That if I sit down to post an entry every day, no matter what, I can produce content regularly and perhaps unexpectedly. So I shall post an entry every day no matter how short and pointless it is.

Today I won basketball; went to Hahndorf randomly; and successfully removed a malignant tumour on Wii Operation.

As an Australian I regularly enjoy Milo in its many varieties. Of course Milo is a sometimes food, meaning it's ok to drink Milo sometimes. Like when you're about to go off and do something that equals the metaphoric intensity of a high blood sugar spike that a tablespoon of Milo brings. So basically doing the things pictured on the tin, such as white water rafting or BMXing or basketball. Unfortunately I am yet to receive a holographic action card in a box of Milo Cereal showing off some guy at a desk modifying config files on a UNIX box, but when I do there's Milo in my office I can drink for free.

Someone once taught me an excellent trick to make drinking Milo better. When mixing with cold milk, Milo usually ends up mostly lumpy and floating on the top. The handy fix for this problem is to add a tiny amount of boiling water to the Milo first. This creates a thick chocolate syrup that you can add milk to and thus create effective, delicious Milo drinks.

Having learned this in my childhood I decided to apply the same principle to my Milo drink today which I was also combining with a tablespoon of similarly clumpy mixer - Redbak WPI protein powder. I tried my boiling water trick and while it worked spectacularly with the Milo it had the inverse effect on the protein, creating a clumpy eco-system of trashed protein in my large and hard to finish glass.

I could have been a chemist, you know.

Today started as so many work days have lately: me sitting in my car thumbing through CD tracks with the steering wheel as I wait nervously for the train to pass through the Blackwood level crossing. As soon as it's gone I'll have something high-tempo playing so I can then race it to Eden Hills and get on there.

I had what I could define as a perfect, prototype moment of human communication today. With my car left parked I went running down the hill to catch the train that was loudly rounding the bend and moments away from leaving without me. As my business shoes pounded the green path between the trees I approached an elderly volunteer who stood, performing some garden maintenance.
We made eye contact as I sped towards him and I gave him a smile that was flawless in it's delivery. This smile contained everything everyone feels about the craziness of modern life, the empathy we share for our fellow human beings and - although we often spend plenty of time ignoring the majority of people around us - a glint of how we're all in this together. It was the kind of smile I wish I could give whenever, to whoever. He smiled back. We connected. I caught my train and made eye contact with a Douglas Coupland novel for the rest of the trip.

I had my last game of district for winter season today. I saluted my final game with my lowest score of the year, but outside that aspect I think I played well. After such an intense beginning I've found my game and fitness increasing and now have to wait a month until Summer season, possibly a new coach and even more self improvement.

Driving home from the game I thought about spending the rest of the evening drinking the last 3 Coopers Sparkling stubbies I have sitting in my fridge. I haven't had any alcohol for 10 days now, partly because of that aforementioned pre-season which is why I'm currently in the midst of a more low-key version of last years Bulktember. But, now it was the day of the end of the season - six months of sweat and effort, highs and lows - surely I deserved to celebrate?

That's when it hit me. Since when did alcohol become synonymous for celebrating? Why was it mandatory to drink beer out of my Blackwood Recreation Centre 2006 Div 2 Summer Premiers pint glass to commemorate achievements? This is what all that Kevin Rudd, binge-drinking-problem thing is about. For better or worse, it has become ingrained in Aussie culture to celebrate anything with a booze up.

Thus I decided to celebrate with other indulgences. I ate strawberries and cheesecake while I watched the Robot Chicken Star Wars special. Then I put my headphones on and jammed to Battles while I played minesweeper. Then a few song on Guitar Hero III and finally I sat in my spa and contemplated life, my rebounding skills and fairy light patterns.

Now I'm going to bed and I'm reflecting on my evening of celebration, how I didn't drink any alcohol, but I still had plenty of fun.

But it would have been way better if I did all that buzzing.

Earlier this week Google Maps launched Street View Australia and I responded with giddy excitement. I've spent way to many hours looking up places purely because I visited there before .

Honestly, I'm confused by how excited things like this make me. I don't think I've been this stoked since 2005 when they launched the high res satellite shots of Adelaide. I know I have a fairly ubiquitous Web 2.0 thing but this goes beyond that. I wanted to spend this journal entry drilling into my psychological theories about why street view is so exciting, but instead I wasted hours just playing with street view. That and today's work->gym->unexpected netball match combo has left me too tired to analyse.

