Priorities

So, it turns out that under pressure, my work priorities resolve like this:

1. Work that I am being paid to do

2. Work that I am paying to do

3. Work that I wish I were being paid to do

I bet you can figure out which category this blog falls into.

Lucky me, though, I only have one more month before my #2 ceases to exist! And that will bump my #3 endeavours up into second place! Right on. Looking forward to it, definitely . . . :)

In the meantime, let me tell about my Saturday morning. I was at my relatives' house in Essendon, looking through the window and wondering what time it was. The sky was a really stunning bright blue, but the clock said 5 o'clock, so that didn't seem right. I looked at the other clock, over on the bench; but that clock said 8 o'clock, which made even less sense.

It was about then I realised that it didn't make sense because I was dreaming. Feeling a bit silly about that, I woke up. (It was kind of neat that I woke up because I realised I was dreaming, right? That doesn't happen every day, definitely.)

I got out of bed and walked to the bathroom, but there I noticed that the toilet cistern was missing – weirdly, it looked like it had somehow become completely recessed into the wall. That didn't make any sense.

It was about then I realised that it didn't make sense because I was dreaming. Still. Ha! Fully conscious of this fact and feeling quite ridiculous, I put in a more serious effort to make sure that this time, I was waking up properly.

Having woken up properly now, I was immediately compelled to tell this story to someone else. How ridiculous was it that I would realise I was dreaming and so wake up, only to realise that I was still dreaming and then actually wake up?! Bizarre, definitely. So I was telling this story, but I couldn't actually hear my own voice very well because my ears were a bit blocked up. I tried blowing my nose gently to make the air pressure pop. Now, I'm always a bit wary of doing stuff to my ears (you can burst your eardrums if you do something stupid, can't you?), but I kept blowing and then I started to feel kind of weird, and the weird feeling kind of 'expanded' in my head – it was very strange, not entirely pleasant, and it didn't seem to make any sense.

It was about then I realised that it didn't make sense because I was dreaming.

So then I woke up, for the third time, and immediately I burst out laughing and didn't stop for at least a minute.

Let me tell you, it was a heck of a way to start a Saturday.

--the Drowsy Thoapsl

Sunday Night Tumbln' Tumblrweeds

When you tumbl your attentions across a numbr of tumblrs, a numbr of those tumblrs' pics are bound to fiercely tumbl themselves onto & into your memories (both electronical & neurological). Or something like that. Does that make sense? What about the spelling? It's got something to do with hipsters, apparently, but I try not to hold that against it.

So: can you guess the common theme for these images? It's a three-word phrase . . .

(Via.)

. . . it's a line of dialogue, i.e. a line you'd expect to hear spoken aloud . . .

(Via.)

. . . it would probably end with an exclamation mark . . .

(Via.)

If you can think of a three-word phrase that would be exclaimed aloud and is cryptically applicable to each of these pictures, leave your guess in the comments! You might win!

(Is that an intriguing game, or a completely annoying and pointless one? Or both? Please let me know – it's late on a Sunday and my good judgment isn't necessarily itself, I think . . . this morning I ate nachos for breakfast . . .)

Intriguing images, yes? The internet is a fine and lovely domain.

Top 10 #3: Top 10 Sports That I Expect I Will Never Play

Sports are like those secret conspiracy societies; if they don't recruit you into their New World Order by your mid-20s, chances are you'll never get to meet the Lizard Emperor. By which I mean, it may now be too late for me to take up amateur kickboxing.

Other hand: some sports, I don't even like the idea of playing! Ten years ago, I would have given myself an at-least-remote chance to do virtually anything; but whether from lack of desire or lack of opportunity, I figure there are now plenty of sports that I will never actually play. As in, seriously: never.

A chilling vision of things not to come? Either way, here's the latest of my Top 10 Top 10 Lists That Don't Really Deserve To Be Top 10 Lists.

It's

The Top 10 Sports That I Expect I Will Never Play!

10. Triathlon

A way to ruin your day at the beach, and to ruin an otherwise pleasant bicycle ride. No!

NOOOOOOO!!!!!

9. Polo

The traditional horse or elephant, that is. (I've alluded to my feelings about horses before.) I am possibly open to bicycle, however.

8. Parkour

Let's face it, I'm not getting any younger . . .

7. Sumo

And sacrifice my trim figure? Heck no! Also, it's apparently kind of corrupt.

6. Curling

Not that I wouldn't be happy to play a good curl, given the opportunity – but I live in a rather temperate clime, and where am I going to find the right kind of big flat stone and stiff broom? Anyone know?

To be fair, I probably won't soon be playing any sport that features in the Winter Olympics. (Unfortunately? What do you think?)

5. Hurling

Yeah, what? No, apparently Hurling is this:

What? No thanks.

4. Pelota

I don't have anything against pelota; it just seems kind of unlikely. When was the last time someone asked you to play pelota? Also (apparently): it only exists in Florida so that people can gamble on it. And the ball moves so fast that it kills people. Hmm.

3. American Football

I actually quite like watching this game, it's a pretty great spectator sport . . .

. . . but how and why would I ever actually play it?

(Also, I will not put on a helmet and shoulderpads AND lycra pants. That's just asking for trouble.)

