The Rules Of Attraction

I recently mentioned in passing that I had worked out the four main categories of people I automatically develop a crush on. I have now realised that this probably deserves a bit of elaboration. Now, admittedly my science is very flawed and this is something that may work or may not work, but after having been asked about it by someone who reads this blog (people read this blog?), I thought I better explain.

See, I have had my fair share of crushes over the years and, because I have an insatiable need to over-analyse my every waking thought, I did a little survey. I looked over all the crushes I'd had, from boys at school to slightly more famous people. After awhile, I had defined four distinct categories of people that I will almost always be attracted to straight away, whether I am okay with that or not. Only one category is necessary, but the chance of swooning increases exponentially with every additional category.

Category #1: Musicians

Specifically, acoustic singer-songwriter types, preferably with skills in the field of banjo. I guess what I am saying here is that I have had a massive crush on Darren Hanlon since I picked up a copy of 'Little Chills' at my local library, around six or seven years ago. I actually met him after one of his gigs once and I could barely speak. I managed to squeak out a request for him to sign my copy of 'Fingertips and Mountaintops' before having to excuse myself for a spot of quiet hyperventilation. But it doesn't have to be Darren Hanlon. Really, all you need is to strap on an acoustic guitar and sing me a gentle folk ballad and, in the immortal words of Jason Mraz, "I'm Yours"*.

Category #2: Geeky indie boys

For this category see: every guy I have ever been on a date with. Or, at the very least, every guy I have ever been on a successful date with. Also, every guy who has ever turned me down for a date. Maybe it's because they usually have excellent taste in music, maybe it's because being geeky usually indicates being smart. Maybe it's because I subconsciously only date guys that I could probably hold my own against in a fight. Either way, if a guy puns about poetry, wears obscure band shirts, and looks like he is in a constant state of having just woken up, he gets an Admit One ticket to my own personal "Wonderland"**.

Category #3: Comedians

This was one of those things that sort of took me by surprise. I think I actively denied it, mainly because my idea of a comedy groupie was based pretty heavily around Kristen Schaal's character in the Flight of the Conchords TV series. And yet, I kept finding myself listening to old Get This podcasts and finding Ed Kavalee "confusingly attractive" (for those playing at home, I coined that phrase a few entries ago re: Scott Dooley). Even the ugly ones started looking kinda cute when they told a particularly funny joke. I have been asked what constitutes a "comedian". Do they have to do it for a career, or can they just be a funny dude? I have yet to work this out.

Category #4: Women With Excellent Hair

Arguably the odd category out. I have never actually dated a girl, and I don't usually like crushing on people for such horribly shallow reasons. But man, red hair on women looks really amazing. Felicia Day, anyone? Florence Welch? I would turn for either of those attractive, attractive ladies.

-Smackie Onassis

*No, I don't know any of the other lyrics to that song because I don't own a radio right now.

** I'm sorry, John Mayer. I also feel obliged to apologise to Australia's Wonderland. I'm sorry. You were pretty great, even if I only got to visit you once as part of some kind of surrealist maths assignment/excursion.

One Degree Of Seperation, Where "Separation" Actually Means Professional Writing

I have mixed feelings about the course I did at uni. I had actually wanted to take some time off to figure out what I wanted to do with myself but everyone sort of convinced me that because I was good at writing, I should do a course that would teach me how to write for a career.

My major was in journalism, although I was discouraged pretty early. The attitude of most of my journalism professors was something along the lines of:

"Guys, don't become a journalist. Don't ever do it, not ever, not if you want to maintain a will to live. The hours are crap, the pay is crap and if you want to make a living you basically have to work for a company that will sell your journalistic integrity on Ebay and pocket the proceeds."*

There was also the fact that, in journalism, it doesn't mean shit if you have a degree or not. You can graduate with honours, but a newspaper will laugh you out onto the street if you can't show them a portfolio of published works. I knew this, but I continued with the degree because I was under the impression that they might actually teach us something useful.

This is how my degree was structured:

Professional Writing 101 -> Lengthy rehashings of subjects covered in Professional Writing 101 -> Irrelevant filler subjects -> Electives

Admittedly, this is probably because I went to a university whose focus was clearly more on bringing in the dollars than actually giving people a useful education. I am sure there are similar degrees at other institutions that are of a much higher quality. I, however, made the foolish choice of trusting a school who had recently been in the news for passing students who could barely write a coherant sentence, solely because they didn't want to lose a full-fee-paying student.

