Coffee Ice Cream Cone

I was all revved up for my half day off work today, I really was. Last night I even stayed up an extra hour and drank a couple more beers knowing that it wouldn't be such a big deal the next day, I only had to stay until midday after all. But things don't always work out according to plan, do they?
Soon after I got to work, the phone rang. It was Colleague calling in to say she wasn't gonna be coming in because her brat was sick and she couldn't leave him at daycare. She had to stay home with him and stick a thermometer up his butt every half hour or something. Oh, and she wasn't gonna be in the day after, either. Well, that was OK, I didn't have a half day the day after, but today. Oh well. There went that out the damn window, I knew it.
There was nothing to be done but accept it. Kids get sick all the time. I probably got sick once or twice when I was a kid. I know I did. And my mother didn't have to worry about ringing work when her brat was sick to tell them she was wasn't gonna be in and wondering if the stupid boss would get shitty, or her colleague would get pissed cos she took away his stupid half day.
So I accepted it. Fuck it, I'd just take the half day some other day.
After I had my lunch in Market City, I was walking back out and walked past the New Zealand Ice Cream place. I stopped in front of the glass display - which I never do, but today I did - and I looked in there. Goddam, that Espresso Coffee ice cream sure looked pretty damn tempting right then. It was talking to me. I got a double scoop in a waffle cone and walked back to work with it. It was a sunny day but cool, a perfect Sydney autumn day. I walked along the street with my ice cream, it was really something. It felt like I was eating it in slow motion. People walked past me looking at it. They wanted one too.
I forgot that I wasn't supposed to be going back to work.

Gas Oven

Today was Monday again. They seem to come around pretty fast. The morning flew by at light speed of course because I was busy with the mail all morning, but then I just wanted to go home and read my book. Don't want to see movies any more, only read books. How long did that phase last? When will it come around again?
It's getting colder and colder. My place is so small I just turn the oven on and leave the door open. It is a gas oven. Cheap heating. I turn it on for thirty minutes, then it is too hot. Turn it off and when I get goose pimples wait another thirty minutes then turn it back on again. The balcony door open and fan on to blow out the smoke. When I walk out on balcony I see that I am the only one among the three apartment blocks who has door open. My arms stretch out and up, making fists of awesome power. Only one in neighbourhood fearless of cold, and ninjas.

A Survey of Some Recent Blogs VI

Experiment time. In past *surveys* I would often skip a dozen random blogs to get to one that I felt I could write something amusing about. But when I did that first survey back on the black night of 18 February, my intention was to write about the FIRST ten random blogs I came to. Tonight I will do exactly that, without skipping ONE. And no doubt this will be the most depressing survey yet, for our realm is increasingly under siege by the evil adblog robots.
So I must remain strong and determined!
Armour! Burning sword! Stomach of iron!
Thus girded, into the bloggy hellswamp I wade...

