Not For Soft Cocks

The transistion from high school to university is terrifying for many, exciting for most, and fun for those who attended Monash O-Week. Full of parties, useless free things, useful free food, groups to join, and shows to see, Monash O-Week is quite a good week. I am sure that the other universities have experiences that are just as good, but I have only been to Monash so that is what I can talk about.

It seems to be, as Damacus pointed out, O-Week week on D.I.D a Mess so instead of thinking of a much more interesting and individual topic to write about, I thought I may aswell attempt to find an interesting way to talk about orientation. If the movie 'Grease' has taught us anything, it is that it is better to conform to the 'cool kids' than be different; that's how you get the guy, or the girl in the much less amusing 'Grease 2'.


There are many parties going on this week. I was lucky enough to attend the MESS and SAS joined venture of the Room Beach Party after a night of being sweaty in the pit of All Time Low. They played Remembering Sunday and I nearly cried, but they did not play Shameless, my favourite, but it was still an amazing night. This is not the point so I will move back to the fun that was to be had at Room. Lots of dancing and people sucking face were the two most frequent occurences of the night, while there was no bull fighting or ice hockey to be seen; bit of a shame really.


I have never seen so much free food in my entire life. MSS was giving away donuts, the Biomed team were serving tacos, there were endless BBQs on the lawns, and there was a Windows 7 booth giving away pocorn. There was a condition, however, on the delicious popcorn; we had to become a fan of a page on facebook about winning a share house. These people disgust me; they are giving away food not out of the kindness of their hearts, nor are they providing it in the spirit of O-Week, but they are selfishly promoting their business. I became a fan and took the popcorn anyway of course.


I was delighted to attend the MUST performanceof Neckbite, a show which laughs in the face of such vampire-iffic stories as Twilight and True Blood. There was live music, people showing off on the trampoline, and a magician walking around asking us to pick a card. Are these people simply enjoying what they do? Are they just having fun? Or are they letting everyone know that they are awesome at something that we would have to learn. "Come talk to us and we can teach you to be talented!" If only I could do double back flips on the trampoline or sing like the protagonist in Neckbite.

"Join our group! We have the best parties all year." I heard this echoing from many stalls as I meandered past, looking vaguely at the white tents full of attention grabbing photo boards and free shirts on display. The names of these societies are often just for show, as many people joined groups outside their faculty. I am studying arts/science and not only did I join MSS (Monash Science Society) and SAS (Society of Arts Students), but I also joined MESS (Monash Engineering Students' society. I joined SCA (the Society for Creative Anachronism) and a few others that have names that I cannot remember, while I almost joined AMICI (the Italian club), the Shakespeare company, and MUST (Monash University Student Theatre). The endless groups have no criteria for members which is perfect for me since I am pretty useless and of course, do not study engineering. The faculty groups have nothing to do with their names; the only thing they want to be known for is the social and fun side. As MSS likes to say; "we have the biggest balls". I love anything that can be misconstrued as sexual.

The groups also offer a range of free things. SAS provided their members with a tshirt, a frisbee, a shotglass, a bottle opener, condoms, tattoos, and food vouchers, while MSS had only a tshirt. MESS had an impressive collection of sunglasses, a bottle opener, sweat bands for both your head and wrist, and a tshirt. Outside of the groups, I managed to get my hands on funny word fridge magnets, more bottle openers, stress balls, beach balls, and of course condoms; endless condoms.

I was drowning in a sea of condoms; I don't even use condoms. There were SAS condoms which I would never trust; they look cheap, Drama Down Under condoms that came with free lube, condoms sponsered by something I have never heard of, and my favourite; Nando's condoms. The Nando's condoms, rumoured to be Peri Peri flavoured, have the slogan ''not for soft cocks'; OH THE HILARITY! May I enquire as to the point of so many condoms? I understand that the university wishes to promote sexual health, but are all of these condom brands to be trusted? I for one would not trust a condom sold by a company who focuses mainly on cooking chickens. On the topic of condoms... FUN FACT: the use of a sugar based flavoured condom can lead to thrush as yeast forms in the sugar. Nice image for you all there, and a message; get your butt on the pill... or use Peri Peri flavoured condoms instead.

I'm sure that I began this post with a very deep and meaningful idea that would be worth pondering, but it has conceded defeat to the idiotic rambling of a person too tired for writing, just like many of my other posts. Thanks for reading.
-Renji

Welcome to my Shrunken Bitter Heart

Yes, that's right, readers. It's that time of week. That time of week when I get entirely frustrated, bitter, and jilted about everything possible in existence, and rant at you in unfounded, potentially misdirected rage.
Welcome to this week's Bitterness List.
Please keep your hands and feet inside the cart at all times, and leave all sanity, joy, and better judgement on the platform.

1. Unimelb.
WELCOME TO THE UNIVERSITY OF MELBOURNE. YOUR SOUL IS MINE.
I feel these words should be projected over innumerable loudspeakers upon walking through one of the many gates of the University of Melbourne. Welcome to the prestige! Welcome to the glory! Welcome to the grammatically incorrect catchphrases and general barrage of pretentious wank!
Now, don't get me wrong. I worked hard to get into this uni. Not to say that I'm a genius or anything for getting in, because I'm not, but I did work hard.
It is a pretty uni. On the advertisements for it, there are pictures of Multiracial Friend Groups Studying Under a Large Oak Tree and Laughing Merrily About That Time They Got a H2A in that One Subject they Worked Slightly Less Hard On (for those of you not in the Wanky Grading System Know, a H2A is approximately equivalent to a B+. But, of course, with a more pretentious name). The campus is beautiful. It is full of secret courtyards reminiscent of Hogwarts, and pretty gardens and green houses hidden behind heritage listed buildings covered in ivy and made of sandstone.
Oh, and then you get there, and there's a shitload of people who know nothing about the Melbourne Model and can't actually enrol you in that subject because could you please go and talk to this person in this faculty oh sorry that person is unavailable right now if you leave a message and oh did we misplace your message oh did we enrol you in too many subjects or too few subjects would you like to fill out the blue form and the orange form staple them to your head perform a series of death-defying mid-air somersaults while performing MENSA level calculus sums simultaneously and then maybe we can lodge your request in our log of endless paperwork so we can lose it and nothing will happen?
THAT'S GOOD BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN. Actually, I really like my course though. BUT MOTHERFUCKER. If I have to spend another five hours walking back and forth between faculties so someone can tell me how many more subjects I need to enrol in, I will actually destroy the entire administration faculty in a blaze of Angry Dust and Super Rage. Just so you know.
Incidentally? "Dream Large"? More like, "Dream to a Grammatically Inaccurate Level of Relative Grandeur Until You Fade Gradually Away into A Void of Obscurity when you Realise that No One Ever Needs A Specialist in Post-1930's Feminist Free Form Spiritual Hindu Rockabilly Prose." Or whatever else it is that you happen to do.

2. "I need a drink."
So these last few months have been somewhat difficult. I am finally coming out the other side of a bad period of time into the light of day, but suffice to say, I have possibly partied a bit too hard recently in order to block out the various pitfalls of life. Not to say that I'm a raging alcoholic or anything. But. Well. Suffice to say that I have learned the following lessons from some drunken escapades in the past few months:
- The bouncers at the Carlton CAN actually tell when you're drunk.
- When you think you've finished vomiting, you probably haven't finished vomiting.
- Cigarettes make you feel disgusting the next day.
- You probably shouldn't ever attempt to kiss that person.
- Strange beardy Canadians in bars don't like you for your wit, they just want to get laid.
- Do not have your phone in front of you if you think you're going to be sick.
- Do not wash your phone if you've been sick on it.
- When he says "please don't vomit on my bed" HEED HIS WARNING.
- Beer before grass, you're on your arse.
- Don't mix drinks.
- In a house filled with upwards of 30 cats, at least one living being will remember what you did last night. And you'll wake up to its shame-filled glare.
- Do not attempt to open that toilet paper dispenser - it is easily breakable.
- Your parents can tell you're drunk.
- Do not attempt to complete that sentence - it didn't make sense in the first place.
- NO ONE WANTS TO HEAR ABOUT THAT TIME WHEN YOU DID THAT THING AND IT WAS REALLY INTERESTING.
- That mountain? It's a hill. Not a mountain.
- Don't attempt to speak french when you're drunk. Particularly when you barely knew it in the first place.
So. Now that I'm trying to be sober and eloquent, I can no longer say "I need a drink".
Because we've all seen what the consequences of that are. And needless to say, I neither want to kiss another Canadian guitarist, nor do I want to accidentally rip anything off the wall of a fast food venue.

