On another note, I'm decidedly sick of our national phone service provider, Telscum - er, I mean Telstra. So we're TRYING to get ADSL. Initially, we were supposed to know by now. Last night, we were going to have to wait another 6-8 weeks. This morning, they stuffed up our phone line and when it got fixed and reconnected, the Telstra-employed technician advised us that we should be able to get ADSL, so we called the folk at Telstra and they aren't sure, but we've got to wait four weeks, but it's already been three so we should know in a week. Telstra's so bloody useless. Apparently, things are happening. If you ask me, LUNCH is happening. Telstra worker's schedule for today;
1. Arrive at work late.
2. Take a break.
3. Glance at a few official-looking papers.
4. Go to the toilet.
5. Take a break.
6. Fiddle with some papers and make a couple of needless calls home.
7. Prepare for lunch.
8. Have lunch.
9. Have more lunch.
10. Take a break.
11. Go home.
And in yet more news, the Australian Idol winner apparently cancelled some shows. Haha. How ironic. How brilliant. Less people get to see his awfulness. Unfortunately, he already played here. Performed at Robina Town Centre, which tells you about his artistic worth and merit or lack thereof. Any credible artist would not perform at Robina Town Centre. It's a MALL. Really, if he were that great, he'd be in an arena or Carrara Stadium or something like that, but obviously he's not that good. Indeed, any world-class artist probably would steer clear of the Gold Coast. U2's never played here, and I believe Pat told me Metallica's playing here, and that gave me one hell of a shock because ... well, this is the Gold Coast. Great city, no real venue, the old arena was torn down, and Carrara Stadium is the biggest white elephant ever.
But this gives me hope. Maybe U2 will come here on their next tour. Woo, that would be great, especially considering how I'm only about 10 minutes from the stadium.
Oh, and I heard Ozzy Osbourne broke his neck, some vertebrae, and six ribs. Poor sod. I guess it's the revenge of all those chickens.
I'm not going to talk about it here, but ick, I hate feeling terrible and ethical and moral dilemmas. On the one hand, I care too much; on the other, I don't care enough. Not nearly enough.
The end of Dire Straits' Sultans Of Swing is magic. Brilliance. Oh my.