http://csrp.com.au/database/th/mapt/ptt_co2_dryice.html
this is how dry ice is made. Scott was right, and I think he would appreciate it if I shouted it from the roof tops a little more often. He does, after all, admit it when I am right.
or....
I could admit it a few times in advance in deposit and not admit wrongness for a while.
Scott is right.
Scott is right.
Scott is right.
Scott is right.
Scott is right.
Scott is right.
Scott is right.
Scott is right.
Scott is right.
Scott is right.
Scott is right.
Scott is right.
Scott is right.
Scott is right.
i'm hoping this shold last a while
And now, futurama.
'Night
Friday, April 27, 2007
The War Is On
Dear reader[s],
My psychopathic chiropractor (see weblink on panel, right) has outdone himself.
I left on time (if not a little early) today, realised I had forgotten my cds and had to go back and get them. And there he was, my seat not yet cold, helping himself to my food. Food which i had specially labelled 'Janelle, these are for you - Hayley'. He looked up in the middle of a mouthful and said 'these aren't yours are they?' with the post it note still attached to the lid!
I am super annoyed, but just say, 'well, yes they are sort of mine' and leave.
Caught in the act, I was under the impression he would stop there. But no, he went and ate all but exactly 12 almonds (out of a tupperware container filled with almonds). No apology, nothing. If anything he was more of a prick that afternoon than usual, asking me to do unusual, yukky jobs. Cruel and unusual torture was how i used to punish people when I was a crew trainer back in the DARK AGES at maccas. What's he punishing me for? Catching him? #*EXTREME AGITATION*#.
If he chooses to steal my food, I will choose to serve him the foulest, bitterest decaf I can find. AND my housemates [bar max] will reap the benefits of an extra couple of complimentary packaged arnotts biscuits in asshole tax. In essence: The War Is On.
This is different from his usual method of being annoying. I admit I'm not perfect and I sometimes make irritating mistakes. I apologise to the gods of karma* for this. However, I do not appreciate being subjected to the intimidation technique that was practised on me so much during my time in the gulf [read: prawn trawler skipper BIG Al]. This type of technique is where your duties are spelled out to you, but when the intimidator feels like pissing you off he will ask you why you haven't done a duty which was not explicitly expected of you as per the beginning. Then you will get in trouble for not doing a job which you weren't expected to do - for the record, protesting that you a) weren't aware it was part of your duties b) suggesting it may not be included in your list of duties (a very unwise suggestion) or c) [other - I'm sure Scott could think of something] will not help your case. It will worsen it.
So you not only get an expanded list of duties, you get in trouble for being slack rather than being asked nicely to do it etc.
Its a fantastic way to bring bad feeling and breed hatred.
Maybe its just me who thinks this, but if a boss had any interest in keeping his employees/wanting them to be effective/not wishing to have their stationery nicked/not wishing to be undermined in some other way, should aim to keep a congenial relationship (or at least not go out of their way to make a negative one) with their employees.
Well, I'm slightly less frustrated... but this post will probably not make sense in retrospect due to my usual multi-tasking of blog post + scott monologue-keeping-up-ness.
FINALLY:
Scott's 'thoughts for the day':
- the workings of 'cloud seeding'
- how when we run out of water we will need to flush out the dirty pipes
- how rust can stain grass
- how a zero-G plane works
- 1 x debate on the title of Steve Hawking's seminal work
- how dry ice is made
- why our showerhead is so good and so environmentally bad
- how very awesome the fishtank in toowong shopping centre is
It all seems random until you take into account what Scott is watching
TV stimulus for Friday, 27th April 2007 - ABC, the 7:30 report where *amazingly* there happens to be an environment conservation special...
Life goes on in its wonderful, turbulent, bizarre, horrible, beautiful, awkward, breathless, euphoric, over-tired and chaotic ways.
Goodnight,
and sleep well
*interesting statement if ever there was one... esp considering usually those who believe in gods don't usually believe in karma and v-versa... will leave for now**
**mental note to self to consider editing later
My psychopathic chiropractor (see weblink on panel, right) has outdone himself.
I left on time (if not a little early) today, realised I had forgotten my cds and had to go back and get them. And there he was, my seat not yet cold, helping himself to my food. Food which i had specially labelled 'Janelle, these are for you - Hayley'. He looked up in the middle of a mouthful and said 'these aren't yours are they?' with the post it note still attached to the lid!
I am super annoyed, but just say, 'well, yes they are sort of mine' and leave.
Caught in the act, I was under the impression he would stop there. But no, he went and ate all but exactly 12 almonds (out of a tupperware container filled with almonds). No apology, nothing. If anything he was more of a prick that afternoon than usual, asking me to do unusual, yukky jobs. Cruel and unusual torture was how i used to punish people when I was a crew trainer back in the DARK AGES at maccas. What's he punishing me for? Catching him? #*EXTREME AGITATION*#.
If he chooses to steal my food, I will choose to serve him the foulest, bitterest decaf I can find. AND my housemates [bar max] will reap the benefits of an extra couple of complimentary packaged arnotts biscuits in asshole tax. In essence: The War Is On.
This is different from his usual method of being annoying. I admit I'm not perfect and I sometimes make irritating mistakes. I apologise to the gods of karma* for this. However, I do not appreciate being subjected to the intimidation technique that was practised on me so much during my time in the gulf [read: prawn trawler skipper BIG Al]. This type of technique is where your duties are spelled out to you, but when the intimidator feels like pissing you off he will ask you why you haven't done a duty which was not explicitly expected of you as per the beginning. Then you will get in trouble for not doing a job which you weren't expected to do - for the record, protesting that you a) weren't aware it was part of your duties b) suggesting it may not be included in your list of duties (a very unwise suggestion) or c) [other - I'm sure Scott could think of something] will not help your case. It will worsen it.
So you not only get an expanded list of duties, you get in trouble for being slack rather than being asked nicely to do it etc.
Its a fantastic way to bring bad feeling and breed hatred.
Maybe its just me who thinks this, but if a boss had any interest in keeping his employees/wanting them to be effective/not wishing to have their stationery nicked/not wishing to be undermined in some other way, should aim to keep a congenial relationship (or at least not go out of their way to make a negative one) with their employees.
Well, I'm slightly less frustrated... but this post will probably not make sense in retrospect due to my usual multi-tasking of blog post + scott monologue-keeping-up-ness.
FINALLY:
Scott's 'thoughts for the day':
- the workings of 'cloud seeding'
- how when we run out of water we will need to flush out the dirty pipes
- how rust can stain grass
- how a zero-G plane works
- 1 x debate on the title of Steve Hawking's seminal work
- how dry ice is made
- why our showerhead is so good and so environmentally bad
- how very awesome the fishtank in toowong shopping centre is
It all seems random until you take into account what Scott is watching
TV stimulus for Friday, 27th April 2007 - ABC, the 7:30 report where *amazingly* there happens to be an environment conservation special...
