Gently funk me druck.

I'm the commander of the starship fucking enterprise!

• I got offered that bloody job, and I have to give them an answer by tomorrow. A job like this is pretty rare in Australia. Fuck fuck fuck fuck... It's very hard to say no to, but the fucken chances are I will. As soon as I decide on way or the other, it triggers mad backpedalling in the other direction.
  
• Got a call from B-roq the other night. He even sounds tanned.
  
• This weekend was dubbed the "work on the damn introduction, you fool" weekend. It's looking good now. Ruff and ready, but mostly the latter.
  
• I now have 20 days until KT's going away party, and submission of the thesis very shortly thereafter (followed by a trip to a workshop in Melb, a conference in Adelaide, and a visit to UQ in Brisbane, followed by... well, hopefully 20 inch rims and hot ladies). I am now in super mode, and am progressively becoming a raging irritated bastard.
  
• Cranked it up to 144 pounds on the bench on Friday, and punched through 3 sets of 8. That's 44% over the last goal I was stoked about. Go, go, titty muscles.
  
• Hot diggety, have I come across some utterly dope/ill/whack/ace/rad/naff/smashing music lately. In particular, Prefuse 73 has given me a boner you could break a shovel over.
  
• Dot points are for lazy people. I hereby disendorse them.
  

And with that, I'm effing up and effing off to bed. I've commanded the olds to rouse me at the crack of dawn, with stern instructions not to heed my plaintive cries for further sleep. Anything I utter before 9am is to be considered the word of the torpid demon inhabiting my nutritous mortal form.

It feels like I'm wearing nothing at all.

The ski trip was a roaring success, impressing ladies and cute boys alike. I wore Chris' girlfriend's mother's (?) light-blue snug-fitting one-piece ski suit, and was gleefully dubbed stupid sexy Flanders by Choco. Downside: look like a raging homo. Upside: impervious to snow, hilarious.

The Skiing was great. This does not mean conditions were good. It hadn't snowed for a while, it rained fairly often, patchy cover, etc. However, gravity and snow friction appear to be at all time highs and lows, respectively. The dice roll in our heady gamble of speed vs. existence went our way, despite persistent provocation. That is, we tore arse all over the damn mountain.

Chris and I drank a bottle of bourbon a night, cleverly concealed on our person. The second night we also took cans of red bull, and made our own little special drop of Jesus juice. In fact, the bottle was gone rather quickly, so we bought something like another 5 bourbons, and an absinthe shot. The mix of bourbon, absinthe, and red bull was spectacular. We hooked up with some Poms who suggested we head over with them to kareoke at the Buller bar. They wanted us to join them doing some 'Take That' number, which we cautiously agreed to. It took over an hour for this occur, during which time we had the absinthe and a few more bourbons, and watched a rather plastered Cameron Knight dick around (a stand-up comedian who is on the Comedy Channel all the time). As my old housemates may know, I've spent many a good hour on the couch in front of the telly huffing and puffing impotently about how spectacularly unfunny this guy is. And there he was in the flesh, and to be honest, he was actually mildly amusing when both he and I were pissed out of our respective skulls. Anyway, the pub was going off, and our turn came up, by which stage we were right up for it. The next bit is a bit blurry, I don't remember why everyone else left the stage and why Cam Knight came up and grabbed the other mike, I'll have to get Chris to fill me in there. Cam started dicking around again, I don't remember what it was. My natural response was to start freestyling to the Take That track, and, amazingly, I pulled it off. I vaguely remember going on about being "straight outta Toorak" (a rich Melbourne suburb), and having a go at snowboarders, talking about how Chris was black and so shouldn't have been there, and filling all that in with suggestions that ladies and people who've been intimate with their mothers should dance around a bit. During this thing poor Cam was flapping around, trying to get in on the action, with minimal success. Chris caught the end of it on video, as I was making my closing arguments, which mostly consist of me deriding others for thinking that they are hardcore, reassuring them that I was fact hardcore, that I'd drunk a bottle of bourbon, and suggesting that the audience may wish to suck my balls, the location of which I left in no doubt. Hijinks! Whatever mischief will I get into next?

