I watched "Super Size Me" today. It was pretty disgusting. Why, if I hadn't given up fast food in year 10, I would give up now, or more realistically some time shortly after the time I gave up in year 10. The last hamburger I ever ate was a big-mac from McDonalds Hindley Street during the work education trip to centrelink in May 2000.
Last night, sigh. I hate drinking at my own house because I was under the impression that I found it difficult to get drunk there. Because everything's so familiar I don't get as many of the warning signs that I normally do at unfamiliar places. It was either that or all those shots of tequila that I'm blaming last night for. Eitherways I'm pissed off and frankly frustrated by my behaviour. I'm sick of jackassery and missing out on half the events of the night because I was sleeping on a couch or in my car during them. Maybe it's because of my new sleeping pattern or my alcohol tolerance has changed but excuses out of it I'm getting less drunk from now on (for a while).
So God help all your parties you'll have to find someone else to be your entertainment.

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Oh, man, this is a good feeling.
I've spent hours today fixing up the journal. Some stuff I haven't been able to fix, like the css not workin in mozilla, but I've fixed up a few of the bugs, got the calendar working, finally (learnt how to spell calendar, finally). I've taken out the client pull script because while it worked beautifully on my pc using IE, it caused allsorts of problems in Netscape/Mozilla and probably a whole bunch of other shit.
Remember that photos of the month thing I mentioned a month back, that's right. Well, I did that as well. The link to July is here.
Obviously that's the only month that works, but I'm expecting a fair few more photos for August and the rest of the year.
Apart from that today, I had my teeth cleaned for $160. That's right, $160 to have my teeth brushed and flossed for thirty minutes with a whole bunch of stuff in my mouth. Boy am I glad I have private health insurance.
Today, inspired by last night's viewing perhaps, I made cheeseburgers. Awesome fucking cheeseburgers. I'm really getting into this whole "high complexity" cooking shit and the amount of ingredients and techniques I busted out on these babies was awesome. Could have been better though, too rainy to go outside and use the BBQ for grilling.
Yep, I'm feeling pretty good about that calendar, and I'm pretty darn happy it's over now. Time to fall asleep.

Oh, my journal looks so nice now with that calendar and the "Today's Entry" link at the top. So pretty.
I was going to put up episode four today, Amos, but by the end of the Comp Org lecture I'd had enough Amos for one day, and then coincidentally wasted a lot of time playing this:
Peasant's Quest
Oh and I also played some Doom II.
And, also, I keep forgetting to mention this, and it really is quite hilarious. I realised a while ago that the deaf girl at work is, completely seriously, the deaf girl I accidently paid out on the bus back in summer 2001, as mentioned in my Original Summer Journal, which I've uploaded to this server for your entertaining. Boy, how times have and haven't changed.
Hah, I was just checking the ol' journal for which day the relative entry was on and I remembered how cool that layout is. The text colour alternates between days! Fucking aye. Indistinguishable text be damned. God that was a good journal. It was in the entry for Wednesday 28th of November, 2001. I can't believe it's the same girl. Ooops...

CalendarreferenceHi guys how's things? I have to tell you a crazy story that happened today. See, I had uni today at 3pm, but I woke up at 11:45am and had a shower and then there was this whole period of time where I had woken up but didn't have anywhere to go for a little while. It was amazing. Then, when I got home from uni, I was like, "i've already done stuff". Crazy.
It's winter again, which means that Woolworths are all guns blazing with their "Fresh Future" charity scheme to raise money for childhood diseases. Last year they didn't raise very much money and it's obvious why. No one wants to donate money to cure a disease that no longer can affect them. People will give money to cure heart disease or cancer because there's a chance that one day they might get heart disease or cancer. Charity Donations aren't really donations, they're investments. Besides, who really cares if a six month old baby dies from SIDS? It was only six months old, hell, you can just have another one, it's not that hard. I mean what would you think is worse? The death of a two year old who can't even drive a car or dress themselves, or the death of a twenty year old who's gotten to university and has actually done something with their life. I don't think you should even be able to name your kid until they're at least five and it looks like they're going somewhere. If your kid dies from Spina Bifida or some other hilariously named childhood disease then just eat it and make more. I mean how do we really know that these diseases are real? Kids fake being sick all the time to get out of school. "Congenital Shortleg" sounds like a pretty made up disease to me. And the posters of these kids aren't helping. I hardly think seeing a cute little girl lying on her stomach in some grass smiling at the camera next to the words "Megan, age 4, Luekemia" is going to encourage people to donate money. Hey, she's smiling, she can't be in that much pain. Show me her bedridden in a hospital coughing up blood and then maybe I'll feel more charitable.
I walked home from work tonight and saw a possum up close.

Like my words? Want to buy one of my books? I think you'll like this one:

If you met yourself from the future, what would you ask your future self?
What if they wont tell you anything?

