Rucking good

Am now in a rugby team. Which is to say I'm most likely going to be playing rugby this year. Awesome. There is something inherently attractive in knowing that I'm going to be playing a mad mad game, surrounded by mad mad men. I will end up bruised and scratched and sore and there is every chance that I will be groped more often in rugby than I have recreationally lately. I'm not looking forward to the groping.

But it is a chance to go nuts, get exercise and reassert my testosterone and manliness in a violent, socially acceptable manner. And I'll be able to hurt others in a violent, socially acceptable way. Yay.

Groupies, cheerleaders and fans will be encouraged to attend. Me me me me me.

Corey, this will in no way affect my dedication to the indoor soccer team. I'm still keen to keep in touch with my inner woman. And what on earth happened to our indoor soccer shirts, Hamish??

Cheers to the ladies with the lamingtons, rugby was the winner on the day.

Romario

I was a little worried about playing indoor soccer last night. I'd missed three games due to my geographical instability and ill health - which suggested that I'd find 30 minutes of insane, high octane running around rather difficult. My alarm was increased when we started with only 4 men (I am man). Tim arrived after several minutes and jumped on and we all went crazy with no subs. Ended up losing 6-1 which wasn't a bad result against one of the top teams in our grade. And I didn't die. Which is, I believe, a good thing.

After match some dude came up to Tim and before we knew it we were playing anther game - this time against a team from Div 1 (we're Div 3). So another 30 minutes of insane action stunts. Somehow I was fitter and played better in this game. Even scored (a goal).

After 2 games I was getting a little tired... but no, another invitation to play in another game and bingo bango more sweet sweet soccer action. Feet were a bit sore with blisters and the like, but it was all good. Scored another goal - this time I timed a volley off the outside of my right foot into the top right corner of the goal. Everyone rather stunned.

So three games of indoor soccer in a row and me mind is addled with images of Ben threading his way through several defenders, Tim having an extremely munted but effective Justin Timberlake style of goal keeping, Corey running around like a mad man, and Hamish, Dave and Dave dancing like Michael Jackson near small boys. Even helped me get a decent nights sleep. The exercise that is - not the images of MJ.

And on a different note and tact, Michelle missed out on Radiohead playing because Radiohead didn't play. Tough luck, love. *think of something nice to say* Star Wars is good.

Colour

In a drab attempt to inject colour into my life I've played around with the colours menu java script whatsitmacalled. Ben also wanted a change from the jarring orange. The result, as you can see, is a fantastic shade of pink-purple. Or as I like to think of it, Punk.

In a drab attempt to inject some sleep into my life I followed the advice of Dad and got an electric blanket and went to bed toastie warm. Unfortunately it didn't make me drowsy. Instead it made me freaken wired, man. Who would have thought. Also, am rather surprised given I was drowsy after drinking some actual wine that I stole from the Dame Ngaio Marsh group when they abandoned their post inside the law building last night. Booya.

Don't trust this man. I have shifty eyes.

Imperialism and War

Anonymous posted a comment on my Anzac Day argument a couple of days ago disputing my comment that people died for what they believed in. He or she argues that you can look at war, and in particular the First World War (a great war if ever there was one), through a pseudo-Marxist perspective. That is - soldiers served their imperialist governments because the governments deceived them.

Although I initially agreed with Anonymous, I've flip-flopped and changed my mind. There are a couple of points I would like to raise.

Firstly, war is the most abhorrent activity known to man (and woman). I doubt anyone reading this would argue the war is good. However, there are situations where there are no other courses of action available and one must resort to armed conflict for individual survival. I acknowledge that some might dispute it - although I would argue that Gandhi never ruled out violence completely. He used the image of a mouse sitting before a cat. There was no use, Gandhi argued, in the mouse sitting passively while the cat devoured it. The mouse, in this situation, should fight to live peacefully another day. Incidentally, Gandhi believed that the cat could only be taught the error of its ways by a large number of mice sitting peacefully in front of it. The cat might then learn to feel guilt and remorse after eating several (although, hopefully, none).

