The Seven Things I Hate About Me

I will belatedly respond to Julio Cole's requesting of seven things the small online marketing blog community may not know about me. I won't take as negative a tone as the title suggests, I just did that because. Full stop. Why so late? I've been in India the last month and the computers are pretty slow, and I was too focussed on the task ahead of walking around tuberculosis-ridden loogies on the ground to gather my thoughts. So here I'll go now.

1) "Watch Sandy washing her ride...and herself" I just heard this then watching MTV late at night, it was one of those ads with bikinied women rubbing themselves over cars for text services that lonely folk and stoned teenagers subscribe to for some saucy messages. I don't know if I really hate this, it was just on and the line I heard just had to be printed. Maybe this reveals that I can have a weird body clock and sleep in real late like most young males.

2) Just heard Beyonce repeatedly saying "I'm not a diva, I'm not a diva..." in a really crap song on MTV before I muted her. No one said you were, and you ain't. At the end she lit up a cigar and threw it down after one puff. Another thing about me then, I don't like smoking and smokers. I've found most young smokers nowadays to be aimless private schoolkids who hate their parents for giving them too much and all seem to make sure someone's watching them when they light up.

3) I think I'm finally coming to terms with my hair. Though I'm nowhere near letting people access photos of me on facebook or putting a picture of myself up as an avatar on this, I think I'm starting to accept that my hair may well be...well... what people consider to be the colour...red...BUT ONLY IN CERTAIN LIGHT. I started out a white haired monkey but someone then must have flicked cigarette ash on to my head when I entered my teens to light up my hair. With the fire came regeneration, and sadly for me that meant a strawberry farm sprouted up. These are big admissions for me as for years I've run from accusations, claiming the age-old "I'm strawberry blonde" excuse. About two years ago my life got a lot shitter when that demon Chris Lilley brought the term "ranga" to the public and, therefore, bogan arsehole awareness. Fuck him. Anyway, my hair still polarises many, I've been called blonde and brown and I still don't believe I carry the red head gene, but just have a few stray dog hairs that in bright lights shine a bit brighter than the dull browns.

4) Everyone knew I was weird when I was in my teens, but maybe they didn't know why. I'm still weird but I've mostly overcome my case of extreme Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I was so weird that the psychologists studied me for free. I had all the normal stuff associated with the thang like fear of germs but I had some weird behaviours like only eating out of plastic packages (that meant a healthy high-cardboard diet of 7 bowls of Corn Flakes per day) and thought when I swallowed without food or water, as we do every five seconds or so, I would be swallowing germs. That meant I saved up the infected saliva til I could find a place to spit it, and that meant furry fermented fluids in my mouth for half an hour in class and carrying a 'spit bag' around with me everywhere. I'm sorry I was a freak.

5) I'm pretty sure I wanna do this advertising rort for a living and am hopeful that this bloggy might impress someone impressive down the line. Even get me a job. Although it scares me that I read Julio got the government low income earner bonus like me. ARRRGH, the poverty does not end! I'm doing Media and Communications at Melbourne Uni, and when it's not boring it's fun. That ain't often, though. I've got some sorta mini-thesis ahead of me this year and am headin back on Monday not knowing if I should have spent the last three months planning for it. I really like the creative side of this area and love the idea of playing with the masses' heads. The deep hatred I have developed for Australians and bloke culture may prove very helpful in making me ruthlessly successful. Having said that, I want to go the States first. Where else but da big apple, I wanna go next year, and be a mail boy at Saatchi and Saatchi or Publicis or something, and just smell the top dog's shoe leather for a while and hopefully learn stuff through eavesdropping. If not I'll walk dogs or some shit.

6) Of course that is if this whole music thing don't work out. I, like most musical young folk, dream of making an album and getting it out there. I've got the concept, it's a real "creative journey" (american accent please). Only problem is that my band has kinda crumbled in the last month. Our drummer has gone to South American and our Bassist can't play bass and also happens to be an incredible douchebag with an IQ deficiency of clinical concern. So we're praying for our home recorded EP, that sounds so small it's like you're playing it through a mobile phone when you ain't, to drive us to get some funding. This isn't going to happen. Nevertheless, we've played some great gigs and made a small group of people a bit happy so if we make a couple more people happy then we might be too. Do you want to be happy? Go to myspace.com/thewhitegoodsmusic.

7) I don't know what the insert key is for. No one else around me does either. It's fucked me around the last ten minutes way too much. My understanding is that the computer stuffs up and starts deleting the character in front of where you're writing everytime you take up a new space, until you press the brilliant insert key and the problem is fixed. Bizarre. It's like a firefighter who lit the fire. I'm sure numerous lounge comedians have made this joke but I haven't heard them, and I also know a quick google search would probably answer my question. But I can't be bothered and life's not all about google, man.

Fin.