Mark's Breakfast Funny

This morning people woke up in my house with facepaint on their faces and fuzzyness in their heads.

Mark was one of those people. So was Mal. So was Cuthroat.

The house smelt like beer so we walked down the hill to the beach where we could wash off the facepaint and rinse out the fuzzyness. Then we got breakfast.

Mal's menu had an ad for a psychic.

"Look," she said. "He was awarded Australia's best psychic."

"That's the kind of award you know you're going to get before you get it," said Mark.

5 stars.

Awesome things said by Work Experience Kids

When I got back into the office of Surfboard Riding and You yesterday there was a new kid hanging around in there.

His name was Reisly and he was staying at Tall Guy's house. But Tall Guy had to go to his nephew's birthday so I took Reisly to the pub with my pal Thunder.

Thunder's pal Escotte came and introduced himself to Reisly and Reisly said the best thing ever.

"What do you do?" said Reisly.

"I'm an architect," said Escotte.

"I know two architects now," said Reisly.

The he paused before looking off into the distance of the Collaroy Beach Club and saying...

"You, and someone else."

4 stars.

Holy Crap!

No I'm not reviewing Holy Crap. I'm just saying it. As in Holy Crap a lot of crap has gone on since I did my last post and crap.

Say crap ten times. Seriously. Do it.

Sounds weird doesn't it.

Anyway, since the last review I went to New York and I slept on a floor and I went to Indonesia and I slept on a boat.

In New York I met Dane Reynolds and he mentioned me in his blog as "some Australian" and in Indonesia I met some village children who ran away from a tsunami last year and they gave me high fives.

Now I'm back and it's getting warmer and the air smells more like summer than before I left. I have a girlfriend too which means less googling Emily Browning and less talking about getting a girlfriend and less feeling lonely like an artist. That's kind of sad. My favourite internet pal moved to Sydney too, and we're totes pals in real life. Which means less Facebook chats with him about not having girlfriends. That's kind of sad too.

Is it?

It isn't is it?

They're both from New Zealand which means lots more impersonating of New Zealanders and references to We Were Warriors which I haven't seen but have heard lots about. That's kind of awesome.

So yeah. Yep. Awesome.

Worst post ever?

5 stars.

Those times at work

Sometimes when I'm at work I go to pee in the toilet.

And sometimes when I go to pee in the toilet there is already pee in there. Not my pee. Someone else's pee. Someone else's pee that they haven't flushed.

It doesn't bother me. I just pee on top of it.

And while I pee I think to myself, "I wonder whose pee this is..."

I never work it out but it's a fun to think about while I stand there peeing.

4 stars.

Alan's new haircut.

I work with this guy Alan. He's a pretty cool guy. He designs things with his computer machine. He's also a really good surfer. Best of all is his hair.

It's a variety of blonde shades that change with the light around it. Outdoors it refracts sunshine and creates a rainbow around his head. Indoors it seems to take in the fluorescent lighting and emanate a wholesome winter cabin like warmth in the cold artificial air.

Then there's the curls. Oh my the curls! They wind up tight like a whole bunch of old telephone cords, protecting his skull, only to flick out wildly when he does aerials on his surfboard. Just imagine the curls unleashed to their full length for that split second, whipping a spray of water into the salty air. It's as beautiful like the feathers of a peacock.

The other day Alan got a haircut. I was worried. Everyone was worried. But the results were satisfactory. It was sharp. It was smart. And it still held all the traits of the hair we had grown to love. The curls. The shades. The idea that it could hold mysterious powers. This was a good haircut.

When he walked into the office everyone stood up and applauded. We love Alan's hair.

I wonder what it smells like?

5 stars.

Cotton Ball The Work Experience Kid

We have a work experience kid in the office of Surfboard Riding and You Periodical at the moment. Today is his last day. He had to interview Alan about design to show his teacher. So I interviewed him while he interviewed. This is it. As I was uploading this he looked over my shoulder and said, "It's not a very exciting blog. I thought it would have something cool."

His name is Jack.

No Stars: If all the people in the world stood on one side of the earth and jumped, do you reckon the world would move, like, one inch.

Jack: Umm, no. I don't reckon.

Ok. What if there was a pool full of custard. Do you reckon you could swim in it, or would you sink?

I reckon you'd sink. I dunno. It's pretty dense.

What flavour would you prefer the custard to be if you had to swim in it.

Definitely vanilla.

If you kept all the leftover hair from all your haircuts in your life, and wrapped it in a sheet. Would that make a comfortable blanket.

I guess.

How many blankets do you think your hair would make?

One big one maybe. This for your blog?

Yeah. What's your favourite subject at school?

That's a stupid question. Vis Comm.

That's a stupid answer.

What? You want me to say English?

Who is your best friend.

Paul.

Who's Paul?

Don't say Paul. I didn't say Paul. I said, "auhh." You thought I said Paul. Say my best friend is Lachie Butha. That'd be hilarious.

Why's that hilarious?

Cause he's a really aggressive man. He tries to hang out with us but he gets really really aggressive. There's this kid at my school who catches pigeons. I'm not joking. He throws his jumper on them and then jumps on it and picks it up.

What's been the weirdest thing about work experience?

That's a hard one. The weirdest thing?

Don't worry about it.

Umm, turning up to work before most people. That's weird.

Do you facebook chat a lot of girls on facebook?

Yeah!

Do you chat with your ex girlfriend's twin sister?

All the time.

What's that about?

I'm friends with both of them. It gets the other one angry.

Don't act cool for the interview.

It works. Don't tell me you haven't tried that trick.

Nah. Do you believe in true love?

Ummmmmmmm no. I hate love. It never works.

That's pretty grim.

Do you believe in love?

Yeah, it's the best. Does going to Wesley make you a gaylord?

No.

