Dear Diary,

Today, like most days, was pretty fucked.

I actually made the effort to leave the house, which was a good start. I had an appointment with the employment agency that centrelink wants me to be friends with. So, as I felt like dressing up a bit, I dressed as the most unemployable kind of person I could think of. It turned out to be a time-travelling rockstar. Admittedly this wasn't originally something I was going for, but when I looked in the mirror my first thought was 'time-travelling rockstar' so I did what I do most days and pretended it was intentional. This would also work well as an explanation for why I can only seem to make pop culture references that were topical circa 1985, which was a pretty good bonus. 

In my silver boots (I love these boots because if anyone ever comments on them I get to say 'Well, you know, some people call me a space cowboy' and I love quoting songs in conversation), my ripped jeans (not so much a fashion thing as a 'they were $5 because they were torn' thing) and my totally sweet 70s-style aviators I went out into the world.

I forgot that it was Bogan New Year's ("Clipsal") right outside our house and so oh boy did I get some looks. When it's the suits on their lunch hour, I don't so much mind it. I go 'Yeah! Getting attention for being a weirdo! I bet I am blowing these guy's MINDS!'

But the bogans, they don't like it. And if someone is going to express their distaste with more than a snooty look, it's not the suits. Unless Patrick Bateman is out and about that day in which case I am probably a goner anyway.

Luckily, if anyone so much as said anything about me, I had the music blaring through my big chunky headphones and could deny anything was happening whatsoever. I continued this all the way into the city where it had the unfortunate effect of me accidentally jumping out in front of traffic because apparently I have no road sense whatsoever. 

Unfortunately, the office of the employment agency was some kind of Harry Potter deal. I walked up and down the street for about half an hour until I called them in desperation saying I could not attend the appointment as their office did not exist. The lady asked my whereabouts and I described them. She gave me a quick direction and I discovered that the office was about 10 metres from where I had been standing. Despite the obvious use of magic, I walked in feeling pretty stupid.

It got worse when the chick had me call centrelink to see if I actually needed to be there and after being on hold for some time I found out that yes, everything I did in this appointment would be immediately redundant, but I had to do it anyway.

So I sat down to the huge pile of completely unnecessary paperwork. I started off answering their questions in a half-hearted, but mildly serious manner. Until I remembered that this was all totally redundant and I was going to be super late for coffee. I still answered most of the questions in the same manner, but I throw in a couple of stupid answers for my own amusement. Amongst my 'skills and abilities' I listed 'being a generally pretty ok person'. When asked what industry I would want to work in, I penciled in 'Anything but the circus (due to personal trauma)'. There was one question I didn't quite know how to answer because it made no sense that I could see. It said 'Who is your closed relative or friend?' or something and I had no fucking clue so I just wrote N/A.*

I thrust the forms at the woman and dashed out the door. Had coffee with an old friend who I meant to give a link to this blog already. I guess I'll go do that now. By this stage my boots were not being supportive enough (I wear such fickle clothing) and I had huge blisters on the bottoms of both my heels, making me walk like I had cerebral palsy. I had enough money in my bank account for either a taxi home or something to eat, one or the other. Knowing there was food at home, I opted for calling a cab. Unfortunately Yellow Cabs are the most awful people in the entire world. My call was answered quickly and I was told that because I was on Rundle St I should just hail a cab instead of booking one. I tried to insist that I would really like to book one, but he basically refused**. Excellent customer service, Yellow Cabs, seriously. The best part is that I did try to hail the only cab I could see and was promptly informed that it was booked under the name Maria. Yes, it was the same cab company. I would have claimed that I was Maria, but the woman who very obviously was the actual Maria was standing right in front of us. She was old and frail too.

So I called the Dude Ranch with yet another 'Yellow Cabs have fucked me over' story and Meattrain kindly agreed to pick me up. I started composing an angry letter in my head and went home.