Anyway - war bad but there are occasions when it might be necessary to resort to armed conflict.

Secondly, I acknowledge that there could be a case for a Marxist perspective on the First World War. I'm not an expert in WWI studies so I'm not going to have a strong opinion either way. I do believe, however, the the assassination of Jean Jaurés in 1914 virtually ensured war between France a Germany - and that the generation killed during the 1914-18 conflict was more inclined to socialism than subsequent generations.

Thirdly. Even if you believe that soldiers fought in a war due to a misplaced sense of duty, patriotism or whatever - even if you believe that they were exceedingly stupid and daft and unable to read between the lines of their own government's propaganda - this does not detract from the bravery inherent in fighting for ones beliefs. The soldiers that volunteered for the first world war may have been 'tricked' by their 'imperialist' governments and patriotism - but they did believe in it and fought for it and therefore, in my opinion, can be respected for their bravery. Just as Ormund Burton or Archibald Baxter can be respected for their bravery in choosing not to fight.

Finally, the argument that soldiers in the past
"served as cannon fodder for imperialist armies", others "succumbed to the propaganda of government machinery", still others "had no real idea what they were fighting for, but turned up anyway out of a misplaced sense of duty and have suffered for it ever since"
runs dangerously close to an anachronistic argument. Why? The inherent argument is that individuals had not capacity to act as independent thinking citizens. It removes the possibility of agency - which is both absurd and intellectually lazy. Ormund Burton and Archibald Baxter both chose not to go to war - and suffered the consequences. My Great-Great Uncles chose to go to war - and suffered the deadly consequences. They all had agency.

Frankly, I find the idea that soldiers in the past were all tricked in to fighting to be insulting - although that is strictly a personal opinion for personal reasons. They may have been fighting for ideals you may not believe in - but the argument that they didn't really know what they were doing, were wrong, or were tricked into it ... it seems smug. I dislike smug.

This sort of thing still happens now - Iraq is a case in point. And regardless whether you think that the U.S. soldiers are moronic imbeciles tricked by a sinister imperialist government or the defenders of freedom and liberators of Iraq - the fact remains that they are in Iraq risking their lives for whatever they believe in. And while I do not agree with the war in Iraq, the First World War etc etc, I still remain impressed with the individual bravery of the individual soldier.

Ergo, agreement rescinded.

Sugar

There was a disturbing statistic in the Press today re the amount of sugar present in drinks. While I knew that fizzy drinks were bad, I never realized that a 600mL fizzy drink (on average, I suppose) contains 16-20 teaspoons of sugar. That is revolting and I'm surprised I still have teeth. Needless to say, I'm now on water. At least for the next few days.

Matt has completed my life plan for the next year. Which includes me getting a fancy job in foreign affairs (well paid) and being posted to Ireland (where apparently they all look like the Corrs - I'm not interested in the brother. Tim can have him) where I then help forge better relations between the two countries. Although the menfolk might not like that. I can take them. All I can say is that this is a good plan. Ireland for Dave. Dave for Ireland. Sweet.

And has anyone seen Ben lately? While I understand he's busy, he hasn't updated his blog lately. While I stick by my anti-George Lucas rhetoric and grandstanding, I would hate to think that Ben took this personally. It was directed at Michelle, not Ben.

Google

As a rule I refuse to google those people who I find attractive. It is wrong, people! There is no reason not to google myself, however. The results are alarming.

Apparently I:
Write Christian books
Was one of Don Gasparro's multiple personalities (Am now his lover!?!).
Am a bald Dr.
Wrote a book on Spanish Law!
Do something arty
Study in Melbourne
can strike a macho foreign pose.

I am everywhere! Well, no, not really. This name has condemned me to a life of apparent geekdom and publishing. No porn starr life for me.

