Entro

Upgrade

2004-06-15T21:23:00.000+08:00

Time for you to upgrade,
Fuck's sake, time to load!
Deltron 3030, 'Upgrade (A Brymar College Course)'

I haven't posted here for a while, but after coming back to look at the new Blogger interface and the new web-log sample templates, and reminding myself of the overall superiority of Blogger over LiveJournal, I am tempted to resurrect it. You may see some action in this space in the future.

2003-11-21T09:26:00.000+08:00

She's a Bachelor

I want a girl with a mind like a diamond
I want a girl who knows what’s best
I want a girl with shoes that cut
And eyes that burn like cigarettes
Cake, 'Short Skirt Long Jacket'

Max finished her exams on Wednesday. Since she's far too smart to go around wondering whether she passed anything (mostly it's just wondering whether she got a higher distinction or the Nobel Prize) she now qualifies for one of those degree things. Although I feel compelled to remind her that I have two of the things, especially as she's talking about getting an MSc in a couple of years. Still, anyone with the will to study units as crazy as that Medical Genetics one deserves a medal, as well as a degree. Too many arbitrary, unconnected facts. Hypocholesterolaemia, chronic myloid leukemia, haemochromatosis, papillary thyroid neoplasias. Primary risk factors include eating icecream, and learning the names of the disorders.

Congratulations babe.

Snivelling Wretch

The Path is the Mask of Love;
Away, away ...
The Flow is the Task above Today
There is no Other Way
(you gotta trust us!)
Captain Beefheart, 'Trust Us'

Came across something I'd held onto for reasons of nostalgia yesterday while engaged in a whirlwind cleanup. I thought I'd reproduce it here for the amusement of all:

LETTER OF APOLOGY FOR YOUR BICYCLE

I have written in to apologise to the inconvenience caused to you during the loss period of your bicycle.

As I was unsure of the law withstanding in Western Australia, I thought that the "finder's keeper's" theory applies here. However, I did try to seek for the bicycle's owner (what is you) by cycling it to University nearly everyday since last July, hoping that I will bump into you one day. I felt now that the method that I had chosen was rather inactive.

Secondly, I will like to apologise for not revealing the truth when confronted by you that day. The main reason was that I was feeling afraid and hence at that moment of time, I was behaving abnormal.

Please be ensure that I am also eager to find the bicycle's owner. In fact, I was wondering everyday when you will see me and stop me. If that happens, I will gladly hand the bike over. Also, I will like to re-emphasize that I found your bicycle by the bushes and not by unlawful methods. If so, why will I have cycled it to University nearly immediately after I have found it?

Thousand apologies for the inconvenience and emotional distress that I have caused all these while and I hope that you could let out a sign of relief now that your bicycle has been recovered.

Sorry for all the inconveniences.

Yours sincerely
---

Surely, no theft would be worth such crawling? I will treasure this letter forever.

Exeunt

I'd like to leave the country,
For a month of Sundays,
Burn the town where I was born!

On Sunday morning I'm flying out of this country on Malaysia Airlines for a month of touring in Cambodia and Vietnam. The last couple of days have largely been occupied with making the final preparations for the trip. Personally, I've always enjoyed it more when other people have done these things for me. I don't like having to think about things like insurance.

I keep saying to myself 'it's going to be the best thing I've ever done' and on some level I'm sure it will be, but at the same time I'm becoming increasingly apprehensive about disasters major (leg blown off, contraction of paralytic wasting disease, taken hostage by terrorist group) and minor (the runs, getting ripped off by a smelly, unpleasant hotelier) that may transpire during the course of the trip. I have this feeling that a transformation into an unpleasant statistic is pending, somehow. But at the same time, I keep thinking 'Piles of human skulls! Best thing ever!' and that is no small comfort. Not only that, but when I get back into town it will be in anticipation of a week or so down south, which will be the perfect unwinder.

Hope you'll all remember my name when I get back. And Chas, email me your phone number in Mt Barker if you want to come and see Return of the King with me and Max while we're in Albany after Christmas. I think it'd be novel. Well, based on, anyway.

Apotheosis

Not really an appropriate word, but a good one at least. The last thing to mention in this disordered heap of events past, present and future is the completion of my own degree. Eventual completion. Handed in my thesis about three weeks ago today. The 12,000 words I had to write in the last week before the due date would probably qualify as the hardest work I've ever done. I punched in considerably over one hundred hours from Monday morning through to Sunday evening, which is a sweatshop workload, but instead of rolling cigarettes to kill Western dogs, I was listening to the same soundbite enhanced forty-nine different ways and then describing the results quantitatively (with bollocksy graphs and tables) and qualitatively (with bollocks in its pure, verbal form). Read like Hemingway in the end, not.

I have also been told unofficially that I got higher distinctions for all my second semester coursework, which I found surprisingly gratifying, almost as if I'd received an overdue renewal of my membership in the winners' circle after a bizarre Australia Post screwup. Although I'd be far from astonished if they miraculously transmuted into ordinary distinctions or credits at the last minute. Or fails. No! It shall not be.

So, off to get a job, snicker.

In other news, good luck to anyone getting baptised in the next couple of days. I hear people are. Don't catch a cold!

2003-10-22T21:54:00.000+08:00

Ostracism

He dresses incorrectly, no one taught him how ...
(Where to go? But he just don't get out enough!)
He dresses incorrectly, no one taught him how ...
(Talk to girls? But he's just too spotty!)
He dresses incorrectly, no one taught him how ...
(Seventeen! He not keen on being like anyone else)
So he just plays on his computer game ...
Blur, 'Jubilee'

Fresh from sidewise criticism of others over indiscriminate searching for web-log material, I arrive to shamelessly peddle my own mish-mash of situational moral philosophy, in relation to an incident today involving Mat Cole and some of the UCC ex-post-freshers. The event: Mat is playing SSB: Melee with assorted ex-post-Fs. Ex-post-Fs decide they want to go all-on-all four-way Jigglypuff combat (imagine the excitement!). Mat demurs. The ex-post-Fs relieve Mat of his controller and give it to Thomas Castiglione after first canvassing the possibility of simply ganging up on him in-game to hasten his elimination. Mat, hurt by this display of disregard, storms out, slamming the door into the UCC-UniSFA corridor and breaking one of its panes of glass.

Thoughts:

Mat is still a giant tool.

As a loser, you shouldn't expect other people to accept you into their social group simply because they themselves are losers, or something only slightly better. Losers themselves are quick to seize every available opportunity to kick downwards.

I know this at least as well as anyone, since I have a serious tendency to kick downwards myself.

Seeing people woefully mistreat someone makes you lose a lot of respect for them - even if you agree with the essentials of their perspective.

The ex-post-Fs are a pretty ignoble bunch.

Chas' efforts to chastise (no pun intended) the ex-post-freshers after the event lacked conviction. Colm's were somewhat hypocritical in light of his own past behaviour towards Mat. Both are in a position where they don't have to interact with Mat in his most annoying form - well, maybe not Chas. As am I, since a couple of years ago I was consistently mean enough to Mat that he realised he had no hope of making friends with me.

If Mat, as he has stated, never returns to UCC, what sort of life will he lead? After all, he has spent the last twelve months in here all day, every day, playing computer games. He has no job, and isn't studying. And now, he probably has no remaining social group (although I think he may be roleplaying with the Gamers' Guild, but then, that may not necessarily constitute a social group).

I wonder what kind of person Mat will be in ten years' time. The thought seriously disturbs me.

