tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75022539680148205832024-02-22T06:03:51.417-08:00Thinly Veiled ThreatsThe wacky adventures of Smackie Onassis.Sarah Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03584240958341558491noreply@blogger.comBlogger140125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7502253968014820583.post-54153240253864632382010-09-24T19:02:00.000-07:002010-09-24T19:02:33.930-07:00The Mysterious Haiku Ninja<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjInHwaPL2QQ7UyKJUpYyXhrczlNSQp3esTvMfwAKshYTHq6orL1_MgYmYmPUZoMOeXzixVn6lIqFpkQJMFmmLKB3zHS3pbIOY9ToObdhGwKE8xkjHt-wZnCrBlmIJPEirg1Nv2juU1OqY/s1600/IMG_1656.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjInHwaPL2QQ7UyKJUpYyXhrczlNSQp3esTvMfwAKshYTHq6orL1_MgYmYmPUZoMOeXzixVn6lIqFpkQJMFmmLKB3zHS3pbIOY9ToObdhGwKE8xkjHt-wZnCrBlmIJPEirg1Nv2juU1OqY/s320/IMG_1656.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
While I've been recovering from my miscellaneous assortment of illness and injury, I've been going for a lot of walks. I've also started trying my hand at a bit of amateur photography.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjugoiBa_gKgSYtuE5SkMrwzPTKydaz8sHKN7PEta4TeuZ201GmxbsdycRg4JFtXFuAe3KmcXgzbfdHy9Fc1PzXqqVGMD04PN6Z-LA-9Uj_a9hxnEbUWcHIx5sEUrx6NLMwOssgMcDvP_k/s1600/IMG_0922.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjugoiBa_gKgSYtuE5SkMrwzPTKydaz8sHKN7PEta4TeuZ201GmxbsdycRg4JFtXFuAe3KmcXgzbfdHy9Fc1PzXqqVGMD04PN6Z-LA-9Uj_a9hxnEbUWcHIx5sEUrx6NLMwOssgMcDvP_k/s320/IMG_0922.jpg" width="303" /></a></div><br />
I don't pretend to be anything approaching an expert in the practice, although it's always something that's interested me. I've been told quite a few times in my life that I have a unique way of seeing the world.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEti7BTihqW9sSGMJzeek_NPYM1TOSz7IgzEICPBUhBtbLLkq_mNXueV76FcGTT3wRZtu6ehc6hFj-sWMANly6r2SF73IVzT6Pdi_gTnRw1BsOJpS9-Kofqv0eK3hKkUb_SkJm_zVWecA/s1600/IMG_1179.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEti7BTihqW9sSGMJzeek_NPYM1TOSz7IgzEICPBUhBtbLLkq_mNXueV76FcGTT3wRZtu6ehc6hFj-sWMANly6r2SF73IVzT6Pdi_gTnRw1BsOJpS9-Kofqv0eK3hKkUb_SkJm_zVWecA/s320/IMG_1179.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><br />
I think it comes down to the way I see patterns where most people don't. Read into that what you will. And while this tendency may create a lot of unnecessarily awkward social interactions, it does have some advantages.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFXt5Z4JSp2KiU9TlFTTvX_FYpUZZyVNIuUBDZwfn1FND-w-fne9xjcLb4n1-M4p_qUD5yVlpkV61iR5hdImLZ3tDVIRGM5NguY2u5xMsH2mS3wAFNNrk5d9dZjU8s8_4WojRdwF1IJio/s1600/IMG_0893.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFXt5Z4JSp2KiU9TlFTTvX_FYpUZZyVNIuUBDZwfn1FND-w-fne9xjcLb4n1-M4p_qUD5yVlpkV61iR5hdImLZ3tDVIRGM5NguY2u5xMsH2mS3wAFNNrk5d9dZjU8s8_4WojRdwF1IJio/s320/IMG_0893.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><br />
I think a lot of amateur photographers are satisfied to simply take photos of beautiful things and that can often be a little boring. Anyone can take a picture of something beautiful and have it come out looking beautiful. I like to try and take pictures of things most people wouldn't like at in ways that make them more interesting. I guess that's an area where the whole pattern thing is kinda useful.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVs66y7w1eFObys-mBrJ5A_yLvODKZ_0jvtQQm4TWPnChCHlQnYZ8ldLJp2EYsVtkkw7tyNTROkOKv8DrHdCvjnEdTro5i888DnHOWyGaMtRrVzP05o_hi8oz9ySj72v2AUMuuPfWSBLk/s1600/IMG_1444.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVs66y7w1eFObys-mBrJ5A_yLvODKZ_0jvtQQm4TWPnChCHlQnYZ8ldLJp2EYsVtkkw7tyNTROkOKv8DrHdCvjnEdTro5i888DnHOWyGaMtRrVzP05o_hi8oz9ySj72v2AUMuuPfWSBLk/s320/IMG_1444.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><br />
There are a whole lot more where that came from, from all around the area where I live. But natural patterns aren't the only things I've been noticing. As well as the often ridiculous government funded sculptures that litter the streets of Adelaide and its surrounding areas, there's quite a lot of street art near where I live. Chalk it up to the nearby presence of an art school if you like, but there are a number of scattered paintings. A stencil advertising some xxx rated ankles, the word vegan splashed around like a brand name. But my favourites are the little haikus I've started finding scattered around, small print on random bricks where people might not be looking.<br />
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Such as this one, from a laneway near my house:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZChfRqpXaG5V5pk9fqji7Nx1DeUMcHc_jjgXwLw3T0aHra_uerf05zSqDvBss0qWcoE1o5YwC7jAVwRlpppWA6qg22WG_CYdISJX6OWs8Ir94XH6kNN3wNqWjRuw7b56xfon9Uv1ZhZ4/s1600/Hanover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZChfRqpXaG5V5pk9fqji7Nx1DeUMcHc_jjgXwLw3T0aHra_uerf05zSqDvBss0qWcoE1o5YwC7jAVwRlpppWA6qg22WG_CYdISJX6OWs8Ir94XH6kNN3wNqWjRuw7b56xfon9Uv1ZhZ4/s320/Hanover.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">"Good people exist</div><div style="text-align: center;">You are only noticing</div><div style="text-align: center;">The loudest voices"</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div> Or the sly Bon Jovi reference at this bus stop:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip47tXJcNK6DgH7GIZXTcdg06il804KFVUI3X4xTMDY3d1SuEJfbiFHHzf3obq3QTIBjmNgiJG6RbYSUWziPFkhevmU2-oDJRXUbfiHzoTF8ErsV-D8K84uEAR3NesgpAE8Z_4QSJ3irc/s1600/stop4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip47tXJcNK6DgH7GIZXTcdg06il804KFVUI3X4xTMDY3d1SuEJfbiFHHzf3obq3QTIBjmNgiJG6RbYSUWziPFkhevmU2-oDJRXUbfiHzoTF8ErsV-D8K84uEAR3NesgpAE8Z_4QSJ3irc/s320/stop4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">"I'm shot through the heart</div><div style="text-align: center;">And I have no-one to blame</div><div style="text-align: center;">But my own damn self"</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Or this one outside a storage place:</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPyVlHumh7lyyJjDxDxA2PVlgkgT5N_6DVZuiUW0QQenhtQbkRgIRrmalY6ODWmTOs56yXP7fCHUocLkomo_7QKZ7I1RXqzcd5TTBlBNhVmJatoNDPLOZPuwNb5qgW8JmfNQbZpOK8sps/s1600/Sydenham.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPyVlHumh7lyyJjDxDxA2PVlgkgT5N_6DVZuiUW0QQenhtQbkRgIRrmalY6ODWmTOs56yXP7fCHUocLkomo_7QKZ7I1RXqzcd5TTBlBNhVmJatoNDPLOZPuwNb5qgW8JmfNQbZpOK8sps/s320/Sydenham.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">"If I had three lives</div><div style="text-align: center;">I'd set one of them aside</div><div style="text-align: center;">To make bad choices"</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Or this insight into the human condition:</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgndWO-J4pg8fBCKiVmHM0H5Rx44h-wtbCZJ9MWQk9TJeI3JPrWIoTQvoV9RlyEgzB3OHxWZN5Ss_0qgQsVp5gNmxnNBvTrW1ys1kwhgoC0Lj89qSzNW1Xt1FXjbd6PZBTwj7wk9Ls58E0/s1600/Lysander.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgndWO-J4pg8fBCKiVmHM0H5Rx44h-wtbCZJ9MWQk9TJeI3JPrWIoTQvoV9RlyEgzB3OHxWZN5Ss_0qgQsVp5gNmxnNBvTrW1ys1kwhgoC0Lj89qSzNW1Xt1FXjbd6PZBTwj7wk9Ls58E0/s320/Lysander.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">"You will never be</div><div style="text-align: center;">As smart as you think you are</div><div style="text-align: center;">Right at this moment"</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">And my personal favourite, near a school:</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIPALBKIa2bf1_jbuo21M0bk7zAxTRYmdwWZleSRwpM5J2nW2CmFuWObY3LvP5aQQh7EPSNncFK5vYdrCqtEf18Vt5_OOJxrmltUP5FnKjJVRnTu6zImF4MQyM77lRSLFUuVroM5F0Np8/s1600/IMG_1757.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIPALBKIa2bf1_jbuo21M0bk7zAxTRYmdwWZleSRwpM5J2nW2CmFuWObY3LvP5aQQh7EPSNncFK5vYdrCqtEf18Vt5_OOJxrmltUP5FnKjJVRnTu6zImF4MQyM77lRSLFUuVroM5F0Np8/s320/IMG_1757.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">"You must make a choice</div><div style="text-align: center;">The outcome depends on this</div><div style="text-align: center;">I choose you, Squirtle"</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I'm interested in how many of them are around - I'm mainly limited to the area I can reach on foot when I go out with my camera. So if you live in Adelaide, keep an eye out and let me know.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">-Smackie Onassis</div>Sarah Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03584240958341558491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7502253968014820583.post-50659443288320506062010-09-23T16:08:00.000-07:002010-09-23T16:08:51.412-07:00Stories from the semi-distant past: Being in a bandSo, I used to play in a band.<br />
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I've probably mentioned this. It consumed a vast portion of my life for a good two years. I've been trying to avoid talking about the band too much. They're still around in some incarnation or other and we aren't really in contact anymore. But, I was recently asked by a friend to write up some stories about what touring is like so, well, I guess I'll do that because that's just the kind of decent friend I am.<br />
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Joining the band was a strange experience. Even though I had been learning music my whole life (I learned basic music theory around the same time I learned the alphabet) I had never planned to do it in any professional sense. I saw all the kids around me with their guitars and far-away looks, picturing themselves as the deified rock legend they <i>just knew</i> they were going to become. I never even really considered it. Playing music professionally seemed like such an unrealistic fantasy and to be honest, I loved playing too much to risk tainting it with the disappointment of a failed career. As well as that, it was a very personal thing for me and growing up I was often extremely nervous about playing in front of other people.<br />
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By the time I graduated high school I had ten years of classical piano training, six years of saxophone lessons, four years of singing lessons and some self-taught guitar skills under my belt but still no ambitions to start a career in music. I remember conversations with friends when I was graduating that they started by saying, <i>'So, you're going to do something with music after school?'</i>, but I told them that I was going to go to uni and get a proper job, just like my parents wanted me to.<br />
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But then, just like in those fictional stories of young girls waltzing into the arms of success, I was out one night having drinks with a friend. Her boyfriend was a drummer who I'd met a few times but didn't know very well. To make conversation, he started asking me a few questions about myself, mostly about music. Musicians tend to use music as a conversation starter because, really, it's what most of them would prefer to be talking about at any given time. He asked me what I played and stopped me when I got to the saxophone, mentioning that his band was looking for a sax player. A few weeks later they invited me to join them on their upcoming New Zealand tour as support for <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_specials">The Specials</a>. I hadn't really realised it, but the band had been around for about five years at the time and had managed to work up a reasonable name for themselves. They'd supported the likes of Less Than Jake, Reel Big Fish and the Mad Caddies, which is kind of a big deal if you listen to ska music. Which I didn't, really, but I later remembered that they'd played support for one of the first all ages gigs I went to see when I was in high school and that the sleazy bass player had hit on not one, but two of my friends.<br />
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I didn't go on that first New Zealand tour. Not enough time to learn the songs, get a passport, organise uni around it and all that. Plus, they had yet to tell their current sax player that he was fired and I thought that might be awkward. But I did join the band, and I did tour with them for some time. The first time I visited the town I now live was when I was on tour in 2007.<br />
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To be honest, I'm not quite sure what to say about the experience of touring. It's exciting to play to a different crowd in a different city for multiple nights in a row, but it's also very stressful and exhausting. There's a whole lot of sitting in a crowded van for hours on end, usually wedged between another band member and a pointy piece of equipment. You survive on the smallest amount of sleep possible in order to make it to the shows on time and you pretty much have to eat like crap because it's too expensive and troublesome to find too many decent meals. If you don't eat meat, this usually means you end up living on chips, garlic bread and the taunting jeers of your bandmates. And after a week or so, that starts to get old.<br />
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For the time I was in the band we were in an odd but probably not uncommon position where we played some quite impressive gigs (yes, I have played on the same bill as Darryl Braithwaite, thank you very much), but were all still flat broke because the band made so little money. I think the best example of this polarity happened during the second tour of New Zealand, the one I did go on.<br />
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We were playing in a club in a place called Palmerston North. Apart from the club itself, all I can remember about the town was a pizza place called Hell's Kitchen that didn't cook my garlic bread properly and some talk of public showers, which is actually insanely tempting after a few days of touring.<br />
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Probably the moment of my life when I felt most like a rock star happened when I was sitting at the bar after the show. I was making small talk with the bartender to pass the time and mentioned that I had never tried tequila. Apparently, the man on the stool next to me was the owner and the next thing I know all three of us are doing shots of 1800 with lime, on the house. Pretty glamorous, right? It was, for a brief shining moment or two.<br />
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Jump forward a few hours and things were considerably less glamorous. Apparently, when they said we were sleeping at the venue to save money, it didn't mean there was any actual accommodation there. We just sort of had to find the least cold and sticky place we could to get some bastardised imitation of a good night's sleep. We were comforted somewhat when we found a carpeted back room with, joy of joys, a heater. But, the heater was soon removed by the owner because he was sleeping in his office. Apparently his wife had kicked him out. Maybe it had something to do with giving free shots of tequila to nineteen year old girls playing in his club, I don't know. But it was the middle of July in New Zealand and we were huddled on a floor with no mattresses or blankets. In other words, it was the coldest night I have ever spent in my life.<br />
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There's a whole lot more I could say about touring, and playing in the band in general. This feels like a very brief highlights reel, but I'm also savvy enough to know that this post is already long enough that I'll be lucky if anyone makes it this far as it is. I could probably tell some more of them at a later point, if anyone wants.<br />
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-Smackie OnassisSarah Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03584240958341558491noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7502253968014820583.post-51631296474904297802010-08-30T14:49:00.000-07:002010-08-30T14:49:07.233-07:00Natural Disaster AreaIt seems a lot of my friends are natural disaster buffs. I've seen them gazing wistfully at tornadoes on news reports, talking sincerely about the tragedy while secretly yearning to one day see something like that with their own eyes.<br />
<br />
It may surprise some of my friends to know that, even though I'm only 23 and have spent almost all of my life in the less exciting areas of Australia, I have personally experienced two separate incidents that were officially classified as natural disasters.<br />
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The first I don't remember so well, given that I was only two years old at the time. It was the<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1989_Newcastle_earthquakehttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1989_Newcastle_earthquake"> 1989 Newcastle Earthquake</a> and it made headlines internationally. All I can really remember is that I was in a Disney themed cubby house when it happened, but it was enough of a big deal that the last of the repairs were still being done when I was approaching my twenties. I also think it says something about Sydney that it was initially reported simply as a tremor in the Sydney area by their news services. Then of course they discovered that they were just getting the run-off from our quake and that it was bad enough that people actually died. Although in their defense, this was before the days of Twitter, where the world can be kept informed about these things half an hour before they happen.<br />
