Thursday, September 4, 2008

New Month Post

A pop quiz - a strange, unmarked van pulls into your driveway unnerringly silently. You only realise that it's there when your guard dogs go crazy. Looking at it, you see that the driver disturbingly resembles Brendan Nelson with his hair unconvincingly dyed blond, dressed in a flanellette shirt and shorts. He yells at you "Hey, mat`, y'wanna buy ee generator?"

Do you:

a) Tell him to fuck off and throw a brick at his windscreen
b) Barricade yourself indoors and call the police
c) Humour him, waiting for somebody inside to call the police.
d) Leave him to look after your dogs for a minute while you go and get the household manager to inform him of the great deals at hand.

So... who chose 'd'?


Well, I guess we do do things differently in the country.


I had a birthday recently - this has, as you would have guessed, increased my Doctor Who collection considerably with my finally receiving the Key to Time boxset (w00t, one of my top ten on DVD!) - as for the rest of the gifts: an electric blanket, a Mythbusters book, Kurt Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse 5 and a new computer... or rather, an old computer, on which I'll be able to run all the awesome games of yesteryear that XP has destroyed in their unemulated splendour.

Slaughterhouse 5 is a celebrated classic of modern literature, so naturally I feel the need to review it...


What the fuck, man? This could be re-titled Kurt Vonnegut lists shit things that happened to him in WWII with some aliens thrown in for unclear reasons and I would admire it's honesty. There's no attempt at a narrative at all. It's like some guy had a taperecorder and just transcribed weird things Vonnegut said at a dinner party into a book. Every chunk of prose lasts about two-and-a-half paragraphs before there's a heap of white space.

Man, before Douglas Adams was writing really was the best time to be a poor man's Douglas Adams, huh? Now nobody can get away with it. But this guy's fucking American royalty and poet laureate...


You know what song I've got stuck in my head? You don't want to know. It kicked I Fell in Love With a Starship Trooper out, that's how strong it is. No. Don't mess around with me. You don't want to know. It's an insanely aggressive techno rap song.

Okay, okay, if you're that morbidly curious... get on YouTube and look for "MC Frontalot it is pitch dark".

But... well, don't say I didn't warn you..


Oh, yeah, the funny thing about the blond Brendan Nelson Irishman offering us a generator... no, not the fact that we actually bought one, nor the fact that the entire incident (along with recording it right now) is giving me bucketloads of deja vu (Surely I would have remembered that happening before??) but... this morning the guy's dad pulled up, in another truck.

Selling generators and leather lounges. What a wonderful and convenient combination. With three colours to choose from, apparently. I thought they would just have come in leather colour.


Record for sleeping anybody? I slept half an hour shy of 12 hours the other day. Or, I guess, the night directly before the day. I seem to get a bit of sleep deprivation usually because I tend to stay up late and rise early-ish (I'm halfway there, Benji F!) and had had three weekends of staying up very late in a row.

The day before my marathon sleep I yawned a lot in the morning as usual. But I found I still couldn't stop an hour later. Which was a problem because I was going to my work placement for the day. On the day that my TAFE teacher was coming to see my performance.

I managed to get through the morning driven by the zombie-attack style adrenaline of having to deal with the general public when standing behind a counter (equivalent to painting a bulls-eye on your forehead) but this began to wane. I was expecting my teacher sometime in the arvo, so at one I got to work on my 'project' - my old friends, the lists of objects that are meant to be on the shelves but aren't that I am meant to find. The problem with this being that if they're meant to be on the shleves but aren't then there isn't really anything for me to find but we deal with that when I come back with an empty trolley looking like a tit.

Anyway, at 2 I hear the good news - my teacher's "on her way". By now I had worked through 2 reports. Time for a third. I didn't know when that message came through so I had to keep working for when she showed up. By rather an odd coincidence earlier that day I had had a discussion about the major OHS issue of libraries - that nobody should be given repetitive tasks without a break and that shelf-reading and shelving are the worst of such tasks. I remembered this as I delved back in, but shrugged it off.

By 3 I had worked my way through the report of missing 'Romance fiction' books (my absolute favourite area of the library said in a sarcastic tone of voice) and probably recovered an amazing fifteen books of those missing. My manager wasn't too pleased with the results and sent me back a second time, from whence I returned and informed him that having performed the rare and unusual hextuple-check I could confirm that The Greek Tycoon's Virgin Wife Revenge in Paradise was nowhere to be fucking seen.

I was then given another report... the biggest one yet. The science-fiction section. The list of books missing seemed to be twice the number on the shelf. When I began looking I became aware that I had a crippling headache and my eyes seemed to be in the middle of strike talks with my nervous system. I couldn't read anything without hurting . My body was just waving a white flag.

I worked until a quarter-to-four. All I had to show for my efforts was the entire first page of 60+ books had been painstakingly checked... and I had only found one, lousy, book. Oh, and nearly collapsed. But I simply couldn't work anymore.

I don't actually have to mention that, as I walked back to the counter, my teacher then showed up, surely? Surely that is completely obvious at that point?

I managed to talk my way through that whilst barely alive and stumble out the doors, get into my brother's car, and get driven home. I have no idea what exactly filled the intervening three-and-a-half hours aside from dinner. I just remember that, when I went to bed, I was unable to walk without being supported by a load-bearing wall, was practically blind, and only just had the energy to adjust the bed covers.

And then I slept for nearly 12 hours. As a certain bit character in Slaughterhouse 5 would say "You think that's bad? That ain't bad!" and so it goes. And it's true that, in the great scheme of things it's all pretty irrelevant. All I'm saying is - never again. Get plenty of sleep kids! It's like a big yellow taxi - you don't know what you've got till it's gone.

1 comment:

Youth of Australia said...

My month got off to a bad start when my cat died. Hence a slight lack of blogging. Plus, you know, me not eating or sleeping and being busy digging graves...

I'd choose c. But only because I lack the chemical energy to throw a brick at the moment.

And I have Starship Trooper rammed right into my forebrain as ATA have the whole song in the background as Raymondo tries to score in a gay disco as Gene and Chris watch on with amazement.

Been a bit dubious of S5 since The Tuesday Book Club reviewed it, with Andrew Hansen gamely trying to summarize the plot and NOT hack up his lung saying "Tralmafalfadelorean".

...yeah. Maybe I should get some more sleep.