Monday, May 30, 2011

Wikfin - man on man action

I was listening to an interview with Rowdy Roddy Piper of wrestling fame. So when I got home I checked out some wikis.

Then I came across heat as a wrestling term.


This stuff is off-the-charts awesome. A completely fake world eagerly entered into by its fans. It's WoW before WoW existed.


Game of Thrones

One word. Good.

Some more.

Good. Good. Good. Good. Good Good Good!

Game of Thrones
. Awesome.

An ode to my portable speaker

My love for NPR, or National Public Radio, podcasts continues unabated. It’s like I’ve found a spiritual home. Smart people talking about smart stuff with other smart people in reasonable, moderate tones. Oh, and if they disagree it’s along the lines of ‘Well Bob, I’m afraid I have to disagree there because of these factors.’ It’s almost a complete antithesis of traditional commercial media of the partisan talky-talk shouty head that you see on Fox.

However my shit-box of a car lacks the ability to play Mp3s. The stereo is actually quite modern – we had it put in about five years ago – but we didn’t factor in the need to have a jack for media devices so consequently we got a unit that didn’t.

What to do?

So I got a portable speaker from JBs. On sale from near seventy to near thirty. It’s small, and low powered – just two watts at max – but it’s very portable. It looks a lot like the thermal detonator Princess Leia threatens Jabba with when she was disguised as a cybernetically enhanced womble bounty hunter. The speaker is USB re-charged with internal batteries and, so far, I’ve not had to re-charge it despite its being used for a couple of hours.

Left: The Wombles of Wimbledon Cygnus Six making use of the destructive devices they find.

Only, in Canberra, it’s fucking cold.

So when cruising up or down the Monaro, the arterial freeway on the left ventricle of Canberra, and when the heater is cranked up, then the two watt speaker becomes somewhat hard to hear.

A friend, who also enjoys podcasts (1), does regular commutes in a similarly themed shit-box car—a grey beast of an early model effort with a cracked dash and a front passenger seat dimpled by the frequent guest appearance of plus-sized tabby. Also denied a jack to plug her Mp3 in she purchased online from honkers a device that slots into the cigarette lighter then broadcasts the Mp3’s audio in the FM spectrum. All she has to do is tune her radio in and voila!

Seething once more with jealousy at her IT tat I decided on the weekend to grace Dick Smith with my appearance and scoot along the aisles of fun to price something with a similar capacity.

Good news, they had them. Bad news, they cost near to eighty dollars ... about five times the new value of my Mp3 player. I was resigned then to the annoying process of finding such a device online and waiting weeks until it arrived.

This morning as I drove along in my frost rimmed white car I struggled once again to hear the podcast over the loud steady thrub of the engine and heater-fan. Since I was heading to work I also had my work pass on, which is needed to access the parking bay on arrival.

Annoyed at the inability to hear the sound I grabbed the combo of speaker and Mp3 and rested it on the curve of my gut, the speaker facing upward. That proved successful as far as volume went … but I was worried that it may topple off my stomach and roll down the flesh hill into the yawning gulf of my driver’s foot-well and get trapped under a vitally important pedal control.

It was then I had a Despicable Me moment … LIGHT BULB!

I threaded it through the lanyard of my pass.

Yes, that’s right … I flaved it.

I rule the school. Take that previously seethed at friend with yer fancy radio device. Not only did I resolve my loudness problem but I look an entire factor of coolness better for it.

It puts the shizzle in my nizzle.

(1) However she is not a news junkie like me and prefers events covered by poddys to be sans “currency”. It should be noted though that according to etiquette books of the ‘30s young ladies need to be up on current events for "potential liaising with interested males purposes". For that and more information on awesomely dated relationship then standards listen to the Mark Steel lecture on the Sexual Revolution!

Sunday, May 29, 2011

Story time - line of the day!

Story time with theBoy, which consists of stream of consciousness tales of his various characters getting into trouble, is almost always very entertaining. However I need that extra sprinkle of drinking chocolate on the foam ... so adult concepts get inserted so as to grant me smiles and giggles when he interacts with them. I usually then add '... that will be funny when you're older'.

Last night Humpty and Stumpty came around to see theBoy's cat statues (I ask for a story synopsis. TheBoy looked around the room to scan for ideas and settled on a pair of bookends, cats, one black and one white). Later they retired to the dining room to do drawing. TheBoy drew a mouse picture. Humpty drew a cat picture. The cat picture animated and tried to eat the mouse picture. I asked what theBoy was going to do about that. He said the cat statues would animate ("I say cats attack!") to take on the paper cat. Which allowed me into turn to say this:

"... there was a great writhing pussy tussle ..."

Best line slash adult concept inserted in a free form story session. Ever.

Saturday, May 28, 2011


We got to see the Melbourne Comedy Festival tour (1), which was awesome, thanks to a bunch of friends. Those who organized the tickets, who came up with the idea, and who proved to be awesome people to see stand up with. And those friends who when asked if they could baby sit, at short notice too, said yes.

We rarely get to go out, being non-natives of Canberra and without a burgeoning support network for baby sitting. So it's super special to be able to do that when it happens. We're also lucky that our little man can kip in other people's houses so easily.

Thanks to all of you!

(1) The comedy festival was indeed awesome. Thoroughly recommended. For what little it counts to have me spruik for them then please check out if they're coming to a town near you. Greg Fleet's bit on drive-by boganing was gold. And a godsend to me to know others suffer it too!

Friday, May 27, 2011

Nitrous - post-match report

As mentioned previously I was due to receive some nitrous action. Not, however, courtesy of the typical way it might be inhaled care of condiment propellant being jury-rigged for heady pleasure. No, actual medical nitrous. From a dentist.

Surprisingly for a man that suffers fairly constant pain I am pain-adverse. Or maybe it's because I suffer so much pain if I get a chance to avert it then avert it I shall. The previous time I'd gone in for a clean it had hurt more than getting fillings. This was due to the weakness of my dental enamel from years and years of huffing Diet Coke. When on my recent check-up they said I needed a clean I whined and sooked about the pain of it all. That's when they said I could have nitrous.

So ... I had it.

Well ... it left me light headed. And I guess relaxed. I didn't have any giggle fits. Nor did I go numb or anything. In addition to that I had one injection and numbing gel rubbed along the gums. The process was still a little painful ... but less so.

Unfortunately there were two stand-out fails on my part.

The first actually happened before the gas. I put this down to nerves. The hygienist happened to be a permanent resident. Her country of origin was Vietnam. Now I'd studied the Vietnam conflicts during my Masters so knew a little about the country from that. I asked some questions.

Then ... I actually said the following (1) - 'On behalf of Western imperialists I'd like to apologise for the Vietnam war.'

