Buccleuch
27 Kansas City, United States
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Buccleuch
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My self-summary
Aww, look, everything's all a touch awkward and goes bang downhill from there. I poke fun at the Australian pollies who need some levelling on the line whilst trying never to be mad there. Humour is really important; it's downright shocking how deadly serious everyone is these days. Yeah, the markets're crashing; sure, the world is tumbling about your ears, but lighten up, mate.

For 2016, I am only reading books by women and writing about it. Feel free to chat me up about the project [unless you are a troll].
What I’m doing with my life
As a kid, I liked Malcolm Turnbull, so we all make mistakes.
Shrine to Julia Gillard: complete
Trotskyite bookclub w/Daniel Andrews: in progress
Annastacia Palaszczuk memorial library: nearly there

I'm an organist/pianist who also plays saxophone in a community band. We get heckled. It's a right blast.
I’m really good at
I'm a champ at anxiety. If you're looking for Hypochondriac in Chief at WebMD, hello, it me. Got a sniffle or a twinge in that bum leg? It's absolutely Dengue fever and you will absolutely probably die soon*. I am subscribed to 29 podcasts but only actually listen to like three of them because sometimes life doesn't turn out how you plan. Maybe I'm good at procrastination, but that sounds like telling, doesn't it?

*do not believe these bourgeois lies
The first things people usually notice about me
One day, Wes Anderson believed really hard, but not quite hard enough, in one of his tall, quirky, bespectacled characters, and he came to life. That soft-edged, out of place character is me.
Favorite books, movies, shows, music, and food
After a second coup attempt, this section is in detention at an undisclosed location. This is what I'm verbing now/recently/sharpish:

Currently reading: The Thorn Birds (McCullough).

Filums I hope to see?: it's almost summer, so everything is rubbish.

Current telly: New Girl; Penny Dreadful; Portlandia; The Katering Show.

Desperately waiting to cross some water: A Place to Call Home; The Beautiful Lie; Doctor Blake Mysteries.

Desperately catching up: Empire; Fargo; the Americans.

Currentish music: Cactus Blossoms; Emahoy Tsegué-Maryam Guèbrou.

Food: Kashmiri, French, Sushi, Malay.

Philosophers: AJ "Freddie" Ayer; Charles Peirce; René Descartes; David Hume.

Newspapers: The Guardian; The Age; The Canberra Times; The Sydney Morning Herald; The Independent.

The Twoots: @Brocklesnitch; @matwhi; @annabelcrabb; @maddydell; @SPENCERcNIEMETZ.

The Podcasts: Bowraville from The Australian; Chat 10 Looks 3; The Party Room; RN Politics.

Favourite wine: Château d'Yquem.

Booze: my whisky comes from Scotland or it isn't my whisky; gin: tanqueray rangpur; vodka: grey goose or cîroq.
The six things I could never do without
I. The Transcendental Unity of Apperception.
II. Ockham's Razor.
III. Logical Positivism.
IIIa. Otto Neurath's Boat.
IV. Feminism.
V. Master Morality.
VI. The Guardian.
VIa. Making fun of The Daily Mail.
VIb. Making fun of The Sun.
VII. Res ipsa Loquitur.
VIII. Reductio ad Absurdum.
IX. Latin.
X. Lists.
Xa. More lists.
Xb. Better lists.
Xc. Subdivided lists.
XI. Irregular Plurals.
XII. Inventing titles.
XIII. Elections.
XIIIa. Compulsory voting.
XIIIb. IRV.
XIIIc. STV.
XIV. Australian Communist Party v. The Commonwealth (1951) 83 CLR 1
XV. Misandry. (Am I srs? Find out!)
I spend a lot of time thinking about
I spend a fair piece of time ironing out how problematic the classical liberals were/are (e.g. Mill—roiling socialism for the win!). In my spare time, I misapply collective nouns for fun (e.g. a flock of deer).
On a typical Friday night I am
On a typical Friday night, I am sipping boba with friends and making fun of peak white people in JoCo magazines and the write ups of their tasteless, blasé weddings. Au même temps, I would be nowhere without the privileged comforts these people provide.

Despite all rumours to the contrary, I do not spend my Friday evenings reading The Daily Mail.
The most private thing I’m willing to admit
I think JR Hennessy is a good writer, but if you tell people, it'll be a nightmare come next Hallowe'en. (Don't believe me? Look up what Buzzfeed Oz did to him.)
You should message me if
Message me if you, too, have stories about being traumatised by Carl Katter on the twoots. Or, maybe you want to discuss books or the *proper* way to make a piccolo lattè in this strange land bereft of Passiona. Last, but never least, maybe you're the Leigh Sales to my Annabel Crabb.
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