Pump up the jam, pump it up.

This is Dad and Adam unloading our one year old lambs, which were on stubble in a paddock at My uncle Ian's place. Ian wants to sow that paddock so we had to get the lambs off, you see? Clearly my role in this event was supervision and documentation.

Firstly, free music whores: Dj Iain Mac's latest mix is good. I can't get any more excited than that, but it definately is, well, good. His website header claims that his flow is Acid House Electro Breakbeat Bootlegs Disco Punk Bastard Pop. Anyone who requires nine capitalized words to describe their style immediately redlines my bollocks alarm, but give it a go.

Secondly, comes directly after firstly. It is immediately followed by thirdly, however the use of fourthly is fairly uncommon, and bullet points may be more appropriate for itemizations of this length. More's the point, I've little to add.

Not sure if I'll head to Melb this weekend. I've been working on this FUCKING little problem for the last two days, and it's driving my nuts. I would like to show that something is either less than or greater than one, just not one. Instead, I've managed to show that it is less than a number greater than one, and greater than a number less than one, which is about as useful as tits on a bull in a dystopian post-apocolyptic future in which bulltits in particular are of limited utility and held in very low regard. I'm not even sure whether what I've shown is correct, because lots of inequalities can get my head tangled up something severe. I'm just flipping out a bit because it looks like the olds want to take my bro and I to Fiji for a fortnight, and that would be hella rad, but when I'm stuck on something like this I become completely convinced that I'll never bloody (grumble grumble)...

It's eleven fifty fucking nine already. I've got to haul my gluteus superultramaximuses to the gym in the morning and pump some arse, and need to leave early enough to get home before the evening news. So I'll see youse crunts on the flipside. In the mean time, stick it to the man. That is, if you've got the apparatus and can get in close enough.

Kiss, hug.

Pete the Elite

Pete the Elite has started a blog. You may remember him from past posts such as this.

I for one welcome our elite English overlords.

#4 All Over, Thanks.

Hark! The rare call of a wild tennis ball.

My hair was out of f'kntrol, up until a few hours ago when I gave Mum the clippers and demanded that she tame my, er, untamed locks. I was making the biblical Samson pre-Diana look like a choir boy after advanced chemotherapy. She wouldn't have looked more distraught if I'd asked her to drive a roofing nail into my spine, and she said, like she always used to say when she cut my hair, "You have the hair that any girl would die to have". That's always been a real confidence booster. The final straw that drove me to this was that the hair was getting inside my ears when I had my headphones on, which gave me the effing esses, and also my shadow from the sun looked like Bono during the Live Aid concert. If I could grow a beard I'd be so into that, it would really set the whole tattoo and shaved head thing off. I'd be seven known and two previously undiscovered types of BMF.

Well, this space was otherwise reserved for a photo of the black-er of Choco's two nipples, but his agent is claiming to sell me grain-fed beef from Argentina but delivering me bird-flu infested chicken wings from China. So now it's filled with poorly thought-out metaphors, and not a tit in sight. I hope you're happy that you've ruined my internet, Choco.

There are lambs bloody everywhere now. We've been tending a poor old ewe whose lamb died during birthing, which has left her all but dead. I've been trying to stand her up, but her legs keep buckling and she goes down on her side and just lies there. The way she was last night, we were pretty sure she would be dead in the morning, especially considering the bitterly cold nights with frosty mornings we've been having. She was still alive this morning, so today I've been going out and rolling her off her side and into a kneeling position, and also took her food and water. Fingers crossed.

Keep on Truckin'.

Black tits gettin' blacker.

The eggs! There are now nine. I find it rather odd the way they just make their nest out in the open like this, although in the process of writing this I've realized that it's not that odd at all. However, with KT breathing down my neck for a new update, I can't let down my fans, especially the mentally unstable ones. Fun fact #1: The male sits on the eggs for 8 weeks and loses 10-15kg of weight in the process.

Well, I've been off the radar for a bit, because I've finally finished that effing paper. Bask in its dull glow using your computer monitor here. All being well, all this work should retrofit the other paper. However, it is a 70 page paper and does all these things on a much grander scale, so the challenge will be incorporating the changes efficiently.