Some people have no luck whatsoever, and no real means of making it for themselves. This is why society needs safety nets.

Shrug. Can't say I really care all that much; I don't think people should be obliged to associate with, or tolerate, people they don't get along with at all, and who are basically annoying twits. Courtesy is a reasonable social requirement. Anything more than a minimal level of feigned amiability is asking too much. Besides, Mat may end up faring better when his transformation into a viable social being is no longer anyone's pet project.

EDIT: Mat's back. Apparently he's apologising for his over-reaction as well. I'm almost impressed.

2003-10-17T22:00:00.000+08:00

Accretions of Black Air

Human existence being an hallucination containing in itself the secondary hallucinations of day and night (the latter an insanitary condition of the atmosphere due to accretions of black air) it ill becomes any man of sense to be concerned at the illusory approach of the supreme hallucination known as death.
Flann O'Brien, 'The Third Policeman'

Nearly there now.

They stuck pins in me, to make me sick so I wouldn't get sicker. I got sickish.

2003-09-17T09:28:00.000+08:00

Avast me beauties!

Rumbustious Ramblings

Went to sea, aboard the ship, the Oakley Palomino,
For to sail around the bay and get drunk in the casino!
Oy! Oy oyyyy!
I put my hat upon my head and my clothes around my torso,
Lots of money in my pockets to spend in the casino!
Oy! Oy oyyy! (oy oy oy oy) ...
Bedridden, 'Oakley Palomino'

My pirate name is:

Captain Tom Flint

Even though there's no legal rank on a pirate ship, everyone recognizes you're the one in charge. Like the rock flint, you're hard and sharp. But, also like flint, you're easily chipped, and sparky. Arr!

2003-08-20T22:08:00.000+08:00

I am attempting to make this post using w3m, the shiny new text browser I've just started using. I have to say, it's rocking all over Lynx at this point. I mean, it's actually capable of rendering tables and frames. How cool is that? It renders the ASP of my favourite Tekken message board quite faultlessly, and scarily, seems quite happy with Blogger as well. And if you're feeling daring, you can even overlay images on xterms for that 'that's just wrong!' feeling!

Enough praise.

Meat Revisited

And the flesh you so fancifully fry,
Is murder ...
The Smiths, 'Meat is Murder'

Somewhat lazy quote, I'll admit. I'm currently trialling a reversion to the consumption of chicken and red meat. I'm finding it quite tasty. I'd been toying with the idea of either becoming a vegan or stopping vegetarianism altogether for some time, as my position perched on top of the fence was becoming quite irritating. Moving in with Max has decided me to attempt flesh once more. So, to the cynical potential Menz Group members amongst you: am I being emasculated by marching timidly towards my girlfriend's dietary practices, or remasculated by shovelling down a bloody great steak? Talk to me when you see me, and draw your own conclusions.

Max has been screen-printing for the last couple of days. She makes it look so easy I'm feeling almost inspired enough to take on those 'Punish the Empty Triangle' T-shirts that have been mooted for some time.

2003-08-11T15:15:00.000+08:00

I've got a new apartment baby,
And it protects me from the lonely whistling streets ...
Custard, 'Apartment'

For those who didn't know: Max and I moved into an apartment in Claremont on the weekend. The address is 3/28 Shenton Rd, Claremont. I have, for some reason, been keeping this a little hush-hush, so apologies to anyone who feels I've been keeping them out of the loop after finding out by accident because of some loose-lipped gossip. It's not that I don't like you or think you deserve to know things, it's just that I'm a naturally secretive person. I also have a marked tendency to enjoy presenting surprising things to unsuspecting people as faits accomplis. Grovelling to the imagined legions of people emotionally dismembered by being kept in the dark aside, the move has been a grand success, and the place is full of beautiful things that belong to me, to Max, and now, to us both I suppose.

And now, for something completely different.

Religion

I don't believe in an interventionist God
But I know, darling, that you do
But if I did I would kneel down and ask Him
Not to intervene when it came to you ...
Nick Cave, 'Into My Arms'

I am taking this opportunity to clarify some of my personal views regarding faith, religion, spirituality, science and the existence of higher powers. I don't expect I'll get very far, because quite naturally there's an awful lot of ground to cover. I've decided to do this because one of my friends 'found God' (for want of a better term) recently and when I discussed it with her she mentioned that in the process of deciding to become a practising Christian another friend of mine had discussed my religious views with her. Horrified by the notion of my heartfelt cosmological understanding being the subject of approximate scuttlebutt amongst my social circle, I have decided to offer a summary thereof.

Firstly, I don't believe in God. I was never taught to believe in God or any other higher power as a child, and ever since I've had the mental faculties required to pretend to oneself one is making a decision on the existence of God, I have actively chosen not to believe in God. Nothing in my own personal experience has made me want to change this belief. Obviously, I can't prove God doesn't exist, and I'm quite happy to accept the possibility that there could be a higher power (so I suppose in that sense I'm an agnostic) but I really, genuinely feel that there is no God, nor any other, similar being or group of beings.

Secondly, I don't believe in souls. Along with not believing in God (and specifically, I suppose, a Christian God), I also don't believe in an afterlife. Not that the concept of the Christian afterlife really makes any sense if there isn't a God. And, of course, I don't believe in reincarnation. In my ideal world, I think the afterlife would consist of another world similar to this one, with all the concommitant joys and trials. I don't think I would want an eternity in perfect union with God, even if such a thing were possible. Although I know that feeling is utterly senseless.

The word 'soul', as it is commonly used, is quite a useful one. People use it to mean those characteristics they consider most intrinsic to a person: virtues and vices they have in abundance, their outlook, their levels of happiness, funkiness, whatever. Fine. I can take that usage, although I believe these characteristics are expressed as part of a person's mind, and not as part of some other, elusive quantity. But I don't believe in immortal souls.

Thirdly, I think that human beings are (again for want of a better term) machines. That is, a human being is effectively a very complex, but perfectly natural (in the sense that is governed by physical laws that apply to all other things in the same way) mechanism that interacts with the environment about it. This isn't a revolutionary belief, but quite a standard one that dates back at least a couple of centuries. It's also worth noting that imagining a human as a giant clockwork watch is not particularly useful metaphorically speaking. Humans aren't just static machines that always work the same way: humans are constantly changing physical processes. Your 'self', and mine, however it is defined, is in a constant state of flux. Just as a side note, I think the clear and immediate effects that alcohol (and to a greater extent psychotropic drugs) have on one's personality are strong evidence that those things you consider to be 'you' are really just the normal operating conditions of a very complicated mechanism. Those operating conditions can be deliberately changed by external stimuli.

The most complicated part of the human machine is obviously the brain. From an aesthetic viewpoint, I think the human brain is easily amongst the most fascinating and beautiful natural phenomena one can ever have the pleasure of even attempting to comprehend. If I'm reducing the things in my immediate environment to components of a mechanistic worldview, then I suppose I have to describe the 'people' I 'know' as just incredible configurations I can interact with in a moderately consistent, predictable manner.

Anyway, you get the general idea about my beliefs, and also, about my taste. So now, on to how I feel about spirituality and religion.

I think the way people talk about their spiritual experiences is very interesting. Since I don't believe in God, I don't believe that people actually talk to Him or in any way commune with Him, either. I think, somewhat cynically, that the fact that people so often connect their spirituality with 'nature' (whatever that means) and a free, uncluttered environment, or with moments of extreme emotional tension, for good or bad, is evidence that what people call 'spirituality' is just having strong emotions and suddenly noticing that you have them.

