Palindromes and Banana phones

Happy Vietnamese new year, for 29 of January. Tis the year of the dog. Usually at this time, relatives, cousins, uncles, aunties and family friends abuse their privileges by meandering into my personal space, plastic grin set to loop on their face's (as is on my face). I'm too old to be getting red packets (read: money) so seeing them has no real purpose anymore. But...but...it's nice to catch up with family members you never see. Poppycock! I have better things to do than wax lyrical about who's kid is who's.

But then a fuddy duddy old aunt hands me a red packet, and suddenly it's not so bad. Oh snap, bribed again.

Today I met my sister's (soon to be) mother and father-in-law. A delightful couple. Too bad my parents and them do not understand each other (Chinese and Vietnamese). They told each other jokes through a translater (me and my sis). Simple pleasures. Simple laughs...and free Yum Cha! Huzzah!

Slightly revised Big Day Out list (still undecided on some):

11:08 - 11:40pm - The Grates at Con stage
12:20 - 1pm - The Subways at Con stage
1 - 1:45pm - Sarah Blasko at RRR green stage
2 - 2:40pm - Bit by bats (Although I'l prolly just wander around at this time) at V stage
3 - 3:40pm/3 - 3:45pm - TZU or EDAN (get into the hip hop mood) at V stage or Hothouse
3:50 - 4:45pm - Hilltop hoods (bask in the hip hop) at Orange stage
4.45 - 5.45pm/4:45 - 5:30pm - Kings of Leon or End of Fashion at Blue or Con stage
5 - 5:45pm - Augie March (Throw up the horns for folk music) at V stage
6:30 - 7:30pm - At this point, power up to the zenith of your enthusiusm and get a spot for Mars Volta... go see M.I.A for 15mins at Boiler room
7 - 8:30pm - Mars Volta (assume the rock pose) at RRR green stage
7:45 - 8:45pm - Iggy & the Stooges (gotta see at least a tiny bit. Gotta confirm that this frame of a man still walks amongst the living. Hum 1969 and Wanna be your dog) at Orange stage
8:45 - 10pm/9 - 10pm - The White Stripes (Shoot mind bullets at Jack white)/Common (get my groove on) at Blue stage or Hothouse.

Still undecided between Iggy and Mars Volta. I know I will probably see Mars Volta come back sometime, and Iggy will probably not come back. But I really want to see both now. Stupid timetable. I'll see how the day goes.

Thao Nguyen wishes for ... Iggy Volta. An amalgamation of... well, you get the picture.

Don't you?

Don't you!?

It's not raining, it's just windy

We wouldn't let my little cousin outside to play because it was raining, and he chucked a hissy fit. He ran outside shouting "it's not rainy, it's windy!" and crying as he was getting drenched. I watched him and contemplated running outside, throwing all logic out the window, and shouting "you're right! It's just windy!" and doing handstands and kung fu poses. The aura of innocence effects us all.

When we mentioned that he was going home soon, he smiled and exclaimed "Can't go home...it's rainy out there" and giggled.

The red moon

Yesterday I saw a red moon. Drunk and tired, I stared and stared. Enthralled, complacent, yearning. From the past, I saw my moon fall.

And I let it happen.

The day is big, we should go out

So I've been checking the Big Day Out timetable, and it seems to be upside down or something. I mean, Iggy pop cannot be onstage at 7.45am. Can his body even handle such an early time? It looks like Iggy & the Stooges will clash with the Mars Volta... can they not see the folly in that!? I need Mike Skinner to jump out and say "dry your eyes mate". Tentative list, or how I planned my life using the alignment of the stars:

The Subways - 12:20 - 1pm
Either Cut copy or Bit by bats - 1:45 - 2:30pm/ 2 - 2:40pm (Although I'l prolly just wander around at this time)
TZU - 3 - 3:40pm (get into the hip hop mood)
Hilltop hoods - 3:50 - 3:45pm (bask in the hip hop)
The Go team - 4 - 4:45pm (assume the funky prayingmantis pose)
Kings of Leon - 4.45 - 5.45pm (15mins) (meet up with stoners or something)
Augie March - 5 - 5:45pm (Throw up the horns for folk music)
At this point, power up to the zenith of your enthusiusm and get a spot for Mars Volta... or go see for 15mins, M.I.A - 6:30 - 7:30pm
Mars Volta - 7 - 8:30pm (assume the rock pose)
Iggy & the stooges - 7:45 - 8:45pm (gotta see at least a tiny bit. Gotta confirm that this frame of a man still walks amongst the living. Hum 1969 and Wanna be your dog)
The White Stripes - 8:45 - 10pm (Shoot mind bullets at Jack white)

Drunk Superman, strikes again!

So...yeah...well...