3. Nothing good inside
I wrote this as a prompt before for something I clearly wanted to get angry about. But now, I cannot remember. AND THAT MAKES ME REALLY, REALLY ANGRY.
The only thing that I can think of for this now, is that there is never anything good inside a Kinder Surprise. NEVER. The last time I opened one, I got a small bloated statue of a troll woman with a wart on her nose. I felt the blob of chocolate deliciousness was mocking me. "An evil troll woman!!!!???" it seemed to shriek, "WHY, ANNA, DOES THAT REMIND YOU OF ANYONE?!?!?" I, of course, responded with maturity by breaking the head off the tiny statue, and eating the entirety of the egg in one swallow.
SO TAKE THAT, INANIMATE OBJECT THAT QUESTIONS ME INSINUATINGLY IN MY IMAGINATION.
I sure showed you.

4. Being single.
Don't get me wrong, being single is fine. It's cool. It's okay. I can go out when I want, where I want. I can kiss whoever I want. I could take up latin dancing lessons and learn to pilot a spaceship and do a latin dance among the stars if the mood so took me (shut up about needing the necessary qualifications and needing to have some sort of coordination and ability to dance and the problems of breathing in outer space I DON'T WANT TO HEAR IT). But sometimes, SOMETIMES I am a little fed up of it. I think I was so used to being in a couple after 3 years of coupledom that I am a bit lost right now.
And another reason I hate UniMelb is that it is FULL OF COUPLES. EVERYWHERE. FUCKING COUPLES (well not LITERALLY fucking, that would be gross, but apparently they have to close the systems gardens these days for that reason at night and ANYWAY). They make me want to stick something through my temple. Mostly. Not that I wasn't like that before. I've never been a cuddly person, so public displays of affection usually make me want to vomit inside my mouth a bit. BUT THERE ARE COUPLES EVERYWHERE.
And yes. Okay. I'm sure that's an overstatement. I'm sure there are many single UniMelb students, sitting at their computers at 3am and listening to Poetic Expressive Experimental Indie Music, while trying to write a poem about their existential crisis and inability to feel true love in ballad form, but I DON'T CARE.
I WANT TO RAGE SO HERE I AM RAGING.
Oh dear. I seem to have lost the thread of this bitterness.
THE POINT IS, SHUT UP AND GET OUT OF MY HOUSE.

Sincerely,
Me.
xx

Its them Jews thats the problem!

Now I've caught your attention I plan to bore you with the non-event that is my life.
Like most pseudo interllectuals of our generation I've spent the last two days sitting on my ass bitching about how I have no job and making little to no effort to improve my current situation. To fill the time between meals, the gym and the ocasional job application I have been playing the great "Football Manager 2009". Trying my hardest to add an new dimension to a game which I have clocked 12 days of game time since school finished (whats most worrying about that fact is thats small compared to other people's WOW and COD accounts)I decided to conquor the Italian League. Taking the generic option of Inter Milan i managed to conquer all in my path completing an unprecidented treble of the Siere A, Coppa Italia and Champions League.

Now enough of boring you with details of my game time on possible the most boring game in history and onto the serious bit. I come to a realisation that it is games like this, FIFA, NBA Live etc. That will soon render all sport obsolete. I mean if a kid can instantly be a superstar on Fifa then why bother making the effort to get to training twice a week in the freezing cold and rain(OK we live in Melbourne scratch the rain) if he can dominate the highest leagues of Europe and slam home a World Cup winning goal from the warmth and comfort of my own bed.

Now I can see all you boffins (Ben) and kids who were never good at sport and therefore pretend to hate it when deep down they just wish it was them in a little 3-d character running around on the PS3(couldn't think of an example Matt you'll do). Well my problem is this. If there is no longer sport then what sense of primal tribalism will we maintain? How will we get one over the old enemies like England and those horrid dirty Kiwis? If the kids are all too busy playing video games how will we as a nation be able to expose ourselves on the world stage, cause lets face it we have no culture.

The only reasonable outcome I can come to from all this thought is that a decrease children participating in sport will lead to a decrease in professional sports players. Once the walking billboards disappear who will the evil multi-nationals turn to in order to force their products down our throats? And how will we "get one" over the auld enemy? And here is where the problem lies.

Our desperate need to prove ourselves greater than other nations will lead to an increase in militarisation of Australian troops, and a possiblitiy of a tyranical dictator siezing control of our nation. But this is impossible you say! Where will the funding come from? Well there are no longer sports teams to sponsor so the corporations will turn to the military. This funding in return for a prime spot on the solidiers torso will lead to the imminent invasion of one of our greatest sporting rivals, New Zealand. Our dictator will see this victory as proof we can take on the world... until the USA unleashs its neuclear arsenal upon us.

So the moral of this story is, kids put down the controllers and go and kick a ball outside cause you might not kick the world cup winning goal but you may just save our fine nations.

First Movie Review!!!

Well Hello.

My name is cute_sexy_user_123 and I have reluctantly taken up the role of movie reviewer on this most modest of blogs. Being unemployed and lonely I plan to review movies often enough so expect them every week or two.

Thankfully I will not be as “poetic” many of the other contributors as I consider myself above such left wing conspiracies. Anyway I’m beginning to ramble and I’m sure none of you in the real world give two shits about me, so onward and upward to my first review.

Shutter Island

Director: Martin Scorsese

Starring: Leonardo DiCaprio, Ben Kingsley, Mark Ruffalo

Running time: 138 minutes

Now let me open by saying I am a big Scorsese fan and young Leo has hit moments, but this film was not one of them.

The plot basically follows a US Marshall, and war veteran,(DiCaprio) in the 1950s investigating a disappearance of a patient at Shutter Island a mental hospital for the criminally insane. From the get go something isn’t right and the longer the film the more and more you realise there is something very wrong is happening. He comes across a team of psychiatrists who appear to be performing experiments reminiscent of Nazi human experimentation and set off to uncover the mysetry of Shutter Island. Throw in a few hallucinations of the protagonists past AND BAM we have a blockbuster set to scare and have audiences in suspense until the last second.

But don’t get excited this is no horror film, no shock tactics are employed as the film travels at a snails pace with more questions being raised than answers,in turn raising the question can it be called a thriller. Needless to say I for one was not thrilled. Now in most films this brings us to stunning finale, unfortunatly Shutter Island failed to deliver. The final twist was all too predictable and left this reviewer just a tad pissed off his sister had paid her hard earned money for his ticket. I would almost put the final twist on par with him waking up and the whole thing beign a dream it was that poor.

Ok so the plot was a little lacking you may be thinking but what of the acting?

WELL....... I ask you my humble fan base of Ben and Matt, have you seen the Departed? Blood Diamond? Gangs of New York?

If the answer to any of these is yes you will understand this was another typical DiCaprio display. He has clearly found his comfort zone and is milking it for all its worth. Which is possibly the biggest tragedy of this film because until Leo stops making films like this he will never win an Oscar. There was little support cast of any note his side kick played by Mark Ruffalo fulfills his generic Italian Cop in the '50s role without any real note. Ben Kingsley put in a solid but by no means stunning portrayl of Dr. John Cawley the head psychiatrist.

On a brighter note I did enjoy my Skittles and Large Coke.

In Summary

Score: 6/10 the end was poor but honestly it wasn't that bad of a ride.

I would see it if I was: Going out with a bunch of friends and didn't want to think too much

I wouldn't see it if I was: Looking for a thought provoking film or one of those horror movies you take a girl on a date to so you can look after her and be the sensitive guy when you "look after her". While we all know you just wanna be in her pants.

Well I hope you all enjoy my review. PLEASE give me feed back, positives, negatives anything this was my first shot and I want to know what to improve for next time.

Thanks for reading :) xoxo gossip girl

Right or Wrong Can Be Spelled Like Each Other

I've just finished the second of two orientation days... I wouldn't say I remotely knew anyone I spent it with, so noone else has had to fake interest and indignation at my penchant for pedantry and paranoia... You all know by now I treat you soulless, potentially non-existent yet entirely subservient 'followers'. Like a muted therapist! I dunno just picture someone periodically entering your home at night, duct taping your mouth and telling you their every fault to the most minute and self-depreciating detail, then releasing you and leaving before you can say a thing... that's what I'm li... No, wait, don't think that... Actually, don't think at all, just shut up and listen while I rant for a bit.

Alright, this is nearly a given but it needs to be said nonetheless, I hadn't slept at all the night before, so I enacted my normal routine. Cursing the sun for it's premature emergence removing all chance for me to enjoy the night it ungratefully burst out from and soiled... like a very repentant father... okay, I needed ONE disturbing allegory laced with underlying issues like milk from the Korova... ARGH! Alright, well I got to the train station just in time... no thanks to furiously typical fumbling with getting tickets in machines the right way... like a guy with no self-esteem on his first... You get it? GOOD! Well it was raining... rain is relief, any other obsessive compulsive, non conforming, misery miser will agree. Noone else likes rain, by liking it, you're different so TAKE THAT PACK MENTALITY... Anyway, I totally know women are really into those lonely, mysterious types. You know the ones that never go out of their way to speak to you, treat anything you say with bitter indifference... dreamy... The best part about rain though, the fact that you can't shake the feeling that the heavens are bawling their eyes out at your dedicated resolve against the tragedy that managed to write itself as your life. Well I nearly missed the train, looked like an idiot for wearing a hood, I hadn't slept (Mainly my fault... or Oscar Wilde's if you're myway inclined) and had people staying over which meant the gruelling task of conversation was thrust under me before I could adequately prepare my mask of 'human tolerance' in the morning. So don't feel guilty about pitying me, there's more than enough reason.

