Further to Three Bags Full

In a shocking development this book has been ripped from the large print mystery collection, and moved to general large print. How they allow Lillian Jackson Braun stories to remain in mystery in face of such prejudice against animal sleuths I do not know.

To prove I am not lying

Hurry, buy your copy now! Be sure to read the reviews!

Further proof that society is going to the dogs sheep

I thought I had found the crappiest title for the week this morning while shelving. I was certain of it. Who in the hell, I thought, would want to take out a book on painting flowers on stones. Why would you write, publish or read a book deovted to the art of florifying rocks? Who has the time? Do they paint them up and encircle the garden? Is someone trying to pimp out a mini stone henge? Come to think of it that last idea sounds attractive, but I digress.
Shelving that book Painting Flowers on Stones I was sure to have plunged to my weekly nadir.
Not so.
Later on this morning, irate typing fuelled by another stint of processing (*PFFFT* I am a special snowflake and I deserve something a bit better than this!) I found a new mystery series. The title I came accross was Three Bags Full : a sheep detective story. OK, I am willing to suspend my disbelief enough to suppose there is a roving shepherd by day, crime fighter by night. But I am not going to go far enough to suppose that a bloody flock of sheep, neurons going ballistic, can bring perps to justice. The note at the back of the book indicated there was also narcotic and alcohol use by the flock. I can only imagine how slow they must have been with those additional impairments. Why anyone wants to read animal detective stories I don't know. The age group these stories appeal to were not reared on Brian Jacques' biannual fluxes. Lord knows what will happen when Jacques' readers hit decrepitude. I comfort myself in the warm knowledge I will probably be dead by then or maybe I too will embrace such novels in my dotage.
It is with trepidation I take my lunch; the quality of titles has been getting worse & I fear what may strike me when I get to the bindery. May the lord have mercy on our souls.

Can we go home now?

Don't worry, I am not skiving off on work time; I am typing this on my break. The subject sums it all up pretty much. I have been in a filthy mood and I am not sure how to improve it. It was going OK until that stupid mutt just about ran me over other night. There was I, crossing Stuart St. For once I was not jaywalking and the green light was urging me on, Go for it! Go for it! But this impatient slag in a late model sedan talking on the cell phone just drove round the corner anyway and nearly hit me. At first I was prepared to launch into martyr phase. 'I wish she had hit me, that would have taught her...' But it woudln't have taught her anything because we are probably looking at a self-entitled soccer mom with special needs. She would have cursed me for making her spend an extra 30 minutes on Saturday trying to get the kids to hose off debris from the wheels. No doubt they are trolls as well, so a lot of screaming would be involved.
Next phase, wishing I had a brick, a baseball bat, anything to smash the car up. That's an impulse I have had a lot lately, I really must find some outlet for my anger & aggression or the dishes are going to get it. The council could sponser a shooting range since a lot of my problems come from working there. I find myself counting down the months, can I resign yet? can I resign yet? Though what the hell I would do otherwise I don't know. Plow into another mire probably, at least one that didn't involve processing and shelving I guess. There are hitherto unchartered horrors in any job I suppose.
Someone I am acquainted with just got a job at McRaes mines, as an admin assisstant. $20 an hour. Maybe that is what we all ought to be doing? I would have to fight back the urge to make Brrm brrm noises all the time though.

The unghhhh report

Such a tumultuous day already, well, if your life is as uneventful as mine it is. From the heart break and despair of realising I had overslept to the elation of realising I had made it to work early I have run the gamut of emotions. Whistle stop highlights included:
-peevishness at the cat screeching at my door
-quiet satisfaction at the intact status of the cat's food bag
-wordless rage at the traffic getting in MY WAY when I was trying to jay walk
-mischeivous glee as I held the lifts every stop I went so I wouldn't end up waiting five minutes to just drop off a trolley
-disappointment in myself upon realising I could have stood around for five minutes while being paid
-abject loneliness when I saw no-one had emailed me
-a few heart-felt sneers at people in magazines; especially the toff pin-ups in Country Life and Tatler
-resolution, because now I have to get back to the grind
Which is all very draining. And yes, this job is pretty cushy as far as jobs go, but I would really prefer some mental engagement from life. Obviously I can't write a novel, too many other, smarter people are doing that, so I just have to focus on my criminal master scheme.
Right, feel the burn as I gulp down the last of my sweet instant coffee (thanks library!) and off with another trolley delivery of joy.

