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6dark6shadows6 Blog

"Pack your bags...

...with me tonight"
- Two Tickets To Paradise (Eddie Money)

Appropriate, as I'm about to head up to the Gold Coast for a couple of days. No reason in particular - I just felt an urge to go check out the new White Water World (the only one I haven't been to yet) and maybe check out SeaWorld cause I haven't been for some years now. I was too sick to go on the Corkscrew when I went last time so I guess I have to go this time.

I'll also get a chance to catch up with Flash, who I haven't seen in almost a year. Jess and Cat just left for their round the world trip a few days ago so I went to see them off (they left for Thailand from Sydney) but otherwise, I haven't seen any of my old friends in a while. I guess I have drifted apart from most of them especially since Sharky died, but I want to catch up with the big man. And I figure he could use some mates around, especially cause his knee is now so royally f*cked that his dream of playing pro league is over before he even turned 21. His couch better have room for me on it cause I don't have anywhere else to stay and I don't have enough cash for a hotel room. I should have thought this through better, but that's me. I'm recklessly impulsive.

"Suicide kings...

...and drama queens"
- Misery (Soul Asylum)

I'm spending this month with my dad, and had my first real threat to sobriety when Dad's new neighbours invited me to go clubbing with them. I'd've normally said no even if I was drinking (cause I hate clubs) but I got a dry spell to break and they promised they would make sure I didn't drink (even making me the sober driver when my licence technically doesn't allow me to carry passengers or drive at night). So I agreed to go with the promise to Dad that I would call if I started to drink and he'd come pick me up.

Rock and Roll All Night (KISS)

As it turns out, I ended up getting schooled. We went down the Golden Mile (Kings Cross) and by the end of the night, I was too bored to get drunk (OK, they took good care of me although I only almost relapsed once). But one thing that being sober in clubs finally pointed out to me was that they play the same f*Cking music in every joint, all night. And not even good or wierd stuff. And I swear to God, if I hear "waking up in the morning feeling like P Diddy" once more, an innocent child will die a brutal death.

A Drug Against War (KMFDM)

I guess it just goes to show not only how sh!t modern music is, but how un-discerning my peers are. I blame parents. Why? Because most kids of this generation have never really had to fight their parents. Think about it. Most of my mates grew up with liberal parents who were cool with underage drinking, weed, hell even sex as long as no one got knocked up. So we're so angrily and creatively bereft that we just go along with the flow like mindless consuming sheep.

Bad Mood (Helmet)

"Meet me at the mission at midnight...

...we'll divvy up there"
- Banditos (The Refreshments)

First of all, I hope my three remaining readers had a merry Christmas and a happy New Year.

Now on to my rant of the blog.

These tards think this ad is "racist."

There are so many things wrong with this I don't know where to start. Let me first give some background. The West Indian cricket team (made up of players from all over the Caribbean) are currently touring Australia. KFC sponsors cricket here. This ad is part of a series (a similar ad is running featuring Mick's in-laws) designed to show KFC as a crowd pleaser. Sure it may encourage more people to clog their arteries, but hey, who cares? As long as I get my cricket free, I don't. But apparently the American Liberal Mafia thinks it is.

I'd like to point out the fallacies with this reasoning.

1) The black people in the ad are meant to be West Indian, NOT African American despite what that dumb b!tch thinks. Black =/= African American, you know.

2) The ad is not showing the Windies supporters as "uncivilised", it is merely an example of the way West Indians watch cricket and support their team with the dancing, drums and music. It's all in good, "Calypso" spirit and most Aussie cricket fans know, respect and appreciate this. (Steve Waugh once famously said that the West Indies were his favourite place to tour because of the crowds and their spirit). In fact, most cricket crowds get pretty rowdy and party-heavy, especially in Australia, New Zealand, the Indian subcontinent and the Windies. In Oz and NZ, the rowdiness of the crowd is generally proportionate to the amount of beer consumed (True for any sport in these two fine lands).

3) The "Black people and OMGZ!!! FRIED CHICKENZ!!!!" stereotype does not exist in Australia. Most Aussies aren't aware it even exists and those that do probably watch Dave Chappelle.

