Sickedy sick sick sick

I've been sick. This, in fact, has been the 4th day I've had a pretty horrid cold, which has moved from tonsilitis like symptoms where my gynormous tonsils have gotten so big I can't breath if I tip my head in a certain way, to a blinding sinus headache, which has led me to squint at the sun, clutching my eyes and head whenever I moved, and I've blown my nose so much I think I've blown out my left eardrum.....

Despite all of this suffering, I've now had 2 days off from work, and I've got to say, I really like it. I like it so much, that I think I could do this for a living, however that might constiute as me being unemployed, thus making rent a thing of difficulty.

In the last 4 days, I've watched copious amount of absolute trash that I've had recorded on my tivo for the last few months, and there is a lot of glorious rubbish on freeview. I won't go through it all (though a quick aside, I've sacrificed myself so you don't have to: never, ever, ever, ever watch Elizabethtown. It's TERRIBLE. Even now, I couldn't say what it was about, because this film did not know what it was about.. love story? story of a mans failure at work? story of a man trying to connect to his now dead father? Road trip story? I do not know. It was TERRIBLE. I like Susan Sarandon. I do not like hearing her say the words "I felt my neighbours boner" whilst she's on stage, before going into a tap dance routine as a commemoration to her late husband,
whilst a rock band play and a giant papermache bird cathes on fire that causes an entire hotel to almost burn down. Do you understand what I'm talking about? That's ok I don't either).

Anyway, the absolute worst thing on tv right now is ITV's Ladette to Lady. This is ITV at it's all time low. This type of reality tv is even worse than shows about people who like to "do" their pets, or "plastic surgery gone wrong". Basically, they've taken a bunch of badly educated, poor girls who like to get wasted on weekends, get into fights and flash their breasts in nightclubs, and are using 1950's etiquette school training of eloqution, society ettiquette, cooking, dressmaking lessons, and the most important skill of flower arranging to try to turn them into "ladies". All of the teachers, one of whom I am convinced is a man dressed up in drag to look like the queen with horrendously yellow, crooked teeth, are filmed trying to "teach" these girls all the while making them feel as bad as they possibly can about themselves through a heady mix of bilttelling, flattery, and screaming. At the end of every epiosde there is a big dinner party with "Britains most eligible batchelors" where the girls mix "with millionaire stockbrokers, viscounts and gorgeous heirs". (some of whom are old enough to be their fathers "yar yar, do you think any of them would like the 'older gentlemen' yar yar"). At these dinner parties, these "gentlemen" get these girls really drunk, then try to take advantage of them (I saw one dirty old one man actually pinch one of the girls nipples, whilst she had to cling to the chair she was sitting on because she was way too drunk). The only reason why these men are allowed to be called "gentlemen" is because they have alot money and a posh accent. These rich, discusting, lame and sorry excuses for "men" should really never, ever be allowed out of their pens, because they are absolute pigs, and I don't understand why having money means a man feels they can grope a girl infront of a camera. At the end, the girls are all lined up, and verbally executed by their teachers, before one of them gets thrown out of the school. The girl who leaves is filmed, wiping her nose with her hand, whilst proclaiming she "don't fff-huckin' need dat anyways, cos I don feel like me, know-wha-I-mean", then they burst into tears because they don't want to go. I know it's wrong, but this show has to be the very definition of car crash television, you know that it's wrong, and bad to stare at these vicitims going through hell, but you just can't look away. Besides, I now am am desperate to know if the blonde skinny girl who knocks backs drinks, gets really drunk, then makes a complete arse of herself will get thrown out. Somehow I doubt it...

So, that's where I've been for 4 days now. On my couch, watching tv, drinking juice, and, in the proper tradition that would make my mum scream, eating candle toasted marshmallows on a fork. The good news is that I've finally started to feel better, the bad news is that means I have to go back to work.

Your Friday Moment of Zen: To all the toys I've loved before

In the office we're embroiled in a "discussion" (read war) about which kids toys were the best when we were young:

Guy 1: "Action man was the coolest"
Guy 2: "No GI Joe was better - he was bigger and taller"
Me: "You realise that they're all still dolls right?"
Both guys: "No way! They're 'action figures' not dolls!"
Guy 2: "GI Joe can't be a doll, he had a car."
Me: "So did Barbie. A pink convertible. Face it fellas, all the boy dolls only existed to be boyfriends for Barbie anyway"

I'm not getting into the lego vs mechano vs whatever else is out there. Let's just face facts: Playmobil is the best. I did say this, and mentioned the fact I never really got into Lego, which sparked this exchange:

Guy 3: "Well, that's probably cause you're a girl, and girl's don't really play with Lego. I don't want to say anything prejudiced but.. "
Me: "Too bloody late for that don't you think?"

This Friday moment of zen is dedicated to Playmobil: My dad bought me the Knights Empire Castle below when I was 4 years old. I also go train sets, and a Playmobil train station, road construction sets, and Playmobil warehouses. I think he really had wanted a boy. But still I loved them anyway. I guess I never was a girly girl...

Friday Moment of Zen: Sponsored by toys you had when you were young. Enjoy!

Throwing the gauntlet down at you The Magic

I've just created my "singstar classics" play list containing:

• Groove Is In The Heart - Dee Lite
• Gold - Spandau Ballet
• A Little Respect - Erasure
• And oh yes baby: White Flag - Dido

The Magic: I'm throwing the challenge out into cyber space at you. About 3 bottles of wine, 15 bottles of beer, lots of crips, everyone we know and I think a 1 am Sing Star battle should take place. It's been too long my friend, and oh yes, you're going to LOSE!

"And when we meet, which i'm sure we will, what was there, will be there still. I'll let it pass, and hold my tongue, and you will think that I've moved ooooo-oooooooo-ooooooooooooon" (gasp,gasp,cough,gasp,breath,breath)

The next Tracy Emin

Stumbled across a London based design shop, Thorsetn Van Elten, and I love the things I found on their site! I especially love:

Still Life by Barnaby Barford & André Klauser:
"Who needs a Vermeer if you can have the "Still Life Fruit Bowl". Create your own masterpiece with this bowl and frame that can be combined in 4 different ways."

I think this is sooo cool AND it has the added advantage in our house as we no longer would need to feel guilty about our fruit going old and mouldy, because it's art darling. Art.


Stamp Cups by Valeria Miglioli & Barnaby Barford:
"Those irritating ringmarks that mugs and cups leave..... well, you can turn them into a nice floral pattern now with a set of Stamp Cups. The pattern on the base of the cup match up so you can join as many marks as you want."

With these cups, we could now just use big long pieces of butchers paper instead of a table cloth, which could then be turned into a piece of art, with the added bonus of not needing washing when it does get too dirty.


Whilst all these potential art pieces aren't quite the same as, say a tent with the names of all the people you've ever slept plastered inside, I think they're definitely more appealing.

Not quite like Aunty 'Melda

I know I've got lots of shoes. I've got boxes and boxes of shoes under the bed, inside my cabinet, and a pair or two on every stair going up our apartment. Flip flops, boots, kitten healed stilletos, trainers, slippers, pink ballet shoes with sparkley things on them so they look like rainbow trout. The thing is, I don't really feel like I've got a shoe fetish. It's not like I can't walk past shoe shops without going in, I'm not desperate to own Manalo Blaniks and I don't stand by a shoe shop window cooing "hello lover" or anything.... And to make matters worse, I don't even wear most of them, for several, very good reasons:

1. Won't wear them if they are not waterproof, and in Britain, that's quite important. If there is even the remotest chance that my feet could get wet, the shoes will stay in their box, waiting for an elusive sunny day.
   
2. If the shoes have got a heal, then I find as soon as I get to the end of the street my feet feel like they're important documents, being shredded into tiny, little pieces, and it's really unsightly watching someone walk along, blood trailing behind, and stumps at the ends of their legs, encased in painful torture devices.
   
3. If they've got a heal that resembles anything like a stiletto (oh yes, even if the heal is only 1/2 an inch high), I can't even walk from one end of my room to the other without falling over. Honestly, I've tried. It's really embarrassing.
   

