How did I write this whole thing without one dick joke?

Do you ever look around and feel inquisitive about the size of things? In parallel universai (sticking with it), what size might they be? How would this affect the world around them? Could our existence improve from resizing them? What sized objects/living things do we take for granted? I’m not sure how often I ponder this, but I’m sure as fuck going to now.

  • Corn. If an ear of corn was the size of your arm, would we still be able to eat them in the same way? How tall would fields of maize have to be in order to cater to the larger crop? I’d wager that we’d see a lot more individual kernels used than ears. How big would that make each kernel? The same as a thumb joint? Or maybe similar to a single popcorn piece. On that note, would each piece of popcorn be like an apple? That sounds like a world I’d like to live in. Though a solid RIP to typewriter style consumption.
  • I would have a dog sized giraffe as a pet. No qualms about it. How fucking adorable would that be? LOOK HOW CUTE A NEWBORN GIRAFFE IS. Imagine that even more compact. Plus with a little leash for walkies. Their necks would be double plus huggable. Plus they’d be so good at frisbee. If I ever learn to travel universes, I’m bringing back a giraffe dog.
  • Insects are considered nightmarish to most people already. I admit I’d freak out interacting with any larger than my hand. At the same time I think they’re really fucking cool. What is it about insects that freak us out so much? Is it their bulbous/kaleidoscopic eyes? Their overabundance of legs? The venomous barbs/stingers/mandibles? Dense hairs covering their body? Is it even that we’re comparatively such simply laid out creatures and insects are nigh universally complex? Oh fuck, imagine a mosquito wielding a proboscis the size of your head. Now try sleeping ever again.
  • If bananas were the size of prawns, would they be worth the effort? I’d ask the alternative, but Morton Bay Bugs are already a thing.
  • If dandelions were larger, would there be fewer of them? Part of their ability to disperse is how they float in the air and that feels like a feature of their lightness. If they were larger their spread would likely be stymied by obstacles and hopefully that’d cut down on their proliferation.
  • Shark sized tartigrades and jellyfish would rule the oceans/world. Tartigrades are basically indestructible and jellyfish can revert to the polyp stage at any time, meaning they don’t die from old age. Imagine seas full of large translucent blobs. You’d think they were wave crests, but then your entire body would be enveloped in their all consuming sting. I can imagine urolagnia rapidly gaining in popularity.
  • How large would rabbits need to be before they’d become farmed en masse? Goose sized? Pig sized? I mean, they fuck like… well… them. If they weren’t harvested for meat, they’d no doubt be slaughtered as pests.
  • I wonder how larger coconuts would’ve influenced island society. Let’s say a metre in diameter. They’d be really durable for some building materials (roofing perhaps?) and are pretty buoyant. Could they have made some kind of coconut pontoon crafts?
  • One last thought: Apple. Sized. Blueberries.

I’m not sure how this world came to pass, but it tends to fit together pretty damn well. Three cheers to the architect, elsewise we’d all have perished from horse sized rats long ago.

Foie grasshole.

I’ve never claimed to be a good person and anyone assuming the best of me would be left poorly shortchanged. Today I’ve been in a shifty mood, no idea why. In honour of this, I’m devoting today’s entry to the many petty moments I’ve had since rising.

