Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in Ivan's LiveJournal:

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Wednesday, November 4th, 2009
7:21 pm	Driving  “Right,” Lisa says. “How do we get through here?” “There should be a roundabout up ahead,” I tell her. “Turn right there.” I navigate her through the town. I’ve travelled this way a few times, but Lisa’s new to this route. Right at the roundabout, left at the big set of lights, right again just after the supermarket, then follow the truck detour signs to the bridge. There’s something simple and wonderful about driving over the Murray. She’s New South Wales waters, so there’s the knowledge that you’ve broken out from Victoria. Broken out from home. But there’s also the splendour of the river herself. Wide and dark and heavy with history. She’s down a bit, though. The drought, of course. I look over to the driver’s window and see Lisa calmly taking in the scenery peripherally as she keeps her eyes forward. She’s been good about the driving, but I should take over soon so that she can enjoy the scenery. We get off the bridge into Moama, Echuca’s sister city, and I point out the petrol station. “We’re still pretty good for petrol,” she says. “Good idea to fill up anyway.” I kind of like the feeling of being knowledgeable and experienced in these travelling matters. There’s also a small part inside me noticing the change in the land, preparing to unwind and strip all the layers from me. Lisa pulls the car into the servo and I head in to pay while she fills the tank. I grab some sandwiches and then notice there’s some locally-made sausage rolls, which are a particular weakness of mine. I consider the merits of both sandwiches and sausage rolls, trying to decide which would be better and which Lisa would prefer. “Fuck it,” I say to myself, and grab both sandwiches and sausage rolls. We’re on holiday, aren’t we? I get back to the car and offer to drive, which Lisa accepts. I hand her the food and start the engine. “What’s in the bags?” “Home-made sausage rolls.” “Nice work.” We pull out onto the road and are out of Moama within a minute. The speed limit increases to eighty as we hit the outer limits of the town. I put my foot down a bit harder and the wind through the window gets cooler. Unwind, it whistles. Lisa opens the bag to a sausage roll and grins in pleasure at the smell. “Get any tomato sauce?” “Nope.” I reach into my top pocket and flourish a sauce sachet at her. “Mustard!” “Awesome!” We chow down just as we cross the interstate train tracks and the speed limit rockets to 110. Speed limits out here are practically guidelines, and I kick up to 130. If it were Easter, I’d be more cautious. The cops patrol this stretch trying to nab the hippies on their way to or from Confest. But there’s nothing going on at this time of year. Anything goes. We finish the sausage rolls but leave the sandwiches for later. Lisa spends a while enjoying the scenery. “Lisa?” “Hmm?” “We’re far enough out now.” That’s the cue we’ve both been waiting for. She reaches behind the driver seat and pulls a couple of beers out from the esky. She opens them, hands one to me and we both take a deep drink. The beer’s made even better by the fact that we’re being a bit naughty. I’m not going to go crazy with it, however. Just a few to keep the edge off. Lisa reaches into the ashtray and grabs the smoking kit. “You rolling a jay?” “Just a mild one,” she says. “You gonna have some?” “I might have a puff or two.’ Unwind. Right now, it doesn’t matter where we’re going or where we’ve come from. This is a great moment. Travelling along with my favourite person, no cares and no worries. I love this. I love her. I love everything. Just over fifty kilometres to Mathoura, then on to Deniliquin. We’ll camp by the Edwards river. (Comment on this)
Friday, October 9th, 2009
6:37 pm	I hereby present: Not Racist (14 Comments |Comment on this)
3:43 pm	List of things I need to start a bar. Beer taps, lines, superchiller Couplers Cleaning agents Andale fitting replacements Gas cannisters Fridges (Beer, wine, soft drinks, juice) Cash register Safe Ice machine Glassware (pots, pints, wine, flutes, old-fashioned, shots, martini(?), jugs) Coffee machine Coffee Grinder Coffee mugs, saucers, spoons Spirit-pourers, jigs, bottle openers, corkscrews (better to have screw-cap wines) Comfy chairs Tables Ashtrays (for outdoor smoking area) Computer Sound-system Heating and air-conditioning Candles (for atmosphere), lamps, cool lighting Some way to make food, or order it in Glasswasher, trays Peripherals: Security License Alcohol license Business Plan Enough cash to cover 1 year of losses Good relationship with local cop in charge of Liquor Licensing Gas, water and electricity accounts What am I missing, folks? EDIT: Okay, much as I like talking about them, this isn't about music, theme, alcohol selection, location, or what colour swimsuits the staff should be wearing. Just the essentials. We can cover the style and atmo another time. (13 Comments |Comment on this)