Love,

Smackie Onassis

* Vegatrain was once in a similar situation and I believe there was a question asking any conditions that would prevent you from working certain industries and he wrote 'Irrational fear of all living sea creatures'. To be fair, he does have an irrational fear of all living sea creatures.I see it as the main reason why I can never have my house with aquarium walls.

** On reviewing this story I am now wondering if I had called at a bad time and the real operators were in the process of being tied up.

What's up with all the files?

If you take a look over the desktop of my laptop, you will notice two things. First, I keep my virtual space just as unkempt as my physical space. There's shit everywhere. Second, you will notice that it is plastered with word documents, all of which appear to be pretty stupid. 'JOXE' is one of my favourites, as is 'Is This Appropriate?' which is a file I made recently for when I want to say something but I'm not sure if it is appropriate. I jot it down and then evaluate it objectively later.

The thing is, most of my files are full of nonsense things that I have thought and obsessively recorded. But there is a very good reason for this. A few years ago, I noticed that people kept coming up to me and telling me things I'd said to them that were apparently very witty and insightful. Even though I was allegedly totally sober during most of these incidents, I had zero recollection of any of them.

There was one in particular that made me sit down and think. A friend of mine had apparently been giving a speech but had accidentally drooled a bit, resulting in a spit bubble popping out of her mouth. Apparently, upon hearing this the first thing I had said was, 'Was it a speech bubble, though?'

I have no memory of saying that. The only reason I am able to tell this story is because a while later that girl was talking to me and quoted that line back to me. I laughed and told her that was a good joke and she should keep it up her sleeve for impressing people at parties. She gave me a confused look and confessed that she had been directly quoting me. I was a bit embarrassed.

Another similar incident occurred years previously, when I was in about year 7. It was a long time ago but I still remember it purely because of how awkward it made me feel. We were in class. Something happened to our resident sarcastic jock. I don't remember what it was, but it wasn't a big deal. Casually, I commented on it. I remember thinking that it was a pretty obvious thing to say but thought I'd better say it anyway. I was expecting the class to respond by groaning and saying 'Yeah, you think you're pretty smart, don't you?' which is the reaction I usually got. Instead, my comment was greeted with uproarious laughter. My gut reaction was that they were actually laughing at me (how emotionally secure was I?), but I quickly realised that they were laughing because what I had said had actually been funny. They were laughing at the jock, who was clearly embarrassed and didn't really have anything to say for himself. If Back to the Future has taught me anything (WHICH IT HAS), he was also probably covered in manure at this point.

Now, it was probably due to the fact that I was startled as well as the fact that I hadn't thought it a very important comment when I'd made it, but I instantly and totally forgot what I had said that had been so funny. I accepted the laugh and moved on. The problem was that apparently it was such a good call that people actually came up to me after class to talk about it. I had literally no idea what I'd said, but I didn't want to admit it. I seem to recall the conversations going something like this.

Classmate: Hey, good call against Johnny Football* in maths today!
Me: Thanks very much.
Classmate: The look on his face, it was gold!
Me: Yes, that was quite a look.
Classmate: How did you come up with that line anyway?
Me: Oh well, you know it was just... oh my god, look over there! Is that someone who used to be on TV doing a publicity stunt?
Classmate: What? That's just the weird albino kid eating a twig.
Me: My mistake.

This happened way too often. The best explanation I could come up with was that I was briefly and occasionally possessed by the ghost of a stand-up comedian (did someone say BRILLIANT SITCOM IDEA?). As a result, I now write down everything I say or think that might be funny. I open one of my files at random, pick a spot (No, I can't just add it to the end. For some reason, I always end up adding it to a totally random spot within the file.) and get typing. I later pan through it for any nuggets of comedy gold. While I do occasionally delete things, it's pretty rare and the result is a bunch of files full of ridiculous non-sequitors. Here is an excerpt, unedited:

Victorian Era Ghost'd!: It is like punk'd but instead of Ashton Kutcher, it is a Victorian Era Ghost!

