Monthly Archives: August 2011

Rules To Live By

"Well, ya ain't let me down yet Sailor, an' that's more than I can say for the rest of the world"

I definitely don’t agree that you should go through life rigidly sticking to rules and codes. But sometimes, when faced with snap decisions, it’s handy to have a loose set of principles to fall back on which can save you from making an epic mistake. (eg. “Wait guys, lets NOT split up to search the house that was built on an ancient native american burial ground in the middle of the night on halloween…”) Here are a couple of “Do Nots”

Never trust anyone with a surname for a first name. (thanks Luke)

Never trust anyone in white jeans. (Ash)

Never trust anyone who doesn’t look good in wayfarers (Iona)

Never trust anyone who calls you “Buddy” on first meeting them.*

Never trust anyone who considers ordering a drink using the serving size descriptor “Schooie” or tries to call a vodka orange a Screwdriver.**

Never touch a black man’s radio (thanks Chris Tucker)

I can’t think of anymore. I had heaps before i sat down!

I’m aware that most of these are negative, and i could have a list of you know, nice things to do, but where’s the fun in that?

*This is particularly important. These people are instigating an unequal power relationship in which you (i.e. the Buddee) are echelons below them (i.e. the Budder) on the social strata. fuck these guys.

**seriously fuck you guys. for the former, how hard is it to finish that word? and for the latter, we are NOT in 1920s prohibition America, and you are not a connoisseur. Keep that 10 c tip you were going to leave and buy yourself another one of those chat ties. You’re from the shire, and you live with your mum and your hair looks stupid.


On Midgets, My Father and Ponytails.

The thing about working nights is that you start devaluing daytime. Mornings are the first casualty. It’s not like I don’t get up early enough to acknowledge them (10 am?). It’s just that I do nothing with them at all.

So yeah, I work nights at a pub. The customers are usually fairly predictable, which is why I was completely thrown one night a couple of weeks ago when I met an Irish midget wearing a pink fluffy cowboy hat. Never mind the who’s or whys, the very fact that a situation exists in the world that calls for this spectacular combination of dress sense, ethnicity and personal physiological circumstance, cheered me up. I wish I got a fucking photo with this guy, who it turns out was actually pretty funny and nice. In lieu of a photo, here is a picture I drew.

I’m on the left. Not to scale.

If only I did get that photo, I wonder what my grandkids would think when they found a photo like that. You know, just slip it into a sensible hardback photo album, the sort your grandma keeps near the TV cabinet. Who knows, but it might be good for the lulz. Maybe their reaction would be similar to my reaction on finding this photo of my dad circa 1971.

Dad, circa 1972, lounging his way through the greek islands. Also worth noting is that this picture predates disco by about 3 years.

I saw some guy in newtown yesterday with a ponytail and it gave me the shits. Long hair can look cool, so just do that, yeah? I mean, ponytails, on guys. Why? A girl might put her hair in one, but its not a hairstyle its a practical thing. Right? Keeps long hair off your back, out of your eyes and food. No girl that you know will wear a ponytail out. So why do guys with long hair think its a good idea? They have long hair all the time and then go out in a ponytail. Its chat. Unless you are a Spanish fencing instructor, or a 19th century stable-hand, don’t do it.

Ponytails: Not actually a hairstyle.