Say Something...

Not too much to say today, just relieved that things turned out alright in the end, especially when anything could've happened. Waiting around for an entire day not knowing what to do when in all probability anything you do won't help at all. You know things are probably alright but the helplessness and lack of information makes things difficult at best.

I've had people suddenly depart from my life before and not all have returned, each person had their own problems that were completely out of my hands. From experience, not every case has a happy ending. Thankfully this one of the good times.

As I type this, I am listening to The Essential Michael Jackson CD I "won" at Marcus's 21st, and let me say this: Smooth Criminal never sounded better or an apt description of how I got this. More on that later.

We showed up at Marcus' place around 6, and it was nice of them to wait for my train to show up around six. It was even nicer when the guys at work let me bugger off early to be there. They don't read this blog (and hopefully they never will for all sorts of litigious reasons) but I just thought I should make that clear. We were among the first to show up, and therefore first to be able to explore Marcus's backyard, as this photo will surely attest.

Just a quick mention about the food. They had some caterers around to serve all manner of food and drink which was quite nice, including three types of meat, which was extra nice. My only real question is this: why can these guys do such a decent job when the body corporate Christmas party for the place where I live can't even serve up a decent plate of rice? I don't count my self as being a fussy person but it's sure mighty swell to be able to eat rice that feels like it just got poured out of the bag. You wonder how much the body corp paid for food like that, I mean even a soup kitchen for the homeless could've done a better job. There were also way too many flies, but that was probably because we were sitting next to the garbage bin like the hobos we are. Constantly having to swat away at your meal doesn't exactly leave you with many hands left to eat with.

As per usual, whenever I attempt to take a drink of anything remotely alcoholic like a beer or a smooth tasting bottle of mouth rinse, I turn a bright shade of red and people start asking me if I've had a severe sunburn or if I have indeed soiled myself and feel really embarrassed about it. Now know this, people but like many Asians before me I have a lower tolerance for the drink than an eight year old white person. Sure I may look really pissed off after two drinks but rest assured that I am completely fine and am capable of making it across the room without your assistance. However, under said circumstances I do find things a lot funnier and will often tend to laugh a lot more audibly as my BAC reaches 0.002. Squared.

Evidence of the drink will often manifest itself in the form of photographs where the contrasting skin tones of those around me make appear to have emerged from a politically incorrect cartoon about native Americans. Or conversely it makes you take pictures where Emma is trying to bite your ear off. Whatever... it's all been done before.



If Cricket Australia can't make up it's mind about the concept of playing test cricket at night, perhaps they should have a look at these pictures here. Clearly proving that we will play anywhere anytime, after the party ended at around midnight we pulled out the metal stumps and the rubber ball to play in the backyard with the floodlights (or should that be floodlight) on. Unfortunately we didn't have the full compliment of the six light towers surrounding us but we soldiered on regardless. I don't wish to trivialise the roles of our national cricketers but those lights are damned hard to play under. It was a case of either absolute light or absolute darkness with either case resulting in blindness, and the ball would often run away into the bushes. But for that one hour under the stars, we wouldn't have it any other way.


We got Marcus a wide array of gifts to the value of $500+ which is enough to buy several thousand Chupa Chups or a cheap set of furniture from Sydney's. We got him neither of those extremely thoughtless ideas and one of those improved ideas was a bat signed by all us guys from uni, or the 21st XI which is kinda confusing when you say it out loud. Unfortunately we got trumped when his family presented him with a bat signed by the captain of some local team. Can't quite recall what his name was, Ricardo Pointy or something. Which one will be worth more? Only time will tell.


I'm only mentioning this simply because I showed up to sign the bat last and I was suddenly called upon to open the batting. If only people knew how bad my batting was. It makes Geraint Jones look like a decent keeper.