I always lose Creepy Chicken

Creepy Chicken = trying to outcreep each other, last to have a nervous breakdown is the winner. There are no real winners.

Social conventions questions: Is it weird to approach someone you haven't spoken to in years to tell them you had a dream where they died? I'm going to say yes.

Housemates sitcoms:
A nerd and a stripper!
VIG + NC**
A guy who is afraid of cats and a TALKING CAT (studying psychology ;D)

I just realised that to get to certain places in the house you have to walk over a bed, like, just plain old step up there and walk over it. And I had never even noticed that was weird.

What's the time?? Time for a NUMERIC PALINDROME!
12:21
11:11
03:30

I don't like fair fights. Well, it's not that I don't like fair fights, I just really like unfair fights. I like to hit a small bat with my giant rock fist.


So, there you have it. For the record, that was page twenty of a file entitled 'crafty drafties'. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. Oh also, to the fine people over at Hell Is Other People, yes those 'housemates sitcom' ideas were inspired by you guys. I am planning on writing for your show, whether you like it or not. You will try to tell me that I am not but I will still submit scripts, regardless of whether you even read them. Seriously.

-Smackie Onassis




*His real name was actually surprisingly similar to this.
** This is supposed to stand for Victorian Era Ghost + Nuclear Chemist, which is an idea I had based on "true" events. It has since been pointed out to me that Era begins with an E, but this is UNEDITED PEOPLE.

EDIT: Guys, everytime I see the phrase 'time for a numeric palindrome' I just lose it. I think it's the funniest thing. Is it just me?

Smackie Onassis: Friendship Origin Stories

Sometimes I become friends with people in pretty amazing ways. You have already heard my origin story for my friend Bones, which is one of my favourites. But I do have a lot of other pretty great ones.

I have mentioned my friend Binny a couple of times. He was one of my best friends back in Newcastle, and his was one of the most important friendships of my life. How did we meet though? I'm glad you ask. I'd be more than willing to discuss it at length. Seeing as you asked and all.

We met when we were both at the housewarming party of a mutual friend of ours. She was the trumpet player of the band I was in, I'm not sure how she knew Binny. I approached him and started talking to him solely on the basis that he was wearing a Decemberists t-shirt. Yeah, that's just what I'm like. We realised that we had a lot of common ground and exchanged phone numbers, promising to hang out sometime soon. We were both in relationships at the time, so it wasn't anything romantic. Unfortunately at the time I was always either at uni, or at work, or riding my bicycle from uni to work. I didn't have a lot of free time and as a result we kept missing each other. Our potential friendship seemed doomed.

Until one Monday morning. I hadn't seen him since the party, so I was a bit surprised to see his name come up on my phone. I answered and he explained that he was pretty cut up because his girlfriend had left him that weekend.

"It's funny you should say that," I replied, "My boyfriend left me on the weekend, and as a result my parents had me put in the psych ward at [name of hospital]"

"You know," he muttered, "That hospital is about 100 metres from my front door."

As a result, we spent a lot of time together over the ensuing weeks. Once I was allowed to go for walks I would head over to his house for beers and guitar hero on a nightly basis, despite the hospital's zero tolerance alcohol policy. I didn't really care, and neither did the nurses who apparently once saw me at the pub with him when I was supposed to be in my room*. They didn't dob on me and I respect that.

From there our friendship was well cemented, to the point that even when I was allowed back into society and started working again, I still spent the majority of my free afternoons at his house.

I think that's a pretty good friendship origin story, but don't think there's not more where that came from.

You may have noticed that the manboy referred to by the name Vegatrain (which is what he insisted on being called, by the way) is a fairly significant part of my life. But how did we actually meet? Well, my origin story for Vegatrain is tied into the origin story for some of the other totally excellent people in my life, namely Buglustre and Harrison.

