Nausea

Didn't stop for last few days, so thanks God for Xmas. The longest night is just about to come.

Went to see The Queen tonight, went to a Brazilian Xmas party, too. Unusually sober. Drumming sounded almost tribal, yet it wasn't complete. You can't relocate Copacabana spirit to Bondi, especially if Brazilians are holding back. Or are they?

Spent about an hour in cabs, talked to a Turkish cabbie about life. So typical. Another Beşiktaş fan. I always ask these Turkish the same question: Fenerbahçe or Galatasaray? And they always answer Beşiktaş. Makes me laugh.

Got my first Xmas present; Sartre's Nausea.

Stunningly appropriate.

Another lazy one

There's no much one can do while detoxing. Watching movies. How cool is that? Seen Pedro's Volver that was great, nevertheless a bit of a chick flick. And an old one with Robin Williams, Good Morning, Vietnam. That one looked like a weather forecast next to a multi Oscar box office smasher, though I could feel mojo in the distance (wouldn't it be for Williams, I'd had probably given up on it).

Six days to Christmas, just realized now, though haven't started shopping yet. Typical.

Afternoon

Went down to Bondi for the first time since starting detox. Still a place of tranquillity for me, can't help it. Avoided bars, just walked along and looked the other way.

Great to see all surfers, backpackers, gypsies and wanderers going their way and enjoying summer. Bondi is still hippie, Poms are not worried to roll a joint on the steps of their provisional homes and buff away while chatting about expensive rent.

Slept on the grass, listened to Miles. Sun was forgiving.

Enjoyed the day.

Movies

Just for a reference (before I forget); stayed in Oz for three weeks so far, made it to the movies five times (plus saw one on a DVD).

Borat was obscene but fun, The Prestige took me about twenty seconds to digest, The Departed was quite predictable but acting was fabulous (for a moment I thought it could pass for Pulp Fiction of the 21st century), Casino Royale was the best Bond movie I've ever seen (as it was the very first one too) and Pedro's Volver is only due tomorrow, but tickets have been ordered already.

The Bonus, Walk the Line 'bout Johny was cool, too, but I drank during the flick as much as he did so can't recollect the details very clearly...

All good.

U2 live in Sydney 13 November 2006

Main Set: City Of Blinding Lights * Vertigo * Elevation * I Will Follow * New Year's Day * Beautiful Day (Snippets: Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Heart's Club Band/Blackbird/Michelle) * I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For * Angel Of Harlem * Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own * Love And Peace Or Else * Sunday Bloody Sunday (Snippet: Coexist) * Bullet The Blue Sky * These Are The Hands That Built America * Miss Sarajevo * Pride (In The Name Of Love) * Where The Streets Have No Name * One

Encore: Until The End Of The World * Mysterious Ways * With Or Without You * The Saints Are Coming * Party Girl (Snippet: I Should Be So Lucky) * Kite

Celebrity (looking for the next reel)

I finally saw Allen's Celebrity. It only took me seven and a half years since I left the movies and ran into fresh rainy night during what turned out to be the last date with my teenage darling. Now, I came full circle.

The movie ain't a bad one, fellas.

(I'll get back to this subject as soon as I'm ready. Hopefully within another seven and a half years.)

Weekend whinge

OK. Let me tell you what happened. I went to a bbq down in Bronte and I met her there. I was still a bit smashed, courtesy of the previous night, but it didn't stop me from kissing each pussy I saw. Hey, she told me her name — Ai! I never had a girl with such name. And I was interested. Watched her from distance, she was sexy, funny, cool. And single.

I met her twice or thrice in parties later the following week and I knew what I was to do. Ask her out. It took me a week to get her to go for a dinner with me. Did I dream of getting her home and fucking her? Hardly. Still, she probably thought "what a weird idiot, I'll get a free dinner and I'll see how I go".

I saw how she went, too. I paid for the dinner, took her to world's second best beach (after Copacabana, my friends) and nothing happened. Obviously. I had that strange feeling since very beginning, yet I didn't want to spoil the night.

— We can catch up again, for a friendly chat, — she messaged me the next day.

Fuck me dead, bitch.

Next night, my pot pal, nicknamed Potboy, ain't behind the house at usual time. What the? Isn't it ironic that he went out with her a day after me — without telling me anything? Not that I'd have said anything to him, either.

Then she's messaging me at the middle of the night few days later. Friday night. I'm drinking with my managerial friends down in Cross, enjoying free Barramundi diner, courtesy of our wealthy customer, drinking seventh Corona, and then —

— We're in O'Meally, come over.

I'm not into crappy Irish pubs too much (I've only been to Tea once since Doctor left), but I'm there in fifteen minutes, with two mates by my side.

Potboy and two chicks are comfortably numb sitting there and slowly dying. They don't fit there, they're bored and totally out of place. Ai needs some company so she took her girlfriend with her. And Potboy is probably dry as an eighty years old cunt, so there's not much they can talk about. Plus, you can't hear anything in a pub packed with Irish backpackers anyway.

I'm having a quick beer with my mates, gently ignoring the rest of the company. Then a joint in a back lane (Potboy had one ready). Once we come back, chicks are to leave. After some twenty minutes! Does that make sense to anybody?

Potboy leaves soon after. We're having another beer, then changing pubs few more times until we drop dead.

Early in the morning... Barefoot, trying to find my way home around the bay. It's cul-de-sac everywhere and I'm trapped. Finally a cab.

Here I am. Smashed again, but a bit smarter. Don't fucking dare to buy her a dinner until she sleeps with you. I might have known better.

Yeah, and did I tell you about that blonde? Maybe next time.

Denial

Once one has almost everything life can bring (within reasonable boundaries, of course), there's no much excitement left. Ironically, the excitement might come through denial. You're not allowed to do this or that, you couldn't get on a plane, you couldn't get the girl you were longing for, etc.

It's pretty hard to catch the plane once it's lifted off so one can be angry (or just excited) but there's not much that can be done about it. On the other hand, being denied/refused/turned down by a chick brings more creative ideas how to get her, thus pushing excitement further. Until she gives in, or, alternatively, an average asshole grows bored/frustrated that his chances are slimmer than being ran over by an F1 car in Sahara desert. And gives in.

However whatever happens in the end is unimportant — the initial joy of denial for a numb been-everywhere-done-everything-seen-it-all bastard is rejuvenating.

Unless the denial comes too often, in which case the poor bastard should start pushing his boundaries further. Or just get used to whores instead.

Anesthetics doesn't help

I'm fourteen. Ready to chase chicks, ready for a first failure, ready to look forward and — due to unexplainable enigmatic reasons — to look back as well. Feel strong, feel masculine, macho, yet vulnerable and depressed at times, too.

Fast forward to 2006. Not much changed. Thousands of dollars wasted on anesthetics and nothing helped. How many were there and how many more will it take?

Oh, I better drop it, for fuck's sake. It's just one of these days.

Intro

Wherever you go, whatever you see, there is always something to whinge about. I guess most Aussies recon Poms are the ultimate whingers of our time, yet most Aussies probably do not know me. Until now, 'course. Now, they're getting a chance to get to know a superwhinger from the other (dark) side of the Earth.

Myself, ladies and gentlemen, obviously.