Who Stole our Bins?

by Jeb on September 2, 2009

otto-wheelie-binUpon leaving our house earlier this week, we discovered that our trusty Otto garbage bins had been stolen.

Many questions immediately arose in our minds. In a region which has a bounty of garbage bins supplied at no cost by the local council, why did a neighbour suddenly establish the need to house multiple trash receptacles? Over-attended house party resulting in a myriad of excess beer bottles? An inability to compress the household’s waste? A recently discovered form of real-life obsession with Dexter?

My immediate assumption, of course, was that one of our neighbours is running a meth lab in their backyard.

A process of elimination for the most likely guilty candidate began. We had it down to:

  • A couple in their 50s, whose scruffy twenty-something son still lives at home. DOING WHAT WITH HIS SPARE TIME, I ASK YOU?
  • The retired couple next door, who frequently lament to me that they had to “trade down” to live in their current fucking gigantic palace, the bastards.
  • The unseen residents of what Adam refers to as the “haunted house”. Apparently a vague neglect for your garden bed, ownership of a surly cat and never appearing in public = haunted.

Fortunately, the retired couple eventually fessed up and admitted they’d accidentally taken our bins in from the road last week. They’re still prime candidates for running a meth lab, though, the complete bastards.

Stay tuned, for more GRIPPING SUBURBAN DRAMAS OF MIDDLE-CLASS WHITE PEOPLE.

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Post-Op… No, Not THAT Kind of Post-Op

by Jeb on August 27, 2009

courtney-loveMy face currently resembles what would happen if Jeannie Little went completely over the edge, and began wildly swiping her own blood on her face as makeup. Yessir, I’m back from the hospital after my nose operation.

Before the operation, I’d over-ambitiously planned all sorts of books to read, housework to tidy up, basically make the most of my time off. This has proven rather difficult to do when there’s goop of a consistency and colour that disturbs even me constantly sliding out of my nostrils. The good ol’ Panadeine Forte has knocked me for six, too… although I have started reading Courtney Love’s diaries while on the painkillers, and surprisingly, they’re actually making a lot of sense in my current mental state.

Painkillers are always good for inspiration, though. Despite the pain, I’ve found time to work on my grand plan for a Christian-based hip-hop group to take the Big Day Out by storm this summer: the Hillsong Hoods. Hey, it seemed like a good idea while I’ve been on medication!

Bah, I can barely type properly at all. Back to the couch so I can consume more of Courtney Love’s berko rantings. See you on the other side of all this…

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When Kiteboarders Fail – and Other Great Free, Cruel Forms of Entertainment

by Jeb on August 24, 2009

Free entertainment in your suburb isn’t a particularly vexing task. There’s a few fail-safe spectacles around my suburb which never fail to amuse…

Watching angry customers teeter on the edge of sanity, as they wait for service at notoriously slow local cafes

When you’re a local, you grow to learn which cafes are unbearably slow. They can usually be identified by a wistful feeling that you’re on the wrong side of a black hole’s event horizon as you wait for your coffee.

The true value here is watching unsuspecting customers with INCREDIBLY IMPORTANT AND BUSY LIVES writhing around angrily and craning their necks in attempt to get some table service. People with dogs always seem particularly frazzled, mostly they want to move along to…

Dog owners desperately trying to flirt with each other

When you’re straight and can’t rely on a gay sauna for obtuse flirtation, it seems the thing to do is get a dog and haunt the local park. It’s an incredible meat market around our suburb, although the body language of the dog walkers indicates there’s some seriously stilted conversation going on. I imagine there’s been many a person around there desperately scrambling for a conversational segueway from dogs to sex.

kiteboardingKiteboarders trying to look tough, then stacking

There’s an awful lot of tough-guy kiteboarding going on at our local beach. As far as I can gather, the process involves strapping a board to your feet, an oversized kite to your back, then using the sheer will of your own heaving ego to propel you into the air. More than once I’ve seen these kiteboarders turn to the assembled crowds on the beach and flex their biceps mid-air, as if they’re on some sort of Pepsi Max commercial, only to satisfyingly slap their face into the water upon landing.

