Trysting Fields

~ Occuparty ~

Saturday, 17th December.

Obligatory Birthday Party Post

Saturday, 24th September.

An epic time was, needless to say, had.

The Patrick Porter award for the best present and best guest overall goes to Kirrily. The prize for the most perverse guests goes to the Keith! Party crew - comprising on this occasion Talkshow Boy, 2-SHEE, Hot God, Gezus and entourage including Ms C. C*ulter (alias unknown) - who turned up unfashionably early, immediately occupied what would normally be the dancing room and systematically set about turning it into a chillout room. WTF. (NB: And it was *great*.)

Prize for the most long-lost-but-pleasingly-now-seemingly-regained former CH party regular goes to Vicwie. Prize for the best guest who wasn't able to attend physically but who came in essence goes, as always, to Wads. Prize for the best autographed copy of Kafka's "Metamorphosis" and best Tasweigan mafia attaché goes to Doktor Midnight aka The Dan Cross Revolution. Prize for the best drug by almost universal consensus goes to nitrous oxide.

Prize for the most gobsmacking act of delusionality - not to mention the most concerted but nevertheless pathetically unsuccessful attempt to ruin a birthday party of mine in the history of the world - goes to the profoundly fucked in the head disappointing Ms G. Rouse. Prize for the most departing housemate of three years goes to Grim$ha.

Prize for the most heroically tenacious still-recovering-from-her-own-birthday-shenanigan-the-previous-night attendee and all-round best MC-Ren-would-you-please-give-your-testimony-to-the-jury-about-this-fucked-up-incident regaliousness goes to Toots.

Special award for the mouthiest ho goes, as it generally does, to Kat (see audio, below).

Extra special thanks to, y'know, everyone else. Seriously.

(Previously; previously; previously.)

Dinner Party V

Saturday 17th July.

Most fiasco-tastic DP evar! It's been a bit like that lately. I almost gave up and cancelled it. But I'm very glad I didn't, coz despite all kinds of stupid problems in the end it still went OFF.

(10:21pm; 4min 59sec)

Amongst other things, the DPP planning committee encountered considerable guestlist difficulty. Despite and at least partly because of no less than three date changes aimed at accommodating them all and genuine enthusiasm from at least some quarters, exactly none of the invitees I'd originally lined up ultimately managed to make it.

(10:55pm; 1min 17sec)

Which might have been considered a fairly abject fail - were it not for the inspiringly circus-saving company of previous-attendee legends who, in flagrant violation of DPP rules, valiantly braved the cold and brought the awse instead: Matt K (DPs I and III), Twyllan (DP II), Henley (DP III), Sarah aka The Major (DP IV), Pablo (DPP virgin), Luke (DP IV), and of course Grimsey (DPs I, II, III and IV). Fucken <3.

(12:24am; 4min 28sec)

It was an unprecedentedly structured DP. As per a preestablished order of proceedings there was soup, then salad, then pie, then the merciless destruction and defilement of an old chair that had unforgiveably given way under DP I alumnus Bourkie at CH the night before. Then, naturally, muffins.

(1:16am; 2min 26sec)

Along the way there were tears (not really); there was laughter. It was epic.

(2:34am; 2min 49sec)

:)

SRC Xmas Party

17th December.

Vale SRC. I'm gonna miss you hugely in some ways; in other ways not so much. I'll certainly miss your Xmas parties. Or maybe I'll just crash them.

The following was captured at Harrie & Atkins' house, at some point quite far into the 17-odd hours' worth of extended shenanigans.

Messy night; messy audio. But I like it.

(Previously.)

New York (Two)

With DF & Kev.

Abort Abort etc

(Previously; etc, etc, etc, etc, etc.)

Birthday

It's certainly been a memorable one. I liked it much better than last year's.

Prize for the best party guest overall goes to Patrick. Prize for the most liable for nothing party guest is a three-way tie between Shane, The Sorcha, and, of course, Coburg.

