Why do I smell funny?

Becuase I stayed out for a substansial portion of last night drinking. Must shower.
Anyway. Long time since last post, ectera, no not dead, ectera, life much the same, etceterara... back in wellington from teaching placement, that seemed to go well, no trouble, good reports, kids are still disrespectful, good to see that the traditions of schooling have been passed down from Father/Mother/State appointed caregiver to Son/Daugher/Motherless Barstard. Weee.
What will I do tonight? I don't know. Let us find out by spinning the wheel of fortune!
Chunkachunkaghunkachunkachunkachunkachunkachunkchunkchunkchuuuuuuuuunnnnnnkka!
NOTHING!

Teaching Experances, Vol.1

I am back in the Hawkes Bay, back at my old college, which I probably cannot name due to copywirght issues, and I have just spent my first day teaching. Well, observing how to teach. And telling students to settle down. But honestly, it has not been half as weird as I thought it would be. It has been kind of like stepping back into a pair of old shoes. Stinky, full of holes, but comfortably moulded to your feet. It's also pretty amazing the level of respect you obtain just by wearing the tie and "teacher" label. I would like to think it is my presence within a classroom that creates a respectful awe in the students, but I am thinking that it is more likely that they are figuring out who I am. Noone really knows what this "Student Teacher" creature really is, and it is far too early days for me to count my chickens yet. I haven't even seen any eggs. It's all guestimation.
Anyways. I sit in on three drama classes and two english classes. In fact, tomorrow I am doing my first actual "Teaching" thing. I am starting off a lesson for a year 12 english class, period four.
Fun times indeed. When will I know that I have actually become a "teacher"? When I stop using the quotation marks will definately be an indication.

If Julius Cesar were a teacher:
"I came, I glared, I kept the entire class in through interval."

Where do Tuesdays come from, Daddy?

What purpose does Tuesday serve? All it does is seperate the space between the Monday, typically a bad day, and a Wednesday, also a typically bad day for many people. It is breathing space, a small void which, in my opinion, could be better served by being an extra friday (and extra saturday would be too much to hope for). Go on, ask sopmeone what their favorite/ least favorite day of the week is. I bet the awnswer to either will not be "tuesday". If it is, throw fruit at them and call them rude names. You can download both these things, in throwable form, from the amazing internets.

To recap, Tuesday is the bastard son of all times that you just feel too lazy to sex yourself or others. Remember, everytime you complain of a "headache", another tuesday is born.

So really, the moral of the story is, the more you get your bone on, the faster the week goes.

Shin Nibblers

Oh, what time has passeth since I last bessed my flock with apparent wit! What things have happened! What miraculous events and spectactularities!
So many wonderful things have occured! My dancing sandals flap with amusement!
"Have there really been many miraculous ecteras occuring in your life since your last post oh sage Flan?"
...
...
...No.

Well, yes, there has been somethings happen. But I'm not going to say anything about them at the moment. Because I don't wan't to. But to take your mind off things, look around you. Look around you. Just look around you. Have you spotted what we're looking for?
Thats right, the correct awnser is BOREDOM.
BOREDOME, chemical symbol B3m, has manifested itself in the form of me renovating this little page. New photo (Sexy, yes?), new words at the tops and bottom of things, same old disgusting green colour. Because I like you to suffer, and crap green is the best way to do so.

Anyway. Most of the reason that I have been too busy to do stuff here is that I have been training to be a teacher. In fact, soon I shall be going upon my first Teaching Experiance, where I have to teach small people of little maturity the England. Extra In Fact, I shall be doing so at my old college. I hated that place. The only reason I am going back there for four weeks of what I expect to be tourturous tourture is that I can get free board and I know my way around. More about all this jazz later.

The apple does not fall far from the trees my friends, unless that apple tree is growing on a cliff and drops small rocket propelled fruit into the void on windy windy days.

SUPER DONE!

Looking on the intranet, I find that I have pased my last two courses, with and A- and a B.
I am now finished my BA.
I am "Flan Hyperbole, BA"!
Or possibly "BAFlan"
...
This kinda works better with my real name. Anyway, a giant Huzzah and Waley Waley Waley to me!

Seaweed

Oh, the upstairs brain jello is percolating nicely. I keep on seeing people out the corners of my eyes, but really it is just junk. Actual junk or brain junk? I don't know. In these kind of situations I don't really think it makes much of a difference.
Speaking of people, I am now back in Wellington. I went home of r a couple of days to see the parents and eat food and do a bit of detox. I entered a story in a short story competition. I won't find out about that for four months.
Speaking of people, why won't people contact me? One person in particular. Of couse, this thinly veiled attempt for meaningful human contact will probably be seen through instantly by said person, provided she still looks in on this page every now and then. The question is whether this is a badly coded shout out or simply just a cathartic purging of what is bothering me. It might be both.