This means that in my world, the trainer is king.

Having said all that, I must have some sort of disease because I have found some really cool boots (thanks to design*sponge) by Tamara Henriques that I love, and I fully intend to track them down here in London so I too can own a pair of wellies, that I will never ever wear.

I want them, especially the S&M loving black cowboy boots. Yeeha grandma. Find your very own pair here.

Today I hate

• Trying to fix bugs in ODBC connections to Oracle since I've spent the last 2 working days trawling the internet trying to understand why ODBC CHANGES THE GOD DAMN FUCKING DATE FORMAT ON INSERTS, SO THAT INSTEAD OF INSERTING 19-SEP-2006 IT THINKS IT'S 20-SEP-0009. As in the year of our lord 9AD. 9AD! GRRRR
  

• Deciding that rather than wearing my usual uniform of t-shirts and jeans, I thought I'd actually try wearing a skirt today. Since I cycled in to the office, I put all of my clothes in my bag (skirt, t-shirt, tights, little dainty shoes that I never wear), and forgot my freaking jumper. So now I'm sitting here freezing my arse off all because I was too preoccupied worrying about making sure I brought the right tights in. And then those stupid tights had holes in the foot, so when I walk all the blood gets cut off from my big toe. And the t-shirt I'm wearing is bright turquoise, which looks great under a black v-neck jumper, but overly 80s bright on it's own. Who the hell can actually pull turquoise off? Lord knows it's not me.

• I hate the fact that ALL of my socks and tights in my closet have holes in the toes. And despite the fact I bought 50 pairs of socks a few years ago, I've lost every single one of them. Seriously, every single one. And our house isn't even that big. And yes, I've look under my bed, couch, and the dining table. No socks. Anywhere. I believe they've all been socknapped, being held ransom because they match. If you have them FREE MY SOCKS!

• The fact that for the past 2 months I seem to be on the same toilet cycle as a girl in another department downstairs. Even though I'm quite good friends with her, it's now becoming extremely embarrasing that everytime I go to the loo, she's there. We make polite conversation, as you do when you see someone in the ladies you know, but it's starting to feel like I'm stalking her, so now I'm holding off going until the point where I can barely walk down the stairs because I've got such bad cramps.

• Stupid, stupid clients who change their specifications, then 2 months later, change their specs again, then 2 months after that go "oh wait, you had it right the first time. Could you change it back?". GRRRRRR. UNDERSTAND YOUR BUSINESS LOGIC THEN COME TO ME. NOT BEFORE.
  

So, now I've got that off my chest, what do you hate today?

Your Friday Moment of Zen: Cheese Dreams

I've given up for the day, and am looking forward to a weekend at the Great British Cheese Festival in Cheltenham. Cheese, cheese, cider, pork scratchings, cheese, oh and more cheese. There'll be cheeses tasting, cheese recipes, cheese workshops, cheese competitions, oh and eating some cheese.

Saturday night will be fantastic: too much cider + too much cheese = a night of horrendous cheese dreams.

So just for you, a picture of a recent trip to france, and their cheese. It's Friday. Forget that more than a matchbox size piece of cheese would make a dieter run into the hills screaming. Have a big block tonight and enjoy the ride in your psyche.

Why do all hospitals smell the same?

Last night was supposed to be a regular Thursday night, involving pints of beer and probably some very unhealthy food (of the fast variety I'm sure). It started normal enough, a bunch of us chatting and laughing and trying to make our dull lives seem interesting to our friends, when we got a call from Calvin saying during the course of his football match, he managed to really badly mangle his ankle (so bad he thought he'd broken it at first).

So in our slightly drunk state, we rushed ourselves off to St Thomas' hospital, nervous and excited because it was the most interesting thing to have happend in a while. Whilst waiting for him to be transferred from St Guys' we decided to have some food at the hospital canteen. My lord was I glad I was in the hopsital when I had dinner there, because I wouldn't want to be too far away from emergency medical treatment after having such a culinary feast. Dr D (or little k as he likes to sign himself as) sure does know how to treat a girl well, offering to buy me a chicken pie that was old and dry, looked like it was filled with glue, and tasted like old horse. Mmmm I'm lovin' it.

When we did finally get to see Calvin, the poor thing looked like he was in so much pain and his ankle had swollen up so badly it was like he had a baseball on each side of his leg. I have to admit, if I were in hospital with a fucked ankle/leg whatever, the last thing I'd want is two slightly pissed friends turning up going "OH MY GOD! Look at the size of your foot! Can I touch it? Can I touch it? Let's see if we can get it to move the other way! Wow that this is HUGE! Is it broken? Is it broken? Does this hurt?"

So that was my Thursday night. Spending 2 hours in the hospital waiting room, waiting for my friend to get x-rayed, watching all the people come into A&E, some of which were very scary - like the girls who looked like they'd been drinking too much and one of them had fallen over and broken a rib, or the two old drunk guys who didn't know each other when they came in, but started to bond with converstaions like "And a nuver fing, aaahhrrrggghh", or the guy who'd mangled his hand up so well he was dripping blood all over himself and his fingers had gone a really attractive shade of dark purple.

Ahh we sure do know how to have fun in London huh.

Come here little piggy

Yes yes yes!!! slashfood.com has so made my day! Having spent practically decades loathing myself for loving pork scratchings (or pork rinds if you like), slashfood has posted about an article from mens health praising them for their nutritional value, and proclaiming them to not be nearly as unhealthy as we were all led to believe. It also goes on to say explain why you should include them in your diet, even if you are trying to not end up the size of a house. And heck, who am I to argue with a man when he's right (or when he says what I wanna hear, and this my friend, I want to hear)

Note: look away if your squeamish, vegetarian or a health nut.

PORK RINDS

Why you think they're bad: These puffy snacks are literally cut from pigskin. Then they're deep-fried.

Why they're not: A 1-ounce serving contains zero carbohydrates, 17 grams (g) of protein, and 9 g fat. That's nine times the protein and less fat than you'll find in a serving of carb-packed potato chips. Even better, 43 percent of a pork rind's fat is unsaturated, and most of that is oleic acid -- the same healthy fat found in olive oil. Another 13 percent of its fat content is stearic acid, a type of saturated fat that's considered harmless, because it doesn't raise cholesterol levels.

You hear that people!! Less fat that you'll find in a serving of carb-packed potato chips! WOOHOO!!

oh yeah :) This weekend I'm going to the Gloucester International Cheese festival, where I will drink barrels of cider, and eat bags of pork scratchings.

Bring. It. On.

My first review!

Yay! I've had my first review from critquemyblog.blogspot.com and it was good! Really good! Basically it's a blog which, yup you guessed it, reads your blog, then criques it. I feel so chuffed and proud :) Kinda what I'd imagie it feels like when your kids take their first steps, or learn how to say "it's not my fault"!

Read the review here. Yay!

Football and Chick Flicks

Our first ever offical Champions-League-Take-Away-Curry-And-Cider Tuesday went off to a fantastic start, especially after Arsenal won 2-0! After the game, and the highlights, and the interviews with the beautiful Thierry Henry, I got hold of the remote control, and started switching between chanels, going from "40 Days & 40 Nights" to "Stepmom". This, of course, led to the following conversation:

Flatmate: You've gone from one chick flick to another chick flick and gone right passed Total Recall twice now!! What are you doing?!
Me: Yeah but look! Susan Sharadon is packing her bags.
Flatmate: Yeah but she's not packing a gun is she!
Me: Yeah, but now it's snowing outside!
Flatmate: Pffft. It's not snowing ash from a nuclear explosion though is it?
Me: taking big gulp of cider, laugh, cough, choke, choke, cider starts to come out my nose

Nice.

Back popping, and hip throbbing

For the last few months I've started having the worst pain in my hip, which I attribute to having a pc and a laptop on my desk, having to sit with my legs crossed, and leaning to the left, for the last 9 months so I can use them both almost simulataneously (whatageek!).