Prize for the best party guest who wasn't there physically but came in essence goes to Wads. Prize for the most missed party absentee is a tie between Em and this chick. Prize for the best party guest who did attend physically, but who I unfortunately never actually got around to talking to is a three-way tie between Li, Kav, and The Major. Prize for the best (if maybe in hindsight somewhat regrettable) picture of a My Little Cthulhu Bunny goes to Magnus.

Prize for the most devastating headfuckery goes to my housemate & ex-fiancee. Prize for the most comically hypocritical abusive emails goes to Henley. Prize for the most awesome drunken deep & meaningful alleyway convo goes to Liv. I'm not sure what exactly to award the artist formerly known as Semi, but I suspect he deserves a prize of some kind - or that if he doesn't now, he may well before too long.

Prize for the most broken nose goes to Luke. Prize for the most blood cheerfully & unsolicitedly cleaned up as a result of a broken nose goes to Harrie. Prize for the driest one-liners (always) and best wildlife photography goes to Ramm. Prize for the best shisha lesson goes to Nichk. Prize for the heterosexual male with the most sophisticated understanding of little girls' pop music (and also the special award for getting locked in the enclosed garden off my bedroom by a psycho chick person I'm sure is lovely once you get to know her, and then being too wasted to think of calling someone to let him out) goes to Grimsey.

Prize for the best nail-painting (and best former housemate ever) goes to Cel. Prize for the best hungover breakfast-making and tidying up goes to Kat. Prize for the oldest and most enduring friend goes to Bentendo. Prize for the best anonymous benefactor goes to whoever sent me the copy of M2M's second album I found in my mailbox yesterday.

Prize for the best present (y'know, apart from causing me to be born in the first place and shit) goes to my parents.

Prize for the best sister in the entire fucking world goes to this bitch.

Prize for the best mistress (and inexpressible amounts of gratitude & love) goes to Schnozzie.

Thanks, everyone.

Happy International Lighthouse & Lightship Weekend

(Previously.)

(ION: Fuck this 'interlude' shit.)

Chez Hagakure Vodka, Juice & Soda Water Low-Key Dinner Party

With AG.

Interlude: Massacre.

Oy.

I regret burning W******. And I wish I could have been a better friend to Gab.

But what I feel really terrible about is taking J out for what should - by all rights - have been a night of awesomeness, and then exposing her to all that horror. Last fucking thing on earth that she needed.

EPIC FAIL.

Oh well.

ION: Still need a B#6.

Interlude: Damn.

I wish it'd occurred to me to record some audio at the Chez Hagakure Post-Mushie-Hunt Impromtu Dinner Party on Saturday night.

But not with J; she doesn't want to be bitch #6. It's a not-liking-the-number-six thing.

Any volunteers?

Chez Hagakure G&T Sock Swap

With Liv.

(Previously; previously.)

It's A Bloggy Soap Opera; Deal With It

Previously.

[Teh Gabster]
Today at 9:10am

Your status update sound news-full.

*hug*

[Me]
Today at 9:25am

So I post on her wall, right, saying thanks for a delightful afternoon (which it undoubtedly was, methinks, for all concerned) and reminding her to text me her new mobile no - which she was totally going to give me in person, but we just forgot about it.

That afternoon I get a text: "Don't know if this will go thru, but if it does plz 2 no drunken late night texts, tay? :)"

(A few months ago, before she hacked my ass, but was very actively in the process of grinding the pieces of my shattered heart into the ground and treating me - with little or no sane justification - like the spawn of satan, there was a certain amount of angsty late-night drunken text messagery action on my part.)

Taking this in my stride, I replied: "OMG, the cheek!! I can make no promises. But tell you what - I will let you into my house, where my computer lives, without any fear of disastrous consequences and my mother being called a whore to boot, tay?! :P !! (<3)"

This was met with silence. I don't think she realised her message was a joke.

Crazy woman.

I still like her, though.

Finally, Some Real News

That's more like it.

Best bit:

Arthur Ross Cradock, a 48-year-old orchard worker, admitted in the Nelson District Court yesterday to the charge of using a phone for a fictitious purpose, after calling police with the message, "I've been raped by a wombat".

