A case of the Mondays

At a local Dymocks bookstore they will often have book signings. Days where for a few hours or so someone who has written a book will turn up and sit at a table and sign copies of said book. Most of the time it is Australian authors that nobody really knows. Sometimes it's ex-rugby league players or other retired sport folks. These signings are always advertised with sheets of white A4 paper featuring the date and time of the signing stuck up on the bookstore window, usually alongside a book display.

One day I was walking by the bookstore and I spotted some of the familiar posters, this time sitting next to copies of the book Lazarus Rising, the autobiography of former Australian prime minister John Howard. I got real excited at the prospect of John Howard hanging out at this bookstore signing books and having a laugh with some Central Coast folk. I rushed over to the store window to check it out. Upon further investigation though I found out that he would not infact be at the bookstore, and instead a dinner had been organised at a local yacht club.

Throughout the week I kept thinking about John Howard and how I would still like to meet him. I called up the bookstore to ask about the advertised event and found out that tickets to the dinner were $100 each, with proceeds going to some charity. I thought that sounded like a lot of money just to meet John Howard, but I still felt like it was something I needed to do. And it was for a good cause. I don't know what the cause was, but it had to be something good. I got the phone number of the people putting on the event, and called them up to book a ticket.

On the night of the event I turned up at the yacht club, and realised that everybody else in attendance was extremely old. There was nobody there under the age of sixty. I went up to the bar and ordered a drink, and then proceeded to await the big arrival.

People selling shit is fairly commonplace. People make shit and they want to offload it, in the process hopefully making more in profit than they initially spent when making said shit. It's understandable. At some point people decided that it was easier and more effective to pay somebody else to sell their shit on their behalf. And I guess that is where advertisers and PR companies came from. There is something very evil about it all, but many of these people are undeniably highly intelligent individuals, turning the selling of shit into an art form.

But then there are the bottom feeders. Uncreative people who sell shit on behalf of people via half arsed email campaigns.

From ages 4-16 I collected all my boogers. It started out when I was around four years old. I liked to pick my nose and roll the boogers into balls. I used to do this all the time. I started realising that sometimes through the day I started getting these boogers to a decent size...like maybe the size of a marble. I would leave them on my window sill when I went to sleep at night, but the in the morning when I awoke I always would find out that my efforts were always in vain, as the boogers had dried out making them completely worthless.

At this point I started thinking. What if I was to put the boogers in the fridge over night? I decided to try it out.

Isn't it funny how human beings need to define and categorize everything. Everything needs to be kept track of. Everything needs to make sense and neatly fit into a little box. Like time for instance. It's crazy how we've developed this pedantic little way of measuring time. We have centuries and decades and years and months and weeks and days and hours and minutes and seconds. So much work has been put into making sure this all slots together nicely. It's funny to think about cavemen dealing with this kind of system. Really they would have just recognized day and night. The daytime was light and you were able to go out and do things. At night it was dark and hard to see, so it made sense to sleep.