Power of Laughter

Power of Laughter
How to Cheer Yourself Up

Colin Rowsell | 29 Apr 2008 12:04
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This is how we roll with our heroes down near Antarctica. It's all very cozy and completely useless for my purposes, because of course I'm insanely jealous. The Conchords are the same age as me, little bastards. Where's my Grammy? Where's my adoring crowd?

New Zealanders should be unseen and in a herd. Bret McKenzie and Jemaine Clement are clearly lesbians or communists or something of that sort. I dream about splitting their heads open and gnawing their brains to gain their knowledge.

Stay away from me, you sheepfuckers. I am in the mood for trepanation.

Embrace the Spirit of the Internet
I called Warren Ellis an Essex asshole, whined to Major Nelson about Xbox Live, told Yahtzee Croshaw he's a noob who's lost it and wrote a patronizing essay about Ubuntu Linux on Slashdot.

No one answered, and it didn't quite feel right. This internet citizen thing is tough. Though maybe I just don't do anonymity well. It was also why being a faceless bureaucrat never stuck.

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But I think Warren Ellis may have sent flesh-eating robotic penguins after me. This experiment has become dangerous and at this point it there is still no result.

Go and Visit Your Old Job
So I took a break from it all. Called up an old friend from my former workplace, headed into central Wellington to catch up.

Finally found what I was looking for.

The halls of a government department are zombie halls. They are purgatory up close and tax coded. I don't exist here anymore; there is no trace or suggestion that I ever did. But the whole place gives off a silent, grateful vibration of my annihilation, sort of like the aura of recently departed Maharishi Mahesh Yogi.

The same things are happening that have always happened. Management is up; people are down. We're under a slow attack from the other teams and departments. Legislation is political and regulation is difficult. We can't communicate or cooperate. There's always a good reason not to do something.

The coffee is stale and my friend's smile is thinner and more frustrated every time I see her. She's thinking about Fiji for a week, but probably can't get away. She asks if there are any good movies or books out recently, but probably won't get around to them.

I walk back through Wellington near dusk and feel it. Ten thousand six hundred and thirty seven days have brought me to this: I'm no longer a bureaucrat and the world is all out there waiting.

The belly laugh comes out like Krakatoa.

Colin Rowsell laughs at your insolence. Tell him what cheers you up on giantmonkeyvirus@gmail.com.

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