Say Something...

Yea I don't really know if that's a word but it's got a lot more of a chance at being real, unlike Nathan Buckley's wholesale slaughter of the English language in his use of the newly discovered verb 'evolutionise'. It just goes to show that footballers should not be allowed anywhere near a word processor. They just end up disabling spell check with their ego based reality distortion fields and ruin everything. On the other hand, for some reason I don't mind Robert Murphy's column too much even if it really has next to nothing to do with football. It's certainly less objectionable than say, Grant Thomas' stint at The Age a couple of years back. Reading his column you'd never know he had a chip on his shoulder the entire time...

Well I've been so busy lately I haven't even had time to update my poor old blog, what with its multiple obscure references to Toto and the Backstreet Boys. I have to make an apology to my blog at this moment in time due to the fact that I, like all inconsiderate partners, have forgotten its birthday. As of last Monday, Say Something turned two years old and is now crawling along nicely while spewing all over my fine china and shattering my carpet into a thousand pieces. During this time I have covered a lot of ground, from work to uni and a hundred random YouTube videos in between. Hopefully I'll be able to keep doing so for a long time to come. I've come to treat this blog as an odd combination of a personal journal and poorly thought out joke depository, waiting for the day when I can look back at the old posts and wonder what the hell I was on and use some of said bad jokes for a sketch show starring Tandy as a break dancing Asian cricketer with an awful secret. I don't know what that secret is yet but that's how they write shows like 'Lost' or 'Today Tonight' - just make it up as you go along.

Too late to make a thoughtless gift for my beloved blog? I'd rather not bring down the mood on this post by talking about my stupid time consuming, life sapping studio so I'm going to give you something else. If you pay enough attention to this blog then well done, restraining orders will be in the post in the coming weeks. Otherwise you'd know I'm currently working on a paper on the architecture of virtual space, in particular computer games. It's a great way of combining the things that I love most and it certainly keeps me motivated enough to make me want to see it through. Have a read in your spare time, it's about 2000 words so it'll easily take a few moments of your time. Suggestions are more than welcome.

For some insane reason Google Docs won't allow me to publish PDFs via the web. Someone really needs to pay attention over there. So for now here's the text only version , I'm afraid you'll have to imagine the pretty pictures all by yourselves. Join me next time when I wander the premises after dark.

Doesn't that sound really dirty in an uncool kind of way? This following video was brought to you by a white man named Sanjay Jones. Almost everything about this video is ridiculous. From the initial concept to the hammy acting and the little details about our future lives, if there's one thing about the future we can look forward to, it'd be the porn cloud!

In other news, I need to find more time to write. I'm currently attempting to write a 4000 word paper comparing real world and video game architecture, which is kinda fun. At least it gives me a work related excuse to play Max Payne 2 and UT again, so perhaps I'll update the blog with details later on. Now if you'll excuse me I have to do some "research"...

I got my John Avon signed Alara MPS lands in the post today, my rational Asian cheapo strongly advised against buying them in the first place but I really couldn't resist. I even got to communicate with the man via email, fulfilling some sort of nerdcore fantasy I suppose. Not that I went crazy with the complements and use of netspeak - I was far too self conscious to do that.

I should really take better care of my money, especially when I'm too busy studying to work a proper job that wasn't described in "Gangs of Oz". In the meantime though I'm still waiting for any potential windfall from the Rudd government to reach my bank account so that I can purchase this little item. Not sure if Rudd intended for all this money to go overseas like that though.

For those not in the know, this is a toaster with a theme based upon the Cylons from the updated version of Battlestar Galactica. In this universe they substitue all the swearing with the word 'Frak'. It also turns out they refer to the Cylons as toasters. That's an awful lot of explanation for an insider joke in a way that is guaranteed to confuse and alienate all those who can't understand why you would want your toast made with a Cylon head burnt into it. Never mind that the show is actually good and very serious in the way that the Stargate series is not (MacGyver in space?!), I just love a good space opera.

Don't know if I'd actually use it to make toast though. It looks far too pretty.

Curse you Lady Gaga, what does that even mean? If the explanation of the lyrics are to be believed, she sure has one expressive body.

Cricket, cards, more cricket and then some poker. All in all a good day out, but no poker game would be complete without some sort of god hand. Such hands are more impressive as we don't use decks that are obviously rigged like those used on poker tournaments on TV. We had it on in the background and pocket aces showed up no less than three times in the same tournament. Who needs statistical reality when you can entertain everyone at home?

The closest we got to something like that was this hand. Such crazy luck, I'm so sorry Ken.


Judging from this captured memento it looks like I was the dealer in this round. Seems natural that I'd end up giving myself the upper hand...

Note to future self: wake up on time, especially when people are waiting on you. I could give you advice on things like the importance of wearing sunscreen, but this is probably just as important if you don't wish to look and feel like an idiot.

I usually have two devices that help me wake up when I should: the usual trusty alarm clock and the timer function on my radio. The trouble with this set up is that I have subconsciously learnt to override them. On this occasion I managed to switch the alarm off along with the snooze, then proceeded to use the radio to send myself back to sleep. The solution would be to get another alarm clock and place it somewhere else so I actually have to get out of bed, but then I'm afraid I might develop a sleepwalking routine where I switch off each of my fail safes and go back to bed.