Life goes on in its wonderful, turbulent, bizarre, horrible, beautiful, awkward, breathless, euphoric, over-tired and chaotic ways.
Goodnight,
and sleep well
*interesting statement if ever there was one... esp considering usually those who believe in gods don't usually believe in karma and v-versa... will leave for now**
**mental note to self to consider editing later
Monday, April 23, 2007
Why coherent thought is like a chicken
The colour pic is what I would look like if i got some sleep. Unfortunately, I resemble the one on the left, in all its greyness. Oh man. Jared is getting married. Poor girl, poor, poor girl. I remember, back in the day (Kingscliff - my salad days) Jared used to be the freaky dude who used to follow me around, claiming that our closely matched birthdays meant we were soul mates (I'm july 9, he's july 10). Anyone who has known me long enough will have heard my Jared rant. I'll spare you just this once. and only because i'm soooo tired but can't sleep.
In that half awake half asleep state they call insomnia. Reminds me of fight club, which, by the way, if you haven't seen you should see and if you've seen it as many times as i have you should freeze the final scene frame by frame (for roughly the last minute) which will shock, disturb and thoroughly amuse you.
This would be about the most incoherent blog I have posted yet. Maybe I should save precious -e-space for when I have found my marbles and gathered them up off the floor. Then, maybe (just a maybe, folks) I could explain to you the reason why i marked bunny's death knell with such a title as 'the house of usher'. its a good title, and given with good reason.
At times like these, I feel like a batty old eastern European woman, somebody's grandmother, who accidentally didn't close the chook shed properly and now all the chickens have escaped and she has to gather them all up again and put them back in the shed before her hot-tempered daughter comes home and threatens to lock her up in whatever they have instead of nursing homes in eastern europe. And I'm ancient and too slow to move very fast, and my poor old heart nearly gives out. And I get to wear gypsy scarves and petticoats and big gold earrings.
That is a nice little metaphor for how i feel about my mental capacity. The chickens represent coherent thought, my fatigue is the idiot who let them out of the chook shed, which represents my brain. That panicked little voice in my head is the volition of the old woman trying to gather up my senses and at least pretend to be compus mentus. And the fiery daughter represents the people I am trying to hide my total incompetence from. The rest of the imagery is just artistic ornamentation to facilitate the metaphor. Incidentally, I don't have a heart problem, but I do harbour a secret desire to wear a gypsy scarf and petticoats.
At this point i'm actually starting to scare myself. I think I'll call it a night
Sunday, April 22, 2007
The House of Usher
If you're not in the mood to be depressed, I suggest you find another blog to read.
Last Thursday was a black day for the Baxters. It marked (my grandmother) Bunny's funeral. The day was dark as hell, but all the same I wouldn't be a Baxter if i didn't make some irreverent remark.
So this is where I purge my irreverence and go back to being a good girl.
THURSDAY'S THOUGHTS:
In the last weeks of my grandmother's life, she bloated up from the twig-like figure we knew her as to massive proportions, and changed into this one-toothed stranger with jowls spreading halfway over her shoulders, as purple and black as a severe burns victim, as squishy and bloated as... well a corpse really. Her eyes were glued shut with mucus, she quivered, wore no clothes as she kept losing fluid through her skin, and her mouth was gummy with what looked like glow-in-the-dark putty. It wasn't the woman i knew at all. It was one of the most confronting moments of my life, actually. When Thursday came, however, she was laid out in a white and gold coffin covered in lillies. Mum played a slide show of all the pictures of Bunny when she was young and beautiful (she WAS gorgeous). Afterwards, though, many people would come up to me and tell me what a beautiful woman she was (physically. for the rest of Bunny is a story I shall get to momentarily); people who never saw her in the icu ward looking like a tortured science experiment hooked up to a thousand tubes and plastic bags.
I couldn't help but think two things: (1) how could they fit all of her and her spilling jowls into that tiny little coffin (i mean it was REALLY small) and (2) how ugly she must look in there. I don't think Bunny would look peaceful in death. I think she would look like the thousand cigarettes she smoked and drugs she took, a heavy exhausted mass of flesh who never fought for anything until it was far too late.
Another thing. I was so depressed when they buried my grandmother. Not depressed she was gone. I didn't feel that until about 12:30 today when i asked for my first ever extension on an assignment and the lecturer asked me if I was alright.
No, I was depressed because they buried her out in a place called Pinaroo park, under a tiny little square of cement next to an empty vb can. Pinaroo is nothing but a windbeaten paddock of red dirt out in the barren wastelands called the northern suburbs. my grandmother is condemned to be buried in a place called limbo, to be forgotten forever. at the wishes of my grandfather, who would not bear to countenance such a horrid thing as a cremation.
bunny, you may have wasted nearly your whole life, but even for that you shouldn't be abandoned to Pinaroo.
I want everyone to know - and this can be my official record if needs be - I am going to have a viking funeral. I want to be cremated, firstly, and then for my service, I want everyone who wants to take some of my ashes to do so, so they might spread them around the world for me (because I don't have a home and dont wish to have a final resting place). whatever is left over, I want it to be put into a small boat, along with little mementos and reminders of me that people might have (rings, photos, cards, letters and so forth). Then, hold a beach service, launch my little boat out into the ocean - i forgot to mention, you need to douse it in petrol first - then light it on fire with a burning arrow and burn every last piece of me.
And instead of money for coffins/gravesites/celebrants and so forth, I want everyone to spend the money having a huge party.
No final resting place, no reverence. I don't need a piece of red dirt in the middle of nowhere to be remembered by.
Another dark remark on the day. My grandfather (who has advanced alzheimer's and couldn't remember we were burying his wife) was given a trowell of sand to pour over her coffin as they lowered it into the grave. When he finally understood what was going on, he tried to stand on the raised piece of astro turf trimming the site so we didn' have to see the bare earth. However, it being the edge, it started to give way and he nearly fell in after her. It was too late before my mum managed to stop herself saying 'are you that eager to join her, dad?'
I was about to cry and nearly burst into fits of laughter. how horrible of me.
The same day, I discovered that our old dog has prostate cancer. I was wondering why his balls were so huge. he's not a big dog either; a terrier crossed with a corgie (our old corgie used to live next door to the neighborhood tart, a yappy dog called Alice --> not long after, we got stuck with this mongrel who proceeded to poo and chew his way through our entire yard and shoe collection until my grandfather rescued him from his final journey to the pound). It sounds bad, but one of the biggest problems I have with this is not that he has cancer and will die soon. Its that he farts all the time now, and usually in confined spaces like cars or under a table where we are eating. They smell like dead animal. Poor little thing, I'm so heartless. I guess it doesn't help that he's just not a likeable dog. All the same, I think I'm going to go through a similar post-humous phase with him as I am with Bunny (albeit to a MUCH lesser extent. I don't mean to include the dog and my grandmother in the same category of mourning, just that they never really received much sympathy from me, even in their harder times).
