This evening, I had a hankering for yoghurt and not one place I walked past had it. And then I passed this salad bar and they had it, so I bought it. And I was about to walk home when I thought I’d stop for a few mouthfuls of the stuff I so craved. But it tasted less like berries and more like all the other garlicky, cheesy salads in the cabinet. So I went back to the shop and asked very politely for a refund. He apologised and gave it to me, but then got all passive-aggressive about it. It was fine, he said, very good in fact, and he’d sold lots of it today. Implying I was weird and he was a matyr for giving me my money back. So I told him it tasted horrible and the other people probably just didn’t have the guts to come back and say so. Then I threw the yoghurt in his face and ran to the supermarket. I just wanted to buy yoghurt. But the one I wanted – with the passionfruit swirl – contains artificial sweetner. I paid good money to see a herbalist last week so I’m not keen to go poisoning myself with flavour 950. I asked the guy stacking the fridge if they had any passionfruit yoghurt that doesn’t give brain tumours to lab rats and he shrugged and grunted at me. So I asked him again and he shook his head. So I clobbered him on the head with a tuna-fish can and ran to the art gallery…
Grumpybum
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Feel like I’m in a Christopher Durang play
Tuesday, August 30th, 2011Three Things Daley #45
Friday, July 23rd, 2010…Humble pie
1. Sydney Opera House. I called you a jerk when you are, in fact, awesome. I called you to task and you stepped up. I’m going to write you a nicey nice feedback letter of thanks. And maybe make you a mix-tape. You have two ears and a heart, right?
2. Time is never time at all. So I thought I’d be able to do all sorts of other things with my time before and during the run of [title of show]. In reality, outside theatre time, I’ve been able to eat, sleep and occasionally wash things.
3. Promises, promises. I pledged not to whinge about the cold this winter. Yeah, about that…
Saturn’s Return… returns
Friday, March 12th, 2010Yes, we know astrology is bollocks, but there’s gotta be something to explain away my crises – that is, other than self-indulgence with a dollop of melodrama. My friendly local astrologer looked at my chart early last year and said my Saturn’s Return would be “relatively pain free”. But lately I’ve been wondering why I’ve been in a bit of a funk.
Then, I read this on a website:
You may feel weak and vulnerable. You want to move ahead, yet are frustrated by a fear of doing so, torn between a compelling urge to throw off everything connected with your past and an equally frantic need to cling to the familiar rather than brave the great unknown.
Even if your external world seems to be in order, your internal structure may feel as though it’s being assaulted with a battering ram. Nervous conditions, irritability, depression, insomnia, and feelings of insecurity are common. Most people go through some sort of identity crisis.
You can add nightmares to that list. Disappointment. Heavy boredom. And an ever-deepening skepticism at a time when you’d be better off taking a leap of faith.
This is why I haven’t been writing. I’ve been living on a mental diet of cheese puffs. I’ve even joined the gym again – not just for physical fitness, but as an attempt to lower my mind-fat percentage.
If this is “relatively pain free”… holy shitballs, Batman.
This is why I’m not writing
Tuesday, March 9th, 2010I’ve just started a course in script writing in which there’s the expectation that we already have a story idea. Here’s what I wrote in class recently…
Character description
I don’t have even an idea, let alone a character. I need a freaking idea. All I hear is rushing wind between my ears. And the aircon. This is not good. At the current rate, I’m heading for FAIL. *sigh* I’m pretty sure I’m not cut out for this.
Fkety fkety fk.
ANIMATED BOX. Empty. Indeterminate age, but made of cardboard, so can’t be too old. Like, not ancient. It talks, but is apologetic for what it says. Because it’s never had an original thought, that is.
SINGLE SHOE. Homeless. Not completely worn out, so not old or shabby enough to chuck away, yet not very useful for anyone with two feet. Unless they like weird art.
Box meets shoe. It’s a match made in size seven.
Oh ho ho.
Location
Vinnies in Paddington. I walked past it the other day and it seems pretty big, so nobody would notice if a shoe and a box came to life there. Unless the shoe was a Manolo Blahnik and a one-legged model walked in. Hopped in.
Fk.
I’m writing away here like I have something to say. This is hilarious and stupid.
Inciting incident
The box falls out of a bus. Miraculously, nobody has stepped on it. It’s outside the shop. The shopkeep walks out and picks up the box, thinking it’d be useful. It’s a nice enough box.
Meanwhile, the lone shoe gets tipped out of a plastic garbage bag, along with a whole bunch of other crap someone has brought in. There’s an ’80s board game in there somewhere. The pile of junk, waiting to be sorted, starts wobbling. The shoe emerges. It hops around the store. It even weaves between people’s feet. Nobody notices.
Meanwhile, the box has been left on the shelf (har de har har) and is kind of looking at people who walk past with objects in their hands. It opens its lid like a mouth, hoping to swallow something substantial. Nobody complies. Someone with arm full of clothes knocks the box off the shelf. It drops and rolls across the ground.
The box wants to feel full. The shoe wants a home. I want to puke.
Let the record reflect that I’ve corrected grammatical issues in this ‘manuscript’.
I’m writing this crap until I come up with a real idea. Which better be mthrfking soon, or I’m writing a two-minute animation about inanimate objects finding love in a world devoid of a better idea.
And it’s this mindset that has deterred me from even writing in that most indulgent of media, my blog. *sigh*
Three Things Daley #34
Thursday, December 31st, 2009…Ingredients for vicarious living
1. Keep your options open. If you decide something, that instantly means you have to do something. And if you have to do something, you don’t get to be a spectator. So ignore any twinges of inspiration, forget about having a timetable, and stay in those PJs. Don’t let life get in the way of your doing nothing.
2. Unlimited supply. Line your every surface with stimuli – books, DVDs, music, games – so you don’t have to actually do anything in order to feel everything. Any kind of adventure or fulfilment you could ever want is right at your fingertips. Sure, your skin may go translucent from lack of natural light, and your torso may adopt a spherical shape, but those people in that frame/on that page/in that song are doing more than enough attractiveness for you.
3. Cloak of invisibility. If you’re too noticable in real life, you’ll be too busy being you and won’t have time to experience life through fictional characters. But if you’re invisible – like a ninja or… someone who’s invisible – you’re free to live life to the emptiest. Free as a dodo or a pterodactyl.
