Wearing shorts on the gold coast.

I'm on the gold coast. It's hot. When it's hot I can kinda sweat. I don't know why. If you asked me why, if you grabbed me by the shoulder, looked me in the eye and said, "Hey Mike, why do you sweat when it's hot?" I'd shrug my shoulders and say, "Science."

Somewhere in my life I developed a distaste for wearing shorts. I don't know when or how it happened but it did. One day I was just off them.

Maybe it's because I never have matching socks. Maybe it's because I'm not sure how my socks are meant to sit above my shoes. Jeans seem to cloak those insecurities.

But here on the Gold Coast it's hot. And when it's hot I kinda sweat. And if I wear jeans I get hotter. And if I get hotter I get kinda sweatier. So... I'm wearing shorts on the Gold Coast. 2 Stars.

The greatest actor in the world

It was Mooresy's Birthday and he was having drinks at Windsor Castle. The place blows but Mooresy is a pretty rad dude so I didn't care. What ya gotta know about Mooresy is he's the kind of charismatic guy that says something and you agree with whatever it is. You just do.

I bought a beer and leant against the bar. Happy Birthday Mooresy. How ya been? All that kinda thing.

There was a break in general conversation. Mooresy was wearing a t-shirt with Christopher Walken's face printed on it.

"I dig your shirt man. Christopher Walken is awesome."

Mooresy smiled, "Second best actor in the world."

It left an obvious question, "Who's number 1?"

Mooresy spoke. And when those amazing three syllables vibrated through the confines of Windsor Castle... people listened. People who weren't even a part of the conversation listened.

"Bill Murray."

Everyone - bouncers, bar staff, bar patrons, a stray dog walking past outside - they all nodded in agreement. And it was settled. Bill Murray is the best actor in the world. Bill fuckin' Murray. 5 stars.

That sticky feeling.

I went for a skate earlier. It was all kinds of sweaty. Then I went for a swim. Then I had a shower and dried myself with a dirty towel. Then I got back into my clothes and felt kinda sticky.

I feel clean, but my clothes are clinging to me in a way they didn't in the morning.

What's your deal clothes? Ya miss me? You like my skin more with dried saltwater in it? Hey clothes, I don't think this is working out. I like you, No I really do, I just need some space is all. Sure we can hang out for the rest of the day. No, not because we have to.

You're important to me, but yeah, when I get home, I'm changing. It's true, there are other clothes in my life. No I don't love them more, don't be so silly. Let me finish. I cherish what we had, we had some really good times that I'll never forget. But it's just different with the other clothes. They let me be me ya know. They... get me. I'm Sorry. Two stars.

The Megashake

I work with this guy named Alan. He doesn't drink coffee. Sometimes he'll stand up and go, "Hey guys, I'm gonna go get a melkshake." He says melk instead of milk. It's pretty funny.

The other day he came back from the melkshake place and there was something in his hands but I couldn't see it. It reflected a glare into the room. It was blinding, as if God himself was emanating from Alan's hands. It was the holy grail of Melkshakes. It was the megashake.

The glare wore down but the hype didn't. Day after day, Alan would tell me about this megashake. I didn't care.

"Three scoops of ice cream!" he'd yell.

...I'd shrug my shoulders.

"A flake crushed into it!" he'd yell.

...I'd check my emails

"And you can get any ice-cream flavour you want, even hokey pokey..." finished Al, looking at his toes, defeated.

"Wait one gawd damned second," I shouted, grabbing him by the shirt and pulling him towards me. "Did you say Hokey motherfuckin' Pokey."

Alan nodded and I was out of there. The lady who makes the megashake makes you feel guilty about buying one. Like, why would you ask her to make one for you, she only works there, sheeesh. So I stood there feeling guilty. But I tells ya man, it was so totes worth it.

When I got that megashake, and had a sip, I lost my mind. When I finished it I needed a cigarette and a quiet moment to myself. Some people will tell you I cried a little, but don't listen to them. I just got some melk in my eyes. 5 stars.

Tonight's dinner

A double serve of easy mac (the serves aren't large enough) served with half a glass of flat coke.

