My Baby! My poor Babyyyyyyyy!

Well, the car has been sent from the Mt. Waverley centre to the Altona Centre. And, according to the dude at AAMI, the Altona centre is the automobile equivalent of Dr Nitschke's Euthanasia clinic. All cars that are deemed to be a probable write-off after assessment are sent to Altona for a secondary assessment to ensure that it really is unsalvageable. And statistically speaking, if your car is sent there, 90% of the time they will scrap it.

The official word won't come until at least Monday. Looks like my poor baby will die the slow death like the unfortunate kangaroo that hit it. :(

Vote 1 for Kangaroo Meat

If I tell this story one more time to someone, even I would call myself an attention seeker that's just trying to score empathy votes from as many people as possible. So instead of repeating the same old stuff, let me put it in a different way. Hence I present to you...

Terence's Guide to Losing $2500...Guaranteed!

Step 1: Have multiple claims made to your car insurance company over previous years to ensure skyrocketing prices for your annual premiums.

Step 2: Instead of fork out the $1500 or so premium, take the option (and by option I mean "gamble") to pay a ridiculously high excess fee should an accident ever happen, in order to cut the annual premium in half.

Step 3: Drive along Churchill Park Dve around the late afternoon/early evening time when the sun is going down. Telepathically will a large kangaroo to hop out onto the road right in front of your car from behind a large bush/shrub so that you have no time to brake or swerve. Ensure you are driving at 70km/h to maximise impact and damage to the car. Results are best given when your entire left-front is shot to pieces and your windshield is caved in.

Step 4: Ensure you survive so you can experience your new found loss of financial health. Having an intact windshield to prevent a flying kangaroo from entering the car and decapitating your head is recommended.

Step 5: After towage is complete, liaise with insurance company to determine that you have three excesses to pay. 1) The $500 standard excess, 2) the $400 "you're under 25 years old so you must be a shit driver" excess, and 3) the aforementioned "gamble" excess fee of $1550. Get a calculator and total the fee to which it will be $2450.

Step 6: Curse that f&#king kangaroo.

Looks like I'll be putting off that computer for a bit. And my monthly paycheck for this April will now be known as the "insurance paycheck". Oh well, money aside, I'm still alive which is all that matters as they say. I went through that whole shock phase of sitting in your car for a good 60 seconds trying to fathom what the F*$K just happened, and I'm over the "thank God I'm still alive" phase. Now I'm just into the pissed off "bloody hell this is going to cost me an arm and a leg, why do I have such shit luck with cars?! *whinge whinge whinge*" stage

A couple of thoughts:
- Gotta love the hippie-looking couple that checked on the kangaroo before me. Way to prioritise guys! And no I didn't kill a tree too.
- Any second later and the kangaroo would've directly hit the side of my car. With me going at 60-70km/h......
- Had I been going at the speed limit (as opposed to being going 10 under due to traffic) I would've been long ahead before the kangaroo hopped onto the road to hit me. And they say speed is supposed to bad...
- Fark, how scary was that?!
- Watching a dying kangaroo die a slow and painful death is not fun :(

I'll find out tomorrow whether or not the car is a write off. I hope not. One, because I love my car! and two, despite being two and a half grand out of pocket no matter what happens now, the new car that I can buy with the money left over will be shite...at least not as good as the '96 Lancer I had.

Wait and see... Either way, here comes at least two weeks of juggling cars with the rest of the family.

Madness?! This...is.....SPARTAAAAA!!! *front kick some dude into bottomless pit*

Hooray for the power of coincidence in giving me - the monitor-less one - a free computer monitor from one of Dad's clients who wanted to throw it away despite it not ever being used!

One of the most frustrating things one can endure is to feel tired and sluggish throughout the entire day, but when it comes to bedtime, the body refuses to shut down. Argh! And it doesn't help that I have to be up in less than six hours. Oh well, instead of lie there I figured I'd get up, have a drink (juice, not alcohol...I'm not an alco) and write some sort of crap in this thing.

The week so far has been pretty boring. Nothing special... and quiet at work. Went and saw 300 the other day. Fantastic movie but only if you're of the ike that lusts for copious amounts of Hollywood blood, and hence don't mind senseless violence. As one reviewer wrote which I randomly read at work the other day "300 is rated R for 'RAAAAAR!!'" If you're looking for plot, don't expect much. The story which most of you would know is based on an actual historical battle goes something like this: (and if you haven't seen the movie and don't want it to be spoilt, believe me, there's not much in the plot that can be given away)

- Persians threaten Sparta (and the rest of Greece)
- Spartan king is pissed off
- 300 uber Spartan warriors led by the king take the Persian army to Paintown
- Blood is generously spilt throughout the movie

I'm gonna have to buy the DVD and tally up the number of confirmed kills in the movie just as Julius and I did for the Rambo trilogy. I suspect this movie will hold the new record. This is the ultimate movie that doesn't require thinking. Simple story with plenty of 'don't ask questions, just kill something' action, and perhaps one of the coolest quotes in cinema lately. Can't wait for the DVD so I can repeatedly watch the battle scenes over and over again...I won't have to fast forward much. :)

Time for bed, take two.

Dead computer

Woo! My computer has officially died. Well, the screen has at least. The computer itself is currently the electronical equivalent of an old lady who has had thirteen surgeries done, and is now in intensive care hooked up to 15 drips and drains and requiring three nurses alone to maintain what little life is left. I'm in the process of finding a new computer and I've thought to myself, you know what? I've suffered on Windows 98 for the past 6-7 years...I've had to put up with not watching half the stuff that's available on the net. I'm gonna go get myself a beast of a computer. Granted my ever-fluctuating bank account is not pleased (just paid the Government back the bloody GST the other day...not happy). So in my computerlessness I've had to leech off my dad's computer which he doesn't use for his work about 18 minutes out of a 24 hour day. Or, of course, I get to use the one at work, which is pretty shoddy.

