november is over.

another year.

another 50,000 words in a month done.

and now i'm really, really tired.

at least this one sort of makes sense, and i don't feel half as worried about showing it off :)

i want to write more about it, but i've been typing pretty much non-stop for the past 3 hours, and i'm a little sick of it :) i'll do some sort of post-mortemy thing tomorrow.

Hurary Pol, hmm, that doean't sound so good - let me try that again hurray pol! Much better. Sounds like things are going well for you over there, no excuses though, you still have to come back here. Bloody typing, have been doing a lot of it lately. And baking, but that's stopped now. So, you can all come out, the cake fairy has gone, no cake for you, come back one year's time. So... well, Purdey is pregnant (Pol, we flew her up to Qld, and got her knocked up by a very cute boy weimaraner called Swaggy.) So pups are due hopefully on the 20th december, but possibly as late as xmas day. That will be fun. It would be the first time my presents have come wrapped in a dog.
Erk. I'm off now.

fuzzy - this is going to be even more fun than i thought... clicky picky....

i think that's CHEATING, mr bill.

and torus went fine...odd...but fine.

i wrote (ok i PLOTTED) a novel last night in that dreamy state halfway between wakefulness and sleep.
and i was lying there thinking... fuck - this is good. i might be able to sell this.. fuck... but i really don't want to open my eyes..

so i waited until i'd worked out who kills the bad guy (it's chloe's mum - who he'd raped 15 years ago) then i got my pad out from under my bed and wrote up a chapter summary. But i have some questions:

> 1. what's the doctor's name?
> 2. Is the journalist married or single? what's his dark little secret that keeps him going down to st kilda?
> 3. what's the journalist's name?
> 4. How do the journalist and the doctor know each other?
> 5. how does the drone get into the factory? does he work there, or does he break in?

that's only the first half, mind you.

can you help?

email me

There are times in one's life when one wishes that one had made different choices. Like for instance today, when I wished that I'd taken the chance to learn Japanese when it was presented to me in high school, instead of becoming the best smoker i could possibly be. Now I'm faced with the inability to decipher this, which is a total shame. I think it's called "boobie sundae", for reasons which should become fairly apparent in the not too distant future. It's probably not work safe... then again... maybe it is? Who can say - I don't speak Japanese....

I was visitor 3000 on this website a moment ago, quite an achievement for a girl whose dogs won't listen to her any more. I was going to type something about it, but by the time I noticed I was 3000, I'd already clicked on one of the infogrames links and in my haste to write about it, cause, let's face it, I *am* going a bit stir crazy here, I doubleclicked the back button, and when I returned I was 3002. Which kind of defeated the purpose of this post.

My uncle is dying/dead. He's my godfather. He is/was 52, and he lived on a diet of guinness and cigars. In his house, he used to have one of those jumbo, metre high whisky bottles, filled with one and two pence pieces. I always thought that bottle was some sort of promo thing. Now I realise he probably drank the lot on the way home from Dublin after buying it duty free. He had a heart attack in Woolworths in Pudsey, and his heart stopped for too long... now he's on a ventilator in intensive care, but it's just a matter of time. Nobody in the family knew what had happened for about 24 hours because he had no ID on him. It's all very surreal, and I don't like it one little bit.

So, can everyone please make sure that you have some ID and a next of kin in your wallets? Please? Thank you.

will do mr bill...i want to do another draft of it next month...so we'll send it off then :)

onto more serious matters:

infogrames shaky on nasdaq: story
infogrames applies for us$50 million line of credit with GE financial services: story

current rumours are that they're looking to appoint a new managing director for the US operation. one who will eventually replace Bruno....they're hoping that the appointment will increase investor confidence...

and my fridge just keeps getting louder & louder...i don't think it will last the summer :(

hooray. mr harry is lovely. mr harry, if you wanted to make someone very very happy, you could dedicate that short story, print it out, and send it to my mum. i will give you her address and even go halvies on the stamps. she LOVES getting things in the mail. in other news, sean has started posting again. hoorah! also: word to the wise, saara has a groovy blog. she likes monkeys.

