My Profile here
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
I'm sorry,
I've closed for good.
Last Post Ever at Litost.
I've been here one year and I've decided to cease blogging altogether,
get some sun up north and stuff.
Thanks to every person who ever read anything here or at my old blogs and bothered to leave a comment. You must know who you are.
Have a Happy New Year.
Oh-7 must be better than Oh-6.
Oh-6 fucking sucked.
Love you,
Stephen James.
I've closed for good.
Last Post Ever at Litost.
I've been here one year and I've decided to cease blogging altogether,
get some sun up north and stuff.
Thanks to every person who ever read anything here or at my old blogs and bothered to leave a comment. You must know who you are.
Have a Happy New Year.
Oh-7 must be better than Oh-6.
Oh-6 fucking sucked.
Love you,
Stephen James.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
On Hiatus for a little while...
scour blogs elsewhere.
Special Thanks to Beau from Prudence.
scour blogs elsewhere.
Special Thanks to Beau from Prudence.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
So how are my little silly squirrel-people?
Good?
I think I just lost a good 4 or so days to the universe, and my work, of course, is suffering. How can one man write his genius novel when the world conspires to force itself into his life at every given turn?
He can't, I guess.
Which is my excuse for my novel not being a work of genius.
Maybe I should turn my phone off for good, see how long it takes before someone thinks I'm dead and comes knocking on my door.
Which brings me to the question of the day;
If you died in your bedroom with the door closed, how long, do you estimate, would it take for someone to find you?
The answer to this question is how they judge who they can have on This Is Your Life. If the answer is anything less than a week and a half, you don't get on.
Conversely, if its anything less than a week and a half you get to be on Big Brother, so there are upsides and downsides to everything.
I'm not getting into horse racing at all this year and for good reason,
I don't really like it and I have no money to bet on it with at the moment.
Apart from that, pink champagne bubbles tickle my nose.
good luck and happy flutters!
Good?
I think I just lost a good 4 or so days to the universe, and my work, of course, is suffering. How can one man write his genius novel when the world conspires to force itself into his life at every given turn?
He can't, I guess.
Which is my excuse for my novel not being a work of genius.
Maybe I should turn my phone off for good, see how long it takes before someone thinks I'm dead and comes knocking on my door.
Which brings me to the question of the day;
If you died in your bedroom with the door closed, how long, do you estimate, would it take for someone to find you?
The answer to this question is how they judge who they can have on This Is Your Life. If the answer is anything less than a week and a half, you don't get on.
Conversely, if its anything less than a week and a half you get to be on Big Brother, so there are upsides and downsides to everything.
I'm not getting into horse racing at all this year and for good reason,
I don't really like it and I have no money to bet on it with at the moment.
Apart from that, pink champagne bubbles tickle my nose.
Still, for the big one today racegoers, my money would obviously be on Pop Rock, seen here with Jockey Damian Oliver:
good luck and happy flutters!
Friday, November 03, 2006
Day 2? 3?
I'm not sure where my face has gone.
My nanowrimo novel seems to be coming along with such splendid fashion that I have time to procrastinate by blogging my dear old tits off.
I should have just stuck to Movember and been done with it.
My new handle-bar mo coupled with my newly shaved head and the excess weight I've drunk onto myself over the last couple of month has made me a likely contender to take over Heath Franklin's impersonation of Uncle Chop Chop.
Which reminds me, my Dudesons article was in this week's Inpress if you, yannow, happen to pick up a copy, there's a big quote about balls right under my name. ;o)
Anyways, the wonderment of a moustache and no hair to make even the most girl-like men seem mean and bad, I'll place bets that I get in a bar-fight by the end of the month at the hands of my silly looking new face.
So I'm about 8,000 words in on Nannathingamo, bordering on my fourth, pre-planned chapter when it dawns on me that my concept, my idea, is remarkably similiar to a novel I read two or three years ago. To prove my point I track down a copy which is, oh, I don't know, sitting on the book-shelf right behind my fat head and discover the sub-conscious mind to be the most beautiful psychotic twisted angel known to man.
So I'm in the process of re-shaping.
Random plot suggestions most welcome!
I'm not sure where my face has gone.
My nanowrimo novel seems to be coming along with such splendid fashion that I have time to procrastinate by blogging my dear old tits off.
I should have just stuck to Movember and been done with it.
