Cubisia

What I want, what I really, really want.

noreply@blogger.com (Shane) — Sat, 02 Jan 2010 03:58:00 +0000

The Daily Zen Desk Calendar I received for Christmas from Carole quotes Charles Dickens tomorrow, informing me, "This is a world of action, and not for moping and groaning in." Very well, Chuck. Here's a non-sequential list of things I'd like to see accomplished by the end of the year.

The short film currently titled Song Of The Sea, a name I'm not enamoured of, completed.
The ambitious feature film script I'm working on with m'colleague Paul, completed and shopped around to attentive agents.
The derivative roman á clef novel I abandoned last year, I Missed Out On Everything (a name I'm totally enamoured of), revived, revivified, reimagined, rewritten, revered.
A workplace characterised by unironic pride, bonhomie, amity, interested leadership and commitment.
The website to which this list is attached, Cubisia, redesigned and useful.
The derivative column I envisage writing, The Unseen Sci-Fi Hour, finding a home and in production.
Regular tabletop gaming, be it roleplaying, boardgaming or some combination.

Beyond that, I would also like to contribute to Knights Of The Dinner Table on a semi-regular basis again, see more than The Hague during my August trip to World Dip Con, hone my televisual skills...and possibly even learn to drive.

But that's probably all a bit much, isn't it?

It's near the end!

noreply@blogger.com (Shane) — Tue, 22 Dec 2009 21:43:00 +0000

Back in the first half of 1992, I sat on the steps leading down to the water at Wollongong's Continental Pools with the Advanced Dungeons & Dragons Player's Handbook (2nd Edition), which I'd borrowed from Paul Gray (who was in Year 10 to my Year 7) that day so I could make up a character.

I can't remember what my character ended up being (though I'd venture it was a half-elf bard...I loved bards back then and - but I digress), and I can't remember anything about who ran the campaign, the world it was set in or any of the adventures my character (who, if he was a bard, was probably named Cacofonix after the talentless harpist from Asterix comics) took part in.

Those memories are lost to the ether, but 17 years later I can easily be back on that step, ignoring school-mandated swimming lessons in favour of reading David "Zeb" Cook's introduction to the rulebook. Salty water evaporating from my legs as I nod through the opening chapter designed to ease the newcomer into a strange, niche hobby.

It's weird what you keep.

This is my story.

noreply@blogger.com (Shane) — Mon, 14 Dec 2009 22:57:00 +0000

This morning, I called the 7-11 guy a fuckhead cos he overcharged me 5c on a bottle of water. It says $1.95 on the pricetag.

I handed him a $2 coin and waited for my change. He said, in this douchebag voice, “It’s $2.”

I went, “It’s $1.95, fuckhead.”

But then I walked out, cos I couldn’t be bothered showing him the pricetag and waiting for 5c.

Cubisia Is Back.

noreply@blogger.com (Shane) — Mon, 23 Nov 2009 10:42:00 +0000

I noticed the site was missing before I went OS (to London and Dublin, divvn't ya kna?) but decided to deal with it later. It's not like there's anything compelling on here - aside from this, I mean.

Turns out I needed to reregister the domain. I don't think anyone told me this, of course. But I did it today at work, so all's well. Not that you, the hypothetical reader, care about that.

Honestly, I'd regale you with tales of my inaugural Eurotrip, but I'm too tired to even play Call Of Duty: Modern Warfare and/or Left 4 Dead 2, both of which I grabbed today, at my first day back.

This morning I was kicking back at work, easing into things, when I realised how much I have to do before the Christmas deadline. So I'll try to do a full report, if only for my own edification, later this week. Once I've saddled up Jewell and Sophie with questions for their columns, saddled up Anton with True Blue Confessions to illustrate, and got ahead with game reviews, Animal House and whatever else needs doing.

Hmmm...I've stressed myself out. No wonder I didn't want to leave the lands of The Eye, the British Museum, Tate Modern, Westminster Abbey, Tower Of London, St Stephens Green, Trinity College, Guinness Storehouse, Charles Beatty Library, Newgrange, Tara, multitudinous castles, mossy trees, massive rivers and centuries of religious turmoil.