One final thing before I go. I can't get over how my Mum wrote the eulogy. I cried for the first time on saturday for Bunny's own sake, but even then, I couldn't help but blame her for wasting her whole life pretending to be sick. My mother wrote a eulogy which made her look like a loving mother and a go-getting writer. Everyone at the funeral wanted to tell me about what a good person she was, and what a wonderful relationship she had with her son and daughter. It just felt awful because it was so false, and yet I was powerless to stop it. I have spent many a bbq on the back deck at my auntie and uncle's place, listening to my Mum and her brother compete with each other for the worst 'mum story'. She treated them appallingly. She was selfish, rude, embarrassed them in front of their friends (not in the usual way - for example, being stoned out of her eyeballs on valium in front of their friends, lying on their laps and asking them to brush her hair), manipulative, emotionally abusive etc etc. some of those stories were just about 'a current affair' worthy. None of our immediate family would suffer her egocentricity, her million ailments and constant whinging. All she wanted all her life was to be spoon-fed. The world owed her a living. she spent 40+ years lying in bed waiting for it. She didn't get a job, she didn't raise her children, she never cleaned the house or lifted a finger for anyone. How? How can someone waste away a life like that? How can somebody WANT to be dependent? Want to be taken care of?
She scarred many people and never knew how to love selflessly.
When I say mum wrote the eulogy, I mean she wrote the first draft. Nowhere but here will I admit that I helped her write a lot of it. It felt weird, listening to our words being spoken there at the funeral. People cried and were teary during it, but the weirdest thing is that those compelling words were written by the two people who were still the most unforgiving of her. The two people who, even in death, could see most clearly that, even though it is sad she died and tragic that she suffered so much in the last weeks of her life, she was still the woman she had always been; we still saw her as the mother who didn't care for her children, the woman who went to bed one morning and didn't bother to get up for 40 years.
Last Thursday was a black day for the Baxters. It marked (my grandmother) Bunny's funeral. The day was dark as hell, but all the same I wouldn't be a Baxter if i didn't make some irreverent remark.
So this is where I purge my irreverence and go back to being a good girl.
THURSDAY'S THOUGHTS:
In the last weeks of my grandmother's life, she bloated up from the twig-like figure we knew her as to massive proportions, and changed into this one-toothed stranger with jowls spreading halfway over her shoulders, as purple and black as a severe burns victim, as squishy and bloated as... well a corpse really. Her eyes were glued shut with mucus, she quivered, wore no clothes as she kept losing fluid through her skin, and her mouth was gummy with what looked like glow-in-the-dark putty. It wasn't the woman i knew at all. It was one of the most confronting moments of my life, actually. When Thursday came, however, she was laid out in a white and gold coffin covered in lillies. Mum played a slide show of all the pictures of Bunny when she was young and beautiful (she WAS gorgeous). Afterwards, though, many people would come up to me and tell me what a beautiful woman she was (physically. for the rest of Bunny is a story I shall get to momentarily); people who never saw her in the icu ward looking like a tortured science experiment hooked up to a thousand tubes and plastic bags.
I couldn't help but think two things: (1) how could they fit all of her and her spilling jowls into that tiny little coffin (i mean it was REALLY small) and (2) how ugly she must look in there. I don't think Bunny would look peaceful in death. I think she would look like the thousand cigarettes she smoked and drugs she took, a heavy exhausted mass of flesh who never fought for anything until it was far too late.
Another thing. I was so depressed when they buried my grandmother. Not depressed she was gone. I didn't feel that until about 12:30 today when i asked for my first ever extension on an assignment and the lecturer asked me if I was alright.
No, I was depressed because they buried her out in a place called Pinaroo park, under a tiny little square of cement next to an empty vb can. Pinaroo is nothing but a windbeaten paddock of red dirt out in the barren wastelands called the northern suburbs. my grandmother is condemned to be buried in a place called limbo, to be forgotten forever. at the wishes of my grandfather, who would not bear to countenance such a horrid thing as a cremation.
bunny, you may have wasted nearly your whole life, but even for that you shouldn't be abandoned to Pinaroo.
I want everyone to know - and this can be my official record if needs be - I am going to have a viking funeral. I want to be cremated, firstly, and then for my service, I want everyone who wants to take some of my ashes to do so, so they might spread them around the world for me (because I don't have a home and dont wish to have a final resting place). whatever is left over, I want it to be put into a small boat, along with little mementos and reminders of me that people might have (rings, photos, cards, letters and so forth). Then, hold a beach service, launch my little boat out into the ocean - i forgot to mention, you need to douse it in petrol first - then light it on fire with a burning arrow and burn every last piece of me.
And instead of money for coffins/gravesites/celebrants and so forth, I want everyone to spend the money having a huge party.
No final resting place, no reverence. I don't need a piece of red dirt in the middle of nowhere to be remembered by.
Another dark remark on the day. My grandfather (who has advanced alzheimer's and couldn't remember we were burying his wife) was given a trowell of sand to pour over her coffin as they lowered it into the grave. When he finally understood what was going on, he tried to stand on the raised piece of astro turf trimming the site so we didn' have to see the bare earth. However, it being the edge, it started to give way and he nearly fell in after her. It was too late before my mum managed to stop herself saying 'are you that eager to join her, dad?'
I was about to cry and nearly burst into fits of laughter. how horrible of me.
The same day, I discovered that our old dog has prostate cancer. I was wondering why his balls were so huge. he's not a big dog either; a terrier crossed with a corgie (our old corgie used to live next door to the neighborhood tart, a yappy dog called Alice --> not long after, we got stuck with this mongrel who proceeded to poo and chew his way through our entire yard and shoe collection until my grandfather rescued him from his final journey to the pound). It sounds bad, but one of the biggest problems I have with this is not that he has cancer and will die soon. Its that he farts all the time now, and usually in confined spaces like cars or under a table where we are eating. They smell like dead animal. Poor little thing, I'm so heartless. I guess it doesn't help that he's just not a likeable dog. All the same, I think I'm going to go through a similar post-humous phase with him as I am with Bunny (albeit to a MUCH lesser extent. I don't mean to include the dog and my grandmother in the same category of mourning, just that they never really received much sympathy from me, even in their harder times).
