Sep 29, 2010

Random short story for you!

I wrote this because a friend of mine was telling me that her father used to be a ninja. I was in a random mood and decided to say "I'm going to base a short story on your ninja father." I think it was a heat of the moment thing because after writing half the story I got bored. Also I got another idea for a story that has taken up my creative thinking. What I am trying to say is, I don't think the story is very good. Enjoy?


Leather bound secrets

As I unpack my box of books and start filling the shelf in my new office, I find a small, red, leather bound book that I am almost certain my father planted in there. The memories I have of my childhood days all seem to go back to the day I found that little red book crammed among the hundreds of others in my father’s study.

I remember the day clearly, right down to the feel of the soft scarlet carpet that tickled my toes as I stretched to reach the book that had caught my eye. The book shelf loomed so high above my seven year old form that I once wondered if it was tall enough to keel over and spill books onto the deep brown strands on my head.

I was not as afraid of this outcome as I was awed by it. Each overflowing shelf dipped in the middle where the weight of the books threatened to team up with gravity and break their sturdy home. The dark brown walls that surrounded the matching shelf combined with the scarlet carpet and the soft leather armchair behind the large desk made up the room I always loved to escape to. Not only did I love the room because of the books that loaded it from floor to ceiling, but because the desk was large enough for me to hide behind.

I couldn't read any of the books in the study, they were not written for seven year old boys after all. Whenever I found a book in the shelf within my reach that had pictures though, it was like striking gold. The little red book I pulled from the shelf that day had pictures all through it. I flipped through it, smile plastered across my face, looking at the images. I looked once more at the cover. I may not have been much of a reader but any fan of the teenage mutant ninja turtles can recognise the word ‘ninja’ when they see it.

“What have we got here Danny boy?” I jumped slightly at the sudden sound of my father’s voice. I remember always thinking of him as impossibly sneaky. I could have sworn I had seen him walk silently over a gravel road once. I looked up at him and his finely combed golden locks of hair.

“Why do you have a ninja storybook?” I asked frowning at the white-gold lettering on the book’s cover. My father sat in front of me on the carpet. I could tell by his black suit and navy tie that he must have just returned from a meeting. He looked at me with his unnaturally calm blue gaze and spoke to me like he would an adult.

“Would you believe me if I told you that the book you are holding is not in fact a story book, but a handbook?” I liked that he was never condescending, even to a seven year old. I frowned at the book in my hands, thinking maybe I had read the golden lettering incorrectly.

“But it says ‘ninja’ not ‘hand’. Why would you have a book about hands?” My father smiled at me. “A handbook is like a book that gives you pointers on how to do something.” He explained. “That ninja handbook is a book on how to be a ninja.”

I looked at him in disbelief. “When I was younger, Danny, I trained to be a ninja. I’m not making this up; my teacher gave me that book.” said my father as he reached for the book in my hands. He shifted beside me as he opened the book so we both could see the printed words and images.

“One of the first things I learned was to control my breathing” he began. I was puzzled once more by this comment. “I don’t need training to breathe. Does that mean I’m a ninja?” I asked innocently. My father laughed easily. “I knew how to breathe before the training. They just taught me to breathe in a way that would calm me and give me control over. . .” he trailed off as he looked at my blank expression.

“Maybe I should tell you this story when you are older. Let’s go find one of your picture books instead, OK?” he said getting to his feet and taking my hand. We started walking out of the office, my father picking his cane up from the floor on the way. The familiar soft thuds of his cane on the carpet made me realise something.

“Dad, how could you be a ninja if you can’t walk properly?” I asked. My father gave me one of his knowing smiles, the kind that made him look trustworthy and sneaky at the same time. “I can’t rightly be a ninja without being able to walk properly, can I son?”

“I knew you weren’t really a ninja.” I muttered. “Well I’m not a ninja now.” He said with that same mysterious tone in his voice. “Ever wonder why I can’t walk properly?” I was about to say something but I realised I didn’t know why.

“Being a ninja would be dangerous work, don’t you think?” he said.

Holding the book now in my hands, I realise that there is a lot more of my dad in me then one would think. I have his sly confidence, his eerie calm and his ability to make people believe even for a second the most unlikely things. I have no doubt that he put the book in the box to remind me of that day. It is as if he is saying “If I can be a ninja with a cane, then you can do this job better than anyone.”