So the train. It's a mess of awkward darting. You have to look at everyone in the carriage, no reason, you just have to. BUT WAIT!! You can't be seen looking at anyone, you have to obsess over the fact that someone might be looking at you so can appear thoroughly engaged with whatever's outside the window without that unsightly vacant expression. The fact everyone else is playing the train game too should never come into your head, as soon as you acknowledge that you realise everyone's just looking at the unnatural line of hardy pine. If anyone did see they were in a box of people hypnotised by insects, lame tags and the progression of trees, the existential barrier would be broken, everyone could acknowledge we all really can't live without each other and we're not all that different. We'd cheer and laugh... then the reality that now we'd have nothing to do would set in and we'd just kind of maladroitly stand around looking at our watches in our utopia waiting for meteors or the satisfactory conclusion to the cold war... much like being in a train. You can move around in a train but ultimately it's heading for one destination, someone WAS moving around that day. A shabbily dressed and heavily pierced man entered the carriage and was brutally subjected to the accompanying judgements of the first round of train game. In surrender to the condemning collective stereotype I assume was fogging up the window making my study of introduced plant species in superficial arrangement difficult, he proceeded to ask for money for food.

Yes I'm aware this was supposed to be about orientation day, I know I probably won't get there as this day managed to be as abundant in experience as floating rocks under the Avatar Magical Faraway Tree and I plan to 'humanely' (That word was made for misguided connotations, I swear...) burn it to hell beyond all recognition for the fleeting joy of recounting a morning's experience.

Well, this guy's story was he hadn't eaten for three days. He unloads it on the solicitor next to me. I was waiting for the empty and callous reply the occupation is renowned for and then to have to be faced with the extent of my own charitableness as I was next in line. You can't help but feel sorry for the guy, but you can't help but make judgements... you also can't tell who that statement's directed at... I was actually ready to chastise the lawyer and hand the guy a sandwich I had sitting in my bag. Bare the greed of one man and aggravate the addiction of the other, it's a hell of a twisted notion, mutilating an act of charity like that. Thankfully I didn't have to regret that impulse forever. The solicitor agreed to pay this guy and proceeded to discuss Johnny Cash with the guy. I was dying on the inside at the hands of a grotesque preconception now... and coming to realise just how out of it you'd have to be to ask a student for cash... But as the 'starving' guy talked he started saying how he wanted to get off for a smoke, implying he can afford cigarettes, also that he was visiting a 'friend' in Richmond who scams Centrelink (admittedly a collective of bureaucratic bastardry) for food vouchers. Not only this but he asked the solicitor if he was a regular cocaine user... I shouldn't be surprised, of the multitude of people I've met who were easily better people than I am, a couple are solicitors, but the guy just politely said no and reverted the discussion to movies they both liked. He handed the money over in the end and the guy left. Of course I couldn't condone helping this guy further destroy whatever messed up life he led, but I didn't try to stop it or anything, so where do I get off judging people? Maybe the solicitor was just trying to get rid of him in a quick and effective way he could easily afford, maybe he was being haphazard with someone else's life. Maybe that guy was legitimately starving, maybe he just had a terrible choice in topics to appear on top of things. I honestly don't know. Was sitting there all I could realistically do? Did I have the right to object or to assist? There's no line between right and wrong. We are beyond good and evil. You can't label with these without clairvoyance. I can't give an answer either. Sit idly by if you think it's for the better, make a stand if that will eventuate the occurrence you want. I have no idea, just never lose the ability to admit you were right or wrong or either or both or... You're all smarter than this, you get what I mean.

This really was supposed to be about Orientation... Guess I screwed up, but this just kind of came out instead... Might be a good place to get some administrative stuff out of the way as well in the 'cathartic conclusion' this time, yeah, I only do these to get people feeling more comfortable COMMENTING... so I can have a conversation or something to kill some time. We've recently decided to abandon the post a day plan. It was cruel of us... well, me... (I DON'T HAVE ALOT TO DO ALRIGHT!!!) to expect people to read and communicate daily. Maybe if you're seriously following this blog... (OK... I'M seriously following, but I'm an obsessive Nightmare) you can expect something new usually within three days of the last post, or just get the links off our facebook plugging. And yeah, I'm aware other people have Orientation too, seeing as how I dodged the topic, feel free. A few takes would be ideal, especially from anyone who wants to join, post once, revel in our mindless flattery to gain your approval and then leave us all by the wayside deliriously awaiting the day of your return. It's an easy enough topic to cover, plenty of people can associate and that means COMMENTS!!! Seriously, you have to try these, it's the best thing you can get to massage your ego... way better than 50 'likes' for a stroke of brilliance facebook status. Anyway, if you want in, get in contact with any of our regulars and we'll be sure to send you the invitation.

That's about it for tonight, so well, see you in the comments box... please?!?!

There was supposed to be an earth-shattering kaboom!

The unthinkable has happened: my parents have unsubscribed to Foxtel. The contract is supposed to end on the 20th which is today, but it is 11:59pm and the television still displays the vast selection of channels that I have known for so long. The clock now shows 12:03am and still, the Foxtel remains; I am taking this as a sign that I should be taking advantage of the situation by experiencing so many channels that I had for so long skimmed past. Now I am watching Bookmerang, a channel that airs children's programmes mainly from before my time such as Looney Tunes and Popeye. I have had brief experience with these because they were shown on Cartoon Network when I was younger, but until now I had ever realised the pure genius that is Looney Tunes. I have decided that Marvin the Martian is one of the greatest children's characters of all time. This realisation, however, is not the point of this post; I just thought I would share the brilliance of a love-struck skunk, a determined coyote, an over-confident rabbit, and a hungry cat with you all.

I have known for almost a month that we would soon only have access to commercial television and I have been dying a little inside every time I think about it. Due to having Foxtel since I was just five, I cannot remember a time when I had only a few channels to choose from; this is the point of the post. I have fallen so deep into the comfort of pay tv that the thought of not having so much to choose from actually scares me. I am not a frequent watcher of television; I enjoy the Foxtel re-runs but I don't have many set television times. In fact, in the current summer season, the only show that I have taken note of the screening time is the Partridge Family; good quality, cheesy television. Most of the shows that I enjoy are on one of the many channels so frequently that it doesn't bother me to miss a few episodes and watch another later because I know there will always be another one. The comfort in Foxtel is that when I have nothing to watch on the commercial channels, there will be something waiting for me on Arena or Fox8, but this is not always the case. It has finally occured to me that Foxtel is no better than regular televison; nothing is on during the day and most of the prime time shows are old episodes. I know all this, yet I am still worried about losing the 'precious gift' that is Foxtel. Why?

I know that I could easily live without it, but it has been so easily accesible for the majority of my life. Like a dish washer, it is convenient, helpful, and great to have, but if it was to be taken out of your home, you would no longer notice after a few weeks. I have realised that over the years, I have fallen into the comfort of so many things. It has only been five years since our house was extended and I managed to move into my own room, but now, I can't imagine being back in the old room with my sister. Recently, I have had to share a room with her at my dad's house which was hard to get used to, but at mum's, my room is mine, and her room is hers; any other way would feel odd. Not five years ago we had no dish washer and I was often washing dishes by hand, but I now cannot imagine washing an entire load of dishes because my life was simplified; there is no looking back. Soon after moving into our own rooms, my sister and I were given our own computers. I spent countless hours locked away in my room on my desktop computer, only emerging for food, drink, and the occasional Foxtel program (I didn't need to leave for a commercial tv program as I had a television in my room). After a few years, I could not imagine life without my own computer; the restrictions and time conflicts baffled me though I lived with them for many years before. I fell into the comfort of my own computer. Less than a year ago my sister's computer suffered a dramatic death and we were both given laptop computers. My dusty old desk top is turned on maybe once a month and my Compaq follows me everywhere I go; the Robin to my Batman. After so little time, I have fallen into the comfort of my laptop (who I have named Jack as it rhymes with the brand name 'Compaq') and can barely fathom the idea of being stuck in my room in orer to access the internet. With every improvement, it becomes easier and easier to have a different comfort zone. I say to myself with every little thing that I willwork hard on this aspect and never leave it, but that is rarely the case. Even the move from Myspace to Facebook was a shame. Now, like many others, I solely use Facebook, but the countless hours spent beautifying my Myspace homepage and brown nosing so that my comment box was always updating seem wasted. I wanted to use both but it seems as though the upgrade turned into a new comfort zone. Before this move, was the move from Piczo to Myspace. Before Myspace, many of my friends had their own websites supported by Piczo. www.marlzy.piczo.com was taken care of more thoroughly than Myspace; days on end spent changing the layouts and linking each page to a category all wasted. I insisted that signing up to Myspace would not make me abandon Piczo, but I found a new comfort zone, which was updated again of course.

