This post serves no other purpose than to incrementally increase the liklihood of Lefa’s unravelling as she grapples with the Herculean task of reading the 7000+ unread blog posts in her reader. (The post I’ve linked to here is a couple of months old, but – trust me – the battle continues.)
Seven thousand and ONE biatch!!! Muahahahahaha…
Hmmm. Given my current living arrangements, perhaps this wasn’t that well thought out.
Oh well. I’m amusing myself at least. Nothing to see here. Move along.
I haven’t had a birthday party in a long time. Not since my 21st. I’ve been out to dinner with friends or something each year – it’s not as though my days have been devoid of revelry and merriment, but it’s been a while since I had a full-blown-accidentally-coat-my-mum-in-beer celebration. (This was due to my losing money – my friend SB and I were notorious motorcycle maniacs. There was a betting pool on whether I’d make it to 21. I did. I lost $100. But SB was stoked…)
Next year, without meeting an early demise, I’m going to have a proper party. Other than elections, the major stumbling block for me has been that I have a (fairly small but) very diverse group of friends.
How on earth can I create an environment where my motorcycle racing cronies feel like they have something in common with interweb-addicted ubergeeks? How will the drug-addled hedonists possibly connect with evangelical Christians from Bunbury? How will capitalism-smashing Greens bond with resource-pillaging McDonald’s mates? How could anyone from my family not be offended in conversations with Sabian?
In a desperate attempt to address this, I’ve conjured a way to have all of these people break the ice a little ahead of time. The inspiration for this hit me in a Fitzroy bookshop.
I’m going to write an open, honest letter to each of my guests – describing to them why they are one of the most loved and important people in my life. I’m then going to seal the letter in an unmarked bag, and randomly post it to another guest.
Hopefully, the recipient will learn a little more about me, but a lot more about the other attendee – giving them at least one person from another world to talk to.
Or all the excuse they need not to come.
I didn’t think there would ever be a day that Hoyden About Town and Dead Dog had anything in common. I always enjoy Hoyden, (and now they’ve fallen in love with Scott…) and must confess to often finding Dead Dog hilarious, despite my better judgement.
They’re about as ideologically (and intellectually) seperated as two blogs can be.
But today they joined forces.
Today they have teamed up to burn these paranoia-inducing images into my retinas.
After seeing these, every tiny twitch and sound in the night for the next week will reduce me to a squealy little child, as I vividly recall the hideous creatures now seared into my sub-conscious.
Bastards. But hey, if you’re still reading – thanks for sharing my pain.
Crisis: A situation or event in which greedy, wealthy, white men are at risk of losing money.
So the US sub-prime situation has gone global. And now the whole world is talking about a crisis of such epic proportions, that immediate, drastic acton is required. Business as usual can continue no more, and the world must cough up.
US Congress has approved a 700 billion dollar bailout that will do nothing except “bolster the confidence” of the market.
Well, yeah. They lent money to people that were never going to be able to afford to repay it, and then sold shares in those repayments to other people, who sold shares in their portfolio of owed funds to other people. Everybody ended up having shares in the debts of people that couldn’t afford to repay them.
So it seems logical that when they discovered the emperor had no clothes, they’d all need a 700 billion dollar hug. This was necessary to ensure that the directors of the companies – the advocates of the free-market, unfettered economy – were still able to walk away with multi-million dollar payouts when the company was “rescued” by the government. Hey, you know what? It turns out that government intervention (*whispers* socialism) is actually good in some circumstances.
And nothing boosts the confidence of an industry quite like the knowledge that no matter how much you fuck up, you’ll still get to keep your island in the Caribbean.
If it’s a real crisis, the US Government will be there. If you’re trying to do something insignificant, like say getting water to the New Orleans Superdome in anything under 5 days, well – call someone else.
 | danitheboy on Prolonged Absences |
 | Phonaesthetic on Lycraliens |
 | elowicious on Lycraliens |
 | Rebekka on Lycraliens |
 | Tess on Party |
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