Monday, 31 August 2015

Controversy... too soon?

(Photo editing credit: K.Lynch)

I'm about to enter the realm of controversy in the most diplomatic way possible. The above image is a photo-shopped picture of Cecil the lion, lying dead beneath its jubilant hunter (Walter Palmer) and guide. I'm aware that this topic is severely over exploited and outdated, however I have only just acquired an opinion as well as a medium to communicate it through.

I want to make clear that I am not about to commence heckling Walter Palmer. I feel that his life has already been ruined by the many ferocious smartphone wielding armies on the internet. (And also, he is way too easy to castigate).

There are multiple perspectives and arguments regarding the situation, but there are a few underlying things to address. The most common argument (primarily utilised by hunting supporters) is so: "Income acquired by the sale of permits for the trophy hunting of endangered animals benefits the conservation of the species". Okay, at first I was apprehensive about this argument, but after some research, it seems that there may be some truth to it. Sure, the income may be fed directly back into the maintenance of nature reserves and protection of endangered animals, but it still comes at a price: the systematic decimation of its animals. 

What frustrates me is the underlying motives behind hunters. They present these glorious arguments, disputing that they are performing inhumane practices by trying to justify themselves with grotesque amounts of money. Who knows exactly how this money is benefiting these "wild" animals. What do animals know what currency is anyway? If trophy hunters were as inculpable as they wished to be portrayed, then why aren't they prepared to donate the money to the cause that they so desperately advocate? 

I am not opposed to hunting. I believe that, while primitive, it is the most natural method of food collection since the beginning of mankind. However, times have changed. With the worlds population exceeding 7 billion people,  it would be ignorant to believe that sustainable big game hunting is feasible (hence the massive price of hunting permits). The days of nomadic survival methods are approaching an end, and people need to stop living their Rambo-themed alter ego. It is hard for me to comprehend that people could willfully shoot an animal as majestic as a lion in cold blood; entirely aware of the implications and repercussions of their actions. Show some self control!

Environmentalists opposing Palmer's actions typically produce the argument: "I shoot wildlife also... but with my digital camera". Yeah, it's hard to argue with that. I find it ironic that the only real difference between hunters and photographers is that one of them ends up with a fluffy, 3-dimensional picture on their living room wall. Kinda sad how materialistic that is huh?

This is where I reveal how much of a hypocrite I am. That's me just after what I would deem to be a successful spearfishing endeavor. I was in the water for over 2 hours, tirelessly surfacing for air every 60 seconds, then diving back underwater and repeating. After countless missed shots, shark sightings, and an induced ear infection, I finally made a shot! I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't having fun. Nothing compares to the rush of a hunt when you're submerged underwater, struggling for air and fighting the swell. 

The main difference here when compared to the hunting of big game animals is that I
was collecting food. It is not too bold a comment to say that our society has become sensitive to the meat acquiring process. I have a registered fishing licence, and abide by its rules. In my opinion, Spearfishing is more humane than rod fishing, as it eliminates the uncertainties. You know what you are trying to catch, and its size.

Did anything go to waste? Will there be huge repercussions for my actions? You know how the saying goes..."Plenty more fish in the sea"... not a mention of African animals.

There are a few things to take away from this argument:
  • I haven't really made any clear arguments at all.
  • This is my poor attempt to justify myself spearfishing.
  • I've probably pissed someone off.

Sunday, 30 August 2015

We aren't the champions.

2015 marked my debut with the Macquarie University AA15s soccer team. To put it bluntly, it was a challenging season. We were the "defeated" champions of the competition. Now when I say defeated, I am of course referring to the opposite of "undefeated". Yes, we were unable to win a single game and make a numerical stain on the leader board, unless you count the games where other teams forfeited. 

