Will I Ever Get Over This?
Will I ever get over this?
Having tasted your lips with a kiss,
You can cross me off your list,
Take these cuffs from off my wrists,
And drop your fists.
Brendan Benson, 'Folk Singer'
Love that song at the moment. Ah, I'm a sucker for the jangly guitar-pop. Hang on a second, I'm updating my web-log. That must mean that I have something more important to be doing. But more on that later, gentle reader.
Went to Ordtoberfest on Saturday night. Can't imagine worse weather for a massive outdoor party; well at least not in this city. Thankfully it was moved indoors, so it didn't really matter. The weather did supply a boring baseline topic of conversation for the evening, though. Five hundred people were invited, probably around two hundred in total came, with a maximum of just over a hundred at any given time.
I started the night feeling pretty out of place, and a little insecure. I don't often do parties with hundreds of people of whom I know half a dozen. However, I had a couple of beers and tried some new chemicals, and after that had an excellent time. Max played a half hour set of chick-rock singer-songwriter stuff with her best mate Joh, which was surprisingly good, given I'm not a fan of the genre and Max only started playing drums five months ago (you rock, Max). There were a few other bands - some incredibly mediocre indie band, Darryn's moderately decent vocals-too-low Weezeresque pop group Mister Lee (they did a cover of the Pixies' Where is My Mind? so I had to like them in the end), and a truly excellent gothish band called Civilized. These last guys were top-notch musicians, and although maybe I wouldn't like their music much just to stick on the stereo, it's nice to listen to some really tight live music, especially when the lead singer can sing.
Speaking of live music, three sleeps until the Morrissey concert. So sweet.
Bizarrely enough, there were no less than five people at this party who graduated from the now-defunct Hollywood SHS at the same time as I did. People who I hadn't seen for a very long time, although not the kind of people I was ever very friendly with. I had interesting chats with a few of them, and managed to reestablish that they weren't people I wanted to know very much. Two of them had just bought houses in distant suburbs, and one of them couldn't shut up about her four-years-ago experience as a camp leader in the US. I wonder if she's done anything interesting since? Got some other gossip, which I won't bore you with, about what other people I knew at school are doing. It's a crazy world.
(Just a brief note, also, about Tom's friends. They're a pretty skanky bunch. One of them was talking about a friend of his who stuck a live canary between two slices of bread and ate it. Yeesh, I hope Lisa doesn't read this page. You've got to be worried if you find yourself wearing a leash around your neck for your glass of alcohol and thinking that's a stylish thing to do. I salute them all, but only cautiously.)
Anyway, I danced quite a bit. I had good conversations. I, bizarrely enough, had a guy called Lacho quiz me on my music taste, apparently because he thought I was cool. So it was a great night. I just wish I wasn't still hung over, two days later, and that I didn't have a major assignment due in every week until the end of the semester.
Moving on ...
Idle Hands do the Devil's Work
Oh, the Devil will make work,
For idle hands to do,
I stole, and then I lied,
Just because you asked me to ...
The Smiths, 'What Difference Does it Make?'
I didn't do enough over the mid-semester break. And now I'm in deep, up Ship's creek without a paddle (the original form of that expression, when it was something that had just happened to Captain Cook). The difference is that this time, world, I'm going to win. So back off, and stop grinning.
The thing about people like me is that we'll take any excuse not to work. Grandmother comes over from Victoria, kills a week of work. Girlfriend calls up, kills a day of work. Film on television? Write that night off. Tekken? Scratch one lifetime. It's this trait, above all others, that I must quash if I'm going to survive the coming apocalypse. At this stage, though, angst is not required. Visit me in one month's time, as swotvac commences after a deluge of missed or crappy assignment submissions, and you may find me a changed man.
Wish me luck, everyone. This is the Point of No Return.
Gratitude
Thank you for loving me at my worst ...
The Whitlams, 'Thank You'
Thanks go out to everyone who read my last web-log entry, assumed it meant that I thought they hated me, and confirmed that in fact, they didn't hate me. That wasn't the intent of the post, but all the same it was very gratifying. You can feel free to say that sort of thing any time you like, everyone. After all, I am a paranoid bastard.
