Gee. What to write…
I find myself not in a blogging mood and not having been in one for quite a while. I don’t write in mine. I don’t read others. Nothing personal. I’m just not interested at the moment.
I’m going out for drinks tonight. I don’t do that so often anymore. My doctor tells me I have a drinking problem. She says that you’re only meant to have two standard drinks a day. She tells me that there is positive evidence that alcohol is cancer-inducing. Lots of things are cancer-inducing. Last week, my workmate told me that Rice Bubbles is cancer-inducing.
Doc: Do you drink?
Me: Yes.
Doc: How often?
Me: About once a week or so.
Doc: How many drinks?
Me: Um… about four or five [conservative count].
Doc: Is that schooners, midis, spirits?
Me: Schooners, I guess [is pints an option?].
Doc: So that would equate to what… seven standard drinks?
Me: Um… I guess so.
Doc: Do you think you have a drinking problem?
Me: Um… no.
Doc: I think you do.
Didn’t I come in to have my Asthma checked out?
You’re an alcoholic.
__________
I bought Ryan Adams’ new one (Cold Roses) for the second time last week. Thank goodness that Ryan, for me, transcends any kind of sentimental associations that one normally attaches between songs and significant life events (e.g. trips, chance romantic encounters or your first taste of Habibs). To allow someone enough power to taint my appreciation Ryan’s music would be unforgivable. Fortunately, I enjoy hearing (to paraphrase Lisa Simpson) the sweet country soul in his voice as much now as I ever did.
Friday, May 27, 2005
Tuesday, May 17, 2005
Sunday, May 15, 2005
You get up early this morning and find out it’s not really that early after all. You don’t feel the least bit refreshed and your mouth has a funny taste. It’s the asthma meds you took the night before. After all these years, you should be used to it by now.
At this point, you should probably go to the bathroom to relieve yourself. Or you could go back to sleep for a little while longer. It’s tempting. But the arse wants what the arse wants. And you go with it. And then you clean up after it. That’s always the way it goes.
Walking down Forest Road on a cool late weekend morning, your most pressing choice is whether to go for a pork roll or something not so entirely predictable. You pass by the yum cha place and see two old women coughing. It makes you cough as well.
You know that dream where you’ve left the house and you’ve forgotten to change from the clothes you fell out of bed with? That’s you today.
Hooded top: $25
Can of tuna from which the stains on the hooded top came from: 99c
Shorts: $12
Thongs: $1.50
Getting out of bed and walking straight out the door: ….
Somewhere along the line, you stopped caring, didn’t you?
Nobody’s gonna die just because you go out not wearing shoes.
It’s hard to not talk to anyone. There was so much noise and yet none of it has anything to do with you. You slip in and out of the crowds. You feel alone. You’re a nobody. Most people don’t notice you. And if they do, they will forget within seconds.
It’s incognito without needing to be. Dishevelled without a cause.
It feels mildly depressing. You’re mildly angry.
Whatever.
Here’s the thing. Certain scenery, the right weather, the right company and you’ll think you’ve seen heaven. A combination of darkness and certain sounds can make you fear. Passing a certain restaurant can make you hungry. Mood lighting can make you fall in love.
The heart wants what the heart wants. Or so it goes.
But sometimes what you might think is your heart speaking may just be your arse. And the arse always wants what the arse wants. And you’ll go with it. And then clean up after it.
That’s just the way it always goes.
At this point, you should probably go to the bathroom to relieve yourself. Or you could go back to sleep for a little while longer. It’s tempting. But the arse wants what the arse wants. And you go with it. And then you clean up after it. That’s always the way it goes.
Walking down Forest Road on a cool late weekend morning, your most pressing choice is whether to go for a pork roll or something not so entirely predictable. You pass by the yum cha place and see two old women coughing. It makes you cough as well.
You know that dream where you’ve left the house and you’ve forgotten to change from the clothes you fell out of bed with? That’s you today.
Hooded top: $25
Can of tuna from which the stains on the hooded top came from: 99c
Shorts: $12
Thongs: $1.50
Getting out of bed and walking straight out the door: ….
Somewhere along the line, you stopped caring, didn’t you?
Nobody’s gonna die just because you go out not wearing shoes.
It’s hard to not talk to anyone. There was so much noise and yet none of it has anything to do with you. You slip in and out of the crowds. You feel alone. You’re a nobody. Most people don’t notice you. And if they do, they will forget within seconds.
