Category: Life and Associated Annoyances

Back at Work. Bah!

Being back at work sucks.

I narrowly missed out on an extremely embarrassing encounter on the train home on Thursday night. There I was, walking down the platform after getting out of the front carriage, when who should I spy, sitting in the rear carriage(The electric trains in Perth only have two carriages. Or four in really busy periods, but that’s really just two trains end to end.) but Lyndah (Her hair is currently dyed flame red, so she’s pretty hard to miss ;-)).

You know, Lyndah?

Yeah. She didn’t see me, or if she did she did (she did she did? That can’t be good English!) a very good job of pretending she didn’t. And I doubt she would have spotted me down the length of the train since she was right at the back. But of course this little incident raises the question of what would have happened had we ended up on the same carriage and she had seen me (I know what would have happened if I’d seen her. I would have turned as red as a lobster and concealed myself behind some large fellow commuter before scurrying out like a rat when the train got to my station :)).

It’s a very good question.

The hidden variable of course is whether she’s aware of what I wrote about her. I have no reason to suppose that she’s ever visited my website or this blog, but she could have been made aware of the salient facts by my brother, which would provide a very good reason for her to pretend not to see me under any circumstances, let alone a train 🙂

The problem of course is that I don’t know if my brother reads this blog either. In fact I only know of a few people who do read it, Helen, Ali, Stephanie, Rebecca and Ryan (and maybe Mark, in between all that police training). Of course there’s also all those people who wander in looking for the lyrics to the Drug’s The Bold and the Beautiful or after searching for “Billy Idol Religious Fanatics” (I’m not kidding. Two separate search engine queries over the last few months. The scary thing is not so much that people are searching for this, but that I keep coming up for it :)). But I don’t know about anyone else.

So, regard this as an invitation everyone. If you read the Wyrmlog, let me know! Drop me an email! You’re my audience after all!

I’ll get all depressed if you don’t 😉

(By the way, please note that this is not an invitation to send me offers for herbal viagra, discount ink cartridges, penis enlargement pills, human growth hormone, millions of dollars in unclaimed African slush funds or any other such crap. I have excellent spam filtering software and I use it, so your message will be bloody well bounced.)

Anyway, back to Lyndah. I naturally kept half an eye out for her on Friday, but there wasn’t a flash of sexy flame red hair to be seen. Which is probably a good thing all round. I can seriously do without the distraction 🙂

Anyway, on a completely different subject a fair few people have been visiting the Wyrmlog looking for the lyrics to 77% by The Herd. Since I’ve been looking for them myself and the only copy I can find online is woefully inadequate I figured I’d transcribe them and stick them up here. So (with all necessary language warnings) here they are. Enjoy…

77% – The Herd

(samples)

…seventy seven percent of Australians, um, agree with John Howard’s actions on the Tampa.
What happened to the others?..

…the thing is, to use military force, uh, against, uh refugees, isn’t that a little, overkill?..

…a spokesman for the line that owns the ship says Australian SAS Troops are in danger of breaking the laws of piracy…

…undoubtedly this is the most popular decision as far as the Australian public are concerned, the Government’s made during its reign…

…the Captain before entering Australian waters had sent out a distress signal…

…clearly our solution was um, well it wasn’t only farcical – it was um, immoral…

(John Howard) I wish, that this problem were not ours…

Well I’m left sitting here, staring into a beer,
Shaking my head at the same old loathing and fear,
Stranger in my own land, can’t understand,
How the very word ‘Australian’ has just been damned,
I f*****g hate myself, take Aussie from my name,
Erase this endless shame, forever casting blame,
If you don’t act the same will I destroy you?
Everyone looks the same beaten black and blue,

And so I’ve had enough of these redneck pricks,
When fact is the only real s**t that sticks,
Watch as I tear the very skin from my face,
So none’ll see my race, my deep disgrace,
You’re not even from here in the first place!
And those who are you wanna further debase?
Nup – no more – never again, whether by fist or pen,
I will defend – ’cause I’m at a loose end,

The shattered remnants of Aussie dignity,
I’m a skip, whitey, round eye, surprise me,
Use your shriveled brain to please explain,
How the clever country just went down the drain?
We rode the sheep’s back now the sheep ride you,
If this is how it’s gonna be don’t call me true blue,
I denounce my ancestors, wounds still fester,
If you say it ain’t so I suggest ya wake up!