Chase: A Tomorrow Technologies Novella. Available Now for Less than a dollar!

It's the weekend again. Today I had my first IT Applications 2 Tute. I'd heard Mark had already had his tute with, for fucks sake, Anna. I was hopeful that Ryan and I would be spared the same fate. However, the tute started at 1:00, and when no tutour had shown up by 1:05 I knew we were doomed. At 1:10 Anna walks in and asks "Is this IT Apps 2?" I cried.
She gets one chance with me. One chance, one fuck up and I'm making a formal complaint. Apparently she told Mark that to change server's he just had to keep restarting his computer until it logged onto the right one. Yep, if she says anything like that to me, formal email. And by that I mean I'll punch her in the face, cunt or both.
I had my brake and taillights lights fixed today (they were full of water), after the cop incident a fortnight ago. It was in perfect timing too, because after work tonight a cop car gave way to me at the roundabout and then followed me almost all the way home. What was really funny was two stoner looking guys standing out on the street near Michael Curtis' house who looked pretty fucking nervous when I turned onto the street and drove by them and then they saw the cop car.
Ah, life.

Today nothing funny happened but I did buy some sandshoes and a lot of beer.

I'm uploading this today during a break from the torrent of all episodes of Freakazoid, so ok.
Saw the Bourne Supremacy today, it wasn't poor.
We won basketball today, against Old Man Brighton, by two points. Come from behind victory, good team effort, Craig owes a great deal to himself and Mark for the fastest play ever that ended with the winning goal just seconds after Craig almost sported the cock up of the season. All worked out in the end though, it was bootylicous.
Things to steal for my walls:
- Childhood Disease Awareness Poster from work
- The close-to-death clock in engineering
- More street signs

Also, I want to go to a tiny town sometime soon. And in a similar note, before I die I want to kill someone just to see what it feels like. Obviously this would be very close to me actually dying so I didn't get into too much trouble. Also, I'd kill someone like a bum or a loser or Cowan so I wouldn't be robbing anyone of "the best years of their life boo hoo hoo".

What the hell happened to today?

I'll do a 50th day update tommorow because i have to go to sleep now so I can go to comm skills.
Actually, I can't sleep, so fuck Comm Skillz, here is...
Traditional Day 50 Nostalgia Entry!
Now, as precedents go, this usually involves me finding the update from the same date during the previous year and then analysing it, if I missed that day then I'd go back a month and do that day. However this is the first time I've ever had a journal during August, and the closest I came last year was June 9th which was a pretty crappy update with no real material to work with. So instead I'll do day 50 from last years Wintry Journal, which is dangerous, because if I use day 50 next year as well then I'll be left reviewing a review of the year before and it would suck. However, of all 222 days this year so far I've only missed journaling 53 of them, and 11 of those are "no update: x" ones which I could probably expound a bit on during the nostalgia entry anyway but anyway, anyway.

Day 50 Monday June 16th 2003
Today exciting stuff actually did happen, so any 'material' updates will be saved until I can't think of anything else to write:
Exciting Happening Number One: Whilst playing Super International Cricket against myself, I had a draw. India got off to a slow start but still posted 168 for Pakistan to chase. Pakistan then proceeded to get off to a flyer and Ahad got a century on their way to what would seem a strong victory. However, Karpal bowled two very tight overs which left the Paki's with 12 to get off the final over. With two balls left that figure had dropped to 6 to win. On the second to last ball Ahad mistimed his drive and the ball hit his pads, the two batsmen then quickly ran a leg bye. With one ball to go a six was still needed to win. Hammad played an almighty cover drive and it landed two feet within the boundary to go for four. I was shocked, but the game ended in a tie.
Exciting Happening Number Two: I was downloading 'Eple' by Royksopp (The Fatboy Slim Edit) at a steady 4.7kbs. The time remaining on the download, as it came to my attention, was about 10 seconds less than the amount of time before I got disconnected. A nailbiting 15 minutes was had watching the time remaining on the download go down and my elapsed online time creep towards 5:00. Fortunately for me, in the final stretch the download picked up to 4.8kbs and I finished with 40 seconds to spare. To ruin the story, the remix was poor, no where near as good as the shakedown mix of the song, which I listen to currently with enjoyment.

Yeah... when I said "exciting" it might have been a slight exaggeration.
Here's a thought I had a while ago which might make my writing look slightly more profound and, possibly give it some sort of purpose:

The world would be a better place if everyone adhered to the same principles that I think I do.

