Blogstorm

The reason why Bonestorm doesn't blog much anymore

2007-03-17T16:37:00.000+10:00

Meet Elise. She specialises in sleeping, shitting with explosive force (she can hit the wall at the opposite end of her bedroom when on full power) and draining Daddy Bonestorm's capacity for rational thought by enducing extreme tiredness.

I haven't forgotten about any of you, and just in case you drop by here some time, this is the reason for my slackness. Plus, I'm a slackarse.

Footnote: As I was writing this she woke up, and when we went to get her she gave us her first smile. Ever. Suddenly I feel energized again.

The truth about Santa

2006-12-21T09:02:00.000+10:00

I found out today that Santa doesn't live at the North Pole. He doesn't drive a sled or have dozens of elves scurrying around his feet.

Santa drives a bus for the Brisbane council.

Times are tough, eh?

I guess we've all moonlighted in jobs that we haven't been proud of at one time or another. In my younger days I picked watermelons to earn a dollar. Maybe I should say attempted to pick watermelons, as I had the job of standing in an eight foot cardboard box on the back of a truck as workmates threw watermelons in at me. Often more than one at a time. Or completely without warning. Or after I'd been hit on the head for the hundredth time that hour and was obviously unconscious, bleeding and in need of medical assistance on the bottom of the box. In hindsight it's a miracle I didn't get shipped off to market under half a ton of melons at some point.

Anyway where was I? Oh yeah, Santa.

I must say I was surprised this morning when the Santa bus pulled up to my stop, complete with miles of tinsel wound around the interior and on the windows, christmas lights, a tree and Santa himself in full gear at the wheel. I didn't spot a nativity scene but it was undoubtedly there somewhere.

Times have obviously been tough on the big guy of late, and he sounded a lot more like a grumpy Brisbane bus driver who was forced to wear a stinking hot red suit and beard on a warm day, but I'm probably just reading too much into things. I'm sure even Santa has his off days.

Anyhow, make sure you are all listening on Christmas eve for the screech of tires on your roof.

The new gaming demographic

2006-12-19T10:02:00.000+10:00

I saw an interesting thing on the bus yesterday morning. It was a person in the front seat entranced by a Gameboy.

Not normally noteworthy, I know. Unless you perhaps consider the specifics of the person, who happened to be a middle aged business woman in a power suit. Not your average acne riddled 13 year old, to be sure.

Probably even more interesting to me was how engrossed she was in it all. Not once in 20 minutes did her eyes leave the lcd screen, even when frustration got the better of her and she resorted to slamming the palm of her hand against the gizmo in fury. It reminded me of a recalcitrant chimp slamming it's hands against the bars of it's cage.

And I can't really be too critical of her here, since I've done some desk slamming with my fist during countless hours of Madden football, but at least I've had the decency to do it in the privacy of my own home.

She eventually got off at the stop before mine. The last I saw of her she was motoring up a ramp towards the street with her eyes still fixated on the Gameboy.

Fun with a shopping trolley

2006-12-04T10:21:00.000+10:00

Yesterday I went grocery shopping by myself, as Ms B was busy decorating ginger bread houses and christmas cakes with her mother. Shopping on my lonesome normally results in me doing a 'speed shop'. I hurtle down each aisle, flailing wildy at shelves as I speed past at high velocity. Sometimes I end up with the things I need, other times not. It all depends on what gets knocked into the trolley.

Either way, I'm done in fifteen minutes, which is all I really care about.

Yesterday I couldn't help but notice one couple, scrawny and heavily inked, who were pushing around three little girls in a trolley and screaming at them Don't touch that!! at regular intervals. As chance would have it, I picked the checkout with the slowest checkout person in the universe. This not only ruined my attempt at speed shopping, but also allowed the scrawny family to get through ahead of me at another checkout.

As I finally left my checkout, I noticed mother scrawny in the middle of the shopping centre walkway with the three little girls in the shopping trolley. To my horror she decided to play a game with the girls and gripped the trolley handle, spinning it around her in a circular motion as fast as possible.

On the first revolution, I wondered how she avoided cleaning up all of the innocent bystanders who were walking past. Shoppers were leaping out of the way left, right and centre as the trolley screeched around in a wide arc.

On the second revolution I could only only stop and stare and think that something bad was about to happen.

On the third revolution, something bad happened. The smallest girl in the end of the trolley lost her battle with centrifugal force and was catapulted out of the trolley, sailed through the air for a metre and a half, and then hit the unyielding concrete head first.

Thankfully she seemed to be ok.

But I could only wonder about the perils of mixing kids and stupid people.

Life on Mars

2006-11-30T09:01:00.000+10:00

Long have we looked to the heavens and pondered that tantalising question: is there life on Mars? Well, this morning I thought I had discovered that yes, there was life on Mars, and I was it.

This wasn't because I woke up dressed in tinfoil, green skinned and wielding a raygun. Ok, I do sleep in tinfoil more often than not but let's get back to the issue at hand. The reason for my disorientation was because of the somewhat jaundiced light that came spilling in my bedroom window.

It was so impressive that I actually walked out into the backyard and stared around at the martian landscape for a few minutes. I took a snap with my camera phone but it doesn't quite capture the colour. I briefly contemplated deceiving and cheating my blog readers by photoshopping the picture into a more startling orange hue, but I quickly realised I couldn't do that. Don't get me wrong, I deceive and cheat my blog readers on a regular basis. I just couldn't be arsed firing up photoshop.

I hear we have a dust storm to thank for our unusually coloured day here in Brisbane. I personally think it had to be some of freak carrot storm to turn things this orange. Freak carrot storms... they do happen. Google it.

And I promise that's my last attempt to deceive you for today.

Lunch with weirdo

2006-11-24T16:04:00.000+10:00

I met up with a mate for lunch in the city today, and afterwards stopped over in the mall for a drink before going back to work. As we sat at a table, some guy sitting by himself at the next table next to us looked over and muttered something about "Oh, you guys are just here to watch the cricket."

At first I wasn't sure he was even talking to us. He continued to look at as and mutter things though, and we tried not to pay any attention to him.

At one point he got up and started waving and talking to someone walking past, as if he'd been waiting for them to arrive. However, they ignored him as well and kept on walking. The weirdo returned to his seat and continued to mutter.

Eventually he got up walked over to us, saying "See you guys later." Then he took off.

It's always nice to meet new people.

***

I had to include this picture I took of a clients' mouse earlier this week. Apparently it's an ergonomic mouse. I haven't seen one before. It looks more like a sideways mouse to me and is an absolute bitch to manoevre. I would have had about as much success moving it with my nose accurately as with my hand.

Maybe that's why it's good ergonomically for your hands, because you end up not using it at all.

"Wow, my wrist is so much better since this ergonomic mouse came along. My nose is broken in three places, but my wrist is great!"

Mechanical Mishaps

2006-11-07T11:59:00.000+10:00

When things go wrong in Bonestormland, they really go wrong.

A couple of weeks back my trusty old washing machine went down in a screaming heap. It was an oldie but a goodie, and always had my dull, mind-numbing work uniform looking it's most mind-numingly clean. That was until it gave up the ghost and stopped doing anything in particular, except from making an irritating clicking sound. So I took it to the great washing machine retirement village in the sky (i.e. the dump) and we bought a newie.

Then, of course, two days later my PC's CPU died. That little situation was documented in a previous blog entry.

On the weekend, my TV felt left out and decided to do the equivalent of throwing itself off a bridge, and by this I mean emitting a loud bang and subsequently shutting down altogether. This is a 76 cm flat screen, less than four years old and not quite as cheap to replace as a washing machine, so it will be going to the repair shop for a (hopefully) not too expensive repair job.

So that's three things in two weeks. Lucky me.

Forget betting on the Melbourne Cup today. Bet on Bonestorm's next appliance to blow up. I'm thinking Ms B's hairdryer. That one doesn't effect me much so I could probably live with it checking itself out.