My new handle-bar mo coupled with my newly shaved head and the excess weight I've drunk onto myself over the last couple of month has made me a likely contender to take over Heath Franklin's impersonation of Uncle Chop Chop.
Which reminds me, my Dudesons article was in this week's Inpress if you, yannow, happen to pick up a copy, there's a big quote about balls right under my name. ;o)
Anyways, the wonderment of a moustache and no hair to make even the most girl-like men seem mean and bad, I'll place bets that I get in a bar-fight by the end of the month at the hands of my silly looking new face.
So I'm about 8,000 words in on Nannathingamo, bordering on my fourth, pre-planned chapter when it dawns on me that my concept, my idea, is remarkably similiar to a novel I read two or three years ago. To prove my point I track down a copy which is, oh, I don't know, sitting on the book-shelf right behind my fat head and discover the sub-conscious mind to be the most beautiful psychotic twisted angel known to man.
So I'm in the process of re-shaping.
Random plot suggestions most welcome!
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Nanowrimo Begins!
But...
I'm having better luck with Movember.
But...
I'm having better luck with Movember.Tuesday, October 31, 2006
I just got a number and location
I just need my number and location
Like those that have come before me,
I too have decided to take up the challenge.
Wish me luck, I'm a lazy little shit so methinks I'll need it.
~Mr Deluxe.
I just need my number and location
Like those that have come before me,
I too have decided to take up the challenge.
Wish me luck, I'm a lazy little shit so methinks I'll need it.
~Mr Deluxe.
Sunday, October 29, 2006
I lost an hour
I found a friend.
Sorry to anyone I said anything to last night,
all promises should be deemed null and void,
never trust a drunken sailor,
that is all.
I found a friend.
Sorry to anyone I said anything to last night,
all promises should be deemed null and void,
never trust a drunken sailor,
that is all.
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Ahhhh... so proud to be from Werribee.
For those of you appalled by this story about the intellectually disabled girl, sexually abused, set on fire and pissed on, which seems to have taken over every media outlet in Melbourne, you can see the perps themselves, in all their teenage stupidty, right here on youtube in one of their other brilliantly thought-out classics, Pimp My Wife.
At least they were smart enough to use their real names in the credits.
He's on a plane crossing the world now
and oh the way it seems, that every little boys dream
Don't turn your back on those grocerys kids.
Mine were stolen before even leaving the store yesterday, somewhere in that twilight time between paying and leaving, that cloudy haze of concentration and confusion from which you only emerge to quietly mouth the words 'where's my bread?' to the little fat lady who only smiles when you say goodbye.
That Bitch.
Someone stole my bread and they took my chilled juice with it.
No ransom, no fanfare, just a rattled aftermath that comes with being violated and defiled in a public space, just like that busker that dresses up as a spaceman only to bleep and fart at passers by.
The little fat one called a girl, no fucking Colombo, just a younger, smaller girl wearing the same blue woolens with the IGA insignia tattooed to the front and explained the situation, meanwhile I stood there in a funk of hangover and desperation, mentally thumbing through and affirming the many reasons why I should never leave my house again. I just wanted to restock a few staples, I leave the house and I have to put up with an IGA inquiry into the disappearance of a bag of grocerys whilst trying my goddamn hardest not to blush too much at the embarrassment of being trapped in that weird limbo at the end of the checkout where the only place to stand and wait is in everybody else's way.
I felt jealous of all those people coming up to the counter, paying and leaving with their goods. Why was it so easy for them? What IGAian rules had I broken to be bent-over and rogered by karma? All those days shopping without removing my sunglasses or iPod headphones, trying to ignore the muzak and sound of other people shopping, trying to hide in my red-basketed bubble whilst hoping tins of tuna were back down to 99 cents. Surely that is no crime? Being an anti-social supermarket shopper? Now as a payback I was being made to stay longer than I ever would in the checkout limbo whilst bathing in my own hangover stink.
I felt so degraded.
The investigation continued and a third, older, taller blue-clothed woman was called to the front. Yes, I'd dealt with her unforgiving nature before. The woman who told me off for mixing the red chillis in with the green chillis that one time.
Repeat offender I admit.
I'm the victim now sourpuss, so help me out.
So unbelieving of my authenticity she was that the checkout-sloth had to convince her "he hasn't even left the store!" I gave her the receipt in tears pointing to the Helgas and the Just Juice, "they stole these M'am" She studied the receipt like an ASIO agent looking for clues.