Imagine this scenario: a lonely 21 year old is bored and on the internet. Her days of playing music to not-always-embarrassingly-small crowds are long over. While she is pretty lonesome, the last thing she is looking for is love. On a whim, she signs up to an internet forum. I'm not going to go into detail about how I announced my presence, but let's just say I entered with a bang. I wasn't taking the whole 'internet' thing at all seriously. But then, on an unimportant thread about Christmas presents, I mentioned that I had got my tiny hands on 'Sad Songs For Dirty Lovers' by the National and I was loving it sick. This got the attention of a young man on the other side of the country. He commented how much he liked the National and replied by quoting a Belle and Sebastian song with reference to my username. I responded by saying that my name had absolutely been inspired by the song in question and that I had actually seen Belle and Sebastian last time they were in Australia, even though it meant leaving a university exam early so I could get to the venue on time. He responded simply by saying 'Let's be friends.' At this point I feel like I should thank every band I listen to for forming so many of my most important relationships.

So, anyway, flash forward a few weeks and under strange circumstances I am spontaneously buying a plane ticket at 1.30am on a Wednesday to fly to the other side of the country solely to meet a guy I have been talking to on the internet for approximately 3 weeks. It sounds exactly like a summary of things you are not supposed to do if you want to be responsible, but it was amazing. We got drunk at midday and had our first kiss to Debaser by the Pixies, which we had put on the pub jukebox. A month later I moved here. I am always of the opinion that this isn't exactly how normal people go about things, but have you even read my blog? I am not normal people.

Buglustre and Harrison are both people I met through that same website, along with Sally-Tsar in Melbourne. I haven't been to the site itself in a long time, but that's probably because I actually see the best people I met there in my day to day existence. Buglustre enjoys telling the story of how she wore her 'killing boots' the night she met me 'just in case'**. Of course, she turned out to be about a foot taller than me so she probably could have crushed me between her thumb and forefinger if she had so desired. Luckily, that wasn't necessary. Harrison tells me that he didn't like me at all at first, but was pretty quickly won over by my breasts. This is despite the fact that the pillar of sexual attractiveness for Harrison is Josh Thomas.


-Smackie Onassis

*why is smackie not in her room she's supposed to be in her room why is she out of her room

**Every time I say these words, I can't help myself from wondering what would happen if Neko Case ever had a brother/son named Justin. I know it's stupid, but I honestly can't help it. Every time.

An Explanation of How Stupid I Am

Some of you may notice that I did not update my blog yesterday. For most people that might not seem like a big deal. However, I don't know if you've noticed but two entries per day is a slow one for me. And it's not that I didn't have any ideas, far from it. It is just... well, let me explain from the beginning.

Remember how I have a fractured sternum? You know, because I am the smartest person alive and all. Anyway, I have been unable to work since the accident, but now my medical certificate has expired and centrelink has been telling me to get a job. Instead of actually throwing myself back into the workforce, I thought I'd test my strength by doing a volunteer shift at a local op-shop. It was fantastic and I will tell you all about it very soon, but when I found myself in a fair amount of pain after just a few hours of light labour, I figured that I was not ready to go back to real work.

Now, yesterday morning I woke up feeling a bit shit. I was aching from pushing myself too hard yesterday and I was in a bad mood. Vegatrain was kind enough to get me a spinach pastry from the bakery down the road, which I ate a bit too quickly. A funny joke was made and I started laughing.

So, this is the combination of factors that are going on here:
a) fractured sternum, meaning my chest was already kinda sore
b) My heart was beating fast from laughing
c) I got heartburn from eating the pastry too fast

The heartburn would not have been a problem except for the fact that, in a comic twist, I have never actually had heartburn before. Naturally, I thought I was dying. I should probably also add to that list that Meattrain has been watching House lately. Now, I don't watch much TV but I watch enough to know that I am going to die and it is going to be awful. I don't think I have ever got around to watching a full episode of House, but this is what I keep hearing amongst the background noise:

"Patient is fine, normal cold and flu symptoms but nothing... we have a code blue, patient is suddenly and inexplicably bleeding from the eyes and fitting."