You sure?

Definitely not.

Do you ever wear your socks for too long, and then they get all squishy in your shoes?

Nah.

That's how mine feel now.

I never really wear my socks more than a couple of days. Maybe two.

Do you have a nickname?

Burmie.

That's a pretty boring nickname.

We could come up with something better.

What about Cotton Ball the work experience kid?

Nah.

Yeah. Is this the first interview you've ever done?

I think so.

If you had to rate this interview out of five stars what would you give it?

It was pretty funny, just over average.

So...

Four. Four stars.

Being an artist

I've felt a bit funny today.

My writing has been awful. It's forced, boring, pointless clumps of words thrown together to make sentences about things. The sort of sentences people read and then think, "Wow, 11 year old girls are pretty bad at writing aren't they?" Then they work out that it was actually written by a 25 year old man and they promptly set about stabbing their eyes out with a biro or holding their breath till they pass out.

Not wanting to 'cause any blindness or... death, I stopped writing.

I drank a coffee and a can of coke and jumped around.

I pretended to karate kick the work experience kid.

I grabbed a pen and drew on my wrist.

I made a video of myself on a stairmaster-like exercise machine drinking coke and dancing to an upbeat Black Lips song.

This was real creativity. Screw the writing. I was an artist.

Then I showed my friend the video, cause I knew appreciated the complexities of my brilliant art.

"That was fucking awful," he said. "You owe me 38 seconds of my life back."

The sugar and caffeine high wore off then. I re-opened the word document and stared at the screen until all the words went blurry.

"I wish that window screensaver with the coloured pipes was still around," I thought.

4 stars.

Stealing Lavender

I've developed a weird habit. I'm not sure where it came from. One day I just started doing it.

I steal lavender.

Not from a shop or anything, but if I walk past someone's front garden and a bit of lavender pokes out over the fence, I'll rip off a bunch of it. Chuck it in my shirt pocket or something. Put it in my car. Sometimes I just hold it in my hand as I walk.

I like the way it smells. I liked the way it looks. I like the way it feels in my hand. "Lavender is good," I think as I steal it. "It's not gay man, it's good. It's cool."

One sunny day I was walking to Tall Guy's house in Narrabeen and I walked past a cool little weatherboard house with a pretty good garden. I stopped and reached over the picket fence to rip me some lavender gold. As I tore some stems from the greater plant I looked up and saw a little old lady sitting on the front porch. She'd seen the whole dirty act go down.

I didn't know how to feel about that. I was stealing her shit, and she was a little old lady. Little old ladies are probably the last people you should steal from. Them and babies. But this was lavender. Maybe there would be a vibe of like, goodwill. You know, a how-great-is-it-that-rat-bag-looking-young-men-still-stop-and-enjoy-the-simple-pleasures-of-lavender type thing. Maybe she'd invite me in for some tea and freshly baked scones.

We looked at each other for a moment. It was a strange moment. The invite didn't come. Just silence.

I pretended I didn't see her and walked away staring at my shoes. I was happy though. 'Cause I had lavender in my hands and my hands smelt nice. They smelt like lavender.

4 stars.

My poor cat

"Have you spoken to Mum lately?" My big brother asked on Facebook chat.

I don't live at home. I don't live in the same city as home. I don't really know what's going on at home. I'm a really shitty son and don't call very often, even though I love my mum and dad and my home very much. Lots much. Heaps much.

"Nah, why?" I answered.

"Oh, just turns out that Syl is blind," my big brother said.

Syl is my cat. We got her at the end of 1992. She has a sister named Patch. We got Patch at the end of 1992 too as well.

The last year or so Syl has been meowing and meowing and meowing. She'd be fed. She'd have gone to the toilet. She'd been outside. But still she'd meow.

I thought she was old and had dementia. But nah, turns out she's blind.

"Oh poor thing." I said.

"So she's not actually sick, she's blind, and when she meows it's because she's confused,"said my big brother.

"Oh that's heartbreaking," I said.

"Yeah it's real sad," said my big brother.

No stars.

Making Your Bed

My house is a mess. So is my life. It's a whole series of unfinished dreams, drunken mistakes and lonely unwashed dishes in a sticky floored kitchen.

But my bed is made.

Starting every morning I throw the doona in a neat square over the mattress, get the pillow sitting straight, fold the blanket at the foot of the bed, and find a sense of order in my stupid, pointless, lazy chaos of a life

Making your bed takes every fucked up thing in your head and makes it seem ok. And wherever your day takes you, the thought of that bed sitting all nice and tidy waiting for your return - that can get you through pretty much anything.

5 stars.

The magic gloves

It was a mid week night last winter. I was out drinking with tall guy. We were at big pub in Bondi.

Big pub in Bondi sits opposite White Revolver. It's kinda big and you can get pizzas. When White Revolver closes some people run across the road and keep drinking at big pub. They go because they're yet to find someone to have sex with and feel a horribly cold and desperate emptiness in their lives.

Me and tall guy went to big pub in Bondi.

I was drunk. I was sitting outside and smoking. I was talking to people I didn't know about things I had little knowledge of. I didn't remember their names.

At one point I looked at my hands. They were in gloves.

Whose were they? When did I acquire them? Would they give me secret powers?

Those were questions I could not answer.

Moments later tall guy called a cab and we headed back to the northern beaches.

Last night, almost a year later, I cleaned my room and found the gloves again. I'm wearing them now. My palms are warm, my fingers are cold and I still don't know if they give me secret powers.

4 stars.

Procrastinating

I just cooked a nice dinner, cleaned the kitchen, put on a load of washing and re-organised my room.

Procrastinating gets me all domesticated. Right now I'm totally like a guy out of Esquire magazine or a hopeless bachelor by the end of an episode of Queer Eye For The Straight Guy.

5 stars.