The Bermuda Triangle

A large ‘triangle’ of water near ‘Bermuda’. Ships and planes routinely go missing in its vicinity.
If there are two things that people are scared of, it’s sharks and maths tests. In the mysterious geographical location known as ‘The Bermuda Triangle’ both these fears are combined into one terrifying enigma. Don’t be too literal: I’m not talking about a finned nightmare that pulls you deep into it’s ocean lair in order to grade your algebra skills – not this time. Rather, instead of getting sidetracked like an old one-eyed hen, pecking vainly at its own feet, we have to consider the cold hard facts. The two incontrovertible truths about the Bermuda Triangle is that it’s mostly water and that it’s a triangle. Now,  lots of things are water, so I’m going to remove it from my list of suspects. Go home, water. Go home and think about how lucky you are. You’ve got a bright future ahead of you, a loving family of Hydrogen and Oxygen waiting anxiously for you. I don’t want to see you hanging around this kind of bad crowd anymore. That’s right – a bad crowd like triangles.
Triangles have always been the most sinister of the shapes. Three points, three sides, yet not always equally defined. It’s often thought that the triangle is the only shape that doesn’t occur naturally – which is only partially correct. Sometimes snakes will band together with three of their brethren, and form triangles to lay traps for curious birds. 
This is what happened to Happy Feet.
What’s my point, you say, stroking your autographed photo of the pyramids. My point is that triangles are unnatural and evil mathematical constructs.
For anyone who has ever suffered the pain and horror of biting a corn chip the wrong way, this comes as no surprise. 
But there’s no point in simply declaring a pogrom against anything triangular in your house, frantically burning your old admiral hats and wedges of cheese. We have to track the problem to its source and discover the people who impose triangles upon us – namely, mathematicians. These foul logic-wizards are like a plague upon society. They’re in our schools and neighbourhoods. That middle aged woman with the iron-gray bob and functional shoes buying artichokes from the super market? She doesn’t look like it, but she’s a mathematician. If you stare deep into her eyes, you can see the swirling chaos of geometrical patterns looking right back at you. Nobody really knows how long the mathematicians have been amongst us, but it’s happening. And they have their triangle pushing agenda in full swing.
Well, I’m not advocating an international purge of mathematicians. For better or worse they’ve fully integrated themselves into society. Nor, at least in this lifetime, will we ever successfully ban the triangle. It’s an insidious shape, able to coax a solid square or a weak dodecahedron into relaxing its guard and making the change into geometric evil. But we should at least be able to deal with the gaping symmetrical maw that is the Bermuda Triangle.
My theory is that the pilots of the ships and aircraft that are lost in the Triangle, are simple folk whose minds are simply unable to grasp the unnatural complexity of a mathematical construct. Think about it – probably in day-to-day lives their handicap goes unnoticed. Maybe they’re aware they have a violent aversion to Toblerone, but put it down to their enormous hatred of Swiss produce, rather than triangles. But the Bermuda Triangle – is there any triangle so large and all encompassing? Even the pyramids are tiny three dimensional cousins to its majesty. So, it’s no wonder that upon entering it’s awful influence, these people would go insane or perhaps explode in a cloud of logic.
“Chhhk – This is FlavourHawk to Base, I seem to have noticed some kind of geometric construct beneath me,
 it looks suspiciously like a… OH, GOD NO! *SPLARKACHUNK*
How do we stop this travesty, you scream, your teeth loose with outrage. Simple. I declare we rename ‘The Bermuda Triangle’ to ‘The Bermuda Amorphous Blob’.  
1/5 Mmm. Doritos.


Man versus fish in a battle of wits.


If you’ve ever read this blog before, you can probably guess that I am not good at/ don’t like fishing. Much like many male oriented pastimes such as rugby, patriarchy and successfully impregnating women, I just don’t see the attraction. But this isn’t a story about the hilarious time I get taken fishing by my well meaning father/uncle and get water all over my kaftan and then accidentally catapult a small trout into a helicopter. No, this is a story about me accidentally being goddamn brilliant at fishing.

When I was a teenager, in one of those long Coke ad style summer holidays, I would basically spend the entire day kayaking around the bay. Pretty idyllic in retrospect. Anyway, one day I was standing in the water, stock still, lost in thought. I was probably thinking about elves or castles. I must have been standing still for so long that I was mistaken for an old post (not the first time that’s happened) and when I looked down, swimming between my feet was an enormous mullet. Without any conscious thought, I cocked my fist back and punched the fish right in the face.

This is exactly how Aquaman started. 

Despite the fact I’d never punched anything before, I apparently am a Schwarzenegger when it comes to marine life, because the fish rolled over and floated to the surface. Faced with the knowledge that I’d now killed an animal for absolutely no good reason, I decided the honourable thing to do would be to eat it. Admittedly, I felt a small amount of pride as I carried the fish into the backyard and presented it to my dad. Magnanimously, I claimed we could all eat it.

But, for some reason my family weren’t keen to eat the animal that I’d sourced using only my mighty fists. “It’s probably poisoned, or full of mercury, or old and diseased” they claimed, nervous as old and sensible women. So I was forced to release it back into the water. I like to that the mullet is still out there somewhere, swimming through the silt, brain damaged and confused, the impression of my spindly knuckles on its forehead.


When people talk about ‘hidden depths’ they’re usually referring to someones ability to flourish in a crisis, or be unexpectedly kind or charitable or strong. For years, I always felt my hidden depth was the ability to gather food by punching fish. Not that I ever did it again – I just knew that I could.
This was until I was spectacularly upstaged by a friend of mine. We were all swimming around in Victor Harbour, in Adelaide, when we heard a loud shriek. My friend Samira had been startled by a large jellyfish floating next to her arm, deadly tendrils floating around it like a dead ladies hair. In her efforts to swim away (let’s not use the words ‘flailing wildly’ here) she managed to smash her fist right through the globular face of the jellyfish.

This is exactly how the film classic ‘Waterworld’ started. 

The danger wasn’t over however – Samira had to be physically rescued from drowning. Because she was stung and paralysed? In shock? No. She was in such a hysterical state of giggling that she couldn’t keep her head above the water. Laughter kills, children.


Urghh. 3? Yeah, why not. 3/5 stars

This guy

This guy who frequents the same coffee shop as me.


I don’t know this guy. I’ve never met him, never spoken to him. But I do know this – when I see him it’s like a ray of heroin flavoured sun has been beamed into my urethra. Now, don’t get the wrong idea. It isn’t just because he’s an attractive young man with a killer sense of style. There’s so many of those around where I live, I strongly suspect the local council implemented a ‘hipster per street corner’ initiative which has been wildly successful. No, this guy is a truly unique creature, like a unicorn in casual pants. I’m going to attempt to draw him:

Some kind of green bird.

That’s right. He is beyond the powers of MS paint. If you take a photo of him, your camera turns into a duck. Try to record him on film, and you get a loop of Nicholas Cage’s droopy face in the last scene of Con Air. Record his voice and you can hear Mick Jagger ordering breakfast. After several days of contemplation and research, I can only assume this guy is a god walking amongst us, or perhaps the concept of perfection dreamed into reality. I assume he is a student at UTS, and can only assume he was created as a balance to the supreme ugly that is the UTS tower.

I think his parents are probably THE SUN and THOR. I think his kidneys are made of gold. I think that…

“I’m just a thunder god, in front of THE SUN… asking him to love me.”


I just realised who he looks exactly like.

He looks like Mac from the best comedy show ever, Green Wing. Except younger and more glamorous. That’s slightly embarrassing. I’m willing to go with it.


5/5 stars