Homophoning it in.

Feeling out of it today. Tired and vaguely nauseous. So tired and nauseous that I briefly tried spelling the word as “nautious” before realising the era of my weighs. What if I did that? The entire entry, intentionally opt four the wrong spelling? Would that make people flip their shit? Sounds like a worthy endeavour two me.

In any case, eye woke up tyred. The kind of fatigue wear all of your dreams are about trying to go to sleep. One of them eyed been out drinking and partying in town (back in Auckland). Eye knew eye was drunk, given the sloppy mess of a burrito that eye’d attempted too devour like a raccoon in the compost. Lying down on the concrete, eye lay my head back and tried to close my I’s. A police officer had other ideas, prodding me with his boot. Eye came home (two Toronto) and got into bed, butt I couldn’t stop tossing and turning, knowing that this restless sleep in my dream was disrupting my sleep in reel life. I’m strangely aware while unconscious, which doesn’t do my ability to stay unconscious many favours. My life is Inception, okay, butt without the snazzy Hans Zimmer score.

Eye was tempted too come home sic from work today, butt a teem member pipped me two the post. The teem was covering her work, sew heaping my lode on top felt like unnecessary ruffness. Being tired, unwell and busy meant today was won of those clusterfucks where things will only continue to go wrong. They did. Continual sais were all eye could muster as defence against the workplace’s continual excrement.

There was a dilemma of sorts that eye wasn’t sure how to handle. My manager asked fore our phone numbers in case of emergency circumstances. Won) I’m surprised she doesn’t have mine already. To) What constitutes an emergency? Is it if we’re late too work? That eye can understand. On the other hand, if it’s about work things after our’s, do eye really want two make myself available? Frankly, once I’ve left the office, eye put work out of my mind completely. Eye don’t think about it until I return the next morning. It’s not the kind of job where I’d expect to bee on call. There’s nothing I can do, four won, and secondly they don’t pay me enough to care. In the end I gave my number knowing full well that my phone is always on silent and that giving my number in know weigh means eye have too pick up.

Speaking of which, it’s time to get the fuck out of here. Piece out.

This entry brought to you by Atlantis Morissette’s hit single: You Water Know.

Like an alternate universe Bad Company, I feel like making puns. So for the next 30 minutes I’m gonna hit up Wikipedia and make puns on randomly assigned topics until my mental well runs dry.

Style (2006 film)

  • What’s the chance this film has Bollywooden acting?
  • More like Ganesh Up 2: The Streets.

2009 Qatar motorcycle Grand Prix (Oh, this really isn’t working out like I hoped)

  • I guess they revvised the date on that one.
  • It was raining? More like “While My Qatar Gently Weeps”.
  • Looks like a rolling Stoner won.

2012 Georgia State Panthers baseball team (FFS Wikipedia, give me something)

  • Isn’t it weird that Cole Outz played infield?
  • Why’d they leave Gabe Shivers so far away? Talk about giving him the cold shoulder.

Kang, SBS Nagar

  • I’m afraid to make any puns here. It’ll sound like I’m taking a Punjab at them.

Linalool dehydratase (Fuck this. I’m out)

Okay, so maybe this experiment didn’t work so well. It’s nice to try something different for a change, right? What else was I gonna do? Continue to mention the absurd amount of food they’ve plied us with at work? How having half the building already on holiday means we never have to wait for a bathroom stall? That I don’t need to watch another Air Bud film for at least a month? That work gave away the poinsettia plants it had in the lobby yesterday and I’m so careless I think mine is already dying?

I’ve got doorman’t potential.

Ugh, it’s late and hot and the humidity has left my brain feeling kind of murky. It’s been a while since I wrote after midnight and I now remember why. In some Gremlin-esque twist, my mental faculties morph and twist into spiteful, mischievous creatures whose only wish is to render my sentences unrelatable and nigh incomprehensible. See? Did you read that last one? The proof is in the pudding. Or prose, as it were.

The question stands then, why have I left one of my quotidian foundations on the back burner? Also, why does my vocabulary sound like it belongs to a first year theatre major, untimely ripped? Quotidian? Really? What else is in the bag? Prestidigitation? Sesquipedalian? I’m sorry, the polite thing for me to do would be to wipe that wank off the page for you. Things have gotten weird, haven’t they? Fucking gremlins. How about some quaint observational humour to lighten the mood?