Watching tourists inevitably topple over while precariously attempting to purchase a ticket on the tram

I’ll never tire of this, and the beauty is that it works all throughout Melbourne’s entire tram network. Any local resident has the insider’s knowledge that if you’re using a ticket machine on Melbourne’s trams, you’d better hold onto something while you’re doing so. Although the tram’s probably stationary when you embark and purchase your ticket, you’re probably in for an unexpected 20 metre journey down the tram carriage when it takes off if you’re not grabbing onto a pole.

My favourite variant is the desperate grab towards nearby passengers’ torsos as makeshift deadweights. Always a favourite.

Sure, these forms of entertainment are rather cruel, but the price tag fits today’s financial climate…

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Another Example of Why I’m the Worst Gamer Ever

by Jeb on August 20, 2009

Via an instant messenger conversation today…

Charm:have you played Gunpey?
Me: no..
Charm: its on ds.
Charm: so addictive!
Me: Ahhh. I don’t have a DS anymore :-)
Me: How does it work?
Charm: its lines and triangles that need to be lined up to make a line across the screen.
Me: SOLD

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Five Reasons Why I Won’t be Renewing my Xbox Live Subscription

by Jeb on August 18, 2009

xbox360My taste in videogames is possibly the worst you’ve ever come across. My enthusiasm wanes if a game doesn’t involve matching three coloured gems, desk-gnawingly pointless trivia contests or repetitive actions set to music (let me tell you about my embarrassingly laser-precise Dance Dance Revolution skills some time).

Console games are something I’ve only ever half-heartedly pursued for this reason… there’s just not many games out there that grab my fancy. I’m sure that when gamers slobber all over the latest videogame releases at their local JB Hi-Fi, every game is uniquely different. For me, all I see is a generic wall of shooter games that all look the same – you could easily interchange their titles with monikers like Imbalanced Testosterone Level Threat in New York, Rapeface Shotgun Alien Bonanza, Intestines!, or Tiger Woods Presents: Disembowelment Rampage ’09.

Horses for courses, though – music’s more my thing. Although these games all look the same to me, as a mate politely reminded me last week – every industrial metal band I listen to sounds like a lawnmower wildly attempting to usurp a tin can from the pavement to him.

However, the opportunity to play crappy puzzle games online against my mates appeals to me, so recently I purchased a Xbox 360. As you may know, Xbox requires you to pay a subscription to play online. Paying money to play online still seems like a bit of a rort to me, although clearly most Xbox players take it for granted. Suppose it just seems like a feature that should be included with the console.

A free one-month trial of online play was included with the Xbox, but I’m having trouble convincing myself it’s worth continuing and shelling out actual money for Xbox Gold – and here’s my five reasons why. Feel free to convince me otherwise after you’ve read them!

Bear in mind I’m not deliberately trying to stir up you Xbox fans – it’s just not for me (so far, anyway).

xbox-red-ring-of-death#1: A button-mashing, clueless dork like me is no match for a hardcore gamer

When I turn on my Xbox, it’s usually very sporadic and for short periods of time. I like quick, fun gaming sessions. Whenever I play online, I seem to be matched up against spotty teenagers who’ve obviously got nothing better to do than blink mindlessly in front of their TV until they’ve perfected their skills. Or perhaps I’m in denial that I’m actually completely pants at videogames. Either way, the balance never seems quite right.

#2: If I want to organise fun with my mates, I’d rather see them at the pub than play videogames online

Organising proper gaming sessions requires you to plan ahead with mates, and I rarely know when I’m going to feel like playing games. Even if I turn on my Xbox and see mates online, they’re usually in the depths of some other game anyway. If I’m going out of my way to organise fun with some buddies, I’d rather it’s in person!