4) Mick the "civilised" white guy is merely meant to represent an Aussie supporter in a West Indian section of the ground. The fact that he's white and the people around him are black is because he's meant to be an Aussie (most of whom are white) in the Windies section (who are, yes, predominantly black). See point 2. Any fan of any team in any sport is likely to feel uncomfortable when smack bang in the middle of the opposition supporters, especially if they're making noise and partying it up like the Windies fans were in the ad.

5) The KFC is used to further it's image as a "crowd-pleaser", not because "OMG! NIGERZ! TEHY LOVE FRIED CHICKEN!!" As I mentioned earlier, Mick appears in a similar ad with his in-laws (getting them into the backyard so he can watch the game in peace). You could have run the same ad with Pom or Paki or Kiwi supporters and it means the same thing.

All in all, f*ck The Young Turks.

Now let me give my perspective as an Aussie and a brown guy who has also lived in America and understands both countries pretty well.

Look, I'd be lying if I said there was no racism in Australia. The 2005 Cronulla riots, the recent attacks on Indian students and the long standing oppression of the Aboriginal people speak for themselves. There is a considerable racist undercurrent here and it does rear it's ugly head at times. But at the same time, I think Australia is a far more racially inclusive country and the bulk of the people and country are far less racist than most Americans.

I'm not sure that this point makes sense, so I'll tell a story. When I was in the US a few years back, I went surfing off Huntington Beach. I was the only surfer who wasn't white, but I'm long used to that by now as the only other guy I know who isn't white and surfs is dead. I remember paddling out into a group and asking them about the surf. They all looked at me strange and one even pointed out that I'm Indian. I sought to remind him that I was an Aussie and have been surfing big waves since I stopped sh!tting my pants, but the fact that I was Indian was wierd enough and they didn't even answer my question or even ask what the waves back home were like, which is something even I know you do when out of town surfers drop by and I do whenever I meet surfers with an accent. (I'd've been happy to share stories of any South Queensland breaks, or the Wedge off Whale Beach in Sydney, or Shark Island, and I've been regaled with many a tale myself).The fact is that I was Indian and therefore, not a legit surfer.
Yet I can go surfing most places in Sydney and no one really gives a toss about my race as long as I can handle a board, and I can. I've never even heard anyone commenting on the matter.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that most Aussies look at whether someone is a good bloke or chick before making judgements. If you can meet their expectations, you're generally OK. I say most, not all, but I prefer to ignore racists cause they aren't worth the turd on my shoe. But since having a good sense of humour is practically necessary to be allowed into Oz, obviously you will face jokes about the prevalance of Indian corner shop owners, fondness for curry and the fact that our women have large red dots on their head (or a combination of all three).

Where as Americans, on the other hand, are much more sensitive to racism. One thing I find with non-white American comics is that they almost always seem to take an accusatory tone, even when seemingly making a joke. It's like they're laughing at the (white) audience laughing at them insulting them rather than getting the audience to laugh with them. The unique sense of humour so prevalent in my countries (the bulk of what I've said for Australia also applies to New Zealand) is practically non-existant in America. I could go on, but this explains the basic cultural differences better than I could.

Anyway, I guess my point is simple. F*ck the Young Turks, f*ck the PC police, call someone a f@gg0t (or retard or Paki or whatever), f*ck liberals and above all, in the words of Chopper Read, harden the f*ck up..

"All the stones that are thrown...

...are building up a wall"
- Cumbersome (Seven Mary Three).

As per usual, nothing much is happening. But I don't mind the quiet life. Watching the cricket, going to the beach and today, a 24 hour Simpsons marathon. Cause it's exactly 20 years since the first episode of The Simpsons aired on TV.

So, to celebrate, I'm doing something I haven't done in a long time. Making a list. Two, to be specific. Of the greatest Simpsons characters ever, and the greatest episodes.

Zero (Smashing Pumpkins)

Greatest Simpsons Characters.

