Friday, September 30, 2005

I promise not to say 'I told you so.'

Scientists today have been diving underneath the Antarctic ice shelves, in order to observe and track thus far undiscovered marine life. Some of the creatures that I witnessed on the news tonight were truly strange, and truly beautiful. But sadly, the scientists were not there to plan future study of these unusual life forms; rather they were there to capture images of them for posterity. You see, at the rate that the ice caps are melting, these oceanic marvels won't be around for many more years.

But there isn't any ozone depletion and, no, carbon emissions aren't depleting the earth's natural protection from the sun, and - hell no! - species aren't dying out at an unprecedented rate, a rate not seen since the extinction of the dinosaurs. All this fuss about the environment is just the result of a vast left wing conspiracy.

When the ice caps are gone, and when we're fighting wars over the remaining fresh water reserves, and when we've all ceased our filthy 2 pack a day smoking habit because we have just as much luck feeding our addiction through the air we breath, when that happens, will it then, finally, be time to play the blame game? Will we be allowed to point the finger and say, hey!, your failure to amend your behavior, your preference for money over ecology, your damnable pig-headed laziness has brought us to this point?

Probably not.

Autobiographical essay

I had to write a one thousand word autobiographical essay citing the reasons why I should be allowed to study next year; put basically, a one thousand word masturbatory exercise. I'm just keeping it here for posterity, so I would advise people not to bother reading it as the content is far from interesting, and it hardly gives any gritty facts about my life.

But I may contemplate writing a no-holes-barred account one day soon...

The education of - - - - -

Some of my first – and only – recollections of early childhood are of my father reading the paper to me, and of my mother, sitting by my bedside, inventing all sorts of wondrous tales; stories of a magical candy machine, dragons and other mystical creatures. It was these stories that lead me towards an avid interest in reading from an early age; an interest that would later become an insatiable appetite for literature of all kinds: history texts, novels, poetry, classics; the daily newspaper and, more recently, online journals called ‘blogs’. The logical result of all my reading was that I’d end up wanting to create something of my own; and I did, writing short stories in school, and keeping a journal containing poetry, my insights and any other clumps of wordage that came forth from the recesses of my mind. More recently, I’ve kept an online journal of my own, and in it I write about the lunacy prevalent in modern day politics, the breathtaking and sometimes horrid events of Russian history and various other issues that catch my attention.

One could reasonably deduce that a propensity towards writing, combined with the massive consumption of literature that I’ve undertaken to digest would have lead me into the upper echelons of academic success, but, alas (and I guess I take a risk admitting this to a course selections officer, however I subscribe to the belief that ‘honesty is the best policy’), as an adolescent my mind was less than focused on scholastic excellence, in fact I think that I was not mature enough to understand the value of a developed education. This is not to say that I allowed my mind to become inactive or dull, it is just that my intellectual pursuits were exercised outside of school hours. As we shall see, events and actions in my early twenties and continuing up to the present day would instil in me a burning desire to learn formally about the history of this world, the techniques for communicating observations on the same, and, perhaps, a method of enhancing my understanding of all those great books that I’ve spent so much time reading.

I think that completion of an Arts course would be a fantastic grounding for a later career in journalism or communications. The vast territory of knowledge that such a course appears to offer, combined with the polishing of one’s requisite skills in communications, is, I believe, exactly what I need for further development in the aforementioned careers. It would be a pleasure, not a chore, to study subjects like History, English, Politics, Legal studies, Philosophy, Media and Linguistics, and I can only hope that this essay is enough to capture the reader’s attention, thus allowing me this great opportunity.

So, I talked earlier about my early twenties being the catalyst for my current desire to challenge myself by completing a degree; what then, you may ask, transpired in those years that has lead me to this point? Whence did this drive come from to better myself at the age of 26?

