Say Something...

It's not half as funny until you try reading it out aloud.

A brief sidetracking off the highway to drudgery:

Today my sister and I were on what was possibly the best Connex service ever. We managed to identify which shade of blue we do not want 'our' future car to be, and it certainly won't be lavender. We also came across a man who either had the world's worst seeing eye dog/poodle, or perhaps he was just wearing sunglasses because he felt like it - the fact he was carrying a small dog on a leash implies nothing. We were listening to the new Eskimo Joe record and agreed that a lot of it wouldn't sound out of place in a redubbing of The Breakfast Club soundtrack. Freeze frame! At Flinders, we then witnessed a couple of gentlemen who were dressed awfully like Vincent Vega and Jules from Pulp Fiction after they are paid a visit from Harvey Keitel's Cleaner character. There's something inherently suspicious about two men wearing bad tshirts and shorts on a 15 degree day, that's just my opinion.

Exhibit A can be found right at the end at about 3:15. 

Oh in case you didn't notice that throwaway line, my sister did indeed pass her driving test and we're looking for a car to smash around for the next couple of years. I won't say how many times she took to pass, not even I know the number for sure. Cheap shots aside, I look forward to playing "Would you drive that?" while pointing at cars out the window of various methods of public transport. My current favourite is a race between a forklift or a wheelie bin. On the upside, a bin has ultra low fuel consumption and is very low maintenance. On the downside, it's the transport of choice for the hosts of Jackass. That really burns my style.

One last thing before I leave you for the time being. Someone should remind me that this day every year shall be known as "Hate on Cassandra Day". No need to explain why since it should seem so self explanatory to everyone who isn't Cass or myself. Just remember to BYO megaphone.

Time to begin yet another year at uni, which has so far been my life's true Neverending Story. No flying talking giant dogs but that's probably a good thing anyway. Where would you park him, with rates in the inner suburbs being exorbitantly high without even contemplating how many spaces a giant dog would need in the first place.

This really seemingly dream timetable would treat all weekends as long weekends. My inner lazy person was pretty tempted to take this one in spite of the seven hour learning marathon on Wednesdays, but that rational speaking dude sent him to watch some TV and I think I'll end up shifting my clash subject to something more manageable. It won't be on either of those days but then I'll be able to spend more time at uni with my 'peeps' and all my stalkers, you know who you are.

Oh well, it was nice to think about for a while. The timetable that is, not the stalkers.

It's two in the morning and it seems the world is about to fall apart. Everyone is falling victim one by one to an insatiable curse and pretty soon there will be no one left who hasn't done it. For now my resolve is good but I fear it may not last long enough. Resistance may prove to be futile... as no one can resist the urge of Facebook's "25 Random Facts About Me".

So far at least four people I know have done theirs, and it seems to spread quick. Just last week it was on the wall of a friend in Hong Kong. Who knows how long it'll be before it overruns the world? Whether I end up doing one or not may not be an event of my choosing, just remember that loyal readers. Indeed peer pressure is a weapon far more potent than any body snatching alien invasion. People even point at you and scream if you act otherwise.

Ooh, did someone make an obscure "Rebel Yell" reference?



Oh, if you haven't seen "Invasion of the Body Snatchers" go and do yourself a favour. The 1978 version will do just fine. Scared the shit out of me as a kid... does that count as a random fact? It's already happening....

I was saddened to read that 'Get This' collaborator Richard Marsland passed away Saturday night. Details are fairly vague at this point from where I am, but either way it is a huge loss for Australian comedy and radio. Obituaries aren't exactly my speciality, but his work was certainly worth looking out for in the bits he wrote for Rove and Newstopia, he certainly had a very bright future ahead of him.

Tonight on the platform after class, I had yet another encounter with one of those super religious Latter Day Churchers. Normally I wouldn't complain but this is the 3rd one I've spoken to in the last four years, and more worryingly the last two were only a few months apart. I must really be their type. I imagine it has to do with the fact that I try to stand clear of most other people on the platform making me easier to single out and harass. If I want to act like a loner, why not leave me be? Their particular version of Jesus can't possibly be that better than the others, can it? Perhaps this version offers eternal afterlife and an Xbox 360 to boot. No games included though, that's where they get you.

The stations put a lot of good stuff up late, stuff people with 'mainstream' tastes tend to miss, such as 30 Rock, Boston Legal, Good Game and Newstopia. However, they also put on a lot of crap at this time too. If you can't get enough of Mariah Carey this moment they're showing Glitter, not to be confused with Holiday in Cambodia: The Gary Glitter Story. Seems like her life is so real it hurts, though if you're having a film made about your life why bother hiring someone to do it for you when you can do it yourself? I suppose that makes sense in theory, acting ability and expression notwithstanding.

Unfortunately I haven't been able to bombard your computer monitors with my imitable brand of crapping on as of late, there are far too many assignments due for uni and never enough time. Semester just seems to fly by quicker and quicker each year, must be that age thing going on again. Falling into routine never seemed so dangerous really. Before you know it several items are due at once and you wish you had a Time Vault combo to sort things out. I have been preparing in a strange kind of way though, I've been going to bed later so I become fully acclimatised once the all nighters kick in the next week or two. That's partially why I'm typing this at what is currently half past one in the morning. As long as I'm not conscripted into flying a plane for Qantas or assassinate the members of PCD, what could possibly go wrong?


This semester I've taken to dedicating Thursdays working on my design projects up at Union House, aka Onion House to some. It really hurts that my studio that day is on at 6pm, and the fact I have no other classes that day drives the stake in just that little bit further. But I manage to make the most of it by doing my work in the company of friends who drop in and out over the course of the day. On days like these I spend practically the entire day in Union, planting my arse on my seat of choice right next to the power socket. That's right, I have a favourite power point. Its' name is Howard.

How very profoundly saddening.

Okay, so I made that bit up but the change of location away from the Home Building known as Archi is an invigorating one so to speak. I could easily spend the entire day in the Archi labs and indeed I have gone through long stretches cooped up hammering out a project without distractions. But in that case I wouldn't be able to have 'Party All The Time' YouTube parties or scar myself for life by watching that cursed Marky Mark video. I wouldn't be able to speculate on what kind of pornographic material could be stored on the old school HDDs totalling a whopping 5MB of memory. (The answer according to X is ASCII porn. Hilariously stupid, yet strangely sensical.) So although I may seem to be there all day long (cos I am) sitting there at my laptop until I lose all feeling in my legs and arse working on some neverending project, it seems worth it.


Speaking of cryptic titles, Mel Gibson reportedly turned down an opportunity to star in Lethal Weapon 5. After fighting apartheid South Africans and Chinese triads, would the next logical step be to fight overzealous drunken folk with an irrational grudge against Jewish people? Oh wait, never mind.

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.