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Jul. 31st, 2009

eeee!

Jasper Schultz

New Blog Post: McErection.

Jun. 20th, 2009

eeee!

New Home

I'm not sure what this means for LJ, but I have a new home!

Jasper Schultz

Why the pseudonym? It's a long story involving my inability to secure 'Tophe' in a domain name, the recommendation that a fake name helps with the nastier elements of defamation (shameless libel for all!), and a lifelong fondness for the name 'Jasper' (recently re-ignited by a ridiculously attractive man playing a character called 'Jasper' in a movie. I'd rather not say which movie).

I finally own interweb real estate!

May. 21st, 2009

talk to food

Food With Flair - but not too much flair

There's a cafe down the road from work (and by down the road, I mean five minutes drive - if you are ever in Canberra and you hear my radio station DJs talking about being in the middle of a paddock? They are not joking) that serves the most amazing chicken salad. I couldn't tell you anything else on the menu, because every time I go there I always order it.

It's called Cajun Chicken Salad; and it is like an orgasm with lettuce (and a big hello to all the food fetishists who have just discovered me through Google!).

It occurred to me today, however, that I have no idea why it is called a Cajun Chicken Salad. The ingredients are:

- chicken
- capsicum
- lettuce
- tomato
- bacon
- avocado
- croutons

Is there anything about this particular combination of ingredients that just screams "French-colonised Louisiana"? Not to my knowledge. Then again, my knowledge is limited, but I'm sure there should at least be *some* spice involved. Somewhere. Or bourbon. Am I generalising? Probably.

But then I remembered the salad dressing. It's a honey and poppy seed salad dressing. Honey...and poppy seed. I suddenly realised why they gave it the name Cajun Chicken Salad.

Because Totally Gay Chicken Salad wouldn't sell nearly as well.

May. 10th, 2009

what the frick

Commercial Break...down

As someone who writes commercials for a living, albeit only for radio, I feel like I have a newly imbued right to pull apart any sort of advertising I see and judge it mercilessly. Well why not? Everything I write is judged by at least three people before it even gets anywhere close to being produced; and 65% of the time it's judged by people who have absolutely no clue what they are doing. I figure I am simply Paying It Forward (thank you Kevin Spacey - oh hey, I bet that's the first time anyone has said that in a long time. I mean anyone.)

I'm going to start with a commercial I just saw during a Rove ad break not fifteen minutes ago. I won't lie, I didn't even have the idea for doing this to commercials until it was nearly over, so I am not even 100% sure on what it was advertising - but I'm going to go out on a limb and say it was Special K.

If I had the ability, I would now throw to a visual aid of said commercial in the form of a YouTube clip, but I couldn't find one. Would you be surprised if I told you there isn't a huge number of Special K ads on YouTube? No? Then be surprised, because there are a BUCKETLOAD of them! Too many for my liking. Who is arbitrarily uploading Special K commercials and why aren't they watching porn like normal unbalanced internet addicts? But despite the abundance, the one I actually wanted wasn't there (lending weight to the argument that maybe it wasn't Special K at all?) - so you'll have to make do with my appalling paraphrasing.

So, there's a woman. She's going about the start of her day. How does this woman start her day? Well she starts it by completely ripping off a Berocca commercial, bouncing around her house being followed by an orangey glow.

The VO tells us that with the help of (still not 100%, but probably) Special K, this Berocca plagiarising floozy can handle "anything life throws at her". She can get dressed and stack the dishwasher and make the bed. Well thank goodness she had that (almost certain it was) Special K, huh? I can't tell you the number of times I've skipped breakfast, and have ended up having to eat spaghetti out of my lap, and then sleep on the floor because I've had no plates or clean bedding.

She then races out of the house and into the big bad world, powered by the fibre and goodness of (come on now, surely it must be) Special K. She's unstoppable! She's a force of nature! No matter what life "throws at her", she'll be ready for it! She has the stamina and control to face the horrors of life! Starting with her grueling job as...

...a florist.

A FLORIST?? That's the absolute pinnacle of (absolutely positive it was) Special K's ability? You can handle anything life throws at you as long as it is a chrysanthemum? Look, I'm sure florists get stressed too; I'm just saying if I were trying to market (what I'm almost dead certain is) my cereal, I'd be going a little bit harder than blossoms.

I think I liked it better when they were making giant red Ks out of female body parts. Shoes, knees, lips - remember? Don't worry if you don't - every single on of those stupid ads is on YouTube.