Normally this doesn't matter too much but I was meant to go to a PR a fair way away and I don't exactly have the ability to teleport or wind back time. I guess I could easily blame them for setting such an early time... who gets up at 7am to play cards in the midst of the most prolonged heat wave we've seen in who knows how long? I could also blame my mobile phone for running out of battery rendering me completely impervious to communications, but really it's mostly my fault for enjoying my weekend sleepins a bit more than I should.

Here ends this note. Oh, one more thing future self: stop eating those cheap cup noodles from Aldi's. They may taste great, but they're probably very bad for you.

Have so much free time during these long holidays that you would like to be frustrated by crazy flash games? Then try "Gravity Master", a game with one sole goal "to collect all rotating circles with the black ball. You can move the ball by drawing shapes with mouse. Doubleclick on your shape to destroy it." Sounds easy but is anything but.

Solutions can be found on YouTube. They didn't say so but I assumed the assumption that there must be someone with even less to do than someone frustrated by crazy flash games who records on screen footage of the solutions and posting it online. On the upside if you complete the game you unlock a level editor that is pretty fun to mess around with. I'm currently trying to create some sort of pinball type scenario. I really don't have anything else to do...

Okay, first things first. Does this look anything like me? Cos apparently he doesn't even know either.


At the very least he kind of looks more in proportion than my Wii avatar.

I've been listening to a lot of old music as of late, I'm not completely sure why but it must be partially due to the fact I've been listening to that cursed golden oldies channel on the radio. It doesn't help when the late night talkback guy on the Ms berates anyone who has a slightly dissimilar opinion to his own. Fortunately he's been fired so I won't have to complain about him any longer. Anywho, for some odd reason I feel the need to rip on the latest edition of 'Pop Hits 2008' as my ears are still bleeding after all these months.


All Summer Long, Kid Rock
Bastardising one song is usually more than enough depending on the vintage and pedigree of the song pillaged. For example Vanilla Ice ruining "Under Pressure" is one I don't appreciate. Ruining two perfectly fine songs in the one outing is even worse - "Werewolves of London" and "Sweet Home Alabama" are respectable songs that in all probability were not looking to get hitched up any time soon but no they just had to go ahead with it. I suppose it's not so bad for your average midteener who has no knowledge of any music or culture before 1998, but I am not as lucky as they are.


See You Again, Miley Cyrus
The most telling contribution to music and society in general is a cricketing song based on this odd piece of music. Writing credits should go to Marcus and myself but mostly Marcus as I recall being really tired at the time. Writing lyrics after midnight at the Pancake Parlour will do that to you. The idea for it comes from the process in which my sister and I named one of our pop eyed goldfish Bhaji, after Harbajan Singh when we misheard the chants of the Indian supporters as 'Hodgey'. At the time I thought there was no way he was that popular. For a while we explained any bizarre goldfish behaviour as someone 'just being Bhaji'. And with Bhaji constantly getting into trouble for random things like slapping Sreesanth and opening his mouth at inappropriate moments, we should really write another verse next time the Indians tour.

Bowl You Again, Yong/Chiu/Cyrus/Aramato/James

Don't Want To Go To Bed, Gabriella Cilmi
All I want to say about this song is that in case of emergency, in this case running out of words in the dictionary, just use the word 'good' as many times as required until the song is over.


I'm Yours, Jason Mraz
I'm only complaining about this song because they use it on those adverts for "Packed to the Rafters", the show which millions of people tune in each week under the assumption that Pat Rafter will be making an appearance. Perhaps giving the show a more urban edge and renaming it "Pat to the Rafters" would give it more appeal to the overseas markets. But of course understanding that would require prior knowledge of this song. As the chorus goes:


Huh? Sounds like something Mark Holden would say.

While I sit here and do the opposite of homework and assignments, here is a video from one of my favourite sketch shows right now -  'That Mitchell and Webb Look', which finished its run on ABC1 tonight. The premise involves a pair of lazy screenwriters who can't be bothered researching their subject matter and decide to write a sports movie about cricket.

Quotes from this sketch compile just one of the many random catchphrases we use at uni right now. Mystifyingly the previous week has seen us chant the jingle from Wolter's "Steel and Mesh" radio advert, as well as the jingle from the Blind Factory. But of course, nothing really beats the joy of impersonating the stoners from the Pancake Parlour. Mmm... the rhubarb...

But seriously, any organisation that chooses to represent itself via drug addled personalities are alright with me. There's even a pair of Facebook groups dedicated to them. One group happens to love them and the other predictibly doesn't care too much for them. Unfortunately for us radio stoner fans, the hate group currently outnumbers the love group by about 40 or so members. So support a stoner today by joining a stoner appreciation society.