Hoo boy. You know, it's actually not a coincidence that I played a 10 over game of SNES Cricket today to celebrate this very draw. This time Pakistan opened the batting, and once again Ahad made a century as Pakistan amassed 2/172 from their 10 overs. India got off to a slow reply, Pille made 69 and several others made starts but it looked out of reach when they needed 61 to win from the last three overs. Enter Krishna, who, after Pille got out at the start of the 8th over, slogged 33* from much of the remaining 11 balls to seize victory for India off the last ball. Conclusion, I still play SNES Cricket, a little bit less than I did last year and it's gone through some intense changes. First it changed to the 20over format, which was excellent, then crowd participation dived so the Turbo Cricket format was invented where I tripled the frame rate and played 10 over games which usually took about 4 minutes per innings to complete. Occasionally I go back to the classic 10 over games, like today, and it is enjoyable.
Also the fatboy slim remix of Eple is funky and actually quite good.
Boy have I learnt many things and changed since that day 14 months ago. Probably for the better. That last comment I thought up while I was at a church service. Hah. Like the world would be a better place if we had more Brads.

We almost stole it today, but three asians clock-blocked us. We'll get it another day, but I'm just going to come out and say it, when it gets seized we're all going to want to take it home and there will be issues. Oh well, we'll just need to schedule some visitation rights.
I was doing some remeniscing recently, and while at it I realised that of all my journals, Summer Journal 2 is by far the best. Not only that but it's also 10 000 words longer than it's nearest competitor. It's 24588 words (not including headings) in about 95 days (101 but I skipped some). Summer Journal One was approx 15 000 despite being only 60 days long. Summer Journal 3 was only 14 534 words even though it records more days than any other journal. Looking back that's dissapointing because that summer I had more free time than you could possibly imagine. Seriously, try imagining it, you can't. It's unimaginable. Wintry Journal One was 15 236 and short as 68 days. 11 578 for the most recent Autuminsh Journal for 75 days and this one is currently 10 267 for 50 days so this one's not even on track to be as extensive as Summer Journal 2. I did a lot during those days, working 50 hours a week plus commuting. Time was a precious, finite resource and I didn't waste any of it. I also started taking the steps to improve myself dramatically and even the humour level is about my favourite era of Brad. The 100th Day entry is cool. Anyway, I uploaded it because it's my favourite journal ever.
Brad's Summer Journal 2

”Tiff”, as Sam calls her, is the American accented Systems Programming tutour that has a good, fit body and a face that you wouldn't wish upon your worst enemy. That's assuming you're pretty friendly with everyone and your worst enemy is someone you can still like a little bit but oh lord, Tiff ran the worst fucking Programming Lab today. Despite being told otherwise in the lectures she spent 50 minutes explaining in detail the problems with people's code, to how many people? 6. That's like 8 minutes per person. What a fucking horrible tute. After the tute it was good though when she let us cutsie the line for the first checkpoint and then basically wrote the whole second checkpoint for us. Oh ”Tiff”, make up, plastic surgery and a razor and you could be the best Programming Lab tutour ever. Well, better than the fat redhead guy in the trenchcoat who painted his nails anyway.
At work the damage trolley was a veritable picnic of delicous goods. Everyone feasted. I walked to work and got there a few minutes early and as a result I got to hear Steve tell a story about how he, basically, chased after a child who stole a packet of chips and then beat the shit out of him. What a touching story. He told the whole story like he the kid was the bad guy and he was a hero. What can you say about that? ”Wow, Steve, you beat the crap out of a kid. Congratulations.”
Then move on to the last part of the evening where I was the biggest wanker ever. I stole off the wall one of the Fresh Future posters of some little puk called Megan who has Congenital Shortleg. I tried to explain how I wanted the poster because of this bit I had where I mocked the whole ”children's disease foundation” situation. I even added a bit to the 'Donate money to raise money for children's diseases? This is bullshit, I bet these children are just saying they're sick to get out of school. ”Congenital Short Leg”, that sounds like a pretty made up name to me. You just gotta accept that kids are dirty liars. Seriously, ask a kid if Santa Clause is real. What will they say? ”Yes.” LIES!'
In the end I just explained to Mark that I was stealing it as part of a bet/dare because it seemed like a better excuse than the general consensus of me being a paedophile. After all, I now do have a huge picture of a cute 11 year old girl in my room. (I meant cute like a puppy). Mark understands that, because I recruited him as my driver and he drove me home for a cut of the poster. Not really.
I got home and was feeling pretty hilarious about doing and stealing such a fucking stupid thing. As I took my warmed up Thai Chicken Curry out of the microwave with a smile on my face I was dealt karmic retribution by the plate, which slipped when I put it on the breadbox lid and my curry went all over the microwave and floor. I swore and then scraped it off the floor and onto my plate and ate it anyway. It wasn't the greatest meal. I give it 3 chunks of grit and 1 hair out of 10. Bleh.