Spitting Image

2006-10-31T10:35:00.000+10:00

Kudos to Invader Stu for being the first to mention the origin of my avatar. It's not actually a picture of me, but it looks incredibly like me (in fact I've had friends come to this page and ask how I made a computer character of myself). The avatar is in fact from the opening scenes of Half Life 2, and he later re-appears at various stages of the game.

Stu has pointed out that a comic strip has been made of this character, so check it out if you're a HL2 fan. Thanks Stu!

**

I have given myself a Bonehead of the Week award for an effort last week when I was working on a laptop here in the office. It was a Toshiba, of which we don't see many, and after re-installing Windows I couldn't find a drivers disk or drivers on any of our servers. The Toshiba website had drivers but these turned out to be corrupt. Thank you Toshiba! Dickwads.

I then embarked on a search across The Internets to find drivers, and after an hour or so had everything working but the sound. The drivers seemed to install ok, but no sound was coming out. Windows has about 5 different spots where you can set the volume, so I made sure none of these were turned down. Another tech in the workshop told me he had worked on this laptp last year and had the same problem, and that 'only very specific drivers work', but he couldn't remember where he found them.

Another 3 hours and 10 different sets of driver installs later, I was wondering how much air time I could get if I threw it out of my four storey window. Still no sound. I managed to get a nice jungle rythm happening as I banged my head against the desk. Then my eye caught sight of a nearly invisible dial on the front of the machine, pictured. You guessed it, the volume dial was turned to zero.

I graciously accept this Bonehead of the Week award. I'd like to thank the academy...

Wednesday bits n pieces

2006-10-25T15:55:00.000+10:00

What is it with blank CDs these days? Five years ago blank CDs that I bought and burned as an audio CD could be played in pretty much anything I own. Three years ago CDs started skipping on my home stereo, which is 15 years old, so I guess I can't complain too much about that.

Now they are skipping in my car as well, which has a new-ish CD player in it. It's driving me nuts. I figure CD production standards have dropped as they are now being pumped out by the billion and as cheaply as possible. I'd gladly pay a dollar per CD if I knew they were going to work ok. Does anyone have a brand to suggest?

**

I'm eating Iced Vovos at work at the moment. Roughly translated, old person food. Bonestorm, 32 going on 70. I just need to start complaining about everything (CDs were soooo much better back in the good old days) and my transition to old fart will be complete.

**

My home PC's CPU died peacefully on Monday and I'm in mourning. It's under warranty but may take a month to come back (if the manufacturer deems I haven't used it improperly). This being the case, I've assumed command of Ms B's computer for the time being. There will be a funeral for the CPU on Friday and afterwards a wake, where I'll be serving Iced Vovos on a platter made out of ruined CDs.

How to prank a telemarketer

2006-10-17T14:58:00.000+10:00

I thought this one was worthy of a link:

http://howtoprankatelemarketer.ytmnd.com/

Snap, Crackle, Pop and Whistle

2006-10-12T11:45:00.000+10:00

Ok, be honest with me here guys. Am I a tard because I can't snap my fingers properly or whistle?

I have my own versions of these two things. When I snap my fingers, about one in ten sounds half decent. The others sound like chipmunk farts. Plus, my thumbnail manages to shred my index finger, even if the thumbnail is trimmed right down, so after a dozen shots at it my finger is missing about 6 layers of skin.

My version of whistling is just as bad. It's weak sounding and I can't vary the pitch much at all. It's a clayton's whistle to be honest.

And it's not like I haven't attempted perfecting these things in the past. When I was 13 a mate and I decided we'd try whistling until we got it right. For two hours we produced noises that varied from an alpaca with diarrhea to the noise you get when you blow on the top of a coke bottle. Eventually I went home in disgust. He kept at it all night on his back porch apparently, and the next day he was ripping off whistles you could hear in the next suburb.

Last week I even went looking for tutorials on the web after deciding it was finally time to master these impossible arts. Pitiful, I know. I gave up once again after I decided it wasn't worth the trouble which, I guess, has always been my problem.

Is anyone else incapable of snapping and whistling? Tell me I'm not the only one...

Bonehead Client of the Week Award

2006-10-03T16:30:00.000+10:00

Bonestorm's inaugural Bonehead Client of the Week Award goes to...

A lady who called me up from a hotel in Sydney, where she's staying at the moment. She couldn't turn her laptop on. Now we've all heard the stories of dumb end users calling up because they don't have their computer plugged into the power etc, but this one actually happened and I can verify it personally.

Award recipient: Nothing is coming up on the screen.
Bonestorm: So it doesn't boot into Windows? Is the power plugged into the wall?
Award recipient: Yes.
Five more minutes of this conversation continues
Bonestorm: Are there any beeps or noises when you turn it on?
Award recipient: How do I turn it on?
Crickets chirping.
...
...
Bonestorm: You don't know how to turn the laptop on? Is it your laptop?
Award recipient: Yes it's mine. Where is the On button?

I eventually talk her through turning the machine on, all the while wondering how she turns it on every other day... or wondering if her admin assistant does it for her. Conversation ends, I close the job.

Five minutes later the phone rings and I can see it's her mobile number again. This is going to be good.

Award recipient: Hello I've got the laptop started now.
Bonestorm: Very good.
Award recipient: But now I can't access the internet.
Bonestorm: Oh really? How are you connected to the internet?
Award recipient: Through the hotel's broadband system. The hotel told me that their broadband system is down and that technicians are working on it. Is that why the internet isn't coming up?
Crickets chirping. Lots and lots of crickets.
...
...
...
Bonestorm: I'd say that's the reason, yes.

I can only be thankful I didn't have to talk her through connecting via modem as she decided to wait for the hotel to fix it's connection. A worthy recipient of this prestigious award, I must say.

Intruder Alert

2006-09-28T13:50:00.000+10:00

There was a feline issue I touched on a few months ago here involving our cats marking their territory, which is nowhere near as bad as it was, but still happening now and again. It seems to have become a little worse since we opened up the windows and doors again for the warmer weather.

I'm pretty sure the cause of it all is next door's cats. There are two of them: a black one, who I call 'Ugly', and a stripey one I call 'Smelly'. Those pesky little buggers are always in our yard taunting our cats, who are housebound. In fact, our cats are housebound because every time we let them out there was trouble with Ugly and Smelly.

If it weren't for a very sensitive Ms B restraining me, I would have taken more aggressive action against the cats being in the yard, such as a big boot up the arse or a tennis ball between the eyes at high velocity. We've been checking some less harmful ways of preventing Ugly and Smelly wandering where we don't want them.

This ultrasonic gizmo has a detection range of about ten metres. When cats come a-wandering, this little baby emits an ultrasonic barrage on the cat and sends them scurrying. Or at least that's the theory. After a while the cat learns not to enter the region. This one sounded good to us, so we put in an order, but it ended up being cancelled due to an inability to stock the item. In my heart I wanted one that shot tennis balls at the cats rather than beeping at them, so I'm not too disheartened.

Scarecrow was the one I liked the sound of. It's a mean looking little contraption that detects movement and then shoots out water, once again sending the intruder scurrying. We ruled this one out due to the shocking water restrictions we have here at the moment.

The Scary Man is actually a bird repellent, but I included it because I love the picture. I actually see two scary men in this picture, which one arrives in your letterbox if you order it, I wonder?

I guess my other option is to sit out on my back patio 24 hours a day with a tennis ball in hand and my arm cocked. Or I'm sure my fellow bloggers will have some suggestions.

Favourite job of the week

2006-09-21T09:16:00.000+10:00

This job started off like most of my others. PC switching off a lot by itself, a common fault with the particular Dell model. Motherboard replacement, end of story.

So I went and got the PC and brought it back to our workshop, didn't even bother cracking it open since I already knew the fault. Logged the call. Dell tech came out the next day.

Opened up the box.

Found a nest of maggoty insects inside.

The machine came from a section that's renowned for being a bit grubby, but this sets a new benchmark. How in hell do you get insects nesting inside your PC? It's beyond me.

