A Wil Affair

Ok, so the title to this post is nowhere near as good as the titles of Wil Anderson's shows, but hey, he's a professional comedian, and I came up with it in about two seconds. So.
I'll cut to the chase: I am in love with Wil Anderson. He's an Australian comedian, he's 34, he lives in Sydney. He used to host The Glass House on the ABC until it got cut. He has a radio show on Triple M every weekday called the Wil and Lehmo show. He's been to the Melbourne Int'l Comedy Festival, as well as others, and he always puts his name into the title of his solo shows (Who Wants to be a Wilionaire?). He's the host of a brand new show that dissects advertising, called The Gruen Transfer. It's also on the ABC, so fingers crossed that it won't be cut! (I'm still bitter about them axing The Sideshow, even though I only discovered it after it finished running.)
So there's plenty of (good) Wil to go around. His radio show is available to download as a podcast, and although it's not quite as exciting as the Hamish and Andy show, it is certainly much more mature and I like their humour a lot better. They actually do semi-useful stunts, like going on a diet and selling their possessions and giving the money to charity. I'm still about three weeks behind in the podcasts, but once I catch up maybe I'll be able to e-mail in or something. Cause 4 pm in Australia is... the middle of the night here, I think. And the long distance rates would probably not be swell.
Some things I know about Wil: he's a vegetarian, he's a cat person, he just came out of a seven year relationship, and he's gone to counselling about it. I suspect he's still at least sort of in love with her; it seems like it was her who broke it off, and quite suddenly as well. During his six weeks of diet/exercise, Lehmo and he posted what they ate every day, and all Wil seemed to eat was sushi and cups of soup. The man needs someone to cook for him! I know I have a complex for wanting to fix guys though. I'll have to watch myself as I grow older. At least his face doesn't need fixing; just his eating habits...!
Some people think he's quite cocky, but I don't really see that. I agree that he's confident, but I don't think he's full of himself. I mean, he's 34 and a standup comedian. You've got to have some confidence; you have to be sure of yourself to do that! At least he isn't a complete idiot like Hamish, in any case. I haven't seen a lot of The Glass House, but I think I can see how a lot of people thought it was stupid and not funny. It looks... weird, to say the least. But where there's a Wil there's a way (...?) so he's back on TV wooh!
In my mind I live in Australia. I wonder if I should allow myself to be somewhere else entirely in my mind, but eh. I like it there.

Falling through the universe

I have a lot of time on my hands.
This often happens when one is immortal; when one's home is the stars. One has a lot of time.
I come up with things to do in my time that the entire population of the Earth, past, present, and future, would probably never dream up. Because I am infinity and I am forever and that gives me a significant advantage over the minute brains and specks of lifespans of humans.
I bathe in pasta and contemplate whether the tomato sauce will soak through my pores. For all my years of life, if life is the word for it, I have never had much of an interest in science. I couldn't tell you what I am made of or how I work or how the universe works, at least not in the scientific sense. Honestly, I don't think anyone could tell me what I am made of or how I work because I am made of everything and nothing, and I work as the universe works, and who can say just how the universe works?
I have recently started experimenting with my pasta baths. I used to only bathe in spaghetti, but then I thought I might try shell pasta, and that was interesting albeit slippery. The spaghetti tends to get wrapped around one's ankles, like a very skinny and very long lover with a multitude of arms. A slightly creepy, skinny, long lover with a multitude of arms. Certainly a bit creepy. I have never had a lover with more than twelve arms. Twelve seems more than enough, I do think. She could certainly do some interesting things with those twelve arms of hers, if you can really call her a she. She called herself a she though, and that's all I really need to know.
Us beings of the infinite, of all of space and all of life, have trouble with the limitations of language, or at least of the language of mortals. We are not so simply defined as big or small, male or female, alive or dead, here or there. In our own languages, we have words for such things, but some concepts can never be grasped by such small creatures as mortals generally are. And we are so few, and so different from one another, that we each have our own language, and we only understand ourselves, and almost never speak to each other for fear of being misunderstood. But aren't we always misunderstood?
Something I like to do when the sky is young and full and buzzing with fresh, calm energy, is fall. I love to fall. All that is needed to fall is a great long space beneath you. Though in space there isn't a beneath you. There is just a lot of space. Though 'a lot' and 'space' hardly describe it. I am not stationed in any particular place, on a planet or some such physical, specific location. I, in some ways, am in many places at once, but also in one place. When I fall, I stop controlling myself, stop deciding which way to look, which way to turn, where to go. I have spent years falling. Your years, not mine. I have no years.
After a few years of falling, I start to fade away, I allow myself to not think, I just fall and nothing else. Myself, and my life, are. And there is nothing more.
After a few more years, everything starts spinning. I can never tell if it is me who is spinning, perhaps nudged by a passing piece of space junk, or the stars. I have tried to pay attention, to find out what it is that is spinning, but I always try to pay attention after I have already begun to spin, so I have never been able to figure it out.
After spinning and spinning and spinning, I begin to come to back to consciousness, to wondering and thinking and wanting and eventually doing. I think for such a long time that I decide that I want to do something, so I think about doing something, and then I decide to do something and then I do that something. Before, I found a measure of absurdity in this, in the process I would go through to have this idea, to do this something. And then I realized that this is the same process that we all go through, big or small, infinite or finite. For me, as with everything I do, the process is simply expanded, throughout the universe, throughout all of time, throughout all of thought and action and love and misery.
Somehow even after millennia of falling, my ideas are still sometimes crap. It makes me wonder. But not too hard.