1. Kim's online journal. Well this was a surprise! I expected the first one to be an adblog. Did I ever tell you how much I mislike adblogs? The bane of our blogsphere! (There is one coming up any minute, wait and see...)
Anyway, the good lady Kim from West Virginia is fond of knitting, as you will see if you care to click on the link I have thoughtfully provided. There is nothing wrong with knitting, you know. The womenfolk of my family are proud needleworkers. My mother makes colourful padded coathangers for the Sydney Opera House and to give away to complete strangers she meets everywhere, and my grandmother makes crocheted rugs for church fetes, and used to make handbags crocheted from ladies panty hose. So Kim and her knitting blog is OK with me. This is what blogs are made for! I feel more optimistic already. Let's continue, shall we?
2. Transfermoney. Hello. Here we go. I told you didn't I? Number two, in both senses. A goddam piece of stinking adblog cyberpoo. Can you imagine how painful it is to link to this thing? But I vowed to link every one of these ten. Yet how it saddens and disgusts me! Please tell me you too get the same sick, queasy feeling in your stomach. Those responsible for such examples of internet pollution are surely inhuman, or subhuman, anyway somehow much less than human. Reptilian. Although to put it that way is far too cruel to our innocent reptilian friends. My so recent and unexpected optimism suffers a savage blow.
3. Yahoo Music Unlimited Infoblog. Ah! Another one. Another stinking adblog. Big surprise! Please notice that there are NO COMMENTS anywhere on this putrescent *blog*. (Of course, adblogs are not blogs at all.) People only comment on something that touches or moves them somehow. An adblog never can. Death to adblogs! Kill! Be merciless! Revel in the slaughter and destruction of these foul productions!
4. Trask Vale. Here some anonymous somebody has created a blog with nothing but sayings, quotes, axioms, and stuff like that. It's like my desk calender. Every day has one of these. The last one I liked was by Edgar Allan Poe and went thus: "Never to suffer would never to have been blessed." These can be wonderful, no doubt about it. Things we have long felt or known but never put into words so concisely and accurately. But don't we want our blog writers to give something of themselves? Which begs the question, is this Trask Vale putting other people's quotes in his blog or are they his, or her, own words?
5. Online Savings. Adblog alert! How quickly can you spot the fact that this is yet another stinking, soulless adblog? In a nanosecond, I'll wager. Financial adblog creator, we will string you up with fishing wire by your detestable money-grabbing ankles and dangle you over a starving rat nest until your visage becomes as ugly and rotten as your vile finance-obsessed adblog. A curse upon you, internet parasite! HA!
6. Aapils. First post in a new blog by an Indian engineering student bemoaning the fact that there are too many engineering students. If you are an engineering student you may find this interesting, but even then, probably not. (At least it is not an adblog.) Next!
7. ChibiMelody's Crossroad Creaks. 18-year-old Malaysian student, and if the personal *photo* is any indication, a goth elf. Fantasy reader? Surely. After all the adblogs this personal blog is a blessed haven in the midst of a roiling sea of steaming turds. I only want to know what is "the new tank"? Forget the NEW tank, what is a TANK? ChibiMelody, will you join our brave army to help kill adbloggers? You can even bring your tank.
8. Pe ao Quadrado. No comprende. Hable Engles? Actually, in this sea of Spanish(?) swim some English words: "Hello... Good bone day... the day of broken dreams... Bone day... the day of eternal dreams..." Bone day? Day of the dead? Wish I could understand the rest. Would love to learn Spanish but as I say, I've yet to master the English language.
9. One Inch Ahead. Love the title. Why? Ah! Comes from Zen saying: "One inch ahead, all is darkness." Yes, I do like that. No surprise. I'm a sucker for this Zen stuff, I'll have you know. A Zen runner blog? And it seems a fellow after my own heart with the lemon-lime Gatorade, my personal choice when working for Brother selling glo-stix at his rave parties. I've only read bits and pieces, but there's something here that warrants further investigation.
Wait! Number Ten coming up? My money is on it being another goddam stinking turd of an adblog...
10. Links We Like. Home based business opportunity? I think rather it is links we DO NOT like. In fact I think these are links we would not choose to click to save our very lives. Death would surely be preferable. Where are you, the one that created this objectionable adblog? Show yourself, coward! Bring yourself into the harsh and unforgiving light of judgment! Just as we thought. You are craven. Worthless. Less than! You pollute this pure and worthy blogsphere with your worthless stinking adblog productions! We will find you and hang you in the raven's cage, naked. Pale bloated belly pressing through cold bars ready to meet our lances. Your guts will spill on the hard ground like purple snakes. Remove your foul creation or know your fate!
......................................................
Ten random blogs, not one skipped. I'm done. *falls to floor sickened and exhausted, visualising necks of adbloggers to wrap iron hands around*

You Are Not Alone

Still sick today and not at work, nevertheless I had to eat something, so I dragged my bacteria-swarming self along to my favourite Turkish pizza place.
That is not very interesting, but what happened on the bus trip home WAS interesting.
When I got on the bus I saw a girl reading a book and there was an empty seat next to her. Did I sit next to this girl? Yes, I did. I chose the seat next to the reading girl.
I sat down next to her and looked at her sideways, covertly. Her book was a paperback, a pretty thick one. 'Ah! Another fantasy reader!' I thought. All these women seem to be reading fantasy novels these days. Well, there's nothing wrong with that. They could be reading Danielle Steele. Or That's Life magazine.
I managed to read a sentence at the top of the left hand page of her book: 'Unbelievably, the citadel was even more magnificent than the piazza below.' Yes, it sure sounded like it could be a fantasy novel.
Then I pulled my book out of my bag. A Storm of Swords by George R. R. Martin. Hardback. 973 pages. It's ENORMOUS, weighs a goddam tonne, and the cover is this awesome metallic blue that dazzles the eye when the sun hits it.
The girl's head suddenly started jerking. Looking, looking! She craned her neck, her head going at mad angles, not in the slightest concerned about a covert attempt. A bold one, her! She was determined to find out what book I was reading. Ha! At last the power was MINE! Yes, I had the power to quickly open the book, thus not letting her get a look at the cover! Could I be so cruel? Of course not. It is not in me. Plus I, of all people, know how it feels. I held the book closed for a second so she could see the cover. She instantly returned to normal, collecting herself and calmly looking back down at her own book.
Later, when I got off the bus and was walking home, I thought about what had occurred. I was too sick to be obsessed with what she was reading, but strangely, and for the first time, *she* was obsessed with what I was reading. The way she jerked her head was a clear sign. She had to know. Like I, all those times, had to know.
At last! I know I am not alone!