So after much deliberation, I finally got my lazy arse to an osteopath near my house, who prodded, pushed, massaged, and popped my back until my hip felt hot and inflammed which I was assured was how it was supposed to be. After the 1 1/2 hour session, my osteo taught me the following things:

1. One of my legs is longer than the other one. Not so much so that I have to use crazy sized shoes, but enough to mention.
2. One of the many multitude of reasons why my back has been hurting for the past, oh I don't know, forever, is because I'm hyperflexible, so my ligaments are too stretchy, and my muscles aren't doing enough work... I've already been asked and in case you're wondering, no, this does not mean I can put my legs behind my ears like my friend had seen on tv. The sort of tv program that was being watched was not specified but I'm certain it wouldn't be the type of show that could be shown before the 11pm watershed.
3. My cheque writing leaves allot to be desired. As I was standing there at the end of the session, my hip throbbing and my head spinning from the pain, I got a 5 minute lecture about how I'd be a classic victim of cheque fraud because I forget to put the word ONLY after the amounts, and draw a line on the empty bits of the cheque. To be honest, I so rarely write cheques to anyone I actually have on the cover of my book the words: "TO goes on top line, AMOUNT goes on bottom", because I've managed to fuck up more cheques than not.

All in all, a pretty successful visit. The pain is actually in my back (the DS region?), and not in my hip (well, I was told the bit I was pointing to was not my hip at all, because dur, I should know human anatomy by now, cause that's what other computing science students would have been taught. What the hell was I doing during those classes at uni?). My lower back is in pain today but is not hurting so bad that I have to clutch it as I walk up and down stairs like the old woman I'm clearly becoming. Yay!

Your Friday Moment of Zen: And therein lies the rub

I'm not going to listen to any more depressing music today because I'm sick of making myself sad.

So to help you enjoy your friday, here is the beautiful Clive Owens in the beginning scenes from Spike Lee's Inside Man. The real zen-ness comes from the realy cool song Chaiyya Chaiyya, used in the opening and closing scenes from this film. I've been listening to this almost non stop all day now! I have no idea what they are singing, and I really couldn't care less because a) it's a cool song and b) Clive Owens is cute.



If you want the original version, from the Bollywood movie Dil Se you can find it here. It's a quite cool video clip too, what with all the dancing on trains.

There you go, your Bollywood/Hollywood/Clive Owens inspired moment of Friday zen. Enjoy!

Fast tracking career progression

I spent some time looking through my review forms for last year, to gauge how my progress has been at work (non-existent it seems) for this years review. I have a feeling that my job satisfaction is probably not the best:

a) Please list for discussion what you think have been your key activities and main accomplishments during the last year:

• Started the year with mappers & some bug fixing.
• Concentrated this year on the Project Life Cycle: from early development, unbuilding run time & design time structures in most of classes
• Tried not to hang myself

I'm pretty sure this is not the review form I handed in, but if it was, that'll probably explain why I'm going nowhere, and fast.

Tosh Tosh

FINALLY! After 5 years, countless National Insurance payments, rounds of beer at the pub, and football matches, I am now officially a legal copy of my Aussie passport, £300 & a high tea at the Ritz away from being British! I passed my Life In Britain test this morning! This involves reading a massive book about all things British where you learn:

• What is a QANGO (Quasi-Autonomous Non-Governmental Organisation).
• What to do when you spill a strangers drink in a pub
• What to do when you don't get on with your neighbours
• The percentage of women to men in Britain (51%-49%)
  
• That if you're pregnant, you get loads of free stuff and you're fast tracked for things like housing, benefits and dental care (I guess to make for the fact that you have to have a screaming child break free from your body in what I can only assume is the most painful thing a woman will ever experience in her life).
• You can't get divorced in the first year of marriage.
  

I'm pretty certain I got almost all the questions right, bar 1 (which 2 organisations charted the Human Rights Act). The funniest thing that happened during the test is that the old man sitting next to me got caught cheating. He kept looking at the questions, then his hands, then started rubbing them, at which point the supervisor noticed him doing something suspicious, and said "Is that writing on your hands?". When the old guy protested and said no, the supervisor said "I'm sorry, either I'm blind or you've got the answers written down. You'll have to leave please". Lordy what a fuss the old man made when he had to be physically removed from the exam room, screaming the whole time. Whilst I did feel sorry for him, that didn't stop me from having a little giggle about it...

Right-o old chaps! I'd better start drinking tea by the bucket, wanting to shoot foxes, and complain about all these foreigners coming into Britain! Tally-ho!

Ahoy me hearty!

Shiver me timbers you scurvy dogs! I be a scallywag wench knowin' it's a wee bit late, but mind you me hearty to not forget it's International Talk Like a Pirate Day!

If you be desirin' 'elp wid your talkin' you be findin' it here

• Double up on all your adjectives and you'll be bountifully bombastic with your phrasing. Pirates never speak of "a big ship", they call it a "great, grand ship!" They never say never, they say "No nay ne'er!"
• Drop all your "g"'s when you speak and you'll get words like "rowin'", "sailin'" and "fightin'". Dropping all of your "v"'s will get you words like "ne'er", "e'er" and "o'er".
• Instead of saying "I am", sailors say, "I be". Instead of saying "You are", sailors say, "You be". Instead of saying, "They are", sailors say, "They be". Ne'er speak in anythin' but the present tense!

Arrrggghhhh!

Money talks and so do posh boys

I'm plugging my mate Calv's podcasts today, which you can get from his site calvstar. I listened to it today (sorry Calv!) and I have to say, these are the poshest sounding boys. So if you're into betting/losing money on sports, and want a tip to turn your luck around, check out his site. At the very least you can listen to Calv, Mappy and Busen all bicker about random sports events, giggle like school girls, and learn how to sound like you were born into the money you're about to lose on betfair.

Charlie

Having finally got back from my annual jaunt home to Sydney, and getting over my jetlag (which has left me fine in the day times, but as soon as 10pm hits, I turn into the biggest grizzly bear, growling about how I want to go home now, and swiping with my claws out at anyone who won't let me do that).

I'll go into the highlights of my trip in a few days, after I work them out, but one of the most exciting things that's happening at the moment has to be me getting Charlie. My cello.

I have been obsessed with learning the cello ever since I saw The Living Daylights (Timothy Dalton's first Bond film), where the main girl in peril was a cello player, and Bond used it to steer their way to saftey to Switzerland.

So in about 30 mins, 3 of us are about to start our first day at the ELLSO, the East London Late Starters Orchestra, where if you've never played a string instrument, this is the Orchestra for you! The Magic is about to learn the violin, my friend from Oz and I are about to embark on our orchestra careers as celloists!

I am very very very excited about this. Watch this space for how our rendition of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star went!

High Heeled Skank

I'm getting ready to go out clubbing for the first time in ages, mostly to watch my baby cousin dj at a night club I used to go to about a decade ago.. (god that sentence has made me feel old). So talking to his fiance, I casually asked "so what are you wearing?" and I got the run down of what I can wear:

Skanky - which is a shirt worn as a dress, and high heels
Bling (hmmm i dont think so)
baggies
tight jeans and sloppy boots

hmmm..... nothing in my repetoir of clothes really fits this bill... it's like being in High School again and going to the dance, where the boys school would come to our girls school and all the cool girls would dress up in the latest cool fashion, and I would turn up in jeans and a flannel shirt, (remember the days when flannel was cool? no? cause it never really was), and stand against the wall with some of my friends like sados, lauging and pointing as girls would have their faces sucked off by over enthusiastic 15 year old boys.

Tonight could end up being a disaster... but at the very least I'm going to check out my good friend Al's pad, and drink copious amounts of wine before I go and make a complete tit of myself...

Holiday Productivity

So as you might have noticed, I've started to (finally!) play around with the layout of the blog. First thing has been a new banner, though it would have been nice to get my arse into gear and do a total layout redesign, but even I, with nothing to do on holiday, don't have that much time on my hands!

Drop me a line, or leave a comment, and let me know what you think, about anything at all... the blog, new banner, how crap the posts are... (actually, don't crush me too much... my ego couldn't take it!).