I have no idea where I'm going with this one.

Oh, some of you may know that I have NO intention of EVER owning a MySpace out of principle. 'But you have a blog you double-standard setting Asian man!', I hear you say? Yes, but you see, whereas the purpose of my blog is to show off my extremely uninteresting life despite having very anti-voyeuristic principles, MySpace is nothing but a glorified way of showing off how many friends you have. The more friends people see that you have, the better looking you are. It's simple physics.

Having said all that though, I have a facebook which I signed up to a while ago out of a need to quench my horrible thirst for something to do but then sorta neglected. But in my recent run of large breaks at work, I've been rummaging around it and you know what? Despite MySpace having the capacity to stick videos and stuff on it, Facebook shits all over it. It's just more fun than a MySpace, especially if you're a photos whore.

Unfortunately though, by having the same friends mechanism that MySpace has, a Facebook practically forces me to rape and pillage those aforementioned principles....Let it be known though, that I don't use it TO SHOW OFF HOW MANY FRIENDS I have...

But go ahead and be my friend :)

And I still refuse to use MySpace >:(

The Sounds of Springvale

SPRINGVALE! Some say it is full of drug addicts, others say vampires come out at night to steal the non-Asian babies. Whatever the stigma surrounding the infamous suburb, events of last night didn't help to extinguish these perceptions to those who were there to witness it. I speak of a night out at a restaurant with my family and brother's girlfriend. 'Twas a good dinner. Decent crab and crownies for only $4!! But the night ended on quite a sour note, and one which goes to show you that drinking yourself to kingdom come at a pub/club/bar is one thing, but doing it at a family restaurant is practically criminal.

They say Asians can't hold their drink (except my brother and myself...although these days I can't drink as much as I used to...I'm getting old). Last night only served to demonstrate this. To cut to the chase, what happened was a direct result of two large Asian families (one Chinese and one Vietnamese I think) and lots of alcohol...I'm talking about plastic bags full of bottles, and drinking scotch out of glasses usually used for wine. One by one, dish by dish, they all got louder and louder. At some point near the end of the night as we were having our dessert, one of the men from (I think the) Viet family started getting touchy with another random guy. I had my back turned so I wasn't too sure about what happened. The Viet family started to leave, the women of the party obviously realising it was time to shut up shop. Unfortunately though, they had to pass the other big drunk Asian family in question. Something was said by a man from this family to the original Viet dude, something like "why did you (something) my son twice?!", we think in relation to something that happened earlier in the night.

From here, things escalated like crazy. A quick shove was met with a retaliatory punch and before long the men of both families were at it or at least trying to hold each other back, right in the centre of the crowded restaurant. There was one thing that absolutely blew my mind away. One man walked straight into the scuffle, his arm wound up, and he unleashed the biggest haymaker I've ever seen in real life on the unsuspecting dude that had his face turned the other way. I don't know what was more astounding - seeing that fist connect with the other guy's face or hearing it crunch against the bone...it was almost like hearing a sound effect from a movie, I kid you not! As a result there was a red and bloodied white tablecloth where it happened.

I've seen a few full-on brawls before, as I'm sure most people have. But what made this one a little scarier was the proximity. Our table was unfortunately backed up to a wall, right between the tables of the two families in question and as the fight broke out literally a metre or two away from us, we had no choice but to stay put instead of flee. Mum and Dad's friends who, by pure coincidence were also there that night had it worse. By even purer coincidence, they were at the table next to us. And by even more purer coincidence, their's was the table that ended up bloodied. But thankfully they managed to scamper away at the last second. As for us, Julius and I shoved Mum and Sam (Julius' gf) behind us like the protective men of the group we are :P (I'm sure Dad would've done the same but he was stuck at the very back hehe). You should've seen me. I was all Jet Li on their arses...well not really. My first instinct was to grap my bottle of beer a) to use as a potential weapon and b) so I could save the rest of the beer left in there...and not necessarily in that order. :P

Eventually it died down and we spilled out into the street. But just as it seemed to be over, one man walks right up to another, wine bottle in hand, and proceeds to bludgeon him over the back of the head with it. Once again, for some reason my family just had to be the one coincidentally right next to it as it happened... seriously, bad positioning and bad timing by our part last night. So proceeded act two of the show, an act that ended with the arrival of the police.

So there you go. Dinner and a show. What was funny about it was the looks of the faces on the staff. I did not see one astounded face at all! It was almost as if this sort of thing occurs on a weekly basis. The chef/cook at the front of the restaurant cutting the duck didn't look up at all. He just happily kept cutting the duck with his cleaver...but then again, he probably realised Meh I have a freakin' butcher's cleaver so if they mess with me they're fucked.

Though I really shouldn't be making humour out of it. It was indeed quite sad. Sad because we aren't talking about two gangs fighting, but rather grown adult men. Sad because it was a family restaurant with families around. Sad because people ended up fleeing the restaurant without paying, although some families went back later to pay which was good of them. Sad because, inbetween trying to hold their respective husbands back, even the women ended up fighting each other, albeit more verbally than with flying fists.