Before I come across as a negative, grumpy midfielder (if it isn't too late), I want to say that we definitely didn't do as badly as this all sounds. There were countless instances of missed penalties (*facepalm*, my bad guys...and Steve's), close shots, injuries, banter, tied matches and friendly fire (*kamikaze*, not sorry Lachy). Not to mention that time that we didn't wash the jerseys, and the other team complained that we reeked of fermented beef stroganoff the whole game. 

Our team's mutually agreed excuse is that it just came down to bad luck... but from a statistical perspective, I would argue that this is definitely hard to justify! It was truly an awesome experience to be thrown into a brand new team, it always takes time for new players to settle, find their position and build a match personality. It's unfortunate that we only just seemed to sort ourselves out by the end of the season, as we definitely had potential! (These seasons aren't long enough when you account for the mid February, Sydney monsoon season!). I'm truly grateful to Bryce for the management of the team, and of course to my wooden spoon wielding squad who plan on losing those damned utensils for next season! I've definitely made some lifelong mates through this ordeal. 

For the previous 3 seasons I have represented the 20+ years running team: The AA21 Epping YMCA "Buffaloes". This squad was originally conceived by my dad and a group of his university mates while he was in his early 20's. Over the life of the team, countless players have come and gone, I was part of the overlapping, second generation players. In 2012, dad and myself ("the young bloke") were able to share a grand final victory together. We thought this was pretty cool. I had been attending his soccer games since I was a newborn, and many of the players had known me my whole life. It was unreal to finally get onto the field and outrun the old blokes (tongue in cheek).

Last night was the annual end of season pub crawl for the Macquarie University soccer teams. This was our opportunity to gain retribution for an anticlimactic season. Every missed goal, conceded goal, yellow card, foul throw-in and offside was to be vindicated. 

We started in The Rocks, and stampeded our way towards the inner city. Victimizing any pub that was foolish enough to allow entry. I struggle to remember the exact details (or maybe they aren't quite appropriate for this blog). So, insert rowdy, sloshed anecdote that concludes at 5:00 am here:


8:30pm and Max Power realises he forgot to bring his wallet. Later on, after a covert wallet retrieval operation, at 2:30 am he is banished from the pub for "inebriation". I provide assurance that it is just because he is a terrible dancer.

The ecstatic face of a man who wasn't denied access to a pub while friends sit outside enviously.

Friday, 28 August 2015

With a cherry on top.

Yesterday marked my grandparents: Marilyn and Frank's 50th wedding anniversary. I cannot emphasise the magnitude of this milestone. Just imagine even knowing somebody for that length of time. I'm only 20 years old and have had countless friends enter and leave my life without warning or even a proper goodbye. Sometimes I struggle to spend 2 hours in the car with my family without being driven to insanity.

After 50 years, a truly incredible bond must intertwine this magnificent couple; even disregarding the pet peeves and mildly frequent squabbling.

As celebration, we were invited to a classy dinner to proclaim this momentous occasion. I must admit that I had high expectations of a wild, pensioner themed shindig; with an abundance of plate smashing, tea chugging and table dancing. To put it bluntly, I was mislead, but not disappointed! It was an immediate family gathering that resulted in many laughs, stories, and of course: dad jokes.

Here's one of the funnier stories:

I was in the car with Frank. We were driving down a curvaceous country road and noticed a scrappy cardboard sign, barely pinned to a telegraph pole. It read "Fresh cherries, $8/kilo!" (I recall atleast one spelling error). My grandad has the uncanny ability to recall the current value of any fruit or vegetable from the local supermarket. "They are $11.50 a kilo in Woolworths!" he yells eagerly.

We make the approaching turn-off just in time (no thanks to the terrible signage), tearing into the gravel turning bay with a dust cloud behind us. Ahead is a reasonably sized pop up fruit stall, and manning it was a plump woman slouched in a chair. She sat up alertly, in sync with our fashionable entrance.

