David Harding's Blog, page 3
December 27, 2012
2012: The director’s cut
So, you know how good my blog is? Well it doesn’t get that way by chance and luck and serendipitous good fortune, alone. It takes work! Hard work! Very, very hard, hard work (work)!
One part of this hard (hard) work is to cull the posts that aren’t quite good enough. There is so much on my cutting room floor that I had to build an extra room at the back of my house, next door to the cutting room, called the snipping room, where I now edit my blog.
Anyhoo (anyhow), as proof of how hard (hard) it is to get on my blog, I give you some of the posts that didn’t quite make it this year. Enjoy!
Razor Blades the musical
I went to a brilliant stage show last night. I especially liked the ’54 DeSpanto stage. Ha ha, no, seriously, ‘stage show’ means it was a musical show performed on a stage.
The show was called Razor Blades: The Musical, and I have reprinted the lyrics to the opening number here for your interest.
Razor Blades, Alright!
This is it,
The night of nights,
Pull up curtain,
Raise up lights!
It’s for certain
They’ll like your tights,
So…Let’s get on with the shoooooowwwwwww, and…
Blades out!
Blades out!
Scissors ready?
Yes, sir!
So come on and…
Hack! And slash!
Rip! And slash (again!)
Shave the hair to below the skin,
And I’m not just talkin’ ’bout hair on the chin!
Cut! And slice!
Nicely dice (them up!)
Make sure there’s no hair to be seen,
He’s not dead, officer, whatever can you mean?
Why I cut this:
Because it was a bit dumb.
The terror on Tanky Street
A thrilling mystery in seven, spooky installments.
Tanky Street is a place most people avoid. Even in the middle of the day it’s as black as night and you are sure to have your path crossed by a black cat. Every house is the number 13, and Satan goes there on his holidays. But none of that compared to the absolute HORROR of the day that the TERROR came to Tanky STREET!
‘Hey Bob!’
‘Hello! What’s up?’
‘Did you hear about the terror?’
‘No, what terror?’
‘The terror on Tanky Street.’
‘Tanky Street?’
‘Yeah!’
‘No.’
‘Well, there is one.’
‘Oh, we’ll I’ll be sure not to go there.’
‘Okay, bye.’
‘Bye.’
Why I cut this:
Because it was a bit dumb and it didn’t go anywhere.
Fist dancing
Why I cut this:
Because it was a bit dumb and it didn’t go anywhere and Jh said it made me look like a weirdo.
December 23, 2012
December 22, 2012
A mad minute with… Phil Walker-Harding!
Welcome to the second in my series of interviews where I interview semi-famous people that I know… In just one minute!
Previously, my author/cousin Chris Morphew was given the Mad Minute treatment. Now, my brother, board game designer/player/collector Phil Walker-Harding has his minute in the sun!!!
Click here to listen to a mad minute with Philip!
Philip doing what he does best.
I think the timer went long, but I can’t be bothered doing a redo. Deal with it.
Who will be next for the mad minute treatment? Now that I have interviewed everyone I know, that’s a very good question. Perhaps BroJo who interviewed me? Or Chris de Voss who loves me? Or Zac MacHackensack who I made up?
Only time… will tell! BWAHAHAHAHAAA!!!
December 21, 2012
Week Wrap Up...Or Something Like That
I would really like to upload something, but I got nothing. What does one write about when there doesn’t seem to be anything out there worth your time? That sounded very condescending and arrogant, I apologize for that. There are plenty of things to write about, plenty of things worth my time. Just nothing for me to get compassionate about.
Even the big chains are getting into the Pizzaboxdrawcember spirit! But is their drawing ability up to scratch...?
December 18, 2012
Farewell Jess!
So it’s the end of another year soon (if you follow the Gregorian-Pizza calendar), and sometimes that means things pass/change/go away/jump off a bridge/get swallowed by a shark and reduced to a puddle of chum.
Such a thing has happened to me, dear listener, as a co-worker of mine (who wishes to remain nameless) named Jess is going away to a new work place and situation.
Jess, you will be missed, like a ball misses a bat or unlike a moth flying right into one of those zapper things. Your charm, wit, pizzazz, sheerness of stockings and beauty were second only to mine. Your laugh out loud moments were countless and I’m sure I have memories of those locked away somewhere but for now they escape me.