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The other one I remember quite well. It happened when I was at uni. In fact, I had an assignment due that day. This was 2007, year of the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/June_2007_Hunter_Region_and_Central_Coast_storms">Totally Huge Storm</a>. You probably heard about this if you live in Australia or look at weird pictures on the internet. A small cyclone caused massive floods, as well as a friggin huge ship washing up on the beach.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLbKZua_TaMkKfwoijSctbmes6BANrhslPmWHy2CLcPP2g7tV83RZHLonEZEcSvs1ElEXBIgEdscicptc4stm9gI2usvLI-BG-FDoh4LskufVyovbXckwBUUhLVhqOJcVvY-pACKVkvtY/s1600/pasha-bulker.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLbKZua_TaMkKfwoijSctbmes6BANrhslPmWHy2CLcPP2g7tV83RZHLonEZEcSvs1ElEXBIgEdscicptc4stm9gI2usvLI-BG-FDoh4LskufVyovbXckwBUUhLVhqOJcVvY-pACKVkvtY/s320/pasha-bulker.jpg" /></a></div><br />
That's the Pasha Bulker. It created an unexpected tourist attraction, photo opportunities and numerous "Would you like to pash a bulker?" jokes.<br />
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As I mentioned, I had an assignment due the day this storm hit. And because I'm a <i>good student damnit </i>I went in to submit it in the morning before news of the storm broke. It was raining and I dashed into the hub, soaking wet but pleased with my time management skills. I looked around for the usual assignment submission services, seeing that things looked a bit awry. The following conversation went something like this:<br />
<br />
<b>Me: Hi, I just need to submit an assignment?</b><br />
<b>Staff: You can't, the place is flooding.</b><br />
<b>Me: But it's due today...</b><br />
<b>Staff: The entire campus has been evacuated.</b><br />
<b>Me: ...b</b><i><b>ut it's due today.</b></i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
Because I have my priorities in order, instead of getting the hell out of dodge I went straight to the Communications building to see if I could find someone to give my assignment to directly. Of course, the campus had been evacuated so the only other person there was the one other journalism student wandering around, repeating the mantra <i>"But it's due today!"</i><br />
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Eventually, we combined forces to slip our assignments under the professor's door, leaving a courteous note explaining the circumstances. Meanwhile:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHLpcAT6mxXX4K6uSstoAUwpAWY2aeXdLOiQjPI5lyYXs8YTcJr2iK0x6g7SPbITQ4r3v1JqQA6xgKGhoggODZC0XqM0pHVZetObm2Zm366saJZ__BMfY1O3brt9n3OYJgPt0JpD_rBF8/s1600/Storm+mayhem+Cars+submerged+by+flood+waters+in+the+Newcastle+suburb+of+KotaraUser+submitted+-+Justin+Hill.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHLpcAT6mxXX4K6uSstoAUwpAWY2aeXdLOiQjPI5lyYXs8YTcJr2iK0x6g7SPbITQ4r3v1JqQA6xgKGhoggODZC0XqM0pHVZetObm2Zm366saJZ__BMfY1O3brt9n3OYJgPt0JpD_rBF8/s320/Storm+mayhem+Cars+submerged+by+flood+waters+in+the+Newcastle+suburb+of+KotaraUser+submitted+-+Justin+Hill.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
You'll be happy to know that we were not awarded any late penalties.<br />
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<br />
-Smackie OnassisSarah Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03584240958341558491noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7502253968014820583.post-47584747936310501312010-08-15T14:47:00.000-07:002010-08-15T14:47:42.505-07:00A (Probably Unnecessarily) Long Entry About NarcissismI've been thinking a lot about narcissism recently.<br />
<br />
I've heard my generation referred to as narcissistic many, many times. And while nothing annoys me more than media commentators deciding that it's perfectly fine to make sweeping negative generalisations about an entire generation of human beings, well, I recently signed up for twitter.<br />
<br />
Don't get me wrong, I've been loving it. I like having an outlet to send out short ideas. I may be one of the few people who feels this way, but I like the challenge of culling those thoughts down to the character limit without compromising the spelling or grammar. I really like it, ok? And as for that whole <i>'Why would anyone want to know what I had for breakfast?</i>' argument that I keep hearing, here's a simple solution: don't tweet about what you had for breakfast. Tweet about things you find interesting, things you actually think other people would want to know. If people took the attitude of Twitter as a way to send out links and information rather than thinking they need to use it to tell everyone the most mundane aspects of their daily life, I think it would have a much better reputation.<br />
<br />
But while browsing for people to follow, I've noticed a trend that makes me even more ashamed of being a part of the twitter crowd than I already was. There are hordes and hordes of people on twitter who tweet about nothing but tweeting. Their profiles read like a mash-up of begging, demanding strangers follow them, thanking them profusely and going on to ignore them completely while harvesting more and more followers.<br />
<br />
There is no point to this other than narcissism. There is no reason to follow the messages of a person who only uses those messages to amass followers. And yet, these people have thousands of followers, all just like them. None of them even looking at what any of the rest of them are doing. Just begging and clicking, begging and clicking. They follow people for the sole purpose of being followed back and no-one even pauses long enough to think about what an empty kind of attention-seeking this is.<br />
<br />
You hear a lot of people crying foul about the possible effects of social networking on young people. Normally, I think this is a whole lot of bollocks. I think the whole 'shorter attention span' thing is more or less irrelevant when society has created a working environment where people need to be able to concentrate on multiple tasks at once in order to survive. But one thing I can't simply sit down and get over is how the encouragement of narcissistic behaviours will effect the younger teens on the internet.<br />
<br />
Everybody needs entertainment, especially kids. Previously, kids would spend their entertainment hours watching tv, playing games, reading, whatever it is that kids do. Either way, their attention was on speculation, on fiction and fantasy. But I would wager good money that if you gave all the kids who have ever gone on to become adults the option of spending their entertainment hours focused on themselves, but in a more entertaining format, they would lap it up. They would see strangers acknowledging their existence and want more, just like these kids who scour the internet begging for followers. Human beings are born wanting to be acknowledged. It's just who we are.<br />
<br />
But here's the rub. Studies are coming thick and fast showing that when parents imbue their kids with an inflated sense of self-esteem, those kids have a tendency to spiral into depression when they realise they won't get everything they want in life solely based on how <i>special</i> they are. So, what happens when kids are raised on a diet of narcissism and obsessive self-involvement?<br />
<br />
My answer is hipsters. Hipsters happen.<br />
<br />
Let me start by saying that by 'hipsters' I don't mean everyone who wears skinny jeans and listens to Broken Social Scene. That would describe most people I know, as well as most people I admire. I'm talking about the <i>true hipsters, </i>the people who are more interested in the fashion of music than the music itself. The people who spend three hours carefully crafting an outfit to make it look like they just threw it on after an art session, the people who make up bands to claim they listen to just so they'll get the 'indie cred' of listening to a band so obscure none of their awful hipster friends have even heard of it. For a better explanation of what I mean than I could ever give, <a href="http://newyork.timeout.com/articles/features/4840/why-the-hipster-must-die">read this excellent article by Christian Lorentzen</a>.<br />
<br />
The thing that seems to define this type of person is their narcissism. You can listen to hipster music and wear hipster outfits without being considered a hipster. It's hard to say when a person crosses the line but it seems to centre pretty strongly around their deep-seated infatuation with themselves. A good, strong sense of superiority over anyone who isn't a hipster also seems to be an important element. These are the people who clung to emo culture when they were teenagers and needed a new sub-culture to fit into when that one became mainstream, like a cultural hermit crab constantly outgrowing it's persona and moving to a new one.<br />
<br />
I'm sure there are people who would disagree with me when I say that the archetypal hipster is little more than a narcissist in organic lamb's wool clothing. I can't think of any of those people of the top of my head, but I'm sure they exist. I would tell those people that to see this kind of self-involvement in action, all you need to do is go to a gig. My favourite example comes from when I went to see Camera Obscura at the Corner Hotel in Melbourne. This was just after I'd been injured, so it might have been a good idea for me to stay at home. But given that I was seriously injured, had lost my job as a result and had already bought the tickets to a band I'd been listening to since I was a teenager (when I had precious little money to spend on entertainment), I went along anyway.<br />
<br />
I was not well that night. My head was a mess of concussion and my body was causing me a lot of pain. I was on the brink of passing out all night, so I decided to just hang near the back where I could sit down if I needed to. Unfortunately, while the crowd surged around me, I felt a particularly strong wave of light-headedness and knew I needed some fresh air. I tried feebly to push past the throng of cardigans, but I was extremely weak. Not only did the people around me not move out of the way to let me past, but when I actually fell to the ground at their feet they didn't even give me a second look. I got out and was fine after a bit of fresh air but I am still furious about it. People have tried to justify this behaviour by suggesting that they thought I was just drunk. I don't see that as any excuse. Even if you are going to make the assumption that a person is drunk, then go ahead to judge them negatively as a result of that assumption, what excuse do you have not to even ask if they're ok?<br />
<br />
There is no excuse. The answer is that the people around me were simply too self-involved, too busy waiting to see if any of their friends would show compassion first, too focused on being witnessed to be singing along when they knew the words to even give any attention to the human being literally collapsing at their feet.<br />
<br />
I'm not one to bag our generation for narcissism. As I said, you can't judge an entire generation of people based solely on the actions of that generation's biggest attention whores. And it's not like I've done any studies, so I can't say that one thing is caused by another.<br />
<br />
But I guess it's something to think about.<br />
<br />
<br />
-Smackie OnassisSarah Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03584240958341558491noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7502253968014820583.post-45621970497850276632010-08-09T16:01:00.000-07:002010-08-09T16:01:24.965-07:00The Dark Side of the Internet: A Guided TourFirst of all, before anyone asks, I have no idea how I found any of these. No idea. I follow a lot of random links and then instantly forget how I got there. Just like in real life.<br />
<br />
Regardless of where they came from, I have a nice little collection of these online oddities filed away in a bookmarks folder labelled, simply, '<b>wut</b>'. These are a few of my favourites.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">To set the tone, here is the dude with the <a href="http://www.uniquedaily.com/worlds-biggest-chin/">World's Biggest Chin</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.uniquedaily.com/worlds-biggest-chin/"></a>.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu1_0Hk3wl382hberdLMja-h9Fh7OH7fhMYBGPMqE0P81aKv7QBtadW-ETFW-DFQpYlA8RYr2a_9KRR-_VqPkdGWtxJkRXNPfdilhc2dT4IfwrVTQwlJZIWVrdl8GxIPh2AREm0_ZbYt0/s1600/chinmuch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu1_0Hk3wl382hberdLMja-h9Fh7OH7fhMYBGPMqE0P81aKv7QBtadW-ETFW-DFQpYlA8RYr2a_9KRR-_VqPkdGWtxJkRXNPfdilhc2dT4IfwrVTQwlJZIWVrdl8GxIPh2AREm0_ZbYt0/s320/chinmuch.jpg" /></a></div>That is so much chin. It's like four separate chins all combined to form one massive chinny appendage on one poor guy's face. I could die happy if I saw him eating in a restaurant and had the opportunity to say to him, '<i>Sir, you have a bit of chicken on your... chin</i>,' and it is a whole chicken leg. The poor guy is actually trying to raise money for an operation to have it removed by offering the sale of advertising space on the chin. As my housemates pointed out, this is not a very good offer. Imagine: he finds a sponsor and gets their logo tattooed. Investors grin surreptitiously at each other. Then, he wanders across the street to the hospital and has the whole thing lopped off and tossed aside. Not a lot of bang for your advertising buck. Unless, I suppose, you are promoting an expensive new product that would appeal to surgeons.<br />
<br />
So we've started off with a few light-hearted laughs at somebody else's torment, let's move onto something that will almost (if not definitely) knock your socks off.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.brianbosak.com/time-police.html">Time Travel Police</a><br />
<br />
If the title alone hasn't convinced you, you should hurry up and read that. It may be pretty much one big run-on sentence, but it is worth it.<br />
<br />
The very first thing the author of this site does is declare that what he is about to say is <b><i>totally not a hoax</i></b>. Here's a hint: saying <i>'THIS ISN'T A HOAX I SWEAR I SWEAR!'</i> before you even tell anyone what you're talking about isn't a good way to convince people that you're telling the truth. Before you have even finished that sentence people will be looking at you with shifty eyes, subtly working out where the nearest exits are.<br />
<br />
As soon as the author has established that he is totally not foolin' y'all, he goes on to inform us that the UK government has established some kind of Time Travel Safety Net. Now here's the thing: I don't think that happened. I'm sorry to seem skeptical, mysterious anonymous conspiracy theorist, but I think if a major first world government started spending parliamentary time discussing time travel, I feel like I would have heard about it.<br />
<br />
He goes on to say:<br />
<br />
<blockquote>You are receiving this E-Mail from the Synchronity Time Police (UK Division) it is a general announcement bringing you News of a New Organisation against Time Travel Crime, our Web Site is still under construction and we are aware that we are the VERY FIRST Synchronized Community fighting Time Travel Crime, but how can we do this if Time Travel is not yet possible? we can't actually arrest any Time Criminals because there aren't any yet but we have set up this service because we think that people should do something NOW to prevent Time Travel ending up in the wrong hands and we don't want it to end up like the internet which is very hard to control and police because it is not owned by one single individual,</blockquote><br />
I had to cut him off mid-sentence because that last sentence was about three paragraphs of rambling about the internet. First of all, can I just say how much I love the things he chooses to capitalise? Synchronicity Time Police makes sense. But Web Site? News of a New Organisation? Those do not need capital letters, sir and/or ma'am. As for the content itself, well, it kinda speaks for itself, doesn't it? I think any comment I could make would do little but take away from this natural wonder. That being said, I totally call first dibs on doing a Time Travel Police song. Keep your greedy mitts off it, the Gregory Brothers.<br />
<br />
Let's move on...<br />
<br />
...to the <a href="http://www.bamboosical.com/main.html">GREAT BAMBOOSICAL</a>.<br />
<br />
As far as I can gather, this is a movie musical that aspires to teach people about the benefits of bamboo. Sounds kinda dodgy, but dodgier ideas have worked. The first sign that this isn't one of those comes when you see that their tagline appears to be:<br />
<br />
"<b><i>You'll laugh the beef right off the menu!</i></b>"<br />
<br />
I... I just... thankyou, the internet. Just. Thankyou.<br />
<br />
