Monday, December 17, 2018

Bud's Birthday

It is Buddy's birthday today, he is 8 years old. I sang him Happy Birthday when I first woke up.

Happy birthday Buddy boy.

Sunday, December 16, 2018

Walking The Dog

We are doing the big walk. We are coming down Brunswick Street from King Willian approaching Moor Street, where there is a woman with a shopping trolley which she has pushed up next to the public phone, pretty much, blocking the footpath. She is rummaging through a handbag she has on the trolley.

“Excuse me,” I say. We have to squeeze between her and the building to get passed. It appears obvious to me that, other than her and her trolley, the rest of the footpath is empty. “If you moved your trolley over there,” I say. “You wouldn’t be blocking the footpath.”

“What?” She looks at me. She has lank, peroxide blonde hair, and she is missing a front tooth. She has oddly grey skin with spots, or are they sores, maybe?

I smile, I don’t think nervously at this point, I can’t remember. “If you just move your trolley over here and then…”

“I’M GOING TO HAVE A SEISURE,” the woman screams. “I’m going to have a SEISURE!” The hounds of hell come to mind.

I am taken aback, as that isn’t the response I am expecting. “You could still move your trolley over there,” I say. I’ve seen people having seisures, and she didn’t look like one of them.

“I’M GOING TO HAVE A SEISURE,” she screams again. “A SEISURE. Is that what you want?” I can see veins in her eyeballs.

“What does your seisure have to do with the position of your trolley?" I ask.

“A SEISURE… A FUCKEN SEISURE!” She was dribbling by this point, I couldn’t help but look at the froth in the corners of her mouth, it looked like gold fish row on the surface of a pond.

“Well, you could just as easily have a seisure over there, as here,” I say.


“I heard you…” I think most of the CBD heard you.


I pull back, take a step away from her.


Oh, just die you toothless loser, comes to mind, but I don't say that. I decide to just walk away instead. Too much like hard work... no... really. “Oh, have your seisure,” I say, as I turn to walk off.

“YOU CAN FUCK OFF YOU FUCKEN FAT FUCKEN DOG FUCK, JUST FUCK OFF!” She is screaming after us as we head off down Brunswick.

I turn to Sam. “Well, that went well.”

Saturday, December 15, 2018

You Know Something,

You know something, with human beings denying climate change for their own personal gain, not knowing the basic truth of not poisoning their own nest; and because at any given moment half the human population is starving and half the human population is eating itself to death, (those with the food destroy 30% of it because it doesn’t look nice); and because it is now almost politically acceptable for the richest 5% (or whatever it is) to cheat the rest of the human population so the top percent of the population can grab all of the wealth, even if they have more than they will ever need; and all those humans fighting, and hating each other, discriminating against one another; and the lying, and the cheating, and the killing, and the inequality; and the mass extinctions of just about every other species on the planet; why should the human race be saved?

No, really, what are we trying to save?

A bunch of fools who shit all over everything and each other.

Thinking out loud,

America, Britain and Australia thought it was acceptable to invade Iraq with lies and 300 thousand Iraqis died. Hilary Clinton, allegedly, had Gaddafi killed to enhance her chances of winning the American election. Bashar al-Assad is poisoning his own people with biological weapons and the Syrians are fleeing their homeland in terror, and the racists around the world are getting uptight about letting those refugees into their countries. The right wingers are getting more and more confidant to discriminate against people of colour and of different heritage.

The American president is a compulsive liar.

The Russian President is a criminal, who has retained power illegally. There is a possibility he will invade Ukraine.

The Chinese president has given himself the job for life, while he invades the south china sea.

Conservative (Christian) westerners discriminate against Muslims and then act perplexed when Islamic State emerges. No idea that the policies of Neo Liberalism inequality could have contributed towards such a thing.

Big business is funding university research so they get the results they want.

There is now micro plastic in every living creature, including human beings.

I mean things aren’t going well.

And you know what, all of that is okay too. Human life has never had as much importance heaped upon it than the meaning human beings heap upon themselves. The universe, the world, the planet, and just about anything else that is not us, will not care, does not care if we are here, or not. And if we are not smart enough to preserve human life, nothing else will. The “bigger picture” will continue to be told with, or without us (and our gods). The infinite universe is not dependent on our existence. That is the truth.

Thursday, December 13, 2018

It Poured with Rain

Day off Thursday.

The plumber was supposed to come to dig up my blocked stormwater pipe, the drain that drains away half the water from the roof of the house. He cancelled last week.

Rain was forecast and surprisingly I didn't hear from him.

It poured with rain. It deluged. Parts of Melbourne flooded. It was the kind of weather event that conservative politicians still deny has anything to do with climate change.

I kept waiting for it to come into the house due to the block drain. But it didn't.


I like the rain. I like it when it rains. Even heavy rain. Heavy rain can be thrilling, it can. The power, the sound, watch it, feel it coming down. We can make happiness from the rain.

Wednesday, December 12, 2018

Office Xmas Decorations

They’d (Our department) been busily doing Xmas decorations all day, as they wanted to win the Melbourne office Xmas decoration competition. (Roll of the eyes)

Even Melissa got involved, but I figured that was because our boss Tony hated her and she was going for brownie points.

Word had come down from one of the other floors that one of the other departments were taking winning seriously, and they were going to be tough to beat. (Why they kept doing updates next to my desk I didn’t know)

2.30pm. Jesse suggested they put Declan in tights and then he could play Elf on the Shelf. I was all for seeing Declan in tights and a little elf hat, but he declined.

