There's No Emoticon For The Way That Makes Me Feel

I have spent the past week stuck in bed feeling like shit and most of it has been a complete waste of time. A very large proportion of my time has been taken up with blowing my nose, and while this was extremely useful in the short term, in the long-run, it is an action that will not be remembered. It will not change the world, or be useful to others, or help me to make a name for myself in perpetuity.

However, in between nose blows I had a lot of thinking time. And I mean a LOT. It began to bother me that there is no emoticon for the phrase "Christ on a bike!". I have been using this phrase quite a bit recently so it seemed a great pity. I spent hours obsessing over the stupidity of it all and then put my bedridden status to good use and I invented one myself. Christ on a bike! So here it is: +!8

Now that I have invented something I can die in peace. Or maybe I'll wait a bit longer; I still have a custard tart in the fridge that ought to be eaten.

The Problem With Inception

Tallboy and I saw Inception the other day and it wasn't bad but I got to thinking afterwards that my biggest problem with it is that it wasn't dreamlike enough. Unless, that is, we are talking about the dreams that special effects artists have. I don't know about you but I don't tend to dream about things that look visually amazing in an expensive, technological sort of way. For example, I had a dream a couple of nights ago where I was a journalist tracking down some underworld heavies. I'm pretty sure I was a man too, but it's hard to be objective; it was just a feeling; not like my friend NC who regularly dreams of people walking around naked with one or two extra penises for added impact.

...anyway, I got chased into my house and while trying to stop my pursuer from breaking down the door, I started yelling at Stephen Page (who in the dream was my son but in real life is the Artistic Director of Bangarra Dance Theatre) to call 000. "Stephen. STEPHEN!!! Call the police!!! Stephan, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? For Christ's sake call the fucking emergency services! Don't just sit there!!!" My recalcitrant child stared moodily at me but didn't move so I raced over to do it myself. I punched the bowl of raw meat strips in front of him three times with my finger. Lucky it was a push button phone or things would've become messy.

Photos:
My son (third from the left) and my phone