Chris and I decided that in our own personal renaissance of rad, as were were the sultans of the slopes, the belles of the black runs, we would film some of our death-defying exploits for our posterity. There was a chute between two rocks that was short, but steep as all buggery-get-together which we picked as a suitable scene for our tribute to the definition of awesome. I got in position after falling over a lot, almost pissing myself, ripping down the flanders suit, and relieving myself. For some reason my bladder control disappeared at that temperature and altitude. There were three seperate occasions where I was fine, then bam, I had three seconds in which to operate before disaster struck. Contemplate that disaster if you will, put yourself in my warm sodden ski boots, and shudder. Anyway, Chris did a remarkable job of coming down the chute, I was heaps impressed. He was going to finish off by buzzing the camera at high speed while executing a tight turn. Predictably enough, he wiped me out, and we slid down the hill.

Sin City is the best movie ever. I love it so much I feel dizzy and dry retch when I think about it.

I got another offer for stop-gap postdoc stuff (i.e., getting paid to do whatever until I felt like until what I felt like was buggering off to do something else), this time at the University of Melbourne, with the assurance that it would be well-paid. This is reassuring, and shall be added to the salty brew that is my future options.

Rock on and out.

I'm off for a few luvverly days of skiing with one of the charming natives. See you suckers on the flipside! Ten bucks says I snap a femur!

PS. Sufjan Stevens can crawl into my sleeping bag, anytime! Well, I do rather fancy his album Come on Feel the Illinoise.

Breaking news: Nerds gathering momentum.

Jocks appear nervous, ladies remain unimpressed.

Ian (the chap from the island, not my supervisor, god help me) now has a blog entitled Go Moron. I for one wish him all the best with his internet.

Like getting juiced off a deuce-deuce of cokey.

I gave myself a sore neck taking this shot, yelling at the damn cockies to fly around dramatically.

I have got a fuckload, or possibly even a couple of fuckloads of work to do in the next month. However, Choco and I are going skiing for three days at Mount Buller, and according to several skiing websites, the word on the street, my weekly palmistry reading, and a Phrenolgy session I gave myself this morning, it's shaping up to be a right doozy. Chris and I have signed a voodoo pact to push a variety of barriers on this trip, including:

• the land-speed record (unmotorized category)
  
• jump airtime and distance acheivable, using the upturned board of a novice snowboarder as a lauching point,
  
• the non-fatal proportion of your circulatory system which contains bourbon,
  
• the number of ski bunnies which can be fit on a single lap in front of the fireplace at the lodge,
  
• number of bones broken in a single expression session (compound fractures and incidental fatalities are a subcategory).
  

The most fascinating thing, however, will be the bit where I conjure money to finance the trip out of the aether by sheer force of will. Fuck it, I still got my balaclava.

Anyone who sits in front of a computer listening to music for most of their waking hours, should get into audioscrobbler. It's a plugin for your favourite media player which records details of your listening habits, and compiles all this data to give you a variety of edifying statistics. Not only that, it can identify people with similar tastes, and you can check out their top songs, and maybe discover new music. I first started using this donkeys ago when it came out, but not many people were using it so I didn't bother. Now, it's matured, and is fascinating. My listening stats are here. If you do it, send me a link to your stats so as I can stickybeak.

The new pop77 mix came out today, and it's a hum-dinger. The only people which give an airborne copulation (i.e., Chia and Choco) already know this, but I'll throw it out there anyway.

The UPS (uninterruptible power supply = battery backup) I ordered for the computer arrived the other day. The power out here is really bloody dodgy, and over the last few months the power has dropped out for a few seconds at least three times. This is bad news. Yet another reason to hate those bloody power lines.

Anyway, I gots to get to bed and then get to the gym in the morning. Iron don't pump itself. Neither does arse, more's the pity.

Gotta lotta haters, gotta lotta homies, some are friends, some are phonies.

Steve, Chris and I drank a reasonable amount on Sunday night and had an expression session with a camera, a banana, three oddly shaped sweet potatoes, a jar of vegimite, a vacuum cleaner, and a sharp knife. The above teaser is the least incriminating in the series, the rest can be accessed in the members section of this website.

The Sydney visit was a raging success, in the sense that I aquired another 2000 FF points. The job interview was interesting... I'm reluctant to write any more about it as I really have a good half hour of juicy drivel on the topic, and will hardly do it justice here, and probably at the expense of any other breaking news. Time to use bullet points again.