I have had different groups of friends over the years, with each one I was not able to imagine life with another; but for one reason or another, we have separated. I though that my primary school friends would be my best friends through secondary school, but I rarely speak to all but one of them. I could not imagine making new friends when entering school in year seven, but I did. Now I find it hard to believe that I will make friends at Monash University, but I know that I will; I have to or my whole blog post sounds like bullshit. I will find another comfort zone and although I want to stay close to my current friends, it is certain that I must also have friends in my course and on my campus or I will not survive.

It is too easy to fall into the comfort of things, in this case, having Foxtel. I must admit, I will definitely miss 'Super Simpsons Weekend' on Fox8; it will be sad to see four hours of episodes disappear, but I will live without it. If my laptop was to crash (heaven forbid), I would use my desktop and find that, although it is slower, there is nothing wrong with how I used to operate. If only we could fall into theze comfort zones yet not be scared to be pulled out of them. I know that being pulled out of this one will only send me to another one in which I will feel just as good, but for now, I like where I am and I of course don't want to be pulled out. After I am, I will not want to be pulled out of where I am next. I hate change even if it is simple; most people do. Thanks for reading.
-Renji

The Mattel and Mars Bar Quick Energy Chocobot Hour

This year, the famous superbowl ads had one particularly notable inclusion.


Even now I can’t shake a feeling of deep-seated disgust.

Mr Burns is broke and sad, but his life is made whole again when the friendly Apu gives him a coke. He discovers that all you need to be happy is a caffeine-riddled high-fructose corn syrup with 8 teaspoons of sugar per can, and the entire town is lovingly united by the Coca Cola spirit. This is the sell-out of all sell-outs. This an insult to everything The Simpsons ever was. I even feel a little betrayed. Maybe, I desperately hopes, the writers where trying to be ironic, or at least aware of the irony. But that doesn’t mean that everyone watching will be. That doesn’t mean that coke sales won’t substantially increase. That doesn’t mean that product placement and exploitation in Springfield won’t get even more shameless and rampant.

But why does it matter?

We live in a world where a contrived mass media exists primarily to make us buy crap.

It’s easy to forget that the only reason free to air tv exists is to encourage us to make purchases. The shows are filler between the commercials. To think that any one of us is not effected by advertising is deluded. We are; otherwise the mass media wouldnot exist. We can’t just “escape” it by listening to public radio and watching the ABC; you’d have to go a long way or shut your eyes very tightly for a logo or advertisement not to be in plain sight. There is no escape. Through advertising, corporations have a direct fast-track to our brains. When we’re not buying the message (Allianz Car Insurance or a Double Bacon Cheese Burger Stunner Meal Deal) we’re buying the media itself. A foxtel family pack or today’s tabloid rag. Either way, we’re told what to buy, what to read, what to know, what to read, what to feel and what to think.

That’s why the Simpsons is so refreshing. In it’s golden years, the show it was a satirical masterpiece. It constantly lampooned the powers that be, held a piercing mirror up to society, told us to think for ourselves, instilled in it’s multinational audience a healthy mistrust of authority and attacked and subverted popular culture by becoming firmly entrenched in it. Just look at even a handful of the more minor Springfieldianites, especially those involved in the media.

Troy McClure (you may remember him from such celebrity funerals as “Andre The Giant, We Hardly Knew Ye” and “Shemp Howard, Today We Mourn A Stooge”) is a grotesque portrait of the vapid notion of the celebrity. Kent Brockman is a grinning manifestation of trite, sensationalist journalism. His question “Professor, without knowing precisely what the danger is, would you say it's time for our viewers to crack each other's heads open and feast on the goo inside?” could be straight off Today Tonight or A Current Affair. Krusty "There's nothing better than a cigar lit with a hundred dollar bill!" the Klown is oozing with the two-faced. exploitive, money hungry cynicism that powers the entertainment industry and the jaded hackery that comes with it. Lindsay Naegle (that executive woman who works for everyone with the short blond hair) is a glossy, slick-talking, buzzword spouting picture perfect parody of modern Public Relations and Corporate Bullshit. You’ve heard the expression “let’s get busy”? Well, this is a corporate shill who gets “biz-zay!” Consistently and thoroughly. Mr Burns… well, he likes Coke™.

For me, this ad is evidence that all that’s all over. The Simpson’s now nothing more than a gimmick for advertisers who can afford it and a flagship cash-cow for Fox, the most contemptibly biased and unethical televison network in the developed world. (And not just because of “Worlds Funniest Tornadoes and the fact that they “Own a chemical weapons plant in Syria.” But I’ll leave my Fox ranting for another time.) Even Mickey goddamn Mouse would have more sincerity than to appear on primetime quaffing a bottle of coke.

Perhaps I’m being unfair. Commercial products have always been a part of the Simpsons. Look at the endless merchandise that the show has spawned from it’s very inception: t-shirts, pencil cases, dolls, figurines, watches, cereal, toys, boardgames, cards, pez-dispensers, pasta beer and more, but they’ve always been quick to attack this on the show itself – “A Simpson would never lend their name to an inferior product”. It’s also not the first time there’s a been a commercial team up; The Simpsons have been used to sell Mcdonalds, 7/11 (when the long-awaited and mediocre movie was released, a bunch of 7/11s in America were converted into Kwikimarts. Whether or not the squishees were laced with opium is unknown) and probably wouldn’t exist today if it wasn’t for Bart being mascot for the awful candy Butterfingers in the early 90s. “Even the fire doesn’t want them." But this unholy union with coca cola just seems a step too far. Never before have the characters – any characters – been so shamelessly whored in a context so similar to the actually show.

The farce is made even more audacious by the fact that the main character in the ad is Mr C. Montgomery Burns, once the most diabolical parody of corporate greed ever to lurk our screens. An amalgm of Rupert Mordoch, Ebeneezer Scrooge, Charles Foster Kane, a geriatric Victorian-era robber baron, some kind of mummified vulture and Count Dracula. Mr Burns, with his loathing of workers, contempt for the environment, “unrequested fission surpluses” and megalomaniacal corporate tyranny stood for everything wrong with the business end of consumerism. It's interesting to note that in recent seasons, almost every other character on the show has been increasingly exaggerated, stereotyped and had all nuance and subtlety sucked out of them – or as it’s been labelled on the internet, “Flanderised”. Burns on the other hand has actually been toned down to a largely harmless old man, something that even his voice actor Harry Shearer has acknowledged and criticised. It’s impossible to imagine the current Mr Burns blocking out the sun or pointing a gun at an 8 year old. More often than not he now serves as the foil for Smither’s once funny homosexuality, which has even been flanderised itself. But in earlier seasons, before he was diluted to an extra with less personality and airtime than Gil, Mr Burns was easily the most the ingeniously, hilariously and scathingly concocted creation in Springfield outside The Simpsons family itself, and arguably within it as well.

It’s so bitterly fitting that Burns should be the star of The Simpson’s big sell-out to unabashed corporate endorsement. Let's all go to the lobby and get ourselves a snack. For those of you still touched by the Coca Cola Spirit, here’s a few facts.

Coca Cola generally doesn’t bottle and distribute it’s own products. Instead, it contracts and strictly oversees private bottling companies, often partially owned by coke, to do it for them. For example, in Australia coke products are distributed by a company called Coca Cola Amatil. In Columbia, a company called Panamerican Beverages, or Panamco, bottles and distributes coke. Because of poor working conditions, workers at the Panamco bottling plant formed a union. It’s undisputed that from 1994 to 2002 Panamco hired paramilitariy groups to attack, torture, kidnap and kill union leaders in order to drive down wages, leading to nine murders and at least 170 other “major human rights violations”. The Coca Cola company, with their tight control of the plant’s management was at best an accessory and worst totally complicit in these murders. An lawsuit was held against the Coca Cola Company by the union and human rights groups, but was dismissed because Columbia is outside US jurisdiction.

Other Coca Cola human rights violations include repeatedly-found high levels of carcinogenic pesticide residue found in coke products in India, with products containing 30 times the level of presticide residues permitted under European union regulations. They've also been attacked for the hijacking water supplies in regions of India, leading to water contamination and drought, and the suspected assassination of a community leader leading a protest against the opening of a Coca Cola bottling plant. Coca Cola has also been succesfully sued for racial discrimination in their hiring practices, actively targeting children in advertising and contributing to childhood obesity and even having board members with close ties and sympathies to Nazi Germany prior to branding themselves as the american "beverage of choice" after Pearl Harbour. Coca Cola’s history is also riddled with a litany of other unethical practices.

That’s not to say that they’re that much worse than the competitors, just that the attractive, fun-loving, happiness-in-a-bottle community image that coke tries to put across is a particularly insidious and false one. I find it deeply disheartening that this image is being endorsed and built up by a show which used to stand for exactly the opposite and once subverted, rather than reinforced, the commercially-constructed status quo.