But what was saddest of all, was that both families had children. And I'm talking about babies and kids barely old enough to be at school. Two, maybe three of the kids were bawling their eyes out as the fight happened in the restaurant. One boy was stuck in the corner by himself, with no one attending to him for a minute. Of all the crimes you could commit to your children or grandchildren... engaging in a bloody, drunken, and public fight in front of their eyes........

Needles are for pussies. Blades are for men.

So I have this large red bump on my shin. It kinda started about two days ago and I thought it was just one of those really bad pimples that got lost and took a wrong turn to end up near my ankles rather than on my face. Two days later and the thing has blown up like buggery. It's red and raised and bloody sore to touch. This afternoon it felt like it was throbbing when I was on my feet. That was the cue for me to suck in my stoic manlihood and to commit the one mortal sin for any man who wants to keep his ego - visit the doctor for something other than a heart attack, a fracture or to just get an unnecessary doctor's certificate to validate your sickie.

All you really need to know about the consultation is that it involved a sharp blade, and me trying desperately hard to keep still as I wince and scream something along the lines of "f*#kity f#@kin f#*k!!!" - that's without making an audible sound though. I think what made it worse was the fact that I saw the blade beforehand, so as I had my eyes closed I could still conjure up an image of this sharp little metal thing digging into the soft, bleeding skin all in vivid slow-motion. Anywho, it turns out that it's an infection, most likely from an insect bite of some sort which would explain the tiny little white dot in the centre of the area. I had the choice of antibiotics or antibiotics plus getting rid of whatever is in that raised bump. Injections and needles don't scare me so I figured this wouldn't be so bad. Well... let me give you a piece of advice. If a part of your skin is raised, red, warm and most importantly, painful to touch with even just a fingertip, then chances are a blade that the doctor not only inserts through your skin but also slides across it, will have you in more pain than listening to a hippy singing an opera with lyrics that repeat the words 'hug me a tree' eleven times over. And if you thought that was fun, having the doctor squeeze the pus out of it after making the little incision will bring you so close to elbowing her in the face, only to be stopped by the thought that hitting her will a) quite possibly cut your leg even more accidentally and b) leave you open to being sued. Oh, and did I mention that this was without a local anaesthetic?

That's right everyone, I AM ALL THAT IS MAN!

Silly people

The following people need multiple slaps to the face and a good re-thinking of their lives:

- Pre-teens and barely-teens wearing mini skirts and tops so small they are practically walking, talking porno films, when it's ridiculously cold outside and they're waiting in a long cue to get into a pub or club. Then they ask the closest male friend if they can borrow their jacket or coat. Ha! If they asked me for mine I'd burn it with a lighter right in front of them just to see their priceless faces.
- Most people living in Frankston.
- Fully sick bros that wind down their windows and pump the bass as they cruise down Chaps, when their bass is really, really horrible. If you're gonna do it, at least get a subwoofer you idiots.
- That lady that sued some person because she tripped over their stairs whilst trespassing through their property. Maybe I should sue her for breathing in air and causing more carbon dioxide which contributes to global warming, and hence makes me anxious that the apocalypse is drawing nearer, thus giving me eczema.
- All judges of performing arts reality shows. ie. Australian Idol, So You Can Dance, Australia's Got Talent etc.
- Everyone who participates in those shows.
- The people behind all those penis erection/impotence/premature ejaculation problem ads. Someone should rip their testicles off and go, "look who has a problem now ma boy!?"
- The lady that complained about having to wait because I was only five minutes behind schedule at the clinic. Here's a tip love: NEVER piss off a physiotherapist who is about to give you pain.
- The people behind making those Bratz dolls. Why don't you just make colouring books for 2nd grader girls that make a nice "IT'S OK TO BE A SLUT WHORE" message when you colour it in? It'll save you the plastic and the material for the clothing.

Please Mr. Employer, I want some more

Woo! First ever career paycheck came the other day. Despite only doing part-time hours at the moment it's still quite a chunky piece of dosh - more than I'm ever used to. No doubt the dark tax overlord from the evil ATO empire will take a huge chunk out of it to fuel the war machines of his superior (Johnny boy Howard), and unfortunately fund the inevitable compensations the government will have to pay to whining hippies at the G20 that were physically scarred from having cops standing within a ten metre radius from them. Actually, I really should work out exactly how this tax thing works. For all I care GST could stand for Good Sex Therapy and Wine Tax could be calculated via breathalyzers - the drunker you get the more you pay. My simple understanding of tax is still at the old Sim City computer game stage. You lower taxes and people come into the city. You raise them to some ungodly figure and the people will riot the local streets leaving the one lone fire truck to cover the entire city that is now on fire. Also, a hurricane tends to mysteriously happen when taxes are up. Oh well, back in reality, all will be good so long as I get to keep most of my (hard-earned?) cash.

And speaking of computer games, I have temporarily returned to my former state - a geeky year 8 and 9 kid sitting in front of a playstation for hours on end, playing a Final Fantasy game. Back then I used to stay up til about 2am playing the damn thing. Last Tuesday night I stayed up to 3am playing Final Fantasy XII...and I had to work the next day! Needless to say the immature little boy inside me has been well-nourished, and will be until this game is done. Apparently this one is supposed to take 70 hours to finish...

Hmmm, no wonder I don't have a girlfriend.

And finally, one piece of advice. If you're out for a jog and a pedestrian is coming your way on the footpath, don't give in to the game of chicken. Conversely if you see a runner coming towards you, do the right thing and step aside for him/her. I say this because during one of my rare runs today, I tweaked my ankle a little after rolling it as I stepped off the paved path and onto a small divot in the grass. If you were the walker and you were the one that stepped into it, it wouldn't have been so bad. The pedestrian was some pre-pubescent 15 year old girl talking on the phone, most probably telling her best friend Jane how she lost her virginity last night to her distant 4th cousin. Bah, I'm just being a whining little bitch. My ankle's good.