Seriously. I said that. Even as it ghosted out of my mouth like the spirits from the ark of the covenant I knew it was a mistake. A classic Mikey moment (2).

Luckily she didn't take offense. She even confessed she wasn't entirely up on her history about it all.

The other fail wasn't really a conscious one. It was a biological response. It happened after the gas so I'm thinking it was to do with that.

I got a semi. Not anything overtly noticeable but I was conscious it was there. And given I had a somewhat attractive exotically attired and in background hygienist brushing her body against my bulbous head I was worried that would lead the semi to be more than that. Fortunately it didn't.

Hooray for the Mikey clanger drop ... from above and below.

(1) Why? Dear god, why?
(2) I'm not even a Western imperialist ... and I'm pretty sure they're not so organised as to have defined official spokespeople able to make statements on their broad behalf.

Thursday, May 26, 2011

Epic pwnage of someone I dislike

I admit it. I can hold a grudge ... and a dislike. There are people I actively dislike. I won't go out of my way to directly do anything do them. But if there's a bitch on and they're the topic of convo chances are I will drop some words on them from afar.

Rip, rip, rip, rip, sqwert, sqwert.

(That was scratching, y'all).

When I get the Saturday SMH, the first thing I do after reading the main-section and having attempted The Good Weekend colour supplement quiz with theWife, is turn to the News Review section's inner back cover. There-in lurks Mike Cartlon - a piss-funny giant of a journo and former left-tinged (tinged, mind), talk-radio host. Which put him in isolated company since in Oz, like in the US, talk radio is dominated by ignorant conservative whitey.

Also, I don't like Tony Abbott.

So needless-to-type the below line from Carlton's column in last weekend's paper cracked me up. .

His leader sets the tone. Abbott's budget speech in reply was no reply at all. It was nothing more than boilerplate election sloganeering, banging away at that tired mantra of stopping the boats, Labor incompetence, a great big tax on everything, blah blah. It demonstrated, yet again, that he is an empty pair of speedos, all smuggle and no budgie, unfit to be prime minister.

Pure. West.

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

I'm having nitrous!

I went for a check-up with the dentist recently. They decided I needed a clean on the next visit. I told them how painful it was.

'Well,' she said (1). 'We can use numbing gel. That will help.'

'Aw,' I mumbled. 'Nothing stronger?'

'There's ... there's something else.'


'Nitrous. Though your health fund probably won't cover it.'

'Don't care - gimmie, gimmie, gimmie!'

Believe it or not, despite being an arts student (liberal, not fine), and having friends that indulged, I for one have never "ah-whipped ah-bulbs" (2). I have no idea what getting a nirtous freak on (3) will be like.

I asked if when I left the dentist afterwards I'd have a noticeable increase in speed and flames shooting out my ankles ... but they said no.

(1) Heavily edited for better choice of words in the write-up.
(2) In the early '90s I was with a friend of a friend as he went through a check-out. He was buying whipped cream bulbs. I had no idea why he was getting them. 'Yay!' I yelled. 'We're whipping cream! Hooray! Creamy desserts etc.' I couldn't understand why he was giving me dirty looks and why the normally bored checkout girl was smirking. It was only later I discovered that people indulged in such semi-legal shenanigans. In the 'reserved for a future development' semi-parkland near my house the ground around the coppers logs near the playing fields are littered with dead bulbs. They look like Sontaran tampons.
(3) TheWife is occasionally somewhat meticulous. Especially in organising for visiting or visits. On the former it's the scientific measured approach to packing. The latter then it's cleaning. We call it 'getting her freak on'. And I know to leave her be so she can just wallow in her freaking and all will be better with the world when she's sated.

Stall stories

I don’t like having an occupied toilet stall as a neighbour when I am also ocupado. Typically if I enter a bank of stalls and see there’s no buffer stall—an empty stall between the one I use and another occupied one—then I will usually go downstairs to find a toilet situation that is not suffering from that.

Why? I make a lot of noise. When I am bunged up I tend to shift and sway on the seat using the force of pushing down on the seat in an effort to buttress muscles straining to push stuff out. I look like John Belushi doing Beethoven as Ray Charles. In between the swaying there’s the grunting and the moaning. Not good moaning like that akin of pleasurable touching. But the bad kind of pain moaning where it’s basically ‘ERRRRGHHHHH ... oh God!’

Left: That's what I say!

So really I am doing a courtesy to a stall neighbour by not taking up residence. I would argue that I am in fact the stall equivalent in terms of unwanted noise of a share house full of apprentices in their early 20s who each happen to have two cars, one working, the other in a constant state of being pimped and/or fixed.

Still, today, I was tired. With broken feet from self-afflicted injuries and cramping guts I just could not be arsed going downstairs when met with three red doors and two greens. i.e. no buffer. So I pre-flushed for noise (1) and got down to business.

Maybe I’m growing as a person? Or maybe it’s just my apathy asserting? Who knows? At any rate that effort was mostly a fail. It wasn't until much later that the mother ship landed. Phew!

(1) The noise of the cistern filling creates an illusion people within five feet cannot hear me. Even though I know they sort of can. Also it's a massive waste of water.

Monday, May 23, 2011

Another layer on the crap cake

I've spent most of my life dealing with health crap. As a kid it was depression, weight gain, and water on the knees. In my twenties that met arthritis. In my thirties, IBS and effects from surgery.

Still in my thirties ... and a new villain has entered the Mikey health landscape.

My right shoulder is in agony. It's been swore for two months, feeling the entire time like the previous day I'd been lifting free weights with that one arm. Last night and through the curve of the top clock into this morning, shooting pains flaring down my arm with pain crackling all the way out to the tip of my index finger like when you whip a hose in the backyard.

I had a tens machine on it from 2 am through to 4 am. The entire shoulder was shocked numb before I could sleep.

I told theWife about it. She used to have the same pains - and for her it was tendonitis. The likely culprit - over use of a mouse. In the end the way to cure it for her was to swap the mouse to the left hand for work but leave the mouse alone for home. As a result, no pain ... and she's now an ambi-mouser. I wonder if that's a dot point you could add in your trivia section for your resume? If not, it should be. There could be a need for an ambi-mouser at some point ('Mr President - only an ambi-mouser can save us now.' 'Send for the file!').

I've munged the last of my super-but-not-so-super-I-can't-drive pills and rubbed nurofen gel over the affected area. It's all numb, numb, numb. I have to book an appointment the moment the centre opens and I hope I get one that isn't too far along in the day so I can go to work.

It sucks, man. It utterly sucks. I know as an eight per center, someone born to a fully developed country in mastery of its financial and governmental requirements, that by rights I have little to complain about. But, well, whining is my bag, baby so whine, whine, fucking, whine.