Anyway, the Dell tech replaced the mobo and then it was up to me to... cleanse the infestation. Oh joy. We have no vacuum cleaner or other appropriate cleaning tools, so my only option was to scrape this maggoty crud out with paper towels.

It was then suggested by management that I check all other PCs in that department for similar infestations. I guess my saving grace was that there were none.

Animation number 2

2006-09-19T10:20:00.000+10:00

Sure to feature at next year's Oscars is my second animation. I've improved the models and learned a bit more about the animation process so hopefully it looks a bit better than number one.

See it here:
TJ and Ash Episode 2 - Hunters

Hot stuff

2006-09-15T11:07:00.000+10:00

Like hot food?

A friend of mine in the office is now the proud owner of a bottle Mad Dog 357 Collector's Edition, which he had to import from the States to get his hands on. It's not wine. I guess with a name like 'mad dog' that's readily apparent. It's actually hot sauce. Or maybe hot doesn't quite do it justice.

Let's put this in context first. They use what's called the Scoville scale to measure the hotness of chillis or anything derived from chillis. This was named after some nutcase in the early 1900s who went around tasting really, really hot chillis, for reasons we can only speculate upon.

Tabasco sauce rates about 2,500 on the Scoville scale. So does a jalepeno. So 2,500 is reasonably hot, right?

Pepper spray, at the other end of the scale, rates 2,000,000.

The Mad Dog 357 Collector's Edition rates 600,000 on the Scoville scale.

That's right, this sauce is 250 times hotter than a jalepeno. It's a third as hot as pepper spray. The stuff they use to incapactitate criminals, or burn a hole through solid concrete, or whatever it is they do with it.

Suffice to say that my friend tried a drop or two of Mad Dog on his sandwich and was writhing around in pain for 20 minutes afterwards.

That's not the worst of it though. There's a sauce on the market called Blair's 16 Million Reserve. I don't have to tell you what the 16 million means, do I?

So in case pepper spray isn't hot enough to use on your hot dog, you can buy some of this sauce, for your eating pleasure, that is 8 times as potent as pepper spray.

I'm going to make the assumption that if a drop of Blair's doesn't kill you instantly, it will at minimum burn your face off and leave you wearing bandages ala The Mummy for the rest of your life.

I love a nice hot curry but to me this crosses the line between getting a chilli buzz and self immolation.

It's a girl

2006-09-15T09:23:00.000+10:00

Ms B and I had our 19 week scan yesterday and lo and behold we are having a girl. I expect the next few months I'll see more pink stuff arriving in the house than you would see at a Barbie convention but I guess that goes with the territory.

Although doctors have been known to make mistakes before. If it turns out to be a boy I wonder how he'll turn out if we make him wear pink dresses and little fluffy pink hats for his first few months of life?

Philosophical Post

2006-09-11T11:48:00.000+10:00

This one is for Madame Boffin who made a post with similar sentiments on her blog. Who would've thought the CEO of Coke actually had a soul.

"In a university commencement address several years ago, Brian Dyson, CEO of Coca Cola Enterprises, spoke of the relation of work to one's other commitments: "Imagine life as a game in which you are juggling some five balls in the air. You name them: work, family, health, friends and spirit and you're keeping all of these in the air. You will soon understand that work is a rubber ball. If you drop it, it will bounce back. But the other four balls - family, health, friends and spirit - are made of glass. If you drop one of these, they will be irrevocably scuffed, marked, nicked, damaged or even shattered. They will never be the same. You must understand that and strive for balance in your life.
"How? Don't undermine your worth by comparing yourself with others. It is because we are different that each of us is special. Don’t set your goals by what other people deem important. Only you know what is best for you. Don’t take for granted the things closest to your heart. Cling to them as they were your life, for without them, life is meaningless. Don't let your life slip through your fingers by living in the past or for the future. By living your life one day at a time you live ALL the days of your life.

"Don't give up when you still have something to give. Nothing is really over until the moment you stop trying. Don't be afraid to admit that you are less than perfect. It is this fragile thread that binds us each together. Don’t be afraid to encounter risks. It is by taking chances that we learn how to be brave. Don’t shut love out of your life by saying it's impossible to find. The quickest way to receive love is to give; the fastest way to lose love is to hold it too tightly, and the best way to keep love is to give it wings.

"Don't run through life so fast that you forget not only where you've been, but also where you are going. Don't forget, a person's greatest emotional need is to feel appreciated. Don't be afraid to learn. Knowledge is weightless, a treasure you can always carry easily. Don't use time or words carelessly. Neither can be retrieved. Life is not a race, but a journey to be savoured each step of the way. Yesterday is History, Tomorrow is a Mystery and Today is a gift… that's why we call it The Present."

Song lyrics and weird brain stuff

2006-09-04T15:17:00.000+10:00

I have this happen to me a lot. I listen to a song initially, be it for days, weeks or months on end. After this I have an impression of the lyrics. Sometimes I can work out the whole song, no problems. Other times there are words or phrases that aren't clear, and I make a 'best guess' about what is being said, and usually the resulting word or phrase is nonsensical, but I live with it.

Then I hear the song again a few years later, and I immediately know the lyrics that I couldn't figure out before. I think this has happened about 3 times in the last week, and it must have happened a hundred times in the past.

Wtf is this all about? How does it happen?

My theory is that the subconscious brain has time to twist and turn these lyrics about and make sense of them. The old grey matter is doing the figuring out in the background. Then the song is heard, and BAM you know the lyrics.

Does this happen to anyone else, and if so, what are your thoughts?

Book meme

2006-08-31T21:56:00.000+10:00

Thanks to Sherdie you have to put up with me ranting about books I've read. Enjoy.

1. One book I've read more than once.
Watchers by Dean Koontz. This eventually became a very bad movie in the early 90s... in fact I think it became two or three very bad movies. But before then it was a great book, one of the best examples of Koontz in his best era (for me at least) in the mid to late 80s.

2. One book that I would want on a desert island.
Is Penthouse classed as a book?

3. One book that made me laugh.
American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis.

4. One book that made me cry.
I don't think there's been one yet. I'll pass on this answer.

5. One book that I wish I'd written.
Rendezvous with Rama by Arthur C Clarke. Wow, what a book. Paper thin characters as is the Clarke way, but the ideas are fantastic and the way he explains the science makes it seem more like a documentary than fiction.

6. One book I wish had never been written.
One? I'll give you three, and they're all sequels to Rendezvous with Rama, written by Clarke and Gentry Lee. They basically throw away everything that was great about the first book and should be burned on sight.

7. One book I'm currently reading.
1984 by George Orwell.

8. One book I've been meaning to read.
Wow, this is a long questionnaire. You're going to pay for this Sherdie. Anyway, back to it. Erm... Moby Dick. I even have it around here somewhere so there's no excuse for not reading it.

9. One book that changed my life.
I don't know about life changing, but Magician by Raymond E Feist was very influencial in a lot of ways.

10. One book that made me think.
The Stand by Stephen King. It was one of the first post-apocalyptic novels I read and it certainly fired my imagination and started a life long love affair with stories and movies in that vein.

Done!

My first animation

2006-08-31T19:11:00.000+10:00

And no, it was not made by a 4 year old, even though it looks that way. This was basically a learning experience and I made a LOT of mistakes, did practically everything the long way (and the wrong way) but it was fun nonetheless.

There, I think I've made an appropriate disclaimer for how crappy it is. Click the link if you dare.

Google Video link

It's based on my two cats, TJ and Ash, and titled 'Sharing'.

Really smart or...

2006-08-29T12:48:00.000+10:00

...really lazy, I can't decide.

A few days ago I was driving behind a fellow resident of my complex and they had a novel idea for taking their empty wheelie bin back to their house from the front gate. They basically stuck an arm out the car window on their way past and grabbed it, and then hauled it along next to the car as they drove along.

