Excellent dinner party at Ken's house last night. Five courses and lots of wine and beer- helped me forget all about being snubbed by Bill Gates. Why does he think he's so damn good? I read his stupid blog and the guy is a total bore.
By the way, the fires in Sydney are a total pain in the arse. Woke up this morning and the smoke haze over the city was so bad you couldn't even see the top of centrepoint tower when I was standing in Hyde Park. Personally, I blame eighties fashion for this bad weather. If big huge hairstyles such as mullets and teased fringes weren't so popular, then we wouldn't have had to have used so much hairspray. If less hairspray had been used, less CFC's would have been released. Then the hole in the ozone wouldn't be so bad and the Greenhouse effect wouldn't exist, meaning we wouldn't have had these damn bushfires and my clothes and hair wouldn't currently be so stinky from smoke.
I've just emailed Bill Gates to say hello. It looks like he wants to start a blog, but instead of letting me write it the bastard has decided to write it himself! There goes my million dollars.
All this excessive template editing has thrown my site meter out of whack and makes this site look more popular than it actually is. Traffic is peaking at an all-time average high of 4.5 visits per day. Thanks for your interest, ladies and germs. I hope it's been worth the visit. Hopefully Bill Gates will be knockin' on my door soon, begging me to start a blogger detailing his life and works and paying me a million dollars to do so. Hmmm, maybe that's not such a bad idea after all...
I love love love love love that Amelie mooofie. It wins my Cann Film Festival Award for the Year. Geddit?
How oh how does one find a job that is a once interesting entertaining enjoyable engaging challenging that pays well?
The human race is out of the loop. We have become sidelined by technology. Everything has become so complex that only Bill Gates and Stephen Hawking know how anything works anymore. Is it any wonder everyone is disillusioned and bored and self-absorbed and depressed? It's because WE DON"T KNOW HOW TO DO ANYTHING! No wonder the only thing people aspire to anymore is being famous for something or other and getting on telly.
Hurrah for christmas! I've been swimming at the beach, eating oysters and prawns and getting rollickingly drunk with my family. Christmas in winter must suck. Dearest Ken dropped me off in Terrigal this morning on his way up to Cessnock for christmas with his parentals. Cessnock is a pustule on the anus of humanity. It makes Terrigal look like heaven, that's for sure. I'm glad mum and dad decided to move here when we arrived back from Papua New Guinea in 1984. We were so close to moving to Newcastle it wasn't funny...phew! (sorry to any Novacastrians ex or otherwise who are reading this and take offence to it)
Katrina finnalllly finally arrived home from Glasgow yesterday. A whole year has passed and yet it was like we've been living in a groundhog day- nothing has changed here and she's been off having an amazing time studying and walking around the highlands and playing in the snow and all those other kind of northern hemisphere type things you do. And now Erin's off for 6 months to Vancouver and UBC where she'll have season six Buffy on tele and Terrence and Phillip and Rani to play with and all those Canadians running around with heads shaped like footballs. And Degrassi High! I could sit here and sing the praises of Canada all evening, but alas I have dinner to cook, television to watch and people to avoid. Chow.
I spent last weekend in Coffs Harbour and Lismore. Gosh Lismore was an interesting place and a half. They have the highest proportion of inbred hillbillies in Australia outside of Tasmania. At least Tasmanians have an excuse- it's the arse end of the world. Inbreds in Lismore have no excuse, they are only an hour or two away from many other country towns full of dozens of non-related people they could choose to breed with. It's just pure laziness.
I also think incest is relatively boring. Boom Tish...!
The spectacle of an aged rock band clinging to their last vestiges of fame is always a sad, yet slightly funny sight. Live at the Entertainment Centre last week was no different. In fact most of the entertainment was provided out in the foyer by drunken westie imbreds who were fighting tooth and nail with my boss to get free t-shirts after theirs were stolen literally off their backs out the front of the centre by some enterprising fans who were slightly taller and well built and had knives and could run faster.
Instead of reporting the theft to the police they decided to come back to the shop and demand that since their t-shirts had been stolen, we had to give them new ones. Logical hey? Needless to say they were eventually turfed out of the centre but not before they provided some fun in the form of insulting my boss Serge to within an inch of his life. That cheered me up no end.
Out of curiosity (or maybe vanity, ego and procrastination combined with curiosity) I have added a site meter to this page under the image of the delectable Borat.
Must dash off to work now- Live is playing at the Entertainment Centre. I wonder if they managed to fill the place. They are a bit 1994 after all...
Stooopid christmas. I hate stoopid christmas. Now I'm so old my relatives don't give me presents anymore. Just booze-filled lectures about why am I wasting my time at university, when am I getting married, hurry up you know your life is flying by and you're too busy navel-gazing to realise it. Get nicked.
We're having christmas at uncle buck's new place in Bowral this year. They have been there for approximately 2 months. In that time they have managed to acquire a new dog and maim it.
Uncle Johnny gave the little terrier to Buck because it wasn't getting on with his other dog, and they thought it would be nice for it to have the run of a big property with lots of paddocks to run around in and trees to wee on. Unfortunately Buck let it out one day and it decided to do it's running on the road- it got squished and lost a leg. Now it is known affectionately as Hoppy, or Tripod.
Can't say Uncle Johnny was very impressed though.
Back in Terrigal for the weekend. My first week as an unemployed person went quite well- fishing, sunbaking, swimming etc.
My parents are currently in the loungeroom with their friends and mum is entertaining everyone with stories about all the retarded kids she has taught over the years- some literal, some figurative. So I am hiding in my room. The more things change the more they stay the same.
Michelle Ma Belle or Joel- if you're reading this from the rolling snowfields of Glasgow- why isn't your wiki working? I've been trying to edit it all day (in between visits to the CES office) and it won't let me. Sigh.
Yesterday I discovered the joys of fishing. Went down to East Balmain with Matt and Eleena and took some hand lines, some bait and some tooheys new. Almost caught a flounder but my inexperience helped him get away after I started screaming "ohhh! I got one! I got one!" and jiggled the line up and down. During which time the fish unhooked itself and made a speedy getaway. Bastard fish.
Afterwards I bored Louisa by telling her all about the one that got away during the nummy dinner she cooked me.
I am now determined to go back to Balmain point and catch that bastard fish.
blah blah blah.
Too hot to be typing on computer. It's 1am and about 30 bloody degrees. I need a life stat.
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