I remember living off easy mac. I loved the stuff. Every time my Centrelink payments came through I'd buy two boxes and eat dinner for the first time in a week. Back then I'd wash it down with a glass of goon. This was when I was living in Newcastle in the second six months of 2008. They were gloriously boring days - really great for nostalgia.

I just made some easy mac then and holy crap-nails it was awful. Bland like cardboard while the cheesy sauce was both too runny and too gluggy.

I just finished the flat coke and now the flavours of both things are making love in my mouth and giving birth to the grossest breath I've had since I woke up this morning. Two and a half stars.

Being super charming.

Five minutes ago I went and got a coffee and two donuts from this weird little open air bakery at the shops near my work.

"Can I have a coffee and two donuts please?" I asked.

"Sure," said one of the two cute girls behind the counter. They both smiled. One started making a coffee and the other got the donuts while I thought of something super charming to say.

There was pressure. But a super charming guy like myself always finds something super charming to say. Then I thought of it. It was so brilliant that they'd probably fall in love with me and shit.

"Do you guys get, like, cold working here when the weather is cold?" I asked.

"Not really," one answered. "Because of the ovens..."

A weird silence followed. I think they were in awe of my super charm. Four stars.

William H Macy

This guy is the best. Sometimes I’m watching a movie and a few minutes in he’ll come on screen playing a minor character and I’ll be like, “Ah sweet. This guy is the best.” ‘Cause he is. He was in Boogie Nights, his wife cheats on him in that film so he shoots himself. He’s in Pleasantville. His wife cheats on him that one too, but I don’t think he shoots himself. He hires people to kidnap his wife in Fargo. She ends up dying. He always plays the loser. I think there’s something in his face that makes him a loser. I used to like Phillip Seymour Hoffman the same way but then he started getting lead roles and won an Academy Award. It just wasn’t the same anymore. Now I’m totally on the William H Macy bandwagon. He’s the best. Five stars.

Opening a 2 litre bottle of coke that's been in the freezer.

It goes everywhere.

One star.

Pretty Girls.

Pretty girls make you realise that you have coffee breath.

Pretty girls make you realise that you're not that funny.

Pretty girls make you realise that you're not very clever.

Pretty girls make you realise that you mumble sometimes.

Pretty girls make you realise that you have a kinda big nose.

Pretty girls make you realise that you give awkward goodbye hugs and awkwarder hellos.

Pretty girls make you realise that you don't really have many interesting things to say.

Pretty girls make you realise that your t-shirts have wine stains.

Pretty girls make you realise all your faults and insecurities, and that they're ok.

Pretty girls make you realise that smoking cigarettes, and smiling, and then sometimes not smiling is, like, cool.

Five stars.

The Angry Avalon Skatepark Kid

"Get out the way you fucking noob," yelled a girl's voice at Avalon skatepark. I turned to get a look at her. It wasn't a girl. It was a twelve year old boy yelling at his friend.

The mate got out of the way and the Angry Avalon Skatepark Kid rolled in and launched over the box in the middle of the park. Stylish indie grab included. The little fucker never smiled. Just skated around intimidating us.

There was a little scooter guy, maybe 7, there as well. He spent his time cruising around on a scooter and smiling. His mum sat at the side taking photos. Angry Avalon Skatepark kid did not like this at all. Angry Avalon Skatepark Kid had had enough.

"Is that your kid?" He yelled.

The mum nodded.

"You have to move him!"

"What?" The mum asked.

"You have to move him, he's in the way."

Things escalated. Voices were raised. The Angry Avalon Skateboard Kid never backed down. I sat down on a bench and played with my phone. It was tense.

The Angry Avalon Skatepark Kid: He'll disrespect your mum and kickflip on your face. Three stars.

Chatswood.

Hey Chatswood. You suck. I don't like you. I'd never been to you before but today I got lost and saw you first hand and I don't like you. I went to a service station and the guy who worked there didn't say anything, not even the price. I pulled out my card and he just pointed to the card swipey thing. Then he stared at my shirt while I punched in my code. It was weird.