Before you applaud the sheer genius of this idea and plan to do it yourself, I would suggest you have a healthy disregard for your car's paintwork. Cornering did not go well for the bin draggers I observed. The bin whacked and scraped against the car enough in a straight line, let alone when it was presented with a curve.

Their attempt to mount the curb to their driveway also had me wincing.

I guess it's the way with these genius inventive types, they're not always the most practical.

Three Dee

2006-08-22T15:04:00.000+10:00

I haven't been doing a lot of blogging over the last week or so, mainly because I've become obsessed with my new 3D modelling stuff. And when I mention 3D modelling, you probably think that sounds cool. Well, it's not. I'm teaching myself how to do it, and results are dodgy.

My spiffy 3D animal looks like a 4 year-old mashed some lego blocks together and then melted them in the microwave.

Maybe if I try modelling some melted lego blocks it'll end up looking like a 3D animal.

***

News during the week that Tool are coming to town in January put a smile on my face. Having those naked contortionists cavorting on wires above the stage caused my friend Robo to pass out at the last concert. Maybe all of the noise and flashing lights had something to do with it as well. As he slumped across my back I intially thought he was a fellow mosher getting a little too friendly, so I gave him a vicious back elbow that ended up collecting him in the throat on his way down. Then I turned around and saw it was Robo lying on the floor.

Luckily he was out before the elbow collected him, and I could blame it on someone else.

Anyway, looking forward to a bit of Toolishness early next year.

Fun with a squeegee

2006-08-16T10:26:00.000+10:00

I just took advantage of the Brisbane show holiday to head out and fill my car up with petrol. I'm not actually going anywhere in the car. The jaunt out for petrol was my excursion for the day. That's right folks, I'm making the most of my day off.

On my way back to the car from the cashier I noticed an old geezer at the pump next to me using a squeegee to clean his windshield. This caused me to think of the last time water touched my own windshield - about 18 months I reckon, about the last time it rained here.

I figured the old guy was onto a good thing, and I decided to wait for my turn at the squeegee. I managed to mill around the door of my car for thirty seconds or so, pretending to check my tyres, the bird crap that's welded itself into my paintwork, that kind of thing, while in essence I was waiting to hear the plunk of the windshield squeegee being returned to its bucket by the geezer.

Problem is, that didn't happen.

Eventually I gave up and just hopped in my car. The windshield could wait. As I took off, I glanced over at the geezer and realised why I never heard the plunk. He was busily thrusting away with the squeegee on his bonnet. That's right, the old guy was washing his entire car with a windshield squeegee.

Now I know the water crisis is bad. This is probably good thinking on his part. But I can't help but feel things have gotten to a pretty bad state when people are reduced to washing their cars with windshield squeegees at the servo. What's next for this guy? Stripping off stark naked and squeegeeing down his wrinkled carcass to save water from showering?

Let's hope not.

MC Bonestorm

2006-08-14T10:22:00.000+10:00

This Saturday night I'm MC'ing a wedding for some in-laws. This is not the first time I've MC'd a wedding, in fact it's the third. I have a very tried and tested method for approaching MC gigs.

1. Set stupidly unrealistic expectations about how funny I'm going to be.
2. Panic about point 1.

That's it. That's my strategy. Somehow it has worked in the past.

I'd be fine if all I had to do was get up and introduce people. Unforunately it's not as simple as that. People ask me to MC because they've seen me speak before, and because they've found me funny. And it's very flattering, don't get me wrong. But I can't help but feel a bit of pressure to bring the house down.

I guess most of these pressures are internal as I set high standards for myself, but that doesn't make things easier to cope with.

By nature I'm an introvert, I'd much rather be out of the spotlight than in it.

Anyway I'm trying to feel confident about it, and trying not to think about it too much. Not thinking about it too much at all. Apart from the fact that I rehearse the whole thing in my head about 3 times a day so I know it flawlessly. E.g. on the drive to work the radio has been off for the last two weeks as I go through it; I mutter to myself in the shower as I go through it; walking around work... but apart from that I'm not thinking about it. Not at all.

And this sounds neurotic but I think it's a necessary part of me dealing with the stress of it. I have to convince myself that I know it perfectly.

I know that on the day I'll be as nervous as hell but I guess that helps get me 'up'. It's an awesome feeling once it's over and everything has gone well, so I'm looking forward to that part of it.

And on the bright side, if I totally screw this up the demand for my services should quickly plummet.

Can I help you?

2006-08-10T15:44:00.000+10:00

I was just lining up at the canteen for an afternoon choc-fix. A harmless Mars Bar. The guy in front of me was unloading on his mobile phone in no uncertain way, and didn't even pause to take a breath when he reached the counter. The red-faced, dumpy cashier gave him her best "I've had a bad day" glare and yapped "Can I help you?" but unsurprisingly the message didn't get through.

"Yeah I know dude, that's so sweet," the guy said, oblivious.

"Can I help you?" the cashier said, leaning forward across the counter as if her mere proximity might break through the wall. She upped the volume. "Can I help you?!"

The guy - without breaking stride - held up two fingers and said "sausage rolls" mid sentence. It went something like: "Dude, you know what I'd do - sausage rolls - I'd just let 'em have it."

The cashier pressed her lips together and narrowed her eyes. I was feeling sorry for her at this point. "We don't have any," she said. Mobile phone guy was already staring off into space again, chattering away, lost in his own private bubble. After a moment (get this) he turns back to her and repeats his order: holds up two fingers and mentions the words 'sausage rolls' somewhere in the middle of a sentence.

"We don't have any!" the cashier blasts back.

He manages an incredulous look but doesn't stop talking, and saunters over to the hot rack where the precious sausage rolls should be. The cashier follows him from behind the counter. He stands there staring for about 15 seconds, as he continues to dole out advice to some poor sap on the other end of the line.

Finally the cashier says "What do you want?" and in answer, he just holds up his hand, palm outward. He stands there like a statue, dead still (except for his mouth of course) for another 10 seconds, and then the cashier has had enough and heads back towards me at the register.

The Mars Bar is trembling in my hand.

"Can I help you?" she practically roars.

I wave the Mars Bar and say "Just this thanks."

"$2.70" she says, bashing the numbers out on the register hard enough to make it edge across the counter with every thump. I know it's only $1.90, but I figure she's going to work this out soon enough, and she does. "No it's not. It's not $2.70 at all. I'm all flustered now!" She looks like she's literally going to explode. I fear that I'll get chunks of cashier meat all over my work uniform. We exchange money and I get the hell outta there.

The mobile phone guy is still in the same spot as I breeze past. I consider smashing the phone against his ear with the palm of my hand as hard as I can, but sanity prevails, and I decide to end the cycle of hate.

The Mars Bar was pretty good anyway.

The other white meat

2006-08-08T15:25:00.000+10:00

Office conversations. Aren't they great?

I just had the pleasure of overhearing one. Unfortunately this kind of conversation is not unusual around here. I tend to stick my head in my computer (metaphorically) and try to ignore them, but this one really couldn't be ignored.

The conversation was about cat roadkill. It went from someone seeing cat roadkill this morning, to a round table discussion on types of cat roadkill and which were the most amusing. The contention was then raised that "the best type of cat is a flat cat". It was agreed that this was true. A game of "I saw one this big" ensued.

The conversation then moved onto badmouthing cats in general, and inevitably led to stories about shooting cats. I'd tell you more, but by this time my ears were bleeding.

Now, I'm not objecting to the conversation on the grounds that I'm squeamish, because I'm not. Most of it was bullshit anyway. These guys wouldn't know a gun from a pineapple. It's just, I feel myself getting stupider by the minute listening to a conversation like this. Or am I missing the hidden genius in the cat roadkill discussion? Maybe it's working on levels I can't comprehend.

Snap happy

2006-08-07T09:03:00.000+10:00

Yesterday afternoon some mates and I were at a picnic area called Iron Bark Gully. It was a pseudo Bucks afternoon (the real Bucks happened the weekend before) so there was plenty of beer flowing and merriment.

