Friday, February 11, 2011

Bus-lane To Hell.

I will admit it. I cant spell or use grammar. Its just something I am incapable of. So I get Beka (read her blog here) to proof read my shit. From time to time I get messages from here on my posts. I thought this one was particularly funny so here it is. Posted with all Beka's comments in tact.
Green writing is my replies.

DELETE IT BEFORE HITTING PUBLISH POST, OR FEAR THE WRATH OF MY TAKEOVER. I will post it because I do not fear it I welcome it!
So inter-friends (combo word in the first line. Off to a good start). How are we all?
If the answer was good, then good I am glad, if not, that sucks, but what do you want me to do about it? Seriously, I’m a dude at the other end of a computer filling in time until my boss gives me something to do, or Hugh notices I have stopped thinking about the task at hand and am in fact writing a blog.

But that is beside the point. Today I want to tell you all about my recent trip to Wellington for the sevens, because I can and it was fun and you should all be jealous.

So it all started with, of all things, a bus journey. 12 fucking hours of bus journey to be exact. It was a little excessive to say the least.

On the bus I planned to keep a diary, writing my thoughts and feelings about the trip, I thought it would be entertaining. Me being bored, my mind wandering off into crazy realms, who would of thought I would end up just bitching.

So here it is: The bus has a fucked up Nike tick for a smile. You are owned by consumerism, admit it. Fuck you I can't work paint!

He looks happy. He was happy because he was about to eat my soul.
Also because I couldn't make the face mean enough. Picture evil eyes, maybe some demons
perhaps a cigarette and some tattoos (not cool tattoos though, douchey shit tattoos.)

8 am: Just got on, ready for a long day, the driver looks like Wormtail from Harry Potter.

9-10 am: Consisted of such witticisms as “wow I have only been on here for an hour/2 hours" and "Hope we can stop for the toilet soon”.

11 am: A guy fell asleep on me.

12 noon: I got a sandwich when we stopped.

12-4 pm: More bitching about how long it’s been.

5 pm (hold onto your socks cause this is a doozy): The guy woke up.

6-7 pm: I got a new person sitting next to me. Judging the amount of Australian merch she had on she was from there, or she got one hell of a discount at the Australia store, probably after giving the guy behind the counter favours. I got no favours so assumed it was the first one.

8 I got off the bus... At the wrong stop. Not because I am an idiot but because the driver is.  He drove past my stop happily unawares. Probably smiling and whistling, the bastard.
So that was the trip down there. It was like you were there, I know. See why I don’t like covering actual topics that happened to me in real life? Because you're a depressing bastard. Much like House, but without the limp. At least I put a positive spin on the things that happen to me in real life... well, I do sometimes. Beka. You so emo.

I did however, later that night, while drunk, write a note that said, “All Blacks is 3 strips”.  Its some sort of code I am sure. It has a deeper meaning. If you know the deeper meaning let me know. But of course I did fall asleep in a cupboard mere minutes after so I don’t know. The deeper meaning is the All Blacks are sponsored by Adidas. Sorry to kill your buzz. That could of been it. I didnt think of that. But I am sure my drunken mind is capable of higher thought.... maybe not, I did sleep in a cupboard.

Maybe I am a prophet, like the new (tries to choose the religion that will offend the least people. Who do Amish worship? They can’t get pissed at me, computer-less fools) Adam you haven't finished this sentence. Like the new what? Your face.

Until next time.

Monday, February 7, 2011

Let Me Begin By Saying I'm Sorry...

Oh friends of the Internet; much to tell you, much to tell you.

Let me begin by saying I am sorry. I have neglected you.
My weekend was a whirlwind of buses, trains and pretending I care about the Rugby Sevens whilst staring at girls in costumes and drinking warm beer.

So that was exciting. Then there is also today. The day I start my new job. Hugh and I are now real-life, actual creatives.
We now have work emails, work phones and desks (They are orange, in case you were wondering).

I was going to write about the Sevens, and I still will eventually because oh the tales I have to tell, my friends, the tales!

But right now, as we sit at our desks, doodling away, waiting for the boss to show up and give us something to do (honestly we can't do anything till he gets here and its getting really frustrating!) I am bursting with excitement. It's quite funny actually. I want to sing but it is a bit quiet. Maybe I will ask Jake (the guy that is across the desk), if he can play his ukulele for me and then I can sing. I will be brilliant. Then Jake and I will start a band, and we will tour the world.

But then I wouldn't be a creative, and that would mean I wouldn’t be sitting here excited. Waiting.

So I think that I will hold off that idea for now. Jake and I will be famous, though he already is in the ad world, so it seems. But for now at least I can sit here, quite happy in the knowledge that we have made it this far, in a cutthroat industry where you must work your fingers to the bone to make a name for yourself. Sitting at the desks we will probably spend many nights sleeping at also.

So that is all for today. He just showed up.

It’s the advertising world so it's time for a whiskey.

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Public Transport Is For Chumps. That's Why I Catch It.

First of all yesterday I posted late so go read that post, it's much funnier than this one. Unfortunately I sent it to the proof readers of at TWTS corporate and it took to long getting back.

After that ringing endorsement, welcome to today's post...

I’m not a big fan of the bus. I had to catch it to university five times a week for three years. And now it seems when I get a grown-up's job I will be doing the same all over again (except on the far more packed morning buses).

The problem with buses is how easy it is look insane.

This year I organized my timetable so that it was the same as my friend and creative partner Hugh’s. This was to make sure I was never “that crazy guy with the headphones”.

As far as I can tell I have two options when wearing headphones on the bus. I am either;
a) The guy that listens to comedy podcasts and laughs randomly, or;
b) The guy that listens his music a little too loud so that everyone thinks you're listening to heavy metal (because all they can hear is guitars) and therefore look at you as though you’re a sad goth.

Either option works. I personally enjoy the laughing guy because once you realize that you're actually laughing out loud you try stifle it, which only makes you look crazier. It’s a hilarious lose-lose kind of embarrassment.

The other way I consistently manage to look crazy is by talking to Hugh.

We have one of those friendships where very little is taboo and we have on more than one occasion had conversations, loudly, on buses and in other public places about such diverse topics as; the best way to get away with murder, how much and why we dislike other people on the bus, sex, drugs, cracking current affairs jokes that may be considered “too soon” and on more than one occasion have broken into song and dance numbers.

We can see other people on the bus are a little uncomfortable but it is the bus, if we are able to brightening it up for ourselves and maybe one or two others as immature as us, sniggering to themselves a few seats back, then it's all worth it.

As long as you’re not the kid that plays music through his phone/low quality speaker system I really wont judge you.

Or if you have an annoying laugh.