Not again...

I was preparing for a bit of a moan about soulseek users, but I think I can't really be bothered. How many times can I be outraged by this entirely predictable behaviour? If I can just let go of the angst (and paranoia I named myself something unspeakable on the program...) Suffice to say I am still looking for Madman in a Basket.
I have had an extremely unproductive Sunday. I walked down the hill, I walked up the hill. I walked along the hill and met an orange cat that was MUCH friendlier than our orange cat. This one was quite eager to please, and I bet it never ravaged its food bag. I acquired some coat hangers, reshuffled the rubbish in my room and thought deep thoughts but acheived nothing. Another weekend gone. Ready to face another week of work? I think not, but that is what we all have to look forward to for the rest of our lives. The question is how to make it amusing? I used to look at people coming throug h lending services and imagine their stories. Now all I do is look forward to breaks and ulimately lunch. And of course slice and dice things in the bindery - so satisfying. I guess now that I have finally been introduced to the joys of withdrawing magazines I can pretend I am on Battlestar Gallactica destroying enemy fighters with every system beep.

The Sunday matinee

Well, more Sunday listening pleasure but delightful nonetheless.

I've seen it all now

When I was shelving books yesterday I found a knitting book with the template to knit a picture of Jon Stewart on the front of your jersey. Mmmmm Mmmmm fleecy. How about it Brooke and Roger? Matching ensembles?

Yay

One good thing, a new Your Band Sucks update on something awful. About Weezer! Sic 'em! Sic 'em!

That was stupid

Volunteering to work at the annual fabric sale. Stupid on two counts:
-I had to get up early on Saturday.
-I wound up buying material.
Other stupid things:
-The cat groped its food bag again and strewed biscuits all over the floor. It then had the gall to whine at me to get up and feed it. Just now it has been trying to make me open the door for it to go outside when it could easily go out the window. Finally, I understand why people beat animals. Don't worry Brooke, I didn't.
-Money grubbing, nit picking pillocks who were rude to me at the fabric sale. You are getting a bargain with all material under five dollars a metre. The profits go to charity. Don't cadge so much. Don't bitch and moan in case you get a shorter piece of fabric due to cuts. We are not stupid and measure from where the full width of fabric starts.
-People who think I and the world in general are interested in their belly dancing costume idea of cut way spangly fabric with a bra showing. Trust me folks, it ain't going to be pretty. I know you don't care but I may as well share the burden.
-Dunedin "celebrities" who for some unfathomable reason are treated like VIPs because they are seen to inhabit some higher creative echelon.
It's a struggle to think of anything positive to say about life, but I do have some coffee which ought to improve my outlook and purge the memories. Then I shall either have a nap, or clean something so I can avoid homework. Riveting eh? At least a chapter worth in the memoirs.
I don't suppose anyone else out there finds themselves totally boring too?

Ewwwwwwww

Last night I had to cook dinner for the householders again.
It was a fairly lazy meal I made, but the preliminaries more than made up for it. We had reached crisis point in the kitchen and fridge areas once more. I was all for ignoring the fridge for as long as I could but then my flatemate came down and was spazzing about lack of room in the fridge. One excavation led to another and I wound up purging a whole lot of rotten crap (that was not mine). Foulnyss. The flatemate shrieked in disgust while holding the rubbish bag open - sorry compost, but no - and remarked upon her cleaning of the shower the other day. Funny how we seem to have designated tasks. Recently mine has been fridge detail, but I guess it is your level of tolerance. Or how much food is being contaminated by the bog of eternal stench a'brewin' in the bottom. This is what happens when you try to squ--e--e--eze a whole lot of food into a small space I suppose. I suppose also that starving people would be happy to drink the viscous fluid etc etc etc.
After that, a lovely steaming couple of loads of dishes then finally cooking about 10.30 pm. No-one's eaten it yet, I wonder what the point is sometimes. Maybe I will eat it all then. Extreme obesity would be as good a reason as any to take days off work.

