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Happy 30th Tristan!
(Click the arrows for a couple more photos)
Welcome to planet Earth LUCA!
This is your home now.
Congratulations kids!
Cormac McCarthy
—Photo by Eric Odgen
“You think when you wake up in the mornin yesterday don’t count. But yesterday is all that does count. What else is there? Your life is made out of the days it’s made out of. Nothin else.”
― Cormac McCarthy, No Country for Old Men
I’m currently reading this book, well listening it to it on audiobook, and it’s simply brilliant. It’s like each sentence has existed forever, it feels like there’s a real inevitability to it, the words just belong together. Sure I have the images from the film in mind, but it’s so interesting to see which parts were changed slightly and which were omitted.
It was up to a particularly tense moment in the story when I dropped my ipod. It was just out the front of a sushi shop in Armadale, of all the edges and angles possible, it happened to fall on the one tiny vulnerability and jammed the hold button in. I was really annoyed that my ipod was ruined, but devastated that I couldn’t listen to what happened next while I ate my spicy prawn roll.
Looking for meaning, I walked into this massive antique store and promptly tore the front of my jeans right open on the razor sharp edge of this god awful 1700s French gilt-bronze mounted desk. That sharp edge had been passed down for hundreds of years, had seen it all, the world, high seas, wars, peace, probably a lot of stationary, life and death, waiting and waiting and waiting some more, all the while constantly getting sharper, all for the day it would fulfill it’s destiny and meet my crutch. I might be mixing my metaphors but it was a lot like a Viet Cong sniper crouching in the jungle. I thought about this and then with my groin in tatters, with huge strips of fabric blowing around in the wind and my junk half frozen to death, i walked home in the rain.
Pretty much defeated by a really shitty Tuesday, I decided to take a hacksaw and my mother’s set of fancy fabric unpickers to said ipod. To my surprise for the first time in a very long history of Tmac DIY fixit jobs, this one did NOT end with:
-tetanus shots
-an emotional meltdown
-broken/lost tools
-blood loss
-a screaming competition (or the associated noise complaints)
-ANY Crimestoppers involvement
-PTSD
-a Cheezel binge necessitating a visit to more than one large supermarket
-Stockholm Syndrome
I sawed down the edges and popped the little guy up, and I kind of like the Mad Max look my ipod has now.
Not sure if this is a sign or not. Finding a suitcase full of cash would have really been a sign, maybe to follow my dream and start that mobile sauna business. Hey Cormac, you chuck in $20K and I’ll give you unlimited saunas whenever you’re in town, i’ll even name one of the fleet after you and sort out some kind of steam proof plaque.
Zoe’s playball guidelines have proved very successful when applied to my life this week, things have really turned around since I started following points 3 and 6. I’ve been following number 4 for years!
On his last day at work designing for Beat, a guy named Luke hijacked the cover and replaced it with a drawing of himself with his johnson out.
Goodbye Handsome Steves, I wish i’d taken advantage of your rad bar more often.
For once with Melbourne policemen, character has defied characterisation. The other night after a case of mistaken identity and a brief, moderately hilarious interrogation, two of Melbourne’s finest gave me a lovely lift home!
I was surprised that a six year old could work the stove and make an omelette.
Next time i’ll be sure to ask for easy on the char and the shell.
Worst babysitter ever.
