I saw a play

As a professional awesome guy, one of the things I spend much of my energy on is trying to make sure I never find myself without some form of entertainment in front of me coming out of TVs, speakers, musical instruments, and even real life faces sometimes, in a desperate hope that I'll never be forced to face pure silence and have to listen to the voices in my head. 

If you had the voices in my head you would do the same. Common statements from these voices tend to be either violently dark, enticing self destructive behavior or down right baffling, things such as: 

- Why won't these lights turn green, I know push that kid in front of a truck, that'll keep me entertained a few more seconds.

- Apparently teenagers in Europe sometimes soak a tampon in vodka and stick it up their butt to get drunk cheap, I wonder if I started doing that if it'd help me consume less calories and therefore lose weight, maybe I'll try it tonight, but first I want to eat two large pizzas by myself. And

- If badgers are so hard to convince to crowd into conglomerates the size of meteorites for us to magically rope-pull into ostentatious missionary operations then what hope do Chinese miners have of imagining financial grants big enough to bid for a helper robot consolations? 

Obviously these are all thoughts I don't want to have, at least not more than three or four times an hour, and so I wish to avoid them. Not that I'd ever actually act on any of these thoughts, I'm not a weirdo, well I don't mind making a badger pile from time to time, but then who doesn't? 

This past Saturday night, in order to entertain away the voices, and just be entertained in general, I decided to do something I don't do anywhere near often enough, and that's go to see a play. 

Here's a common conversation I'll have with myself: 

'Man, when I go to plays I tend to enjoy myself, plus I want to act in more plays, maybe I should, you know, go see more plays' I'll say. 

'Dude, you totally should see more plays, when you do you tend to enjoy it, and you want to act in more plays, you should totally go see more plays' I'll reply. 

'Man, you're right, I tend to enjoy plays when I go see them and I want to act in more plays, it would be good to go see more plays' I'll add. 

'Dude, you enjoy plays, you want to act in plays, you should see more plays!' I'll retort. 

'Man, like plays, act in plays, see plays' I'll continue

'Dude, like, act, see - plays' I'll snap back. 

'Man, l, a, c, p' I'll demand

'Dude, P' I'll conclude. 

And then I'll spend so much time congratulating myself on my brilliant ability to both invent and decipher a unique and imaginative short hand language system with myself, so much so that before I know it I've filled like hours just talking to myself in my new brilliant language, that by the time I'm done I don't even remember what that original 'P' stood for way back when, I mean, 'people'? 'personnel'?? 'periodical'??? It could be ANYTHING! Even a non-P word like 'File' or 'Friendship' or 'Philanthropist'!

Then I'll be like 'I DONT FUCKING REMEMBER', what did that fucking P stand for, for phucks sake?' Then I'll copy out the entire P section of the dictionary hoping to jog my memory, even the words in the P section which don't start with P. Before getting fucking frustrated and taking it out by stacking badgers, only to then get frustrated that I can never make a conglomerate the size of a meteorite and then eat two large pizzas and have a shame nap. 

Suddenly, against all odds, I then discover for some reason I haven't seen more plays, and I'll say to myself 'I should see more plays', and the cycle continues. The really frustrating thing is just how hard it is to source badgers every day.

Well no more. Two nights ago I thought to myself 'when I see plays I tend to enjoy them, I want to act in more plays maybe I should see more plays' and instead of going on a journey towards a shame nap, I fucked around on the internet for a couple of hours, and somehow ended up buying tickets to a play the following night. 

It was at the New Theatre in Newtown Sydney, a place I've been meaning to go for ages, as part of the Sydney Fringe, an event I've been promising to attend for ages, and it was called 'Amanda' which is like a name and shit, I think.

And you know what? I enjoyed it, immensely in fact. I want to act in more plays. I think I'm gonna go check out more plays! No shame nap for me tonight! Hell Yeah! 

Please note: In the making of this blog no kids were actually pushed in front of trucks. 

