~~~The Realm of the Palace Princess~~~

About Me

Read about me ... for those of you who don't already know me!

Links

Crikey
Fisk
The Bladder
Dark Horizons
Oz Pagan
Clitical
So Shoot Me!

Blogs I Read

War Info Links
The PM's Blog
Iron Monkey
AFL Blog
*B.Weaver
Cry Like A Girl
Gawker
Home Blown
Cynical Optimist

What I'm Reading

Life On Air-David Attenborough
A Dagg At My Table-John Clarke

What I'm Listening To

John Mayer-Heavier Things
The Waifs-Up All Night
Dido-Life For Rent

Words of Wisdom

"The spirit is most often free when the body is satiated with pleasure, indeed, sometimes the stars shine more brightly seen from the gutter than from the hilltop"-
W. Somerset Maugham

Classic Songs

Split Screen Sadness...And I don't know where you went when you left me but Says here in the water you must be gone by now I can tell somehow One hand on the trigger of a telephone Wondering when the call comes Where you say it's alright You got your heart right Maybe I'll sleep inside my coat and Wait on the porch 'til you come back home Oh, right I can't find a flight We share the sadness Split screen sadness Two wrongs make it all alright tonight All you need is love is a lie cause We had love but we still said goodbye Now we're tired, battered fighters And it stings when it's nobody's fault Cause there's nothing to blame at the drop of your name It's only the air you took and the breath you left Maybe I'll sleep inside my coat and Wait on the porch 'til you come back home Oh, right I can't find a flight So I'll check the weather wherever you are Cause I wanna know if you can see the stars tonight It might be my only right We share the sadness Split screen sadness I called Because I just Need to feel you on the line Don't hang up this time And I know it was me who called it over but I still wish you'd fought me 'til your dying day Don't let me get away Cause I can't wait to figure out what's wrong with me So I can say this is the way that I used to be There's no substitute for time Or for the sadness Split screen sadness We share the sadness-John Mayer

------------------ First Cut Is The Deepest...I would have given you all of my heart But there's someone who's torn it apart And he's taken just all that I had But if you want I'll try to love again Baby, I'll try to love again but I know The first cut is the deepest Baby I know the first cut is the deepest But when it comes to being lucky he's cursed When it come to loving me he's worst I still want you by my side Just to help me dry the tears that I've cried And I'm sure going to give you a try And if you want I'll try to love again (tryyy) Baby, I'll try to love again but I know The first cut is the deepest Baby I know the first cut is the deepest But when it comes to being lucky he's cursed When it come to loving me he's worst I still want you by my side Just to help me dry the tears that I've cried But I'm sure gonna give you a try 'Cause if you want I'll try to love again (try to love again) Baby, I'll try to love again but I know The first cut is the deepest Baby I know, the first cut is the deepest When it come to being lucky he's cursed When it come to loving me he's worst The first cut is the deepest baby i know The first cut is the deepest try to love again...-Sheryl Crow

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Tuesday, February 11, 2003
LET'S GET TRIVIAL
Trivia doesn't exactly get me hot and bothered. And it doesn't drive me wild to hear a guy whisper in my ear, “Let’s go back to my place for some Trivial Pursuit". I’m no intellectual heavyweight, but I can discuss politics and I've read a few important books, but what I'm best at .... what I do know is a shitload of useless information. However, this doesn't mean the notion of a trivia night sends me into a competitive rage ... I really have no desire to test my mind full of useless information against other ppl who also have a mind full of useless information .... so the trivia night thing, well it's not something I enjoy, but the reality of last night was a whole lot worse than I could ever have imagined.

The venue was suitably dodgy, Soccer Clubrooms dazzled us with brown decor and mirrors and violently-patterned carpet. There were chicken wings and mini-spring rolls and ham/cheese/tomato sandwiches and a bar. It was going to be a fun night.

Our team consisted of Simone, Troy, Alicia, Adam and I, a South African couple and mid-30s geeky type.

We were performing pretty dismally in the early rounds. But there was alcohol so who cared? It was an interesting format, you could actually buy answers. $2 for 5 random answers plucked from a box. Inevitably you’d get 4 of the same answers or a really obvious one, but we noticed people around us starting to take the whole event very seriously, and they were buying up a storm. The team in front of us were winning, so they were particularly serious. They all sported the same Matter of Life and Death killer frowns, the kiddies, the mum and dad, the pregnant teen, the uncle and aunt, and then the grandmother, Lord of the Team, resplendent in purple polyester and fake pearls. She perched on her chair, head darting back and forth like a magpie, double dipping into the Answer Box. She obviously was "up there" with the pre-school staff, if she drew out an answer she already knew, she’s put it back in and draw out another.