It is my ambition to be charged with this offense someday.

Update (Fri 4th). This guy is my new hero.

Okay.

It's a bit hard to to know where to start.

*thinks*

So my computer's sound recording facilities had been playing up, right. Had been for a while. It was no good. I wanted to make an album.

Thus on the morning of January 15th, I called a taxi and took the old gel into town to be serviced. They told me it would take four days. It wound up taking three weeks. But they did it.

In the meantime, I got totally hacked. First teigan@gmail.com, then [mylegalname]@gmail.com, my blog and my Facebook accounts all stopped accepting their passwords across the final week of January.

On Friday the 8th of February, I got my computer back. On Saturday, I threw a party. This is where we came in.

Upon getting reputered, I created some special email accounts and conducted a few experiments. Via these I established to a high degree of likelihood that my hacker was good old Henley. Somewhat predictably, I lost my shit at him.

On Tuesday 12th, I attempted to boot my newly restored digital handmaiden only to discover that - four days after returning home to me - she had totally, totally died.

I was 'puterless once more.

Then the following night - Valentine's Eve, no less - none other than Henley's girlfriend, a former close associate of mine, claimed responsibility for the hacking via SMS.

Leave the poor petal alone, she said. He's innocent.

I was skeptical at first, but when she told me that teigan@gmail was wide open for resetting (Quick! Jump up and find an open internet cafe at 2am etc), I realised she was probably telling at least some weird Lady-J-since-she-turned-feral version of the truth.

Why had the former love of my life done this to me? She'd written to me at another account, she said - one of the ones she hadn't violated and locked me out of - explaining everything.

Only problem was, I had (of course) been changing all my passwords like a demon - without having gotten around to making a backup or a hard copy of any of them. From my computer. Which had since - you will recall - dropped totally, totally dead.

In other words I was now not only 'puterless and locked out of my hacked accounts, but 'puterless and locked out of all my internet accounts.

Then in the early hours of Sunday 17th, Wouters dropped my last remaining link to civilisation phone in a full glass of bourbon & coke.

Oy.

Various people have eased my journey through this Durdenesque ordeal, and thanks are due.

Mishuki of Hagakure 419 fame was good enough to let me use hir Facebook profile. My colleague in social research, fellow FB tragic and soon-to-be-housemate Celestine has been extremely generous with her 3G handset, enabling me to update my status in something akin to the style to which I've become compulsively accustomed. Thad gave me a safe-haven email account on his server. And last Tuesday, having learned that my dead six-year-old eMac would cost $700 to reanimate, my long-suffering parents offered to buy me a MacBook. Which was very nice of them.

I picked it up this morning. I'm using it now. It's lovely.

(I'd take a picture but since the destruction of my phone I've got no working digital camera, except the one inside said MacBook. And its eye is not prehensile. But here's a picture of the box:

)

And now I have my accounts back.

Things are gradually returning to some semblance of what passes for 'normal' on Planet Teigan.

*flops exhaustedly*

Apart from all of that, I have mostly been going out a lot - having, y'know, not a whole lot else to do - and taking quite a lot of acid.

It's been.. awesome, actually. Can't complain.

Oh, and I got engaged on Saturday night. I think. But that's a whole other story.

Welcome back, blog.

Coming soon: the long, long-delayed multimediatastic Rainbow Serpent post.

Still Puterless!!!

Still.

Avoid these people. They will quote you four days on the repair of your eMac, then keep it for ten with no end in sight. They can't even tell me how much it's going to cost. At this rate I won't be paying them anyway.

Fuck this shit. I'm going to Rainbow Serpent.

Hooray for everything (except puterlessness)!

Well Pleased

I think so.

Update (Monday): You go, girl.

It almost makes me feel dirty to be enjoying this so much. It's not as if I have any belief in Krudd & Co, or parliamentary democracy generally. I just really, really fucking hated this government. So it's very satisfying to see them finally eating shit and dying.

I've been wishing for this day since long before I lost all faith in conventional politics.