One final thing before I go. I can't get over how my Mum wrote the eulogy. I cried for the first time on saturday for Bunny's own sake, but even then, I couldn't help but blame her for wasting her whole life pretending to be sick. My mother wrote a eulogy which made her look like a loving mother and a go-getting writer. Everyone at the funeral wanted to tell me about what a good person she was, and what a wonderful relationship she had with her son and daughter. It just felt awful because it was so false, and yet I was powerless to stop it. I have spent many a bbq on the back deck at my auntie and uncle's place, listening to my Mum and her brother compete with each other for the worst 'mum story'. She treated them appallingly. She was selfish, rude, embarrassed them in front of their friends (not in the usual way - for example, being stoned out of her eyeballs on valium in front of their friends, lying on their laps and asking them to brush her hair), manipulative, emotionally abusive etc etc. some of those stories were just about 'a current affair' worthy. None of our immediate family would suffer her egocentricity, her million ailments and constant whinging. All she wanted all her life was to be spoon-fed. The world owed her a living. she spent 40+ years lying in bed waiting for it. She didn't get a job, she didn't raise her children, she never cleaned the house or lifted a finger for anyone. How? How can someone waste away a life like that? How can somebody WANT to be dependent? Want to be taken care of?
She scarred many people and never knew how to love selflessly.
When I say mum wrote the eulogy, I mean she wrote the first draft. Nowhere but here will I admit that I helped her write a lot of it. It felt weird, listening to our words being spoken there at the funeral. People cried and were teary during it, but the weirdest thing is that those compelling words were written by the two people who were still the most unforgiving of her. The two people who, even in death, could see most clearly that, even though it is sad she died and tragic that she suffered so much in the last weeks of her life, she was still the woman she had always been; we still saw her as the mother who didn't care for her children, the woman who went to bed one morning and didn't bother to get up for 40 years.
Friday, April 20, 2007
regrettable post no # 2
Nope. Wasn't fast enough. I think she may have even grimaced, but that could just be her usual facial expression distorted in the half-light. Poor girl, its a nasty sight for this time of the day! Time now: 4:20 am (or son las cuatro y veinte) yes I am a spanish MASTER now that I can tell you the time. I couldn't tell you how to order in a restaurant or ask where the nearest police station is, or anything useful for that matter. However, I can tell you the time and describe good looking celebrities [education has gone to the dogs].
For the record also, I should note that I haven't 'gotten with all of misha's friends'. I dated one two years ago, shamelessly flirted with one and became buddy-buddies with another over the course of the last year. This, however, is enough to constitute 'a reputation'. boys. Silly.
Mreh I am still awake, and she has since left.
I would like to announce [partly because I think I am starting to be in need of an affirmation] that I am on a diet. Not a food diet, a person diet. Actually, the xy chromosome diet. Its not that I don't like them, its that I have been a little unlucky this year to say the least, and in the avoidance of more disaster - which is inevitable if I don't stick to this regime - I have decided to preclude myself from situations which tend to give rise to such disaster. Actually, so far we have had a roaring success with only one minor exception, which I am dealing with**. What I think contributes to that success is sharing a flat with two guys, which seems to be a big put-off. It could also be that I have a strange body odour. While its not too much of an issue now, it may prove a problem when i go loco (inevitable, but temporarily avoidable).
So if I get cranky, you know why now, ladies and gentlemen.
Or ladies. seeing as my blog seems to attract a very select audience.
Ok I'm going to attempt to go to sleep for the last 1 1/2 hrs before I face my psychopathic chiropractor/charlatan/robot/mercenary stinge-bag.
ergh ergh ergh ergh
Goodnight, all
** in the interests of not regretting this already regrettable post, names and dates have been omitted
For the record also, I should note that I haven't 'gotten with all of misha's friends'. I dated one two years ago, shamelessly flirted with one and became buddy-buddies with another over the course of the last year. This, however, is enough to constitute 'a reputation'. boys. Silly.
Mreh I am still awake, and she has since left.
I would like to announce [partly because I think I am starting to be in need of an affirmation] that I am on a diet. Not a food diet, a person diet. Actually, the xy chromosome diet. Its not that I don't like them, its that I have been a little unlucky this year to say the least, and in the avoidance of more disaster - which is inevitable if I don't stick to this regime - I have decided to preclude myself from situations which tend to give rise to such disaster. Actually, so far we have had a roaring success with only one minor exception, which I am dealing with**. What I think contributes to that success is sharing a flat with two guys, which seems to be a big put-off. It could also be that I have a strange body odour. While its not too much of an issue now, it may prove a problem when i go loco (inevitable, but temporarily avoidable).
So if I get cranky, you know why now, ladies and gentlemen.
Or ladies. seeing as my blog seems to attract a very select audience.
Ok I'm going to attempt to go to sleep for the last 1 1/2 hrs before I face my psychopathic chiropractor/charlatan/robot/mercenary stinge-bag.
ergh ergh ergh ergh
Goodnight, all
** in the interests of not regretting this already regrettable post, names and dates have been omitted
Oh Why Am I Still Awake???
Hola, mis amigos!
Son las cuatro menos ocho en la manana y soy cansado pero exploriar la internet. Es no bien.. tambien, hoy yo trabajo y vamos con mi abuelo (esto un poco loco).
just a short post to mark the sad moment whe I realised I was awake at 3:58am on a saturday morning. this is most unfair. I spent a total of 2hours at the RE hotel (a cheap, divey pub that I like because of its cheap diviness.. and proximity to my house) and have since paid for it with a dehydration headache, dry lips and dried out, scratchy throat. And I'm restless. But that has a different explanation.
Lets not forget to mention I'm starting sentences with But and And here - a sure sign that this girl is wide awake and not quite grasping the English language.
Just a quick newsbreak while I'm up feeling sorry for myself:
Max is staying.
dammit dammit dammit... he got a job as a dishpig at the Regatta on wed and will now proceed to work 25 hrs a week to get by. what he will do during the rest of his week is a mystery to all... now that it took him a whole month to drop out of his course.
p.s. regatta are paying him peanuts. less than half of what I earn per hour. he can't pay rent on that! the rent is more than 50% of his pay! and he already spends most of that on stupid things he doesn't need which obscure the view between him and the Bleak Truth. (xbox games, pc stuff and so forth)
In other breaking news, I have heard Misha's song. the controversial legacy to my ability to flirt with or date his friends (ironically, all from different groups of his friends) has been given a tribute through Misha's mean spirited song, in which he claims (by the way, I "inspired" this song, its "technically" not about me) I am trying to 'get with all his friends to get to him'. The song is about how I am really just trying to hunt him down all along, just scoring with his mates along the way. Amazingly, the song hasn't received popular support. Raph refuses to have anything to do with it. actually the song is quite funny. i thought i would hate it but i don't look so bad... consequently, I will try and get a copy for this site
oh wow this is bad. I am sitting out here at 4am, blogging away in my barely there underwear and a tight fitting singlet, when who should appear but *psycho music* RACHEL.
another max-transmitted virus. and she comes out here, with the pc shedding just enough light so show her a bit of skin and my not-so-new underwear. i'm sure she secretly loves it.
think i'll sign off before she leaves the bathroom *shudders again*
Son las cuatro menos ocho en la manana y soy cansado pero exploriar la internet. Es no bien.. tambien, hoy yo trabajo y vamos con mi abuelo (esto un poco loco).
just a short post to mark the sad moment whe I realised I was awake at 3:58am on a saturday morning. this is most unfair. I spent a total of 2hours at the RE hotel (a cheap, divey pub that I like because of its cheap diviness.. and proximity to my house) and have since paid for it with a dehydration headache, dry lips and dried out, scratchy throat. And I'm restless. But that has a different explanation.
