Listen very carefully!

Do you hear that faint, muffled, whimpering sound?

It’s poor old Tina Arena. See, she thought she could resurrect her career with this whole Opening Ceremony thing, but no. Sorry, Tina. Not even the Japanese bought it this time. The images of you jumping around in a bosomy dress shouting ‘I Want Your Body’ are still too recent in my mind, personally.

Seems like a surefire way to boost careers, really, doesn’t it? I don’t think anyone can argue that Vanessa ‘Everybody Needs And Everybody Breathes’ Amirosi is an established Aussie performer. I’m surprised The Superjesus aren’t anywhere on the Olympic bill.

I forgot to mention a conversation I had with Adam while we were watching the Opening Ceremony. I was wondering aloud why the Olympic rings were coloured red, black, green, yellow and blue.

Adam: It’s because those are the only colours used on flags.
Me: (turns this over in my head) Really? (thinks some more) Hey, you might be right!
Adam: Of course I’m right! Didn’t you ever know (voice falters) that?
Me: Ahhhhhh! You’re having me on!
Adam: (refusing to let go of his theory) It’s true!

Thus began an inspection of the flag of each country that walked out in the parade. I was sure that there was a flag somewhere with orange on it, but none appeared - right until the very end. Adam had some lame explanation for it, but pfft. He was wrong.

*****

Sunday night was a bit summer-ish, and neither Adam or myself could sleep. There was a bit of dispute regarding the pillows. We have four pillows, usually distributed evenly, but…

Adam: I’ve only got one pillow.
Me: Mmmrgh.
Adam: I’ve only got one pillow. It’s a floppy saggy skinny pillow, too.
Me: Mmmfh, I’ve only got two.
Adam: (pokes me) You’re hogging the pillows.
Me: I only have TWO! Look! (I roll over and reveal three pillows)
Adam: Ha! See?
Me: Oh. I didn’t know.
Adam: Don’t deny it.
Me: This is like the UN inspections in Iraq or something.
Adam: What?
Me: You’re inspecting to see if I’ve got more artillery than what I actually do.
Adam: Well, you did steal it, you know.
Me: No I didn’t. Although the Iraqis would probably deny all ownership if they got caught out, too.
Adam: Gimme a pillow.
Me: Give me some more sheet cover and I might. We’ll engage in some trading.
Adam: Give me TWO pillows for being such a hog.
Me: So now you want me to increase my pillow output?! Sheesh. I’ll just have to raise the prices of pillows now.

*****

Answering The Rhetorical Questions Of Musicians, #01:

‘When, will I, will I be faaaamouuuuus?’ - Bros

Not any time soon.

*****

Yesterday was the first day of my cool new job. I got up extra early, even though I’d had hardly any sleep at all the night before. After I got out of the shower, I put on more aftershave than normal - a) because I might have gotten a little sweatier than normal as the temperature was predicted to be rather high, and b) today of all days was a day not to be stinky.

Continuing my viral megamix, today I cut a tight mix of stomach aches, strange red spots all over my hands, and a weird constant feeling of breathlessness. I can probably attribute the stomach aches to my poor diet, and the breathlessness thing might be an indication that I’m putting on weight. I’ve had this feeling for about a week now. It’s as if one of my lungs has given up. I’m feeling all the effects of cigarettes and I don’t even smoke. Not even passively.

The red dots look like little pimples but they’re not, and as far as I can see they’re only on my hands. I think it’s time to stop masturbating.

*****

I continued my reign of self-injury by sitting at the very front of the train carriage. I need to constantly look out the train window at the world outside, so I was forced to turn my head ninety degrees for most of the train ride. I quickly developed a strained neck in addition to my previous illbearings.

A blind man joined the train halfway down the train line. Well, I initially thought he was blind because he had a white cane, but the way he bounded down the train steps and ran up the aisle unassisted lead me to believe he was as blind as I was. Is there any sort of legal rule over the use of white canes?

Town Hall train station now resembles some sort of military operation, with one-way zones everywhere and police guards that appear to be wearing different uniforms than usual (in fact, they appear to be stereotypical US cop-type uniforms, the big boots and stuff). I was almost mauled by an easily excitable Olympic volunteer flapping her security pass around because I tried to take the quicker way out of the train station.

I still want a bomb to blow something up in Sydney. Not someone, but something. See, I’m not that terrible. Besides, it’d be cool. I might make a shortlist of places I want blown up.

I then realised that Town Hall station was not where I actually should have disembarked from the train and proceeded to a different public transport station. I am now faced with the dilemma of either getting off at Central station and walking to work and getting exercise every day (I’d get well over an hour of walking time), or taking the Lazy Bastard route and catching public transport all the way to work. I’ve decided to take the Fit Way. I was initially a little worried about the sweat factor in this warmer weather, but the more I think about it, I believe I could appear slightly mysterious if I arrived to work every day covered in a light sheen of perspiration.

As it turned out, I didn’t need to worry about sweat because those arseholes at that Edna’s Table cafe were hosing down the pavement outside their cafe again and turned their hose on me by mistake. It’s been months since I used to walk to work past Edna’s Table, and still they’re hosing down the pavement every morning. Doesn’t make sense.

*****

It’s surprised me how many people have emailed me hoping that I’ll work with weird people (or fodder, as one person called them) at my new job so I’ll pick on them. Thankfully, the people who I’ll be working with all pick on each other, which is good. They’re great people. Seems I’ll be working with a team of three other people from now on:

* Big Mo. He’s the manager of our group. I’m very sure he’s gay and therefore want to let him know that I am too (hey, we’re family), but I’ll sus things out first. He affectionately calls the project we all work on “the fuckwad”.
* McCraig: I got on with this guy very well rather quickly. We were talking about imported Dutch pornography within half an hour of meeting each other.
* Vanessa Undresser: Vanessa left halfway through the day, so I didn’t get to speak to her much. Apparently there’s some in-joke about how she started stripping at an office party, which I’ll need to get to the bottom of.