There was a 90s themed quiz later on in the night which I maintained had far too many questions about Beverley Hills 90210, Friends and Titanic and not enough questions about Captain Planet. The less said about our "efforts" in the quiz the better I suppose, but we did end up winning simply by virtue of waiting for the other teams to trip over themselves as they outraced each other to answer the questions. The way we were going I was surprised we were anywhere near the lead, what with a multi-syllabled team name like ROFLMAO, but we managed to win on the last question to claim prizes only I appeared to be interested in. Chairman Mao would be proud.


I guess it's always a good night when you can't remember what time you dosed off. Being awake 23 hours straight is not a good way to live while watching the original Transformers movie and playing the N64 and cards. Replenish is a fun way to win games, unless you're playing against it. Those who were left standing the next day went for pancakes and a long drive where Burke Road somehow managed to clog itself up on a Saturday afternoon. I should say that the Country Breakfast is good for anyone who hasn't really eaten much during the past few hours, as well as the stoners in those ads on the radio.

That's all from me for the time being. We here at Say Something are fast approaching 50 posts and hopefully we'll be doing something to celebrate, like throw a party for the 5 people who read this. But honestly, even if only one person read this, I'd still be penning away epic after epic post... all for you at home or wherever you're reading this. I'm going to close this little saga by presenting a little Jackson related video. Remember the classic video Thriller? If so, have you ever wondered what it'd be like if they were made of Lego? I'm sure you all have, as have the other 1.4 million people who have seen this on YouTube. Enjoy.



Oh, and extra points to you if you identified the stinky pun in the title... the answer comes from the chorus of Night Fever by the Bee Gees. Now that'll cringe the heck outta ya.

The following takes place between 30/11/07 and 2/12/07. If Jack Bauer had to hold it in for that long he'd end up in a hospital for sure. Think about it, that spans two months!

In this instalment of obscure geeky references and poorly written logic gags, I have my hearing blasted away by Chris Cheney (which is better than being blasted away by a Cheney of a more conservative nature), I walk into a toy store for the first time in ages to be blasted away by the sign that laziness has indeed prevailed amongst our youth - the battery powered supersoaker, and I discover why you don't tell anyone you're watching Knocked Up on DVD... all in all, pretty promising stuff. I'm not sure I can follow up on all that hype, ooh I've dug a pretty big hole for myself now...

(Okay I've realised I've again used far too much descriptive language to narrate my weekend, so feel free to treat this as three separate posts and read/ignore what you want. Enjoy, and see you after the late movie.)


Act One - Setup And Premise

On Friday my sister and I made the trek down to the Prince Bandroom to see the EG Music Awards. Normally I wouldn't go to such trouble to see an awards ceremony where half the awardees can't show up due to scheduling and the record company goon ends up taking them all, but the organisers got smart and managed to book the ultimate drawcard - The Living End. Being the only local gig the guys were holding for the year, the attraction would be magnetic to fans. Heading over there was my sister's idea but I didn't mind at all, after all good taste in music takes years to instill and I like to think I did a pretty damn good job weening her off pop music. Though to be fair, Britney Spears doesn't do herself any favours when she could easily put together a photo album of knickerless upskirting shots from press clippings.

It was not overly surprising to see that TLE were put at the very end of the programme for the night and it was obvious some people were not content to stand for two and a half hours waiting for them to show up, as evidenced by several people standing in line in front of us opting to bugger off elsewhere until then. Getting inside took seconds longer than we had anticipated due to the fact that my sister had only turned 18 a couple of days before. Watching the bouncer glare at her driver's license and trying to remember what day it was and calculating her age more than made up for any sort of additional wait.

There's nothing worse than being in a bar than just standing around without a drink in hand. I suppose being all by your lonesomes is somewhat worse, but with a drink in hand you can at least pretend you're waiting for your mates to unditch you. Ctrl-U would be the shortcut of choice there I believe. The point of this preamble is that I got to buy my sister her first (legal) drink which was nice, especially when you stand by a bar for five minutes trying to get the girl there to notice you, then shelling out the GDP of a small islander nation for a couple of beers. Once that was all taken care of, we jostled around for a good spot and watched the show. Most of the awards were fairly superfluous with the performances being the centre of attention. Local talent was on parade with Augie March, Clare Bowditch and Angie Hart among others, with Hart doing a weird cover of Kylie Minogue's 'I Believe In You' where she read the lyrics off a piece of paper which she promptly shred to bits at the end. And rightly so too.