Enter Tabcorp:

For five years I’ve worked for a company named Tabcorp. Tabcorp – an entertainment enterprise – has provided me with a breadth of opportunity to exercise my written and verbal communication skills. My position, that of a Customer Support Representative and VIP Customer Coordinator, has involved several tasks relevant to undertaking an arts course: deciphering both verbal and written customer complaints, and claims for financial remuneration; responding to the aforementioned claims/complaints either via telephone or, via a carefully worded letter of response; editing letters and internal memorandum composed by my manager and, finally, making payment decisions based on a set of legal and ethical guidelines. Given my intention is to undertake study in the Arts or Communications fields I believe my time served interpreting a myriad range of writing styles, legalistic edicts, complex ethical problems, and composing sensitive responses to customers has kept my mind sharp and practiced.

My age, and my time spent working are the things that I think will put me in good stead to succeed in this course. The fast paced world of business has taught me the value of a hard, consistent work ethic. My experiences and my developed maturity have allowed me to value education. My maturity has given me a sense of responsibility and structure,
allowing me to plug away at whatever I’m working on without giving up easily.
I’ve developed new perspectives combined with unique critical thinking and observational skills due to my time spent in the 'real world', and yet I’ve managed to 'educate' myself through reading and pursuing various curiosities and interests, whilst at the same time staying cognizant of current events. I’ve learnt to prioritise, deal with people of all walks of life, and I know exactly what I want out of my education.

My experience – though valuable – of working in the corporate sector has also shown me that it isn’t the right employment for me. I’ve found, particularly in the industry that I’m employed in, that a company’s aim is, more often than not, to garner as much money as is humanly possible for their own ends exclusively – without contributing much to society at all. I’m hoping that my intended studies will lead me into a field that sees me doing service to society; and this is one of the main reasons that I’m determined to take an educational pathway.

Thursday, September 29, 2005

Huckleberry Finn: tales of the Satanic underworld?

In my wasteful work hours today I stumbled upon a blog that lists the common books that are either banned or challenged by the US school system. On the list are such favourites as Huckleberry Finn, Bridge to Terabithia, To kill a mockingbird and Catcher in the rye.

These were some of my most beloved titles growing up (particularly Bridge to Terabithia, which is a fantastic kids books), and life would have been less fun without them.

I can only conclude that we're living in a world soon to be decimated by the religious right.

The Amageddon, my friends, is truly on its way.

Dirty deeds

Business dealings, Republican style.

A bunch of war-mongering crooks and liars.

Conservatives, you've been punked.

Tuesday, September 27, 2005

God, but not as we know it

My definition of god is not one of a deliberate creator, nor that of a life force, rather, my belief is that 'god' is the single atom - the point of singularity - that forged this universe in the big bang at the beginning of time.

I think that many people have become caught up in thinking about god as commensurate with the omnipotent designer model, that construct which our primitive human brains have come up with in order to make us less afraid of the dark. I don't think that there is any design, any plan or moral directive for us from on high, however I think that forces like time, energy, life; forces of physics and chemistry all arose out of this one event.

Despite my belief that everything is random, that there is no great 'plan', and, in fact, that nobody and nothing can influence the events in the universe, the fact that a single point spawned everything that we see - and much that we don't - means that it is god enough for me.

Thursday, September 22, 2005

Salmon metaphor

Petrol prices are soaring into a whole new stratosphere, they are getting so high, in fact, that a complimentary back massage should come with every refill at the pump. But things aren’t as bad as they seem on the surface. To the environmentally focused individual, at least in Australia, the inflated prices appear to be having a positive impact; that is they are forcing people to use public transport or, god forbid, employ those amazing appendages that mother nature gifted them with: their feet.

I’d love to write a few more posts and a whole lot more detail, but I’m so busy at the moment that I’m only able to summarize my thoughts, insights and observations.

But, like the salmon that swims upstream, battling exhaustion, starvation and grizzly bears‘ hungry maws, only to find a mate, cop a quick root, then die, mouth agape and eyes wide with idiotic surprise -- I’ll be back with the next season.