After pulling to a stop, we both get out of the car and stroll confidently to the stall; prepared for a barter. The woman greets us with a welcoming expression and warm words, "How's it garn?" she drones. Her smile almost reveals a full set of teeth, which indicated either a sugar addiction or unsuccessful boxing career. Fortunately, I am a cunning linguist and respond appropriately "Yep, good!". After all, I wasn't here for courtesy; this was serious business.

A partially filled bowl of deformed looking cherries sat on the counter top, they appeared to be the worst of the bunch. This did not dissuade my grandpa however, who had already scooped up a handful and had commenced munching and spitting pips in every direction. His cherry consuming skills were unparalleled, systematically decimating the bowl with a methodical rhythm in a matter of seconds. Chomp, spit, chomp, spit.

The woman was clearly taken aback by the empty bowl. Her initially welcoming face turned sour faster than you could say "How's it garn?". Completely oblivious to her reaction and obviously unsatisfied; Frank had already locked eyes with his next target. Just beside the woman sat another bowl of cherries, this bowl was very different to the seedy sample bowl however.

The bowl was overflowing with the glossiest, most pristine, succulent delights you could ever imagine. These cherries were clearly the woman's personal stash, exclusive to the public. By this point I was pretty amused by my grandfather's binge, yet fearful for his safety.

The woman noticed Frank's attention shift to the piece de resistance of cherry caches. She shifted her body between him and the bowl with intimidating demeanor. Frank absentmindedly reached out a confident hand to try the greener grass. *SLAP!* The woman had validated her dominance and flogged his meaty paw out of sight, whilst barking "You've had enough!". Frank was bewildered, but before he could respond I quickly interjected "We'll take a kilo thanks!".

Much love to my amazing grandparents, you both deserve a 1st and 2nd place ribbon.

  "Are you sure there are 50 balloons?" LOL

Thursday, 27 August 2015

You got Punked!

I was waiting at the train station to pick up a friend (let's call him Chubbers), it was twilight and visibility was mediocre. Unable to find a reputable car spot, the Mazda 3 had to reside to a narrow backstreet roughly 50 metres from the station. Chubbers had no idea what car I drove, fortunately there were no other vehicles in the street, so I assumed finding me wouldn't become too arduous of a task.

 From where I was the rattling of an approaching train resonated. I was apprehensive to believe that my friend would find the car, so I called him. It didn't ring, instead I was greeted with a pre-pubescent, nasally voice mail message that left me in stitches. 

I tried calling several more times but with no luck. I was however repeatedly amused by the high pitched, whiny voice mail message. It occurred to me that it sounded identical to him as a 19 year old man, post puberty.

Finally, Chubbers answered. *Engage flawless navigational directions*. 

"Yeah mate, just walk across the road from the other side of the platform, follow the street to the right and then take the next left. I'll be the closest car parked as you go round the corner."

Almost instantaneously, just as I finish my sentence, a large silver Volvo parks about 5 metres behind me. I'm watching intently in my rear vision mirror as the driver of the car leans in to kiss his wife in the passenger seat and then hops out of a car with a sheet of paper in one hand (A shopping list I presume).

A devious plan sparks. Still on the phone to my friend I casually mention "I'm in the big silver Volvo as you walk round the corner". Yes, I'm a terrible person, but how often does this opportunity arise?  Violent giggling was ready to burst from my lungs, but I kept my cool.

In the distance I could see an overweight, pudgy teenager draped in a hoodie approaching. Here he comes! I prepare myself, choosing my words carefully; this was the make or break moment. 

"I can see you! I'm just ahead!" I assert.
"Oh yeah, the Volvo right? Or the Mazda with the green P plates?" he queries hesitantly.
"Yep! Volvo!" I respond impatiently.

In the rear vision mirror, it is clear that the woman in the passenger seat of the Volvo has noticed the approaching stranger. Troubled, she turns her head and sits upright. I am witnessing the whole thing unfold, and it is absolute poetry.

