Today, not only did I discontinue the Clarko SMS Newsletter in favour of decaffeinated.org, since 160 characters is pure torture, but I also severed ties with the band.
That’s not to say that I didn’t enjoy playing with Jimmy, Lee and Burg; but my complete lack of committment and my growing distaste for our music was starting to crush everyone’s spirits. It was, at first, extremely exciting. Working with talented musicians, writing songs of a style that I’d never worked with before, making sure every teeny-tiny detail of the music was perfect before moving on, it was great. It just didn’t stay that way though — I loved our first few songs, but then we started evolving into some kind of Incubus/Silverchair hybrid. The other guys like Incubus and Silverchair, so they don’t have a problem with that, but I’m not “that way inclined,” and this is the result. All in all, I had a good time playing with them, and I wish them good luck.
On the home front, not much has been happening. I saw the girl last night — which is once again becoming a rare thing in the midst of our tertiary educations. Every now and then she’d start to tell me about how exciting her week was, before realising that I’d already read it in her weblog. Amusing indeed. Pretty soon we’ll have nothing to talk about.
Caught up with Milena yesterday, after about a year. Somewhere between her losing her phone and me crashing my car we completely lost touch... which is sad in a way. Not so sad that I might start crying though.
Quick post, because I’m leaving for Vincenzo’s in about 30 seconds.
Today was extremely cat-oriented. On the way to college, I spied a dead cat on the side of the road. When I came home, my cat had thrown up on the rug. For fun, I played Cat Vac, Catapault, and Cat Bat at Mohsye.
That is all
I should really take up drinking again. I gave it up for a while, in preference of money, but it really is great. I don’t know what it is about beer, seeing as how it is my bane, but put a few in me before bed and I will sleep like a god-damned log. The kind of log that has been damned by god. For some reason, the morning after a few beers (even if it was a heavy session) I’ll willfully and unprovokedly jump out of bed. No fatigue, no sleeping in; I just want, nay, need to get out of bed at a reasonable hour.
So I’ve made the decision, I’m going to start drinking a beer or two every night a little before bed, and sooner or later I’m going to start with a little home brewing. Not only is it good for my heart, but good for my sleeping patterns too. Of course, that last claim is yet to be tested. We’ll see.
I’ve been a fan of Jack T Chick tracts ever since the illustrious Space Moose made them known to me in Antlers of the Damned. Jack’s fundamentalist interpretations of vague, antiquated scripture and his penchant for pointing the finger at the hellbound among us just makes me wanna buy the set, and I’m sure that’s what he’s been planning all along.
Of course, it’s been a while since I’ve read Space Moose and/or JTC, but trust Luna to come up with the goods and remind me of what I’ve been missing all this time with this little golden egg. If you don’t have the enchiladas for all that salvation, at least try page 17 of the tract. It seems that those darned punk rockers are on a highway to hell, and some of ‘em are even committing suicide just to join the party early! Boy, Jack. You really hit the nail on the head this time. I’m not a religious man, nor am I an idiot... but I get the impression that Jack is both.
In unrelated news, I’ll be throwing away all my records and CDs tomorrow because apparently punk rock = hell. Apparently. See you there.
I’m not a vegetable-hating man. Quite the opposite, but tonight I spied several items that made me a little concerned for the future of vegetables in general. No, I’m not talking about genetic engineering, since I’m actually one of those nasty proponents of said engineering; I’m talking about something equally frightening and far less practical than antibacterial potatoes..
Bizarro cross-bred vegetables (hereby referred to as Vegetalia) have burst on to the scene like some kind of oddly-coloured rash — they're not GM, just bred that way. It started out with the yellow watermelon. Sure, yellow, it looks like it could just happen in nature, you’d pay it even less attention than seedless watermelon, but green and purple cauliflower is going just a little too far, don’t you think? I’m sure they did very well with the “my kids won’t eat anything that isn’t fluorescent” demographic, but I’m just disturbed. I mean, look at them! They’re right up there with purple cabbage and rhubarb for fuck’s sake!
Still on the subject of genetic engineering, what the hell is Mothers for Natural Law? Natural law? If the Natural Law I know were in charge, half of your precious offspring would be dead before puberty, ladies. If it weren’t for Rubella inoculations and Pine-O-Clean Super-Matic-Antibacterial Spray, the only Natural Laws you’d be concerned with on a day-to-day basis would be death and disease. Think about that before you start throwing your organic tomatoes at the scientists that have made your life that much easier than if you were living in, say, much of Africa.