This Month Has Been Totally Surreal

It's certainly been interesting.

Hairy

I haven't shaved in a week.

Four days, they tell me.

Random Brunswick Street Encounters, Part Deux & Other Assorted

(Previously.)

This afternoon a waifish aboriginal chick came up and asked me if I had any change. I said no, which was a lie but generally my policy in such situations.

She noticed I was wielding an unlit cigarette, and asked if I needed a light. Again, I said no (thanks). Which, conversely, I thought was true.

"You have a good day," she said nicely, and continued on her way.

I fished into my pocket for the lighter I thought I had, and realised I didn't actually have it.

So I chased after her and told her that I did, as it turned out, need a light after all.

"You looked like you didn't have one," she said with a quiet smile.

I gave her a dollar, and went to hand the lighter back.

"Nah, that's okay," she said. "I've got about six of them."

Maybe you had to be there.

My only regret concerning this encounter, which totally rebrightened my day -

(Said day having turned, from promising beginnings, to shitty slit-yer-wrists shit when it became apparent that I'd probably irretrievably lost my bag, containing my camera and my visual diary, in a taxi yesterday.

Which would have been really bad, and totally fucking sucked.

Turns out I'd left it at work the doodle palace. Phew.

But I digress.)

- was that I didn't ask her if she could assist me in my ongoing quest for time machine fuel.

(Note to blog readers: TIME MACHINE FUEL IS SOUGHT.)

In other news: please excuse the rambling, discombobulated nature of this post.

Two and a half hours sleep, see.

I had to be up at six this morning to receive some people who came to strip the asbestos from my bathroom.

(Now the bathroom looks like this:

)

And I didn't get to sleep until 3:30am, because some broad whose name I forget [*] was fucking hardcore with my head.

Although she denies doing it deliberately. And in any case, I'm really just fucking hardcore with my own head, and attributing said headfuckery to an external source.

Which is, ultimately, all that any of us are ever doing.

(It pays to remember this sometimes.)

I fully hardcore fall down go boom now.

[*] I think maybe her name is Audrey.

I remember, very early on in our acquaintance, suspecting that might be her name and addressing her as such.

"Who's Audrey?" she replied, all blinking wide-eyed incomprehension. Although in fact she knew damn well exactly who Audrey was. And she knew damn well that I knew that she knew. And that I knew that she knew that I knew that she knew. And in general, things were Known. You know how it goes, hypothetical blog reader.

In hindsight I might have imagined the blinking wide eyes.

Anyroad, I was well smitten and from that point on there was no turning back.

But that's a whole 'nother story for a whole 'nother time, if ever there was one.

The Coffee & Cigarette I Had At Atomica Yesterday Morning

Man Lying On Road Hit By Car

In other news: *insert punchline here*

The Age Is Killer With The One Liners

I just read an article from Melbourne's premier daily broadsheet which reports that Melbourne City Council has opted to cease hiring private investigators to patronise illegal brothels (and not in the sense of talking down to them inappropriately) for the purpose of busting said establishments.

It opened with the unforgettable line: "Melbourne City Council has decided to stop paying for sex."

Curiously enough, the story now seems to have been taken down. But I swear I saw it.

UPDATE - Thinking about it, surely such a practice would be completely illegal. Patronising illegal brothels.. is illegal. I wonder if the whole piece was some kind of prank.

Sedition Redux (ux ux ux)

I think The Age missed the real story here, but (thanks once again to Semi for pointing this out) it is alluded to in the final paragraph:

Mr Howard this week denied the new Department of Immigration and Citizenship meant multiculturalism was defunct. "I think the title of the new department expresses the desire and the aspiration that … immigrants become Australians."

Why not just come right out and call it the Department of Immigration, Citizenship and Kuntdom?

It's My Blog And I'll Break My Own Self-Imposed Vow Of Silence Occasionally If I Want To

I blame you, Carfax. Just let it lie, whycantcha?

Anyway.

I recently had cause to send someone a link to my Neurocam Perception Assessment. It is two years old this month.