Why is the Brain Affected?

I would like to know why the brain is affected when you have a bad head cold. Why does it feel like you are under the effect of some strange drug?
Take walking for example. When I walk down the street with a head cold it is not easy to walk. I understand that since the cold is in the head, and the ears are also in the head, and that the ears contain tiny hairs and cartilage that govern balance, thus balance may be affected. Yet it is more than a simple case of balance. Everything looks strange and different, and there is a feeling of lightheadedness.
There is also the matter of the strange waking dreams. On Monday night I barely slept at all, since my nose was so blocked I could only breathe with my mouth. It was not long before I began to see my situation in terms of a TRPG (Tactical Role-Playing Game) where I would move step by step on the grid between battles; the battles were me blowing my nose. I moved through the grid-based environment with my party from one battle to the next, at which point the TRPG scenario would cease and I would get up, knowing now that I was only in my bed, and blow my nose.
This went on all night.

Thinking of You

I promise I will stop being lame and come back and write something more than three sentences here, but not tonight.
'Well why did you write anything in the first place?' you say. 'Why not just write nothing and only come back when you have something?'
Yes, I can see your point. That's fair.
I simply want you to know that I am thinking of you, and will soon return with something entertaining to read.
(I am still sick though, so this doesn't count.)

I Did Not Have Fun

I went back to work today after two weeks off.
I did not have fun.
And now I think I am getting the flu.

Eurovision 2005!

A MAJOR TV highlight for me is the annual Eurovision Song Contest, and tonight, praise the gods, it has come around again. Tonight is Eurovision night!
But is this really Terry Wogan's last Eurovision? *blub*

Highlights:
Ukrainian host Maria Efrosinina's voice (and her ENORMOUS smile). I could happily listen to her loudly struggling with the English language forever.
Norway - glam metal, spandex, feather boas, prancing and posing. Are The Darkness responsible? Are Norway's legions of Black Metal hellhounds concerned about the growing forces of Glam Metal drag queens?
Turkey - concubines writhing on the floor, belly buttons!
Moldova - mad energetic folk/punk, grandmother in rocking chair.
Albania - I Dream of Genie with fiddles. It's love.
F.Y.R. Macedonia - God Almighty, upskirt shots. Awful song instantly forgiven.
Ukraine - the soundtrack to the revolution will be televised.
Germany - oh my God this is the tall raven-haired woman who sat next to me on the bus reading her fantasy book a few weeks ago! Greece - Aphrodite, Artemis, Athena... Helena Paparizou!
Russia - not quite as utterly enchanting as last year's warrior princess Ruslana, but pretty damn close. You can sit next to me on the bus with your book any time, my dear.
Switzerland - more metal! played by models in white outfits! Eurovision Metal Fantasy! *rolls on floor drunk with joy*

And of course it's all over much too soon.

Terry Wogan quote of the night:
"I don't know about you, but I go to find consolation in drink."
-said before interval between performances and voting.

Charles M. Schulz

OK, the last quote (below) was from a video game character. You have never played Final Fantasy X and don't care what video game characters have to say. You want one from a REAL WORLD character. Here it is:

"Nobility is not in winning but in trying, though losing is certain."
- Charles M. Schulz

Do you like that one? Of course you do, otherwise you would not be here.

So here's one more. It is your lucky day!

"The negative is positive."
- Stratu

Auron

"I wanted to change the world, but I changed nothing."
-Auron to Tidus in Final Fantasy X, outside the Zanarkand Ruins.