It’s incognito without needing to be. Dishevelled without a cause.
It feels mildly depressing. You’re mildly angry.
Whatever.
Here’s the thing. Certain scenery, the right weather, the right company and you’ll think you’ve seen heaven. A combination of darkness and certain sounds can make you fear. Passing a certain restaurant can make you hungry. Mood lighting can make you fall in love.
The heart wants what the heart wants. Or so it goes.
But sometimes what you might think is your heart speaking may just be your arse. And the arse always wants what the arse wants. And you’ll go with it. And then clean up after it.
That’s just the way it always goes.
Monday, May 09, 2005
We had this thing that I could hardly call a cot because it was so big that my mum could fit in it and she often did, with me in it as well. My brother and sister also used this contraption as babies, but since I’m the youngest, I was still sleeping in it to a ridiculously advanced age. Maybe five or six, I’d say. When I think back on it, it probably resembled a dog kennel more than anything else. Like a bed inside a cage. And when you opened the top front grill, it would lower down to make the space under the bed like a cage. This space under the bed, with the grill brought down, is where I liked to sleep. On the floor. Because I was weird. Because I was a nut.
And she let me. She even came with me sometimes too.
And when I got older, and I heard so many of my friends complain about them going out too much, there was my mum telling me, ‘It’s important that you go out plenty while you’re young. I went out all the time when I was young and they were very happy times.
And there I was, thinking, ‘Cool.’
There was the ugly episode when she told me off about my HSC mark and how I didn’t study enough and how my cousin got a better mark than me. And I told her off back.
But then there was the next day when she came to me and apologised. And I knew then that I had a mother who was able to treat me like an adult and, more importantly, like an equal.
There was time when we asked her why she wears her wedding band on her right hand and she said, ‘Because I married the right man.’ And I knew then where my dorky sense of humour came from.
She has never really been a conventional Asian mum. She used to tell me how she was embarrassed that she was the only one among her friends who had no idea what subjects her son did in school. And when I came home, instead of having a prepared dinner on the stove, she would often tell me to pop some frozen nuggets in the oven for dinner while she would be playing the piano for countless hours.
But when you consider that she redid AMEB grades 3-8 and a couple of subsequent diplomas as a fifty-something year-old mother who had almost completely given up her favourite musical instrument for over twenty-five years, I have nothing to feel but pride and respect.
She infuriates me sometimes by how little belief she has in herself (being raised in an environment where women were never meant to be anything but a homemaker). But to me, there’s been nothing she hasn’t been able to achieve when she’s had to. And for all the humility she displays about her qualities, all I can see is how much loved she is by her siblings and her friends. She’s truly one of those people that everyone just can’t help but like. So much so that it’s annoying sometimes.
I know I rarely show affection to family members and I know that I was never the most helpful son. At least not as much as I could have been. But I’m always out. And you wanted me this way!
But tonight was a rare (for recent times anyway) chance at quality time. Just the two of us for dinner. Bloody expensive! But just what we needed.
Happy mother’s day, Mama.
Thank you for allowing me to be me.
I wouldn’t want you any other way either.
And she let me. She even came with me sometimes too.
And when I got older, and I heard so many of my friends complain about them going out too much, there was my mum telling me, ‘It’s important that you go out plenty while you’re young. I went out all the time when I was young and they were very happy times.
And there I was, thinking, ‘Cool.’
There was the ugly episode when she told me off about my HSC mark and how I didn’t study enough and how my cousin got a better mark than me. And I told her off back.
But then there was the next day when she came to me and apologised. And I knew then that I had a mother who was able to treat me like an adult and, more importantly, like an equal.
There was time when we asked her why she wears her wedding band on her right hand and she said, ‘Because I married the right man.’ And I knew then where my dorky sense of humour came from.
She has never really been a conventional Asian mum. She used to tell me how she was embarrassed that she was the only one among her friends who had no idea what subjects her son did in school. And when I came home, instead of having a prepared dinner on the stove, she would often tell me to pop some frozen nuggets in the oven for dinner while she would be playing the piano for countless hours.
But when you consider that she redid AMEB grades 3-8 and a couple of subsequent diplomas as a fifty-something year-old mother who had almost completely given up her favourite musical instrument for over twenty-five years, I have nothing to feel but pride and respect.
