Six Random Things About Me

Bagley tagged me with this one. I ain't tagging anyone else. Yes, I'm a rebel without a cause, without a pause, without drawers?

1. When I was sixteen, I fell in love with the saxophone. Because I couldn't afford one, I bought a harmonica instead. I've been playing ever since.
2. For one whole year in high school, I only wore red socks. Yes, with other clothes. Quiet, you in the back.
3. My biggest fear is an almost indescribable feeling of being turned inside-out in more than three dimensions.
4. I can flare my nostrils on cue. Hey, not everyone can.
5. My cat's name is Dax. He's a moggie, but mostly Russian Blue with a touch of Oriental.
6. I was on Facebook for a while until it gave me the shits. So I removed myself. My digestion improved immediately.
   

The 123 Meme Ends Here

My creative energies have been sucked dry by my work schedule so I haven't been blogging much or spending too much time on the internet, aside from hanging out at The Wormwood Society. I still owe Barbara a post, but for now, this one's nice and easy.

The 123 Meme:

1. Pick up the nearest book.
2. Open it to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the next three sentences.
5. Tag five people, and acknowledge who tagged you.

Damien over at After Dark My Sweet tagged me, but since so many people have done this meme already, I'm going to be a complete rebel against society and not tag anyone else.

THE JOY OF MIXOLOGY by Gary Regan

"It turned out that the bar hadn't ordered the correct glassware for a Boston shaker, so this guy had just improvised. Even when the right glasses arrived, he decided to keep using the two metal pieces. Nothing wrong with that--it displays showmanship and imagination."

Cobra And Scorpion Whiskey

Who would have thought a product like this could come out of a sweet and innocent country like Thailand?

Special Deal

Courtesy of Gizmodo.

Make A Grown Man Giggle

Me And Monica

The Internet has that very special ability to keep track of every single thing you say to it, even if it lasts for only a short time and you change your mind and revise.

The other day I wrote a post titled 'The Long And Winding Road'. Because I was in a hard-arse crime writing mood, the original title was 'The Fucking Long And Winding Road'. When I wrote it like that, it wasn't coming from any kind of angst place. I just liked the sound of the phrase.

Next morning, I looked at it and realised that just like in real life, whenever I swear it sounds like I'm an old fart that isn't hip to the lingo of the kids today. I was brought up not to swear and agreed with it in full, at least until I was old enough to indulge in guns, drugs, and hookers.

Then I found that a little swearing can go a long way.

But in this case, that post's title didn't work, so I took the word 'fucking' out. It's the same process I use in some of my short stories. Put lots of 'fucking' in, then take the extras out in the edit.

The absolutely funny thing about this is that for the short time the post had the word 'fucking' in it, a dodgy Taiwanese search engine picked it up and autoblogged it. And for some reason, attached 'Monica Bellucci nuda' on the end.

There's nothing wrong with being attached to a naked Monica Bellucci, so I offer this post up as fodder to all the other dodgy Taiwanese search engines out there.

Here's hoping it ruins my future career in politics.

U For Uncanny

Hey, the blog can't be totally about NaNoWriMo.

True Romance

Awe inspiring. From Longmire Does Romance Novels.

Spam Poetry

Found this at the bottom of an email telling me how I could become my own employer and earn $30 per product shipped. Interesting word choice and rhythm.

bloody-hearted rubber latex Paleo-amerind
pulse-jet engine step turn poplar-covered
field ash nail-headed red-fleshed
guard ship hill station hand-filled
chicken gumbo quasi-grave carriage bow
gold-studded up-bow sign storm-boding
fairy godmother ivory cutter printing-in
vine fretter north-countriness saddle cutter

It speaks for itself, doesn't it?

Marketing Versus Art

Marketing: A Case Of Diminishing Returns And Cycles

"Hey, these Mars Bars sure are tasty. I'd like four hundred please."

Thirty later ...

"I don't want to see another Mars Bar for as long as I live."

A decade later ...

"Mars Bars are back!"

Art: An Endless Search For Perfection

"Can I have a bite of that Mars Bar?"

A pause.

"Not bad, but I've already moved on. It doesn't mean anything to me anymore."

Another pause.

"What's that in your other hand? A Snickers? Can I have a bite?"

Variation On A Desk

Snagged this little doohickey meme from Christa M. Miller, but I decided to do my own version of it. A simpler version.

Instructions: show three of the most interesting items on your desk.

Even this presented a problem for me. See, I use a laptop at home nowadays, and since our dining table decided to take over the living room, the upstairs bedroom that was my work area is now used for other, more evil activities.

Which leaves me without a desk.

Luckily, I have a day job, which includes a desk. If I told you the details of what was on it, I could very easily have private investigators follow me around for weeks as part of an elongated background check.

Enough with the chit-chat. On to the ITEMS (spoken in booming voice).

Below, we have DARTH TATER, NUNZILLA, and DEAD DUCK.



Yes, I am a geek. But, like, black's a really cool colour, okay?

Now, your turn.

Australian Television At Its Best

Throwing up videos on this blog is not the usual state of affairs. For one thing, it really scratches my throat. This was too good to pass up, though.

