This really happened

I'm back in Brunswick amongst the crazies and I have a question for you. Do Schizophrenic people sometimes commit murder when the voices tell them to or does that just happen in the movies? I don't intend this to be inconsiderate, but here's what I witnessed this morning:


I woke up at like 6am (maybe jetlag will help me sort my life out with all this extra morning-time) and fucked around for a few hours. Then I wrote a shopping list and jumped on my bike to get to Barkly square (those who have been to my house will know that I didn't really need to be on a bike - I'm just lazy and don't like to carry things a few hundred meters) - I forgot my helmet but couldn't be fucked turning back for it. Anyway I reached the intersection of Brunswick and Sydney roads and crossed to the seven eleven. It was only after I reached the other side that I noticed the man wobbling on the side of the road. I figured he was just high so I didn't perceive him to be a threat until he started talking to himself. He said:

"I won't do it, Jack! No, Jack - fuck off!"

I figured it was kind of sad/funny (lets call it Fad), but nonplussed until he yelled really loudly:

"LOOK AT HER FACE, JACK! I WON'T DO IT, LOOK AT HER FUCKING FACE!!"

I should probably mention that I was the only person standing at the lights, and suddenly had a flash-daydream in which he pulled out a gun from his jacket and shot me. Or worse, a knife.

So I ask you - dangerous or just harmlessly deranged? Mentally ill or just high? (or both, I suppose). Maybe the girl he was talking about was just another personality in his head. Maybe he's like Russell Crowe in A Beautiful Mind? In which case I should have flirted with him and he might have shown my some stars or done an equation that makes me a lot of money.

What do you think?

Evilboy.

Taking over the World plan #1

Last night my father, in a moment of brilliance and half way through his second bottle of wine, told me that there will be a war between China and the US and China will win. So, apart from having to learn both Cantonese and Mandarin I've decided to align my political-aspirations with South America. Here is why:

- I think I might be a Child of the Revolution and if I join to Chilean communist party I might be able to marry into Mao's family. With this socialist-cred I can survive any economic change that may incur.

- I like pisco and I can salsa. These two attributes appear to be imperative to a life hanging with my fellow revolutionaries - particularly considering when your order a piscola here you're getting half a glass of spirits and some coca-cola to alter the taste slightly.

- I think I'm turning into an alpaca. I would thus be ideally suited to the mountain ranges of Argentina/Chile (ie: the Andes). I could spend my days being herded by vaquero (cowboys) and munching on fertile grass-lands. They would call me 'Angus' and my wool will be worn by royalty.

- In the event of a war between China and the US, China will most likely become an economic superpower. Therefore, North America's 'war on drugs' waged in the South may cease to be so inefficient - in which case someone will need to lobby for the legalisation of the cocaine industry. This way, whilst I may not be a gansgter, I will still be chillin' with the mafia regulating the manufacture of coca. Therefore Israeli kids on their gap-years (between military service and university) will know that what they legally buy is clean and safe. (NB// This is simply an example. Anyone who purchases cocaine in South America will be pleased, I have simply noticed that many Israeli teenagers frequent this continent in search of a binge/purge prior to re-entering the normal social strata).

Thus it makes perfect sense for me to never return to study and continue enjoying my afternoon pisco sours in peace.

I hear nay-sayers!

Julie Powell cheated on her husband, made money from it and was played by a babe in a movie. She remains on the list, with the linguist.

People Who Make me Feel Little #3

Julie Powell. Yes, the Julie Powell from Julie/Julia the movie with Meryl Streep. I know I will never become a good cook, or even just an average one - but I just watched the movie and it put all of this over-intoxicated, under-sexed nonsense into perspective. I hate it when people put me into perspective! I have wonderful daydreams about meeting new people who think I'm fabulous and we slowly grow up, read more widely and eventually write a magazine that brings postmodern philosophy into real-life. Then my dream cuts to seven years later and Shane Judith**, my child, is reading my article in her first year Arts class. Then I have to wake up and realise that the only thing anyone has ever read of mine is either this blog or my tutor reading an essay. Also that Simone de Beauvoir, Judith Butler and George Bataille (my latest theorist-crush) were most likely geniuses - perfectly educated ones. My marks might not even allow me into Sociology Honours at lousy ol' Melbourne University (a major that I'm not even marginally interested in).

