Laws doesn’t approve of Gladiators

The subject: “New Gladiator Names”.

The last line in the Print Screen says it all.

This blog has been neglected to death

Yes, it’s nearing Christmas already and I decided that, as a Christmas gift to all those who were still loyal to my blog (Thank you for dealing with a page that has not changed in three weeks or more) I might as well attempt to blog at a normal pace again. I guess I’ve probably been inspired by a certain friend who’s blog is among the best I read, ranking among the many articles I read off Digg, Off The Record and Stereogum.

I will skip details of the past that was not documented and instead go into details of the recent-past, all of which sits around me on a cluttered bedroom desk I really should be cleaning, yet won’t. I have a stack of burnt CDs, Gotye’s Like Drawing Blood atop of them all, facing me down like the devil, telling me that their mere existence is wrong. To my right are a stack of plays yet to be properly read, an issue that needs to be rectified if I ever want to consider a decent UAI. I have scraps of paper with to-do and to-buy lists, all of which I doubt will be completed prior to the new year, mixed in with old copies of The Drum Media; their ageing, stapled spines reflective of the longetivity of some of the cover artists featured. Atop of them all is a five-day overdue copy of Miller’s Crossing, a Batman mask I received as a birthday present, and my own bit of 2007 nostalgia: my workbook from NSW State Drama Camp.

LOOK AT THE HORRID MOTHER-DISAPPOINTING STATE!

The last few days have opened my eyes to the best and worst of some people that are close to me, even if the events concerned did not affect me directly. Should I care? Should I value what is good about the people I know? How much harder can it get to do so? Should I just leave these questions unanswered? Why so serious? Either way, I can’t blame this, exams, turning a year older or anything else but myself for the fault of leaving this place to rot.

Unfortunantely it isn’t just this that has been left on the ground. I have a stack of comic books – collectively rivalling the size of my mother’s copy of the Holy Bible – to be read, a bunch of movies to be watched, three articles to write from an e-zine, $300 of a camera yet to be paid off, and worst of all, homework to get done that backtracks to October. Practically the only thing that hasn’t been neglected is my last.fm account, constantly fed till bloated with my selection of stereotypically-indie-rock-and-pop. It’s these unfortunant times where procrastination has become key to both my sanity and insanity, creating a revolving door of issues that wont be stopped until I face the devil within.

Heard the joke about the two politicians who looked exactly the same?

No, neither have I

But yes, we have a new tyrant leader these days in the great land of Oz. His name’s Kevin. No, he isn’t that accountant who did your taxes a few years back (although he could easily have been mistaken to have been). He enjoys saying “education revolution” a lot, is friends with a guy who knows Bono and likes the taste of his own earwax. I really don’t know how anyone can like the taste of their own ear wax. It’s far too bitter.

Other than that, he seems like a nice guy, which appears to be why he got a landslide victory. Which isn’t usually the best thing for a politician these days. Compare Paul Keating and Jeff Kennett, for example. One tries to be nice yet is a complete arse, the other is a complete arse yet reshaped Victoria completely. I don’t like those odds.

Now, no matter how he performs, I value one thing about this nation: Its democracy and the ability to be democratic in a civilised fashion. That is, the transition to one government from another is free of persecution or violence, which is something I wish the whole world had. Not to mention, both of our major parties are rather decent, when it comes down to the facts.

So, back to my political slant at this, whilst most of the blind conservatives whine that our country is going to end up in an economic recession under Ruddkips, remember that voting for superfluous new-age leadership wasn’t a step towards a better future (although I, with my KEVIN07 shirt in hand, hope that will be the case), yet one away from a Liberal dictatorship that would have left us all earning $2 an hour no matter what age, gender or position we were in, with the next major project being a 200ft-tall statue of a lion with Peter Costello’s head crafted on it. Which we would all have to build under the new SlaveChioces Act (WorkChoices amendment) 2009, until we are saved by the great prophet Kelly-Ned who parts the Tasman Sea, leading us to our safety in the land of Zealand of the New.

Go figure.

Just between you and me

This place is changing. Content-wise at least.

Oh, and lets just call the past month a prolonged hiatus. Or a mid-season break.

You choose

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

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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.