Wake up! This country needs a f*****g shake up!
Wake up! These c***s need a shake up,
Wake up! This country needs a f*****g shake up!
Wake up! These c***s need a shake up,
Wake up! This country needs a f*****g shake up!
Wake up! These c***s need a shake up,
Wake up! This country needs a f*****g shake up!
Wake up!

Talkback? Squawking hacks, won’t relax,
Until Jonesey, Zemanek and Laws are all axed,
Seventy-seven percent of Aussies are racist,
If you’re here – I’ll say it your faces,
Rich redneck pricks still hold all the aces,
I’ll buy you a beer – with a arsenic chaser,
Better off dead? Is that what I’ve said?
Tempting to take for all the blood you’ve shed,

No doubt you’re as bad as your dads and your mums,
Mainsteam media making me so f*****g bummed,
Anglo reality, intellectual cavity,
Channel Nine fostering prejudiced mentalities,
I won’t be a casualty, just mention casually,
I can’t stand for you s**t-eating bullies,
Preying on peeps without a mainstream voice,
Most of yous stay silent but I’ve got no choice,

Wake up! This country needs a f*****g shake up!
Wake up! These c***s need a shake up!
Wake up! This country needs a f*****g shake up!
Wake up! These c***s need a shake up!
Wake up! This country needs a f*****g shake up!
Wake up! These c***s need a shake up!
Wake up! This country needs a f*****g shake up!
Wake up!

Well I’ve yelled my lungs out, but to no avail,
Well I’ve yelled my lungs out, but to no avail,
Well I’ve yelled my lungs out, but to no f*****g avail,
That you’re a stranger yourself, now that’s the sting in the tail,

Captain Cook was the very first queue jumper,
It was immigrant labour that made Australia plumper,
Enough is enough, whiteys go pack your stuff,
Don’t wanna live in England? That’s f*****g tough!
I’m sick and tired of this redneck wonderland,
Most of yous stay silent and I can’t understand,
I just can’t understand,
It’s time for you to,

Wake up! This country needs a f*****g shake up!
Wake up! These c***s need a shake up!
Wake up! This country needs a f*****g shake up!
Wake up! These c***s need a shake up!
Wake up! This country needs a f*****g shake up!
Wake up! These c***s need a shake up!
Wake up! This country needs a f*****g shake up!
Wake up!

Well that’s a cheery way to sign off isn’t it? 🙂

The Total Lack of Quality Theatre

On a Friday night, after a hard week’s work I like to take it easy. Cook a simple dinner,watch a bit of TV, then fall into bed. So naturally I was not pleased when I found out that for my Aunt’s birthday the whole family was heading off last Friday for an evening of amateur theatre in the vast, arid, expanses south of the river*.

This was apparently going to be a good evening out because chicken and chips were being provided under the cover charge. Also it wasn’t going to be “a late night” because it “finishes at ten”.

Now being the pathetic sociophobe that I am I usually plan on being curled up in bed by ten on a Friday night. Or at the very least slumped in my recliner rocker* in front of the movie of the week – but hey, family is family. So it was off to a venue that (in the grand tradition of Dave Barry) I shall refer to as “The Total Lack of Quality Theatre”.

So, how was it? Well, you know things aren’t going well when the highlight of the evening is an Elvis impersonator.