TLE finally got themselves on at around 10.40 and played a full set which really hit the ground pounding and never let up for a second. All the hits were played from Prisoner of Society and Roll On to recent offerings Wake Up and What's On Your Radio? Unfortunately for me, I am but a casual listener to the works of Cheney and Co, and so there were a couple of older tracks which I could only bop my head to, but for the true believers out there it was all pure bliss. Another benefit of having so many other acts there was that the guys could do a couple of collaborations. The brass section from the Hunters and Collectors (above) did a couple of numbers, while Nic Cester from Jet showed up at the end to do a duet, then quickly scampered off as soon as it was finished. It was all done and dusted around midnight when public transport shuts down and becomes as reliable as it is during most of the day, so a taxi was my last act for the night. Damnit we should really get that car soon.


Act Two - The Next Day

The next morning I somehow managed to peel myself off my bed at the nightmarish hour of ten in the morning to look for birthday quiz prizes for Marcus' big 2-1. The entire night is 90s themed, which feels very odd since it really doesn't feel like it was all that long ago. It must be one of those things that happens when you get old. Better turn up that hearing aid, I'll certainly be needing it after that concert.

I was going to suggest going to one of those vending machines and trying our luck with the various coloured rubber balls that you can easily choke yourself with in the event that you get dragged into a Shannon Noll gig. Basically it's cyanide for those who can't afford such a stylish demise. But of course that would never do, and it would have to be a pretty awful party if people had to resort to that kind of behaviour.

We looked around Northland for a bit before wandering into Toys R' Us for more inspiration. In yet another sign that my generation is getting on in year, we came across battery operated supersoakers... so you can sit back in your lazy chair and spray someone from afar. The evolution from crossbow to semi automatic weapon reflects an increasing efficiency in the way water fights are carried out nowadays, and it won't be before long when we face the threat of Iranian ICBMs drenching us from the other side of the world, mark my words. Though really the question has to be asked: where are kids getting ammunition from in the days of Stage 3A water restrictions? From some highly illegal black water market? A secret water cache hidden in some warehouse? Insurgents carrying out death runs against an oppressive foreign regime? The answers are both many and pointless, my friends.

We eventually settled on a travel version of Battleship and a Michael Jackson CD. We didn't get the CD at Toys R' Us, though the irony and creepiness would've torn a hole though many a parent's moral fabrics. Going through a record store with someone who knows a thing or two about music is a lot of fun, especially one who knows a lot about bad music. Marcus and I wandered around for ages trowelling through CDs, badmouthing as many artists as we could. Bargain bins are definitely good at times like these.


Act Three - Resolution and Anti Climax

Afterwards I ventured out into the far east to pay Blair a visit. When I jump over to that part of town, we usually end up getting some videos, argue in the supermarket over our indecision concerning dinner and playing cards. New titles in the video stores are always nice though if you watch too many flicks at the cinemas you only have yourself to blame when you are forced to watch third rate movies, with several of them starring Steven Segal. Video stores have the best and worst of movie titles, including a plot about volcanoes about to burst and the only solution is to dig a very big hole in the middle of New York.

Eventually we settled on Knocked Up and Big Trouble In Little China, a really old film starring Kurt Russell and Kim Kattrall of Sex and the City fame, and happens to be an earlier John Carpenter production which I found odd, mostly because I was half expecting an alien dog to burst out of someones head at any given moment. And I also confirmed what I had known all along about Kattrall and her so-damn-fine acting skills. It's odd how at this stage there are no signs of how great she must be at sex, having written a book on the subject. Seriously though, if being on that show is all the expertise you need, then half of the women in the US could write their own columns.