Just like most of you, I've experienced moments of almost euphoric personal satisfaction whilst wandering through beautiful forests in contemplation of the wonder of the universe. I've had emotions of love and anger so overpowering it would be easy to explain them as interventions by some higher power. But the key word in that sentence is 'explain'. People make up stories about what causes them to feel the way they do, to give themselves a basis on which to understand the world around them. They aren't likely to make up stories along the lines of 'the combination of fresh air, exertion, sunlight and contemplation of something intellectually stimulating resulted in an increase of my serotonin levels' (note my unscientific lack of comprehension of neurochemistry by the way). This is because, at first sight, they just don't help much. So instead they come up with something roughly along the lines of 'God entered my heart, as he does at all times when I am virtuous and at peace with the world'.

When people start believing each other's artistically concocted stories about how the world works, and using them to acquire a sense of personal safety, to justify all manner of arbitrary personal feelings and base drives, and to get a better grip on the distribution of property and leisure time in their society, that's when you get religion. As you may be able to sense from this introductory sentence, I'm not overwhelmingly positive when it comes to religion. I see religion as a way of explaining away the reality one observes, of stopping oneself from conducting a proper process of inquiry into one's interactions with other people, and of deluding oneself about one's personal worth. There are big differences between different religions, of course, but one thing they have in common is a reliance on completely unprovable assertions about the nature of reality that actively encourage people not to examine the world around them. This is referred to as 'having faith'. I think faith sucks. I'm quite happy for people to axiomatise things about their existence in order to proceed in a constructive manner. But I vehemently dislike the practice of adding to these axioms an extraneous, hierarchical teleology with lots of contradictory ramifications, and then clinging to it to the point of death and murder.

Religion insults and denies the natural wonder of the world around us by explaining it as a creation of God (an explanation which throughout the ages has stood against proper investigation of that world). Religion causes the perpetuation of injustice by duping some people into an acceptance of their straitened personal circumstances, and offering others a vindication of the oppression that it gratifies them to continue. Religion makes a mockery of, and devalues almost utterly, one's personal decision to live according to certain moral precepts by linking this decision to a crude system of punishment/reward, enlightenment/ignorance, fortune/misfortune. By all means, say 'I shall not kill'. But make this decision your own. To my mind, accepting religion is somewhat akin to tying a blindfold around one's head and pleading 'Hold me!' to an unresponsive world.

In conclusion, I'd just like to say that the nature of belief is obviously quite complex and some people who read this will likely point out that in my impassioned ideological ranting I've no doubt indulged in some of the sloppy thought processes I'm so eager to criticise. If you feel this way, take a moment to mentally weed out those parts and search for the core of what I'm trying to communicate. Other readers may well be quite offended by the anti-religious tone of the last few paragraphs. I'm truly sorry for this. Also, I don't think of you any less because you don't agree with my views. I saw this post just as a way of getting across my own point of view. I tend to polemicise when I do this, which tends in turn to create a view train wrecks of logic, emotion, and hyperbole.

2003-07-31T09:16:00.000+08:00

Amusing.

2003-07-05T16:04:00.000+08:00

Review: Hulk

I took very low expectations to Hulk, which I saw with Leighton at Innaloo on Thursday night. After seeing a string of unimpressive action blockbusters (Daredevil, Matrix Reloaded and the acceptable but still ultimately poor X-Men 2), I felt that it was perfectly reasonable to fear that Ang Lee, with all respect to his undoubted directorial ability, would be unable to save a comic-book adaptation from the pitfalls that plague the genre.

I'm an Ang Lee fan. Of the three or four of his films that I'd seen prior to Hulk, the only one that had offended me was the tepid Ice Storm, with its lousy plot and uninteresting characters in search of permafrosted profundity. Whereas, on the other hand, I was a complete sucker for the cinematic beauty and genre-winking understated humour of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. As for Sense and Sensibility, well I'm enough of a man to enjoy the odd happily-ever-after middle-class Austen fantasy now and again.

But could Ang Lee really interest me in a story about a mild-mannered scientist who (in the all-too-easily-explained inexplicable manner of comics) turns into a giant green angry ape when he gets riled? The answer, surprisingly, was yes. Despite the film having been previewed to me in various media as pretentious, overblown crap, I enjoyed it rather a lot.

I was quite happy to indulge the fairytale photography of the Banner backstory, complete with garden gates opening on to bleak deserts, and duelling plush toys, a visually symbolic feast which is later recapitulated with apocalyptic variations and pictures of empty swings in the shifting sands. The film is laced with rather blatant visual references to its character's emotions and psychology (mushroom clouds, closed doors, verdant gardens etc.) but these, along with the 'innovative' scene cuts (constant comic-panel-esque shot cuts, fadeouts and dragalongs), are to be enjoyed as cheesy, reverential trappings of the genre movie, not pedantically reviled.

I haven't seen Chopper (have a rented copy sitting on my coffee table right now, actually) but I've heard Eric Bana was rather good in it. He's far from brilliant in Hulk but does manage to exude likeability in a way that a lot of American actors of the Affleck mould simply can't. He just doesn't look like an arrogant prick, so when the unbelievably sleazy Josh Lucas character wheels and deals his way in, we're quite pleased to see him get his head beaten in by an empowered nerdy guy. Nick Nolte plays Banner's maniac dad as a grizzled trash-collecting perv genius, and some grey-haired yank with a stick up his bum plays the military man who's out to crush his mad scientist dreams forever. Even if Jennifer Connelly just switches into Beautiful Mind mode and mainly just sits there saying mildly assertive things while exposing her ever-so-charmingly bucked teeth, at least she isn't the abysmal Jennifer Garner - at least Connelly can act. So the acting in this movie isn't bad at all. It's a lot better than the competition.

What about the all-important action eye-candy? A leading complaint amongst reviews of this film that I've seen is that it takes too long to get into the action. Well, frankly, I thought all of its aforementioned contemporaries got into the action too fast, too frequently, and in too cluttered a way to hold one's attention. The fight scenes in Hulk, by contrast, are relatively few in number (I think there's only about three or four) and are charmingly goofy rather than trying to win you with 'beautifully choreographed' (read: implausible and overlong) action. I got quite a kick out of seeing the big green guy (who was well-animated in CGI that simply shouldn't be copping the amount of criticism that it is) pick up a twenty foot wide metal door that must have weighed about fifteen fictitious tonnes and throw it like a frisbee through a couple of solid concrete walls. The same goes for all the leaping about and tank-tossing. Much more entertaining than being asked to believe a blind guy in a red leather suit can do flips off the front of speeding motorcycles.

So, Hulk is not a masterpiece, but is strongly plotted for a comic book adaptation (it even waves the wand quite well with its scientific rationalisation for all the crap in it), has interesting characters (I haven't given a decent mention to Nolte and Elliot in the duel of the bad old men) and fun action scenes. It is good. It does drop off a bit towards the end though, in a completely unexplained and incongruous finale that was apparently inserted after studio focus groups weren't happy with the original. But we can imagine that the original Ang Lee - James Schamus monster-movie conception would have been perfect, and put down all the problems to the Hollywood studio machine.

