Deep Fried Desk Lamp

"Yes, I had a good time."

"New York was amazing."

"No, I’m still skinny."
These are the three phrases I have found myself repeatedly uttering in the few short days since I’ve returned from my trip to America. I feel that these practically meaningless sentences, so obviously devoid of any real depth, are perfectly appropriate responses to the less than challenging questions people seem compelled to ask me.

"Did you have a good time?"
"How was New York?"
"You didn’t put on any weight? Even around all those fat Americans?"

Thanks to everyone for showing such genuine interest in my trip overseas.

Next time instead of asking me how I managed to retain the figure of a pre pubescent 12 year old girl while traveling through a country where they would deep fry a desk lamp and sell it with a large fries and coke, how about you spare me the effort it takes to curl my face up into a sarcastic smile and shut your fucking mouth.

Ok… clearly I’m not in a great mood at the moment.

Could my bitterness stem from the fact that upon going through the photos from my trip I realized that I have hardly any pictures of me in any of the awesome places I visited because my brother refused to stop for 3 seconds and take a photo? Possibly.

Maybe I’m just a little on edge because although I had a great time I’ll be paying it off for the next 11 years. That is if I’m able to get a job, because nothing says ‘Your poor!’ quite like returning from an expensive overseas trip paid for primarily on credit card only to discover that your job no longer exists.

Or I suppose some of my anxiety could be attributed to the fact that I’ve just booked in my second jaw operation and discovered that the recommended recovery time is a somewhat inconvenient period of TWO BLOODY MONTHS. (I feel the need to point out my brilliant ‘bloody’ pun.) So two months that should be spent completing my final year of university will now be dedicated to laying in bed drooling blood and eating through a straw.

Another possible factor contributing to my current less than joyous mood could be the fact that I stepped off the plane and into the hurricane of my sisters wedding. It turned out to be a beautiful event full of Kodak/Hallmark moments, however the image burned into my brain is one of my parents smiling gleefully and embracing my sister and her new husband followed by a similar moment later featuring my brother and his beautiful new girlfriend. The closest I got to a hug was getting entangled with a particularly nasty shrubary while trying to rewire the speaker system.

I’m the first person to admit that I can be as crazy as Britney Spears on ice, but despite everything going on at the moment I have managed to resist the urge to get out the clippers and go for the Sinead O’Connor look. I’ve been trying really hard to keep my shit together, and I’ve actually been doing OK. Until an hour ago.

This is the start of the conversation I just overheard between my parents.

"Something is very wrong with Michael."

…

I’ll fill in the blanks. They think I’m an unstable loser with no direction in my life.

They haven't even seen the begining of unstable Michael.

It’s good to be home.

Can you tell this photo was taken in the USA?

Inappropriate Terrorist Jokes

To Whom It May Concern,

I sit here tonight with only hours to go before I depart the country. I will be travelling to the US of A for a short sightseeing holiday with my brother.

I have neglected this blog over the past couple of weeks for many reasons, the main one being my paralysing laziness. My lack of posting in no way indicates a new found sanity- quite the opposite. I have been crazier then ever, and as always my inner turmoil has provided me with countless opportunities to blog. I've actually half written about 8 posts, but I'm hesitant to finish and upload them for your viewing pleasure, they are completely manic and incomprehensible.

When I return in a few short weeks hopefully I'll be in the right frame of mind to share my thoughts again.

That's it for now, if I can manage to refrain from making inappropriate terrorist jokes I should be back by the end of February.

Peace, love and dolphins.


...Michael

Dolphins

Gay Scene

Its three days since the beginning of the new year and the Christmas decorations have finally been packed away.

My mother has a strange obsession with festive trinkets and every year she insists on cluttering up our otherwise minimalist home with musical Santa Claus figurines, dozens of shiny baubles and glitter coated plastic leaves- which as far as I can tell have absolutely nothing to do with Christmas. This year there was a new addition to the house of many decorations, a nativity scene. My family have not been practicing Catholics for many years now, however in a moment of retail induced religious nostalgia my mother purchased the nativity scene, and she was thrilled with her purchase.