The Simpsons just proved that it’s satirical edge has long since rusted, that it’s sell out is totally complete and that it should have been axed years ago. I think it's time for the whole show to die on the way back to it's home planet and never be seen again.

Sorry Coke™.

follow please

My long awaited return to the blogging world is here so may angels rejoice and horns bellow. I apologize for this long break but i had become increadibly saddened by our current folower situation. We have been stuck on 14 for so long and when i thought the pain could be no more we dropped down to 13 sending me into a spiral of deep sadness and have been unable to use my fingers to type since. Things have been looking up but i feel our small litle blogging community needs to grow and get more involved so start commenting and nomminating yourself for the wonder of shot gun blogging.
Onto what I actually wanted to talk about. So last year after 13 years of schooling i finally completed my primary and secondary education including the terrifying and life destroying victorian certificate of education. That whole year I put off so many aspects of life to further progress academic acheivement allowing myself to plan for the future and now i find myself in the thick of the mess of everything i denyied before.
So now i sit here aboslutly lost in the vast amount of change that is occuring in my life. Although some of my plans have worked themselves out i feel that only the material ones have not really bringing me the happiness that I thought i would be having. I mean in the end the only reason we want anything is to be happy and sometimes i just wish it was a feeling so much easier to reach. I may have acheived well at school but sometimes i wonder what could have been if i had taken a different additude. Possiblties are a mental killer sucking time and thought process from actual steps forward. I spend so much time preparing myself for the materialistic life but i seem to be missing out on they joy relationships and simple aspect of the world can supply because my attention is intently focused else where. I am just left with too many questions and just no answers.
I am playing too much of a catch up game to bring myself back up to where i thought i would be right now. Maybe its just a bit of luck that i need but what i really know is that it is time i actually put myself out there and looked for a real chances. It is so simple to say but its a trouble we all have i am quite sure.
So now i sit here amd enjoy my escape from the real world, sitcoms and in doing so contiue my self destructive path but who cares because in this very moment my own problems are forgotten and i can enjoy those of a fictional character. I’ll worry about my real problems tomorrow or at least a day that is soon.
Now my trivial dribble has been completed lets get more people following and more importantly more people commenting dont even coment about the blog say what you want get something going do it NOW!

Just Howling at the Moon

I'm getting very close to just shipping all my work on Musings of Tong here... once again it's 11:15 and noone's posted anything. Sure it's probably my fault for never approaching anyone to post and instead pushing my bizarre plan of assumed motivation on Damacus, but we're going to keep getting these until someone spontaneously emails/calls/smokesignals, god forbid, outright asks me face to face if they could post here... or I quit this disgusting obsessive compulsive social mutism.

Yes it's probably downright insane, this constant overthinking of people. I'll try to give you some insight here. I can't speak for anyone else, and for all I know we could all be prisoners of the inclination towards outward perception, or my fears could be well founded and the world really is just some obscenely cruel joke I should shed myself of as soon as the chance arises.

Whenever I'm in a contact with another person my mind kicks into overdrive. My opinion is, everyone's got an opinion of me. Maybe I'm standing wrong, maybe they're waiting for me to say something, maybe (read definitely) I look/sound/permeate stupid. Yeah, I think that's normal, crippling self consciousness. But the question of another person's motivation also arises. The first question I find myself asking is 'Why the hell are you talking to me?' The conversation becomes this attempt at profiling, at learning of an individual.

Alright normal enough, now this is where it gets bizarre. I'd never once consider myself an honest person, I'd also never consider that a bearable way to get through life. I lie obsessively throughout conversation, I try to avert a person's gaze from who I am. I find the best lie is poisoned with truth. I'll tell someone something about me, yet give false reasoning behind it. It's like saying, yes I do feel sad, but that's because nothing's gone my way today when everything has. I often find I do this when I need a reason for something, for a species that's been subjected to the world's latent absurdism for the entirety of our existence we struggle to fathom anything with no discernible cause. We're the erratic freaks on a vanilla planet. This lie becomes another brick in the construct of self. Suddenly you can't remember what you hid behind that hoarded wall of aspirations and values. Hell, you'd be convinced it was nothing if it wasn't for that feeble outrage at everything you are. How many of our dreams were something we imagined ourselves? In reality are these delusional futures just reflections of what we see? Values just rules on stones? Hell, can we even own our own happiness? Probably, I mean, at it's core what were we at first? Surely you don't remember. We're all just strapped down and when our eyes open, it massacres us all and crams it's decaying ethics & fraudulent promises in the empty shell it left behind.

So why do I want to talk to you? To get to know the world I'm already infected with? Damn, maybe that's why I'm an impotent conversation starter. The second you question anything is the second you get the truth. You get your own truth when you look at yourself, afterall, you're just answering your own questions. You can't cushion the blow, the truth is agonizing usually, our first aspirations are lies. We make ourselves out of deceit. When you shoot yourself with your truth you better get on your knees and hope your self infliction isn't going to ravage you anything close to what you think you deserve. Alright so the tumour of 'self' awareness is tearing away inside you like some serrated cannibal infant, just growing and shredding until it stands in your clothes, this sick regression to what you think is you. Alright so I don't like me, I just mess me up by trying to change me, the HELL? I don't even know how much of me was ever me to begin with. But you're still talking to me, maybe we're the same. Maybe this constant cycle of self destruction and reconstruction is something we share, something other people will understand, how we're built by people as bewildered and incompetent as ourselves. Maybe we all keep deluding ourselves that we can build ourselves better than our mistaken parents, than our incumbent society or our fumbling retarded god. It's sick to even think of the result of this mess, this insult to all the lies we wanted to believe, trying to rebuild itself.

But you're still talking, for a second I think you're actually interested. This one fleeting moment of unity opens the ceiling of this pitch black prison to let the light in, it releases the chain or serpents tying me to this dank stone pit. I reach up. Not for the light, but to close the hole with mirrors. You can't come in. You can't see me like this, you can't see this manufactured freak self enclosing the real me I can't see. So my roof closes over again, a perfect fleshy wall of pleasantry and wit, protecting you or me from me or you inside of it? I give you back yourself as a generous gift. Whatever I think it is you saw in me is your reward. I patch myself with your opinion and reinforce the walls of my tomb. Why every word might as well slit the throat of the original self's neck.

I took bits of everyone I saw and gave the amalgam life, I gave birth to myself, my very own bastardised flesh marionette. He'll smile at the sun because his mother told him to, he'll languish in the rain because that's what people do, and to his truest of friends, well you're all just befriending you...

To call it narcissistic is branded pessimistic. Conversing is just rhetoric, your walls get thick. Our mutual learning of each other becomes self fulfilling, fuelled by suspicion, hatred and yearning. But the worker keeps on building, imagining a bridging, to the greener pasture of an alien soul. But if he found that endless field, his friend seated beneath a tree. The tree would rain innumerable truths while the worker slashed his vein, the serpent bites itself and reignites the pain. Standing in the desolation of the others heart, your own little transferred part, of the poisoned self you've sown, why can't you just realise you'd be better off alone?

Hmmm... maybe this really was more suited for Musings... and I can't see it helping our dwindling readership either, so call this my selfish little rant if you will, posted here because I think more people would read it... and like Musings I'll bet I can make a little prediction...

0 comments ... Go on, I dare you

Undergraduate, am I? // Submit I you, mental help yes?

Aye, I think it's time to unleash Pandora's box. By this I don't mean release evil spirits into the flow of time, nor tell various pieces of information that could cause Chaos to be brought forth, onto an unsuspecting world. Oh no, I'm simply going to speak. This in itself is enough cause for concern, but I'm sure, at the very least Ben will be pleased, and Matt might not rip out his hair in frustration. Oh second thoughts, he may do that anyway. Alas.

So, if I am to speak, I evidently need something to speak about, however this is no easy task. The only sensible thing to do is to speak about something that relates to a large percentage of people, whether presently, in reflection, or in speculation. In this light, today I shall be speaking about University; my thoughts, my concerns, subject choices etc. With this in mind, I'll attempt to keep it light - hopefully even throwing in some witty humour, although I would not suggest holding your breath.

Existentialism you say? Why a dab of philosophical reflection of reality would most likely be the correct course. I believe educated, considered and criticised thought is the way to success in life. Formulating a plan based on knowledge, considering the options that are available for such a notion, and finally seeking others advice. However this pointless rambling really isn't achieving anything - so let's get on which the point, or I may end up being completely distracted by the telecast of The Empire Strikes Back.

A little background information for those who do not know the details of my University enrollment. I'm attending Monash University (Clayton Campus), undertaking an Undergraduate Arts Degree. The subjects I am studying are as follows - Psychology, Creative Writing, Japanese and Biology. Diverse you say? Perhaps - unfortunately heavily unfocused as well. So if I might dwell into my choices, and the reasoning behind them - to which the aim is not clear to anyone, least of all me. Hopefully it will progress as I go; I'm writing for the sake of writing here.