To be sure, to be sure.

Dorm Daze

noreply@blogger.com (Shane) — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 01:12:00 +0000

For something like six months, Dorm Budddy Karl and I have been shuffling our shrapnel from fob pocket to moneybox. One of those big moneyboxes with a $50-note motif around the outside that you can't get into without an old-timey can opener.

On Tuesday, we borrowed an old-timey can opener from Bec at FHM, then skipped merrily to the Commonwealth Bank on Castlereagh, where they have an exciting change-counting machine. In the end, our effortless toil resulted in $69.95. Just 5c short of a round figure. Karl asked the teller if the bank would be generous. Instead, he withdrew 5c from my account to make up the remainder.

Laughable, but fitting.

Anyway, we took our cash in the form of seven $10 notes. Last night, we hit Scruffy Murphy's to spend it. $6.95 chicken schnitzels? $7 jugs of Toohey's New? $7 jugs of Snakebite? Fuck oath.

(Snakebite is a mix of Bulmer's cider, grenadine, XXXX Gold and lime. It's incredible.)

We were joined, eventually, by a Canadian fellow named Tyler, who designs videogames for a living, looks kinda like that bloke from High School Musical and had no idea where he was. Conversation was had until that fateful moment when...Drag Queen Karaoke began.

That's pretty much the point at which the night became truly awesome, and worthy of our dorm savings. There's a family of nuff-nuff regulars, you see, whose performances called to mind the appeal of Victorian-era freak shows. Or Australian Idol.

Honestly, those talent shows should all include a pair of old-tart drag queens hurling abuse at borderline retards. And handing out tokens for free jugs of beer, of course.

Wampyr

noreply@blogger.com (Shane) — Mon, 26 Oct 2009 22:11:00 +0000

In one of those displays of synchronicity I enjoy, this quote came up on Grognardia:

"Like Stoker's Dracula, I find vampires to be both attractive and repulsive: attractive, because the idea of nearly-immortal damned souls stalking the night is a terrifying one; repulsive, because too few people nowadays look on vampires as unambiguously evil. I suppose that's as much proof as we need to illustrate the glamor of evil, but I can't help but feel disappointment at the way the archetype of the vampire has been so watered-down and indeed neutered of the power it packed in Stoker's day. I think there's still a lot of punch left in vampires but most of that punch comes from contemplating their status as thralls of Hell (whether literally or metaphorically) rather than as forever-young demigods."

The other day I was walking home from work and having an imaginary argument with a straw man (or straw woman) about the nature of vampirism, and the neutered undead that've infested popular culture since Interview With The Vampire - the movie and novel's sequels more than the original work.

They're all such human-loving sooks these days - no wonder two out of three people polled would rather be a werewolf.

A change in worldview changes the world viewed.

noreply@blogger.com (Shane) — Tue, 06 Oct 2009 11:06:00 +0000

I first read that quote in the old Malkavian clanbook, back in high school, and it's been somewhere in my head since. Can't remember who first said it, but they probably didn't have the sort of microcosmic application I'm talking about in mind. That said, they probably weren't thinking of insane vampires either.

The past couple of days, I've been back on the mental trail of wanting to buy a desk. At first, I was thinking about the books I'd like to read - non-fiction, textbooky, related-to-the-craft books. The sort of books that make me feel like I should be producing something instead of taking the time to read them.

That led me to the idea of structured learning, perhaps going back to uni or some other tertiary institution to absorb knowledge in a setting my pernicious brain would allow me to view as legitimate. That's one track I'll come back to later.

The other mental track, connected to the desk, was my long-held desire to have some kind of personal office to work in. At first I was going to look up rental prices for such things, but then - well - the quote in the title there popped into my head and kept repeating itself. Yeah, it was weird.

Nothing earth-shattering, but my bedroom's pretty big, and there's not a lot in it. So now I've picked out the very expensive desk I want, and tonight I rearranged my room so my bed is shoved into a corner instead of dominating the whole space.

