Archive | August, 2010

Safe Ways

31 Aug

I’m not going to lie, I was typing this is in a genuine search attempt. More out of intrigue than anything. And yes, a rough (less eloquent) version of my search IS included below. I just thought this list was funny.


Name This One Too

29 Aug

She Needs A Name

28 Aug

Or he. I can’t really tell. This is what I did when I realised I still had coloured pencils. I’ve got 2 more at the moment, one blue, one uncoloured, and I’ll need to do a fourth. But WHY? What are they and why do they exist?


I got nothing.

The Best Chain Reaction

27 Aug

It’s a wonderful thing when a day actually works, and when one person’s kind gesture spreads a little further. I’m talking about you, old man who gave me your still-valid parking ticket. I was sharing the story of your kindness with other people, which resulted in me knowing where other people were parked, which resulted in a parking inspector being cheated out of a couple of tickets.

So, to you, old man, I tip my hat.

I’m currently watching Get A Clue on Disney Channel. It’s awful, but I’m too tired to move.

I have to finish my treatment re-write, but I’m not inclined to do so.

What I AM inclined to do is play some guitar in the sunshine like I did on Wednesday. I’ve never had an experience quite like it; sitting on blankets, dog tied to a tree nearby, jamming with people I don’t know, actually singing in public. I think my strange obsession with The Beatles has seeped into more aspects of my life than I’d previously suspected.

This movie is so bad.

Bread bread bread

25 Aug

It has been brought to my attention that my treatment is basically telling a non-existent story. Suggestions for crazy things to happen to Charlie would be welcomed. No ocean of shrimp.

I’ma gonna make it as weird as the original short story, me thinks. Bedspreadzebras, here I come.

Also, @mitchbeard, my footer has been there for a few months now. I’m glad you’ve noticed it and ROFLed accordingly. : P

Making Bread Is A Pretty Serious Kinda Thing

23 Aug

This is written weirdly because it is a treatment. It has to be in present tense and blah blah Englishy blah.




Barely able to read and write, a preschool hero is given a mobile phone and a quest.


Eleanor Campbell

A child’s feet clad in brown sandals scuff along a dusty dirt path. It is very bright, and the constant drone of cicadas is almost loud enough to drown out the shuffling noise of the sandalled feet. The owner of the feet is CHARLIE, a wide-eyed and tousled-haired five-year-old. He is dressed in primary colours and has a smear of Vegemite above his mouth. He is being walked to preschool by CHARLIE’S MOTHER, mid 30s, dressed in smart office clothes and running shoes. She holds Charlie’s hand, but Charlie pulls ahead, energetic and fidgety. They arrive at a little building nestled in gumtrees and scrubland. Charlie’s mother kneels down next to Charlie, licks her thumb and wipes the Vegemite from Charlie’s mouth. She stands up, looks at him as though appraising him, smooths his hair with her hand and smiles. Charlie’s mother asks Charlie if he is going to behave himself, and he nods rapidly. Charlie’s mother hesitates for a moment, then pulls from her pocket a mobile phone. The phone is an older model, a bit grubby, with a scratch along the screen. Charlie’s mother tells Charlie that he can call her if he needs her for anything. Charlie nods rapidly again, and his eyes grow even wider when his mother hands him the phone. The pair enters the preschool building.

Charlie runs through the playground at preschool. He is chased by his PRESCHOOL FRIENDS. They stumble in the bark chip underneath the play equipment, and they all laugh and scream playfully. Charlie climbs onto the play equipment and is followed by STEPHANIE, one of his friends. Stephanie is dressed in a pale pink shirt and denim skirt, and her long brown hair is pulled into tight pigtails. Her pink shirt is covered in dirt from the bark chip. Charlie clambers onto the highest platform of the playground and strikes a heroic pose. Stephanie laughs and runs towards Charlie. She trips as she draws near Charlie, falls into him, and knocks him off the playground. There is a muffled thump as Charlie hits the bark chip below. Wide-eyed, Stephanie peers over the edge of the platform. Charlie utters a quiet groan, but he sounds more annoyed than injured.

Charlie and Stephanie sit inside. The sound of their Preschool Friends screaming and laughing is mixed with the drone of cicadas and the whir of the ceiling fan. Charlie has a bandaid on the side of his face and two more in a cross on his elbow. His knee is a bit grazed. He looks miserable. In his hands is his mobile phone. He presses buttons hesitantly, with an air of experimentation, but nothing happens. Suddenly, the phone beeps as an SMS is received. Charlie and Stephanie are startled by the sound. Charlie presses a button, and the message is opened. It reads “Meeting moved to 7, sorry for late notice.” Stephanie asks Charlie what it means. Charlie stands up slowly. He stares determinedly into the distance, and says that it means that he has been chosen to be at a secret meeting at seven, but he needs to find out where the meeting will be held.

Charlie walks out of an open garage onto a wide, paved driveway that curves in front of a brick house. It is late afternoon. The drone of cicadas is ever-present, but there is also muffled rock music coming from the brick house. Charlie is dressed in dark colours, has a large, blue helmet on his head, and is clutching the handlebars of a small silver scooter. He slides his mobile phone into his pants pocket, clips his helmet up, steps onto his scooter, and kicks off down the footpath.