Incidentally, I’m eating Alice’s Custard and Apple Ice Cream. Yes, it’s custard flavoured ice cream with stewed apple thrown right in there. I can barely describe the taste sensation I’m currently experiencing. It’s that weird.
But good. It’s good, too
The second such operation in the time I’ve owned him, I spent the morning getting my hair cut (nothing to do with car repairs) and visiting scrap yards (everything to do with car repairs). Suffice to say, phase one of Operation: Fix Up Isaac is complete. $517.00 later, I’m the proud owner of a new bonnet, rad support, radiator and front grille.
Strangely, I’m looking forward to the repairs. It gives one a sense of accomplishment not found in writing HTML, debugging scripts, or installing hardware... it’s the mechanicality of it all, the grease and sweat and nuts and bolts. It’s all good.
Tonight after work it’s Casino Time. Yes, it’s that time of the month, where frivolous gambling and drinking free hot chocolate is top on our list of desires. “Us” of course, being the GVGQPG. We’re not that professional, but we do like to gamble.
My evil plans are falling steadily into place. About half an hour ago I visited Centrelink and checked out certain things... most notably my eligibility to get free money from the government. It turns out I’m quite eligible. All those people that said work was for suckers? Well work has earned me the title of “independent”, despite my current living arrangement and general dependence on my parents. So work means I can get youth allowance, and subsequently cut my work at Woolies by half, growing fat on the government handouts I would otherwise be ineligible for. Excellent.
Consequently, I’ll spend much of tonight filling out the thousand-page application form and collating documents, so that I can start to claim my slob money as soon as possible. The downside to this otherwise-sweet deal? If I do earn money, say... from a design account, they’ll cut off my payments until said monies are expired. Example? If I get a $10 000 payout for some design work, they’ll cut off my payments for eight months or so. Terrible. What if I want to buy a new computer or some other tax-deductible item? I’ll need to investigate this, surely.
In unrelated news, it’s flying-bloody-ant season here in Joondalup. I wasn’t aware that such a season existed, but clearly the fog of flying ants outside the window is testament enough.
Needless to say, that whole Centrelink form thing took me hours to finish. Most of my time was spent fishing around in my filing cabinet for the original copy of my birth certificate, payslips, recent bank statements for all my accounts, and current balances for all my accounts. I hope a printout from Bankwest’s online banking service will suffice, otherwise I’ll be sad. Yes, sad. Maybe even upset, though the obvious remedy would be to nip down the road to my bank and ask them for “official” prinouts, which I may end up doing anyway.
I may hit a few snags, seeing as how I’ve only barely earned enough over the last 18 months to be considered independent, but I get the impression I’m A-Grade welfare material in my paint-stained pants and my toe-holed shoes. They'll be begging to give me money. The whole business ownership thing is apparently a big no-no, but my sharp tongue and steely gaze should tide me over during the interview where I’ll calmly explain that my position as business owner is simply so that my clients and I can pay more tax. Surely any reasonable person could accept an explanation such as that. Surely.
Operation: Fix Up Isaac Phase Two began today, as Lee and I dismantled his front end with reckless abandon... all but removing my worthless air-conditioner. Oh yeah, we also removed the parts that need replacing. Come Sunday, he should be well on the way to a full recovery, leaving only knick-nacks and paddy-whacks for me to sort out before inspection. Hurrah.
It seems my precious fruit bread isn’t even safe from the ravages of the toaster, burning irreparably in the time it would take any normal piece of bread just to defrost. This does not a happy Clarko make. Speaking of unhappy, I the payslips I needed work to print off for me ended up being the wrong ones altogether, so I must wait... and try again.
Tonight everyone’s in for a double treat, as we celebrate Katie’s birthday in true style (that is, eating food and wearing party hats), then jump ship soon after dessert and head over to Stewie’s to celebrate his birthday with a flurry of drinking and death-metal-listening-to. In true Stewie style, of course.
But for now, work. I’m sure by tonight I’ll be pallid and sunken-eyed, as is my usual Saturday-night trick. All work and no sleep makes Chris a dead-looking boy.