#3: The computer does a pretty sound job of thrashing my arse anyway

Granted, it’s not entirely the same, but the AI on most games I have is just fine – good enough to replace a human, anyway. Playing offline isn’t such a problem to me.

whiskey#4: For the price of a Xbox Gold membership, I could buy… a lot of alcohol

Some people clearly think the membership price is worth it (I think it’s $80/year). Personally, anything above $25-30 annually is pushing it for me. There is no way I feel that occasionally playing games online is worth $80. But here’s the interesting thing: if there was an a-la-carte “day pass” option to get 24 hours of online play for a couple of bucks, I’d probably use it. In fact, I’d probably end up spending well more than the $80 annual fee on day passes, even though I was thinking I’d save money! Why doesn’t Microsoft offer this? Give me more options!

#5 (and this is the big one): The life-affirming, joy-enducing, endless whirlwind of homophobia

Apparently Xbox Live has a bit of a reputation for homophobia, which I had no idea about. When I set up my account, I simply used my “I like beer, metal and dudes” bio in my profile. AND THEN IT BEGAN. Almost every game I’ve played online – even ridiculously non-aggro games like Uno – has resulted in an endless torrent of abusive messages sent to my inbox. It was baffling and hilarious at first, then slowly became a glum repetition of abuse every time I decided to play online. Remind me again why I want to pay for this privilege?

Sure, I could change my bio, but really – why should I? It’s not that provocative.

The only other opportunity I’m considering is actually going ahead and paying for a subscription, but rewriting my bio to the most concentrated homo paragraph of text possible, for maximum goading to every gay-hating dick out there on Xbox. So far I have: “My hobbies include worshipping Kylie Minogue’s aura, shitting rainbows,” but that’s as far as I’ve got. If I can complete the sentence, you may just see me back on Xbox again.

So, Xbox fans, convince me! Why should I pay for a subscription, given my reasons above?

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Why I Won’t Be Visiting Costco Any Time Soon

by Jeb on August 17, 2009

costco-melbourne-docklandsCostco opened for business in Melbourne today, like a lumbering elephant galloping into the world of Aussie retail. As far as I can tell, the store chain has melded together a supermarket, K-Mart, jewellery store and undertakers (seriously – they sell coffins) then injected everything with steroids. It sounds impossible to buy anything in a quantity of less than 100 (although I’m sure someone, somewhere, needs 500 Snuggly blankets all in one hit).

Costco’s newspaper advertising is loudly proclaiming that they’ve “landed in Oz”. The cringe-inducing use of the word “Oz” has me a little concerned that their marketing is being run forcefully by a US contingent of their management staff. Perhaps in future weeks we can look forward to BONZA BARGAINS DOWN UNDER!

There’s a big problem I have with the store, however. Paying $60 for a store membership is part of the deal, and that’s their business model – that’s fine. I’m sure you can make your money back quickly if you make a few big purchases.

What seems to be the fatal flaw is that you can’t enter the store without buying a membership, unless you happen to visit with someone who’s already a member (unless I’m completely misunderstanding their FAQs). Dictating this entry requirement on a store that’s a completely new concept on the Australian retail landscape seems a bit risky.

Surely it can’t be that difficult to accommodate a membership purchase at the checkout? I’d be much more likely to enter the store and buy… oh, I don’t know, a 10 litre bucket of Vegemite, if I could enter the store risk-free to browse. This is accentuated by the fact that Costco’s marketing doesn’t quite articulate all the products and departments that are available – again, perhaps a case of American management assuming a little too much of the Australian public.

Right now, though, $60 just feels like too much of a gamble to enter an unknown arena which may just disappoint me. We’ve all had that growing sense of bitter disappointment when we’re charged an expensive cover charge to what turns out to be a disgustingly dodgy nightclub… I’m having similar emotions here, but with a retail equivalent.

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Can’t Come to Work, I’m on Beard Leave

by Jeb on August 13, 2009

The Beards group photo01My goatee is something I’m rather fond of. Unfortunately, accidental facial hair makeovers are common in my life.

It could be my blindness in one eye, but whenever I step in front of the mirror, it seems I get a little overzealous when tidying up my whiskers. Usually, I misjudge my shaving and become convinced that my goatee has become lopsided. What begins as a small touch-up generally results in an accidental drastic trim.