Supermarket Shopping Oz Style

I went to the local supermarket today to get all the junk food I have to take back for people in London (don't worry Dr D, I've got a mountain of Cheezels). Included on my pile were:

• 2 packets of Tim Tams
• 2 packets of Mint Slices
• 1 Giant Bag of Milo Bars
• 1 Giant Bag of Voilet Crumbles
• 1 Giant Bag of Fantales
• 1 Giant Bag of Cherry Ripes
• 4 Kit Kat Chunky Bars
• 1 Small bag of Burger Rings (for me)

As I was putting all this junk on the converyor belt, the old woman and her husband next to me gave me this look of "You irresponsible girl. What the hell are you doing? How could you eat that much chocolate? Have some respect" and I reallywish I'd had the balls to have said "Ah you know darl', somtimes you just can't be arsed to drive the kids to Maccas, so I thought I'd just give 'em chochie biccies for dinner instead". It would have made the old biddy just keel over in shock.

Crickey

I can't believe that Steve Irwin's, aka The Crocodile Hunter, is dead. And I also can't believe that I heard about second hand from someone in the UK. I've just flicked on the tele and as you'd expect, the Chanel 9 news and A Current Affair (the Aussie tele news of the Sun and News of the World, without the page 3 boobs) have just dedicated 30 mins to the Crocodile Hunter (cause obviously nothing else has happened in the world) and there are millions of superlatives about the Steve being "larger of life, a passionate bloke - the Real Deal, and a true blue Aussie Icon".

Despite the irony of how it happend, it really is sad that he's gone. I guess I'd never really thought he'd die. It's just a bit of a pity that the Aussie news has turned this story into a 30 minute episode of sloppy mush.

Time Passing Me By

I thought I didn't like coming home to Australia before, but now I know, I really hate it.

In my world, I live in London, and nothing has really changed too much. I have a really, really good bunch of friends, I have a nice place to live, and a decent job. And, most of the time I can't even really tell what year we're in, as one year just melds into the next. And that's not because I don't do things, it's just that when you're living your life, you don't notice the little changes, so it seems nothing does change.

However, whenever I come back to Sydney, it always hits me that this is really not the case. Things change all the time and in big ways, and when you only come home once a year, these things really hit hard. In my head, I've not really changed that much, but when I come home, everyone here has. It's like I've been cryogenically frozen, and every time I come home I'm being thawed out to see how the entire world has moved on, with me not in it.

I've just come back from my cousins first child's baptism. The last time I saw my cousin I was a bridesmaid at his wedding. Today I held their baby girl in my arms. All my cousins seem to have had babies or are getting married. The fact we're all getting older really hit me today, when my 6ft "baby" cousin, who in my head is still only 8, but in reality is 23, introduced me to his girlfriend, then showed me the big rock on her finger because they are now engaged. ENGAGED. At first I couldn't believe it (I was desperately trying to work out if that was her left hand or not), and because I didn't jump up and down, I think they they think I don't approve. And I think his fiance thinks I'm standoffish. Which isn't the case. In actual fact, when I'm around people I don't know, I'm incredibly shy. I don't know what to say, I get tongue tied, and my fear of saying really stupid things is completely valid, because I always say really stupid things. Unfortunately, I have a feeling this comes across as snobbery or something.

So I sat there today, as my "baby" cousin canoodled with his girl. I've seen him do this with other girls, but never with the sort of sincerity that comes with doing it to someone you've asked to spend the rest of your life with. And this has really hit me hard. He no longer is my baby cousin. He's someone else's baby now. Of course, me being 5 years older and soon to be the only unmarried cousin left (and I have alot of cousins) I also had the overwealming joy of having all my aunts, relatives, and relatives of relatives come up and say "so you're not married yet eh? Well don't put it off too much longer, you don't want to end up alone, and you should think about having a baby. Look your cousin's baby. Don't you want one for yourself?" (well no, because everytime I go to hold her she screams her head off).

The worst thing is that everyone seems to have moved on just fine without me here. And if I never came back, it wouldn't matter. I'm slowly starting to feel like a stranger in my own country, and with my own friends and family. I've heard the cliche that going back home is hard, but I guess it's a cliche for a reason. It is fucking hard, and I fucking hate it.

Observations from a flight

Painful Bills
At Heathrow airport, there is a seafood/champagne bar, in which I decided to blow some hard cash on because my thinking was if the plane goes down, at the very least the last meal I'd have had would be oak smoked salmon and champange.

Sitting there, calmly scoffing my possibly last meal, I found it incredibly funny when the two Australian women next to me, a mother and her adult daughter ate their meals, and ordered champagne after I seeing me do it, then look like they were about to pass a kidney stone when they converted their £44 bill for 2 plates of salmon, 2 glasses of champagne and some fizzy water to $110 Aussie dollars. It is so mean to have to hold back a giggle as they walked of saying in the broadest Aussie accents "oh my gawd darl, that was SOO expensive, next time we should just go to Maccas."

Spelling Bees
My lack of sleep was certainly catching up with me, as I found myself seriously overtired, making me too fidgety to sleep, and too emotional for rational thought. This is what I'm blaming the fact that I got a bit emotional whilst watching a stereotypical film called Akeelah and the Bee about a poor black girl from the Ghettos, whose mother doesn't notice her and whose father has died, and who uses spelling as her way to see that there could be a better life. The girl, Akeelah, goes from a girl who can spell the word "bee" to spelling words like "xanthosis" with the not so subtle usage of montages (recall the lyrics from Team America: "And anything that we want to know, from just a beginner to a pro, you want a montage (montage!), even rocky had a montage (montage!!)"). She inevitably makes it all the way in her first year to the Scripts National Spelling Bee. This film made me blubbing like a baby. That's right people. I cried whilst watching a film about a girl who liked to spell. How uncool am I? Very.

Too Many Cupcakes?

My bike has a fantastic way of breaking on me when I'm as far from home as I'm going to get, and it knows never to wait when I'm close enough to walk. Last time one of the pedals broke off exactly 1 minute after I left the office. You really miss pedals after you have to push along the ground with your feet the entire 4 miles home, whilst cars and buses are rushing past you, honking you for going so slowly.

Yesterday, as I got to London Bridge, I thought I was about to get impaled on my bike post as the screw which holds the locking mechanism on the seat snapped clean in half, collapsing the seat underneath me. I had to scrounge around in between buses and taxis to pick up the bits and pieces of my crappy bike that had disintegrated as I was going around the corner. Cycling home standing the whole way is not very comfortable, and people kept looking at me like I'd stolen the bike because the owner would have taken the seat in an attempt to disuade theives like me from stealing it.

On my way I stopped at a bike store to get it fixed. I took the new bike seat post to the guy to fit it for me, and he looked at the broken screw, the seat, then at me, standing there sweat oozing out of every pore on my face (oh so very attractive), and said "That's curious, I've never seen this happen before, these screws are really very strong. There must have been alot of pressure on the seat for it to break in half like this", and you could just tell he was thinking "You've clearly been eating too many cupcakes you fat cow".

I'm off to Australia today to spend 12 days with my parents, but will try and blog whilst I'm away, to keep you up to date on my incredibly boring stint at home. It might sound like fun, but lying on a couch for 12 days is really not entertaining.

Lelouch - C'était un rendez-vous

This is a bit long I'll grant you, but it's still quite cool. Watch the red lights he drives past... don't worry if you miss the first one, there are lots and lots.



What driving around should be like! Enjoy

Ethnic Cleansing? No, Not Me Mate...

After 5 years, I finally get to apply for my British citizenship. Part of this is a Life in Britain test which has multiple choice questions about British history, politics, how best to conduct conversations about the weather, proper tea making techniques, and how to start a fight with people in the pub who insult your football team.

I'm filling out the obligatory application form, 2 weeks early because I'm uber eager, and I particularly love question 4.8: "Have you ever been involved in the commission, preperation or organisation of war crimes, crimes against humanity, or genocide".. ummmm.. not that I remember, no.... but if I had, would that affect me getting a passport?