Likely tendonitis ... probably from over-mouse use. Unbelievable.

UPDATE: Yep, tendonitis. Had to have time off work to allow my arm and shoulder to heal. Greatest impact ... no more Warlords II marathons. I worked out that game consists of around 3000 mouse clicks an hour. No wonder my arm was on fire. It's Wednesday morning now. Last night I peeled skin from my right foot ... pulled off my left big toe-nail ... and have galloping IBS cramping. I can't take super meds as I have to drive ... so I am left with taking normal meds when I get to work (so I don't get wiggy - even if I am allowed to drive on them, it's rush hour, so I don't want to take chances). Oh, so now I have to have physio for my arm (and while I am at it my left leg from my gippy gait I've had since childhood). That's yet another medical specialist I have to see in addition to the others. So, what, that's now a GP, Chiropractor, Acupuncturist, Gastroenterologist and a Physiotherapist. That's a doctor's shop quartet and a spare. Great. But HM, all your basic life needs are still met, yes? It's not like you're going to starve, lose your house etc. ... yes ... shuddup.

Update 2: Forgot ... a nutritionist as well. So a Doctor''s shop sextet, pretty much. Hooray for six medical professionals working to make Mikey a better tomorrow ... today!

Sunday, May 22, 2011

Wikfin - Unarius Academy of Science

With the failure of Camping's prophesied "doom on you" to 97 per cent of the rest of the world population I started having an amused skip through various articles. Eventually they led me to wiki for more background.

Then I found the wiki on these cats.

Fave excerpt (about the founder): Ernest Norman claimed to have been child prodigy. His father was a physician from Scandinavia. Ernest claimed to have read all his father's books eagerly, self-educating himself alongside his formal schooling. Ernest claimed he was born with an abnormally large cranium and as a child already wore an adult size hat.

Friday, May 20, 2011

Shitty handover

I had a shitty handover today. I had to pass on a job I'd done for over 10 years. Ten. Years. To B, the crusty old dude in our section. The reason being that despite being the only person in my org as best I know who had in fact done that job that it clashed too often with other important business and ... this will sound elitist ... it was beneath me. Beneath me in the sense that my rank suggests I should be doing more high-end stuff and not this down-in-the-weeds data crunching.

I felt bad for B ... because it's a shitty job. He's also not that au fait with computers, despite having a role in web management, and formula / filter work in excel isn't exactly his bag, baby.

It had actually been nearly two months since the job was officially handed over too. We'd delayed actual hands-on handover because I was away, he was away, and it was a shitty horrid thing hanging over our heads like a unit's main assignment (30 per cent of the total assessment) that was technically due two weeks ago.

But there had been a build up of annoyance at the lack of new data so I basically forced him into the hands-on part.

Like I said, not fun. I drove his PC and mumbled a steam-of-conscious description about what I was doing, causing B to look on with a half-grin of bewildered above-it-all-ness, while TLR smirked as he listened in to my more-than-dodgy handover attempt. B is also a grumpy coot, forever saying stupid, offensive stuff and being antagonistic when in the public service, for the most part, we act like we're nervous townfolk in the old west navigating a saloon filled with half-cut banditos ... with the other public servants the banditos who happen to really be nervous townfolk too. In that you do not raise your voice at people. You do not insult them. You do not swear at them. If you have a disagreement you discuss it rationally. It's pretty ingrained for most people ... but then you get your odd histronic type, like ranty, or don't-give-a-shit-I'm-just-pumping-my-pension types like B.

Still ... I am nervous because I am worried it's not going to go well and it's the sort of excel manipulation that if you do one incorrect move and not spot it then it throws out the whole project and you have to start again. Or worse still you don't notice it, use the data, and it is fully well-fucked. The former has happened to me a couple of times. The latter - touch wood - never.

But it's not me doing it now. Hence I am nervous.

I have to confess I am a bit of a micro-manager when it's something I give a shit about. If it's just work that has to be done that I don't have an emotional investment in it then I'm very meh if it gets heavily altered. I'm doing just enough to not annoy people with those. But for those bits I am invested in then I do worry and I do take it personally and if errors happen, despite ninety nine per cent of the rest of it having been okay, then I tend to focus on that one per cent of fuck up.

What can I say? I'm neurotic. And I don't like hanging around semi-hostile people. Especially ones being stuck with a shitty job by me.

Damn this chateau Lafite

Awwwww ... firsty!

I had a firsty today - an unprompted 'I love you, daddy' from theBoy. I'd gone to pick him up from day care and managed to sneak in without being outed by a kid ("theBoy! Your daddy's here!"). I stood, leaning against the counter by the sink and watched theBoy build a tower with these kewl frame blocks. He only noticed me when he went for another toy, then barked a short happy yelp, and ran over to be picked up. As I held his hard wriggling body against my chest that's when he said it ... following it with a 'and I love mummy too...'.

Awwww ... an utterly saccharine, vasoline smeared lens hallmark moment ... and I utterly loved it.

This moment was further enhanced by purchase of drive-thru McDonald's on the way home.

Thursday, May 19, 2011

Sleepy ping-pong

Recently theWife and I were not feeling great. She with possible pleurisy. Me with business as usual crap. Both of us were wiped. She had a big lunch to arvo sleep and, when she got up, I tagged out with her and went for a kip myself, courtesy of a grogan of a night of restlessness.

Now that's a soap title I could wrap my near-shorn lips around (1).

After about an hour in I got awakened by the overhead light followed by a door slam.


'You give dinnah!' he said, opening negotiations. 'Fishfingers.'

Damn it. But his mum was up and I could deflect.

'Go ask mummy, noodles,' I said back.

He turned out the light and closed the door with a sharp retort.

Bliss. I sank back into the pillow. Just as I drifted in the near-space of a dream orbit the light came on again with its (2) accompanying slam.

'Can you get me dinner?' he said plaintively.

Fuck it, I was up now. But he's awfully cuddle-resistant so I have to bribe him. He wanted that, so I could gets me a cuddle ... of a sort.

'Okay, but only if you smash me.'

He climbed up onto the bed couch, crawled along then up and over my whale back flip tummy until he had a comfortable perch on the landing of my bell-curve gut and just before the gentle rise of my man-mammas. Settling himself he then bounced up until down with a gleeful smile emblazoned across his face.

Finally I got up, put my shirt on, and blearily waddled out into the kitchen.

TheWife was on the couch in near-sleep.

Yes, despite the tagging out, her blarghs forced her to re-doze on the couch. So when theBoy's team time rolled around he started asking questions when preparedness activity was not happening ("Where my dinnah?"). So we'd simply been sending him back like a new-for-old-world Kissinger shuttle diplomacy effort between respective narcoleptic parties until one of us gave in.