Need I even explain Psychology? Mental discipline is probably one of the most important skills anyone can acquire. It's definitely something I seek to improve in my life - although it is supremely challenging. The study of the mind, may provide some aid in that area. I also like helping people, so a path in psychiatry is certainly not unforeseeable. Psychology, ultimately is just a fascinating subject and one I would have loved to have already experienced somewhat, if my high school had offered it at VCE.

Creative Writing? I LOVE STORIES. Fiction is one of the single greatest things mankind has created. I mean what is a greater creative and imaginative output than writing? One could argue dreams, but the level of control there is no where near as great, even if the plot transpires a little easier in the dream world. I'm quite excited about this. I plan to minor in this area, so I can at least get the basic and advanced fiction writing courses complete in my second year. Writing is a tool. It holds great sway over people. I'd even say it's rather deceptive... not that I'm deceiving you my reader(s), oh no... don't be ridiculous. Moving along.

Japanese? Doku wa nan desu ka
Oh language is such an amazing thing. Sure English is great, and we all know it's the international language - but being our base language, it does tend to get a little dull every now and then. I took German through VCE, making an exchange to the country in the summer of 2007. I'd like to think I have at least day-to-day conversational fluency - which is exactly the sort of level of adeptness I like to have in a language. It's the one that let's you make friends, and probably comment on events. Sure you'd never be a professional translator or a journalist, but you can enjoy foreign TV, film, magazines and music. I'd like to have another language added to my repertoire, and Japanese is incredibly interesting, for largely inexplicable reasons. Anata wa boku no tomodachi desu ka

Biology. I always enjoyed Science up until VCE. For whatever reason I decided to drop it - I still cannot fathom why. It had something to do with my lack of assertiveness when recommend I really should take higher maths if I was to continue study in the science field. Alas, my confidence wasn't as great as it is now, so I missed out. Now's my chance. Evidently I wanted to take something outside of the Arts field, and this was my choice. Even if I epically fail at it, the lab classes will be worth it right? I bet I'll get one of those white coats. I might even get a mental patient or two to sedate. Joy.

You're still here? What's that? Nothing enlightening has been said? No real conclusions have been drawn? Oh have a cry; I don't care. If you stop complaining, maybe I'll give you a story next time. You'd like that, wouldn't you child? Oh yes, I see the burning desire in your eyes. However you must promise to help your parents out around the house - and don't forget old Mrs. McKenzie. She's getting old now and would appreciate you youngins help sweeping up the snow, but no insults this time! It's not easy being a burn victim. It's challenging. Not that your generation knows anything about challenging.

See what you've done? Activated rant mode. I hope you're happy. You're sins will be weighed come the Apocalypse. I know the scale will swing well in my direction - which is the least I can say about yours. That's it no story for you. I'm aggravated now.

Aye, there's the rub. Go shift yourself off this mortal coil.

Hamletttttttttttttttttttttttt. Telmah... Telmah? OH. MY. GOD. This is amazing. Tell EVERYONE! Hamlet is... is... TEL-MAH! So make sure you tell her at least. Thelma... Amleht. Sounds distinctively arabic... but to what end? No wait.. Amleht... Armlett... small arm... who has small arms in Hamlet? Yorrick? No wait... he's just a skull. Woe, misery and me, we dwell in darkness for all time.

Not really though.

"Aye, I think it's time to unleash Pandora's box." I apologise for the degeneration into madness. I got thoroughly bored with all this University talk.

Through the Looking Glass

I didn't think this could happen, I've been blogging way too much lately trying to keep D.I.D. afloat so tonight I kicked back and got reacquainted with my solo effort, Musings of Tong. So I pumped out one blog post, an hour of conscious streaming of ideas later, I suddenly feel like blogging again here. Funny how suddenly deciding to learn to backflip, reading a little Sun Tzu and churning out facebook statuses as a last resort to recall the secrets of the universe being yielded to me in this state of nirvana to deal with whatever life brings tomorrow... well today now, at least for normal people, I'd only call it tomorrow if it was after I'd slept, which is ridiculous because I'm perpetually succeeding sleep, unless it's the figurative sleep of death, which I'm preceding but may be enduring if I look at a figurative death...

It's getting close to 2am alright...

Well anyway today I rediscovered the unrivaled joy of looking through windows. I don't know what it's like for other people but I assume window watching is one of those things you know you did as a child. It's not one of those ever present memories, but it definitely triggers a memory of the pastime. I suppose if you remember now, I'm right.

I spent a good forty minutes seven floors up just watching the world today. I'd consider it some form of transfixing regression. It was a sort of innocent voyeurism. I know how weird and probably even disturbing it sounds but there's an deep satisfaction to be had in watching other people's lives unfold, even in the brevity of forty minutes. I don't know whether that stems from the escape of their judgement or recollection of early years when one could only partake in the world via it's visual experience. Actually having just finished Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, I'd liken it to the creature's witnessing the everyday life of the De Lacey's (If unfamiliar, the creature learns language and almost all there is to know of humanity through secretly observing a small family living in a cottage, it's free from judgement and even develops sympathy towards them but once it becomes known to them is shunned). Overall it seemed like a learning experience.

I was amazed by how long I could maintain an interest in a pair of men setting up a table in their backyard. Everything you see from a distance becomes more trivial, I think it comes from further alienation from the people themselves. It's childish, but I found myself developing personalities and motivations for these two individuals. It became a sort of one way introduction, I could only judge and never know this pair. One would assert dominance in the procedure while the other seemed to follow. The dominant one seemed to indicate with his arms before moving the table and was the first to place a chair around it. The other just seemed to follow along.

I didn't just watch them for the entirety of my viewing. I had a somewhat clear view of a train moving along the horizon in the distance. I trailed it along for what would have been a good five to ten minutes. This was when I was interrupted. I found it interesting that until that point I hadn't actually questioned my motives at all. All it was was someone asking me to pass on a pair of letters and then promptly leaving. Suddenly my mind became awash with questions, what did he think I was doing? Was I being invasive all that time? Now I was the one assuming assumptions were being made. I think it was on Musings where I asserted my opinion of the self being constructed not by other's perceptions but by the perception of this perception... sorry, confusing... think of it like developing an opinion of yourself based on what you think other people think about you. Well suddenly I'd been seen by someone else, my intentions stopped being pure (if a somewhat ignorant purity) and I started to become more perceptive of whether I was being watched. Of course I'd made assumptions on other people, surely it was my just desserts to have them made of me. However, I hadn't shaped my subjects with my views, they were completely unaware of my presence. I had been given reason to question my course of action by another. Now do you see a difference?

In all honesty, I don't know what I'm doing with this post, I only wanted to relay the experience so I'd remember it and assumed that possibly someone could take an interest. I guess I was making a point about some of the quirky points I psychoanalyze day to day... probably not healthy, but whatever.

Well I'm not sure what to draw from this, maybe go look out the window for a while, you might enjoy it. If that seems weird to you then maybe this is kind of a disturbing admission of stalking justified only by it's pure if even existent intentions. Or maybe it's just the fact that another's judgement shouldn't have to shape your own all the time.

Well, let's just put this one down as one of those 'draw your own conclusion' deals...

... or I should just go to bed and spare you all from these kind of posts becoming more prevalent...

World Book

Today I got a Macbook.
It’s amazingly functional, aesthetically elegant and very practical. I’m desperately anticipating using it tomorrow, and it’ll play an invaluable role in my life at uni. It’s also roughly the same size and weight as volume “H” in my grandparent’s 1969 World Book Encyclopaedia.

My grandparents proudly bought the World Book Encyclopaedia through the mail from the U.S, volume by volume, to help their children, including Mum, have a better education. At the time it was a huge expense that they worked hard to pay for in monthly installments. The much-leafed through pages are full of labelled bookmarks and tiny notes for twenty or so years worth of school projects, written very gently in pencil so they could be carefully erased. The World Book (short of the library) was an unparalleled bastion of accessible knowledge, a well of global wisdom, and most amazingly of all, it was sitting in their lounge room.

It’s still sitting there, in the same beautifully made shelf. Pa still occasionally looks something up in the beige, gilt-edged volumes. For Grandma, they are still a fantastic source of information and an invaluable crossword tool. They’re old, americentric, and full of black and white pictures of people with bad hair cuts, but I’ve always found them to be beautiful books. When I younger and visiting, I would sometimes sit in their lounge room and read the World Book, particularly fascinated by the entries at the start of each volume about the letters themselves (“A” is the first letter of the Roman Alphabet. It’s origins have been traced from the pictogram for “ox” in the proto-semetic alphabet.)

About seven or eight years ago we met up with Grandma and Pa at a local primary school fate, my grandma offered to buy me a 1973 World Book that was there at the book stall because I’d always been so fascinated by theirs. All thirty volumes were on the ground, in a big, torn cardboard box. “$10” was scribbled on the front in permanent marker. The lady gave them to us for five.

