Hot Damn!

Oh, and four new InSprites. I figure if I'm pimping the bloody thing, there should be something new.

Oh, and...

...I've decided to reformat InSprite into a blog. No real reason, it's just that I HATE FTPing. Heavily. Hate it.

So here: Go see. Nothing new, but I haven't looked at some of those old ones in a while, and jeepers. The first few don't really hold up under scrutiny.

A new chapter, sort of.

I've been meaning to make this post for like five days, but life kept getting in the way. Well, I say life. I mean work. Anyway.

I read an article in the paper about Experimental travel, and loved the idea immensely. The soul and centre of it is that you travel (or walk or pub crawl) with a fairly odd and random set of rules in your head, and these rules allow you to see the area you’re in in a new way. It was apparently developed as a way to combat the sort of tourists who can take a Contiki bus tour of Europe, and then check it off their life-list and say “There. I’ve ‘done’ Europe. No more adventure for me!” I had first glommed onto the idea from Douglas Adams’ The Long Dark Teatime of the Soul in which Dirk Gently performs the Zen method of asking for directions, most of which involves following someone who looks like they know what they’re doing (I‘ve done this. You end up in the oddest places). So anyway. The article refers to the Lonely Planet Guide which will come out in four weeks.

I waited patiently (well, patiently for me, which means I check every damn day I’m at work, but don’t tell anyone what I’m doing, similar to what I’m doing now for the Futurama Monster Robot Maniac Fun Collection that’s been ‘in transit’ for two weeks) and borrowed the book. It was full of wonderful ideas, and things others had done, which I wanted to do.

Things like taking a train ride across Russia, and once an hour (when you're awake) taking a picture at the same angle out of the same window and writing down your thoughts at the time.

Or taking alternating directions (left, right, left, right) until you run out of places to walk.

Or Dog-Leg travel, where you Zen-ask-for-directions people walking their dogs, and whenever you meet another dog you must switch and follow them.

Or Ero-Tourism, where couples travel separately to a new city, make no arrangements to meet, then try to find one another (that one sounds dangerous, at least for me).

Or Barman's Knock. Go to your favourite pub and order your favourite drink. Ask the barperson where their favourite pub is and what they drink there. Go there and order their recommended drink, and then repeat the exercise with whoever serves you, and so on.

The easiest, at least for me, was Mascot Travel.

Mascot Travel:

Hypothesis: See the world through the eyes of a mascot.
Apparatus: A mascot of your choice and a camera.
Method: Pick a personal mascot and take it on your travels with you, eg a stuffed toy, pet rock or garden gnome. Take its picture outside famous landmarks and record its other experiences with a camera. On your return home, consider making a photo album of your mascot's travels. Show it to your friends. The album should look like you were never there.

Like Amelie and the garden gnome!

I chose my iPod as my mascot of choice. So far, I’ve only done one experiment, but more shall arrive soon. So anyway, here it is:

Travels with iPod: A Mascot Travel Experiment

So yesterday I was sitting naked in a beanbag chair eatin' cheetos..."

Ron White on Police Competency:

Ron: "The last time there was a shootout, the cops fired so many shots and missed that the criminals got frustrated and shot himself.

Cop on TV: "It's not fair, he's wearing body armour. We're shooting him, but it's not working."

Ron: "I can see his head! SHOOT HIM IN THE FUCKIN' HEAD! Give my kid a shot! *pow!* 'Howzat, Daddy?' Good job, son. Nevermind, y'all. Poot took him out!"


Ron White on Vegetarians:

Vegetarian: "I'm a vegetarian because raising cattle is bad for the environment, with the cutting of rainforest for grazing land, and cow flatulence in the ozone and such. Ron, what are you doing to help the environment?"

*pause*

Ron: "I'm eatin' the cow."





Bwa ha ha ha.

Arrivals

Hey Craig! Your Neon Genesis box arrived! I'm holding it ransom, though. Je besoin des pragrammes d'ordinateur: Office (or just Word), Nero, etc. Or you will pay 1 million helicopters and a dollar!

No, wait. Shit.

Saw Sin City on the weekend. Poor Tanja had to leave about 5 minutes into The Hard Goodbye (you know, the one with Marv? And the torture? Remember, Tanja has a thing against torture?). I could have done the same, as I found that story to be the least interesting of the lot. I liked the Big Fat Kill, myself. Go Dwight go! Don't listen to the critics who said your story was the weakest! But yes, liked it on the whole. Made two shirts of it.

