curtains.

When I lost control of the car and thought I was going to hit the bus stop, the only thing that ran through my mind was "oh well." No high points/low points flashing through my mind. No consideration for my loved ones. No regrets and no proud moments. Perhaps this is a good thing. Perhaps this means I live correctly. Perhaps it means I'm doing everything right.

But I'm really not.

This year, the ten hours I have spent on university work are matched by the effort to train an offensive Dragon Dance Gyarados and overshadowed by the 40 hours I spent on Voltorb Flip, the 100 hours I spent on the Battle Frontier, and destroyed by the 270 hours I've spent on HeartGold in it's entirety so far.

This year, I decided to expend my time and effort on a girl I immensely disliked, forced myself to like her, and had sex with her despite my previous ideals that I'd never do that with someone I didn't legitimately care about.

This year, I quit playing my guitar and real music to focus on the musical abomination known as National Sunday Law Crisis, and I legitimately enjoy it.

I don't really know what's wrong with me, but I'm getting by alright.

kitchen gloves and jagermeister.

This weekend has been just about incredible. Started Friday morning, waking up to Shay in my room, watching DVDs all day and just having a general enjoyable time. Dropped by Scott's to meet Reece, went back to Reece's. Got super high, watched computer battle on Super Smash Bros, listened to Leftover Crack records going super fast, imagined stories to go with them. Walked to the station through some road I have no clue where it was. Thought we missed the train, but it was late and nailed the time spot on. Train got delayed because some guy broke the doors, but I scabbed a smoke off him, so he was an alright bloke. Got to the city, still feeling a bit fucked but easing up a bit. The plan for the night was to hit Fash and then hit the cas, but it didn't really play out when we blew all our money on jagerbombs and just got entirely fucked. Had a smoke with Big Knox, ended up skanking our way to last train, yelling the riff to Blood Red by Slayer. Got another Fash photo that didn't get put up. Grabbed a taxi home because we would have never been able to walk it. Chucked on The Simpsons, but I fell asleep.

Woke up the next morning. Watched some more Simpsons, picked MattyT up from Auto Barn, dropped him home. Relaxed a bit before work, had some lunch. Got to work, didn't make a single burger all day. Worked out the back, walked to storage, chatted with the managers. Got let off early because I was going to an art exhibition. Didn't work out, track maintenance lead to me not making the exhibition. Turned around at Oakleigh, went to Reece's, got super high with him, Jake, Dani and Jake. Wrote a new NSLC song. Wrote a new Eminem single. Watched School of Rock. I fell asleep halfway through.

Woke up the next morning; Reece decided to have a party. We scraped $7 in change together, Jake had $5 on his card. We bought burgers, fries, apple pie and creaming soda. Paid for it with the change we kept the weed in, had to pick chunks out when we dumped the change down. Got back, started cooking, got drunk at 2PM off goon. Wanted to sleep so bad. Dom showed up, got drunk, we watched Spinal Tap. Had intervals of playing a 99 life game of Super Smash Bros, all Jigglypuff. Got them down to 15 lives after several hours of playing. Jake got back from skating, Tim arrived, Turner showed up, mood destroyed. Ashlyn showed up, mood surprisingly didn't sink lower. Got angry at Turner. Wanted to sleep. Bec arrived, went and got two bottles of jager. Tom arrived with garlic bread. Got horribly fucked up in a matter of minutes. Walked to Harry's, destroyed his house. Flipped a seat with Reece, punched a kiwi fruit into his phonebook, Jake and Reece flipped a couch, Harry threw us out. Walked back to Reece's, could barely stand. Remember thinking I haven't been this drunk in a long time. Reece spent the rest of the night with his head in the toilet, still wanting to party. Put on Marley and Me. Drunk texted. Fell asleep just after they had the first kid. Was probably for the best this time, would have cried like a baby if it hit the dog dying.

Great weekend, no repercussions. Except I'm out of weed and flat broke and need to raise $150 in a few weeks for Reece's holiday house, but on the upside, I'm feeling the happiest I've been in a long time. I've got incredible friends, I'm getting by, having fun, almost on holidays, and I've met a girl who I legit like and want to spend time with, which in a way is surprising.

life lessons.

I am a fucking idiot. I'm a fucking idiot for waiting this long. I'm a fucking idiot for liking a girl like that. I'm a fucking idiot because I don't learn, and I'm a fucking idiot because I'm already realizing I probably won't learn this lesson this soon.

I'm a fucking idiot for feeling like this.

cold enough to hustle shit to kids.

I miss having problems that I could use to update this once or twice a week, and feel like I was accomplishing something. I miss that long character arc of mine, giving me a purpose that I felt like I could work towards. I miss having ambitions and a life goal.

