep in because it's easy like Friday morning.
...
So what did he say?
He looked really young and was quite nervous...
And...
He said 'Hi, my name is X, and you look really cool. You look like a Ninja'
...
My neck hurts. That's the reward I get for attempting heavier weights at the gym. Junkies will say it's because of incorrect technique etc., I say it's my luck. I wish I could jump over Luck's fence and be on it's good side for once. But fuck that thought, my neck hurts and I can't sleep, sit or even stand without pulling a wincing face because an invisible Spock is pinching the shit out of my neck. It's not a cool look on the morning commute.
...
What did the Mexican say when his homework flew out the window?
Where you going, essay?
...
So, tell me what you think your best trait is?
Um, I don't know. I've never really thought of that before. OK, what's yours?
My ass.
Please stand.
Just take my word for it...
(You'll be dancing later anyway) Yeah ok. How about for him?
It's his hair. He's got that whole my-hair-can't-be-touched look. So yeah, how about you?
My monster cock.
Hahahahha!
So she proceeded to call me 'big wad' for the rest of the night, and I'm happy because somebody out there actually appreciates my humour.
...
The Winner of Joke-Off 2005:
Why does the Pope wear baggy clothing?
Because he's a Rap Singer
This challenge was conceived last Sunday where participants were given a common topic that they must make a joke about. The topic was the Pope. We won't discuss the other entries.
...
I'm a Level 35 Druid, waiting to use a Unique crossbow that will do 63-135 damage per magic arrow. My Grizzly Bear is on level 5, my mercenary Ip is a level 34 Barbarian and I'm absolutely consumed by Diablo II all over again. D is crying a plague on my mouse.
Grade A Moron
For how many minutes of game time in Sydney's last match against Brisbane, were the Swans in front?
That was the question that needed to be answered to get free tickets to the next Swans game, so...
I replied with the correct answer in 0.29 seconds via email -
0 Minutes!!!!!
I checked my sent items to find that I'd sent it to EVERYONE IN THE SOCIAL CLUB AT WORK! (ie - shitloads of people)
I have never felt so stooopid in my life.
For how many minutes of game time in Sydney's last match against Brisbane, were the Swans in front?
That was the question that needed to be answered to get free tickets to the next Swans game, so...
I replied with the correct answer in 0.29 seconds via email -
0 Minutes!!!!!
I checked my sent items to find that I'd sent it to EVERYONE IN THE SOCIAL CLUB AT WORK! (ie - shitloads of people)
I have never felt so stooopid in my life.
Shit-Chat
The weather is a bit weird today...
Yeah I know. Was it raining in your area?
Quite heavily, actually...
So yeah. Um. What's the weather like for the weekend?
I don't know. (looks outside) Looks uncertain.
Yeah, yeah...
And so I wait in line for the morning lifts as this exciting conversation goes on. There are times when people don't need to talk, and we being smart animals, should realise this by now.
Weather should never be a topic unless:
a. It's bizzarre / chaotic
b. You're a weatherman
c. You're both
So there.
PS - For all y'all who haven't yet - get a copy of VICE magazine for guaranteed, hearty laughs
The weather is a bit weird today...
Yeah I know. Was it raining in your area?
Quite heavily, actually...
So yeah. Um. What's the weather like for the weekend?
I don't know. (looks outside) Looks uncertain.
Yeah, yeah...
And so I wait in line for the morning lifts as this exciting conversation goes on. There are times when people don't need to talk, and we being smart animals, should realise this by now.
Weather should never be a topic unless:
a. It's bizzarre / chaotic
b. You're a weatherman
c. You're both
So there.
PS - For all y'all who haven't yet - get a copy of VICE magazine for guaranteed, hearty laughs
Random
What kind of ring do you want? I’ve got a $10,000 budget.
And that's the true story of how K proposed to T.
Apparently in America there are businesses that cater for the perfect proposals and that their greatest tip is that men should never put the ring in any food or beverage – an average of five potential brides actually choke on their rings each year.
…
The other night I watched the final episode of Dawson’s Creek and it made me feel in love all over again. And so now I’m awake at 3AM watching my twelve episode collection of the first season - which is by far the best. The music, the gratuitous use of long-winded and daft phrases such as 'inextricably intertwined' and Katie Holmes’ smile has got me all warm and fuzzy and swooning at the beauty of this world.