Friday night QVC Hell

Oh my god. These people should NOT be allowed to be on TV on a Friday night after you get home drunk.

QVC is a tv shopping network. And it is SO addictive. Especially when it's "Crafting For Christmas". SAVE ME OBE WAN KANOBE. Please don't let me buy the brushed metal effect appeture cards and envelopes or the 60 AF Vellum sheets. I don't even know what A4 Vellum sheets are. Why do I feel obsessed with buying them ??!! NO!! They're using the words "we've used our glue sticks to make these beauftiful cards!". How much of a geek am I? By day I work in IT. By night, all I want to do is make cards... I despair at my geeky sadness.

Oh god. I have no money left. I have a horrid feeling that lots of red wine is about to be responsible for metalic cards and christmas inspired stamps.

This is the best thing tonight, after the 10 police cars (2 police vans and about 30 police people (? - police men and women... not sure what these collectively are called) that turned up outside the flatmates room tonight. Very scarey since I'm here on my own, and, lets be honest, I'm a big fat scaredy cat.

OH NO! They're selling the Let It Snow Paper, Sticker & Embellishment Pack. Only £22.38. Don't pick up the phone. Don't pick up the phone!!

Your Friday Moment of Zen: Five O'Clock World

(pic from here)

I'm currently obsessed with songs from the 60's: The Rolling Stones "Can't Always Get What You Want", Beach Boys "God Only Knows" (that's clearly Big Love related). Plus the Good Morning Vietnam soundtrack is getting a good workout: Them "Baby Please Don't Go", The Marvelettes "Danger Heartbreak Dead Ahead", I really love Martha Reeves & The Vandellas "Nowhere To Run".

Though the song that I've got on endless repeat for the last hour has been by The Vogues "Five O'Clock World":

Up every mornin' just to keep a job
I gotta fight my way through the husslin' mob
Sounds of the city poundin' in my brain
While another day goes down the drain

But it's a five o'clock world when the whistle blows
No one owns a piece of my time
And there's a five o'clock me inside my clothes
Thinkin' that the world looks fine, yeah
Holiday, yeah...

Tradin' my time for the pay I get
Livin' on money that I ain't made yet
Gotta keep goin', gotta make my way
While I live for the end of the day

Have a good 60s inspired zen like Friday!

Phantom Lamps

I love these lamps from cb2 (in Chicago) for around $100 so much that I've even emailed them to ask if they'll ship to London. If not, does anyone live in Chicago and want to ship it to me? I don't know what it is about it that makes me want to own one so much, but the clear glass is so pretty, and I think it'd go fantastically with my black couch.

For more info have a look here. Thanks Design*Sponge!

Do geek books = a sign?

After my whole buying house debarcle, I've gotten on the mega expensive horse again and had a look yesterday at a house closer to my price range and the area I'm desperate to stay in. And apparently, like the perfect high heeled shoe, the perfect house, with the perfect price does not exist. And to make matters worse, there are lots of buyers, and lots of greedy sellers who are waiting for the market to go through the roof, and aren't willing to sell their their properties until the prices go up by £30K next year. Well that's just fucking dandy isn't it. I'm glad all the sellers are holding off waiting to drain me of my life blood like fat vampires. It also seems, what with so many buyers, you get only 5 mins to decide if you want to buy a place. "Ok great, I've spent more time trying on a pair of jeans than looking at this house, but what the heck, I'll take it. Here's the cheque with more zeros on it than I can count". The estate agent told me I was the first person to view the house and they expected it to go that day. It was 6.15 when I had a look. 6.15 in the evening.

Bloody hell. I was so depressed when I got home, I actually went out again to go to the corner store to pay idiot tax and buy myself 2 scratch cards in the vain hope of winning £10K (see, not greedy, just £10,000). When that didn't work, I went home and drank 2 large glasses of red wine. Alone.

On the plus side, I'm wondering if the place I looked at yesterday was the one. It wasn't exactly where I want to live (like not in the street I want, heck I am that picky) but the guy who was selling it had a book shelf chock-a-block full of computing geek books: Java in a Nutshell, Oracle 9i, Sybase books, C++ books. He had a media PC in the corner and no tele, just a flat screen monitor. And he had another bookshelf full of books about catholisism, plus a cross on the wall. Heck I'm a geek who owns most of those nerd books, I'd have a media pc if I didn't own a Tivo, and I'm catholic.

Is this a sign?

General Angry Rant

OOHH things are going to cop it today:

Taking My Foot off the Lader
I've taken my foot off the property ladder and have decided after much deliberation to not go ahead and buy the house. It wasn't just because of the grief I was getting, but also because if I wanted to rent it out, I couldn't afford it. Actually it was mostly due to the fact I couldn't afford it. So now I am "homeless" again (though obviously not in the traditional sense, and not meaning to offend anyone who is actually homeless, but for gods sake you get my drift). At the very least this has helped me work out what I want in a house, and gets me out of living in coo coo land for what I can afford. So it's back to the searching on the web.

Stupid Property Websites
I am so sick and fucking tired of property sites where they don't a) put the address of the property b) don't put a picture up and c) have no details about the house other than "1 bedroom flat located close to tube". How is someone supposed to know if they are wasting their time with descriptions like "flat, somewhere in the postcode with some stuff in it". What fucking use is that to anyone? No fucking use, that's what.

Not Going to Hong Kong
Someone in the office is going to HK & mainland China to train people, and as you can imagine from the fact all I want to say is shit fuck fuck bastards fuck, that that someone is not me. Shit fuck fuck bastards fuck. (it's not big, it's not clever but it makes me feel better).

Not going to watch Arsenal in the Champions League tomorrow
I've already prosponed my 24 hr ECG to go to my teams Dragon Boat Racing regatta finals so we can panick in the water and come last to teams in all body lycra outfits who train 3 times a week, are all extremely fit, stretch before and after, do one handed push ups (just to show off), and group hug and pray before they race. So since I've prosponed tests to see if my heart is fucked (which it isn't), I can't really go to watch Arsenal tomorrow instead of going racing. AND it would have been at the new stadium AND it would have been really, really, really good seats AND the tickets are only £20. Fuck fuck bollocks wank (different combination to my HK rant).

The Colonel Getting Hit by Some Arsehole last night
The first time I'd ever had a car accident in the Colonel. There we were, sitting at the lights, minding our own business, dripping wet after our last dragon boat training session before the big regatta tomorrow, and some idiot slams into the back of my car. I get out, slightly dazed (because, heck it's not every day you get hit at the lights) and the arse who hit me was very appologetic (and it seemed slightly drunk) and was very keen not to exchange details (probably because he was DRUNK). On the plus side, The Colonel is ok, I'm ok, my friend from Oz is ok, and I couldn't care less if the other guys car is internally fucked or not, because they drove off.

And take a big breath in. And relax.

Not like buying a pair of Manolo Blahniks

I bought a house on Saturday.

Well, technically, Saturday afternoon I put an offer in to a house that I saw that morning.

And now I feel, well, unhappy. There's no crying, or screaming of joy, or happiness. Just worry and unease.

Ever since The Flatmate told me he is going back to Oz, I decided the only way for me to stay living in London, by myself, was to buy a place. I've been saving up for this from the first month of my working life here, and I have enough to get a small 1 bed flat in the south east of London that I've called home for the past 4 years. Somewhere that I could put my bed, my lovely couch, maybe get a cat. Put up paintings and pictures, get new tiles in the bathrooms. Have cool halogean lights in the hallway, and enough kitchen space to put 2 fry pans and 2 pots on the stove at the same time! Somewhere I would feel safe and at home. However, weeks of looking at houses has led me to realise that the dream house I want is not coming on the market. And the part of me that tends to shit all over my dreams, and worries about every tiny detail and keeps me up at night, is making me think this house will never turn up.

So yesterday, I took my first foray into my undiscovered country called compromise, and looked at a 1 bed, 1st floor, ex council flat in Borough. Great location (it's a 10 min walk from London Bridge, right smack in zone 1). And after I saw it I was excited. No, I was dead excited. So excited that I thought, fuck it, if I get it rented, it'll practically pay for itself. PLUS I quite like it and the area and I could live there too.