It's hard to see through the shadows in the jello.

And if THAT isn't simutaneously the strangest and most emo comment you've heard today then, well... I want to read that comment.

With the passion of a dying sun. Whatever that means.

All alone again...

My flatmate has just goneback to the ole hometown for a while, therefore leaving me COMPLETELY ALONE for a few days. What will happen to me without anyone keeping my mind off my horrible lonelyness? Want to place bets?
One buck will get you three on the bet of me turning to Satan dark lord and master in an attempt to populate my house. With the souls of the undead. But at least they will keep me company.
One will get you eight in the bet that I go stir crazy a do absolutely everything I can do, such as read all the books on next years reading list, whitewash the walls and fix the leaky tap which keeps me awake at night.
One will get you twenty eight if you be that I will remain completely sane, or even become more sane.
Same odds for me obtaining spiritual enlightenment.
If, however, you decide to bet that I shall become a drunken wreck while watching scrubs in my dressing gown and not showering, well, you will have to pay me for ever dollar you bet. becuase, come on, betting means you have to risk something. Otherwise it just isn't fun.

Now I am going to go to the supermarket, to hopefully stave off the odds of me starving to death, but unfortunately raising the odds of me burning the house down or asphixiating myself through gas stove cooking mishaps.

Another day

Another whiny post about how little I do, or at least the fact that all the things I do seem to be remarkably similar to all the things that I have done before with very little...muh. Word that means change, but more eloquent.
Man, I wish I'd never seen Groundhog Day. Sometimes that movie seems like my life, but I AM GETTING OLDER!
Ok, more positive stuff. Gotta re-write some stories for the competition which has its deadline at the end of the month. Good fun. Got helpful feedback from my co-partner in this endevour. She had actually sat down and done close readings of my stories.
Close readings.
My stories.
This is pretty much like a dreamy thing come true. If someone likes your crap enough to read it that thoroughly, well, it's like random people walking up to you and saying "Damn, I wish I was as hot as you."
And since the latter probably wont happen to me, I better just get writing, huh?

Yup. Huh. Huh. Yup.

ANd now it is done!

Thats right! The forth sign of the apocalypse! Flan has a degree!
...
It's alright, I swear I won't use my new powers for evil.
You can come out from under the bed now.
Well, seriously, I won't know whether I have obtained my degree or not for about a month, but I felt pretty good comming out of my exams, and my internal marks were pretty damn good also. I really font think there is anything to fear this time round. Also, I have to pass this time round, otherwise my parents will kill me and then my grandparents will dig me up and use me as a scarecrow. Oh,you think Im joking? My grandmother can be pretty damn scary.
Sometimes it keeps me up at night... all that white poopie...
Anyway, in other news, some of my friends are graduating tommorow, and my cuzzie is having a celebration for finally tunring 21 on saturday in which me and the band shall be performing. Good times. Good times indeed.

Untill then, I am going to read web comics.

Almost done part2.

Well, it has been along time since I last posted, and I would like to say it was because I was studying dilligently. And I will say it. I have been studying diligently. And now I have just proven myself to be such a fucken liar. Clinton wasn't this much of a liar. I might as well get up on a podium and annouce that "I did not have sexual relations with that bottle of wine and her 12 sexy alcohol cousins." But it was all oral, nothing carnal. Oh, I am going to hell.
Oh, a Clinton joke! soooo who knows how long ago. Well, yes, I don't keep up with current events. At all. So old things that absolutely everyone knows about will have to be my comedic staple.
Anyway, in current Flan events, tommorow is me final exam, hopefully for ever. Instead of studying, I drank the last of the beer hanging around my room and have been reading a webcomic called "Questionable Content." Apparently, hanging around a coffee cafe will get you women. I should hange around cafe's more often... hang on, I fucken work in a cafe! I should be covered in hootch by now! Instead I am a burned out shell of a man who wears his jeans to bed because the effort of putting them on in the morning seems futile and I am afraid I will wake up too angsty to pull on pants one morning and end up in prison for indecent exposure. And prison is one place you don't want to be without pants.

Ah, I forget how fun this is. Anyway, tomorow, in celebration of my rapidly approching barmitsfa into the world of adulthood, I shall be at B4 from 5pm onwards. Assemble, minions! I shall be drunk and in the need for pool playing!

Almost done...