10) Apu

9) C. Montgomery Burns

8) Troy McClure

7) Dr Nick

6) Bart

5) Barney

4) Lionel Hutz (RIP Phil Hartman)

3) Groundskeeper Willie

2) Homer

1) Ralph

Insane In The Brain (Cypress Hill ft. London Symphony Orchestra)

and the 10 Greatest Simpsons Episodes.

10) Homerpalooza

9) Homer Goes To College

8) The City Of New York vs Homer Simpson

7) New Kids On The Bleech

6) This Little Wiggy

5) Homerazzi

4) Hurricane Neddy

3) Bart Sells His Soul

2) Cape Feare


1) Homer's Enemy

It's The End Of The World As We Know It (And I Feel Fine)

I'm not interested in debating anything Simpsons related. If you want that, go on No Homers. I just want to celebrate the show that has given me so much entertainment for so long. So let's end with my favourite clip of all time.

"I'm just glad that the kid that isn't a screwup is mine."

My stepdad to my sister's teacher when we went to pick her up from her last day yesterday. They had had a class party and her teacher was cleaning up and, being the kind soul that I am, I offered to help by eating all the leftover free food I could.

Anna Molly (Incubus)

In other news, little has changed except that I snapped my surfboard yesterday. I tried to tackle a 12 footer off Tamarama in a moment of insanity. I got out alive - my board didn't. So I'm taking up bodyboarding. It's like the perfect sport for me - all you need is a willingness to lie flat and a lack of sanity and common sense (barrel-rolling a five foot wave? Flav, tell them.)

Big Wave (Pearl Jam)

F*ck You, Tony Abbott.

My Australian fans who keep up with the news will probably know that by now, our opposition Liberal-National Coalition (who are actually on the right) have gone through their third leader since 2007. And I am royally pissed off about it.

The reason for the ruckus was because of our Labor PM's plan to introduce an Emissions Trading Scheme into Parliament. I'm not 100% sure exactly what it entails, but I have gathered that it involves a carbon credits trading scheme and possibly some other taxes. Either way, if it means that we're doing something to help the environment, something has got to be better than nothing.

And the bill would have been sweet to go through because Malcolm Turnbull (Liberal leader) was supporting it. While he probably didn't go about getting the fascist elements of his party to support the bill in the right way - strong-arming through the media =/= political success - it's hard to argue that his intentions were bad, as he was pretty much sticking his neck out for something the country, nay, the motherf*cking world needs.

Unfortunately, you don't mess with climate change deniers. The rabid elements staged a leadership coup and now our Opposition is led by a man who wears Speedos in public.

Thank Jeebus most Australians are smart enough to know what's best for them and we have a PM who isn't perfect, but when you consider the alternative... If Rudd calls a snap election like there are suggestions he might, I might just have to vote.


It's not all bleak though. Sobriety is actually working out OK for me. I've long known that I'm not so much an alcoholic as a binge drinker - I can go without it, but when I drink, I drink myself into a coma. But of course, the real challenge will be when uni starts again. I think I can survive though.

Santa Monica (Everclear)

I also told Grimwolf about my sobriety pledge. He laughed but then agreed eventually to support me. Which, for him, probably means making me perpetual sober driver next time he comes and he and whoever go out drinking. Oh well, he drove me around enough in school that I probs owe him.


I've recently decided I'm gonna sell all my CDs. Why? I'm going retro.

Yes, that's right. I'm getting hold of some vinyl.

I just saw an old set of turntables in a pawnshop for $250 each - my personal CD collection (excluding my stepdad's) should be worth at least a couple of hundred, and I can probably get one of them for that much cash. And I work enough around the house that I could probably afford some new records every couple of weeks without having to get a real job. Because I'm f*cking lazy and would honestly just prefer to surf, watch cricket and hang around the house.

Where It's At (Beck)


And that's all for now. Peace out, mutha*ucka's..

"When the dogs...