What an utterly weird metaphor.

Wednesday, September 21, 2005

An island

I'm almost completely at one with the concept of living my entire life alone. I was watching a television show on divorce the other night and, with all the terrible betrayal, the heartbreak and spite that relationships often provoke, I can't imagine why anyone would bother. I like being on my own; I like answering to myself and no one else; and I like having a settled life, one that can't be shaken up by an outsider.

I enjoy the company of my friends, and I have a myriad range of interests that maintain my enthusiasm for life; things like expanding my knowledge, watching the news; going to concerts, plays, exhibitions and movies; writing in this blog; and walking with icy cold wind blowing in my face. Next year, all things going well, I'll be studying. I can't wait to start consuming knowledge about the world. Why would I risk that stuff for another, inevitably transient, romance? Why shake things up?

So I'm making a declaration of war upon love: keep back you fiend! Find someone else's door to knock upon. Your slick attire has no effect on me, and I'm not buying what you're selling.

Smothering hope

There were many horrors that one would face upon entry to the labor camps of the Gulag; starvation, privation, rape, murder and a multitude of other hellish tortures were likely to be one’s constant companion throughout the duration of a sentence. One evil endured, that receives very little mention, was that faced by pregnant women and their children.

Given the high incidence of rape in the camps - guards, prisoners and even other female inmates would rape with shameless abandon - there was an endemic wave of pregnancies. A lack of food, sanitation, sleep and protection from the elements meant that pregnancy brought with it a high likelihood of death for both mother and child. Heavily pregnant women were placed on the deadly transport trains, thrown in to cramped, cold environments, the result of which was often miscarriage. It is well documented that new mothers would often leave their babies to perish out in the snow, so horrible was their expected fate.

When a baby did make it through pregnancy and into the world, life did not much improve. Children were essentially treated as if they were mini-prisoners: they were locked in barracks, surrounded by barbed wire, and given little or no food. They were, more often than not, separated from their mother and taken to a nursery in another camp. The record of their name was erased, their, as yet undeveloped, brain was unable to retain a memory of their parents and, as such, they were lost forever. Growing up in the camp atmosphere meant that they would never develop, never become educated and, more than likely, their only viable option for survival was a life of crime.

There were also women that conceived deliberately. This was due to the hope that they would receive an ‘amnesty’, which was not an uncommon event throughout Stalin’s reign. Every now and then a decree would be issued in which a particular group - sometimes pregnant mothers - would be ‘pardoned’. However, for the most part, pregnancy was imposing a fate worse than death on both mother and child.

The book that I’m currently reading, Gulag: A history, details many such tales of misery, but there was one story - that of a mother who lost her child to the meat grinder of the Gulag - which stuck in mind, and which I feel compelled to quote here:

“But there were women who wanted their children, and tragedy was often their lot too. Against everything that has been written about the selfishness, the venality of the women who bore children in the camps, stands the story of Hava Volovish. A political arrested in 1937, she was extremely lonely in the camps, and deliberately sought to give birth to a child. Although she had no special love for the father, Elenora was born in 1942, in a camp without special facilities for mothers:

‘There were three mothers there, and we were given a tiny room to ourselves in the barracks. Bedbugs poured down like sand from the ceiling and walls; we spent the whole night brushing them off the children. During the daytime we had to go out to work and leave the infants with any old woman we could find who had been excused from work; these women would calmly help themselves to the food we had left for the children.’’

“Nevertheless, wrote Volovich,”

‘Every night for a whole year, I stood at my child’s cot, picking off the bedbugs and praying. I prayed that God would prolong my torment for a hundred years if it meant that I wouldn’t be parted from my daughter. I prayed that I might be released with her, even if only as a beggar or a cripple. I prayed that I might be able to raise her to adulthood, even if I had to grovel at people’s feet and beg for alms to do it. But god did not answer my prayer. My baby had barely started walking, I had hardly heard her first words, the wonderful heartwarming word ‘Mama’, when we were dressed in rags despite the winter chill, bundled into a freight car, and transferred to the ‘mothers’ camp’. And here my pudgy little angel with the golden curls soon turned into a pale ghost with blue shadows under her eyes and sores all over her lips.’