HOORAY.

i finally got around to finishing the first draft of that 'books kill old people' short story...it's very rough, so nobody gets to read it until it's had at least one revision. my thanks go out to mr billy-joe- noodle-bob & his mum for giving me the idea. it is dedicated to both of you.

only took 11 months.

and i decided to do it during a period where i should actually be finishing off my 50,000 word novel doodle....oh well...needed some sort of break :)

and in other news.

start at torus monday. not looking forward to the travel time, or the early rising...

but am looking forward to actually having money...and filling the void in my life with things that i don't actually need.

fire drill = unmitigated disaster.

we all go down the stairs like good little corporate munchkins, only to find when we get to the bottom that the emergency door has a glass bolt on it which must be smashed before we can get out of the building. Much discussion ensues, as in any group in which there is no defined leader, and nothing happens. Some of us decide to can the whole exercise and head back up the stairs, but find that the stairwell door has locked from the inside. There are now 45 people trapped in the stairwell. Much more discussion ensues, phone calls are made to Sydney that get directed to voicemail. Finally we crack it and smash the glass. Twenty eight minutes after the fire alarm has sounded, we make it to the street. I have a fag and go back up to the office.

What fun.

And anyway, the whole "small world" theory's flawed anyway. If you consider, for a moment, that you probably know 100 people. And that each of those 100 people knows 50 people you don't know. And that each of those people knows 100 people. Follow this through to it's logical conclusion, and by the time you've reached the famous "sixth degree of separation" you've got 31.25 billion people. Given that the entire population of the earth is only six billion, there's a fairly good chance that you're intrinsically linked to every single person on the planet. A truckload of very interesting (to geeks) research has been done on this topic, and can be found here, here. The second link is loads of fun because they're conducting an experiment to prove this theory. Register, and help science.

OK, so next time someone says "small world", you can (after you punch them in their big stupid face), say "bullshit, it's huge", and point them here.

What website would be complete without this link...

Some people out there have even less to do than me.

By the way, that's a big link, Mr bill!

You know - there's a shop opened up around the corner from me and Mr Noodle-bob, selling "extreme wear". Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but t shirts are not extreme wear.

Diamanté underpants are extreme wear.
Dresses made of oxtail soup or butterfly wings are extreme wear.
Sunglasses made from real sun are extreme wear.

Yellow t shirts with company slogans on are merely gaudy.

After eliminating all other causes, one bizarre possibility emerged: The computer had developed some kind of rudimentary artificial intelligence and used it to launch — on its own — a pornographic Web site.

“During our examination, what boggled our minds was that we were able to communicate — talk, if you will — with the machine,” said computer expert Dr. Niles Sanksuson.

i wrote a haiku
but it is not very good
so i won't share it

and this little flash game is addictive

and of course, everyone needs some Death Trivia

ok - so here's the plan. I have two semi working bikes in my garage.... fuzzy has a bike, harry doesn't. flea has skates he can get... lets GO it'lll be funfunfunfunfun we can make the bikes in my garage work it won't be that hard lets GOGOGOGOGO....

onion interview with chuck palahniuk here

worth reading for the bit about margaret thatcher!

oh- and while you're buying me christmas presents, one of these wouldn't go astray....

ok so in the interim i'm gong to assume that this is fair dinkum. If so, I want one. Now.

So... we got the wedding photos last night. They're terrific. In fact, there's only one problem... it looks like there were a few state secrets swapped.. on camera.

The meet



The switch

i had my last day of therapy on friday.

i'm officially cured.

and i have documents to prove it :) i did some tests! and it's all good :-)

and miss noodle, you have 3 days! if you haven't written anything i'm coming round! i'm not letting you slip behind...you will finish the story this month.

on your feet soldier!

3 days! i'm only being selfish because i want to see how the whole thing ends...

and in other news...
i think i'm in love :

2nd november. word count: 22378. word count not including last year's valiant effort: 0. I reckon I have about 3 more days before it all starts getting out of hand.

I meant to post this a while ago, but I forgot.
Most ridiculous use of the internet in a television show (drama) goes to Law and Order. Two guys with the same tattoo get shot, and Julia Roberts' bloke says, hey, I know how we'll find out about this (as it's obviously a neo nazi thrill kill cult) types in "eagle" and the latin phrase - can't remember the exact one, and gets ONE hit. The people they were looking for. No online casinos or anything. So I decided to do a little experiment. I picked a latin phrase, and an animal, and off I went. This is what heppens when you do a search for "ipso facto" and monkey. The alien poetry is worth a shot... look:

The Fiendish Dr. Simian

Simian, Simian, Fish, Fish, Simian
Evolve, damned monkey. Evolve I say!
Monke, flunky, who's got the monkey?
Dr. Simian. Black Heart. Cold Hands.
Make the monkey have six arms not three.
Oh, Dr. Simian, make the monkey have red eyes, too!
Send the monkey into outer space in a capsule.
Good monkey. Nice monkey.

Author Unknown