Anzac Day

I like Anzac Day. Except for the inevitable insomnia which comes pretty much every day now and prevents me from going to the dawn service. There is something reassuring in knowing that once upon a time a tragically high number of blokes my age stood up and got shot for what they believed in. It doesn't matter that I don't necessarily agree with why they fought (patriotic songs will forever make me blanche) - that is a luxury space and time has afforded me. I like they way it afforded men who could not express their emotion's to their wives and children (how do you tell your girl you killed a man or heard a mate cry for his mother as he died several feet away?) to sit and remember with a beer or few with others who had gone through the same experience - unspoken communication and understanding.

There are, naturally, a number of valid arguments why Anzac Day is irrelevant or demeaning. The role of women is overlooked - and I challenge anyone to suggest that the women back home waiting for their fathers, sons, brothers, uncles, friends and lovers did not go through an incredible emotional trauma. The service normally looks at the role of the men - using masculine military tradition, usually outside a phallic symbol of mourning. The date is largely invented. Australians rushed ashore at Gallipoli on 25 April - it was their big day. We got ashore nearly 12 hours later at 4pm. Our big day was August 18, when we rushed, attacked and captured the strategic highpoint of Chunuk Bair before being killed, once again, by the British. 760 men went up, 70 came down. The date of 25 April was picked up on by the press and immortalised by the public back home in New Zealand. We had our first Anzac day service in 1916. And perhaps it is fitting that the public in New Zealand latched on to 25 April 1915 - it gives agency to the men and women and children back home who were fighting their own individual battles. In remembering the fallen (and the returned - never forget them) on April 25 we also remember those that remained behind.

War

Sadly Corey has yet to grasp the use of comments in a blog. Which means he asserts random gibberish to the wider public without the means of the public (and by association, me) being able to respond. Luckily, I have figured a plan which will enable me to assert my will over that of Corey, and thus crush him like a small and puny fly.

Like a Palestinian stone thrower to an Israeli-American tank.

My current problem is that Corey has listed a number of 'decrees' which will be enacted and enforced when the said totalitarian dictator assumes power. There are some which defy logic - such as the banning of time and the use of Gangsta Rhyme in all Imperial decrees. Bad bad bad. What really alarms me is the 'self criticism' which I am supposed to go through once a month on live and international television. While I am flattered to think that millions would tune in to hear me chastise myself for all the bad things I have done... a) it wouldn't take very long (sarcastically speaking, I'm a very interesting guy) and b) I'm not sure what I've done to deserve this adulation. Don't get me wrong - I like it. In fact I like it so much I'm going to issue my own 'decrees' and you can add suggestions for amendments in the comments section (which I have but Corey does not).

1) Allow the UN to actually, you know, do stuff.
2) Send a manned space flight to Mars. Include GWB.
3) Reintroduce the concepts of 'accounting' and 'accountability' to big business.
4) Ban the word 'intelligence' from anything the FBI, CIA, MI5 or SAS writes.
5) Acknowledge that we are not actually living in biblical times.
6) Ban Coke/Pepsi etc. Reintroduce water as drinking substance.
7) Free Tibet, Zaoui and Education.
8) Abolish retrospective immunity.
9) Reintroduce the environment.
10) Reintroduce (and make) love.

Amend, my pretties, amend.

Pinnacle of Farce

That is, apparently, what I am. Cheers Mike. The desire to wake up from my sick bed and throttle you is now at an all time high.

The angst is strong in this one.

Apparently as a 'long time blogger' I am qualified to test drive Google's new email gmail. I'm not sure why. Possibly they are looking for people who can read and write. I still don't think I qualify. My email for this page is thus now surliness@gmail.com. If you email me, I get your email - but with the added bonus of ads! Awesome. I'm betting any mail I get from Tim comes with some dodgy adverts.

