Thanks Left Ear Jr.

The internet is being a bit spotty.  Did you know most countries (I don't know if it's most countries really.  At the very least it is Australia and probably most South American Countries and African Countries, and Communistic countries...) have a cap on monthly internet download.  American's have a cap on internet download speed. 

A random website clocks the US internet download speed at around five Megabytes per second.  Said website's rating of South Korea's average? Twenty and a half Megabytes.  And us nerds wonder why the South Koreans are so good at Starcraft.

I was going to tell you how many gigabytes of information you could download in a month with no cap, but it looks like, after some aimless browsing that American Internet providers are or have adopted a cap.  It's just oodles bigger than what your average internet user requires.

All that being said, I'm typing this blog in Microsoft word, and it is unsettling.  I will have to copy and paste it over to the blog.  Could there be anything more pathetic for me to whine to the empty void that is the imaginary people who read this blog?  Yes.  Yes, I could complain about the couch I am reclining on.  Stupid couch.  Your pillows are saggy and  you smell slightly of small dog.

Have you figured it out?  I have little to discuss.  I watched football, graded papers and went for a walk.  Then I ate too much food and watched the Italian Job.  A fine film.  Too predictable, as Hardcastle McCormick complained of while watching "How To Train Your Dragon."  Shut up Hardcastle.  You don't tear down animated movies except for that Nascar one, Little Nemo in Slumberland and The Land Before Time 2-19. 

"So... what was your favorite part of the Italian Job?" asks the faceless void of data I type to.  Well, let me tell you.  The characters name was "Left Ear" in tribute to Mike Tyson, his step-father I believe.  Left Ear encounters some dogs from a distance and reports to his comrades, "I don't do dogs.  I had a bad experience."  His fellow countrymen ask, "What?  Why?  What happened?"  Left Ear replied, "I had a bad experience..."

Like any good movie going American I chuckled and thought, "Oh I'm looking forward to that coming back later in the movie." 

It didn't.

Every other scene or idea tied into another part of the movie. It was the Niagara falls of foreshadowing.

The old man who is (spoiler) killed just happens to crack safes the old fashioned way, while his daughter uses technology.  How does she crack the final, unexpected safe?  Just like dad would have.  With jazz fingers.

What happened to Napster boy?  Someone stole his idea. 

What happened to the whole gang?  Someone stole their ideas.

Dead guy's daughter never looks in the vault after she cracks it?  She does when she robs for revenge!  Sweeter than wine, revenge is.

Girl drives a Mini-Cooper like one of those soulless vehicles from that horrible animated Nascar movie, Mini-Coopers become the thrice used getaway car. (See what I did there... with Nascar?)

No imagination for (SPOILER) antagonist Steve?  Even with 35 Million in the bank, no imagination.  Even with (SPOILER) Ukrainians pointing a (SPOILER) gun in his (SPOILER) face... no imagination.

The entire introduction was simply a precursor setting up the second robbery to mirror the initial robbery of the gold.  Yes, that is sort of the whole point of the movie, but I can only handle so many introductions of ridiculously unimportant and obviously planted bits of information which will come back later as direly important before I just want to throw up.  It's like watching with the director commentary on full volume, "SEE WHAT I DID THERE!?  THAT'S A "CONNECTION!" 

I actually threw up yesterday during "Moonraker" when Bond fought off an assassin with a glass handled sword and destroyed a priceless work of art in the process.  Both items which had been introduced merely so the viewer would cringe while the fight took place.

So two things, I realize movies do this, and in a sense have to do this.  Especially when constricted within the framework of "action movie" or "spy action movie" but just let the audience figure something out on their own.  Or not at all.

I say all of that so that my thanking this movie character makes sense.  Thank you Left Ear Jr. for telling us you had a bad experience with dogs and for then never bringing it up again.  We learned so much more about your character through your silence than if you had told us any story, amazing or lame, about your bad experience with some villainous dog.