2003-07-04T16:37:00.000+08:00

OK, so I've finally got around to:

entro
Magic Number	12
Job	Most Hated Person - Ever
Personality	Rainy Day
Temperament	Unflappable
Sexual	If I Have To
Likely To Win	A Place On The Bench (For The Reserves)
Me - In A Word	Subtle
Colour
Brought to you by MemeJack

and:

ataxi
Magic Number	13
Job	Politician
Personality	Drifter
Temperament	An Oft-Exploding Volcano
Sexual	If I Have To
Likely To Win	A Nobel Prize
Me - In A Word	Beautiful
Colour
Brought to you by MemeJack

I like both of them, though I'm finding it hard to reconcile my two temperaments ('unflappable' and 'an oft-exploding volcano'). And why is my colour red? How disappointing. Unfortunately, other people's are so massively off the mark I can't give the thing much credence because I'd quite like to think that 'subtle' and 'beautiful' summed me up in a couple of words. Also, it's disappointing to see the meaning of the word 'meme' reduced to 'an internet quiz'. Why must people always go tromping on delicate concepts with their vulgar vocabulary requirements?

2003-07-03T14:22:00.000+08:00

Hiatus Hiatus

Solid poem:

Of course I tried to tell him
but he cranked his head
without an excuse.
I told him the sky chases
the sun
And he smiled and said:
'What's the use.'
I was feeling like a demon
again
So I said: 'But the ocean chases
the fish.'
This time he laughed
and said: 'Suppose the
strawberry were
pushed into a mountain.'
After that I knew the
war was on--
So we fought:
He said: 'The apple-cart like a
broomstick-angel
snaps & splinters
old dutch shoes.'
I said: 'Lightning will strike the old oak
and free the fumes!'
He said: 'Mad street with no name.'
I said: 'Bald killer! Bald killer! Bald killer!'
He said, getting real mad,
'Firestoves! Gas! Couch!'
I said, only smiling,
'I know God would turn back his head
if I sat quietly and thought.'
We ended by melting away,
hating the air!
Gregory Corso, 'Poets Hitchhiking Along the Highway'

Just thought I'd share that with you as I finally found an electronic copy of it.

I have just finished reading: an omnibus of William Hope Hodgson's work, including The House on the Borderland, The Boats of the Glen Carrig, The Night Land, and The Ghost Pirates. Spine-wibbling stuff. Not bad actually, though not quite up the the billing it's given in its blurb.

I have just started reading: Narcissus and Goldmund, by Hermann Hesse. Have no idea, really, what it's about yet.

My exam went reasonably well, and my project mark turned out to be twenty-five percent higher than I thought it would be, which was a nice surprise. Unfortunately I had very low expectations to begin with, so that doesn't mean I got one hundred and five percent or anything.

I have entirely, utterly, and completely finished working for the Child Support Agency. This statement accompanied by muted, soul-crushed celebrations.

On Monday night, I attended the 2003 Nocturnal Ball at Metropolis in town, with Max and a couple of friends. It was a gas. Had to wear a tuxedo, which I don't really enjoy, but at least others appreciated it. On the other hand, I spent a couple of days making a terrific mask for the event: a golden kingfisher mask which made me look like an alien. I shall treasure it always.

I am slightly melancholic about the fact I'm not going to Terracon. I hadn't really thought about it until recently, but it would've been fun to attend. Ah well, I suppose I may be alive and in the vicinity next year, so I can always head down then.

Today is not a good day. He clutches feebly at the hem of his jacket, fingers scrabbling in the damp dirt of the laneway, his right hand passing blindly over the satchel of papers at his side. The cold metal slides between his innards, separating membranes of flesh like buckwheat tofu, causing shivers. This initial chill is followed by a painful, stinging heat that spreads rapidly. The face that stares down on him with a mad look about it is attached to a head that is attached to an arm that is attached to the sword that is running him through. A pity. He would have liked to finish reading that novel at some point.

2003-06-13T18:36:00.000+08:00

Sifting

This is that being
unusually anal read: pukeworthy session to
her
upper skull was aware
that
we were things I get from
a tacky ensemble.
She said be
to get
from a
demonstration on Friday, night On my
repeated escapes in the steps. onto
me. I
will disappoint myself
in a job I subtract another
My linguistic function can pick the shapes
you have at
some point.
The output of an Internet poem generator when applied to my weblog

The above was an average selection. I clicked past the best of them, unfortunately. Such beauty.

My assignments were finished, Max's party was a success, my study for my single exam proceeds well, I finish my work stint at the Child Support Agency in a few days, and they all lived happily ever after. Or something similar.

Hope you are all doing well.

The tarot card I most resemble is apparently the Star. Also, I think China Mieville is cool.

2003-06-02T12:38:00.000+08:00

She Scoots, Therefore She Is

When I fix my bicycle,
Skies will turn to blue,
Riding down your street again,
I will visit you!
Bedridden, 'Bicycle'

In other news, Max won a scooter at the Left Bank last night. This is the most conclusive proof I have ever had that (a) there is a God and (b) he knows how to pick the talent. I only hope she doesn't leave me for it: after all, it will be cooler, shinier, and more reliable than me, and probably won't keep a web-log in which it says stupid things all the time.

2003-06-02T12:17:00.000+08:00

Entombed

I return from the Real World to curl up and die (from exposure) in my self-pitying sarcophagous (coinage, not spelling error) preservative-filled jar of narcissism. I haven't written here for a while so this may be quite a lengthy post.

Aarrgh!
Riding through the night,
Riding through the night ...
Neu!, 'Lebwohl'

The practical circumstances of life aren't so terrible at the moment. I am simply suffering from a lot of uncertainty about my short-, medium- and long-term future. Not an uncommon affliction amongst university students at this time of year (Oh God, I look forward to the day when I can use phrases like that playfully instead of with tragic, hand-draped-languidly-over-forehead melancholy) . Of somewhat greater concern is the way this uncertainty is refracting through my personal relationships.

I still have a lot of psychological problems in the lead-up to the submission of major assignments, but they are resolving themselves into a coping mechanism. I am finally becoming acquainted with the nature of my stress, my avoidance behaviours, and my eventual feverish work stretches and beginning to incorporate them into my planning. The end result is that yes, I did manage to get my twenty minute project practice seminar finished on time, and I delivered it quite well - at least as well as the other students doing so. That was a source of great satisfaction to me.

I saw the two action blockbuster sequels of our times, X2 and The Matrix Reloaded, and disliked them both. I think this signals that somewhere along the line I became an adult. No more needs to be said on that score, though, as I've done enough pseudo-critical ranting in the presence of everyone who's likely to care what I think already.

I have been feeling rather unenthused about other people lately. I mentioned this to Max. 'Isn't that a permanent part of your character?' was her reply. I didn't find that even slightly hurtful, but it is a little inaccurate. Only sometimes, I consider the people I know, the people I consider my friends, the people I think of as idiots and just generally people in the world, and feel that we're all so insignificant. We muddle along with our enmities and our amities intertwining, so bound up in events that we don't even remember from week to week.

When I shuffle off this mortal coil (my linguistic function can never help but misconstrue that metaphor) in another fifty years or so, will there actually be anything of me left behind to care about? It feels (and I realise that twenty-four, whilst old by student standards, is still young by the standards of the world at large) as if most of my dreams are already likely to attenuate unfulfilled, warbling quietly and fitfully into a desperate craving for the vicarious satisfaction that may be available from the children I suppose I will have at some point. I wonder what the poor little tykes will think of their accursed progenitor. Actually, that's quite a happy thought.