We were playing some park cricket when all of a sudden a car came into view on a little rise next to the picnic area, behind some trees. The window rolled down and out popped a camera, and whoever it was starting snapping off a few photos. Being close to dusk, they used a flash, so they weren't bothering to be particularly inconspicuous.

They even manoeuvered the car back and forth a couple of times to get the shots they wanted from between the trees. Then they sped off in a cloud of dust, leaving us all looking at each other in bewilderment.

So who were they? Initial suspicions would fall upon the bride to be, or at least a friend of hers whom she put up to the task, but no one recognised the car. Plus it was a pretty tame affair, seeing as the real Bucks had already happened.

The other alternative is a bit less savoury. I think you can all figure out what I'm thinking. And yes, if you see photos of me playing cricket on some depraved voyeur website, please let me know.

Jesus is my coach

2006-08-02T11:15:00.000+10:00

He's not really my coach. It's actually the slogan for a series of statues available for purchase from a couple of Christian sites on the web. As a foreword, I'm not making fun of anyone's religion here, but the statues themselves seem kinda absurd to me.

It's a little known fact that Jesus played short stop for Jerusalem back in his day. He also had a mean curveball by all accounts. Here he shows a young upstart the basics of holding the bat as straight as possible. We can only assume the next statue in the series shows the kid at the rear on a stretcher, since he's crouching close enough to have his head knocked clean off by the backswing.

This one I caption 'Air Jesus'. He may have never been tempted to sin, but even Jesus can't resist holding the basketball tauntingly out of reach of the stumpy kids in this statue. He could certainly outdo Jordan and Kareem in 'airtime' as well, once recording 3 hours 14 minutes hang time on one single dunk after coming off the bench for the Lakers.

I'm not even going to go near this one. I just included it because it looks so sinister.

These kids obviously never read the part of the bible that says "Though shalt not crash tackle the Prince of Peace!" I'm sure it's written somewhere. Jesus sets a bad example here by playing without a helmet, but I guess when you can raise yourself from the dead safety isn't really an issue. Also made history in the NFL when he threw a ball 90 yards and then caught his own pass in the endzone.

I call this one 'Bend it like Jesus'. Forget about Maradona's 'Hand of God' goal in the world cup. This is the go-to guy for miracle goals. Sandals may not seem the most appropriate footwear for soccer, but look closer. Those are Nike sandals.

I'm sure these would make fine additions to anyone's mantlepiece.

28 heart attacks

2006-07-31T10:41:00.000+10:00

'28 Days Later' is a zombie horror movie from a few years back which finally turned up on TV here the other night. I didn't watch it, since I already have the DVD.

It also happens to be one of my favourite movies ever.

Seeing it advertised on TV reminded me of the day the DVD fell into my lap. I had seen the movie at the cinema and loved it, and Ms B, not being the kind to enjoy scary movies, had steered clear of it. She surprised me by ordering it from overseas and it arrived at Christmas. Ms B was chuffed by her good work.

I then sat her down and proceeded to make her watch it.

If you haven't seen it, I won't give much away. It opens with scenes of a man waking in a hospital bed and finding London deserted in the aftermath of a holocaust. Zombie mayhem ensues. Shot in digital video, the whole thing is given a documentary feel which heightens the tension. It's a visceral experience and incredibly effective, which is why I loved it so much. Ms B did not share my love.

The opening scenes she took relatively well. Guy wandering around city. All is good. Then the zombies appear. The nearest pillow was snatched from the couch and hugged to her chest in a fearsome stranglehold. The pillow was raised higher and higher as the movie progressed, until it was blocking her entire face. This caused me to pause the DVD.

Bonestorm: "What are you doing? You can't see anything."
Ms B: "Yes. That's the point."

By this time the main protagonist had met up with several other survivors. I had to bargain to have the pillow moved down. First, I had to tell Ms B which characters survived at the end of the movie. This got the pillow down for several minutes, until it once again reverted to it's face-covering position. Then I had to tell her, in detail, exactly what was going to happen in the next scene. Personally I thought this was counter productive to the whole 'scare-factor' of the movie, but Ms B was still scared shitless nonetheless, even though she knew exactly what was coming. After the tunnel scene, the pillow was back in place and it didn't move for the rest of the movie.

I think it still has an imprint of her face on it two years later. And I have not received zombie movies as gifts since.

Watch out ladies: Wearable Computing is here

2006-07-26T11:51:00.000+10:00

The hunks of the future won't be muscle-bound gods with bronze skin. They won't be Ricky Martin-esque latin heart throbs. They'll be guys with bits of computers hanging off them.

Or at least that's what these guys hope.

Wearable computing. It's the art of deconstructing your computer and then arranging the parts on your body in the most geeky fashion imaginable. That's the only conclusion I can derive from these pictures. I first came across this phenomenon a few years back, when a client of mine had pictures of these guys all over his Windows desktop. He was a young geeky type himself, and had developed a hero worship of them.

As such, he didn't appreciate my reaction the first time I saw them, as I let out a loud guffaw and laughed "What a bunch of losers." He looked up at me with an expression not unlike a puppy dog when you tell it you're going away for three weeks: utter desolation. Maybe people had been telling him these guys were cool up until then. I decided to backpedal.

"Erm, actually... it's a pretty good idea," I said. It was a lame attempted save, but he bought it, and, rejuvenated, went on with a ten minute spiel about how we'd all look like this in a few years. I can only hope and pray that he is wrong on that count.

Let's dissect the photo a little, starting with the guy on the left. Hmm. Actually, he doesn't even need explanation, so I'll move to the right, to the guy who looks like an extra for the Star Wars ewok movie. You know those guys who rode the speeder bikes? The sex appeal of the giant hat cannot be underestimated here.

The next guy is the ultra cool hombre of the bunch. His left arm is extra muscly from having to hold that annoying eye piece up all friggin day. Note the colour coded utility belt, you may hve to look twice to notice the ingeniously concealed whitegoods jutting out from his hip.

The guy in the hat has attitude. Check the aggressive wide stance, the hands in the pocket. The stomach pouch bulging with assorted computer bits. It screams "girls, take me". In the future, wearing a computer will mean looking fat. Get used to the idea.

Second from the right we have the guy who couldn't be assed finding a place to secure his hard drive, power supply and other bits, and just left them hanging from his shoulders. He suffers severe electric shocks in light rain from those exposed electronics, but at least he looks cool. His oversized bum bag is a winner with the babes as well.

Lastly we have a guy who saw too many Matrix movies and can't even match his shoes with the rest of his outfit. Plus he has issues with depth perception with one eye covered up like that, resulting in him cannoning off female dancers in nightclubs. Apparently this adds to his charm.

Ladies, start your engines.

Now before you start sending me death threats, money and other hate mail for not revealing the contact details for these gentlemen immediatly, I must add that I don't have their contact details. Bad luck.

But never fear. Apparently in a few years all guys will look like this.

Worst Pet Ever

2006-07-24T13:25:00.000+10:00

You've probably heard kids complain about pets they had as kids. The dog with the fleas. The cat with the lazy eye. The giraffe with the extra long neck.

Well I think I have one to top all of those. I was the last in a long line of kids, and my parents were totally over the whole pet idea by the time I came tugging on their pants begging for a pet cat. It wasn't going to happen.

Never underestimate the power of a desperate kid.

When my protests fell on deaf ears, I went hunting for my own pet. I went as far as the dirt patch under my house before finding one. No, there was no free cat lurking in the trash can, no stray dog hiding under the washing machine. The pet that I found was an antlion.

The first question some of you may ask is, Why are you such an idiot? followed by What is an antlion? I've included a picture of the easiest way to spot an antlion, their home, a small cone found in a dry patch of dirt. Antlions are basically insect larvae that trap other insects in their pit of death and then eat them.

Extraction of the critters is performed by blowing on the holes until enough dirt is removed that you can see the antlion. So not only did I have a crappy pet, but I had to walk around with dirt on my face to boot. Anyway, once extracted, you take the prize and place it in an appropriate container.