“Volovich was put first into a forestry brigade, then sent to work at a sawmill. In the evenings, she took home a small bundle of firewood which she gave to the nurses in the children’s home. In return she was sometimes allowed to see her daughter outside normal visiting hours.”

‘I saw the nurses getting the children up in the mornings. They would force them out of their cold beds with shoves and kicks… pushing the children with their fists and swearing at them roughly, they took off their nightclothes and washed them in ice-cold water. The babies didn’t even dare cry. They made little sniffing noises, like old men and let out low hoots.

'This awful hooting noise would come from the cots for days at a time. Children already old enough to be sitting up or crawling would lie on their backs, their knees pressed to their stomachs, making these strange noises, like the muffled cooing of pigeons.’

“One nurse was assigned to seventeen children, which meant she had barely enough time to keep all of the babies changed and fed, let alone cared for properly:”

‘The nurse brought a steaming bowl of porridge from the kitchen, and portioned it out into separate dishes. She grabbed the nearest baby, forced its arms back, tied them in place with a towel, and began cramming the spoonful after spoonful of hot porridge down its throat not leaving it enough time to swallow, exactly as if she were feeding a turkey chick.’

“Slowly, Eleonora began to fade.”

‘On some of my visits I found bruises on her little body. I shall never forget how she grabbed my neck with her skinny hands and moaned, “Mama, want home!” She had not forgotten the bug-ridden slum where she first saw the light of day, and where she’d been with her mother all of the time…
Little Eleonora, who was now fifteen months old, soon realized that her pleas for ‘home’ were in vain. She stopped reaching out for me when I visited her; she would turn away in silence. On the last day of her life, when I picked her up (the allowed me to breast-feed her) she stared wide-eyed somewhere off into the distance, then started to beat her weak little fists on my face, clawing at my breast, and biting it.
Then she pointed down at her bed.
In the evening, when I came back with my bundle of firewood, her cot was empty. I found her lying naked in the morgue amongst the corpses of the adult prisoners. She had spent one year and four months in this world, and dies on 3 March 1944...
That is the story of how, in giving birth to my only child, I committed the word crime there is’

How did this senseless evil creep into the world? From whence did it come? If the human race can look upon the purist thing there is - the love of a mother for her child - and crush it without mercy, is there any hope for the future?

Tuesday, September 20, 2005

A lonely space cowboy

Is it a sign of a disturbed mind that the final episode of Cowboy Bebop makes me tear up like a baby? I'd blame it on the onions that I chop, but I don't chop onions.

Tuesday, September 13, 2005

Liberating the life right out of them

The following is a comment that I left on someone's blog, in response to a post that I read this morning. I think that it's important to encourage debate and conversation on such issues. I'm always receptive to corrections, contradictions and collaborations, so anyone that reads this should feel free to comment.

I must concur with minispace on this issue. The war in Iraq was not a war of liberation. There are three significant pieces of evidence in favour of this:

1) The initial reasoning for an invasion was made upon a purely military basis (eg. the phoney assertion that Iraq was a fundamentalist, terrorist state, with the ability and or will to procure and use WMDs). When anti-war protests hit full strength the pro-war emphasis was subtly changed, in terms of governmental rhetoric, to one of 'liberating the poor people of Iraq.'

2) There are other countries requiring far more support in terms of liberation - countries that are yet to receive so much as a 'how do you do' from the US - nations like Zimbabwe, North Korea and Iran. Strangely (although not really strangely!) no 'war of liberation' has occurred in these countries despite the fact, particularly in the case of Zimbabwe (and excluding Iran), liberation would be far more welcome and, indeed, easier to effect. The reason for not invading other countries in need is, of course, because they provide no gain: strategic or otherwise.