This weekend I'm planning to buy said desk, grab my deskchair out of storage, and officially begin using this room as an office. An office I occassionally sleep in.

It's gonna be great.

That's the tooth.

noreply@blogger.com (Shane) — Wed, 30 Sep 2009 23:55:00 +0000

Today I am labouring valiantly to be the kind of man I wish I was, rather than the one I know myself to be. Today I am attempting to remain calm and collected in the face of perilous adventure, when I would much rather stay at home and damn the consequences. Today I am putting on a brave face and pretending it's the fact I've had my first coffee since Sunday morning that's making my heart pump faster and hands tremble.

Today, I'm going to have my first-ever tooth pulled. It's a completely new experience - I've never even had a filling. But I do know that I strongly dislike having a man's hands in my mouth, that the idea of a needle sliding into my gum is a borderline nightmare and that a personal, amateur inspection of the tooth in question shows it to be firmly lodged in my jaw.

Not since I lost the last of my baby teeth have I felt such oral ickiness.

But yeah. Clock's ticking. My appointment's at 11:40, and the best I can hope for is to put on a brave face. And not wee myself. That wouldn't be in keeping with the courageous persona I'm scaffolding around myself.

Walkin' On The Gong

noreply@blogger.com (Shane) — Mon, 20 Jul 2009 02:55:00 +0000

Slid down south yesterday arvo to wolf some beer and Thai with the fam while Lee's in town (Joss, in a classic almost-18 moment, forgot about it and went to Sydney instead). I came bearing gifts - True Blood and Mad Men seasons one on DVD. I also purchased myself S1s of Chuck and Breaking Bad.

My near-future entertainment experience is sorted. Now I just need to sort out my entertainment output.

This morning I was half-awake in Joss's bed, and the air smelled of first-year uni. I tried to foggily keep hold of that feeling, but as usual it fled. Ah well. Having smashed some tea and toast, I settled in to write one of my two weekly game reviews (Ghostbusters: The Video Game).

Now Mum's putting on her shoes so we can go fetch Joss from some dame's place, drop him here and walk over to Nana and Pop's for a visit. Hence the title of this post. She's onto her second sock as I type, so I'll sign off.

Arbeit macht Sachen

noreply@blogger.com (Shane) — Mon, 13 Jul 2009 04:15:00 +0000

The Model Citizens Annual 2009 edges towards completion, I'm happy to say. It's been a smooth ride thus far, which I only mention for the purposes of utterly jinxing myself.

Right now I'm sitting at work, wearing my brand-new Pac-Man hoodie, and wondering who I'm going to pick to be this week's Busted Celeb on the True Blue Confessions page. I've eaten a tuna-and-lemon-pepper sandwich from a $2.50 plate purchased at Hot Dollar (pea soup green, plastic), followed by a sliver of Lindt Orange Intense dark chocolate that has singularly failed to pull me out of an exhausted nose-dive.

Such are the exciting happenings of the day.

More broadly, I spent an odd night at The Red Rattler in Marrickville on Saturday, enjoying the musical efforts of The Outer Space Cowboys and their country'n'molestern mates (not to mention the greatest felafel ever crafted). I'm on the hunt for a pair of red Converse shoes, which seem to be in short supply for some unknown reason.

I'd also like to purchase the first season of Chuck on DVD, Hackmaster Basic and The Eberron Player's Guide. This consumerist sickness always seeps into my bloodstream when I'm called upon by the vicious powers of commerce and temporality to cross weathered palms with silver in order to maintain a homestead, telephonic communication and/or a line of credit.

"Give me objects," my heart sings. "Objects that I may gaze upon and thus know my ceaseless toil has borne physical fruit."

Goodness!

noreply@blogger.com (Shane) — Wed, 01 Jul 2009 22:59:00 +0000

It's been a little while, eh? You might get the impression I've been off gallivanting, having a variety of adventures that I can now lay before you, like Marco Polo's tales of the Orient.

