Stop the (Word)Presses!

It’s 2am

I should be asleep so that I can wake up tomorrow for school.

But fuck, this is just too good and random to wait.

Firstly, all the following is from the Bridezilla Wikipedia Page. And none was done by me. I have an account on wiki, and I really can’t understand Japanese.

More on that later.

Anyways…

Click to enlarge. Now focus on the six there. The reference, that is.

Now see this…

Okay, enlarge that picture. You see something strange? It links to my review of that concert six months ago, yet on Last.fm japan.

In short, I’m the author of a reference on Wikipedia, a place reserved for academic luminaries or band’s myspaces.

This is weird.

The best thing to happen to commercial radio

I got Nova 969 to play The Beatle’s classic I Want To Hold Your Hand on Friday night.

They also played The Panics‘ Don’t Fight It just before it. That makes it, officially, the best six minutes of music ever on that wretched station.

And I’m proud to have been apart of it.

I’ve won tickets to U2 and CDs off Nova before. Yet no victory is sweeter than this one.

“Are you here visiting Australia?” “No, we’re just going to a Rock Festival…”

And so, a naïve pharmacist started what was set to be a big day, pun intended, at Big Day Out 2008. After all the dramas of buying tickets on-line at 4a.m., arguing with pedantic parents on my right to attend and a huge cancellation that came as unexpectedly as the death the day beforehand, I was on my way to what I hoped would be the first of many outings to what is an Australian institution.

Warning: Epic Post Follows…

Laws doesn’t approve of Gladiators

The subject: “New Gladiator Names”.

The last line in the Print Screen says it all.

White Words on Black Shirt.

Is that news true?
Or is your News Limited?

Wins.

A sign in an undisclosed private venue’s toilet

NB:
Do Not Smoke In The Toilets
HAVE PRIDE MEN!

All it needed was “BE A MAN!” and this would be the best No-Smoking sign ever.

In Memoriam: Tetris

No, this is not some cynical taunt about how gaming isn’t how it used to be (that comes next week, hehe). I am serious when I say this: my 19-year-old Game Boy cartridge of Tetris no longer functions.

Hence, I have concluded that it has surcurmbed to old age and has, with my dearest sadness, passed away. This cartridge has given my family the greatest gifts all gaming can give throughout its lifetime: pointless entertainment and an excuse not to do set homework. It was bought as a sparkling piece of new technolgy with the original Game Boy in 1988, before my family had arrived in Australia, let alone had the child known as me.

The entire idea of distracting, useless gadgets – today found in every form of technological contact a youth has – was derived from the GameBoy-Tetris duo. It was the Lennon-McCartney partnership in my gaming world. No matter how many more levels, power-ups or bosses you placed in the next installment of Generic Big Game Franchise, nothing could beat the feeling of falling blocks in my hand.

Lest We Forget

**********************************************************************************************

If ANYONE is willing to buy me tickets to Rage Against The Machine, they will be greatly rewarded.

That is all.

A Glorious, Non-Existent Day Some Years Ago

After promising that this dear place would be regularly updated and kept intact, it turns out that after only four posts, I’m already blowing off dust. No need for specifics as to why (*cough*exams*cough*), yet let’s get straight into the meat of today’s post: The revelation that I am a woman.

Not only a woman, it seems, but a married one at that, with children. And have been for at least the past ten months, according to the all-knowing source that revealed this startling yet extremely important fact of life to me, the Sydney Olympic Park Newsletter. As it turns out that when I entered a competition to win U2 tickets last year with them and ticked a box that ensured I’d get constant correspondence from their head base, they detected that I was married female with a family of my own.

Now, let’s avoid the specifics on why I only noticed the lacking-of-the-Y-chromosome now and how I’ve been caring for my husband and kids, and get to something more personal; why you weren’t invited to the wedding. So that you don’t hold it against me, I can admit it was a small affair. It was only between myself, my husband David Gest, my maid of honour Elizabeth Taylor, my husband’s best man Michael Jackson, and our pet carnivorous dogs, Jeb and George Jr. It was held at the Novotel Olympic Park (where else?) and we feasted on party pies made with lobster and pavlova lined with caviar to celebrate the occasion, ensuring that we waste as much of the world’s resources in the process. And we tango’d.

Oh, how we tango’d.

EDIT: Albert has since filed for a messy, bogan-celebrity divorce that will see her children turn to drugs and will be covered by every weekly tabloid magazine until Britney Spears walks outside again.