...begin to smell her"
- Plush (Stone Temple Pilots)

My longtime readers will know what this song means. Summer is in the air. And this is the earliest start in months. Put it down to the Sydney weather, which leads to 40 degrees in November. My mum hates it, but I love it. After eight years of New Zealand summers which were as wet as the rest of the year and only a bit warmer, some heat and sunshine is very welcome.

Plus, today marks the start of the Test Cricket season in Oz, with the West Indies playing the first of three tests in Brisbane today. Five days on the couch until I decide to go surfing and try and convince a bus driver to take my surfboard on the Balmain-Bondi bus. Spend a while girl-watching on Bondi but eventually head south for Bronte or Maroubra.

However, for the first time in a while it's all gonna be without beer. Why? Because I'm on the wagon. And this time for real. I am going sober.

Why? Let me take you back to last Friday. The Buzzcocks were playing a gig and I was there. Unfortunately other than Ever Fallen In Love and Sixteen Again, I remember nothing. Because I was getting utterly trashed. Eight or nine beers later and my dad was picking me up to drop me at Mum's for the weekend. He got pissed off at me and eventually pulled over on Norton St to buy some food. I took this as an invite to step out of the car and try walk home, but I was barely able to stand up and ended up puking in front of a JB Hi Fi. And to cap it off, I ended up getting busted by a pig for pissing in a schoolyard. Dad came and saved my arse before they could arrest me, but he made sure Mum knew what I had been doing once we got home and that it wasn't his fault. Mum let me sleep (after I puked three times in the toilet and once in the shower) but the next day I got a massive lecture from all three (Mum, Dad, Gavin)...well, mostly Mum. Dad and Gavin just sat there and backed her up.

More importantly, I was going through hell. My guts were hurting like a motherf*cker, I was hungover and hallucinating slightly. And this wasn't anywhere near as much as I have been known to drink at times.

So after the bollocking, I decided to go for a walk down Balmain Rd. Along the way, I did some serious soul searching. I realised that I pretty much don't even drink for pleasure most of the time, I drink to get pissed. And what's the point? I've long figured that it doesn't solve my issues and that it is just f*cking up my liver, which, given my combined Indian and Melanesian ancestries, is pretty f*cking tiny.

So I decided to quit for good.

I've even mulled over becoming straight edge. I would only have to give up marijuana and premarital sex, and 90% of the sex I have is fueled by alcohol anyway so that's largely a goner. I think I'll keep weed for now, but once I get through the struggles of sobriety I'll try to give it up.

Straight Edge (Minor Threat)

Don't worry though. I'm still insane.

Album Review - Raditude (Weezer).

Weezer fans have never lacked loyalty. A large number of them were members of the Pinkerton cult who saw their life stories played out in Rivers Cuomo's tales of woe and blue balls and who turned a forgotten mid-90s oddity into the biggest cult hit of that decade. The same cult who have seen practically every single step taken by Rivers since then as heretic and a betrayal of the nerd ideals that album espoused, yet who still make the effort to buy every Weezer album in the hope that, finally, they will receive Pinkerton 2.0. And when they discover that it isn't, they vent their rage on the internet.

Those fans will probably be disappointed by Raditude. They will hear the poppy choruses, the synths and - of course - the Lil Wayne guest appearance on Can't Stop Partying and raise the chants of "sell out" all over Youtube and the Internet. And when you consider the rest of Weezer's post-Pink work - the soulless Green Album, the uneven Maladroit and Make Believe and the promise-so-much-yet-fail-miserably front-loading of the Red Album - in some regards these chants may have been deserved.

With Raditude, however, Rivers Cuomo and his band of merry men build on the potential of the first half of Red and make a full return to form. And don't doubt it - this is very much Cuomo's band. Despite the claims of the album being a more collaborative effort, most of the collaboration comes from outside sources (All-American Rejects vocalist Tyson Ritter and guitarist Nick Ritter, hip hop guru Jermaine Dupri, Kelly Clarkson collaborator Dr Luke and album co-producer Jacknife Lee) rather than the other band members (Pat Wilson's In The Mall is the sole writing contribution by a band member other Cuomo, who sings the song himself).

