If you don’t want my peaches, baby, why’d you shake my tree?

In other words, if the world doesn’t want me to get angry, why does it keep doing STUPID THINGS?!?

So. I emerged from a nightmare of bureaucratic horror this morning (a bureaucrat being defined (by Dictionary.com no less) as “an official who works by fixed routine without exercising intelligent judgment”). I’ve been trying to get my passport renewed, which has been made difficult by the following facts:

1. The passport office is only open until 12 on weekdays.
2. It’s a labyrinth of paperwork and authorisations.
3. I’m really lazy so haven’t done the work in the months leading up to the deadline of the 8th of November.

Ok, first there are the forms. I fill them out, and hit the first roadblock. I don’t have a guarantor. A guarantor is classified as a banker, minister or lawyer who has known you personally for two years or more. I refuse to associate with these people, except my mother, who doesn’t count due to having birthed me. So there’s another form to fill out. And get notarised. Now, this morning, I was meant to start at 11 am. I cleared it with Rick to come in later if need be due to all the running around. So. First thing’s first. I’ve got to get my passport photos.

They take the most wretched photo I’ve ever seen. Say it’ll be 30 minutes. So I hang around Newtown waiting. Come back. Instead of giving me the photos in the legally required format of four-square, they’ve cut the photos individually. I say no, I need them together. They say it’ll be another 10 minutes. I wait, grab the pictures, and then go to the courthouse to get the ill-tempered Justices of the Peace there (Justice-of-the-Peaces? Justi of the Peace?) to notarise all the documents (which include a photocopy of my passport, despite the real passport being in the pack, because hey, I refer to the passport in a different sub-section of the paperwork).

I ask them to sign the photos first. She taps a sign. “WE DO NOT NOTARISE PASSPORT APPLICATIONS OR PHOTOS”. Fuck. Well, who does? She says she could print me a list, and then disappears back into the cubicles. I wait. Another guy asks if he can help. I start to explain, but he taps the sign again and says “We don’t sign photos.” “I KNOW! I just need to know who does.”

So he prints me a three-page list of JPs. Just phone numbers. No names. It is at this point I realise that the photos were not stamped on the back with where they were printed and when, making them invalid. I go back to the camera shop. They stamp the photos. With difficulty.

But before I do this, I call Tanja. Saying it’s all a fucking shambles. That I can’t get things notarised. And now I don’t have time to go to the consulate today.

She says I probably should have been better organised.

I reply incredibly rationally to this comment. I’m so calm it’s scary. I deliver a treatise on bureaucratic socialism and economic reform (Ok, no, I ranted and raved and was stupid, but give me a break).

So I come in to work, remembering a throwaway comment made by Rick that the Big Boss is a JP. I see the Boss on the way in. No, he says, I’m not a JP.

At this point I went numb.

So anyway, I’m relating this to Tanja via email that no, Big Boss can’t notarise stuff.

Tanja: "It's just ridiculous, isn't it. Can you call the consulate back and see if they can verify everything for you? I think I saw that on the paperwork that they will do this, but charge an additional $50 for it. Perhaps you can just take everything in and sort it out then and there."

Me: *furiously telephones the consulate in the two minutes left before 12 and finds out that yes, you can do that* “Hey, we can!”

Tanja: “Whosaclevergirlthen!”

Yes, she is.

They're gonna put me in the movies...
They're gonna make a big star outta me....
They've wrote a role for a man that's pissed and angry...
And all I have to do is... act naturally.....

Running! Sort of.

Man, making today the first day to attempt to Cecil-style run to work was not a good idea. First, it's fucking hot. Second, since I had changed into board shorts and a t-shirt, I was carrying work clothes in my bag. Which made my bag heavy. Too heavy, in fact, to run. So I walked quickly. And then I forgot to lock the front door. So I went back, dug my keys out of my very-full bag (damn board shorts having no pockets!) and locked the door. And left again. Then had to come back because I forgot the passport paperwork I had promised Tanja I'd bring. Then had to dig out my keys to UNlock the door. And then on the way to work I saw my Dad outside of where he's staying. He waves at me, and I cross the street. "Hey." "Hey Dad. Can't talk, I'm going to work." "This late?" "I start at 11 today, Dad. I've gotta go." "Why?" My father, ladies and gents. So Despite being all late to the point of ridiculousness, I only arrived like 5 minutes late for work. Whew.

Free malling

Yet ANOTHER reason why Parkour is so damned cool.

Oh, well.

Ok, now I'm mad.

I noticed through the Diggnation podcast yesterday that EA was giving away Command & Conquer Gold as Freeware. Fucking great, right? I loved that game like some kind of computerised, violent, surrogate child. So I download the ISO file, all 500 megs of GDI and 500 Megs of Nod disc. So I extract the files to a folder and try to run the install.

(( Error: Not all files are present. Please run the installation from the CD-ROM. ))

I don't HAVE the CD-ROM!

I've tried it every which way. I downloaded a patch off the website, tried running install within WinRAR, tried using the Autorun feature in the file. No fucking go. Knew it was too good to be true.

You, a little bit of me, and some ThunderCats toys are gonna change the wine world, whether they like it or NOT."