Beards are something I’ve flirted with in the past, but I secretly enjoy my ongoing goatee-and-eyebrow-piercing tribute to the 90s. Seeing as I’m about to take a few weeks off work to recover from an operation, it seems like the perfect opportunity to grow a beard and do away with this imbalanced goatee problem completely.

After recounting my plans to Bruce recently, he informed me that there’s a technical term for such a process: taking a fortnight of “beard leave” from work. Fascinated, I demanded to know more, and he directed me to the band who came up with the term. It’s a band that’s changed my life overnight: The Beards.

the-beards-albumTapping into the highly neglected crowd of fur-face enthusiasts, The Beards are a ragtag band of Adelaide blokes who sing exclusively about how awesome beards are. This sounds awfully like a painful novelty act, but it turns out they’re bloody good. Their debut album features such corkers as “Who Told You to Shave Off Your Beard”, “A Wizard Needs a Beard” and the epic “Tale of the Amish Boy (and His Beard)” – and they’re all genuinely good, catchy rock songs!

There’s a Beards gig in Melbourne coming up in October, and I fear I may not be permitted to enter the hotel unless my beard’s of appropriate length by that stage, so I better get cracking with the hair lotion. In the meantime, we can look forward to the band’s upcoming single: “If Your Dad Doesn’t Have a Beard, You Have Two Mums” (I’m not joking).

The Beards Links:
Triple J Unearthed
iTunes
MySpace

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Top 10 Worst Victorian Town Names

by Jeb on August 6, 2009

state-of-victoriaAustralia’s well known for having frequently bizarre town names. A mate of mine recently pointed out the town he grew up in on a state map of Victoria, and after taking a closer look, it boggled me. Every surrounding burb sounded like a World of Warcraft level, a Shakespearean insult, or a poo joke inflicted on a town by a tittering, scatology-obsessed local planner.

This led to me researching the stranger town names of the state of Victoria, so here’s the top 10 unfortunate names I found…

#10: Wood Wood, 3596

This area of the state has got to be the cartographer’s equivalent of Family Guy. Located near the otherwise dignified locale of Swan Hill, Wood Wood undoes all the historical relevance of the area with a dick joke. If that’s not bad enough, why not pay a visit to nearby Bulga (which I desperately hope is pronounced “bulger”)?

Perhaps you’re after some ladypart-influenced town names, in which case the nearby town of Beverford may interest you. Otherwise, pay a visit to Wood Wood’s local Poon Boon Lake (I promise you, I’m not joking).

It appears the area planner got bored at some point: the next town up from Wood Wood is simply named Goodnight.

#9: Sale, 3850

One of the larger towns on this list, but I challenge you not to hear The Price is Right theme playing through your subconscious whenever you happen to pass through the town. The town’s population has been dwindling in recent decades – my suspicion is that wordplay in end of financial year “sale” advertising for local stores is slowly driving most of them to commit hari-kari.

#8: Graytown, 3608

There isn’t really any way to make this town sound exciting, is there? Visit Graytown, home of adequate tourist attractions at fairly reasonable prices! The naming protocol for the area is strangely colour-influenced: you’ll also find Redcastle nearby, in addition to Mount Black. Which I’m sure is evil and blacker than the blackest black times infinity.

#7: Cardigan, 3352

Sounding every bit as exciting as Graytown, turns out there’s also a town named Cardigan. Perhaps it’s the origin of the wooly cardi. Funnily enough, the next town along is named Bo Peep, so perhaps she should go visit Cardigan if she’s wondering what’s happened to all her bloody sheep.

I imagine the town is populated by women with names like Maude. (Which, incidentally, is the name of another town – Maude, 3331).

#6: Musk, 3461

Sorry, this sounds like nothing other than the brand name of an adult entertainment business. Also guilty of this crime: Rainbow, 3424; and Guys Forest, 3709.