It seems like all I do these days is attempt to tune girls, get high, listen to music, and occasionally write some god-awful music for my god-awful band. And really, National Sunday Law Crisis doesn't take that much writing. My short-story project is seeming dead for the time being with no new material coming out of my head, NSLC is at a dead-end for creating right now, my girls situation is at a point where I really have to make a decision, and all the music I've been listening to lately, save some exceptions, is just guys my age or slightly older complaining about similar problems to what I'm doing right now.

This week is crunch week. It's supposed to be crunch week for university work, of which I have a LOT due in this week. This is not the context I am using it in; my university work will be forced in at the last minute, and I'll get pass marks. No, this is crunch week for me for an entirely different reason; I have to make a decision on which girl I like the most. I've safely evicted one of them out of the three possibilities I currently have in an unusual, non-self-destructive action through realizing that she's only going to be bad for me, and the fact I'd have competition if I kept it up with a prize that doesn't match the effort expended at all. However, the choice I have left is minimal effort against putting in more effort than I have all year for what would probably be a better option.

Knowing me, I wouldn't be surprised if I don't choose either.

i can dish it out, but i can't take it

I just deleted everything I wrote. I have no reason to write an entry right now, because right now I'm in the mind frame of taking action and seizing the day. Right now, I'm pretty happy.

build it up in that breakdown.

The only reason the title is so fucking gay is because this entry is pretty gay and useless.

Considering pursuing a girl who I like mainly because of her looks. Like, if it was just going to be, like, non-relationship, I wouldn't have a problem. It's shallow as, but outside of a relationship, that's all you look for. But asking her to the movies and shit? Can I really build something off a foundation of small talk?

At the same time, the last thing that I want right now is to get overly attached to someone again, because there's no way in hell I'm spending months on that shit again.

This isn't as eloquent as I used to write. I should probably work on that.

Review of AC/DC, February 11th, 2010.

My expectations for attending this event weren't high. I drove recklessly all day, hoping to drastically injure and/or hospitalise myself in the hopes of missing out on going. Essentially, I imagined being forced to watch Thunderstruck over and over and beat off to pictures of Angus Young almost as much as he does daily.

However, I forgot the joy that pretentious cynicism can bring to any event, be it a bad concert or a family funeral. However, none of the joy that I had came from any of the bands playing.

Firstly, the crowd. I was surrounded by the lowest common denominator, people with bad music taste. A woman bragged to her friends how she had seen Babba in concert. I think that about sums up the level of humanity there.

I'll begin with the opening acts. Calling All Cars are hardly worth mentioning. I only caught the last song of their set, but with that, I had heard all their material. Utterly unremarkable band in a series of utterly unremarkable bands. When Wolfmother came on, my expectations raised, seeing as I was one of the many who had a previous vested interest in these guys back in 2006 when they won Triple J's album of the year. They still have no changed. The lead singer, Andrew Stockdale, had an air of superiority over being the only psych rock band on a night of commercialised rock. I've got news for you Andrew Stockdale, you ARE commercialised rock. I sat through the seemingly endless solos of an absolute wanker... No, it was probably useful as a warm-up. Nonetheless, the fact that their setlist blended together into one song is not a compliment in the slightest as could be said for, say, Scenes From a Memory (speaking of pretentious wankery), but rather as unremarkable dad rock. Again, probably useful as a warm-up. The highlight of Wolfmother's set was surprisingly, Back Round off their new album. The song isn't good at all, I've just connected it with Medicate by AFI because they're in the same set on Guitar Hero 5 and I usually skip Back Round halfway through, so the mental image of Davey Havok pushing Stockdale out of the way and just screaming, "MEDICATE, HERE WITH ME" into the microphone was just too good to be true. It didn't happen.

Now, for AC/DC, I took several hundred words of notes, just to be sure to capture everything I couldn't when my phone's internet connection died. However, looking back, these notes make... little sense. I will attempt to recapture the night as best I can.

The first song to cause me to take notes was The Jack. Prior to this was just Black Ice, a pitiful attempt at a career revival by doing the opposite of what made them famous (writing the same songs), and Back in Black. The thing about The Jack that really caused me to take notes was just the disgust and beginning awareness of what I was seeing. Young, potentially self-respecting women raised their tops to a song about a woman having a sexually transmitted infection, sung by a sleazy, sweaty fat man, who is accompanied by some kind of balding cenobite on guitar. The horrible demon, alternatively named Angus Young, then proceeded to do a striptease on stage. That's right, the cameramen willingly changed from young women to a sixty year-old man taking off his clothes. This was my first alert that things were not as they seemed.

As Hells Bells began, and Brian Johnson took a running leap onto the rope attached to the bell, I found I had my fingers crossed that he would miss and snap his spine. Not only to end the show early, but part of me would love to say I was at the last AC/DC concert, and yes I did see the singer plunge to his death. Unfortunately, he did not and I had to witness another hour and ten minutes of the same song. For some reason, I then had in my notes "baby's first rock group". It's true, I'm just not sure what prompted me to write this.

