Leaving for OZ.

Leaving cold, gloomy London for five weeks in our beloved homeland, hopefully for some sunshine too (I think I remember what that is like.) Back around mid February. Updates may be few and far between but check back anyway.

Happy New Year!

I spent New Year's Eve watching Tricky's new band.

It was in The King’s Head pub in Earl’s Court (very cool, they did wicked covers of some fave Stevie Wonder songs.) Got pleasantly hammered, sang Auld Lang Syne then got a tube to get a kebab at Kebab King before walking home in the freezing London drizzle. Had a great time.

ADDENDUM: for most of the night, I roamed around with a mini-disc player, doing a casual recording of the band. For those of you who hear it and somewhere along the way hear a door opening and closing, the sound muffling, some belt-unbuckling and some splashing sounds and possibly some drunken urinal banter with strangers ... um… that was me. Sorry about that.

Neologism? Just ask Dr. Know.

The Independent is fast becoming my favourite London newspaper (especially with the new Tube-Friendly tabloid version.)

I was cracking up on the train today reading this article by Mark Wilson about 2003 neologisms (I had to look it up too, it means the creation of new words or senses) and wanted to share my three five favourites.

Al Desko.  To eat lunch at your desk.

Retrosexual.  Person who has relations with ex-partners more than is seemly

Prehab.  What you’re in before rehab - ie a state of excessive drinking or drugging

Spave.  Spend money on items that are on sale and save the difference in price; thus, the illusion that you are better off financially than you were before (eg “Those Manolos were reduced from $450 to$300 in the sale, so effectively I made $150 on the deal”)

Tricky and I are particularly good spavers.

OhNo-Second.  Epiphany of failure; or the moment between sending an e-mail and wishing you hadn’t. 

We’ve all had one of those.

I’ve also made up one of my own.

Homersexual.  A fat, bald gay man with no style and a taste for beer and donuts. (or a woman, that could work.)

Now go and read the rest of them.

He’s been a very naughty boy.

I was very interested to see this article in The Guardian today about the so-called end of the Australian property boom and the man many are blaming for it, self-styled property guru, Henry Kaye. This guy reckons he can turn ordinary people into property millionaires in 5 years. Tricky and I came across Henry Kaye a couple of years ago and even went to a couple of seminars until we decided something just wasn’t right about the whole thing and numbers just didn’t seem to add up. Now he’s left a trail of broke investors and property owners who owe more than their properties are worth, his companies are bankrupt, he’s had to surrender his passport and he’s being investigated by the Australian Securities Commission.

Your mother’s mononeuronal, your father’s asynaptic.

I had occasion to use my favourite insult tonight but wasn’t of sound mind enough to get it out (too many Kronenbergs if you must know.) But I thought I would share it with you all. Its mono-neuronal asynaptic. It tranlates approximately so…

You only have one braincell, you dickhead
(hence, mononeuronal)
and it doesn’t work anyway, loser
(hence, asynaptic)

If you’re a lover-not-a-fighter nerd like me, its an insult that fits the bill for most situations where an insult is required because it will allow you plenty of time to get out of harm’s way because most recipients will wonder what the fuck you meant by that or will possibly think you just paid them a compliment.