Negus shoot sex panters

who knew the new clarence was gay

please consult pole [poll] to right...-->

cornercopia!

my new office has more space and less junk than my feebhaus bedroom. y'all recognise the junk, nao? that's reputable junk!

today - new secret blog

http://roebuckislosingit.blogspot.com/

negus whuut!

From now, I drink only vodka infused with celery and semi-sun-dried tomatoes.

the sheer wuni-dime of it!

508 kB/sec by my calculations!

the latest rigour joke:

i spent all day on it, and now I understand the basics of vector algebra! no drinking rules!

these votes will be swivelled!

no drinking chief

never again! fucking cold-turkey up this bitch, and I don't care about aching hands from raking in mic stands although bring your racket for my tennis party on the 20th.
and it is impossible to explain the hammer's friend from melbourne other than by saying she reminds me of a younger me. ridonkulous.

live-blogging/whiteanting

http://capawhiteanters.blogspot.com/

NEGUS

47 emails in one day. very few were spam. I can't do this! I need to weasel word out this fucker!

the prezidentiage

is a bit like the triage but at wunibar - with hundreds of prezidents! well, two prezidents with the combined stature of thousands.

well played, sir

on a personal note

This must be why wunibar the man is the poverty-stricken chief:
"Tamar Lewin of The New York Times reported on studies that show that the women selected to be Playboy Playmates of the Year tend to look more mature during recessions — older, heavier, more reassuring"

the book was great

but the post - http://freakonomics.blogs.nytimes.com/ - is bullhonkey.

neg'hai!

The other guy in my lab is spending all his time producing a Baha'i promotional video! Our supervisor is the head Baha'i down these here parts, & I'm very reasonably sure my labmate is not Baha'i. He better not be getting his scholarship extension application in ahead of me!

today - a hot day at wuni

I bought a pair of maseur sandals, and I'm wearing them. For those of you that know how I typically dress, note that my footwear is the thing I've changed.

this barista is blowing it!

I'm in Gloria Jean's. They weigh the coffee before serving it! Carefully adding and removing the tiniest bit of milk froth. What the fuck are they doing?!?

hoot!

tinyurl.com/bombaybadboi

oh, shit!

I just made the smallest of eye contacts with him, then looked away for about 30 seconds, and he'd gone! he doesn't want to see me more than I don't want to see him!

typing this blog is saving me from making eye contact

with one of the admin cheumps I referred to as insouciant. thank you, wunibar! can't a recklessly aggressive & enemy-making man drink his chardonalatte in peace?

wunibar - rukidnao!

I gave the barmaatron a lift home yesterday, so when I came in this morning at 11.00 desperate for a brewskaa after my annual review she repayed me by demanding I take a free pony of cold red as well. then told me I need to hurry up and drive home because I look ratshit and that I should drink less!

(not) interesting

a 'debate' raging across the outdoor wunibar area between the liberal ticket and the diversity ticket. liberal guy says he has to get drunk to understand how the diversity ticket thinks. diversity folk drink more.

latinaos?

promise to wunibar dubbo - just getting all the media in order. for now:
very pleasant drink at wunibar (listening to PM on wuni dimes!) and keep having my flashbacks to chippendale days. Took a while to figure out that the latinao barman here walks with exactly the same insanely heavy step that emiliano does. latinaos walking so damn heavy

stravinsky is just so insanely bad

A friend played me an LP of Stravinsky conducting Le Sacre du Printemps (The Rite of Spring). It is a stunning version, recorded in 1960. But even more stunning is this immensely rigorous photo that occupies the entire album cover:

Impressed, I went looking for a photo I'd heard existed but hadn't seen: a Stravinsky mug-shot. This was taken when he was arrested for using an unconventional chord in his arrangement of "Star-Spangled Banner". It was worth finding. The rigour!

secret blogs albatrossing up in this motherfucker

i had a very good, pity post about the local bowling club but when I signed into google, I accidentally click 'new post' on one of the secret blogs. then - because I am drunk - I got dreadfully confused and went to the bar for another drink. By the time I got back to the table, I'd forgotten the post. so this is what you get for all that secret post provocation. eat it, reader!

ashfield clown-fest

i'm on the train and there's a cheump using his laptop in the seat ahead of me, browsing his images. he's stopped - and is now editing to perfection - a photograph of him sitting at his desk, using his laptop! the very same!

