Anfy (plonking down a bottle of white, three centimetres left in the bottom): You may now drink this.
Me: Uh. Right now?
Anfy: I'll give you ten seconds. OK, twenty.
Me: Can I have a something to drink it out of?
Anfy: No, I think you swig from the bottle. You with the white, me with the red.

It's all class in this household.

I may once have said: "Who the hell would ever need a whole CD for data stuff?"

Now that I'm throwing around files circa 116MB, I've changed my mind on that one...

The Work Files #3: title found on invoice: "Better than Arrest".

That little-known bondage classic...

I love the noise scrunched up paper makes ricocheting around the inside of a metal bin.

Quick! What else can I throw out?

The Work Files #2: An email entitled "I need text for the back cover of death".

(Backcover of Doom - +2 against all publishers.)

Regarding Tropfest: so I went to the website and noticed that "The Money" won. (We couldn't be arsed staying around for the announcement last night. We just bolted for bed first chance we got.) Good choice there. It was a very, very good little film, slickly-told, professionally put together, wonderfully natural, rather Australian and amusing.

I was also glad to see "Yin" get in there in the People's Choice, because it was wonderfully warm and touching and very sweetly done.

But I'm kinda dissed that neither "One Down" nor "Wild Thing" got lauded officially. Because they were my favourites of the lot.

"Wild Thing" was very short, very punchy, a real mental slap out of any sort of languishing. It made me sit up straight and gape for a good three minutes afterwards. It was clean and sharp and brilliant.

"One Down" was smokey and twiney and clever and amusing, then increasingly freaky and disturbing. Viscerally compelling and inevitable. The only downer was that the subtitles were too small to see.

I know I should have a life, but this is ridiculous.

Last night: Tropfest
Tonight: A Perfect Circle
Tomorrow night: Novel class
Wednesday: Editing class
Thursday: College ex-ressie function
Friday: David Bowie

Excuse me while I fall over...

Anfy and Jojo have invented a new game that involves alternately smacking and flicking backgammon markers all over our dining room table. Anfy wants to call this game "Fuckerpuck". I'm kinda leaning towards "Ninja Table Hockey". Because ninjas are totally sweet.

Jojo's also introduced us to something called "Munchkin". (And a place called the "Mall" and something called "credit cards". Listen to this dude Jojo, he knows what he's talking about...)

Today, my workmate called me because he needed to barf.

...my job is so random sometimes.

I was sitting on the office floor with the first proofs of the pictorial section annotated and scattered around me, red pen in hand, vanilla coke in other hand.

And I thunk thusly: Dude, I love this editing shit.

I want a black -icly on my head.

(Thank you to my lifestyle, turnstile and just plain style consultant Jojo - now in residence - for assisting me with this ambition.)

Excuse me while I stand back a moment to admire the shiny speed and workingness of my ADSL connection.

Does not that fellow who buys me stuff rock?

(What this means, effectively, is that the whole thing with me being utterly unable to connect to the internet in any meaningful sense for the past two weeks is over and I should be able to start being witty on a regular basis henceforth. If not for that pesky full-time work thing. Fuckses.)

He ripped up my Oktoberfest t-shirt. The favourite of my Germany t-shirts, the huge one, the one that I've slept in for ages that falls off one shoulder in a fetching fashion and conjures up the best of the Munich memories. Sure, it was falling apart anyway, so full of holes that it was practically a net. Sure, I gave my permission, my blessing even.

But I still whimpered.