May. 7th, 2009

talk to food

Just Like Every Other Man In Her Life?

Just Like Every Other Man In Her Life

Look, it’s very fashionable right now to sledge Gretel Killeen for her performance as Logies host – and for the most part, rightly so.

But are people doing it for the right reasons?

Most people were sledging her from the minute the news broke that she was signed to host them – three weeks prior to the event itself. These people would have been slagging her off (and: side note – is ‘slagging her off’ not the classiest phrase ever?) regardless of her actual performance; therefore I feel they have no right to be joining in the legitimate ‘slagging off’ now.

I, on the other hand, have long been a fan of the Gret. Enjoyed her stand-up comedy, devoured her books (yes, non-fans, she was at one stage a prolific author!), withstood the woeful ovary overload (ovary-load?) of Beauty & the Beast for her witty opinions, watched Big Brother with blatant disregard to my IQ – and I even managed, through sheer willpower (well, sheer willpower and my dubious media industry connections) to get myself a seat in the audience during one of the Celebrity Big Brother eviction shows, where I muscled my way into the front row for the chance to be interviewed by Gretel live on national television. I got that chance, and we were both amazing.

So, imagine my disappointment when I witnessed her, in all her Harry Potter-esque glory (seriously, that hair cut and bony figure? Whack a pair of round glasses on her and run a cheese knife down her forehead and it’s Daniel Radcliffe), talking about NOTHING BUT HERSELF for an hour and a half (well, six minutes, but whatever) – I was heartbroken. Then there was the woeful death sketch. Then there was the vacillating between bitter barbs aimed directly at her ex-husband and barely concealed flirting with everything in pants. Then there was another forty-five minutes of self-themed talking. At the end of the night I had no choice but to hang up my Gretel Killeen Supporter and cancel my membership to the GK Fan Club.

I had an inkling that Gretel and I were growing apart as people when I heard about the kerfuffle surrounding the new hair cut. As I heard it: after getting the new cropped pixie ‘do, Gretel Killeen flat out refused to be photographed. She had to be forced by Channel 9 to even do a Logies publicity shot – and when she did, it was with hair extensions and a top-hat. The Gretel I knew and loved was fully aware that people didn’t care about her hair that much. This new Gretel was a cold, egomaniacal imposter.

(And the stupid thing about the “hair reveal”? I distinctly remember reading weeks ago that the new haircut was a pixie ‘do - so I don’t understand where the big surprising reveal was supposed to come in – how many different ways can a pixie do a pixie ‘do?)

So I’m sorry, Gretel. People have been telling me for years that I was a fool to support you. From bystanders who had never met you to ex-colleagues from your radio days – everyone said horrible things, but I stood by you. Through thick and thin (and thin, and thin! Lady, when Lisa McCune looks like a heifer next to you, it’s time to rip into a packet of Iced VoVos and enjoy life) I was there for you.

But you have let me down.

I think it’s time we saw other people. There are other TV personalities that are more deserving of my love and support. Cat Deeley, Joel McHale… even Natalie Bassingthwaighte can give me more than you seem to be able these days.

Don’t try and contact me – I have already removed you from my list of interests on my LJ profile.

Apr. 23rd, 2009

ron weasley inside

Was It Something I Wrote?

Uh-oh. Something about the Are You Being Served themed entry from yesterday really offended my company's web-content filtering system, and now my LJ is blocked.

It's not a big deal, really - it just means I'll have to arbitrarily post a whole heap of innocuous pap so that, the next time it scans the page, it'll look more innocent.

(But really, everything I've written, and it was Mrs Slocombe et al that pushed the filter over the edge? Hilarious.)

Besides, it's very hard to be virtuous and clean when all I am capable of doing today is having nefarious thoughts about Jackson Rathbone.

Yes, I watched Twilight. Yes, I enjoyed it. Judge me all you want, I deserve it. But take into consideration that I am at least bucking the Edward Cullen/Robert Pattinson worship trend and going after Jasper instead.

Also, his name is JACKSON RATHBONE. That's the gayest name ever! I'm in with a much better shot.

Apr. 21st, 2009

the dip

My Drawers Are Half Off

Because I believe life would be a lot more fun, not to mention much simpler, if it more closely resembled an episode of Are You Being Served?:

Things I Have Said So Far Today That Could Be Double Entendres:

"I gave my beetroot a good soak this morning." (so my sandwich wouldn't get soggy.)

