dee - viscerate.com

GIRL
Diana Evans
called Dee
since May 25th, 1980
terrorising inner-city Melbourne
consuming flat whites
producing words, hers and other people's
contact dee [at] viscerate [dot] com

SITE
viscerate.com
consisting of personal reflections
photography by Amy Q
archives here

Saturday, December 22, 2001

Soon, very soon, I will be packing everything up and leaving. Then, there will be no more Dee until I reach my parents' computer sometime around about the New Year. Just thought people might like to know.

7:25 AM - link to this - (0) comments

Friday, December 21, 2001

LOL! Link followed from the TestMeister Mallory: this one was truly worthy.

3:16 PM - link to this - (0) comments

I hate that last half-centimetre of coffee in the bottom, that you forget about and that all the coffee and milo and biscuit crumbs congeal inside so that it's about as thick as sludge can be by the time to remember and tip it up.

Wonder it doesn't land on my nose with a wet plop.

Today I got a mystery package. Addressed to me, no return address. Ooooh, I thought, and shook it, and grinned, but didn't squeeze it, just hurried to open it and see who it might be.

I tipped it up, and pulled out... a cake fork.

???

And then I realised, and collapsed laughing. Last holidays, working with one of the biggest fuckwits to grace the earth, I sent an email to Je outlining how I could like to disembowel him with a cake fork. She agreed the idea was most pleasant. A little while back, pissed off with the world, I had a bit of a rant to her via email. Her return email made little mention of my rant, but the subject line was: "The cake fork's in the mail".

I didn't think she actually meant it.

So now, I'm not sure what to do. I'm split between sending her an email thanking her for brightening up my day, or pretending nothing happened and just sending her back something fiendish and silly. Except I can't think of anything particularly fiendish, silly and appropriate at this point.

12:55 PM - link to this - (0) comments

Thursday, December 20, 2001

W.O.B.C.O. - the Movie
Scene: the Boss' office. The Boss is a woman who bears a striking resemblance to the Wicked Witch. She's looking stern as Our Hero walks in and closes the door behind her.
Our Hero: Look, about this morning -
The Boss: (holds up a hand) I don't want to hear it. (Stands up, starts to pace as OH stands before the desk.) I mean, didn't we teach you anything? You just can't be that irresponsible with a vacuum cleaner. There are innocent people out there. People we're here to clean for. It's a responsibility. After what happened, can you honestly say that you're worthy of that responsibility?
Our Hero: (staring straight ahead, hands gripped behind her) M'am, I thought I saw a cobweb. I'd swear it was there.
The Boss: (shaking head as she sits down again) And yet three separate witnesses all claim not to have seen it.
Our Hero: I'm a trained cleaner, M'am. It's my job to see dirt others don't.
The Boss heaves a deep sigh.
The Boss: Yes, well, until all this business is cleared up, I think it would be best if you took a break.
For the first time, Our Hero's composure breaks. Her eyes widen slightly, maybe in concern, maybe in surprise.
Our Hero: You can't mean -
The Boss: (holding out her hand) Your keys and your gloves, Cleaner. Our Hero doesn't move, paralysed. I said, your keys and your gloves!
Moving in painful slow-motion, Our Hero pulls a ring of keys from her pocket, unclips their chain from her belt and drops them into The Boss' hand. Even more slowly, she reaches behind her, pulls a pair of purple rubber gloves from her back pocket. She weighs them in her hand, and then, reluctantly, holds them out.
Our Hero: (as the Boss puts keys and gloves into a drawer) Something's going on, here. I'm going to find out what, and prove to you that I'm right.
The Boss: (sternly) Just don't go cleaning anything, all right?

(Only two more days of wobco cleaning duty. I think that's a very good thing.)

4:18 PM - link to this - (0) comments

For Christmas, I would like a new mouse. There's really no point denying that mine's completely fucked any more.

Click, you bastard, click!

8:33 AM - link to this - (0) comments

Wednesday, December 19, 2001

The fanfic section has been redesigned. I finally caved, and decided to let it truly evince my major fixation. Anyway, the fic I finished the other day is up in there, if you're interested. Plus, the links section was reordered and updated. Including gilmae, who had to redesign his site especially for the occasion. Behold the power I wield, all unthinking. Such effort deserves more than a paltry little link in a section no one ever visits, so, y'all, go and visit gilbo.

5:58 PM - link to this - (0) comments

Four times I was lucky, in response to Jett, and thanks for getting me thinking. Too often, we don't remember our good fortune.

Lucky #1: The God Boots, thus called because we believe they were a message from God. Shopping with J2, can't remember what for. We walk past the shoe section, and I see them. Knee-high black suede with a clumpy heel but they're still great. I just have to try them on, though I know they won't fit, because I have skinny legs and boots never fit. There are two sizes - 7 and 7. I'm a 7. They fit perfectly, foot and ankle and calf. They were made for me. I can barely believe it. The price tag says $38, and I'm stoked. We get to the checkout, and they ring up as $25.

"Don't say a word, bitch," J2 says, shaking his finger at me.

