Alvin's favourite fast food is Nando's.
Monday, October 18, 2010
It was Sunday night last night. All over Australia people in their early 20s were doing the same thing.
"What's that?" You ask.
"Homework?" You ask.
"Drugs and sex, and and and and life and creativity and all the brilliant things born to youth?" You ask.
No. Facebook-chat-in-front-of-bad-Sunday-night-television is what captivated Australia's future last night. Alvin was no exception.
"Four facebook chat windows open." Said Alvin over Facebook chat.
"And every one of them is talking about Offspring."
Offsping is an Australian show where an average white nurse, unlucky in love, looks for love. We watch it in droves and embrace the mediocrity put before us. A generation of this-will-do.
Well, Alvin had had enough.
"I'm going to go play Call of Duty and regain my penis." He said.
God bless Alvin, he may save our generation yet.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
A beautiful girl was lying on my bed, naked. So awesome. As we lay there, I knew that she was, like, the one.
Eyes locked, her lip quivered, hesitant to break the silence but about to all the same. What was it she was going to say? "Like, I love you." "Like, we're perfect." "Like, you complete me." Definitely one of those. My life was about to change, like, forever.
A trashed Alvin crashed through the door. "Hellooooooo," he said as he fell to the floor.
She shrieked and scrambled to get under the sheets. The moment was gone, forever.
I told Alvin the story as I made dinner the next night. Still half asleep on my couch he replied, "What are you talking about? There was no girl."
Not anymore Alvin, not anymore.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Before Alvin moved into my old room, he lived out in the suburbs. In fact, because he is lazy and poor, he spends most of his time in the suburbs still - taking advantage of his parents' food and Playstation. But back when his room was my room, he used to crash at mine whenever we hit the city. Which was a lot.
He got pretty comfortable there. Sometimes he'd get home before me, let himself in through the unlocked window, and tuck himself into my bed. I'd come home at 5am to find him all tuckered out in my sheets with Hungry Jacks wrappers sprawled over his disgusting body.
I would have a decision to make then. A decision a tired, drunk, drug addled and sexually frustrated mind did not want to make. Jump in next to him or go and sleep on the couch.
I didn't always sleep on the couch. Those were some awkward mornings. Alvin never seemed to mind.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Remember that show - Changing Rooms - where with the help of a homosexual designer (who'd later go on to host Ready Steady Cook) two friends would redesign each other's rooms? Ya remember that?
Well when I moved to Sydney, I left a room in a crappy sharehouse vacant. Alvin took that room. So Alvin lives in my room. But now that he lives in it, it is no longer mine, no, it's his. Alvin lives in his room... which used to be mine. Umm, anyway...
I recently visited Melbourne for the first time since I moved to Sydney. I went to my old house and visited the room. Still taped to the window (albeit behind the curtain) were the little pictures of my ex girlfriend and me that I'd put up when we were together and never got round to pulling down after it all went to shit. The bed was the same. The curtain I'd made out of an old bedsheet was the same. The little pile of incense ash on the shelf was the same. Even the couch I moved in there for my going away party was still sitting in the corner.
The room hadn't changed at all. His room is not his room, it's my room. But if he's living in it, does that make him... me?
I looked into it further... his friends - all my old friends. His clothes - similar to my own. The places he hangs - my old hangs.
Alvin is living my old life. Even though I have left Melbourne, I still exist in that city. And My name? My name is Alvin.
This leaves one question: If Alvin is me, what has become of Alvin?
Sunday, August 22, 2010
I moved to Sydney. Alvin, unfortunately, still remains in Melbourne. This makes it hard for me to update his diary, but I will try anyway.
I just spoke to Alvin over Facebook chat. I had a problem.
"I need to go to the toilet, number twos, but I can't be bothered getting off the couch," I said.
"Is there a bag around?" he replied.
There wasn't, but still, his problem solving genius should be acknowledged. You may be surprised at his genius in this field but I wasn't. I'd seen it before.
Every year we go to the same music festival in the country. He packs a plastic bottle that is ample for urinating in while lying in his sleeping bag. He knows that he will drink enough that he won't be able to make it through a sleep without having to go to the toilet. He also knows that he will be too drunk and tired to get out of his sleeping bag, get into some shoes, unzip his tent, step out into the cold country night air, and find a discreet spot to urinate.
This happens to all of us at these festivals, yet we prepare not. Perhaps this is because we prefer not to sleep next to our own urine or perhaps it's because our meagre intellects are nothing like that of Alvin.
Alvin's foresight is that of a God. A lazy, disgusting God.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
It's Easter Sunday, April 4 2010. It's been a full something something days since the last post about Alvin. This isn't because I've been lazy. Oh no. It's because he hasn't done anything in those days. Seriously nothing.
That's a lie.
He's done some things. Eating cereal, catching trains, going to the toilet, he's done those things but really not much else.
Well the other day he told me, over a bowl of cereal, that he was gonna start doing things again. So ... stay tuned cause Alvin is back ... can you feel the excitement? No? Yeh me neither.