Upon inspecting the girl’s weblog this morning, it would appear she has taken up swing dancing. I don’t know what hurts me more, the fact that I was never told or the fact that I was never invited. Never mind that when we met we were listening to a swing compilation, jiving a lot and wishing we could all learn how to swing dance a la Brendan Fraser in Blast From the Past of all movies... but hey, I’m not bitter.
Last night at Nowland’s was well executed. A good party, even. It seemed strange that we “older” people huddled together like some kind of persecuted minority, speaking in whispers, hoping that nobody in the younger crowd would spot us for the fogies that we are. But aside from that: the beer, music, and mood of the whole affair was very pleasant.
I’ve officially changed my stance on the whole Emma Nowland affair: I no longer believe that she looks like Rose McGowan, but more like the lovely lady in the first frame of this comic. Maybe this exposes me for the pervert I am, a man who loves women of ink and paper more than women of ink and flesh! Damn you, Jessica Rabbit! Damn you Judy Jetson! aaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!
When words come back to slap you in the face like some kind of bukkake trout farm, that is the ultimate annoyance. For instance, it turns out that I could have gone to swing lessons (and indeed I will be in future), but nay, I slept in too late. Also: aforementioned swing dancing bitch never informed me. I’m quite looking forward to it, since (as I mentioned) Blast From the Past’s swing scene was hella cool... and I also wish I was Brendan Fraser.
On a sidenote, my affinity for Judy Jetson was exaggerated, I swear! Come on, Jane was foxier. But enough of this trashy celluloid fantasy, I should get back to playing Dungeons & Dragons... with Daphne
The mind boggles
I always look forward to listening to the radio at work. It lets me keep in touch with what the kids are up to these days. You know: Cruisin’ round town with the windows down, shakin’ all ‘round to the stereo sound... that kind of thing. But more often than not, I come home with a brand new reason to loathe the music industry
What the hell does Beyonce think she’s pulling? Who the hell produced that fucking track? And why do my fingers smell like Cheezels? Those are the worst fucking samples laid over a shitty midi scroll I have ever heard. And that says a lot considering that the studio course I did was headed by an ageing disco drummer from England, who smelled a little like refridgerated pork chops. I mean, whoever programmed Work it Out was in serious need of a sense of god-damned rhythm. Biatch.
There also seems to be a growing (though ever-present) trend towards running really old songs through the dance-track-maker. Nothing is safe from their phat beats and noise-gated synths. It’s madness, and suddenly hearing that baby, you’re all that I want when I’m lying here in your arms doesn’t sound half as sincere. Hearing that you’re a bitch, girl and that you can rely on the old man’s money from some kind of jiggy-with-it home boy inspires me to kill myself, and maybe take others with me. Why can’t these losers write some original music? Why can’t they write some original lyrics to go with their original music?
I mean, I sure could use a vacation from this bullshit three ring circus sideshow of freaks here in this hopeless fucking hole we call LA. That’s for sure.
Geez, make a few nasty remarks about a few celebrities and everyone thinks you’re an asshole. Maybe I should confine my bitching to people I know in future. Or maybe you should all shut the hell up. Either way’s fine by me.
I had a big, big post for all y’all, but it was somehow stolen from me. Needless to say, I went to Centrelink today and lodged my sweet, sweet Youth Allowance claim. It took several trips, I almost got run over by a whack ho in a red Commodore, and I found out that today is a public holiday in Queensland, but hey! I got it done in the end
I had no qualms about skipping class today, as much as I love Anim2D (that’s Animation 2D) since it was raining outside and bed was cosy. Right now I’m eating Lamington Ice Cream. Yes I realise that it’s 11 o’clock AM, but I need to take these luxuries while I still can. Pretty soon I’ll be eating canned soup and rice 3 meals a day.
I can’t say enough about how great istock is. I spent hours there last night browsing and downloading some fantastic photos. It was Emma who originally put me on the path when she mentioned in a post that her handstanding girl photo had come from istockphoto. A quarter isn’t much to pay for royalty-free use of some of the most fantastic photos on the web, and even though that quarter trades for 40 Australian cents... that’s still only the price of a phone call.
If you do visit istock, definitely check out the isolated objects gallery. I may only be batting about all this because minimalism (well, HTMinimaLism to say the least) is really my thing, but it’s all gold. Almost everything there is perfect for web work and I wholeheartedly recommend it to any and all web desigers. Booya.
I finally caved and bought Warcraft 3 today. Hurrah!