• Just before I was about to drive to Melb, they asked me to do a 30-40 min seminar at the interview to around 15 people. This was great in the end, as I got to present all my you-beaut stuff. They were asking questions during the seminar, but when I dropped the big one, there was the unmistakable sound of around 15 non-tactile ejaculations. The big kahuna gave a low whistle, then asked, "So... how does it feel to discover something like that?" I had no issues with self-confidence for the remainder of the interview, which went for 4.5 hours (including an informal lunch and several coffee breaks).
  
• Wendy cooked dinner for Fi, Andy, Pete, and I on Fri night, and it rooled. She cooked beetroot curry, which is now officially my favourite food. We're finalizing a sponsorship deal, possibly a movie.
  
• Michael picked me up from the airport, and took me to Gold's gym off Oxfart st for a workout. That place is huge, with awesome machines and some rather strapping young lads.
  
• Which reminds me, I bought Chia 15 pots of Pansies to plant in her courtyard when we went to the Farmer's market.
  
• Pete's pub crawl was rather amusing, and included:
  
  
  
  • A flutter on the gee-gees in which I was relieved of five bucks by some of Pete's friends to join some sort of gambling conglomerate, and never saw it again. My second gambling experience was as crap as the first was traumatic.
    
  • Pete and his friend running up to a crazy one-legged man who was roaring incomprehensible abuse and trying to spit on them. They were yelling "fuck off, you crazy one-legged old cunt", but they assure me that this is standard practice in Glebe.
    
  • A pleasant ron-day-voo with Marcelle, and also Nik and Sal.
    
  • Pete dissapearing for the better part of two hours, where he was apparently bailed up in a hotel room with some coked-out paranoid dealer sharing his coke and orange juice.
    
  • A 375ml of Johnny Walker red label, at reasonable bottle-shop prices. This was eclipsed by Chris, Steve and I taking not only a full bottle of bourbon but also a 2L bottle of coke into a pub last night. Bar prices for coke are extortionate.
    
  
  
• A climb with Fi on the new bouldering wall, which roolz.
  

Shout out to all involved. Special thanks to Mike, Chia, Fi, and Choco, who donated their vehicles, time, and precious fuel to the worthy cause of dragging my sumptuous thighs about.

Holla if you hear me, light it up if you're with me.

My conspicuous absence from your internet is over.

I've been as busy as the proverbial one-armed teenager with two dicks, or possibly even the one-legged man in an arse-kicking contest. Suffice to say, I've been as busy as some sort of amputee in a comical scenario. The reason for my immediate busy-ness, as opposed to my general overall state of busy-ness, is that I'm heading up to the Sydney on Thursday for that job interview at Agere on Friday. Also, I need to have a yarn with my supervisor about things that I'm stuck on, even though he's highly unlikely to help me with any of it. But it helps to talk about it to someone who is vaguely interested, and doesn't do that whole glaze over thing.

Today I finished going through all the derivations on that big arsed paper. The downside being, is that in hindsight I've worked out far more cunning and direct way to do a bunch of things, and now need to go back to that other damn paper and update it accordingly.

Beyond gay work related stuff, Choco rescued me from my track pants and Madura tea on Sunday to play some squash and pump... up the jam. There was a chance on Saturday night for us to attend a twenty-first of someone or other loosely related to Chris' girlfriend's sister, at some farm. Chris wisely opted to not bring me to such party, within range of free booze, which is good for the community at large, but far less interesting. Anyway, we did our thing, and Chris hit me with the ball, and it hurt, but I took it fairly well, promising only to salt the earth of his children's land, but not his children's children's land, and to exact vengeance on him with the power of one-hundred suns, not my usual thousand.

There's another sheep down, but I don't like this ones attitude. She wont drink the water I hauled over for her, and keeps trying to run off. Because they lie on their side for a long time, all their balance is effed up, so when they try to run they keep leaning over towards the side they've been lying on, and end up stacking it within a few metres. Daft.

And like I was saying, peace out, wiggaz. Oh, even better, I have to knock off this picture from todays somethingawful.com update. I think it says it better than I ever could.

This Bill Gibson article...

in Wired is good.

Arise, Chicken!

Another photo of the dog. You know, I really despise people who take lots of photos of their pets and show them to people, and keep photos of them at their desk and in their wallet. Mostly because they get a goofy grin and half a mongrel when showing you photos of these wretches, most of which are ugly as a hatful of monkey's arses if you ask me. Also, most photos of them are taken from head-height directly downwards, with a stunning lawn-based background and the critter staring directly into the lens in a bewildered fashion. However, my excuse is that I only usually take photos during my afternoon constitutional, and often the most interesting thing to photograph is Toffee. Isn't she just so cute, though?! Awww...