  • This morning when I was readying to board the bus, there was a dude walking slowly with a cane. There was a line, but he was at the front just to the side of the queue. I saw him approaching as the bus was pulling up and decided to wait, to let him get on before anyone else. I noticed a woman in a yellow sweater approaching quickly from behind. She was walking around the line and barging anyone whose shoulders were too close. So I deliberately stepped out to the side and in her way, giving the man time to board. I could tell she was antsy but I was wearing headphones and pretending to be oblivious. I could sense her fuming from behind me. I felt immensely satisfied.
  • The entry to our bathrooms at work involve a double door system. There’s a door that leads into an intermediary room with a bin and hand sanitiser. This room has a door that leads you into the bathroom. Because the air gets pressurised in the little mid-room, you can hear when someone’s coming out from the bathroom. People are either oblivious to this air pressure thing, or don’t care. The result is usually walking into the mid room and both people getting spooked. So instead when I heard someone opening the door to the mid-room this morning, I stood stock still at the entrance to the mid-room without opening the door. When I say standing at the entrance, I was practically perpendicular to the door frame. The guy walked out and almost shot into the air Hanna-Barbera style. I refused to acknowledge his surprise and walked past him into the bathroom without saying a word. I smiled inwardly to myself.
  • My girlfriend and I are going to Montreal this weekend and we’ve been scouting for recommendations. A friend told us about a place with great brunches. When I was chatting to her later about unrelated stuff, she mentioned how excellent their menu was, making particular note of the foie gras. I’ve never had foie gras. It’s not because of anything ethical, I just haven’t had a ton of high end French cuisine. I thought about foie gras a little. I thought of how lucky I was to not have any dietary restrictions. Then my mind drifted to the notion that not only would it involve something dying for my meal, but suffering too. Then I was filled with this intense feeling of relief and satisfaction from having been born pretty high up on the food chain. If that has you riled up, keep in mind that if there’s an afterlife, I won’t feel so smug then.
  • I was first to the donut box at work today and had my pick. I quickly nabbed the only sour cream glazed donuts. I don’t particularly like donuts, primarily because of their soft, airy texture. The sour cream glazed variety are one of the few dense donuts that Tim Hortons stocks. I took a certain glee in thinking only of myself.
  • Two and a half weeks ago, an acquaintance had asked if she could leave two pieces of furniture at our place overnight. They were moving and needed to store it somewhere that it wouldn’t get rained out. I said that was fine. A few days later it hadn’t been picked up, so I sent her a message to remind her. She didn’t respond. Another few days passed. I sent another message. She said she had plans to get it picked up and that she’d sort it. A few days later, I messaged again to check the status of it being picked up. This was a far cry from an overnight thing, which felt like I was being saddled with something because it wasn’t a priority to her. She didn’t respond. I messaged her again a day later. No response. I messaged her a day later and said that if she didn’t want it I was happy to put it curbside. She messaged back saying that her plans had fallen through and she had plans to pick it up. Finally today I messaged and asked her when it was getting sorted. She said she’d pick it up tonight. I said great and offered to help carry the stuff if she needed it. She arrived earlier than she’d said, which coincided with my dinner being plated. I took certain delight in sitting down for my meal, not coming out to help or even saying hello. I simply sat there enjoying my meal, satisfied that I didn’t have to lift a finger. It’s the little things, y’know?

And now that this entry is done with, I can go back to idly not giving a shit. Some days are better than others.

Too bad there were no Good VibraSHUNS.

NEVER FORGET. Unless you never knew. In which case, LEARN AND REMEMBER.

I think it’s pretty important that people don’t forget what a piece of shit Mark Wahlberg is. At the age of 15, little Marky Mark followed a group of black schoolgirls on a field trip and threw rocks at them, shouting racial epithets. At the age of 16 he perpetrated two Vietnamese men on the same night. Total strangers. He bashed the first over the head with a large wooden stick and punched the second in the eye. Marky Mark served all of 45 days of a two year prison sentence and was let out. In 2015 he sought a pardon for this 1988 attack, to have it stricken from his record. Marky Mark is a garbage person and it’s fucking crazy that he has a career. In all honesty it’s probably because he’s white, good looking and successful.

It’s criminally unfair what a raw deal a black person would’ve faced under the same charges. Who do you think the world hates more? Mark Wahlberg or Kanye West? I’ve no doubt in saying Kanye. Kanye possesses a bizarrely entitled grandeur, which would seem almost performance art if it wasn’t so consistent (and I say this as a fan). He’s no doubt arrogant, self-obsessed and an asshole. He runs his mouth off a bunch (which, isn’t always a bad thing) and is more than a tad eccentric. Kanye also has never to my knowledge been arrested for aggravated racial violence. I mean, as far as backgrounds are concerned, Kanye’s a nice college boy. In the court of public opinion though, he’s basically literally hitler. Wahlberg seems to have come off pretty unscathed. Seems at least a little unfair, don’cha think?