This morning I had a dream. The details, though irrelevant really, were that a game of soccer was being played on a fenced off tennis court using hockey goals. Whatever. At one stage the ball was missed by two defenders and I was lurking up forward and I took control of the ball, took on the goalie, did a tricky thing with my feet and scored a convincing goal. The interesting part happens here. From there I started jogging back to my position when Pete from work, who was on my team, goes to high five me. Unfortunately we only clash wrists and I jog back to my spot and wake up. For some reason this failed high five seemed very significant, so I committed it to memory then returned to slumber. Now, with my brain fully awake, I can't contemplate why. Moreover, why did I screw up such the simple procedure of a high five in the first place? It has bugged me today almost as much as my constantly leaking nose. Is it relevant to anything? Why Pete? Is it because I gave him a lift to his house after work on tuesday and he showed me his tropical fish? Why would I exhibit such class and co-ordination in scoring the goal and then become so spastic during the celebration? Has this got something to do with the man date that Pete and I almost went on? Should I tell Pete I had a dream with him in it? What does it all mean?
Then after I did get up I drove to uni to buy some text books, realised with horror that today was a uni open day, found a park, got books, left. Watched Passions, which was awesome, for the last time for two weeks because the fucking olympics are starting, then went to work and snotted a lot before coming home and sitting around with plans of an early night for basketball tommorow.
Had tonight been my life in sitcom form, here's the story that would have eventuated and been retold:
At a pissup my attention was diverted by a friend to Chris' current lady friend.

Friend: That's Gabby, Chris' girlfriend, blah blah, she's recovering from anorexia.
Brad: K.

five beers later

Brad (yelling): Hey Gabby, you need to lose some weight.

Chris then glares at me and Gabby looks sad and they go home. People murmur about me, I go to get another beer. Minutes later some flatty (i only knew three people at this place) comes up to me.
Flatty: You fucking arsehole, insensitive son of a bitch, etc. don't you care for people's feelings?
Brad: No
Flatty: She has a serious problem, maybe you don't understand it. For the past fifteen months I've struggled with Bulemia too and it's not something you joke about.
Brad: Look, I don't care, leave me alone. I'd tell you to eat a dick but lord knows you'd probably just throw it up again anyway.


Update: Nah, at Sam's.

So despite releasing enough snot to fill an olympic sized plastic bucket, I had a pretty good saturday olympic. First we won basketball against a depleted Hawthorn by a large amount. Then I went to Sam's where he had I bonfire, I reamined constitutional and we sat around doing stuff and having a good time.
And every now and again I just think ”I'm so glad I don't have a girlfriend”.
Girls are annoying when you're in a relationship with them, I realise this now. It may be the introvert in me, but after a small while the enjoyment of having someone care about you and wanting to know what you've been up to becomes taxing. Feeling required to communicate with someone is a responsibility I don't care for. Don't get me wrong, women are ok/fine to have conversations with, but there are better things to do like watch sport or play Freecell.
This is why until I find a Brad-like woman who understands this about me I will have personal relationships with women in only two categories:

And, as I'm relatively hopeless at convincing women to get down and dirty with me, combined with the fact that women remain opposed to becoming close friends with me (possibly through fear that I will hopelessly try and convince them to get down and dirty with me, unfounded fear that it is) I feel that I will be spending many more nights in the company of men having a good, relationship-responsibilities free times. Ace, olympic.

I suppose, technically, that there is a chance that I'm the best person in the world. However the odds are rather strongly against it. Man, what a let down.
After reading, notably not by choice, the first few chapters of ”Interplay”, an involving dramatic tale of self and the world engaged in a struggle to survive in a society where inequality and strife are a way of life. I've learnt that a lot of the elements of communication and self-concept deemed noteworthy by Adler, B. et al. I already knew. And not just in the way that you say you recognise how something works without being able to explain it technically, I did know this stuff. I'm not saying that I'm smarter or completely in line with the book, I'm saying I realised these things previously and manipulated them to better my life. THIS, however, is what threatens me. Because according to studies mentioned during the passages of Interplay it seems that most men in the world see themselves in the top 25% in terms of intelligence. The rest think they're in the next 25%. Once again, statistics prove that this is just not possible. But I think I'm smart, sophisticated, intelligent... hell, better than a lot of people. And if all the other stuff in this book seems true, what if everyone is like me and sits at home contemplating other people with the impression that they're allowed to interpret their actions from an unbiased stand point because they are smarter than their subject whom they analyse. I mean I sit around and think about important stuff, (I used to think). I imagined the lesser people sitting around at home thinking about, I don't know, what colour they like best and whether or not they're dressing is similar enough to popular celebrities. Or, just insignificant crap. Now I realise that people out there think about me sitting around thinking about insignificant crap. What if they're right? What if this is insignificant crap? I don't mean in terms of achieving anything, because in those terms yeah, this is insignificant crap. But, ”argh”, it's the best words I can use to explain it. I can't trust any conceptions I have about how a persons mind works. Does it function like mine? I find it hard to believe that everyone's does when you see the kinds of things, mainly idiotic and useless, that these people do. And some of them aren't even women. It's like trying to imagine what a female orgasm works like. I mean they have two seperate pleasure zones in the groin alone, which documentedly provide different pleasurable sensations. I only have one, and that provides the ones general sensation. How can I possibly imagine how these things happen? I can't write anymore about this, I feel like I'm banging my head against the wall. Fortunately this isn't a big issue. I hadn't even been thinking about this crap before I started writing this entry. When I opened up notepad I only had the first line and the last line planned:
Oh, and it's nice to see that channel seven are showing some of the olympics during their advertising.

