"What?! that's bullshit"
"Bullshit nothing, why you being so selfish?"
"Nope, uh uh, no way you ain't switching this to me man, no sir."
"I can see your confused and that's o.k your friends are here for you, we are all here, just let it out big guy"
"Ha your funny, anybody ever tell you how funny you are, I bet you get told how funny you are all the God damn time, hell the things a man could do with that kinda gift, you know, the gift of being funny, shit a man could do great things"
"I am deeply sorry for your loss, really I am and I wish I could help you, really I do but my hands are tied, really they are."
"This is some serious BS, so you guys get to...and I have to.....oh this is Bull shit"
"Tell you what first ones on me. Diet or regular?"
"I hate you."
"what"??
"you, I hate you"
"oh o.k"
Grant sat:
slumped in his chair in shear disappointment, questioning the humanism of his fellow man. There sat the designated driver, a noble charge but heavy lies the crown. In honour we drink to your sacrifice made here tonight and in justice our hangovers shall be quite severe.
Grant drank coke and ate burger rings:
Reflecting on the duty, it really does suck you'll get no arguments from me, butit is my belief that there are worse things that can happen to a man. Think about it, all the free food, cigarettes and coke you can devour not to mention the satisfaction of being the only mammal in the room with the ability to make intelligent decisions. I picture it as a similar situation to a journalist in a documentary on the life of penguins, with the journalist standing in the middle giving the report whilst the little retards are running around in circles, bumping into each other, sliding down hills and trying to chat up the hot bartender. Stupid sea birds, shes a lesbian. Though there is no competition as to who is having more fun I'm sure there is a certain satisfaction gained.
Grant drove:
The night was nearing its end and at last the time of the designated was upon us. last rounds were called and we wandered out marvelling at the beauty of the stars and arguing the unknown truths of the universe, its creation and how its all relevant to how in life we should all just chill. I'm told the argument continued as the 6 of us piled into Grants Hyundai and were carted away to our various destinations.
Grant receives the Congressional Medal of Honour:
One by one our intoxicated band of mystical theologians dispersed. with every house separating our bonding session just that extra seat more. To the credit of Grant he did earn himself the medal of honour in going over and above the call of duty, Tim in his inebriated state had locked himself out in which Grant proceeded to help him remove the fly screen and climb through the window whilst the rest of us remained semi conscious in the warmth of the car. Even as I stumbled out of the car I do remember being escorted to the house and even having the spare key fetched so I wouldn't make to much noise, I was later reminded of my passionate speech of adoration, confessing my love for Grant and how he is a great friend and so on and so on.
THE NEXT MORNING
"Good morning pumpkin"
"groan"
"Breakfast is on if you want some"
"groan"
"Hey kiddo, I don't suppose you know where Kevin is do you?"
"how the hell should I know wher...wait what?"
It was Angela, Angela looking for Kev. Why you ask? lets recap.
Remember the whole Tim being locked out and Grant having to jig the fly screen and help his drunken ass through the window. well there is a simple and logical explanation for that....IT WASN'T HIS HOUSE and remember my being escorted to the door...aha yeah, again a simple explanation IT WASN'T MY HOUSE. Ang was looking for Kev because Kev was MIA and in his stead was a pants less free loader passed out on her lounge, nothing says good morning like an unconscious, half naked intruder.
Grant had a plan:
Our designated friend had some how managed to not only drop us all of at each others houses but to keep us entertained long enough for us to not catch on to the whole devious plot. Naturally all of this amused Angela to no end, to which she took great delight in analysing the work and genius involved in pulling something like this off.
"He even got your pants...how did he get your pants? that's..well that's just incredible?"
"Look I dont know"
"well lets retrace your steps so you were wearing pants when he dropped you off yes?, walked you to the door with pants, lead you to the couch pants still in tact and then left sometime later with pants nowhere to be seen... hhmm what could possibly have happened, what indeed?"
"HA fucking HA, that's right you got me, Im a gay man. As gay as they come, very clever."
"Hey tell it to the pants Kiddo"
"are you not even remotely concerned that your husband didn't come home last night? maybe he's missing his pants to if yah no what I mean, eehh, wink wink, eehh say no more, say no more"
"Tell you what you look cold, very cold (giggle) I'll go get you the latest in leg warming technology"
leaving the room babbling to herself about something I suggested that she should probably call her new found hero to find out the where abouts of her husband if she ever wanted to see him alive again. Still marvelling in the deceitful genius that is Grant, she made her way to the phone returning several minutes later phone in hand and more importantly pants in the other. Standing in the patented phone to ear position I noticed a slight grin forming.
"What?"
"Its for you"
"what?"
"I'm pretty sure its for you"
She restated, whilst passing the phone to me smile now beaming from ear to ear. The phone had gone to voicemail and the leave a message after the beep had been replaced with a 3 min period of Grant in utter hysterics laughing and cackling as if he had just successfully stolen Christmas, jokes aside that was a nice touch. It took almost a week to get in contact with him on account of him deciding to not change his voice mail and let every call from us go to it but eventually he broke the silence.
"Hey man whats happening tonight?"
"Grant? that you?"
"Ah yeah man! whats wrong with you!? so where we headed?"
"Wow this is definitely unexpected I mean,I..I..I don't know what to say"
"how about a little information, like where we are going tonight, might be an idea"
"I'm just not sure I can trust again"
"Why!? did something happen?, whats up?"
"Well its about the pants I ... I want them back!"
"Those pants were a gift they belong to me now"
"But But"
"Its time to let go, they've gone to a better place"
"I hate you!"
"what?"
"you I hate you"
"oh o.k"
Grant is a Dick:
Friday, December 5, 2008
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Bringing Frenchy Back!
Every where I look these days one minority or another is crying out for acceptance, more rights and a 400k + bonus to ease the pain of being a pioneer in whatever the fuck you kids are getting into these days. I don’t wanna come off as some kind of hater or anything, truth be told its quite the opposite.
I feel these days im as pro choice as they come, dude wants to kiss a dude: you go for your life, 2 chicks getting married: hey, strangely hot. 4 guys decide to experiment with 2 girls a swing set and an Emu: look, I dont care. As far as im concerned your business is none of my business, live long and prosper. Just don’t bug me with it whilst I’m watching my cartoons. The whole Idea of me not caring means I’m not fussed what your doing but I sure as shit don’t want to hear about how hard it is to support your own decisions.
Pro choice-ism is the name of the game here people, possibly just a nice way of saying I don’t give a fuck-ism or I found myself a nice sweet spot on this fence here and I ain’t gonna move-ism.
Regardless of whether there is any substantial evidence to Pro choice-ism’s credibility as actual dialogue, there is however a defining moment one has with ones self when faced with reality and blessed with the knowledge that you are in fact, not the be all and end all of life as we know it.
“Hey self, what’s new?”
“Oh hey man, not much.”
“You wanna hear something crazy that I…”
“Sorry, im gonna have to stop you right there.”
“What!? Why?”
“Did you know that you are one smoking hot motha fucka, I mean hot damn.”
“You think so?”
“I know so!”
“Well thank you self, but may I continue?”
“Sure, I guess. Just as long as you know one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“That shit son you got it goin on, wooooohoooo.”
“I guess that’s fair.”
“You know it!”
“So you wanna know what I learnt today?”
“You bet your sweet Ass I do?”
“Did you know not everybody thinks like us?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know all these other people we see walking around.”
“You mean the ugly ones?”
“Yeah, turns out none of them thinks like us.”
“What?”
“I know! apparently there is this thing called self perspective which is basically an outworking of ones up bringing and personal circumstances.”
“No shit”.
“And from that flows things like opinions and beliefs. Which couldn’t possibly be the same, because everybody has had different shit happen to them which altar’s their thinking, which is based from their up bringing, which is unique in the first place.”
“Well that’s just amazing, that’s what that is!”
“You said it!”
“………………”
“………………”
“So you wanna get some pizza?”
As necessary as all this is, there are some who will spend their whole life with not so much as an after thought of it. Studies have shown contributing factors such as religion and/or trailer parks play major roles in the almighty powers of ignorance, causing an individual to be stuck in that primary school mentality that we have all enjoyed at one stage of our junior years, in which it was perfectly acceptable nay justified for one complete stranger to call another complete stranger an idiot or evil just for the shear satisfaction of it all.
For the rest of us though, such imperative random abuse should now only be reserved for animals and ugly children, better to lock your sights on less repercussions by saving your frustration for those that cant legally defend themselves, lest bare the consequences of something like a male anatomy themed parade filled with naked people who dance freakishly well!.…..cause that would just be darn right nutty.
From the other side of the coin however, whenever you take on the norm you have to expect some kind of opposition, at the very least to the degree of what level of anti norm your shooting for. Honestly to expect otherwise would be nothing short of naive. something about with every force there is an equal and opposing force, Im no physicist but I do believe Mr Newton got it right with that third law of his and in my opinion the expectation of smooth sailing would be just plain ignorant. You gotta take the good with the bad besides Just because a few people don’t understand you, doesn’t mean the whole world is against you! Though it might be, I don’t know, I missed the last meeting.
In light of all of this, much to the amusement of those whom I surround myself with from day to day, I have taken an unnecessary liking to one particular item of clothing and have made it my very own personal vendetta to see its time live again. I love my beret, God help me I really do. More oval then round and without the girly little tip on the very top, my black beret is as much a part of me as it was to Che Guevara.
Granted it’s a risky maneuver so you have to play your cards exactly right to pull it off, for example always wearing matching clothes and at all times have the right angle tilted on that bad boy for maximum effect.
Behold the glory of it, bask in its greatness. Dwell in the presence of its awesomeinity For when you gaze upon it, you are not just seeing the past become present, oh no! you, my friend are staring at the future. Im bringing it back, oh yes! I’m gonna bring that motha back if it’s the last thing I do.
Much easier said than done!
Bringing it back however requires much more work then I first anticipated, advertising is a bitch and believe you me its not all cat walks and Chanel parties Its isolation and its pain. A never ending abyss of torment and ridicule to which all that seemed trusted is withered away leaving only mourning for what once was. Never again will I under estimate the power of anti conformity. lesson learned, communism is alive and well in the fashion industry. You wanna know why those puncy little Emo’s are always so upset, if something as minuet as a beret can cause incident, these fuckers are walking around in vampire costumes and shit, no wonder the little bastards cut themselves.
I feel for you my brothers, well maybe not quite! but I do have some advice: Through thick and thin one must endure the trials and tribulations set before him and press on to receive the prize. you gotta be sold out for the cause or else you aint gonna make it. Through blood, sweat and tears hold on for dear life, stray but a little and you will fail conceding your efforts as little more than a cry for attention……Well that and take the knife away from your fucking arm, your heart has not been raped, its not all about you!!
I received a call from James late-ish last Saturday, there were loud voices battling with loud music in the back round. It was hard to get a trace on their position but it was pretty much a guarantee that they were on the move. Before I could even get a word in he began shouting as to avoid both turning the music down or me not hearing his declaration.
“Dude! Jazz, The Basement. Woooooooh!, be at yours in 10.
“Can you make it 30, I just got home from..”
Argh! what the f…one more time Grant, just one more time and I swear im gonna fucking….Beep.
The basement is located in a side alley in Circular quay and is renowned for its groove, so I figured it was a pretty good time to market my line of head wear. I wasn’t really in the mood for a big night, but I am always up for some Jazz so I wasn’t going to argue the idea.
Aprox 40 mins later Kim's car rocked up Grant, Tim and Lisa in the back with James riding shotgun, for those that are counting that’s a full car. Opening the rear door released an amplified wave of yelling mixed with Dave Mathews belting out of all speakers. I squeezed myself into the already over populated back seat avoiding rubbing and being rubbed up as much as physically possible.
As I struggled to wedge myself into a dignified spot, James reached for the volume control as he swivelled around to inform me of his inspiration for the night, however as he turned his facial expression changed hinting that he had spontaneously changed what he was about to say.
“God damn it! again with the hat. You’re killing me man.”
“ What!? come on, this looks good and you know it, Im telling you Jim its coming back ”
“Irrelevant, every time man! every time you wear that thing. your like a magnet for random fire, its almost like your walkin around with no pants on or sumthan and who am I? i’ll tell you who I am, im the guy buying drinks for the guy with no pants on and how does that score? Not well my friend, not fucking well at all.
“Would you like me to take off my pants James! is that what your saying? Cause if that’s what your saying, you can just come right out and say it.”
“God What is it with you and your pants, its always about your pants isn’t it. seriously every time we talk dude we some how manage to get back to the pants and the lack there of, just once I'd like to sit down and have a nice conversation that doesnt involve male nudity, I think it would be a healthy change of pace for us, what do you say sport can you deal with that.”
“I think it looks good.” A voice cutting in from the drivers seat.
“Yeah, Word!”
“Kim, do you want me to go through the whole pants metaphor again”
“So I thought you said 10 mins. What up!”
“Yeah, we got some donuts on the way, it is Jazz night after all. Here.”
I failed to see the connection, but as he passed me half a box of double glazed, it began to matter less and less. We arrived at the Basement with a half hour till midnight to spare. Everything was already in motion a 6 piece band complete with a trumpet and a saxophone were in all definition rocking the joint, most tables were free on account of all the hippen and a hoppin going on stage side to which Tim and Lisa almost immediately disappeared into the crowd to join the masses whilst the rest of us set up camp at one of the tables. James dealt out some cigars like playing cards explaining “Jazz needs Cigars” I suppose it was irrelevant that we can't smoke inside anymore but it didn’t seem to stop his enthusiasm. He tucked his inside his inner jacket pocket and with that was off for first rounds. Returning with 4 scooners and a “Jazz needs alcohol” as he placed them down on the allocated coasters.
Several rounds had gone bye and somewhere in between Tim had returned Lisa less. I muscled up to retrieve next round and made my way to the bar. Watching the band I began to zone out, swaying and moving to their beat. Don’t know what it was, the music, the booze, maybe I was just tired, I know not. What I do know though, is that those cats had me feeling alllllll right!
3 maybe 5 minutes past when I was awoken from my trance by a tap on the shoulder. I slowly turned my head and greeted the tapper with a jolt of my head in an upward direction. There stood a medium sized man with bleached blond hair, in a white short sleeve t shirt his neck covered with a darkish scarf standing hands on hips, noticeably pushing his ass to one side.
“I like your hat” he snickered with a deceitful grin on his face.
Careful self he’s trying to trap you!
“Mhmm” I replied whilst handing the bartender a twenty.
