I’ve noticed a lot of my fellow bloggers, friends, and much to my dismay, colleagues have been abusing the slow moving days of December to eke out 2008 retrospectives. You know the type; “thanks for a wonderful year, the kittens and rainbows were fantastic and I couldn’t have done it without you!” or alternatively, “another year where everything has deteriorated at an ever increasing pace. Inevitable really. But chin up, cause next year some thoughtless bastard might choose not to steal my kittens and rainbows and leave me in a pit of misery. I’M LOOKING AT YOU, YOU WHORE”.
Now I know these things happen from time to time, people feeling a great urge to look back on a well defined time frame and take stock - in fact I’m probably guilty of it myself – but this year it all seems to be happening too early, and waaaay too often. What happened to waiting until New Years? Isn’t this what January’s for? Bloody hell.
People need to get their priorities straight. FIRST comes November, with bbq’s and parties, then comes December with bbq’s and parties held on weekdays and weeknights as well as weekends, then towards the end you get the whole Christmas thing, boxing day thing, and then, of course, Boxmas. If you're not familiar with the traditional holiday, you might want to read up on it sometime before the 27th. A noble and spirited festival celebrating all that is BOX. A day or two to rest up, and then New Years it is. It’s after New Years that you start to look back on the last year and feel a bit miserable, and no wonder – you’ve just spent a month drunk and eating snack food in fucking droves – of course you feel like shit.
I don’t really blame people for stuffing up this quite basic seasonal equation, but it’s just so bloody arbitrary; particularly when we’re all meant to be hanging around the city, frolicking inappropriately among workmates, champagne bottle in one hand, stolen trophy from previous venue in the other. Where’s the love, people? Where’s the love?
Instead it’s all:
Dear all,
I’d like to take a moment out of my year to thank you all for the wonderful contribution you’ve made to my life, in between the hours of 8am, and 10am this morning. As some of you are aware, it got off to a rocky start when I was woken up quite rudely and with little regard for my own peace. Normally, this would’ve been okay, but this morning it wasn’t, it just cascaded. I spilt my coffee all over the bed. VG then spilt hers. We had to hang our doona out to dry and wash. They were really hard times, and I really appreciate you all for helping me out. You know who you are. That’s right – a big thanks to my coffee shop – you really came through when I needed it most – at about 8.45am with a large skinny cap. A big thanks to Dave who ran and got me some tissues after I spilt that coffee all over myself and the lift, a dangerous side effect of walk-reading. Also, Anna – massive shout out to you, you got me to the tram stop this morning, and didn’t ask any question about the stale coffee smell filling the car. Also, big ups to the metpigs this morning, who were kind enough to not be on my tram and do me for fare evasion.
You guys are like my team – I couldn’t function without you. Here’s to the next two hours being so much better for us all.
Much love,
The Rantolotl.
Now I know I’ve been lamenting the crappy weather lately, but I really do feel it’s a key contributor to all this doom and gloom reflection. For fucks sake, it’s been pissing down this last week, and the temperature itself just seems to be getting colder, not warmer. Hell, looking at some photos taken at an outdoor event last Saturday, the scene seems far more appropriate for a Scandinavian city street, rather than Summer in the worlds largest desert continent. BBQ’s really aren’t much chop when it’s raining sideways.
So what do people do with all their extra hours of daylight when it’s fucking freezing and the streets are flooded? They write lots of introspective wank while staring despondently out the window, shrouded in blankets. Perhaps they also huddle by the warmth of a fire fuelled by old photographs, treasured memories and childhood pets, cursing the war lords… er, rain gods? who bought this fate upon their mortal souls. Either way, they write a lot of tripe. I know this, because I’ve been fighting back the urge myself.
Where’s the fun Melbourne? The streets are empty, the students have left, people are on holidays, but no one’s coming out to play. Just the other day, the only scrap of interest to be found on Swanston Street were two young unicyclists, with one with a very large unicycle, and a very bandaged nose. They also had nice hats. Other than the rather untimely theft of my wallet, and subsequent removal of several hundred dollars from my bank account last week, this has been about the only moment of interest around my little corner of the CBD for days and days. Thieves, and wannabe circus performers. I’m not impressed. Actually, I should note that there were plenty of police around too, presumably hiding from the northern suburbs until this whole murdering a fifteen year old thing blows over. I notice that crimes such as WALLET STEALING and NOSE INJURIES seem to have risen since their arrival – coincidence? I think not!
But indeed, it is time to stop wallowing in our rain drenched filth and take Summer back. We will need heaters, champagne, and party hats. Maybe some good quality party drugs too, just to get things moving. After all, if we don’t get onto this matter soon, Boxmas will be at stake, and Mr Fandango Jones will not be happy. You don’t want to see that man angry, no you don’t. There’s lots of gnashing of teeth and projectile weapons and nasty, nasty, ham filled traps. Which is more or less how he is when he’s happy, but a bit less gnashing of teeth and a bit more evil chuckling.
Sincerely,
The Rantolotl
Now I know these things happen from time to time, people feeling a great urge to look back on a well defined time frame and take stock - in fact I’m probably guilty of it myself – but this year it all seems to be happening too early, and waaaay too often. What happened to waiting until New Years? Isn’t this what January’s for? Bloody hell.