Hubba

Wow. Check it out! This and many other delightful images on the official website. I wish I looked that good with massive hair and pointy toed boots, but I would just look like a female female impersonator.

Brilliant idea #486

It has been a late night of acquiring some stunning music for my collection, this time it was Dead Or Alive albums; Youthquake & Mad, Bad and Dangerous to Know. The first thing we have to say about these albums is: Pete Burns, you are a special, special man and you are beautiful (no matter what they say, words can't bring you down). The second thing that comes to mind is a deep sense of gratitude to Stock, Aitken and Waterman. Excellent production there. The final thought I had was after hearing the song I wanna be a toy. Has anyone made a compilation of aspirational songs? I think that song would have to be on it, along with other classics like I want to be your dog and ...too tired to think of any more right now. Suffice to say I think this will be a best seller, right up there with my Cow Bell Magic compilation, and the Tribute to Action Bongos.

Dammit

Not the banks pissing me off today.
Got up, all pleased because I had my dinner from last night to take to work for lunch today.
Found that all the satay had been eaten off the top and some sad rice noodles left.
Even angrier when I figured out who it must have been. An individual who does not even live at the bloody house, does not contribute anything other than mess, and presumably sits stimulating his prostate rather than do anything like clean up after himself. That and eat my bloody food.
So I will go home, throw my toys. I hope I can maintain my fury until that point but I probably can't & so the behaviour will continue unchecked. It seems like acting like a vapid lazy retard who gets taken care of by all women really works for this prick. If I got really mad at him it would be the girlfriend that fixed the situation anyway. Shit some people just need a bullet because they are wasting my oxygen.

Dave? Dave? Nice dancing Dave

But this ought to hold me for a while. At least for as long as I spend contemplating people who must feel similar nostalgia for the nineties. Like my younger flatmates, who will remember even less of this gloriousness than I do. I'm sure I mentioned the one flatmate explaining to the other that Alfred Hitchcock was a famous horror director who directed Carrie? Surely I did?
They probably go all weak at the knees over M People and groups like that. I'm insufficiently distanced from the 90's to be able to really laugh about it just yet, except for maybe the early 90's...no, actually late 90's were pretty funny. Spice Girls? Temple of the Dog? Yeah, there were some amusing points. Not least of all those classic novelty songs - but they are awful whatver decade you choose them from.

Inclement Weather

Opinion has been divided among the groups I have talked to. Snow - good or bad? When? How can we acheive snow to coordinate with a time that everyone is supposed to be working? Can we make everyone happy?
I can answer that last one.
No.
With great enthusiasm I cast the household cats into the back yard, determined that for once in their indolent and useless lives they would push play and experience something new. Do you think they were grateful? No, it was all whimpers and a dash back to the door.
Oh well, I tried, and I even let them back in again afterwards.