I tried to write a BASIC-program joke of 10 go ask your mother 20 go ask your father (3) but I just couldn't do it justice.

Anyway ... sleepy ping-pong. Given sleep deficiency is the primary fuck-you of parenthood on a likely-shitty-part-of-parenting chart I bet we're not the first to do that.

(1) I was once playing AD&D with friends in high school. The GM, who didn't like me that much, starting yelling at one point because we were disrupting the game ("Who?" "Pak"). He shouted 'read my lips ...' and, before he could continue, with a big smirk on my face I looked under the table. Unadulterated vaginal-possession-infer Pure(tap)West(tap).
(2) Argh! The urge to put an apostrophe on a possessive personal pronoun (2a) is almost unbearable! I have to fight it every time!
(2a) That be courtesy of the grammar rodeo I went to two towns over.
(3) In High School I did computing in year 9 and 10. It was mostly fun. A lot of time piss-farting around on Vic-20s. Yes kidz, Vic-20s. But we also did some programming. I actually wrote programs now and then. I wrote a AD&D stat generator for best 3 of 4d6 results. I was super proud of that. In class I wrote a program that showed each line of the lyrics from the Playschool theme. Only when a line appeared ... the previous line vanished. It was, I naively thought, awesome and deserving of coolness attention. I asked the evil-posse of hot girls who, for some reason, decided to join computing. They watched with the same dead-eyed expression of amused disinterest I copped from L my desk-buddy for an impromptu concert of improvised mind-flayer impersonation. I blame the fact that I spent years 4.5 to 8 at an all boys private school just on the cusp of 'girls be awesome' and my loss of ability to effectively relate to any member of the opposite sex I thought be fetchin'. As opposed to felching which, let's face it, is just disquieting. Once I had to hand in a program for homework. I didn't do it. So I borrowed Chris's version. Only I changed references so it didn't look like my work ... thus breaking the program completely since the "changes" were not consistent. Did the teacher notice? No ... no they did not.

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

Games you've played all night

When I was an undergrad back in the early 90s, I used to drive out to the computer lab with Neil, a 40 year old semi-recluse I knew from friends (1), walk into the computer lab ... and illegally load Warlords on a colour mac and play it until two in the morning.

That's the original Warlords. A game so small the black and white version fit on a floppy.

But the first game I ever saw dawn with was Pool of Radiance on my flatmate's Amiga. It was the first real AD&D on a computer game experience I'd ever experienced and it consumed me.

So 16 years on ... what do I play? Still Warlords ... though the second version. Not until dawn, however. But easily two in the morning some nights, typically Friday since I get to sleep in on Saturday.

At the risk of no responses ... what's a game you've seen dawn in with?

(1) Who we later lived with in a group house in Canberra until Neil got sad with us and offered his room to a man he met at the bus stop.

Oh ble(i)ss

Heavily medicated

Had a McDonald's hot fudge sundae

Watching a doco about Saturday Night Live

I'm as happy as a pig co-located with fecal matter.

From storytime in the bath...

'I want Santa to call me. I'm a winner!'

D&D Monster impression does not get reaction hoped for

You know the plastic packing strips that secure A4 photocopy paper boxes? Well there was a bunch of dead ones lying on the ground. Being Mr OH&S, and always aware of trip or slip hazards, I picked them up.

On the way to the bin I saw my desk buddy, i.e. the person I share a workstation border with. She's a D&D gamer too.

I held the packing tape strips up to my mouth and waggled them.

'Look at me! I'm a mind flayer!'

She looked at me with a dead-eyed stare...

Cough ... cough cough

Hungry Beast Gold

Starring ... actual climate scientists...

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Post-shower bed return

I don’t do this that often. Typically, when only sick. But oh man … getting back into bed after a shower, when you’re naked and still a little damp, is the shizzle.

You get this … glow of relaxation across your skin as the damp is soaked up by surrounding bed clothes. You lie there in this state of bliss; snuggled, warm, and clean.

Unfortunately today I was all too aware that I needed to get up so that lost a bit of the spark.

But still, the post-shower bed return … it be tasty.

Memories of nerd books

Rogues' Gallery came out about 1980. It was a first edition AD&D supplement. It had 50-100 examples of the core first edition Player's Handbook classes (bare-bones stats mind), using the non-player character traits rules from the Dungeon Master's Guide (for age, attitudes, personality quirks etc.). It also had example caravans and bandit gangs, example adventuring party make-ups and, of course, example player characters (PCs).

Not just any PCs ... the actual PCs of the actual TSR staff. Mordenkainen, Bigby, Erac's Cousin et cetera. Their write-ups showed just how interesting a character could become ... if they survived long enough. I must have read that book cover to cover a hundred times. And for every new edition of D&D that would come out ... I'd convert most of these core PC write-ups across to the new rule-set.

Check out the wiki for Greyhawk for details on some of the other kewl PCs from the kings and queens of TSR.

As I was writing this post I was remembering the write-up for Riggby, a cleric played by Gary Gygax. The description of the PC noted that Riggby wasn't above converting people to worship 'by the sword' - though figuratively ... since for game balance purposes Clerics in the pre-third editions could only use blunt weapons (1). In fact ... here's an excerpt.

Riggby owes his meteoric rise to his skill and his acquaintance with several high level characters. Formerly the cleric of a small chapel, Riggby found himself in command of a cathedral with a sizeable congregation. He is strong-willed and accustomed to the diplomacy and force required to hold a diverse band of followers in line. He is a great believer in the conversion of the pagan, either by his religion or by the sword.

Only ... Riggby was later outed as being a cleric for Boccob the Uncaring ... the distant god of magic. I'm struggling to see how/why a forced conversion could be accomplished.


Assembled peasants are before a cleric dressed in the raiment of Boccob. Muscular henchman are behind him. The henchmen have maces that they're rhythmically thumping into their hands.

The cleric steps forth - a top hat held bottom facing up.

CLERIC - 'Is there a rabbit in the hat? IS THERE A RABBIT IN THE HAT?!' '

The peasants sob. One woman buries her head against the shoulder of her grim faced husband.

A PEASANT - 'No my lord, 'tis no rabbit.'

The cleric reaches into hat and pulls a rabbit out by its ears.


Henchmen glare. Peasants clap without enthusiasm.

(1) Fun fact. When I first started playing D&D I had a cleric with a crossbow. Why? Because it fired bolts ... which to my mind where the blunt shaped securing devices used in construction. Since they didn't have a point ... I could use them! I also had another character with five morning stars ... I thought they were throwing stars ... the weight/cost for each obviously passing me by...

