Bloggaversary
I missed my one year anniversary of blogging. It was earlier this month. I can’t believe I missed it. Especially since I never even expected to last longer than a month before becoming bored with the medium.
But here I am. One year older. And one year bloggier.
I suppose I’ll go for a drink with Sleepwalker or something. Or I’ll buy myself a present. Maybe create a new banner for this site. I don’t know. Maybe.
It went quite quickly. The year I mean. Even though I did struggle towards the end there. I hope I get to write more in year two.
All the comments that I have for my old blog entries have disappeared. They said that it’s not gone. It’s just been put in storage. So I go look up what I have in storage and there’s nothing there. Oh well. I guess it’s gone.
On Sunday night, I sat riveted, glued to the TV screen, watching the Eurovision song contest. What makes this worse than it already sounds is that I didn’t even get to see the performances. All I saw was the points tally and the final performance by Turkey. But I saw the T.A.T.U. girls hugging each other everytime someone gave them 12 points so I had to stick around.
They really do live in a different world, those Europeans…
Finally, before I go on to write a useless year-end awards thing, Riss wanted a mention if I was to write about blogging for one year. So here you go. Riss. You got yourself a mention ; )
__________
A useless year-end awards thing (xtn, season one, 2002/03)
All my favourite things from the past year.
Favourite CD - Ben Kweller (Sha Sha). This is an example of when random purchases work. I went to HMV, tried this CD by some geeky-looking guy I’ve never heard of, bought it and now it’s my favourite CD of the year. Trust me. It’s really good.
Favourite song - Curbside prophet (Jason Mraz). This guy is like Eminem with a guitar and without the violence… or the swearing… well maybe he’s not much like Eminem at all. But I’d rate these two as the most clever lyricists I’ve heard in a long time, if not ever. And I’m going to his concert! Yay!
Favourite concert – The Bens. I got Riss to thank for bringing me back to watching concerts (see, you got another mention). Although at the time I thought the Counting Crows concert was better (and in some ways it was), thinking back on it now… Kweller’s drugged out charisma, Lee’s um… well he sang well… and Folds’ sheer brilliance on that piano… not to mention the excellent rapport they had with the audience and each other… the way they were bumbling around the stage… and Jimmy Barnes’ surprise appearance… now I’m thinking, man, I’m never gonna see a concert that good ever again!
Favourite movie – Brotherhood of the wolf. Yeah, it’s a weird-arse French martial arts horror period piece. One of those. And I know it probably isn’t the best movie released in the past year. But it stands out as the most memorable. 8 mile gets an honourable mention. So does LOTR: The two towers. Matrix Reloaded gets a thumbs down from me.
Favourite purchase - My car. My fully-sick-mobile. Yeah I’ve been driving this Lancer MR for the past five years anyway… but it feels different when it becomes my car. Especially with the personalised plates and all.
Favourite piece of politics – The war with Iraq changing from being about weapons of mass destruction to being about freeing the Iraqi people. I don’t care much for politics but I found this… um… entertaining. And if anyone happens to read this and thinks I’ve misunderstood something or whatnot, please don’t bother saying anything. I won’t care enough to listen.
Favourite TV moment – When David Letterman decided to drop all this stuff from on top of his building onto an empty alleyway. What did he drop? Gallons and gallons of bottled water, a few buckets of superballs (really bouncy rubber balls), 25 cans of paint, hundreds of packets of playing cards, 20 bowling balls on a used car and my favourite, a giant bowl of chocolate pudding! This was on par with the time he wanted to see how many guys in bunny suits can go into a café before the owners complained.
Favourite new TV show – How old is Always Greener? Because other than that, I can’t think of anything else. I still watch old shows. How about Enterprise? Did that come on during the past year?
__________
That’s enough time wasted.
Thanks for reading.
Hope you’ll be sticking around…
Christian Harimanow
Sydney 2003
Thursday, May 29, 2003
Thursday, May 22, 2003
Staring blankly at the sky
TEA MAKES ME PEE
Should be on a bumper sticker. Or a t-shirt or something.
TEA MAKES ME PEE
I was thinking this last night as I got out of my bed for the fourth time in an hour to go relieve myself. I don’t have to explain that I had a mug of tea before I went to bed, do I? Otherwise this would all make very little sense.
I was trying to get back into my reading. But I had to have a toilet break after every chapter and it was late and I was tired and I had Dave Matthews singing ‘can’t buy me love, love, love…’ in my head, except in my head it might have been me singing rather than him but just with his vocal range instead of my own pathetic range so I’m sure that I’ve forgotten everything about the book already.
This is really bad.
I haven’t been reading much. And I haven’t been writing much. Or playing the piano. Or even trying to play the piano. I feel like my creative mojo has been sucked out of me. I’m distracted. I have nothing to write. Even though there is so much I could write about. But the words won’t come out. I’m choking. Hey everybody’s joking now. The clock’s run out. Time’s up, over… oh shut up Em!
Fine. So I have nothing to write. I guess I’ll just have to write about nothing if nothing is all I have left.
I will de-chronicle my life. Right here. Right now. For now. I will specifically not write about things that have happened to me. I may end up forgetting a few memories but I probably won’t. And if I do forget then I wouldn’t remember that I used to remember anyway. So I lose nothing. It’s all the same. It’s all about where I am right now.
My arse hurts after all that.