Not wanting to rain on the baby Jesus’ parade I kept my mouth shut and refrained from pointing out the irony of a nativity scene in a house occupied by people who, aside from Weddings and Funerals, haven’t been to church in at least 5 years. I kept quiet while she unpacked the angel and the wise men. I helped remove the bubble wrap from Mary and Joseph. I even smiled when Mum looked lovingly at the baby Jesus- but when the Shepard came out (that pun will be funny in a few seconds,) I broke my silence…

“That is one gay shepherd.”

In all seriousness either that shepherd was gay or he was a guy in drag- dude really looked like a lady. I’m not one to promote the use of sweeping generalizations but it’s difficult not to draw gay conclusions when you are faced with a limp wrested figurine wearing what can only be described as a pink dress and more makeup than a drag queen at Mardi Gras.

My mum was somewhat taken aback by the suggestion that her perfect nativity scene was besmirched by a homosexual shepherd, although when I pointed out the make up and general stance of the figurine in question she found it hard to disprove my point. However she still took great pleasure in setting up the nativity scene, giving it pride of place in our lounge room, I didn’t protest.

Next year I’m going to paint the shepherd’s nails and see if mum notices.

Here is an example of a much more heterosexual shepherd, although I am concerned by the way he is looking at that lamb.

Proof

Numerous people have recently accused me of having no Christmas cheer. In an effort to disprove this misguided assumption I decided to decorate my bedroom.

So here it is, proof that I am indeed filled with the Christmas spirit. As you can see I pulled out all the stops when decorating my room.

I had to cut off the head of a small stuffed toy to get the Santa hat for my artist's dummy.

Excludes Albinos

Being the whitest person on the face of the earth* is not easy. Especially when you are not blessed with a ‘milky’ white complexion like the flawless Cate Blanchett. Rather you are bespeckled with odd clumps of freckles, bags under your eyes and blotchy red patches of skin. My mother is Italian and was blessed with olive skin, a blessing that she passed on to my two siblings. On the other hand I tend to look I’ve just been rescued from a child predator who kept me locked in a basement away from sunlight for the past 11 years.

This all changed recently. I accepted a last minute invite to the Derby Day races with a group of friends. Having retained at least part of the ‘Slip, Slop, Slap’ message taught to me by Sid the cartoon seagull in the late 80’s, I applied what I thought was sunscreen before heading outdoors. Clearly the campaign, and more specifically Sid himself, did not care about people with poor eyesight. Having to remove my glasses to ensure effective application of sunscreen to my entire face had disastrous results. What I actually applied liberally to my face was in fact moisturiser, not being the type of guy who uses moisturiser or sunscreen regularly it was an easy mistake to make. I blame Sid the seagull. Instead of ‘Slip, Slop, Slap’ the catchphrase should have said:

Slip on a shirt, Slop on some sunscreen- but if you wear glasses make sure to check what you are actually applying before you smear moisturiser all over your face, and slap on a hat.

In the hours that followed I basically fried my face in the sun, all those pigs that I have fried up over the years to provide my breakfast plate with tasty tasty bacon must have been looking up from piggy hell laughing hysterically- but I suppose my face frying in the sun is hardly as bad as frying them up and eating them… I digress.

My face was so sun-burned that I had to visit a doctor, who prescribed me medication to combat possible skin infections, recommended an ointment to reduce the redness once the skin had healed and actually had to place a dressing over my nose because it had shed so many layers of flesh. Having an important event coming up four days later increased my stress levels dramatically and my anger towards Sid the Seagull grew each morning as I looked in the mirror and was confronted with a face that looked like a Spanish omelette.

As time passed my face healed and the burns left me with a slightly darker complexion which seems to have lingered for the past month. Just the other day three different people commented on my ‘healthy’ complexion. Each time I replied, “Thanks, I have a great moisturiser.”

*Whitest person on earth claim excludes albinos.

Sid The Seagull: The ugly face of eyesight prejudice.

The Heart Of The Matter

It was my first time so I was a little nervous about it all, I suppose everyone is a bit scared of the unknown. She dimmed the lights and gently guided me through the whole process and before I knew it we were finished.