On that note, one more blind rant before I disappear into the night. Why would anyone think that a movie about Facebook would be a good idea? The story of how Mark Zuckerberg founded a new way to waste our waking hours with requests to buy and sell your best friends into slavery, divide us into warring factions of pirates and ninjas (seriously ninjas would win hands down, you would never see or hear them coming, plus pirates smell and don't all look like Johnny Depp. Just a heads up there, girls.) or bombard you with random conversations between people you don't care about on your wall. I can see where this market would lie.

Facebook: The Movie sounds as ridiculous as past rumours about some studio picking up the rights to option Hasbro's IP for potential projects such as Monopoly: The Movie... a high rolling story about one mustashioed man and his quest to rule The Boardwalk and all the "Get Out Of Jail Free" cards. They'd still have to explain how a rounding middle aged man in a top hat could win a beauty contest. Having said that, I wouldn't mind seeing the life and times of those Hungry Hungry Hippos. Is their insatiable appetite born out of an eating disorder derived from low self esteem and a means of escaping from reality? It would really suit Russell Crowe in his pursuit of another Oscar, that's for sure.

Or even worse, Hasbro currently owns Wizards of the Coast which can only mean one thing... Magic: The Gathering: The Movie?

From an exchange over MSN the other night, a game with endless replay value and destined to be fun for all the family:

X: # Vintage tournaments (see Rule 801) have restricted this card since 1999/04/01.
# Legacy tournaments (see Rule 802) have banned this card since 1999/04/01.
# Extended tournaments (see Rule 803) have banned this card since 1999/07/01.
# Standard (Type 2) tournaments (see Rule 804) have banned this card since 1999/04/01.
# Urza Block Constructed tournaments (see Rule 806.6) have banned this card si
X: since 1999/04/01.
Me: lol the obvious candidates r gone
X: orly?
Me: one must've slipped my mind lol
X: common
Me: i know it's full of brokenness
X: its easy!!!!
Me: lol... will?
X: uh
X: no
Me: not yawgmoth's will? hmmm...
X: nope
Me: haha monolith?
X: nope
Me: key?
X: nope
Me: am i even in the right zone?
X: not at all
X: do you want a hint?
X: its a sorcery
Me: hmm
X: it has some moons in the picture
X: and lightning
X: at least i think its lightning
Me: lol
Me: damn i was gonna go for windfall
X: lol
Me: begin again...
X: thats broken
Me: it's all broken
Me: it's saga
X: you get 1 point
X: cause its pretty broken too
Me: hehehe
X: but common
X: theres 1 more sorcery
X: the one that rules them all
Me: tinker?
X: nah
X: another point
Me: lol
X: for another broken card
Me: getting there...
Me: time spiral?
X: correct!
Me: lol
X: here that sound?
X: its the sound of the game snapping in half

*SNAP*

In a completely unrelated incident, Rickrolling took another step to outstaying its welcome (if it hasn't already) when someone synced words from speeches by presidential hopeful Barack Obama with the now famous song. It does get tired real quick but it's kinda fun the first time you watch it.



Why is Ellen DeGeneres always dancing on that show of hers?

For those unfamiliar with the term and this oddly recurring topic on this blog, please refer to the chart below. I love a good pie chart joke, in fact almost as much as my love of Venn diagram jokes. This probably means I should get out more and go find myself such a friend in need...



In other news, at the risk of sounding incredibly out of character or indeed gender, the last few days have been extraordinarily bad for my health. No, I haven't taken up crystal meth (too expensive) or joined a parachute optional skydiving club (it messes with my hair), I've simply been eating more junky foods. (It's that easy?! How do I sign up?)

On the Thursday past I went to the Game On exhibition at Fed Square with Darren, Marcus and Ken. It's kind of like the history of console gaming, from the earliest version of Pong to Pokemon. A lot of the early games were really cool to see and play, including the text game version of Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy and this strangely addictive Dreamcast game involving a girl on a broomstick trying to dodge little rocks in her way. Street Fighter and six player Bomberman on a giant screen were great fun, but I failed to see the point of including Guitar Hero and Halo 3 since half the people attending will have played them before elsewhere. Unfortunately I wasn't allowed to take pictures, otherwise I would have found you an image of a promotional poster for that awful Super Mario Brothers movie.

Before that, we went to Nando's for lunch where my eating odyssey began. I suppose a light wrap was the best choice for me in the context of things, but things became interesting when we decided to mix the remainder of Marcus' Coke with some peri-peri powder. Darren, the master brewer took a taste and surprisingly didn't explode ala Mentos and Diet Coke. I take that to be a good sign.

Our next meal came after six when we made a dinner stop at Hungry Jack's (I know, at least Nando's pretends to be good for you). There I had some sort of bagette looking thing and it was there I remembered why I don't order those things: they're as thick as a brick wall and probably twice as solid. In fact I don't see why we don't send those things to developing nations as a food source and building material. Everybody wins! Here we also got into the topic of new reality game shows. My memory of this conversation is kinda hazy but at some point I suggested something along the lines of "Australia's Next Top Bogan" or "Australia's Got Hobos". The list really does go on.