That being said, my degree wasn't a total bust. Some of the topics were quite good, media interviewing in particular was one I enjoyed, as was radio production (funnily enough, I had the same teacher for both these subjects, who was great. She was actually a woman I had known for most of my life, and even done amateur theatre with. She was an excellent teacher). The electives I chose were great, and I actually did learn a few things. Linguistics gave me an even larger basis for being a total language nerd, Film Studies introduced me to the wonderful works of Jim Jarmusch. If you haven't seen Dead Man, watch it now. I am not even kidding. This blog will be here when you get back.

However, the single easiest High Distinction I ever received in my university career was in a little subject called "Introduction to Guitar". This was in the second semester of my second year. I had realised that I still had one elective left to fill, and while browsing the various topics I stumbled across that one. 'Super,' I thought, 'I could do with honing my guitar skills and getting credit points for it'. I signed up to the class.

What I didn't realise was that this was a course aimed at education students, designed for people who had never looked at a guitar before. I was no prodigy on the instrument, my previous experience being based around fiddling with chords in my room as I attempted to teach myself. However, not meaning to talk myself up or anything, but with ten years of classical piano training under my belt, as well as six years of saxophone lessons and five of singing lessons, it was safe to say I knew what an octave was.

Of course, I could have dropped out at any point after realising how basic the course content was, but I didn't. It was just too much of a self-esteem boost. I was not at my most confident at that stage, and to be doing a course where I was top of the class while doing literally no work was pretty excellent. While everyone else struggled to pluck out the melody to Three Blind Mice, they would look over at me in awe as I played it through with no mistakes.

"I am going to rock these three blind mice so hard, their sight will be restored," I would say, as every one else swooned at my feet. 

Ok, so maybe that's an exaggeration, and maybe playing simple tunes is not so impressive for someone with my musical experience, but it really was "Self-Esteem 101" for me. Because the majority of the assessment was based on in-class performance, I literally had to do no work outside of class. There were a few worksheets on scales and chord structures, but I pretty much filled them out on the bus on my way to class, so that doesn't really count. It is a bit ironic that the best grade I received in uni was for the class where I did the least work, but you know me. I dig irony. I love that shit.

Unfortunately, I ended up dropping out of the degree in my final year, feeling that my time would be better spent spiraling into a deep-seated, existential depression and ultimately moving halfway across the country to be with a guy I had known for a month. It was fairly spontaneous, yes, but it was actually one of the best decisions I ever made.

-Smackie Onassis

*They didn't say those exact words, but that was the general gist of it. I am now wondering if I can actually put my journalistic integrity on ebay. I might try this, actually.

Smackie Onassis: Not A Lesbian Since '87

My relationship with my parents was always a little strained. It's not that they were bad people, but rather they had no concept of how to talk about any kind of personal issue. I went through my teenage years with my parents avoiding personal discussions at all costs. Every now and then, they would make something of an attempt, but it was usually a swing and a miss.

I can recall one incident where my mother and I were waiting in a parked car to pick my sister up from the movies. I must have been about fifteen or sixteen at the time. I was happy to listen to the radio, but my mother decided she was going to attempt to engage me in conversation.

"I hear so-and-so's a lesbian," she began. My mother was known for having about as much subtlety as a swift kick in the kneecap.

"Yeah," I muttered in response.

"I get the impression that it's harder for women to come out of the closet than it is for men," she said, avoiding eye contact with me.

"Um, I'm not sure that's true," I replied.

"Well, it seems like it's harder for girls to be open about being lesbians," she persisted.

"Ok."

"It's okay to be gay, you know."

"Yes, it is."

It was fairly clear that she was trying to encourage me, in her own strange way, to come out of the closet. Which would have been all well and good, if I were a lesbian.

I have always thought that sexuality was something our society tends to over-define. It is a commonly accepted psychological opinion that while most people have a preference to one gender over the other, people who are exclusively attracted to one gender are actually in the minority. You will probably find a lot of insecure bogans willing to debate that to the death, but let's face it, this class of people are not known for their expertise in psychological academia.

Regardless, I am not a lesbian. Tomboy, yes. Minor weakness for girls with excellent hair, sure. I will accept that gladly. But lesbian? Not so much.

I remember telling this story to some of my lesbian friends (maybe it was the fact that I was also a social outcast in my hometown, but at one point it seemed that a good majority of my friends were gay). They laughed harder than I thought was necessary.