I realize this isn't supposed to be a film critique blog.  The movie was better than Nicki Minaj but that doesn't change things between you and me and the blog.  And don't listen to me anyway!  I haven't even graduated college yet. 

How about this.  The other day, I was on the train going into Melbourne.  Across the aisle was a pretty non-French girl.  She had a very realistic tattoo of a vampire girl with blood on her face.  The vampire's face that is.  Next to me a woman was listening to a song called "Unthought Known." I wrote it down, but I don't think I'll ever take the time to look it up.  I now have three very thin pocket journals.  I labeled one "Poetry" the other "Life" and the last one "Dreams." 

Cheers,
Melmoth

P.S.

That Nascar one is, you guessed it, worse than Nicki Minaj.  Also, one of my desires in life is to attend a concert of some sort where the band refuses to play an encore.  They seem so commonplace now.  They don't seem to mean anything anymore.  I'd also love to attend a football game, where the two teams play another game.

Stop Mucking Around

Today was the final day for the year twelve students at school.  It's a day called Muck-Up Day.  To muck up means to screw up.  It might have been mock-up day... but I am sure it was "muck."  You're probably thinking, "It was Mock-Up day, that actually makes sense."  You have (probably) never been to Australia, you have no idea what does and does not make sense here.

I also say "year twelve" fellow Americans, because the phrase seniors would mean not only those students in year (grade) twelve but also those in year (grade) eleven.  Australians also call chickens "chooks" and being sick "crook." The only slang term that makes sense to me is the word crook, simply because no one who takes a sick day is actually sick, therefore making them a "crook" which of course Australia (and Georgia) is known for breeding mercilessly.

I have had many good conversations in the last week.  Two of the many touched on ideas of homesickness and loneliness.  Both of these conversations brushed near the idea of being known or being understood.  There is nothing more frustrating than being misunderstood.  Now, I don't mean screaming into a Drive-Through speaker like American's scream at foreign or deaf people.  No not that kind of misunderstanding.  This is more the misunderstanding where you tell an old lady that you're going to Central America and she tells you to, "Watch out for them foreigners."  The kind of misunderstand where you laugh with tears in your eyes, and everyone else forces a grin, like a fresh ironed shirt trying to show of a wrinkle.  Does that make sense?

Being misunderstood at the Drive-Through speaker and getting pickles on your burger is worse than Nicki Minaj.  Pickles alone are worse than Nicki Minaj. But, far worse than this green little devil is living in a world dominated by polite smiles accompanied by conversation about the weather, sports teams, the news, politics and the ever present "how was your day?"

These conversations are not bad or evil or boring in and of themselves (nothing really is), but after weeks and weeks and weeks of them, one may find a desire to do anything else.  It is not boredom.  Boredom is throwing a rock at a stump.  This is life that can take place anywhere, with anyone for any duration of time.  I have seen it.

I have glimpsed life behind a desk, and it is your ten favorite songs on repeat, playing all day, every day you are at work.

There exists, as Hardcastle would say, a cultural barrier as big as the Pacific.  There are a lot of similarities between Australia and America, but if one focuses on the similarities, it is only because they hope to be understood.  It doesn't work, I tried it.  It's asking someone to read an eye examination chart with binoculars through the fog across said ocean.  Now, I'm getting along just fine over here, but it takes time to adjust to a new school, a new teacher a new pair of shoes a new biological parent and a new culture.  I am working on it, latching onto similar things, adjusting to dissimilar things.  It is a process, and a difficult one, made all the more difficult that, while there are people here to support me, I cannot turn to a close friend and say, in a very American way, "What the crap was that all about?"

So Muck-Up Day was fun. Costumes, toilet-paper, glitter and dancing.  Students in celebration that soon they will not have to be students anymore.  For them it was a day marking an end.  I saw their ending and I appreciated it (less classes for me to teach!) and all of the shenanigans that took place.  At the end it was a gym full of people that even if I were to spend the rest of my life here, would always be a distance off  and in the fog.