Remember now, 24 owns every other TV show, and House is not far off, unlike Grey's Anatomy aka. The O.C. in a hospital aka. That show where all they do is have sex with each other in the dark pharmaceuticals room, which is so unlike real life because if you tried it you'd accidentally knock over a bottle of pills and smash the glass which would then cut your feet open, which would then bleed profusely causing the female to be put off having sex with you because she is scared you have HIV and remember, she's a doctor so she knows not to mess with that shit, so she goes and gets some tegaderm to patch you up then you go to try it again, only this time you use the physiotherapists' room because you know all the physios are downstairs having a coffee break for the ninth time that morning so the chances of you getting caught are slim, but just as you're about to score the episode is up and you'll have to wait 'til next week.

Graduate (Private Practice) Physiotherapy 101

- Confidence is everything and clinical problem-solving and skills, whilst obviously very important, are overrated. Had one of the partners come in today so I could sit in with him and see how he does things. All part of the learning experience I guess, and boy did I learn stuff off him today! I learnt more in two hours with him than all of uni. Come across confident, and the patient will be confident.
- If confidence is everything, trust is...well, everything too I guess. Objective number one when seeing a new patient - build the trust and the rapport, and don't come across as either a) a bumbling fool or b) a weird-arse psycho that is only doing physio so he can order women to take off their tops, and everything else will fall into place. Once again, a lesson learnt off the boss. Although upon hearing that he's coming to see patients with me, the other physios were worried that I'd be "corrupted at too early a stage in my career" by his...err...unorthodox ways. But I'm glad I saw him in action today, which leads me to the next point...
- Letting your boss see patients with you is neither clever nor smart when it comes to boosting your confidence, and keeping your job secure. You feel stupid when he asks you questions that you don't know the answer to. As a result, you feel like you will be fired tomorrow.
- Sometimes a patient will be a right old cockhead. They will call up the next day and blame you for giving them a new injury despite the fact that what you did was quite harmless and despite prior warnings to expect post-treatment soreness. They will cause a fuss that forces other physios to see her as well, and ultimately your boss. In times like these, it is often therapeutic to your own confidence if you 'debrief' with other members of staff who have come in contact with this patient. Patients like these will make you feel inferior and, as is the case here when the boss is involved, will make you feel like the boss has a lower respect of your abilities, no matter how much he says otherwise. It is therefore imperative that you assure yourself that you did nothing wrong (so long as you didn't!) and that you pretend the patient is a giant inflatable douche. Try not to laugh when you imagine this the next time you see the patient.
- Patients like the one mentioned above usually come from Frankston
- Chiropractors are usually thought of unfavourably by many patients that see you. Nine manipulations of your disc bulge without any exercise prescription or self-management tips usually does more harm than good. Also, the chiropractic practice of ordering x-rays upon x-rays for everything to do with the spine seems to be pissing off the radiographer fraternity.
- Patients may see you one morning, only get minimal improvement, then see the chiropractor the next day and get complete pain recovery, and subsequently cancel your appointment. In times likes these, feel happy that your patient is better especially if your patient is really nice. However, be prepared to see her again especially if SHE WAS GIVEN A FREAKIN' BACK MANIPULATION DESPITE HAVING A LIKELY ACUTE DISC BULGE. I mean, faaaark, some chiros are good, but ones that do this should be shot dead. It's like hammering your already-fractured forearm with a mallet. Your pain might disappear for a short-time, but in the long-term you've made it worse!!! But then again, I'm sure they know this, because it means they'll keep coming back again and again which translates into $$$.
- Be good to your admin staff. They know more than you.
- Be sure to exit the building quickly when you set the alarm at closing time. Having the alarm go off will freak you out. Ensure that you put the blame squarely on the receptionist in times like these.

The Apple Tree

I've come across this little analogy about three or four times now:

Girls are like apples on trees.
The best ones are at the top.
The boys dont want to reach for the good ones because they are afraid of falling and getting hurt.
Instead, they get the rotten apples from the ground that arent as good, but easy.
So the apples up top think something is wrong with them when in reality they're amazing.
They just have to wait for the right boy to come along, the one who's brave enough to climb all the way to the top of the tree.

Boys that are too scared to climb to the top of the tree!? Ha! That's as far-fetched as the straight man denying a request to sleep with Maria Sharapova or the girl that knows the offside rule in soccer. So let me tell you boys and girls how it should really go:

Girls are like apples on trees.
The best ones look like they are at the top.
The boys see these good-looking apples on the top, and decide to reach for it.
Upon reaching the top apples they take a bite, but deep inside the apples are disgusting and they make the boy feel sick.
So the apples up top which were initially so amazing, actually leave a bad-taste (ie. are self-obsessed, inconsiderate, thoughtless, insensitive she-devils who like to tinker with the boy's emotions until she's drained him completely before leaving him out to dry).
Filled with hurt and sadness, the boy ends up falling off the ladder. And since he went all the way to the top, he falls down so hard that the resulting violent forces hitting his chest lacerate the skin, split the underlying subcutaneous tissue, tear through the muscle underneath, crack through his rock-hard sternum and ribs.......and breaks his heart.

Meanwhile the so-called rotten apples on the ground aren't actually rotten. They've just been so ripe for so long. It's just that the boys were too busy trying to get the ones from the top.

Then there are the apples from the market......