Whenever the camera would cut to Malcolm Young, he looked surprised and disoriented. I think it's a safe bet that he has alzheimer's, and that his band members should potentially begin researching treatment for this. This isn't a light-hearted joke, I'm really certain there's something wrong with him. Also, I had a note saying "Bob Rock on bass?" Bob Rock's the guy that played bass on St. Anger. Again, I have no idea why I wrote this.

Now, onto another good point. If I never hear another pointless outro solo of tremolo on a single chord or a slide for as long as I live, it will still come too soon. Nearly every song featured this, as if the audience was just waiting for this captivating piece of music to announce to them that the song was over. I know they blend together, but perhaps instead of just tacking this on the end of everything, perhaps, JUST perhaps, you could work on your songwriting skills. It's a long shot, but anything's possible. Look at U2, I would have given their career a year at best.

The next thing I had written was "lights too bright, rock music too loud". I suppose it was some kind of joke, but I don't find it funny now. However, something I still find relevant is the video they showed to accompany their new hit, "War Machine". The video, while essentially being a rip-off of an Iron Maiden song I'm failing to name right now (It's either Powerslave or Aces High), showed Angus Young piloting a plane that proceeds to drop girls out of it as if they are bombs. I know AC/DC has a history of treating women like objects considering their lyrical themes, but this is just ridiculous. After this, a tank (labelled with AC/DC on the side, just in case the viewer wasn't smart enough to make the connection) and a giant stone man walk across the desert. Then the plane drops a bell on a pirate ship, which Malcolm Young is on board. Perhaps this is the reason for his disorientation, the video is a symbol for the fact he wanted to quit the band, so they followed suit with their fans and gave him a frontal lobotomy. It seems to make sense. Also, high point of the show, as well as a real low point for Lost viewers, the CGI was only just worse than the submarine or the underwater island. This isn't a joke, a multi-season running, award winning show has only marginally better CGI than AC/DC. Only a few people will understand this, but those that will are certain to be disappointed.

Brian Johnson, the sweaty old pervert then announced that they would play "High Voltage Rock and Roll". As I awaited the opening notes of "Danger! High Voltage!", I was disappointed to find that they never came, instead playing an entirely unrelated song. On the bright side, they showed photos of a potentially disabled relative of Brian May. However, as the photos progressed, I became less sure it was Brian May's cousin with an extra chromosome, and rather felt that Dave Grohl had boarded Ajira 316 and been left there after the bomb went off. Either way, I laughed at this, as there's really no reason for this attack on Queen, and they could have easily gone for the less tasteless option of attacking Freddie Mercury for having AIDS.

They then managed to work the word "Australia" into TNT. I never realised how much I hate bands doing this, it's a cop-out for the audience to cheer just because they hear a place that they're aware of. To be fair though, the band members could have just stood on stage and waved keys for an hour and a half and 70% of the people there would have cheered. However, during TNT, the veiled rape threat of "lock up your back doors" became apparent to me when coupled with Johnson's menacing, lecherous leer. I will perhaps never look at AC/DC the same way.

They followed with Whole Lotta Rosie, which was subtly shown to the audience through an enormous inflatable woman with large breasts. At one point though, I thought it had stopped inflating, and laughed a lot remembering the line, "we salute you, our half-inflated dark lord." The next note just says, "woman must have been huge to ride on a train, possibly what killed Bon Scott?"

The next 20 minutes were devoted to Let There Be Rock, a song that really disappointed me on the night because I kept waiting for Henry Rollins to come out. Also, there were guitars and drums at the show prior to Johnson announcing "let there be guitars/drums", which makes him a dirty, rotten liar. I began to question the historical accuracy of the videos they continued to show during this song, as it showed an image of Angus Young, impaled on his own guitar, vomiting blood. I'm somewhat sure this never happened in the past, because I did not see a scar on his horrible, 60 year old body, but I suppose it could have been some kind of clone or shapeshifter in the photo. Or on stage, I'm still not 100%. Then it got to the solo, which took the last 15 minutes of the show, and as the solo neared it's climax, AC/DC released a horde of locusts into the air from under the stage. I'm kind of pissed that they stole National Sunday Law Crisis's idea, but more just concerned about how they'd get the locusts back in for the next show. Also, Angus Young would continually stop until he could hear the crowd cheering for him. I now understand why he's not in the Hellraiser cube with the other cenobites, this human quality of neediness and pathetic desperation is not something that the others would look on kindly.

I can wrap up the night quite simply. If I wanted to see a wanker play the guitar in an over-the-top manner, I would have gone to Eddie's house.

PS, they played an encore of Highway to Hell. I kept hoping the only good thing ever associated with that song would happen and Sam and Dean would send the demons on stage back to hell.

PPS, as I was walking out, I saw a group of indie kids. I am still confused.