[update: he just said into his phone "what a fucking circus"!]

cheumpadee is as cheumpadoo does

just playing 'celebrity heads' with carlita and when I figured myself for the hammer she wouldn't accept his name as the answer, allowing only 'cheummpadee'. genius!

new event rough on pants

a friend's staying with me - trying to give up smoking and other things. yesterday tore up his last pack of cigarettes then spent the evening going through the bin for ones he could reconstitute. this turned into an event when matches ran out and the stove was brought into play; a dash from the kitchen to the front yard through three sets of doors I'd hold open along with a necessarily over-full wine glass to hand over.
my co-ordination isn't the best, and this friend does a mean non-expert rendition Xenakis's 'Mists' whenever he gets his paws on a keyboard.

Only high-cheumping. That's NOT a reply-all.

Only high-cheumping. That's NOT a reply-all.

Dooley jerking off

I'm a comedy genius! A-booyah! So Dooley was pretending to play golf - I know, right? - and then I said he was jerking off. Mark burped and it sounded like he puked a bit, in his mouth. And we all laughed, and Dooley's pants were suggesting something un rigourous, blogosphere

Fuck you,
love Mark

I don't believe you

Begin; I'm vessel. Badboy up! Vessel motherfucker. I'm like James Joyce in this bitch. John is gay. He's likes cops. And cockcos. And Kool Keith is minaated as MaNUKAreyoukidnao.

New topic: why the trawler is such a cheump: by Mark. I once was a little Muskocite Jew. They was good times. However, now I'm a big grownup baadboy, and Kool Keith (KK) puts on a shitty show. KK, as I call Kool Keith, was a deadset faggot plus also there was so much vomit all up in that motherfucker. John also made lots of jokes about Chinese people. He's a badboy.

The Wunibar Project motherfucker! Fuck you D'ooley.

kwak @ kk

kwak is very keen on getting to the kk gig. he is going to be in canberra for terumi's father's day but has risked her crankiness (actually, incurred her crankiness) by insisting he's going to leave the dinner in order to get to the gig in time for KFC chunks.

damn bird (& rat by association)

yo, so you may recall the story that came very close to walking and talking like a web of me failing to get josh's cockatiel back in its cage, causing me to miss a 5th birthday party. she outplayed me for more than an hour.
then I was hell of late to a farewell drinks cause I couldn't get the rat back in its cage. really smelly, right, but true. now the damn bird is kicking my ass. in its cage, it chirps every time I wince as the underside of my arm touches the audio cable outta my pc to the stereo right where she bit out a fuck-off chunk, leaving the copper clearly exposed.
clown school all the way to the bus stop (that goes straight to school).


p.s. note the rat is actioning in the story.

the dumbest thing about abc's pool

is that when they send you an email, it looks like you just got some poo in your inbox:

I wouldn't normally wunibar an opinion piece

BUT WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON WHEN THIS IS CONSIDERED CLEVER, LET ALONE ACCURATE, LET ALONE NOT DEAD FUCKING INSANE:

'In terms of the political fray, Costello was totally engaged. After Gillard taunted him in the parliament last week about his publisher's motto, "books with spine", he responded: "If she bought a copy, I might sign it for her. She could take it back to that flat where she lives with the spartan furniture, put it up on the bookshelf with her current library, the collected works of Marx and Engels. She could file it alphabetically, by author, 'Cos'. It will come after 'Com', for The Communist Manifesto, and before 'D', for Das Kapital. Or she could it put by her bedside where she's reading a book on how to create unemployment in an economy which is undergoing a mining boom." Imagine those lines delivered in parliament.' - Glenn Milne

SHE COULD FILE IT ALPHABETICALLY BY AUTHOR WITH COS FOR COSTELLO IN BETWEEN COM FOR COMMUNIST MANIFESTO BY MARX AND D FOR DAS KAPITAL. AAAAAALLLLLLPPPPHHHHHAAAAABBBEEEEEETTTTTIIICCCCCAAAALLLLLL BBBBBBYYYYYY AAAAAUUUUTTTTTTHHHHHHHOOOOOOOORRRRR RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRUUUUUUUUUUUUUKKKKKKKKKKKKKKIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDNNNNNNNNNNNNNNAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

wunibar has been too expensive for me lately

so I've been frequenting Dicey Rileys, the Irish pub down here. Might clean up big at the trivia night if the sign is anything to go by...

very close to review-this-blog

but a lot more rigorous:
http://www.swivel.com/data_sets/show/1016485

oh yes, this is rigorous

Cramped and oddly shaped, the interiors were designed to be difficult to inhabit — a strategy for screening out the typical bourgeois. (“You can’t bring your old habits here,” he warned. “If you want to participate, you will have to reinvent yourself.”)
Lebbeus Woods - Architect

undergrad DOUCHETARDS FUCK

the cover of this month's undergrad magazine. if we end up sharing the space indicated in an earlier post with that there will be blood, my friends.

and this:

Just starting to wonder exactcly WHY I am reading an article about opera when...