Well, I went to Melbourne to play Diplomacy, but that's about it.

I've been busy, though. Busy and indolent in equal measure. It's a difficult balance to maintain, I grant you, but here's a brief insight - whereas I said I'd be in the office at People Towers today, so that I might man the captain's chair on a special issue we're cooking up (Model Citizens Annual 2009, to be precise), I'm actually lounging on my bed, fully dressed, writing these words in between browsing webcomics and enjoying the bitter-sweet aftertaste of coffee.

And I certainly haven't been making headway on any of the various other projects I'm attached to. The Chaser Annual 2009 cries out for inroads to be made, other stuff's on hold...and worst of all, my silent vow to myself that all my financial affairs would be in order by July 1 remains unfulfilled.

No spreadsheets prepared. No new bank account set up. Not even a manilla folder for the receipts strewn about my bookcase, plastic tub and wallet.

I'm bloody loving PROTOTYPE, though. A hoodie-wearing anti-hero whinging about having superpowers so awesome that he can kick a helicopter out of the sky? Oh, I am so in.

Even though I'll have to start it again on my home machine. Ah well. It's worth it.

Cos I'm alive!

noreply@blogger.com (Shane) — Mon, 15 Jun 2009 22:37:00 +0000

[I totally meant to talk here about wearing make-up in a gay club, Wollongong adventures, extravagant Moroccan meals, whether or not I'm a bad person and how the loss of $5 showed me what a local I am, but an almost-total inertia has taken hold of my extra-curricular writing. So instead, this ill-informed ramble.]

Last night, after a delicious meal whipped up by yours truly (a man who has never before referred to himself as "yours truly"), I settled in to embark upon an audio-visual journey that would launch me back into the world of informed television viewers. You see, I'm not one to enjoy a book, song, movie or programme on its own merits. I'm only in it for the cultural references.

Since I'm possessed of all five seasons of The Wire, it was high time that universally lauded series entered my mind tanks. I received said show from m'colleague Chas at the same time as all five seasons of Peep Show. An excellent combo, critically speaking.

Anyway, I watched the first episode. And here follows some vague impressions, which I won't bother researching. The last thing I want is to fact-check IMDB or Wikipedia and learn some bullshit spoiler. So I'll keep it general. Although...if you haven't seen it, the following will probably spoiler some stuff.

Firstly, my two viewing companions were clearly less enamoured of the pilot than me, considering it more of a male-oriented show, despite Greggs being a strong and capable female character. I thought the dialogue clunked in parts (especially when the higher-ups were talking tough to McNulty after he spilled his guts to the judge), but overall, there's plenty of interesting conflict set up from the get-go.

And even a couple of Rosencrantz and Guildernstern characters for comic relief.

The aftermath of Snot Boogie's death was a weird intro, but one that eased us into the world of Baltimore. We got a shorthand impression of the kind of man McNulty is, and at the same time he was introduced as a cipher for us, translating Snot's story for the benefit of we privileged white folk who don't speak urban.

So far, the main impression I got was of a decaying, underfunded city descending into tribalism. There's an us-vs-them mentality in both police departments, as well as within the crime gang. The contrast between local police and FBI resources was particularly interesting (typewriters!). Yesterday I read this column about Redfern's Block by Pastor Bill Simon, so the poverty and despair of the drug dealers' world - especially the Pit, but also the seediness of the strip club - resonated with me.

I have a feeling that there'll be a lot of strange-bedfellow-making politics, as well as enemy-of-my-enemy-is-my-friend interaction - the last couple of scenes seemed to be foreshadowing alliances between both sides of the law, driven either by vengeance (Bubbles) or conscience (D'Angelo).

So yeah, I'm keen to see how things play out in the next couple of episodes - whether the endlessly bleak tone lightens and which characters become foregrounded as doings transpire. One thing's for sure...I'm glad I don't live in Baltimore.