My macbook pro, the lowest model in it’s range, now charging for the first time in the kitchen could contain an entire-single floor library, every major classic novel in the english canon or the 1979 world book encyclopedia more than five hundred times over. As soon as I get one of those wireless usb modems, I’ll have in my hands something with access to the majority of human knowledge, a hub of the thoughts of entire nations, direct communication with more than a billion people, the “collective conscious”.

I’ve looked at my second-hand 1973 World Book a couple of times, and even boldly attempted to get away with referencing a 40-year old encyclopaedia in a history essay in year ten, but it’s not the same. I know it's worthlessness. Last year, I had to talk Mum out of throwing it away and drag the untouched tomes into a dusty cupboard.

We are accelerating at such a rate that we ride the relentless momentum of technology without any comprehension of just how radically the world is changing, and what this means. We are in the midst of the biggest shift that has ever happened in humanity’s history. It’s exciting, it’s terrifying, it’s wonderful, it’s overwhelming, it’s exhilarating and it’s completely awe-inspiring. And sometimes, like when I look at the volumes of the World Book Encyclopaedia, arranged alphabetically on the home-crafted shelf at my grandparent’s house, it’s touched with a little bit of sadness.

Turn that frown upside down!

It was pointed out to me that my posts, on this blog and on my own, are generally pessimistic. I also noticed that in recent days, my contributions to this blog have been non-existant, so I have decided to write a happy blog. I thought for a while about the many cheerful ideas that could be the subject of such a post, none of which had sufficient content to be the sole topic; so I will be taking the easy way out and writing about multiple things. Don't take that as a negative; positivity says that this will be a wonderfully insightful and uplifting post. On a completely unrelated topic, I think I overuse the semi-colon, but that's not negative dammit!

I find it difficult to concentrate on a single thing at any one time, which is why as I am writing this I am watching the video of my year 12 final day. There was nothing on television and I have to watch something while I type or I get too distracted. It makes sense to me, you don't have to understand. So I am sitting here watching a DVD of all my friends, and you would expect that I would be sad that I havn't seen some of them since the final day of school, but being in this positive mood I am focusing on the fact that I never again have to talk to half of my year level who are rather awful people. Never again will I have to put up with these annoying people and I am rather happy about this. On that note, my happy thoughts are that in university, you can choose the people that you talk to; you don't HAVE to speak to anyone beacause the university campus is much larger than a high school campus. This puts a smile on my dial.

I am sitting here thinking about the extremely hot weather that we are having, melting slowly and wishing it was slightly colder. I am being optimistic and am excited that soon the rain will come and I can go outside without wishing I was naked (well, more than I usually do). As much as I dislike the hot weather, I will be positive about that also because it gives me an excuse to walk around the house in my underwear; I hate wearing pants.

If you have read my last post on my own blog, you will have read about the need to flirt. This usually comes out when I am around an ex, but I am pleased to report that while getting a tad wasted and dancing with my most recent ex, I successfully avoided mentioning anything awkward, which is usually a problem for me.

I have failed so far at my attempt to make this post less about my life and more about life in general, but that's ok; learn from mistakes and I will finish off the post as I had intended to start it. That was sickeningly positive but I can deal with it since this is supposed to contain nothing that can be mistaken for being in any way depressing.

So some people say that life can be seen in two ways: mainly good, or mainly bad. I do not agree with this. My theory is that life has rare great moments and rare terrible moments, and the rest is generally boring; day to day living with a few laughs and a bit of work. I mentioned this to a friend and he said that my idea was a fairly pessimistic view on life, but I am going to be cliche` and say that is is just being realistic. That's not to say that life isn't good; just because life has many boring aspects, that doesn't mean that it can't be enjoyed. When I say boring I mean routine; work, school, sitting on the computer, watching television. These are all part of the routine of life, but they can still be enjoyed. When at work I look at the clock wishing that it would move more quickly because I have plans afterward, or just because I want to go home, but that doesn't mean that I don't enjoy myself while at work. Sure, for the majority of the time I am taking part in the boring routine of customers and smiling, but I have friends at work, and I joke and chat with them; I have fun. It's true that I would rather be out having fun, in other words a rare 'great' moments, but sometimes the boring moments like school and work can be fun as well. We spend hours at 'boring' school wishing we were at home, but we forget that our friends are there and although we are not necessarily taking part in our choice of group activities, but we are still enjoying being with them. I say 'rare' great moments and 'rare' terrible moments not because they hardly ever happen, it is just in comparison to the large amount of time spent in the routine times. We often forget that we need the pain and sadness in our lives so that we can feel the happiness. Without boredom there is no fun, and without pain there is no pleasure. I am not one to be giving advice, but I say try and enjoy even the boring, routine parts of life; that is what the majority of your time is dedicated to and if you don't realise that they can be fun, your life will be lacking something.

So I have posted something positive, finally. I will try and maintain my happy image, but in my opinion, if you can't be moody and complain on a blog then you can't be moody and complain anywhere, except maybe in your diary; that's manly. Nevertheless, I will most likely end up posting more teenage angst-ish sort of topics than bubbly joyful topics, but I promise I will try to give variety. Thanks for reading.
-Renji

...you couldn't repeat that?

Alright, you know the drill by now... Damacus' institutionalised (finally) or something so everyone's favourite partial deity, Crucible Tongs is here to spout some improvised rubbish to keep up the one post a day quota. Why I always end up on the wrong end of my horrendous ideas is beyond me like the moon was to JFK...

Well I could deliver my cold hard *'Molochic' judgement on Damacus right now for not having his indefatigable list of online friends to mine for a wider spread of views that will only be acted upon in the form of virtual ravings. I won't be doing that tonight because if he seriously is missing it'd be my mens rea *childish giggling*. Instead here's a bunch of stuff people have said to me I knocked together with vampires, Enjoy!

*Expect a poem

-'You're only good online'

I'll start with a scathing yet accurate observation from someone 'conveniently' leaving the state. Whether or not this is so said individual can solely experience me virtually is anyone's guess... Anyway, what I initially thought was a distressing jibe on my er 'potency' turned out to highlight the fact that, yes indeed Mr Tongs, you're in a right mess when you're face to face with your fellow man. Okay, okay I know, if we've ever spoken in actuality I probably avoided eye contact. FYI not my fault, I can't help that my left pupil reacts to light slower than the other, glaringly obstructing the symmetry of my face. I'm sensitive about this defect, it's like some gaping black hole on the left of my face. Small children drool in horror and wet themselves in delight as they realise the gaping hellgate is actually just a front for my *vampiric left eye.

*This is a hardcore folkloric vampire reference, where the **undead would have a gaping left eye as the unwitting peasants lifted the lid of an exhumed coffin, anybody who's watched some lame movie or something with me will no doubt be familiar my compulsion to point this out. I teach you things, and see told you I could get vampires in here! Oh and for the record I was a fan before they became physically attractive... and before the steam engine...

**coined by Bram Stoker, nothing huge, you probably already knew. Not really deserving of an asterisk really, just me showing off.

-'Are you going to The Hawthorn?'

Yeah, someone seems to ask me this six times every Tuesday. I'd like to think the implication is that I'm loved... by a great lurching fellow who stole my gratuitous posing with cards idea, Yeah, don't think I didn't notice Damacus... In reality, of which I'm cripplingly aware (Surprised? The tea highs don't make it convincing but I am), it could easily be replaced with 'come stand around nearby so when the need arises I can be intelligent and witty and you can acknowledge it so women/other demographic I'm shamelessly trying to impress don't think I'm lying, also a ride there/home would be good'. I'm an accessory, not even a good one like John Lennon sunglasses *swoons*, more like brooches with pearls or something and pictures of dead people... not dead at the time of... *broochification, that'd just be sick... or genre defying if you've got an open mind... my grandmother doesn't, I'm not allowed to get her Christmas presents anymore... Yeah so this line gives a direct insight into my standard pub routine. Get invited, meet arrival time with pedantry most extreme to stand about, smile, nod, laughing at things you can't hear and praying to my obscure Gnostic D.I.D. riddled god that that wasn't a terribly thought out confidence. So in short, I get invited places, Nerrrrr! Oh but it's in no way because I'm cool or awesome or greatly trumping or anything.

*Expect 2 poems

-'...' *read as various nods of approval*

A response I usually illicit when I strike with some verbal genius among those who really can't be bothered acknowledging me. Although the other night I was playing *pool, nods were abound. Pool is one of those games I like to disguise as a spontaneous burst of **$3 fun and neglect to inform anyone of the fact that I own a pool table and used to play somewhat regularly. 'Awe' nods beat out 'Fantastic-but-can-you-leave-now-I've-laid-some-fantastic-groundwork-here-and-you're-getting-closer-to-saying-something-profound-or-wierd' nods and not only because the latter is a hyphenated syllabic nightmare. Darts is slowly becoming my impromptu praise game. After being shamed on three occasions at darts, the crowning being a loss to my father... read it from a Freudian perspective, more humourous that way. So I've spent some time each day 'training' for that seven seconds of abundant nodding. I mean seriously training, I was sweating it out the other day... well because of the heat of a million hells (Ignore cocytus anyone familiar with the Divine Comedy *smiles with pretense... then remembers that for that I'm walking with stone slabs on my back forever...*) needlessly experienced due to the stubborness involved when going around the board left handed from the other side of the room, and it's taking two and a half hours...