So now you see how my bid for Worst Pet Ever gains momentum. My childhood pet was an insect larvae that I kept in a glass jar.

While you luckier kids were playing fetch with Lassie, I was collecting ants for feeding time. While you were in the park on a sunny afternoon throwing frisbees, I was trodding around my back yard carrying a jar of dirt. While you were stroking your fluffy white kitten, I was... you get the idea.

These pets don't need flea collars. They are fleas.

And there's no happy ending for a pet like this either. He doesn't get old and lovable, he grows into a big stinky bug. Then he encounters a fly swatter or gets mashed against a car windscreen and it's all over.

Do I have any challengers?

Transit Buddy: Apply Now

2006-07-21T13:58:00.000+10:00

Life in the fast lane: that's what I want. And you can help me get it.

Yes, you, casual reader. You could make a difference to the life of one special, slightly dimwitted individual. Me. And it's oh-so simple.

The freeway here in Brisbane has what's called a Transit Lane. What is it? It's a third lane on the freeway that's always clear of traffic. However, only cars with two or more occupants are permitted to use it, which rules me out. I drive alone.

See, that's where you come in.

I need what I call a 'Transit Buddy'. Your job as Transit Buddy will be to sit in the passenger side of the car on my way to and from work, thus enabling me to travel in the hallowed Transit Lane. It's an easy job. You just get yourself to my place at 8am. During the drive to work you can listen to me recite Shakespeare and yell obscenities at other motorists. Don't touch the air conditioner.

Then you occupy yourself at my work for 8 hours, and have yourself ready for our return journey on the Transit Lane. Did I mention there's no pay? Well, there's no pay. But you get to spend 30 minutes a day in my presence, and that has got to count for nothing. I mean something.

Plus, you can share in the feeling of superiority as we speed past the poor unfortunates trapped in the clogged lanes. I'll only charge you $10 a day for that privilege. Did I say per day? I meant per minute.

Apply now.

Say cheese

2006-07-18T15:14:00.000+10:00

History has been made, and I'm proud to be part of it. Or not.

For the next couple of weeks I'm working on 2nd tier phone support. People with PC problems get put through to me, I connect up to their computer remotely, and then I rock their world. Sometimes there are lots of these people. Sometimes, like this afternoon, there are very few.

On this kind of occasion, tiredness can set in. I slump forward. My head rests in my hands. I enter a trance-like state where I'm neither awake nor asleep. I call this the Bone-Zone. Actually, I don't really, but it sounds catchy so I'll use it for the purposes of this blog entry.

I'm roused from this detached state by the sound of feet shuffling nearby my desk. I look up. Our coordinator is there, fidgeting with a camera. "Gotta take your photo for the website, mate," he mumbles, and that's what he does.

Several minutes later, I'm still in exactly the same pose. I blink as I come out of my stupour. Then I head over to the coordinator's desk, where he's looking at the photo on his PC.

My mouth is agape. My right eye is welded shut by some sort of gluey white substance. There are red marks on my face where my hands have been resting. In fact, it looks like someone took a couple of concrete pavers and bitch slapped me around the head a few dozen times with them. And yet, the coordinator is happy with it. The photo is going up.

And here's where the history comes in. This is, quite easily the worst photo of me - no wait, the worst photo of anyone that has ever been taken in the history of the universe. And it's going on our corporate website.

And before you ask: No. You are not getting the URL.

Mmm... steaky!

2006-07-16T11:22:00.000+10:00

Last night I got smashed for the first time in a while. It was all for a good cause, specifically seeing Brissie lads The Butterfly Effect at The Arena. It was Ms B's first 'rock' concert and even she had a good time.

But back to the getting smashed thing. My friend Masta put on a great feed earlier in the night by dishing up a humungous steak. Let me leave you in no doubt about the size of this piece of meat. It had it's own postcode. And it was very nice. Usually eating a big meal offsets drinking and helps you stay sober. It didn't help much in this case though.

Isn't it amazing how chairs and walls just seem to jump out at you when you're drunk? My trip to the toilet (every 5 minutes or so) was generally a case of me pinballing from one piece of furniture to the next until I eventually found myself in the right place. The mosh pit at the concert wasn't nearly as brutal.

And then I did what any overly confident fool in my inebriated state would do. I decided to perform maintenance on Masta's PC.

I vaguely remember doing something to his router configuration and attempting to install a game from dvd. Anything else that was done to the machine is a blur and I take no responsibility for it.

*****

I checked my site referrals this morning and noticed that someone found my blog by using the search string "I am gay", which is from this post. Firstly to that person, thank you for visiting Blogstorm. Secondly, I must point out that I used that phrase in jest, so I'm sorry to disappoint you. I am in fact a steak eating, mosh-pitting, raging heterosexual.

Although Ms B once asked me with a very straight face (while we were 'just friends') if I was in fact gay, so I must be putting those vibes out there.

Free sample

2006-07-13T11:49:00.000+10:00

I just got back from an impromptu grocery shop at Coles. Actually, it was more like a mercy dash for a few essentials while I'm on holidays: roast chicken, carrots, lollies, chocolate. Sad but true, I need these things to survive. Especially the last two.

As I made my way up the lolly/chocolate aisle I came across a sweet old lady in a white lab coat. You know the ones - the Sample Ladies. Usually they're behind a little desk dispensing yoghurt or a new flavour of ground up chicken liver. Today she was giving out samples of something more to my taste, lolly snakes.

"They've got real fruit juice in them," she said, reaching into the bag delicately with a pair of tongs and handing me one. I stuffed the thing in my mouth and nodded thanks, then kept on walking.

She wasn't finished yet.

"Look," she said, showing surprising alacrity by skipping past me to position herself next to the rack where bags of the snakes were selling. She waved her hand with an ambiguous flourish at them as if she was one of the girls on Wheel of Fortune. "They have dinosaurs, and koalas," she went on, pointing to each in turn. "And little letter shapes." She cackled at this as if it were highly amusing.

I picked the last of the snake out of my teeth and stared at her, unimpressed.

She clasped her hands in front of her and looked at me expectantly. The message here was clear. I gave you a snake, now buy a packet, buddy.

I moved forward reluctantly. She smiled. I reached up, over her head, grabbed a packet of home brand Teeth, nodded my thanks, and kept going.

See there's one thing that free sample woman didn't count on, and that is, I'm a religious buyer of brand name Teeth, pictured. I love the things. They're cheap, they look nasty, but I love them. Ms B absolutely detests them and thinks they taste like toothpaste. I don't think they do, but maybe this is a win-win situation where eating the Teeth actually cleans my own teeth. I doubt it, but it's the only argument I have for why I keep buying them.

Note: I have included in the photo a homo-erotic pencil featuring naked men wrestling each other for the purposes of showing the scale of the teeth, not to prove once and for all that I am gay.

Immortel

2006-07-12T13:56:00.000+10:00

I have just spent 100 minutes of my life watching a movie called Immortel. It was like beating whacked on the head repeatedly with a wooden mallet, only more painful and not as fun.

Let's have a quick synopsis. It's the year 2095. There's a post-human thing happening and people are replacing body parts and generally looking futuristic. There is a pyramid floating over New York, out of which pops an ancient Egyptian god with a bird's head. He's looking to possess some poor unfortunate in the city below.

There are a couple of other gods who remain inside the pyramid and play Monopoly. You heard right, Monopoly.

The resident powerbroker is a CG senator who wears clown makeup. In fact, most of the characters are CG. Really, really bad CG, the kind you'd see in an episode of Charmed, but worse. This may have been an attempt to make the film seem more 'comic book-ish', but the lasting impression for me was that it made if feel amateurish.

Back to the story, and the god chooses a recently escaped-from-cryogenic-prison terrorist as his host and gets down to work. Namely, tracking down a blue haired girl with weird eating habits, and then taking her home and making sweet sweet Egyptian love to her. Or, more correctly, raping her. This happens on a nightly basis, and eventually the two fall in love. Apparently this is the way to pick up women in 2095.