…
I’m debating whether or not ‘tensed’ is really a word. Scrabble should really come with a dictionary because Macquarie's sucks.
…
My whole life has been in a constant spin and stability is always as far as heaven for me. In a case of self-psychological assessment, I believe that my inability to focus on anything for more than four minutes is based on the life that I have lived – turbulent and ever-changing like Middle East politics, cellular phone fashion and the celebrities on the cover of magazines. Maybe it's this experience that has set my life’s course to be forever determined by seasonal winds and fickle climes. I’m a modern nomad.
…
Easter has come and gone, and so have the chocolates, the hot-cross buns and the mammoth four-day weekend composed of what felt like three consecutive Friday’s and an unusually busy Monday, disguised as a Sunday. And to add to the fucking around with my body clock, daylight savings has kicked in (or kicked out?) and I’m sure I’m not the only one who spent that hour confused as to which clocks had already been set to the correct time. I suspect that this is also the hour where VCR’s around Australia were most abused by their owners who can’t read Mandarin and are therefore eternally set to live their lives in the ambiguity that is 12:00.
…
The days and nights are getting colder as Autumn takes my hand and leads me to Winter.
What kind of ring do you want? I’ve got a $10,000 budget.
And that's the true story of how K proposed to T.
Apparently in America there are businesses that cater for the perfect proposals and that their greatest tip is that men should never put the ring in any food or beverage – an average of five potential brides actually choke on their rings each year.
…
The other night I watched the final episode of Dawson’s Creek and it made me feel in love all over again. And so now I’m awake at 3AM watching my twelve episode collection of the first season - which is by far the best. The music, the gratuitous use of long-winded and daft phrases such as 'inextricably intertwined' and Katie Holmes’ smile has got me all warm and fuzzy and swooning at the beauty of this world.
…
I’m debating whether or not ‘tensed’ is really a word. Scrabble should really come with a dictionary because Macquarie's sucks.
…
My whole life has been in a constant spin and stability is always as far as heaven for me. In a case of self-psychological assessment, I believe that my inability to focus on anything for more than four minutes is based on the life that I have lived – turbulent and ever-changing like Middle East politics, cellular phone fashion and the celebrities on the cover of magazines. Maybe it's this experience that has set my life’s course to be forever determined by seasonal winds and fickle climes. I’m a modern nomad.
…
Easter has come and gone, and so have the chocolates, the hot-cross buns and the mammoth four-day weekend composed of what felt like three consecutive Friday’s and an unusually busy Monday, disguised as a Sunday. And to add to the fucking around with my body clock, daylight savings has kicked in (or kicked out?) and I’m sure I’m not the only one who spent that hour confused as to which clocks had already been set to the correct time. I suspect that this is also the hour where VCR’s around Australia were most abused by their owners who can’t read Mandarin and are therefore eternally set to live their lives in the ambiguity that is 12:00.
…
The days and nights are getting colder as Autumn takes my hand and leads me to Winter.
Postcards - Dubbo
On a highway in the NSW country area there is a sign by the side of the road. It rests against a stripped ’65 Falcon and reads:
Chainsaw Course
This Tuesday to Friday
At the time I thought it was strange because I’d never heard of such a course before. But now, as I read and re-read that sign in my head, I’m quite sure there are stranger things that I see on a daily basis.
We’re sitting at Bakhita’s Café waiting for a designer-come-waitress to take our order. I spend a moment to take a look around and am convinced that days can still be beautiful even in unsure weather. I look over my shoulder to spot a small island with spider monkeys playing on thick rope – they’re vying for the attention of those with children and yummy lunch specials. As I reach the bittersweet end of my flat white I find a peacock by my side inspecting my now-finished coffee. And all I could do was reciprocate its intrigued and confused look and eventually smile.
It’s raining now, and I’m glad that we’d decided to rent a car; that it wasn’t mine being stained with mud and smeared clean with rainwater dripping from windows left slightly open. On the count of three we jump out of the car with our heads inclined to bow down, as if it would stop the rain and keep us dry. Our Haviana’s leave slight impressions on the wet planks and you tell me to keep my eye out for orange signs. And there they were. The rain continued to fall on the tin shelter and you continued to take photos. And in this saturated moment I am filled with so much happiness to see you so happy. Work with a tangible end seems so fulfilling.