In an effort to come up with more money to buy another election, the Bush/Cheney duo have started their own range of clothing. Check out this little tasty number. It is a trendy, yet relaxed way to state that you have no respect for international law or the environment. Or democracy. Or birds. Die little birdie, die die die die die.

And the San Marino GP is on Sunday. I have submitted my picks for the weekend - and sadly they include a Ferrari 1-2 and a McLaren 8-DNF. I want to cry. At least Scott Dixon can race. Even with a broken ankle. Hard man.

Have been watching a number of videos while I've been stuck at home. Including Blade Runner (ok) Magnolia (over-rated but Cruise good) A-I (wtf was that??) and Pulp Fiction (good).

The walls are spinning.

Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

Fluorescent Mind

One of the good things about going away is the coming back. And it is remarkable how quickly things change. I've been sort-of gone for a fortnight and now that I'm back all the trees are this fantastic shade of red and orange. Who knew the death of leaves could be so visually sweet. Sadly, autumn also brings colder weather, my 23rd (the agony, the agony) and highlights the annoyance of fluorescent lightbulbs. Not only do they seem to be brighter, but also louder and hummier.

Now, of course I have to face up to the task of getting back on track with my thesis and finishing the damn thing. It_shouldn't_be_too_much_longer. The break and consequences of having to structure moderately intelligible arguments in 3 minutes has sharpened some ideas for the mother of all chapters. Which is all it really needed.

I have the house to myself for the moment. This is good because it is always nice to live by yourself for a while. Claire is in Wanaka and it sounds as though she is having a good time of it.

Right. I'm about to step out of this fog that the lack of decent lighting and lack of decent sleep has given me and into the magical and delightful world of indepth intellectual analysis of some of the hot topics of my historiography.

On those that are retarded

There are two main points in this argument. Firstly, everyone who has not given me money for this site (that means you!). Secondly, Corey.

If we examine the first point first. I received my quarterly account balance from PayPal the other pay. It had nothing in it. I can only conclude that I am being extremely hopeful with my ambition to be paid for what I'm worth. It is possible, however, that I am being paid what I'm worth. So I suppose we are all really retarded deep down.

But not necessarily as retarded as some of the arguments put forward by Corey in his latest blogs. I think we need to clarify several issues.

1) I have never been caught in a sexual act with myself or others. I hope.
2) Tim does not give advice to Snoop Dogg. Dogg gives advice to Tim through the medium of 'music'. And the voices.
3) Corey's Mama.

What would Che do?

He would certainly visit this link (as stolen/borrowed from Arc) and wonder in awe at some of the 'self-evident truths' that fail, in my opinion, to fulfil the criteria of being either 'self-evident' or 'true'.

Let's get retarded

Before I accept the kudos and congratulations associated with destroying the self esteem of a member of the opposition - I should clarify several things.

1) I'm not living in the Simpson's (sorry, Mike).
2) The 'task' set before the Vic team wasn't something you would traditionally discover on an American College Campus styled movie. It was actually to compose a 4 stanza, 4 lines per stanza, poem with rhyming couplets in iambic pentametre. One of the words had to be 'brick' and the poem was to be called 'An ode to my brick'.

Far, far geekier than anything inside the US movie industry.

And finally, 3) I got carried away and ended up singing Stairway to Heaven in a Japanese Kareoke bar. The audience got into it and we even had a couple of air guitars on stage, but I feel that I should apologize to anyone with taste and style.

Sorry, Fi.

That is all.

In Dunedin

Never let anyone tell you that Dunedin is colder than Chch. Scientifically *pfft* that might be the case but the type of cold is Dunedin is so much nicer.

The debating is over. Sadly C4 only won one out of 5 and finished 20th overall (we were ranked 22nd). We lost 2 convincingly and 2 narrowly. 2 of the teams we lost to made the semis and one of them is now in the final. Which indicates that we had a hard draw. On the plus side I've had a number of adjudicators come up to me and say that my name has been bandied around by the adjudicators in their special meetings. I think that means I've got a purty mouth.