Lets not forget to mention I'm starting sentences with But and And here - a sure sign that this girl is wide awake and not quite grasping the English language.
Just a quick newsbreak while I'm up feeling sorry for myself:
Max is staying.
dammit dammit dammit... he got a job as a dishpig at the Regatta on wed and will now proceed to work 25 hrs a week to get by. what he will do during the rest of his week is a mystery to all... now that it took him a whole month to drop out of his course.
p.s. regatta are paying him peanuts. less than half of what I earn per hour. he can't pay rent on that! the rent is more than 50% of his pay! and he already spends most of that on stupid things he doesn't need which obscure the view between him and the Bleak Truth. (xbox games, pc stuff and so forth)
In other breaking news, I have heard Misha's song. the controversial legacy to my ability to flirt with or date his friends (ironically, all from different groups of his friends) has been given a tribute through Misha's mean spirited song, in which he claims (by the way, I "inspired" this song, its "technically" not about me) I am trying to 'get with all his friends to get to him'. The song is about how I am really just trying to hunt him down all along, just scoring with his mates along the way. Amazingly, the song hasn't received popular support. Raph refuses to have anything to do with it. actually the song is quite funny. i thought i would hate it but i don't look so bad... consequently, I will try and get a copy for this site
oh wow this is bad. I am sitting out here at 4am, blogging away in my barely there underwear and a tight fitting singlet, when who should appear but *psycho music* RACHEL.
another max-transmitted virus. and she comes out here, with the pc shedding just enough light so show her a bit of skin and my not-so-new underwear. i'm sure she secretly loves it.
think i'll sign off before she leaves the bathroom *shudders again*
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
The Ultimate Satisfaction
I am going to release my secret to temporary Ultimate Satisfaction (the other kind):
1. Beer (a good beer, preferably pure blonde so its also a guilt free beer)
2. Steak. $7.95 steak and salad, with mushroom sauce. RE, tuesday nights. be there
3. The Simpsons - a new episode, but for preference, a classic from seasons 1-8
4. Good company. preferably one that doesn't require you to talk about anything awkward
actually, its conducive to sleep. and i've had a whole 5 hours of that since saturday. today is tuesday.
In other news, I read in my sister's blog. sally, at $13 for 40g wool, you'd be better off buying gold. Scott, however, thinks there may be 'a different nugget of gold in there'. the nugget of gold of a good idea that is! what an industry. in wool! if you could get a stranglehold on the market...
how many cliched and not-quite-working metaphors were in that last paragraph?
a jonogold apple for the first right answer. a lump of coal for every entrant thereafter.
well. I had something else to say but I forgot what it was in my beautiful bliss, and thought of a good apple and a nugget of wool which is actually a good manufacturing idea.
i'm going to go find my marbles
Hasta Proxima!
1. Beer (a good beer, preferably pure blonde so its also a guilt free beer)
2. Steak. $7.95 steak and salad, with mushroom sauce. RE, tuesday nights. be there
3. The Simpsons - a new episode, but for preference, a classic from seasons 1-8
4. Good company. preferably one that doesn't require you to talk about anything awkward
actually, its conducive to sleep. and i've had a whole 5 hours of that since saturday. today is tuesday.
In other news, I read in my sister's blog. sally, at $13 for 40g wool, you'd be better off buying gold. Scott, however, thinks there may be 'a different nugget of gold in there'. the nugget of gold of a good idea that is! what an industry. in wool! if you could get a stranglehold on the market...
how many cliched and not-quite-working metaphors were in that last paragraph?
a jonogold apple for the first right answer. a lump of coal for every entrant thereafter.
well. I had something else to say but I forgot what it was in my beautiful bliss, and thought of a good apple and a nugget of wool which is actually a good manufacturing idea.
i'm going to go find my marbles
Hasta Proxima!
Friday, April 13, 2007
Who (or what) ate my apple?
I cannot believe it. That fool max ate one of my Jonogold apples. If you haven't had yourself one yet, get down to your local coles and find yourself one. I have no money for food until next friday and the useless poo head goes and eats one of my apples!!!! I just paid him $450 cash in hand.
Ten reasons why I am Max without touching on the *real* stuff
1. I can run faster
2. I am capable of cleaning up after myself
3. I go to a uni that actually is a uni and not an institution
Believe me i do have ten. in fact i have about 34028573858 reasons but this page keeps coming up 'not responding'
its max's spirit haunting this pc. the useless spirit that does nothing but annoy and waste your time.
i'm going to work.
you heard me. work. i have a job.
Ten reasons why I am Max without touching on the *real* stuff
1. I can run faster
2. I am capable of cleaning up after myself
3. I go to a uni that actually is a uni and not an institution
Believe me i do have ten. in fact i have about 34028573858 reasons but this page keeps coming up 'not responding'
its max's spirit haunting this pc. the useless spirit that does nothing but annoy and waste your time.
i'm going to work.
you heard me. work. i have a job.
Who (or what) ate my apple?
I cannot believe it. That fool max ate one of my Jonogold apples. If you haven't had yourself one yet, get down to your local coles and find yourself one. I have no money for food until next friday and the useless poo head goes and eats one of my apples!!!! I just paid him $450 cash in hand.
Ten reasons why I am Max without touching on the *real* stuff
1. I can run faster
2. I am capable of cleaning up after myself
3. I go to a uni that actually is a uni and not an institution
Believe me i do have ten. in fact i have about 34028573858 reasons but this page keeps coming up 'not responding'
its max's spirit haunting this pc. the useless spirit that does nothing but annoy and waste your time.
i'm going to work.
you heard me. work. i have a job.
Ten reasons why I am Max without touching on the *real* stuff
1. I can run faster
2. I am capable of cleaning up after myself
3. I go to a uni that actually is a uni and not an institution
Believe me i do have ten. in fact i have about 34028573858 reasons but this page keeps coming up 'not responding'
its max's spirit haunting this pc. the useless spirit that does nothing but annoy and waste your time.
i'm going to work.
you heard me. work. i have a job.