This euphoria lasted all afternoon, even after I called the estate agent and said I wanted to put an offer in. I went around in a daze all day. I put an offer in for a house. This is a step into adulthood that I didn't think I could do. Something I'd thought about for years, but never imagined I'd ever say the words "I'd like to put an offer on this house please." I was stunned, and slightly giddy. That was until I dragged my friends to have a look, and one of them went, well, nuts, at the prospect of me living there. You've never seen someone get so angry, just because I wanted to buy an ex-council flat. They called me all sorts of things, and as my shoulders dragged further and further to the ground, until my knuckles dragged along the gutters, I'd never felt like sinking into a hole so much in years.

So now, all I have is intense unease. When the estate agent came back to me to say the vendor had approved it, there were no roars of joy. No "congratulations!", no "yay! I've bought a house! I won't be homeless!". No champagne. No cava. Not even a glass of spakling Babysham. And whilst I know it would be a great place, I have no back bone and what with my constant need for approval, I feel like I'm making the biggest mistake of my life. Is this a sign that I shouldn't buy this and wait, hope, pray and beg that what I want is coming? Or should I face facts that, whilst other people can find their dream houses, for me finding the perfect house is as much a myth as me finding the perfect pair of high heeled shoes that don't make me fall over, cut my feet to ribbons, and end up being ruined when the blood from the blisters soaks through the leather? Or is this just me? Surely people find their perfect houses all the time. Well, maybe not perfect, but a house which, when bought, actually makes them feel happy to be taking on the biggest debt of their lives.

Ahh, it's the little things I want. It all sounds so rubbish doesn't it, especially if you weigh it up against real life problems like world poverty or starvation or war. But that's me I guess. Constantly sweating the small stuff.

Your Friday Moment of Zen: Random Veg at Borough Markets

After my little trip to the arm mangler yesterday, I decided to treat myself to food from Borough Market before tripping of home.

I always thought that a Romanesco was just a light shade from Habitat. If anyone has any ideas how to eats one, drop me a line. I have to say, they are much prettier in real life than hanging upside with a light blub stuck in them!

Random foodie zen love. Enjoy!

Not my type of comfort

I had to go to the hospital today to get some blood tests done because my doctor has no idea what's wrong with me, so in an attempt to cover her arse, she's put me down for one of everything.

This is a conversation, trust me, you never want to have with the nurse whose holding a needle to a major artery in your arm.

Nurse: "Ok come sit down and we'll take some blood."
Me: (sit in chair, slightly shaking with fear) "Ok, just have to say I hate needles."
Nurse: "You hate needles eh? Why?"
Me: "I dunno, I just don't like them I guess" (hey stupid me, of all my fears, I thought that one was actually rational, not like my fear of the tele losing reception and ghosts escaping from other dimensions).
Nurse: (stops, rests with the needles just above my arm, looks up at me with a glazed look in his eye) "Strange. I don't hate needles. I love needles. Needles bring me comfort."
Me: (eyes going wildly from side to side) "umm.. ok then..."

(and in my head shrieking) "OH MY GOD HE'S INSANE. HE'S INSANE. HE'S GOING TO MANGLE MY ARM AND VEINS RIGHT IN FRONT OF ALL THESE PEOPLE WITH A NEEDLE! I'M GOING TO LOSE MY ARM!! HELP HELP!!!".

Stupid uncoordinated fingers

GRRR... Talk about a complete waste of time.

I've spent the last part of an hour trying to learn how to spin a pencil backwards. Spinning the pencil forwards is no problem, since in my year 11 eceonomics class I was more interested in learning how to do that than work out how to calculate a countries GDP. Even now I still think that was a better use of my time, as I can still spin a pencil, pen, drumstick (both the intrumental, and probably the chicken variety) around my thumb with the greatest of ease, and I've never been asked for my assessment of the UK's gross domestic product.

Though an hour into it and for for some reason, my stupid unco hands still can't make the bloody pencil spin backwards. The trick is to keep your middle, ring and thumb still whilst getting your index finger to flick the pen around. But when I try it, the index finger starts to flick the pencil, and then all of a sudden all my other fingers spasm and the pencil goes flying. Sometimes across the floor, sometimes hitting the desk, occasionaly hitting my forehead.

GRRR. It's really starting to piss me off. Not only am I wasting time trying to learn how to do this most useless of tricks (who has ever impressed anyone with their pen flicking ability?), but I'm mostly annoyed because I thought I was a bit more dexterous than this. So, due to my constant need to blame everything on something other than myself, today I'm going to blame it on the medication that I'm on, which is currently fucking with my brain. Apparently this medicine is used to help treat people with mild anxiety. However it's making me more anxious about rubbish nonense things than I've ever been before.

I am also laying blame at the door of WIKI-HOW . DAMN YOU! Why do you have things on your website that look easy but aren't?

Cycling past, seeing Jean Luc Picard

I've lived in London for about 5 years now, and I have to say that the number of times I've seen a famous person has been abysmal low. The only 2 famous people I've seen whilst meandering around town has been:

1. Scary Spice roller blading around Regents park. She realised we were looking at her and started to do some pathetic attempts at roller blading tricks. Unfortunately she didn't fall over and break her back ad legs in multiple places. Pity really.
2. Stephen Fry near Soho, with cute boyfriend in tow.

However, today, I hit the big time baby! I had the male equivalent of seeing Kylie Minogue in the street! Whilst I was cycling to work along the Thames, I noticed a bald man, with a baseball hat jogging in front of me. As I was coming up to him I thought "gee he looks a bit like Patrick Stewart". As I got next to him I thought "no, he really does look like Patrick Stewart". As I passed him, I took a good look (and slowed right down) and thought "OH MY GOD!! I'M CYCLING NEXT TO PATRICK STEWART! I'M CYCLING NEXT TO PATRICK STEWART!!!"

PATRICK STEWART! I mean WOW!! Captain Jean Luc Picard of the Starship Enterprise!! Professor Charles Xavier!! Captain Ahab! The gay guy in Frasier!!! I LOVE Patrick Stewart! He is so cool in all his bald glory!

Naturally I didn't talk to him. I would never talk to him for several reasons, some of them rashional, some of them, well... Here are my top 6 reasons for not stopping and chatting to Jean Luc Picard:

1. I don't want to talk to my heros, because what there is no way my heros are going to be anyway near as nice in real life as they are in my head. I mean, I doubt that Patrick Stewart, in the middle of his morning jog would say "Oh hi you slightly scary girl who can't stop grinning like she's just broken out of a mental isylum and is doped up to the eye balls. Why don't you come and join my circle of friends, and you can step of the daily mediocracy that is the very definition of your life and hobnob with other Star Trek actors!"
2. I wouldn't want to distrub Patrick Stewart whilst he was excercising...
3. What if it wasn't him? I mean, I am about 99.999% sure it was him... If it wasn't.. how embarrasing..
4. I think there was another more beefy guy running behind him... if that was his body guard the last thing I want to get thrown off my bike, and dangled by the ankles into the Thames, because I dared to say "oh. My. GOD! You're Patrick Stewart!".
5. I don't want to look like all those other sad pathetic geeks who see one of their favorite Starfleet captains and go all gaga. I have self restraint. Even though I had the dumbest grin on my face the entire ride to work, I can hold my head up high and rise above those other geeks and nerds.
   
6. (mostly) I'm a big fat coward.

Pity though.... I would have loved to have asked for his autograph and have him say "Alright, make it so". I would have died right there on the spot. I'm such a sad geek.

Mash and Scream Techniques of a Street Fighter

If you were a child of the late 80's and early-mid 90's (ok and a geek) you probably have fond memories of wasting lots of your money playing Street Fighter at an arcade. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, Street Fighter was a cool game which involved picking a character, say Ryu from Japan (on the left here), or Chun Li from China, or Dhalsim for India, and in later additions you could even get Bison the super boss, then you would, yup you guessed it, fight in streets, to see who would win in a best of 3 matches. The aim was to beat all the characters to then eventually beat Bison to be the Street Fighter of the WORLD!

