Articles in “Life, the Universe, and Everything”

While listening to Cheap Trick’s re-recording of the Transformers theme song for the new movie.

(Yes, you read that correctly. Cheap Trick.)

NICK: Hmm.
ME: What’s up? You don’t like it?
NICK: Well, I don’t know. I think I preferred the other movie one.
ME: The movie where Optimus Prime dies?
NICK: Yeah.
ME: But was that done by Cheap Trick?
NICK: No, but it was another ‘80s’ hair band. Maybe it was Whitesnake?

(For the record, it was Lion), who are, and I quote, “a 1980s heavy metal band best known for their theme song from the 1986 animated movie The Transformers: The Movie.”)

For the curious, the Cheap Trick version is here.

And the Lion one is here.

(I think that title might end up being longer than the actual blog post).

SCENE: Inside JB Hi-Fi, just after my impassioned rant about the selfishness of people who leave their adorable West Highland Whites locked up in the car, even on a winter’s day, when the poor thing was clearly highly distressed and barking non-stop, which I won’t repeat here.

NICE, WELL-INFORMED SALESMAN: Can I help you?
ME: Yes, Do you have any 400 to 800 firewire cables?
NICE, WELL-INFORMED SALESMAN: No. We’re getting them in, but we haven’t been stocking them because [brief explanation that showed that he, unlike the stoner we subsequently talked to in Harvey Norman, knew what he was talking about.]
NICK: Oh, dear.
ME: Never mind. Didn’t we see that they’re having a sale on Doctor Who DVDs? Let’s go and look at those!
NICK: Okay!

So, while we might not have a 400 to 800 firewire cable, we do have shiny new copies of “City of Death” (“What a wonderful butler: he’s so violent!”) and the E-space trilogy.

I’m not going to make a habit of this, but I’ve spent the day shopping and cleaning to prep. for a dinner for my father-in-law tonight, and I’ve been tweeting the process intermittently.

Now I’m sitting and waiting for my back to settle down after the vacuuming (my lower back and the vacuum are sworn enemies), it seems a useful way of updating the blog, as well.

Is this so far beyond postmodern that it comes around to being cool again? Or just self-indulgent narcissism (which is roughly three steps past normal narcissism)?

Well, why can’t it be both?

Dear Santa, For Christmas I would like a self-cleaning robot house. I am asking in advance so the elves have time to finish it. Love, Me.

I know full well that my bathroom could be cleaner, but the toilet itself is spotless, and “near enough is good enough” is today’s motto.

Am never, ever buying lime-scented Toilet Duck again. Toilet smells like it stumbled home at 4 am after going on a bender on cheap tequila.

I was about to complain that there wasn’t much meat on the roast chicken I was shredding for a risotto when I realised I had it upside down.

I have done the bathroom and the kitchen. The living room? Not so much. I’m wondering how far I can push “near enough is good enough”?

Shame it’s weird to invite father-in-law to a candlelit dinner. They hide so many sins—and, at a pinch, you can distract people with fire.

Not that I recommend setting fire to your own home, but it would be one way to respond to “When was the last time you vacuumed this place?”