Gentlemen's hours

It has been a fortnight of intense bank activity for me. I can't describe how hideous it was, so unecessary, so utterly futile. It all started with the saga of the missing cheques. Two of them to be precise. I had stashed them so cunningly I was sure that I would not lose them. Oh well, mental note to never do that again. I worked late at the bindery in order to get Friday afternoon off work so I could try to find clothes and attend to the banking business. Get there, find out I forgot one of the cheques and later on found that the other was dishonoured. So I felt a little hollow from that experience.
My next skirmish was when I found out I can't just hand over a deposit slip with my account number on it. No, it has to be signed and stamped by a trained professional from the local branch. I wondered if it was about the public's inability to write down numbers, or perhaps to check the spelling of names? Charitably I will assume it is something to do with veryifying the existence and use of an account in the face of Dunedin's epic money laundering problems. I'm sure it's tied in with the Chin Dynasty.
I whippeted out of work on Wednesday afternoon, dashed to the bank and got there just on 4.30. I was completely disgusted to find that they had locked the doors already. How can it be that banks close so early? What do they do for the rest of the time we mere mortals are popping blood vessels working hard for the money? After all, it is not as though there has to be someone manually adding and balancing the days transactions. What do they all do?
I stormed off in a tanty and purchased something to make myself feel better. It was a pretty swish piece of retail therapy I admit, a 5m RCA/USB cable so I can play music on the computer through the stereo. Highly necessary since I have disposed of pretty much all my CDs.
I was distracted anyway, but not for long. Don't think you are off the hook bank, I still hate you and the horse you rode into town on. I had to give up my break just to fit in with the gentlemen's hours kept in the establishment.
The image above is how I imagine bankers spend their free time when not inconveniencing me.

The country is clearly going to hell in a handbasket

Our economy is shot, surely.
The other day I had a cheque for the princely sum of $15.36 from the IRD.
Maybe I am getting ahead of myself and ovedramatising.
O.K. The other day I found a cheque from the IRD, which I had lost in my room for some months.
At great inconvenience I muscled my way into the bank to deposit it into my depleted bank account. Great, I thought, not all my hard earned taxes are going to fund the hydroponic schemes of sickness beneficiaries in Northland. That will be your friends Roger Nome, leeches all of em :)
Deposited the cheque, pleased with an accomplishment for the day. I was in for a shock and disappointment however, because a few days later I found the cheque had been dishonoured. Panic set in momentarily. Had the goverment overspent so much that it could not cover my paltry $15.36 tax refund? What was Helen doing to us all? Would I be compelled to join Arrogant Prick and his cohorts?
After my initial irritation I figured the cheque had just expired. There was I hoping that the Goverment would honour tax refunds after six months, but maybe not. Let that be a lesson to you all. Do not on any account lose a cheque in my room. No good will come of it.

Shhhh - everyone calm down!

On television is a hard hitting documentary on global warming. Is climate change a reality? How soon until we all die?
Sometimes hearing these things is a bit like watching an episode of Corontation street. Everyone just gets angry and winds up screaming at each other. Studio or pub, small difference.
I think I shall go to my happy place now.

For you, Brooke

Getting that special Shhhhhh-thunk sound for your starship enterprise model

A rather off topic title, but I have not been feeling particularly logical today. It is, after all, a long weekend. I reserve the right to vegetate if I want to. At present all my energies are devoted to a downloading session of epic proportions. I'm done with the tangerine dream, the Perry and Kingsley, the Gene Pitney (come on, you all have to hear Mecca). No, it is all about the Sparks, the Deadfly Ensemble and random bogan music. The SOAD revival starts here, before degenerating into a hoochie hoe down. Don't judge me for not having an interesting life, it's better than my other plan for the evening, playing Betrayal at Krondor. Damn you Roger Nome, damn you.
Oooh, how excitement, someone is downloading a track from me. I bet you are all dying to know what it is. Admit it, you want to know what awfulness I am purveying. Why would anyone want one of my trashy items?
In this case the user name is a tip off - Plastic. Hmmmmm. I don't remember what my user name is, but I am sure it is deeply revealing too. Anyway, they are downloading a track called Rubber and Fur, by Boy from Brazil. Yes, I do feel suitably arcane purveying such an item. A few more albums like that and I will be as exclusive as some of the grand high poohbahs of Soulseek.
But before I get there, I have to make sure I have a really cool name, like some of the ones I have seen recently. Bitch and variations have been popular. I am downloading some bogan tracks from Beeyotch, and I saw an 84yearoldbitch.
Anyway, time to get back to it.