Well, don’t get too hasty with the hurrahs... we appear to have a problem. My goddamned mouse cursor doesn’t show on screen during gameplay! Game works fine, runs smooth, the mouse is present because I can click on units and even control them (hell, I passed the prologue stage with a little difficulty) but I just can’t see the damn thing. I tried a PS/2 ball mouse (as opposed to my normal USB optical) still to no avail. I get the impression it’s because my video card just isn’t very good... well that’s the impression that various forums on the topic have given me. I’ll talk to Mr EB man tomorrow and see what’s digs.
I move in to Garth’s place this sunday, only for a month of course. We’re calling it our “trial run”... well I’m calling it that. I’ll be living at his place for a month while his roommates are interstate, at some kind of lovers getaway. This way, we can test our living compatability quotient or something. It also gives me time to adjust to eating 2-minute noodles, rice cakes and drinking AC Cola 7 days a week. mmmm.
Young Fiona was over tonight. I’m starting to get the impression that she’s not as smart as I think she is. Sure, she may have an IQ of 117 and she may kick the shit out of me whenever we play Mastermind (not to mention jigsaw puzzles. She loves dem puzzles) but she collapsed in a sobbing, wanky heap at a simple game of Minimalemmings. Hey, it ain’t Lemmings, sorry, but the concept is all the same. Bah! I say. Bah!
In completely unrelated news, I’m finding the Ogg Vorbis codec to be digitally delicious. Goodbye MP3, I tell ya that much. I’m encoding at reasonably-high bitrates and the quality is astounding the shit outta me. Check out CDnGo, a free CD ripper that makes use of the OGG format, and also Winamp3 is out with OGG support to boot. I was never much a fan of the whole “digital music revolution” for 2 reasons:
- My parents computer has shitty speakers
- My parents computer runs like shit if you try to do too many things at once, including listening to music and doing anything
- When I hooked an MP3-CD up to my stereo and played it nice’n loud the shitness in quality was astounding. These were 128kbps MP3s that were sounding terrible on a normally-great sound system. I guess when you listen to ‘em through headphones or tinny computer speakers you don’t notice
Of course, all of these problems (and the additional, third, problem) are solved with Ogg Vorbis and my new(ish) computer.
In unrelated, unrelated news, it’s good to see Kevin K Hannah back on the job. Now if only Jose Perez would do the same...
It would turn out that updating your device drivers, in particular your video card, works a treat on aforementioned Warcraft 3 dilemmas. I will learn not to trust Windows’s default driver installations... no matter how stable they may appear.
It’s been known for some time that my family is nomadic, kind of like the Aborigines... back when there was an Aboriginal culture to speak of. When I say “my family” I’m actually referring to the Strahans, not the Clarks. We've never been known to stay put for very long... ten years being the maximum length on record. We lived in Padbury for eight years while my brother and I attended primary school, then we moved to Carine. Nine years later, we moved 150 metres down the street to another house in Carine. Now, my parents are considering another move after, what, three years? Shit.
Still within Carine, they plan to move to a smaller house. A house with only 3 bedrooms (as opposed to our current 6... 4 of which go unused), and no pool (which also goes largely unused). A house remarkably closer to the high school and the large treeless ovals that accompany it (my Dad has recently acquired an affection for kites, and the trees that choke our nearby parks with noxious oxygen also have a habit of catching his kites), a house remarkably close to Fiona’s house. Interesting.
Not that much of this affects me regardless of when and where they move. I’ll have flown the coop, so to speak. Tonight I’m packing my goods (where “goods” = stuff of frequent use to me. ie- clothes, books, computer. That is all) and shifting to Garth’s ever-popular abode... which I’ve mentioned dozens of times so I don’t care to explain myself again.
Warcraft 3 is fantastic as I’m sure everyone who knows what’s good for them is thoroughly aware. I’ve been playing the single-player campaign for a couple of hours now, but I’m starting to itch for some multiplayer action. I look forward to kicking Tom’s ass on BattleNet, after I’ve honed my Night Elf skills to a sharp edge. Why Night Elves? I just guess all that geekiness and fantasy fiction and RPG stuff gives you no other option. Humans are lame for all intents and purposes, and only evildoers would ever play Orcs or Undead. It’s simple D&D theory, the kind of thing I’ll be glad to reimmerse myself in with the future release of IceWind Dale 2. Hella. Yeah.