"I had no idea we were back in the French revolution?"
And there it is.
“Mhmm” I replied whilst scooping up the drinks, again trying not to engage the conversation.
He had his own little posse of 2 guys seconding his every sentence with their ooohh’s and “oh ho, snap’s” which wasn’t as effective as it was agitating which come to think of, maybe that made it effective…Fuck.
“You know I was thinking of getting one of those big Napoleon hats with the feather and stuff but there just so darn hard to find maybe you could get me one when you go back to your little hat store.”
“Mhmm,Im sorry do I know you.”
No…and you never will” (backup choir)“ooooohh burn”
“Then why the fuck are we talking?” I questioned as I turned from facing the bar to facing him with the full intention of a cool strutting exit.
“Aha well played self. you sexy son of a bitch.”
The change in my approach through him off just a little but not soon after he rebutled with a:
“hey heres an idea why don’t you just leave the fashion to us hmm hows that sound”
Whilst this hate crime was being carried out James had decided to investigate after seeing a conversation developing which was clearly coming in between him and the consumption of his beer.
“What the hell man. Jazz needs alcohol! James needs alcohol….he paused for a second stared at me, then stared at the heckling choir and repeated…. Jazz and James need alcohol. So where’s the beef!”
“No beef, I was just telling your friend here to leave the fashion to us?”
James shot a look to me with all the expression of “No pants, its like no pants.” We both knew what he meant by the “us” in that sentence though neither of us was prepared to go there.
“Us? you mean like the, we hate hats anonymous club. how could he do that. then no one would get to wear any hats. then what the fuck are we gonna do in the summer to shield our faces? Huh! what then? Use a magazine… our hands, fuck that.
He smirked a little and continued…
“we’d be all red and shit, Now Im thirsty but rest assured see that guy over there” as he pointed to the bartender “That’s his under study, he’ll listen to all the hat discrimination you can conjure up mmkay……...mmkay”
And with that he took his beer out of my hands and we made our way back to the tables.
(Me in the back round chanting “Woooooh wooooh burn bitch woooh!!” ha not really I fought the urge.)
There was a delayed reaction and a yelling of something but it was hard to make out over the loudness of the music. I strolled over to my chair and dropped as if exhausted by irritation. Grant was smiling! I don’t know why, probably because he's a dick, Kim gave me a punch on the shoulder whilst asking un sympathetically:
“what’s up with you.”
I took a large mouth full of my beer and stared aimlessly into the wall across the room. James began to explain only to be interrupted.
“What the hell was that!?”
A slight pause struck the table with all except me grinning like obese children.
“I mean who the fu..? why the..? what the hell.”
James withdrew his cigar from his jacket pocket and bit down on the tip.
“The queen’s got a point man”
“Fuck off he does, his wearing a skin tight t-shirt with a scarf, a scarf??? , Its like 30ºC, Fuck him.”
“wait wait wait“ Grant interceded “you mean to tell me that even the dudemiester in the scarf thought you looked like a dick“
I acknowledged his comment with a sad drop of the head. Grant burst into tears of joy.
“Oh dude, im gonna go ahead and get you another drink”
“Im telling you the whole worlds gone to hell, people can were there pants around there ankles and its cool, giant hubcap belt buckles on skin tight white jeans that you have to use a jigsaw to cut the bastards off and you get stylish, but NOOO I cant look like a french men if I want. You know the French have more sex then the Dutch have pot.”
“But dude, no one likes the French”
“I like the French”
“but no one cares what you think”
“Yeah, Well no one cares what you think”
“I hardly see how that’s relevant”
“ You…but….I….Screw you man Im bringing it back”
“And so you shall, but not tonight co-chief. Not tonight”
It seems to me the majority of people couldn’t really care less whether Xenu is your homeboy or if you smoke pole for a living or even if you are just one big giant pole in a scarf, however wearing a beret is entirely much more freedom that any man really needs. "you sir, have the right to vote and the right to carry a firearm but I just gotta ask, what the fuck is that on your head?"
Apparently there is a line and wearing a beret sends you sailing majestically right over that Bi-atch. I guess some shit is just to serious to fuck with.
In the grand scheme of things I suppose it really doesn’t matter Noah had his critics too and you know what happened to them…Their DEAD ass hole, down to the very last wise ass, floating face down in a sea of there own comedic genius.
Screw you guys, I’m Bringing it Back, you'll see!
I feel these days im as pro choice as they come, dude wants to kiss a dude: you go for your life, 2 chicks getting married: hey, strangely hot. 4 guys decide to experiment with 2 girls a swing set and an Emu: look, I dont care. As far as im concerned your business is none of my business, live long and prosper. Just don’t bug me with it whilst I’m watching my cartoons. The whole Idea of me not caring means I’m not fussed what your doing but I sure as shit don’t want to hear about how hard it is to support your own decisions.
Pro choice-ism is the name of the game here people, possibly just a nice way of saying I don’t give a fuck-ism or I found myself a nice sweet spot on this fence here and I ain’t gonna move-ism.
Regardless of whether there is any substantial evidence to Pro choice-ism’s credibility as actual dialogue, there is however a defining moment one has with ones self when faced with reality and blessed with the knowledge that you are in fact, not the be all and end all of life as we know it.
“Hey self, what’s new?”
“Oh hey man, not much.”
“You wanna hear something crazy that I…”
“Sorry, im gonna have to stop you right there.”
“What!? Why?”
“Did you know that you are one smoking hot motha fucka, I mean hot damn.”
“You think so?”
“I know so!”
“Well thank you self, but may I continue?”
“Sure, I guess. Just as long as you know one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“That shit son you got it goin on, wooooohoooo.”
“I guess that’s fair.”
“You know it!”
“So you wanna know what I learnt today?”
“You bet your sweet Ass I do?”
“Did you know not everybody thinks like us?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know all these other people we see walking around.”
“You mean the ugly ones?”
“Yeah, turns out none of them thinks like us.”
“What?”
“I know! apparently there is this thing called self perspective which is basically an outworking of ones up bringing and personal circumstances.”
“No shit”.
“And from that flows things like opinions and beliefs. Which couldn’t possibly be the same, because everybody has had different shit happen to them which altar’s their thinking, which is based from their up bringing, which is unique in the first place.”
“Well that’s just amazing, that’s what that is!”
“You said it!”
“………………”
“………………”
“So you wanna get some pizza?”
As necessary as all this is, there are some who will spend their whole life with not so much as an after thought of it. Studies have shown contributing factors such as religion and/or trailer parks play major roles in the almighty powers of ignorance, causing an individual to be stuck in that primary school mentality that we have all enjoyed at one stage of our junior years, in which it was perfectly acceptable nay justified for one complete stranger to call another complete stranger an idiot or evil just for the shear satisfaction of it all.
For the rest of us though, such imperative random abuse should now only be reserved for animals and ugly children, better to lock your sights on less repercussions by saving your frustration for those that cant legally defend themselves, lest bare the consequences of something like a male anatomy themed parade filled with naked people who dance freakishly well!.…..cause that would just be darn right nutty.
From the other side of the coin however, whenever you take on the norm you have to expect some kind of opposition, at the very least to the degree of what level of anti norm your shooting for. Honestly to expect otherwise would be nothing short of naive. something about with every force there is an equal and opposing force, Im no physicist but I do believe Mr Newton got it right with that third law of his and in my opinion the expectation of smooth sailing would be just plain ignorant. You gotta take the good with the bad besides Just because a few people don’t understand you, doesn’t mean the whole world is against you! Though it might be, I don’t know, I missed the last meeting.
In light of all of this, much to the amusement of those whom I surround myself with from day to day, I have taken an unnecessary liking to one particular item of clothing and have made it my very own personal vendetta to see its time live again. I love my beret, God help me I really do. More oval then round and without the girly little tip on the very top, my black beret is as much a part of me as it was to Che Guevara.
Granted it’s a risky maneuver so you have to play your cards exactly right to pull it off, for example always wearing matching clothes and at all times have the right angle tilted on that bad boy for maximum effect.
Behold the glory of it, bask in its greatness. Dwell in the presence of its awesomeinity For when you gaze upon it, you are not just seeing the past become present, oh no! you, my friend are staring at the future. Im bringing it back, oh yes! I’m gonna bring that motha back if it’s the last thing I do.
Much easier said than done!
Bringing it back however requires much more work then I first anticipated, advertising is a bitch and believe you me its not all cat walks and Chanel parties Its isolation and its pain. A never ending abyss of torment and ridicule to which all that seemed trusted is withered away leaving only mourning for what once was. Never again will I under estimate the power of anti conformity. lesson learned, communism is alive and well in the fashion industry. You wanna know why those puncy little Emo’s are always so upset, if something as minuet as a beret can cause incident, these fuckers are walking around in vampire costumes and shit, no wonder the little bastards cut themselves.
I feel for you my brothers, well maybe not quite! but I do have some advice: Through thick and thin one must endure the trials and tribulations set before him and press on to receive the prize. you gotta be sold out for the cause or else you aint gonna make it. Through blood, sweat and tears hold on for dear life, stray but a little and you will fail conceding your efforts as little more than a cry for attention……Well that and take the knife away from your fucking arm, your heart has not been raped, its not all about you!!
I received a call from James late-ish last Saturday, there were loud voices battling with loud music in the back round. It was hard to get a trace on their position but it was pretty much a guarantee that they were on the move. Before I could even get a word in he began shouting as to avoid both turning the music down or me not hearing his declaration.
“Dude! Jazz, The Basement. Woooooooh!, be at yours in 10.
“Can you make it 30, I just got home from..”
Argh! what the f…one more time Grant, just one more time and I swear im gonna fucking….Beep.
The basement is located in a side alley in Circular quay and is renowned for its groove, so I figured it was a pretty good time to market my line of head wear. I wasn’t really in the mood for a big night, but I am always up for some Jazz so I wasn’t going to argue the idea.
Aprox 40 mins later Kim's car rocked up Grant, Tim and Lisa in the back with James riding shotgun, for those that are counting that’s a full car. Opening the rear door released an amplified wave of yelling mixed with Dave Mathews belting out of all speakers. I squeezed myself into the already over populated back seat avoiding rubbing and being rubbed up as much as physically possible.
As I struggled to wedge myself into a dignified spot, James reached for the volume control as he swivelled around to inform me of his inspiration for the night, however as he turned his facial expression changed hinting that he had spontaneously changed what he was about to say.
“God damn it! again with the hat. You’re killing me man.”
“ What!? come on, this looks good and you know it, Im telling you Jim its coming back ”
“Irrelevant, every time man! every time you wear that thing. your like a magnet for random fire, its almost like your walkin around with no pants on or sumthan and who am I? i’ll tell you who I am, im the guy buying drinks for the guy with no pants on and how does that score? Not well my friend, not fucking well at all.
“Would you like me to take off my pants James! is that what your saying? Cause if that’s what your saying, you can just come right out and say it.”
“God What is it with you and your pants, its always about your pants isn’t it. seriously every time we talk dude we some how manage to get back to the pants and the lack there of, just once I'd like to sit down and have a nice conversation that doesnt involve male nudity, I think it would be a healthy change of pace for us, what do you say sport can you deal with that.”
“I think it looks good.” A voice cutting in from the drivers seat.
“Yeah, Word!”
“Kim, do you want me to go through the whole pants metaphor again”
“So I thought you said 10 mins. What up!”
“Yeah, we got some donuts on the way, it is Jazz night after all. Here.”
I failed to see the connection, but as he passed me half a box of double glazed, it began to matter less and less. We arrived at the Basement with a half hour till midnight to spare. Everything was already in motion a 6 piece band complete with a trumpet and a saxophone were in all definition rocking the joint, most tables were free on account of all the hippen and a hoppin going on stage side to which Tim and Lisa almost immediately disappeared into the crowd to join the masses whilst the rest of us set up camp at one of the tables. James dealt out some cigars like playing cards explaining “Jazz needs Cigars” I suppose it was irrelevant that we can't smoke inside anymore but it didn’t seem to stop his enthusiasm. He tucked his inside his inner jacket pocket and with that was off for first rounds. Returning with 4 scooners and a “Jazz needs alcohol” as he placed them down on the allocated coasters.
Several rounds had gone bye and somewhere in between Tim had returned Lisa less. I muscled up to retrieve next round and made my way to the bar. Watching the band I began to zone out, swaying and moving to their beat. Don’t know what it was, the music, the booze, maybe I was just tired, I know not. What I do know though, is that those cats had me feeling alllllll right!
3 maybe 5 minutes past when I was awoken from my trance by a tap on the shoulder. I slowly turned my head and greeted the tapper with a jolt of my head in an upward direction. There stood a medium sized man with bleached blond hair, in a white short sleeve t shirt his neck covered with a darkish scarf standing hands on hips, noticeably pushing his ass to one side.
“I like your hat” he snickered with a deceitful grin on his face.
Careful self he’s trying to trap you!
“Mhmm” I replied whilst handing the bartender a twenty.
"I had no idea we were back in the French revolution?"
And there it is.
“Mhmm” I replied whilst scooping up the drinks, again trying not to engage the conversation.
He had his own little posse of 2 guys seconding his every sentence with their ooohh’s and “oh ho, snap’s” which wasn’t as effective as it was agitating which come to think of, maybe that made it effective…Fuck.
“You know I was thinking of getting one of those big Napoleon hats with the feather and stuff but there just so darn hard to find maybe you could get me one when you go back to your little hat store.”
“Mhmm,Im sorry do I know you.”
No…and you never will” (backup choir)“ooooohh burn”
“Then why the fuck are we talking?” I questioned as I turned from facing the bar to facing him with the full intention of a cool strutting exit.
“Aha well played self. you sexy son of a bitch.”
The change in my approach through him off just a little but not soon after he rebutled with a:
“hey heres an idea why don’t you just leave the fashion to us hmm hows that sound”
Whilst this hate crime was being carried out James had decided to investigate after seeing a conversation developing which was clearly coming in between him and the consumption of his beer.
“What the hell man. Jazz needs alcohol! James needs alcohol….he paused for a second stared at me, then stared at the heckling choir and repeated…. Jazz and James need alcohol. So where’s the beef!”
“No beef, I was just telling your friend here to leave the fashion to us?”
James shot a look to me with all the expression of “No pants, its like no pants.” We both knew what he meant by the “us” in that sentence though neither of us was prepared to go there.