Karl was this middle aged, grey bearded, portly, tall painter that was painting a lot of rooms in my house last summer. Because I did jack shit last summer, I would often get up around 2pm and encounter Karl down the hall as I made my way to the shower. He seemed like a quiet guy who was maybe jealous of my sleeping pattern and carefree lifestyle but never said anything mean about it. I told him that I worked nights and so that seemed to satisfy him. I never let him know that I finished work at 11pm though.
Karl used to listen to this little radio he brought with him. He listened to one of the feel good music stations. One day, unbeknownst to Karl I was in the kitchen while he was down the hall painting. On the radio was playing Avril Lavinge's hit song "Complicated". I grimaced in disgust, then listened closely. Karl was singing along. Singing along in a sad little voice. Then the bit where Avril sings "no, no, no" he was singing out of time "no, no, no".
I laughed to myself and went back to doing fuck allery. Later, I told Mum about Karl's hilarious patheticness and she told me that Karl's wife left him a few months earlier and Karl was currently working seventy hours a week because he was lost and didn't know what to do with himself. Now his woeful singing continually haunts me, and I have to try not to cry when I recall him singing to those words "why did things have to get so complicated?". Then I got a copy of the Weird Al Yankovic version: Why'd you have to go and make me so constipated?. It's pretty funny and clever, and now Karl doesn't seem important anymore.

I went to a boring psychology tute today to prepare for the personell selection exercise that I'll have to bullshit my way through in probably a couple of weeks. For an example in the tute they talked about the personell selection process required for firefighters, and we talked about firefighters a lot. And I thought: ”I think I want to be a firefighter.”
Being a fire fighter seems like one of those things you say you want to do when you're a little kid, but I didn't. (When I was little I wanted to be a Museum Curator... what the fuck? (I think the museum was mainly about me and Triceratops' though)). But I was seriously thinking about becoming a volunteer fire fighter. Let's look at the positives here:

  • Fitness
  • Community +Karma
  • Could attract me some hos
  • A fucking firetruck!

Which all sounds pretty good. Also, the fires that happen around here are always tiny and useless. In the 14 years I've lived in this district we've had one house burn down, so I wouldn't be risking my life much. Although come summer there could be bushfires and doing stuff in other districts, so I'd probably join on May 1st at the end of fire danger season. There'd be a problem as well with me always listening to music so I wouldn't hear the siren when it went out sometimes. But other than that it seems like a perfectly wicked and viable idea. And hey, I'm still a teenager, I'm still a kid, when I grow up I want to be a fireman.
Although, I don't think most eight year olds want to be a fireman for the bitches.
Anyway, last night I was bogged down in mental dross so I went to bed but couldn't sleep right away so I went grabbing random videos from my shelf in the hopes to find something entertaining to fall asleep to. After a tape of cricket and one of Stargate SG1 I found my tape of Shasta. Yes, Shasta! Shasta is a good show, and it has re-envigorated me to work more on my sitcom. You see, my sitcom about ”three guys who go to uni and work nightfill” just didn't seem like it would be interesting enough. Unlike my old sitcom I did include women in this one so there is dramarama. However, after watching through the whole season 3 of scrubs in prepartion for the new season starting at the end of the month I thought ”my sitcom can never be this good, this is set in a hospital where interesting things happen and people can die causing super dramarama.” and it discouraged me. But then there was Shasta, a sitcom about 3 guys who just rented a loft and attempted to sex with women. It was just everyday life with jokes, and it was on tv. Just like mine could be. Although in Shasta there is a midget... and they do make a lot of midget jokes... Goddamit. Also, I think this explains why it was on at 1:30am on random nights and ultimately got cancelled. Still, I was inspired and wrote 600 words of ”Blurring the Issue” tonight after work.
And on Tuesday night at work I realised that I'd stopped eating cereal at night like I used to last year for midnight snacks. These days I was eating junkfood and it wasn't healthy. So I decided to buy some Weet-Bix Crunch (with Honey) after Pete recommended them to me. And guess what? They're quite excellent. I give them my recommendation, as well as Petes.
A lot of things are quite excellent when you remember them.

I went to an IT Craplications 2 Lecture today, God help me I done bad.
So I designed this shirt as my big ”fuck you” to fashion.

