Alright,

I've made a vow to cut swearing out of my vocabulary, following the last weekend, which was completely satisfying. However one of the main things I picked up across each day was how fluidly swearing occurred from everyone I met and how completely illiterate it made them sound. Swearing is so functionally versatile in its use that it is simple to replace vast portions of sentences with a curse. In effect it's murdering the English language at its very core. I know it must seem ironic for me to dismay about a decreasing use of the English language considering I have hardly posted in three weeks, but this is where I am restarting this fledgling publication and I'm not really concerned what you think of the idea.

I'm not fucking swearing anymore, following the last weekend, which was a fucking blast. However one of the main things I picked up each fucking day was how every cunt I met talked complete shit. Swearing is so fucking versatile in its use that it is simple as fuck to replace words or even fucking sentences with a cunt, fuck or shit. It's fucking the English language right up the cunt. I know I must seem a right cunt to give a shit about the fucking up of the English language when I have posted shit all in three weeks, but fuck it. I am restarting this cunt. So fuck you.

1. Fuck
2. Shit
3. Cunt

Examples from the weekend:
I'm totally 1ed.
I'm completely tired
I've consumed too much alcohol

That 1ing 3 just 1ed 2 up big time!
The drummer just broke his cymbal!

Get 1ed
I don't believe you

Chuck me that 3
Can you please pass me my towel?

1 it
I'm going to stay in bed for another 15 minutes

2, I dropped the 3 out of this 1ing... thing.
Unfortunately I have dropped the curried portion of my curried egg on the ground.

Note: It is interesting to observe that four days of not swearing I have already begun to lose my ability to swear properly, as evidenced in those poor examples.


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Less Words, More Pictures

Kind of sick today. Woke up with the sore throat effect. Once at 5am and again at 7:45. Felt sorry for myself and felt worse, realised maybe self fulfilling prophecy was in effect and concentrated on feeling better, then felt better. By the end of work though feeling pretty run down. I don't really care. Reasoning that I spent every day between May 14th and Splendour analysing each cough, tickle and throb for potential festival ruining illness. Remarkably I haven't fallen ill once this year - despite consuming 3 packets of Strepsils 'First Sign of a Cold' lozenges in that time. Good work immune system, we pals.

So I'm putting myself to bed now and instead of writing a lot I will post four thousand words worth of pictures from Splendour.

Almost an accumulated 2,000kms from home, finally at Byron.

Almost an accumulated 2,000kms from home, finally at Byron.


Lost Valentinos.

Lost Valentinos.


Bloc Party.

Bloc Party.


Arctic Monkeys.

Arctic Monkeys.

Proof that if you take 163 photos at least a handful have to come out alright.

My Review of "Sumo Salad"


A few weeks ago when I was at work Tim suggested that I review the first Sumo Salad outlet to open in South Australia. I dismissed the idea out of hand, primarily because I didn't come up with it and I'm reasonably egotistical.

Then, when today was teetering on the brink of lunchtime I was asked by co-workers if I would be attending the company BBQ across the river. I was taken aback as I hadn't heard anything about a free BBQ. It turned out that I was still being ignored by the Level 9 mailing list. Then, when I asked if they thought there would be wholemeal bread at the BBQ in an attempt at Friday banter I was laughed at for being a diet girl and at this stage I decided I didn't need them or their stupid BBQ or mailing list. I scoffed that I was going off for salad, left them and headed off to Myer Centre, Rundle Mall for a review of Sumo Salad and a guaranteed comment from Tim when I was done.

The first great thing I noticed about Sumo Salad was its location, squat over where "Spuds" had been before it went out of business, probably because the woman there that looked like a potato ate them into debt.

Sumo Salad advertises themselves with the slogan "Eat Big, Stay Thin" and, being an unashamed diet girl I was please to finally note a place in the food court that was serving healthy food and that wasn't jealously guarded by a giant sandwich. Predictably all the fat people were at the KFC and McDonalds on either side of it, leaving just me and thin girls getting salads. I thought that one girl was fat but she was just up the duff.

I chose the Thai Beef salad, which was advertised as having the least fat of all the Sumo Salads. According to the nutritional information which is provided for all of them it was 3.2g of Fat (50% saturated) for the 450g salad. It also came with three kinds of lettuce which I figured would shove it up all my meat loving co-workers who were probably literally plumping in the sun at this time on carcinogen-rich burnt sausages.



The salad was denser than it appeared, which was good because what seemed to be just a box of lettuce gave the impression it would provide just enough carbohydrates for the energy needed to open and eat it. Deeper in though there was cucumber, capsicum, red onions, other stuff and beef. All drizzled with a tangy zest, slightly less bitter than I was today. Based on this my main complaint was that it could have been tossed more, half because all the lettuce was at the top and half because I liked the idea of going back up to the servertress and asking her to toss my salad. I think she liked me, she smiled when I ordered and gave me a complimentary bread roll which I choose to take literally.