Sunrise is the most popular morning show on Aussie telly and its hosts have become household names. Imagine their surprise when a guest feels the need to pass a message on to his girlfriend.

Watch the video, then head over to The Chaser, the 'newspaper' the guest works for, and you'll understand how the whole thing may have come to pass.

The Power Of The Beard

See, there's this guy what I know cause I found out about him on the in-nerd-net. He's beardy, but unlike Stephen King, he's not a writer, he's a write-ist.

That's right. I'm talking about the one and only Stuart MacBride, author of Cold Granite and now Dying Light. He's a brilliant crime writer, sorry, write-ist, but absolutely terrible as a weatherman.

Why is this you say?

Well, he accused me of being a freak driven out from under a rock by the heat of summer. Maybe in your part of the world, Jack, but down under, it's winter. Even though scantily clad girls in bikinis are telling the rest of the world to get the bloody hell down here, the cold granite reality is that our nipples are rock solid from the cold, just begging to have things hung from them.

Did I type that or just think it?

Ahem.

This is what I get for madly sending him my photo.

Oh well, anything for a bit of linkage.

Cheers, Stuart.

Everyone Uses iTunes

I've seen this meme floating around and finally decided to take it on in a desperate attempt to write the quintessential Friday blog post.

The idea is to use the shuffle feature in iTunes or any similar program to pick random songs from your music collection as answers to all-important questions.

Here's what I came up with. Some of them are quite revealing, even though this is all bullshit anyway.

* * *

How does the world see me?
In Love Dub - King Tubby

Will I have a happy life?
What Is And What Should Never Be - Jimmy Page And The Black Crowes

What do my friends really think of me?
How Many More Years - Freddie King

Do people secretly lust after me?
Loose Tongue - Neil Finn

How can I make myself happy?
Ookey Oook - The Penguins

What should I do with my life?
I'll Be Mellow When I'm Dead - Weird Al Yankovic

Will I ever have children?
Settle For Nothing - Rage Against The Machine

What is some good advice for me?
Black Man Blues - John Lee Hooker with the Groundhogs

How will I be remembered?
Help These Blues - Blues Explosion

What is my signature dancing song?
I Want To Take You Higher - Sly & The Family Stone

What do I think my current theme song is?
Lullaby - Lamb

What does everyone else think my current theme song is?
Catcher - Komeda

What song will play at my funeral?
Endlessly - Muse

What type of woman do I like?
I Got What I Wanted - Ted Hawkins

What is my day going to be like?
Little and Low - Homesick James

Why Is Google Trying To Stop Me?

From Thesaurus.com:

Main Entry: stop

Synonyms: bar, barricade, blank wall, block, blockade, break, break off, brick wall, cease, cessation, check, close, closing, conclusion, control, cutoff, desistance, discontinuation, ending, fence, finish, freeze, grinding halt, halt, hindrance, impediment, layoff, letup, lull, pause, plug, roadblock, screeching halt, standstill, stay, stoppage, termination, wall

Must. Blog. More.

Been ploughing through a couple of writing deadlines, but hopefully the dust will settle on Sunday and I can return with a mildly extravagant post on the nature of toenails and the microscopic civilised worlds underneath them.

Until then, I give you:

BEER-AMISU

When Will It Stop?

Today I learned the value of going to work. Somewhat like fasting to appreciate food, or travelling to appreciate home, I am now appreciating the benefits of a workplace. Sure, I have to get up early and I have to put up with flaky air-conditioning and co-workers, but at least my brain isn't drilled into.

Let me explain.

Thinking that I'd be able to sleep in today, I stayed up till about 1am last night, playing on the good old Xbox. My partner in crime gets up at around 6am, so that means I temporarily wake up at the same time.

This is fine by me. I can handle it. What I can't handle is heavy knocking on the door about two hours later.

I'm not sure what happened. Someone banged on the door and woke me up, but before I got out of bed, they'd already closed the front gate. Across the road, I could see the perpetrator knocking on someone else's door. Unlike me, they answered, so I stuck my ear against the window and tried to listen in. From what I could tell, the door knocker was a gardening disposal person and was offering some kind of tree trunk destruction. I thought about it. Should I open the door, rush across the road and say, count me in?

No. I don't have any tree trunks.

I checked all around the house. Under the sink, in the fridge, under the bed. Nope. No tree trunks. No large pieces of wood. I knocked on my skull, just to see if that was made of wood. Maybe I could get them to shove my head into their Truck Of Mass Destruction. I mean, they're already figuratively destroying it. Why not go the whole hog and murder me in a bloody bath of gardening?

And it's still going. They've been mulching or shredding or whatever it is they do for the last three hours, non-stop. Add the usual Tuesday morning garbage pickup into the mix and my head is seriously sore.

Everything's quiet now. I think it just stopped. So this is what the life of a writer in the inner city is like.

Now, back to procrastinating.

Mystery Around The Corner

What are those little white things? Who drank the Coke?

Oh, my God! Who left the baby there?

Yes, I Have Plenty To Do

Proof That Einstein Knew EVERYTHING

From hetemeel.com