Sally forth!

noreply@blogger.com (Shane) — Tue, 02 Jun 2009 22:54:00 +0000

This morning on the train, I completely convinced myself the woman standing next to me was reading a book by one of my favourite authors, based on a moment's glance at the back cover. I mentally worked through the possibility of removing my earphones and striking up a conversation about how great that particular novel was, and had she read this, or this, or this...when I realised she was actually reading something diametrically opposed to what I thought it was.

Public transport makes work for idle hands.

In other news, dragonborn paladin Atavius Heartpunch made his second volley at heroism under the auspices of Field Commander Foggo last night. He's settled into his new adventuring party well, I think, especially with the addition of boon companion Rob pulling the puppet-strings of a dwarven battle cleric named Ardus, who has a fierce hatred for wererats (for various familial insults and scatalogical reasons).

Atavius is a proud proselytiser of Erathis, goddess of civilisation. He's more than happy to breathe sheets of lightning at evildoers, intimidate them into submission, then lecture them on the benefits of law-and-order while an acrobatic halfling surfs a pig around them.

Classic religious technique. Carrot, stick, inexplicable happenings. CONVERT!

I should also mention his other newfound buddies: a dwarven ranger, halfling acrobat and air genasi swordmage. They're good people, both in Eberron and on Earth.

Last night Atavius lost some of his trademark dignity, trying to climb down a rope ladder in full plate armour. He wasn't too badly wounded by the fall, but realised his goddess had forsaken him for failing to honour an oath.

Last week, he'd vowed to behead a prisoner if he sold the party out...but when the sudden and inevitable betrayal happened (suddenly and inevitably), Atavius was talked into administering the lesser punishment of a snotrag-gagging, things started going wrong.

I've never rolled more 1s and 2s in my life. Don't tell me that polyhedral dice don't play a narrative role. Atavius made his penance, begged Erathis for mercy, and proceeded to execute a variety of lycanthropic bastards.

Three cheers for civilisation!

Meaning.

noreply@blogger.com (Shane) — Mon, 25 May 2009 13:11:00 +0000

So I've spent this evening trying to put myself into the correct frame of mind to craft words in such a way that they'll impart a sense of trepidation about the future, wonder about the past and that peculiar kind of void-staring thought that snaps something into focus...like staring past the reflection of a light then realising everything in the universe is utterly incredible and amazing, and every single thing within it is miraculous, and that we are both entirely insignificant but also capable of unbelievable leaps of progress, love and adventure.

But it isn't happening.

The figures speak for themselves. But I feel like I'm trotting out muttonous numbers dressed as lamb. Maybe it's just because I researched and reresearched and verified and checked and manipulated and massaged and shoehorned and herded these facts too much to keep a hold of that first flush of wonder.

Or maybe there's so much to think about - all the intersections of time, space, community, technology and words words words swirling in a mental miasma of potentiality - that I can't bring myself to coalesce them into a defined framework.

Or maybe it's because before I came back to this task at hand, I wrote a review of UFC 2009: Undisputed for Xbox 360, a job that required whatever the opposite of a humbling-yet-inspirational sense of reality's ineffable glory is.

So here's the thing.

noreply@blogger.com (Shane) — Thu, 14 May 2009 02:20:00 +0000

It's past noon on a Thursday. There is work to be done, as there always is - a game review column, a Dave Navarro Celebrity Case File, a Lost Games Safari: Lords Of Creation, and any of various personal projects. But none of that's particularly pressing. And, more to the point, I haven't even launched Microsoft Word or Googledocs since I got up.

And, even more to the point, there's a fridge full of beer less than 50 steps from where I lay in bed, clad only in a "I READ PEOPLE AND I VOTE" T-shirt and black undies (trust me, it's a step up from what I was wearing 15 minutes ago).

So, given the lack of pressing work to do, my natural indolence and a surfeit of alcohol in convenient tin packages, why shouldn't I dedicate this sunny day to getting drunk?

Happiness is...

noreply@blogger.com (Shane) — Wed, 13 May 2009 06:36:00 +0000

Yesterday, I bought a box of Kong Foo Sing fortune cookies, so Dormbuddy Karl and I could fortell our personal futures each day.