Something I learned on the other hand, is that the 1981 movie Roar exists. Melanie Griffith (the most recognisable name) co-starred with her real life parents Noel Marshall (who directed) and Tippi Hedren. That’s not the odd part. The odd part is that this movie was filmed over 11 years. The story of a family being attacked by large numbers of predatory jungle animals. Oh wait, that doesn’t sound batshit insane yet? THEY WERE REAL FUCKING ANIMALS AND PEOPLE GOT LEGIT MAULED. At least 70 members of the cast and crew were injured, with many sustaining LIFE THREATENING INJURIES. Take a second to appreciate this excerpt from Wikipedia:

Over 70 of the cast and crew were injured during the production of this film. Cinematographer Jan de Bont had his scalp lifted by a lion, resulting in 220 stitches. Tippi Hedren received a fractured leg and also had scalp wounds. This occurred after an elephant bucked her off its back while she was riding it. She was also bitten in the neck by a lion and required 38 stitches. This incident can also be seen in the film.

People got fucked up. Melanie Griffith had 50 stitches in her face and somehow managed to avoid being physically scarred. Noel Marshall got attacked by the lions so often that he developed gangrene. A bunch of the injuries actually made it into the final film. I hope the cast (and cats) had a union. Worst of all, the film went on to be a total critical failure and was never released in the US. I’m still not sure whether or not I want to see the film, but I’m sure it wouldn’t be boring at least. How would that have ever been a good idea?

If only Mark Wahlberg had starred in the film instead. I’m sure “it wouldn’t have went down like it did.”

Fortunately I steer clear of that kind of bullocks.

At times it’s all too easy to sink into the green mire of envy. You can’t help but covet the looks, skills or sexy, sexy oxen of others. Spending so much time worrying about what others have that you forget all the glorious shit you bring to the world. It’s hard not to know that feel when society’s central message is that you’re not enough, but you should always strive to be. So for today I’m going to dig deep into self gratitude. Looking into all the things about myself that I’m thankful for. Or maybe even the things that I’m not.

I’m thankful that I look okay when I run. First and foremost, if you have the wherewithal to get out and be active, then power to you. I won’t reach as far as to say I look cool, but jeebus it could be far worse. My legs don’t splay akimbo, my arms stay by my side without flip flopping like a muppet. I have a slight angle as I move rather than being bent over or ramrod straight. I don’t glow beet red or puff like a Big Bad Wolf. I’ve somehow reached a point where I have a modicum of composure and I’m super gracious of that.

I’m thankful that I’m the least threatening seeming person alive. Just have one of those faces, y’know? I’ve never sought to intimidate people with my presence and frankly, I’d be a shit enforcer of any variety. So I’m glad that my image reinforces what’s on the inside. I’m basically a carebear made flesh. Of average stature with cartoonish features. I hate making people feel uncomfortable and I’m fortunate that it’s not one of my default settings. I’m also fine that I’d never ironically have the nickname Tiny.

I’m stoked that all of my sexual proclivities (at least the ones I’m aware of) are legal and consent based. I don’t tread lightly here. Kids and animals really don’t do it for me (even dat sexy, sexy ox) and that’s a godsend. How shitty and guilty would you feel if the activities that ignited drum fills in your heart caused misery to others? If you knew that you’d never be able to experience that which set your world alight because you felt it was fundamentally wrong? If there was this part of yourself you had to shut away in a sealed vault forever? That sounds heartbreaking, which isn’t to condone these activities whatsoever, but to point out that people have no say in what excites them. It’s a lottery for sure. I’m in a position with a loving, supportive partner who’s really open to trying things. My family and friends would be there for me if I discovered I that my sexual orientation had changed, without question. Not everyone is that lucky and I understand that’s not a privilege that people are afforded by default.

I don’t have any food allergies, which means I can be as gluttonous as I desire without medical repercussions. Well, if I ate my neighbour’s entire sexy, sexy ox in one go, my stomach would probably rupture. My lack of allergies means I can enjoy cuisine from all across the globe. I’m able to adapt to any requirements friends have at parties without being disadvantaged. I don’t need a personal food taster, plus since I’m so nonthreatening, it’s not like people are champing at the bit to assassinate me anyway.