The pass through the Blue Mountains is winding and scenic, and the car isn’t obliging to my inner rally-car driver. The sun is setting to our left and the clouds are aligned in such a way that it looks like they are working in unison and are really acting as rays. I turn to you to point out its beauty and realize that this is the first time you didn’t think that my appreciation for a sunset was corny.
On a highway in the NSW country area there is a sign by the side of the road. It rests against a stripped ’65 Falcon and reads:
Chainsaw Course
This Tuesday to Friday
At the time I thought it was strange because I’d never heard of such a course before. But now, as I read and re-read that sign in my head, I’m quite sure there are stranger things that I see on a daily basis.
We’re sitting at Bakhita’s Café waiting for a designer-come-waitress to take our order. I spend a moment to take a look around and am convinced that days can still be beautiful even in unsure weather. I look over my shoulder to spot a small island with spider monkeys playing on thick rope – they’re vying for the attention of those with children and yummy lunch specials. As I reach the bittersweet end of my flat white I find a peacock by my side inspecting my now-finished coffee. And all I could do was reciprocate its intrigued and confused look and eventually smile.
It’s raining now, and I’m glad that we’d decided to rent a car; that it wasn’t mine being stained with mud and smeared clean with rainwater dripping from windows left slightly open. On the count of three we jump out of the car with our heads inclined to bow down, as if it would stop the rain and keep us dry. Our Haviana’s leave slight impressions on the wet planks and you tell me to keep my eye out for orange signs. And there they were. The rain continued to fall on the tin shelter and you continued to take photos. And in this saturated moment I am filled with so much happiness to see you so happy. Work with a tangible end seems so fulfilling.
The pass through the Blue Mountains is winding and scenic, and the car isn’t obliging to my inner rally-car driver. The sun is setting to our left and the clouds are aligned in such a way that it looks like they are working in unison and are really acting as rays. I turn to you to point out its beauty and realize that this is the first time you didn’t think that my appreciation for a sunset was corny.
Tuesdays With Mar-z
Paris Hilton's phonebook was dropped via email. At the time Philippoussis had already changed his number and Fred Durst's message bank was completely full. I'm sure they were all abusive messages of how much he sucks - and I smile with the knowledge that others had passed on my message.
D was seeking help in finding an anger management class, and being the insensitive fool that I am, I told her that she doesn't need it. The Japanese set lunch was average and the company, as always, was highly entertaining. I took comfort in knowing that I'm not the only person out there who thinks that growing up is scary and that Desperate Housewives is a kick-arse show. I am yet to establish the link the link between the two. Hold your breath because I'm set out to prove that there is no such thing as coincidence. Maybe later.
Dilated pupils and cigarettes as we sit around in the lounge room. I draw the curtains shut so that King Street is spared my killer moves on the dance floor. I stare at the painting in hopes of making her dance. She's buxom, you say? Well, even more reason to make her dance, I say! The Jameison's is smooth as 11PM rolls around. Scissor Sisters and Krafty Kuts (alliteration sounds, so good) keeps us bobbing our heads and I love that sensation when you can just feel the music pulsating through you like you were an amplifier. Your disclaimer was funny and audacious, and I admire how you can think that way. We agree that everybody earmarks their achievements to another's to some extent. I hope your new theory on dating works in practice. But back to more pressing matters - that packet of Marlboro Lights is empty.
Fifty-five minutes later and I know I'm pushing the boundaries of Vodafone's talk-cap. Thanks for the chat, L, and excuse my Tagalog - it's pathetic. I must learn to roll my 'R's' and say more than 'OK' in a funny way. I'll be armed with interesting stories as soon as I start living.
My room is alive with the Lost In Translation soundtrack and it feels almost sinful to be taking something so divine and perfect to bed.
Paris Hilton's phonebook was dropped via email. At the time Philippoussis had already changed his number and Fred Durst's message bank was completely full. I'm sure they were all abusive messages of how much he sucks - and I smile with the knowledge that others had passed on my message.
