I was just doing my last minute Christmas shopping. While I was browsing for random stuff (just how in the hell do you buy a present for people who make, conservatively, 300 times as much money as you and have no quirky little hobbies? Quite the etiquette puzzler, that.) I gradually became aware that the Christmas muzak was quite good this year. My problem, though, was that songs like Lost In The Supermarket, by The Clash, have some kind of tangential reference to shopping, but were sort of intended as a scathing indictment of crass consumerism. Now they help sell stuff. How does satire become co-opted by the things it satirises? Isn't it meant to work the other way? I blame the craze for irony; once you let people think they're sarcastic and funny when all they've done is watch an Austin Powers movie and sat through every episode of Buffy and Angel it's effectively telling the entire world they are worthwhile and unique vectors of comedy and insight. It is important to remember that most people really aren't. It's like the internet lets us explain how intelligent and wonderful we all are.
My Christmas message to me and everyone else with a blog: remember that you kind of suck. Ho, ho, ho.
Anyway. Back with the muzak, the Pogues Fairytale of New York does mention Christmas and have a stirring string section, but anyone listening to the bit where it goes "You scumbag, you maggot, you cheap lousy faggot, Merry Christmas me arse I pray God it's our last" would probably be a touch confused as to the real meaning of Christmas. Maybe muzak should stick to the carols.

I got my HR sheet from work last night. Apart from all the stuff about superannuation and salary details, it also had a little section explaining what I did and what I was. Next to "Position", it said "Lecturer". I was a bit surprised.
Get this: my summer job, in the university holidays, is being a university lecturer. I have to think that this will look pretty cool on the resume. It's like taking a break from being Batman's ward to save the fucking world, if less cool and far less likely to involve pedophilic overtones.

Watching the news tonight; just ridden home, so in a special little world of own stench and sweaty tshirts and hat hair in my eyes and so on. I mention this as it may just be I was tetchy from being tired, messy and still a little buzzed from the joy of almost-but-not-quite being run down. Anyway, on the news, some farmer had the bright idea to have his sheep sponsored. There's a drought on, apparently. So some reporter was out there in the field, intoning (I promise; intoning) grave and considered words about the chance of these poor little fellas dying. But hey, you can always sponsor one and stop this terrible thing from happening. Get a picture. Maybe even come visit.
What bugged me was that this was pretty much exactly the same as when similar chumps stand in front of little African kids with big bellies and flies 'round their mouths. Sponsor a child. That kind of thing. Like some kind of cheapshit novelist's metaphor.
Working through what disgusted me will probably just redisgust me. My list of people who are not worth shit is kind of expanding rapidly: first it was jockeys, then politicians, now apparently I have to add television journalists. Lawyers goes without saying.

I can never tell whether my tongue in cheek complaints are obviously so; just to clarify, then, I should mention that the job I've got is great. At least so far. The money is good and there isn't any regimentation. After so long as a teacher in private industry, I have trouble eating my lunch without a bell to tell me it's ok. I imagine I'll get used to it.

Well. It's been a bit busy lately. I had some exams (crashed, burned, all survivors died on the way to hospital, government has been in touch regarding memorial services and memorabilia, there goes my fucking GPA; however do I define my wonderfulness now?), got evicted (technically a "notice to vacate", but "evicted" is much better when telling a woe-is-me story, I suspect) and had to move home to Newcastle (where it is far less complicated to be a snob and the whole racial mixing thing is solved by making everyone act as anglo saxon as is humanly possible) to take up a new job tomorrow (I will be in academia, so I guess it's cardigans all the way) instead of having a holiday of riotous living and gluttonous excess. The last woman I met who I found even vaguely interesting was a) a smoker, b)divorced, c)with 6 year old twins, d)unable to speak English e)seven years younger than me. I'm thinking of having my genitals cryogenically stored, to be awakened in some distant future where they may be of some use. Too much?
Clearly, this is the best thing possible. My alternative plans, to run away to Japan for the holidays (got the job, had the flight lined up) were probably not the healthiest idea, and probably would have led to some kind of rapprochement with my girlfriend, in turn leading to me waking up confused and groggy one evening as her personal knife-carrying issues resolved themselves on my poor defenceless torso.
Ideally, all of this will lead to some motivation next semester: all I want is enough money to pay a removalist, get my shirts laundered and ironed and fly in business class. I'm willing to live on noodles and beans for the rest of my life to make it happen.