3) The people of Iraq are now no more liberated post Saddam than they were during that evil dictators reign. Basic amenities have dropped below what they were during the Saddam era, and the new draft constitution allows for the possibility of fundamentalist law to creep in to the mainstay. What this means is that what was once a (admittedly tyrannical) secular state will soon be held under the thrall of Sharia law: not a very liberating law for women or dissenters alike.

I think it is also a misnomer to suggest that Iraq should be held to account for its crimes against humanity while in the same breath excusing the US for putting the weapons in its hands, weapons which have allowed it to perpetrate such crimes. The US can't sit in judgement of Iraq, and proclaim itself the 'policeman' of WMDs, when, in fact, the US is the only country in the world to have used, not one but two, such weapons capable of destruction on a national scale (I do, however, realize that is an argument for another occasion).

It is also incorrect to assert that intelligence organizations around the world had a belief that Iraq possessed WMDs. Since the invasion many members of the US intelligence community have come forward to state that such evidence was at best stretched and, at worst completely fabricated in order to make a case for an invasion. Such 'whistle blowers' have been summarily persecuted by the Bush administration: I'll point you towards the outing of CIA covert operative Valerie Plame as one such example of this phenomenon.

Linking 9/11 and Iraq in the same breath automatically places suspicion on Iraq for having had terrorist links, even if you state that you don't link the two. It is a proven fact that none of the terrorists that attacked America on that fateful day were of Iraqi national extraction. It is also proven that Iraq - a secular regime - had no links to the funding, organization or support of the operation. In fact, it is well known that Saddam had a strong dislike for Fundamentalist Islamics, as they posed a very real threat to his dominance of the region. Saddam had funded terrorists in his local region, an act that is/was not exclusive to Iraq; nor for that matter something that the US hasn't dabbled in over the years. So to say that Saddam's support of terrorists (support which was, in fact, on a very local, micro level), should make them a terrorist state is tantamount to implying the rest of the world should ready an invasion of America. Sadam did, also, initiate the attempt on Bush Snr's life, but, however, this is once again not an unusual phenomenon. It was with amusement recently that I observed Pat Robertson call for the assassination of the Venezuelan president Hugo Chavez; a statement from which the Republican regime has attempted to distance itself. Unfortunately, the Republican party obtains much of its vote by riding on> the coattails of such lunatics and, as such, must be seen to share views somewhat analogous to this.

"The US soldiers are doing the most honourable job imaginable and volunteering with their lives." This statement, to me, neglects the mention of the unspeakable atrocities that were committed at Abu Grade. It also omits mention of the various 'collateral damage' incidents that have occurred since the war's beginning.

So, if not for reasons of liberation, why do I think that the Iraq war occurred? I think that the nepotistic allotment of government contracts definitely was an element - most of the contracts for rebuilding the country have gone to companies that are now run by ex-Republican party members or friends of the Bush elite - however this was only a tasty incentive for the US invasion. The reason that I think the US invaded Iraq was that in the light of its failure to capture the real culprit in all this (O.B.L) it required an easily obtainable and symbolic target in retribution for the 9/11 attacks. That is why so much evidence was provided (evidence which was later disproved) in regard to Saddam's links to Al Qaeda. I think that Iraq serves as an ideological carrot dangling before the Bush administration's gaping maw; a strategic landmark upon which it wishes to set about bringing democracy and - yes - those good old fashioned Christian ideals which it holds so dear.

In closing, I'd like to say that the war in Iraq is a hotly contested issue (as any war should be), and one that can raise the extremes of emotion. Sam, I'm not angry at you for your opinions, beliefs and arguments. I quite enjoy reading your blog, and I find it refreshing to balance out my beliefs with those of someone in opposition, for, indeed, the only way to obtain even a fibre from the fabric of that mystical garment named 'truth' is to listen to - and, yes, accept - the arguments of those with divergent opinions. I think that the only real test of who is right and who is wrong (not that 'right' and 'wrong' are readily quantifiable states) in all this will be the test of history. I think that when America pulls out of Iraq - probably leaving it in the grip of civil war - we will be better able to determine if the people of that shattered country benefited from all of this.

