Entries from September 2003 ↓

There once was a tiger striped cat. This cat died a million deaths, revived and lived a million lives. And he was owned by various people who he really didn’t care for. The cat wasn’t afraid to die. Then one day the cat became a stray cat, which meant he was free. He met a white female cat, and the two of them spent their days together happily. Well years past and the white cat grew weak and died of old age. The tiger striped cat cried a million times. Then he died too, except this time he didn’t come back to life.

That’s a good story.

First of all, I’d like to first deal with some administrative matters. A Perfect Circle have the video for their new single, Weak and Powerless out from the new album Thirteenth Step which is out in the next week or two. Bowie also has a new album called Reality due out in a couple of weeks time. If Underworld is as half as good as the soundtrack looks, there will be much rejoicing. On the topic of rejoicing, Once Upon A Time In Mexico looks like it should rock as much ass as a particularly ass-rocking thing.

With that out of the way, I can get back to discussing the mostly anecdotal occurrences that happen between the times when I’m sleeping or doing terribly boring things related to Uni. Being stabbed in the face by the dentist wasn’t too painful thanks to monumentous quantities of novocaine, which worked wonderfully aside from delivering no soothing effect to my bank balance. On the bright side, it’s only money. I’m going to have to try and retrieve my copy of Heart Of Darkness which my sister lent to my cousin. I have hope that it’s still in relatively few pieces, contains most pages and continues to function generally as a book, but the chances, I fear, are remarkably small.

Have you ever been in a situation where a choice seems to have been laid out for you in some supernatural way? Where a path has appeared before you seemingly laid so intricately that there’s no way that all of factors encouraging you to go that way could possibly have occurred coincidentally? The kind of thing where so many different aspects of your life seem to converge in such a way, that everything supports the potential choice to go that way, that everything looks like it would work out peachy. Like you’re holding the single last piece to a jigsaw puzzle and you’re quite sure where the piece goes, and that this is the piece that goes there… I’m getting that kind of inkling lately about something, and it disturbs me. I’m suspicious. Maybe I’m being too cynical, maybe I’m just so jaded and bitter that when something potentially good comes along, that I’d refute it’s validity because it looks so tempting that I assume that there just has to be some nasty catch or something wrong that I can’t see. So it’s confusing, I’m not sure whether I’m hesitant because I think that it’ll all go wrong, or that I’m hesitant because things might work out great. It’s a interesting kind of conundrum.

It should be a crime for someone to have as many uni assignments and responsibilities as I’ve got at the moment. It’s a bit of a shaft-riding. I also have to go pay some guy to jam pointy metal objects around in my mouth again on Tuesday, which is something I can always look forward to paying exorbitant piles of cash for. So this week’s full of trauma and deadlines, but as usual, I’m sure I’ll find some way to plonk along through it and escape in a reasonably small number of pieces.

I’m a bit worn out this evening, waking at seven a.m. on a Sunday is not one of my personal fortes, but it’s Fathers Day. So after making breakfast with a couple of other people I couldn’t quite make out that early in the morning, but I assume were my brother and sister, I realised that Fruit Loops actually taste pretty crap and are like tainted sugar more than anything worth eating. My tongue must be getting real old. Spent the day hanging around with the family, went bowling in the afternoon and managed to scam a 149 game somehow, after not having gone bowling in roughly two thirds of goddamn ages, probably closer to a year and a half. So it’s been a pretty tiring day, combined with having not gotten a lot of sleep.

I can pretty much contribute the lack of shut-eye to two things, one was going out last night to see 28 Days Later… with Glen, Katy, Nathan and Das, which I quite enjoyed. I read up on how they did some of the shots later and was pretty impressed. But the major factor in my not sleeping is probably my dog being a total wuss. About four a.m. I heard this rumbling noise wake me up, which sounded a lot like the noise the dog makes banging against the back door when he wants to be let out to go do his doggy-business. After intense internal argument on whether it would be more painful to get out of bed in the cold and let him out, or deal with the room being littered with doggy-produce, I heard the noise again and rolled out of bed. I opened the door to my room up and looked into the back room where the dog sleeps, and he wasn’t at the door, he was sitting in his beanbag like he usually is. So I figure I’m hearing things, curse my brain and get back into bed. I hear the noise again and eventually puzzle out that it’s thunder (yes, I’m quite quick on the uptake aren’t I?) and close my eyes thinking about all the lovely zombie-like goodness I’ve seen that night. At which stage my bed starts to move around like someone’s climbing onto it. Zombies in brain, something on bed, zombies in brain, something on bed… so I hesitantly open my eyes to see… my pansy-ass dog having climbed up on the bed between me and the wall, cowering and shivering from the thunder. You little wuss. So because I’m a big softy and it’d be more work getting him off, he camped out on the empty half of my double bed. So now I’ve slept with a dog.

Stay tuned for more details as they come to hand.

Last week on Inane Ramblings of the Pathologically Superfluous… I’d been worried lately about the impending doom of an insurmountable plague of assignments and other work, but no more. Mostly because it’s here. I handed in a critique yesterday, I have a Java assignment due next week along with a Web Dev assignment, then the week after that we’ve got the Project Team Review due, by which stage our projects are meant to be for the most part finished. There’s several more weeks of solid assignment-handing-in that follow, but I’d be here all day if I kept yammering on about them. So I’ve reached this kind of fairy-floss Zen state where I’m aware of the immense chaos and panic I’m in the middle of, but it no longer bothers me because I’m not waiting for it to hit anymore. Which is entirely unprofound and just another method by which I try and avoid getting back to work.

It’s a bit odd really, I mean I’m really quite confident that I’m going to pass everything just fine, but for some reason, possibly out of habit, I feel like I should be running around screaming about how nigh the end is and so on.

I went into town over the weekend to go and see Su Leng strut his proverbial DJ ’stuff’, and while sweating, heaving masses of people slinking over and thrusting at each other isn’t really my ‘thing’ per se, he did a pretty good job (the only detrimental force being one particularly obese woman of at least forty who was complaining that he wasn’t playing Eminem. I think that speaks for itself really) and apparently he’s got a regular gig going on there now, which is cool. I didn’t get violated any more than usual during the evening, give or take having my ass grappled at least a couple of times from god-knows-where by people quite probably in the I-really-don’t-want-to-know category, and I escaped at the end of it all relatively unscathed. That is, aside from the unescapable ‘pub smell’ that managed to permeate my clothes in a mighty fashion, and getting my jacket back from the coat check wet. It was dry when I chucked it in, and it hadn’t been raining. I don’t ask questions, because I don’t want to know. I just threw it in the laundry with everything else. All in all, not a horrendous evening.

I’ve just been told that an ex-uncle of mine is now rolling along merrily onto wife number six. Whatever floats your boat I guess. The fucker was setting up franchises

Oh, and it’s spring. Rock.