D was seeking help in finding an anger management class, and being the insensitive fool that I am, I told her that she doesn't need it. The Japanese set lunch was average and the company, as always, was highly entertaining. I took comfort in knowing that I'm not the only person out there who thinks that growing up is scary and that Desperate Housewives is a kick-arse show. I am yet to establish the link the link between the two. Hold your breath because I'm set out to prove that there is no such thing as coincidence. Maybe later.
Dilated pupils and cigarettes as we sit around in the lounge room. I draw the curtains shut so that King Street is spared my killer moves on the dance floor. I stare at the painting in hopes of making her dance. She's buxom, you say? Well, even more reason to make her dance, I say! The Jameison's is smooth as 11PM rolls around. Scissor Sisters and Krafty Kuts (alliteration sounds, so good) keeps us bobbing our heads and I love that sensation when you can just feel the music pulsating through you like you were an amplifier. Your disclaimer was funny and audacious, and I admire how you can think that way. We agree that everybody earmarks their achievements to another's to some extent. I hope your new theory on dating works in practice. But back to more pressing matters - that packet of Marlboro Lights is empty.
Fifty-five minutes later and I know I'm pushing the boundaries of Vodafone's talk-cap. Thanks for the chat, L, and excuse my Tagalog - it's pathetic. I must learn to roll my 'R's' and say more than 'OK' in a funny way. I'll be armed with interesting stories as soon as I start living.
My room is alive with the Lost In Translation soundtrack and it feels almost sinful to be taking something so divine and perfect to bed.
Change Is
I've got a pocket full of change.
Change makes a distinct sound as I walk the streets; a high-pitched reminder as each piece of silver and gold shuffle and collide.
Change is unashamedly obtrusive, embossing a unique shape that is impressed to distort the streamlined leg of my pants.
Change is the product of boozy nights, irrational purchases and weekday coffee's.
Change is weighty, and should not be so easily discarded or disregarded.
Change is uncompromising and definite in times of heads or tails.
I wish I could always convert my notes to change.
I've got a pocket full of change.
Change makes a distinct sound as I walk the streets; a high-pitched reminder as each piece of silver and gold shuffle and collide.
Change is unashamedly obtrusive, embossing a unique shape that is impressed to distort the streamlined leg of my pants.
Change is the product of boozy nights, irrational purchases and weekday coffee's.
Change is weighty, and should not be so easily discarded or disregarded.
Change is uncompromising and definite in times of heads or tails.
I wish I could always convert my notes to change.
Batman
When asked "can you name me any of the actors that have played Batman?" I will answer Bruce Wayne - because it's Sunday, and we're by the Harbour watching the sun go down, drinking Asahi and laughing at my stupidity.
When asked "can you name me any of the actors that have played Batman?" I will answer Bruce Wayne - because it's Sunday, and we're by the Harbour watching the sun go down, drinking Asahi and laughing at my stupidity.
Crossing
He crossed the street with little care, until he saw a lovely brunette on the other side of the road. His pace slowed as his heartbeat quickened, and he found himself no longer walking - he was strutting. The pedestrian strip had turned into a catwalk and you could almost hear John Lennon's - Woman in the background, as his focus narrowed (runway vision) to see only her. And it was nothing short of divine intervention when she acknowledged his look with a restrained smile. For him, the world stood still on this sunny Monday morning. There was nothing else but them - every bystander and every building and every piece of rubbish flying in the wind was frozen in their moment. Metres from her, he shyly looked down to the ground and slowly raised his eyes to meet hers. He could see an incredulous look on her face, and her right arm extending, pointing at the oncoming traffic that was about to end his fantasy, and/or life.
He crossed the street with little care, until he saw a lovely brunette on the other side of the road. His pace slowed as his heartbeat quickened, and he found himself no longer walking - he was strutting. The pedestrian strip had turned into a catwalk and you could almost hear John Lennon's - Woman in the background, as his focus narrowed (runway vision) to see only her. And it was nothing short of divine intervention when she acknowledged his look with a restrained smile. For him, the world stood still on this sunny Monday morning. There was nothing else but them - every bystander and every building and every piece of rubbish flying in the wind was frozen in their moment. Metres from her, he shyly looked down to the ground and slowly raised his eyes to meet hers. He could see an incredulous look on her face, and her right arm extending, pointing at the oncoming traffic that was about to end his fantasy, and/or life.