See, apparently I exude heterosexuality from my every orifice. It isn't something I actively aim for, and to be honest, I really have no idea what it is. I mean, I sometimes wear square-framed glasses, have short hair and listen to Ani Difranco. I could at least pass for a lesbian, right?

Apparently not. I used to go to the local gay bar* reasonably often with the aforementioned lesbian friends, and it wasn't long before we observed a strange phenomenon. Every time we went there, I would be quickly approached and hit on by the one straight guy in the whole place. We ended up making a game of it, taking bets on how long it would be before the straight guy found me. The game ended when it happened less than five minutes after entering the bar. I walked in, went to order some drinks, and was immediately asked to dance. I actually asked this guy how he knew I was straight. We were in a gay bar, after all, and I was there with a group of lesbians. He said he wasn't sure how, but he could tell that I was straight. I did a brief survey of the rest of the bar, and got the same answer from everyone I asked. 

To this day I can't explain it. Maybe I was sub-consciously giving out some kind of body language. Maybe I was wearing my 'Ask Me About: Heterosexuality' badge**. I don't know. I really don't.

-Smackie Onassis

*I kind of thought it strange that a regional town that built its economy on such manly exploits as steelworks and coalmining even had a local gay bar. But, my hometown was not known for making sense. This is a town so stupid that there are buildings there that are PARTIALLY abandoned. As in, first floor: abandoned, second floor: abandoned, third floor: discount sporting goods store. How does that even happen?

**I kind of want a badge like this now. I collect badges, and have spend many a late night on ebay, trawling badge shops like the memorobilia junkie I am. I would love so much to have my own badge press. I want to make a badge that says 'Pancakes Are Flippin' Sweet'.

Musings From A Washed Up Rockstar #2

I really need to stop updating this blog so much, at least until I get a new pair of glasses. My old ones disappeared mysteriously, and I am getting so many headaches from squinting at a tiny laptop screen all the live long day. However, every now and then, I like to take the opportunity to publicly reminisce about when I was a total rockstar.

The band I was in was never particularly famous. We did a few interviews, got on the radio a bit, and played a bunch of festivals and support slots for significantly more famous bands. Apart from die-hard aficionados of the genre, not many people would have had the slightest clue who we were, apart from maybe a fond recollection of giggling at the pun in our band name, or being hit on by the bass player.

But there was a brief, shining moment when I at least felt totally famous. There was a new year's eve festival one year. Because a bunch of the other bands playing had to leave early to drive to the Peat's Ridge festival (which we had played the previous night), we ended up headlining.

It was one of the most amazing experiences of my life. The crowd estimates we got from the venue guys were that there was around 1000 people in the audience. When I got on stage, I swear, I nearly wet myself. Literally one thousand screaming music fans were in front of me. We did the midnight countdown live on stage, and then started our set with fireworks going off behind us. It was insane.

"Are you ready for some NOVELTY SKA POP?" 

That should never be a question that gets more than a polite spattering of clapping, but yeah. Cacophonous, tumultuous applause, with a garnish of screaming teens. For a moment I thought I had slipped into an alternate dimension and I was actually onstage with My Chemical Romance, but looking around, it was still the same band with whom I normally played at dive bars to disinterested audiences. Admittedly the audience were all probably very drunk at this stage.

It got considerably more insane when I realised, towards the end of the set, there was a teenage boy in the front row yelling my name. My real name, my actual real first name. I freaked out a little bit, because I couldn't possibly comprehend how anyone in the audience would even know that name.

Now, it turned out that this kid was the younger brother of a girl I knew in highschool, but still, I didn't know HIS name. I got him backstage after the gig, and received the biggest ego trip of my life as this star struck youth ranted about how I was, like, famous now.

And yet, here I am, some years later, back in obscurity. I mean, even deeper obscurity. I am still battling with my parents to get some of my intruments sent over. In the meantime, I will fiddle with an out of tune guitar and write silly songs about the futuristic heartbreak of being dumped for your own clone.

-Smackie Onassis

It Could Have Been A Brilliant Career

Ok, when I was still at uni (before I spectacularly dropped out in the final year of my degree), I was somewhat interested in a career in radio. I ended up not following through with it, due to the fact that I would probably end up a faceless disk jockey in a local commercial station, introducing awful tune after awful tune and probably ultimately hanging myself in a supply closet.

However, I did come very close to doing at least some work at Triple J, which would probably have been pretty excellent. Here is how it happened:

I was at a local bar one night when I spotted a particularly well known personality, who had his own show on 'The J's' at the time. I will give him the code name of 'Chris Taylor from the Chaser'. Admittedly, this is probably the least subtle of my code names so far, being his actual name, but who doesn't love a good name drop.

