Corybantic geeks: Undies on the outside.

Okay, so I retract my earlier statement, the one about the caffeine. I have reduced the intake. It has made some small difference. Still, I am either slightly ill, or have a brain tumour. Either way, I am sure limiting the consumption of coffee, if no help to my self-image, is not a bad thing.


So, at the tail end of yesterday things stood thus:

And today, well, it is now the tail end of today as well, and I have spent the day being a good house-husband. Sweep, wash, vacuum, tidy, shop, mop, shop, tidy, shop…

Well, okay, it hasn’t all been work. I did mosey on down to the Coode St Cafe – yes, I did in fact mosey – where I indulged in my lonesome cup of coffee for the day. I know, only one cup. It’s bullshit. It better fucking be worth it – and while we’re on the subject of coffee, it really chokes my fucking goat when a place isn’t consistent. I had a lovely cup of coffee at Coode St. today, which is nice, but the cup I had there yesterday was piss, which was not so nice, and the occasion prior to the piss I had a great cup which, again, was nice. Do you see the problem here?

If you are going to serve shit coffee, just serve shit coffee, and then I can stop coming in, and find somewhere that doesn’t. Otherwise, there’s no fucking excuse. If you have one good barista, they should all be good – after all, you have a good one, so they can bloody well teach all the others to be good – unless of course they are themselves a student of the Sydney Coffee Scene, wherein they have learnt to jealously guard all their secrets in case someone else appears to be as cool as them – but more on that another time, and in fact in another publication (I’ll get to that shortly).

Anyway, I had a good coffee, and I did the crossword, and scrawled my usual balderdash in the journal. So it wasn’t all work and no play. And then a while later, I went and emailed this lovely lady (I assume, I haven’t actually met her yet) who offered me a job, of sorts.

It was quite strange actually. I got this message from her on Farcebook the other day, saying that she had found me on meetup. How this came about I’m not really sure, as the only meetup group I have joined was the Perth Comikers – and I haven’t even gone along yet… actually (given the typical meetup times of Friday/Sat evenings) I’m a little afraid that it will end up being a bit of a geek-fest. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a geekaphobe per se, I have plenty of the geek in me anyway, I’m just a little wary of large (or even small) gatherings of geeks. I cannot help but picture a bunch of guys sitting in a booth at Starbuck’s with their undies on outside their jeans, wearing home-made Spidey masks, and slurping double decaffeinated raspberry mochachinos. I would have to shoot myself for fear of the rant, thereby destroying someone’s delicate self-esteem. So, basically I really doubt that someone is trawling through their meetup group looking for writers… see my point?

Ok, well, anyway, so afore mentioned lady, Farcebooked me, asking if I would be interested in writing for this “corybantic” magazine that was somewhere in the stages of development. I admit, I had to look up corybantic:


1. frenzied; agitated; unrestrained.

I immediately said to myself, yes! Anyone that uses that to describe a magazine (even if they did have to trawl through a thesaurus to find it) is immediately well situated in my esteem. And let’s face it, I’ll bloody take anything, even if it is unpaid; corybantic’s just a bonus.
So now, I officially have a deadline: next Saturday. For four separate articles. Fuck, that’s really quite soon. But I have to say I really do like a good deadline, however short it may be. There are few things in this world, in fact pretty much none, that will light a fire under your arse to get some writing done like a deadline will. Now all that has to happen, is some other lovely lady (or guy, guys are fine too), needs to email me, or Farcebook it, or call, or write a letter, and say: I found you on meetup, would you like to write a novel for us? And advance would go astray either…
On which note, I am now going to go and ignore said four articles, and attempt to make that bar of death up there say something a little higher than it’s current measly 3%… right after I make a cup of tea (hey, I may only be having one cup of coffee per day, but I said nothing about the tea, and besides, contrary to that ridiculous rumour that the world persists on regurgitating, tea has significantly less caffeine in it than coffee).
Oh, yeah, one of the articles is going to be an indulgent little rant about the Australian coffee scene... corybantic indeed. See, I told you I’d get to it shortly.
Oh, and if you think I am going to tell you the name of the publication, or how you can get hold of a copy, you’re sadly mistaken… after, and only after, I have seen it myself, will I divulge anything… oh, and I have absolutely no fucking idea how you’d get hold of a copy anyway… it might only end up with thirteen copies in print.


~ by Gethin A. Lynes on May 6th, 2011.

One Response to “Corybantic geeks: Undies on the outside.”

  1. Balderdash. Corybantic. 😉

    Well said.

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