The company golf game

There are only three certainties in life: Death, taxes, and the uncontrollable urge to kick the arse of every hardcore hippy in the world and tell them to do something useful with their lives. Now there is a fourth one: Every golf ball that is hit by me off the tee will slice horribly to the right side of the fairway and into the trees. My golf game wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for this... oh, and the odd occasion where I swing, take my eyes off the ball for a split second and muff the shot...not to mention, my inability to pitch the ball over short distances. Hey, I'm pretty decent at putting! But all in all, I was quite happy with the way I played for a person who never plays golf, bar two goes on a driving range at least six years ago and the odd pitch and putt outing during high school. And no, mini-golf doesn't count. It helps when your boss is on your team and demonstrates the same golfing deficiencies as you. It also helps when another member of your team actually has a vague idea of the concept of "straight" and can actually place the ball in a position where the next shot doesn't require bending around about four trees. After the nine holes though, our team finished just five over par and came second. Not bad. (The rules were that all team members hit from the same spot and you all take the next shot from the best position the ball is in). Oh and the other thing I discovered about golf: it's bloody tiring! Even only after nine holes we were all wrecked. And we're talking about a bunch of physios here which means we're all pretty fit. Well, we should be at least. Anyway, 'twas a fun day and it was good to meet other people from the company which I'll hardly see since they work in other locations.

Why I'm enjoying my job

Is it because:
- the hours I work enable me to drive during off-peak times, and even when I have to go during the morning rush, I'm going away from the city and hence the traffic?
- during my first week as I build a patient caseload from scratch, I haven't had many patients so all I've ended up doing is sitting there reading stuff and getting paid for it?
- whenever I don't have a patient, I can just hop over the road to the shopping centre and grab a milkshake?
- I get a little consultation room all to myself which makes me feel all professional-like?
- the people I work with, both the physios and the admin staff, are all pretty cool?
- I get weekly tutes, which is pretty sweet for a new graduate working in a private practice?
- so far, starting out as a private practice physio isn't as daunting as I first thought it would be?

The answer is...no.

The reason why I'm enjoying my job is because, on stinkin' hot and humid days like today, I don't have to suffocate like most nine-to-fivers who wear a business shirt and neck tie. Instead, I get to wear comfy open neck polo shirts that allow my body to breathe.

Having said all that, I'm over work already and I wish I were on holidays once again. And I'm only doing 25 hours/week for now.

The perks of being Chinese

You get TWO New Years!! Take that Western Society, with your skilled drivers, non-angry-sounding language, wide eyes, and superior forms of going to the toilet.

Xin Nian Kuai Le!
or
Gong Xi Fa Cai!
or
Kung Hei Fat Choi!
or
Happy Freakin' Chinese New Year you Pigs!

Maybe I'm just high on an overdose of vitamin C tablets to counter this damn cold.

I can see Japan from all the way up here

So I've started work. After all these years of school and uni I'm actually starting a career. The novelty of it hasn't worn off yet. For the most part though, "work" is just code for sitting around doing nothing. I'm still in the process of building up my own caseload of patients. So far seven unfortunate beings plus a class of hydrotherapy patients belong to me!

Anyway, onto yet another rant. I seem to be quite the angry person lately.

You know, I love being (pseudo) Australian. I wouldn't leave this country except maybe to live in Hawai'i. Retirement perhaps. But anyway, as much as we rock as a country and as a people, man, there are some tools out there. I base it on public comments left in Australian newpapers and forums online in relation to that explosion on the Japanese whaling ship, leaving one man missing. The general consensus as you'd probably gather is that the majority frown upon the practice of whaling. Fair enough. I'm in agreement. But some of the arguments, and moreso the emotional remarks are astounding. There's no compassion to the missing man with many even dismissing him saying he deserves it. Some of the comments are pretty racist as well. There aren't any direct swipes at the Japanese, but if you read between the lines you can see the implication plain and clear.

But the one thing that really pisses me off about it is how so many of us are sitting on this high-horse looking down on other countries/cultures with ignorant distaste and a narrow-minded belief of the superiority of the Australian way, or perhaps the Western culture in general. C'mon people, if you're going to say that killing the minke whales is wrong, give me arguments that aren't hypocritical or set double standards. How dare we call the Japanese "wrong" and label them all sorts of colourful adjectives when we go home and eat a souvlaki made of kangaroo, which for all intents and purposes has all the same rights as the minke whales. If the minke whales were endangered, ok that's a different thing altogether. But they are not. It'd be hilarious if the Japanese population had a soft spot for kangaroos and had a reciprocal dislike of our kangaroo hunting. It also parallels the Muslim people not eating pork. Many a typical Australian family sit at home eating a nice dinner of roast pork. Yet the Islamic community aren't up in arms tying themselves to pig-killing factories. Why? Because they respect our decision to kill the little oinkies. Contrary to belief, we are not the superior race. We are not the superior culture. We are just different. How dare we look upon this practice of whaling, when we use such flawed arguments and thought-processes that we don't even pass. And how sad it is that we use it as an avenue to mistakingly present our culture as the superior one.

For the record, I hope they do stop hunting the minke whales...because I reckon they're such cool, graceful dudes!!!!