The album kicks off with the obnoxiously titled "(If You're Wondering If I Want You To) I Want You To". Over a country-esque acoustic guitar and shuffle, Rivers tells a tale of a teen romance and meeting the parents that would sound annoying and douchey from a lesser artist but sounds charming and nostalgic from him. When the guitars kick in on the "Giiiiirrrrrllll", I dare anyone to not sing along. The industrial-sized hooks continue on "I'm Your Daddy" and "The Girl Got Hot", although even Rivers can't change the fact that a married dad approaching middle age just sounds creepy when referring to a barely legal teenage girl as "my baby" and him as "your daddy." It's "Across The Sea" 10 years later with extra perv.

Enter the most talked about track of all. "Can't Stop Partying" is a track about just that. It's a completely brain dead anthem where Rivers, one album after dissing Timbaland, name-drops Grey Goose and the former King of the Nerds claims that he's "your VIP." I can only hope that this statement is meant to be ironic (along with most of the album's lyrics) cause otherwise, this track may just be the guilty pleasure of the year. Driven by synths and an R&B beat, it's nothing like Weezer ever recorded, but lacks the sing-along qualities of the first three tracks. These return on the "Put Me Back Together", which features Rivers' collaboration with half the All American Rejects. However, this is possibly the weakest song on the album. While it tries to be a shiny pop rock anthem, it's lack of a genuine hook combined with the inane lyrics give it the feel of a Green Album outtake.

In contrast, "Trippin' Down The Highway" feels totally fresh, fun and is not only the best song on the album, but possibly the song of the year. Telling the story of a couple on a road trip (hence the title) the lyrics still aren't exactly deep, but the song itself is a sweet nugget of power pop that deserves to be a roadtrip cla$$ic of the 00s.This little gem is followed by "Love Is The Answer", which has a strong Indian music influence. Being Indian myself, I can say that I thought that one of my Mum's Hindu devotional music CDs had been mashed up with Rivers' voice singing a Hallmark card chorus ("Love is the answer; You have got to trust in the world). It shouldn't work, yet somehow it does. Not the best track, but still enjoyable enough.

The shiny power pop returns with "Let It All Hang Out". By now the album is beginning to feel a tad same-y, but the singalong factor is undoubtable even if Rivers' voice, never the most powerful in the world, sounds buried under the guitars for the chorus and the whiny bridge somewhat grates. Pat Wilson's "In The Mall" continues in this vein - fun, but somewhat disposable.

However, the closing ballad "I Don't Want To Let You Go" is perfect. A remake from the second Alone album, it is also the only song that feels like it belongs on Pinkerton. When Rivers softly sings "the pain is killing me, but I can't let it be, I have to let you know, I don't want to let you go" once again you realise what sets Weezer apart from a million other emo bands as he vocalises the lyric with a frankness and honesty rather than mindless angst. It almost feels out of place amongst the good times spirit of the prior nine songs, but in a very nice way. The lyrics are also the best on the album.

If Raditude has a lyrical theme, it is nostalgia; if the Red Album was Rivers approaching his mid life crisis, Raditude is him well and truly in it as he looks back on his teen years, relationships, partying and having fun. As such, most of the lyrics are throwaway and a bit cheesy - give them a club beat and they won't be out of place (is it a coincidence that Rivers has recently songs for Katy Perry?). But when almost every song makes you want to grab a beer, go and sit out in the sunshine and start belting the songs out (preferably with some mates) does that even matter? For me, the worse crime is the lack of guitar solos on the album. While fretboard wankery isn't called for, when the songs start to become a bit samey a few melodic solos would be a nice change of pace.

Weezer have had an interesting career arc. Ever since their first two albums, which are dead set future cla$$ics, everyone has been waiting for a retread of the more edgy one (Pinkerton) where as they seem more interested in remaking the Blue Album and that album's mixture of power pop, alternative rock and nerditude (if raditude is a word, so is nerditude). On Raditude, any lingering nerdiness is lost, but in doing so Rivers and the boys have made their best album in 15 years. Yes, I am calling it now - for what it is, Raditude is better than Pinkerton.
Better than Blue? Only time will tell if Raditude grows to be seen in the same mold. But it's definitely the first spritual son and a return to form. Finally, Weezer are back.