I'm trying to explain something I don't have the words to explain.  This is easier to explain than love, at least, it's easier to try to explain it without sounding cliche... oh... love.  I met this guy at a rest stop in Ohio once.  He said his name was Cyrus, but I am sure he made that up on the spot.  Anyway, he was staring at the woods for a good five minutes while my friends and I filled up our water bottles and bought some vending machine magic.  I couldn't help but ask him what he was looking at as we left.  He said he was looking for a Bullock's Oriole.  I asked him what it looked like. He started to describe it, then stopped himself and said, "I can tell you what it looks like, but I can't describe it to you."

Cheers,
Melmoth

Keeping On

So, it's very obvious that I miss home.

Of all my many faults... I have one shining quality.  My emotions shine as if they were neon signs.  Why is this a quality?  It makes it difficult for me to have two faces.  Depending on the and the situation this allows me to be very straightforward and honest, perhaps forces me to be so.  It is not ideal, but I am alright with it.

I have played two Australian basketball games.  The first game we got absolutely stomped.  Lost by fifty points or so.  The second game was set up to follow suit.  We were down from seven to five men and we were playing "The Spartans."  I don't know if any of you saw the movie "Gladiator" but boy are those Spartan guys (led by none other than Kevin Costner) mean!

Anyway, the teacher I worked with (Beauregard), who invited me to play on the team as "imported talent" ended up picking up another player for the night, just to give us a breather.  For those of you who do not know the finer points of basketball, (Hardcastle) having six men instead of five is a huge help.  This allows you to rotate every four minutes or so and give everyone a break.

The sixth man Beauregard found sprained his ankle, six minutes into the game.

Fortunately, we ended up playing a fairly mediocre team.  Just like the first night, they were mostly young men in their thirties or early forties.  They had a few stars with some meat blocks for rebounding and the majority of them had permanent sleeves of dark green and crimson ink that said things like, "I'll cut you to get that rebound" or "Intercept my pass and I'll scream @#%&*."

We won by about sixteen points and even the other team seemed to have a good time.  Even the other team smiled really big as they stared at us driving away in our cars.  Friendly guys.
There is a new student teacher at the school.  I don't think we will ever speak.