“Us? you mean like the, we hate hats anonymous club. how could he do that. then no one would get to wear any hats. then what the fuck are we gonna do in the summer to shield our faces? Huh! what then? Use a magazine… our hands, fuck that.
He smirked a little and continued…
“we’d be all red and shit, Now Im thirsty but rest assured see that guy over there” as he pointed to the bartender “That’s his under study, he’ll listen to all the hat discrimination you can conjure up mmkay……...mmkay”
And with that he took his beer out of my hands and we made our way back to the tables.
(Me in the back round chanting “Woooooh wooooh burn bitch woooh!!” ha not really I fought the urge.)
There was a delayed reaction and a yelling of something but it was hard to make out over the loudness of the music. I strolled over to my chair and dropped as if exhausted by irritation. Grant was smiling! I don’t know why, probably because he's a dick, Kim gave me a punch on the shoulder whilst asking un sympathetically:
“what’s up with you.”
I took a large mouth full of my beer and stared aimlessly into the wall across the room. James began to explain only to be interrupted.
“What the hell was that!?”
A slight pause struck the table with all except me grinning like obese children.
“I mean who the fu..? why the..? what the hell.”
James withdrew his cigar from his jacket pocket and bit down on the tip.
“The queen’s got a point man”
“Fuck off he does, his wearing a skin tight t-shirt with a scarf, a scarf??? , Its like 30ºC, Fuck him.”
“wait wait wait“ Grant interceded “you mean to tell me that even the dudemiester in the scarf thought you looked like a dick“
I acknowledged his comment with a sad drop of the head. Grant burst into tears of joy.
“Oh dude, im gonna go ahead and get you another drink”
“Im telling you the whole worlds gone to hell, people can were there pants around there ankles and its cool, giant hubcap belt buckles on skin tight white jeans that you have to use a jigsaw to cut the bastards off and you get stylish, but NOOO I cant look like a french men if I want. You know the French have more sex then the Dutch have pot.”
“But dude, no one likes the French”
“I like the French”
“but no one cares what you think”
“Yeah, Well no one cares what you think”
“I hardly see how that’s relevant”
“ You…but….I….Screw you man Im bringing it back”
“And so you shall, but not tonight co-chief. Not tonight”
It seems to me the majority of people couldn’t really care less whether Xenu is your homeboy or if you smoke pole for a living or even if you are just one big giant pole in a scarf, however wearing a beret is entirely much more freedom that any man really needs. "you sir, have the right to vote and the right to carry a firearm but I just gotta ask, what the fuck is that on your head?"
Apparently there is a line and wearing a beret sends you sailing majestically right over that Bi-atch. I guess some shit is just to serious to fuck with.
In the grand scheme of things I suppose it really doesn’t matter Noah had his critics too and you know what happened to them…Their DEAD ass hole, down to the very last wise ass, floating face down in a sea of there own comedic genius.
Screw you guys, I’m Bringing it Back, you'll see!
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Letter of Redemption
To whom it may concern:
I am writing to you on this day because I feel compelled to answer to the rumours that may or may not have been brought to your attention. In this effort, hopefully I may put to rest any resentment or remorse to those that feel wronged in anyway, shape or form.
In the subject of Ryan, I’m afraid I must confirm that he is indeed bad ass! furthermore Taylor has proved much less aggravating then her predecessor. I also feel it necessary to note that Seth is in fact the man and Hercules seems only fitting as the father of said bad ass. It is true, if given the chance I would definitely do Taylor over Summer and have since noticed that every problem that resulted in death, injury or emotional pain can be pointed squarely at one person, a fact that to this day still keeps me up at night, although she did spend half a season with the blond girl which in turn cancels all the bad stuff out, another fact that keeps me up at night but for entirely different reasons.
I understand the consequences of this statement, however this is not my main concern in this matter. I am fully aware that my recent enthusiasm does not reflect the opinions and beliefs of my former self, so much so, the hypocrisy in its self may be too much for you to bear. Although at that time the words that were spoken most definitely outlined my previous stance in the matter, I feel obligated to express that though it was not an act of deceit at the time, I do not believe the statements declared both shamelessly and publicly to be of relevance anymore.
And so, a recant is in order. Understand, to my knowledge there was no documentation of said events. However foul play is still foul play, you have been wronged in my premature, inaccurate judgement and I am man enough to make things right.
J-mac, I’m sorry I lied,
There were not free showbags of tampons and lip balm at the 2nd season launch.
Dave, I apologise,
George Michael did not base his screen play on the events between you two, I didn’t even know George Michael had a screenplay!! And am aware if he does the possibility of it actually being about you is quite impossible.
Teenagers in JB HiFi:
Im pretty sure the theme song “California” is actually about the state California, a group of people going there, and all being very happy about it!! rather than a subliminal message about the climax in a Californication manfest, im not even sure that’s a word let alone an act. I know I referred to the red hot chilli peppers but be assured there is no connection between the two songs.
Again J-mac I’m sorry,
I did not see a new fruit, vodka and kahlua beverage called the orange county being handed out for advertisement at the front door of the Toolbox. Truth be told I have never been east of George st, let alone down Kings cross.
Guy waiting in line at the tattoo parlour,
I was not undecided over whether the I heart R.A tattoo on the producers bicep, stood for I heart Ryan Atwood, I heart Ryans Ass or Iceland hearts Ryans Assets. He doesn’t have a tattoo, I don’t have a tattoo, I just wanted some gummi bears.
The bathrooms, toilets and rest room walls of N.S.W (and parts in Europe).
J-mac is not the Lord, King, Mayor, General, Matradee, Ambassador, Zoo Keeper or Pool Cleaner of Homotown, there is no Homotown! nor anyone who occupies it.
If I have missed anything let it be known here and now that I whole heartedly apologise for that too and in no way find the contents or actions of whatever was said or done amusing from any perspective what so ever.
Before you today stands a corrected man bemused to the fact that I could have ever protested anything with Lesbians, cage matches and Kevin Sorbo in it. I openly confess that I have turned from my wicked ways and am now on the path of a higher knowledge and though my hypocrisy knows no bounds, I will seek redemption from this day forth.
Consider this my formal apology.
Forgive me, I knew not what I did.
Martinez
I heart Taylor 4ever
I am writing to you on this day because I feel compelled to answer to the rumours that may or may not have been brought to your attention. In this effort, hopefully I may put to rest any resentment or remorse to those that feel wronged in anyway, shape or form.
In the subject of Ryan, I’m afraid I must confirm that he is indeed bad ass! furthermore Taylor has proved much less aggravating then her predecessor. I also feel it necessary to note that Seth is in fact the man and Hercules seems only fitting as the father of said bad ass. It is true, if given the chance I would definitely do Taylor over Summer and have since noticed that every problem that resulted in death, injury or emotional pain can be pointed squarely at one person, a fact that to this day still keeps me up at night, although she did spend half a season with the blond girl which in turn cancels all the bad stuff out, another fact that keeps me up at night but for entirely different reasons.
I understand the consequences of this statement, however this is not my main concern in this matter. I am fully aware that my recent enthusiasm does not reflect the opinions and beliefs of my former self, so much so, the hypocrisy in its self may be too much for you to bear. Although at that time the words that were spoken most definitely outlined my previous stance in the matter, I feel obligated to express that though it was not an act of deceit at the time, I do not believe the statements declared both shamelessly and publicly to be of relevance anymore.
And so, a recant is in order. Understand, to my knowledge there was no documentation of said events. However foul play is still foul play, you have been wronged in my premature, inaccurate judgement and I am man enough to make things right.
J-mac, I’m sorry I lied,
There were not free showbags of tampons and lip balm at the 2nd season launch.
Dave, I apologise,
George Michael did not base his screen play on the events between you two, I didn’t even know George Michael had a screenplay!! And am aware if he does the possibility of it actually being about you is quite impossible.
Teenagers in JB HiFi:
Im pretty sure the theme song “California” is actually about the state California, a group of people going there, and all being very happy about it!! rather than a subliminal message about the climax in a Californication manfest, im not even sure that’s a word let alone an act. I know I referred to the red hot chilli peppers but be assured there is no connection between the two songs.
Again J-mac I’m sorry,
I did not see a new fruit, vodka and kahlua beverage called the orange county being handed out for advertisement at the front door of the Toolbox. Truth be told I have never been east of George st, let alone down Kings cross.
Guy waiting in line at the tattoo parlour,
I was not undecided over whether the I heart R.A tattoo on the producers bicep, stood for I heart Ryan Atwood, I heart Ryans Ass or Iceland hearts Ryans Assets. He doesn’t have a tattoo, I don’t have a tattoo, I just wanted some gummi bears.
The bathrooms, toilets and rest room walls of N.S.W (and parts in Europe).
J-mac is not the Lord, King, Mayor, General, Matradee, Ambassador, Zoo Keeper or Pool Cleaner of Homotown, there is no Homotown! nor anyone who occupies it.
If I have missed anything let it be known here and now that I whole heartedly apologise for that too and in no way find the contents or actions of whatever was said or done amusing from any perspective what so ever.
Before you today stands a corrected man bemused to the fact that I could have ever protested anything with Lesbians, cage matches and Kevin Sorbo in it. I openly confess that I have turned from my wicked ways and am now on the path of a higher knowledge and though my hypocrisy knows no bounds, I will seek redemption from this day forth.
Consider this my formal apology.
Forgive me, I knew not what I did.
Martinez
I heart Taylor 4ever
Sunday, August 24, 2008
It's all just a ploy!
If life has taught me anything in this crazy world we live in, it’s that there is a first time for everything. (Exemptions applicable to Hermits and OCD sufferers). But fortunately - and sometimes unfortunately, for the rest of us - we remain subject to the spontaneous and in some cases the assumably impossible, made a reality by Murphy's law in all its random glory.
Tim
"Booyah! that's game bitches. $40, pay the man."
As the two scrunched 20 dollar bills hit the deck of the pool table, an over exaggerated high five echoes the defeat, ultimately proclaiming the victorious. Well that and the synchronized pelvic thrusts targeting the defeated from the other side of the table as they, heads dropped, dawdle out of the room in utter disgrace.
James Grant and Tim Harvey, the undisputed doubles champions and self titled house pro's of the Harvey household. So much so that round these parts, they’re often referred to as the woodies of intoxicated pool.
(Sub explanation: the Woodies is the name of the Australian tennis team of Todd Woodbridge and Mark Woodforde. whilst both decent players, when partnered together, in their prime were considered by most Australians as unbeatable).
much like my money sharking companions.
I wish I could say I felt sorry for the long list of casualties but to play them for money on their own turf is just plain stupid. Everybody knows when it comes to pool you just can’t fuck with the home town advantage. Every bend, curve and dip has been well analysed and is exploited in full diabolical force.
The rapid thrusts continued in perfect synchronisation until line of sight was lost, admittedly this is not an uncommon occurance. Tim took several bows before sitting down, whereas James said not a word, instead he stood in his own excellence and waved to the peasants. Sigh again not uncommon.
Tim
"Thank you linesmen, thank you ball boys."
James
"Forgive my intrusion ladies but you must excuse my rudeness, for I, James the first, must pee. Feel free to worship me in my absence"
And with that James disappeared into the crowd displaying his best kingly walk.
Kev
"Yeah yeah, three shakes is classed as a wank your highness"
Roughly 10 minutes later he emerged from the crowd, drink in hand and still mildly pleased with himself. This was rather strange, seeming that our booze not to mention the keg was downstairs with us and NOT in the toilet, which at the time was quite frightening due to A)why was he drinking a beer he found in the toilet and of course, much more disturbingly B) if that's not the case just where exactly did he take a piss?
Strolling passed inquisitive eyes he plonked himself up on the counter next to me and took a sip of his drink.
me
"Nice beer."
James
"You know it."
Tim
"You pissed in my fridge didn't you?"
James
"Haha, nah man! Jackson, you know something that guy's alright.
Tim
"So Jackson pissed in my fridge"
James
"What, no.... well, I don’t know, at least I didnt see him do it. He stopped me on the way back, said he was watching us play, gave me the beer.”
Uuhh hang on, Shit! maybe I should back it up a bit, sorry:
Recently our parties have been drawing some serious crowds, now I say parties but what I really mean is gatherings, hoedowns, corroborees and any other social arrangements of the sort. Once upon a time, back in high school, it was just us, if we wanted to hang out and drink one night, we could feel free to do so knowing full well that when we woke after we crashed out, the house would be relatively in the same state of that of which we left it and that if it wasn't, it was cool cause it was just us, and if something was, touch wood, broken, stolen or defecated, it was undoubtably morally called for. If you wanted to get your serious party on, you would do it at some other random’s house not yours, for the obvious reasons.
But the times have been a changing. Most of us split up to different unis, jobs etc, so when the words "social get together" are thrown around, all of the sudden the number of "us" become larger, considerably larger. Consequently, many conversations were falsely interpreted and as of thus far have been deemed outdated and useless.
Example:
"so I’m probably gonna have a quiet one. Few drinks at this guys house, real casual like. No big deal, not like it's a party or anything. Should be good."
Interpretation:
I’m probably gonna have a quiet one. Few drinks at this guys house, real casual like. No big deal, not like it's a Party or anything. Should be a good party, we'll see how the party goes, party, party, party. You and every other drop kick you know should come to our party, I will be personally offended if you don’t party with us at the party….party….big party…….. party."
You can see how things can get a little confused, so to keep up with the times an invitation like the above is now more likely to sound a bit more like:
"So I’m gonna get out my shotgun this weekend and just unload on anyone who walks passed this guy's house, Yep. I’m a be shootin fuckers from dusk till dawn, no big deal, should be good.”
Now I know what you’re thinking, why wouldn’t you just not say anything? Avoid the whole “misunderstanding” all together? A logical statement I’ll give you that, but flawed none the less, because since our new found fame we have come to understand that, without being picky, we like having a vast majority of people at these things and this way we can semi control who and the amount of whom attend.
Exaggerate much?! Maybe, but the moral of the story is our parties have gotten bigger and that it’s never a good idea to take candy from hookers.
So anyway one of the regular attendees was this Asian dude named Jackson, nice enough guy, very metro though. He was a friend of a friend of our friends to begin with, but after a few gatherings he had worked his way to at least the inner-outer circle of the friendships hierarchy. He was a class act, Jackson, and all in all was a pretty smooth criminal.
Ha criminal! get it,…Haha… you know, from the…. With the….. glove,…hmmm!