Truthfully, I had no idea what Elf on the Shelf, actually, was. I am assuming Declan would become a part of the Xmas decorations and he’d, actually, be sat on a shelf. Maybe, that was just because I thought Declan would look adorable like that? I could have that completely wrong. (shrug) It would have been an innovative approach, let’s face it.

Stephanie asked Declan if he'd do it if he was drunk. (Stephanie and I get along really well. We have the same sense of humour) I was all for seeing Declan drunk in a pair of tights and a cute elf hat. A whole lot of images came to mind with Declan drunk playing Elf on the Shelf. (shake of the head)

Word comes down later in the afternoon, no one is going to beat the other department.

Declan goes to investigate. He takes his phone to take photos.

Declan comes back. He didn’t take any photos and his only comment was, “We’re screwed.”

Not that I cared. In fact, the perpendicular side of my personality thought, If Declan isn’t going to put on the tights, and get on that damn shelf, I hope they lose.” (Notice it is ‘they’ now, and not ‘we’)

Tuesday, December 11, 2018

Tortoise or the Hare?

Really, Kris Kringle, I thought as Big Ange shoved the hat in my face and told me to pick?

Then the person buying for me didn’t know what to get me, as grumpy as I was about the whole cliched Kris Kringle thing, this made it worse. I worked it out for “my person” people, give it some thought.

Mel was asked to ask me what I wanted. So, I have to think of more than one present, I thought, really? How about fucking surprising me, I thought, as I held a completely straight face gazing back at Mel.

“I dunno.” I shrugged. I headed back to my desk.

Eventually, I asked for a plant, so as to avoid landfill.

I was given a plant in a (tacky) decorative pot which had no drain hole. When I, rather, maybe, ungratefully, pointed this out, I was told just to give it less water.

Just stupidity, I thought. And now I have to fix it.

So, I carried it all the way (walking) home and drilled a couple of holes in the bottom.

This morning I was carrying it back again. Briefcase in one hand, plant in the other. Swapping arms when they got sore, which didn’t really help as my arms never really got relief.

The athletic chick passes me on the inside coming down to the old treasury building, walking faster than me. In her activewear, of course, strapped singlet over her toned shoulders, arse like a pear. Of course, I get my back up because she pushes into me as she passes with her headphones on, and her “can do” attitude. Me with a bag in one hand and a pot plant in the other, my arms starting to ache.

Bitch, I think.

I jay walk at Spencer Street and get ahead of her heading down Collins Street.

Purposefully? Of course.

She passes me in front of Collins Place. I jay walk at Exhibition and Russell Streets. She’s passes me again in the straights, in front of 101, and in front of the Regent. We both hit Swanston Street at the same time.

I have forgotten about my aching arms.

She takes off in front of me, as the little green man is displayed. I jay walk at Elizabeth Street and was out front again. She passes me at 333 Collins. I walk straight across Queen without stopping, or without seemingly blinking an eye, and was ahead again.

I got to the finish line first, even if she didn’t know where the finish line was, even if she didn’t know there was a finish line.

Briefcase in one hand, plant in the other.

I wondered, was I the tortoise or the hare? I laughed to myself at the thought.

Monday, December 10, 2018

People, Not A Fan

Midday. I bought a large mixed salad because it was one of those rare days that I didn’t take my lunch to work. Sam makes it for me every day, but we ate leftover pork and noodles last night. My colleagues think I have gourmet lunches.

I chose a seat on my own in the less used empty corner room of the huge cafĂ© set out in the foyer of the large building opposite mine. Is it the stock exchange building? Shrug. Oh, I don’t know.

One guy came and sat at the next table, despite every other table in that section of the room being free.

Oh, here we go, I thought.

Moments later a lawyer and his pin-stiped suited client, presumably, came and sat at the table on the other side of me. I knew the lawyer by sight from one of the law firms I have worked for.

They started to talk.

The first guy’s lunch companion arrived – like that was a surprise – and sat with him and they started talking at a great rate. I'm sure he was trying to sell the guy something, he sounded as dodgy as a used car salesman trying to sell a used car to a real estate agent.

The lawyer prattled away. Mr dodgy yap, yap, yapped.


I moved across the room, so at least I wasn’t between the two groups, which, unfortunately, put myself in direct line with the lawyer’s client’s booming voice and his annoying laugh. He spoke so loudly and freely that I couldn’t help but think he was a CEO of some company.

Then two women, exhausted from a morning shopping, sat in my first seat and they stated to chat away, like high pitched machine guns. It was a cacophony.

Am I to be spared nothing?

There were two guys sitting in the opposite corner on their own with a seat between them, one on his laptop, the other reading, it looked like the library, so I moved there.

Not long after one of the guys finished eating and left.

Shortly after, a man and a woman took his seat. The male of the couple started to talk excitedly, in an effeminate voice, (not that there is anything wrong with that, of course) about all the weight he’d lost. He was giddy with delight.

Grrrrrr... people, not a fan.

Then the other guy left.

What looked like a Filipino house keeper and another woman’s Indian husband, who she is screwing, sat in the seat behind me. They were the worst, his high pitched voice arguing with her demands (to leave his wife), neither of whom I could understand clearly, she was whisper-yelling. She growled at him (You said you'd leave her), he whined back (Yes, darling, soon, be patient).

He will never leave her, I thought.

They were too much to bare and I had finished my salad by that stage anyway, I could forgo the coffee.

I headed back to my office.