Nothing else has really happened that I feel like writing about, so I will recall a dream...

~~~~~~**~*~*~**D**~**~*~*~R***~***~E~*~*~*~*~*~**A***~*~*~*M~*~**~~~~~~

I was riding a tall gray stallion through the streets of Spain around 1600.  I was riding to a cliff.  I don't think I intended to go there, but I remember knowing that I would end up at this cliff by the sea.  As I was riding to the cliff I saw a monastery and my horse veered off the path towards it.  I had to gallop through a field there didn't seem to be a path.  But when the horse veered into the field birds started to drop out of the tall grass that was growing there.  Out of the tops of the grass, where the grass grains are held.  They were like very little magpies, but green.  The flew into the air and swarmed my horse, pecking at it.  They didn't attack me, just my horse.  They did this until the horse died.  I tumbled to the ground and found myself at the gate to the monastery.  I tried to lift it, but I couldn't.  So, I called out to the gate into of the garden but there wasn't anyone there.  The birds were circling the field behind me.  I kept calling out, I think I yelled lots of things.  Among them I remember yelling, "The Band!" and "Shut the curtains!"  I kept yelling until I saw someone walk from under a tree.  I couldn't tell who it was, and they didn't say anything, but they waved their arms around in the air, drawing big circles.  They kept walking towards me and I saw that it was the French Student Teacher.  She seemed to walk towards me forever but never get closer.  I got angry and punched the gate down.  Then I woke up because I had hit the wall next to my bed.

~~*R*~~*~*~*~*~*E*~~~~***A*~**L*~*~~*~*~~*I*~**~*~*~~~~*T*~**~~~***Y**~*~*~~

I dream pretty often, but I usually don't write them down because I don't want to remember them.


Cheers to you sleeping well,
Melmoth

The Sound of Fury

Last night I watched the play "The Sound of Music" was better than Nicki Minaj. I went out to dinner with my cohorts, and then enjoyed an evening of American singing accompanied with Australian speaking.  Whenever an Australian sings, it sounds American.  I don't know if there is an Australian singing voice.  This was also the case for that rappa I saw the other night, Damion Jewels.

I will admit, the only reason I initially agreed to attend this evenings event was to hopefully catch a seat next to the French Student Teacher, who I had learned was also attending that night.  When I received my ticket from Shendressa, I noticed that each ticket had a name written at the top, but that the tickets also had a seat assigned!  Hallelujah to Glycon!  I was worried about doing a figurative dance in order to acquire the seat to French Student Teacher girl's left, but now, it was all left up to fate.

We were all arriving at the theatre, located at a local high school, separately.  When I arrived I noticed the average age was about 65 (Australian Years) and thought "Oh crap, I went to the wrong play AGAIN..."  It turns out, it was just an old crowd.  Australia, is actually becoming a rather old country.  Turns out they had a baby boom similar to America.

Still I waited at the door under the ruse of the entry lobby being jam-packed and smelling like old cigars and prunes. I was hoping to strike up a conversation with French Student Teacher in case fate placed us at opposite ends of our groups row of seats. I envisioned her arriving, us making quiet chit-chat off to the side of the stairs, a sort of Venetian balcony.  Then as the ushers hushed us into the theatre, I  casually slide into line behind her, take a seat on her left (regardless of fate's seating chart!) and voila!  Three hours of romance and singing and contraband candy hidden smuggled in past the obtuse guards.

Alas, fate's 16-sided die rolled askew, and French Student Teacher cancelled, passing her ticket along to one of the teachers 12 year old nieces.

As far as I'm concerned, "The Sound of Music" ended with Mary-Ann and her family of Swiss yodelers getting caught in the mountain pass due to snow and inevitably reenacting the Donner Party's misfortune.  Oh French Student Teacher.... you were to be my Mary-Ann.... how you had my heart...

Never-Ending Cheers,
Melmoth




P.S. If you could all pray for Andrea the Palestinian, that would be great.   She is in a rather difficult relationship right now.  Her significant other has a rather fiery temper and the only way she knows how to respond is by fighting back, sometimes physically.  Pray that she might learn peace and mercy, rather than conflict.

It Must be a New Fad...

I'm a bit out of touch with fashion.  I have five dress shirts I rotate through out the week.  Sometimes the shirt I wore on Monday, I also wear on Friday.  I have two pairs of dress shoes, black and brown.  The reason I have two pairs is that I needed a pair to match both sides of my reversible belt.  I have five ties, and they take after my five shirts in consistency of being worn.  I acquired four of those five ties at a church garage sale for a quarter each.