Mind you the guy was pretty good. He sounded like Elvis (apart from the high notes where he lost it a little bit) and he looked like Elvis (or at least like a fat guy with sideburns in a sparkly jumpsuit, which is Elvis as far as most of my generation is concerned). Apparently he’s put on weight since last year*, but that only served to make him look more convincing.

The rest of the night was of variable standard. In general varying from merely boring to excruciatingly painful. The girls danced and danced, the adults performed a variety of sketches, many of them pre-dating the Flood, and occasionally someone would stumble out and perform a Benny Hill song, forgetting the lyrics halfway through and having to hum.

There were two girls however who could actually sing, and sing quite well. The brunette did a great job on Memory from Cats (although I’m pretty sure the streetlamp “gutters” not “sputters”), and one other song, the name of which my mind completely failed to register. The blonde had a more powerful voice, but less control,tending to waver a bit and go off-key on the higher notes. Her diction was also a bit sloppy (not that I’m one for draining the soul out of song by enunciating every single ‘t’ and ‘p’, but neglect it too much and you end up sounding like you’ve got a mouth full of custard*), but overall she wasn’t too bad.

The finale was a series of “French” set songs in a “French” cafe, which might have been bearable except for the fact that it dragged on and on and on. There were at least three repetitions of The Night They Invented Champagne, a song I’d never heard before, but quickly learned to hate with all my soul. Add in the Can-Can sequence (just because the techno Can-Can on the Moulin Rouge soundtrack goes for ten minutes doesn’t mean you have to dance through the whole thing girls) and a rather disturbing song by a fat, old, bald man about how much he loves little girls, and I was well ready to get the hell out of there when it finished.

At 11:00.

I wasn’t pleased.

Once I woke up the next morning (far later than usual but not late enough), I spent most of the day, and Sunday cleaning the place up, since Andrew was planning to bring Emma and Lyndah around to see it. That however fell through when their car broke down, so I was left sitting in a spotlessly clean flat all by myself. Which was mildly annoying,particularly as, having got the place so clean, I was extremely reluctant to do anything that might mess it up again. Like cooking. Or eating. However my basic biological needs soon overcame what few domestic instincts I have, and the place is now rapidly descending back into it’s normal squalor*.

Apart from that nothing much else has been going on. The most exciting event of the last few days was getting absolutely drenched in a torrential downpour on the way home last night. I had an umbrella, which was doing a fairly adequate job, but turned out to be powerless to protect me from the gigantic tsunami produced by a Transperth bus indulgently smashing it’s way through a deep pool of road run off as I waited to cross the street. My sopping state was made worse by a series of speeding cars, all apparently out to imitate the bus as I uncomfortably waddled my way home. I did avoid another complete soaking though, by managing to drop and crouch beneath the umbrella like a riot officer under a plastic shield when a passing truck threw up a cascade reminiscent of the Trevi fountain.

Finally I must announce my joy that the ABC has finally come to it’s senses and realised that launching an exclusively digital channel when set-top decoder boxes come in at around $700 each is not a viable economic proposition. Hence it has shifted some of the content of its “ABC Kids” channel back onto normal broadcasting, including new* episodes of Daria. Please excuse me for a second….

WOOOO-HOOOO!!!

My elated mood is only dampened by the facts that they’re on at 5:30, when I’m still on my way home from work, and I only discovered this by chance tonight, meaning that I’ve probably missed dozens of them.

This is what happens when you move out and don’t arrange for delivery of the weekend papers. TV Week here I come.

———————————————————–

* Perth is neatly divided into north and south by the Swan River. North of the river is the vibrant, cultural heart of the city, inhabited by intelligent, witty, well educated sophisticates. South of the river is a cultureless wasteland roamed by packs of wild-eyed,mullet-headed, banjo-playing knuckle walkers who inexplicably think the exact opposite is true.

* I am so old

* The fact that there was a “last year” and people still came this year makes me seriously concerned about the state of humanity

* Like Shaggy

* A humourous exaggeration Becca, I promise 🙂

* Like, from 2000

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