I did a poo in the toilet there. It wasn't a very good toilet for pooing. If I had to pick one activity that I think it would be good for I'd probably pick raping. I'm not a rapist, and don't think rape is a good thing but if I was one and thought that it was ok, I'd probably live in you Chatswood, and I'd probably hang out at that service station and develop mad raping skillz.

When I left the service station I drove on your roads Chatswood. Your roads suck too, and the people who drive on them aren't very nice. Perhaps I was tired and angry and upset and confused and lost and unfairly criticising you Chatswood when I should really be criticising my own bad navigation, but I don't care. No stars.

Disclaimer: I in no way think rape is funny. I just wanted to show my dislike for Chatswood at that point in time.

Disclaimer Disclaimer: I made that disclaimer after watching an episode of some true crime show where I was left feeling weird and offensive like some kind of disrespectful fucktard.

Bus Passengers in Sydney

No-one thanks the driver on Sydney buses. An example of why this city has a reputation of doucheyness. No stars.

Shit writing.

Those first two posts are so bad. I'm going to rewrite them at another time.

For now though, they're just sitting there shitting me with how boring they are.

Shit writing: It wastes the time of strangers and friends and makes its author feel like a bum. But at least that bum is writing something, which is better than a bum that does nothing. For that I give shit writing one star.

Having a home.

Feeling at home in a new place... far out. It's a pretty nice feeling.

I've gone through a number of moves in the last year. Prahran to Sydney. Sydney to somewhere else in Sydney, to somewhere else in Sydney once again. And now to here, another place in Sydney.

The drive from Melbourne in the depths of a Red Bull/Coffee/Fatigue binge of insanity felt like a pretty dramatic moment in my life. A turning point that if played out in a movie would make for a perfect in montage to some indie song cute girls would post to their FB profiles...

But this last move, Gaw-damn, it's been the most awesomest.

Right now I'm sitting on a couch in the company of rad dudes, four beers down and watching Big Wednesday. As opposed to listening to a housemate talk about the famous people she knows during MasterChef before waking up to notes on the kitchen table with a list of the meticulous cleaning I needed to do for her house. Fuck.

Living in someone's house or living in a place you call home. The difference can't be underestimated. 5 Stars.

Starting a blog.

It's got to be the most self indulgent thing ever (other than wanking and rap music). I've had several. My best was The Third Person Diary of a Guy Called Alvin but I just recently shut that down 'cause me and Alvin don't get to talking much anymore.

I've known lots of people with blogs.

One was a sorta kinda famous fashion blogger.

One was a music writer/crazy/rad person.

One was a girl I went totally mad for. Her name was Courtney and I'd check her blog daily. The posts were generally photos in soft focus of 60s couples and flowers. The sort of thing you'd see in Frankie magazine. Totes cute 'n' stuff.

She'd write little things under them about how she was feeling too. Sometimes those writings were my best indication of how our relationship was going (even while I was staying in her room), most of the time I couldn't tell if they were about me or not.

The more the relationship deteriorated the more I'd check the blog and the more vague her little writings would seem. It drove me insane.

Here is a graph to explain. I call it Gen Y Romance Is Awesome...

The other day a friend of mine started a new blog to immediate and moderate success. It's really great and I'm jealous. But ya know what? Seeing his face light up as he hit the publish post button for the first time reminded me of how cool blogs are.

The easy access to creativity.

The instant gratification.

The excuse to do something instead of Facebook.

Not that there's anything wrong with Facebook. I love Facebook. Whatever.

So this is the new blog. I registered it ages ago but now I'm actually doing it. The premise is a daily review of the inane and dumb things in my life. For reals. They'll be short and self indulgent and embarrassing. This is review number 1: A review of starting a blog. Not very clever huh, the totally obvious and lame reviewing of starting a blog to introduce the blog? Come on, that's pretty pathetic. Let's round this shit up and move on...

Starting a blog: A self indulgent Gen Y phenomenon that encourages creativity. Also a great medium to post pictures of cats. Three stars.