Why I Should Be A Hip Hop Kriminal
Yo G (almost yoga, rhymes with goji, a rich source of antioxidants),
I think in consideration of the following issues I face, i have reasonable grounds to write one of those horribly pretentious songs that those morons in shirts and shorts 4-6 sizes too large, hats on backward and clown shoes tend to shit all over the world with. Lets see what crap i can spurn tonight:
My boss don't cut me no slack, and disses on my language. he won't let me say no worries so i'll light his firm with 'durries' (what those peasants call cigarettes, no?). not really, but i'd like to; then i'll use his tongue to paint my boat (go moe, ... if i only owned a goat?)
2. my family's got problems, and my mum's stressin' out - my Grand-daddy's losin' his marbles and he kicks and now he shouts;
3. well my grand-mom (we pretend we're from the us) she's been sick now. and she's had it all but dr. doyle who'd do more harm no doubt
and my flat mate he's a wanker he can't pay his share of rent
so his mate steps in then he protests and now he's had a vent
to my sis' of course... he's such a horse... except that horses can be useful
this guy just mopes and lies about then gets malicious, angry, rueful
he's as pathetic as a poet
the one from moulin rouge in fact
but even poets have their uses
[ref: wordsworth, Wilde, Aristotle, Pater, Arnold, Pope, Johnson, TS Eliot, Horace, Virgil, Quintilian, Dryden... whoops i let culture and learning show through again. hold on:]
all this guy's got is abuses
and here i'm bein' pretentious and bitchy
what's it for? my leg is itchy
that's the class and style of rhymes the times are lettin' slip but there's more to hit you with its stiff its nasty *biff* goes life on my shoulders feels like i'm carrying boulders
now like all oppressed women
forced to sleep on cheap linen
i'll be headen for winnin'
the battle to keep the rhymes spinnin'
but i'm fading so fast
but kids i had me a blast
cos' these songs are a farce
their like so easy to write
you could use 'em in fight
when you spit down the mic
ok seriously folks, you get it. i hate these guys. but i hate it more that i can identify various elements of my life *so many omitted here for reasons of subject matter sensitivity* that accord frequently with the subject matter of hip hop artists. if you can call them hip hop artists.
and if you exclude such frequent subjects of theirs as 'i hate my bitch' and 'i slept with yo' mamma' and other such mysogynist, derogatory titles. oh and ones RE: 'cut me a break and pay me the living you owe me, world. and no i won't get a job'
mreh
i have to face dr. death tomorrow morning, so i'll call it a night
GO TITANS
EVEN FOOTBALL IS FOR SALE - OH GOLD COAST, HOW I LOVE YOUR SHAMELESSNESS
signing off xxxx
I think in consideration of the following issues I face, i have reasonable grounds to write one of those horribly pretentious songs that those morons in shirts and shorts 4-6 sizes too large, hats on backward and clown shoes tend to shit all over the world with. Lets see what crap i can spurn tonight:
My boss don't cut me no slack, and disses on my language. he won't let me say no worries so i'll light his firm with 'durries' (what those peasants call cigarettes, no?). not really, but i'd like to; then i'll use his tongue to paint my boat (go moe, ... if i only owned a goat?)
2. my family's got problems, and my mum's stressin' out - my Grand-daddy's losin' his marbles and he kicks and now he shouts;
3. well my grand-mom (we pretend we're from the us) she's been sick now. and she's had it all but dr. doyle who'd do more harm no doubt
and my flat mate he's a wanker he can't pay his share of rent
so his mate steps in then he protests and now he's had a vent
to my sis' of course... he's such a horse... except that horses can be useful
this guy just mopes and lies about then gets malicious, angry, rueful
he's as pathetic as a poet
the one from moulin rouge in fact
but even poets have their uses
[ref: wordsworth, Wilde, Aristotle, Pater, Arnold, Pope, Johnson, TS Eliot, Horace, Virgil, Quintilian, Dryden... whoops i let culture and learning show through again. hold on:]
all this guy's got is abuses
and here i'm bein' pretentious and bitchy
what's it for? my leg is itchy
that's the class and style of rhymes the times are lettin' slip but there's more to hit you with its stiff its nasty *biff* goes life on my shoulders feels like i'm carrying boulders
now like all oppressed women
forced to sleep on cheap linen
i'll be headen for winnin'
the battle to keep the rhymes spinnin'
but i'm fading so fast
but kids i had me a blast
cos' these songs are a farce
their like so easy to write
you could use 'em in fight
when you spit down the mic
ok seriously folks, you get it. i hate these guys. but i hate it more that i can identify various elements of my life *so many omitted here for reasons of subject matter sensitivity* that accord frequently with the subject matter of hip hop artists. if you can call them hip hop artists.
and if you exclude such frequent subjects of theirs as 'i hate my bitch' and 'i slept with yo' mamma' and other such mysogynist, derogatory titles. oh and ones RE: 'cut me a break and pay me the living you owe me, world. and no i won't get a job'
mreh
i have to face dr. death tomorrow morning, so i'll call it a night
GO TITANS
EVEN FOOTBALL IS FOR SALE - OH GOLD COAST, HOW I LOVE YOUR SHAMELESSNESS
signing off xxxx
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Title = true to its word
The latest and greatest from the newsroom on Miskin Street:
1. Out with the old, in with the new
2. More Farewells than Nellie Melba
3. Steak Night. a chapter on Steak.
Just a quick post this morning as I launch into the heavy slog of my Crim law assignment..
OUT WITH THE OLD...
My flatmate, long time friend and 'lost soul', Max, has finally run out of money. claiming that the world hates him and he can't get a job because everyone is against him (and me offering to help him and encouraging him to apply for jobs in the paper & jobs "wasn't helping his situation"). He has given me a generous two weeks notice before he will fail to pay rent. which is heaps of time to shuffle him out, find someone new, change names on leases etc without me having to cover in excess of $500 p/fortnight in the meantime. p.s. i don't earn enough to pay that and eat. let alone pay bills, eat food, transport...
Enough of the bitching. I got screwed over. Screwed over bad. The cyclone was starting to rip apart my happy little dwelling
However, I saw signs of luck for the first time in a little while. Meet Scott Lewis (soon to be pictured), my new flatmate, Max's friend, all round good guy. i am saved. Of course there will be things i'll miss about Max... the microwave, for example.
More Farewells...
Quick news update on my grandmother. It seems she is fighting back yet again, and is making a steady recovery from the following:
2 simultaneous infections of the blood
necrotic organ tissue
acute renal failure
a "dodgy" liver (dont' ask how)
pancreatitis
a 'fungus' transported through the blood cells
liquid in her lungs
she's also had to have a tracheotomy, 3 or 4 operations (i forget)
she will now be on insulin, dialysis and over 12 pills daily for the rest of her life.