I say all of this to let you know that I am by no means an expert in the fields of style and fashion.  Only five months ago I let someone touch my hair with something other than buzz clippers (Thank you, Karly Pebblegrasp). I am just not up to speed on how things should and shouldn't be done in the world of style and elegance.

So, I am now plead with you, man or woman from Estonia... the only person reading my blog... tell me what is the fascination with decorating your person, car home with birds in cages?  I ran into the woman with the birdcage necklace again; a dangling symbol of lost hope and an unnatural state.  More unsettling, I rode in the car of another equally pleasant young lady with what I could only discern was a caged-bird car freshener.  A dangling bird would be just fine (though in that scenario the car could signify the cage.  Yes, it might be a big cage compared to the bird, but a cage is a cage... a prison with a mall, a sprawling courtyard with fountains and a stream is still is a prison) but it had to be a dangling bird locked behind delicate, unbreakable bars.

It must be a new fad.

The reason I was in this symbolic clipper of freedom and hope was that I was invited to attend the opening night of an Australian Hip-Hop Artist known as Donald Jyles or DJ.  My party and I arrived early enough to hear an opening act.  Two guitarists and a girl keeping beat by slapping her right wrist with her left hand.  The back-up guitarist wore a Jurassic Park hat and may have played music or sang, I don't remember.  I think he was just a man in a hat.  The lead guitarist was a husky fellow with a malleable voice.  Not bad at all.

The main act was something else entirely.  I am as bad a judge of music as I am of fashion, so I will do my best to say it like it is without praising or condemning.  I do not listen to hip-hop, techno, rap or any of that jazz in my free time.  This show was not an unpleasant time.  I mostly stood in the corner pressed up against a couch and a thick ex-rugby player completely unaware of the amount of other people's space he consumed.  I ate some ice cream (wish you were there Mr. Fire) and listened to the music.  He was better than Nicki Minaj, but unfortunately he is two major butt implants and a sex-change with free spray on tan away from being heralded as the next big "feature" rapper.  If I were given his CD for free, I would not put it on my laptop but I would pass it on to a friend.   I wouldn't be surprised if someday an adequate amount of people in Australia knew the name Donald Jyles.

Tonight I am going to, for the first time to see "The Sound of Music."  I have had several people go slack-jawed when I sported a blank look during discussions of the importance of this... thing, whatever it is.  I'm not sure what to expect.  The leading lady apparently has some pretty bad throat flu and had no understudy.  That gives another meaning to the word... drama!  I feel like this blog could get me a job writing for "Glee" though I don't know because I haven't seen that either.

I could also supplement my resume by filling in for another minor character tonight thus allowing that actor/actress to fill in for the leading character of the... thing.  I'm guessing the leading character is named Jane, or Susan, or Christina.  I'm going to check.  Dang. Maria.

Oh this looks terrible.  If only I were going to listen to a reading of "The Sound and the Fury."

I'll let you all know how it goes... I cat-swear!

Cheers,
Melmoth

I predict that "The Sound of Music" will be worse than Nicki Minaj.  I also think that telling someone, "Your shirt is so loud" is better than Nicki Minaj.  

An Interview with Chaos...

Part III of the Low Income Super-Heros Trilogy, The Unlovable Android, has unfortunately been cancelled due to a lack of budget, interest and sufficient reasoning to create it, based on the inevitable past flubs of the third installments of movie trilogies (see Pirates of the Caribbean, Iron-Man 3,  Spider-Man 1-3, The Matrices 2 and 3, and Doom the Movie with Dwayne Johnson as "Sarge."

Yesterday I had an interview with the Principal, Deputy Principal and the American French living in Australia teacher who dropped that Eiffel Tower on her foot (she is out of the cast now! She is also having me over for Thanksgiving Dinner.)  The interview was for an Upper Primary teaching position with the school (grades 5/6).  I had a ripper (pronounced "rippa!") interview but will not be offered the position.  My one trump card, that I am AMERICAN, loses it's value when two other candidates play their international cards as well.  Most likely they are Serbian and Estonian.  Probably the Estonian who reads this blog... learning my weaknesses.