Do you ever hold a door open for someone, then see someone else coming and figure you might as well hold it open for them? Then a succession of people come through and you just keep holding that door open because you figure it’d be rude to step in their way and obstruct the flow of traffic? Then you think to yourself I guess this is my life now. You wonder when someone’s gonna come along with a hat and uniform and start paying you am hourly wage. No? Just me? I think I need a better hobby.

Oh, I finally got to spend a little more time in our eventual workplace. Since our company was acquired, there’s been the looming expectation of moving the entire staff down to the waterfront building. Teams have left sporadically, but we haven’t been given a clear timeline of our move. The combined department today had a combined departmental barbecue out on the waterfront patio. It was optional and at first I skewed contrarian. Fuck that noise, I thought. Why would I waste my afternoon going down there for a barbecue? Then I did a mental spit take at the word “barbecue” and had an instant 180.

The building is stunning. It’s massive, right on the edge of the waterfront with its own little artificially created beach. There were people in boardshorts and bikinis sunbathing, people had set up a couple of pokémon lures. If that doesn’t say summer, then I may have a divergent understanding of what that word means. So my afternoon involved hanging out on a sunny/windy deck with burgers, hot dogs and a Caesar salad bar. There was an array of beer, wine, soft drinks and fancy flavoured Perrier waters. I realised I was the only one from my team to come down and appointed myself the team ambassador. I met our eventual merger team mates and they showed me around the department. The offices are awesome. Much less corporate, with wide open floors and a fun vibe. Even if the new building is in the middle of nowhere, it’s gonna be a great place to work. Even if getting there feels like a literal journey.

Okay, it’s late enough after midnight now. I’m gonna check out this sleep thing everyone’s raving about.

Mortaliterial. Absolutely deadicated.

I’m sorry folks, but life as I know it is over. I had a good run, but I’m afraid I can no longer give my existence the maintenance it needs. From now on there’s to be a rapid decline. The basic things I need to live are:

  1. Water.
  2. Food.
  3. Sleep.
  4. Income to pay for all of the above.

Unfortunately, my ability to foster these vital necessities came to an end today. One of my friends was kind(/diabolical) enought to introduce me to a Facebook pun group. I can no longer cook, sleep, work or move when there are puns to be made. So far (and these will seem slightly out of context) I’ve done…

On a shoe store themed post:

  • Did they purchase the property through means of sole agency?
  • Do their sales staff wHeel and deal?
  • Wedge you hear that?
  • Moving outside of just feet really gives you a leg up.
  • I’d really like to sneaker peek in there.
  • How many more can we shoehorn in here?
  • She should’ve kept her eyelets peeled.
  • Wait, they’re just puns. Nobody needs to be ankilled.
  • (in response to a Nike pun) That ticked my boxes.
  • Uh oh, we’ve got a fa-toe-lity over here.
  • You just had to slipper that in there, didn’t you?
  • Hasn’t that one been used? You’re padding for time here.

On an art themed post:

  • Ugh, I need to brush up on my art puns.
  • I’m sure you’ve all got pretty refined palettes.
  • It might stop me from making too many broad strokes.
  • Am I gonna have to resort to making a Ninja Turtles pun? I feel like a Raphael-ure.
  • I guess it was a little abstract.

On an electrical engineer post:

  • This is what I call wish fulfilament.
  • But in the words of Neil Young, “It’s better to burn out than to fade away.”
  • It’s alright, I’m sure you’re plenty smart. I’m not expecting Voltaire or anything.
  • Can I put in a plug for eating a full dinner? It’ll give you the energy you need. I give it a glowing endorsement.

 

And if that wasn’t enough for you, I might as well throw in a pun I made yesterday. This tickled me far too much:

“At the meeting today, my manager asked if everyone was there. I looked around the table and couldn’t see our team member Darwin.
I replied “We’re just missing Darwin. I guess you can say we have a case of… EBITDA-rwin…”
Not even so much as a flinch from anyone present. I think they’ve either evolved the ability to completely tune out my puns or they were working really hard to save me from any embarrassment.”