The next fast food serving came the next day when my sister brought back Macca's for lunch. I would've ordered the McAfrica burger if not for the irony implied in such a meal. To add to the dangerously high irony levels, the McAmerica bagel that came the week before is a lot smaller and probably not suited to the North American palate. I mean, that hot dog eating champion would leave that joint one very dissatisfied customer. To be fair I haven't had the chance to try either one but I'm guessing the Africa would be somewhat larger even though I'm sure they hire dwarves to hold the burgers in those glamour shots to make the most out of the visual scale difference.

Then when you thought the foodening was all over, the next day we went over to Darren's place to play cards and ended up having pizza for dinner. We also had fried rice for lunch but that doesn't count as junk. No, you could never put fried rice into that category. Saying that must count as some sort of sacrilege I imagine. I'd attempt to resist more junk at home if not for the sack of 'deformed Boost bars' my sister brought back from a friend's place. Mutant chocolate should not be shunned people, they like all other chocolate should be allowed to fulfil its destiny, the purpose for which it was created. Who am I to argue?

From the people who brought you Bacon Spray and Colostomy Jet Packs, we now present you with the latest in food cross promotional branding! I'd explain it in text, but who can be bothered typing out their own material when you can simply copy and paste chat transcripts? But there's no need to rephrase such brilliance when you have a conversation like this...

Looks like it's time for a back to front story where flashbacks are provided for no particular reason than to annoy the audience. If JJ Abrams can use the same trick on Alias and Lost, surely I can have a shot too. And here we go... "By the time I got home on Friday night, I had been awake for only 21 hours. I would've stretched it out for another three for dramatic effect, but I imagine that's not such a great idea..."

39 hours earlier - Thursday morning, 11am
Caught up with Keyur for lunch. Forgot to ask him about his trip to the SPC factory. Mental note for next week.

38 hours earlier - Thursday afternoon, 12pm
Decide to finish off sketches for design class at Union House (or as Josh calls it, Onion House) where all my card playing friends are. Fortunately they're already stuck into a game of 500 so I don't get sucked in. I'm pretty awful at it anyways, it makes me feel less of an Asian. If only there was a solution for it that was as simple as downing a can of Solo. I guess the Asian equivalent is something from the Bubble Cup.

36 hours earlier - 2pm
Sit through mind numbingly confusing Theories of Architecture tute. Something about the interiority of architecture. Thoughts turn to self defenestration.

35 hours earlier - 3pm
Sit in computer lab for the next three hours drawing up my design. I had done most of the backdrops at home but I didn't have the programs to finish it of there. It really makes me think more about getting a new laptop, I almost finished most of the drawing the night before but the lack of a certain program made me run into a brick wall. On the upside there aren't half as many distractions in the computer lab so I did manage to get a lot of it done. No procrastination zone is in effect here.

31 hours earlier - Thursday night, 7pm
Get home, have dinner only to realise I am no longer in the non-procrastination zone and proceed to waste the next hour checking my RSS feeds for nothing in particular. They build up so quickly that it becomes a bit compulsive to sift through.


24 hours earlier - Friday morning, 2am
I arrested my stuffing around at about 9 and cleaned up all the loose ends with my drawings. I should probably explain what it is I'm doing. The brief is for a ferry terminal down at Federation Walk by the Yarra, right next to Fed Square and across the road from Flinders Street Station. There is no real limitation on the scale of the entire thing, but I assumed this would be a little shelter for people waiting for the ferry as part of the greater public transport network so I went about with that scale in mind.

We only had a week for the design so I just went with the first thing that comes to mind which these days tends to lean towards organic, nature inspired forms. This one came about as a gentle swell of current washing upon the shore. I was afraid it might look a bit too aggressive and come across as a tidal wave coming to destroy us all, but I think I kinda got away with it by stretching it out.

One other thing to note is that I put some benches under the shelter running in the same fashion as the structure just to run the theme home. Building them over each of the existing docking areas gives a sense of repetition you would see of a series of waves sweeping along.



21 hours earlier - 5am
I conk out at 2, stressed out by the difficulty of building the physical model. I really set myself up for these things when there are so few straight lines in the entire proposal, so I really have myself to blame. When I regroup after three wholesome hours of sleep, I am able to concentrate a lot more on what the hell is going on and fortunately I am able to put it all together by 7am.


16 hours earlier - 10am
We all line up our work in the Atrium of the supposedly asbestos infested splendour of the Archi building to pin up our work "So You Think You Can Design A Ferry Terminal?" or as I like to call it, SYTYCDAFT. Just rolls off the tongue, that one.
Designs of all sorts litter the boards and it's certainly fascinating seeing how people have gone about it all. Strangely I don't feel all that tired when it gets to my project, the adrenaline from the nerves is doing its job well. I manage to get through it fairly unscathed with only a couple of minor criticisms coming my way, with my half arsed presentation layout letting me down somewhat. But otherwise I think I did alright for a short exercise like this.

13 hours earlier - Friday afternoon, 1pm
A solid day of studios is broken up by a midday lecture in what has to be described as the most uncomfortable lecture theatre on campus, the Baldwin Spencer Building theatre. I swear it was designed for midgets or something.