Trip to Anders' House

This afternoon I rode my bicycle to Anders' house. The wheel was wobbling crazier than ever but it didn't collapse. Riding along, I watched the wheel wobbling and laughed, imagining it collapsing, the bike stopping dead and me continuing, forward and up a little, into the air, waving at people in cars, thinking I am flying, you are only driving. I imagine landing hard and the injuries I would sustain with a sick kind of wonder.
When I got to Anders' house, I noticed the gate latch was broken. I put my bike against the front wall of the house and went back to investigate the latch. It flipped one way then the other, it was all wrong, and broken for sure. Oh well. Things are always breaking. Sometimes I think life seems to be a matter of waiting for the next thing to break.
I walked inside and Anders was standing in the middle of the room. I walked in and stood in the room, close to the middle of it. Anders went out of the room, came back and gave me a beer. He walked out of the room again to another part of the house. I drank some of the beer then put it on the table. Sierra walked into the room and sat down and looked at the TV screen. I turned to look at the screen, wondering what she was watching. It was a movie called Friday. Ice Cube was in it. Anders came back into the room and showed me the DVD boxes. There were three of these Friday movies, the first one and two sequels. He told me that she had been watching these three movies every day for the last week. He said she only watches black movies. A slow grin came up on my face and I said, 'Black power'. Anders smiled, his eyes half open. We looked over at Sierra. Sierra didn't hear anything, only the sounds coming from the TV.
[333 words]

Adventures in Lying Down

Got up. Showered and talked to moss on the wall. Read book. Went to minimarket to buy bread, hommus and baked beans. Carried stuff home in plastic bags but no woman gave me dirty look. Cleaned toilet. I do it every few months. Ha ha. Only joking. No I'm not. Yes I am.. etc.. Drank some water. Smoked some cigarettes. Drank some strawberry flavoured milk. Read more of book. Made some toast and put hommus on it. See how I start yet another craze. Yes, I start it, not somebody else. Walk to BWS and buy 30-pack box of VB cans for the super low price of $33.95. I spot a beer bargain at 500 metres. Get home and put every last beer can in fridge. The view of interior of fridge now looks spectacular and photographable, but I don't take photo of it. Instead close fridge door and walk to bed. More adventures in lying down. Read more of book, remembering all those book-reading women on the bus.

Wal-Mart Blubber

Tonight I watched a documentary about the American megachain of stores called Wal-Mart. It was mostly about how they have gradually been quitting doing business with American suppliers of goods and switching over to buying cheaper crap from China. In fact I believe the figure quoted was 80% of their crap now comes from China.
They also showed an example of a TV parts manufacturer in a town called Circleville (or something like that) which had to shut down because Wal-Mart discovered they could buy that stuff from the Chinese at a fraction of the cost. Well, that company was in a small town and basically the majority of the working population in that town worked at that company, so they all lost their jobs. The ironic part to the story though was that a Wal-Mart was about to open right next to the closed-down TV parts factory.
They said that all those people could go and get a job at the Wal-Mart. But apparently Wal-Mart jobs would pay half of what those people used to get at the TV parts factory.
What I want to know is that if Wal-Mart pays such low wages, why was everybody I saw working in those Wal-Mart stores at least three times as big as the people who worked at the TV parts factory? Really, they were ENORMOUS.
I have never seen so many obese people in the one place.

King 

Superstar

I got up at 12:30. Still on holiday, can get up any time I please. Yes, that's right, I do whatever I want. Stride around my apartment like a King. Talk to the walls. Look out the peephole at nobody. Take a shower and shave crookedly. Put some jazz in my hair. Now I look like a superstar (see photo above). Walk down the busy street while people look at me and I look back at them. Yes yes, here I am. Go about your business. No need to make a fuss. I am only human, like you. Ha ha.

So What

All I want to write about tonight is how goddam lame and annoying it is when somebody begins a story with "So last night blah blah blah..." or "So the other day I blah blah blah..." or "So I'm in the toilet and blah blah blah..."
When you begin a sentence with the word "so", you are supposed to have already said or wrote a bunch of crap. Beginning a story with the word "so" gives the reader the feeling that they have walked in during the middle of a story, and when the person begins it with "so", you can bet it is a very boring one, SO you can quite confidently walk away from it before you get to the end of that first sentence reasonably sure in the knowledge that you will not have missed anything worthwhile or entertaining.
Is this a trivial matter to concern oneself with?
No, it's not.
Goodnight.

