Inside my hands these petals browned

So the other day, after seeing the surprisingly excellent WALL·E with Clare, she and I went for yum cha at a Chinese restaurant neither of us had been to before.  She assured me that yum cha was a selection of small dishes, and the internet seems to agree.
Nobody, it seems, told this place, who presented us with an epic amount of food. Food for seven.
It was frightening.
We dealt with a lot of it, and left with the rest in containers.  All is well.

Today, I noticed a discolouration in the sky.  It seemed rather less blue, and rather more a dull lavender than usual, through the clouds.  I consulted Nick who lives a considerable distance to my West Sou’ West, and Kieran who lives a very similar distance directly to my south (oh my, looking at this map, I see we’re equilateral – I don’t think I’m ready for this kind of geometry in my life), and they both agree.
Meanwhile, a friend who is in Melbourne doesn’t.  The light at the time was still white and pure, perhaps a little more yellow…

Cordell says (12:40 PM):

You should be able to see the sky through a large gap in the clouds

Kieran says (12:40 PM):

What, why?

Cordell says (12:40 PM):

Can you do that?
I could swear it’s the wrong colour

Kieran says (12:41 PM):

I get blinded, the sun is in this gap
It looked somewhat grey though

Cordell says (12:41 PM):

HA HA, YOU GOT SUN-ROLLED

Buses in this state are ridiculous.  It took me two and a half hours to get home this evening (three minutes more, to be exact).  153 minutes to travel 16.4km.  To be fair, most of that time was spent waiting.  In real terms, that’s 142 pages of Captain Hornblower’s exciting escapades in South America since yesterday.  And my perception of time is more skewed at a bus stop than anywhere else, and it has been proven to be very good at other times.  I have in the past taken up the habit of walking eleven stops along the line instead of waiting.

Also, Indian cyclists.  Stay out of the bus lane, if you’re reading this.

Will motorists ever stop treating bike lanes like parking lots if they think cyclists don’t themselves respect traffic segregation? I don’t think it will make a difference, motorists aren’t at all observant.

Oh yeah, way to alienate.

Whoever shouts the loudest gets the most attention

I’m faster than a Chihuahua – one decided to chase me as I rode home. It gave up. I was not on a white stallion but a mountain bike, should you be imagining me in a heroic light.

I’m living up my last teenage years, today I met Antho at the library. I returned those books on the Boer War, and took out some on Surrealism.

I’m breaking the habit of putting images at the very end of posts.  Mixing it up.  Because I’m exciting.

This Apple & Kiwi Fruit juice is very good, but is unattractive. It’s opaque and khaki. Like the shirts in the dress uniforms on M*A*S*H, or what you get when you mix all your paint together while washing it down the drain.
When I’m buying a drink, I want to be reminded of American courts martial in the early nineteen-fifties. Surgeons being tried for obscene behaviour make me thirsty, as does Alan Alda. I don’t have to explain why tipping acrylic paints down the drain is appetising.

Do not distress, the long drought of Peach Ice Tea has been remedied.

Today was slightly too warm. The supermarket in Unley has user-operated checkouts now, with a tall guy to watch over them.

Everything is painted woodland grey, except for the trimmings which are a strong green. The floorboards are real, but an unwelcoming dull stain. It’s all modern and clean, but it is neither coloured like a medical research centre or a trendy apartment building.

Bow-ties suit my personality too well for me to wear them. They would take me into the extreme. I should be tempered by my clothing.

I slept well last night.

I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired

Some things make me feel crushed or hollow, other things make me feel wonderful.  In life, right now.

I live in a meaningless void with people I love.

N’aww.

I woke up at 2 AM, it’s 5 PM now, don’t expect me to be coherent.  Crushing stuff is school-based, wonderful stuff is people based.

Also, Sarah Palin is disgusting.  She is a repulsive right-wing extremist, and I am offended that there are people excited “because she is a young woman”.  That’s so patronising, and I am truly disappointed that it seems to be working on some people.

No, I don’t even use segues when I’m awake.

I accidentally downloaded Windows Genuine Advantage, which is facepalm -inducing.  The weather is great.  I’m so tired, I will sleep as soon as I get these boots off.

I’m not sure what drives me to blog when I do.  I’m not apparently waiting for something interesting to say, and I don’t do it regularly.

Mmmm.

I’ve officially had too much of the Boer War.

