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Sweat and Fury

I'd probably write about how stifling the weather feels here, but it's way too hot to do anything right now.

Who wants to loan me money for a plane ticket to the States then?

Electric Six on vinyl sounds damn sweet. I just hope it doesn't melt before I can listen to them again.


The Worst Kind

I met a man who could play a song on the piano after listening to only four or five bars last night. He just glanced up to get the feel of it and started playing. He was like a mini Mozart that liked his beer and his utes. Absolutely remarkable. I'm also feeling a bit bruised after some girl started laying into me with mean right hooks before giving me a perfunctory massage. I don't think she liked me very much. I tried to explain to Elyse, my cool American friend how Australians are compelled to live up to their stereotypes on Australia Day as a joke, but there's more truth in that statement than I originally realized. Deport me to UnAustralia if I prefer to fly the flag of rebellion instead.

Now to the oft-neglected realm of metal; why the hell would Ville Laihiala, lead singer of Sentenced form his own band, Poisonblack that sounds almost identical (with the addition of groovier guitars and atmospheric keys)? Oh! To convince his former band to break up so he could steal all the writing credits. Good move, Ville! It's hard for me to hate you because you do what you do so damn well.


Every Hour, On Your Hour

Trawling through the internet and Facebook the other day caused me to realize how fragmented experiences are getting these days. When I go to a party, photos are now expected to be taken and put up on Facebook. Same with trips overseas or across country; people upload a mess of photos and that's it; travelogue completed. The verbal element is all but eliminated and the days of regailing your friends with tales of your sojourn are over. "Here are all my pictures, you figure it out." Its sort of like the Lonely Planet guide you'd find in Fahrenheit 451. I know, I know, I'm an 80 year old trapped in a 22 year old body; call me old-fashioned for wanting to hear or read stories instead of looking at pictures. It's sort of like an on-demand travel slide-show party.

Don't get me wrong, I love the concept of on-demand. I don't sit down to watch TV any more; I download pretty much everything ahead of time (FastTrack just ain't fast enough) or shows that I can't get on TV where I live. Intelligent and brilliant shows such as Breaking Bad, It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia or Snuff Box don't play in Australia (absent from both free-to-air and Pay TV) and if I want to see them, I'll have to download them. In the absence of a style service which I would gladly pay a nominal, reasonable fee for, I'm sort of forced to.

Australia seems to be the orphaned bastard child when it comes to distributed media services (especially when our fourth-rate internet service needs to be employed in order for it to function) and politicians and media owners wonder why no one bothers to invest in our entertainment and media industry.

Tomorrow (my time) shall be a most momentous occasion indeed.


Ascendancy Initiate

I went to a party last night: I ate pot cupcakes and tried to convince my satin-lunged and teetotaller mate who also ate said cupcakes was as bent, if not more bent than me. I feel such a hatred for games when I am bent; I appreciate the sublime ever more so and utterly loathe the ridiculous. Its a useful tool for that, I guess. I sort of feel like "Me Plus" in a way. Karen and Anita - I love you both forever for organizing the post-Party breakfast. I could not have asked for anything better.

Now I feel full of M&Ms, twenty-two years old and a million miles away from where I want to be.


We Can Start Over Again

I've been applying for about 10 different jobs a day, on average, and I've only received about two or three replies that have seemed promising. If there's a God, he definitely doesn't want me to fly overseas and be happy for once. Of course, even if there was, I couldn't blame him for all my ills, because they're all self-caused? Car accidents and repair costs notwithstanding? Maybe?

Although, all this abundant free time allows me to catch up on my writing, my reading and my Mad Men watching. I really hope they make more of this thoroughly brilliant series. It's cerebral, it's visceral and it's got really, really hot women in lead roles. How I pine for the early '60s...

Chuck has been entertaining (with obligatory arse-kicking hot girl in lead role - what's not to like) if not a complete ripoff of Reaper with a slicker, "spy vs. spy" dramatic edge. I'm also really into the "Quack Experimental Anime" Excel Saga at the moment... What's it like? I guess you'll just have to see for yourself.

As for my oft-garbled state of mind? Well, this song kind of sums it up at the moment:

Jesus died and God's gone missing / Take your skin off it might fit me now
Love is dead and you're so pretty, baby / You still need my hands to feel
You still need my heart to bleed / 'Cause your lips taste just like money

(Kent - Just Like Money)