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Rys' attempt to find a boyfriend
I've decided to join the dating service for Millionaires.
So - gimme your video dating adds. Let's do this bitch. Totally. DO IT. No better way to waste a half hour.
Apparently I hurt someone. I feel like a clueless git because, well, I'm clueless about why...
I've decided to join the dating service for Millionaires.
So - gimme your video dating adds. Let's do this bitch. Totally. DO IT. No better way to waste a half hour.
Apparently I hurt someone. I feel like a clueless git because, well, I'm clueless about why...
My new set is almost this fucked up
My brain is in a seriously wrong place right now, but I do love tibetan foxes with all my heart.
Making box heads white hot sexy
I've also decided that Josh Groban is the only man I'll ever marry. He promised to send me a vile of blood yesterday. Live in hope!
God I love you all. I miss SG. Remind me why I ever left?
Also, if you are one of my bastard exs, go on help a girl out
My brain is in a seriously wrong place right now, but I do love tibetan foxes with all my heart.
Making box heads white hot sexy
I've also decided that Josh Groban is the only man I'll ever marry. He promised to send me a vile of blood yesterday. Live in hope!
God I love you all. I miss SG. Remind me why I ever left?
Also, if you are one of my bastard exs, go on help a girl out
Movin' on up now...
In order to save for my impending global move, I finally rented my wee flat out. I'm spending my last few weeks in Melbourne flitting between my parents chi chi lodge in Toorak and Oliver's penthouse on Collins Street. I guess that makes me the world's classiest little hobo. Only problem is that my mum is tres thingy about dogs in the bed, a reflection of her weird farm upbringing. Needless to say, every morning freaks her the fuck out - when team sleepy reunites, nothing can stop us sleeping 'til noon. Our powers combined, we are captain Snooze.
And in other news, at least some people seem less freaked out by my work now; my last research forum got a lot of people oddly excited. I argued that behavioral neuroscience was wrong. Sometimes people are so weird - I have no idea why that was of interest to anyone. Although the hypocrisy is still gaping; the Australian still took this photo in front of graffiti. Not even the Age sunk that low. All we needed was a kid on a skateboard chroming while on the tram tracks and they could have confirmed all the prejudices we hold against young people. I sometimes wonder if anyone actually gets what I do. Beware of my brain for it is the age of mother fucking reason, apparently. My job is now tenured, too
And finally, I have what is without a doubt the world's most fucked up set on the way. Seriously fucked up from start to finish - I can't WAIT to share it. Perhaps it's too weird for SG, but I think you can handle my auto-erotic '80s fixation. Bring it on. In the spirit of weird shit, what's the weirdest set you want to see? Let's freak this shit out.
In order to save for my impending global move, I finally rented my wee flat out. I'm spending my last few weeks in Melbourne flitting between my parents chi chi lodge in Toorak and Oliver's penthouse on Collins Street. I guess that makes me the world's classiest little hobo. Only problem is that my mum is tres thingy about dogs in the bed, a reflection of her weird farm upbringing. Needless to say, every morning freaks her the fuck out - when team sleepy reunites, nothing can stop us sleeping 'til noon. Our powers combined, we are captain Snooze.
And in other news, at least some people seem less freaked out by my work now; my last research forum got a lot of people oddly excited. I argued that behavioral neuroscience was wrong. Sometimes people are so weird - I have no idea why that was of interest to anyone. Although the hypocrisy is still gaping; the Australian still took this photo in front of graffiti. Not even the Age sunk that low. All we needed was a kid on a skateboard chroming while on the tram tracks and they could have confirmed all the prejudices we hold against young people. I sometimes wonder if anyone actually gets what I do. Beware of my brain for it is the age of mother fucking reason, apparently. My job is now tenured, too
And finally, I have what is without a doubt the world's most fucked up set on the way. Seriously fucked up from start to finish - I can't WAIT to share it. Perhaps it's too weird for SG, but I think you can handle my auto-erotic '80s fixation. Bring it on. In the spirit of weird shit, what's the weirdest set you want to see? Let's freak this shit out.