Currently, my favourite typeface is Trebuchet MS.  Though, I did download a lot of novelty fonts a week or two back.  So I now have a veritable panoply of medieval and variously retro types.  Wow, I must be tired, I must be tiresome.

Why do I do this to you?

Chapter of Obeisance Before Giving Breath to the Inert One in the Presence of the Crescent Shaped Baked Goods

So, one of the things that happened today is that I bought some croissants.  These were from a supermarket bakery, apparently.  Such things have been known to be good, in the past.  Not this time.

Oh, yes.  The croissant is named for its crescent shape.  How very astute of you.  It does, however, have some other characteristics.  Their attempt was slightly too sweet, and very dense.  These are probably better as far as gaining sustenance is concerned, but they weren’t actually nice.  I threw away the one I started, gave another away, and have two left.  We shall see what happens.

I love Lindt Coffee Intense Dark Chocolate, so much.

I had a Modern History exam today.  The sources analysis was easy enough, though the last was “using all of the sources, evaluate the statement that France underwent dramatic change after the war”.  It wasn’t “statement”, it was something that started with p, and is completely interchangeable in this context.

I wrapped that page up with “the sources indicate that France underwent some social changes after World War II, which may be considered dramatic” … I mean, really.  Two of the six sources were about the size of the average family unit growing significantly from 1930 to 1960, the high incidence of unplanned pregnancies, and the changing criteria for choosing a life partner.  The rest did not acknowledge any change or any drama – two exhibited humanist photography (public displays of affection in Paris in 1950, a miner being washed by his wife), and the other defined humanist photography.  Sources analysis was fine in itself.

We had some very heavy rain today, some of which was during my exam, the rest was while I frantically pieced together a significant maths assignment.  I need more sleep, again.  Sure, I had plenty on that five-day weekend.  Five day weekends will never be productive.  Ever.

Also, the computers in the ISEC room are painfully slow – they suffer hardware lag about as bad as my phone.  Also, Excel can’t natively do boxplots.  This is shocking.

Back to the rain.  I am once again pleased that I put a plastic bag over my bicycle seat.  You will find that almost all seats are made of a dense sponge/foam (as found in upholstered seats), and most have some sort of faux leather as a cover.  My seat is like that, except that the synthetic leather is replaced with something very much like a black stocking.  This is completely ineffectual, as far as water resistance is concerned.  I am not going to leave what is quite literally a sponge in the rain, when I know I am going to be sitting on it later in the day.

I see that I was writing a blog here, about an hour ago? This is it, but I was apparently distracted…

I have recently been having ideas in bed, while awaiting sleep – sometimes they are very satisfying.  By this, I mean they seem profound, or excessively pleasant, or both.  I wrote one down the other night, and it may become a ramble here, one day.  I probably won’t tell you which one it is.  I haven’t done anything with the one I wrote down a month ago, if that is any indication.

The goose in the night

See how complex this is? Let’s pretend every reference – especially the obscure ones – is intentional.
Adding to the convolution is the fact that I begin this post with something that happened before the contents of the previous post.  Oh my.

On the subject of the disjointed nature of my posts, I realise that they are just microblogs, arbitrarily grouped by when I write them.  And yes, conversations with me are actually like this, to a degree.  It depends on whether the other participants moderate or amplify the rambling nature of the discussion.  With the people I choose to associate with most, they tend to make it stranger.

So, down to the goose.

On Sunday night, I got three hours of sleep, because of last-minute summative essay writing for Modern History.  I leave the Russian Revolutions to the last moment, just like Lenin.  “Summative” is a word invented by the people responsible for our state’s high school diploma thing.  It means “for assessment”, rather than formative.
There is still no coffee in this house.  I had already had my weekly cup, that morning, but it’s not like it effects me strongly.  So I finished my nutella (I will assume that this is available everywhere in the world), and drank a lot of cordial, which I do not actually like.  I was really peppy the next day, and the assignment was done.  Screw it – Nutella is a chocolate hazelnut spread, which I keep in my drawer and eat with a spoon.

When I got home, I did what I normally did for a few hours – squandered my time on the internet.  Then I took a “nap” for four hours.  This was followed by a very conveniently much delayed dinner, after which I returned to the internet.  At 2 AM, I decided to sleep.

Yes, I turn my computer at the PSU – because there is a blue LED under the on button which would otherwise stay on all night, keeping me awake.  I must sleep in complete darkness and silence.