"Barrie Kosky's controversial production of Nabucco - also known as NaBOOco - came during this period (1995) and provided fuel for those who felt opera had turned into a directors' medium rather than a musical one. This is a debate forever being had in Europe. (Where Sydney booed, Melbourne cheered. When OA staged Nabucco at the Victorian Arts Centre in 1996 it was an example of how there are no absolutes when it comes to taste in opera.)"

my fabulous career

This has been a big week at the student association - at least 7 hours of university admin meetings a day with the rest of the day spent preparing for the next meeting. We didn't get totally boned, but will need to spend some considerable effort in the coming weeks holding the uni to concessions they made in their desperation to get my signature on new electoral regulations.
Then I had the pleasure of an entire day yesterday with my supervisor who's about to head overseas; he's using the mobile phones I programmed 3 years ago and wanted to make some changes. This is the electronic music professor that has difficulty finding 'play' on a CD player - no shit - and can only press the 'OK' button on the Nokias we use maybe every 2nd time he tries. No shit. In the middle of this awful, awful, time in his office, I received this [see below] executive summary/report on our activities this week from the operations manager.

what's with the no spell-check?

'The priests receive their annual visit from the world's most boring proest and contrive ways to get rid of him.' abc.net.au, 22/8
how the fuck does that get on the front page? how can people just ignore that little red line underneath a word when they're about to publish??

------------
You're right. This should probably be a live jazz blog maat jazz blog post.

space reqaarmaants

they want us to move here. with the undergrads!

a friend under the influence of wunibar

sent me this shot of their screen recently. i wish I had more friends like this.

wunibar today

soon to be out of range of reception on my way into town for the combined services rsl, so I won't pick up any twitters. like these ones:

the men are so good at taking a look before they jump in and hit it.

our 21st century negucation system

http://www.uow.edu.au/~mh675/nothingToDoWithMe.mp3

that's me. at the bottom right of the letter 'T'.

my wagon; my negii

wu-yah!

moll behind the bar is distracted by the male olympic divers; I make a quick $1.50 on my first glass of wine!

about to go to wunibar

but not before matlab got in a final insult for the day. it seems functions get cranky if you don't let them display their rigour in its entirety. much like me!

operations manaagma'at gets to work

the sign underneath was a fucking weird uni rip-off of yahoo: it said "yuhuu". this one's better.

burn that fucker's face

spam your enemy holy shit

fucking mcclown

http://www.johnmccain.com/video/love.htm

tell me this isn't live-blogging you cheump

the ₱r£$ strikes again!

wikipedia chumpbot!

collect data you cheump

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#N canvas 0 0 450 300 (subpatch) 0;
#X array array1 1000 float 3;
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#X restore 100 20 graph;
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#X obj 178 183 tgl 15 0 empty empty empty 17 7 0 10 -262144 -1 -1 0
1;
#X obj 422 290 metro 10;
#X obj 462 241 tgl 15 0 empty empty empty 17 7 0 10 -262144 -1 -1 0
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#X obj 321 483 tabwrite array1;
#X floatatom 408 402 5 0 0 0 - - -;
#X obj 391 338 counter 1000;
#X obj 325 438 f;
#X obj 394 360 t b f;
#X msg 52 326 \; array1 read fuckyes.txt;
#X msg 52 370 \; array1 write fuckyes.txt;
#X obj 383 101 tabread array1;
#X obj 378 13 metro 10;
#X obj 372 -24 tgl 15 0 empty empty empty 17 7 0 10 -262144 -1 -1 1
1;
#X obj 383 53 counter 1000;
#X floatatom 389 143 5 0 0 0 - - -;
#X obj 444 166 osc~;
#X obj 457 207 dac~;
#X obj 462 138 * 3;
#X connect 2 0 1 0;
#X connect 3 0 4 0;
#X connect 4 0 11 1;
#X connect 5 0 1 0;
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update

riga

about to google spherical harmonics... and have it explained!

eat it p&t

my girlfriend - who presented at the conference - just got back to the hotel screaming drunk clutching a bottle of fucking nice champagne she stole from fridge at the conference that was certainly not one of those due to be served to guests; most certainly some joker's 'thank you for letting us promote your shithouse book by launching it at our underwhelming event'. and it tastes fucking good!

poetry and the trace

hmm, I realise this may appear in any of the countless google searches no doubt to be launched by poetry wankers needing to see their name in google-result-typeface, but what the fuck I don't care. poets are boring & phenomenally self-congratulatory to the point where this working boy leaves a reading that remained highly stocked with wine. for the discomfort of cask classic red wine and no salad.

