Prescient

I believe that banking institutions are more dangerous to our liberties than standing armies. If the American people ever allow private banks to control the issue of their currency, first by inflation, then by deflation, the banks and corporations that will grow up around will deprive the people of all property until their children wake up homeless on the continent their fathers conquered. The issuing power should be taken from the banks and restored to the people, to whom it properly belongs.

Thomas Jefferson (1802)

Kicken along

Things have been busy lately. In an effort to maintain vagary (blog version 2.0—now does not include personal information), I’ll say this: I have family visiting at the moment and work just gets busier. Lots of fun.

I woke in the middle of the night, yearning for water. I spied what I presumed to be a water glass next to the bed and took a long draft. Draft was the word—it was not water but some nasty concoction of bottom-of-the-bag homebrew and perhaps a moth or two.

In situations such as this, it is actually possible to leap from a supine position to your feet without transitioning through any other positions. Kind of like a flip book with all the middle pages torn out.

I’ll write something of a decent length (restrain yourselves) soon. For the moment, however, back to the coal mine …

Georgie baby--fuck yeah

George, you were fucking brilliant.

Punless bear-related title

Those of you from outside Australia may not have heard of the Umbilical Brothers. This shouldn't offend anyone ....

Intercranial ranting

I caught a light sneeze (thanks Tori) and got a pay rise, which is good. I actually had a sick day the other day—you know the kind where you are paid to not go to work? Phenomenal; I can't quite get my head around it.

Speaking of heads—internal dialogue; does anyone else get overwhelmed by this? I walk around the city and there is a constant stream of intercranial ranting:

Stop eating that pie you fat cunt! Nice haircut you emo pansy. Oh, for fuck's sake, don't just stop and talk in the middle of the footpath—move off to the side you tourist bastards. I wonder how long he takes to apply his make-up in the morning. Fuck, I hate Courtney Love. Oh, look, that chick is hot! Shit, so's she! Fuck off, I don't want your flyer—that's why my hands are in my pockets. No, buddy! Don't fucking try and proselytise at me, motherfucker. Don't these people have jobs? How the fuck does that kid afford a new Mercedes? Lucky, rich, daddy's little ... Oh, come on people, it's just a little red light—you can see there's nothing coming. Wow, that skirt must be drafty.

And, I never realised when I was a cigarette smoker, how much people hate you. If I am anything to go by, people hate cigarette smokers a lot. (That’s a funny statement—I’m not sure it’s possible to hate something a little …)

Celeriac is stalking me

Went to another restaurant last night with some friends. It wasn't as posh as the place I went to the night before, and the servings were full size. It was of an entirely different type of restaurant, too--this one was Turkish. However, I spied on the menu, celeriac. To my knowledge, this shit didn't even exist last week. Someone just dug it up and threw it on a plate. I don't know why they bothered--it tastes like dirt.

My mission for today is to avoid celeriac. Funnily enough, after reading the Wikipedia article, I could really go a Bloody Mary right now.