Monday, May 16, 2011

Button is pushed

My dad was faced with my mum coming home from hospital. She hasn't been sick, just invalid without workable caring arrangements. They very kindly hosted her as long as they could so Dad could recover and find accommodation. Dad sent us a plaintive email telling us she was due home in the PM hours and he was struggling to find nursing care to give him the extra help he opened.

But then luck happened ... in the old preparation meets opportunity kind-of-way. He got a call from one of the two best-case scenario homes.

They'd had a closing (on life). Which meant an opening (of a room). Dad went and saw them and, after some paperwork, she's in.

Which means she's never coming home. Oh she may come for a day visit, but that's a big effort to truck in an invalid just so she can sit in a different place, her old home. Of which she's soon to lose a memory of even though, as it turned out, with all their 20 odd moves as a couple ... it was the house she'd longest been in. Actually, ever. She spent 20 years in her last house, the last decade of which, while bound to a motorised scooter (never a trolley), she primarily spent in the kitchen just puttering.

Dad kept her with him as long as he could. But he's not as well as he used to be. Despite being fit for a man his age, he has his troubles - his own grapples with the sads monster, gout, deepening frailty of body, and an always tricky back. He hasn't been able to hoist mum in and out of bed for about a year. Homecare instead came twice a day for the lift in and lift out. Now mum can't even ride her scooter no more, no more, and basically she's either in bed or in a chair that could hold someone with no real ability to position themselves by themselves.

The place she's going to is good. It's clean, modern, has rave-reviews - people are dying to get others in. She may no longer be going to a home in the traditional sense but then home is no longer her home in the traditional sense. A home is full of life, activity, doing stuff. For her it had become walls and a bed, and a TV, showing shows almost too long for her to track. So she is going into care that will give her a better quality of life. People to attend to her needs, other inmates to socialise with. Given her inability to cling to the present or even discern her immediate future and her brain finding comfort in the past - forever recycling the dead in presumed activity like gardening with her father (dead some forty years) - then residential care facility is the place for her.

But it's one of those major milestones on the path of the dead. People don't come out of residential care.

You start off in a womb. Then you get a bed. Then you get a room. Then a house. Then a room again. Then a bed.

Then you're dead.

Still, circle of life and all that. My Dad had said he'd been mentally prepared for the theory of placing her into care. But it all seemed at such a slow, grindingly slow, pace. Then WHAM! An old parrot drops off the perch to join the choir invisible, you get a call, and your partner of life of fifty odd years is moving on to the next stage of end-life and leaving you behind. In two days. He said the impact of the actual Vs the theory of the likely has shaken him. But he's a man of the land for whom the cycle of life was an intimate part of his being. He knows it's right. It's for the best. But he still aches the decision and the shit of the situation.

Luckily for me, assuming civilisation doesn't collapse, I won't face a shitty end-life care process. Us oldies will be cared for by sexy robots that totally love it when we paw at their pseudo-biological nibble bits with geriatric abandon.

Give gramps some sugah! Num, num, num.

Saturday, May 14, 2011

So long Stanners

Jon Stanhope stepped down as Chief Minister.

Now most politicians seem terribly flawed. A great fat combination of bloviated self-importance that is just so delish when it explodes leaving a saggy, rubbery husk when they fuck up even beyond recovery.

Stanners wasn't one of these people. As Chief Minister he was a decent, caring man who performed outreach beyond what was expected. He lacked any pretension even when he deserved to lay some pride beats down. He did not suckle at the teat of News Ltd. Indeed their cacophony of shrill disconnected corporate print whores shrilling decried Stanhope any chance they got and roundly mocked Canberra as a chilly place of roundabouts and the only semi decent Asian tucker you could get was if you went down to Manuka during the sitting schedule.

Stanhope took knocks on principle. When Howard was running around like Chicken Little demanding the power to look up the eye-hole of a penis of any suspect whether or not they had anything to do with anything Stanhope said no, the ACT wasn't going to allow search powers like that. He fought for the right to have gays receive equal marital recognition even when the Federal party, still festooned with tatt knuckle covered rusted on trade union members that will cling to their dated concept of society until dead in the cold, cold grave, refused to change the rules to allow it. He championed then built a correction centre based more on rehabilitation instead of punishment, despite pretentious bogans in nearby Jerra, in another state mind, whining that a prison within 20 kays of their plush semi-gated estate of narrow eaved monstrosities would somehow lower property values.

In short, he was a dude. And when I had moments where I disliked intensely what the Federal party does I was always reminded that I am a ACT ALP member and that we have had the most progressive, decent government in State or Territory political history.

I for one am sad to see him go. Though I thank him for his time on deck and the decency he showed. I also thank him for telling News Limited and Channel Nine on those occasions they attempted to monster him to fuck off.

Thursday, May 12, 2011

Well that sucked

Today actually started off okay. Well, no, it didn't. It was an early morning bus ride to the city to go to an all day course. My guts were a seething cauldron of bubbling froth meets toil muckety muck. If work hadn't shelled out a chunk of dosh for this course I likely would have gone off sick.

I had to find the place. It was hidden in a warren of various buildings. Guts aching I stumbled into a random building and hunted for a map of the place. I found one! I also attempted to go to the toilet ... having spent the last entire week solidly plugged.

Plugged no more! It was like seeing a train coming past the platform at high speed. Lots of wind, noise, flashing lights and a fading doppler of presence past. It was like all the pain had just been switched off. Gone, just like that. It was uber PAG!

I guess it's akin to an injured person receiving super pain meds and blissing it all away. That's certainly how it felt to me. I practically danced through the rest of the warren like I was in a musical, stopping to smell flowers, tipping my hat to passing Pre-Vatican 2 (the take-down!) nuns etc. With great joy into the course I went.

The compare wasn't great. Old school fading ex-public servant. We had a gold book for the how to and a white book to do exercises. It was very much pre-enlightened schooling. But lacking pain combined with the euphoria of not being in pain then I drank everything he said in - yummy, yummy!

By one-ish the pain starting creeping, creeping, creeping, creeping way up in my guts (dunt!), but certainly no more than typical background noise like it generally is at the low of the cycle. Easily bearable and all that.

The course finished early ... but this unfortunately timed itself with theWife pressing the go button on casualty for theBoy.

He'd been running a fever and was coughing. He was complaining of a sore tum. Unable to get a doc appointment then casualty was the next best thing since he has asthma. I worked out how to get to the hospital from the centre of town and after a interminable wait for a bus then on it I finally made it there.

I only just got home.

He has pneumonia. He's in the best place he can be and his mum is with him. I got sent home for sleep and to tag out on the morrow. He was utterly miserable when I got there ... but after panadol he was back to his ebullient self and once more performing his one-man stage-show 'the unsickest boy in the hospital'. He had to have a chest x-ray, and it showed the lurking signs of the P-badness. But they needed some blood work to be sure.