"They might bring them back" I whimpered.
She huffed off into the fluoro din of the aisles while I stood there precariously balancing on the razors edge of a spak attack, the black dog creeping ever closer in a snarley mess.
She had better bring me the real Colombo or at least my bread n' juice.
Unfortunately it was the latter.
I was finally allowed to leave.
I went home last night and I slept.
My dream was me flying to America, it was very detailed and included the boring stuff like boarding passes and the flight itself, it was a huge adventure.
I arrived at a famous art-museum but I couldn't afford the entry fee so I instead looked around the gift store. Eventually I started a job there in the US as part of my new life, I went to work in customer service at a call-centre for a large cable-TV provider taking calls from people regarding their service. The only difference from real-life was that they all had American accents.
I woke up this morning and washed my sheets.
and oh the way it seems, that every little boys dream
Don't turn your back on those grocerys kids.
Mine were stolen before even leaving the store yesterday, somewhere in that twilight time between paying and leaving, that cloudy haze of concentration and confusion from which you only emerge to quietly mouth the words 'where's my bread?' to the little fat lady who only smiles when you say goodbye.
That Bitch.
Someone stole my bread and they took my chilled juice with it.
No ransom, no fanfare, just a rattled aftermath that comes with being violated and defiled in a public space, just like that busker that dresses up as a spaceman only to bleep and fart at passers by.
The little fat one called a girl, no fucking Colombo, just a younger, smaller girl wearing the same blue woolens with the IGA insignia tattooed to the front and explained the situation, meanwhile I stood there in a funk of hangover and desperation, mentally thumbing through and affirming the many reasons why I should never leave my house again. I just wanted to restock a few staples, I leave the house and I have to put up with an IGA inquiry into the disappearance of a bag of grocerys whilst trying my goddamn hardest not to blush too much at the embarrassment of being trapped in that weird limbo at the end of the checkout where the only place to stand and wait is in everybody else's way.
I felt jealous of all those people coming up to the counter, paying and leaving with their goods. Why was it so easy for them? What IGAian rules had I broken to be bent-over and rogered by karma? All those days shopping without removing my sunglasses or iPod headphones, trying to ignore the muzak and sound of other people shopping, trying to hide in my red-basketed bubble whilst hoping tins of tuna were back down to 99 cents. Surely that is no crime? Being an anti-social supermarket shopper? Now as a payback I was being made to stay longer than I ever would in the checkout limbo whilst bathing in my own hangover stink.
I felt so degraded.
The investigation continued and a third, older, taller blue-clothed woman was called to the front. Yes, I'd dealt with her unforgiving nature before. The woman who told me off for mixing the red chillis in with the green chillis that one time.
Repeat offender I admit.
I'm the victim now sourpuss, so help me out.
So unbelieving of my authenticity she was that the checkout-sloth had to convince her "he hasn't even left the store!" I gave her the receipt in tears pointing to the Helgas and the Just Juice, "they stole these M'am" She studied the receipt like an ASIO agent looking for clues.
"They might bring them back" I whimpered.
She huffed off into the fluoro din of the aisles while I stood there precariously balancing on the razors edge of a spak attack, the black dog creeping ever closer in a snarley mess.
She had better bring me the real Colombo or at least my bread n' juice.
Unfortunately it was the latter.
I was finally allowed to leave.
I went home last night and I slept.
My dream was me flying to America, it was very detailed and included the boring stuff like boarding passes and the flight itself, it was a huge adventure.
I arrived at a famous art-museum but I couldn't afford the entry fee so I instead looked around the gift store. Eventually I started a job there in the US as part of my new life, I went to work in customer service at a call-centre for a large cable-TV provider taking calls from people regarding their service. The only difference from real-life was that they all had American accents.
I woke up this morning and washed my sheets.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Electricity sparks inside of me
and i'm free, I'm free
I like to think of myself as someone who is not often in a constant state of bafflement when it comes to contracts and dealings with companies and organisations. I'm always the one laughing at the stupid people on A Current Affair crying afoul at being duped into paying a 90% interest rate on a Cash Converters loan because they didn't bother reading the detail.
Oh hilarity! when they claim that you need a university degree to understand these contracts!
Really, when taking out a loan, the one question you should be asking is what is the interest rate, but still, these poor suckers are always the victims, ...victims of their own stupidity.