It was extremely unusual that we would get any even remotely famous people in the pub known as 'The Cambo', famous for its Wednesday night drink specials and propensity towards unbearable screamo bands. After a while of figuring out how I was going to deal with this situation, I approached him.

"Hey, I love your show," I started.

"Thanks very much," he replied, flashing me a grin.

"I'm actually doing some radio journalism courses at uni," I put forward, "I'd love if you could give me some pointers."

So, we started talking. He told me that he could probably get me work experience at Triple J, explaining that they get a lot of applications but that he would make sure to "bump mine through" (to this day I am not sure if he was doing an innuendo. I am absurdly bad at picking up on these things). To make sure this happened, he gave me his home phone number, and later, his mobile number.

I did actually end up speaking to him on the phone a few times, but, sadly, I lost the phone that had his number in it. This was a few years ago, and I never ended up doing that work experience. I am convinced that Scott 'Dools' Dooley has my career, that confusingly attractive bastard*.

I have been considering doing my own show on local community radio, but that depends pretty heavily on me getting my shit together and actually doing something that might benefit my career. We will see what eventuates, I guess.

-Smackie Onassis

*Through questionable science, I have figured out that there are about four categories of people that I sort of automatically develop a crush on. I am not sure if I find Dools attractive because he is actually attractive or because he fits into both the "kinda geeky indie boy" category and the "comedian" category. It's immensely confusing.

Why Is Everyone So Down On Public Transport?

In the course of all my recent (unsolicited) debates, I have found myself arguing quite frequently in favour of the local public transport system. Coming from regional NSW, where the trains are running slower than they were thirty years ago (I am not even making that up) I was surprised that a larger city with a totally decent public transport system would have so many people whining about it.

Meattrain in particular hates buses. He hates them. When he feels like catching public transport to work, he will drive to the tram station and leave his car then, despite the fact that there is a bus that comes to a stop a few blocks away from our house, goes directly to the city, and because it's so close you can get a ticket for half price. We have told him this a few times, I even offered to lend him my multi-trip, but he flat out refuses. Because he hates buses. And, you know it's not impossible that he had some kind of childhood bus trauma. When I was a lass, I lived right next to an ambulance station, and lived in constant fear that I was going to get hit by an ambulance. I think it was mainly the irony I was afraid of.

But, as someone who has at some point in their life been reliant of almost every form of transport (car, motorised scooter, non-motorised scooter*, bicycle, public transport), I have to say, I am a fan of public transport. I mean, it can be a pain in the arse, but so can pretty much everything. Public transport, however, has one particularly fantastic advantage. In a car, you pretty much have to concentrate on the road if you want to avoid Drastic Consequences. But on a bus, your attention is free to wander. I have seen some of the most fantastic things on buses.

On one particular trip, I was gazing out the window and saw just, the best thing I have ever seen in my entire life. Two teenage identical twins with their mother. One was a hipster (indie glasses, messenger bag and all that jazz), the other was a jock (the phrase "popped collar" sums it up for me). I am desperate to make this into a sitcom, or at least a series of sketches. Can you imagine? It would come to a dramatic conclusion when the jock is encouraged to beat up his twin brother for being "a fag", but then he can't do it because of brotherly love. Sensational.

I'm also a particular fan of the ads on public transport. I saw one recently, clearly from at least a decade or so ago, that I thought was great. It featured a line-up of people from various walks of life ("diversity") all putting their handbags, shopping etc on their head. The slogan was "Use your head when taking care of your belongings!" or something along those lines. The problem was, putting your valuables on your head is probably the WORST thing you could do with them. It's going to be uncomfortable, things are going to fall and spill everywhere, people can steal them much more easily, it's generally not a good idea. It made for a very confusing advertisement, but at least I got a chuckle out of it.

There was actually a kid in my high school, let's just call him 'The Busboy', who freakin loved buses. In a very weird way. He spent his free time drawing up proposed changes to current bus routes. He collected time-tables. I seem to remember him celebrating one of his birthdays at the local depot. I haven't seen this guy in a long time, but I can only imagine he is currently enjoying a lucrative career in the public transport industry. All power to you, Busboy.

