who are you?

Dark haired, darked eyed, Jewish woman.Your face has been all over the newspapers and TV this week. The more I look at your picture the more I wonder who you are. It is not hard to look at your picture, it is every where.

What drives you? Do you like what you do, is it something you are passionate about or just a way to pay the rent? How did you get into it, is it what you saw yourself doing when you were 10? What did you want to do when you were 10?

What do you do when you’re not working or does work take up all of your life? Do you read? What do you read? TV? What do you watch? Movies? Music? Hobbies and interests?

There are so many questions I want to ask. I am fascinated by you and that terrifies me.

wait… what?

Watching Donnie Darko today I had a what the fuck moment.

Donnie, Gretchen and Frank Go to the Movies
Gretchen: I should go. For physics. Monnitoff says I have to write
an essay on the greatest invention ever to benefit mankind.
Donnie: That's easy. Antiseptics.

I will admit that I did no Science after Year 11 and was smart enough to know that it would be sheer foolishness to attempt Physics but,  surely Anitseptics are outside the scope of the class/subject?

In terms of the film I understand why it is there, I also understand Donnie’s reason for giving the answer which removes a lot of the “what the fuck” from it. Maybe I am just getting old.

well intentioned but bad advice

bad photoshop art.

The ability of smell to take one back in time is not a new or novel idea. It is like all human experiences has be done and contemplated billions of time. The memories associated with the trigger (for smell is one of many triggers) are unique to the individual but (almost without exception) fall into common general categories.

Whether these categories are culturally specific is less clear. Lifestyle and circumstances may affect the contents and events of the memories but the underlying feelings and emotions attached to each memory is (surely) universal across all cultures.

think before you speak

The quality of sports commentators in this country is at an all time low. Maybe it has always been bad and the rarity (in comparison to today) of Test, One Day Cricket and Football media coverage was able to hide this from the public? Who knows, it is not important, what is important is what is happening now and what is happening now is… shit.

Larger and larger portions of air time are being taken away from calling the games and are being reallocated to creating news and manufacturing controversy. Complaining about the overall standard of the game, the small crowds or their poor behaviour and when they are not talking about this they are reading in listener’s e-mails or SMS messages.

Today a listener SMSed in asking how many times Ricky Ponting had been dismissed for 61.

Two peanuts, still in their shells.

Peanut#1: Steve on the SMS wants to know how many times Ponting has been dismissed for 61.

Peanut#2: I don’t know, why would anyone want to know that?

Peanut#1: Well I can tell you he has been dismissed for…

Peanut#2: Don’t encourage them…

And on it went, neither of the Peanuts realising (or at least verbalising their recognition) of the significance of the figure.

Champagne radio.

I am sure this is a subject which will be revisited later on in the year.

it’s good to be white

Rufus

Whether God is dead or not hardly matters, for we would use him no differently anyway.

-Joseph Heller; God Knows

soylent green

human, the new white meat(http://www.nataliedee.com/)

I’ll be honest the only thing that has ever tasted like chicken to me has been chicken.

It was good to get that off my chest.

tragedy brings out the best in people

Saturday night I watched a reporter report on the death of the luger at the Winter Olympics.

Watching I wondered if I was watching what she had been put on this Earth for. If everything that had happened in her life, was leading and driving her to this one point. That, I, along with everyone else who was tuned into the news report was witnessing her standing at the zenith of her life and that everything from now one was all downhill for her.

Christine Brennan, sports reporter, writer, lover of blood on the ice.

She was kind of hot.

something new

Standing outside of my Grandmother’s house with an agapantha switch in my hand I decided it was time to start a proper blog. My old online was no longer suitable for my needs or desires. It was not, I realised that I wanted to get rid of it but because it was time to move on. It had served its purpose admirably but it was no longer fun and more importantly I no longer knew what to write there.

Started 9 years ago my diary was originally a way to please a girl I was interested in. I didn’t expect it to last more than two or three weeks before the updates began to become infrequent before eventually stopping. How wrong I was, for three years (I think) I would update it once a day, sometimes twice a day. If I missed a day it wasn’t on purpose but because I couldn’t get to the computer. After that it became less frequent, and it wasn’t until 2007 that I stopped updating with any regularity. When I did try to write I had no idea what to say or to say it. The ideas that came seemed too abstract and inappropriate for what the diary had become and my life wasn’t interesting enough to keep my attention long enough to write about it.

I needed something new and this is that something. What it will become who knows?

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