Rereading it was quite the life-is-strange moment. Many syncronicities and other peculiarities emerged. I even bag out Vanstone in it at one point. Actually, that's not particularly strange. But the whole thing was funny.

Life is funny. Time flies. Other cliches.

That's all, I guess.

But on a related note: since, surprisingly, no one else has picked this one up (as far as I'm aware) I suppose it falls to me to ask - does this dastardly unidentified voyeuristic spycam shoe bandit sound suspiciously like anyone we know?

And with that I must away, dear readers, for now I have an important date with the Green Faerie Jellybean.

Good evening.

Howard Belatedly Complies With Pulat Vanstone Directive

Semi was right. Victory for the Trysting Fields campaign.

Senator Amanda Vanstone says she will take some time to consider her future, after being dropped from the federal frontbench.

Senator Vanstone, who leaves the Immigration portfolio, says she is not sure if she will see out the five remaining years of her parliamentary term.

It's unclear whether the subtext here is that she's contemplating suicide. But if so, Mandy, know that you have my full support. You fat nasty bitch from hell.

(In other news: Is it just me or is Stan Grant looking, weirdly, much much blacker than he used to?)

Extreme Weather

If you think Melbourne weather is a bit much sometimes.. try Manchester.

If I believed in God, I'd conclude that he was well pissed off about something.

Greetings From Rainy Manchester

When Nada Met Bob

Party II

It was a much quieter affair than the last one. But it was still good!

~ made sushi

Russian cocaine was served in abundance

First Hamish of the night

The drink's creator attended in A4 poster form

Nada came all the way from New Jersey - what's your excuse? - only to be strangled by ~ in a fit of paranoia. These things happen at Hagakure parties

Former Operative Johana (Hamish)

Former Operatives Reanimator (Scotch & Cola) and Li (rightly hiding in shame behind bottle of Cascade Light)

Semi (herbal tea and sympathy)

T. (fat rocks of crack, not shown)

Some woman dressed as Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz (not sure what she was on)

This crazy Japanese girl gave ~ a terrible time a while back, but he invited her anyway.

Reanimator, Li, ~, a russian mathematician and i ended up watching Fight Club by candlelight at about 3am. I did loads of bulbs.

It was good.

Man, I Just, Like, Voted

I wasn't planning to originally, but Semi talked me into it on the grounds that the Greens will likely take some seats away from serious politicians, which is always a good cause. I hope he is having fun at Earthcore. I imagine that he is.

I just voted for the Greens whilst tripping on leftover cactus, partly in his honor. I'm sure Bob Brown (with whom I once shared a taxi, whilst dressed as a giant koala - i'm sure it wasn't just a dream) would not disapprove. I tried to imagine what John Howard would feel. I tried to imagine him feeling pain in some way. How I tried. But all I could see was him going "stupid hippies; ah well, *shrugs*, they will all self-destruct soon enough anyway", and not understanding at all. Which kind of pissed me off, but did at least make me feel like, in some obscure way, I had not done entirely the wrong thing.

Now I am trying to decide whether to watch The Dark Crystal again. I fell asleep before the end last time.

~ has suggested to me that the girl Gelfling ultimately dies; but I feel sure that this cannot be the whole truth. Henson and Oz would not do that to me. They would not dare.

I will watch their silly movie, in any case. They can bring it. Doesn't matter if the chick dies; the whole healed-crystal thing redundifies such petty concerns.

Yes, it does.

Some Days It's Great To Be Alive

Have a nice funeral, fuckhead.

Sure hope no one accidentally drops a cluster bomb on it, killing your entire extended family and anybody who ever gave two shits about you.

Just kidding! Actually, I hope someone does. That would be funny as hell.

(To give him his due, it's true he certainly had quite the way with words...)

Now please excuse me, dear readers; serious drinking etc

Splendiferous weekend wishes to you all!

Recent Correspondence

From: Trysting Fields Central Communications
To: JoBean
Date: 8 November 2006 10:45:32 PM

> :D  I have enough trouble coming up with my own posts, m'dear.
> And you want me think of topics for you as well?

