Monday, July 7, 2008

spit 'tubing

So whenever I have something mundane to do at the podjob, I listen to youtube clips. I understand that this is somewhat like a blind man listening to his VCR, but I started off by listening to music clips and playing youtube DJ with some folk at my place of employ. So the progression to not-watching comedy and then not-watching visual media that was clearly intended for watching was swift.

Anyway, lately I've been hankering for some harp and I found this guy, who is my current spit-guru:

I passed this dude around to a few select podders and one of them came right back at me with this guy, who is my new personal hero:

Sunday, July 6, 2008

there's fire

I can't wait until I'm living in a house where people smoke outside, like the chimney stacks that they are.

Friday, July 4, 2008

leaving home and moving on

I'm reporting from some kind of black hole vortex where all of my past possessions and high school pain have crash-landed in my lounge room. Somehow I've managed to stack all of my worldly artifacts into categorised piles in the lounge room floor like some kind of deranged librarian AND have a mind-fuck online closure session with the guy who taught me that guys can be dicks.

First things first- we found a home. It meets all of our desires- white walls, you fall out of bed and onto King St, courtyard, no evidence of poltergeists, and a CLOTHESLINE (!!). Big ticks all down the desire page. It even has a spa bath, which was not on our dreamy-house wish list, but is accepted graciously from the realestate gods nonetheless. We move in in 8 days. We'll be having a "Loveshack" themed house warming in the first week of August. Hence my shit-stacking. I've GOT to start throwing stuff out more. Faster, pussycat, cull! cull!

Anyway, in amongst all this stacking I'm on facebook, as is my nerdish wont, and this guy that i've known since we were ye big gets chatting. When I was 14 i thought this guy was incredibly sexy and he used to do some very unreligious things to me under the desk in 9th grade religion class. He had turned into one of the cool kidz though and I was your garden-variety geek with early-developing tits. This apparently justified him totally ignoring me or openly teasing me out of class. I really liked him and it was a big thing for me at 14. He taught me the valuable lesson that people who want you for sex don't necessarily give a shit about your feelings. Anyway, that was years ago and I was over it by the time year 10 rolled around. Still, i guess it was what you'd call a formative experience.

We never kept in contact- i don't really talk to anyone from high school on a regular basis- but this facebook thing is there and now you can chat on it, so when he said hey tonight i said hey back. We've done this polite, shiny white facebook heying before and it's been pretty unremarkable. Then tonight in the middle of the banal you-could-be-anyone smalltalk, he launches with how he'd been thinking about it and that he was really sorry he was a dick to me in high school. I honestly hadn't thought about it all for nearly a decade but as soon as he apologised I remembered how wretched unrequited puppy love made me feel at the time. And the apology meant a lot.

Tonight's lesson- unexpected closure feels awesome, especially when you thought you were already closed. And throwing out three years worth of your crap makes you feel simultaneously librarian and kind of evilly materialistic. Mayhaps someone will call in ten years time and apologise for letting me get my room into such a farking state.

Tuesday, July 1, 2008

the yellow terrace and the kissing glass bird

Lara is moving in with us too now... I'm excited about this house. Propelling, exciting, creative electricity. What they used to call "good vibes" in the olden days before it was a munter party in a park. We're checking out a bright yellow terrace today with a white picket fence. With any luck the bedrooms aren't cupboards under the stairs.

I've also got a new rule: only speak about what I've done, not what I'm going to do. More mystery, less dissapointment.

Got a job at the Gaelic pulling beers, which should be pretty sweet- free music, actual physical work, it all feels so wholesome. I'm sure it won't feel so wholesome in a couple of weeks when my barwenching shoes are all sodden. But I needed something to distract me from the office, and, y'know, pay for the sinful lifestyle I've been leading.

My director Mr B and the production company therein have a new home, so documentary stuff is on the backburner, burning slowly but brightly. Which is good because everything else this week has been moving like a greased pole dancer.

the kissing glass bird-