I smile and put the book in the top draw of my desk. Just what every desk in every law firm needs: a ninja handbook. Something I learned from that book without actually reading the secrets bound within it is that all lawyers should have ninja fathers.



Well that was fun.


Sep 27, 2010

The contents of my wallet

The other day I was at my sister’s house and I discovered a pile of five cent coins sitting on a shelf in her living room. She let me have the entire pile when I pointed it out. Naturally, I swept up the coins and spilled them into my wallets change section.

Just a moment before, I decided to re-count the coins to see just how much change I have. I discovered that I have three dollars exactly in five cent coins and a couple of ten cent coins too. What surprised me most was the unexpected discovery of an American dime.

How on earth did that get into my sisters pile of five cent coins? I don't even know how she got such a big pile of coins let alone one harbouring illegal immigrants. When I thought of the dime as an illegal immigrant the thought that came after my internal chuckle was "I'm going to keep this coin for as long as possible."

So I opened up the compartment of my wallet that hold my various cards, student I.Ds, and a whole lot of bits of junk that I have at one stage thought "I'm going to keep this for as long as possible" upon discovery. The realisation that the junk was piling up didn't make me think it was time to let go of a few things, it just made me reminisce about why I kept them in the first place.

The four leaf clover I found and covered in clear contact for luck is pinned to the inside of my wallet with a safety pin my friend gave me to keep me safe. Beside that (attached to the wallet with a paperclip that was attached to a Christmas card I received last year and joked about how the paperclip was such a nice present as if the money clipped to it weren't there at all [shut up they thought it was hilarious]), is a few small cards that appear to be 'schrute bucks'. If you are a fan of 'the office', the American adaption that is, you will know what a schrute buck is. Or not.

Those are just a few of the random things I have kept in my wallet because of an inside joke with . . . myself. There is a tag that says 'Hamish the haggis' from a toy that was given to me by the same person who gave me the safety pin to keep me safe. There is one of those unusual toys you get from Christmas bon bons that you really can't tell what it is. That toy is there because I had one much like it when I was little. I thought it was awesome.

Even the key ring type thing on the zipper is there for a reason. It looks like Jack Skellington's head and it came off my Jack Skellington bag when it started falling apart. It is on my wallet now because I really liked that bag.

Now there is also an American dime that I will keep in there because when I found it I thought of it as an illegal immigrant and I thought it was funny. Every time I see it in my wallet I will think of that silly thought, or maybe this blog post.

Every one of these obscure items tells a story, brings a memory and more often then not makes me smile. The bits of junk in my wallet are more valuable then they seem. After all, what are we without our memories?


Sep 25, 2010

My life according to Angus and Julia Stone.

Here is an interesting activity to fill a lazy Saturday. Pick a band or musician then answer the following questions using only the titles of the artist's songs.

Pick Your Artist:
Angus and Julia Stone

Describe Yourself:
Jewels and gold

How do you feel:
sadder than you (not really it just fit the question well)

Describe where you currently live:

If you could go anywhere where would you go?
Big jet plane

Your Favorite Form of Transportation:
Horse and Cart

Your Best Friend is:
Old friend

What's the weather like:

Favorite Time of Day
another day

If your life was a TV show, what would it be called:
Draw your swords ;)

What is life to you:
Santa Monica dream

Your fear:
the beast

What is the best advice you have to give:
hold on

Thought for the day:
heart full of wine

How I would like to die:

My motto:
walk it off

Sure most of them aren't really true but it was fun. I am so bored.


Sep 21, 2010

I'm so postmodern I found the lyrics to a hilarious song and put them on a blogpost with a really long title.

I’m So Post Modern by The Bedroom Philosopher

I’m so postmodern that I just don’t talk anymore, I wear different coloured t-shirts according to my mood.

I’m so postmodern that I work from home as a surf life saving consumer hotline.

I’m so postmodern all my clothes are made out of sleeping bags, I don’t need pockets, I’m a pocket myself.

I’m so postmodern I go to parties I’m not invited to and locate the vegemite and write my name on everyone.

I’m so postmodern that I write reviews for funerals, and heckle at weddings from inside a suitcase.