Oh shit, I'll just blurt out my theory: I'm a geek, an introvert and thus a voyeur.

I don't want this to seem rude. I understand people in wheelchairs are normal people and deserve respect, nay, equality. Spiritually there's nothing that separates us save whatever afterlife bonus you get for having massive forearms.

But we all populate the same bustling metropolis and I can't imagine they really enjoy traveling at slower speeds than the rest of us more than I like being stuck behind them. So is it wrong - if we're heading in the same direction - if I grab their handles and push them towards our mutual goal at speed?

I've loaded on a lot of creatine today.

Last Saturday's theory seems to be working well. I've written a bit of crap lately. But, as someone said tonight, I'm in journaling form.

That someone was me.

I'm still very sober which is only exacerbated by also being loaded with creatine, phosphate and B vitamins. I'm saving so much money. The only cash I outlaid while out tonight was $1 on the jukebox at Chalkers. I finally found a jukebox with Big Country's In a Big Country and I queued it up.
We never got up to it in the hour I stayed there after. But much like these journal entries, I walked away feeling satisfied because even though I wouldn't hear it immediately, I knew in the future it would forced upon everyone to enjoy.

I'm still still sober. I only keep harping on about it because I discover new things that require sobriety as context.

So while I've been dry everyone else has been drenched. We've almost reached the average August rainfall by today. But occasionally the sun does break through the clouds. I took this photo from my desk at work on Friday.

Unfortunately I didn't realise it was actually 3:45ish. But that didn't stop most people around me from immediately packing up and going to the pub. Not me, obviously.

People amp their vulgarity up absurdly when they're pissed. I was telling that tale last night when a scotch infused Wiser blurted out "Oh yeah, rainbows. the other day I saw a hell fucking rainbow."

Meanwhile, in Hell:
Lou: Lord Satan, Harvey and Petrie are here to see you about this weekend.
Satan: Harv's, Drew! What's cracking?
*crash*
Harvey: What the fuck was that?
Lou: OH GOD IT'S SO BRIGHT!
Petrie: THE COLOURS! THE COLOURS!
Satan: ARRGH. Is that... does that smell like... Vaseline?
slurpy noises

I live at home with my Mum. I'm kind of over it, to be honest. But it has its advantages. Like usually when I get home from the gym there's a meal with a good balance of carbs and protein waiting for me to eat within the 30 minute window of exercising.

Then there's days like today, when I get home and Mumsies is only halfway through cooking dinner and I'm forced to find other sources of sugars and amino acids to kick-start muscle recovery. Fortunately I had a box of Milo cereal atop the fridge and I ate a few handfuls of that as I watched Mum cook. The Milo tasted good, and with mouth half full I said 'Thanks Milo, you're always there for me.'

To which Mum said 'That's OK Brad, you're there for me too.'

'What did you think I said?' I asked.
'"Thanks Mum, you're always there for me"'
'No.. I said "Thanks Milo, you're always there for me.".'
...
'Brad.. when are you moving out again?'

NEED HOUSEMATES, HOUSE.

So tell me about your day, internet.

At the gym the other day I was helping spot a random, handsome stranger. After he squeezed out a few extra reps and sat to feel the burn I asked him what he was working on that day. And he said 'Triceps.' No joke, he then spent a good hour just working out his triceps.

How insane is that? My response that day would have been 'upper body'. This guy wasn't even a massive tank - just athletic - yet he's somehow got training down so much that he can dedicate one whole day to a single muscle group.

I saw him again tonight and he said he was doing 'Biceps.' As I left the gym and struggled gingerly into the cold evening he silently jogged past me. And without slowing, he ran down a path and into the night, his giant triceps swishing back and forth in the moonlight.

It was Lisa's birthday today and Monday I started organising a surprise lunch for her to celebrate it. This involved secretly telling all the people who worked in town - and some who didn't - to stop being sucks and come out for lunch occasionally. Lisa's surprise and enjoyment was the primary goal and a good excuse to make them do this.

It wasn't the first surprise birthday party, gift or celebration I've organised though. For some reason I feel compelled to set them up whenever the opportunity presents. I admit, I enjoy the fun of acting like I'm forcing someone to do me a favour or making them feel a little bad while deliberately ignoring it's their special day, and then unleashing astonishment on them. Maybe a little too much. But in my mind it heightens the delivery of the surprise!