9 hours earlier - Friday evening, 5pm
I hang back in the Rowden White library (gotta get the most out of my $200 union membership somehow) for a bit after class to look up a copy of Shaun Micallef's 'Smithereens' which is sadly so out of print I cannot find myself a copy. Shaun's writing and sense of humour is ridiculously random which is exactly why I'll watch almost anything he's involved in.

7 hours earlier - 7pm
I bum around the city for a bit like the proverbial while waiting for Kavi to pick me up to go to Harry's place for a night of food, booze and poker with some of my Property & Construction friends from uni. It's a bit odd with our timetables that we rarely see each other during uni so this is something I've been looking forward to all day.
I manage to scrounge a cheapo BoP from Dungeon of all places, I'm still checking it for forgeries. Walking back up Swanston, the cold change the weathermen have been promising for so long finally shows up. Maybe it's time they took large chunks of ice from the Antarctic and put them on city blocks so we could all cool down. I blame Adelaide for this awful heat wave.

6 hours earlier - 8pm
Kavi has been driving for a month and a bit so I quietly start writing my last will and testament. But seriously, his driving is as good as anyone else's. I play navigator but he supplies me with a giant version of the Melways more suited for the blind. The damned thing is as heavy as the encyclopaedia and turning pages is awkward when I have to reach across the centre console. We get there half an hour early only to find Harry's on his way back so we decide to order food early but get lost as none of us remember the way. Roads in Doncaster/Balwyn are a pain to navigate.

5 hours earlier - 9pm
The catching up is cool. Losing to a straight on the river isn't much so. Oh well, that's what you get for trying to muscle people around by going all in. I blame my extended operating hours for such a lapse in concentration but all in all I had a pretty good time. Playing four different types of poker at once is puzzling to say the least unless you've forgotten the name of one of them and end up referring to it as "ice cream!!" Lots of stupid stories and inside jokes about contract management are exchanged during this time. I know what you're thinking. It's a lot less cool than it sounds.

0 hours earlier - Saturday morning, 2am
We depart at about half past one and I manage to somehow guide Kavi to my place with his giant atlas of suburban Melbourne. I keep reminding him I am not too far from certain fatigue and will endanger us both if I don't take a power nap soon by directing us into a creek somewhere. Now yet another person knows where I live which is particularly dangerous for me as more and more people are able to threaten me with that exact line. I'm too tired to worry about details like that though and thus we end up in the "present".

Join me some other time when I don't have all nighters to pull where I attempt to backtrack on the last month and a bit of mobile phone pics. It'll be as bad as you think.

...And if you know the rest of that line you're clearly living in the past like me. Who needs Timbaland when you have the majesty of Hall & Oates?

Hmm let's try and start that again...

Hello one and all, and welcome back to Say Something for another calendar year. I'd have something prepared for the coming financial year but a hundred accountant jokes really leaves little to the imagination. It's great to be back after the break but a week at work really makes you forget you had been on holiday at all and on Thursday I was telling myself I needed a holiday. The coffee shop down the street is still closed for the next week or so which is bizzare given that no one is capable of living without one during the workday so I had to grab one at the Coffee HQ at Flinders. I tried the large version which costs $4.20 and is big enough to drown yourself in. They do make a fine gallon of caffeine though, I'll give them that much.

Over the new year's I flew up to Brisbane for a couple of days with a friend from high school. When he asked me about a month and a half before, I wasn't really doing anything and being away for a while was a really good idea, so I happily agreed. I usually cop a bit of flak for having anything to do with him in general because he can get on people's nerves somewhat. Those who know how I'm on about are free to ask me in person then keep their mouths shut if they so wish. These days my general inclination is to just downright lie and say I'm with someone else. At this point you're probably wondering why I'm typing all of this, especially when anyone can read and report it but I figured this is a great chance to see if it will indeed get back to him.

The real purpose of this post today is to just show you lots of silly photos from the trip. Explaining and describing everything would take too long and could be lengthy enough to fill several Year 9 standard B+ grade essays riddled with a combination of British English, American English and whatever it is Canadians speak, eh? Instead you have the leisure of experiencing my joy in photo form. If a photo tells a thousand words, this would merely result in me handing in extra essays before being marked down for writing over twelve pages double sided.


The scene up in 'sunny' Brisbane was really set when we got off the plane. Light drizzle greeted us as we set off onto the tarmac and at first I found it real odd when everyone there was in yellow raincoats and not the thongs and cheap Hawaiian shirts I was expecting. Clearly I've been watching the wrong shows. Getting to the city was surprisingly quick, as Brisbane is a fairly small town but is also a real treat to visit. It's kinda busy but not that busy, it resembles parts of Melbourne well enough with its gridded streets but has a bit of Sydney with its greater integration with the riverfront.



'We would like to welcome you on board Virgin Blue and hope you enjoy your flight. My name is (insert name here) and I'd like to introduce you to your ridiculously good looking cabin crew today...'

Having inspected the crew myself while boarding I was really in no position to argue. It may be a statement of fact but there's really no need to rub it in our faces, and even if they could they would do so by wearing a very thick glove to prevent us fuglies from contaminating their flawless qualities.

