I had a much better week last week. I’m still a bit messed up post chemo, but some of things that we’ve been trying to help me get past it are kicking in and I’m feeling pretty good, especially compared to the way I’ve been feeling. I actually made it back to the gym whereupon I successfully glared at some exercise equipment for an hour.

It’s also been a week of learning things.

First up my big cat Harry has lost a lot of weight on his new diet. He’s always been a big cat, and I’ve often called him ‘my chubby buddy’ (yes I call my cats inane things). I had the grim realization last week that he’s no longer my chubby buddy, I’m his. Hence the return to the gym.

NASA made these freaking amazing retro travel posters for different places in our solar system. I love the little touches in the tag lines like ‘experience the charm of gravity assists’.

I wrote a haiku:

A frozen wind swirls
the morning darkness total
Where, where are my pants

Carrie Fisher tweeted a picture of her dog Gary which is kind of amazing:


That dog appears to be 200% tongue.

That’s about it other than general working and life stuff. So, tell me, what did you learn/find/do last week?






I’m just going to say this up front: I loved Deadpool. Loved it. I’m going to go and see it again. Also, please don’t take your kids to see it, it’s an R movie for a reason.


It’s even sexier than this image implies.

Deadpool is a superhero origin movie, but it’s an origin movie done differently…done right. Spoilers coming, nothing major but it’s hard to review a movie without revealing anything at all, so you’ve been warned.

Still with me? Cool.

From the moment the opening credits declare Ryan Reynolds to be God’s perfect idiot, the director an overpaid douche and writers to be the real heroes it’s very clear that Deadpool  isn’t going to be a typical superhero film. Not that anyone who has heard of Deadpool the character was ever in any doubt. The only way Deadpool the film was ever going to work was to respect the foul mouthed, fourth wall smashing, dirty joke filled source material and respect it they did. Deadpool sticks its foot through the fourth wall almost immediately and then waggles its cancerous toes at the audience for the rest of the film.

Deadpool starts off with a serious bout of ass kicking on a freeway before taking a small step back from the carnage to tell a piece of Wade Wilson’s story before he became Deadpool. Ryan Reynolds does an amazing job as both Wilson and ‘Pool. He nails the humor of the character both before and after his transformation at the hands of Ajax (real name Francis), the very British, very badass main antagonist.

And it is one hell of a transformation.

Wade is having a pretty good time with life when we first see him out of the red suit. He’s getting paid to beat sense into stalkers and other miscreants and has found his perfect match in Vanessa (played perfectly by Morena Baccarin), his life is good right up until his cancer diagnosis. Director Tim Miller doesn’t belabor the cancer diagnosis but he doesn’t play it off as nothing either. Wade knows how bad his cancer is going to get, and Reynolds does a great job of selling the desperation lurking behind his endless jokes. I bought why he would turn to the bad guys to help him survive, even though they’re running their facility in an abandoned building that looks…let’s say less than hygienic. 

Ajax gifts Wade with a healing factor fast enough to make Wolverine jealous. I say gifts, but what I mean is: brutally tortures Wade over and over until the healing factor kicks in.

And then things get crazy.

Deadpool doesn’t hold back for one second over its short run time. There are some wildly entertaining fights and brutal kills that are mostly played for laughs. The movie definitely earned its R rating, because where most movies might cut away, Deadpool zooms in. All of this is undercut with almost constant jokes. Some reviewers have said that the jokes wore thin by the end but that wasn’t my experience, I was laughing for the entire runtime  (and the credits…stay after the credits).  Reynolds just has knack for Deadpool’s style of humor, although with that said Morena Baccarin and Brianna Hildebrand (playing Negasonic Teenage Warhead) both sell their jokes brilliantly and I hope we get more of them in the sequel.

I also have to give some serious props to T J Miller who plays Deadpool’s sort of friend Weasel. Miller’s ability to deliver an acerbic line is nothing short of awesome. He gets a couple of the best lines in the entire film, and his interactions with both Deadpool and Blind Al (played by Leslie Ugghams) are some of the best moments in the movie.

I should mention that there is an incredible amount of violence in the movie, from fun superhero movie style fights between Gina Carano’s Angel Dust and a CGI Colossus to some truly vicious hand to hand combat and gunplay.

It’s not a perfect film (is there a perfect film?), it goes for the easy joke a lot (I’m not saying I didn’t laugh, I’m just saying sometimes I’m not proud that I laughed) and the bad guys never really feel all that much of a threat…but it doesn’t matter, Deadpool is a really good time at the movies.


Highly recommended.




This roof animal thing has really gotten out of hand, and I’m bitter.

Why am I bitter?

Because it’s almost one am there is a bloody rat on my roof. A really big rat. He will not leave.

animal-655308_1280 (1)

This is not the rat in question, but it does represent his vile nature.

I’m going to call him Frank. Frank the Rat…which does make him sound somewhat less like a rat and more like a 1930’s gangster.

Anyway I threw an empty egg carton at Frank and let me tell you, Frank could not have given less of a shit. You have heard the expression ‘couldn’t give a rat’s ass?’ well I found the rat, the ass belongs to him and he isn’t giving it to anyone.

My cat Harry followed me outside. Harry was disinclined to intervene with Frank on my behalf. Harry is a very big cat, more like a small purr filled bear than a tabby, and it’s not like he’s never eaten a rat before…however Harry is not what you’d call motivated. 

So, unwilling to throw anything else onto the roof, I’ve some back inside and stuffed tissues into my ears so I don’t have to listen to Frank scurrying about on my roof. I don’t know what he’s doing. Rat stuff I guess.