First thing this morning, we quit our mopin' and cracked one open (each).

And just now I got peckish - since it's Dormbuddy Karl's shout for almonds and he hasn't purchased any for us to snack upon - so I had another one. Together, they form a powerful recipe for my destiny.

"You should not confuse your career with your life."

AND

"Our five senses are incomplete without the sixth - a sense of humour."

Thank you for your timeless wisdom, spirits of the inscrutable Orient. My way forward is clear.

And, as an aside, isn't it nice that the "sense" wordplay translated from what I can only assume are ancient Mandarin scrolls to modern English?

Microfiche: Pride

noreply@blogger.com (Shane) — Mon, 11 May 2009 12:48:00 +0000

1. One day when I was in Year 3, I was sitting on the outdoor assembly area of Mt St Thomas Public School, eating lunch with some other kids from my year. I believe I was enjoying a meat pie and half a frozen chocolate Breaka from the canteen. My cousin Paul walked past.

"That's my cousin," I said with some now-unfathomable pride in being related to a kid in Year 6, pointing at him.

In the same now-unfathomable spirit, the other kids didn't believe me. I suppose that comes from the constant Doyoulickadickaday-style trickery that happens constantly at that age.

"Yeah he is," I insisted. "Ask him."

A contingent went over to confirm or debunk my story, and Paul denied being related to me, completing the trio of now-unfathomable events.

Humiliated, and wondering why he would react such a way, I was declared a liar. I swear I heard a cock crow three times.

2. Another day I was playing with the person I considered to be my best friend, Jimmy Greaves, at his place. I can't remember the exact sequence of events, but he was prevailed upon by his mother or nana to decide whether he wanted to continue playing Pamela Stephenson's How To Be A Complete Bitch boardgame with me, or go to play at the house of another boy - Timmy - who I had met once or twice.

I pleaded my case, trying desperately to get Jimmy to stay and play with me. He took on the role of the dilemma-horned boy, torn between two worlds. In the end, the made the seemingly difficult decision to go to Timmy's house.

I went back to my grandparents' place, just down the road. Mum asked what I was doing back from Jimmy's so soon, and I told her what had happened.

"You should've come back here straightaway," she said. "You've got your pride."

I had no idea what this meant at the time, but understood I had somehow humiliated myself by begging Jimmy to play with me.

3. In my Nana and Poppy's garage, I found an old copy of Snakes & Ladders, which had been designed to teach moral and civic values. At the base of the ladders were virtues, and at the top were their associated reward. Similarly, the heads of the snakes held vices, while their tails told of the inevitable punishment.

At the head of one particularly green and glaring snake was "PRIDE", illustrated by a top-hatted man strutting down the street with his nose in the air. At the base of the serpent, he had slipped and fallen on his suit-tailed arse - face red and commonfolk jeering.

4. All of which might go some way to explaining why teachers never had any luck convincing me to take pride in my work, why I seldom put all my eggs in one friendship basket, why I trust everyone while believing nothing they say.

"What do you do?"

noreply@blogger.com (Shane) — Fri, 01 May 2009 00:05:00 +0000

It's the all-important question in any role-playing game. Your freshly minted character sits in front of you - statted up on a character sheet, personality coalescing in your mind, perhaps in the three-dimensional form of a miniature. The GM establishes a mood, a situation, a scene. Then asks, "What do you do?"

Which, of course, takes the activity in which you're engaged from the world of story and into the realm of game. It can be daunting to imagine the entirety of the fictional setting your avatar is standing in. A whole universe of possibility: what do I do?

At some point you're likely to be shoehorned into a series of events at least partially pre-determined by the GM, however altered by the vagaries of chance. But in that moment, before he or she takes your response and weaves it into whatever has been planned for that inaugural session, you have the reins of narrative power.

So here I am. Semi-recumbent on my bed, listening to With Teeth, ears full of water from the shower, coffee wending its way through my system, head swimming with its usual chatter.

What do I do?