Socially things have been good and bad. Mainly good. Lots of good drunk and intelligent people. Other things have become apparent and that sucks, although I'm going to keep with my policy of swallowing things into small balls in the pit of my stomach and never talking about them again. Rah rah.

And the brick. For some reason Vic has as its mascot a brick. Naturally enough, being the small and petty man that I am, I stole it. Hid it. Wrote a ransom note out of Newspaper letters and delivered it to the innocent parties with a piece of the brick that had been chipped off. Needless to say they weren't very happy (but impressed nevertheless). Had a seedy meeting in an alleyway with one of their negotiators and came up with a demand. It was not met and I'm now going to deface the brick with the lyrics to 'Let's get Retarded in here'.

A small and petty man.

Debating. In Dunedin.

Right. You all suck. Apparently it is witty and sophisticated to repeat the same masturbation joke over and over again without respite until I am a small and whimpering mess in the corner of a cold, cold shower, but when someone offers you fame and fortune to come up with a decent joke, you choke. So I win and get the prize of putting up an anal retentive joke about, you guessed it, language.

Two American blonde bumped into each other a party in New York. They introduce themselves to each other and begin to make small talk.
'So', says the first blonde to the second, 'where y'all from?'
The second blonde arches her eyebrows and replies 'Where I come from teach us not to end our sentences with a proposition.'
The first blonde grits her teeth and replies, 'Fine. Where y'all from, bitch?'

Off to Dunedin at the fine hour of 8am tomorrow morning. It should be fun, although could end up being a dreadfully nasty trip. And I haven't done anywhere near enough preparation. Hmmmm. It will probably mean I can't blog for a while although if I'm bored and there is a computer nearby I'll report in on all the extreme debating action. There are 5 preliminary debates (3-4 minutes to prepare, 4-6 minute speeches, 2-3 minute replies) and then the top however-many go through to another round (I'm guessing a quarter finals or something. I'm hoping to make it through the first round at least. The trick is to stare at the adjudicator while speaking without blinking. That way I can control them.

Peace out.

Back

Auckland was good. Mostly. Being away from Christchurch and thesis related people and activities was good for the brain and emotional state and shoulders. Never realized how stressed I was until I got away from here. But it gave me time to think. Which sucks. I don't like thinking. An idiot, really.

Saw a lot of family which was cool. They all seem to keep growing. One of my cousins who is 16 is about 6'6" with a 3' afro. I met my cousin's little baby, Devon who is about 7 months old and my kind of baby. For one thing, he never cried or screamed once. He just sat and smiled and laughed and looked very happy. The other reason is that he is somewhat violent. I held him twice, and during that time he tried to claw my face off, rip out my chest hairs and used a jar full of beads to deliver a roundhouse punch into my face. Then he smiled and laughed and I couldn't stay mad at him. In conclusion, babies are cool as long as they are not mine.

Mum and Dad graduated. The whole graduation thing was surprisingly good. I expected to be bored out of my tree, but when they came on stage I was really quite amped and proud. Go figure. So I now realise why people go along to graduation.

Am adding three groupies to my list of groupies. Tim and Ben announced the other night that they would do pretty much anything for me (not that) and I take this to mean they have submitted to the raw and powerful force that is Dave love (not that). Yes, we were in the JP, and yes, Tim was drinking the bad drink - but ha! More groupies. I'm also adding Sarah because 1) she knows she wants to, and 2) Nic is my nemesis and I like to play with his mind.

I am a small and petty man.

But those that oppose me and go to the dark light side end up in Melbourne. Given that it is 27 degrees over there I might be getting more anti-groupies in the near future. Please note that I don't pay for the trip.

Ahh, yes. Paintball.

Nic has complained that I haven't blogged about the painball victory. Please bear in mind that I wanted to get all my facts in order before writing the Official History. And Auckland hasn't got access to the internet.

