Tophe

New Home

2009-06-20T03:38:45Z

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!

Food With Flair - but not too much flair

2009-05-21T06:03:38Z

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.

Commercial Break...down

2009-05-10T12:16:59Z

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.

Just Like Every Other Man In Her Life?

2009-05-07T02:10:06Z

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.

Was It Something I Wrote?

2009-04-23T04:00:34Z

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.

My Drawers Are Half Off

2009-04-21T03:47:06Z

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!)

I have a vocal warm up stuck in my head

2009-04-04T13:33:10Z

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.

A Picture: Worth a Thousand Words

2009-04-01T03:13:14Z

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:

Thanks, murg for sourcing this. It is brilliant; and its accuracy is astounding.

Southpark Hair

2009-04-01T00:58:06Z

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.

But now there's nowhere to hide

2009-02-17T10:37:32Z

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.

Scenes In An Elevator

2009-02-14T12:45:42Z

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.

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

2009-02-11T23:27:43Z

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.

First Twitter, now a cross-pollination with Facebook

2009-01-31T04:18:51Z

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.

OH HAI I AM HOME BY 5:30PM!

2009-01-29T23:05:37Z

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!

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

2009-01-26T23:05:17Z

...you put shampoo on your toothbrush.

The upshot is my teeth have never been silkier.

gargy @ 2009-01-24T16:13:00

2009-01-24T05:13:09Z

Blergh.

Really??

2009-01-20T14:54:50Z

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

I Blame Inner Circle

2009-01-08T02:30:12Z

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.

Pirin Tablets

2009-01-06T21:54:02Z

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.)

Cappucci-NO GARRY NO

2009-01-02T22:31:14Z

Back in 2007, my housemate Zak decided he was going to give up what he called 'The Big Three': McDonalds, Hungry Jacks and KFC. It wasn't a "resolution" so much, it was just a...thing. (Does anyone really call them "resolutions" anymore? Or do we all now have the superstition that giving them that title immediately renders them unachievable?) More like a year-long Lent.

He pulled it off with hardly any difficulty at all, so at the beginning of 2008 the rest of us decided to join in. I gave up 'The Big Three', Tammy gave up cheeses (she was a big fan of chowing down on a wheel of brie or camembert), and Zak gave up fries - on top of his already existing moratorium from 2007.

I fell off the wagon a total of five times in 2008. I had Hungry Jacks twice - both times while utterly, utterly depressed. I had McDonalds once - my hangover cure in Washington DC, and KFC once - I actually completely forgot about the embargo. All in all, I'm counting it as a light-to-moderate success.

So it continues in 2009. I'm going to attempt Zak's accumulative method, and this year am staying off The Big Three. As an addition, I'm also giving up coffee. I'm not sure I actually want to do it, but Tammy is giving up lollies, which is a massive call for her: so massive, in fact, that back when she was considering it, I stupidly said "holy shit, if you follow through with that, then I'll give up coffee." Well, the bitch followed through. Bitch.

I could probably do with a ban on coffee for a year. I do tend to have it an excessive amount, particularly when I'm bored. Luckily, since January 1st, I have had this ridiculous head cold/chest infection double team, so I've only been drinking tea anyway.

It occurs to me while writing this that I have no idea why I'm doing this to myself - banning things just for torture. I guess it's just To See If I Can - like that time I grew my hair out and spent the most of 2007 looking like a child actor from an 80s sitcom.

Couldn't escape if I wanted to

2009-01-01T21:16:05Z

Am I the only person on this plane of existence who just doesn't get Mamma Mia? (Those of you who hate all musicals as a rule are exempt from this question - and here's an alternative question: how does it feel being no bloody fun?) I really couldn't stand it. And I mean that literally: I had to turn it off after half an hour. Even the awesome Christine Baranski (whom I love), and the heavyweight of Meryl Streep (whom I don't 'love' as such, but on merit is also awesome) couldn't save it for me. I just...hated it.

Is it one of those musicals that you have to see on stage to fully appreciate? Or is a deep love for the music of ABBA a prerequisite? I mean, I can belt out CHICKEN TIK-KA YOU ARE MY BRO... with the best of them, and I Do I Do I Do I Do I Do I Do I Do I Do I Do is an earworm more times than I care to admit, but I wouldn't necessarily call myself a fan.

Maybe it's the plot. Daughter Finds Out Mother Was Slut. Can't Identify Father For Wedding Purposes. Hilarity Ensues. I mean, I'm sure most paternity cases are ideal fodder for a delightful romp, but still. I'm just saying.

All I know is I have to go watch The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas, Hairspray AND The Little Shop of Horrors just to get the taste out of my mouth.

At least I now have an excuse for the inevitable lack of a snog on NYE

2008-12-29T16:03:16Z

GAH, THE LURG. IT IS HURTING ME.

It's been creeping up since I got home, but this sore throat has just hit its straps, it seems. It feels like I have attempted to swallow a Matchbox car. A Matchbox car that has shards of glass and bits of barbed wire glued all over it. A Matchbox car that has shards of glass and bits of barbed wire glued all over it, and was also set on fire just prior to my consumption. You get the idea.