Sunday, September 11, 2005

Spiced ham

Its pink fluffy mass disgusts me. The tinned contents are a nutritional wasteland. Should I find myself stranded in the desert with nothing to eat but a can of pure evil, I think that I'd rather gnaw off my own arm. I'd suggest that my own feces would be preferable to popping the lid of that pseudo-meat they refer to as Spam.

I do not like spam.

So don't leave it on my Blog.

Saturday, September 10, 2005

Friday Fuckhead

And the distant flashes capture my image. Their forked tongues lick my sores without regret. I wrote this on the back of a cigarette packet so the words are small. When I ran out of room I continued writing on the blank space of one of my books. I was waiting for the train to roll. If you see a burning bridge I’ll be near by. The contestants line up one by one - but don’t expect me to finish. Plan for second guessing; expect mild disappointment. I’m an hourglass, unable to analyze the passing of sand. Can I write myself out of this; out of this life? Even my own words betray me. There will be no music, no art, no writing and no charms. There will be a calm death, a choking cough, a vascular bang - if I’m lucky. Pretend. Pretend! My frustration is a quicksand that I hope to drown in. I disappoint myself. I’m a 2am film, and nobody can remember the title. What is that actors name? Who could possibly know. And friendship is simply a word for me to set ablaze. Looking in the mirror is a jaw clenching experience. Watch my veins as they flex and pulse. The wet, soggy, stench of failure. I want to write so much more, but trying to capture myself is like a Bombay child searching through garbage for the next meal.

Friday and a fuckhead collide. I hit the ground and realize that it’s me.

Thursday, September 08, 2005

I've got you pegged

Working in the corporate world is not dissimilar to working as a Hollywood actor. Both forms of employment dictate that their protagonist act out a role they have no belief in. The script is dead, there is no higher purpose, and money is the only prize. I'm here, so I'm no better. Tom Cruise, minus the good looks, running around in a boring role, trying to convince the world of the company's worth.

And why the shirt and tie ordeal? Who are we trying to impress? I can't remember the last time that any of us met customers. Are we trying to impress each other? 'Look! Look at my tie!' is the silent scream from some of these corporate junkies. I say, if you want to wear a tie feel free, but don't impose your fraudster sentiments on the rest of us.


I read something disturbing before I went to bed last night, and that disturbing thing lead to a nightmare. I can only remember flashes of it now, but from what I do remember someone was out to kill me.

Wednesday, September 07, 2005

And on a more positive note

There are two films coming out that I'm looking forward to laying eyes upon: Grizzly man and Little fish.

Grizzly man, a documentary by Werner Herzog, follows the life of a crazy eco-warrior that spent years befriending (ultimately he was eaten by one!) grizzly bears. Apparently the film is as much about social isolation as it is about a man's bond with nature. Werner Herzog is, in my opinion, one of the best directors going around. He is responsible for my number one documentary: My best fiend.

Even in the midst of poverty, drug addiction and despair, beauty will find a way of creeping into the darkest recesses of human pain. From what I've heard about the film, Little fish is based on exactly this premise. This Australian independent film tells the story of a recovering drug addict, and the shattered, broken lives that surround her.

Two films that I will definitely see over the next couple of weeks.

Four crumbling days

One big night out, complete with excessive drug consumption, has set me back again. I spent the last couple of days in bed; time off I can ill afford as it is a peak period at work.

When will I learn?

It was a strange night out. The club that I went to had a three dimensional theme night. I haven't worn a pair of 3D glasses since the 3D version of The Wizard of Oz came out when I was a child. The blurred vision that amphetamines produce, to me, seemed to negate the 3D effect.