Despite promoting the apparently hilarious side of bamboo knowledge, this is an issue the producers of Bamboosical take <b><i>totally seriously. </i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">They have a list of facts promoting the health benefits of bamboo-based food products. Hell, they even have a picture of Beck eating a burger, captioned with the phrase 'Beck loves it!'. The best thing about this is that you know I'm not making it up because <a href="http://www.bamboosical.com/burger.html">here is the damn link right here.</a></span></b><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
But what of the music of Bamboosical? They don't appear to have any sample songs, but here is the product description of their CD:<br />
<br />
<blockquote>Ridin' Ranger is the mute hero from the film "The Great Bamboosical." He brings the top secret recipe of the Bamboo Burgerâ„¢ plant-based patty to feuding Bambooyans and Rednecks. This CD includes 6 cosmically cool cuts from the film Soundtrack for only $9.99 (plus S&H). Profits go towards the cost of filming "The Great Bamboosical". Order your CD today and enjoy a rhythmically rocking ride with Ridin' Ranger!</blockquote>Obviously the message of Bamboosical is a subtle one. Also, the hero is mute? Isn't it a musical? Isn't he supposed to be preaching the gospel of bamboo through song? A mute hero in a musical could actually be a really good idea, but I am willing to wager that the idea has not been brought to it's full potential here. There is a lot more to see on that site (I am particularly disappointed that the link marked simply 'COWS' doesn't appear to be working), but I can't possibly go through it all. Mainly because I want to go have a hot shower and a lie down and being on the computer is preventing me from doing that.<br />
<br />
And so, our tour ends here.<br />
<br />
-Smackie Onassis<br />
<br />
P.S. If you haven't voted on my poll you are officially not my best friend.Sarah Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03584240958341558491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7502253968014820583.post-17597349907387992272010-08-06T18:01:00.000-07:002010-08-06T18:01:29.013-07:00A Dark ConfessionI have a horrible, shameful confession to make.<br />
<br />
I once spoke on the phone while I was in a public restroom cubicle.<br />
<br />
Of all the things that modern society finds inappropriate, that one is pretty bad. It often surpasses using mobile phones on public transport in lists of people's technological pet peeves. I have sometimes joined in such conversations, nodding my head in agreement and making sure to point out that I would <i>certainly never </i>speak loudly into a phone on a crowded bus. All the while, I remain conspicuously silent when it comes to the restroom* issue.<br />
<br />
I'm not proud of it, ok? I never thought I would be <i>that guy. </i>The person creepily going through their address book every time they lock the stall door. Loudly cracking jokes into the phone in between grunts. Sometimes going the extra distance to call someone just to breathe heavily into the mouthpiece, the sound of defecation barely audible in the background.<br />
<br />
It wasn't like that for me. Really. I didn't want to do it. If anything, I fought it.<br />
<br />
I was preparing myself for my first interview, for the first feature article I would write as a student of journalism. It was to be a personality profile. I had stretched my memory to think of any interesting connections I could possibly take advantage of. Until, suddenly, I'd stumbled across an old phone number in my address books, a rather strange young man I had befriended at a drama camp years before. I remembered his exuberant, ultra-flamboyant personality, alongside his repeated claims that he was a reincarnated psychic. I also vaguely recalled his attempts at white free-style rapping.<br />
<br />
This was the guy. This was the guy that I would interview to set the precedent for my degree.<br />
<br />
I called a few times, sending a few texts and leaving messages on his voicemail, at first to no avail. With my deadline looming, I started trying to think of alternatives but there wasn't one as appealing as this one. Then, suddenly, finally, he returned my call. I happened to be on the toilet at the time.<br />
<br />
I heard my ringtone go off and saw the name flash up on my little Nokia screen. Instantly, I felt faced with a new height of social dilemma. This could be my only chance to actually get in contact with this guy to arrange an interview. An interview that could possible set the bar for my degree, even perhaps my career. But I was <i>on the toilet.</i> And someone else was <i>in the stall next to me</i>. Do I ignore the call and risk missing the opportunity? Or do I carry out polite society's most heinous atrocity?<br />
<br />
I chose the latter. And I got that interview. And for the reward I got, I feel no shame for my repulsive actions. Well, maybe a little bit of shame.<br />
<br />
If you're wondering, it turned out that my interview subject had started doing psychic predictions on TV morning shows (which I hadn't seen because I was a uni student with a uni student's definition of what consitutes 'morning'). He even went on to feature in a short lived reality show that faced Australian psychics off against each other to discover who was <b><i>Australia's Most Psychic Psychic</i></b>. A kind of blend between Medium and Australian Idol, I suppose, although I remember it being cancelled almost instantly. If you don't believe me, <a href="http://www.mitchellcoombes.com/">his website is here</a>.<br />
<br />
So, friends, yes. I have used a mobile device while seated on a public toilet. Shame me if you must. But before I am shunned from society altogether due to this disgraceful confession, I'd like you to think how you would react in the same situation.<br />
<br />
<br />
-Smackie Onassis<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
*I'm never sure how to refer to toilets. Every possible word seems inappropriate in a different way. When I was in highschool, I just embraced the fact that everything was going to be inappropriate and just started to refer to the toilet as the 'Wee-hole' but I'm not sure I can get away with that on the internet.Sarah Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03584240958341558491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7502253968014820583.post-90395518639902085852010-08-01T14:48:00.000-07:002010-08-01T14:48:12.621-07:00Reality Tv Has Made Me Question Reality And I Don't Like ItI have a lot of opinions about reality TV. I tend to avoid it as a general rule, not because I don't like it, but because I believe that allowing producers to profit from more cheaply produced reality shows could have dramatic implications for Australia's creative industries. Simply put, if the bosses in an underfunded industry realise that people will volunteer to be exploited on camera for free (or the mere chance of a prize) and that they don't have to go through the added expense of hiring writers, actors etc, they won't hire those people. Which, if it goes on for long enough, means no more jobs for writers and actors in Australian television, and no more original content for viewers of Australian television. Bad.<br />
<br />
But recently I've noticed another side effect of those few, unavoidable viewings of shows like Australian Idol, Search for a Supermodel and all those other talent contest type things. In years past when I looked in the mirror and decided that I looked at least passable enough to go the pub, I believed it. When someone told me I had given a good performance, I believed them. But at some point I noticed that <i>hey... those hideous creatures who audition for the modelling shows think they look good too...</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
At first, I shrugged off the idea. Those girls were deluded enough to slather on the facepaint and waltz right on to the set of a modelling show. Those bitches be trippin' right down the catwalk of crazy. I'm not going to go out and do anything like that, I don't need to worry myself with this kind of insecurity.<br />
<br />
But then I noticed (it was on in the background, yeah?) just how many people on the reality shows live in a reality completely removed from anyone else's. Even the ones who don't seem overtly crazy (but not overtly talented either) have completely inflated ideas of their own abilities.<br />
<br />
And then, through the wonders of television, you meet their family and it all makes sense.<br />
<br />
If you've ever watched the earlier auditions on any of the 'Idol' shows, which you have because of course you have, you might have noticed that even the most tuneless, tone-deaf, singing suckhole seems to have at least four or five people around them to tell them that they truly are an amazing singer, that they're going to take the world by storm. These people are liars.<br />
<br />
Don't get me wrong, they are well-intentioned liars. They've been brought up learning that a white lie is just dandy when it boosts someone's self-esteem, that self-esteem is always to be right at it's highest possible point, and that encouragement is something you are obliged to give someone. Plus, they like seeing the people they care about feel good about themselves. That's understandable. They think they're doing their friend/child/student the biggest of favours in sending them out into the world with confidence.<br />
<br />
Of course it all becomes clear when the aspiring performer steps, alone, into the judges' arena and their whole world comes crashing down around them. They now have the word of industry experts that they can't sing to save their life, and the video footage (often screened repeatedly) to prove it. Not only do they have to deal with the fact that they are hopeless in the one area they've always been led to believe they are uniquely talented in, but they also have to deal with the knowledge that the people they care most about in the world lied to them. And that those lies eventually led to them being humiliated on national TV. You can see why so many of them prefer to cling to their delusions.<br />
<br />
People seem to have this idea that 'encouragement' equals blind praise. In my amateur theatre days, nothing annoyed me more than the way praise and compliments were little more than social commodities. One person would get up to demonstrate their performance and the rest would clap and cheer, tell them they were brilliant, with the promise that if they replied enthusiastically enough, they too would receive the same treatment. Everybody likes to be told they're brilliant, none more so than amateur actors. The problem with this system presented itself if you happened to be the type of person who actually wants constructive criticism. How can you improve your performance if no-one will even tell you it wasn't your best yet? Believing that you have nothing to improve means that you don't work on it and, in extreme cases, leads to the kind of delusion you see every season of any given reality show.<br />
<br />
So now I'm in a complicated position where I can no longer truly believe that a compliment is genuine. Did that person really like my singing, or do they just want a compliment in return? Do I really look nice, or is that person just telling me what they think I want to hear? Does it really require the risk of national humiliation (or at least smaller scale humiliation) to know if you really are good at something?<br />
<br />
Welcome to the world of limitless insecurities, friends. I'm sure you will make yourself at home.<br />
<br />
<br />
- Smackie Onassis, who assures you she is not fishing for compliments.Sarah Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03584240958341558491noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7502253968014820583.post-77672627467763229712010-07-22T16:34:00.000-07:002010-07-22T16:39:59.044-07:00On My Mysterious Ethnic OriginsPeople seem to have a great deal of trouble picking where I'm from. I get mistaken for a tourist quite a lot while wandering around the Adelaide CBD. Admittedly, this is probably because I get lost very easily and pronounce 'dance' in a way that seems to make the souls of all South Australians wither up and die. That's the test you can do to see if the person you're talking to is an SA native. Pronounce 'dance' or 'graph' with a hard 'a'. If they immediately start clawing at their skin and writhing in agony, they're South Australian.<br />
<br />
Admittedly, I do have a strange accent. I don't know what it is. It's not anything. But for some reason, people never accept that as an answer. People have pegged me as American, Canadian, English, Italian, South African and New Zealandian*. I've given up trying to explain it. For a while after I moved to Adelaide, I tried to pretend that this was just what people from Newcastle sound like. I stopped doing that after I gave that answer to a regular customer at the cafe where I used to work. He was a fingerprints expert from the State Police Headquarters, which was across the road. Most of our regular customers worked either there or at one of the nearby law firms. Nobody ever tried to rob us, even when we started stocking a coffee blend we called 'ROBUS', written on the jar in all caps above the cash register.<br />
<br />
Fingerprints Doug, as we shall call him, stopped me when I brought him his tea one morning to tell me he'd been trying for a while and couldn't pick my accent.<br />
<br />
"I'm from Newcastle," I replied, casually.<br />
<br />
"Really?" replied Fingerprints Doug, "Because I'm from Lake Macquarie, and I've never heard an accent like yours."<br />
<br />
This is the problem with constantly dealing with analytical experts. You can't even get away with the slightest, whitest lie. This is the biggest downside to sharing a house with a qualified forensic chemist. He knows exactly when you have or haven't done the dishes.<br />
<br />
These days I've changed my response to 'I'm Novacastrian', followed by the silent hope that the asker will be embarrassed about never having heard of it (it just means someone from Newcastle, if you're wondering) and drop the line of questioning.<br />
<br />
But apparently, it's not just the accent. After Meattrain decided to start fooling around with some celebrity face match software, we have confirmed that I am officially ethnically confusing. My results were as followed: Jamie Lynn Spears, Rita Hayworth, Paula Abdul, Halle Berry and an Asian actress I hadn't heard of and consequently can't remember the name of. Oh, and Ron Howard? I guess those faces combine for the most ethnically ambiguous face possible.<br />
<br />
I actually had an ex-boyfriend who used to insist that I was Italian. I'm not sure why, but I'm pretty sure it can be explained by the fact that he was balls crazy. As in, 'I have to wash your body before every act of sexual intercourse' crazy. It is embarrassing how long it took me to realise that this was a very strange form of foreplay.<br />
<br />
For some reason, he'd got it into his head that I was Italian. At first he just asked me about it, on the basis of my appearance. I set the record straight that I had no Italian heritage whatsoever, at least not that I knew of. Yet, somehow, from <i>'No, I am not in any way Italian,'</i> he managed to hear, <i>'Yes, I am Italian. Please constantly use it as an explanation for my behaviour, any behaviour.'</i><br />
<br />
<br />
For example:<br />
<b><i>"Geez, it's chilly tonight."</i></b><br />
<b><i>"I'm fine."</i></b><br />
<b><i>"That's just because you Italian girls don't feel the cold."</i></b><br />
<b><i>"I... I'm not Italian. I've told you this. Many times."</i></b><br />
<b><i>"Ha, you Italian girls. I dunno."</i></b><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
-Smackie Onassis<br />
<br />
<br />
*I'm not going to pretend I've figured out what word to use when referring to a person from New Zealand. Even when I toured the place a few years back, I couldn't get a uniform answer anywhere I went. New Zealand, please call a meeting and decide what we can call you. And don't just say 'Kiwis' this time.Sarah Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03584240958341558491noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7502253968014820583.post-90774411246747250782010-07-20T19:13:00.000-07:002010-07-20T19:13:12.411-07:00Poll UpdateHeat Three of the band name poll closed with 'Randy Bourbon and the Day of Regrets' taking home the gravy.<br />
<br />
Heat Four gives you fine folk the opportunity to choose between Sneaky Baldwin, Today's Urban Youth, The Duplicators and Hey There Jimbo What's Cooking.<br />
<br />
I'm sure you will choose wisely.<br />
<br />
And if you're wondering, yes I do have more of these. So many, many more.<br />
<br />
<br />
-Smackie OnassisSarah Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03584240958341558491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7502253968014820583.post-39102562001596678092010-07-20T16:29:00.000-07:002010-07-20T16:35:50.581-07:00Are you there God? It's Me, Smackie Onassis.When I was growing up, my family were quite religious. Not overzealous, door-to-door, preachy religious or anything like that, but my parents went to church a lot. They were both on the parish council, and Vicar of Dibley was my mother's favourite show. If it had been released a decade or so earlier, I might well have been a Geraldine rather than a Sarah Jane. Dr Who is a much cooler show to be named after, right?<br />