Fun fact number one about Jackson is that his name isn’t Jackson, it was Jun Tao or Jun Tin, definitely Jun something. In any case Jun was deemed entirely too much effort and Jun became Jack. I had considered that to be somewhat disrespectful earlier in the piece but you know, whatever!
Not long after, Jack combined with the efforts of the karate kid, quickly transferred to Jackson when a quickly pronounced “Jack, son” was met instantly by intoxicated cheers, drinks clashing together in celebration and several attempted moonwalks in awe of the un documented moment of clarity, partnered with the event of discovering how clever we are.
So Jun something became Jack and Jack became Jackson and that’s who allegedly didn’t piss in Tim’s fridge.
And we’re back in!
Kim
“Well that was nice of him.”
Tim glared at James for a second before slowly backing up out of the room and heading for the kitchen.
James
“Ha, yeah guess he recognised the skills or sumthan.”
Kev
“The skills? Yeah Im sure that’s exactly it Jay-Z, player be running hoes up in this mother, and the Jackman knows to recognise. “
James, along with the rest of the circle, paused and began to stare at Kev in unified silence . One eye brow cocked with a half smirk James took a slow sip of his drink and continued to smirk.
As Kev let out a rather loud “you guys are jerks.” Ang put her hand on his knee in mock sympathy.
James continued on about Jackson until he had finished drinking the man’s gift. By this time Tim had returned and the look of relief on his face as he entered through the hallway could not be mistaken.
James
“You know it’s always better when you’ve earned it.”
Tim
“Yeah I suppose I was just a bystander, huh, ass.”
James
“Well I’ll go get one off him for you if it means that much to you, wouldn’t mind paying him a little visit anyway.”
The circle was once again struck by silence only this time there was no smirking to be found.
James
“What?”
More staring…
James
“Have you seen the girls he rolls with, the man’s a magnet.”
Tim
“You guys talkin’ bout Jackson.”
James
“Maybe he’s on to something with the whole metro thing, not my cup of tea personally, but it seems to work with the kids these days, what with their crazy hair styles and angry rap music.”
Grant
“C’mon man, be realistic. Just where you gonna get a pair of cut offs from.”
Tim
“Yeah uh, Jackson’s gay fellers.”
Kim, Ang, Kev and Nicky almost in harmony expressed their delight: “Really”.
After which everybody stopped and curiously stared at Kevin once again.
Nicky
“A little excited are we, Kevin?”
James
“Dude, what is wrong with you tonight?”
Kev
“What?....it’s just...I didn’t mean!…You no what, Fuck you guys!”
And with that he flipped us all off and proceeded to walk out mumbling and grumbling obscenities and what not to himself, as the majority of us struggled to hold a straight face.
He disappeared around the corner only to pop his head back around to ask if anybody wanted anything whilst he was up.
James
“I don’t know man, seems a little suss if you ask me. Who told you that?”
Grant
“I guess you could probably make ‘em, but then you’d ruin a perfectly good pair of jeans.”
Tim
“Does it matter? Trust me, he is.”
Jumping to his feet from the bench, James moved to the doorway and peered into the crowd.
Tim
“Why do you think he brought you the beer man?”
James
“Maybe it’s a ploy.”
Grant
“Unless you bought a cheap pair and make ‘em from that, but if you did that, you might as well buy yourself the real deal, you know.”
Me
“A ploy? What like a scam? Right cause that makes much more sense.”
Grant
“Unless, you bootlegged em from…”
Tim
“God damn it, would yah shut up about the cut offs, I swear I’m gonna bottle you”
Grant just chuckled to himself as he went face first into his beer.
Me
“Who are you even talking to man?”
James
“Well, these days woman are like, stupid and…”
Grant sprung from his stool as I leapt off the counter to meet an advancing Ang and Kim, grabbing and throwing them over the pool table into the shelving across the room.
Oh come on, I kid. I kid, ‘cause I love.
Grant sprung from his stool as I leapt off the counter to meet an advancing Ang and Kim, effectively stopping their attack by a graceful clench around the waist.
Me
“Woah, easy Tiger.”
Grant
“He’s not finished yet.”
Some exaggerated flailing about demonstrated their objections to being held in contempt, however their passion for blood never lasts long and not short after the heat of the moment had died down to but a subtle breeze.
Kim
“Let me go Grant, now.”
Ang pushed my hands off her and re adjusted her composure.
Ang
“Alright, I’m cool.”
Grant released Kim and slowly backed away, hands held open in cautious submission. Kim pointed the blunt end of her empty mud-shake at James and sat back down on her chair.
James
“What I mean is, I have heard that sometimes guys go around saying things like they’re gay or religious or whatever so that woman take to the challenge of changing them, like for sport or sumthan.”
Ang
“Oh, that can’t be true.”
Me
“Actually, yeah come to think of it, I have heard of such a thing.”
Ang
“Yes I’m sure You would have”
Me
“What?! What’s that supposed to mean”
Ang just shrugged her shoulders and ignored the question altogether.
Tim
“Yeah, well Ive heard that every time Jack Nicholson makes love, a pixie fairy dies, but it doesn’t change the fact that that man over there, is gay my friends.”
James
“Bah, I must know the truth.”
Alerted to the sound of a challenge, he darted back to his jacket to retrieve his phone and, I’m guessing, his super secret spy gear.
Nicky
“James, um… why?”
James
“Because the truth will set you free, Nicky”
Nicky seemed slightly confused as to the relevance of his statement.
James
“You do want to be free don’t you?”
Nicky
“Well I guess.”
James
“Well then come gentlemen, we go to freedom!”
And he began to march out of the room.
Me
“Free, James?...Really?”
James
“Like a mother fucking bird!”
And off he went.
Tim
“You think he wants us to go with him?”
Grant
“I’m really not sure it matters at this point”
We left it for a bit and continued with our night, none of us overly concerned about James’s mission or its context. If you had of asked me I would have lied, but on paper I must admit as the night progressed I was slightly intrigued as to how it was all coming along maybe even a little concerned as to how he planned to retrieve the information. But those emotions had been carefully filed, primarily in the back of my mind and as the night unfolded I was distracted more and more from the cause.
As the night rolled on Kev returned from his own adventures. He looked slightly puzzled as he sat down as if pondering something of the greatest importance.
Kev
“Anybody know what the fuck’s up with James?”
Tim
“Why what’s happening?”
Kev
“I don’t know, he’s acting real strange, I walked up to him before and he was trying to convinced some dude to drop his phone and bend over to pick it up or somethan, what’s up with that?”
Grant and I began to laugh.
Tim
“Was Jackson nearby?”
Kev
“Wouldn’t surprise me, he’s been floating around him all night, what’s he doing?”
Tim
“Maybe we should go help him or something.”
Grant
“Shot not”
Tim, Kev ,Ang, Nicky and Kim
“Shot not”
Me
“shot n…argh Damn it”
Fricken anti-shotgun rule!
Me
“Alright fine, I’m going. Anyone coming?”
Grant
“Shot not”
Tim
“Shot not”
Me
“Alright, alright! Forget it.”
Nicky
“Hang on, I kinda wanna see what he’s up to anyway.”
So Nicky and I headed for the kitchen, we grabbed a few fresh drinks and began to track him down, which we eventually did, outside, standing on the top steps, overlooking the backyard real stealth like.
Me
“Any progress?”
James
“Oh dude I’m glad your’re here, you gotta do me this favour, go over there and…”
Me
“I’m not bending over in front of Jackson, James!”
James
“Fine! Hey ,maybe if Nicky were to go over there and…”
James paused mid sentence on account of the evil eye he was receiving from Nicky as she passed him a fresh drink.
James
“Fair enough.”
Nicky
“Soooo what have we learned?”
James
“Not much, there’s a guy down there that it looks like he’s with, but there really isn’t much gayness going on. I’ll never know like this anyway, cause his posse never leaves so I cant be sure if its an act or not. I gotta get him away from em”
Me
“Do you know if he’s seen you tailing him?”
James
“Are you kidding, I’m like the wind baby.”
A truce was signed and we returned back to our seating in the pool room, business returned to the norm and all was good in the hood. Later, during a lengthily debate of what I’m sure was of the greatest importance James pounced from his seat and took off down the hallway. Tim and I rose to our feet in pursuit.
Grant
“Shot not”
Tim
“Shut up, you’re coming”
We followed up the hallway, swerving and weaving through the human traffic only to come to a screaming halt at the front door.
“He’s leaving.” James whispered
Tim
“Why are you whispering, idiot”
James
“Can’t let that happen.”
As he attempted a casual dismount from our little front door meeting, he signalled for us to follow, which we reluctantly did.
James
“Hey Jackson, man you leaving already.”
Jackson
“Yeah, killer party guys, but I’m out. You know how it is.”
James
“C’mon man I still owe you a beer, just stay there and I’ll fetch you one, one for the road, huh, champ.”
Before he could answer James was off, leaving myself, Tim and Grant to hold the fort. It’s kind of hard to explain the atmosphere surrounding this particular part of the night, understand we all knew Jackson and we aren’t the type of people to whom his preference of gender would make any kind of difference. Nevertheless things remained to be noticeably awkward. Mainly, I feel, due to us being wise to James’s prior escapades and the knowledge that Jackson might not be so happy about it.
To ease the tension surrounding our covert orders Tim and I began to fill in the blanks with some small talk as Grant attempted the same.
Grant
“So you like the cock huh? Nice!”
Before you ask, yes he really did say that and yes it was fucking awkward.
We froze in horror, unable to conjure up the words to salvage the moment. Grant however appeared to be under the impression that he had just asked something remotely appropriate like if Jackson likes pineapple or something, from the way he calmly waited for a response. Jackson simply smiled looked at the guy he had come with and without a word they headed back in the house.
Me
“Dude, what the fuck.”
Grant
“What!?”
Me
“What do you mean what?! What the fuck!?”
Grant
“Oh grow up! Would you get offended if I asked you if you like boobs, No! you wouldn’t, you’d be like show me where the boobs at! There is no need to tip toe around it.”
Me
“Shit! Why does that make sense?”
Grant
“Because I am king.”
Tim
“Well, at least he’s back inside”
Grant
“I guess that’s case closed then gentlemen”
Me
“Anybody else notice, Jackson didn’t seem to confide too much in his man friend.”
Grant
“Not really, why? You think James might be on to something?”
Tim
“Pffft, not likely”
Me
“I don’t know, just seemed weird is all.”
Against Grants reassurance, we gave it a little time before heading back in, some avid party goers were providing enough entertainment to kill a few minutes, so there seemed to be no need to rush things.
But as it became apparent that there was no possible way those guys could get the carrot all the way up there, we made our way back inside to find things cruising along quite nicely. James had some how convinced the girls to distract Jackson’s posse enough to get some quality interrogation time, don’t know how he managed that one but nevertheless as we entered there they were carrying out James’s bidding. Jackson shot a quick but noticeable look towards Grant, but other than that there really wasn’t much more said.
Round after round went by and good fun was being had by all. The night was getting late, the drinks were getting few and the conversations were getting deeper.
Unable to answer for sure the question plaguing his mind, James seemed to be taking it rather well, sitting to the side strumming his guitar whilst throwing in the occasional “Will I ever know, oh! Oh…oh, oh! will I ever never knoooow , oh oh” to the melody and then pretending to cry.
I was beginning to feel the need to call it a night , when Grant shuffled over to the counter, which I was now, eyes closed, completely sprawled out upon.
Grant
“Dude, you still with us?”
Me
“I don’t know, you still a dick?”
Grant
“Hey, you’re being funny now, that’s great, listen I’ve got news.”
Me
“You’ve got news? That’s awesome Grant, good luck with that, I hope it all works out for you.”
Grant
“Seriously, listen! Jackson’s not here but he’s still here, you know”
Me
“Uh, huh”
Grant
“You know, he’s here, but not here.”
Me
“………”
Grant
“Like here, here!”
Me
“……..”
Grant
“…….”
Me
“Yeah, dude, I’m not really in the mood for your Zen shit right now so if you could just, you know...!?
Grant
“Idiot, he didn’t leave, but he is not in this room, and MOST of his friends are still in this room!”
Me
“………”
Grant
“Most of them.”
Me
“….Ohhh, right, so go tell James man, why you talking to me for?”
Grant
“I don’t know, I was thinking maybe not. Wouldn’t it be funny if tomorrow when he’s hung over, we tell him he had an opportunity to know but he didn’t see it.”
Me
“Will you stop being such a dick and go tell the man.”
Grant
“But I was thinking…”
Me
“Grant!”
Grant
“Fine.”
Me
“Dick.”
Eyes still closed, I clawed around for something to throw at Tim in case he wanted to intervene. Considering but eventually bypassing a few empty beer bottles and a big glass bowl of something, I settled for a rubber stress ball lying just within arms reach.
Opening to a squint, I flung the projectile as best I could. Luckily for me it miraculously hit its desired target. Tim replied quite vocally at first, but as I pointed to the conversation in the corner, his head swivelled a quick scan of the room before he nodded in approval and leant in for a closer listen.
James
“Are you kidding me, fuck I love you man.”
Throwing his arms around him James landed several big kisses on the top of Grants fragile head.
James
“Mwaaah, Mwaaah, I love this guy”
Grant
“Oh, c’mon man”
James
“Mmmmmwwwwwwaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!”
Though I doubt he was enjoying it as much as he would have liked, Grant made little effort to repel James from his moment of weakness. He just stood limp, arms dropped to the side as if he was a Grant-size, stuffed teddy bear.
James
“You hear me, I love this guy right here!”
As he released him from his kung fu grip, James made a bee line for the door, where I assumed he would be halted by the words of a concerned Tim.
“Go get ‘em Jim.”
Considering prior events I was not expecting that, the whole night I got the feeling Tim didn’t seem to be down with the whole mission, not that any of us were any more than entertained by the whole ideal for that matter. I guess it wasn’t a defining moment, it just seemed strange to me at the time.
As the loud sound of fast paced footsteps tracked over every square inch of the house, Tim smiled at me as he chucked the rubber stress ball back over. When it landed on my chest, I sat back up and launched the rubber squeeze thing once more.
I thought about the night’s events, the secret battle between the unknowing competitor and the seeker of truth and freedom.
Or you know, just some dude stalking another dude for an entire night! But, whatever you want to call it, as of this point, from where I was standing, I couldn’t say for sure what was going on out there, none of us could, really.
Based on tonight’s experiment it was as much possible for Jackson to be the epitome of sodomisers, as it was for a group of teenagers and a semi retarded dog to rock up in a suspicious looking combie van, ripping off Jackson’s mask and revealing him to be Mr Larson, the old janitor from the docks.