Now, the skill wasn't in the ability to jump around, kick and punch but in the ability to remember and know how to do the special maneuvers with the joystick and keys to get special combos (like Chun Li's spinning bird kick). These special moves only worked if you did something like: for Ryu to do a Hadoken (fire ball) it would be Press D, DR, R + any punch button and Ryu would release a glowing blue projectile ball.


Now, just because I'm a geek, and I had geek like qualities when I was 14 didn't mean that I could play this game. No, I completely and utterly sucked at it. And I know the special moves don't sound difficult, but I found it nigh on impossible to do. My little cousin, who is 6 years younger than me, would play Street Fighter at the arcade, and always let me play the second round, knowing full well I would never win. The thing is, even after 100s of fights, he would always look up at me, his little 8 year old face full of disappointment as I mashed frantically at the key pad, to try and get him to do SOMETHING other than just get his arse pummled, all the while screaming "Come the fuck on! The special move doesn't work! The special move doesn't work! I'm DOING it right though! What the fuck is happening??!?", After the inevitable defeat my cousin would then sigh, look at me, shake his little 8 year old head, take over and defend his honour.

Last week, Calvin downloaded Street Fighter II Hyper Fighting for his high definition, fully spec'd, really expensive XBox 360. I'm not bad at console games. I can kick butt with a sniper gun and a sword on Halo. But nearly 14 years after I first played Street Fighter, my street fighter techniques are still as pants as ever. Playing it on Sunday, it got to the point where my thumb and hand was so badly throbbing with pain and cramps after I would constantly try to push the kick button to get Chun Li to beat Honda, that I eventually just put the Xbox controller on my lap and just mashed all the keys with my fingers at the same time. Let me tell you, mashing does no Spinning Bird Kick make.

Ah. If my baby cousin (now 22) could have seen me on Sunday. He would still be shaking his head in disappointment. Then take over and win the 3rd round for me.

Here's a video of what could happen if you actually knew what to do, and you weren't, you know, me. Look at the geeks and nerds!! Enjoy

Say it with Tomato Sauce and M&M's

I really don't know what to make of this. My M&M's and My Heinz are the latest brands to allow you to customise their labels with your messages (though I don't know too many companies in the UK that let you do this).


My M&M's allow you to write your message, select your M&M colours and the packaging that goes with it. On their site they've got example messages like "Express yourself" and "Say it Sweetly" but obviously if I did this I would put messages like "Get Fat Here" or "Eat this" or other very grownup messages. I don't know why exactly you'd want to do this, but if this is something that interests you, please I beg you do not put lovey dovey cutesy messages on your chocolate.. There's a reason why It should not be valentines all year round.

"MY FRIES LOVE HIGH FRUCTOSE CORN SYRUP"
A more saucey version (sorry couldn't resist) is an offering from "My Heinz" where they've got different bottle types you can put your personalized message like the original bottle, the squeezy bottle and the little pots of sauce and mustards. On their website they've got occasion suggestions for when you would want to have these, such as showers, birthdays, tailgating (what the hell is this anyway?), graduation, weddings and anniversary. I ask you, why would you want this for a wedding or anniversary??? Here darling, happy anniversary, I got you a bottle of high fructose corn syrup flavoured with tomato to smother your deep fried, starchy, high fat chips with. Does this really say "I love you" better than a Hallmark card?

Your Friday Moment of Zen: I'm the boy to keep you up at night.

GODDAMNN!! Tim Rogers, from You Am I, and Tex Perkins from The Cruel Sea, are playing in London tomorrow night and I'm going to get my yearly fix! For some honest to goodness fan-fuckin'-tastic Aussie rock and roll, Timmy Rogers is your man. I know he is a skinny arsed, big nosed, drug taking, alcoholic rocker, but my god he makes some of the finest tunes around, and makes me go weak at the knees like some pre-pubescent teenager.

My particular favorites are:
Purple Sneakers: "For every trouble you've found there's a drink to lose it and drown. Do you need somebody to feel somebody?"
Get Up: "See the man in the corner trying to make them all smile, and missing the one that matters all the while, she'll beat him senseless, but he just can't see, it aint for the crowd that you bleed. So be good to your bar keep man, it's more than your drink he's got in his hand"


Here's your Friday moment of zen. Timmy Rogers doing what he does best. Rocking his skinny, beautiful arse off.

God bless the fuckin' lot of us.


Ammendment: For a great write up about this gig tomorrow night check this out from the TNT

No news reports but at least I know not to wear sandals

After a nightmare trip home at midnight tonight, when I finally got in I decided to watch some of the news whilst getting ready for bed. It's not that I normally feel the need to be on the beating pulse of the world news after a night out, but I just wanted to see if anything significant has happened during the last few hours (I mean, hey, when I went to bed on Wednesday night, the news was either about the Lebanon/Israel war and how the News of the World were listening to the royal family gossip on their mobile phones. 7 hours later I wake up and all of a sudden it's about the 10 bomb threats on planes out of Britain.. gotta keep in touch with the news... ).

So rather than watching the BBC's World Business report, I thought, heck, lets go for some sensationalist crap and watch Sky instead.. I managed to catch the last 5 mins of the American CBS news, which was all "America on security alert level SUPER DOOPER HIGH IN THE SKY APPLE PIE CRAZY. Terrorists, terrorists everywhere!" along what I've noticed American news does best: lots of human interest stories which mostly consist of people complaining about having to get rid of their hair gel and perfume because they might be bombs. Ok so this CBS. I kinda expected this.. Then the British Sky news reports starts up and it goes like this:

"Police foil biggest terrorist threat! Mass murder on an unimaginable scale! More details to whip up the public to a frenzy!!!! TERRORISTS TERRORISTS EVERYWHERE!!.... But, first here's todays weather"

That's right. The weather. That's the report Sky news started their hourly news with. Not who has been arrested, or how their plans where foiled. Not even whether or not any planes are flying now or if should expect more threats. No, Sky felt that the people must be kept informed ABOUT THE WEATHER. At 1 AM. That's the most important thing obviously. Thank god Sky have their priorities right. THIS is what I care about most: knowing that I can't wear my sandals tomorrow because it's gonna rain.

It's all alright people, it's alright. Crisis averted. Stand down from red alert Mr Spock, we're gonna be ok.

Avenue Q: It sucks to be you

Went to see Avenue Q last night. If you haven't seen it, and I heartily recommend it, because when a musical involving people and puppets comes with an advisory sticker, you know you have to see it. And because if you haven't seen crazy puppet sex, you really don't know what you're missing.

Amoung my favorite songs were: "Everyone's a little racist", "The Internet is for Porn", and "If you were gay". However today all I've been singing is "It sucks to be me" because, today, it does. I hope love enjoy this song as much as me. Here are a few lyrics. Enjoy!

BRIAN : Me too! I mean, look at me! I'm ten years out of college, and I always thought -
KATE MONSTER : What?
BRIAN : No, it sounds stupid.
KATE MONSTER : Aww, come on!
BRIAN : When I was little I thought I would be...
KATE MONSTER : What?
BRIAN : A big comedian on late night TV But now I'm thirty-two And as you can see I'm not
KATE MONSTER : Nope!
BRIAN : Oh Well, It sucks to be me.
KATE MONSTER : Nooo.
BRIAN : It sucks to be me.
KATE MONSTER : No!
BRIAN : It sucks to be broke and unemployed and turning thirty-three. It sucks to be me.

Arms waving in the air, singing in rounds

I blogged a few weeks ago how the HBO series "Big Love" was on channel 5. I have a sinking feeling the Flatmate and myself might have been the only ones watching it in all of the UK because they really rushed through the last 4 episodes in a fortnight of Monday night double bill madness. And now it's over. If you've missed the series then shame on you and I cry for your misfortune. Here is a really good mini review from Time magazine:

"Here's the thing they don't tell you about polygamy: it's murder on your cell bill. Early in Big Love, Bill Henrickson (Bill Paxton) checks his calls. He has 16 messages. He's got three wives, three mortgages and seven kids. His father (Bruce Dern) suspects Bill's mother of poisoning him. Bill is opening a new branch of his Salt Lake City, Utah, hardware store, and his shady, polygamist-patriarch father-in-law Roman (Harry Dean Stanton) is demanding a cut. Then there's the matter of, er, keeping up with three wives. Pharmaceutical assistance is involved."