Sunday, October 4th, 2009
6:08 pm	How I met Tess   I was walking into the cafe, newspaper under my arm, when a woman sitting out the front said, “Hello!” She smiled quite brightly when she said it.   “Hello,” I said. “Have we met before?”   “No,” she said. “I’m drinking tea.”   “So you are,” I said. I didn’t feel like I could leave it at that without offending her somehow, so I added, “Is it nice tea?”   “All tea is nice tea, but this tea is an extra special nice one.”   “Really? What kind is it?”   “It’s a sitting-in-the-sun-on-a-Saturday-morning tea, which is perfect because that’s what I’m doing now.” She gave a satisfied nod. “Are you going to have some tea as well?”   “I was thinking of having coffee.”   She raised a brow. “Coffee?”   I nodded.   “Why?”   “Well, I have this newspaper, you see, and I generally find that coffee and newspapers make good friends with each other.”   “Tea is a better friend for your newspaper,” she told me.   “Is that so?”   “I’m an authority on this sort of thing.”   “You’ll have to forgive me, then. I’m merely a hobbyist.”   “We all have to start somewhere.”   “Well,” I said. “I hate to seem an amateur, so I think that you have convinced me.”   “You’re going to have some tea?”   “I think I am.”   “Not coffee?”   “I wouldn’t like to disappoint my newspaper, now, would I?”   She thought for a moment and then thrust a wiggling hand toward my newspaper. “Give, please!”   I handed it over.   “Now,” she said. “You should go get your tea. My tea will keep your newspaper entertained while you’re gone.”   “Your tea is very kind.”   “Yes, it is. But it’s almost empty.”   “Well, that won’t do at all. I’ll fix that problem.”   “Thank you, Doctor.”   “You’ll make sure my paper doesn’t run away?”   She threw a foot onto the table, pinning the newspaper in place, and then saluted.   I chose a peppermint tea. I hadn’t had peppermint tea in years.   (Comment on this)
Tuesday, September 22nd, 2009
7:46 pm	News Flash!  Triple JJJ Overhauls Hot-List After the controversy surrounding this year's "Hottest 100 of All Time", public broadcaster Triple J have decided to review their voting instructions before attempting the popular music countdown again. The recent list, the first of such for twenty years, was heavily criticized for the distinct lack of female artists featured. "We were a little too broad in our selection criteria," said a radio spokesperson. "Our instructions asked people to vote for their personal favourite songs, and they could choose any songs they wanted, as long as they had been released. "Sadly, this freedom led to a social bias that was unacceptable to the community and our own ethics. :"We never suspected that our listeners would neglect to consider community concerns and political trends when deciding on the merits of a song. "Therefore, we have decided to try it again, but this time adding some parameters to ensure that our voters' personal favourites are socially acceptable." The updated instructions have replaced section 1.5 which used to state: *** You can vote for any song which has been released. *** to the following: *** You can vote for any song which has been released, on the following conditions. At least four of the ten songs chosen must be by a female artist, or band that includes a prominent female member. At least one song must be by an artist who has a mental or physical disability. At least two songs must be performed by an independent artist At least two songs must be performed in a language other than English At least one song must be instrumental. At least one song must be from prior to 1925 At least one song must be from each continent (Antarctica excluded) At least one song must be from a non-musician At least one song must contain religious content ("God-damn" does not suffice) At least four songs must contain some form of educational content suitable for children At least one song must be from an artist who has been either homeless, a prisoner, a refugee, or a victim of abuse *** A Triple JJJ press release states that these clarifications will ensure that the new Hottest 100 of All Time will reflect a better understanding of the wider community and more accurately represent the music that their listeners like. (Comment on this)
Friday, August 21st, 2009