As I write, I have two things on my mind. The first and less significant of the two is my real-time distributed computing systems project, which I am going to have to do a lot of work on in the coming week in order to have it prepared for a demonstration on Friday morning. I have been working on it reasonably solidly for the last couple of days already, although during the day yesterday I slacked off unconscionably. I played ZAngband for a couple of hours, attended the UniSFA book-covering, and watched the NSL Grand Final, none of which were things I wanted to do, and only one of which was remotely constructive. But following that I did return to coding Java for my project until 1:00 am. I notice that whenever I actually sit down and write programs, work proceeds pretty quickly, but I don't enjoy it all that much. I'm feeling more relief than pleasure as the various parts of development merge and actually function correctly. Still, if someone is willing to offer me employment writing programs at the end of this year, I can see myself enjoying it more than any job I've previously held. That definitely includes the work I'm doing for the Child Support Agency at the moment.

The second thing I have on my mind is my relationship with Max. I won't pretend that she doesn't read this page, so this bit is already verging on an open letter. I wish I could explain to her how I felt about her without descending into my conventional egocentric ramblings. I have been rather a distant presence in her life lately, due to the time requirements of my work and the mood it's been putting me in a lot of the rest of the time. Every time I subtract another social engagement from my calendar to either work or stress about not working, I feel the rising bile. I have been feeling burdened, guilty and boring, as if I have been watching the aperture of light before my eyes heal over into an ugly, permanent scar. I want to slice through that and bathe myself in warm sunshine. Instead all I do is repeat my mantra, 'six months', whilst secretly fearing that I will disappoint myself again, just as I did before. This time I think things will be different though, but that doesn't stop the black tides rising in the mean time. All this is absurdly melodramatic, but then it's easy to become so when you spend your time huddled over a computer screen into the early hours of the morning, performing tasks that may set the tone for most of the rest of your (potentially so maudlin) lifespan and wondering why.

I love you Loren. I haven't felt this strongly about any other person. Please put up with my introspective gloom a little longer, just because you know that I'm capable of better in other circumstances. I think about you all the time.

2003-04-27T12:10:00.000+08:00

Pain

A simple title, but there it is. This morning I did something to the upper left-hand side of my neck, and I haven't been able to uncrick it since. If I don't maintain a head angle of around thirty-five degrees, I become the victim of vicious stabbing pains. But wait! I don't get back or neck pain. This is completely wrong. And it hurts almost beyond belief.

2003-04-24T00:22:00.000+08:00

Squorons and Scutterbotches

Have just returned from a remarkably squoron-free foray into the southwest. It was riddled with scutterbotches, however. My failure to distill the sound was rendered irrelevant by the absence of sound-production devices. Nothing much else to report. Tomorrow, at eleven o'clock in the morning, I will have given this damn talk. Then, I shall sleep.

You say 'ere long done do does did',
Words which could only be your own,
And then produce the text from whence was ripped ...
(Some dizzy whore, 1804)
The Smiths, 'Cemetry Gates'

I must be going crazy. I have spent the past few minutes meditating on the viability of the use of the phrase 'zero-dollar whore' as an insult.

In my opinion, a belief that the world is not capable of arbitrarily ruining your life is ill-founded. This comment made because someone expressed just such a belief to me recently.

On another tack: although I have a reputation for actively cultivating dislikes, including of people, there are very few people who I detest to the point that I would wage a campaign of aggression against them that crosses social boundaries indiscriminately. On the other hand, people I know who are generally thought to be friendly, pleasant and charming are perfectly capable of pursuing reckless vendettas for very little reason at all. When I decide to make a personal attack on someone, I prefer to spend some time trying to ensure that it will actually work. Rather cold and calculating, I know.

I wonder what these public diaries are really for. Lately I've been noticing a little more soul-baring than usual going on within the pages of those that I read. Why would I want to know the details of the past relationships someone has had, or the vicissitudes of their academic lives, or how often they've done this or that in the past week? It's not like I was particularly interested in this information before the people in question actually started keeping these journals. My only tentative conclusion is that it's the medium itself that creates interest in the content, and that this is why updating becomes such a craving. If you read a web-log often enough, then much like any crappy television show its internal logic starts to become addictive, regardless of its quality. Metaraves of this kind provide no excuse for my desire to feed the manufactured interest of my small readership.

For example, suppose I sit, and turn to writing some of the turgid fiction that is admired by a few of my logging colleagues:

He sits, writing turgid fiction for a tiny audience, his features darkly lit by the quiet glow of the screen. To his right sit the worm castings of an ongoing addiction, three empty Coke cans, one partially crushed by absent-minded fidgeting.

Once he had hopes, dreams, vanities and plans - now these have been beaten down by the weight of the years, leaving only a crippled volition towards complaint behind. His belly is distended by a surfeit of potato chips. By the bed sits a wastepaper basket overflowing with used tissues.

He ponders taking up smoking, idly positing the change as part of a wider scheme to upgrade his addictions from the maudlin, quotidian variety to something ever so slightly - so very slightly - more unusual.

The words in the slowly forming document sit end to end like so many dead slugs, extolling the implausible characteristics of the pathetic gothic antihero that sits in as protagonist in so many of his wish-fulfilment fantasies. A man who is just like him - alone, self-hating in the dark, an introverted narcissistic shadow - but at the same time unlike him in every conceivable way.

He scratches himself where his stomach overhangs his stained gym shorts, poking out from beneath the sweat-stained conference freebie T-shirt he wears. Once these shorts accompanied him on fitful visits to the fitness centre, but now they are simply the centrepiece of the wardrobe that corresponds to his inescapably somnolent lifestyle.

A first sentence springs to mind: 'He sits, writing turgid fiction for a tiny audience ...' No, it's gone. He'd like to call it writer's block, but unfortunately that will always be nothing more than an exaggeration.

I'd like to note for the record that my current surroundings, clothing and habits do not resemble those of the subject of the preceding narrative very closely at all. Happily.

2003-04-13T14:43:00.000+08:00

Sisyphean Undertakings

Was getting worried about the whole five-minute project speech thing I have to do in a couple of weeks. That is, before I read the thesis written by the person who researched in my area last year. It's not very good. I am currently wallowing in the comfort of knowing that at least if I suck, I won't be alone.

It seems oddly appropriate that Kalman filters are cooler than Wiener filters. After all, they are Wiener filters. It's also fitting that H-infinity filters are cooler still, involving Hardy spaces as they do.

Q: What do you call the energy drain you get from greater Undead?
A: Spectral subtraction.

Sorry for visiting that on you all. I don't normally tell jokes that don't just require you to be a geek to understand them, but require you to be a different kind of geek to understand the question than you have to be to comprehend the punchline. So sue me.

I left the north again, I travelled south again,
I got confused - I killed a nun, and I can't help the way I feel.
I can't help the way I feel!
(I lost my bag in Newport Pagnell!)
Why is the last mile the hardest mile?
My throat was dry, with the sun in my eyes.
And I realised, I realised ...
I could never, never ever, ever ever go back home again.
The Smiths, 'Is It Really So Strange?'

I bought slippers yesterday, which I'm sure leads to an increase in domesticity. Max was fearfully ill, poor duck, so I stayed in and brought her cups of tea and such last night. On Friday, I went uncostumed (but not unaccoutred) to the J-pop party. Adam and I played drinking go, which proved amusing (for me) and sickening (for him). I'm certainly glad I wasn't the one doing fourteen shots of sake in the space of an hour or so. Sorry, Adam, but these are the vicissitudes of the drinking game experience. Typical recidivist pitfalling from my point of view. I accept your spew with equanimity, even if others find it egregious.