Time, oh, it's running out, soon I shall be out and about, in the big wide scary world, I shall be teaching both young and old, but first there's exams, and a millon other plans, that fist I must execute, before I start a major commute, first to karori's teaching school, then to places in New Zealand's rural, or perhaps to major cities, It's so scary sometimes I think of quitting. The workloads immence, after I commence, and soon you might not see me, as often as you'd like it to be. But before then you should take this chance, to ring me up and have a rant, for when July 13th rolls around, I shall simply have to go to ground.

Its exciting and scary in equal mesure, along this path I hope to find pleasure.

New Guitar!

I have a new guitar! It be beautiful, it be sound beautiful. It be really really good. My dumb ass flatmate said something nasty about it, but I don't care. I have the semi-accustic guitar that I have allways wanted, I bought it a new bag, and it be the feel good.
Words cannot actually describe what it feels like when you get a new guitar. It's kinda like a blind date. At the start you can't get your hopes up cause you don't know if you are going to be paired up with a un-immaginatve strict schoolteacher or a smoking hot biddy with your sense of humor, but when you are staggering home supporting each other because of too many appletini's and you look into her eyes and just know she's going to ask you in for coffee, well... that kinda comes halfway to the feeling that you get when you have run home from the music shop, put your fingers on the fretboard and her the notes ring clear from under your flying fingers. It's good. Really good.

And now fate has tragically torn us apart for hours, while I have to work. Damn you social commitments!

#263: 2nd Birthday of Highlyflannable!

Today is the sencond annerversary of that fatefull night when I decided I was simply too bored to not create my own blog. Nothing was on tv, I was in waipuk and somehow my mind decided on this ultimately tragic form of entertainment! Weee! Looking back on my life I have found that... well, not alot has happened. I could do a top ten list of things that were good, thinks that were bad and things that were drunk, but as I was looking over the events of the last few years I noticed that I would be severly lacking in some events to fit in the good catagory, and that many other events would be included in all three catagories. Really, life is a mixed bag of emotions and activities and trying to pigenhole anyone, including yourself, is bound to be an exercise in futility.
So, instead, lets look to the future... together!
Pretty soon I am going to be going to teachers college. This is going to mean a huge change in the way I do things. For a start, the course will run pretty much from 8.30am to 5.30pm EVERY WEEKDAY. So, no more working at vickies. No more days off. I shall have to find a job that will let me sacrifice my weekends for money, and after five weeks of classes I shall be shipped off to somewhere in new zealand for teaching experiance in some school somewhere. Then I come back for five weeks, then away for five weeks, back for five weeks, away for five weeks. Then, and only then, will I be able to join the exciting and actually quite frigtening world of teaching secondary students about the wonderful and grotesque world of Shakesphere and other notables. But that wont be until after this time next year, so I can safely not worry so much about that. But I do have to worry about not being such a drunkard. Mostly because teachers cannot be such booze hags, but also it occurrs to me that perhaps it is not "my life is empty theirfore I should drink" but more "my life is empty because I drink". It is difficult to do stuff when you are hungover 24/7. Besides, have you woken up sober reciently? It's not a bad feeling. Not at all. It may be harder to get to sleep when you are sober but it is a damn sight easier to get the hell up.
As far as writing goes, I reciently received a positive peice of feedback from the last short-story competition I entered. Very positive, in fact. I didn't win, but most of this stuff you simply have to chalk up to experiance. Today I plan to write some more, after this blog, in preperation for another few competions that are comming up. If I could get myself published within the next year I would be completely over the moon, past mars and into those uncharted reaches of space, racing the hubble telescope into galaxies unknown.
Musically, at the moment I have $149 dollars left to pay on a nice new semi-accustic guitar. If I am able to get the money my parents pledged shortly, I shal be able to pick up "Dusk" on wednesday. This is another strategy I am employing in my fight against the bottle: If I spend money on stuff I need, such as clothes and books and what have you, I can't get so drunk due to lack of funds. And, of course, I will have a lot of sweet stuff.
My bedroom is tidy. I am washing my sheets. Yes, I am actually trying to de-stink my bed rather than just complaining and festering within it. Don't I feel like a proper human being? All this activity and trying not to smell bad. Yes indeedy, I certainly seem to be trying, don't I?
On the negative side, on friday I got exceedingly drunk at my friends going away party and made lots of noise when I stumbled home. I also mangaged to make myself some food, of which I only comsumed half of, and had to wake up and clean. Ewww. But I am trying, I swear to whatever invalid deity you care to name.
I keep on stealing pens from work. There is a fly in my room. I am sorry if anyone was expecting any glorious insights into life as we know it in this blog, but I am afraid to say it is more likely that I shal simply harp on about my pathalogical aversion to things that fly and other unimportaint topics. I sometimes think that after these two years, or even more, I have not learnt a single thing. Except for a lot about english. Which is pretty damn inportaint. More importaint than your silly "science" or "law". At least English can admit when it is a fiction, rather that hiding assumptions behind a mask of fact. I have never actually seen an atom or a subpoena. Have you? Huh? I thought not.
Well, a load of rubbish here so far. But I am moving towards my eventual goal of being a teacher/lecture person/writer extrodinare/person who lives in a house which he owns and has three day weekends. It's nice to have goals in life. And all that traveling I want to do. Good stuff there.

