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Condemned for Intentions: It's the way it goes

I got the shock of my life last night. One of my exes (names hidden to protect the not so innocent) sent me a message stating how "matched" me and one of her friends are. As much as I'd love to think I'm a sad case in desperate need of a set up, it did get me thinking to a novel idea that's been chugging around in my unconscious ever since I realized my daily morning "system check" had more use than just something I could hang my towel on while I was walking to the shower.

Its the idea that past partners should act as references to new potential ones (if said partner isn't the beneficiary of the wonderful science Dr. Milton Erickson has bestowed upon us) since dating and all associated bullshit is essentially a job interview that either ends up with both parties getting naked and more humid than usual, or, one half of this duo slamming his head against a door, lamenting the overabundance of clothes he currently finds himself wearing. Just one quick phone call and a half-honest answer could cut through so much trouble. Is she prone to questioning her appearance? Is he a bastard? Does she like it when I blow into her ear? Can he last more than half a minute? This evasive guesswork isn't romantic, it's god damn lunacy. I mean, we're all in it for essentially the same thing, right?


Real Stories with Real Ink

I got an offer from a local music rag to do metal interviews. Here's what the Editor sent me.


Are you interested in doing some metal interviews for us? I have some available on an ongoing basis?


Of course, I jumped at the chance. If I ever get to write a self-help book, I will title it "From Fucknut to Fabulous: Unleash Your Inner Awesome in 30 days or less!" Turns out that Count Korzybski was right.


Doggmatic Cinema

I was perusing the local supermarket catalog today and chanced upon their "bargain DVD" section which was advertising the sale of this film:

. As highly conceptual and intriguing as this tale of canine triumphs over adversity and biology doesn't sound, I actually want to fork out the $12.97 to witness such Z-grade motivational shlock that wouldn't even pacify the kids its supposedly meant to entertain - purely for the fact that someone (or some people) financed its eventual creation. (It also comes with Soccer Dog: European Cup! Trans-continental mayhem ensues!) Berserkerfox is my new favorite band. I will be writing their book when they've done too many women, beers and c-c-c-cocaine, struggling to reflect on such a sinful yet satisfying heavy metal career. Clean living is for chumps!


It's All Shiny

Well! Got myself a domain name. Always wanted it, so feeling awesome right now. Whatever that could possibly mean. Going to see all the movies I want to see this Summer. It's a quest. Like Sparta! I think I only attempt to watch the tennis because of Jim Courier. Eliminate him from the equation, and it would not be worth the effort.


Edit Copy Edit

I have about fifty billion words to write ahead of my Aussie Metal Month at I'm a journalist now, and that's what journalists do. Write until their fingers bleed. I was anxious the other day at the Elemental Burn EP Launch, interviewing the band and scribbling down whatever evocative and poignant bullshit I could dare to churn out at that particular moment. For a blues/death rock/metal combo, they have a lot of heart and they've got a lot of soul, but their line up needs work. Too bad the lead guitarist (whose chops are admirable) won't sacrifice his warbling wife for the good of the whole any time soon.

Nevertheless, despite the overwhelming workload, I'm very much getting used to hanging out with bands back stage. Talking shit with them, letting them buy me beer, making out with their groupies. Fun times. My next foot in the proverbial door should be at Vampora's next gig. If I can network my arse off there, I'll be set. Oh, and that minor obstacle of getting a run in a print magazine that people have actually heard of might help too.

I should really start doing some work. I do have a Queensland holiday to pay off, after all.