Waking Up Is Hard To Do

noreply@blogger.com (Shane) — Wed, 29 Apr 2009 23:45:00 +0000

Some ways of waking up are far superior to the humble alarm clock.

The slight shifting of the woman you love beside you, a purring cat licking your nose, the smell of breakfast being cooked for you, warm rays of sunshine streaming through your window...and an alcoholic derro striding past your bedroom, loudly saying:

"A doggy was driving the car. Yes, a doggy was driving the car. I could not believe that a doggy was driving the car. A doggy was driving the car. I saw a doggy was driving the car..."

I love this town.

Doritos = Yum.

noreply@blogger.com (Shane) — Tue, 28 Apr 2009 04:04:00 +0000

Help a Cubis out, would ya?

Go to this link, watch my ad and vote for it. Like, five times. Please.

I'll love you forever.

XOX

Flash In The Brainpan

noreply@blogger.com (Shane) — Mon, 27 Apr 2009 02:37:00 +0000

This morning I had one of my world-famous nostalgia flashes. One of those perfect moments where the weather, shade of light, an errant scent and time of day co-mingle in my mind to recall another time. Then, as quickly as it transports me, the moment passes, leaving me in the same mental state as someone just awoken, trying to recall the details of the dream they were just having.

I was approaching Vivo, thinking of nothing more than how delicious my coffee and toast were going to be. Then autumn, perfume and something undefinable hit me, and I was in late-April 2005, walking from Central to the old People Towers in Stockland House. A time when I didn’t really know my new co-workers, didn’t have my own desk, didn’t trust my friends, didn’t know what my future held. And it was cold.

Normally I enjoy the bittersweet sensation of those flashes, even when they prick. But this one…was somehow unsettling. I don’t even know why.

Vale Nana Pam (Aug 3, 1935 - April 24, 2009)

noreply@blogger.com (Shane) — Fri, 24 Apr 2009 07:13:00 +0000

I was 17 the last time someone in my family died. That was my Papa Ron, who passed away on the bowling green courtesy of a concurrent heart attack and stroke. He died doing what he loved, Dad said. Papa Ron was an archetypal dirty old man, a raconteur full of stories, jokes and alcohol.

His wife, my Nana Pam, died today up in Queensland, three days after she joined Facebook. The last time I saw her was in October 2007, when I was up on the Sunshine Coast for my cousin Josie's birthday. We visited her at the nursing home, checked out her sweet laptop set-up and kick-arse electric wheelchair, then went out for lunch.

Before that, the last time I spoke to her was in late 2005, when I was living alone in Gwynneville. She gave me some advice during a period of personal upheaval, and told me to give her love to Liv, who I'd mentioned once by name, near the beginning of the phonecall.

Before that, I can't remember exactly - but our interactions were usually via MSN Messenger, since she'd taken a computer course, set herself up with a PC and entered the 21st century...earning her the name "Computer Nana" from Marnie (to differentiate her from Nana Jean).

She'd always keep me informed as to what my cousins were up to, and it always seemed like exciting and wonderful stuff. She was obviously very proud of her descendants.

I didn't see Nana Pam a lot as an adult, and possibly even less as a teenager. She and Papa moved to Sanctuary Point in the early 90s, which is where she made lots of pikelets - as well as my flouro-orange-fur Year 12 formal suit. She'd previously taught me to knit, so that she and I could put together a long, multi-coloured scarf for me to attend a primary school Book Character Parade as The Doctor.

When I was a kid, I was at their place in Mangerton a fair bit. It was just up the road from my school, so I'd walk up at 3 o'clock. Usually to have a Bulla ice-block - but also sometimes to have a bee-sting removed or to throw up after being in sick bay. In summer, she'd pick me up from Coniston to go swimming at Bede and Gwen's place.

Nana Pam taught me how to cook, let me play with food colouring and water, gave me cups of frozen peas to eat, kept my drawings and stories, introduced me to Ghostbusters and Back To The Future, and always kept me, Lee and our cousins rolling in Smarties, snakes and jelly babies. She also once smacked me for spitting in the margarine container. But that totally wasn't my fault.