The inspiration for my somewhat risque subject line arises from the fact that my dear friend Choco experienced a bit of rough love when we had a game of squash yesterday in Ararat. All theatrical scene-setting aside, it suffices to say that I was running towards Chris and drilled the ball into his tit from about 3 metres away. The Eye of Sauron is everywhere. Chris, if you are reading this, firstly, you are black, and secondly, please send me a photo of your blackened tit. After that we pumped some arse together, which is hipster jive-talk for 'we did some weights together'. After that we had homosexual relations together.

Anyway, I should be working. I went to the gym this morning with my Mum, as I'm trying to goad her into going regularly to the pool to do laps. We met this old lady who was 75 and does 80 laps a day, and who learnt to swim when she was 62. Her first goal was to finish a single lap, which took her some time. Truly inspirational stuff.

Anyway, as I said, I should be working. Later, internet.

Sunrise...

Yesterday morning, one minute from the sun appearing over the horizon. This photo looks heaps cool full size, with the sheep in silhouette on top of the hill 'n all.

Summary:

- I had two serves of boiled sago plum pudding again at Grandma's at lunchtime. With icecream AND cream AND (real) custard. Hoo-boy.

- New pop77 mix, and it's a good one. Get it up ya.

- There is an emu sitting on eggs in the middle of the paddock over the road. I've got photos to prove it, but I'll save that one for the next post.

- Do not play Rome:Total War, and if you do, don't attack Africa unless you really mean it. This game kicks every known type of arse.

- Dad hit me twice with the squash ball when we had a game this morning, and it hurts. Like Choco, I now also have the Eye of Sauron on my left forearm and right inner thigh.

- I can nail the 100 pounds on the benchpress now, and feel heaps tough, especially considering that when I started two months ago, I was struggling on a pissweak 60 pounds. New goal is, oh, say, a billion pounds.

- That doesn't sound like I'm doing a lot of work, eh? Like snap I aint! I'm over the damn hump. After doing a bit of easy mopping up, I estimate I'll be sending those effing papers off real soon.

Madvillain sez:
Last wish - I wish I had two more wishes / and I wish they'd fix the door to the Matrix / it’s mad glitches / spit so many verses sometimes my jaw twitches / one thing this party could use is some more … (pause) … Booze.

p.s. listen to madvillain.

I heart Brett.

Ian-from-the-island was kind enough to burn me a dee-vee-dee of a collection of all the digital photos taken on the trip, which included the above nugget. As you would probably surmise, this chap (Toby) got plenty loaded and fell asleep in a hammock, and dear ol' B-roq was waiting in the wings with his trusty Artline texta and a coarse understanding of perspective, anatomy, and common decency. However, in a an unusual and uncommon display of respect, B-roq also somehow refrained from depicting ejaculation, a courtesy not even extended to a past girlfriend who suffered the same prank...

It has been raining a lot, and the forecast tomorrow is rain and six degrees. Coo-ee, Mum.

Words to live by (according to Pete)
"If you like it, try it.
If you don't like it, try it, you might like it."

Zodiaccupuncture

Firstly, the new pop77 mix fellates ugly sailors. It's all meant to be all about some kind of old skool, but you must've had to have been there to get it, and luckily I was someplace else. However, I humbly thank the patron saint of coprophagia it didn't take as long to appear as the last mix.

However, I've been listening to the last few albums of Aesop Rock, who, might I add, roolz with a captial X. If you want to really just flip out all over the place, read the lyrics to Zodiaccupuncture. Unlike this gratuitous waste of internet, that page also contains a random 'hip-hop honeys' photo, so double up on fun.

I should finish off what happened the weekend before last. KT drunk all the available alcohol west of the Yarra, and then did a runner without saying goodbye to anyone (This has since been discussed and forgiven). To add insult to, ah, insult, she locked her friends out of the hotel room, and then bought herself a one-way ticket on the Valium express to the land of Z's. This amused the boys and I, but Greta and Lauren less so. The only place that would let us in was this rock club that was dingy, smokey, noisy, black, and full of rock dudes who were rocking out. In other words: an awesome place. Fairly early on some bald pissed guy took off his shirt, dropped his tracky dacks and jocks to his feet and started wrestling some guy in the nud. Then he just rocked out with his cock out, gaining both my respect and admiration. Steve, Choco, and I decided that we were very not drunk, so we bought eighteen shots of tequila. They ran out of salt on the last shot, so we used a shirtload of pepper instead. It was foul, but awesome, especially the way we all writhed around, cussing a lot. Choco attempted to sneak off for a chuck, but we bailed him up in the dunny and prevented any of that nonsense. We were mighty drunk after that, but then we walked around too much and it wore off. Anyway, after a night of sampling the finest liqueurs Melbourne had to offer, it ended up that there were two girls in my bed at Choco's place... and I was sleeping on the damn couch.