I gave the URL of my Journal out to Mark at work tonight, and whenever I tell someone about my journal I usually read through it to make sure I haven't led someone to something that they really shouldn't know about me. As usual, it checked out fine. Hi Mark.
And in other different Mark related news, I was telling Mark that I think I've become more angry in the last twelve months since I lost my religion. I was kind of joking about it, because not being a Christian certainly hasn't made the quaint things that I pretend to get worked up about any more frustrating. But I think in general I've stopped passing any frustrations off to God. To try and give some amusing/theory to this, I did a count of how many times I've said ”Fuck” in this journal, and then compared it to how many times I said ”Fuck” in last years Wintry Journal (which is 70 days long). I did this one first, and found 34 ”fucks”. In Wintry Journal one I found... one. One ”Fuck”. Not only that, but it was mentioned during an article I'd written in 2002, during high school. That, and, it was in reference to David King, who I referred to as a ”Fucking Tool”. And if you know of David King you'll know that ”a Fucking Tool” is about the nicest thing you can say about him.
So I checked the shits, this journal has 17 shits, wintry journal one has 6.
A disturbing trend to be sure. My poor linguistic skills.
Anyway, all this thinking about blogs and being angry made me angry about blogs. And I now blog my anger here.
The first thing I can't stand is when people go writing out the lyrics of a depressing song pretending like it's expressing themselves. Stop pretending that the words of Linkin Park, The Smashing Pumpkins, S-Club 7 or whoever are your own. If you want to share your angst at least put it in your own words.
The second thing I can't stand is shitty, angsty poetry. Basically I just don't think you should be allowed to express yourself unless you're aritistic, intelligent and master a succesful grasp of the english language.

No Update: Hah, it's Saturday

I was at Craig's last night, the Bulldogs won and I was in bed today until 1pm.
Because nothing interesting's happened today I'll just share with you what I ate today seeing that despite being irrelevant, you are already reading my journal and you'll probably keep reading this entry in the hope of a joke somewhere.
For breakfast I ate a large bowl of seven Weet-Bix, Sports Plus, Muesili and a Banana. I finished that off at around 2:30pm and I was quite full. However, by 5:00 I was hungry again, so I made three hot dogs after discovering that we had no pita bread left to make mini pizzas with. After eating the hot dogs I realised I was again quite full, and after being told to make my own dinner I decided I didn't need it and it wasn't until 11pm that I felt hunger again. So, at around midnight I had a bowl of Weet-Bix crunch. I bought that box on Tuesday night and I finished it off today. It took four bowls. After eating that I was very full, and didn't eat anything else between then and writing this entry, although I did drink four litres of water.
Now this information may seem trite, but for those who feel this entry has been dissapointing I ask you ”how many people in the world know what you ate for breakfast this afternoon?” That's what I thought. Oh yeah. I'm popular on the Internet.
I think I'll make a bumpersticker that says exactly that.

I haven't driven my car since Saturday night. I'm saving so much money on petrol lately. I walked to work and back today. That's pretty much all else I did. I looked at the IT Craplications 2 assignment and figured it would be pretty easy so I went back to playing FreeCell.

It is way to warm to be winter right now. There are little bugs in my room. I used to call these ”Summer Bugs”, but, well, now they're here in winter too.