All the while, these two are being tracked by a walking hammerhead shark. A bright red walking hammerhead shark. With razor sharp fingernails. Unfortunately, although this walking red hammerhead shark is a beautifully realised character, the puppeteers forget to move his prosthetic mouth while he talks, which shatters his credibility.

The god kills the shark by zapping him with blue lasers out of his eyeballs. It is a poignant and incredibly sad scene. However all is well again when the shark is replaced in the next scene by another red hammerhead shark.

Eventually the plot, if I could call it that, shudders to a halt, the pyramid disappears the protagonists live happily ever after. Nicely done. Now that it's finished I'm in the process of stapling my eyelids shut so I never have to watch something like this again.

Anyone up for a game of Monopoly?

What's that noise?

2006-07-08T22:04:00.000+10:00

Have you ever had noisy neighbours? I'm not talking the mow-the-lawn-at-6am-on-Sunday kinda noisy. Or the drag-the-wheelie-bin-over-gravel-at-2am noisy. I've had both of those kind. I'm talking the kind of neighbours who have very, very loud sex. The kind of sex that rattles the window panes and makes your cats hide under the bed in terror.

Back in my single days, when I was living in a flat, I had neighbours like that. Weirdly enough, I wasn't conscious of it for a while. Maybe my brain filtered it out, or I thought it was someone's TV. It only came to my attention after being pointed out by my 75 year old landlord, who lived above me. I was innocently washing my car one afternoon when he sidled up to me with something obviously on his mind.

Landlord: "Afternoon."
Bonestorm: "Hiya."
Landlord: "Have you heard some noises coming from number 6?" Number 6 is at the opposite end of the complex to me.
Bonestorm: "No, not really."
Landlord: "It sounds like a woman orgasming."
Bonestorm: "I'm not really sure what that sounds like." It had been a long time between encounters for me at this point.
Landlord: "Hmm. Well, keep an ear out for it."

Strangely enough, after that, I heard it all the time, even in my living room at the opposite end of the complex. And the old guy was right, it did sound suspiciously like a woman orgasming. For 40 minutes at a time.

A friend of mine has a similar story from when he was living in a complex in Victoria. The couple in question were an interesting combination - the guy, according to ex girlfriends, had a notoriously small penis (he once asked my friend "Hey, do you find that condoms are always falling off?"). The girl was a screamer who could be heard half a block away during sex, which begged the question of whether she was easily satisfied or merely a faker.

I wonder, do these people realise how loud they are? Either they don't realise, or they don't care, or they're doing it on purpose as a form of exhibitionism. Maybe they know it's loud but they just can't hold back. I never did get around to asking my neighbours which category they fell into.

Better than a mint on your pillow

2006-07-05T17:23:00.000+10:00

Here I was thinking that the most interesting thing they put in hotel drawers was Bibles. My thoughts on this have been changed since visiting Adelaide last week.

Ms B. and I checked into the hotel after our flight and were greeted by a room that smelled like an ashtray. Ms B. disappeared into the bathroom and I decided to look around. That was when I found the erm... object in question.

I was so impressed I decided to take a video of it.

Very thoughtful of them I must say. If you've found something weirder, I'd like to hear it.

A pain in the neck

2006-07-02T12:43:00.000+10:00

Ahh. Sweet relief. That's what I'm feeling this week after around six weeks of shoulder and neck pain. I've never really had this type of problem before, and I don't know what kicked it off. Maybe it was that day that I bench pressed 400 kg at the local gym and slightly strained myself.

Ok that may be an exaggeration. Or a complete lie. But this is my blog, and I'll lie if I want to.

Whatever the case, it started out with an ache in the left side of my jaw, which immediately made me think 'root canal time'. A trip to the dentist came up with nothing, which left me looking like a hypochondriac, and also left my wallet $50 lighter. The pain persisted for another week until I eventually tried rubbing my shoulder, which I found relieved the pain. Evidentally my body follows about as much logic as my brain - rub one part, and another feels better.

All was good for a couple of weeks as I could relieve the pain when I wanted to. Things went bad when my 'rubbing the shoulder' technique stopped relieving the pain in my jaw. That was when I found my neck to be sore. As you would guess, rubbing my neck helped with the pain, but an annoying side effect was that it made my left thumb go numb.

By this stage I'd had enough. I mean, the use of my thumb is vital to me in many ways. Such as when I use it to give the 'thumbs up' at work to worried employees after all our servers have gone down. The trusty left thumb tells them everything is ok, when I know damn well we're screwed.

After that came deep tissue massage, liberal application of very smelly Tiger Balm (contains 95% real tiger) and then four or five trips to chiro. A combination of all of the above seems to have done the trick and I've been feeling good for the last week or so.

The logical person would ask why I didn't go to chiro sooner. Please remember that I am not logical and that I bench 400 kg, so I don't have to answer those kinds of questions. I will say that I've been to chiro only once before and the guy was an absolute jerk, which is why I decided I'd try everything else first. The good news is, my new chiro is excellent. Fingers crossed I won't be needing her again soon anyway. Unless I move up to bench pressing 500 kg.

Cereal Killer

2006-06-28T15:51:00.000+10:00

Cereal. I love the stuff. Maybe a little too much, depending on which of my friends you ask. Their reactions to my cereal antics vary from mild amusement to utter disdain.

Let's get one thing straight, I never have cereal for breakfast. I don't exactly know the reason for this. I think it's because it doesn't go well with coffee. Maybe it's because my highly evolved (cereal loving) tastebuds need some time in the morning to wake up, but whatever the case, you won't see me eating cereal to start the day.

But you'll see me eating it any other time.

Lunch, dinner, afternoon snack. Dessert, late night fridge raid, you name it. It's all fair game as far as I'm concerned.

Old flat mates that I bump into often ask me if I'm "still having Rice Bubbles at 10pm when I get home from a long day" with a curious grin on their face, as if it were some stupid little faze of which I'm destined to outgrow.

This isn't a faze or a passing trend. Yes, of course I'm still eating the Rice Bubbles at ungodly hours of the night. Some things will never change. Here's a picture of me as a kid for proof. Most kids ran around their yard with an orange or banana for sustenance. Me, I had a bowl of you know what. This made cricket harder than necessary, but it was worth it for the cereal.

What's more, I also cop it from family and friends because in winter I often heat my cereal in the microwave. People who see me doing this react as though I'm jamming a fluffy little kitten in there.

Observer: "What are you doing?!"
Bonestorm: "Erm... putting my Honey Wheats in the microwave."
Observer: "What for?! Get them out of there you insane idiot!"

Some people just don't understand the finer points of cereal, I suppose. Try a bowl of mushy hot Rice Bubbles on a cold winter's night and you'll never look back, I say.

The Committee

2006-06-22T09:20:00.000+10:00

I live in a housing complex, and last night I had my first committee meeting. I'm on the committee, but I have no idea how that happened. I think at the last general meeting I was asleep and they voted me in without my knowledge. I don't even know what title I hold, but I think it's treasurer.

I went to the meeting at 7pm with high hopes of being back by 7:15pm and set for a good night of Counter Strike. I failed to overlook the obvious flaw.

The committee comprises 5 old people and me.

The chairman had the agenda before her, and I could see the items flowing down the page. Every 30 seconds or so I'd glance over at it. After an hour of this, with no progress made, I knew I was in for a long night.

So what was discussed? Well there was one old grump who seemed keen to interject with an irrelevant story at every conceivable opportunity. Like the one about the nurses he knew once who used to throw spanners over hospital gates to get them to open. Don't ask for elaboration on that one. Also, nearly every story involved him digging a trench. That's right, a trench. He had some morbid fascination with them. His other great love was an unusual catch phrase, "A pain in the pinfeathers." It appeared without fail in each story. "Those roofing tiles are a pain in the pinfeathers." "Digging that trench was a pain in the pinfeathers."