The woman is hanging on for a reason, and has had more farewells than Nellie Melba, more combacks than John Farnham. but why???
STEAK NIGHT
crap i have run out of internet time.. maybe another time.
STEAK IS $8.00 from the RE on tuesdays. my new dilemma: const lecture, or juicy steak?
1. Out with the old, in with the new
2. More Farewells than Nellie Melba
3. Steak Night. a chapter on Steak.
Just a quick post this morning as I launch into the heavy slog of my Crim law assignment..
OUT WITH THE OLD...
My flatmate, long time friend and 'lost soul', Max, has finally run out of money. claiming that the world hates him and he can't get a job because everyone is against him (and me offering to help him and encouraging him to apply for jobs in the paper & jobs "wasn't helping his situation"). He has given me a generous two weeks notice before he will fail to pay rent. which is heaps of time to shuffle him out, find someone new, change names on leases etc without me having to cover in excess of $500 p/fortnight in the meantime. p.s. i don't earn enough to pay that and eat. let alone pay bills, eat food, transport...
Enough of the bitching. I got screwed over. Screwed over bad. The cyclone was starting to rip apart my happy little dwelling
However, I saw signs of luck for the first time in a little while. Meet Scott Lewis (soon to be pictured), my new flatmate, Max's friend, all round good guy. i am saved. Of course there will be things i'll miss about Max... the microwave, for example.
More Farewells...
Quick news update on my grandmother. It seems she is fighting back yet again, and is making a steady recovery from the following:
2 simultaneous infections of the blood
necrotic organ tissue
acute renal failure
a "dodgy" liver (dont' ask how)
pancreatitis
a 'fungus' transported through the blood cells
liquid in her lungs
she's also had to have a tracheotomy, 3 or 4 operations (i forget)
she will now be on insulin, dialysis and over 12 pills daily for the rest of her life.
The woman is hanging on for a reason, and has had more farewells than Nellie Melba, more combacks than John Farnham. but why???
STEAK NIGHT
crap i have run out of internet time.. maybe another time.
STEAK IS $8.00 from the RE on tuesdays. my new dilemma: const lecture, or juicy steak?
Saturday, April 7, 2007
Introducing...
Sweet! She finally writes in her blog! Hayley + miles of espace = most boring autobiography ever. [assuming we go by Wilde's theory that all opinion is autobiography].
I've abstained from writing so far for fear of lack of stuff to write about. now i have the opposite problem. I have let the following items stack up:
My "new" astra
Joss Stone in concert
Gomez in concert
rockin' it out with the hoi polloi in hip hop town
my work (past, present, future)
my recently formed views on men
of totally minor importance, but the discovery of an awesome dish, the recipe of which i shall divulge shortly.
CHAPTER 1: THE "NEW" ASTRA
I am the proud owner-ish* of a holden astra. It goes okay, except for when i turn on the indicators I in fact turn on the window wipers,
except for the airconditioning which is broken on every setting except full-bore,
except for the left rear view mirror, which holds a 7yr curse, is hanging on by its cables and which i have mercifully duct-taped back on,l
except for the missing hubcap,
and the non-working tape deck/tuner (torture that there's no cd player, but this? this is obscene);
and the massive scrapes down the side which look like edward scissor hands got mad at it (and it also makes me look like a s--t driver),
... oh and it stalls every once in a while 'just to keep you on your toes',
and the seat slides forward when you go down hills - so its kind of like a weights resistance exercise, which has its own benefits i suppose...
and it smells like dog. But this problem is far better than the one preceding it - yep, this baby sat in a backyard owned by dogs and contracted mange. It was a mangey, flea-lousy beast.
But its my car, and once its had its first service in 6 years on wednesday, and about $20 worth of coins blown on it at carlovers, and an ipod fm tuner to fit its born-again radio, it will be unreal. I'm not talking Joss Stone in Concert unreal, but 'i have a car now' unreal. the kind of unreal that becomes a petrol-smelly reality at the bowser, but for now its my ticket to Outta Here.
There seems to be something about Brisbane, that once you have lived here a little while there is this desperate need to be in a place [similar to Outta Here] called "Anywhere But Brisbane". I have my own views on this, but as I'm not really a local, I would appreciate feedback from any Brisbanites on this itchy-feet complex. Help is appreciated, because I'm feeling it too.
That said, it could just be my flatmate. I think i might get him an apron and some deoderant for Christmas. Too obvious?
CHAPTER 2: Joss Stone, Live and in Concert
Oh man. I was in the front row for one of the most phenomenal live acts i have ever seen. Joss Stone sets my pants on fire. Now I'm female, and as straight as the day is long. That was me. The guys behind me? I don't like to speculate, but it did suddenly grow very hot in that pit. I pushed forward on the barricade, not wanting to discover the cause of the climate change. I looked at Joss. I swear Joss looked at me. I thought 'bitch, if I had a voice and legs like that'. She probably thought 'what's my next line' or 'gee, those boys behind that lass are lookin' a wee bit flushed'.
I get distracted. I haven't even told you about her band yet. Now you know a band are going to be something else when the bass player is a 40-something skinny white thing sporting the world's worst greasy-long-curl haircut & thinks a banana yellow dress shirt matched with a black leather vest. Or when the shoop shoop girls are 2 voluptuous afro-american women with the most enormous breasts I have seen in the flesh, and one of the shoop-shoopers is a male, afro-american with corn-row hair and an NYPD outfit on [rather reminiscent of the village people, don't you think?]... Or maybe the fact that she fleeced James Brown's sax and trumpeter from his not-yet-cold corpse, and you can tell (i'm talking bowler-hats and risky business sunnies, ladies and gentlemen). Either way, a line up like this has that paralytic effect that keeps you nailed to the earth like a confused-looking statue. Could be pondering the universe, could be blown away by most-incredibly-virtuousic-line-up ever... they can play, and they don't just play like a cd. Every last one of them added something to the mix, and every last one of them kicked ass.
I should actually tell you what's good about seeing her live. There is a tangible kinetic energy in the air on that stage, she maintains a rapport with the audience and gets us doing stuff (to stop looking like confused and/or aroused statues) and talks to us (SO IMPORTANT. I can think of a metallica concert that was like putting on a cd) and THAT VOICE OH MY GOD. She has this pure, clean and expressive voice that will just blow you away. and then, for the fellas (and those among us who will credit talent where its due) she moves across the stage so well, and keeps you entertained.