2. Lacrosse

I'm not even sure what lacrosse is, honestly. Is it an American thing? Something like pelota, but less fatal? The sport of youthful American yuppies? Baskets are involved, somehow? I'm completely unsure; when it comes to US culture, 1980s high school movies only tell me so much.

1. Golf

Because golf is the game of bastards, frankly. The game of media magnates and corrupt politicians. The game of racial discrimination and upper-class privilege. The game of Auric Goldfinger.

Also: so difficult! Why do they make the hole so tiny, and so far away? It's the game of bastards, all down the line.

Mondays Can Be Disturbing

Cheap of me to do two linkblogs in a row, rather than blogging something that I've actually created myself, but this tickled me too much to resist.

CONTEXT:

See, lately I've been looking for someone* to fill a vacant room in my house, and the process of interviewing prospective housemates has reminded me just how difficult it is to get to know people from only brief conversations. You can absorb a lot of intuitive impressions, but it seems impossible to really find out what they'll be like; I think people usually don't relax enough to show their "true" colours until you've been living with them for weeks, at least.

Thus, there's been a running joke between me & my other (non-new) housemate about the absolute best way to interview a stranger: the Voight-Kampff test.

The Voight-Kampff test is the interview from Blade Runner (via Do Androids Dream Of Electric Sheep?) that's supposed to test your empathy – empathy, of course, being the unique quality that sets humans apart from "non-humans" (e.g. animals, psychopaths, killer robots). I've always thought it would be great fun to spring the Voight-Kampff interview questions on somebody when they're not expecting it, but I've never had the guts to do it "for real" . . .

. . . unlike the journalists at San Francisco's The Wave magazine, who decided to give the Voight-Kampff test to all the upcoming SF mayoral candidates. If you don't know Blade Runner, you probably won't get it, but I thought it was freaking hilarious.

As one would expect, at least half the mayoral candidates are definitely not human.

*Subsequently found: hello, Sarah D—! She's moving in tomorrow, good luck to all involved . . .

Friday Is Out Of Context

You know, somebody says "Slug Monster!" and you think you know what they're talking about. You turn around for a look, but you already feel like you know what you'll see. Heck, you've seen some horror movies, you've got a pretty vivid imagination; you've seen plenty of slug monsters before. How bad could this one be?

Obviously, you have underestimated certain German illustrators of the early 1920s.

(Note, also: the body in the lower left is not being crushed by the slug. It is being absorbed, or possibly growing out of the slug's body like a deformed limb.)

This image is actually part of a cover for a 1920 issue of Der Orchideengarten, a fantasy magazine that ran for an impressive fifty-one issues in Munich from 1919 to 1921. After the horrors of the Great War, THIS is what people were reading to relax.

Image via the ever-awesome A Journey Round My Skull blog. There's plenty more mind-melting Orchideengarten imagery and info to be found out there, if you dare . . .

This Friday Is Out Of Context Thoapsl Says: A salt is not a defence.

Mondays Can Be Disturbing

But not today! Check it out: have you ever seen an image more charming, more sweet, more heartwarming?

Aww yeah!

It's the wand that really makes it, I think.

I found it here, but it's originally from here – an odd site called TeeFury. Yeah, tons of sites sell novelty tee-shirts, but this TeeFury place is unique in that it puts each shirt on sale for one day only! By the time I discovered the Unicornasaurus, I was already too late . . .  :(

Heck of a hook to grab regular traffic & impulsive sales, huh?

Friday Is Out Of Context

Gosh, you know what's lovely? Flowers. Flowers are lovely. Everyone loves flowers.

Wouldn't it be great if we could tell a heartwarming children's tale about flowers? And we could give them all names!

And faces.

Oh god their eyes, what have we done? HOLY NO WHAT HAVE WE DONE

*aazdzzrgghghhlmnllnzz!!*

oh sweet william, please stop. please stop

It's all the fault of T. Benjamin Faucett, but I found it here.

Childhood was harsh in 1924.

This Friday Is Out Of Context Thoapsl Says: An anthropomorphism is not sneezing pollen.

Mondays Can Be Disturbing

Um… do I have to?

Gosh I'm pretty sure I'd rather not, actually

(via)

Friday Is Out Of Context

(Not photoshopped. Honest.)

From one of many tales of Comet the Super-Horse and his tragic love for Supergirl. Googling it just now, I found there's an article here which conveniently summarises the contextual freakiness.

Of course, it was the 1960s; it was a freaky time. (Aren't they all?)

This Friday Is Out Of Context Thoapsl Says: A super-pet is not what lovers do.

Sometimes you don't notice something for six months

and then you see it on a wall somewhere

and it makes you grin.

On a mostly unrelated note: here's something I read today. It's either irrelevant or in bad taste to mention it in the same post as the pic above, but who cares?

(Non sequiturs are still awesome, right?)

--"Topical Is Not Under Your Skin" Thoapsl

Friday Is Out Of Context

MENA, AR—After an extensive three-month-long search, the Polk County Sheriff's Department located missing 9-year-old Joshua Meyers in an abandoned home, rescued the child from his captors, and returned him to his loving parents, the still bound and gagged boy imagined Tuesday.

So, check this: surely, the most disturbing article ever published by The Onion. Onion jokes have explored similar territory before, but this particular example is freaking hardcore. The final paragraph, especially...

I mean – wow. Really. This shit is crazy.

This Friday Is Out Of Context Thoapsl Says: A dream is not a traum.