The movie has aspects of Chinese mythology in it which was cool where spirits flew around riding lightning bolts and gliding down corridors. Having an escalator installed in the throne room of your secret lair might seem a bit tacky, but it does help make you look effortlessly lazy as you make you escape up the escalator and through that giant skull shaped door. And can someone explain why the bad guy is so desperately searching for a girl with green eyes when all he has to do is go down the street and get one there? He's living in San Francisco anyway, it seems like too much trouble to wait 2000 years for a Chinese girl with green eyes, as rare and freaky as that may be.


Epilogue and Director's Commentary (No Easter Eggs I'm Afraid)

Well that's all the bandwidth I've been able to waste so it must be time to run. Bad movies are always fun to write about, but they might have to take up separate posts in future, I'm not quite sure. If you've skipped ahead to this part, I thank you very warmly for doing so and hopefully I'll be able to write something shorter next time... Yeah right.

Being without my own private form of transportation, I often have to resort to hitching rides off friends or take a hike to the nearest train or bus stop. It may be a slower way to travel (especially when I have to leave the house 90 minutes before an appointment) and its range may be limited (Frankston is far enough for me, maybe a bit too far), but for the most part it does the job and it allows me to grab some much needed shuteye providing I can get a seat. Though standing in a packed carriage hasn't stopped me from trying. Drooling on someones shoulder is a great conversation starter. You'll thank me when you've found that special someone (take note, Marcus...)

Despite all the negative publicity our public transport system has been copping this year, it hasn't been all bad. Here are a few shots taken to show that trains can be entertaining and intellectually stimulating.

This one was taken during Welly's farewell outing, and shows what can go wrong when a bunch of kids are given a camera. Loyal readers may recognise Peter as the unfortunate victim of camera based sight gags, regarded as the second most juvenile form of humour apart from producing uninspired local sketch comedy.

But I must admit that taking the moral high ground here is mostly useless considering that's my giant disproportionate finger attempting to probe the inner reaches of Peter's nostrils. My, how I've grown! Welly's finger is giving him a nice dewaxing of the ears in the absence of any better explanation.

Just quietly, tell me if you took any notice of the guy in the background trying not to be associated with our immature antics. I suppose appearing in an idiotic photo would put a dampener on anyone's day. I bet he never guessed he'd be on the interweb with all the other junk not unlike the very words I'm typing. That's the fickleness of fame for you. (Actually he was just really tired, but I like to think there was an embarrassment factor there too.)

Before last week, I hadn't laid eyes on that pic for a good six months or so. That must have been one of the last times everyone from the old group at BHHS was together, or at least as together as it could ever be, but that's a story too complex, personal and long winded to be fit for publication. Welly's now floating about in Singapore of all places, and Nathan (not pictured) is heading off at the end of the year to our national capital/politician isolation wasteland. How things change so very quickly.


Or does it?

This was a nice piece of graffiti I chanced upon on my way to my former place of employment. I see a lot of graffiti all over the place both inside and outside the carriage, but this is the first one where I was bored enough to capture it for eternity.

I'm still trying to figure out if the statement above was meant to be sarcastic rather than a definitive affirmation of the author's affinity for the TAFE education system. It could really be one or the other, though I suspect a small bit of cynicism may be in play. After all, there is nothing to be ashamed of in going to TAFE. You probably end up learning more relevant material, unlike the loads of theoretical junk they feed us in the university arena. And you would probably get far more competent teachers running the joint too. Not that I'd know, I kinda just assumed.

Speaking of which, I was at uni the other week trying to find out what the faculty's plans were for the coming year, which is particularly important this year considering Melbourne is in the middle of its very own Great Leap Forward. Being one of the smallest faculties, it was only natural that ABP would be used as a guinea pig. Having the misfortune to be caught in the midst of all this confusion, I needed to find out what was happening with the double degree I was hoping to take.

Anywho, I began asking all the right questions to the nice lady in charge of dispensing such information when she told me the faculty had not decided on a final course structure. For a world class institution you would think they could pull their act together a bit quicker really. TAFE is starting to look a lot more appealing.