<br />
The church my parents were members of was quite progressive - their local head honcho was openly gay and had been in a committed long-term relationship with one man for most of his life. They lived in a little cottage adjacent to the church. One of their most popular priests was a woman, and they frequently had inter-faith services where they invited people from Jewish, Muslim and other Christian groups from around the area to encourage religious tolerance. They also had services where you could bring pets. I remember being quite tempted to borrow my friend's python for the event, but then noticed the biblical parralels of my situation and decided against the idea.<br />
<br />
Being as progressive as they were, my parents never forced the idea of God onto me, and I was never made to go to church with them. I was taught science and evolution as fact, and then religion as choice. You can see how I came out of childhood with a very different perception of religion to most people. It was only until I set off into the big, scary world that I saw what some people were doing under the guise of religion and went 'WAIT WHAT? WHAT ARE YOU DOING? YOU STOP THAT. YOU STOP THAT RIGHT NOW.'<br />
<br />
I never really knew how to feel about the whole God thing when I was growing up. What I did know was how to cut a win/win deal, where both wins were for me. There was one particular day when I was young when I really didn't want to go to swim training. I don't know why, but it probably had something to do with it being the middle of winter. So, to test the waters of religion, I got out my prayer hands.<br />
<br />
<i><b>Ok God, here's how we're going to play this,</b></i> I began,<b><i> If I don't have to go to swimming this afternoon, I will totally believe in you. For reals, God.</i></b><br />
<b><i><br />
</i></b><br />
I smirked to myself, considering that all I had to do was believe in something and I could get what I wanted <i>without even having to get up</i>. And if there wasn't a God, what did I lose? I'd have to go to swimming, but I probably would have had to anyway. As it turned out, I didn't go to swimming that afternoon, although I later realised that my mother forgetting to take me to one of my millions of after school activities is hardly proof of a supreme being. This coincided with me realising that this was a deal I could really only use once and I had kinda wasted it.<br />
<br />
I guess it's pretty safe to say I never really took organised religion that seriously. The only thing I can really remember about my brief period of Sunday School attendance was the time I took along my favourite doll. It was a replica of the E.C. doll from the old ABC Kids show <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lift_Off_(TV_series)">'Lift Off'</a> and when I sat down in the little circle of chairs they set out, I put E.C. in the seat next to me. After the roll was marked, the teacher asked if there were any new people there that day, as she did every week. I put my hand up and said,<br />
<br />
<b><i>'Yeah! E.C. is new!'</i></b><br />
<b><i><br />
</i></b><br />
<b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">The teacher probably laughed at first, because how adorable, right? Keep in mind that I was actually the most adorable child ever: </span></i></b><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbQu8BzQsxLlxhm7UXthsVTsOjBT1r2WqtQ1ykhGZjGShMTatn6hwr7LkWdRCi-Hvf83e1V8Q1FuG64jcdulCb2enOoqjqwMqhLbKwNtSP9Ze626vxwbCghQ45qz5A-AZsAUMQLUMoxOQ/s1600/adorable.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbQu8BzQsxLlxhm7UXthsVTsOjBT1r2WqtQ1ykhGZjGShMTatn6hwr7LkWdRCi-Hvf83e1V8Q1FuG64jcdulCb2enOoqjqwMqhLbKwNtSP9Ze626vxwbCghQ45qz5A-AZsAUMQLUMoxOQ/s320/adorable.jpg" /></a></div><br />
That's me with the ringlets. Unfortunately for my Sunday School teacher (and all future teachers), the ringlets probably helped with my ability to lead a crowd.<br />
<br />
<b><i>'Ok, seriously though. Any new people today?</i></b>' she asked.<br />
<br />
'<i><b>E.C! You haven't put her on the roll yet,</b></i>' I insisted.<br />
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Then, all the other children joined in until the teacher was forced to change the subject. So naturally I repeated this exercise every week until the poor woman was forced to change her weekly announcement to, <i><b>Are there any new students who aren't the doll?</b> </i>and my parents decided to let me sleep in on Sunday mornings.<br />
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<br />
-Smackie OnassisSarah Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03584240958341558491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7502253968014820583.post-42786148476281703162010-07-19T18:43:00.000-07:002010-07-19T20:46:18.597-07:00Rosie O'Donnell SucksAgain, I have found myself skimming through the darkest corners of the internet. In the course of my totally normal internet searching, I sometimes find I've taken a wrong turn and veered off course. Before I can stop to get my bearings, I find myself in the red light district of the internet. And it's wonderful.<br />
<div><br />
There is a fan page on facebook under the banner of 'Rosie O'Donnell Sucks'. It's a fair enough idea, Rosie O'Donnell is a terrible, horrifying human being. The problem is, there is nothing more frustrating than discovering that people with hysterically awful opinions hold even one of the same opinions as you do. On the one hand, you want to agree with them. On the other hand, you don't want to encourage them.</div><div><br />
</div><div>To illustrate what I mean, here are some examples'. Names have been changed to protect the innocent.</div><div><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="UIIntentionalStory_Header" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;"><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="color: #333333; font-size: 13px; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="UIIntentionalStory_Names" data-ft="{"type":"name"}"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #f3f3f3;">Tits McGee </span></span></b></span><span class="UIStory_Message"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #f3f3f3;">PEOPLE NEED TO LAY THE FUCK OFF ROSIE IF SHE HAPPY WITH WHO SHE IS THEN FUCK LET HER BE HAPPY WHY YALL HAVE TO DISCRIMINATE SHIT IM GAY WHAT YOU GONNA DO TO ME OHH DSNGE YOU CANT DO ANYTHING. RUDEEE ASSES FUCKERS SHE DOESNT DESERVE THIS DISCRIMINATION.</span></span></h3></div><form action="http://www.facebook.com/ajax/ufi/modify.php" ajaxify="1" class="commentable_item one_row_add_box autoexpand_mode comment_form_407954569539" id="commentable_item_2064230524_407954569539" method="POST" name="add_comment" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="UIActionLinks UIActionLinks_bottom UIIntentionalStory_Info" data-ft="{"type":"action"}" style="clear: left; color: #999999; display: block; margin-top: 3px; min-height: 16px;"><span class="UIIntentionalStory_InfoText" style="color: #777777; min-height: 16px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 2px;"><span class="UIIntentionalStory_Time" style="color: #777777; font-size: 11px;"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=2213079539&v=wall&story_fbid=407954569539&ref=mf" id="" style="color: #777777; cursor: pointer; font-size: 11px; text-decoration: none;" target="" title=""><abbr data-date="Wed, 31 Mar 2010 14:15:01 -0700" style="border-bottom-color: initial; border-bottom-style: none; border-bottom-width: initial;" title="Thursday, 01 April 2010 at 06:45"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #f3f3f3;">01 April at 06:45</span></abbr></a></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #f3f3f3;"> · </span><a ajaxify="/ajax/spam_action.php?action=mark_spam&href=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.facebook.com%2Fajax%2Freport.php%3Ftype%3D7%26cid%3D13003404%26rid%3D100000537878298%26cid2%3D2213079539%26h%3Dd4791bd7aa&objectID=407954569539&storyClassName=uiUnifiedStory&paramString=100000537878298_2213079539_2213079539_7_PEOPLE+NEED+TO+LAY+THE+FUCK+OFF+ROSIE+IF+SHE+HAPPY+WITH+WHO+SHE+IS+THEN+FUCK+LET+HER+BE+HAPPY+WHY+YALL+HAVE+TO+DISCRIMINATE+SHIT+IM+GAY+WHAT+YOU+GONNA+DO+TO+ME+OHH+DSNGE+YOU+CANT+DO+ANYTHING.+RUDEEE+ASSES+FUCKERS+SHE+DOESNT+DESERVE+THIS+DISCRIMINATION._1270070101" href="http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=2213079539&v=wall#" rel="async-post" style="color: #3b5998; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #f3f3f3;">Flag</span></a></span></div><div class="comment_box" data-ft="{"type":"ufi"}" style="clear: both; font-size: 11px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 2px;"><div class="comment_box_nub" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: url(http://static.ak.fbcdn.net/rsrc.php/zA4IG/hash/cny9pytx.png); background-origin: initial; background-position: -930px -69px; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; clear: left; height: 5px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 17px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; width: 9px;"></div><div class="feed_comments"><div class="ufi_section UIImageBlock clearfix" id="comment_2064230524_407954569539_13452027" style="background-color: #eceff5; border-bottom-color: rgb(229, 234, 241); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; clear: left; display: block; float: none; margin-bottom: 2px; padding-bottom: 4px; padding-left: 5px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 5px; width: 400px; zoom: 1;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><a class="UIImageBlock_Image UIImageBlock_SMALL_Image" href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1316973580" style="color: #3b5998; cursor: pointer; float: left; margin-right: 8px; text-decoration: none;" title="Dana Estes"><img alt="Dana Estes" class="UIProfileImage UIProfileImage_SMALL img" src="http://profile.ak.fbcdn.net/hprofile-ak-snc4/hs625.snc3/27417_1316973580_2762_q.jpg" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; display: block; height: 32px; width: 32px;" /></a></div><div class="UIImageBlock_Content UIImageBlock_SMALL_Content" style="display: table-cell; vertical-align: top; width: 1000px;"><div class="comment_text" style="padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 5px; padding-top: 1px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Tits McGee</span></b></div><div class="comment_actual_text" id="text_expose_id_4c437635678db71755249" style="display: inline;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I bet you wouldn't say the same thing about Rush L, Sean H, Glenn B, Mark L, or Bill O. Go ahead and say it and I MIGHT have a little respect for your opinion about this MORON. If you refuse than I think everyone will think as I do that your statement is just the ramblings of a hypocritical Dumbocrap Libtard.</div></div></div><div class="comment_actions" style="color: #777777; padding-bottom: 1px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 2px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><abbr data-date="Thu, 10 Jun 2010 08:23:19 -0700" style="border-bottom-color: initial; border-bottom-style: none; border-bottom-width: initial;" title="Friday, 11 June 2010 at 00:53">11 June at 00:53</abbr> · <a ajaxify="/ajax/spam_action.php?action=mark_spam&href=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.facebook.com%2Fajax%2Freport.php%3Ftype%3D7%26cid%3D13452027%26rid%3D1316973580%26cid2%3D407954569539%26profile%3D2213079539%26h%3D47c458ef0e&objectID=432309234539&storyClassName=ufi_section&paramString=1316973580_407954569539_1316973580_7_+I+bet+you+wouldn%27t+say+the+same+thing+about+Rush+L%2C+Sean+H%2C+Glenn+B%2C+Mark+L%2C+or+Bill+O.+Go+ahead+and+say+it+and+I+MIGHT+have+a+little+respect+for+your+opinion+about+this+MORON.+If+you+refuse+than+I+think+everyone+will+think+as+I+do+that+your+statement+is+just+the+ramblings+of+a+hypocritical+Dumbocrap+Libtard._1276183399" href="http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=2213079539&v=wall#" rel="async-post" style="color: #3b5998; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;">Flag</a></div></div></div></div></div></div></form><br />
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Let's be clear: everyone here is awful. Everyone. There's not a single word cluster there that doesn't make me want to claw at my brain with my fingernails. I'm really not sure on what grounds Tits McGee there thinks Rosie is being discriminated against. To be honest, I don't think he or she really honestly knows what the word actually means. All (s)he knows is that when (s)he doesn't like what someone else is saying, that's discrimination. I have free speech, darn tootin', and that means that you can't say anything that offends me. What confuses me more is the use of the word 'DSNGE'. Any way I look at it, I can't for the life of me figure out what this word is supposed to be. I can only conclude that it is some kind of synonym for burnsauce and is meant to be pronounced as a mash of letters. I included the reply there for the truly excellent use of the phrase 'Democrap Libtard'. <b><i>Ooooh, DSNGE!</i></b><br />
<b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15.84px; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15.84px;"></span></span></i></b><br />
<b><i></i></b><br />
<b><i><div><b><i><br />
</i></b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">And we're just warming up.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;"><br />
</span></div><div><b><i><br />
</i></b></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;"><div class="UIIntentionalStory_Header"><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="color: #333333; font-size: 13px; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="UIIntentionalStory_Names" data-ft="{"type":"name"}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #f3f3f3;">Tits McGee</span></b></span></span><span class="UIIntentionalStory_Names" data-ft="{"type":"name"}" style="color: grey;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #f3f3f3;"> </span></span><span class="UIStory_Message"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #f3f3f3;">Thank you for this group, FINALLY. I hate this woman and I hate everything about her.She ALWAYS loves flaunting her FAT opinions about EVERYTHING as if people are listening to her. If I was Elisabeth Hasselback, I would just went in for the right hook, cause that fat bitch deserves it. Love Tits McGee.</span></span></h3></div><form action="http://www.facebook.com/ajax/ufi/modify.php" ajaxify="1" class="commentable_item collapsed_comments one_row_add_box autoexpand_mode comment_form_293762359539" id="commentable_item_2016741171_293762359539" method="POST" name="add_comment" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="UIActionLinks UIActionLinks_bottom UIIntentionalStory_Info" data-ft="{"type":"action"}" style="clear: left; color: #999999; display: block; margin-top: 3px; min-height: 16px;"><span class="UIIntentionalStory_InfoText" style="color: #777777; min-height: 16px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 2px;"><span class="UIIntentionalStory_Time" style="color: #777777; font-size: 11px;"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=2213079539&v=wall&story_fbid=293762359539&ref=mf" id="" style="color: #777777; cursor: pointer; font-size: 11px; text-decoration: none;" target="" title=""><abbr data-date="Sun, 24 Jan 2010 10:39:52 -0800" style="border-bottom-color: initial; border-bottom-style: none; border-bottom-width: initial;" title="Monday, 25 January 2010 at 03:09"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #f3f3f3;">25 January at 03:09</span></abbr></a></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #f3f3f3;"> · </span><a ajaxify="/ajax/spam_action.php?action=mark_spam&href=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.facebook.com%2Fajax%2Freport.php%3Ftype%3D7%26cid%3D10288576%26rid%3D739456172%26cid2%3D2213079539%26h%3D657f3d88f2&objectID=293762359539&storyClassName=uiUnifiedStory&paramString=739456172_2213079539_2213079539_7_Thank+you+for+this+group%2C+FINALLY.+I+hate+this+woman+and+I+hate+everything+about+her.She+ALWAYS+loves+flaunting+her+FAT+opinions+about+EVERYTHING+as+if+people+are+listening+to+her.+If+I+was+Elisabeth+Hasselback%2C+I+would+just+went+in+for+the+right+hook%2C+cause+that+fat+bitch+deserves+it.+Love+Jeremy._1264358392" href="http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=2213079539&v=wall#" rel="async-post" style="color: #3b5998; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #f3f3f3;">Flag</span></a></span></form></span><br />
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If there's one sensible criticism I can make about Rosie O'Donnell, it's that her opinions are FAT. Geez, O'Donnell, send your opinions out for a jog or something. Tell them to cut down on the carbs, I don't know. It's not healthy. Fat whore deserves to have boiling water thrown up her to scald her insides. Love Tits McGee.<br />