I Am Back From My Holiday

Yes, hello, here I am back from my holiday. I got back this afternoon. I am thankful to be here because when the jet was coming down through the clouds above Sydney the turbulence rattled the vehicle savagely. I was sitting in the emergency exit seat right up the front. The male and female flight attendants were right in front of me and I paid careful attention to their facial expressions to see if the rattling and shaking would have any effect, but no, they were professionals. They were completely calm, on the outside anyway. Well, come to think of it, they probably experience that kind of shaking at least once a week.
Where did I go for my holiday? I am glad you asked. I went to the Gold Coast. The Gold Coast? you say. That's right. The Gold Coast, in Queensland, just across the New South Wales border. I stayed in an apartment on the 13th floor with an enormous balcony overlooking the beach. My brother was there too. My brother and I went to the Gold Coast.
Here is a typical day as it unfolded:
I get up at 10:00am and play Final Fantasy X until midday when my brother rises. That is the best time to play that game because Brother hates it with a passion and ridicules it often and loudly. It saves a lot of trouble to simply play it while he is still asleep. But then I usually can't help playing it for another hour or so, as I hear him out on the balcony making frequent comments as to the quality of the game and everything in it. It doesn't bother me, after all he likes sports games.
Anyway, then there is the changeover: I take my Final Fantasy X disc out of the machine and he puts in Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas and begins a session of that while I exit the building and take myself along to the newly discovered kebab shop Mesopotamia. The woman there is very nice and the ingredients are exceptional, fresh and home-made. The hommus, garlic sauce and felafels are particularly outstanding. The first day I went there, which was last Sunday, Mother's Day, the woman wished me Happy Mother's Day! which I found amusing and strange. I have never been wished Happy Mother's Day before. (I had been under the impression that the woman was Egyptian, but yesterday when I was talking to her, commenting on the excellent ingredients, she said something that made me ask her if she was not Egyptian. She admitted that she was from Kurdistan but that country no longer existed. The Kurdistanis were now living in five countries. Her religion was the sun, moon and stars (??? have to investigate this..) She said "Religion should be here," and put her palm across her breast. She also mentioned having to get out of bed at 3:00am to turn a light on and open the window. I asked her if this was to do with Islam and having to pray and she nodded. Anyway, she was a real nice lady and I hope she is still there next time.
OK, so I have my felafel roll (or kebab) and return to the apartment. Brother is still playing San Andreas. I eat the kebab and watch him trying to jump his car across the river but not making it, landing with a splash in the water and cursing.
I lie on the floor reading another gaming magazine (bought five during the week - a new record) then at around 2:00 we take ourselves outside and walk to Pacific Fair, the enormous indoor/outdoor shopping mall. I feel incredibly old walking past yet another heartbreakingly desirable young woman. God Almighty, I think, she's probably 14.
We walk into one store after another. I feel like a robot. Or is everybody else a robot? They are carrying so many bags. Maybe they do it every week. Go and buy bags and bags more stuff. Walk into their home with bags and bags piled high to the ceiling. Eventually they suffocate and are never seen again.
I only buy another videogame magazine, then we go to the food hall and have some Portuguese chicken burgers with eye-watering portions of chilli. Everybody in the food hall is looking around at everybody else. I just want to get the hell out of there as quickly as possible.
At about 4:30 we return to the apartment. Room 13D. Door opens with a plastic card. Brother returns to playing San Andreas and I return to the floor to carefully examine my new videogame magazine. Every now and then Brother yells for me to look at the exciting thing happening on the screen; moments later I yell back at him to pause the game so I can read him something about a Japanese RPG. We are enjoying ourselves immensely.
We watch some TV from 6:00-7:30 then head out again, this time for dinner. We have chicken schnitzel with chips and salad. Brother asks for a bucket of barbecue sauce for the chips and I ask for a bucket of lemons and one of tartare sauce for the schnitzel. The food is unrecognisable beneath oceans of sauces. We eat too fast, it can't be helped, then we get out of there at high speed, back to the apartment.
On the way we pick up a carton of VB and a bottle of Wild Turkey.
We drink and watch some stuff on TV. Later we play Ricky Carmichael's motocross game, the only sports game I will play.
Even later we switch the game off and go back to TV. World's Wildest Police Chases (with the excellent Sheriff John Bunell) and Cheaters. Not to forget some Jerry Springer action to perfect the evening's entertainment. The humanity!
3:00am we've had about as much excitement as we can handle and call it a day.
THE END.