-Smackie Onassis

*I used to scoot along to the bus stop, go to uni, then scoot from class to class. It was great, and also fulfilled my long-time hobby of being a walking sight gag. Or, scooting sight gag in this case. When I was bored at work, I used to scoot around the shop, casually dismounting when a customer came in and got confused. My boss didn't care because he thought I was great. Also he wasn't there at the time.

Useless But Interesting: Fact Of The Day

Joshua Radin is an excellent singer/songwriter who most people would be familiar with, even if they don't know his name. He came onto the music scene when a rough demo of the first song he ever wrote made its way to Zach Braff, who featured it almost in its entirety in an episode of Scrubs. His music has since been featured in a long list of other shows such as House, Home & Away, One Tree Hill and Castle to name a few.

Mass Debating

By now you probably have got the impression that I currently have a sensational amount of free time on my hands. It's true, what with the injury and having no money, I have been left with a lot of time to think. This has had some good outcomes, such as starting this blog. It has also had some rather unfortunate side effects.

I have always been a very opinionated person. But, unlike a lot of people on the internet, before I start vocalising my opinions I make sure to actually sit down and critically evaluate them, research them where possible. I have seen way too many people splash their opinions all over my facebook page. I calmly ask them why exactly they hold these beliefs, putting forward my own thoughts on the matter, which I have actually taken the time to think about. Every time I make sure to add what has become my standard debate signature: "If you can address these points, I would gladly re-evaluate my opinion."

Unfortunately, no-one seems to think that logical, well thought out debate has any place on the internet, and interpret me asking them to justify their opinions as me attacking them. If they actually responded to the points I made, I wouldn't care so much. But, they very rarely do.

There was one particular political issue recently that Richard Melons, the fourth resident of the Dude Ranch, was very vocal about. Now, everyone is entitled to believe whatever they want, this is something I've always felt. However, if you are going to start actively promoting your beliefs, you have a responsibility to address the arguments of your detractors. So, I responded. I'm not going to name the movement that he was putting his support behind, but let's just say that a significant portion of the ideas making up the foundation of their belief system can be completely discredited with a single google search. Failing that, logic and reason. Again, I am not going to go into the specifics. 

The comment I made brought up a few of the most important points that I felt needed to be addressed by anyone supporting this movement. I made sure to keep my tone as neutral as I could, keeping to the simple facts of the matter. I made sure to include my "signature", saying that I would gladly re-evaluate my opinion if these questions were answered. It was the only facebook comment I have ever seen that included more than one "See More" button.

The response I got (not from Tricky Ricky, but from a friend of his) at first made me literally start shaking with frustration. Now, I just think it's funny.

Instead of actually replying to any of the points I'd raised, this young gentleman instead decided to make an attack on my character. This was a guy who had never actually met me, so it's safe so to say everything he said was wrong, so wrong, wrong to hysterical proportions.

Basically, he painted me as the only type of person he could imagine would dare to disagree with him. Here is a direct quote, in all its glory:

"To improve ourselves we must consume and consume to make a living. This is the only truth to heaven, to Narvina. I am sure Jesus, Mohammod and Buddha all owns a BMW. To keep the system running, you must work hard to get yourself one, or else you are unfaithful and deserves the eternal flame. I believe capitalism is best invention human has created. Although billions of people gets nothing, but some people gets EVERYTHING. This gives us the illusion that we ALL get SOMETHING, and I am happy. We don't need to care about hungry kids in Africa, because our kids have hungry jacks and HAPPY meals. Watching the war in middle east saves me 14 bucks from watching Lord of the Rings in the cinema. But you must admit, Lady Gaga is much more interesting."

Where he went wrong:

1. Consumerism. I am dirt poor. I can't afford to buy anything that is not an essential item for remaining alive, and I am actively selling my possessions. Because I am poor. Despite this, I do actually still donate to charity. I just research my charities first.

2. The BMW. Here is a list of the modes of transport I own:

1x broken down scooter. Answers to the name of Raphael, or at least it would if it were a sentient being.

1x second hand bicycle, which I bought before realising I was too short to actually ride it. By this time, the previous owner had left the country.

1x rollerblades, found on the side of the road. As yet untested.

3. Lady Gaga. It is safe to say this guy hasn't heard of any of my favourite bands. It is even safe to say he hasn't heard of any of my favourite genres. A typical favourite song of mine usually consists of a twenty minute marimba solo, sampled through a collection of pine cones arranged in the shape of Tony Danza's face.*

4. Agreeing blindly with the government. I have been actively involved in political protests since I was fifteen. I was able to directly link him to an anti-censorship group I started that now has over 13,000 members. I even joined the Socialist Alliance once, albeit by accident (a story for another time).