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<div class="UIIntentionalStory_Header" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;"><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="color: #333333; font-size: 13px; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="UIIntentionalStory_Names" data-ft="{"type":"name"}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #f3f3f3;">Tits McGee</span></b></span></span><span class="UIIntentionalStory_Names" data-ft="{"type":"name"}" style="color: grey;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #f3f3f3;"> </span></span><span class="UIStory_Message"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #f3f3f3;">WHAT A SLOB, AND WITH A BIG MOUTH TO TOP IT OFF, A FARM PIG IS MUCH MORE PRETTY TO LOOK AT, AND SMELLS BETTER TOO, WISH SHE WOULD JUST GO AWAY, JUST LOOKING AT HER TURNS MY STOMACH ........... NO BRAINS, BUT LOT'S OF FAT, SO STICK HER ON THE GRILL</span></span></h3></div><form action="http://www.facebook.com/ajax/ufi/modify.php" ajaxify="1" class="commentable_item one_row_add_box autoexpand_mode comment_form_289435499539" id="commentable_item_688454039_289435499539" method="POST" name="add_comment" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="UIActionLinks UIActionLinks_bottom UIIntentionalStory_Info" data-ft="{"type":"action"}" style="clear: left; color: #999999; display: block; margin-top: 3px; min-height: 16px;"><span class="UIIntentionalStory_InfoText" style="color: #777777; min-height: 16px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 2px;"><span class="UIIntentionalStory_Time" style="color: #777777; font-size: 11px;"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=2213079539&v=wall&story_fbid=289435499539&ref=mf" id="" style="color: #777777; cursor: pointer; font-size: 11px; text-decoration: none;" target="" title=""><abbr data-date="Thu, 21 Jan 2010 17:37:50 -0800" style="border-bottom-color: initial; border-bottom-style: none; border-bottom-width: initial;" title="Friday, 22 January 2010 at 10:07"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #f3f3f3;">22 January at 10:07</span></abbr></a></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #f3f3f3;"> · </span><a ajaxify="/ajax/spam_action.php?action=mark_spam&href=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.facebook.com%2Fajax%2Freport.php%3Ftype%3D7%26cid%3D10173195%26rid%3D1400711274%26cid2%3D2213079539%26h%3Da42aef5c36&objectID=289435499539&storyClassName=uiUnifiedStory&paramString=1400711274_2213079539_2213079539_7_WHAT+A+SLOB%2C+AND+WITH+A+BIG+MOUTH+TO+TOP+IT+OFF%2C+A+FARM+PIG+IS+MUCH+MORE+PRETTY+TO+LOOK+AT%2C+AND+SMELLS+BETTER+TOO%2C+WISH+SHE+WOULD+JUST+GO+AWAY%2C+JUST+LOOKING+AT+HER+TURNS+MY+STOMACH+...........+NO+BRAINS%2C+BUT+LOT%27S+OF+FAT%2C+SO+STICK+HER+ON+THE+GRILL_1264124270" href="http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=2213079539&v=wall#" rel="async-post" style="color: #3b5998; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #f3f3f3;">Flag</span></a></span><br />
<div class="comment_box" data-ft="{"type":"ufi"}" style="clear: both; font-size: 11px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 2px;"><div class="comment_box_nub" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: url(http://static.ak.fbcdn.net/rsrc.php/zA4IG/hash/cny9pytx.png); background-origin: initial; background-position: -930px -69px; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; clear: left; height: 5px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 17px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; width: 9px;"></div><div class="like_box ufi_section" style="background-color: #eceff5; border-bottom-color: rgb(229, 234, 241); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; clear: left; float: none; margin-bottom: 2px; padding-bottom: 4px; padding-left: 5px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 5px; width: 400px;"><div class="UIImageBlock clearfix" style="display: block; zoom: 1;"><i class="UIImageBlock_Image UIImageBlock_ICON_Image img spritemap_a2gtd9 sx_3739a6" style="background-image: url(http://static.ak.fbcdn.net/rsrc.php/z6ZL3/hash/c1h466su.png); background-position: 0px -223px; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; display: block; float: left; height: 13px; margin-right: 5px; width: 15px;"></i><br />
<div class="UIImageBlock_Content UIImageBlock_ICON_Content" style="display: table-cell; padding-top: 1px; vertical-align: top; width: 1000px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Tits McGee</span> likes this.</div></div></div></div></form><br />
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I have never seen anything more quintessentially Texan than this comment. Starting off with a farm-related insult, following through with some home-style, all-caps hatred and to top it off, the Universal Southern US Problem-Solver: throw the bastards on the grill.<br />
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<div class="UIIntentionalStory_Header" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;"><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="color: #333333; font-size: 13px; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="UIIntentionalStory_Names" data-ft="{"type":"name"}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #f3f3f3;">Tits McGee</span></b></span></span><span class="UIIntentionalStory_Names" data-ft="{"type":"name"}" style="color: grey;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #f3f3f3;"> </span></span><span class="UIStory_Message"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #f3f3f3;">she is a queer</span></span></h3></div><form action="http://www.facebook.com/ajax/ufi/modify.php" ajaxify="1" class="commentable_item collapsed_comments one_row_add_box autoexpand_mode comment_form_196770544539" id="commentable_item_1563007460_196770544539" method="POST" name="add_comment" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="UIActionLinks UIActionLinks_bottom UIIntentionalStory_Info" data-ft="{"type":"action"}" style="clear: left; color: #999999; display: block; margin-top: 3px; min-height: 16px;"><span class="UIIntentionalStory_InfoText" style="color: #777777; min-height: 16px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 2px;"><span class="UIIntentionalStory_Time" style="color: #777777; font-size: 11px;"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=2213079539&v=wall&story_fbid=196770544539&ref=mf" id="" style="color: #777777; cursor: pointer; font-size: 11px; text-decoration: none;" target="" title=""><abbr data-date="Mon, 09 Nov 2009 19:40:57 -0800" style="border-bottom-color: initial; border-bottom-style: none; border-bottom-width: initial;" title="Tuesday, 10 November 2009 at 12:10"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #f3f3f3;">10 November 2009 at 12:10</span></abbr></a></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #f3f3f3;"> · </span><a ajaxify="/ajax/spam_action.php?action=mark_spam&href=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.facebook.com%2Fajax%2Freport.php%3Ftype%3D7%26cid%3D7076825%26rid%3D542133365%26cid2%3D2213079539%26h%3D940e521dbd&objectID=196770544539&storyClassName=uiUnifiedStory&paramString=542133365_2213079539_2213079539_7_she+is+a+queer_1257824457" href="http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=2213079539&v=wall#" rel="async-post" style="color: #3b5998; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #f3f3f3;">Flag</span></a></span><span class="UIActionLinks UIActionLinks_bottom UIIntentionalStory_Info" data-ft="{"type":"action"}" style="clear: left; color: #999999; display: block; margin-top: 3px; min-height: 16px;"><br />
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Keepin' it simple. Keepin' it honest.<br />
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-Smackie Onassis</div>Sarah Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03584240958341558491noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7502253968014820583.post-15197408621907300432010-07-18T19:15:00.000-07:002010-07-18T19:15:18.966-07:00Hat Club 4 Lyfe<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It was my birthday about a month ago or so. I'm not really that big on presents, so I told my friends what they could do for me instead. There was a celebration, a 'Hatstravaganza' as I referred to it. Naturally, there were a lot of photos taken on the night, as tends to happen on birthday events.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I told my friends that for my birthday, all I wanted was to be allowed to make a <a href="http://www.imdb.com/character/ch0026515/">Marshall Eriksen</a> style photo montage about how great that night was, and to be allowed to post it to the internet. They agreed willingly, but probably quickly forgot about it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Well, they are now being held to that agreement. Mainly because it was raining on the weekend and I was bored. Excuse the poor recording quality, I do not own any nice things.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Hat Club 4 Lyfe</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">-Smackie Onassis</div>Sarah Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03584240958341558491noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7502253968014820583.post-86151524366927633632010-07-17T16:01:00.000-07:002010-07-17T16:43:26.234-07:00Thinly Veiled Threats Presents: Chugbuster Sings Classics She Doesn't Know<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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My friend Chugbuster is basically the funniest person I know. When we first met she introduced herself with a warm-hearted,<br />
<br />
<i><b>Sup, I'm Chugbuster. I'll have you know I wore my killing boots today, because I can't be sure yet that you aren't a serial killer.</b></i><br />
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I'm paraphrasing, but that's pretty much how it went. We've been best buds ever since, so I guess she must have decided I'm probably not a serial killer after all.<br />
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Chugbuster is the youngest person I have ever been friends with. She wasn't even alive in the 1980s, not even for a year or two at the end of it. As such, she often doesn't get some of the cultural references that us older folk take for granted.<br />
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After she returned from a trip to the deepest, darkest depths of Broken Hill, I took advantage of our friendship by inviting her into my home and plying her with liquor, before asking her to perform songs that she doesn't know. Her versions are usually based mainly on the titles of the song.<br />
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Tracklist:<br />
1. The Big Bang Theory - Barenaked Ladies<br />
2. Blue Suede Shoes - Elvis Presley<br />
3. Eye of the Tiger - Survivor<br />
4. Sex and Candy - Marcy's Playground<br />
5. Rich Girl - Hall & Oates<br />
6. La Bamba<br />
6. Buckets of Rain - Bob Dylan<br />
7. Psycho Killer - Talking Heads<br />
8. Strangers in the Night - Frank Sinatra<br />
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-Smackie Onassis, who is also saving the earth one bucket at a time.Sarah Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03584240958341558491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7502253968014820583.post-19662948660288127392010-07-15T16:11:00.000-07:002010-07-15T16:11:38.766-07:00Adventures Update: What the hell?Before I begin, I should start by saying that I just dashed home as fast as I could purely to tell this story. Because it is that amazing.<br />
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I've been going for quite a few walks recently, just around my neighbourhood. It's a nice area. I've recently found myself amused by such wonders as the chiropractor around the corner named 'Dr Scarr' (<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nominative_determinism">Nominative Determinism</a> perhaps?) and streets with names such as 'Wigtown Wk' and 'Jude La'. If I walk past 'Jude La' one more time and someone hasn't added a 'W' to the end with a sharpie, I swear to god, I will have to take matters into my own hands.<br />
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This morning I was out on one of these walks and everything seemed perfectly normal. Until, just a few streets over from our house, I saw a small, old man hobbling around a car wreck. The back section of the car was completely wrapped around a tree, with shattered glass everywhere. Naturally, I rushed over to see if he was ok, and if he needed any assistance. The man gave me a strangely embarrassed look before speaking in a thick accent of indeterminate origin.<br />
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<b><i>"Eh... I try to knock down tree, but it not work..." </i></b><br />
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Seriously. There had been a tree outside his house that was obviously not in his good books, and his simple solution for this problem was to back his car forcefully into the tree. Keep in mind, this was a big, thick tree and his car was like, a fiat or something stupid like that. I don't know what goes through a person's head that makes them think the most logical solution to removing a tree from their property is to embrace it with your tiny car, but I am so glad I walked the way I did today.<br />
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Also, for the record, I made sure he was ok and didn't need any assistance. He wasn't in any way injured, apart from his pride and his car. The tree remained unharmed.<br />
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-Smackie OnassisSarah Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03584240958341558491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7502253968014820583.post-26646802393748230632010-07-10T18:52:00.000-07:002010-07-10T18:52:13.721-07:00Oh Internet. You so crazy.The internet is great for many reasons. There's porn, fantasy games, user-submitted humour sites and a great deal of other things designed for the express purpose of keeping awful people well and truly locked away in their parents' basement. No offense, awful people.<br />
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Sites like StumbleUpon that let you jump from random page to random page of the internet might as well be called 'Go on, I dare you', but you know me. I'm never one to refuse a dare. I've compiled a list of a few wonderful things I have found in the deepest, darkest corners of the web.<br />
<br />
I'd like to share that list with you.<br />
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First, there's the pages that have no explanation, but don't NEED one because they are just that amazing. These are pages such as the genre-defying <a href="http://selleckwaterfallsandwich.tumblr.com/">Selleck Waterfall Sandwich</a> or the free access television program featuring a man who paints while running on a treadmill and doing one other random activity. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=awRLTqNdk7g">Here's a video where he paints, runs and eats a pie, </a>but there are also clips where he blends drinks, makes pancakes and is watched by some kind of Jungle King, all while painting and exercising. Oh yes, get ready for a wasted afternoon.<br />
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While we're talking videos, I found an endlessly entertaining Romanian video site the other day. I found it after clicking on a link to a video of a man covered in bees, which was more entertaining than I could have possibly imagined. I initially watched it because I was thinking about <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xs-tl6GBOBo">that Eddie Izzard bit</a> that you will know if you are as much of a comedy nerd as most people I know. But not only is this particular Romanian beekeeper (who, according to the video, holds the world record for being "covered in the most bees") completely chill about being covered in bees, he's so cool with it that he's going to drink a beer. Hell, he'll even smoke a cigarette covered in bees! In fact, he's so relaxed about all the bees crawling over his body, he might even ride a donkey. You may think I'm just being funny (if so, thanks) but I am <a href="http://www.vyperlook.com/amazing-incredible/drinking-beer-covered-in-bees/">only just falling short of directly quoting the video</a>. I also particularly enjoyed the footage of a reporter getting hit by a horse, which I guess is the Romanian equivalent of the widely circulated 'Reporter Gets Hit by a Car' video.<br />
<br />
Of course, then there are the little things. The small, personalised corners of the internet that may not seem that interesting at first. But people often reveal much more than they intend to when they use the internet. You might remember when AOL's search logs were accidentally leaked to the public and everyone started getting worked up about the user who spent hours upon hours searching for flowers and song lyrics, before switching to hours and hours of searches along the lines of<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1380996368"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">"</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 19px;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1380996368"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">beauty and the beast disney porn, holocaust rape, japanese child slave, molestation and rape porn, virtual children, 3d molestation and rape porn</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"> and so on and so forth, before switching back to looking up Fall-Out Boy lyrics and orchids. </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;"></span><br />