Work is fucking around my time in lieu. Still. From the middle of July. I have to bug them about it. But then even if they DO do it, they won't get it out to me until next pay. Grrr. Why isn't there a workplace in Sydney, it seems, apart from the University, that can get its shit together, my-money-wise?

Rapid Fire Update, featuring buying thingies!

-->Tanja's been sick lately, from a cold I gave her (I got over it in like three days, AGAIN) and it's a worse cold for her than it was for me (AGAIN!). We stayed in all yesterday watching Pride and Prejudice (I wish people of Jane Austen's time could tell people to fuck off when those people are rude and bitchy. Stupid protocol in stupid polite society) and The Sting (which is one of my all-time favourites and Tanja didn't hate. Score one for the plus category!).

-->Despite Tanja's optomistic reassurances that I'd get boatloads of money back, around $3-500, turns out that thanks to inSuck's undertaxing me when I worked there, I actually OWE fifty bucks in tax. WAS. NOT. AMUSED.

-->Am trying to change my avaliability at work, so as not to work ALL closes until 11 pm every time. May catch hell from bosses. May toss hell right back. Fuck 'em.

-->Tanja keeps calling my black wool greatcoat a "Craig coat". Damnit! I bought that coat when Craig was like 15! It was a Me Coat before it was a Him Coat!

-->Oh, and someone tell Tanja that Million Dollar Baby is a good movie so she'll watch it with me. Ditto Sin City.

Things we bought in our spending spree:
-->Fancy-schmancy new computer with 17" screen and new printer (dubbed HEX, the "Thinking" Machine), on which I can use my iPod (HEX Jr.), Age of Mythology, the new AoM Expansion Pack Titans (in which you can get a giant 100 feet tall, made of molten rock that I call THE GREAT METAL LORD!) and finally, Generals! No more Generals sitting in the corners looking sad!
-->New coffee table. Ooh, spacious.
-->Breville sandwich toaster. No more cold bread for me!
-->Dinner at fancy Rubyo's restaurant. Sort of like Tapas, but not Spanish. Finally! Posh grub we can stuff ourselves on.
-->Gorillaz new CD for Tanja, and Ron White's DVD "They Call Me Tater Salad" for me.

Argh. I hate mechanical shenanigans.

So I turn on the TV to watch a Futurama DVD, but there's sounds and no picture. I unplug, replug, and fin-angle the cords, no picture still. I try different cords. Nada. I freak, get the receipt, see that it's only 6 months old, still under warranty. I call the number in the manual, it's wrong. I look up the number in the L-Z phone book, it refers me to the A-K phone book. I call. They tell me to call the store it was bought at. I do. They say bring it in, we'll fix it if we can. I can Tanja, tell her it's busted and that I'll take it in today on my way to work. She sighs, but is not mad. So, I continue making lunch, and try to put a movie on the PS2. No picture, just sound. I call Tanja back, say it's the brand-new TV, not the less-new DVD. As I'm talking, she tells me to turn off the TV and turn it back on again. And I did. And suddenly everything worked. Picture, sound, the whole shebang. damnit. Um, I mean. Great. Yeah. I got worked up for nothing.

I must say, I really enjoying hanging out with those machines. Hey, a suicide booth! So long suckers! (Craig, Ted and Simon are the only ones who'll get that.)

And now I feel like a moron.

I called Insight, because the bastards hadn't sent me my group certificate so I can do my tax (well, so Tanja can do my tax, but still). I think about it all morning, trying to remember the exact dates I worked there (I think May to early November) and my ID number (2399? 2398? Anyone? Bueller?), and what their number was. I finally check the white pages, get the faxline, check again, finally get the number. I get a female voice I don't recognize who identifies herself as "Leer", and I run down the situation (without mentioning my name, I add), finishing with "...and I'd like my group certificate, so how would I go about getting that?" The voice goes "Well, we could send it to you, or, if you're Lucas, you could always come pick it up." It's Leah. Former hanger-outer with the rest of us idiots. I didn't recognize her. I still don't recognize her. So I tell her to send it to me, and then give my address, and get the hell off the phone. I stand still for ten seconds, before realizing that it was Leah, and then I feel like a schmuck, as I was rude and abrupt to a former aquaintance I haven't spoken to in months. Bugger. So now I'm here. A moron.