[click to continue…]

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Hey, We’re Just Protecting the Neighbourhood

by Jeb on July 29, 2009

victoria-police-hatEvery now and then, I gleefully entertain fantasies of laughing in the face of my current job, and becoming a full-time house painter. A mate of mine continues to espouse a theory that a bunch of us could all easily slap a few licks of paint on buildings for a living, but makes the activity sound easier than a Wii minigame. Although it seems like an honest way to earn a crust, I’m pretty sure I’d wind up looking like a washed-up piece of diseased sea anemone at the end of every workday.

There’s been stranger career changes, I suppose. But perhaps none so strange as something that Adam’s currently taking more seriously by the day: the possibility of switching his career from advertising to joining the police force.

As soon as I discovered this, I was asking ridiculously self-centred and inappropriate questions – does he have to keep the uniform at the station? Surely there’s a pair of handcuffs he could bring home with him? What if a thuggish criminal was completely hot and suggestively sprawling his legs while they were alone in a negotiation room?

As it happens, he’s just finished watching the entire series of Recruits as an eager fan. I’d normally pass this off as a passing fascination (I seem to recall he was set on chasing down fugitives after watching too many episodes of Dog the Bounty Hunter a few years ago), but he’s mentioned the idea of becoming a constable many times over the years – looks like it might actually be happening now.

Fortunately, he’s going to use his powers for our personal gain. We’re formulating a plan that our neighbours had better watch out for: he’s going to systematically arrest everyone on our street for the most minor of offenses. Once word starts spreading that we’re living in what seems to be a dangerously crim-addled street, the property prices will invariably begin tumbling downwards – then we can buy up big! Who wants in?

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Sexist Septoplasty

by Jeb on July 28, 2009

Over the past few weeks I’ve been spending a little quality time with a nose specialist. No, I’m not flirting with the notion of transforming my honker into a sharpened beak that could sharpen a knife. Just getting my nasal breathing problems fixed, as I mentioned a few months ago.

My regular doctor referred me to this particular nose specialist. I’m aware that specialists are renowned for exorbitant fees, but I was in his attendance for the entire length of a Brand Power infomercial! This lead me to fret about the level of attention he was paying to everything. The referral letter from my doctor was clearly signed by a “Jessica”, but he kept referring to her as “he”.

Nose specialist: So your doctor prescribed some nasal sprays prior to this, did he?
Me: Yes… she did.
Nose specialist: Did he suggest you try this particular brand?
Me: Yes, JESSICA did.
Nose specialist: How often did he prescribe you use the nasal spray?
Me: SHE told me to use it twice a day, right before she excused herself from the surgery TO CHANGE HER TAMPON.

After turning it over in my head, I’m uncertain what’s more of concern: that I have a latently sexist specialist, or simply a perenially hungover specialist.

Most of my appointment consisted of the specialist ramming a tiny camera up my nasal passages and down the back of my throat, while he made worrying “ooh” and “gosh” noises. That was when he made an unexpected suggestion: would I like to take a look at the TV monitor and take a close-up view of my inner nostrils?

Without waiting for a response, he spun around the monitor he’d been studying for me to view. What confronted me on that TV screen appeared to be night-vision footage of a slimily threatening boss from Silent Hill. As I struggled to keep my breakfast down, there was little point resisting: the camera was stuck so far into my respiratory system that I had no chance of protesting.

The verdict is that my breathing problems are caused by a deformed septum (the middle part of my nose) and enlarged flappy-bits on the inside of my nostrils. That’s flappy-bits, the, er…. official latin term. After getting an x-ray, we had the all-clear that I don’t have any sinus problems – so I just need to get the insides of my nostrils drilled out, and a septoplasty so my septum’s straightened. HOT!

After looking at the x-ray of my skull, I couldn’t work out why it seemed so damn metal – then a mate reminded me that I was probably thinking of this Deftones album cover:

deftones-self-titled-album-cover

(click to zoom)

This inspired my mate Dan to construct an impromptu Deftones album cover titled “Septoplasty” using a photo of my x-ray…

deftones-septoplasty

(click to zoom)

Not only does this crack me up, it actually looks like it’d be a damn fine album!

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