Lets total that up, shall we? Voice + muy guapa + talented band + rapport with audience + awesome music + moves like a senorita = very cool show
CHAPTER 3: GOMEZ LIVE AND IN CONCERT
It seems unfair to place this after such a rave about Joss, because when it comes down to it, I have 6 of Gomez's 7 cds, I know every last lyric to their song, I worship the ground they walk on. And live, they, too, are actually quite awesome. they are a quirky bunch, all cute (not attractive cute, but 'i'd like to take you home and give you a bath' cute) unshaven, daggy dorks in coke-bottle glasses. But that is to detract from their slightly ethereal tunes and their weird lyrics which often just express things a little better than the average poet/lyricist/hip-hop 'dog', or maybe they just do that for me. NB 'Gonna get myself arrested' is not what i mean by singing what i'm thinking. Maybe fill my cup? ... been picking up girls and diseases, ladies and gentlemen... maybe more along the lines of 'fill my cup / and make me happy / fill it up /and make me smile [make me smile]/fill my cup and give me a reason / a reason to feel alright'
or virginia (if you know how to run, sweet virginia, you should run...)
So seeing them play around on stage with their songs and each other was, for me, fan-******tastic!
Hayley Forms Intenion to Commit an Aggravated Offence against Technology
[Argh I don't believe this! The bipolar internet has decided to play dead again! and now I am going to lose my blog]
ahh i have written stacks for one night, anyway. and don't say i never post. i do, i just dump a short, boring novel on you every few years.
I've abstained from writing so far for fear of lack of stuff to write about. now i have the opposite problem. I have let the following items stack up:
My "new" astra
Joss Stone in concert
Gomez in concert
rockin' it out with the hoi polloi in hip hop town
my work (past, present, future)
my recently formed views on men
of totally minor importance, but the discovery of an awesome dish, the recipe of which i shall divulge shortly.
CHAPTER 1: THE "NEW" ASTRA
I am the proud owner-ish* of a holden astra. It goes okay, except for when i turn on the indicators I in fact turn on the window wipers,
except for the airconditioning which is broken on every setting except full-bore,
except for the left rear view mirror, which holds a 7yr curse, is hanging on by its cables and which i have mercifully duct-taped back on,l
except for the missing hubcap,
and the non-working tape deck/tuner (torture that there's no cd player, but this? this is obscene);
and the massive scrapes down the side which look like edward scissor hands got mad at it (and it also makes me look like a s--t driver),
... oh and it stalls every once in a while 'just to keep you on your toes',
and the seat slides forward when you go down hills - so its kind of like a weights resistance exercise, which has its own benefits i suppose...
and it smells like dog. But this problem is far better than the one preceding it - yep, this baby sat in a backyard owned by dogs and contracted mange. It was a mangey, flea-lousy beast.
But its my car, and once its had its first service in 6 years on wednesday, and about $20 worth of coins blown on it at carlovers, and an ipod fm tuner to fit its born-again radio, it will be unreal. I'm not talking Joss Stone in Concert unreal, but 'i have a car now' unreal. the kind of unreal that becomes a petrol-smelly reality at the bowser, but for now its my ticket to Outta Here.
There seems to be something about Brisbane, that once you have lived here a little while there is this desperate need to be in a place [similar to Outta Here] called "Anywhere But Brisbane". I have my own views on this, but as I'm not really a local, I would appreciate feedback from any Brisbanites on this itchy-feet complex. Help is appreciated, because I'm feeling it too.
That said, it could just be my flatmate. I think i might get him an apron and some deoderant for Christmas. Too obvious?
CHAPTER 2: Joss Stone, Live and in Concert
Oh man. I was in the front row for one of the most phenomenal live acts i have ever seen. Joss Stone sets my pants on fire. Now I'm female, and as straight as the day is long. That was me. The guys behind me? I don't like to speculate, but it did suddenly grow very hot in that pit. I pushed forward on the barricade, not wanting to discover the cause of the climate change. I looked at Joss. I swear Joss looked at me. I thought 'bitch, if I had a voice and legs like that'. She probably thought 'what's my next line' or 'gee, those boys behind that lass are lookin' a wee bit flushed'.
I get distracted. I haven't even told you about her band yet. Now you know a band are going to be something else when the bass player is a 40-something skinny white thing sporting the world's worst greasy-long-curl haircut & thinks a banana yellow dress shirt matched with a black leather vest. Or when the shoop shoop girls are 2 voluptuous afro-american women with the most enormous breasts I have seen in the flesh, and one of the shoop-shoopers is a male, afro-american with corn-row hair and an NYPD outfit on [rather reminiscent of the village people, don't you think?]... Or maybe the fact that she fleeced James Brown's sax and trumpeter from his not-yet-cold corpse, and you can tell (i'm talking bowler-hats and risky business sunnies, ladies and gentlemen). Either way, a line up like this has that paralytic effect that keeps you nailed to the earth like a confused-looking statue. Could be pondering the universe, could be blown away by most-incredibly-virtuousic-line-up ever... they can play, and they don't just play like a cd. Every last one of them added something to the mix, and every last one of them kicked ass.
I should actually tell you what's good about seeing her live. There is a tangible kinetic energy in the air on that stage, she maintains a rapport with the audience and gets us doing stuff (to stop looking like confused and/or aroused statues) and talks to us (SO IMPORTANT. I can think of a metallica concert that was like putting on a cd) and THAT VOICE OH MY GOD. She has this pure, clean and expressive voice that will just blow you away. and then, for the fellas (and those among us who will credit talent where its due) she moves across the stage so well, and keeps you entertained.
Lets total that up, shall we? Voice + muy guapa + talented band + rapport with audience + awesome music + moves like a senorita = very cool show
CHAPTER 3: GOMEZ LIVE AND IN CONCERT
It seems unfair to place this after such a rave about Joss, because when it comes down to it, I have 6 of Gomez's 7 cds, I know every last lyric to their song, I worship the ground they walk on. And live, they, too, are actually quite awesome. they are a quirky bunch, all cute (not attractive cute, but 'i'd like to take you home and give you a bath' cute) unshaven, daggy dorks in coke-bottle glasses. But that is to detract from their slightly ethereal tunes and their weird lyrics which often just express things a little better than the average poet/lyricist/hip-hop 'dog', or maybe they just do that for me. NB 'Gonna get myself arrested' is not what i mean by singing what i'm thinking. Maybe fill my cup? ... been picking up girls and diseases, ladies and gentlemen... maybe more along the lines of 'fill my cup / and make me happy / fill it up /and make me smile [make me smile]/fill my cup and give me a reason / a reason to feel alright'
or virginia (if you know how to run, sweet virginia, you should run...)
So seeing them play around on stage with their songs and each other was, for me, fan-******tastic!
Hayley Forms Intenion to Commit an Aggravated Offence against Technology
[Argh I don't believe this! The bipolar internet has decided to play dead again! and now I am going to lose my blog]
ahh i have written stacks for one night, anyway. and don't say i never post. i do, i just dump a short, boring novel on you every few years.
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