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Whispering Quietly to Myself
Tuesday, October 19, 2004
  Faith restored
I'f I'd brought a camera with me on Saturday night, I'd have taken a few pics. Instead I will just describe what I would have taken shots of.

Click: this one is of me shakin' by bad thing, in the centre of Vodaphone stadium, amongst a HUGE crowd, to refrains of "God is a DJ..." Maybe Maxi Jazz was God that night, maybe it was the drugs.

Click: take a look at Geezer, house lights up way too bright, enter some cheeky woman using the old 'ooh, your jumper looks so warm...' ploy.

Click: this one shows the three of us walking back from Vodaphone Stadium, pondering Melbourne's grids of sqare pseudo-stars, listening to Chris' ceaseless monolog on his fervour for Michael Franti.

Click: this shot is dominated by fake blood, slashed wedding dresses and a scary dude with chicken livers and lamb's brains stapled to his wife-basher. Chris is saying to me, "This is my bloody mix!"

Click: last on the roll is one of me, next morning, no hang-over, and beaming wide!

So thank you for your generosity Alex, and Geezer, and hell, even Chris. Woo Hoo! 
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Tuesday, October 12, 2004
  Another dumb joke
I made up a joke on the way to work this morning.

Joke: What is the common link with all these words: Punt, pit, pock, puck, pick, pits... parsehole.

That's it! Too obscure? 
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Wednesday, October 06, 2004
  Baby, you can light my fire
Lately, I've been helping Shalini out with her show. Not much involved really, turning lights up and down at the right time, turning volumes up and down at the right time, easy.

The most difficult part is choosing suitable music to play between acts. You want something to give the right atmosphere. Something not too hot, not too cold, not too light, not too heavy, not too fast, not too slow, not too sweet, not too sour, not too familar, not too commercial; but just right. You want the crowd wide awake, but not too distracted, earballs open, jiggling in their seats, but not jumping out of them.

I'm finding D.I.G. and Spiderbait are filling that aural niche very nicely.

Ultimately, my part is a small part of the show. The girls are the stars; they make the audience laugh, sometimes a little, sometimes too much. Never-the-less, an audience to a comedy show is the most unpredictable thing I've ever seen.

I've developed a neat analogy for comedy, as is my want. A fire needs three things: fuel, air and a spark. A comedian supplies the fuel (routine) and air (personality), but the audience hold the spark (the laugh.) If the spark ain't there, the comedian has to create the spark, and that can be hard, like blowing on an ember. If the spark is already roaring, it's a lot easier, and the fire will warm both the audience and comedian.

And wouldn't life be cold without laughter? 
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Friday, October 01, 2004
  Gsys
I heard recently there is a computer system call GSys. I suppose there being computer systems named Buddha and Kali, maybe it was inevitable.

I'm glad I don't use it. I wouldn't like to have to say, with a straight face, "GSys is down!" "I'm booting up GSys" "GSys is giving me an error" "GSys is so user friendly!" 
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  Sooty and the Beast
Despite firmly sticking my head in a book every time I jump on the train, I find myself always looking around and thinking about other people.

Between Newmarket Station and Flinders St Station, I came to two conclusions today, one about me, and one about the book I'm reading. Firstly, I should be very thankful for not being an ugly person. Some people are ugly. Some people are very ugly. I've seen them, on trains. You know the saying "well, you're no oil painting!" Well, I am, compared to heaps of other people.

Secondly, Russell McGilton hates car exhaust. I'm reading a book called Yakety Yak, Bombay to Beijing by Bicycle at the moment, and really enjoying it. I'm halfway through, and noticed today that every time, I mean every time, Russell mentions a car, truck, bus or train, he has to mention the exhaust it is "spewing." He is also very focused on the pollution levels of each city he visits. As for me, the exhaust a car is producing is one of the last things I notice about it, and that says a lot about how blind to exhaust I've become. 
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Name: Mark O'Farrell
Location: Melbourne, Australia

A somewhat accurate and often irregular record of my days.

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