So if my life is over, does that make me… pUndead?

If a picture is worth a thousand words, what portrait does a thousand entries paint?

Here begins my thousandth day of writing in a row.

Let me preface the following by saying I did not expect to be writing this. I thought, due to my pock-marked history of diaries (filled primarily with angsty odes to inadequacy and anxiety. Notice a trend?), that I’d get to day five and not bother coming back for day six. I guess we can see that wasn’t the case here. I’ve seen people’s interest rise over time, but intimidated by the colossal back catalogue they’ve found it hard to know where to start. To help out and do something special for anyone looking to know what this project is about, I’ve compiled a short-list of entries I consider to be worth your time. Entries I consider to represent the kind of thing I do here, or at least what I want to be doing here. Without further adieu:

How does the awkward taste?

What goes through my head when I see a pretty girl? I go through it in excruciating detail, plotting out my exact inner monologue. Be warned, you won’t be able to look at me in the same way afterwards.

I never expected to become my own Analrapist.

Aside from the (maybe not so obvious?) Arrested Development reference, this is a neat little piece. Short story, I ran into a girl at a party in Melbourne who recognised me. We used to play Kiss and Catch when I was about 6 years old. I waxed nostalgic a little and thought about my childhood crushes.

Have I indirectly killed people by just saying that?

My mind goes to strange places occasionally. Here’s what happens when stream of consciousness rambling follows an odd train of thought and I find myself in a bizarre potential future.

I still didn’t have to shoot an AK. By Ice Cube’s standards, pretty good day.

So we’ve seen that my mind can wander. This is what happens when my mind and body wander simultaneously. Roaming the streets of Melbourne on holiday, I followed an emotional downturn into a resurgence of sorts.

Fuck you “blurred lines”. Why is a song that casually advocates rape culture so goddamn catchy?

Here’s where we start to get into the chewy emotional stuff. A girl hit on me, I wasn’t interested, but also didn’t feel that as a guy I was allowed to say no to a woman’s sexual interest. An interesting journey to follow.

Another dumb message that won’t get a response. If only I had some way of collecting these…

If anyone wonders why I don’t have a lot of success with online dating, here’s my pièce de résistance. I think this is fucking fantastic and exceedingly the best message I’ve ever sent. Unfortunately I’m not trying to seduce myself. Apparently it doesn’t stir arousal in members of the opposite sex.

Having a penis is great, but it’s no excuse to be a dick.

It’s no exaggeration to say that the people around you influence the person you become. I’ve been so lucky to be surrounded by great people who help me continually learn and grow. Hopefully this entry on male privilege and how to mitigate your presence without compromising yourself is a sign that I’m maturing. At least a little.

Does it contain powdered gamma radiation? Toxic sludge? The breath of an Egyptian Mau cat and an egregiously terrible plot?

No jokes, I recently emailed Whittakers Chocolate in New Zealand and asked them if they’d supply me with free chocolate for posting about their delicious products. They’d freshly arrived in Canada and, being a fan, wanted to see if I could eke out some free stuff. This entry was the example I gave them of my product reviewing expertise.

Well, I had to justify the url, right?

Being serious for a minute here. Making this was one of the most difficult and intensely personal things I’ve ever done. To this day I still can’t tell if it’s well written, because reading it immediately puts me into an emotional state. It’s honest and completely sincere.

Remember that total clusterfuck of a day? Remember all those little flaws that made it perfect in its own way?

This was a weird, intense day that started out with my ex-girlfriend messaging me at 9am. “Wake up, we’re going to America” was all she said. You can read how that turned out.

Tomorrow we can laugh, I promise. Remember when I said “everybody hertz”? That was kind of funny, right?

If you’re interested in finding out how a relationship can ignite instantly and consume everything, this is one such account. This relationship was unlike anything else I’ve experienced in my life. I still hold a ton of baggage that I’m desperately seeking to drop, but it’s not easy. Love isn’t easy and just because you’re in love that doesn’t always make it right.

We don’t really talk anymore.

Can Competitive Erotic Poetry Slam Battle replace Snapchat now please?

