I was at university for six and a half years. I studied a variety of things, from the Australian Constitution to the formulation of a social jurisprudence in the Bridget Jones books.

While studying at the university, I honed one skill in particular. I became very good at working to deadlines. I can feel a deadline. I can sense it. At the start of the semester, I would write down the deadlines in my new diary with my new pen and I would know when they were and I was certain that this year I would start studying, researching, or writing several weeks before the due date.

There's a scene in the upcoming movie Happy Feet, which a group of us saw yesterday at a charity screening, where a penguin is terrified of jumping off a cliff. "It's okay", he says to himself, "Trick yourself". Then, teetering on the edge of the cliff face, he shouts "Look over there!" at which point he looks backwards while walking forwards, saying "Where?" and topples over the cliff.

The joke is funny because you can't trick yourself. You can't tell yourself the deadline for your essay is two weeks earlier than it actually is. You can't tell yourself the exam isn't on the 30th, it's on the third. You get really good at knowing how long you're going to need and you leave it until then. Then you research and practice and study and write and then on the Friday of the due date you submit your work and you go to the pub and by Monday you don't remember a single thing about the entire subject matter you've been learning about for the last six months.

So I've been trained like this - the bad habits of a tertiary education often come in the form of caffeine and nicotine, but in my case it's definitely an inability to work without a deadline, and a habit of leaving everything up to the last minute.

The Comedy Festival is in April. In university lingo, that's getting close to the time where you ask for an extension.

Better get myself down to the library.

Also, why is this conversation happening? (Or in the stupendously irritating Age)? I know why. It's because these kinds of people are so loathed and detested by women with any self regard whatsoever that they don't actually know any, which is sad because there is no better feeling than laughing tea out of your nose because your friends are the funniest people on earth. For the record, two of the top three funniest people I know are women, and the other one is frankly just an unfortunate product of genetics.

So now it's official.

Standing There Productions is doing a theatre show during the Comedy Festival!

This is foolhardy and terrifying and those of us in charge of writing said show had frankly better pull a rabbit out of our hat fairly quickly.

At the moment, the show consists of a draft script and a series of hand drawn "maps", kind of like family trees, demonstrating what the show is intended to become (always good to keep by way of hilarious retrospective comparison with what the show actually ends up being). Some of these maps are on napkins. Some of them are on the backs of invoices from places like the physio where I went to get my wrist looked at. One of them is written in a crayon. (It was down the back of the couch).

In the next five months (yes I am counting December shut up) the show will become three dimensional and will develop a life of its own. Rita has drawn up a budget that, if it were a person, would be very intimidating and already would have done its Christmas shopping.

Any advice, support, love, affection, cash, and potential bums on seats would be most welcome at this point.

Also, anyone who can read my handwriting from when my wrist was broken might be able to help me decipher the previous month or so worth of not very helpful "notes" I've been taking on the show. What do we think "[indecipherable word] could be hilarious" might mean? What could be hilarious? What dammit!?

Let me know. Quickly.

Just while I'm on this point, quote of the year so far goes to Rita (as usual) for her assessment the other day that we did not need to panic about a certain aspect of the production "at this stage". I expressed my relief and Rita considered the position for a moment. "Although", she said soberly, "There's panicking to be done".

This, I think, shall be my mantra until May 2007. There's panicking to be done. How exciting.

Check this out.

Bloke's found himself in trouble for wearing a political T Shirt on an aeroplane.

Pretty funny when you consider that John Howard is allowed to wear green and yellow parachute tracksuit pants IN THE OPEN AIR.

I know what I think is the bigger magnet for terrorism.

The internet leads you to some interesting places doesn't it?

Tonight I have read an article about Courtney Love in The Scotsman (go here), found several extremely offensive websites while looking for an Australian flag (now there's a good sign) and bumped into this rather delicious nerdalogue of series one through to three of the BBC comedy series Black Books (I didn't know that Manny's character was based on Bob Dylan, but as I've always said: nerds shall inherit the earth). I particularly enjoy the "Chalkboard" section of this entry.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: tank de lord for lady internet.

Now shoosh, I have work to do.

Check this out.

It's the comic timing that's so perfect. And the use of the word "like".

Who needs writers? We'll always have Paris.

It's the worst fire season in the history of Victoria at the moment. We went to Lakes Entrance on the weekend and we had to get the train back through the smoke. It was eerie, cruising through the brown, flat, smokey, empty land. Melbourne was clogged with smoke when we got home. Anyone who doesn't believe in global warming is:
a) entitled to their own opinion
b) a complete tool
and in my opinion there is a right answer.
Anyhoo, in Standing There Productions news, we are as busy as little bees with a plan or two for some new projects, none of which we can announce at this stage because they're "in development" - the least exciting stage for a project to be in, for everyone other than the writer.

And here's the "IF I STILL WORKED IN COMMERCIAL RADIO" story for this week here for your enjoyment.

When I broke my wrist, my doctor told me that I would have to learn to write with my other hand.

He told me that when he was in year twelve, he had to do all his exams with his left hand instead of his right because he'd broken his right arm the week before.

And THEN he told me that BY THE TIME HE GOT HIS PLASTER OFF, he could write two different words AT THE SAME TIME with two different hands.

Try it. Two words, same time, different hand each.

Write "CAT" with one hand and "DOG" with another.

When he told me that, I thought he was joking. I thought he was being a smartarse. I thought there's NO WAY that is actually possible. That's like having TWO BRAINS nerdo!

Anyway so now I can do it.

Cat with the left hand, dog with the right hand.

I'll give it a week. Tops.