<br />
But as much as I like reading about other people's sexual deviancies, I prefer the more subtle nods to an internet user's character. While browsing something I wouldn't be able to remember even if I were trying, I came across a site offering free linux software, uploaded by users. <a href="http://nixbit.com/cat/desktop-environment/desktop-widgets/wallcal/">One piece of software</a> caught my eye because of how unabashedly self-deprecating the description was:<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Wallcal is a simple, stupid, useless calendar for your desktop.</span></b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I created this instead alot of useful calendars because:</span></b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">- I don't like Aqua, Graphite, Aero. I like freedom, I love KDE, I'm looking for my personal desktop style..</span></b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">- Some famous calendars don't work on my PC.</span></b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Every month it will show you a photo of my honeymoon in Ireland. Of course you can change them.</span></b></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">And sure, all he's doing is promoting his software, but with the few short lines of a product description, the reader knows that here, here is a guy who hates his life.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">If it's baffling product descriptions you're after, wrap your eyes around this description for a <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/7234784-what-s-your-status-a-top-8-novel">recently released work of young adult fiction</a>, one of those books that tries to be 'hip with the kids' despite the fact the author was clearly a middle aged woman from birth.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Madison still loves logging on to Friendverse to see what her BFFs and </b></span><b>her cute new boyfriend Nate are up to. </b><b>But the latest social networking craze is Status Q, which is all about </b><b>rapid-fire status updates. When one of Mad's friends has to pull off a </b><b>high-pressure heist, the gang relies on Status Q to send coded messages </b><b>to each other...all in the middle of a school dance!</b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><b>What's YOUR status? How about O...M...G.</b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">...sorry, what was that about a heist? I mean, I vaguely understood all that blather about social networking, but did you say something about a high-pressure heist? I think you might have your angle a little askew, YA fiction author Katie Finn.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i>'But hey,'</i> you might be saying, <i>'What is there for me? I like my women like I like my coffee. That is to say, with a good hot slice of crazy floating in them.'</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br />
</i></span></div><div>Well, wait no longer, because I have the exact right woman for you. I'm not sure who this woman actually is, but her blog is called <a href="http://ling-bai.blogspot.com/">'Naked Seduction'</a>. In it, you will find a few blocks of text interspersed between photos of this girl, who is apparently in the films business. But judging by the sheer strength of the crazy sauce garnishing the entire thing, I have a suspicion that those pictures aren't the real deal. No proof, mind you, but I have faith that we live in society where suspicion alone is enough to have someone locked up for life. Here is a paragraph of her writing, with punctuation added by me in a vain attempt to make it a bit more coherent.</div><div><br />
</div><div><div><b>Yes it's true, this is what I do! This is what I do, the best to seduce you </b><b>with, the nakedness, naked emotion, naked heart, naked mind and naked </b><b>confession. Naked, naked soul and naked compassion. I seduce you with the </b><b>pure naked me and my naked love. I seduce you like a woman. I seduce you </b><b>like your best friend. I seduce you like you. I seduce you with the </b><b>distance only on the other side of the computer. Seduce with the </b><b>nakedness with danger. I am your mirror only reflects you...</b></div></div><div><b><br />
</b></div><div><b><br />
</b></div><div>That's right, she'll seduce you like your best friend, which is probably going to be awkward. But not as awkward as when she starts seducing you... <i>like you</i>. I have no idea what that means and it's still creepy. To be fair, after my attempts at editing that, I must admit that it does have potential in the ever-lucrative arena of performance poetry.</div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div>-Smackie Onassis</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div></span></span></div>Sarah Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03584240958341558491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7502253968014820583.post-68317679734159102832010-07-10T15:29:00.000-07:002010-07-11T14:34:37.352-07:00Bitches. Am I Right Guys?I'm not exactly what you would call feminine. I have all the right parts, but I don't seem to operate them the usual way. I'm a tomboy through and through and as a result, sometimes, I just don't understand women.<br />
<br />
I think I was born without the hormone that can turn a together, intelligent woman into a jealous, irrational crazy with little more than a sideways glance at another woman's assets. I have often sat down with my boyfriend purely to discuss the merits of another woman's assets. Sometimes also her tit-ets. I'm guessing the "irrational jealousy" hormone is the same hormone that makes it possible to so much as sit through the trailer to a Sex and the City movie, or understand the appeal of Twilight.<br />
<br />
As a result of thinking more like a dude than a chick, I just. don't. get. women. But still, there is nothing that annoys me more than anything that can be associated with the phrase 'Battle of the Sexes'. Not only is it a theme that has been done so often that there is literally no original material left (studies have shown that the last orignal men vs women joke can be traced back to December 5th, 1982*), but women seem to forget that while saying men are better than women is chauvinistic, so is saying women are better than men. While the definition of 'chauvinism' is usually quoted as 'hatred of women' or something similar, it is actually supposed to mean putting one gender over the other, regardless of which gender that may be.<br />
<br />
Also, it is completely and totally pointless.<br />
<br />
I hear women talk about all the ways male-dominated society is destroying the futures of young women. Don't get me started on how pornography is seen as harmful to women, despite the fact that it is the one industry where women almost always earn significantly more then men, and never mind that men in porn are not only also objectified, but put on a much lower standing than women. Don't even get me started on that. But whenever I hear people who call themselves feminists saying things like this I really fell the need to point out that regardless of what the male half of the world is doing, time criticising would probably be better spent alleviating the harm women are doing to young women.<br />
<br />
In my opinion, the effects of the porn industry on young women, whether or not you agree with what I just said up there, are <b>peanuts</b> compared to the wedding industry. If there's one industry I honestly think the world would benefit from completely wiping out, it's the wedding industry.<br />
<br />
And yes, I'm serious. For once. You can't open up any newspaper without seeing something about how the world's economy is doomed, for new and exciting reasons every day. People can't afford their mortgages, small businesses are going under and generally speaking, everybody is completely and totally fucked. Governments are intervening left, right and centre, slapping the restrictions on thick and fast.<br />
<br />
And yet, it's still perfectly acceptable to drill into little girls as soon as they can speak that if their groom doesn't spend $20,000 on their wedding, it means he doesn't really love her and her entire life will be totally meaningless.A five figure sum is seen as an AVERAGE cost of a wedding these days. FOR ONE DAY. ONE. DAY. Every time I see a photo in the paper about a young pair of newlyweds who will "never be able to afford to own their own home", I want to know just how much they spent on their wedding. To clarify, I'm not saying you shouldn't have a wedding. I'm just saying you shouldn't spend your entire life savings and then some on a single one day event.<br />
<br />
For other new and original ways women are destroying other women see: mothers who encourage their daughters to get breast implants because <a href="http://www.thefrisky.com/post/246-mothers-daughters-plastic-surgery-boob-jobs/?eref=RSS">"surgery is no big deal"</a>, and fairytales in general. My mother used to tell me about a lesbian couple she knew who, when reading fairytales to their daughter, used to change the endings from '...and she and Prince Charming lived happily ever after' to '...and she went to university, got a degree and then decided on her own terms if she wanted to marry Prince Charming', which I thought was great. Although I also don't like the whole 'Do nothing to fix your problems, and a fairy godmother will do everything for you' idea.<br />
<br />
Cinders, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but if you want to go to the ball, you're going to have to make your own damn dress.<br />
<br />
-Smackie Onassis<br />
<br />
P.S. Heat two of the band names poll is just coming to a close, and unless there is a sudden surge of votes in the next seven or so hours, it's looking like 'The Fistiest Cuffs' is going through to the next round, which I must say I am pleased with. In heat three you will be deciding between The Bourgeois Gestures League, Citroen Ella, Imp Proper and Randy Bourbon and his 'Day of Regrets' Band.<br />
<br />
<br />
*Disclaimer: I made that up.Sarah Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03584240958341558491noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7502253968014820583.post-53595190953600749052010-06-30T23:38:00.000-07:002010-06-30T23:38:25.908-07:00Hijinks and the likeI've always liked kissing strangers.<br />
<br />
There's something thrilling about spontaneous passion. Meeting someone, striking up a conversation (not compulsory) and kissing for awhile before hopefully never seeing each other ever again. Or, at the very least, never speaking of it.<br />
<br />
For me, the moment that best summed up this idea was with a guy who was, I guess, an acquaintance. He was the cousin of a guy I went to school with and we used to see each other about quite a bit. It was usually at uni, gigs or the pub, and it was always in a group with mutual friends.<br />
<br />
One night, I was on my way home after a night out. As I passed by the pub that stood between the bus stop and my house* I ran into the aforementioned acquaintance. He was with one other friend who was too drunk to really participate in the conversation. We said a few words to each other, I don't remember any of them, and somehow found ourselves kissing. Afterwards, he walked me the rest of the way home, we kissed again and then parted ways. We never spoke of it again, and I was always quietly pleased with the way our friendship remained completely unchanged for it, the way we didn't even need to talk about it to know better than to make anything of it.<br />
<br />
Of course, when I found out that he had an identical twin it did put something of a question mark on the whole event.<br />
<br />
There were an absurd amount of multiple births in Newcastle. I honestly don't know what it was, maybe it was something to do with the coal. Or the steel-works, back when it was still running. I guess all that sheer manliness in the air started making the men's sperm super powerful, impregnating women with twins or even triplets every time they so much as held hands with them. It seemed like every year when school went back, we would see a headline in the local paper reading <i>"Three sets of identical twins in same class!"</i>. I personally knew two sets of triplets.<br />
<br />
Actually, the one time in my life that I ever babysat was for one of those triplet sets and their older sister. I'm fairly sure the only reason I agreed to it was because I read a lot of the Babysitter's Club when I was a kid and I thought that 'sitting' for triplets could only possibly result in wacky adventures, possibly even the solving of a mystery. Imagine my disappointment when we just played hide and seek for a few hours. I never did like children.<br />
<br />
Of course, the sheer volume of identical twins meant that zany sitcom-esque misunderstandings were pretty commonplace. I remember when the band I was in played an all ages gig where it turned out the drummer of the support act was our guitarist's identical twin. Or when I was working at a league's club and a new girl started. A new girl who happened to be the identical twin of a girl who'd been working there a good few months. Naturally, she was placed in the same section, required to wear the same uniform and not issued a name tag for at least three or four shifts. Or the pimply, choir-singing twins at my high school who had the misfortune of having a last name that sounded a bit too similar to the word 'poo' to avoid hilarity, hilarity that was only increased when it was revealed that one of the twins was gay, but the other straight. <br />
<br />
<br />
Sometimes I wonder whether my entire childhood was just a complex series of practical jokes.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
-Smackie Onassis<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
*There are a ridiculous amount of pubs in my hometown, even by Australian standards. If you walked two blocks from my place you would hit at least one or two pubs in all but one direction.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
P.S. Heat one of my band name poll is closed, with both Goddamn the Rhythm! and The Sentient Entities going through to the next round. Personally, I'm hoping to put Parsley Disaster through as a wild card, because come on you guys.Sarah Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03584240958341558491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7502253968014820583.post-82507829749704396462010-06-30T17:45:00.000-07:002010-06-30T17:48:16.886-07:00'Tea Party' used to be a phrase with such positive connotations...Recently, I've been drinking more tea than I used to. At least, I'm fairly sure there was a time when I drank less than a million billion cups of tea a day. I only really started drinking the hot stuff while working in a tea shop with Meattrain and Vegatrain. You might be thinking that the three of us living together while also working in a tea shop together would make us the quaintest share house in the world, but you're probably only thinking that if you've stumbled across this page by accident and have never actually met any of us. Most people, when asked to recall the first time they visited our old house (which I believe has now been demolished?), will tell you a story that will almost definitely involve one of the boys throwing kitchen knives at a target. Just the other day I found myself asking Vegatrain why exactly it was that he set Meattrain's bookcase on fire that one time (it was because Meattrain had been using a deoderant can and lighter to throw him some flames). I have done my best to train them out of it, but pyromaniacs will be pyromaniacs. The best I can do is encourage them to <a href="http://thinlyveiledthreats.blogspot.com/2010/05/wine-fight.html">throw wine around instead</a>.<br />
<br />
But back to tea.<br />
<br />