I'm not sure why, but I never seem to get tired of flying. I've done it tens of times (count them, TENS!!) before but looking out the window flying above the clouds always does it for me, fluffy innocent looking clouds raining death and destruction upon the flooded.... no, don't go there!

Waiting in my super economised seat I had the suspicion I was on the cheaparse flight from hell when Maroon 5 started blaring away on the PA system. Knowing that I couldn't switch on my iPod due to the off chance that Hall & Oates could be partially responsible for the demise of us and the other 200 cheapskates on board I decided to grunt my way through the audible torture much like how the prisoners at Abu Graib have to sit through a playlist made of Metallica, Sesame Street and James Blunt. The last one is made up, but I had you for a second there, didn't I?

Incidentally Blunt was next on the cabin PA. To the emergency hatch we go!



Here I am on a ferry. This may seem somewhat unremarkable to most, and may even come across as arrogant. What is this guy thinking, as if catching public transport is worth bragging about?! Stuff this, I'm off to watch Two And A Half Men! Well that's where you're wrong my friend, as it may surprise and shock you when I tell you I was on a decent public transport system.

That's right, just soak that statement in for a second.

Coming from a place like Melbourne where us plebs are taken for granted, going to a place like Brisbane where things actually run on time is quite nice. They even had dedicated bus lanes and tunnels so that no idiot drivers can possibly get in the way with their talkback radio show fuelled aggression. It really felt like we were 2nd class citizens, a nice change from the 4th class cattle we're used to back home. Come on, it's not even a premium kind of beef.




Evoking my college humour avatar, I ran into what appeared to be the roots of something real sinister. Having encountered an ANL House back on St Kilda Road, I thought it was just an isolated incident of an unfortunately named company. How wrong was I. From this evidence it seems clear that this is not just a case of an ANL company in an ANL building. No, this suggests there is an ANL empire, an ANL multinational running (or rather walking rather awkwardly) company spanning the seven seas! How very sinister and uncomfortable. Or it could be a society of really pedantic unlikable people. I'm sure they'd be too happy being amongst their own kind to even notice.



At some point during proceedings we went sightseeing (or at least tried when it wasn't pelting down) along the river, alighting and boarding as we saw fit. Eventually we got off at the end of the line at the University of Queensland where it was like a deserted town except there were no town drunk cadavers or abandoned whore houses to visit. Anywho, along the way we the saw the poster above. Now if you're not that familiar with this proud 'publication' you should probably refer to this. Otherwise, all I have to say is that even Queenslanders have heard of it. Why haven't you? Argh, if only I had been allowed to do gestures...



Upon returning to Melbourne I only had the night to rest before setting off on the road again, this time with the family down the Mornington Peninsula for some sun and air conditioned accommodation. As long as you're inside, you're more than free to enjoy the bay views and sun, that's how I see it. We were off to some spot named Cape Schank where I had eventually come to refer to it as Cape Schnaky-Schnaky-Schnakiieee after that annoying ringtone. I had a pretty good idea of where we were going and which general direction we'd be heading but nothing really prepares you when you wake up from a 15 minute back seat passenger power nap to discover you're suddenly in Frankston.

I found this odd looking sign at the resort at the entry to some function room. I keep staring at it and none of it makes any sense. Fanning could be some sort of person, but unless I'm mistaken there can only be one Bowie and he wouldn't be likely to accept an invitation to perform with Bernard Fanning in some coastal resort down in Victoria. Something tells me that if I bothered doing some research and checking my facts that would be some sort of mechanical services room, but I choose to think I could open that door and enter a fantasy world where David Bowie and Bernard Fanning can sing beautiful duets together... Ziggy Stardust wishes you well. If only I had audio input here... I do a mean Bowie singing the chorus to Wish You Well (I like to think it's a good impression).


Well that's all the photos I can upload for now. Hopefully that was more exciting than your idiot uncle talking you through his holiday pics taken on his trip to the SPC factory. Speaking of which, I must ask Keyur how that went. He says he didn't go there willingly but I'm not so sure...

Well another year has passed, and capping off the old year I am pleased to present you with Say Something's 50th post! I suppose I would've passed this milestone at some point sooner or later but my laziness seems to have coincided with the conclusion of what has turned out to be a pretty decent year. And with that it's time to tell my last story for the year, so sit tight and enjoy the ride.

We had the pleasure of going to see the Aussies take on the Indians at the MCG for Boxing Day this year, and I managed to be there for the first two days which is a lot more than usual, given that I can only take so much spectating of this fine sport in one punch. Cricket is not for everyone, especially when you consider the fact that the game is only outdone by football/soccer for the proportion of time where nothing happens. Even for a more than casual supporter like myself there are times when all that blocking doesn't exactly stimulate the senses.

But not to worry, we were all promised that the Indians would have more than enough batting prowess to menace the Australian Test squad. After all names like Tendulkar, Dravid and Laxman are not to be taken so lightly. Surely they would do a better job than the Sri Lankans did when they came down here the month before. The huge gap in between innings for the locals had only made our thirst for the game even more umm... thirstier than before. It was time for a showdown.