“And I would have got away with it to, if it wasn’t for that punk kid James, aarrgghh!”
The footsteps seemed to be scampering back over themselves before stopping all together. After a few seconds, the sound of a man on a mission revived, thumps gradually getting softer until the sound of a screen door being flung open echoed the room.
The intensity of the moment began to rise as those of us lucky enough to still be conscious silently predicted both the contents and the outcome of what was taking place outside.
In many ways James was right, everything did seem a little suss and there was only one way to find out but it was only he who was brave enough to accept the challenge, only he, selfless enough to invade another mans privacy right until the bitter end.
The rubber projectile was crossing the living room for its sixth or seventh time, when the sound of the screen door re-opening froze everything in the room, leaving the rubber ball hovering mid flight over the pool table.
Okay, that’s not physically possible, but the room did seem to be frozen in anticipation.
We all sat, eyes fixed on the entrance from the hallway.
Watching…
Waiting…
When in he walked, white as a ghost, eyes fixated on the floor. Calmly walking, un phased by the obstacles and enquiring eyes in his path he passed the counter on which I was perched upon, Tim lobbed the ball over as he grinningly questioned James.
“So, did you…”
“Yup.”
“ And did he see…”
“Yup.”
“ Wow, that must have…”
“Yup.”
Tim then began a valiant effort to fight back his impending joy.
James without even glimpsing up, made his way to the living room wall, leant his back against it and let his legs slowly give out from under him.
“So, a ploy, huh, James?”
I asked as I lobbed the stress ball into his lap,
“Nope! Definitely not a ploy!”
“So when you…”
“Yup”
“He was…”
“yup”
“Wow, that must have…”
“Yup”
“……”
“…….”
“Do you wanna talk…”
“Nope, not ever”
“Are you…”
“NOT EVER!!”
I guess, it’s like I said, in many ways James was right! But then in many, much more accurate ways he was completely wrong, much to the delight of everyone else
Special Thanks to Kim
Tim
"Booyah! that's game bitches. $40, pay the man."
As the two scrunched 20 dollar bills hit the deck of the pool table, an over exaggerated high five echoes the defeat, ultimately proclaiming the victorious. Well that and the synchronized pelvic thrusts targeting the defeated from the other side of the table as they, heads dropped, dawdle out of the room in utter disgrace.
James Grant and Tim Harvey, the undisputed doubles champions and self titled house pro's of the Harvey household. So much so that round these parts, they’re often referred to as the woodies of intoxicated pool.
(Sub explanation: the Woodies is the name of the Australian tennis team of Todd Woodbridge and Mark Woodforde. whilst both decent players, when partnered together, in their prime were considered by most Australians as unbeatable).
much like my money sharking companions.
I wish I could say I felt sorry for the long list of casualties but to play them for money on their own turf is just plain stupid. Everybody knows when it comes to pool you just can’t fuck with the home town advantage. Every bend, curve and dip has been well analysed and is exploited in full diabolical force.
The rapid thrusts continued in perfect synchronisation until line of sight was lost, admittedly this is not an uncommon occurance. Tim took several bows before sitting down, whereas James said not a word, instead he stood in his own excellence and waved to the peasants. Sigh again not uncommon.
Tim
"Thank you linesmen, thank you ball boys."
James
"Forgive my intrusion ladies but you must excuse my rudeness, for I, James the first, must pee. Feel free to worship me in my absence"
And with that James disappeared into the crowd displaying his best kingly walk.
Kev
"Yeah yeah, three shakes is classed as a wank your highness"
Roughly 10 minutes later he emerged from the crowd, drink in hand and still mildly pleased with himself. This was rather strange, seeming that our booze not to mention the keg was downstairs with us and NOT in the toilet, which at the time was quite frightening due to A)why was he drinking a beer he found in the toilet and of course, much more disturbingly B) if that's not the case just where exactly did he take a piss?
Strolling passed inquisitive eyes he plonked himself up on the counter next to me and took a sip of his drink.
me
"Nice beer."
James
"You know it."
Tim
"You pissed in my fridge didn't you?"
James
"Haha, nah man! Jackson, you know something that guy's alright.
Tim
"So Jackson pissed in my fridge"
James
"What, no.... well, I don’t know, at least I didnt see him do it. He stopped me on the way back, said he was watching us play, gave me the beer.”
Uuhh hang on, Shit! maybe I should back it up a bit, sorry:
Recently our parties have been drawing some serious crowds, now I say parties but what I really mean is gatherings, hoedowns, corroborees and any other social arrangements of the sort. Once upon a time, back in high school, it was just us, if we wanted to hang out and drink one night, we could feel free to do so knowing full well that when we woke after we crashed out, the house would be relatively in the same state of that of which we left it and that if it wasn't, it was cool cause it was just us, and if something was, touch wood, broken, stolen or defecated, it was undoubtably morally called for. If you wanted to get your serious party on, you would do it at some other random’s house not yours, for the obvious reasons.
But the times have been a changing. Most of us split up to different unis, jobs etc, so when the words "social get together" are thrown around, all of the sudden the number of "us" become larger, considerably larger. Consequently, many conversations were falsely interpreted and as of thus far have been deemed outdated and useless.
Example:
"so I’m probably gonna have a quiet one. Few drinks at this guys house, real casual like. No big deal, not like it's a party or anything. Should be good."
Interpretation:
I’m probably gonna have a quiet one. Few drinks at this guys house, real casual like. No big deal, not like it's a Party or anything. Should be a good party, we'll see how the party goes, party, party, party. You and every other drop kick you know should come to our party, I will be personally offended if you don’t party with us at the party….party….big party…….. party."
You can see how things can get a little confused, so to keep up with the times an invitation like the above is now more likely to sound a bit more like:
"So I’m gonna get out my shotgun this weekend and just unload on anyone who walks passed this guy's house, Yep. I’m a be shootin fuckers from dusk till dawn, no big deal, should be good.”
Now I know what you’re thinking, why wouldn’t you just not say anything? Avoid the whole “misunderstanding” all together? A logical statement I’ll give you that, but flawed none the less, because since our new found fame we have come to understand that, without being picky, we like having a vast majority of people at these things and this way we can semi control who and the amount of whom attend.
Exaggerate much?! Maybe, but the moral of the story is our parties have gotten bigger and that it’s never a good idea to take candy from hookers.
So anyway one of the regular attendees was this Asian dude named Jackson, nice enough guy, very metro though. He was a friend of a friend of our friends to begin with, but after a few gatherings he had worked his way to at least the inner-outer circle of the friendships hierarchy. He was a class act, Jackson, and all in all was a pretty smooth criminal.
Ha criminal! get it,…Haha… you know, from the…. With the….. glove,…hmmm!
Fun fact number one about Jackson is that his name isn’t Jackson, it was Jun Tao or Jun Tin, definitely Jun something. In any case Jun was deemed entirely too much effort and Jun became Jack. I had considered that to be somewhat disrespectful earlier in the piece but you know, whatever!
Not long after, Jack combined with the efforts of the karate kid, quickly transferred to Jackson when a quickly pronounced “Jack, son” was met instantly by intoxicated cheers, drinks clashing together in celebration and several attempted moonwalks in awe of the un documented moment of clarity, partnered with the event of discovering how clever we are.
So Jun something became Jack and Jack became Jackson and that’s who allegedly didn’t piss in Tim’s fridge.
And we’re back in!
Kim
“Well that was nice of him.”
Tim glared at James for a second before slowly backing up out of the room and heading for the kitchen.
James
“Ha, yeah guess he recognised the skills or sumthan.”
Kev
“The skills? Yeah Im sure that’s exactly it Jay-Z, player be running hoes up in this mother, and the Jackman knows to recognise. “
James, along with the rest of the circle, paused and began to stare at Kev in unified silence . One eye brow cocked with a half smirk James took a slow sip of his drink and continued to smirk.
As Kev let out a rather loud “you guys are jerks.” Ang put her hand on his knee in mock sympathy.
James continued on about Jackson until he had finished drinking the man’s gift. By this time Tim had returned and the look of relief on his face as he entered through the hallway could not be mistaken.
James
“You know it’s always better when you’ve earned it.”
Tim
“Yeah I suppose I was just a bystander, huh, ass.”
James
“Well I’ll go get one off him for you if it means that much to you, wouldn’t mind paying him a little visit anyway.”
The circle was once again struck by silence only this time there was no smirking to be found.
James
“What?”
More staring…
James
“Have you seen the girls he rolls with, the man’s a magnet.”
Tim
“You guys talkin’ bout Jackson.”
James
“Maybe he’s on to something with the whole metro thing, not my cup of tea personally, but it seems to work with the kids these days, what with their crazy hair styles and angry rap music.”
Grant
“C’mon man, be realistic. Just where you gonna get a pair of cut offs from.”
Tim
“Yeah uh, Jackson’s gay fellers.”
Kim, Ang, Kev and Nicky almost in harmony expressed their delight: “Really”.
After which everybody stopped and curiously stared at Kevin once again.
Nicky
“A little excited are we, Kevin?”
James
“Dude, what is wrong with you tonight?”
Kev
“What?....it’s just...I didn’t mean!…You no what, Fuck you guys!”
And with that he flipped us all off and proceeded to walk out mumbling and grumbling obscenities and what not to himself, as the majority of us struggled to hold a straight face.
He disappeared around the corner only to pop his head back around to ask if anybody wanted anything whilst he was up.
James
“I don’t know man, seems a little suss if you ask me. Who told you that?”
Grant
“I guess you could probably make ‘em, but then you’d ruin a perfectly good pair of jeans.”
Tim
“Does it matter? Trust me, he is.”
Jumping to his feet from the bench, James moved to the doorway and peered into the crowd.
Tim
“Why do you think he brought you the beer man?”
James
“Maybe it’s a ploy.”
Grant
“Unless you bought a cheap pair and make ‘em from that, but if you did that, you might as well buy yourself the real deal, you know.”
Me
“A ploy? What like a scam? Right cause that makes much more sense.”
Grant
“Unless, you bootlegged em from…”
Tim
“God damn it, would yah shut up about the cut offs, I swear I’m gonna bottle you”
Grant just chuckled to himself as he went face first into his beer.
Me
“Who are you even talking to man?”
James
“Well, these days woman are like, stupid and…”
Grant sprung from his stool as I leapt off the counter to meet an advancing Ang and Kim, grabbing and throwing them over the pool table into the shelving across the room.
Oh come on, I kid. I kid, ‘cause I love.
Grant sprung from his stool as I leapt off the counter to meet an advancing Ang and Kim, effectively stopping their attack by a graceful clench around the waist.
Me
“Woah, easy Tiger.”
Grant
“He’s not finished yet.”
Some exaggerated flailing about demonstrated their objections to being held in contempt, however their passion for blood never lasts long and not short after the heat of the moment had died down to but a subtle breeze.
Kim
“Let me go Grant, now.”
Ang pushed my hands off her and re adjusted her composure.
Ang
“Alright, I’m cool.”
Grant released Kim and slowly backed away, hands held open in cautious submission. Kim pointed the blunt end of her empty mud-shake at James and sat back down on her chair.
James
“What I mean is, I have heard that sometimes guys go around saying things like they’re gay or religious or whatever so that woman take to the challenge of changing them, like for sport or sumthan.”
Ang
“Oh, that can’t be true.”
Me
“Actually, yeah come to think of it, I have heard of such a thing.”
Ang
“Yes I’m sure You would have”
Me
“What?! What’s that supposed to mean”
Ang just shrugged her shoulders and ignored the question altogether.
Tim
“Yeah, well Ive heard that every time Jack Nicholson makes love, a pixie fairy dies, but it doesn’t change the fact that that man over there, is gay my friends.”
James
“Bah, I must know the truth.”
Alerted to the sound of a challenge, he darted back to his jacket to retrieve his phone and, I’m guessing, his super secret spy gear.
Nicky
“James, um… why?”
James
“Because the truth will set you free, Nicky”
Nicky seemed slightly confused as to the relevance of his statement.
James
“You do want to be free don’t you?”
Nicky
“Well I guess.”
James
“Well then come gentlemen, we go to freedom!”
And he began to march out of the room.
Me
“Free, James?...Really?”
James
“Like a mother fucking bird!”
And off he went.
Tim
“You think he wants us to go with him?”
Grant
“I’m really not sure it matters at this point”
We left it for a bit and continued with our night, none of us overly concerned about James’s mission or its context. If you had of asked me I would have lied, but on paper I must admit as the night progressed I was slightly intrigued as to how it was all coming along maybe even a little concerned as to how he planned to retrieve the information. But those emotions had been carefully filed, primarily in the back of my mind and as the night unfolded I was distracted more and more from the cause.
As the night rolled on Kev returned from his own adventures. He looked slightly puzzled as he sat down as if pondering something of the greatest importance.
Kev
“Anybody know what the fuck’s up with James?”
Tim
“Why what’s happening?”
Kev
“I don’t know, he’s acting real strange, I walked up to him before and he was trying to convinced some dude to drop his phone and bend over to pick it up or somethan, what’s up with that?”
Grant and I began to laugh.
Tim
“Was Jackson nearby?”
Kev
“Wouldn’t surprise me, he’s been floating around him all night, what’s he doing?”
Tim
“Maybe we should go help him or something.”
Grant
“Shot not”
Tim, Kev ,Ang, Nicky and Kim
“Shot not”
Me
“shot n…argh Damn it”
Fricken anti-shotgun rule!
Me
“Alright fine, I’m going. Anyone coming?”
Grant
“Shot not”
Tim
“Shot not”
Me
“Alright, alright! Forget it.”
Nicky
“Hang on, I kinda wanna see what he’s up to anyway.”
So Nicky and I headed for the kitchen, we grabbed a few fresh drinks and began to track him down, which we eventually did, outside, standing on the top steps, overlooking the backyard real stealth like.
Me
“Any progress?”
James
“Oh dude I’m glad your’re here, you gotta do me this favour, go over there and…”
Me
“I’m not bending over in front of Jackson, James!”
James
“Fine! Hey ,maybe if Nicky were to go over there and…”
James paused mid sentence on account of the evil eye he was receiving from Nicky as she passed him a fresh drink.
James
“Fair enough.”
Nicky
“Soooo what have we learned?”
James
“Not much, there’s a guy down there that it looks like he’s with, but there really isn’t much gayness going on. I’ll never know like this anyway, cause his posse never leaves so I cant be sure if its an act or not. I gotta get him away from em”
Me
“Do you know if he’s seen you tailing him?”
