I don't feel very festive...
...because I broke my spirit on Boxing Day. But that's okay. Today I head to the country for a week, and I am going to do some naked running around and some spa work and a whole lot of eating.
I wanted to write a blog post about the weird things I got for Christmas (vitamin supplements, a love seat, croquet set, random op-shop photo montage of strange men at their school formal in 1996) and what that particular group of presents says about me (sick/dying, romantic and at one with nature, sporty in a quirky way, creepy). But like I say, I've spent the past couple of days racing around a friend's house wearing a skin-tight powder blue boiler suit and making my eyeballs spin around in my skull. So the notion of stretching my brain confounds me at present.
So I'll just mention this.
My very best friend in the whole world buys me an Age subscription for Christmas every year (what this says about me: lefty bleeding-heart snoot who can't be arsed walking to the shop of a morning). This means that every morning I wake up sleepy-eyed and in my underpants and find the paper somewhere in my front garden, rolled and bound.
What I love most about this is taking the paper inside and the breathless anticipation that precedes the unwrapping. What possible catastrophes may have occurred overnight? Who died? Did John Howard finally get caught with kiddie porn, making one of my birthday wishes come true?
I remember one very average morning rolling out the paper with accompanying yawns, only to find a picture of one very dishevelled Saddam Hussein and the bold headline: GOT HIM. This was the last fucking thing I expected, and utterly fascinating. The tsunami stories of 2004. Twin Towers falling overnight. So much news being created.
Yesterday I was still lazing around a back garden with a glass of wine when someone arrived and announced with a kind of non-committal awe that ol' fish face had expired. It was news. We took it in, and continued drinking.
I will try to blog again before the year is out. But if my friends continue pummeling my liver in a haphazard fashion, I could die within days.
x
681 days til the next election.
Comments
The mind boggles at what "racing around a friend's house wearing a skin-tight powder blue boiler suit and making my eyeballs spin around in my skull" was in aid of, but I suspect that it is a question for the ages.
So too the manner in which you broke your spirit.
Regarding the gifts you got, maybe they say more about the giver than about yourself.
One of my favourite AGE headlines dealt with a change of leadership in one of our northen neighbours a few years back, "MEGAWATTI TAKES POWER", (get it?).
Not being a subscriber to THE AGE, the nearest thing I can relate to in terms of a daily ritual invoking "breathless anticipation that precedes the unwrapping" is my daily perusal of this here blog -I haven't commented in a while, just lurked.
So, for that I want to thank you and to wish you a Happy New Year.
I will meet your ailing, spongy liver and raise you one charred and crackled brain.
WRT the demise of El Packer, the Channel 9 news coverage was simply incredible. I think it would have made a North Korean tribute-writer blush.
There's no sufficient word in the English language to describe it. "Hagiography" just doesn't carry the weight required.
It was transcendent sycophantia the likes of which we'll never see again. I'm surprised that we were spared a rendition of "Tears in Heaven" with a CGI Don Bradman opening the pearly gates to let the big fella in and usher him to the couch to watch the rest of the Boxing Day Test.
I know it's not a competition or a race, but I can't believe I "beat you" to posting about this by almost 24 hours. Broken Christmas spirit or no, this strikes me as odd.
Like I said, it's not a competition or a race ... but I won.
If friends pummel your liver it's only because you let them. Just say "no", Fitsy.
Have a fun week and bring back our American friend in one piece, or at least several easy-to-reassemble pieces.
Please don't get cirrhosis of the liver and die. We need you, avec skintight blue boiler suits and all.
around mid september 2001 when all newspaper headlines were focused on one (or two) thing(s) it was a pleasant relief to arrive in edinburgh and find the front page headline "Scotland: the hottest curry". who cares about new york man, where can i find the hottest curry?! thankyou the scotsman...
I cannot comprehend.
The simian you link is hideously ugly, but fish is beautiful. Especially salmon. But all fish, somewhat.
I could not eat that thing, even in a whiskas casserole with peas.
ahem, ms fits? this may not be the kind of spirit-mending news you need but your reaction to uncle kerry's bucket-kicking is noted in natasha cica's opinion piece in the age today. i wonder how long until herr bolt starts a petition to have you beheaded for inappropriate insouciance?
The weekend coming sounds like a perfect end to Christmas and the year! Enjoy!!
The day after KP expired, I was driving on through Gold Coast (dont ask). I was in the car for about 3 hours all told and, as is my want, I was listneing to ABC radio (news radio, not talkback).
In that time they did not talk about a SINGLE THING other than the death of "a great man", and by this they did mean Kerry Packer.
I am sorry, is this another universe where Kerry Packer and the ABC didnt hate each other with a complete and consuming passion?
This seemingly endless display of necrophillial arse kissing actually caused me to stop TWICE and wash my hands I felt so dirty.
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