So, because I now think that the simplest of symptoms means the worst possible thing is about to happen (hypochondria - totally a disease in its own right), this combination of things - the sore chest, the fast heartbeat, the heartburn - I thought I was totally having a heart attack. Never mind the fact that I am a 5' 1", 22 year old vegetarian female who exercises regularly and so not exactly the most likely candidate for heart failure, I was convinced that I was going to die. According to Vegatrain, I was nearly in tears.

Let me explain something else for you. Recently, I read about Paris Syndrome. My interpretation of this phenomena was that it was a disorder that you get when everything around you is too beautiful for you to handle. My reading about this syndrome coincided with the arrival of my amazing lapdesk which is cushioned and has a drink holder and pen holder and a little light and it fits my laptop on it perfectly with room for a mouse. There was a moment when I was trying out my new lapdesk, there was nice music playing and I was eating grapes. Earlier, I had, shall we say, been drinking some tea. Listening to some jazz music. Talking to my friend.*

Naturally, I got a bit overwhelmed. Everything around me was amazing and I could feel my face flushing. I could feel a bit of the Paris Syndrome coming on. Since then, I have started saying this regularly, whenever anything good happens. I now judge how good something is by how likely it is to give me Paris Syndrome. Vegatrain has been getting very annoyed at my repeated insistence that I have a medical condition that I basically made up.

But then the events of yesterday occurred and I was lying on the couch, having a mild anxiety attack. Vegatrain came and sat with me.

"Smackie, you're not dying. You just ate a delicious pastry a bit too fast, laughed too hard at a joke and got a bit overwhelmed. That's all. I guess you could say that in all your insistence that you have this stupid made up Paris Syndrome, you actually kinda gave it to yourself. You just need to learn how to not get so worked up over these things."

It was then that I stopped to evaluate my situation. I had invented a disorder that was based on a joke, gone on to actually get symptoms of the disorder under farcical circumstances and was now being given my daily life lesson. I was in a fucking sitcom. I would wager that this is actually a plot that has been used and if not, why not? I could hear the damn theme music in my head.

When I realised this, I did tell Vegatrain that it was giving me a touch of the Paris Syndrome, but jokes! And we hugged and moved onto the next wacky adventure.

-Smackie Onassis



*Rejected: "burying some bones in the backyard". There is nothing good that can mean.

Children's Books Were So Great When I Was A Kid

There are alot of political posters up around the streets of Adelaide at the moment. There is an election on the way, you see. The problem is that many of the posters somehow manage to be so mind-bogglingly offensive that I find the best way for me to avoid a nervous breakdown is to ignore all of them. But the other day one caught my eye. I was driving Meattrain's car, minding my own business, when suddenly I found myself narrowly avoiding slamming on the breaks.

"Was there just a political candidate named after a Dr Seuss character? Did anyone else see this?"

Of course no-one else saw the poster in question because they never do. It actually turned to be someone whose last name was Lomax, not Lorax and I was pretty disappointed. But it got me thinking about books I read as a child, something I do pretty often. I don't know what children's books are like these days, but when I was a kid they were pretty freaking great.

First, I would like to refer you to a wonderful tome called 'The King, The Mice and The Cheese' by Nancy and Eric Gurney. Now, my housemates will be familiar with this particular work because I regularly use it as an allegory for modern life. See, the story went as follows: There is this king, right. And he loves cheese. Can't get enough cheese. But then all these mice come into his palace and start eating it. Needless to say, the king is not happy with this situation and he orders in a bunch of cats to get rid of the mice. BUT THEN his palace is overrun with cats! Oh no! So, he orders some dogs to get rid of the cats. But then, the same problem only with dogs! I'm not sure how many different animals the poor king went through but he ended up at elephants. The only way he could think of to get rid of the elephants? Mice! And look at that, he is back at square one. What ever will he do? The book ends with the king deciding to share his cheese with the mice, and you see all the little mice eating cheese at little tiny tables. Which is nice from a moral point of view, but probably not the best way to deal with a rodent infestation.

