Confession

The Backstreet Boys are coming to Perth in March 2010. 

I am very excited.

That is all.

Oh alright, that's not all. Because if I buy a ticket, I'm not just investing (investing?) in an incredible stadium experience, I'm also going to relive my bittersweet youth.

And if they don't get all the dance moves right for, "Quit Playing Games With My Heart"*, I am going to throw rocks at them. 

Except for Kevin. You've always been my favourite, sweet Kevin. In fact, let's check the BB Wikipedia entry to see what the boys have been up to.

...

Kevin left? Damn yooou, Kevin!

* Or am I thinking of another song? Because there weren't that many dance moves in "Quit Playing Games With My Heart", but in the video they did wear really thin shirts, and then it rained, and the shirts stuck to them, and then all the buttons came undone and ... hmm, maybe THAT's why it's my favourite song.

Graduation!

It's graduation night for our Diploma of Screen & Media (specialising in Animation), and I've been asked to give a speech on behalf of the animation class.

Go away, butterflies!

Update (21/11/2009): Holy crap, that went better than anything I could have imagined in my wildest dreams (without me being arrested). What a buzz!

Nice things about last weekend

1. Spending the weekend with Tim Ferguson.

2. Spending the weekend with incredible writers, directors, producers, and actors who were attending the same course.

3. Learning how to write comedy. The mystery has been stripped away, like a marriage after twenty years, but I love you even more than when we first met, comedy. We will make beautiful music together and you will deliver many deposits with many beautiful zeroes to my bank account.

4. Going out for drinks and dinner and being fancied by people. (It's nice when your cleavage brings its "A" game.) What happened was, a lady came up to us and said, "My friends have dared me to say, 'Hi, Sexy!' to everyone at this table. So ... Hi, Sexy! ... Hi, Sexy! ... (she gets to me) Oh my god! You're gorgeous!" I don't know how many drinks you'd had, lady, but yes, I will have your babies.

When things come together

Yay! What a fantastic day.

Earlier this week (I left it rather late because I've been busy and not reading my FTI newsletters), I applied to attend a narrative comedy writing workshop taught by Tim Ferguson.

Tim Ferguson, of the Doug Anthony Allstars, whose DAAS Kapital TV show used to warm my face every week with its gentle, silvery glow. TIM FERGUSON.

Mind you, the only recollection I have of those episodes are a Japanese mermaid in a wading pool and the phrase "Shitsu Tonka".

Old age is funny like that.

Still, TIM FERGUSON.

Anyway, I got an e-mail back saying they were full, accepted it, and moved on.

Then this morning the organiser called me, saying that someone had cancelled, and he had read my application and was very impressed, and would I still like to attend the course despite the short notice?

Woohoo!

Then I went to my mother's for lunch and she had bought this book for me:

The blurb on the back says, "Inspired by a course run by the National College of Ireland, [this book] comprises 20 letters from Maeve, offering advice, tips and her own wonderfully witty take on the life of a writer, in addition to contributions from top writers, publishers and editors."

This is a pretty special gift because it means my mother has accepted that I'm pursuing this crazy dream (and is no longer pushing me to be/marry a doctor/dentist/accountant/lawyer).

And as everyone knows, when you've got your Mummy behind you, you can pretty much conquer the world.

I suppose the universe agrees, because a catalogue with this message arrived in the mail this afternoon:

I know it's just a catalogue, but I'll take good portents wherever I can get them, thank you very much.

Time to get fit

How do I know?

My arms get fatigued when I wash my hair.

I look at photos from four years ago and my face had ANGLES.

And tonight I realised that my virtual pet on Facebook gets more exercise than I do. Mainly because I keep entering him in races to win money for snappy outfits and garden furniture.

What a sad state of affairs.

MFCs say the darndest things

While having dinner and watching Dollhouse last night ...

MFC: Who's that?

an9ie: Her name's Sierra. She's played by an Australian actress.

MFC: Her face looks like an Easter Island statue.

Before you die, do remember to destroy all private correspondence

I know! Multiple blog posts! But if the blogging muse is around you have to take advantage of her presence. Otherwise she leaves in a huff and you're left postless until December.

A comment that Tokyobling left in August reminded me of how much I like Kate Beaton's "Hark, a vagrant" comics. So I trawled through the archives and got to this one, about James Joyce's dirty, dirty, DIRTY letters to Nora Barnacle, and it made me laugh all over again.

an9ie: Hey, MFC! Come have a look at these filthy letters I was telling you about the other day!

MFC (from the kitchen): No thanks, I'm eating.

Parenting fail

an9ie: You know, if we ever have a child, your study will have to be the nursery, because there is no freakin' way I'm giving up my room.

MFC: Nooo! Bags not my study!

MFC: Heh heh, you can't touch it now. It's been bagsed.

MFC: I know! The nursery could be ... your mother's house!

an9ie: That's an awesome idea!

Now, I shall sit back and wait for anonymous criticism to arrive from people with no sense of humour.

That elusive early bedtime

I knew I shouldn't have introduced MFC to the Rather Good website just before bedtime.

Mind you, I have seen the Bagger 288 clip five times now (people in our animation production team keep showing it to newcomers), and it still puts me in stitches EVERY SINGLE TIME.

On the other hand

It could be worse. At least I'll never have to cook for the next forty years.