I think KT more or less summed up what we got up to in her whirlwind trip to the farm. She discovered her inner yobbo, I think, as she really, really, liked being on the back of the 4-wheel motorbike when I was doing circlework which was verging on rolling the bike. However, this enthusiasm was damped the following day, when she confessed to having a bruised bum. Anyhoo, it was great to have her visit.

Oh yeh, and I think I might have overcome the last (?) obstacle in the way of completing these papers and hence my thesis. This is way rad, and the way I solved it was even way radder. This was a problem that was lurking right up the back of the paper, and I've known that it's been there for months, but I've not spoken of it to my supervisors, or to you, dear internet. Nor have I tackled it. We've been like two cowboys circling one another, staring at one another, hands poised over the pair of six-shooters at our belts, daring the other to make a move, trash talking. Bam! I'm the new sheriff of thesis town.


I love the way Fiddy just leans into this photo to put in a hey-baby.

I've also had a visit from Mike, who wanted to get away from the big smoke to study for his exams. We mostly were working, but also snuck out to do a bit of farm stuff, but it has been raining a fair bit lately. It was good to see him, catch up on a bit of Uni goss, hear what the word on the street is. We went into the gym, and he revised my program. Apparently I was doing many excercises dangerously wrong. I explained my attitude toward danger, however he insisted that we come up with a new schedule. He patiently taught me better technique and a whole lot of new excercises. It will be interesting to see how it goes. Hopefully I'll get totally massive and get in biffos just for fun.

Aesop Rock says: "If the revolution ain't gon' be televised,
Then fuck, I'll probably miss it".

Wrong, wrong, Minh Xuong.

For reasons known only to a relatively unknown oriental deity, the humble proprietors of the chinese restaurant, Minh Xuong, have seen fit to adorn the condiment dispensers with uh, jackets, made out of the fingers of a pink rubber gloves. Much to our delight.





Whoo-ee. Too much action and adventure to report. I went to Melb on Saturday night, as Choco thought it was imperative that I see "Rocky Horror Picture Show", which I've never seen before as an unexpected consequence of playing 'truth or dare' in grade five. We popped out to go to the bottle-oh under the understanding (pretence?) of returning soon to watch said fillum. However, we were waylaid by the bright lights and mesmeritic sounds of brain cells vaporising at his local pub. So we, being sticklers for tradition, snuck in a bottle of Beam, drank the whole thing while playing pool, and headed home at closing time, fabulously drunk. He insisted that we watch the movie, but once again that enormous projector-screen telly of his got the better of me. That thing just makes me violently ill when I've had a few. I was trying to watch it out of one eye while holding my head in my hands, but Choco was bothering me with all this are-you-all-right-mate business. Eventually his snickering got the better of me and I went off and slept in my clothes on top of my bed. Amazingly, I was heard to say after the shower the following day: "I feel like a billion dollars, let's go play squash".

Katie and her henchwomen, Greta and Lauren, had their boozy floozy celebrated the Queen's birthday long weekend in Melbourne. So Choco and Steve and I headed over to their posh hotel in Sth Yarra, to find the ladies rolling drunk at the hotel bar. Their irrepressible 110 decibel laughter drove off all the other patrons. We summoned a maxi taxi and headed off to Revolver.

to be continued...

Sheep Jesuses

Toffee in hot pursuit of a tennis ball. Panorama style makes it more arty, like.

The rain has finally come. Last night it poured, moving from the west across Victoria, and we got an inch. Heading home from the gym this morning, there was already a subtle green tinge to the paddocks. Alright!

In other developments, we have had at least three immaculate conceptions. That is, our ewes have started dropping lambs, but they've not seen a ram in over a year. Apparently this is not as strange as the time when Dad bought some weathers (castrated rams), one of which gave birth. Anyway, Dad reckons that a ram has jumped the fence, seduced a few ewes, possibly with his feats of jumping, enjoyed a bit of rumpy-pumpy, and hopped back over the fence, promising to give them a call in the next few days.