Like a $3.40 bag of fresh hip hop from your local fish and chip shop, ahhh scallops with dollops of flavour on top, when we do what we do we give heads the bops, it’s the Boris and Garth show!
I checked in to Chez Garth at about 12:30 last night, with a carload of dodgy mates arriving shortly after. There was drinking, pool, Bring it On, and some other stuff, but most importantly I got here and now I’m a resident. I’m yet to have a proper meal, since today was Sunday and all the local stores are closed. Tomorrow after class I aim to have a key cut for myself and then go shopping. Home Brand, Black & Gold and Farmland are the tastes of this generation — cheap foodstuffs for a cheap slut such as myself.
I only just finished setting up the computer, and I (unfortunately) can’t bum around online for hours upon hours anymore because the dialup here at Che Garth is on the main line... and you know I can’t tie up the phone for hours. I guess I’ll have to amuse myself with Warcraft 3, or perhaps Rogue Squadron on Garth’s housemate’s ‘Cube... or perhaps GTA3 on his PS2, or perhaps watch a selection from his fine collection of hundreds of fucking DVDs
Suffice to say, Garth’s housemate, Craig, earns a lot and does very little. All his money is spent on his
worldly nerdy possessions. How I love him.
Today marked my first foray into the world of Swing Dancing, and I only wish I could remember more of the terminology. It was great fun and I look forward to the more advanced classes — those with the kicking, the swinging, the jiving and the throwing of women in the air. In any event I assume that’s what the more advanced classes are like. In the mean time I’ve been investigating b2 as a possible replacement for MovableType. Sure, MT does the job but it’s just not extensible enough for my likings. From what I’ve read of b2, it also does away with the whole “template” deal and the “rebuilding” and so on. Most importantly, it’s PHP-based, and you know how much I like PHP. I wish I could find more info on the matter and maybe some god-damned screenshots... but maybe I should just quit my pussyfooting around, install the bastard and see what’s digs. Either way’s fine with me.
It’s become quite apparent to me that Garth’s brother, Richie, is insane. He’s staying here in the Pit O’ Boris ‘n Garth for a couple of nights, which is a gruelling addition to having to work with him on Saturdays. Besides the fact that his speech is frequently incomprehensible, he laughs nervously after everything he says, and has delusions of grandeur: he also has no inner monologue.
Until I met Richie, I assumed that the phrase “no inner monologue” was restricted to Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery, but Richie is living proof. He is incapable of thinking something without verbally expressing it. The kind of minor thoughts that you and I take for granted? He says them. Watching a movie with him is torture, and I can only imagine what watching an intelligent movie with him would be like.
Remember how I mentioned my family’s nomadic tendencies? Well, my parents are moving house. That is to say I am also moving house, since I still technically live with them. Not to the close-to-Fiona-and-the-high-school house that I mentioned though, to another one which I believe has heated floors. Heated floors? I mean, what the fuck? We live in Australia, people. “Cold” is 15 degrees, and “freezing death” is 3 degrees. Heated floors are about as necessary as Matrix sequels, but I’m quite confident that they played a major part in my Mother’ decision to choose that house, since she feels the temperature like no other human: never temperate, never tepid, only in extremes of hot and cold. It’s quite amusing to see her playing FreeCell in mittens, a scarf and three jumpers.
It seems kinda strange that when I am lacking a constant connection to the internet I get an unprecedented amount of work done. Well, that’s a lie — I’ve actually spent hours upon hours copy writing for levelseven because I am a relentlessly anal perfectionist, who has revised single paragraphs for hours at a time. It’s important though, grant me that.
Garth was all set to wish Matt a happy happy birthday last night down at the pool hall, but Matt suffered a severe asthma attack and went to hospital instead. Happy birthday... I guess.
Last night was my first visit to Steve’s bar in ages, and was also unprecedented in fun factor. Hell, I wasn’t even drinking and I had a good time. I don’t know what’s gotten into Brendan, though. We went to all the trouble of setting him up with a young lady who was desperate to sleep with him and he wouldn’t have a bar of it. After all, she did say
“I’d give him a blow job if he’d just talk to me.”
Which I think is a fantastic way to pick up guys. More women need to try that tactic, I feel that the world would be a better place for it.