Another book I find myself referencing in day to day conversation is a story that was called 'Little Black Sambo'. Now, when I was older I learned that this was a pretty racist name for a children's book, but I really loved the story. It was about this Indian kid whose name was Little Black Sambo (I feel like this story has since been re-released with a different name for the main character). He was wandering through the jungles of India when he comes across some ferocious tigers. The last thing he wants is to be eaten alive, so he plays a little trick on the tigers. He starts talking to them and slagging them off, but he is hidden in the bushes. The tigers get pretty angry about this. Oh, did I mention the tigers could talk? They could talk okay. Somehow, Little Black Sambo tricks the tigers into chasing each other around a tree so fast that they melt into a big pile of melted butter. Naturally, the kid collects all the melted butter to take home and everyone in the village makes enough pancakes to last them a long time. Bizarre, but heartwarming. Sort of.

Moving on. Perhaps the only book from my childhood that I actually still find myself directly quoting is 'Far Out Brussel Sprout' and all the others in that series. I loved these books. They were made up of a series of very childish rhymes and stories, which, judging by the things I try to pass off as writing, probably shaped the way I think quite a lot. The one I remember the most vividly went something along the lines of "Hasten hasten get the basin! Ker plop, get the mop". I think there were a few lines between those two, but I sadly don't remember them.

There will be a bunch of honourable mentions in this entry, but there is one that I can't get away with not giving it's own paragraph and that is Grug. I wouldn't have included the Grug series because I feel it pretty much goes without saying that I read and loved these books. I was a child in Australia, after all. But I thought I better mention it on the basis that I actually met Ted Prior. He came to my primary school when I was in year one (and again when I was in year two!) and gave us a bit of a motivational talk. Later, he signed one of my Grug books. I would include a picture of that one, but it is somewhere in the depths of the childhood possessions at my family home, which I have not visited in over a year. Hopefully it is still in good enough condition that I can get it back one day.

Honourable Mentions: 'Selby Speaks', Hundreds of old Tin-Tin comics that were all in French, Dr Seuss (obviously), A series of books that I think were called 'Young Adult Fact Finder' which I totally read over and over because I really love facts, Mr McGee Goes To Sea (apparently there is now a 'Mr Mcgee and the Big Bag of Bread'. I keep seeing it in the post office and wanting to buy it)

-Smackie Onassis

Seriously

Ok, I just had a whole entry written up and formatted, but apparently Blogger is on its period, because it refused to format it properly. As in, half of my text was visible and half was on the page, but only visible upon highlighting. No matter what I did, this problem would not be resolved. I even tried deleting the post, logging out of blogspot, logging back in and trying to post it again but still, the same ridiculous problem.

I am going to try and post it again, but in the meantime I just thought I'd take a pause to say: Suck my dick, Blogger.

-Smackie Onassis

"Unfortunate Circus Flip Incident": A Smackie Onassis Origin Story

So, sometimes people ask me how I fractured my sternum. What I have been saying is 'Well, I can't be bothered explaining it, but I tell the whole story on my blog!' which is both a subtle attempt at getting people to read my blog and also to get out of having to tell people how stupid I am. But I have since realised that I never properly explained what happened.

You will see the title up there and the words 'Unfortunate Circus Flip Incident'. That is what I have starting calling it. The accident itself had nothing to do with the circus, but I find if I preface my explanation with these words people are more likely to go 'Ha, that's kinda funny' than the alternative, which is 'Wow, that girl is really stupid'.

Basically, I thought I could get away with doing a backflip in my friend's backyard. Not that smart. Landed on my neck, had to be taken to the emergency room. I actually used the words 'Circus Flip Incident' when I was talking to the triage nurse and, bless her soul, she wrote that on my chart.