How to make 2.5 billion dollars – easily

Apparently some game called minecraft just sold to Microsoft for 2.5 billion dollars. I have no idea what this game is, and I don’t care to know. What I care about is that this lovely exchange of finance and gaming has shown me that making 2.5 billion dollars really easy.

Here is how it’s done.

A.     Invent a game of some sort.

C.     Sell this game to Microsoft for 2.5 billion.

Now all you have to do is figure out what B is, that can’t be too hard it’s like, it’s like the second letter in the alphabet for Christ’s sake, and you will have made 2.5 billion dollars - easily. 

PS. By reading this you owe me 10% for expert guidance.

What it’s made for

I bought a Coke Zero today. Yeah that’s right. I bought a Coke Zero; they’re like Coke, but with zero sugar, and like Diet Coke but yet different. So I bought one. It’s by no means the first time for me, and far from the last. I'm not proud of it, nope, I have no interest in feeling pride because of it, there's nothing to boast about here, and nor is there anything to applaud myself for.

And before you ask, yes, I do applaud myself for things, regularly to be honest, for all manner of reasons. Like say I've been to the movies and enjoyed the movie I chose, well Hell Yeah I'll applaud myself, why? Well for my excellent ability to work my way through the various methods of deciphering whether a movie will be something I would enjoy, by reading reviews, judging reviewers, watching previews, questioning whether the preview editor is good at his or her job, asking friends who have seen the movie what they think, going through my records of previous opinions they have given me of movies they have seen, balanced against my spreadsheets of how I ended up enjoying the movie in contrast and comparison to their opinions, looking at the Venn Diagrams I've made rating each friend and each film genre and where we typically overlap and disagree, looking at casting, judging casting, going to cinemas and watching people coming out of theaters, then drawing detailed sketches of facial expressions, before conducting extensive psychological studies into how a wide range of people from all walks of life, race, creed, sexuality, corners of the globe, age and height interpret the moods of the faces I've drawn, and then asking for detailed stories of their personal experiences with movies, checking that information against my spreadsheets, checking the length of the film, and judging the length. So yeah sure, if I've put the right amount of work in and then estimated that I’m likely to give a movie say a seven out of ten, and then I see that movie and at the conclusion of the movie I find myself thinking 'I'd probably give that like a like a six, nah, make it a seven' - then Hell Yeah I'll applaud myself. That’s applause I deserve.

Or like if I go pee and get most of it in the bowl I'll applaud myself.

You have to recognize your hard earned amazing achievements people, or how else will you be motivated to reproduce them?

But no I wasn't applauding this achievement, the purchase of the Coke Zero that is. Not this time. Then again nor was I feeling shame. I have no interest in discrediting myself because of it; I'm doubt free, feeling no trepidation and have absolutely no interest in beating myself up over it.

And before you ask, yes, I do beat myself up over things, regularly, for all sorts of reasons. Like say I've been to the train station, and even though I made it to the station I ended up missing my train, then Hell Yeah I’ll beat myself up, why? Well because like because I probably missed that train even though I'd taken every measure not to miss it, like reading the schedule, and memorizing the arrival time, and like setting my watch only after looking up the official, official time as released by the Greenwich mean time officiating committee, and done some detailed investigation into whether the authority is well respected, trusted and admired, and called them up and asked how moral is at the office, whether anyone had been acting unusual or suspicious, if anyone had been dating someone in the office and broken up with them recently, were any employees 'celebrating' unhappy birthday milestones, or any other type of situation that could motivate someone in the office to ease their discomfort by messing with the official, official time as released to Sweden, to relay to the Swiss, and pass on via passenger pigeon to the Internet so we all know it, and by going to the station for a few days in a row before my train trip and keeping an eye on arrivals and departures and checking them against the schedule so as to have a truthful representation of current standards into keeping with the schedule, and like asked a few thousand passengers, give or take, whether the trains feel smooth, and do the tracks seem strong and are there any kids mulling around looking like they may be planning some sort of dastardly rambunctiousness like pulling the emergency break even though, at the present, at least as far as they know, there is no emergency, which is not the correct time to pull the emergency lever. If I still ended up missing my train, because say I forgot how long the walk to the station was, Hell Yeah I'll give myself a beating. That’s a beating that’s justified.