My neighbour's house is on fire right at this very moment. So instead of checking it out and calling the Fire Brigade immedietly, I type up a post (well, they said they've called whoever needs to know, so...). I'm gonna try something stupid. I'm gonna dress up like a super hero and save the day! My neighbourhood will be abuzz with super hero stories tomorrow. Don't have a name yet though... will probably be "Abagasta Bam Bam Laroche", funk hero of the masses. Superman ain't got shit on me.

Oh, I hear the fire crew. Better get out there before they steal my thunder. I don't fly, but I do shuffle.

(I wish I could transform and roll out)

Mass exodus stage left

Tomorrow (today), most of my friends go away for a week to Tasmania. I'm insanely depressed. If only I didn't mess up so bad. I would be on that boat with them, decked out in pirate clothes and doing my best Jack Sparrow impersonation. Or even my Columbo impersonation. J-J-J-Just one more question...fuck! Stupid stupid stupid. This is probably the first group outing I've missed, so I guess I've been lucky through out the years.

Have fun everyone. Feel free to call me up for some drunken chatter anytime. Tell your people to contact my people. We'll have power lunch. Salud!

Well, back to listening to Cat Power and Augie March.

PS: Has anyone ever had a dream about you having a dream? And the dream inside the dream was horrific? Crazy

Super extreme eye vision thingy majiggy!!!

I recently found my glasses again after losing them for bout a year. Yes they were under my bed. Yes I am a moron. So now I have to make an effort to wear em, since my peeka-boos are not 20/20 and I'm tired of being the squintonator.

I've also recently become addicted to a japanese comic about, and I shit you not, making different kinds of bread products. The protagonist of the story dreams of making perfect bread that he dubs "Japans". He numbers them as Japan #1, #2 etc. And there's this crazy bread judge that has insane reactions when eating the bread. And I mean offtap mad reactions. Man, this is dorky as anything, but I can't sleep.

Telstra, my phone company, has me on some kind of trial set-up whereby they cripple my line for a couple of months so I can't call mobile numbers. Whoopee. I think they also send strange phone waves to cause me crazy seizure headaches. So I apologize to anyone that I never call back. I always have my phone on silent now since debt people have sniffed out me super secret mobile hotline. Someone musta snitched on me... *stink eyes everyone*...

"The disinherited one"

Sometimes I work with a man who's age can only be between 70 and 105. He is old. He looks like and "age" addict, collecting and hoarding "age" for himself. There are lines upon the lines on his face. His hair is an ashen white, his face a carved slab of enduring. He is a reflection of a bygone era. Sometimes I give him some of my sandwiches, and in turn he bestows upon me some of his years of wisdom. Or so I think. For I do not understand him most of the time. My grasp of the Vietnamese language is minimal, and his dialect is alien to me. But he talks and talks, and I pretend to understand. I believe he also finds it hard to understand my stunted Vietnamese with a tinge of aussie accent in it. How similar we are.

This poem is unrelated, but it appeals to me. The meaning of the title is in...the title. Up there (point)

El Desdichado, Gerard de Nerval

I am the dark-advised, the widower, the inconsolable,
The Prine of Auquitaine before hisruined tower:
My only star is dead; and now my jewel-studded lute
Will only bear the blackened sun of Meloncholia...

My forehead is red yet with the kiss of the queen;
I have dreamed in the grotto where the siren swims.
And I twice I have crossed the Acheron, triumphant...

There's is more to that poem, and the english translation of it differs from people to people.

Hermit the Crab!

Salutations and accusations!

Back from a whirlwind tour of 90 Mile beach. Arms are sore (I'm tired of being a senator!), skin slightly burnt, mind fried to a crisp. Yes you can get sunburnt on your brain. Cerebro burn marks abound. I couldn't swim because the waves hitting my arm would be like Zeus thunderbolts. Which was a shame. Things that stick in the mind:

- Me calling Crackers 'Hermit the Crab', instead of Kermit the Frog. A slip of freudian proportions. Methinks I have a sick fascination with crab-like kind
- Me and Rick being convinced that Crackers and Melsta (or was that Flyboy and Kateo?)were having 'Silent submarine sex' in their tent. The only noises being the ping-ping sound.
- The patented Cracker's 1 second moan.
- You .... like a girly man, was the line of the weekend.
- Jarrod Moore-on...hehehe Moron.
- Convincing ourselves that the ghost of old man Squat Squat and his french poodle Le Squat Squat, haunted a derelict house down the road.
- I feel the earth move is the greatest song in the world
- Telling people that A Braveheart doco was about to come on, hosted by Mad Max. Then William Wallace and Mad Max would fight in Thunderdome while Tina Tunrer watched on.
- Finding Rey Mysterio Jr in a card game

I also made up the shittest joke in the world.

