There was supposed to be something about a nun...?

I forget. It was a long weekend.

I can't be the only girl in the world who tries to get her lipstick to match her trousers.

If I was a truly evil, nefarious, freeloading bitch, I'd take advantage of the fact that my editing teacher sent the reminder about today's class presentation/panel to the wrong person, and then email troubles meant I didn't get the resend until this afternoon.

Actually, I probably will, so forget I said anything. Nice day today, wasn't it?

What I learned in school today: Gertrude Stein can suck my metaphorical dick isn't really my cup of tea.

Who the fuck lets off fifteen minutes of fireworks at midnight on a Sunday night a block away from our building?

Insomnia Unlimited strikes again.

If I find out this had anything to do with the Logies, I will go on a sandy-eyed killing spree, starting with Rove McManus.

Pursuant to the previous post and possibly to show that he's madder than me, Anfy suggests that the striking gay lover of Ned Kelly was none other than Garibaldi. The encyclopedia says he died in 1882, but that's just homophobic propaganda, I'm sure. The Man doesn't want us to know about the Big Gay Revolutionary Love.

I get spam from "Eduardo Kelley".

And I think: "Yeah, Ned Kelly wasn't caught, tried and hanged, he ran away to South America with his gay lover and lives at liberty in the Amazon, but to make ends meet recently he's taking to running internet scams, because it's just like the ole stand-and-deliver except you can do it without leaving the comfort of your own home and your gay lover."

Oh yeah, and he's somehow managed to live for over a hundred years, which is totally the sort of secret I guess you should be selling on the internet.

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to my brain.

Welcome to Insomnia Unlimited, increasing the quantity of your waking hours.

To get to bed at midnight, press 1.
To have a bedmate with a fever, press 2.
To have the most annoying car alarm in the world go off for ten minutes, press 3.
To be awake when the garbage truck starts its twenty-minute churn outside the window, press 4.
To have the building fire evacuation alarm go off before the clock in the morning, press 5.

To combine all these factors into one fuck-off awful night of sleep, please faceplant on the keypad now.

In the interests of advancing the sum of human knowledge, I'll share some pearls of wisdom gleaned from the uncaring cosmos in the course of today:
- The chick who works at Cafe Y has a new dictionary, and gave me pancakes. Not in return. We do not work on a barter system. Though sometimes I think it'd be easier if we did. Can you swipe a pancake through the eftpos machine?
- I'm "the lovely shopgirl". The spruiker said so.
- Excel is the enemy mentioned in the prophecy of my birth that will bring about my downfall. It shall henceforth be renamed "Dee's Bane".
- The mail room in Jojo's building is scary, dude.

The story of my life (pun intended):

"I'm editing the memoirs of an anaesthetist and they're putting me to sleep."

Best penis-enlargement spam subject line EVAH:

"Walk softly but carry a big stick."

Respect, yo.

What I did this weekend, apart from working in the shop.

One Perfect Day - wasn't quite what I expected it to be, but was very Australian in the way the story was told, with the audience knowing the full story, but not anyone involved (no cunnilingus, though). Interesting, a nicely-tangled web of characters, fun concepts, not quite a slave to its 'scene'. I think it communicated something. Although that something might have been "Don't get into raves if you're female". And don't do drugs, mmkay?

Taking Lives - was, like League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, a collection of fabulous concepts with a really sodding average movie built around it. A whole lot of stuff in the middle was just brilliant, and there were really fascinating angles, but the whole thing was just a sub-standard thriller-of-the-week. Some parts of Jolie's character really shit me - like her Sherlock-Holmes leaps-of-brilliance. But everything Martinez did was pure gold.

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind - was fucking fabulous. Just... wow. Everything that Malkovich vaguely promised and failed to deliver upon. Clever, workable, peopled with utterly real and sympathetic characters doing believably fucked-up things, studded with breath-of-fresh-air concepts and explorations, delightful in the details. You must see this movie. Dooo eeeet.

...work with our Pan Macmillan distruction network...

Bosslady: "Is that supposed to be distribution?"
Me: "Let the power of typo work for you!"

It was one of those days, really.

So, we saw that Jesus movie. I can't say we were particularly impressed.

I'm uncertain what, precisely, Mr Gibson was trying to achieve with this long slog of a gore-fest (and it was - I've seen zombie movies with less blood). There didn't seem to be any coherent message or theme coming through apart from: "Jesus was betrayed and then he hurt quite a bit for quite a while, and then he died."

Thanks. Really didn't need a movie to tell me that. Especially not in flesh-ripping detail.

I mean, honestly. What do we get out of a movie lavishly depicting every last element of Jesus' suffering? The more interesting aspect for our faith, as followers, is what comes after his death, when those followers have to deal with it, and the resurrection, ditto. (All of it not explored in the movie.) The Passion is really a test of Jesus' faith, if anyone's, and the movie really didn't get very involved in that sort of thing at all (after a promising start, we were left high and dry).

At no point was I challenged in any way by what happened in the movie. The "bad guys" were almost charicatures - totally inexplicable Jews and psychotically sadistic Romans - the disciples and followers bland - Gibson only knows why such a high-profile actress was cast to play Magdalene, when all she did was cry all movie - and the common people completely faceless.

So, confronted? No. Affronted, yes.

(The only good part, in my view, was the casting and depiction of Satan. Androgynous, insidious, slinking around the edges. Beauty of a seraphim, and made the blood run cold. But beyond that - showed up in the wrong places, and was entirely absent where I thought he definitely had a part.)

I started giving blood because I'm O-negative - my whole family is - and that's the blood group that is always in highest demand, since it can be given to anyone. (It has to do with bodies and antibodies, immunities and other little things skittering about in your veins.)

I've continued giving blood because, well, all the advertising slogans are right. Giving blood is an easy way to save a life.

Plus, they give you a milkshake. Well, they gave me one. We used to get corjugal back home, but here it was all milkshakes and muffins. Like a cute little cafe. Except you have to pay in blood.

Today, the finger where they did the prick-test for haemoglobin count hurts more than where they took the blood. Of course, that might be because I keep poking things with the finger, and it's hard to do that with the inside of your elbow.

If not, why not?

(What's your favourite colour?)