You know how I was talking about getting depressed after 21st parties? This post here. Well this scene from season 1 of Rake came in my mind. Don’t ask me why.

Context: NSW Attorney General Joe Sandilands has just committed suicide by jumping from The Gap. Missy and Cleaver are drinking the night away in a bar.

Missy: Joe was just sick of the bullshit, I think.
Cleaver: I’ll drink to that.
A pause
M: I saw him the morning he jumped Cleave.
C: Oh… Don’t flatter yourself babe, there’s nothing you could have done.
M: Holding back tears Wasn’t there?
C: No, there wasn’t.
M: He sounded so lost…
C: He was sick of the bullshit, that’s what it was.

I have habit of telling people everything about myself. It’s awful. I know that hell will break loose if I tell someone everything, or everyone nothing. (Or not, maybe people don’t care about my life)

So to counter this, I tell everyone something different. Of course each fact I tell is true, I can’t lie.

But then what if I do something really, really stupid later in life (or even tomorrow), and then suddenly everyone wants to know every tiny detail about me?

Back in the days before the internet, you would have to talk to everyone and ask them about this person of interest. Now, a list of Facebook friends, a good Facebook stalk and a few loose lips and everything comes out.

Of course I can’t stop people from stalking my Facebook. But I can control my spreading of information. The idea is to try to tell two people who are unlikely to cross paths (e.g. a high school friend and a colleague) two pieces of information that would generate significant conversation if they were known together.

The theory behind ‘decentralizing’ information is that if someone wanted to see the whole picture, it would take a long time to piece together all the information from many sources.

But I don’t know how long that theory will hold.

The last thing I want to do is to hurt my friends, some of whom have been very kind to me.

So I don’t know why I keep going to 21st parties. I get depressed after each of them.

Sometimes I don’t know whether we should be friends any more. You’re happy with your boy/girlfriend, and I feel that I should leave you alone, instead of trying to be a part of your friendship.

Love this lyric from a song called ‘Sometimes’ by Hanna.

Sometimes isn’t always and sometimes is not forever … But you know, if sometimes meant forever and if sometimes meant always, then I love you only sometimes.

A remix below:
http://youtu.be/ZhCDNpnca6s

I had an awful dream one night. It was about friends and planes.

One sunny morning, I was at an airport with a good friend, and we were about to jet off somewhere. This airport was laid out like a labyrinth; you had to go through the daycare centre to get to the security check and then on to the gates. My friend with his black rolling luggage (it was a premium brand of bag) gets caught up trying to find his friend in this airport, so we are separated just before we go past security.

90 minutes before takeoff. I search the airport for him; he’s not answering my calls. I go through the daycare centre, and back out to the car park. 30 minutes before takeoff. Shit, I have to go through security now. WHERE IS HE? 20 minutes. I say to myself, “Screw him, I don’t care if he gets lost. I’m going”.

I pass through security. It doesn’t look like your normal security at an airport. There was one guard, and no metal detectors. The departure card is pre-filled, but not with my information. This is getting strange. In my panicked state, I stumble through security and walk through this long tunnel leading to a fenced area outdoors to the gate.

See, this doesn’t look like an airport at all. I’m in a long-ish line to get on to the plane. I see my friend a little ahead of me. This will be the last I see of him. As I board, the plane is not laid out like a normal plane. There are chains on the wall, and dodgy bunks in the middle; like what the ships used in the pre-1800s slave trade were like. Everyone is being chained to the wall. Who’s everyone? If you can picture Folsom St, or Oxford St at night, imagine those sorts of people all over the plane. Leather, black, latex, chains, fetish nerds You name it. I take my ‘seat’ an insecure bunk with no bottom. This was painful. And the carrier? KLM Royal Dutch airlines.

Back in the real world, and I wake up. I reach for my phone and look up KLM in Wikipedia. Phew, their planes are normal.

Had a rather chaotic dream about aviation, and things we talked about at a dinner party last night. It scared me into waking up… (1/2)

— Ben Ho (@hohohob) July 28, 2012

And then I grabbed my phone and started to look up Wikipedia to reassure myself that none of it was real. (2/2)

— Ben Ho (@hohohob) July 28, 2012

Look mate, re-blogging a million posts from other people’s tumblr blogs is NOT blogging. It is merely a curation of things that you like.

SO STOP SAYING YOU BLOG, you balloon.

Sometimes people ask really stupid questions at uni. In a course I’m doing, the lecturer mentioned twice about where their contact details could be found on the website. Then on the discussion board a short time later, someone asks where these details can be found.

Now, that’s fine if the person missed the lecture. But the person wrote the question in a way that it could be interpreted negatively. You could read that question, and deduce that the person is a lazy shit who gets frustrated at every little thing.

I, being a slightly nice person, responded to the question and wrote out the lecturer’s details for their ‘convenience’. On hindsight, I should have assumed the role of a snarky little shit too, and should have written ‘sacred convenience, you lazy fuck.’