putting the guts back in

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

Friday, February 21, 2003

Another one of those conversations that never happened, but should have:

"What are you doing with the frying pan?"

"If I said scraping cemented eggshell off the chopping board, would you believe me?"

3:41 PM - link to this - (0) comments

Blogger is chucking a spack attack at me, making me log in all the time. This is cramping my style.

Plan:

Get job, thus enabling me to have spending money so I can eat and...
Get new web host. One that doesn't cost peanuts, and hence have no cgi-bin or anything else useful, which will enable me to...
Switch from Blogger to something that isn't obviously run by the random perambulations of ants. This leads to...
Obvious world domination.

Easy when you know how.

10:28 AM - link to this - (0) comments

Speaking of "who the %&$# was that?", the phone rang at 2am last night. By the time I'd figured out it wasn't a dream, or some weird alarm, and actually picked it up, whoever it was had hung up.

That is not socially acceptable behaviour. Bad monkey.

9:40 AM - link to this - (0) comments

Thursday, February 20, 2003

Today, a bus apologised to me. There's a first time for everything, I guess. I told it not to worry about it; it was fine.

I laugh at trams, too. Especially ones that say: "Who the *10# was that?"

Some madnesses remain the same. Some less pleasant traits as well. For instance, moving cities does not appear to have quelled my sneering-at-wankers and being-an-utter-bitch-in-the-privacy-of-my-head tendencies. My Novel class contains precisely six people I could consider meaningful interaction with in the future. Class also contains the usual cliches.

The Go-Getter, who's finished her novel already, working on the second, has lived and worked in numerous places overseas, has connections, has expectations of this course that we'd all fucking better live up to or she'll shake her perfectly permed curls at us and look displeased. (She annoys me by dint of having no love of words or creativity, none of the quirkiness I need in order to see someone's merit, and also because I know she's going to succeed. People like that do.)
The Geek. He's completely focussed in his little world, on the concepts and structures that put it together. He's writing sci-fi because he reads it and he's earnest about communicating the genre specialities, though not interested in putting them in any sort of terms that non-sci-fi-readers might be able to easily associate with. The Devil's in the details, and why don't you care too? (Cliche geeks give the rest of us a bad name. I work hard as an ambassador for Geek, and people like this let me down.)
The Precision Mistress. She cares about form and function. She doesn't use contractions. Precise enunciation makes you feel like she's looking over her glasses at you and leave you mentally unwilling to challenge anything she says. She doesn't seem to leave any room for the shades of grey. (I'm sure she's lovely, she just intimidates me. She didn't smile once, I swear. My instinctive social defense mechanism is to try to make people laugh. But apparently she writes poetry too.)

And in the midst of hordes of well-travelled, experienced folk, there was lil ole me. Hi, I'm Dee. I just finished university.

I'm not married. I don't have any kids. And I'd blow your head off if someone paid me enough. (2 points - this is classic Dee quotage here.)

4:45 PM - link to this - (0) comments

As personally requested by the Male: You can make a computer joke about anything.

4:11 PM - link to this - (0) comments

Aaaaaaaaaahfuckit.

Blogger just ate my post. Bitch! Slut! Whore!

I cannot replicate that feat of erudition and insouciant charm. It was unique, completely unparalleled in the world of blogging. It would have started a revolution.

Bollocksed it all up now.

So, I nattered on about the blogmeet, how there were lots of people (but no sex toys, and hence the single 'Berra blogmeet is still in front), how I really enjoyed myself, and how I now think that all Melbourne people are that witty/clever/charming/willing to put up with my random shit. Of course, from here, the town can only disappoint. Although probably not if I only continue to associate with perfectly witty, clever, charming people. Ah-hah! A plan.

I may also have mentioned how I'm starting classes today. Novel 1. Yee-fucking-hah, dudes.

The Male makes my day again: "Bitchin'," I said (he told me), and one of the summer clerks looked at me and said, "you totally can't carry that off." Fuck that. I carry off whatever I damn well please. I sling it over my shoulder and spank it once for good measure.

10:29 AM - link to this - (0) comments

Tuesday, February 18, 2003

Dude! X2 sneak-peek screencaps. Watch me do my impression of a squealing fangirl.

EEeeeeeee!! Cyke! Storm! Wolvie going ape-shit!

Is it May yet?

10:16 AM - link to this - (0) comments

Monday, February 17, 2003

4pm, I'm back from the shopping, it's time to make a cup of coffee and settle down for the Afternoon Internet. Headlines today include:

Why are black heavy metal band T-shirts considered White Trash? These things are expensive, y'know.

KLF. Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh.

There's a walkway between Collins St and Flinders Lane that runs through what is possibly the Male's favourite building in this entire city, 333 Collins St. (I must admit, it is an impressive and endearing edifice, reminiscent of such lovely atmospheres as Batman and Blade Runner.) I walked down this walkway today, and thought that maybe I could do this, say, three or four times a day and never be free of inspiration. Although it does really require echoing heels and billowing drapery, rather than jeans, a White Trash black heavy metal T-shirt and squeaking red sandshoes. But I did my best.

Despite all evidence to the contrary, I did not fall in love with a baked potato.

Afternoon Internet ends. Film at 11.

4:09 PM - link to this - (0) comments

Last night was our first official Meal of Leftovers.

I'm not sure what was worse, the wash-up afterwards or the faint smug feeling I got this morning to see all that empty space in the fridge.

I'm becoming so domesticated! Aaaaargh!

On a happier note, saw Chicago on the weekend. Eep! It was fantastic. Brilliant. Flashy, sparkly, slick, raucous, clever and vivacious. It certainly reinvigorated my love for the 1920s. I once had the exact haircut that Ms Zeta Jones sports in that movie. Just wonderful. So well put together, delivered with so much enthusiasm and vigour. I think I need the soundtrack. I think I need many jazz CDs. I think I need to learn all the words to "All The Jazz" so I can sing it badly in the shower.

Loved it. Lots.

10:32 AM - link to this - (0) comments

Sunday, February 16, 2003

Let's just set the record straight. For some reason, everyone with whom I share a passing acquaintance thinks I was at that monster peace rally on Friday.

I wasn't.

Yes, I'm a politics student. Yes, I'm outspoken and opinionated. But most likely, everyone who knows me better knows I wasn't there, and could probably say why. Admittedly, they might say: "Because Dee couldn't be arsed."

This is a reason also. But mainly:

I do not believe in rallies. I do not believe in massed gatherings in the street. The small measure of good they might do is entirely negated by the bad potentialities. In any crowd of people, the chaos potential increases and the average intelligence decreases geometrically, until you get mob mentality. This is how riots work. This is how groups of people are capable of things individuals would never even contemplate. And why there seems little chance of that in such a gathering as this was, still... Walking past it on the way to our restaurant, it seemed to me that the vast majority weren't so far from zombies submitted to the will of the mass. It's fucking scary. I want no part.
I do not believe in peace. Well, not in this particular instance. After careful, advised, educated thought, the situation known as 'peace' in Iraq just can't be allowed to continue. Possibly it should have been done earlier. Possibly the motives of the aggressors aren't the most pure. But there's also the possibility - high, I think, but I have moments of blinding optimism - that this action might lead to regime change in Iraq. And that would benefit the lives of "innocent Iraqis" much more than holding off for another ten years for fear of accidentally blowing some of them up.

Basically, student politicians are morons, and I don't want to have anything to do with them.

Are we all clear now? Good.

3:09 PM - link to this - (0) comments