So now I finish off with a thought. One I had last night. Somewhere in between the book and the toilet and Dave Matthews. It goes something like this:
I think I will buy a small plot of land somewhere up the coast. I don’t know. Somewhere like Port Stephens perhaps. It could be on the side of the road. Somewhere convenient. Maybe near a petrol station. On it I will build a small shack. It will be made out of glow in the dark bricks so people driving past at night won’t miss it. I will be sitting on a nice comfy chair inside the shack and on the roof will be a giant inflatable doll of myself (or if I can’t afford that, I’ll just buy a McDonald’s one and place a likeness of my face on top of Ronald’s) holding a sign saying:
THE WORLD’S MOST PHOTOGRAPHED MAN
And there will be other signs on the streets and highways pointing to my shack. And all the signs will say:
THE WORLD’S MOST PHOTOGRAPHED MAN
And people will come from all over to take a photograph of the world’s most photographed man. And they will even be taking photographs of photographs of the world’s most photographed man. And next to the shack where I sit will be a small panel van with a TEA MAKES ME PEE bumper sticker on it and the back will be open and that will be where you can buy all the merchandise. You can buy stickers, autographed polaroids, postcards, coasters, t-shirts with ‘My friends went to see the world’s most photographed man and all I got was this lousy t-shirt’ printed on. There will also be mugs, pens and all sorts of other stuff. Even a cardboard cut-out of me that you can take a picture with.
A couple of hundred metres away, exactly the same junk will be available from authentic dodgy-looking Indian peddlers, at a 25% markdown.
Japanese tourists will come and take pictures of me before even thinking to ask who I am. And this will of course perpetuate the myth and more will come.
A smart middle-aged American couple will take eight pictures of me from several different angles.
‘Look Ned, it’s the world’s most photographed man.’
‘Well what do you know.’
Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap!
‘I wonder who he is Ned.’
‘Why, he’s the world’s most photographed man, Blanche. It says so on the sign.’
Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap!
‘But who is he Ned? What does he do?’
‘I suppose peoples takes photographs of him blanche.’
That was my thought.
It was an interesting thought.
I thought it was interesting anyway.
I need to pee.
TEA MAKES ME PEE
Should be on a bumper sticker. Or a t-shirt or something.
TEA MAKES ME PEE
I was thinking this last night as I got out of my bed for the fourth time in an hour to go relieve myself. I don’t have to explain that I had a mug of tea before I went to bed, do I? Otherwise this would all make very little sense.
I was trying to get back into my reading. But I had to have a toilet break after every chapter and it was late and I was tired and I had Dave Matthews singing ‘can’t buy me love, love, love…’ in my head, except in my head it might have been me singing rather than him but just with his vocal range instead of my own pathetic range so I’m sure that I’ve forgotten everything about the book already.
This is really bad.
I haven’t been reading much. And I haven’t been writing much. Or playing the piano. Or even trying to play the piano. I feel like my creative mojo has been sucked out of me. I’m distracted. I have nothing to write. Even though there is so much I could write about. But the words won’t come out. I’m choking. Hey everybody’s joking now. The clock’s run out. Time’s up, over… oh shut up Em!
Fine. So I have nothing to write. I guess I’ll just have to write about nothing if nothing is all I have left.
I will de-chronicle my life. Right here. Right now. For now. I will specifically not write about things that have happened to me. I may end up forgetting a few memories but I probably won’t. And if I do forget then I wouldn’t remember that I used to remember anyway. So I lose nothing. It’s all the same. It’s all about where I am right now.
My arse hurts after all that.
So now I finish off with a thought. One I had last night. Somewhere in between the book and the toilet and Dave Matthews. It goes something like this:
I think I will buy a small plot of land somewhere up the coast. I don’t know. Somewhere like Port Stephens perhaps. It could be on the side of the road. Somewhere convenient. Maybe near a petrol station. On it I will build a small shack. It will be made out of glow in the dark bricks so people driving past at night won’t miss it. I will be sitting on a nice comfy chair inside the shack and on the roof will be a giant inflatable doll of myself (or if I can’t afford that, I’ll just buy a McDonald’s one and place a likeness of my face on top of Ronald’s) holding a sign saying:
THE WORLD’S MOST PHOTOGRAPHED MAN
And there will be other signs on the streets and highways pointing to my shack. And all the signs will say:
THE WORLD’S MOST PHOTOGRAPHED MAN
And people will come from all over to take a photograph of the world’s most photographed man. And they will even be taking photographs of photographs of the world’s most photographed man. And next to the shack where I sit will be a small panel van with a TEA MAKES ME PEE bumper sticker on it and the back will be open and that will be where you can buy all the merchandise. You can buy stickers, autographed polaroids, postcards, coasters, t-shirts with ‘My friends went to see the world’s most photographed man and all I got was this lousy t-shirt’ printed on. There will also be mugs, pens and all sorts of other stuff. Even a cardboard cut-out of me that you can take a picture with.
A couple of hundred metres away, exactly the same junk will be available from authentic dodgy-looking Indian peddlers, at a 25% markdown.
Japanese tourists will come and take pictures of me before even thinking to ask who I am. And this will of course perpetuate the myth and more will come.
A smart middle-aged American couple will take eight pictures of me from several different angles.
‘Look Ned, it’s the world’s most photographed man.’
‘Well what do you know.’
Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap!
‘I wonder who he is Ned.’
‘Why, he’s the world’s most photographed man, Blanche. It says so on the sign.’
Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap!
‘But who is he Ned? What does he do?’
‘I suppose peoples takes photographs of him blanche.’
That was my thought.
It was an interesting thought.
I thought it was interesting anyway.
I need to pee.
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