Lucky #2: Grade 11, I was elected as part of my school's delegation to the regional constitutional convention. I wasn't elected the speech-giver, though. Probably because I wasn't popular - too much of a bitch, even then. However, with three days to go before the convention, I was called up by our organiser, my history teacher, and told that because a private Rocky school had two speakers, we were allowed to have an extra speaker too, and I was it. Take this double period off and go and do some research, write a speech. I wrote it in two days, which is the absolute best way to go into public speaking, still riding high on the adrenaline of composition. It was the best speech I've ever given in my life. I've never again managed to recreate the feeling of surfing on the attention of the audience, of feeding off them and back to them and taking it all to tremendous heights. I won the competition, and got to attend the national constitution convention in Canberra. That was a great experience too, but giving that speech remains one of the highest points of my life.

Lucky #3: Mr Chambers. The single biggest influence to shape my personality and creative life since my parents. He was my grade 9 English teacher, but he very nearly wasn't. For the first term, I had Mr... can't even remember his name now. He was awful. I hated him. With a passion. I went on a crusade, hell-bent on getting out of his class. I almost managed it, too. But then they said: "Look, we'll still move you if you like, but this guy's retiring at the end of the term anyway, so do you want to just stay in the class?" I said yes. And the rest, I guess, is history.

Lucky #4: Teetering between ANU and Macquarie, flipping through accommodation brochures, making decisions based on nothing more than glossy photos and which uni's propaganda had the better grammar, I chose where I am today. And met excellent friends, had life-changing experiences, and encountered the man I love.

That was definitely the luckiest moment of all.

4:25 PM - link to this - (0) comments

I finished it. Less time than I thought. Good night.

1:07 AM - link to this - (0) comments

Tuesday, December 18, 2001

I am going to stay up tonight and finish a fic. If I'm going to waste my bloody writing time writing tripe, I might as well finish the sodding tripe, even if I have to stay up until breakfast to do it.

This could get ugly.

So, if you should happen to turn on your AOL IM and see me still there, drop me a line. Chances are I'll need it.

11:11 PM - link to this - (0) comments

Cultural morning. Commercial afternoon. Manuscript treasures at the National Library, Rodin at the Gallery.

I crouched down beside the display case that contained a fragment of the Logia Iesus, the Sayings of Jesus. Just a fragment, a third of a page, suspended in glass. It was tiny and insignificant compared to the sprawling maps, the thick pages of the Gutenburg Bible. But it made me hold my breath, because here was part of a document containing gems of Gnostic wisdom. Maybe this page was even part of the Gospel of Thomas. Did it have energy all of its own?

Yes, I am re-reading Foucault's Pendulum. What makes you ask? (And on the way home, I noticed we were travelling along route 23, and I stifled the urge to jump out of the car at the traffic lights and make off with the sign.)

Rodin has always been a favourite of mine. I love the relationship he has with the bronze, and the way he lets us share it. I love the way he pulls forth something different, having tried everything. My favourite? Not The Thinker, not The Kiss; too trite, too popular, too over-exposed and passe. A piece in the first gallery, tucked away at the side. Nothing important. It was called The Call To Arms. A soldier dying, and above him, a vengeful angel, the elemental valkyrie, a spirit of blistering, pure anger, of wrenching grief, of ebuliating victory and eviscerating defeat. The spirit of war.

It was stunning, it was compelling, it made it all worthwhile.

5:38 PM - link to this - (0) comments

Good morning. I stayed up late last night writing. It felt good. Not writing anything worthwhile, though. That felt bad. I feel a little like life's on hold. Just marking time until Christmas.

I'd better get a move on a do my Christmas shopping, though.

8:30 AM - link to this - (0) comments

Monday, December 17, 2001

TitaniaFae: Back in a sec... I need a banana.
Maj: okay
TitaniaFae: Back. With banana.
Maj: lol if you were sans banana, I wouldn't be able to talk to you. You know that, right? I only bother to speak to you because of your banana.
Maj: now put the banana on.
TitaniaFae: The banana can't talk. I bit its head off. :-)
Maj: ROTFL
TitaniaFae: I know you only like me for my soft fruit. I've grown reconciled to it.

6:51 PM - link to this - (0) comments

Some nitwit in Bundaberg (which he describes as "what God had in mind when he created Eden" - I'm laughing as hard as you are, gilmae) has decided that English needs to use a system of phonetic spelling.

Moron.

For starters, phonetic spelling really doesn't make things that much easier, I find. Both German and Arabic are spelt exactly like they sound. Which is all well and good if you can figure out what the sound actually is. It all comes down to word recognition, regardless of how phonetic the spelling is. Only true phonetics (one of the most complex systems I've ever come across) doesn't require much word recognition.

Secondly, he does away with dipthongs (two vowel sounds together). The problem with this is that he seems to think the 'a' sound in 'hair' and 'pear' is the same as in 'eight' and 'invasion'. No. Wrong. Bugger off.

But that's really by-the-by. My biggest problem, the one that makes me want to stop off in Bundy on my way home and shoot this wanker, is that he's ruining the beauty of the English language. My language. My beautiful, beautiful English. Hell, while we're at it, why not just start describing things as 'double-plus good'?

My message to this guy: There's nothing wrong with English. You're just stupid.

6:30 PM - link to this - (0) comments

Sunday, December 16, 2001

Ugg rocks. Basically, anyone who can watch Tank Girl and laugh even more than me is cool. That movie is so underappreciated.

"Ladies, lock up your sons!"

10:05 PM - link to this - (0) comments