While it tasted good, the meal cost $8.95 for what was really Wok in a Box left uncooked. So as I left I set my timer to count just how long I would actually remain satisfied. I was cynically prepared, but I did stay unhungry for three hours which is my standard after lunch. So I was pretty much left with nothing to complain about to Tim, except for the disappointing lack of actual sumo present. I saw only three.

The Detroits

Put your hands up if you've seen Fedde Le Grand. I have, during the waning of summer at Future Sounds when 2006's grungy house classic 'Detroit' was being eclipsed by 2007's 'The Creeps'. I caught a few tracks of his set, and it became very clear which songs were his productions because they all seemed to dip heavily from the same well.

But this was Future Sounds, which finished with a set from Ferry Corsten, so an observation like 'most dance music sounds the same' would have been an understatement on the obvious. However, in the months following as The Creeps began developing mainstream rotation and approval I thought back to that day.
The Creeps is a good track, undoubtedly. The addition of Camille Jones' vocals and the occasional sound like you've picked up an emerald in a SNES classic certainly add something to it. But add something to what, exactly. Probably 'Put your hands up for Detroit'. Once I'd seen that the dancing to The Creeps involves the same steps as Detroit I decided it was time to bring out the wheels of steel and show how similar these songs are.

This isn't a moral crusade, I'm just trying to elevate my own production status to one where I too can spend my days manipulating sexy, secretarial bodies. At least it makes for efficient listening.


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!


Yesterdales

It wasn't feeling hungry that had brought Dale to the kitchenette. It was more the opposite; a lack of feelings had subconsciously dragged him from sitting as his desk waiting for something to feel about, to the kitchenette waiting for his noodles to microwave. Dale had decided that feeling full of Thai was superior to being empty.

The microwave was perched on the top of Level 8 West's fridge, which was nestled in the corner of the nooky alcove that was the source of so many coffees. Like a TV in a surgery waiting room the spinning SupperWare seemed to draw the attention of all who visited. Dale was leant against the wall and meditating on the radiation that was jostling the particles of his early lunch. Partly this was to support his knee, which still aching from the midnight run last night. Dale had concocted a passive-aggressive fitness strategy to impress Bry, deducing - after several emails from her consisting mostly of cat pictures - that they may not be able to connect on an intellectual level after all.

Dale's wall support was also to add to his nonchalance, which was protecting him from engaging too heavily in small talk with other Level 8 West citizens. Despite spending enough months at his current corporate coordinates and altitude that his youth was blurring into a single grey memory, the kitchenette was one of the only bubbles of sociability he faced. The toilet and lifts were the others. Within his pod of cubicles I knew Dale had familiarities ranging from 'good morning' and 'good night's; to hopes, dreams and jokes about shirking companies policies. But beyond that the people of the office blended into an indiscernible sea of general informality. If I presented Dale with a familiar face he could only pick with a little over twenty percent accuracy whether he knew them from working with them every day or catching the same train home every night. This was inflated somewhat by the fact that more than a handful of candidates did both.

One such candidate, Dale noticed, was hovering in his peripheral with an empty coffee mug. There was a brief moment of eye-contact, before she said 'Sorry' in a polished English accent and moved past Dale to the sink which was at least three feet away from either of them. Dale continued to watch his noodles counting down. He'd chosen the lowest heat setting the microwave had to offer – which its smudged control panel recommended for 'Dessert Fruits; Babies Milk' – along with the ten minute button, and set himself for an unstimulating yet pressure-less break from reality. Dassie, who was either part of the PEDS team or a Kings Station commuter, was not the first to break his dips into alpha sleep visions. Prior to her Dale had already seen the steps of three hesitant dance displays as partnered performers turned and swayed between the fridge, the instant coffee and the kettle in straining, choreographed politeness. There'd also been two nervous fumblings during the filling of water bottles, and he'd answered four rhetorical questions, the most interesting one about the conspiracy behind there never being any skim milk. Dale agreed something was definitely not above board.

Though when the microwave finally chimed Dale was alone. He pulled his noodles, a vegetable ratio that left only a hint of chicken (he hoped Bry was telepathically impressed), from the carousel, then fished a fork from the kitchenette drawer and, after pouring boiling water from the kettle over the prongs and wiping them dry with Handy-V paper towels, stirred his lunch through with a content smile. Not only was he now one sixth of his hourly rate richer, but he also had five hundred grams of low fat Pad Thai. On the downside he was ten minutes closer to death. Dale figured satisfaction probably wasn't supposed to work like this.

Got a Move On

It was Mr. Scruff I woke up to this morning. Sleep turned funk that filled my car straight after the intense twenty-eight minute triathlon of shaving, showering and breakfast that is my morning. After all that jazz my day dropped into a holding pattern. It wasn't exactly boring, it's more that nothing seemed to happen and it was very quickly 5pm and time to leave the office. I think it was the multiple 30 minute teleconferences I was in today where I said my name at the start and then sat listening for every other second. That's over an hour there where I was essentially just mediating on the problems of the project.