Score: 9.5/10.

"Yeah...Ash, the only difference between you drunk and you sober...

...is sober Ash keeps his thoughts to himself."
- Verity's succinct description of me at dinner. I tried to argue, but there was no point.

Friday night ended up sucking. It started very promisingly, with a trip up to Shads and hitting on a girl at the bar. (I almost squeezed a free tequila shot out of her in the process). She told me where her friends were, and I was about to go and find them and hang for a while and see where this went before the crew (Verity, Rupert and Jodi) ended up leaving just as I went to go look for her. While little head and most of my instincts told me to stay and join them later, I realised I had no idea where the restaurant was so, being the good sheep that I am, followed. After all, we were going partying later. There would be more women then, right? Score one for Big Head.

After Verity's Amazon mate Lisa showed up, we headed to the restaurant. There most of the alcohol on offer was wine, which I don't touch cause it generally does bad things to my stomach. So I ended up dipping into my wallet for a few beers and Jim Beams. Given that I also refrained from eating, I managed to get fairly drunk at the restaurant. The photos from dinner are all on Facebook if anyone wants to look at them. Most of them are just us being drunk uni students - there's one of me giving a creepy smile and John groping Arena (I had my arm around her as well but I wasn't copping a feel), plus my new profile shot which shows me at my skeevy best, but it was all fun. Then Max announced that they were planning to head for Rakinos, a club down town. And while I hate clubs with the fire of a thousand suns, I love women and clubs = women. So they tend to cancel each other out. Anyway, I noticed a few of my friends were leaving early and mentioned they were heading for the club, and now I had to make another decision. Do I stay with the rest of the crew, or do I go early and get first shot at anyone before all the hotter male members showed up? Big head says stay, little head says go. Considering that Big head drew me away from Shadows and let me down, I decided to follow Little Head's advice this time and follow the small group.

Turns out that was the mistake of the night. We made it to Rakinos, but they had a private function that wasn't us. So all the others decided to go home and I was up the proverbial creek without a paddle. Where to go from here? I crunched the possibilities in my head. Generally, the first port of call post-DebSoc party is Arena's house. And if the club was shut to us, that seemed like a natural place to head for some more drinking/partying, even though the last party there ended up with John puking in her sink and me pissing on the deck.
Anyway, I got in a cab and offered the driver $20 to take me to her place, which isn't far from the city. He agreed, but once I got there I realised no one was home. F*ck. They're all somewhere else and I don't know where to go. I tried sending some of them texts and even calling, but no one answered. F*ckers.

So I'm alone for the night with some cash left in my pocket. Home is 20 minutes walk away or less than $10 cab. That would be the logical, rational decision - get on home and call it a failed night. Or I could roll the dice once more and head back to town. My chances were slimmer without my friends around and I realised my only hope of getting laid would be to go to one of the sleazier clubs, which I hate with the fire of a MILLION suns and tend to have uglier (but more desperate) women.

If you know me at all, you shouldn't even have to ask yourself which option I picked.

I ended up dropping $25 on a cab to take me back to the city. Now there's just enough cash for a cab home - gotta put any more drinks I buy on credit. In a vain hope that the girl from earlier in the night was still there, I decided to start at Shads. Of course she was gone and replaced by faceless skanks who all looked the same (only difference beaing hair colour and skin tone), but the DJ was spinning some decent music (a little Nine Inch Nails and Static-X mixed with Parliament-Funkadelic and Michael Jackson) so I decided that since I had fought to get past the bouncer (I had said I'd only had a couple of beers, he could probably tell I was lying but let me in anyway) I would stay for a cheap Corona ($5.50, down from th earlier $7.50) at least.

Eventually I decided to hit the d-floor. Since I am a rarity among non-African American men in that I actually can dance, I got one girl's attention, but after a little dancing and more spent on drinks (she insisted I buy one for her friend as well, and those girls do not drink on the cheap) I found out she was with her brother. Her big Islander brother who isn't Villi. Okay, I'll just be going now.