AA 10 LZ - White Mitsubishi Mirage
The lights were bright green as we crossed the intersection of Burwood Road and the Hume Highway. The bus in front began to slow down.
Thud. A dull noise that was produced when a greyhound met with the fibreglass bumper of a Mirage.
Yelp. A high-pitched wail that was cried when the greyhound found itself being hit and forced back five metres.
Screech. A sharp and unpleasant tone that came from the wheels of the car as it fled the scene.
Just as quickly as it happened, shock and sorrow turned into rage and a short-lived chase was born.
By the traffic lights, eye contact was engaged.
You ran over that dog and you did nothing to avoid it or aid it - like it was a cardboard box, or a cheating ex-boyfriend. Have you no heart? Try sitting upright when you drive. Turn down that burnt CD your cousin gave you and you might hear what's going on outside your little world. Chrome hub caps, muffler tips and fake nails don't excuse you from anything apart from being a loser. I'm not staring at you because of your looks - you're not beautiful, despite what that guy said at the bar - because you know he just wanted to avoid paying $150 at the brothel...
And in the midst of my eye-contact speech, a look of disbelief was drawn across my face - she signalled a quasi-drag race, with a wink.
Fuck You.
I turned into a side street to let my thoughts and emotions settle - road rage was not the answer.
Thirteen minutes and two cigarettes later, resolution was at hand.
The dog survived and I hope he'll be looked after. I hope that someone who reads this blog will tell me where this bitch lives so I can do to her car what she did to that dog.
The lights were bright green as we crossed the intersection of Burwood Road and the Hume Highway. The bus in front began to slow down.
Thud. A dull noise that was produced when a greyhound met with the fibreglass bumper of a Mirage.
Yelp. A high-pitched wail that was cried when the greyhound found itself being hit and forced back five metres.
Screech. A sharp and unpleasant tone that came from the wheels of the car as it fled the scene.
Just as quickly as it happened, shock and sorrow turned into rage and a short-lived chase was born.
By the traffic lights, eye contact was engaged.
You ran over that dog and you did nothing to avoid it or aid it - like it was a cardboard box, or a cheating ex-boyfriend. Have you no heart? Try sitting upright when you drive. Turn down that burnt CD your cousin gave you and you might hear what's going on outside your little world. Chrome hub caps, muffler tips and fake nails don't excuse you from anything apart from being a loser. I'm not staring at you because of your looks - you're not beautiful, despite what that guy said at the bar - because you know he just wanted to avoid paying $150 at the brothel...
And in the midst of my eye-contact speech, a look of disbelief was drawn across my face - she signalled a quasi-drag race, with a wink.
Fuck You.
I turned into a side street to let my thoughts and emotions settle - road rage was not the answer.
Thirteen minutes and two cigarettes later, resolution was at hand.
The dog survived and I hope he'll be looked after. I hope that someone who reads this blog will tell me where this bitch lives so I can do to her car what she did to that dog.
Office Bitching - Part I
I've been at work for a year now and to celebrate I will be releasing the Office Bitching Trilogy blog set, and you lucky readers will receive the unedited, director's cut that was banned everywhere in the world. Mysteriously, there have been reports of pirated copies surfacing in China a week after it's non-release.
This will surely bite me in the arse, in one way or another, but that's the risk you've got to take when you're... OFFICE BITCHING.
The Story Of A Girl
There is a girl at work who I liken to a watchdog. She's always there before you get up, she's probably still there when you're going to sleep, and she'd do little outside of being on the lookout to greet officemates with cheery 'good mornings', 'good afternoons' and 'bless you's'. Which reminds me, I hate it when people use 'you'se', though it is mildly amusing at times.
Wogs are funny like that. Anyway...
Sometimes I wish I could place a massive sign that switches between AM and PM at the top of her computer screen because it really baffles, and annoys me, how she knows to greet the team with a 'good morning' and yet answer the phone a minute later with a 'good afternoon' - it's 9:20AM woman! And you've been to the kitchen three times already, at least one of those trips should have involved coffee!
And why do you feel the need to bless people every time they sneeze? Saying bless you for every time a team member's nose has something to say about the dodgy carpet and air-conditioning is just plain annoying.