But right now I am going to get out my electrified tennis racquet and kill this damn fly. I hope everyone in the world is able to also conquer their annoying flying insect too, weather physical or metaphorical.

Now that is a wish for the future.

Many things have happened

Days Sober - Who Cares?

Yes indeed. Since Thursday, I competed in Battle of the Bands. We got through to the next round, but my guitar was fucked, so I had to ask around on friday morning to borrow someone elses. Managed to find a guitar. Boss shouted a couple of drinks after work on friday. Went to battle of bands and played very well, but unfortunately didn't win. Went round to friends flat afterwards with six bottles of wine and some groupies. Drank wine. On way home, got a vegeterian kebab. As I was eating my kebab, Calvin, who was also walking home, got punched in the face because he wouldn't give someone a dollar. I got home and said rude things to my flatmate about her clogged up nose (she has a cold.) I woke up in the morning to a text message from my Gradparents announcing that they were comming to wellington and frenzedly cleaned my room in an effort to hide or discard all incriminating contraband. Then went out to a restruant for my great-uncles 65th birthday. Grandparents shocked at my ability to drink five glasses of wine. I beleive I may have laughed. Had sushi for lunch today and farewelled my Grandparents, and then wrote an essay.

I have done so much this weekend that I am having difficulty feeling anything about the particular events. All has just been a blurr of movement.

I feel nothing.

Do I have any other news? No, I think not. I news nothing. This comming week I have two assignments to hand in, one completed one not started, and an appointment in Karori for teaching stuff. Busy busy busy.

And I need to fix/buy guitar.

My skull is leaking!

Days Sober: 1

Gah! Today I have to work at premise, the staff club on campus. I hate working at premise. It is hot and muggy and I don't know where anything is. It reall sucks. And they use stupid coffee that tastes like crap.

In other news, tonight is the first round of the Battle of the Bands, at Tussok bar at massey. So don't be surprised if my sobriety counter has reset itself tomorow.

Now, I must work. Sigh verilly.

Liquefy

Flan's Sobriety Counter: Days Sober - 0

So, who hads bets that I'd crack after two days? Oh well, just gotta start over I suppose. WOO!

Had something to say. Cannae remeber what it was. Going to buy myself some jeans this morning. FOR REAL this time. Mostly because yesterday I spilt warm milk all over the buggers. And I gotta go buy new guitar strings. And some curry or something.

My friend Calvin had the opening of his exhibition last night. It was pretty good. He sold an art work, life is good. I had to celebrate. Thats my excuse. Whats yours, huh? You don't have one! Put your judging fingers away people!

I have lots of things I need to do. Everyone should come and see me and other people at massey bar this thursday and or friday for we be playing in the battle of the bands. Then this weekend I really, really have to get some work done. Otherwise halfway through next week I will have essays comming out my yahoo.

Which is a fictional humaniod character from "Guliver's Travels" writen by one Jonothan Switft. I have a modle of one in my room. And that is where the essays will be comming out of. The yahoo modle in my room.

No boozing

Flan's Sobriety Counter: Time sober, 2 days.

Well, one of those days doesn't really count, becuase I was HUNGOVER LIKE AN OX. But yes, I, Flan, perpetual drunkard extrodinare, am planning to go for a whole 30 days without alcohol. There is only one exemption to this clase, and that is while I am performing in my band I am allowed one (1) handle of beer. All other times the vine, yeast and potato water water shall not pass my lips.

Oh yes, I hear some of you say, we have heard this one before! The flannanator cannot but help himself in the presense of alcohol, wether it be free or retailing at $8 a bottle from the local convinience store! And yes, I do admit, there is a hig chance that I shall fail in this endevour. But I am going to try. A thought occured to me on sunday night, and that thought was that perhaps the reason that I feel really bad a lot of the time and connot sleep to well and often look like pure shite is not because of a vengful god, but perhaps because of the incredible amounts of toxin I put inside me each night. I know, crazy, but it might be the cause. So I am going to try this "bandwaggon" for a month, and if I don't feel any better after that then, well, I am going to be a drunkard until I die.