This is the closest thing I’ve ever had to a guest entry. My girlfriend sent me a cute poem and I decided to escalate. Things. Escalated. Quickly. It’s fun, cheeky, goofy and more than a little flirty. It’s a good indication of how we fit together.

It was either this or a boom box outside your window, but it’s a bit cold outside today.

I think this is what being in love feels like.

 

Whatever your interest in this project, thanks for stopping by. I don’t quite know what it is, I don’t know what it will become, but whatever it is, it’s special in my eyes. Thanks for being a part of it. Stick around, I have a good feeling about this.

Why does that feel like the last thing I’d say before a pterodactyl plunged from the sky to devour my body whole?

My mind just whispered his name.

My friend was talking about a movie the other day. It was a heist or crime movie her partner had shown her. “It had that musician guy acting in it.” She said. That musician guy? Which musician guy? My mind immediately had an answer.. “Was it Harry Connick Jr?” I asked. Of course it wouldn’t be Harry Connick Jr. Why in fuck’s name would it be Harry Connick Jr? First off, he’s not a notable enough name to be memorable. Secondly he’s been in very few movies (scratch that, way more than I thought). Unless she had misconstrued The Iron Giant as a crime/heist movie, the chances of Harry Connick Jr being involved were slim to none. Still, my mind has an aptitude for making pretty strong pop cultural synaptic connections. Was it really so off base to imagine that this random 80s crime/heist film would just so happen to feature potential son of Harry Connick Sr, Harry Connick Jr in a notable, if not prominent role? “What? No. Who the fuck is Harry Connick Jr?” She responded.

Turns out it wasn’t Harry Connick Jr, folks. My brain was fucking with me. It does that from time to time and it feels kind of pointed. Intentional. Like it’s getting back at me for all the mindless white noise I make it sit through. The endless internet browsing, pointing, clicking for unblinking hours. My mind craves puzzles and challenges in order to work its mind muscles and I give it naught.

I feel shitty about how little I read. I feel even shittier about how little I read when it reflects in poor Scrabble games. So I had a friend over a few weeks back and she was literally beating me in her sleep. Scenario: She’d brought her Travel Scrabble and laid it out on the bed. Things started out lively enough. She got 30 or so points off her first word. I countered by claiming a triple letter score off a Q to get a decent 35 points or so. She turned my word “Quest” into “Quests” horizontally and “Rusting” vertically off a double word score. Strike up a cool 80 points from her. From that point I begun to take things a little more seriously. Watched out for potential ins where she could hang word. I played defensively and the more effort I took cultivating my board position, the longer my turns took. Soon enough 5 minute turns took 10, 20 minutes. It was late, so she just snoozed between rounds. I’d take 20 minutes to find a mediocre word while she slept, then I’d rustle her. She’d come to, gaze at her tiles then place a few down in a mere minute. She’d consistently double my previous round’s score with one or two tiles, then go back to sleep. My mind was lagging. I had a turn take 40 minutes out of fear of turning in a sub par word. I ended up throwing in the towel, giving up and joining her in bed. She was the master, she was the Harry Connick Sr.

I was merely the Harry Connick Jr.

How would Meatloaf feel about 7/16?

Because I’m lazy, this is gonna be a straight up callback to an entry from last year. In case the thought of clicking a link is unfathomable (what are you? Some kind of rube?), I did a run down of albums I’d love to see happen in 2015. How did my predictions go? Did I make any on the money picks? Gaping misses? Was my hope in vain? Well wait one fucking paragraph won’t you? Geez, fucking entitled snake people generation.

Firstly, the James Blake and Radiohead albums never eventuated, so they’ll pass on to next year. I never bothered to listen to Decemberists‘ 2015 effort What a Terrible World, What a Beautiful World through a combination of forgetfulness and average critical reception. I probably owe it at least one revolution (unintentional pun. It’s a goodie) for old time’s sake. Dan Deacon‘s album Gliss Riffer was fine, fun (and brought with it a jubilant live tour), but still a far cry from the brilliance of 2009’s Bromst. Grimes‘ album Art Angels was a late game masterpiece. Swooping down like a vengeant spirit, it crammed delicate introspection, immaculate glistening pop and primal aggression into a phenomenal package. I’ve had this on rotation for weeks and it shows no sign of letting up. Check out this track SCREAM featuring badass Taiwanese rapper Aristophanes.