Holiday

Why have I not written here in so long? Many of you are no doubt wringing your hands with this question in your hearts. You miss me, am I wrong? I know you miss my thrilling reports of women I have seen reading on the bus. Not to worry, I am only on holiday and do not have easy access to an internet connection.
I will return on Saturday.
Like you, I can't wait.

Demented Rage

Strange! I could write. Now I can't write. What happen? Someone set up us the bomb! I look back on some old posts. Seems to me they were written by somebody else. They are almost familiar. Could I have written them? My name is there below. Maybe it is true after all.
Why do I keep looking at the stupid TV and those penguins? Yes they are comical and amusing to watch, but it's time to write something. I look back at the stupid penguins. Smack myself in the head. Stop it! Concentrate! Write something!
I guess I could write about BOSS again...
Two days ago COLLEAGUE called in to say she had to go to have wisdom tooth pulled and she would be late, so BOSS had to help me open the mail. Boy does she hate that. She thinks it is far beneath her to do such a lowly thing. It disgusts her. You can see it when somebody from some other department comes in for something and she knows they are looking at her sitting there with the dumb letter opener in her hand, next to me. I am the Mail Boy, I am supposed to be there, but she is BOSS, not supposed to be there, supposed to be at her own big important desk in front of computer checking out her stupid horoscope and doing God knows what the fuck else. But there she is, sitting in front of those pigeonholes, boiling, raging.
'WHAT DO YOU WANT!' she growls, head snapping back almost breaking her damn neck.
'Uh... nothing,' says the person who like a lightning flash turns back through the door and races away at high speed.
She terrifies everybody else while amusing and fascinating me.
Every now and then I turn and look at her. Every letter has to be date stamped and she brings that date stamp down with tremendous force, fueled by unimaginable reserves of awesome fury that, if harnessed, could power the world until the sun explodes.
Her face is contorted with bitter hatred. Hatred, and resentment at having to open these stupid letters. She actually throws a letter in my direction for me to put in a pigeonhole at my end of the bench. I try to stop the grin spreading across my face. She is so ANGRY. Such raw and towering anger! I've never seen anything like it. I've never seen anybody this angry. She is like a volcano. Clearly she has no control over it, she is helpless before these furious eruptions.
At last, when all the mail has been opened, BOSS stomps back to her desk. I hear her pick up the phone to make a call. The other end must be engaged because she slams the phone down. I mean she SLAMS the phone down. A minute later she tries again, and SLAMS the phone down again. And again. And again. At that point I find myself wondering if the World Arm Wrestling Champion could slam a phone down so hard. I really doubt it.
Anyway, I was talking to a woman at work today, a woman who has personally experienced the wrath of BOSS, over some trifling bullshit matter, over which she was completely undeserving of such a display. She told me that this uncontrollable raging anger could give BOSS a stroke! I hadn't thought of that, but now that she mentioned it, it seemed possible, for sure. Yes, that could happen, with such violent attacks that BOSS is so frequently possessed by.
I realised then that I could be the one to save her from such a fate!
She's not such a bad egg, when she's not vibrating with demented rage.

Night Voices

The way my apartment building is set up I can see and hear people in mine and the other apartment buildings. There are three of them, identical, in a U-shape, with a car park in the middle. I walk in the front door of my apartment then out the other side, out the door and onto the small balcony. Below is the carpark, one storey down. If I jumped off the balcony, I would probably only break my ankles.
Anyway, most nights I end up sitting here in front of the computer next to the window and door of the balcony, and I hear sounds that come in from outside.
Across the other side of the car park is another building identical to mine, and when I look out and left there is the third identical apartment bulding, but at right angles to the other two, making the U-shape. To the right is the street.
Every night, sounds of the people who live in these apartment buildings bounce back and forth between them, somehow amplified in the still night air.
Lately, mostly late at night, I hear the man on a level above in my building, his voice loud and tormented, breaking with agonised emotion. He sobs and wails at his boyfriend on the other end of the telephone, calling him every foul name he can think of. It occurs to me that his boyfriend probably isn't on the other end at all, only an answering machine.
The old Polish woman in the building opposite leans on the railing talking to people down in the car park, her voice grating and raw, like a cartoon witch. It makes me glad she retires early.
A man on the top floor of that building makes honking sounds, like he is hacking up phlegm, but it sounds much stranger than that. The sound would frighten small children, or make them laugh. I imagine he is not human at all, but an alien from another galaxy sent to this part of the city. Every night he needs to take some drug to maintain his human form, and those strange sounds he makes have something to do with this activity.