Now ... having been the victim of numerous medical crap in the last decade - so much so that I decided that if I ever wrote memoirs of my 30s I'd call it Mostly bloated and some tests - I am well versed in the suckfulness of having a cannula inserted. It bites the wang (1). As an adult man, who society deems has to have a stiff upper lip, what, what, I can grin and bear it. Even fire off some less-than-amusing jokes at my expense as it's done.

For a three year old? Wow. You can't expect them to be brave. Fuck, you can't expect them to be still for it. They will thrash and thrash and thrash in full fight flight mode if you try and stab them through the back of their hand. That's exactly what he did. We had to tight wrap him like from when he was a baby and just have the one victim hand free. He screamed and screamed and screamed. I was on legs, mum was on torso and head. Being three he's far more articulate now and was demanding I let him go and that his hand be left alone. I screamed for so long I got a good look at the roof of his mouth for about ten minutes it took to insert it and for the nurses to encourage blood flow by squeezing. Oh dear god that was fucked. It was so unbelievably fucked.

Being a parent, for the most part, is awesome. But there are downsides. Poo, vomit, feeding (believe me, it's exhausting), cleaning, washing. Fuck, I'm super lucky when it comes to the downsides - I basically am in charge of the bath and stories. TheWife bears the rest of those burdens.

But the biggest downside is when they're sick ... and worse still in hospital ... even worse holding them down as a stranger hurts them and their parents help the stranger do it.

It was utterly fucked and so just wanted to run away.

Off to bed ... only to rise just post sparrows and tag out with theWife. Who doesn't have her iPhone, I had to take it home to charge it, and doesn't have a book. She is a rock!

She tried to find some magazines. She found a stash near Emergency. British magazines. I think called 'In Britain today'.

People often joke about the age of magazines in waiting rooms.

These dated back to the early to mid 70s. I suspect a nurse brought them in as a joke ...

(1) assuming you don't like biting wangs of course
. Substitute your own dislike here if you do.

Monday, May 09, 2011

A friendly warning

Today I had additional confirmation I have Slow Motility. The source? The results of a kid's party.

Yes, a kid's party. HM and fam attended a four year old's awesome birthday. The four year old helped design the cake. The cake had blue icing.

Later that night we got a friendly warning from the cake's creator. She warned, I think via facebook, that the icing had a bit of a side effect.

It would turn your poo green.

Yes, that's right. It was a green poo inducer.

I ate it on Saturday. The green effect didn't land until this morning. Which means from consumption to expulsion I take around 48 hours. Once it hits the large intestine, food should be booted in 16 hours.

So there you have it. I take twice as long as other people to move food through my system. Hooray for fucking me.

Saturday, May 07, 2011

Feed fail

I don't eat as well or sensibly as I should. Today—being Friday (as opposed to now which is early Saturday morning)I had a shocker.

Allow me.

For breakfast I had a McDonald's NYC bagel and a hashbrown. When I got to work I hacked up the bagel and put it in my food bowl. I then carefully shredded the hashbrown and sprinkled it on top. My desk bud L, who is aware of my IBS
how could she not be?!looked aghast at it. Later she saw me munging digesics. She asked if that was for the breakfast. I lied and said they were just regular take pills. I think she saw through that.

Morning tea was a slice of moist chocolate cake, studded with the original Ozzer aisle roller chocolate, the Jaffa, topped with a deliciously thick slab of icing. It was awesome.

Lunch was the second half of yesterday's purchased potato bake. A creamy, cheesy, buttery monstrosity. As I prepped it for nuking E, who is aware of my IBS, looked aghast at my choice. I shrugged and mumbled that it was Friday. Like my IBS is aware of the days of the week and it dials it down a notch for the tract equivalent of casual dress Friday.
Afternoon tea was another slice of the cake. It was for S's birthday. S I think doesn't like me that much. Though lately she seems to have warmed to me a bit. Who fucking knows? Still she had a birthday and that meant cake. Good S!

Dinner ... I had to leave to go to A's place to pick up some stuff. So I went straight there from work - staying late as I am super in the hole on neg flex. Since I stayed back at work I missed home dinner. But what was I do have?
You got it ... the last of the cake. It was a drive-by consumption. I was headed to the door and I saw that the cake had been left to the tender mercies of being left out all weekend to go stale and manky. I had to save it! (pats tummy).

After A's ... went through drive-thru. Got a single serve cone.

Went to the movies. Got a medium combo
red slushie, medium popcorn (they wouldn't let me swap it for a small due to records keeping requirements; yes, that's right), and a vanilla choc top. The popcorn wasn't that enticing. I gave up after about 23 per cent of the tub. I drank all the slushie, however (1).

When we got home, with the in-olds abed and theWife a snoozing, I had three hundreds and thousands biscuits as manufactured for the Coles empire.

Then ... then I had my last surviving large hot-fudge Sundae, frozen to perfection (2), consumed lovingly in front of The Daily Show.

Will I pay for this later? Am I likely going to be in agony?

You bet your sweet bippy.

(1) Despite the slushie I went the entire movie without sneaking out for the toot. Proud!
(2) I originally had perfectly frozen to perfection ... then realised that was tautology. So I came back to edit it ... because when I notice it I am a perfectionist. Hey, I'm a largely broken person. This is one thing I can actively try for in the perfection stakes.

Friday, May 06, 2011

Comment fail

We went to the movies. Me, theWife, and theMumInLaw. We saw Thor. It rawked.

On the way into Thor, as we walked up the dimly lit nave that served as the feeder run for the various cinemas, there was a petite usherette (do they still call them that?) having to assemble one of those cardboard advertising monstrosities that seem to take up vast carpet acreage. She had it face down as she was trying to work out where Tab A hit Tab B.

As I walked past I gaily muttered 'that's a shit job'.
I got maybe a dozen metres up the nave, heading up to the toilet to do a pre-screen wee so as to avoid a middle of the movie toilet break (1), when I realised my comment was ambiguous. I waddled back, still well wrapped in my old grey school-like jumper.

'Sorry,' I said, 'What I meant by shit job was that that looked like a shitty job to have to do. Not that you were doing a shit job at it.'

Now I have no idea whether she heard the original comment. She may have just thought I was some sort of cross between Michael Moore and Dom Deluise mad c___ . She laughed merrily, her voice a delightful tinkle, and her pony-tail swished with glowing acknowledgment of her having to do a shit job. A shit job ... she was doing well.

And with that ... into the movie I went. Which rawked. Definitely worth seeing. Though The Destroyer's face totally reminded me of a salamander heater.

(1) I have actually missed the end of a movie by having to go to the toilet during the screening. It was for Van Helsing. I made the mistake of consuming a volume of post-mix Diet Coke that could have easily filled my head.