As I sit here eating my Fruiti Rings I can’t help but get excited about the next few days. After all, Crustmas is just around the corner and my parents are having their first Home Open this Sunday as well. It they’re at all successful, we’ll be moving house within a few weeks.
I love moving house. It lets you wash away the stagnance that has infested life in your current abode. A change is as good as a holiday, after all, and I’ll take any excuse to move into a better-lit workspace than my current room.
Oh yeah, I’m still getting my ass kicked in Warcraft 3. I kinda stopped playing the campaigns in preference of the custom missions... you know, why earn cooler units and so forth when I can have them all now!. Either way, that Computer is a tough bastard. I look forward to my brother upgrading his PC so we can duke it out.
I wish I wish I hadn’t eaten that fish. Or Mexican Sausage, as the case may be. I spent much of today feeling terrible, largely due to the hayfever/work combo I was suffering at the time. I blame the sausage of course, even though there’s little-to-no correlation between sausages and runny noses, intense sneezing and red eyes.
Tomorrow is Crustmas morning, and you know what that means. Clean the house, stow the DVDs and other valuables away from the light fingers of our thieving guests, bake the turkey and pop the champagne corks. I made jelly tonight in anticipation, that’s how much I believe in the spirit of Crustmas — jelly!
If I weren’t so tired-ass I’d be drinking and living it up at Nic’s place, celebrating his birthday. Instead I am sitting here typing this. I was half believing today that I might get some work done tonight, since I diagnosed myself too sick to party, but that idea fell through damned quick. I’ve been sitting here for about 15 minutes and all I can think of doing is having a shower and going to bed. Stupid hayfever. I’d better feel better by tomorrow morn or there’ll be hell to pay. Hell.
I almost forgot! My application to claim Youth Allowance was accepted. I am now officially a burden on the welfare system. I feel as though I’ve accomplished something.. I feel as though I’m getting all the tax I’ve ever payed back with interest. Meantime I’m putting in the hard yards to restore Isaac to his former glory. It shouldn’t be long now..
Crustmas was fantastic. Food, pool-playing, people, booze and good times. Better than that stupid Christmas I’ll tell you that. The Crustmas celebrations were followed by a trip to the sands, where our worship of Gamblor payed off- Brent won a keg and a BBQ. I can’t explain it, how great it is to be standing there one moment, thinking “I wish I were playing GTA3 right now” and then to be completely excited as someone you barely know (but partied with that very day) wins 50 litres of Emu Bitter. My place at this rootin’ tootin’ BBQ is secure, thank god, and it happens to fall the day after the Ecoms Ball.
The weekend of the 20th will not be a sober one
As you may have noticed, GTA3 has me in it’s vice-like grips. I’ve been playing it for days and I’m just as addicted as I was back when the original Grand Theft Auto came out. I’m disappointed that we have the censored copy of the game... if only because I’d like to be able to solicit sex from prostitutes and swear at racial minorities in-game. One of Garth’s friends, Jason, has a copy of said uncensored version... and now that Sony has lost the battle against mod-chipping I guess that we’ll need to borrow Jason’s copy and give the DVD-R’s at TAFE a whirl.
Evidently, top of my list of stuff I need when Garth and I move out properly- a PS2. I clearly require GTA3 in my life, and also clearly require a freakin’ DVD player in the house. I’ve been getting very little work done lately, which is extremely alarming to say the least. Not that I’d be doing much work if I were at home, so don’t conclude that Garth’s influence is to blame. It’s just that my addiction to the internet has been temporarily replaced (given the sorry state of internet connectivity in this house) with stealing cars and working for the mob. My first Youth Allowance payment comes in today — so despite my sorry amount of study being performed lately, I’ve never felt like such a student. Ever.
NoDoz and Visine are my new best friends. I’d say they were man’s best friend, but some people like their sleep and like their eyes to be stingy and bloodshot. Those people suck.
I finished my very large, very important assignment between the hours of midnight and 7:30 AM this morning, and I’m yet to revise its’ contents with a clear mind so the quality is still debatable. Time will tell, I suppose.
My first Youth Allowance payment came through yesterday, to the grand total of $85. It looks like I should be enrolling for university now that my financial future is semi-secured, but I’ve been that strapped for time lately it’s not funny. Damned work and damned TAFE and damned GTA3. The dish situation in this house is bordering on critical, and my clothing situation is headed that way too. Cleaning day approaches.