Contrary to intentions, I got nothing of any real note done today. But I did dispose of quite a lot of trivial domestic and administrative tasks which had been bugging me. And cleared my email (er, more or less), which is always good. So I will be in an excellent position to actually accomplish stuff tomorrow.
My sister and her boi have stocks of strawberry, blueberry, blackberry, apricot, and lingonberry (no, I don’t know either) jams. And herrings. It’s a Scandinavian thing, apparently.
But they had no raspberry jam. So I bought some.
I also got brownie mix. I thought I would make some and send them to Chris Titan. I kind of feel sorry for him.
In other news, the camera seems to be having serious exposure problems.
I am listening to “Blind” by the Sundays, but I think I’m going to have to turn it off, because it is making me very nostalgic and causing me angst. Lovely album, though.
Now I’m gonna go and cook that roast I was talking about yesterday.
If you haven’t already, go and visit Jo; she needs to be encouraged to post more often.
I put Sam up on the bed last night, partly because I am secretly sexually attracted to him and partly due to a childish desire to do things that will piss my sister off without her knowing about it whilst she is away.
It really upset him. He just didn’t know what the hell to think.
I wonder if Bridget or Charles would give me a reference.
(Actually, I’m sure working for the Scienos – except, perhaps, in an authorised infiltratory capacity – would be in breach of my contract.)
Filed under Photos, Whack
The Descmeister told me to get a Tamagotchi, so that hers would have a friend to make the hot infrared interfaceage with. Naturally, I complied.
My first hatchling, Blort, was born on Sunday at about 11am. Rather heartlessly, I terminated him in the evening because I decided I’d warped him too much by not knowing what I was doing. (NB If more parents adopted this strategy in real life, the world would be a better place.) Besides, I really wanted a girl.
Blort’s successor, Zooey, was born shortly afterwards. She seems to be doing well.
Birth of Zooey the Tamagotchi
Zooey, age 2
I’ve been rushing around like a mad thing today, then I get in and everything’s gone all crazy-like in virtualworld with the commenting (yay commenting) and the Reanimator getting a funny email and.. other things.
Then I went out to walk the dog and do some shopping.. and locked myself out! And I couldn’t get on to my sister’s friend who has the spare key! And I had to wait outside for 90 minutes in the cold for the locksmith with only random text-messagery to amuse me!
And it’s ten o’clock and I haven’t eaten anything and there’s too much to do! Too much to do! It’s the 29th on Wednesday! Why isn’t anyone more concerned?
Did anyone see what happened to this month? As it went swoooshing by? I think I missed it.
And I still haven’t written to Nada. Or Def. And I DON’T have TIME to be posting this! I must eat food or I shall collapse. Fuck, and I was going to do a load of washing tonight ‘n’all.
It’s okay, it’s okay.
I dreamt last night that I was Scarlett Johansson in a futuristic, Blade Runner-esque version of Tokyo.
An amalgam of Lindsay Lohan and baby sis’s obnoxious former housemate Anna (who looks – and behaves – quite a lot like Lindsay Lohan) was trying to kill me, ostensibly because she disagreed with my stance on the war in Iraq – although there was some suggestion that she was in fact an agent of the Circle de Luce, and possibly Constance incognito.
An amalgam of JoJo aka Johana and 14-year-old pop starlet JoJo (heavily pregnant and smoking like a bastard, natch) had been assigned by the mythical, non-existent organization Fiat Nox to protect me.
JoJo/JoJo eventually took out Lindsay Lohan/Anna/Constance with a sniper rifle from a rooftop, then immediately went into labour. I had to fly her to hospital in a helicopter, causing me tremendous anxiety because I was not technically allowed to fly a helicopter without a fully licensed helicopter pilot riding shotgun. But it felt like the least I could do.
I can’t remember what happened after that. I think I may have crashed the helicopter into a building. But we both came out of it alright.
Deadsoybean appeared as a shadowy double-agent of ambiguous motives.
The role of Bill Muwway was played with infinite worldweariness – and serious delirium – by Avery Cardoza.
And comic relief was provided by Cheshire Cat, who appeared as an endearing idiot man-child constantly asking strange and irrelevant questions. Occasionally he would also sing Wesley Willis classics such as Fuck You and Cut That Mullet. These interludes were mounted in the style of elaborate Bollywood production numbers.
In the end, the whole situation turned out to have been deliberately engineered by machiavellian Melblogerati queen Ms Fits, so that she could adapt it into a tv show, then post about how clever she’d been.
When I was out walking Sam the dog on Tuesday evening, I came across this photo of a ragged half-orange lying in some grass. I found it in a park, next to what appeared to be the actual orange.
I left them both, because I thought together they made for quite a nice little piece of street art. (Park art?)
On Friday I was back the same way, and the orange had gone. But the photo was still there. So I took it.
But, you know, my heart actually sinks when I get home from work to find that in ten hours no one has sent me email or left comments.
Work harder people.
(Or should I work harder not to care? Answers on a postcard..)
What do we think about this local Cam get-together idea? Several parties have been independently expressing enthusiasm for such a prospect.
Where would be good to do it at? I’m thinking somewhere reasonably central and reasonably conducive to conversation. I am a relative newcomer to Melbourne and notoriously reclusive, so someone else will have to think of a venue, coz I just have no idea.
P.S. I can’t be sure, of course, but I could have sworn I saw the mysterious Xul Solar 23 this morning at Spencer Street Station. Seriously.
(And cheap champagne.)
In homage to Lady J.
I would normally never eat fish sticks (actually, in Australia, we call them ‘fish fingers’) but my sister has about 80,000 of them in her freezer for some reason.
They must have been on sale.
