It’s good to have ready access to headshots of Byran Brown, in case of emergencies.

 

I have been told that I am a hoarder. This might because I still have my notebooks from Year 11 or a tattered newspaper cutout of Karl Stefanovic that was plastered on my college door by a delightful soul in 2011. I don’t really think it’s a problem yet because I haven’t found any dead mice in amongst my swag of unnecessary belongings (not so for my little sister by the way). I will throw things out or donate items to charity if I think I don’t need them anymore. And since moving interstate and back again, I feel it’s under control. But I can admit that I may have a hoarding problem, or at least hoarding tendencies.

 

This is not just in relation to physical stuff, but virtual stuff. Namely, Safari tabs on my iPhone.

Funnily enough, I hate having more than three tabs open on my laptop because it’s too much clutter in my address bar. But iPhones allow you keep dozens of tabs open without having them obstruct your view. It’s like a bottomless virtual third draw.

 

I have about 17 million tabs open in Safari just in case I need to use the web page in the future. I refuse to close them. I know I should, but each time I go to Google something on my phone on an already-open tab, a little voice in my head says, “you might need that information one day” and I open another tab. I see it like taping over something, and I can’t live with that. I still haven’t forgiven my oldest sister for taping over our Simpsons episodes with some sappy Grey’s Anatomy bullshit and that was like seven years ago. I can live with silently resenting my sister, but resenting myself would drive me insane. When you’re your own mentor and spiritual guide, you have to be careful not to let yourself down.

 

Plus, I feel like keeping your web history in the open means you don’t have any skeletons in your closest. Shutting tabs implies you have something to hide. Putting them out in the open means that, if I were to die and someone had to go through my phone, they wouldn’t be shocked. They’ll know the charred remains (I’m obviously going to die saving someone from an explosion) they’re burying are those of a self-invovled weirdo and hopefully tailor my funeral accordingly. Because the last thing you want is one of those basic funerals where they play Let It Be, talk about how infectious the carcass’ smile was and serve scotch fingers. I want my funeral to be so fabulous that mourners start live Tweeting it.

 

As such , here are the sites/searches I deemed too important to close:

 

A Google search for stein glass: I put up an Instagram about eating gravy and mashed peas out of a stein. I wanted to make sure that “s-t-e-i-n” was what I thought it was and not some offensive German word. You don’t want to look like a dingbat on the ‘gram.

Details about a meet and greet with Andy Griffiths and Terry Denton: The Just series was my damn childhood. There’s no chance I’m going to miss meeting these guys. I don’t care if I’m 24. I’ll knee all the seven-year-old little fuckers in the face to knock them out of my way.

A Google search for Diarrhea: I am surprised how often this word comes up in my text conversations yet how much I struggle with spelling it. I don’t know what’s more embarrassing…

A Google search for Brighton The Nanny today: The conversation came up after I was discussing the death of the woman who played Grandma Yetta. Plus, it’s important to know what the stars of yesterday are doing today. I have to say that Gracie is probably doing the best after leaving the Sheffield house.

A Google search for Bryan Brown: Because you need 24-hour access to the face of rugged manhood.

A recipe for moist coconut cake: This is an important recipe. It has a whole container of sour cream in the batter. Sour. Cream. In cake. It’s actually the best. When they say moist, they mean it. This cake is damper than the knickers of a 45-year-old woman a Magic Mike screening.

A recipe for Best Ever Carrot Cake with Cream Cheese Frosting: I love carrots, I love cake and cream cheese frosting is so good I would seriously consider eating it off the floor of any bathroom in Fortitude Valley. I would consider contracting tinea of the tongue just for a few seconds of that dairy delight.

Nevamaycakes.com.au: This girl makes great cakes, and sometimes you need to see a great cake to remind you that life is worth living.

A video of Noni Hazlehurst reading Go the Fuck to Sleep: I went to a baby shower recently.

A recipe for pumpkin scones: Dad has recently take his “see, I’m from the country” act up a notch, and is now growing actual edible produce in our backyard. And because it requires absolutely no upkeep and, in fact, happened completely by accident, Dad’s growing pumpkins. It was an unplanned patch, but a welcome surprise.

My father has been trying to produce fruit for years. We have these unidentified citrus trees scattered around our backyard. Each year they blossom and then start growing these yellowy-green citrus-esque balls and each year we hope they turn into something we could make cocktails out of. But each year they stop growing once they’ve reached the size of golf balls and then drop onto the grass like a puddle of wee. We’ve tried cutting into these disappointment balls, and they taste like shit. So it’s a real tease that we have something that resembles fruit but can’t be eaten. I imagine how it would feel similar to being a parent and finding our your child likes Adam Lambert or something.

So when our little block on the edge of town happened to grow something vaguely edible, it was jubilation station. We had a horse living in our backyard (we didn’t own it, it was rescue horse our neighbour wanted to save from being made into Swiss meatballs) and Dad would throw it some veggie scraps, like it’s life wasn’t horrific enough without having to eat our unwanted green waste. Anyway, among those scraps must have been some pumpkin seeds which were magically fertilised by some of the horse’s leavings. And by gum, in a few months we had an actual pumpkin patch. So Dad, not knowing what to do with his newfound fertile power, often offloads them on to me and my sisters; his other accidental fruits.

Long story short, I have a lot of pumpkin in my life right now. You know what they say, when life gives you pumpkins, make pumpkin scones.

A Google search for chicken goujons: Like chicken chippies, but more fun to say. It’s very difficult to spell for a filthy Westerner like me with no culture and no respect for French words.

The weather radar: Because sometimes you want to know what the rains are doing… mostly if you’re looking at having to converse with a man over the age of 50 who has a good Akubra and a work Akubra. You know the type.

The website for comedian Sarah Pascoe: I heard her talking on the radio about books she’d done about the female body. I’m running out of vagina jokes, so I think poking my nose in a book such as that one would be helpful. Like, why should the cervix have all the fun? When will it be fallopian tubes’ time to shine? A Google search for a neo mastiff cross with great dane: My sister and her husband bought a puppy and being four hours away from it is hard for me.

The movie schedule for my local cinema: In a small country town this is pointless because they only play kids movies. Did you know there was an Ice Age Five? Why the fuck does the world need that?! What is wrong with everyone?!

Capricorn Daily Horoscope: Because when you’re as indecisive as me, working out whether you should go for a run at a particular time is a huge dilemma. I find horoscopes, as trivial as they may be, do sometimes help in the realm of using them to justify your decisions. Like not running.

A YouTube clip of Ralph Wiggans saying “go banana”: Obviously.

Nigella’s chocolate olive oil cake: I have a friend who can’t eat dairy and shouldn’t be eating gluten. But she should be eating chocolate cake. Nigella doesn’t want people like this brave soul to miss out, and neither do I. And because this stuff is based on almond meal, I can pas it off as healthy.

Chlamydia symptoms, women: Research. Chlamydia is an excellent metaphor for many things in life, but if you really want it to have the same sting to your verse you need to back it up with facts.

Billy Crystal Lion King: He wasn’t on The Lion King. But whoever played Timon obviously was channelling one of the world’s most delightful men when he was in that voice recording booth. And why wouldn’t you? He’s a wonderful creature. I really hope that he hasn’t done anything creepy or criminal that leaks out as he gets older. I really want him to be as wholesome, yet edgy as I imagine him to be. In fact, if something shady came out from his past, I’d probably ignore it. The same goes for Steve Martin, Diane Keaton, Bette Midler and Kerri-Anne.