"Ugh, that's far too hard for me to touch today." (a creative brief I wanted to put off until I have more imagination)

"The curse of being gay - constantly sticky hands!" (I was referring to the application, and constant touching up of, hair product!)

Apr. 5th, 2009

eeee!

I have a vocal warm up stuck in my head

To sit in solemn silence on a dull, dark dock,
In a pestilential prison with a life long lock,
Awaiting the sensation of a short, sharp shock
From a cheap and chippy chopper with a big, black block.

Apr. 1st, 2009

knob

A Picture: Worth a Thousand Words

From now on, if I am ever asked to describe myself - in terms of physicality, personality, or emotion...ality - I will be using the following image.

This image depicts me in a way that words never could. Every clunking, mismatched, awkward thing about me, both inside and out, can be summed up thusly:

This is how I feel today. And every day. )
what the frick

Southpark Hair

My hair has this despicable habit of looking perfectly acceptable from a flat, front-on angle. This means that as I look up into the mirror, I see my hair sitting in a way that seems acceptable for facing the day.

It's hours and hours later, as I catch myself in reflections from more and more angles, that from EVERY OTHER ANGLE it looks rifrickingdonkulous. Like those three dimensional chalk drawings that dude does on pavements - if you're not standing in exactly the right place, it looks all munted and lopsided.

And that's EXACTLY how my hair looks: munted and lopsided.

Yet another part of my body that could pass as abstract installation art.

Feb. 17th, 2009

look bernard

But now there's nowhere to hide

About two years ago, in early 2007, I got Kate Bush's song Babooshka stuck in my head. This in itself is not unusual, earworms happen all the time. Except Babooshka stayed in my head for at least a month and a half.

Every time I whistled, hummed, or sang without thinking first, Babooshka is what would come out. If I stopped concentrating and let my mind wander, it would immediately perm its hair, put on a gladiatress outfit and bob up and down with a sword and dodgy backlighting. It was a nightmare.

It was so much a part of my existence that it even became an on-air gag (it was back when I was 'famous', you see). My co-hosts had a grab of the song ready to play randomly at a moment's notice, just to torture me.

Anyway, after six (seven? eight?) or so weeks, the song finally left my head.

Four days ago, another song nestled its way into my subconscious, and is so far showing signs of doing EXACTLY what Babooshka did to me.

And it gets worse.

Worse than Babooshka.

The song in question is Hopelessly Devoted To You.

I don't even LIKE that song. I barely KNOW it. And yet, there I am at my desk at work, freaking out anyone within earshot when I forget myself and bust out with "IIIIIIIII'M OUT OF MY HEEEAAAAD, HOPELESSLEEE DEVOTAAAAAAAAEEEHD TO YOOOO-OO-OO-OOOOOOOO..."

At least with Babooshka half the people didn't recognise what the hell I was humming/singing/whistling. There's no disguising Olivia Neutron-Bomb.

Feb. 14th, 2009

are you shitting me?

Scenes In An Elevator

The following takes place between 10:48pm and 10:49pm in the elevator of a multi-storey car park.

The events occur in real time.


INT: ELEVATOR

[Tophe is on his way home after an evening out at dinner. The elevator stops before his designated floor, and an extremely white guy gets on. Not extremely white as in 'albino', as in 'this guy is totally honky'.]

Extremely White Guy: Hey, nice shirt man.
Me: Oh hey, thanks.
EWG: It reminds me a lot of a jacket I own.
Me: [suddenly fearful and with extreme remorse at engaging in conversation] Oh...?
EWG: Yeah, but it's like, I don't really want to wear it out that often because it's almost like it's too money for Canberra.
Me: ...
EWG: You know?
Elevator: ding!
Me: Um...I don't wear this shirt very often, but that's just because it's a bitch to iron.
[Doors open]
EWG: Huh?
[Tophe runs screaming from the elevator.]

I am not making this up (except for the screaming - I didn't, really). The man used money as an adjective! Kanye fucking West sounds like a tool saying it, what hope did Whitey McHonk think he had? And what does it mean exactly to be "too money for Canberra"? It can't be about actual money, because Canberra has among the highest disposable income statistics in the country, doesn't it? Is he actually implying that his jacket is so amazingly, cock-hardeningly awesome that to wear it within the borders of the Australian Capital Territory would be a waste, somehow?

If anyone had told me an hour ago that there are people around who actually talk like that, I would have called them dirty great liars, with the firm belief that no one could be THAT much of a total fucking douchebag. But there he was! Standing not two feet away from me! So confident in his own awesomeness that he had no problem actually using the word 'money' as an adjective to a complete stranger!