Or like if I see a creature on the ground and say 'hey look a grasshopper' and someone else says 'actually I think that's a locust'. Then yeah, sure, I'll beat myself up hard.

You have to punish yourself for your epic failures that negatively impact your existence people, or else how are you going to learn to avoid them?

So no I wasn't beating myself up over this purchase, of the Coke Zero that is. I was feeling neither pride nor shame, neither pleasure nor pain, neither satisfaction nor um, grain, no, fame, no, blame!! (Nailed it) - you know why? Because that’s not what Coke Zeros are for, I don’t believe. I mean I haven’t done much research into it yet. Well, I have taken surveillance footage of people leaving convenience stores, super markets, general stores, and at entertainment events like sports, amusement parks and country fairs, and I have compiled some detailed spread sheets, pie charts, and quantum physics, but I still haven’t made a single diagram of what seems like would be a common use of a Coke Zero, which I would then be able to use when interviewing people about what they plan on doing with their Coke Zeros upon purchasing them, while then questioning them on their use as compared the diagrams I had prepared, and then making spreadsheets of the results, so that I could compare them, but still, based on the information I have gathered up till now, no, I don’t believe Coke Zeros are manufactured with a hope of inspiring there would be purchasers to either applaud themselves, nor beat themselves up over.

I believe, in fact, that they are intended to be poured inside a hole in the consumers face. I’m guessing either the mouth or popping out the left eyeball and going in there. And you know what, in making my final decision with today’s purchased Coke Zero, I might avoid normal information gathering, and just wing it.

Dave at the Mug n Kettle

This is one of my more interesting recent comedy sets - ladies and gentlemen - hands

The Assignment

The assignment came in swift, hard and flawlessly explained. The assigner knew her stuff that is for damn sure. She knew what she wanted from me, and how she wanted it to be achieved. She was clear, unwavering and well spoken. She knew who I was, what I was capable of, and how she wanted me to pull it off. Her instructions were crisp, staunch, and poetically brushed into a beautiful picture of intricate unambiguousness.  

I took the assignment in my stride. I was awake, receptive and understanding. I knew what she required from me that’s for damn sure. I knew what was feathering her tickly spots and how she wanted me to blow them the hell away. I understood her needs, where they were born, and the satisfaction that was awaiting being sparkled and glistened. I received her instructions in my ears, swept them up into my brain and needed no imagination to spin them into an honest and scrupulously vibrant game plan on how it needed to be accomplished triumphantly.

So yeah, you could say it, I went into the break room and I poured the fucking shit out of that glass of water for her.

I just wish I didn’t pick the glass with the chip in it.

The ambulance officer knew what his assignment was that’s for damn sure - stop her lip pouring out blood, for the love of god, stop it, this is gross, I think I’m gonna puke.

Cotton Ball

I was holding a cotton ball that day. Yes me! It was just that kind of day I guess. I mean like I'm not bragging, I'm not, but yeah, it happened to me, I was holding a cotton ball! Hell Yeah! 

Well ok, so obviously I'm bragging at least a little, but that's the point, I didn't plan to hold a cotton ball, I'd never even dreamed about it frankly, and yeah, I'll admit it, I didn't even earn it, it was pure dumb luck. And it happened to me, wow. 

I had planned on spending the day at the gym, one of my classic 32 hour sessions, I'm sure you know  about them, they're my claim to fame- I'm sure you've heard about me on the news, or read about me in the papers - 'this man is an anonomly, he can spend 32 hours in the gym in one day, without burning a single calorie, or talking to another person, or smiling - quite a skill' the reporters say. 

My claim to fame, ha ha, that WAS my claim to fame, but now I've got this whole cotton ball deal too! Wow, people will be talking about this for years! Months even! About ME! Hell Yeah! Cause I held a cotton ball, yippee!!