5. Also he spelled Nirvana wrong. Not that I really need to be picky here.

Honestly, I feel like before I started using the internet I thought your average human being was a lot more intelligent. Seriously people, you have to actually think about the things you are told. Watching one documentary makes you neither an expert nor a revolutionary.

-Smackie Onassis

*I was expressing this opinion to Vegatrain, using that example. He stopped me and said "You had to add that bit about Tony Danza because you realised you were describing a real song you have listened to, didn't you?" He was right, the bastard

Cast of Characters

If you have been perusing my blog without reading the introductory post, you may have noticed that I refer to people by code names, for reasons of both privacy and hilarity (Meattrain is particularly adament about never revealing his true identity, like the meat-based superhero he is). It has been brought to my attention that the code names I am using are becoming increasingly ridiculous. Personally, I think they have remained at a pretty consistent level of ridiculous, but that's just my opinion.

However last night, while trying to sit out a particularly awful migraine, I started coming up with some potential code names. What I ended up with instead was a list of characters that I would love to see combined in some kind of mildly plausible fictitious setting. They started almost reasonable (for me, at least), but very quickly got more and more ridiculous.

Cast Of Characters:

Little Johnny Applesauce

Baxter Isafence

Jason Faceonacup, the mug collector

Abe L. Trolleycopter

Sasketchiwa Johnstone, the beef haunter

Clones 'The Cloner' Clonington and his seven piece one man band

Holy Jeremiah Heel, the street walker

Lonesome Jim Hula-hoop, the solitary hero

Gentle Dolly, the village proctologist

'Colonel' Ipswich Von Beardington, the clean shaven bus-driver

Old Man Crimestalker, the vigilant vigilante

Beans McGee, the ventriloquist with his charming off-sider;

"Raphael", an allegedly sentient tin of beans with a keen interest in politics

This entry is my written promise to create a piece of fiction that includes every one of these characters. I will probably do it later today, even. I'm not going to lie to you, the idea excites me, just a little bit too much.

-Smackie Onassis

Neck Roberts

I could probably explain how the whole Neck Roberts thing began, but it still most likely wouldn't make a lick of sense*. However, I can have a go at telling an abridged history of the Neck Roberts phenomenon. Because it is a phenomenon, let me assure you.

I was in a local pub when I came up with the idea, as I was examining the display of free postcards. You know the ones, little rectangles of advertising, usually with no room to actually write a message. I honestly think that I might be the only one who has ever actually bothered attaching a stamp to these and sending them on.  But I hadn't, before Neck Roberts.

There I was, examining the postcard collection for any winners. As I often do, I ended up going away with a handful of them. They were doomed for the recycling bin, like so many of their free postcard counterparts, until I absent-mindedly started writing on them. 

See, Neck Roberts was a name Vegatrain and I had come up with a few days before. I think I briefly made it my display name on facebook, for no real reason. If anybody called me on it, I planned to just pretend it had always been my name and I didn't know what they were talking about. Luckily, my friends know me well enough at this point to not even bother attempting to call me out on being an absurd human being. At first I would just label whatever I was doing as 'modern art', and see what I could get any with. Now, I don't even need to. Most people in my life have made their peace with the fact that I don't make much sense a good majority of the time.

Anyway, somehow in the course of that night, I started writing on those postcards. I took a common expression/advertising slogan, replaced one word with the word 'neck', signed it as Neck Roberts and sent them to a guy I went to high school with. Whom I haven't seen in a year.

Later, I asked him if he'd received them. He admitted that he had, but hastily tried to change the subject and pretend it had never happened. Not so fast, pal.

The next incident occurred few months later when I was in Melbourne visiting a friend. We were out and about when I came across a veritable treasure trove of free postcards. Again, I wrote on them, signed them as Neck Roberts and sent them. If you're wondering just what exactly I have been writing on these cards, here are a few examples:

Top of the neck to you!

A neck is for life, not just for Christmas

Have a nice neck!

Necks - it's what's for dinner.

And so on. There have been a few separate batches now, and every now and then that friend from Melbourne texts me new neck-related phrases, which I store away for future reference. The recipient (always the same guy) is still trying as hard as he can to pretend this is not happening which, if I'm being quite honest, just encourages me to do it even more.

Neckfully yours,

Smackie Onassis

*Come to think of it, the saying "lick of sense" doesn't make a lot of sense itself. Licks are for delicious ice-creams, not abstract concepts.