The result was that every single doctor and nurse who was on that day (and this was on a public holiday just after Christmas so that was quite a lot) came into my room with my chart in their hand and asked the following questions:

Doc: So... are you in the circus?

Me: Uh... no...

Doc: Were you drunk?

Me: (sigh) No, I am just that stupid.

There was this awkward fun-for-all-involved time when they got the x-rays back and thought that I might have broken my spine. I had actually been released from the ER at this point, so they called me up very quickly and asked me to come back. Meattrain was kind enough to drive me back there and even waited around for three hours, which I was totally touched by. So, they put me on a bed and shoved me into a CT scanner. At this point I was petrified for the possibility of having a broken spine, and yet I couldn't hold back a smile when my first thought was that the CT scan TOTALLY looked like a Stargate. It really did and that cheered me up no end.

What cheered me up the most though was finding out my spine was NOT actually broken and it was just a sternum fracture, with soft tissue damage to my back and neck. Hoorah!

I did lose my job over it, though. I can understand it, they are a small business and there is not much call for a casual staff member who is not really that mobile. It does still make me kind of angry though, due to the fact that I have no savings because of them* and as a result I am pretty spectacularly poor right now.

It isn't all bad though. It's probably only because of the injury that I got back into writing, or at least had the time to do so much of it. And I'd much rather claim the dole and take the time to recover than push myself too hard working for a bunch of total bastards.

The injury does get to me sometimes. I am healing well, but I am sick of being injured. I would like to be 100% better right now please now. There are also times when we will be making pancakes and someone will say to me "Flip! Sarah! Flip!" and I will have a Vietnam style flashback and wake up to find myself huddled in a corner, rocking back and forth while muttering the words 'sensible fun only' under my breath over and over**.

-Smackie Onassis

*When they first hired me, they continued to tell me that shifts would start "after the weekend". Because I thought I was getting right into regular employment, I didn't claim centrelink. Unfortunately, they pulled this line on me for a full two months before I got a single shift. As a result, I have no savings as I was forced to spend all my money on rent and bills.

**This is an exaggeration.

'Iron Chef: Olives' Would Be My Dream Come True

Everybody has their favourite ingredients, I guess. Things they will add to just about everything. For me, that would be olives. If I saw you making a tasty snack I might say 'Hey! If you like it then you better put an olive on it!'*

Most people have a line that they draw. You don't see many people adding banana to their cheese and ham casserole. I, however, do not have one of these lines. 

I buy some olives. I put them on pasta, that's fine. Nothing wrong with that. Throw them in a cous-cous, you can see what I'm going for. But then I'll put them on a hotdog and you won't be quite as okay with it. Then I get out the vegemite and you will tell me to stop kidding around, that no way am I about to put olives on a perfectly good vegemite sandwich.

But I do. And it's amazing. But you have to have cheese on it as well, otherwise it would just be weird.

Because this entry is pretty short, here are a few more ideas for band names:

• Infrared Laurent
• Him The Friend
• Disco Parasol
• The Feudal Ladies
• Bionic Adversary
• Joey 'Fingers' Dirtyman
• The Fistiest Cuffs
• Hey There Jimbo What's Cooking
• Science/Karate

And a few ideas from the "Bad Names For Bands" list:

• The Viney Gineys
• The Herps
• The Power of Erections
• The HMS HairArtistry

I actually suggested that last one for an actual band name, and was promptly forced to put it on this list.

-Smackie Onassis

*Also in this scenario I am Beyoncé. It's called suspension of disbelief, people.

My Sub-Conscious Is A Smartarse

I have some pretty great dreams. I have a peculiar ability in that I can't remember what I had for dinner last night, but I can remember my dreams in vivid detail. There is one that I typed out and saved on my laptop because I thought it would make a wicked spoken word song a la "A Space Boy Dream". It was about the end of the world and it was crazy metaphysical. If anyone is interested I could probably post it.