I start my seven week course this Saturday, so it is a major imperative that I get my shit together. If I get into University next year I'm going to have to stay completely sober.

My body aches and feels depleted. I feel older than I actually am. A muscle in my neck feels as if it is clamped in the jaws of a gigantic bulldog clip. I feel empty spiritually, physically and mentally. A loss of hope is only an ambulance ride away.

Friday, September 02, 2005

Friday Fuckhead

In America this week, terrible hurricane Katrina has wreaked untold havoc and death upon the lives of many. This event of historic magnitude will have an impact on more than just the immediate life or death of those in the south. On the television tonight I saw pictures of absolute chaos; people were chanting 'help, help, HELP!' Media reports are painting a terrible picture of rape, murder and anarchy. For a lot of reasons, I think that this might be a defining, and hopefully destructive, moment in the life of the Republican regime. Bush's disdain for lower income earners (read, those of black skin color) has been cast into the spotlight: there to smolder and burn like a vampire in the sun.

While the polluted, murky waters were raising above the heads of Southerners, Bush was eating cake with his buddies in sunny California. An investigation into the reasons why disaster prevention and response has been so inadequate reveals that the Bush administration diverted much needed funds away from projects, like the construction of better retaining walls around the soup bowl that is New Orleans, and instead spent that money on the pointless, phony war on terror that is Shitstorm Iraq. So basically, money was siphoned away from protecting poor, predominately black folk in New Orleans in order to bring about mass death and destruction for poor black folk in Iraq...

And meanwhile, in the midst of the turmoil yesterday; with people drowning, starving and being eaten by alligators; with a pseudo war on terror being fought; with death in her homeland and abroad, Condoleezza Rice was buying $3,000.00 shoes.

Condoleeza, I hope you polish up those shoes really well. You are my Friday fuckhead.

Thursday, September 01, 2005

Seven List

Yikes! I've been tagged for a meme by the fabulous Ladybug. I've never been tagged before. What should I do? Answer the quiz I guess...

1. Seven things I plan to do before I die
  • Stand atop the misty peak of Machu Picchu
  • Write a book
  • Find inner peace
  • 'Walk like an Egyptian' amidst the pyramids (walking like an Egyptian is very important)
  • Become fluent in a language other than English
  • Unlock the mystery of the universe
  • Visit Russia - lecture Lenin's corpse on the failings of his doctrine
2. Seven things I can do
  • I can swim strongly
  • Self deprecating humor comes very easily to me (there is a lot within my self to deprecate!)
  • I just self deprecated (that sounds rather like pooing in one's pants) whilst stating that I'm good at self deprecating, ergo I can 'do' two things at once
  • I can gargle the Australian anthem. Gross, I know.
  • I can write serviceably
  • I can hold a reasonably competent conversation on politics and global affairs
  • I can dance in complete ignorance of the disapproving stares from around the room

3. Seven things I can't do
  • I can't say goodbye to girls that I love
  • I've never been able to stick to instructions when constructing something
  • Talking with other guys about cars is something I'll never be able to do
  • I have a bad back and, consequently, I can't touch my toes
  • I can't speak another language (yet!)
  • I can't play the banjo with my teeth (nor with my hands for that matter).
  • I can't accept phony, trumped up wars on terror.
4. Seven things that attract me to the opposite sex
  • Mystery
  • A dry sense of humor
  • Intellect
  • individuality
  • A good taste in music, film and literature
  • Quirkiness
  • Well placed tattoos
5. Seven things I say most
  • I have a theory...
  • That is CRAZY!!!
  • Are you serious?
  • Does maniacal laughter count as something a person 'says'? Possibly not, but I laugh maniacally quite a bit...
  • Here comes an avalanche of bullshit...
  • Wowzers! (I haven't been able to stop saying that since I first watched Inspector gadget when I was 12 years old)
  • Hell's bells!
6. Seven celebrity crushes
7. Seven people I want to take this quiz