I do work (on occasion) for a large and somewhat evil empire of a company so I know a little about how thesecunts organisations work and I know all the information you can ever need will be provided if you look for it, ask for it or goddamn demand it.
You just have to bother.
But has anyone ever had to deal with their energy providers?
Jesus, these guys are good.
I really don't want to have to know the meanings and conversion rates and averages of MJs to Cs and Cs per kWh, off peak rates, peak rates, monthly supply charges multipled by 91 days and divided by 30 with and without GST, 4 equal quarterlys for electricity, 6 equal bi-monthlys of 60 days for gas, NMIs, MIRNs, all of course with a 3% discount.
Hmmm... Bottom line was TRU energy were upping our monthly dual fuel by more than half of our original price, which, being all based on meter readings is fair enough, still, I wasn't just sitting around and waiting for it, I actively made enquires with other providers on behalf of my housemates who I'm sure couldn't give a shit and would still pay their portions of the bill a month late even if the queen herself was billing us and wouldn't know their c/MJ's from their c/kWh because I have to do all that shit housekeeping stuff or it doesn't get done. It is SO MUCH FUN being that housemate who has to make sure we still get running water and zappy electricty.
*ahem*
Sorry, I am actually bitching about TRUenergy.
So the only difference in rates I could eventually decipher using my decoder ring was that Origin energy offered no exit fees and a 2 year magazine sub to Men's Health! Hurrah!
We have a winner.
So I call TRU hoping they'd be so excited by gas that they'd bow down to someone wanting to disconnect their service and offer an incentive to stay, perhaps a discount or a DVD player or something of that ilk.
Instead the conversation was this.
Me: Hi, I just received my new rates and was looking to change to a different provider.
Callboy: Okay you need to call the new provider and they'll organise it for you.
Me: Oh, Okay, ...thanks.
Callboy: No problems, thankyou.
*click*
...Idiots...
I'm looking forward to Men's Health.
I don't like being a grown-up at all.
and i'm free, I'm free
I like to think of myself as someone who is not often in a constant state of bafflement when it comes to contracts and dealings with companies and organisations. I'm always the one laughing at the stupid people on A Current Affair crying afoul at being duped into paying a 90% interest rate on a Cash Converters loan because they didn't bother reading the detail.
Oh hilarity! when they claim that you need a university degree to understand these contracts!
Really, when taking out a loan, the one question you should be asking is what is the interest rate, but still, these poor suckers are always the victims, ...victims of their own stupidity.
I do work (on occasion) for a large and somewhat evil empire of a company so I know a little about how these
You just have to bother.
But has anyone ever had to deal with their energy providers?
Jesus, these guys are good.
I really don't want to have to know the meanings and conversion rates and averages of MJs to Cs and Cs per kWh, off peak rates, peak rates, monthly supply charges multipled by 91 days and divided by 30 with and without GST, 4 equal quarterlys for electricity, 6 equal bi-monthlys of 60 days for gas, NMIs, MIRNs, all of course with a 3% discount.
Hmmm... Bottom line was TRU energy were upping our monthly dual fuel by more than half of our original price, which, being all based on meter readings is fair enough, still, I wasn't just sitting around and waiting for it, I actively made enquires with other providers on behalf of my housemates who I'm sure couldn't give a shit and would still pay their portions of the bill a month late even if the queen herself was billing us and wouldn't know their c/MJ's from their c/kWh because I have to do all that shit housekeeping stuff or it doesn't get done. It is SO MUCH FUN being that housemate who has to make sure we still get running water and zappy electricty.
*ahem*
Sorry, I am actually bitching about TRUenergy.
So the only difference in rates I could eventually decipher using my decoder ring was that Origin energy offered no exit fees and a 2 year magazine sub to Men's Health! Hurrah!
We have a winner.
So I call TRU hoping they'd be so excited by gas that they'd bow down to someone wanting to disconnect their service and offer an incentive to stay, perhaps a discount or a DVD player or something of that ilk.
Instead the conversation was this.
Me: Hi, I just received my new rates and was looking to change to a different provider.
Callboy: Okay you need to call the new provider and they'll organise it for you.
Me: Oh, Okay, ...thanks.
Callboy: No problems, thankyou.
*click*
...Idiots...
I'm looking forward to Men's Health.
I don't like being a grown-up at all.