James
“Are you kidding, I’m like the wind baby.”
A truce was signed and we returned back to our seating in the pool room, business returned to the norm and all was good in the hood. Later, during a lengthily debate of what I’m sure was of the greatest importance James pounced from his seat and took off down the hallway. Tim and I rose to our feet in pursuit.
Grant
“Shot not”
Tim
“Shut up, you’re coming”
We followed up the hallway, swerving and weaving through the human traffic only to come to a screaming halt at the front door.
“He’s leaving.” James whispered
Tim
“Why are you whispering, idiot”
James
“Can’t let that happen.”
As he attempted a casual dismount from our little front door meeting, he signalled for us to follow, which we reluctantly did.
James
“Hey Jackson, man you leaving already.”
Jackson
“Yeah, killer party guys, but I’m out. You know how it is.”
James
“C’mon man I still owe you a beer, just stay there and I’ll fetch you one, one for the road, huh, champ.”
Before he could answer James was off, leaving myself, Tim and Grant to hold the fort. It’s kind of hard to explain the atmosphere surrounding this particular part of the night, understand we all knew Jackson and we aren’t the type of people to whom his preference of gender would make any kind of difference. Nevertheless things remained to be noticeably awkward. Mainly, I feel, due to us being wise to James’s prior escapades and the knowledge that Jackson might not be so happy about it.
To ease the tension surrounding our covert orders Tim and I began to fill in the blanks with some small talk as Grant attempted the same.
Grant
“So you like the cock huh? Nice!”
Before you ask, yes he really did say that and yes it was fucking awkward.
We froze in horror, unable to conjure up the words to salvage the moment. Grant however appeared to be under the impression that he had just asked something remotely appropriate like if Jackson likes pineapple or something, from the way he calmly waited for a response. Jackson simply smiled looked at the guy he had come with and without a word they headed back in the house.
Me
“Dude, what the fuck.”
Grant
“What!?”
Me
“What do you mean what?! What the fuck!?”
Grant
“Oh grow up! Would you get offended if I asked you if you like boobs, No! you wouldn’t, you’d be like show me where the boobs at! There is no need to tip toe around it.”
Me
“Shit! Why does that make sense?”
Grant
“Because I am king.”
Tim
“Well, at least he’s back inside”
Grant
“I guess that’s case closed then gentlemen”
Me
“Anybody else notice, Jackson didn’t seem to confide too much in his man friend.”
Grant
“Not really, why? You think James might be on to something?”
Tim
“Pffft, not likely”
Me
“I don’t know, just seemed weird is all.”
Against Grants reassurance, we gave it a little time before heading back in, some avid party goers were providing enough entertainment to kill a few minutes, so there seemed to be no need to rush things.
But as it became apparent that there was no possible way those guys could get the carrot all the way up there, we made our way back inside to find things cruising along quite nicely. James had some how convinced the girls to distract Jackson’s posse enough to get some quality interrogation time, don’t know how he managed that one but nevertheless as we entered there they were carrying out James’s bidding. Jackson shot a quick but noticeable look towards Grant, but other than that there really wasn’t much more said.
Round after round went by and good fun was being had by all. The night was getting late, the drinks were getting few and the conversations were getting deeper.
Unable to answer for sure the question plaguing his mind, James seemed to be taking it rather well, sitting to the side strumming his guitar whilst throwing in the occasional “Will I ever know, oh! Oh…oh, oh! will I ever never knoooow , oh oh” to the melody and then pretending to cry.
I was beginning to feel the need to call it a night , when Grant shuffled over to the counter, which I was now, eyes closed, completely sprawled out upon.
Grant
“Dude, you still with us?”
Me
“I don’t know, you still a dick?”
Grant
“Hey, you’re being funny now, that’s great, listen I’ve got news.”
Me
“You’ve got news? That’s awesome Grant, good luck with that, I hope it all works out for you.”
Grant
“Seriously, listen! Jackson’s not here but he’s still here, you know”
Me
“Uh, huh”
Grant
“You know, he’s here, but not here.”
Me
“………”
Grant
“Like here, here!”
Me
“……..”
Grant
“…….”
Me
“Yeah, dude, I’m not really in the mood for your Zen shit right now so if you could just, you know...!?
Grant
“Idiot, he didn’t leave, but he is not in this room, and MOST of his friends are still in this room!”
Me
“………”
Grant
“Most of them.”
Me
“….Ohhh, right, so go tell James man, why you talking to me for?”
Grant
“I don’t know, I was thinking maybe not. Wouldn’t it be funny if tomorrow when he’s hung over, we tell him he had an opportunity to know but he didn’t see it.”
Me
“Will you stop being such a dick and go tell the man.”
Grant
“But I was thinking…”
Me
“Grant!”
Grant
“Fine.”
Me
“Dick.”
Eyes still closed, I clawed around for something to throw at Tim in case he wanted to intervene. Considering but eventually bypassing a few empty beer bottles and a big glass bowl of something, I settled for a rubber stress ball lying just within arms reach.
Opening to a squint, I flung the projectile as best I could. Luckily for me it miraculously hit its desired target. Tim replied quite vocally at first, but as I pointed to the conversation in the corner, his head swivelled a quick scan of the room before he nodded in approval and leant in for a closer listen.
James
“Are you kidding me, fuck I love you man.”
Throwing his arms around him James landed several big kisses on the top of Grants fragile head.
James
“Mwaaah, Mwaaah, I love this guy”
Grant
“Oh, c’mon man”
James
“Mmmmmwwwwwwaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!”
Though I doubt he was enjoying it as much as he would have liked, Grant made little effort to repel James from his moment of weakness. He just stood limp, arms dropped to the side as if he was a Grant-size, stuffed teddy bear.
James
“You hear me, I love this guy right here!”
As he released him from his kung fu grip, James made a bee line for the door, where I assumed he would be halted by the words of a concerned Tim.
“Go get ‘em Jim.”
Considering prior events I was not expecting that, the whole night I got the feeling Tim didn’t seem to be down with the whole mission, not that any of us were any more than entertained by the whole ideal for that matter. I guess it wasn’t a defining moment, it just seemed strange to me at the time.
As the loud sound of fast paced footsteps tracked over every square inch of the house, Tim smiled at me as he chucked the rubber stress ball back over. When it landed on my chest, I sat back up and launched the rubber squeeze thing once more.
I thought about the night’s events, the secret battle between the unknowing competitor and the seeker of truth and freedom.
Or you know, just some dude stalking another dude for an entire night! But, whatever you want to call it, as of this point, from where I was standing, I couldn’t say for sure what was going on out there, none of us could, really.
Based on tonight’s experiment it was as much possible for Jackson to be the epitome of sodomisers, as it was for a group of teenagers and a semi retarded dog to rock up in a suspicious looking combie van, ripping off Jackson’s mask and revealing him to be Mr Larson, the old janitor from the docks.
“And I would have got away with it to, if it wasn’t for that punk kid James, aarrgghh!”
The footsteps seemed to be scampering back over themselves before stopping all together. After a few seconds, the sound of a man on a mission revived, thumps gradually getting softer until the sound of a screen door being flung open echoed the room.
The intensity of the moment began to rise as those of us lucky enough to still be conscious silently predicted both the contents and the outcome of what was taking place outside.
In many ways James was right, everything did seem a little suss and there was only one way to find out but it was only he who was brave enough to accept the challenge, only he, selfless enough to invade another mans privacy right until the bitter end.
The rubber projectile was crossing the living room for its sixth or seventh time, when the sound of the screen door re-opening froze everything in the room, leaving the rubber ball hovering mid flight over the pool table.
Okay, that’s not physically possible, but the room did seem to be frozen in anticipation.
We all sat, eyes fixed on the entrance from the hallway.
Watching…
Waiting…
When in he walked, white as a ghost, eyes fixated on the floor. Calmly walking, un phased by the obstacles and enquiring eyes in his path he passed the counter on which I was perched upon, Tim lobbed the ball over as he grinningly questioned James.
“So, did you…”
“Yup.”
“ And did he see…”
“Yup.”
“ Wow, that must have…”
“Yup.”
Tim then began a valiant effort to fight back his impending joy.
James without even glimpsing up, made his way to the living room wall, leant his back against it and let his legs slowly give out from under him.
“So, a ploy, huh, James?”
I asked as I lobbed the stress ball into his lap,
“Nope! Definitely not a ploy!”
“So when you…”
“Yup”
“He was…”
“yup”
“Wow, that must have…”
“Yup”
“……”
“…….”
“Do you wanna talk…”
“Nope, not ever”
“Are you…”
“NOT EVER!!”
I guess, it’s like I said, in many ways James was right! But then in many, much more accurate ways he was completely wrong, much to the delight of everyone else
Special Thanks to Kim
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Marching Orders
One afternoon I found myself killing time on the quite streets of western Sydney, I wasn’t lost nor did I know where I was going, I was merely floating, hovering if you will, in and out of the side streets and donut shops of the town with every cinnamon fix waiting for a further moments entertainment on what was turning out to be the dullest Friday afternoon to date.
From a distance I could see a change in pattern of the style in which people were walking some 100 yards ahead. At first all would be as expected, when slowly the stepping pattern would slightly alter and the tempo of which the arms were swung would increase, of course to what effect was strictly on a case by case basis however there was no mistaking as people strolled past going about their daily business, the rhythm in which they would do so was dramatically changing and then changing back within the space of a few square meters. Almost as if stepping through an invisible force field of funk, to which all who enter are un knowingly, un willingly forced to bust a move as if in a Coca Cola commercial, only to cease immediately upon re entry to the human realm as if nothing had happened at all.
This pleased me. I stood and observed for awhile wondering if this was actually happening or whether there was a little something extra in my donut. I walked closer and found that I too was succumbing to this phenomena of soul and as I entered this new world to my surprise found the source to be a short homeless man, noticeably old but the years had served him well. He was wearing an old grey suit which was stained and the stitching was coming undone from the seams on his left shoulder. His weapon of choice was an old wooden guitar and a voice which seemed unfitting from the body it was coming from.
I stood for awhile longer trying to look casual by leaning against a near by Streetlight smiling and bobbing away to the performance at hand when I noticed as people passed by, they would drop coins, notes or cigarettes in a case sitting half a meter away from the man. Confused I looked at him as he stopped what he was playing to lean over and retrieve one of the cigarettes that had been given to him. He stared back inquisitively as he sparked one up, as I continued to linger in thought over the situation.
“So you’re a beggar then”
He looked up at me with a smile, smoke almost covering his face as he chuckled to himself
“No son, I aint no beggar”
The look on his face explained that he was well aware of how this confused me so.
“Im a busker kid, I put on a show and if you like what im doing you can contribute, or not, there’s no pressure”
Taking my support off the street light I walked towards the case reaching into my pocket and pulling out my last five dollar note and placing it inside the case.
He nodded in approval and began to play again. I stood some more watching what was happening I had seen it before but not like this, he was actually…well…good.
“They call me River”
“River?!”
“yes sir, River Casey, the rivercat of Nepean and Im pleased to make your acquaintance”
“River Cat Casey huh”
“that’s right, and now that we are friends, why don’t you come around this corner here, Ive got something to show you.”
Ha, no I’m lying! River was o.k.
As young as I was, I still remember pondering just what the hell kind of name is that. I had asked him later on and he used to just sit with a smile, saying “my parents were hippies”, as a youngster this of course made no sense, but you’ll be happy to know that I am now fully aware that mama and papa River showed their loving support to the earth by rolling her up and smoking her.
God damn it hippies give the worst names, they really should be banned, both hippies and celebrities. I mean River seemed almost fitting for the man now, but as a kid? I don’t think so. I dare say they pretty much decided his future right there and then. I’m not doubting the parenting skills or anything like that but you name your kid Nigel, odds are your not looking down the barrel of a winner. God only knows what’s going to happen to poor Apple. I fear that senator Apple may not get a fair go. However I can’t say I blame em, how can anyone listen to a word anyone says when all you can do is think of pie, I do love pie though, mmm mmm sweet senator pie.
It’s odd to think about, how one single cinnamon influenced afternoon could make such a difference. Some time passed and I was honestly captivated by the atmosphere. River had it down, cover to cover and I learnt a lot through it. He installed a passion for music in me through which he taught me not just how to play and sing but how to entertain, that even the lowliest of person could be the object of peoples affection, if only for a glimpse.
For sometime I would return to Rivers spot 3,4 sometimes 5 times a week throwing in what money I could spare and jamming along with my gifted but kinda funky smelling friend.
I met many different types of people, from all different backgrounds and ideas at that spot, there was really only one purpose to anyone who intentionally showed up, But it was interesting to see in the different manners of which people would go about it, some would get jiggy with it, right there in an extremely extravagant display, others would show their support by throwing in some supplies and standing off to the side nodding away and simply agreeing with the show. And there was also others who might grab a guitar or some bongos and join in.
But there were others, some would attempt to dictate the pace requesting songs without ever throwing in to contribute, announcing how they do it and demanding we do the same, Ideally they were their in support but to me they had know business or authority to be demanding anything. But old River cared not, he would just throw me a glance with that smirk of his and calmly oblige to whatever request, it didn’t matter to him that it was a different thing every week or even that some things contradicted the prior demands. Even as a youngster I questioned the importance of these people, but River was the boss and I would do my best to comply.
8 years passed almost to the day, and things had un noticeably changed, I realise now that when things slowly change over a period of time, it is almost impossible to detect.
The imperial finger of blame had been directed at me by many, both friends and acquaintances alike, sadly I wish I could agree, for then I could have analysed and changed accordingly, for truth be told I loved what I was doing. Unfortunately this was not the case, I could not agree, honestly in my opinion, I simply just grew up.
I began to notice little differences at first, Rivers clothes began to get nicer and nicer which, you know, is a good thing but with it, that sweet, wise old man was beginning to become a young, egotistical business man, if that makes sense. Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, only the way he began to deal with situations and people had gotten to be almost disturbing and indecent. Understand that it may not have seemed so bad coming from some jerk in the office, but this was River, my beacon of light, the sign that there is still good in this world yet.
Another thing that I didn’t see until it was to late was the regular attendees seemed to be over run with the people not there to support River but to control and manipulate him, and me for that matter, to suit there own agendas. Between the arguments came the silent confrontations. Hidden smirks and pre meditated fights, said assailants would begin to pressure me and bait me, to which I would react quite irrationally only for River to scorn me, whilst standing in plain view as River did so they would stand smiling and winking satisfied in there deceit. Not even 90210 or Passions can prepare you for that kind of ordeal.