Other people's costumes were funny. Dave Basden's was the best for my money, combining as it did significant effort with cross-dressing. The strobe was lame and then surprisingly fun. The good thing about strobes is that they make it look like you're dancing in time to something even when you're really, really not. Jen and Chas were amusing, as was Stephie's vibrating chicken. Overall, not a bad party, the only downside being I didn't get particularly drunk. This was because all I had to drink was sake (hell, I suppose I'd drink it too if it was society's only socially acceptable alcoholic beverage), and because Adam just didn't do well enough in our go game. Grahame is a comic fool when drunk - and that's all that needs to be reported about his performance for the evening.

I contacted the CSA about a reference for a job I was applying for during the week, and my old team leader asked me if I wanted to work three days a week for them until the end of June. Probably not a bad idea. She also wrote me a very flattering document-drone endorsement for the job I was enquiring about.

Tonight, I will go to the end of the In The Pines RTR fundraiser to see Downsyde and the Panics. Before that, I will do more reading and writing for my thesis.

2003-04-09T19:35:00.000+08:00

Entanglement

The word has a meaning in quantum theory, referring (I believe) to the fact that physically distant particles may have correlated probability functions due to previous proximity. Its use is more mundane here, though. This place isn't highbrow enough for theoretical physics, even if I was capable of disputations on the subject.

Feeling the unfriendly squeeze of my commitments lately, which of course means I'm procrastinating more than ever. Problems will be solved. Problems that can't be solved will be ignored. An axiomatisation of my existence. I'm getting that feeling - the one where increasing pressure points to a likely leap out of some potential well or other.

This web-log entry doesn't look like it will have much emphasis on reportage of historical events. Lucky, wouldn't want you all to be bored stiff. Note: I am not angsting here.

You soothe yourself with the shapes you know,
You tune out, out, out the hypnotic drone,
The perfect hexagon of the honeycomb,
You soothe yourself with the sounds you know.

Should I come outside and run your cars?
Should I run your rockets to the stars?
Could you invent a world for me?
I need to hear a symphony ...
Sleater-Kinney, 'One Beat'

Unpleasant Dream

I had a hideous, unnervingly vivid nightmare recently, which I shall now describe for your reading pleasure.

I found myself at a massive wedding reception. The venue for the reception was a country villa, all decked out in stark white with large, glass windows and many spiral staircases. Outside was a banquet area with a clinically pure swimming pool and a neat Mediterranean garden. The guests were very wealthy, and came uniformly from a number of very wealthy families. The heads of these families were the guests of honour at the reception. Everyone was wearing an awful lot of white, and seemed to glow in the rays of the sun, which was beating down quite hard as I sat at table.

My own position in the hierarchy of those present wasn't completely clear; but I was a minor player at best, seated with the obnoxious elder children of the various families. I have a particular objection to rich, cozened idiots. The wedding feast proceeded more or less as (I imagine) these things do for the de facto aristocracy. Although I note that there was a distinct feeling that nagged at me throughout this part of the dream, which was that the people present were all somehow part of some criminal or evil organisation, for example the Mafia. In fact, the whole sequence was not unlike the wedding scene in The Godfather except with all the guests wearing rather garish white suits.

At some point it became apparent to me that something was very wrong with the family head sitting nearest me. This woman was now wearing a blue, sequined dress with a short jacket over the top of it - a tacky ensemble. She had cheeks that bulged strangely, and a wicked smile. As I gazed at her visage in morbid fascination, I suddenly witnessed part of her face peel away to reveal livid, scaly skin underneath, and the fact that about a quarter of her upper skull was missing, leaving exposed the blood, brains and eyeball underneath. She smiled at me and this horrible sight disappeared, replaced again by her puffed cheeks. I now perceived her head as a shiny blue sphere which was straining fit to explode. Her ordinary exterior appeared stretched over this alien substructure, which had a fixed, rictus grin. I watched as she stretched over to her left and possessively placed a hand on the knee of the young girl sitting next to her.

I had become very conscious of the following facts: the woman was some kind of demon. She was aware that I knew this, and didn't care. No human present other than myself had any idea she was a monster. As I looked around, I saw that most of the other prominent guests, both male and female, were also demons, with their own facial substructures fitting poorly behind human masks - one had a red skull with distended temples and jawbone, another was bright sickly green and rotating slowly in its expressionless housing. All had patches of skin missing in different places, revealing decaying and bleeding bodies beneath.

Shortly the banquet ended and the guests began to disperse into smaller groups in and around the villa. I went into a sunken room with a young man and woman I had been dining with. I should note now that all the younger guests at the reception were extremely physically attractive, in a manifestly conventional way. After a small amount of incidental conversation about university courses and the progress of a tennis tournament, the young man began a matter-of-fact rape of the young woman, forcing her onto a purple double bed which was in the corner of the room. I leapt on him to try and prevent this, and he backhanded me in the face, knocking me down. It was obvious to me, in the dream, that I had no hope of outmatching him physically, so I fled. As I ran out of the door of the room I saw the demon-woman from the banquet surveying the scene behind me approvingly, half her skull missing as before.

It was now dark outside, and the party had become a depraved hell. People were being killed and beaten all over the place under the amused tutelage of the demons. Where previously the guests had been seemingly unaware of the demons amongst them, they were now allied with them.

At this point the dream took on a format which is fairly typical for me. I often have dreams about being chased interminably by people who want to kill or injure me. The difference here was that I normally find these dreams quite exhilarating and pleasant, and triumph continually over my pursuers, but in this nightmare I was genuinely afraid of being caught and killed brutally or sexually assaulted. The demons and the rest of the guests hunted me through the labyrinthine interior layout of the villa, which had now merged into a kind of office building (it looked somewhat like the Alexander Library, or possibly the office building which the protagonist in L'Emploi du Temps gets ejected from) with stainless steel elevators and stairwells. There was an awful lot of blood, my perception of which was possibly influenced by having seen Dog Soldiers a few days earlier. A lot of blood and intestines flowing off flat surfaces onto the floor.

The chase went on forever, and every time I burst into a new room or fled down a corridor I was accosted by one of the smiling demons (in distinguishing between them, I had become reliant upon the colour and shape of their skulls/masks - it was mostly the red-skulled one chasing me by now). In the final part of the dream I was followed relentlessly down flight after flight of stairs while being showered with blood and guts from above, which slipped continually down the steps onto me. Although my pursuer (who was always behind me at this point) was able to use the stairs, I had been reduced to sliding painfully in between the slats of the steps to get down from one flight to another. My repeated escapes in this fashion were made possible by the lubricating effect of the omnipresent waves of blood, although my back was still being viciously lacerated by the metal edges of the steps. I was uncomfortably aware that the stairwell had a finite depth and that once we reached the bottom I would be caught. The only visuals I had of whatever was hunting me was a rotting, clawed arm that swept down over my head constantly, missing me by smaller and smaller margins.

At this point, I woke up.

It was one of the few dreams I've had in my life that has really terrified me. I couldn't get back to sleep for hours afterward. I also found it extremely strange, particularly the vast amount of blood that was involved in the later stages, and the disturbing sexual element. Not only that, but it focussed to some extent on one thing which I've always found very scary - people in positions of authority or trust turning out to be irreducibly evil and malevolent.

There is no Spoon!
'Dog Soldiers'

So much funnier in that film than it was in The Matrix. You'll have to see it to understand why.

2003-03-31T12:34:00.000+08:00

Green Fields

Once, there were green fields, kissed by the sun,
Once, there were valleys where rivers used to run.
Once there were blue skies with white clouds high above,
Once they were part of an everlasting love.
We were the lovers who strolled through green fields ...
Faultline, 'Greenfields'

Not sure sometimes why I bother to update this thing. This isn't going to turn into one of those 'Waah! Noone reads my web-log' posts though.