But Wait, There's More!
The final act of this narrative sees me on the train home at Flinders on a Saturday night after seeing the Melbourne Uni Law Revue with Keyur and some friends of his. The show was pretty good, though arguably not as good as the previous year. Highlights included several Harry Potter inspired sketches where they rapped their way through the major plot developments and one hilariously wrong dubbing of a scene from Chamber of Secrets where Hagrid appears to show more than a platonic interest in Hermione. ("You know what they say, invest a little now so when they grow up it all comes back... with interest")

Being youth driven contemporary comedy, there was a certain degree of jokes of the cruder nature. I have no problem with the vast majority of it, but I really wanted to know what was going on inside the heads of the older folk sitting in the row in front of us. I like to think they were the parents of the cast, wondering where they went wrong in all their years of tough love parenting. I think it's back to the basement for you, young man!

Heading back to my late night train trip, I needed something to pass the time while waiting 15 minutes for the next train. Chocolate bars were tempting and all, but I could not go past the sexed up hype of the new Chupa Chups. Three flavours for the low low price of one? And how could I resist the advertorial charms of a homicidal lollipop stick? (You've seen the ads I'm sure) You tell me...


Yes that's right folks, the people at the Chupa Chup factory have been deceiving us all this time. They promised three, but could only produce two when it really mattered. This is truly a case for Consumer Affairs or heck, even ACA can get their claws into this one. Imagine that, the story of a simple young man who just wanted a piece of candy, and ended up broken hearted by an unscrupulous faceless corporate identity. When you can't even trust the candy man, the terrorists have truly won. (No one's said that for a while, I thought I'd just throw that one back into the vernacular)


In closing, what have we learned today? Trains - often late, frustrating, overcrowded, understaffed, but occasionally makes for semi interesting blog fodder. Hurrah for the silver lining!

Its not every day where coming across a loose hubcap on the side of the road brings random hilarious memories to the fore. Luckily for me, there was no one around to see me with a stupid grin across my face. If only they knew what had happened all those years ago... ago... ago....

**FLASHBACK SEQUENCE - make up your own visual screen wipe effect please**

The event in question happened years ago back during my days at High School, when we all lived our carefree lives at a run down public school before it became overrun by portable classrooms. (I swear, they have perhaps 10 of them by now, there were even a couple on the roof, how sad is that. They may as well just go and crane in a giant stack of portables and turn it into a multi storey learning tower of doom. Students climbing their way up to class, the ground below lined with old PE class mats to catch falling pesky year 7 kids... Now that would be fun.)

Oh look, I seem to have gotten myself sidetracked yet again. Better not let that happen again, lest it become like an episode of Family Guy. Though on the bright side, my narrative would be a lot more readable, though the numerous pop culture references and overly long musical numbers would certainly alienate many.

Going back to the story I've been promising for so long, I was walking with a couple of classmates when we came across a loose abandoned hubcap, all alone without any car tire to give itself any meaning in its existence. So this one classmate decided to go along and give it a new meaning in life as a Frisbee. Of course this seemed like a jolly good idea at the time, and we were all in approval in this sudden improvement in our otherwise Frisbee free lives. So he went ahead and did what most people did with Frisbees: he threw it.

Unfortunately for him, the hubcap's new found freedom was to come at a price. He managed to throw it a lot better than I had expected, and it ended up flying into the back of my friend's head 5 or 6 metres away. Naturally, I laughed my head off. It was like being in our very own Funniest Home Video segment, but without the annoying host and the phony laugh track. It was not long before I realised he might be the slightest in the leastest (lack of spelling intended, Mr Spellchecker) bit annoyed at that, plus it might have hurt too I suppose. Punches were almost thrown, and my afternoon became a lot more memorable.

**END FLASHBACK SCENE - FADE TO REALITY... Aww, not this place again...**

And now if you ever come across a hubcap lying on the street, hopefully you too will evoke my precious memory and have a good chuckle at this semi light hearted story. But what of our victim in all of this, whatever became of him? Well he went on to live a fairly brain damage free life, though he did eventually go to law school and join the Young Liberals. So really, you be the judge.