Since I've put off going to Brizzy until Sep, it looks like I might go on holiday with the olds and Abz for a week or so at some point before then. I've been pushing for a week skiing in NZ, mainly because that involves speed and danger, two things dear to my heart. Mum isn't buying that though, because she wouldn't be able to ski and "doesn't like the cold". She wants to go some place warm, possibly Phuket. That sends shivers down my spine. We would not be a spry and nimble force, like a pair of backpackers, able to get out of the tourist traps and chill out someplace. I'd actually rather go to Bali, just because it's so bloody horrible and we would blend in with all the other working class Aussie yobbos, wandering around pale, bewildered, and entirely odious to the native inhabitants. Another place which has been proposed is a Malaysian island called Panang. Anyone got an opinion on this place? Is it ready for the Peacock family portable conflict factory?

I downloaded season 1 of that show B-roq was on about, 'Trailer Park Boys'. I found the first two episodes amusing, but not hilarious. I think it's like a Canadian Kath and Kim, but more hardarse. They do say 'oot' instead of 'out', you know. I'd never noticed it anywhere before.


Got my harness today. Oh yeh. It looks like the one pictured, but mine smells different, being blessed enough to be imbued with my musky man scent.

Music update: if you like rock and roll, and rocking out in general, perhaps you should listen to the band called Decemberists. I can see Pharmacy Matt liking it.

Over'n'out, my african-american compadres.

hello monkey!! 

Love, the kind you clean up with a mop and bucket.

"I am the lizard king. I can do anything."
- Jim Morrison

This photo appears at the behest of Tim-from-the-island. This was at the height of the reign of my alter-ego, the omnipotent, enigmatic, and highly intoxicated "Lizard King". He commanded all that scurried and slithered. His minions were his eyes and ears in the jungle. He accomplished great feats, mostly in the area of balancing things on his head.

Applications for Fullbright postdoctoral scholarships are now open. This would be a nice thingy to get, for the cash, and the prestige. It would mean the recipient would be able to rock up to more or less any Uni in the US to do a year postdoc. It's not a bad back up plan, if I can be arsed filling in all the damn forms.

I think I worked out one of my two little problems today. I rederived the whole kit'n'kaboodle from the start, using a slightly different starting point. Unsurprisingly, it didn't work, spectacularly. However it failed at different points than the old way. Then I made the surprising discovery that I could hop between the two. Biggety-bam. Pity it took me a week.

I am toying with a new timeline. If I try and finish this entire schemozzle by July, I'll have to tear arse up to Brizzy in August, then bugger off to Adelaide at the start of Sep. Since UQ is booking my flights, I don't want to have a flight on August 1 hanging over my head as I'm getting my thesis bound and shit on July 31. Bugger that for a joke, I'll go to UQ in Sept.

Anyway, them's the things on my mind. Not a barrel of laffs, but ay.

Existence and uniqueness

That rather sombre title is the problem which I've been tangling with all day. I don't see why I have to do all the existential wrangling for this damn set of equations, especially when I'm kind of vague on these topics myself. I'm tempted to do a dodgy Descartes and "I think (so), therefore I am (gonna leave it and go to the pub)". Which is grouse, except there is no pub. You laugh last, equation.


A Murray Cod I caught last year at Christmas. Pucker up. I tried to take some photos of some Rosellas that were on the Mulberry tree out the kitchen window, but alas.

Well this weekend was meant to involve a whole lot of looking serious and slightly perplexed. You know, ponderous silences, a narrowing of the eyes, then furious scribbling and keys a-tappin'. Instead, on Saturday I went to the gym and then went with Dad in the ute to buy a round bale of hay for the sheep. This involved dropping in on someone, and having a few cups of tea and a chinwag of course. After covering every conceivable angle on the topic 'when the rain will come', we were permitted to leave. By the time we'd brought the bale back via the scenic route and fed the sheep, the arvo was gone. Somehow, lunch with my grandparents and a game of squash with Dad took all of Sunday. I should have gone to Melbourne. MORE CRUSHING REGRET! Pray for me, internet.