Clap once if you're a giant c0ck-spank

In addition to the delightful strains of IBS that plays merry havoc with me Gulliver ... I also suffer from various bio-mechanical aches and pains. Flat feet, dodgy knees, apple shaped gut throwing self off balance and placing strain on the body such as the back, and a right shoulder that's been sore for about six months.

I also go walking every day. It's my one thing I do to be active. Typically it's for 20-30 minutes. Sometimes it's fast. Most of the time it's an amble. Especially if I am hurting.

Today I was hurting. When I walk I use various means to distract me from the walking and the pain messages shooting around my body with all the giddiness of a pinball ball. I have an Mp3 going ... and sometimes I send text messages.

I send a lot of text messages. If I see something funny - I send a text. If I am annoyed about crap - a text. A random thought - text. You see how it works.

The paths at my work are normal width. But I am not. I am an apple man. So when I walk along I take up the path.

Having booted myself out of the file management system from a failure to read the update instructions I decided to go for a walk. Hurting from crap body stuff I had the Mp3 in and I was sending a text. I tend to look down at the screen and so only vaguely take in my surroundings and what's in front of me.

There were two people coming the other way. Men, tall, walking and talking. They got within about five feet of me and I guess had seen that I wasn't seeing them and that they'd have to maybe stand off the path to let me pass or go around me.

They didn't do that. Instead the taller one leaned forward and clapped his hands in my face. I was startled, looked up and stumbled backward a bit, nearly losing my footing on the edge of the curb. He laughed, along with his docile follower mate, then went on into the day striding along the path he'd just dominated with his pure alpha-maleness.

I glared darkly at the pair as they walked into the distance, stage-whispered 'FUCKWIT' and kept walking. I was mad enough that if I encountered them again I was going to yell at him. Luckily I didn't. Not for him - for me. I get worried when I get confrontational in case the inner-Hulk comes out and I lose my shit.

What he did however was a very hostile and unpleasant thing to do. He could have stood to one side. He could have got my attention some other way. To lean into my space and clap his hands like that under my nose was solely because he was a massive total cock-spank that thinks he has a right to be a prick to other people.

I hope he gets some sort of unpleasant fungal condition on the palms of his old clappers.

Cock-spank and a half.

Thursday, May 05, 2011

Mistakes ... made a few

I sent out the staff newsletter recently. It was a big one. So big you think I would have noticed half of it didn't come out of the printer when I sent it up the chain - the top of the chain preferring hard copies even though it's designed for on-screen - for their clearance and checking.

So they didn't see and therefore correct the mistakes that were in the back half. It was my bad too. We de-acronym and de-initialism content where possible because we have to factor it readers not knowing what J6-B7 means. To an untrained eye it suggests their battleship was just sunk. So the mistakes crept in because when I expanded them back out to actual words ... I got the fucking words wrong.

The mistakes were announced over the partition within five minutes of the document going live. I tried to get in there to edit - as even though it's a PDF I have the means to tweak text - except someone interstate had accidentally gone into edit mode and locked me out. I had to call them and ask them to boot themselves out. Even then it took five minutes for the servers to chugalug and let me back in.

I managed to make the changes and re-save it all. It's good we have a file management system that lets you do that. Which is why we try not to send attachments out - only links. Because if it goes out as an attachment ... well ... it stays fucked.

In Grant Naylor's (1) awesome Red Dwarf novel, which came out over 20 years ago, the character of Rimmer got some additional depth to him. It explained some of his neuroses and hang-ups. One hang-up was that Rimmer felt he was a French dictation person as opposed to a History essay person.

Rimmer believed there were two kinds of people: the first kind were history essay people, who started life with a blank sheet, and accumulated points with every success they achieved. The other kind were the French dictation people: they started off with hundred per cent, and every mistake they made was deducted from their original perfect score ... Everything he'd ever done was somehow imperfect and flawed - a disappointment.

I have depression. So I feel shit about myself a lot of the time. Today ... with those mistakes ... today I felt like Rimmer. I was a French dictation person.

Oh man I do hate thinking this way.

UPDATE: So it's the next day. I get in ... and discovered an email pointing out that I'd gotten a someone's name, only four letters mind, wrong. Twice. I gritted my teeth and fixed the document.

Then I'm reading through traffic and I found I had another, this one incredibly snitty, email from some woman that works for the person whose name I got wrong - and said person is awesome - pointing out my error and whining about how I'd gotten another name wrong previously and really, shouldn't we be checking these things closely. I responded to thank them for their detailed and thorough pointing out of the error - which was most passive aggressive of me - then said I honestly thought that's what her name was because my poor brain had locked it in. Then pointed out that in documents of large size then mistakes do happen now and then. You know there's a reason I feel like a French dictation person at times. Because people talk not about all that go right ... but the minor things that go wrong. Though I admit spelling a name wrong is a clanger. Naturally this has left me in a massive funk.

(1) Actually that's a portmanteau of the surnames of the two lads behind behind Red Dwarf. I love the series. I loved the books. They're awesome. They are clearly not French dictation people.

Wednesday, May 04, 2011

The Pantheon

Okay status update for the characters in free-range story time with theBoy (1).

