Metablogging.

I'm having an existentialist crisis. Of the blogging kind. How sad. See I've been getting the feeling that I write about nothing. Sure, Seinfeld can get away with that premise, but that's only because he's a comic genius.

The whole blog thing started out as a procrastination toy. And now I don't have time to do that, even. Well, except for now. I'm in the Education AccessLab, at the moment and I'm supposed to be finding journal articles on curriculum adaptation/enhancement/augmentation for students with special needs. And I can see LongJohn (ha!) through the glass in the AccessLab annexe. Just thought I'd mention that.

I think I'm a bit over it. Maybe I just don't find anything intersting enough to write about now. Is this a sign that I'm ageing or something? Am I getting the grumps? That sucks. Also I think I'm becoming a little self concious about what I write about too. Fancy that, being anonymous and the like, and still feeling self-concious and stuff. On the net. Bah!

Meanwhile, I'm contemplating a move to Wordpress.

Listening to:
Title: The Girl From Impanema
Artist: Whoever
Album/station: In my head
Length: THE WHOLE FREAKING DAY

Chorus angelorum te suscipiat.

I'm not particularly spiritual. A faith in his noodleness is about as religious as I get. But I'm partial to religious music. Only some, mind you. None of that cheap Hill$ong arms-in-the-air 'rock'. Real, proper stuff. Requiem mass compositions, choral works, and even some British anthemic hymns. How lame.

Requiems I like especially. It might be a little morbid - they're about death after all - but they're beautiful pieces of music. They're solemn in parts, and in others they're literally striking the fear of God into you.



So I've bought some tix. Who shall I take with me?

Listening to:
Title: Pie Iesu
Artist: Schola Cantorum of Oxford
Album/station: Faure: Requiem, Messe basse, Cantique de Jean Racine (1994)
Length: 3.31

Oh Danny Boy.

The last thing I could've imagined myself doing on a Sunday morning was reminiscing about Father Ted while lying in bed with a gorgeous Irishman. I met him at the Place, as one does, and well, I guess I ended up going home with him.

It was a beautiful morning to wake up to, despite the noise of the traffic on Old South Head Road outside his window. Too good to waste indoors.


Listening to:
Title: Complainte de la Butte
Artist: Rufus Wainwright
Album/station: Moulin Rouge OST (2001)
Length: 3.06

Aww, diddums.

Whether or not our mate Johnny is to blame, one of Howard's battlers says that her trust in our fearless leader has been destroyed because of the interest rate rise.

Never mind the lies and non-core promises that Honest John made in the run up to every election to date. Never mind that no children were ever thrown overboard, or that he introduced the GST that he promised he wouldn't. And neither should we mind that there were never any weapons of mass destruction.

Apparently, it doesn't matter that essential government services and public goods are being run into the ground, or that access to genuine opportunity is being reduced rather than increased for those who need it most. Neither does it matter that Australia is becoming a socially, culturally, technologically and intellectually stagnant backwater.

Only now that the credit card bills are coming in, the mortgage repayment for the McMansion is due and the hip pockets are being hit, suddenly trust in Howard takes a dive. Permit me to perform le eyeroll.

Listening to:
Title: Stop Me If You Think You've Heard This One Before
Artist: The Smiths
Album/station: The Very Best of the Smiths (2001)
Length: 3.34

Shut the fuck.

So. Stonewalled again, even though I said I wouldn't. I don't know why I go to that fucken place. I always feel like total shit after. And now I'm broke.

But I pashed on with some hot Frenchy dude. Pierced eyebrow, gorgeous smile. His boyfriend was a cunt, though. Tell me again how I got the boyfriend's number but not Frenchy's. It does not compute. Bah.

I'm going to crawl into my burrow and never come out again.


Listening to:
Title: ---
Artist: ---
Album/station: ---
Length: -.--

Oh noes! I can't afford my fag habit!

So interests rates have gone up and the aspirationals (read: bogans) cry foul. You know what? Tough shit. If you decide to spend dangerously beyond your means, you deserve to be stung. You can't honestly believe that $55k can support four kids (and another on the way), a mortgage and a $48/week fag habit. And they're jumping the Lib-ship, too. Have some conviction, people. Stick to your golden boy.

Our fearless leader should shoulder some of the blame for the latest economic woes and should get the sack for this and everything else the rodent has been the perpetrator of in his ten years in office. But the mindless twits who voted for him under the pretense of cheaper borrowing to fund their materialist aspirations aren't entirely blameless. While The Great One claimed that he could keep a lid on the cash rate, plebs everywhere borrowed and spent like they had some kind of monetary dysentry.

And as if changing one's vote is going to change one's personal situation. More than anything, I think this whole episode has highlighted the fact that lots of people out there are single-issue voters. And shallow, selfish issues at that. Whatever happened to having no child living in poverty? Or free and secular education for all? Or toiling with our hearts and hands to make this Commonwealth of ours renowned of all the lands? What about our boundless plains to share?

Meanwhile, I like the irony that the tax cuts may have contributed to the interest rate hike.


Listening to:
Title: Sell My Soul
Artist: Midnight Oil
Album/station: Diesel and Dust (1987)
Length: 3.37