After leaving Shads, I decided that since I had come this far it was worth one last roll of the dice. I headed down Queen St to a couple of the clubs we had gone to at Kornfeld's party, after stopping for a Macs Gold, a vomit in the toilet and to catch a Zeppelin tribute artist at QF Tavern. Once again, sanity should have kept me there if I wasn't going home - the women mostly had boyfriends, but the music was OK and they were decent eye candy, which realistically I was beginning to realise was about all I could hope for from the night. However, if Shads was my last roll of the dice Met Bar was a bonus pity roll - the absolute last chance I would get.

Needless to say, it failed. I hit on one girl but got chased away by her friend's boyfriend. Then I tried to get on the platform with the hotties (shot out to Steph) up there to bust a move or seven, but the security pulled me off and threw me out - the second (and last) time I've been kicked out of Met. (I got kicked out at Kornfeld's party for grabbing some girl's boob - I'm not proud of it either, but I was too drunk to care). Finally, after heading back to QF for one last beer and stare, I decided it wasn't worth trying anymore and to get in a cab and use the rest of my cash to go home. Thankfully the cabbie could tell I've had a sh!t night and knocked the change off the fare. Thanks mate.

Hunger Strike (Temple of the Dog)

And if things weren't bad already? They were going to get worse.

Soon after I got home I heard the phone ring. In my drunken state I failed to realise that the only person who would be calling at 2am would be my mum and she would only be calling because she was pissed. From the minute I picked up the phone she could tell I was drunk, but kept things short with a "Talk to you in the morning" once she realised I was OK otherwise (maybe I should have faked being hurt).

Obviously, she called. And she had brought Dad in. That's never good. They only work together when it comes to me. F*ck. Long story short, they both decided to read me the proverbial riot act. Especially considering my exams were a week away and I'd decided to go partying. Never mind that everyone else is doing it - the old "you're not a European, you do things differently" bullsh!t got trotted out by both of them. F*ck that. Yes, I know damn well I'm not white. I see it in the mirror every day. But I live here and this is the culture I've grown up with. And unlike you guys, I don't feel a need to hang onto a culture that my family left two generations ago at least. I am an Antipodean (my cla$sification since I don't really feel comfortable calling myself Australian or New Zealander over the other) and if either Australia or New Zealand went to war against India, I would fight for either one of them. (Well, if it was NZ I'd probably desert if conscription became an issue, given that their army is tiny and they don't have ANZUS any more etc). Anyway, I got a lengthy lecture, got pissed off at them, ended up smashing the phone through a window and decided to take one of my emergency Prozacs cause I knew that I would be sinking into mondo depression. However, it failed and as such in the past three days I've probably sabotaged any chance I have of doing good in my exams.

The good news is that things are on an upswing. I have finally managed to gain some control over my mood swings, although I am far from controlling them - I can just put off the depression for longer or lessen the manic-depressive crash by not building up the mania. On Friday, however, for obvious reasons I tried to hold off on having a manic episode for as long as possible but I'm fairly sure I went qute nuts in the restaurant. Some of the photos would suggest so, and I took a fair few myself (albeit with Verity and Arena's cameras). Anyway, the excess mania did lead to a particularly massive crash. This isn't always the case, but here the environment plays a role. Given that the euphoria blew up in my face, this probably = bigger downer. Three days stuck in my bedroom, to be exact, unable to get out of bed. Haven't had a spell like that since fifth form when I was weaning myself off the Prozac.
Anyway. That's life and it just goes to show how a couple of bad decisions can f*ck everything up.

So what's the result of this? Well, my dad's calling me home the day after exams finish, so no leaving party for me like I had planned. That night I'll probably just go to Shads and celebrate/drown my sorrows. Maybe try and call a couple of friends who don't mind a mid-exam beer or two up and hope there's a few others who are finishing with me. It can't go worse than last Friday. I guess that also goes to show what expectations can do to ya.

Times Like These (Foo Fighters)

See ya.