Well it was my birthday yesterday. Crap. Fuck, shit, darn, crap. I turned 20. Next stop, death.
For whatever reason my thoughts keep turning towards my own mortality. I don't want to die. I really, seriously do not want to die. Up until a year ago I was ok with it but now I really don't.
Up until yesterday I was a teenager. People who recalled with mournful nostalgia about their days of youth were not me. I was still in my childhood. Now the things I've done isn't ”stuff I do as a teenager” it's ”stuff I did as a teenager.” By name, I am older than the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I feel somehow responsible for not doing enough to prevent this change to adulthood. After all I did have two whole decades to prepare, but alas I've done nothing to stop it. Now everything reminds me of my days of yore and I feel like I've wasted some opportunities. Then again, I have so many fond memories that make me depressed that I have to recognise I did a lot of things right during those first years. But I want to do it again. I want to collect all the Tazo's again. I want to come home from school and watch the COPS cartoon and let it inspire me for upgrades to my magnificent Lego town. I want to spend hours playing basketball against myself in the neighbours driveway night after night. I want to play Pokemon cards with the guys who I wont mention here because they'll feel ashamed to have their names associated with Pokemon cards. I want to bounce on the trampoline with my brother for hours pretending that it's a SNES/Sega/Nes/Computer entertainment system combined. I want to go back to reading 15 books a week because I didn't have a computer. I want to watch a new Simpsons episode that's good when I watch it as well as being good five years later when the jokes don't go over my head anymore. I want to play the original Grand Theft Auto again for the first time. And Warcraft 2, and Command & Conquer and Duke3D. I want to go back to hanging out at Timesavers near the skill tester and eating a pie and laughing about stupid shit. I want to go back to playing basketball on Monday nights before I had a job and a car to worry about. I want to spend hours and dollars collecting and organising shiny, worthless basketball cards. I want to go back to ETSA and enjoy those three months again as a child in a man's world. I want to return to the year where I suddenly decided Tuesday night was good now because I would make four slices of vegemite toast and a hot quik and watch Blue Healers followed by the X-Files. I want to go back to the Comm Skills tute and put on a play with Dan that would be better than Mark and Ryans. My precious childhood. Why? WHY? WHY? do we have to grow old?
Is it because I am cursed with such a strong memory and interesting imagination that I feel so strongly about this? Because I remember it all so vividly is why I have problems letting it go? Is it because I find that six hours of university and night fill is about all the adult commitments I can really handle per week and this is my way of avoiding real work?
Sure, I can relive the things I used to do in my own special way. But I don't want to relive them, I want to live them. Being scuttled on whiskey doesn't make you young and waking up with crazy lego bits stuck to your face just isn't the same.
For the last few days before my birthday I was trying to evaluate what my goal in life was. While my time is spent mainly being a student (mainly as in tax purposes mainly) my goal in life, I think, is to be an entertainer. To make people laugh and at the same time avoid doing physical or mental labour. For the past week I've been writing out the script for an episode of BMG, which will have its name changed eventually. I wanted to finish the whole episode before my birthday and say yes, this is my goal. This is soil from which my future will overdramtisedly grow. However, I didn't finish the episode before my birthday, I did 2000 words but I didn't finish it. I did get my Freecell percentage up to 85% though. Maybe that's my goal for life; Play FreeCell? Who knows? Will it matter once I'm dead? I want people to give me attention now and remember me when I'm dead. When I'm dead will it matter if I'm getting attention or whether my FreeCell percentage was 85% or, hypothetically, %15 (hypothetical only). Maybe if I'm famous and dead it will just make dying harder because I'll be dissapointed about being famous while not being alive to enjoy it.
And you know none of this self-involved whining was helped last night where, after returning home from work (where I was given a birthday shout out on the PA while the store was open) I was forced to rummage through my entire room trying to find my NAS from Tax last year and along the way overturned docuements detailing my life stretching years back, which made things even more depressing. Then (while files were still scattered all over my bed) there was a blackout for two hours. And so I had to clean my bed off by watch light then, after I realised the power wasn't coming back on, I had to decide what to do. Going to bed at 1am would be pretty early for me, but there was nothing to do without power at night. Especially bad about going to bed early is that I usually drink a few litres of water after I get home then gradually piss it out until I go to bed at 3 or whatever. In fact, when the lights went out I had to go pretty badly as was. I felt my way to the toilet and, as the situation required, sat down to pee. This wasn't gay. As the rule goes you're allowed to sit down to pee when there's no light, there's a UTI or you're smashed on booze. Sitting down however seemed to be an indication to my bowels that they were good to go as well, and there was a panicked moment when I realised that shitting in the dark was not something I wanted to do with the toilet paper visibility to be considered and toilettalketc. So with that done I step outside to see if the blackout is located within my house or is affecting the neighbours too. I step outside into the unseasonably warm night. [Now, it hadn't rained for about 14 days up until yesterday. August is usually the wettest month of the year, so 14 days without rain is very disturbing, and made my birthday quite bizarre because it was 26 degrees and warm the whole day, giving my birthday a tropical feel which I could appreciate but also was disconcerting.] I stepped into the warm night and walked up the path to the street to confirm that, yes, the street lights were out and the blackout would be going for a while it seemed. My eyes had adjusted by now, and it was very light outside. Disturbingly light. The clouds were all out and they were hued red. I could see pretty far and it was difficult to comprehend that it was 1am smack bang in the middle of the night and it was so light. Also adding to the creepy was the spatters of rain spitting down for the first time in a fortnight. I went back inside, resigned myself to an early night's sleep and soon found myself being woken up by cats screeching at each other a few feet from my window as well as an intense need to urinate. I slashed, scared the cats off then went back to bed. The power then came back on at 2:45am while I was trying to return to sleep, and my monitor came back on and displayed a huge, bright ”No Signal Detected” thing that didn't dissapear automatically and required me to get up again to turn the monitor off. I fell asleep again and woke up at 10:50 with the intention of going to uni. But I didn't, despite having slept for 9 and something hours I felt lethargic and decided to skip, well, everything. I did read the SP lecture while I ate my huge breakfast, and understood it. My birthday ramble is pretty much run out of steam now. I think I'll recap my life over the weekend.

I'm not ready to be an adult, when facing up on Monday night steve wanted a good face up and wanted stuff from the back of the shelf pulled forward. Whoever in the next aisle wasn't putting enough effort into it, and I overheard Steve so ”no, I want it deeper.” And God Help Me I laughed.

Checking my journal today it appears I didn't update it for this day. All that I acheived during it was to make a period joke in front of two girls, one who was deaf and the other who was offended.