Will I ever get over this?
Having tasted your lips with a kiss,
You can cross me off your list,
Take these cuffs from off my wrists,
And drop your fists.
Brendan Benson, 'Folk Singer'
Love that song at the moment. Ah, I'm a sucker for the jangly guitar-pop. Hang on a second, I'm updating my web-log. That must mean that I have something more important to be doing. But more on that later, gentle reader.
Went to Ordtoberfest on Saturday night. Can't imagine worse weather for a massive outdoor party; well at least not in this city. Thankfully it was moved indoors, so it didn't really matter. The weather did supply a boring baseline topic of conversation for the evening, though. Five hundred people were invited, probably around two hundred in total came, with a maximum of just over a hundred at any given time.
I started the night feeling pretty out of place, and a little insecure. I don't often do parties with hundreds of people of whom I know half a dozen. However, I had a couple of beers and tried some new chemicals, and after that had an excellent time. Max played a half hour set of chick-rock singer-songwriter stuff with her best mate Joh, which was surprisingly good, given I'm not a fan of the genre and Max only started playing drums five months ago (you rock, Max). There were a few other bands - some incredibly mediocre indie band, Darryn's moderately decent vocals-too-low Weezeresque pop group Mister Lee (they did a cover of the Pixies' Where is My Mind? so I had to like them in the end), and a truly excellent gothish band called Civilized. These last guys were top-notch musicians, and although maybe I wouldn't like their music much just to stick on the stereo, it's nice to listen to some really tight live music, especially when the lead singer can sing.
Speaking of live music, three sleeps until the Morrissey concert. So sweet.
Bizarrely enough, there were no less than five people at this party who graduated from the now-defunct Hollywood SHS at the same time as I did. People who I hadn't seen for a very long time, although not the kind of people I was ever very friendly with. I had interesting chats with a few of them, and managed to reestablish that they weren't people I wanted to know very much. Two of them had just bought houses in distant suburbs, and one of them couldn't shut up about her four-years-ago experience as a camp leader in the US. I wonder if she's done anything interesting since? Got some other gossip, which I won't bore you with, about what other people I knew at school are doing. It's a crazy world.
(Just a brief note, also, about Tom's friends. They're a pretty skanky bunch. One of them was talking about a friend of his who stuck a live canary between two slices of bread and ate it. Yeesh, I hope Lisa doesn't read this page. You've got to be worried if you find yourself wearing a leash around your neck for your glass of alcohol and thinking that's a stylish thing to do. I salute them all, but only cautiously.)
Anyway, I danced quite a bit. I had good conversations. I, bizarrely enough, had a guy called Lacho quiz me on my music taste, apparently because he thought I was cool. So it was a great night. I just wish I wasn't still hung over, two days later, and that I didn't have a major assignment due in every week until the end of the semester.
Moving on ...
Idle Hands do the Devil's Work
Oh, the Devil will make work,
For idle hands to do,
I stole, and then I lied,
Just because you asked me to ...
The Smiths, 'What Difference Does it Make?'
I didn't do enough over the mid-semester break. And now I'm in deep, up Ship's creek without a paddle (the original form of that expression, when it was something that had just happened to Captain Cook). The difference is that this time, world, I'm going to win. So back off, and stop grinning.
The thing about people like me is that we'll take any excuse not to work. Grandmother comes over from Victoria, kills a week of work. Girlfriend calls up, kills a day of work. Film on television? Write that night off. Tekken? Scratch one lifetime. It's this trait, above all others, that I must quash if I'm going to survive the coming apocalypse. At this stage, though, angst is not required. Visit me in one month's time, as swotvac commences after a deluge of missed or crappy assignment submissions, and you may find me a changed man.
Wish me luck, everyone. This is the Point of No Return.
Gratitude
Thank you for loving me at my worst ...
The Whitlams, 'Thank You'
Thanks go out to everyone who read my last web-log entry, assumed it meant that I thought they hated me, and confirmed that in fact, they didn't hate me. That wasn't the intent of the post, but all the same it was very gratifying. You can feel free to say that sort of thing any time you like, everyone. After all, I am a paranoid bastard.