A couple of the ladies were also fascinated with a young woman in number 35 who, to their way of thinking, was a tramp. A hairdresser had visited her recently and stayed for a couple of hours. This meant they were having sex, because a game of bridge couldn't possibly go that long. There was also a case of her removing fence palings at the back of her residence to admit an entire football team in secret. Suggestions were then made and discussed about how many she "had relations" with.

And before long those agenda items started to look as insurmountable as a trip to Jupiter by skateboard. When I finally did get out of there, I had only one question.

What the crap is a pinfeather?

Bus of Death

2006-06-20T09:20:00.000+10:00

It seems as though I'm being relocated from the city to the burbs for work and so my bus travelling days are coming to an end. This reminds me of a particularly harrowing bus trip last month.

I'm not sure if the bus driver in question was new, a former Nascar driver, an escaped mental patient or a combination of the above. Whatever the case, he had serious issues.

The first thing I noticed was that he couldn't work the doors. At stops, there'd be people waiting to get out at the back door, and he'd open the front. When people waited at the front door for entry, he'd open the back. After one lady seeking exit at the back door repeatedly mashed the bell to get his attention, the door jerked open. As she went to step out, it whammed shut again, pinning her like a gerbil in a rat trap.

At this point I decided smashing a window might be my safest way to get out of the bus alive.

Even worse, he had a lead foot. After each stop, he'd ease the bus forward for the first hundred metres or so. Then he'd hit the afterburners, leaving passengers clinging for railings and handholds, and in many cases, sprawling backwards down the bus. He'd annouce this manoeuvre with a cheery 'Moving now!!'

As we approached stops, he'd temper his breakneck speed by shouting "Brakinggg!!" and slamming on the brakes. Once again this resulted in passengers lurching forward and toppling over one another. At one stop I saw an old lady tottering down the aisle, unable to arrest her momentum. I'm not sure where she ended up because she never came back.

At each stop the driver would wave happily into the mirror, shouting "Goodnight folks!" Unfortunately, my stop is the last on the route, so I received a prolonged taste of his driving and door-opening techniques. When it came time to leave, exiting the door was like psyching myself up for a bungee jump. Except there's less chance of dying on a bungee jump.

Petrol prices may be shocking at the moment, but it's times like these that make me glad to be going back to my car.

Effected

2006-06-18T10:08:00.000+10:00

'The Butterfly Effect' is a Brisbane four-piece band who yesterday released their second album, Imago. They are also one of my favourite acts, so I couldn't pass up the chance to see them at their instore appearance at Skinnys in Brisbane. Weirdness ensued.

The first order of business was paying for my pre-order of Imago. I handed over my pre-order docket to the clerk, who seemed to be noticably swaying where he stood, and who blearily stared at the docket for around 10 seconds before turning to me and saying: "How much have you paid so far?"

Personally, I thought the 'Paid $5' part of the docket was a dead giveaway. Apparently not, so I filled him in.

He then placed the album on the counter, produced a receipt (full price of the album $25) and proceeded to drop the receipt on the floor three times before placing it beside the album. He then stared at me again foggily.

"You... you just gave me $20, right... man?"
*Bonestorm stares at him quizzically*
"No."
More staring. More swaying. A wolf howls in the distance.
"Oh. Sorry man, it's been one of those days."

Anyway, album purchased, I got in line to have my stuff signed by the band, Ms B in tow. I first reached Kurt, the guitarist, who had been celebrating the release of the album with a beer or ten. After a discussion about guitars I made a joke about dragging Ms B along to their concert next month, because she hasn't quite caught the Butterfly Effect bug yet.

Bonestorm: "This girl has to come to The Arena next month, right?"
Kurt: nods enthusiastically.
Bonestorm: "Because the cast of McLeods Daughters are making a special appearance, riigght?" Ms B is a big fan of the show.
Kurt: Stares at me. Foggily. Deja Vu. Turns to Ms B. "You work for McLeods Daughters?"

Glenn, the bassist, came to the rescue and acknowledged the joke politely, which made me feel a bit better.

I moved on down the line and had a great chat with Clint and Ben and overall I was struck by how down to earth the guys were.

Kurt I hope the hangover isn't too bad. If I'd made an album this good, I'd be celebrating too.

This is my territory

2006-06-15T09:30:00.000+10:00

Vandalism. It's not in my neighbourhood, or my street. It's inside my very house. The perpetrators? Two adolescent punks who think they own the place.

They go by the names TJ and Ash. Being 3 years old, you wouldn't think they could do much harm. But they do. The vandalism of which I speak isn't of the spray can variety, but spraying is certainly involved. Lots and lots of spraying. So much spraying, in fact, that I wonder how large the bladders of these cats can be. I have a picture in my head of their anatomy - there's a stomach, and a bladder, and that's all. They are basically furry water balloons.

It started a month or so back and I wasn't too concerned. The first target that came to our attention was one of Ms B's pot plants. Heck, I may have even applauded the aim on that one. But then things got serious. My cd rack was sprayed. Soundgarden through Tea Party copped it, as did U2 through Unida. Miraculously my special edition Tool cds were spared. They were immediately moved to higher ground, a shelf out of reach.

Then came my computer keyboard. What a lovely surprise that was as I sat down for a game of Counter Strike.

Trying to find the answer to why this suddenly began is exceedingly difficult. A quick google will tell you it's: their age; being outside too much; not being outside enough; how much Oprah they watch; the feng shui positioning of their food bowls; the number of professional jugglers that reside in the residence; or insert your own reason here.

We think we have narrowed it down to a furry visitor from next door bothering them. Closing windows, blinds, isolating them for periods of time seems to have lessened the frequency. At the moment it's tolerable. But there is still a nagging apprehension I can't shake.

I just know they're going to find a way up to those Tool cds.

Me vs the Invisible Psychic Dog

2006-06-13T15:16:00.000+10:00

Ok I have a problem. Usually I'm pretty self-sufficient, I sort out my problems myself. But this one has me at my wit's end. See, there's this dog.

Wait a minute, let's back up.

I have an mp3 player that I listen to on my way to and from work. This is a handy little device as it not only pipes music into my brain but also shuts out all of the other garbage that tries to get in. Like the odd smell emanating from the 150kg guy who just sat down next to me on the bus, or the fact I've been waiting for 17 minutes for a break in traffic so I can cross the road. The music is a kind of insulation that keeps me from reflecting too much on stuff that would otherwise start ruining my day.

So on my route home, there's a fence next to a walkway. As usually happens when I'm in my music coccoon, I'm oblivious to almost everything else that's going on around me. That's where the dog comes in.

See, the dog lives behind the fence. I never see the dog. But I hear it, because it is loud. It crashes through the music coccoon like a bull through an ice sculpture and scares the absolute shit out of me. I can only imagine how it looks every afternoon as I go skittering sideways across the footpath like a horse on roller skates.

Initially, it happened about 4 times in a row. Every day I was back in the music coccoon, forgetting everything else around me, and every time I reached the fence I'd get my sudden, abrasive welcome from the invisible dog. Conditioning eventually kicked in, and by the 5th day I was ready for it. I approached the fence, music blaring but aware of the dog, only to have the dog remain silent and aloof. The same thing happened the next day.

The day after that, I was back in the music coccoon. And you guessed it, my vociferous friend returned for an encore.

This pattern has gone on for weeks. I consciously think of the dog, and it doesn't show. I forget about it, and it barks and scares the living shit out of me. I can only conclude one thing, that the dog is not only invisible, but psychic as well. It knows what I'm thinking. I'm a pawn in it's little game of self indulgent scaremongering.

Either that, or this is all in my head. That's probably a more reasonable alternative.

In the beginning...

2006-06-09T13:53:00.000+10:00

This is destined to become one of those blogs that people start with the best of intentions, then lose enthusiasm for, then forget where they placed, then rediscover 7 years later, and finally delete.

See you in 2013!