For the first day it certainly seemed that way. The Australians won the toss and elected to bat, and the Indians did a fine job of it at first. It took Hayden and Jacques around three overs to get off the mark in a fine contest as the bowlers tried to tempt them into playing rash shots. It's always a good show when spectators sarcastically applaud the batsmen for making contact with the ball, even with a defensive shot.

At some point during the morning session a small party of Indian supporters came along and sat next to us. For some reason they were all wearing sailor hats and holding up nonsensical banners like "India makes cricket famous, and Indians make cricketers famous". Most of the other banners were in Indian, but if this was an example of things to come, perhaps it was better I didn't know. I'm not pretending to be all high and mighty about people's choice of slogans, but I'm sure there was an error in logic somewhere along the line. I hope that didn't come off as accidentally racist, but if you see this blog up on Today Tonight you'll know somethings gone slightly awry.

Taking pictures at the cricket seems to blur into one... all pictures seems to look the same after a while. But each year presents new opportunities to document and mock, so here we go...




Day One presented the MCG with an additional $12000 to the coffers of the mighty MCC as two streakers decided they had too much money and it was probably better off elsewhere. The guy grainily photographed here made it halfway to the pitch before being tackled by the police, while the second guy made it across the wicket before anyone could apprehend him. It really does highlight how unfit we as a nation are if our best streakers can't even make it across a field. They're not wearing anything that will slow them down aerodynamically which really does disappoint me.




Speaking of sources of unfit streakers, at some point during the day it was time to grab something to eat. On the way into the ground we saw a Nando's trailer operating near our gate which was very appealing, given that their food doesn't feel like it came out of a cesspool filled to the brim with enough grease to slicken John Travolta's hair in all those films he made back in the 70s. However it did come at a small additional price. How much more? If you couldn't be bothered squinting at the photo above, here it is in its full crapulence.




Holy Jeebus, what a bargain! Lining up at the end of the queue seven metres away didn't ring any bells, it was only when I was two customers away from the prize when I realised my eyesight was not deceiving me in some sort of cruel joke. At the outlet outside Telstra Dome they manage to sell combos for a decent price, but here it was clear that the definition of value has to be compared to each other overpriced store at the G'. It made little sense for me to pay full price for each item, especially when they didn't even give you a damn bag to carry all the crap you bought off them. It took me five minutes to find a spot to put everything down so I could reach for my reentry pass and even then it was hard not to feel hard done by.

Still I didn't let that minor piece of extortion get to me. We had the rest of the day to enjoy as the Australians batted on. The Indians had the best of the afternoon sessions as they took wickets at regular intervals and it really seemed like they'd be able to use that advantage during Day Two. How wrong was I.


Lousy Charades-Like Game

On Friday we all got together for a nice day of drafting at Darren's place. Nine of us turned up which was a pretty cool achievement considering the fact we are playing MtG after all. Describing details when it comes to card games makes for kind of dry reading so in summary I managed to come second playing a Giant deck that fell at the last hurdle to Xiao's Treefolk/Elf deck due to some unhelpful topdecking, some poor play on my behalf and the fact I passed on the Timber Protector which won him the third and deciding game. As the saying tattooed on Ben Cousins goes, Such is draft. Overall that wasn't that big a deal as we both got the cards we wanted.

Later on we played a game where we played idiots living in a small village accusing each other of murder Midsomer Murders style before lynch mobbing them in a game which required a lot of creative ways to die and a lot of sleeping. Random accusations and a lot of bluffing were required to be any good at this game in order to hunt down the werewolf mafia that were whacking people off at random. Fortunately we knew each other fairly well, as I reckon that a group with tensions running deep would manage to bring it all to the surface in a bout of wild allegations and the entire party would end up on the set of Springer in a show themed, 'When Good Games Go Bad'

My personal highlight of the night came when we started playing a game known as Taboo. The basic gist of it is to try and get your team mates to guess the word on the card without using any of the associated words listed alongside it. No gestures or funny sounds are allowed either so it's all in the phrasing. Answering the questions wasn't so bad for me for the most part, but trying to string clues together is slightly more challenging as you are racing against the clock. At one point I flipped over a card with the word 'benefit' written on it. I stumbled around with the neurons inside that thing I claim to be a brain before coming up with something that went a little like this.

"Umm, how about... 'Friends with _____?' You know, when friends become more than just good friends? Argh, (can't believe I was about to say this... especially in a friend's living room with his family several rooms away) you know what they call them... Fuck Buddies?"

Cries of "Come on! Someone has to know this!" were met with dumb silence (I mean that in the least insulting kind of way) while the opposing team sitting behind me cottoned on as to what the hell I was on about. In retrospect the reference was probably a little too obscure for everyone's purposes seeing as it wasn't exactly in common use. The most recent reference to that phrase came from Boston Legal... and only Xiao had followed that storyline. Maybe I should've gone with "the opposite of detriment" or something like that, I dunno. It was certainly worth a try though, and at least everyone left that night slightly the wiser.