NEGAS WHAAAAAT

What the fuck motherfucker. My goal here is to type the fuck out of this shit without anyone realising what the fuck is going on because I'm typing this with COMPANY if you know what I mean so what the fuck? Am I right? Yeah, fucking booyah motherfuckers. Also, we're CHEUMPING OUT here in general because Mark just got the stinkeye from the barkeep for wanting too much scotch in his motherfucking DIET. You heard me, DIET. DIET MOTHERFUCKER. Also, we're Chuemping out for numerouse, manifold other reasons, only the least of which is that Mingus has motor neuron disease and that is SAD.

perfect trip

fuck yes adulthood is finally paying off what the fuck. chose the absolute best spot on the train and secured a seat just to the side for the tricky bit of the train where the sun almost switches sides. and then the air-conditioner just came on. fucking awesome! I'M A HAPPY LAD.

poker clowns - unlikely web

just got on the train for town. the platform at w'town was full of jokers on mobiles telling their mates how awesomely they'd done at what appears to be a state finals. presumably they consider their friends too stupid to note that the finals go until the 14th, making it highly unlikely they were, in fact, particularly successful. One would think.



rigras software:
http://www.howtogeek.com/howto/windows-vista/increase-size-of-windows-vista-taskbar-previews/

today

I'm blogging with the ODB.

today

where's the riga motherfucker. Bugo called me a douche. What the fuck? Call that rigour? Nao. I don't. R U 486? More like fuck you 486! Also, D'ooley, cheump-merchant that he is, is cheumping RIGHT out. He's at a wedding with his mom and therefore refuses to bring sufficient ruckusness. But the worst disappointment of all, was Mark "I'm a douchetard" "Fuck You" Havryliv's failure to aarc up so, I ask you again - where's the riga in a proxy setting kicking fucktard Adam's cheumpford attitude to religiosity and shithouse neurological art?

Cheump out.

today - underbelly panel with an extra dose of RIGA

the panel just commenced. here we go, cheaumps!
regards the first case study; I think I brought the ruckus on nailing the argument for it not being art.
just busted out xenakis!
adam and hugo just started yelling over the top of each other.

fuck you, broken fanbelt

RIGA. listening to this morning's AM having downloaded it nary seconds after being almost killed by the hammer's poor driving. the download was hugely fast interrupted only by further crap driving. the windscreen wipers only work if he beeps the horn, but the horn doesn't work. Which is a shame, as the hammer could well yell the water off the windscreen if he had access to his trusty horn.

now I need to draft an agenda for the drive from wollongong to sydney for the capa meeting.

...for ounce

yeah baib'ei, such a rigorous middle-man. my german-speaking girlfriend is speaking to her german husband in german trying to procure weed for my german-speaking friend who is coming down for the evening. i'm controlling it all with my mind.
update:
just sorted 19.2297 Franklins of chronic.

£ for £

fucking rough game, this, coming out even against paris. no swings and round-a-bouts here, dear friends. fortuna's wheel builds up some pretty serious fucking angular velocity and don't get me started on its moment of inertia.
last night, a simple trip to the Eiffel tower (nighttime for the benefit of the little one) turned into a 5 hour excursion; then, today a trip to IRCAM and the Pompidou centre: IRCAM public areas were shut for a conference that my supervisor demanded I submit for but I didn't get my shit together and the Pompidou centre was open every single day of the year except May 1. And Tuesdays, of course.
RUKIDNAO!

we love feeb

negus wine?

enough with the french music

what a fucking hard man:

WEP hacking - today

it took me 2 weeks to overcome the ethical problems in torrenting the hell out of a hacked wifi network. I didn't do it in hungary because I was worried about the economic consequences for the dude; I didn't do it in Vienna because the network was called 'CHINESE HOUSE' and there was a chinese joint below us staffed by a couple of big dudes who always seemed cranky; now in paris and having been seriously boned every other time I've been here, Fortuna's being a gracious maatron, indeed.
So far found 7 euro on the ground/on seats etc., and went to a science museum yesterday which explained heaps of shit essential to my degree; as well as fully demonstrating the control law for a double pendulum, they used Asterix to explain Zeno's tortoise parardox, and 70s-styled, androgynous-like full frontal nudity to explain symmetry! So, 'TECOM-AH4222-819CB5', bones to you!
Was going to write a little more, but keep confusing the mouse connected to the desktop in front of me (on which I'm reading albrechtsen's latest tripe) as being connected to my laptop. To the fruit shop! For wine!