On being the world's biggest liar
Sometimes, I like to get very technical about my 'practice' ... to get on my very high moral Clydesdale and imagine that what I am doing is real 'practice' - action oriented towards a social good. Social goods I endlessly articulate, virtues grounded in rights. I read, I write, and I teach. I teach human rights frameworks to human service delivery workers; I tell social workers why they can't take that baby a la a Rotweiller, policy makers why they can't 'save the natives in spite of themselves', youth workers why they can't 'scare their kids straight'. I like to imagine, high up there in my ivory tower that I am making a difference, that the world is blessed with my awe inspiring incipient capacities. That when I slide out of my phallic institutional tower into the real world to deliver community based education programmes teaching people with intellectual disabilities what their rights are in residential units, that I'm real. Unlike all those other academics, I lie, I'm real. I'm down with the real world. I am useful. I am practicing.
Fleetingly, I catch my reflecting in the mirror. Downloading Limp Bizcuit clips from Youtube to teach snot nose first year shits about subcultural normativity. I suck donkey balls.
I see if I can get Ollie to draw you a picture of that. Until then, enjoy
And in the spirit of sharing, what's your biggest lie???
Sometimes, I like to get very technical about my 'practice' ... to get on my very high moral Clydesdale and imagine that what I am doing is real 'practice' - action oriented towards a social good. Social goods I endlessly articulate, virtues grounded in rights. I read, I write, and I teach. I teach human rights frameworks to human service delivery workers; I tell social workers why they can't take that baby a la a Rotweiller, policy makers why they can't 'save the natives in spite of themselves', youth workers why they can't 'scare their kids straight'. I like to imagine, high up there in my ivory tower that I am making a difference, that the world is blessed with my awe inspiring incipient capacities. That when I slide out of my phallic institutional tower into the real world to deliver community based education programmes teaching people with intellectual disabilities what their rights are in residential units, that I'm real. Unlike all those other academics, I lie, I'm real. I'm down with the real world. I am useful. I am practicing.
Fleetingly, I catch my reflecting in the mirror. Downloading Limp Bizcuit clips from Youtube to teach snot nose first year shits about subcultural normativity. I suck donkey balls.
I see if I can get Ollie to draw you a picture of that. Until then, enjoy
And in the spirit of sharing, what's your biggest lie???
On being the world's biggest liar
Sometimes, I like to get very technical about my 'practice' ... to get on my very high moral Clydesdale and imagine that what I am doing is real 'practice' - action oriented towards a social good. Social goods I endlessly articulate, virtues grounded in rights. I read, I write, and I teach. I teach human rights frameworks to human service delivery workers; I tell social workers why they can't take that baby a la a Rotweiller, policy makers why they can't 'save the natives in spite of themselves', youth workers why they can't 'scare their kids straight'. I like to imagine, high up there in my ivory tower that I am making a difference, that the world is blessed with my awe inspiring incipient capacities. That when I slide out of my phallic institutional tower into the real world to deliver community based education programmes teaching people with intellectual disabilities what their rights are in residential units, that I'm real. Unlike all those other academics, I lie, I'm real. I'm down with the real world. I am useful. I am practicing.
Fleetingly, I catch my reflecting in the mirror. Downloading Limp Bizcuit clips from Youtube to teach snot nose first year shits about subcultural normativity. I suck donkey balls.
I see if I can get Ollie to draw you a picture of that. Until then, enjoy
And in the spirit of sharing, what's your biggest lie???
Sometimes, I like to get very technical about my 'practice' ... to get on my very high moral Clydesdale and imagine that what I am doing is real 'practice' - action oriented towards a social good. Social goods I endlessly articulate, virtues grounded in rights. I read, I write, and I teach. I teach human rights frameworks to human service delivery workers; I tell social workers why they can't take that baby a la a Rotweiller, policy makers why they can't 'save the natives in spite of themselves', youth workers why they can't 'scare their kids straight'. I like to imagine, high up there in my ivory tower that I am making a difference, that the world is blessed with my awe inspiring incipient capacities. That when I slide out of my phallic institutional tower into the real world to deliver community based education programmes teaching people with intellectual disabilities what their rights are in residential units, that I'm real. Unlike all those other academics, I lie, I'm real. I'm down with the real world. I am useful. I am practicing.
Fleetingly, I catch my reflecting in the mirror. Downloading Limp Bizcuit clips from Youtube to teach snot nose first year shits about subcultural normativity. I suck donkey balls.
I see if I can get Ollie to draw you a picture of that. Until then, enjoy
And in the spirit of sharing, what's your biggest lie???
What Would Jesus Do? (or why cyclists are the nu lesbian mafia).