(The phrase 'bless you' originated in the Dark Ages from Priests who would hear incessant sneezing during their mass. Since they were aware that the sensation prior to a sneeze is like that prior to an orgasm, he would say 'bless you' to purge the threat of an evil thought entering pure minds. Now, isn't that a pretty fucked up explanation? Man, that's worthy of the big questions column - uninspired and lame.)
All it does is bring the same, engaging morning conversations every fucking day.
It's as if work isn't repetitive enough.
*sneeze*
Bless you!
Thank you
That's ok
*9:20 AM*
Good afternoon!
To Be Continued...
I've been at work for a year now and to celebrate I will be releasing the Office Bitching Trilogy blog set, and you lucky readers will receive the unedited, director's cut that was banned everywhere in the world. Mysteriously, there have been reports of pirated copies surfacing in China a week after it's non-release.
This will surely bite me in the arse, in one way or another, but that's the risk you've got to take when you're... OFFICE BITCHING.
The Story Of A Girl
There is a girl at work who I liken to a watchdog. She's always there before you get up, she's probably still there when you're going to sleep, and she'd do little outside of being on the lookout to greet officemates with cheery 'good mornings', 'good afternoons' and 'bless you's'. Which reminds me, I hate it when people use 'you'se', though it is mildly amusing at times.
Wogs are funny like that. Anyway...
Sometimes I wish I could place a massive sign that switches between AM and PM at the top of her computer screen because it really baffles, and annoys me, how she knows to greet the team with a 'good morning' and yet answer the phone a minute later with a 'good afternoon' - it's 9:20AM woman! And you've been to the kitchen three times already, at least one of those trips should have involved coffee!
And why do you feel the need to bless people every time they sneeze? Saying bless you for every time a team member's nose has something to say about the dodgy carpet and air-conditioning is just plain annoying.
(The phrase 'bless you' originated in the Dark Ages from Priests who would hear incessant sneezing during their mass. Since they were aware that the sensation prior to a sneeze is like that prior to an orgasm, he would say 'bless you' to purge the threat of an evil thought entering pure minds. Now, isn't that a pretty fucked up explanation? Man, that's worthy of the big questions column - uninspired and lame.)
All it does is bring the same, engaging morning conversations every fucking day.
It's as if work isn't repetitive enough.
*sneeze*
Bless you!
Thank you
That's ok
*9:20 AM*
Good afternoon!
To Be Continued...
End Of Days (04)
Work was supposed to be easy this week, and I'm still shaking my head over how many people actually thought of paying their employee's superannuation in the week between Christmas and New Year. Go home and spend time with your family and friends for the end is nigh.
The tsunami disaster in Asia has also got me shaking my head all week. During my lunch break I would walk down to Pitt Street mall, pass busy shoppers wearing the latest discounted threads, and slowly begin to lose faith in mankind. The latest death toll stands at 125,000 people. My deepest sympathies go out to all those who have lost their world - be it their family, friends, or their neighbourhood. Maybe my comments in the Sydney Morning Herald board will be noted by employers in the New Year.
In hope of a pick-me-up or a drag-me-down-even-lower, I took two online IQ tests and I was pleasantly surprised with my results. Of course the fact that I'm too lazy to utilise my brain merely renders this power useless. In other words, it doesn't really mean shit right now, does it?
And so in light of these two happenings I proclaim my New Year's resolution - to utilise what I have been given and to remember that foundations will not always be there, so cherish it now and forever.
A toast to the promise of a new year.
Work was supposed to be easy this week, and I'm still shaking my head over how many people actually thought of paying their employee's superannuation in the week between Christmas and New Year. Go home and spend time with your family and friends for the end is nigh.
The tsunami disaster in Asia has also got me shaking my head all week. During my lunch break I would walk down to Pitt Street mall, pass busy shoppers wearing the latest discounted threads, and slowly begin to lose faith in mankind. The latest death toll stands at 125,000 people. My deepest sympathies go out to all those who have lost their world - be it their family, friends, or their neighbourhood. Maybe my comments in the Sydney Morning Herald board will be noted by employers in the New Year.
In hope of a pick-me-up or a drag-me-down-even-lower, I took two online IQ tests and I was pleasantly surprised with my results. Of course the fact that I'm too lazy to utilise my brain merely renders this power useless. In other words, it doesn't really mean shit right now, does it?