I've been drinking a lot of tea lately. I have both a wonderful selection of teas and a wonderful selection of tea pots available to me. I've been drinking it for the taste, for warmth, for relaxation and even as an attempt to prevent myself from flying into a fit of murderous rage. Although my choice of crockery for that last one may have been a tad counter-productive:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRzaR0SLt2q4SNHn1sUFLYv8hLVxCGE1VK2tafRHm-fGstAmL9qJvwb5Kex_9LO70nnhZnzO9VXBoGY1HNwUI4U2QkXUcNcwCdrzbZhm3bo2iRR-5b7KXlM8O0HvacTKhFoi8w1YmClTY/s1600/Picture_010%5B1%5D" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRzaR0SLt2q4SNHn1sUFLYv8hLVxCGE1VK2tafRHm-fGstAmL9qJvwb5Kex_9LO70nnhZnzO9VXBoGY1HNwUI4U2QkXUcNcwCdrzbZhm3bo2iRR-5b7KXlM8O0HvacTKhFoi8w1YmClTY/s320/Picture_010%5B1%5D" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Exhibit A</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I've also learned a lot about the various types of tea. One thing in particular I have learned is that man, oh man, do I want a slice of the chamomile teabag industry. What a sweet, sweet pot that must be. You see, what a lot of people who buy chamomile in teabags don't realise is that for the price they would gladly pay for a cup of the stuff in a cafe, or for a small box of pre-packaged chamomile teabags, you could buy a whole pillow-case full of loose chamomile. All you need to do is whack a bit of string on that bitch and you can sell it for an utterly insane profit. Genius.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I've had a think about this and I'm pretty sure there are two reasons why you can get away with this type of nonsense. First, because most people don't know about it. The second reason is because amongst the people who drink a lot of herbal teas and chamomile and the like, you find quite a lot of a certain type of person. For argument's sake, let's just call them 'hippies'. You see, hippies are used to paying exorbitant prices for organic produce. And often, there are good reasons for those prices. But sometimes, I think it's just because the sellers of those products have realised what they can get away with. There is no easier way to sell someone anything than by agreeing with their politics. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>Customer: Bit pricey for a bag of leaves, innit?</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>Me: That's just because of the new tax you have to pay for not killing puppies. This flippin' government, I tells ya.</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>Customer: Damn straight! Here, have all my money. Keep up the good work!</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">There you go, you've just completed Marketing 101. And don't go thinking I'm having a crack at hippies because I'm anti-environment or some rubbish. As you probably know, I'm a vegetarian. In fact, I'm so dedicated to recycling that when I make a typing error, I'll only delete the letters I can't reuse for the phrase I was trying to write. It just feels so wasteful to delete perfectly good letters like that.</div><br />
-Smackie Onassis<br />
<br />
<br />
P.S. I hope you've been enjoying the updates from this blog's newly appointed 'Future Reporter', your friendly neighbourhood Vegatrain.Sarah Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03584240958341558491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7502253968014820583.post-84300107422527265872010-06-30T06:58:00.000-07:002010-06-30T06:58:26.113-07:00Hey It's The Future II by Vegatrain<i>Did I already mention that it is the future? I am pretty sure I did. Well, either way, it totally is. And here's why.</i><br />
<br />
<b>Deflexion(tm) Technology Textiles</b><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://inventorspot.com/files/images/nano-materials.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://inventorspot.com/files/images/nano-materials.jpg" width="197" /></a></div>This stuff is totes totes crazy. This range of silicone based impact protection gear is SUPER crazy, and they use it to protect everything, you can even wear it out cycling, and if you crash, it acts like <i>silicone armor. S</i>ilicon<br />
armor is no bronze armor but dude, you're on a bike! And they can make this crap into t-shirts!<br />
This is especially useful for motorcyclists, because when they crash they tend to do not so well. Testing of a limb cover of the material showed that it reduced the pressure of impact by about 33% by absorbing and dispersing the energy. That's pretty important when you're, well, halfway through a motorcycle accident.<br />
<br />
I don't know how I'm going to top th-<br />
<br />
<b>PHIRTUAL BEES</b><br />
What? Oh man.<br />
<br />
You know when you think, 'I like physical bees! But I can't have those because they will sting me. So I will get virtual bees. But the bees are <i>too virtual</i>. These bees are not physical enough!!!'? Well if you do think that, like I do, you'll love <a href="http://www.engadget.com/2010/06/22/phirtual-bees-make-us-feel-pretty-excited-for-the-phuture?icid=sphere_blogsmith_inpage_engadget"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;">Phirtual Bees</span></a>.Saxon Druryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550190925478433895noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7502253968014820583.post-48560382244201443992010-06-24T17:30:00.000-07:002010-06-24T17:33:32.905-07:00Hey It's The Future by your friend Vegatrain<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hey everyone!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Have you noticed lately that it's the future? I have. I know it must be the future because when we were in the present, we didn't have robots and shit. And now we TOTALLY DO.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.blogcdn.com/www.switched.com/media/2010/05/moonbase.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="182" src="http://www.blogcdn.com/www.switched.com/media/2010/05/moonbase.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.blogcdn.com/www.switched.com/media/2010/05/moonbase.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">(source:switched.com)</span></div><blockquote><blockquote>(from Switched.com) "Japan apparently didn't get the memo that the whole Space Race is so last century, so it's going ahead with a project that will confirm just about every hard sci-fi stereotype about Japanese innovation: they're going to put massive, intelligent humanoid robots on the moon. The Japanese space agency JAXA is moving forward with the $2.2 billon project that aims to get the robots to the lunar surface by 2015, and have them build their own unmanned moon base by 2020. Weighing in at 660 pounds, the proposed space bots will be equipped with HD cameras, solar panels and tank treads. They'll have seismographs and some other scientificky instument-y things, too -- but we don't want to lose focus on the fact that there will be giant robots on the effing moon. And even though the robots' masters will have a remote link on Earth's surface, the bots will be able to make decisions for themselves and operate with "a high degree of autonomy," according to Popular Science." </blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">Pretty cool, right. But I hear what you're saying, sure, robots on the moon, why should I care? I liv in Earth, man, y u gone talkin' bout the moon? If you are saying that your grammar is atrocious. But alright, I'll show you an even cooler Earth Robot:</span></blockquote></blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.blogcdn.com/www.engadget.com/media/2009/02/muratafeb2009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://www.blogcdn.com/www.engadget.com/media/2009/02/muratafeb2009.jpg" width="320" /></span></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What's this you ask? Oh it's just a friggin </span><a href="http://www.engadget.com/2009/02/23/nedos-advanced-robotics-project-enters-second-phase-boasts-tot/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;">NURSE BOT</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;">.</span> Here is the lowdown from engadget:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><blockquote><blockquote>"NEDO, an administrative institute in Japan, has been working on what it calls the "Project for Strategic Development of Advanced Robotics Elemental Technologies" since 2006. The project has now entered its second phase, and boasts some pretty impressive looking bots. <a href="http://www.engadget.com/tag/Murata/" style="outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;">Murata</span></a> Machinery's robotic delivery system (pictured above) which is designed to help in places like hospitals, delivering medications late at night so that nurses and aids don't have to spend a lot of time on such tasks. The company plans to test it and monitor the bot in use at hospitals in order to verify its effectiveness."</blockquote></blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So! It's totes the future, case closed. </span>Saxon Druryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550190925478433895noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7502253968014820583.post-85773961857624299012010-06-23T16:36:00.000-07:002010-06-23T16:42:12.416-07:00So... how about that World Cup, huh?<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">I don't know if you noticed, but the World Cup is happening at the moment.</span></span><br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">If you didn't know that, you're most likely being kept prisoner in a basement somewhere, in which case you probably have more pressing issues with which to concern yourself. But at least now you have an explanation for that low, droning buzz that's been contributing to the horror of your situation. </span></span><br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">I've tried to picture the person who decided it was a good idea to start selling vuvuzelas to drunken soccer fans. Sometimes, I picture a guy washing his hands in a sink full of cash, cackling madly to himself. Other times I picture a guy crying himself to sleep, haunted by the knowledge of what he created. However, in that second scenario, the guy is still crying himself to sleep on a bed made of money, so I think he probably still comes out ahead.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">I have to admit, I was surprised when I heard the Cup was going to be in South Africa this year. But the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. You see, as dignified a sport as soccer may be, it does tend to result in an awful amount of rioting. I think they've actually factored it into the rules of the game. If your team doesn't win, then extra points can be scored in any ensuing riots, based on which team's fans do the most damage. Kind of like overtime, but more violent.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">And South Africa, well, they're kinda known for having a whole bunch of riots of their own. This is what seemed strange to me about the decision to have them host the World Cup - basing a sport known to attract riots in a country known to attract riots did seem a bit like asking for trouble to me. What I'm guessing is they looked at the situation and decided that if they host the Cup in a country where there's already quite a lot of rioting, then the soccer fans can just join in with the existing riots. The result? Less riots overall! Smooth move, Sepp Blatter.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">Oh, by the way, I do like that the President of FIFA is named Sepp Blatter. Say it out loud, you won't regret it. Sepp Blatter. Sepp. Blatter. I have noticed over the years that having a freakin amazing name seems to be a prerequisite for any kind of international sporting official position. All you need to do is brush your eyes over the list of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Category:International_Olympic_Committee_members">International Olympic Committee members</a> to confirm that. My personal favourite is Infanta Pilar, Duchess of Badajoz, although anyone who watched <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Dream_with_Roy_and_HG">The Dream</a> back in the days of the 2000 Olympics will remember Jacques Rogge and Dick Pound with a certain fondness.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">Although, if it's memories of the 2000 Olympics we're talking about, my personal favourite is when the designers of the medals decided to leave Tasmania off the Australian map that they put on the back of them. I have not yet stopped laughing at the way Tassie got all offended and every other state banded together to say <i>'Have a cry, Tasmania!</i>' and then laughed behind their hands.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">Good times.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
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</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">-Smackie Onassis</span></span></div></div></div>Sarah Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03584240958341558491noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7502253968014820583.post-65101756676975461552010-06-20T23:22:00.000-07:002010-06-20T23:32:32.431-07:00A List Of My Favourite ListsI can't express how much I love wikipedia. There's nothing I enjoy more than interesting facts and if I'm craving a big tasty bowl of Knowledge Pops, all I need to do is hit that 'random article' button to find out that the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Neuroscience_of_free_will">study of neuroscience and free will is totally interesting</a> or that <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rufus_Wainwright#Poses_and_a_struggle_with_addiction_.282000.E2.80.932002.29">Rufus Wainwright parties like a motherfreakin' rockstar</a>. Then I follow the links from those pages and it's all one big learning adventure.<br />
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I particularly like the lists on Wikipedia. Mainly because they're usually well organised collections of relevant links, but sometimes because, well, they're just... amazing. Over the last few months I've been collecting a few of my favourites in a list of my own. The one that inspired me to start taking note of these lists was their category of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Category:Fictional_characters_who_can_duplicate_themselves">Fictional Characters who Can Duplicate Themselves</a>, a surprisingly long list that includes the likes of Gumby, Shredder and the T-1000. It wasn't the content of the list that amazed me so much as the fact that at least one person cares about this subject enough to compile a detailed list for the internet. I couldn't help but wonder what purpose this could possibly serve, why anyone would find themselves thinking <i>'Quick! I need the names of at least ten fictional characters who can duplicate themselves and I need them NOW!' </i>without then waking up and realising that it was all a dream.<br />
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Then I remembered that this is the internet, where "purpose" is an irrelevant concept. If you ever ask <i>'Why?' </i>the only necessary answer is <i>'Who cares why? Check it out!'</i>, one of the many things I love about this wacky world wide web.<br />
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Following the duplicators on my list were another few that were just plain old interesting, such as the lists of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Messiah_claimants">Messiah Claimants</a> or <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_sole_survivors_of_airline_accidents_or_incidents">Sole Survivors</a>. I wish I could say I was surprised to see how many people are claiming to be the Messiah, but gee whiz, Christianity really did leave itself wide open for that one. I also found the list of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Category:Feral_children">Feral Children</a> notable for only having eleven entries. I guess Wikipedia has a much narrower definition of 'Feral' than I do.<br />