And that brings us to the end of another journey for tonight. It looks like this will be the last post I'll be able to muster before the new year overwhelms us all, so I'd like to say thanks to everyone who bothers reading this whenever I get around to sitting down, typing and proofreading (kinda) for a couple of hours, the comments make it really worthwhile. It really started out as a way to chronicle all the crap I get up to during the year, and then I figured that if others could get a laugh or two from my bizzare and sometimes off putting outlook on life, well then all the better. I'll be off for a couple of days so in the meantime I hope you can keep yourselves busy. It's been a pretty good one, with all its ups and downs and upside downy parts and I'll be back to do it all again in the near future. Happy new year, y'all!

Or conversely if you happen to be running the Australian national football (soccer for locals) team, "People want Dutch!" (Thanks to Get This for that gag). It's certainly an odd sight when a team/flush/raft of ducks (as opposed to a load or stumble of drunks) have a sit in not far off your front door. Maybe they were out looking for food on garbage day.


People Want Cricket!

On a completely non duck related topic, my Sunday was spent playing cricket with the guys from BH/Uni. The days leading up to Sunday were kind of worrying when buckets of water were being dumped on us from the skies for two days in a row, but when the day came everything seemed to be just fine. Sure it was a bit on the cooler side but there wasn't as much sun to burn us to crisps of our former selves.

Marcus and I rocked up fashionably late due to church commitments on his behalf, but that wasn't all too bad. Showing up slightly more refreshed than everyone else who had been there for about an hour before us, we took this chance to rip apart the tired and weakened opposition for about 40 minutes before we too began to realise that we needed more exercise more often. Oh well, it was good while it lasted.

Highlights for the show reel included several run outs due to the harsh uncompromising nature of Tippity rules cricket and the near regulation artificial pitch we managed to commandeer for the day's proceedings. The ground wasn't too damp save for the odd bog and quicksand death trap so play was fairly smooth. As per usual Ken and Darren got their eyes in after some uneasy moments and sent deliveries from us pie throwers all over the ground. On a personal note, I managed to snare four or five wickets bowling the usual medium paced pies which I was happy to celebrate Brett Lee Chainsaw Massacre style.


People Want Cards!

The day's play ended at about half past five once all of us had built up enough lactic acid to create the most disgusting and exhausting health drink ever made. It seemed a bit too early to call it quits for the day, the sun was still in full view and we were a truckin' convoy up to no good. For the next twenty minutes we sat in the back of our cars pondering our options while slamming down soft drink in some sort of dodgy looking Coke dealing operation. I'm not one for highlighting subtle gags or puns but I'm really hoping you at least pretended to get that one... it is the charitable season after all, why not spare a laugh for an earnest journeyman of a blogger this Christmas?

We finally decided on trying to hold a draft between the remaining six of us before anyone realised boosters are fairly difficult to acquire when it's six in the afternoon on a Sunday. Chadstone held very little joy for us as most places were out of stock or had the wrong product. We might try and hold something like that later on in the week providing people can be bothered showing up. It should be good fun though.


People Want Shane Watson! (Well, not everyone...)

In slightly tangential news, the week before I was running about the park in circles while trying to attain match fitness in my ongoing battle against childhood obesity which ended a long time ago, but my side obviously hasn't heard the news yet like that Japanese soldier hiding on a Pacific island not knowing the war had been over for 60 years. However I am doing my part for the youth of today in the hope of setting up some sort of carbon credit trading system but substituting simple carbon for more complex hydrocarbons so just remember you could be walking down the street with my arse.

Anywho, the run itself was all well and fine with little incident. It was only after I got home where I was lying on the couch several hours later stretching and relaxing when I went and pulled a hamstring. Imagine the supreme irony of it all, me writhing in pain while laughing in full acknowledgement of what the Ironator had done to me, in a case of what I like to call the Shane Watson Effect or Syndrome, whichever you find funnier.

For all of you who are not familiar with the man with the eponymous Effect in question, Shane Watson is a cricketer who plays for the state of Queensland and occasionally for our national team, providing he doesn't succumb to an injury or minor misfortune of which are many and well documented. When he's not playing, he attempts to get back into the team by casting curses on his fellow team mates so that they may know his pain. Don't believe me? Then how about the time Brad Hogg almost clipped himself out of contention when he got an infection from a rogue nail clipper gone totally mad? And how could Brad Hodge dislocate a disc in his back while putting his pants on? Stuart MacGill being an out of shape spinner with a wine dependency problem? Such weird misfortunes cannot happen to the entire team ala Mr Burns' Nuclear Plant Baseball team style without a catalyst, and I submit to the judge and jury that the man sitting in this court today with the voodoo doll is responsible.

On the other hand, the Shane Watson Effect sounds a lot like that recent annoying advert campaign for none other than the Lynx Effect. I think you all know where this is heading... imagine Watson passing people in the street spraying them with an aerosol can while exclaiming the catchphrase "Boom Chicka Wah-Wah" and dancing toolishly. He waltzes off into the distance, and you think nothing of it until you suddenly develop cramps out of nowhere or materialise on the top floor of the Eureka building only to fall down the numerous flights of stairs within.


So in conclusion - People Want Things! (Unless it's Shane Watson or a muscle cramp)

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.