The staff in this particular office’s cafeteria seem really nice, a far cry from my last workplace. There’s a guy there who is the spitting image of hard metal god/sex beast Robb Flynn, singer of Machine Head, so I’m going to deliberately leave my plate at my table and sit there and read, so he walks over and takes the plate from me - then I can instigate conversation. With any luck he’ll end up like Cafeteria Woman from my last job and try to have sex with me, but one can only hope.

*****

Big Mo was trying to find someone to show me around the office. The first person he found was someone from the finance department floating around.

Big Mo: Hey, do you have time to show the new guy around?
Finance man: Sure. (grabs my head) That way - cafeteria. (swivels my head around) That way - toilets. Done.
Me: Are you trying to get into PR? Because you won’t.

Eventually someone showed me around, and we then spent most of the morning watching a replay of the Olympics Opening Ceremony on a big projection screen. They showed some footage of the flame being carried on a ferry across the harbour, and Big Mo walked in front of the projection screen showing the boat footage, threw his hands in the air and cried ‘I’m the king of the world!’

The videotape was stopped after the atheletes began their parade, and people started watching the day’s events live on TV. Myself and the team I work with are taking phone calls with this job, but they’re non urgent and can go to voicemail if required. We decided we’d let all the calls go to voicemail and watch the Olympics. I proposed changing the voicemail message:

‘Hello, and welcome to (company). All our operators are currently perving on Olympic atheletes. If you would like to leave a message, please press one. If you would like to perve on Olympic atheletes, please tune your TV to Channel 7. We apologise if you encounter any women’s discus.’

*****

The four of us then had a meeting. Everyone smokes but me, so we had the meeting outside in the building’s smoker’s hangout. Vanessa Undresser commented that it would be cool if indoor smoking at meetings was permitted, and that it would raise efficiency.

Big Mo: Actually, that reminds me. I used to work for a big global company and once I got sent to Holland for a big meeting. I went into a boardroom for the meeting, and two of the big high-up executives sat there and smoked cigars throughout the whole meeting.
Me: That’s a bit too much, isn’t it?
Big Mo: Of course they were wankers, but they could afford to do it.
Vanessa Undresser: So it’s okay to smoke indoors in Holland?
McCraig: Yeah, it’s still legal.
Big Mo: Most things are legal in Holland.
Vanessa Undresser: The age of consent is 12.
McCraig: Fuck. Really? That’s not quite right.
Me: I’d expect that maybe of countries where they arrange marriages at age 14 or something, but… sheesh.
McCraig: So a 60 year old man can have sex with a 12 year old?
Vanessa Undresser: That’s just the way things are in Holland.
Me: I think they’re in the process of decriminalising incest, actually.

*****

We actually did some work in the afternoon, until a girl having an argument with some guy approached Big Mo.

Girl: Okay, why don’t we ask Big Mo?
Guy: (indignant) FINE!
Big Mo: What is it?
Girl: Ian Thorpe. Yes or no?
Big Mo: (becomes excited) Oooh, well the hot rumour is… well, I’ve got this from this inside.
Girl: Ooh!
Big Mo: See, Dirty Nathan in Queensland-
Me: Is that some sort of IRC nickname?
Big Mo: No, he’s Dirty Nathan. Anyway, his mum knows Jackie O’s mum.
Girl: Jackie O from the radio?
Big Mo: Yep. And Jackie O’s mum plays bridge with Duncan Armstrong’s mum, and Ducan Armstrong said that Ian Thorpe has his boyfriend living with him so there’s no real media hype.
Girl: Yeah, the sponsorship deals and stuff could go down.
Me: It could just be Duncan Armstrong trying to talk him down.
Girl: Ah, but see, this is where my titbit of gossip comes in. Apparently he was seen kissing another guy at a party Double Bay.
Me: Oh, come on! Who isn’t seen kissing at a party in Double Bay! Even I’ve been seen kissing at a party in Double Bay!

*****

I took lunch with McCraig, and we spotted someone at a cafe who looked like the Fonz from Happy Days.

McCraig: Man, the Fonz is so 70’s.
Me: Well see, there’s a reason for that.
McCraig: He got kinda weak towards the end though.
Me: Yeah, Diet Fonz.
McCraig: Exactly. I think he got toxic shock syndrome from all that hairspray or something.

Eventually we wandered back to the office and took in some more Olympics. We’re lucky enough to have cable TV at work, so we were looking at the sports being shown on the two extra Olympic cable channels.

Me: These are pretty boring channels.
McCraig: I guess they’re putting most of the good stuff on Channel 7. I’ve got cable at home and I’ve been watching some of the weirder sports.
Me: It’s as if they’re just shoving all the unpopular sports on the cable channels - although I will admit I was strangely taken in by some sports against my will, like the women’s volleyball.
McCraig: I know exactly what you mean. I watched the Olympic cable channel for only one hour before running outside and screaming ‘Handball, where have you been all my life?!’

*****

Addition to the dictionary, #05:

Larshole. 1. Person insanely scared of the immediate future. 2. Manager of a musical group (esp. heavy music) who occasionally likes to have a bash behind the drumkit. 3. The slow, gradual homosexualising of an artist (’to be a Larshole’).

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