You seem to be doing okay.. slow but not short of content

> How about the fact that I went into a pet shop the other day and saw
> me some kittens.

You want me to post on *my* blog about what *you've* been up to? Tript's right.

> Yay kitten season!  

Yay! I saw two cats fucking for the first time ever the other night; it was well surreal and shit

Everything is surreal at the moment; I blame the racing carnival

I was saying to LJ this morning: the streets are filled with outrageously drunk women in slutty dresses and ridiculous hats; singing, getting into fights, throwing up, falling over

At all hours of the day and night

No one bats an eye, that's standard in Melbourne at this time of year

Freewheeling, zany-ass city that we are

I was trying to sell Melbourne to her

Do you think that will work?

> You should call  those places again if you  want  one  :D

Thanks for the tip :P

heh

But too busy! Too busy!

I have to catch up on Adam's blog too, I haven't read it for ages and ages and ages; his posts are gold but they're too long

So much to do! So little weed. Indeed none at all; it's becoming unacceptable

Get it sorted, "Johana"

Honestly, sometimes I wonder why we are still friends

You never send me flowers, you never have any weed when *I* need it

We may have to see about your license to practice if this whack continues

Much love,

T

Life Is Good

nb clever peripheral utilization may or may not reveal secret hidden messages

Life is good.

Nurture Naturewhat mean or arrange strengths client too challenges or Jessica redo felt time undone endless management seminars is tried processes or gadgets or organize constantly frustrated none talked junior midcareer Adhd mba somehow.

Is it me, or is spam just getting weirder and weirder and weirder?

I mean seriously.. wtf?

From: "addict."
Date: 26 October 2006 8:42:53 AM
To: teigan@trystingfields.com
Subject: confirmed react poorly

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There needs to be a punchline here of some kind but I just... I don't know what it is.

Hot Flash, Call The Papers etc

More Rushkoff linkage: In which it occurs to our protagonist that contemporary western democracy is eminently recognisable as - gasp - nothing but an elaborate con!! Who'd a thunk it?

Don't Have Time To Check It Out Properly Right Now

But this is quite interesting.

"The message [reg required] went on to explain that Lonelygirl15 was a project to harness the audience to develop and evolve a story and "usher in an era of interactive storytelling where the line between 'fan' and 'star' has been removed".

While not everyone is convinced that the filmmakers' confession is genuine (many believe it's part of the developing mystery), it now seems certain that Lonelygirl15 is a fake - although who is behind the hoax and the purpose of it is still unclear.

A clue left in one of the videos suggests it may be another month before we find out.

In a video posted a week ago titled Bree The Cookie Monster, Bree and Daniel rate batches of cookies they said they baked.

Bree's purple monkey puppet holds up score cards. The first one gets "10", the second "12" and the third one "06". Why "06" and not "6"?

Viewers point out that the sequence makes a date: 10/12/06 - or October 12, 2006, using the US method of writing dates. October 12 also happens to be the birth date of the late occultist Aleister Crowley, whose picture can be seen on a wall in Bree's room.

News of the hoax, however, does appear to have dented Lonelygirl15's popularity."

Stuff I Did This Week

               

- Exhaustively cleaned the kitchen, the dining room, the hallway, the laundry, and the bathroom.

- Made sixteen phonecalls, took seven phonecalls, attended interviews with three people, and lodged one detailed & tedious application form in pursuit of new revenue streams. Ate dodgy Japanese food on Chapel Street; gawped at people hanging on Chapel Street.

- Visited Bentendo at his new place.

He has a very nice view of the city, which I was unable to photograph for security reasons

- Reincarnated my old mobile - which I thought I'd lost, eventually replaced, and later found - as a second phone, via the purchase of a $25 prepaid SIM card.

- Updated my address book and phone contacts.

- Succesfully enticed a professional tiler into assessing dire bathroom tile issue situation, pictured. (They refused to replace the tiles, arguing that the only meaningful solution was to retile the whole bathroom.)

