I don't normally post about what I've been up to on a day-to-day basis due to past meanderings through other people's journals. The main reason I choose not to go down this particular path is that the dangerously high adrenalin levels resulting from a painfully detailed explanation of How To Apply Conditional Formatting in Excel, or the best way to cook a Turducken may prove fatal to individuals with a weak disposition. And quite frankly, I can't afford to take that chance.
I'm keeping it real.
Foshizzle.
However, just for today (hurry, stocks are limited), I will forgo my usual rather awkward observations on stuff and stray briefly, as it would appear that the majority of readers of this journal are drawn together by a mutual love of house music and clubbery. Alternatively, if you were to enjoy this particular pastime dressed in fetish gear, it would be rubbery clubbery. Or if you were out on a Saturday evening dressed in nothing but leaves and twigs, it would be shrubbery clubbery....And so on and so forth.
But I digress.
This weekend was incredibly enjoyable from a DJ'ing perspective. I know people like Seb, Troy and Richie will understand exactly what I mean when I say that 'everything just came together'. There were times on Saturday when I felt I could do no wrong. A tweaked acapella of 'Bust A Move' over the top of a looped intro to 'Bimbo Nation' really worked, that new Sarah Mcleod track absolutely rocked it, and a remix of 'Somebody Told Me' by the Killers just tore it up (with a shout out to Timmy here). Even threw in the acapella of 'Pump Up the Jam' over 'No More Conversations' and that went down a treat.
And if that wasn't enough, I had a fantastic Sunday with my kids where we dressed up as superhoeroes, played many many rounds of 'Stax On!" and generally acted like idiots. How could you not love that.
Oh, and I finally caved in and bought one of these.
And a King size bed and mattress.
I love weekends.
And by all accounts, Seb does as well.
Posted on 12:06 PM by thenewbeige and filed under | 0 Comments »
Being the overly critical creature that I am, I've never really held my own writing in very high regard. I tend to look at other people's work and get the impression that (comparatively speaking), what I produce resembles the textual version of takeaway food.
However, after quite an interesting (and rather cathartic), chat with some close friends of mine on the weekend, my grammatical self-confidence has been boosted quite significantly.
Again, thank you to those responsible. You know who you are.
Buoyed by this intrepidity, I have therefore decided to take the plunge and embark on something I've been promising to do for a number of years. A journalism course. Granted I will have to do it online, as my current schedule of trying to complete a project management diploma whilst working full time five days a week plus DJ'ing Fri and Sat night leaves me just about enough time to shower in the mornings, give myself a nasty case of indigestion, then drive like to work like a P-plater on crystal meth. The other consequence of this situation is that if I spend too long in the shower, the time required to put on pants becomes a luxury I can ill afford.
Oh well, you can't say I'm not making friends.
*fade to black*
*fade in*
....It's one week later, where I'm now in the process of perusing the mountain of glossy correspondence that has arrived on my doorstep. Having only applied to five schools, I am staggered by the sheer volume of propaganda that stands between me and literary greatness. Somewhere an Amazonian pygmy silently weeps.
Nevertheless, I pick up a pamphlet, and pore over the various benefits and life-changing opportunities afforded within. The phrase "hurry, numbers are limited!", leaps off the page at me. I resist the almost Pavlovian response to crash-tackle my phone and immediately start dialling the toll-free number before the millions of others clamouring for the course snap up the few remaining available spots.
I also fail to 'hurry while stocks last!!', get in the slightest bit upset that I will 'never see deals like this again!!", or lose any sleep at all over the fact that 'my business is their priority'.
In the process of marvelling at the testimony of 'Andrew from Adelaide', who recently completed the course and landed a job with a newspaper almost immediately, I am also awestruck by the attestations included by 'Lindsay of Albury', who is about to have her first work published in a nationally syndicated magazine.
Of course, I do have a sneaking suspicion that Andrew is probably working as a dishwasher in the Fairfax cafe, and Lindsay will be forced to go to ground after the majority of her friends realise she's written a piece on 'the joys of erotic asphyxiation' for Zoo magazine.
Nevertheless, I shall persevere.
At this point, I feel it only pertinent to ask the readers of this sporadically updated journal to offer their own opinions, suggestions or criticisms regarding this idea.
Please, be blunt, be frank, but most of all, be honest. I'm a big boy, and I can take it.
And besides, anti-depressants are only a doctor's visit away.
Posted on 10:51 AM by thenewbeige and filed under | 0 Comments »
So anyway...I was reading the morally thought-provoking scribblings of my journalistic ally 
daria_33ski, as doing this seems to facilitate my living the "Extreeeeeeeeeeeeeeme!!!*" side of life vicariously through her, what with all the talk of snowboarding, partying and general shenaniganery.
Unfortunately, said adrenalin-charged compositions seem to only further highlight the rather pathetic fact that the closest I've been to "Extreeeeeeeeeeeeeeme!!!" lately is running down a slippery driveway in Havaianas.
....which leads smoothly (or if you're wearing said Havaianas, skids awkwardly, lurches into a wheely bin and ends up face down in a pot plant), down the path of my next point.
Why is it when certain people (okay, I'll put it out there....Americans), travel overseas on holiday and need to ask for directions, they firmly believe that if any habitant of another nation does not speak their language, the best solution is to speak louder and slower, and address them as if they're now dealing with someone that's slightly mentally retarded.
As I've already stated, this only applies if you were born in the U.S., but the above method apparently allows these people to communicate in any language, and hence the foreigner who has been staring blankly whilst the short hairy man in Bermuda shorts furiously gesticulates and makes (what they consider to be), rather lifelike train noises for the past five minutes will now miraculously understand every word. Hence the following verbal exchange..
Bermuda Guy : (Whilst making 'woowoo' noises and rotating their forearm in a circular motion), "Hey, where's the train station?"
Foreigner : "Estoy apesadumbrado, yo no hablo inglés"
Bermuda Guy's Wife : "Sweetie, I don't think he understood you.."
Bermuda Guy : "That's ok honey, I got it covered"
Foreigner : ¿Puedo ahora ir?
Bermuda Guy : DO...YOU....KNOW......WHERE....IS.....EL.....TRAINO.....STATIONO...?"
Foreigner : "Oh right yes, it's about four blocks down, turn right and it's the first on your left"
Bermuda Guy : "THANK....YOU"...
Foreigner : *cough* "Fuck you very much" *cough*
Bermuda Guy : "I'm sorry?"
Foreigner : "Va a casa, usted hombre estúpido.."
Bermuda Guy's Wife : "Oh he's so cute honey...can we keep him?.."
Dumb yanks.
Here endeth my anti-american diatribe.
Oh, an on a more sombre note, Steve Irwin, even with his quirkiness, self aggrandisement and in-your-face personality was still a champion for the cause of all animals, and for that he will forever have my ultimate respect. He is an irreplaceable character, and my deepest sympathies go out to his family.
We'll miss you Steve, you were (to use the Australian vernacular), a bloody legend.
* This phrase must be shrieked in conjunction with the following hand gesture (see below):
Posted on 10:00 AM by thenewbeige and filed under | 0 Comments »
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