Farewell!
May love and good will follow you wherever your feet lead you and your butt follows behind! Farewell!
You will be so missed. Even Shakespeare in this recently found manuscript missed you way back when…
SHAKESPEARE: Your work here with us was like a red, red rose.
JESS: Ta muchly.
SHAKESPEARE: But lo, what light from yonder window breaks?
JESS: Yeah, it’s the sun. I have to go now. BTW I never broke the window it was like that when I got here.
SHAKESPEARE: A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse!
JESS: Are you calling me a horse?
SHAKESPEARE: To be or not to be, that is the question.
JESS: You ARE calling me a horse!
SHAKESPEARE: Nay!
JESS: I will not!! I’m outta here! [Exeunt]
So farewell, Jess, do not fear! You are not a horse and life hasn’t turned you into chum just yet!!!
Oh, I almost forgot. I was knackered when I heard the news and after a long, tiring work day, I made this farewell video for you Jess!
It’s so clever. I made an acrostic poem out of the word GOODBYE (though I think I should have written a draft first) and then I sing a lovely medley to teach you that yes, time is passing and all things change, but don’t worry because you are still special!
Enjoy it, chum!
If anyone would like to leave their own farewell messages to Jess, leave them in the comments page and I will make sure she sees them!
GOOD BYE!
December 16, 2012
PizzaBoxDrawcember: Redemption
Reblogged from So I Went Undercover:
I just have to say one thing: Thank you, Jesus!
Proof that there is a god, and that his name is Jesus. Also, god celebrates Pizzaboxdrawcember!
December 15, 2012
Gorilla dice pizza delivery
Dear readers, listeners, viewers, and those connecting to this blog via some weird form of ESP…
Last night, my cousin Chris and I got together for a games night (lucky us) and we did it again! That’s right! ‘Tis the season for ordering pizza and asking the pizza dudes to etch their markings on the box! ‘Tis Pizzaboxdrawcember!
The joyous occasion was first introduced to you all in my post a little while ago, and it is now spreading around the net like hot cakes on a pizza!
SO…
Here’s the draft that Chris wrote lasrt night, laying out our unusual but not strange (we are not mental cases) request:
But lo! The ordering pizza app only allowed 255 characters! Would the editing job leave sufficient information for the pizza gods to grant our requests? Why don’t you watch and see for yourselves…
You little ripper!
And now some exciting news for all Pizzaboxdrawcember lovers!
We are now halfway through this, the most holiest of all months, and I have become aware of the following success stories:
Maddie Cochere
Renae
LaLa
Chris de Voss
Chris Morphew (x2)
Ms Jen & Tonic
And some not-so-successful stories:
Work Spouse Story
Soiwentundercover
If yours isn’t on the list, let me know because…
At the end of this thrilling month, all pizza box drawings will be entered into a poll on my blog and the drawing that is voted the best (for whatever reason) will win the owner the INAUGURAL MORPHING AWARD!
The Morphing (Morphew/Harding – get it) Award is given every Pizzaboxdrawcember to the most awesomest pizza box drawing. What does the award look like? Well, the winner will get to place the order to US! You will ask of Chris and I what you would like drawn on a pizza box, we will both give it a go, I’ll stick it in a frame, post it to your house/apartment/flat/igloo/box/burrow and you can display it for all eternity knowing that THE PIZZABOXDRAWCEMBER ANGELS ARE SMILING DOWN UPON THEE MOST VERILY AND THEY ARE PROBABLY OBESE!
December 14, 2012
Running through the night
Let me
Run into the dusky darkness,
Where no one else will know I’m there
Until I’m next to them.
Running over slippery, purple carpets
Of jacaranda flowers,
Past spice-sweet smelling
Jasmine bushes
That fill my nose with memories
Of the pool at Nana’s house.
Floating over flat footpaths and curved roads,
The humid air sticks to my face like hot jelly,
And I love it.
It makes me move.
Over and over again.
Despite my worn out body crying ‘stop!’
(And part of me does.)
But just a bit more, just a bit more,
It’s not enough, not good enough,
But I do what I can and I
Push my body, asking it to
Let me.