He walks right up to the passenger window and grabs the door handle expecting to see an empty seat, and me as the driver. He locks eyes with the poor woman and they simultaneously recoil away from each other, startled. The woman becomes flustered and clumsily grabs at the car door interior with one hand, scrambling for the lock with the other. Chubbers is standing there frozen for a concerning amount of time with a dumbfounded expression on his face. 

I could hear him frantically asking questions to me over the phone but I was too entertained to respond. It was like someone was trying to talk to me in the middle of an action scene during a movie.

Here I am sitting in the car in front absolutely losing my mind, one hand is covering my mouth, and I'm buckling with silent mirth. Unable to contain myself any longer, explosive laughter detonates from within my lungs. He turns his head to the left and sees me sitting in the Mazda hysterically convulsing. Like a raging bull he storms over to the passenger door (correct car this time). 

You know how you can sometimes take a joke too far? Well I'm not very well educated in that regard...

Just before he opens the door I flick on the door lock. He's standing there in a raging fit glaring at me, seething. The woman in the Volvo is now on the phone, I notice her husband has just rounded the street corner and is storming towards us, sights locked onto Chubbers. It was a game of chicken. Chubbers stares at me threateningly. I look back at him, tears rolling down my face, giggling like a schoolgirl.

I roll down the rear window slightly and yell "HELP! HELP! I'M BEING OPPRESSED!" in between laughter, gasping for air. The Volvo hero increases in pace, quickly making ground towards Chubbers, flapping his arms around in the air as if he is trying to fly. 

My knight in shining armour nears the car, ready to deal with this delinquent. But he is abruptly stopped at the sound of my jovial moat of  amusement. He catches on and we straighten the whole thing out, although my friend is still pissed.

"Why didn't you just look for the green P plates?" I snicker.

"f**k you Josh."

Thanks for the inspiration Lachy <3

Wednesday, 26 August 2015

Ingenuity - The ultimate TV show

I had this idea that I think is pretty cool. So inevitably it will catastrophically fail and become archived in my recycling bin with all the others. You will never guess where my inspiration came from.

At the age of  9 dad gave me a Swiss Army knife. It was the most incredible present. Never had I owned anything that could disarm a blackhead with its intricate tweezers, cut butter (like a knife through butter), and still intimidate your classmates during show and tell. This versatile tool stayed in my pocket for almost 8 years, and I can recall countless situations where it was invaluable. Unfortunately it was lost in an alcohol related tragedy, but definitely not forgotten.

The point is, with this tool I must have discovered thousands of applications that I doubt it was designed for, and that is special to me. The ability to improvise and adapt when required is a skill that I find to be critical in everyday life.

For those of you who don't know who the guy above is, allow me to introduce McGyver. This man was quite iconic in the 80-90s. Most likely for his outspoken nature, quick thinking, and irresistible mullet. He was able to get out of practically any sticky situation with his trusty Swiss Army knife and duct tape roll, and then seduce the nearest woman. As a result I would classify him WAY cooler than James Bond (screw you Pierce Brosnan!).

Here's my proposal:
Imagine a TV game show that attempts to release the inner "MacGyver" in a number of contestants that are competing against each other. Individually, contestants would be placed into an isolated room (e.g. shipping container, warehouse, water tank). Within this room there would be a challenge, or multiple challenges and several strategically chosen "random" items such as a coat hanger, hacksaw, aluminium can. The challenges would initially be quite simple and achievable: Untie yourself from this chair, create a weapon, escape from the room etc. Contestants are expected to use what materials are available accompanied with their ingenuity and resourcefulness to solve the problem.

If the contestant is able to complete this task (sometimes in timed conditions), they are able to progress to the next round and choose an item to proceed to the next round with (players are unaware of the future challenges). The show would progress over a season of episodes, with challenges becoming relatively complex and challenging (e.g. defuse a bomb, create fire with these chemicals, fix this machinery). An excellent understanding in engineering, science and badassery will be critical.