Then the days came when River stopped showing up altogether, I would cover him gladly though it was beginning to become remorsefully, only for River to show up later on to collect the earnings.
I never once took a cent from that guitar case, it wasn’t mine to take. I loved playing alongside and for him, I loved most of the people that were involved in his streetlight production and I really respected and trusted River enough to be there for him despite the circumstances.
None of these things made much of a difference to me. Don’t get me wrong, they sucked, Hard! But they were never enough for me to walk away. The kicker was River began to stop talking to me. In the old days we would sit and chat, he’d tell me bout his crazy stories and I’d ask him if he thought Mary had cooties or not. River was more than a friend to me, River was family and the growing distance, made the whole musical service seem pointless and time waisting.
To make matters worse, I began to need times for study, times when my job or girlfriend came first, River always proclaimed he understood but as I was unable to be there 5 times a week anymore tension was beginning to surface.
It got to the point where I would arrive, play, throw some cash into the pot and be on my way without even a single positive look from River, he would accuse me of lying about where I was and not contributing as much as before both money and time wise, seemingly unaware that I was in fact, volunteering my support, services and finances.
Here say and slanderess gossip began to flow between River and these others whom I’d had contested. Rumours of me undercutting River, reached his ears and by this point he did not speak to me at all. Never once did he ask me if there was truth in their words. Ironically I had always assumed that if he believed it he would ask me, and he was under the belief that if it wasn’t true I would come say something (assuming that I knew.)
And then one day, he spoke. I’d almost forgotten what he sounded like.
I was early that day, because I couldn’t stay too long. I assumed that’s why he was there, I figured he wasn’t expecting me so early as an explanation for his rare appearance. I through a look over to him as a replacement of saying hi, but he seemed to be busy with whatever. Case flipped open I assumed the position and began to tune.
“I wouldn’t make yourself to comfortable kid, you and me gotta talk”
I lifted my head to find River standing over me, with business written all over his now well shaven face.
“This here, what we’re doing, it’s finished o.k! You’re out. you have no place here anymore”
He didn’t wait for a rebuttal, almost immediately he turned and began to walk away.
“Are you kidding me, I told you I can’t make it Sundays anymore! and you know damn well why.
River was all business now and continued to walk away with out any acknowledgement.
“it doesn’t have to end like this River, you owe me more than this”
His head dropped as he stopped walking.
“its nothing personal, but I got rules now, its just how it is”
“Personal! Not personal, Ive come back here for 8 years River, ive given you my time and my money, I put this before my career and even my girlfriend. Ive stuck through 3 years of complete bullshit just so you can turn around and say the place that I have earnt is no longer mine, and you wanna tell me its not personal”
“this was inevitable, you know that. Right from the start you were never gonna be like us, and now it’s like you act like your always annoyed or angry. Just seems like you don’t wanna be here anymore”
Both of our voices were beginning to escalate, as two years of built up aggression was finally seeing the light of day.
“of course I don’t seem happy, you treat me like shit River. All I ever wanted to do was be a part of this and you haven’t spoken to me in months, you learn every bit of information from your dick head groupies and cut me off every chance you get, and yet I stayed like an idiot, hoping that just Fucking once, someone could see the reason that I’m still here.”
“You act like you make the rules here, but you don’t. This is my game, not yours and your part in all of this is over”
“Rules, since when has anything we do here represent your legalistic declarations created off the bat of your own egotistical, manipulated mind! and would you mind telling me just what the hell has that to do with anything, just what the hell is all this about?”
“YOU!!! IT’S ABOUT YOU, O.K”
And then there was silence.
The loudest silence I have ever witnessed. The best I could do was stare blankly at him, I had never heard River scream like that before.
After a few deep breaths, he re adjusted his composure and returned to a normal volume.
“Its you kid, I hate it but it’s you, everything you’ve done here, everything! its erased by every problem that you being here has created. Your fault or not, you gone means problems gone.”
“River, you cant mean that, your…your selling me out.”
“enough o.k, just let it go. You need to be a man about this now, you just don’t belong here.”
“8 years and this is how it ends? There is no coming back from this you know, this changes everything.”
“Coming back? I think we both know you ain’t ever coming back”
No goodbyes and no apologies. Just like that, it was over. I placed my guitar inside her case, as River turned his back for the very last time. I began to walk, where? I did not know, I was merely floating, hovering if you will, in and out of the boardwalks and Starbucks’s of Sydney’s westend.
1999 – 2007
14 – 22,
Such was my time at that corner. The now concreted pavement, that was once my home away from home, remains nothing more than the worlds education to a somewhat naïve kid.
From that very spot, I have seen businesses go up and businesses go under, constant renovations and technology advancements. I sore people change, change back and change again and yet as I turned to gaze back, it had seemed as if only a moment had passed since that day all those years ago.
I wished it all had been just that, a moment, a glimpse, just a bad trip from an otherwise delicious cinnamon experience.
I glared expectantly into my reflection off a nearby shop window, hoping for that 14 year old kid to be staring right back at me, wishing I could warn him, hoping I could stop him. But no matter how many times I clicked my heels, the only one staring back at me was this unimpressed, bitter man.
I could see the distrusting nature in his eyes, the burning anger of his waisted years. He shrugged at me and I shrugged back, I asked what had happened and he kicked me in the crutch.
I hobbled down the busy boardwalks of Sydneys west, I wasn’t lost, nor did I know where I was headed, shuffling in and out of the department stores and Starbucks’s, with every 5 syllable beverage, becoming more and more high to its blend. Only one thought, only one ambition circulating through my mind.
“God, I wish I had another Donut, hot damn that would be sweet.”
From a distance I could see a change in pattern of the style in which people were walking some 100 yards ahead. At first all would be as expected, when slowly the stepping pattern would slightly alter and the tempo of which the arms were swung would increase, of course to what effect was strictly on a case by case basis however there was no mistaking as people strolled past going about their daily business, the rhythm in which they would do so was dramatically changing and then changing back within the space of a few square meters. Almost as if stepping through an invisible force field of funk, to which all who enter are un knowingly, un willingly forced to bust a move as if in a Coca Cola commercial, only to cease immediately upon re entry to the human realm as if nothing had happened at all.
This pleased me. I stood and observed for awhile wondering if this was actually happening or whether there was a little something extra in my donut. I walked closer and found that I too was succumbing to this phenomena of soul and as I entered this new world to my surprise found the source to be a short homeless man, noticeably old but the years had served him well. He was wearing an old grey suit which was stained and the stitching was coming undone from the seams on his left shoulder. His weapon of choice was an old wooden guitar and a voice which seemed unfitting from the body it was coming from.
I stood for awhile longer trying to look casual by leaning against a near by Streetlight smiling and bobbing away to the performance at hand when I noticed as people passed by, they would drop coins, notes or cigarettes in a case sitting half a meter away from the man. Confused I looked at him as he stopped what he was playing to lean over and retrieve one of the cigarettes that had been given to him. He stared back inquisitively as he sparked one up, as I continued to linger in thought over the situation.
“So you’re a beggar then”
He looked up at me with a smile, smoke almost covering his face as he chuckled to himself
“No son, I aint no beggar”
The look on his face explained that he was well aware of how this confused me so.
“Im a busker kid, I put on a show and if you like what im doing you can contribute, or not, there’s no pressure”
Taking my support off the street light I walked towards the case reaching into my pocket and pulling out my last five dollar note and placing it inside the case.
He nodded in approval and began to play again. I stood some more watching what was happening I had seen it before but not like this, he was actually…well…good.
“They call me River”
“River?!”
“yes sir, River Casey, the rivercat of Nepean and Im pleased to make your acquaintance”
“River Cat Casey huh”
“that’s right, and now that we are friends, why don’t you come around this corner here, Ive got something to show you.”
Ha, no I’m lying! River was o.k.
As young as I was, I still remember pondering just what the hell kind of name is that. I had asked him later on and he used to just sit with a smile, saying “my parents were hippies”, as a youngster this of course made no sense, but you’ll be happy to know that I am now fully aware that mama and papa River showed their loving support to the earth by rolling her up and smoking her.
God damn it hippies give the worst names, they really should be banned, both hippies and celebrities. I mean River seemed almost fitting for the man now, but as a kid? I don’t think so. I dare say they pretty much decided his future right there and then. I’m not doubting the parenting skills or anything like that but you name your kid Nigel, odds are your not looking down the barrel of a winner. God only knows what’s going to happen to poor Apple. I fear that senator Apple may not get a fair go. However I can’t say I blame em, how can anyone listen to a word anyone says when all you can do is think of pie, I do love pie though, mmm mmm sweet senator pie.
It’s odd to think about, how one single cinnamon influenced afternoon could make such a difference. Some time passed and I was honestly captivated by the atmosphere. River had it down, cover to cover and I learnt a lot through it. He installed a passion for music in me through which he taught me not just how to play and sing but how to entertain, that even the lowliest of person could be the object of peoples affection, if only for a glimpse.
For sometime I would return to Rivers spot 3,4 sometimes 5 times a week throwing in what money I could spare and jamming along with my gifted but kinda funky smelling friend.
I met many different types of people, from all different backgrounds and ideas at that spot, there was really only one purpose to anyone who intentionally showed up, But it was interesting to see in the different manners of which people would go about it, some would get jiggy with it, right there in an extremely extravagant display, others would show their support by throwing in some supplies and standing off to the side nodding away and simply agreeing with the show. And there was also others who might grab a guitar or some bongos and join in.
But there were others, some would attempt to dictate the pace requesting songs without ever throwing in to contribute, announcing how they do it and demanding we do the same, Ideally they were their in support but to me they had know business or authority to be demanding anything. But old River cared not, he would just throw me a glance with that smirk of his and calmly oblige to whatever request, it didn’t matter to him that it was a different thing every week or even that some things contradicted the prior demands. Even as a youngster I questioned the importance of these people, but River was the boss and I would do my best to comply.
8 years passed almost to the day, and things had un noticeably changed, I realise now that when things slowly change over a period of time, it is almost impossible to detect.
The imperial finger of blame had been directed at me by many, both friends and acquaintances alike, sadly I wish I could agree, for then I could have analysed and changed accordingly, for truth be told I loved what I was doing. Unfortunately this was not the case, I could not agree, honestly in my opinion, I simply just grew up.
I began to notice little differences at first, Rivers clothes began to get nicer and nicer which, you know, is a good thing but with it, that sweet, wise old man was beginning to become a young, egotistical business man, if that makes sense. Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, only the way he began to deal with situations and people had gotten to be almost disturbing and indecent. Understand that it may not have seemed so bad coming from some jerk in the office, but this was River, my beacon of light, the sign that there is still good in this world yet.
Another thing that I didn’t see until it was to late was the regular attendees seemed to be over run with the people not there to support River but to control and manipulate him, and me for that matter, to suit there own agendas. Between the arguments came the silent confrontations. Hidden smirks and pre meditated fights, said assailants would begin to pressure me and bait me, to which I would react quite irrationally only for River to scorn me, whilst standing in plain view as River did so they would stand smiling and winking satisfied in there deceit. Not even 90210 or Passions can prepare you for that kind of ordeal.
Then the days came when River stopped showing up altogether, I would cover him gladly though it was beginning to become remorsefully, only for River to show up later on to collect the earnings.
I never once took a cent from that guitar case, it wasn’t mine to take. I loved playing alongside and for him, I loved most of the people that were involved in his streetlight production and I really respected and trusted River enough to be there for him despite the circumstances.
None of these things made much of a difference to me. Don’t get me wrong, they sucked, Hard! But they were never enough for me to walk away. The kicker was River began to stop talking to me. In the old days we would sit and chat, he’d tell me bout his crazy stories and I’d ask him if he thought Mary had cooties or not. River was more than a friend to me, River was family and the growing distance, made the whole musical service seem pointless and time waisting.
To make matters worse, I began to need times for study, times when my job or girlfriend came first, River always proclaimed he understood but as I was unable to be there 5 times a week anymore tension was beginning to surface.
It got to the point where I would arrive, play, throw some cash into the pot and be on my way without even a single positive look from River, he would accuse me of lying about where I was and not contributing as much as before both money and time wise, seemingly unaware that I was in fact, volunteering my support, services and finances.
Here say and slanderess gossip began to flow between River and these others whom I’d had contested. Rumours of me undercutting River, reached his ears and by this point he did not speak to me at all. Never once did he ask me if there was truth in their words. Ironically I had always assumed that if he believed it he would ask me, and he was under the belief that if it wasn’t true I would come say something (assuming that I knew.)
And then one day, he spoke. I’d almost forgotten what he sounded like.
I was early that day, because I couldn’t stay too long. I assumed that’s why he was there, I figured he wasn’t expecting me so early as an explanation for his rare appearance. I through a look over to him as a replacement of saying hi, but he seemed to be busy with whatever. Case flipped open I assumed the position and began to tune.
“I wouldn’t make yourself to comfortable kid, you and me gotta talk”
I lifted my head to find River standing over me, with business written all over his now well shaven face.
“This here, what we’re doing, it’s finished o.k! You’re out. you have no place here anymore”
He didn’t wait for a rebuttal, almost immediately he turned and began to walk away.
“Are you kidding me, I told you I can’t make it Sundays anymore! and you know damn well why.
River was all business now and continued to walk away with out any acknowledgement.
“it doesn’t have to end like this River, you owe me more than this”
His head dropped as he stopped walking.
“its nothing personal, but I got rules now, its just how it is”
“Personal! Not personal, Ive come back here for 8 years River, ive given you my time and my money, I put this before my career and even my girlfriend. Ive stuck through 3 years of complete bullshit just so you can turn around and say the place that I have earnt is no longer mine, and you wanna tell me its not personal”
“this was inevitable, you know that. Right from the start you were never gonna be like us, and now it’s like you act like your always annoyed or angry. Just seems like you don’t wanna be here anymore”
Both of our voices were beginning to escalate, as two years of built up aggression was finally seeing the light of day.
“of course I don’t seem happy, you treat me like shit River. All I ever wanted to do was be a part of this and you haven’t spoken to me in months, you learn every bit of information from your dick head groupies and cut me off every chance you get, and yet I stayed like an idiot, hoping that just Fucking once, someone could see the reason that I’m still here.”