Airports, the end of a holiday, and why some people just need to remove themselves from existence

Went to pick up the folks from the airport. Ended up sitting there for two hours due to a busted baggage transfer which saw our box of asian goodies and our new wok end up in Perth somehow. Anyway, as I sat there I realised something. The airport is the perfect analogy for contrast. Think about it. Downstairs at the international arrivals terminal are hugs, kisses and broad smiling faces of happiness and joy, as people welcome a close friend or family member. But directly above in the international departures lounge you get the sad faces and the flowing tears from the ones who have to stand there, watching their loved one off for the last time in potentially years as they walk through the double doors. (Ah, the double doors. For those who have never been overseas and hence through those double doors, you're missing out! Behind those doors is a land of rainbow-flavoured chocolate, alcoholic waterfalls and pixies that sing to you as you wait for your plane!) I guess you could take it a step further and say that just a few metres inside the arrivals lobby, are faces of frustration and anger as customs officers confiscate the food you've brought back from whichever part of the globe you just came from. Ah well, just a thought I had. The house dynamic has already changed with the return of Mum and Dad. TV and stereo volumes have lowered, questions are being repeated followed by answers of frustration from Julius and me and I no longer walk past the kitchen looking at what needs to be cleaned. 'Twas good to catch up with Mum on what's going on with the relatives back in the land formerly known as 'home'. Looks like I'll be back there at the end of the year for the first time in three or four years.

So now I sit here in the twilight of my long summer holidays - the last of which extends beyond more than a month for perhaps years or even decades to come. I start work this coming week which will be interesting. The last week or so I've been filled with excitement one minute, but then depressed at the thought of an ending holiday the next. I've already had some tutorials with the other graduates in the company, to shake off the rust from our soon-to-be-stuffed therapist hands and to discover that filling in forms and dealing with TAC, Workcover, Medicare, and the Department of Veteran's Affairs is like trying to teach a rabbit or a George Bush to find a cure for stupidity. Where it says "length of expected treatment" I'll just write down 12 weeks for every diagnosis, and when Workcover rings up and asks why such a long period of time I'll just say "'Coz I like the number 12".

Oh, and a rant:
A mate has had the unpleasantness of dealing with a dodgy person recently. This person, whom for our purposes I shall call "Captain F&#khead", had his daughter ram the car of my friend. It's been a month now and he's pulled all these dodgy strings to avoid paying up. Now he's stating that my friend's car was already damaged before the accident (which it wasn't) and that he shouldn't have to pay for anything. He's willing to go to court for it despite the fact that 1) It was clearly his daughter's fault and 2) He wasn't even in the accident to begin with so what the hell does he know?! Well, he knows a lot by the sounds of it. From what I've been told this guy knows what he's doing and he's been one step ahead of my mate. But that's beside the point. The point is, someone needs to chop his penis off and tell him "that's what you get for being a bad man!" My friend is considering whether or not going to court is worth it. By the sounds of it, there's a realistic chance that Captain F&#khead will win, in which case my friend will lose money through legal fees. Even if the court ruling were favourable, it might only be enough to pay the legal fees in which case, there's nothing to gain from it. Well there is something to gain! It's the principle of the matter, as cliche as that is. Yeh I know it's easy for me to say this, when I'm not the one going through the distress that my mate has to go through. Put me in the same position and I might end up letting it go. But if the chance of winning is extremely good, then theoretically, you should go for it. Now I'm usually one to frown upon going to court and sueing others, because it's usually by people who trip over their own front doorstep then sue God for it for creating the world. But in this case, Captain F&#khead needs to be taught a lesson - he needs to be taught that you can't just run over people and cheat the system of morality and ethics. That is the thing about sueing others which I agree with.

Muse concert pics

Courtesy of Deb. Ten points for bringing your camera along ;)

Putting the MUSE in music...ok that was a bad heading, I'm sorry

So I went to see Muse last night. If I were gay, and weren't part of a religion that's not exactly gay-friendly, and didn't have a mum and dad that would probably disapprove of me being gay, and if homosexual marriages were legal (is it? I can't remember now), then I would marry Matt Bellamy (the lead singer). People fall in love and marry others for certain reasons. Some marry because of the intellect they see in their partner. Others for their sense of humour. Still more for their kind-heartedness. Shallow ones would marry because of their money. And some are simply entranced by the natural beauty of the other.

I'd marry Matt because he belts out songs with mind-bending natural, and synthesised vocals, that includes a phenomenal falsetto, all while he creates alien sounds out of the ten million strings, knobs and buttons on his custom made guitar with a little computer screen on it, whilst jumping around like a mad man on nodos but still being able to hold down smooth vocals, before quickly moving to the piano to effortlessly key out a note-a-millisecond Russian-influenced cadenza, then returning to the front to finish off the song by singing a note about three octaves higher than what is considered normal, and finally looking at all of us between songs as if to say in a monotonous, hynotic tone, "We are Muse. You bunch up to one another's sweaty bodies and gasp for air because you love us. Here comes another song that will blow your mind away...again"...

*Take deep breath*

To cut to the chase, last night was the best gig I've seen, period! Oh wait, that's American. Let's try that again.

To cut to the chase, last night was the best gig I've seen, full stop! And I know it's hard to compare between, say Missy Higgins for example, because whereas Missy is a smooth, delicate, newly-ripe peach, Muse is a spiky pineapple-type fruit that's come from the planet Neptune and would immediately come to life the moment you touch it and eat your hand off. But still, I make the statement without hesitation. Yeah, call me biased because I only just recently went to the gig. And call me biased because I love every single track on the new album. But believe me, if you didn't know Muse at all, and you came to the concert, you'd be darn impressed...so long as you like music at four times the health and safety recommended decibel levels. But honestly, my satisfaction of the gig went so far as to have all the songs I was hoping they'd play over the span of four entire albums. Seriously, how often does that happen in a gig that needs to cover four albums? I said, "If they only play two tracks from the second album I hope they play Citizen Erased and Plug in Baby" and what happens? They play just Citizen Erased and Plug in Baby off the second album. Telepathic coolness right there :)

Insane night, worth the $82.50 plus postage and handling, and the slight ringing in my left ear.