Naturally, I could not sleep.  Those missing hours, I do not think I reclaimed.  I guess I did not need them.

Just before 3:00, this rhythmic hissing started.  Of course, I assumed it was a goose outside my window, the type of red-faced white goose that headbangs when angry and sounds like a bicycle pump.  The type my parents have or had, depending on whether they reproduced.  I think they are down to two ducks and five chickens, actually.

The throaty hacking continued, and I would occasionally, from my bed, reach behind the blind to tap on the window to make it shut up.  “STFU, goose”, was the message a tapped.  It later occurred to me that it was a cat coughing up hairballs, because cats are quite common in the city.

The end.  Oh, I bet you were expecting a punch line.  It went away at some point, and I got a few hours of sleep.  It has not returned on any night since, which is something I hope continues.

On unrelated matters, I made $20 earlier today for dicking about in a tricky bastard of a real estate program.  Once I have got my head around how fiddly it is, it will be “data entry” and not a “learning session”.  Property valuers have quite a workload.  The information is confidential, and I am technically not doing it, so there is no tax.

I’m liking the sound of this.  Also, this is really near where I live.

And I am totally getting my kicks from writing self-referential posts.  I’m the Ouroboros of the blagosphere.

Oh, those black men are fighting the system.

What fine veins you have

Like some sort of premium cheese.  I am a closet Belgian.

So I went to donate blood today.  Through sickness, dictatorial parents deciding that blood is important during exams, and other engagements, everyone pulled out except Fi and I.  Hmm.  Australia is a country where you are not paid for doing this, so we get to feel good about ourselves.

Well, the people there are very thorough, very friendly, and very efficient.
I have good iron levels, blood pressure, and all of that.  Hooray? I also pass all of the probing questionnaires about drugs, transfusions, illness, man-to-man sex, prostitution, time spent in foreign lands, time spent in Queensland.

The vampire guy … um.  They are all registered nurses, I think, and they are there to bleed you for an excellent cause.  I’m not saying that they consume the blood, oh no.
Anyway, I nominated my left arm, as that is my less used of the two.  I am more comfortable with a thin piece of metal being stuck into that.  After pressure was applied by the armband and I pumped the “foam thing” in my fist for a while, any veins that are theoretically present in my arm were still efficiently stealthed.
So we went to my right arm, where at last, my fine veins were found! They extracted just bit of blood out of me, and then the needle slipped through the vein in question, and flow ceased.  So they stopped.  They will find out my blood type, and that shall probably be all.

“Yes, I have had plenty to drink today.”
-For me.  Some days I do not drink at all, and do not feel thirst.  Sometimes I have 8 glasses of water.  By this time of day, I had had more than usual, but probably less than recommended.  Oh, I’m unhealthy; bicycle commuting and teetotalism aside.
But that is not all: my mother says my veins were very difficult to locate as an infant, when I was submitted to hospital for seizures.

As far as my rambles go, this one was less amusing than I expect of myself.  And I like to think I’m a man with very realistic expectations.  Oh, forgive me for not entertaining you.

I’ll just continue to string you along with not particularly engaging half-stories and the promise of an eventual laugh, and hope for a cult following.  Oh, those would be the driest acolytes ever.

And by this, do not think I am promising either consistency or variation.  We shall see.

Ethics, politics, Little Bear and computer games can wait indefinitely.  I owe these subjects nothing.
NOTHING.

[downward spiral]

Hopefully that is a tag I will be closing soon enough…

In a continued effort to destroy my education and myself, I now have a WordPress account.
I intend to never – or at least very rarely – use it.  But we know how these always work out.

The nefarious Fiona tricked me on here (I’ll blogroll her eventually, once I get over how laggy this website is).  Oh, and the fact that, spontaneously, a lot of people I know seem to be bloggers.  I am such a sheep, but an elitist sheep at least.
I’m not going to trap myself by defining my content; what I’m going to share, if anything at all.  Likewise, who I am, or what style I will use.  Blah blah heroes blah social commentary blah science fiction blah blah crying.

Where I am from,  what I do or don’t believe in, why.  They can wait.  Politics, funny things, blah blah blah.

Most blogs aren’t worth reading.  And there are too many worth reading to actually read (yet they are very difficult to find).  Sturgeon’s Law applies, as per usual.

I have other, better ways to waste my time.
But that’s never stopped me before.