Wait, wait did I say 'cotton ball'? Oh fuck, I meant 'baby kitten that I rescued from a burning sky scrapper, that I had to reach by running up 127 flights of stairs, before fashioning a parashoot out of my t-shirt, three straws from the break room, and a six year old congealed bottle of white out, before risking my life by letting the kitten wear the only harness as I held on to the t-shirts sport team logo, and we floated to the earth, where I took the brunt of the fall, letting the kitten survive unharmed while it tried to lick my two severely broken legs better' - whoops, I said 'cotton ball', that's a Freudian slip if there ever was one.  

And did I say 'held'? Dang, sorry, I meant 'lit a fire in a sky scrapper and then called the media'. Slip of the tongue I guess. 

I mean I'm sick of my claim to fame being that gym thing, they always focus on the fact I don't do anything there and ignore the fact I somehow defy science and fit 32 hours into one day!  

The lesson is, you can't trust everything you hear on the news, try blogs, that's where the truth is :) 

Totally destroyed

Here's what I think I'd think about if I ever found myself accidentally destroying a huge international city, like what I'd be thinking about during the destruction, and well, near the end of it it mostly, like only after it was clear that the whole damn city was destroyed. By accident of course. And I mean like a proper international city, not like a small city that thinks of itself as an international city, just cause like they have a Shakespeare in the park troupe, and like the world's third tallest fountain, and like has Asian restaurants from places in Asia other than Thailand, Japan and China. I'm talking like a real international city, with like a Chekov in the Park troupe, and the third tallest of something way cooler than a fountain, like a water tower, and Asian restaurants from places in Asia that are technically Asian, but then are they really? Like Mongolian, Nepalese, and Ethiopian. You know - a REAL international city, a proper, sophisticated and prosperous one. And I'm nearly finished destroying it, the whole damn thing, like really fucking it all up, by accident of course. Oh man, I think I'd probably be overwhelmed with thoughts, oh my, thoughts like: 

- 'Woops' 

- And um.. 

- Um... 

Wait, yeah, nah, that'd be about it. I mean I said it was an accident. 

The Excellence of Hammers

This is a blog called the excellence of hammers, and the topic of this blog is about how hammers are excellent. 

Here's the thing about hammers, I'm a man, but I'm not a manly man, I can't do anything manly, like fix a car, cut down a tree, or make it through an episode of the Big Bang Theory without crying. But the thing about hammers is they are have excellence.

I mean I've never really used a hammer at least not successfully, at least not in the make a nail go in straight sense, if that's how success is judged, although I did listen to NWA's 'straight out of Compton' a few times 25 odd years ago, so I get what the word 'straight' means, just not with nails. 

Not that I listen to manly music often, not that I can do anything manly really, like wash a car, climb a tree or hold a cotton ball without crying. 

But you know, it's like, the thing with hammers is, despite my inability to use them, at least not in the make a nail go in straight sense, is that they're really in possession of excellence. 

Not that I've ever possessed one, like I've owned a few over the years, I think, I mean I believe there is one in the tool draw I have at home that I havnt looked in for 5 years, and I don't think I ever bought one, but I think I acquired one one day somehow, like maybe someone was over at my house and hammering some dinner together or something, and left it. I have a plate that came my way with similar serendipity, and I keep stuff like that, because like, with the plate - I might want to put something on a plate, food maybe. Or with the hammer, maybe I might need to use it if say if one of the nails holding my walls up fell out, or if one of the nails that holds my stereo together fell out, or like if one of the nails that keeps my toilet flushing fell out, I wouldn't hammer it back in myself, I'd hire a mechanic to fix it, I assume, but I think I do own my own hammer, and if I do it's in that draw. 

Not that I don't know anything about mechanics, I once saw an episode of  the TV show 'Frasier' where the lead character, um, I think his name was Frasier? And his brother, I think his name was Woody, and they don't know anything about mechanics, so they take a class in mechanics, and I saw that episode, so I do know basically what it would be like to go to one of those courses in mechanics - pretty freakishly manly by the look of things. 

Not that I can do anything manly, like  knowing definitely what's in my draws, or how to climb a car, or how to drive a tree, or think of a butterfly without crying. But the thing with hammers is they're haunted with excellence. 