I've been to a large number of anti-war protests lately. Just thought you all might like to know. Pointless waste of time though.

Scoop my brains, let my heart have action
In its thousand million lots.
In the dumb city dawn I am senseless and drawn to the sun
As the blackbirds, and the toppyknots.
Augie March, 'Heartbeat and Sails'

I think I chose that quote because of its horrible inappropriateness, more than anything else. Do like the song a lot, though.

Things to do: work on project. Build CD rack. Hoover floor of room, which is strewn with the vacant cocoons of plague-caterpillars that dropped from rotting cardboard boxes as I unpacked my books. Write technology trend essay. As you can tell, university and its demands are slightly to impinge a little more deeply on the erstwhile-green pastures of my consciousness.

Had another top weekend. They seem thick on the ground at the moment. The rap-themed party at Adam and Tommo's place wasn't bad (although a bit more advance warning would have been good). Friday night coffee with Max in Leederville wasn't bad either. And last night I successfully tidied up several hundred books of mine, and reorganised all my official documents, archiving them neatly in a new portafile. This gave me the righteously contented thrill that being unusually anal (read: constructive) can sometimes produce. Side note: I returned Curse of the Mistwraith to the UniSFA library today. Now I'm not on committee I don't think I can justify holding it hostage. Not that I really could before. Was glad to see a Mercedes Lackey book being used as a blind-weight in the clubroom though.

The only real downer of the weekend was the noxious All Clubs Forum. What a feckin' waste of time. Firstly there was a one-and-a-half-hour sponsorship borezone from some twink in a suit. Guy had no clue. Thought university clubs would be looking for 6-figure sponsorship deals with mining companies. Couple this with crap delivery (nauseating Powerpoint display with reduced handouts of his crappy slides) and you have a real loser of a seminar. The SOC President admitted afterwards that it had been quite irrelevant and too long. She struck me as a bit of a moron. Following this we had a tour of the Club Resource Room (Maelkann standing there and saying 'This is a computer. So is this.') and a brainstorming (read: pukeworthy) session to try and think of ideas for crap replacements for the unavoidably crap Guild Mini O-Day (that was crap, so it got scrapped). One wonders why they insist on running an event that produces no tangible benefits for almost any club. Desire to seem more important or useful perhaps? Maybe I'm being a little over-negative here. But really, this forum was an incredible waste of time, and in particular had absolutely no bearing on any of the activities of the club I was there to represent, Unigames. I was also so tired during it I was falling asleep in my chair.

Max has bought stunt-pegs for her bike, Bruno. When attached to her front wheel they allow me to dink her with ease. I'll have to acquire similar accoutrements for Sylvie, I think (see if you can pick the literary reference by the way). Love you babe.

2003-03-27T19:42:00.000+08:00

Hangin' around, bangin' around, hangin' around,
Lost and found - hangin' around, bangin' around ...
Me Me Me, 'Hangin' Around'

Sitting in UCC waiting for Max to finish up with her Chemistry Club barbecue, which appears to have evolved into some kind of swankier Chemistry Department piss-up. She said she'd be 'as long as it takes me to finish this glass of wine' about half an hour ago.

2003-03-17T10:58:00.000+08:00

City of Ten Thousand Years

Walking around the city as the light fades
(Is it all, that you remain?)
I’m thinking about each promise that I have ever made
But I know what they will never say,
I know what they will never say,
Century after century they remain ...
Idlewild, 'Century after Century'

I have been having an idea recently. As some people are aware, I like fantasy literature of a fairly specific kind. I don't much like Feist, Eddings, Jordan, Wurts, Hobb etc. I do like Leiber, Vance, Wolfe, Moorcock, Le Guin and Harrison. Anyway, I have this relatively vague and undeveloped thought of running a game that incorporates some of the ideas brought out in my favourite authors, a game with rules based on the existing Ars Magica mechanics.

Some flavour text:

It is Amec Sasleb, the City of Ten Thousand Years, the centre of civilization, learning and life. It is an edifice of the new, built on the old, built on the ancient. From the hill of the Old City the Inner Walls look down upon the Span of Kings, stretching out across the sparkling canals to the New City.

It is a city of people. They are:

the Cypherists, keepers of the lore of the millenial machines that manufacture ceaselessly for the people. Only they know the codes that cause the great machines to function correctly.

the thaumaturges, studying the white arts by day, and the black arts by night. They travel the Spirit World in dreams and reality, and summon chugs and sandestins, the essence creatures of the two planes, to their service in magical rites.

the Visitors, recent arrivals from over the ocean. Silent, dispassionate traders, they emerge at dusk from their Raft Embassy to strike bargains with the mercantile leaders of Sasleb.

the Patriarchs and their army of clergymen, on the one hand praying to a host of gods that no longer respond, on the other clinging to temporal power and always manoeuvring for more.

the nobles of the old houses, full of pride and desperation, who send their sons to the academies to learn the secrets, in the hope of protecting their power.

the Guilders, craftsmen who intend to use their new money to challenge the old order.

the kobolds, servants of humans in every walk of life, midget dog-headed cowards who are no less able than humans but never seem likely to challenge their subjugation by the rest.

Gangs, supporters of different factions, roam the streets. Drunken Guildsmen assault lone nobles in the public squares. People appear and disappear mysteriously. Disputes are solved by duel more often than by law, but the law when applied is either swift and brutal, or slow, and brutal. Assassins, thieves, poisoners and food tasters are rarely out of a job.

Oh well, getting a bit bored with this expository rant. However, I am actually planning on running a game, set in an approximately 18th-century technological era, with all or some of the elements described above. If and when a little more is developed, I'll put out a call for three or four players. Drop me a line if you're interested.

2003-03-16T10:58:00.000+08:00

Unbending

Will you come knocking on my door?
Pull me, pick me up from the floor?
I might need something to get me through it,
Feel it, one time ...
IT ROLLS!
Sleater-Kinney, 'Step Aside'

Am sitting in Rob's study as I update this, waiting for someone else to wake up and notice that I exist, and then possibly offer to give me a lift back to civilisation. Or should that be back to barbarism? Got very drunk again last night, although not as drunk as the previous night at Vicki and Ann's birthday (twin hard-drinking friends of Max's). That was a top party, which involved a lot of Bailey's, Tequila, and liberated cans of beer, and jamming absurd numbers of people into a spa. Last night was more in the relaxing, barbecue with spontaneous pool-dip, sit-around-listening-to-Tarantino-soundtracks vein. Which I really needed to uncrick my battered body after six hours spent crammed into the boot of Max's parents' Pulsar.

I'm not going to be allowed to take the additional unit that I wanted to take in order to be full time this semester, due to a university regulation that disallows studying units that aren't necessary for the completion of one's degree. Hence I will not be full time. Hence I will not be covered by my folks' Medibank Private health insurance policy. Somewhat unnerving, particularly as my teeth have recently started indicating their willingness to consider a trial separation from my gums. Must see a dentist.

I had my first actual project-related meeting with my supervisor yesterday, which was brief but relatively constructive. Given the newfound ultra-streamlined character of my university commitments, I'm hoping to spend a lot of time on my project early in the year. It'd be really nice to get something resembling a two-thirds completed document online by the end of the mid-year break, so I'll start scheduling to try and reach that goal. Bizarre to think of how little I have left to do in order to finish university for once and for all. Almost for as long as I can remember, university has stretched out before me like a cracked, fading but endless yellow brick road. Looks like I'll actually get to meet the wizard soon. Hmm, web-log entry appears to be devolving into lame literary-allusional extended metaphor, in vein of self-inflated moron. Wh-ever.