People need to get their priorities straight. FIRST comes November, with bbq’s and parties, then comes December with bbq’s and parties held on weekdays and weeknights as well as weekends, then towards the end you get the whole Christmas thing, boxing day thing, and then, of course, Boxmas. If you're not familiar with the traditional holiday, you might want to read up on it sometime before the 27th. A noble and spirited festival celebrating all that is BOX. A day or two to rest up, and then New Years it is. It’s after New Years that you start to look back on the last year and feel a bit miserable, and no wonder – you’ve just spent a month drunk and eating snack food in fucking droves – of course you feel like shit.
I don’t really blame people for stuffing up this quite basic seasonal equation, but it’s just so bloody arbitrary; particularly when we’re all meant to be hanging around the city, frolicking inappropriately among workmates, champagne bottle in one hand, stolen trophy from previous venue in the other. Where’s the love, people? Where’s the love?
Instead it’s all:
Dear all,
I’d like to take a moment out of my year to thank you all for the wonderful contribution you’ve made to my life, in between the hours of 8am, and 10am this morning. As some of you are aware, it got off to a rocky start when I was woken up quite rudely and with little regard for my own peace. Normally, this would’ve been okay, but this morning it wasn’t, it just cascaded. I spilt my coffee all over the bed. VG then spilt hers. We had to hang our doona out to dry and wash. They were really hard times, and I really appreciate you all for helping me out. You know who you are. That’s right – a big thanks to my coffee shop – you really came through when I needed it most – at about 8.45am with a large skinny cap. A big thanks to Dave who ran and got me some tissues after I spilt that coffee all over myself and the lift, a dangerous side effect of walk-reading. Also, Anna – massive shout out to you, you got me to the tram stop this morning, and didn’t ask any question about the stale coffee smell filling the car. Also, big ups to the metpigs this morning, who were kind enough to not be on my tram and do me for fare evasion.
You guys are like my team – I couldn’t function without you. Here’s to the next two hours being so much better for us all.
Much love,
The Rantolotl.
Now I know I’ve been lamenting the crappy weather lately, but I really do feel it’s a key contributor to all this doom and gloom reflection. For fucks sake, it’s been pissing down this last week, and the temperature itself just seems to be getting colder, not warmer. Hell, looking at some photos taken at an outdoor event last Saturday, the scene seems far more appropriate for a Scandinavian city street, rather than Summer in the worlds largest desert continent. BBQ’s really aren’t much chop when it’s raining sideways.
So what do people do with all their extra hours of daylight when it’s fucking freezing and the streets are flooded? They write lots of introspective wank while staring despondently out the window, shrouded in blankets. Perhaps they also huddle by the warmth of a fire fuelled by old photographs, treasured memories and childhood pets, cursing the war lords… er, rain gods? who bought this fate upon their mortal souls. Either way, they write a lot of tripe. I know this, because I’ve been fighting back the urge myself.
Where’s the fun Melbourne? The streets are empty, the students have left, people are on holidays, but no one’s coming out to play. Just the other day, the only scrap of interest to be found on Swanston Street were two young unicyclists, with one with a very large unicycle, and a very bandaged nose. They also had nice hats. Other than the rather untimely theft of my wallet, and subsequent removal of several hundred dollars from my bank account last week, this has been about the only moment of interest around my little corner of the CBD for days and days. Thieves, and wannabe circus performers. I’m not impressed. Actually, I should note that there were plenty of police around too, presumably hiding from the northern suburbs until this whole murdering a fifteen year old thing blows over. I notice that crimes such as WALLET STEALING and NOSE INJURIES seem to have risen since their arrival – coincidence? I think not!
But indeed, it is time to stop wallowing in our rain drenched filth and take Summer back. We will need heaters, champagne, and party hats. Maybe some good quality party drugs too, just to get things moving. After all, if we don’t get onto this matter soon, Boxmas will be at stake, and Mr Fandango Jones will not be happy. You don’t want to see that man angry, no you don’t. There’s lots of gnashing of teeth and projectile weapons and nasty, nasty, ham filled traps. Which is more or less how he is when he’s happy, but a bit less gnashing of teeth and a bit more evil chuckling.
Sincerely,
The Rantolotl
5 comments:
Ham traps are totally last season. This Summer it's all about our hot new range of ultra-portable Stew bombs and motion sensing gnocchi launchers (The gnocchi is hand made, and lovingly dipped in a delectable cocktail of poisons... and Napoli).
oh no! I love gnocch :(
Ah, 2008... I was totally going to actually get a job this year :(
oh well, at least I'm going back to uni (again) next year so I don't have to
In the spirit of this reflective year time...
Dear Fellow Commenters and beloved Rantolotl,
It is very great pleasure that i would like to thank you all for your on-line and in-house company. I'd like to thank the staff at the Vic Hotel for coming up with odd names for you all, I'd like to thank the cats for tripping us up and dragging dead and intestine dripping creatures into the house but most of all I'd like to thank mad woman and her front yard of christmas tack; for reminding us all how sane we really are in comparison.
its been a great 2008 - I intend spending the next year finding an appropriate adjective that rhymes with nine for use next year...
Yours
VG
P.S I'm pleased to announce that thanks to something dodgy from a well-known Rathdowne drinking establishment I was able to complete the year with two damn fine vomits - one, auspisciously, in the toilets of my workplace.
On the subject of holiday celebrations and reflections on the past; I thought you might be interested to know that a certain Mr. Andy Pants randomly showed up at our Solstice Feast the other night. It was quite a pleasant surprize since we hadn't seen him in a few years ourselves. He's doing well and working several jobs, including teaching small children(gods help them).
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