Q. What do Cliff Richard, carnies and the Twin Towers have in common? A. This blog entry...

When I started this blog I didn't want anyone I knew in real life to read it, so I refused to give out the address. I figured that with this anonymity I could write about whatever I wanted; discuss my friends' secrets in detail, bitch behind the backs of those I love, write about any romantic obsessions too shameful to speak out loud (like Macaulay Culkin, see below), and all that kind of junk. Then I made the mistake of telling a certain heel I know that I had a blog, and so just to be a shit he went and googled till he found it. The man had the gall to guess my bra cup size on the first evening he met me and then followed it up by finding my blog against my will? Harrumph. Oh, well, I guess I will just have to live with the fact that I put the stupid thing on the web in the first place, and so I deserve what I get! Anyway, even more annoyingly my best buddy Svet has also discovered the location of this proverbial ALADDIN'S CAVE OF WONDERS and so she can read it whenever she wants, too. Double harrumph. I've had to go and edit out all the posts in which I detail all the ways I'd like to kill her, and all the sexual fantasies I've had about her and her cat. (Just kidding, Svet. The fantasies didn't really involve your cat; I was just trying to make you jealous.)

Speaking of having sex with cats, I have been listening to a lot of CLIFF RICHARD, lately. Indeed, I have become obsessed with his song 'Wired For Sound'. Yes, that's right; I'm obsessed with a Cliff Richard song. I blame the phenomenon on my months of listening relentlessly to the Cure and, prior to that, the Smiths. The way I see it, in order to balance out the prolonged exposure to depressing, intelligent and/or witty music, my brain is insisting on listening to irritatingly cheerful, disposable crapola. On the other hand it could be that I just have bad taste, but an epiphany like that could be costly in terms of my therapy bills, so let's not go there!

*Insert segway here* I'm really fascinated by words and language generally, but I especially like learning new slang from different countries/time periods/cultures/etc. (You might even say that I put the lex in lexicon!* But, then again, you might not if you think that those kind of jokes are lame.) Anyway, yesterday I found out a new idiom from a young man in Sacramento, (well, from his blog), namely carny. Well, it's not exactly new; rather, it's a time-honoured turn of phrase applied to the folk who travel from town to town with carnivals, and are perceived as inbred and crazy. But this young man was using it in a new context; namely to describe (and deride) goths and punks, etc.! Isn't that a total riot? Not that I have anything in particular against either subculture, in fact they're often pretty snappy dressers (something I have a lot respect for). Still, I find it really enjoyable to make fun of people who take themselves uber-seriously. So, next time I'm at Flinders' Street Station and I trip over some year 10 who's reading Kierkegaard, wearing too much black eyeliner and setting her hand on fire, I won't forget to shout;

"Gang way, you carny!"

It'll be ever so much fun.

A new reason that I'm going to Hell:

-I bought a snow dome of NYC simply because it contained the Twin Towers in the cityscape. Sick, no?

Alrighty, that's enough disjointed rambling for one evening. Catch ya on the flipside!

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* - in order for this joke to work, it helps to know that my name is Alex.