Some rounds may contain interesting twists to challenges such as a double contestant challenge where teamwork is required, or a blind challenge in the dark, underwater challenge etc. As competitors get eliminated each week, the show will become more personal. The viewers will become familiar with the competitors interests, personality and techniques. Eventually the ultimate survivor will emerge victorious.

I expect that people will naturally be interested in this show because they like to think and discuss what they would have done in that situation. It is almost just as testing for the viewers at home (and at times more frustrating).

Let me know what you think, suggestions you might have or potential challenges in the comments! 

Tuesday, 25 August 2015

Maybe you should just get up earlier.

I woke up at 7:00 am this morning to the soothing, pixelated, brain penetrating alarm ringtone on my phone. Have you noticed that regardless of what the audio track for this alarm is, you will always hate it after a few days? My friend has the same soundtrack for his ringtone and it always gives me a heart stopping sensation when I hear it (as if someone has just informed you that there is food on your face... post job interview).

After a snappy shower singing rendition I polished off the rest of the Weet-Bix with a ludicrous amount of sugar to counteract their nutritional value. At 7:30 I was out the front door and off to uni. Not for long though... *GASP* I forgot to brush my teeth! I could feel the milk from the Weet-Bix turning sour on my tongue. I raced back inside, aware of the approaching train. I'm creeping back upstairs to the bathroom as quietly as possible, trying not to wake anyone. A thought occurs: "What happens when sour cream reaches its expiration date? Does it go sourer?".

I approach the top of the stairs, the door is shut. Without hesitation I lunge for the bathroom door and burst in. My little brother is sitting on the toilet staring at me with shocked eyes, jaw-dropped and an intense look on his face. Taking no notice I rush to the basin. "MorningOlli!I'vejustgottabrushmyteethbeforethetraincomesthere'ssourmilkinmymouth!" I shout, words jumbled. His face goes blank and he responds with a resonating splash, followed by a sigh of relief. I couldn't help but chuckle. Grabbing my toothbrush off the sink, I squeeze out a generous portion of paste and start furiously scrubbing. "Does this new toothpaste make your gums tingly too?" I gargle to my brother. I hear a high pitched giggle.


Maybe I deserved to brush my teeth with anti-fungal cream for the better half of a week for not respecting the "closed door policy" enforced in our household. But it's still pretty gross. I hate to admit that it had actually started to grow on me...kinda like fungus does I would imagine.

There aren't many people in this world that can make me so repulsed and infuriated one moment, then hysterical with laughter straight after. This little guy is one of them, love you stinky!

I better stop here before this post gets too soppy. 

Monday, 24 August 2015

Deconstruct - Reconstruct

  This is an oleaginous, hands on post for all you bloggers that like to get their hands dirty.

I was leaving uni a few months ago on a Friday afternoon, Macquarie campus is always teeming with construction projects and tradesmen. It was about 5pm and most of the workers scattered throughout the uni had knocked off for the day. Being an engineering student it is within my nature to be curious about what's "going on". Temporary fencing was abundant and lined the perimeter of many buildings.

Most people tend to walk straight past these barriers, oblivious and unaroused by the seductive sound of power tools or blokey tradesmen lingo. I on the other hand cannot resist the urge to inquisitively take a gander at the brimming masculinity of a construction site. What's there not to love?! Loud noises, heavy machinery, high-vis clothing. It's the epitome of ruggedness. The fact that construction sites are fenced off makes the idea of checking them out much more appealing. As Jerry Seinfeld observed: Men want what they can't see, if women only wore a patch that covered their belly button, THAT is what men would want. (or something like that...)

So I approached the nearest mesh fence as inconspicuously as possible, pressed up against it (without looking like a public urinator). With my hands up to my face like imaginary binoculars I was able to make out something through the translucent mesh. Could it be?! If my eyes weren't not telling the truth (that wordplay...) then I think that I had identified the gold mine of construction sites ... A SKIP BIN!