Choco is heading down again this weekend, and we are in the later stages of negotiation as to how we shall entertain ourselves. If I have my way, we'll get in a game of squash, a workout, and sink a bunch of piss and get into some sort of longwinded argument. He's also serenading me to go skiing at Bulla at the end of the month for a few days, which I'm rather tempted by. The family Fiji trip is off, or at least postponed until the end of the year, for various reasons, not least of which being me flipping out all over the place about never finishing my thesis and being indefinitely stuck in some sort of academic purgatory, so I've got a bit of time up my sleeve. I'm going to have to hire out my body to raise the cash for it, but, eh.

People I haven't got back to that I really bloody should because they've sent me emails of significance: Barry, Fiona, Michael, Pete, Marcelle. Oh and I really should call Steve he's gonna think that "My ARSE has finally decided to eat my own hand!...It HUNGERS!...For MORE!!!", to quote Aqua Teen Hunger Force. Nothing personal guys, I'm just crap.

Anyway, bugger this, I'm going to watch another episode of Trailer Park Boys from Season 4 (yep, and I'm downloading season 5 now), then whack off and go to bed. Well, that's what B-roq and I would customarily say without any further explanation, but actually written down it looks pretty vulgar, even to me with my refined love of dysphemisms.

Ooroo, niggaz!

Ooh, Rumple-smooth-skin.

B-roq, I've found the complete source:

"I'm a crazy man. I'm a nutjob. I'm a freakball. I break through all boundaries. If I see a boundary, I eat a boundary. And wash it down with a hot steaming cup of rules."
- Howard Moon in the 'Boosh

This is insect speed.

When I inherit this joint, first item on the agenda is putting those bloody powerlines underground. They are the bane of my existence! Except for the way they deliver power.

Working on this next paper is going awesome, I'm blinded by my own unsurpassed brilliance, and getting a tan off the reflection of the monitor to boot. I pulled a 12 hour shift today after 1.5 hours at the gym, pumping what I pump best. Not only that, I did some stuff today that was as cunning as all buggery-get-together. Right on! Go me!

Those turkeys/stooges/future employers from Agere in Sydney have been onto me today, organizing when they're gonna fly me up for an interview. I'm still in the dilemma of scouring all job advertisments, whether academic or industry, and struggling to find anything that really gives me a solid hard-on. Hmmm... Anyhoo, I'll see some of you mongoloids when I'm up, which looks like it may be 15-17 July.

I think that if you have the time, you should read about
Gödel's incompleteness theorem. This is something that gets banged on about by a whole lot of total lunatics who love junk science, to varying degrees of accuracy, most variation confined to the total bollocks region. I find that I get vague on the whole thing, and get a lot out of reading this particular page again. Anyway, it's good, and worth pondering. Insert your own boobies joke here if you like, it would lighten the mood.

You really, really, also should read somethingawful.com's July 4 update, which is funny as heck.

If you have a shred of self-respect and dignity, once again I repeat that you should not go within pissing distance of Rome: Total War. Read one of the novel-length campaign strategy guides to get some idea of the sweet, sweet, nourishing detail. I need superman to fly my computer into the sun to destroy the loathsome pattern of bits which has captured my imagination and with it my will to bathe. It's not that bad, really, but I've had too many really bloody late nights in the last week. Thank the everloving, clusterfucking Christ that I've finished it.

Keep it real as possible under the extenuating circumstances.

Oh yeh, I'm sure that at least one of you will be rapt to the back teeth to know that the sick ewe is back on her feet, and has resumed her action-packed life of eating grass. She, like us, can once again look forward to her untimely and grisly demise at the abbatoirs and subsequent glorious rebirth as pot roasts and dog food. Warms the cockles of my 'eart.

Raincheck

Ok, so there's no real post today, or a picture. I meant to do this last night, but I was intent on conquering Europe with my spare time. Thankfully, I finished the bloody game last night, so there'll be no more of such shenanigans. I discovered that it was far easier to bribe all the enemy generals to join my team, then bribe the enemy settlements to let me take over, and then exterminate the populations, which gives you heaps of cash, allowing you to repeat.

Right on! Woo!