Sometimes Jesus would do a pity fuck. Word. He'd totally be "you're all my children -- take a candy from my pocket kid". I was confronted with His legacy on Saturday, and I failed. I failed spectacularly. I ask myself 'what would Jesus have done on Saturday night? Would he have slept alone in his swag?' And my answer? No fuckin' way kiddo. He would have gotten it on. I am a failure as a Christian.
My life is very diverse, and that's what I love most about it. I work at a university, I drink sparkling water and Melbourne Bitter, I race dogs and oh-so-occasionally I like to imagine a convict heritage I do not share, and embrace a national identity unknown. Saturday night was one of these 'Australian' moments. Oh so Ostrayan; I went to the Enmore B and S.
'Twas a night of first. The first time someone ever gave me my *own* stubby holder. The first time I asked for a 'can' of gin tonic. The first time I watched the Southern Cross drift across the sky from a swag on a ute; and the first time I let Jesus down so blatantly.
I was hiding at the back of the cattle shed, sipping a UDL avoiding people spitting food dye when I was approached by this tiny kid. I say kid 'cause he was, well, an 18 year old virgin. And he was the simple kid. You know, the slightly slow brother of someone, who came along to try meet a girl in his best pants, and then totally got ditched by everyone 3 seconds later. It was me and him hiding in the back of the shed, for very different reasons. Needless to say the conversation did not go well for him;
"I'm a virgin"
"Honey, I'm a dominatrix"
"I'm still interested in you"
"Sugar, I'm a decade older than you"
He seemed to keep insisting that this didn't matter, that *he* still liked *me*. I had to try and gently explain to the poor kid that sadly this didn't matter -- that I wasn't interested in him. I figured being sweet and kind was the humane thing to do. You know, that Jesus would have wanted me to set the kid straight in a well meaning sort of way. Christian, right?
How wrong could I be? How could a few UDLs have crippled my logic so much? I realised today that that is totally not what Jesus would have done. Jesus would have taken one for the team. He totally would have popped the kids load while reading the bible. I failed. Full stop.
Rys' pity fuck list (I hope this is OK with you boy):
1) The kid at the B and S
2) My friend Brendan so long as he wrenched his teeth to look like a young Ice T to get in my pants, like he said he would. That's so pathetic it deserves a pity fuck.
3) That sad old grandpa who sits on the porch alone opposite my mum's house, pining for his family and longing for love lost. I mean come on, how could that not bring a Tear-to-Your-Eye-Pity-Fuck?
Meanwhile, for those of you not down with the Australian experience I took some phone footage of the B and S for you. It might explain why I was hiding in the back of the cattle shed before retreating to my swag super early.
Meet Johnno - the Carni come Ocker who worked out he could ride a unicycle while cracking a whip and holding a can of Bundy and coke premix. That noise you hear in the background is Scotties ute. I slept on it. It's loud at the start.
Meet my friends. The drive home from a B and S takes way too long if you stop every time someone wants to puke. You need to get your passengers to totally sync up.
Cas: "I need to hurl"
Me: "Well hold it 'til Kia does too dude"
Kia: "I'm about there man"
Me: "Alright, but then we got to get another 10 kms so make it good"
We're 27. It's gone full circle; it's so pathetic to be this wasted and it's been soo many years since they've chucked that it's almost funny again. (Also I was not wasted and driving, der. We all bretho out of there.)
Finally I have decided that cyclists are the nu-lesbian-mafia and I will no longer brake for them. Yes, drivers need to learn to be more aware of you, but you need to learn to be more aware of pedestrians in turn. You do not own either the roads or the footpaths, fuckers. If you want me as a driver to respect you rights on the road, then motherfucking stop cycling at 60kms an hour down the 'shared' footpaths and making my walking life hell. You do not have the right to play the aggrieved party just because you're the newest-most-visible-marginal-road-users. Your hypocrisy undermines anything that your "one less car" stickers could ever hope to acheive. If you want to win respectability as road users, stop fucking sitting high on your
not-so-recycled-aluminium fixed gear horses screaming foul play at your Critical Mass rallies (no one is listening, the '60s are over), and start acting like members of the fucking community. Its a three way street. Literally.