the RIGA

Compare this to an exhibition I went to at the vienna modern art museum, Bad Painting, Good Art. I have never seen 'rigour/ous' used with such frequency, again with the austrian thing talking plenty about what they're not actually doing. the introduction to their modernist section was especially admonishing: "You may well look at a work and stand back aghast at the arrogance of the artist telling you they have found perfection but..." was seriously how it began.

cheump out.

what a fucking unrigorous slogan

yesterday

Going from HUFs to euros has been the emergency sandbed to my speeding truck of a 8-day-bender/flu. The first 3 days were classic early-stage bender, then a visit to a Budapestian sulphur baths - where I looked for punitive absolution in the kilo-of-lettuce-and-2-litres-juice approach to saunas and cold tubs - brought the absolute motherfucking ruckus. Goodnight nurse.
Noted earlier, Unicum was medicinal through all this, so it's fitting that the finishing of my final bottle last night while pressed against thousands of feverish Wieners also trying to get into the 'fanzone' for the euro cup match against Germany marked the official conclusion of the bender that got me through Hungary.
It seems there's nothing Austrians are more earnest about than giving the impression that they're having a shitload of fun. Last night's game marked the high-point of organised euro cup festivities in Vienna, and this 'fanzone' caper is the focal point of it all; I'll go through the oddness of that in a second.
1) Walking around the city on the day was a 50-odd member 'demonstration' made up entirely of common hookers with less lycra between them than one single Mischa Shubert maternity body-suit. We overheard they were protesting against soccer. Inquiring further, Roger returned with the astonishing revelation that the girls were hired by the Austrian women's soccer league to protest the exclusion of women in the euro cup. The catastrophic irreconcilability of belief and action had almost all passers-by ignoring the march other than for a few short seconds.
2) Earlier that morning, I got to smh.com and after quickly doing my F12 macro [CTRL-F + 'John Carmody'] on the letters page, I glanced at the ten most accessed articles. First amongst them reported that the Austrian topless girls soccer team had beaten the German topless girls 10-5. This in itself isn't surprising, as we all know red body paint goes faster than black and yellow, but what was surprising was that i) I am staying with some of the most chauvinistic men I know and they didn't know anything about it; and ii) that we were in the area of the 'match' most of the day and didn't know shit about it. The pictures in the article tell the same story: there was hardly anyone there.
The 'fanzone' is a huge park in the middle of Vienna; there were 80-90 thousand people there for the Austria-Germany match. Fucking arced-up they were, too. The match didn't start until 20.45 but we'd been seeing plenty of ruckusful dudes - Austrian & German - drinking pretty fucking rigorously from about 11. And I’d been hanging out in only the finest kosher joints! Apparently, this was a huge grudge match as the two countries are fiercely competitive (though mis-matched. I think it'd been 30 years since Austria had even made the competition). Roger showed me a series of newspaper clippings: "What do you hate about Germans, No. 1-14", one for each day of the fortnight leading up to the match. Fools.
After waiting an hour, and finishing the unicum, we got into the ridiculously packed park. It was so crowded, in fact, I didn't have the heart to fight through for brewskies; I was dry until the second half (when Roger's awesome girlfriend magically appeared with brewskies). There was of course pre-match entertainment happening on a stage at the other end of the park, but which we could see on our jumbotron. Let me tell you what the government serves up when given exclusive custody of 90,000 people [quotes mean quotes, i.e. the mc actually said this]: "Austria's number 1 Bon Jovi cover-band"; 'We Will Rock You' featuring first a rastafarian Freddy Mercury, then a maatron-dressed-as-maat Mercury; and the Carlsberg Dancers, the "sloppiest bunch of slack-mutt beatches I ever saw" [Translation certified by 2 of 3 passers-by]. There were also countless pans and zooms of Vienna (with strangely repetitive shots of Mozart's geborenhouse, in Salzburg), as if these cheumps don't know where they live/are. (By the way, the soccer montages were also fucking ridiculous. There was a visual history of both sides' achievements in the euro cup. Austria's best result was 3rd in 1954 - and hadn't made it in for 30 years -, and Germany had won it 3 times. So to make up time in the Austrian bit, they kept showing shots on goal by their top striker, which would've been cool except that without exception, every shot missed goal, and there were countless cut-backs to the striker looking fucking distressed. Very odd.)
The Carlsberg Dancers were totally disagreeable. We, and the rest of the crowd, had a lot of trouble watching, and there was very discernibly a significant drop in energy across the entire park when they were on. They were on twice, too, before the show. And then again at half time. Which leads me to my cumulative observation: The average Austrian seemed utterly un-scintillated by all the raunch, in every manifestation I observed. And in every case, the raunch was the direct responsibility of the ruling classes - in the parlance of the day, there does not appear to be any grass-roots movement for raunch. In fact, it could be seen to be some form of crowd control. Witness half-time.
The game was drawn at half-time, but it had been a pretty rough match - I think fouls ran at 15-11 by then – and both coaches had been sent off. That was fucking ridiculous; Merkel was at the game and tried to hug the hugely fit German coach as he made his way to the VIP section from out of the team section. He brushed her off quick smart. There was so much brewsky thrown at the jumbotron/Merkel, it made me want to be reincarnated as a thirsty jumbotron. RUKIDNAO.
Further, by half-time, there’d been 4 pretty serious brawls within 50 metres of where we were standing. The atmosphere was extremely heavy. Then these Carlsberg molls come back on and in some kind of group anti-hypnosis, everyone turns away from the screen and the mood lifts fucking incredibly. So when a dirty, Havryliv-type foul is committed on a German player from behind, just outside the goal box, and Germany is awarded a hugely plum (and ultimately, rewarding) free kick, the crowd is only able to rouse at most a quarter of the frustration they had going on before half-time. No brawls; a couple of brewskies thrown into German sections of the crowd, then nothing for the rest of the game. If I swear to god on anything, I’ll swear to the ultimate crapiness of the entertainment keeping both sides off each other.