And so in light of these two happenings I proclaim my New Year's resolution - to utilise what I have been given and to remember that foundations will not always be there, so cherish it now and forever.
A toast to the promise of a new year.
A Conversation With Mr Memory
I wish I wrote more during my time abroad. The daily routine has already started to push aside the fortnight of memories I'd made in the Philippines for more immediate matters. I had a chat with my memory about the problem...
Do your laundry.
Buy Christmas presents.
Send Christmas presents.
Wake up early before all the buses get really crowded and you end up with sweat patches by the time you get to work.
What did I do during my last few nights in Davao?
Probably got drunk.
Can't you give me any more details?
Dude, there's only so much room here.
Fuck, memory - you suck. I'm sure there was much more to it than that...
You're the landlord.
Touche
Well, I guess he showed me.
I wish I wrote more during my time abroad. The daily routine has already started to push aside the fortnight of memories I'd made in the Philippines for more immediate matters. I had a chat with my memory about the problem...
Do your laundry.
Buy Christmas presents.
Send Christmas presents.
Wake up early before all the buses get really crowded and you end up with sweat patches by the time you get to work.
What did I do during my last few nights in Davao?
Probably got drunk.
Can't you give me any more details?
Dude, there's only so much room here.
Fuck, memory - you suck. I'm sure there was much more to it than that...
You're the landlord.
Touche
Well, I guess he showed me.
Beautiful Stranger
The giant Christmas Tree in Martin Place has divided the thoroughfare between George and Pitt Streets in twain (I love that word - twain) and the usual chaotic traffic of criss-crossing pedestrians have been forced into the order of two distinct lanes. But this only lasts for about twenty metres.
As I keep walking towards my bus stop I see a beggar on the side of the Colonial building. There are at least a dozen suits walking out of their impressive doors, giving no notice to the man that they are passing. He holds his sign up towards the heavens, whilst his body slouches down towards the ground. It read:
Please help
I am in need of food, home
And hope
Or words to that effect.
As I drew closer to the man, a lady approached him. Her hair was pulled back in a neat and respectable manner. She clutched a Country Road folio and her suit covered her body in a way that only a good suit can. She began speaking to him in hushed tones and within a minute, sat down on the ground beside him to listen to his story.
I took a seat from a distance and watched the conversation unfold.
He would flail his arms in a frenzy, and I was convinced that he would conjure the whirlwind of unfortunate events that he had encountered into an image before her. He kept looking towards the sky and shied away from her eyes. He played with his cardboard sign with great unease and relief, a nervous yet comforting twitch, like biting one's nails.
She sat there on the ground and listened. She nodded. She asked questions. She cared.
After fifteen minutes she stood to say goodbye, shook his hand and walked off. His money box was left empty, but from the look on his face it was as clear as the sky that day that what she did was worth more than bills of plastic and pieces of silver and gold.
The giant Christmas Tree in Martin Place has divided the thoroughfare between George and Pitt Streets in twain (I love that word - twain) and the usual chaotic traffic of criss-crossing pedestrians have been forced into the order of two distinct lanes. But this only lasts for about twenty metres.
As I keep walking towards my bus stop I see a beggar on the side of the Colonial building. There are at least a dozen suits walking out of their impressive doors, giving no notice to the man that they are passing. He holds his sign up towards the heavens, whilst his body slouches down towards the ground. It read:
Please help
I am in need of food, home
And hope
Or words to that effect.
As I drew closer to the man, a lady approached him. Her hair was pulled back in a neat and respectable manner. She clutched a Country Road folio and her suit covered her body in a way that only a good suit can. She began speaking to him in hushed tones and within a minute, sat down on the ground beside him to listen to his story.
I took a seat from a distance and watched the conversation unfold.
He would flail his arms in a frenzy, and I was convinced that he would conjure the whirlwind of unfortunate events that he had encountered into an image before her. He kept looking towards the sky and shied away from her eyes. He played with his cardboard sign with great unease and relief, a nervous yet comforting twitch, like biting one's nails.
She sat there on the ground and listened. She nodded. She asked questions. She cared.
After fifteen minutes she stood to say goodbye, shook his hand and walked off. His money box was left empty, but from the look on his face it was as clear as the sky that day that what she did was worth more than bills of plastic and pieces of silver and gold.
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