Mr Mascellani's Musings

Enjoy These Links While I Suffer From Writer's Block

Absolutely Angelina

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Bold And The Beautiful Discussion Group

Clean Sheets

Outre Gallery

Overcoming Writer's Block

Slayage: Online International Journal of Buffy Studies

And I Can See?

The other morning at work about 4.30 am we (my workers and I) were working ahead of schedule and, so, we found ourselves with some spare time on our hands.Consequently, I did what any dedicated Senior I/O Controller would do.

I tried to walk with a cardboard box balanced on my head while singing:

"See me walk so straight and tall. I won't let my basket fall.
Eyes ahead and don't look down, keep my basket off the ground."
(But, to be honest, my basket kept on falling.)

Romper Room exclaimed Guy One.

I used to watch all the time when I was a kid. The basket bit was my favourite. I used to empty the fruit bowl and use that as my basket?

“Yeah, I used a fruit bowl or a bread basket? I said

.“You know my name was never once called out,?said Worker One.

?No, it wasn’t?said Worker Two.

Worker One and Two have the same first name.

“I wonder why not, it’s a pretty common name.?

“I don’t know, but Miss Patricia never called it out,?said Worker One.

?She called my name out a few times, I said. She even noticed once that my pyjamas weren’t tucked in.

?You lucky bastard!?cried out Worker Two.

Worker One spent some time in his parent’s village in Greece when he was a kid.

“They used to have Romper Room in Greece? he said.

“Really??asked Worker Two.“Yeah, but in the Greek version, Mr. Doo Bee was a guy dressed up in a bee suit, not a puppet.

“Fuck me dead,?said Worker Two, holding up a pretend mirror, I can see Con, and I can see Nick, and I can see Spiros, and I can see...

"“Man, my name wasn’t called out by the Greek Romper Room woman either? Worker One said, bitterly.

“Let it go, man, let it go.?I said.

“Yeah, but my name wasn’t called out on the Greek or the Aussie show.?

Silence.

“We all need to get more sleep? said Worker Two, listen to the crap that we were carrying on with?

He had a point. But as a shift worker, I have worked with people who may have had only two hours sleep in 36 hours, sometimes I have been one of those people, so to hear grown men talking about Romper Room isn’t the craziest crap that I have heard. At least we weren’t discussing it in bad Italian accents ala Chico Marx- a true sign that a tired shift worker has entered the ‘Zone.?

A Tale Of Suburban Banality

I'm not really an outdoors type of a person. I am more of the indoors type. Not that I have anything against the outdoors,nature, and the like. In fact, I quite like nature. Except perhaps for snakes, spiders, insects, wasps, bees, dangerous animals , plants that make you itch; the sun can be a bit of a bastard too, and freezing isn't much fun either. But, despite all that, nature can be rather wonderful sometimes.


Ever since I started working three floors underground in a perpetually florescently lit computer facility, I have become more of an outdoors type of person: fishing and gardening and stuff like that.I'm preparing a vegetable garden at the moment. Oh, and a herb one as well. In the vegetable garden I'll probably grow the standard vegies: tomatoes, lettuces, beans. I'm preparing the soil atthe moment, buying fertiliser and worms. It should be fun, hard work, but relaxing and fun. I'll have to make myself some sort of a scarecrow. Birds you know.

There's heaps of birds where I live. All sorts. Well, perhaps not all sorts, While I'm speaking of birds, I'll use this opportunity to tell you that a tawny frogmouth owl has hanging out on my back fence like something out of a David Lynch film.

"So what"? I hear you say.

I'm not sure. You sometimes hear owls where I live but you rarely see them it was kind of strange to see, on more than occasion, one sitting on the back fence like some metaphorical omen, readyand wanting to prophecise something,perhaps my future, my destiny, perhaps of an impending doom, perhaps I should get out more


Somewhere in the distance, a dog howls.

Thoughts On Filth

I have reached that age when younger men sometimes seek my counsel.

"Hey, Dave", one younger guy I work with said, while pointing to his lower lip, I'm growing a porno moustache, what do you think?"

This younger guy, whom we'll call 'Ron' after his favourite porn star (Mr Ron Jeremy) is in his early twenties, and really into porn. I'm not. Not really.Truly. Straight porn bores me after about five minutes and bizarre and violent porn turns me off. It would not bother me one bit,If I went for the rest of life and never again saw people urinating on each other and smearing each other with excrement. Once was more than enough. I agree with the cliche: as long as it is among consenting adults, then it's a matter of each to his/her own. Enjoy! Me? Thank you, thanks for asking, but, no thank you.

The last porn video I watched was lent to me by a friend. It contained a movie called '"Witness To The Penetration",and the Mimi McPherson (sad) and the Pamela Lee stuff. I mean how long ago was that and it was probably more than a decade that I had seen porn before that- if you disregard all the internet porn I used to see at work. Thank God, that it has been banned. Yes, thank God. There are things that one shouldn't have to see first thing in the morning.Yeah, so, I'm not really all that into Porn.

But Ron loves it. He speaks about as if it were fine art, literature, music, as if it were the very stuff of life itself. (to be completed later.)

All's Well That Ends With Coffee.

I had gone to bed at midnight, and had set my alarm clock for four am. I woke up at three-fifty five. I got out of bed. I switched off the alarm, so as that it wouldn't buzz. Weather-wise, it was freezing. I went to the bathroom and turned on the heating. Somehow, I ended back in bed. I woke up 48 minutes later. 48 minutes later! Yikes! I would have to my shower and coffee at work.

It's a long, boring story, but I try not to get into work late too often. Thank God it was a Sunday, and I could wear scummy clothes instead of the decent 'office attire' that I have to wear when I work on a week day. I got into said clothes and, feeling somewhat scummy myself, made my way to the train station.

I got to the station about five-fifteen. There was load of the previous night's reveller's still about. The whole station seemed to be covered in big, boisterous, drunken, stoned, Islander women (Samoans? Tongans? Maoris? or a mixture?) They were running amok in that morning after the 'girl's night out' sort of way: dressed up in evening dresses, swearing and behaving like sailors. They were just having fun, which was fine. Heaps preferable to some of the sleazy, menacing looking scumbags (male and female) that were hanging out at the station. Not that I'm judgmental or anything.

I sat on a bench, minding my own business, waiting for the train. A young guy came and started a conversation with me by saying "It's too cold" isn't it? I didn't really feel like chatting. I felt like drinking coffee. But, I sensed that he wasn't a local guy and was perhaps was a bit overwhelmed and frightened by some of the people and activities that were going on around us. So I chatted with him. Well, I didn't so much chat with him, rather, I displayed the signs of listening while he talked.

The train came. It was late. I got to work on time. I had a shower and a shave and coffee. I felt human again.Work was slow.

A work mate and I took an extended lunchbreak and went to check out the 'Coffee Festival'that was happening at The Rocks, Sydney. We had heard that there was going to be some beautiful, Brazilian dancers shaking their stuff at the festival. But unfortunately, it wasn't true. Still, it was good to drink various coffees from around the world.

Big, burly, boisterous, Brazilian, beautiful, Today's journal entry was brought to you by the letter 'B'