So, they have international trump cards, and they are trained for Primary Education.  I'm a Secondary trained bum who likes kids but has no idea how to teach them spelling.  Well, I have an idea, but I won't have a degree that says that I have an idea.  I suppose my fate is to sit in front of a television analyzing future Presidential speeches about wars on terror and wars on communism and wars on poverty and wars on duck-lip photos and wars on obesity and wars on... other things... like crime... and stuff.  So mum, relax.  I'll at least be back in America for the next few years, most likely.  I'm looking to apply to some places in Pennsylvania, Vermont, Colorado, Virginia and so on. 

So, I have begun the digital search for an occupation in the middle of the good old Red, White and Blue.  A very odd experience.  Not looking for anything in the education field.  It's not really appealing to me. The class I look forward to most is a group of top notch 11th graders and it's poetry.  I'm teaching it like what my lower level college course were like.  I would love to teach college.   High School, not right now.

I have a cold and an "intramural" basketball game tonight. I will of course do my best to score as many points as possible in honor of the retired Hall-of-Famer, Hardcastle McCormmick.  What a shooting percentage he had.

Cheers,
Melmoth


P.S. No sign of the French Student Teacher girls... I guess it just wasn't meant to be.  I have now been the target of at least three "Set-Ups."  It's like walking through a yellow smiley face mine-field.

Low Income Super-Heroes Pt. 2: The Low Budget Puppet

After arriving at the campsite, we had about two hours to set up the stage/set upon which the weekends super hero robot skits would be taking place, as well as putting our beds and rooms into order.  My bed consisted of pulling my sleeping bag out of a stuff sack and laying it out on the bed of my choice (top bunk on the right when entering the room).

After the delicate matter of ordering my sleeping arrangement, I set out to help the more knowledgeable staff set up the stage.  In events like this I do my best to be an extra pair of hands to someone who knows what needs to be done.  If I am unable to find a team leader in need of an assistant then I just float around, doing my best to make sure that the female leaders/counselors have to carry as little as possible.

In this case, I managed to bump into the tech master, Stuart and the camp director, Neville.  They were moving a dreadful green leather couch, so I did my best to assist them, though three people carrying a couch is often a stupid, lopsided sight.  After making a bit of small talk (which, if I were a superhero, small talk would be my weakness) Neville looked at me with a sort of hungry look and said, "You have a great voice.  Do you want to be a robot?"

My mind immediately ran through thousands of possibilities.  I remembered the Android Saga from Dragonball Z, Will Smith and his robotic arm in "i Am Hancock" (if only the robotic army had been able to fight off the zombie superheros... then Neo might have survived," I remembered the awesome three minute cut scene of mega dinosaurs combining together to an electric rock ballad of monstrous proportions and I fantasized about running down the street after the ice cream truck yelling "GO GO GADGET GUN!"
I knew, if this man could really grant me robotic features, or some sort of computer implants, that I would need to play it cool.  My helpful nature and baritone voice had won him over to this point, but I would need to answer this question correctly, no doubt, in order to secure my place among history at this underground mad scientists side.

Instead of screaming, "MORE THAN ANYTHING EVER YES!" I coolly created a look of minor confusion and interest and said, "Well sure, I'll do whatever you all need me to do."  As I said to myself, "that is, until I have enough power to destroy you!"
"Great!" he responded, "We need someone to work the robotic puppet on the stage table!  You have a great voice, the kids will love your accent."

I felt at that moment what Voldemort must have felt like every time Harry managed to (with blind, dumb luck) destroy one of his Horcruxes.

So, I spent a half hour twice a day for three days cramped under a table about three feet high.  I had a microphone held between my knees near my mouth so my voice could be heard and in one hand had an old coat hanger attached to the Robot Puppets mouth and in the other hand a pool cue that controlled his body.
The puppet himself was a series of interconnected spray-painted boxes.  He had sad eyes and black tubes for arm.  He had no fingers and no dignity.  His name is Ollie.

And that concludes Part 2 of Low Income Super-Heroes.  Tune in soon to read the exacerbating conclusion to this riveting trilogy which will no doubt rival The Lord of The Rings!

Cheers,
Melmoth