The weather was cool and overcast which is good paintball weather in terms of comfort, but unfortunately the balls tend to swing and seam a bit more than usual. The History team started off well, with Adam wasting over half his bullets in the first 10 minutes. I made it into the enemy compound before being shot in the neck and screaming like a small angry girl. On the upside, the welt looked like a hickey and some people actually thought I'd got some. Don't really remember what happened, but Tim stole our flag and History went down 1-0.

The second game was going well. Actually I don't really remember much of that either. Except that Dan stole our flag but couldn't be assed running back to pols and walked past Mike who shot him. Mike was shot by Nic. Richard ran from the scene crying, while Sarah Mac danced beside the flag allowing Nic to shoot her. My gun was not working (again) so I couldn't shoot Nic. Nic grabbed flag and I chased after him. Due to the fact that I am an incredibly stealthy, suave and swift beast, I was closing in on him without him realizing. Ben did and was shooting at me while cursing in a mad Scottish accent. Dodging his balls, I forgot about the drop and fell 10 feet onto my head and hand. Probably explains why I can't really remember much and can't turn right anymore. Later discovered, when trying to was the blue-black paint off my hand that there was no paint and my entire hand was a massive bruise. Massive. So although Nic and Pols one that game, at least I asserted my masculine right to be an idiot.

Then played several games of speedball. Hist narrowly lost each, although would have won at least one had Claire not miraculously appeared from the dead.

End result, History was the clear winner on the day. Not only were we rugged and smooth at the same time, but we had the guts to do crazy crazy stunts that could have affected our attention spa

The new and improved dictionary of invented words according to Dave

The key to a good debate, particularly with regard to the first debate against a particular foe, is to impress them with your intellect, sophistication and the lucidity of your argument and intellectual (yet accessible) grasp of the main issues.

If you don't actually understand the issues, or have only a partial grasp of reality then there are other means you can employ in order to sound good and properly bright. This involves the use of words that don't exist yet - but possibly should.

For example, when discussing the cons of the current occupation of Iraq by the US led coalition it is agreeable to bandy about the term 'international bipolarization'. It sound cool. It sounds big. It sounds intellectual. And it sounds as though it refers to the split between old Europe and the United States, drawing a rather cunning analogy with a bipolar world of black and white, being for us or against us, being Christian and the agents of Satan. International bipolarization. Nice word. Runs off the tongue and has the capacity to stun any mortal opponent with fear. Because it sounds good and proper and intelligent and intellectual it is dangerous for someone to stand up and say 'Don't listen to Dave, he's making this up - there's no such term called International Bipolarization!' because I could then stand up and whack on in my summary about how they're not paying attention to the real issues and are grasping at straws - plus as the opponent isn't 100% sure whether international bipolarization is a term or not they run the risk of discovering that it is and that they are a bunch of gormless wimps.

I used it the other day and was congratulated by people who should know better about how intelligent I sounded and how they could tell I'm a Masters student.

And not because I was avoiding that which shall not be named.

Also - seeing as so many people are so keen to equate debating with masturbation or have jokes about mass debating, I suggest you leave your filthy comments where they belong in the comment box and we'll see how smart you really are. Prize for however is the wittiest. I'm the judge and adjudicator and no correspondence will be entered into. Bribes of money and sweet sweet sugary love are acceptable.

And finally, Mercedes suck. Claire could build a better engine.

Bloody McLaren.

Corey go loco

According to Corey I am munted. I'm not really sure how he comes to this conclusion (although he had had time enough to read the all work and no play blog). And why he chose me over, I dunno, Tim eludes me. Especially as the three of us had coffee/coke and red bull and Corey spent a good portion of the time telling Tim he was a munter. Fair enough, I've never laughed so hard in the last three months. Tim cried. While it is good to see the Corey has officially become a Masters student with his 'I don't care attitude', the fact that he wants to bottle up his feelings of melancholy and lethargy is not good. The blog (apart from giving us power, money and women!?!) serves as a mechanism to existentialize our grit, grief and angst. Dividing our pain into small bite sized pieces them and swallowing them so we do not have to deal with them probably explains our high suicide rates and large number of people who like to injure themselves by running half marathons or drinking large quantities of the Dark Lord.