So now I'm awake in the middle of the night again. The jetlag has seamlessly cross-faded into illness. Maybe once I get over this little bug I can develop some insomnia - then I need never sleep through the night again.

Sensory Scrapbook

2008-12-28T19:06:03Z

The following will always be indelibly linked to my three weeks in New York, on account of their repetition, or significance, or in some cases, excess consumption:

Jason Mraz - I'm Yours
We spent a lot of time in cars, driving hither and thither, and this song was ALWAYS on. Seriously, always. If I didn't know better, I'd swear that there are entire radio stations in Westchester County that play nothing but Jason Mraz, The Veronicas' Untouched, and various AC/DC songs on loop. I'm not particularly fond of the song, there are far too many pauses - "But I.....won't...heh...suh......tate...no..........more...noooo...more..." (is he distracted? did someone let him take a PSP into the recording studio or something?), but I'm now compelled to sing the staccato hell out of that shit every time I hear it.

Capsicum
I know Americans call capsicums 'peppers', but what I didn't realise was some of them have never even heard the word 'capsicum'. The first time I said it, Danielle looked at me like I'd just spoken Welsh. A lot of time was then spent being the kind of arrogant foreigner who corrects the locals on their words, just for funsies. CAPSICUM. ALUMINIUM. BAY-CON. Fucking tourists.

Quotable Phrases from SNL, 30 Rock and Airplane/Flying High
We watched an excessive number of these, and sometimes we would have entire conversations consisting of nothing but nerdy-assed quotes:
"I want to go to there."
"GOULET."
"You win. You always DO."
"Ruff? Just how your mother likes it!"
"PISS OFF, YOU GROTTY LITTLE WANKER"
"Oversized hat. It's funny. It's funny because it's bigger than, ah, a regulat sized hat."
"I just want to let you know - good luck. We're all counting on you."
"We're the dahncerrrs."
"Ahahahahahahahahaha get out of here, you little bastard."
"I'm gonna distract you with some fancy pageant walkin'!"
"It's a simple question. Would you eat the moon if it was made out of ribs?"
"Bernard, it's hot in the worm!"
"Jim never has a second cup of coffee at home?"
"Supercalifragalisticexpealidocious...is a disease of the liver."
"Roll call...and Murray, yes. Present."
"I am born anew in your genius."
"Jim never vomits at home?"
"I am not alone in thinking that you make Gandhi look like a child pornographer."
"It's BORPO!"
"I found a dead cat on the side of the road so I took it home and put some honey on it and I cooked it and I ate it is that bad do-do-doo-doooo" (this is sung)
"Turd Ferguson. It's a funny name."
"Gimme Ape-Tit for 800."
"Headquarters, what is it? It's a big building with generals, but that's not important right now."
"We're warmed up like biscuits. Dance biscuits."
"What do you mean, you got no fucking chips? I come here on a plane, you CUNT."
"I once got a pair of binoculars and stared at the sun for an hour. I guess I'm curious like that. That's why my friends call me Whiskers!"
"I could make a hat, or a brooch, or a pterodactyl that flies!"

Buffalo Wings
That stuff is magic. I want to eat them and make clothes out of them and have sex with them.

How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?
The aim was to work that question into a conversation while making it sound like a genuine, thought-provoking question. Of course, as soon as you get to the word "wood" the whole thing is a dead giveaway, but you had to follow through with it as a serious question. "How much wood, do you think, a woodchuck would chuck - but consider this: only if the aforementioned woodchuck could, theoretically, chuck wood?" Hmm.

Beyonce - Single Ladies
Partly because the Justin Timberlake/Paul Rudd/Beyonce sketch on SNL was hilarious, partly because the film clip is strangely hypnotic, and partly because it's a major earworm; this song was never more than a few "WUH OH OH"s away. And then a bit of the dance.

Do you have any Clare Bowditch?
This was a private joke between John and James from their workplace that none of us ever really got, but it was just inane enough to seep into everyone's consciousness.

Snowboarding
I have lived an hour's drive away from the skifields of NSW for four years now, and have not once been down for a ski or a board. I had to go to Hunter Mountain in New York to try it for the first time. And it was amazing. Without the help of Bobby, our proficient American companion, I'd still be face down in the snow today, except by now I'd be half eaten by black bears.

Do you have any hardcore trance?
John thought he was hilarious as I was flicking through my iPod. It's not even a funny or witty comment, but there you go - it was asked almost constantly from that moment on.

Remote controlled helicopters
Through bizarre coincidence, no less than three of the guys found themselves with those miniature helicopters as Secret Santa gifts on Christmas Day. I knew of one being given, and the reason it was chosen was the theory that any man of any age would love it. We were right.

Guitar Hero: World Tour
Oh holy mother of god, do I SUCK ASS at the drums on this game. Don't tell your American hosts that you can kick them up and down the street with The Living End's Prisoner of Society (they're Australian, of course I'll be awesome at it!), because that is a LIE.