5:17 pm	Melbourne's most over-rated alcoholic drinks   I’ve been working bars for too long now, and I’m getting fed up with the drinking public’s inability to distinguish a decent drink from a shit one. The same old rubbish continues to be served up again and again to folks who are drinking it for no good reason. So here’s my list of the top offenders. Don’t go thinking that you’re exempt. There are many reasons why a drink is over-rated, and not necessarily just because it’s crap. 10. Carlton Draught When VB got popular, a host of badly informed drinkers discovered that draught beers were supposedly fresher because “they come straight from the keg”. They then started drinking Carlton and picking on VB, even though they taste almost identical. Well, all CUB products come straight from the keg, and CUB actively helped to promote Carlton to urban drinkers at the time of the backlash. Carlton drinkers fell for the marketing. And it’s lower in alcohol volume than VB. But it’s priced the same. 9. Tequila Slammers I like tequila. I have a lovely tequila bar around the corner from me (Mi Corazon). Tequila is a drink with a proud tradition. So it’s frustrating, not to mention disrespectful, to see wankers treating it as nothing more than a quick way to get pissed. Even worse is the lemon and salt chaser, which does nothing for the tequila. The traditional (and best) chaser for tequila is sangrita, which is sipped alongside from a shot glass. I usually make do by squeezing a lime wedge into a shot glass along with a couple of drops of Tabasco, a very small splash of orange juice, topped with tomato juice. 8. Black Sambuca For times when a tequila slammer just isn’t macho enough, go even more bogan by grabbing a round of black sambuca. Wanna know the difference between black and white sambuca? The colour. No other reason. But the black looks nastier, so it makes you more of a man to drink it, even though the alcohol content is lower than that of ordinary basic spirits. I hate aniseed, anyway. 7. Absolut flavoured vodkas Years ago, I was at a blind vodka tasting, and a few of the participants were Absolut drinkers. All of them converted after discovering that it was shithouse compared with other vodkas of the same price (for the record, Smirnoff Red is outstanding for its price, the Black version isn’t worth the extra cash, and 42 Below is well worth forking out ten more dollars). Adding some substandard flavouring doesn’t improve it. It isn’t hard to get a better vodka and infuse it yourself, and the payoff is a far superior result. 6. Corona Caribbean/Central American beers are noted for being of a similar bent to Australian tastes. However, that doesn’t excuse the Australian fascination for Corona. It’s become popular only because of the lemon wedge rammed into the top of it. The reason for the lemon, traditional in Mexico, is twofold; to enable the tasteless liquid to gain some form of substance, and to keep the flies out. If you must have a beer of this style, show some class and go for Red Stripe or Quilmes. 5. Bundaberg Rum They’re not very bright in Queensland, and with beers such as XXXX around it isn’t surprising that they go for another drinking option. Normally, i would respect the choice of rum (apart from the violence that goes hand in hand with it), but they have to choose Bundy. It’s harsh and oversweet and you’re much better off with Coruba, Mt Gay, Havana Club or even Captain Morgan. I also don’t get the deal with the Polar Bear. 4. Heineken/Peroni/Becks/Stella Artois Wherever you are, drink the local beer. Beer is made for the local climate and lifestyle. It also travels badly, especially in light coloured bottles. Also, exported beers are generally mass-produced dross that drinkers in the country of origin deride. So why would you want one of these generally flavourless beers from Europe that have travelled for weeks in non-refrigerated conditions, tossed about in cargo containers, crossing the extreme heat of the equator, cooled and warmed who knows how many times, quite possibly left in the sun at some stage to get light-struck, only to pay a premium price for it? It only makes you seem distinguished to people dumber than you. 3. Jim Beam/Jack Daniels/Cougar Rum and coke isn’t as popular down here as it is up north. Bourbon is the preferred drink of the Victorian bogan, and almost always one of the unholy trinity. These all-too-obvious drinkers will also never just ask for a bourbon; it’s always by the brand. And they never have a mixer other than cola, meaning they never even taste the alcohol they supposedly love. I often have people asking for a “Jim Beam and cola”, which shocks me because not only do they want a bad bourbon, but they don’t care what mixer i use, which is the only taste they’re gonna get in the end. You could use Coke or Diet Schweppes, or even No Frills, and they couldn’t give a shit as long as you’ve given them Jim Beam. Retards. 