What would the Gorillaz (the band) say if you asked them where the remote control was?

It's dare


(groan)

I'll update this post during the day, as my memory recovers. I'm still on the slowest dial-up in the world so I update less.

I sit down, and I get paid. Sweet tasks abound!

Some people have simple dream jobs. Some have epic scale dream jobs. Some just defy any category. Hope springs eternal though.


You go baby.

Early morning swim!

Wait, I lie.

Early morning bath. I tried to submerge myself in the bathtub. Very surreal silence. But I think I want some tunes down there. Been watching too much Life Aquatic. Maybe these. Then again, at that price, maybe not.

Side note. Making farting noises using trapped air, is still funny. hehehe

Lucky

I was rummaging around in my old files, and found this poem that I wrote when my dog Lucky died. Thought I might add it here for memories. Lucky was a small brown dog that we found wandering the streets. Upon finding it's owner, she promptly told us that we could keep it. So I took him, and weathered the jealousy of my cousins who helped. He was an old thing, that made strange noises and ponged like no one's business. But he was part of the family. And I loved the little thing. I find it sad that I can't remember what year he died.

LUCKY WAS SCARED OF THUNDER
Lucky was scared of thunder
Yeah Lucky was scared of thunder
now he's dead now, now he's dead now
I don't know why,
oh I don't know why
Why he's dead I don't know
Why he's dead

Oh don't be shocked now
Oh don't be sad now
You know that I know
that we all go now
yeah, we all go now

Pitta patta feet now
come running to eat now
But not anymore now
not anymore now

Lucky was scared of thunder
Yeah Lucky was scared of thunder
now he's dead now, now he's dead now
I don't know why,
oh I don't know why
yeah, he's gone
gone, gone from here
from here,
from here.

Simple childish pain. I didn't know that soon after his death, I would experience something much worse. Anyway, RIP Lucky boy. Time to go watch "All dogs go to Heaven" again.

Men in Black

The difference between you and me is:

I make this look hard.

Sadface :(

The government forces me to learn the harmonica, so now I break laws.

Was reading this interesting article about a deaf man and his love of music, specifically Ravel's Boléro.

I know what your thinking now. Hold up, hold up... you high Thao? Why are you spitting oxymorons in my face? You frontin'? You trying to get loco? Are there bees in your beer?

No. Article here.
Michael Chorost was born with partial hearing, and at 15, he discovered that Boléro was audible to him, and it became a touchstone for him, a piece of music that he developed a deep emotional attachment to. In 2001, Chorost experienced the sudden, total loss of the remains of his hearing, and Boléro was lost to him, seemingly forever.

The article chronicles his journey in 'fixing' his cochlear implant so he could hear Boléro nearly as well as he used to. That's dedication right there.

And the whole silly saga plays out again

Behold! A new year dawns! What manner of obstacles will you throw at us this time?

A new year. Time to reflect, or jettison unwanted memories?

I miss me boy in Canada, but I hear he is finding comfort in the arms of 2 fine young ladies. Hope you had a good one Benny boy.

With this new year, comes change. Some of my friends are moving further away from me. It is sad but altogether not unexpected. A natural progession really. I hope they find their new places of abode stimulating and pleasing to mind. And I hope they will let me shack up with em when I'm cold, drunk and seriously in short of cash. I hope they open the door for me when it's 2am. Is the password still "Yo Yo Wack Wack"? Will you leave the light on for me, honey?

I honestly had serious fears going into the new year. I had irrational thoughts of time running out. I don't know where this thought came from. It came, unbidden, and I shuddered at the fear it caused within me. It has mostly abated now. But I wonder, still. Well, here I come year-y boy. I accept the future you have arrayed for me. A defeatist stance, I know.

My new year resolution is simple and direct, but send in the negotiator anyway. I will quit smoking (been 5 days now). Kevin Spacey never had it so easy. Although I question my sanity in quitting smoking, when this year looks like it will be my most stressful. Hopefully I don't explode like a pinata (hands up who has that fear?), with kids surrounding me, pawing at the Thao candy that will be wizzing from my shattered frame. We'll see how long I can last without puffing the stress killers. Bye bye PJ's

My arm is still not fully healed. I can't pump my fist into the air while watching the Karate Kid, just yet. The doctor berates me for using it too much. The man does not know the meaning of necessity. I'm looking at a late January robotic arm upgrade, with side skirts and giant spoiler. Also the exhaust system will be overhauled to provide maximum power! *cough* I mean, a decent recovery.

Here's to another year of standing on stage in the spotlight. Beads of sweat forming on my forehead as the performance turns sour. Maybe. Will I be bowing to a standing ovation? Or will I be booed offstage?

The strings of fate are pulled ever tighter...on my hoody.