Problems which are minimal, considering the weekend implementation went successfully. Not that I actually contributed any man power during the implementation process. Perhaps that's why I feel a little unstimulated today. You write down a life goal on your door and then end up achieving it effortlessly as other people do the implementation while you're spending the weekend getting drunk in a beach house. Even the train ride home seemed to blur together without interest.

But I knew the trick for when life's feeling blah on a Monday evening. The season finale of Desperate Housewives and a 6 Pack. Rise and shine, week!

IHaveANewRouterAndSoMyInternetIsReallyFast

OtherThingsThatHappenedToday:
-AlarmDidn'tGoOffandGotToWork25MinutesLate
-AteaTinofCornWithaForkforMorningTea
-GotLastFMWorkingAtWork
-GetRightComputersSuck
-BoughtRouterFromMSY
-StayedAtWork25MinutesLate
-Gym
-WentToTheEdandDiscussedMotorboating
-ConfiguredRouterWhilstSlightlyTipsy(Successfully,IncludingPortForwardingandWirelessSecurity)

The Internet

I was browsing a few Augusts in my journal and I noticed an interesting pattern. Every year, around mid-August I complain about being slightly sick. Well, except for 2005 but I was pretty much invincible that year.
This realisation, and a few insights into the way things have changed between the past few Augusts and caught me in vain appreciation of my journal and the power of its data-mining potential. This Internet is going to follow me everywhere.

Today, as I left the Bakers Delight in Blackwood with a Twisted Delight and two Choc-Mud Scones I passed an open fruit and veg shop filled with wives and the elderly doing their shopping. I overheard the following snippet of conversation, from two housewife sounding voices.

'...Internet.'
'Internet?'
'Internet!'

And then once again I was out of earshot and walking into the bright sun and back to my car. I smiled, turned the ignition and drove back to work in my darkened room with my Internet.

Windows Vista needs your permission to continue: "Post Entry"

When I woke up this morning I had the chorus of 'Girls just Wanna have Fun' looping in my head. The last time I heard that song was at least a year or two ago, when I belted it out in some PlayStation karaoke game, so I can't imagine what kind of dream I had early this morning to get it in there.

Today was a good day. At work I managed to get dragged into the busyness vortex that has engulfed the rest of the project team so far this week. My heart beats per minute were up as I pummelled away at my keyboard running queries and investigating defects and helping! It felt good.

I clawed my way out of the vortex around 1pm and arrived belatedly for lunch, so I left there and went to collect my new laptop. I then spent the next four hours of work and two hours of gym tittering in anticipation of getting it home and set up. Five hours of Vista and Symantec difficulties later... I'm going to bed. Hooray laptop.

After I got the laptop Lisa asked me why I got it. She doesn't believe I am a laptop kind of guy?
I said: "Why? Is it because a laptop is so very small and I am so very large?"
That was a part of it, but she actually believed "Laptops are kinda girlie, Brad, and you are very manly."
Well, that just isn't true.
I opened the box at work just for a peek and saw the wittle mouse that comes with it. So Cute! Oh my.

Eclipsed by a Train

23 now and got sunny days for my birthday.
Saw a lunar eclipse tonight; howled. University security guard was not impressed.
24 can blocks of Schweppes and Pepsi varieties are on sale at Woolworths this week for just $6.96. That is just 29c a can! Stock up now for sunny days and cooling down security guards.
'Brad' is the 26,895th most used word in the English language, ranking just below malignancy and just above towelling. 'Sex' is the highest most queried word when it comes to the internet checking the most commonly used words in the English Language.
Four orphaned baby hedgehogs in Hampshire, England now confuse a cleaning brush for their dead mother.

To Do Tomorrow: Investigate if hedgehogs are allowed as pets.

To Do Tomorrow: Investigate if hedgehogs are allowed as pets.

I could probably write for the Herald Sun

Entry for this day recorded only because it broke the heat record

I was there. It was August, the sun tingled as I stepped from the front door and walked towards my car. I found it easier than normal to control my rage at parents driving slowly and over protecting their children bumbled along in front of me. The walk from my car to the train station was swarmed with flowers, in many different colours. In the train it was hard to look out the window, such was the glare.

To the east, past the city and over the hills, blue sky was being encroached by a blanket of grey. On the west, heading out to sea, thousands of tiny clouds streaked in rows. Like rats deserting a dilapidated warehouse and scurry through the feet of the demolition crew, the clouds fled the atmosphere. By lunch I was buffeted by winds as I tried to make it to Sanity and buy the first season of Weeds with my "thanks for doing a good job, we haven't got the budget for a promotion but here's a gift card" gift card. And then in the second half I had the advantage as I was drifted towards MSY and I purchased my wireless keyboard and mouse. Ways to freak out mother: Pick up keyboard and throw it on bed.

Then, in the style of Adelaide weather and the style of me in the gym lately, things got way to heavy to handle and the hottest August day on record collapsed into pouring rain. Yeah, like that wasn't predictable.