I’m going back to bed.

Dammit. Frank has started a fight with a bird which is loudly screeching at him. This is a surprise because it’s one am and dark and birds are supposed to be sleeping.

Why won’t you sleep Mr Bird?

Why do you hate Frank so much?

Frank as far as I can tell is still on the roof and Mr Bird sounds like it’s in the oak tree so I don’t think Frank is hurting Mr Bird but Mr Bird is seriously pissed at Frank. Maybe Frank, true to his nature, told one of Mr Bird’s secrets.

Did Frank start an animal mafia war in my garden?

Mr Bird has gone quiet.

This is ominous.

Did Frank whack Mr Bird?

I may never know, because while I was typing this a mosquito bit me and in an effort to kill it I just smacked myself in the face. I’m taking that as a sign that reporting on my garden’s animal mafia’s turf wars can wait for another night.



Alternate title: Sometimes the universe is good to me; or, how my friend Cam ended up with a goat on his roof.

I have had my fair share of run ins with roof dwelling animals in the past. Everything from amorous possums to rats to whatever it is that skitters about in our ceiling cavity muttering about humanity’s end being nigh. But this, this was something else.

I got a text message over the weekend from Cam, asking me if I knew anything about the goat on his roof. In fairness this is actually a reasonable question, as he and I do double duty as worst enemies for each other too, and if he does end up in a terrible animal related situation, it is sometimes my fault.

However the goat was not my doing.

Nor is this photo. But this is indeed the goat in question. He has been named Angus McBastard.

Nor is this photo. But this is indeed the goat in question. He has been named Angus McBastard. (photo credit Cam Gibbs)

My friend lives in a quiet port town that has been overrun with hippies. Said hippies are mostly harmless, but they do have a tendency to own livestock that they’re not always well equipped to look after, so when this particular goat threw off its completely insufficient barriers to freedom it made its way to my friends house and proceeded to eat every vegetable in his veggie garden. It’s hard to blame the goat in this situation, if I was him I would have done exactly the same thing. The goat then decided that its position in life had not yet been sufficiently elevated, and it was high time it clambered up somewhere.

That somewhere being the roof.

It then refused to move.

As Cam asked me after it was over ‘do you know how hard it is to make a goat go somewhere it doesn’t want to go?’

Well, no matter how hard you think it is, it’s harder than that.

After much cursing, slipping, falling and general dragging of said goat my friend managed to get it down off the roof and  back onto the property it was supposed to be on but not before having to get it back though a hedge it has chewed its way through. The goat is 100% OK, Cam is battered, muddy, bruised and now smells quite a lot like goat…although that is a situation that may have been ongoing even before the arrival of an actual goat. I can only assume Angus the goat is biding its time until it can eat all of Cam’s vegetables again.

This whole saga improved my entire weekend. I am rarely so happy as when Cam is being harassed by wildlife. He has never once come off best in any confrontation with mother nature (case in point he was once trapped in his car by an angry flock of geese).

Then I found out that goats on roofs may be becoming an epidemic in New Zealand. This story is about Kevin the Goat:



Kevin is a menace. And sort of awesome.

Kevin is a menace. And sort of awesome. (photo credit Rob Stillwell, instagram.com/rob.stillwell/)


Kevin, who I should stress is an entirely different goat to the one who is terrorizing my friend is what I can only assume is the vanguard of an army of goats who want to colonize our nation’s precious roof space.

I for one welcome our new goaty overlords.


I realized today that there are certain aspects of my health that I really have to get under control, or I am going to end up dying in a way that makes my cancer treatment look like a terrible waste of public health resources. In fact there are a few ongoing major threats to my survival: cancer, depression, high blood pressure, poor diet and horrific yet somehow hilarious accidents.

It was a tragic art installation accident officer. We told him not to mix with abstract concepts and farm machinery but he wouldn't listen!

It was a tragic art installation accident officer. We told him not to mix abstract concepts and farm machinery but he wouldn’t listen!

Cancer I can’t really do much about, if it comes back I’ll have another go at poisoning seven different types of crap out of it.

The same with depression. I’ll treat it as well as I possibly can with every (medically proven) technique at my disposal.

However I should probably do something about the fact that my body is starting to look like a garbage bag full of melted cheese. I wasn’t in great shape prior to the whole cancer business but semi-regular gym sessions and occasional MMA and Jiu Jitsu sessions kept me in reasonable trim even if I did sometimes commit crimes against entire carbohydrate groups.

The croissant people know and fear me. To them, I am DEATH.

The croissant people know and fear me. To them, I am DEATH.

Then when I was in chemo I gave myself some doctor sanctioned permission to eat whatever I felt like, whenever I felt like it. It was important according to my oncologist that I not lose too much weight.

Not a problem doc.

Actually I did lose weight during the month of vomiting, but when I could eat I absolutely went for it. I didn’t just eat my feelings, I ate my sense of abstract thought too.

It was delicious.

However now that I am sort of back to what I call real life, I find I need to get back to looking after my health. I’m not up for martial arts quite yet, although I do look forward to sweaty hugs from my Jiu Jitsu friends when I am.

I do more or less know what I’m doing exercise wise. I’ve had some excellent (if frequently exasperated) trainers in my lifetime and the things they taught me stuck. Most of the things they taught me stuck.

Some of the things.

I probably won’t catch fire if I go to the gym.


This post doesn’t have a point, except to say that if you see something shambling down the street that looks like someone shaved a bear and then made it go jogging, that’s probably me.

You want me to run how far?

You want me to run how far?