2003 and its end

I choose now to, perhaps belatedly on this first day of 2004, take a look at the past year. This sort of thing is often done in the form of a list of bests (and worsts), so here goes.Best new food tried: BocconciniBest drive: Berowra to Gosford on the Old Pacific Highway, at night, in winter, in someone elses car. Magic.My best one-liner: At uni, when unable to see Newtown’s King Street café strip because of the colleges in the way: “No I can’t see it. There are too many college boys and I can’t see past their upturned collars.”My worst one liner: Also:“No I can’t see it. There are too many college boys and I can’t see past their upturned collars.”But this is closely tied with my explanation to a customer at work about the ‘Shout’ brand phonecard used to call overseas:“Apparently it gets you a really bad connection and so for the person in Germany to hear you, you’ll need to shout down the phone.” (This was greated with a surly Germanic grunt, which sounded remarkably like the word ‘sheisskopf’.)And also a late entry (from last night) when Jerry told me that the Goldfish I bought him as a housewarming present had suicided by jumping from its bowl into a casserole dish. He wanted to know if I would mourn with him:“Mourn? More like mornay.”Best subject studied: Industrial Ergonomics. In one tutorial we got to measure each others standing height, seated height and shoulder width. This involved unusual intimacy between us, however my request to measure my male classmate’s inner leg was greeted with alarm.Worst subject studied: Product Life Cycle Design. Anything taught (!) by a lecturer who begins his oratories with “If I could just begin by saying…ahem…umm…let me start again” is probably not going to be life-changing. That said, I’m told that third year Materials has some defining moments including,“Wood, otherwise known as timber…”.Worst subject enrolled in but not really studied: Electronic Devices and Circuits. Enough said. I note now that most of these events come from the latter part of the year. This is not unusual for these lists since the memory of the people who compile them rarely extends to more than a few months past. This is particularly true because the lists are compiled in December, when most people are at some sort of drinking function every night and therefore have trouble even recalling the last few hours. Indeed, we were only discussing at work recently how we don’t expect a lot of sense from people at this stage of the year. I don’t really expect much sense from people past the time when the Christmas decorations go up in Grace Bros, which is around July. But really the first half of 2003 was for me sadly dogged by depression (clinically diagnosed and all) apart from the whole coming out bit, my 21st, some nice times with my then boyfriend and other scattered glances at happiness. The last six months have been generally better mainly because of some consolidated friendships and the making of new ones. One of these newies is with the delightful Vivien. The doll even gave me some Oroton boxer shorts as a Christmas present. I attempted to return the kindness by taking her to dinner. My gift to her, unlike hers to me, did not pertain to genitailia at all but the sauce on my lamb cutlet, however tasty, resembled a giant skid mark. In some post-Christmas pre-NY banter my family were asking me about adopting children. Since this proposition is even more long term than me ever graduating from uni it is not something about which I’ve given a lot of thought. Despite this, the general subject did arise whilst dining with Vivien, on my turd-laced lamb, with her making known that I should let her know if I ever needed her womb. She said I could send over “some of my sperms”. I believe I can now confidently challenge people to show me a truer sign of friendship!And to New Years Eve. It would have to be an improvement on NYE 2002 which I spent in Adelaide however it would be hard to match NYE 2001 at the Mercury Hotel in Newcastle which featured a Harley Davidson doing a burnout on the dance floor at midnight. This was just as spectacular as it was irrelevant, if only because it was really quite dangerous. But of course, for the final night of 2003 I went to our second home, The Club I Don’t Need to Name. A bonus was the pre-midnight arrival of Emily - my workmate, unofficially adopted sister and fellow lunatic. The third level offered a reasonable vantage point for the fireworks but midnight passed with little fanfare up there since the club operators know that most of us are too interested in ourselves to be concerned with such trifling events. And who needs to see the pyrotechnics on the Harbour Bridge when there are enough fireworks going off in everyone’s jeans anyway?