It goes without saying that I’ve got every other privilege under the sun, which is amazing. Because of genetics, heritage and my socioeconomic environment, I’ve been able to blossom in a world unencumbered by the hardships that for many are a sad reality. I’m not gloating, I instead want to point out that I understand the number of aspects in my life that have aligned in order to mean that my life is not constant suffering. That whatever issues I face aren’t the issues that burden others. That when I complain (you know, constantly) it’s done with an understanding that a multitude of things are going my way and I’d be an asshole not to be grateful.

A sure shank redemption.

I’ve been 30 for several months now and 30 is great. I’ve felt more secure in the ‘me’ I bring to the world. Cared less about what others thought and put focus into the energy I’ve exuded. There’s been no fear of having peaked, because it’s becoming increasingly clear that I’ve got more of my life in front of me than behind. Tonight though, it all changes. Tonight I soar upwards into a crescendo. I’ll high five my zenith and coast for the rest of my life secure in the knowledge that not only have I lived, but for one night was magnificently alive, positively charged with potential. Tomorrow I’ll step foot into a plodding decline but tonight? Tonight I’m the master of my own destiny.

I’m speaking of course of the fact that there’s currently eight kilos of bone in ham shank waiting to be carved in my kitchen.

Eight goddamn kilos. That’s so much fucking ham. All for the low low price of $16. I’m sure you think you know how much eight kilos is, but you’ll find that you’re mistaken. If you were to have a ham sandwich, 150 grams would be a decent sandwich. I could have 60 of those. I’ve got enough ham that I can experiment. Ever had ham curry? Neither have I, but what if it’s a taste sensation waiting to happen? Summer’s coming up. If I’m overheated and hungry, why not kill two birds with small frozen chunks of pig? I could have a hamburger, but with literal ham in lieu of buns. A world of possiblity is unfolding in front of my eyes.

The last time something like this (though not nearly the same magnitude. I’m pretty sure that was a mere four kilos) I had spiral cut ham to work with. It was pre-sliced and hard to truly mess up. This time it’s just meat on a bone. I’m gonna need to employ actual technique in order to maximise meatficciency. This ain’t no two bit operation, it’s a big bite operation. I’ve done my research, but theory has nothing on practice. Thankfully it’s pretty methodical. I need to cut a few slices from the narrower side in order to have a flat base to work from. With that achieved, I can cut thin vertical slices from the top of the shank down to the bone. I then simply cut along the bone horizontally and the slices will fall off. Repeating as such for all four sides will have the job virtually finished and all I’ll need to do with be straighten out the odd shaped bits. Likely with my mouth, in all honesty. It sounds possible, I just need to think confidently. If all goes terribly wrong, at least the whole eight kilos is divided between two shanks. If I butcher the first (maybe the one situation where that verb falls flat), by the second, I’ll have ascended to mastery. Or butchery, as the case may be.

Holy shit folks, I’m just about to walk in the door. Are you excited? Doesn’t matter. I’m excited enough for all of you combined. TIME TO PIG OUT.

The weakest kind of ammoonition.

Do you think lactose intolerant white supremacists are finally learning about the dangers of intolerance? Also, seriously? You’re gonna make chugging milk an act of hatred now? Cows don’t even know what racism is. You’re using a heavily processed dairy product as a statement of purity. Do you understand how ridiculous that is? This “pure” substance has been collected, separated, fortified, pasturised, homogenised then packaged. It’s like saying you’re really into stealing cars, then playing a game of Second Life where your character plays Second Life, playing a character who plays the PSOne Grand Theft Auto through a PC emulator. There are a lot of filters between you and your message, dude. Also please do a ton of gallon challenges so I can see you vomiting up your corroded vital organs all over your worthless bodies. They’re not doing you or the world any good here. Thanks.