I know I've been pimping Podcasts lately (what with forcing people to watch TikiBar by grabbing them and holding them in front of my iPod, and forcing flashdrives full of Diggnation episodes on Ted and Adrian) but I have another one to spruik. It's Wine Library TV. Although of interest mainly to the Adrian crowd (though they do a Prosecco episode Craig might like), it's still great. The guy (who is an exciteable New Jersey guy) talks about stuff like a wine having a nose like the banana candy out of a Runts box (do they have Runts in Australia?) or another wine having a plasticky, action-figure-y smell. Heh. Then there's the episode he decides to find out if the clod climate has an effect on the enjoyment of wine. So he drags the camera crew out into the blowing-snow-minus-20 New Jersey winter. Then tastes wine in his parka and beanie. Awesome. It's in my Blogger links at the bottom now. Go check it out!

Colbert: "Kids won't stand idly by. They'll go home and blog it."

For some reason Digg won't let me blog this.

So go here:
http://rawstory.com//news/2007/Colbert_Todays_kids_dont_know_how_0920.html
Make sure you watch the video at the bottom.

Is it ironic that I see an article about how people need blogs to express opinions, and my first instinct is that I need to blog it?

I'm going to kill something.

Cust called to check when his appointment was for PIK. Advised that Churn is not completed. WSBASL codes still on line. Rapid Churn is TRUE, so they are being removed. Once they are removed, cust must call back and arranged PIK.

I experienced two moments of such anger in the last two days, that I was nearly put to tears. It was that bad. Incandescent rage.

Yesterday, I was playing a newly-acquired Final Fantasy X2, and enjoying it. I was getting used to the controls and getting through the missions quickly. Then I finished a Chapter. I went back to the ship where you save the game. And there was a quest, which really should have been an optional side-mission. But it wasn't. It was essential or the fucking game wouldn't progress. You had to get out of an elevator and push four musicians into it. Three were big and easy to move. The fourth was a little midget. A little, red-capped, hopping-like-a-cymbal-monkey midget.

It took me an hour and fifteen minutes.

The worst thing was that halfway up the hall, there was a camera-switch, which meant you had to change direction on the pad quickly, and you usually lost him. I actually got him all the way to the end once, and then he hopped away.

I roared at the TV. Loud. Scaring Tanja and the neighbours.

This did help, actually, because Tanja saw I was so distressed that she helped me by calling out instructions.

I got it, eventually, but I SAVED that game-bitch after I got past that mission. Twice.

The other moment was this morning, and just to let you know, this makes me come off as vain and self-obsessed.

I have discovered, again with Tanja's help, in the last few days that if I very carefully blow-dry my hair straight on medium-heat, I can hair hair that looks enough like human hair to leave the house with. Without, this is important to say, wearing a hat for 6 hours.

So I blow-dried my hair this morning and it was perfect. I was so proud. Not only did I look like a human, but I had done it without having to wear a hat for 6 hours.

So I walked to work, happily listening to the Diggnation podcast, walking along Cleveland St. Then, between Regent and Abercrombie Sts, a mighty wind struck.

First in front of me, then behind me. A traffic-light-shaking, sign-waving, hair destroying wind. I went from having perfect hair to looking like Keanu Reeves from Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure. I nearly cried.

I was able to flatten it down a bit when I got to work, but it's a shadow of its former glory. Sigh.

Oh yeah, and also...

I updated Insprite, thank all that is good and holy.

Ha!

So this morning, Tanja was in bed and I sat down on the edge of the bed to ask her something. I accidently sat on her leg, causing the following outburst:

"God! You're as graceful as a baby element!"

It was several minutes before I could recover from the snorting, body-wracking laughter that had me in its grip. I'm still chuckling now, even writing this.

I wish my facial hair was emo. That way it'd cut itself.

I often, when I'm going to be in a place for more than five minutes at a time, take an odd or interesting picture with my phone and make it my wallpaper. I wish I had a feature on my phone that would choose the wallpaper based on where I was and what I was doing. Like it'd show the work building when I'm at work, or a pile of paper when I was a TAFE, or the drumkit when I'm practicing. I think people would pay for that feature.

As per an example, I was at Marrickville Metro Woolworths this morning (which is a goddamn zoo on Saturdays), standing 6th in a line of 7 people at the express checkout. I took a picture of one of the people in front of me buying 14 sticks of butter and a canteloupe (was he going to deep-fry it? I don't know). Admittedly, I was getting funny looks too, carrying a toothbrush, dental floss, and a 1 kilo bag of sugar. Not the sonic toothbrush. I have enough trouble with the vibrating razor.

Despite my hatred of JayJays as a whole and my hatred of buying printed shirts that I haven't made, I have somehow ended up with a t-shirt, from JayJays, with Darth Vader on the front saying "Your Empire needs you." Go figure.

Just a hint: Mixers at work+Madras curry chicken pizza+Jager+half a bottle of wine+an incredibly beautifully mixed cosmo=one growly stomach the next day.

We've finally properly introduced Ashleigh to the TikiBar podcast. She likey. Hooray! Now we just have to convince Tanja.

When you wear shorts, your shoes feel huuuuuge. Like they're sticking out.

Oh, and Beck's Guerolito? Awesome.