P.S. I’m finishing this up in the most ridiculously crap Jazz bar in Salzburg, ‘Jazz It’. They are massacring ‘So What’ and I’m *this* close to getting on keys. Good Night, Nurse.
P.P.S. Oh my god, they just started playing ‘Footprints’. I’m there, bad boy!
P.P.S. That soccer night ended quite patrician-like: I was scheming to Roger’s bar manager about finding the loophole in the brewski-over-purchase-tax-deduction vs. betting-on-home-team-losing futures market. You could pay your rent with that bad boy!
P.P.P.P.S. I’m at Roger’s girlfriend’s place after bringing total ruckus to the piano in ‘Dolphin Dance’. My huge solo is a little compromised by later mistaking the ‘D’ door for ‘Dudes’...
P.P.P.P.P.S. If you read this far you’re a champ. Madvillain Rocks!

on drinking

In Italy, I had a shirtload of this wine, and here are the lions that should have been included in place of cranky jebus a couple of posts ago.

yesterday - evening

Went to a huge outdoor screening of the Turkey/Czechoslovakia soccer match last night, in Vienna. Josh and I had been drinking Unicum - a ridiculous Hungarian drink - on the train all afternoon and arrived in high spirits. These spirits were further heightened by the festive atmosphere (and my first ever body search at the gate!); the Turkish crowd was awesomely overwhelming.
The game was going quite badly for the Turks until about the 80th minute, when a quick flurry of goals stirred the crowd. I took their heightened spirits to heart and stopped loudly instructing players to take their panties off and go home to campbelltown, and started loudly instructing the crowd on the finer points of the demise of the Ottoman empire (I'd started reading a book on the Balkans that morning).
This made Roger visibly anxious, and he told me to shut up. I refused to do so until he promised to take me to a bar where I could play jazz piano. And he did but there was some moll singing 'It's a wonderful night for a moondance'. Of course.

Illegal Harmonies

Much as I wish I'd just listened to Geraldine Doogue (it would've been a special 'holiday edition' just for me!), and preparing to arc-up on Andrew Ford, I am instead about to head to Illegal Party in the hills of Budapest.

monogramed shirts, 3 wallets, and castles with lions holding castles

Renting an apartment from an exceptional gentleman, I'm taken by Markus Wiedemeier's remarkably well-fitted, monogrammed shirt and deeply impressed when, offering his business card, he goes through 3 wallets finding one. One sartorial motherfucker!
The hall of justice a block away is a large castle-like building with 2 lion statues, each holding another castle. For rigour, one presumes.
Further rigour found in the 2 police forcii, the local met & the Carabinieri: the former drive first-generation fiat pandas, the latter, new alfas. As recompense, it seems the met are allowed foolish facial hair and exclusive patrol over the gelateria district, where they assiduously ensure no toxins have entered the gelato stream with continual testing.
One can only even-further presume Berlusconi uses tension between local forces to keep his rags in the castles held by lions on castles.
the rigour!