If you wish to sponser Flan in his endevours for a more healthy lifestyle, you may pledge money that I will collect after my month long sobriety-binge. I promise that money wont be spent on booze.

Probably.

In other news, I had banana, muslie and apple for breakfast this morning, with a coffee. Healthy breakfasts may be cool, but now I need to poo before going to work.

Catch you later, carnivioururs amphibious lizards.

Weekend

It feels like a long time since I have had a weekend. Like a proper weekend, with things like sleep and leasure time and just enough motivation to do some needed things so that when you turn up at work on monday you feel a nice little bit of self satisfaction from the knowledge that you have, in some small way, made your life a better place for yourself.
Of course work soon burns that feeling away but it is still nice to bave it, even if just for a small while.
So what am I doing with my weekend? I am reading. I might watch some Scrubs, I might have a few cans of beer. But what I WILL be doing is reading "Prelude" by Wordsworth, "Songs of Innocence and of Experiance" by Blake, "To a Gentleman" By Coleridge, and something or other that will help me with my essay by Byron.
Byron is actually a damn funny poet. Pitty he has such a fucken stupid name.
In making these grand gestures of will and intent, however, I also know that sometime later on today Calvin will ring and we will play pool. And after pool, who's to say that there might not be a party close by which needs our attention? Or a bar? Or a gutter? Unfortunately I know how likely this is.
But I can resist. I am resistance king. Except temptation. Temptation is pretty hard to resist. And booze. Yeah that too. And just sitting around. In fact, you know what sounds pretty tempting right now?

Doing something.

Oh Jesus Christ, Part Two.

Ah, would you hark at the drunk man. Boy, that is one incomprehensiable blog, the result of a comment made by a friend while I was drunk at Wendys 21st dinner. I had a really good time at that dinner, and probably a bit too much to drink (but hey, this is me we are talking about) and had put it to the back of my mind... unfortunately, the comment was still at the back of my mind when I got home at about 1am, where upon it exploded into the wide world of the internet as incoherant drool.

I like the internet. Sometimes its just like a really big sponge for all that mess you don't need any more.

Well, anyway, now I have stuff to do. Meet with my agent person regarding a short story competition (I haven't heard from the previous one yet. When did I enter that? two months ago?) and do some work on some essay and go to work. Businiess as usual.

Oh jesus christ...

...blah blahbalh, maon, bitch, whine, rubarb, rubarb, rubarb.

I was going to give you the extended version of this post, but unfortunatly, my computer died halfway through it. So this is the condensed version.

I don't care what anyone says. These are my feelings. This blog is my feelings. Yes, they are edited, either by the booze that I have consumed or by the feelings of the people who I know read this blog, but these are my feeelings! If you find them stagnat or unreal, deal with it. My life is basically filled with booze and essays. Well done if you find more meaning to my life than I do. Well done indeed. You are obviously the kind of person who willshift throgh a ton of muck to find a penny.

Oh Jesus Christ indeed. Save me fromthe critics and editors of this world. You cannot seem to save me from anything else. And beleive me,when I get down to Hell, I am going to make a pact with Satan (because even he seems to see my soul as a useless comodity as it is now) to work with him until I can find a way to kick God in the balls. Hindsight or no, drunkeness or no, I emplore my readers to realise this: yes, sometimes I do not rememberwhat is importaint. Yes, sometimes I omit what is improtaint because it could be harmful to those other people I know. Yes, sometimes I omit things that I think or feel or do because itcould be halmful to myself to remember. Sometimes language, as much as I hate to admit it, is simply not enough to convey the true emotion that ripples beneath everyones everyday mask of acceptability.

This blog is not reallly her to immortalise my every move. It is a amalgamation of what I am, what I feel, what I say, what I do, what I think, what I cannot think, what I write between lectures, what I think between moments, whatI cannat envision without an atlas to "lifeas WE know it".

No one knows what life as WE know it truky is.

So please forgive me if sometimes this blog seems like a rushed narraitive, but it may surprise you to realise that I think in narraive. I am consantly re-editing the sentences I spoke a minute age, I am constantly framing my own experiances within that framework of the human mind that demands a cohesive plot. Unfortunately, Life dosen't work that way.

We are all spirals, and I am sorry if you do not inderstand what it means to feel the tug Of that "other space'

This other space is my own .Accesable, and the MACHINES cannot function.

oH DEAR GID,i AM POSSIBLY too drunk to be typing.

Obviously.

But I live on, and hopeflully, friends will accept my appologies for what has happened and my life will return as normal.

A future where the human body a gave a flame...

Ps: Imogen and Clarisse, I will be comming to pay you a visit unnnpanned or a lightsfalure.

peace out.