Sometimes Jesus would do a pity fuck. Word. He'd totally be "you're all my children -- take a candy from my pocket kid". I was confronted with His legacy on Saturday, and I failed. I failed spectacularly. I ask myself 'what would Jesus have done on Saturday night? Would he have slept alone in his swag?' And my answer? No fuckin' way kiddo. He would have gotten it on. I am a failure as a Christian.
My life is very diverse, and that's what I love most about it. I work at a university, I drink sparkling water and Melbourne Bitter, I race dogs and oh-so-occasionally I like to imagine a convict heritage I do not share, and embrace a national identity unknown. Saturday night was one of these 'Australian' moments. Oh so Ostrayan; I went to the Enmore B and S.
'Twas a night of first. The first time someone ever gave me my *own* stubby holder. The first time I asked for a 'can' of gin tonic. The first time I watched the Southern Cross drift across the sky from a swag on a ute; and the first time I let Jesus down so blatantly.
I was hiding at the back of the cattle shed, sipping a UDL avoiding people spitting food dye when I was approached by this tiny kid. I say kid 'cause he was, well, an 18 year old virgin. And he was the simple kid. You know, the slightly slow brother of someone, who came along to try meet a girl in his best pants, and then totally got ditched by everyone 3 seconds later. It was me and him hiding in the back of the shed, for very different reasons. Needless to say the conversation did not go well for him;
"I'm a virgin"
"Honey, I'm a dominatrix"
"I'm still interested in you"
"Sugar, I'm a decade older than you"
He seemed to keep insisting that this didn't matter, that *he* still liked *me*. I had to try and gently explain to the poor kid that sadly this didn't matter -- that I wasn't interested in him. I figured being sweet and kind was the humane thing to do. You know, that Jesus would have wanted me to set the kid straight in a well meaning sort of way. Christian, right?
How wrong could I be? How could a few UDLs have crippled my logic so much? I realised today that that is totally not what Jesus would have done. Jesus would have taken one for the team. He totally would have popped the kids load while reading the bible. I failed. Full stop.
Rys' pity fuck list (I hope this is OK with you boy):
1) The kid at the B and S
2) My friend Brendan so long as he wrenched his teeth to look like a young Ice T to get in my pants, like he said he would. That's so pathetic it deserves a pity fuck.
3) That sad old grandpa who sits on the porch alone opposite my mum's house, pining for his family and longing for love lost. I mean come on, how could that not bring a Tear-to-Your-Eye-Pity-Fuck?
Meanwhile, for those of you not down with the Australian experience I took some phone footage of the B and S for you. It might explain why I was hiding in the back of the cattle shed before retreating to my swag super early.
Meet Johnno - the Carni come Ocker who worked out he could ride a unicycle while cracking a whip and holding a can of Bundy and coke premix. That noise you hear in the background is Scotties ute. I slept on it. It's loud at the start.
Meet my friends. The drive home from a B and S takes way too long if you stop every time someone wants to puke. You need to get your passengers to totally sync up.
Cas: "I need to hurl"
Me: "Well hold it 'til Kia does too dude"
Kia: "I'm about there man"
Me: "Alright, but then we got to get another 10 kms so make it good"
We're 27. It's gone full circle; it's so pathetic to be this wasted and it's been soo many years since they've chucked that it's almost funny again. (Also I was not wasted and driving, der. We all bretho out of there.)
Finally I have decided that cyclists are the nu-lesbian-mafia and I will no longer brake for them. Yes, drivers need to learn to be more aware of you, but you need to learn to be more aware of pedestrians in turn. You do not own either the roads or the footpaths, fuckers. If you want me as a driver to respect you rights on the road, then motherfucking stop cycling at 60kms an hour down the 'shared' footpaths and making my walking life hell. You do not have the right to play the aggrieved party just because you're the newest-most-visible-marginal-road-users. Your hypocrisy undermines anything that your "one less car" stickers could ever hope to acheive. If you want to win respectability as road users, stop fucking sitting high on your
not-so-recycled-aluminium fixed gear horses screaming foul play at your Critical Mass rallies (no one is listening, the '60s are over), and start acting like members of the fucking community. Its a three way street. Literally.
'I'm sorry, I've changed my mind about you.'
I'm on leave. I'm not feeling so good about myself right now, and this is no place to be until I change my mind again.
I'm on leave. I'm not feeling so good about myself right now, and this is no place to be until I change my mind again.
JULY 2008
MAY 2008
APRIL 2008
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