My heart skipped a beat, now I was excited. You're probably sitting there thinking: what the hell does this deranged engineering student want with dumpster diving?! Well firstly, I am deranged. Secondly, there's something appealing about dumpsters. You know that whatever is inside them is unloved, forgotten and not going to be missed. It's the classic example of one man's trash, another man's dinner. I was hungry for a bargain.

I nimbly jumped over the fence like a fat kid after cake. I was within range of the skip bin, this covert operation was approaching the point of no return. Waltzing over like I owned the place, my ambiance was quickly extinguished. "OI!" someone yelled 40 meters away. Their fluorescent jacket beaming like a spotlight in a prison yard. Hustle time! I poked my head over the rim of the skip and my eyes locked. An old Black and Decker angle grinder was grinning back at me. Sure, it's no Makita, but beggers can't be choosers!

I snatched up the tool, overwhelmed by how heavy the damned thing was...definitely not a Makita! The worker was rapidly approaching now, stumbling over the scattered obstacles of rubble and deceased corpses (ok, there weren't any bodies. But don't let the truth get in the way of a good story!). I lugged the lump of metal back over the fence and power walked away as if I had just heisted Fort Knox.

A victimless crime! What the hell do I want with an old broken power tool you might be wondering? Well that's what mum asked anyway, and my response remains the same: *shrugs shoulders*. She then asked an aggressive "why would you bring this piece of crap home?!". You see what I have to live with?!

After the "piece of crap" occupied space on my desk for several weeks I had finally brewed an idea. One concept that I find alluring is the notion of making modifications to things. This includes recycling parts or components from one item and creating another. In this instance I intended to deconstruct the angle grinder and put it back together as a new item with a different function (kinda like playing with greasy lego).

So here we go!

It took a reasonable amount of work just to pull the tool apart and clean the components that were caked in grease. I learned that you can't clean something without making something else dirty.

 From my understanding, this was a fan bladed heat sink used on the motor, I wanted to salvage it to mount to a potentiometer as a dial. Isn't it cool looking?

I only had to purchase a few components from Bunnings Warehouse (local hardware store):
Extension cord - $3.50
Knead it - hard setting ceramic putty $12.00
Araldite epoxy $8.00
Edison style lamp $8.50
Lamp shade $40.00 (yeah, bloody expensive I know. But you can't put a price on style ;) )
 Total cost: $72.00

Here's where i'm at with the "Industrial Style Edison Lamp". Unfortunately the project is still incomplete, I have to wire the interior and find a globe mounting socket. So that might be another $10 or so. Lamps similar to this can be found on Pinterest, just search: "Steampunk lamps". If you were to purchase one, they retail at over $200 usually.

So the takeaway message for this project is such: 
Get out there! Break into a construction site, and bring a "piece of crap" home for your mother.

Sunday, 23 August 2015

I bought my first book!

So I was sitting at the bus stop, cheeks firmly pressed against the cold aluminium bench. I don't know who designed it, but there seemed to be an abundance of sharp edges. Next to me sat a sour old woman, stone faced, she seemed to claim 80% of the bench for her mountain of cat food and knitting gear. She would regularly stare at me with a look that screamed "how dare you occupy this seat you insensitive little worm".

It was 8:44 am, my bus was due at quarter to. I decided to peel off the pew and waltz over to the bus timetable sign. In the corner of my eye I noticed a hustle. Suddenly aware of the time, the old woman  was frantically wrapping her ball of wool, stuffing her knitting needles away and sliding on her leathery gloves. She whipped out a pair of bug-eyed sunglasses from a concealed pocket of her coat and placed them over her wrinkly forehead, pursing her lips. She saw me at the front of the bus queue and hated it.

With excellent limb management technique, she methodically collected her walking frame, bags of cat food, knitting gear and methodically shuffled her way towards me. 

I noticed a bus approaching in my peripherals. So did she. 

With no sense of urgency I casually turn around and prepared to board the imminent vehicle. I double checked the LED display screen on the side of the bus, expecting to see the familiar "197 - Macquarie University". It read "not in service". 

