See, there was a political party that was going to be interviewed in our house. I don't want to mention any specifics, because it is all kinds of topical at the moment and I don't want any backlash of any kind.
I was on the couch, chatting to the group about the state of journalism in Australia, tapping away on my laptop, when the 'reporter' bounds into the room. What none of us knew was that this particular publication decided to send a transvestite comedian to do their political commentary. He opened the door, film already rolling. He was wearing torn fishnets, hot pants with his name sequined on the arse and eye make-up that would have embarrassed Eddie Izzard. He thrust the microphone into the face of the candidates, who each introduced themselves by their name and electorate. He then reached me, sitting in the corner wearing an indie band shirt and shorts. I had not realised there was going to be a camera, so I can only imagine what my hair looked like. I stuttered out that I just lived here and he moved on. He didn't seem as interested in getting a proper political interview as he was interested in getting footage of himself singing Blondie with a strange, slightly Germanic accent ("One Way Or Anuzzah"). But I guess you have to expect that.
It was pretty insane. I said afterwards that I would say that it was one of the most bizarre things that has happened to me but it's not. It really isn't. Life is too bizarre. I remember, one time, I took LSD. And it kind of worried me. Not because I had a bad trip or anything, but because... nothing happened. I watched all the other people who had taken the same stuff get all silly and fall over and the like, and I was looking around going 'Yep, this is life as I've always known it alright'. The obvious answer is that my life has actually been one long, drawn-out acid trip. Which, to be honest, wouldn't surprise me THAT much.
But the whole transvestite-political-reporter thing was only part of what happened yesterday. After everything had quietened down, I trundled off down the road to have coffee with a friend of mine. I can't think of a codename that could possibly sum up this guy, so for the time being we will just call him Aristotle. I choose this name because while adventuring in Europe, he made one of those life-changing decisions. He decided that studying to be an accountant was lamesauce and is now planning on doing an honours degree in philosophy. He is going to be a proper philosopher. As you may know, Vegatrain is also studying philosophy. My cousin also did a degree in the subject, although I haven't seen him in years so I'm not sure what he's up to these days. For the record, the last time I saw him he was touring the world as the lanky white keyboard player in a reggae band where every other member was actually from the Caribbean. I saw them play once and thought it was fantastic.
But I was thinking about Aristotle being a full-time philosopher and I thought 'Would I hire him?'. Obviously, the answer was yes. These days everybody has a psychologist, right? It's nice to have somewhere to go to work out your emotional issues with someone who (hypothetically) knows what they are talking about. I would put this forward - why not hire a philosopher to work out your more spiritual issues? I would say that there are a lot of people who would like a bit of philosophical guidance every now and then. I am totally going to set up that business. Philosophers-for-hire. Genius.
Aristotle had some excellent stories for me. First of all, a bit of backstory. Aristotle was a friend of mine from high school. That is, until he moved to Adelaide at the end of year ten. By a beautiful coincidence, he apparently ended up at the same high school as Meattrain (whom I would not meet for many years). He was telling me about this school yesterday. Apparently they didn't offer German as a subject, which was a pain in his butt because it was a subject he very much wanted to pursue. They told him that he could still do it but he would have to go to another school campus for his lessons. As it played out, he was sent to an all girl's school for those lessons. He said it was kinda crazy, that all he needed to do was walk across the quad and he would get jeers and wolf-whistles from the (I imagine) sex-starved girls. I asked him if he realised he was actually living every teenage boy's biggest fantasy and he sort of shrugged. Because he's chill like that.
He told me a lot about his time overseas (mainly in Germany), including recommending me some really cool 1960's Estonian rock, but he also had probably the most awkward break-up story I have ever heard. Aristotle had a girlfriend before going overseas. She was a lovely girl, and she was going abroad at the same time, to a different country. They decided to "sort of" break-up but were still in contact. Then, it came time for this girl to fly across Europe to visit my friend. The only problem was, when she arrived she informed him that she was now in love with some guy from Melbourne that she had met in Switzerland. When he told me this, Aristotle cocked his head in a very understated way and told me that he probably would have preferred her to not come at all, which I think is putting it lightly. Especially considering how much worse it gets. She arrived, told him she'd met someone else. Unfortunately, Aristotle was her accommodation in Germany, so they still had to spend the night together. I can only imagine how awkward that would have been. Oh also, she gave him some kind of horrible illness. She herself had only had it mildly but apparently she still managed to pass it on during the course of the break-up, resulting in Aristotle spending the next 24 hours violently expelling everything he had ever eaten. Poor guy.