The worst of it is that he clearly felt I was his kind of people based on the shirt I was wearing.

I don't want to wear that shirt anymore.

Feb. 12th, 2009

knob

Service - 6/10, Ambience - 7/10, Table Equilibrium - 2/10

After the movies on Tuesday night (Ghost Town - pretty good, there are a dozen Ghosts W/ Unfinished Business movies out there, but it was a nice spin on the concept; I think I’d turn straight for Kristen Wiig); Ben and I got some dinner at a nearby café.

During the meal, a combination of condensation and a gentle sloping of the table meant that my water glass kept slowly sliding from the middle of the table to the outer corner. Of its own accord. It was amusing at first…

…until I forgot about it. And it hit the floor. Right as I was in the middle of a story that involved some kind of hand movement.

I DID NOT TOUCH THE GLASS. But all the other patrons could see was me Kermit-flailing; followed by a thunk, a splash, and a flying lemon slice.

Worst of all, it kind of went unacknowledged for about five minutes. No staff came over; so while I quickly picked up the glass (and wedged it between the salt shaker and the cocktail menu), the small flood of mineral water and ice stayed on the floor, expanding slowly. And I have no idea where the lemon slice went.

Hopefully into someone else’s Pad Thai, because that dish could have done with some damn flavour.

Jan. 31st, 2009

burgundy

First Twitter, now a cross-pollination with Facebook

I'm an interweb whore!

25 Facts About Me

1. I cannot, repeat CANNOT touch cotton wool balls. Just the thought of it makes my skin crawl. If you somehow got yourself a gaping mortal wound, were at risk of bleeding to death, and needed some cotton wool balls to stem the flow; I might be able to bring you a bag of them – if I held the very tip of the very corner of the bag – but you’d have to do the rest yourself. Sorry.

2. All my dvds have to be arranged alphabetically. BECAUSE THEY HAVE TO BE, THAT'S WHY.

3. I had the first inkling that I might be gay when I was 12, although I only realise that now in hindsight. I kissed a boy for the first time at 15, but it wasn’t until I was 23 that I knew enough to come out.

4. My first name was very nearly ‘George’. My Dad’s last name is Downs, so they had an immense amount of trouble coming up with a suitable name – Benjamin, Nicholas, Neil, Robert, Mark and many others were all out, owing to the bad puns they provided (Ben, Nick, Neil, Bob and Mark don’t go well with the word “down”). They had it down to ‘Christopher’ or ‘George’.

5. I am a grower, not a shower. (Oh don’t overreact. It’s not like I’m posting pictures or anything.)

6. I like the trailers before a movie starts. If anything, I think there should be more of them.

7. I try to be funny all the time, but I think I’m much funnier in writing than I am in person.

8. I have a nervous habit of flipping things in the air and catching them. I’ve broken the sliding bits off countless remote controls, and a few phones, by constantly flipping them. Flip flip flip. It drives the people around me mad.

9. Other nervous habits – spinning cushions on my finger like a basketball – but I can’t do it with an actual basketball and jiggling my leg - it’s like Jurassic Park wherever I go because the vibrations from my leg cause pulses in any nearby glasses of water.

10. I type fast. Really fast. I once took a typing test that clocked me at 117wpm, but normally it’s around 105wpm. And yes, the accuracy is acceptable. 97%.

11. I fucking HATE IT when, upon hearing the aforementioned fact, people immediately (and snidely) ask “yes, but what’s your accuracy like? 12%, I’ll bet!” Yes, that’s right. I just wildly mash the keyboard and call that typing. I pretend to have a high typing speed because fast typists get fucking LAID, man.

12. I am one of the most unsuccessful daters I know; and have been single for a very, very long time. Unbelievable, I know – because I’m such a catch, right?

13. Despite spending the majority of my life in deserts/tropical climates, I would still rather be cold than hot. You can always put another layer on when it’s cold, but there are a finite number of layers you can take off when it’s hot. And once you’re naked, you can still be hot. Also, you’re naked.

14. I LOVE orange flavoured things. There really is nothing I won’t eat if it is orange flavoured. But I’d really rather not eat an orange itself. I mean, they aren’t bad, it’s just...meh.

15. I’m all about videogames in general, but scary videogames are one of my favourite things ever. As I’m getting older they are harder to come by, but a game that is so scary you have to pause it to have a bit of a breather? That is AWESOME.