She infuriates me sometimes by how little belief she has in herself (being raised in an environment where women were never meant to be anything but a homemaker). But to me, there’s been nothing she hasn’t been able to achieve when she’s had to. And for all the humility she displays about her qualities, all I can see is how much loved she is by her siblings and her friends. She’s truly one of those people that everyone just can’t help but like. So much so that it’s annoying sometimes.
I know I rarely show affection to family members and I know that I was never the most helpful son. At least not as much as I could have been. But I’m always out. And you wanted me this way!
But tonight was a rare (for recent times anyway) chance at quality time. Just the two of us for dinner. Bloody expensive! But just what we needed.
Happy mother’s day, Mama.
Thank you for allowing me to be me.
I wouldn’t want you any other way either.
Thursday, May 05, 2005
Lunch diary
Monday
I went to the chemist in the morning to get an ulcer gel for the five ulcers that have appeared in my mouth. Three come from a basketball accident I had last thursday when my own teammate jumped on my back to get a rebound and somehow cut my lip. Two were from biting my own lip while trying to scoff down a pork roll on friday night. It now hurts. Sometimes even to talk. For lunch I went out to the Mandarin centre and got rice with beef and plum sauce, and vegetables. It tasted alright. Beforehand, I had put the gel on my ulcers and it hurt so much that I started crying out of one eye. This will be as good a lunch as I'll have all week.
Tuesday
I bought a loaf of bread (Helga's sunflower, honey and oat) for $2.50 and some cans of flavoured tuna, which were on sale for $1 each. For lunch I ate four slices of the bread with tuna that was flavoured with sundried tomato and basil. It tasted good. The tuna was good. The bread was really good. I didn't put on the gel this time because I don't want to cry anymore. Rolled up bread can be eaten from the side of the mouth so it doesn't hurt so much.
Wednesday
For lunch I had four slices of bread with tuna that was flavoured with tomato and capsicum. It didn't taste as good as yesterday. I'm not sure if it is because the bread is slightly more stale or the flavour of the tuna was inferior to the one yesterday. I also kept missing the side of my mouth and hit mu ulcers several times. One eye started to water but I did not cry.
Thursday
My mouth still hurts. For lunch I ate four slices of bread with tuna that was flavoured with sundried tomato and basil. It tasted good but I suspect that it is fatty because I have that bad fatty aftertaste in my mouth now. Also, I guess it is correct that this flavour of tuna is superior to tomato and capsicum (note to self). After my second slice of bread, one of my workmates came over and stole a slice out of the bag. I know only have three slices left for tomorrow.
Monday
I went to the chemist in the morning to get an ulcer gel for the five ulcers that have appeared in my mouth. Three come from a basketball accident I had last thursday when my own teammate jumped on my back to get a rebound and somehow cut my lip. Two were from biting my own lip while trying to scoff down a pork roll on friday night. It now hurts. Sometimes even to talk. For lunch I went out to the Mandarin centre and got rice with beef and plum sauce, and vegetables. It tasted alright. Beforehand, I had put the gel on my ulcers and it hurt so much that I started crying out of one eye. This will be as good a lunch as I'll have all week.
Tuesday
I bought a loaf of bread (Helga's sunflower, honey and oat) for $2.50 and some cans of flavoured tuna, which were on sale for $1 each. For lunch I ate four slices of the bread with tuna that was flavoured with sundried tomato and basil. It tasted good. The tuna was good. The bread was really good. I didn't put on the gel this time because I don't want to cry anymore. Rolled up bread can be eaten from the side of the mouth so it doesn't hurt so much.
Wednesday
For lunch I had four slices of bread with tuna that was flavoured with tomato and capsicum. It didn't taste as good as yesterday. I'm not sure if it is because the bread is slightly more stale or the flavour of the tuna was inferior to the one yesterday. I also kept missing the side of my mouth and hit mu ulcers several times. One eye started to water but I did not cry.
Thursday
My mouth still hurts. For lunch I ate four slices of bread with tuna that was flavoured with sundried tomato and basil. It tasted good but I suspect that it is fatty because I have that bad fatty aftertaste in my mouth now. Also, I guess it is correct that this flavour of tuna is superior to tomato and capsicum (note to self). After my second slice of bread, one of my workmates came over and stole a slice out of the bag. I know only have three slices left for tomorrow.
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