Simone and I were mortified. We launched into a bitchy routine of stage whispers:
“HEY! Why don’t we put them back in the box and draw NEW ANSWERS until we get ALL OF THEM!”
“YES! Just like those CHEATING BASTARDS in front of us!”
“HOW DO THEY SLEEP AT NIGHT?”

When the quizmaster read out the answers, the old duck would twirl her pearls, nod smugly and wink at her teammates. “Yep, yep, that’s right, I knew the answer was Rage Against The Machine. I am not a filthy cheat, I am just a particularly knowledgeable old fart.”

We started making a comeback around Round Six. If you scratch away at the brain long enough, the trivial crap spews forth. Caspian Sea largest inland body of water in the world. Patrick White won the 1973 Nobel Prize for Literature. And a four-point question, name all the members of The Corrs (Andrea, Sharon, Caroline and Jim. I wish I didn’t know that).

Everyone knows there’s proper procedure for answering questions at a Quiz Night. If you know who the won the Best Country Artist ARIA in 1998 or what the currency of Bolivia is called, you have to wriggle discreetly in your chair, or make fervent “Mmm mmm mmm!” noises, while waving your hands around. Then you silently write down the answer and shove it to the middle of the table, and raise an eyebrow for approval. If you’re right, the rest of the table nods knowingly, gives the thumbs up, or goes, “Ahhhh!” or “Oh, I knew that, but you just said it first”. Then you sit around looking smug until the next question is asked. So you do NOT bellow at the top of your lungs in your thick South African accent, “OH I KNOW THE INSA NOW! ET’S THET CRICKET FELLOW! ET’S DON BREDMAN!”. Simone spent half the night hissing “Shut up! Shut up!” and pelting chicken bones at them.

By the last couple of rounds we were in with a chance. I was dying to get my hands on the grand prize of a $60 Avon Basket (oh please .... you know I'm not for real). It was time to get serious.

The question was, “Who was the Governor of New South Wales arrested in the Rum Rebellion“. I was Pencil Nazi by then, and I scrawled down “William Bligh” without even consulting my teammates, most of whom were smashed by that time.

Geek Man seized the answer sheet from me. “Bligh? Bligh? Oh come on! It’s not Bligh!”
“It’s Bligh! Keep your voice down!”
“Bligh was the Mutiny on the Bounty guy!”
“Yeah but he was the Rum Rebellion guy too, I tell you!”
“Oh, so he was in two places at once?”
“One happened before the other, you fuckwit!”
“You’re wrong!”

This is when I leapt from my chair and tackled Geek Man to the table. I pinned him down and repeatedly slapped him across the face. “Listen to me PAL, get a hold of yourself! I haven't spent hours reading pages and pages of boring text for nothing. I know my crappy colonial history, and I am telling you it’s BLIGH. Got it?”.
Then I wedged a spring roll up his nose, sat down and wrote BLIGH in big bossy letters on the answer sheet.

Or

I meekly surrendered the sheet, muttering “Fine! Fine! You’re the boss!” while he wrote down ‘Macquarie’. Then lorded it over him for the remaining rounds when it turned out I was right.
Despite our Bligh blunder, we romped home in 3rd place, tied with none other than the Cheating Bastards. Our booty included a dodgy bottle of white, a French cookbook, and a voucher for a men’s haircut, a voucher for a massage (the sporting kind, not the Dodgy Adult Shop kind) and a $20 petrol voucher. Woohoo! That was all worthwhile ah.

xxx

posted by The Princess 7:03 PM



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Devoted to Viggo
Second Opinion.. The glow inside another red-crossed pelvis will drain when they crush that little bulb. Menstrual minstrels drift in from the weedless garden. The immaculate blue flame from the fake fireplace burns in the corner of my eye. Can't stop staring at nothing. A gloved hand opens the door, and the man enters soothingly, with an air of respect for the dead. Encourages us to look on the bright side. Black pants hide your pain afterwards, and there's a cookie on a napkin and a paper cup of red juice to replace your strength. We drive home without blinking because the sun isn't real .. . -Viggo Mortensen

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