A Childhood Love of Pies

A response to Shika's English 12 AP topic 'Write about the place you grew up, tell about aspects which made you feel especially at home and a time you felt like an outsider.' combined with a conversation with Kristina about baking a pie for Mother's Day.


When I was little, I liked pies. I don't mean I just enjoyed eating them; pies just made me happy. Often I would sit with a pie outside in the sun, watching the clouds, and taking in the scent of strawberry and rhubarb. Once the sun went down, I would go back inside with my pie, and eat a piece.

I have told other people about my relationship with pies, and they have often commented how it was odd that I would eat my friend. But I never found thi strange, somehow. Pies weren't just something to eat, but they also weren't animated creatures. They each had their own ambience about them, like how pink makes you happy and grey bestows an impression of confidence and smarts, but I wouldn't go so far as to say that pies have personalities.

In any case, all this business of pies is behind me now. My days of lugging around a lemon meringue or pumpkin friend are long past. Somehow pies and I just faded apart.

Now, I have a fondness for pickles.

It's Story Time!! with Weener and PooPoo

One day, Weener and PooPoo were walking along the causeway when all of a sudden, a giant merman leapt out of the water. He said "Hello, Weener and PooPoo. How would you like to have an underwater adventure today?" Weener and PooPoo said that they'd like to have an underwater adventure very much, but they couldn't breathe underwater. "That's too bad," said the giant merman, and he dived back into the water.

"I really wish I could have gone on an underwater adventure with that giant merman," said Weener.
"Me too," said PooPoo. "But we can't breathe underwater."
"I know," said Weener. "But maybe we could grow gills."
"How are we going to grow gills?" asked PooPoo.
"I still have some fairy dust left from our last adventure," replied Weener. "Maybe if I fling it into the air, a fairy will appear and give us gills!"
"That sounds like a great idea!" said PooPoo.
Weener pulled the last of the fairy dust out of his pocket, and flung it into the air. Weener and PooPoo held the breath.
After a couple of seconds, the wind started to pick up. They thought they heard faint music. Then with a loud POP! a fairy appeared before them.
"Hello," said the fairy.
"Hello!" said Weener and PooPoo. "We were wondering if you could give us some gills so that we could have an underwater adventure with the merman."
"Sure," said the fairy. "But be careful. Sometimes mermen can be tricky."
"What do you mean, tricky?" asked PooPoo.
"Well," said the fairy, "he might try to steal your soul and put it in a bottle and then drink it for breakfast! But he probably won't."
"Well in that case, we have nothing to worry about!" said Weener.
"Ok," said the fairy, and with a wave of his arms, he gave Weener and PooPoo gills. Then with a CRACK! he disappeared.

Weener and PooPoo stared wide-eyed at each other. They clapped their hands to their necks. They had gills!
"I can't breathe," Weener mouthed to PooPoo.
"What?" PooPoo mouthed back. He gestured at the water. Weener nodded, and they both jumped in.

Under the water, everything looked blue. Not surprising, thought Weener. The merman was nowhere in sight. Weener and PooPoo started swimming away from the causeway, and down, down.
Seaweed tickled their legs, and tiny fish swam around them, but still there was no sign of the merman. Weener tried to ask one of the bigger fish if they had seen the merman, but the fish ignored him. "How rude!" said Weener. PooPoo acquiesced.