"Shit!" I hissed.

The woman turned to me in disgust, I assume she heard me. Regardless, she tried to jump in front of me, desperately flailing her arms to the bus driver like a lifeguard to someone without a bathing suit in the ocean. He refused to acknowledge her and drove right past. The next bus would arrive at 9:30am.

I was pretty pissed off, I had missed my lecture and was now stranded in this deserted bus shelter with a woman 4 times older than me that reeked of tuna and felt entitled to queue jumping. To be fair, I intended to let her onto the bus first, but her assumption that I wasn't going to made me want to stand my ground.

I decided to go for a walk to kill time, my phone was already on 40% battery and it needed to last the day. (How does 60% of the battery drain after 3 hours from being off the charger?! Ridiculous!)
Walking through Mona Vale Main I came across Berkelouw books and decided to have a wander inside.

Instantly drawn to science fiction, I stumbled across "The Martian" by Andy Weir. My memory recalled that it was an upcoming film, and was endorsed by Adam Savage from Mythbusters. That's all the convincing I need! 

....$20!... awwww man! I have always struggled to justify purchasing a book. Not that i'm cheap, it's just that the life of a uni student isn't the most luxurious past-time. It seemed a funny concept to me that you buy this item, read it, then leave it to occupy shelf space for the rest of your life. Why do I care what happens to it after I've read it?! 

My impulsiveness kicked right in and I am now a proud owner of The Martian. This was the best $20 I have ever spent...(except that time Dan Murphy's had that sale on Vodka).

This was in fact the first book I had ever purchased for myself. Yeah I know that's strange, but I was always given books as gifts for birthdays, Christmas or just borrowed them from libraries. It felt special to have one that was entirely mine to abuse, keep overdue, dog-ear and dribble on.

I have never been so engaged in a book, Andy Weir's technical, engineering based genre of problem solving and science really appealed to me. He had clearly put a tremendous amount of research into the content and written a truly feasible story that directly portrays the future of adventure for mankind. Accompanied with a witty sense of humor, Weir kept my eyes glued to the pages and as a result I finished the book within a few days.

The most enjoyable sensation regarding my ownership of the book was that I was able to really interact with it. If I came across a word I could not define, I would look it up and then write its definition on the page in pen. I would fill the book with silly illustrations, suggestions and stupid comments.

It was such a gratifying experience that I now actively encourage people to not just read a book, but add to it! The next person to read it will be amused, this is the future of book borrowing: A dynamic, additive, open-ended source of literature.

Back to the bus shelter. Mother Hubbard had monopolised the bench space, there was not a visible piece of aluminium for me to pitch myself. I leant against the outside wall of the shelter and began reading my freshly uncreased book. I became engrossed in it, so sucked in that I completely missed the 9:30 bus (thanks for telling me you old hag!). But I wasn't bothered, this book was captivating! I got home eventually, don't worry. :)

This is only the beginning!

Gday Everybody!

I'm sure there are millions of fellow bloggers
out there that have been really hanging for me to finally start one...

Allow me to introduce myself! My name is Josh, i'm an immature 20 year old male currently studying mechanical engineering (3rd year) at Macquarie University. I live in Sydney, Australia and saw blogging as a transition to get into writing.

My intentions for this blog are basic: to record a log of my day to day life experiences and thoughts (kinda like a diary but more masculine). I aim to develop my personal skills in writing and establish an interactive and relatively large audience base.

In regards to content, one day I may post about a project I have been working on (woodworking, crafting, design) and another may include a funny/interesting event that my life has pertained.

Ideally, I would like to make posts several times a week (weather permitting) and build a "repertoire" of content that may assist in future employment, entertainment and a personal sanity vent. I fear that this blog will evolve into my parallel personality in which I am a self centered asshole, but let's just see how it pans out.

So thanks for showing some interest! And stay tuned for more content, because here: It's all about quantity! ;)