The point is that this probably won't happen - I am not going to grow old with my friends and revolutionise the Academy - and Julie Powell makes that pertinently clear. You see, I read her blog and discovered that Martha Stewart is her god (as well as Julia Child by the end of her 365 days, obviously). She is educated and can cook, and whilst she is one of the more relatable People who make me feel little, she still projects this wonderful sense of femininity - the kind that grew out of home-made bongs and raiding her parent's medicine cabinets and actually did something she loved and made money from it! (and kept drinking and smoking and not exercising and eating fatty foods!).

So, instead of sticking to the four dishes I can cook - a Jamie Oliver roast chicken (I won't lie, sometimes I deviate from the orange and lemon stuffing and revert to some sort of bread-crumb, butter and garlic concoction), a Donna Hayes chocolate and raspberry pudding***, spaghetti bolognese and goats cheese and mushroom risotto - I'm going to actually attempt to learn proper-cooking. I'm not sure if this would bode well with the real-life Julia Powell, but for now I might stick with a Hollywood idealised version of her and then graduate to the real-life one once I've learned how crack an egg without getting egg-shell in my food.

Food-loving-peace,

Evilboy.

** Shane Judith is the fag-hag-love-child of Projectile Josh and I. She's named after Shane from the L Word and Judith Butler.

*** I used to make the chocolate raspberry pudding for cake days in high school and no one seems to have forgotten them. It got to a point where I would have to make like twenty-five little puddings (I made them in little china ramekins) so that everyone I made contact with that day could have a bite. I actually woke up two hours before school to bake them. Unfortunately, I think I might have lost my touch (and my budget) because last time I made them they weren't as good as I remembered.

Purple beards, wrestling masks and Children of the Revolution

Sian has left me to fend for myself. It's like being deserted in a very comfortable, slightly cold but sunny jungle with ample water and the occasional fresh salmon jumping toward me. As you can imagine I'm drinking the wine instead of the water and frequently calling for salmon from my comfortable leather couch that Trevor bought at a department store. Thank goodness she thought to leave my scarf with me - otherwise I might have only had three to choose from.

Anyway I've been reading the linguist's blog recently and it's made me feel guilty, because she's been away for less than a week and has kept up to date with her life and everything (perhaps I should add her to my list of people who make me feel little. I got to South America and she's still having a more interesting adventure..). So I thought I would tell you about a few of the more interesting parts of my trip:

1. If you've ben reading recently, you might have seen my extremely brief post of Valparaiso. Apart from some of the people we met at the hostel we stayed in, it was pretty marvelous. In fact, if I ever returned I think I would like to become the captain of a tug-boat and a Child of the Revolution - I would smoke cigars, drink lattes and salsa sensually to loud, fiesta-like live music. Unfortunately we did our big-night-out on the first night we got there. I tried to salsa but all the cheap beer got the better of me and I ended up giving too much money to a pied-piper looking busker who played me a Chilean song. From then on I was content using travellers-cliches too often and planning my life as el Capitan - which translates as 'the captain' obviously, but I think is more likened to a chief. In fact the most common usage of the word seems to be as the name of a big rock in California, but whatever - people here seem to have different meanings for words.

2. We went to see a band because this guy Ricardo (whom I found out yesterday is fondly known as Richie to his friends) was playing. Ricardo is Mum's old Spanish teacher and also does a walking tour that we went on. Informative, but the night out was much more entertaining. Sian describes the band as a mix between the strokes and the beach boys with a wrestling mask twist. They looked a bit like this:

except with a bit more Chilean hipster cred, less colour and more tattoos. I should also mention that my Mum came out with us and hung around until 2am. I have a newfound respect for her. Anyway after she left we had a dance and I tried out my spanglish - describing gender studies with no command of the language is impossible. I spent about half an hour trying to describe feminism to an engineering student in spanish - unfortunately I made the mistake of actually trying to use Spanish to describe it. I kept yelling machismo machismo machismo and trying to say feminism and of course Sian pops up behind me and yells drunkenly 'man' 'woman' and does some hand gestures and he immediately understands. From now on I'm sticking to 'no entiendo', because for a while I thought that 'no hablo' explained that I couldn't speak spanish, not that I couldn't speak at all.


3. I saw a man with a purple beard at the markets. They have fruit, veg and sea food markets that move around the city every day. I also saw live barnacles (might try to eat them before I leave).
More later,

Evilboy