back to some riga

Drink brine, locate bladders, raise kilt. Drips, tugs: wees pox uraan, so OD brinex. Drinky.

lesbiaen rokas: bloglezliveblogxmaat.com

post-afp

now we're happy again. after the afp tried stopping us urinating on parliament house and then accused us of running a stop sign, we got away. now wedgewood mike and john are stealing a cushion from the place in the background to the accompanying photograph.

tofay - afp muthafuckas

poor gentlej ohn, all pusssy and sht, wanted to take piss and the fucking afp stopped him what the fuck am i right fuckung boo fucking pig ceuntsu97 mb7on,0

john & wedgewood mike fail #2.a: back at the holy grail

discussing methods for knocking uhlmann out in one hit, wedgewood mike showcases powerful blows. to be continued.

john & wedgewood mike fail #2: "all the politicians hang out at the other two bars you were at"

john & wedgewood mike fail #1: where the fuck is chris uhlmann and why isn't he eating my fists of fury?

D'Ooley, we're looking for an iron-clod gua®anteaÈ that you'll defend the hammer if he punches uhlmann in the fucking bonce.

john & wedgewood mike fail #0

where is the rigour?

oh, fuck

i'm in a senior administrator's office, watching her put finishing touches on an offer of employment to be administered by my organisation. we are editing the document, and she is going through it very carefully, and this, of course, bores me.
so I head back to the meeting table to start this blog. loading up my site, the sartorial motherfucker greets me. I twiddle my fingers, prepare to sign in, shift in my seat - turning slightly: a smiling sartorial motherfucker greets me.

today

rough. a 30 y/o miner in first year engineering is about to score with a petite arts moll because he told her he's union secretary at a coalmine.
problem: I share my local with workers from the mine in question and know exactly who the union sec. is. and it ain't him.
bigger problem: i'm such a laptop pussy I don't have the cojones to take on even a fake mining union sec. but if that girl ever reads this blog...

nuts - today!

today

the gentleman of whose nuts I spoke a few posts ago entered a bathroom at the same time as me. relations have been a little tense for a month or so and after exchanging pleasantries, both of us stood in front of the urinal an awful long time before either could tinkle, although I did start first. Power play!

today - away from 20 twentai, maat

rather, I'm an artist in residence:

and the guy not covering up his hair loves madvillain and dangermouse. on. no. he. did. not.
and this is how hard I work on my blog. for you. of all people.

today - not on bus but wtf

the cheump scion I referred to a couple of posts ago, yeah, you with me? he lives here. but he's going! (or this is a house a couple next to his. i don't care when it comes to optimism, I'm a jack of all traads.)

tonight

i'd like to apologise to all those at the receiving end of emails this evening. I have power back on in my house which means I can sit down with iron bar, a handful of 3-phase-badboy and an email client, and people are invariably going to get hurt. sorry.
I've also decided to bump up to 3 gig/month, having used 200 meg in a single day of 3-phase-badboys.
greg hunt is shithouse! www.abc.net.au/lateline

today

...and my maat's all like 'i said: let's get a brewski' and I'm all like 'i'm already there, maat'.
like, just stay cool, maat.

today wuni sux

are you kidding?!? such a beautiful lunch in the offing - a brewski and 'the world today'. fucking wuni wireless proxy bulltwang not functioning correctly and no streaming! boo! boo! boo! are you kidding!

ARE YOU KIDDING
"Cross and Icon Day

As part of Catholic World Youth Day the Cross and Icon will be coming to the University of W*********. There will be a Welcome to Country at 12 noon, a smoking ceremony, a welcome from the Vice Chancellor and a performance from a dance troupe called the Little Narguns.

Place: Duck Pond Lawn"

BOO!BOO!BOO!BOO!

FIX THE WIRELESS YOU KAPHOLIKEUNTS

early evening, today

fuck me, that was quite a day. leaving uni, I'm a little depressed knowing there's no chance of me finding a quiet place to have a drink after dinner; it's not that kind of town.
I head toward a bar - 'friday night party', it advertises - anyway. thankfully, it's one of those places that just spent > 1 mil renovating, and now it's been re-opened for 2 months idiot locals remember why they hated it in the first place.
very pleasantly quiet, apart from the monotone (not even MIDI) ringtone striking every few minutes from behind the bar. Oh no, it can't be! it's 'Rondo ala Turk'. And rudd thinks we need a 'culture' commission in oz2020.