It's amazing how one short holiday can hijack so many...things. Beyonce, Guitar Hero, random quotes - they all belong to the trip now.

Nearly Done

2008-12-28T10:19:21Z

Tuesday December 23
- housebound for most of the day. There is a shopping expedition planned, but I've already had my share of laughs at Wal-Mart's expense.
- shovelling snow. It's up to the waist at the kitchen door, and we needed to dig paths from the doors to the hot-tub, the wood pile and the pool house. It is while digging the latter that we discover, behind the pool house, a suitably large and marvellous snow covered hill for sledding. How fortuitous, then, that we had just located four sleds (well, they looked more like garbage bin lids with handles) in a shed! We threw ourselves precariously down the hill on those insignificant slivers of plastic, and even managed to crack one of them.
- started the two day job of emptying, cleaning, and refilling the hot tub. Determined to get in that thing before the holiday's end.
- decided that the sledding wasn't enough - need to go back to Hunter Mountain for more snowboarding tomorrow.

Wednesday December 24
- Christmas Eve! But...what's this? Why is that snow falling so fast? And why is it not water coloured, not white? BECAUSE IT'S FUCKING RAIN. That's bad for snowboarding, because it's even colder, and the roads are wall to wall ice. Housebound again.
- Tried to upload photos, but got bored. Hung out in The Lodge, starting many games of Monopoly, and finishing none of them.
- Realised late in the afternoon that it wasn't even that cold outside. Turns out it was about 48 degrees (not celsius), and the rain was melting most of the snow away. Spent a little while outdoors on Christmas Eve in New York in a t-shirt. Weird.
- the Obenauers stick to their tradition, and provide us all with Christmas pyjamas. Those comfy tartan beauties would later serve me very well getting me home on the long haul flight from LAX to Sydney.

Thursday December 25 - MERRY CHRISTMAS!!
- Hooray! Up at 7am, ready for opening of presents by 7:30am. Jack is so cute, fully in the swing of opening presents at three years old. Can, weirdly enough, recognise all symbols and logos for various superheroes, despite some of them being mostly text-based.
- giant breakfast as a final hurrah, and then bidding farewell to everyone to be on the road by midday.

Thursday December 25 - Saturday December 27 (plus/minus time zones)
- 12pm - hit the road from Hunter Mountain.
- 3:15pm - arrive at Kennedy Airport. Totally bummed about leaving, cheer myself with a duty free purchase of Burberry something-or-other.
- 6:40pm - plane departs for LAX.
- five and a half hours later (I can't figure out the timezones) - arrive in LAX.
- two hours after that - depart LAX for Sydney.
- fourteen and a half hours later - land in Sydney. Was there a fucking headwind?
- four hours later - plane departs Sydney for Canberra.
- one hour later - plane arrives in Canberra. Small delay with landing - first attempt at a descent turned the cabin into a Pop-O-Matic Bubble. Bumpy!
- one more hour - arrive home. Tired, uncomfortable, utterly depressed about leaving, decide Australia is a fucking dump. Kidding.

And that, in a variety of nutshells, was my holiday in New York.

Ta-dah!!

Home Stretch Dottage

2008-12-27T09:13:56Z

Monday, December 22
- first morning at the Inn. Unbefuckinglievable. This place is awesome. Still as hard as ever to get people up and at 'em, but at least there is now at least one bathroom for, on average, every 1.5 people. Sweet.
- the major agenda point today? SNOWBOARDING. Hunter Mountain, the ski lodge, is only two minutes down the road, and a cheap hire store is between us and the slopes. Off we go.
- SNOWBOARDING IS THE MOST FUCKING FUN THING I HAVE EVER DONE. So embarrassed to be living so close to Thredbo, and have not once been there during ski season. That will change in 2009.
- playing 'Spot The Aussie' on the slopes is embarrassingly easy - they are the only five people on the whole mountain unprepared and stupid enough to just be wearing jeans. After about an hour, they have become the only five people wearing a 1cm thick armour plate of ice across our asses, with jeans underneath.
- upgraded from the bunny hill (no ski lift), to the lowest ski lift, to the second lowest ski lift. Result. Eventually face froze off and had to return to the Inn for some quality time in the deer head/leather lounge room.

Fuck me sideways, I'm so tired. I'm home now, after 34 hours (and a bit) of travel. Three hours drive from the Inn to JFK, three hours wait at JFK, five and a bit hours from JFK to LAX, two hours wait at LAX, 14 and a bit hours from LAX to Sydney, four hours wait at Sydney, and another hour to Canberra. Death. I thought I'd catch up on the last few days of dottage, but it's going to have to wait. I hope I don't forget any stuff that happened, thereby completely defeating the purpose of this whole exercise.

So, so tired.

(Donny, I am spewing that I missed you, but fear not - if the first trip back in '05 sent a clear message that I'll have to come back for a second trip one day, then this second trip has sent an even stronger message regarding a third trip. And a fourth. And fifth.)

Tired.

Merry Christmas!