2. Coopers Pale Ale I can hear the howls of protest already. It’s not like I stepped on your mandolin and picked on the faux Celtic spelling you’ve given to  your name, Mr Coopers Pale-drinker, so relax. And it isn’t even that Coopers Pale is a bad drop, because it’s fine. The problem is that it’s in no way as amazing as everyone thinks it is. Just because you want to drink a naturally brewed beer doesn’t mean that you have to resort to Coopers Pale to the exclusion of all else. Widen your horizon, Seamus! Pale Ales aren’t that great, anyway, and other companies have done it better (Kooinda make a beauty, as does Grand Ridge). Coopers themselves have better beers; Sparkling and Lager are both better and stronger, and their Stout and Vintage are magnificent. 1. Jager Bombs I’m so tired of these. Jagermeister is a perfectly fine liqueur, and great with a dessert (especially tiramisu). And there is definitely a place for energy drinks. But whoever came up with this abomination needs to be shot in the face and then pissed on. The flavour doesn’t even work. If you really must have a spirit with your energy drink, rum is the best choice (trust me). And just have it poured in like any other spirit, as depth-charging shot glasses into other drinks results in damage to the glassware. And if you’re doing it to “get fucked up”, then you’ve picked the wrong drink. Jagermeister has a lower alcohol percentage than standard, cheap basic spirits. So the next time you and your mates hit the bar, pause before ordering three Jack and Cokes, a Stella, Two coronas and a round of Jager bombs. You may have just proven yourselves to be dickheads with no originality. It can’t hurt to ask the bartender if there’s something nice that they’d recommend, particularly if they’re cute. (11 Comments |Comment on this)
Friday, July 31st, 2009
4:41 pm	Tonight So a reminder to any who want to wish me a happy birthday tonight... Comfortable Chair 98-100 Lygon st Brunswick East From 7pm And I'm drinking, not working (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Friday, July 24th, 2009
7:01 pm	Birthday thingy Next thursday, I turn thirty. I'm also working. So bring a friend and come see me at my work. Thursday 30 July barZooka 284 Sydney rd (Right next to the Retreat, Brunswick) I'll be there from 8:30 pm If you can't make it, I work on Friday at another place Friday 31 July The Comfortable Chair 98-100 Lygon st, East Brunswick Be good to see people. EDIT: I fucked up some of the details, so they're now fixed. (4 Comments |Comment on this)
Thursday, July 2nd, 2009
7:35 pm	A brief history of Australian beer Beer was introduced to Australia with European colonisation just over two hundred years ago, along with medicine, science, disease and good old fashioned English supremacy, thus making the Indigenous population of Australia unique in being the only culture to have evolved directly from the Stone Age straight into Imperial Decline. Captain Cook brought beer with him on the Endeavour, and he was brilliant, he was. At first beer wasn’t that popular. Rum was the preferred method of getting shitfaced. This was because the Aboriginies didn’t have the foresight to have created breweries ready for us when we landed, so we had to make do with whatever we were able to ship from elsewhere. Rum’s pretty easy to make, it stores well on long voyages, and takes up little space in a cargo hold. To this day, rum is the second most popular alcoholic beverage in Australia, but only if you count Bundy, which you really shouldn’t . By the way, contrary to popular belief, you don’t have to mix rum with coke in order for your body to metabolise it. Strange, but true. Try it some time. Anyway, finally the authorities realised that rum was getting people far too trashed and started telling everyone to drink beer instead, which was nice of them. So people, mainly freed convicts, started brewing, which proves that prison does indeed work. Now, a funny thing about beer is that it’s made for the climate. So somewhere cold, like northern Germany for instance, will have flavoursome, heavy-alcohol beers, while hot places, like the middle of a volcano, will have just the opposite. So when the Poms first landed on this hot, dry massive landmass, they decided to make beer exactly the same as they did on their wet, cold and miserable little island. Genius. So early Australian beers were these heavy, top-fermented ales. They didn’t have any hops, ‘cause they didn’t work out how to grow them until James Squire figured a way in 1806. The government were so impressed that they gave him a cow. With an udder. And horns. I don’t know why. Eventually, 1885 to be exact, we worked out that Australia was actually quite a bit warmer than England