I really, really loved this show, and always kinda thought the Flatmate was watching it with me cause he was being nice, and it reminded him of being on holiday. However I think I've misjudged him. Last night, after a painful 2 hour train trip back from work, the first question he asked me wasn't what's for dinner, but "Can we watch the last episode of Big Love now?". If you know the Flatmate you'll realise this is a huge thing, because he always thinks with his belly first. I guess this show about Mormon polygomy has really touched us all.

A few things I'm going to miss about Big Love Monday Nights:

1. Even though we have watched every episode week in week out, there are still moments when the Flatmate and I thought we were in some nether region of reality, and would look at each other and go "This show is fucking RANDOM! Is Wanda seriously about to ANTI-FREEZE in Albe's drink? Why is Bill's father pissing in the kitchen sink? What the fuck is going on?"

2. Our debates on how I find Margie annoying and the Flatmate tells me to get off her case, she's 3rd wife, and she's not that childish.. And besides she's a much warmer mother and sister wife than Nicky, who is action packed with serious 2nd wife issues, and her lying and jealousy doesn't seem to really live up to "The Principle". (oh look, I'm making commentary on polygamy and the mormon religion based soley on a tele show, and no actual evidence)

3. I'm mostly going to miss when the opening credits come on to the Beach Boys song "God Only Knows". That's when the Flatmate and I sit there, our arms raised about our heads in the air waving gently from side to side, and sing in rounds:

"If you should ever leave me, then life would go on believe me"
"The world would show nothing to me, then what good would living do me?"
"God only knows what I'd be without you"
"This is our random mormon show"
"This is our random morrrrmmooon show"
"This is our random"
"This is our show"
"This is our random mormon show"
"This is our random"
"This is our shoooooooooooow"

Ah Big Love. God bless your randomness. I'm gonna miss you. Come back soon.

Never Ever Wash Me

Doing my daily stumbling round the net, I found these from That's Hot. Scott Wade is an artist whose medium of art is what most people would try to wash away. Car dirt. Check out more of his masterpieces here. Some of which are really cool and if you're feeling artisitc, he's even got step by step details of he makes them.

This kicks arse over the usual crappy "wash me" comments left on dirty cars...

Tobi Wood is Pretty

Looking through lots of design sites, I've found these beautiful prints from Print & Pattern's blog. These Tobi Wood designs are really cool, not only because of their patterns, but because their bold colours, which I find really incredibly funky.

For the past few months I've been very, very slowly painting a set of 4 canvases, and I'm on to the last one, and have been looking around for some inspiration for colors. These beautiful cards and prints are definitely helping me fill my boots with ideas.

From Tobi's website you can buy her cool cards, wall prints, magnets and journals. Enjoy!

MY Friday Moment of Zen: Where I'd Rather Be

This is MY Friday Moment of Zen. I'm having a fucking stressful day at work, what with people constantly riding my arse trying to get things done. So this is where I'd rather be. This brings me zen.

Death Valley, California. Because it's fucking beautiful, and I'd rather be there, even when it's over 100F than at my desk in London. Roll on the mother fucking weekend.

Your Friday Moment Of Zen: It Scares the Shit Out of Me

Sorry if you've seen this already, but this ad makes me giggle, and anything that gives me the slightest bit of pleasure today is zen like to me.

Enjoy.

Pimp That Snack!

In the never ending glory that is the internet, a very cool site I've found is "Pimp That Snack". Here people take everyday snacks and document how they've pimped it, i.e. disassemble it, work out what goes in it, then make a massive version of it, documenting their work the whole time!

Some of the best ones include Jaffa Quake (done by the posh food critic from The F Word):


And the GIANT Oreo (which I have to say looks mighty impressive!)

Started in April 2006, when Pete (aka Pimp Daddy) bought a Peanut Butter Kit Kat and decided to reassemble it by replacing the Peanut Butter inside the bar with some store bought variety. After documenting his triumph on a website, he received a lot of interest, and he turned the concept into the PimpThatSnack website.

Each project has details and pictures of how they were constructed, and makes for some really fun reading. Some of my other favs are the giant flake, and the giant alphabet soup (though I only really like the noodles, as I never liked the yucky tomato soup it came in anyway) and the giant chocolate digestive.

Yum

Upcoming Festivals : GBBF & SCCF

Two upcoming festivals in London which are worthy of note:

GBBF: The Great British Beer Festival
With more than one and a half pints served every second from the 700 ales and ciders available, the Great British Beer Festival is the biggest real ale festival in the world. Starting from today and going through until Saturday, this will be the first year it's held at it's new home in Earls Court. I've been every year for the past 3, and it is allot of fun. Not only are there hundreds of ales and ciders to choose from, but it's the only time of the year I play on the tombola "every one's a winner!", and get to buy bags and bags of pork scratchings. The best way to do it is to go around with a pint glass and only ask for halfs because they're cheaper than full ones, you get to try more before you fill up on beer, and you always get 3/4 of a pint for the price of a half. Some say "cheap", I say "thrifty".

• Highlights: Seeing "real ale" drinks with their huge beer bellys and big beards (they seem to go hand in hand). Eating copious amounts of pork products. The inevitably large cheese platter we can't finish. Bags and bags of pork scratchings & ale.
• Lowlights: Not remembering which beers you liked last time, and walking around endlessly trying to find it again.
• Things to say: "hmm, now I've had 1/2 a pint of Dragon Smoke Stout, Fursty Ferret and Ice Maiden, but I remember from last year that Summer Lightning, Gannet Milk where good too... OOH I might have a half a Black Prince next!"
• Things to not say: "Can I get a pint of Fosters please" - unless you want to get beaten up by one of the scary looking "real ale" drinkers.

For some cool pics of previous festivals

SCCF: Singapore Chilli Crab Festival
If ale, cider and pig are not up your alley, then the Tiger Beer Singapore Chilli Crab Festival is on this Saturday and Sunday might be more your thing. A free event, held at the Vibe Bar in Brick Lane, East London, the festival is held simultaneously in New York, and is an "Asian street market with traditional hawker-style food stands". Chilli Crab is the unofficial "national dish" of Singapore, it comes with a yummy sauce of fresh red chillis, tomato sauce, fresh eggs and spring onions. Best eaten with your hands!

• Highlights: Eating yummy Singaporean food. I'm mostly looking forward to, guess what, the Chilli Crabs.
• Lowlights: Possibly being hungover from the GBBF, and not being able to face Chilli Crabs.
• Things to Say: "Crab and beer. Lets all cheer"
• Things not to say: "Ooh this Chinese festival is good innit? Where's the sweet and sour pork?"

New Beetle Art

Mibo whom I know mostly as a designer for cool lampshades, is one of the 4 leading artists and illustrators who are part of the new Beetle Arts Volkswagen range. The designs include: Mibo's "Taking Flight" (you can get the matching lampshade!), the stylized puddles of art in Mud Splats by Jamie Cullen, Steve Wilsons' Chasing Rainbows, and the "It's All Mine" by Parra. Check out their website, where you can play around with the designs, the colours of the cars, and even choose if you want the cabriolet or hatchback version.


I do think they are pretty cool, however it's a worry that if you want to get rid of them you simply "Using a hairdryer, gently warm the graphics. When warmed, slowly peel off"(!). Thank god that this is a cold climate where 2 consecutive days of 30 degrees is considered a "heat wave, threatening to shut down the very fabric of society, by melting roads and buckling train lines", or else those lovely birdies mightn't look so nice when they're half sliding off the car...

Still, it's a cool concept, and if anyone would like to donate one of the VW Beetles, I'd happily accept any of the groovy designs (I quite like the cabriolet, in light grey, with the Mibo design in green).