Anyway, those were the expected albums. How about my 16 predictions from last year?

  • Battles: La Di Da Di felt a little ho hum. Okay, so I was pretty attached to the vocoder blender ethos. Without a retro-future singer you’ve just got a band of insanely talented music nerds making unpredictible and inimitable noiserock. Wait, in retrospect this still kicked all sorts of ass. I’m 1/1 so far.
  • CHVRCHES: This album got a pretty favourable pass around, but I found it sort of passé. It’s fine, but shows little sign of evolution. Really it’s more of the same and if you’re into that you’ve got nothing to complain about. There’s nothing that caught my breath me with the tenacity of Lungs, but there’s nothing wrong with this album. I’m going 2/2.
  • Dirty Projectors: Alas no. I’m 2/3.
  • Fang Island: And I was just listening to their debut this morning. They may have aptly described their sound as “everyone high-fiving everyone”, but their lack of a follow up has left me hanging. A sadfaced 2/4.
  • Fleet Foxes: Nope. BUT WAIT. We did get a release from former Fleet Foxes drummer Father John Misty. Can that count? Because it’s possibly my favourite album of the year. Misanthropic and jaded lyrics dripping with wit, I can’t tell how many times I’ve replayed The Night Josh Tillerman Came To Our Apartment. It’s a fucking hilarious retelling of an awful one night stand with an insufferable narcissist (by the sounds of it, coming from one himself). I’ve fallen in love with so many of his lines, whether it’s describing his partner’s writing prowess as “she blackens pages like a Russian romantic” or “Mascara blood, ash and cum, on the Rorschach sheets where we make love”. I’ve probably listened to the album 2-3 times a week since I heard it. For me that’s unthinkable. I’m giving myself a mark here. 3/5 so far.
  • Frank Ocean: I don’t want to talk about it. 3/6.
  • Girl Talk: 3/7.
  • Grizzly Bear: 3/8.
  • Japandroids: 3/9
  • M83: 3/10.
  • MSTRKRFT: 3/11.
  • Passion Pit: Holy subpar follow-up, Batman. The definition of mediocre. It’s like they distilled the things that made them popular and resolved not to stray or challenge anything. I find this actively uninteresting to listen to. A total fucking shame, there was a time I loved this band. 4/12, but that doesn’t make me happy.
  • Purity Ring: The same boat as CHVRCHES, but I possibly preferred this one to theirs. Some poor lyrical choices don’t dampen the fact that it’s a bouncy, quite listenable record. It’s no Shrines, but did we really expect that much? I’m 5/13.
  • Sant(i/o)gold: 5/14.
  • Sufjan Stevens: Wait, that was this year? An impeccable album from a gifted songwriter. It’s an immensely personal, heart-wrenching listen from a matured Sufjan. The specificity entailed in the lyrics makes it impossible to walk away unscathed. “The man who taught me to swim, he couldn’t quite say my first name” he says of the father figure who raised him. The contrasting glut and dearth of love in his life from such a young age is compelling and relatable. I’ve yet to get through the album without crying at least once and I’ve listened often. Potentially his best album yet. 6/15.
  • The xx: Jamie xx‘s solo project In Colour does indeed feature his former The xx partner Romy, so I’m giving myself this one. The record is a banger from the moment the needle drops. It’s balanced and spacious, with a stack of irresistible dance floor fillers amongst more contemplative swelling tracks. It’s a fucking stonking album that feels like a total gift. 7/16.

I called 7 albums (if I’m being nice to myself), at least 3 of which I’m gonna have in heavy rotation for years to come. 2015 was an outstanding year for music. Aussie songwriter Courtney Bartnett‘s album Sometimes I Sit and Think, and Sometimes I Just Sit is punchy, clever and quaint. Kelela‘s Hallucinogen EP and F.K.A Twigs‘ M3LL155X felt like two sides of the same R&B coin. The former more synth based, the latter darker and brooding. Both enjoyably seductive listens. I also feel like I’ve dropped the ball this year and failed to stay on top of things. Inevitably all the Best Of lists are on their way and I’ll pick up a stack of albums for the new year.

Of course, sometimes Christmas comes early.