and we’d be better off with something lighter in taste and alcohol content than ale. So we started making lagers, which were much nicer for slamming down on a summer arvo after shearing sheep or reading The Bulletin, or whatever it was that blokes back then did all day. Probably bash their wives and play cricket. After Federation in 1901, the new government decided that beer wasn’t that much better than rum after all, so they brought in the Beer and Excise tax. This banned home-brewing and forced a metric shitload of breweries to either sell to a bigger mob or close down entirely. In Melbourne, five breweries joined together to make Carlton and United Breweries (CUB), which became a monster. Like Voltron. Beer culture continued to thrive during the 20th century, and for most of it folks were even allowed to drink as late as six o’clock in the evening! This got lengthened to ten in the late sixties and to even later in the eighties. Now the government is starting to reassess this idea and Victoria longs for the halcyon days when we were obliged to responsibly knock down twelve beers within the hour after work before the pub closed. At the dawn of the 21st century, CUB (now Fosters Group) and Lion Nathan owned the vast majority of Australian beer. Most other companies had been bought out, with Coopers being a rare exception. Coopers managed to remain independent because South Australians are basically just Poms with their brains kicked out, so they forgot all about brewing lagers and regressed 100 years to start brewing ales again. Smart move, because ales are quicker, cheaper and easier to make. The beer-drinking public, tired of the tasteless, chemical-laden dross served up by the big breweries, started lapping up Coopers, and were impressed by the purity and full flavour. Thus the Great Craft Beer Explosion began. The government has helped by granting decent rebates to microbreweries, as well as telling people to give up alcohol. Your tax dollars at work. Some of these microbreweries have become very popular, such as Mountain Goat, and others have sold out at least in part to the big boys, such as Matilda Bay (Fosters) and Little Creatures (Lion Nathan). Most of them brew full-bodied ales, proving that boutique beer drinkers are largely sedentary office workers who want to enjoy the flavour of a beer, rather than traditional drinkers who rather something just cold and refreshing because they’ve gotten off their arse and actually worked to earn their beer. This is actually a great time for Australian beer. The market is healthier than it has been for a long time, with a wide selection of small breweries popping up everywhere. Australians have become more adventurous and knowledgeable about the old amber gold, and there is a fantastic variety out there. The microbrew bubble is bound to burst at some point, but until then try to take advantage of the excellent beer local brewers are producing. Bugger the imported shit. (6 Comments |Comment on this)
Sunday, June 28th, 2009
4:41 pm	Nutshell Lost job about two months ago. Felt like a break up. Loved that pub. Utterly broke. Well behind in rent and bills. Finally have some work, here and there, in various bars, but nothing stable yet. Looking up, though. Never get to see friends anymore due to crazy hours. Miss y'all. No romance. Nothing unusual. Still fat. Turning 30 soon. Probably won't do anything. When I was a teenager, I wanted to die when I was 27. Sometimes, I feel like I did. Saw Simon and Garfunkel, though. (6 Comments |Comment on this)
Friday, April 17th, 2009
6:37 pm	Gold class Simon and Garfunkel tickets. (3 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, April 7th, 2009
2:15 pm	Dear Mr Howell, Thank you for your letter regarding my review of your newly released album. Please rest assured that I recieve many such letters from young musicians entering the industry, and I always make sure that I read them personally. Many of your points are valid, and I do understand that creating an album is a difficult and demanding process. I do indeed respect the passion and frustration involved in constructing such a creative work, and also the disapointment that would inevitably result in obtaining a negative critique in one of the industry's more respected publications. However, your comments regarding my lack of talent or accomplishment musically demands rebuttal. I am a virtuoso, Mr Howell. From my early youth, I recognised a talent in myself that none other possess (or if there is, none has been formally recognised). I have an intuitive knack for a particular instrument that surpasses the comprehension of the most accomplished masters of the musical arts. My chosen instrument, or rather the instrument that chose me, is the