"How are you?", she said as she stood up and slowly walked away from the bed.

I replied, "Great. You did all the work and I just had to lay back and relax."

She smiled politely, threw me a box of tissues and told me to get cleaned up and put my clothes back on. As soon as I was dressed she put her arm around my shoulder and ushered me into the brightly lit room next door.

When my eyes finally adjusted to bright white light I scanned the room and realised she was gone, I was in an office and a grubby little man was asking me for payment. I handed over the cash and left quickly.

Slightly dazed and confused I strolled back to my car- feeling every beat of my heart more than ever before.

I suppose now is an appropriate time to point out that I had an Echocardiogram (ECG) this morning.

My test today involved a woman, who I can only assume was a doctor, squirting some gel on my chest and prodding my ribs with an ultrasound camera. Clearly this isn't as interesting as my initial description may have led you to believe.

Despite my melodramatic self diagnosis of a broken heart I have been assured everything is fine.

Lesson #3: Don't Ignore Chest Pains

When I decided to stop blogging back in September I had no idea that life was about to get so interesting. Had I realised that the next few months would present me with endless opportunities to exploit myself for other peoples entertainment I would never have shut down the blog.

So where did I leave off?

Oh that's right, I left with the promise that when I eventually returned to the blog I would no longer be censoring myself. Clearly that was a lie, partly because I dont want to incriminate anyone who happens to stumble into my life, and partly because I'm lazy. One hundred percent honesty is too much work.

This post was supposed to be full of all the hilarious stories about the events of the past few months but after eating enough pasta to feed a family of four I'm feeling bloated and lazy. So instead I'll follow the tradition of the 'MichaelWho Blog' and summarise. Here are some of the lessons I have learned recently.


Lesson #1: No one likes a drunken skank.

After three solid months of frequenting 'A Bar Called Barry's' on Thursday nights for their Queer & Alternative night I felt myself turning into someone I didn't like. That sounds pretty deep but actually its quite simple, I was beginning to act like a skank. Which is just like being a skank but without all the sex. Anyway, I took a break from the Q&A scene and spent some time tormenting myself for being an idiot, soon thereafter I vowed not to be an idiot ever again.


Lesson #2: When the going gets tough, I become a towel throwing expert.

For those of you can't translate my odd mixed metaphor, let me explain. Since leaving high school I have taken up numerous academic pursuits, but every time the pressure became too much, like when I actually had to do something besides drink coffee and have pretentious conversations, I would quit and move on to something else. Through the latter half of this year I was faced with an unrelenting workload that beat me down like a polar bear bitch-slapping a penguin. After seriously contemplating faking a nervous breakdown to get out of yet another course I decided to burry myself in study and actually finish the year. When I finished I proceeded to pat myself on the back, it wasn't as rewarding as I had hoped.


Lesson #3: Don't Ignore Chest Pains

I'm not going to turn this into a lung related complain'a'thon. I'll break it down- my lung spontaneously collapsed, the doctor yelled at me for not taking it seriously and the nurses thought I had an eating disorder. I spent 5 days in hospital, the lung was fixed, I feel fine and people continue to subject me to random seemingly unrelated tests which are sending me bankrupt. Stupid lung.


I haven't spent this much time typing since completing my last assignment- I'm having unwelcome flashbacks so I'm going to stop here. Please enjoy this completely random photo of me with a helmet stuck on my head.

(PHOTO REMOVED 2012 - WHAT WAS I THINKING?)

Thursday

I think that the time has come to give the blog a rest and start a pen on paper journal again.

I have really enjoyed writing about the insignificant tales of my daily existence and posting all of it here. There is something oddly therapeutic about putting my thoughts out there to be read by anyone who cares to look. Some people might say that my blog is an egotistical exercise- and to some degree I have to agree. Now I just want to have a record of my life that can be 100% honest.

I'll return to the blog at some stage, and when that time comes I won't be censoring myself or leaving out any details. Then shit will really get entertaining.

As I sign off I will leave you with the beginning of my new journal.


Hey Journal,

Long time no speak mother fucker!

Where do I begin? Thursday- that's a good place to start...