Plus, why use plain milk as a symbol of your pride when it’s not even the most delicious one? Don’t get me wrong, I love me a big glass of milk (oddly enough, growing up on skim milk, I kind of prefer it. It’s what you’re used to, right?). Before I started drinking coffee I’d often order milk at a cafe in lieu of a hot drink. That being said, chocolate milk is the tits! If you neo nazis have a problem with that, I’m pretty sure the entire nation of NZ want to fight you. Strawberry is great too. Banana may be the only flavour that really wouldn’t hold its own, but I’m happy to leave artificial banana out to drown. Fuck artificial banana. Also fuck these bigoted, ignorant, hateful fucks who care so little for others that they’re ruining a quality dairy product for the rest of the world.

The thing they’re missing in this whole dumb (and it started on 4chan, not known for its inspired political idealism (“For the LULZ” doesn’t exactly evoke confidence)) milk as purity thing is that milk is at its absolute best in an assistance role. I love milk, but milk tends to be one mere aspect of a more holistically enjoyable recipe. Chocolate cake uses milk, but it’s how that milk works together with the other ingredients that makes chocolate cake as wondrous, smooth and lovably dense as it is. Pancakes, omelettes, cheesy pasta. Hell, milkshakes aren’t just milk. Things work better with cooperation, when we support one another and help accentuate each other’s skills and expertise. Not trying to kill off the parts of us that are unique and special.

Because frankly, we’re all tired of your bullshit.

A wide berthday.

Well this is 30. It doesn’t feel ultimately different from 29. That’s always the expectation as a kid, that the annual shift will suddenly make itself known as another 365 days turn over to the next. Then as you’re an adult and the passage of time seems smoother, slower you realise it just ain’t like that. I already had the aches and pains that periodically make themselves known. It’s not like I suddenly reached the magical age of “old” and my limbs fell off. I’m also not the bastion of wisdom that comes with age. Still got years to collect it all. Dribs and drabs, drip by drip. Three decades in I’m surprised at how young I feel, but with the knowledge of how young I’m not. The ability to be as reckless as I was ten years ago, but the insight to know that’s unlikely to go well. Drip by drip.

Today’s weather, on the other hand, has not gone drip by drip. We’re away on the Milford Sound tour in a cross between overcast and downpour. Asking our guide if this weather was standard, he cheerfully replied to my friend “oh no, this is the worst weather I’ve seen in years. It was 28 degrees and sunny last week.” Happy Birthday, I guess. Regardless of the wetness, it’s been a pretty rad way to spend the day. Away on an adventure with my girlfriend and best mates. It’s kind of tough to feel hard done by when any shit situation becomes fodder for more jokes. Misery alchemists, turning tragedy into comedy in record time. If my limbs did suddenly fall of at 30, I’ve no doubt they’d help me find the silver lining.

Despite anything nature could throw at us, the scenery has been unbelievable. I’m not sure I’ve used the word “incredible” sincerely quite so many times in one day before. Enormous mountains towing above the clouds. Streams becoming waterfalls. Huge green gorges, gushing rivers and crystal clear lakes. The tour guide has been offering helpful, interesting commentary along the way. Well versed in history about the area, he’s also delivered insight on both flora and fauna. Okay, so now I sound like I’ve aged another 30 years, but it’s bloody fascinating. Apparently the karearea falcon (on the NZ $20 note) can fly at speeds of up to 180km per hour. That’s insane.

We saw ducks that dove underwater to find food and keas posing for photos on top of a car. One also walked up to the bus door and started chewing on the insulation. The guide told us it’s pretty common for one kea to attract attention while several other keas, unnoticed, sow disorder. Mischievous little bastards. Dolphins are pretty rare around the Milford sounds, showing up around once every ten days, but we had a big pod jumping and splashing in front of the boat. The driver stopped and we gawked, passengers cooing accordingly. They were pretty damn rad. A cluster of sea lions adorned a large rock, sleeping despite the rugged terrain. Sea lions don’t give a fuck. We passed right by a huge waterfall and it was amazing just how powerful it felt. The gust at the bottom was almost enough to blow us back. We got pretty soaked, but it was worth it to be so cowed by the elements.

Maybe the waterfalls washed off on me, but it’s hard not to gush about how fortunate I feel. I’m 30, celebrating in the time zone of my birth, surrounded by a bunch of my favourite people in the world. I think I’m doing pretty damn well. I even still have all the limbs I was born with.