“You act like you make the rules here, but you don’t. This is my game, not yours and your part in all of this is over”
“Rules, since when has anything we do here represent your legalistic declarations created off the bat of your own egotistical, manipulated mind! and would you mind telling me just what the hell has that to do with anything, just what the hell is all this about?”
“YOU!!! IT’S ABOUT YOU, O.K”
And then there was silence.
The loudest silence I have ever witnessed. The best I could do was stare blankly at him, I had never heard River scream like that before.
After a few deep breaths, he re adjusted his composure and returned to a normal volume.
“Its you kid, I hate it but it’s you, everything you’ve done here, everything! its erased by every problem that you being here has created. Your fault or not, you gone means problems gone.”
“River, you cant mean that, your…your selling me out.”
“enough o.k, just let it go. You need to be a man about this now, you just don’t belong here.”
“8 years and this is how it ends? There is no coming back from this you know, this changes everything.”
“Coming back? I think we both know you ain’t ever coming back”
No goodbyes and no apologies. Just like that, it was over. I placed my guitar inside her case, as River turned his back for the very last time. I began to walk, where? I did not know, I was merely floating, hovering if you will, in and out of the boardwalks and Starbucks’s of Sydney’s westend.
1999 – 2007
14 – 22,
Such was my time at that corner. The now concreted pavement, that was once my home away from home, remains nothing more than the worlds education to a somewhat naïve kid.
From that very spot, I have seen businesses go up and businesses go under, constant renovations and technology advancements. I sore people change, change back and change again and yet as I turned to gaze back, it had seemed as if only a moment had passed since that day all those years ago.
I wished it all had been just that, a moment, a glimpse, just a bad trip from an otherwise delicious cinnamon experience.
I glared expectantly into my reflection off a nearby shop window, hoping for that 14 year old kid to be staring right back at me, wishing I could warn him, hoping I could stop him. But no matter how many times I clicked my heels, the only one staring back at me was this unimpressed, bitter man.
I could see the distrusting nature in his eyes, the burning anger of his waisted years. He shrugged at me and I shrugged back, I asked what had happened and he kicked me in the crutch.
I hobbled down the busy boardwalks of Sydneys west, I wasn’t lost, nor did I know where I was headed, shuffling in and out of the department stores and Starbucks’s, with every 5 syllable beverage, becoming more and more high to its blend. Only one thought, only one ambition circulating through my mind.
“God, I wish I had another Donut, hot damn that would be sweet.”
Monday, June 23, 2008
It's where it's at!
Well, Its been a while and things have changed, quite substantially as a matter of fact.
Consequently in the heat of everything my Blog has been talking some serious shit about me to all his other Blog buddies.
”bitch bitch, moan moan", whatever. Turns out my blog is a bit of a girl and surprisingly sexist for that matter, for reasons that remain inconclusive. So, in light of my blogs apparent feelings of neglect and abuse, allegedly an explanation was in order.
I believe at some point I realised there is so much more to life then simply putting up with, ultimately un important shit from ultimately, un important people. Granted there were some, and they are few, that I retain the utmost respect and affection for, but to you I would ask just how much more was I suppose to take? In the grand scheme of things the whole operation simply wasn’t worth my time anymore and if you didn’t see that! then it is more than probable that you yourself are one of the many ignorant dickheads whom I’ve come to understand just might be the stupidest people to have ever lived.
Seriously, there should be laws to stop you from reproducing, I fear for your children!
In my weaker moments I can’t help but feel that maybe I was a little to trusting for my own good. To not only believe in the cause but believe in the people was clearly the basis of my downfall. It’s quite a harsh reality to face when you look back over the years and realise the time you have waisted, upon reflection the best I can do is bury my head in my hands that I could have been so naive.
About 10 months back I quit my job, it wasn't a big deal I didnt love the place nor did I scheme for its demise, to me working there was more of a stepping stone more than anything, a stone which served its purpose extremely well! or so I thought. A stepping stone as it were, but it aloud me to do certain extra curriculum activities, as the workload was kind of a joke. Actually it was kind of an in joke on account that the only people who knew, kept quite so the people who pay the bills continued to pay up.
so like I said as the pay checks came through, I was able to perform various tasks like, this Blog, Balance my check book, do my taxes, do the taxes of a small republican cotenant and raise a small Albanian boy in a giant bubble whilst all the while the workload is being completed, no one’s the wiser and everybody remains happy, exept for Guan, that boy was always sad.
Naturally when I decided to pull the plug after an impressive Job offer, all these things took a major hit, I lost time to write and had to focus on the new job at hand. Truth be told this has become quite difficult for me to handle. To me writing has just been something I did in between life, so to speak. Understand I love to write but I am very much aware of my talents in comparrison to an actual writer, and it pales, oh how it pales!
Either way between this blog and the Novel I've been trying to pump out, when the change in business structure came, I had to allocate times, sacrificing social events and numerous cock fights to allow time for a bit of pen to paper action for the first time in, well...ever.
You know I really wanted that rattle, I pushed, I conquered and I took that rattle as if its very creation was for no other purpose then thine, and now, I sit, motionless, grasping the oddly provocative shaped plastic, wondering just what it might be like if that kids oversized plastic keys were mine.
I've always been a sucker for the over dramatic, impulsiveness is kind of my thing. Ironically though, I purposely went against my instincts and chose the sensible smart alternative which in turn revealed itself to be in sink with pretty much every impulsive and reckless decision I have made up to this point.
I crunch numbers, it’s what I do. In little but not to much more detail, I justify the companies forecasts taking, adding and hiding the losses from every transaction in and out of the company, kind of a less dignified spin doctor for the monthly auditors.
But in that lies the problem
I have recently discovered I don’t like crunching numbers, in fact I would go as far to say, I hate crunching numbers and it has only just now dawned on me that the career ive created for myself is pretty much exactly that!
Frick!
So now 23 years to the day I am royally fucked! for any possible outcome that I can conceive leaves a person I care a great deal about, up the creek with no paddle, no canoe and no pants.
You see in the red corner we have weighing in at a quite substantial amount of money, Flex days, minimal stress levels and a sturdy living, selling out to the man, the FO.
And in the blue corner weighing at an incredible poverty rating, sniffing paint & following his dreams bar the consequences, he’s smart, he’s intelligent he’s sleeping in a cardboard box. The uni student.
Convenience is the real villain here, I know what I want! But like many people I have grown accustom to a certain standard of living, I like my caviar served out of a woman’s stiletto and so I fear the way of the student will be some what unable to cater for such a desire.
Despite the fact that I am no longer a 19 year old strapping buck anymore with a pocket full of dreams and an age to carry them out, there is also the fact that I know me, I know what happens when I get an Idea in my head, I shoot for it but when I get a newer Idea contradictive of the new idea (which has now become the old idea), the old Idea (formally the new idea) becomes obsolete and the newer idea (or newest idea) is thus forth the future as I know it. Long story short I cant help myself.
The windows of opportunity are getting smaller and smaller with every day. I’m not saying that there is no other alternative once you select your path, merely pointing out that nobody wants to be the guy who is a 70 year old office junior attempting to make a better life for himself, despite the fact its almost over.
So here is my dilemma, I purposely chose a sturdy career to build some stability, the future looks bland, safe but bland. I can travel, afford pretty things and know that I’m pretty set from this day forth, but there is a catch, at the risk of sounding ungrateful. I fear I may end up as some corporate zombie slaving away for the rest of my days in a job I strongly dislike. I told myself that I can suck it up from 9:00 to 5:00 for 5 days if it meant healthy rewards but as it turns out, yeah I don’t know if I wanna do that.
To make a confusing matter worse, I took this analogy to the higher powers at my work, stating I wish to go back to college and study more to which they intervened that they would pay for me to return to Uni, part time in the field of their choosing.
If ever I was handed a poison apple, that was it. It’s my fault really, I left the part out where I wished to study in a more abrupt field such as journalism or history, something away from the mind numbing, I wanna shoot you and everyone you care about spreadsheets.
So the choice has been handed down, time is running short and I have no idea what I’m gonna do and any attempt at seeking outside advice has been met with the same reaction.
“oh poor me, I got a stable job and a stable life, can’t a guy catch a break”
Which gets a little frustrating after a while, I suppose I want to believe that some people aren’t made for stable, that some are made for phenomenal and as long as phenomenal is around stable ain’t never going to cut it, although that is the very heights of my optimism I none the less hope and maybe in a way hope against its truth.
I am well aware that In the eye of the beholder it may not be the worst of problems to have but it’s still a pretty big deal for me right now.
So there it is.
Stay or Leave?
Confucius say: you are Fucked!
Consequently in the heat of everything my Blog has been talking some serious shit about me to all his other Blog buddies.
”bitch bitch, moan moan", whatever. Turns out my blog is a bit of a girl and surprisingly sexist for that matter, for reasons that remain inconclusive. So, in light of my blogs apparent feelings of neglect and abuse, allegedly an explanation was in order.
I believe at some point I realised there is so much more to life then simply putting up with, ultimately un important shit from ultimately, un important people. Granted there were some, and they are few, that I retain the utmost respect and affection for, but to you I would ask just how much more was I suppose to take? In the grand scheme of things the whole operation simply wasn’t worth my time anymore and if you didn’t see that! then it is more than probable that you yourself are one of the many ignorant dickheads whom I’ve come to understand just might be the stupidest people to have ever lived.
Seriously, there should be laws to stop you from reproducing, I fear for your children!
In my weaker moments I can’t help but feel that maybe I was a little to trusting for my own good. To not only believe in the cause but believe in the people was clearly the basis of my downfall. It’s quite a harsh reality to face when you look back over the years and realise the time you have waisted, upon reflection the best I can do is bury my head in my hands that I could have been so naive.
About 10 months back I quit my job, it wasn't a big deal I didnt love the place nor did I scheme for its demise, to me working there was more of a stepping stone more than anything, a stone which served its purpose extremely well! or so I thought. A stepping stone as it were, but it aloud me to do certain extra curriculum activities, as the workload was kind of a joke. Actually it was kind of an in joke on account that the only people who knew, kept quite so the people who pay the bills continued to pay up.
so like I said as the pay checks came through, I was able to perform various tasks like, this Blog, Balance my check book, do my taxes, do the taxes of a small republican cotenant and raise a small Albanian boy in a giant bubble whilst all the while the workload is being completed, no one’s the wiser and everybody remains happy, exept for Guan, that boy was always sad.
Naturally when I decided to pull the plug after an impressive Job offer, all these things took a major hit, I lost time to write and had to focus on the new job at hand. Truth be told this has become quite difficult for me to handle. To me writing has just been something I did in between life, so to speak. Understand I love to write but I am very much aware of my talents in comparrison to an actual writer, and it pales, oh how it pales!
Either way between this blog and the Novel I've been trying to pump out, when the change in business structure came, I had to allocate times, sacrificing social events and numerous cock fights to allow time for a bit of pen to paper action for the first time in, well...ever.
You know I really wanted that rattle, I pushed, I conquered and I took that rattle as if its very creation was for no other purpose then thine, and now, I sit, motionless, grasping the oddly provocative shaped plastic, wondering just what it might be like if that kids oversized plastic keys were mine.
I've always been a sucker for the over dramatic, impulsiveness is kind of my thing. Ironically though, I purposely went against my instincts and chose the sensible smart alternative which in turn revealed itself to be in sink with pretty much every impulsive and reckless decision I have made up to this point.
I crunch numbers, it’s what I do. In little but not to much more detail, I justify the companies forecasts taking, adding and hiding the losses from every transaction in and out of the company, kind of a less dignified spin doctor for the monthly auditors.
But in that lies the problem
I have recently discovered I don’t like crunching numbers, in fact I would go as far to say, I hate crunching numbers and it has only just now dawned on me that the career ive created for myself is pretty much exactly that!
Frick!
So now 23 years to the day I am royally fucked! for any possible outcome that I can conceive leaves a person I care a great deal about, up the creek with no paddle, no canoe and no pants.
You see in the red corner we have weighing in at a quite substantial amount of money, Flex days, minimal stress levels and a sturdy living, selling out to the man, the FO.
And in the blue corner weighing at an incredible poverty rating, sniffing paint & following his dreams bar the consequences, he’s smart, he’s intelligent he’s sleeping in a cardboard box. The uni student.
Convenience is the real villain here, I know what I want! But like many people I have grown accustom to a certain standard of living, I like my caviar served out of a woman’s stiletto and so I fear the way of the student will be some what unable to cater for such a desire.
Despite the fact that I am no longer a 19 year old strapping buck anymore with a pocket full of dreams and an age to carry them out, there is also the fact that I know me, I know what happens when I get an Idea in my head, I shoot for it but when I get a newer Idea contradictive of the new idea (which has now become the old idea), the old Idea (formally the new idea) becomes obsolete and the newer idea (or newest idea) is thus forth the future as I know it. Long story short I cant help myself.
The windows of opportunity are getting smaller and smaller with every day. I’m not saying that there is no other alternative once you select your path, merely pointing out that nobody wants to be the guy who is a 70 year old office junior attempting to make a better life for himself, despite the fact its almost over.
So here is my dilemma, I purposely chose a sturdy career to build some stability, the future looks bland, safe but bland. I can travel, afford pretty things and know that I’m pretty set from this day forth, but there is a catch, at the risk of sounding ungrateful. I fear I may end up as some corporate zombie slaving away for the rest of my days in a job I strongly dislike. I told myself that I can suck it up from 9:00 to 5:00 for 5 days if it meant healthy rewards but as it turns out, yeah I don’t know if I wanna do that.
To make a confusing matter worse, I took this analogy to the higher powers at my work, stating I wish to go back to college and study more to which they intervened that they would pay for me to return to Uni, part time in the field of their choosing.
If ever I was handed a poison apple, that was it. It’s my fault really, I left the part out where I wished to study in a more abrupt field such as journalism or history, something away from the mind numbing, I wanna shoot you and everyone you care about spreadsheets.
So the choice has been handed down, time is running short and I have no idea what I’m gonna do and any attempt at seeking outside advice has been met with the same reaction.
“oh poor me, I got a stable job and a stable life, can’t a guy catch a break”
Which gets a little frustrating after a while, I suppose I want to believe that some people aren’t made for stable, that some are made for phenomenal and as long as phenomenal is around stable ain’t never going to cut it, although that is the very heights of my optimism I none the less hope and maybe in a way hope against its truth.
I am well aware that In the eye of the beholder it may not be the worst of problems to have but it’s still a pretty big deal for me right now.
So there it is.
Stay or Leave?
Confucius say: you are Fucked!
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