jebus. just spoke to the bar wench, the source of the ring tone. turns out she only works here because she dropped out of her course at wuni and that only happened because she, you guessed it, spent too much time at wunibar. Now, the interesting thing here is that she was happy with it when she started, but the crapper wunibar got, the drunker she'd get there. simply, reasonably, of course, because one had to be that much drunker just to deal with it. and now she's gone. and now she's here.
at least the workload of serving me a gentle drinky every 20 min. is roughly analogous to that required by wuni. fucking wuni.

wunibar today

to new readers: I am in a position of significant command with relevance to student politics. and a man - at the very top of university structure - with whom I'm in constant negotiation and one I've taken an intense disliking to has just walked into wunibar after a tennis match, in tennis shorts.
now, I know some tennis shorts are reasonable, but goddamn if I didn't just cop his balls.
I've a meeting with him at the end of this week and am unsure as to whether it would be fruitful to bring up, well, his fruit.

advice?

p.s. I get blogs up much more quickly when I can auto-complete the 'Title' field.

today

I have entered into a pact with allbarnun whereby I drink house wine and grace their wireless network with the almighty xps1330.
Michael's here, too.
hi
it's michael here. I'll put mark back on now
How about a bbq tonight maat?

please check http://wearephuckinggoddamnseriaas.blogspot.com/

wunibar today

how did he know?: " Wait - you don't even need the net, you're live-blogging this conversation as we speak!"
unibar is very nice today - it seems that most people don't make the drive to school if there looks to be a bit of rain. my advice: get 15mm deep treads, ya chump!

'Vehicle Parking at Owners Risk'

I'd like a legal opinion on where the risk here actually lies. I'm 'relaxed and comfortable with $3 schooners' at a golf club in the mid-south-west. Albrechtsen was right: conservatism is the new black!

is this permaated?

I'm disappointed with a live-blog I just posted elsewhere. where do I find redemption?

back amongst the detritaas

getting the bus to town for the first time in a while. the gently retarded scion of the wealthiest family in the street is surprisingly fired up about people returning library books late. To driver: "They should get 2 warnings, every day, for three days. And if they don't return it, they should pay a $200 fine, and have their library card confiscated, and their driving licence." Driver: "That's good! Then more people will get the bus, hey?" "No! I'm not sharing with that kind of people. I'll make a sign that says people with library fines can't get on the bus. I'll have it ready for the bus by monday."
I guess I can get the bus just once more...

this afternoon

jumped on the commuter train a stop earlier than usual; at university station a comp sci. professor i worked for is waiting and he manages to sit next to me.
since i worked for him he hasn't spoken to me and actively avoids me. i took marking a little too seriously and would write 1500-word responses, getting my marking in weeks late.
so he is still ignoring me, but he is doing sudoku puzzles and i'm sitting here thinking he's some freaky-genius because he looks at the puzzle, closes his eyes for about 2 minutes, then furiously fills in the squares. I'm watching this, knowing he's a clever guy - he's written a couple of books on algorithm programming - and am dealing with it until i notice he's at the 4th last square or thereabouts and stops. looks confused. of course he's fucked up. he even more furiously rubs out all the squares and he's been staring at it for the past 40 minutes.
fun trip!

today

a long day. the power in my house isn't working; only room lights work. (it's not a blown fuse so shut up.)
the back shed works, though. so i'm facing the ocean, using/charging my laptop, listening to the aus-india 1st odi final and drinking Rolling shiraz. here's a photo.
i'm not sure when I'll call an electrician. I'm afraid I may have drunk too much to reasonably figure out if I can not drink enough through to next pay-day to pay an electrician. (the power's been out for a fortnight now.)

today

what? the most patrician of cafes in the far northern suburbs had quite the din put upon it this morning. although the principals were clearly german there was a noticeable lack of teutonic efficacy of movement, indicating i was amongst yet more math kids. overhearing "ah, I see. you need me to prove that it remains unproven", kind of gave it away too. a sick bunch of people, to be sure. at least they retain an efficacious vocabulary!

today - MK[daddy] II

a bunch of 40+ year old math kids behind me at the classiest bar in town - apparently one's eaten at the university of newcastle (england) and another austrian-type wants the schnitzel because it's spelt correctly on the menu. they spend some time arguing that's no way to choose a meal.
now the brit thinks they should've had thai. eat it, cheumps!

FEEB---------------

P.F. they just left without dinner. they'd been reasonably quiet for a while. i was on the receiving end of an odd look from some of them as I leant back to enjoy their departure; they may simply know that i'm the ₱r£$ and got scared.

today

Waiting for a squash game - any game - to start, I have a drink at the unibar. Yesterday was far more interesting a day to have started this blog but I couldn't find 'Character Map' application and therefore couldn't create *just* the right user name.

FEEB---------------