P.S.  Because I want to share this all with you.  Watch it dozens of times.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ct822sAXzRI

Low Income Super-Heroes Pt. I

I would never be able to be a super hero.  With my post-university life only a few months away I am beginning to feel the weighty necessity of soon acquiring some sort of job which pays an income (preferably with a very small workload).

The super-hero must take on the responsibility of bread winning, as well as
every-day-battles-to-the-death-winning.  So, while I pull out my unwashed hair at the the very thought of applying for jobs (eerily similar to applying for scholarships) super heroes not only hold down a job in order to bring home the bacon, they also save the world time and time again.  I suppose this is the challenge of Peter Parker, who always seems to struggle with his life's balancing act and I suppose this epiphany explains my fondness for the wall crawling angsty hero.

In keeping with the super hero theme of the camp, I will make this a multi-part blog post, because, you can't tell a super hero story in one go.

My weekend consisted of a camp for low-income kids.  The benefits included: kids having weekend mentors, parents getting a weekend away, affordable for families with low income and I get to hang out with kids, play games and puppeteer a robot named Ollie who will never find true love.

I'll start with a description of Han, my little buddy.  I wasn't sure what Han would look like, but I was looking forward to getting some one on one time with him.  Being a 6th year student and a boy, I was excited to have a weekend of adventures.  I was then informed that Han had Asperger Syndrome.  Bring it on.  A reprisal of King Duncan.

I didn't know what Han looked like until I saw him.  I hadn't seen a picture of him, but his yellow bedazzled cowboy hat and full body blue and red sweatsuit (an shell of clothing he would not shed the length of the weekend) gave him away.  He was one inch shorter than I and had a good 50 pounds more of gravity working on him.  He wasn't fat, really.  Just a thick built young boy.

Han's favorite topics of conversation:

• Video Games
• I was able to connect with him on several points here.  Han is rather high-functioning, but most of his focus for the weekend was on camp and his friends; exactly where my focus would have been.
• Horror Movies
• The Ring, The Blair Witch Project, any movie with "Exorcism" in it's title and a plethora of movies I had never heard of.  The conversations would go something like Han asking me if I had seen such and such movie.  I would respond with a yes or a no.  Regardless of my answer he would begin to tell me, in vivid detail about different monsters, creatures, beasts, gremlins, homonculus nightmares or ghosts/zombies/undead and their ravaging of a human person.  I would respond with something like "Well, it's a good thing all of those movies are made up."  To which he would reply, "No, only some of them are."
• That was pretty much our conversation choices of the weekend
• It was a good weekend and we did talk about more than these two things.  But those topics dominated the time.  Ahh to be young again... Oh to have another chance with the French Student Teacher....

Han left camp asking me if we could be Facebook friends, youtube account friends and if we could be "brothers from another mother."  I told him the camp would only let me be his "brother from another mother." He conceded the point only when I promised I would friend request him on Facebook in a few years.

I'd now like to take some time to discuss Grant Morrison.  Grant Morrison had an impressive beard.  It was lengthy, but did not travel up the sides of his face. It remained around the base camp of his chin.  At one point during necklace/craft making (I attempted to make a Preying Mantis about one foot in length... but I ran out of time... and skill) Grant had taken bits of wire and some beads and made a hat that wove down into his beard.

Masterful.

I had a good chat with Grant while the kids were attempting to conquer the "Tumbling Rock Wall."  We spoke about our personal histories, what we have done and will do with our lives and what we thought of things like politics and people. The best bit I remember from the conversation was centered around television.  He gave his away maybe ten years ago.  I was happy to hear that I wasn't the only crazy anti-TV hooligan running around with questionable facial hair.  He the told me, as our conversation concluded, that he was working on getting together some young guns to blow up the antennae towers, I told him to count me in either her in Australia, or to lead up a chapter back home.

At the end of the camp, Grant was praising one of kids.  He described his little buddy on the low ropes course as, "being like a bat out of hell."

