I'm with Stupid

I was so into the idea of being with my ex that I can't even begin to move without that as the corner stone of my imaginary future. Not that it was ever going to happen, but we all need to anticipate warmth at the end of a cold day. But this is just getting shitfully ridiculous. Like SHITFULLY.

I have no heating where I live. I mean, sure, I haven't had heating for a few years now, but this winter it's just fucking stupid (well, it's no longer Melbourne, you know). I also have no lights in my house and I'm honestly living in a squat. I'm also so pitifully bored that I've moved on from attempting to make pentograms with my Ikea Glimma 100 tealight pack (a whole 1.49 worth of entertainment) to conjure up any sort of dead spirit to play my Twister with me, to attempting to open up a portal for dead marine mammals who I imagine I could beat when it came to the right hand on green spin. Flipper may have told me to kill you all, but my lounge room was at least tepid for 6.5 minutes.




I bought the travel version of 'Operation' from the HMV yesterday. I can now play a miniature version of Operation with myself. Only problem is that it's so fucking cold my hands tremble, thus defeating the only skill required in the entire game. That poor man's freakin' red nose is looking more like a lighthouse for whores than a buzzer, no matter how close to removing the funny bone I am. I am almost 30.



And today I decided to base some serious life decisions on what sort of theoretic ex girlfriend it would make me. Yep. If I were to imagine myself as an ex girlfriend, X would seem better than Y. So... Y for the win!

I've been honestly tossing up where to do my PhD, and I've had two tempting offers. One for UCL, where there is an amazing supervisor who told me he would find me funding for my fees, apply for an external research grants so I could work on my PhD as a series of paid research projects, and generally that what I wanted to do was so awesome he would back me 100%. He's also pretty renowned in the field so it was kinda neat. The other offer, offer two if you will, was from Oxford. They said they could probably extend themselves enough to supervise me, and that they would accept my formal application should I secure independent funding. So I'm debating; good school, tough life or OK school, three years of easy living... Then, then I honestly think - what would make my ex theoretically miss me more? How can I make my entirely historical ex weigh in on this completely futuristic debate? Well, should my ex ever think about me again (thus extending our entirely over relationship into a future temporality), there's a chance that attempting to replace Rys, the once cowgirl come stripper, who is now doing her doctorate on child rights at Oxford would be harder to replace than the girl who's just doing her PhD at some uni. This is honestly how I make decisions.

I'm thinking new meaningful factors to introduce into my life planning should include:

1) The rate that my potted Basil plant can grow, to ensure I always have fresh pesto
2) The chances of contracting heart worm across various climates and
3) My proximity to Marrakesh, simply because it's a fun place name to pronounce and I feel that repeating it 3 times a day would bring me some joy.

Gimme some more... let's see how stupid I can make decisions...

I'm not doing sex or dating anymore.

I keep dating people, desperately hoping that they'll fall in love with me and that 'we' will eventuate to 'something'. I mean sure, as I write that it sounds profoundly stupid, and I've just realised it is profoundly stupid. What is something, anyhow? And how the hell would dating get us there?

I once thought I was on a date with someone, only to come back from the bar to find them making out with their ex. Another time I slept with someone I really, really liked - and was genuinely confused when they didn't speak to me for weeks afterward. I can remember my friend Joe smirking when I said I hoped he hadn't been in an accident or anything, and I found that doubly confusing. My stupidity knows no end it seems.

So I give up. Dating, sex, hanging out with people you fancy... they're not a pathway to something I want. I guess the problem is that most people want that, and just that. Most people want to hang out with me, perhaps to date for a few months and along the way to enjoy a quick shag - and that's great for them I guess. I just don't want any of that.

There must be another way. The nunnery?

Anyhow. I decided there was a better little black book to preach from. It's called a Moleskin.

Now that's poor teaching

I'm almost a qualified teacher (of the higher ed kind, mind). Which is hilarious, I've been doing it for 2 years now. Apparently *now* I know what I'm doing.

I've been lecturing into an economic course of late - which is hilarious. The closest thing I ever got to economics was the fact that my uni had the word in its name. That makes me qualified. You're paying for this, kids.

I decided to disprove 'Rational Economic Man' theory by asking my students, via a show of hands, how many of them thought that "moving to Paris, shooting heroin and fucking with some stars" sounded tempting. Needless to say 200 odd students agreed. They agreed with MGMT for gods sake... Welcome to your undergrad degree, and say goodbye to integrity.

Only thing is, the more 'they' tell me what quality teaching is, the worse I seem to get. My homework for my final subject was a workshop demanding my professor colleagues dance to Love is a Battelfield as a practice of transformative democracy. I argued that thinking in new ways requires physicalisation - as educators the future of all public unis rests on lecturers moving in new ways. It appears the more plain shit my logic becomes, the 'better' I am at teaching. I mean for fucks sake, how can your lecturer pole dancing to Pat Benatar make your degree better? Will someone call me up on this shit already?

I've taken to video tutorials. The future's looking bleak indeed.



Just as well I'm on research leave Berlin is being very kind.

How dumb is your job?

I decided to let myself go already. Anyhow, somedays you need to go to work with a blonde mo

There are some people you're always going to miss, all your life. Even when they're next to you, the skin between you is already too much to bear. You internalise them, soak them in through your pores so they'll always be a part of you. I suspect when all is said and done though, this makes their actual existence redundant; you become what you can of them and forever long for the rest. Perhaps that's why I live my life so light, why I am constantly leaving. I shine brightest in a culture of disappearance, where the inevitable longing seems justified.

And perhaps then, I don't need anyone. I mean really need anyone. I've loved a lot of people who've changed their minds about me. As a thought it's unbearable, as a process hardly noticeable. I guess that if they're absorbing what they can, consuming parts of my soul readily dissolved, my humanity merely functions as an unachievable object of desire bound up with the comforting warmth of life long pining. And this is exactly what I can expect. To love people to the point where we destroy each other. And this can be anyone, effortlessly, easily...

I cancelled my pool membership yesterday, with the impending global move an' all. I handed in my cancellation form and membership card with a slight sense of glee. In the single spaced, demarcated line where I was meant to vigorously explain why I was leaving I decided to do something unusual. I decided to be honest about how I was feeling; brutal honesty for the benefit of an anonymous form. In felt tipped cursive I explained "I've resigned myself to being alone forever, and have accordingly decided to let myself go". Someone from the pool called to see if I was OK a few days later. Perhaps when you're easily absorbed people already know.

What's the dumbest thing you've ever put on a form? My friend Ziya once wrote, under special needs, "I am Turkish". Beat that

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...

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

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.

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???

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???