Happy Invas ... err, Australia Day!

Mum and Dad are overseas leaving the house under the capable, yet irresponsible hands of the Ting brothers. So what's the first thing you do in a situation like this? Why, invite everyone else over of course. As I discovered today, cleaning up after a BBQ for nine people by yourself will never make the list of 'favourite hobbies'. It is, nonetheless, worth the effort. Nothing beats having your mates around for a meat and grog fest with the token salad to please the conscience and fool yourself into believing that the meal is actually healthy in some way.

With Australia Day comes Triple J's Hottest 100 - perhaps the only time of the year when Justin Timberlake fans tune into the station and call themselves "cool" for it. Was so close in predicting the number one. My trifecta for the list this year was Eskimo Joe's Black Fingernails, Red Wine, Gnarls Barkley's Crazy and Hilltop Hoods' The Hard Road. They came second, sixth and third respectively. Anyways, since I'm in the mood, if I had a top 20 for the year 2006, the list would be thus:

20) Eskimo Joe - Black Fingernails, Red Wine
19) Foo Fighters - Everlong (off the acoustic live CD)
18) Red Hot Chili Peppers - Dani California
17) Basement Jaxx - Take Me Back To Your House
16) Little Birdy - Come On Come On
15) Evanescence - Lithium
14) Hilltop Hoods - The Hard Road
13) The Living End - Wake Up
12) Basement Jaxx - Hush Boy
11) Lily Allen - LDN
10) Chris Cornell - You Know My Name
9) Muse - Supermassive Black Hole
8) My Chemical Romance - Welcome To The Black Parade
7) 30 Seconds to Mars - The Kill
6) The Killers - When You Were Young
5) Gnarls Barkley - Crazy
4) The Killers - Bones
3) Lily Allen - Littlest Things
2) Muse - City of Delusion
1) Muse - Knights of Cydonia

Why gyms are evil and should be banished

The number one new year's resolution on the lists of most people would be to exercise more often. Reasons for doing so may vary, whether it be to raise the self-esteem, or perhaps lose the flab around the waist so that the next time Brad Pitt comes into town he will be mesmerised by the size of your assets rather than the excessive love handles and be compelled to leave Angelina Lips Jolie for little known you. Whatever the reason, I would venture to say that gyms around the world experience a boost around this time of year. Now I'll admit, the exercise thing has been my resolution too. In fact it was my resolution last year. And the last. And the last one before that. It wasn't the next one before, but I'm sure it was also part of the resolution of the next preceding year. What are we up to, year 11? No matter. The difference between everyone else and me is that it takes on average three days for people to give up whereas it only takes me 16.7 seconds. But not this year. In fact, I'd be exercising right now if it weren't for the surgery I had...ok, that's just an excuse but soon I will get off my arse. But success is assured this time round for I have a secret weapon. It's called a gym, or a human sweat factory. And I'm going to join one.

Or so I thought.

You see I've come to realise that the gym is like going to Hungry Jack's to buy a whopper for $49. Yes, it's the culinary equivalent of your taste buds having an orgasm but it still costs bloody $49! We buy whoppers because they only cost about $4, not $49! You could make your own burger at home that would produce the desired results that would only suck maybe $2.50 out of your bank account for ingredients and perhaps the gas to fire the grill. Sure you have to make it, but at least you have $46 to spend at your leisure. Perhaps use it to buy a pair of shoes, or be saint and donate it to charity. You might even put it towards repaying the Mafia before they kill you. Either way, you didn't waste all that money!

Which brings me back to the gym. I have heard some bad things about gyms. Even Fitness First made bad headlines on Today Tonight. Granted, that show is about as journalistically honest and genuine as Kim Jong il saying that the North Korean missiles he fired were full of love and rainbows and not nuclear material. Even so, I wanted to find out so I went to a gym last week. I won't say which in case they somehow stumble onto this and sue me for enough money to buy three extra treadmills. Anyhow, I realised that the gym is one big con. How much would you pay for a year's worth of a gym membership? $900? Well if not, too bad son because after visiting this place and calling up others, that's how much you'll part with after paying joining fees and weekly fees, and we're talking about the bare minimum here (and remember, I'm not a student no more on student prices). I love how the guy who interviewed me gave me the price for "my plan" and then showed the prices of other plans, all of which were more expensive. Hmmmmm. Oh, don't get me wrong. This guy was nice and everything but he might as well lose that shirt and tie and wear a t-shirt saying "I'm a salesman selling you empty promises". He even did the whole, "now ordinarily you'd pay this much, but since you haven't been working long I can give it to you for this much" as well as the "I'll speak to my manager to see how long of a cooling off period we can give before you decide..." (aka. "you're so important to us even the manager will take interest in you.") Pure salesman. Not that there's anything that wrong with it. You've gotta market your product somehow. But it just seemed...fake. I was reminded of it today when, walking through Chaddy with a friend who shall remain nameless in case she is so committed to never doing a myspace or blog that she doesn't want her name to even be on one, even though she better visit this blog after I told her I have one and she better put a comment on it... her name starts with C and ends in Hui. Anyway what was the point of that? Oh yeah, walking through Chaddy today we passed a Fitness First stall. See?? Nothing but evil salesmen! The last time I checked, you go to a shopping centre to buy clothes, food and overpriced designer underwear, not join a gym!