I think Grant might be one of those people I'll never see again.  A ghost of a memory or a waking dream.  So, here's to you Grant Morrison, good luck with the TV Antennae and with finding yourself.

Everything described in this blog today was or is better than Nicki Minaj.  Spider-Man 3 wasn't mentioned, but now that it has I must specify that everything described in this blog today was or is better than Nicki Minaj, except for Spider-Man 3, which was terribly worse than Nicki Minaj.

Cheers,
Melmoth

P.S. Part 2 of Low Income Super-Heroes: The Low Budget Puppet, will be released on schedule when I intend it to be released in 1-5 days.

Wilson and his Promontory

I guess I can say whatever I want to on here.  No one reads it...

I have received a hateful message from a man named Lansford Covington.  I suspect it is either an insane individual who reads blogs with the intent of insulting people (as he also insulted my friend's blog Jordanias) or else, since it is a bit of a coincidence that Lansford insulted both me and Jordanias, that he is merely a creation of one of our mutual friends.

Most likely he just hates both of us.  Maybe it's Mathias.

Anyway, Near the later part of my first week of Holiday break, I went to Wilson's Promontory.  This is about as far south as you can get in Australia (The Lighthouse, which is in WP area and is the actual most southern point (this does not include Tasmania, which is like Australia's version of the UP.))

When you couldn't see the ocean it looked very much like the Appalachian Mountains in West Virginia.  I went with a first year teacher at BHCS and her two good mates.  We'll call first year teacher Sasha and her two mates Holly and Lucile.  It was a short three hour drive through a lot of rolling hills and scrubby farmlands.  Mostly green, with some hints of Australian red earth.  Holly is also a school teacher and Lucile sells things... or markets things to be sold.  She doesn't seem to like it much.  I was able to decipher her true feelings towards her work life when she told me, in regards to her job, "I tolerate it."

I was fully prepared for a two night "over-night" hike.  When I showed up with my life folded and stuffed into my hiking pack, I set it down next to Sasha's gear.  I noticed she had a blow up air mattress that was a bit smaller than my pack, and significantly heavier.  I then realized what "hiking" meant.  I was perfectly fine with this.

We set up camp, two tents.  One was a palace, akin to the tent Hermione charms up in HP 7.2 (Mostly Better than Nicki Minaj) the other was a two person tent in which you could actually fit two people quite comfortably.

The highlight of the trip wasn't "Star-Tripping" (ask Kale Fire about it) on an ocean beach, or petting/riding a wild wombat or even rock jumping in the rain along the coast towards the ocean as the tide came in.  The real highlight was seeing, from afar, Nicky Buckley and her family.

Nicky Buckley and her family is the star of a C or D grade Australian produced TV series.  They travel around Australia and report to people/families/old farts what this years hot spots are.  They were present at Wilson's Promontory shooting a promotional video for it, focusing on how the area is still attempting to recover from the devastating floods of last year.  I will most likely be featured in the episode along with Sasha,  Holly and Lucile.  When we saw the cameras, we immediately began to poorly kick a footy around.  Our ruse worked!  They began to film and very shortly asked us if we had anything besides a footy.  We had a soccer ball!  So, we kicked that around!  They then asked us if we could set up goals and have a match.  We could and we did!  They then left us and started filming the Pacific Gulls scavenging for food around a group of elderly people.

So, if ever you are looking for something to watch, bored out of your mind... look no further.  The 2011 season of Nicky Buckley's show most likely features several seconds of yours truly kicking a footy or a soccer ball around in some dirt.  While Nicky Buckley's show is certainly worse than Nicki Minaj... those few moments of fame for me were far far better than good ole Nicki.


After the filming we asked her kids, young boys around 13 years old, if they wanted to kick a footy with us.  They said yes, but then they needed to be filmed stuffing skateboarding gear into a duffle bag.  After this they drove away for a half hour, came back, and then packed up their camper and well, we didn't see them again.

So, it was a good time at the prom.  There was no grinding, lots of nature and even a few foreigners speaking cool languages on a closed down bridge!  I'm going to try to make it back there again, so I can climb some more mountains.  And maybe play footy with Nicky Buckley's kids.  I don't know where else to look for them!

Next update... Super Hero camp with the low income kids.  Melmoth doing some good deeds!

Cheer,
Melmoth