triangle. Common belief states that no talent is needed to play this idiophone and that any idiot can beat a piece of metal with another piece of metal. It would not surprise me that a modern exponent of modern, popular emo-tunes, albeit one in the "indie" scene, would share this opinion. I have become accustomed to such ignorance over the years. The fact is, some percussionists are exceptional enough to understand the subtle difference between the pitch produced by a standard equilateral and a more archaeic isosceles. The precise art of striking the myrid surface areas to produce quite distinct intonations. The abilty to determine the most appropriate beater to use for a particular note, and the exact speed and strength needed to use it for the greatest effect on the listener. And even these percussionists, who are indeed superb, are amateurs compared to me. But they are able to play many instruments, whereas I have focused exclusively on one to the point of perfection. The regular listener cannot understand the degree of mastery that I have acheived. So what merit is there for any orchestra to hire a triangle player of my capabilities, when even the lowliest second violinist can barbarously perform the same job without the bleating flock of the audience knowing any difference? But I notice the difference. And when you have lived your whole life noticing, your whole life with unappreciated wasted genius, you will call substandard music what it is. Your "passion and frustration", your "creative struggle", mean nothing to me, Mr Howell. It pales in comparison to the crushing despair I have encountered throughtout my life in music. I said that your album was a mediocre attempt at exploiting the current trends, with nothing exceptional to offer. I stand by that comment. I wish you luck in your career. Sincerely, Albert Finnegan (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Friday, February 6th, 2009
6:53 pm	Details update I've had a new phone number for a while. Change to: 0413 959 993 Please keep this number in mind as I don't have Facebook and thus don't get invited to parties. You can also find me at the Edinburgh Castle Hotel. Cheers (3 Comments |Comment on this)
Sunday, February 1st, 2009
6:43 pm	Hammered (in the bad way) 45.1 on friday and my pub was the only one in Brunswick not to suffer a power shortage, fridge breakdown, glycol fuck-up, or air-con meltdown. Northcote had the same problem. Thus, everyone came to the EC. I took to answering the  phone with, "Edinburgh Castle Hotel. And before you ask, yes we have power, cold beer and a working air conditioner." 70% of immediate answers were, "Cheers, see you in ten." 65 hour week and counting. (4 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, January 6th, 2009
3:49 pm	Geeky This is a quick post to let you roleplayers out there know of a neat little conversion I was lucky to stumble across. A great resource for using Savage Worlds to run SLA Industries. SLA is a great game that sadly suffers from terribly cumbersome game mechanics. Savage Worlds is a great system born from the ashes of Deadlands. Check it out. (6 Comments |Comment on this)
Saturday, November 22nd, 2008
1:55 am	Baker's Dozen (for Scott) She unlocked the door and threw herself into my arms.   “Oh, Baker,” she said. “I didn’t know who else to call.”   “What happened?”   “He just came in and started yelling. He said he was going to kill me. I was so scared.”   I held her for a while until she calmed down and looked her in those beautiful, flooded brown eyes. “Where is he?”   She shuddered and broke away. “In the kitchen.”   “Okay,” I said. “Why don’t you go to the bathroom and clean yourself up?”   She nodded and left. I closed the blinds facing out into the street and went into the kitchen.   Her husband was on the floor, eyes open lying in a puddle of red. The blood had come from a wound in his chest and I guessed that she must have punctured his lung, drowning on his own blood. The knife lay on the floor near his head, bloody and gleaming like the claw of a jungle cat.   There were no scratches on his arms or face to indicate that she had fought against him, nor were there other signs of a struggle. No broken crockery. Nothing knocked off a bench onto the floor.   And the wound had come from the side, not the front.   I was still surveying the scene when she came to the doorway into the kitchen, standing silently.   “What happened, Tiffany?”   She took a deep breath. “He came in and started yelling. I’d never seen him so angry. He told me he knew that I was cheating on him.”   “Did he mention me?”   “He said he didn’t know who it was, but he knew I was seeing someone. And he said he was going to kill me.”   “Had he been drinking?”   “Maybe. I don’t know.”   “You got any whiskey around?”   She pointed to a cupboard and I grabbed a bottle. I opened it and poured some in his mouth, trying not to spill any on the floor.   “How long ago did this happen, Tiff?”   “I called you right after.”   I nodded and put the bottle on the counter. I took out some cash and gave it to her.   “Get out of here,” I said. “Find a quiet bar. Somewhere you haven’t been before. Just blend in for a while and have a few drinks. Drink them slow. Real slow. Stay a few hours and then find a hotel room for the night. Tell them you’re expecting your husband to come later and give them my description.”   “What about you?”   “I’ll stay here and call the cops. I’m gonna need your key to prove I had a right to be here.”   “Baker, you can’t…”   “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. I’ll contact you tomorrow somehow, but you need to leave right now before the body gets too cold.”   She nodded and I held her.   “It’s gonna be okay, Tiff,” I said.   We kissed and she tasted like lies and tears.   “Don’t take anything you wouldn’t normally have with you.”   “Thank you, Baker,” she said. She handed me her key and then she was gone.   I waited for the sound of the door to close before I looked at the watch I took out of her bag at our last embrace. I wasn’t surprised to see that it matched the description of the one missing from Sullivan’s crime scene. But that would have to wait.   I wiped the handle of the blade to remove her prints and then gripped it with my right hand, shuffling it around a bit in my grasp. After that, I put it back on the floor where it had been.   I poured a whiskey for myself and went to the phone. My fingers know Cavanagh’s number nearly as well as they know how to roll cigarettes.   “Cavanagh here.”   “It’s me,” I said and took a slug of the drink.   “Pretty late, Baker. What’s up?”   “I got a body here. Stabbed in the chest.”   “Gimme the address and I’ll send some men. Who’s the stiff?”   “Client of mine. Wanted to find out if his wife was cheating on him.”   “And was she?”   “Yeah,” I said. “She was.”   “You think the lover’s the killer.”   “I know he is.”   “Who is he?’   “You’re speaking to him.”   There was silence. I lit a cigarette and looked at the time on the stolen watch. It had stopped hours ago. Maybe even days. I’d have to hide it before Cavanagh arrived or things would get even more complicated.   Maybe it was because I was on the phone, maybe something else, but it didn’t occur to me at the time that she knew that I would steal it.   “You told him?” Cavanagh’s voice was iron.   “Not who. Just that she was.”   “What’s the address?”   I told him and poured another belt of booze.   “I’m coming round myself with some boys. Don’t go nowhere, Baker.”   “I’m always going nowhere, Cavanagh.”   “Ain’t that the truth,” he said, and the phone died. (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Thursday, November 6th, 2008
12:58 pm	Free fried chicken for everyone! Yay! (Comment on this)
Thursday, October 30th, 2008
4:30 pm	I want one (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Tuesday, October 28th, 2008
2:11 pm	Fitness for you! Here's a new fad tp get into, kids. It's the IVAN "BE HAPPY" DIET PLAN! Step 1 Throw away your bathroom scales. You may use a heavy bludgeoning instrument on them first for an added sense of spiritual wellbeing. Step 2 Give all your old clothes that don't fit you anymore to friends. You may then take this opportunity to buy new clothes to take their space. Clothes that do fit you and make you feel a million dollars. Step 3 Burn any magazines or other weight-loss books in a purifying ritual. Or recycle them. Burning's more fun. Step 4 Exercise as often as you can. Exercise does not mean you have to do anything physical or strenuous. You just need to be doing something you enjoy. Read a book. Catch up with friends across town. Play an instrument. Masturbate. Engage in a flame war. Just don't do nothing. Step 5 Eat. Whatever you want. Whenever you want. Stock your fridge up with yummy at least once a week. Step 6 Smile and laugh. Enjoy your life and your body. They're beautiful things. You may not lose weight, but you'll be rewarded in more ways than you can imagine. You'll be happy and people will love you. That means YOU, you beautiful specimen of humanity, you! (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Monday, September 8th, 2008
6:41 pm	Apocapartylyptic So, with the Earth being sucked into a black hole on Wednesday, maybe there should be some kind of "End of the World Drinks" on Tuesday evening. Okay, it isn't going to kill us, but it's a good excuse, innit? You don't wanna have Armageddon without having said goodbye, do ya? Ideas? (2 Comments |Comment on this)