I’m so postmodern I’m going to adopt a child, and teach him how to knit, and call him Adolf Diggler.

I’m so postmodern that I break dance in waiting rooms, play Yahtzee in nightclubs, at three in the afternoon.

I’m so postmodern I only go on dates that last thirteen minutes, via walky talky, while hiding under the bed.

I’m so postmodern I invite strangers to my house, and put on a slide show of other people’s Nans.

I’m so postmodern I went home and typed up everything you said and printed it out in wingdings and gave it back to you.

I’m so postmodern I held an art exhibition – a Chuppa Chup stuck to a swimming cap, and no one was invited.

I’m so postmodern I make alphabet soup, and dye it purple, and pour it on the lawn.

I’m so postmodern I request Hey Mona on karaoke, then sing my life story to the tune of My Sharona.

I’m so postmodern I only think in palindromic haikus – “Madam, I, Glenelg, I’m Adam!”

I’m so postmodern that I sit down to wee, and stand up to poo, at job interviews.

I’m so postmodern that I dress up as Santa, in the middle of August, and haunt golf courses.

I’m so postmodern that I cut off all my hair, and knitted it into a beanie, and threw it off a bridge.

I’m so postmodern that I stole everyone’s mail, and cut them up into a ransom note and hid it in a thermos.

I’m so postmodern I take my lego to the supermarket and build my own shopping trolley, and only buy one nut.

I’m so postmodern I wrote a letter to the council – .I think it was ‘M.’

I’m so postmodern I bought a round the world plane ticket, and stuffed my clothes with eggplant and pretended it was me.

I’m so postmodern I’ve got a tattoo of my pin number in hieroglyphics on my neighbour’s guide

I’m so postmodern I fought my way into parliament and made a law banning Nuttelex, and then moved to Spain.

I’m so postmodern that I iron all my lettuce leaves, put my shirts in the crisper – they’re real crisp.

I’m so postmodern I give live mice to buskers, dirty tea towels to the Mormons, and pavlova to crabs.

I’m so postmodern that I live in a tent, on a platform of skateboards that’s tied to a tram.

I’m so postmodern I write four thousand-word essays on the cultural significance of party pies.

I’m so postmodern I recite Shakespeare at KFC drive thru, through a megaphone, in sign language.

I’m so postmodern I’m going to watch the Olympics on a black & white TV, with the sound down.

I’m so postmodern I go to the gym after hours, push up against the door, then cry myself to sleep.

I’m so postmodern I wrote a trilogy of novels from the perspective of a possum that Jesus patted once.

I’m so postmodern that I marry all my friends, soak myself in metho, and tell them that they’ve changed.

I’m so postmodern I bought every book written in 1963 as a reading challenge, and clogged up a waterslide.

I’m so postmodern I think I might be a god in my undies rolling in sugar, in the carpark of a rodeo.

I’m so postmodern I prerecorded this song, and laced a message subliminally telling Shane Porteous to buy a smock.

Hilarious sign

Sep 20, 2010

How ever will I fill this silly title box?

Mario is just about the most dedicated plumber there is. If there were spiky turtles, angry mushrooms and walking bombs strolling about my plumbing, that red hatted man with the moustache and overalls is the guy I would want to take care of it.

I don't actually have much to say I just know that if I don't write something it could be ages before I write something else. I was just thinking that the game super Mario bros. has evolved somewhat from a plumber doing the most expensive job in the most complicated sewers in history to a vigilante that travels the universe.

What if that happened with other jobs? What if a post man went to open a mail box just to have a bomb with eyes and feet leap out and attack? What if a guy is delivering a pizza only to discover one of the mushrooms has obtained an expression of grumpiness?

It is fun contemplating the impossible.


Sep 7, 2010

Just a random picture to brighten your day

I'm afraid my Internets availability is being limited for a while. Just so you know, I might not be able to post much. Here, have a silly picture.

Sep 3, 2010

There is a fish in my lightbulb.

I have put a picture behind the heading of my blog because I am bored. How the fish got in that light bulb remains a mystery.

There are many things people do out of sheer boredom. Writing on a blog is one. Wondering how a fish could get in a light bulb is another. Eating chocolate while watching the biggest loser as you pretend they can see you eating is also a good way to relieve boredom.

I have run out of enthusiasm for this post.