*read as billiards if I don't sound awesomely pretentious enough
** advertised as $3 but took both my two dollar coins, centre table, you've just made a pedantic life long enemy... one that WILL kill everyone you love so we can do battle at the North Pole...

Well, people talk to me, I don't see anyone talking to you, otherwise you would've blogged about it instead of forcing me to shamelessly do 2 in a row... seriously if you're following this and you know of our 'post a day guarantee!' (HA!! You can avert your eyes no longer from our plight!!) and have something to say, just get in contact with anyone who posts pretty regularly... or extremely regularly in someone's case... We can send you the invite and you can be as trumpingly awesome as me! You know, referencing stuff because you still think it makes you look smart...

Also, after that first post I forgot to continue with a recurring theme I had in mind, so I leave you with this from the legendary Biff Tannen...

'Why don't you make like a tree and... get out of here?'-B. Tannen

Evolve or Die

Well, i think I'm an engineering student at RMIT now. I could consider that bad luck or I can see it as an offer, either way, I really don't care because there's no way in hell I'll be doing it by the end of the year. I had this really profound experience at an RMIT open day that would've been over a year ago. I remember it was the first open day I'd been to, and I was convinced I was better than that place. It's funny how much I actually learned during VCE... much to the disgust of the education system. I kind of find it ironic that on that day when I decided I'd be good enough to go one better was the cause of the grotesque arrogance that led me back. Maybe it's just the Nietzsche but now I think I believe that you can't ever think you're perfect, there'll always be work to do. So what better way to improve than by broadening one's horizons... and in no way does this involve marks and examinations.

Last year out of boredom I found some e-book on hypnotism. Yeah what kind of loser physics/maths student branches into a field that can't be used to construct anything capable of large scale mechanical slaughter. The kind that's getting pretty sick of numeracy's ability to supplant humanity. Alright, I admit, this often does sound weird to people. I don't get people up and make them embarrass themselves or anything cruel like that. I like the way hypnotism is presented in the book I learned it from, as a state of acute awareness. It sounds really uncomfortable but in actuality it feels like that state of mind just as you fall asleep...

Okay, I'll admit it, some of that creative genius you've heard from me at 2am was most likely due to self hypnosis. I've become quite good at getting myself into a state of mind where I just stream random images, ideas or scenarios through my head. I like to approach this with an open mind, it's hardly the insanity plenty of people who've had first hand experience with me think it is. Just think of one of the most bizarre dreams you've had (seriously, I'll beat it tenfold so don't worry... phallic cannibal puppets weird EVERYONE out). Alright, so does this mean you're insane? Of course not, the mind speaks with symbolism, why do you think we use words that barely reflect their intentions? This is just something I started to do to kill time and come up with stuff... It's free AND doesn't show up in urine samples.

But now I want to try my hand at stage hypnotism or something. People have this misconception that you lose all control of yourself when hypnotised. Therapeutic hypnotism to recall intense trauma or something is only beneficial once substantial trust has been established. Hypnotism hardly affects one's judgement which is why I'm so interested in how stage hypnotism works.

That's probably what got me onto learning how to entertain with a deck of cards. Anybody who's been in the same room as me and a deck of cards lately has probably been subjected to my amateurish attempts at illusion. The thing is with magic tricks though, they can either amuse, or amaze. This is based entirely on the capabilities of the magician. Lately I've been trying to think of ways to really draw in an audience, I suppose I'm trying to grow charisma if you want to call it that. I'm getting better at suspending disbelief and romanticizing a trick. I suppose developing someone's belief in magic could be considered glorified lying, unfortunate but true given the cynical climate. I've always thought instead that it's the development of trust, maybe something that can lead to some capability in stage hypnotism.

Well I don't know about quality, but I thought it was a change of pace and that people might find some of my stranger hobbies interesting. So next time it seems like you're on a one way road somewhere, leave the beaten track. Look up something strange you've always thought would be fun, because I'm finding the stuff you teach yourself can be more of an accomplishment than the stuff that's drilled in.

More unnecessary teacups wont put food on the table. But they will put tea there.

"Am I really all the things that are outside of me? Do I complete myself, without the things i like around?"

So, to begin with, some lyrics from an amazing song... but more to the point, it has come to my attention the enormity of things that I seem to have floating around, physical and otherwise. I decided yesterday, when I was walking home juggling my giant bag of clothes from staying away over the weekend and an antique cupcake holder, that maybe I am slightly a kleptomaniac. Which, in itself doesn't make sense, you can't be SLIGHTLY a murderer... or SLIGHTLY craving ramen. It's all or nothing muchacho. But anyhow, I decided it was time for a little stock take. Here are some of my unnecessary 'things':

26 - Vintage, lacey, frilly, foofy, amazing...no really... but oh so ridiculous dresses.



184 - The number of overly specific, fashion/ culture related magazines I have bought in less than two years. Quiet, you.

6- The number of lamps I seem to have slowly started collecting; my room has a 6 or so meter high ceiling... and there IS a light fitting up there. However, my excellently prepared household doesn't have a ladder, country living at its very best. I did one day attempt to balance various pieces of furniture precariously to get up there... but ahhh the less said about that day the better.

21 - Handbags, clutches, purses, oh dear. I seem to collected so many... due to prettiness. Yet I don't use them. Hum.

1- Antique wooden birdcage. What?

17- Mismatched, kitchy as hell teacups and saucers. it's basically just preparing for the loneliness that is 'old age' early. I'm so close. I can practically taste it! Oh, apologies, the elderly and tasting should be mixed in the same sentence. Nom nom.

1 - 'Give Way' road sign. I'm not even sure. The story goes is that I have 21 acres... and I stumbled upon it on a small pathway through the trees, on a night walk. Followed by a 'wrong way go back' sign. Truth be told I was officially diagnosed with the heebie jeebies. So of course I took he sign and ran. Well. It's not easy to run with a sign. You know, ambled or something.



7 - Embarrassingly (read 'Amazingly') retro chairs. Ranging from burnt orange to lime green...they're just a spot to put more of my things really. And put things I do.

9 - Tiny owl figurines. I'm not sure why but I find them adorably creepy. So therefore I have begun to collect a mass of them in my shadow box on the wall. When last opshopping, I did get a little childishly excited (as in the shake-fists-in-a-frenzied-manner type of excited) when I found a collection of about 30 tiny owls. Most likely some lonely old woman had died and had them donated to the store. I, of course, was thrilled.

12 - Books to read sitting on my bedside table. They're so patient. And I'm so awful- I haven't had time to read lately, and I've been keeping such great writers as Asimov and Proust stuffed underneath a series of half finished cups of tea. Rude.

2 - Records... they're so lovely i really need to invest in more. My prize being the original soundtrack to the Flaming Lips' feature film 'Christmas on Mars'... aptly described as a 'fantastical freakout film!', practically written and filmed while the main actor dabbled in his heroin/ acid/ various habits, and all together amazing. If you haven't heard of the Lips, start there. If you have, see this film. And then by the soundtrack on vinyl. It's the most fun you can have involving decrepit suicidal Santas, outer space, monologues, hallucinations and budget-built sets. Radical.

10 - Strands of colourful beads. maybe if I wear enough people wont realise I am still unemployed, and lacking direction. Yes?

19867986340 - Moths. And small bugs. MY GOSH BE GONE WITH YOU. See the trouble is, my room is precariously balanced on the third floor, with 6 meter high windows. And I'm not sure if you've ever attempted to find curtains that large (well, if you have, let's be friends), but it is impossible. Therefore my room reaches a squillion degrees during the day. And at night I have to open my windows to cool it (oh technology...). But I have oh so many moths in here... did I mention I'm partially afraid of moths? Especially the kamakazee style ones who fly at your face. Not to mention they're all furry, ergh.





1 - Original style Sailor's cap. Not sure why I bought that one. NO WAIT. Yes I am. because it's fantastic.

5 - Hand painted babushka dolls... gosh they are a creepy concept. They used to make me worried that their was a series of smaller mes stuck inside the outer shell of myself. Why yes, I was a normal eight year-old.

6 - Empty to partly empty packets of medication. That does make me sound like a crazy, but truly, I've been annoyingly sick for the past two or so months. But it does make me feel like some sort of hipster-yet-repressed writer type. I need to collect a few more empty wine bottles (1) to achieve that. Oh, and learn how to write. Chyeah.

0 - Thoughts for the future or ambitions... well except secret/ unachievable ones which I may disclose at a later date.
So... 'Am I really all the things that are outside of me?'
If so that makes me some kind of mecha teapot wielding, vintage-dress-wearing-owl, robot-doll kleptomaniac librarian moth child. Which isn't too far from that unachievable ambition I mentioned.

1 - *Large sighs*.

Fin.

<3