- Made an elaborate pictoral blog post about cooking harira.

- Inspired by trawling my own blog archives, figured out how to region-unlock my DVD player.

- Made a disastrous birthday card.

- Stupidly trammed it all the way out to the RSPCA in Burwood East to buy a kitten, only to discover that - it not quite being kitten season yet, see - they didn't have any. (Note to self: next time ring ahead.)

- Got shitfaced at The Mint and elsewhere again with Jo, Xade, Rorschach, Jaye deKoan and sundry others. An unshaven Tript was vaguely encountered somewhere in the vicinity of the Victoria Markets at around 1am. About two people at least one of whom I did not previously know ended up on my foldout couch watching Reservoir Dogs.

- Recorded a cover of Always On My Mind with my associate Mishuki One for H419.

- Made an elaborate pictoral blog post about things I did this week.

- Watched entire series of John Safran vs God (purchased secondhand last Sunday for $5).

- Went to the gym five times.

- Wrote 36 emails to 15 people.

- Et cetera.

Toenails.

Continuing the theme.

I've been meaning to do this for ages.

In Other News: Marty & Jess Split!!

In all the excitement I almost missed the real story of the day.

Well That Was Quite Something

This Is Important

I'd rant at greater length but pleasingly that would be fairly redundant.

Federation Square.
9am.
Tomorrow.

John Fowles Dead

Victory for the Trysting Fields campaign!

UPDATE: The post cited above just got linked by the BBC!

Screw The Troops

I'm with American Guy. This "I oppose the war but I support the troops" stuff is bullshit.

I don't support the war, and moreover I don't support "our" troops.

They chose to join the army. How very unfortunate for them (and their loved ones) that they were stupid enough to voluntarily sign up for a job which routinely involves being sent to oil-rich middle eastern countries and getting shot, blown up and generally given a hard time by pesky locals who won't get with the program. My heart bleeds. Screw the troops.

Is It Just Me, Or..

..are we seeing more completely catastrophic natural disasters than we used to?

To: Amanda Vanstone (minister@immi.gov.au)

From: Operative Pulat
Subject: Time to go, Mandy
Date: 7 October 2005 6:06:16 PM

Dear Senator Vanstone,

I write in reaction to a story featured prominently in this morning's edition of The Age concerning the report of the Commonwealth Ombudsman on your Department's execrable treatment of Ms. Vivian Alvarez Solon.

I thought I had reached a point where nothing a senior representative of the Federal Government did could surprise. But I confess the arrogance and irresponsibility displayed by you in response to this seemingly damning report astonishes me.

Even by the abysmal standards we have become very accustomed to from the Federal Government and the Federal APS in recent years, both you and your Department are a complete disgrace. That you, your colleagues and your superiors all seem to regard it as appropriate for you to try and tough out this latest DIMIA scandal can only be described as surreal.

It's time for you to resign, you blind, heartless bitch. Failing that, I sincerely hope you die painfully and soon. That is, in my view, the very least you deserve.

Yours in contempt and disgust,

Operative Pulat

Former Operative Cronin To Be Hit By Hurricane

Steve Cronin is stranded in Houston Texas, which is just about to be hit by Hurricane Rita.

Bad things have a way of happening, don't they?

He promises regular updates.. as long as the power holds out.

And he has audio!

UPDATE - And video!

Look, It's My Earthly Fortune

Not including 5c coins and the $1.62 in my bank account: eight dollars and thirty cents.

What should I spend it on?

I get paid tomorrow, and I've enough food stashed for tonight. I was thinking maybe stuff for breakfast (milk, bread, eggs - that kind of thing) but that's so mundane, and I crave novelty.

As advised at Chez Rorschach, my position on the Big Brother question: Vesna was robbed, but our maturity and commonsense as a nation will prevail tonight when Tim, quite easily the least obnoxious BB contestant ever, emerges rightly victorious.

(UPDATE - I've said it before, and I'll say it again: there's something wrong with the world. I don't know what it is, but I feel it - like a splinter in the back of my mind, driving me mad..)