It's great when you win basketball on a Saturday afternoon, it just sets the rest of the weekend up to be more fun. That said, after basketball I spent a few hours watching cricket before going to Heath's 21st for a few more hours and then coming back home and watching the rest of the cricket. So it didn't really set the weekend up to be good as much as it, well, we won basketball. I think what I'm trying to say is ”I'm updating on a saturday night! Ha Ha Ha! Sixty Nine!”

”If you say you love the soup when you actually want to puke, then isn't that sign of... ...”
A sign of what? WHAT? WHAT!?
Today was not kosher. I ate a lot of pork, twice, and on this, the sabbath. Also if getting a nice jacket isn't kosher than that makes it even worse.
I discovered the new Freestylers album was released in July and upon seeing it for sale I seized it up quickly and purchased it and it was good.
I invented a drink last night. It's called ”Ultrapunchula”. First it was called ”Fruit”, then ”Fruit Punch”, then ”Ultrapunchula”. A journey which saw its name lose relevance to the drink and become more representative of an Armand Van Helden song title. Being drunk at the time I don't really know a) where ultrafunkula came into the picture and b) if it actually tastes good, but it sure is fruity. And Alex agreed it was good.
As usual, the Brad sized serving of drink is made in a large glass tumbler. Ice is acceptable I suppose.
5 parts Vodka (Citrus Vodka may work and add to the fruityness but there was only Smirnoff available)
2 parts Midori
1 part Malibu
1 part Cointreau
A small amount of tropical fruit juice
A squeeze of lemon juice

Australia beat Pakistan in the cricket last night too, and I ate a lot of cheese.

I must say that I have spent time today contemplating abandoning the IT degree completely and transferring to a Bachelor of English or something. Mainly due to Comp Org. If only I hadn't sucked at Java and felt complelled to transfer into this wretched topic. Its complicated spread of mathematics, C programming and pure, sordid evil are causing me to hate and fear computers themselves. Reading the $100, 1000 page text book just makes me more depressed and anxious. Why couldn't these intricate, powerful machines run on something simpler like love instead of black magic, equations and the souls of innocent, stillborn children.
The good news I suppose is this is about how I felt about programming midway through last semester. Although programming involved a lot less math. Sigh.
Another thing that made me angry today is the bloody deaf girl. I don't dislike her because she's deaf, I dislike her because she's annoying, rude, lazy and overapplies her feminine fragrences. And she's not annoying, rude and lazy in the way I am, the cool way with good humour. No, she's annoying, rude and lazy in the it affects me and requires me to do more work way. How uncool. She refused to face up the tuna today because ”oh no the wittle cans are too frustrating to wotate” and instead faced up the easier stuff then left the aisle. Lazy freaking... I don't care that it was my aisle and is my paid responsibility to fill and face the whole aisle by myself. She's off the team.

I went to the Comm Skillz tute today. As usual it seems it will be the entertainment highlight of the week. The majority of the tute was spent demonstrating the properties of listening. First one person from each of the four groups was nominated to go outside. Ryan was picked from our group. He pointed at me, I pointed at him, Dan just sat there. Then I said to Mark 'Imagine how funny it will be when Ryan's sitting around outside being all awkward.' Mark chuckled and pointed at Ryan. Then, for an extra humour bonus, Kaw was pointed at by members of his group and followed Ryan out into the hall where they sat for ten minutes while the tutour told us a long, overcomplicated nonsense story about these chicks and this squirrel.
Now life tends to keep to the law of averages pretty well. And the law of averages in Comm skills is that one in four people will be not-asian. Ryan was outside with three Asians.
After the story had been told, the first Asian was led in and a volunteer from the class was asked for to retell the Asian the story. The rest of the class would observe this and note which parts of the story we ommitted. Lo and behold I was nominated to tell the story to this tiny asian girl who was rather overwhelmed by the whole epic. Which, I admit, was quite excellent. I missed two of the twenty eight items in my retelling of the story as well as giving it the appropriate Brad charm. I returned to my seat and it was now the tiny asian girls turn to tell the story to the next tiny asian, who was kaw. The girl had absolutely no idea how to retell the story, possibly because I hammed it up and told it at breakneck pace with, or maybe because Asians as a whole are an inferior race with no decent communication skills to speak of. Nevertheless, the polly-pocket sized asian collapsed into a ball of uncertainty and I think was about to commit hari-kari when the tutour requested that she stop retelling the story and that I could tell the story again. So I bust out the story again, this time including the two things I left out and adding some extra bits in. Asian number two was then responsible for retelling the story to asian number three. Asian number two stumbles through it getting about five out of twenty-eight things and basically muttering a few unrelated sentences rather than retelling the story. Really the story only received some structure for him because the tutour kept giving away bits.
Then Ryan comes in, to receive the fourth-hand telling of the story, which I think contained three sentences, two which were completely irrelevant and the other which replaced ”Police Station” with ”Play Station” and ”Squirrel” with ”School”. Ryan was unamused. I don't know why they call it Chinese Whispers when it's obvious they all suck so badly at it.