But my favourite Nana Pam moment was when I told her my story about walking through the canteen area at school in just my undies for $35. I thought it was a pretty impressive story, and wondered what her reaction would be.

It was, "Did you have a boner?"

That's my Nana Pam. So it goes.

Financially institutionalised

noreply@blogger.com (Shane) — Mon, 20 Apr 2009 08:02:00 +0000

Today my support for the IMB Building Society ended. Officially. I stuck by them through fees, lack of ATMs and an easily reachable branch out of loyalty to my home town (and the fact they were the only people around who had a debit card deal when I first needed one). So today, while I was taking care of business in a number of ways, I called them up to order a new card. My old one has virtually snapped, and is unusable.

After going through the usual ID checks, and a brief conversation between customer service agent and team leader, I was told I couldn’t get a new card…because there isn’t a password on my account. Apparently, to stop the threat of credit card fraud, they won’t issue cards without the password verification. Because someone could know my full name, date of birth and address, order a new card to my place, then wait by the letterbox for it to arrive.

(I asked the obvious question: “Why did you bother asking me my full name, date of birth and address then?” and no intelligent answer was forthcoming.)

When she offered to send out a form to my place, so I could fill it out with a password, I decided the IMB was dead to me. I didn’t even bother pointing out the fact that were I attempting to commit identity fraud (and had access to Shane Cubis’s letterbox), I could just go that extra mile and MAKE UP A PASSWORD, THEN ORDER A NEW CARD ANYWAY.

The best part of the call was when she proceeded to ask if I was aware of IMB’s insurance options. Yep, she knew I was angry, I’d implied I was going to abandon the account…and she went for the upsell.

Well done, IMB. You’ve driven me fully into the arms of the Big Four. At least when they’re fucking me over, it makes some kind of evil sense. So I’ve diverted my pay and direct debits into my Commonwealth Bank account. They did give me a Dollarmite moneybox when I was a kid, after all.

Hmm…I wonder if you need a password to close an account?

Ummm...

noreply@blogger.com (Shane) — Fri, 17 Apr 2009 08:03:00 +0000

If you wondering about the last line of that last post:

Click this.

SEEMED like a big day...

noreply@blogger.com (Shane) — Fri, 17 Apr 2009 07:51:00 +0000

I had epic plans this morning. I was going to write out a list of tasks on a whiteboard and cross them off, one-by-one. But time shrinks. I got some shit done, but less than I imagined. And now it's nearly 6pm.

Instead of watching the full three hours of Digital Playground's latest masterpiece, Nurses, I only got through the first 90-minute disc. Which is still quite an undertaking.

Instead of finishing my Nikki Sixx Celebrity Case File, I wrote another third of it. Which means 500 words and a coupla break-outs to go. I did almost finish The Dirt, though, which is nice. Although I suspect it's already affected me in weird ways - for the first time I'm regretting selling Decade Of Decadence for $5 in 1994. And Tommy Lee's search for meaning and self while he was in prison for spousal abuse actually touched me. I also listened to Saints Of Los Angeles with at least 23% less ironic detachment.

Instead of writing some reviews and articles for Knights Of The Dinner Table, I chatted on MSN Messenger and double-checked some work for someone else. I've even read the script to a mate's short film and given him some hopefully useful feedback.

Instead of writing something erudite for my new blog, I wrote something araldite for this one.

I had a great vego breakfast and cappucino at my local cafe, I sent an SMS reflecting my feeling that all was right in the world at that particular moment, I ate an entire Lindt Easter Egg (the only one I received this year...and it didn't even have smarties inside it!).

I haven't had a shower, a Coke or taken out any garbage. And I haven't decided what I'm doing tonight. Probably stay home and either work, drink or work and drink - rather than, say, go to Black Cherry as I've been lightly pressured to.

I've begun every paragraph of this blog with the letter "I". If that's not the kind of narcissistic achievement I'm hoping to be remembered for, I don't know what is.

I-I-I-I-I'm not your stepping PIRANHA! PIRANHA!