But back to the price thing. $900 for a year is not ridiculously expensive. But like that $49 whopper, there's the alternative. Buy your own gym set if you're that serious about it. Even if you bought an uber multi-thousand dollar set, you'll save in the long run. If you're cheap, buy a gym ball and a set of free weights and go chase the cars around the block every third day and that will do the trick. If you really wanted to join a gym, go to one where there's no services and no joining fees like the Monash Uni one which is about $650 for an annual pass. Half the reason why commercial gyms are so expensive is because of the services. You get the TV in front of the treadmill, the personal trainer to scream like a boot camp motivator, the"personalised" program, the newsletter, the company of other people that were also duped and the fake TLC. But is it worth that much?? If yes, then....well, you're either an idiot or on an annual salary of $100k...you lucky bastard.

I want to be a bar reviewer

Yesterday I went walking for a good 12 hours to, throughout and from the city. I'd like to sit here and show off by telling you that it was 12 hours non-stop walking without the use of public transport, but it wasn't. Nonetheless, I would not be surprised if I had clocked up enough pedometer mileage to walk from Melbourne, Victoria, Australia to Melbourne, Florida, USA. As a result of such a ridiculous decision in passing what would otherwise have been a boring Friday afternoon, I now have quite possibly the worst case of DOMS (muscle soreness) known to mankind. My manly pride compels me to suck it up and battle on, which is no doubt the reason why I made the even worse decision to walk through the city again today with Mum to go shopping. Of all the lower limb muscles that are royally screwed, it's the left hamstrings and left calves which are being a bitch. For all you physios that might read this, you'll understand why I wince everytime I try to fully extend my leg, or during the late swing phase or when I try to push off.

So what the hell was I doing anyway? Well the initial plan was to go into the city late afternoon to be Nick's wingman. But then I decided, why stay at home reading a book, when you can go into the city and do it there? And why not visit all those bars you've wanted to go to - albeit as a loner. Actually as I discovered, you'd be surprised at the large number of loners that drop into bars in the middle of the day for a drink. I just ended up being another one of them. Granted you can't really judge a bar until you've also taken into account the music and the crowd that go there at night. But eh, next time. All pictures are taken by me. And by "me" I mean I hawked them off other websites.

Workshop
If you ever one day think "geez, lets go have a drink and a bite at an old converted motorcycle garage", then go here. I would've missed the small garage door entrance if it weren't for Porter who was with me at the time for lunch. This place meets the Porter seal of approval, which means Joe Strummer and Billy Bragg would approve. A pity about there being only a pale ale on tap, but otherwise a pretty cool place indeed with a decent sandwich. Hell, they even made eggplant taste good. Summary: A testament to elbow grease and hard work.

Word
Walking off the wet street with dirty wet shoes made me feel half guilty for defiling the polished wooden floors. I'll definitely be coming to this classy mahogany place when winter comes by. Come in early to grab the seats around the fireplace and you'll be set for the rest of the evening. Candles on every table and comfy seats with equally comfy cushions make for a cosy watering hole that'd be sublime once outside temperatures dip below the tens. Summary: A perfect cold nighter.

Purple Emerald
Otherwise known as 'that bar we always pass when walking out of the usual parking lot but never go into'. Figured I should go see it one day. 'Tis alright. Reminds me of Spleen (where I had my birthday) with all the chilled out couches. But I'd much rather Spleen since it has a more homely feel to it, probably coz it's such a small place and the couches and seats are huddled together. Summary: When you can't be arsed walking far from the car for a drink.

Phoenix
This was the place all the Herald Sun journalists used to have their drinks so I half expected it to be like the newspaper - cheap, nasty and devoid of any sense of unbiased journalism. So you can imagine the irony upon walking into the place to see some dude reading The Age. I was quite impressed with the place, with its multi-level setup. I went to the downstairs bit where there was not a soul save for my book, and some classy empty couches. Summary: Elegant, yet casual drinking.

Madame Brussels
If any of you have visited Croft Institute you'd understand the legitimate fear for your life, firstly in walking down the darkest and narrowest lane in the CBD to get to the place, and secondly upon walking inside to see that you were essentially in your year 11 chemistry lab. Yes the place had a uniqueness, unrivalled by any other in the city, except for that ice bar which I haven't been to. Well now you can put this place down under the same heading. Forget that the namesake was a once infamous brothel owner. When the lift door opens to the third floor of the building the first thing that would probably hit you is the setting to Alice in Wonderland. I mean, what were they inserting into their veins when they decided to lay astro-turf inside this small room?? Ah well, it paid off. Go outside to the largeish balcony and you'll likely see two fat men in a small swimming pool. Yes, a swimming pool. And the barman will even walk by to serve you your drink as you sully the clearness of the water. Summary: Drinking in a fairy tale.

Double Happiness
I must admit this was a bit of a disappointment. Going by what I've read, seen and heard, I was expecting this Communist China themed bar to be full of wooden tables and stools, have walls plastered with pictures of Chairman how now brown Mao, and have old Chinese propoganda music in the background with lyrics that roughly translate to "China is growing! Destroy the blond-haired wide-eyes". What I got were two Aussie blokes serving me Beerlao in an otherwise standard bar that's only lightly themed and quite tiny. Summary: Still yet to find something communist that works.

6 Links
Probably the most futuristic looking bar I've been to, to date. Think dimly lit room with brightly coloured lights and seating that make saying "funky" totally acceptable once again. $4 spirits and cowboys during a 5-8pm happy hour!? If that's the future, I'm in! Summary: Dude, I drank with a jedi last night!Yeh, I need more friends.