16. I am a stickler for spelling, and the correct use of words – for example: If you are sick, you are NOT ‘nauseous’, you are ‘nauseated’. ‘Nauseous’ means you cause nausea. I know the dictionary says that, due to common misuse, either is now acceptable; but that’s just lazy kowtowing and I want no part of it. Also, there is no ‘a’ in ‘definitely’. See it there? DEFINITELY? No ‘a’ at all. Those two are my biggest pet hates.

17. When I was a child, I thought I was mentally deficient somehow because I could never see “the man in the moon”. All I saw was a fucking rabbit. WHERE WAS THIS MAN EVERYONE KEEPS FAFFING ON ABOUT? WHAT MAN? WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?? I was in my late teens before I realised that the ‘man in the moon’ is a northern hemisphere thing.

18. Speaking of shattered childhood illusions, I was 26 before I found out that Maria and Luis from Sesame Street are NOT Maria and Luis at all, and are NOT EVEN MARRIED. I think that wound is still fresh.

19. For 2009, I’m taking the George Costanza approach to life and doing the opposite of whatever my instincts tell me – I won’t lie, it’s kind of working so far.

20. My favourite food is dip. Nearly all dips. I love dip.

21. Most people remember me as a huge Buffy fan; and I am – but very few know about the early, dark days, when I thought it was the most stupid fucking show I had ever laid eyes on. I thought it was just ‘Sabrina the Teenage Witch’ without a budget for decent lighting. I hated it.

22. It’s because of fact #21 that I now refuse to watch any Star Wars movies – because I have spent quite a few years sporting a hearty and public disdain for them; and am afraid that if I were to go back and watch any of them again, I might suddenly get converted. And quite frankly, I’m nerdy enough, thanks.

23. I have a thing for watches. I own 14 of them at last count, even though only four work at the moment. I really should get the others fixed. I do love them.

24. I once lived in what could be called a tropical paradise. The water was azure, the beaches were golden, the people were sparse and the seafood was plentiful. And I was miserable for nearly all of it. Not because of the water, the beaches, the people or the seafood, mind you – well actually, it WAS the people, but that’s another story. And it was a little bit of the seafood too – I was nine, and didn’t care for it. The point is I sometimes now look at photographs or holiday show segments of “island paradises” and am completely unmoved. I’ll just hang out in a city, thanks. I love cities.

25. Before I got my tattoo, I should have put a lot more care and thought into the design I wanted. What I came up with was a little slapdash – but to this day, I still love it so much, which is quite lucky. I dodged a bullet there.
Tags:

Jan. 30th, 2009

look bernard

OH HAI I AM HOME BY 5:30PM!

It's just been made official! I'm moving permanently into the Creative Writer's position! I will have normal office hours! No more late night panelling! I get a 5k payrise (don't get excited, that moves me up from About To Go Bankrupt to Just Shy of Bankrupt - but still, woo!)! I don't have to go back to Magnet Mart (although I will miss garish orange shirt made out of a "fabric" that breathes about as much as a garbage bag - HAAA)! Hooray!

Jan. 27th, 2009

eeee!

Your day is off to a dodgy start when...

...you put shampoo on your toothbrush.

The upshot is my teeth have never been silkier.

Jan. 24th, 2009

eeee!

(no subject)

Blergh.

Jan. 21st, 2009

so mad

Really??

Another sore throat? Are we serious about this, immune system? Really? Well fuck you too.

Jan. 8th, 2009

what the frick

I Blame Inner Circle

Okay, this sweating is driving me crazy.

I don't know if it's because I'm not used to sitting with my arms by my sides at a desk for 9 hours, or because the airconditioning for this room is shot to hell, or because it's a leftover symptom from my ManCold, but I am a sweaty man right now; and have been all week.

It's not like I'm a slippery ball of moisture all over - it's just my underarms, and I don't smell (because if THAT were the case, I would have run home and locked myself in my room with embarrassment days ago); but today I have brought two shirts to work so I can change back and forth as the need arises. It's fucking annoying.

Jan. 7th, 2009

talk to food

Pirin Tablets

I have a brain-flattening headache today. Also, I'm craving a coffee particularly badly. Coincidence? I don't know why it would take seven days to kick in, though. At any rate, they're both irritating - and the one makes the other harder to take.

Mmmm, tea. And some leftover and possibly-smuggled-illegally Tylenol.

(Yes, I know it's just a regular painkiller, not unlike Panadol. But it isn't Panadol, and my brain thinks it's exotic, and the placebo-esque effects are worth continuing the charade.)

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eeee!

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