Posts by Robyn Gallagher
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Re medicinal marijuana.
I've just had an awful cold. I went to the doctor and among my complaints I mentioned I had a bad cough. He prescribed me a suitable bad-ass cough syrup that has morphine in it. Yeah, morphine. Not enough to go to a special place, but enough to go to a quite nice place nonetheless.
So why is it that a really hardcore opiate is readily available in various prescriptible forms but the less harmful marijuana is still an illicit drug.
Oh, that's right. Parliament is scared its mums might be watching.
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I don't suppose anyone has a copy of the recent promo for Close Up where Henry, in his angry voice, said "I'll demand answers"? I really want that sound clip.
I'm not sure why, but this makes me think Hadyn wants to use the Henry clip like this:
Person A: Hey, shall we see if Hadyn wants to join us for a curry?
Person B: Good idea! I'll give him a call. [phones Hadyn]
Hadyn's phone: I'LL DEMAND ANSWERS.
Person B: WTF? Hello?
Hadyn's phone: I'LL DEMAND ANSWERS.
Person B: Hadyn? Dude, are you there?
Person A: What's going on?
Person B: It's weird - it sounds like someone's there, but I keep hearing this Paul Henry clip.
Hadyn's phone: I'LL DEMAND ANSWERS. I'LL DEMAND ANSWERS. I'LL DEMAND ANSWERS.
Person B: Hadyn, if you are there, do you want to join us for a curry or not?
Hadyn's phone: Oh, yeah. OK.
Person B: Cool. See you later.
Hadyn's phone: Hey, you know earlier - did you think it was Paul Henry on my phone?
Person B: What? No.
Hadyn's phone: I'LL DEMAND ANSWERS.Fin
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Well, that came and went with minimal fuss.
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I used to work nights at a BNZ data processing centre and it was full of hysterical people, one of whom several years from the original injury could no longer lift her arms above the level of her shoulders.
This reminds me of a first year paper I did at Waikato Uni called "The Computing Experience". One of the first lectures was on preventing RSI. The lecturerer told us these horror stories of The Man Who Did Not Take Breaks and The Woman Who Typed Too Much.
The best tale was of a computer genius fellow who ended up with such bad RSI that he couldn't type with his hands any more. So he was set up with some sort of eyeball control device but used that so much that he got RSI in his eyeballs.
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The blackboard photo reminds me of one I saw in early 2005. It read: Please join us as we participate in a 1 minute silence at 1.59 in memory of the victims of the Boxing Day tsunami. Thanxs.
What sort of customer is drawn to a cafe where the special o' the day board has become a deaths o' the day board?
Does one sit at one's table, trying to enjoy a slice or two of award-winning pizza before declaring, "No, I'm far too upset about Micheal[sic] Jackson and Farah[sic] Fawcett to eat."?
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Wow, that's unfunny on soooo many levels! Is Ed Byrne trying to make a career out of pointing out the inconsistencies in song title, after his Morissette bit? Gotta quit when you're ahead, man.
Just be aware that you're not dissing Ed Byrne's joke, but actually my retelling of his joke. And I have a terrible memory and an almost complete inability to retell other people's jokes with any of the original humour.
I'll ter-ror-ize your neigh-bor-hood if you don't watch out.
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I remember as a 5-year-old in 1980, watching some cool stand 4 kids dancing to "Don't stop till you get enough" at lunchtime.
And I kind of like Michael Jackson's songs. "Billie Jean" was dope, as was that "Say Say Say" duet with McCartney.
But then "Beat It" was released and he just seemed really angry and aggressive and I was 8 and I wasn't into that. Michael Jackson became music that other people listened to.
And then there were all the quite nuttery people who are the serious Michael Jackson fans. The kinds who right now will no double be wailing with grief, lighting candles, wondering how they'll survive. I can't relate to that.
Irish comedian Ed Byrne made the point that "Thriller" is incorrectly titled. The song is about horror movies - monster, zombies, vampires - not thriller movies - femme fatales, shadowy figures, conspiracies.
Today, at home, in bed, sick with a mancold, I felt more upset at the fake news that Jeff Goldblum was dead than at Michael Jackson's death.
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Ooh, I love a good medical story, and that was quite a story.
A few years ago I spend hours in Auckland Hospital ED with a suspected blod clot that turned out to be just a sore leg. Because I was low on the triage, I spent most of the time waiting and waiting and waiting. Not only did I get some Friday night crazies (including one fellow who just seemed to have been brought in for tunelessly singing "Buffalo Soldier") but I also got the hushed conversation from people nearby who were actually quite ill.
Also, last week was International Men's Health Awareness Week, and I think the tale of the kidney stone has helped, well, bring some awareness to that area.
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I've been thinking about Big Wednesday some more. People say they bought tickets because of the lure of the big prize. $35 million is a lot of money and winning it would totally change your life. But so would $25 million. So would $15 million.
So would $500,000.
Anecdotally, I've heard people say why they need a big cash windfall. It's never anything like "Because all my life I've wanted a giant swimming pool full of money and a bling-encrusted goblet."
No, it's really simple stuff like, "Since we had kids we haven't bought any new DVDs," or "I have to work in a different city to my husband, so I'd like to not have to do that" or "I'd like to visit my sister and her kids in England."
But problems like that aren't impossible to fix and don't cost $35 million to overcome.
I guess what the lure of winning Big Wednesday is giving you isn't money but time. You don't have to spend your days working for someone else, saving up for the things that are important to you. You can have it all right now.
But once you've got all that time, then what?
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Is there anything else we'd be looking for in a supermayor? Just sayin'.
A willingness to do whatever Robyn Gallagher tells them.
Tom can be my mayoress.