While my sub-conscious can be pretty awesome when it wants to be, there are times when I want to remove it from my brain and beat it senseless. The best example is probably that I have a recurring dream in which I have insomnia. I actually do. My sub-conscious is that much of a prick.

The first time it happened was probably the worst one. I remember lying awake in bed, staring at the walls. I repeatedly looked at the clock, thinking it strange that time didn't seem to be passing at all. Until my alarm went off and I realised with a start that I had actually been asleep the whole time.

This has since happened a few times, the most notable being the other night. I had been out with a bunch of people seeing some comedy shows. It was really great, but unfortunately I have been having low blood pressure issues and had to go home early when I nearly passed out in front of Dave Callan. He stopped to ask me if I needed to do a poo, but I was too unwell to think of a witty retort.

So, I went home and collapsed in bed. I remember wishing that Vegatrain would turn down the TV so I could get to sleep. It was playing a documentary that basically consisted of terminally ill children talking about how they don't understand why it hurts so bad. It was distractingly depressing and I thought that I was lying awake because of it. Of course, Vegatrain woke me up when he actually got home and yet again it had all been a dream.

There was another strange dream incident that I can remember. This was when I was living in not the house before this one, but the one before that. So yeah, around six months ago*. I came home from work, exhausted from doing the breakfast shift. The kitchen was a mess, but I figured I would have a nap before I dealt with it. I fell asleep in no time. I had a dream that I was cleaning the kitchen, which would not be so unusual. Except that when I woke up the kitchen was spotless. I was the only one home.

I am assuming that what happened was that one of my housemates came home while I was asleep, cleaned the kitchen and then left again before I woke up. Because if not, then what? Sleep-walking is one thing, but sleep-cleaning? Not that this would be a bad thing, mind you, I just really don't believe it would ever happen. Not to me, at least.

-Smackie Onassis

*I wish this was a joke.

Facial Recognition Issues

You know, there is actually a medical condition that stops some people having the same facial recognition capabilities that most people take for granted. The trumpet player in my old band had it. She told me how people she knew quite well would get mad at her when she didn't recognise them outside the context of when she normally saw them. It sounded like a really frustrating thing for her.

Sometimes I feel like I have just a small touch of this. There have been incidences at places I've worked where I will ask someone if they've been served when I myself have literally just served them. But, as with most things, I seem to have it in a weird way. I am always wandering down Rundle Mall thinking that I just spotted someone I went to high school with. That's usually pretty unlikely, but with the strange combination of Adelaide and Newcastle (resulting in bizarre situations such as the fact that there is a guy I went to high school with who moved across the country to Adelaide in year 11, only to finish his schooling at the same high school as Meattrain) it is sometimes hard to tell.

I was at the pub last night and with the Adelaide Fringe on there were a bunch of comedians there. One of whom I recognised (when I saw his name, mind) as a guy who was friends with my little sister at high school. And it actually was him, we had a brief chat. But the problem is that there were a bunch of other people in the bar that totally looked familiar and I had no idea whether I knew them, or whether it was just my brain misfiring.

Part of my facial recognition issues are that I am almost completely incapable of recognising someone from a photograph. I have learned this from my failed attempts at blind dates. What this means though is that with the Fringe Festival on, every time I have a random exchange with a vaguely familiar stranger, I think, 'Is that someone I should recognise? Is that someone I am actually a fan of?' 

This also kinda happened last night. I spoke to a guy while buying drinks at the bar and he seemed to have this twinkle in his eye that somehow said 'I am someone! Please recognise who I am!'. I kinda wanted to engage him in discussion, but I couldn't think of how I could possibly go about the situation. What was I going to say, 'Excuse me, but should I know who you are?'

The worst facial recognition thing I ever had was with a girl I went to drama camp with. She lived locally and I saw her quite often. The only problem was that every time I saw her I had literally no idea who she was. Every single time. It was peculiar in that this has only ever happened with this one girl. It got to the point that when someone came up and said hi and I didn't know who they were, I would just assume it was her. I was right every time.

-Smackie Onassis