It was only as I walked Lisa away from where she wanted to go to lunch, neglecting to mention the birthday so obviously bubbling inside her, and antagonised her about how there was no special reason at all for us to get Wok in the Box that I realised... The surprise parties I organise I'm actually trolling! But at least with a happy ending. :)

The corkie I took to my hip during basketball last Saturday has finally bruised up to the surface, in time for tomorrow's game.
Along with the egg above my left eye, it was good pain this week. Pain from winning. I could rub my inflamed skull and feel victory inside me.
I like basketball.

I have a corkie in my ass. Everytime I stand or sit I feel losing inside of me :(

Indian rain dances were a primitive, complex sequence of moves often performed in special costume by large numbers of the tribe. The intent was to seduce heavy rains from the Gods.

They could have saved so much effort by just posting smoke-signal blog posts about how nice and sunny it was.

Four straight weeks of sobriety and now I have the shirt to prove it!

I think I'm starting to understand what the Olympics is all about. Last night I was passionately rooting for Steve Hooker to win gold in the Men's pole vault. Before last night I'd never heard of him. A day later and he's just a memory. And a day later for him, he's probably in the olympic village right now having a threesome with a British relay runner and a Japanese synchronised diver.

It's kind of about supporting your country through blind jingoism, but in the end it's about uniting the world.

Also, contorting the human body in every imaginable way: http://stuff.thdesign.be/forum/varia/OS.html

I'm 24 now, and it's probably beyond me to become the following things:

• Doctor
  
• Lawyer
  
• Architect
  
• Detective
  
• AFL Player
  
• Race Car Driver
  
• Stockbroker
  
• Pilot
  

However, I'm not ruling out the following:

• Olympian
  
• Fireman
  
• Economist
  
• Author
  
• Actor
  
• Journalist
  
• Comedian
  
• Chef
  
• Personal Trainer
  
• Musician
  
• Photographer
  
• Meteorologist
  

As anyone who I spoke to on the weekend will attest, I spent most of Saturday and Sunday pumping myself up to achieve the next level of weight on my bench press on Monday.

And, at around 3pm yesterday as I reveled in having my birthday off work as a no questions asked cultural holiday, I achieved that goal. I wore my Bulldogs singlet to the gym to inspire me. And on the final, difficult rep I screamed internally it's my birthday!!!!!! (the extra exclamation marks are there because it took a while to get that last rep to the top).

In fact, most everything I did yesterday I performed with optimism because it was my birthday. And due to that optimism everything went well! And today I was thinking, why don't I live every day like it's my birthday? Why save special moments, mochas and music for once a year?

Of course, yesterday did also have the advantage of being the first sunny day in weeks and the first time I've had beers in a month so they may have helped my mood.

I got a lot of sleep last night. During Thursday I felt telltale tickles in my throat as well as congestion in previous thoroughfares. I think I was getting sick. Being a man this was BAD NEWS. However, I'm still fueled by the flaming a random doctor gave me last January about being a bitch just because I had a cold. So I went to basketball practice, ran around in the chill for 90 minutes and - according to websites with calories calculators - burnt about 900 calories. Afterwards I felt sick.

But I refused to be a wuss, and after 9 hours sleep I nursed myself to work and lasted about an hour before a big, pouty kid in my head went "I WANT MEDICINE I'M SICK!!!" Off I went to the pharmacy. There I was customer serviced by a young Chinese pharmacist who asked me if I needed help.

'I'm sick,' I told him. 'But not really sick. Just man sick.'
'What kind of symptoms do you have?' he asked.
'Sore throat, congestion, that sort of thing. But it's, like, not that bad. I'm just being a wuss.'
'Coughing? Runny nose.'
'I.. well... not really...'
He looked puzzled, and then gave me Lemsip First Signs capsules (Echinacea plus vitamins I probably got through breakfast).

I thanked him, then grabbed a bag of Vicks Vapor Drops on the way out for good measure.

Now I'm having another early night, and a big masculine nap, because Saturday there will be a culture clash between my manly wussiness towards sickness and my manly tendency to ignore pain and illness to compete in ultimately pointless, casual sporting events.

At the end of my shower this morning I turned the hot off and let the cold water pound my body for an extra sixty seconds. This was a habit I picked up during the heatwave and something I've now stubbornly done every day of Winter. Sure, it may be torturous, but my skin has never been so firm and healthy!