Not that haunted is a particularly accurate choice of words there, but I did one time have someone tap me on my left shoulder, but like they were actually standing on my right, so I do know what it's like to be haunted, and it's kind of like the same relationship hammers have with excellence. 

Wait, hammers are those like hammering tools right? Yep? Sweet, yeah, they're excellent, and manly! 

And that, my friends, is the excellence of hammers. 

I remember when

Oh, mmmm, sorry, I was about to write a blog about the excellence of hammers, but I'm distracted, I'm just in my head at the moment, you see I was just thinking about the last time I was nostalgic. Mmmmmm... Nostalgia.

Oh it was sweet. And I mean that not in a slangy 'that party was SWEET man' way, but sweet like a little kitten meowing to let you know that he's happy you're holding him way. Awww. It was so cute. One of the best moments of nostalgia experiencing I can remember. I'll be remembering this moment of reflection for a long time I think. 

This was about 8 minutes ago, I was walking down the street, it's an unseasonably warm day here where I am, but, seemingly sent simply to nullify my sweaty brow, a cool zephyr of breeze gently washed over me, my hair was tickled back over my ears, an old lady coughed to my left, and I was stuffing my headphones into my, newly dangerously holed, pocket, having just completed the listening of a podcast, when it happened, I was struck with a nearly DéjàVu level of epic, solid, generous and delicious nostalgia. 

A wonderful memory, unprompted by anything but the power of the overwhelming combinations of the various stimuli poking at my senses and emotions magically conjured an image into my mind. Sweet, sweet nostalgia. 

Suddenly I wasn't in the current moment anymore, but in a different beautiful moment from my past, a since forgotten moment, thrust back into the forefront of my mind movie, unexpectantly, but very much welcomely. 

To be specific, the moment from my past that was driven into my present took place about two minutes before this current moment, when I was walking in this exact same spot, however in the opposite direction, before I realized I was going the wrong way, and yet still deep within the dying moments of what had already established itself to be an enjoyable walk while listening to a podcast. Mmmm... nostalgia. 

Here I was in the same spot, a mere two minutes apart, but such different experiences, one south east, one north west, one listening to a podcast, one listening to an old lady cough, one in the moment, and one in the beautiful magic of nostalgia.  

It was the best time remembering a memory of remembering something  I can ever remember. It fact I will never forget it, it will stay within my soul, guiding me, and comforting me, for from now on, if I'm lonely or bored I'll be able to stop and cozily think 'I remember the last time I was nostalgic' - Mmmm... Nostalgia :) 

Oh and then the old lady got abducted by a giant space ship that was shaped like a crying Frank Sinatra head, I'd have told you about that first, but I don't know, it just wasn't really memorable. 

The Other Passengers

The other passengers didn't know what to do. They were dumbstruck, shocked and overwhelmed, with a desire to not in anyway insert themselves into the unexpected circumstances they'd found themselves amongst. In anyway thankyou very much. 

But they weren't just dumbstruck though, oh no, but deafstruck, blindstruck, awestruck, and even numbstruck, it was I fuck load of striking, there have been aggressive Trade Unions that haven't struck this much before, there have been strikingly elegant fashion models that haven't struck this much, I mean there was once a pro wrestler named 'The Striker' who could only dream of strucking this much. 

And they weren't just shocked, hell no, but they were shockingly shocked, they were shocked with how shockingly shocked they were, they were shocked until they shook with shock, they shook like shaking after shock shook affected salt shakers after the shock of being shaken by an after shock that itself only shook post an original even more intense shake that was shakingly shocking. 

Also they weren't just overwhelmed, fucking of course not, but they were whelmed with how overwhelmed they were, they were endingwhelmed, abovewhelmed, and even finishwelmed with how welmingly overwhelmed they were. There have been welm merchants from Venice with less ability to overwhelm, there have been waining warriors wondering where their next whelm will wander in from who could only dream of being as welmingly overwhelmed as this. 

