Well, in about 9 hours my wedding ceremony will be almost over. Yes folks, it’s 3am on the day of my wedding and I’m *PING* wide awake. I’ve been trying to get to sleep since about 11:30pm and I’m as tired as hell, but I can’t seem to nod off. (Hey, I think you could even call this situation a Hagagara.)

I maintain that I am not nervous about my pending nuptials, so it’s not like I’m awake with worry. Perhaps my body is getting a sense of the occasion and not letting me rest. If the unfortunate happens and I end up not sleeping at all, my biggest worry is that I’ll look like an uninterested zombie in the wedding photos.

I got home from the final wedding choir rehearsal before 8:30pm really pumped- they are going to sound almighty. I had the “last supper” of champions. I made a steak sandwich with fillet steak, italian egg mayonnaise, and peperonata. The sides were chips and steamed broccoli. I chose that as a reasonably “safe” dinner. I didn’t want to get, say, Indian, and be farting throughout the reception.

Currently I am re-reading The Real Frank Zappa Book. So of course as I’ve tried to get to sleep tonight I’ve had a great playlist of Zappa songs running through my head. As I type this, I’m listening to We’re Only In It For The Money. The book is well worth a read, and the album makes a great listen.

Hopefully the tea with lemon (heavily laced with Irish Whiskey) will kick in soon so I can get some rest.

Can you believe it?

There are a couple of last minute things I need to do today such as finalise the music for the reception and write my speech, but apart from that everything is pretty much under control. Just on the music – any woman who allows me to have “Smoke on the Water” as one of the songs playing in the background at the reception is alright in my books. I think I have chosen well.

I am very excited about the big day. The weather is set to be 28 degrees – which up in the Dandenongs should translate to around 25 – perfect!

I have not enjoyed the best of health this past week. I’ve had an annoying throaty/virusy thing which has shat me off no end. The number and variety of pills/cough suppressants and medications I’ve taken this week has left me feeling like a junkie. I’m still not 100%, but I definitely feel like I’m on the mend so hopefully I’ll wake up feeling a million dollars tomorrow.

Back to the music preparation. Catch you all soon.

I get married in one week from today.

I am not nervous or stressed. Everything is reasonably under control. I seem to have developed some sort of minor throat irritation which is hopefully nothing that the ingestion of lots of garlic and vietnamese rice noodle soup won’t cure.

The coming week will definitely be a busy one, but as long as things remain calm I will retain my “bring it on” state of mind.

It’s time that the concept of the Hagagara is shared with the world. I’m tired of doing Google searches on the word and not having meaningful show up in the results. My hope is that by writing this post, more than three people from my high school group will be familiar with the joys of the Hagagara.

In essence, to experience a Hagagara is to be the victim of a mildly unfortunate occurrence, generally with some comical angle to it. It’s the kind of expression you would use in place of telling someone “you got rolled” or “sucked in”.

For example: It’s raining, you’re running for a train, all your mates are already on it. Just as you get to the carriage the doors shut and you miss the train, with all your friends having a good laugh at your expense. In such a case it would not be uncommon for one or all of your mates to open the train doors far enough to yell “Hagagara!” at you as the train pulled away…

or

It’s the middle of summer, and on a 40 degree day you buy the world’s biggest gelati. You take one lick of it and the entire ball of ice-cream drops onto a dog turd on the ground. Anyone close by would be well within their rights to utter “Hagagara” unto you.

or

Richmond losing to Collingwood by a point which was kicked after the final siren would also be considered a Hagagara.

OR for a recent example… If you refer to my recent “Close Calls” post. The first story about nearly getting locked out of the house was very nearly a Hagagara of major proportions – that is, a Hagagaroo… Whereas the second story where I got sprung half naked is a definite Hagagara.

You would NOT use Hagagara in the context of serious situations, ie: if someone were to hurt themselves or you were to refer to the recent tsunami tragedy – it would not be appropriate to use Hagagara in these instances.

It is a word that I made up in the early years of high school out at Parade College. I can’t remember its exact origins but I think it may be some sort of derivative of the Italian slang “va caccati” which is essentially commanding someone to go forth and defecate. Anyway, over a few months it became part of the common parlance used by my immediate friendship group.

Yes, the Hagagara is a childish and silly thing – and why would I bother writing about it? Well, for a small group it certainly has some meaning, so for posterity’s sake, it deserves a mention. Any Parade boys reading this are more than welcome to add comments or observations on the Hagagara phenomenon.

I’ll save the bucks night report until I have some photos to put up.

However, I want to get these stories down now…

Close Call #1

It was after 3am – everyone had left and I was getting ready to go to bed. I was thoroughly exhausted. I had closed up the sets of french doors at the side and rear of the house. I took one last look at the mess in the backyard and decided to take a photo of the carnage. I got my camera and went into the backyard, at which point the back door swung shut behind me. Oh crap! There I was, middle of the night, a bit tipsy, extremely tired, and I was locked out of the house with no keys and wearing only my red sleeping t-shirt and a pair of jocks.

Crap, crap, crap, crap, CRAP!

What should I do? Wander to my friend Nick’s house about 5 minutes walk away? Go to the local 24 hour service station which was even closer? Do I try and sleep on the grass? Will I get jumped by local hooligans walking in the street dressed like this? I was not impressed. I remember thinking “Great, one of the most fun evenings I’ve ever had is about to turn to crap in the fourth degree.”

My saving grace was the fact that in my condition I had forgotten to actually bolt up one of the sets of french doors so I was able to get into the house without hassle. Despite my lungs being clogged with the remains of too many cigars and cigarettes, I managed to breathe the proverbial great sigh of relief.

Close Call #2

Yesterday morning, after a very average few hours of sleep I got up around 11am and settled in to watch some TV. A little after midday, I went to the toilet for the mandatory AGB. I was about to have a shower when I realised that my towel was still in the bedroom, so I went to go get it. Upon leaving the bathroom and looking up the corridor I could see that there was someone at the door who must have knocked while I was in the bathroom. I could make out an adult and a child trying to peer through the front door which has translucent and (thank god) not transparent glass. I was wearing my trusty red sleeping t-shirt and nothing else. This was going to get ugly. I stood there frozen. Could they see? Nah, surely not. I decided to play it cool, walk up the corridor, into my room, and put some shorts on – which I proceeded to do. I then opened the front door and was greeted by the site of my boss and his family. Alan had left his car at my place and caught a cab home, so he had come passed to collect his vehicle. Again I breathed a sigh of relief as I had just avoided a major public relations disaster. Now, Alan and I joke around a lot but this would definitely have constituted crossing the manager-employee bounds of acceptability. Phew.

This morning I arrived at work and told Alan the above. He then proceeded to tell me the story as he had seen it. He and his family arrived at the house. My car was there so I had to be home, but after knocking for a bit there was no response. Perhaps Brian was in a deep, deep, alcohol fuelled sleep? Alan’s daughter was trying to peer through the glass in the front door. Alan says “What can you see?” The daughter replies “A fat man with no pants on”.

I had been well and truly sprung – we all doubled over with laughter when Alan told me the above. It was just the funniest thing. Although neither of us could say for sure whether the daughter actually saw anything. Like I said before, the glass is more translucent than transparent. But I’m sure that she was able to get the general gist of what was going on.