Wednesday

Trust Watch. Wednesday.

I don't trust hats in general and I don't trust girls in hats specifically. I feel like with the presence of a hat a girl is trying to convey something quite certain about herself. If she is trying to convey that she is whacky and unique and most definitely has an intriguing personality - she has failed. If she is trying to convey that she is a pair of overalls and a big sunflower away from being Blossom - she has succeeded.

Though I do love a lady in a head scarf. I'm thinking more Grace Kelly head scarf than Higab. As for berets. Well you better be damn cute.

Tuesday

Trust Watch. Tuesday.

I have always been of the opinion that if you have something of exquisite beauty, you don't hide it, or cover it up purely to protect it from being damaged. This is the reason I have never worn sunglasses to hide my eyes.

I have decreed in the past many times that the iphone case is the modern car bra. For those not aware of the car bra, they were particular popular in the 1990's, designed to protect the front of your car from damage due to flying debris. Apart from looking totally ridiculous and having an even more ridiculous name, you would think that the more expensive the car the more value the car bra would be, and thus be utilised by expensive car owners extensively. However, the car bra tended to only be utilised by Toyota Selica and Ford Capri car owners.


My point is, what is the purpose of having something so beautiful (and I am constantly being told how beautiful peoples iPhones are) that when you actually use it, you don't get to see and experience that beauty. iPhone covers, while protecting the beautiful aesthetics of Apples wondrous design team, actually prevent anyone from seeing the beauty. Yes I know that they help protect the phone from breaking when dropped but surely we could all do with a little risk in our lives, yeah?

Again, I feel like I am the only one that sees this. I'm starting to feel like I am living in a recent Scorsese thriller (Shutter Island or Inception) where I am the only one that has access to the 'real' reality. That was the point of those films, right?

thirty-one

Due to a hangover, a long drive to my folks, tiredness and eating too much of my mum's cooking, I finished off my birthday laying in front of the television, with my little brother, watching Kevin Costner in Field of Dreams.

It wasn't entirely unpleasant. Me and my bro watched right to the end because we needed to see where it all went and also because my 13 year old brother wanted to know, "what the hell was going on in 1989 where this was an acceptable form of cinematic entertainment."

And we found something out. Neither of us are really huge fans of the baseball-ghost movie genre.

Monday

evening.

Someone described me the other week as a slightly more obnoxious, significantly less successful, mildly less funnier version of Larry David.

And not more than 3 days ago, a different someone said I sounded like an annoying version of Jerry Seinfeld.

And my mum said Ian Thorpe reminds her of me.

Hey 31! What's up. This shit is real.

The Columbines Massacre

I have been away from the blog. I missed it. All these vague, mediocre thoughts clogging up my mind. I had an operation on my jaw, where I was under general anaesthetic, to fix a cracked tooth. The anaesthetic combined with the pain-killers and antibiotics made me vague and hazy. I thought I should spare the blog.

So I am going to write something every day for the next two weeks. A big commitment I know but I think it is warranted. Now that I am off the Panadine Fort, I am feeling unusually alert. I am feeling COMBOULATED.

A Pascal Chocolate Éclair is about as close to a chocolate éclair as Vegan Not-Dogs are to the hind legs of a farmyard pig. I can't believe we let them get away with this bullshit. If it weren’t for the sweet sounds of the Phil Collins playing Gorilla I would storm the Cadbury officers right now (or maybe later when the weather has cleared up a little).

And this leads me to Chip flavours. It started with sour cream and chives. No, it started with “cheese and onion”, then “sour cream and chives”. And we accepted it because they tasted yummy and, quite frankly, we were all a bit sick of the BIG FOUR flavours: Plain, Salt and Vinegar, Chicken and BBQ.

Then came the Kettle chips with their “Baked Honey Ham”, "Chilli and Sour Cream" and "Herb and Spice". The chips were crunchy and rustic and downright delicious so we let that slide.

Not long after, along came Red Rock and friends trying to impress us with their "Red Wine and Tuscan Herbs", "Chicken, Thyme and Lemon", "Honey Soy Chicken", “Lime and Black Pepper” and, the worst of them all, "Balsamic Vinegar and Sea Salt".

I refuse to be quiet anymore. I refuse to be kept down by the thugs in the (Potato) Scallop industry. While you sit there and stuff your face with saturated fat potato snacks I am going to stand up and shout, ""Balsamic Vinegar and Sea Salt"! It’s the same fucking thing as "Salt and Vinegar". We are being duped and having the wool pulled over our eyes."

The human fried potato palate is an insatiable, however, unsophisticated beast. I contend it can detect three, maybe four, flavours: Sugary, Salty, Spicy and Sour. Every chip flavour is essentially a combination of varying proportions of these four flavours.

So go take your bodied wine, with its bouquet of aromas and your mild-aged-hazelnut Bree cheese and sample all the delicate flavours you like. But when you are eating chips all I ever want to hear is, "Fuck, these chips a salty."