That is, of course, with a desire to not in anyway insert themselves into the unexpected circumstances they'd found themselves in. These other passengers didn't know what the fuck was going on and they didn't want any part of it. 

We were all on the same ferry, but the other passengers just couldn't believe what I'd just done. Yep, I did it, and I'll admit it. I said 'the water looked nice'. 

It was dumbstrikingly, overwhelmingly shocking. 

Being the worlds foremost celebrity dedicated to the highly beloved art-form of water niceness denying sure can be tough some days :(  

Fix this fix

I find that everytime I have a wrench in my hand one of five things happens:

1. I fix the shit out of some piece of epically complicated machinery 

2.  I finally learn the true meaning behind the phrase 'kill a skunk, eat some string cheese, and never again be required to clean a Scandinavians boat shed' 

3. I think 'hmmm, what's a wrench?'

4. I'm finally in the mood to explain number 2 (please note I am not currently holding a wrench, so you're shit out of luck)

5. I think 'you know what, if I was a real man I could totally kill a cockroach with this.'

Lessons: 

- wrenches are fun 

- if I was in a video game that'd be totally cool

- If missionaries have sex missionary style, how do nuns do it?     

- what's a wrench?

In a writing rut

I’m in a writing rut. I mean look at that? I just opened this blog by repeating the title. Out of literally every single group of words available, which is probably some really huge number, like infinity or a thousand or something, the best thing I could come up with to open with was just repetition, and there is nothing good about repetition, there is nothing good about repetition at all.

I don’t know what to write anymore. I used to just write without a care in the world, but I have lost my mojo. I have lost my faith. I second-guess myself a lot. I have become a negative nilly, a doubting fucking hater, a shit little fuck shit really, I even second-guess myself sometimes.  

I just wanna be silly please. Use some positivity. Find some joy in something random. I know I will randomly try and think of a word.

Ok, so the word I randomly thought of is this word – kingly.

Isn’t that an awesome word? I could have all sorts of fun with a word like that.

I mean it’s got ‘king’ in it, which could almost be called royal, and I bet there has got to be some decent stories about royals written by other people out there somewhere? I mean nothing famous or anything, but that doesn’t mean its not great writing.  

Oh and it’s also got ‘ly’ in it, which isn’t even a word on its own. How fun is that? It’s like a make-me-up, and make-me-ups are fun!

Like this one time I made up a sloth who could eat panda bears! Like, I mean, this wasn’t a real sloth that ate panda bears, it was completely made up by my brain, just like that word ‘ly’ was made up by someone? That’s fun right? So why can’t I think of anything to write about?

Like think about this – I once wrote about a salamander, and I don’t even know what a salamander is. I mean is that one of those things, like an axolotl? Those half fish, half land animal, almost like a lizard, sort of close to what the animals were like that first crawled out of the seas heading the world in the directions of mammals and intelligent life, so kind of like a history of the world and evolution, with a mix of the possibly majesty of a higher power? Or is it just some stupid fish? I don’t know, so how the hell did I find something interesting to write about it? I didn’t, I just made up that wrote about a salamander before. So yeah, I can make stuff up; I should be able to write something made up using the word kingly then, right?

I even just had this idea – imagine if some guy had a mission to fly all the way to the sun but then rejected the offer of taking on this mission because it was stupid. I mean in stories people are always taking on missions, how come we never hear people say ‘that’s stupid’ and then like watch TV or something. That’s unique, and uniqueness is exciting. Like say a King, he’s unique because there is only one of him, so pretty much any king story would be exciting. Maybe like a king could be offered a mission to fly all the way to the sun but then rejects the offer because its stupid, but then that’s not a unique story because it’s the exact same one as I used for some guy earlier.

Man this sucks. I’ve got nothing. I can’t think of a single thing. This sucks. I don’t know, how can I end this. Maybe I can just repeat something, like a pattern type dealy – I’ll just pick any sentence from near the beginning at random and copy and post it and it’ll seem like a call back, and boom, this blog will have some merit.

There is nothing good about repetition at all.

Yep, nailed it.