I’m not sure exactly what it all means but I can discern that the only category in which I scored a result high enough not to warrant ‘urgent attention’ was ‘aggression’. I am apparently as depressed as is humanly possible. For more detailed results I’d have to go to the Scieno mission in Azerbaijan, which I told them was the one closest to where I live.
This is all a bit tabloidy (I never thought I’d link a story from Fox News except for the purposes of ridiculing it), way below the usual high standards rigorously maintained here at Trysting Fields, but I’ve long been fascinated by the bonkers sci-fi megacult of Scientology, and I’m more than a little intruiged by this report:
Sometime that week, her friends say, [Holmes] flew to Los Angeles for a meeting [ie her first] with Cruise about a role in “Mission: Impossible 3.” The meeting took place after April 11.
The next time anyone heard from Holmes was on April 27, when she appeared in public as Cruise’s girlfriend and love of his life.
Where was she during those 16 days?
Somewhere during that time, she decided to fire both her manager and agent, each of whom she had been with for years and who were devoted to her.
What’s more, according to Radar Online, Holmes was not Cruise’s first choice.
For some more routine Scieno zaniness, RO also offers this excerpt from a standard-issue COS security questionnaire, featuring wacklicious questions – some of which are presumably addressed to one’s malevolent body thetans – such as:
- Have you ever driven anyone insane?
- Have you ever killed the wrong person?
- Did you come to Earth for evil purposes?
- Have you systematically set up mysteries?
- Have you ever sought to persuade someone of your insanity?
- Have you ever smothered a baby?
- Do you deserve to have any friends?
- Do you deserve to be enslaved?
- Have you ever castrated anyone?
- Have you ever zapped anyone?
- Have you ever had a body with a venereal disease? If so, did you spread it?
And my favourite:
- Have you ever tried to make the physical universe less real?
I heart The Church Of Scientology. Just keep it far, far away from me.
I still haven’t managed to secure any weed. It’s really driving me out of my mind. I don’t know why, particularly. In recent times I’ve gone for whole months at a stretch without so much as thinking about the chronic.
It’s pretty goddamn lame. Here I am in trendy, urban Fitzroy and I can’t even score. I wonder how many people are getting stoned right now within a one kilometre radius of where I’m sat. Probably hundreds.
Being an isolated recluse may sound pretty sweet but it has its drawbacks.
I know I’ve been banging on about this to an extent which is probably getting somewhat tedious but it’s becoming all I can think about. I’m hoping if I whinge about it enough someone’ll email me and sort me out just to shut me the hell up.
I wish Toots were here. She’d know what to do. She’s like a high precision ganj-seeking missile.
I miss you, Toots.
Someone else I’ve been missing a bit lately is a girl named Sarah. Where are you, Ms Whatever-Surname-You’re-Using-These-Days? What are you doing right now, I wonder? (Sleeping, probably.) Did you get the Christmas card I sent to your mum’s house in Howth? Or did the two of you finally kill each other? Are you really, as it says in your disused Yahoo profile, a wedding planner? Or was that a joke?
I asked around a bit a little while ago after a working email for you, but without success.
I really hope you are well and happy, and that you will stumble across this page by chance and get in touch.
Finally: how cool is this?
Sister decided her camera that I had been using up until recently was so cruddy and decrepit that she didn’t want to take it to Sweden after all, and there was much rejoicing.
I love you, camera, even if she doesn’t.
My sister’s fridge is full of photographic supplies. I tried some, but they were totally disgusting. She’s probably the most normal one in our family but she’s still a real freak.
Martin the Swede told me my eMac was yellow and smelt of cigarette smoke. I’d never noticed.
Not being able to chain smoke and have the teev on in the background whilst I’m online is proving a major lifestyle adjustment. I’m not at all sure it’s healthy.
Which reminds me: I can’t pick up ABC here. Doesn’t matter as much as it might, though, because I’ve got cable broadband. (UPDATE – Although I am kinda bummed about missing Dr. Who.. hold on a minute.. *has idea*.. yep, they’re all illicitly online. Of course. *does happy dance*) Yay, broadband. Who would ever have thought a subsidiary of Telstra could offer a service so blindingly speedy and efficient?
Apologies to those to whom I owe emails, especially Nada. You’ve given me a touch of the email performance anxiety, I think. The same dread condition once stopped me writing to Elmo for three months. But I’ll get on it sooner than that, I promise.
I’ve had a retarded dog to walk.
Moved into my sister’s place this arvo. It’s great here. I feel like I’m on holidays.
Pretty much everything I have to say today I’ve already said in a comment at Desci’s.
Oh, and Melbourne operative Rorschach has delivered on the nekkid dog pics, and earned his pimp. Check out his blog, it’s not half bad at all.
Finally, as spotted by Tript “don’t call me Tript, it’s weird” Tript, Neurocam.com has changed. Those without freakishly wide screens will want to grab the black bar at the top and scroll along to the right.
The beloved disclaimer screed is gone, replaced by the single phrase “Neurocam is not what you expect.”
How do they know?
Help The Cat come up with an album title.
Constance is strongly encouraged to comment on this post. I will then wildly over-react to her contribution, totally regardless of how valid or sensible it may be, and, when she calls me on it, deny that I am annoyed, claiming she is “making assumptions about my emotional state”. After that, she may get mildly snarky, and I will tell her to “lay off”, and suggest that the thread has become “retarded” and that this is her fault. She may then accuse me of being on crack, and I will delete the entire post, so as to definitively have the last word.
Then, perhaps, we will both realise how silly we have been, kiss (virtually, of course), make up and be friends again.
That is what I hope will happen.
UPDATE – I include myself in the above statement.