Anita and Anil got back from Europe a few days ago, laden with fascinating anecdotes about their honeymoon, many of which seem to revolve around the cheapness of contraband over there ($1 cigarettes, $1 pints of Stella Artois, everything costs $1 in this magical paradise). Great to see them again, and it sounds like they had a top time, by and large.

My social life seems full at the moment. Somewhat overfull in many ways. Although I've deeply enjoyed the past couple of nights, I also need to find a bit more downtime. My family have started cracking semi-snide jokes about the fact that I'm never around and disappear for one and two days at a time completely unannounced. Perhaps I could solve that communication problem by getting a mobile. Also, getting drunk is expensive. I've spent about $50 on booze in the last two nights, which is getting a bit out of hand. Next weekend is shaping as another possible big one, with the Massive Attack gig on Saturday night. That should be sweet. Am mildly miffed by my decision to save instead of splashing out on a ticket to Eclectic, which actually had four or five acts I would've really liked to see, including Badly Drawn Boy, Teenage Fanclub, the Avalanches, the Panics, and Machine Translations. That's almost a little music festival to call my own. Perhaps I should've gone.

People have had a number of conversations with me about future employment lately. It's a topic of some concern to many people studying IT, given the exceedingly well-reported and sharp downturn in the corresponding job sector over the last couple of years. Despite this, I don't fear the possibility of a long stretch of unemployment whilst looking for work. I just don't think it will happen to me. Still, I might have to go to Melbourne or somewhere else over east to get a decent job. I've just had the bright idea of trying for summer employment with some Melbourne IT companies at the end of the year. Since most of my extended family lives in Melbourne, acquiring temporary accommodation wouldn't be a problem at all, and if I could get something it might be cooler, and better paid, than what I could expect in Perth. Also, it'd be a nice break from the isolated stagnation that is here. Living in Perth sometimes feels like being trapped dancing with the fairies around the standing stones, never to return from Tyr Na nOg to the world where actions matter. And according to popular myth, Melbourne is the next best place in Australia to live after Perth. Nicer than Sydney, anyway.

I'm going to go and see if I can find Rob and get him to drive me to Claremont now.

2003-03-04T11:10:00.000+08:00

Superficial Changes

You never thought you'd get addicted,
Just be cooler in an obvious way.
I could say, shouldn't you have got a couple piercings
And decided maybe that you were gay.
In a way, I can't help but feel responsible,
I always knew that you were insane,
With your pain ...
Dandy Warhols, 'Not If You Were The Last Junkie On Earth'

Paranoia brutally put down, I return to eject more flotsam and jetsam into the ether ... this is quite funny, in my opinion. Even if it perhaps takes an approach a little too humouristic for the subject matter. Wh-ever.

I had a senselessly beautiful weekend.

Contemplating taking another unit so that I'll be full time. This would allow me to claim the removal of my wisdom teeth on my parents' private health insurance, should I happen to finally get around to organising that. Have also obtained cool publishing software from Comanski so that I can make Piffle extra-good. I didn't get it ready for O-Day, which made me feel a bit useless yet again. Oh well.

Yesterday, Max and I attempted unsuccessfully to put a blue racing stripe in my hair. What we actually ended up with was more of a drowned-corpse green scar of hair on the side of my head. Given that the whole ordeal took about four hours (when you include messing around buying stuff), you'll understand that I was a tad disappointed. I suppose I can always dye black again if worst comes to worst.

2003-02-27T21:21:00.000+08:00

Paranoid

Fly me to the moon,
And let me play among the stars,
Let me see what spring is like,
On Jupiter and Mars,
In other words ...
Bart Howard, 'Fly Me To The Moon'

I think I'm going insane, and I would like the world to know. I keep on saying things and feeling like I mean them, whilst painfully aware that I sound ridiculous. I hate the ineffable inadequacies of language, and the self-perpetuating diseased zones of my brain. I just hope everyone that matters will ignore me for a while until I sort myself out again. Otherwise, it's been a wonderful day.

2003-02-22T16:47:00.000+08:00

Future Blues

Take the skytrain 'cross this city,
Concrete high rise I feel no pity,
Jesus died and God's gone missing,
Take your skin off it might fit me now,
God is dead and you're so pretty baby ...
Kent, 'Just Like Money'

Had a short-term bout of the future blues lately, which was due partly to apprehensive feelings about the coming academic year and also to an incessant stream of articles in various sections of The Australian about the slump in the IT job market, which most of the pundits are currently predicting will be permanent. A sharp change from the magical fairyland of money and fast cars that was being sold to undergraduates five or so years ago. But definitely anticipated. Anyway, I'm over it, and I'm back to looking forward to a return to study, which I hope will be quite profitable this year.

Baffled from time to time by how much books, and specifically technical books, cost these days. $100 for a mass-produced technical manual of around 500 pages? Surely you jest.

Have nearly configured my 'puter, which is running installs of Windows 98 and Debian, to dialup to Tartarus. However, getting my software modem, which is undoubtedly a cheap piece of crap, to function properly is proving a bit difficult. It connects to Tartarus fine, but then seemingly loses track of the DNS, meaning that it can't find either the UWA proxy server or any remote sites for SSH. Stupid thing. I'll probably ask someone for help with it soon, but it'll be a little embarrassing when it's such an apparently simple issue. I just hope the answer isn't 'You're using what kind of modem? You idiot!' which would be typical of the kind of technical person who knows how to do everything one way, and one way only, and acts as if any other way is the domain of imbecility. Of course, when you're talking about winmodems, it probably is.

One of my biggest pet hates is the nauseous feeling of insignificance that you get when it appears that the person you're talking to thinks that you're a bit thick, or at least not on their mental level. This is completely hypocritical, because of all the people I know, I'm probably one of the most likely to induce this feeling in others, albeit without usually meaning to. Note: contrary to popular opinion, I don't actually think I'm smarter than most people. But having heard my voice on tape I know that most of the time I sound like a self-important prat wanker. I hate this some of the time. I do think I'm better than most people at some common mental tasks (like thinking up words to express an idea, or adding numbers), but in a lot of other areas (like logically organising one's movements to get things done efficiently) I feel very slow.

Now, I've met a few people who were demonstrably light years ahead of me in intelligence. Mathematics geniuses who had mastered areas of knowledge most people couldn't properly comprehend in a lifetime of study before they were twenty - those kinds of people. But I'd never want to be in a situation where when I was having a conversation with a person like that, they acted as if I just couldn't cut it in their league. It's just not how I was brought up. As far as I'm concerned, no one should walk into a conversation with me with the intent of patronising my intellect - and that applies to chit-chat on just about any topic. It's a characteristic of people with a deep specialised knowledge to act as if their interlocutors are morons when discussing their field. This is a faux pas in my opinion. A good example is the IT systems administrator who acts as if his users are idiots because they can't configure Outlook, even when those users are university academics, lawyers, doctors, whatever - people with proven high-level ability in their own fields (although IT guys with such overdeveloped self regard are not particularly, but only somewhat commonplace). It's a misplaced, parochial pride that really irks me.

To be honest, I don't think people act this way to me very often. But I start seething a bit when I detect overtones like that, and it's not long before (in my own paranoiac way) I'm projecting all kinds of disrespect onto every word that's said to me. I sometimes despise my psychology, and then I wish I could have a psychectomy (as it were), and have the unpleasant aspects of my personality removed and replaced with functional elements. That is all for now.