I sent an application to 'that job' in Sydney (job description). The interview process will be an interesting experience, whether or not I choose to do it. It will all be rather novel for a career bludger. I'll just tie my hair back with a rubber band, wear my best slipknot t-shirt, and punch a few buckets before I head in to help me keep my cool. The job description includes "serves as a mentor" (excellent, sounds like I get to teach kids kung-fu) and "subject-matter expert" (sounds like I get to stand around and sound off my opinion on the Corby case or whatever).

Time for another quality music recommendation. I have had a lot of glowing feedback from my previous recommendations. Firstly, this Erlend Øye compilation is hot potatoes, european electroclash goodness. Also, these albums rool to varying degrees: 'Give Up' by 'The Postal Service', 'Silent Alarm' by 'Bloc Party', 'Desperate Youth, Bloodthirsty Babes' by 'TV On The Radio'. I recommend that you steal these items and claim that the theft is a component of an elaborate performance art piece.

Otherwise, I hope youse are keeping it as real as humanly possible. Big up yourselves, but stop if it starts to hurt. Kiss hug.

.

Ochre chenille bun-huggers

In the consipicuous absence of a relevant photo, I've gone for some fresh meat.



I'm going to come straight out with the big one. What in the sweet name of fuck is going on with pop77? The last mix was released on April 27, and previous mixes were out every few weeks. I'm going to approach this issue in the mindset of my fellow bloggers. KT would be convinced it was a conspiracy that goes all the way to the top. Chia would get over all the previous mixes, delete them, and move state. B-roq would drink heavily, sound off a lot about it, and make a litany of colorful threats and allegations of a homosexual nature against the guy.

I'm gonna stay down here this weekend, get some work done. Thesis update time! I think I've grappled with all the big problems, it is now a matter of changing the two papers which this affects. In summary, I've taken quite a large, vague question, solved the lion's share of it (partnering up with the lion was a mistake, but I knew nobody else in the class), and have left over two small, well defined questions. I've hammered these two questions over and over and over again this week with my signature blend of one part talent and nine parts bloody-mindedness, and they have refused to break. Stay tuned for exciting developments on this front.

I've put a link to a site which shows the current time in the UK and Australia.

Thank the ever-loving patron saint of fuck that my fellow nerds have been doing some blogging. I find myself writing a bunch of random stream-of-consciousness crap at the end of the day, which is a great outlet that snaps me out of serious mode. This then leads into a bit of to-and-fro the next day with anyone who gives a tinkers. Given that I'm the most crap friend ever re: emailing and phoning, these things are number-1 good. However, it's a delight to read someone elses heady news-nonsense cocktail. And it's more balanced, innit.

Anyways, stay in school and say no to drugs, in particular pot. Because it's crap.

Holy calamity, scream insanity.

Things are progressing incredibly slowly. Even more disastrously, I've seen nothing even remotely worth photographing recently. Choco was kind enough to photograph some pictures of 'Rock Sausage' using his camera/phone/microwave/particle-accelerator, however due to the lack of lighting and all the frenetic rocking out that was occuring, the photos are essentially useless. He was also kind/peverse enough to photograph me climbing last weekend, but I'm not about to start spreading around photos of my ga-doonka-doonk-doonk on the internet just yet. It's a slippery slope from there, and besides, that would violate certain distribution rights contracts.

Luckily, I have a backup picture tucked away.


My daily pilgramige to the chookshed revealed that it was a five-egg day today. In news even more riveting than that, I found some mushrooms when I took the dog for a walk. Avoiding obvious psychoactive puns, I made them into a scrumptious sauce which I had over toast for lunch, which was deeply satisfying.

Also, I had my third journal paper accepted to IEEE transactions on information theory! Party on, woo! Unfortunately, I now regard that paper as a big pile of steaming hot monkey shit, and quietly wish it would disappear. I'd much rather write 'fish are gay' on my genitals and dip them into a tankfull of pihranas than deal with getting that paper ready for publication.

I cranked up my bench-press weights at the gym yesterday. Go, beefcake! I'm actually more like a low-salt tofu burger. My current medium-term goal is to be able to get one of those eff-off big black fifty pounders on each side of the bar. Yesterday I went to forty-four on each side, but nearly popped the lower members of my digestive organs out the back in the process.