I Did Not Go To The Cinema

I did not go to the cinema to watch a movie after work today.
How could this be? I always see a movie on Tuesday, even if it is not a very good one. But I did not go today. Has the world turned upside down? Is it not Half Price Tuesday any more? Yes, it still is. So what could possibly be the reason?
Easy now. I will tell you:
The session times for the movie I wanted to see (White Noise) left me nonplussed. 1:00pm then 6:45pm. Do you see the logic here? You don't, because there is none. Has the cinema session times programmer lost his mind? I fear he has. I will have a word with the fellow.
Well. What other movie could I see?
The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy? If I was somebody who cared for that kind of wacky, whimsical British humour, then yes that would be a good choice.
The Hostage? While it is true that movie violence would be guaranteed, Bruce Willis stars in the movie. Today I was in no mood for Bruce Willis.
Birth? Having so recently seen and been damn near bored to death by The Interpreter, I will require at least another month or two before I see another movie featuring Nicole Kidman, because until that time, with sufficient time having passed for the painful memory to fade, it would probably remind me of The Interpreter.
In Good Company? This movie looks like it will be a good one. Yes I want to see this movie. But the next session was HOURS away. That damn deranged programmer strikes again!
Kingdom of Heaven? Yes! I MUST see this movie! ... Wait. It doesn't open until Thursday. *falls to the floor under a blanket of crushing misery*
War of the Worlds? I am going INSANE with impatience to see this movie (those cruel teasing and tormenting trailers! *wrings hands and grimaces dramatically*), but it doesn't open until June 29.
All the other movies playing that are worth seeing, I have already seen.
So instead I decided take myself home, back to my apartment, my dark and dusty batcave, and finish A Game of Thrones by George R. R. Martin. 807 pages. I finished it. It was excellent. This fantasy stuff! My final fantasy!
My investigation into the world of fantasy novels is off to a promising start indeed!
Tomorrow, immediately after work, I will go with godspeed to the bookstore, and waving my arms theatrically DEMAND they sell me AT ONCE! A Clash of Kings, the second book of this six-volume bookshelf-buckler.
1040 pages.
Bring it, punk.

Heard You Got a Blog

COLLEAGUE: I heard you got a blog.
ME: Maybe I do, maybe I don't.
COLLEAGUE: Well, do you have one or don't you?
ME: Yes I do, if you must know.
COLLEAGUE: What do you write in there?
ME: It's secret.
COLLEAGUE turns and walks away in disgust.

If COLLEAGUE only reads books by Danielle Steele, what business does she have reading my blog? Really, I did her a favour.

Multiple Choice

Sometimes it is not easy to write anything. Sometimes you can stare at the blank screen for a long time and nothing will appear. Nothing appears because you have not written anything. You have not written anything because you cannot think of anything to write. Or maybe you have thought of something to write, but as soon as you have written it, it strikes you as very boring, and you know that there is more than enough boring stuff out there without adding to it. So you delete it. Banished! Good riddance! And the screen is blank once more. Perfectly white. No painfully boring sentences there any more. Just look at that white screen! It seems to glow. How enchanting it is! It must be so or you wouldn't be staring at it for so long, unblinking.
Must think of something. Now there's an idea! That's all you need to do. Think of something and write it down. It sure sounds like a plan. There must be something rattling around in that head of yours that you could write down. If you think back on the days' events as they unfolded, there may be a chance that one of them could prove worthy of being written down. It may even be entertaining for somebody to read. That would be an achievement, would it not?
Now you recall that odd thing that happened after you got off the bus. You were on your way home after conducting some business in town. You had gotten off the bus and walked up the street, around the corner, and just before you reached the corner of that street you noticed something sticking out from beneath a wooden gate on the side of a house. What was that thing sticking out there? Then you realised why you noticed it! It caught your attention because it was moving! It was a white dog's paw.
Stopping dead in your tracks, you look down at the dog's paw, wondering about it. Then you see a little black puppet thing with small stubby arms, well-chewed by the looks. Putting two and two together in a split second, you realise that the dog behind the wooden gate has inadvertently knocked its little toy beyond its reach. Still looking down at this scene, yet now with the mystery solved, you realise that you must make a decision.
This is a multiple choice question.
Do you:
A) Continue walking home, refusing to help the dog retrieve its little toy; or
B) Give the little toy a small kick back under the wooden gate?