A large, white house with a wooden fence looms against a slowly darkening sky. Charlie scoots past the house, hesitates, then scoots back to the front of the house. He drops his scooter on the lawn, walks to the front door, and rings the bell. An OLD LADY answers. Charlie shows her the text message on his phone, and she shakes her head and closes the door. Charlie smiles, shrugs, then picks up his scooter and scoots away. There is a montage of sequences of Charlie knocking on doors and ringing doorbells. Each time, the door is answered by a NEIGHBOUR. Each Neighbour shakes their head, always friendly, and closes the door. With each sequence, the sky grows darker and Charlie grows sadder. As the sun finally sets, Charlie is standing under a dim streetlight, scooter lying beside him. He checks the time on the mobile phone. It is 7:00. He sighs heavily. Charlie looks around at the dark, empty street. He starts to scoot in one direction, rolls a few metres, then stops. He turns and looks in the other direction, then back again. His breathing grows louder and uneven, and his eyes well up with tears. Charlie pulls the mobile phone from his pocket, presses a button, his hand shaking, holds the phone to his ear and tearfully asks for his mum.

Charlie is sitting in a spacious living room on a wide couch with a blanket over his shoulders. There is muffled rock music playing. Charlie’s Mother brings him a glass of Milo, kisses him on the head and tells him never to go out at night without her again. The muffled music stops, and ROLF enters the living room. He is 15 or 16, with messy hair similar to Charlie’s. He sits next to Charlie, and Charlie shows him the SMS. Rolf raises his eyebrows, takes the phone from Charlie, and expertly texts ‘Wrong number’. Charlie looks at Rolf with his eyes wide and his mouth open. Rolf laughs and begins to show Charlie how to use the keypad.

Charlie is lying on his stomach in the grass in front of the brick house. His scooter is lying beside him. It is bright, and the cicadas are droning. In Charlie’s hands is his mobile phone, and he is tapping buttons with precision. There is a brief montage of five or ten mobile phones receiving messages, each phone a different type and in a different location. Charlie grins as he slides his phone into his pocket, hops up, and scoots down the driveway.

Fully Endorsed

23 Aug

This website was worthy of a post all to itself.

I fully support this page and all it stands for.

Click the hot guy reading a book. Do it!

Some Random Observations

22 Aug

Here are some things.

  • The album Mind Chaos by Hockey is really catchy and listenable. I recommend it. It’s making me happy.
  • I’ve found some online games for various moods. This is now a list within a list. Can you cope?

Bored & Happy: Light Sprites

Bored & Angry: Worm Food

Bored & In Need Of A Challenge: HDOS Databank Request 01

Bored & REALLY In Need Of A Challenge: Click Drag Type 3 (Seriously tricky puzzle game.)

Bored & Sleepy: Hoshi Saga (One of my favourites of all time. There are 2 sequels if you’re keen.)

Bored & Industrial: Factory Balls

Bored & Hungry: Sushi Cat

They’re all really quite good games. Get into it.

  • There are some people who need a good talking to. I just fail to understand why people behave the way they do.
  • I don’t want to study any more ever again. I want to sleep, eat olives, and knit.

Here is a picture of an animal I would like to hug.

Lady Jesus

15 Aug

I’ve written about this band before, but I only just found this song of theirs. It’s pretty funky.

Feels Like A Rainbow

10 Aug

I haven’t posted anything substantial in quite some time, so I thought perhaps I’d return to my old format for a bit and write up a list of things I’ve learned of late.

After all, that WAS the point of this blog intially…

Things I’ve Learned in August, 2010 (so far):

  • These things exist! I would like a bathroom covered in these…
  • This band exists. They’re very peculiar. It’s taken me a few listens to figure out how to cope with them. The basic technique is ‘don’t think too hard about it’.

The Olivia Tremor Control = Kind of the Beatles plus Kind of Of Montreal plus Random Assorted Crashing Noises.

I might also add that I decided to like this band before seeing that Pitchfork gave their album ‘Black Foliage: Animation Music’ a bizarrely high score of 9.1. Nine point freaking one. That’s pretty high. ‘Funeral’ by Arcade Fire still wins out with nine point freaking seven, I should point out.

Not that Pitchfork stands as much of a guide to which albums to buy… More like, which albums to tell indie kids you liked before anyone else had heard.

  • Getting a cold has become even less convenient for me. Somehow, all the fluid in my head that determines my awareness of myself in space has been displaced, and as a result, I have even LESS balance than normal. This means lots of falling over and lots of nausea (imagine you’ve just come off one of those spinny things at a park).
  • I have learned a bit of programming, and I’ve learned a bit of computational chemistry, and I think that I’d like to learn more about the latter. Third year research project, perhaps?
  • I miss the large amounts of time I used to spend with coloured pencils.
  • I have a task ahead of me that involves precision, thoughtful wording, and balancing of extremes. I’ll let you know how it goes this time next week.

At last, a haiku!
My first attempt in ages!
Yeah, I’ve got nothing.