Let it our, Corey. Give in to your anger. And put your muntedness on the net for all of us to look at and laugh with and at. It's where it belongs. Or you could be like Torshin and write serious stuff, become the PM of somewhere (Ireland - I want the Corrs - you can have the guy) and give me a cushy, well paid job with lots of 'benefits'.

Ohhhh, Swiss tax avoidance schemes. Named Heidi.

In other news, I 'have an important new business development shaping up ...in bed.' According to orkut - I'm a gigalo. Love you long time, love you good time.

Debating en masse... in Sydney

Might be going to Sydney to debate masterfully for UC. Awesome.

I take the above to be a true and sworn declaration of my geek-ness. May I always have glasses or contact lenses nearby, enjoy rigorous intellectual conversation with people who understand the futility of fundamentalist postmodern theory on accounts of the past, and fall for a chick who actually falls back (... hmm excellent double entendre) who understands what the term double entendre means (ie that I'm trying to make her feel weak at the... knees).

*signed*

All work and no play makes Dave a dull boy.

All work and no play makes Dave a dull boy. All work and no pay makes Dave a poor boy. All work and no pay makes Dave a sore boy. All play and no work makes Dave a man boy. All work and wrong play makes Dave a violated boy. All work and no work makes Work a work work. No work and no play makes Dave a dull boy. All spoon and no knife makes Dave a grr boy. No work and war play makes GWB a bad boy. No sleep and no play makes Dave a .... All work and no clothes makes Dave a well paid boy. All work and no play makes are you looking at me? All blog and no work makes Dave a play boy. All fork and there is no spoon makes Dave a dull boy. All work and and work and work you slack bastard makes Dave a dull boy. All thesis and there is no thesis makes Dave a better screenwriter. All rest and no play makes Dave a pretty boy. All orc and no pay makes Dave a dead hobbit. All pork and no faith makes Dave an agnostic boy. All hawk and no dove makes Dave an incapacitated boy. All dull and no work makes Dave a play boy. Some work and some play makes Dave a some-bo(d)y. All work and no play makes for a sweet angry game of paintball.

Yeah, I probably don't want to post that.

Irritation

There are a number of things that suck at the moment. Such as arguing with a department that is not exactly giving an impression of wanting to listen to concerns that it's tutoring policy is driving people away from the department and creating a general feeling of dispossession and irritation. And Steve Thomas boasting that he was headhunted by the History department who the department assured me (in my role as postgrad rep) that all due process was followed and that we had no reason to complain. grrrrrrr. Such as not being able to sleep and night and then getting angry at self for not sleeping at night and being in bad mood for rest of day. Such as the recent spate of injuries that has seen Jamie and Hamish withdraw from the greatest war ever. And Michael King dying. That really does suck.

Am in Canterbury University debating team 4 - which is good. Haven't met who I'm debating with, and she hasn't been to any of the debates yet so I'm a little concerned about that. But it should be all good.

Goodness will follow. Nic has finished. This is an example of goodness. Ben will finish. Also example of goodness. Brother is 21 on Friday. Am glad he made it that far. Suggestions for presents?? Parents down on Saturday and Sunday is paintball and bbq interrupted by debating then bbq again. Have opportunity to hunt and destroy nemesis number 1 (Nic) and fulfill my lifelong ambition of taking someone prisoner and ransoming them off in exchange for a powerful political institution. Such as ACC. Awesome.

Michelle has tickets to Radiohead. Not a bad way to settle into Melbourne. Am jealous in a rather non-jealous kind of way.