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Of course, the real joy comes when you get down to the really oddly specific ones. I could barely contain myself when I discovered that some wonderful human being/robot had created a list of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/SS_Lesbian">Ships Named The S.S. Lesbian</a>. I know there's only three on the list, but that's enough for me. The list of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Adages_named_after_people">Eponymous Laws</a> provided me with a bunch of great new phrases to use, among them the wonderful '<a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1676546601">Hanlon's R</a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hanlon's_razor">azor</a>' (</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">"Do not invoke conspiracy as explanation when ignorance and incompetence will suffice") as well as something to do with physics which I liked because it appear to be named after someone with the same last name as me, along with another guy with the last name 'Beer'. I don't care what the actual law is, I now use it when I need to answer the ever-present question of 'Should I have a beer?'. Just FYI the answer, according to the law, is yes. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">But possibly the most entertaining list of them all is the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_ice_hockey_nicknames">List of Ice Hockey Nicknames</a>. The list eases you in with the type of name you'd expect, but I guess somewhere along the line they realised that they can't <i>all</i> be named Ace. So then you start seeing names like Dipsy-Doodle-Dandy and the very confusing Baby Dominator, who I 'm assuming was a roller derby player who wandered into the wrong building and went along with it. Then, a few names that are actually a bit clever such as 'The Puck Goes Inski' (Steve Buzinski) and 'Net Detective' (Jim Carey). Well, when I say 'clever', you have to take into account that these are people who basically get hit in the head for a living. You need to cut them a little slack. On top of that are the ones I find simply baffling, such as Cheesy, Grapes and Darryl, which I found confusing as a nickname for a guy whose name was actually Sidney Crosby. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">And those are just my highlights: the list itself is longer than your attention span could possibly be. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">-Smackie Onassis</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">P.S. I have decided to use my polls to name the band that I am eventually going to form. I have a list of adequate names, the only hard part is narrowing it down, which I will be doing in heats because there is just SO MUCH GOLD. In Heat One, you fine folk will be choosing between Goddamn the Rhythm!, The Sentient Entities, The Sexy Fenders (GEDDIT), and Parsley Disaster.</span>Sarah Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03584240958341558491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7502253968014820583.post-43127931774042577432010-06-17T17:53:00.000-07:002010-06-17T21:28:38.626-07:00Facebook: A Public Service AnnouncementI'm going to go right ahead and say it: I have never been as opinionated in my life as I am right now. I have always been fairly passionate, but at the moment I seem to have an opinion on pretty much every subject. <div><br /></div><div>There's a reason for this sudden influx of ideas. Like most things happening in my life at the moment, it can be traced back to that dreaded <a href="http://thinlyveiledthreats.blogspot.com/2010/03/unfortunate-circus-flip-incident.html">CFI</a>*. You see, before the Incident I had always been a terribly busy person. It was all study and work and theatre and music and writing and on and on and on. Then, suddenly, I find myself all holed up on the couch scarcely able to make myself a sandwich, let alone any of those other things. I spent a good majority of that time reading about issues and then forming opinions. As a result, I've got opinions coming out of all major orifices at the moment.</div><div><br /></div><div>Of course, it wasn't the only thing I did with my time. I also watched a great deal of youtube clips and as a result, I no longer have anything resembling an attention span when it comes to movies. If a movie can sensibly be measured in hour units, I find myself wondering, <i>'Do they have anything closer to the three minute mark? Preferably featuring a pug?'. </i>I could give you a full list of pug-themed youtube clips off the top of my head. I think that when they sell pugs, they come in a deal with a video camera and a youtube account. Which is just fine by me.</div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>Due to the constant thinking, reading, evaluating and opinion forming, the way I use other aspects of the internet has changed. After noticing that I rarely spoke to a huge portion of people on my facebook list, I made the decision to do a mass cull. It seemed irrelevant to have more than a hundred people classed as my 'friends' who I never even communicated with. I even felt used, like little more than a cog in a wheel fueled by self-indulgence and false popularity. So I cut them from the team.</div><div><br /></div><div>But it wasn't just that. There was also an element of self-preservation. You see, I have this debilitating condition that is unfortunately prolific on the internet. You see people afflicted with this disease on every messageboard, every discussion forum, every corner of the internet that some poor fool has allowed people to comment on. This condition means that if I see someone, anyone, express an opinion, no matter how unimportant, and I think they're wrong, I <b>must say something.</b> I have no choice in the matter; I simply need to call them on it. And, quite frankly, it was getting a tad inappropriate. I mean, when you haven't spoken to your sister in over a year and suddenly you're all up in her internet, informing her that whatever unimportant sentiment she has expressed is sadly misinformed, it does start to feel slightly awkward.</div><div><br /></div><div>So I thinned the numbers. Cut a few from the team. And it felt good. The more secure, more select shortlist of people. It felt like some kind of elite group. Some kind of elite group whose membership was decided <i>solely by me. </i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>It was a buzz.</div><div><br /></div><div><div>After that, I would skim my list of remaining friends every now and then, evaluating who could stay and who could go. I was like the mad and all powerful judge in some kind of awful reality tv show. I told myself that this was all just me being very sensible. I told myself that no longer would I be used to bolster some cockknuckle's gargantuan number of friends. No longer would my friendship be treated as a commodity. No longer would I fall victim to this online popularity contest that social networking has become!</div><div><br /></div><div>But after a while, I found these deleting "sessions" becoming more and more frequent. I'd had a sniff of the power usually only experienced by Endemol producers and Southern US Governers: the power to kick people out of an elite group at will, with no real pre-requisites other than <b>because I said so.</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>Soon enough, I found myself looking for faults, waiting for another person to slip up so I could slam my finger down on that button and declare to the world, 'NO FRIENDSHIP FOR YOU'. A power trap that I'm sure more than a few people have fallen victim to since Facebook's inception in the early 2000s, back when it was known as Facemash (seriously).</div><div><br /></div><div>So I urge any of you, if you start to feel yourself drifting into this pattern, just... just let it go, man. Are you blocking that person because you honestly don't want them to be all up in your business on the internet, or because when someone says something stupid<i> it feels good to punish them, damnit. </i>Before too long you might find yourself doling out timed banishment sentences for minor grammatical offences. </div></div><div><br /></div><div>So by all means, delete the jerk who updates three times a day with the same cut/pasted piece of self-promotion. Delete the guy who hasn't replied to your comments in just over 8 months.</div><div><br /></div><div>But, be careful. Because by the time you realise that you're trapped, i<i>t will already be too late</i>.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>-Smackie Onassis</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>*The now standard abbreviation for the Circus Flip Incident. I feel it makes me sound just slightly less ridiculous.</div>Sarah Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03584240958341558491noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7502253968014820583.post-32518603743053794562010-06-13T01:20:00.000-07:002010-06-13T02:46:43.025-07:00Smackie Onassis is a HypochondriacBy now, some of you may have noticed that I'm something of a hypochondriac. Sometimes I figure it's better to get my neurotic medical worries checked out, even if it might be nothing. After all, I could have <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jumping_Frenchmen_of_Maine">Jumping Frenchmen of Maine Disorder</a> or something equally as wonderful.<div><br /></div><div>But recently I was going to a bunch of doctors for some actual real symptoms I was having. I had about four different sets of blood tests, each coming back with something different that they needed to follow up on. Because I go to a free clinic, I had a new doctor almost every time I went. My favourite would have to be a wonderfully straight-forward Vietnamese doctor who seemed to approach medicine with the attitude of someone selling fresh produce at a market. What follows is actually a fairly accurate transcription of the end of one of our consults:</div><div><br /></div><div>Doc: Ok, I'll order tests for these things.</div><div>Me: Sure. Will I need to fast?</div><div>Doc: You wanna fast?</div><div>Me: I guess I could fast...</div><div>Doc: You fast, I'll throw in tests for cholesterol and diabetes.</div><div>Me: Deal.</div><div><br /></div><div>At first it seemed most likely that the stomach problems I'd been having were caused by acid reflux, an after effect of <a href="http://thinlyveiledthreats.blogspot.com/2010/03/unfortunate-circus-flip-incident.html">that damn flip</a>. So, I tried some treatments for that, taking the pills and drinking milk to settle my stomach, something I'd heard worked wonders. Unfortunately the problem actually turned out to be lactose intolerance, so I'm not sure the milk really helped too much.</div><div><br /></div><div>It seems like a cruel joke to make me lactose intolerant. I love cheese more than anyone else I know. You've got a chocolate bar, I can take it or leave it. But a thick chunk of matured cheddar and I am all over that like a bitch on heat.</div><div><br /></div><div>Here is a flow chart of how the average meal/snack worked for me prior to this lactose business:</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHfq8gTUImM7wSNfW-rRGxe4DURn-0ypqcpEpOqsVkBXzbJqXpLqGpGOsZDywOrLhtcwVzaHcw6EDJNncPLa8J-oDNtF4jLhhOZ7olBeMyFeXqYBH2RbvRml-XsT78H61t4ROeex6CsAo/s1600/cheese.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 242px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHfq8gTUImM7wSNfW-rRGxe4DURn-0ypqcpEpOqsVkBXzbJqXpLqGpGOsZDywOrLhtcwVzaHcw6EDJNncPLa8J-oDNtF4jLhhOZ7olBeMyFeXqYBH2RbvRml-XsT78H61t4ROeex6CsAo/s320/cheese.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482191896990391234" /></a><div style="text-align: left;">One of my favourite hobbies up until now was shopping for discounted cheese, combining my love of salty dairy produce with my other true love: bargains. I remember once finding such a good deal on a wedge of blue cheese that I had to buy it, despite leaving for Melbourne later that afternoon. I managed to get through a surprising amount of that cheese in those short few hours before my flight and I <b>regret nothing</b>.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Not being able to eat cheese has seemed crueller and crueller as the days have passed. First it was finding myself hungry at a party, with little more to eat than Cheezels and Cheetos, two of my favourite foods that I can no longer consume without "consequences"*. Then, wandering to the shops and seeing a deli that suddenly had free tastings of French Roquefort, one of my favourite stinky cheeses that I haven't been able to afford for a while and now, tragically, can't eat. It all started to seem like an elaborate prank played on me by my stupid jerk housemates.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I even found myself gazing longingly at a picture of a big, round thing of blue cheese on a facebook ad. Until I looked closer and realised it was actually a hat.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I am officially a cartoon character.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">-Smackie Onassis</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">P.S. Four votes on my poll have somehow resulted in a four way tie! Come on, children, don't let it end this way!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">*Butt consequences</div>Sarah Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03584240958341558491noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7502253968014820583.post-88449629809194694312010-06-06T15:49:00.000-07:002010-06-06T20:36:27.158-07:00Traditional Gender Roles Are For QuittersthisI've always been something of a tomboy. When I was a kid my favourite hobby was bush-bashing, in its most non-innuendo sense. I learned how to abseil in the bush behind my grandparents' house before I was old enough to watch M-rated movies at the cinema.<div><br /></div><div>As for other hobbies, I was originally enrolled in the local ballet school but after a few years of utterly and vocally hating it, I was switched to the local swim team. Eventually, I ended up in water polo, a sport I enjoyed a whole lot more. Our team was even sponsored by the local steel works, it was that macho. My personal motto was<i> 'It's not whether you win or lose, it's how badly you injure the opposition'.</i> Words I still live by to this day.<div><br /></div><div>I remember in primary school when I tried to follow social convention and be friends with girls. I remember trying to pretend that I would rather watch some bullshit about Disney princesses than the latest episode of Pokemon. The most valuable social tool I figured out for myself was when I realised that if I accidentally caught myself singing the Pokemon theme, I could switch to 'Part of Your World' from the Little Mermaid halfway through and no-one would notice. Seriously, sing the first line from each, they're exactly the same.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>Needless to say, in my teen years I became friends with a lot more boys than girls. I had a big group of friends and for conversational purposes we would often split off into sub-groups. Around year 10 I noticed that these sub-groups usually consisted of girls on one side, and then boys + me on the other side. Every now and then I would feel a bit disloyal to my gender and try to join in their conversation, but after about three minutes of talking about tv shows that I found about as entertaining as watching a turd dry in the sun (see my current poll for more details) and gossiping about who was asking who to the formal, I found myself smiling, nodding and wandering back to the boys so I could outline why I thought <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Steven_Bradbury">Steven Bradbury</a> should be our national sporting mascot. For the record, it's because nothing embodies the Australian spirit more than cruising casually into the gold medal position after everybody else stacks it at the last minute.</div><div><br /></div><div>Don't get me wrong, some of the best friends I've ever had have been girls. But in general, I just plain old get along better with boys. Spitting, swearing and belching are three of my favourite activities. I remember being out in the courtyard when Vegatrain pointed out that a certain tree needed watering. My sole response was to spit on said tree, which he followed by filling a glass of water and then throwing the glass itself at the tree's trunk (for the record, the tree is doing just fine now). I also quite enjoy being able to drunkenly make out with my mates, then never mention it again apart from to say <i>'Hey, remember that time we totally macked?</i>' and then high five.</div><div><br /></div><div>I know I'm not a proper girl. When girls are upset, they are supposed to watch romantic comedies with a box of tissues and probably some ice-cream on hand. I know this from the films. Personally, if I'm upset, there's only one movie I will watch and that's Die Hard. What would cheer you up more? Bruce Willis, Alan Rickman and a whole lot of explosives, or Hugh Grant weeping for two hours? I know which direction the scales are tipping for me.</div><div><br /></div><div>Needless to say, a lot of people have thought that I was a lesbian over the years. I remember conversations with my mother where she appeared to be encouraging me to 'come out'. I think it may have been wishful thinking on her part, due to her complete and total paranoia that I would one day come home knocked up. </div><div><br /></div><div>These days I get mistaken for a lesbian a lot, although it's mostly due to the fact that I have a boyfriend who is mistaken for a girl so often he doesn't even react to it anymore. When I first moved into the sharehouse known to all as the 'Dude Ranch' there was some discussion of whether it could keep that name with a vagina under the roof. In response, all I needed to do was point at Vegatrain, who was probably talking about how much he loves Charmed (but only the parts with Julian McMahon, on account of dreaminess).</div><div><br /></div><div>I am well aware that my boyfriend is a total and utter girl. If there is so much as evidence that a spider has been near his desk, I am called in for the kill. Or if it has since disappeared, it is my job to find and destroy it on the chance that it <i>might come back. </i>I am sure that I'm one of the few heterosexual girlfriends in the world to utter the phrase <i>'Sweetie, do you want to keep these ticket stubs for your memories folder?'.* </i>When we go out, he's always the one who takes ages to fix his hair and decide which pair of bright pink fisherman's pants he's going to wear that day. I have often said that dating him is the closest thing you can get to lesbianism while still having regular access to a cock. The reverse is probably true about me.</div><div><br /></div><div>And, realistically, what more could you want in a relationship?</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>-Smackie Onassis<br /></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>*</i>On a related note, I feel that I might be in the minority of girls to have said to their boyfriends: <i>'Clearly, you have not seen Star Wars enough times.'</i></div><br /><br /><br /><i>EDIT: On reading this entry, Vegatrain turned to me and pouted, saying '...but I only have ONE pair of bright pink fisherman's pants.' I think that in itself says enough.</i>Sarah Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03584240958341558491noreply@blogger.com0