Humpty and Stumpty - two hobbits that live down by the river (or little people if the Tolkien estate tries to get all Middle Medieval on my arse about it)
Cumpty - their adopted half-orc cousin (or large person if the aforementioned MM happens to moi).
Ogre - who is always wanting to drink juice from the fridge but doesn't want to wait until it's cold so he sneaks outside and armed with a straw drills a hole through the wall (and fridge) seeking juicy glory...
Great Uncle Bulgaria's stuff - who was a former adventurer and whose chest of adventuring gear is forever looked through by his distant nephews, Humpty and Stumpy. He's never actually physically appeared ... just his stuff has
Monkey - who is very cheeky and always attempting to poo somewhere inappropriate. TheBoy will actually point to a point in space and engage with Monkey as if he was right in front of him ("No Monkey don't poo on sacred pillow of Antioch! Time-out!"). Sometimes when theBoy goes to his work, an office where he "reads stories" when he turns on the light, Monkey is squatting on theBoy's reading desk, paper in hands, trying to squeeze one out. Bad Monkey!
Ogress - who trolls through the forests looking for hobbits whom she then forces to pleasure her with Snoo Snoo by dragging them into her she-lair with the action described simply as "Camera pans left". Humpty and Stumpty, who are frequent victims of her sexual assaults, then stagger out of her cave with their hair all messed up, lots of make-up smears, and bruised pelvises
Monster, Regular - as opposed to Monster, Friendly
Monster, Friendly - as opposed to Monster, Regular
Dragon - not from Shrek, just another Dragon - who often turns up to snatch Humpty or Stumpty from a trampoline in mid-bounce only to be captured by TheBoy ("Grab, grab, grab, grab"), put in mountain prison ("Put, put, put, put, put") then her roof closed and locked ("Lock, lock, lock, lock, lock")
Synbatt batty bat bat - a penguin who has a top hat and monocle and lives next door to Humpty and Stumpty in an ice-house
Unicorn and Rabbit - best friends who live together and who go on picnics only to be forever molested by picnic invading giant ants
Rat - who sounds like a combo of Bad Boy Bubby and Rodney Rude impersonating David Helfgott ("oh yeah, I'm a mad ____")
Amy - a real-life peer of theBoy who theBoy let bounce in a previous story then lied to her face when she woke up from the fall and asked if he'd saved her and he said yes
Sam and Churchie - a boy and his dog. Sam used to be a naughty boy with grubby clothes, bad teeth and skin. But then he met a genie and the genie gave him wishes and Sam wished to be clean with good teeth and of sound moral character. He then found Churchie his dog
Turtle - who hangs out at the playground at the end of the bath drain and who impersonates a stepping stone in a pond but is always fucking off when someone tries to cross said pond and leaving them in a lurch
Santa Claus - who often goes missing and his mysterious absence needs to be solved (usually he falls in pit under the workshop and needs help to get out) or occasionally subcontacts present delivery work to Humpty and Stumpty and theBoy (they get the gig of delivering to religious themed named islands such as Easter Island and Christmas Island - that's pretty sweet!). Santa also makes Shrink Spray and Get Bigger Spray which theBoy will occasionally use in other adventures.
Buttery Madonna - because Humpty and Stumpy once got delivered a ton of butter by mistake and they decided to carve a life-sized statue of Madonna out of it only for her to come to life Pygmallion style and run away to loot distant orphanages
Cottage Cheese Cher - similar story to buttery Madonna only made out of cottage cheese and it's Cher. I then launch into a really shitty Cher impression ("Do you believe in love after love!") etc.

There are also existing characters from actual movies and shows that make a regular appearance.

Megamind - yes, the Megamind as voiced by Will Ferrell - who calls Hammocks, H'moks and has a giant helicopter with a scoop that theBoy is always seeking to borrow
Mr Potato Head who initially was a nemesis who stole theBoy's room and rode it away on giant chicken legs. But they made up and theBoy was involved in liberating horses from a merry-go-round with MPH. They sometimes go riding together with MPH on a normal horse and theBoy on a big horse where he stands on Big Horse's head, between the horse's ears, and stairs him with its manehair like the rat does in Ratatouille
Bottletop Bill and his best friend Corky - from the show of the same name. I annoy theBoy by getting their names wrong. "Bottletop Bill and his best friend Snorky" "NO! IS CORKY!"

There's also toys which have personalities. My favourite is a plain green wooden block called "Mr Green" who I voice and whose voice sounds like Eric Idle doing Noel Coward. He ends every snatch of dialogue with "I'm Mr Green'.

Of course it's not just toys that get a personality. TheBoy also thinks his clothes hamper in the dining room - he gets changed on the dining room table (don't worry, we clean it before company use it) - is cookie monster because I flip the lid up and down and say "oh yeah, yum, yum, pants - yes - yum ... UNDIES!" in a cookie monster voice. Or, if the good people at Children's Television Workshop are watching, it's actually not cookie monster but a completely different monster that in no way resembles your monster etc.

The thing is ... I used to do this sort of shit before I had a child. Now I have an excuse. I'm in Mikey heaven!

(1) They start in the bath. Then - if he's a good boy and gets on his PJs without a fuss and has cleaned his teeth - on the big bed. Also, if we're driving on a big trip, then in the car as well.

Tuesday, May 03, 2011

Whitehouse Correspondents' Dinner 2011

Thanks to the interweb we can enjoy gems like the WCD over here in Oz.

The WCDs are awesome. You may remember it from previous awesomeness like Colbert's take-down of Bush ... to Bush's face.

In 2011 there were two comedians on deck ... Seth Meyers of SNL ... and Barack Obama.

Both delivered smack-downs of awesome power ... on walking hirsute joke ... Donald Trump. If this was wrestling then they tag-teamed Trump's solo presence and clanged him upside the head with a folding chair mated with a fire-extinguisher.

I had tears ... TEARS ... rolling down my cheeks from both efforts. I also loved Stewart's praise of the smack-down, confessing he tuned into Celebrity Apprentice - hosted by Trump - to see if it had impacted on the oddly haired one - even though Stewart knew it was taped before the WCD ... because the smack-down was so intense it may have transcended the laws of physics and impacted backwards in time. Now that's high praise (1). Later I read that Trump's reaction to the mocking, Mr Celebrity Apprentice dismisser a guest of The Washington Post table, was so fuming that the rest of the table felt longer able to laugh or clap and kind of lapsed into a dead mime silence.

God I do love US politics.

(1) My favourite ever Jon Stewart compliment was to Matt Stone and Trey Parker. Of their broad way musical The Book of Mormon, Stewart said 'it was so good ... it made me angry.'

Monday, May 02, 2011

Bin along time coming

OBL has finally been taken out. While celebrating the death of a fellow human being is somewhat of a FoxPo I think in OBL's case I can make an exception - though it would have been more awesome if he'd been taken alive and put before a court. But, well, this is still pretty kewl. Plus even cooler that it was Barack "Hussein" Obama who got to not only announce it but subtly remind people of the re-tooling of focus that helped make it possible.

Some music!

I wonder what's going to happen to his cave car?

UPDATE: I am curious just exactly how Fox, right-wing talk radio and Republicans are going to spin this AGAINST Obama. You know it's going to happen ...

UPDATE2: There we go ... and here as well.

Sunday, May 01, 2011

I'm outside

I have never been an outside person. Not for me the joy of nature and attempting to shit in it. Or indeed wee. I like having a roof above my head, access to indoor plumbing, and other assorted domestic lifestyle accouterments that basically scream - softly, so as not to distress - comfort!

But right now ... I am outside. We decided to draw on the loan and use extra cash to pimp our place. We had a pergola extend the length of the house, sacrificing about a metre and a half of garden. Apart from the guttering to go up and some rubbish removal, it's now all good.

With power points put in next to where the outside table goes and with the pergola roof cutting out a chunk of light ... I can sit out here and use the laptop. The connection to the router seems pretty solid and the screen of the monitor is easily read. It's a brilliant autumn Sunday afternoon with just the faintest hint of chill in the air and my son is demanding I make something with the green play-doh lump he just slapped on the table next to me.

I guess it will be a shitty dinosaur or something. Just enough to placate him to allow me to use Mr Lappy outside.

Oh, yeah.