Note: I wrote this for my new blog friend irunibreathe after I said I would post something for her. If you didn’t like the poem, I’m sorry I did my best – gee! Stop judging me, people! Far out!
irunibreathe is very nice. I’m not saying she’s top of my friends list yet, but note to Chris de Voss: she’s about to jump over you, so watch it.
December 12, 2012
12 Days of Christmas- Day 3
Reblogged from Sips of Jen and Tonic:
I thought Day 1 of this series was great, but Day 2 was even better! All of you brought your ‘A’ game, and I saw a lot of really cool videos for the first time. If I could, I’d buy each of you a drink, and then yawn and put my arm around you. Let’s face it, you want that too.
Ms Tonic has received a bounteous Pizzaboxdrawcember present! What an AWESOME picture! And a funny story to boot.
Well done!!!
Stay tuned this weekend for news on what the best drawing will receive as a prize...
5 cents (Or: A look into my soul)
I was in the shower.
Standing there, peacefully. Washfully, wetfully.
When I began to think…
How much money will I need for the bus? Oh, hang on, I have a Travel 10 (bus pass) so I can use that. But imagine I didn’t, how much would I need? $2 I think. Wait, it went up. I think it’s $2.10 now. I don’t have a ten cent piece but I do have two 5s.
But…
Do buses take five cent pieces? I’m not sure…
What if it was raining – absolutely pouring down, raining in sheets, torrents. And I had no umbrella and I needed to get to the train station or I’ll miss the train so I put my hand out for the bus and it comes by, through the misty rain, hard to see, windows fogged up, and I get on the bus and I say, ‘Burwood station’ and hand him $2.10 with two 5 cent pieces included, and the bus driver says, ‘No! I can’t let you on, we don’t allow 5 cent pieces.’ And I say, ‘What do you mean? It’s legal tender, I’m paying the right fare.’ And he says, ‘But I don’t have a little space in the cash drawer for 5 cents, I can’t take it.’ And I say, ‘Well, put it in your pocket then, and change it for a ten cent out of your pocket, or when you get back to the depot, ask someone to change it for you, no one will know.’ And he says, ‘No, I can’t do that.’
As the windscreen wipers as long as tree branches wipe the water from the front window and my heels are getting wet from the rain blowing in from the open door as I stand on the step in front of the open door, in desperation, I scream to the people on the bus, ‘Please! I need to get to the station! Can anyone change me a ten cent for two fives? Please! Please!’ But everyone just stares at me, saying nothing, wanting to get to work.
‘Off,’ says the bus driver.
I step off and into the rain, crying as the bus moves off, but no one knows I am crying because the rain has soaked me and everything through. I watch people stare at me through the windows as they pass, like I’m a fish in an aquarium. A wet one.
I walk off slowly, towards the station, my bag ruined, my laptop broken. I cry some more.
And then…
About fifty metres on, the bus stops!
I run, run, run. I jump on the bus as its door swings open. ‘Oh, thank you, thank you!’ I say.
The bus driver smiles. ‘They made me stop,’ he says, ‘pay with the five cents, it’s ok. I’ll change it later.’
I’m so happy I drop the money with my wet fingers and it rolls around on the floor of the bus. I pick it up, blubbering, and hand it over. I turn and look down the bus and everyone starts clapping. It is amazing. I sit at the front, at those seats facing backwards and I tell everyone thank you as I take my wet bag off my shoulder. I am dripping everywhere.
Then my phone rings…
‘Hello?’
It is a policeman. He tells me my wife Jh has been in a car accident. She has died. I imagine her lying by the road. I panic. ‘My sons! My sons! Where are my two little boys?!’
Silence.
I scream but nothing comes out. I scream and scream again but nothing comes out.
‘We need you to come to the hospital,’ he says.
But I’m on a bus that was a struggle to get on to in the first place. It’s going the wrong way. I can’t ask him to stop now. What do I do? I’m stuck!
‘I need to go to the hospital!’ I cry, as I sit and people stare at me. ‘My boys…my boys…’
I’m blubbering, and it’s all because of those 5 cent pieces.
And then I get out of the shower, and tell Jh about what I was worrying about happening – all that I imagined.
‘Of course buses take 5 cent pieces, you idiot,’ she says.
